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random-thot-generator · 1 year

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Promises, Promises

Johnny ‘Soap’ Mac Tavish x Fem Reader

Summary: Soap has been trying to move your relationship out of the friend zone for months, and finally gets his chance when an innocent game of pool and a friendly wager lead to progressively dirtier tactics to make the other lose. Let’s just say Soap is “in it to win it” and makes a bold and filthy claim that he’s more than eager to prove to you.

Aaaand... then smut happens. Yeah, I know. Big surprise, right?

Warnings: explicit language, explicit sexual content, explicit sexual descriptions (bc that’s how I roll), thigh riding, oral- fem receiving, improper use of a pool table, Soap has a filthy mouth- for multiple reasons, no Y/N,

(N/A: This thot hit me Friday night and it’s been rotting my brain ever since, so I’m purging this smut. I was going to share it for Super Soap Sunday, but then my internet died, so you’re getting a MacTavish Monday special event. So, gather ‘round the pool table, my good hoes, and let’s get into this.)

Word Count: 4489

🎱

“Ah, c’mon, hen. Give it up. Ya know yer gaggin’ t’go out with me. Admit it. Yer mad fer me, ain’t ya?”

You rolled your eyes at the handsome sergeant sitting in front of you at the bar, a rueful little smile quirking up your lips. He didn’t even realize how right he was. You were mad for him, and that was the sad truth of it. Head over heels for him, in fact, but you would never admit it to the cocky Scottish bastard. His pretty head was big enough as it was, already.

You had decided a while ago that it was best to just stay friends with Johnny MacTavish. He liked to keep his sexual relationships casual, and you couldn’t do that with him. You already cared about him too much, and you didn’t want to go through the pain of losing him when another woman eventually caught his eye. It sucked not being able to have him the way you wanted him, but it was better than not having him at all.

“Oh, come on, Johnny. I doubt you could even find the time to take me on a date, considering how crazy your schedule is,” you pointed out, trying to deflect his advances. “Besides, weren’t you dating that redhead? What’s-her-name? You’ve not mentioned her in a while. Things not work out?”

Soap made a frustrated face, waving a dismissive hand. “Tha’ happened months ago, Ya know good an’ damn well it was jus’ a quick feck in the lavvy every once in awhile t’relieve some stress.”

You tried your best to ignore the ugly pang of jealousy that curled in your chest. “Relieve some stress, huh? And what’s got you so stressed? Your job?”

“’M stressed ‘cause ya won’t go out with me,” was his quick retort, giving you an impish grin. His blue eyes sparkled in the low light, and you felt your heart give a pitiful little flutter.

Shaking your head, you tossed your towel on the bar and huffed in exasperation. “What’s it going to take to get you off this? Besides, going on a date with you?”

His face fell into a pouting frown. “Don’t see why ya won’t do it. It’d be a proper date, none o’ that ‘Netflix an’ chill’ shite.” Then his frown morphed into a dirty little smirk. “We can do tha’ after the date,” he added, waggling his eyebrows.

You couldn’t help but laugh at him. “You’re an idiot.”

“Aye, but I’m yer eejit.”

You wished.

Exhaling a weary sigh of resignation, you turned to check the clock on the wall. Finally. Closing time. “Last orders!” you shouted out to the pub at large. You glanced back at Johnny and pointed at his empty pint glass. “Do you want another?”

“Naw. ’M good.” He leaned his arms on the bar and smiled at you..

After the last of the customers had shuffled out, you locked the door behind them and started sweeping. Johnny jumped off his seat and began turning up the chairs and stools for you, then went to fetch the mop bucket from the supply closet. He had gotten into the habit of hanging out with you after hours and driving you home after you locked up for the night. On nights like this, he usually ended up passed out on your couch if he didn’t have to be back at base, his snores drowning out the telly. You didn’t know whether to be glad or disappointed that he had never tried to follow you to your bedroom.

Working together, you had the pub cleaned and the bar restocked in less than an hour. Ready to call it a night and go home, you went to turn off the lights when you spied a couple of cue sticks left out on the pool table, a few pool balls scattered about its felt top. Figuring what the hell, you picked up one of the cue sticks. Johnny grinned as he watched you line up a shot, knocking the two ball into a corner pocket with a satisfying crack.

“Didn’t know you could play, hen.”

You gave him a lopsided smile and shrugged as you took aim at the seven ball next. “My uncle taught me how.” You sank the seven in a side pocket.

“If I’d known tha’, I would’ve ‘challenged ya to a game. I’m pretty good myself, ya know. I bet I could take you.”

You quirked a brow at him. “Oh, yeah? Willing to place a friendly wager on it?”

He crossed his arms across his chest and smirked. “What d’ya have in mind?”

“If I win, I get to choose where we order takeaway, and you have to pay for it. If you win. I’ll pay your tab tomorrow night.”

“Alright. I’ll rack, you break. Deal?”

“Deal.”

The match was fairly even, Johnny just barely beating you by knocking in the eight ball first. You took the loss in stride, ready to put your cue stick away, when he stopped you. “Let’s go double or nothin’.”

You glanced at him over your shoulder, cue stick held aloft to be slotted back in the wall rack. “What d’you mean? I have to pay for takeaway twice if I lose again?”

“Nooo,” he drawled, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m changin’ the stakes. If I win, ya have t’go on that date with me.”

“Really? And if I win?”

He grinned. “Then I’ll let you take me out on a date.”

You scoffed, snickering at him. “Unh-unh. No, if I win, you have to stop pestering me for a date.”

He sniffed, frowning. “If tha’s what ya want,” he grumbled, pouting.

You dropped your chin, shooting him a dubious look. “I thought you were sure you could take me. What have you got to worry about?”

He sneered at you, unable to ignore the challenge. “Alright, hen. Just be prepared to pay up when ya lose, again, aye?”

This time you racked, and he broke. Two solids dropped in their pockets, and his grin went wide. “Best decide now what yer goin’ t’wear for our date, hen.” He gave you a cocky wink before lining up his next shot.

Left to his own devices, you knew he would end up running the table, and you couldn’t let that happen. Sidling up next to him, face simpering, you murmured in a high, sweet voice, “Who said I was planning on wearing anything, Johnny?”

His shot went wide and glanced off the cue ball, making him swear under his breath. He turned to glare at you. “Tha’ was a dirty trick.”

You giggled at him. “Oh no! You missed your shot. That’s too bad,” you crooned in mock sympathy, poking out your bottom lip.

“So, tha’s how it’s goin’ t’be, then?” He gave you a slow nod. “Alright then, hen. We’ll do this yer way. Jus’ remember, it was you tha’ started it.”

You grunted, not in the least bit intimidated. Let him talk all he wanted. You could ignore him if you had to. You walked around the table, choosing your next shot, then bent over to line it up. Just as you went to tap the cue ball, Johnny leaned over and breathed hot on the side of your neck. “Mm. Ya look good bent over like tha’, sweetheart,” he hummed low and filthy in your ear.

Goosebumps erupted all over your skin as you flinched away, your shot just barely tapping the ball you were aiming at. You gave him a baleful look. The bastard knew his voice always got to you. “That was a cheap shot.”

His grin was smarmy as hell as he patted you on the head. “No. That was a missed shot.” He bumped you out of the way. “Now, if yeh’ll excuse me, I got a game t’win.”

Ooh! That cheeky little shit. You’d be damned if you were going to let him get away with that. When he bent over to take his next shot, you ran your cue stick up between his legs and giggled when he startled, missing his shot. He spun around to pin you with a warning look as his lips pressed into a grim smile. He cupped your cheek, dragging his thumb over your bottom lip. “Keep it up, hen. See what ya get,” he told you, his voice gone sinfully low and husky.

You swallowed, feeling your belly swoop in arousal. Keeping a wary eye on him, you circled the table away from him and chose your next shot, being mindful of where he was standing. He remained on the opposite side, hands braced on the table’s edge, a salacious smile on his face. As you lined up to take your shot, he hummed, a dirty, rumbling purr that skittered up your backbone and made your lower belly grow warm. Your core pulsed in sympathy.

“Got t’say, love, ya got some gorgeous feckin’ chebs,” he commented, and you lifted your eyes to see he was peering straight down your shirt. “How ‘bout givin’ us a taste, hm?” he drawled, a wicked smirk tugging up the corners of his lips.

You shook your head, scowling. Just ignore him, you reminded yourself, but it was really hard to do that when you could feel your nipples tightening into hard little peaks. You growled under your breath and took your shot.

Johnny grimaced when you made it, scoffing, “Got lucky,” he mumbled.

Feeling like you had the upper hand, you strutted around the table until you were standing beside him again, then bumped him out the way. “Are we still talkin’ about this game or, uh... your game?” you asked, with a nasty little smirk.

He narrowed his eyes at you. “An’ what’s tha’ s’posed t’mean?”

You took another shot, sank another ball, then straightened to give him a sly smirk. “You talk a good game, Johnny, but you’re never gone for more than five or ten minutes when you sneak off with one of your little birds. The way I see it, if they managed to get off at all, it would have to be pure luck.”

His mouth fell open in shock, and an airy little giggle bubbled up out of your throat at his expression. You turned your back on him to line up your next shot, feeling all full of yourself and confident, but then gasped when you felt his hands take hold of your hips and tug you back against him.

His mouth was right at your ear when he rasped out, “So you’re timin’ me, are ya, hen? Are ya jealous? Hmm? Don’t you worry tha’ pretty head o’ yers, sweetheart. I promise, I’ll take good care of you. I’ll have ya screamin’ my name in five minutes. Give me ten, an’ I’ll have ya cummin’ 'round my cock.”

You literally shuddered at his words, a trembling breath stuttering out between your parted lips as lust coursed through you, hot and heady. Holy shit, were you actually shaking right now? Get your head back in the game, you silently admonished yourself. Averting your eyes, you sniffed in derision, “Please. You think you could get me off in five minutes?” you scoffed and shook your head, but there was little force behind your words with you voice gone all quavering and breathless.

He pressed himself closer, a low, filthy chuckle rumbling in his chest. “I’d get ya off in three, hen,” he murmured, his lips brushing over the shell of your ear.

Heat pulsed through your core and you felt your panties grow damp. Shit! You bit your bottom lip and did your best to maintain your composure. “Hah! Th-Three minutes? I call b-bullshit,” you stammered out.

His hands gripped your hips tighter and he pulled you right up against his crotch, letting you feel just how much this little back-and-forth was affecting him. He gave a slow rut of his hips, rubbing the bulge in his jeans on the swell of your ass. “I wouldn’t even have to use this on ya,” he taunted, rutting against you again. “Jus’ me mouth.” His tongue traced the curve of your ear.

A strangled little whimper caught in the back of your throat, your knuckles going white as you gripped the edge of the pool table. “F-Fuck, Johnny...”

His lips were skimming down your neck, his breath coming out in soft, hot pants against your skin. “Let me show ya what I can do fer ya, sweetheart. Let me be good to ya, make ya feel good, aye?”

He hadn’t even really touched you yet, but you could already feel your arousal seeping out of your clenching channel to pool in your panties. “W-We shouldn’t...” you breathed out, trying to argue, but then his hands slid around your waist, one hand trailing down until he was cupping your clothed pussy in his big hand. A low, guttural moan clawed its way out of your throat. Your knees gave a little wobble.

You were in trouble.

Of its own volition, your head tilted to the side to give him better access, and he groaned into your neck before he began trailing hot, wet kisses up to your ear. He caught the lobe between his teeth before pulling it between his lips to suckle at it. The hand cupping your pussy squeezed, and another filthy moan escaped your lips.

“Y feel s’good, love. S’feckin’ hot,” he whispered, and your heart gave a hard thud in your chest. When his hand came up to clutch at your breast through your shirt, you whimpered. He gave a frustrated growl and turned you in his arms, crowding you back against the pool table as his arms wrapped around your back, hands gripping and pulling at you. “Feck, let me kiss ya, hen. Please?” he asked, voice desperate and plaintive.

You peered up at him, enthralled by the darkened blue of his eyes, the expanded void of his pupils. The way he looked at you had your hands shooting up to grasp the sides of his head, pulling him down to crash his lips to yours. This time, he whimpered, melting into you for a brief moment, but he soon recovered and took charge of the kiss.

No one had ever kissed you like that before. There was hunger in his kiss, an aggression that spoke of pent-up lust and insatiable need. The fierceness of it had you gasping against his mouth, and Johhny, never one to miss an opportunity, delved between your parted lips, tangling his tongue with yours as he groaned into your mouth.

He had slotted his knee between your thighs while he kissed you, and he lifted it, now, notching it firmly against your aching sex. You whined at the contact, hips bucking on instinct to gain more friction for your swollen clit.

“Feck, tha’s it, love. Ride it,” he encouraged you. One hand supporting your back, he used the other to help guide your hips, hissing out curses as he dragged your aching pussy back and forth along his flexed thigh. “God, I bet yer feckin’ soaked, aren’t ya, sweetheart?”

You could only whine and drop your head to his shoulder as he slowly pushed and pulled you to the very edge of orgasm. “J-Johnny... I―”

“Jus’ let go fer me, love. Let it happen,” he crooned at your ear, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Jus’ like that. Tha’s it. Feckin’ hell, yer so beautiful like this. Cum fer me, sweetheart. C’mon. Let me have it.”

A wavering cry fell from your lips as your orgasm swept over you like tidal wave. Sparks danced behind your eyelids, and your body went slack in his arms as your knees clamped around his thigh.

“Tha’s good, sweetheart. Ride it out. Did so good fer me,” he murmured, grasping the nape of your neck as he helped grind you against him, not stopping until your legs gave out and released the vice grip on his thigh.

His voice and hands were both trembling as he caught you by the thighs and lifted you up to set you on the pool table, whispering praises in your ear. You could do little more than lean into him, pressing sloppy kisses at his throat as you pawed at his chest. “Oh, my god...” you breathed into his skin, panting.

His hands were rubbing circles over your back, giving you time to come down from your high. “I want ta make ya feel good, sweetheart, show ya what I can do fer ya. Will ya let me, love?”

You nodded like a dashboard bobble head, as you gasped out, “Yes! Please, Johnny.”

That’s all he needed to hear. Leaning past you, he swept his arm across the pool table, scattering the remaining pool balls in all different directions, before laying you back on the crimson felt. His hands went to the waist of your leggings, fingers curling into the material, giving them a quick tug. A sexy little smile appeared on his face when you eagerly lifted your hips to accommodate him. He pulled them down your legs, taking your underwear with them, giving a sharp inhale when his eyes finally landed on your slick lower lips.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he breathed, rushing to yank the shoes from your feet before stripping off your leggings and panties, and then tossed them aside. “Would ya look at tha’,” he whispered, brushing his thick knuckles down your wet slit. “Yer s’soft, love,” he murmured, bringing his hand up to his mouth to drag his tongue over the bony ridge. A grating moan was exhaled. “Mmm, ya taste so good, too.”

Your whimper came on the heels of the slick you could feel seeping out of your quivering folds, running along the seam of your pussy to drip onto the edge of the table. You were staring up at the ceiling in a daze, not caring what he did, so long as he touched you down there. “Johnny, wh-what are you―”

“Shh, love. Jus’ lay back an’ let me take care of ya. Tha’s a good girl.”

His hands were gliding up and down your sides, pausing briefly to massage your breasts. “Sweet Jaysus, cannae wait to see these,” he mumbled, brushing his thumbs over the nipples. He gave them a teasing little pinch, huffing out a breathy laugh when you whimpered and squirmed. “Sensitive little thing, ain’t ya, sweetheart?”

You threw an arm over your eyes, embarrassed. “C-Can’t help it. Don’t laugh.”

“No no, love,” he cooed, pulling your arm away. He leaned over you to stare into your eyes. “Not laughin’ at ya, love. I jus’ can’t believe I finally have ya like this.”

He pressed his lips to yours, sighing into the kiss. You could feel his cock flexing inside his jeans, straining to get out. He pressed himself against your weeping core, slowly grinding against you until you were whimpering again. “Can’t wait t’be inside ya, love, but there’s somethin’ I got t’do first.”

His body slid down yours, lips grazing over your sternum, kissing each breast, pushing your shirt further up to plant soft kisses over your belly and hips. He licked a wet stripe above your mound, catching your hips in his hands when you rolled them up into his face. “Bless me, the way ya move, hen. Drives me feckin’ mad.”

His pressed his nose into your sex and inhaled, moaning into it before you felt the first touch of his tongue. He had dipped the tip of it into your wet folds, flicking it over your clit, before drawing back as you jolted in his grip. You looked down your body, worried that you had done something wrong or did something he didn’t like, but when he lifted his eyes to meet yours, all you saw was the wolfish grin on his face and the devilish gleam in his eye. He fiddled with the watch on his wrist, removing it and noting the time, before pressing it into your hand.

“Keep an eye on it, hen,” he husked above your folds. “Remember. Three minutes.”

Your brows shot up, mouth gaping open. “Wha― Haaah! Fu-Fuck!”

Johnny didn’t waste any time, plunging his tongue into your wet heat. His hands were like vice grips on your bucking, squirming hips as he devoured you, making the most lewd, wet, sloppy sounds as he devoured you. He slurped at your juices, sucked at your clit, slithered his tongue up into your clenching channel, all while you mewled and cried and flailed, helpless against the onslaught. You could feel the orgasm building, rocketing towards that blissful peak, and you panted out his name again and again, your hands clutching at his head, not sure if you wanted to push him away or pull him in closer, it was so overwhelming.

He was lapping at you, snaking his tongue from your entrance up to your clit, swirling it around the taut little nub. When he sealed his lips around it and began flickering his tongue over it, you gasped, then a warbling cry flew past your lips when he drew it between his teeth and sucked, so hard. The cry turned to an escalating wail as your back came off the table, but his hands held you down, and he moaned into your pussy, the vibration sending you right over the edge.

Your climax hit you like a Mac truck, barreling out of your core in a rush of hot slick. You could hear Johnny, still buried between your legs, moaning and growling as he gorged himself, refusing to let a single drop escape his greedy mouth. Tremors shook through your frame, your legs flopping to either side of him, unable to control your shaking muscles. You were a virtual rag doll, helpless against his lewd ministrations as he drew your orgasm out to the very last quivering spasm.

You laid there, spent and shaking, heaving for breath, mind spiraling in a tailspin. You were barely aware of his hand coming up and taking his watch from your limp fingers, wondering at his grunt of satisfaction. At some point, he stood, and you could feel his hands on you again, petting you with soothing, languid strokes.

“Look at me, love,” he coaxed, cupping your cheek in his palm. “C’mon, sweetheart. Come back t’yer Johnny, now.”

You blinked your eyes open to see him hovering over you. The entire lower half of his face was smeared with your slick, lips swollen and shiny, a gleaming bright red hue. His mohawk was a wild, spiky mess, his flushed cheeks bunched up, blue eyes crinkled at the corners by the huge smile stretched across his face. “There’s my girl,” he whispered, before capturing your lips in a slow, sensual kiss.

You could taste your cum on his lips, on his tongue, and so help you, if you didn’t feel that heady swoop of arousal in your gut again. You were ruined. He had completely and utterly ruined you for anyone else, and he knew it.

He lifted his watch up in front of you, brows raised. “Two minutes, forrty-seven seconds,” he informed you, grinning. You huffed out an exasperated breath and rolled your eyes shut. “Ah-ah,” he murmured in a tender but teasing tone. “No hidin’ from me, now, love. C’mon. Open those pretty eyes fer me.”

You dragged open your heavy lids, peering up at him with hooded, glassy eyes. “What?” you rasped out, your voice gone husky from― God help you― screaming his name. Just like he said you would.

His face softened. “Are ya alright, lovie?” he asked, caressing your cheek with his thumb. “It wasn’t too much, was it?”

Your hand came up to cradle his jaw, your thumb brushing over his swollen bottom lip. “I’m okay. Think I’m just still a little out of it. No one’s... Nobody has ever made me feel that way before, Johnny,”

If Johnny thought he had fallen for you before, he was dead certain of it now. Your confession sent him soaring into orbit, even as it melted his heart. “Yer never gettin’ rid o’ me now, hen. Yeh’ll have t’beat me off with a stick, an’ even then, I’d still come crawlin’ back t’ya.”

Your brow creased. “Don’t tease me like that, Johnny.”

He gave you a wry smile. “Not teasin’ ya, sweetheart. I mean it. I finally ― Jaysus, I finally got ya, an’ I ain’t lettin’ ya go.” He dipped his head down to catch your eyes. “I hope ya feel the same.”

You stared at him, eyes searching his face, looking for that smirk to appear, for him to say he was just messing with you, but all you saw was sincerity and affection reflected in his eyes. It felt like a weight lifted off your chest. “I do. Always have.”

His smile could have lit up the whole of London. “Aye?”

You smiled back at him and nodded. “Aye.”

He darted his head down to kiss you again, his hands starting to roam again with purpose. Your arms came to twine around his neck as his hands grasped your thighs and tugged you forward.

You broke the kiss, startled, and looked up at him. “What are you doing?”

He reached over and grabbed his watch, wrapping your fingers around it. “Did ya ferget what I told ya, lovie? Remember? I said I’d have ya screamin’ me name in five minutes, an’ have ya cummin’ on me cock in ten.” Your eyes went wide as he reached down and undid his belt and jeans, pushing them down til his cock sprang out. It smacked against his lower abdomen, and you gulped as you took in its length and girth. Apparently, they grew ‘em big in Scotland. Holy shit.

“Now, love,” he murmured, grasping your thighs and wrapping them around his waist. “I’d advise ya to hang on, ‘cause I’m about to make good on the rest o’ that promise.”

And let it never be said that Johnny MacTavish was nothing if not a man of his word. Needless to say, you didn’t make it into work the following evening, not the way you were walking.

#super soap sunday #cod soap smut #johnny soap mactavish x fem reader #soap x reader #johnny soap mactavish x reader #soap x fem reader #mactavish monday

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lovelyladyabsinthewrites · 5 months

Text

From the Ashes Pt. 33

Pairing(s): Pairing(s): Rhaegar Targaryen x Lannister!Reader, one-sided!Jaime Lannister x Lannister!Reader, Jaime Lannister x Cersei Lannister

Warnings: slow burn fic, changing povs, Cersei POV

Words: 3724

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 3.5 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Part 30 Part 31 Part 32 Part 34 Part 35

Book Two of Dārilaros hen ōrbar se perzys (Heir of Ash and Fire)

Her glare was unrelenting and if Ser Kevan Lannister hadn’t known her since the very day she was born, perhaps he would have been unnerved by the venom in her sharp green eyes. The eyes of his older brother Tywin. That’s what Cersei’s glare reminded him of. Out of all the children that Tywin sired, Cersei was the most like him without a doubt. Her abrasive demeanor as she refused to relax in the carriage that traveled to the port of Casterly Rock that led out to the Sunset Sea. It would be the only way to travel to Dorne at the moment. The land that led to the Dornish Marches was ravaged by war; scars from the wildfire and bloodstains soaking into the ground. Towns and estates alike were arming up, afraid of what Aerys may do next now that the threat of Rhaegar had subsided momentarily.

“Who even knows if Oberyn Martell is still alive.” Cersei spat, her elegant fingers gripping at her knees as she glares at her uncle who was in charge of transporting her safely to Dorne. “He could have died in the most recent wildfire episode. There still hasn’t been a body count of those who have perished.”

Kevan sighed at his niece’s belligerent cruelty and disregard for the man she was scheduled to marry. A valid question though: was Oberyn and the others still alive? No message had been sent from Rhaegar’s army to Tywin for help. “If Lord Tywin demands that I deliver you safely to Doran Martell, then I will humbly carry out that demand.”

“You’ve always been a spineless man with no original thought. As long as I can remember you’ve been at my father’s beck and call.”

She was trying to make him angry so that his guard would slide down. He knew her tricks though and had been warned thoroughly by Tywin to not listen too much to Cersei’s jabs. It was how she best manipulated people. Family didn’t matter to her as long as she got what she wanted from them. Kevan didn’t exactly know when his niece had changed from a sweet girl, the apple of everyone’s eye, to this calculating woman that watched his every twitch.

“He is my lord liege and even though he’s your father, he’s your lord liege as well. You must obey him.”

Of course women must be obedient to men. Cersei thought bitterly to herself and pursed her painted lips. She had to think of a way to get out of this. Originally she had agreed with her father’s plan to marry Oberyn, even if he was a philandering Dornishman. Even accepted her fate as long as the darkin completed his job. There was utter silence from the darkin’s end. It had been weeks since her last correspondence to him; he should have been able to kill (y/n) and get Jaime by now for Cersei had great suspicions that Jaime was with her. It couldn’t be a coincidence that Jaime disappeared the night Cersei set fire to (y/n)’s room. She knew her brother better than she knew herself. And Cersei was certain that following the days before the fire, he had fallen for (y/n). How stupid of Jaime to be attracted to his other sister. Cersei nearly laughed at the thought and the morbid irony of it. From one sister to another. His twisted affections would have lead him to saving (y/n) if he found her in danger. They never did find her body. Only the charred remains of (y/n)’s maid.

Internally Cersei scowls at the thought of the maid. Stupid girl. She could have lived if she had just walked away like Cersei told her to do. Of course she would have never really let the maid live if she had listened to Cersei and walked out of the room. There could be no witness to her sororicide.

“You think this is your victory?” The maid with short hair had bitterly smiled. “You are wrong, Cersei. You’ve always been wrong.”

She had been standing right in front of (y/n)’s bed that faced the door. For the life of Cersei she couldn’t remember her name, but in the long run it didn’t matter. Cersei had been forced to bludgeon the maid until she was a crumpled mess on the ground.

“I know the past year has been hard for you. With (y/n)’s death and Jaime vanishing-”

“I could care less about (y/n).” Her words were quick and ready on her tongue like a lashing. “Jaime might as well be dead with her.”

He couldn’t believe the remorseless words Cersei hissed out. Jaime and Cersei had been inseparable in their early years, even to the point where Cersei would pretend to be Jaime in order to do the things that he did like sword training. Kevan wanted to sum it up to trauma of all the events that had happened to her in a short amount of time. The wound of losing her mother at a young age hadn’t healed. All of her siblings were gone. She was the only child sired by Tywin Lannister left. And she was being forced to go to the desert land of Dorne.

Not looking forward to the sea voyage either, Kevan was aware that this would be a long journey for they had to travel along the coast of Westeros all the way to Sunspear. They couldn’t risk being spotted by any of Aerys’s allies for it would surely raise questions. Being with Cersei the entire time, it was by no means a vacation.

Slowly the carriage pulls to a stop and Cersei could hear the obnoxious squawks of seagulls who scavenged the harbor in search of food. A number of people were milling about, going on with their daily lives; completely ignorant of Cersei as she was helped down by another guard. All together her company amounted to five Lannister guards including her uncle. Luggage was being transported from the top of the cart to the ship waiting out on the water. Red sails billowed lazily against the breeze, every so often revealing the golden lion embroidered onto it. The smell of fish assaulted all of her senses as fishing boats docked and unloaded their day’s work.

If she ran now, maybe she could find a place to lay low until they stopped searching for her. Cersei’s mind was working fast to come up with a sure fire plot to escape.

Kevan Lannister, as if reading her mind, places a hand on her shoulder and steers her to the dock; ignoring her slightly dragging feet, trying to prolong her departure.

I’m not going to Dorne. By the might of the gods I WILL not go to Dorne. Cersei screamed to herself over and over again even as she walked down the wooden pier, her heels clicking roughly against the sea breeze warped wood.

Experimentally, Cersei glances over the dock and into the water to gauge how deep it was. She was fairly good at swimming, although her gown would cause issues and weigh her down. Her heart was pounding nauseatingly hard and she felt her stomach churning with uneasiness. If the darkin did complete his task, how would he find her?

The closer they approached the Lannister ship that Tywin had readied for her, the more anxious she grew. This couldn’t happen. They didn’t even know if Oberyn was alive! How could Tywin send her blindly without knowing her fiance's fate? Did he know something that she didn’t?

She hated it. Hated Tywin. Hated Oberyn. Hated (y/n).

Hated Jaime even. He abandoned her for (y/n).

She stops in her steps despite Kevan trying to pull her along. Digging in her heels she forces her uncle to look back at her. They were just a few inches from the plank that led up to the ship. Men were still milling around them with her chests filled with expensive clothes and part of her generous dowry that Doran had requested.

Cersei grits her teeth, eyes wild and slightly startling Kevan. “I’m not going to Dorne.”

There was little pity he felt for Cersei and her furocity. Mixed with a bit of admiration. Even now Cersei was too stubborn to admit defeat. “I’m afraid you are.”

Two Lannister guards have appeared behind Cersei so that the only way for her to escape was to jump into the water. Her weighty skirts would certainly drag her to a watery grave.

Rage and tears burned behind her eyes as she is forced up to the deck of the ship then led to her own personal room. It was small, dark, and utterly depressing with only a small porthole to look out of. It guaranteed no escape. Tywin would not risk losing his last child. Not that the room was all that terrible; there was a beautiful dark wood desk and plenty of oil lamps to light up the room. Her bed even had some of her own linens from her bed in Casterly Rock. Everything to make her cell comfortable. There was nothing that could comfort her though. It was the end of the line for her.

A lioness being backed into a cage. The panic was immediate in her when she put one step forward then another, but her face was calm. For even though panic had seized her, so did anger and with anger came the desire for retribution.

Deck hands were bumbling around above preparing to set sail to Dorne. The journey would be a long one and with the knowledge that she was not a willing occupant, Kevan made the wise choice to sequester Cersei off to her own room. “If you need anything, don’t be afraid to ask.” He stood at the threshold of her door, looking into her room at a safe distance.

“Release me, that’s what I need.”

Exasperated with his niece, Kevan shook his head and closed the door. Cersei could hear the click of a lock. They were definitely taking all necessary precautions for her.

She wanted to rage, to scream and bang her fists against the door. Spill every curse that she knew. That would be unbecoming for a lady of her tier. Instead she huffed out hot air and angrily sat at her small desk. The events that led up to her capture were replaying in Cersei’s mind. Tywin’s disappointed gaze as he basically said that (y/n) was better than Cersei for marrying Rhaegar all on her own without any schemes or planning.

How did they expect her to stay peacefully in her prison when her thoughts were running wild. She had lost her own father’s favor. His slight comment on (y/n) made it clear to Cersei that his opinion on the pitiful Lannister girl had brightened considerably after her supposed death. (y/n) stole everyone from her. The moment she was conceived had been the end for Cersei and her perfect family.

Out of frustration, Cersei swiped all of the contents that had decorated her desk off onto the floor in a loud clatter. Her life shouldn’t have taken this turn. Before (y/n) had been born, Cersei’s life had been going up and up. She was the center of her mother’s attention and the pride of her father. Yet no one had asked how she felt about Joanna having another baby. When her mother gave the family the news that she was with child once more, Cersei felt the indignation of not being consulted. She knew a six year old had little say in family decisions but it was still a hard truth to swallow for young Cersei; she who thought the whole world belonged to her.

Then came that squawking creature that should have died at birth. Tywin should have never tried to revive the child and just leave her be. Everything around her rotted; Jaime had Tywin’s favoritism due to him being the heir and future lord, and (y/n) had secured Joanna’s affections. Leaving nothing for Cersei.

The darkin was supposed to change things. All those late night rendezvous with a former member of the Golden Company who still had ties to the assassins. The gold she had stolen from her father’s own coffers to get the information she desired could buy an entire town. A sinister whisper had bugged her from the night where she thought (y/n) was finally dead. That whisper taunted her that (y/n) wasn’t dead, that the girl had somehow survived.

No, Cersei had thought to herself that was impossible. (y/n) would be burned beyond recognition. There was absolutely no way that (y/n) could have survived.

Yet there was that whisper that kept her up at night. It made her anxious and doubt herself. They hadn’t found her body. No remains, not even an article of clothing while the maid’s corpse was charred and difficult to scrape off of the ground.

Cersei put her head in her hands.

The hours drummed against her skull, stretching to unbearable lengths that had Cersei knocking on her own door to be let out. A small stretch and the salty ocean air were all the entertainment that was offered to her. Her room had been slowly closing in on her and she needed out but there was no one to answer her. Perhaps her Uncle Kevan wanted her to be out of sight and out of mind. Compared to his older brother, Kevan was made of weaker material. The man even had a soft spot for her misshapen brother.

She hadn’t thought much of Tyrion, even when he disappeared from Casterly Rock. Ser Kevan had been concerned and sent a small search party to scour the surrounding areas big and small. Cersei had figured they would find his dead body fairly quickly, but much like with (y/n) nothing had been found.

It became clear after five more minutes of knocking that no one was going to answer her let alone allow her out of her cell. She would be forced to simmer in her anger which was never a good thing.

Always underestimated, no one ever expected the actual intelligence that Cersei possessed just because she was a woman. That was why she was smarter. Cersei found men easy to manipulate moreso.

Her mind had just started working when her door opened. Timidly, her uncle steps in with a tray of food. Was it already supper time?

Cersei glanced out of the dirty porthole to gauge the time of day but it was difficult with the grime that caked the glass. Ears trained on the noises behind her as Ser Kevan settled her tray down on her desk. He noticed the strewn items on the ground, some broken. “Dinner.”

“I can see that. Why didn’t anyone open the door when I knocked on it?” She snapped her face back toward him, her green eyes deadly slits.

“No one heard. Cersei, we must discuss your etiquette and behavior in Dorne. You can’t act like this when you meet Doran Martell. You will be representing not just your father, but all of Casterly Rock. His brother is risking quite a lot in this war. As is Tywin. . . There are certain expectations set for you.” Kevan stands tall trying to pass a formidable aura. “And remember that you did agree to this all.”

Partially. Tywin had told her that he had offered her hand in marriage to Oberyn Martell, he didn’t necessarily ask for her approval of the matter. All she could do was let the cards fall where they may. She was holding out hope that Oberyn did perrish in the deadly wildfire. Oberyn’s death may very well be her only way out of this mess.

Cersei was ready to utter her reply before the ship sharply leaned to the side making Ser Kevan take a tumble and nearly fall right into his niece who was trying to keep her balance. The boards that composed the ship shivered at the impact. An ear splitting banging reverberated in Cersei’s skull. Vaguely the sound of bells could be heard above. Bells and battle horns.

“Stay here!” Kevan hissed at her and rushed to the door, slamming it closed right in her face as she had tried to slip out.

What Cersei didn’t know at the time was that the cruel gods had smiled down upon her and granted her wish to never set foot in Dorne. Her answer came in the shape of pirates as they fought off the Lannister men. Smoke filled the sea and lungs of men. They had been laying in wait for the perfect prey. Patience paid off. Isn’t that what Tywin had always told Cersei?

Excitement above, Cersei stalked around her small room anxious. She couldn’t even see what was going on.

There was so much yelling and screaming she could hear; who was winning?

The scuffling of boots was growing closer to her room. Other nearby rooms were being broken into, hinges torn off or doors destroyed entirely with swords. Only a matter of time before they reached her.

Jumping away from her door as it’s kicked in violently, Cersei prepares herself for whoever it was attacking the ship.

“What treasure have we found here?” The sultry voice of a woman enters before the owner makes her appearance. Much to Cersei’s dismay, this stranger is incredibly striking with a wild mass of pitch black curls that frame a long, dark, face. In those curls were wilted flowers the hue of dried blood. They were scattered artistically in her hair. Her eyes, so rich with brown that they almost appeared a rusty red. Voluptuous body partially hidden by a captain’s coat that was three sizes too big. Thick brows scrunch together before lifting in a pleasant manner.

Men move behind her, ransacking more of the ship but leaving their apparent female captain to her own devices. A few take a peek inside of the room before she waves them off. Their gazes were not the pleasant kind which gentlemen show ladies.

Sensing her uneasiness, the captain casually brings up a chair that had been tossed onto the ground. “I didn’t think there would be any high born ladies on this ship.” Wearing tight trousers, she was able to cross her legs like a man confidently. Every so often she would look over her shoulder to see what her men were getting into before turning her attention back to Cersei. “You realize what has happened, yes?”

Grimacing, Cersei nods. “You’re a pirate. But there are hardly ever any pirates around this coast.”

The more she looked at her, the more Cersei realized how beautiful she was. Jealousy has always been a close friend of Cersei.

“Every once in a while we’ll stray to this side and see if there are any ships worth taking. So, who does this ship belong to?” She was completely unfazed by everything, from the sword slung on her hip to the blood stains that were on her blouse. There was no fear of repercussions present. “There’s no sigil on any of the flags or on the sails. But the ship itself is exquisitely built.”

“Funny, I was wondering the same thing of you. A female pirate, it’s quite rare. Who are you?” Cersei eyed the captain who chuckled and got up from her seat.

“Boy, I can tell you’re going to be fun.” She sings before standing right in front of Cersei. “But that’s not the game I play. You want to be difficult? How about I throw you to my men? They’re hungry for pleasures of the flesh. I’m sure you would make a perfect bed warmer for them.”

On cue, one of them pokes their head in. She looks over her shoulder with a grin. “I don’t like asking twice.”

This was no place to be haughty. Cersei had no choice but to reel herself in and think quickly on how she was going to survive. “Lannister. Cersei Lannister.”

Her gloved hand gently touches Cersei’s jaw. “A Lannister huh? Isn’t that the house of the man who is said to shit gold?”

“You know your house lords.” Cersei comments trying to prevent herself from recoiling from the woman’s touch. Something in her mind clicked in place. A plan. Something she had been desperately trying to conceive since she was taken from Casterly Rock. She had to choose her words carefully.

“Where is your gold then?”

Nodding her head in the direction of her dowry chest, the female pirate saunters over making sure to keep an eye on her captive. She opens it and is silent for a few moments. “Beautiful. The gamble certainly did pay off.”

“I can offer you a lot more than that.”

“I’m sure you can.”

“No, you don’t seem to understand.” Crossing her arms she points out the other pieces of luggage in her room to which the woman searches through to find more exquisite items like hand crafted gowns and more jewelry. “I can offer you something greater than anything here on this ship. I can offer you the vaults of Casterly Rock.”

That made her laugh. “Oh you must think I’m stupid.”

“I’m serious. That is if you can do a favor for me.”

She turns on Cersei, her eyes studying and calculating each move. “You’re in no position to be asking for favors little lady.”

“I can give you access to the vaults. Pillage, sack, do whatever you want to Casterly Rock. I care not of it’s fate.”

“It’s your home though.”

With such a calm, dead voice, Cersei replies “Not anymore. I would gladly watch it burn.”

Toying around with the idea, the woman fiddles with a long gold chain that had a lion pendant dangling from it. A gift from Joanna from so many years ago. Only now Cersei gazed at it with bitterness and resentment. “And what would be the favor you ask of?”

“All I ask is that you allow me service to your ship and crew. My sister is somewhere in Essos and I plan on finding her.”

“How sweet.”

“Not really. I want to kill her.”

That put a shine in her eyes. “Oh?”

“I will give you everything and anything in order to find and terminate her.”

Her smile returns. “I knew you would be fun.”

Taglist:

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@domoron

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@enchantingcupcakecollectionfan

@bregarc

#reader insert #reader insert fanfiction #game of thrones fanfiction #game of thrones fanfic #asoiaf fanfiction #game of thrones #asoiaf fanfic #asoiaf fandom #a song of ice and fire fanfiction #a song of ice and fire fanfic #game of thrones x reader #game of thrones reader insert #asoiaf reader insert #asoiaf fic #a song of ice and fire x you #a song of ice and fire

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harinishivaa · 1 year

Text

Kaavyam- Chapter One: Love and Longing

@vibishalakshman and I are heree with chapter 1!

***

Vishva handed in his latest case, smirking at Varun. And he thought he couldn't solve it. The other man shook his head and went back to zoning out.

"You better not be thinking about my sister." He said, walking over to him.

Varun blushed. "Like you're not thinking about Jeevika."

Vishva spluttered.

“Why would I be thinking of Jeevika? She’s just a good friend.”

“Oh? A good friend you like baking with?”

Vishva felt a blush form on his neck, and his cheeks darkened. He groaned, seeing the smirk on Varun’s face.

"I know you like her." He teased.

So what if he did? She had never been interested in him as anything more than a friend. He was lucky she didn't call him her brother like she did with Anna. He shuddered at the thought.

Vishva could feel the concern on Varun’s face, and he shook his head.

“It’s nothing, Varun… I just.”

“But why don’t you tell her Vishva? Try?”

“No Varun. Let it be, please?”

He couldn't tell her. Couldn't have the rejection upfront. He could imagine the parted lips and guilty gaze, shoulders caving in on themselves.

"I'm sorry, Vishva, but I don't feel the same way..."

She'd feel awful that she couldn't return his feelings. And the loss of her bright smile would be all his fault.

Vishva shook his head.

Being silent about his love for her was probably the best recourse. He busied himself with the next file instead, trying not to think of her doe eyes, full of sparkling laughter, all colours held in them.

He could feel Varun's sympathetic gaze on him. He didn't need anyone's pity. He tried to absorb the contents of his file but all that was going through his head was her delicate hands that he longed to touch him and soft lips that he wished would brush his. At least once.

Would she allow him to kiss her?

Just once?

But could he accept just a single kiss? Just a single touch? Would he be able to live with it?

Would he be able to live without her? Would he be able to see her be someone else's wife, carry someone else's child?

Yes, he realized, yes he would. If it meant she would never stop smiling.

With a resolute determination, he decided that he would always be there for her, and ensure she smiles, even if not because of him.

His heart pained at the thought but also rejoiced. His Jeevika would smile. He would be fine.

****

Aakash signed the twelfth document in the thirty minutes he had been in office. A headache was already starting to form.

Would Kaamaakshi kill him if he just went for his session with Jeevika now?

Yes. Yes she would, he decided, remembering the stern glare on his sister’s face.

This was becoming too much. The newspapers all praised him, of course, such a young man and already in lead of the business world.

He had practically toppled Vijayaraasa, head of VR Inc., from his high throne in his first year and had only gone on to be more successful than the man ever was.

As his family wanted.

But..his heart… it missed his Pandimaa, his everything.

Without her, there was no colour in his life. It is true, Jeevika’s sweet behaviour and the cheeriness of Varun did bring some happiness… but without Pandimaa… nothing felt right.

Nothing felt real.

Of course he loved his family. He loved his mother coddling him after every achievement, his father's proud face when he took on the family business, his brother crashing at his house and complaining about work, and Kaamaakshi's mother hen behavior towards him.

Still, there were some voids not even his family could fill. Things that used to be specific to them.

And that void, he knew, would never be filled without another woman.

Only his Pandimaa could fix it.

But where was she? What was she doing? Did she miss him?

How would he find her again?

He groaned. He had promised he would find her. But how? It was like she had disappeared off the face of the planet, no doubt a product of his uncle's master concealment skills.

He had lost hope long ago. Would she hate him for breaking his promise?

No. She wouldn’t, he decided. For she would know his heart. He had searched.

But had never been able to…wait!

Would Vishva help? His brother adored him.

But how could he use his little brother that way?

No no. He couldn’t do that.

He leaned back in his chair, glancing at the calender on the wall. It had been nearly seven years since he last saw her. Where had time gone?

His eyes suddenly snatched on an upcoming dinner his father had planned in his honor. He had forgotten about that! He didn't even have a suit!

He dialed Jeevika quickly.

“Hello? Hi Anna!” Her happy voice filled his ears.

“Jeevi, I forgot to get a suit for the function! And if I ask my sister…”

“I already bought one and kept it ready for you,” she sounded fond and exasperated, making him laugh.

“Thank you, little sister. Blueberry muffins on Saturday?”

“It’s a deal Anna! See you for your session!” They said their byes and cut the call.

What would he do without her? He really wished his idiot brother would hurry up and ask her out. She was practically part of the family already, might as well make it legal and official.

Legal? Gods, he really needed a break from all these contracts.

“Anna?”

He looked at the entrance, surprised to see Kaamaakshi.

“Kaams? Is everything okay?”

“Want to go for pancakes?” She asked casually, looking at him hopefully.

Pancakes? Something was seriously wrong.

“Let’s go,” he said, concern shining in his eyes as he silently followed his sister.

****

Varun was in love. At least he could admit it to himself unlike a CERTAIN FRUSTRATING BEST FRIEND. Whether or not she knew that was different. Still, he tried to make it obvious.

But he knew she didn’t want to acknowledge it for some reason. Her wits, her banter, even her eyes… they told him she too had feelings for him. But why would she not admit it?

Kaamaakshi, Kaamaakshi, Kaamaakshi... enchanting eyes indeed. The most beautiful ones he had ever seen, he'd give the world to have them look at him and say 'I love you', freely, just once.

He glanced at the magazine Jeevika was reading beside him. "Fashion? Again?"

“Yes Varun. I just want to know more, you know? Maybe dress better?”

“Dress better? For what reason?” He peered at a now red Jeevika.

“Ah I see,” he smirked. “Vishva hmm?”

He laughed, snatching the magazine from her. The word 'Authentic Madurai' was scrawled at the bottom of each page. He flipped through them.

"Ohh, this is that fashion designer you're obsessed with." He paused at a page of sheer half sarees and smirked at her, "I bet Vishva would looove these."

"He's into girls who show skin."

'He's into Jeevika showing skin' he thought silently.

"Is that the same girl you contacted for Aakaash's suit?

“It actually is,” Varun said, nodding. “She simply sent it, it was so sweet of her.”

“So sweet? Of whom?”

Vishva turned up, and Jeevika had stopped paying attention to anything else.

Vishva smiled at her and the two got lost in each other's eyes. Varun smirked.

"I'm gonna go get something to eat."

Both of them replied to him with waves of their hands, already immersed in conversation with loads of eye contact.

They were insufferable. That’s what they were!

He wished he and Kaamaakshi would be like that. He smiled to himself, thinking about his Kaamaakshi.

Maybe he would ask her or tomorrow. But first he had to get out before Vishva and Jeevika started having eye sex.

**********

@vibishalakshman @thelekhikawrites @thegleamingmoon @nspwriteups @ragkee @whippersnappersbookworm @thirst4light @dumdaradumdaradum @yehsahihai @dr-scribbler @hollogramhallucination @kovaipaavai @willkatfanfromasia @anushyaselvaraj @nature-writes29 Please let us know your thoughts.

#ponniyin selvan #modern #arulmozhi #vanathi #vallavaraiyan vandiyadevan #kundavai #nandhini #aditha karikalan

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darkbloodsly · 4 months

Text

My baby (Azriel X OC)

Summary: Olivia is distressed about not being able to have a child even after years with Azriel.

A/N: This is my first one-shot so let me know your opinion on the development. English is not my first language so sorry for any spelling mistakes.

A little one-shot to start writing here on tumblr ♡

Warnings: Mentions of insecurities as a wife, Alcoholism, angst and a little fluff at the end.

Words: 820

･*･｡ . ⡀｡⠐* ･｡ ⡀･ *･｡ . ⡀｡⠐* ･｡ ⡀･ *

━──────≪✷≫──────━

It was no surprise to Olivia that her mate Azriel would be a protective hen with his nephew Nyx, so as soon as the child was born, Azriel assigned some shadows to look after little Nyx's safety.

But after Rhysand and Feyre had a child, Olivia's mind was filled with anguish and anxiety as she felt incapable of bearing a child. After all, she and Azriel had been mated for nearly three hundred years.

This thought returned to haunt her mind when Olivia saw Azriel flying away with Nyx on his lap.

Maybe I'll never be able to give a child to my own mate. — She thought.

That thought made Olivia want to go home and stay in her bed for the rest of the day. And that's what she did, she asked Cassian to drive her home with the excuse that she needed to sort out something about Hewn City.

And well, she spent the rest of the day drinking while drowning her thoughts in a bottle of wine.

Olivia put a hand on her belly, feeling nothing there. Maybe she wanted to have a baby and even though she and Azriel had never taken the preventative tonic, they had never had the slightest doubt that they were pregnant.

Her thoughts were interrupted by a familiar smell in the house where she lived with her mate.

It was Azriel. Her male was finally home.

He arrived like a cat looking for a cuddle, snuggled into Olivia's lap and took a deep breath. He lifted his head when he smelled the alcohol on the woman's body.

— Why were you drinking, love? Did something happen? Cassian told me you had to leave.

The Ilyrian male's confused and worried look almost made the female cry.

— You think I'm a bad mate, don't you? Three hundred years together and not even a baby, I'm failing as your wife?

Olivia collapsed in a mess of tears and drunken sobs, Azriel felt his heart squeeze. He could only imagine that she felt this way, especially since they had never touched on the subject of babies. It was almost forbidden between them, since they both had their family traumas.

Azriel was a bastard who murdered his siblings, and Olivia was used as a bargaining chip by her parents, given to some lord as payment for a debt her parents owed. Olivia killed them when she managed to escape the lord's clutches.

They had no example of how to be good parents, and that terrified them.

— Darling, you'd be the best mother ever. Why the question now? You've never failed as a wife, by the gods.

Olivia sighed.

— Maybe I'm feeling guilty that we don't have a child yet, I'm sorry…

She tried to get up from the bed but ended up unbalanced by the alcohol in her body, Azriel held her waist before she could fall.

—Whether we have a child or not, I'm already the luckiest man in the world to have you by my side.

Azriel fiddled with the curls that fell across the female's face, he loved the way her hair was full and big. Her curly hair was one of his favorite things.

—If you want a baby anyway, we can adopt a child. I bet there are lots out there who want to be adopted.

Olivia agreed, putting her head in the crook of the ilyrian male's neck.

—I love you, you're the best thing that's happened in my life, Az…

The male squeezed her against him.

—I love you more than my own existence…

For a moment, Azriel withdrew from the room and closed the door. Olivia then felt the full effects of the alcohol on her body, causing her to close her eyes and snuggle against a pillow. Completely forgetting about her previous problem.

But then her body was lifted and Olivia screamed, Azriel had picked her up and was carrying her to the bathroom

The female began to whimper and beg not to be thrown into the cold water, but the cruel Spymaster paid no attention.

— Before you go to sleep, you need to take a shower to get rid of that drunken look on your face, kitten. And there's no point in complaining.

The last thing Azriel heard was a string of swear words after he had thrown his wife into the icy waters of the bathtub.

— You don't think you'll get away from me, spy master.

Aziel didn't expect Olivia to grab his blouse and pull him into the water. She laughed when she realized that the male had gotten wet.

It wasn't long before Az was hugging the female, he didn't mind getting wet. The only thing he wanted was for Olivia to feel good, even if he had to let her pull him into the water, even though he knew he could easily prevent it from happening.

#acotar #azriel #rhysand #cassian #fanfiction #fanfic #angst #fluff #nesta archeron #feyre archeron

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silver-heller · 2 months

Note

*Yeets my hc's of my au Orchid Jewelries.*

I am obsessed with the idea of Sookie being a kind-hearted sister towards Charlotte, and also scenarios of Sookie and Lawrence meeting Clarence and their reactions.:

While I know that Charlotte is distant from others (Lawrence and Maire, I wouldn't be surprised about Wick.) Yet my brain did not feel reluctant upon throwing it under my face lol.

Imagine Sookie, despite knowing how much of a spoiled personality Charlotte is, still continues treating her well and invites her to her house and having a chat over relaxing tea and sweets. She even offers to comfort Charlotte whenever she feels she has a bad day or whatsoever. (Sookie being the mother hen she is.)

Like I know Charlotte is jealous of Sookie having a family. However Sookie on the other hand has an opposite reaction to this, like perhaps she could teach Charlotte about good values, how to be kind to others, or how to have humility and handle rejection. While she knows she can't force Charlotte about it, at least she has a reason why she's doing this to her. It'll take a long time for Charlotte to build up trust and maybe develop as a person.

She wants Charlotte to not end up like her when it comes to dating someone, or per say having a boyfriend. Sookie fears Charlotte wouldn't handle being treated miserably like Sookie was when was formerly married, thus Sookie divorced her husband due to finding out he slept with another woman at night.

(Another reason why Sookie lives separately with her daughter.)

Hence I can totally see Sookie not approving Clarence dating Charlotte because she's not sure if Clarence would treat Charlotte alright or rather be loyal to her and not cheat her with another woman. Imagine Sookie giving Charlotte a pep talk like “Listen, I am happy that you date someone… But I don't want to sound like Mother, however please try to talk to your boyfriend about it? Please?”

Off topic but if Lawrence meets Clarence (I dunno if Charlotte is official with Clarence) then he absolutely disapproves of him dating Charlotte. Lawrence gets strict and overprotective when it comes to his siblings dating someone, depending on the person.

Lawrence is an uptight law-abiding man like Wick but far more harsh, when finding out Clarence owns a distillery he absolutely does not allow Charlotte to be with Clarence at all. Even if the two attempted meeting up privately, that did not stop Lawrence finding ways to get rid of Clarence. (Charlotte would 100% wouldn't like how Lawrence is now treating Clarence.)

Lawrence literally holds more power than Clarence and I do mean he can have the power to yeet Clarence to jail if he tried hurting Charlotte or one of his siblings. No matter how much evidence Clarence tried to hide or fabricate it with lies it won't be successful at all, so I can imagine he is trying his best not to shake underneath his shoes whenever Lawrence is glaring at him.

Clarence: I am dating your sister, so I am soon going to be your 'brother-in-law'.

Lawrence: Moreso you're going to be 'no-longer-my-brother-in-law'. *Holds a bunch of files of evidence, and handcuffs he got from who knows.*

Edit: I had fun writing this btw, I didn't included Maire to this cause she pretty much doesn't care about whoever Charlotte is dating.

Okay have a good day/Night!

I mean, if parts of the family reached out to Charlotte, I doubt Charlotte would turn them down (outside of maybe Wick) just to be polite. I do admire Sookie's efforts, but when it comes to Charlotte I think she needs a stronger motivation. In the main fic, this comes in the form of Silver and Silver's ex husband, Silver never bending to Charlotte's BS, and Valentin, whom Charlotte almost cheated with, being revealed to have cheated and tried to "run away" with many other women in the past, only to abandon them. Nearly becoming one of those women really woke Charlotte up, I would say. Though after the fact I imagine she'd understand what Sookie was trying to do previously and be grateful to her.

I don't think Clarence is a cheater. I do think, in a very annoying way, he is very dedicated to Charlotte when she's still petty and wants a leg up on others. Making the couple, I really wanted them to be that annoying couple who, therefore, always shows off to people and always has the other's back, even when the other is being nasty. Not to say Clarence is good, of course, considering he is homophobic and encourages Charlotte to be terrible, but I do think he's dedicated to Charlotte either way.

I am not sure Lawrence's actions would help the situation either, as it'd just make Charlotte feel more like it's "Clarence and her against the world". Plus, with the variety of people Clarence knows, I think it'd be difficult to keep him in jail, and, even if Lawrence managed it, I doubt Clarence would be treated poorly there. If anything, whenever Clarence gets out, Lawrence would just encourage Charlotte to do what she thought she was doing with Valentin and run away/disappear with Clarence. It's an interesting dilemma indeed.

Though, in the main fic, Charlotte does come around, I am not yet certain who she dates at that point. That being said, I think she works on her internalized biphobia and ends up dating another woman. Probably law-abiding for the most part.

Thank you for sharing, I adore the family dynamics we have going on here.

#reddresson👗#tw homophobia mention #tw biphobia mention

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memestockpile · 1 year

Text

shawshank redemption from the 1994 film. feel free to change as needed.

i really don’t remember. i was upset.

i think mostly i wanted to scare them.

a revolver holds six bullets, not eight.

you strike me as a particularly icy and remorseless man.

it chills my blood just to look at you.

i’ve learned my lesson.

cigarettes, a bag of reefer if you’re partial, a bottle of brandy. damn near anything, within reason. i’m the guy that can get it for you.

on your feet before i fuck you up so bad you never walk again.

never seen such a sorry-looking heap of maggot shit in my life.

does the pope shit in the woods? of course i am.

bullshit. i’ll take that action.

you’re out some smokes, son.

looked like a stiff breeze could blow him over.

you eat when we say you eat. you piss when we say you piss. you shit when we say you shit. you sleep when we say you sleep.

i believe in two things: discipline and the bible.

the first night’s the toughest, no doubt about it.

make you wish your daddies never dicked down your mommies.

talk to me, boy. i know you’re in there.

i wanna go home!

i had your mother! she wasn’t that great!

you gonna eat that?

i believe i owe that boy a big sloppy kiss when i see him.

doesn’t matter what his fucking name was. he’s dead.

i keep my ear to the ground.

they say you think your shit smells sweeter than ordinary. that true?

i understand you’re a man who knows how to get things.

i’m known to locate certain things from time to time.

i’d grow eyes in the back of my head if i were you.

you get this in your eyes, it blinds you.

honey, hush.

prison is no fairy world.

may is one damn fine month to be working outdoors.

a million bucks? jeez louise!

hey, you nuts?

i miss the joke? what’s so funny?

you better start making sense.

actually, i feel silly telling you all this.

the colossal prick even managed to sound magnanimous.

chess. now there’s the game of kings.

i guess we’re getting to be friends, aren’t we?

relax. what are you so worried about? she’s just a woman.

i said fuck off.

a sudden serious brain injury causes the victim to bite down. hard. in fact, i understand the bite reflex is so strong, the victim’s jaws have to be pried open with a crowbar.

you little fuck.

what are you, fucking geologist?

i hear you’re good with numbers.

ain’t that a kick in the ass?

be nice to have some company down here for a change.

not a dime. my budget’s stretched thin as it is.

you’re not fooling anybody, so just put the damn knife down and stop scaring the shit out of people.

goddamn near slit my throat!

ain’t that bad, old hoss.

old man’s as crazy as a rat in a tin shithouse.

i do believe you’re talking out of your ass.

the world went and got itself in a big damn hurry.

i have trouble sleeping at night.

guess i’m too old for that sort of nonsense.

i don’t like it here. i’m tired of being afraid all the time.

tell [name] i’m sorry i put a knife to his throat. no hard feelings.

some things are best left unsaid.

lost my taste for it.

hope is a dangerous thing.

it’s very pretty. thank you.

you be sure and thank her for this fine pie.

tell them if they over-starch my shirts again, they’re gonna hear about it from me.

got his fingers in a lot of pies, from what i hear.

you can’t just make a person up.

did i say you were good? you’re rembrandt.

i had to come to prison to be a crook.

cops caught him sneaking tv sets out the back door of a jc penney.

young punk.

movin’ like molassas! makin’ me look bad!

freeze, kid! hands in the air!

you hear what i said, boy?

perhaps it’s time you considered a new profession.

you don’t seem to be a very good thief. perhaps you should try something else.

something lit a fire under that boy’s ass.

i ain’t no goddamn loser.

i don’t read all that good.

ass in gear, son! you’re putting us behind!

that’s crap, son.

he’s proud of you. proud as a hen.

c’mon, boy, back to work.

talked all the time, too, that’s the other thing. never shut up. places he’d been, jobs he pulled, women he fucked. even people he killed.

i tell you, son, this really came along and knocked my wind out.

are you catching my drift?

i didn’t pull the trigger, but i killed her.

you underestimate yourself.

pacific ocean? hell, like to scare me to death, something that big.

get busy living or get busy dying.

like something out of a robert frost poem.

every man’s got a breaking point.

lickety-split. i wanna get home.

nice having you back. place just wasn’t the same without you.

alone in the dark with nothing but your thoughts, time can draw out like a blade.

that was the longest night of my life.

you better be sick or dead in there.

i shit you not.

i see you two all the time. you’re thick as thieves, you are.

in prison, a man’ll do most anything to keep his mind occupied.

i mean, seriously, how often do you really look at a man’s shoes?

oh, my holy god.

some birds aren’t meant to be caged.

i guess i just miss my friend.

not a day goes by i don’t feel regret.

it’s a politician’s word.

what do you really want to know?

you don’t need to ask me every time you need to take a piss.

no way am i gonna make it on the outside.

they’re calling this the summer of love.

oughta bust his fucking skull.

terrible thing, to live in fear.

hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.

i hope the pacific is as blue as it has been in my dreams.

#rp meme #rp #roleplay meme #tumblr roleplay #roleplay #sentence meme #sentence starter meme #roleplay sentence meme #rp sentence meme #sentence starters #askbox rp #askbox meme #ask meme #askbox #ask

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hphmmatthewluther · 5 months

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Bringing Good Tidings, Part 2: Childermass Goes Awry

Here's my first part of this collab between me and @endlessly-cursed ! Apologies for the slight delay! Continuing from her last post, we rejoin Lachlann and Henriette as strange goings-on begin to threaten the holiday...

(Featuring ocs from @endlessly-cursed , @camillejeaneshphm , and @that-scouse-wizard )

The next few days passed with much merriment from those in attendance, though Lachlann continued to worry about the nagging feeling that he was about to be caught off guard by something. As he mingled with the other guests, he was able to pass off any of his nervous glances as “Serf’s Intuition”, which always got a polite laugh from the other guests. But, of course, there was one person he couldn’t keep it hidden from. His wife, Mathilde, looked up at him in a way that only someone who’d studied his entire biology to know how best to poison him could know.

“What is it?” she asked at one point late on the 27th of December, the children already in bed by now (if not asleep, at least in their bedroom). “Is it about the Lord of Misrule business in a couple of days? I doubt you of all people would find it too humiliating, you always have been quite good at dismissing any funny looks.”

“It’s not that.” Lachlann said bluntly, shaking his head for a moment before shuffling closer. “And it’s not even about who that Lord of Misrule is going to be…if anything, I wish that were the explanation…”

“But it’s not, is it?” Mathilde raised an eyebrow at her husband. “You don’t get nervous when dealing with Betwixt. More…mildly irritated.”

“Can you blame me? They cursed our bloodline because of what happened back then…and whenever it comes up I try to tell them how I tried to find another way, but…”

Mathilde placed her hand on his shoulder. “You really can be quite stubborn sometimes. It would take a miracle to get Betwixt to like you, so I suggest moving on. Even they’ve learnt to do that, from what I’ve heard.”

“Oh yeah, that Spaniard woman they married. I honestly can’t believe they settled down after the strop they pulled when Hen- what?”

Mathilde pointed to the woman standing in the door, who had a friendly smile on her face as if recognising Lachlann’s utter embarrassment. “You are somewhat right, Lam.” Henriette began, walking forward and sitting down with the other two. “Betwixt never was one for mortal traditions…or monogamy. Still, they took the time they needed, met a nice immortal, and now they’ve got a family. In fact, I hear that Lady Sancha is expecting her 4th child, hence why Betwixt is only coming for one day.”

“Oh, how lovely for them!” Mathilde exclaimed, Lachlann detecting no amount of her normal snark. “The child must be due soon, in that case.”

“Quite soon, I imagine so, yes.” Henriette confirmed. “Seeing them will be a wonderful change from the routine of these feasts…not to mention tomorrow.”

“Don’t remind me.” Mathilde chuckled, looking over at the corridor that led to their children’s room. “How do your children deal with it? I think Caitílin is just about growing out of being fully terrified by it now, like Sam and Simone are, and Fèlix is still too young to fully understand what’s happening, bless him.”

Henriette smiled as Mathilde recounted their children. “I’d say it’s the same with us, yes. It’s always interesting to see who tries to act all tough and unafraid and who still voices their fears. Speaking of, we ought to get our sleep if we want to be ready for the Mass tomorrow. Still, it’s only for one day. How bad could it be?”

Lachlann bit his tongue and refused to comment on how dangerous it was to ask questions like that. “I suppose we’ll see. Goodnight, Henriette.”

Henriette made her way back to her room, where her husband Frederick was already sleeping. She didn’t blame him, considering how restless the children could get during Childermass. She laid down next to him, shuffling close. As she closed her eyes, she found herself thinking about Lachlann and Mathilde. To say they weren’t a traditional couple was something of an understatement, after all, he was a former serf and she was a former assassin who’d been tasked with killing him. They talked and acted like all the other couples in attendance, of course, but then there were moments when they’d mention what happened during the Mage Wars, and it was obvious how it had given them such a different perspective. They seemed almost untouchable, seeing as most other nobles were terrified of this new clan, too afraid to try to interfere with their matters. This was where Henriette’s mind settled as she drifted off: that her role in maintaining a noble family was one thing, but to get one started was an entirely different beast.

***

The morning silence was broken by the sounds of bickering from the next room. Lachlann leant forward, gently moving Mathilde’s arm from his side, giving her a brief kiss on the forehead. “I’ll handle it, darling.”

Mathilde hummed in relief, trailing her hand down his chest as she settled back in the bed. “Bless you, Lam.” she whispered, Lachlann smiling for a moment before getting dressed and heading out into the other room. Inside, he instinctively took a head count of his children. Caitílin, the oldest, was currently trying to force Fèlix, still very much an infant, into the arms of Sam, the second oldest. Simone, meanwhile, the second youngest, was seemingly content to watch this play out. Lachlann took a seat next to her, waiting for the others to notice him.

“Morning, Daddy.” Simone said, smiling up at him in that way all siblings do when they’re the one not in trouble.

“Morning, sweetie. What’s all the fuss about?” Lachlann whispered back. Simone simply chuckled and pointed to the others.

“It’ll be good for you!”

“I have no clue what I’m doing!”

“Time to learn, then! You’re inheriting the Line, after all.”

“Line, Line!” Fèlix laughed, clearly enjoying the rocking motion, before looking up and seeing “Daddy!”

Caitílin and Sam looked up and finally noticed their father, both stepping back leaving Fèlix staggering in the middle for a moment before Lachlann caught him, picking him up and holding him.

“All up and early, I see. Cait, didn’t your mother say it was your job today to look after your brother?”

“But why? If I’m not inheriting the Line, surely I shouldn’t have those responsibilities!” She said, sounding out the longer words in a way that suggested they weren’t originally hers.

“But I don’t know how to do all of it!” Sam pleaded.

“Neither do I, but you have to do it anyway.” Caitílin said, as if that ended the matter, her face dropping when she saw Lachlann’s expression, which made it very clear that it didn’t.

Lachlann cleared his throat. “Here, Sam. I’d like you to take your brother over to your mother’s room and she’ll get you something to eat. Simone can help you. Can you do that for me?”

Sam thought out the process in his head, before nodding. “Yep! I can do that!” Simone looked over and nodded as well.

“Excellent. Now, Caitílin, out here please.” Lachlann said, pointing to the balcony overlooking the snow-covered fields. The youngest three Doherty children looked at each other, shrugged, and left the two in the room.

They walked over to the balcony, Caitílin sighing as she leant against the wall. “I’m the only one who can see over the wall, the others need me to lift them up.” she said, proudly.

Lachlann smiled at her, before looking out over the fields. “Cait, where’d you hear about all this line stuff?”

She shrugged, tracing a pattern in the snow that had fallen onto the very edge of the wall. “Dunno. One of the other children at the feasts was talking about how since he’s the oldest and a man he gets to inherit the Line of his family.”

Lachlann nodded, understanding perfectly. “And you thought that meant we’d be giving this “Line” to Sam instead.”

Caitílin looked up at him. “Well, aren’t you?! You need a strong line to keep the family going, and that means choosing someone suitable. Well, I’m far more capable at most things than Sam, and I actually want to do it!”

Lachlann shook his head. “Cait, you do realise what a Line is, right? It’s a continued legacy going all the way back through noble families, all the history and betrayal and fighting.” He traced a line in the snow, all along the windowsill. Then, at one end of the line, he put a very tiny dot. “We…don’t really have a Line yet. Your mother and I are the first Dohertys. That’s what you and Sam have been bickering about.”

Caitílin leant over, staring at the little dot in the snow. “...That’s our Line? That’s all it is.”

Lachlann nodded. “Pretty much, yeah. Not so important now, right?”

She shrugged, leaning back from the wall. “I guess not. Can we get breakfast?”

He smiled, taking his daughter by the hand. “Of course. Come on, let’s go and find the others.”

They left the room only to hear more yelling from the others, though this time it was not bickering.

“Mum, Dad! Look! It’s the Lord of Misrule!” came the yelling.

“On Childermass?” Caitílin asked, confused. Lachlann, however, looked more afraid.

“Cait…don’t let go of my hand.”

***

For Henriette and Frederick, the morning seemed oddly quiet. She’d been expecting more arguments between Juliana and Denefigu. But no, there was nothing. At least not until there was a loud knocking at the door. Frederick shuffled in his sleep, clearly assuming it was one of the kids, but it was far too heavy for that. Henriette moved out of bed and got dressed quickly before opening the door, seeing someone who definitely was not one of her children. They were dressed in an incredibly odd costume, consisting of a large green overcoat, matching stockings, a bright gold and silver-covered shirt, and an olive wreath wrapped around a large jester-like hat. It could only be the Lord of Misrule, and that meant…

“Betwixt?” Henriette asked, surprised, watching them breathing heavily as if they had run all the way here.

The Monarch of the Changelings looked up at her, nodding. “A-Apologies…M-Merry Christmas, I…I wish I could say I’m here early for a good reason.”

“I’ll say. It’s Childermass, you know, the day when all the kids are hiding, hoping Herod’s ghost doesn’t come back and get them.” Henriette explained.

“Yes, that’s what I mean.” Betwixt said. “But that’s Catholic tradition. While that and the Fae sometimes are intertwined…and by that I mean they stole from us and our worshippers….sometimes there are differences. Childermass is one of them, and it means that we have to go now.”

Henriette nodded, suddenly aware of how deafening the silence was. “Explain, Betwixt. If something has happened to my children…”

“Your children will be fine, I’m sure…provided we hurry and deal with this as quickly as we can and get them back inside before it’s too late.” Betwixt held out their hand to her. “Come on, we’ll Apparate.”

Henriette looked back at her husband. “Darling, there’s a bit of a problem. Get dressed and meet us down there, alright?” Turning to Betwixt, they took their hand. “How’s life now you’ve settled down, then?”

Betwixt couldn’t help but smile. “It doesn’t feel like settling down, I’ll tell you that much.” With a loud crack, they were gone, as Frederick prepared to bring certain non-magical elements to the fray.

They arrived outside in the snow, Betwixt taking a moment to adjust their tall hat as they surveyed the frost-covered area. “There!” they exclaimed, pointing out at a group of children surrounding someone who was wearing identical clothes to Betwixt, albeit with a strange mask covering the face. The two set off through the snow, their path bringing them past the castle gates. As they ran past, Lachlann and Caitílin emerged. Lachlann saw Betwixt. Betwixt saw Lachlann. The two slowed as they approached each other.

“Don’t tell me you think I’m responsible for this?” Betwixt asked incredulously.

“I wasn’t sure at first. I heard the Lord of Misrule was here on Childermass of all days, and you’re dressed as him, and we all know you’re not exactly a fan of Christian traditions like these.”

“I most certainly am not, that’s true.” Betwixt said, shrugging. “But even I am not enough of a fool to mess with the bizarre magicks of the Yuletide season. However…it would seem that someone is.” They pointed over at the other Lord of Misrule. The two looked back at each other for a moment, before sharing a brief nod, sprinting towards the False Lord.

Henriette followed closely behind, finding herself next to Caitílin. The eldest Doherty looked up at her. “Merry Christmas, Lady Henriette!”

“Merry Christmas, my dear child.” Henriette responded, noticing her children near the Lord. “Though it would seem someone is conspiring to take that merriment away.”

Eventually, they arrived before the False Lord, the children looking very confused as to why there were now two Lords of Misrule. The Fake looked like they were about to say some in-character nonsense to keep the children entranced, but only managed to get out “Well, well, well-” before Lachlann and Henriette blasted them with their wands, Lachlann using a lightning spell and Henriette using an orange and red hex that burned through the air like a flame. The Fake skidded through the snow for a moment before coming to a stop.

Betwixt blinked a few times. “Hmm. I’ll have to tone down what I had planned.” they muttered to themselves. “Still, we are in luck. For a second there I thought the real Lord of Misrule was there, and…” they paused, looking around at the children. “But that couldn’t be right, because I am the real Lord of Misrule!” they began, before catching themselves. “Apologies. It is still Childermass.”

The Fake slowly got to their feet, their mask having fallen away. Lachlann squinted at the face for a moment before raising a moment. “Hang on a second…weren’t you one of the Silver Kingdom’s Royal Advisors?”

The other changeling’s face contorted until the eyes were blank and the skin pale. “I assumed you wouldn’t recognise me, seeing as you were so callous with destroying our home. I am indeed Advisor Pridestone, and do excuse me Monarch, but I thought it fitting to try and teach these insipid mortals a lesson.”

Betwixt had their hand in their arms. “Oh, god, Pridestone, this does not help matters. Firstly, I have already dealt with enacting revenge on Lord Doherty, which means you don’t need to do it, nor do you need to get Lady Henriette’s family involved too.”

Pridestone sneered at her. “She worked with those abhorrent sorcerers that sealed our Kingdom, and helped build a school on top of it!”

Henriette simply sighed. “I apologise if my actions displeased you, my good sir. But I find your method of dealing with grievances to be rather heavy-handed and crude. Not to mention unoriginal, seeing as we all heard of the fascinating tale of a Piper in Hamelin who did something rather similar.”

Pridestone floundered for a moment, their blank eyes staring daggers at Henriette. “Crude?! Unoriginal?! How dare a mortal speak to me like that, I-”

They took a step forward, but were repelled by two more volleys from Lachlann and Henriette. Pridestone went flying into the snow, landing headfirst. Before anyone could say another word, the children erupted into a chorus of cheers, crowding Lachlann and Henriette as Pridestone got up and fled the scene. Lachlann found his own children had made their way closest to him.

“Dad! That was amazing!” Sam yelled, holding Fèlix in his arms who had taken to yelling “Dad! Dad!” over and over. Lachlann picked Fèlix up, nodding at all of his children, watching as Henriette did the same to those that were hers. At this point, a crowd of the other parents were coming out too, Mathilde and Frederick at the very front. But at that moment Lachlann’s eyes were on Betwixt, and their eyes were on the trees of the area, which formed a large forest. Mist seemed to be falling in. Betwixt turned to Lachlann.

“We played right into their hands.” they said, scowling. “I told you, bad things can happen when certain magical energies mix…Let’s just hope it goes away, and we can enjoy the festivities in peace…well, relative peace.”

Caitílin tugged on Lachlann’s arm, grinning, all thoughts of inheritance and family lines forgotten. “This is the best Childermass ever! Why couldn’t we do this every year?”

Lachlann shrugged, ruffling her hair, though he had a nasty feeling that by the end of this they were about to find out why exactly that was.

#bringing good tidings #lachlann doherty #henriette of wessex #mathilde of coventry #frederick of kent #hp founders era #founders' era #sovereign betwixt

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waitingforwinterwinds · 1 year

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A Clash of Kings - 60 SANSA VI (pages 763-769)

Sansa and Cersei dine with the highborn women and wait for news of the battle.

The torches shimmered brightly against the hammered metal of the wall sconces, filling the Queen's Ballroom with silvery light. Yet there was still darkness in that hall.

Oh that's some good metaphor. The room is filled with an illusion of safety and security, but they aren't safe, and the room isn't actually that secure and that possibility is hanging over them as much as the death of the men on the walls.

"I would sooner face any number of swords than sit helplessly like this, pretending to enjoy the company of this flock of frightened hens." "You asked them here, Your Grace." "Certain things are expected of a queen. They will be expected of you should you ever wed Joffrey. Best learn." ... "- So it behooves me to give their women my protection.If my wretched imp of a brother should somehow prevail, they will return to their husbands and fathers full of tales about how brave I was, how my courage inspired them and lifted their spirits, how I never doubted our victory even for a moment." ... Sansa was horrified. "These are women, unarmed , and gently born." "Their birth protects them," Cersei admitted, "though not as much as you'd think. -" ... "Were it anyone else outside the gates, I might hope to beguile him. But this is Stannis Baratheon. I'd have a better chance of seducing his horse." She noticed the look on Sansa's face, and laughed. "Have I shocked you, my lady?" She leaned close. "You little fool. Tears are not a woman's only weapon. You've got another one between your legs, and you'd best learn to use it. You'll find men use their swords freely enough, Both kinds of swords."

Sorry, I've been taken out of The Horrors but the realisation that Sansa is Cersei's only friend. Like it's very easy to accept at face value that this is just Cersei flexing her limited power to feel in control by lashing out at Sansa, but damn if this doesn't read like Cersei genuinely thinks of Sansa as her protege, the closest thing she has to a confidant.

Ii mean yes, Cersei has other people she can talk to, but none who she can be honest with without the fear that they'll be able to use that against her. In a weird and twisted way, for Cersei at this moment: Sansa is her only friend.

This is very emotionally conflicting for me because on one hand ^ that ^ and on the other: The Horrors and the Lurking Doom Waiting the Eventuality of Failure.

"Another lesson you should learn, if you hope to sit beside my son. Be gentle on a night like this, and you'll have popping up all about you like mushrooms after a hard rain. The only way to keep your people loyal is to make certain they fear you more than they do the enemy." "I will remember, Your Grace," said Sansa, though she had always heard that love was a surer route to the people's loyalty than fear. If i am ever a queen, I'll make them love me.

Oh! It's the line!

"Would that I could take a sword to their necks myself." Her voice was starting to slur. "When we were little, Jaime and i were so much alike that even our lord father could not tell us apart. Sometimes as a lark we would dress in each other's clothes and spend a whole day each as the other. Yet even so, when Jaime was given his first sword, there was none for me. -"

Well hello Arya|Cersei connections.

No but, I've mentioned before, Cersei represents the "sold child bride" narrative Dany and Sansa both have going on, or at least a potential outcome for their narrative, but Cersei also has "Arya's path/Lady warrior: Denied" going on in the back story.

...I've just realised this has basically become a Cersei chapter review, whoops. XD

"- I know all about your little treason in the godswood." "The godswood?" Don't look at Ser Dontos, don't, don't, Sansa told herself. She doesn't know, no one knows, Dontos promised me, my Florian would never fail me. "I've done no treasons. I only visit the godswood to pray." "For Stannis. Or your brother, it's all the same. Why else seek out your father's gods? You're praying for our defeat. What would you call that, if not treason?"

Well handled! Never confess to a crime, especially if it hasn't been directly stated which crime, and there is no evidence, you will only end up condemning yourself. Sansa did really well not to look at her partner in crime, cause that kind of thing is a reflexive action, very hard to avoid. People will often look to accomplices or hiding spots or move to hide those things without thinking, only to end up exposing them because people notice.

I've actually exploited this habit myself to trick my dad once, he was looking for the candy stash years ago, so I "subtly" moved in front of the broom closet, and he ended up spending several extra minutes looking in there for the stash that had never been there in the first place because he'd become convinced I'd been trying to hide it. >:3c

"He's here for us, he says," the queen said. "Stannis may take the city and he may take the throne, but I will not suffer him to judge me. I do not mean for him to have us alive." "Us?" "You heard me. So perhaps you had best pray again, Sansa, and for a different outcome. The Starks will have no joy from the fall of House Lannister, I promise you." She reached out and touched Sansa's hair, brushing it lightly away from her neck.

"Cersei brushes Sansa's hair away from her neck." Yeah, no, we get it Cersei, matching haircuts with a little too much off the top.

Cersei: I'm not letting them take us alive! Sansa: wait what? Cersei: we are gonna Thelma & Louise right of this edge! Sansa: Can I unsubscribe to this plan? Cersei: Beheadings

I was very distracted for most of this chapter by the "Cersei's only friend" realisation, but it's very much Sansa doing an amazing job of keeping it together under increasing pressure while Cersei slowly lowkey loses her shit in the face of their potentially unfortunate fate.

#a clash of kings #a song of ice and fire #sansa stark #a chapter a day reading #acok #asoiaf

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genderqueerdykes · 1 year

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Hi. I identify as a trans woman, but I have a lot of prominent masculine personality traits, such as being somewhat cold, stoic, etc. and it really bothers me. I get a lot of dysphoria from acting that way, but since it's my personality, I feel like I'm not actually a woman like I want to be, but just someone who pretends to be one. I feel like I'm trying to be something I'm not, but I want to be a woman so, so bad. I want to look like one, sound like one, talk like one, and act like one. But I feel like I never will.

What do you think I should do?

i wanted to say that i'm very sorry that you feel like you will never be/etc. a woman. society places a lot of expectations on women that are unrealistic and unfair- women of all kinds have those features and that does not take away from the fact that you are female. i promise you're not pretending- the doubt lends to your credibility. most trans women are made to feel like strangers alienating women's spaces. i promise you're not

my best suggestion is to watch women in live streams, movies, in your personal life, and try to imitate how they respond, act and sound. it's okay to literally just practice how you want to sound, even if it's just you sitting alone in your room acting out the lines to a scene from a show, or repeating something a streamer said, go ahead and just immerse yourself in what kinds of mannerisms, the timbre of their voices, and so on. you will definitely come out of your shell and be less stoic once you find who you are, i think that's part of feeling ashamed and like you can't be yourself. once you're able to figure out how you want to sound, and be, you will find your confidence

being "warm" and open are two feminine traits that come naturally to me, i have sort of a mother hen type personality, so my advice is let your natural curiosity take the wheel. girls are very creative and curious and often times the openness and warmness that comes with womanhood and femininity comes from a desire to learn more and to express. be invested in the people in your life, show passion and desire in your interests and hobbies, be willing to accept new ideas before reacting, embrace new ideas, and overall just go with the flow. there is also strength is softness, kindness, and tenderness. people view these traits as weak, but i have many system members who are very soft and tender and they are our strongest ones. it is okay to be soft, to enjoy cute things, and to express intimacy, love, joy, passion, and interest.

i hope that helps some. it can be hard to change your mannerisms at first but you have to look more to ywhat other people are doing than what you are doing for a while. things will start to come naturally after that. i wish you luck, no matter what anyone tells you or what societal expectation someone places on your shoulders, no matter what traits you do or don't have, you are a woman, because you are one. you are a woman because you say you are. it's okay to be a woman who's a bit cold and distant. some women are processing things and need time to figure themselves out. it's okay. you are appreciated, take care of yourself. if you need anything else let us know

#asks #answers #trans woman #mtf #trans women #trans lady #trans girl #trans girls #transfem #transfeminine #transition

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nineliabilityrisk · 10 months

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you don't have to take care of me. ( rosa and michael )

" you don't have to take care of me. "

[[ mommas boy mikey my beloved. timeline is a little indistinct on this one but wtvs. something sweet for them <3 ]]

-- [ asked by @khalaesi ] --

"You know I do," Michael murmured from where he stood behind her chair, pausing in his path to stoop down and wrap his arms around her. Gentle, he had to remind himself. She wasn't a frail woman, not by any means, but she was all he had left. No matter how irrational it was, he couldn't bear the thought of hurting her, even accidentally. A life of fighting to survive didn't lend itself to gentle hands - it felt like he wasn't built for this type of peace. Not anymore. He hadn't been for a long time. "You're my mom. You took care of me the best you could. It's my turn to return the favor."

Resting his head on her shoulder, he reached down to take her hands in his own, entwining their fingers. Affection was still... Difficult. For him. He was getting better, though. Ever since he'd started spending more time at Rosa's house than William's - now that he'd hit and passed eighteen, he had a bit more freedom to choose where he spent the night, if he wasn't working. Even William had started backing off, not hounding him every time he got home after being out an entire day - but maybe that was just because he was distracted. He always seemed distracted, nowadays. Michael was grateful for the break, but it was rather concerning how little vitriol had been projected towards him lately. He couldn't help but question what other outlet his father had found.

"Laundry's done. Not folded yet, but you know I'm no good with my hands." Not a lie. Folding clothes was a nightmare for him. Something about the way the fabric moved, the spacial reasoning - just didn't fit together in his head. Never could puzzle it out. "Dinner's all prepped and ready for you to toss in the oven tonight. Nothin' too tough. Hell, even I could do it. Doubt you'd want me to, though," he said, enough uncharacteristic lightness in his tone to convey a joke. A jab at his own cooking skills. He'd manage to burn water if he was allowed to use the appliances in the kitchen on his own. He released her hands, placing his own on the back of her chair to push himself back upright.

He circled around to her right, taking a moment to stretch and shake off some of the nervous energy that all physical contact with another human came with these days. "Point is, you're already taken care of. Think of it as a day off. Relax. Stop mother-henning me for a bit. You deserve a chance to slow down. World's not gonna end if you let me do the adult things for the day."

#m | ic: threads ; michael #others | ic: threads ; mother rosa #interactions ; rosa's eldest son #khalaesi #[[ replies tag ]]

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matan4il · 1 year

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I just want to preface that I hope the anon who said the father figure thing was just being curious. Honestly this frustration I have isn't directed at you because I would like to believe you were sincere in your curiosity. But it's that thought process by the no homo crowd that always drives me crazy. Like "no they are besties like Hen and Chim". No they really aren't. "They are just besties but also they aren't best friends because look at their other relationships". Truthfully that one always confuses me because what??

Like so many people do anything they can to devalue just how different their relationship is in any context of being binary. If they never go Canon I will still never believe they were just typical BFFs. It just doesn't work.

But also, if I'm being honest I'm a little grossed out anyone would label Eddie as a father figure. If you want to shoot your shot try mentor maybe?

Hi Nonnie! I always give people who send me an ask the benefit of the doubt. I'm a disabled woman, I've talked about this before, about it being difficult for me to read, or some days even to stay sitting upright long enough to type a reply, so I'd like to believe that people would only send me asks with the best of intentions.

I also take into account that people come from a lot of different backgrounds, with different skills, different cultures, social experiences, and so what might seem obvious to one person, or offensive to another, might be a really challenge to a third person. I'm here to do my best if someone does come across such a challenge and they think I might be able to help.

That being said, I fully agree with you. There is nothing about Buck and Eddie that feels like regular BFFs. I have written entire meta posts about how much Buddie resemble the romantic couples on the show and how different they are to the other friendships, such as this about Buddie vs Hen and Chim. So I won't repeat those things, but yeah, Buddie may not go canon, but they will forever be a love story in that they're not just good friends existing in each other's world. They ARE each other's world.

Thank you, hope you have a good day! And as always, here’s my ask tag! xoxox

#buddie #911meta #buddie meta #911 meta #9-1-1 #evan buckley #eddie diaz #edmundo diaz #evan buck buckley #hen wilson #chimney han #ask #anon ask #911onabc #911 on abc #911abc #911 abc

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fantastic-wizards · 25 days

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13 . Help them with their tie ( too fun not to !! )

SEND ‘SOFT GESTURES’ + A NUMBER FOR MY MUSES REACTION TO YOURS

:｡･:*:･ﾟ’★,｡･:*:･ﾟ’☆ || @dementrd

If there was one wizard in the entirety of the Order that he low-key admired more than any of the others, it was that mother hen of a woman named Molly Weasley. And it wasn't at all because of her skills as a wizard. No doubt she was formidable if pushed. The docile seeming ones always were, but there was something to be said for a woman who was tasked with raising her own army of children as well as the fully grown adults who, at times, bickered like CHILDREN during each meeting of the Order.

And he would be remiss if he pretended that he wasn't --- often times --- the center of these insufferable squabbles. With an inability to resist clapping back at anyone who doubted his intentions, he had done more than his fair share of ruining supper for the entirety of the household. While he didn't exactly relish the idea of being the proprietor of chaos, there was some satisfaction to be had when it meant sticking it to those whom --- at one time or another --- very much deserved his ire.

And maybe that was still the case today. Maybe those persons could never not deserve half of the shit he could dish when pushed, but things were changing. Or had changed in the last few months. There had been a conscious effort on his part to refrain from acting the part of a grown child. He would oft remind himself that the very words that eloquently escaped his tongue were nothing more than drivel designed to incite behavior that he once abhorred during his time at Hogwarts. The key was to rise above the antics of others and while it had been quite difficult, he supposed the ever growing uncertainty within the wizarding world had managed to tame even the fiercest of enemies. At least for a time.

And he had to wonder if that was why Molly insisted on this night of dinner and frivolity. The growing dread of the inevitable war where sides were being drawn by the day was probably enough to have any mother worrying over the well being of loved ones. Severus never said such out loud though he imagined Black, Remus, Arthur and even Granger herself had long since concluded that every meeting could be the last time they all dined together. This was very much apparent after the incident at the Department of Mysteries. While no casualties were reported, Severus was no fool. He knew very well just how close some of them had come to dying with Arthur leading the pack. His near fall happened before Christmas which shook the entire Order truth be told. It was the very reason Severus had been coerced into giving Harry Occlumency lessons, lessons that were going about as bad as they could go. That aside, from one incident to the other, the mood of the Order had changed a great deal. And speaking of change…

Severus rarely sported Muggle fashions. At best, he found them stuffy and restrictive, as was the case tonight as he stared back into the mirror. Only Arthur and Molly could concoct shenanigans involving a night out and the wearing of these dreadful clothes. Molly had insisted that he wear his house colors proudly, but Severus didn't much care to be seen sporting a green suit with silver trim. No. The less he stood out, the better.

And so he managed, with some difficulty, to acquire a Muggle suit that was all black. No fancy pin stripes or buttons. Just a simple, black suit and tie that was proving to be more difficult than he thought it might be. Even with a wand, he could not figure out how to properly center the knot so it felt loose --- too loose. The constant threat of his not-so-perfect handiwork coming undone left the potion's master in a rather irritable state; so much so that he failed to note Black watching him from the doorframe. There was a hint of amusement upon Black's features, something Severus might have noted had he noticed the man earlier.

But he didn't. Black was well within his airspace by the time Severus turned, watching him with eyes that flashed a hint of confusion before returning to a neutral state. Far be it for Black to realize Severus was struggling.

Except he HAD noticed, and before Severus could fix his mouth to strike up some form of distracting statement about Potter, Black was closing the space between them reaching for the tie.

"You never learned to tie a knot before?" Black questioned, clearly amused.

Severus' face remained neutral although if Black could see within, he'd note just how embarrassed Severus was about the ordeal. Most wizards didn't have a clue how to tie a knot. Why bother when most could tap their wands a few times and get a respectable knot. But not Severus. Whether it was nerves or just something else altogether, his tie game was less than pleasing.

"My father couldn't be bothered teaching me the important things in life."

The near twitch of Black's lips meant the male was growing rather accustomed to Severus' brand of humor. It didn't come forth much, especially since Severus was hell bent on not seeming 'human'. It was far easier to do his job when he was nothing more than the embodiment of a tool that was being passed around.

Analogy aside, those dark eyes fought hard to remain stoic as Black's hand reached for the tie. He fiddled with it briefly before taking hold and pulling at the silky fabric. It slipped from around Severus' neck with ease leaving the potion's master feeling rather awkward. Had his tie work truly been so bad that not even Black could stand it? How humiliating!

But of course he would deadpan the moment, taking in the way Black properly slipped the fabric around his neck again. He ushered them closer to the tall, body mirror where he could point things out to Severus as he worked on the tie. Holding up the tie's pieces and showing him the various length each piece needed to be, Black proceeded to tie a perfect Windsor knot. As Severus watched him work within their reflections, he found himself pleasantly baffled by the whole exchange. He supposed a lot of it had to do with Black's demeanor and how one could never guess that he'd have the talent for fixing a tie. Ties were supposedly a classy piece of attire according to Ms. Granger and Black exuded anything but class most days. His wild, almost feral demeanor did not scream 'class' at all.

Of course he would not say such a thing out loud, not wishing to insult the man. After all, he didn't HAVE to be this generous ( another baffling thing ) and in an effort to keep stay his tongue for the better, Severus remained silent. Black stepped before him taking a firmer hold of the tie. Sev would only meet his eyes briefly as Black pulled the tie slowly until the knot was perfectly centered about his neck. It was in that moment that Potter would appear, standing in the doorframe looking rather confused. With Black's hand gripping Snape's tie and the potion's master watching his godfather intensely, it was likely quite the confusing scene.

Severus was the first to notice Potter, looking over at him with wide eyes. Black followed Severus' lead, looking to Potter with a sort of 'but wait' expression. Before either of them could hope to explain the moment, Potter's lips were twitching until he was full blown grinning. He turned rather abruptly dashing off, no doubt poised to spread the word to his friends about what he just saw. Severus remained silent but the look he gave Black was something along the lines of 'now see what you've done?' He shuddered to think what dinner was going to be liked now that he had to endure curious glances from Weasley, Granger and 'James' Potter Jr.

He held in the sigh as Black finally let go of the tie. As the other male stood aside, Sev noted just how much better it looked. He still hated the look over all, but now that the tie was a bit snug and straight, he felt a little less silly than before. Looking to Black, he made his lips push out a bit of gratitude, though it pained him tremendously.

"I suppose a bit of thanks is in order. You've spared me yet another humiliating moment." Tone was laced with the usual sarcasm although truth be told, it was likely a half thanks. His tie might have been better than before, but it didn't come without the price of being whispered about all evening by a couple of curious teens. "At any rate, we should get going. I think we've stalled long enough. Potter was the first. If we attempt to avoid the festivities any longer, I fear Molly herself will come looking for us."

Because this was exactly what they were doing --- avoiding the inevitable night out. They weren't going far. Just a tent out back of the Burrow, but with most of the Order joining them to have their version of a Muggle dinner party. There would be drinks and dancing; 'fun' --- a thing Severus wasn't accustomed to. As for Black, Severus imagined such things were difficult for someone who was cooped up inside all the time. On the other hand, this was probably Molly's way of cheering him up. They were, after all, using his 'prison' as headquarters. In some strange way, he sorta understood where Molly was coming from. Perhaps Black did need a night out, even if it was in Molly's backyard.

"As a true thanks for fixing my dreadful knot, I promise to look away when you inevitably find yourself back inside for a smoke break only to never return." He nearly extended his hand to the other but then paused, realizing that was not what men do. Instead, he was the first to reach the door, offering to let Black take the lead out. He pushed the strange feeling of comradery aside, embracing the hope that the evening would go well enough for them all --- at least for Molly's sake.

#dementrd #﹂ ʾ . ⭒ ❝ aparecium — answered #﹂ ʾ . ⭒ ❝ snape vs2 — servant of two masters .#﹂ ʾ . ⭒ ❝ severus snape — in character .#// i hope this is alright!#tried to insert a bit of humor #since they're always being sad bois #potter probably had no idea what to think #you're welcome to save this or piggy back off of this in the future #or continue it if you want #whatever is fine!#long post #long post cw

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capseycartwright · 3 years

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"I am fed up with half-measures. I deserve better." (Got huge buddie and malex vibes from this one 👀)

ao3 link

The last thing Eddie expected to find at his door was Buck, of all people – not because Buck was an unusual fixture in his home; no, because Buck was supposed to be on a date.

Eddie had been trying his best for weeks now, to be the dutiful best friend, and support Buck’s relationship with Taylor – regardless of how much he wished Buck wasn’t dating anyone else – and it was hard. It was hard, and so Eddie was halfway through a tub of his favourite flavour of ice-cream (the excessively expensive one Buck had introduced him to, the one Eddie only bought when he knew Christopher wasn’t home). He’d also cracked open a bottle of wine Hen and Karen had given him as a thank you for babysitting Denny, one Saturday afternoon (he’d made a mental note to thank Karen – the woman had good taste in wine) and so Eddie was well settled in for an evening of feeling sorry for himself while Christopher was at a sleepover party.

Until – well, Buck decided to bang his door in.

Tucking his ice-cream into the crook of his arm, Eddie raised an eyebrow. “You have a key,” he reminded, looking a frazzled Buck up and down. He was clearly dressed for a date – wearing that blue striped shirt that made Eddie’s mouth water, a neat jacket over the top – but he was also clearly not on said date.

“I have had the worst day,” Buck declared dramatically, kicking his sneakers off in the hallway, brow furrowing as he noticed the bottle of wine on the table. “Do you have company?” he asked, clearly confused – Ana was long gone, to be fair, their relationship having ended weeks previously.

Eddie swallowed, glancing down at his very sad outfit of a pair of raggedy old sweatpants, and a grubby sweatshirt that had definitely seen better days – Eddie wasn’t a sentimental man, really, but Christopher always called it Eddie’s cuddliest sweatshirt, so Eddie didn’t have the heart to throw it out.

“No,” he reassured. “I don’t.”

“Wine, though?”

“Are you questioning my methods of self-care?” Eddie retorted. “I like wine, sue me.”

“All wine tastes the same,” Buck sighed, throwing himself on the couch, reaching for the bottle.

“You can have a glass,” Eddie intervened. “But I will kick you out of my house if you drink directly from that bottle, Buck. I’d like to pretend I have some level of class,” he sighed, padding into the kitchen and grabbing another wine glass – a set Abuela had bought him, when he’d moved to LA. “So,” he said, setting the glass down on the coffee table, pausing to take a scoop of his slowly melting ice-cream before he continued. “Are you going to tell me what’s wrong, or are we going to play charades?”

Buck rolled his eyes, but took the wine glass, all the same, pouring himself a generous measure. He took a swig, before he spoke, raising an eyebrow. “Did you pick this out?” he questioned, no doubt thinking back to the evening where Eddie had been in charge of getting wine for their family dinner and had accidentally bought cooking wine. It was an easy mistake to have made, if you asked Eddie.

Eddie shook his head. “Present from Karen and Hen,” he clarified. “Stop deflecting.”

“I broke up with Taylor,” and oh, if Eddie hadn’t been waiting to hear those words for so long.

“I’m sorry,” Eddie tried, because he couldn’t look that happy about it, could he? It would give the game away – and in so many ways, Eddie was convinced his feelings were obvious, that he’d given the game away a long time ago, but Buck had never mentioned it.

“I’m not,” Buck looked furious, again. “I – we had this nice date planned, right? We made sure to pick a night where we were both off, where she doesn’t need to be in work early tomorrow, and I’m off, so we could get breakfast, too – really spend some time together,” he explained. “And I got to the restaurant and I waited, and I waited, and I waited for a fucking hour, Eddie, and nothing – no text, no call from her. I was sitting there, spiralling, wondering if she was – if she was dead, or something. Right? So, after an hour, I decided I was going to pass by the news station, and see what was happening, and do you know what she said?”

Eddie shook his head.

“That she’d told her intern to call me and cancel our date, because a story came up,” Buck practically spat. “I mean, is she serious? And like – I love that she has a career she loves, because she gets how I feel about being a firefighter, but she does this all the time and I just never feel like I’m even getting close to the top of her priority list. So, I – I asked her, if I was ever going to be something she prioritised over work, and she said no.”

Eddie winced. “She was honest, at least,” he tried.

“Totally,” Buck agreed. “And I appreciate the honesty – really – and it’s not like it ended on bad terms. We just didn’t want the same thing out of a relationship, and I’m not going to resent her for it. But – fuck, this is nice wine by the way – I am fed up with half-measures, Eddie,” he sighed, slumping back on the couch. “I deserve better.”

Eddie swallowed thickly. Buck did deserve better – and Eddie wasn’t going to sit here and pretend as though he was better, as though he knew he could be boyfriend of the year and give Buck everything he needed. But – Eddie loved him, and surely, surely that had to be enough? It had to be enough to love someone so much it felt like your love for them was etched into the very bones of who you were? Eddie so badly wanted to be enough.

“I wouldn’t,” Eddie said quietly, suddenly conscious of the melting ice-cream he was still gripping tightly. It had cost eleven dollars, he reminded – he should probably put it back in the freezer.

Buck looked at him, utterly confused. “What?”

“I wouldn’t love you in half-measures,” Eddie wasn’t sure where he was finding the bravery, to finally say it, to tell Buck how he felt, but somehow, somewhere, he’d found a bravery he wasn’t sure he’d ever had before. He had thought he’d be spending the rest of his life trundling along, desperately in love with a best friend who didn’t love him back. Eddie had accepted it, almost – because having Buck as a friend was better than not having Buck at all.

Buck’s cheeks were flushed, his eyes wide, and excited. “How would you love me, Eddie?” he asked, his voice soft, and trembling – the only giveaway that he felt as nervous as Eddie did, there and then, dangling on the precipice of something new, and wonderful.

“Forever,” Eddie said. “I’d love you forever, Buck.”

(And when Buck kissed him – he tasted like wine, and Eddie knew he tasted like wine, and Buck’s shirt was soft, under tentative fingertips as Eddie reached out to hold him the way he’d so desperately wanted to for so long, and –

Well, it felt like the beginning of forever.)

send me a prompt from this list

#911 fox #eddie diaz #evan buckley #buddie #911fic #in which i ramble #in which lorna writes fic #prompt fill

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anika-ann · 3 years

Text

Walk Me Home Tonight (S.R.)

Type: one-shot, songfic

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader Word count: 4700

Summary: Sometimes it’s hard to be in a celebratory mood when all you can think of is that life sucks and that being left on your own to drown your sorrows is for the best.

Sometimes people who care about you know better than yourself and come crashing your party of one.

Sometimes, despite the popular belief, you do realize how lucky you are having been introduced to Steve Rogers.

Warnings: mention of blood and violence and death, mention of alcohol, angst, fluff and language

A/N: P!nk’s Walk Me Home just does something to me, alright? Music video included - it’s soooo beautiful.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

You stared at the amber liquid, lazily making it roll in the glass with idle motions of your wrist. It reflected the rather soft lights of the bar, an exquisite game of colour you found fascinating enough to dull your mind and muffle the noise of the party.

It wasn’t that you were a party pooper, not usually anyway; just… the timing wasn’t ideal.

Of course, Sharon could hardly move her birthday to make it more convenient for you, less so a party her colleagues had decided to throw for her. You knew Agent Carter for quite some time now; she had joined SHIELD about the same time as you, going through the same tough training. Except unlike you – and initially without your knowledge – she had an image to live up to.

You might even call her a friend, your chest bursting in pride for her when her hard work had finally borne some fruit and she had been promoted to an assistant director of the intelligence agency. Among other things, it earned her a lot of new potential friends.

You were hardly acting like one tonight, much to your own annoyance. But for some reason, you found it difficult to leave your momentary emotional baggage at the doorstep, slipping it off as easily as your coat. You had wished her all the best, conversed for a tiny bit and then happily made space for others, for the forming line of guests waiting to celebrate with her as well.

Then you retreated to your spot at the bar, possibly annoying the bartender, who would have been more delighted seeing some heavier drinker occupying your seat, tipping generously, instead of having you nursing each glass of alcohol for about two hours.

You weren’t even sure why you were still here; you had given up on the attempt on small talk with anyone, apparently unwittingly chasing away any potential company. And here you thought misery did love company – perhaps you were wrong, at least when it came to birthday parties of gorgeous women loved by everyone. You might as well pack up your bottom and sulk at home.

You were stubbornly shushing the voice in the back of your skull, whispering about knowing precisely why you remained in your seat; about feeling less alone here, despite being a literal loner in a crowd.

You downed the rest of the bitter scotch, basking in the burn which it left on its way down your throat, your eyelids slipping shut in content, the noise in your brain falling silent completely for few blissful moments.

“Party of one?” a male voice gently asked, the tinniest note of teasing in it and while your heart skipped a startled beat at being addressed, you felt the burn in your throat slip lower, warming your chest and causing the corners of your mouth turn up just a fraction.

There's something in the way you roll your eyes Takes me back to a better time When I saw everything is good But now you're the only thing that's good

“Felt like crashing it?” you hummed in response, side-eyeing the intruder and found a pair of cerulean eyes staring back. He blindly waved off the eager bartender who was about to offer him a drink.

Ah, poor guy. No tips for him tonight.

“Well, I didn’t get an invitation. Looks like crashing was my only option.”

You sighed tiredly despite Steve’s kind teasing. Tonight was just… so exhausting. Tonight. Today. This week. Gah, this whole month. This fucking year--- okay, maybe you were exaggerating, because you were simply crossing the line, moving from relaxed buzzed drunk to a miserable one.

Battling with yourself, arguing whether you should send him to hell – nicely, because Steve was nothing but kind, he was always so kind, goddammit, gentle humour spiced with the ability to become an utter troll, still benign though, that was why you usually enjoyed his company so much after all-… – or call it a night.

Or should you order another drink? Was there a point? You might cross the line to a clingy drunk eventually and you weren’t certain that was a good idea.

It was probably about as good of an idea as coming to a party despite feeling like shit on an emotional roller-coaster, dangerously inclining towards a very bad mood to put it mildly.

You tilted your head to side as you looked at Steve properly, tight blue shirt flattering his supersoldier frame, black pants with desperately needed leather belt considering his thin waist, his blonde hair a mess, gaze fixed on you, observing. Always observing to read people, to anticipate behaviour, evaluate the threat; sometimes simply to be considerate, to… to be compassionate.

Dammit, Steve.

“Must have got lost in the mail then,” you said eventually, offering a weak smile. “Sorry.”

“Nah, it’s alright,” he shrugged it off, the curve of his lips more distinct than yours. As if he was offering to cheer you up. Sweet, but possibly vain effort tonight. Sometimes, things simply piled up and there was no escape. Such was the fate of a government agent. And human, for that matter. “Doesn’t look like much fun and I think it’s about to end anyway.”

“I guess…”

Tryna stand up on my own two feet This conversation ain't comin' easily And darling, I know it's getting late So what do you say we leave this place?

This time, Steve actually made an eye contact with the bartender, who eagerly rushed to him at instant. His excited expression fell when he noticed you were pulling out your wallet to close your tab. You didn’t have the strength to shoot him an apologetic smile.

Steve’s eyes were on you the whole time, you could feel them, and you wondered why. Until he spoke again, as soon as the other man left.

“Come on. I’ll walk you home,” he offered gentlemanly, coaxing you into saying yes, possibly unaware of the effect which such tone had on people.

Or perhaps he knew, using exactly that when he was trying to talk someone down, to calm them, gain their trust. The joke was on him, because it was a vain effort; you trusted him fully already. Surely, he knew that.

Right?

Trust was the solid base the team of Avengers needed and since you somehow found yourself with them, it involved you too. The team stood and fell on trust and mutual respect. But it meant so much more – they were friends. They cared about each other, about their well-being.

Right now, Steve was being a good friend and a good teammate.

And you were being exactly that too when you turned his kind proposition down.

“No, it’s fine. There are still some people who are actually able to speak coherently with you. Go enjoy yourself. I’ll be okay.”

“It’s three in the morning,” he pointed out, as if admonishing you for not noticing. Your eyebrow rose deliberately.

“…and?”

“And I’d feel better if you weren’t walking the streets alone,” he replied easily, ignoring the hint of snark in your comeback as you made your way to the coat-stand.

Still walking on the line of miserable and pleasantly buzzed, you couldn’t find it in yourself to be mean to him for such patronizing approach. He had been raised this way and despite his open mind and admirable respect to women, he slipped sometimes.

“Steve, I’m a SHIELD agent basically turned Avenger. I can take care of my-“

“But you don’t have to. And-” He gestured subtly back towards the bar and a metaphorical lightbulb flickered above your head.

Not patronizing then, god forbid chauvinist; Peggy Carter would rise from the death to beat him with his own shield, with Natasha’s enthusiastic help, if he was showing any sign of aforementioned qualities and he was well-aware of that.

Just mother-henning then, the way Steve excelled at.

It brought the first honest smile of the night to your lips. You made sure to face him so he could see how wholesome his company was for you.

“I’m not too drunk, Steve. I had like two glasses of scotch,” you assured him, gently brushing his forearm before reaching for your coat and scarf. “And two beers.”

“I know,” he stated, stealing your coat only to hold it out for you to slip into it.

God, the woman who would once win his heart was about to be one lucky bitch.

Jim has never done this for me, flashed through your mind and you instantly shushed the whining voice in your head. Instead, you went over what he just said, blinking in surprise.

Huh? He… knew?

“I… might have kept an eye on you,” he admitted tentatively, the tips of his fingers brushing your shoulder before retreating and letting you to cocoon in the fabric.

“Why?”

Why would he keep an eye on you? Sure, teammates and friends and all that, but for some reason, you doubted he kept an eye on Tony, the only other Avenger (beside Steve, not Steve and you, you don’t count, a voice hissed in your mind and you winced) who attended the party, not being on any mission at the moment.

Why did Steve feel like you needed a chaperone?

No, that was too harsh of a word for him, you were certain his intentions were everything but malicious, but… why?

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

The genuine wonder must have been audible in your voice, much like your shock must have been clear in your expression, because Steve seemed sheepish all of sudden, scratching the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Well, I mean, I know that you probably wouldn’t-“ he started, only to grimace. “It’s not that I think you’re an alcoholic! It’s just that... you--- and it’s only been-…“

-four days since you got dumped, you finished the unspoken sentence and tried your best to ignore the cold seeping into your bones at the reminder.

One of the reasons why you had been in a sour mood and deciding to drink alone. Your amazing asshole of a boyfriend had dumped you, metaphorically kicking you while you had already been down. Lovely.

“-I was worried. But you didn’t look like you were interested in having company, I didn’t want to be a bother and-“

You pulled Steve out of his misery by placing a hand over his forearm, which stopped the words spilling uncontrollably from his mouth.

He was actually being very sweet and thoughtful. It kinda made you feel bad, because… you weren’t looking for dragging someone down with you. As it was, he had his own reasons to not be happy about partying tonight, but feeling like he had to keep an eye on you probably didn’t help to lift his spirits.

“-and you had to spend some time with the woman of the hour,” you finished instead of him slowly, hoping you sounded at least half as thoughtful as he did and that you didn’t appear to be the greatest bitch, stealing attention from Sharon. “That’s understandable, Steve. It is her birthday party and I’m the one being antisocial.”

You bit down your lip, lowering your gaze, because the infamous worried wrinkle appeared on Steve’s forehead and you just knew he was about to protest and you… honestly felt bad about your behaviour and the welcoming colour of his eyes was not helping to make you feel any better, because of course he probably thought it was perfectly normal to look out for you instead of allowing himself to enjoy the night and- ugh.

“You… you shouldn’t have to look out for me. Your attention could have been fully on the birthday girl.”

Naturally, Steve Rogers basically shrugged it off. Covering your hand on him with his large palm, he slouched to look into your eyes once more. Insistent bastard, no doubt aware of your inability to say no to his amiable face.

“That’s what friends are for. Now, can I walk you home?”

You shook your head with a sad smile, rising your gaze towards the ceiling, hoping it came out as an exasperation at his stubbornness and not as it truly was – you in fact attempting to keep your tears at bay, because, miserable drunk, dumped four days ago apart from other things and there he was, asshole perfect, Steve fucking Rogers, gentleman and friend extraordinaire, caring for your well-being more than Jim ever had.

A twinkle appeared in his eye when he recognized he won and you chuckled, sealing his victory out loud.

“Yes, Steve. You can walk me home. It’s conveniently located on the way to yours.”

He smirked when he shrugged on his own coat. “Happy coincidences…”

There's something in the way I wanna cry That makes me think we'll make it out alive So come on and show me how we're good I think that we could do some good, mhm

Once you left the bar, silence fell on you, feeling heavy as did the cold November air.

Heavy and awkward. While you could tell with certainty you were barely affected by the alcohol you had drunk, your steps were wobbly, knees shaky as if you were a baby horse trying to stand up for the first time.

Steve walked by your side, majestic in his thigh-length coat, hands snugged in its pockets only halfway as if he was waiting for you needing his support. It irritated you as much as it warmed your heart.

On top of everything, you would swear every lone person you met stared at you, staring you up and down until they seemed to register Steve’s imposing frame and quickly went back to their business. It annoyed you to no end; it was just proving Steve’s point that you shouldn’t walk the streets alone at such hour, government agent or not.

“I would have been fine, you know,” you hummed, cautiously breaking the relative quiet.

It was never truly quiet in New York City, only rush hours alternating with calmer ones. You didn’t mind it; you enjoyed the city. Sometimes quiet meant that thoughts won the opportunity to become too loud; tonight, for some reason, despite the silence, Steve prevented that ever since he joined you.

It dawned to you then, how ungrateful you sounded and you quickly added “But thanks.” – a whisper full of honesty.

“Uh-huh.”

Perhaps the silence weighted so much because your mood wasn’t the only cause of it.

Steve was showing you that he worried; surely, you could as well? Because you did, worry about him that was.

“…are you? Okay?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” he asked distractedly, but you could hear the frown on his face, the image of his nose scrunched in confusion painted in front of your eyes even without looking at him.

“Just… today-” you nudged him once more and vaguely eyed your watch only to be reminded that ‘today’ was a confusing term. “Or, more like, yesterday…”

A sharp inhale was drawn at your side and you could sense as he started closing off, putting up his walls so no one would catch a scent of his weakness. You hated when he tried to do that. You would have thought you were past that. You liked to consider you two friends at least.

Tonight was simply not your night. Of either of you, apparently.

“What about it-?“

You sighed, fighting the urge to roll your eyes. Were you truly such a crappy company, an insensitive friend or was there something sorrowful and cranky in the air, preventing your communication channels from tuning to the same frequency?

You were aware what the day meant for him – another painful reminder of what he had lost with crashing the plane in the forties only to wake up in a new millennium.

Though this particular loss – of his mother – haunted him even back in what some people called his days. It was an utter non-sense. Steve belonged there as much as he belonged here. He was brave enough to try and stubborn enough to succeed in fitting in.

“Nothing, I guess,” you sighed once more, this time rolling your eyes. “…Mr. Nothing Can Touch Me.”

The wry nickname hung in the air for a while, the faint noise of the night city washing over your pair. When Steve broke it again, there was a barely audible crack in his voice.

“I… I’m okay. I think. I… should be. It’s been so long. Decades,” he mused, turning his gaze to the sky. His eyes glistened and if you didn’t know him, hadn’t witnessed his walls lowering before, you would have thought it was just the streetlights reflecting.

You knew better. Tentatively, your fingers brushed his, not remembering when his hands had left his pockets. You were grateful for it now, especially when he didn’t retrieve from your touch instantly.

“Not for you,” you pointed out quietly, rewarded by the softest squeeze of his warm hand.

The heaviness and tension you had felt before resolved with the gesture. Something finally fell into place and you were almost you again and he was almost him.

Two figures, carrying their griefcases, but functioning and… harmonizing once more.

“How did you know?”

“That’s what friends are for, Steve,” you echoed his earlier words, sending a tiny smile his way, meeting his glassy gaze. “They remember important dates, good or bad.”

“No one else did. Not that I can actually hold it against Buck, of course... but no one… you…” his voice trailed off as he lost his train of thought – or perhaps he had never truly directed it to the station in the first place.

Your shoulders moved a fraction, a hint of a shrug-off. His hand wrapped around yours tighter in silent appreciation, not showing any sign of intending to let go.

And you were alright with that. More than alright.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind, mhm So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on outside

Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh Ooh-ooh, ooh-ooh

His presence was always immense, overwhelming even; yet so comfortable you didn’t have the slightest problem with opening your heart to him, offering it to him even when it was bleeding. And now, finally tuned together, it was no different.

You bared your heart to him, even if it hurt.

“She didn’t make it,” you whispered, voice pained in the dead of the night and he didn’t react, letting you to gather strength to elaborate. You cleared your throat as the lump grew in it. “Kayla, one of the kids… from last week’s mission. I found out yesterday… she-she didn’t make it, she had too many injuries. Word is that perhaps it was even a blessing. A relief.”

“I’m so sorry,” Steve repented, his grip growing stronger just a fraction, enough to make your chest and eyes burn.

“Yeah, so am I.”

Whatever he heard in your voice, it caused his fingers twitch in your hand, his footsteps slowing down. “You know that wasn’t your fault, right?”

“Wasn’t it? If I was faster, if I-“

Steve stopped in his tracks completely, pulling at your hand to make you do the same and face him.

You closed your eyes when his blue ones met them, unable to stand the urgency in them. His free hand curled around your shoulder, caressing in attempt at comfort.

“Hey, hey, don’t do that to yourself.” Hypocrite, you threw back at him in your mind, stubbornly keeping your eyelids shut, simply knowing that if you saw the sincerity in his gaze in addition to the fervour he spoke with, you might actually believe him. “You did your best. I know that, Nat and Buck know, everyone does. A monster you helped to put behind bars hurt the kids. Not you. You saved so many lives.”

You shook your head with a sigh, staring straight ahead as you turned on your heels and continued your path. Steve, never letting go of your hand, followed reluctantly.

“Sometimes I think he might have been right, you know?”

Peripherally, you saw him frown again and you cursed yourself for drinking – it untangled your tongue and his stupid face made your spill your guts to him, vomit emotion. You weren’t too secretive about your feelings most of the time, but damn, you hated how alcohol pushed your boundaries of sharing them.

“… Jim. He said that maybe I should give it up. That I’m just running alongside you, heroes, pretending to be one of you, but in the end, I’m not even close to being as good-“

Steve’s feet took roots in the ground, his steely grip forcing you to stop – as long as you wanted to keep your hand attached, which yeah, you kinda did.

“I feel like taking a detour now,” he muttered darkly and for a short moment, confusion was everything you felt, blissfully overtaking the anger, the sorrow, the helplessness and the feeling of utter uselessness.

“Huh?”

“Where does Jim live?” Steve spitted out the name venomously and you couldn’t help the wave of affection washing over you. Affection towards this treasure of a man who apparently wanted to punch another human being because it offended his friend. “He has no business saying something like that. Especially if his bullshit actually affects you-”

“Steve, he wasn’t wrong, I’m just-“ you sputtered, caught off guard when you registered the fire in his glare.

“We all make mistakes. But that’s beside the point, because you didn’t even make any that day. I read the report, and I know you, you put everything you got and more into the rescue mission. How can he-“ he hissed, literally taking a calming breath as both of his hands balled into fist.

Well, one of them only nearly, since it was still holding yours. It actually stung a bit, the bones in your hand close to grinding against each other.

“-I haven’t met him many times, but if he said that instead of comforting you after an incredibly draining mission, then I’m glad that that asshole is gone from your life. … though I would still appreciate his address.”

Blinking away the few stray tears that welled up, you forced a smile as Steve’s strict glare found yours. It felt good, seeing his indignation; having someone else exasperated on how Jim had reacted. He should have given you a hug and hold you tight; that was what you would wish for. Instead, he told you to stop complaining and when you accused him of not supporting you, he called you a whiny bitch who should make up her damn mind and broke things off.

You deeply appreciated Steve’s display of chivalry, hell, you half-considered giving away the address just so Jim would hear someone else agreeing with you, but you were honestly just tired. And you had a feeling Steve wouldn’t stay only at words and seeing any more blood, any more aggression would have been too much for you tonight.

Tonight, you… you needed serenity and comfort.

“…thank you. That… that means a lot. But… maybe just walk me home? Please? Could you walk me home, Steve?” you pleaded softly, barely audible, not caring it sounded like weeping of a needy child.

Unbeknownst to you, that was the last thing you resembled in Steve’s eyes. Your imploring gaze, vulnerable and open, it moved something inside him, his anger silenced for the moment, leaving him defenceless, unable to say no. Not that he had an intention to do so. He always had trouble saying no to you.

So he forced his fists to relax, running his thumb over the back of your hand and whispered the only word that made sense.

“Always.”

You settled back to the comfortable silence after that.

Walk me home in the dead of night 'Cause I can't be alone with all that's on my mind Say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong going on

You reached the Tower hand in hand.

Neither of you released the other. Not during the elevator ride, not when you walked the halls lined with doors leading to each’s private quarters.

You were still holding onto each other when you came to a stop in front of your door; rest assured, Steve Rogers would lead you right to your door even if his was only at the end of the very same corridor.

Standing nearly chest to chest, his eyes bored into yours with seriousness that surprised you.

“For the record, you do a great deal of good,” he reassured you, saying it as if he truly meant it. It tugged at your heart, sweet and bitter. “You’re amazing and you’re the most authentic of all of us. I admire you.”

That claim caused you to chuckle. Now he was laying it on a bit thick, downright exaggerating.

“You admire me? Steve, that’s really nice of you to say, but don’t be ridi-“

Your words died in your throat when his large palm splayed over your cheek, cradling it gently. When the paddle of his thumb swiped over your other cheek, soft smile playing on his lips, his irises bright with a promise, time seemingly stopped along with your heart.

“And you’re a great friend to the whole team, a wonderful person. Do me a favour and finally learn to accept a compliment,” he asked of you in hushed voice, the electric blue and green of his eyes locking you in. “If he didn’t praise you enough for you to get used to it, he was doing something wrong.”

You gulped, a silly association with the word ‘praise’ allowing you to break from the cage of his gaze that had previously had your mind gone blank.

“I’m not a dog to be praised, Steve…”

One corner of his lips – and when did they got so close anyway? – twitched. And then a tender kiss landed on your forehead, just the softest brush of lips against your skin. The gesture, utterly incomprehensible for you, had your eyelids flutter shut.

“I’m very much aware. Believe me, doll, I know. Thank you for letting me walk you home.”

You only nodded at the ridiculous statement – why was he thanking you? – too perplexed at the fact his lips had made contact with your skin. When did you cross the line towards the delusional drunk?

His fingertips caressed your face as he let go, wishing you to have a good night. Too baffled, you were unable to respond until he had already made his way to his door and you suddenly missed the warmth of his presence.

Breaking free from your haze, you acted on impulse, apparently startling him when you called his name out of blue so urgently.

“Steve!”

Whipping his head around to look at you, you felt your heart jump into your throat.

“Uh… are you ready to go to bed or… or maybe… would you like to watch a movie or something?” With me?

I don’t think I’m ready to be alone. Ready to be without you.

Even from the distance, you would swear you saw his lips spread in a slow honey-sweet smile.

“I think I’d like that,” he called out lowly. “Ten minutes? I’ll get the blankets. You pick the movie.”

“See you in ten then.”

You pretended that your heart didn’t flutter, sending a wave of familiar tingle through your chest and to your fingers, as you slipped inside your room with your mouth curled up in a content smile.

Walk me home in the dead of night I can't be alone with all that's on my mind So say you'll stay with me tonight 'Cause there is so much wrong There is so much wrong There is so much wrong going on outside

*✧･ Bonus *✧･

If Tony found them two and half hour later, closing credits rolling, the pair curled up and cuddling on the couch, you fast asleep in Steve’s arms, and he noticed that the supersoldier was in fact only faking to avoid an interrogation from the Ironman himself, he didn’t mention it. He just whispered to FRIDAY to turn off the TV and turn off the dimmed lights completely.

He hoped Rogers would treat you the way you deserved, unlike the man who now had farts announcing a received e-mail or texts, unable to change it, and a laptop turning on randomly, dead-pale children staring at him from the screen with hollow eyes and in clothes dripping water. Tony would hate to have to hack more tech again just to avenge your broken heart without your knowledge any time soon.

He’d rather suffer watching the two of his friends being disgustingly sweet on each other.

Probably.

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

S.R. masterlist

*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･*✧･

Silent thanks to the person who came up with the word ‘griefcase’ as an alternative to emotional baggage.

Also, I’m pretty sure songfics aren’t supposed to be so long... oops?

Thank you for reading!

#fanfiction #songfic #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers imagine #hurt/comfort #steve rogers fanfiction #steve rogers fanfic #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers angst #avenger reader #shield agent reader #captain america x reader #captain america x you #captain america imagine #walk me home tonight #anika ann

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