#the wine glass was meant to be for wine offerings but now houses things i find on nature walks and little gifts from friends 💜 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

formulaforza · 5 months

Text

—if walls could talk

some things are meant to be secret (we'd fall from grace) pairing: charles leclerc x female reader warnings: 18+ minors dni. loadsss of google translated french. language, friends talking about sex, nsfw warnings under the cut :) love, mackie... 6.3k words! sometimes the only person who can help you out is a good friend. happy almost thanksgiving to all my american followers :) thankful for each and every one of you. mwah mwah mwah.

18+ because: fingering, oral sex (fem receiving), unprotected sex, aftercare, mentions of hookups/faking it

You’re the last one to walk through the door of Charles’ apartment. Everyone else has been long comfortable, leaving imprints on the comfortable couch, footprints in the freshly-vacuumed rug, empty wine bottles and half-empty glasses on the coffee table.

There’s always something so cold about his apartment—always empty, always dusty, filled with the remnants of his boyhood and the promise of his adult life. It has all the makings of a home, but it still feels like a house—like a museum instead of a secondhand shop. Always, except on days like tonight, when it’s filled with warm laughter and the smell of half a dozen different meals and the quiet hum of his favorite playlist. On days like today, it feels like a home.

Nobody in the living room hears you open the door or slip off your shoes—they’re too preoccupied in their busy, lively conversation about a road closure on the way to the airport in Nice that adds twenty minutes on to the drive. You move in the opposite direction, towards the kitchen, to set your crowd offering—blue cheese stuffed shrimp—on the counter and get a wine glass from the cabinet to fill. He’s in the kitchen when you turn the corner, carefully examining the platter of Italian meatballs he’s got cooking in the oven.

Charles looks up as soon as you set the heavy plate down on the counter. “Hé!” Hey, he greets, closing the oven door and pulling off his blue mittens to properly kiss both of your cheeks, a single arm wrapping around your middle to pull you into a quick hug. “Quand es-tu arrivé?” When did you get here?

“Tout à l'heure,” Just now, you reply, roll up the sleeves of your shirt because his kitchen is so small, and heats up so quickly when the oven is on. “Désolé, je suis en tard,” Sorry I’m late.

“T'es pas en tard,” You’re not late, he interjects, dragging a tortilla chip through someone’s dip and popping it into his mouth. With his other hand, he’s reaching into the cabinet above his head, pulling down a wine glass and handing it to you.

“Je suis très en tard,” I am so late, you smile, take the empty wine glass with a thank you and follow suit with your own chip in the fame dip. “Je reviens directement du travail. Les crevettes sont restées dans le réfrigérateur du bureau tout l'après-midi,” I came straight from work. The shrimp sat in the office fridge all afternoon, you explain, and he scowls, raises his brows at you and at the shrimp. You chuckle, nod. “N'en mangez pas,” Don’t eat it.

His eyes are stuck on your cheek, which forces your hand to investigate what he might be staring at. “Quoi?” What? You ask, fingers coming up with nothing but an embarrassed heat.

“Rien, juste... tu as un cil,” Nothing, just… you have an eyelash, he lets a sharp exhale leave through his nose, “je l'enlèverai,” I’ll get it, and then he does. Carefully, with the pad of his middle finger, he picks the eyelash from your cheek. You don’t look at him while he does it, but you are watching when he transfers it to his thumb and drops it onto the platter of shrimp with a quick flick. “Oh, non,” he feigns concern, grabs the platter from the counter, “Allons juste…” Let’s just… he laughs and holds the plate over the trash can and drops the shrimp into the plastic bag with a thump.

“Bon appel,” good call, you laugh.

He drags you into the living room, towards the rest of the evening festivities, with his arm tossed over your shoulder. Between that, and the whole let me get your eyelash thing minutes earlier, you’re as close to certain a person can get that he and his girlfriend are still broken up.

They go through phases, the two of them. She doesn’t like your friend group very much, and Charles doesn’t seem like he likes her all that much, but they come and go like seasons. Together one month, broken up the next week. He usually tells you, but even when he doesn’t, you usually know. He’s always touchier with you when she’s out of the picture. Not that you mind it, but. He is.

It’s all a little more comfortable, like you’re both a little less aware of the fact that you’re the only girl in the group who isn’t spoken for, or that you’re both atrociously the other’s type.

“Regarde qui j'ai trouvé,” Look who I found, Charles announces, and you’re met with a spattering of greetings, plopping down onto the couch, slotting between Marta and an empty space that is quickly occupied by Charles.

You both fight over the corner seat, who gets to take up more of it. He loves to sprawl out and you love to curl up. When it’s all settled, he’s spread out like he likes, and you’re curled up into the space he leaves, half leant against him with your knees pulled to your chest, sleeves pulled over your hands because it’s hot in the kitchen, but only in the kitchen.

“J'ai entendu dire que vous avez tous les deux eu un week-end assez mouvementé,” I heard you both had quite the eventful weekend, Marta teases. She’s the only other person besides the man next to you—as far as you know—that knows about what went down last Friday night. It takes even you a moment to remember, having already relegated the mortifying details to the bottom of your soul. When you do recall, your cheeks burn with the sudden blow flow and you giggle, curl into Charles a little further than you probably should.

“Quoi?” What, Joris asks, “ce qui s'est passé?” What happened?

“Rien ne s'est passé,” Nothing happened, Charles tries to protect you from re-living the evening, but it’s no use. Now that your friends have a sniff of a story, they won’t stop until it’s told in complete, painstaking detail. So, you begin:

“J'étais en train de garder un chat le week-end dernier pour mon collègue, n'est-ce pas?” I was cat sitting for my coworker last weekend, right?

— —

You were indeed cat-sitting for a coworker last weekend. It was an orange cat whose name you never really learned, much less remembered, and you were on day three of five of cat-sitting. It’s important for the rest of the story, for later. It is.

Anyway, you were cat-sitting on a Friday night, but that wasn’t going to stop you from going out. Your sister had invited you, something about a club and her boyfriend’s friends visiting from London. Only if I can claim a brit, you’d joked. You’d joked, right up until coming face-to-face with the twenty-something, five-foot something-but-still-taller-than-you, perfect brown hair and perfect green eyed British man that had come along for the visit. You weren’t joking after meeting him.

Once the two of you were finally drunk enough to lose any sense of what’s good for you, you were squeezing into the back of a taxi and stumbling up the stairs of your apartment complex, the cute boy and his little kisses and touchy hands slowing the whole process down.

We all know what a drunken Friday night hookup looks like, so. There’s no need to explore the logistics of it with someone who’s name you’ve since forgotten, who you hope is back home in London never to return. Because where the story really gets good, is after the uneventful hookup, when Mr. Brit really needed to get back to his fiends and had you walking him to your apartment door in just a towel because he didn’t have the patience to wait for you to put on some fucking clothes.

— —

“Bon sang,” damn, Hugo laughs from the other end of the sofa, “tu es vraiment si mauvais en sexe?” Are you really that bad at sex?

“Va te faire foutre!” Fuck you, you scoff. “Je suis incroyable en matière de sexe,” I’m amazing at sex.

“Je peux trouver quelqu'un pour vous donner des cours, si besoin,” I can find someone to give you lessons, if you need.

You pause, blink twice, and then continue your story. “De toute façon,” Anyways.

— —

As you open the door to let him out, the cat you’ve been cat-sitting—see. It did come back to be important—darts out of the door.

“Grab him!” You’d yelled, and the guy actually looked back at you before replying.

“I’m allergic.”

You scoffed, hurrying past him and down the stairs after the cat. You manage to corral it in the corner of the stairwell, pick it up and return to your apartment, just in time to watch the door shut behind you. You look at the door, at the guy you’d just fucked, at the cat in your hands, and then back at the door. “That is not good,” you say.

The guy laughs. “Just open it.”

Oh, brilliant. Why hadn’t you thought of that? “It’s locked.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah. Oh.”

By the grace of God and all things good in this world, the guy had a fully-charged phone. Unfortunately for you, of the three people with a spare key to your apartment, there was only one number you had memorized: Charles.

You text him before you call him. It’s me, please don’t send me to voicemail, and then he did send you to voicemail twice before calling the number back.

“Bonjour?”

“‘Bonjour?’ Mon cul!” ‘Hello?’ My ass! You greeted, the cat snarling and wiggling against your grip. You were so far beyond being in the mood for pleasantries. You just really, really wanted some fucking pants. “J'ai besoin que tu viennes ouvrir ma porte. Genre, il y a dix minutes,” I need you to come unlock my door. Like, ten minutes ago.

“Et avec qui ai-je le plaisir de discuter?” And who do I have the pleasure of speaking with? You swear if you could, you’d punch him through the phone. You can’t, so you settle for hanging up.

It’s at this time that Mr. Brit properly excuses himself from the evening of fun, because now that he knows you won’t stand outside your apartment in nothing but a towel for the rest of time, his conscience is clean.

You and Charles live a sixteen minute walk from each other, and he definitely chose to walk rather than literally any other form of faster transportation. Maybe you should have disclosed your current state over the phone, but that probably would have made him walk slower.

When he finally does trudge up the stairs, he stops three steps short of your landing at the sight of you, towel and cat and literally nothing more. “Qu'est-ce qui t'est arrivé, putain?” What the fuck happened to you? He laughs, and then finishes his walk up the stairs, holding your key out to you tauntingly.

“Connard,” Asshole, you mutter, snatching the key away from him with your free hand and forcing it into the lock. “J'avais un gars chez moi,” I had a guy over, you add, forcing the door open with your hip.

“Où à?” Where? He asks, following you into the apartment.

“Qu'est-ce que tu veux dire, où?” What do you mean, where? You laugh, gesture around the apartment. “Ici,” here.

Charles frowns, scowls even. “Et il t'a laissé dehors?” And he left you out there?

You nod, gather up your clothes from the floor before they can exist there long enough to be perceived. “Tu n'es pas obligé de rester, je vais bien,” You don’t have to stay, I’m fine, you tell him, half-usher him back out the door he came through. “Je sais que ta copine va probablement me tuer,” I know your girlfriend is probably going to kill me next time she sees me.

— —

“Je ne peux pas croire qu'elle ne t'a pas tué,” I can’t believe she didn’t kill you, Ricky chuckles, looking to Charles.

You find solace in the bottom of your wine glass, an excuse to fill the silence that follows Ricky’s comment. “En fait, nous avons rompu,” we actually broke up, Charles says, and the room falls into the same silence it always does everytime they break up. It’s not that you guys don’t like her, so much as… well. Yeah, it is that you don’t like her. But she didn’t like you guys first, so it really shouldn’t matter much that none of you like her.

“Je suis désolé, mec,” I’m sorry, mate, Joris offers, and then everyone follows suit with half-hearted apologies they don’t mean.

“C'est bien, vraiment,” It’s fine, really, he offers to the group. “Elle était gentille, mais elle ne l'était tout simplement pas…” she was nice, but she wasn’t… he hesitates. You take another sip of your wine. Your friends listen to him intently. “Je ne veux pas être méchante,” I don’t want to be mean.

“Soyez méchant,” Be mean, Marta giggles.

He laughs nervously, fidgets with his fingers, watches his rings spin. “Elle n'était pas très bonne. Elle ne pouvait pas... Je ne l'ai jamais fait, tu sais,” She wasn’t very good. She couldn’t… I didn’t ever, you know, he trails off, gesturing wildly into the space around him, anything to avoid having to say the words the entire room has picked up on.

You roll up your sleeves, hot again. Burning.

The teasing that follows from the guys is relentless, gets to a point where you and Marta step in, begging them to stop kicking a dead horse while Charles is in the bathroom. They do ease up, and the night continues far, far away from horrible hookup stories and mortifying relationship admissions.

You were the last to arrive, which means you’ll be the last to leave, make sure that the whole place has been cleaned up, returned to its stiff and dusty places in the apartment before you head home for the night.

“Juste pour que tu le saches,” just so you know, you comment, scraping the last of the left behind chip-dip into a tupperware container while he gathers up the now-stale crackers from the charcuterie board. “Je ne te crois absolument pas,” I totally don’t believe you.

He meets your eyes, confused. “Tu ne me crois pas à propos de quoi?” Don’t believe me about what?

“A propos de ne pas…” about not… you look away, direct your attention to the lid of the container. Anything but looking him in the eyes while talking about each other’s sex lives. “Tu sais. Il est impossible que vous n’ayez pas joui depuis cinq mois.” You know. There’s no way you haven’t gotten off in five months.

You see him shake his head in your peripheral, distract himself with the task at hand the same way you had. This isn’t something the two of you talk about, and you talk about pretty much everything. Sex, though. It’s always been off-limits, especially in a situation like this, just the two of you together. “Non,” nope, he mutters. “Je souhaite,” I wish.

You roll your eyes. “Charles, regarde tes mains,” look at your hands, you say, and he does, all full of crumbs and salt and grease. “Voilà, voici la solution à ton problème. Tu peux le résoudre dès que je partirai,” there’s the solution to your problem. You can fix the issue as soon as I leave tonight.

He rolls his eyes right back, “idiote,” idiot, he says, shoves your shoulder with one of his hands and you laugh. “Je ne peux pas. C’est… je ne sais pas, c’est irrespectueux,” I can’t. It feels… I don’t know, it feels disrespectful.

You laugh, curl in on yourself at his comment because it feels so completely ridiculous. He’s a good guy, you know. You know, or you wouldn't be such good friends in the first place. You know, but that's a crazy concept even for a good guy. “Manque de respect envers ton ex-petite-amie si tu te branles après un séparer?” Disrespectful to your EX-girlfriend if you jerk off after you’ve broken up?

“Bien. Quand tu le dis comme ça,” well. When you say it like that.

“Ouis,” yeah, you chuckle, hoisting yourself up onto the counter you’d just cleared. The granite is cool even through the denim of your jeans. “Quand je dis ça comme ça, tu es un imbécile,” when I say it like that, you dumbass.

“Pourtant,” Still though, he sighs, pinches the bridge of his nose. He always looks particularly boyish when he gets even the tiniest bit frustrated with you. “Tu ne comprendrais pas. Ça n'est pas pareil.” You wouldn’t get it. It’s not the same.

Wouldn’t I? You pick at your cuticles, don’t know how to skate around the admission that you’re finishing about as often as he is—that Mr. Brit, who he’d missed by no more than ten minutes last weekend, was not exactly giving you a very eventful evening when he decided he was done for the night.

"Je ne vois pas comment tu pourrais,” I don’t see how you could.

You nod, wish you lived in his little naive world where you always finish. “La moitié des gars de ce putain de pays ne savent pas comment faire jouir une fille. Et apparemment, les gars de Londres non plus.” Half the guys in this fucking country don’t know how to get a girl off. And apparently, neither do the guys in London.

“Vraiment?” Really?

You nod. “Je ne peux pas te dire combien de fois j'ai simulé parce que j'en avais marre que quelqu'un attaque ma lèvre gauche avec sa langue,” I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve faked it because I was tired of someone assaulting my left lip with their tongue.

“Fuck,” He laughs. “Ce n'est tout simplement pas bien,” that’s just not right.

“Non, ça ne l'est pas,” no it is not.

“Tu devrais vraiment obtenir de l'aide pour ça,” you should really get some help with that.

“Et toi aussie. Je mourrais avant de laisser tes conneries arriver.” So should you, you offer. I’d die before I let that shit happen. And you would, you really would. You can’t think of something worse than dating someone for months and knowing you’ve never gotten them off once. And she knows, she has to know, because there’s no way for him to fake it. She has to know.

There’s a pause, and you realize that somewhere on the other side of the apartment the music has stopped playing. The speaker must have died—or the phone playing through it. You realize that Charles is close, now. Really close. Has he been this close the entire time you’ve been cleaning up, close. “Le feriez?” you would?

“Cent pour cent. Une bonne petite amie le ferait—en fait,” a hundred percent. A good girlfriend would—actually, you stop yourself, scowl a bit at the idea of it all. “Une bonne petite amie n’aurait jamais ce problème en premier lieu, mais ce n’est pas la question,” a good girlfriend would never have that problem in the first place but, that’s besides the point. He smiles, the threat of a laugh, and takes a step closer, firmly between your legs, now. You put your hands on either of his shoulders, give them a firm, friendly squeeze. “Une bonne petite amie t'aurait aidé,” a good girlfriend would have helped you, you assure him, but it doesn’t sound as friendly as your gesture was.

His hand falls to your knee, thumb moving over the fabric of your jeans there ever so softly. It sends a chill up your spine, makes you shiver. “Un bon ami pourrait m'aider,” a good friend could help me, he says, hardly above a whisper—like he thinks saying it quieter is going to make it have any less suggestion.

You nod, gulp, your fingers intertwining behind his neck. “Un bon ami pourrait vous aider,” a good friend could help you.

“Ouis,” yeah. You’re so close now that you can feel his breath on your face, that your noses might as well slot against each other. That you might as well be kissing, even if you aren’t. You’re sure your eyes cross when they meet his.

“Dommage que tu n'en ai pas,” shame you don’t have any of those, you tease, smile pulling on your lips, hands falling from over his shoulders to move down his chest, to feel every reaction of his muscles as you trail over his abs softly, toy with the hem of his t-shirt.

“C'est vrai, n'est-ce pas?” It is, isn’t it? His hand moves up your leg, and you instinctively move towards the touch, move yourself closer to the edge of the counter. He moves up, up your thigh, to your hip, threatening to go further. He doesn’t, though. He stalls there, searching your eyes for the permission to be there in the first place.

And then, just like that, he kisses you.

It starts soft, like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but you don’t. It’s a gentle collision, tender and hesitant and exploring whatever new waters you’d just sat yourselves in. His lips are so soft against yours, so careful, so sweet, and then his tongue is slipping through your lips, settling into the kiss now that he knows you’re going to kiss back. And you do, you kiss back, until it’s all hurried and messy, noses bumping against each other, teeth scraping each other’s lips. Until you’re hazy and dizzy and have to pull apart for air.

“Peut être,” maybe, you chuckle into his mouth, kiss him again quickly. “Peut-être que tu devrais accepter l'offre de Hugo de trouver un tuteur,” maybe you should take Hugo up on his offer to find a tutor, you joke, and his smile is sweet against your lips.

“Peut être,” maybe… he says, fiddles with the buttons of your jeans hurriedly, like they’re going to seal shut if he doesn’t undo the button that very moment, and then he unzips the zipper, “ou peut-être,” or maybe…

You kiss him again. Your core aches, the knot in the pit of your stomach pulling itself tighter and tiger with each millimeter further he moves. “Tu pourrais juste,” you could just.

“Je pourrais juste,” I could just, and he dips a hand into your pants.

You sigh, react instantly to his touch and his lips are on your again. Your hips move against his hand like it’s the first time you’ve ever been touched—which, this whole thing feels so charged that it might as well be. Charles’ hand moves in flat circles over your clit, pushing farther, deeper, slipping a single finger inside of you.

You hiss at the movement, kiss him harder when your breath is back, pull him hard against your lips by the back of his neck. “Putain, tu es tellement mouillé,” Fuck, you’re so wet, he says.

You nod, talk into his mouth, “Je sais, je sais,” I know, I know.

You reach between your bodies to palm him, find him already hard in his jeans, taking in a sharp breath when you touch him there. His other hand grabs at your tits, pushing and pulling and squeezing over your shirt before finally slipping under, haphazardly pushing your bra out of the way and palming them, kissing mumbled profanities into the skin on your neck.

He pinches your nipple between two fingers and you whine—he ruts against the counter when you do, smirks against your lips and hums whatever noise he’s attempting to swallow.

You sigh when he pulls his hand out from your jeans, but he’s quick to get them off of you, pulling them and your underwear off as soon as you raise yourself up off the counter. It’s cold, so cold, but his hands are equally warm, burn against your body as he explores every inch of available skin.

You work away at his jeans, pushing down his pants and underwear as far as the angle allows you to. His cock springs out of the elastic waistband and the only thing you can think is how pretty it looks, all swollen and twitching and wet with precum. It looks painful, almost, how hard he is. But so, so pretty. “C'est tellement chaud,” this is so hot, you say.

“Tu es tellement belle,” you’re so hot, he replies.

You’re expecting for it to all boil over, then, for him to sink into you, fill you up with his perfect pretty dick, but he doesn’t. Instead, he lowers himself to your cunt and looks at you with nauseating eye contact. “Dis moi quoi faire,” tell me what to do, he says.

“Quoi que ce soit. Faire n'importe quoi,” Anything. Do anything, you beg.

He does, he does—licks a long stripe through your folds, forces your head to the sky and a sweet moan from your lips. He holds your legs apart with a hand on the inside of each thigh—strong, warm, big—and fucks you with his tongue. It’s messy and natural, but every move is intentional, working towards the goal of getting you off before he even fucks you. And he will, he will, because he listens so well.

Every direction, even the jumbled, incoherent moans that leave your mouth, even the little twitches of your legs or the way your hips move against his mouth—it's all an instruction for him. What to do. What to continue doing exactly like he’s doing. “Juste comme ça. N'arrêtez pas,” just like that. Don’t stop, you chant, and he doesn’t stop. He holds his pace, and then you’re coming in his mouth, fingers slipping on the countertop in search of some kind of grip, some kind of stability as you writhe against him.

When you’ve come down, come back to reality and the cold countertop and his warm hands, he’s kissing you again, cock hard and twitching between your bodies. You take him in your hand and he winces, groans when you start to stroke him, to spread the precum around his tip with your thumb. “Ça fait du bien,” feels good, he mutters.

“Laisse-moi t'aider,” Let me help you, you insist. He doesn’t need much convincing. None at all, really.

“Est-tu toujours... sur le?” Are you still… on the, he asks, tapping your arm.

“Mon implant? Ouais, ouais,”My implant? Yeah. yeah.

He kisses you again, licks into your mouth in a way that feels half-illegal, like all the rules of the universe have been broken. “Tu veux que j'utilise un préservatif?” Do you want me to use a condom?

You shake your head against his lips, shrug somewhere in the distance, far away from where your mouth is on his. “Je m'en fiche, je suis propre,” I don’t care, I’m clean.

“Moi aussi,” Me too.

"D'accord, d'accord. Putain," Okay, okay. Fuck, and then he's slapping the head of his cock against your pussy, making you quiver with every touch. He drags it over your clit, through your folds, and then he’s sinking into you. His fingers bruise into your hips as he ruts into you, you reaching down to circle you clit while he fucks you full of him. "Putain, Dieu," Fuck, God, he moans.

“Oui c'est bien?” Yeah, it's good? You ask.

“C'est tellement bon, putain, c'est tellement bon, tu es si sexy,” It’s so good, fuck—it’s so good, you’re so hot. You don’t know if its his words, or that the seal’s properly broken now, but right as his dick slips out of a particularly measured thrust, you’re coming around the air, shoving a finger back inside to ease the ache of emptiness, pulling it back out and guiding his cock back in. He fucks you so good. So hard. So deep, just the sounds of each others groans, of heavy sighs and skin slapping filling the room, bouncing off the walls. “Je suis près,” I’m close, he tells you. “Je suis si proche, putain. Je vais,” I’m so close, fuck. I’m gonna, he repeats, fucking into you hard. Hard, burying himself in your cunt longer and longer each time.

“Fais-le,” Do it, you say, “laisse-moi l'avoir, je le veux,” let me have it, I want it. And then he’s coming. Hard. Bottomed out in you, groaning against your neck, and filling you up with him. Fuck, he breathes. You can’t make a distinction between a sigh versus a laugh. “Ça va?”Are you okay? He asks.

Your breath is heavy, heart thumping in your chest, in your ears, in your toes. “Je suis,” I’m, you laugh. “Ouais, je suis plus que… je vais bien,” Yeah, I’m more than… I’m okay, you finally sputter out into his patient eyes. You think that’s the reason you stutter—the eye contact. “Es-tu?” Are you?

“Ouais,” Yeah, he says, running a hand through his hair, nodding. “Oui. Très bien.” Yes. Very okay.

“Bien,” Good, you nod, and then, with all the vulnerability in the world: “Étais-je bien?” Was I alright?

He smiles, moves his hand to brush your flyaways from your forehead, to stop them before they can get in your face. “Tu étais…” You were… he laughs, and there’s no mistaking it now. When he does it, you’re reminded just how full of him you still are, of the ache you’ll feel when he finally pulls out. “Je ne pense pas que quiconque puisse avoir un problème avec toi,” I don’t think anyone could have any issue with you.

“Oh,”, you chuckle, eyes locking onto the clock hung on the kitchen wall. You can hear the second hand clicking around the same way you can hear your own pulse. “Bon alors,” Good then.

“Et moi?” And me? He asks, and pulls out slowly before you can begin to answer. There’s a silence in the room, just the clock and your heart and your breathing, his eyes glued to your cunt like he’s admiring his handy work. “C'étaient…” Those were…

“Tous deux très réels,” Both very real, you nod, biting the inside of your cheek, catching his eyes when he leans over the sink, wetting a paper towel and ringing it out. “Je ne suis pas doué pour faire semblant,” I’m not that good at faking it.

“Bon,” Nice.

“Je ne pense pas que nous soyons le problème, alors,” I don’t think we’re the problem, then, you chuckle, eyes snapping back to the clock, mind to the feel of the counter under your fingertips. You can’t think about anything more, of any other feeling or sense of taste or smell you’re experiencing or it will be too much.

“Non je ne pense pas,” No, I don’t think so, he continues, and starts to clean you up, warm hands on your legs again while he runs the cool paper towel through your folds. You recoil at the cold, a shiver running up your entire body and his eyes jump to yours—”Désolé,” Sorry, he mumbles.

“C'est bon,” It’s okay, you squeak, and it sounds like you’re about an inch tall. Utter mortification will do that to you, something this fucking awkward making you incredibly aware of everything happening in the room around you, of every touch of his warm hands on your skin. A lot of things are different now. Everything is different.

“Je, euh. Putain,” I, uh. Fuck, you resort back to what you know best, to the only thing you can think about that doesn’t spiral back to the feeling of him finishing inside you. “Je n'arrive pas à croire que je doive nettoyer à nouveau ce comptoir,” I can't believe I have to clean this counter off again.

He laughs again, tossing the paper towel into the trash can. It sits on top of everything else like a billboard, screaming about what it had been used for. The lid on the trash can doesn’t close like it’s supposed to. “C'est à ça que tu penses en ce moment?” That’s what you’re thinking about right now?

“Ouais,” Yeah.

“Tu es tellement bizarre, putain,” You’re so fucking weird, he says, adjusting himself, tucking back into his boxers, pulling them and his jeans up to make himself proper again. You have to hop off the counter to do the same, collecting and correcting your things as fast as you can because you can feel his eyes on your figure while you dress, and it feels too intimate.

“Je ne suis pas bizarre,” I am not weird, you quip, buttoning your jeans and pulling up the zipper, carefully fixing your shirt, your bra, smoothing all of your clothes out over your skin.

“Tu es. Tu es tellement bizarre.” You are. You’re so weird.

“Peu importe,” Whatever, you mumble, quickly closing the lid to the trash can.

The night has run its course by now, and then some. You spend fifteen minutes silently moving around each other in the kitchen, the whole room quiet enough to hear a pin drop in the downstairs lobby. You spend at least ten of them cleaning off the counter, which doesn’t feel so cold anymore, at least not where you were sitting.

“Tu peux rester, tu sais…” You can stay, y’know… he finally breaks the silence. “Si tu veux.” If you want.

“D’accord,” Okay, you nod. “Je ne… je ne sais pas si c’est une bonne idée.” I don’t… I don’t know if that’s a good idea.

“C'est vrai, ouais,” Right, yeah, he says, and the place threatens to fall back into negative decibel levels. “Je t'entends, tout ce que tu veux.” I hear you, whatever you want.

“Désolée,” Sorry, you choke.

“Ne le soit pas, vraiment,” Don’t be, really, he assures, but you still are, still feel like you're stepping on a little baby bug that’s on its way home to its family. It’s not that you don’t want to stay, it’s more that you… you don’t trust yourself to stay, and you don’t trust him not to turn this into a messy rebound thing. If you slept in his bed tonight and got a text next weekend that he’d gotten back together with his girlfriend, you’d feel like a piece of shit. It’s bad enough that when they do inevitably reconnect, you’re already never going to be able to look her in the eyes again.

“Tu m'enverras un texto quand tu rentreras à la maison?” You’ll text me when you get home? He asks, standing opposite you in his doorway.

“Bien sûr,” Of course, you nod, fidgeting with the keys on your lanyard. “Nous n’avons pas simplement ruiné notre amitié, n’est-ce pas?” We didn’t just ruin our friendship, did we?

“Non,” he answers, without leaving space for a hesitation, to really wonder about your question.

You smile at your keys, bite back a chuckle at just how quick he’d responded to you, about how sure he seemed. “Parce que tu es une de mes personnes préférées, tu sais,” Because you’re one of my favorite people, y’know.

“Tu es ma personne préférée,” You’re my favorite person.

You swallow, and when you look up from your keys, he’s staring right back at you. The comfort in the silence is palpable, and it makes you shy, pushes a nervous laugh from your lips. Charles just nods, certain in his choice of words. It makes you even more sheepish.

You’re completely aware that he doesn’t look at everyone like this, that he never looked at her like this. “Que s'est-il passé entre toi et elle cette fois, d'ailleurs?” What happened with you and her this time, anyway?

He sighs. “Tu veux vraiment savoir?” You really want to know?

“Ouais,” Yeah, you nod. “Je fais,” I do.

“Je euh,” I uh, his fingers fidget with each other, pulling on the joints and twisting his rings. He doesn’t look at you when he tells you, watches the metal spin around his finger. “Je suis rentré de chez toi le week-end dernier et elle attendait dehors que je la laisse entrer. J'ai complètement oublié qu'elle venait après le travail.” I came home from your place last weekend and she was waiting outside for me to let her in. I totally forgot she was coming over after work. You regret asking as soon as he starts explaining. It’s not your business, and you could have gone your whole life without knowing that you were the catalyst for it. “On s'est disputé, elle m'a dit de choisir qui était le plus important,” We got into a fight, she told me to choose who was more important, he shrugs, like it’s nothing. Like he was being asked to flip a coin, asked what color the sky was. “Je te choisi,” I chose you.

“Charles,” your head falls to the side defeatedly. You wish he never told you this, even though you asked. You wish he knew better, that you knew better.

“Je sais,” I know, he nods, and it sounds like he feels genuinely bad about the truth. “Je suis désolé,” I’m sorry.

“Je devrais y aller,” I should go.

“Ouais…” Yeah… he hesitates, his hand lingering around his front door, refusing to close it on you. “Ouais,” yeah.

“Juste... ne le fais pas,” Just… don’t. You stop yourself—or you try to stop yourself—from speaking. It’s unsuccessful, how could it not be when he’s staring at you intently with those big green eyes, clinging to every word that leaves your lips. “Ne te remets pas avec elle S'il te plaît,” Don’t get back with her. Please.

“Je ne vais pas,” I won’t.

You nod, even though you know he will. He always does. They always get back together. It’s nice to pretend, though, for a few days. To pretend that anything is ever going to come of what’s happened this evening.

“Bonne nuit, Charles,” Goodnight..

“Bonne nuit.” Goodnight.

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yanderenightmare · 6 months

Text

Bakugou Katsuki

TW: yandere, kidnapping

fem reader

Just had another thought about bully!Bakugou and quirkless childhood friend!darling...

You fall off the grid after high school only to reveal yourself several years later, right in the thick of his career.

He’s been recruited to go on an undercover mission to uncover a major drug scheme. He and a female operative are to play newlyweds, living together in a pretty suburban picket fence house where you'll be conducting surveillance on the neighboring family.

When you walk into the brief, you don’t give any sign of having recognized him. Nor him you, even though his chest and throat tightened to the point he had to stifle a cough.

When you sit down, you’re calm and collected while letting slip a smooth, breathless scoff – giving a slight smirk, saying calmly, “You jokers chose this landmine for a covert mission?”

“You two know each other?”

Your eyes slide off to look at Bakugou, eyeing him up and down where he sits – trying his best to hide it, but your trained eyes see it clear as day – rigid, short-breathed, a little sweaty. He’s shocked, he’s nervous, he’s even a little embarrassed.

You smile. And despite the history, all you offer in answer is a curt, “We used to.”

Bakugou feels like you have him by the balls. His jaw doesn’t unlock during the entirety of the meeting, reading the list of your responsibilities while they’re explained. How the entire neighborhood might be both bugged and surveyed by the target, so you’ll have to perform as a real married couple every waking hour – including eating together, sleeping together, kissing each other, fucking each other so as not to raise any suspicion.

You don’t budge or show any tells. You’ve been trained for this, and you’ve done this type of work plenty of times before already. Bakugou had read your file, so he knew – but shit, how weren’t you uncomfortable?

The mission lasts three long months and seventeen days. And when it’s done, you fall right off the grid again as though none of it had meant a thing.

And he knows that that’s how it’s supposed to be. He knows none of it is supposed to be real, but how can it not have been? It can't have all been a performance. He rejects that. He refuses it. He knows for certain you couldn’t have been acting all that time. You couldn’t because he hadn’t.

He’s breaking so many rules, tracking you down. And your disgust of his unprofessionalism is written all over your face when you open the door to find him having been the one to ring your doorbell. Still, you save saying anything but gesture for him to come inside.

“You weren’t easy to find-”

“This is gross misconduct, Bakugou. I can have you reported.” You cut him off. He’s not heard that voice come out of you. When you were his wife, you’d only speak sweetly – lovingly and dotingly, often with your arms slung around him, your hands in the short stubble at the back of his neck, smiling up at him so prettily.

You were scowling now.

“Are you?” He asks.

You stare at him for a moment, but then you give in with a sigh – trodding off to what he guesses is the kitchen without an answer to his question. But the silence is an answer in and of itself.

You dress differently than you did. No frilly little dress. But sweatpants and a tank – no jewelry, no makeup, hair undone.

You open the fridge and hand him a beer, then you crack one open yourself. “I have something stronger if you need it.” You say then, but he waves a no. So you lean against the counter and bring your can up to your lips. “Why are you here?”

He watches you drink for a moment. When you were his wife, you didn’t like beer, you only drank white wine, and it always made you tipsy after a couple of sips. You would never even finish a glass before becoming slow and dull-eyed. Suppose he’d never actually seen you drunk at all…

He doesn’t open his beer, feeling the cold dew drip over his knuckles. “Do you miss it?” He asks.

You look him in the eyes with slanted ones of your own. “I’m not humoring that question. If you’re having issues, you should file for a shrink. The bureau offers the best, they’ll suck out all the shit from your mind, and you’ll go back to normal within a week or two.”

“I don’t wanna go back to normal.”

You look annoyed, but then your face softens. “It’s like that the first time. It’ll pass.”

He doesn’t believe you. In your file, it said that you’d done this seven times before. Sometimes much longer than the months you’d spent together.

“It was a job, now it’s over. You need to shut the door on it and move on with your life.”

You say that, but looking around your space, it seems your job doesn’t allow much of life to take place. You have a couch and a TV, but otherwise, everything is barren. No pictures on the walls, no decorations. Where a dining table should stand, you have workout equipment instead, sprawled out over the entire floor. And if he saw your fridge correctly, you only have beer and TV dinners.

“You always on the job?” He asks.

You place your finished beer upside down in the sink, letting the last drops dry off while muttering out a retort, “Aren’t you?”

He doesn’t hear it, though. Too busy looking at you, standing there against the sink – looking the way you did when you’d wash dishes after dinner. You’re not wearing a summer dress or an apron – but you stand the same way. Slightly bent over, hips pushed into the countertop, ass pushed out like a welcome.

He sets his beer off on the counter and takes his spot behind you, sliding his bigger hands around your small waist, slotting himself against you with his crotch nudged nicely against your butt. It feels right.

You make a small sound, going a little rigid at the unsuspected attack – but weren’t brash enough to push him away. You were rational enough to accept you wouldn’t be able to if you tried.

“You sure you don’t miss it?” He asks again in a murmur, brushing his lips up your artery – nuzzling against you – his heavy chest resting against your shoulder blades – and you could feel the equally heavy pounding of his heart.

“Listen, Bakugou… whatever you think you miss, it doesn’t exist.” You state flatly. “Dominic and Suzie aren’t real.”

Those had been your names. Dominic and Suzie, Mr. and Mrs. Brooks. Your identities for three months. But now, no more.

“But they can be…” Bakugou whispered back, tugging you a little closer – then released a small breathless laugh. “We always used to say we’d get married one day, remember? When we were brats…”

A small smile creased a dimple on your cheek at the memory, but only for a small second before you remembered everything he’d put you through after. “We’re not brats anymore. And honestly-” You catch your tongue and never finish the thought. It’s so long ago it doesn’t matter.

You sigh, knowing you’re lying to yourself.

You relax again and drop your head back to rest on his shoulder, overlapping his hands with yours. “In retrospect, we should have filed for replacement from the start.”

“Why didn’t you?”

You pause a little bit, weighing whether you want to tell him or not. “I felt I had something to prove.” You confess. “You’ve always made me feel worthless, so when I was presented with the opportunity to rub it in your face, the child in me couldn’t resist.”

You thought it would feel like a victory, a sweet revenge, but in the end, it just made you disappointed in yourself. How could you think playing house with a person you hate would do you any justice?

“It was stupid, and I regret it. I’m better than that.” You add resolutely. “Nevertheless, mission complete. It’s behind us now.”

Bakugou didn’t agree, still holding you the same way he’d done.

“You should let go of me.” You sigh again. “I’m not gonna act like Suzie for you, so-”

“I don’t want you to act like Suzie.” He interjected, nuzzling against your neck with a whisper. “I want you... the real you.”

You scoff. “Fuck- Katsuki, look around you. There’s nothing here to want.”

“Let’s make something then.” He argues, pressing a soft kiss below your ear. “It was always supposed to be us two. From the start.”

“What are you talking about?” You won't deny the contact feels good. Good enough to make your voice come out in a moan.

“I’m talking about me and you, anywhere we choose.” He continues with his kisses, and you close your eyes to the feeling but still scoff at the offer.

“You’re talking about a dream. I’m not leaving my job to chase some fantasy with you.”

There's a silence, and Bakugou’s voice comes out more serious after. “I’m not giving you a choice.”

Your brows furrow, and you open your eyes again.

He still kisses your neck, now with his hands rubbing firm circles in your sides.

“You were very hard to find…” He mutters. “I doubt anyone would notice if you went missing…”

“Katsuki-” You protest, still calm as you try and push yourself from the counter, but it’s an aimless effort. His touches only grow stronger to keep you in place.

“The bureau would think you’d decided to go private or retire. And given your record, I don’t think they’d spend too many resources trying to find you.”

“Katsuki, let go-” It’s scary, but you’ve been in scarier situations, so you’re able to keep your cool still – despite the chills that run up your spine from his speech. “You’re talking crazy-”

“Living like this is what’s crazy.” He answers.

His apartment looks the same. Nothing personal anywhere except a vain mantle lined with diplomas and trophies he’d received for civic duties when he’d laid his life on the line. Otherwise, it was as stale as a cheap hotel room – no art, no pictures, no carpets, not even a lamp. Just the necessities. Kitchen articles and a bed.

“I need you. And by the looks of things, you need me too.”

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ellastone-olsen · 2 months

Text

Smoking kink with mommy Wanda.

Warnings: NSFW 18+, mommy kink, smoking obviously, shy reader, alcohol, age gap

AN: lmao guys I’m back after month of silence, I'm rested and ready to worship Lizzie and other women again.

I was just thinking about my smoking kink and a picture of you and mommy Wanda, standing on the porch of her house appeared in my head. Perhaps you just went to visit your friends and met her, perhaps it was a small neighborly gathering, but it doesn’t matter.

The main thing is that you are standing together on the porch, and there is the second glass of wine already in your hands, which she kindly offered you. She tries to light a cigarette, it seems that it was some kind of thin and menthol (such a cliché) and because of the strong wind, the weak flame of the lighter goes out every time and you move closer to her to cover it from the wind. And when the cigarette begins to smolder, you look in a trance at her lips wrapped around the filter and smell the smell of tobacco, which is instinctively associated with Wanda.

You cover your face in shame, pretending to enjoy the wine, when in fact watching her smoke was the hottest (literally lmao) sight. She says something about the terrible weather and the constant rain, but you only half listen to her as your eyes follow her hands. Behind her thin long fingers with a cigarette and you think what these fingers could do with you... And then you look up and watch how smoke comes out of her lips and Wanda’s tongue passes along her lower lip.

It seems that this smoke went straight to your head, otherwise why else can’t you think in another direction other than about obscenity with this woman.

Oh, of course, she noticed that you were mentally somewhere not here and finished her monologue about the weather and asked. "Do you want?" You didn’t immediately understand what she meant, only when you saw her handing you a cigarette. Wanda knew that you didn’t smoke, but her first guess about your reaction to her bad habit was that you were simply afraid to ask her to let you try. You looked at the smoke that rose between you both and did’t move. “I...no thanks, I don’t smoke.”

Silence followed you again and the puzzle in the older woman’s head began to take shape. “Are you sure you don’t want to?” She asked in the hope that you would think twice about it. All that came out of your mouth was a string of unintelligible stutters and then she placed her free hand on yours that was holding the glass and lowered them so she could see your red face. Wanda advanced on you, gradually pressing you into the railing until she was so close that her chest was pressed against yours. "I think you will like it." She whispered and took another drag, looking into your eyes. And then she leaned towards your lips, barely touching to exhale the bitter smoke.

Now the smoke that was in her lungs ended up in yours and the nicotine instantly entered your bloodstream, causing you even more dizziness and an attack of euphoria. Wanda's hand with the cigarette rose to tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear and the woman asked another question in a whisper. “Well, dear? How do you like it?” An uncontrollable moan escaped from your mouth, giving Wanda the green light and she broke her lips on yours, immediately using her tongue inside you. The glass of wine was put aside somewhere and your hands grabbed the railing because you felt like you might fall.

Wanda took your face in her hands and kissed you so greedily, as if she were a wild animal, whispering “Good girl” between kisses and “Let Mommy do the work” which made your core throb.

She having to pull away because someone came outside looking for the two of you and she ended up smoking the rest of her cigarette like she did in the beginning; leaving you at the railing with burning cheeks and heat between your thighs.

The last thing Wanda said to you was “Go upstairs when they’re all gone, second door on the right.” She turned around and winked at you, walking into the warmth and noise of the house.

#wanda maximoff x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda fanfic #wanda maximoff imagine #wandanat #wandanat x reader #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda marvel

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rxmqnova · 2 months

Note

Thinking about yn and Wanda broke up, it wasn't messy or anything bad, It was the right person, wrong time.

Wanda is a writer, signing her first important contract and releasing her first book. People liked the book and she was getting famous, and before her first event, she was thinking if Yn is gonna be there or not, when they were together, Yn promised she will be there no matter what, and even if she had to quit her job, she will be there but now, she wasn't sure if her ex girlfriend will be there, they werent even text each other, they needed some space but they missed each other.

When the event started, Wanda was looking if she can see yn in there or not, but she couldn't see her, but she was there, wearing a blue cap, almost at the end Wanda was looking again and they made eye contact and Wanda was smiling at her.

So when everything finished, Yn went to where Wanda was and they were hugged and Yn told her about she Will never break a promise and that she is so proud of her. They missed each other and told the other the same thing, and they went to Wanda's house and talked about how much they want to be together again.

Author event

NO ONE'S POV "I promise I'll be there, Wands. Even if that meant quitting my job, I will be there" Thinking about her ex-girlfriends words, Wanda lets out a sad sigh.

Back then Wanda only just signed her first ever very important contract and released a book which people actually really liked and now Wanda's about to attend her first ever author event.

It's been a few months since Y/N and Wanda broke up, yet the writer still wonders if Y/N will fulfill her promise and come to the event.

To be honest… she really wishes Y/N will and she will have a chance to see her ex-girlfriend again.

They were a perfect match for each other, but unfortunately it was a wrong time for them. Y/N got an important job offer, something she's been waiting for ever since she started working for the company.

It required Y/N to move to another city though and Wanda didn't want her girlfriend to just drop the offer she'd been waiting her entire life for and let her go.

The event eventually starts and Wanda has some talk about the book first. Of course she can't help but look around every single moment she can to see if Y/N isn't here by any chance.

Then comes the book signing and quite a long line forms. That doesn't stop Wanda from looking around though, hoping Y/N would just magically appear.

And then the miracle happens and Wanda locks eyes with a girl in a blue cap, immediately recognizing the face.

Wanda smiles warmly, the nerves finally coming down when Y/N's actually here.

When the endless line comes to an end and everyone leaves, Wanda lets out a sigh when she realizes Y/N's not here anymore. The whole place is empty… or not?

"Could I get an autograph, miss Maximoff?" Y/N teases, placing Wanda's book on the table in front of the writer, immediately bringing smile to Wanda's face.

"Y/N, you came" Wanda pulls her ex-girlfriend in for a tight hug without wasting any more second which makes Y/N let out a chuckle actually.

"Yeah, I did. Hi" Y/N smiles as soon as they pull away, staring into the green eyes she's missed so much.

"Hi" Wanda nearly whispers, biting her lower lip as she's staring back into Y/N's eyes. "I'm glad you're here"

"Of course I am. I promised to come and I never break my promises. I'm really proud of you, Wands. I've read the book, it's really amazing" Y/N smiles warmly, Wanda's cheeks going red.

"Thank you" Wanda says, smiling back. "Hey, don't you wanna come to my apartment? We can have a glass of wine and catch up on everything?"

"Oh, sure. That sounds great" Y/N nods at Wanda's suggestion, watching as Wanda packs her things quickly.

Wanda doesn't live that far from where the event took place, so the walk is quite short.

And as soon as the girls arrive to Wanda's place, Y/N can't help but smile as it looks still the same as the last time she was here.

While Y/N sits down on the couch, Wanda goes to pour them the glasses of wine as she promised earlier. She's back soon, joining Y/N and handing her one of the glasses.

"Can I be honest with you, Y/N?" Wanda sighs, wanting to get it off her chest.

"Of course" Y/N nods, watching the other girl confused and wondering what she's about to say.

"… I really miss you, Y/N. And I know that your work is really important to you and that you've dreamt about that position for a long time. But the few months since we broke up have been the worst months of my life and I just miss you so much" Wanda sighs, squeezing her eyes shut and hoping Y/N won't just leave after what she just told her.

Y/N can't help but let out a small laugh. It's just incredible how perfect the two are for each other.

"What's so funny?" Wanda asks, tilting her head in confusion.

"I just… I came to tell you the same. I quit my job. I guess I just can't be without you. I missed you so much, Wands" Y/N admits, slowly taking Wanda's hand in hers and giving her knuckles a rub.

"You quit your job for me?" Wanda asks in shock, looking at the other girl with wide eyes.

"Yeah. I don't think it's possible for me to live without you, Wanda. And it wasn't as good as I thought it would be anyway" Y/N admits, letting out an akward chuckle.

Wanda smiles, placing hers and Y/N's glass on the coffee table before pulling Y/N in for a hug, closing her eyes and enjoying the warm embrace.

"I love you, Y/N" Wanda nearly whispers, still not believing this is happening.

"I love you too, Wanda" Y/N tells her back, meaning every single word and feeling exactly the same as Wanda. "Will you go on a date with me?"

"Of course I will!" Wanda chuckles, cupping Y/N's cheeks with her palms and rubbing her cheeks with her thumbs.

She knows one thing for sure now… no matter what has life prepared for them, she's not letting Y/N ever again.

----------------------

Wanda Maximoff masterlist

Masterlist

#wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #wanda x fem!reader #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff fanfiction #fanfiction #fanfic

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setsugekka · 1 year

Text

❥bad idea (m)

↳ stuck in a vacation home with nobody but the most annoying man in your friend group, there’s not a lot offered to help take the edge off.

a couple of glasses of wine and a crazy idea might, though.

lee minho x fem!reader — enemies to lovers (kinda), explicit sexual content. [3.6k wc] cws: alcohol consumption. sexual cws: penetrative sex (unprotected), oral sex (m), facial, hair pulling, hatefuck (hardly cuz he’s kinda sweet), praise, dirty talk.

The saying is that “bad things come in threes.”

So, when your bus arrives and leaves all of five minutes before you get there, forcing you to rebook a ticket and wait an hour and a half in the cold, windy weather for the next — that’s one. At the time, not something you spend much thought on, it happens.

And when your friend calls you to inform you that the weather is so bad coming from her side of town that she and the car load of friends meant to accompany you at the rental home for the weekend getaway won’t be arriving until some time tomorrow morning — there’s the second. It’s not the end of the world, you think to yourself, as she explains that she’s already contacted the rental host and changed the name of the reservation into yours so that you’re able to get inside safe and sound — after all, there are worse things than having a whole, lavish, five bedroom, three bathroom house to yourself for a night.

The ‘worse things,’ of course, being the third and final 'bad,’ as it were — hauling your bags up the brown and grey cobble stone walkway and close enough to the front porch for the motion sensor lights to finally illuminate — frankly, you’d have been happier to find a stranger, and you’re already wondering if there are any axe murderers mulling about these parts that you could contact straight away, perhaps their schedules are free and could do you a solid.

“Not you—“

You’re unsurprised that he’s the first to speak, and to say something irritating at that. Hair slightly damp and windswept, it looks as though he’s been standing out in the elements and against the door for far too long — a thought that brings you much delight; the misery of one Lee Minho.

It’s not that he’s ever done anything particularly wrong, not to you, or to your other friends, which is why he remains inside of the friend group, but some people simply don’t click, and the two of you are certainly evidence of that — between snide remarks in relation to any innocent going on, and Minho’s insistence on having something to say about everything you say or do, the last person you’d have wanted to meet here tonight without the buffer of the other handful of people, was him.

But here he is.

Slinging a bag up and over your shoulder with a huff, you toss the keys to the front door at him with a tad bit of aggression — the act brings a curl to one side of his mouth, as if enjoying the annoyance he’s already brought into your life.

“Didn’t know anyone else was here, I just got off the phone with them, won’t be in until tomorrow.”

“Bummer,” Minho sighs, turning the key into the lock and pressing the door open at the clicking sound. “Guess you’ll just have to make me dinner tonight, then.”

“Stooping down to sexism now, are we? Ol’ run of the mill being an annoyance not enough for you anymore?” you chime out as you walk past him and inside, kicking your shoes off and carrying forward with your belongings.

“It doesn’t have anything to do with you being a woman, you psycho,” he rings back. “You’re the only other person here. Other people can make me dinner, too.”

“I’m sure they’re all fighting for the chance to.”

“Anyway,” Minho ignores you to instead toss his things to the closest doorway that appears to lead into a bedroom. “We do have to eat.”

“And I will, mind your business,” you answer, voice now echoing down the hall and throughout the otherwise empty home — tall ceilings carrying the sound much further than it would otherwise. you find a room that seems suitable enough despite them all appearing more or less the same and chuck your bag onto the bed inside before coming back out and resting eyes on the bizarre sight before you now. “You’re not going to look at the other rooms?”

“They’re all just empty rooms with beds what difference does it make — now who’s not minding their business!”

Rolling your eyes, you opt out of giving him any more of your verbal time, stepping towards and into the open layout kitchen — a lavish display that no doubt has cost millions in the renovations, you jostle open the refrigerator door in hopes to find something that may sustain you as far as intake goes — original plan having been that as a group you would all head back into town and go grocery shopping, but with that now off the table, it’s up to you and Minho to figure it out until morning.

Glancing back towards Minho’s poorly chosen bedroom, you watch him unpack boring t-shirts and clear, plastic bags of skincare items. You think to yourself how annoying to find it, before immediately following up the line of thought with how completely normal it is and that you only find it annoying because it’s him.

But self-awareness if half of the battle, after all.

“They got cheese, some condiments—“ you look around yourself again in an attempt to locate more items that might allow for you to put together an actually reasonable food source as you talk through it. “—Some bread it looks like, some deli meats…I mean, assuming all of this is still good I think we can at least get by on some dinner sandwiches.”

Minho doesn’t answer back, something else you find irritating. You’re talking to him, after all.

Then, your eyes lock onto something else hidden further back into the cold and mostly empty container. “Oh, looks like there’s a bottle of cheap white wine in here, too. There’s that.”

“Finally, some good news!” Minho finally replies. Of course, it’s the alcohol that does it.

When “dinner” concludes, the two of you shake on trying to be normal human beings to one another for the remainder of the evening, even going as far as to exchange a few testing chuckles over half eaten sandwiches.

But with the last bit of wine poured into both of your glasses, and downed just as quickly as it had appeared there, that’s when the real trouble starts.

Naturally.

A bottle between two, hardly enough to get either of you drunk but enough to make the head a little fuzzy, and the people a little flirtier than usual, when Minho leans an elbow onto the table and leans in closer towards you — you don’t hate it, not as much as you might usually. Where your normal instinct would be to immediately pull back and away from him, scoff, laugh off the intrusion of personal space — now, now you find it to be borderline welcomed.

“Why are you such a bitch to me, anyway?”

Well, there goes that.

You roll your eyes right in front of him, eager to turn your head away but it’s a strong hand that cups at your chin and brings you right back to his eye sight. And again — in most cases, a man putting his hands on you in such a way would not be accepted and would likely result in a hospital trip for him and him alone, but tonight, things are a little different.

Minho is no stranger, nor is he any danger to you. He’s pretty fucking irritating at worst —

But have you considered the hatefuck? Absolutely.

“Don’t look away from me when I’m talking to you!”

The words come out of him in a chuckle, as if the both of you are well aware that this is a game and not any serious act of violence. You laugh along with him, pressing the tip of your tongue out just a bit to tease him and how upset over nothing he’s getting.

“You’re kinda handsome when you’re trying to act all tough and brooding,” you tease, tugging your face from his grip with little effort required. You watch the way Minho’s eyebrows pull upwards at the words, as if intrigued by the confession.

“Oh, is that so?” he asks, almost sing-song in manner. “Is that why you’re so mean to me? You want me so bad? Want me to fuck you into this dining room table? Will that fix you?”

Minho is already standing up next to you and unbuckling his belt — it’s obviously a humorous display, the two of you bantering and joking about, but you’d be lying if the thought wasn’t running through your mind currently, now that he’s put it out there.

Is that an option?

“Why would we fuck on the table? There’s plenty of beds in here,” you reply dryly, now testing how far you can flirt with this idea before he rescinds it. Or you get dicked down into next Tuesday, either/or.

And you watch as Minho stills finally, perhaps much slower on the uptake than you would have ever expected him to be. Busy hands that once playfully tugged at his belt and pant button now pausing at the realization that you might actually be coming onto him, and not simply playing with him to pass the time. Eyes dropping down to meet yours as you stare up at him, still seated at the table next to — it’s that familiar curl of the the lip once again, devilish and sly — that let’s you know he’s finally getting what you’re serving.

“Get up.”

The words come out sort of quietly, a little under his breath, as if also testing the waters of the situation — a demand that the both of you are aware of not having to go along with, that you can simply tell him 'no’ and it calls off everything that has otherwise been built up towards this moment.

But instead, you choose to do as told, and just as quickly Minho wraps a hand around your arm and yanks you out of the kitchen and down the hall — towards a bedroom, any bedroom.

Finally settling on one based on what you can only assume to be pure luck, it’s just as quickly that Minho has your back flush against it with teeth and lips hard against your own — it’s aggressive, a little rough — perhaps filled with years of pining that otherwise only found an outlet in being petty and childish towards you in the most ridiculous, unnecessary, ways.

But for now, who cares?

“Can you at least get me into the bedroom?” you ask between energetic kisses, the request brings him to grin into your mouth.

“Of course, darling, how rude of me,” you feel him reach down and behind you for the doorknob, twisting and pushing it as the both of you fall towards the newly emptied space behind you. “Well would you look at that — there’s only one bed, what will we do now?”

You can hear in his voice that it’s a sarcastic reference to the popular trope, because quite obviously given the circumstances, one bed is plenty for the activities that you’re about to engage in — but taking it a step further, Minho presses a hand to the back of your neck and urges you towards the edge of the bed, bending you onto your knees and over the side of it. “Any other fun little tropes we can play with tonight?”

“You want to roleplay on our first time?” you laugh, finding the idea of it a little endearing.

“If you want me to fuck you missionary with the lights off I’m more than happy to oblige that, as well.”

“Yuck,” you answer quickly. “Enemies to lovers? Seems apt.”

You can’t see his face given your position, but you can hear it in the way his oh sounds out, as if you’re a total genius and it’s the best idea he’s ever heard in his entire life. Squeezing ever so slightly onto the back of your neck, Minho leans down and over your back towards your ear. “So, you want me to hatefuck you then?”

“If you’d be so kind.”

The juxtaposition in relation to the negotiation of terms, as it were, and the sex you’re hoping to engage in that evening making you laugh a bit internally, it’s not long at all before Minho flips you over and onto your back, roughly pulling at the button of your pants and wasting no time pulling the fabric down your legs — tossing it aside and remembering that his own pants remain long undone from the joking just earlier in the kitchen, you watch as he palms himself through his boxer briefs as he allows his jeans to drop further down and expose more of himself to you — eyes lidded and heavy with lust, if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he might actually hate you in that moment.

And in spite of everything, you truly do feel safe with him. Besides, if anything goes wrong he’ll be a dead man in the morning, anyways.

“Anything I can’t do, like, in particular?” he asks suddenly, still lazily touching himself for your viewing pleasure as you hastily take the moment to pull your shirt up and over your head.

“Umm, don’t hit me, don’t call me mean names—“

“Holy shit, I wouldn’t do that if you asked me to, this is the first time we’re having sex!”

“Okay well you asked! I don’t know!

“Alright lemmie think,” Minho says, finally pulling his length out from it’s confines. You sit up upon it’s reveal, already wanting to put your mouth on him before he even requests it. “Suck me off? I’ll think of some stuff…hopefully.”

But you’re already up and with an eager hand wrapped around him, gently pumping him just in front of your face as he gazes down at the sight — tongue out and pressed to the underside of him, Minho’s eyes roll back only to pull tightly shut at the feeling of your hot mouth enveloping him whole.

“God, okay, can I cum on your face?”

You pull off only long enough to answer. “Yeah, sure.”

“Okay, sold. God, it’s kind of hard to hate you when you’ve got your mouth on my dick like that.”

And so you pull off of him entirely, lying back down again and with legs spread wide, as if presenting yourself for him to fuck. “Then, fuck me like you’re mad that I don’t anymore.”

“Fuck,” he says suddenly, looking around the room as if for something but quite evidently not going to find what it was that he would be looking for. “I don’t have condoms.”

“I don’t care, oh my God, just fuck me already.”

“Are you sure?”

Darting a hand up and into his t-shirt finally to bring him down and on top of you, it’s no time wasted between his hands catching himself on the mattress just next to your head and you reaching down to rub his cock again, pressing the tip of him against your pussy as if to entice him even further — insist that he stop thinking and talking and start fucking.

“Are you gonna fuck me or are you gonna continue being as worthless as I always thought you were?”

What you didn’t expect, was for it to be that easy. Minho’s hand sliding up the bed and entangling into your hair, a hard grip into your scalp as he takes it upon himself to press his hips forward and bury his thick cock into you — it’s not all in one fluid motion, two, three shallow pushes and pulls before he’s completely and fully inside of you but he gives you little time to adjust to accommodate his girth before he’s rocking against the apex of your thighs — teeth gritted and head dropping down into the juncture between your shoulder and your neck — it’s the groans and growls escaping him that really do a number on your want for him, paired of course with the intense drag of him against your unprepared walls.

“Feel worthless now?” he asks against the skin of your neck before latching teeth there, biting and sucking into the skin with intent to leave bruises. Whimpers and moans falling from your own mouth at the feeling, along with the intensity in which his pounding into you grows — your throat feels dry, words caught somewhere in between their origin and destination at the question. “Can’t even talk, like my cock that much? You wanted it all this time that’s why you’re like that?”

You decide to play along, nodding as much as his grip into your hair permits as he chuckles against the skin at the admission. “Why don’t you be good for me and rub yourself off a bit, if you come pretty enough on my cock I’ll consider painting your face with mine.”

And you’ve always known Minho’s had a mouth on him, that much is no surprise, but this filthy is coming as quite one, and in the best kind of way — the words immediately pooling between your legs, walls firmly closing in against him as he fucks you hard, fast and with intent.

Minho pulls up and off your body, letting free your hair and allowing you the range of motion to bring a hand down between the both of you to circle fingers into your clit as he settles on his knees — hands bracing on your waist as he fucks you further — less momentum in his hips and more in his arms as he effectively pulls your body down and onto his cock, you have full view of the way the veins and muscles in his arms flex and move with every motion — the way his eyes lock onto the exact place where he disappears into your cunt repeatedly for extended periods of time, before eventually looking back up and making eye contact with you in a sort of way that almost silently asks if everything is still going okay on your end, but with orgasm threatening you, you couldn’t answer him verbally right away had you even tried.

“Look so pretty, like touching yourself with my dick in you?”

You nod pathetically, the dirty talk still doing you in just as before and the familiar quake of your thighs sneaking up on you.

“Yeah, I can feel it, bet this isn’t the first time you’re going to come to me, either.”

Good guess.

“F-fuck, Minho, I'm—“

“Close?” he asks, but it’s less in character than before, as if genuinely concerned about being able to get you over the edge. You nod again.

“Don’t stop, please, please, don't—“

Taking the command, he carries on and into you, shutting up long enough to focus on the task at hand as he watches your body tighten and shake beneath him with the promise of release — it doesn’t take you much longer to get there, either — teeth and eyes clenched together hard as your orgasm rips through you.

“Yeah baby, yeah come for me, you sound perfect—“

But you’re barely even able to process the words before Minho pulls out of you suddenly — and probably too close for comfort, but given his desire to fuck you through your own orgasm as much as possible taking it upon himself to trust his own judgment — you feel a familiar hand dipping down and into your hair again, pulling you into a sitting position at the end of it with Minho fisting his cock fast and just in front of your face. Jaw hanging slack and tongue out, you take the tip of him — wet with you and precum between your lips as you gaze up at him.

“So obsessed with having my cock all this time, could have just asked, but I’ll give you what you deserve, you earned it.”

He barely gets the whole sentence out before he’s pulling from your mouth and groaning loud into the first rope of cum that empties from him and onto your face — your thankful for the choice to have your eyes closed as the feeling of warm, wetness splashes across your eye and cheek, followed by another, strong string, and slowly finished by the gentle pooling of his cum against your lips and chin as he drags his cock across your skin to make a mess of the job already done.

Chest heaving, you open your one available eye to watch Minho as he slings his t-shirt off, bringing it to your face and gently attempting to wipe away the mess he only just made there. You giggle at him, appreciating it but shortly thereafter taking the fabric into your own hands to do the job yourself.

Kneeling down in front of you, the man looks at you from between your knees and with bright, wide eyes — like a puppy dog expecting praise for doing a good job. “So? How was it?”

“You’re kind of a lousy hatefuck, I’ll be honest,” you laugh, handing him back his cum-soaked shirt and realizing you’ll have to elaborate based on his dropping expression. “What I mean is, you were kind of nice about it, don’t you think? The praise?”

Minho scoffs, but in a way that you know that he knows that what you’re saying is the truth, coyly crossing his arms over his now bare chest and huffing as he makes a display of looking away from you. “It’s the first time and we barely got to discuss anything! What am I supposed to do? Put you in a choke hold and call you a slut? You said no mean names!”

Thinking about it for a moment, you figure he’s probably right, and it generally best to err on the side of caution, but it certainly does present itself to a flurry of other potentials in the future.

“Well, we’ve got all night.”

♡ send me your thoughts and feelings in my ask.

—this is a oneshot, there will be no part 2.

#lee minho smut #stray kids smut #lee minho x reader #lee minho x you #lee minho x y/n #lee minho scenarios #lee minho imagines #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #stray kids x y/n #stray kids imagines #stray kids scenarios #lee know x you #lee know smut #lee know x reader #lee know x y/n #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios

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fluentmoviequoter · 2 months

Note

for the valentines prompts i feel like “could you have found a bigger teddy bear?!” and “i don’t know what kind of wine you’re meant to have with takeout, so i got both.” gives me such big tim vibes like it’s the first valentines as a married couple (or just couple in general) and tim ends up having to work a little bit of overtime causing him to be late so the teddy bear with wine and takeout is his way of apologizing

You're so right, those absolutely have Tim vibes. He'd be so apologetic and sweet about it! This is the first Valentine's Day as a couple in general. I hope you enjoy and Happy Valentine's Day!🤍

Warnings: alcohol (mentions wine and glasses), brief angst, lots of fluff!! 1.4k+ words

The First (of Many?)

The first Valentine’s Day is special and stressful in a whirlwind of love, fear that something will go wrong, and your valentine. So, when Tim offered to take care of everything for your first Valentine’s Day, promising to make it perfect, you agreed.

“I really don’t mind doing something, if you need me to. I know you’re busy,” you offer.

He looks into your eyes, laying his hands on your shoulders. “I just need you to be there. I promise to make it special. I’m hoping it’ll be the first of many.”

You smile up at him and reply, “I am too.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When you return home on February 13th, Tim is waiting for you. He has to work on Valentine’s Day, but he has the night planned from the moment he gets off work.

“Hi,” you greet quietly.

Tim stands, pulling you into a hug. “Hey.”

“What are you doing here?”

“I can’t visit now?” Tim raises his brows, a faux challenge.

“I suppose,” you hum, clutching his shirt. “But it’s a good thing I like seeing you.”

“That is a good thing.”

You lead Tim inside, and he lingers by the doorway to talk while you change and wash your face.

“What happened?” you ask.

“Why did something have to happen?”

You lean out of the bathroom doorway, your face soapy as you look at him.

“I just- I hate that I don’t get to see you until tomorrow night,” Tim replies.

“Tim, you’ve done so much to make the night perfect. I love seeing you, too, but the time that we do get is what matters.”

“You start writing cards for Hallmark?” Tim teases.

You shake your head, trying to move around Tim as you exit the bathroom. He grabs your waist, tugging you against him.

“I love you,” he says.

“I love you. And now you have a lot to make up for.”

Tim laughs, moving his arms around your waist to kiss you.

✯✯✯✯✯

While Tim finishes working on the 14th, you spend some time cleaning his house for him. Last night, Tim offered to let you get ready at his place to relax for the afternoon before he picks you up, and you accepted but wanted to do something nice for him. As it gets later, closer to the time Tim is supposed to be home, you get ready. Dressed in a beautiful new outfit that makes you feel amazing, your hair styled perfectly, and a smile as you anticipate your first Valentine’s Day with Tim, you grab his gift and sit at the table. Waiting for him to get home quickly becomes your least favorite part of the day.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is about to leave the station when he gets a call. As his phone rings, the radio on his desk crackles with static before the line clears. He wants to see you and spend the evening with you. All he wants to do is change and drive to his house, but he has to answer this call first.

“Calling all available units to Redondo Boulevard and Washington Boulevard. 7-Adam-15 requesting backup; shots fired.”

Being the good cop that he is, Tim responds to the call. He wishes he had enough time to call you and let you know he will be a few minutes late. Or, at least, he hopes it will only be a few minutes.

✯✯✯✯✯

You have no calls or texts from Tim, but it’s an hour after he was supposed to be here. You stand from the table and walk toward his spare bedroom, sighing as you pull your bag toward you and reapply your lips gloss, hoping that he’ll be home soon.

✯✯✯✯✯

Two hours of overtime later, Tim finally gets in his truck to go home. He grabs his phone to call you, but it’s dead. Tim tosses it in the passenger seat and hits the steering wheel. His apology needs to be good; he promised a perfect night, and there’s only a slim chance of saving it. Maybe Tim can save Valentine’s Day and make it a special night, even if it’s not the night he originally planned to have with you.

Driving to your favorite restaurant for takeout, he stops in a small 24-hour store and hesitates as he walks down the wine aisle. After picking two bottles, with no clue about what he’s doing, he gets distracted by what seems to be a life-sized teddy bear.

“Can’t hurt,” he mumbles, pulling it over his shoulder to carry it.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your Valentine’s Day has turned into more of a self-care day. You’ve ditched your new shoes, stowed them in your bag, and are now sitting on the couch. A cheesy romcom is playing on Tim’s television while you try to forget about Tim. Unable to decide if you should worry about or be mad at him, you’ve chosen indifference until you hear from him and can decide how to react based on his explanation for leaving you alone on Valentine’s Day.

Just as the male lead in the movie proclaims his undying love, Tim’s front door opens roughly, hitting the wall behind it as you look over. Tim enters with several items in his arms, and you can’t choose what to look at first. An oversized teddy bear is hanging on the floor as it slips from his grasp, and two bottles of wine and a bag of takeout are balanced skillfully in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he says, nudging the door closed as his eyes stay trained on you. “I’m sorry; there was a call for backup, and it ended up taking longer than I expected, and then my phone died. So, I got you food, even though it’s not the reservation I had or anything. I went shopping too. I don’t know what kind of wine you’re meant to have with takeout, so I got both,” he rambles.

You stand, rounding the couch as he explains himself. You pull the wine and the food from his hands, setting them on the table as he quiets. Watching you, he waits for a reaction.

“I think as long as the wine isn’t in a box, it’s okay,” you say softly.

“You’re not mad?” Tim asks, his eyebrows pinched as you step toward him.

“Depends,” you hum. “Could you have found a bigger teddy bear?!”

Tim sighs at your pleased tone, and when you grab one of the teddy bear’s paws, he says, “If you’re mad, yes, I can find a bigger teddy bear.”

You chuckle, pulling it out of his arms. It’s nearly as big as you, and you hug it quickly.

“Thank you,” you tell Tim, over the bear’s fur.

“Could I- could I maybe get a turn?”

Laughing, you toss the bear onto the couch and pull Tim close. He hugs you tightly, whispering another apology in your ear.

“Stop apologizing. You had to work; I get it.”

“We’re redoing Valentine’s Day.”

“Tim, we don’t have to. Every moment with you is special.”

Tim nods before kissing your forehead.

“You got my favorite takeout,” you realize.

“Of course. Least I could do after making you wait. Although now that I see how amazing you look, I think we should go out anyway.”

“No, it’s perfect,” you reply. “And I can wear this any time.”

“All the time?”

Pushing Tim toward the table, you sit beside him and enjoy your unconventional Valentine’s Day dinner.

“Thank you,” you say again.

“I am so sorry.”

“I know, and I forgive you, even though there’s no reason to be sorry.”

“Sorry,” Tim whispers.

“If you apologize one more time, I will be cuddling that bear instead of you tonight,” you say, pointing your fork at Tim.

“I deserve that,” Tim responds, failing to hide his smile.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Tim.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day.”

He pulls a box of chocolates and a gift bag from his side, setting them on the table beside you. You smile, sliding a gift box to him as well.

“I also got all of this,” Tim adds, lifting a bag of candy onto the table. “It was already on sale.”

The gifts are forgotten as you each take a few pieces of candy and chocolate, joking about what (and who) is sweeter.

You stand to take the empty containers and wine glasses to the kitchen. When Tim joins you, grabbing your hips and pressing his chest to your back, you say, “If you were wondering, this is absolutely going to be the first of many.”

Tim smiles, though you don’t have time to enjoy it as he turns you around and kisses you, tasting like chocolate, love, and many more special days to come.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford fluff #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford #the rookie #requests #fluentmoviequoter valentine's day '24

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janeyseymour · 2 months

Note

I hope you’re feeling well!

This prompt is kinda a part 2 for Warmth. The reader stays at Mel’s house so much that they are already living together at this point but nothing between them is official nor neither asked the other to live together.

Don’t know if your mind will take you to hurt, comfort or some other feeling but can you make it with a sweet ending with them being cute and living together? Thank you ❤️

hi! i got you, homie! here you go! as per usual... not edited in the slightest n hopin it's enough of a slay

Warmth- pt 2

Part 1

wc: ~3.4k

Since staying at Melissa’s house for the first night, and then a second night, and then an unexpected third night because she missed you, you and the redhead spent most of your time together.

The two of you arrive to Abbott together- whether that be because you were at her house already, she was at your apartment, or one of you had picked the other up depended on what had happened the previous night. You spend any time at the school that you can together, whether that be at lunch, standing next to each other at assemblies, or sitting with her and Barbara during meetings. You usually have dinner together, unless one of you has plans for dinner with friends. But even then, the two of you end up together sharing a bottle of wine or having a nice mug of tea to debrief about the day’s events. And then sometimes you stay the night, sometimes she stays the night, and occasionally you have to slip out once she’s already asleep because you have things you have to get done at your apartment.

But those days are coming to an end, and you find that you’re rarely at your apartment anymore besides to get mail or grab clothing for the next coming days. And even then? You have a drawer at Melissa’s, you have a toothbrush, spare blankets, she even has a mug that is specifically for you in her cupboard.

The two of you are practically living together at this point, although neither of you has said anything about the situation at hand. In fact, the two of you haven’t even discussed the two of you seeing each other. You meant to, but… it just never happened. You actually haven’t kissed aside from when you’re… The elephant in the room hasn’t been addressed, and you’re just a bit too nervous to say anything about it. So, you don’t bring it up. And for some reason, she doesn’t either.

“Mel?” you knock on her front door, a bottle of white in your hand to drink with her. You reach for the knob and turn, but she’s beaten you to it.

She opens the front door, hair knotted up and her glasses on the bridge of her nose as she scrolls through her phone. “Hey, hun.”

“Hey,” you smile at her and take in her appearance. Even in her sweatpants, Eagles sweatshirt, and no makeup, she’s the most amazing woman you’ve laid your eyes on.

“Are y’gonna come in, or do I need to give you a personal invite?” she teases you. “C’mon, now.”

You brush past her, your side that grazes her figure burning.

“Took you long enough to get here,” she chuckles as she closes the door behind you and heads for the kitchen. You make yourself comfortable on the couch before opening the wine and pouring it into the two offered glasses.

“I know,” you chuckle. “I kept trying to leave earlier, but Alex had some things she had to debrief with me.”

“I’m just teasing,” she nudges you and sips her wine. “Thanks for coming.”

The two of you spend the rest of your night sitting on the couch chatting about your days before retiring up to her bedroom like you usually do.

You spend the next morning getting ready together before you have to part ways to get to school. You wake up in her arms as you always do- happy, warm, feeling like you’re on top of the world. She makes you breakfast, the two of you enjoy a cup of coffee together, and then you set off to get ready. Like usually, the redhead makes herself cozy next to you at the vanity to get yourself right and for her to put her face on. It’s close, it’s intimate. Then you’re climbing into your car and she’s getting into hers with words of, “See you soon, be safe,” despite the fact that both of you know you’ll be taking the exact same route and one of you will simply be behind the other person.

When you’re in the school, the two of you grab your cups of coffee, and you settle in to watch the morning news. It’s a nice morning, and then the two of you are heading to your respective classrooms to get ready for the students. You of course saunter into her classroom with her, having nothing to really prep before the school day starts. You perch yourself on her desk as she answers some parent emails and looks over her lesson plans for the day. It’s nice, it’s quiet, and you enjoy just being with her. But then you look over at the clock, and the kids will be coming in all too soon, so you know you have to get over to your own classroom.

Without thinking, you lean in and kiss her. “I’ll see you later tonight. Love you.”

And then you both freeze. Did you really just kiss her- at school no less? Did you really just so casually tell her you love her for the first time? Your eyes grow wide, as do hers. And then you just run- you absolutely bolt out of her room and into your own. You have no idea what the fuck to do.

You actively avoid her for the rest of the day, and she knows it. You quite literally refuse to look in her direction. It’s an odd, tense day between the two of you, and everyone has taken notice- specifically Barbara. You don’t flirt with her, you don’t sit with them during lunch, you make a choice to close your door during your prep when it would usually be wide open for any of the crew to waltz in and strike up a conversation. You practically sprint out of the school once your last student is gone.

“Girl, where has Y/N been today?” the kindergarten teacher asks her best friend. “I feel like I only saw her this morning when we were watching the news.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Melissa plays it off. “She’s probably busy with her kids and the testing and stuff that we have to do.” She knows that’s not entirely off- but she also knows that you are currently ahead of where most of the other teachers are for all of the testing.

You drive back to your apartment, not quite feeling welcome at Melissa’s anymore. Even though you hadn’t meant for those words to spill out of your mouth, she didn’t reciprocate- and you don’t know how to take that. Maybe she felt the same way and just didn’t get a chance to voice that before you ran. Maybe she simply doesn’t reciprocate those feelings. Maybe… you don’t know. Once you pull into your parking spot, you lay your head on your steering wheel and just want to curl up and drink a bottle of wine. So that’s pretty much what you do. You grade about half of their math tests before you give up and drive to the liquor store to grab your favorite rosé.

That night, you stare at the ceiling for the longest time. You haven’t slept on your own in so long. Really, it’s been almost… three months since you’ve slept on your own. You don’t even know how to do it anymore. It feels so lonely. You have half a mind to text Melissa, but you can’t muster up the courage. You haven’t sent her a text since this morning, terrified of what her reaction might be.

You don’t know this at the time, but Melissa is wrestling with the idea of texting you. She misses having you as her human blanket and being your human furnace. She misses the sweet, soft goodnight. The bed feels empty without you. But with you avoiding her, she really doesn’t want to stir up anything. She knows that sometimes you need a breather before you’ll address the situation, much like herself.

Neither of you sleep well. Both of you show up to school absolutely exhausted, dark circles under your eyes from the lack of sleep.

When you enter the break room for a much needed cup of joe, she’s sitting there picking at her nails as she tries to engage in a conversation with Barbara. You don’t say hello to anyone, actively avoiding the redhead and making it very clear. You simply brew a pot of coffee, fix it to your liking, and head out with a soft, “I have some work I have to get done.”

You avoid the staff room like the plague, and you wait until Melissa is out of her room to make any exits from your room for the day. It’s weird.

She’s miserable through the whole day, and the entire school knows it.

The rest of the week goes on like this.

“Girl,” Ava comes knocking at your door as you’re getting ready to head out for the weekend.

“What’s up?” you ask.

“You gots to fix whatever the hell is goin’ on with you and Red,” the principal tells you as she points a perfectly manicured finger at you. “Melissa’s back to her walkin’ around the halls without bending her knees and threatening to give the cameramen a colonoscopy with a fork again when they try to ask her what’s wrong.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Ava,” you roll your eyes. “I’ve just been busy with… you know, work stuff. The stuff I’m getting paid to do?”

“You n’ I both know you’re all caught up and you’re avoiding your woman,” the woman says seriously.

“She isn’t… she isn’t my woman,” you say quietly as you go to leave. But Ava has other ideas in mind and blocks you from exiting the classroom.

“Oh please,” she rolls her eyes as she leans against the doorframe. “You two show up together, you flirt constantly, she makes you coffee, you share lunches… she even lets you wear her Eagles sweatshirt when you’re cold. Sounds like she’s your woman.”

“Ava,” you sigh.

“Fix it!” she instructs. “I don’t need another lawsuit because of Melissa. I have enough of my own to charisma my way out of.” With that, she turns on her heel and leaves.

You sigh as you exit the building and make your way to your car. You see that Melissa’s car is still there, and there she is… sitting in it with a pout on her face. She just happens to look up, seeing movement out of the corner of her eye. You make direct eye contact with her. She raises her brow.

It’s now or never. You head over to your car to put your things away before you’ll make your way over to her. But as you unlock the door to your vehicle, you hear hers speed away. You fucked that up.

With a sigh, you climb into your own car. You drive to one of the liquor stores, pick up her favorite bottle of wine as a peace offering, and go to the redhead’s house. You gather yourself for a moment in her driveway before getting out and hustling to the front door. You knock a few times. Usually, you would just let yourself in after knocking, but you don’t feel that’s appropriate at the moment. So you take a step back and wait for her to open the front door. She does so with a scowl.

“What?” is all Melissa gets out before walking away. Seeing that she didn’t slam the door in your face, you take that as an invite to enter.

“I brought wine,” you say softly. “Care to share with me?”

“And why would I do that after you’ve avoided me for the past two days?” the fiery woman challenges you. “After you say that you love me, and then run and hide away?”

“I- I’m sorry,” you sigh softly, shifting from side to side and suddenly feeling very self-conscious. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry for what?” she raises an eyebrow as she sits back down on her couch, folding one leg underneath of her. The second grade teacher crosses her arms and waits for you to speak.

“Can I open this, and we can have a glass while we talk?” you ask feebly. Honestly, you could use the liquid courage.

“Nah,” she tells you. “I wanna hear what you have to say for yourself, and then I’ll decide if you can stay or if I’m gonna kick you out and tell you to go to hell.”

With a sigh, you set down the bottle before looking to her. “Can I sit?”

“If you must,” she rolls her eyes. You do. She waits.

“Mel,” you say softly. “I-“ you mull over how to say all of this, what’s on your chest right now. “I know I have a thing for you, I know you have a thing for me. We’ve essentially been dating for the last however many months-”

“-Three months, nine days,” she cuts you off.

“Right,” you inhale. “But we haven’t discussed anything- we don’t even kiss unless we’re fucking… But everything aside from that feels so domestic. When I kissed you so casually and told you I loved you, I- I freaked out a little. So, I ran. I didn’t want to hear you laugh in my face or tell me that I was an idiot, or whatever Italian slang you would use, or… I don’t know,” you shrug your shoulders. She continues to just stare at you, although now her head is cocked to the side as if she’s thinking.

“I- I meant what I said,” you admit quietly. “I do love you.”

“And that’s why you ran?” the redhead asks you flatly.

“Yeah,” you sigh softly. “I am so, undeniably in love with you, and that terrifies me. I don’t wanna lose you, but I think I might’ve already. So… I’ll just get my stuff and… you can keep the wine, and-”

“You ain’t gonna let me tell you my side of the story?” she asks lowly.

“I mean… I’m assuming this is the part where you tell me to pack my shit and go to hell? I fucked up, and I know I did, and I’m so-”

“For Christ’s sake, Y/N,” Melissa cuts you off. “You’re rambling like Janine. Let me get in a word or two.”

You close your mouth and gesture for her to speak, biting your lip nervously.

“When you said it, yeah, I was shocked. But then you ran before I could get the chance to say anything.” she tells you. “N’ I was gonna talk to you and tell you how I felt, but then you avoided me like the fuckin’ plague and didn’t give me a chance. So, I was givin’ you some space, ‘cause I know sometimes you need a day. But you took a God damn week! And I’ve been miserable! Because all I wanted to do was text you, tell you to come over, we could talk it out. I was hopin’ you would come talk to me today in the parking lot when you saw me, but then you went to your car instead of over to me.”

“I was going to come over after I put my bags down, but you didn’t give me the chance,” you tell her.

Your words fall upon deaf ears, because she’s still going. She stands from her place and starts to get in your face, the way that you’ve seen her do to others when she’s all fired up. “I had this whole big speech prepared about how I was sorry I didn’t react quick enough, and how I was hoping we could talk all of this over and finally address our situation! I was gonna tell you that I love you too! But-”

You cut her off. “Y-you love me too?” you ask, just barely above a whisper.

“Of course I do, you idiot,” she practically yells at you. “I would be a moron not-”

Again, you cut her off, but this time with your lips. She freezes for a second before kissing you back just as passionately. When you pull away, your hand stays cupping her cheek, and you smile against her. “I love you,” you whisper.

This time, you give her the opportunity to respond. “I love you too, you stupid idiot,” she chuckles back softly.

“So,” you laugh quietly as you pull away. “Am I allowed to open the wine now? Or are you going to tell me to go to hell?”

“Answer me this one question,” she tells you. “And then I’ll decide… can we make this- us- official?”

You grin and nod quickly. “Yeah, I think we can.”

“Then you can open the wine and come lay with me in bed,” she laughs as she makes her way to the kitchen, a hand interlocking with yours and pulling you along.

After finishing off the bottle of wine and some other activities… you’re curled up against her with a pleased smile on your face. You gently cup her cheek again to make her look at you before capturing her lips again. “God, I love you. That feels so good to say.”

“I love you too,” Melissa smirks.

“It feels good to be back,” you sigh softly. “I missed home.”

“Home?” she looks at you curiously.

“Oh, uh…” you panic for a second. You hadn’t meant to say that. “ You.”

“Is that what you think when you’re here? Home?” the redhead asks you as she sits up slightly.

You start to rub your collarbone nervously. “Yeah?” you admit shyly. “I mean… This house feels more like home than my apartment. We practically live together at this point.”

“Home,” she sighs quietly. “I like that.”

“Yeah?” you look to her.

“Yeah,” the older woman whispers. Then she clears her throat. “Instead of ‘practically living together’, do you want to just… live together?”

Your eyes go wide. “What?”

“Uh,” she blinks a few times. “Nevermind. We can take this-”

“No,” you say quickly. “Wait, shit. I mean, yes? If you’re serious?”

“I’m serious,” she tells you softly. “I don’t let just anyone keep a drawer at my house. And like you said, we’ve been practically living together for the last three months. It doesn’t make sense for you to be paying rent for an apartment you’re never at.”

“Then yeah,” you kiss her gently. “I think I’d like that.”

“We can figure all of that stuff out tomorrow,” Melissa promises you. “Right now, I just want to go to sleep with my girlfriend.”

“Girlfriend,” you hum as the two of you settle back down to a laying position. You lay your head on her shoulder.

“Goodnight, amore,” she whispers before kissing your temple. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” you whisper back before letting your eyes flutter closed.

The next Monday, the two of you walk into Abbott hand in hand, smiles on your faces. Ava immediately sees it and grins. She playfully wipes some fake sweat away in relief.

“Oh thank God,” the principal sighs dramatically. “You fixed it.”

“I did,” you chuckle. “And she is my woman, now. So we’re gonna need those forms to fill out.”

She leads the two of you into her office before pulling out the forms- and they’re already partially filled out in glittery ink.

“For Christ’s sake, Ava,” your girlfriend groans. “How long have you had these filled out?”

“Since the day you told Y/N she could crash at your place,” the principal laughs loudly. “I knew somethin’ was goin’ on between the two of you from that day on. It was just a matter of time as to when you two were gonna figure it out.”

Melissa snatches the papers out of Ava’s hands with a roll of her eyes. She starts to lead you out and towards the staff room to make a couple cups of coffee, but she’s stopped when the principal calls your names.

“And just let me know when you need paperwork for a marriage license! I already have those filled out too!”

“Ava!” the two of you shout at her as you continue on your way.

You two won’t need those papers for a while… especially when it took the two of you so long to get your heads out of your asses in the first place.

#melissa schemmenti fanfic #melissa schemmenti x you #melissa schemmenti x reader #melissa schemmenti #abbott elementary fanfic #abbott elementary fanfiction

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wntrs0ldier · 1 year

Text

An Offer · part 04

pairing: mob!bucky x reader words: 4,2k warnings: typical mafia (dark themes, language, violence, etc.)

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series summary: When your father dies, the only thing you can do for your family and the empire he built, is to marry a powerful man.

chapter sneak peek: “Bucky…” You hesitated, taking a little more time to sort out what you should really say. “Helps me with some business.” You reached for the glass of wine standing in front of you and took a sip.

“Always helpful,” Rebecca sneered. You noticed that she has been passionately ignoring her brother, but until now you were convinced that this was just a mistaken impression. “And, of course, he wants the best for you, doesn't he?” She faked a smile.

The encounter with Bucky, which took place a few days ago, turned out to be a new source of worry, leaving you even more confused. Guided by common sense, you tried not to dwell on it, but every time you lost your guard and let your thoughts wander, you found yourself reliving that moment. And each time you asked yourself the same question, Why did an accidental contact lead to such a strong reaction? It wasn't that the two of you had started pawing each other; Bucky accidentally leaned against you. And then he looked at your lips to see if your body was thinking the same thing as his…

You drifted off again, and were made aware of it by the boiling kettle. The flashback of the touch immediately popped into your head like the words of a stupid song you couldn't stop humming. And although you lost your appetite for tea, you filled the cup with hot water.

Michael walked into the kitchen with a newspaper in his hands – the kind he used to bring your father every morning. With a heavy sigh, he put it down on the kitchen counter. When you peeked at him to figure out if that sigh meant he was in a bad mood, you met his gaze. Suddenly you felt uncomfortable.

“What..?”

“Stark is becoming impatient,” Michael began. “Since your father's death, no one really controls the distribution of Stark Industries products. If this outage continues, Stark will quit doing business with us,” he said. Having taken off his glasses, he massaged his closed eyelids. Working with Tony Stark was bringing in a huge amount of money for your Family. As such, you understood Michael's nervousness – you couldn't afford to dissolve your partnership. “In view of this, we have less and less time.”

Biting your lower lip, you ran your eyes nervously over the surface of the countertop. “What about Brock?” You didn't want to consider the possibility that Brock might have turned out to be your last resort, but you knew you should be prepared for it. “Any word from Rumlows?”

Michael shook his head. “I was approached by someone else,” he added. Your first instinct was to feel uneasy, but in the end you decided to give it a chance. It dawned on you that you had to stop being picky, even though it had seemed perfectly reasonable to you up to that point. You had the right to demand to be treated right by any person you were to marry. “John Walker would like to speak to you. Without me or any third parties present.”

This was exactly what you had feared – John Walker joining in. And while he didn't seem as harmful as Brock, you didn't see him as the ideal candidate. But for all intents and purposes, you didn't see an ideal candidate in any man around.

You swallowed hard. “Did he say anything else?”

“That he will reach you to discuss the details of the meeting.”

The conversation with Michael was still looming in your head, effectively hindering your preparations for dinner at the Barnes house. All you could do was turn up there and look good, and even that was difficult to achieve.

A long, warm bath has improved the state of your skin somewhat – until now it was a little too dry and ashen as a result of the stresses of recent weeks. However, it regained some of its softness. You dried and brushed your hair, moisturised your face and did your makeup a little more carefully than usual, trying to cover up every little imperfection – these, too, have intensified since the burden of serious decisions fell on you. You generally tried not to complain about your appearance, but lately you haven't felt particularly comfortable in your own skin. Still, you saw the positive side in worrying about your looks – it took your mind off the rest of your problems.

The day was inexorably turning into evening, but the weather had not changed much – the temperature outside remained pleasantly warm, perfectly reflecting the deep spring. So you decided to put on a white dress with tiny flowers; it had short, buff sleeves and reached past your knees. The hard part came when you had to deal with the tie at the back; it went in a zigzag from mid-shoulders to lower back.

You breathed a sigh of relief when you heard a quiet knock on the door – Suzie appeared just in time.

“I was just about to-” You looked back over the shoulder and felt a sudden wave of heat when you spotted Bucky instead of your sister. Although he'd announced to you that he was coming – this time he'd done it by text, not by standing outside your window – you hadn't expected him this early. And as much as you tried to push the memories of your last contact into some dark, forgotten corner of your mind, these blossomed with vivid colours. “I thought it was my sister.”

“I wanted to wait in the car, but she sent me here,” Bucky said, scratching the back of his head. “Need help with the dress?”

Staring at him blankly, you nodded after a while.

“May I..?”

“Sure.”

Bucky came closer to you, so you turned again to let him work.

“Try to straighten the string, okay?” you added quietly. You wanted it to be as perfect as possible.

Bucky let out a heavy breath and you felt a cool blow on your half-naked back; this in turn made you shiver, much more gently than last time. His fingers slid under the string, and so involuntarily brushed your skin. You felt him hesitate for a moment, but then his fingers moved along the underside of the string, complying with your request and straightening it out. Soon he grabbed both ends and pulled them so that the front of the dress clung to your chest.

“Too tight?” he asked, presumably having heard your sharp sigh. You couldn't tell what it was the result of – the squeezing fabric or Bucky's closeness.

“It’s okay,” you croaked and you almost immediately scolded yourself for how weak and pathetic you sounded.

Bucky tied the ends of the string in a double bow, probably as a precaution; in case it would come undone at the least appropriate moment. He did it in silence, and although this seemed perfectly natural for such an activity, you got the impression that an awkwardness had crept in between you, which you had managed to avoid at the very beginning of your relationship.

“Done,” Bucky said, and you turned around carefully. Just as carefully, you lifted your gaze to his face. He was surveying you, possibly even more intensely than usual. For a brief moment you wondered if he too was tormented by the same thoughts as you, and judging by the slightly pained look on his face, expressing some kind of longing, you could guess that he was indeed.

“Have you heard?” You spoke after a bit longer silence.

“About what?” Bucky didn't even for a split second seem interested in the answer that might lie beneath your question.

“John Walker asked me on a date,” you said calmly, moreover, you were almost tempted to smile – you didn't want to give the situation unnecessary tragedy.

A corner of his mouth lifted, but that gesture had not even a hint of enthusiasm in it. He didn't look surprised or angry. You figured the news had traveled fast, but even if Bucky hadn't been aware of John's offer until now, he predicted it – he told you about it at the very beginning.

“You look really nice,” Bucky’s voice sounded so soft that your face flushed. You wanted to check if he was telling the truth, but you were unable to take your eyes off his.

“Thank you.” You smiled slightly. “I’ll grab a few things and we can go,” you added. You had the irresistible feeling that if you didn't say it – didn’t say something – the mutual gazing at each other would get out of hand again.

“I’ll be in the car.”

You left the house with Suzie. Because of your hands being occupied with a cardboard box, she closed the door behind you, then you both headed to the gate.

Bucky stood with his back up against his car. Your knowledge of vehicles ended with the identification of brands, but even if that skill was even more limited, you would have easily recognised this one – mainly because of the distinctive wild horse logo. A thought unknowingly popped into your head that the black, vintage Mustang suited its owner.

Pulling away from the car, Bucky pushed his sunglasses on top of his head. He opened the passenger door and put the seat down, allowing Suzie to get into the back. As your sister slipped inside and the front seat returned to its place, you also got in. Bucky walked around the front of the car and sat behind the wheel, his gaze immediately falling on the box you were holding.

“I made a carrot cake,” you explained.

He raised his eyebrows with astonishment.

“Barnes don’t eat cakes?”

“We do,” Bucky differed. You glanced at the way his hand landed on the stick and put it in the right gear. He threw his arm over your headrest to look at the back window, and you felt butterflies in your stomach again. “It’s just… Baking is so…”

“Yeah..?”

“I don’t know, wifely?”

You watched the profile of Bucky's face as he focused on the road. “Is there anything else wifely in me?”

Bucky smirked under his nose. When the car stopped at the first traffic light, he leered at you. “In you? I'd have to check.” He shrugged. “But those nightgowns you wear…” He pressed his lips together, shaking his head slowly. “Fuck,” he said almost soundlessly, as if he didn't want Suzie to hear it.

You rolled your eyes and smacked his arm, and he snorted a quiet laugh.

For the rest of the way, you didn’t really talk. You were worried that Suzie might feel uncomfortable, or worse, pick up something she wasn't supposed to hear. She was nearly an adult, besides, she had grown up in the same environment as you, nevertheless, you preferred to spare her the awkwardness.

Not long after you had left the city behind, the car turned into a road along which big old trees were growing; their interlocking tops formed a kind of tunnel. At its exit was a large, green plot of land, and you couldn't really tell where it ended. The house on it – tall, with a surrounding porch and walls covered with ivy in places – was probably as old as the trees.

Absorbed in the views behind the window, you didn't even notice that the car had stopped. You only became aware of it when Bucky opened the door for you. You got out, still scanning the surroundings with your eyes, and Bucky freed your sister.

“This place…” You began, and only after a moment glanced at Bucky. He stood next to you and tilted his head slightly to the side. “It’s beautiful here.”

Bucky gave you a half-smile, and this time you could see an undeniable softness and happiness on his face. You were able to tell that he had positive feelings about his family home.

The front door – solid, heavy, with a colourful, floral stained glass window – swung almost wide open. And although you had never really met her, you recognised Winnifred Barnes in the woman who stepped out onto the porch. At first glance, you saw a striking resemblance between her and Bucky – he had her whole face; her big blue eyes, straight nose and strong jaw.

“Y/N, Suzanne,” Mrs. Barnes beamed warmly at you and your sister. “I’m glad you could make it. Come inside.”

“Thank you for inviting us.” You handed Winnifred the package. “It’s just a cake,” you rushed to clarify, seeing the premature delight on the woman's face.

“That is so sweet of you, Y/N. Jamie,” she turned to Bucky. “Take our guests to the dining room, please.”

Having climbed the few steps leading up to the porch, Bucky joined you.

“Jamie?” you repeated, your mouth curved into a smile.

Bucky chuckled. “Yeah.” He scratched his neck.

You got to the dining room, and although the number of people there exceeded your expectations, you didn't feel overwhelmed by the company. You recognised Timothy first, since you had seen him relatively recently, then Steve Rogers, as he also figured quite vividly in your consciousness. As for the rest, you weren't as sure.

You guessed that one of the young women sitting at the table, who was an almost perfect, and certainly the most faithful copy of Winnifred, was Rebecca Barnes. There was an infant on her lap, banging a spoon on the table top and bursting into laughter after every sound. Rebecca, most likely used to this kind of noise, didn't pay much attention to it; she was busy talking to the person sitting right next to her. This time you assumed it was Josephine Barnes. In fact, you were even sure of it, mainly because of the similarity she shared with Winnifred, Bucky and Rebecca. She only had slightly softer facial features and a not-so-piercing gaze; you also noticed the visible tan.

You almost missed the last one – with her nose in a book she was the least conspicuous. Mary, you guessed. You recalled that she was not much younger than your own sister.

“You okay?” Bucky asked quietly, and it wasn't his voice that revived you, but his fingers hooked on your elbow. You felt electricity radiating from that spot.

Before you had time to reply, something crashed into your legs and embraced them tightly. You looked down, where you spotted a little girl with a grin that missed a few teeth.

“Hi!” She exclaimed.

“Hi.” You couldn’t help but smile, too.

“Oh, Daisy,” Rebecca groaned, clearly embarrassed by the child's behaviour. You therefore concluded that Daisy was her daughter. “Stop that.”

“It’s all right,” you declared immediately.

Still, Bucky crouched down and pulled the child away from your legs, and this little fuss threw you into the spotlight. Everyone at the table stopped whatever they were just doing and focused on you.

“Jamie brought home a girl?” Josephine asked with surprise and a kind of hope. “How long have you been together?”

“Is that your girlfriend?” Mary joined the conversation. “Oh, she’s pretty.”

You pressed your lips together in a slight smile; you hoped to avoid becoming the main attraction, on the other hand, you could breathe a sigh of relief – your efforts to make your appearance tolerable had paid off.

“Alright, that's enough.” Bucky gave his sisters a threatening glare.

“They are not a couple,” Timothy, sitting at the head of the table, spoke, drawing everyone's attention. “As far as I know,” he added, raising his eyebrows. “Y/N,” he said to you, his friendly smile didn't match the mysterious expression on the rest of his face. “Sit next to Steve. I insist.”

You led your eyes in that direction. Indeed, there were two empty chairs between Mary and Steve – probably for you and Suzie. “Of course.” You nodded politely and made your way to that seat, peeking at your sister to check on her. Steve rose and pulled back a chair for you, and once you had taken your seat, you glanced at Bucky confused; Timothy's request seemed more than a little odd to you.

Bucky clenched his jaw. Previous experience allowed you to recognise when he wasn’t pleased, and that was exactly what he looked like at the moment.

Winnifred also appeared in the dining room. As the lady of the house, she sat at the other end of the table. Soon after, the first dishes were served and the room filled with sounds of conversation. The men were talking about baseball, then boxing, and although Bucky was actively involved in the discussion, he seemed a little distracted. Whenever you glimpsed in his direction, you caught him staring at you – you could see that he was a bit disappointed, perhaps even resentful, and there was something dark in his eyes; as if the sea in his irises was hit by a storm. Especially when Steve included you in a conversation, smiled or laughed at something you said.

Winnifred asked about your gallery, the upcoming exhibition, and about Suzie's school. She praised your cake. In exchange you learned that Mary was studying for her biology exam even at dinner, Rebecca had expanded little George's diet – the baby previously sitting on her lap – with more fruit, and Josephine had returned to New York on a short break from her college.

You were worried that you would feel uncomfortable here, especially as Timothy separated you from the only person you knew, but the atmosphere in the Barnes home was like a warm, safe hug. Even Suzie found common ground with Mary, so you didn't have to be concerned about her comfort.

“How did you two meet?” Josephine asked, and when you looked at her without understanding, she nodded discreetly at Bucky.

“Oh, but we-”

“Yeah, I know.” Josephine waved her hand dismissively. “But I'm interested in every detail. I can't remember the last time Jamie brought someone home.”

You plastered a slight smile on your face, knowing that it wasn't Bucky who invited you here, but his mum. “Actually, we met through your uncle,” you answered. You didn't want to spoil the mood with the subject of a funeral or an arranged marriage. “Bucky…” You hesitated, taking a little more time to sort out what you should really say. “Helps me with some business.” You reached for the glass of wine standing in front of you and took a sip.

“Rebecca, honey-” Winnifred interjected softly, and when she did, the table fell silent.

“No, mom.” She shook her head, as if that would prevent Mrs. Barnes from getting a word in edgewise. “It's not fair that some random girl can sit here with us and the father of my children can't.” Tears of anger shone in Rebecca's eyes. “Excuse me,” she said, then got up and left the room.

You felt guilty. Not because you may have actually taken an undeserved seat at the table, but instead of shame or anxiety, you were intrigued by this unexpected burst. You took another sip of wine.

“What happened to mommy?” Daisy asked.

“Nothing, baby,” Winnifred told her gently. “She’ll get better.”

With suspicion, Daisy turned her head at Bucky. “Is that true?”

He pressed his lips together in a pale smile. “Of course, Junebug. Cross my heart.” Bucky put his hand on his chest. “How about we watch ‘Finn and Jake’?” He suggested with theatrical excitement, which Daisy shared immediately – she nodded eagerly. “Yeah?” Bucky grinned again, more relaxed this time.

Daisy ran up to him, grabbed the hand he had held out and dragged him out of the dining room. Bucky glimpsed at you, giving you an apologetic look.

Josephine leaned out and laid her eyes on you. “I’m going for a smoke, wanna join?”

Josephine led you to a gazebo in the garden. As she said, she offered you a cigarette, and you both leaned against the railing. The evening gloom was dispelled by the lamps on the lawn and the lighting inside the gazebo; it was getting unpleasantly cold outside, but you preferred the low temperature outside to the tense atmosphere at the table.

“I probably shouldn't tell you this, but I don't want you to think that my sister is some spoiled bitch,” Josephine began, and you looked at her rather blankly. You didn't want to show too much that she made you curious. “His name was Robbie. The father of her children, as she called him,” she said with distaste. “He was part of the Family. Jamie recruited him, so the whole thing still bothers him. And Robbie was a fucking asshole from the beginning. He spent late nights in bars, gambled all their money away, hung out with other girls. When Daisy was born, it only got worse. He complained that Becca was neglecting him. Didn't help with the baby, disappeared from the house more often and for much longer…” She continued. “Rebecca's only problem is that she has a soft heart. She never said a bad word about Robbie, but everyone knew what was going on. She thought another baby would change him, that it would fix their relationship, but…” Josephine shrugged. She took a puff, and for a brief moment said nothing, staring into nowhere. “So Jamie got rid of him.”

Your brows drew together involuntarily. “What do you mean..?”

“No one knows what really happened to Robbie. He vanished into thin air and never contacted Becca again.”

You felt like a child who had just heard a blood-curdling ghost story. Actually, you only felt that way partly – on the other hand, you were even more fascinated by Bucky. “Well…” You sighed, shaking the excess ash off the end of your cigarette. “He did what he thought was right,” you commented. This time, too, you preferred to be careful, thus not claiming out loud that Bucky had done the right thing.

“Not according to Becca. She's better than she was at the beginning, but it's still a touchy subject for her.”

You finished your cigarettes in silence, and that silence helped you to sink into your own thoughts; to see Bucky in a slightly different light.

“Are you sure there's nothing between you and Jamie?” Josephine spoke, a teasing smirk on her face. “I saw the way he looked at you the whole dinner. I know my brother, and if I were Steve I would keep my distance from you,” she giggled.

Your lips twitched in a slight smile. You noticed it too, and although you weren't the only people at the table, you secretly hoped you were the only ones aware of what was going on.

You could have talked to Josephine about it; told her that Bucky had no right to be jealous. You were strictly focused on marrying someone and Bucky excluded himself at his own request. You could have shared all this with Josephine, thereby taking some of the weight off your shoulders. But you didn't want to involve her.

“I’m sure,” you said. “It's strictly business between him and me.”

“Speak of the devil.”

Following Josephine's gaze, you peeked over your shoulder. Bucky was heading to the gazebo. Having caught your eyes, he smirked softly. You struggled to take your eyes off his face and lowered them to his hands – he was holding a piece of cloth that you couldn't identify in the darkness. Only when Bucky got under the roof of the gazebo did you notice that he had brought a sweatshirt. Moreover, he put it gently over your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you murmured, surprised at the gesture, and glanced at Josephine. From the expression on her face, you were convinced that she wanted to say, So there's nothing between you two, right?

“You sneak out to smoke?” Bucky addressed his sister, his forehead creased. “What are you? Sixteen?”

“Oh, fuck off.” Josephine rolled her eyes.

Bucky reached out his hand, so she handed him the packet and the lighter. With a cigarette between his lips, he looked stunningly – more rough and intimidating.

“I'll leave you two alone,” Josephine suggested, grinning. She pushed herself away from the railing, and you two watched her leave.

You slipped your arms into the sleeves of the sweatshirt and wrapped yourself in it, discreetly inhaling the familiar scent. You looked at Bucky, and he again gave you a gentle smile; it reached his eyes as well. However, it faded soon after.

“I’m sorry about before. Becca-”

“I had this conversation with Josephine,” you stopped him. “I know what happened and I get it. I don't blame her for reacting the way she did. Anyway, she was right. I’m some random girl who-”

“You are not,” he protested immediately. His mouth set in a hard line as he was staring at you. “I-... I like you, Y/N.”

Taking a sharp breath, you looked away. You shook your head in disbelief, tried to ignore the fact that your heart was beating harder than you would have wished. “I like you too, Bucky, but I can’t fall for you. I don’t want to.”

Bucky took his eyes off you only to put out his cigarette. Then he moved a step closer to you and hesitantly reached for your hand. You closed your eyes, then fixed them on his fingers – he stroked the back of your hand with his thumb, and you didn't protest.

“I know,” he rasped. “But I just need to protect you. So please, let me protect you. Okay? Because I feel like everything is getting out of my control. And I’m fucking tired of it.”

You raised your gaze to his eyes. He glared into them pleadingly and with some kind of fear, as if your rejection would shatter him into a million pieces. You nodded slightly, unsure if you really did; if you really agreed to fall under his protection.

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#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x y/n #mob!bucky #mob!bucky x reader #mob!bucky x y/n #mob bucky #mafia!bucky #mafia bucky #bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #mob boss!bucky #mob boss!bucky x reader

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nightcourtseer · 3 months

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Pain Like This

Summary: Mor and Azriel finally talk. One year post ACOSF.

Read on A03

He had thought he had known agony. He thought he knew pain - thought that he had turned it on its side and around until he knew every part of what pain was, what pain could possibly be.

He had never known pain like this.

Orchestral music went on stories beneath him at the House of Wind. Winds and strings and the stories of their people, their freedom, drifted up to him as Azriel leaned his forearms on one of the house’s many balconies. Cool night air swept across his skin, tousling his air - as if it were an extension of his shadows which clung closer to him than they had done so in years.

He had discarded his fine black jacket at some point during the night, when things had all become a little too much and the close fit of the fabric had started to feel more like a noose than a luxury. It was tossed over the balcony next to an empty glass of champagne.

Typically he would turn to liquor to solve his problems - to turn the clock faster so that with each drink, the hand would spin faster and faster until the sun rose and he could wearily begin the next day.

But at the sight of her, just a glimpse of golden brown hair and an amethyst gown - in his arms, an emerald green jacket - Azriel’s stomach had churned. The scent of their bond drifted to him on a traitorous breeze and he had nearly emptied the contents of his stomach right there in the middle of the crowd.

Before her, he thought he had known the pain of heartbreak. But no, heartbreak was merciful, in comparison. Heartbreak was an arrow to the heart, a slash of a knife across the throat. Heartbreak was quick, its devastation brutal, but effective.

This was torture. And torture, Azriel knew well.

It had been over a year since that Solstice Night. And every day since, Azriel wondered at the fact that he hadn’t been driven completely mad.

He never slept, barely ate. He threw his body so brutally into training that there were times when Cassian had to physically drag him from the ring.

It was the worst kind of pain - useless, destructive pain that could never be resolved, never lessened. And he could not confide it in anyone, could not extend a shaking hand to help him, to please, help him through this.

He was alone. Just as he had always suspected he should be, had always been meant to be.

Maybe that was why the shadows had come to him - some pitiful offering by Death that until his soul was claimed by the Mother herself, the shadows would be his only constant companion.

The stars hadn’t even begun to make their journey across the sky before he had snuck away, his brothers too occupied with their mates to notice him fading away, trudging heavily up the stairs and through an empty bedroom, sliding open the glass door to step onto the balcony where he could watch the migration of souls alone.

He should have known that few moments of solitude on such a night would be too much to ask.

Azriel knew her scent as well as his own, even though her heels made no sound on the plush, expensive rug as she crossed the room to the balcony. The glass doors remained open, although she paused on the threshold.

He didn’t turn around to greet her. For as well as he knew her scent, so did he know the tells of her distress - the unique markers of her scent that hinted at what weighed heavily on her tongue. The belly-curling scent of red wine flooding the night air around them as she leaned against the doorframe to steady herself.

“Not now, Mor.”

There was no kindness in his voice. No warmth, that he usually reflected back to her.

“Az, please.”

He refused to turn. He refused to turn around and see the salty tears that his shadows whispered were gathering in her eyes.

“You’re drunk. We’re not having this conversation while you’re drunk.”

“I can’t wait any longer,” she pleaded. So unlike her, to plead for everything besides that they join her for a night of dancing, or another glass of wine. Nothing of importance - nothing that truly mattered.

She’s crying, the golden one is crying, his shadows whispered sorrowfully.

His head pounded, and more than ever he yearned for the bottle of powder on his nightstand.. Out of all nights that she would come to him, out of all of the nights that he had waited for her to speak, to finish the conversation that he had tried to start eons ago.

“Godsdamnit, Mor!” he whirled around to face her, and she recoiled as his eyes flashed. “You’ve waited 500 years to bring this up and you can’t wait one more fucking day?”

“Az-” Something in those stormy hazel eyes softened as she choked on a breath, the wine glass shaking in her hand. As if she held onto it like a raft, a physical way to ground herself as she forced herself to speak the truth they had buried for half a millennium.

“It can’t wait. Please.”

He didn’t give her an answer, but he didn’t give her any indication that he wasn’t listening either. He merely turned to return his gaze to the stars above. Faint lines of starlight still ghosted the dark night, as if white shadows had trailed the crossing spirits. Even the stars seemed to glow brighter that night, as if to put on their best show for the crowds toasting, cheering and dancing until the early hours of the morning.

Azriel remembered when it had once been the five of them down there. When it had just been him, Cass, Amren, Mor and Rhys - before the mountain. Before their world had broken apart for 50 years and they had barely held themselves together, not knowing if their brother, their High Lord, would ever return. They had gotten so drunk for so many nights that the years went quickly, even as the days dragged on.

How much had changed, since then.

Rhys held Nyx in the crowd below, pressing a soft kiss to his son’s head as Feyre came up behind him, holding a glass of champagne in one hand and tilting it up to Rhys’ lips. The smiles on their faces so wide as to rival the stars that had just fallen.

Cassian led Nesta through the throng of dancers, his waltz having vastly improved over the past year of gatherings and parties on her arm.

He didn’t dare look to see who else might still be on the dance floor.

“Azriel,” her voice broke on the first syllable of his name - like a snapped violin string, mournfully twisting the sound of what had once been a beautiful melody on her lips. One he had once longed to hear, over and over again.

“I’m sorry.”

Azriel waited with bated breath for her to continue. His shoulders curled in on themselves involuntarily, as if waiting for the sword of her golden tongue to thrust a blade into the back he had left exposed to her. When in reality, there was already a knife there that had been twisting and turning for centuries. Blood leaking and dripping behind him for as long as he could remember.

She didn’t continue, so he finished for her - his voice as cold and deep as it had been for the past year, since that Solstice Night when he had turned away from any glimmer of hope that he had seen reflected back in a wide pair of brown eyes looking up at him, fluttering closed in anticipation -

This was a bad time for her to come to him with this. He had no patient bone left in his body - every part of him felt battered, bruised, tender.

He had no kindness in his soul that night, and so he lashed out.

“I’m sorry for - what, Mor? I’m sorry for stringing you along for 500 years? For letting you trail after me like a godsdamned fool? For making Cassian feel like he had to sit between us at every dinner, every night at Rita’s, every possible opportunity where you might have been able to tell me how you felt?”

She let out a shuddering sob at the frigid anger in his voice. Anger that he had never once directed at her before, only threw out in her defense. And even then, it had frightened her. The depth of that anger, that chilled his very bones.

“It doesn’t even fucking matter anymore. Nothing does.”

Gods, he was so godsdamned tired. If only he could sleep, if only could he close his eyes without seeing her, without hearing her voice, without seeing the devastation in her eyes as he uttered those four words that repeated themselves over and over in an endless loop in his mind.

“It matters to me.” A bit of anger colored her tone, as she went on the defensive.

“It matters to me that we talk about this. And yes, I’m sorry for that - for everything. But don’t pretend you didn’t know. You’re too smart for that.”

He shook his head, running a hand through his hair and not bothering to wince as it pulled at the roots. Physical pain meant nothing to him anymore.

“Of course I knew, how could I not? You practically shoved her in my face, and still you said nothing.”

His voice wavered, as he struggled not to shout. Because there was still a party going on below them, and even in his anger, his frustration, he didn’t want to reveal her secrets like that.

“Andromache,” Mor whispered, and he could scent another tear sliding done her perfectly blushed cheek. “Her name was Andromache.”

Her pain was bitter - more bitter than the red wine that stained her teeth, her red lips. Even after all of these years, it still felt fresh to her - that grief of losing her lover. One that Azriel had very much been aware of, but had never spoken of to anyone - not Mor, and certainly not his brothers.

“You knew I was in love with you, and yet you had the decency to carry on that affair right in front of me.”

He gritted the words through his teeth. And still, he did not turn to face her.

“I didn’t think you would be able to handle it - if I outright told you about her,” Mor’s voice persisted, even through her tears. She took another step closer to her, and his shadows clung together to his form. She stopped when she noticed this.

He had known, and he had let it carry on. For Azriel had foolishly hoped that at the end of it, when her heart was inevitably broken by a cruelly short human lifespan, that she might turn to him for comfort - to fill the hole that the human queen had left in her heart.

What a fool he had been. What a fool he still was.

“Liar,” he snarled, barely leashing himself as he snapped his head to the side, still avoiding the sight of her. A part of him was satisfied, when he felt her recoil.

His voice was a discordant tune to the uplifting melody lilting below. Their family a happy, peaceful thing lost in the crowd even as he and Mor lashed and wounded each other above, out of sight.

That was always had been, in the Court of Dreams. Anger and hurt and nightmares relegated to dark corners, to dark bedrooms, to warded houses. Carefully tucked away, tucked inside, turned inward - until there was nowhere left for it to go but out.

Azriel didn’t have any room left in his heart for it.

“You love me.” she corrected, “You haven’t been in love with me for centuries.”

Azriel was silent, anger and anguish and defeat radiating and intermingling as he struggled to vocalize the very words that he had struggled to voice for hundreds of years. In all of the ways he had imagined in this conversation to go, it was never like this.

“I’m not sure if I even know the difference anymore.”

“You do,” Mor asserted quietly, taking a step closer and abandoning her glass on the balcony. She put a hand on his arm, so slowly it was as if she was trying to comfort a wild animal.

And maybe that’s all he was, to her. Some beast that had been locked in a dark cage for the better part of his formative life. An Illyrian designed to kill or be killed - a winged devil stalking through the night. A torturer wringing blood in the coldest part of their world.

He was the opposite of anything she had ever wanted. She had crawled her way out of Hewn City with her own bloodied hands and would do anything in her power to keep from going back to that place. Back to what he clearly reminded her of - of darkness, and death, and torment.

That was why he had started to love her, after all. She was sunlight incarnate - from her easy smile to her quick humor to her golden hair - she was so, so easy to love. Too easy to cling to when his own darkness threatened to swallow him whole. If she was the sun, he was the moon chasing after her - night after night after night.

“Maybe you were in love with me, in the beginning,” Mor continued, her voice softer, gentler than it had been before.

Maybe she was just as tired as he was.

“But I know that you haven’t been for a long time. And now, with -”

“Don’t,” Azriel loosened a warning growl. “Don’t say her name.”

Mor let out a shaky sigh, and his shadows didn’t even have to alert him to the change of her scent - one from fear and anger to pity and sorrow.

“It’s different with her, and you know it.”

Azriel wondered when she had noticed. Maybe that strange, unworldly power inside of her had told her this truth long before even he himself had known.

He had been to the cabin, after Feyre had painted it. He had stopped and stared, marveling at a small drawing that clearly had been done by an unpracticed hand - three winged males beside three females with long, flowing hair. He had stood there, staring at that little drawing for far too long.

“And yet, it’s not different, Mor.”

Exhaustion swept over him - a sudden wave that weighted him down to that very spot so heavily he wondered if he would ever fly again. If he would ever be able to lift the wings that he too frequently let drag on the ground behind him, when no one was watching.

“The ending is the same.”

“You don’t know that.” Red-tipped nails dug into the sleeve of his dark shirt, insistence coloring her voice, steadying it as she clung to him.

But her light could not touch him this time. Shadows pressed closer to his form, shielding him. He did not want to feel hope. He did not want her to tell him that he would find another - he did not want her to tell him about Emerie, or second chances. He didn’t want to hear anything at all.

“Azriel-”

He stopped her, before she could say any of that. Before she could try to wash over his agony, before she could cradle him in her warmth and goodness and light.

“I can’t do this for another 500 years,” he admitted.

Maybe it was the defeat in his voice - or maybe some dark implication that he had hidden even from himself. That he could barely take another day of this agony, let alone another hundred years.

Mor broke apart in his arms, legs wobbling beneath her as she cried out, halfheartedly trying to contain her cry.

Frantically, Azriel pulled her in close. Maybe to keep her quiet, to keep their location unobserved from prying eyes. Or maybe because this felt like a goodbye, in more ways than one.

He let a scarred hand cradle the back of her head, pressing her close to him and letting the kohl around her eyes bleed into the black material of his shirt. Sharp, heaving sobs wracked her chest as her cries were muffled into his chest, right above his heart. He turned his head so that he could rest his cheek on the top of her head, and lifted his heavy wings to pull them around the pair, cocooning them.

“I’m sorry, Azriel, I’m so sorry, I never wanted to hurt you…” he could just make out her muffled words.

He held his friend, the female he had once hoped would be his lover. The female whom he had once hoped would choose him above all else.

Azriel closed his eyes. Let the wind kiss his dry cheeks, fill his stuttering lungs with air once more. Mor’s cries quieted, with time, until her shaking form stilled beneath his hands, her bare skin revealed by her strapless red dress still somehow warmer than his own.

“You have to tell her, Azriel,” Mor insisted, red-lined eyes still somehow beautiful, as she looked up at him. “Before it’s truly too late.”

“Let’s talk about this another night, Mor,” Azriel said softly, but firmly, as he tucked her back into his chest. As he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine that this night had turned out entirely different. That it was not Mor, breaking off the final piece of her that he had struggled to hold onto for so long. That instead, golden brown hair clung to his expensive shirt - the shirt that he had bought with some misguided hope that she might look at him - that there might be some way that she would look at him again and smile, and take his hand for a dance.

Then maybe she would have led him up here, to the balcony of her old room in the House of Wind. The room that her scent still clung to, although faintly - honey and jasmine. He dreaded the day when the scent faded completely, when he would no longer be able to slip through the door in the middle of the night to look at the stars, imagining she was in his arms as they looked out onto their city together, their home.

No, not even during those years of pining after Mor, had he known pain like this.

#mor and azriel finally talk #angst #post acosf #elriel #emorie #azriel #elain x azriel #acotar fanfiction #azriel shadowsinger

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vastill · 1 year

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It's better this way

Melissa Schemmenti/fem!reader

warnings: hurt/comfort, swearing, one pet name, let me know if there are more

words: 1400+

My requests are open!!

English is not my first language!!

A/N: i don't know what to think about this one but i wanted to try some hurt/comfort fic. i hope you like it! and let me know what you think!!

Melissa was avoiding you.

All of a sudden she started to come to school later, not spending mornings in the break room. On lunches, she always went out with Barbara, not inviting you anymore. When you were together in the room she wasn’t looking at you, always doing something on her phone.

You were the new librarian at Abbott, working from the beginning of the school year and soon the new semester was starting. You didn’t know anyone at school until Melissa approached you and asked about some books for her kids. From that, your friendship started.

The lunch breaks were spent together, during her free periods she came to the library to sit with you. Leading to her inviting you to her house for homemade dinner. After a while, you started to stay for a movie and another bottle of wine. She even insisted on you staying over weekends, a little sleepover as she called it.

And now, she wasn’t even talking to you. A complete 180 from how she behaved the past weekend.

Like your cooking and movie dates meant nothing. Four months of talking, bantering, and all that time went to shit. You didn’t know what to do with yourself, she was your only true friend at Abbott.

If the word ‘friend’ was a good description of what you had. In the last month, the barrier started to fog a little. The flirting started and it wasn’t so innocent. The soft touches that she offered. Even her hugs felt different.

You wanted to talk to her, ask what happened but how? You didn’t know how to approach her, how to ask if you did something wrong.

Maybe she has a bad time in her life right now. From what you know about her, she doesn’t want to bother others with her problems. She is a tough cookie at least she is presenting herself like this. But you know better than others, she needs a daily dose of hugs and snuggles. She doesn't like to cook only for her that's why she always brings something with her to share. She cares about her kids more than anyone you have met, she wants them to have the best experience with her and the school. She will do anything for her family and her close ones even when she says she hates them.

Overall she is the biggest softie but with a hard shell that is even harder to crack.

But now you were doubting yourself. You didn’t know her enough for her to tell you what was going on in her mind.

You decided to give her time, wait for her to come around. You didn’t want to pressure her into anything.

So you started to ignore everyone, spending your free time in your library only, going out earlier, and never coming to the break room. You wanted to make things easier for her, even when your heart was breaking. She has her friends and even family here at school, so you will take a step back.

That’s how two and a half weeks passed. The staff noticed that something happened between you and Melissa. They don't bring it up, too scared of how she will react. But the looks they give you when they are in the library are full of curiosity and pity.

You were exhausted by now, you wanted your friend back.

It was Friday night when you decided to go to her house. You need to talk to her and explain everything. You can’t live like that any longer.

The lights in her house are on so you are not too late. Thank God. You knock three times and wait for her to open. The minutes dragged on like never before as you waited.

She appeared at the opened door with a glass of wine in hand. She was shocked to see you there but quickly changed her expression to stoic.

“What are you doing here?” She asked her tone having an edge to it, you didn’t know what to think.

“Hi, um I need to talk to you. Can I come in?”

“Yeah, sure.” She said letting you in and going straight to the kitchen. Her safe space, you thought.

“What’s going on?”

“I think I should be asking that question. You’ve been ignoring me the past couple of weeks, Melissa.” You answered you were tired and just wanted to know if it was something you did.

“Nothing is going on, Y/N. I wasn’t ignoring you, it just happened.”

“Don’t give me this bullshit, Schemmenti. I won’t believe that. Was it something I did? Please, talk to me because I feel like I’m going crazy wondering if I said something to upset you or maybe I did something. I don’t know Melissa and I need you to tell me.” You said, your voice wavering.

“No, no hon. It’s nothing you did. There is nothing wrong that you could say or do. It’s just I don’t know. I think it's better this way. It’s better for you.” She said not looking at you, her eyes on wine in her glass.

“What do you mean? Better for me? Melissa, you are my only friend at Abbott. What in you ignoring me is for better?” You don’t understand what she is saying, did she not see how much joy she brings into your life?

“That's exactly what I mean. Friend.”

“What do you mean?”

“You are young, you should go out and meet new people. People your age. Not spending your evenings with me, cooking and watching some crap TV. You have so much more ahead of you.” She looked at you saying that, her face tired. You never saw her like that.

“And still, I’m here. Doesn’t that say something? I choose to be here with you. Please stop pushing me away. I can’t do that anymore.” You said walking over to her. “I'm not going anywhere. I’m choosing to stay if you let me.”

Melissa looked at you, her eyes softening. She put her glass down, taking your hand in hers.

“I’m sorry. I just, fuck, I don’t know, Y/N. It’s just so scary.” She said, eyes shining with tears.

You hugged her tightly, feeling her body relax in your arms. You missed her so much, Her hugs, her warmth.

“What is so scary?” You whispered near her ear, not wanting to let her go just yet.

“I think I’m falling in love with you.” She quietly said if you weren’t this close to her you wouldn’t hear her. But you did. And your heart exploded.

You couldn't believe what you just heard. Melissa was in love with you. It was a shock but also a relief to finally understand what was going on.

You pulled away from her to look into her eyes. Her face was so close your noses nearly touched. She looked so small and scared. Your heart breaks for her, she thinks you won’t reciprocate her feelings.

“Melissa, I had no idea. I didn't know.” You said softly. She looked at you, a mix of emotions on her face.

“I know, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that. I understand if you don’t want to be friends anymore. I will just step-.” And she didn’t get to finish her sentence.

You cut her off by pressing your lips to hers. It was a soft kiss but full of love and affection. You wanted to show her that you felt the same way. She kissed you back eagerly, her arms wrapping around your neck, deepening the kiss. You both pulled away, panting.

“I’m falling in love with you too, Melissa Schemmenti.” You said with a big smile on your face. “But do something like that ever again and you will regret it.”

“Yeah, I will.” She said, kissing you again. “Please don’t leave, stay with me.” And you knew she wasn’t only asking about tonight.

“I’m not going anywhere. I will stay as long as you have me.” You said, thumbs stroking her cheeks.

You both smiled, feeling happy for the first time in a while.

You knew that it was going to be hard, that it was going to be a bumpy road, but you were willing to go through it with her. You were going to be there for her, no matter what.

#melissa schemmenti #melissa schemmenti x reader #abbott elementary #vastill #wlw fiction #wlw post #lisa ann walter x reader #lisa ann walter

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bubbles-for-all-of-us · 1 year

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Golden hour

Previous chapter / Next chapter

a/n welcome to part two! Thank you for all the support! Means so much. The part three will only be here after the exam season but I can't wait to continue!

Azriel x reader

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Azriel found no peace after he walked away. He hadn't lashed out like that in a long time, and the fact that a stranger had become the victim of his actions went against all of his personal beliefs. Where was that calm and calculated side of him? He should have just dragged either Cassian or Rhys to the training ground and fought them till there was not a single drop of frustration in his system. Sweat it out and move on with a much calmer mind.

Yet he didn't. And now he felt the guilt of it dragging behind it. Like chains that almost pulled him back. Back to your house, so he could clean up the mess he made. Sit there till you come out of your hiding place. Apologize and assure you that he meant no harm. There had been so many things that he had done wrong. No, Azriel told himself, I don't care; it's nothing. You're no one. He doesn't care about you or that you were scared. Yet, this tiny scratch in his head proved it to be completely the opposite.

Azriel took to the skies not long after. He let the cold wind of the approaching evening hit his cheeks. Kissing them with a cold demeanor. The wind that blew past him seemed to chase the thoughts away. Even if it was for a short moment. Forget and move forward, he told himself as he landed on the balcony at the house of wind.

But his forgetting and moving on didn't last long because when the shadow singer opened the enormous glass door, he was greeted by a very angry-looking high lord.

"Do you care to explain?", Rhys glared at his brother from the chair he was sat on, nursing a glass of wine, "I'm busy, Rhys."

And he was. His mind was crammed to the brim with thoughts. So overwhelmingly full that his rational thinking had a hard time keeping up. "Busy doing what? Braking into females' houses?", the shadow singer froze. How did Rhys know about this already? His mental shields were firmly in place, and no one was there to witness all of it. You were a cruel thing, it seemed, working faster than time itself.

"Are you out of your mind? Has messing around with Elain and Gwyn completely fried your brain?" Azriel leaped at his brother. Hand coming right under his chin, but Rhys dodged the move like it was nothing. The conversation about his relationship with the two females had been the center of attention for a while. Neither Rhys nor Cassian supported their brother's actions. Elain was mated, and even if she refused her bond with Lucien, Azriel had no right to mingle between them. And Gwyn. Gwyn intrigued Azriel. If Elain was ready to throw herself at him no matter what, Gwyn offered him a chance to chase. So when one didn't meet his needs, the other did.

"You're dismissed from all the court-related work until you pull yourself together," Azriel was about to argue. No, he was not going to spend all day just sitting on his ass, but Rhys cut him to it, "And you are banned from seeing Elain. I warned you multiple times, but you don't seem to listen."

Azriel wanted to understand his high lord's decision, but at this moment he felt robbed. He felt confused, alone, and desperate. Azriel wasn't even sure if he was leading the two females on or if it was him who was lead on. Elain was a completely different person when the doors were closed, and more than once, Azriel felt like he was the one controlled by her. Lured in by her sweet words, which didn't warm his heart but at times made him feel less lonesome. The shadow singer was hitting the poor boxing dummy with so much rage that the material started to shed. One punch. A second one. A third. Azriel was angry. He was beyond then furious. The frustration only grew with every image of you that his brain seemed to shove his way.

Launching a left-handed hook, Azriel froze. He could swear that out of the corner of his eye he saw something green glistening right in front of him. Frantically, he turned the other way, looking around the training ground. Nothing. He's been on edge so many times before. Been the main target of so many enemies. But you had him going insane in less than a day. It was you. You. You. You. The green eyes. Azriel closed his eyes before stepping aside to throw yet another punch, but right before he could launch it, the mannequin became you, and his punch hit the side of your head.

Azriel's whole body ran cold, the sickness raising up his throat. No. No. His brain screamed at him as he fell to his knees. Trying to carefully pick up your body that now laid limp beside him. That was not what should have happened. But the moment Azriel blinks, your body vanishes. Replaced by the same mannequin that was the victim of the punches all along.

Throwing the thing across the training ground, Azriel rested his face in his hands. He needed to go back to the state of not thinking again. He needed to replace you with something else. Someone else. But would he be able to? A hand rested on his shoulder, and Azriel whipped his gaze in that same direction in an instant.

"You know I doubt that poor thing wants to make love to you", glaring at Cassian, Azriel moved to stand up. This was the last thing he needed. "Come on, spit it out", "I don't need you two babying me," Azriel pushed past the Lord of Bloodshed but was quickly stopped by Cass, dragging him back by his shoulders.

"It's called offering support and an ear to listen. Man, even I'm starting to worry about you', Azriel knew that getting rid of Rhys was easy. But Cassian and his clingy tendencies were a whole other story. He saw that a lot with him and Nesta, but Cassian brought that same form of clingy love to everyone he cared for.

"There's a female," Cassian snorted at the shadow singer's words, "Are you at least numbering them?", but the moment Azriel rose to walk away, Cassian apologetically lifted his arms, gesturing for the shadow singer to sit back down. "She's just...", Azriel stuttered. He couldn't talk about his nightmare, but without that, he had no strong enough reason for why he did what he did and going on about the attraction that he felt towards you also felt like a topic that was off the table, at least for now.

"I'm going to assume you're talking about Y/N", Azriel's whole body started to tingle at the sound of your name leaving Cassian's mouth. It's like his brain knew that it was you. It almost made sense. Y/N, what a beautiful name. What a name for a creature like you! Quickly masking off his emotions, Azriel spoke, "You know her?", but his brother only shook his head and said, "I found her blood drained at the side of Velaris' border. Rhys has been handling the rest", "Why did I know nothing of this?", the same anger flashed through Azriel again. This was a piece of serious information, and he was supposed to be aware of it. As a spymaster of the court, he needed to know this kind of stuff.

"Look, I followed the orders Rhys gave me. No one really can know that she's here", Azriel shook his head in confusion. What were you then? Some royalty? A weapon that Rhys was training? A refugee from another court? "All I know is that she's some kind of fairy, or so Rhys said", "Most of this court is fea, Cassian," but now it was Cassian shaking his head.

"That's what I said as well, but she's like a pixie. Most of her kind are dead now from what I've heard". What is the love of a Mother was all of this? Azriel knew nothing of your kind. Had never met anyone like you. What made you different? And why were you found on this side of the border? His thoughts were cut off as Cassian spoke again.

"Look, Az, she's been through a lot, so please try not to break into her house and follow her like a creep. We all deserve time to heal," Cassian said, walking away to pick up the weapon for training, hoping to fight his brother, but once he turned around with a sheepish smile, Azriel was nowhere to be seen. The shadow singer was a regular at the library. In his five hundred years of living, this place has been his favorite escape. His sanctuary. A place where he could hide and no one could find him. As he walked in, the smell brought him a sense of calm.

Even more, relief washed over him when he found Clotho in her usual spot. After nodding her way, Azriel quickly pulled out a piece of paper, and the moment the high priestess read it, Azriel could feel her body getting rigid. That's an odd thing you want to read about a spymaster. Azriel knew that if Clotho refused to help him find the books he needed, no one could.

Those creatures are long gone, but aisle 652 is filled with books on fairies. Azriel was about to walk away, but the priestess caught his arm, pushing another piece of paper into his palm. Be careful of who you reach out to. Azriel attempted to inquire about what it meant but was met with an empty room. Clotho had disappeared.

He stayed in aisle 652 for hours. Page after page Azriel even summoned his shadows to bring him his leather notebook so he could write down the most important details.

Not referred to by name. Could be the souls of the dead or fallen angels. Not bad enough for hell but not good enough for heaven. Can fly, appear, and disappear at their own will. Solitary fairies, who live on their own, are more likely to be harmful. Don't be fooled by the beauty; it's used to trick you and drink your blood.

The frown on Azriel's face got bigger with every line that he read. The scenario of you being a little trinket that Rhys kept now fitted quite nicely. For what other reason would you be here? So you could disrupt the dynamics of Velaris? What if Rhys knew nothing about your kind? But was Rhys even going to listen to him now, after all that happened?

Handing his notebook along with some books to his shadows, Azriel finally rose. He knew he had missed dinner by quite some time. The fact that Rhys didn't reach out to his mind was clear enough evidence that he was still mad. Azriel knew that he should have just gone up and stayed in his room, but the shadows pulled at his arms and legs. As if begging him to follow.

Azriel saw Elain twirling around as she tended her garden. The moment their eyes met, she shot him a happy smile, followed by a smirk as she waved him to come closer. And he wanted to. He wanted real bad to go to her and claim her, as he had been for quite some time. Let her make him forget. But at the same time, tonight, it almost felt wrong.

The nagging voice in his head told him to go. To check on you. He left you without a door; surely Rhys had that fixed by now, but still. Azriel knew he wasn't going to find peace unless he saw that you were safe. And he let himself write this down as checking in on a suspicious citizen. You still could have been planning a murder for all he knew.

So he returned to your house, his legs carrying him just as they had the last time he saw you on the main city street. The sun was already almost past the horizon as he approached your house. You sat under the cheery tree. Legs tucked under your skirt. You looked like a little flower to him. Azriel looked in the direction of your door—they were still missing. Odd, he thought. If Rhys was so unhappy, why did he do nothing about it?

He was grateful for all the shadows that let him blend in with the ever-so-slowly creeping darkness. To mask him away from your eyes. So pretty his shadows whispered. Holding them back from touching you was way harder than he could have imagined. It's as if they wanted you as much as he did.

Your head was resting on your hand. Eyes drooped as you tried to stay awake, a small dagger by your side. Azriel smiled to himself—a wise girl who was already prepared. He returned his gaze to your door, the reason you weren't inside resting. Slowly peeling off all the shadows Azriel crotched down to you, hand gently reaching to rest on your knee.

The feeling started you in an instant. One of your heads reached for your intruder's neck, the other for your dagger as you tackled him to the floor. When you realized it was him, your body froze.

"Imagine if that's how I greeted you when you came into my bedroom last night," Azriel tried to joke, but you quickly got off him, swallowing sharply. The shadow singer stayed on the ground, just looking at the sky. He waited for you to flee. Disappear right before him but you didn't.

"I wanted to apologize", slowly sitting up spymaster looked your way once again. With him sat down you were hardly bigger them him. Your hair was messily pinned up, with only a couple of loose strands framing your face. Oh, how he wanted to run his fingers through your hair. Azriel realized that he hadn't heard your voice before, and from the way you didn't even hold his gaze, he knew you weren't going to bless him with that either.

"I've been having a kind of a hard time, and seeing you in my bedroom rubbed me the wrong way," he found himself explaining. He rarely explained his actions to anyone. Rhys, maybe if his mission required that. After another moment of silence, he pointed to your door and asked, "Can I fix that for you, so you could rest?"

Your eyes looked bitterly cold; even the green seemed less potent. You turned to walk towards your home, and Azriel was ready to be dismissed, but you just dropped the toolbox next to the entrance, crossing your hands over your chest, making Azriel let out a chuckle. Oddly enough, these bitter emotions didn't suit your features. The frown on your face looked misplaced as if your facial structure wasn't made for it. But then, at the same time, seeing your little frame stomp was the most adorable sight.

Azriel got to work without saying anything else. He felt your eyes burning holes into his back for some time. The shadows informed their master that the dagger was firmly pointed his way while he worked. Without even realizing it, Azriel found himself humming the same melody he heard in his sleep. The same melody you hummed while he was having a nightmare. That was the first time his mind settled that day. The fog that clouded his mind seemed to have faded away.

"All done, this seems even sturdier..." However, Az was met with your sleepy frame. Some of his shadows were cradling your head, making sure you slept in a comfortable enough position; they must have brought the blanket out of the house as well, since your body was nestled with it, keeping away the cold breeze outside. Azriel knew that his shadows had a mind of their own, but they hardly ever worked on their own without being given orders, so this in itself was a weird sight to see.

He couldn't help but wonder why you were so tired in the early hours of the evening. But then again, Azriel hadn't slept in a long while, so his sleep pattern wasn't the one to compear. Walking closer to you, he took this opportunity to admire you. His body wanted to reach out for you to hold you closer, but the shadow singer quickly blamed that on his Illyrian horny genes or the fact that a female hadn't warmed his bed in a little while.

Deciding against touching your face, Azriel ran his fingers up and down your arm this time. Your eyes slowly blinked open, and this time you didn't jump at the sight of him.

"Let me assist you in getting inside," he said, reaching for your hand and steadying your step. The shadows quickly carried the blanket inside, making you look their way.

"They're not harmful, and they seem to like you," Azriel said as he waited to meet your eyes, but you pulled your soft hands from his hold. Wrapping your hands around yourself as you walked inside. Azriel felt empty instantly. Like something vital was missing from his side. He always thought that's how he would feel if somebody was to take the truth-teller away from him. This, however, felt many times worse.

You turned to him one last time before moving to close the door, "Your secret is safe with me", you whispered loud enough for him to hear. And he did hear because his heartbeat picked up once again as he reached for the door to try and stop it from closing but was met with its wooden frame regardless.

————————————————————————

All acotar writing: @brekkershadowsinger @cityofidek

This series: @moonfawnx @piceous21 @are-y0u-sirius @fall-myriad @hanasakr

#azriel x reader #cassian x reader #rhys x reader #acotar imagine

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urlocalheizousimp · 2 years

Text

As Your Divine Punishment Dear - II

Goddess!Wife!Reader + Husband!Venti Warnings: nothing but just pure fluff!

Venti woke up first before you as he got off your arms to take stretch.

Venti POV

I woke up first before [name] getting off her arms and feeling her hand go down until my..

'Venti! stop these unnecessary thoughts and focus on the thing that's happening right now!' I thought to myself as I looked around to remember what happened last night.

What I did remember is that I was drinking 24 glasses of dandelion wine and then [name] paid for my tab, then she took me back to our house and then..

oh.

He remembered what happened, but the biggest question is if he can still walk. (back to 2nd POV)

He stood up and fell 'well that answers the question' he thought.

"SWEETHEART?! ARE YOU ALRIGHT?!" your worried voice startled him as he looked up to you and blushed at your bare body.

"Ehe.. it seems that I can't walk.." you sighed as you lifted him and took him into the bathroom to get yourselves washed up after last night.

As you guys finished up you both had matching pajamas, an oversized shirt and some shorts.

He insisted on making breakfast for the both of you while you were changing the bedsheets but you told him that he should stay put as he couldn't argue with you.

Venti hesitated to make a sound before he decided to speak up, "u-um [name] dear?" you replied with a soft hum with a questioning tone.

"A-about yesterday.. I'm sorry that I broke my promise.. I didn't mean it.." he stooped his head low ashamed of himself and looking like he was about to cry.

You walked towards him as you held his hands along yours reassuring him that it's fine and as it already happened.

"Come on get over my shoulder Venti." you said as you offered your shoulder to him.

He bended over your shoulder as you carried him along with the laundry downstairs.

You put him on the dining chair as you went towards the laundry room.

"[name] dearrr! I'm hungryyy!" your husband yelled as it went along with a whine, "yeah hang on sweetheart! I'll make breakfast!"

You then went over to the kitchen and gave your husband a kiss on the cheek as you went to the stove to make breakfast.

While cooking Venti couldn't help but stare at you, the way you flawlessly move your arms around and your fingers..

Venti shook those absurd thoughts away as you went over to the table and gave him breakfast.

He thanked you as you guys ate your breakfast, Venti appreciates your cooking so much that he would often act as if he never knew how to cook before, well of course he had his reasons.

Once you guys were done he then proceeded to whine, "Hnngh.. I wanna go outside.." he whined laying his head down on the table.

"So you want people to see you walking around weirdly?" you ask with some authority in your voice as he squirmed in his seat.

"W-wait windblume! That's not what I meant! I-I mean let's have a picnic on Windrise! Just the two of us.. ah while I'm still trying to walk.. ehe!" Venti held his signature laugh as he tried to stand up but fell again.

You stood up and ran by his side gently lifting him up to his seat.

"Venti, you have to be careful!" you told him once as he apologized.

"I'll prepare some snacks for us for the picnic, you stay put and sing songs just please don't even try standing up." you looked at him almost teary eyed as he told you that he'll be fine.

You stood up and prepared the snacks for the picnic, you also remembered to take the laundry once you're done and once you're done with the laundry, you have to go to your bedroom and prepare for Venti's new clothes.

You guys are the only two people that live here and yet why is there alot of chores for you to do?

Venti hummed some of your favorite songs as you sang softly along with him.

As soon as you were done with the snacks you heard the washing machine finish. (it also was a gift from Alice, it also took inspiration from another world)

You went over to the laundry room as you got the bedsheets out and hanged it outside.

As soon you as you were done with that you went over your bedroom as took out your and his new outfits.

After that you got the picnic basket from your bedroom and went downstairs to pack the snacks and the blanket in the basket.

Once you were finished with that you went over to Venti and carried him bridal style to your bedroom.

You then put him on the bed as you took off his pajamas to put on his clothes, you also did the same to yourself.

"Ehe~! How do I look windblume?" he asked while still sitting on the bed and swaying legs.

You went over to him and kiss him on the lips, the kiss lasted longer than he anticipated but he still enjoyed every second of it.

You pulled away to let him breathe, he looked at you with a whiny face as you looked at him telling him that 'now's not the time'.

You then carried him back downstairs as you carried the basket along with you and went outside.

You passed by the people of Mondstadt and greeted them, they were used to you carrying Venti when the two of you go outside so no one tried to question your antics.

After some time you both have arrived in Windrise, you then set him down on grass and opened the basket to take out the snacks and the blanket.

"Well then, let's eat!" you announced as both of you ate the snacks that you made, Venti tried eating all of it but you told him to slow down otherwise he might get choked.

You both finished the snacks as you were sitting on the grass with your hand putting you on place, underneath the tree with the snacks now putten away.

With Venti now asleep against your shoulder, you were playing with his hair and thinking about your relationship with him.

What if I never met you? Would my life be different if you weren't by my side?

That doesn't matter right now, what matters is that you're here with me and I get to hold you in my arms.

I thank the heavens for sending me an angel as beautiful and kind as you.

You gave him a peck on the lips as you laid down on the grass, his head now resting on your chest.

Venti.. I thank you once again for being here with me.

You are an angel and I love you..

I will make sure the world doesn't touch you, let alone lay a finger on you.

Thank you.. as both of us will witness Mondstadt's future together.

You slowly closed your eyes as the same thought lingered in your mind.

Tomorrow will be a new day..

#venti x reader smut #bottom venti #sub venti #venti x reader #venti smut #top reader #dom reader #venti x reader fluff #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact #genshin x reader fluff

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merlot-and-chardonnay · 4 months

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A Lark Among the Wolves and Dragons: Chapter 16

Chapter 15

-----------later that night-------------

You lay in bed, unable to sleep.

Dragonstone, you keep thinking. Why was Daemon having you and Aemma sent to Dragonstone?

What is that man up to?

This was going to complicate things somewhat. If it was just you and Aemma going, this meant you would get separated from Ciri, and you would have a harder time getting back to your homeland. At this point, you started to wonder what Geralt was doing. Maybe he would've let you go since you went with Daemon...somewhat willingly, though the situation more than anything had felt more like an ultimatum.

But since Ciri had joined you, it's very likely the witcher was doing everything in his power to make it here and bring you and the girls back.

He could always portal here with the help of a sorceress, but after what Triss went through trying to keep Caraxes subdued, he would've needed to find another. Either that, or head to Novigrad or Oxenfurt and find a ship to bring him to King's Landing.

That wasn't going to be cheap, especially when fewer ships have been coming and going to this place from Westeros due to the increasing troubles from the Step Stones.

You smirked a little to yourself, thinking about how much Geralt hated portals; if he was willing to go through one just to get to you, it would really be a testament to how much he loves you.

Until then, you were going to need to plan this out. You may not be able to execute the plan now, but if you were going to get anywhere, you would need to start planning it out tonight.

You get out of bed and changed into some plain clothes before putting on a cloak.

You scan the room, and to your relief, there was secret door leading to a tunnel that could possibly take you out of this place. The Red Keep was filled with passages like this, one of which you used frequently during your clandestine affair with Daemon.

Once outside, you make your way into the heart of the city, towards the Street of Silk.

You cross your fingers, hoping the connections you made here prior to your time serving the royal family were still there.

You find your way to one pleasure house you used to perform at and knock on the door.

The door creaks open and you see a woman you recognized to be the madame who ran this place. "Lady Lark," she greets, "fancy seeing you here. I was almost beginning to think you've forgotten us common folk since being called into His Grace's service." "I wouldn't forget you so easily, Dina," you say, warm smile on your face, "hell, you wouldn't have made it easy." "Still," Dina says, "you've not be seen for quite sometime."

"I need help," you admit, "I...I need passage back to the Continent. And I need to take my daughter too without anyone else knowing."

"...so it's true," Dina says, "this new princess people have been talking about, she's..." You place a finger to your lips as a gesture for silence, "the streets have more eyes and ears then either of us can count," you say, "I need to find someone who can help, but also be discrete. You happen to know anyone like that?"

You hand her a few coins with hopes of motivation, "keep the coin," she says, "your performances have always helped to put bread on our tables, it's time I return the favor. I do know someone who could help you out."

Dina gestures for you to come inside and guides you up the stairs of the brothel. She leads you to a secret room behind the walls and has you wait for someone to come to you. You sit down, seeing a decanter of wine. You decide to pour yourself a glass while you wait.

An hour or so later, the secret door opens and a woman steps in. Your eyes widen a bit, as you recognized exactly who she is, "Mysaria," you greet in surprise, sipping from your wine, "you...what are you doing here?"

"You asked for help," Mysaria speaks, sitting down across the table, "I am here to offer it to you."

You study the woman a little. You never actually met her before now, but you had heard of her. A dancer from Lys, she was a favorite among the clients that came to this street, and she was a favorite of Daemon's before and during the times he wasn't sticking it in you.

You couldn't blame him though as she is quite beautiful...and very likely knew more tricks then you ever could.

You look down at the ground before gathering your thoughts, "I don't know how much you know about me," you begin, "but I believe you know we do share one thing in common." Mysaria nods, knowing exactly what you were speaking of.

"I left Westeros once, that reason being him" you continue, "I couldn't let him trap me here, especially when I was with his child. My daughter and I are bound for Dragonstone on the morrow, for what reason I don't know. I dare not think about what will happen to me and my daughter should we remain in the Seven Kingdoms for much longer. I need passage back to the Continent. For me, for Aemma, and for my ward Ciri."

Mysaria was silent for a moment before she makes her answer, "had you not had a child with Daemon, I must bluntly admit, this request would've been easier to fulfill. Aemma is part of the royal family now, is she not? A dragon, just like her father. It will take some time. Although...that time would be cut shorter...should you leave the princess behind..."

Your eyes widen at what the woman was implying, "No," you quickly shake your head, "no, no, no, no, I can't. I am not leaving without Aemma." "She would be well cared for her by her family," Mysaria points out, "I have no doubt the Prince loves her." "I did not carry her in my belly to the Continent all this time just to be brought back and to have her ripped away from me when she is still so young," you say with determination, "I will not leave Aemma in the hands of those scheming snakes. Not alone. Please, Mysaria. Whatever the price, however long it will take, I am willing. But I will not leave without my daughter."

Mysaria regards you for a moment, feeling a sense of pity; the woman had ensured long ago that she would never been trapped in the situation as you are in now, and while she did not regret that choice, she could still empathize, knowing how attached you had become to your child, and would seem to do whatever it takes to make sure she was safe.

"...lucky for you, I had made contacts when I was at Dragonstone," Mysaria speaks to you, "I will correspond accordingly and do what I can to arrange for passage back to the Continent from there. For you and for your daughter. And at the same time I will arrange for passage for your Ciri as well."

"Thank you," you say meaningfully. "You do know the risks I am taking," Mysaria continues, "should Daemon discover at any point that you plan to take his child away, it will not end well." "I'm well aware," you assure, "and I appreciate it all the more."

You look at the woman once again, something itching in the back of your mind that you always wanted to know, "....I know Daemon still sought you out, even after I confronted him the first time," you tell her, noticing the way she tensed like she was getting defensive, "I don't hold that against you," you quickly assure, "I knew what I was getting into the moment I said yes to the prince's offer to warm his bed. I had hoped to some extent...he would've kept his promise to me to remain...somewhat monogamous, even though I was just one of his many mistresses, and he already had a wife. Serves me right, I suppose, for expecting something like that from a married man of all things. I thought I was special, the one who could tame the dragon. I guess I was wrong."

"Dragons can never truly be tamed," Mysaria says, softening a bit when she saw the look on your face, "they, like the Targaryens, do what they will, regardless of the consequences to themselves or to others."

"You are not the first woman he has lured in with his charms only to leave disappointed and disillusioned," she continues, "and you probably won't be the last. You were right to leave him when you did."

"Did...did he ever mention me at all?" you decide to ask.

"A few times," Mysaria nods, standing up, "his Little Lark. The way he spoke of you suggested genuine affection...like one would show for a priceless jewel."

"Sounds about right," you deadpan.

"I need to return to the keep," you say, standing up.

----------------------

Once the arrangements were planned out and the coin was exchanged, you head back to the Red Keep.

Even though you had this plan that would be put in motion soon, you couldn't help but think of all the ways it could go wrong. You didn't believe Mysaria would sell you out in anyway, but King's Landing was full of spies inside and out. You could only hope to the gods that you were not seen last night plotting on the Street of Silk, and you were especially hoping this would not somehow reach Daemon or any of the other Targaryens.

In addition, you were going to need to talk to Ciri, let her know what was going to happen. And it was best to do so tonight.

You find your way to Ciri's room and lightly knock. There was no answer. You knock again and once more there was still no answer. You open the door and peak inside. No one was in the room.

You frown a bit wondering where Ciri could possibly be at this hour.

You wonder a bit until you run into what you felt to be armor, "Oh, excuse me," you say before looking up to see who it was, "Ser Criston," you greet, eyes wide a bit when you recognized the man, "What are...what are doing wondering the halls at this hour?" "I believe I am the one who should be asking you that, my lady," Criston tells you, "the whole of the keep should be sleeping, yourself included. "I uh, I couldn't sleep, I was looking for Ciri," you decide to tell him, "I went to her chambers, but she wasn't there. I need to talk to her." "And what, my dear lady, could you want to talk to the Lady Ciri at this hour?" Criston asks.

You regard the knight for a bit; you remember Criston Cole from the tourney when he fought against Daemon and won. Everyone had cheered for the man, and you kinda did too, feeling Daemon had gotten what was coming to him. But, the fact Criston had hit Daemon in the back in a sneak attack may have suggested to you that this knight wasn't exactly as honorable as he'd have everyone else believe.

Very few knights rarely were in your experience.

In addition, Criston, like Otto, was also loyal to the royal family. You weren't sure how he felt about Aemma, but no doubt he would protect her like he would the rest of the family. Even from yourself.

No, you think, you could not disclose your plans to this man. He could not be trusted with something like this.

But you decide to come up with an excuse that seemed like a stretch, but maybe the knight would buy it, "I...I just remembered I forgot to sing Ciri to sleep," you say, "when we were uh, living in Kaer Morhen, it was something I used to do for her to help her sleep at night. As you could imagine, what with the horrors we faced at that place, my voice was the one thing that seemed to soothe the poor girl. Consequently she still has trouble sleeping even though we are no longer at the witcher's keep, and it wouldn't be right to not be there to comfort her."

Criston regards you for a moment before speaking, softening a bit at your story. He couldn't even begin to imagine the 'horrible' and 'unspeakable' things those lecherous deviants have done to both you and Ciri. It was understandable that the poor girl was still recovering from something so traumatic, "last I saw her, the princess Rhaenyra had invited Ciri to her chambers," he tells you.

"Maybe they're still awake and keeping conversation," you suggest, "can you escort me to the princess's chambers?"

Criston nods and has you follow him.

By the time the both of you were close to the door, it had flown open. Rhaenyra rushed out, eyes almost full of fear, "Princess, what troubles you?" Criston asks. "It's Ciri," Rhaenyra answers hastily, "she fell asleep and she's been thrashing about. I can't wake her up."

Upon hearing those words, you rush in and run to where Ciri had fallen asleep on the sofa in the room. Indeed she was tossing and turning.

"Ciri? Ciri!" you try and shake her awake.

You feel the walls begin to shake at this moment, definetely something that didn't go unnoticed by Criston or Rhaenyra. Criston hovers over the princess in the event something should fall down and land on her.

Neither of those two knew what was happening, but after what you witnessed back in Kaer Morhen, you had some idea what it was.

You just hoped neither the knight nor princess would connect this to Ciri in any way.

"Ciri, come on, wake up," you whisper-yell, starting to shake her now, "this really isn't the time for you to be losing control again. Wake up, gods dammit!"

You think about it for a moment. You wonder what would happen if you actually did what you told Criston you'd do for Ciri.

You take a deep breath, not sure if this would actually work, but it was worth a shot, and you didn't exactly have many options at this point.

You stroke the girl's head and hum a little melody.

On the wind, cross the sea

Here this song and remember

Soon you'll be

Home with me

Once upon a December.

Ciri stopped moving, sighing as if in relief. And the walls stopped shaking.

Rhaenyra and Criston look around, wondering what in the Seven Hells just happened.

Ciri begins to open her eyes, your face being the first she saw, "(y/n)?" she yawns, rubbing her eyes, "What are you doing here?"

You frown at the girl in confusion, "I uh, I needed to talk to you," you tell her, "I think it best we take you to your chambers."

"I think it best the two of you stay here for the evening," Criston stops the both of you, "after what just happened, it may not be safe out there."

"I think I have to agree with Ser Criston on that," Rhaenyra agrees.

You and Ciri had no choice but to stay here for the night. You wouldn't be able to tell the girl what you needed to. Not tonight.

You had no choice but to wait until morning, when there would be no other ears nearby to listen in on.

Chapter 17

Masterlist

#ciri #hotd #rhaenyra targaryen #the witcher #daemon targaryen #mysaria #criston cole

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angelst4re · 2 years

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this is my second ask aaaaa. So what about milf!reader having 2 childs and a husband alr. And they move into another country and thei neighbour is the only one jamie bower jejaksbabs. He helps her packing out their stuff and they talk and talk ykk... after some months of the reader breaking things only for jamie to fix them the reader finally gives in and thes fuck on the kitchen counter. LOVE YOUR WORKS BAE!!!! UR SO UNDERRATED TAKE YOUR TIME <333

ahh hi my love!!! i was so happy to see you in my requests again <3 i hope you like it darling :)

Treat You Better- Jamie Campbell Bower x Reader

୨♡୧ warnings: smut!! cheating, praise and degradation! not proof read!! pls point out any mistakes loves!

୨♡୧ note: MY TAGS ARE FIXED!!! YAYY!! if you're seeing this on any tags and you haven't seen me before, check out my jamie masterlist!! i've been shadowbanned or something like that for a month now so there's quite a lot on there you may have not seen before!! anyways...

When your husband told you he had a new job, you were thrilled. Hoping it meant that you’d have more money to spend on your kids as you were a full-time housewife. You had never wished for this life, but you didn’t mind it. Your children, Max and Leah, were 2 and 10, meaning it was almost impossible to find work flexible enough around your husband’s, and you didn’t yet have enough money for a full-time babysitter, they’re expensive! So your husband’s new promotion was definitely needed. Although, you had to move for it.

Packing up your life felt strange, yet oddly freeing. In this new town nobody knew who you were, meaning you could have a fresh start. When you first saw your new house, you couldn’t believe the size of it! And the neighbourhood looked very welcoming and pretty.

All afternoon, you had neighbours visiting to introduce themselves. Which would have been lovely under any other circumstances, but you were currently chasing your children around the house, making sure they don’t get lost or break anything valuable from the dozens of boxes in the house. When you heard another knock on the door, you just sighed. Preparing to tell the person you were too busy to talk, you pick up a box and open the door.

And holy shit, you were glad you did.

“Hi, I’m Jamie I live at number 46- oh, are you busy? I can come back another time?” You stared at the man. He was beautiful. He was the kind of man that would be on magazine covers, the kind of man to model and fly across the world first class.

“Of course not! Come in!” You grinned, putting the box back down as you shut the door behind him. You walk him to the kitchen- the tidiest room in the house so far- and offer him a drink. He accepts, and then shows you he had bought a bottle of wine with him for you as a ‘housewarming gift.’ How sweet.

“So, how do you like it around here so far?” He asks, pouring the wine into a glass for you- he had opted for just a glass of water, he had to drive somewhere later.

“It’s great! Everyone’s so welcoming, the area is beautiful and- Max put that down!” You quickly rush to your son, who had picked up a coffee mug from one of the many kitchen boxes. You take it from him before any damage was caused.

“You have a kid?” Jamie grinned, waving to the little boy in the corner of the kitchen who had started to giggle.

“I do,” you smile, “two of them actually, this is Max. Leah is upstairs starting to unpack. I had them quite young- Do you have any kids?” You ask, sipping on your wine.

“No, I’m only 33! I want to one day, though. When-”

“You’re 33?!” You almost spat out your drink in surprise, “there’s no way you’re older than me! What’s your secret?”

“Now that would be telling,” Jamie laughed. You liked his company. In these few minutes, you had felt more of a connection that you have with your husband since Max was born. “Do you need any help with that?” He asks, motioning towards the box of plates, bowls and glasses that you were trying to put away. You should’ve said no, but with your husband at work any help was better than none.

“Only if you don’t mind, please?”

“Of course! I wouldn’t have asked otherwise, darling.” He says, standing up. You didn’t have the time to notice earlier that he was quite tall, and he had tattoos?! You should be careful around him. You knew this could end up getting messy.

Jamie helps you around the house, unpacking and doing some heavy lifting, you were so grateful. You end up telling him about your husband, how he’s rarely home, how he leaves you to look after the kids… And Jamie isn’t scared off- much to your surprise. Instead, he suggests helping out when he’s home, whether it means looking after Max whilst you pick Leah up from school, fixing the broken door handle on the bathroom door or even just being there for you to talk to, seeing as you haven’t made any friends yet. Although this may be quite sudden, you trusted Jamie. You could tell he had no bad intentions.

Before you knew it, it was 5pm, and your children were hungry. You and Jamie spent all afternoon getting to know each other, talking about your upbringings and childhoods, your old home town, his career as a tattoo artist, and then, as if a dagger had hit you in the chest, he told you about his girlfriend, who was currently in Malibu on a girls’ weekend, but y/n, you have a husband!

“I don’t know, what do you want for dinner?” You ask your daughter, who had also taken an interest in Jamie and convinced him to play uno with her.

“I could pay for us to get something in? There’s a Domino’s in town if you like pizza?”

“Yes please!” Leah grins, looking to you with pleading eyes.

“I couldn’t expect you to pay, not after all the help this afternoon-”

“I get discount! My girlfriend’s brother is the manager, and I’ve had dinner by myself for too long.” Me too, you thought.

“Fine.” You gave in, “but only if you let me pay for Leah and Max’s.”

—————————♡—————————

Months had passed since moving in, and you had seen Jamie almost everyday since. You met his girlfriend, Emma, when she got back from Malibu, she seemed nice enough but there was something off about her. The way she flinched when Jamie kissed her goodbye didn’t sit right with you.

To see more of Jamie on a one to one basis, you had started calling him when Max was napping, Leah was at school and your husband was working. You’d tell him you’d broken something and he’d come over to fix it, this included the loose door handle, squeaky kitchen cupboards and the broken wheel on your husband’s office chair. He never seemed to mind, he was happy to help, giving you the feeling that your feelings towards him were in fact requited.

One day, your husband decided to take the kids out for the day to ‘give you a break’, which clearly you didn’t mind, as you could only think of one thing- having the house to yourself with Jamie. A couple hours after they had left, you were dressed in only a skimpy nightdress and a long silk robe, your hair tied up messily. You found Jamie’s contact on your phone and called him, he picked up almost instantly.

“Y/n, listen I’m a bit… busy right now.”

“Oh, I wasn’t calling to ask for your help this time,” you say with a smile on your face, “I’m home alone, I was wondering if you’d like to come over? Just to talk, of course.”

“I could do with that after the day I’ve had,” he mutters, “sure. Give me 15 minutes and I’ll be there.”

Grinning as you hung up the phone, you quickly ran downstairs to begin tidying the house- making sure there was nothing on the floor to trip on.

The sexual tension between you and Jamie had drastically risen over the last two weeks, there was one time where he had held your hips in place as he moved around you- this had playing on your mind ever since it happened, you had even touched yourself to the thought of his hands gripping your hips as you-

Knock knock knock

You were quickly ripped from your fantasies.

“Hey,” you smile seductively as you open the door to Jamie. Something about him looked different, you couldn’t quite tell what it was.

“Hey,” he says back, his eyes scanning your body.

You step to the side to let him in, and you lead him to the kitchen. Something still didn’t seem right with him. Neither of you spoke for a couple moments, you just stood opposite each other. You leaned against the countertop, tapping your nails gently on the edge as Jamie typed away on his phone.

“I broke up with Emma.” He says, breaking the silence, “I found out she’s been cheating on me.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t be,” he chuckles, “I’ve been wanting to end things with her for a while now. I think I sort of fell out of love with her, if that’s even possible.”

“I know what you mean.” You say, a sympathetic look in your eyes, “I’ve been feeling that way with Rob- my husband- ever since I had Max. I don’t feel like I love him anymore, and I think he feels the same way, it’s like the spark we used to have just…”

“Vanished,” Jamie finished your sentence, coming closer to you, wiping away tears you didn't realise had rolled down your cheeks with his thumb. His hand resting on your face, cupping your cheek. “It’s like I met somebody new, and she made me realise I wasn’t truly happy with Emma anymore. Instead, it’s been you. I knew you were purposely breaking things for me to come over and fix them, it’s so obvious, y/n. I’ve seen the way you look at me, I’m not as stupid as you think-”

Not letting him say anymore, you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him in for a kiss. He seemed rather surprised at first, but as he began to kiss back you realised how right this felt. As if it were meant to happen.

“Jamie,” you gasp as his kisses trail down your neck, his hands knocking your robe from your body, “I need you.”

“What do you need, darling?”

“Need you to touch me.” You whimper as he sucks on the sweet spot on your neck, not caring about him leaving marks on you- you had plenty of concealer.

“Oh yeah?” Jamie’s hands move to your breasts, massaging them through the thin fabric, “like this?”

You nod your head vigorously, getting lost in the feeling. It had been years since your husband had touched you like this.

“More,” you whisper, “please, Jamie.”

“More? You’re so needy, baby. We’ve only just started.”

Giving you what you wanted, his hand slips between your thighs, and he was pleasantly surprised to feel you had no panties on, he whispered a low ‘fuck’ as he felt the wetness dripping from your cunt for him. His fingers rub slow circles on your clit as he smashes your lips together again, this time more hungry and passionate than the last.

You break free from the kiss, lifting yourself on to the counter with a little help from Jamie. You wrap your legs around him, gasping as the fabric of his jeans grazes your clit. He slips your dress over your head, revealing your body to him. Every inch of you was pure beauty, he had never seen anything like it. You were his definition of an angel, and he planned to bring heaven to you.

His face became buried in your cunt, the sounds slipping from your lips were music to his ears. He started slowly, licking a straight line from your hole to your clit, his mouth latching on to the bundle of nerves and sucking gently. Although this sensation was rather new to you, you needed him to stop. You were getting close to the edge, and when you came you wanted it to be with his cock inside you.

“Jamie… baby, stop.” You whine, his head quickly retracks, coming back up in line with you.

“Is everything okay?” He asks, slightly panicked. However you nod your head, grinning devilishly.

“Fuck me. Right here, please. I need to feel your cock inside me, please.” You began babbling as he unzipped his jeans, pushing them down his thighs as you reached out to take his top off.

“Such a pretty slut,” he chuckles, looking up at you through his lashes as he lined himself up against you, “begging for my cock, wanting me to ruin her. You just couldn’t wait for me to have my fun with you, could you? You couldn’t wait for me to make you cum on my face, could you love?” He says with a groan as he pushes all of him inside you with no warning, causing you to gasp and tangle your fingers into his hair. “You like it when I talk to you like that, hm?”

All you can do is nod your head, the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of you was becoming too much, and as you feel his hand slide down to your clit, you could only hope and pray that you wouldn’t float away. Your mind was already fuzzy, and the feeling of his thumb rubbing small circles on your clit only made it worse. You never wanted this moment to end.

“Jamie,” you whimper against his lips.

“Yes, darling?”

You took his hand that was playing with your clit and sucked on his fingers briefly, causing him to groan as his thrust became sloppy. You moved his hand to your throat and looked up at him with pleading eyes.

“Fuck, you dirty girl.” He whispers, his grip on your throat tightening enough to make your breath hitch. After collecting himself again, he got a good rhythm going with his hips as he fucked into you. He moved things out of the way as you laid back further onto the counter, your legs still wrapped around his wait, your nails clawing at his back. You had only just noticed the tattoos on his chest and abdomen, and you thought he couldn’t get any more beautiful.

You felt a familiar tightness in your stomach, it was a delicious feeling that caused you to see stars and throw your head back when you finally got there. In 10 years, your husband had only made you feel this once- although you did have your own hand between your legs- and now Jamie had created this feeling in less than 10 minutes.

“I’m close,” you manage to say through your restricted airways.

“I thought so, just wait a bit longer, sweet girl. Hold it for me, okay?”

You nod your head, Jamie knew you were on birth control- you complained to it almost every day, the way it had made you feel sick or given you a headache. So when you told him to cum inside you, he couldn’t help himself.

“Need to feel full,” you whimper, holding tightly onto Jamie’s shoulders as you looked him in the eye, there was something about keeping eye contact whilst getting fucked that was so attractive.

“I’ll fill you up, baby. I promise- I’m so close, fuck.” His thrusts start to slow down, becoming more rough and hard than fast now, as he holds you close to him, “cum for me, darling.” He whispers into your ear, his hand on your throat squeezes the tiniest bit harder as you were thrown over the edge, getting lost in the pleasure he gave you. With one final gasp, Jamie came undone, his forehead coming down to rest against yours.

After you had caught your breath, you lightly pushed Jamie back so you could stand again.

“I’m going to clean up quickly,” you say, your hands still on his shoulders, “meet me in my room, you know which one it is, right?”

“Of course, you made me put a new lightbulb in it. Twice! In a week! I-”

“Okay, okay, I’m sorry- just wait for me in there. We’re not finished yet.” You say with a final kiss to his lips before walking to the bathroom, trying to hide the fact that your legs were still shaking.

#jamie campbell bower smut #jamie campbell bower #jamie bower #jamie campbell bower x reader

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