she is made out of flowers

• Elle • 26 • she/her • Writer • • Masterlist • Royal Series • • Requests are OPEN • • send me your thoughts and ideas •

[eviesaurusrex]

ᴀʙᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪꜱ ʜᴜᴍʙʟᴇ ᴡʀɪᴛᴇʀ

ᴍᴇ, ᴍʏꜱᴇʟꜰ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ

Hi! Thanks for discovering my little writing nook where I live with my 40+ character crushes and trying to live my best life. My name is Elle; I’m 25, a passionate writer, and I’m doing something with planes in my work time. I’m a lover of many fandoms (and many characters) and a huge mythology nerd. Escapism and hyper-fixations are my cup of tea, and that’s why I practically live in this app.

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛꜱ

I accept requests for the following fandoms/persons:

Marvel Cinematic Universe

Top Gun: Maverick (limited to Jake “Hangman” Seresin and Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw for now; Javy “Coyote” Machado is a possible candidate for the future)

Harry Styles Social Media Au's + One Shots

Sebastian Stan Social Media Au's + One Shots

Chris Evans Social Media Au's + One Shots

Tom Holland Social Media Au’s + One Shots

Henry Cavill Social Media Au’s + One Shots

House of the Dragon | Game of Thrones (limited to a variety of characters which I will disclose later on, but Daemon Targaryen is one of them!)

Fourth Wing

ACOTAR

I'm writing for the following MCU characters:

Bucky Barnes

Steve Rogers

Doctor Strange

Tony Stark

Peter Parker

Shang-Chi

But you can always ask me for other characters, and I will decide spontaneously. The span of fandoms and characters I write for will/can increase (or decrease) over time due to my tendencies of hyper fixation.

I am currently not writing any smut!

ᴛɪᴍᴇ ꜰʀᴏᴍ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴛᴏ ꜰɪɴɪꜱʜᴇᴅ ᴛᴇxᴛ

Please keep in mind that I'm a full-time employee, working in three shifts and having to leave for business trips, and sometimes requests take longer than other times. If I don't reject your request, I will write it, but please don't bother me with constant dms to ask about the progress—this will immediately result in me rejecting your request! This is a hobby, while my actual job is my full-time job. Just treat writers (and people in general) with kindness and be patient :)

ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

Masterlist Posts

ꜱᴇɴᴅ ᴍᴇ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛꜱ [thank you to the wonderful people who are so creative to write prompts]

header are not mine!

[eviesaurusrex]

I am currently in Barcelona, and to be quite frank, I have kind of fallen in love with this city. Whoopsie.

Apparently, everything is better than home, according to my stupid brain, at least

[chimso-writes]

When you realize fanfic writers are just fanfic readers who couldn't find what they wanted to read 💀

[multi-fandom-imagine]

Do I dare write something happy for Will Traynor

Cause I was just reminded of this depressing ass movie thanks to tiktok.

[eviesaurusrex]

I beg of you 🥺 I only rewatched it last weekend, and it was so beautiful and heartbreaking, and now I need to read the book again, and I need Will to be happy 😭

[eviesaurusrex]

ᴄᴏᴍɪɴɢ ʜᴏᴍᴇ | ᴀᴢʀɪᴇʟ

Azriel Shadowsinger x Reader

summary: After Amarantha is defeated, someone returns home to Velaris.

word count: 4.4k

warnings: angst but fluff, war-mongering Hybern, reader described as something like an assassin/spy, reader is Rhys’ sister, no use of Y/N (I think), guilt, Azriel is a simp for his mate, mating bond, more fluff, allusions to smut-time

author’s note: I missed writing for Az. I should do that more often. I'm not all that happy with the end, but we have to deal with that (sorry). Dividers by @chrisssiren

He had been pacing all month long.

He had grated everyone’s nerves, too.

Ever since Rhys had returned from Under the Mountain, Azriel had been restless, impatient, almost bordering on being rude on some occasions. They knew why. Everyone knew why the spymaster was barely consolable, why his eyes snapped toward the horizon every once in a while, why his attention drifted off during council meetings, family dinners, and sparring sessions. They knew why he threw himself into work more than he had already done in the past, why he barely stepped across the threshold of the rooms he occupied in the House of Winds, why he looked as if sleep evaded him at any given moment.

They all knew, and no one could do a single thing about it but to… wait.

Feyre watched the shadowsinger, too. She had found her place within this beautiful city, within the tight-knit group of friends and family—she herself found a family within—had even found love without being destroyed, and yet, worry still gnawed at her whenever her eyes landed on Azriel. She recognized the longing and fear written in his eyes for what they were, but did not understand the cause of it. No one would tell her because, as Rhys had spoken quietly one night in front of the fireplace, “It is his life and story to tell, Feyre darling.”

And she could accept that, not wanting to push anyone, and especially not the male himself, when he already hung by a mere thread.

But then, in one of the council meetings she now sat in on herself, Cassian let something slip, causing a reaction from the spymaster. “No one has heard of her so far. Mor?” The blonde shook her head with worry written on her forehead. “Not yet. Perhaps she went into hiding? Or she is…” Her voice softly trailed off, a careful glance thrown across the table at Azriel, whose face was a blank canvas except for his eyes, burning like embers. His hand, flipping through the pages of reports, was now balled into a fist, knuckles almost turning pale. “She is not dead,” he growled, a warning lingering in his voice.

Feyre watched on, watched the way his shoulders stiffened, how his breath hitched ever so slightly, before he ripped his gaze from Mor and the others, staring out the window toward the horizon, eyes growing distant as if he were searching for something within. With worry, she looked at Rhys sitting at the head of the table next to her, who himself watched his brother and best friend with slightly furrowed brows, contemplating, thinking, weighing.

“I will try to reach out to one of our…—” Azriel’s eyes snapped to the High Lord, silencing him immediately. “She is our only spy in the region; you know that as well as I do because she was already there before everything. And she has not answered.” Deafening silence settled over the council, and Feyre watched her mate swallow hard, color draining from his face, and now, she knew something was very much wrong.

Hours later, she sank into his open arms without hesitation, feeling them wrap around her tightly, and a sigh as deep as the ocean left Rhysand when he settled deeper into the couch. She looked up at him and softly touched his cheek, making him look away from the fire and down at her. “Tell me what worries you and everyone else so much, please.” She hated to be left out of it, reminding her of her time at the Spring Court—Rhys seemingly noticed it too, because another sigh left him before his fingers started to caress her hair.

“You know I have a sister.” She nodded slowly. “I’m still wondering when I’ll finally meet her, to be honest.” Rhys smiled softly, sadness etched into his features. “I wish I could tell you, darling. See, before everything happened, before Amarantha, she was a spy just like Azriel and many others. She was—is—one of our best. She has ties to Summer because she is friends with Tarquin, their new High Lord, and knows her way around the courts. But when Amarantha trapped us and I had to protect Velaris, she was on a mission in Autumn and locked out of the city after the protective barrier was reinforced.” Feyre slowly sat up. “And she has not returned,” she finished quietly, making him nod, fear swimming in his eyes. “No one knows where she is or what happened. Perhaps she is on her way already, or is waiting for something, maybe she has a task yet to fulfill. We don’t know—I don’t know. And that worries me.”

Shadows moved against the menacing castle as if they had turned sentient, crawling across the bone-colored stones, growing darker and deeper as soon as patrolling guards passed, torches flickering in the approaching dimness of nightfall. No one seemed to notice, no one paid attention, heeding it no mind.

A pair of brilliant eyes emerged from the shadows behind a towering war tent, glancing around the outermost pole of the structure and watching men in armor and uniforms pass along the many winding paths throughout the war camp. Boots stomping in mud, torches flickering in the gusts of wind, clouds slowly closing in for yet another rainfall, slightly obscuring the setting sun. She watched, counting silently in her mind, tracking faces and bodies, brows slightly furrowed underneath her black hood. When the clearing in front of the war tent was void of any Fae or being, she slid toward the flapping covers of its entrance, slipping inside it without being noticed.

Quietly, she went to the large table in the middle of it, leaving no trace of trespassing. Gloved fingers started to flip through the many notes and letters, eyes jumping across information upon information, memorizing most of it with a glance. She would need to take a parchment roll or two just to have proof, despite knowing her family would never question her—but this was bigger than just her court. So much bigger, it almost transported her back to yet another brewing war, forcing memories into the light of day she had tried to forget as best as she could.

The intruder shook her head, gloved fingers choosing the most important notes as if she would choose a book in the library—covered fingertips almost lazily moving across the many rolls, skillfully and carefully picking the chosen ones without disturbing the surrounding letters. Her trophies entered the hidden pocket in her long black coat, protecting them against the weather during her travels, and after scouring a chest to the right of the wooden table, she even pocketed a map of Hybern and Prythian, strategic points of interest, possible allies, and Hybern’s standing forces drawn on it with blood-red ink.

How fitting, she thought with a snarl hidden in the shadows of her hood and mask covering the lower half of her striking face.

She was just done folding the map to fit it in the hidden pocket alongside its treacherous companions when voices drew closer to the tent, making her still for a fraction of a second, head snapping up and eyes staring toward the entrance. The flaps of the tent were drawn back, allowing a general and his escort to enter, servants piling in behind them, carrying glasses and carafes on tablets, and no one noticed the missing documents nor the figure vanishing underneath the tent’s fabric walls. Not even a patrolling group heard running feet across the already damp ground as the storm started to howl, while a female body jumped off the deep-diving cliffs and a pair of mighty wings carried her on the stormy winds across the sea, guiding her home.

Her steps were quiet in the halls dusted in the gold of dawn when she arrived on one of the many balconies, her wings aching from the long travel, but she could not rest—not with the longing grown to immeasurable depths. She had followed the golden band guiding her home after so many decades of lost time, guilt eating at her.

But he would understand.

They all would because ever since stepping into her roles all these centuries ago, everyone knew she would never start a mission and abandon it halfway through.

With a soundless sigh, she let her wings draw back underneath her skin, allowing them to rest, her feet carrying her across the familiar stone floor and through familiar hallways, until voices echoed through them. Her lips tucked into a smile she rarely had reason to show ever since leaving her home, but she would do better now. Now, she finally would have reason again to laugh until her belly ached and tears threatened to spill. Now, the nights wouldn’t be so lonely and cold anymore.

“Tarquin has not seen her for over two decades—at least that’s what he is telling.”

Quiet as a shadow as she was, the female leaned against the open double door with crossed arms and crossed legs, watching the council debate. The familiar sight made her heart ache in the best possible way, and she could scold herself for not coming home sooner. But things had to be done, and they would profit from it. Perhaps it would be enough for a head start in the war to come.

“Well…,” she began in her soft voice, making everyone freeze before turning all at once with filled cups being the bearer of the surprise, some tipping and falling, “I hope he better tells the truth. If not, I would question his sanity.”

No one dared to move, as if seeing a ghost, with the exception of one male. Her gaze was immediately forced to watch him, to watch his tall form rise from his chair with so much urgency, the poor thing toppled over behind his strong thighs, wings rustling and flexing, long strides carrying him toward her in a matter of seconds. Without so much as a word, Azriel’s strong, familiar arms wrapped around her smaller body and swooped her up in his embrace, feet dangling several inches above the floor, before they crossed themselves over each ankle, bending her knees and arms wrapping around his neck to pull her closer against him without being a wet sack of grain just hanging off of him, face burrowing into his shoulder.

His smell enveloped her within heartbeats, making her head dizzy and her lungs take one greedy, deep breath at a time, almost moaning at how good it felt to be held close by him again. Her still gloved fingers buried themselves in the short dark hair at the nape of his neck where it had always slightly curled and still kept doing so, as if no time at all had passed. She felt his warm face pressed into the crook of her neck, just where it had always rested so perfectly, felt his lips on the sliver of skin peeking out from under her assassin’s attire, as he loved to call her get-up for missions. Azriel’s hands moved softly, adjusting their hold, until one arm was wrapped tighter around her waist, and his other hand moved up to her neck, holding her face closer to his shoulder and, subsequently, his neck.

“My love,” traveled along their bond, and finally hearing his voice within her mind again made the female almost cry. But she kept her composure—for now. She knew she would break down the moment they would finally be alone again when she begged him for forgiveness for staying away longer than necessary after Amarantha had been vanquished, for locking herself away from their bond. “Az,” she whispered against the skin of his neck, followed by a soft kiss pressed to it.

A throat was cleared behind them, but neither of them moved, still clinging to each other, still breathing each other in. Then, she felt Az’s muscles tighten when a hand found his back, softly patting him. “Azriel,” Rhysand spoke gently, but in warning, making the spymaster growl deep in his throat, but it moved him to put her down with aching slowness nonetheless. She didn’t mind, of course. She would prefer staying wrapped up in him for the next ten or so years, but she knew this wouldn’t be possible, not with the knowledge she held.

The moment she had both feet on the ground again, Azriel rounded her, pressing himself against her back, molding his chest against her, a hand possessively tightening its grasp around her right hipbone. She threw a glance over her shoulder, a brow slightly lifted, and couldn’t help but smile at the sight of his brooding features, displeasure clearly evident for everyone to see. She also knew that he wouldn’t have any of it for much longer, ready to throw her across his shoulder to carry her off.

Certainly not against her own wishes for the foreseeable future.

Rhys stepped closer, observing the hand resting on her hip and clearly looking unimpressed at Az looming above her shoulder. “Don’t be like that,” she warned him, making her brother stare down at her in mock offense. “Like what? I do not know what you could possibly mean by that.” Eye rolling, she was now the one looking unimpressed at him, humor concealed. “Don’t make a fuss about him because I can assure you we won’t be staying all that much longer if it goes my way.”

A soft chuckle was ripped right out of the High Lord, then before his hands both found her shoulders, squeezing them, and his face turned serious. “We were worried. I was worried,” he dared to admit his weakness when it came to her. She knew Rhysand was no one who admitted to having soft spots and weaknesses, especially not when it came to other courts, but that was why she cherished those moments even more. “I know, and I am sorry for not coming home sooner.” Her eyes drifted across her shoulder back to where Azriel kept his watch, trying not to force her all-consuming guilt across the bond and probably failing miserably because he already shook his head slowly, his hand at her hip, squeezing in reassurance.

“But I had to see it for myself,” the High Fae added, and Rhys watched her with interest. She smiled and beckoned him closer, kissing his cheek and disheveling his hair with a hand and a giggle, “I promise, I am alright. No bruises, no broken bones, everything where it should be.” It was a promise to him, Azriel, Cassian, and Mor. She knew Amren wouldn’t care if she had a dislocated shoulder for all she knew, but the other four? They would be devastated—and would hit her until she admitted being reckless and forcing her to spend the next decade merely at home, wrapped up in blankets and pillows.

Rhysand nodded and made her step up to the table while lacing her fingers with the quiet Azriel behind her, tugging him along. When she stood next to Mor, she pulled her friend into her side and smiled at the blonde, both kissing each other’s cheeks. “I am so glad to have you back home in one piece,” the other female whispered and gave her wrist a squeeze. “I know. Breakfast at the Sidra sometime next week?” The spy knew a certain spymaster would never let her leave their rooms for the entire rest of the week. Mor smiled, nodding, and then she turned and smiled at the female standing across from her she had heard so much about ever since finding herself in the Spring Court as a human. “Do you might want to come along? I would love to know how someone as capable as you has gotten herself tangled up with my buffoon of a brother.”

Immediately, she knew she had said the right thing because Feyre’s entire face morphed from insecure and almost scared into a wide, perhaps a bit shy smile. “I would very much like that,” she agreed with a chuckle while Rhys rolled his eyes at his sister’s antics. “You have been back for only a minute, and already you’re inciting unbecoming behavior.” Showing him her tongue, the High Lord sighed in defeat, mumbling about it while she let go of Azriel’s hand for only a moment, turning the male into something restless. His hand immediately searched for her body, anything to hold onto her, and wrapped his arm around her waist, pulling her into his side until she was tightly pressed against him.

She did not mind in the slightest. Quite the opposite—she reveled in it. A warning glance was thrown across the table toward Cassian, whose mouth was already opening to make a quip about it. “Do not make me warn you verbally, Cass.”Both hands rose, and she nodded, pulling out her prized possessions.

The second Azriel had gotten a better look at the map she just unfolded, he took a deep breath, his fingers flexing against her side, his entire body becoming rigid. A finger under her chin made her look up at him in his slightly widened eyes, cheeks paling under his sun-kissed skin. “Do not tell me you were where I think you were, love,” he whispered, pure terror etching into his face. One of her hands cupped his cheek within a blink of an eye, softly shaking her head. “It is not the way you think it is. They did not see me, did not catch me. I am hard to catch if you recall, especially if I do not want to be found. And I did not want to be found with my hands in their war-mongering correspondence.”

Turning back to the table, she flattened the map and unrolled the three letters she had decided to take with her. “Hybern plans a war and we may have an upper hand, at least at this point. I only took so much that they would not suspect anything amiss, and if they do, they perhaps might think the letters merely misplaced. I have more information, but I couldn’t take everything with me, so you will receive a written recollection as soon as I find the time for it, brother dearest. But these… these might help convince everyone else. And I will start with Tarquin myself if you do not mind, Rhys.”

Her High Lord stared unmoving at her, making her almost uncomfortable in his scrutiny, while Cassian lowly whistled and Mor swallowed hard. Azriel continued to be rigid beside her, watching only her.

“Remind me again to never be placed on your bad side, sister,” Rhys spoke, making her grin in delight. “Don’t try to find yourself there, and everything will be fine, Rhy.” The familiar name from their youth—because she had long struggled with the letter s and the sound of it—made him almost smile before nodding toward the door. “Go on. We will discuss this tomorrow if you could both arrange it. And don’t be too… loud.” Something resembling disgust crossed his face, and he had to physically shake himself, making her laugh in more delight before a squeal was ripped out of her throat when Azriel just… took her by her hips and hoisted her on his broad shoulder with astonishing ease, leaving the council room with purposeful strides, her bright laugh echoing off the familiar hallway walls.

Grey morning light kissed the vanishing darkness of night, few stars clinging to their places across the sky as she watched the change of colors from their bed, a soft smile dusting her lips. Being home felt good, rejuvenating in a way the female had stopped hoping for in order to suppress the longing growing inside her heart. Now, she almost felt foolish for not returning sooner, perhaps before she would have gone to Hybern, just for a day or two—not that Azriel would have allowed her to leave again so soon in those circumstances.

Quiet steps padded across the wooden floor and the plush carpet before the bed softly groaned under the Illyrian’s trained form, making the mattress dip slightly. A heartbeat later, she could feel his soft lips against her shoulder blade, his skilled fingers caressing the bare skin of her exposed side, following the curve of her hips and waist up to her shoulder. When he pressed his warm, bare chest against her unclothed back, his fingers cupped her chin and made her head turn in his direction, blindly searching for his lips, which he oh so happily offered up for her.

“I could hear you think across the room, sweetheart,” Azriel mumbled against the plumpness of her lips after so many hours of kissing and debauchery. “I did no such thing.” It was followed by a giggle when his arms enveloped her body anew, making her turn and pulling her flush against him, gazing at her face as if to memorize it yet again. “You admit having no thoughts whatsoever after what I did to you, love? Oh, you know how to stoke a male’s ego,” he chuckled, smile morphing into that rare, wide-spreading grin she loved so dearly after slapping his shoulder. She would spend every gemstone in the vaults to have that grin immortalized in a portrait. But Az would never allow her such things, not when it came to him, at least.

The female had stopped counting how many portraits there existed merely of her and merely for his enjoyment.

She obviously did not mind.

She might mock him for his obsession, but she would also melt at the feeling of the soul-deep love he held for her.

A hand cupped his strong jawline, a thumb started to caress the warm skin of his cheek, eyes staring into his. She felt his relaxed body relax a bit more, felt him melt into her without having to think about it. Not anymore. They were past that particular point ever since she had defended him against a group of Illyrian men, only for him to pull her behind him and shout at her for being so reckless after they went home. She could still hear Rhys’ deep chuckle when he had found them still arguing and shouting insults at one another—only for them to share their first kiss after being left to their own devices.

Their naked bodies pressed against each other, no leaf fitting between them. And then, she felt the tears gather, felt her breath hitch ever so softly, alerting Azriel, who was so in tune with her, it was impossible to hide anything from him.

“I am sorry,” she dared to whisper, forcing a sob down, not allowing it to escape. He kissed her right then and there, silencing her for a moment or two. “We have lost so much time,” the female continued, finally allowing her to consider the many lonely decades lying behind her. It almost broke her heart thinking about what Azriel might have thought when she didn’t return home. Had he doubted her? Himself? Had he thought she had abandoned him for someone else?

The possibility almost killed her.

Az made her look at him, foreheads almost touching, and his shadows gathered closer, one smoky tendril gently started to caress her hair while his fingers flexed against her back, holding her tight. “There was not a single minute I existed where I thought you wouldn’t have wanted me any longer, my darling. I never thought you abandoned me, never thought you found someone better. Perhaps there was a moment filled with fear when I stared across the city, wishing, beseeching you to appear at the horizon, and perhaps thought I lost you. That perhaps you had been caught, shutting me out in order to protect me, and that someone has killed you.” She watched him with wide, fearful, and teary eyes when he had to pause for a moment, staring unblinkingly at her, reminding himself that she was safe in his arms, still breathing. “I was not good company in those weeks,” he dared to mumble. “Cass had to lock me up for a day or two because I wanted to leave. I wanted to leave and find whoever had done you wrong. But then… Well, Mor got through to me, to put it mildly. And I knew you were out there, somewhere, hiding, waiting. Waiting to come home.”

She quickly nodded at that because she had wanted to come home so badly, it had physically hurt.

“We may have lost five decades, my love, but it is not the end of the world. Whatever is coming our way, we will survive that too, just as we have survived the last war. And when all is over, I want to fulfill your dream of a cottage at a river, little wings flapping around and tiny feet running us into the ground every day of our existence—and we will fall into bed at night, exhausted to the bone, but feeling a happiness few can claim to have ever experienced,” Azriel promised in soft words, making her realize something of utmost importance. “We indeed shared a dream.” The Illyrian showed her favorite grin, silver brimming his hazel eyes. “I think we did, and I hope for it to happen more often.” She giggled through tears, holding onto him for dear life before she peppered his cheeks with whispers of kisses and took him in, breathing him in. “I love you like the air we breathe, Azriel. Ever since stumbling into you and forcing you to carry my books like the spoiled little Fae I was, I knew I would grow to need you to be able to live. And I was right because a world without you is a cruel one,” the female dared to whisper, meaning every word.

If he were injured or worse in their fight against Hybern… The High Fae wasn’t sure what she would do to herself.

Azriel kissed the tip of her nose gently. “I think I remember that particular encounter a bit differently. I seem to recall how smitten I was and how much I egged you to let me carry them.” The same unchanged grin found its place on his face, making her realize yet another thing:

Azriel was the one the Mother above had created for her, and she would thank her for all eternity as she melted against his strong chest, where she had always found her peace.

A/N: I hope you enjoyed this one for Azriel. Thank you for reading my silly little writings. Please consider leaving a reblog, a comment, and a like ♡

[parkers-gal]

i love love love love love

[eviesaurusrex]

NO WAY, thank you! I am so happy you loved it 🥹

[percyfraser]

MARIE ANTOINETTE 2006, dir. Sofia Coppola

[eviesaurusrex]

ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀᴇᴅ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ | ʀʜʏꜱᴀɴᴅ

Rhysand x Spring Court!Reader

summary: During a Spring Court festivity, Rhysand is coming face to face with fate itself.

word count: over 4.9k

warnings: slight alteration of previous events/timelines (I guess), attraction at first sight, precognitive dreams, a hint of the future, reader is described as having animal understanding abilities (like Zoolingualism, Omnilingualism, and Animal Telepathy), soft banter, Eris Vanserra is mentioned, meddling noble mothers, abstract mention of mating bonds, dancing, reader is the firstborn daughter of spring and the older sister of Tamlin

author’s notes: I may or may not work on something else for Rhysand and Spring Court!Reader, and I kind of wanted to write their first encounter but didn’t want to include it in the other fanfiction. This is set sometime before the first War and everyone is keeping up friendly appearances lol. Enjoy! Dividers are by @chrisssiren

“And who might you be?”

The stranger turned at the sound of her voice, something strangely tugging in his chest. She lifted a brow, hands pushed into her waist, and her skirts swished softly when she corrected her stance on the pristine marble floor. The sounds of the festivities behind him echoed through the hall, reminding him where he should reside, where he should mingle, and force a smile on his face as if he enjoyed being forced to attend this spring-colored nightmare when he would prefer to read or even spar with his brother and sister back home.

But no, his mother had forced him to come with them, forcing him to mingle and fight off the advances of every attending lady.

Well, except for this one, and he would certainly not mind mingling with her.

She was beautiful, even more so than the most beautiful High Fae he had ever come across, her features striking, and her eyes captured him in a way that rarely anyone ever achieved.

Eyes that now turned colder, mocking. “Are you unable to speak? Poor thing,” she cooed, and a small, snow-white bird with flame-kissed wings landed on her shoulder, whistling and humming as if the Fae would understand it. And apparently, she did. He watched her lean into the bird, gaze never leaving his very being, while nodding softly along, the cocked brow rising a few notches.

When the bird finished with its report—he had never seen a creature like it, and he was fascinated—the male cleared his throat, bowing deeply at his hips, a hand flaring out. “My name is Rhysand. Apologies if I intruded.” A soft chuckle followed his introduction, and he watched her intently as the sound of it raked along his spine like a lover’s touch. It was the most pleasant feeling, and he wished he would never forget it. “Well, well. Rhysand.” He swallowed hard at the sound of his name on her lips—it had never sounded better, the syllables flowing like a melody atop her voice. “You indeed turned from guest to intruder, and I do not take those missteps lightly. Might I suggest you may return to the gardens? Dinner should be served any moment now if you were looking for something to eat.”

A smile tucked at her lips, and the bird hopped across the expanse of her delicate shoulder wrapped in embroidered silk. Rhysand couldn’t tear his gaze away from her eyes, feeling trapped and ready to drown in them. But he bowed again, a hand pressed to his chest, apologies written across his face. “It was not my intention, my lady. I was merely looking for a place to hide from the eligible ladies attending. Perhaps you know how parents tend to try to force their children into presumed happiness.” He couldn’t help but smile at her soft giggle, watching her try to hide it behind a raised hand, the bird looking positively offended at her display of genuine emotion toward him, the male, the intruder.

She cocked her head slightly, reminding him of a delicate bird, probably because the creature on her shoulder moved the same way the moment she had moved, mimicking the High Fae. “I do know a thing or two about meddling mothers,” she admitted and threw a glance across his shoulder back into the gardens. “Speaking of them, I think our intentions were suspected and we have been found.”

A moment later, a voice called for the female. “YN, Lord Vanserra has been looking for you!” Rhysand blinked as he turned to let the High Fae pass, finally learning her name and realizing a crucial truth: She was no ordinary High Fae. She was the firstborn child of the High Lord of Spring, the eldest, the older sister to Tamlin. The one supposed to be a son to rule this court has she not been born a daughter because few courts strayed from the rule of agnatic primogeniture—the right of succession for the firstborn son. He had never seen her; he had only heard of her because her father would not allow her to attend court festivities outside of Spring, and even within her very own home, she was supposedly expected to stay in her rooms.

What a lucky day today was.

The female rolled her eyes at her mother’s words. “Which of the bunch, mother?” The High Fae pressed a hand to her chest at her daughter’s words. “Mind your tone, petal,” she warned before taking a calming breath and plastering a smile on her face. “Eris has been looking for you, sweet thing, and I expect you to dance with him at least once tonight. He is a striking and handsome match for a young lady—and especially for you.” The Lady of Spring turned and smiled at him as he bowed deeply. “My Lady,” he offered a greeting, and felt her hand pat his shoulder gently. “I am so happy to see you again, Rhysand. Please, excuse us. My daughter has been straying away far too long, haven’t you, petal? Come now. Come, come.”

Rhysand watched her as she was pulled away by her mother, a soft chuckle escaping him as she threw a helpless glance over her shoulder, mouthing “Help me” in his direction, dread settling on her features. He followed both females back outside, the setting sun making the gardens glow, and twinkling lights were lighted by the servants. He took his place at the sideline of the prepared dance floor, violet eyes never leaving YN’s form, tracking her every move, her every breath. He couldn’t explain it—the need to keep watch over her.

But there he was, standing on the grass, ladies flocking in his back, hoping to gain his attention, but he watched the firstborn daughter of Spring step up to Eris Vanserra, the firstborn son of Autumn, who had the reputation to be almost as horrible as his father. And yet, he looked almost smitten when the High Fae in her embroidered silk dress stepped up to him, curtseying for him while he bowed at his hips, gathering her delicate hand in his to press a charming kiss to it, eyes never leaving her face, watching her like a fox ready to attack. And Rhysand was not sure if he liked the prospect of it.

Quickly, he looked for his mother, and when he found her, he let his mental shields slide open, just a fraction. “Do you know if she is promised to Autumn?” Like a prized cow on market day, ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. He didn’t let those words slip. His mother watched across the gathered people, his father next to her, and one of her brows lifted in question, but quickly, her eyes jumped toward YN, who swallowed hard when her hand found its place in Eris’s hand.

The musicians started playing the first notes of the dance.

“Not that I have heard of anything, my love, and you know how her mother likes to tease with such revelations. But…”

This was all he needed to know to step forward and be bold, bolder than he already acted around the courts. It bordered on outrageousness and indecency what he was about to do—to steal a lady from another male’s arms in the middle of a dance, but he could not care less if he was honest with himself. Rhys did not know what had befallen him ever since being caught by her, and he could not spare the time to dissect the emotions flaring inside his chest, making his heart ache in a way it had never ached before, nor was he sure whether this all was merely fate. What he knew was that he did not like the sight of Eris Vanserra dancing with YN, so he put an end to it.

His presence was enough to make Autumn growl. “Leave, Night Court. We are busy,” he almost seethed and tried to twirl YN in another turn, but he smoothly stepped into the movement and claimed her hand in a few short, quick grasps. “She is. You are not.” With that, Rhysand spun her away, far away from a seething Eris, pulling her with him, spinning her with ease as if they had done this sort of thing for hundreds of years. Their steps were flawless, movements in harmony as if they knew one another.

And her eyes… Well, they had captured him completely yet again.

“He will not forget this,” she warned him with that soft voice, making another tingle run down his spine. He led her through another series of harmonic steps, her skirts swishing across the polished floor. “I hope so. Someone should have seen him to his place a long time ago. I am happy I had the pleasure of doing a good deed for Prythian.” A smirk tugged at his lips, making her roll her pretty eyes at him before a pretty, teasing smile graced her lips. “Well, Rhysand of the infamous Night Court. You have successfully stolen me away from the male my mother is up in arms about to marry me off to, because, as we know, a female’s worth is only determined by the match she is making in the intricate dance of marriage. What are you going to do now?” YN looked at him rather expectantly, a teasing glint settling in her gaze, and he decided that she must be Spring encompassed.

And that he would be a fool for allowing her to be married off to anyone else.

Humming, he spun them around in the throng of other dancing pairs, knowing that every attention was laid on them. “Well, let me think,” he began and dipped her softly, making her laugh with pure delight before pulling her back into his arms. “I might pose as another suitor, living things up a bit.” He chuckled when YN hit his shoulder playfully, but in warning. “I meant what I said, Rhys.” The slip of his nickname barely surprised him because hers rested on the tip of his tongue ever since gathering her in his arms. “He won’t forget what you did, and if my mother gets her way and they marry me off to him, he will make me remember the way I slighted him. And I am not ready to be some fragile male’s plaything—or anyone’s plaything for that matter. I have been hidden and sequestered away for far too long, and I have fought for a place in the light of day harder than other ladies with my standing.” Rhys watched her sigh, and he felt her pain, her troubles all the way to his bones, but the fire in her eyes was refreshing. “You must know that I am the disappointment of my father for not being born a son, despite him having an actual heir. But I do not want a life next to a male who does not treat females kindly, who doesn’t even consider females equal to males. So, tell me, Rhysand.”

Her hand moved off his shoulder, fingers tangling into the buttoned dark blue, almost black appearing waistcoat he had obliged to wear at his mother’s request, pulling him closer than deemed appropriate. His heart beat like a storm at her confidence, at the way she composed herself, the way she knew what she wanted from existence itself.

“What are you going to do now? Consider me curious.” Now it was his turn to pull her closer, stopping them in the middle of the dancers twirling around them to the softly playing music, watching her face, mapping her striking features, gathering the courage for what he was about to do.

A finger moved under her chin to nudge it up, making her focus back on his eyes, and spring clashed with night. “I will court you. I will show you what it means being considered worthy and a male’s equal. I will try everything in my power to make you happy, and if you do not want me at any given point, I will released you. I won’t force you, I won’t draft up a marriage contract the moment I leave this festivity, demanding my right or claim on you because I am nothing like Eris Vanserra. You are no object for me. You are a lady I easily respect, someone I am dying to learn about—every quirk, every thought, every trouble and fear. And if you decide that, yes, I could be the male you want to marry, then… Yes.” He grew quiet for a moment, searching her face for anything that would make him stop, and when he didn’t find anything, he showed a slow smile.

The smile was easily reciprocated. “The Mother above does act in strange and uncertain ways…,” YN whispered, her head slowly cocking to its side again. “My mother won’t be happy. My father will be furious.” Rhysand softly shrugged his broad shoulders. “What if I tell you that I do not care?” The female chuckled at that. “Then I suggest you might have a taste for reckless endeavours and near-death experiences,” she teased him, making him laugh softly under his breath. “Perhaps. Perhaps I merely found a female I do not intend to let go again if she doesn’t demand it of me.”

Without warning, Rhys watched her push herself onto her tiptoes, and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of her soft lips whispering against his skin when she kissed his cheek. They not only appeared to be as soft as the sweetest petals, they felt like them, too. “If the dream I have had ever since the last solstice has been any indication, prepare yourself for not only a courtship, Rhysand,” her lips whispered against his cheek, and shock settled in his body because—

—because he had the same dream and finally understood the meaning of it. The fog of his memories cleared slowly but steadily, and the longer he memorized YN’s face, the more the dream came into focus.

The bird as white as snow with the fire-kissed wings. The female sitting with her back to him in the House of Wind, the bird landing on her delicate shoulder. The slight cock of her head now so familiar because he had seen it numerous times tonight. And her slightly turned face when he stepped up behind her, hands resting on her upper arms, littered in intricate tattoos, and her smile so filled with love directed at him when he bent to kiss her softly, whispering a greeting at dawn.

His hands rested on her upper arms, now still bare and void of any masterfully drawn swirls and lines, and love did not fill her eyes yet, but a familiar warmth he would soon learn to crave and revel in while falling in love with the Lady of Spring—quickly and irrevocably.

Just as she would, too.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Please consider leaving a reblog, a comment, and a like if you enjoyed this one ♡

[eviesaurusrex]

Thank you so much for the reblog ♡

[wolfythewitch]

Phm doodle requests from twt

[wolfythewitch]

Honorary eridian

[eviesaurusrex]

Would loveeee to read some xaden x reader!!!

I’m also having trouble thinking of a specific scene😅 but maybe a miscommunication trope? I’m a sucker for angst resolved with fluff haha

ᴅᴇꜱᴛɪɴᴇᴅ ᴛᴏ ʙᴇ | x. ʀɪᴏʀꜱᴏɴ

summary: She has been his most trusted friend for two decades. And suddenly, it was all gone.

word count: 4k

warnings: angst, miscommunication/misunderstanding, Xaden being a simp for his woman, Violet being the friend here, longing, pining for one another, basically two idiots in love, kissing, the mere allusion to smutty town (but really PG6), love confessions, fluffy ending, not entirely 100% proofread

author’s note: Gosh, I love Xaden so much. Have fun with this one <3 Dividers are by @chrisssiren

“YNN!”

No, No, No.

The woman sighed deeply at the achingly familiar voice of him, focusing back on the task of lacing her leather corset on the way to the flying field. The wing leader meeting had run overtime—gods only knew why, because no one had contributed anything substantial at all amidst the shouting and insults—and she would have definitely turned up late to formations if she had chosen to get changed in her room after one of the corset strings had decided to ruin her already stressful morning even further by tearing right in the middle of the meeting.

“Gods damn it, YNN! Hold on.”

YN would prefer to fall off her dragon’s back and crash-land on the ground after a hundred-meter fall than wait for him, only to get told even more lies and half-truths. She was done with it.

Tying the strings close and tucking them securely out of reach before closing the numerous clasps of her flight jacket, YNN didn’t even throw a glance over her shoulder when she answered: “I am late as it is, Riorson, so don’t mind me not stopping for a little chitchat to sooth your bruised ego.”

Because that’s what it was, wasn’t it? He only ever came running back to her when she turned a cold shoulder to him. She had probably chosen Aetos over Xaden again, and now he was angry, defeated, and in desperate need of her company. Yes, YN definitely had obliged in the beginning, thinking nothing of it, but then she had seen the chemistry between them, the kiss in the darkness of night, and she couldn’t do it any longer.

Not when her heart ached like hellfire at the mere thought of these two together.

But why was she even surprised? Sure, they had known each other since the day of their first wobbly steps, falling over each other, and yes, her mother had been the closest companion of his father, but why would someone like Xaden Riorson fall in love with someone like her? She was nothing like Violet Sorrengail—she wasn’t petite, she wasn’t as pretty, she didn’t have hair that mesmerizing. YN was a hell of a fighter and dragon rider; she knew that because she had been named wing leader right after her first year, she was good academically, and still, she was no Sorrengail. All she had to her name was ashes of a past she was supposed to never speak of again, scars littering her body, and a rebel relic widening its way from her shoulder down to her wrist.

Be happy with what you got, a voice in her mind whispered the moment shadowy smoke entered her periphery and wrapped itself around her lower arm, making her stop right in front of the rounded staircase.

Anger and something else made their presence known when she turned to Xaden, halting a few steps in front of her. “I don’t have a bruised ego, I just want to walk to the flight field with my best friend after she has ignored me for the past week,” the man defended himself, making the woman huff out a laugh. “Yeah, sure thing. The same best friend who you casually always forget as soon as she’s in the room, but sure, let’s run with that sorry excuse of a reason.” YN pointed at the shadow still clinging to her arm. “Do you mind? I really am late, and I can’t stand to hear another quip of dear ol’ Aetos.”

He stared down at her as if she spoke a different language. “Actually, I do mind.” With that, the shadow was exchanged for his strong hand, long fingers wrapping tightly around her arm to pull her into him. “I do mind because you are my fucking best friend and you avoid me like the fucking plague ever since…” She stared right back at him, not flinching in the slightest, like everyone else always seemed to do in the line of his cold stares. They had never intimidated her because she knew him. “Ever since what, Xaden? Spit it out and be done with it.”

YN had never told a soul about her feelings for her best friend—minus a drunken night with Sloane and Liam, but neither her baby sister nor her little brother would ever spill her longest kept secret—but had she been subtle about it? Probably not. At this point, the entire school could easily know about the lingering stares she had discreetly thrown across the training mats, or the burning stares of a slighted dragon whenever Xaden dared to show up with Violet practically hanging off his arm. She never had something against the woman in the first place—she almost seemed nice enough to like—but all that changed with that blasted kiss she had watched only because she had been in the library longer than planned.

Xaden leaned even closer, lowering his head almost to her eye level. “Ever since Violet arrived and I kissed her.” His words were quiet, but still, they ram through her like a dragon in full speed. And it made her so fucking mad that he was right.

She took a deep, steadying breath to quell the anger boiling inside her. “Go and be with her, but leave me out of it once and for all. We had a great friendship, but childish things have to die in here—that is the rule of Basgiath. Don’t come running back to me whenever it pleases you, never thinking about me and what it might do to me, how it might hurt to realize I am only of interest or a fancy toy newly found after losing it when she doesn’t want you. I am done with it, Xaden. I am so done with it. Go be happy or whatever you are with her and let me survive this death sentence of a school on my own.”

With that, she ripped her arm out of his grasp, turned on the spot, and left a stunned Xaden behind as she finally made her way down the stairs, through the walkway, and up to the flight field.

You are stronger than you might think, fiery one, her dragon spoke in her mind, reminding her of his presence and trust in her. Who needed a man when one had the largest of the reds as their bonded dragon, anyway?

Xaden watched her.

He watched her all the gods damned time.

Whenever YN entered a room, his eyes immediately had to snap to her, watching her trained and skilled form weave through the crowd of the dining hall or the courtyard, purpose and strength in her steps. She commanded respect as the youngest elected wing leader; everyone knew of her skills and sharp mind. Everyone had watched her challenges fought out on the mats, witnessed her strategic thinking in every class, and could see the lethal grace she encompassed as soon as she climbed her dragon and took off into the skies. Not to mention the way she wielded her signet—the one not presented on her uniform, considered secret for the common folk.

He had been lost years ago—lost his heart and soul to this woman who now wouldn’t even look in his direction, his presence beneath that of a mouse stealing the cheese in Basgiath. Even that mouse would gain her attention sooner than him, especially if it tried to steal one of her cheese cubes she craved whenever her monthly blood flood knocked at the doors—her words, not his.

Even now, two days after their conversation, which had left him stunned and confused, Xaden watched her dragon fly in circles in the clear blue sky before landing on the flight field after formations, YN sitting on its back with windswept hair and flushed cheeks. He watched one of her hands rest on the dragon’s red, shimmery scales as she spoke to the majestic creature—scales that easily reminded one of the ever-changing colors of a fire; garnet, scarlet, ruby, and ember shades creating something as beautiful and mesmerizing as YN Mairi was.

“This is a pathetic display, boy,” Sgaeyl mocked behind him, but he knew she watched them, too. “You do need to make a decision and stop playing foolish games.” He knew that, and yet, Xaden didn’t know how. He was bound to a promise in order to protect those he loved the most—his friends, the other rebel kids trying to survive this hellhole of a school, and… the one woman who now stared right back at him.

Despite the distance, it seemed he could almost feel the anger directed at him physically, making his stomach turn, and his muscles clench.

Where did they go wrong?

At which point did he lose her so irrevocably?

Xaden’s whirlwind of questions eased the moment he felt a presence right next to him, and he didn’t have to look to know who stood beside him. Violet had the tendency to appear at the most inconvenient of times, mostly whenever he tried to mend things with YN, even though he hadn’t been entirely sure what it was he had to mend—not until two days ago, when he finally had witnessed every single emotion floating through her eyes after he had fought through the clouds of anger and hurt. And now he knew how this might appear to his best friend.

One look back at her, and he could watch the way she climbed off Tavryn; movements filled with grace and something else, and the reckless streak continued as Xaden took a step in her direction when YN let go of the scales numerous feet above the grassy ground and landed on her boots.

“Xaden.”

Now he had to turn to Violet, but his mind screamed to walk to YN, to pull her into his arms, and make her strong-headed mind realize that he felt exactly the same as she did. (And making every soul in Basgiath see who she belonged to, finally stopping the longing and drooling stares of most men and even a handful of women within these walls. His heart and nerves would surely be thankful for that.)

“What is it, Violet?”

She looked up at him, brows drawn in. “Do you like her?” Xaden wasn’t sure if it was jealousy he heard in her voice. “She’s my best friend,” was all he said, making her scoff. “Best friends do not look at each other the way you two are.” Obviously, she was right because Violet was no foul. Neither was he—at least most of the time. He couldn’t say the same about himself whenever YN was concerned.

With a deep sigh, Xaden pushed a hand through his hair and propped a fist into his hip. “Whatever it is you want to say, Violet, say it.” When had he become so incredibly tired of everything revolving around him? When had he started to loathe the responsibilities he had taken on as one of the eldest? Had he ever liked being a leader, a protector, someone those after him could look up to and seek advice?

YN had always been better at giving counsel and advice—she had the empathy and warmth for it if she so much as pleased to show it to the world. Traits he clearly seemed to lack.

Xaden was fortunate enough to be one of the few people in the world who knew about the depth of this hidden side of his best friend.

Violet took a step closer to him, one of her hands rising and resting on his chest, right above his beating heart.

A heart that would never beat for her.

“The night of our kiss… It was a mistake, something born out of the bond that we share. I know that now. I might have known for a while. We would never work out, Xaden, not even if you would love me just a fraction of the way you love YN. We might have to stay in each others lives, but I only offer a hand in friendship. I don’t want to stand in the way of you and her because I see how miserable each of you is. I can feel it, even if you try to hide it.”

He was stunned to say the least. He never would have guessed this was what she wanted to talk to him about, not with the way they both had acted around one another in the past weeks. First, he had seriously considered growing a liking for her, but then his heart always ached whenever he looked at YN, unable to let go of her, not even after all these years loving her from afar, only ever being her best friend and nothing more.

Always having to watch on whenever she would choose another to warm her bed, all the while he desperately wanted to be the one she would choose every night, every day, every minute they spent breathing.

As Bodhi would say: He was a goner for YN Mairi.

And he would wholeheartedly agree because the longing ached so much; on some days, it was almost unbearable.

Was she feeling the same?

Was she as miserable as he was?

Would she accept him? Would she take him as he was, flaws and all?

Xaden didn’t want to admit it, but it scared him—the prospect of not being good enough for someone like YN Mairi, he so desperately loved, it almost appeared impossible. As if the gods themselves forged this love for this woman.

Perhaps they were destined for each other.

Staring down at Violet, Xaden let out a long-held breath. “Thank you.” It was a mere murmur, but it made her smile nonetheless. “Not for this, Xaden. I want you to be happy—I want myself to be happy. And I’m gladly stepping away for the sake of both of us.”

He gently squeezed her shoulder before turning and walking across the field, eating up the distance between him and the woman he loved more than life itself.

“It took you long enough, boy. Go and claim your mate,” Sgaeyl growled, making Xaden almost chuckle because he always had a suspicion that the blue daggertail secretly adored YN. Perhaps his dragon would finally cease to haunt him whenever her menacing stares fell on Tavryn and YN, always hounding him about what a perfect match these two were, how she ought to be one of the most powerful additions to Navarre and their own forces, making her stand out in the sea of rebels and revolutionists.

Xaden’s heart almost lost hope when YN turned at the sound of his closing steps, anger and something else taking over her pretty features he would one day have painted and immortalized in a portrait, hanging in the main hall of Riorson House back at home in Aretia, perhaps next to a portrait of both of them together. Slow down, Xaden, the voice of his realistic side warned him in his mind.

“Not you again,” YN huffed when he was within earshot, pulling off her leather gloves one finger at a time with precision and traitorous calm, eyes downcast on the task at hand. “Someone is waiting for you right over there, you know? You should go back and leave me the hell out of it.” Her menacing red dragon growled in warning to underline her words, making Xaden look up at the beast for a moment, calculating if he would kill him if the man dared to step closer to his rider. But he knew how crucial it was to make her finally understand, so Xaden shot every warning in his mind into the wind and down the ravine as he stepped closer when YN pushed her gloves into the belt around her hips.

The sudden closeness made her pause, and, slowly, ever so slowly, her gaze wandered up his body, halting at his shoulders for a moment before she finally stared right into his eyes, not budging even the tiniest bit.

He loved that about her. Her fierceness. Her bravery. Her undying and utterly devoted loyalty once someone had gained her trust. Her selflessness in protecting the people she loved with everything she was, if the situation required it. The depths of her emotions.

YN Mairi was one of a kind, and Xaden would be a fool to let this woman slip through his fingers because he had been stupid enough not to look deeper and allow himself to feel.

The woman in front of him huffed again at the lack of words leaving his mouth. “Great. And now you’ve grown mute or what? What is wrong with you? Don’t you understand the common tongue anymore, Riorson? Do I have to spell it out for you? Write it down? It would be my pleasure if it means to finally get rid of yo-…” Taking a step closer, Xaden growled: “You don’t know when to shut up and listen for once, woman, do you?”

And with that, and another frustrated growl, one of his hands slid into the back of her neck, fingers tangling in her silky strands, softly grabbing them and forcing her head to bend back, making her keep watching him. “I do not love her. I have never loved Violet, and do you want to know why?” He barely paused long enough to give her the chance to get another sarcastic quip in. “Because I am so desperately and irrevocably in love with this frustrating and infuriatingly headstrong woman. She is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen. Sarcastic, smart, brilliant. Loyal to a fault after you achieved getting into her heart because she allowed you in. But, by the gods, does she infuriate me constantly. You wanna know why?” Another too short a pause for her to barrel in, but her stunned expression told Xaden she wouldn’t have said a word either way. He leaned closer, until the tip of their noses touched ever so softly. “Because she doesn’t see me. She doesn’t see how hard I’m aching to be near her, how hard every day is knowing she wouldn’t even deign to look my way, not granting me one of her pretty smiles, not laughing at a mumbled snark, not waiting for me with an extra bread roll on her plate in the morning because she knows how much I love those. Do you know how hard that is, YNN? I can’t breathe without you near me. Life without you is constant agony, and I am done with it. I am done living in constant pain.”

He laid everything bare, and it barely scared him anymore—not when he saw realization trickle into her eyes, which didn’t dare blink. And then, a slow, small smile tugged at her lips, which he had dreamed of countless times over the years.

“Took you long enough,” YN whispered, almost teasingly, but with deep affection in her tone, he knew how to read after two decades of friendship. “Unbelievable,” he growled in return, his hand wrapped up in her silky hair, pulling her closer into him and claiming her lips with his in a bruising kiss, bordering on violence and desperation. He would have time to explore her, to get familiar with her on this new level, but right now he had to make sure she knew what he meant—what it meant being loved by him.

Her body pressed against his was pure bliss, the lovely moan escaping her utterly heart-wrenching, and her hands grabbing onto his shoulders and neck absolutely divine. They fit perfectly, like two perfectly crafted puzzle pieces, only waiting to be finally picked up and put together, forming a union stronger than anything else. They had always been a team, but now, it would be something more, something deeper—and he couldn’t wait to explore it with her.

Kissing her like a man starved and possessed, Xaden bent her neck even further, bowing at his waist to be closer to her, feet steady and standing strong to support them both, feeling YN’s hands desperately pulling at his leathers, trying to have him even closer. Oh, how he would revel in the moment the door of either of their private rooms would fall shut behind them, and he would have this woman all to himself.

Buzzing excitement and a nervous flutter zapped through his body at the mere thought of having YN Mairi standing in front of him, watching her peel all these layers away, knowing he would be the only man seeing her from now on. It stirred something ancient in him, something from long-lost times. If he weren’t trained to hold back, he would mark her like some feral beast.

Gasping for air, YN softly pushed at his shoulders before one of her soft hands found its natural spot against the sharp line of his jaw, the pad of her thumb gently caressing his warm cheek below his strong cheekbone. Xaden’s heart beat faster at the sight of her mesmerizing eyes softening while she traced his features with every gaze, watching his eyes, calculating if she could believe him.

He knew her after all.

But then, she pressed a soft kiss to one corner of his mouth, letting her lips linger there, inhaling deeply before a sigh left her body, taking all the tightness of her muscles with it. He knew then that YN believed him. He knew she let her walls down for him, desperately hoping she wouldn’t regret it. And Xaden would make sure it would never come to it.

“Did you finally understand, love? I could never be in love with Violet or anyone else for that matter, because my love was always claimed by you. There was no one else—there could never be anyone else but you. And I think, I am not the only one.”

He watched her closely but had to close his eyes when YN pulled him back to her lips, kissing him softer and without rush, savouring the sensation before her fingers wrapped around his chin, not letting his head move an inch. He wouldn’t dare to go against her wish.

“Xaden… I have loved you since the day we went into the hills around Aretia and gathered wildflowers because I wanted a flower crown for the festivities. I loved you even before that day. And that has never changed, not throughout the years, not when I was brought to some foreign estate, not knowing if or when I would see you again, and definitely not after running into you on our way up to the parapet.” She stopped, and the Riorson was quick to catch one stray tear with his thumb that dared to escape her lashes. “I am not even sure I am capable of not loving you, doesn’t matter how hard I try.”

Her grip became stronger around his chin, and fire erupted in her eyes, making him almost smirk. “But because I love you more than the air we breathe, I will not tolerate being betrayed. Do you understand me, Riorson? You will come to me and talk it through like adults if something ever happens and you try to pull back and handle it yourself. That is not how this is going to work from now on. You will come to me and I will be by your side. You will not pull away and let me guess and suffer like some silly school girl. We are past that point and I’ll beat the living hells out of you if you try something like this.” His smirk finally showed, lifting one corner of his mouth as he nodded slowly. “I mean it,” YN stressed and pulled his face closer to hers. “Don’t try to outsmart me. I know you, perhaps better than anyone else, so let me be by your side.”

Xaden felt satisfaction and pride pool in his body, and he wasn’t shy of devouring her lips again, pressing his forehead against hers, breathing the same air as she did, feeling finally complete.

“I will not betray you, love. I swear it on my life.”

And he had every intent to keep his promise until his body would be burned after either losing his last fight or falling asleep next to the woman he loved after having lived a very long and happy life with her.

[eviesaurusrex]

Oh my, thank you so much for the reblog, lovely ♡ 🥹

[eviesaurusrex]

ꜱᴘʀɪɴɢ ᴄᴏʟᴏʀᴇᴅ ꜰᴀᴛᴇ | ʀʜʏꜱᴀɴᴅ

Rhysand x Spring Court!Reader

summary: During a Spring Court festivity, Rhysand is coming face to face with fate itself.

word count: over 4.9k

warnings: slight alteration of previous events/timelines (I guess), attraction at first sight, precognitive dreams, a hint of the future, reader is described as having animal understanding abilities (like Zoolingualism, Omnilingualism, and Animal Telepathy), soft banter, Eris Vanserra is mentioned, meddling noble mothers, abstract mention of mating bonds, dancing, reader is the firstborn daughter of spring and the older sister of Tamlin

author’s notes: I may or may not work on something else for Rhysand and Spring Court!Reader, and I kind of wanted to write their first encounter but didn’t want to include it in the other fanfiction. This is set sometime before the first War and everyone is keeping up friendly appearances lol. Enjoy! Dividers are by @chrisssiren

“And who might you be?”

The stranger turned at the sound of her voice, something strangely tugging in his chest. She lifted a brow, hands pushed into her waist, and her skirts swished softly when she corrected her stance on the pristine marble floor. The sounds of the festivities behind him echoed through the hall, reminding him where he should reside, where he should mingle, and force a smile on his face as if he enjoyed being forced to attend this spring-colored nightmare when he would prefer to read or even spar with his brother and sister back home.

But no, his mother had forced him to come with them, forcing him to mingle and fight off the advances of every attending lady.

Well, except for this one, and he would certainly not mind mingling with her.

She was beautiful, even more so than the most beautiful High Fae he had ever come across, her features striking, and her eyes captured him in a way that rarely anyone ever achieved.

Eyes that now turned colder, mocking. “Are you unable to speak? Poor thing,” she cooed, and a small, snow-white bird with flame-kissed wings landed on her shoulder, whistling and humming as if the Fae would understand it. And apparently, she did. He watched her lean into the bird, gaze never leaving his very being, while nodding softly along, the cocked brow rising a few notches.

When the bird finished with its report—he had never seen a creature like it, and he was fascinated—the male cleared his throat, bowing deeply at his hips, a hand flaring out. “My name is Rhysand. Apologies if I intruded.” A soft chuckle followed his introduction, and he watched her intently as the sound of it raked along his spine like a lover’s touch. It was the most pleasant feeling, and he wished he would never forget it. “Well, well. Rhysand.” He swallowed hard at the sound of his name on her lips—it had never sounded better, the syllables flowing like a melody atop her voice. “You indeed turned from guest to intruder, and I do not take those missteps lightly. Might I suggest you may return to the gardens? Dinner should be served any moment now if you were looking for something to eat.”

A smile tucked at her lips, and the bird hopped across the expanse of her delicate shoulder wrapped in embroidered silk. Rhysand couldn’t tear his gaze away from her eyes, feeling trapped and ready to drown in them. But he bowed again, a hand pressed to his chest, apologies written across his face. “It was not my intention, my lady. I was merely looking for a place to hide from the eligible ladies attending. Perhaps you know how parents tend to try to force their children into presumed happiness.” He couldn’t help but smile at her soft giggle, watching her try to hide it behind a raised hand, the bird looking positively offended at her display of genuine emotion toward him, the male, the intruder.

She cocked her head slightly, reminding him of a delicate bird, probably because the creature on her shoulder moved the same way the moment she had moved, mimicking the High Fae. “I do know a thing or two about meddling mothers,” she admitted and threw a glance across his shoulder back into the gardens. “Speaking of them, I think our intentions were suspected and we have been found.”

A moment later, a voice called for the female. “YN, Lord Vanserra has been looking for you!” Rhysand blinked as he turned to let the High Fae pass, finally learning her name and realizing a crucial truth: She was no ordinary High Fae. She was the firstborn child of the High Lord of Spring, the eldest, the older sister to Tamlin. The one supposed to be a son to rule this court has she not been born a daughter because few courts strayed from the rule of agnatic primogeniture—the right of succession for the firstborn son. He had never seen her; he had only heard of her because her father would not allow her to attend court festivities outside of Spring, and even within her very own home, she was supposedly expected to stay in her rooms.

What a lucky day today was.

The female rolled her eyes at her mother’s words. “Which of the bunch, mother?” The High Fae pressed a hand to her chest at her daughter’s words. “Mind your tone, petal,” she warned before taking a calming breath and plastering a smile on her face. “Eris has been looking for you, sweet thing, and I expect you to dance with him at least once tonight. He is a striking and handsome match for a young lady—and especially for you.” The Lady of Spring turned and smiled at him as he bowed deeply. “My Lady,” he offered a greeting, and felt her hand pat his shoulder gently. “I am so happy to see you again, Rhysand. Please, excuse us. My daughter has been straying away far too long, haven’t you, petal? Come now. Come, come.”

Rhysand watched her as she was pulled away by her mother, a soft chuckle escaping him as she threw a helpless glance over her shoulder, mouthing “Help me” in his direction, dread settling on her features. He followed both females back outside, the setting sun making the gardens glow, and twinkling lights were lighted by the servants. He took his place at the sideline of the prepared dance floor, violet eyes never leaving YN’s form, tracking her every move, her every breath. He couldn’t explain it—the need to keep watch over her.

But there he was, standing on the grass, ladies flocking in his back, hoping to gain his attention, but he watched the firstborn daughter of Spring step up to Eris Vanserra, the firstborn son of Autumn, who had the reputation to be almost as horrible as his father. And yet, he looked almost smitten when the High Fae in her embroidered silk dress stepped up to him, curtseying for him while he bowed at his hips, gathering her delicate hand in his to press a charming kiss to it, eyes never leaving her face, watching her like a fox ready to attack. And Rhysand was not sure if he liked the prospect of it.

Quickly, he looked for his mother, and when he found her, he let his mental shields slide open, just a fraction. “Do you know if she is promised to Autumn?” Like a prized cow on market day, ready to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. He didn’t let those words slip. His mother watched across the gathered people, his father next to her, and one of her brows lifted in question, but quickly, her eyes jumped toward YN, who swallowed hard when her hand found its place in Eris’s hand.

The musicians started playing the first notes of the dance.

“Not that I have heard of anything, my love, and you know how her mother likes to tease with such revelations. But…”

This was all he needed to know to step forward and be bold, bolder than he already acted around the courts. It bordered on outrageousness and indecency what he was about to do—to steal a lady from another male’s arms in the middle of a dance, but he could not care less if he was honest with himself. Rhys did not know what had befallen him ever since being caught by her, and he could not spare the time to dissect the emotions flaring inside his chest, making his heart ache in a way it had never ached before, nor was he sure whether this all was merely fate. What he knew was that he did not like the sight of Eris Vanserra dancing with YN, so he put an end to it.

His presence was enough to make Autumn growl. “Leave, Night Court. We are busy,” he almost seethed and tried to twirl YN in another turn, but he smoothly stepped into the movement and claimed her hand in a few short, quick grasps. “She is. You are not.” With that, Rhysand spun her away, far away from a seething Eris, pulling her with him, spinning her with ease as if they had done this sort of thing for hundreds of years. Their steps were flawless, movements in harmony as if they knew one another.

And her eyes… Well, they had captured him completely yet again.

“He will not forget this,” she warned him with that soft voice, making another tingle run down his spine. He led her through another series of harmonic steps, her skirts swishing across the polished floor. “I hope so. Someone should have seen him to his place a long time ago. I am happy I had the pleasure of doing a good deed for Prythian.” A smirk tugged at his lips, making her roll her pretty eyes at him before a pretty, teasing smile graced her lips. “Well, Rhysand of the infamous Night Court. You have successfully stolen me away from the male my mother is up in arms about to marry me off to, because, as we know, a female’s worth is only determined by the match she is making in the intricate dance of marriage. What are you going to do now?” YN looked at him rather expectantly, a teasing glint settling in her gaze, and he decided that she must be Spring encompassed.

And that he would be a fool for allowing her to be married off to anyone else.

Humming, he spun them around in the throng of other dancing pairs, knowing that every attention was laid on them. “Well, let me think,” he began and dipped her softly, making her laugh with pure delight before pulling her back into his arms. “I might pose as another suitor, living things up a bit.” He chuckled when YN hit his shoulder playfully, but in warning. “I meant what I said, Rhys.” The slip of his nickname barely surprised him because hers rested on the tip of his tongue ever since gathering her in his arms. “He won’t forget what you did, and if my mother gets her way and they marry me off to him, he will make me remember the way I slighted him. And I am not ready to be some fragile male’s plaything—or anyone’s plaything for that matter. I have been hidden and sequestered away for far too long, and I have fought for a place in the light of day harder than other ladies with my standing.” Rhys watched her sigh, and he felt her pain, her troubles all the way to his bones, but the fire in her eyes was refreshing. “You must know that I am the disappointment of my father for not being born a son, despite him having an actual heir. But I do not want a life next to a male who does not treat females kindly, who doesn’t even consider females equal to males. So, tell me, Rhysand.”

Her hand moved off his shoulder, fingers tangling into the buttoned dark blue, almost black appearing waistcoat he had obliged to wear at his mother’s request, pulling him closer than deemed appropriate. His heart beat like a storm at her confidence, at the way she composed herself, the way she knew what she wanted from existence itself.

“What are you going to do now? Consider me curious.” Now it was his turn to pull her closer, stopping them in the middle of the dancers twirling around them to the softly playing music, watching her face, mapping her striking features, gathering the courage for what he was about to do.

A finger moved under her chin to nudge it up, making her focus back on his eyes, and spring clashed with night. “I will court you. I will show you what it means being considered worthy and a male’s equal. I will try everything in my power to make you happy, and if you do not want me at any given point, I will released you. I won’t force you, I won’t draft up a marriage contract the moment I leave this festivity, demanding my right or claim on you because I am nothing like Eris Vanserra. You are no object for me. You are a lady I easily respect, someone I am dying to learn about—every quirk, every thought, every trouble and fear. And if you decide that, yes, I could be the male you want to marry, then… Yes.” He grew quiet for a moment, searching her face for anything that would make him stop, and when he didn’t find anything, he showed a slow smile.

The smile was easily reciprocated. “The Mother above does act in strange and uncertain ways…,” YN whispered, her head slowly cocking to its side again. “My mother won’t be happy. My father will be furious.” Rhysand softly shrugged his broad shoulders. “What if I tell you that I do not care?” The female chuckled at that. “Then I suggest you might have a taste for reckless endeavours and near-death experiences,” she teased him, making him laugh softly under his breath. “Perhaps. Perhaps I merely found a female I do not intend to let go again if she doesn’t demand it of me.”

Without warning, Rhys watched her push herself onto her tiptoes, and his eyes fluttered shut at the sensation of her soft lips whispering against his skin when she kissed his cheek. They not only appeared to be as soft as the sweetest petals, they felt like them, too. “If the dream I have had ever since the last solstice has been any indication, prepare yourself for not only a courtship, Rhysand,” her lips whispered against his cheek, and shock settled in his body because—

—because he had the same dream and finally understood the meaning of it. The fog of his memories cleared slowly but steadily, and the longer he memorized YN’s face, the more the dream came into focus.

The bird as white as snow with the fire-kissed wings. The female sitting with her back to him in the House of Wind, the bird landing on her delicate shoulder. The slight cock of her head now so familiar because he had seen it numerous times tonight. And her slightly turned face when he stepped up behind her, hands resting on her upper arms, littered in intricate tattoos, and her smile so filled with love directed at him when he bent to kiss her softly, whispering a greeting at dawn.

His hands rested on her upper arms, now still bare and void of any masterfully drawn swirls and lines, and love did not fill her eyes yet, but a familiar warmth he would soon learn to crave and revel in while falling in love with the Lady of Spring—quickly and irrevocably.

Just as she would, too.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. Please consider leaving a reblog, a comment, and a like if you enjoyed this one ♡

[darkmacademia]

alignment chart: bookmark edition. tag yourself i’m scrap paper

[multi-fandom-imagine]

My Wife || Simon Riley ||

Captain Price had been expecting many things when Ghost informed him he was getting married.

A security risk.

A secret intelligence operative.

Perhaps some terrifying woman who looked as though she could snap a man’s neck with her bare hands.

What he had not expected was you.

The first warning sign should have been the fact that Simon seemed nervous.

Not anxious.

Not worried.

Nervous.

Price had known the man for years and could count on one hand the number of times he’d seen him genuinely uncertain.

Yet there Ghost stood near the entrance of the base, arms crossed tightly over his chest, staring toward the parking lot as though preparing for combat.

Soap noticed it too. "Sir,” he muttered quietly beside Price, watching Ghost with narrowed eyes. “Is he… pacing?”

Price blinked.

Ghost was, in fact, pacing.

Very slightly.

Like an agitated panther.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Price murmured.

Gaz looked between them. “Should we be concerned?”

“Terrified,” Soap answered.

Before anyone could speculate further, a vehicle rolled through the gates after being checked and if

The moment Ghost spotted it, he stopped moving entirely.

The transformation was subtle that most people wouldn’t have noticed.But the men who worked beside him every day saw it immediately.

His shoulders relaxed.

The tension disappeared from his posture.

Something softened.

The truck parked, the driver’s door opened, and then you appeared.

You were much shorter than they’d expected.You practically had to hop down from the vehicle. A large tote bag swung from one shoulder while a drink carrier balanced precariously in your hands.

The first thing you did was smile.

Not a polite smile.

Not the carefully practiced smile people gave soldiers.

A genuine one.

The kind that immediately reached your eyes.

“Oh my God,” you said, spotting Simon across the lot. Your face lit up so brightly it almost seemed impossible. “There he is!”

Then, to the absolute horror of the Task Force, you jogged toward Ghost.

Ghost.

Lieutenant Simon Riley.

The terrifying bastard responsible for half the nightmares on base.

Placing the drinks carefully down, you practically launched yourself at him.

Soap actually choked.

Price nearly dropped his cigar.

Gaz made a strangled noise.

Ghost caught you effortlessly.

One arm wrapped around your waist as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a horrifying second, the entire task force expected him to set you down.

Instead he simply kept holding you.

You grinned at him.

He stared down at you.

And somehow that terrifying skull-masked soldier looked completely helpless.

“There you are,” you said, cupping his face between your hands without a shred of fear. “I missed you.”

Ghost’s gloved hand settled against your back.“Was gone four days.”

“I know.”

“You called me twenty-three times.”

“I did~.” You seemed proud over that.

Then Ghost leaned down slightly as your fingers curled under his mask. "I missed you too.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Soap looked physically ill.

Price rubbed his face.

Gaz looked like he was questioning reality itself.

Ghost finally glanced toward them and then immediately the softness vanished as the intimidating stare returned, the lethal presence returned and the entire base suddenly felt colder.

“Stop starin’,” he growled.

You turned around immediately. “Oh!”

The smile returned.

“Oh! These are your friends!”

Friends.

Price would later swear he saw Soap’s soul leave his body.

You carefully handed Ghost your drink carrier before marching directly toward them. “Hi!” you announced. “I’m Simon’s wife.”

The three men simply stared.

You waited.

Still smiling.

Finally Price recovered first.

He stepped forward and offered a hand. “Captain Price.”

You shook it enthusiastically. “It’s so nice to finally meet you! Simon talks about you all the time.”

Price nearly laughed because Simon talked about nobody.

Yet judging by the look Ghost was giving him, apparently he talked about Price.

Interesting.

Very interesting.

You moved on before he could ask questions. “You must be Soap.”

Soap blinked. “Uh… aye.”

“Oh my gosh, your mohawk is real.”

Soap frowned. “Did Simon tell you about my mohawk?”

“No.” You tilted your head. “I just wasn’t sure if it was a hairstyle or a military cryptid situation.”

There was a moment of silence then Gaz burst out laughing.

Soap looked offended.

Price looked amused.

Ghost sighed heavily.

You pointed immediately. “And you’re Gaz!”

Gaz smiled. “That’s me.”

“Simon says you’re the normal one.”

The laughter doubled.

Soap wheezed.

Price nearly choked on his cigar.

Gaz looked deeply offended.

Ghost turned away completely.

Which only confirmed he had absolutely said it.The next hour somehow became even stranger because you chatted with everyone effortlessly.

You remembered names.

Asked questions.

Laughed easily.

Within minutes it felt less like meeting Ghost’s wife and more like meeting a friend they’d somehow known for years.

Price noticed something else too.

Every few minutes Simon checked on you.

Not obviously.

Most people would never notice.

But Price did.

A glance.

A shift closer.

A hand briefly touching your shoulder.

Tiny little confirmations that you were still there.

Still safe.

Still smiling.

And every single time you smiled back at him.

Like it was automatic.

Like you understood something about him nobody else ever had.

The realization hit Price unexpectedly.

For years they’d all assumed Ghost preferred being alone.

Preferred distance.

Preferred isolation.

But watching Simon follow you around the base like a silent shadow made the truth painfully obvious.

The man had never wanted to be alone. He’d simply never had someone worth coming home to.

The final nail in the coffin of everyone’s sanity came later that afternoon.

You’d spent hours traveling, jet lag was catching up with you.

One minute you were sitting beside Simon during a briefing.

The next, your head slowly tipped sideways then landed directly on his shoulder and stayed there.

Asleep.

Completely asleep.

Price paused mid-sentence.

The room went silent.

Nobody moved.

Nobody dared to breathe.

Ghost looked down.

Adjusted slightly.

Then carefully pulled his jacket over you like a blanket. His hand rested protectively against your arm. The gesture was so gentle it felt impossible coming from him.

Price exchanged a glance with Soap.

Soap looked devastated.

Gaz looked emotional.

Ghost noticed them staring as his eyes narrowed immediately. “Dare either of you.”

Nobody dared.

And that was the day Task Force 141 met the one person on Earth more dangerous than Ghost himself.

The woman who had somehow managed to make Simon Riley happy.

[navybrat817]

Lean On Each Other

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader

Summary: You are tired, which is the norm for you nowadays, and share a sweet moment with Bucky.

Word Count: Over 1.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, pet name (sweetheart for you, baby nicknamed Sprout), stretch marks (they are beautiful), mention of serum, tiredness, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Lovelies, I have been exhausted for some time now and this popped into my head for Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

You stretched out on the bed with a small sigh, ready to put the day to rest. It was peaceful in your room with no appointments or demands to take up your time. Bucky would join you once he shut everything off and double checked the locks. It was such a small domestic and protective thing and it brought a soft smile to your face.

This was your life. Your home. Your family.

You were already half asleep when Bucky settled behind you, the mattress dipping under his weight. You were surprised you weren’t out the moment your head hit the pillow. His arm slid around your waist automatically, his palm resting on your stomach protectively. He exhaled against your neck, his chest solid and warm against your back.

Everything felt right when he held you like that, his presence wrapping around you as naturally as the blanket keeping you warm.

“You feeling okay, sweetheart?” he asked, his thumb brushing the curve of your belly like he was trying to memorize the feeling.

You hummed in response, not quite opening your eyes. “Hmm. Just fine.”

The room felt more calm and quiet, like the world and time itself slowed down for the two of you.

Well, three of you.

“Not hungry?”

“You made sure we ate plenty,” you answered.

“Good.” Bucky nuzzled your skin, drawing a small laugh from you when his stubble tickled you. “And now you need rest.”

“That’s why I’m already in bed,” you teased.

“Good,” he said again.

The last few weeks had been chaotic. Not bad, thankfully, but busy in a relentless way. Appointments and every day life stacked on top of you until you felt stretched thin. Your energy seemed to go just as quickly as it came. Some days you felt like you were chasing the clock, always a step behind when your body was working overtime to accomplish everything. You just couldn’t seem to keep up.

Bucky noticed.

Of course, he did.

It was in the way his brows pinched when he looked at you, cataloguing every yawn and when your shoulders slumped. His voice softened whenever he said your name, the sound soothing when exhaustion seeped in. He began to carry you around without you asking, leaving no room for argument. He tried to take things off your plate, too, even when he had his own things to do.

“You’re gonna run yourself into the ground at this level, sweetheart.”

“Bucky, I’m pregnant. Being tired comes with the territory. That’s just how it is.”

You said that because you believed it. Because you had to be strong and prove you could handle it. Life wasn’t about to give you a pass because you two decided to have a baby.

But Bucky saw through that.

“I’m your husband and the father of our child. You can lean on me instead of trying to do it all by yourself. Just like I lean on you some days.”

The words carved their way into your heart and didn’t leave.

Because he was right. Some days when the world felt too heavy, he looked to you for support. You were there for him without question. And he was there for you, too.

It wasn’t out of obligation to give and take nor was it the kind of thing where you kept score. It was out of love and devotion, something that made you both stronger. Neither of you had to carry anything alone anymore.

The truth of that eased something in your chest you hadn't realized was there until you exhaled.

“Guess what?” he asked, his voice light and breaking through your thoughts.

“I thought I was supposed to be resting, not talking,” you replied, giggling again when his teeth nipped your skin. “Okay, okay. What?”

“We should be getting the pictures tomorrow.”

You smiled happily. “Really? That’s great!” you replied, your baby moving around as if they felt how excited you were.

A bright light within the business was the recent maternity photoshoot. The weather had been perfect, you wore a beautiful dress, and Bucky smiled so much in and out of the photos you were certain his cheeks ached. He already picked out the space on the wall where he wanted them hung up and there was an empty frame on his desk waiting for the right picture. He was so happy.

You both were.

“I know they’re going to be perfect,” he said quietly, chuckling under his breath. “And Sprout’s been busy today. Kicking like they’ve got somewhere to be.”

Your smile widened and you shifted just enough to press back against him. “I think they get that from you.”

Your baby must’ve picked up his old dancing skills because they did a fantastic number on your bladder earlier in the day.

At least you made it to the bathroom in time.

He huffed under his breath. “Hey. I was a perfectly calm kid.”

You opened your eyes and turned your head just enough to give him a look over your shoulder. He smiled and your heart beat faster. His blue eyes softened when his fingers traced your belly again, touching one of your stretch marks through your shirt. He traced it like it was something sacred.

You both bore life-changing marks on your skin, your bodies telling stories that only the two of you would ever fully read.

“You keep touching them,” you whispered, not accusingly. More like awe.

“I do,” he agreed, pressing a kiss to your neck and shifting your body so you didn’t have to keep looking over your shoulder. “I know you don’t think they’re pretty, but they’re one of the most beautiful things I’ve ever seen.”

You blinked, only semi-surprised. “Really?”

Bucky always found a way to make you feel beautiful and desired. Whether it was through his actions or words, he never wanted you to doubt yourself or how much he craved you. You were certain he would do that for the rest of your lives. But since you got pregnant, he took it to another level of worship.

Not that you would ever complain about having his attention and focus.

“I mean it. Your body is changing because our baby is growing and it’s so beautiful. We made this. You and me.” His fingers moved again, tracing each mark with intention. “I’ve seen a lot of things. Stuff I wish I could forget. But this?” He let out a shaky breath, his hand pausing to cradle your stomach tenderly. “This is the best thing I’ve ever been part of.”

Your throat tightened. Your eyes watered. Damn hormones kept making you emotional. Except it wasn’t the hormones at all. It was just you in love with this man.

A man who loved you and your baby with his entire being.

“How are you so perfect?” you asked.

His nose scrunched when he laughed, the sound making your heart feel full. “Sweetheart, I’m so fucking far from perfect.”

You took his face in your hands, refusing to let him think of himself as anything less . “Bucky Barnes, listen to me.”

“I always listen,” he swore, solely focused on you. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

It took you a second to speak since having his full attention was overwhelming in the best way. “You are the best husband and provider. And not just because you fix the sink and bring me ice cream and validate my feelings when I’m insecure. You love, take care of, and respect me. You remind me that I don’t have to go it alone,” you said, your gaze affectionate when he leaned into your touch. “And I know you’ll be the perfect father.”

“You think so?” he asked after a moment, his voice thick.

“I know so,” you said.

He quickly closed the small gap between you, kissing you so deeply that it stole the breath from your lungs. “Thank you.”

Your heart beat wildly. “You have nothing to thank me for,” you said, your face twisting at the particularly hard kick in your stomach and making Bucky frown slightly. “Our baby really is a mover.”

Along with his dancing skills, you guessed your baby would have his agility and strength. You were thankful they hadn’t kicked through your stomach. Your husband may have gone off on someone who suggested it could be a possibility thanks to the serum. They hadn’t looked you in the eye since, much to your better half’s satisfaction.

No one would ever look out for you more than him.

“Hey, Sprout. Your Mama’s been working extra hard lately. Growing you takes a lot out of her.” The fondness in his voice was enough to make a tear fall. “She’s magical and stronger than I’ll ever be, but we need to make sure she gets enough rest for both of you. Maybe we can start with gentler kicks? Can you do that?”

The kick under his palm was much softer, like they understood.

His eyes lit up and your chin wobbled. He looked so happy. You knew some days he still couldn’t believe he got to have this, but no one deserved it more.

“They really can understand me,” he said in awe.

“Of course, they do.”

They loved the sound of his voice.

“Thank you, Sprout,” he whispered, sliding down the bed enough to kiss your stomach. “You get some rest, okay? We love you.”

You sniffled when he moved back up to hold you again, his lips finding yours in a soft kiss. “And did you, a super soldier, seriously call me strong? And magical?” you asked so you wouldn’t ugly sob from how sweet he was being.

“You are strong and magical. Sprout agrees,” he said gently but firmly before he kissed your tear away. “But even the strong and magical need rest.”

You stifled a yawn, your eyes slipping shut. You did need the rest. “Will you be here when I wake up?”

“I wouldn’t be anywhere else.” He nuzzled your neck again and kept you close. “I love you both so much.”

Your heart skipped a beat. “We love you, too.”

“And I’m gonna spend the rest of my life trying to deserve this,” he admitted quietly. “You. Sprout. All of it.”

Your hand covered his and your baby rolled beneath his palm, both of you leaning into him and seeking to comfort him before his thoughts spiraled. “You already have,” you assured him. “Trust us.”

You and Bucky built a life and home together, one that he more than deserved. You were partners in life and love. That love extended to your baby and would only continue to grow.

Tonight you didn’t have to think of anything beyond the walls of your bedroom. You could simply rest in his arms and let everything else be. And he’d watch over you while you slept like the hero he was.

And a man in love.

I hope you lovelies all have enough spoons, get the rest you need, and have someone to lean on. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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[navybrat817]

Turned Sour

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky gets you the food you want... or does he?

Word Count: 300

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, hormones, sudden food aversion, domestic life, fluff, baby nickname (Sprout), Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Day 19 of the January Jumble Scribbles Challenge. Prompt: Women are meant to be loved, not to be understood. ❤️ Part of our Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications as I no longer do taglists. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky knew something was off the second you bit into your food. The initial excitement on your face turned sour. You had been looking forward to eating the meal all day, and now you looked like you wanted to flip the table.

That wasn’t good.

You stopped chewing and, as gracefully as you could, spit it into your napkin. “Nope.” You shoved the plate away with enough force that it almost tipped over. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry, but nope. I can’t.”

Bucky frowned when you took a couple of deep breaths and stared at the ceiling. He had to tread carefully. “Did I get the wrong brand?”

“No. This is exactly what I wanted, but now the taste and the smell are making me feel sick.” Your face scrunched up and his heart dropped. You were two seconds from bursting into tears. “I’m so sorry.”

“Sweetheart, you have nothing to apologize for.” Bucky immediately went around the table so he could be beside you. “Hormones?” he asked gently. 

“Hormones,” you confirmed. “And I’d love it if they stopped grabbing me by my non-existant balls.”

“Well, I do know a thing or two about balls since I have them, but I’m sorry to say that I don’t fully understand hormones,” he teased to make you smile. He would forever be in awe of you for carrying his child. “But I have a leg up on Steve because he doesn’t understand women.”

“One could argue that women are meant to be loved, not to be understood,” you teased back.

“I do love you,” he whispered, wishing he could do more.

“I love you, too,” you whispered back. “Think we can order a pizza?”

He kissed your temple. “Whatever will keep you and Sprout happy.”

Bucky’s company and the pizza did just that.

I have been exhausted, and husband!Bucky would be so wonderful. ❤️ Love and thanks for reading. ❤️

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[navybrat817]

Silence the Doubt

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky comes home to find you crying and wants to silence any doubts you have about yourself.

Word Count: Over 1.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy, crying, insecurities, hormones, smut referenced, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: This is the second thing I've written this week with one of our men comforting a crying reader. What is up?! Part of the Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. ❤️ Beta read by the wonderful @mumbles411, but any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

Bucky had a soft smile on his face when he walked through the front door. You were craving ice cream earlier, and he could’ve stopped at the grocery store to get you whatever you wanted, but that didn’t seem like enough. Instead, he went outside of the city to the creamery you both loved. He was thankful that they weren’t out of your favorite flavor and even managed to get an extra pint. He also made sure to bring a cooler with him to keep it nice and cold. What kind of husband would he be if he brought you melted ice cream?

I can’t wait to see the look on your face.

His smile slipped when he heard your sniffling from the living room. His heart stopped for a moment and he practically felt the tremor in your body that happened when you tried to keep your tears at bay. Your pregnancy hormones weren’t always kind to you, which upset him. He knew it was logically something that many went through, but he didn’t like it happening to you. It made him respect you more than he thought possible because, while his situation was different, he knew firsthand what it was like not to feel in control of his emotions. 

“Sweetheart? I got your ice cream,” he called out, quietly toeing his boots off. He had an iron grip on the cooler when he went into the living room, his heart aching when he spotted you, your tears shining under the light.

You were in a robe resting back against the couch cushion, but it wasn’t your usual posture. It was like you were trying to make yourself smaller. Oh, no. Was there another clothing incident? You were upset the other day when you realized you couldn’t wear an old pair of pants because you were growing. He soothed you, all while thinking and telling you how beautiful you were to him. You were so fucking beautiful he wasn’t sure how he looked at you without crying himself. 

“Thanks,” you said, your smile not reaching your eyes and your tears staining your cheeks. 

Bucky waited for your silent invitation to join you, like you had done with him in the past after a bad dream or episode. As much as he wanted to be in your space, he refused to invade it. He slowly made his way to the couch after you nodded, no sudden movements because he didn’t want to upset you more, and set the cooler on the table. Once again silently asking for permission once he sat down, he gazed at you and lifted a hand to your cheek. It hovered, not touching just yet, practically shaking with the need to wipe your tears away. 

You answered by leaning into his touch, trusting him to comfort you, the way he had trusted you so many times before.

With one hand on your cheek and the other on your belly, he wordlessly comforted you and your growing child. He hadn’t known what it was like to be gentle for long after HYDRA, but you taught him how to not feel like he’d break everything he touched. Sprout was proof of that… that he could build something beautiful from the ashes of his former life. You were proof, too, that he deserved a life full of love and happiness. 

“Talk to me, please,” he whispered. He had to know what it was that drove you to tears so he could prevent them. And if he couldn’t prevent them, he’d be beside you until they stopped.

You let out a shuddering breath when his thumb wiped another tear away. “Do you think I’ll be a good mom?” you asked brokenly.

He froze and stared at you. He had been punched, shot, stabbed, electrocuted, and worse, but your question cut him to the core. It reached into the ugliest part of him and left him shaken and cold. He didn’t understand who or what put something in your mind or heart to make you ask a question like that. 

You looked back at him hopefully, but there were cracks he hadn’t seen before. It was a look he recognized because he felt it before. It happened when the poison of doubt spread, relentless and unforgiving. You were trying to hold yourself with threads and once they began to unravel they couldn’t stop. He had to help weave you back together. 

“Sweetheart, Sprout is going to be so loved by you. You’re going to guide and support them, foster trust and understanding. You’re not just going to be a good mom, you’re going to be the best mom. Not because you’re perfect, but because you’re you,” he promised. It wasn’t to bullshit or placate you. There was so much love in your heart and he had seen that love grow since the two of you found out you were having a baby. 

Tears filled your eyes all over again, but there was no sadness this time, his support the antidote to your doubt. “Thank you,” you whimpered, wrapping your arms around him.

“Did someone say something?” he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. Had you spoken to someone who triggered this thought? Because he’d sort it out. Words or fists, whatever it took.

You snorted, likely sensing that he wanted to make someone hurt because you were hurt. “Just my own inner voice. I just… I started thinking, what if I mess up? What if I don’t get it right? And then I just started crying,” you continued, sniffling as he held you closer, careful not to crush you.

“Why didn’t you call me?” he asked curiously. He woud’ve tried to comfort you the second he heard your voice. “Please don’t say you didn’t want to bother me,” he begged. 

“I know it’s never a bother. I just thought it would stop after a minute,” you assured him, making him let out a breath. “I swear, Sprout knew something was up because I felt all sorts of movements.”

Bucky smiled proudly. “Probably trying to make Mama feel better,” he said. If your baby had your kind of heart, the world would be very lucky. 

“Probably,” you said, smiling down at your stomach before you sighed. “I know I’m going to make mistakes because that’s just a part of life, but you and our child are the two things I don’t want to mess up in my life.”

Bucky kissed your forehead and shut his eyes. He understood uncertainty and insecurities. Some days they were quiet, and others they screamed at you until they drowned out everything else. Ignoring them was easier said than done. Speaking of them was the same. It left you raw, vulnerable, and exposed once they were out. To share that with him meant something. 

There were so many nights he stayed up with you, pouring out his heart and letting himself bleed while you held him and assured him how wonderful he was and that he had proven time and again that he was a hero. Your faith in him never wavered, never faltered. It made him stronger. 

You were strong, too. It didn’t mean you didn’t break because everyone broke in one way or another. But you’d never remain shattered, not while he was around. Not when he was there to help you build again.

“First, don’t apologize for feeling anything,” he gently said. Just like his feelings were valid in your eyes, so were yours, whether they came from hormone changes or bad voices in your head that he wanted to silence. “And two, I’m telling that voice in your head here and now that you won’t mess us up because you’re amazing. Hey! Mean voice in my wife’s head, you wanna shut up and listen to me? I’m already messed up enough, so it’s not like-”

Bucky chuckled when you poked him. “You’re not messed up. You’re my husband, the best husband, and you’re going to be the best dad,” you said fiercely, pulling back so you could smile at him. The threads within him tightened around his heart, keeping him in tact as he smiled back. You meant every word. “Did you really tell the voice in my head to shut up?”

“Yep. Had to be done,” he said, reaching for the cooler. “And as the best husband, guess where I got your ice cream from?”

You straightened up with a gasp. “You didn’t,” you whispered, your whole face lighting up when he opened it and pulled out a pint. That was the look he loved, one that made him fall in love with you all over again. “You did!”

“I did,” he confirmed, handing you a spoon. He was prepared so you could dig right in. “So, I did good?” he teased.

“You did so good,” you replied, moaning when you took the first bite. “Oh, my god. I’m so sucking your dick before we go to bed tonight.”

Bucky stirred in his pants. He couldn’t help himself because your mouth was both heaven and sinful. He also couldn’t help chuckling. If anyone walked in right now, they wouldn’t have known you were in tears before that. “I’m looking forward to that,” he said. He’d also return the favor and go down on you. “But how about I read you and Sprout a book while you enjoy your treat?”

You tapped your mouth with the spoon. “Right after you have a small treat.”

Bucky cupped your cheek, the tears long gone, and kissed you with everything he had. Each move of his lips and tongue told that you were beautiful, that he loved you, and that you’d be the best mom as you were already the best wife. He wanted you to feel safe, cherished, and whole because that was how he felt when he was with you.

“I love you,” you whispered when he pulled away. If he didn’t stop, he’d be between your legs and he wanted you to enjoy your ice cream first.

“I love you, too,” he said, resting his hand on your stomach again. “I love you both more than anything.”

A soft kick told him that your baby loved you both, too.

“And by the way.” Bucky kissed your lips again. “You look beautiful.”

Your face lit up again. “Thank you.”

Moments later with a blanket around your shoulders, Bucky had a book in one hand and fed you ice cream with the other while he read. There was a shine in your eyes as you gazed at him and ran your fingers through his hair, almost like you couldn’t believe he was real. He felt the same way when he was in your orbit, but it was real. Your love, your baby, it was his life. It was his everything.

And he would always be there to silence any doubt in yourself, the way you would always do with him.

We all deserve to have someone who gets us, sees us, and will do whatever they can to push the doubt away. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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[navybrat817]

A Responsible Guy

Pairing: Husband!Bucky Barnes x Pregnant!Female Reader

Summary: Bucky turns you on in so many ways.

Word Count: Over 1.8k

Warnings: Established relationship, pregnancy mention, smut references, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it), pet name (sweetheart), reader is thirsty, fluff, feels, domestic life, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?).

A/N: Inspired by Sabrina Carpenter's Tears. Happy Sinday! Part of the Soft Echoes, Strong Roots AU. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divided by the talented @saradika-graphics. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog for new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

I get wet at the thought of you

It was a given that Bucky turned you on. The man was a gift from the heavens wrapped in a package of muscles, scars, and beauty. A sultry stare that left you weak in the knees, a strut most models would kill for, and a body that screamed he was a fighter and survivor, you were just a woman. What were you supposed to do? Act normal?

“Keep looking at me like that, sweetheart, and I’ll have to ruin you,” he once said. 

So, no, you couldn’t act normal since your husband ruined more panties than you thought possible. That was before he touched you. His fingers on both sets of hands made you see stars. His tongue brought you to a whole new galaxy. And his cock? You didn’t know there was a way to reach nirvana. You almost asked Thor if there was a sexy version of Valhalla since you swore your soul left your body the first time Bucky had his cock inside you.

“Yep,” you breathed against his lips. “You ruined me.”

And he did it again and again.

Being a responsible guy (so responsible)

But something you hadn’t expected was for Bucky being responsible to turn you on. He was reliable, making time for you and never once making you doubt if you were his top priority. He was dependable, his actions always backing up his words and making sure to fulfill his promises. And he was trustworthy, displaying transparency that past partners didn’t and being honest even when it was difficult.

“I’m not perfect,” he whispered. 

No one was perfect, but he was perfect to and for you.

Treating me like how you’re supposed to do

Bucky wasn’t just a good man, he was a good husband. He teased that he could be old-fashioned at times, holding doors open for you and pulling out your chair. You thought it was gentlemanly of him, and you appreciated that.

What you also appreciated was how he respected you. He took your opinions into consideration, along with your feelings. You were equals in your relationship, and that meant more than he’d ever know.

“You’re not just my wife, you’re my partner.”

He was your partner, too. 

Tears run down my thighs

You had orgasms before, but they were truly nothing compared to the ones he gave you. You came so hard around his cock once that you felt your release gush out of you like a geyser. Your hands went to your face in embarrassment once you came back to yourself, your thighs and the sheet beneath you soaked. He pulled your hands away to smother you in kisses and hold you, praising you for being so good for him and trusting him enough to take care of you.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered. 

He always would.

A little initiative can go a very long long way

Bucky wasn’t the type to sit around and wait for you to ask or tell him to do something. If the lawn needed mowing, he did it. If something was missing from the cupboard, he’d make sure to run to the store and replace it. He fixed things that were broken, or at least tried to the best of his ability.

“I’m the man of the house,” he once joked.

Yes, he certainly was.

Baby, just do the dishes. I’ll give you what you (what you), what you want

Bucky wasn’t of the belief that you should run the household by yourself. If that was what you really wanted, he’d respect your choice. But if you cooked, he’d do the dishes. If it was cold out, he’d take out the garbage so you could stay warm. Little things like that.

“Give and take, sweetheart.”

Oh, did it make you give. The last time he did the dishes, you got on your knees to reward him. His hair fell in his face when he looked down at you, but you could still see his blue eyes through the strands, reflecting how much he loved you.

You loved him, too.

A little communication, yes, that’s my ideal foreplay

Bucky’s past wasn’t easy. Far from it. You saw how haunted he looked on his bad days, and how his body looked too heavy to carry the weight of his past. He was honest when he needed a few minutes alone, which you respected and gave him without pushing for more. He spoke to you when he was ready, not hiding the gritty details, even the ones that could scare you. He admitted once that he didn’t feel like he deserved a happy life with you, which you argued he did.

“You help me believe I deserve good things,” he whispered.

He also let you in when he had nightmares, his eyes sometimes unseeing when he woke up, his body shaking and sweaty. Letting you in didn’t always mean telling you what happened. Sometimes it just meant holding his hand once he was ready, or asking him to point out things in the room so he’d remember where he was.

“You, sweetheart. You’re here.”

You’d always be there.

Assemble a chair from IKEA, I’m like (uhhh)

You almost took a seat right on the floor when he put together the new dining room table, his eyes narrowed in concentration, the veins in his hand popping out as he twisted the screwdriver. Why was it sexy? Why was watching him building something with his hands such a turn on? Hands that he said destroyed, when you only knew them to make you feel good, safe, and cherished?

“Maybe I’ll put together a crib one day,” he smirked.

He got you pregnant not long after that.

“Thank you,” he whispered to you and your stomach.

I get wet at the thought of youBeing a responsible guy (so responsible)Treating me like you’re supposed to doTears run down my thighs

If you thought Bucky was a good husband before, it was nothing compared to him finding out you were pregnant. The celebratory sex was amazing, of course, but it was the kisses to your stomach after that brought tears to your eyes. The whispered promises of how he’d take care of you both, read every book, go to every appointment, give you both the life you deserved.

You were thankful, too.

A little respect for women can get you very very far

Bucky wasn’t the type of man who’d let women be disrespected. He stepped in once at a bar when a guy got handsy with a girl who was clearly uncomfortable. He didn’t have to say much, but the threat was enough to scare the guy off. While the girl was thankful and maybe even a bit in love, he went right back to you and pulled you close. 

“Why are guys such assholes?” he teased, kissing your temple.

While he liked showing people you were his, he didn’t treat you like a possession. An arm around your waist and gentle kisses, but no red flags of raging jealousy or ownership. He was also the kind of man who believed women should have the right to choose what to do with their bodies, and you loved choosing to share your body with him.

“You’re beautiful,” he exhaled, nuzzling your neck.

So was he.

Remembering how to use your phone gets me oh so, oh so, oh so hot

Past boyfriends needed reminders to text you or let you know what was going on, but not Bucky. He messaged you unprompted, so you’d never have to worry about what he was doing or who he was with, even more once you were pregnant in case you wanted or needed anything. You had the password to his phone, which he offered without you asking, and he never left it facedown around you. If you wanted to look, you could.

“I trust you, and I want you to trust me.”

While Bucky preferred phone conversations versus texts, he still messaged you to say he was thinking of you, he loved you, and he was lucky to have you. You messaged him back with similar sentiments, but you also called since he loved hearing your voice.

“Love you, sweetheart,” he told you.

You’d always love Bucky Barnes.

Considering I have feelings I’m like, why are my clothes still on?

Not to brag, but you deserved some kind of award for not being naked around Bucky all the time. The last time you had an issue with your car, you practically stripped down in the garage while he was underneath taking a look. Once again, you were only a woman. 

“You’re too good to me,” he said once he finished, knowing you were ready for him.

The feeling was mutual. Some days he couldn’t keep his hands off you or his cock out of you. No one ever wanted or needed you the way he did. No one else ever would.

“Why do we get dressed some days?” he asked once.

You wondered the same thing.

Offering to do anything, I’m like (oh, my God)

You were cuddling in bed when Bucky, out of nowhere, asked if you ever wanted to roleplay. Your mouth fell open when he offered to fuck you in his motorcycle helmet or pretend to be a mechanic there to fix your pipes. The look in his eyes said he was dead serious. And your panties were once again ruined.

“I just want to please you,” he told you.

He did every single time.

I get wet at the thought of youBeing a responsible guy (so responsible)Treating me like you’re supposed to doTears run down my thighs

Yeah, you got wet at the thought of him, and he was a responsible guy who treated you like a queen. He ruined your underwear like it was a personal challenge. He helped out around the house like it was second nature, and danced with you in the kitchen to old music just because he wanted to. If you asked him to jump, he wouldn’t just ask how high. He’d offer you his hand so you could jump with him.

You were his everything, and you never had to doubt that.

And the thing about Bucky Barnes was that he didn’t just please you because he took care of you in bed or because he handled things around the house. He pleased you because he was a genuinely good guy who chose every day to love you and show you how much he loved you. He was the best husband and he was going to be the best father. You felt it in your heart. 

So, with his hand on your belly and your hand on top of his, you whispered into the darkness, “I love you, Bucky.”

“I love you, too. Both of you.”

He was forever yours, and you were forever his.

So, what should Bucky roleplay for us? Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

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