#I SPENT SO LONG ON THIS I WANT YOU TO KNOW I STARTED OVER AFTER LINING AND COLORING THIS NORMALSTYLE JUST SO I COULD PAINT IT

[unorganisedalienrubbish]

Okay, so I've thought about this some more. Here are my previous tags that I want to expand on:

"#/ something something your first healthy relationship after a history of abusive ones #/ god i didn't know how to receive hugs for so long. it made me so uncomfortable"

A little history, I'll try not to trauma dump, that's not my intention but my history isnt perfect and it will upset some people. For most of my childhood my father was absent or abusive (physically emotionally financially, you name it), and for several reasons, including autism, emotional detachment, or preference, my mother didn't hug us. And when we asked for it, about 70% of the time she complied although begrudgingly. I didn't have many friends either, never any that would touch me or i would feel comfortable touching.

So i spent the majority of my childhood without physical affection. it really didn't affect me much as you would think, i didn't realise that what i experienced wasn't normal until i was an adult. I suppose i just learnt not to need it or want it.

So when I moved out and went to college, friends started greeting each other with hugs, and nights ended with a warm dap-up. I was so uncomfortable with the closeness that I interpreted as over-friendly and unwarranted, I ended up isolating myself because I didn't like being touched like that. I was closed off at social interactions, always have a guarded stance and appeared unapproachable as a protection. Mind you, the touching wasnt the only thing restraining me in social situations but it was a big reason.

I honestly wasn't taught or learnt how to interact with people in that way, so the new-ness -although friendly and well intentioned - came as a threat to me because it was so foreign.

And when I met my partner in person for the first time, no matter how much I wanted to hold them, to sit pressed up against them, it made my skin itch and my stomach coil. Being physically close to the person i trusted most still activated my fight or flight - not to any fault of my partner, they are perfect (and i have since become the clingiest gf).

A dog will still curl up in the corner when a human walks in with food. Even when they are starving and shivering and the human only offers comfort and warmth. Physical contact and the acceptance of it is taught, and is not inherently known.

This is amplified tenfold with the presence of past abuse. You will bite every hand that offers to feed you when you know what hands are capable of.

So yes, whumpee will positively retch at the thought of a blanket being draped over their shivering frame.

living weapon who’s never been treated as anything other than an object and has never been shown a drop of sympathy or compassion suddenly falling into the hands of a carewhumper. they’re given privileges, comfort, affection.

…and it is the most uncomfortable they’ve ever felt in their entire life. this isn’t how it’s supposed to be. this isn’t what they were made for.

[differenteagletragedy]

Part two of the one where Simon lets you move into a room in his house You tell Simon that you have at least a few weeks before you need to move out of your apartment and into his spare room, but he doesn't see the point in wasting time. The day after he offers to let you move in, he goes shopping, and the next few days are spent putting everything together. The bed, the dresser, two matching nightstands, some shelves — he makes sure everything is solid and sturdy for you, and he hopes you wouldn't notice how new it all is.

He cleans, too, every inch of the place. He's not a particularly messy man, but he'd bought the small two-bedroom house years ago, and he's not one for company. So he goes over everything, and he does what he can to make sure that his home is a good place for you, from the small stepstool he buys and sticks in the corner of the kitchen to the way he organizes his shaving supplies in the bathroom so you can have half the limited counterspace.

When you tell him you're ready, he brings his truck to the bar to pick up you and your things, and his heart aches, just a little, when he sees that all you have is a couple of bags slung over your shoulder. Without a word, he takes them from you and carries them out, and he tries to shrug off the slight disappointment he feels when you open the passenger door before he can do it for you.

"It's not much," he tells you on the short drive back. "Two bedrooms, just the one bathroom. I'm gone a lot. Stay as long as you like."

"What do you think for rent?" you ask. "I've got a little bit saved, and I can —"

"I meant what I said, love. There's no rush."

He hops out quickly after he pulls into the driveway, opening your door for you this time. He takes your bags and carries them in and into the room that's now yours, setting them carefully on the floor before turning to you, sticking his hand in his pocket and pulling out a key.

"Same one for both doors," he says. "Not much in the kitchen, but help yourself to anything you like. And let me know if you need anything at all."

The first few days, you don't see each other much. He stays in his room more than usual, not wanting to crowd you or make you feel uncomfortable. You pick up an extra shift at the bar, trying to make that rent he keeps telling you not to worry about.

One night during that first week, he comes home late from the gym, and he's pleasantly surprised to see you sitting in the living room, watching tv and having a snack.

"Oh, sorry," you say immediately when you hear the door open, like you'd done something wrong.

He smiles, just a bit, and nods for the couch, wanting you to be comfortable — maybe liking the idea of you warm and cozy in his space a little too much.

"Nothing to be sorry about, sweetheart," he says, stepping closer.

You nod, and slowly sit back down, but on the edge of the cushion now, tense.

He doesn't care for it.

"What's on?" he asks.

"Oh, just this show I watch sometimes. It's a dumb reality thing ... I can check it out on my phone later."

You minimize yourself constantly, he's noticed that for a while now, but it's never been so clear as it is now, with you perched on his couch like you're waiting to run for cover. He still doesn't know your story, but in the moment, he'd love nothing more than to find whatever or whoever it was that put this innate fear in you and destroy it.

It's a war in him, a fight between keeping to himself and wanting you not to do the same. This particular battle is decided when he takes a seat on the other end of the couch and forces himself to tear his eyes away from you to look at the tv.

"Tell me about it."

You do. Nervously at first, but you slowly relax. He gives a small, satisfied smile when you scoot back to sit on the couch more comfortably and start to speak more freely, and he fights back a wider one when he really takes you in, bare feet and a loose t-shirt, lounging around at home. His home.

Yours too, now.

After that night, things get a little easier. You don’t sequester yourself in your room, and he warms up to you a bit more. It starts feeling natural, having you in his space. You fall into a rhythm.

Nearly a month in, he comes home one day to find you in the living room, pulling on your shoes, and he asks you where you're headed.

"We're headed to get some groceries," you tell him.

The directness is new, but certainly not unwelcome, and he follows behind you gladly as you lead the way to the store.

Grocery shopping with you makes him feel like a kid again, but one who had someone to dote on him. You walk by the produce, asking him carefully what he likes. What's his favorite kind of apple? What kind of berry does he prefer?

At one point, you actually tell him, "Simon, you have to get some vegetables," and he can't help but laugh at how you stare up at him pointedly, like he's supposed to know he's worth being cared for.

"What's your favorite dinner?" you ask him as you walk through the aisles, carefully scanning for prices before you put things in the cart.

"Don't know," he mutters. "Never really thought about it."

It's true, sort of. He eats, of course, and he has preferences, but it's never really been something to take pleasure in. There's never been some meal he craves, or some kind of food tied to a good memory. He mostly just wants to see if you'll say his name again.

But then he thinks for another beat and starts walking.

He puts a can of beans into the cart, then goes to another aisle and gets a loaf of bread. He doesn't say anything, but you nod and smile at him.

After you buy the groceries -- more specifically, after he buys the groceries, using his body to block the card reader while you laugh and try to wrestle your way around him to pay yourself -- you walk back home. He sets the bags on the counter, and together you put up all your purchases, but he notices you leave out the things he'd picked out.

"Hungry?"

"Generally."

Simon watches, arms crossed, as you heat the beans in a saucepan you'd pulled from under the stove. He doesn't move when you stand close to get to the toaster, and he watches your throat as you swallow when your arm brushes against his to put the bread in.

"You know, I would have made you anything," you tell him as you wait for the toast. "And this is what you picked?"

"Just had it a lot when I was a kid," he mutters, not offering more.

With the look you give him, a glance that's quick but still penetrates, he knows you understand the reluctance to get into the details. It's not the easiest thing to explain, how one can find comfort in the soft lulls of a tragedy. How oddly soothing it can feel to remember any bit of kindness from hands that ripped you apart.

You give him a plate first. Beans on toast, straight from his childhood. He takes a bite and nods, appreciative, and you grin.

A few bites later, you reach your hand up and swipe off a bit of food from the corner of his mouth, and seemingly without thinking, you lick it from your finger. He keeps his eyes on you for a moment longer, then sets his plate down.

Simon moves slowly, agonizingly so, giving you every chance to stop him. He puts his hands on your waist first, high and respectable, and when you just look at him, waiting, he drops them to your hips.

"This ok?" he asks, and when you nod, he dips his hands lower, over your thighs and to the back of them, lifting you up and dropping you on the counter.

"You didn't have to make me dinner, love," he says softly, working his body just slightly between your knees.

"You don't want me to pay any rent either," you tell him. "I can't just stay here for nothing."

The idea of you bringing nothing to this arrangement is laughable, but he keeps a straight face. He studies you, every fleck of color in your eyes and every line in your skin, maybe too intensely, but you just sit there, and you let him.

"You can tell me to stop," he finally says. "Won't be offended."

"I don't want you to stop."

With that, he brings his lips to your cheek, placing a gentle kiss there, then plants one on your jaw. When you still don't object, and even lift your hands to grasp onto his shoulders, he kisses your mouth.

He doesn't want to rush this, and he doesn't want to ask for something more than you want to give. He doesn't want you to feel like you owe him, but the idea of kissing you like this has been loud and persistent in his mind for longer than he cares to admit. He tries to bridge the two thoughts with his carefulness, but when he feels you start to kiss him back, he snaps.

Not visibly -- he doesn't shove his tongue down your throat or grope you with rough hands. That's not how Simon loses control. For him, snapping is internal. It's in realizing how good you feel in his arms and letting himself feel the weight of that.

He's not sure if it's the dinner you made him or something more innate, but when he kisses you, you taste like home.

In the moment, he can admit that to himself. But he's not ready for you to know. Not yet, anyway.

[bluestriips]

. . . ﹫Ꮺ comfort in the sun ٠࣪⭑ M.S

୭ synopsis : your favorite time of day , and your favorite person , symbolized by the sun … in one way or another.

୭ content : fluff , smut , dry humping , unlabeled relationship , matt x fem!reader , mentions of marijuana and smoking , usage of petnames [baby] , proofread

୭ word count : 1.8k

୭ a/n : button divider made by me cause i couldn’t find one with this aesthetic for shit. free to use, just tag me pls!

everything just feels so... warm.

the rays of afternoon sun pouring through your window, bathing both of you in it's ethereal light, the closeness of matt - his body pressed against yours, chest heaving with slow, heavy breaths, your movements creating a pleasurable kind of heat deep within your core, spreading and seeping between your guts.

warm like your senses heightened from the shared joint that now hangs lazily between his fingers, forgotten, save for the smoke that curls up into the air, defined and highlighted by the sunlight.

it's like the sun makes everything it touches into something magical.

the smoke in the air, your room - a perfect kind of messy, with all kinds of colors and lights and paints, books, clothes, sketches. the two of you, sat on your bed, carried away in some sort of warm, pleasurable moment. just two kids, lost in eachother.

it's not just the sun that makes him magical, though. it's not that simple. he's beautiful - he's always been beautiful. when you first met, when he started ditching his friends for you. sharing joints and stories, old or new on the weekends, making your way to the hall you know he'll be when the lunch bell rings, you had found a friend.

not someone fake, not someone who would walk with you for the hell of it and spare half-assed comments and pay half a mind to respond to you with an ounce of detail so you'd think they cared. not someone who stayed with you long enough to make you feel liked and then destroy it with whispers and unkind words the second they escape you.

matt didn't escape you. he didn't make you feel like you needed to be escaped. he spent time with you, he complimented you. and you wouldn't have told him if things hadn't changed - sometimes you still have trouble saying it - but those compliments meant something more. more than just... friendly.

you stayed quiet about it. you didn't want to risk your only friend, your sweet, kind, beautiful, funny, caring friend, for your stupid feelings.

but you didn't have to risk anything for things to change. slowly but surely, time after school and shared joints and friendly glances and platonic touches bloomed into something more. something warm.

it turned into tangled limbs, nights spent with a connection between souls deeper than words from your messy mouth and your jumbled brain could ever mean. and matt didn't mind. he was just... matt.

he's perfect. labels never came up, and you don't mind. you don't care if he's your friend, or your boyfriend, or anything inbetween. he's all you have, and in a way, you're all he has too. you're the only one who really, really gets him.

the way he looks, the way he feels, touches, just... is.

there's music playing through your cd player, you get me so high by the neighborhood, blending into the room as his hands are planted on your waist, guiding you over him. his lips are parted, pants and breathless moans leaving his mouth as he looks up at you with those eyes. you roll your hips once again, a soft whine forcing it's way out of your throat as the perfect friction sparks between you and his clothed cock.

he can't help the way he feels around you.

"fuck, that's good- just like that.." he forces out, his voice a quiet rasp. he can't seem to take his eyes off of you, darting between your own, and the way the sun hits your pretty face.

you nod, swallowing thickly before another moan leaves your throat as he bucks his hips up. "sorry- fuck, i'm sorry, you feel too good.." he moans, his grip on your waist tightening.

your eyes drop down to where your bodies connect, your lips curling upward at the tent in his jeans. "do i-fuck-do i turn you on that much?" your eyes flutter shut as he pulls you down a little harder, unable to stop the small laugh escaping your mouth.

"shit, you have no idea.." he murmurs, pressing his face to the side of your neck, planting hot, open-mouth kisses across your skin. he moves your hips over his with every kiss, as you plant your hands on his shoulders - sliding down to his biceps.

you've always had a thing for his arms, and he's definitely noticed. your nails dig into them through the fabric of his shirt, eliciting a soft groan from him as he stays buried in your neck. the pleasure continues to shock through you, twisting your gut and building up into an intricate knot that represents everything you have. not lust, not meaningless touches, but that connection between souls that means so much to both of you.

"damn, what were we supposed to be doing again?" you ask, one of his hands sliding down to your hips, kneading and massaging the skin while the other moves up to your hair, pulling your head to the side and revealing more of your neck for his desperate mouth to claim.

he hums, nipping the base of your neck before mumbling a response. "chemistry revision." and he goes right back to kissing, like the response is inconveniencing him. which it kinda is.

"anndddd... how did we end up here?" you smile, a particular roll of your hips over his eliciting a closed-mouth moan from you. he sighs, his hand tightening on your hip. "you insisted on the joint, if i'm not mistaken. then y'started lookin' too good."

his words, so simple, send something straight to that knot in your gut. everything feels so, so good. your eyes flutter shut once again, a shaky breath leaving your mouth. "mhhhm, i guess this counts as chemistry."

he pulls away from your neck as you begin to define your movements, grinding harder, longer. he looks up at you, brows furrowed in pleasure, cock twitching at the fucking sight of you. "you close?" he tilts his head, tongue swiping over his bottom lip as his hand in your hair drops down to the other side of your hip, helping your needy movements.

his eyes are hazy, red, thick with arousal, and fuck, he's sexy. you nod hastily, like the movement is too distracting from the tightening in your gut, a shaky whine leaving your lips. his head tips back, nose scrunching as his chest heaves against yours. "yeahhhh, shit, me too, baby. s'okay, i'll get y'there." he rasps, hips bucking up once more.

his hands move back up to your waist, wrapping around your body and pulling you closer as he begins grinding his hips up in time with yours. you've always loved how vocal he is, satisfied moans and groans leaving his throat. his eyes peel back open, before shutting immediately as if he'll cum at just the sight of you.

you laugh, breathless, and it's the best thing he's ever heard. he wants to record it, bottle it up and smoke it until he's high on you forever. his cock twitches under you, and you feel it this time. you'd make some lazy comment about it that really spurs you both on further while you pretend to be jokingly annoyed at the teasing, but you're too focused on feeling good.

your nails dig further into his arms, and oh, he likes that. it's like he can no longer control himself, the way his mouth drops open, and the noise that leaves him is filthy. "shit-fuuuuck-i need y'to cum." he moans, his eyes opening to look at you. in that moment, he literally has to hold himself back from soaking his boxers.

and you notice, you notice everything. that desperation from him spurs you on, his face and his voice. it's not just a plea, it's a demand. he needs you to, for yourself and for his pleasure too. your face drops to his neck, crying out in pleasure as your hips stutter. his eyes roll back, arms tightening around your waist as he groans. "come on- please, baby, fuck, you can cum.."

you don't know how. he's been desperate, looking like that, begging you to cum for the past minute. you've never been easily dominated like that, not really, but there's a drawn out moan from your mouth to his shoulder, a stutter of your hips, the knot in your gut unraveling quicker than you can comprehend and turning into a smoky kind of unimaginable pleasure that crawls through your veins the second he gives you permission to.

he barely has a millisecond to form a single thought before his head is thrown back, breathless moans leaving his mouth, his own orgasm hitting him hard. spurts of warm, sticky cum leave his tip, twitching, soaking through his boxers and soon through the thick denim of his baggy jeans, leaving a wet patch through the fabric. he feels just as good as you, possibly better, probably not.

steadily, you come down from the high, collapsing onto his warm, breathless body. his hand travels up to your hair, slowly, like the route is familiar, like you've done this a hundred times before, because you have, while the other stays wrapped around your waist, holding you close.

you wait until his breathing evens out, until his thumb starts rubbing small circles on the other side of your waist. you're still both high, messy, sprawled out over your disheveled sheets, digging and sifting through that beautiful connection you share that comes to light and shines like the sun.

"...i kinda want poptarts." you speak up after a beat, voice muffled by his neck. the movement of his thumb pauses before he laughs, a low rumble from his chest. "really? you just made me cum in my pants, n'you want poptarts?"

you smile into the skin of his neck, nose scrunched in a way he's always found adorable, a breathy laugh coming out through your nose. "yeah... what's wrong with that?"

"nothing, nothing... just- nothing." he laughs. it's a sound you can never get enough of, because it's so him. sweet, genuine, lights up an entire room.

because it's true, he does. he cares about you more than you could comprehend, and vice versa.

the sun is still shining on the both of you, bright and warm, bathing you in it's familiarity. a clear symbol of your connection. you've always loved the sun, the sky, the clouds, the stars, space in general. matt says it suits you. it's something he loves about you.

you've always viewed the sun as a sort of comforting figure. like a standard, in some odd way. and then matt traipsed into your life with his smile and his laugh and his hands, his gentleness, his care, his love. and then things became clear.

matt is your sun.

© bluestriips 2025

i do not condone stealing or plagiarism of any of my works or specific ideas of my works unless permission is given.

୭ taglist : @marrykisskilled , @courta13

[storiesfromasmalltown]

YOU WERE ALWAYS ON MY MIND

or

The five times you danced with Michael Robinavitch

f!Reader x Dr. Robby

Warnings: cursing, drinking, bittersweet stuff idk, happy ending, not beta read, reader is Robby’s age, reader has hair and is shorter than him (let me know if I forgot anything!)- reader has also never gotten over anything

No use of Y/N

Best paired with Maisie Peters Elvis Song, Lucy Dacus and Hozier Bullseye, Taylor Swift Holy Ground

1.You met at a party during undergrad, he was all floppy hair and laughter back then- tall and lanky in the way college boys are before they really grow into their own. He was pre-med, you were undecided. Maybe he was the shove you needed to commit to medicine, but that didn’t matter at the time. The party was held in a sticky frat house, full of people and smoke and he fit right in, laughing loudly, playing beer pong and you were in over your head the moment you saw him. It was a cliche meet cute, your eyes met you excused yourself to your friends and made your way to the drinks table. He was cute, you were three drinks in and when he gave you that smile and said you his name is Michael but everyone calls him Robby you couldn’t help the butterflies. 

“Do you dance Michael?”

He raised an eyebrow at the name and extended his arm, long fingers reaching for yours.

“I do with pretty girls who call me by my first name.”

You felt warmth spread around your cheeks and he pulled you into the crowd and didn’t leave your side for the rest of the night. 

You spent the rest of that year studying on his sofa bed in the rented apartment just off campus, sharing chemistry notes and kisses when his roommates were away. He was perfect but you were always a bit of a flight risk and on one of the many nights you spent with his arms around your waist pulling you onto his lap as you sorted through notes you thought 

oh I am in over my head

“What’s on your mind?”

His voice shakes you out of your thoughts, a worn greatest hits Elvis record draws You were always on my mind in the back.

“Nothing hon’, I’m just tired.”

He gave you a look and you leaned to kiss his cheek while your brain screamed that this was never going to work.

2. The second time you danced was at a graduation party, you didn’t really date anyone after him, you applied to med school- even after his name started swimming in front of your eyes whenever you would close them,  but you made your choice- he gave you everything and you left, you had no right to be the hurt one here. 

“Congratulations.”

He must have had a bit to drink but so had you, you turned to face him, there was a strange shadow across his face, one that wasn’t there before you but you closed your eyes and for a second imagined a life where you didn’t walk out of his kitchen on a Sunday morning and never walked back in.

“Do you still dance with pretty girls who call you by your first name?”

He gave you a sad smile, arm reaching to fix the strap of your white dress.

“Only those that broke my heart.”

You turned to walk away but he closed his hand around your shoulder.

“I don’t want to dance with anyone but you tonight, it doesn’t have to mean anything. For old times sake?”

And you both pretended it didn’t break your heart.

“Did you get into med school?”

You felt him nod, he rested his head on top of yours for a second, it was a slow dance, friends and lovers swaying to the same fucking Elvis song again.

“Yeah, you?”

You nodded into his shoulder, a tear escaping you. He would haunt you for the rest of your life.

3. You hated fundraising galas, but you were a star pediatric resident for the Philadelphia hospital you matched into. You thought working your ass off would be enough but you guess you had to be paraded around as a show pony too. Your dress felt uncomfortable, it looked stunning but you were hyper aware of every stitch that touched your body. You held a glass of white wine in hand, it had gone warm but it felt good to hold something. The networking and chatting part of the night passed by and people were sitting and talking or swaying on the romantically lit dance floor- not that it made any sense to you why a dance floor for a fundraising gala would have romantic lighting but you assumed it softened people. You scanned the crowd for the familiar face you caught a glimpse of earlier. His shoulders looked broader, he had a few laugh lines etched into his face. His once soft clean shaven face had a neat beard on it and his floppy hair was cropped shorter, but it was him, you couldn’t forget those eyes if you tried. You saw him when he entered, a man with short curls came in with him, they were deep in conversation and you slipped out for air, because the what-if’s didn’t rest. You couldn’t leave while the chatting up was happening and now you really itched to get away but your friend was flirting with a woman at the bar and you had come in together. 

“You always looked good in black.”

He materialised by your side, hands in the pockets of his slacks, doing that thing where he tries to make his impossibly tall body shrink.

“Thank you Michael.”

He offered a smile and you offered a compliment in return.

“You should stand up straighter, your posture is fucked.”

“Well that's what the ED will do to you-”

“You specialised in emergency medicine?”

He nodded his head, shy and proud, blushing again at the way you looked at him with eyes full of pride. Like he forgot you broke his heart into a million pieces.

“You?”

“I’m in pedes.”

“Do you want to dance doctor?”

“I would love to.”

And something cracks a bit more on that dance floor, he moves you around it and the small talk feels like its mapping out the ocean wide divide between who you used to be and who you are now. The dance ends and you kiss his cheek and leave without saying anything else, picking up pace- your friend finds you crying in the bathroom and you tell her how much you missed him every day for the past 8 years and she doesn’t understand why you can’t go back.

4.  You’re at a wedding, not yours- even your mother gave up on that once your turned 45, but the first one since you moved to Pittsburgh. You check your phone wondering if it is too early to leave, maybe you can take up a shift at the hospital, get into the groove a bit more. The pediatrics attending position you got an offer from the board of the PTMC was too good to refuse, until you attended a meeting and found yourself sitting across from a familiar face. 

He came in late, black scrub top, navy blue hoodie, salt and pepper beard and a face that felt like a map of moments you had missed. He looked tired, depleted- like he carried the world on his shoulders.

“This is our new attending for the pediatrics department-”

The administration woman- Gloria, started to introduce you but you zoned out, she didn’t motion for you to stand up and just kept going through what you assumed was her usual repertoire. You busied yourself by writing notes on the legal pad in front of you because if you looked up and saw him there- Dr. Robinavitch, chief attending of the ED, tall and confident and still so warm with the same eyes that used to melt you in your spot.

You heard the chair next to you move and you knew who it was this time, you had stopped trying to fight it.

“Nice to see you have a social life.”

You snorted in your drink.

“Look who’s talking.”

He laughed before replying-

“Well I think I’m still better than Abbot.”

You met Dr. Abbot on a consult and you caught a healthier coping mechanism than whatever Robby had going on.

“One of you goes to therapy and it’s not you.”

“I actually came by to ask you for a dance not for a mental health check.”

You felt brave, for the first time in a long time, like someone who won’t burn it all down out of fear, like a woman who has too many lonely years behind her. So you reached out your hand, steadier and more confident than it was at 20.

“I would love  to dance with you Michael.”

You were on the dancefloor for a while when he whispered in your ear during a slow dance.

“I always liked dancing with pretty girls who call me by my first name.”

“Pretty girl is a bit of a stretch for one who is over 50.”

He pulled away to study your face, the only one he had ever  memorised that way.

“I meant beautiful woman, but I never forgot the pretty girl.”

You took a deep breath.

“I’m sorry-”

“Don’t run.”

“Don’t interrupt me- I’m sorry I ever did run.”

And that was all you had to say.

5. You were on the fence about getting married at your age, but you found you couldn’t tell him no, not when he had asked nicely in your kitchen. The one you shared in the house you shared, the place you did laundry together, cooked meals, where your shoes mixed by the door, where people came in for a glass of wine after a long day, the garden you had barbecues in, the place you played that same 30 year old Elvis record. 

“Well good morning Dr Robinavitch.”

You laughed at him, voice strained by the morning, hands around your waist, he was fully wrapped around you.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You love me.”

“I do.”

“You know we didn’t dance yesterday-”

“We were in a courthouse.”

“Yeah but I think that I would really love to dance with my wife.”

So you let him spin you around like he had so many times, but instead of mapping the places you missed it was circling the life you finally got to live. Smoothening the cracks you weren’t there to mend the first time.

[heesmiles]

I was sent this fic to read because it I love love love regency era so I'm so ready for this !!!!!!!

Prepare for a long reblog because I'm buckling up!!

PARK JONGSEONG HAD ALWAYS BEEN RESPONSIBLE. Poised, smart, calculated. Direct with his words, never saying more than necessary to get his point across. He operated quietly and discreetly, mostly in the shadows so as to keep you safe. - and this is exactly how I like it!!!!! a quiet man is a fine man.

Neither of you really know. It's like a winding rollercoaster ride, and your fate is the cruel operator that never lets either of you get off. - god I love this quote...the wording is beautiful!!

He finds it hard to remind himself that it's just a job when you softly christen him with the petname my heart. - MY HEART STOPNDKNKJNS SCREAMIINGGGGG

He finds it hard to remind himself that it's just a job when you pull him into the library, and sit on the thickly carpeted floor. You always make him sit with his back to the wall, your dress brushing his thighs as your hands splayed gingerly across worn leather books and yellowed pages. He finds it hard to remind himself it's just a job, when you whisper that he can sleep, and you'll wake him if you hear your mother. - just a job....yeah ok ok

You're everything to him. - what if I cry and die inside

However, the King once arrived on foot, guiding his horse by the lead and talking gently. Usually he'd be atop his horse, but instead – you were sat upon it. You wore a simple, champagne dress with ivory bows along the belled sleeves, and your hair was worn pinned back. You were smiling brightly, your eyes wide as you took in the greens of the forest and the spots of the sunlight on the forest floor, the chirps of the birds gathered in trees high above. - this lore is so good omg

"That's a shame…I'll take these, then." You sounded disappointed then, as you picked up the large crate of blackberries. Your father swept to your aid, grabbing the wooden crate quickly and firmly attaching it to the side of the horse's saddle. You smiled softly, "How much do I owe you?" - she's so cute I really like her a lot.

"For you. I made it." He took it gingerly, "Thank you." You only nodded, stepping away from the shop. "Enjoy." - STOP IM OBSESSED WITH THEM WHATT

My father seems to like you. He doesn't like anyone. Should I expect you at the suitors' ball this winter? – Y/N ♡ - I would die for them not gonna lie

He was the one to find your father – bloodied and bruised at the base of the mountains, his sword tossed into the flowing river and his fingers nearly purple with frostbite. The remaining soldiers gathered with him, word spreading to those from Fort Allingham that the target had been hit. It made his stomach turn. He tried what he could – the warmth of a fire, muddling medicinal herbs into a paste…but he slipped away by morning. - NOOO STOP. that's sad....

Nights that you spent away from it all, deep in the forest. Wading in the river, your hands blistered from climbing the rocks that lined the streams. Your face swollen from crying, your back covered in the thick pelt that once belonged to your father. It was all you had left. - my poor baby I'm sobbing....

Dinner with his parents was very quiet that night, with only a murmured apology from him as he cleared the table. His mother insisted he had to do what he felt was right, that his duty was to his heart. But where has his heart led him? - EEEKKEKE TO YOU OFC

me looking at the screen rn

"The loss of her father has left Y/N incredibly fragile." The Queen started, her pen gripped tightly in her trembling hand. "She's not the same, which was to be expected. She feels it's her fault." - my poor baby I want to hug her so badly omg

It had been discovered a few weeks after your father's death that he, too, had been killed in the ambush. By none other than the first born son of Desrosiers – and with no heir to the throne of Fort Allingham, the Queen of Fort Allingham took over and cut ties with both kingdoms. The land was up for grabs, and your mother traveled to Desrosiers when you were sick to settle things.  - THE LOREEEE THE LORE COME ON

"We've lost the war." Jay finished for her, and she nodded. "It's not her fault. She has to know that, deep down somewhere." - stop he's so perfect and I love him so bad

"I missed you, baby. But you know we can't keep doing this." He laments, feeling his heart sink as he feels you pout, your breath warm against his chest before you nod.  - I'm in love with them

"But I've missed you." He whispers against your lips, "I've missed my pretty girl." - MY PRETTY GIRL STOP I'M CRASHING OUT

"No." You move back, your nose bumping his as he meets your eyes. "I love you." "I love you." He mumbles back, before you press your lips to his chastely. Once, twice, three times. "What did you do today?" - I'm so soft is anyone else so soft

"You are absolutely terrible for my health, princess." He mutters, earning a scoff from you as you nudge his hip with your foot. He snickers, giving your side a soft pinch and making you squeal before swatting his hand away. - he keeps saying this and its scaring me

You'd be Queen, and he'd be left to yearn behind the scenes. - no I don't accept that so

And just for this moment, you're not the Princess of Decelis. You're not the princess of anything, you're nothing but his. His to hold, to cherish, to love. His to kiss and worship, to kneel before and ask forgiveness for his sins. The queen of his heart. - QUEEN OF HIS HEART IM SOBBING PLS

"I married for love." She says softly, but it's still heard in the still of night. She turns, walking carefully down the pathway to one of the stone benches. "I married for love, and mighty me, did I love." - I feel so bad for the queen omg

"You don't just get love. You earn it. You earn every caress, every kiss, every moment of companionship. That boy…you've won him over so dearly. He's kind, and gentle. He's responsible and I know he'd love you until the end of your days."  - YES FINALLLY A GOOD QUEEN YESS GAHHHH

"I know you're looking down, my heart. Do you think they'll marry? She'll miss you there." She stands, holding her crown in her hand before taking a deep breath and placing it atop her head once more. "But, I'll see you there. I know it." - I'm crashing out this is so bittersweet

"I'd give my life." He admits softly, her eyes softening. The Queen nods, and his eyes widen as she, too, bows at the waist with her eyes closed. "Then I give you my blessing to take her hand in marriage." She whispers, before straightening and folding her hands behind her back. "Through sickness and health, for richer or poorer." - I HAVE TEARS IN MY EYES THIS IS SO SWEET

"I told them that I was already betrothed." You mumble, making him groan slightly. "I don't believe in jinxes! So we're fine! It's fine!" - JINXES she's so cute I wanna hug her

"And yet, you're still the love of my life. Funny how that works, isn't it?" He grins as you pout, your eyes filling with tears as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the gold bands that belonged to your mother. "She gave me these." - I'm screaming crying and throwing up

"I love you, you know that?" He starts, "You are the softest, purest form of love I've ever been subjected to and I don't think I could ever fathom a life where I don't come home to you every single night. I love you when you're sick and throwing a fit because it's too hot, I love you when you hog the blankets in my room even though you're technically not even supposed to be in there." - MAY THIS LOVE RUN ME OVER WITH A MONSTER TRUCK

"Do the tongue thing, yes." "Lock my door. We may be engaged, but I'm still a lady." - HELPPPP

"Mhm, mhm." His fingers curl around the waistband of your underwear, "Have you tried detrimental to? Maybe ghastly?" - my precious babies

Jay was everything to you, and you felt ease knowing it could now forever rest at the forefront of your mind – because he is proof that you can win the battle, and conquer the world. - this fic made me delusional....I have a chance with him.....I too can be a princess....I can marry jay...

me touching grass and feeling air after how delusional this fic made me .....it was so good and so sweet and ugh I love the romantic feeling of the regency era...yes I loved it. Thank you for the recommendation.

losing the war 🥀 p.js [m]

synopsis: even when the world seems bleak, he can't help but try and prove that love still exists. the love you yearn for exists, because he is full of it - and so are you. genre: regency au ; "forbidden" love au ; angst, fluff, smut. pairing: royal guard!park jongseong x princess!reader word count: 15k (and i'm not sorry about it!!) rating: 18+. minors do not interact. warnings: mentions of: death (non-descriptive), blood/injuries, war, illnesses. swearing, mentions of food/eating. mentions of trauma/grieving. reader and jay are so in love it's disgusting LOL. smut warnings: mentions of pregnancy, making out, brief grinding. virginity loss (both). oral (f.rec), fingering (f.rec), slight nipple play, brief handjob. biting, hair pulling, slight body worship (f.rec), unprotected sex in missionary because i said so, creampie (because they're stupid.) petnames (baby, my heart/love, etc.) what to listen to: yours - conan gray ; always - bon jovi ; salut d'amour - edward elgar ; heaven's cloud - seventeen ; step to my girl - souls of mischief ; do i wanna know - hozier. author's note: [misc dividers] by @/saradika here on tumblr! well, we're back with the 6th installment of enhypen birthday fics! granted, this one is by far the longest and the latest, as it is now officially two days after jay's birthday :( i'm sorry! it normally wouldn't take me this long, but things happened and also it was easter sunday so...it's fine! as always...happiest birthday to my jaybie. i love u!

PARK JONGSEONG HAD ALWAYS BEEN RESPONSIBLE.

Poised, smart, calculated. Direct with his words, never saying more than necessary to get his point across. He operated quietly and discreetly, mostly in the shadows so as to keep you safe.

Your mother ran the Decelis Kingdom like the Navy. Everything and everyone had a place, and she expected them all to be there when she strolled the halls at night. Never once did she walk past your room and not see him posted outside the door, alert and ready to protect the princess at all costs.

He doesn't care that you're a princess, or the princess, really. To him, it's supposed to be a job. A person to protect, to feed, to take care of until you're moving onto the next big thing.

What is the next big thing for you?

Neither of you really know. It's like a winding rollercoaster ride, and your fate is the cruel operator that never lets either of you get off.

He's never at rest when he's with you. He sleeps when he can, but never lets his fatigue show in front of your mother and his fellow guards. He never lets his shoulders sag, he never lets his eyes get low as he follows behind you to wherever you're going. 

He finds it hard to remind himself that it's just a job when you softly christen him with the petname my heart.

He finds it hard to remind himself that it's just a job when you pull him into the library, and sit on the thickly carpeted floor. You always make him sit with his back to the wall, your dress brushing his thighs as your hands splayed gingerly across worn leather books and yellowed pages. He finds it hard to remind himself it's just a job, when you whisper that he can sleep, and you'll wake him if you hear your mother. He finds it hard to remind himself that you're just part of his job when he wakes up to your warm hand gently patting his cheek, finding he's fallen asleep and resting his head on your shoulder. You always smile warmly as he opens his eyes tiredly, your laugh is soft as you ask him if he's feeling well rested.

The answer is always no, but he never says it.

You're the kindest person he's ever had the pleasure of meeting. You're not soft spoken by any means – always assertive, always dominating the conversation when it comes to anything that has to do with your kingdom. You're flirty, even if you don't realize that your words mean more than meets the eye. You're generous, smart, beautiful…you're…everything.

You're everything to him.

And he knows better than to ever let that be a thought at the forefront of his mind, even when you give yourself to him so willingly. Even when your lips trace the slope of his neck, when your moans fill his ears and make him feel insane.

Even when you make him feel loved.

Amongst the positive attributes you have, you have a few bad habits in the eyes of your mother. The Queen has no problem with reprimanding you – her hand often carrying a wooden ruler that pats your chin gently when you speak out of turn, lightly tapping the small of your back if you're slouching. Just as the Queen is strict, she is gentle, she is fair.

The Queen was once bright. She wore the brightest, most colorful of dresses – pearlescent satins, shimmering tulles, beaded and sequined. She was the prettiest flower in the garden, the warmth of her smile being felt for miles throughout the kingdom. She was the sole collector of all the books in your library, the seamstress of all your dresses, the sole ruler because the kingdom was only ever truly hers – and soon, yours.

Of course, all good things come to an end. 

He grew up just outside of the kingdom, his family settled in a soft cottage in the thriving forest surrounding the castle. During his younger years, he awoke every morning to the sound of horses trotting past, the sound of your mother's skilled hunters chasing after deers and elk. He and his father would often go foraging, bringing home their own catches – rabbits, salmon speared at the flowing river. Every once in a while, they managed to pelt the unsuspecting deer, his heart always sinking in his chest as he watched their eyes lose their light.

He became a skilled hunter despite the sinking feeling, and easily manuevered his way through the forest on foot. His father made a bow and arrow set for him on his fifteenth birthday, and it'd been put to use for many years since – birds, squirrels, even the occasional frog.

His mother was an apothecary that managed a small shop and garden out of the back of their cottage. She sold the wild berries and any herbs Jay and his father managed to forage, and that was how he met your parents. Your father was incredibly ill, draped across a mighty steed that your mother steered to the best of her ability in her state of distress.

As it turned out, your mother had grown up with his – and trusted no one more than her to help your father. They stayed in his cottage, in his bedroom, for three days and three nights. 

After he recovered, your mother tried to pay a hefty sum of gold. His parents adamantly refused, and through the door of his bedroom he heard his mother ask that the Queen take care of him, should he ever need something. A job, education, something.

And your father agreed, without hesitation.

But there was still a heavy sack of gold sitting in the corner of his home when he woke up the next morning.

When he thinks about it, the King was an insane visual compared to your mother. He dressed in nothing but black, his shoulders covered by a thick bear's pelt and feet clad in heavy boots. His knuckles were almost always smeared with dirt and blood, and his voice was gruff and intimidating to the unfamiliar. He was scary to most of the townspeople with his dark eyes and solemn face, and they cowered in his presence – but he never, ever scared him.

Your father admired that.

The King became a frequent visitor at the shop Jay's mother ran. He bought berries almost exclusively, and usually the entire stockpile. Jay remembers his life being slightly easier during those times – and he felt it in the way his parents wouldn't hesitate to buy any book he picked up during their visits to the market on the weekends. He felt it most when he'd have warm soups to eat during the winter when berries and herbs were scarce.

However, the King once arrived on foot, guiding his horse by the lead and talking gently. Usually he'd be atop his horse, but instead – you were sat upon it. You wore a simple, champagne dress with ivory bows along the belled sleeves, and your hair was worn pinned back. You were smiling brightly, your eyes wide as you took in the greens of the forest and the spots of the sunlight on the forest floor, the chirps of the birds gathered in trees high above.

Your eyes landed on him, covered in dirt and carrying a deer on his back. He remembers the way his heart lurched – and he nearly fell under the weight of the cervid. And he remembers the laugh that slipped from your mouth as your father stopped in front of the shop. It was so beautiful, hidden behind your hand and so melodic.

"Jongseong! Good to see you, son. Is your mother in?"

He couldn't reply then, watching the way your lips shaped around your silent repetition of his name. He remembers blinking, clearing his throat.

"Your Majesty. My mother is at the market this weekend, I've been left to tend the shop. Is there something I can get for you?" He'd dropped the deer on the workbench with a grunt before turning around to tend to your father, only hearing your voice as you pulled at your father's pelt.

"He's cute."

He felt his cheeks grow hot, his eyes darting away as he stood behind the display of berries and pretended he didn't hear you. He remembers the way your father rolled his eyes, a smile gracing his features. He'd never seen your father smile.

"Go on, pick your poison." He'd helped you off the horse, your hands folding behind your back as you approached the display. Jay couldn't help but follow the glow of your dress in the spotty sunlight, before your father cleared his throat behind you.

"It's her birthday." He said warmly, and Jay remembers the way you rolled your eyes as you picked a blackberry from the display, rolling it between your fingers.

"It's not that special. He always makes it a big deal." Your gaze was playful, but your words were serious. "It's really just another day."

"Isn't every day we rise with the sun worth celebrating?" 

You stopped then, your teeth sinking into the delicate flesh of the berry in your hand as you glanced up at him. Your father laughed heartily behind you, before you tilted your head.

"Will you be coming to the feast tonight? My father has invited the whole of the kingdom." 

Your eyes were expectant, and he shifted slightly under your gaze. Your father had the same eyes, albeit darker.

"I can't make it, Your Highness. I've got prior committments." He had jerked his thumb in the direction of the deer, making you nod. "That's a shame…I'll take these, then." You sounded disappointed then, as you picked up the large crate of blackberries. Your father swept to your aid, grabbing the wooden crate quickly and firmly attaching it to the side of the horse's saddle. You smiled softly, "How much do I owe you?"

"Oh, don't worry about it. Have a safe trip back, have a nice birthday." He shook his head, giving you both a curt bow before turning on his heel and disappearing into the shop. He heard the horse trot off moments later, murmurs shared from you and your father too muffled to digest.

However, even as nightfall came and went – he couldn't get you out of his mind. The gentle slope of your neck, the shimmer of thin beeswax on your lips. A small, gold locket resting on your chest over your dress, with the crest of the kingdom engraved into it. 

The softness of your eyes. You returned the next day, this time, only accompanied by your horse. You donned a dark green dress with gold flecks across the fabric, your hair in disarray around your face as you slowed to a stop in front of the shop. He was drenched in sweat, the midday heat exhausting as he lugged firewood towards the cottage. His mother had just arrived for lunch, wrapping an apron around her waist as you rung the bell in the window.

"Princess! What brings you to this neck of the woods?" 

His back tensed as he packed the wood in the corner of the kitchen, only to hear his name slip from your lips.

"I've just brought something for…Jongseong." He still remembers his mother's face of surprise when she called for him, his cheeks flushed from the heat (or so he tried to convince himself) as he made his way over. "Yes?" "The princess is here for you, son."

She slipped away then, leaving you in his presence alone. He tilted his head, before realizing you had a box in your hand, wrapped in a soft green bow. You held it out to him, a smile gracing your lips. 

"For you. I made it." He took it gingerly, "Thank you."

You only nodded, stepping away from the shop. "Enjoy."

He didn't explain anything to his parents as he slid the small box on the kitchen table, their eyes curious as he unwrapped it to the sound of your horse bolting in the distance. It was a tart – lemon curd with blackberry preserve swirled throughout in a shortbread crust. There was a note attached to the side of the box, but he shoved it in his pocket to read in the privacy of his room later that night.

My father seems to like you. He doesn't like anyone. Should I expect you at the suitors' ball this winter? – Y/N ♡ 

He didn't see you again after that, the seasons moving forth as if he'd never met you. 

The suitors' ball would not happen, either.

He was soon awoken by royal knights banging his door down – on orders from the Queen to gather all able-bodied young men to fight in an ambush in the wooded mountains, brought forth by Fort Allingham claiming a broken alliance with the King. Despite his mother's protests, he went – wide eyed and scared, but he trusted himself. He trusted his knowledge of the woods and his skills as a hunter would get him through it.

They say even the mighty fall.

He felt dirty; covered in splatters of blood of men he'd never met. Men who had families, surely, and it haunted him. He wanted to close his eyes and end the nightmare of it all – fallen bodies, the crimson brew of life seeping through clothes and into patches of grass sprouting through the thick layers of snow atop the mountains, the feeling of the arrow's pile that speared through his shoulder. He wanted to hide, to cower, to unsee all he'd lived the moment he left the cottage. The worst of it all?

He was the one to find your father – bloodied and bruised at the base of the mountains, his sword tossed into the flowing river and his fingers nearly purple with frostbite. The remaining soldiers gathered with him, word spreading to those from Fort Allingham that the target had been hit. It made his stomach turn.

He tried what he could – the warmth of a fire, muddling medicinal herbs into a paste…but he slipped away by morning. He could only picture you and your mother's faces as he and the remaining soldiers walked for three days to return to the limits of the kingdom. He held nothing on his back but your father's pelt, the bloodied sword and his bow. He carried it like it held all the weight in the world to him, because he knew it would to you.

He remembers the crestfallen look on your mother's face as he and the soldiers hobbled into the throne room. They all knelt before her, the pain in his face evident as he tried to hold the bloodied sword over his head.

That was the last time he saw your mother wear something bright. A cream dress that glittered in the early winter sunlight, a singular tear stain on the skirt.

The soldiers had their injuries treated by town apothecaries and fed by the palace cooks while the townspeople were in mourning. The death of the King took a toll on them all – and a flourish of stories of his kindness spilled from every crevice of the kingdom. Your father was well loved and your mother proved it – a three-day feast was thrown in his honor, all of his favorite dishes displayed across the palace courtyard. Nights of loud music, drinking and dancing.

Nights that you spent away from it all, deep in the forest. Wading in the river, your hands blistered from climbing the rocks that lined the streams. Your face swollen from crying, your back covered in the thick pelt that once belonged to your father.

It was all you had left. Your mother asked him to work for the kingdom soon after. She practically begged, in fact – and Jay went home to think about it. He spent the rest of the winter there – coping with the loss, with the fear, with his pain. He took the time to relearn to use his bow with his injured shoulder, he shoveled snow from the pathway to the cottage. He spent his nights in the warmth of his room, reading and reading the books he'd collected, and sitting on the decision of whether or not to go forth to the palace.

Until the winter solstice brought the Queen barreling back to his cottage, seeking his mother and her medicine once more. This time, for you – your skin was sweltering even as you were stripped to nothing in a warm bath, your lips chapped from the dry winter air. His room was once more taken, with your mother glued to his windowsill and staring at the falling snow. The sound of your pained groans made his chest hurt as he pressed cool compresses to your face and neck through the night – waking up to your mother gone and a sore neck from sleeping in a cot.

You stayed for two days longer, his mother carefully and quietly tending to you. She fed you warm soups with lots of garlic and ginger, hot feverfew tea with honey and lemon, even drawing you hot baths to soak in. She had Jay rub analgesic oil into your scalp after your baths, and the repeated stroking would ease you to sleep.

It was on the third day that your mother returned, her hands gripping a dark blue dress in hopes you'd be feeling better. You were still stricken with fatigue, but you managed to make your way out of the cottage with a weakened thank you. Your mother once more asked Jay about coming to work for her at the palace as she helped you climb onto the horse, your cloak just thick enough that the winter air didn't make you shiver too much.

And, he agreed. Without hesitation, without much thought – he told your mother he'd report to the palace in one week.

Dinner with his parents was very quiet that night, with only a murmured apology from him as he cleared the table. His mother insisted he had to do what he felt was right, that his duty was to his heart.

But where has his heart led him? It's gotten him an injured shoulder. It's shown him death, up close and personal. It's shown him how deeply a person can mourn, how thoroughly the end of life can rip someone to shreds.

Nevertheless, he packed his clothes and his favorite books, and he went. He was stationed in the room next to yours, the constant warmth and hearty food a luxury he yearned for his parents to experience. He didn't check in with you, instead finding your mother in her study – in a long, black dress.

He then learned that you were his assignment. 

"The loss of her father has left Y/N incredibly fragile." The Queen started, her pen gripped tightly in her trembling hand. "She's not the same, which was to be expected. She feels it's her fault."

The Queen went on to explain why – you'd told your parents that you weren't one with the idea of an arranged marriage.

Your father had been the first born son of the King of Fort Allingham – and it was only by chance that the Queen had fallen in love with him. They'd met at the suitors' ball many some years ago when it was your mother's turn to inherit the throne – and had become immediately enamored. It worked well in your grandparents' favor, as they had long been in bad standings with the opposing kingdom over unclaimed land.

The marriage between your parents meant a truce, that said unclaimed land would remain untouched.

Desrosiers, named aptly after the rose gardens that spread vast and wide across their land – was another kingdom just south of Decelis that also had ties to the same plot of unclaimed land. The truce there?

You'd marry their first born son. It'd been set in stone by your grandparents, and was something your parents had been looking for a way out of since before you'd even known about it. 

However, the marriage between your parents was untraditional – the Decelis throne belonged to your mother, and as the only heir, there wasn't any way she'd give it up. Your father moving across kingdom lines raised some concerns, but at the end of the day – it was marriage, and it meant peace.

Your father's youngest brother became the King of Fort Allingham shortly after your father's departure. However, he was never fond of the fact that your father left. Something about betrayal, something about treason – but over all, your father had something that he wanted.

Your mother's love.

He, too, had been at the suitors' ball that winter so many years ago. He too, yearned to dance with your mother in the low light of the ballroom, to earn her affections, to be hers.

They say greed is the root of all evil – if he couldn't have your mother, no one could. He didn't care about the land, it was truly only a bonus.

It had been discovered a few weeks after your father's death that he, too, had been killed in the ambush. By none other than the first born son of Desrosiers – and with no heir to the throne of Fort Allingham, the Queen of Fort Allingham took over and cut ties with both kingdoms. The land was up for grabs, and your mother traveled to Desrosiers when you were sick to settle things. 

The Prince of Desrosiers had no interest in marriage, and willingly gave up the idea of a truce with your kingdom if it meant he got the land. No devil in the details, no exceptions, no ifs, ands or buts.

"She told me that she feels that though she may have won the battle…" The Queen hesitated, clearing her throat as tears filled her eyes. She blinked them back, tonguing her cheek. "We've lost the war." Jay finished for her, and she nodded. "It's not her fault. She has to know that, deep down somewhere."

"I don't know anymore. I know it's a lot to ask, too. She needs to be waited on hand and foot, and I can't lose my composure. I have a kingdom to run." The Queen had gestured to the air around her, making him nod in understanding.

"All I ask is that you…nuture her. Keep her company, get her outside. Show her that love still exists, even if the world seems bleak. It's not her fault. It never will be."

"I will try my best, Your Majesty." And, that led him to this point. By your side, at all hours of the day. 

It'd been two years since then, and you'd seemingly progressed – you drifted through the gardens, you settled on the carpet in the massive library. You visited his parents with him, and they treated you like their own. He taught you how to hunt and forage, and often caught you lingering at the end of the riverbend. Your feet in the water, your hands clutching your dress high so as to not get it wet. You closed your eyes, taking in the soft song of the birds flying through the trees and the chitter of the squirrels.

And he couldn't hear you cry yourself to sleep through the door anymore.

Instead, he was subjected to your soft looks and subtle comments. You'd sweep his hair out of his eyes, you'd adjust the hood of his cloak. You'd lean into him a little too deeply when he helped you fix your posture while shooting arrows. You'd bake him things, read him things, even ask him to sit outside with you deep in the night to stare at the stars. You'd point out the brightest one, and say it was your dad.

He hated the way his heart warmed up to you. You'd always been something interesting – from the very moment he met you that fated day at the shop. He wondered, still, if you would have chosen him if the suitors' ball had happened, and if your father would've given him his blessing.

He wonders if you feel the same things he does when he bids you goodnight – the yearn to kiss your lips softly, to lay next to you and hold you close. To breathe you in, become one with your soul and feel the fire of a million bursting suns.

He wondered then if you wanted him, too.

He wouldn't have to wonder for long.

"PRINCESS, IT'S LATE. YOU SHOULD BE SLEEPING."

Jay's voice was stern as you tugged him out of bed, still awake as the clock struck two in the morning. The moonlight was seeping through his open window, and you only pouted as you stomped your foot. He sighs, setting his book down on the nightstand to give you his full attention.

"First of all, I told you to stop calling me that. I'm Y/N to you. Or, baby." You climb onto the end of his bed with a wink, and Jay only groans, falling back against his pillow and grabbing the other to hold over his face. "Second of all, come on! I haven't seen you all day!" Jay gives another grunt into the pillow as you jump up and down the empty side of the bed, before throwing it back. "Because I went to go see my parents, and you didn't wanna come!"

You stop jumping, a sly smirk sliding onto your lips as he sits up abruptly.

"Don't you dare. Someone could hear you." He points a menacing finger at you, but you only laugh as you sink onto the soft bed. "Y/N." "Ooh, I like it when you say my name like that. So scary." You're teasing him, knowing it'll get him to do whatever it is you want without a fight as long as it means you'll get the hell out and shut the fuck up. Granted, he always wants to do what you ask of him, he just likes the little game of cat and mouse.

"What do you want? Quickly, I'm tired." He runs his hand over his face, before carding his fingers through his hair and pushing it off his face. He doesn't like the way you nibble on your lip before you look over at the door, his cheeks growing hot as you scamper off his bed to lock the iron knob. He raises a brow, attempting to appear nonchalant as you also close his window.

"It gets hot in here, why would you do that?" He feigns interest in your actions as you walk back over, rolling your eyes as you climb back onto his bed. You push the covers down, sliding in next to him. He instinctively moves over, the sheets cold beneath him as you snuggle into the warmth he's left behind.

"Spies." You shrug, fighting a smile as you lay your head on his pillow. He tongues his cheek as your hand traces shapes into his arm, before inching closer to rest your chin on it. You peer at him with the most charming look known to man, and he feels his resolve breaking.

"Y/N." "Jongseong." He sighs, before extending his arm out. You smile giddily as you snuggle into his side, your fingers ghosting over his bare chest. He wraps his own around your shoulders, gently poking your ribcage and getting a squeal out of you.

"You're horrible for my health, you know?" He murmurs, before feeling you smile against his skin. "I missed you, Jjongie." You admit, your fingernails drawing featherlight patterns into his stomach. He allows it, but you know his senses are on high alert should your mother make a surprise nightly round and not find you in your bedroom.

"I missed you, baby. But you know we can't keep doing this." He laments, feeling his heart sink as he feels you pout, your breath warm against his chest before you nod. 

"Is it love at all, if in the dark?" You ask, before looking up at him. 

He nods slowly, "I think so. I don't think I'd ever want to exist in a world where you're not all I am."

He swipes your hair back, before softly pinching your cheek between his knuckles. You scowl, shoving it away with your own hand, but he interlaces your fingers. He brings your knuckles to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the warm skin before holding your hand to his chest. "Don't do that." You mumble, your eyes softened as you pull your hand away reluctantly. He knows what you mean – don't kiss you. Don't kiss you if he's not going to kiss you everywhere, if he's not going to remind you that there will never be someone who loves you as he does. Even if hidden, even if both of you are so full of adrenaline any time you're under the covers together, you know it – the love Jay holds in his heart is uninhibited, it's unmatched, it's irrevocable.

And it's all yours, all for you.

"Mmh." He presses another to your forehead, your eyelids, your cheeks.

"Jay. Stop." You huff, your skin growing hot under his lips as he plants a kiss on your nose. "But I've missed you." He whispers against your lips, "I've missed my pretty girl."

"Jay." You pull back, only for him to trail his lips down your neck softly. "This is not what I was looking to do tonight." "Are you complaining?" He nips at your clavicle, and you laugh softly as you shake your head. "No." You move back, your nose bumping his as he meets your eyes. "I love you." "I love you." He mumbles back, before you press your lips to his chastely. Once, twice, three times. "What did you do today?" "Mmh, wonderful question from thee Park Jongseong." You cradle his face in your palm, absently stroking his cheek with your thumb. "I had lunch in the gardens with my mother. The Queen expects much of my attention, you see. I'm a very busy woman." He snorts, "So busy." You grin, "Incredibly. I wasted away today, however, because the love of me wasn't here. I spent my hours locked away in the library like a princess held captive, reading books of lovers who never abandon their soulmate–" "You are so dramatic." He buries his face in your neck, sinking his teeth into the muscle of your shoulder as you yelp. "Be quiet, someone could hear you." "As if you're not sinking your teeth into me like I'm some piece of meat." You scoff, pushing his head away to reveal blushing cheeks. "And I'm not dramatic, you abandoned me." "I 'abandoned' you on my given day off, and I invited you! You wanted to lounge in bed all day." He protests as you tug at strands of his jet black hair, "You just want me when it's beneficial, I know you." "Not true, I want you all the time." You snort, before swinging your leg over his hip and pull him closer. You press a kiss to his lips, "I need you all the time." "Need me, huh?" "Now who's being dirty?" He only laughs, his hand sliding high on your thigh as he pulls you impossibly closer. He slots his lips with yours, feeling you melt into his touch carefully. He can taste mint and chamomile on your tongue as you slip it into his mouth, a soft whine from your throat as sucks on it gently. "I missed you." He breathes against your lips as he moves to hover over you, but you don't get a chance to respond as he settles himself between your thighs, your dress riding high on your hips as your lips meld with his. It's slightly desperate, like he hadn't kissed you in years – but still so full of love, of adoration, of yearning.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, earning a groan from his lips as he pulls your hands away from him, pinning them above your head with one of his own. He kisses down your jaw chastely, before his teeth tug at your earlobe.

"Behave." "Do the tongue thing." You pant out, feeling his teeth graze the skin of your neck again as he laughs. "Please, please–" "You don't have to beg." He soothes, his free hand moving to the underside of your thigh. You lamely clench around nothing as he keeps kissing your neck, down your chest before you feel his teeth pull at the buttons of your nightgown. "Jay." "So impatient, princess." You huff, opening your mouth to argue when his cool fingers ghost over your bare slit. A squeak leaves your throat, making him laugh as you try and buck your hips into his hand. He pulls it away, tugging at the fabric of your nightgown.

"Wanna see you, pretty. Can we take this off?"

You nod eagerly, sitting up quickly to pull it over your head. He shoves his pants down his legs, and tosses both items to the other side of the bed before pushing you onto your back, pressing a kiss to your lips. You jerk slightly as you feel the weight of his cock against your hip, your mouth watering slightly at the idea of it stretching you out.

It hadn't, yet. Ever, actually.

"I love you." "I love you, Jjongie."

He smiles, your cheeks growing hot as you feel his lips trail further. His hands are soft against your skin, gently rubbing your hips and sides. He trails up your breast, his tongue darting out from between his lips to flick against your nipple. Your hand immediately flies to his hair, tangling in the dark locks as he does it again.

"Feel good?" You can't respond, feeling almost embarrassed at how worked up you've gotten over almost nothing but kissing.

But it's not just kissing, is it?

It's missing him, wanting him. Hating the feeling of knowing this could be a secret for the rest of your life. You know he knows that's where your mind goes as he continues, because he thinks the same thing. It always floats back to you when you're bare in front of each other, baring more than just your bodies. Your hearts, souls. Everything you yearn to hold in your hands, and know you do – but only behind closed doors.

He's on the other side now, the slight scrape of his teeth on your pebbled nipple pulling you back to the moment and drawing a breathy sigh from your throat. Your free hand covers your mouth, before feeling him suck the sensitive bud between his lips. He rolls his tongue against it, earning shaky, bitten-back breaths and your grip tightening in his hair.

"J-Jay–" "Mmh?" 

He trails down your body, peppering kisses on your soft belly with carefully timed nips of his teeth.

"So beautiful, my love."

He murmurs against your hip before he presses a chaste kiss to it. He always did it, for whatever reason, before his hands splayed on the underside of your thighs and pushed them up. You feel his lips trail the inside of your thigh, feeling his teeth sink into the plush flesh and ripping a moan from your throat. He laps his tongue against the marks of his teeth, before he really pushes your thighs up and away – and you feel a bit of shyness settle in your belly as he sighs.

"Fuck, baby." He leans in, making you jolt as his nose bumps your clit. He wraps his arms around your thighs, inhaling deeply before flattening his tongue against your pussy. You bite back your groan, your eyes rolling back as he laps at your wet cunt like he can't get enough. He's savoring you, and you feel your breath get caught in your throat as he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks. He lets you rock your hips into his face, his own slowly humping against the mattress at the sheer taste of you. Your pants of yes, yes, oh my God bounce off his ears before he slides his hand down, tracing your hole with a finger. He draws gentle circles into your clit with his tongue as he eases it inside you, and you feel embarrassed at the wet sound that you hear as he carefully works in another.

This is the fullest you'd ever been, your pussy clenching around his fingers as he makes a mess of you on his tongue. He curls them slightly, your thighs threatening to close around his head as you feel your belly fill with warmth. Your moans are slightly breathier as he pushes his fingers in and out of you, your vision spotty as he curls them perfectly into that spongy spot inside you. 

"Jjongie." You whine loudly, your free hand moving to your chest. Your fingers trace over your nipple, still slick with his spit; your body writhing against his tongue and fingers with the added sensation. He hums into you, and you feel your body tense against his face, a choked whimper sliding out of you as your orgasm washes over you. 

You feel his fingers slip out of you, the wetness being smeared on your thigh as he buries his tongue inside your sloppy hole. You can feel him moan into you, your senses in overdrive as he cleans you up, his lips placing a teasing kiss on your thigh before hovering over you. He presses a soft kiss to your mouth, your hand moving to the base of his neck to keep him in place as you slide your tongue into his mouth. You both groan as the taste of yourself fills your mouth, tart and heady in the back of your throat as you feel him press against your thigh unconsciously.

"Baby…want you." "You have me, sweetheart." You shake your head, your hand snaking between the two of you to touch him. His eyes flutter shut as your hand wraps around his cock, the tip dribbling with a bit of precum that you spread with your thumb. He lets out a shaky breath, rocking his hips into your hand when he hears you speak again.

"Want you inside me. Wanna feel you." You mumble against him, squeezing your hand around his tip. He groans, bucking into the sensation involuntarily.

The idea of going all the way had been on the tips of your tongues for months, since you started this, really. It was a flame neither of you dared to touch, but the desire for it only grew the more either of you denied it. You resorted to kissing, touching…his tongue between your thighs any time you had a handful of minutes. You only got to return the favor with your mouth if your mother was out of the palace the next day – which, unfortunately for the two of you, wasn't very often.

"You know why we can't." "I don't care, I want you."

Your eyes are wide and wet as you work him in your hand, feeling him shudder above you as you brush your lips against his cheek.

"Please. Please, my heart."

He sighs shakily, his eyes squeezing shut as you slow the pace of your hand.

"You'll tell me if I'm hurting you, right?" His forehead is rested on your shoulder, pushing your hand away from him. You nod quickly as he physically wipes your hand against the sheets before folding his fingers into it, and sighing. "And this doesn't…change anything, right? You still…" He trails off, and you press a kiss to his shoulder. "I love you, no matter what happens."

He nods against your skin, "Okay."

He steadies himself above you, letting go of your hand to spread your thighs gently. He breathes out, one of his hands moving to align the tip of his cock with your entrance, but you're still so wet from the first round that he slides between the folds. His tip kisses your clit, making your stomach cave in in a breath. Your hand claws at the sheets, gripping them tightly as he mumbles a dazed apology.

His brows are furrowed slightly as he does it again, watching the way you shudder at the feeling. He files it to the back of his mind, before lining himself up carefully. "Are you sure? We can stop any time. We can stop right now." He licks his lips nervously, but you shake your head. "Please, I'm ready. I want you, all of you."

He pushes forward carefully, his eyes fixed on your face. You smile softly at him, your hand reaching for his. He takes it gently, interlacing your fingers as he sinks in deeper. Your nose scrunches slightly, and he stops. You swallow slightly, squeezing his hand with a nod of your head. He moves a bit more, a soft whimper from your throat making him stop again when you shake your head, squeezing his hand again to signal that you're okay.

He sinks into you the rest of the way, trying not to close his eyes at the warmth of your gummy walls surrounding him. You let out a breath through your mouth, his hand on your thigh moving to trace circles into your clit. The way you clench around him nearly makes him fall forward, but the scrunch in your brows starts to dissipate the more he does it; before you move his hand, away. "Move, Jjongie." You whisper, before feeling him move to hover over you once more. His lips brush against yours gently, your hands cradling his face to kiss him. He uses the moment to pull out slightly, before pushing back in. You grimace, feeling his hand slide to your hip, squeezing as he kisses you again. He moves, trying to hold a groan back as you squeeze around his cock.

"Jay…" Your voice is breathy against his lips, and he sighs shakily before thrusting into you again carefully. You moan in his ear, feeling his head fall against your shoulder as your hands move to his back. You feel him mutter soft curses into your skin, whimpers filling your ears.

"I love you." You whisper as he peppers kisses along your skin, feeling your eyes water as you hear him say those precious words back. "I love you, my heart."

He feels so good, filling you to the brim with shallow thrusts that are somehow angeled perfectly to hit that spot inside you. Your legs wrap around his hips as a tear slides down your face, locking your ankles as the sound of your pussy swallowing him fills the room.

When you feel a wet drop on your neck, a muffled fuck in your ear as he thrusts particularly hard, knocking the wind out of you.

"Shit, I'm s–"

You silence him with your lips smashing into his, the feeling of his cock dragging against your walls so overwhelming that you feel dizzy. His movements grow slightly sloppy as your pussy flutters around him – the same familiar feeling in your lower belly growing as your nails dig into his back as he pulls away from your face and buries his nose in your neck. "Say you're mine." His voice is breathy, making you shiver as you nod eagerly, your voice nothing but a whine as you mouth at the small scar on his shoulder.

"Yours. Only yours."  Your thighs tighten around his hips as you cum around him, a groan from his throat filling your ears as he spills inside you. He kisses the side of your neck tiredly, the shallow thrusting of his hips slowing to a stop as he carefully pushes off you.

Your pants fill the room, eyes fluttering closed as his hands knead the soft flesh of your thighs.  "Are you okay?" He murmurs, hands moving to squeeze at your hips and sides. You nod lazily, humming in his direction as if asking the same. He nods in response, planting a soft kiss to your lips before carefully pulling out. You wince at the sudden emptiness, running a hand through your hair as you look to see he's slipped off the bed, rustling around his dresser. He returns with a towel, pressing a kiss to your knee before gently wiping you clean.

"You are absolutely terrible for my health, princess." He mutters, earning a scoff from you as you nudge his hip with your foot. He snickers, giving your side a soft pinch and making you squeal before swatting his hand away. "You love me, Park Jongseong." You retort as he smiles, tossing the dirty towel to the hamper. He nods, nuzzling his nose against yours as you pout. "Tell me you love me." "I do love you, angel. You know that." He gives you a pointed look as he lays next to you, before kissing your lips softly. "I will love you, until the end of my days. Don't pretend like you don't know I'd give my life for you." You huff as he pulls the blanket over you, his han on your back pulling you close. You allow it, swinging your leg over his hip and resting your head on his bicep. He presses a kiss to your hairline, your own lips peppering over his collarbone.

"What happens tomorrow?"

Your voice breaks the silence, and he sighs. He knows tomorrow starts a long week of festivities, ended by a Saturday morning gathering of the entire kingdom – for you to step up to the throne as Queen. Your mother had made it clear that the death of your father would not push back your growth within the kingdom, and you'd be taking over come Saturday morning. You'd be sat in your best dress, your hair swept back and donning your heaviest jewels. You'd be sat in front of the entire kingdom, presented with your mother's crown and her staff.

You'd be Queen, and he'd be left to yearn behind the scenes.

"I don't know, my love." "I won't marry if it's not you, you know." "I won't either. You know that."

He looks down at you, your eyes wide as you scan his face. He feels his cheeks warm as he cradles your face gently, your hand moving to his wrist.

And just for this moment, you're not the Princess of Decelis. You're not the princess of anything, you're nothing but his. His to hold, to cherish, to love. His to kiss and worship, to kneel before and ask forgiveness for his sins. The queen of his heart.

"I love you, Jongseong." "I love you, Y/N."

IT'S THURSDAY EVENING, AND IT'S THE FIRST TIME HE'S GOTTEN A MOMENT TO HIMSELF SINCE THE START OF YOUR FESTIVITIES.

He's sitting at his windowsill, resting his cheek on the heel of his palm. A glass of wine sits untouched next to him as he stares at the stars. They're dim, but they're there – freckling the sky and accompanying the moon, the beauty of it reminding him of you. The kingdom is quiet aside from the trotting of a few horses on the cobblestone, the laughter of teenagers echoing through the town as they sneak pints of mead and bottles of wine from the back of the local brewery.

He hasn't been able to speak to you much since that night in his bedroom, and he feels his stomach turn every time you make a moment to talk to him – only to be pulled away. By a childhood friend wanting to dance, or a man thinking he has a chance to win your heart – he always lets you go, seeing the bit of anger flare in the back of your eyes as you slip away. He misses you, and you're only ever two or three inches away. He walks alongside you, his hands folded behind his back as yours rest in front of you. With every move of your arms, the collar of your dress reveals the dotted bruising of his teeth against your shoulder – to the point that he adjusts your hair over it several times.  No one thinks anything more of it. Just a devoted guard that cares for the safety and image of the Princess of Decelis. 

He misses when you were just his heart. The reason behind the wild thundering of it in his ribcage, the sole reason he breathes and lives. He hates the way your gold locket burns under his clothes, hidden under the collars of his shirts since you clipped it on him on Sunday morning with a silent kiss to his lips.

Now?

You're moving throught the gardens below with your mother, he spots you a few feet into the rose bushes. The moonlight illuminates the satin of your baby blue dress, the glitter catching his eyes as you stop suddenly. You turn around, your eyes dancing around before you look up, meeting his. Yours widen, lips parting before your mother speaks and you close it.

"Don't look at me that way, Y/N. It worries me." His brows jump, and he sees the way your eyes fill with guilt before you look away from him. "Everything worries you, Mother." You respond, your hands clutching the fabric of your dress as the Queen comes into view. Her dress is a deep sea blue, the belled sleeves gathered around her hands as she folds them in front of her. "Y/N, I run a kingdom and make thousands of decisions in just one day. Now, I've got an daughter that picks at her food in front of guests, of course I worry. What has gotten into you? Please tell me now, lest I pull it out of you."

Your mother's voice is quite soothing to him, and he feels a rift in the air as he hears the heels of your shoes click on the cobblestone.

"Mother, I…I don't want you to be upset." "Darling, please. Spit it out before I get collywobbles."

Your face crumples slightly, and he sits up quickly when he sees you cover your face with your hands. Your mother quickly pulls you into her embrace, her hands smoothing over your hair as you cry into her chest. She shushes you as one does a baby.

"I could never be upset with you, Y/N. You're everything to me, you have to know that." She rubs her hand over the back of your head, carefully tucking your hair behind your ears. "Everything I do, I do for you. The kingdom, the feasts, everything is for you, Y/N. As long as you're happy, I'll never have any reservations." Your head lifts, and the moonlight shines on the sheen of tears down your cheeks.

"What happens when I become Queen? Will I have to marry someone of your choosing?" 

Your mother looks taken aback, before shaking her head. Her hand carefully adjusts the bejeweled tiara on your head, before tucking her hands behind her back.

"I married for love." She says softly, but it's still heard in the still of night. She turns, walking carefully down the pathway to one of the stone benches. "I married for love, and mighty me, did I love." The Queen sits on the edge of it, looking up at you making your way in front of her. She smiles softly, and he sees so much of you in her. "This is about Jongseong." He feels his heart stop, the sound of his name from your mother's lips so foreign. She awarded him curt nods, gentle smiles since his station at the palace, but nothing more. 

He looks to you, seeing the tiara in your hand and you picking at the silver framework. "It wasn't on purpose." "Yes, it was."

His brows furrow at the admission, only to see you mirroring his expression. 

"What?" The Queen shrugs, a small smile gracing her features as she plucks one of the roses off the bush next to her.

"Your betrothal wasn't a thought that crossed my mind until your father came to bed after your celebration feast." She picks at a petal, letting it float to the ground beneath her feet. "I'd long run my options into the ground, I was trying to pull any and every string to get you out of the alliance marriage with Desrosiers. It was eating me alive."

You knelt before her, eyes riddled with curiosity as he leaned further out the window.

"He said you thought Jongseong was cute. That you were in the kitchen with the chef, and making him a pastry with the berries you bought that day. I remember I went to check your bedroom when he said that, and you weren't there. I asked one of the maids to find you, but she told me you were busy making a lemon curd." She nods, a fond smile gracing her lips as she picks another petal off the bud.

"And then, you wore your favorite dress the next day when you left the stables. I saw you from my bedroom, and you had the giddiest smile on your face." She laughs, her fingers gently spreading the unbloomed bud to reveal the anthers. "Your father smiled the same way, you know, when we met on the night of my suitors' ball. We snuck out to this very garden, sat on this bench and looked at the stars."

"I catch the two of you out of the corner of my eye quite often. When you're visiting his parents in the forest, and he helps you onto your horse. When you're in the library, reading all the books he recommends and he falls asleep on your shoulder. When he's teaching you things that he loves, and you listen instead of scrunching your nose and turning away. That's…that's something I could never arrange, ally, or even enchant. You don't find that anywhere, not like this." 

He hears a soft sniffle, before seeing her slide the rose over your ear.

"He's done just as I've asked of him. In a world so bleak, where the devil is in the details…he's shown you love." Her hands cup your face gently, "You…are everything to me. You're the apple of my eye, and I know I could never, ever take something so pure away from you. The crown, the throne, the kingdom…it's all yours. Yours for the taking, the ruling, all of it. And it's something you've never had to earn, even if you've worked hard for it." The Queen stands, pulling you to your feet and into her arms.

"You don't just get love. You earn it. You earn every caress, every kiss, every moment of companionship. That boy…you've won him over so dearly. He's kind, and gentle. He's responsible and I know he'd love you until the end of your days." 

She pulls away, cradling your face in her hands with a stern look settled in her brows.

"Don't you dare break his heart, Y/N."

"I would never." You smile mischievously, your hands circled her wrists as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"Is this what you've had your stomach in knots about? Jongseong?" Your mother trills her lips, pinching your cheeks. "Go on, off to bed you go. You've got quite the rehearsal tomorrow."

"Yes, Mother. And…" You glance over her shoulder, your eyes pinning him in place as his cheeks burn in embarrassment. "Thank you." "I'd bring the stars down if you asked, my darling. Now, scram. I've got many things to do before tomorrow's festivities." She wiggles her finger at you as you clutch your dress in your hands, your tiara grasped in one of them as you nod. You turn on your heel, the click of them against the cobblestone getting louder as you made your way back to the castle.

He watches fondly as the fabrics flow behind you, his chest warm as you disappear into the north tower entrance. He goes to move from the windowsill, but something stops him as he sees the Queen's shoulders sag. She sits down once more, a sigh from her lips as she takes the heavy golden crown atop her head and thumbs at the large gems. She sets it down in her lap, her hands reaching around her neck and a locket similar to yours appears in her palm. She opens it, her finger tracing the photo inside it with sigh. She holds it to her chest, a deep breath slipping through her lips.

"Oh, my heart. How I miss you, so." She sniffled, before inhaling shakily and closing the locket. He hears the door of his room open, but he doesn't turn around as he feels your arms snake over his shoulders. His hand reaches for yours, interlacing your fingers as your lips brush his cheek.

"She's so…sad." He murmurs, feeling your thumb trace soft circles into his skin. He can feel your lips open to say something, when your mother speaks again.

She looks up to the sky, the brightest star shining to the left of the moon.

"I know you're looking down, my heart. Do you think they'll marry? She'll miss you there." She stands, holding her crown in her hand before taking a deep breath and placing it atop her head once more. "But, I'll see you there. I know it." She clasps the locket around her neck once more, tucking it beneath the collar of her dress before another sigh comes out.

"Goodnight, my heart. I love you dearly." The Queen folds her hands in front of her, her head bowed as she quietly made her way through the garden. He sighs, before turning to you. Your brows are furrowed as you stare into the night, the cogs in your head turning before you pull him away from the window. He allows it, following you down the hall with his hand interlaced with yours.

"Come, we've got work to do before my coronation."

THE DAWN OF SATURDAY WAS BROUGHT FORTH WITH SERENE SILENCE.

He was taking a deep breath in front of your mother's bedroom, having reluctantly left the safety of your arms. He held the bouquet he'd arranged the night before, with Friday being bursting with activities and way too much on your plate.  Marigolds, Grand Cru lilies, with speckles of baby's breath and the touch of white bouvardia. A bouquet you saw much of during your parents' marriage – with gifts of berries from Jay's family, pastries made by your father's careful hands, songs played by the royal orchestra at your father's order. 

You'd seemed like a madwoman last night, darting around in the kitchen and giving him things to do. He'd muddled berries, kneaded pastry dough, settled a lemon curd. He'd wrapped the flowers in wax paper, tied together with an ivory bow you'd stolen from your mother's collection – one she'd worn the night of her suitors' ball so many years ago.

"You haven't got all day, my love."

Your voice echoed down the hall, and he looked up to see you carefully clipping in your earrings. Your hair had been tied back and you weren't close to being ready, but he felt his heart all too warm as you smiled and waved him forward with both hands. He turned back to the heavy oak door, his hand grabbing the iron knocker and tapping it to the door three times. 

"Your Majesty? It's Jongseong." He speaks clearly, but feels his stomach flip as he hears the click of her shoes on the marble tile. He looks back up to see you've gone, closing his eyes as he takes another deep breath. He hears the door lock click open, before a shred of the morning light peeks through.

Your mother looks down at him, her eyes wide as she pulls the door open further.

"Yes?" Her voice is soft, and he opens his eyes to see her dressed in a bright, golden yellow dress. His eyes widen, hand tightening around the bouquet. Her eyes fill with worry, "Are you alright? Is that…for me?" "I…yes. Yes, it is. From…the Princess and I." He holds it out to her, her hand hesitating to take it as her eyes rake over it. "The Princess?" She whispers, before thumbing at the petals of the lilies. She takes it gently, her eyes filling with something of suspicion as she examines them. "Is she…planning something? She's a daring little thing, you know." "Not to my knowledge, Your Majesty." He lies through his teeth, his eyes catching the morning light reflecting off the glittering dress. "If I may…you look lovely." The Queen tenses, her hand moving to the bodice of her dress. She shifts quietly, before looking back at him.

"It's the least I could do for her. She complains that I never wear colors anymore. I figured…it's not too flashy, is it? She always liked this one best." The Queen turns to the grand mirror against the wall, and he cleared his throat.

"It's not about what I think, is it?" He smiles softly, earning a laugh from the Queen. It's rich, but airy and playful.

"I suppose today is all about her. I'm sure she'll love it, she has to." She soothes herself, before catching his eyes in the reflection of the mirror. "Jongseong?" "Yes, Your Majesty?" He straightens, and she turns on her heel, placing the hefty bouquet on her pillows. The bell sleeves of her dress come forward as she folds her manicured hands in front of her, her head tilted slightly under her sparkling bejeweled crown.

"You'll keep her safe, won't you? If you marry?" 

He feels his chest warm and swell with pride, his cheeks flushing as he bows at the waist. "It would be my honor, Your Majesty."

"And you'll love her, until the end of her days? 'Til death do you part?" Her voice grows stern, her brows furrowed at the center as he lifts his head. Her eyes are steely, only hardening more as he nodded.

"I'd give my life." He admits softly, her eyes softening. The Queen nods, and his eyes widen as she, too, bows at the waist with her eyes closed.

"Then I give you my blessing to take her hand in marriage." She whispers, before straightening and folding her hands behind her back. "Through sickness and health, for richer or poorer." "To love and cherish." He murmurs, folding his hands behind his back as he meets her eyes. "I give you my word, Your Majesty." She only nods softly, before reaching around her neck and unclasping her necklace. A thick, gold band is hanging next to the locket, and he recognizes it as the ring the King used to wear when he would visit. Without letting go of her locket, she carefully pulls at her left ring finger.  He can't help but feel his eyes widen as she holds the hefty gold bands out to him. She gives him a pointed look, flicking her wrist for him to take the jewelry. He does so carefully, before she smiles.

"I've had them blessed by the town priest, so don't worry. Now…see to it that everything is in place in the gardens, will you? It's going to be a very busy day."

He nods, "Of course, Your Majesty. Thank you…for everything."

"It's my honor, Jongseong. Please, go." He reaches for the door without another word, closing it gently behind him before he makes his way down the hall, his hands cool against flaming hot cheeks.

Jay is strolling through the garden as the trickle of guests begin arriving, greeting them gently as the royal orchestra plays soft music at the edge of the rose garden. You'd be crowned Queen in the marigold garden, the courtyard decorated to your liking – cream and ivory ribbon tied in all sorts of bows, glittering vases filled with refreshing spring water on the long table covered in fruit and meat and soft, spongy cakes.

Your mother's throne sits at the end of the court yard, the Decelis staff and coronation crown sat on a purple velvet pillow. They sparkle in the sunlight, with the people of the kingdom fawning over it from a distance – a royal guard standing on high alert next to the throne.

"Oh, this is beautiful."

He hears a familiar voice at the entrance of the lily garden, his eyes widening as he sees his parents slip in. He rushes over, a smile on his face as his mother waves him over.

"You're here! Did the Queen send for you?" He embraces them warmly, but hears your voice before they can respond.

"I sent for them, Jongseong. Mrs. Park, Mr. Park. It's an honor to see you again. I'm sorry I couldn't make it back last weekend, I had a terrible case of the lollygag." The three of them look up to see you smiling brightly – your dress long and sparkling in the morning sun, of glittering alabaster tulle and a billowing skirt in the soft breeze. Your arms are covered in sparkling sleeves, belled at the wrists and your shoulders peeking from the lowered cuffs. Your hair is pulled back, not a single strand out of place under your twinkling tiara. Your ears don simple gold hoops, your necklace the crest of the kingdom on an ovaled pendant.

"Oh, my stars." Mrs. Park's hand covers her mouth, "Look at you, Princess."

"Oh, you flatter me. Please, come in. Make yourselves comfortable, there's a table reserved for you at the front." You give them a quick curtsy, giving Mrs. Park a quick hug and Mr. Park a soft handshake. "I'll see you all during the feast, yes?" "Of course." Mr. Park nods, before Jay watches them slip away. You glance at him, your smile softening as you inch near – not close enough to catch attention, but seemingly just a princess speaking to her guard about something worrisome.

"I love you." You whisper, only to earn a scoffed laugh.

"You're going to be the death of me, look at you." He whispers back, and you hide your laugh with a bite of your lip. "I love you, my heart." "I'll see you after, yes? Sit with your parents." You pat his arm, and he nods, before disguising a tiara adjustment as an excuse to touch you.

"I have to talk to you after, okay? We can meet in the library." He whispers, and your eyes fill with worry. "Is everything alright?" "Of course, my heart. Why would I worry you on such an important day?" His smile is warm, and you give him a suspicious one with a pat to his chest. "Well…I'll see you. Go, sit while I mingle. I need you up there when I get crowned." You wiggle your brows, and he lets his eyes flicker to your lips. You stick your tongue out at him, "Not here." "I know, I know. But…you know, right?" He pretends to adjust the tiara again, watching the way you fight yourself from leaning into the touch. "You have to know." "I do. I love you. Now, go, beloved." You point your gaze, and he retreats his hands to his back, giving you a curt nod.

"As you wish, Your Highness." He grins as you scowl, laughing to himself as he turns away and walks towards his parents. They're seated quietly, with two glasses of water poured in front of them and a plate of sliced fruit. They smile at each other as they pick at the berries chosen from their shop, and he slips into the chair next to them.

"Does the Queen know?" His mother whispers, and he clears his throat quietly. "Yes." He tries not to let the giddiness climb up his throat, and she smiles softly. "Are you happy?" His father questions, and he nods discreetly.

"It's the softest thing I've ever felt." He looks up before picking at the plate of fruit, piercing a blackberry with a toothpick as he sees you take a flute of sparkling cider off a passing waiter's tray. You hand it to the younger woman in front of you, before tucking her hair behind her ear. You give her a soft nod, before turning away and leaving her in awe.

Much like you've always left him.

"Welcome, welcome! Ladies and gentleman, it is such an honor to have you all here for this incredibly important day in our kingdom's history. Today, we witness the spring equinox be christened with the crowning of a new Queen, of a new ruler." 

Your mother is standing bright and tall at the end of the marigold garden, with everyone in utter astonishment at the return of her colorful wardrobe. She's practically glimmering in everyone's eyes – and she holds her composure at everyone's loving eyes as she continues to speak.

"Through the years of my time as Queen, I've seen many things. Even as just a part of this world, I've seen so much. I've seen death, I've seen birth. I've seen renewal and growth, I've seen the sick be healed and the healed lose their minds in utter despair at the idea of loss. There are some special gratitudes I'd like to put forth, particularly to the Park family." She smiles warmly at their table, and they smile quietly. 

You're standing with Jay next to the throne, your hands folded behind your back when you sneak at a glance at him. Your eyes catch his, and he raises a brow as he looks between his parents. "The Park family has not only brought forth an incredibly bounty – the juice of their fruit so sweet on our tongues, the magic of Mrs. Park's medicinal genius curing our sickness…but the blanket of love they have covered my family in. For decades, I've entrusted my life in their hands, my daughter's…my heart, the King." The crowd of townspeople hum in mourning, and your mother rolls her shoulders gently. Her hands cover her chest, fingers curled around each other as she breathes in.

"With death, comes life. Though the loss of the King has been long in the past now, I still feel it. I feel the pain, deep in my heart. As though a piece of my soul has gone with him, as though I'm no longer complete." Her voice remains strong and steady, but her eyes water slightly as she rolls her shoulders once more.

"I remember when I first introduced Y/N as the Princess of Decelis. Everyone, as far as the eye could see, became incredibly enamored with her. And I could feel it, I could feel the adoration of everyone who came to see her. It was one of the proudest moments of my life, and…through her, every time I see her…" She turns to look at you, standing next to her throne with your head held high.

"It's like the King never left. She is so full of light, love and life. Life, what we are all surviving when we should be living. What more could I ever ask of her? When I know she'll be a wonderful ruler, a fair and just Queen. What more, I ask, could I ever want? When I know she will be happy, with the love that she gives and the light that she shines upon us all?"

Jay glances at you through the corner of his eye, your eyes watering as you step forward. You don't see the way his fingers clench at his side, wanting to comfort you.

"The Princess has some thoughts she'd like to share before we continue. Please, a standing ovation."

The Queen steps back, her smile soft as you take her place. Everyone in front of you has the same bright smile, but the only ones that matter are behind you.

"It is truly an honor to be in front of you all today to accept the next step in my journey. The Queen and I have gone through many things together, and though I've seen only what half has she, I…know the love. The light that shines on this kingdom, not brought forth by me but by her. So much kindness, and generosity, even through her own tribulations. Wouldn't you agree?" Your smile garners the cheers of the townspeople gathered throughout the gardens, and you clap along them softly. Your face grows slightly solemn as you clear your throat. "Three years ago this winter, our kingdom was ambushed by Fort Allingham and Castle Desrosiers. A plot of land just south of our kingdom was unclaimed, and it is said that greed is the greatest root of all evil. Land, gold, riches in oil can all be taken; when a life is taken to stake their claim, when life a many is taken…it cannot be in vain. The King…he died with honor. His sacrifice, and his memory will not be thrown away or forgotten. With this, I ask for a moment of silence for the royal orchestra to play something I've asked to honor him today, as well as the indescribable love he had for my mother."

You watch as the people of your kingdom turn to the orchestra in the rose garden, your mother's brow slightly furrowed as she does the same.

Her eyes widen as the opening notes of Salut D'Amour float through the garden.

Soft murmurs fill the garden – because everyone who knows the story of your mother and father knows that it was the first and only song they danced to during the suitors' ball where they met. Everyone who went to the royal wedding and sat in that sacred ballroom, knows that Salut D'Amour played as their first dance together.

Everyone who was at the feast to honor your father, knows that Salut D'Amour played during the last dance of the night.

Salut D'Amour – Greeting of Love.

The Queen hums along quietly, her eyes watering as she sways from side to side. The townspeople do the same, and you feel the heat of Jay's eyes on you as everyone else is turned away. You meet them, a soft smile on your lips as you tilt your head.

The song ends, and the garden is erupted in cheers as your mother steps to you, resting her forehead to yours.

"Thank you, darling." She steps aside, and you garner their attention once more.

"My father was a wonderful man, father and king. I hope to only live up to my mother's legacy, and his. Thank you for being with me on this very special day." You take a quick bow as they clap gently, before taking a step back next to the thrown. Your mother smiles, stepping forward alongside her royal guard that holds the pillow. She grabs the staff in her right hand, before you turn to face her. Jay places a thick cushion on the ground for you to kneel onto, gingerly taking your hand to help you down. He lets his touch linger, before another guard hands him a matching pillow for your tiara.

"Today, we witness a wonderful transition for the Decelis Kingdom." She touches the end of the staff to your left shoulder, "Princess Y/N will honor the crest of the kingdom, the glory, the honesty and the truth…" She touches it to your right shoulder, "She will make her decisions of sane heart and mind, and bring forth only fruit to the kingdom. She will be just, and fair…" She touches the staff to the top of your head, "And she will bestow mercy upon us all. Do you choose to venerate these honors as I have read them to you?"

"I do." You hold your hands out for the staff, and the Queen gingerly places it in your hands. You lean your head forward, your mother carefully lifting your tiara and placing it on the pillow in Jay's hands. He hands it off to another royal guard, who steps back with it and stands rigidly. She turns slightly, taking the coronation crown in her hands and Jay holds his hand for you to take as you stand. You transfer the staff into your right hand, bowing your head as your mother places the heavy crown atop your head.

"Crowned on this 80th calendar day, on the first equinox of the year; I present the honorable Queen of Decelis."

You turn to face the people of your kingdom, your cheeks hurting as the entire garden fills with screams and cheers, a few whistles sounding off from the somehow tipsy men in the corner. You give the Parks a warm smile as they stand and clap, before you speak again.

"Well, what are we waiting for? Let's celebrate!"

"You have no idea how many people asked when I'm getting married, and if I'd be having a suitors' ball. Apparently, it's unheard of for a prospective Queen to advance to the throne without being betrothed. How incredibly modern of me." You're slumped over the end of your bed, earning a soft laugh as he pulled at the strings of your dress. You sighed in relief at the loosening of the bodice around your torso, stretching slightly. He pulls the zipper down with ease, his knuckles digging lightly against your back as you groan. "And what did you tell them?" You huff, before rolling on your back. There's a guilty look in your eye, and he feels suspicion cross his features as he leans over you. He raises a brow as you look away from him.

"Y/N." "Don't say my name like that, then I can't ignore it."

You cover your face with your hands, but he pulls them away from you, pinning them above your head as he gives you an expectant look. You sigh, tonguing your cheek before rolling your eyes.

"I told them that I was already betrothed." You mumble, making him groan slightly. "I don't believe in jinxes! So we're fine! It's fine!" "Honey, you can't do that. People are going to stir up a flurry of rumors." He scolds, but you only jut your lip out in a pout.

"Don't chastise me right now, I saved you from having to ask me! And I've had a long day!" You try and reason, but he only shakes his head, leaning closer. He feels your breath hitch as his lips brush yours as he speaks.

"And what makes you think I don't want to ask you to marry me? Why do you get to make that decision for us?" You blink carefully, before sighing. Your tongue darts out to wet your lips, before you shrug in defeat.

"I guess I jumped the gun." "Oh, but you've had such a long day." You scoff, "Don't patronize me." He smiles, pressing a kiss to your lips. You frown as he pulls away before you can kiss him back, but he lets go of your hands entirely and slides off the bed. You try not to look disappointed as you slip in front of your vanity, pulling pins out of your hair and rubbing your fingers against your scalp. Your eyes roll slightly, before you feel Jay's fingers begin to pluck the rest of the pins out.

"Your mother spoke to me this morning when I delivered her flowers. She's quite scary sometimes." He nods as you look at him through the mirror, your eyes wide as you attempt to turn to look at him. He smirks, holding your head in place with his hands as you scowl. "My mother is not scary." You grumble, tonguing your cheek before you feel his dull fingernails scrape lightly against your scalp. You lean into it, and he bites back a laugh as he massages the back of your head. He leans down slightly, pressing his lips to your temple before whispering.

"She gave me her blessing." He watches your eyes widen in the mirror, before you twist in your seat. "You asked her?" "She didn't give me a chance, she just asked me if I'd keep you safe." You turn fully as he crouches in front of you, carefully pulling your heels off. "And what did you say?" "That it would be my honor. She asked if I'd love you until the end of your days, 'til death do us part. I said I'd give my life. The way I see it, your mother practically married us already."

You snort, nudging his thigh with your foot. "You haven't even asked me yet."

He smiles, feeling his heart warm as you realize that that's precisely what he's about to do. "No, Jay, not right now! I look a mess, and I'm half dressed–" "And yet, you're still the love of my life. Funny how that works, isn't it?" He grins as you pout, your eyes filling with tears as he reaches into his pocket, pulling out the gold bands that belonged to your mother. "She gave me these."

Your pout only deepens as you cover your face with your hands, a soft sob falling from your lips as he coos.

"Oh, sweetheart. Come on, don't cry. I haven't even asked yet."

You uncover your face, a furrow in your brows as your voice sounds off, thick with tears. "It doesn't even matter if you have, I know you're going to and I'm going to say yes so just put the damn thing on me already!" "You really have had such a long day, I'd hate to make it longer." He can't help but smile wider, making you scoff.

"I'm in tears and you're smiling at me! You're cynical!" You wipe at your face with your hands as he bends one knee on the floor, only for your face to crumple the moment it hits the ground. "Jongseong!" He takes your hand gently, your lips pouty as he presses a kiss to your knuckles. "I love you, you know that?" He starts, "You are the softest, purest form of love I've ever been subjected to and I don't think I could ever fathom a life where I don't come home to you every single night. I love you when you're sick and throwing a fit because it's too hot, I love you when you hog the blankets in my room even though you're technically not even supposed to be in there." You scoff, but don't interrupt as he runs his thumb over your knuckles.

"I love you like every day will be my last, and I worship the ground you walk upon until I can no longer crawl behind you. If my dying day was spent by your side…I could never ask for more." 

He glances up at you, your eyes wide and wet and full of love.

"Marry me." He whispers, and you nod your head frantically. "Yes, I intend to. Hurry up!" You splay your fingers, making him snort as he shakes his head.

"You're so impatient." He rolls his eyes, but doesn't miss the tremble in his fingers as he carefully slides the ring on yours. Your hand grabs his, pulling him forward and pressing a warm kiss to his lips before grabbing his face and squeezing his cheeks between your hands. You pepper kisses all over it, with murmurs of I love you sprinkled in before you stop suddenly, your eyes wide as you pull back.

"You're going to be King." You blurt, and he shrugs but you shake your head, still holding onto his face as you ramble. "Jay, you're going to be King. There is so much my mom is going to have to teach you, and she–"

"Honey." "She's going to have to set up the wedding because I don't know how to do that, and what if she–" "Y/N." You stop, embarrassedly letting go of his face. "I'm sorry." He takes hold of your hands, standing from his spot in front of you and pulling you with him. He plants a kiss on your hairline, before tucking a loose curl behind your ear.

"Where you go, I go. Doesn't matter what I am, as long as I'm yours. We'll figure it out in due time." He presses a chaste kiss to your pouted lip, before cradling your face in his hands. "What do you say I help you decompress from your oh so long day?" You raise a brow, "Are you gonna–" "Do the tongue thing, yes." "Lock my door. We may be engaged, but I'm still a lady."

THE WEDDING WAS HELD THREE WEEKS LATER AND WAS A HUGE SUCCESS – WITH MANY TOWNSPEOPLE TALKING ABOUT HOW EASY IT WAS TO FIGURE OUT THAT IT WAS HIM YOU WERE ENGAGED TO.

How, you may be asking? Neither of you are as subtle as you think. Apparently, neither of you could stop sharing glances during the last feast of your coronation festivities, and a few of the straggling women spotted him press a kiss to your shoulder as he helped clean up the garden. Not to mention the fact that several huntsmen had also been in the forest every time you and him went to visit his parents. As it turns out, you don't usually end up making out against a tree during regular archery lessons, but hey – life is short. Foragers had also spotted the two of you about, and you're embarrassed to know that one of the fishermen in town had come across you and Jay canoodling while roasting a wild salmon over a campfire. Mr. Lee insisted it was fine, that it was cute – and also, none of his business.

The wedding had been grand – and quick. Jay was always right, you were incredibly impatient; but you saw no reason for something to take so long to plan when you had everything perfectly accessible. Your ceremony was only family and a few scattered friends – but the reception was a huge feast that gathered all the townspeople in your garden once more. Your first dance was to Salut D'Amour, and you got slightly tipsy off a few flutes of champagne. Your dress was something delicate, worked on from the morning after your coronation to the morning of your wedding – and every single sparkle of glitter was perfect in the beaming sunlight.  As for Jay? He was crowned King in the privacy of your mother's throne room, with his parents and you present. No one in town made a fuss about it, seemingly aware that he was a private person – after all, you managed to keep a relationship of three years secret…for the most part. He admitted he didn't really care for the title, only taking it because it meant a great deal of support for you as Queen. 

He moved his belongings into your bedroom, and you could tell the way things really hit him as he put away the last book in his collection onto your shelf. 

"...So this is us, huh?" He murmured, slipping under the covers as you snorted, resting your head on the heel of your palm as he turned on his side to face you. "We're married." "We are." You smile, "It's insane to me to know that me telling my father I thought you were cute has led us here."

"I love knowing that you fell first." "Oh, shut up. You fell harder." "I'm not refuting that, I'm just saying…you like me." "I love you, idiot." You roll your eyes as he scoots closer, and you swing your leg over his hip. "Just wait until everyone starts asking about heirs. I swear, it will feel like the most awkward thing ever." "We just got married, they can wait a year or two." He snorts, and you raise a brow.

"A year or two? More like three or four." You scoff, and he smiles. "Don't smile at me like that, it's like you're plotting something." "Three or four years?" He moves to hover over you slightly, making you groan as he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. "Jay." "Mmh?" "You are horrible, terrible, no good for my health." You huff embarrassedly as he trails down your jaw, his hand pushing the hem of your nightgown up. "Awful, even. Bad." "Mhm, mhm." His fingers curl around the waistband of your underwear, "Have you tried detrimental to? Maybe ghastly?" "You're parlous for my health, my beloved husband." You roll your eyes as he smiles, before feeling the fabric of your underwear being pulled down your legs. "Jay." "Consider this a practice round." He presses a kiss to your lips, "Just wanna make you feel good, okay?"

And of course, it's okay. It's always okay – it's you and him, forever.

That's why you're never against him, either. You'd never felt so safe in the arms of someone who didn't owe you anything – because he didn't. He didn't owe you the kindness of his heart, the warmth of his love or the solidness of his honesty. He didn't owe you friendship, because when this started – it was just a job. To protect you from harm, to watch over you, to help you hop along.

When he first came into your life after your father's death, he helped you see there was a way to have your cake and eat it too, to win the battle and the war.

There didn't have to be more than that to your relationship – more than the subtle reminders of unbreakable love, of yearning desire, of undying patience.

There didn't have to be anything more to you as a person – nothing but who you were already, sprinkled in with what it was like to be loved by Jay. It was warm, it was patient and kind…and it was everything to you. Jay was everything to you, and you felt ease knowing it could now forever rest at the forefront of your mind – because he is proof that you can win the battle, and conquer the world.

"Honey?" "Yes, my heart?" "I love you." "I love you, angel."

BABEYUN © 2025. no translations, reposting or modifications are allowed. do not claim as your own. viewer discretion is advised. your media consumption is your responsibility.

[plasticflowersinahistorycemetery]

this vice

part II

Pairing: Soulless!Sam x Fem!Reader

Summary: It's been six weeks since Sam last touched you. It's starting to hurt. You need it.

Warnings: 18+!, soulless!Sam is his own warning, semi-established Sam x reader, language, smut (dub-con kinda, clitoral stimulation, p in v, restraints, forced orgasms, overstim, dirty talk, coming on stomach), condescension, I may have missed some.

Word Count: 4,366

A/N: I decided to make this one a part two to "strange eyes" so... I hope y'all like it. Felt like the way to go, honestly. I've also found a way to tie it to the first part by making it inspired by another Friday Pilots Club song... so, there's that. The song is so good. Sam is so MEAN!!! My turn, pls. Let me know what you all think please!! <3 Until the next one. All the love.

"Well this vice, this sweet temptation The answer to frustration Put it down on me, put it down Put it down on me

Well my girl, she's bad as hell You know a little fucked up now but oh well"

Bad As Hell - Friday Pilots Club

It didn't happen again.

Not the next night. Not the one after. Not even the one after that.

You waited. You tried.

You wore the pretty things. Spoke softly. Laughed at nothing. Let your hands linger too long on his arm, his shoulder, the nape of his neck when he passed too close. You kissed him once, slow and hopeful, and he let you—

—but he didn't kiss you back.

The memory of that first night haunted you like a bruise in your bloodstream. You could feel it every time you shifted in your seat, every time your thighs pressed together under motel sheets that still smelled like him. You'd touched yourself in the dark more times than you'd admit, and still it wasn't enough. Not after that.

You craved it. You craved him.

But he just looked through you. Past you. Over you.

Sometimes he'd watch. When you thought he was asleep, you'd catch the faint glint of his eyes in the dark. Just watching you sit there, or pace the room, or peel off your clothes with slow, deliberate fingers like he might suddenly want you if you moved just right.

He didn't.

Once, you whispered his name. Just that. Just "Sam."

He turned his head. Glanced at you. Said, "Not tonight."

And that was it. No reason. No cruelty. Just a wall you couldn't scale. It made you worse. It made you try harder. Made you burn.

And you knew he saw it.

He watched you every time you left the shower wrapped in nothing but steam and skin. He watched the way your breath caught when you leaned too close, hoping maybe this time he'd touch. He watched when you sat on the bed in nothing but his shirt, your legs curled up, voice light and meaningless as you said something—anything—to fill the silence.

And then he'd say something like, "You're gonna overheat in that."

Like he hadn't just spent the last hour refusing to touch you. Like he didn't care. And maybe he didn't.

But you did.

And each time he looked at you with those strange, indifferent eyes—eyes that didn't blink, didn't flinch, didn't soften—you felt something in you ache deeper.

Something begging to be broken.

You were already halfway gone by the time he asked if you'd ever been tied down before.

It started differently that night. Not with words. Not with warmth. Just... a shift. A quiet pulse beneath the surface of the motel silence. Like the static before a storm.

He wasn't cold. He wasn't distant. He was something else entirely. Coiled.

You felt it before you saw him. The tension in the air was palpable, electric, like something was waiting to happen—but refusing to name itself.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, his hair damp and curling slightly at the ends, steam ghosted after him like a spectre. His chest bare. Sweatpants slung low on his hips. There was no pretence in him. Just presence. Weighted. Measured.

You were already in bed, curled on top of the sheets in one of his old shirts, bare beneath it. Sleeves loose, neckline stretched, your body too warm, too exposed, but you hadn't dared move. Not when you felt him coming like that—like gravity.

He looked at you. And this time—really looked.

Not with the softness he used to carry. Not with anything familiar. Just the quiet scrutiny of a man who was considering what to do with a thing he'd left untouched for too long.

You sat up too fast. Your breath caught. Hope bloomed too violently in your chest, sharp and stupid.

He didn't speak. Just came to the bed and sat beside you, heavy and slow. His thigh pressed against yours.

You didn't move. Couldn't.

Then his hand reached out—dragged over your skin. First your knee. Then the inside of your thigh. Calloused fingertips brushing like he was testing a fault line.

You nearly cried from the contact. Your thighs instinctively pressed together. He didn't react.

And then, like it was nothing, like he was asking whether you wanted your eggs scrambled or fried, he said:

"Ever been tied down before?"

Your mouth went dry. You blinked. Swallowed. Your voice came out breathy, unsure. "Yeah. I mean. Not like—seriously. Not properly. But if you're asking, then—yes. Please."

That last word tumbled out before you could think. Please.

So soft. So desperate. Your face burned with it. You hated how real it sounded. How much you meant it.

But Sam didn't smirk. Didn't lean in. Didn't touch you again. He just nodded once. Sharp. Final. Like he'd already decided.

And then he stood.

You watched him walk to his bag. Watched the tension in his shoulders, the easy cruelty in his posture. He knelt slowly. Unzipped the duffel.

And pulled out cuffs. Not cheap. Not novelty. These were serious. Silver hardware. Matte black. You stared as he brought them over, as he climbed onto the bed and guided your wrists up above your head.

You didn't resist. You couldn't. Your breath came in shallow, shaking waves as he buckled one, then the other, the cool kiss of leather biting softly into your skin.

He didn't speak. Not once.

Your legs were still free, and that felt intentional. But you were too far gone to question it. Because after nearly six weeks of silence, of being looked through like you didn't exist, of begging with your body for anything—

Sam was finally touching you. And you would've let him ruin you all over again just to feel it.

You didn't know what you expected.

Maybe that he'd kiss you. Maybe that he'd strip the shirt off your body and slide between your legs and whisper things he didn't mean in that voice you still dreamed about.

Maybe—stupidly, naively—you thought this would be the night he touched you the way he used to. That the restraints were a doorway back to something you missed, not the beginning of something else entirely.

He said nothing.

Just fastened the last buckle at your wrist, checked the tension, and leaned back on his haunches to study you like a sculpture he wasn't quite finished with. His eyes dragged across your body with clinical disinterest. Like he wasn't moved by you—just measuring.

You shifted a little, testing the give in the cuffs. They didn't budge.

He noticed. Of course he did.

Then he stood. Walked across the room with slow, quiet purpose. You lifted your head to follow him, confused—but something low in your belly was already starting to stir. That old instinct. That familiar fear that felt like arousal.

He knelt by his bag again. Unzipped it. And pulled out something long. White. Thick.

It took you a second to understand what you were looking at. The cord. The shape. The sound it made when he plugged it into the socket beside him and thumbed the switch.

Your stomach dropped.

A wand. The kind that plugs into the wall. Heavy-duty. No batteries. No escape.

"Sam?" You breathed.

He didn't answer. Just cracked his neck, unplugged it, and stood up. Then plugged the thing into a socket nearer the bed. The cord slithered across the floor like a serpent.

He climbed onto the bed. Settled between your thighs like it was his place. Like he owned the space he hadn't touched in weeks.

The wand was still off. But you felt its promise like a threat. He ran it up your inner thigh. Not pressed—just a ghost of contact. Barely there. Then down. A slow stroke. He traced the curve of your knee. The hollow behind it. Down to your ankle. Then up again. Past your knee. Higher. A glancing drag that made your muscles jump. He tickled your foot with it. Cruel. Teasing.

You shivered.

"Sam," you whispered again. "What are you doing?"

No answer.

You tried again. "Are you gonna...?"

Still nothing.

Just the hum of electricity waiting to be lit. And then—just when you were starting to spiral, starting to plead—you said something. You don't even remember what. A joke. A plea. Something breathless and silly and yours. And that's what grabbed him.

His head tilted.

He looked at you. Really looked. And then—without a word—he leaned in, braced one forearm across your hips, and pressed the wand hard to your clit.

It felt like being hit by lightning. You screamed. He didn't blink. Just watched.

And the wand was still on its lowest setting.

You came too fast. Your body had been wound so tight for so long—starved of touch, of friction, of him—that the first hard press of the wand against your clit was enough to detonate you.

It ripped through you like heat lightning. Blinding. Blistering. Your thighs trembled. Your lungs forgot how to breathe. Your wrists strained against the cuffs until the metal bit into your skin.

And he didn't move. He didn't speak. He just watched. Like it wasn't happening to you at all—just a reaction. Just a hypothesis proven true. An equation balancing itself out.

You sobbed once. Sharp and sudden. And that was the only sound you got out before the wand hit you again.

Because he never lifted it.

You weren't even done shaking, and he never lifted it. There was no break. No breath. No reprieve. Just the relentless, searing vibration pulsing into your nerves, still raw and shattered from the orgasm that hadn't even finished echoing through your limbs.

Your hips jerked. Instinctively. Desperately. Trying to get away, to shift, to slide the wand even half an inch from your clit—but his forearm anchored you to the mattress. Heavy and absolute.

It was like being pinned under time itself.

You gasped. Whimpered. "S-Sam—wait—" Your voice cracked on the second syllable.

Nothing. Just the low, brutal hum of the wand vibrating mercilessly against your most fragile point.

Your back arched. Toes curled. You could feel the second orgasm building impossibly fast, but it didn't feel like pleasure. It felt like pain melting into something sharper. Tears welled. Slipped hot down your cheeks. You didn't know when you started crying. It didn't matter.

"Sam, please—it hurts—"

Still no answer. Still no shift.

But he was watching you. Always watching.

His eyes dragged across your face with unsettling calm. You were a trembling, sweating mess and he looked like he was studying weather patterns. Your flushed cheeks. Your bitten lip. The tears that carved silver streaks through the heat of your face. The war in your pupils between panic and want.

You felt it coming again. That unbearable, crashing wave. And you hated how your body begged for it. How you couldn't stop clenching down. How you couldn't stop needing.

Then, finally—

"Are you gonna beg me?"

His voice didn't sound like it belonged to a man touching you. It was too even. Too distant. A detached curiosity. Like he wasn't participating—just conducting the experiment.

You nodded frantically, blinking through tears.

"Please, Sam, please—I c-can't—just let me—please—"

Words fell apart in your mouth. They came out soft. Wrecked. Sweet like blood on sugar.

And he tilted his head. Considered it. Smirked. Then—

"Nope."

And he turned the power up.

The sound deepened. Louder. Thicker. It shook against your clit, brutal and unrelenting.

Your mouth dropped open in a scream that didn't make it out. You couldn't breathe. Couldn't form words. All that came was sound—broken, high, helpless. You thrashed, tried to close your legs, but he slid his knee between them, kept you open, kept you exposed.

"Careful," he said absently. "I'll tie those down too."

And he would. You knew he would. And still—still—your body was rising again. Not from desire. Not from thought. From conditioning. From the helpless surrender of something completely, irrevocably owned.

You were going to come again. And he wasn't going to stop you.

He smirked. Not like someone enjoying himself. Like someone watching a match catch fire in slow motion.

And then—without a word—he turned the dial. The wand kicked up beneath his hand, the hum deepening, vibrating with cruel, mechanical certainty. You couldn't breathe around it. Couldn't think. Couldn't beg anymore.

You screamed.

Your hips lifted off the bed, thighs trembling violently, but his forearm pressed you back down with practiced, effortless strength. Not straining. Just present. Just unmovable.

Your whole body was shaking now—every nerve singing, cracking, splitting under the pressure. Your wrists jerked against the restraints. Useless. Beautiful. Perfect.

Sam didn't speak.

Just tilted his head again. Watched you like something in a museum. A rare, private performance of ruin he had all to himself. His eyes scanned every inch of you—your breasts heaving, your stomach quaking, the wet mess between your thighs glistening in the dim motel light.

At one point, your moans turned guttural. Animal. You were growling now—deep, primal sounds tearing out of your throat as you thrashed beneath him, desperate and feral.

He didn't even blink. Just quirked an eyebrow. Frowned slightly, like he was considering something.

Maybe it was the tears. Maybe it was the way your legs kept trying to close, spasming around his body.

He shifted his weight slightly. Let the wand ease off for just a second—not mercy, just a pause in the procedure.

Then, quietly:

"You keep kicking like that, I'm gonna tie your legs down." His voice was flat. Low. Not a threat. A guarantee.

You sobbed—half fear, half pleasure, all wreckage.

"Sam—please—I c-can't take it, I can't—"

"Mm," he murmured, like he wasn't listening at all. Like he was just acknowledging the noise.

Then he pressed the wand back down. Hard.

You shattered. It was your third orgasm—or fourth? You didn't know. Couldn't count. Couldn't breathe. All you knew was the white-hot pleasure burning through you like fever, nerves flayed open, clit swollen and screaming, muscles locked in a full-body convulsion.

And still—he watched.

"You look good like this," he murmured, almost to himself.

His eyes dragged down your body again, and something in them changed. Just for a second. Not softness. Not warmth. Something darker. Appreciation.

"Didn't know you could come like that," he added.

Then he reached down with his free hand, dragged two fingers through the slick mess between your thighs, lifted it, and watched it string between them.

You were still twitching. Still sobbing.

He tilted his head.

"Still want me to stop?"

You nodded, breath hitching.

He smiled. "Too bad."

And turned the wand up again.

You stopped fighting. Somewhere between the last orgasm and the silence that came after it, your body just... gave.

You weren't moaning anymore. You weren't pleading. Your legs had stopped twitching, fallen limp against the mattress. Your wrists hung slack in the cuffs, fingers curled in weak, trembling fists. Your jaw had gone slack, mouth wet and open, your breath a ghost barely making it past your lips.

The wand was still buzzing against your clit. The vibrations felt like they were coming from inside your bones. Like you weren't separate from it anymore—just a body wrapped around sensation.

And Sam—

He was still watching. Expression unreadable. Not smirking. Not smiling. Not cruel. Just... aware. Like he was watching a star die. Like he was documenting the end of something.

You blinked through the blur of your own tears. Your mouth parted. You swallowed hard. Licked your lips. Tried to speak.

"Sam," you whispered. It didn't even sound like a word. Just a shape. A sob turned sideways.

His eyes flicked to yours. And you knew you had him.

"Please," you said again. Softer now. Wetter. Your voice cracked in the middle, jaw trembling as you pushed the words out around spit and sobs. "I just want to feel you."

He didn't answer. Just tilted his head. Considered you.

You swallowed hard. Fought against the breath trembling in your lungs. It caught in your throat and broke open like a wound.

"Please fuck me," you whispered. "I need you inside me."

And that—that—was the moment the wand shut off.

The silence felt like a gunshot. Deafening. Immediate. Your whole body flinched like it had been struck.

You sobbed without sound, throat too raw to make more noise, your body folding inward like it didn't know what to do without the pain.

Sam shifted his weight. Reached down. Dragged your legs apart a little wider with rough, patient hands.

Didn't say a word.

He didn't untie your wrists. Didn't lean down to kiss you. Didn't offer comfort or care or anything that resembled the man you used to know.

He just pushed into you. One smooth, slow thrust. Deep. Unstoppable.

You cried out—raw, grateful, broken. You were so tight. So swollen. So soaked.

He groaned, low in his chest. His hips stilled against yours. His cock buried to the base.

You sobbed again. A shudder passed through your whole frame.

"Thank you," you whispered. Voice shredded. Barely a breath.

And finally—finally—he smiled.

You should've been too far gone to feel any of it. You should've been numb. Raw. Burnt-out. But the moment Sam pushed into you—deep, slow, unrelenting—your body betrayed you. You felt it. Every inch of him. Every thick, unforgiving stretch. The way your walls clenched without meaning to, the way your breath caught, the way your ribs shook like they were bracing for collapse.

And Sam—

He groaned. Loud. Low. Like the sound was ripped from the centre of him, like it surprised even him. His voice came thick with it, gravel and heat and the barest echo of awe.

"Fuck," he hissed, his hips pressing forward until he was buried to the hilt. He held there, motionless, like he was savouring the pressure, the heat, the obscene way your cunt wrapped around him like it never wanted to let go.

He moved then, just enough for you to feel it. A subtle drag and push, a slow grind that made you choke on a moan.

He laughed under his breath, not mocking, not amused—just satisfied. Sated. Possessive.

"This what happens when I don't fuck you for a while?" He muttered, the words sliding out like sin. "Get all tight and gummy for me?"

Your legs shook, useless things twitching in time with every slow roll of his hips. You tried to lift them, to wrap them around his waist, to pull him deeper somehow, but you had no strength left. Your limbs were jelly, your body trembling with aftershock and overstimulation.

He noticed, of course. He always noticed.

He grabbed your legs, one in each hand, and bent them to his liking. Spread you wider. Pushed your thighs back until you were completely open to him, nothing hidden, nothing held back. A helpless offering.

"Been dripping for me for weeks," he murmured, more to himself than to you. "Didn't think you could get wetter. But look at this—"

He bottomed out again, slow and sure, and you sobbed at the stretch.

"You hear that?"

And you did. That slick, filthy sound of him fucking into you. The wet slap of skin and the obscene suction of your cunt trying to hold him in. That squelch. It echoed, filled the room, drowned you.

"You're fucking soaked," he growled. "Tight little cunt, and so fucking wet—just from begging."

It should've been cruel. Should've been humiliating. But it wasn't. It was worship, in the way only he could give it now—clinical, feral, exacting.

And your body—fragile, shattered thing that it was—reacted.

Somehow, impossibly, you felt it again. A flicker. A spark. A low coil in your gut starting to pull, starting to burn.

A new orgasm. Real. Alive. Building.

You shouldn't have had anything left. You should've been dry and broken and spent. But he was still inside you. Still filling you.

And somehow, you wanted more.

Sam fucked you deep and steady, hips working in patient rhythm, each thrust a study in precision. He moved like a man obsessed with sensation, with friction, with the hot, pulsing clamp of your body trying to pull him deeper. His breath hitched through gritted teeth, short and hot and ragged.

"Still squeezing me," he muttered, voice pitched low with something almost reverent. "Still fucking clenching. Greedy little thing."

You nodded, unable to do anything else. A whimper slipped past your lips, helpless and pleading.

His grip on your thighs tightened.

"Gonna come again, aren't you?"

And god help you—you were.

You couldn't stop nodding. It wasn't deliberate. You weren't even aware you were doing it. Your mouth hung slack, jaw trembling, drool catching on your lips, and your head just bobbed—slow, frantic, helpless—like your body was trying to say yes before your mind could catch up.

Your chest heaved. Every breath came ragged. And your vision—fuck, your vision—kept slipping in and out of focus, blurring at the edges like you were looking through water, like the world was trying to fade into white.

And Sam—

He noticed.

He was watching your face like he always did, like he was measuring something no one else could see. And when he saw your eyes start to roll, to cross from the pressure and the pleasure and the sheer overload of it all, he made a noise low in his throat. Something mean.

"Oh yeah," he muttered, voice dragging rough over your skin. "There it is."

He adjusted his grip on your thighs, spread you even wider. His thrusts stayed steady, deliberate, but now each one came with weight. Purpose. Like he was trying to drag your soul out through your cunt.

"Eyes are going all stupid on me," he murmured, not even breathless. Just observing. "You know they're crossing, right?"

Your mouth opened wider. You couldn't even whimper. Just little gasps. Little sobs.

He leaned in closer. Didn't slow down. His hips snapped harder, deeper, and the sound of him inside you was obscene—wet, relentless, flesh against flesh, the room filled with it.

"Ruined," he said, almost to himself. "Look at you. All wrecked for me."

You blinked slow, barely conscious, and he laughed—low and cruel and fond.

"Think you're gonna come again, baby?" He asked. "Huh?"

You nodded wildly. Couldn't stop. Couldn't breathe.

"You look like you're about to pass out," he said, and there was genuine amusement in his voice now. "Mouth open, eyes crossed, legs shaking—fuck. You're loving this, aren't you?"

You tried to say yes, but all that came out was a wrecked little noise, part sob, part moan, all devotion.

Sam groaned again, deeper this time, hips stuttering.

"So goddamn wet," he said. "So fucking tight."

He looked down between you—watched his cock disappear inside your soaked, trembling body—and exhaled through his teeth.

"Still clenching like you don't plan on letting me go."

Your whole body was tensing now. Coiling. The burn rising again. Higher. Higher. You couldn't believe it. Couldn't survive it. But it was coming.

And Sam knew it. He knew everything.

You came like it was being ripped out of you. No build. No grace. No warning. Just a violent collapse.

It tore through you without permission, without pause, your body locking up tight and trembling like it had been hit with a live wire. Your mouth dropped open in a silent scream, your wrists yanked against the restraints, and every muscle in your body seized as wave after wave rolled through you—hot, endless, obscene.

Sam didn't stop.

He fucked you through it. Groaning now. Low, primal. The rhythm of his hips was brutal, unforgiving. Like he wanted to feel every single aftershock drag against his cock.

"There she is," he growled, watching your face contort. "That's the sound I was waiting for."

You sobbed through it, barely able to breathe, your thighs quaking around his waist. He slapped your cheek—not hard, but enough to make your eyes snap open, unfocused and wet.

"Don't you fucking pass out on me," he muttered, panting, sweat dripping from his jaw. "Not yet."

He fucked you harder.

You wailed.

"So squishy," he grunted. "So fucking gummy and tight. Knew I could get you like this if I just left you wanting long enough."

Your entire body jerked with each thrust, overstimulated and undone.

"Sulking around for weeks," he murmured, voice edged in something sharp, amused. "All moody. All needy. Thought I didn't notice?"

His mouth twisted into a mean little grin.

"Didn't really care. Not until now."

Another thrust. Hard. Deep.

"But this?" He breathed. "This made it worth it."

You hiccuped around your own breath, body twitching beneath him.

"I could come wherever I want," he muttered, eyes locked on the mess he was making of you. "Could come inside you, watch it leak out slow—"

Another snap of his hips. You cried out.

"—or maybe push into your ass and shoot there instead."

You choked on a sob. Hiccuped again.

He laughed, breathless and dark.

"Maybe next time."

And then he pulled out.

You didn't even feel the loss—you were too far gone, too wrecked. A moment later, the heat of him painted across your stomach. He groaned, low and rough, as he came—thick and hot over your skin, dripping down your ribs and pooling into the waistband of his shirt still hanging from your shoulders.

He stayed there for a second, cock twitching, breath ragged. Then he looked at you and smiled.

The room was silent except for the hum of the motel's old air conditioner and the soft, broken sound of your own breath.

You couldn't move.

Your wrists still strained in their restraints, numb and tingling from how hard you'd pulled against them. Your legs had fallen open and stayed there, spent and twitching. The cool air licked over your thighs and the warm, wet mess drying across your stomach. Your body didn't feel like yours anymore—it felt like his.

Sam didn't speak at first. He just looked at you.

No tenderness. No apology. Just those soulless, strange eyes studying you like you were something he'd built and finally gotten right.

He leaned forward. His fingers brushed the inside of your thigh, then dragged higher to your stomach, where your skin still gleamed. He wiped it away with the edge of the ruined shirt you were still wearing—his shirt, the one he hadn't bothered to take off you.

Not until he was done.

He didn't look at your face when he cleaned you. Just moved like he was tidying up after himself. Like it was routine.

Then his hands moved to the cuffs.

He unbuckled one wrist, then the other. Slow. Precise. As if the restraint had never been about force—it had always been about control.

You let your arms fall to your sides. Rubbed your wrists gently. Felt the ache bloom.

Sam pulled the hem of the shirt down over your body. It stuck to your skin in places, clinging damply to your ribs, your stomach. He didn't fix it. Just let it settle there.

And then he lay down beside you. He didn't touch you. Didn't hold you. Just laid back, arm tucked under his head, eyes on the ceiling. And finally—quietly—he said it.

"You needed that."

You didn't answer. Not right away.

Your chest rose and fell in shallow, uneven waves. You turned your head slowly to look at him. He was already watching you. Always watching. That same unreadable expression. That same stillness. Like nothing in him had changed, even after all he'd done.

Those strange eyes.

They should've scared you. But they didn't.

"Do you regret it?" He asked. His voice was low. Calm. Clinical.

You rubbed your wrists again. Felt the skin there—warm and worn. You thought about everything that had led to this. The waiting. The silence. The ruin. And then you whispered:

"No."

And maybe—just maybe—you really meant it.

Sam taglist: @losers-clvb @bejeweledinterludes @angelicjackles @sacr1ficialang3l @blossomingorchids @xoswiftieprincess @mostlymarvelgirl @lunaleah @itshellfire @drakulana @nevercameraready @liiiilsss @mj-102009 @bohoooitsme @n3lly-h3artz @deangirlsstuff67 <3

[pome-seed]

The Soldier's Keeper ★ 22

Pairing: Winter Soldier!Bucky x Doctor!Reader

Summary: Rehabilitation is just a little bit easier with Bucky at your side.

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Gunshot wounds. Mention of stitches.

Authors Note: Please comment, I love interacting with you guys! Be kind! ALSO, if you want to be apart of the taglist, let me know :)

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

“I’m getting really- fuck- really tired of rehabilitation.” You panted, holding Bucky’s arm for stability. 

“I know. Just be glad you’re still walking.”

It had been about two weeks since you were shot. 

You spent the first few days in bed, laying in a pool of your own pity. Finally, after Bucky had decided your stitches were healing well, you were allowed to start putting weight on it. It took a moment, and a great amount of lifting on Bucky’s end, but you stood. 

It started with light pressure and mostly hopping, but you got by. Most of the time, Bucky had to guide you to the kitchen table and bathroom. Too many strenuous movements and the stitches in your side were pulling taut. 

You moved with a noticeable limp, barely able to stand on your left leg for more than a few moments. “I used to run track- have I ever told you that?” You panted, taking another unsteady step.

“No.” Bucky responded, holding his other arm out as a precaution. “How long did you do it?”

“Highschool, all of highschool.” You gripped his metal arm, thankful for the steady bar to rely on. “And college, for the first few years. I had to give it up after a while, I started taking on too many classes. I wanted to have some free time.” You rambled, trying to ignore the burning in your thigh. 

“You never picked it back up?”

You shook your head in response. “Nope- doubt I ever will, now.” You chuckled dryly. You weren’t a surgeon, but you were still a doctor. You knew the odds of your leg healing properly. “Have you ever played any sports?”

“I played football and baseball in highschool.”

You paused to look at him. “Wooow,” you huffed, smiling at the way he rolled his eyes at you. “I bet you were popular.”

“Keep walking.”

You clicked your tongue and took another shaky step. “So grumpy. Were you this grumpy back in the day?” He said nothing. “I doubt it. I bet you were a ladies man, always charming and ready to make friends.” You imagined him smiling, running around with friends at the bar. “I mean- I’ve been to the museum. They said you were talented in just about everything.” 

When you finally looked over at him, he looked drawn in on himself. Awkward and sour. You felt immediate regret toil in your stomach. “Sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”

He shook his head in response, continuing to guide you in another step. “It’s fine.”

“It’s not- Bucky,” you forced him to stop walking. You set a hand on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I don’t know anything about your life. I didn’t mean to make it sound like you were better before, or whatever. You’re pretty great as you are now.” 

He stared at you awkwardly, his gaze flickering across your face. “Thanks.”

You laughed at the confused look on his face. “I mean it. You aren’t the most chatty man, but I’m glad to have you around.”

“Just start walking, quit talking.” He turned away, awkward and maybe even a bit flustered.

Recovering with Bucky became too familiar, in your opinion. You felt like you were constantly in a state of disrepair around him. 

But he never complained. 

In fact, you started to notice just how good he was at tending to you. You wondered if he liked it, being the one doing the caring for. You wouldn’t call it a control issue, but maybe it helped to be the one in charge, after so long being stagnant.

You didn’t mind it, in all honesty. You were thankful for all his help. You’d often need his help getting to the bathroom, and fixing a stool in the shower to sit on when you needed to bathe. 

You felt a little helpless, every now and then, but you were still free. You were alive. 

And there was no one you trusted more than Bucky.

After another few days, Bucky came home with something that made you almost shout with excitement. A portable DVD player. “Where on earth did you get that?” You laughed, grinning from the moment he walked in the door.

“The corner store,” He told you, setting a plastic bag of DVD cases in your lap. “And those at a thrift store.”

You couldn’t help but laugh as you dug through the bag. “Oh my god,” you glanced up at him. “These are some- very interesting picks.”

He sat down beside the bed, his hands tapping in his lap. “I didn’t know what you would like, so I just kind of grabbed whatever was on the popular shelf.”

You sorted through the first few. The Notebook. Bat Man. Titanic. Avatar. Willy Wonka. Jumanji. The National Treasure. And a few more you’d never watched. “They’re some of the best, so it’s perfect.” You chuckled. 

“These are the ‘pop culture’ moments you wanted to teach me about?” He tilted his head at you.

You nodded, cracking open The Titanic. “Oh yeah, and we’ll start with this one. It’s one of the best.”

“The Titanic?”

You paused, it dawning on you that he was born just after the actual Titanic sank. “Wait- did you know any titanic survivors?” You gaped.

He tilted his head at you curiously as he nodded. “The survivors docked in New York city. A lot of them- the kids, I mean, grew up and lived there. I’d met a few.”

You stared at him for a moment, shaking your head in shock. “I can’t believe yours and the Captain's strength is what marveled at the most. You guys are actual history, it's crazy.”

Bucky swallowed, his gaze shifting to the side- the way it always did when Captain America was mentioned. “Yeah.” He muttered, watching the metal shift as he moved his fingers.

You felt your stomach turn as you realized how horribly that could sound. Your words made him sound like a historical artifact, and not a person. “Hey- Bucky,” you reached out, your fingers brushing against his shirt. “I’m sorry. That sounded awful. I just mean, it’s different- interesting- what you’ve seen.” 

He nodded, waving you off. “It’s fine. Now, are we going to watch the movie? I think this is the first time I can teach you about what is correct and incorrect.”

You smiled softly at his attempt to move back to normalcy. “Absolutely.”

After that, the two of you often spent the night either playing cards, or watching movies.

 Most of the movies ended up being in a Romanian dub, and only a few had subtitles, but you didn’t mind all that much. You had watched those movies growing up, so you were very familiar with most of the punchlines.

Every once in a while, Bucky would translate for you, during the particularly confusing parts of a few of the older movies. It helped. Before you were shot, Bucky was always trying to feed you common or useful Romanian words. Your pronunciation wasn’t all that great, but he tried not to tease you for it.

  You enjoyed whenever Bucky spoke Romanian. You liked the sound of his voice. Bucky seemed to feel more comfortable speaking Romanian, like it was his mother tongue. 

And whatever it was that did it, you liked seeing Buck comfortable.

A/N: I picked a bunch or random movies for the dvds, idk. Hope you guys liked todays chapter!

@rafesgurl @pleasecallmeunhinged @jason-todd-fangirl-14 @frog-fans-unite @lonelyghosts-stuff @cherryandsugar @a-world-with-pure-imagination @unicornqueen05 @cupids-mf-arrow @sharkylalala @littlesuniee @meineguete @hawkinsavclub1983 @theconsultingdoctor10 @dollface-xoxo @bloodmocha

[cherryswithcokediet]

Every time you were together it seemed that the rest of the world did not exist.

Rafe found in you that peace that he had been looking for all his life. It was comforting to him that when it was time to leave the house you were there for him, waiting for him while he quickly rested his head on your lap and you massaged his temples while you told him about his day.

He loved listening to you. From any minimum thing to the most absurd interpretation of a fight you had witnessed in the country club. Just by listening to your voice, his shoulders unloaded that familiar tension and his sour behavior went into the background just to see you smile.

And after a long time (you did almost nothing) Rafe had taken a few days off - as if he wasn't the boss. You had spent wonderful days from dreamy awakenings with breakfast in bed, night walks on the beach in the moonlight to uncontrollable parties that only reminded you of the old days.

If there was something you really liked, it was repeating traditions.

So it was no wonder that you wore that navy blue satin dress that left your back exposed just enough for your boyfriend to want to see more.

It was also not surprising that you were challenging him with your eyes and provoking him while you danced with your friends rubbing with them while your hands traveled all over your body and he did not take long to follow your movements while he squeezed his jaw and scanned his surroundings so that no one else could see what was his.

And much less it was surprising when in your third drink, Rafe approached you as if he were a lion who had been days without eating, and began to prepare his dessert before the first course. A kiss on the lobe of your ear that made you closer to his chest, a hand on your waist while you stood on tiptoe and grabbed him by him whose to devour those lips of which you had long become addicted.

In the blink of an eye you were in a room, you against the wall moaning while Rafe went in and out of you with so much impetus that it seemed that you were going to break the wall.

"So that's why you wanted to come to this damn party, right baby?" Growl as he stuck his buds in your hips to control his stimulation.

And since the shame with him didn't exist, you quickly nodded.

"Yes?" He said while he fucked you and mounted you on the desk "You don't have enough ration of my cock, is that it baby?"

Your mind was traveling to infinite worlds, you felt like you were arriving. Your heart was going faster, your toes began to curve and you began to feel the famous sensation in the underside of your stomach.

"I never have enough of you, Ra-Rafe" you murmured as you could as your orgasm began to manifest.

And the worst - best - of all, Rafe noticed it.

Of course he noticed it, when it came to you he had to know everything. And before you could reach your climax he withdrew from you with a sly smile and put you on all fours on the desk.

Without warning he got back inside you getting a moan in unison. I grab you by the face putting it against the dark wood while with her other hand I touch your clitoris.

There were many thrusts for him to start moaning louder. And if there was something that Rafe loved, it was that you moaned like that.

He was dazed.

So much so that neither of them heard the door of the room open. Not even when that person's glass fell to the floor. And much less the police sirens that were downstairs.

You opened your eyes when your body recovered from your first orgasm and you let out such a scream that you doubted that you would have become aphonic on the spot. Topper was in the middle of the room, jaw out of place and eyes wide open.

Rafe quickly put you behind your body while you fixed your dress as you could. Your boyfriend was killing his friend the moment he did put his eyes on you.

"Get out before I kill you," Rafe growled while making a gesture to his friend, but before Topper said a word you came out with reddened cheeks - so much from the shame for your orgasm - and you started walking without even looking at the blond.

"Let's go home, Rafey" he quickly nodded and when he saw that you were a few meters away he turned to his friend.

"Erase any image you have in your disgusting mind of my girl, Topper. Because since I found out that you have even dreamed about her, I will forget that one day you and I were friends."

Rafe came out of the door slamming the door and Topper at that moment caught his breath, leaned on the wall and breathed while touching his face. I take a look at his room.

"Sons of bitches"

[phantom-of-the-501st]

What happened to Echo between the Citadel and his rescue from Skako?

I started randomly thinking about this and it got stuck in my brain so now we're yapping about it.

The thing is, the initial assumption when watching the Bad Batch arc is that Echo has been kept in a stasis chamber with cables stuck in his head for a year(ish). But that doesn't actually make much sense when you think about it and because of that I don't think that that was the initial plan. So here's a vague outline of what I think was going on with Echo between S3 and S7.

Echo would have been found by the Separatists, and the fact that he was alive would have been of great interest to them because it means they could have a clone in their possession that they could try and use. Now the first few days/months (depending on the quality of healthcare) would have been spent waiting for Echo to recover enough. Following that, the Separatists would have likely tortured Echo in an attempt to get information out of him because, lets be honest, spending a load of money to extract information from his brain by hooking him up to a machine would not be the logical first step. That's the "oh fuck nothing is working" stage of planning.

And the thing is, whatever torture methods they likely put Echo through didn't do a whole lot because otherwise they would have been using the information they got from him a hell of a lot sooner. Echo probably spent who knows how long being tortured (and we've seen Andor. We know the shit the Empire does) and gave them nothing. Give that man some credit because wtf.

And then what? They have a clone (more specifically and ARC trooper) in their possession and they aren't going to let that opportunity go to waste so easily, so they devise a new plan. If they can't get anything out of him, then how else can they use him?

It's this bit that I think explains why Echo has so many prosthetics for a man being held in a container for months on end. If you have a prisoner you don't want escaping, why give him legs? That seems counterintuitive. And why give him a scomp? Honestly, I don't think the Separatists initially handed him over to the Techno Union for information extraction. I think they wanted to brainwash Echo into something that they could control, to turn him into a droid.

Look at the CX troopers. The Empire has taken clones to convert them into brainwashed agents and I wouldn't be surprised if Echo ended up being a test run for that. The fact that he has prosthetic limbs suggests that gave him to the TU with the promise of payment if they could turn him into something they could use. Who better to help fight against the GAR than someone who was trained by them and knows their fighting style?

However, that plan clearly didn't pan out either because when Rex and the Batch find him, he's hooked up to machines in a stasis chamber. What I think happened is that after weeks/months of Plan B not working out, the Separatists threatened to withhold payment from the TU unless they actually gave them something useful. And with nothing else working, I think the TU went to the only option they could really think of: to wire Echo into a machine and forcibly remove the information.

It explains the prosthetic limbs and it explains why it took so long for anyone to notice that the Separatists had Echo's strategies. I think they tried other things with him, and when that failed, went for the only option they had that actually worked.

Now that does raise the question of why Echo thinks he's still at the Citadel when they initially remove him. If he's spent several months conscious and being tortured/experimented on before being plugged in, then why does he not know that time has passed?

I think the answer is simply that he's disoriented. It probably took a second for his brain to catch up with where he was following the data extraction. And honestly, that would explain why Echo doesn't seem to be confused at any point following that when it comes to what period of time it is. There's no "wtf do you mean it's been a year?" moment, he just kind of falls back into things. I think it just took a couple of minutes for him to reorient himself before he was aware of where he was and what was happening. And to be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if there're periods of time that have been blocked from his memory as a trauma response. That would also explain why he only ever talks about Skako specifically and nothing else.

So yeah, that's my ramble on what I think happened to Echo. I truly don't think that the stasis chamber was the initial plan. It seems like a last resort following failed attempts at other things. Either way, I just wanna give Echo a hug because he's been through a lot. :')

Tagging soon Echo-loving moots in case they want to read this :D

@saturn-sends-hugs @the-bi-space-ace @nobody-expects-the-inquisitorius

[lewanarta]

Andrzej Stękała for Onet: "I would like to ask what Damian and I did to the president that he denied us basic rights, such simple safety." In an interview with Dawid Dudko, the Polish ski jumping medallist talks about the grief over his partner: "There are images of Damian's death that are stuck in my mind. There was no chance to save him."

Translation of the interview under the cut.

Dawid Dudko: Damian would like this interview?

Andrzej Stękała: I'm sure he would be sitting here next to me right now and together we would tell you about the eight years of our relationship and our plans to spend the rest of our lives together. For me we are still together, only Damian is no longer here, as if someone took him away from me.

Do you still cry a lot?

I try not to cry and look forward, go to trainings, meet people. People in general make me able to pull myself together somehow. The worst thing is when I'm left alone, then it's hard to bear it all, it gets really hard, so unbearable.

I guess it's good to let yourself cry, but it's also good to remember that the other person would like to see you happy, however difficult it is right now.

My loved ones tell me that they would like to see such a happy Andrzej, smiling like before. But right now I can't honestly be happy about anything. I would like to finish our house that Damian and I built together, I know he would like that.

After you started a relationship, you wanted to quit sports.

Well yes, I thought: what do you mean, a gay professional athlete! I imagined that if people found out, I'd be cancelled. I decided that if I must choose between love and work, the choice is obvious for me. It was thanks to Damian that I realised that if I wanted there to be a place for gay people in sport, I should do something myself.

And that something shouldn't be running away.

I think everyone wants to share their happiness with others, not hide your phone from your teammates in the locker room while your boyfriend texts you. That's how I behaved in the beginning, hiding my phone, constantly glancing behind me to see if maybe someone was looking and about to ask me something and I'd have to lie. I would go to training camps and hide. Separation from Damian was one thing, but even worse was the whole thing of hiding him from the world, as if I was going to do something bad with this love of mine to someone.

Were there fictional girlfriends?

I had a lot of female friends, I always enjoyed the company of girls, I just somehow never was drawn to them in the sense that I was drawn to colleagues. One day, around the time of primary school, I asked my mum if I could bring a girl home. I tried something with the girls, but of course nothing came out of it, because it couldn't come out.

It is said that mothers generally feel all this.

Mine felt it too. It was her I told first. We had a long conversation, she explained that she supported me, but that she wouldn't want anyone to hurt me when there is still a lot of homophobia around. She's a strong woman, she's been through a lot, I admire her. You have no idea how much time I spent doing this kind of assessment in my head, who I could possibly tell at the beginning, who wouldn't reject me and think horrible things about me, or would not call me names at all…

I have a very good idea.

Oh yeah, you know what I'm talking about.

Who was the first person you told at work?

My coach. He hugged me, told me it didn't change anything and that I was a f***ing awesome person.

And you got a big weight off your back.

How much can you live like that, purposely getting up early so no one gets suspicious that you live with the other guy? Because I told people I was living at my family home, and I was already with Damian at the time and we were renting a flat together.

And then you made a public coming out.

With that support from people close to me, not only family but also the guys I train with, it's been easier. My mates know that just because I'm gay doesn't mean you have to bit your tongue in front of me or not tell any jokes because it's not appropriate.

Because you have support and acceptance from them.

Well, I am very grateful to them for such openness. They don't allow themselves to be manoeuvred into political games.

What do you mean by political games?

You watch the news with your family, that family loves you, supports you, accepts you, and from the TV they hear that you are an ideology and a threat to the family. Our president denied the humanity of me too and the love of my life. It is known that many politicians play with homophobia, but this is the president of our country. And yet it was also the ‘scary’ gay man who was his source of national pride, shaking his hand.

Today, would you also shake hands with a president who threatened the nation with LGBT+ people?

I think I would. But I don't know if I would accept an individual state decoration from him, since who I am goes against his views. Today I would certainly like to talk to him, like a human being to human being. Because those few years ago, when he congratulated us on the team World Cup in Zakopane, the conditions for such a conversation were not there. And I was still sitting in the closet.

So what would you like to say to the president today?

I would like to ask what Damian and I did to the president that he denied us our basic rights, such simple safety. I would ask where the problem lies. Why the hatred? Mr President, you have a wife, your loved one. I also had a loved one, but officially we were strangers to each other. That really hurts.

And how do you feel this formal strangeness on a daily basis? Strangeness, let's be more precise, enforced by the lack of civil partnerships in Poland, the possibility of formalising the shared lives of two, adult, loving people.

There are images from Damian's death that have stuck in my mind. Certainly that moment when I found him at home, lying on the floor, and I tried to save him. But also the situation with the rescue helicopter, which I was afraid they wouldn't let me into, because I didn't formally have any rights to Damian. The doctors with everything headed to his mum.

Did you finally get into that helicopter?

Of course Damian's mum gave her consent, but it was no longer needed. There was no chance to save him.

Will you tell us what happened?

He suffered a heart attack. A few hours earlier we were still talking to each other, as if nothing was going to happen. Only in the morning, when I left for training, he was still asleep, so I didn't wake him up. I knew that when he got up he would make breakfast for the people who were building our house… Sorry, Dawid, it's still difficult to talk about it.

For me, the challenge in this conversation is not to cry myself. Thank you, Andrzej, for talking about all this publicly despite the difficulties. Because grief in LGBT+ relationships is still an almost absent topic in our country.

After all, we really don't want special treatment. It's just about what is due to adult, tax-paying, honest people. My coming out is also a reminder of this.

With it you also break with stereotypes. In the general awareness, an LGBT+ person is associated with the artistic world rather than the sporting world.

It's not worth hiding. Nothing bad happened to me at work when people found out who I was, I didn't experience anything that I could call homophobia in sport. In everyday life there are some offensive messages or comments. But should I care about someone who insults me anonymously from a fictitious account? You know, I think our national openness is much better than, for example, some politicians claim.

According to surveys, Poles are ready for civil unions more than some politicians are convinced. 'The LGBT community cannot expect me to force it or deal with their issues'. - Law and Justice presidential candidate Karol Nawrocki recently stressed.

It makes me want to cry when I hear such words.

We are talking during the Easter season. Did you celebrate this time with Damian somehow?

Yes, we were believers. I believe in God, I'm a Catholic, although it's getting harder and harder when you look at the Church. I go to church sometimes, but much more rarely than I used to. I try not to listen to sermons, because from the altar they can say really nasty things. I go for prayer. Damian and I used to go together.

Did you want to get married?

Damian proposed to me. See, I'm wearing a ring on my finger. We were waiting that maybe something in our country would change one day, we hoped we would live to see better times. We didn't want to go abroad and get married there, when in Poland such a wedding doesn't matter. As for the holidays, I don't generally associate them with the best things. Last Christmas we cried, had Christmas dinner and cried with my mum that Damian was gone.

When you acknowledge how difficult it is to maintain a relationship with the Church today, I am reminded of the words of Paweł Dobrowolski, the current director of Olszyn Jaracz Theatre, also a gay believer, who said in our interview: a Catholic also has his limits.

You could say that today's Church is testing our patience.

Damian had a Catholic funeral?

Yes, as a man of faith he would have wanted such a funeral. He was bid farewell by a good priest, because there are still such priests, after all. I assume that the priest knew very well that Damian and I were more than just friends. He kept looking at me during the funeral.

You could have said goodbye to your loved one. Many LGBT+ people in the current legal situation are sometimes deprived of this opportunity at all, they cannot go to the funeral of their partners, they are forbidden to do so by their formal family.

After my coming out, I got words of support from world-class ski jumping stars like Karl Geiger and Martin Schmitt. They said it could be easier for many people in Poland thanks to me. That's what I think about it too and that's why I'm sharing my lifetime loss with people now.

What are your plans, Andrzej?

I simply have to learn to live again, I just don't know how yet.

[ennui-whimsy-and-me]

Hello, my lovely!

I’d love to request a headcanon for Emmett: what’s his idea of being romantic for Y/N? How would he execute a romantic night for her?

Hey~ babes! Thanks for the request, I hope you like how it turned out! 🫶

𝖤𝗆𝗆𝖾𝗍𝗍 𝗑 ��𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖾𝗋 𝖧𝖾𝖺𝖽𝖼𝖺𝗇𝗈𝗇𝗌

• Emmett is a simple and, more often than not, practical man. He’s not fancy or over the top with things like “just because” gifts and dates. No, anything from him comes from the heart - not the wallet.

• When he decides it’s been too damn long since he’s spent quality time with his girl - without the boys being involved - he gets to work.

• The first thing he does is make sure that your schedules are clear for a weekend. Because this man isn’t going to be satisfied with just one night with you.

• The second thing he does is send his boys off for that weekend, so they won’t walk in on interrupt the two of you. Luckily his parents volunteer to take them, his dad offering his sons a trip to the lake.

• Again, this man does not do fancy or expensive. He’s not cheap, just practical. He’ll save a date to an expensive restaurant for your anniversary or another special occasion.

• What he does do is he comes home a bit earlier than usual and gets to work. He starts by cleaning up around the house, making sure toys are put away, counters are clean, floor is swept, etc.

• And personal maintenance. It’s nothing major he needs to do, the man’s not a heathen. He just tidies up his appearance a bit - takes extra care with his nails, showers, shaves, and puts on that cologne you got him.

• He’s already informed you that you have the house to yourselves all weekend. He thought it might startle you a little to come home and find the boys gone.

• So when you do get home, the lack of two noisy boys isn’t want surprises you.

• It’s the fact that the house is practically spotless, brand new jars of your favorite scented candles are burning, there’s music playing somewhere, and a mouth watering aroma is wafting from the kitchen.

• After you’ve changed and Emmett has set the table, he pours you a glass of your favorite wine and the two of you sit down together.

• It’s nice - really, really nice. Emmett doesn’t cook a lot, but what he does cook it’s always so good.

• So you sit there, eating and laughing and enjoying each other’s company. And it feels so amazing to spend time together like this, just basking in each other’s presence. Relaxed.

• The entire night, Emmett looks at you like you are the sun, the moon, and every star. Because to him, you are. He knows that’s cheesy to say, but it really is true. And he tells you that throughout the night. How much he loves you, appreciates you, and adores you.

• He really wants you to know how much you mean to him.

• He also really wants you to know how much he wants to spread you out on that table and

[leonalovesalot]

Mrs. Robinson II

PatrickZweig x Older&Married!Reader

18+ Minors DNI

wc: 2.9k

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

"Good girl."

You felt a shiver run through you at his words. You were doing this weren't you? You really were going to throw your loyalty away for a flirt- a philanderer.

"I'll pay the tab. Why don't you go get us a room, hm?" Patrick moves his hand from the crevice of your thigh to your cheek to brush a few hairs out of your eyes.

You nod wordlessly, like you were in a trance. You grab your laptop with trembling hands and place it in your bag. You stumble off of the barstool causing Patrick to bring his arm around your waist to steady you.

"Careful," He grins.

You force a smile signalling you're okay. After placing your bag on your shoulder, you walk out of the bar and towards the front desk. You tried not to think about what you were going to do. Paying for a room, in the same hotel that your husband was currently sleeping in, to have sex with a man who was- wait, how old was Patrick? Oh God, you know nothing about him. You were about to have sex with a complete stranger. Is this what you want? Is this really what you-

"Ah, hello ma'am, what can I do for you?" The receptionist smiles politely at you.

You were relieved that it wasn't the man who had checked you in a few days ago. He would've definitely been suspicious as to why you were booking a room without your husband.

"Hi, yeah, could I get a room for the night? One night only, please." You were speaking hurriedly and impatiently tapping your foot.

"Of course, and would you like a double room or a single?" She types away into her computer.

"Single," Patrick replies as he walks up from behind you. He wraps his arms around your waist and puts his chin on your shoulder.

You froze and your brain was seconds away from short-circuiting. Could the receptionist tell you were cheating- or about to cheat? Did she know that you were a married woman about to fuck a man you met less than an hour ago?

"Here you are," She places the key card in front of you, "we will charge you upon your checkout tomorrow at eleven. Enjoy your stay."

"Oh we will," Patrick grabs the keycard and walks the two of you to the elevator.

It opens and Patrick pulls you inside, pressing you against the wall. He pushes the button to close the door about a hundred times as he was eager to get you alone. He was already having trouble keeping his hands off of you and was hoping to get a head start on your night.

His smile grew as the doors slid closed and he attached his lips to your neck. He licked a slow and long strip from your collarbone to the small area behind your earlobe, which he bit lightly,

You let out a shaky exhale and feel your knees grow weak. Your hands come up to his shoulders to stabilize yourself.

He continued nibbling on your earlobe as his hands wandered all over your body. They touched all that they could reach and then made their way into your back pockets to squeeze your ass.

You lurch forward at the sensation and come in contact with Patrick's growing erection which makes you gasp. Those shorts didn't hide a thing.

The elevator dings, interrupting the grinding and groping. The two of you pull away and catch your breaths. You were so nervous, you couldn't look him in the eye. Patrick found this comical and chuckled. He holds your hand and walks you out of the elevator and through the labyrinth-like hallways of the hotel.

You two reach your door and he pulls the keycard out of his pocket. Before he swipes it, he turns to you, "no going back now, right?."

You finally look up at him, eyes meeting each other. A million conflicting emotions were snowballing inside you.

Anger, regret, shame, guilt.

Then Patrick leaned in and kissed your cheek, right above your jaw. And everything disappeared and only lust was left.

You were going to do this. And you were going to enjoy it. The last fifteen years of your life were spent being a yes man for your husband and now you wanted nothing more than to rebel. Rebel against your husband, your role, your expectations. You were a person deprived of love and attention and you were going to grab it, wherever you could find it, and never let go. You're not going to let Patrick go.

He will feed your hunger.

"No going back," you say as the corner of your lip begins to curl up.

Patrick was surprised at the sudden change in your demeanour. You went from the quiet and distant woman he met at the bar, to the cocky and poised one he sees before him. He wondered what flipped the switch.

You grab the keycard from his hand and swipe it yourself, feeling a surge of adrenaline. The room was similar to the one your husband was asleep in, a floor below. That observation should have snapped you out of this rendezvous and sent you begging for Matt's forgiveness. But it didn't. It made you feel alive. It made you feel dirty.

You liked it.

Patrick watches you think and unzips his green windbreaker. He accomplished his goal of getting a room for the night for free. But now he had set a new goal: make you scream his name and forget all about your Matthew. He sneers just thinking of his name.

You hear the unzipping and turn to look at him.

"How often do you do this?" You ask out of curiosity.

"Do what?" His eyebrow quirks up.

"Sleep with a married woman?" You chuckle softly. Wasn't it obvious?

"If I said you're the first, would you believe me?" He slides his jacket off and tosses it on the armchair beside him.

You tilt your head and narrow your eyes, "No."

He laughs and walks towards you, "then you'd be right."

You didn’t know whether to be glad about this piece of information or upset. Glad, because it made you feel less alone knowing that other married women had affairs with strangers. Upset, because you thought you were special. But maybe you were just a notch in his bedpost and he'd forget your name in the morning.

Patrick pulls you out of your thoughts as he grabs the lapels of your cardigan pulling it down and off your shoulders. You assist him and slip your arms out of the armholes. He throws it towards the armchair, but it lands on the floor. Eleven hundred dollars on the hotel room floor. You don't spare a glance.

You bring your hands down to unbutton your jeans while Patrick takes off his sweaty t-shirt. His shirtless body towers over you and he slides his jeans down your legs and looks up at you with nothing but lust behind his eyes. He couldn't help but run his hands up and down your smooth thighs and he leans forward to place soft kisses on them. You bite your lip as arousal clouded your mind, and also dripped down your leg.

Patrick licks his lips, ready to put his mouth to work. He bites at your inner thigh, applying enough pressure to leave a mark, but not hurt you. A quiet whimper leaves your lips. Hearing that gave Patrick the sudden urge to kiss you. So he stands back up and cups your cheeks, rubbing his thumb on your bottom lip, that had a little drop of blood from your previous biting down.

"Can I kiss you?" He whispers. He already knew the answer but he wanted to hear you say it. He wanted to hear your desire for him fall from your pretty lips.

You just nod in response, which isn't what he was looking for. He was stubborn and needed to hear your words. His thumb slips past your plump lips and teeth and into your mouth right on your tongue. Your eyes widen and you gasp softly in surprise.

"Use that tongue and answer me, baby." His voice was laced with condescension.

You felt goosebumps on your arms, "yes, I- I want you to kiss me." You say with his thumb still in your mouth, "please." He nods at every word you speak while holding your gaze.

Satisfied, he leans in and presses his lips to yours. his thumb was still in your mouth but he moves it to the corner of your lips, getting it wet by your drool. He doesn't mind and continues tonguing your mouth.

You completely melted into the kiss. It was wet, hot, and loud. You couldn't remember the last time you'd been kissed like this. It was fucking addicting. You continued swirling your tongue around his thumb while also licking at his lips. Both of you tasted the little bit of, now dried, blood and it only made you hungrier.

You bring your hands down to his shorts and palm his cock through them. He groans into your mouth and bites your bottom lip. Oh, you loved it. Walking the line between tenderness and sweet, sweet torment.

He starts grinding against your hand and you rub him harder. He gets lost in the sensation and stops kissing you back, but keeps his thumb on your tongue. You suck it all the way to its base and gag a little. He closes his eyes and breathes heavily.

Patrick feels greed take over his actions and pulls your hand off of him only to shove in under his shorts. You gasp as you feel his cock in the flesh. It felt bigger than you were imagining and that had you pressing your thighs tight together.

You continue jerking him off and swiping your thumb over the tip, teasing it and coating it with his own pre-cum.

"Fuck, fuck, that feels so good," Patrick mutters to himself. He begins moving forward and backwards, fucking your fist. His movements get slower and messy. You gag on this thumb again and he cums instantly into your hand. The hot release painted the inside of his shorts and covered your hand too.

He shivers as he comes down from his high and watches you pull your hand out of his shorts, and to your mouth. You unlatch your lips from his thumb and give your mouth the new task of tasting him on your hand. You hungrily lick his cum off your hand, enjoying the salty taste.

Patrick watches you already feeling his dick throb again.

After you finish lapping up his release, he pushes you back onto the bed. Your mouth was agape and you stared at him intently, wondering what he was going to do next.

"Your turn, baby." The corner of his lip curls and grips your thighs and spreads them apart. You were soaked and he was thirsty. Patrick pulls you forward to the edge of your bed and kneels so your clothed pussy was directly in his eye-line.

You let out a shaky breath and reach down to push your panties down. He grabs the waistband from your shaky hands and pulls them off in a swift motion.

Your pussy was so wet. So pretty. So puffy. It was beyond imagination just begging him to run his hot mouth all over it. And so he does.

He wastes no time and eagerly licks up and down, mixing his spit with your wetness. Your back arches and your thighs close around his head, holding him in place. Not that Patrick wanted to go anywhere. This was heaven to him.

He brought his hands to the sides of your thighs and kneads them as you moan and grasp his black curls. You tasted so good, so fresh. And those sounds you were making could make him cum on the spot.

He swirls his tongue around your clit and you scream in pleasure. He brings his right hand up your stomach and under your tank top to your breast. He pinches your nipple and you yelp and arch your back again.

Patrick's tongue was working its magic bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Just as you were about to tip over, grabbing his hair for dear life, he pulls away and spits on your cunt.

You gasp in agony and raise your head, feeling dizzy, "no- no. Please don't stop!"

Patrick only chuckles at your desperation, "patience, baby" he drawls.

You whine and squirm, and even try to push his head back into you.

"Tsk-tsk." He pries your hands off of him and lifts himself off his knees. He gets on the bed and crawls on top of you.

You stare at him through furrowed brows and lidded eyes. You were somewhere else. Right now it was only you and Patrick in the world. Your husband snoring away back in your room didn't exist. The millions of spreadsheets of data didn't exist. Nothing mattered except your body and Patrick's body and the pleasure you were both about to share.

"Why'd you stop?" You manage to say weakly.

Patrick grabs your hands that were making their way to your core ready to finish the job themselves and pins them above your head. You whine, annoyed and needy. He grins, wanting this to go on longer but his throbbing cock quickly dismisses that idea.

With his free hand he pulls his boxers down to his calves and kicks them off. His cock finally springs free and the sight of it makes your pussy pulsate. He pumps his cock a few times and lines it with your dripping hole.

His grip on your wrists was tight and you knew it would leave a blood red mark. You didn't care. You'd flaunt it if you weren't fucking married.

One tenth of a second felt like a year and you feel your frustration grow.

"You wanna feel me, hm?" Patrick slides his cock up and down your wet slit. You buck your hips up and his hand holding your wrists comes down to your abdomen to hold you down. This only made you moan again because the pressure brought on a momentary euphoric feeling.

Patrick was delighted, literally fucking smiling ear-to-ear.

"Words," He presses your abdomen harder causing your eyes to shut tight, "I need words."

"Yes, yes I do," you choke out and your eyes brim with tears.

Patrick pouts mockingly, "poor Y/N."

You whine and feel your face getting hot from his words. Your humiliation was cut short when he slams into you wet cunt without warning and your eyes roll to the back of your head.

"Oh, God. Patrick!" You scream and grip the bed sheets until your knuckles turn white.

Patrick continued thrusting at a rough and unforgiving pace. One hand pressing your abdomen, and the other palms your tits.

"Does Matthew fuck you like this?" Patrick snarls. He wasn't expecting the thought of your husband to make him so angry. This is a one-night thing. No feelings were involved and yet he was starting to feel possessive. He couldn't stand the fact that after the two of you fuck, you'd return to the arms of that loser. Patrick didn't even know what the man looked like but he just knew he had a punchable face. He didn't deserve you. He didn't deserve to have you all to himself all the time. Fucking Matthew couldn't handle you. But, Patrick could handle you. Patrick could please you. Patrick could leave your legs shaking every night if you wanted.

"Answer the fucking question," He slaps your tit and you flinch.

Your were so fucked out you could barely even remember who Matthew was. Husband, husband, husband. Oh, right.

"F-fuck him." Two words left your lips and Patrick was on top of the world.

He smirks and twitches inside of you. You knew just what to say. His thrusts become sloppy and he brings his hand from your breast to your clit and rubs his thumb over it vigorously.

"Oh- oh my fuck!" You were on cloud fucking nine.

The sensation of him pressing your abdomen, rubbing your clit, and pounding into you like his life depending on it, all became too much to handle. Finally, you convulse and come undone with a groan. Feeling you clench around his cock sends Patrick over the edge and he cums right inside you. You feel dizzy and the hot release inside you didn't help.

Patrick pulls out watching his cum ooze out of you. Satisfied, he collapses next to you.

The two of you say nothing for a few minutes. Your minds replay the events of the night as you catch your breaths.

Patrick breaks the silence by turning his head to face you and whispering, "you're something else."

You smile softly and are about to respond when the buzzing of your phone interrupts you. It was in the back pocket of your jeans which were sitting on the floor of the hotel room you booked to fuck a stranger while your husband slept a floor below you. You definitely secured your place in hell.

Your smile drops and, to Patrick's dismay, you sit and then get up to go to your phone. Your entire lower body was sore and you winced as you climbed off the bed to your jeans. You pull the phone out of the pocket and stare at the screen, in discontent.

"Text message from 'Matt <3'"

2:01 AM

"Where'd you go?"

.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._.._

Thank you for reading!!

Also, I have another Patrick fic in my drafts that I plan to post on the one year anniversary of the movie!!

[princessofghosts-posts]

Another "Nobody is safe from me when it cames to Nico mistreatment" post. This time we talk about Will during the end of BoO.

‘I don’t want a place in their camp,’ Nico snarled. ‘Or in yours. When this war is over, I’m leaving both camps for good.’ Will Solace made a sound like he’d been punched. ‘Why would you do that?’ Nico scowled. ‘It’s none of your business, but I don’t belong. That’s obvious. No one wants me. I’m a child of –’

‘Oh, please.’ Will sounded unusually angry. ‘Nobody at Camp Half-Blood ever pushed you away. You have friends –or at least people who would like to be your friend. You pushed yourself away. If you’d get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once –’ ‘Enough!’ Octavian snapped.

Again,pages 439-440 of XLVII Nico's PoV.

I saw a lot of people criticize Will's words and honestly? They are right in a way.

Will was there to witness all the shit that went down between Nico and CHB as a whole,after all he's been at camp for a while it's impossible he doesn't know what happened during those years and why Nico didn't want to be with them. We also need to remember that between TLO and the start of TLH,Nico actually stayed at CHB and lived there for a while before HoO's narrative started. And I already talked about how the campers were probably still shit to him even tho he helped them fighting the war,otherwise Nico wasn't going to be so sure to leave everyone if he did know there were people there for him.

So yeah,Will's dialogue here with Nico is uncalled for,but it's also influenced by his own prospective and feelings (of Nico's situation).

Will liked Nico already,either he had already a crush on him at the time or just because he really wanted to be his friend. The: "You have friends –or at least people who would like to be your friend" can be easily bound to Will talking about himself,because he want to be closer to Nico. And idk probably also some child of a chthonic gods? Maybe Lou or Clovis,since both of them were ok with him when they met him,or maybe Will's siblings since he probably talked about him a lot to them???

Anyway,just already by this,we can assume that Will's prospective of the situation is different from what really happened because he is the only guy that probably tried to be his friend before Nico actually had them. He probably tried to get closer to him with all of his energy but Nico didn't even acknowledge that,or was just too much into his own mind to realized that Will wanted to be friend with him.

When you grow up alone and feared,with only few people to talk to,your mind automatically make you think the people that interact with you do so because of something else,and you often don't know if you are really friends with them or they are only using you for their own things. That's something pretty common and it usually happens when you spent long periods of time alone,without having contacts with someone,and you just start thinking and overanalyze every interaction you ever had with your friends. Low Self-esteem and inability to see your worth,and how important you are in someone's life,helps a lot in this case and only makes things more twisted.

Nico is probably a victim of this,since he doesn't see that some people aren't actually scared of him and want to get to know him (Will,Clovis,Jason and Percy–even tho the last two are a bit controversial). But at the same time the campers made him think that,and even before that it's started with Bianca. This is just a consequence of his trauma and how much people always took him for granted and just wanted to use him (i.e.:Minos) without getting to know him. Sometimes is better than push people away,when you believe they just tolerate you and aren't really there to be your friends.

Will doesn't see that because from his own PoVs,he is trying to get close to Nico while he just push him away. No matter how many times he tries,Nico just won't let him in (until the time-skip between HoO and ToA that's it-) so he was frustrated at that,and at Nico since he didn't want to see his efforts. That's why we have the lines: "You pushed yourself away. If you’d get your head out of that brooding cloud of yours for once–". There is probably an inferiority complex,or just insecurities,at work here but that's a bit of a stretch (probably).

Will's feelings play a big part because he only see the good side of the things,and not the bad ones too. He glossed over all the mistreatment Nico endured because he wanted to be his friend,so he just focused on the bright side of things instead of the negative ones too. Because he didn't want to see the negative side since it would have crashed his view of things.

Also,from what I understood in TSATS that's part of Will's trauma response right? Push everything down and minimize everything until he can't take it anymore because he doesn't know how to cope with everything? Because he doesn't want to acknowledge that some things can't be always black and white,and there is a lot of grey that he needs to accept? Didn't he had a whole conversation with Persephone about this in TSATS??? (Really hope to not be wrong here-).

So,of course he wouldn't see all of the wrong doings because as a person he always try to not give weight to everything and bottle things up,because there are always more importants things to do or people to take care off,until he just...broke under the that pressure.

His prospective of things is wrong because his own trauma and feelings weigh on it. Will was wrong for this,but he wasn't really thinking this logically,while Nico was the victim of it all. That doesn't justify him for what he said,of course,but it gave us an insight of how Will is an unreliable narrator too (even when he was a side character/background character),because his own feelings stopped him from see the reality.

Was it uncalled for? Yes. Was he in the wrong? Also yes. But at the same time he didn't had a clear judgement of the situation,and only focused on the bright side of things. That doesn't mean that dialogue is any better. And honestly? The fact that later on Will try to accpet Nico's nature and how he is,is a good character development for him. He started his interaction with Nico with dismissing the real situation and the trauma he had from it,because he didn't want to see himself part of the problem,to fully understand him and his nature,while working on his own problems and recognizing he was wrong (or at least I fucking hope so when I will read TSATS- And this should have happened during ToA instead of months after they started dating btw-).

[frotees-corner]

Thursday bangers | 4-24

Tagged by @jenn2d2, so you know who to blame ;) I'm in the process of writing another part right now and I just finished two artworks back-to-back, so you get a snippet of a WIP instead.

The prompt:

A hundred days have made me older, since the last time that I saw your pretty face - Three Doors Down

(Incidentally, I really like 3 Doors Down) Pieces (WIP, Snippet):

Five days after she disappeared, he gave up. There was a limit to how long a person could survive without food and water, and Rook was no ancient, immortal quasi-god. She was just one fragile mortal woman who didn’t know when to stop.

But now she must have, and he would never see her again.

Wouldn’t even get a chance to say goodbye.

There was a void in his chest, pulling at his seams, unraveling him bit by bit.

He wasn’t entirely sure how he ended up in front of her door. Maybe Spite had brought him here, hoping she would be there when he opened it, like she had been every other time his human was being foolish.

But she was gone.

He opened the door anyway, feet moving of their own accord to take him deeper inside. The deep sea vista taking up most of the wall on the opposite side of the room held no terror anymore, he realized with a start. It couldn’t hurt him anymore.

His eyes fell on the little crow figurine with the gemstone eyes he’d gifted her, her little rook, positioned to watch over her sleep.

There were scrolls and carvings on the wall, mementos scattered over every surface of the room, little trinkets she had collected to remind her of what she’d seen and done. Evidence that she had been here, that she had lived beyond the boundaries set for her at birth.

He absentmindedly ran his fingers over the back of her couch, remembering the first time she had asked him to stay, the way she had curled up in his arms, happy and warm and safe.

There was a sound inside his heart, like the whine of a frozen lake being struck, brittle surface beginning to fracture.

And then he stepped around it, sitting down as he felt his legs beginning to give, and saw the letter on the little meditation table.

For Lucanis, it said in her lively script, letters pushed together and trying to break free as if scrawled down in a hurry. His fingers were shaking when he reached for it, carefully pulling a folded piece of paper from the slightly smudged envelope.

Lucanis,

maybe you’ll never read this. Maybe we will just beat the impossible odds again, and I’ll be able to tell you to your face.

But in case we don’t, in case something happens to me and I can’t, here are some things I need to tell you.

I love you.

I got the impression that you didn’t want to hear it earlier, but I do, and you deserve to know. So, I love you. You are loved. You deserve to be loved.

You are kind, and funny, and caring, and you deserve good things in your life. Like friends, real ones, not the kind that’s just looking for an opportunity to stab you in the back. You deserve to want things for yourself, things that make you happy, things that have nothing to do with your job.

I was honored to be one of these, for a little while.

And I don’t care if you’ve spent most of your life dealing out death, you deserve to live, too.

For yourself, and for the people who care for you. Even for Spite (hi buddy, please keep Lucanis from throwing himself off a cliff for me?).

Maybe tell your grandmother where she can shove it the next time she tries to push you into something you didn’t agree to.

I love you.

Ceres Mercar

He realized he was crying when the first heave drops hit the paper. By the time he finished her hastily written letter, he was shaking, bone-wracking sobs tearing through his chest, and he had to put her letter down lest he crumbled it.

He had known. Known that she had wanted to tell him, earlier, before everything went wrong, but he had panicked, again, had stopped her from saying it because he’d been afraid, and now he would never be able to say it back.

I love you, too.

He pressed his hands to his eyes, trying to stem the flood, but it was no use. There had been so much loss in his life. His parents, most of his family, Caterina (but she came back), Illario (but he’s not really gone), his home (but she saved that, didn’t she?), himself.

All of them he had survived, but right now, he felt like he was breaking, shattering into a million pieces.

[hehe-69]

꧁༺ 𝓑𝓸𝓷𝓯𝓲𝓻𝓮 ༻꧂

Part 16

A Jacob x reader long fic

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4 aka pretty much the best thing I’ve ever written, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12, Part 13, Part 14, Part 15

La Smut

Warnings: Charlie Swan being Charlie Swan, SOFT JACOB, FLUFF, WOLF JACOB, ANGST

Summary: Moving the Plot along with this one, reader goes to Charlie to comfort him and sees Jacob shift for the 2nd time.

Tag list: @coldonez aka my wonderful wife

—————

Charlie was a mess, just one look at the man and you could tell he was suffering. He looked so tired and worn down. Jacob was off talking to Bella while you spent time with Charlie.

“I just don’t understand it.” Charlie says as he chops wood, he’s been chopping for hours. “Bella never gets sick like that…I should’ve never let her go off with that Edwin kid.” Charlie’s voice has no bite, it’s hollowed out save for the deep timber of guilt lacing through it.

“Charlie…Bella is…Bella will be okay. You know how she is.” You hate not being able to tell him the truth. Charlie deserves better than this, he deserves to see his daughter, to share her life and watch his granddaughter grow. “Yeah…I just…” Charlie breaths in deep, and looks up at you, he’s trying not to cry. “What if she doesn’t, what if I never she her again.” Charlie is devastated and lost, all he wants is to see and hold his little girl again.

You pull Charlie into a hug, and feel him tense up, before he melts into it and bear hugs you back. “At least I’ve got you kiddo.” He attempts to make it seem like he’s cheering up. But you know that it’s not the same thing as having Bella.

———

You stayed with Charlie as he continued to chop wood. Taking off and on or sometimes just sitting in silence save for the sound of the wood splintering and falling to the ground. It would’ve been cathartic in a sense if it weren’t for the dark cloud hanging over Charlie’s head.

The events of these past two years are like a horror movie come to life through Charlie’s eyes. He daughter coming to live with him was a blessing, but only a couple months in and she was disappearing on him, getting into these bizarre accidents that sometimes lead to her hospitalization. And now, Bella has contacted some rare deadly disease only a couple of weeks after marrying a boy he’s never really trusted or liked.

Charlie is no idiot, he’s a cop, he knows when something is fishy. But most of all, he is a father and he has this deep pit in his stomach everytime he thinks of his daughter. He missed his kid, it’s like when Renee left all over again, but at least then he knew Bella was alive.

He keeps replaying that last phone call he had with her, over and over again in his head. Bella was afraid and sounded so lost, she sounded sick, how can Charlie live with that. All the times he woke her up from her nightmares, the search parties, the fights, all of it started when he came around…Edward. Bella was in love with him, Charlie knew that but the boy has done nothing but make her life miserable.

And Charlie just handed his daughter over to the devil. Weeks later Bella is so sick that Charlie isn’t even allowed to see her.

He just got his kid back and now he’s lost her.

Having you around helps, he doesn’t think about Bella when he looks at you.

You’re the kid who’s always been there with him, when he looks at you…he sees his best friend. The guy who always made Charlie laugh, the guy who helped pull Charlie out of his deepest darkest moments and made him see the light. Your dad and Billy, the two of them were a dream team, giving out wisdom and kindness to whoever needed it. Both of them never hesitated to stand up for what was right.

Charlie was devastated when your father passed, it was only a couple years after Bella stopped visiting that your dad got sick. And now Bella is sick…now Bella might be gone for good.

“Picture me like I was.” It’s what she told him, what she wanted him to do…it’s the same thing your dad told him before he died.

———

When Jacob arrives you know for the look in his eyes he’s got something crazy planned.

“Hey,” Charlie once he notices Jacob’s approach and abandons his axe in the stump to give Jacob his full attention. Hopefulness fills his eyes when he talks to Jacob. “Have you heard anything?”

Jacob looks to you for a split second, silently asking you to trust him.

“Charlie.” Jacob’s voice is soft and low as he speaks. “Bella is…uh.” Oh God, Jacob is frezzing up, he has nothing planned. “No she’s not.” Charlie says, and the look in his eyes, pure dread and disbelief. “No no no,” Jacob instantly begins reassuring Charlie. “She’s fine. She’s back home and she’s feeling better.” Jacob breaths out awkwardly.

Charlie looks so relieved as he wipes his hand over his face, most likely because he was on the brink of tears. “Why didn’t you say so, that’s great.” Charlie says and immediately starts walking to go see Bella. You shoot Jaocb a panicked look and mouth ‘What the hell are you thinking!’

Jacob mouths back ‘Just trust me!’ You throw your hands up and roll your eyes, but reluctantly follow his lead. “Wait!” You say and Charlie turns around confused. “There’s something you need to see first.” Jacob says, and immediately you know what he’s planning. This can go one of two ways, Charlie almost shits his pants but gains a better understanding of what’s really going on, or Charlie shoots Jacob.

Or both.

“I need to see Bella.” Charlie replied so simply and turns back around to walk off. “Look,” you begin. “In order for Bella to get better she had to….change.” Your voice is hesitant. “What do you mean change?” Charlie asks, now you have his attention. He’s got his hands on his hips, popping a hip out as he leans his weight on his left leg.

Jacob sighs and glances at you. “Here goes nothing.” He mutters out and starts stripping???

“What the hell are you doing?” Charlie has gone full dad mode, annoyed and hands on hips the whole nine yards.

“You don’t live in the world you think you do.” Jacob replies before taking off both his long sleeve shirt and his undershirt, and handing them to you. Youre flustered, both at the whole situation and because seeing Jacob shirtless never fails to make you swoon. ‘Damn’ is the only thing going through your mind.

“Jacob,” Charlie is backing up akwardly now. “Put your clothes back on.”

“No this may seem strange.” Jacob kicks off his boots, of course he’s not wearing socks fucking weirdo. “Really strange.” You mange to say as you try not to drool. “But,” Jacob continues as he unbuttons his pants. “Stranger things happen every day.” Oh God, you’re not ready.

“Trust me.” You say looking at Charlie who is so unbelievably uncomfortable right now. Jacob drops his pants and Charlie looks horrified. Even more so when Jacob starts steaming and growling. And then he phases, Charlie yells out and falls to the ground while you stand back and watch.

Jacob makes a big show out of it, growling and scaring the shit out of poor Charlie even more. Before he whines out softly as you reach out to touch his fur softly.

Charlie watches with wide eyes as Jacob leans into your touch. “Please don’t tell me you turn into a giant dog too.” You laugh softly at that. “I wish I was that cool.” Jacob bumps into you at that, making you wobble. “Hey!” You hiss out laughing.

“I think I’m gonna be sick.” Charlie looks very pale and in a state of shock. You gotta hand it to him, he’s taking this better than you did.

———

You put Jacob’s clothes on the stump Charlie used to cut wood, and walk over to help Charlie stand up.

“I’ll help him to his house while you change.” Jacob nods his furry head at you and you can’t help but smile. His tail is wagging. “I love you you absolute dork.” You laugh and pat his head before giving him a quick kiss on his nose.

Never in your life did you think you’d be glared at playfully by a gigantic wolf. But here you are, it’s more than just a wolf, it’s Jacob Black. Loyal to a fault and beautifully designed in character and soul.

———

You step outside of Charlie’s house. After you helped him inside and got him a cup of coffee, he asked if he could have a moment alone to process everything.

“Hey.” You laugh softly and turn to see Jacob fully dressed and awkwardly rocking back and forth on his heels. “Sorry about that I…I didn’t really think it all through.” He’s so sheepish and shy at the moment, not quite meeting your eyes. “Clearly.” Your voice is filled with amusement. You can’t help by chuckle as Jacob huffs at your statement.

“You’re insufferable.” Jacob glares once more but there’s a small smile on his face. “You love it.” You say happily as you walk up to him, smiling with your arms behind your back.

“I do…” he admits softly, eyes full of endearment and warmth. “I love you.” You smile at the tone of his voice as he speaks those words. The way he speaks them with such earnestness and clarity, like it’s the realist most solid truth known to man. “I love you too.” You whisper back, smiling softly. You get up in your tippy toes to peck Jacob lips.

The second you pull away, Jacob brings you back in for a longer and deeper kiss.

“Bella is going to be pissed.” You sing song between kisses. “I’ll worry about that later.” Jacob replies as he starts kissing you all over your face making you laugh out loud. “All I really care about is you right now.”

Hearing Jacob say that means more to you than you’d ever thought possible. It warms you up, or maybe that’s just him. Maybe it’s just Jacob and his impossibly heat and warming voice, just his presence, the very essence of him that brings your heart into a pounding rhythm.

————

Sorry this is so short, I just needed to get this out so I could continue with the rest of the story.

I hope y’all enjoyed it.

Please feel free to request whatever you’d like to see in future parts.

Thanks for reading

Love ya🫶

Part 17

[buggyboba]

Surrender Your Mind

Part One [x] + Part Two [x] + Part Three [x] A03 Link [x]

░░░░░░░░░░░░░░░

𝔸𝕦𝕥𝕙𝕠𝕣 ℕ𝕠𝕥𝕖

↳ ▣ | SURPRISE! Happy Anniversary, Surrender your mind! I know I took a poll and posting the last two chapters together won, but hear me out. It took me forever to finish this chapter, too long, and I wanted to have something to post on the anniversary. Okay so there is a lot happening in this chapter, forgive a lot of it please. Pay attention to the trigger warnings, because there are a lot this time.

ℙ𝕒𝕚𝕣𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Missy x Fem!reader

𝕊𝕦𝕞𝕞𝕒𝕣𝕪

↳ ▣ | After last night emotions are running high, and the trap has been set, and now it's time to get the information she is looking for.

𝕋𝕣𝕚𝕘𝕘𝕖𝕣 𝕎𝕒𝕣𝕟𝕚𝕟𝕘

↳ ▣ | Missy calls herself Mummy once, lots of petnames, Hypnosis, memory modification, pulling teeth, torture (Not reader), violence (Against reader).

𝕎𝕠𝕣𝕕 ℂ𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕥

↳ ▣ | 10k

𝔸𝕠𝟛 𝕝𝕚𝕟𝕜

↳ ▣ | x

You remained silent while waiting for the water to boil, your stomach tense and your heart racing. Your life was on the line, and she was treating it like it wasn’t a big deal. Then again, it probably wasn’t a big deal for her; she couldn't care less about what happened to you. All in all, you were strangers when it came down to it. Just right now you were bound together by the fact that an assassin wanted to use you to get to her, which held implications you didn’t quite want to think of, and she wanted to know what those implications were; she was treating this like it was a fun little game of finding out a secret. You felt ill as the anxiety worked its way into you, all the what-ifs came flooding your mind, and you couldn’t help but think about them. You couldn’t help but be scared of the thought of today being your last if something went wrong.

The night was full of thoughts. Disbelief that you had done that, frustration that you didn't get relief, and frustration at the plan that wasn't really a plan. You lay there until you finally drifted off to sleep.

There were dreams that left you flushed and sweaty, but dreams you could not recall for your life when you woke up. You laid in bed for a while, listening to the ambient sounds of the TARDIS. You finally dragged yourself up and changed before leaving your room. The TARDIS was strangely quiet. You felt nervous about today; was it going to be today? You walked into the kitchen area and frowned, leaning against the counter as you tried to calm your stomach down. You started the kettle, thankful that it was out and you didn’t have to go on a scavenger hunt for it; perhaps the ship knew how nervous you were. Shaking hands found the cup and started the kettle.

What if it was your last day? What had you done? Were you happy with what you had accomplished? You had been missing for a bit over a week now, you bet friends and family thought you dead, and your life had been violently uprooted thanks to these assassins. Your job was garbage, and you were positive that had you not been missing, you would have been let go. You had spent a week trapped in a spaceship time machine, but it felt more like a fancy cell. Your jailer was nuts, and you most certainly put your proverbial dick in crazy last night. Was it a mistake? Probably, but it certainly was nice at the time, enrichment in your alien enclosure. You were sure you would regret it later if there was a later. Maybe not, though, there was a sliver of hope that you would make it out of this alive; perhaps you would get to move on from this wild nightmare, and this would all be a distant memory someday.

“Oh right, yeah.” You offered. “We have mentioned the plan too many times now, and it doesn’t change. Dangle me as bait. I don’t think that that is the best course of action.”

You didn't hear her come in, so you nearly jumped out of your skin when her arm wrapped around your waist. “Jumpy little rabbit you are.” She mused, She frowned when you stayed silent. “Oh, come on now, we were getting along.” She put her chin on your shoulder, looking at you. The kettle went off, causing you both to jump and her to laugh. “Aw, you have made me tea, how sweet. I knew you would warm up.” She nipped your shoulder and moved around you to grab the tea that was supposed to be yours, the one you had wanted. You frowned but moved to get another cup. “We will have to set up the trap today. Are you ready for that?” She asked, adding sugar and cream to her cup and stirring it. The ting of the metal against ceramic caught your attention, causing you to look at her.

“Calm down? Really? Calm down? You know what? No! I am not going to be calm. You are talking about using me as bait to lure trained killers out so you can have a chance at snatching one. My life is on the line!” You snapped, and Missy's features hardened as you ranted at her.

She tsked and shook her head, taking a sip of her tea. “No, you are just scared, I get it, I understand, but I can guarantee—within my best abilities—that you won’t die here today.” She said calmly, trying to calm your nerves, but she could tell they were fraying. “I’ve mostly ironed out the plan; don’t you worry your pretty little head about it.” You gave her a look, and it told her you were very much worried about it. She sighed again. “Calm down.” Famous last words. You looked at her with narrowed eyes and anger written on your features.

“Calm down, or I will make you calm down.” She said flatly. You wanted to say something, but the tone, the way she locked her eyes with yours—there was a pull; you had felt it before last night and when you first met. “I mean it…actually, we really should just have you clear your mind, have you surrender to me.” She clicked her tongue, her smirk returning to her lips as she caught your chin, tilting it up. The pull got stronger, your head hazy, you didn’t like the feeling, and you tried to pull away. “Ah, ah, ah… Be a good girl.” She cooed at you. You flinched and looked away from her, but she pulled your chin to force you to keep looking at her. You felt hazy, more relaxed, even though you knew you shouldn’t be. “Now, my dear, relax, calm down; you will trust me. Obey your Mistress.” Her tone was steady, hypnotic. You felt your senses yielding; it was an odd feeling as the calm washed over you. You didn’t want to be calm; you wanted to scream and yell and fight, but you felt that feeling fade to the back of your mind.

“See, not too hard. You want to trust me, you want to be a good girl for me today, and you can’t have your silly little emotions ruin anything,” she said lightly and took another sip from her teacup like nothing happened. She watched you for a good few moments, the haze of your eyes as you took her suggestion, not that you had a choice in the matter. She enjoyed the way your features softened, how you finally seemed relaxed, and how you were open and receptive. How you could stand near each other and your heart wasn’t racing, how you didn’t look at her with such distrust and venom.

On the other hand, Missy had work to do, as she said she did. She moved to grab a few things before she headed out; it would be much safer for you to stay put while she went about setting up the trap near the entrance of her delightful little transcendentally dimensional space. She had a plan, yes, as you had pointed out so thoroughly, to have you as bait, but while she was reckless and in any normal circumstance wouldn’t have cared about your safety, she needed answers. She needed to confirm the dreaded conclusion she had come to last night.

You felt like you were wading through a dream; her hold over you had zapped any pushback you had. You trusted her, that she had your best interest in mind, that she could do exactly what she said. “Okay,” you said after a moment; the words felt thick, like honey on your tongue, but lacked the sweetness. “You are right, I trust you,” you murmured. She nodded and patted your arm, kissing your cheek. She moved to lean against the counter.

“Now stay in your room like a good puppy; Mummy has work to do," she said and dismissed you. You nodded softly and wandered to your room.

She had already suspected that the Assassins assumed your ‘relationship’ was something more than it was. The doubt crept in last night after she left your room, the moment she allowed herself to be vulnerable in a way she didn’t normally. She was above all of this; she had to be, right? There was a moment when she was lying there next to you that she felt something, something she couldn’t afford to feel, and it scared her more than she was willing to admit. She chalked it up to the passion and left it at that, even if the what-ifs were still there. This whole situation completely threw off her groove, and she hated that. She wanted it to stop, to go back to her normal plans; those were things she could almost control, almost take into account for everything. This—this was out of her control, and she certainly hated that.

Her fingers trailed over the wires as she twisted the ends together, her eyes narrowed in thought. She needed to focus on this; it had to be solid, there was no room for mistakes, and yet her mind wouldn’t shut up so she could focus. You were something, something that she didn’t understand, a mystery, a stupid little human, nothing more. So why was she thinking of you? It was infuriating. But it was nice how you felt in her arms, how your mouth felt against hers. The beautiful sounds and hunger in you. ‘No! Shut up! She couldn’t think of that right now, the blue wire connected to the yellow one, and the red connected to the green’. She tried to force herself to push the idea of you away; she wasn’t some yearning schoolgirl, she was The Master–Mistress, and human apes were for the Doctor, not her. You were very much just another Lucy; you had to be. She needed to hurt something; thank the stars today she was hunting down that assassin. She needed to release all this pent-up emotion, ‘gross.’ She growled at herself, shaking her head, and restarted twisting the wire ends together. She ran through the plan in her head; it was easy, but everything had to be perfect, just obscured enough views so that the assassin couldn’t get a clear shot. Walking at just the right pace, so they weren’t suspicious. Leading them without it being obvious, it was a razor-wire dance, one that needed the utmost care and utmost diligence. What she was working on now was the most important piece, and she couldn’t afford for it not to go off right. A triform teleport, the other side was going to be right into a forcefield holding cell, one that the assassin couldn’t get out of, something biolocked so no matter how hard he tried, he would be there until Missy was ready for him. Once she was sure that the wiring was right, she laid down the metal that covered them, the base of her trap, attaching each piece with care, aligning them so it laid flat. With the transporter ready, she just had to do the same thing to the one in the room she was using as the holding cell. She brushed her skirt off and wiped her hands together as she stood up, moving to head there. She paused as she got to right before she passed your door.

There was a twinge of something in her chest. What the hell was that? She looked at the ground, trying to place that feeling. Guilt? No. No, no. She didn’t feel that, regret? Even more so, no, no thank you. It felt heavy and gross; she felt bad. Oh no, it was remorse. Why did she feel that? Maybe it was the thought of you sitting alone in that room, hypnotized. Maybe it was because she hypnotized you to keep you out of the way and calm for this crucial setup. Maybe it was because she could have approached all this openly and honestly and gotten your help; you could have at least carried the metal flats. Instead, she chose to make you pliant, enslaved to her will, her whims. She had never felt bad about that before. What the hell was so special about you? She made a mental note to figure out a fitting punishment for you later. Something nasty, maybe a little fatal—it wasn’t like she was really doing this to protect you; she was curious, and if the assassins thought you meant something to her—or future her—she wanted to know why. It was purely research; that’s why she was suffering, you being alive still. Right? Yes, absolutely, it had to be.

She shook her head and moved past your door, catching you out of the corner of her eye. “Good girl,” she reiterated when she saw you sat on the corner of the bed, looking down, like you were trying to figure something out. You were probably trying to claw your way back into a free mental state, but that wouldn’t happen. the push on your will to hypnotize you was too quick; your mental state was already fragile enough that she didn’t have to push too hard, but she felt you try to push back, and that was enough for her to wonder what potential you actually had. You had shown such fire, and even if she didn’t want to admit it, she liked your resilience against her, your cunning. It was a fun game for her so far. “Don’t think too hard, pet; remember, trust me,” she reiterated, trying to make sure her command was solidified; she couldn’t risk any sudden breaks in her control. “Say it again, my dear,” she prompted. Her eyes narrowed when you looked up; there was a flash of something that looked a little like rebellion, but then you nodded.

“I trust you, Mistress,” you said.

She nodded. Well, that didn’t feel as good as when you said it of your own volition, the Mistress part anyway. But she nodded and closed your door, locking it just in case—no room for surprises. She continued on her way to get the rest of the supplies she needed for the other room. The work went about as smoothly as the first one. It infuriated her how she thought of you, and even more so the feelings that it stirred in her. She moved to clean up the oil and dirt from the work and then moved to go wash up, changing into something more fitting for the next part of her plan. Her blue eyes scanned over each and every dress she had. Maybe the black one. No, maybe the purple. Purple was nice; it brought out her eyes, but she wore it so often. It was a good look. She settled on neither of them and picked a deep crimson, nearly black dress that was the same cut; she did so adore Victorian-era wear. She found a hat that matched, a little black one with a lace half veil. She stared at herself in a full-length mirror for a while, and her mind wandered. There was this odd feeling in her stomach she couldn’t say she had felt in a very long time, if ever. She let out a low sigh and shook her head. What was even happening? How could YOU, an insignificant human ape, make her feel bad about hypnotizing you? This was utterly ridiculous, yet she still felt guilt, disgusting. How could this happen to her? What had she done to deserve this? Wait, no, there was a lot, but the universe would be so cruel to make this happen? For a second she wondered if the Doctor had something to do with this whole thing, with his love for humans, but then she remembered he wouldn’t have the guts to get time assassins involved for a silly little thing like this, though that would be something, wouldn’t it? Though he may have been involved in another way, she wondered if you could be a, oh god, what did he call them, companions? Human pets? You felt like the type, all human and pathetic; she could imagine your eyes doing wide-eyed, excited things at the sight of the universe. She got another feeling in the pit of her stomach—jealousy? Why was she jealous? The thought of you being all sickeningly adorable looking at the stars, standing there in the bask of moonlight or starlight, with awe written on your face, but not because of her, because of The Doctor—how dare The Doctor steal you in this completely made-up scenario in her head. She would have very stern words with him eventually. Or maybe she would just blow up a planet or something, kill a companion's loved one. Yeah, that one seemed fitting.

“Good, we are really going to need to sell it. Shouldn’t be too hard; I had the UK believing I was a jolly good husband during a whole campaign.” She chuckled to herself. “And my wife, ex-wife, she shot me… played her part perfectly, and she was dull, droll…boring. You’ll be fine…oh, if you are good, maybe I’ll even hold your hand.” She mused, her eyes sliding over your body as you moved to change into the dress. She tore her gaze away to give you privacy but stole glances occasionally; she couldn’t help it—last night had been very good to her. “You know this isn’t going to work if you are all wide-eyed and look hypnotized.” She thought for a moment, “This will need something different, still hypnosis, but more… complex and subtle…” She mused, moving to catch your arm and giving you a little tug so you would stumble into her; her hand caressed your cheek, and she smirked down at you, all teeth, a predator who caught her prey. “A simple temporary mental manipulation might work, just long enough for you to act your part. Yes, I think that would be perfect. What story should I craft, puppy?”

She was irritated about everything now, she needed to calm down and focus. Yes, that was absolutely something she could do, focus. She moved back to the rows of clothing and looked through them for something for you to wear. Her eyes scanned the clothing, and her tongue clicked against the back of her teeth until she pulled a dress from the rack. It wasn’t extravagant; she didn’t want you too flashy. Flashy was for her eyes only, but she did have an appearance to keep up, and she couldn’t have you making her look bad. This dress would do. She moved to grab flats for you and then walked back to your room, hovering by the door for a moment before she walked in. “Put this on,” she said, putting the dress on the bed next to you. “And we are going to have a fun little game of make-believe we are in love for the public. Do you think you can manage that, puppy?” She asked.

You looked at the dress she put on the bed and then listened to her words, nodding softly.

Missy watched you for a good long few moments. “Hm, no suggestions? How boring.” She tsked at you and then grinned. “Hm, dating a month gives cause for the ‘new relationship’ jitters… Madly in love, I do love devotion…to me… Hm…let's just forget about that nasty little choking incident; maybe that can be permanent,” Missy mused as she locked eyes with you, keeping your head tilted. She meticulously planted and changed memories, drawing up a lovely story about your ‘relationship’. It would certainly be convincing enough and keep you pliant and calm enough without suspicions. Though she was sure the Assassins would be suspicious anyway, given how long they had gone without a sighting of you or her really, she would hope they would just assume she was cocky and dismissive since they were really bad at their jobs so far.

“Yeah, yeah,” You nodded and made a face.

Once she was satisfied with the modified memory, making sure to spin a solid story, nothing that was too wild, it had to be believable so your mind wouldn’t outright reject it. She stepped away and motioned for you to finish changing. You changed into the dress like she motioned for you to; your mind was hazy, but not like before; things were getting clearer; you looked confused for a moment, and she hummed, watching you.

“We are going out today, remember, puppy?” She said, her tone full of concern. She even gave your arm a little squeeze. You looked at her and nodded a bit. Yeah, that sounded right to you. Right, they were going out today.

“You okay there, dear?” She asked and brushed your shoulder off, smoothing your dress over your chest and stomach as she gave you a smile. You nodded, your face scrunching for a moment as you thought, but then you nodded again.

“I feel like I am missing something.” You said with a frown, “Like it’s important, but I just can’t remember it.” You looked at her for answers. She watched you trying to keep her smile. Were the memories not taking? No, they had to. She was practiced at this, and you were just a little human. You shifted, trying to think. She shook her head and moved to give you a kiss. Her lips against yours brought your attention away from trying to unravel the thing you were trying to remember. She pulled back once she felt the resistance melt away. Good, she would have to be more careful with you. Apparently, your will was fighting back, and while it was a fun challenge, she couldn’t have that right now. “What was that for?” You laughed a bit.

“Because you are…” She searched for the word for a moment. “adorable.” She decided on and led you from the room. You walked with her, sticking close to her heels. You felt excited, but like it was manufactured, there was an underlying worry you just couldn’t put your finger on. You followed out of the TARDIS and through the mausoleum of fish tanks, and you grabbed her arm, getting closer to her when you could have sworn one of the submerged skeletons looked at you. She tensed for a moment but then remembered she had a part to play and patted your arm in an attempt to comfort you. You walked quietly, but it seemed she preferred that, until you got outside, she started in idle small talk, though it was very clear she wasn’t pleased about the small talk, she at least made an attempt to be animated about it. She, funnily enough, but to no one’s surprise, spoke more than you, but you didn’t mind; you enjoyed listening to her stories, or at least you got the impression you did. She took a leisurely pace, strolling as she wrapped her arm around you, keeping you close, making sure you both were passing behind cars and signs at a pace that changed occasionally to throw whoever was watching off.

It was a beautiful day, not cold, but not warm, somewhere in the middle. It was cloudy, and rain was imminent, but right now it wasn’t on your mind. Your…girlfriend….yes, that word was correct; that felt correct. Your memories told you that was a correct assumption. She had been working so hard in her funeral company, and you were grateful for this break. You also needed it because you had been staying with her after a main exploded leveling your apartment building.

“Mis, can we go to that tea shop?” you asked idly, playing with her bracelets. She watched you for a moment and nodded, directing you towards the shop. You happily followed, but it seemed like her mind was elsewhere. She was checking the area out of the corner of her eye, but you decided it was just her being paranoid and laced your fingers with hers. You would lean against her some when you got to a pedestrian crossing and had to wait for your turn. You could feel how tense she was and frowned. “Mis, what’s wrong?” you asked softly, looking at her. She shook her head and kissed your temple.

“I have just been…” She searched for the right word: “It’s a me problem, not a you problem.” She decided, but that seemed to make your face fall even more. “No, why did your face do that? This is a nice day out; we are having a nice time. Fix your face.” She said firmly. You shook your head a bit.

“Nothing you have to worry that pretty little head about. Come on, we are almost there. Oh, I wonder if we have time for afternoon tea.” She said, pulling away from you abruptly. You paused and frowned at her no longer being right there. She pulled on your hand and blinked when you weren’t right there behind her, and she actually had to pull you a bit. “Oh come on, what is this then?” she asked and tilted her head some. She didn’t want the defiance; she needed devotion and compliance.

“You keep looking around, and you are super tense.” You said, crossing your arms, “Something isn’t right.” you decided on, though you weren’t quite sure what was off, you felt it, and no amount of her tricks could stop that gut feeling.

“Oh please, keep it together; nothing is wrong. I am taking you on a nice little date. You adore this kind of thing, do you not?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well, obviously I want to spend time with my girlfriend, yes, but not when she is being super tense and weird.” You shook your head. “You tense every time I touch you. Are you mad at me or something?” You sighed, and she looked around. She didn’t like that you stopped in such a visible spot. She casually put her hand on the small of your back and directed you to walk again.

“Okay.” You said and shrugged halfheartedly. You wondered perhaps if you had done something wrong, but then again, as you mentally recalled, she wasn't an overly touchy person, so you decided to reel it back in, putting your hands in your pockets as you walked beside her. The silence hung, only interrupted by the chatter of people passing by as you passed them. When you got to the tea shop, the one you recalled meeting her in, she opened the door for you, and you slipped in. The smell of floral and robust tea hit your nose, and your mood lifted a bit as you ordered your drinks and some pastries. She picked a table that was close to the back and obscured from the window, which made you pout a bit. Tea time was great for people-watching, and when you sat down, she slid closer to you. “No window today?” You asked, and she shook her head.

“Business stuff,” she said coolly. “Things are moving slower than anticipated; I may have to give things a push.” She said, taking a sip of her tea.

“No, I want all your attention, my dear.” She said and took a sip of her tea. “After all, it is a date day, and I would be upset if you were focused on other people.” She gave a charming smile, her nose crinkling up a bit, you nodded. It seemed reasonable. You listened to her talk, picking a topic; she spoke on it like a seasoned professor. You smiled and nodded, asking questions, but then she seemed to get sidetracked by her phone. You waited for her to resume, but she seemed to get quiet for a few moments.

“Something wrong?” You asked carefully; she shook her head no and put her phone face down on the table, looking back at you.

“Are not enough people dying or something? I mean, it's a funeral company; people are literally dying to get in. You will always have a business.” You said, and she gave a real snort laugh.

“How positively morbid of you. No, it's something else. People are dying at a fine pace, though some could afford to be more prompt.” She shrugged.

“Now, who is morbid?” You shook your head. She leaned back, watching you, studying you like you were a fascinating little creature. You shifted under her gaze and busied yourself by biting into a scone. “What do you have planned?” You asked after you swallowed what was in your mouth.

“Depends.” She said, tapping her finger against the table a bit, a beat of four, before she shook her head, catching herself. She looked at you and smiled. “But for us, I think we could take a stroll, maybe do some window shopping…enjoy the weather.” She mused a bit. You nodded and took another sip of your tea, relishing the flavor spreading on your tongue and how warm it was. She watched you and then lazily looked away towards the window briefly. When you were finished with your tea, she moved to get up. “Come along, pup,” she said, and you moved to get up, to follow after her.

The rest of the date was wonderful, a bit of shopping and some more treats, though it was odd she was taking the long way for certain things; you noticed that it was always shaded or obscured from the view of the street, but you decided it didn’t matter; you were having a good day. That was until you took a turn onto this street. She led you slowly, talking about something you didn’t quite understand, but you let her talk anyway. You noticed the subtle shift in her; she was more aware, or at least seemed to be tracking something discreetly. That’s when she decided the date was over; it was abrupt and jarring, but she started to lead you back to the cathedral. You tried to protest, but she grabbed your wrist and pulled you with her, keeping you pressed to her side. Her pace was quicker than the leisurely stroll you both had been using this entire time. She had a purpose behind her strides. When you both got back to the door, she let you in first, making a show of looking behind her at the area like she didn’t clock the man following them. The assassin had taken the bait, and that was going to be his undoing. She slipped in and closed the door; the trap was set, and now to wait.

“Wakey wakey~” Her voice was cold but held a sing-song quality to it “I have questions~” She said and delivered a sharp crack against the man’s jaw. His head lulled back and rolled to the front; a low groan escaped his throat. “Oh, there he is! A strapping young man! Howdy, partner,” she smirked, a fake southern drawl at the end of her statement. The man blinked slowly, trying to find some footing. He noticed that he was handcuffed to a metal chair. The assassin was trying to think; he would have to be calm and collected to get out of this, though of course, she knew he wasn’t leaving this cell alive; she would let him think he had a sliver of a chance.

“Well hello, handsome, you and I are going to have a little chat. I am not completely heartless. Do you have anything you’d like to tell your next of kin while you can still function?” She said, leaning against the pillar of the light cell. “I know, I know, how could this happen to you? Easy, you decided that much like me, you didn’t value YOUR life, so now we are here staring at each other, and you want to kill that silly little human because you think it will get to me, and I want to know why.” She gave a charming smile before she tilted her head, watching him like a cat would a rat.

“Why the fuck would you think I would tell you?” He muttered, his fingers touching the cuffs he was in. Not human, rather advanced, no holes for a key, voice-activated, maybe. She brushed off her dress and gave a sort of half smile.

“No, I suppose you aren’t. There really is only one other person like me, but he refuses to see it… Shame, we were friends once. I think he will see we aren't so different soon. I don't mind saying it because you are dying here. Sorry, chum, that is just how it is on this bitch of an earth sometimes… Well, that and you decided that I, ME, was prey, and I can’t have that… You have some nice chompers. I didn’t expect your organization to have a good dental plan… fascinating… Oh, how interesting. I bet they have a tracker in you. How fun…” She tilted his head, looking at his teeth with mild interest, until she shoved the pliers in, capturing his back molar and pulling and twisting. Her Time Lord strength made short work as she pulled the tooth from his skull. She looked at it. “Yep, there it is… Thank God for a good cloaking,” she said, dropping the tooth onto the little metal table with the tools.

“I get it; I am very scary, with a penchant for violence and quick to anger. That was the old me.” She laughed and shook her head. “Might as well be the new me too. Now let's get to the nitty-gritty, poppet. What silly little war crime did I do that pissed your employer off? Let's start there; that’s easy since you don’t want to answer my other question just yet.” She said, watching him, but he only glared at her. She frowned after a beat of silence. “The old silent treatment, huh?” She chuckled and shrugged, walking just out of his view where she had set out an array of nasty-looking instruments. Her fingers danced over a few before she pulled a pair of pliers out, walking back over with a charming grin. “Now, we could do this the messy way, but let’s be honest. I’ll have to clean up the blood, not that I don’t mind getting messy; blood doesn’t bother me, you see. I think it’s quite pretty.” She said and stood in front of him. “Now, see, I understand that physical torture is something you little assassins are trained against, same with mental, but I find that if you wound the body just enough, mental fortitude is also taking a big ol’ hit. So let’s begin.” She nodded and tapped under his chin with the pliers. “I am going to have a nice set of…hm…what species are you? Let’s see.” She got closer, inspecting him, subtly sniffing the air around him for any hints. “Oh, look at you, Atrion, so far away from home, and such a short life expectancy—why shorten it more? Just had to get off your little planet, see the stars, kill some people—I get it…kindred spirit.”

“No, I am nothing like you,” he snapped. When he opened his mouth, she caught his jaw, keeping it pried open.

The man tried to wrench away from her, but she held his jaw, digging her nails in, tutting at him like he was a misbehaved child. “We are far from done, my dear,” she smirked. The energy shifted, and she certainly wasn’t the ‘nice’ person she was presenting, but then again, they both knew that. Her eyes darkened as she looked over the Atrion assassin; she moved to pull a few more teeth just for good measure. She pulled back to switch out tools, and the man’s head lolled forward for a moment. “Oh, you simply can’t be tapping out now. You time assassins train too hard for that, I thought.” She smirked and grabbed a long sliver of a blade, turning back towards him. He lifted his head, and when she stepped closer, he spat on her, saliva and blood dripping from his lips afterward. She froze, looking down at him. There was a moment when you could tell she was deciding, and then there was the pull of her blade, hooking in his cheek and pulling up, cutting the cheek open.

“Now that wasn’t very nice of you, spitting on a woman…staining her dress in your filthy blood,” she said calmly. “I’m going to take chunks of you now,” she hummed, “and send them back to your partners, or whoever you may have waiting for you.” She grinned and caught his face before he could try and spit on her again, her nails digging into the gash she had made. “Now, be polite,” she hissed at him and pulled his jaw open more. The man grunted in pain and tried to pull his head away, but she held fast. “Look at me,” she demanded. She didn’t need eye contact to delve into his mind, but she wanted to see the fear in his eyes, the hate. It was burning in him, and she delighted in it, the power. She turned his head so she could inspect the torn cheek, letting her nails jab at his tongue. She tsked a bit and mused, “I’m allowing you to tell me the things I want to know, poppet. I suggest you do, because I could just take a nice little stroll through your mind, make a muck of it, and I really want you to be able to understand what is happening to you when I kill you.” She smiled and poked his nose with her free hand’s finger. He growled out and tried to pull away again; she tsked and pouted at him in mock concern. “No? You assassins always play tough. Well, we both know that it’s an act. You are terrified; your little heart is going a mile a minute. I can hear it, you know. You know how this will end, and yet you are trying so hard to deny me. Hate that for both of us.” She shook her head. “What were your orders?” She demanded. When he tried to bite her fingers, she pulled her hand away and backhanded him, catching his hair. She grabbed his throat and tilted his head back, her eyes locking with his. She felt the defense go up, the mental blockade, but it wasn’t as strong as it could be; he was wounded, and the pain was causing him to lose focus, exactly what she wanted.

The man grunted and tried to flail in the chair as he felt the sharp pain of her prying her way past his defenses, her focus acute and pinpointed to break through, her breath hitching as she moved to pin him to the chair better, her knees on either side of his to keep him still, her hand tightening around his throat to block his breath. She got this look like she was thrilled, her smile was all teeth, and her face was close to his. As he tried to fight again, her other arm came to rest around his shoulder so her hand with the blade could grip his back. She forced him to look at her again, her expression giddy.

“Oh, I am going to take a nice walk through your little noggin, and I am going to make a mess. I will tear you apart, memory by memory. It's going to be fun for me, you see. I haven't gotten to do that in quite some time.” She mused and brushed his shoulder off with her other hand before she grabbed his jaw again. “You will let me in. I am The Mistress, and you will obey.” She said her voice had that hypnotic quality as she forced her way into his mind; it was taxing on both of them. Still, she would get the information she wanted regardless of the strain; she knew she was mentally strong enough to endure. She wasn’t so sure about the Atrion, so she would have to move fast; it wasn’t going to be clean, and it would certainly ruin him. Still, she couldn’t bring herself to care; this was a fun mental exercise for her, and she would treat it as such, a little enrichment in her enclosure.

The memories were hazy at first, the Atrion fighting against her mental intrusion, the memories along a web of sorts, fogged and just out of her reach. “Oh, come on, you really think you can fight me off?” She gave a low chuckle, “I can start from the beginning if you truly want, take your best memories away, leave you no joy. Is this how you want to die? No good memories, just bad. Poor little Atrion, so far from home, alone in the wolves' den, and you choose to fight all the way through. I suppose I find that commendable, though annoying for me.” She shook her head a bit and focused again. Mental manipulation was easy at its core, but he was fighting so hard she enjoyed it. She quickly pounced on a memory that was slipping, tearing into it, and she gave a mock frown. “A holiday with family, how sweet. Your mom and dad? Some siblings too? Still around?” She asked with false interest. The man tried to push her from the memory, so she tightened her grip on his throat until his mind hazed, and he got a bit limp. “Try it again, and we will make this an all-day thing. I have the time, and if we run out, I will make time, silly.” She gave a half chuckle and continued the memory, “Yeah, that’s your mom and dad, how sweet…and definitely siblings.” She paused and gave a wicked smirk. “See, the funny thing is, if we remove one, the ache of not feeling whole will still be there— with just a quick pull.” She focused, and the assassin felt his mind burn like something was being pulled and seared out of it. He yelled and jerked, trying to pull away from her, buck her off of him, anything to stop the feeling. Her arm tightened around him, and she gave a fake sympathetic ‘shh’ at him as she erased one of his siblings from his memory but didn’t manipulate it further so he could feel the loss, but he didn’t know what he was missing.

She pushed through several more memories, a similar action with each, taking people from his memories so he would feel emptier, knowing he was missing something but not knowing who and why he felt that ache. That was a special brand of emotional torture. She felt his resolve crumbling and pressed further, trying to get to the memories she required, when she found an interesting conundrum: someone else had rooted around in his mind, a memory that was so cut up that only a minuscule amount of information was there. There was a low, unimpressed sound from the back of Missy’s throat. “Now that is interesting,” she sighed. “And informative, smart business that is, know your enemy. Too bad it's not going to work, my dear,” she spoke as she tried to dissect the memory carefully.

She saw the insignia of the branch of assassins, the file on her in whoever he was talking to's hands. The conversation was vague, at least the parts that weren't redacted. It was smart how they played; the assassin knew the information but only retained the order. Your name caught her attention; they specifically had mentioned you as a person of interest, keeping it vague, saying there was more in the file. She tried to dig deeper, but the information was gone. This was getting increasingly irritating. She had hoped this would be a simple thing; it should have been.

She was The Mistress, and things bent to her; perhaps this agency hadn’t gotten the memo. She felt the connection starting to fray, and she made a click against her teeth with her tongue. “This has been disappointing, to think you will die for naught.” She shook her head and pulled away from him. “You couldn't even tell me what I want to know if you wanted to… Oh well, I've learned enough to go directly to the source.” She shrugged, though she was very irritated—no, that wasn’t quite the right word either; livid was more like it. She wasn’t a fan of when her plans didn’t go how they should, and this company had thrown a rather large wrench in her plans; not only had they covered their tracks and erased the memories she needed, but the mystery of who you were was still eluding her.

Yes, she had the inkling of an idea of who you could be, but she wanted solid proof, and this man could not provide her with that. As she pulled away, she assessed the damage to the man. He was no longer a threat; she had made a mess of his mind upon exit. Killing him would be a mercy. She wasn’t feeling merciful right now, so she stepped away and cleaned the tools up. He could stay here until he rotted for all she cared. She was so mad, she exited the cell, locking it again, and then exited the room to go wash the blood from her hands.

She hadn’t expected you when she rounded the corner, but she gave an annoyed click of her tongue and a tsk sound as she stepped past you. You frowned and moved to follow her. “Are we going to talk about the Hypnosis?” You asked firmly; you were angry she had done that, taken your free will, and then messed with your memories, all so her plan wouldn’t be interfered with.

“No,” she said simply as she walked, rolling her eyes.

“No? I think we should.” You said firmly, which got you shoved away from her hard. “Missy!” You yelped and went to grab her arm, which was clearly the wrong move because she slammed your back against the wall, knocking the wind from your lungs.

“Don’t you ever touch me again, you filthy little ape.” She said sharply, and you froze. She took the opportunity to slip into her room, locking the door behind her. You kicked her door and made an angry sound. There was nothing but silence on the other side, which pissed you off more than the insult. You deserved to know what was happening; you deserved to know what she found out with the assassin. The memory had not been lost to her, just rewritten for a while, and that was another thing: the feeling of not knowing what the true memory was, the confusion, the anger. You deserved to be angry and confront her.

“Missy!” you yelled through the door. “This isn’t fair! Did you get the information or not?” You hit the door again and were met with silence. You tried a few more times before you kicked her door harder and walked away from it. You could just leave, walk out, and take your chances, maybe explain to the assassins if they caught you—no, that was stupid. You decided to sulk back to your room; you had a lot of feelings about what was happening, but you didn’t want to risk getting killed for nothing.

You found yourself listening for movement. It was impressive how silent she could be, but it was odd because you were the avoidant one. What had she learned that made her act like this? You knew looking for the assassin was a lost cause, the TARDIS would never let you find the room, and there was a good chance the assassin was gone by now. You were just so mad that this was the route she went, hypnotizing you, messing around with your memories, making you blissfully unaware of the danger, and cutting you out of the questioning, though you weren’t sure if you could handle what she could possibly do to a person. Taking your right away like that wasn’t okay, especially since now she had locked herself in her room, so she couldn’t even get an explanation.

It wasn’t like Missy could right now, though, unbeknownst to you. She was trying her hardest to be calm and collected; she had hoped finally getting the assassin and questioning him would yield more, but it hadn’t, and she was still left with questions. You were being annoying, and it was taking a lot not just to kill you and move on with her life. She really should kill you; it would end whatever this was. She didn’t even know why she didn’t just do it in the first place. You were a liability, and a big one if the assassin's lack of a full memory was anything to go on. This was all so stupid; she should have let the assassin kill you, honestly, but she also figured whatever her you belonged to would not be thrilled about your death should she have let that happen.

There was a conflicted feeling in you because of her memory manipulation, and you didn’t like it. The relationship she built for the manipulation felt good, so good, felt warm in a way you didn’t know how to explain, but it felt right. You hated it because it had been a lie, a breach of your autonomy, but now, knowing it was a lie, your heart ached for something that never was. What was worse is she couldn’t even be a decent person and face you about things.

Though the longer she ignored you, the odd feeling bubbled in her stomach; at least you had stopped kicking and hitting her door. She knew you hadn’t left because she could hear you; you were quiet but louder than usual, your footfall, and you were waiting for her, listening for her. How interesting. To yell at her, no doubt. How bold of you to raise your voice at her! You were a stupid human, but it was almost endearing that while you were still very much terrified of her, you weren’t scared to be angry and lash out. A misbehaved puppy, but you could be her misbehaved puppy; she could train you. No, that was a dangerous thought too; she hated that she couldn’t land on what she wanted to do to you: kill you or keep you.

Then again, what did she care about what her future self thought or cared about? If her future self had softened so much to keep a human around, then maybe they deserved to lose said human. Then again, you had been so…interesting; that’s the word she would choose for now. The fake date you had earlier was nice, delightful even. No, that was dangerous to think, though having someone around to make her feel better—oh, she understood why the doctor kept so many humans around; it was a pride thing, to make him feel better about whatever, to preen over him. They were easy to manipulate; it made sense, but she was not the doctor, and she wouldn’t allow herself to stoop to his level. No, you needed to go. She had the organization name, and she could go handle this. There was no reason for you to be around anymore. Though there was this deep feeling that she couldn’t figure out, that she wanted you around, and that was even more dangerous. No, you had to go; you were too dangerous for her to keep around. She didn’t like this feeling, or maybe she did, and that scared her. You were bad for her self-preservation, and thus, she had to handle you, not right this minute, though. No, she had things she had to do; she needed to pinpoint this organization for one, and then she could kill you.

She was so conflicted, and she hated that. There was no way she liked you; you were an annoyance that took up some of her time, a mystery she was solving, and that game was almost done now. Logically, it should be easy to just end you and move on, but she found herself cycling between wanting to kill you just so the assassins couldn’t use you against her and wanting to keep you for herself.

She avoided you for a few days, and sure enough, the TARDIS still wouldn’t let you go; you begged and pleaded with it, but it ignored you, ever loyal to its master. Regardless of how much you begged and tried to open its door, it wouldn't release you; it even shocked you the last time you tried to touch the door. Which left you upset and having to hang around, returning to your routine of listening for her and exploring, but it also left you to stew on your anger. You were already starting to get irritated that she was avoiding you, but then again, you had avoided her previously, but that was for a completely different reason. She had kidnapped you; it was justified. This was her trying to avoid responsibility, or at least that’s how it felt. Everything that happened was bubbling your anger more and more; you wanted answers, and you deserved answers. The assassins were trying to kill you to get to her, and she hypnotized you, messed with your memories, and now had the nerve to pretend you didn’t exist. You weren’t going to have it anymore. You were going to make her talk to you, and you were going to make sure she couldn’t possibly ignore you.

You moved to find something heavy, finding the little workshop—at least it looked like a workshop. You found something that looked like a mallet and grabbed it. You started back out to the console room; you had an idea. It was risky, but it was certainly going to be hard to ignore. “MISSY!” you called out, your voice furious as you made it back to the console room, your eyes landing on the machinery. “MISSY, COME OUT AND TALK!” You yelled, and your grip on the mallet tightened. “OR I START SMASHING!” You threatened. The silence that followed pissed you off even more. “I’LL DO IT!” You bellowed out and then watched the hallway. Was she calling your bluff? Too bad you weren’t bluffing. You took a swing at the console, and the sound was loud, metal crunching. The TARDIS’s alarm startled you; it had never made that sound before, but that did the trick because a moment later Missy had grabbed your wrist and turned you to face her. There was an anger in her eyes; you fought against her, and she grabbed the mallet so you couldn’t swing it again.

“What an anger on you, puppy.” She snapped and shook you off, pushing into you so you would let go. You moved to try and push her away; she held the handle, letting the head of the mallet thud against the floor. “You’ve damaged my machine,” she said sharply. “You are getting one step closer to no longer being among the living and joining my cyberdears,” she warned.

You shook your head, “I am so sick of you!” You lashed out; she watched you calmly, like she was watching a child. “You are selfish, cruel, and loathsome! You think you are above everyone else, and you think you are so clever!” you snapped at her. “You only care about things that pertain to you! You narcissist!” you continued. “I don’t care if you are angry; I am angry too! It’s not just your life that matters; the assassin was after me too! Because of you, for whatever reason, and all you care about is you!”

“Are you done?” She asked, deathly calm.

“No!” you said and continued, earning you an annoyed look, but you didn’t care. “You hypnotized me, how many times?” You shot at her.

“You expect me to remember all the little suggestions, please.” She rolled her eyes. “It was for your own good.” She sighed, but you shook your head.

“All of this was for nothing then; guess you aren’t so powerful and clever,” You snapped, and that was it; the fuse was lit. The calm grace was gone; it was pure anger, anger at you, the situation, and herself. She grabbed you and pulled you, and you fought back against her. You were angry too, and she had done nothing but add fuel to the fire. You weren’t going to let her manhandle you again, not without a fight. You didn’t care. If she hadn’t gotten the information, then there were still assassins out there waiting; either way, it was a losing fight. You died out there or you died in here, and that angered you so much more. You never asked for any of this; you didn’t want to be here, you didn’t ask to be here, and furthermore, you didn’t ask to be wrapped up in an insane woman’s schemes and consequences.

“My own good! Bullshit.” You hissed out and shoved her a bit, which caused a dangerous growl from her throat, but you were angry and didn’t care. “You took away my agency because it was convenient for you!” You shook your head. “This had as much to do with me as it did with you!” You shoved her shoulder again. “And all you care about is you! I’m sick of it! What did the assassin say? I’m assuming you at least got to talk to them during our fun little forced date!” you yelled.

“It’s complicated,” she snapped back. “Whatever you are is complicated.” She said and grabbed your wrist when you tried to shove her again. “ENOUGH!” She yelled at you. This was the first time the cracks showed; whenever she had been angry, it had been calm anger, so you couldn’t figure her out, but now the mask was slipping. “The memories were tampered with, gone! I didn’t get the information I was looking for." She pushed you away from her, your back hit the console, and you swung in defense. There was a moment of silence. The world froze, and you both stared at each other, the calm before the storm.

The struggle brought you both to the ground; you bit her shoulder as hard as you could, and she grabbed your jaw, pushing you away with a startled yell, “You animal!” she hissed.

“Takes one to know one!” You hissed back and moved, straddling her hips, your hands wrapping around her throat, and she looked unimpressed. You screamed in an almost primal sound, all of your anger, your emotions, everything just poured out. Your eyes brimming with angry tears, she took this moment to force you off of her, but she was quick; crawling over you, she held your wrists down with one hand, and her other gripped your throat tightly.

“Respiratory bypass, idiot.” She said, like it should be common knowledge, why she hadn’t been choking. “You, on the other hand, puppy, with your pathetic little human system,” She squeezed harder, you choked out and tried to squirm to get your wrists free, and she watched you like you were a disgusting bug. “I should kill you, just end it; it wouldn’t be hard, snap your silly little neck.” She said matter-of-factly there was no playfulness, just actual anger. “If I killed you now, this wouldn’t even happen, you wouldn’t mean anything to me, and then they couldn’t use you. It’s a mercy for both of us if I did kill you, you know.” She let her thumb press against your jaw, forcing your head to tilt more. “Mercy for you, no more headache for me… It’s a win-win, puppy.’ She said, watching you, your chest heaving as you tried to breathe in but couldn’t. You arched, trying to buck her off, but she shifted to stay put. Your eyes fluttered a bit, and the edges of your vision blacked out.

“Please,” you choked out, your limbs heavy. There was a moment when she watched you and suddenly let your throat go, but she kept you pinned. You let a ragged breath in but didn’t fight her. She looked at you, really looked at you.

“You are feisty; I think I will let you live, at least until this is over…” She muttered and sat up to give you a bit of space, but she didn’t get off of you. You took a few deep breaths in and laid there on the cold floor.

“Apologize to my TARDIS, you had no right…” She said sharply, and you weakly nodded and croaked out a weak ‘sorry’. “If you ever try to fight me again, I will disintegrate you, and that will be that,” she warned and then gave her charming grin. “And I will hypnotize you again. I will not apologize for that or anything because it is by my grace alone that you are still alive. Now be a good pup—”

A knock startled both of you, a beat of four on the door. You looked at her in search of an answer. She looked at the door. Her eyes widened a bit as the knock happened again.

@Shipshroom @Germansarechill @thatgaywitch1 @what-bout-me @bugeater77 @sessa23 @lena-kieran-luthor @ch3rrybutterfly @marisacoulterswife @aboutcustardcreams @starbucks-06 @lotus-ignis

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