#I have been getting a few asks in the last few days so I just decided to answer this one cause this has come up before and I didnt answer i

[viaviavie]

OPERATION CINDERELLA-SABOTAGE [OCTANIVELLE]

in which he rescues you from your very short-lived wedding.

SUMMARY: due to a massive misunderstanding, a prince from royal sword academy is set to wed you at sunset. thankfully, your un-princely crush is here to save the day and crash this lovely wedding.

PAIRINGS: everyone x fem reader (separately)

WARNINGS: they're being a bit dramatic, characters are 18+, gaslighting (jade), floyd carries you, possessiveness (floyd)

NOTES: this is echoes the ghost bride event, but listening to this prompted me to write out this scenario instead. i made this for shits and giggles, so have fun with this! (gosh i had sm fun writing jade and azul's--- probably the most creative pieces i've had this month!)

HEARTSLABYUL | SAVANACLAW | OCTANIVELLE | SCARABIA | POMEFIORE | IGNIHYDE | DIASOMNIA

There was no way you would be able to say 'no' now, not when there were hundreds of Royal Sword Academy students and even more members of a random royal family whose last names you cannot recall waiting outside that door. Aside from a completely oblivious Neige and Che'nya who was nowhere to be found, there was no one you could really ask for help to get you out of this mess.

You turn to your supposed betrothed with frantic eyes, shaking your head wildly. "I already told you, I'm not the one you danced with at the ball!" Your hisses fell on deaf ears. That damned prince from Royal Sword Academy was too busy making the 'goo-goo' eyes at you to even register what you were saying.

"I just happened to have the same shoe-size!"

Damn it, why did you have to agree to fitting some missing girl's shoe?!

Pierce Charmant, possibly the most delusional guy you have ever met in Twisted Wonderland, clung onto your calf with a stubborn expression. He had no intentions of letting you go, and neither did his five other guards that had blocked your way.

"You have to be her!"

"You don't even know my name!"

You were really counting on Grim to get someone, anyone, to stop this wedding. Yet, as you are walked down the aisle by the fair Neige, you are already planning out a divorce settlement plan. Based on the number of guests here, who had filled this entire venue from top to bottom, you would have guessed that this prince was rather rich. If it was to be an unhappy marriage, at least your wallet would be more than compensated.

You managed to convince this prince to send invitations to Night Raven College, but that didn't matter. He was so excited and in a hurry to marry, that your friends barely had any time to rescue you! There must have been so much traffic with the mirrors that they couldn't even use them! There was just no way that they'd make it in time now.

And so you consign yourself to readying some divorce papers within the next few weeks, and planning out how to avoid any more interactions with this guy while you were married.

You stood at the chapel's base, your expression exasperated than ever as you kept darting your gaze to the door. You've already tripped over the aisle a few times, fumbled the scripted vows, and even called for a bathroom break or two to stall.

And now comes the big moment that you were so desperately trying to avoid.

"Would you, Pierce Charmant, take the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, as your lawfully wedded wife?"

The prince smiles so sickly sweet, and its the look of a man who won't change his mind.

"I do."

You grimace as the officiant faces you, just as blind to your annoyed expression.

"Would you, the Ramshackle Dorm Prefect, take Pierce Charmant as you lawfully wedded husband?" They didn't even use your name!

You pause, the image of your crush flashing before your eyes.

You would never see him again if you let yourself get married. Defiance returns to your face as you suck in a deep breath, ready to deal with the consequences of rejecting this delusional prince in front of hundreds of people.

"I—"

"I object!"

AZUL ASHENGROTTO

"Are you really really certain that the Prefect has feelings for me? This is not how I would have liked my confession to be presented, but I am always the opportunist. If the outcome is in my favor, I will uphold my promise to supply you with exemplary tuna for the following two weeks as discussed... Ha, this is quite the laborious tasks. Prefect, you will not be waiting for long."

Don't be so mistaken. Azul did go through the five stages of grief the moment Floyd came in nonchalantly mentioning your rather swift engagement to Prince Charmant. It didn't help that Jade confirmed this by turning on the television, shoving Magicam posts onto Azul's face, and delivering an updated newspaper with news of the upcoming wedding. He swore that you had found the love of your life that morning.

It had to take Grim spilling to him about your feelings to snap the poor octomer out of his spiraling thoughts. It was enough to boost his confidence into making a sound plan on how to retrieve you. After all, if this prince is truly not the one you fancy, then who is Azul to let the wedding happen without interference?

His plan is absolutely fool proof, and with a large audience of witnesses, he is mostly confident that he can secure your safety. Dressed in a fine suit, followed by several touch-ups to his appearance, he hastily makes his way to the cathedral in style.

Though, it would be worth mentioning that he does have a nervous breakdown over whether he made it in time or not.

It wasn't so much that you didn't expect Azul for some form of help, but rather, you anticipated that he would send the Leech twins to do his bidding. To see the tycoon-in-the-making himself, striding in without a hint of weakness, you couldn't help but gape like a fish out of water.

Your surprised expression only served to stroke his ego even more. "I am not the type to make such dramatic entrances, but this would have to do." Azul's signature smirk is plastered on his features as he makes a slight bow to your groom. It is nothing genuine, and you knew that very well.

"Pierce Charmant, prince. I come here to return your lovely bride back to Night Raven College, where she formally belongs." It's that false sense of security, that Azul uses to claim that he is on the prince's side. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, but found yourself turning away with a dreadful expression. Azul's haughty exterior never breaks as he continued to sell. "I fear that she is, perhaps, a bit too below your league. You see, you deserve someone of higher caliber." Rather, he thought that devaluing you may perhaps spare you from such a marriage.

"A magicless student without a background! Not to mention connected to several overblots that had occurred since her appearance at the college. On top of that, a long account of accumulated debt and unpaid fees for her tuition at the college. She would not be an asset at all!"

The pitch gets shot down as the prince shakes his head in an outright rejection. "I care not. The Prefect is the perfect candidate to rule alongside me. There is nothing you can sell to me that would make me reconsider my decision. It is final!"

"Not even a—!"

"Final!"

A hum of displeasure leaves Azul's throat as he reels himself back in. You watch him carefully, noting that the octomer hasn't even begun to sweat or spit out any more bargains to the prince. He has lost, but he doesn't seem too worried either.

It was almost as if he expected this outcome after all.

Sighing dramatically, Azul's eyes fluttered shut. "Very well, then." He drawled, a hand slipping into the inner pockets of his blazer. Your eyes catch the sight of an unfamiliar parchment, much unlike the golden standard sheets Azul had used for his contracts.

Azul trains his eyes onto you, promises reflected in that beautiful blue. "If it must be the last time we shall ever speak to each other— Allow me to bargain with you instead, Prefect."

From below, he reaches out towards you, outstretching his hand to offer you the parchment. Before Pierce could really swipe your hand away, you've already taken it upon yourself to read the contract's contents.

A CIVIL MARRIAGE CONTRACT AND REGISTRATION FORM?!

Needless to say, you were torn between being impressed by his wits or horrified by how absurd his proposition was.

"Azul!" You gasp, only to be met by his smug grin. Azul ran a hand through his silver locks, somewhat impressed with himself.

"Rather than marrying this prince, I shall provide you an alternate proposal for a husband." Posturing a hand to his chest, the octomer smiles at you. "Myself."

You clutch the contract close to your chest, looking at him for some sort of confirmation. His smile grows even wider. "I've already filled out your portion of the registration form to the best of my ability. It is sufficient, and all you have to do is sign your name."

"Azul!" You cry out once more in disbelief. Pierce could only scoff after taking a mere glance at the contract's fancy lettering.

"How absurd!"

Ignoring the prince, Azul swallows himself in an attempt to keep up his own farce. "Marrying a prince may seem overwhelming for a lady of your status, utterly magicless and without an experience to rule a country down to the smallest village." He drawled with faux concern, shaking his head in disapproval as the prince fumed at the sides.

"But look at me, prefect. I am an upcoming tycoon. Young, and not a terrible looker either. I am well-versed in the world of business and I certainly do have an endless list of connections. A prince is restrained by royal etiquette and duty, but I? The world is my oyster and you can partake."

Your jaw goes slack as Azul dares to take a step forward, summoning a feathered pen in hand. "Choose me, and you can find relief in knowing that you have a loving and charismatic husband who won't rush you into any tomfoolery of sorts. You will be well taken care of, and I will see to it that you will be satisfied."

He is certain that he is victorious, and you don't doubt that as well. Azul means well, at least, more than what this prince intends to do with you at the moment. Although, that is not to say some deals don't come with strings. The contract is clean, to your knowledge.

The silence had gone on too long for his liking. Biting onto his smile, Azul's eyebrow twitches. "You shall be entitled to 7% of my financial assets and investments as well." He offers through his teeth, hoping you would hurry up with your agreement. The octomer isn't sure for how long he can stay so confident for, in front of this crowd, in front of anyone watching this on live television.

With one more glance at the contract, you dare to carve a little hole in his carefully calculated plan. It isn't every day you get this opportunity to twist his contracts to your favor.

"Make it 20%," Amidst the scandalized gasps of the crowd, you do not miss the way Azul chokes on air. "Prefect, this is non-negotiable." He sputtered, attempting to regather his composure.

You hum in return, shrugging at him slightly with a cheeky grin. "Make it 18%, and I'd like a monthly supply of tuna for Grim."

The audience murmurs with speculation, all while you stare at the way Azul looks at you with such exasperation. He runs a hand through his hair once more, shaking his head to himself. "Greedy little thing, aren't you? This is not exactly the best time to bargain, but I suppose I was the one who taught you that bantering with pressure is a high-risk, high-reward strategy."

Azul sighed heavily, swiping the contract away from your hand to scribble onto it. "Very well, Prefect." He grumbled to himself before returning the paper to you, along with his ink pen.

"Sign it."

Before you could even do so, Pierce had snatched the pen from your fingers with a frightened expression. He knows that a contract would keep you from him, and even as a prince, he can't go against the fine print. "You can't be serious, Prefect! You're actually going to leave me to marry a swindler?!"

Irritation flashes across your expression, in the way you bare your teeth at the prince. It takes Azul by surprise, the way you clenched your free fist in anger.

"You can call Azul a swindler, but he's simply a businessman!" You hissed, easily taking back the pen. Pierce stumbles, even more taken aback by your outburst. "And he knows what my best interests are!"

You couldn't stand being cut off again. In a swift fluid motion, you sign your name onto the blank spaces, earning a bright smile from the contractor.

"You've got a deal!" Azul exclaimed, his voice echoing throughout the cathedral. Clasping onto your hand, the octomer takes the form into his hand and waves it in the air, stirring alarmed noises from the crowd.

He faces you once more, but this time, takes your side and wraps an arm around your middle. He squeezes your hip slightly in assurance just as he turns to Pierce with an obnoxious smirk.

"Splendid, my dear! Now as per the wedding registration states, along with other legislations, the Prefect cannot marry you as she is now married to me." He announces, seemingly unbothered by the way Pierce crumbles apart. The prince had begun to cling onto the altar for some sort of support, all the more crushed by how quickly he had lost you as a bride.

"You can't do that! That's unfair!" Pierce whined out, looking at you with a pained expression. He doesn't earn your sympathy, nor Azul's.

The Octanivelle dorm leader could only shrug, amused by the prince's pathetic display. "Rather unfortunate, isn't it? Not even the poor prince can't bend the law. Perhaps you should have considered the legal aspect of marriage before rushing into grand formalities."

It isn't so often that you hear a sigh of relief from Azul, given that he always seemed to have some certainty when it came to be making deals. "Now, we must best be going. Shall we, my dear?" He cooed in that familiar tone, the kind that he had only ever used with you. Like a gentleman, he offers you his arm to take.

And who are you to refuse? You giggled softly, hooking your arm into his own as he moves to lead you out of the cathedral.

"Of course, Azul."

Based on his personal logistics, Azul was 98% sure that you were going to take his offer. If Azul had faith in how well he knew you, you wouldn't marry a prince in that short lifespan. You would sooner elope with the Prince of the Fae or Kalim if you wanted any sort of prestige that came with significant power. Not to mention, Grim had given him that security that you did have feelings for him instead. That little 2% was any doubt that Grim was lying, or that maybe you would just reject him for some silly reason.

Of course, he hasn't forgotten about you having a crush on him. He doesn't really believe it himself, and he won't bring it up. There is no security in assuming your feelings, and that would be something that needs to leave your own mouth. Azul is content like this, biding his time until you eventually spill your heart out because of his fear of rejection.

Luckily, the Leech twins anticipated this and had already taken care of the issue themselves.

"It was a real marriage contract?!" You exclaimed, eyes scanning the document up and down. Both you and Azul had long since returned to the Mostro Lounge as the dinner shift is beginning to start, hoping to have a quick break when you decided to look at the document once more.

Azul had been pacing back and forth with a nervous expression, hands wrung into his hair with frustration and embarrassment. Whipping his head to the seemingly calmer twin, he fought back a scream.

"Jade, I trusted you to read the fine print! What happened?!"

Maintaining that eerie smile, Jade nodded in compliance. "I did read the fine print, Azul. Down to the last letter," The teal haired mer turned to his brother, a gloved hand covering his smile in an apologetic manner. "I suppose Floyd must have mixed up the forms with the real wedding registration. Isn't that right?"

You paused, raising a brow at the octomer with piqued curiosity. "You had a real marriage registration lying around?"

Before Azul could even recover from this leak of information, Floyd let out a reckless howl of laughter. "Whoops!" The impulsive twin shrugged, grinning wildly at you in the booth.

"Look on the bright side, you're married to Shrimpy like you wanted!"

Now that set Azul off, prompting him to lunge at the twin who simply steps aside. "FLOYD!" He cried out, wanting nothing more than to climb into his little octopot and never face you for the rest of his days. He desperately wanted to retreat, and could only recoil slightly when your hand taps at his heaving shoulders.

He looks at your questioning expression. "Like you wanted?" You echo, and there is not a single indication that you were rejecting him. No, you just needed more answers.

A strangled noise leaves Azul, right before he sighed and sank against the booth's structure. "It doesn't matter. The registration is really invalid unless it was given to the civil office for processing." The octomer croaked, face turned away.

He can never look you in the eye again after this, and he would sooner watch you wed Prince Riel before he can ever recover from this disaster. Azul expected you to laugh at him, to leave him in the dust at this very instant.

Instead, you slink back into your seat and play with the registration form on the table.

"I wouldn't mind if you handed it into the office as is, you know?"

"I beg your pardon?!" Azul choked, looking at you as if you had grown a second head. His jaw goes even more slack as you smile at him, returning those smug smiles he had been flashing you at the wedding. "You heard me. Who ever said that I never had an interest in you beyond the benefits of marriage?"

You glance the clock, gasping with fake urgency. You hop off from your seat, hands dusting at your grand wedding dress as you begin to drag yourself to the employee's lounge.

"Oh well, time to head into my shift for the Mostro Lounge. I'll talk to you later, Azul! Need to change out of this wedding dress!" You sang, pretending to ignore the way your crush scrambles for his bearings.

"Wait, Prefect! Just wait a moment, get back here! This discussion isn't over!"

JADE LEECH

"Fufufu, getting married without so much of a notice? Prefect, you attract the most strangest of things. I wonder if you enjoy danger as much as you surround yourself in it. Maybe I shouldn't be too surprised. After all, you have endured an overblot here and there. Not to mention you have Grim, and you have been living well despite having no magic. Oh, sweet Prefect, you truly are much more entertaining than you bargain for."

No one really knows what Jade plans to do when he gets to the venue. He saw the news, and just told everyone that he would take care of it. Floyd knows nothing of how Jade will deal with the situation, and neither does Azul. In fact, Azul found out rather late that Jade had decided to use up his vacation hours for today's little intervention.

That is not to say that he is heading to you without a plan. Why, Jade is a Leech, after all. Azul did not make him the vice-housewarden for nothing. He may not be as outwardly forceful as Floyd, nor a mountain of resources like Azul, but he is precisely good at one thing!

Gaslighting.

"My deepsea darling, am I late?"

Something is wrong. Well, something is always wrong whenever Jade is in the room. Such is an omen amongst Night Raven College students who would flee and swerve out of the day when this particular Leech twin is in the area. Though you have your own feelings for the eel, you cannot deny that something is awfully wrong when Jade storms in with his own tux with that eerily calm smile on his face.

He strides down the carpet, humming to himself. "I suppose I arrived just in time." Whatever words had begun to formulate in your head, they never really leave when Jade forces his way next to you, subtly making the prince make way for his intimidating frame.

Needless to say, Pierce was unpleased. "And who are you?" The prince questions, attempting to stand up to this stranger, only to fail once the eel looked down at him with an awfully cheery smile.

Oddly enough, it's that same smile he gives to students that are overdue for a favor.

"Why, I am the groom, of course!"

A cold wind bristled through the cathedral. From one row to the next, a chill runs down each of their spines. Still, there is not much of a reaction or rather, everyone was simply too stunned or too afraid to comment on this.

Your eyes are wide, fixated onto Jade's with bewilderment. "You are?" You whispered, almost uncertain yourself. Jade doesn't make much of a reaction, only keeping that calm smile as if this was the most natural occurrence in the world.

"I beg your pardon?" Pierce croaked, just as confused as you.

Clearing his throat, Jade chuckles to himself. He allows a small curt bow, a polite gesture. "Forgive me. My name is Jade Leech, and I am the groom for today's wedding." He tells the other man curtly.

The prince had let out a strangled noise in return, awkwardly trying to push Jade away from the stands. He failed, followed by a stammer. "You must be mistaken. I am the groom hoping to wed the lovely Ramshackle Prefect."

Jade hummed with feigned interest, nodding in acknowledgement. "Really? I suppose it is our lucky day. I, too, am marrying a Ramshackle Prefect. I just so happen to be marrying this one." He sang, turning to you at the right time to take in your stunned expression. Quietly, he eyes you from your head to the end of the dress's train.

"You look quite lovely in this dress, darling. Whoever picked it for you certainly had good taste." It comes so naturally, the way he slips his hand into yours. His thumb rubbed slow circles onto your skin in a soothing manner, but you cannot help and feel as if he was looking down at you like his favorite specimen. Those sharp teeth glint against the light as he grinned slightly.

Your cheeks flushed a warm red as Jade cupped your cheek, looking at you with such infatuation that it almost frightens you. You were almost certain that he wanted to eat you right on the spot. "Do not fret. It must be so nervewracking to be in front of so many strangers. I hoped to invite as many as I could, just so that we could share this lovely day with the world." He cooed so lovingly, and you swore that you were falling for it like the many sailors that died to sirens on the sea.

"Hello!? I'm right here!"

Ignoring the protests from the prince, Jade sighed to himself as he pulled away his palm from your face. "It is such a shame that I would have to skip so many steps. Why, I would have been delighted to take you on so many dates before taking your hand in marriage. You seem like the type to appreciate being courted properly. I hoped to bide my time with you, but humans do love spontaneity." The eel bemoaned, though he did not appear displeased.

Boldly, he closes in on the space between you and him. Pausing at the shell of your ear, sharp teeth gently nip at the skin before a hot breath brushed against you. "Please have me, Prefect." You had never heard him so quiet, almost shy yet the eel was far beyond hesitant.

Judging from your flushed expression, Jade held back a chuckle of his own. He didn't need your answer right now, even when he had shown you his cards. This wouldn't be about any of your feelings. Rather, he intended to do what he enjoyed doing best, whether it be coaxing the truth from another student or squeezing his next prey.

Jade decided to bide his time.

"Shall we repeat our vows? I don't believe I had the chance to express my adoration for you. Let me start from the beginning..."

Poor Pierce. The prince had to take a seat somewhere as Jade went on and on about his feelings for you. It was nothing too revealing or personal for the public view, but who would've known that Jade was completely capable of being obnoxiously in love? You've lost count of the many pet names he used, or the countless mushrooms he had likened you to. He truly had no shame, really.

However Jade managed to gaslight the entire cathedral into thinking that he was the one getting married today, he somehow pulled it off. At least, he did it long enough until Trein and Crewel dragged Crowley in by the ear to call the entire thing off.

Apparently, it is one thing to have the Prefect get married to a delusional prince. It is another to have the Prefect married to Jade Leech at this moment and time. Thankfully, they managed to intervene before the 'I do's' had begun again.

The ride going back to the college was eerily silent. You were extremely grateful that Professor Trein, Professor Crewel, and Headmaster Crowley had come at the right time to drag you out of that cathedral. You were no longer compromised, but was it really necessary to seat Crowley in-between you and Jade?

The eel didn't seem to mind, hands clasped onto his lap as the vehicle gently waved up and down according to the road. "I hope I did not make you uncomfortable, Prefect." He says calmly, glancing at you from the other side of the backseat.

You could only give him a sheepish smile from across, attempting to face the eel without the interference of Crowley's mask. "Everything's okay, Jade. I'm sorry you had to come and help me though."

"The pleasure was all mine. I am happy to have provided my assistance in the matter. Although, I was certain that everything was under control." You don't miss the way that Jade's eyes flicker to the two professors at the front then back to Crowley who flinched under the student's gaze. "But I do hope you realize that my words were genuine. I would have definitely preferred to give you my feelings at a more appropriate time."

"You like me?" You whispered in a weak attempt to find some privacy, but your impatience and curiosity had taken the better of you. Jade's composure never wavers, almost uncaring of a potential rejection. Shame was clearly unknown to him, and the hardened expressions of his professors go ignored.

"I most certainly fancy you. Wasn't it obvious?" He replied in a content tone. "Perhaps, would you like to join me for dinner at the Mostro Lounge tonight? The establishment would be closed, but I suppose Azul would not mind a special last-minute booking."

"I would like that."

"Wonderful," Jade lets out a quiet sigh, posturing himself to face forward. That eerie smile leaves an unsettling shiver through Crowley. "And thank you for coming to the Prefect's aid. I will be sure to remember this when one of you takes her down the aisle for our wedding."

A strong swerve to the left.

Trein's arm extends towards the wheel from the passenger seat, taking control of the vehicle as he attempted to drive the car back into the proper road. "Crewel, eyes on the road!" He exclaimed, far too concentrated on the road to take note of the stress written on Crewel's face. Crowley isn't doing much better, seeming to have passed out in his seat.

"Too soon to think about marriage? My apologies."

FLOYD LEECH

"Aww, Shrimpy! I knew you liked me, but don'tcha think you're playing a bit too hard to get? You're practically begging to be squeezed now! Can't wait to have you in my arms so you can't go anywhere no more." (He says it so lightheartedly, but the way his calmly strides his way towards the cathedral is so uncanny that it's frightening everyone that crosses his path).

A certain eel threw a tantrum when Azul forbade him from coming to your rescue. Such things should be handled by the right people, like any of the professors! Not you, Floyd! Letting Floyd get you is like sending a piranha fish into a tank full of bait. There was no guarantee that the wedding wouldn't end in an international disaster.

"I'll take care of it! What're you so worried about!?" Floyd asks accusingly as he casually cracks his knuckles with loud unsettling 'pops'. Jade's already tried talking him into doing something more levelheaded, but Floyd is having none of it. Shrimpy isn't getting married today, most certainly not to some no-name Prince hung up over shoe sizes.

Floyd is already gone the moment someone's eyes are off him. Not only is staff trying to figure out a plan for you, but now, they're scrambling to keep Floyd from making this messier than they should be. It's not that they distrust Floyd... actually, they do have every reason to distrust a ticking bomb like Floyd. No one can really predict him, nor can they predict what he will do to take you back.

Floyd isn't the type to dance around with formalities. Jade has always been the more diplomatic one, much more crafted around social codes and conducts. Frankly, Floyd couldn't give two shits about being polite and courteous, especially when it came to securing goods.

After all, this wasn't a deal under Azul's name. He didn't have to handle some precious cargo or sweeten up to some bargainer. Everyone is fair game when it comes to you.

"Congratulations, Shrimpy! I didn't know you were getting married to princey-poo over here!" The eel yelled from door, crooked grin and all. Your face lit up with a smile almost immediately as some sort of relief flooded your being.

"Floyd!" You exclaimed as your hands bunched up your dress and your feet climbed down the short stairs. You ignored the way Pierce called out for you, opting to race down the carpet until your head bumped into Floyd's sternum.

It couldn't be helped. If there was someone who was going to rescue you no matter what, you can bet on Floyd who would do it without hesitation, regardless of how messy the work would be... At least, that would only apply when it came to Shrimpy.

Tilting his head to the side with surprise, Floyd's grin widened as he took his hand to caress the top of your head. "Aww, you're squeezing me real tight! It's making me wanna squeeze back, real good." Your heart stopped for a moment, feeling his strong arms snake around your shoulders.

You braced yourself for a tight squeeze, holding your breath before he could crush you.

Oddly enough, it is Pierce that spares you from the blow. The prince cleared his throat, glaring at the eel as he reached for the handle of his sword. "Look, I don't know who you are, but you'd best return the Prefect to me right now."

Unfortunately, Floyd does so little as to bat an eye to the prince with a shrug. "Eh? I don't wanna." He drawled apathetically, too fixated on the pretty patterns of your dress.

"I beg your pardon?" Pierce choked, adamant for a proper explanation. He flinched at the way Floyd's gaze locks into him, frightened by the slightest look of irritation on the eel's face. "You heard me. I don't wanna give up Shrimpy for marriage."

You attempt to look up from Floyd's chest, hoping to placate him but his hand pressures your head to stay pressed to his chest. You wouldn't be able to see that scary look on his face, nor would you see the way that Pierce swallowed to himself in fear.

"I already came a long way to pick up Shrimpy. I don't think she likes you very much. Do you, Shrimpy? You wanna marry him?" You could only muffle your protests through his chest, and it seemed to be enough to snap the eel out his souring mood.

Floyd grinned, pleased with your supressed response. "You don't wanna? You hear that, princey? Shrimpy got no plans to get married today. I'll be taking her home now, okay?"

Finally, you get the chance to breathe once Floyd had released you from his hold. Before you could really regain your bearings, your world is flipped upside down when Floyd tosses you over his shoulder like a sack of rice. You couldn't really stop yourself from banging on his back, flustered by the gesture.

"Floyd, put me down!" You cried out. Your little punches only served to make Floyd laugh. "Don't wanna! You're too slow!" He yelled back with amusement, purposely picking up the pace to annoy you further.

"Wanna see how fast I can get you back to campus, Shrimpy? Hold on tight!"

Thankfully, Floyd gets bored of running before you got truly nauseous. He can't seem to remember how he got here in the first place, so the best thing to do is wait until Azul or Jade come to find you both. Until then, he plans to amuse himself with you for the rest of the day.

Similarly to Jade, Floyd has no shame when it comes to dragging you around in that wedding dress. He's already dragged you into a convenience store, an arcade, and even the basketball court despite your attire. Even as your dress got dirtier and dirtier, nothing really took away from how much he was enjoying himself with you.

He did get slightly annoyed when he noticed how much trouble you've had keeping up with him in those dreadful glass slippers. But he had just the perfect solution for that!

"Shrimpy! The store had it in your size!" Floyd giggled to himself, eagerly slipping off the glass slipper from your sore foot. Nothing could really compare to the relief you felt feeling the soft padding of the shoe instead of that painful arch. Wiggling your toes in the space, you smiled at the eel from your seat on the bench.

He easily performs the same gesture to your other foot, moreover pleased with how the runners looked on your feet. "Hehe, now we match!" Your eyes flicker down to his own shoes; basketball runners specifically tailored for comfort. Of course, Floyd would have invested in something like this. He was merfolk, after all. They would have taken better care of their feet compared to the average human.

"Oh, Floyd! You didn't have to get me these. I would've been just fine with slippers." You tell him with a slight pout. Floyd shrugged in response, rising to his feet. His shadow is cast over you, his body shielding you from the setting sun. "If I didn't get them for you, Shrimpy would've had a tough time playing with me."

Your pout intensified as you got up to your feet, grabbing at the basketball he had bought from the store as well. You bounce the ball off the asphalt, careful to not step on your dress. "At least let me pay you back later." As soon as those words left your lips, you immediately come to regret them.

It was never a good idea to offer compromises with an Octanivelle student.

A wide toothy grin comes across Floyd's face as he swipes the ball from you, taking a hop to the side as he shoots towards the rim. The sport is long forgotten however as he leers towards you, eager to strike at your weak attempts to take back your offer.

"Shrimpy's being generous today! I ain't interested in your thaumarks. Azul gives me plenty of that already," He stalked you down, backing you up against the wire fence. His arms cage you in, leaving you nowhere to run or hide.

"Now that I think of it, you haven't even paid me back for saving you. I'm still mad that you went to go and get hitched without me, y'know? I was really upset. I hate the idea of you getting together with somebody else." Floyd's mismatched eyes glint with need and want, followed by the way he leans in until his warm breath tickles your lips.

"I like chasing you, Shrimpy. But if you keep making me chase you, I'm gonna squeeze you so tight so you stop hiding."

Lips curved upward, Floyd smiles into the kiss he presses against you. There is a certain gentleness you never expected from him, a kind that you reciprocate. Molding your lips against his, the eel pulled away with a satisfied sigh. Still, he doesn't free you from the cage he created.

"You have feelings for me?" You question softly, followed by a giddy giggle of his own. "Took you long enough to notice! But that's alright," Another kiss is stolen from you, leaving you in a daze.

"You're gonna be making it up to me. We can start with a little squeeze!"

[inbabylontheywept]

Memories of Grandpa Dale

I was playing in the barn, but I was also hiding from my grandpa. I was aware that this hurt his feelings, but I didn’t know what else to do. Every year I’d ever visited him before, he’d seemed kind of mad at me, but I’d hoped still that year was the year that we’d finally be friends. I even made a list of things to do together. 

Unfortunately, the list did not fix things¹ so I'd been forced to acknowledge that if he couldn't be happy with me there, and he couldn't be happy with me gone, then perhaps he simply could not be happy. At least, not until someone invented The Secret Third Thing.

(But I was only nine. So. That someone would probably not be me.) 

Fortunately, being happy is a task that I've never needed to delegate - I’m actually quite good at it. I’d been sad in the barn for maybe an hour or so, but eventually that got boring, so I invented a new game where I would chase big clouds of shiny blue flies off the sun-warmed horse-poop and try to shoo them towards a corner of the barn that I knew had a large spiderweb in it. 

I was perfectly aware that this is not ideal for the flies, but I had just read Charlotte’s Web, so my empathy function was very biased towards spiders, who I perceived as patient and compassionate and slightly maternal women. Who just happened to have eight legs.  

(I, like most nine year old boys, would have personally been willing to fight a war for every patient, compassionate, slightly maternal woman I had ever met. If you, personally, have ever hugged a little boy who was trying very hard not to cry in front of his friends after skinning his knee, know that there is a child in this world that would kill in your name.)

(Now live with that knowledge.) 

I played my game with the flies for a long time. Long enough to get into a rhythm of running and laughing and then panting outside on my back while wallowing in the long green grass.

It was during one of those walks outside to lay in the grass that I noticed my mom. She was sitting on a hay bale, looking baffled. I don’t know how long she’d been there, but I was too young and confident to even feel odd. She asked me what I was doing, and I just kind of gestured to the ceiling, and said, You know, just. Feeding spiders.²

She nodded. I was feeding spiders. Of course. 

We sat there a few moments. It was an amicable silence, but I was still faintly relieved when she broke it.  

Your grandpa’s been looking for you, she said. He got some grapes earlier. Wanted to take you to feed the ducks.

I've always really liked feeding ducks³. Visiting them had actually been the next thing on my list. 

I was baffled by the effort. 

He’s mad at me, I pointed out. My mom, to her credit, looked genuinely confused. 

He’s not, she said. 

But he was mad when we picked blackberries, I pointed out. And when we went on that walk down to the prairie. And he snapped at me this morning when I asked if I could have some of his dried mangos. 

The mangos had been my last straw. The weirdest part was that he didn’t even say no, he just (angrily) said of course you can, as if it was an insult to his hospitality that I was asking when just the year before he’d yelled at me because I ate a tin of dried apples. Apparently, I was just supposed to know that those apples were exclusively reserved for The Apocalypse. 

(To be fair, my grandpa has always been very worried about the apocalypse, but mostly in the context of not having enough dried apples for it. There was a period of my life where I thought that The Apocalypse referred to some kind of prophesied biblical event where there would be No More Apples. This thought has stuck with me for a very long time⁴.)

Well. Yeah. My mom said. He’s mad. But he’s not mad at you. He’s just… Mad. 

I mulled this over. 

What about the mangos? I asked, and she shrugged at that. 

Alright, so that time he was mad at you, but that’s being mad one time in three days. Cut the man some slack, you’ve been asking him for permission before eating anything. 

I just don’t want to eat the wrong thing, I said. I’ve always been very defensive of my rule-following. Both because rules are important, and also because that #10 can of dried apples ripped through me like a shotgun full of razor blades⁵. That “snack” had 400% the recommended daily fiber for an adult man. And I was very definitely not a grown man when I ate it.  

It was a very painful experience is what I am trying to say. 

I know, my mom said. 

I don’t even like apples, I added. Still defensive. 

I know, my mom said again. She’s very good at saying it. It always feels like she’s agreeing with me, and not just trying to rush me onto The Point. Sometimes, people need to make detours from The Point in order to explain things. Like, hypothetically, why they once ate a very large number of dehydrated apples. My mom is wise, and she has always known this. . 

I just really wanted to eat something sweet, I continued. They don’t keep anything sweet in the whole house. The day before I ate those apples, I licked all the salt off a saltine just so I could eat the cracker plain. And then the cracker tasted just like a cookie. To me. That’s how crazy I was going. 

My mom nodded her head sympathetically. 

My first month of college, she said conspiratorially, I ate about a box of poptarts a day. 

There was another longish pause as both of us considered what led us to this point. 

My parents are crazy, my mom said at long last. It’s a very peaceful statement to her. I'm sure it was stressful when she first realized it, but she's had a long time to make her peace, and she's made it well.  

Will you go with me? I asked. To feed the ducks?  

He’s not mad at you, she said again. Reemphasizing her point. He’s just mad. It’s just how he is. 

But she went with me anyway.

I watched Grandpa Dale closely the whole way to the pond to see if my mom was right. She was. She almost always is.  He was angry while he drove, and he was angry while he parked and he was even angry while he strode purposefully towards the park. When we got there, he took several grapes, and he angrily put them in his hand, and angrily extended the hand towards the ducks, and he looked at me, and for maybe a tenth of a second he looked okay. Not exactly happy, but a little less mad. Then a duck bit the webbing between his pointer finger and his thumb.

He immediately, without hesitation, without even a second thought, hit the duck with a haymaker⁶. For a human, the punch would have been devastating, but the duck had the benefit of having essentially no inertia, so it just kind of moved sideways and looked perplexed. 

You son of a bitch, my grandpa said. This is a funny thing for anyone to say to a duck, but it was especially funny to hear coming from a former Mormon Bishop. 

Quack,⁷ said the duck. 

My mom started laughing. I'd felt a sort of holy terror at the anger my grandpa was exuding in that moment, but the moment she laughed I realized how absurd it was. I was watching a grown man beef with a duck. I was watching a grown man beef with the world. 

I started laughing too. In a better world, maybe my grandpa would've joined. Maybe he would've taken a good hard look in the mirror and questioned why exactly he was so angry. But he didn't. Instead he swore at the duck some more, and he threw his remaining handful of grapes at it overhand, like a baseball, and then the duck ate the grapes out of the water, and my mom actually laughed so hard she started dry heaving a little, and my grandpa had to go sit in the car for a few minutes by himself to regain his composure. 

¹ He managed to pick blackberries angrily

² Unfortunately, I do this kind of response quite a bit.

³ I got my first kiss from my wife because I managed to capture a duck. They're like, a motif for my life. Very lucky to have that.

⁴ I reference it again in this very weird short story.

⁵ I eat a lot of strange things.

⁶ My wife is concerned people will not know what a haymaker is. It is simply the most redneck kind of punch.

⁷ ...What did you expect it to say?

[blueivyy99]

Sylus? No ... Skye?

Sylus x NonMC

summary: you didn't know that your lovely sweetheart is the most wanted man in all of Linkon. you knew him as Skye. one year with him was bliss, then suddenly he ghosted you.

tags: fluff, angst, sylus as skye, non mc reader more tags to follow

taglist: @animegamerfox @lazypostfandomer @mentaltrouble2201

note: ACKKK new series hiii! Hope you enjoy this

Masterlist

"How is my darling?"

Destiny cafe is particularly busy during this time of the day. Chatters from friends and the sound of the coffee grinder fills the place. So when you heard a familiar voice talking in your direction, you tear your gaze away from your laptop and looked at them. It's your very adorable boyfriend -- Skye. You immediately shoot him a smile. He's finally here.

"You're just in time. I'm actually loading up my cart for skincare products. Come and help me choose."

He groaned before plopping to your side and looked at your screen. That made you giggle. He doesn't really like doing all of these and in his own words he can "just help pay for it" but he tolerates you anyway.

"Sweetie, didn't we just bought some a few months back?" he asked while still scrolling through different brands of facial masks looking for the ones you two already tried and tested.

"Months. It's been months, Skye. We already went through all of them. We only have a week's worth."

"Fine. Go and check out this one. I like the scent."

Your afternoon went on like that. Nothing new. Just a fun and light moment with your long term boyfriend. It has been a blissful year since you two got in a relationship and so far, he did nothing but make you smile. Although he is stubborn at times and makes your head ache with his sudden disappearances, you didn't question him for it. You wanted to, but it seemed like he isn't ready to tell you where he goes and as an apology when he returns he gives you a bouquet of peonies.

Skye tells you that he is just a lowly fruit vendor whose income depends on how his fruits sell and that he got lucky supplying a few bigshots costumers here in Linkon, but sometimes it's hard to believe that. His motorbike collection alone is enough to pay for your year's worth of salary and so far he used at least five different big bikes around you. Not to mention his cars that's another puzzle that you cannot wrap your head around.

And the way he spoils you is out of this world! You're not one to police someone's spending habits but if Skye is telling the truth and he is just living off of his fruits, then he should start cutting back on the amount he spends on you.

"Skye, if you ever think of paying for this, I'm telling you now: don't." you said trying to be stern. "Let me cover it this time."

He raised a brow at you, "What kind of boyfriend am I if I let my lady pay for the things she loves?"

When he is like this it's so easy to just give in and do what he wants especially when he looks so offended that you don't want him to pay for you. It might no be obvious to him, but he has this little pout whenever he doesn't get his way and his eyes looks so disappointed that it makes your heart clench.

But no. You will not be swayed.

"You will be a responsible boyfriend who will be mindful of his spending habits so he can maintain his lifestyle." you answered him looking directly in his eyes. "You have been spending wayyyy too much on me, baby. It feels like for a week alone, you already managed to gift me an entire month's worth of my salary."

"Fruit sold so well it's fair that my lady gets her share."

There he is again. Using his charm and sweet words to get to you.

"I love that you had such a provider mindset, that's very husband material of you." you said emphasizing your last phrase because you know you get him to listen to you when that kind of topic is brought up. "BUT you have to spend wisely. It's not everyday that you will sell well. What if a competitor comes and you lose all your costumers, then what? I would happily provide for us, but if we can avoid being broke then by all means let's avoid it."

Skye knows you and your history. You didn't come from a rich background and you had to work your entire high school until college just to finish studying so you know hard work and how important it is to be mindful of your purchases and seeing Skye just burn his finances like it doesn't hurt his pockets is something that you would just watch.

"What I'm saying is, you need to save up for your future. You never know what might happen."

He took your hand and laced it with his, bringing it up his lips and kissed it.

"Don't worry about that 'kay? I'm not spending more than what I can lose. We won't go broke." he said and smirked, "But I think I would spend more on you. I like it when you get so ... wifey. Makes me wanna put a ring on you."

You blushed hard. Feigning irritation, you took your hand back and crossed your arm.

"Well, I won't marry someone who doesn't care about our finances."

"Hey! Don't say that!" He made you face him but you won't budge.

He sighed defeatedly when you didn't speak further. "Fine. I would spend less."

You smiled and finally looked at him. "Promise?"

"Promise." he looked like a kicked puppy it's adorable. You kissed his cheeks to mend his broken heart.

"Love 'ya. Keep that up I might propose to you myself."

He was wide eyed when you said that.

"Don't you dare, sweetie. Let me do the proposing." he said.

"If you are gonna spend a couple of thousand dollars on it, then I would say no." you stuck your tongue out just to piss him off.

He chuckled at you and your childish antics, "A man don't kiss and tell about the prices of their gifts, sweetheart. You wouldn't know."

You just pinched his ears lightly careful not to hurt him. "Take me seriously, Skye. Don't spend too much on me. Save some for yourself."

"I know, baby. I hear you. I will try, okay?"

You nodded your head. That's good enough to hear for now.

==

You walked out of the cafe planning to chill in your home and watch movies when Skye received a phone call from his shop assistant Luke. He answered it while keeping his hand on your waist to guide you to the front seat of his car.

"Hello?" He shut the door to his side and started driving putting Luke in speaker mode.

"Boss Man, we're on our way to deliver watermelons. The client wants to meet you. It's important."

You can hear Skye grumbling under his breath. He hates it when these kind of things happen especially when his time with you gets cut short. You two only see each other once or twice a week and it really pisses him off when he can't spend it like he intended to. You took his free hand and held him nodding for him to go.

"But -"

"Do it. Visit me tomorrow or the next day. Just text me and I will take a day off." you said. You really missed him too but his business needs him and you won't be the one to cause it's downfall.

He just sighed and answered Luke, "I'll be there. I will just take Y/N home."

"Copy boss!"

==

He pulled up in front of your apartment. You can see that he hesitates to leave because he doesn’t even look at you and he has that little pout on his lips again. When Skye is like this, you really want to kiss him silly.

“Skye,”

“I don’t want to go.”

“Tsk.” He turned off the engine and went out to open the door for you. “I will be back as soon as I can, okay? I love you.”

You gave him a sweet kiss on the lips. You need your fill for when you wait on him.

“I love you too.”

You watched his car leave. Feeling hollow on your chest.

You went inside hopeful that he will see you in two days tops.

But then a week had passed and no message from him. You tried to call but it only rings.

It made you worry and you don’t know any way to reach him.

If you had known that it would be the last time you would see him after a very long time, would you have let him go?

note: how was itttt? i hope you enjoy. this will be at least 3-4 parts only. love you!!! reacts, comments and reblogs are much much welcome 🤗

[navybrat817]

Just to See You Smile

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Summary: Your emotions get the better of you at work, and someone just wants you to smile again.

Word Count: Over 1.1k

Warnings: Crying, bit of low self-esteem, fluff, sweetness, Bucky Barnes (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not in a great headspace at work (and won't be for the rest of the week), so I wrote this small thing. ❤️ Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

It wasn't professional to cry at work. Letting your emotions get the better of you was something to do off the clock. You could usually grin and bear it on the bad days but today was more difficult than usual and you could explain why. Everything just felt heavy, like the weight of the world was pushing you into the ground until it buried you. Until you couldn't breathe. And you didn't make it to the bathroom in time before the tears came. 

At least no one saw you. 

Grabbing a tissue to wipe your face after a few minutes, you studied yourself in the mirror. While you didn't have a full breakdown, it would've been obvious to anyone looking at you that you cried thanks to your puffy eyes. Maybe if you kept your head down and buried yourself in your work for a bit no one would notice. It wasn't like anyone noticed you anyway. No one really talked to you outside of needing help with an issue. 

A reliable teammate, and nothing more. 

With a deep breath, you walked out of the bathroom and told yourself not to cry again until you got home. But you were so busy keeping your head down that you ran straight into a wall. Well, not a wall, but you did hit something solid. Firm. Warm. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.” The soft baritone sent tingles down your spine. So did the gentle grip on your arms. “Are you okay?” 

Lifting your gaze, you gasped and stared into a pair of startling blue eyes. Your cheeks warmed under the intense focus. Jesus, you walked right into Bucky Barnes. Crying in the bathroom was bad enough, you had to crash right into a super soldier who smelled like heaven and looked like a god?

“I think so,” you answered, your eyes wide when he stepped back to assess you. For a moment, you pretended he was looking at you and holding you as if you mattered. “Really, I’m fine. It was my fault for running into you, so I’m sorry.���

Your heart nearly ceased to beat when he gave you a small smile. Did he realize how it lit up the blue of his eyes? He didn't smile much when he roamed the halls, but he spared a smile for you. “You’re more than welcome to bump into me.” 

“I… Really?” you asked, your cheeks hot all over again. Bucky knew your name, had repeated it back to you when he introduced himself to you, but he kept to himself when he wasn't on missions. Surely, he didn't want you bumping into him. He was just teasing, being nice. 

But what if he wasn't just being nice?

So many thoughts raced through your mind when his thumbs grazed your skin. “Yeah, really.” 

“Oh.” You giggled, a small sound, and it was nice to think that he was flirting with you.

That feeling didn't last long when his eyes filled with concern. “Are you sure you're okay?” he asked, sweeping his gaze along your face. Had he figured out that you wept not too long ago? “You can tell me if you aren't.”

Your heart turned over at the sincerity in his tone. He wasn't asking just to ask, and it meant more than he knew that he wanted to know. But when you opened your mouth, ready to tell him that it was a rough day, you shut it just as quickly. He didn't need to hear about that. He had more important things to deal with than someone forgettable like you. 

After all, he was a hero and you were… well, you. 

“I just…” 

He raised an eyebrow. “Just what?”

You realized you were holding your breath with him so close and finally exhaled. “I just need to get back to work, Sergeant Barnes. That’s all.” You tried to smile at him, but he could likely see the strain behind it. Though you considered yourself invisible to many, he was too observant not to notice.

He stepped further away and let his hands fall to his sides. While he didn't look convinced by your answer, he respectfully didn't push it. “Call me Bucky,” he whispered.

“Bucky,” you whispered, tasting his name on your tongue.

“And I’m around if you ever want to talk. I don't mind,” he offered, gently brushing past you and making you shiver all over again. 

“Thanks,” you managed to say, turning to gaze after him. You may have checked him out, too, because you couldn't help yourself. Not when he wore those tactical pants so well. “Really, Bucky. Thank you. It means a lot,” you called after him. 

He didn't have to ask how you were doing or offer you anything, but he did. 

He stopped to give you another smile over his shoulder. “You're welcome,” he said. Your knees nearly gave out, but you smiled back before he walked around the corner. 

“What a man…” you whispered, fanning yourself and briefly forgetting that you were at work and that you had a job to do. 

As you straightened up and headed back to your desk, you spotted something that wasn't there before- a candy bar. Your favorite candy bar in fact. Intrigue filled you when you saw the note beside it, but you didn't recognize the handwriting. 

“Something sweet to put your sweet smile back on your face.”

You warmly smiled and hugged the candy bar and note to your chest. All this time you thought you were invisible, but someone cared and paid attention enough to leave a treat for you. The small gesture made a world of difference in your day, like Bucky offering you kindness. You selfishly wanted him to be the one who left the candy bar, too. 

A girl could dream. 

What you didn't realize was that Bucky was right around the corner, his heart racing and smiling to himself as you enjoyed your treat. You tried to blend in with your surroundings, but you stuck out to him in the most wonderful way. You had from the start. 

What you also didn't know was that he spotted your tears when you left your desk minutes ago, nor did you know that he rushed to get your favorite candy bar from the vending machine nearby while you were gone. He wasn't sure what upset you, but the sight of your tears broke his heart. He wished he would've had time to get flowers, but he hoped the small pick me up helped you feel a bit better. 

And maybe tomorrow if luck was on his side he could talk to you, treat you to lunch, and keep that sweet smile on your face. 

Look, I love the idea of Bucky leaving all sorts of treats and trinkets for you because he's awesome like that. Also, please be kind to yourself. You lovelies deserve good things. Love and thanks for reading! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Bucky Barnes Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[moonstruckme]

Hello ! I hope you are okay, I have 2 Idea for the new girl/who's that girl au, so i'm sharing it with you ! First idea : she locked herself out of the flat (closed the door and left the key inside, so she is just here waiting for one of the guys to come home and hoppen the door. Second idea : she found a dog (a border collie , yeah it is clearly inspired from something that happened to me x))and she bring the dog home while she try to contact the owner. Or you can put the two idea together and she is locked outside her appartment with a stranger's dog. Thank you for reading my request , have a good day ^^

Thanks for your request angel! I did start to use both of these, but then I had an idea and the second one ended up somewhat altered haha, hope you still like it <3

cw: modern au

roommate!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 1.2k words

You’re slurping up the last of your iced latte when the door to your flat opens. 

“Oh.” Remus stops short at the sight of you sitting cross-legged on the floor of the hall. “Hello.” 

“Hi,” you say cheerily, careful not to jostle the pocket of your hoodie too much as you stand. You pat Remus’ shoulder as you go past him. “Thanks.” 

He had clearly been on his way out, but at your entrance he circles back inside the flat. “Have you been out there long?” 

“No.” You dump your empty cup in the trash. Your pastry’s gone cold, but you think it might still be good microwaved. “Just forgot my key, figured one of you had to go in or out eventually.” 

Remus tracks your movements with his eyes, taking another few steps in from the open doorway. “Why didn’t you knock?” 

“Didn’t want to wake anyone.” 

Your flatmate makes a sound you’re becoming familiar with from him, a sigh mixed with a laugh. Bafflement meets amusement meets exasperation. “You don’t need to worry about that. Please don’t, actually. James is out on his run, but I’ve been up for an hour. And whatever he tells you, Sirius doesn’t actually need to sleep until the afternoon.” 

You grin at him as you set your pastry in the microwave. The way the boys tease each other is immensely endearing to you, but you don’t feel familiar enough yet to partake yourself. And you certainly know better than to mess with Sirius’ sleep. 

When the loud beeps from pressing the microwave buttons makes you wince, Remus gives you a wry look. 

You shrug in response. The movement causes the slumbering creature in your hoodie pocket to stir. You cup your hand over it instinctively. 

“What do you have there?” asks Remus. 

“Uh…” You imagine you look very sheepish right about now. ��Don’t worry, I’m not trying to make us keep it.” 

His eyes narrow. Your pocket wiggles. “Why? What is it?” 

You reach inside the pocket of your hoodie the way a criminal suspect might reach for their weapon at gunpoint; slow, careful, showing you have nothing to hide. What you pull out is gray and striped and so small it nearly fits in the palm of your hand. 

“I found him outside,” you say. “Isn’t he cute? I couldn’t just leave him.” 

You didn’t imagine your flatmates would be thrilled about adding a fifth occupant to your living situation. You figured you’d probably have the best luck with James, but you’ve got your spiel all ready—how you’ll keep him in your room, only temporarily, just until you can find his owner. They have to live in the building, right? He was only just outside. But Remus does something you didn’t anticipate; he melts. 

“Oh,” he breathes, voice softening to a near whisper as he bends to see the tabby kitten currently cupped in your hands. “You found him by himself?” 

“I didn’t see any other cats around,” you say. You stroke your thumb down the kitten’s side. It leans into the touch sleepily. “And he was crying. You should have heard it, it’d break your heart.” 

“I’m sure. Hi, darling,” Remus murmurs, that lilt of his suddenly more prominent than ever as he scratches the kitten’s tiny head. “Hello. Were you making a fuss to get softhearted girls to bring you inside, hm?” 

You find your face warming for reasons you can’t discern. “It was a very convincing ploy.” 

“Mm, I can see that.” Remus pets behind your new friend’s ears, stooped so low he’s nearly at eye level with the tabby. His expression is all soft fondness, eyes warm and the hint of a smile ticking up his mouth. You catch yourself admiring the freckles that smatter across his cheekbones. “Are you sure there weren’t any others like him around?” 

“Not that I saw. Why?” 

“Well, there’s—” 

The microwave goes off. You react like it’s a bomb detonating, the beeping shattering your bubble of quiet and causing you to stiffen your back abruptly. Remus straightens back up, too, chuckling. He sets a pacifying hand on your head, and you relax some. This is his way of conveying affection, you’ve learned; James is incredibly liberal with it, Sirius slips it in through teasing and jibes, and Remus lays his palm atop your head like you’re a cat in need of calming. It makes you feel a bit like you’re glowing when he does it. No wonder you felt so drawn to your homeless little friend. 

You smile at him, sheepish, but you both turn when you hear the loud groan from down the hall. Sirius’ door opens. 

“Could we please stop setting off alarms and whatever the fuck before the bloody sun has come up?” he fumes, trudging down the hall. 

You look out the window, perplexed. The sun is well and high. 

But Sirius has stopped in his tracks. His eyes are fused to the kitten in your hands. “What is that doing here?” 

“I found him outside,” you say, holding him up for Sirius to see. “He’s sweet, don’t worry.” 

Your flatmate takes a step back like the creature might leap at him. “Remus—” 

“I know,” Remus sighs. “I was about to tell her.” 

You frown, bringing the kitten close to your chest. “Tell me what?” 

“That thing is fucking wild.” Sirius glares. 

“No, he isn’t,” you defend him. “He’s super friendly. He loves being pet.” 

“Nope.” Sirius shakes his head. “He comes from a twat mum, who had a bunch of twat spawn, and now they’re infiltrating our flat. It’s a fucking plot, is what it is.” He jabs a finger towards your chest, and the kitten hisses. Sirius reels back. “See?” 

“He does seem like a housecat, but there’s a colony of strays in the alley next to us,” Remus explains more gently. “One of the girls had babies before they could catch her to spay, and they all look a lot like this one.” 

“But…” You look down at the kitten nearly falling asleep again on your chest. “...he’s being so cuddly.” 

“It is strange,” Remus agrees. “Maybe he just really likes you.” 

“Um, hello.” James spreads his arms as he walks inside, sweaty and in his absurdly short running shorts. They make you stifle a laugh every time. “We’re just leaving the door open now? Is this some new attempt at being neighborly?” He, too, pauses once he sees what you have in your hands. “Oh, you’ve found one of Mrs. Norris’ kittens.” 

Sirius shudders, seemingly just at the mention of the name. “She’s brought it inside.” 

“I can see that.” James’ head cocks interestedly as he comes over. “Why?” 

“I didn’t know he had a family,” you explain dejectedly. 

“It’s good that he does, though,” says Remus, touching your elbow kindly, “isn’t it?” 

You sigh. “Yeah.” 

“And now that we know,” Sirius says emphatically, “banish it from whence it came.” 

You narrow your eyes at him. “Weren’t you sleeping?” 

“I was.”

“I can see why you didn’t recognize him as a stray.” James is rubbing underneath the tabby’s chin while it preens. “He hardly seems feral at all.” 

You hum. Taking the kitten from your chest, you hold him out towards Sirius experimentally. He hisses; Sirius scowls back. 

“Seems like it’s just you,” you deduce. 

“It is not.” Sirius crosses his arms. “That thing is evil.” 

James takes the kitten from you. It goes willingly into his arms. “Definitely just you, mate.” 

[gurugirl]

[3] It's Good to Be King | mean king!harry

MAIN MASTERLIST

Series Summary: Harry, a handsome, but ill-mannered new king, bound by tradition, must select a queen, and against all expectations, he chooses Y/n, a street beggar. Now, Y/n finds herself caught between the gilded cage of royalty and the cold, harsh simplicity of her past, navigating a court shocked by her presence and a king who revels in the scandal of it all.

Note: Harry is mean/uncouth in this, though things do get better. He doesn't treat anyone around him with much respect at all. Expect to not like him much at first. Also, this is set in the 1800s England, and while not completely historically accurate, I did my best to keep it as accurate as possible.

Ch. 3 Word Count: 8,749

Ch. 3 Warning: Harsh physical treatment, descriptions of extreme poverty, discrimination, humiliation, some light petting, inspection kink (light), corruption kink, mention of parental death (let me know if I missed any!)

It's Good to Be King Masterlist

. .

Y/n had learned that the king had been called away to tend to a minor land ownership dispute in a village that was a day's ride away. He'd be gone for five days as long as there were no unexpected postponements.

When Phoebe told her, Y/n couldn't pinpoint exactly why she felt so wistful. She knew he was a cold, bad-mannered person, so she shouldn't have expected him to speak to her about his departure beforehand. But to feel the tight stretch in her chest that he didn't tell her himself… that was perplexing.

Their interactions over the last few weeks she'd been at the castle had been not more than fleeting. They'd had dinner together a few times, and one evening he went to her room with a gift for her. He didn't let her open it while he was present, but before he left, he placed his hand on her hip when she was wearing only her chemise and said, "This, I much prefer. I shall have another fig tart sent to you this evening."

He squeezed at her skin, his fingers indenting into her newly very slightly softer hip. She understood him to mean the small bit of weight she'd put on was what he preferred.

The gift he left her was a beautiful gold brooch bearing the kingdom's royal coat of arms carved into the center, adorned with sparkling purple, red, and amber jewels. On the back, it was engraved with the name of Harry's deceased mother, the late Queen.

She forced a smile as Phoebe poured hot, fragrant Ceylon into her teacup. "He'll be gone five days? The wedding ceremony is in two weeks. Let's hope nothing delays their return."

"Two weeks already is it?" Phoebe said, lifting the porcelain lid from her breakfast platter. "Are you scared?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I've no choice. My family finally has everything they've ever wanted here. My sister, Dell, cried last week when she tasted the citrus soufflé we all had for dessert. I can't do anything to ruin this. Even if he is the devil."

A dashing devil.

"I believe he's fond of you. He's a cad, but I've seen him look at you when you're not paying attention. Everyone has."

Y/n smiled down at her plate. She only pretended not to be paying attention, but she knew his gaze on the curve of her neck and brushing at her lips when she'd look the other direction. Crude, maybe, but he did show her something about her body she'd not soon forget.

In fact, it had come quite in handy once her bedroom was quiet and she was settled into her down blankets with a book full of wanton stories in her lap. The guilt she'd felt the first few times she'd reenacted what he'd shown her soon turned into a craving she daydreamed of at the most inappropriate times.

Just as then, while Phoebe stood by watching as she ate her breakfast.

"Have you eaten?" Y/n asked.

"Not yet."

"Would you like a biscuit with butter?" Y/n placed a biscuit on a small dish and gestured at the chair across from her for Phoebe to sit.

"It's meant for you, Y/n."

"Of course it's meant for me, but I'd like you to have some. You're my friend. Please, sit with me."

Phoebe offered a gentle smile and pulled the chair out to sit. "Thank you."

Y/n had begun offering some of her food to Phoebe during the mornings when no one else was around. Her friend always denied the initial offer but eventually wound up giving in. In fact, it seemed to be easier to get her to sit with Y/n by the day.

She'd also begun taking etiquette classes twice each week in preparation for the wedding and being seen in public with the king. The council advised that she needed the extra work. Harry left it up to Y/n whether or not she'd like to go. She decided to take the classes but quickly regretted that choice. The governess was harsh and easily angered.

Y/n had the feeling that her teacher didn't like her one bit, despite her best efforts to charm her. In fact, she got the idea that not many appreciated her presence in the castle at all. So she often preferred to stay in her room or her sisters'.

"Have you ever kissed a boy before?" Phoebe asked as she dotted the edge of her lip with her napkin.

"I have. But it was just with a friend because I was curious. And only once."

"Was it Lane? The one you told me about who likes his drink?"

She nodded. "Yes. But I'm sure he liked it more than I did. What about you?"

Phoebe smiled shyly and looked behind herself toward the door, as if anyone could hear them through the heavy, solid wood. "I might have last night…"

Y/n sat her fork down and leaned forward. "What do you mean? With whom?"

"You swear to not tell anyone?"

"Phoebe, you know I would never tell anyone your secrets. Was it Niall? It was Niall, wasn't it?"

The look on her friend's face when she spoke the name of the guard told Y/n everything she needed to know. She'd had a suspicion about the pair a couple of weeks prior when she spotted Niall winking at the girl, and the way her face shaded in pink was a clue as to how she felt about it.

A sudden knock on the door had both girls looking at one another in surprise. Phoebe quickly stood and walked toward the door with Y/n right behind. When she pulled the door open, there, standing in her doorway, was the Lord Mayor, and two men with him.

"Miss Y/n Y/l/n, you will come with us at once," he said, looking behind Phoebe at the queen-to-be.

"What is this about? Is the king okay?" Y/n asked, placing her hand over the broach he'd given her.

"You and your family are not welcome here in the castle any longer."

"What? I don't understand! Is there not—"

One of the men stepped in, pushing Phoebe to the side, and grabbed Y/n roughly by her arm. "Come!"

As she was pulled away from her room, the new guard, Niall, stopped the procession before they got too far. "Halt!"

"Move out of my way at once, guard!"

"My loyalty lies with the king and his orders. Unhand Her Majesty at once!"

"The King's duties fall on me when he's away. This is my command. Move to the side."

"Then you leave me no choice but to send word to King Styles to notify him of your trespass."

Y/n felt her arm yanked as she was dragged down the stairs. She screamed when another set of hands was on her middle, pushing, and then she spotted her sisters, parents, and grandmother already near the entrance, surrounded by men.

"Let me go! You needn't grab at me!" The men didn't listen. When they got to the bottom of the stairs, she was pushed until her knees and hands hit the stone floor just off the carpet. But she had barely a moment to take a breath when she was again being grabbed and hauled upward until she was standing next to her mother.

The Lord Mayor stepped in front of her and reached forward. Y/n gasped when she felt him yank at her dress and then realized he'd pulled the brooch off. "Take them away."

Niall called out before Y/n and her family were directed to load into the horse cart that had been waiting for them at the front of the castle. "King Styles will receive word tomorrow. Do not fear, madam."

Two guards hung on the sides of the cart, and a driver at the front controlled the two horses pulling it, as Y/n and her family clung to the wooden benches inside so they didn't fall. People stood and watched as the cart was pulled out of the castle gates and toward the slums of their overcrowded rookery.

"What's happened, Y/n? What did you do?" Her mother bellowed dramatically.

"I don't know what happened. This wasn't the king's orders."

"Those men were atrocious. Grabbed my toast right from my hand!"

The townsfolk were staring, laughing, and some spat as they passed them by. She was far less worried about her family's reputation than she was about the rude behavior of the middle and noble classes. Y/n may never hold influence or power, but she was a human, and she deserved fundamental decency. She'd always believed everyone did.

Until then. Those people mocking her were the lowest of the low.

Being carted out of the castle in a buggy meant for livestock had been done on purpose. It was meant to be a spectacle. It was meant to humiliate. But it only made her angry. For the first time since she'd met the king, she understood him, in part. Understood his need to cause a stir and disrupt the comfortably spoiled bourgeoisie. Now she understood why he didn't like any of them.

. .

"Your Majesty, I have an urgent message from the main castle guard. Y/n Y/l/n and her family have been removed from the castle without your permission. The Lord Mayor took it upon himself to act as regent in your stead and made the decision to banish them from the castle grounds. Your presence is requested at once to deal with the matter."

Harry had never been so furious in all his life. He'd led an army in war and dealt with enemy soldiers who spat in his face, and had never been treated with such a lack of respect as this. He'd only been gone for two days, and already he had his own men conspiring behind his back. It was in direct defiance of Harry, and that just would not do.

He had no choice but to abandon his purpose and return right away. The land dispute matter could wait. Taking care of the Lord Mayor and everyone involved could not. He bid farewell to his company and left the moment he mounted his steed with his men in tow.

A day's ride across the expanse of Thornekeep and the surrounding villages was tiresome. Harry had been looking forward to more rest before he was to return, but now he had to forgo the gin and the hearty meal that was being prepared for him so he could deal with the unruly cast of characters he'd left in charge of the castle in his stead.

If he'd been a hair more cruel than he was, he would have forced the horses to push through until exhaustion. But he relied on the steeds to safely give him transport, and rest was necessary for the animals, just as it was for him and his men.

And as upset as he was about being disrespected, he was more concerned about Y/n than anything. She was his responsibility, and it was no secret that she and her family were not happily welcomed into their new roles. But he certainly hadn't expected this.

The following day, when he arrived to town just outside the castle, it felt as though everyone suddenly retreated back into their homes. As if even the townspeople knew they'd done something wrong. The vendors and workers averted their gazes.

Pointing in the direction of the town square near where the Lord Mayor lived, Harry looked at two of his men who were riding with him. "The Lord Mayor, go and collect him. Bring him to the private chambers closet off the long gallery. Make him stay there and wait for me. You," he said as he looked at Fred, "Get the covered stagecoach and have Alfred drive it directly to Y/n's home. We will be bringing them back to the castle at once."

Harry and the guard traveling with him rode deeper into the town, where the slums sprawled with wet, muddy roads, buckets filled with slop, decrepit living quarters, and street drunkards. There, the people stared intently. They stopped in their tracks and watched as the king rode by on his healthy, strong steed, with his armoured guard behind him. It was the first time he'd ever gone into the rookeries, where the poor lived and worked (if they could find work).

"You, sir!" Harry shouted at a man carrying what looked to be a heavy sack over his shoulder. The man stopped and narrowed his eyes at the king. "Can you tell me in which direction Y/n Y/l/n lives?"

"Oy…" The man dropped the sack at his feet and looked around himself. "I know 'o no such name."

"She's a woman of 20. Has a father called Peter and her mother Lettice."

"Peter and Lettice… Peter Y/l/n…" He rubbed at his chin and chewed the inside of his cheek. "I might know it."

Harry sighed. He knew the spiel. The man was expecting some kind of payment for information. Directing his horse to step closer to the man, Harry looked down at him with a frown and could smell the stench coming from him. "If you know it, tell me then. If you do, I'll let you continue on your journey unharmed."

The man shrugged. It was worth a shot. "Across from the mill. There's a graveyard at the top o'the lane. Four or five tenements down. B'be careful o'the pigs. They've not eaten."

The smell, as Harry traveled deeper into the overcrowded and filthy streets, was almost unbearable. Every five or ten yards was a bucket overflowing with excrement. He'd always known these places existed, but to see it with his own eyes (and to smell it)… he was appalled. The kind of squalor the destitutes lived in was barbarous.

When they arrived at the rundown tenement across from the mill, Harry jumped from the horse and gave the lead to his guard before sloshing through the filth to step up onto the rotted boards of the platform. He knocked on the door with the loose frame and stepped back as someone opened it up right away.

"Who's that?" The old woman stumbled back a couple of steps and clutched her hand over her heart. "The king! The king is here!"

"M'lady, I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. Are they here in this tenement?" Harry held the door open and stepped inside. The main room was dingy and damp and smelled of stale food and unwashed bodies.

"By god!" The woman sat down on the benchtop and inhaled deeply like she'd been given the scare of her life. "The king is here!"

A young man came down the stairs and looked from Harry to the old woman. "We can 'ear ya! Enough!" The man removed his floppy hat and lowered his head. "Your Highness. To what do we owen'ya th'honor?"

"I'm looking for the Y/l/n family. I've heard they live here."

"Right y'are. Lemme find 'em."

Harry scraped his eyes around the space, and while it wasn't as filthy as things appeared from outside, it was unfit for any human. The woman gasped as she pushed herself to stand and mumbled something he couldn't hear, nor did he care much. She seemed to be half out of it, gin drunk perhaps.

The ceiling was caved in at the side of the common area, where it appeared there was some kind of unworking, rusted stove. The wooden floors were soft under his feet, and the walls stained with moisture.

"King Harry?"

He turned quickly when he heard Y/n's voice. She made her way down the stairs, followed by her three younger sisters. "Y/n. I've come for you and your family. I received word about the situation and came as quickly as I could."

She clasped her hands behind her back and nodded. "Yes. It was humiliating. But we're used to being treated as such."

"You and your family are to gather your things quickly. A carriage will be around soon to bring you back to the castle."

"We were told we were not welcome there."

"The Lord Mayor will be dealt with forthwith. But what he says is irrelevant. My word is final. You will come back to the castle, and we are to proceed as before."

Y/n nodded slowly and motioned for her sisters to go back up to their quarters. "That is fine. Would you like to come up?"

She could see it in his posture and the expression on his face that he was not well in that room. The stench could get to anyone, but at least in the small space where they lived, it was tidy and much less foul. So he followed behind her up to their floor, and she let him into their room.

And it was indeed just a room. Pallets of cloth and feather, and straw were strewn over the floor where he assumed they slept. In the corner was a bench piled with random things: cups, bowls, sacks, a couple of books, a lantern, a tin of fish. In another corner, there was a tin bucket full of charred things, the wall behind it black from soot. He imagined it was their source of heat, like a fireplace.

Lettice and Peter were already standing in wait, their faces like those of young children awaiting permission to play with their new things. They bowed their heads. "Your Majesty," Peter said.

"Nan," Y/n said softly as she bent down to put her hand on her grandmother's shoulder. She'd been sitting in a chair, asleep. The old woman startled and looked at Y/n like she was some kind of horrible intruder.

"Nan, look…" Y/n motioned toward Harry, and the old woman blinked her eyes slowly.

"We're saved? He's come for us. Thank heavens!"

There weren't many things to gather. Harry hadn't imagined their living space as such. He figured a multi-room flat, nothing extravagant, but at least a home with space to cook and use the WC. But there was none of that. No running water, no private space, and no comfortable things to lie upon at night. How could anyone live like that? And that there were seven people all crammed into that room? He couldn't imagine it.

There was a double knock on the door before it was opened. Everyone turned to look as a young man stepped inside. "What's this then? It's true!" He grinned at Y/n and then lowered his head. "Your Majesty."

Y/n stepped in next to the man and put her hand on his arm. "This is my good friend Lane. He was there with me, the day you came to me."

Harry looked the dirty fellow up and down. "Yes, I remember Lane."

He watched his wife-to-be whisper something to the young man, and then Lane turned to look at her with a brief nod as he ran his hand over her wrist. There was no time to challenge what had just happened or to ask what was said and why someone else was touching her like that when Alfred had finally arrived with the covered carriage.

Once Y/n and her family were loaded into the carriage, Harry and his guard led the way back to the castle. He'd seen a lot of things in his life, but he had not been prepared to see the rookeries up close like that. He'd seen the outskirts of impoverished neighborhoods in other kingdoms and towns and but never in his own. Shock might be too heavy of a word for the way it made him feel, but it was close.

He ordered three footmen to take Y/n's family to their quarters and give them whatever they would like to eat (as well as draw each of them a bath) while he went with Y/n and Phoebe to bring her to his chambers. "You'll stay in my room from here on. Your room will still be open for you, but I'm not satisfied for you to be there all night alone."

Y/n was still struggling to wrap her mind around the events of the last few days. Niall had told her to expect the king to come and get her, but she doubted that he really would. She imagined it was easier for the king to take a more suitable wife. A woman used to that life with a higher status. Someone the proletariat would prefer.

She was thankful that he did, though. She'd gotten used to some of the small luxuries (and big) that the royal castle afforded them all. Mostly, she missed her privacy and the comfy bed.

"Have her wardrobe brought over, a warm bath drawn, and whatever she'd like to eat," Harry said to Phoebe, who quickly got to work.

Y/n kept quiet as she watched the king open up his balcony and drape the lace curtains to the side before he poured two glasses of gin and handed her one.

He gulped his portion in one go as she sniffed her glass. "Go on. Drink it. You need it more than I do. Feel free to have as much as you like."

"Thank you."

"You should not have to thank me. This should never have happened. I will deal with the Lord Mayor and see what kind of punishment the council allows. I just ask that if you leave this room, have Phoebe and Niall with you."

She nodded. "Of course."

"I've made arrangements for a formal announcement of our engagement. Day after tomorrow, we will have a public appearance to announce to the whole of the kingdom that you will be the Queen Consort. No one can then deny that I've selected my wife, as it seems they've all done."

He paced toward the open balcony and put his hands on his hips. "I will be gone til late. I have much to do. Please use my room as if it were your own."

Y/n eyed the bed and then shifted her gaze back to the king as he stepped toward his door. "I'm grateful that you came to get us. I'm indebted to you, My Lord."

He sniffed and looked down at his feet, hand on the knob the door. "Yes. You are."

. .

Y/n woke up to the sound of pouring water. Slowly opening her eyes, she found Harry sitting next to the fire, sipping hot tea and reading something intently as a man stood over the large tub in the king's room. She couldn't remember when she'd fallen asleep, but it wasn't long after her warm bath and the big meal she'd eaten.

She wasn't sure what to think exactly. The last few days had been quite dramatic and unusual, then with the king barging into their meager home to bring them back to the castle... He'd returned for her when he didn't need to. He had no allegiance to her or her family, so it was a bit of a surprise that he seemed so insistent that she come back with him.

"My Lord. Your bath is ready."

The king looked toward the man and pushed himself up from his chair. "You are dismissed."

Y/n blinked and watched as the man left the room, and Harry stepped toward the bath to touch the water. He looked tired. She wondered what time he'd returned to the room. When he began to remove his clothes, she thought to look away, imagining he didn't realize she was already awake.

But she remained still and kept her eyes on his frame until he was stark naked, despite her internal scolding to look away. The urge to keep watching was much stronger than her polite reasoning to avert her eyes. His body appeared to be that of a hard worker, with solid muscle and a sturdy build. It had never been a doubt in her mind that he was well-formed, and now she had proof as she watched flexing, dense muscles as he stepped into his tub.

"You may join me, if you like."

His voice startled her. She hadn't realized he was aware that she was awake, watching him. Pushing herself to sit up, she pulled the blanket to cover her state of undress. He'd seen her before in just a chemise, but she still had the sense that it was wrong to bare herself to any man like that.

"Don't be shy with me. I've already tasted and smelled the juice of your quim and you've just seen me naked. Come."

Y/n gulped at the memory of Harry's hands on her body as she let out uncontrollable noises when he'd touched her. Then the aftermath of the forbidden shame as she watched him taste her offering. The lingering thought of the way he'd jutted his pink tongue out to lick at his fingers had her surging with heat.

"My King… It's improper—"

"Now don't start with that again. I say what's proper and what's not, and you disobeying me is improper."

Slowly, she moved the cover from herself and slid her legs to the edge of the bed. Harry had not yet looked in her direction, which she was thankful for as she wrapped her arms over the thin material that clung to her breasts and stepped closer until she was just next to the tub.

He looked up at her. His eyes were bloodshot, and the fatigue in them was evident. "Well, if you're not going to join me, at least sit." He patted the wide stone ledge of the tub as he kept his eyes on her.

Trying her best not to stare into the water, she shifted her gaze toward the fire and sat down where the king had told her. His broad chest rose and fell tiredly as he stretched his strong arms along the top of the tub. She looked down at his fingers, the distance of only 7 or 8 barleycorns away from her thigh. So close he could touch if he stretched his middle finger toward her.

"I didn't foresee the kind of difficulty I'd encounter in keeping you. I knew some would disagree with my choice, but to have been interrupted in my work and so blatantly disrespected… We will not be making that mistake again."

"I'm sorry, it was—"

"Stop." He spoke loudly, his voice carrying a harsh edge. "Do not apologize for concerns you did not create. I have chosen you, and that's final. The Lord Mayor will have to come to terms with his punishment, just as I will have to come to terms with my lapse in judgment. I take responsibility for that egregious failure. But I'm not happy about it."

Y/n kept quiet. She'd seen the king raging mad the moment he stepped into the castle the evening prior, and while that anger had not been directed at her, she felt it as if it were. So part of her still felt like she'd done something wrong. And it was becoming clear to her now that her place as queen was not going to be an easy one. She was not beloved by the kingdom. She was a disgrace to the monarch and tradition.

"Next time I have to take leave, you'll come with me. I don't believe we have any choice in the matter. You're my responsibility."

She gently placed her palm down on the cool stone and watched as he dragged a cloth over his chest. "When do you leave next?"

"Not until after we're wed. And once you become pregnant, all of my duties away from the castle must be delegated to someone I trust. We can't risk anyone trying to hurt you again."

As he wetted his skin and wrung out the damp cloth, she glanced over his shoulder and up his neck to his structured jawline. She imagined his babies would be very pretty. The out-of-place thought surprised her.

"I wish I weren't such a burden, My King."

He dipped the rag into the water and looked up at her as he leaned forward. "You're my burden. I chose it. I bear it. It's what I want. I could very well pick another who's more suitable. Easier. More docile. But I don't want that. I want you."

It wasn't romantic. Not at all. So why did her heart skip a beat when he'd said it? He'd admitted she was a burden. She was not easy, and she was not docile.

"I'm trying to be more docile. I'll learn."

He waved his arm as water dripped from his skin. "No. My mother tried to be compliant and docile, and look where it got her. The moment she surrendered her will was the moment she was sentenced to death."

Shaking her head in confusion, Y/n leaned forward and dipped a finger into the warm water. "What do you mean? The queen died from consumption. That was what we were all told."

"And she would still be alive today if she had kept a grip on her spirit. But she allowed my father to take it from her. He took her charm, her wit, and her will. Consumption took her because she allowed herself to surrender. It was her death sentence."

She had wanted to run her hand over his back in a soothing gesture, but she thought better of it. It was possible he was no longer mourning the loss of his mother and that he wouldn't want her touch even if he was. The queen had been gone for many years.

"I loathe to bring this up right now, but I feel it's important to say. I'm worried that the brooch you gave me, the one that belonged to the queen, is gone. The Lord Mayor took it from me when he removed me from the castle."

Harry's face darkened as he turned to look toward the door. "Did he now? If it's gone, he will pay a heavy price in the form of losing his title. That's theft and punishable by law. But I have a feeling it's still in his possession. I will have it back to you by tomorrow, and if not, I will buy you a new one."

"I'm very grateful to you, My King. You returned so quickly. My sisters are very happy here."

He looked at her face, and his irises burned a trail down the front of her chemise. "And you? Are you happy here?"

She looked down at her lack of clothes and shifted forward so that her breasts were less visible under the thin fabric. "I am. We all are. My family and I."

"Here…" He held his hand toward her, the wet cloth in his palm. She took the rag from him, and he repositioned himself so his back was facing her. Y/n understood that he was requesting her to take the cloth to his back to help him wash.

She hesitantly moved her hand toward his back, as if touching him would set her to flame. But once the damp rag was pressed into his shoulder, he sighed, and she realized that touching him wouldn't hurt her at all. It had been silly to think it would. Running it across his back, she noted the smooth skin and firm muscle that defined his sturdy figure. Plunging the cloth down into the water along his spine, she allowed herself to take him in. The backs of his arms and neck, the curve of his shoulder, and the breadth of his frame…

"If you joined me in the tub, this would be much easier."

It was true. If she were sitting behind him in the water, she'd have easier access to him, but that would require her to remove her garment. When she didn't answer, Harry turned to look at her as he leaned back into the tub until his shoulder was pressed into her thigh. "Keep going."

"Your back is hidden. I can't reach—"

"Then here." He took her hand with the cloth and pulled it over his chest. The new angle of him, his back to her as she leaned forward and slowly ran the rag along the solid muscle of his pectorals, felt quite salacious. But she continued wiping and cleaning him. When he leaned his head back against her thigh, she gasped and paused her motions.

He laughed, his eyes closed. "Oh, mouse… Calm yourself."

She slowly began to rub over the skin of his chest as she looked down at his face. His features were tranquil as he moaned, the lower she dipped the rag. She had no intentions of dragging it too low, but he seemed to be enjoying it as she ran it over his stomach.

Glancing down further, she could make out something dark between his legs, and then the member attached to him as it swayed with the water's movement. It was indecent of her to be looking, but her curiosity was acute. And besides, she'd seen it before already. She knew what he looked like, and right then, it seemed so harmless as it was distorted beneath the surface of the water.

"Lower."

Y/n blinked, casting her sight back to his face. She hesitated to bring the cloth lower against him, but figured she didn't need to go that low. There were other areas she could clean, other spots she could run the rag against. So she leaned in further and wiped down to his hip and the top of his thigh.

He let out a breathy groan and spread his legs the slightest. "Good."

She smiled at the praise. She was doing something right for once. Trailing the cloth to his other hip and down to the top of his thigh, he rocked his hips upward and moaned. When he turned his head, rolling it over her thigh, she felt his warm breath sneaking under the cloth of her chemise.

The moment was entirely too intimate. Harry was quite amenable in that moment, and the way he had used her thigh as a pillow felt sweet. Something about how tired he seemed and the way his eyelids were closed as he puffed out shallow breaths made her body heat. She didn't understand why she was responding to him that way.

But then he lifted an arm out of the water and reached behind himself, his hand pressed over her thigh, and then he squeezed as he moved his palm up to her hip. Her light colored chemise wetted under his touch, and she could see her skin coming through the damp material. She watched as his thumb gently ran along the bend of her thigh.

"My Lord…" She didn't know what she was to say, but she knew she had to say something. Anything… "You're getting my clothes wet."

"Then take them off."

She swallowed and lifted the rag away from him. "That's—"

"Improper? Is that what you were going to say?" Harry pushed himself from his spot in the tub and turned to look at her directly.

He pulled at her hip and grinned as she dropped the rag into the tub and gasped. She loved how it felt to have his hands on her, but she was too embarrassed to admit it as she writhed away from him and stood from the tub to step away.

The King leaned forward against the tub, his elbows on the spot she'd been sitting. "Where are you going?"

"I'm… You're the devil!" She said as her body thrummed with wanton heat.

He let out a loud laugh and felt something slick under his palm. Looking down to the stone, he stitched his brows together and drew a finger through the moisture before he brought it up to sniff. He dropped his mouth open in surprise as he looked at her. "Little mouse… This is not water. Come here at once and let me see."

"No." She looked away from him as she clutched the back of her chemise. She knew very well what it was, she just hadn't expected it to seep through the linen down to the stone. She'd only recently begun to understand the mechanics of how her body reacted to being aroused ever since Harry showed her the way she could make herself feel.

"Yes." He spoke firmly, his green eyes boring into her body as her chest heaved. "Come here and we'll take care of this for you. Now I see why you're so pent up. You need a release, don't you? It's been a hard few days for you."

She shook her head and looked down at her bare feet. She was doing everything she could to be a good girl, to do the right thing by God. But the king, whom she was certain was the devil himself, tempting her, made it unimaginably hard to keep righteous.

"Have you been taking good care of your little leaky spout like I showed you?"

She let out a wobbly noise and closed her eyes to pretend that question had never been uttered.

"I think you have. You very much enjoyed it when I showed you how to touch your little coo. Has it been good? I'm sure you were unable to whilst back at your tenement, but certainly you know well the kind of joy it brings when you have privacy."

She swallowed, the sound clicking loudly in the room. "No."

"Yes. Come here."

Opening her eyes, she let her sight trail over his arms and his face as he leaned into the tub so casually. Like what he was saying wasn't unscrupulous. He was so well-favored in looks that it almost wasn't fair. How was she to remain a proper lady?

"Was it me you thought of when you touched yourself?"

Shaking her head, she quickly glanced away. It was hard to maintain eye contact when she was lying.

"No? Then Lane? Your friend? You thought of him?"

Setting her eyes back on his, she shook her head. "No! Of course not!"

He smiled. "You don't fancy him then?"

"Never. Not like that."

"What about me? Do you fancy me, Y/n? Be honest. I can already tell when you're not being forthright. You can't even look me in the eye when you answer falsely."

Her skin felt like she'd fallen into a patch of stinging nettles as he kept his eyes on her. He'd figured out her little signal. She was no good at lying. But she didn't want him to have the satisfaction of knowing how he made her feel deep down.

"I want you here now. Come sit or I'll get out and force you to."

Still clutching the back of her chemise, she stepped forward slowly until she was next to the tub. Harry reached up for her hip and pulled. "Sit."

Y/n placed her hands down on the ledge and sat, but Harry pulled at her again until her legs were in the water and the bottom of her chemise was wet. Her heart was galloping in her chest as he placed his hands on her thighs. "You're going to be my wife. Yes?"

She nodded. "Yes."

"That's right. You're mine. So when I tell you to do something, I expect you to do it for me. I don't ask much of you, Y/n," he spoke as he ran his hands up and down her thighs, then hooked his thumbs under the hem of the material and brought it upward to her mid-thigh. "You needn't worry much about anyone else asking you to do something. Just me. Yes?"

She nodded again and watched as his thumbs pushed upward under the chemise over her skin and she thought she would faint.

"What did you eat last night?"

"Uhh… roasted potatoes and cream, salted fish, bread and butter, apples."

He smiled at her as he paused his hands at the top of her thigh, and she felt her whole body flush in embarrassment. If he lowered his sight and peeked, he'd see her full quim she was sure.

"Good. You're eating well. And you slept well too, I presume?"

She nodded, trying to keep still so he didn't conclude how much she was affected by his hands on her.

"You like this."

Blinking, she turned her sight to the table with the water pitcher without answering.

He laughed softly and ran his thumbs along the curve of her thigh where it met her hip. "That's a yes. And what about this?"

She felt his fingers press into the flesh at the inside of her thigh as he pulled and spread her legs. She looked down quickly and sucked in a sharp inhale at the sight. It was lewd for him to see her like that. And yet… She was curious.

"Keep going?" He looked up at her, an eyebrow raised.

"I don't know…" She gulped.

"You don't know? Then, how about I just keep going until you say stop? Yes?"

She nodded. "Okay."

He shifted his gaze further down to her privy parts, and she closed her eyes when she felt his thumb slide against her crease. He hissed, gripping her thigh harshly as he inspected her bits and moved in closer to get a better look.

"Very pretty, little mouse." She felt his thumb slip down further and softly massage until there was a little intrusion. She opened her eyes and watched as the tip of his thumb disappeared into her hole.

Snapping her thighs closed, Harry shot his eyes back up to her and removed his fingers. "Stop?"

It hadn't hurt her, but it was the embarrassment that had her shying from his touch. "I… I don't know. It's… not right."

"What's not right? The way a man and woman enjoy one another? Is that what's not right? Why would God go through the trouble of making humans with parts that can find pleasure in touch?"

"I think it's just meant for the sacrament of marriage."

"So, stop, then?"

She looked down at her legs dangling into the water and wished she were more bold like the girls she'd read about in her stories. The ones who'd found their lovers before they were wed and allowed themselves the indulgence of pleasure.

Harry gently wrapped his fingers around the space just above her ankle. "Look at me, mouse."

She looked into his green eyes and felt like she was being torn apart by her conscience. She'd never wanted to give in to her carnal pleasure as much as she did with Harry. And she never imagined that a man like him would defend her honor more than once. He was crude and undisciplined, but there was something tender, just for her, underneath the cold and pompous performance.

"Do you know why your little coo gets all wet like this, if not for the enjoyment of the act? It's human nature. It's how we were made. You do not need to be shy with me. If you want it, you can have it. As you've seen before, God will not smite you for such a thing as this."

The skin on her ankle where his hand was gripped felt warm, and it sent a wave of wicked craving through her insides. She wanted to reach toward him and push the curl from his forehead and slide her finger down his prominent nose over his plush pink lips just to see what he'd feel like under her fingertips. She wished she were brave enough to slip into the tub with him and fall into the temptuous ways of a dauntless woman.

He released her ankle and stood from the water, his strong, denuded body wet and dripping before her. She glanced only briefly at the organ hung heavy at her eye level before tilting her head back to look up at him. He bent as he took her chin in his hand. "What is it that you want? Tell me now."

She shook her head. "I don't know. I'm confused."

He puffed out a laugh and let go of her chin before he stepped from the tub. "Aren't we all, Y/n? No one really has the answers. Everyone is confused. You just have to learn to speak up for what you want most and hope that it wasn't the bad choice. No one can guide you but yourself."

She turned to watch as he pulled a robe over his body and walked toward his balcony. What did she want most? What if it was the bad choice?

Pulling her legs from the water, she stepped from the tub and guardedly followed behind him, the bottom half of her chemise soaked, which sent a chill over her heated skin. She stopped at the balcony door and coasted her eyes over the view of the castle garden with its fountains and tall trees. In the late spring, it would be a lovely place to stroll through, she thought. Harry was leaned into the stone railing, the tips of his curls in his damp hair already drying from the cool air whisping through it.

He was the sort of man who women whispered about. Both because he had such a rakishly handsome face (and form) and because he had the most brutish devil-may-care attitude. It made him quite a fascinating attraction. But the current of care he had for her underneath his thoughtless exterior was what drew Y/n's curiosity the most.

"You may do with me as you please. Make the decision for me. I won't say no." It took everything in her to spit the words out.

He turned and placed an elbow over the stone to lean into as he looked at her, his head cocked to the side as if she were a peculiar creature. "That does not please me. Indeed, I do not like being told no, but even worse is when I'm told yes and it's a lie."

"Then yes. I want to know. I may as well learn. Not just to please you but to discover my own pleasure."

Pushing himself from the stone, he blinked in surprise, a ghost of a smile turning the edge of his lip upward. "Then tell me what it is you want. Speak plainly."

She glanced behind her at the bed and then back at the king. "I'll… I could lie on the bed, and you could touch me again. Maybe…" She looked down and felt every atom of her being light up with scorching embers. "I'd like to feel your kiss."

She hadn't even noticed that he'd stepped in front of her until she saw his bare feet standing before her. Lifting her head upward to meet his gaze, she could have melted from the warmth on his face. "I haven't kissed you yet, have I?"

Harry placed his wide palm on her frozen cheek, and she closed her eyes. He hadn't kissed her, but the tender touch had her skin sizzling and her heart racing. "You haven't yet kissed me. No."

Blinking her eyes open to look at him again, she watched his irises smooth across her features and drag over her lips slowly as his thumb slid down her cheekbone. "Then we must remedy that mistake."

She'd been kissed before. Lane had been drunk, and she gave in to his persistent bickering to shut him up and to sate her own curiosity. It was hard and dry and smelled of gin and ale and sweat. It hadn't been what she imagined a kiss should be.

So, when Harry nudged his nose against hers, and she felt his hand soft on her hip, she knew it before he'd even closed the gap between their lips, that this would be the kind of kiss she'd always daydreamed of.

She felt his breath over her lips, and his fingers squeezed her skin as his thumb dragged gently at her temple before he pressed his smooth mouth to hers, and the noise of her doubt was silenced. She hadn't even realized that her hands were clutched over the fabric of his robe at his chest, like he would drift away as if in a dream if she didn't hang on tight.

He opened and closed his lips around hers in soft, careful motions, and she stepped closer, beckoned by the pull of his hand at her side. She parted her lips to mimic how he was kissing her, and he moaned into her mouth. She had no time to be startled by the moan and that it signified his delectation, when she felt the wet tip of his tongue lave over her bottom lip before he pulled it into his mouth gently.

Oh god! She was wrong about everything! He didn't need to confess an undying love or obsession that was not there. He only needed to kiss her for her body and her mind to relent to him. It was delicate and confident, prurient and genteel… it was bewitching.

Did one truly not need the magical bounds of love to bloom in rapture from a kiss? Her skin and her blood and the nails on her fingers and toes were all vibrating with the kind of sensation that she always assumed only happened when a soul had found the one it was predestined to.

His hand slowly pushed away from her face and wound to the back of her head as his other reached across her lower back until she was flush against his chest. Her heart fluttered so rapidly at her brazen reach, her hands moving upward of their own accord until she'd pushed her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck.

Even with the chilled wind whipping over her thinly clothed frame, her blood burned hot. If he took her then and laid her in his bed and claimed her virginity, she thought she'd not say no. Because what was this? Why was the subtle unanchoring of her morals and her posture on right and wrong suddenly categorized as a lie and a truth? The thick veil of deception was quickly trampled by just a kiss. What else would she soon uncover?

When he parted from her, he did not remove his hands, but he set his gaze against hers with a soft wonder that carried over to his features. Slowly, she pulled her fingers from his hair and placed her palms on his shoulders, all in silence. Was he in awe just as she was? Surely not.

But his delicate touch at the back of her neck was an homage to something profoundly affectionate. It had all been unexpected. Perhaps even for him.

"I have much to do today, else I'd remain here with you. It's nearly ten, breakfast will be served promptly. We'll call for Phoebe to help you dress and begin your day."

He stepped away, and it was then that Y/n could feel the harsh wind cutting through the linen to her flesh. She stood, confounded, as she watched the king walk back into his room to dress himself. Frozen in her spot, she let her mind wander to her childhood when she used to play pretend that her prince had found her. He'd sweep her up, take her away, and they'd fall madly in love and rule the kingdom together. Was it something she'd somehow foreseen, or was it just the silly imagination of every young girl who wished for something better?

Confounded, maybe, but Y/n was armed with a new awareness, a definite truth that she hadn't been privy to before. That even those who mean well can tell a lie, and truth can be found in the most unexpected ways. It was an awakening for her to see the way her heart could soar, as if God himself had elicited it. And right then, her heart was in flight like a bird that knew the way it must go with an instinct that directed its path. It was not God that guided the way. It was her.

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[chuxmy]

Can u advice 2 it was bomb💣💣maybe continue👉👈

Advice.. II

Pairings: Geum Seongje x Fem!Reader

Summary: You’re alone. And this time, he doesn’t just walk away.

Warnings: Implied stalking/following

☜︎ Prev Next ☞︎

The week had been quiet, too quiet. You hadn’t told the guys about your strange run-in with Seongje outside the corner store. Not because you were scared, but because… you didn’t even know how to explain it.

What would you say?

Hey, that guy who threatened to break our noses? Yeah, he cornered me the next day and said he liked my mouth.

You could already hear Juntae freaking out, Gotak offering to fight him, and Sieun staring blankly like he already knew something you didn’t.

So you kept it to yourself.

It was late.

The city had gone soft at the edges, lights glowing warm through hazy windows, the sharp daytime noise replaced by a low murmur of cars and the occasional clink of bottles from a convenience store down the block. Your footsteps echoed lightly against the pavement as you made your way home, a takeout bag swinging loosely from one hand. You weren’t in a rush.

You liked walking at night. It was the only time the streets felt like they belonged to you.

Then quiet, so quiet you almost missed it, footsteps behind you. Not hurried. Measured.

You didn’t turn around immediately.

Not until you heard that voice.

“You always walk this slow, or is that just for me?”

You stopped in your tracks. Your pulse jumped, but you kept your voice steady. “You again?”

Geum Seongje strolled into view from behind you, hands in his pockets, hood pulled low over his brow. The streetlight caught the curve of his smirk, the glint in his eyes as he looked at you.

“You sound surprised,” he said, casual.

You tilted your head. “I shouldn’t be, should I?”

He chuckled. “Probably not. You’re not exactly forgettable.”

You stared at him for a moment, then turned and started walking again. You didn’t say a word. You didn’t have to because a second later, you heard his footsteps fall in beside yours.

He didn’t speak right away. Just walked with you in silence for a few steps. You could feel his presence like heat beside you.. tall, confident, cocky, but not entirely unkind. The kind of boy you were supposed to avoid. The kind of boy who could ruin your life with one look if you weren’t careful.

“I didn’t see you around the last few days,” he finally said. “Thought you were playing hard to get.”

“Or maybe I was just avoiding trouble.”

“And yet, here we are.”

You glanced at him from the corner of your eye. He wasn’t looking at the street, or his phone, or anything else.

Just you.

“Why are you even here?” you asked.

“Why not?”

“That’s not an answer.”

He smirked. “Maybe I was in the area. Maybe I hoped I’d run into you again.”

Your brow lifted. “Why?”

He stopped walking, and you did too because the weight of his stare was too heavy to ignore now. There was something under the surface of that smirk. Something he wasn’t saying.

“You really don’t get it?” he asked, voice lower now.

“No. I don’t.”

Seongje took a slow step closer. Then another.

You didn’t move.

“Because,” he said, “you don’t flinch. You don’t shrink away. You don’t act like I’m some ticking bomb. Everyone else does.”

“I don’t see a bomb.”

He laughed softly at that. “No? You sure you’re not just blind?”

“I think I see you more clearly than most.”

That made him pause. The grin faded just slightly enough for you to see something else flicker behind his eyes. Curiosity. Maybe even vulnerability. But it vanished quickly, buried beneath layers of armor he wore like second skin.

“I don’t do this shit,” he said after a second. “Following people. Talking twice.”

“Then why now?”

His gaze dropped to your mouth, slowly. “I told you already. You make it hard to ignore you.”

Your heart kicked harder against your ribs.

The way he said it, it wasn’t a compliment. It was a confession.

A problem he hadn’t planned on having.

You were both quiet for a beat. The air between you buzzed with tension, like the seconds before lightning strikes.

Then he leaned in. Slow. Careful, for once.

His hand lifted, fingers grazing your jaw gently, thumb resting just below your chin. His eyes searched yours, waiting for permission, maybe, or warning.

You didn’t stop him.

And that was all it took.

He kissed you.

It wasn’t rough or rushed. It was deliberate warm and deep, his other hand finding your waist, grounding you. Like he was trying to memorize how you tasted, how you breathed, how still you went in his arms. You could feel the danger in it the sharp edge beneath the softness but you leaned in anyway.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours, his breath brushing your skin.

“That mouth of yours,” he muttered, voice hoarse now. “Even better when it’s not giving me attitude.”

You smiled slightly, dazed. “You want me quiet?”

“Hell no,” he said immediately. “I like it when you talk back. Gives me a reason to keep chasing.”

You bit your lip. “Then maybe I should keep running.”

He grinned, all wolfish charm. “Good. I’d hate if this got boring.”

You stood there a moment longer, your bodies close, the city around you a blur.

Then his phone buzzed. He glanced at the screen and sighed.

“Shit. I’ve got somewhere to be.” His tone changed slightly colder. “Union meeting.”

You frowned. “Should I be worried about that?”

He hesitated. Just for a second.

Then “Not yet.”

You looked at him. Really looked.

Whatever the Union had on him, it wasn’t light.

“You’re going to get yourself hurt,” you said softly.

He met your eyes again. “So are you. If you keep getting closer.”

Then he stepped back. And like before, he walked away.

But this time, you knew he wouldn’t stay away for long.

[writinginatree]

Attention

Relationship(s): Xaden Riorson/Garrick Tavis/Reader

Summary: You're on your period and desperately want cuddles, but both of your boyfriends are too busy with paperwork to notice, so threats have to be made.

Warnings: Swearing, mentions of the torture that is menstruation, established polyamorous relationship (idk if that's a warning but I feel like I should put it somewhere lol), reader has a period but no pronouns mentioned. Set during Fourth Wing.

Today sucks, you decide.

As if getting your period wasn't bad enough, the marked first-years you're responsible for training had acted especially clumsy and overall insufferable during today's practice session, and now, to top it all off, your boyfriends are too busy to pay attention to you. They barely glanced up from their work to greet you when you came to Xaden's room earlier — a quick kiss from each of them was all you got before they returned to their papers.

At first, that had been fine. You had enough homework to occupy yourself with, even if your period cramps made it hard to focus.

But now, almost an hour after you finished everything you had to do, Xaden and Garrick are still huddled over the former's desk and paying zero attention to you, and it's really starting to bother you. Not their fault, you know. It's your period that makes you so irritable, but that doesn't stop you from cursing the fact that it's today of all days that they have to be so busy.

Despite the multiple attempts to get their attention you've made already, they remain so focused on their work they haven't even noticed how miserable your mood has gotten over the span of the last two hours.

No, this really isn't your day — usually, they're much more observant than this.

Even though you know interrupting them won't make their work get done any faster, you can't stop yourself from once again asking, "Are you almost done?"

"Soon," Xaden says without looking up, but that's what he'd said half an hour ago, too.

"How soon?" you insist.

"Soon," he repeats, pushing the paper in front of him to Garrick to point something out. A heated discussion ensues, and you're forgotten again.

You sigh into Xaden's pillow. What's the point of having two boyfriends if neither of them has time to cuddle with you?

While them being wingleader and section leader has a lot of perks — bigger rooms, more control over their — and your — schedule, and the authority to punish anyone giving you shit for the rebellion relic on your arm, to only name a few — this is the downside. Loads and loads of extra work. They've been sitting at Xaden's desk brooding over gods know what for hours now, the only sounds in the room the rustling of paper and the occasional muttered question.

Usually, you don't mind keeping them company while each of you does their own thing — it's a peaceful kind of quiet, something so rare in this godsforsaken place. You like to silently sit with them while you study, despite how tempting it is to let yourself get distracted by them. Since they always tend to have more work than you thanks to their leadership duties, you're always done before them, anyway. And it's nice to just curl up on the bed and watch them while you wait for them to finish their work too — just not today. Staying patient is hard when it feels like your lower body is being stabbed with burning knives, and all you want is to be held. With every passing minute, it gets harder to sit and wait.

You could break their concentration. You know if you asked outright, they'd put everything aside and come cuddle you in a heartbeat. But as tempting as that is, you also know how important it is that they get their work done. Being marked, they had to work harder for their leadership positions than anyone else, and need to be better than everyone else to be treated with even a fraction of the respect they deserve. If they mess up, the consequences will be worse than they'd be for anyone else. They can't afford to get sloppy with their duties.

You know how Xaden would argue against that reasoning: That you are more important than any of that, that they can still get the work done later tonight, when you are asleep. But Xaden already doesn't get enough sleep as it is; you refuse to be the reason for making it worse.

And yet, it only takes a few more minutes for your resolve to crumble. Unable to take this any longer, you tell yourself you won't keep them from working for long. A few minutes of their attention, that's all you want. Surely, a small break like that can't hurt.

"If neither of you comes cuddle me in the next five minutes I'm going to fucking riot," you declare into the quiet. "And by riot I mean I'll go get cuddles from Imogen."

Now that gets their attention more effectively than anything else could have. Finally looking up from their paperwork, your boyfriends share a confused look and turn to frown at you.

"What?" Xaden asks, and Garrick adds, "Why the fuck would you do that?"

"Because I've been trying to get your attention for like an hour and you just keep on ignoring me," you whine. "I. Want. Cuddles. And I'll get them, one way or another."

You don't actually mean to make true on your threat, even in the unlikely case that they insist on finishing their work first. There's no way you're getting up now that you finally found a position that makes your cramps at least kind of bearable. Your best friend isn't much for physical affection, anyway. And while she might make an exception for you, it just wouldn't be the same as getting held by your boyfriends.

Luckily, the threat does the trick, even though the both of them are certainly aware of how empty it is.

"You didn't say that you want to cuddle," Xaden scolds, gathering up a few papers before rising from his chair to join you on the bed. "I thought you were just bored. Are you okay?"

The question comes as no surprise — it's very unlike you to interrupt them like this, even more so in such an agitated manner.

"Yeah," you mumble, a little ashamed of being so needy. "Sorry. 's just that I got my period, and it feels like you guys are taking forever today."

"Nothing to apologize for," Xaden assures you, pressing a kiss to your temple.

Garrick explains, "It's taking so long because of that leadership meeting we have tomorrow morning to sort some stuff out before Threshing. Lots of shit to plan, but we can just as well do that in bed with you."

"Right, you mentioned that... Forgot it's tomorrow. Does that mean I have to sleep in my own room?"

More often than not, Fourth Wing's leadership meetings take place in Xaden's room.

Xaden shakes his head. "You can sleep wherever you want. If you want to sleep here, we'll just have to be quiet. I'm not letting anyone disturb your sleep."

He's completely serious, you know. You can imagine it all too well, Xaden waiting for the squad- and section-leaders at the door and instructing them to keep their voices down as they enter the room, his shadows engulfing you like a cocoon so no undeserving eye will catch sight of your sleeping form. Xaden just is dramatic like that.

"Makes it kinda hard to hold a meeting when no one is allowed to speak," you chuckle.

"Oh, I don't know," Garrick jokes as he settles at the head of the bed, letting you and Xaden rest your heads on his lap. "It actually would be kind of nice if the other idiots had to keep their mouths shut and just listen for a change."

Xaden hums in agreement. He has made himself comfortable behind you, one arm slid beneath you, the other thrown over your waist, holding his papers in front of you both so he can finish his work while he holds you. His legs tangle with yours, head resting in the crook of your neck. The hand not holding the papers slips under your shirt, resting warm and comforting on your aching lower abdomen.

With a content sigh, you close your eyes, finally relaxing as Xaden's body heat seeps into you. You swear just being near him is enough to release the tension from your muscles.

"Did you take something against the pain yet?" Xaden asks after a minute.

When you shake your head, Garrick immediately moves to get up, ready to disappear and get the medicine for you in a blink. Before he can, you explain, "I was too nauseous to eat, so I can't take anything."

You'd made the mistake of taking painkillers on an empty stomach once, and spent hours throwing up bile as a result. After that, it had taken you months to work up the courage to try taking them again at all, even though logically you knew you'd be fine as long as you ate something first. You would much rather endure the pain than make that same mistake again.

"Damn, that sucks. I'm sorry, baby."

You shrug, opening your eyes and angling your head back to smile up at Garrick. "I'll survive. I'm just glad we're not scheduled for flight lessons until the end of the week."

Garrick nods, but observes, "This is worse than usual. Maybe you should see a healer, don't you think?"

"No. They have enough patients with real problems."

"Being in so much pain from your period that you can't eat or sleep through the night is a real problem," he insists.

"Ehh, I'm used to it. There's nothing they can do, anyway. And besides, this isn't even that bad. One time my period was so bad I actually fainted after getting up a bit too fast."

Xaden tenses, pushing up on his elbow to lean over you so he can look at your face. "Why don't I know about that?"

"I guess it just never came up? I dunno." You shrug. "It's not that big of a deal, Xaden. That was before I came to Basgiath."

"You should have warned us in case it happens again. It's fucking dangerous. What if you faint during a challenge or while flying?"

"If I felt like fainting I'd let you know, I promise. It's not like it's a frequent occurrence, and I'm pretty sure that one time it did happen was mostly due to low blood pressure."

You lift your hand to cup Xaden's cheek as you speak, rubbing your thumb back and forth along his cheek bone to soothe him. He's adorable when he gets all worried and protective, but you know better than to tell him that right now.

"Still," he grumbles. "Maybe you should stay in bed until your period is over. You shouldn't have to go to class and fight while dealing with this torture. We can cover for you. No one would doubt it if we say you're sick, and you can easily catch up on the stuff you miss."

"Tempting," you admit, "but I think we both know that's not actually an option."

With a sigh, Xaden lies back down and buries his face in your shoulder. "I know."

"Is there anything we can do to make you feel better?" Garrick asks, setting his stack of papers aside in favor of lying down on your other side.

"Just cuddles," you mumble, the words barely intelligible as you bury your face in the soft fabric of his shirt. "Think I'll try to nap for a bit."

"Alright, love." Xaden kisses your head, then you feel him half sit up again. "Here, drink some water first, hm? You've got to stay hydrated, or you'll feel even worse."

Since you know he's right, you force yourself to sit up and accept the water he hands you, draining half the glass before settling down once more.

Xaden and Garrick wrap you in their arms, making you feel safe and warm despite the pain, and soon you fall asleep to the sound of rustling paper. Before you drift off, you remind yourself you'll have to return to your or Garrick's room later, before actually going to bed for the day. If you don't, Xaden really will prioritize your rest over his meeting, and you can't have that.

[crowsofdarkness]

Today's lesson with Bucky: Cumshot with a side of jealousy.

Part Four to the Teach Me series. If you haven't read the first three parts, you might be a little confused. Tags for this are open, just comment if you're interested!

18+ CW's below the cut( male masturbation, cum play with Bucky making a mess on you)

tags: @muchwita @chrisevansleftnipple @georgeyblast @justsebstan @memenerdlover @mrsalexstan @mandydornanjohnson @spencypookie13 @wintrsoldrluvr @ronjantz @buckysgirl27

“So I just lay here while you touch yourself?” I asked with a note of hesitation, glancing up at Bucky who knelt next to me on his bed. 

He gave me a warm smile while slowly taking off his shirt, showcasing his hard chest and all of his vibranium arm. Very briefly, my eyes flicked to the scars where flesh met the arm but I didn’t dare let it linger long. There were talks around the tour that it made him self conscious giving the history but right now, seeing those bright eyes drink me in I can say for certainty that Bucky did not mind me staring. 

“You’re going to lay just like this,” he helped me get better adjusted on the bed with my head on a pillow. “And I’m going to jerk myself off until I cum.”

Heat engulfed me at how deep his voice was along with the image of him doing just that. It had been a few days since our last lesson since he had been on a quick, one day mission. I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t missed him. As nervous as I was in the beginning, I found myself loving these lessons. I’d been learning a lot thanks to Bucky and felt extremely confident that when the time comes for me to have a serious relationship, I’ll know what to do. 

I spent all night last night watching different videos on cum shots and thought for sure I’d become disgusted with the idea of being covered with someone's cum but I found myself becoming more aroused with every video I watched. Although the idea of someone cuming all over my face sounded hot, I don’t think I was ready for that yet. 

“Where are you going to-?” I asked, biting my bottom lip. 

Bucky made a low noise in the back of his throat as he dragged a thumb over my bottom lip, releasing it from my teeth. “I would love to fill this pretty mouth with my cum but we’ll work our way up to that. So it’s your choice: pussy, stomach, or chest.”

Swallowing thickley, I pointed to my stomach. “Here is fine.” 

I didn’t want to let him know my body was shaking with the idea of having his cum in my mouth or on my pussy. In theory it sounded scary but having it be Bucky, it made it less. 

“Do you want to take your shirt off or roll it up?” Bucky asked, quickly standing to take off his shorts, leaving himself in his red boxers. 

I did not miss the way his dick twitched when he stood to full height but I kept it to myself. 

“Uh,” I thought about it for a moment. If this was our first lesson, I would have kept my shirt on but now, I felt comfortable with Bucky. 

Without saying a word, I sat up to take my shirt off, letting it fall to the bed next to me. I sat in front of him in a green lace bra and a pair of my sleep shorts. Something dark bled into Bucky’s eyes as he dragged his eyes up and down my top half, resting them on my chest. 

“Green is your color,” he mused before kneeling on the bed after I laid down. 

He had me locked on the bed underneath him, one knee on either side of me, and he adjusted the pillow behind me again. 

“Ready?” 

I nodded. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

“You relax, doll,” Bucky smiled. 

My stomach fluttered at the nickname, loving the way it sounded on his lips. 

He took his dick out of his boxers, not quite getting all the way naked because I wasn't there yet, and began stroking himself up and down with his vibranium hand. I watched in a trance at how well he touched himself, a skill he honed in on with years of practice. 

“Doesn’t it hurt using your vibranium hand?” I asked, not daring taking my eyes off of his hand around his dick. 

He let out a grunt, eyes fluttering shut. “I like the pain.” 

Locking that admission away for future use, the next few minutes passed with Bucky’s moans echoing in his bedroom and my lips parted as I watched with wide eyes. He focused more on the head of his dick, swirling a finger around it to drag the precum all over himself. Like our last lesson, I wanted so badly to taste it, even a little just so I could prepare myself for oral. 

As if reading my mind, Bucky took a flesh finger to gather some precum before bringing it to my lips, dragging it over my bottom one. Instantly, my tongue darted out to taste and I let out a ravenous growl. He tasted so good, almost like honey, and I wanted more. 

I needed more. 

“You look so pretty underneath me, baby,” Bucky groaned, taking long strokes up and down his dick. 

“Bucky,” I moaned his name, urging him closer to me, wanting to feel him on me. 

“Say my name again,” he ordered, now moving his hand faster. 

“Bucky,” I repeated. “This is so hot.” 

A hint of a smirk played on his lips. “Watching my stroke my cock turning you on, baby?” 

I nodded which seemed to please him because soon, Bucky’s head fell back as his grip tightened at the base of his cock, holding it still as he spilled himself all over my stomach. His cum felt warm and almost sticky as he painted my skin. His orgasm must have been a strong one because Bucky nearly fell over onto me, holding himself up against the wall above the bed at the last second. His dick pressed against my stomach, making more of a mess with his cum as he slowly dragged his dick through it. My body tingled with the feeling of him like this and I didn’t want it to end. 

BUCKY

“Are you sure you’re alright?” I asked Y/N as she dressed again. 

I cleaned up my cum from her stomach with a warm wash cloth but told her it would be a good idea to take a shower once she returned to her room. We were standing near the door to my room and I couldn't help but stare at her. Her long legs, her soft hair that smelled like lilies, and her bright eyes that always sucked me in anytime I caught sight of them. 

When she first joined the Avengers team, I never even looked at her with more of a thought that she was a teammate. But now after these lessons, I found myself becoming attached and fond of her. A crush is what Steve would call it if I talked to him about it but I refused to let anyone know about our lessons. Y/N and I both agreed when we started this that there were to be no feelings to come of this yet here I was, going against it. 

“Yeah,” she nodded with a lazy smile. “I didn’t think I would be since cum is kind of a foreign substance but seeing you make a mess all over me was really hot.” 

And there goes my dick again. Calm down , you can’t let her see your boner. 

Shifting on my feet to hide my growing boner underneath my sweats, I gave her my own nod in return. “Same time tomorrow?” 

“What’s the next lesson?” Her brows peaked with excitement and curiosity. 

Just as I was about to say, her phone went off in her hands in an all too familiar tone. 

Stark was calling her for a mission. 

“Where are you headed?” I asked as she read over the message on her phone, noticing her shoulders drop. 

“Greece. For a week. There’s rumors of someone infiltrating one of the museums there and he’s sending the Avengers to play guard during the opening,” she said. 

I peered down at her phone when she showed me the plans. “Who are you going with?” 

As much as I would have loved for it to be me, my phone never went off so I knew she was going with someone else. Maybe Nat or Wanda. 

“Bill,” her honey voice broke my thoughts. 

Bill. The new recruit. The one Nat and Wanda couldn’t stop gushing about. 

“The new guy?” I questioned, trying to mask my jealousy with worry. “Has he been on any missions?” 

Y/N locked her phone. “A few but this one doesn't seem all that bad. Rain check on our next lesson?” 

With a forced smile, I nodded. “Sure thing. I’ll text you the details.” 

And with that, she slipped out of my room leaving the scent of lilies lingering in the air and I quickly strode towards my shower ready for yet another cold shower. Y/N would be gone for a week and I didn't doubt I'd be hungry for her.

Our next lesson was simple: Oral.

[rezwrites]

May I request Serial Killer! Agatha x innocent victim! Reader? Agatha falls in love with reader, her next victim. Agatha plans to secretly leave that side of her and start a new life with Reader, but when they both go to spend time together at Agatha's cabin, Reader discovers Agatha's torture room

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, TW: SH, graphic depictions of violence/gore/blood, kidnapping/held hostage, mentions of hunting animals, non sexual/sexual sadism, masochism, somnophilia, fem!bodied reader, strapon, cunilingus, handcuff

a/n: please take caution and do not read if you are uncomfortable with any topics listed.

Schadenfreude noun

Malicious enjoyment derived from observing someone else’s misfortune.

This textbook definition is deeply ingrained into Agatha’s Harkness’s mind. A word she feels that perfectly summarizes her being.

Growing up Agatha was under constant scrutiny and ridicule. Never feeling worthy; How could she when her mother always criticized her for things she did. Even things she hadn’t done. Incessantly, complaining and comparing Agatha to other young women her age, constantly having the highest of expectations. Agatha could be the best in her classes and her mother wouldn’t spare a glance at her, just spat that she could do better.

Agatha was her own person. She could never understand why her mother couldn’t see that and accept her for it.

It was a bitter struggle for Agatha to make or keep friends. Her mother always said that they will find better. Unfortunately, that saying twisted and imbedded itself into Agatha’s psyche, they will always find better.

However, when people close to her experienced some form of tragedy, Agatha would stand there with a deadpanned facial expression unable to curb the elation she felt internally.

She doesn’t try to justify it. She doesn’t think she can.

As the years passed she no longer wished to sit by passively watching bad things happen. She evolved into craving, needing to inflict pain on others to satisfy the burning ache that had been brewing within.

When she’s standing over her victims all those emotions she was denied in childhood had amplified and exploded. Releasing all her frustrations and anger as she works away.

Agatha likes when they beg. Enjoys it, really. When her victims are on their knees pleading for their lives with fat tears falling down their faces. She just stares knowing that’s she’s already locked in their fate, no amount of pleading can or will change that. Then, the next moment the euphoric feeling she gets when she watches the light drain from her victims eyes. Her sadistic, twisted smile the last thing they see. Pride, self appreciation rising as she watched the blood baths she’s created, admiring her artwork.

She enjoys watching the news broadcasts about her victims cases. Tuning in like it’s a daily reality show. In a sense she feels a sort of recognition.

This will sate her bloodlust for a good few months until that itch desperately comes crawling back.

—

Walking into the bank one day to open a new account and make some deposits, Agatha had spotted you. Plastering a smile on her face Agatha approached you, asking for help; you were so eager as did your utmost to assist her. Her eyes narrowed at the slight smile displayed on your face. A disposition Agatha yearns to have, envies it in others. She thought you were so easy, that she could charm you into her clutches. She bet you would scream so prettily for her when her knife sinks deep into your abdomen.

However, when you laughed at one of her jokes, a genuine laugh, one warranting you to cover your mouth to stifle it; it’s like a switch had unexpectedly gone off. She suddenly couldn’t find it in herself to hurt you, despite the incessant urge to hurt something.

Agatha even surprised herself when she didn’t follow you home that night. Of course, she camped out until you got off of work. Closely watching you walk to your car, driving away, but she made her way home in silence. Monotonously crawling into bed Agatha thought about actually getting to know you in a genuine form; a far cry from her usual stalking methods.

Stepping into the bank again for another deposit, a smile on appeared on Agatha face when she saw you. Annoyance flared up seeing that you were with someone else, but she shoved it down waiting on a nearby bench until you were finished.

When you called for the next person Agatha jumped up hastily, a bit of a lilt in her step as she approached the counter. Handing you her paperwork, she observed as you worked away. Your deft fingertips dancing across the keyboard, the minute twitches in your facial muscles as you focus on the screen in front of you.

Reaching out for the receipt Agatha fingers gently brushed over your hand. Pulling her hand away Agatha bit the bullet.

“Would you want to go on a date with me?” She blurted out.

The way your face dropped in shock made Agatha think she was wrong about you. She could see you were thinking of what to say, your eyes mixed with something she can’t place. Pity? Maybe you thought she was a some kind of freak. Agatha’s hands shook at her sides, while her face remained composed. She could feel her stomach drop, along with sweat starting to bead on the back of her neck as she anticipated your rejection.

Your eyes widened realizing you are taking too long to respond, “I’m sorry. That question was just so sudden.” Pulling out a slip of paper you wrote your number down sliding it to her, “I’d love to.”

Now, it was Agatha’s turn to be shocked. She was so used to being rejected, pushed away, discarded. You’re actually giving a her a shot.

—

Like a godsend, you’re her angel. Agatha can’t get enough and much to her delight, neither can you.

Early on in the relationship you noticed that Agatha had to keep her hands busy. Whether that’d be holding on to you anyway she could or dabbling in her little hobbies. Eventually, you convinced her to try painting, easing her worries. Unbeknownst to you that painting helped channel Agatha’s urges.

It always puzzled you why she heavily used various shades of red, but she’s happy when she paints and that’s all you could ask for. She shows you her work as if she was a child showing off a sketch to their parents. Agatha has such a talent you can’t help but to praise her and get the canvases framed.

You also saw how possessive Agatha is towards you. When you two are out together she’s always next to you, holding your hand a little too tightly. When your friends would ask you to hang out Agatha would put on her best puppy eyes to get you to stay with her. If she reluctantly let you go, she’d litter your neck in deep, bruising hickies.

Agatha is hot with a different feeling when you beg. Instead of empowerment, Agatha feels desire, lust. When you so sweetly bat your lashes at her, grasping at her arms, pleading for her. For her.

“Aggie, I need you,” Effortlessly falls from your lips and she’s on you not a second later. Clumsy and frantically kissing you anywhere she could reach. You just chuckled guiding her lips to yours. Agatha ground her cloth cunt down on your thigh, moaning into your mouth, setting her core alight. Holding on to her hips, you helped her rock herself to orgasm above you.

Agatha tries to curb her sadistic tendencies around you, but when you came to her one day asking her to paddle you, she swore her panties were immediately soaked. That night with you perched on her lap, instructing her to use the back of her hairbrush, that first swing resulting your pleased whines, she felt liberated. Each hit she made was harder than the last, her clit tingling with each smack that resounded. Your own wetness shimmering on your inner thighs.

She does get you to scream for her, eventually. Though instead of her knife, it’s her strap sinking into your greedy pussy as you pull her towards you. Excitement licking up Agatha’s spine as she tightened the straps of the newly purchased harness. Slowly thrusting her hips trying to find your sweet spot. Her face pressed into the crook of your neck taking in your scent. Listening to you melodically chant her name as if it’s a prayer, an anchor to keep you on earth as she works you through intense orgasm after orgasm. In the haze of the afterglow you cling to her as if she’ll disappear in a moments notice.

She admires your form as you sleep next to her. Softly kissing your forehead, quietly thanking you for coming into her life. A small smile on your face as you slept, lightly tracing her fingertips over your red, bruising butt cheeks, a little warmth still radiating. Agatha proceeded to climb between your legs, slotting them over her shoulders. Her tongue glides over your cunt licking up your juices. Sucking on your bud, she quickly brought you to the edge of another orgasm, your body convulsing in your slumber.

The next night you had offered to cook dinner for her, since Agatha has a tendency to periodically skip meals. Unfortunately, due to Agatha’s workplace being understaffed she had to stay late. Agatha entered her home near midnight, slow movements with slumped shoulders like she was forcibly dragging herself. Stumbling into her bedroom Agatha eyed you sitting up in her bed, barely fighting your sleep. Shedding her shoes and jewelry Agatha crawled on top of you, resting her face in the crook of your neck. Her hands played at your sides, a slight frown tugging at your lips at her actions.

You’ve come to realize that this is one of her ways of coping with her stress. Many times she came home just to spend the whole night tucked into your side tracing patterns on your skin, unwavering. Sometimes she’ll open up about her problems, and you’ll listen, supporting her but most of the time she’s silent, in her head.

“Do you want to talk it?” You gently inquired.

Agatha remained silent, just pulling you closer to her body. Reaching your arms around her you started running circles on her lower back; you could feel her shoulders instantly relax.

Agatha tensed, pulling away from you. Sitting up she turned around, gazing at the look of confusion on your face. She finally broke the silence, “Let’s go away for a week.”

—

The weather was rapidly plunging as the arranged week approached. What better way to spend it by cuddling with Agatha by the fire in her cabin outside the city.

Agatha had picked you up after work, taking the day off to pack for you both. The car ride was filled with plans of what movie franchises to binge or what to cook for dinner. It wasn’t long before Agatha turned on a solitary dirt road. You awed at the quaint, rustic styled cabin nestled in the middle of the clearing.

The interior emitted a cozy, warmth that immediately enveloped you. Hand knitted blankets lied on the back of the russet couch, along with crocheted pillow covers. Setting down your travel bags you kicked off your shoes, falling on top of the queen-sized bed that sat in the middle of the bedroom. The plush white duvet covered the cool satin sheets hidden underneath.

“Shit.” You heard Agatha grunt loudly. Before you could get up to investigate you heard her footsteps growing louder. Propping yourself up on your elbows, Agatha entered the doorway of the room, a disappointed look on her face, “I forgot something things at the store. There’s a small market not too far away, I’ll go there.”

“I won’t be long.” She called as she walked away from the room. Scampering after her you caught her at the door as she was picking up her keys from the hook. Placing your hands on her shoulders you kissed her cheek, bidding her a see you soon.

Watching her car pull out of the gravel driveway, you decided to surprise her with the fire already started. Padding over to the kitchen you searched the cabinets. The cool tile beneath your feet as you walked around until you found a utility lighter in the island drawer. Striding over to the fireplace, you kneeled pulling open the mesh screen. A frowned tugged at your lips upon seeing no firewood.

Glancing on the sides of the fireplace you saw nothing but a short, neat stack of newspaper beside the pokers. Agatha had told you she came up here to chop some before the trip, now it’s just the matter of finding where she put it.

You stood up, thinking of where she could’ve stored the wood. Across from the kitchen you spotted a door that was slightly ajar. Opening the door you noted that it was unusually heavy, and thicker than the others.

Flicking the light switch you descended the staircase into the basement, the smell of rusted iron invading your sense. The stench made your eyes tear up at the smallest inhale. Pulling up the collar of your shirt you used it to cover your nose to prevent the odor from making you retch. Reaching the bottom of the stairs you glanced along the walls, shoulders dropping from no sign of any firewood.

A wooden table was pushed against the back wall. Dark spots were splattered across the table top, various knives and carving tools hung above it. A small rack along the right wall was filled to the brim with multiple seasonings, gloves, and an assortment of cleaning agents at the bottom; a deep freezer right next to it. Eyeing the black streaks that ran down the metal legs of the table, you stumbled backwards.

“Come upstairs.” You gasped jumping back, grasping at your chest in an attempt to soothe your pounding heart. Turning your head you spotted Agatha at the top of the stairs, her hand gripping the doorknob tightly.

Slowly trodding up the steps and out the basement, Agatha closed the door behind you. “Agatha what is-”

“When I’m up here for a while, l’ll hunt the local wildlife. I didn’t have to time to do a thorough clean down there.” Agatha remained stiff, her voice coming off coarse. The muscles in her neck were twitching, her hands rigidly falling to her side, fingers flexing.

“I was just looking for the firewood. I thought maybe it would be down there. I didn’t mean to snoop,” you apologized.

Nodding, she acknowledged your statement pointing to the screened porch on the other side of the cabin.

Finally, retrieving the firewood you returned to the living room. In the kitchen Agatha was chopping vegetables, her jaw set as she focused. Setting up some logs on the grate you grabbed a newspaper, tearing off enough to make sufficient kindling.

Lighting the fire, you closed the screen. Walking back to the kitchen you cleared the island of the few grocery bags Agatha had left. The succulent aroma of the kitchen was much better than the basement.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” You rested your elbow on the island, cheek in your palm.

“Just sit down and look pretty for me,” Agatha threw a smile over her shoulder, motioning to the couch, “Dinner will be ready soon.”

—

The evening passed quietly. After dinner Agatha moved the coffee table out the way of the sofa, pulling the sofa closer to the fire. Picking a movie you lied back Agatha embracing you, holding you close.

As the movie progressed Agatha hands inched up underneath your shirt, coming up to cup your breast. Every now and then she giving you little pecks in the crook of your neck. Hearing Agatha’s breathing even out your gut twisted. Something felt off. Your mind went back to the basement, the black streaks running down the table. Shoving the feeling aside you tried to ignore them, only chalking it up to Agatha’s claim of hunting animals.

At some point you must have fell asleep. Waking up to the flat ceiling of the bedroom rather than the sloped one in the living room. Turning your head Agatha was sound asleep next to you. That pit in your stomach only got heavier as you laid there. Even if you were overthinking and everything was fine, that it was just blood from animals, you weren’t going back to sleep until you found out.

You took your time quietly climbing out of bed, to avoid waking Agatha. Guilt gnawed at you for invading her privacy, not trusting her, but curiosity got the better of you. Slipping down the hallway and across the living room you stood before the basement door once again.

Slinking down the stairs, the smells was not as pungent as before, luckily. Creeping closer to the blood stained table, sure enough there were scattered tufts of animal furs trapped between the splintered wood. Sighing, you started back towards the stairs, stopping in your tracks seeing a metal door on the far side of the room, below the staircase. That pit in your stomach returning again, sinking deeper, heavier as you inched closer to the door.

please just be a storage closet, you mentally chanted, repeatedly.

Opening the door, the sight that met you had your throat tightening in horror. There’s no way that Agatha, your Agatha, could have done this.

Dried, bloody sickles, scalpels, daggers and other weapons. Pictures of people that had gone missing in recent years before they were taken, matched with Polaroids of their decrepit, mangled bodies. Trophies like jewelry or licenses were hung next to the pictures.

A small pool of blood in the corner of the closet caused your stomach to knot. The back of your shirt was harshly yanked, the door closing in front of you with a loud slam. Your back slammed against the door, your eyes meet Agatha’s. A fire raging behind her azure orbs.

“Why the fuck are you down here, again!?” She roared, hitting the door next to your head.

Agatha had never raised her voice at you, it only elevated the situation more. Your heart was beating so fast it deafened your hearing.

Tears prickled your eyes as you pleaded, “Agatha. Please. Please don’t hurt me.”

Her shoulders fell as backed away from you. Her eyes full of hurt, in disbelief that you would ever think that, “Baby, I- i would never.”

Sliding down to the floor you looked up at her. The terror evident in your eyes, your breathing heavy.

She tried approaching you like you were a wounded animal, but you only coward away. Towering over you her hands twitched at her side. Teary eyed Agatha swayed from one foot to the other before collapsing to her knees in front of you, face falling into her hands, ”I’m sorry. I didn’t want you to find out. I was trying to be good,” she gritted out like she was physically hurting, “I’m trying to be good. For you.”

Your eyes widened. Agatha looked like a mad woman, clawing at her shoulders tears flowing down her cheeks. In this moment you are afraid of her, not knowing what could set her off, if she saw you any more terrified it might make her tick. Taking a deep breath you did your best to compose yourself.

“Agatha, I can see you want to get better. I want to help you.” You swallowed reaching out to cup her face, her tears wetting your fingers as they slid down her face. Her features relaxed upon feeling your hands. Bringing her hands up to your wrists, she pressed herself into your chest. Shakily, you wrapped your arms around her, “Let’s go back to bed. We can talk about this in the morning.”

You can not keep this to yourself. Knowing that the guilt by association and remorse will consume your entire being until you burst. The fact that you now know the very person that is culpable of all those crimes. That’s she’s ruined so many lives and families, still denying justice from them. You just needed to safely bide your time until you could get away.

Agatha pulled away from you, a hard look casted on her face. She stared at your eyes as if she was trying to pry into your thoughts.

“You can help me, you will. All I need is you by my side.” Agatha abruptly stood up, dragging you with her.

“Wh- ugh,” your world upside down as you were slung over Agatha shoulder. Her steps heavy and decisive as she climbed up the stairs and across the cabin. Landing on the mattress the whole room was spinning.

Before you could collect your bearings heard the clinking and registered you arm being raised above your head. Cool metal snuggly wrapped around your wrist you finger touching the brass of the bed frame. When your vision clarified Agatha was standing above you with her head tilted, observing you.

You lied there sobbing, chest heaving, fighting against the cold metal of the cuff. Agatha tucked herself into your side, hand splaying across your sternum. observing the tears streaming down your face.

“Other than this, I’ve never given you a reason not to trust me, right?” Agatha planted a languid kiss on your cheek, licking your salt tears from her lips, “It will all be okay.”

[mirclealignr]

self preservation | james potter [4k]

james potter x fem!reader

requested by anonymous wherein james likes everyone but y/n.

warnings: descriptions of vehicle disasters, death, gets a little dark, angst, she / her pronouns, and i think that’s it?

a/n: help IDK. anyway lemme know ur thoughts !

If James Potter could embody his hatred into a sentient being, he knew it would take the form of Y/N. Ever since their schooling days, James had held a particular disregard for her. Though she seemed the person everyone could like - a pleasing disposition, an amiable temperament - James could not help but dislike her.

No one else could see through her falsity. James vehemently protested her joining the Order, but alas, he was overruled. To James, this was merely a temporary setback, and he would still yet prove to the others what a mistake it was accepting her.

She was insufferable, inappropriate, and unsuitable for this sort of position. She would not be an asset to the Order, purely a liability. He watched her train, knowing she could never rise to the challenge of the types of operations they carried out: gathering intelligence, attacking Voldemort’s followers directly in meticulously orchestrated missions, and protecting vulnerable individuals who had, for some reason, made themselves Voldemort’s targets.

James knew it was only a matter of time before she proved herself unworthy.

“If everyone is here, I think we can start the meeting,” suggested James after a few moments of polite mingling.

“Y/N isn’t here,” Remus noted. “We should wait for her.”

“It isn’t our fault if she can’t make our meetings on time,” spat James.

“She’s not actually late yet, James,” Marlene rolled her eyes. “Who pissed in your cornflakes this morning?”

James ignored the probing of Marlene and instead crossed his arms, his lips pressed in a tight line. What would it matter if she missed the start of the meeting? She was not so very important to the Order, in any regard.

As James quietly huffed, Y/N peered around the door sheepishly. “Sorry. Was hoping I wouldn’t be the last to arrive.”

“No matter,” hummed Dumbledore. “Shall we begin?” He lifted his arms, a sort of request that people took their seats and quietened down.

James could hardly pay attention to the meeting at all. He seethed at Y/N, glaring at her, thinking about all the ways in which she would inevitably fail the Order and cost them valuable information, their secrecy, and perhaps even their lives. Sirius had once asked him why he disliked her so, but he could not think of an answer beyond — “There’s just something about her.” 

The truth, no one would ever know.  

“Mr. Potter?”

James said nothing.

“Mr. Potter?!” Minerva said again, louder this time.

James snapped his attention toward Minerva. “Sorry! What were you saying?” his cheeks flushed.

Minerva sighed. “We have it on good authority that Voldemort is planning some sort of attack in London. However, we believe this to be a decoy for something much bigger. Now, we can't be sure, but-"

"But we think they're planning an attack on the Ministry," interrupted Moody.

"The Ministry?!" Lily seemed rather shocked. "It's one thing attacking defenceless Muggles, it's another to attack the Ministry of Magic."

"We've been aware for some time that the Ministry has been infiltrated, Miss Evans," Kinglsey Shacklebolt chimed in. "We have only been unaware as to who it is feeding information back to Voldemort."

"Why now?" Asked Sirius.

"The Ministry is...distracted. With the recurrence of attacks in the Muggle World, the Ministry's top priority is maintaining our secrecy. The Muggle Prime Minister is becoming more uncooperative." Moody explained.

"Who can blame him?" Minerva scoffed.

"So, what are we doing about it?" James asked.

"Well, Mr. Potter," Moody turned to him. "We need people stationed both in the potential attack spots in London and within the Ministry. We need a safe house, we need-"

"Numbers," James finished his sentence.

"Exactly. Which means everyone will be a part of this operation, everyone."

Although this was to be expected, it did not mean that those who were usually part of the behind the scenes aspects of the Order were not apprehensive as to their performances in the field. While everyone had received training and were more than enough prepared for such an operation, training in a controlled space was nothing to the unpredictability of real life. There would be no second chances.

James laughed humourlessly. The disaster he had predicted was about to come to fruition. Thursday next, he would be proven right.

Y/N out in the field? Though she had been desperate to be part of operations like this, James had protested her at every corner. Albus and Minerva merely agreed due to her age and inexperience, though she was not much younger than James herself.  James did not care why they kept her out of the field in the end, as long as she was kept out.

But it seemed, there would be no protesting this decision.

The mingling continued post meeting, some taking small portions of food and others inching their way to the door with polite smiles on their faces. James watched the scene before him unfold—observing the awkward small talk, tuning in on the more serious chatter of the senior members.

“I’m nervous,” Y/N admitted. “Are you?” She asked Lily.

“A little, yeah. But we’ll be fine!” She assured her.

“You won’t be alone,” Remus reassured the both of them. “We’ll all be there.”

James chuckled. “Yeah but we can’t be covering your arse the whole time.”

The three of them turned to James’ direction. Remus shot him an uncomfortable look, a silent plea to drop the subject and move on.

“What? I’m just saying, we’re not here to hold your hand and risk the entire point of the operation just because you aren’t good enough for field work.”

Y/N’s countenance could not be characterised by merely one thing. It was evident in her face she felt humiliated, downcast and reproachful. Nevertheless, with a brave face, Y/N smiled gently, strategically avoiding the concerned looks of Lily and Remus.

“Best not get in my way, then,” she said through gritted teeth, sliding between her friends to bid her goodbyes to Albus and Minerva.

“Careful, James” Lily warned. “Anyone would think you don’t want her to get hurt.”

- - -

Y/N hadn’t the faintest idea as to James’ disdain for her. For a while, during their Hogwarts years, Y/N optimistically imagined it was part of a bit, that perhaps this was his way of seeking her attention. But after years of growing and maturing, this part of their relationship remained unchanged, regardless of his obvious efforts to mend his other ways.

If anything, his hatred for her only grew. His childish dislike was replaced with concrete, adult contempt, something that could not be easily shifted nor changed. For the most part, she didn’t let him get to her, for she was adamant in rebuking his success. However, upon discovering it was James who was behind keeping from really being a part of the Order, things took a drastic change.

Almost instantly, his immature jibes and snarky comments pricked at her fragile skin, pinched her nerves and seized her sensitive heart. Suddenly, it was much harder to ignore the words that came from a place of such hatred. Especially when it came from someone she truly admired.

Yes, Y/N could not deny that ever since Hogwarts, she had admired James Potter. Confident, successful, intelligent—she was in awe of him from the beginning. It was quiet admiration, a well kept secret. After joining the Order, she observed that these talents had only blossomed.

Y/N slipped quietly away from the safe house, walking through the small park lit up by extravagantly designed lampposts. She listened to the fountain, the crunch of leaves from hedgehogs coming out of their slumber, and for any sign of footsteps behind her. These were dangerous times. When it was safe, she apparated home—a small flat on the outskirts of the centre of London. From her bedroom window she could see the impressive city skyline.

She didn’t mind living in Muggle London for the most part, but she knew it wouldn’t be forever. When it was all over, she’d move far away from it all, from where it had all happened.

But for now, she was exactly where she needed to be.

- - -

It had all been decided. A safe house had been provided in South Hampton, where Dorcas would stay and monitor, charming it with spells that could not be pierced. Kingsley would remain with the Muggle Prime Minister with an extra helping hand from Minerva. Moody retained his position within the Ministry where Remus, Lily, Frank and Marlene were posted.

Albus, Y/N, James, Alice, Gideon and Fabian were stationed throughout Muggle London, paired off and waiting for some sort of attack. James and Y/N were waiting near the Thames, a coffee sitting on their table, a half eaten pastry—blending in. James hadn’t said a word.

“The Order does not function when we are divided, Mr. Potter. This is not a punishment, as you have described, it is a reconciliation.”

James could hear Dumbledore’s words reverberating through his thoughts. Mindless words, he thought. As much as he hated to admit it, however, he knew Dumbledore’s words rang with truth.

“So…what’d you order?” James asked.

Y/N snapped her eyes from the river, laughing through her nose before answering. “Err something with pistachio, I think? Not that nice. You?”

“Regular.”

Y/N knew this was simply an attempt to appear normal—to chat and act natural. But there was a small part of her that wished it was more.

“I don’t even like coffee,” James laughed.

Y/N laughed too, scrunching her brows together. “Why didn’t you get a hot chocolate or something?”

“I don’t even know,” he shook his head.

“Want to try mine?” Y/N asked.

James was taken aback. He had his reasons, but he’d never been nice to Y/N, not even polite, so it took him by surprise when she gave him the benefit of the doubt and was nice to him anyway.

“No, it’s okay.”

She shrugged, leaving her pistachio drink on the table. She wondered if she should say something now or let the silence settle around them again like a cage they seemed to never be released from.  

“Have you heard anything?” Y/N asked.

“Not yet. It’s getting to that time when all the Muggles leave work. London is about to get even busier,” he sighed, concerned for the lives he couldn’t protect.

“Even if our best isn’t good enough, we still cared enough to do something,” Y/N reassured him, placing her hand on his atop the table.

James felt curiously warm from her act of kindness, something which led him into a kind of comfort he’d never felt before. And it was likely to do with the fact he’d never let her this close before.

Y/N had run out of time to fix what was broken between them, for behind James’ head, she saw it—a flare of red sparks. Someone had cast Vermillious.

“James, we need to go,” Y/N instructed, nodding her head in the direction of where she had seen it—the remnants of red hung in the air.

“Shit!”

The two of them ran to a nearby alley, Y/N ever so slightly behind. When they were sure enough to be alone, the two of them clasped hands and apparated to the nearest high rise they could remember seeing beside the red sparks. It did not take them long after arriving to realise from where the commotion had originated.

Streams of people spilled out from the stairs of the Underground, running, screaming, and terrified.

James dove into the horde of civilians, squeezing and shoving his way through the onslaught of panic. Y/N followed, slipping through behind him in the path he’d already cleared. It was a maze and understanding it certainly wasn’t helped by people running in every direction to find any sort of exit. James had only been down there once as a laugh with his mates, curious to experience how Muggles got around.

But Y/N, she had been on the tube a plethora of times. She enjoyed feeling like she was a part of something just as everyone else was. She missed the feeling of belonging—being in Muggle London made it easier for her with the Order, but she felt bitterly alone, isolated and excluded in a city that would never understand nor accept her.

“I can’t tell what’s actually going on,” James shouted over the swarm.

“I don’t-”

But Y/N was cut short by an Earth-shattering crash somewhere in the distance ahead, followed by an echo of shrieks. The citizens of London intensified their cries, panic overloading as people began to push and shove, trampling over each other to reach some kind of safety. 

James began helping individuals who had tumbled to the floor while Y/N tried to deduce the direction from which they were running. It seemed as if most people were heading away from the north east side, and so that is the direction they headed.

However, they did not need to reach their destination to figure out what had caused so much horror. On their way, they saw Gideon and Fabian, crawling and stumbling in the wreckage of two Underground tubes that had evidently crashed into one another. And further on, Albus and Alice at yet another wreckage site. 

This was grave. There were not enough of them.

James had lost sight of Y/N, torn between who to help and what direction to go. He ran through the Underground, searching for more trains, if there were any other damages, searching for Y/N. After many twists and turns he found her, leading civilians aboard a train to safety. It had not been crashed into by another, but James suspected, as she did, it was mostly likely a sitting duck.

James herded the swarm of people towards the nearest exit, panic setting in as he heard a train barrelling into the station from a distance through the echoing tunnel. There were still people on the train, including Y/N, forcing people up, helping children who had lost their parents in the tumult. It was nearing ever closer, blasting its horn as a siren of danger which only fueled the hysteria of helpless innocents.

Death approached, warning its potential victims, crying for lives to be spared. Y/N was determined to save as many as she could, as time would allow. And though she had been unwilling to sacrifice her own, in that moment, it didn’t seem to matter.

“Y/N, get off that train now!” James screamed.

He had never felt such fear seize him before, snatching his breath from his lungs. He was immobilised with dread, terror, a fear that had forced on him the truths he had not previously been willing to confront. If Y/N died now, those truths and his regret would be buried, unable to be dug out to make way for something new, someone new. Y/N would remain with him forever, interlaced into the very fabric of his being, unable to materialise. 

Y/N looked up through the window, a child in her arms. She knew the deadly collision was imminent, she knew the child was frightened yet unaware as to why. She could see his mother was crying, held back by onlookers - those who had no attachment to the child yet could not see a mother die alongside her young.

James watched as Y/N fought to reach the open doors as he forced his way through the crowd scrambling to get away and avoid the impact. He watched the train speed closer, inching Y/N towards the end. She understood nothing but to get the child off the train and into his mother’s arms. In a desperate attempt to bring this to fruition, she threw the child off the train, for time had swiftly been exhausted. James caught the screaming child, handing it off quickly to the mother who had not time to even express her gratitude before she ran from the platform seconds before the train collided with the other, Y/N having not made it to safety.

James threw himself round a corner, diving to the floor for some sort of cover. But almost as quickly as he had gone down, he was back on his feet, searching for a sign of Y/N in the wreckage. He could not see her anywhere, he could barely see anything in the mangled train. His heart stopped. Moments later Gideon and Fabian arrived on the scene, pulling survivors from the other train, calling for aid, but James merely fell to his knees.

After years, James had come to realise that it was not Y/N that he had hated, but the possibilities she illustrated, the hypotheticals that all too often ended in tragedy, of which she symbolised. Because, in spite of it all, James was afraid that the potential of her love, that eternal promise, would vanish, taken as a victim of the war like so much else.

All the hatred he had fostered and nurtured towards her, all the loathing, was nothing more than a pathetic attempt at self preservation. At all costs James would protect his heart against what might tear it apart, the remnants of his flesh revealing the pieces of her woven into him.

“James? What is it?” Alice cried, arriving at the scene.

He couldn’t speak, only lifted his head to look at the sight of it again, wincing. Alice followed his gaze, unsure of what he meant.

“Where’s Y/N?” She asked, suddenly frantic.

James whimpered.

“Where is she?” She asked again. “James?!”

“Gone! She’s gone, alright?!” Screamed James, tears slowly beginning to fall from his eyes and pathetically flow down his cheeks. 

Everything he had been protecting himself from had happened anyway, despite his efforts and regardless of what he had done to prevent it. Except, James was left with the uncertainty, the soul eroding sentiment, of ‘what if.’ In the months and years to come, instead of being able to reconcile with his grief, comforted by the fact that he had made the most of the time he had with her, James would be left a shadow of himself, shrinking into his shame and regret. 

He had convinced himself to hate her, and over the years had begun to believe in his own lie. He did not hate her at all. Everything he had done to keep her out of the Order had, perhaps sometimes subconsciously, been to prevent this very fate. Though he had disguised it with disregard and disbelief in her abilities, even at times believing in his own lie, it was all deception.

His biggest fear was loving and losing her, but now he had lost her without the privilege of being able to love her. 

There was no final goodbye, nothing he could say to her in her final moments to make anything worthwhile. She was simply gone. 

He felt a hand on his shoulder. His tears had been few, perhaps too in shock to really hand himself over to the anguish that would inevitably consume him. 

He couldn’t stay there, not while there were innocent lives at stake. So James stood and mustered the strength he had left, turning to face Alice and Dumbledore. 

But James was met with a different face. Someone wholly unexpected. Y/N. 

“It’s okay,” Y/N laughed. “I’m fine.” 

“Wh- How?” James sniffled. 

“I disapparated. I don’t know why but I thought of home and that’s where I ended up. After the shock of like…nearly dying, I came straight back,” she explained, rather nonchalantly, James thought. “Sorry if I scared you.”

He could say nothing. He felt all too much to be able to decipher each emotion which mercilessly punctured his heart. James wrapped his arms around her in a pure and driven show of his affection, overcome with the emotion he had hidden and locked away for too long. He squeezed her tightly, and thanked some greater being that she hadn’t been harmed. 

He’d been given a second chance. 

- - - 

James didn’t see Y/N again until the next Order meeting a week later. Time and time again he found himself outside her apartment building, a bouquet of flowers in his hand, or a coffee without pistachio in it. But every time he felt the courage slip from his body, carried away in the late summer breeze. 

He didn’t know how to begin to make amends, how to say what he’d felt for years in a comprehensive way. It barely made sense to him why he had chosen the path that he had. How would it make sense to her, the person he had treated so poorly for all these years? 

As Dumbledore droned on, praising the members of the Order for how many lives they had saved, reassuring them over the lives that were lost, and cheering to an overall successful mission, James felt his eyes drawn to Y/N almost every second. She was her usual self, no different to how she had always been. 

James had faced his torment alone. 

“Y/N, could I speak to you?” James asked when the meeting had ended. 

“Sure,” she shrugged, heading into an empty room, suspecting nothing. “Alright?”

“Yeah,” James shifted his feet. “I don’t really know where to start.” 

James could hardly hear himself over the pounding in his ears. 

Y/N only smiled. 

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry…for how shit I’ve treated you over the years-”

“Oh, please, James, it’s fine,” laughed Y/N. “You don’t have to feel guilty ‘cause I might have almost died or something. I’m fine, so don’t worry about it. Water under the bridge,” she smiled, patting him on the shoulder. 

“No,” James said firmly, causing Y/N to remove the hand that had been placed comfortingly on his shoulder. “It’s more than that,” he hesitated a moment, gathering his thoughts. “I’ve never felt so frightened in my entire life than when you were on that train. When I thought-” he steadied himself. “When I thought you’d gone, I’ve never felt such…despair.” 

Y/N listened closely, breath hitching. 

“I’ve never been able to tell you before, I’ve never wanted to because I thought that what I was doing was protecting myself. It didn’t matter if I was hurting you because in the end, I’d save us both from more heartbreak. But that day I realised, I wasn’t saving us from anything but more pain,” James took a deep breath. “Y/N, I’m in love with you. And I have been for a long time. Please, let me try to make things right between us.” 

Y/N stood and analysed James in silence. His sincerity was written all over his shameful expression, desperate for her approval. He wanted nothing more than to make amends, a second chance to make up for the years he had lost to foolishness. 

“James I-”

She hadn’t an idea of how to address him, or what to say. Could it work between them? The boy she had admired and the boy who hated her?

He waited anxiously, impatiently, tapping his fingers against his thighs. 

“I’d like you to try,” she let out a breath as she spoke the words. “I’d like us to try,” she smiled. 

James’ breath was trembling, but a wide grin spread over his lips as he took her in. Someone he had been so afraid of was so beautiful, so graceful, so forgiving.  He stepped an inch closer, and could smell the hint of her perfume. 

“Then, please, can I kiss you?” 

He was quivering. Y/N only nodded, unable to voice her response in fear she would sound too eager. James was tentative, cupping her cheek in the palm of his hand. Y/N closed her eyes before he had reached her, nervous and waiting for a moment she thought would live only in a fantasy. 

When James’ lips met hers, it was gentle but passionate, conveying every unspoken word between them in one simple, human gesture that mankind had designed to mean so much more. 

tags 🏷️: @foolexby @jaeviii @velvetcloxds

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[purplereina11]

🏀 Based after Eleven 🏀

Chapter 9

It started as playful online chemistry with someone unexpected-Alexia Putellas. Flirty banter turned into late-night texts before a heated moment on a club balcony shifted everything.

Now it was post game meet-ups, no-strings friends-with-benefits arrangement. They shared passion, comfort, and the grind of pro sports. But as the season went on, lines blurred.

It was supported to stay simple. These things never do however. Not in professional sports. The option to stay isn't always yours.

The press room was packed—shoulder to shoulder with journalists, cameras, microphones, and the heat of anticipation buzzing off every surface. The pre-final press conference always drew attention, but this one was something else. It wasn’t just another game. It was a shot at trophy number four of four. A chance to keep chasing history.

And most importantly it could be your last game in Barcelona.

You sat at the table in your team’s warm-up top, the club crest over your heart, ankle still slightly taped under your pants but stronger now—your presence here was no longer symbolic. You were starting.

Your coach answered the early questions—tactics, opponents, rotations. Maya followed with her usual sharpness and charm. Then it was your turn, and the room leaned forward like it always did.

And after a few standard questions—your fitness, your leadership, how much this final means—came the one everyone had been waiting for.

A quiet, confident voice near the back asked it, “You’ve been pretty quiet during all the contract speculation, but with the season almost over, can you comment on where you stand? What’s driving your decision?”

You took a breath, looked down at the table for a second, then straightened up. No spin. No fluff. Just truth. “Look,” you said evenly, your voice steady but honest, “It’s not just about playing basketball. If it was, I’d already have re-signed.”

Cameras clicked. Pens paused.

“I’ve loved playing here. I’ve grown here. I’ve helped make history here. But this job? This career? It doesn’t last forever. We’ve got a small window to earn, and then it’s over. So when one team offers you a certain figure—and several others are offering double, sometimes triple—“you shrugged, “you’d be stupid not to think about it.”

There was a ripple across the room. Eyes wide. A few scribbled notes. One or two raised brows.

“It’s not just about the badge on the shirt,” you continued. “It’s about where you are. Who you’re playing with. How you’re treated. And yeah—money matters. Because five, ten years from now? When I’m done? No one’s gonna pay me to relive my glory days. It’s about building something now that helps me later.”

A silence followed. Not awkward—respectful. The moderator moved to wrap, but you leaned forward to finish your thought.

“Right now, I’m focused on this final. I want this last trophy. I want to finish strong. But after that…” you paused, a small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of your mouth, “we’ll see who’s really in the business of backing their belief with more than just words and promises”

And with that, the press conference ended. But the headlines they were just getting started.

—

The final week of training before the big game was always a pressure cooker—drills crisp, energy high, everyone a little sharper, a little louder. Every pass felt tighter. Every play call had weight. And you were locked in. Blocking out the noise. Staying focused on the fourth trophy—just one game away.

Your ankle had held up, your rhythm was back, and you’d just hit a string of perfect shots in transition when your coach called a sudden stop. “[Last Name],” she said, voice raised slightly over the buzz of sneakers on hardwood. “You’ve got a visitor.”

You frowned, confused. Visitors weren’t unusual, but during closed practice? That was rare. You turned toward the far end of the gym, wiping sweat off your brow as you jogged off court—and then you saw her. Alexia. Hovering in the doorway, her hoodie pulled low, hands shoved into her sleeves, like she wasn’t sure she was actually going to go through with this.

Your heart kicked—fast, involuntary. You walked over slowly, the sounds of practice fading behind you, your teammates shooting glances in your direction, but no one saying a word. Alexia’s eyes met yours, soft but determined.

You stopped in front of her, arms crossed, breath still catching from drills. “What are you doing here?”

She swallowed. “I know you’re preparing. I didn’t want to interrupt.”

You raised a brow. “Bit late for that.”

She flinched slightly, then nodded. “I know sorry.”

You waited. And then, quietly, she said, “I want to go to Paris.”

You blinked. “What?”

“For the final,” she clarified, eyes flicking to yours, holding them now. “I want to be there. I want to support you.”

You stared at her, trying to read between the lines—because with Alexia, it was never just about what she said. There was always something else, something buried beneath the surface.

She continued, softer this time. “I know I haven’t earned much of anything lately. But I still want to be there. If you’ll let me.”

You exhaled slowly, heart a mess of adrenaline and emotion. You’d told yourself you were done. You meant it when you said it. But looking at her now—open, asking, showing up for you without expectation for the first time in a long time— It made something shift.

You glanced past her, toward the gym full of noise and motion and pressure, then back to her. “I’m not a sideshow, Alexia. This isn’t about proving a point.”

She nodded quickly. “It’s not. I swear. I just… I want to be there when you win. If you’ll let me stand in the crowd this time. Not outside your door.”

The honesty in her voice made your throat tighten. You paused, then gave her a small nod. “Paris, then.” And for the first time in what felt like forever, she smiled without fear behind it.

You gave her a long look—sweat still clinging to your skin, the thrum of practice still pulsing faintly in your limbs—and she just stood there in the doorway, shifting slightly on her feet, eyes never leaving yours.

“Come over later?” she asked, voice quiet. Not a demand. Not a lure. Just… an ask.

Simple. Soft. You let the words hang in the air between you, unreadable for a beat too long. Long enough to make her glance down and lick her lips like she was bracing for a no. But you surprised yourself with your answer.

“Okay.” Her eyes flicked up, surprised. Hopeful—but cautious. Like she wasn’t sure you’d say it, and even now, wasn’t sure what it meant. You stepped back just a little. “I’ve got film review after this, and recovery. I’ll text.”

She nodded, her voice barely above the hum of bouncing basketballs behind you. “I’ll be home.”

Then she turned and left as quietly as she came, the door swinging shut behind her like a breath being released. You stood there a moment longer, staring at the space where she’d been. Something in your chest fluttered, unsure. But something steadier whispered, not everything was finished yet.

And maybe, just maybe… some things were ready to begin again.

—

You stood outside her door for longer than you probably should’ve—hands buried in your jacket pockets, staring at the brass numbers like they were going to give you an answer. Like they'd whisper what to say, how to act, who to be.

It was easier before. When everything was sharp. When it was anger and jealousy and fire. Now… now it was a slow burn. An ache. A silence you didn’t know how to fill.

You knocked. Not hard. Just enough.

The door opened almost instantly, like she’d been standing right behind it, waiting.

Alexia looked tired—but not unkempt. Like someone who hadn’t been sleeping but still wanted to make it look like she was fine. Hair pulled back, clean hoodie, fresh mascara but no concealer under her eyes. She looked like she’d tried. And that fact alone made your chest twist.

“Hey,” she said softly. Not a greeting. A test.

“Hey,” you replied, just as quiet. Just as unsure.

She stepped aside without saying anything else. You walked in, that familiar scent of her place wrapping around you like it always did—fresh linen, vanilla, something vaguely citrus. You used to tease her about how her apartment smelled like a luxury candle. Now it just smelled like her.

You didn’t sit. You hovered, shifting from foot to foot like you were still deciding if you were staying.

Alexia leaned against the back of her couch, arms crossed loosely. Not defensive—just contained. “You want water or something?” she offered.

“No, I’m okay.”

Silence stretched. Not tense. Just… cautious.

You looked around the room like it would give you something to latch onto, but the space was cleaner than usual. No clutter. Nothing out of place. Which only told you how much she was trying to maintain control.

You stepped a little closer but not enough to breach whatever line was hanging invisible between you.

Alexia’s lips pressed together, then relaxed.

Her eyes flicked to yours then. Not sharp. Not soft either. Just looking. Like she was trying to read you through layers she didn’t know were still there.

You stood there, silent for a moment, then crossed your arms—more out of instinct than anything. “I don’t really know how to be around you anymore.”

Alexia met your eyes again. “Yeah. I feel that too.”

It wasn’t cold. It wasn’t angry. It was just… careful.

You wanted to reach for her. You wanted to say something clever, something disarming, something that would take all of this back to the place where you knew her and she knew you, and it didn’t feel like walking through emotional landmines just to ask how the other one’s been.

But you didn’t.

Because this time—this moment—wasn’t about kissing your way around the hard parts.

So you just said, “I don’t know what this is anymore. Or what it’s supposed to be.”

And Alexia nodded, not flinching from the truth. “Me neither.”

You both stood in that admission like it was something sacred. Something broken.

And for once, neither of you tried to fix it. Not yet.

You stood there a moment longer, eyes on the floor, breath caught in your throat.

And then, barely louder than a whisper, “Can I have a hug?”

Alexia didn’t even pause.

Her arms were around you in an instant—gentle at first, like she was afraid to break something already cracked. But when you sank into her, let your weight fall against her chest, she pulled you in tighter. One hand slid up your back, the other cradled the back of your head, her fingers threading into your hair like they had a lifetime of permission.

You hadn’t meant to cry. Not really. But it started anyway. Quiet at first, then steadier. You buried your face in her shoulder, the fabric of her hoodie soft and warm and familiar, and let yourself unravel just a little.

Alexia didn’t say anything. She just held you. Rocked you slightly, barely perceptible—like the motion was more for her than for you.

And when you finally pulled back, your face damp and your voice stuck somewhere in your chest, she didn’t tease. She didn’t joke. She just reached up and gently wiped the tears from your cheeks with the sleeve of her hoodie, her touch soft, slow, careful. Like she was afraid to make anything worse.

“Hey,” she said, her voice low and quiet, “it’s okay. You don’t have to hold it together right now.”

That made your throat tighten even more. “I just… everything’s shifting,” you managed, barely. “And I don’t know what’s coming. With my career. With anything.”

“I know,” she said, thumb brushing just beneath your eye again. “I know it’s a lot. You’re allowed to feel it.”

Her forehead pressed gently against yours, not asking anything more of you—just being there. Present. Solid.

“You’ve always carried so much,” she whispered. “You don’t have to carry all of it alone.”

You closed your eyes, just breathing her in. Letting her words settle in the spaces where all your worry lived.

For once, she didn’t try to kiss it away. She didn’t try to fix it. She just held you.

And maybe—for right now—that was exactly what you needed.

You weren’t sure how long the two of you stayed like that—folded into each other on the couch, her arms wrapped around your waist, your head tucked beneath her chin. The silence was warm, not awkward. A rare kind of quiet that asked nothing of you, just let you be.

Her fingers traced soft, absent-minded circles along your arm, and every so often you’d feel her chest rise a little deeper—like she wanted to say something, but didn’t. And maybe, like you, she was afraid the wrong word would pop the fragile peace you’d finally landed in.

Eventually, you exhaled, your voice muffled by the cotton of her hoodie.

“I’m so tired, Alexia.”

She shifted slightly, just enough to look down at you. Her brow furrowed, but her voice stayed soft. “Physically?”

You hesitated. “Yeah. But not just that.” You paused, then added, “It’s like… tired in my soul, you know?”

She nodded slowly, brushing a strand of hair off your cheek. “I do.”

A beat passed. Then, carefully, “Do you want to stay?”

You looked up at her, surprised. She must’ve seen it in your face, because she was already clarifying before you could speak.

“Not like that,” she said quickly, her thumb still grazing your skin, steady. “I’m not asking for anything. No pressure. I just meant… stay. Rest. You don’t have to be alone tonight.”

Your heart ached at the way she said it. Honest. Earnest. Gentle.

“I’m not trying to start something just because we’re hurting,” she added, quieter now. “I just… I care. And if you need somewhere to breathe, this can still be that.”

You stared at her, the weight of everything behind you pressing heavy against the relief of that simple offer. “Okay,” you whispered. “Yeah. I think I want that.”

Alexia nodded once, her arm tightening just slightly around you. “Good.”

You tucked your head back under her chin, your eyes already drifting shut. Her breathing steadied against you, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, the exhaustion didn’t feel like drowning.

It felt like rest. Real, safe rest.

No expectations. No promises. Just presence.

And for now, that was more than enough.

Later, after a quiet dinner of leftovers you barely touched and a shared tea neither of you really drank, you both padded down the hallway to her bedroom. It felt surreal, familiar and foreign all at once—like muscle memory mixed with déjà vu. You’d walked this hall before. Slept in this bed before. Undressed in this room a hundred times with her eyes following you like gravity.

But tonight was different.

Tonight, you both got ready like roommates. Soft silence. Occasional glances. No tension, just... that cautious kind of calm that follows a storm.

You stood at her bathroom sink brushing your teeth while she folded a hoodie over the back of a chair. At some point she handed you a clean pair of sweatpants—her own—and you didn’t even hesitate to change into them.

And now you were both lying on her bed, under the same duvet, facing opposite directions, bodies stiff with the effort to not touch.

You blinked up at the ceiling for a few long seconds before finally muttering into the quiet,

“Well... this is weird.”

Alexia let out a soft laugh behind you. “Weird?”

“Yeah. Us. Clothes on. Not immediately making bad decisions. Kinda feels like a sitcom where the two exes get stuck in the same room for the night.”

You heard her shift slightly, the mattress dipping. “Except we’re not technically exes,” she murmured.

You turned your head slightly toward her voice, raising an eyebrow. “What are we, then? Chronically confused situationship survivors?”

That got a real laugh out of her this time—quiet, tired, but genuine. “Something like that.”

You smiled faintly, turning back to the ceiling. “Still weird though.”

“I know.” Her voice was soft now. Close. “But not bad weird.”

“No,” you agreed. “Just... like we’re trying not to touch a bruise.”

There was a silence after that. Comfortable, if a little fragile. Like maybe tonight was your version of a bandage.

Eventually, her voice came again, lower this time. “I don’t mind weird if it means we’re okay.”

You glanced at her. “Are we okay?”

Alexia was quiet for a moment, then nodded slowly. “I think we’re trying. And that counts.”

You nodded back, even though she couldn’t see it. “Trying’s better than nothing.”

You both settled again, the stillness a little softer now.

And for once, the quiet didn’t feel like avoidance. It felt like peace.

—

Paris shimmered beneath a spring sun, the city buzzing louder than usual—not just with tourists and locals, but with the weight of something historic. Your team was one game away from completing the impossible:

Four trophies. One season. A perfect run.

You stepped off the team bus, headphones on, tracksuit zipped to your neck, your expression unreadable behind the sunglasses shielding your eyes from the chaos of flashing cameras and reporters shouting your name. But inside, your pulse was steady. Your focus, sharp. Your heart, beating with purpose. This wasn’t just another final. It was the one.

The end of a chapter—maybe your last in Barcelona colours.

The air in the locker room was electric—nervous laughter, bouncing knees, whispered affirmations. Maya was already blasting a playlist. Liv was braiding someone’s hair. Your jersey hung in your locker, bold and bright like a crown. You pulled it on slowly, taking in the moment.

One more game.

The tunnel was tight, echoing with footsteps, and you could hear the roar of the crowd even before you stepped onto the pitch. French fans, Barça fans, international press. It felt like the world had shown up for this. And somewhere in the crowd you knew she was there.

Alexia.

She’d said she wanted to come. You hadn’t texted to confirm. You didn’t need to. She'd be there. And for the first time, you weren’t playing for her. You were playing for you. For the girl who grew up chasing this dream. For the player they tried to undervalue. For the team you helped carry this far. The whistle blew. The game began. And from the first possession, it was clear—you weren’t here to play it safe. You were here to win.

From the moment the ball tipped, the game pulsed with intensity. This wasn’t just a final—it was a war of wills. A battle between two sides clawing for glory, but only one of them had already held three trophies this season. Only one of them had a shot at cleaning the slate. And only one of them had you.

You moved with purpose. First assist. Then a steal. Then a layup through contact that had the crowd roaring and your bench on their feet.

Your ankle? Forgotten.

Your doubt? Gone.

Every possession was crisp, calculated. The court shrank to just your teammates, your breath, the rhythm of the ball echoing against hardwood and crowd noise. The opposing team tried to double you. Didn’t matter. You split it. Hit Maya on the roll. Bucket.

They tried to force you to your weak side. Didn’t matter. Step-back. Three. The crowd exploded. You didn’t celebrate. You pointed to your chest, to the crest. One more. Eyes locked on your coach. Laser focus.

In the stands you allowed yourself one glance. And you found her. Alexia. Standing. Hands clasped near her mouth. Eyes wide. Watching you like you were a storm rolling through the court—and she was helpless to look away. She looked proud. Not possessive. Not broken.

Just… proud. And for a flicker of a second, your chest loosened. Because even if she hadn’t said the words yet—you knew she saw this version of you. The best version. And she loved it.

The game was close all the way into the fourth quarter. Bodies on the floor. Foul trouble. Timeout drama. You were exhausted—but not done.

With less than a minute left, tied score, the ball found your hands one more time.

You didn’t hesitate. Crossover. Step. Fadeaway. Net. Clean. And the stadium—detonated. The other team burned their last timeout. Your bench swarmed you. Maya shouted something you didn’t catch, but Liv was already grabbing your shoulders and screaming, “YOU’RE UNREAL!”

But you weren’t celebrating yet. Not until the final whistle. Twenty-three more seconds of defence. One more stop. You locked in. And when that final shot missed—When the buzzer went—When the scoreboard flashed your win— You dropped to your knees.

Four for four.

The dream.

The story.

History.

And when your teammates tackled you to the ground, screaming, crying, laughing— You let yourself feel it all.

Confetti rained down like a summer storm—gold and silver falling in flurries over the court, caught in your hair, clinging to your skin. Your teammates were everywhere—hugging, crying, collapsing in disbelief on the hardwood.

You were on top of the scorer’s table. Shirtless. Drenched in sweat and adrenaline. Your jersey in one hand, raised high above your head like a flag. The stadium was deafening, a wall of noise surrounding you, vibrating through your chest as you roared into it, face flushed with triumph, voice hoarse from the game.

“VAMOOOOOS!” you bellowed, chest heaving.

Your arms stretched wide, like you could catch the sound and throw it back. Your mouth cracked into a wild grin, the kind that only came when dreams met sweat and sacrifice and everything you bled for came to life.

You turned slowly, taking it all in—the sea of fans, the flags, the chaos. But your eyes stopped on one section. The family and friends section. Your parents were there, standing, hands over their mouths in disbelief, your dad clapping hard, your mum crying behind a camera lens. Erin was yelling, hoarse and proud. Ivy was on someone’s shoulders, both arms in the air, screaming your name like you were a superhero.

And then—her. Alexia. Not front row. Not waving like a fan. Just standing. Still. Focused. Her eyes locked with yours. And for a moment, everything slowed. You didn’t need to say anything. You could see it in her face—what she wanted to say. What she hadn’t said yet. Pride. Respect. Something deeper.

You pounded your fist to your chest, once, twice, then pointed at your family. Then you threw your jersey into the stands and dropped down into the waiting arms of your teammates—dragged into a dogpile of champagne and history. Four out of four.

Tonight, you were the one they’d never forget. The lights above the court felt brighter now—not stadium-bright, but spotlight bright. Like they knew who this moment was for. Security had relaxed, the crowd still roaring behind barriers, but the family and friends section had been opened. That sacred post-championship tradition—let the people who got you here step onto the floor you conquered.

You were still damp with champagne, a gold medal swinging around your neck, your voice nearly gone from shouting. Your heart? Still racing. You turned and there they were. Your mum pushed through first, her arms already opening before she’d even fully reached you.

“Oh my god,” she whispered as she pulled you in, her voice cracking, “you did it—you did it.”

You held her tighter than you had in years, your eyes stinging again—not from pain, not from pressure—but from everything this moment meant. “We did it,” you murmured back. “You got me here.”

Your dad was next, clapping your shoulder like he was afraid he’d break if he hugged you too hard. “That shot,” he said, eyes wet but proud, “you owned it. Like you were born for that moment.”

“I was,” you grinned. “You made sure of it.”

Then Erin appeared, already crying, already rolling her eyes. “You just had to go and make it impossible for me to ever be the favourite again, huh?”

You laughed, pulling her in for a one-armed hug. “You’re welcome.”

Then you heard it— “AUNTIE!” And suddenly you were on your knees, arms wide, catching Ivy as she launched herself at you, all tulle skirt and glitter face paint. “I KNEW you’d win,” she said, her small hands holding your cheeks like she was trying to memorise you.

You smiled, forehead pressed to hers. “You did?”

“Yep. I told mummy. You’re like… a superhero. But better. 'Cause you're real.”

Your throat caught. You kissed her forehead, swallowed the lump building there, and hugged her a little tighter. Behind them, your brother, sister-in-law, cousins—all there, all beaming, phones out, voices hoarse from screaming. This wasn’t just a victory. It was a legacy. Something they'd talk about forever.

And when you stood again, medal glinting under the lights, arms wrapped around your mum and Erin, Ivy holding your hand tightly—You looked out across the court and locked eyes with Alexia again. Still watching. Still waiting.

The celebrations had finally settled into a quiet hum. No more cameras in your face. No more champagne showers. No more speeches, interviews, or staged photos with trophies clutched to your chest. Just a cool Parisian night, your gold medal still warm against your collarbone, and your teammates—your people—sat with you on a stone wall that lined the river, facing the glowing majesty of the Eiffel Tower as it sparkled on the hour.

You’d taken a photo there earlier with Maya and Liv—feet dangling, smiles exhausted, but pure joy behind your eyes. After that, no one wanted to leave. So you sat there, trophy beside you, legs swinging over the edge, shoes muddy from a night that didn’t care.

And then, maybe because you were feeling bold… Or maybe because your chest still hadn’t settled—You pulled out your phone and texted Alexia.

If you’re still in Paris… come see me. Riverbank. Across from the tower.

You didn’t expect anything. She hadn’t texted post-game. Hadn’t come down to the court. Maybe that had meant everything, maybe it meant nothing. But part of you needed to give her the choice. One last time. You tucked your phone back in your pocket and didn’t tell the others.

Sometime later when you’d convinced yourself she wasn’t coming “[Your Name]!”

You froze.

Your head snapped toward the voice, heart leaping into your throat, and sure enough—There she was. Alexia. In jeans and sneakers, a long coat wrapped around her, hair still damp from a quick shower, cheeks pink from the breeze. And beside her, like some chaotic dream, were Mariona, Irene, and Jenni Hermoso, all bundled up and laughing like they’d just crashed someone else’s night.

You stood slowly as she reached you, your heart pounding. Mariona threw her arms out dramatically. “Did someone say Paris celebration? We brought snacks. And alcohol.”

Jana waved a flask and grinned. “You didn’t really think we’d let her come alone, did you?”

Alexia looked at you, something unreadable in her eyes. “You didn’t think I’d come, huh?”

You smiled, exhaling softly. “Honestly? No.”

She stepped closer, glancing briefly at your teammates, who were giving each other the look but staying silent—for now. Alexia nodded toward the space next to you. “You saved me a spot?”

You reached out and patted the stone wall. “Always.” And just like that, she climbed up beside you. No words. No pressure. Just the two of you, side by side, staring out at the city of lights. History behind you. Something else—maybe something new—still ahead.

The others were still laughing behind you—Liv and Maya teasing Jana about her tiny contraband flask, Mariona dramatically reciting poetry about the Eiffel Tower, and Irene recording it all for future blackmail.

You caught Alexia’s eye. She raised an eyebrow, a quiet, knowing smirk tugging at her lips. “Wanna walk?” you asked softly.

She nodded, hopping down from the wall without a word. You followed her down the cobbled path, your sneakers crunching lightly against loose gravel, the Seine beside you glimmering gold with the reflection of the tower lights. Neither of you spoke. You didn’t need to. The quiet between you wasn’t awkward for once—it was calm, gentle, a kind of peace that had been rare between you.

You walked shoulder to shoulder, the buzz of the evening still humming through your body, the medal in your pocket catching the occasional tap against your leg with every step. Alexia glanced sideways at you once or twice, like she was waiting to see if you’d say something first.

You didn’t. You were too busy noticing how soft she looked in this light. How her coat swayed around her legs. How close your hands were swinging as you walked, almost brushing.

The Eiffel Tower started to twinkle again—that five-minute magic moment every hour. Lights dancing across iron bones like the city was holding its breath. You both stopped. Turned toward it. Silent.

And then, Alexia spoke, voice low, like she was afraid if she said it louder, it might ruin the moment. “You’ve never looked happier than you did tonight.”

You blinked. “I was. I am.”

She nodded slowly, eyes on the tower now. “It suits you. That kind of joy. I don’t think I’ve ever let you feel it without… pulling it away.” That ache rose in your chest again—but before you could respond, she stepped in closer.

Her hand brushed yours—deliberately this time—and her fingers laced with yours like it was the most natural thing in the world.

You looked at her. She was already looking at you.

The light of the tower flickered in her eyes, and for the first time, there was no tension behind her gaze. No sharp edge. Just something soft. Something you hadn’t seen before. “Can I kiss you?” she asked quietly.

You nodded. Just once. And she did. Slow. Steady. Tender. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t heavy. It was romantic. Which—honestly—threw you off more than anything else ever had with her. You weren’t romantic. You’d never been romantic. Not with her. But this? This kiss, under the twinkling lights, in the city of love, after the biggest win of your career— It made your stomach flip in a way you didn’t know what to do with.

You pulled back gently, your breath caught somewhere in your throat, nervous laughter bubbling just beneath the surface. Alexia tilted her head. “What?”

You licked your lips, a little dazed. “That was… really nice.”

She smiled. “You sound surprised.”

“I am,” you admitted, cheeks warm. “I wasn’t expecting to feel like I’m in a movie.”

Alexia leaned in, pressing her forehead to yours, voice barely a whisper. “We’ve always been drama. Maybe it’s time we try a little romance.”

—

Paris was quieter now.

The celebrations were winding down, the riverbanks slowly clearing, and the city had retreated into that hush that only comes late at night—when the world feels too big to speak in full sentences. You didn’t plan to end up at Alexia’s hotel.

But when she asked softly—“Come back with me?”—you just nodded.

No hesitation. No expectations. Just the two of you chasing whatever this was a little longer.

The elevator ride was silent, except for the quiet buzz of the city still clinging to your skin. When she unlocked the door and you stepped inside, it wasn’t like all the other times. It wasn’t immediate. It wasn’t hungry.

You stood in the middle of her room, face to face, the glow of the Eiffel Tower still faint in the window behind you, and for a long moment—neither of you moved.

Then she reached for you. Slowly. Like she wasn’t just touching your body this time, but asking for something deeper.

Her lips found yours again, and it wasn’t rough or desperate. It was reverent. Like she was trying to memorise the shape of your mouth, the way your hands fit at her waist, the way you sighed when she leaned in fully.

Clothes fell away in soft motions. Her hoodie sliding off your shoulders. Your shirt caught in her fingers like she didn’t want to let go just yet. Every movement was slower. More careful. Intentional. When you reached the bed, it wasn’t rushed. It was quiet. Tender.

She kissed you like she was trying to say everything she hadn’t. And you kissed her back like you understood anyway. There was no teasing this time. No need to prove anything. No power play between skin and sheets.

Just love, in its most fragile, most fleeting form. When she moved over you, it wasn’t possessive—it was intimate. Her hands weren’t just touching your skin, they were holding pieces of you she hadn’t earned until now.

And when you finally broke, when your breath caught and your fingers gripped hers—she whispered your name like it meant something more. Maybe it always had.

Afterward, you lay tangled in the sheets, her arm draped over your stomach, her breathing slow and steady. No one said a word. Because the unspoken truth hummed louder than either of you dared to voice.

You were leaving. And she wasn’t stopping you. Not with words. Not with promises. This—whatever this was—felt like a goodbye.

A beautiful, aching one. And still, neither of you said it. You just held each other under the soft hum of Paris, pretending the sun wasn’t already on its way up.

[have-you-seen-my-sanity]

Heeey! Would you write possessive yandere Joe Goldberg smut? Joe captures reader and puts her in his cage. After some time she starts to develop feelings for him. You know...the good ol' Stockholm syndrome😏and they end up having sex in the cage like in the show

No pressure ofc 🥰

Hiii! :D

I've got this😈

YOU are my everything

YOU masterlist

Yandere!Joe Goldberg x fem!reader

Cw/triggers: Joe Goldberg is his own warning, nsfw, kidnapping, captive reader, smut, p in v sex, impression of stalking, Stockholm syndrome.

There you are, so innocent, walking home and giving me the pleasure to watch you while you do it.

Ever since Joe bumped into you at some random store he became infatuated with you. Your eyes, lips, how friendly you were to him, everything!

I don't even know if I was lucky enough to stumble upon you or if you are lucky that it was me. But I'd like to think both.

Joe adjusted his cap and moved to stand at a tree opposite from your window where he could get a look inside just nicely.

He has broken into many homes by now and yours were no different, so he watched the place carefully. Joe returned later when it was rather late and he figured out you must have been asleep already.

Joe was careful and mindful, moving slowly before efficiently sedating you and gently carrying you out to Mooney's without raising suspicion.

After you've been placed into the cage and securily locked up Joe walked back upstairs to get some things done.

It was a few minutes later when you woke up drowsily and confused. Immediately you felt lightheadedness come over you and your head ached a bit. You looked around, feeling panic rise up as you realized you were in a cage. You stood up slowly, trying the door but it wad locked. Screaming wasn't smart because your kidnapper might hear you and instead you kicked the strong glas but it held strong.

"What sick asshole puts people inside cages like animals?" You thought to yourself.

Then a key getting inserted into a lock could be heard before the lights have been turned on and slow steps descented to the room you are in.

The person came into view, with a bag in his hand and you looked puzzled while he just looked back at you with a small but persistent smile.

"I brought you something." He started, moving closer to the small movable plate next to the door and placed the bag on for you to take.

"Who the fuck are you?" You ask.

Joe stepped back while you eyed the bag with suspicion. "Don't you remember me? I was the guy you bumped into couple days ago. I'm Joe."

Joe. You remember him, he helped you with the groceries which had falled on the ground and apologized sincerely. He seemed kind.

You frowned. "And why the hell did you lock me into this?"

He moved closer once more. "Because I felt something between us, don't you too?"

You shook your head. "No! You're just a guy I bumped into, a stranger!"

Joe's gaze darkened. "Just a stranger? A stranger surely wouldn't do all the things I would do for you."

You let out a half nervous half frustrated laugh. "Are you serious?"

Fuck, you're so hot when you're angry.

"Yes." He nodded. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you. For us." Then be gestured to the bag he gave you. "There's a sandwich, water and some painkillers."

"Why am I here?" You ask.

Joe simply smiled. "Because I love you. I would do anything for you."

"You should think about us." Were his last words before he made his way back upstairs.

How the hell did that happen? What did you do that this Joe is so in love with you? You carefully opened the bag and grabbed the bottle of water for some freshness.

You tried getting some rest on the makeshift bed but it wad hard with all the things going on but eventually you fell asleep. The next day you woke up to the surprise of Joe sitting outside the cage, watching you sleep.

"Were you watching me sleep?"

Oh yes

Joe slowly stood up. "Yes," he moved closer now standing infront of the door, "did you think about us?"

You frowned at him. "No, I-..." you didn't finish the sentance and looked down on the ground.

"Think about all the ways your life will be so much easier with me in it." Joe started softly. "All the ways I would love you, spoil you or care for you." Then he placed his palm flat on the glas, seemingly waiting for your hand to do the same. "Please." He pleaded quietly.

Your emotions are going nuts inside you, frustration, fear and even pity?

You slowly walked towards him and placed his hand right where his was. Joe's gaze was fixed on yours.

"Will you let me love you?"

Something inside you couldn't bring it on to say no, something made you want to say yes, be loved by the man who brought you here.

"Yes." You whispered.

As soon as Joe heard you he reached into his pocket, getting the key out and opened the door. With every step inside, you took one back, unsure what will happen now until your back met with the glas behind you and he stood right infront of you.

Joe placed a hand beside your head. "Don't be scared." Then he moved closer, nearly pressing his body against yours and leaned in. You didn't pull away, instead when his lips met yours you leaned into his touch, his other hand moved to your hip as he kissed you.

You felt him grind against you, the outline of his hard cock met your core, making wetness pool inside your panties.

When you pressed yourself against him, Joe quickly moved to undress you and helped you lay down on the cool floor.

"Are you ready?" He whispered huskily.

At your nod, Joe spared no time in pulling your panties off and fishing his hard cock out of his boxers. He positioned himself between your legs and brought his cock up to your wet pussy.

"Tell me you're mine." He demanded softly, pressing the tip of his cock inside you making you gasp.

"I-I'm yours.." You gasped when he pushed deeper, slowly until he bottomed out.

Joe set a slow pace, he felt you getting wetter with each thrust and he couldn't help but groan. "Fuck."

Your head fell back as you arched into him, his thrusts getting harder.

"Do you belong to me?" He asked suddenly and you felt his cock hitting you just right, causing you to become cockdrunk. You could only moan in response but Joe leaned in and asked again, "Do you. Belong to me?"

"Yes, yes!" You mewled, wrapping your legs around him, feeling your peak getting closer and closer.

"That's my good, perfect girl." Joe cooed, pounding into you faster, feeling his orgasm approach aswell.

"Joe I'm about to cum!" You warned breathlessly. Joe looked st you with a small grin, "Then cum for me as I cum for you."

And just like that, your pussy clenched around Joe's invading cock and gushed your juices all over him.

"That's my girl." Joe groaned, thrusting into you one last time with a loud groan before spilling his hot cum into you.

Joe collapsed onto you, breathless and pulled out and rolling off beside you. He turned to look at you lovingly, and brushed a bead of sweat off your brow.

"Will you let me love you?"

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

[douwatahima]

op i hope you don't mind me adding to your post, but this made me think of a story that'll be too long to fit in the tags.

so, when i was in my late teens/early twenties i worked at a little caesars. the job sucked, but it was close to home, and i needed the money, and the managers loved me for some reason and let me do whatever i wanted, so i stuck around. an important thing to know for this story is that this location did not do delivery. we would very occasionally get a large catering order and, if we were told far in advance, the owners would drive it to wherever it needed to go, but other than that there was no delivery.

anyway, one day i have an evening shift and the snow is crazy outside. i live in canada so snow is not new, but this storm was so bad that the owners told me when i got there that they had told a bunch of people not to come in (leaving only me and my sixteen year old coworker to work the night) and said we were allowed to close a few hours early because we probably wouldn't be getting many customers.

a couple of hours before we're set to close, the phone rings. i answer it and this guy proceeds to start ordering several pizzas. customers would occasionally call in if they wanted to do pick up so i didn't think much of it at first, until i asked what time he wanted to pick it up by. he laughs at me and says "obviously i want it delivered." i tell him that our store doesn't do delivery and this guy immediately gets mad.

he starts going off about how he ordered delivery from us all the time and how i'm just being lazy. at every turn i fire back at him in the nicest customer service voice i can muster given the circumstances: "no sir i can guarantee we do not deliver." "sir, i've literally been working at this location since we opened, and we have never done delivery." "sir, no one working tonight even has a car." finally, after like five minutes of this, he goes "look outside! do you really think i want to go out in that?" to which i responded "do you really think i do???"

he goes silent for a second and i honestly feel like this is the first time he realized there was an actual human person on the other side of the phone. when he spoke again all he said was "you have a nice night. bye." in like, the smallest, meekest voice i've ever heard. a complete one eighty from the way he'd been treating me for the last few minutes.

idk, maybe i read the situation wrong and he was actually still pissed. he didn't call later to complain about me as far as i know (and he seemed by our brief interaction like he would be the kind of person to do that) but hey, you never know. but i like to believe that he simply realized that the people making minimum wage at little caesars of all places did not have access to a magical vehicle that could move gracefully through even the most insane weather. and hey, if i could pass that info off to even one person i count that as a win.

[shuenkio]

Zero o'clock — 니키 🎆☄. *. ⋆

Paring: Ex-bf Ni-ki X M!reader

Synopsis: Will he ever be here again with you, on the new year countdown at the same spot? When both of you already broke up? Would he? Genre: Angst but happy ending. Cw: curse or more? Non proof read | English is not my first. This is a work of fanfiction, do not throw unnecessary tantrums on this nsfw/sfw blog. ©Shuenkio

It has been months ever since you broke up with your so-called boyfriend. And the reason behind this was the right person wrong timing however there was a hint which you never noticed that NIKI still longing for you no matter what the cause, even though both of you knowing that no one had the time to even spare one attention or affection,

Let alone suffering to this point where everyone part ways.

Where was home when you wanted him? Then there he was, out there busy with whatever project schedule he had with his friends, at first all he says was it only takes a few weeks nevertheless the week turns into months, months. And why is that? You caught him red hand where he's hanging out freely in the club, but that's not enough, the fact there was girl and boy by his side, both of his hands clinging on their shoulders? it's not even funny at all when you found him there when you were there for running errands. It was a suffering sight to encounter that could make you tear blood. The first time you thought your first love was meant to be last yet it was wrong. Heart ache is not a strong word to even describe how bad you felt it more than that.

And when he asked why would you break up with him? Simple,

"we're not the right one"

At the campus, the new year's countdown celebration. There were people, countless students presence to celebrate together. The night filled with the blank less cloud that let the full moon shine through the earth.

You were there, the same spot again where you used to stay close with your lover but it was all in the memory now. Something really did not stay the same despite how good it was, never meant to be ?. Your friends asked you if you'd come along with them so you won't feel lonely but you politely decline, need time for yourself though you were not alone anymore, this is a festival after all, definitely feel lonely.

Little did you know, Ni-ki were already there, from a distance not so far away. He'd determine that you'll never spend this memories year alone. He will make a change tonight.

It hurt him the day both of you decided, he begged, asking for forgiveness, mercy, spare for time to be a better boyfriend again but it was never that easy, a broken glass can't be pieces with glue easily. Earning back your trust that could cost more than just words, is the only way.

And he knows that, seeing you with somebody else only to make him jealous, furious, does not sit right. That person will never be anybody but him only. The love that he built for God knows how long a waste will never be — He was such a selfish person for love. Stupid crazy in love with his ex-boyfriend.

"Hey" a familiar voice utter. You know instantly who he was, didn't even bother to turn around. It was awkwardly silent. Playing hard to get on his nerve, Ni-ki palm grip on your slump shoulder as he turns you to face hum.

"You do not have the right to ignore me" his finger points at your face like a threat, he was true to his words and there was no more funny business in him anymore — which makes you unsure and not a single word left your lip. You stood there with him hover, like a shield. The same spot, the same jacket he wore that day, nostalgia hit you in the gut that drew tears to your eyes, you couldn't control any longer.

On the other hand, Ni-ki knows you too much to the fact he wasn't even surprised, and was expected you would be a cry-baby, forever his cry-baby.

"I fucking hate you, why can't you just leave me alone? You always bother me so much when I am trying to move on" the dawn has fallen, but you were so strong that nobody can read your expression to assume.

"Hate me all you want, because hear this M/n! I don't A no as the answer, hm? "

I will apologize, make it up to you till the day I die if I have to, but our relationship never ended since that day you decided— *sigh*

say it, I need you to say what is on your mind hon, you don't have a choice, no one will understand you like I do, go grab your sack and explore the world, you will never whether you like it or not we stuck" Ni-ki manipulate again, he will always use this card and it always work. You want it, want to say that how toxic this relationship or him was, you will still be too deep, drowning in his love that can't be surface — and the fact he also did the same but the once time mistake, killed your trust.

This time you no longer hold in anymore, you cry in his face, salty tears streaming down on your beautiful cheeks that can only be seen by him, one and only. They say you only show your true color with your lifeline and here we are.

"Fine... You won me again, you moron"

Ni-ki won. The only victory that he feels like he won in life. He'd vow from the earth to heaven he never made his boyfriend carry the weight of pain again. As Ni-ki slid his fist down and grabbed you by the waist and held you close into a warm embrace, while he covered you in his long jacket, nobody would see your vulnerability. Your head against his heart, just feels right than the cure of cancer.

"M/n you will always love me and will always, say yes to me and I will kill for you, I'm sorry I make you went through shit, this time I'm pinky promise you, yaksokkhae?"

"Yaksokkhae" (promise)

His hand was tight in yours; fingers intertwined like a promise. He knew you knew he’d never let go. Not now, not ever. There was a feeling in the air not quite peace, not quite ache, something in between. As fireworks bloomed against the midnight sky, painting color into the dark, the moment etched itself into something permanent. This place wouldn’t become just a memory. He was here. He would always be here. And you would never have to stand alone again.

That’s zero o’clock love — the kind that starts again and again when everything else resets.

A/n: It been a while since i write angst, but never real angst but now it here with my love- Ni-ki san... I know some parts may be awkward but i hope you can understand ever single sentences, and for the cover thank to my love @angelsfat3 mwah. Also, happy 1 year's writer debut on tumblr... May 1st.

[melanchoire]

Been thinking about..Car Racer!Yujin with Model!reader who happens to be the girlfriend of yujin's rival, So when yujin heard the news of them breaking up she takes the opportunity to use reader to get at her rival🤭

cw: exhibitionism, strap use.

yujin being this star racer in the field of racing; a damn expensive car and a latest generation model, thousands of fans who go to all the races where she is one of the competitors or simply attend as a spectator in the stands, and an incredible driving technique where no one can beat her… except for one annoying guy who always seems to be after her ass to annoy her! always boxing her in with her car against the corners in races, making her skid more than expected or lose control of her car for a moment because she is put in a situation where she is often close to losing or even crashing — she can’t see the boy’s face through the helmet, but yujin bets he has a mockingly bright look and a shit–eating grin on his face

it’s a shame the ugliest, most annoying guys always have the hottest girlfriends! in other words, you being the model and pretty girl who's this pathetic guy’s partner, occasionally attending their competitions and waving happily every time the big screen focuses on the audience for a moment and you just happen to appear on the screen, smiling sweetly and waving, yujin doesn’t understand how you can be with him! even before races, after saying goodbye to her boyfriend and talking to him for a moment until he gets into his car, you turn to yujin and say a sweet “good luck, ahn.” and she would think you were being sarcastic or wishing her ill, but your smile is so genuine that she knows there is no malice in you

until the popular news that you had broken up with your boyfriend reaches yujin’s ears. she wasn’t so sure how real this was because you ended up attending the race that night anyway… although she didn’t give it any importance because she had a plan in mind, and a very good one! you just had to wait

ohhhh yujin winning the race against his rival, being side by side with him in the last stretch of the track, rolling down the car window for a moment just to wave mockingly at him and speeding up as fast as the vehicle would go, moving ahead almost instantly and crossing the finish line a few seconds later — watching your once boyfriend get out of his car and practically burst into flames was what made yujin’s day and her favorite memory so far

finishing the race and everyone leaving the place, yujin saying goodbye to her acquaintances who came to see her and fans who approached her to congratulate her on another great victory and some asking for a photo or an autograph, not expecting to see you approach her and greet her to congratulate her for winning! honestly, she thought you just wanted to tease her for being your ex boyfriend’s rival, but even when you broke up with him you didn’t seem to have the intention of pissing her off

until the sweet words and exchange of smiles end with you two kissing as if you wanted to devour each other’s mouths 😳 yujin being had this big crush on you, shamelessly peeking whenever you were with your boyfriend and she was with her own technical team preparing for a big race, getting moody because she is not the lucky one to have a charismatic and pretty girlfriend like you 😒 oh well, until today! she definitely wouldn’t miss the chance to fuck you and claim you as hers starting tonight

yujin taking you to the garage where your ex boyfriend’s car was and fucking you right there 😵‍💫 bending you over the hood of the car and making you lie back against the surface while she fucks your pussy from behind with her strap, keeping her hands on your shoulders and taking care to maintain pressure on them to keep you in place every time you tried to lean on your elbows or stop pressing your front end against the car

and if i say that she wants to fuck you in all parts of the car... taking advantage of the fact that the windows are a bit dusty to fuck you again from behind, only this time she takes care to press you hard enough against the glass so that the print of your tits and palms are drawn on the dirty car windows <3 ughhh the tits stain and your hands plus her hands on the driver’s window were more than noticeable and anyone could guess what happened there, but yujin didn’t care about that! the loss of your boyfriend was her victory, and yujin was more than happy to claim her prize after a victorious competition