#I’ll be the prettiest most devoted I promise you only need to keep me.

[pretentiouswreckingball]

so. okay, mmmm. hear me out. so what if you kiss me? what if you hold me? what if you love me? what if I’m everything you’re looking for?

[afriendlyblackhottie]

Alone Together

Summary: After an awful breakup you were expecting to spend Christmas alone. You and Steve end up spending it together.

Pairings: tattoo artist!Steve Rogers x Sam Wilson sister!reader. Abusive ex boyfriend!Brock Rumlow x reader

Warning: mentions of abusive relationship, smut, swearing, daddy kink, squirting, creampie, unprotected sex

Tagging: @titty-teetee @blackmissfrizzle @olyvoyl @liquorlaughslove @harrysthiccthighss @mariahthelioness29 @whiskey-cokenfanfic @olyvoyl @hqneyyincc @queenoftheworldisdead @iam-laiya @donutloverxo @slytherinandoutasgard @zaddychris @brattycherubwrites @love-more122

(A/N: yay I made it! Merry Christmas guys! Reblog always 💜 ✌🏾)

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Okay yeah so it was stupid. You should have known better when you’d done it. Well, you did you just... well you don’t really know what you were thinking.

Red flags just look like flags when you’re wearing rose colored glasses, yeah fuck off you stole that from Bojack. So when you were with your ex and doing all this dumb just you thought would make him happy it ended up being kind of awful in the end.

When they finally came off you noticed the things you dealt with. Scared to piss him off so you started treating okay times like they were really good. All the stupid things he had you do to prove yourself.

You were paying for this one right now. Right in another parlor. Covering up that mistake with something you actually liked. Not that most people could see it because it was on your underboob. Said he wanted it to be this hidden thing all for him that no one else was allowed to see.

The first time he asked you’d laughed and said no thinking it was a joke. The second time you it happened you tried to be a little more firm. Except that just meant you couldn’t prove your love for him. That you were devoted. That he’d get a tattoo for you on his arm that he never had time to get for some reason.

It was so fucking dumb you know. The cursive Brock tattooed right under your boob. You could see it every time you took your shirt off and it really bothered you. It always had, but you were trying to convince yourself that you loved him before. Now you looked at it and saw the new of a person you wished you’d never even met.

Steve was your older brother’s best friend. He ran this super popular tattoo shop. They’d met in the military and the friendship just stuck. It’s kind of why you ended up moving to New York. You were kind of the outcast of the family, but Sam never treated you any different. You were his baby sister.

So after a few weeks you asked him if he could cover it up. Except his only available day was Christmas Eve. You didn’t go home anyway and Sam was going to meet his girlfriend’s parents this year. Not that you weren’t invited, but you just wanted this thing covered up. Maybe that would make you forget.

You winced as the needle dug into your skin. Not like it wasn’t worth the pain. “Hey, relax, okay,” he said, softly rubbing your arm. He’d been so much help since the breakup. It was funny. Brock hated him. Was always ranting about what an asshole he is. You could tell he didn’t like your brother either. You really didn’t know what but you knew it was something over their friend Bucky or whatever.

Yeah it was a whole thing. Not that you really knew the details.

Normally you’d spend the holidays with his family. Though a little uncomfortable it was nice being with him. So this was your first year in three that you were alone. Hanging with Steve was nice.

“I’m fine,” you were trying to keep a brave face.

He was almost done. Just had to finish up the shading. Honestly you’d been expecting him being that close to you to feel weird, but it was actually nice. It’d just be nice if you didn’t date another tattoo artist.

Yeah Brock also tattooed. He’d met Steve because they’d worked at the same shop once. You remember how Brock was seething when he found out that Steve had opened his own.

You wish you could go back in time and tell Leila to never go into that damn shop. To never ask you to go with her because she was nervous for her first tattoo. Somehow it ended up with Brock promising you a discount if you let him tattoo you if you gave him your number. Being a cliche you got a butterfly on your shoulder.

Somehow it didn’t bother you as much. Maybe because it didn’t look like anything resembling him.

“You sure? We can take a break,” he offered.

You shook your head. “No. I’m okay.” You chuckled with a smile.

He chuckled before clicking his tongue. “Alright. Tell me if you want me to stop.”

“How’s your mom’s trip?” You asked. His mother had decided to vacation to Hawaii with his step-dad. Which is also why he was here. Not that he couldn’t have went with Nat and Bucky to his parent’s house. Except last time he’d done that, he ended up having to sleep next to Bucky’s incredibly touchy aunt. He was better off spending it alone.

“She’s great. Talked to her this morning.” He chuckled, “apparently she’s bringing me back a Hawaiian shirt.”

“You could pull it off.” You replied trying not to laugh too much.

“You think so?” He asked.

“Yeah just keep it unbuttoned and don’t wear a shirt under.”

He stopped to laugh. “What’s that supposed to mean.”

“I dunno. Just doing a service for the girls,” you said. “Don’t act like you don’t know that you’re cute.”

He licked his lips, narrowing his eyes. “Why Miss. Wilson, you’re not flirting with me are you?”

You laughed and shook your head. “No. Just... stop. You know you’re hot.”

His jaw dropped as he grin. “Now you think I’m hot?”

You sighed dramatically. “Look, Steve. I’m just joking.”

He went back to work with this kind of goofy look on his face. You couldn’t deny it. Steve is hot. Anyone with eyes could see that. Your eyes traced along his tattooed forearms. The sleeves of his flannel pushed up to elbows. Until you were distracted by his broad shoulders.

Your mind finally started to relax. Kind of enjoying the buzzing of the gun. You kind of missed that sound you loved going to the shop with a Brock while he worked.

Your only days off were weekends and since he usually had shit to do on those days, you’d be there while he worked. Sometimes even helping out when their secretary was out.

“And, done,” he said taking a deep breath and smiling down at his work before turning off the machine. “How you feelin?’” He grabbed your hand to help you to your feet.

“Well, a little sore, but good.”

You turned to look at it. Smiling at the flowers that were there now. “It’s beautiful,” you said, looking at Steve before throwing your arms around his neck. “Thank you so much.”

“Hey,” he pulled away to rub your arms, “I got you.”

He was so close, eyes trained on your lips. So you started wondering maybe this was why Brock hated Steve. Saw how magnetic he was that he could definitely pull you in.

That couldn’t have been it, though. Brock never saw you with him alone. His dislike went much deeper than you. Today had kind of added insult to injury. Not only did you cover up that thing, but he was the one to do it. It’d be a slap in the face.

Maybe that’s why you did it. Except you’d always liked Steve’s work. You’d seen so many pieces he did or sketches he made and had wanted him to work on you for the longest. Maybe next time it would be something you didn’t need to cover up.

Your phone went off and you groaned softly pulling away. “Hey, Sam,” you greeted your brother. Of course it had to be him of all people.

Looking back over at his best friend who was cleaning up the station now. It was probably a good thing because your heart had started to thump in your chest. You didn’t need that.

You raised your shirt up so you could see it finally. “Just calling to check up on you. Steve’s lazy ass taking a break? I don’t hear buzzing in the back.”

“We just finished actually.” You laughed.

“How’d it come out?”

“Good,” you answered. “Tell Maya I said hi.”

You finished talking to Sam before finally hanging up. When you finally looked at your new tattoo, a smile grew on your face. It looked so much better than before. “Like it?” Steve asked.

“I love it,” you replied. You grabbed your bag so you could pay him.

“Um, excuse me, Miss,” he said. “Your money is no good here.”

“What? I’m not going to have you do all this work and not pay you, Stevie.”

He sighed. “Think of it as a Christmas present.”

You rolled your eyes still taking your money out. “I can’t-“

“I’m not taking it,” he pressed.

“Fine at least let me give you a tip.”

“I’m not taking that either.” He smirked.

You rolled your eyes. For such a nice boy he was always so stubborn. “Fine. Then... dinner. I’ll make dinner. If we’re spending Christmas alone then it might be fun to spend it together.”

He smiled softly. “Yeah... that sounds nice.”

“Great.” You looked into his eyes again. They were like the prettiest blue ever. Especially with those little specks of green.

After a trip to the store, he escorted you back to the apartment you shared with your brother. You could have moved out, but you were kind of afraid to live alone. That’s why Sam had been a little surprised that you’d declined the invitation to go with him. It was nice to have Steve there.

You’d decorated the apartment even though you hadn’t planned to do anything. You still wanted to be a little festive. Maybe it would pull you into a better mood. It worked a little.

You quickly started on dinner. Steve helped by cutting up vegetables. He’d taken off his sweater letting his incredibly muscular tattooed arms taunt you. Okay so yeah you had a little bit of a crush on him. Like a lot of other women, you just liked to look.

“Thanks for dinner,” Steve said, taking a sip of his wine. “I don’t get home cooked meals a lot.”

“Can’t cook?” You asked with a smirk.

“Yeah I’m pretty hopeless at it.” He shrugged.

“So do you want to watch Christmas movies after this?” You asked.

He laughed. “Yeah that’d be nice.”

The night was going by kind of quick as you settled down to watch A Christmas Story. You were a little tipsy honestly, but you and Steve were sharing a fluffy blanket. Which meant he was close.

You’d carefully showered so you didn’t get your tattoo wet and changed into a sweater shirt and s pair of matching shorts. Getting all bundled up so you could curl up beside him. “You look so warm.” He chuckled as he got a little closer.

“Do you need an extra blanket?” You asked.

“No I’m okay,” he replied.

“Can I ask you something?” You asked because the thought had crossed your mind again. This time you’d finally worked up the nerve to ask.

“Why don’t you and Brock like each other?” You asked.

He sighed. “You’re not the first person I’ve had to save from him. He and Bucky used to be close and I noticed him kind of spiraling. Rumlow was pumping him full of all of these drugs and I dunno I didn’t want to lose my friend.”

Your stomach started to turn. This was the first time you’d ever heard of any of this. “Why didn’t any of you tell me?”

“I wanted to, but Sam said we needed to let you make your own mistakes. To not push you away. There were so many times that I thought about... look I just know that I’m never letting him hurt you again. Okay?”

You nodded, biting your lip. This glazed over look in your eyes. Steve noticed and pulled you closer pretty much placing you in his lap.

“Hey, it’s okay, Honey.” He rubbed your back. Trying to at least comfort you a little.

“No I’m fine,” you replied leaning into him. The soft fabric of his jeans rubbed against your bare legs. It was nice to have him comfort you like this. “You know I think the worst thing to me is that and I’m sorry if this is too much information, but he’d use Sam against me. Say that if I didn’t do what he wanted he’d tell Sam about the things we did in bed.”

Steve sighed. “You know he wouldn’t have cared.”

“I know, but it still felt embarrassing. He knew how secretive I was about it. None of my friends even know the kind of things I’m into.” You took a deep breath, trying to relax because you felt way more tense than you wanted to.

He chuckled. Trying to lighten the mood. “I get it. I used to be the same way until my last girlfriend put it all out there when we broke up.”

You laughed. “Oh yeah I remember that.”

“Yeah. She was something else.” He tossed his head back as he laughed. “One night she came to the shop, talking about how she’d let me tie her up one more time.”

“Brock used to say stuff like ‘come on, Babygirl, do what Daddy says or else I’ll tell your brother what you’re up to.’ It used to grate on my nerves.”

“God. What a fucking asshole,” he said, hoping you didn’t notice when he felt himself get suddenly hard at hearing you say that.

“Yeah, but I’m so glad this thing is covered.”

“Yeah. Glad I could help,” he said with smile. “Shit do you mind actually if I take a picture of it? For Instagram.”

You nodded. “Yeah that’s fine.”

He took his phone out of his pocket while you laid down across his lap, rolling your sweatshirt up so that it was exposed. “Perfect,” he said as he snapped the picture the flash making you close your eyes all tight, making you move your hand so you could rub your eye.

Making your entire breast become exposed. “Shit,” you said, pushing it back down as you sat back up. Your eyes connected to his again and that’s when he kissed you.

You didn’t hesitate to do it back. Your mouth moving against his ever so softly. Like the two of you were afraid to really do what you want, but also didn’t want to pull away. Until he finally started to deepen it.

You stroked his beard as he held onto you tightly. You came to straddle his lap as he cupped your ass. He started to lay you back.

Your phone interrupted you, making you jump away. You scrambled to pick it up. “Hello?”

“Hey. Just checking on you,” Sam’s voice came through.

“Oh. I’m fine, Sam.” You took looked over at Steve who closed his eyes and stood up.

“Is Steve with you?”

“Yeah he walked me home,” you said. “Actually I have to go I’m going to shower.”

“Okay. Text me before bed.”

“Okay.”

Steve was gathering up his things to leave by the time you got off your phone. You watched him move around. He shrugged his coat on. “I’m just gonna head out.”

“Yeah...” you pursed your lips.

He licked his lips. “I, um, I’m sorry. I don’t know what came over me... I-“

“No. It’s okay,” you replied taking a deep breath. “I’ll walk you out.”

He nodded. “Okay.”

You watched as he walked away heading towards the elevator. You still couldn’t believe that happened. Lips tingling from the way he kissed you. Apart of you was cursing Sam from ruining your moment.

Another part of you was kind of happy that he did because as much as you hated it, Brock still had this hold over you. It wasn’t that you felt guilty. It was more like you were afraid of what would happen if he found out.

God, you wish he didn’t have this hold on you. You were starting to close the door when Steve came back. This time he didn’t stop himself as he kissed you. Or picked you up, kicking the door shut behind him. Didn’t stop himself as he carried you to your room.

He laid you down on your bed, getting on top of you. You wrapped your legs around his waist. Trying to be as close to him as possible. Fuck he felt so good on top of you.

Scratching at his muscular shoulders. He pulled your top off first. Exposing your tits. His mouth went to them as he tried to avoid your tattoo. He swirled his tongue around your nipple.

You whimpered, biting your lip as you looked down at him. He’d switched to the other one to give it the same treatment. “So fucking beautiful.” He started kissing down your body so he could take off your shorts and panties. He kissed along your thighs, still looking into your eyes as he parted them.

Before he could put his mouth on your pussy, he went back up. Kissing you again. “Is this okay?” He asked resting his forehead to yours.

You nodded, reaching out so you could start undoing the buttons of his flannel. He helped you, pressing his lips to yours again. This time he put his tongue in your mouth.

Kissing him was different than Brock. Steve’s lips seemed to mold with yours better. There was this feeling in the pit of your stomach that felt like it was about to burst, but like you wanted it to. You really shouldn’t be comparing them, but Steve was making you feel so good and you were kicking yourself from having missed out on this as you wasted your time.

He pushed his shirt off his body then undid his pants. Sliding them down his legs along with his underwear. He got back on top for you, kissing your neck. Leaving little nibbles and sucking on your skin like he knew your body already. “Daddy,” you cried out, then sat up when you realized what you said opening your mouth to apologize.

“Oh yeah, Baby. You want me to be your daddy?” He asked, going back between your legs. “Want to be a dirty girl for me only?”

You nodded suddenly feeling drunk off of his words. Never did you think in a million years that Steve would be talking to you like this. He was getting you so wet just from that. He started licking your clit first.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head as he feasted on you. Pussy juices making a mess on his beard. “Yes,” you gasped out as he started to finger you at the same time.

That same bursting feeling in your stomach was getting intense. You cried out for him as you felt yourself reach your peek. You grabbed his hair, grinding your pussy against his face.

You took a deep breath as you tried to sit up, but he put a hand on your stomach to hold you still. “I’m not done.” He growled. “Hold still while Daddy makes you cum, Honey.”

You nodded bracing yourself as he went back to eating you out. It didn’t take long for him to bring you to another orgasm or another one after that. When he was done he kissed you, making you taste your juices on him.

As you made out again he went back to rubbing your cunt. “I’m gonna make you feel so good,” he said. “Gonna make you cum over and over again. Gonna take care of you.”

“Oh god yes,” you whimpered.

“Fuck I don’t have any condom,” he said, as he’d started to line himself up with your entrance.

“It’s okay,” you said. “I’m on birth control.”

He licked his lips. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Yeah. I want you so bad, Daddy.”

He grinned as he kissed you softly. “I want to know your safe word first, Honey. Just in case.”

“Strawberry.”

He kissed your forehead, then your nose, and then your lips. He pushed into you as your tongues came into contact. Your tongues carassing against each other.

You stretched around him and you started to understand why he’d spent so much time eating you out. Fuck he was thick. You stretched around him looking into his eyes. “It’s okay,” he whispered into your lips. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s too much!” You cried.

“You can take it, Honey,” he kissed you again. “Be a good girl and take Daddy’s dick.”

He started fucking into you a little harder. You could feel yourself leaking around his dick. He’d really worked you up first even if he was still too damn thick for your pussy.

You scratched his back, biting his shoulder. He was thrusting so deep. You don’t think you’d ever been fucked this deep before. You’d definetly never been stretched open like this.

“Right there! Don’t stop!” You begged as he started fucking into your spot. “I’m fucking cumming!”

“That’s it, Honey. Cum for me.” He groaned because your pussy was so tight. Especially as you came. You were tightening around him and if he wasn’t so determined to give you a few more he would have let go inside of you.

“Oh, fuck, Daddy!” You cried. He didn’t let up. Fucking you through it.

“Nasty girl, squirting for me,” he said getting on his knees so he could watch you.

“Oh god!” You didn’t stop. Your pussy gushing around him. He bent your legs back with his hands on the back of your thighs. Watching his cock all slick anytime he’d pull out only to push back into you.

He chuckled as it happened again. Your eyes all clouded over as you came again just like that last time. More juices squirting out of you.

“Please,” you said, but didn’t know why.

“What do you want me to do, Baby?” He asked.

You couldn’t say anything back because you were to far gone. Thoughts had officially left your head. All you knew was him and the he was fucking you so damn good. Still pressing into your spot.

“Fuck you’re gonna make me cum,” he hissed, getting back on top of you with his bicep wrapped around your thigh so he could keep you spread open. He kissed you again this time deeper. Fucking your mouth with his tongue.

You moaned into him and thrusts became to falter as he started to pump you full of his cum. He thrusted into you deep as he gave you every bit of it. Wanting to completely fill you up with him.

He laid on top of you trying to catch his breath. You were panting underneath him. Not even wanting him to move because he was so warm. You buried your head into his neck.

It took you a minute to come down from your highs. He smiled down at you, kissing you softly. “Hi.”

“Hi.”

“You okay? I didn’t hurt you did I?”

You shook your head, already closing your eyes because you were so comfortable like this. “I’m great.”

He chuckled. “That’s what I like to hear.”

You smiled lazily as he finally rolled off of you. He brought you close to him, kissing your nose again. “Stay with me.”

“There’s literally no other place I’d rather be,” he said.

You’d spent all night messing around. Taking little cat naps in between. Right now he had you on your stomach as he fucked you from behind. You never expected to spend your holiday with him, but now you couldn’t picture spending it with anyone else.

You hadn’t even thought about your ex and the meltdown he’d have if he knew about this. It was nice feeling so free. Especially as Steve’s tattooed arms wrapped around you from behind.

Hints of daylight had started to break through the slits of your curtain. He chuckled. “Merry Christmas,” he whispered into your ear as he didn’t even let up the way he was fucking into you.

“Merry Christmas, Daddy,” you whimpered.

He kissed the back of your shoulder. “Gonna spend Christmas letting me make you my girl?”

You nodded trying to peek up at him over your shoulder with a smile. “Your girl?”

“After this I’m not letting you go,” he said, kissing your cheek from behind. “We might need to make this a tradition.”

“I like the sound of that.”

[moonctzeny]

Cygnus

pairing: royal!ten  x fem!reader x villain!doyoung

genre: angst, smutty elements but not anything too much

word count: 4,8k

warnings: ‘forced’ marriage, mentions of death, blood, stabbing (not too descriptive I promise), manipulation

summary: “When your father, the king, gets brutally assasinated in his royal quarters, you realise how big of a threat the opposing Indigo kingdom really is. In order to further protect both your kingdoms, prince Ten proposes a unification by proposing to you. Amidst your duty as his queen and your inappropriate meetups with your royal advisor, Doyoung, you’re not sure where your heart really belongs”

a/n: This fic has a lot of referencing of the past. Just to clarify: if a part is written in the past tense and is inside the separators, it’s y/n recounting past events

requested by/written for my dear French Anon ❤️❤️ I hope you like it 🥰

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The starry night spreads like a veil over the kingdom. Your kingdom, ever since your head was adorned with a veil of your own. The moonlight, pale and bright, illuminates all the stories of the night. From the mothers that kiss their children goodnight, praying that the impending war doesn’t find them in their adolescence, to the whispering silhouettes of the King’s traitors, plotting with the opposing kingdom to overrule his reign.

Like the weeping willows of your royal garden, you sit alone in the dance hall’s balcony, gazing at the sky’s unknown that always felt so comfortable to you. How dull and drab you must look, even in the ornate gown you were in, amidst all the decorations and joyous music of your wedding’s one year anniversary. Maids, peasants, guards- they all congratulated you on your happy marriage, wishing the queen a long life of prosperity. Even Sirius, the prettiest diamond in the sky, seemed to shine like a spotlight for tonight’s celebration.

“y/n? It’s time for our royal dance.”

You recognized the silky voice to be that of the King’s, your longest companion other than the stars. In spite of all of your misery, Ten, the man you swore to hold in weakness and in health, till death do you part, was someone you valued deeply.

You first met the prince in your early teens, travelling to his neighboring kingdom with your father. He was still a young boy, bothered with the blemishes on his face and excited to play with the snow covering the windowsills of his room. The only person who could relate with the insecurities and troubles of an heir like yourself.

“Why are the peasants hungry while we throw away most of our food?”

"Why does the Indigo kingdom want to declare war on us when we both have enough wealth to live on?"

 "Do you think that when we grow up, we will become just like our parents?"

The prince was thoughtful and gentle, a pacifist in the wrong position. Talented in the arts, in dance, in anything that is as beautiful as he is.  

His beloved subjects do not know it, but the nickname Ten, was given to him by you. 

It was probably the third time you met the prince, excited to spend time with your only friend just a day before your 15th birthday. He had been bugging you over what you wanted from him as a present, the beautiful jewelry and dresses his father gifted you seeming too impersonal to him. You shook off his offers, insisting that him being there with you, in your castle’s terrace, was more than enough. 

You were gazing at your beloved stars and he was gazing at you, rambling on and on about the celestial objects in the sky.

“And what star is this?”, he asked curiously, eyes reflecting the constellations and sparkling in the night. Chittaphon, unlike the countless teachers insisting astronomy for a princess was useless, was endlessly entertained by your knowledge and always thirsty to learn more. His finger was pointing at Deneb, one of the brightest stars of the night sky.

“This star is part of a greater ten-star constellation, Cygnus”

“Cygnus?”

“It means swan in greek”, you explained and he squinted his eyes cutely, trying to find the resemblance to the bird.

“According to greek mythology, Phaethon, the son of Helios the sun god, demanded to ride his father’s sun chariot for a day. Unfortunately, he 

was unable to control the reins, forcing Zeus to destroy the chariot with a thunderbolt, with Phaethon drowning in the river Eridanus where it fell. Phaethon's lover, Cygnus, dived into the river for days on end to collect Phaethon's bones, in order to give him a proper burial. The gods were so touched by Cygnus's devotion and deep grief, that they turned him into a swan and placed him among the stars.”

Chittaphon, intrigued by the story, stopped plucking out the roots of the grass you were sitting on, and decided to lay his head comfortably on your lap. His hair looked so pretty that you couldn’t help but run your fingers through its softness, the intimacy making your heart skip a beat.

“That is my greatest fear”

You were so lost in your contentment that you’d almost miss his whispered confession. Placing your hands on his cheeks carefully, you turn his face so that he looks at you, and it takes everything in you not to lean down and kiss his pout away.

“Hm?”

“What if, when I finally take the reins of my father’s kingdom, I end up ‘drowning’ as well? What if I’m too weak to control them and someone stronger than me decides to destroy me?”

With a sigh, you look back up to the sky. As an only child and therefore sole heiress, the worry of leading a kingdom was the main cause of your night scares as well. You were just teenagers, still figuring out yourselves, but Chittaphon wasn’t some ditzy child. He didn’t care about the lushes and gold, he wasn’t power hungry. His idealism and ethos were admirable, and you felt safe knowing that when the time comes, he would be your ally.

“You’ll make a great king one day”

He smiles up at you, his happiness lighting up the night sky. He always shone the brightest.

“You really mean that?”

“I do. And if you don’t, I promise to collect your bones and bury you properly”

He laughed heartily at your joke, and you continued to braid his locks, counting the freckles on his face until your heartbeats synced with the other.

You just laid there, thinking the prince had fallen asleep in your arms, when he spoke again.

“I don’t know how, but one day I’ll gift you those ten stars. And it will be the best birthday present you’ll ever receive”

That’s how you got through adolescence, holding on to Ten’s promise, and dreaming of whatever life might offer you. And life seemed to be gentle on you, up until a couple of years ago. Up until the incident.

Ten takes your hand in his, rubbing your knuckles tenderly with his thumb, and leads you to the dance hall. The skin is scabbed and rough from you compulsively scrubbing it every time you take a bath. You’d watch the water endlessly run through your fingers, yet no amount of soap could flush the memory of the deep red of your father’s blood staining them.

It was a Friday like any other, a walk in the royal gardens at 6 and then your waltz dance class at 7. You replayed the new choreography over and over in your head, drunk in your instructor’s praises and wanting to show off. Skipping the steps of the stairwell leading up to the king’s room, you wish you had taken a jacket with you. Goosebumps started appearing on your arms, both from the cool night breeze and something else you couldn’t quite put your finger on.

Your father was the reason you started waltz lessons. “One day you’re going to marry a man to queendom and you’ll better be able to keep up with me on our father-daughter dance”. You’d just giggle and tell him you had plenty of time till that day, you were just stepping on your twenties, no reason to step on a dancefloor too! But alas, one dance recital from Ten and your father was sold on the idea of getting you to take some lessons. You chuckled to yourself. Come to think of it, your father just really loved Ten.

You reach the heavy door of his suite, opened by just a slice. While there was light coming from the room, illuminating the hallway you were standing at, there was no one guarding it. You found it a little strange that the guard’s huge frame didn’t block your way from your father like he like always did, yet you were happy. Your father always acted colder to you around him.

“Dad, dad, look what I learned toda-“

The sight of his cold, lifeless body brought you to your knees. The cause of death was obvious, with the dagger shoved deep inside his guts, but if you asked anyone in the kingdom, they’d tell you he died from a bad heart. He loved heavy food, and alcohol, the meals suited to a king. No one other than a select few could know that the king was assassinated in his own bedroom.

But that was not your only secret.

You don’t know how, but Ten has managed to finally drag you in the middle of the dance hall. Your shoes clack against the marbled floors and the music brings you momentarily back to the now that you want to escape so badly. The music sounds familiar, you think, and you stay still for a second, trying to identify the song.

Your king brings you closer, one hand steady on your waist, the other keeping your fingers intertwined. He hums to the tune and looks at you with those eyes, those dark eyes that always hold a certain sadness in them. And when he starts to lead, it finally hits you that this is the song you got engaged to.

It was Ten’s idea, actually. With the rumours of a murder travelling to the neighboring kingdoms, including the Indigo kingdom making statements of invasive strategies against you, a form of alliance was clearly needed to be made. 

He showed up to the royal conference room, all dressed up and holding a bouquet of red roses. You could hear his heart thumping as he approached you, his hands sweaty and clammy when he held yours.

“My queen, there is no denying our kingdoms are in a crisis”. His familiar voice was comforting to you, yet the words seemed too formal to be leaving Ten’s mouth. “The Indigo kingdom has indirectly declared war on you. They are powerful, especially with the weapons they possess. And their men are notorious to be ruthless and as cold as ice.”

You gulped visibly, your mouth getting dry at the thought of your people getting as violently killed as your father. Looking at any place possible other than his eyes, you wondered why he took the time to pay you a visit, just to point out the things that you were already more than worried about.

“My kingdom has great soldiers, skilled and apt in martial arts, yet they miss one thing, one thing that your peaceful kingdom can offer mine. Your servants love you, my queen, and they are willing to do anything for you”. He stops and takes a breath, handing you the bouquet he had been holding in his other hand. “I know I would”

The sweet scent that hits your nose matches his sentiment, yet the glossiness in his eyes -that you finally picked up the courage to face- told you things would get bitter soon.

“Are you suggesting we form an alliance for the war? Our kingdoms might be on good terms now, yet our predecessors used to be enemies for hundreds of years. There is still a lot of mistrust weaved in the hearts of the people.”

“I know”, he said, his voice breaking lightly. A thorn from the bouquet pricked your skin as you saw him fall down on one knee, a drop of blood falling from your finger as a teardrop stained your face. “That’s why I am asking for your hand in marriage. Let our kingdoms become one”

You were the one who said ‘I do’, yet the decision was already taken for you. Your whole life, in fact, was painted right in front of your eyes, hues of marsala reds and hunter greens. Hues like the ones Ten put on his palette almost every night before you go to sleep.

You and Ten had never slept together. He insisted that it was never his intention when marrying you, and he’d completely respect your boundaries. You’d be lying to yourself if you said you hadn’t had a thought of laying with him, as you helped him remove the drying paint off his fingers every night. You couldn’t ignore the twitch of your sensitivity as he saw you changing into your silk robe and nightgown, nor the heat of your face when he called you beautiful. His pretty voice was made for begging and teasing and singing out moans. With his flexibility and core strength, you could only imagine what he’d be like in the bedroom. Just the image of his feline eyes looking up at you from between your thighs sent chills down your spine.

That being said, you always felt a bit annoyed by his chivalry as he slipped through to the guest room to spend the night. Through his proposal, he had ridden you of the chance to choose your other half, doomed you to endless nights of loneliness and a cold half of the bed. He should’ve at least taken responsibility.

Not even the guards could know that the two of you didn’t share a bed, the alliance holding on the thin thread of facade you played out for everyone. Sweet kisses in the breakfast room, fake smiles and the silent mourning of your freedom. But that wasn’t your only secret.

You see a hand tapping lightly the velvet shoulderpads of the King’s suit, causing you to halt your dancing. A man, about half a head taller than Ten, successfully steals his attention from you.

“My king, may I steal the lovely queen for a dance?”

Kim Doyoung.

Tall, nice-mannered, lethally handsome. Your father’s trustiest advisor ever since he turned 18 and one of the most respected men in the castle. If the king is the jungle’s lion, then Doyoung surely is a jaguar, attacking his enemies unexpectedly, emerging from their blind spot. He is also your secret.

Kim was the one who found you crying over your fathers body, notifying the knights of the murder since you had no voice to scream for help. He offered you a shoulder to lean on during your grief, while helping you manage the kingdom in your inexperience. It was inevitable to come closer to the man you spent countless hours with at the royal meetings, who you wined and dined with daily, who led you through your duties and made everything make a little bit more sense.

The attraction you felt for him however, well, that was on you. 

It started one night, warm like this one, when the diplomatic settlements with a new kingdom took way too long to figure out, and the pair of you were stuck in his personal office at the early hours of the morning. 

Your hair was a frizzy mess, eyebags darkening the thin skin of your under eyes and all you could focus on was the ink slowly spilling from the metal tip of your pen. And Doyoung, though hardworking and diligent as always, showed the signs of exhaustion as well, stretching his neck from side to side to release the tension.

A crack from his joints grabbed your attention, or rather his skin that was glowing in the limelight. 

He was wearing a beautiful silk shirt, the fabric matching his rich stature and highlighting the delicate lines of his body. His collarbones, sharp like him, peeked from the buttons he had been unfastening, one by one, all the while keeping his eyes on yours.

Your mind wandered under his stare that did nothing short of stealing all oxygen from your lungs. Every slither of your bare skin that landed on it was starting to burn up, and you assumed that’s what his touch must feel like as well. You imagined unbuttoning the rest of his shirt yourself, giving his shoulders a little massage to help him relax. You’d run your hands down this torso, marking it lightly with your fingernails, until you felt that little line of hair right over his pelvis.

The thought is too sinful, so you return to the document in front of you, yet all of your concentration dissolves when the advisor suddenly places the back of his hand against your forehead. His touch is cool and refreshing against your hot skin, yet the proximity only raised the temperature of your body more.

“My queen, you look exhausted. Have you been sleeping properly since the… incident?”

You wince at the memory and shove it down your subconscious again, shaking your head as if the dark thoughts would just brush off of you.

“Not really. I keep tossing and turning. I lay on my bed and I just feel so- so lonely.”

Immediately realising how suggestive your words sound you put your hand over your lips, but Doyoung removes them, taking your raised hand in his and kissing the top.

“My duty as your advisor is to rid you of your worries, my queen. Apparently, I’m not doing a good job, so tell me”. You let your eyes fall on his plush lips, holding your breath as his sweet talk leaves them. He mouths the next words against your wrist, and you can feel every movement of his mouth against your sensitive skin. “What can I do to relieve your stress?”

You can’t stop staring at the smoothness of the junction of his neck so you leave a light layer of your lipstick on it, the pink hue against his pale skin reeling you back to reality.

“Advisor, this is not right”, you try to excuse, “I cannot allow myself to take advantage of your duties like that”

Your eyes stay glued on his neck, and you watch as his Adam’s apple bobs in a chuckle. He guides your hand, that is still in his grasp, and boldy places it over his thigh, your pinky finger grazing against a hardness that is most definitely his-

“Can’t you see what you do to me? What does a man have to do to be yours for the night?”

And that’s how he ended up tangled in your sheets every night, sneaking in your room silently so that the guards don’t notice him. 

“It’s been one year, huh?”

You smell the citrusy after notes of wine in his breath, his lips slightly stained by the liquid. He looks just as addictive as the alcohol he consumed tonight, covered in the silk fabric that he loves so much.

“Have you been drinking again?”

“What else am I supposed to do when I see my queen dancing with that bastard?”

“That bastard is your king, yet you talk so lowly of him”

“And that king is your husband, but you were moaning my name on your wedding night”

You had changed into a white nightgown, the ivory dress discarded on your bathroom’s floor. The beads that were delicately weaved into the wedding gown sure were heavy, but that was not the reason you felt so suffocated in it. You had to sit there for hours, resenting everyone who made a toast for the husband and wife. The celebrations seemed endless, the wine abundant, their laughs maniacal. Your wedding ceremony was the image of luxury and opulence, yet you felt so poor.

Your feet led you to his room on their own, swollen and cut from all the dancing in heels. When Doyoung saw you, angry and choked up with all the injustice you felt, he offered to do what he was the best at. Distract you with his touches, his wet kisses, his sweet nothings. 

A pang of guilt ran through you the moment your back hit the wall, his body trapping you between the cold surface and the overwhelming heat of his body. You wondered if Ten was still sleeping in your newlyweds’ suite, if he was pretending that he dozed off, what he was thinking. You knew you were selfish for only thinking about your feelings, as if you were the only one forced into this marriage. But then Doyoung’s fingers danced on the hem of your dress, and your mind would go blank with lust.

“This is wrong”, you said out loud, a statement directed mostly at yourself rather than Doyoung.

“You coming here?”

“This. I shouldn’t have allowed myself to come this close to you”

“Divorce him”

You blinked back at him a couple times, trying to register what came so nonchalantly out of his mouth.

“Out of all people, advisor, you know exactly why I can’t”

His hand slid upwards, following the heat of your core, yet his fingers never touched where you needed him most. Small indentations were formed on the softness of your thighs, caused by his rings, and you wished the marks would stay forever. The shirt he wore as his sleepwear was oversized on his small frame, the iris tattooed on his shoulder peeking out from the fabric, as if it flowered on his skin.

“Out of all people, my queen, you know I can give you so much more than him”

As if knowing you’d argue with him, he started to nibble the skin on the middle of your neck, forcing your voice to bubble out muffled and weary.

“But advisor-“

“Say my name”

He let the pad of his finger fick your clit, and you moan “Doyoung” out, the name addictive on the tip of your tongue. So you say it again.

“Doyoung, I need you”

You felt his grin clearly against your skin, you wetness dripping on his fingers and covering his rings. His next words came out with a gravelly sound:

“I might hurt you, my queen”

Your whole life was laid out in front of you, from the wedding ring that weighted down your finger, to you laying on your royal deathbed, looking back at a lifetime that was never really yours. A linear progression to unhappiness, but you hated straight lines. 

“I want it to hurt”

Doyoung brings your body closer to yours, perhaps way closer than the etiquette allows, his hand on your lower waist sliding as near to your ass so as not to raise suspicion. He dips his head forward in a way that makes you think he’d leave a tipsy and careless kiss on your lips, but he whispers in your ear instead.

“Why haven’t you left him already?” The question is bold, especially between all these people, especially in the celebration of the wedding he asks you to break off. “I thought you said you’re mine”

“I am, but-“, your head moves towards the king’s direction, whose eyes are boring holes through the pair of you. You feel so small under his stare, suddenly feeling dirty. 

“He doesn’t even love you” 

There is a weird feeling bubbling in your stomach when you finally make eye contact with Ten, all his forms in which you’ve seen him through the years running in your mind. The innocent boy who became your best friend, the uncertain teenager who became your first love. The empathetic king, the mourning friend. The dependable spouse.

“But you do”, Doyoung concludes incredulously, his right eyebrow raised. It’s as if he tied together the pieces of a big jigsaw puzzle, the disappointment and anger and determination all trying to fit in his handsome features.

A hand draws your body away from Doyoung quite aggressively, and you quickly realise it’s Ten who has caught up with you. He intertwines your fingers together, pulling you into your previous dancing position but something is different this time.

“Times up. My wife’s too precious of a gem to let go of for longer”

Doyoung scoffs lightly, but hides it with a small bow to his king, leaving the two of you alone like he was asked. The tension between you and Ten is so thick it felt like all the lies you’ve told your kingdoms liquified into a thick substance that’s suffocating you now. His fingers are digging in your hips, in a possessive manner that’s a first for him, and he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“Do you ever think of me when you’re having sex with him?” 

The question catches you so off guard that you ungraciously step on his feet, wobbling on your heels until he helps you find your balance. 

“Why would you ask that?”

Now, you weren’t trying to play clueless, you know Ten is smart. You see the way he studies you and Doyoung, how he catches your secret glances, the electric touches. He surely has figured out where you sneak off every night and whose cologne you reek off the next morning. What you don’t understand, is where all his dislike for your advisor stems from.

Ten just chuckles bitterly, letting a puff through his nose, with a face of almost disgust when he looks at you.

“I don’t understand why I feel this way. I don’t understand why I care about you when you’re plotting with him against me. Why I feel jealous every time I see his filthy hands on you, or why I still think you deserve better.”

Plotting against him?

You’re left with a mouth gaped open, his harsh words both hurting you and confusing you as his voice gets even more strict than before.

“I thought maybe if I asked you to marry me you’d slowly distance yourself from him. I thought that maybe, just maybe, you reciprocate a handful of all the things I feel for you. But you still stay by his side, hanging from his every word”, he says it all in one breath and his eyes are watery when he addresses you again. “How can you sleep soundly next to me when you’re fucking the man that killed your father?”

A buzzing sound rings in your ears and you realise that you’re one breath away from falling apart.

And just like that, everything makes sense.

Why Doyoung was the first to find your father’s body, why the assasination seemed like an inside job. His sudden romantic interest in you and his pleas to have him as your king instead.

The indigo flower that decorated his body.

Ten shakes you a little, worried now at your sudden stiffness and the loss of blood from your face. He didn’t expect this reaction from you, didn’t expect to see your body shake with anger like this. You seem even more shocked than he was when he found out about Doyoung’s true nature, but, aren’t you the advisor’s accomplice in the plot of his overruling? 

“Wait, all this time- you didn’t know?”

Ten’s eyes widen as his body jerks forward, and you barely manage to catch him in your arms. A woman’s shriek resonates in the dance hall; the musicians halt their playing with a scratchy sound of the strings that stretch out of tune. And then you see the blood, staining the marble floor under Ten in small drops. You also see Doyoung emerging from behind him, with a maniacal look on his face, and a dagger in his hands. 

All hell breaks loose. The unarmed guests scream in fear, urging outside the dance hall in flocks. Glasses of wine shatter on the floor, women leave their heels behind in their hastiness to save themselves. You see the knights running in your direction, creating a shield of protection for you and the king, yet you notice that not all of them have gathered around you. A good part of them stand next to Doyoung, his face distorted in a mischievous grin. The extent of the betrayal in your kingdom shocks you, but when the first knight launches forward with his sword, you know you need to get Ten out of there immediately.

Throwing Ten’s arm over your shoulder, you drag him with difficulty all the way to the balcony, desperately trying to mute out the shrill sound of swords clashing in the process. You manage to bring him to safety, laying him down carefully in the same spot he found you in before, his head on your lap. After unbuttoning his shirt, you inspect the stab under his ribcage, and you swallow a scream at the sight of the deep wound. The most you can do is rip a big piece of cloth from your skirt, tying it up tightly around his waist, and wait until the fight is over. 

You see clear drops falling on his face that is turning sickly pale and you realise you’re crying. Holding his face between your hands, you get reminded of those days you went starseeing, of those moments of absolute peace with him that you wished would last forever. His body is cold and the cloth is turning burgundy, but he has the most tranquil smile on his face as he looks up at you. 

“Stay with me, please”, you sob over his rigid body, hugging it tightly as if his existence will just slip right through your fingers. “Live with me, and I’ll gift you all the stars in the sky”

[winterrose527]

Jon and Robb trying to get a drunk Sansa and Myrcella home

K I didn't write this today, but wrote it like years ago and never posted it I don't think? Maybe I did, but nevertheless, enjoy!

***

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Jon said for the seventeenth time since they’d gotten into the taxi. “What did she say exactly?”

Robb sighed and tried to recount the conversation. It was a little tricky to follow what Sansa was saying, she’d definitely had too much to drink.

“She said that they got in a fight and that Ella left her,” Robb told him.

“But they don’t fight,” Jon argued vehemently.

Seriously, it was as though someone had told him that the earth, after all this time, was indeed flat. Like somebody told him the sky was actually red. He said it like he needed a damn Vicodin due the prospect of Sansa Stark and Myrcella Baratheon arguing.

In Jon’s defense, it did seem a little strange. The two had been inseparable since boarding school, and to Robb’s knowledge had never actually had an argument. There was that one incident on Ella’s last birthday when they both got really drunk and started arguing about who loved the other more - it got really emotional, a few other people started crying as well. Not him, of course, it was just really smoky in there.

The point was that it really didn’t make any sense. Even if Sansa and Ella did have their first fight as the most iconic non-couple-couple, Ella would never leave Sansa at a bar. Especially when she’d been drinking. But on the off chance something calamitous had actually happened, he wasn’t going to not go.

And if something calamitous hadn’t happened, he and Jon were happy for the excuse to seek them out.

The taxi pulled up in front of the pub Sansa had called from. The girls loved this place because they deemed the bartender swoon worthy and he obviously loved them because he always gave them free drinks.

They walked in and immediately started scanning the bar for his sister and Ella. The place was packed, but Robb just looked for where Daario was stationed and sure enough he saw Sansa’s auburn hair.

He tapped Jon on the chest and pointed and they made their way through. Sansa was facing away from them so he called to her. It really was too loud in here though and she looked like she was hanging on whatever it was that Daario was saying.

When he finally got to her, he was, well, not all that surprised to see Ella Baratheon sitting on the barstool next to her.

“Robb?,” she asked in that moneyed voice of hers.

Her cheeks were a little flushed but that could just be the alcohol. She was wearing a black and gold dress that was fitted through the waist and then flared out, her slender legs covered in black tights. Her hair was up and it revealed that little freckle on her swanlike neck and - fuck.

“Hey El,” he cleared his throat, “Sansa what the hell?”

“You’re a poet and you didn’t even know it but I doooooo,” Sansa giggled. “Quick make something up about Ella’s eyes.”

“Huh?,” he wondered.

“Just a little ditty,” Sansa promised, as though it was nothing really, “Come now, Robbert don’t be stingy with your gifts. I really think that you should - oh hello Jon.”

“H-hey Sansa…,” Jon breathed out.

For fuck’s sake. He was going to need a drink to get through this. He gestured to the bartender who ignored him.

Ella bit her lip to hide her smile, “Hey Daario?”

“Yeah darlin’?,” Daario asked immediately, leaning his forearms on the bar.

“Could we please have two Wight Gold Labels neat whenever you get a chance?,” she asked.

Daario glared at him which Robb felt wasn’t entirely called for and nodded, “Sure thing. And how about another martini, on me?”

Ella blushed and nodded, “Thanks.”

Jon muttered something about that being a terrible business model and Robb fought the urge to grin.

“So,” Ella asked, “Why are you guys here? You hate this place.”

“Sansa,” Robb noted, “Care to field this one?”

Sansa looked over at him and furrowed her brow, “Robb? When did you get here?”

They all turned to look at her in horror. Oh no. He had only seen that vacant look in her eyes once, the night of her college graduation.

“Daario cancel those please!,” Ella called, sliding off her bar stool and she took Sansa’s face gently between her hands. “Sansa, sweetie, did you take some shots without me?”

“I would never!,” Sansa argued vehemently taking Ella’s cheeks in her own, “Where I drinketh you drinketh babygirl. I only had like two tequilas and then some green thing.”

“Did that green thing taste like licorice?,” Jon asked.

Sansa turned and all but fluttered her eyelashes at him, “You’re so smart. Did you know that?,” and then as though she realised she had Ella’s face still in her hands turned back to her and said, “You’re smarter though. And you’re so pretty. You’re the most beautiful girl in the whole wide world, I’m so lucky we’re friends.”

“Trust me, I’m the lucky one,” Ella told her sweetly, “But now we have to go.”

“But Robb and Jon just got here!,” Sansa protested, then turned to look at him with watery eyes, “You came for me.”

Absinthe always made Sansa particularly grateful for everyone in her life. As far as drunks went it was one of the cutest he’d ever seen. And as a devoted big brother, who had had a couple of drinks himself, he was a complete sucker for it.

“Of course I did,” he told her, “I’d always come for you, you know that.”

“Keep it together Robb,” Jon told him.

“What?,” Robb asked then nodded, his cheeks warming, “Right yeah no um… Sansa you called me and told me that you and Ella got in a fight and she left you.”

“I would never do that,” Ella argued.

“But you did! Remember?”

“N-Sansa that was not an argument! I just told you that I liked Mr. Bingley more than Mr. Darcy and then went outside to take a phone call…”

“You were gone for a really long time.”

Ella picked up her phone and showed them all the call. It was with her brother Gendry and it lasted for… 2 minutes and 45 seconds.

“Sansa,” he chuckled.

“Look Robb maybe you just don’t understand the importance that Pride & Prejudice has had for GENERATIONS of women,” she noted.

“Well considering you made me read it I think I do fully understand,” he argued.

“Yeah,” Jon piped up, who had also been bullied into it, “I mean… I’m with you though Sansa. Mr. Darcy all the way.”

“Really?,” Sansa asked excitedly.

Jon nodded, “But um, I’m really just a sucker for Elizabeth…”

Sansa blushed. Jon might not know it but Sansa had always identified with Elizabeth Bennett. Though from the way he was blushing too, maybe he did. Especially considering Jon was exactly as brooding and aloof as Mr. Darcy.

“Sansa,” Ella said gently, “I think we should go.”

Sansa looked back at her, “Okay Jane.”

Ella giggled, “Sansa!”

“But you’re the prettiest girl in the county!,” Sansa cooed at her. “Tell her - tell her she’s the prettiest girl in the whoooooole country.”

“I thought it was county,” Ella protested.

“Dream big, baby!,” Sansa said and Ella giggled. “Robb tell her.”

“Sansa,” he sighed.

“Useless,” Sansa rolled her eyes and then turned to Jon, “You tell her.”

Jon nodded, “Top Two at least, in the whole world.”

“Top Two?,” Sansa raged, “Top TWO!? Take it back.”

“No,” Jon said.

Sansa took Ella’s chin in her hand and tugged it forward, not exactly gently, “Look at her.”

“Ow.”

“She’s the prettiest girl in the world, okay Dovey?,” he asked, both to appease Sansa and because he’d never get another organic opportunity to say it.

Sansa nodded brightly and Ella took the opportunity to ease her off of her bar stool. Unfortunately Sansa was in heels and landed on them wrong and fell directly into the arms of Jon Snow.

“Woooah, there,” Jon said softly, his arm wrapping around Sansa’s waist.

He chuckled lightly at her and brushed some hair out of her face.

“I’m sorry, Jon,” Sansa said sadly.

“You just had a bit too much fun, that’s all. Nothing to apologise for. Did you have a coat?”

“Here you go,” Ella said, handing it to him.

Jon wrapped her coat around her shoulders and Sansa pushed her arms through the sleeves.

“Can you walk?,” he asked her, his hands on her waist keeping her upright.

“If I say yes will you still hold onto me?,” Sansa asked flirtatiously, her hands on his shoulders.

Robb grimaced and looked away. He was alright with it, the two of them, but he wasn’t sure he needed to see it. He looked over at Ella who was pulling on her own coat trying to hide her grin.

“Course I will,” Jon said gruffly and started leading her out.

“You have everything?,” he asked Ella.

She nodded and he gestured for her to walk in front of him. It was a mistake. With Jon leading Sansa out everyone gave them a wide berth, but the bar was crowded and guys kept getting in Ella’s way to hit on her.

Finally he sighed and placed his hand on the small of her back, “Hope you don’t mind, but at this rate it could take hours getting out of here. Prettiest girl in the county and all.”

She looked up at him and chuckled, “I don’t mind.”

Her eyes smiled into his and he felt that warm molasses spread through his veins like he always did when she was nearby.

Sansa had it right when he called her Jane Bennet. On top of being beautiful and blonde, Ella was sweet, the sweetest person he’d ever met, and charming and loyal.

He’d always had a crush on Jane Bennett.

They stepped out into the cool fall air.

“We’ll never get a taxi here,” Ella said, “We should walk around to the Kingsroad.”

“Alright then,” Jon said and swooped Sansa up into his arms.

She giggled and cooed, “Jon Snowwwww what are you doing??”

“There’s no way you were making it to the Kingsroad.”

Sansa wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned her head on his shoulder, “Once more ‘round the park, Chauncy.”

Ella giggled and started leading the way so he fell into step beside her.

“Sorry we ruined your night,” she sighed, “I had no idea Sansa would call you. If you guys just put us in a taxi I’ll get her home and into bed.”

The girls shared a flat in the same cozy little hamlet across town where he and Jon lived. His father had only approved of it due to the proximity to his and Jon’s places, it was dead in between them, three blocks on either side.

“You could never ruin my night, you know that,” he said. At least… he hoped she knew that. “Don’t you?”

She looked up at him and he didn’t think he imagined her blush. But she playfully nudged her arm against his and said, “I know you’re too kind to tell me if we had.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes more. Jon had passed them, and Sansa was stroking his hair as he carried her up to the main street. He couldn’t hear what they were talking about, but he heard their quiet tones and hushed laughter, like everything between them was a wonderful secret.

“So Mr. Bingley, huh?,” he asked Ella.

“Does that surprise you?,” she wondered, “I’m not one much for broods. Except Jon.”

“No it’s just that… he reminds me of Grey Wind,” Robb shrugged, “He’s a dopey labrador.”

“Take that back,” Ella chided, “Grey Wind is not dopey.”

Robb chuckled and nodded in apology.

“And neither is Charles,” Ella went on.

“Charles?,” he teased, “You’re on a first name basis now?”

She giggled his favorite giggle. The surprised one, as though the laughter couldn’t help bubble out of her before she’d allowed it to.

“Oh things are very serious between us,” she joked, “But really I guess I’m just a fool for a fool in lo—ohhoww.”

Out of nowhere Ella had stumbled, and he was nearly bent over completely as he narrowly caught her from smacking onto the road.

“By the gods,” he said, pulling her back up, “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Ella nodded and then her face fell, “No.”

He didn’t dare let go, and in truth he had no desire to. “Did you have too much absinthe too?,” he teased, trying to get her to smile.

She shook her head, “No it’s just these damn heels Sansa made me wear.”

He looked down and was surprised she hadn’t fallen earlier. The heels were as slim as needles, which was really sexy but definitely not appropriate for the cobblestone they found themselves on.

“Do you think you sprained it?,” he asked in concern.

“No I don’t think so,” she said holding onto him and trying to put her weight on it, “I think I’ll be okay.”

“Think, hmm?,” he asked, because he still hadn’t gotten her smile. He scooped her up into his arms, “Not good enough.”

She let out a giggle now, “Robb!”

“Those heels are more of a weapon than they are actual footwear,” he reasoned, trying not to think about how good she felt.

“I’m too heavy,” she said stupidly.

“Ha! You’re cute,” he guffawed as he started walking. She really did feel weightless in his arms, the warmth she was transferring to his body was the only confirmation that she was actually there. “I could carry you all the way back to your apartment.”

“You’re good at it, you know,” she told him.

“At what?,” he wondered. It didn’t take a particular set of skills to hold her and walk.

“The whole Knight in Shining Armour thing,” she explained. “It suits you, always has.”

“Well you’re welcome to my services anytime,” he told her then added, “Though you’ve never struck me as the kind of girl that needed saving.”

“Really?,” she grinned, “That’s so sweet. And present reality excluded, I’m not. It’s nice to know though, that if I ever did that well, that maybe -“

“Not maybe,” he told her in a serious tone. Holding her was so intimate, that he immediately understood the soft way Jon and Sansa were speaking. It felt like they were in their own little bubble, and for whatever reason it demanded honesty. “You have to know that.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders, propping herself up and she nodded. She let her forehead fall against his temple, “I do. Promise.”

He tightened his grip on her and fought the urge to nuzzle against her. Her arms went around his neck though and she laid her cheek on his shoulder.

“How’s that ankle?,” he asked her.

“Hmm?,” she asked dreamily, and then giggled, “Oh, oh it’s fine. You can put me down if you want.”

“We shouldn’t risk it,” he said stupidly and he could swear he felt her smile against him.

She wrapped her arms around him tighter and he felt her cold nose against his neck. He rubbed her arm because the coat she was wearing wasn’t nearly warm enough for the evening.

All of a sudden she started giggling, it tickled his neck.

“What’s so funny?,” he wondered.

“Does your mom still do your laundry?,” she asked.

He blushed and argued, “No! No of course not.”

Which was the truth. Except when he went home to Winterfell. But it wasn’t like he asked her to.

“Why do you ask?,” he wondered.

“You smell like the laundry detergent she uses,” she explained.

“Oh! Sorry,” he said.

She lifted her head off of him and smiled, “Don’t be sorry. You smell nice. Like home.”

Her eyes went wide like she couldn’t quite believe she had said that, and he certainly couldn’t believe that she’d said it either.

He didn’t know what to say. A thousand different possibilities raced through his mind. He could tell her that he liked the way she smelled too. Or that he loved that she associated Winterfell with home. He could tell her he wanted to make love to her on a pile of clean laundry. All of it would have been true, but he didn’t say any of it.

Instead he just stared at her, and she stared back.

The air got really thick around them and the edges of his vision took on a kind of shimmery quality and her green eyes were locked on his, her soft pink lips parted in an o of surprise.

He started leaning closer and he was pretty sure that she did too.

“Robby we got a taxi!,” Sansa called delightedly and he and Ella sprung apart as far as they were able considering that he was still holding her.

“We should um go,” he said.

“Yeah…we should,” Ella agreed. Then prompted, “But only one of us can walk right now so…”

“Oh! Oh right,” he nodded and started speed walking over to the taxi.

He deposited her into the backseat next to Sansa and then followed her in.

“Where to?,” the driver asked.

“Winterfell!,” Sansa cried.

“Dovey no,” Robb argued, “It’s the middle of the night and it’s a half hour outside the city…”

“Come on, Robb, they’ll be so happy to see us! Dad will make us pancakes in the morning and we can spend the rest of the weekend out there with the kids,” Sansa pleaded.

Jon turned around from the front seat, “It does sound kind of nice…,” though he was pretty sure Jon would have agreed to anything Sansa wanted in that moment, “And Rickon wanted us to look over that history essay anyway.”

He looked at Ella who very pointedly did not look at him, a small smile threatening her lips.

“Alright,” he sighed, “Let’s go home.”

[bellakitse]

Cuervo Confessions

“What’s so pretty about TK, Carlos?” she asks, her blue eyes twinkling when Carlos lights up at the question.

*

Drunk Carlos is adorably in love with his boyfriend and has no filter.

30 days of Tarlos - Day 14

prompt from @lauraperfectinsanity here

“You’re so pretty, TK.”

TK Strand looks down at the man speaking; what he finds is his adorable boyfriend staring up at him from where he’s resting his head on his shoulder. His soft brown eyes are hazy from the drinks he’s had throughout the night.

“Thank you, baby,” he says kindly, trying not to laugh at his boyfriend. Across the table, he sees that their friends seem to have no need for such restraint as they openly look over at Carlos with amusement.

He and Carlos have been dating for well over a year now; in that time, the crew has embraced Carlos as one of their own. He’s not just his boyfriend or Michelle’s best friend, he’s an important member of their little family, and as such, just as much a target as anyone else. Usually, it isn’t easy to make fun of Carlos; he’s one of the most collected, even-tempered, and sensible people on the planet. If he’s honest, he’s the high maintenance one in their relationship.

That all goes out the window though if you pour a couple of shots of tequila down his throat just like Michelle had done earlier when they first got to the bar to help Carlos unwind.

Carlos and the rest of his precinct had been working the last couple of weeks on some big drug ring. It had been long, stressful hours, but it was finally done.

The last 24-hours, he and Carlos had spent it in bed getting reacquainted before agreeing to come out for a drink and a little line dancing at their favorite honkytonk. Now with Carlos getting tipsier and tipsier, TK was starting to regret that decision.

It isn’t the drinking itself for him; his sobriety is stable. He has no interest in drinking or using. His life is too amazing at the moment for him to even consider ruining it by falling off the wagon. His father gets healthier with each passing day, he has a fantastic team he would never put at risk for a drink or a pill, and he’s in love with the most wonderful man ever created. He doesn’t care that the others drink around him, especially not Carlos, who rarely did in support of him.

No, he’s starting to regret the decision to come out because Carlos is a ridiculously adorable and clingy drunk with zero filter when he gets like this, and all their friends are looking at him like they’re sharks who just sensed chum in the water.

Michelle is the first one; she might have the face of an angel, but she has an evil streak a mile wide, and as Carlos’ best friend, she seems to enjoy it the most when she can mess with him.

“What’s so pretty about TK, Carlos?” she asks, her blue eyes twinkling when Carlos lights up at the question.

“Everything Michelle, where do I even start!” he shouts happily, lifting his head from his shoulder. He sits up straight only to tilt slightly to the left.

Judd grabs hold of his arm, giving him a nudge before he tips any further.

“Thank you,” Carlos smiles at the big man, polite even when drunk. “What was I saying?”

“You were going to give us a detail list of what makes TK Strand pretty,” Marjan offers, smirking his way when he shoots her a glare. Sometimes he regrets becoming her friend.

“Right!” Carlos exclaims, bobbing his head up and down more than necessary. It makes more than one of them at the table snicker.

“Okay, so first, his eyes, duh,” Carlos says, rolling his. “Everyone can see they’re the prettiest shade of green in the world, no contest, every other green go home, his eyes win forever.”

TK can’t help but smile at Carlos’ passionate defense of his eyes; it’s silly but too cute for words.

“Anything else?” Marjan asks again, grinning when he shakes his head at her. “What about his face?”

“It’s like an angel’s,” Carlos sighs dreamily, and TK mouths ‘I hate you’ at his friend even as Carlos’ words make his heart skip a beat.

“What about his body, Carlos?” Michelle pipes in with a wide grin when Carlos lights up even further. “You told me once he was a ten,” she continues, looking over at him, waggling her eyebrows as he blushes.

“TK is not a ten,” he answers, frowning so hard at her he almost goes cross-eyed. “He’s a million.”

“Oh brother,” Judd murmurs dryly as the rest snicker, rolling his eyes so hard TK worries they might pop out. Still, he sees the hint of a grin on his face. “You’ve got it bad, Reyes.”

“Nope,” Carlos answers, making the P pop as he smiles happily. “I have it so good,” he tells his friend before turning his gaze back to him.

“I love you so much,” Carlos says to him lovingly. “I love you more than anything in the world.”

TK can feel all their friends’ eyes on them, it makes him go hot in the face, but he ignores it, and them. Instead, he looks back at his drunk but loveable boyfriend, his whole being warm from his head to the tips of his toes at the devotion he finds in Carlos’ gaze.

He thought he knew what love was before Carlos, that he knew what it felt like to be in love with another person. He doesn’t deny he loved Alex; he wanted to marry him; of course he’d loved him, and yet it pales in comparison to what he feels now.

Everything he feels for Carlos is bigger, stronger, and at the same time, steadier. He doesn’t doubt this love for one second; he never wonders if he’s enough or if it’s going to end. It’s never a thought in his mind, Carlos is who he’s going to be with for the rest of his life.

“I love you too, baby,” he tells him, ignoring their friends around them, he tugs Carlos to him.

Carlos goes easily, smiling brightly as he presses his forehead against his.

“I’m going to love you forever,” he tells him, sounding now a little sleepy. This close, TK can see his eyes starting to droop.

“I’m going to love you forever too,” he answers, chuckling gently when it gets Carlos excited.

“Forever and ever?” he asks, almost childlike, it makes something inside TK ache with the love he feels for this big beautiful dorky man he’s lucky enough to love him back.

“And ever,” he promises, standing up he takes hold of Carlos’ shoulder. “How about we go home now, baby, I think our bed is calling our names.”

Carlos nods, agreeing readily. “I want cuddles,” he answers with a serious look on his face.

TK presses his lips together to keep from laughing at the demand. “Of course, sweetheart,” he tells him as he helps him into his jacket. When he’s done, he turns back to the group who is still looking amused as Carlos burrows into his side.

“None of you will be teasing him about this the next time you see him,” he warns them, making sure he locks eyes with everyone at the table. “I have dirt on all of you, so you will be nice, or I’ll make you sorry.”

It’s his job to protect his baby, and he has no problem using blackmail to do it.

He watches as more than one of them pouts, but no one argues. With one final nod, he turns with Carlos, who is still clinging to his arm, and heads out the bar. After all, they have a bed and more cuddles calling their name.

[everythingoesnk]

Once in Rockfield Farm (2/5)

summary; just roger being a cute little shit. hang on there because things will get spicy after this one i promise

word count; 5 365

warnings; none i believe?

part 1

********

After a hideous long day dealing with a professor about why he should consider giving extra credit in the assignment you presented, you came home feeling resentful.

The only goal up your mind now was to take a hot bath and shut out the world.

Exhausted, you yawned and headed to the dining room to greet the boys with Sherlock on your heels, finding extremely satisfying to hear the flames of the fireplace rustling.

The scene you encountered filled you with tenderness: Freddie, John and Roger were sitting on the carpet, playing Scrabble already in their pyjamas devouring a huge pizza with the fire glowing in their precious sleepy faces.

"If you're gonna cheat you can leave the way you came" Freddie noted, clearly irritated.

Roger clicked his tongue, bored. He knew from experience Freddie was a sore loser.

His eyes fell on you as soon as you showed up.

You smiled timidly and looked away when you saw him roaming your figure, baffled that you liked the attention. His lack of precariousness, too absorbed in your curves to even care if you caught him, made your stomach flutteri n a sweet way.

“Oh, darling, hi. I didn’t hear you come in” Freddie was gathering the tiles up to start a new game.

“Hello, (Y/N)” John smiled and stretched his legs.

“How was your day?” Roger questioned in a throaty voice, still recovering from how your entrance got him weak in the knees.

You placed a slice of the pizza on top of a napkin, watching with desire the cheese melting.

“Awful. Where’s Brian?”

“He’s asleep” John explained.

“It’s only nine p.m.” you replied, surprised that he went to bed so soon.

“We’ve had a tough day”

Ah, you didn’t need to hear more. The last few days for them in the studio had been nothing but intense and frustrating.

Freddie offered you to join the game, but you preferred to observe. Seeing them mess with each other was much more entertaining.

You laughed till your belly and cheeks hurt when Freddie threw a pack of cigarettes at Roger’s face, accusing him of cheating again. The other became defensive pointing out how many suspicious words Freddie tried to make them believe they existed. Poor John tried to get in between the discussion to hurry things up, but knowing very damn well they wouldn’t listen, he came to sit next to you on the sofa.

The look he was giving you was nothing but perturbing.

"When are you going to perform for us?" he asked, straight down to business.

You too, John?

Sherlock jumped and plopped down on his lap.

“Roger told us you have a wonderful voice. He said more things actually, but I don’t want to embarrass him”

Aggressively, your face turned a weird shade of pink. You hid it burying your head in your hands and peeked out at him through your fingers.

“Shut up”

John cackled.

“It’s rude only Rog got to listen to you. You’re not that good at hiding your favouritism, let me tell you” Freddie taunted.

“She’s awful at hiding her favouritism, but you two need to cut it off” Roger instructed, and sent a cocky grin your way.

“Yeah, leave me— what?” his eyes sparkled with playfulness. “I never said you were my favourite, don’t flatter yourself. And for the record, you were acting the same the other day”

He licked his lower lip, a not so innocent smile plastered on them.

“It didn’t take me more than two minutes to convince you”

“Oh, shoo” you laughed, covering your mouth. “He said I sounded like an angel, did he tell you guys this?” you asked, playfully peering at Roger from the corner of your eye to confirm if he was still looking at you.

He was. He couldn’t not to when you were around.

John wanted to say that he did, repeatedly, and that when he mentioned how enchanting your voice was, Roger himself sounded so proud and utterly devoted to it.

Freddie exchanged a look with his disco friend that spoke volumes. The latter had a small smile ghosting his lips as he watched the scene develop.

“What are you trying to imply? C’mon, I see how you look at me when we’re rehearsing” Roger provokingly pointed out, emphasizing his words with the most coquettish smile, messing with his hair.

His eyes felt so heavy on you, stare loaded with… something.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. You must be confused, I look at Brian” you assured, resting your chin on your palm, one big grin on your lips.

“Do you? Well, you leave no other option but to get rid of him. Where could I hide the body? I’m lucky you have plenty of land”

You giggled genuinely, and Roger felt the need to get up and kiss you.

“(Y/N)” John called.

You didn’t even realize he left your side until you saw him at the door.

“Someone’s asking for you” he stated, gesturing to the rotary phone in the entrance.

You stood up, and as you walked past him, a pouting Roger grabbed you by the ankle, earning a chuckle from you in return. He was upset you had to leave to answer the call. That little teasing game with you was making his day.

Boisterous chaos of voices erupted from the living room when you were gone, the boys annoying Roger with comments about his soft behaviour towards you.

Disappointment rushed over you when you heard who was on the other end of the line.

“Hi, dad”

“What kind of circus have you put up at home?” he asked in a rather unpleased tone.

You didn’t tell your parents about your decision to have a rockband move in. It had nothing to do with them anyway; it didn’t affect their day to day.

John probably had to properly introduce himself since he picked up, giving a little away about who he was and why he answered his daughter’s call. You were embarrassed about what your father could’ve said to him, knowing he could turn out to be very austere and unfriendly.

“It’s a long story, dad, but don’t worry. Everything’s fine, they’re not staying forever, y’know”

“How would I know?”

He had a point.

“We don’t want you near that kind of people, you listen?” he protested into the receiver.

You found it funny and exasperating at the same time that your father, being as clever as he was –you’d grown to know that being clever didn’t necessarily mean someone was intelligent—, heard the word "rocker" and instantly related it to a person with poor hygiene and an IQ below average. A beast whom you just aren’t able to have a normal conversation with because the only thing they know about is sex.

He probably assumed they lived half their life in prison as well, because why not.

“We’re coming over on Saturday” he continued.

“Okay”

“And they better be gone”

You had to control the urge to scream at him for being so stubborn.

“They’re staying as long as they need, period. My grades are as excellent as ever, by the way” you enunciated, hanging up on him in the middle of a word.

That hot bath was very much needed now.

//

Saturday came sooner than you thought.

And you were terrified.

Since it was pretty noticeable how stressed you were about the reunion with your parents, who were coming all the way from America, the boys volunteered to set the table and save you the work.

The temperature had dropped a little, but it wasn’t unpleasant either, so everyone voted democratically to eat outside next to the pool.

Brian and John were busy placing the cutlery, Freddie and Mary stayed in the kitchen keeping an eye on the chicken.

"I knew I’d meet them someday, but not so soon. I didn’t even ask you out yet" joked Roger, approaching you from behind.

He waited for a reaction to his attempt to make you laugh and hopefully go red like you always did when he made that type of comments.

A line appeared between his brows when you exhaled, your languid gaze stuck in a random spot in the distance, huddling to the door frame. Roger loomed closer to you, thoughtfully, as you two watched Sherlock chasing a rabbit from the front door.

“Are they that bad?”

“No, ‘f course not. They’re also vain, self-centred, insensitive, hostile,” you sighed in despair, “and horrible parents”

Roger opened his mouth but you weren’t done.

“Just let me do the talking. The less you interact with them, the better”

You closed the door with your foot, turned around and paced back and forth, biting your nails.

Roger couldn’t help but stare.

Despite how anxious you were and the permanent meditative expression in your face, he cocked his head as he stared at you with a teeny tiny grin on his lips.

How did you manage to look so truly gorgeous all the damn time? That question kept coming back to haunt him.

Roger got used to it, yet he didn’t found an answer. Perhaps you were just the prettiest and most stunning living creature he’d ever seen.

“Chill out, love”

You checked the clock hanging on the wall and spared Roger a glance.

He chuckled at you crossing your arms across your chest, finger tapping them nervously.

“When you meet them you’ll know what I mean”

“Everything’s ready” Brian announced, walking in. “I’ll check how’s the meal going, I don’t trust those two with anything”

John followed him, hands shoved in his pockets, and sent you the sweetest reassuring smile.

You were so glad and grateful that you had these people with you. Whenever you were alone with your parents you felt overwhelmingly depressed.

As you jerked your head in Roger’s direction for he hadn’t said a thing for a good minute, you saw him massaging his temple and eyeing you. Your heart began galloping like crazy. He looked fucking handsome like that.

Like if he were debating where to start devouring you.

“W-what?”

Roger walked up to you until he was just mere inches away.

“It’ll be alright, okay? We’re here”

A now familiar tingling feeling to your closeness invaded him when he slowly extended his hand to caress your cheek. You leaned into his touch, craving for him to don’t even considerate walking away now.

Tongue-tied, unable to produce a word, you were sure you were more than ready for him to do whatever he wanted to do with you at that very moment.

Roger rubbed his thumb against your skin, the only effective way he could think of to make you relax. What he didn’t know was that relaxing wasn’t in your dictionary at the moment, not when his docile fingertips were so incredibly soft, delicately and tenderly brushing your anxiety far away.

“How long’s it been since you last saw them?”

You sighed dramatically, disappointed when he dropped his hand to the side.

“One year, one and a half. I don’t remember”

Roger jabbed your side with his elbow.

“I don’t know if you know, but they have the most amazing daughter” he muttered, gaze fixed somewhere else, nodding to himself. “She’s about to graduate and has an enormous beautiful heart. And enough talent to end careers if she wanted to. Don’t tell her, but thank God she’s not releasing any records or we’d be screwed”

Every word he listed genuine, he expected more than anything to make you smile.

Hopeless to compliments as you were, you didn’t know what to respond. He was being so disgustingly sweet. It sent your heart rate beyond the damn Milky Way.

“‘Bottomless pit’, that’s what they said when she mentioned her intentions to become a musician”

Roger huffed.

“Fuck them, then” he spat without thinking,

Soon he regretted it, upsetting you being the last thing he wanted now, but he visibly relaxed when you snickered, making his stomach flip.

“Yeah, fuck ‘em”

Roger laughed and you laughed too.

He looked at you warmly.

“There you go. That’s what I was longing to hear, your cheeky and charming laugh”

It started to fade away moderately at his comment, and you furrowed an eyebrow.

“What?”

He grinned cheekily looking down at you.

“Nothing”

“My love, what are you doing?” Freddie asked Mary, who’d been peeking out the kitchen door for a while.

"Shh," she waved Freddie off, staring at you and Roger sharing a moment. She then returned to meet Brian, John and Freddie. "I didn't know Roger and (Y/N) were getting along this well”

A dark thought clouded her mind within milliseconds.

“You don’t look very pumped about it” Brian pointed out.

“We all know how he is”

“He won’t use her that way”

“How are you so sure?”

Brian raised an eyebrow when he found out he didn’t have a coherent answer for that. He just felt it in his guts that Roger wouldn’t treat you like one of his groupies.

“I just know”

“I second that” Freddie spoke, a little bit annoyed that Mary was so quick to jump to conclusions. “And honey, you were the first one to tell (Y/N) he’d bang her. I heard you two, you planted the seed”

“I never imagined she’d be into him, I thought she had a type. She prefers them a few years older… or used to” she added in a low voice.

“That’s just stupid, Mary” John interrupted.

The other two turned their heads and looked at him as if they were seeing John for the first time. Brian nodded; Freddie grinned.

“There’s no such thing as a ‘type’. When it comes to being attracted to another person you can never tell”

“I’m just surprised” she coughed, and grabbed a bowl to make a salad. “They do, then, like each other?”

“Roger’s into her, I think it’s obvious? I can’t read minds, so I’m-“

“Did he tell you?”

“-I’m not entirely sure about (Y/N). And no, he hasn’t. There’s really no need for him to verbalize it. One day I had to go get him because these two were arguing again,” he loitered around the door in case one of you would come, not wanting you to know they were talking about this, “and when I found him in the studio they were together”

“But that doesn’t mean anything“

“Mary, listen, if you’d seen what I saw, Roger’s face. I don’t know. I don’t know what they’d been talking about, but the way he was looking at her… I don’t know how to explain it”

“Try?” Mary glanced up at him.

He hesitated for a bit.

“Like if she were special”

Mary’s brows knitted.

The sound of the bell made your throat go dry.

You’d been listening patiently to Roger explaining that they were supposed to head to London for a meeting with Rheid the next day in the morning, hence why you didn’t hear them pull over.

“Please make sure everything’s good over there while I attend them”

Roger nodded and left, concerned on the inside when he noticed how the colour evacuated your face.

It felt like a kick in the stomach, the emptiness of where he stood seconds ago.

You needed him but you felt you couldn’t let him know, ‘cause it would be weird. Why would you need Roger for, exactly? To be by your side to welcome your parents? Stupid, right?

The relationship with them was… there wasn’t. One in which they fulfilled their function, better or worse? No. They never filled the mould.

With your father it was bad. With your mother, hard to explain.

But that didn’t mean you didn’t admire them as individuals for their accomplishments: your father was the owner of a law firm based in New York. Hadn’t lost a case in years, and that sure was the main reason behind the reputation of ‘untouchable’ he had. Your mother’d been a pilot for the USAF, but she was involved in an accident and in a wheelchair for life now, forcing her to retire earlier than suspected.

Awkwardly, you collected yourself, palms blooming with sweat as you twisted the handle.

Only your mother laid eyes on you when you starred their field of view.

“What were you up to? We’ve been waiting for a good five minutes”

Ignoring your father’s sharp comment, you tilted your body forwards for your mum to embrace you.

The thing about her was that deep down you were sure she was on your side about your inclinations concerning your future (she knew you inherited her father’s talent), but she wasn’t brave enough to let you know from her in case you’d use it in your favour against your father.

You wished the relationship with your future husband wasn’t based on the same pillars as their marriage.

“My sweet child”

Your father pushed her wheelchair inside and you hurried to close the door behind him.

"Father," you said politely, almost in a robotic manner, not really wanting to go through this.

And also because he didn't like hugs nor kisses on the cheek you kept the distance, conscious that that was what he expected from you.

“Make yourselves at home, I’ll get the others”

You turned around and quickly withdrew to the kitchen before they could say anything that challenged your nerves.

They looked at each other and you heard your mum whisper to him to “please behave”.

They seemed to loosen up a little when they recognized a familiar face, Mary’s, amongst the five people that followed you.

After introducing Queen, you offered everyone to take a seat at the table so you could start to serve lunch.

A sincere microscopic smile settled on your mother’s lips, but your father had his stern gaze upon Roger, who held his hand out to shake his.

“Hello, mister. It’s a pleasure”

With Roger’s hand still hanging in the air, your father looked at you stony eyed.

What was it about Roger that got him so creepy?

You took a fast glance at him to see what could possibly be your father’s source of irritation, and your eyes grew wider.

Father and Mother were wearing expensive, chic clothes, as per usual. Not a single wrinkle in his suit, her dress impeccable. Roger’s sense of style was everything, actually one of the many things that first attracted you to him. Regardless that, seeing him now made you close your eyes to internally pray for the ground to swallow you.

With a quick hand movement, you covertly gestured him to button up the blouse with floral motifs he was wearing, since he had his torso totally exposed.

A Mona Lisa expression was all he could pull off while working on getting it done.

At the head of the table sat your father, your mother next to him in the corner. Then Mary, Freddie and Brian, you in front of your mother, Roger on your left and John to conclude.

Uncorking the bottle of red wine, you listened as your mum and Mary established a pretty basic conversation to catch up. Luckily you had Mary to ease the mood.

You asked Freddie to help you with the starters and walked to the kitchen.

“They seem nice”

“Freddie I swear to God”

“We could always kick them out or have an orgy in front of them. Would that meet their standards of what rockstars do for a living?”

“There,” you handed him two plates, “do not drop ‘em, I plead you”

Freddie could finally settle down from going back and forth carrying things when you brought with you Roger’s and John’s food.

John muttered a ‘thank you’ and Roger scratched your back when you plopped onto the chair.

Maybe you were imagining things, but it sort of felt… different to a simply friendly rub.

You shook your head, shut up (Y/N).

“When’s the graduation ceremony?” wondered your dad before putting the first spoon of hummus in his mouth.

“The 19th”

“That’s around the corner, aren’t you excited?” your mum said.

“Very”

“I’ve already chosen my outfit. I won’t give any details away, though. Do you have yours?” Mary cheerfully interfered.

“Eh… no”

“Well, you should really go shopping with Mary. She has an eye for fashion” your mum remarked.

“Thank you. I’ve learned a lot from Freddie, I must say” she turned her head and gave him a quick kiss on the cheek.

“M, make sure you bring the Nikon to take good photos. I don’t want them to miss a detail of such important day in my life” you sneered without mincing.

They wouldn’t make it to the ceremony and it made your blood boil that they were looking so forward to it. What for? They wouldn’t even be present to witness it themselves.

Mary’s smile turned into a grimace, and she suddenly found the bread positioned next to her fork the most interesting item her eyes ever registered.

"Shade's unnecessary, don't even begin," your dad said severely. "We won't be drinking fucking cocktails in Barbados; we've got responsibilities in the States"

“And I’m sure you tried by all efforts to make it possible” you took a sip of the wine, still not making any eye contact with them.

Instead, you looked at Mary. She was begging for you to take it easy; you knew her too well to be able to communicate without words.

“(Y/N)” your dad warned.

“No, it just shocks me that being the powerful businessman that you are you cannot pull strings out to be there”

Shit, you needed to stop. Your eyes started to water out of bitterness and that wasn’t fucking cool. You’d cried too much over the years because of them and were able to stop the tears from falling at this point, but it was infuriating.

A promise is a promise, and you promised yourself to not shed more tears when it came to them. They didn’t deserve it.

Towards the end of the meal things cooled down a bit thanks to Mary again, that kept everyone distracted talking about… you didn’t even know what the hell she was talking about, lost in your own world.

Your breaking point reached the verge when your dad came at Brian.

At motherfucking Brian. The sweetest human to walk the Earth.

“Apart from playing the guitar, is there anything else you can do? In case the band flops”

That was it. That was fucking it.

You slammed the table, palms settled down against it.

Roger wrapped his hand around your thigh below the table.

“What the heck? Who do you think you are? Do you really think you’re superior to them? To anyone sitting at this table?” you were all noisy breathing.

Shaking your head in disapproval, you were about to put him in his place, and neither your mother or Mary would make you back down.

Alongside a high chin and flaring nostrils, you dad’s eyes burned as he scrutinized you. The thing he hated the most was when someone embarrassed him in public –which didn’t happen often—, but he knew if he dared to speak now it’d only make things worse.

“Brian owns a PhD title in Astronomy, Freddie a diploma in Graphic Arts and Design, Rog a bachelor’s degree in Biology, and John a 1st Class Honours Degree in Electronics. Shut your ugly clown ass mouth for once”

“(Y/N), please…” your mum begged.

Your dad stood up, and you pulled yourself to your feet to not give him the satisfaction to appear bigger, which’d psychologically help his ego.

Roger rose from the chair and pressed his lips together at the wounded look in your face. He grabbed you by the waist instinctively and pulled you closer to him.

“Why don’t we go inside…” Mary recommended the rest in almost a whisper.

You screwed your eyes shut, and when you felt like opening them, thankfully it was only you and Roger.

"See what I've got to put up with? Fuckin' surreal. You may think I exaggerated but he's a crackhead and I wasn't going to let him say anything nasty about any of you. I'm only sorry for my mum, she doesn't deserve— I keep thinking about the what-ifs. What if they divorced. What if grandpa was still alive. Oh, Rog. You'd love him, he was a gift from heaven"

The world stopped together with your talking when you felt Roger’s arms enveloping you in a hug, drawing you into his chest.

“Shut up for a bit and breathe”

Roger’s scent induced you in a daze that wouldn’t allow you to collect your thoughts.

In hopes of helping, he stroked your hair and yet pulled you even closer to him, kissing the crown of your head.

What you didn’t know was that Roger was as stunned as you were, completely blown away by how gratifying it was to be attached to one another. You nuzzled your nose into the crook of his neck, closing your eyes. The ringlets in his hair tickling your forehead.

Seconds, a minute, half an hour, a day, centuries, you didn’t know how much time you spent like this, with him leisurely clutching at your body.

Slowly, you physically distanced yourself a little from the warmth that his body irradiated. Not too far away, though, still safe in his arms.

Locking eyes was probably the worst choice for your well being you could’ve had made: he’d been searching your face for a sign that you were less anxious, but once you looked up at him through your lashes, he was entirely yours.

Foreheads quite close but still at a reasonable extent, none of you looked away.

“Hey” Roger mumbled.

"Hi," you uttered, voice barely audible.

“You okay?”

“I’ve had better days” you laughed mirthlessly.

“How can I help?”

“You’re doing enough coping with me now”

His fingers slipped around your upper arms. Roger watched you, unsure about your very questionable answer.

You flashed a tired grin but he wasn’t buying any of it.

“Rog, I’m okay. It’s not the first time I quarrel with my dad, and it won’t be the last”

“Then why don’t you talk to him and lay cards on the table?”

“Do you really think I haven’t done that already? It’s like talking to a wall. And whenever I bring up the subject, he encourages me to stop with the bullshit because ‘it’s not funny anymore’”

Roger shook his head in disgust.

“Enrolling for university was my choice, anyway” you muttered.

“They brainwashed you! Goddammit, if it wasn’t for them you’d be filling stadiums with a sea of people singing your lyrics back at you” he said, raising his voice.

Nibbling on your lower lip, you dragged your gaze back to him. Did he really mean that?

“Do you… you believe so?”

“If everything you’ve written is nearly as good as what you sang to me the other day… yes, I do. You’d be ruling the world”

“Overdoing it much, ay?” you gave him an affectionate nudge, unable to stop a large smile from appearing.

“Am I?”

“A bit”

He smirked and bit his inside cheek. You giggled watching him looking up to the clouds, pretending to think of an answer.

“I’m your number one fan, what can I say”

Looping your arm around his neck, you pulled him close to your side.

He stared meaningfully at you, watching you ran your thumb over his cheek in admiration.

At that very moment, if it weren’t for the fact that you were an insecure and doubtful human being, you’d have kissed him without a second thought. And if it weren’t for the fact that he knew you deserved better than him, he’d have crushed his mouth into yours and told you he was madly crazy about you from day one.

“I don’t know how to thank you, Rog. You’ve been nothing but supportive. It doesn’t go unnoticed” you revealed, tipping your eyes up to him.

His heart skipped a beat.

During the first weeks, he wasn’t certain about why his heart kept skipping any beats because of you. That answer he’d been searching was most likely unleashed by now.

Building the courage to suggest you to go to dinner someday, he got interrupted by Mary, who reemerged from the sliding glass door that connected the backyard to the living room.

She couldn’t manage to speak for a moment, somewhat surprised and unpleased at the sight of you and Roger so relatively close.

“Your parents are leaving”

You frowned, freeing Roger from your grasp, and then put on an “I-Don’t-Really-Care” mask on.

“Fine”

They were already at the door. You sighed.

Mother had an expression of concern, and Father didn’t even bother to cover his discomfort and willing to get the hell out of there.

The farewell with your dad was short and full of negative energy, so you were relieved when he hurried out to the car after saying that he wished you well, with the “until next time” plain line afterwards. Your mum took your hand in hers, blinking her tears back.

You whispered a low apology, but she shook her head.

Why everything had to be so difficult with them?

Tears threatening to escape your eyes at the sudden jolt of sorrowness, you wiped your nose with the back of your free hand, since the other one was still being held steady by your mother’s.

“Your boyfriend…”

“Roger?” you lifted your eyebrow, dazed. “You mean Roger? He’s not my boyfriend”

Her eyes crinkled. If he weren’t at least someone important to you beyond the friendzone, you wouldn’t have been so quick to know she was referring to him.

“How he rushed to protect you from your dad back there… I thought he was. My bad”

By the mischievous half smile she had, you could tell she was implying that whatever the situation was, it wasn’t as innocent as you thought.

“Okay…” you trailed off.

“I love you, baby. Take care of yourself, please”

//

A series of busy sounds awakened you.

Sullenly checking the clock on the nightstand, you swore to the angels you'd kill whoever was making so much noise so freaking early.

You snarled and covered yourself aggressively again.

Someone opened the door, and just enough to see, you stuck your head over the top of the sheet.

That person didn’t turn on the light so they wouldn’t blind you, but you immediately sat down and turned it on yourself with the switch next to the headboard, in which you subsequently supported yourself against.

When you realized it was Roger, still with a face of drowsiness and hair without combing, the upset he’d caused you decreased precipitously.

It was unfair. He was so cute it hurt.

"Rog?"

An annoying heat rose to your cheeks. You were sure your look wasn’t the most flattering.

"Sorry, sorry"

"What’s it?” you asked, worried.

"Nothing bad, sorry I woke you up like that. But I have an idea"

"An idea? At six in the morning? It better be bloody good"

He smiled, visibly thrilled, and sat at the foot of your bed.

"Remember what I told you yesterday?"

"No, I don’t. Don’t make me think now" you groaned, wishing you could go back to sleeping.

"We have a meeting in London, we’ll spend the whole day there. I want you to come with me. Us… us”

"Me?” you rubbed your eyes, tired and surreptitiously having to fight back yawn after yawn. “What for? I’d be completely out of place in a Queen meeting"

"You cannot attend it. Though I wouldn’t mind"

"So? I have finals, and—"

"Jesus, (Y/N). I won’t take ‘no’ for an answer"

"Why do you insist so much? I simply don’t understand what the purpose of me going is"

"Please, come"

The glint in his eyes was irresistible.

It’d been a while since you’d mentally agreed, but you were dying to know what he was up to. Apparently it was a surprise, and knowing Roger, he wouldn’t give anything away.

If you wanted to know, you’d just have to trust and follow him.

********

hope y’all liked it. a reblog would help me a lot <3

tagging: @sweetdaisys @multifics @incorrcctqueen @namelesslosers

[softnow]

paracosm [iii/?]

msr | college au | this chapter: t | words: 2k

she is a puzzle wrapped in high-waisted denim that he’s desperate to solve.

s/o to @o6666666 for continuing to love bb fox and dana as much as i do. also tagging @today-in-fic.

← last chapter. / ao3.

— — —

Fox Mulder is not—despite what some might think, judging by the company he keeps—hopeless with the ladies. He’s had his fair share of dates and kisses and, when the dates and the kissing have gone particularly well, warm bodies in his bed. Or his warm body in somebody else’s bed. Or, on one memorable and near-impossible occasion, the backseat of somebody else’s Volkswagen Beetle.

He even had Diana sophomore year—not his first girlfriend, but certainly his most serious. They had talked about grad school together and about the little apartment they’d rent above the private practice they would open someday. She had wanted to call it Fox & Fowley. He—infatuated but not dumb—had not. (This was, of course, before she took off for a semester abroad and never returned.)

All of this to say, he isn’t some sweaty preteen with his first crush.

And yet.

He can’t eat. Can’t sleep. Can barely focus in class. He’s up at seven—seven!—even on days he doesn’t have to be anywhere until noon, just so he can be at the library by eight.

“Dude,” Langly said last week after Mulder spent a good—oh—forty-five minutes talking about the clips Dana wore in her hair on Thursday. “You’ve got it bad.”

And he does. God, he does. He’s never had it so bad. He’s seen the inside of the library more in the last two weeks than he has in the last three years. He’s never been so late to so many classes so many times in a row. It’s just impossible—actually, factually impossible—to walk away from her when she’s leaning towards him on her elbows, whispering words like special relativity and time dilation and inertial frame of reference.

She’s a physics major—pre-med!—and she reads James Joyce and string theory for fun, and three days ago, she wore her hair in the smallest french braid he’s ever seen and how—how—is he supposed to walk away from that?

He lies awake at night and thinks about her. Every night. All night. About library Dana and her big, blue eyes and her freckles and her sweet little waist. His hands would fit so perfectly around that little waist, he’s certain. He needs to know. That, yes, but so much more.

Where is she from? The closest approximation he’s been able to get out of her is not here. Does she have brothers? Sisters? A boyfriend? God, he thinks he would die if she did. What’s her favorite food? Is she a morning person? A night person? Does she snore in her sleep? Does she kiss the same way she talks, deliberate and measured and smart? What is her damn last name?

It’s become a game now, he thinks. He hopes. He hopes it’s a game and that she’s playing it too, this keep away, this Dana, who are you? He asks her daily. She rebuffs him daily with her self-satisfied smirks, her little pink tongue darting out to greet her lips.

(He dreams about that tongue. He—more than dreams about that tongue. A few choice magazines are collecting dust in his bedroom because of that tongue.)

He’s even asked around, but nobody seems to know a freshman named Dana with a tiny nose and a dry wit and a berry-pink mouth. (God, the mouth.)

Frohike tells him to take it easy. “She’ll come around,” he says. But Frohike doesn’t understand. Mulder’s going crazy. All day, every day, twenty-four/seven, it’s Dana. Dana Dana Dana. His brain is a radio that only gets one station: all Dana, all the time. She is a puzzle wrapped in high-waisted denim that he’s desperate to solve.

Which is why, after two excruciatingly Dana-less days, he approaches her on Monday with a stack of books and a smile.

“Mulder,” she says cautiously, in much the same tone one might reserve for a child who has just wandered in with something unnerving, like a dead rat. Or a bomb. “What are you doing?”

He pushes the stack towards her. “Well, correct me if I’m wrong, but I was under the impression that this was a library.”

“Uh-huh,” she says slowly. “I just didn’t think you—”

“What? Read?” He rests his elbows on the desk and shakes his head. “Maybe you’d know that if you’d have dinner with me. It’s half-price pizza at the bowling alley tonight. What’dya say?”

Dana sighs, then lifts her chin and holds out a hand.

“Card, please.”

He grins as he hands it over and watches her do her thing. Her script is neat and tiny as she copies his name and student number onto the first date card. She stamps it and moves on to the next. She’s on the third when she pauses, her brow knitting together. He tightens down on his smile and tries to look innocent as she sits back in her chair and crosses her arms.

“Mulder,” she says, and god, he could listen to her say his name all day, even exasperated like that. “What is this?”

He drums his fingers on the countertop. “What is what?”

She quirks an eyebrow at him, a wry expression that says she knows that he knows what she’s talking about. She holds up the first book and reads the cover.

“Iron Town by Dana Chamberlain.” Then the second: “Fundamentals of Ecology and Society by Dana Rankin.” Then the third, the fourth, the fifth: “Dana Graham. Dana Olson. Dana Earle. Is this your idea of cute?”

“My idea of cute is you in that sweater,” he says, because she’s wrapped in some fuzzy, grey, oversized number today that swallows her whole and presumably guards against the fan blowing cold air behind the desk. Then quickly, before she can protest, he continues: “This is my idea of practical. You won’t tell me your last name.” He shrugs. “Thought I’d test out some possibilities. How’d I do?”

She looks nonplussed, but as someone who has devoted nearly two whole weeks to studying her face, he feels relatively confident that the little tic at the corner of her mouth means she’s at least a little plussed.

“Are you serious?” she asks.

He nods. “About you? Absolutely.”

She flushes the prettiest pink and drops her gaze, toying with the ripped edge of the Dana Olson paperback.

“You don’t even know me,” she mumbles.

“And whose fault is that?” He leans in a little closer, trying to catch her eye. “In case you haven’t noticed, you’re not exactly an open book.”

He realizes this was the exact wrong thing to say a moment too late as her forehead wrinkles and her lips draw up into a tight pucker.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she says, slamming all the Dana books back into a pile. “I didn’t realize I owed you my whole life story. Do you need my original birth certificate, or will a copy be enough?”

She starts to slide from her chair, but he reaches out and catches her arm. Her face is red, and she doesn’t look at him.

“Whoa,” he says. “Hey. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I didn’t…it’s not a bad thing.”

She continues to glare at the countertop, and he takes a chance. He swipes his thumb across the inside of her wrist once, back and forth.

“I like you, Dana,” he says, “but I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. If I’ve been too pushy… I’m sorry, okay? Tell me to go, and I’ll go. You don’t owe me anything.”

She settles back into her seat and sniffs. For a brief, horrible second, he thinks he’s made her cry. But when she finally looks up, her eyes are dry and clear.

“Scully,” she says.

He cocks his head. “Sorry?”

“My last name is Scully.”

The relief, the giddiness that floods him nearly knocks him off his feet. This is what winning the lottery must feel like. Dana (Scully!) brushes a little curl behind her ear and gives him an uncertain smile.

“Scully,” he says, liking the way it rolls around on his tongue. “Dana Scully.”

She nods. “Yes.”

“You wanna get some lunch, Dana Scully? My treat. You can tell me absolutely nothing about yourself. You don’t even have to talk. We can sit in total silence and pretend we’ve never met.”

She narrows her eyes at him but they’re playful, maybe even a little impish.

“Don’t push your luck,” she says.

But when he comes back half an hour later with turkey sandwiches and potato chips and two bottles of lemonade, she doesn’t kick him out. She also doesn’t kick him out when he follows her outside to the picnic tables behind the library, and she continues to not kick him out as she picks one in the shade of a big oak tree. He watches (with what he hopes isn’t slack-jawed amazement) as she pulls her fuzzy sweater over her head to reveal a little blue t-shirt and pale, smooth arms, and still, she doesn’t kick him out.

They sit on the same side of the table and watch other students lounge in the grass, toss frisbees, eat their own lunches. A warm September breeze ruffles Mulder’s hair, and occasionally, Dana’s knee brushes his thigh. He tries not to choke at the contact, electric even through his jeans.

True to his word, they don’t talk, but he eats slower than ever, savoring the nerve-wracking feeling of her next to him, the occasional touch of her elbow as she reaches for her drink. It turns out they don’t really need to speak anyway. She teaches him things even in total silence.

For example: when she finishes her chips, she steals the rest of his. She doesn’t ask permission; she simply watches him from the corner of her eye as she dips her fingers into the bag. He files food thief away in his mental rolodex of Dana facts and nudges the bag closer to her. (She also doesn’t say thank you, but the way she licks salt from her fingertips is thanks enough.)

When all the food is gone, they linger a little while longer, sipping the last of their lemonade. Beside him, she is serene, her eyes heavy-lidded, her face tipped up into the breeze. He wants to ask what she’s thinking about, but he bites his tongue. He promised her a silent lunch. He needs her to know he means what he says.

Finally, after what feels like an eternity or maybe only a minute, the black plastic Casio on her left wrist beeps. Lunchtime over.

Dana stands and does a little stretch. Her t-shirt rides up, baring an inch of milky white stomach, and Mulder is suddenly, painfully aware of the blood in his veins. He forces himself to look away. The last thing he needs is to ruin whatever modicum of progress he’s made this afternoon by ogling her belly.

He stares off into the middle distance until she begins gathering her things. She drapes her sweater over her arm and balls up her trash. After a moment’s hesitation, she takes his trash, too, and dumps it all in the nearest garbage can. Then she wanders back and hovers at the edge of the table, touching the corner with her fingertips.

“Um,” she says. “Okay. Well…”

Her cheeks are pink—though from what, he’s not sure.

“Thank you for lunch,” he says, and she flushes darker.

“You bought it.”

He just shrugs. “You know what I mean.”

She licks her bottom lip, then draws it between her teeth. He tries—really, he does—not to stare.

“I need to…” She gestures vaguely over her shoulder.

“Yeah,” he says, not rising. As much as he wants to follow her back inside and whisper to her for the rest of the afternoon, something tells him to take her earlier advice and not push his extraordinary luck any further.

“Okay.” She raps her knuckles lightly on the table and holds his gaze for a moment longer, then heads for the doors.

The sway of her hips is enchanting, and he can’t help himself.

“Hey, Dana Scully,” he calls.

She pauses and turns around, eyebrow quirked. “Yeah?”

“Okay if I come see you tomorrow?”

She purses her lips (against a smile, he thinks) and begins walking backwards.

“I dunno,” she says with a little shrug. “Guess you’ll have to ask me then.”

[krreader]

BTS scenario (prince!au) → falling for someone that’s working for them.

pairing: prince!bts x non royal!reader fandom: bts warnings: prince!au ; non idol!au genre: angst ; fluff

a/n: since these two are basically the same I decided to put them together and I know you wanted another part, but I just don’t have the time right now to do an extra part for this, so I put it all in one part, I hope you don’t mind :) enjoy it!

ask box | masterlist | masterlist for original stories | fandoms | faq

kim seokjin

Jin's favorite part of the castle was undoubtedly the kitchen.

At first, it was because he used to steal all the treats as a kid, but was never punished because, well, he was the prince. No one dared to say anything to him.

Now, as he was already an adult, he liked to come down here for a.. different reason. An even sweeter one.

“I need to finish this,” you laughed against his lips as Jin was lifting you on top of the counter, “Your parents will be furious when dinner is late.”

“I don't want to meet this princess anyways. What if I just don't show up? What if I just stay right here,” he laughed pulling you forward so that he was standing between your legs.

“Well, that would be good for you, but really bad for me. I'll get the punishment for it.”

“You know that I'd never let anything happen to you,” he whispered, “No matter what happens, (Y/N), nothing will ever happen to you. Nothing will change between us.”

He knew that you had been afraid about it. That your relationship you had built for years would end now, because of his parents' matchmaking. But it didn't. It wouldn’t. Because Jin wouldn't be married off to some noble woman that only wanted his riches.

He wanted the only woman that he truly loved and that he knew truly loved him.

And, well, if that was his cook, then so be it.

At least he'd never go to bed on an empty stomach.

min yoongi

You were Yoongi's maid ever since you were a little girl. Your mother was his mother's maid and you became Yoongi's once you were old enough to take care of the prince.

And while you and him had only been friends at first, friendship developed into something else the older you two became.

“I should go,” you said, trying to get out of his bed, but he was quick to pull you back down to him.

“Stay.. please..”

“Yoongi, if anyone see's me at this hour..-”

“Let them see you. I want them to see you.”

He wasn't usually this rebellious, but ever since his parents had started talking about marrying him off to another princess, he couldn't help but want everyone to know about you.

He had no interest in marrying another princess, not when he had you. He didn't care that you weren't royal and he most certainly didn't care that you were his maid. If anything, that made him love you even more, because you knew the real him. He didn't have to pretend to be someone else with you, you just knew him inside out and liked him for who he was. No, loved him for who he was. With you, he didn’t have to be prince Yoongi, he could just be Yoongi..

However, he doubted that his parents would see it that way. They would not let him be with you. Under no circumstances. And you both knew that.

“We talked about this,” you sighed, gently rubbing your hand over his cheek.

“I won't marry anyone but you, (Y/N). If I have to run away to be with you, I will.”

You knew that. That's why you smiled.

jung hoseok

Hoseok used to believe that the prettiest thing in the royal gardens were all the beautiful flowers that were planted there. He could look at them for hours and never get tired of them.

But now, as he was older, he realized that it wasn't the flowers that made him come here so often.

“Son,” his father sighed as he put his hand on Hoseok's shoulder, “I know that look. And that look is dangerous for someone like you.”

It seemed to be so obvious that he loved you as he was watching you laugh and smile as you tended to the flowers, especially when your eyes fell in Hoseok.

“I know what I'm supposed to do, father. But.. my heart tells me that it's her I should marry.”

“You're the future king. You're not supposed to talk to your heart, you're supposed to talk to your brain.”

“Weren't you the one that once told me you fell in love with your maid? And weren't you the one that told me how much you regretted not running off with her?”

He had been piss drunk that night. Maybe that's why he was so surprised his son even knew about the story. But his father always liked to talk when he was drunk..

“If I had run off with her, you wouldn't be here.”

“You made your decision back then and left her behind,” Hoseok got up from the bench and returned your smile, “I'm making my decision right now. And I will never leave (Y/N).”

And as his father watched Hoseok approach you, he couldn't help but whisper: “And I'm proud of you for that, son,” even if he would never admit that.

kim namjoon

You had noticed a difference in Namjoon a while ago.

While him and his family usually only visited you and your mother when they were actually sick or wanted to make sure that they weren't, Namjoon stopped by more and more, with the tiniest of complaints.

And while that wasn't that unusual, some people just needing more care than others, he always requested that you treated him, not your mother. You know, the expert.

That's probably how it had started. Actually, that's definitely how it had started. One long night too many had ended in you and him talking more freely than you usually did. It ended in him telling you the truth about his visits and it ended in you not being able to resist him any longer.

And while you and him were happy, his parents clearly weren't when they found him and you together one day.

“A princess, Namjoon. Not a physician.”

“It's not like I chose to fall in love with her.. I just did,” he hissed back at his father, “And besides, shouldn't you be glad I chose her? Shouldn't you be glad that there is someone by my side who will always be able to take care of me? Look out for me? Make sure that I lead a healthy and long life as king? Isn't that more important than marrying another princess, who would only want me for my title and riches anyways?”

His mother was the first to give in after that speech.

She had known you for all your life, your mother having been her physician. Your mother having been the one to have delivered Namjoon.

She trusted your mother. And she trusted you.

“You know how much our son means to us, (Y/N),” she began, “So we only want what's best for him.”

“I know,” you said, bowing slightly, “And I also know that I'm not your first choice, or.. any choice, but..- everything he just said is true. I will devote my life to keep your son healthy and happy for as long as I live. That's.. all I really want, anyways. I just want him to alright,” you turned your head to look at Namjoon, a smile spreading over your face when he pulled you towards him and kissed your forehead.

park jimin

The fact that you, a woman, was part of the royal guard was odd enough as it was, but the fact that Prince Jimin had to fall in love not with any of his royal suitors, but with the woman that had vowed to protect him was probably even weirder.

Well, for his father perhaps..

..his mother? Not so much.

“I told you,” she muttered under her breath and grinned at her husband as Jimin and you were nervously standing in front of them, your hands being interlinked with one another and showing the king and queen that you had fallen in love with each other.

“And how exactly do you think this is going to work, hm? How do we tell the people that their prince has fallen in love with his guards woman? It was hard enough to make you a part of the guard, (Y/N). Do you really want to throw that future away? Everything you've worked so hard for?”

You didn't respond right away, took your time to carefully think about the words you wanted to say, before you looked up at the king with a smile.

“I promised to protect the prince with my life. Whether I do that as his guard or his wife isn't much of a difference to me. I will always protect Jimin.. the only difference is going to be that he'll try to protect me too from now on.”

“It's not like you need it, though,” Jimin whispered, a proud smile on his face.

And as you both looked at each other with so much love in your eyes, his father couldn't help but fall back against his chair and let out a heavy sigh.

There didn't seem to be a lot he could do here. His son had chosen his wife. And he had once promised his own wife that no matter what would happen, love would be the one and only thing Jimin may chose freely.

And if his choice was you, he would have to accept it.

kim taehyung

You were so focused on the horse that you hadn't even heard him come in. And to be fair, he wasn't supposed to come into the stables today. He didn't usually ride out on windy days like this one.

And so when you felt two arms wrap around you from behind and pull you against him, you couldn't help but jump in surprise.

“It's just me,” he whispered, but clearly grinning, plastering wet kisses against your throat, “I missed you.”

“What are you doing?! Someone could see us!”

And maybe that's precisely why he was doing it.

He and you had been hiding your relationship for so long now that he just became tired of it.

Prince Taehyung, the firstborn of the King and Queen, pride of this kingdom, had fallen in love with his horse keeper. It would be a scandal if it ever came to light, that's why you had been hiding it all these years. But Taehyung didn't want to hide it anymore.

Especially not when his parents were pushing him into a marriage with another princess that he didn't even know.

And so when he could hear his family members, he just turned you around and pulled you as close as he could, pressing his lips against yours.

You thought about pushing him away at first, but you had never really been able to resist him when he was kissing you like this.

“Oh my..-” his mother was standing there like she had seen a ghost, she and his sister and watching Taehyung turn his head as slowly as he could, a small smile on his face, “What is going on here?”

“Oh please,” Taehyung's sister rolled her eyes and walked over to her horse, “Everyone knew they were together, mother.”

“I didn't? Your father didn't?”

“Well, everyone but you two did.”

Well, it's not like you and him could have just gone up to his chambers, right? The only privacy you had were in these stables and everyone could unfortunately come in here whenever they wanted to and.. hear what was going on between you two.

jeon jeongguk

A woman in a profession such as yours was highly unusual, but King Jeon was so impressed with your skills as an artist that he had hired you to be the personal painter of the family.

Jeongguk didn't know whether he first fell in love with your talent or your personality, but he knew that he would never love anyone as much as he loved you.

“You know how easy it is to paint you? All you do is stare at me,” you giggled as you continued with the painting.

“There is nothing I can do about it when you look like that, princess.”

“I'm not a princess, Jeongguk.”

And that was the issue, wasn't it? If he could, he would marry you in an instant and fulfill his duty as the future king. But you weren't royal and he was supposed to marry someone of royal blood.

Supposed was the important word, though.

Because as much as Jeongguk loved his family, he loved you more. And he would go against his parents and kingdom if he had to, in order to stay with you.

“You're my princess,” he said, suddenly right beside you. You hadn't noticed him getting up and were now blinking up at him with wide eyes, “And you always will be my princess.”

[fieryfafarfanfics]

Childish Devotion

 Honestly, one would think she would be used to magic by now.

 But alas, the sight of her lover in his young teen merely left the Hoshidan princess agape like a fool.

 Pretty pink eyes blinked once, twice, thrice before she shook her head until dizziness spread. “I…” Words were a wheeze at a single breath. The moment blue smoke had disappeared from her line of vision, one shock came after another before she could register her feelings properly.

 Marx – one who was now in the form of a 12-year old – stared confusingly at his surroundings. Confusion turned to caution. Caution turned to fear. “Where…” His voice – a voice that was the exact opposite of his usually deep tone – broke the heavy silence. One hand nervously ruffled the ends of his golden locks. The other started to subconsciously grasp the side of his tunic.

 None answered his question. But a laugh did fill in the horrifying situation.

 “Oops,” was all Henry could muster.

 Finally Sakura gaze snapped towards the dark mage. “‘Oops’?” she repeated, tone heavy with bafflement. “‘Oops’?!” Another wheeze popped her plump lips. She gaped at Henry, then at the nervous child, then back at the still laughing dark mage. “Excuse me?!”

 “Sorry, sorry!” His laughter didn’t sound sorry. “I just—ahaha!” Once again, cackles followed suit. Out of all the magical hijinks he had done before, this one certainly amused him the most.

 Unfortunately, this did not amuse the princess at all.

 “Henry!” Again she snapped, face flushed to the tips, though now out of sheer anger and shock instead of embarrassment. Quickly realizing that she had her staff gripped tightly in one hand, Sakura started to lift the weapon. Disregarding the full shock in the young Marx’s eyes, the Hoshidan princess was ready to whack at the wheezing dark mage.

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry!” Finally he stopped, mouth exhaling the last bits of his laughter. “I truly am, Princess Sakura.” Wiping a single tear from his left eye, Henry stood up straight. Both hands raised to his eye level in defence. Sharp teeth bit the insides of his mouth, holding back a wider smile in hopes that he wouldn’t offend her any further.

 Once she felt that Henry had truly stopped enjoying himself, she lowered her staff down. “Now…” Face still filled with crimson kisses. “About—” Eyes glanced at the shivering child next to them. “I…Please change him back.”

 “Can’t do.”

 Gods, he is worse than Azama, Sakura thought as she raised her staff again.

 “Wait—no! What I mean is—!” Immediately Henry raised his hands again out of defence. Sliding one foot backwards, he flashed a cheeky, apologetic grin. “I can’t do it now. I don’t have the right ingredients for it!” Hands waved left and right in frantic movements. As timid as the princess was, Henry soon realized that she was just as feisty as Olivia.

 Ah, his dear, sweet Olivia.

 Focus, Henry! Quickly reality fell upon him. “I can change him back, but it might take a while.” Another step taken backwards. Sakura seemed like she wasn’t lowering her staff anytime soon, and Henry had already conjured up his telepathy spell in his mind.

 “…How a while?”

 The little spell stopped in its tracks when he heard her question.

 “How…a while?” Again she repeated. Staff once again lowered to her side, Sakura took a deep, long breath. She isn’t an angry person, per say. But she does get easily flustered when things catch her off guard.

 And right now, this caught her way off guard.

 “Mmm, maybe a few days? Weeks?”

 Strawberry pink eyes were wide as they could be at his approximation. “Weeks?!” Gods, her voice had been raising more times than usual today. “I—are the ingredients that hard to find?!”

 She was amazed to see the man laughing so joyfully at this. “It is a tricky spell, so it needs trickier ingredients.” Grey eyes peeked at the young prince who was now standing a few feet away from them. Apparently, they soon realized that due to their little banter, Marx had scooted far back out of fear.

 Ah, he reminded him so much of his dear son now.

 “But rest assured, Princess Sakura.” Resolution now planted in his mind, Henry huffed in confidence and pride. “I’ll get those ingredients and reverse the spell!” As fun as this was, he knew he would be scolded severely by Olivia and the Summoner.

 Making the Summoner angry was bad enough. Making Olivia angry was…downright devastating.

 He loved seeing the dancer’s cute angry face. He hated seeing her give him the cold shoulder afterwards.

 “I promise you, princess!” That fear only thickened his resolve. One hand placed on his stomach, he gave a little bow. “I’ll start collecting them immediately!” A sneaky smile curled the corners of his lips. The sight only itched doubt in her heart. “In the meantime, I supposed you wouldn’t mind keeping an eye on the young prince?”

 Judging by the glint in Henry’s eye, Sakura knew she had no other choice.

 “I…” Once again she gazed at the Nohrian prince – who was now hiding behind a pillar. The beat of her heart quickened. Her lungs felt heavy all of a sudden.

 This was not going to be easy, she feared.

 But alas, with a heavy breath slipping past her mouth, Sakura groaned, “Okay…”

---

 Turns out, the moment news of their eldest brother being turned into a young boy got caught by the Nohrian siblings, they accepted it…surprisingly well.

 Elise was over the moon at the thought of her big brother being younger than her. She brought him around the castle and played with him as if she had found a new best friend. As startled as Marx was when he got ‘pounced’ by the youngest Nohrian princess, he adapted quite well and slowly laughed and talked to her. Granted, Elise did most of the talking and laughing, but it was soon obvious to see Marx being comfortable to be around a ray of sunshine.

 He had different feelings about the other Nohrian princess, however.

 The second Camilla found out about Marx’s tiny little curse, she practically squealed—whether it was in shock or joy, none of them knew even to this day. The eldest Nohrian royal practically cooed over the child like an overbearing mother. She made sure Marx ate well, slept well. It amazed everyone when Camilla gave Marx a cape she had sewn all by herself in a matter of two days. The young prince was embarrassed at best, terrified at worst. But in time – maybe due to the fact that he felt a sense of security and love from her since he knew her the longest – even he got used to Camilla’s scarily loving personality.

 He sometimes hid from her when he felt too much, though.

 Kamui was just as loving, albeit a bit more bearable than the eldest sister. Absolutely filled with joy that she had another younger sibling, the dragon brought Marx around, whether it was in the Askrian town market or on top of the prettiest hill. At first, Marx literally coughed himself breathlessly to know that he had a sibling who could turn into a dragon. After a few minutes of reassuring him that Kamui wasn’t dangerous – and to make him get out of his own room – Marx slowly warmed up to his bubbly temporary big sister. Though afraid of talking to people, he was proven not of afraid of heights every time Kamui took him to the skies.

 Leon was the most shocked, but also the most calm. While his sisters were fawning over the timid boy, the brother seemed indifferent, even chastised his siblings for making a fool out of the poor first prince.

 Well, at first at least.

 It only took him a day when the Summoner found Leon and Marx reading happily in the Askrian library. Marx sat closely to the now big brother, eyes gleaming like stars over every new information from Leon. Showers of praises and compliments smoothed easily out of Marx’s mouth, and only a fool could be blinded at the sight of Leon beaming in unfiltered joy.

 Even the Hoshidan royals and Azura accepted Marx’s shocking news quite well. As days passed by like a breeze, Marx was treated like a dear little brother by everyone. Ryouma showed a few Hoshidan moves to the young prince in their harmless sparring sessions. Hinoka gave Marx a few tips on how to talk to strangers. Some of her advices worked. Some – like the one where she said to talk to the Grimas for better boost of confidence – left the poor prince crying back into his room.

 Azura taught Marx how to swim, though ‘taught’ was the keyword which unfortunately ended in failure. Azura didn’t know whether to be concerned or impressed at Marx’s amazing failure at floating. After lecturing Henry for a full hour, Laslow brought Marx around to talk to people as his practice buddy. Pieri taught Marx how to cook, which then sometimes resulted with Laslow snatching Marx away before the poor prince could see the creepily bubbly knight slaughter an innocent animal for a feast.

 Even Takumi pitched in on the bonding. Secretly revelling on the fact that he wasn’t the only one with anxiety issues, Takumi kept Marx company whenever the young boy felt anxious. Oh how could Takumi ever forget when Marx called him ‘The Bravest and Greatest Archer’ he had ever seen. Even when the Nohrian prince would be back to normal soon, Takumi knew those words were honest from his heart.

 Lastly, Siegbert was the one to accept the reality as a whole. To know that the younger version of his father had gotten even younger? It took Shinonome and Soleil to make sure that the prince didn’t jump into a well as he thought this was just some silly dream.

 Like Leon, he warmed up to his father fast, though.

 “Father is so cute…” Siegbert cooed quietly as he watched Marx swing a wooden sword. “I can’t believe Father used to be like…that.” Upon realizing his own actions, shame knocked the future child on the head. He knew Sakura was a timid person, so it wouldn’t be a surprise that he inherited her shy personality. He knew Marx was once a secluded child as well. But ever since he saw his father as someone so bold and intimidating when he appeared into the past, Siegbert sometimes couldn’t believe the childhood Marx went through.

 Needless to say, he now did.

 “Prince Siegbert!”

 The squeaky voice of his father’s dropped Siegbert back to reality. “Y-Yes?” Quickly he stood up, purple eyes blinked in stupor at the child waving enthusiastically.

 Marx jogged towards him, his smile sheepish and excited. “Can you…um…” Swirls of red kissed each cheek. “Can you…t-train with me?” The tip of the wooden sword tapped gently to the ground. Gaze breaking away from the tall prince, Marx started to fumble with the grip of the weapon.

 Siegbert could feel an arrow pierce right through his heart at the sight.

 “Sure!” His face was red as well. “I’d love to, Fa—Prince Marx!” He knew he should feel awful for treating his father like a child.

 Then again, he went through so much as a child, so he decided to conclude this as his little reward.

---

 It had been nearly two weeks since the spell happened. Thankfully, after getting an update from Henry, Marx would soon be back to his usual self tomorrow. Only the Gods knew how relieved Sakura felt to know that everything would be back to normal.

 That was to say, she wasn’t actually unhappy about the little curse.

 Shock still enveloped her. But over the past few days, Sakura adapted to Marx’s young version quite well. Maybe it was the amusement of seeing him being more flustered than her. Maybe it was the pure joy she felt to see his and her siblings bonding over his young version. Her heart warmed at such innocence that bloomed inside the Nohrian prince. While Sakura had seen Marx at his softest when he was in his actual age, to see this shy, timid boy trying his best only made her heart burst anew.

 Ah, she was truly amazed to see this many sides of him.

 “Um, P-Princess Sakura…?”

 Reality dawned upon her at the soft voice. Pink eyes blinked back to clear vision, seeing nothing but the young prince fumbling before her. “Oh!” Back straightened nicely, a beautiful smile graced her lips. “What’s the matter, Prince Marx?”

 He didn’t reply immediately.

 Knowing full well how he felt, Sakura tipped her head slightly. “Is everything alright, Prince Marx?” The angelic smile never gone from her face, Sakura leaned an inch closer. “You can always talk to me, you know.”

 Gods, she found it so funny that their roles had been reversed.

 She saw him take a deep breath. She bit back a chuckle.

 “I…” He could do this, he could do this, he chanted inwardly. “I wanted to give you…” Hands trembling behind his back, Marx puffed out another fistful of air. “I—here.” Unable to bear it any longer, his right hand swerved by his side and towards her.

 Her shoulders flinched at the hand positioned in front of her face. Pupils dilated at the sight of the item in his grasp. “Oh!” Both hands clasped her gaping mouth. Gaze fixed on the flower crown, then on him, then back on the crown, Sakura clasped her fingers together in silent question.

 He could do this. He could do this!

 “I—for you.” Bluntly he put it, face now burned as the sun above. “I uh… I want…” A gulp slid down a suddenly dry throat. “W-Want to thank…you…for all you’ve done so far.” His right and started to shake, so he opted to hold the crown with both hands.

 Unfortunately, now his whole body shook.

 Her reaction was still a gape and a gaze, and this wasn’t good for the child’s heart.

 “I uh—!” Purple eyes forced themselves downwards. “I…m-made it…” Vision started to split into two. “For you…”

 Silence still lingered, and tears started to fill in the poor boy’s eyes—

 “I—love it!”

 Tears blinked into shocked oblivion at the answer.

 Quickly he directed his attention at her. It wasn’t a mistake; that was absolute joy in her sparkling eyes.

 “Oh wow!” Left fingers tracing over her lower lip, Sakura emitted another gleeful giggle. “This is amazing, Marx!” Truly she was in awe. Though Marx had done some many things for her when he was in his actual age, not once had he stitched and gifted her a flower crown before.

 She was absolutely grateful at everything he had done for her in the past, of course, but this took the cake.

 To see such beauty radiating from her. To witness such bliss overflowing from the breath-taking princess, Marx couldn’t help the growing, shaking smile. “R-Really?”

 A nod was given. “Really!” Laughter was melody in his ears. “I love it so much, Prince Marx!”

 Ah, to feel his heart bursting from his chest.

 “Then…” His nerves started to act up again at the thought of his next actions. “If it’s okay with you, can I…can I wear it on you?”

 Even in this age, Marx truly knew how to take her breath away.

 “Oh!” was all she mustered. “O-Oh!” was all she flustered before nodding again, this time quite quickly than usual.

 The two now a blushing mess, Sakura leaned a bit down. Utterly ecstatic that this was truly happening, Marx held a breath before stepping one foot forward. He gingerly placed the flower crown atop her head. As swift as lightning he stepped back, breath then taken out of his lungs to see his gift on her.

 God, she truly was an angel.

 Mildly unaware of his admiration over her, Sakura traced her fingers towards the pink and purple petals. “It’s lovely…” Her voice softened, laced with love and delight at the darling gift. Unable to bring herself to look at him for a moment – Gods, she felt silly – Sakura cupped her warm cheek.

 “Um, Princess Sakura…”

 For a moment, she could hear his deep, warm voice.

 Patting herself back to reality, she looked at the still fumbling prince. Gods, he’s adorable. No matter which version he was, he would always be adorable in her eyes.

 Without waiting for her verbal response, Marx exhaled quickly through an open mouth. “I—the crown is more than a gift.”

 Oh?

 Confusion was obvious in her expression. Marx knew there was no turning back. So remembering every single advice from Hinoka, Laslow, and Takumi, the young prince braved himself and looked into the eyes of an angel.

 “The…The crown is a promise!” he exclaimed nervously. “I—w-when I get older, I want to marry you, Princess Sakura!”

 Well, no matter what age Marx was, he definitely knew how to knock the wind out of her lungs.

 Shock was obvious now, and he didn’t stop. “Please wait for me! I’ll p-prove—” Damn it! “—to you that I will be the bravest, strongest prince for you!” Both hands curled to little fists. “I’m going to protect you and my brother and sisters! I want you to be my princess when that time comes! Just you watch!”

 In all honesty, what would Sakura say in this situation? Would she laugh? Cry? Hide behind a pillar? Though their feelings were mutual and Marx technically had proposed in the past, to hear such innocent exuberance truly left her at wit’s end.

 Minutes felt like hours, and before Marx could think about running away himself, he instead froze in place to see such a mesmerizing smile.

 A laugh followed suit, and this made his heart race faster.

 “Alright…” Pink lips pursed tightly. Face now as red as Hinoka’s hair. Trembling fingers cupped together on her lap. Adorable giggles bubbled like songs in the air. “I’ll wait then…”

 To hear his vow being returned in kind, Marx felt like jumping in the air.

---

 Now he felt like hiding in the earth.

 The day after his little proposal, Henry finally finished the spell and turned him back to normal. Everyone was collectively relieved, just as they were collectively disappointed. The Nohrian siblings openly declared how they missed cooing over their ‘little’ brother. The Hoshidan siblings now used the little incident as either blackmail or a form of tease in order to see Marx fluster.

 But nothing could make him agitate even more than his situation with Sakura.

 Because the only side-effect of the spell, the second he transformed back into adult, was that he remembered everything.

 It didn’t help that Sakura started wearing that flower crown whenever he saw her.

 “Hello, dear!”

 Her voice was soft, bubbly, always beaming with love she had for him. But for the moment, her voice was also the reason he couldn’t face her properly without dying in unbearable shame.

 “H-Hello…” Purple eyes twitching at the need to glance at her, Marx instead just opted to slap his face shut with both hands. “Hello, my love…”

 Sakura knew she was a bit mean to be doing this to him. She knew Marx should deserve a break, at least from her of all people.

 But hey, this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity; it was never so often to see her beloved being completely embarrassed. It was cute.

 Palms cupped together and placed on her trembling smile, she stood before him. “Is something wrong, my bravest and strongest prince?” She held back a giggle to hear a loud, stifled groan.

 “Very funny, my queen…”

 Giggles turned into laughter.

 He was cute indeed.

END

[girlwsoftsound]

By Your Side || Matty Healy Oneshot

Word Count: 1,659 Summary: "I saw your ask about By Your Side and was wondering if you could write a prompt based around the lyrics? Matty's girl is feeling very insecure and inferior and she's scared of Matty leaving her as he and the band grows more famous. Maybe she's on her knees crying and begging him not to leave her after a fight. Something sad turned sweet with loving Matty.” Author’s Note: I love this <3 Something sweet for you all to end your day. Be sure to throw in a like or comment if you liked it! I love seeing feedback from you all. Please feel free to read my other work here! Enjoy!

You entered Matty’s world in 2012.

A pretty face who fell in love with another and somehow clicked. Matty fell hard for you, treating you to only the best because he would not allow any less for you. He loved everything about you, from your hair to your gentle eyes, to the way your voice carried in the air and your breath felt on his lips. You loved everything about him as well. You grew drunk off of his loving gaze, off of how sweet he made sure to be to you, off the way his hair fell into his face. When you began to fall in love with Matty, you thought nothing could ever quell the intense feelings you both shared.

Then, Matty’s band took off.

A hit about drugs disguised by the simple lure of chocolate. You had bets on his other songs taking off, but you were proud nonetheless of their success. You congratulated Matty, had a rather intimate celebration with him in his bed, and felt just as on top of the world as they did. But then, Matty grew busy, and the success started to wear on you. Not so much at first, though. The smaller performances were fine, chill even. They put Matty in a cheerful mood, and you were happy to see him as such.

It was the fact of the bigger performances, the extended tours, that you hated. You hated not having him always by your side in bed, not waking up to his sleepy face and getting to push the hair out of his eyes as he slowly woke up to take on the world. It hurt. It made you want to scream, cry, pull your hair out even. You missed Matty, body and soul, and he could barely stop to see that. Sure, you still held nights where you fell asleep at his side while he twirled his fingers through your hair, and mornings where he woke you up by kissing your cheek, but most mornings he was gone before you woke, or working as you fell asleep. You longed for things to return back the way they were before they got busy, before Matty always had to be doing something. As much as it hurt you to say it, you almost wished he had never gotten famous.

The first time he was photographed with a girl other than you pained you to your core. She was a friend of the band, he told you. A pretty brunette with a slender body and eyes that shimmered in any light. She was gorgeous - not even your jealousy could make that fact go away. Seeing her made you wonder why Matty hadn’t gotten with someone like that yet, why he was still holding on to you. While your heart told you that he loved you, your mind suggested it was because a scandal this early on in his career would be detrimental. You let the situation slide, holding your tongue.

But then, another girl was pictured, this time with the prettiest maroon hair you have ever seen and legs that would drop any man’s jaw. She was all over Matty at a bar, and he looked plastered. You thought about slapping him when you saw him next, mostly out of spite and to get back at him for touching another girl far more than he had touched you in the passing weeks. But you loved him so much, you couldn’t bear to see him hurt. So, you let this one pass as well.

That was when the Taylor Swift rumors began. They were silly and you knew they were silly, but suddenly you were forgotten by the media. Even some sites called off your relationship, saying some made up nonsense about you breaking up with him. These rumors were the final straw. The next time you saw Matty enter through your flat’s door, you did not give him your usual greeting. You did not throw your arms around him and kiss his cheek. No, you walked up to him and crossed your arms, positively scowling. Matty looked back at you confused. As if he didn’t know.

“Oh, you didn’t go to your new girlfriend’s home?”

You watched his face fall. The sadness on his face barely churned anything up inside of you. “{Y/N}, you cannot possibly believe that rubbish.”

“Oh really? Because,” you spoke, your eyes getting more watery by the second, “you told me you wouldn’t get too busy to see me, and I hardly see you anymore. You told me you wouldn’t be with any other girls, and yet now you’re rumored to be dating Taylor. Who do I believe, Matthew?”

The use of his full name caught his attention. “Love, I haven’t done anything.”

“Not with me, you haven’t!”

“I love you!”

“Then why aren’t you showing it?!” you yelled as the first tears fell. “Why do I feel like I’m losing you? Why do I think I’m going to not see you again every time you leave for a tour?”

Matty frowned. “Why do you? Have I not told you how I feel about you?”

“Only when the timing is convenient,” you sobbed. “Only when I gave you a reason to worry. Fuck Matty, you didn’t even mention me when turning down those rumors! You just say they aren’t true. Are you not proud of me?”

“What? No,” he said, voice lowering, “no, {Y/N}, I could never not be proud to have you.”

“Am I not a special name like Taylor? Am I inferior?”

“You are not inferior!”

“Then what the fuck has been going on?”

“I would be home if I could. I truly would,” Matty affirmed, “but I can’t. I’ve got to perform and make sure we are not one-hit wonders. We’ve worked so hard, I don’t want to let them down.”

“You don’t have to let them down, but you don’t have to also leave me out to dry.”

“{Y/N}, I can’t take this.”

He turned, and suddenly you found yourself reaching out to grab his wrist with such ferocity that, when you do grab him, he nearly falls backwards. He caught himself though, and turned to see you with a look of pure pain. You were kneeling down then, looking positively pitiful. Tears were streaming down your cheeks. You were forcing back sobs, but they hardly could be fully suppressed. The breakdown you had been trying to hold back since Matty became famous was no longer suppressible.

In a weak voice, you beckoned for him. “Please...d-don’t leave me.”

In that moment, you believed there were two options on how the situation would end. The first was with Matty leaving, turning and leaving you in his past to go off to deal with less stressful people, with people who entertained his new status instead of trying to keep him stuck in the past like you. The second was with Matty kissing you but saying he needed time away, which you thought would also eventually end with him leaving you. However, Matty chose a third option that you did not expect. He knelt down in front of you, meeting your knees with his, reached forward with his hand to wipe your tears, and then brought you in for a big hug. You began to cry more as your face buried itself into the crook of his neck, and he held you tighter.

“Do you really think I’d leave your side, baby?”

Fighting back sobs, you shook your head. “I-I didn’t w-want to but I d-did.”

A soft hand started to rub your back soothingly. “You know me better than that, love. And...and you know better than to think you are any less than those girls, especially Taylor. Hearing you say that...I couldn’t take that. You’re so much better than you think you are, {Y/N}. So much better.”

“Then why did you almost just leave me? W-Why have you been so distant?”

“I’m still trying to figure out how to balance my life,” he replied, sighing. “Everything with the band is just so urgent and so right now that well...I guess I relied on the fact that you are always here for me and have been since the start. I relied too heavily on that and I took advantage of it, I suppose. I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry I caused you to cry like this, too. But know what?”

You pulled back, just enough to see into his eyes. “W-What?”

“Look into my eyes. Look into me, love.” He held your gaze. “I am here right now. I’m here to dry your eyes, to hold you, to love you. I promise to be better at being that way more often. I’m not going to let myself lose you again. If you are feeling bad like this, or like you aren’t being treated well by me, or are being ignored, tell me. Tell me and I’ll be here in a flash. I’ll come home. I’ll make time.”

“So...you aren’t going to forget about me as the band grows?”

Matty shook his head. “I’d rather die. You mean so much to me, {Y/N}. You’ve always been there for me and...and I love you more than I could ever love the band. Honest.”

Tears streaming again, you pulled Matty back against you, hugging him tight with your arms around his neck. This time though, the tears were happier. They were relieved, so glad to hear him genuinely tell you he won’t leave you. That was what you needed, after all. You needed some reassurance he would not go anywhere, and that he was devoted to you and only you through all of this.

“I’m so happy to have you by my side throughout this, {Y/N}.”

Nuzzling into his neck, you sighed softly. “I’m happy to have you, too. I love you, Matthew.”

Moving to kiss your cheek, Matty sighed as well. “I love you too, {Y/N}. Always.”

[gracewithducks]

May you become thousands (Genesis 24)

Farmer John was famous for his corn. Literally, he had blue-ribbon, award-winning corn. Every year, Farmer John entered his corn in the state fair, and every year, his corn won the top prize.

 Famer John’s corn became so famous that the newspaper decided to do an article on his success, and the reporter asked him, “How do you grow such amazing corn?”

 And Farmer John said, “My secret is simple: every year, I keep some corn back to use as seed corn the next year. And every year, I share my seed corn with my neighbors.”

 The reporter was astonished. “Why would you possibly want to share your best seed corn with your neighbors? Aren’t you worried that, if they use your seed, their corn might grow better than yours? Aren’t you worried about losing your prize?”

 And Farmer John shook his head. “It’s all about how corn grows,” he said. “The wind picks up pollen from ripening corn, and it carries it from field it field. If my neighbors are growing bad corn, when the wind blows, the cross-pollination will make my corn weaker. If I want to grow good corn, I have to help my neighbors grow good corn, too.”[1]

 That, to me, is what it looks like to take seriously the idea that blessings are meant to be shared.

 Whenever my husband and I start talking theology, it won’t be long before you hear the phrase “blessed to be a blessing” getting thrown about. It’s the promise that God gave to Abraham and Sarah, way back at the beginning of the story of faith: when God decided that the best way to transform the world was by calling individuals, by calling one family, and loving them so much that they would learn how to love others, too. For Mike and I, that one promise, from which the whole story of the faith begins, stands in stark contrast with so many versions of the gospels we hear proclaimed around us: the preachers who tell you that God wants to make you rich, the ones who proclaim that God has blessed “us” and we are better than all the “thems” in the world, that God loves us and God hates “them”… even all the times we hear the richness of the gospel reduced to a “personal relationship with Jesus Christ” – it makes us cringe, because for us, the good news is so much bigger than that; it’s not just about me and my riches and my ticket to heaven – the good news that God loves me is always bigger than me; it’s good news  and it’s love that just has to be shared. It means, simply, that if we want better corn, we have to help our neighbors grow better corn, too. What’s good for me is good for you, and what’s good for them is good for us: because we are all connected, and we are all in this together.

 We are “blessed to be a blessing.” We circle back to that theme at least once every year around stewardship time, and we are reminded that God wants us to share… so we start trying to calculate and figure out how much of our blessings we have to pass on in order to fulfill the “be a blessing” aspect of our faith.

 But the thing is, God’s doesn’t just want our bare minimum. God wants us to offer our best – not to make us poorer, but because, as we improve things for others, we make a better world for ourselves, too.

 We have been spending time this summer with the family of Genesis, and for the last few weeks we’ve shared some of the stories of Abraham: how Abraham and Sarah were surprised with a son; how Hagar and Ishmael found their place in God’s promises; and last week, how Abraham’s faith was tested when God asked him to give his son back.

 This is a messy story, of a messy family – but it is this the family, nevertheless, that God has chosen and called to change the world. “I will bless you,” God promised, “and through your family, the whole world will be blessed.”

 Today, the story of this family continues. After Abraham nearly sacrifices Isaac on the mountaintop, after he has faced his final test of faith, Abraham’s story quite quickly wraps up. We learn, almost in the next breath, that Sarah has died – and it sounds, reading between the lines, as if, after what happened on the mountaintop, Sarah and Abraham didn’t live together any more.

 Now Abraham is left with is son, Isaac. And Isaac is by this time no longer a child; he is, in fact, nearly forty years old, and still unmarried. And the Freudians among us can read all sorts of implications into all of this: how Isaac, who was Sarah’s only son, born to her late in her life, was doted upon by a mother who devoted her life to him; how Sarah protected her son, and was convinced that no woman could ever be good enough for her little miracle boy – and there is even a peculiar note, at the end of this story, that Isaac takes his wife into his mother’s tent, and so he is comforted after his mother’s death.

 Add in the fact that Isaac is fully aware that, when he was a youth, his own father very nearly sacrificed him – and I tell you, Oedipus has got nothing on this kid. This is a messy family, indeed. If you think your family has got issues, there is no “perfect” family – and God can work with us all.

 Whatever baggage and drama Isaac carries, the fact is that he’s no longer a child. And his father Abraham starts once again to look to the future: for his family to continue, his son needs to find a wife and start to build his own family.

 But Abraham and Isaac are still living in a foreign land; they are surrounded by people who do not know their stories, who don’t share their values, who don’t follow their God. And this worries Abraham, because he believes that his family is special; they have been called and set apart to change the world, and when it comes to continuing that story, not just any woman is going to do.

 So Abraham hatches a plan: he calls his oldest and most trusted servant, who has journeyed with him, who knows his story and cares for his household. And Abraham asks this servant, Eliezer[2], to go back to Abraham’s homeland, and find there a suitable wife for Isaac. Even if I’m not here to see it, he says, make sure that our family and our story goes on.

 And Eliezer says, “What if I find a great woman, but she doesn’t want to leave her family and homeland to come here. Should I bring Isaac back to her?”

 And Abraham says, “No. The Lord, the God of heaven, called me and brought me here; God promised to give this land to our family, and the world may not see it yet, but this is where we belong. So do everything you can to find a woman who shares our faith in God’s promise, who is willing – like I did – to leave everything for the sake of God’s future. But if you can’t find any woman like that, I release you from your promise.”

 So Eliezer promised to do his best. And he took ten of Abraham’s camels, and some fine gifts, and he left. When he arrived, however, he wasn’t sure how to go about his business. So he prayed, and he decided to ask God for a sign: He prayed, “Lord, God of my master Abraham, please give me success today and show steadfast love to my master Abraham. I am standing here by the spring of water, and the women of the city are coming now to draw water. I’ll ask one of them for a drink from her jar of water, and if she says, ‘Drink, and I’ll get water for your camels, too’ – then I’ll know that she’s the one.”

 Now, I’m not one to put much stock in signs. In my youth, partly because of stories like this one, when I was trying to decide which college to pick, or what to major in, what to date, which job to take – I asked God for signs. And you know what? I never got one. It seems that God trusted me with those big decisions; God doesn’t have a master script somewhere that I have to figure out. And I’ve also come to believe that God is big enough, God’s grace is big enough, that even when we don’t make the best choices, God still finds a way to redeem them and work with us and through us all the same.

 Even when it comes to choosing a spouse, no matter what all the romantic comedies tell you, not many of us get a “sign” that we are supposed to be together; not many of us get quick and clear-cut confirmation that this person is our “soulmate.” What we get, instead, are butterflies in our stomach, and – if we choose to take the leap – we get to spend our whole lives make our own signs, as we weave our lives together into one.

 So, no, I don’t put much stock in signs. But Abraham’s servant prays for one all the same, and I don’t blame him: when we don’t know where to turn, just about all of us ask for help.

 The thing is, though, that Eliezer isn’t just asking for any old sign. He doesn’t ask for God to reveal Isaac’s future wife by having her wear a blue dress or carry a painted jar; he doesn’t ask for God to show him the girl with the most jewelry or the prettiest eyes.

 No, he asks, in this moment, for God to reveal a young woman with a generous heart.[3]

 When I was younger, I thought that this was a really easy sign to ask for. In those days, when hospitality to strangers was often a life or death question, it would have been unthinkably rude for any young woman to refuse a request for water.

And it would have been very easy then to pour out what was left in the jug of water so the animals could drink, too. But what I’ve come to realize is that Rebekah did so much more than this; in fact, it is unthinkably generous for Rebekah to do what she does: to offer water not just for this strange man, but to offer to draw water for all of his camels to drink – and to drink to their fill.

 You see, when a camel is thirsty, it can drink as much as 30 gallons of water in just a matter of minutes. And Abraham’s servant had not just one camel, but ten camels, with him. That’s a lot of water. And it meant that Rebekah went down to the spring and carried water up to the trough many times. It was hard, time-consuming work.

 Here, then, we already see a glimpse of who this woman is: she came down to get a jug of water for her family, and when she encountered a stranger, she didn’t recoil in fear, but offered to draw water for him, too. And she offered not just to give him a drink, but to go to the spring again and again, so his thirsty animals could drink their fill.

 She is a woman with a generous heart: a woman who shows kindness to strangers, to humans and creatures alike; and she is a woman who willingly does more than the minimum, who goes the second mile, not expecting anything in return.

 She doesn’t know that this man is a servant of Abraham. She doesn’t know that Abraham and Isaac are searching for a woman to help them pass on God’s promises to the next generation.

 She simply sees an opportunity to help, and she does.

 And so Eliezer’s prayer is answered: because this is exactly the kind of person who can help carry on God’s story; this is the kind of woman who understands what it means to be blessed to be a blessing, to be generous and gracious in sharing your blessings and passing them on.

 While Rebekah keeps drawing water, Eliezer prays again, and then he presents her with expensive jewelry – symbols that he came proposing marriage on behalf of a wealthy man. And he asked her if there was room in her father’s house to spend the night, and she extends hospitality on behalf of her family once more.

 There is one more piece of this story that I want us to remember today: as bizarre and unlikely as this love story seems to us, as much as we might question, with our modern ideas of romance, what kind of man sends a servant to fetch a young bride for his son, and what kind of father agrees to send his young daughter to become the wife of a man he has never met – while it all seems so strange to us, I want us to remember, first of all, that this wasn’t all that unusual in those days. But I do notice that, at some point, Rebekah herself is consulted. And when Rebekah is asked: “Will you go with this man?” she answers, “Yes; I will go.”

 Much like Abraham a generation before, Rebekah makes the choice to leave her family and her home behind, in order to follow God’s promises of a better future and a bigger story. She, too, journeys in faith, towards a land that’s been promised but isn’t home quite yet, because she believes that God will bless her, and she – and her children, and her children’s children – will bless the world.

 Rebekah was a woman who served with generosity right where she was, and when she was given the chance, she chose to risk everything so that generations to come might have a chance to live into God’s promises in even deeper ways.

 So, what about us? When faced with opportunities to be generous, do we content ourselves to do the bare minimum? Do we even do that much?

 Or do we look for opportunities to be generous – even ridiculously so? Do we look for ways to be generous and step out in faith, not just for our own sake, but for the sake of generations yet to come?

 When Rebekah said good-bye to her family, they offered her a blessing: “Our sister, may you become thousands of ten thousands.” Though you are one person, you have a world of potential within you. May your generosity continue to overflow; may God’s faithfulness to you multiply and grow and echo through generations.

 May we, too, remember that our lives are connected, that the choices we make affect ourselves and our households and our neighbors and our communities and our world, today, and for generations still to come. May we remember that, when we share our blessings, when we make the world better for others, we all are blessed. Though you are but one person, God has placed a world of potential within you. May we be generous beyond reason; may we be faithful beyond measure.

   God, your daughter Rebekah was a woman of extravagant generosity. She worked without hope of a reward; she gave well beyond the point of inconvenience; she blessed others indiscriminately and abundantly. And when you called, she willingly stepped out in faith, trusting that you would be with her, no matter what may come. Give us, too, generous and faithful hearts. Open our eyes to the opportunities we have to bless others; open our hearts to give without counting the cost, to go the second mile, to love as we have been loved, and to be reminded that, in your kingdom, the greatest is the servant of all. In the name of Christ, who came not to be served but to serve, we pray; amen.

[1] “Good Corn,” reported in James Bender How to Talk Well (1994). Found at https://storiesforpreaching.com/category/sermonillustrations/generosity/

[2] While the servant is not named in this story, it is likely that he is the same man Abraham earlier mentions, before Isaac has been born, when it seems likely that Abraham’s steward will receive his inheritance after his death (Genesis 15:2). Someone who was so well-trusted as to be consider Abraham’s heir is likely the kind of person Abraham would trust to ensure his greater inheritance – God’s blessing upon his family – continues.

[3] Jessica LaGrone, in Broken and Blessed: God Changes the World One Person and One Family at a Time, has a lovely discussion of how this “sign” reveals Rebekah’s generosity and suitability to join God’s mission of being blessed to be a blessing.