#ONLY THE FINEST FABRICS FOR MY SECRET HUSBAND

[morgancrystal]

thumbnail doodles for a piece I'm almost finished with. I'm just trying to gather the courage to take out my metallic paints.

[cymorilcinnamonroll]

And Lilith Sewed the Seam - Sapphic Short Story

The frost came early that year, the year the Queen of Night came to Karelia. We lived in Sharon, a little shtetl in Grand Russe on the Finnish border that was known for its beautiful alpine aerials and lakes like beads of blue glass. The ocean, too, was refreshing to swim in – provided one went to the banya afterwards. I was a young lass in the rime-laden harbors and forests. We Jews of Sharon were a sailing, seabound lot, making our living off fishing and the waves. But mama, bubbe and I? We were seamstresses of the finest caliber. Some would say we were magick. They called us, and our shop, The Weaving Wives.

The boyars ordered traditional kaftans straight from bubbe’s shop, woven with the earth goddess Mokosh and her lovers Veles and Perun on the breast. I had grown up toeing the line between two faiths. I learned both the myths of Baba Yaga eating unworthy children and the Night Howler Agrath screech-dancing on the roof to mark a house that her husband, Sammael, would strike down as dogs bayed at his twelve-winged flight. Sometimes, late at night, I could hear them.

Or perhaps it was only a storm…

Word of bubbe’s and mama’s and my craftiness spread. The year I turned sixteen, the tsarina herself ordered a fashionable cape from us. It was based off the tale of Father Frost’s granddaughter, Snegurochka the Snow Maiden. A tale I had always loved. It was the first project over which I was given complete ownership.

I embroidered white, pale pink and dove gray pearls on the powder blue cape in little clusters of wings shaped like snowflakes, then stitched eiderdown into the golden seams. Bubbe dusted it with malachite flakes to bless it from far off Azov, the riches of the earth piling high upon the tsarina’s head.

Mama, bubbe, and I were the treasures of Sharon. We were married to our thread, the men and women of Sharon said, and they—from the hunters to the midwives to the rabbi, to my own father, a ship captain and whaler—guarded our secrets with their very lives.

We Weaving Wives were a protected, cherished lot. And our craft was our very soul. There was a deep magick in that sewing. For in truth, we were good witches. We could summon sunlight to make yellow fabric like a peach. Melt down rusalka hair in our oven to create the finest threads. Our secrets were the stuff of legends, and we were glad not to tell the rabbi about them, or even dear papa. And the menfolk knew better than to ask, but the women always wondered.

The cape was the talk of the kingdom.

No wonder, the tsarina was pleased.

As fame of our clothing grew, the Weaving Wives gained esteem. Through charitable works we lifted our community up and filled the synagogue coffers to the brim. Our family did good works in Adonai’s name. All so that Peniel – the Face of God – might shine down after the three of us wrestled long with a hill of fabric, like female Jacobs and a needle-bound angel.

But the frost came early the year I turned eighteen, and it stole my bubbe away. Crying tears like glass beads, I looked into my mirror after shiva was over and found myself a changed maid: my long black curls were winsome, I was plump and rounded to please men, and my cornflower eyes could break hearts. I needed a husband. Only… the village maidens had always been far more winsome.

Fair Shayna, with eyes like silver coins. Comely dark Miriam, with a heart like a thorny rose. And Delilah, the marigold of my garden. I had tossed and turned with all of them in the fields and furrows on Ivan Kupalo, what the Western countries called St. John’s Eve, as we searched for fern flowers together to promise bonds of eternal love. Shayna’s lips were soft. Miriam’s grip on my hot hips was hard, determined, just like Malakh HaMavet striking only holy blows.

But Delilah? She was mother-of-pearl dissolving in Cleopatra’s wine. A beauty wrapped in a carpet, delivered to Marc Antony.

I wanted Delilah more than life itself. But Shayna and Miriam had already taken husbands. We were eighteen, after all. Only Delilah, with her red hair, pale skin, full form, and freckles, was left, and to me, she was more holy than any synagogue, a word on the tongue of G-d that would make Chava take an apple all over again, but this time, a blessed fruit. Delilah was a pearl of great price that could redeem. A benediction and wonder that would lighten the load of the Azazel goat on Yom Kippur and set the Temple right.

So, that night in my anger and mourning over losing bubbe too soon, I looked into my mirror, in the flickering light, and I cast a magick spell. I made a wish on bay leaves and some goldenrod I had dried earlier that year for Delilah to be mine. As I was threading the bay leaves through a needle, to string them over my dresser, I pricked myself on my thumb.

A bead of red delicious blood bubbled up. Suddenly, the mirror swirled into a gorgeous Ashkenazi royal woman with long black ringlets of hair done up in silver bands, a purple wine-dark dress with gold threading, yellow-green eyes like parched grass, and pale, ghostly skin. Her bruised pink lips were bloody, and there was hunger in her eye.

“Pu pu pu!” I said, warding off the demon, frightened. I clutched the red thread always tied to my bandeau and threw salt at the mirror. It sizzled as it hit the candle, putting it out. Then, silence.

I had not a day before the Queen of Night came to Sharon. She was the talk of our little shtetl, rumored to be disgraced Romanian royalty who had bathed in maiden’s blood and newborn calf spittle to retain her youth. She was old, she was young, she was invisible, they whispered. Dressed head to toe in a black veil, riding in a carriage like a hearse. It was pulled by black bulls, and scarlet, bloody-colored ribbons were woven round the black bulls’ necks.

Just like the blood from my thumb.

Lailah, she was called. I was so lost in fear of her, I did not hear the clinking of bells at our shop. Bubbe was gone, Delilah was not mine, and I was haunted by a ghost.

I was manning the shop till, daydreaming about the demon. She… had been beautiful. Lailah was said to be hideous. To be virginal and pure. To be a vampir or dhampir or G-d knew what! Only, this Romanian countess or ghost or queen had come to my shop, now, smelling of lavender and patchouli. She had been watching me, and I felt like I was drowning.

A musk radiated off her that reminded me of eating dinner between Delilah’s thighs.

Suddenly, Lailah let her veil and robes fall, and the demoness from earlier in the mirror stood naked before me, perfect as a pale statue of Dark Venus, brimstone the farthest word from her.

Her eyes were a poisonous, mesmerizing yellow. Her pubis was lightly thatched with slashes of black, her sex an enticing pink wound. She seemed to be carved from alabaster, her legs ending in owl’s feet, great sooty wings on her back, and a night storm cloud of ebon ringlets framed her sharp, small and upturned nose and wicked ruby-grapefruit lips.

“Lilith?” I squeaked. I did not have it in me to “Pu pu pu.” To reach for metal or iron or salt. To even clutch my red thread.

I knew immediately that if this beautiful, treacherous Queen of the Night asked, I would be her slave. I would be a dog in her yard, licking fruit off her feet, honey off her lips. All to taste… majesty. The divine.

She demurred, smiling to reveal needle teeth that only heightened her beauty. “You have grown beautiful, Jael.”

“Oh. No. I, Lilith, with all my pleading, please, flee this place. We are holy. Adonai shall smite you. And you are too beautiful to suffer,” I said, rambling, not making sense, soaking in Lilith’s beauty, her temptation, her smirk, the way her thick hips and ripe breasts swayed as she walked towards me slowly, like a leopardess stalking its prey.

“But, if I flee, you will be nothing. An adamant bloom plucked too young to thrive. You have all the talent of your bubbe Abigail, and all the strength and industry of your mother Bina. There is a reason our faith is passed on through women, Jael. You are the perfect vessel.”

I froze. “You mean to possess me?”

Lilith narrowed her yellow eyes at me. Oh, how I wanted to reassure her I was not scared. And yet, I was. Highly terrified. The Witch of Endor was in my shop, and darkness filled the corners, Sheol the depths of the yard; the windows were blotted out by the realm of husks. It was only Lilith and I at the axis mundi of the worlds.

“No, I mean to pay you,” Lilith laughed in a sultry tone, then quickly softened. “I have need of a dress for a ball Ashmedai is throwing. Ashmedai and Sammael are both my husbands, but they are at war as of late. I need to dress for battle. For the manner in which I fight, and who I choose as consort, shall determine the course of Kingship in Gehenna.”

My jaw dropped. “Like the Maid of Orleans?”

Lilith smiled. “Dear Jael, I have been at this for millennia longer than any Frenchwoman. Now, this I must ask you: can you make me a ballgown the color of a mirror, that reflects all it touches, that can withstand hail and hellfire? If you do, you will be wealthier than the tsarina. As you know, the Shekinah often rests with Sammael, and as the Shekinah’s Handmaiden, I ascend to G-d in turn. He lets me do what I like, you see. The world, for me, is freedom. As I mean it to be for all women, Jael. Your namesake certainly agreed. We had plans, Jael and I.”

“The girl who drove a tent spike through her enemy’s head?” I piped out, voice squeaking yet again. I nervously chewed my hair, then spat it out. “Yes, I can make a dress like that. But I do not need riches. Just Delilah.”

“Lilah. Delilah. She is similar, yet nothing like me. A seal, then, of our bargain?” Lilith leaned against the counter and kissed me, deep. “Yes, you taste just like Jael as well. She was one of mine, you know. Perhaps… but no, Jael. Let sleeping Judges lie.”

With that, Lilith disappeared, and the pale, ghostly light of winter trickled into the shop.

I reached for the red thread on my bandeau and snapped it apart, welcoming the demoness in.

For the fabric, I captured moonlight in a jar. I made it slitted at the train, so Lilith could stride across the burning floor of Ashmedai’s ballroom like the Queen of Sheba did to win Solomon’s heart. I wove the bodice of form-fitting silver silk, loose and dyed from rain under the morning star. Do not ask how the Weaving Wives work our magick. We simply do. It was in bubbe’s blood. It is half in mother’s blood. And I?

I surpass them both.

I wrote Delilah a letter that night. A letter to come room with me. It did not say much other than “bosom friend” and “bubbe’s room is empty” and “mama and papa are leaving for America, so it shall be just us, and I could use a shopkeeper.” But I sprayed perfume from Moscow on it, kissed it thrice, and slipped it in a pink bow and thick sturdy envelope into our hiding tree. An alder.

Delilah wrote me back: “If your gown for this cursed queen goes through, then you will have proven to me that a woman can love a woman, like a man loves a woman, and Jael, I do think… I must not write it.”

There were tear stains blotting her delicate signature.

I cried that night. I stitched Lilith’s seam. I used bat wings boiled down to the finest veins to protect the dress from hellfire. Then I crushed the bay leaves of my witchcraft, when I met Lilith in the mirror, into the fur capelet of mink. It was my heart’s treasure. My greatest wish of all.

And finally, a hilt for a dagger, bejeweled with malachite from Mount Azov. It was sacred in Russia, from one Mistress – the Mistress of Copper Mountain – to the Queen of Night.

Lilith came the day after Sabbath.

She tried it on, the silk bunching around her in pleasing, curvaceous angles, the embroidery and pearls and malachite and mink sparkling, and she shone like the tsarina’s silver tiara.

Lilith smiled in the mirror: “It’s perfect, my Jael. Come walk with me.”

Into her dark midnight carriage with the four red-banded black bulls I went. We rode to Gehenna. What I saw would frighten Enoch himself. Dumah, at the gate, with his poisoned sword of gall. Hazarmavet, the Court of the Dead, where new souls ate meat and drank wine in perfect silence. The winnowing of souls in the fire of Sheol with the punishing, purifying angels. A glimpse of Gan Eden and the Silver City where the angels lived, attending the Promised Messiah. It was all like a crack in the sky.

Finally, Ashmedai’s realm. A realm of exotic desert fruit and pleasure girls and winebearer ephebes. Hot searing heat, simoom winds, oases and belly dancers. It was scandalous.

Sammael’s forces of death, poison and decay camped at the door. I waited in the carriage as Lilith walked on French heels to the forefront, her dagger held high, her dress that I had painstakingly, feverishly sewed gleaming under the hot desert sun.

Lilith’s beauty sparked Sammael’s shedim and lilim and seirim into frenzy. They descended on Ashmedai’s forces as the demon king emerged from his glistening sandstone palace with his forces, dates and palm and rivers of jewels surrounding us on all four sides.

I watched as Lilith turned the tides of the battle, flirted with Ashmedai, lured Sammael. In the end, Lilith took both Ashmedai and Sammael’s crowns as they kneeled and kissed her hands off their heads. She melted the coronets down with fiery breath from her beautiful lips, then formed two gold arm bands for her pale limbs.

It seemed Gehenna had a new ruler.

I am old now. Delilah is my bosom companion. I talk to Lilith in the mirror, late at night, I am aged, Lilith is ageless, and she tells me tales of the world: the invention of electricity. War in America. Discoveries in Asia. How her plans are in motion to free women, so one day, we are not so tied to the cycles of our womb, forced to labor in birth pangs like Chavah.

Delilah and I adopted three girls, and we teach them the secrets of weaving, sewing, and stitchery. We are bringing the crafts of our shtetl into a new age. My parents died in America and seemed to have prospered. I have no intention of leaving Karelia. We are the exclusive gownmakers for the new tsarina.

It is a good life. It is a small life. Lilith and Adonai shower riches upon our community – not too much, but enough that Sharon is known as blessed. The Shekinah still roosts with Sammael, and will until the Temple is set right, and Her people ascend.

I am happy all my days. So is Delilah. When we die, we will be led by Lilith the Perpetual Regent of Gehenna to be her personal weavers and outfitters, and our daughter’s daughter’s daughters will know true freedom in the modern age.

And all because Lilith sewed the seam.

[10piecechickennuggy]

Magic and Secrets, Chapter 1 - Sanji x Witch!OC

WARNING: Sexual content and swearing ahead!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own One Piece or the art featured above. This is a fan-created work featuring an original character.

Violent waves battered the shoreline, sending salt spray high into the air. The sea had taken a volatile turn - a sure sign of storms to come. But for the time being, the dark clouds promising torrents of rain stayed back towards the horizon line, temporarily sparing the tiny island. 

Weary eyes watched the scene while weathered hands lazily scrubbed at a porcelain dish. Thankful for the windowpane before her, Vera allowed her mind to wander. The girl wished to be free - of her current life of servitude and of her past. She’d come a long way towards the latter, but still encountered shadows of her origins. 

Shaking the thought away, Vera turned her attention to the dish in her hand, admiring the delicate print on the fragile piece. The set had been an heirloom, passed down to her current masters over generations. Usually something so important would have been locked away, shielded from the dangers of the world. But there had been guests over this morning - the island’s mayor had paid a visit, eliciting use of the finest tableware for his tea and scones. Vera had no idea the nature of his visit, only that she now had to take great care whilst cleaning the treasured porcelain in her hands.  

“Careful there.” The deep voice of the house’s head startled the girl. He’d always made her uneasy, but she was acutely aware of being alone in the kitchen with him. A gnarled left hand rested on her shoulder whilst its matching right stretched forward into the girl’s view, grabbing the blinds and moving them to cover the window before them. 

As the fabric came to rest in its new position, Vera turned to face her master. “How may I serve you, sir?” It was the well-rehearsed way she’s been instructed to address him. The words never ceased to rise bile into the back of her throat as she spoke them, even after months of service. 

“I think you know.” The elder man smiled, a sinister air to his gaze, as the hand on her shoulder moved to the girl’s hip. The other hand came to spin her around, forcing her body to face him. She could feel his breath fan across her face, the scent of morning coffee invading her senses. “You’ve been avoiding me lately. Can’t imagine why.” The hand that had spun her then lowered, brushing her side before coming to rest on her ass.

Vera attempted to move away from him, only to shudder as his grip on her tightened. “Sir, please. I just want to do my work.” She pleaded with him, her gaze wide and fearful.

He sneered and pulled her body flush to his, causing the priceless dish to fall from her grasp. A shatter could be heard, the delicate porcelain spraying across the tiled floor. 

“Oh no.” 

The words barely escaped the man’s lips before the shrill shouts of his wife could be heard approaching the kitchen. “Stupid girl! That better not be my fine china breaking!” 

Taking advantage of the panic setting into the girl, her master leaned down, pressing his lips to hers in a sloppy kiss. Vera pushed at his chest, trying to escape his grip before things went any farther.

“What are you doing?!” The mistress of the house shrieked upon entering the kitchen. She stomped forward and tore the younger girl away from her husband. “Filthy whore! Out with you!” She gripped the girl by her hair and began stomping through the house, dragging her towards the front door.

***

Laughter echoed across the lawn deck of the Thousand Sunny. Currently, the crew’s doctor - Tony Tony Chopper - its sniper - God Usopp - and its captain - Monkey D. Luffy - were engaged in a game of tag.

“Hey, Nami!” A gruff voice broke through the cheerful chatter from above. A head of green hair could be seen peeking out one of the many windows which adorned the crow’s nest. “Looks like a storm’s coming!” 

The orange-haired navigator looked up from the map she’d been studying, squinting her eyes toward the horizon. “Thanks, Zoro!!” She exclaimed, rising from her chair to take the helm, steering the ship towards a small island she knew laid not far to the north.

It didn’t take long before Sunny and her crew found themselves docked on a rocky shore. The island appeared home to a modest town. People bustled about, hurrying to finish their daily errands before the looming storm arrived. Some shops had already closed their doors, despite it only being roughly midday.

“We should find a place to stay for the night.” Nami stated, stretching her arms into the air. “Looks like that storm is going to be pretty rough.” 

“Okay!” The rambunctious captain shouted his agreement, eager to explore the island and town before him. 

Before long, the group had dispersed, excited to see what this new land had to offer. Nami sighed, exasperated at the behavior of her captain. He’d been the first to bound away, laughing as he disappeared among the villagers. 

“Well, he’s certainly eager.” A calm female voice sounded to her side. “Shall we search for lodging?” Robin, the crew’s archeologist, looked at her friend with a close-eyed smile. Nami only nodded as she began walking forward.

The last pair of feet to leave the Sunny were clad in shiny dress shoes. A puff of smoke trailed after the blonde man as he looked around, grimacing as he realized that he’d be unlikely to have enough time to shop for ingredients before the storm came. Sanji always made it a point to explore an island’s unique cuisine immediately upon visiting. As a pirate, he knew his time on each new land was limited - be it by the nature of their nomadic lifestyle or by the marines that pursued them constantly - and so he wasted little time when it came to stocking the ship with new and exciting foods. 

Sanji sighed, placing his hands in the pockets of his neatly pressed slacks, resigning to simply take a walk for the time being. With any luck, he’d have time to shop once the storm had passed. 

***

“Filthy whore! Out with you!” An angry woman’s voice broke the cook from his thoughts as he passed a house on the outskirts of the village. His head lifted just in time to see a young woman shoved out the home’s weathered wooden door, her hair a mess. An older woman, likely in her retirement years, exited shortly after the first, shoving the younger off the small porch. “I take you in and this is how I’m repaid?! With you seducing my husband?!”

The younger girl frowned, turning to face her mistress. “I did not seduce him! He ca-” The desperate defiance in her tone was silenced with a firm slap to the girl’s face.

“As if I’d believe the word of a witch like you!” The enraged woman countered, her hand raising for another hit when a firm grip halted her wrist. Her eyes came to meet with a single crystal blue orb, its twin obscured by a curtain of yellow.

“Easy there.”  As the man spoke, the scent of tobacco invaded the older woman’s senses. “What could ever provoke a beautiful woman to violence?”

Wrenching her hand away and cradling it to her chest, the woman turned up her nose to the intruder. “If you must know, I caught this witch seducing my husband. And after I had the kindness to take her off the streets!”

Saji’s cool gaze moved from the older woman to the girl she’d been speaking of. She couldn’t be much older than he was, early 20s at most. An expression of fear crossed her features as she met his eyes, holding a hand to her red cheek. If her assailant was beautiful, then the girl he looked at now was downright gorgeous. She wore a tight fitting maid’s outfit, her curves accentuated by the fabric, a small bit of cleavage visible. He sniffed, urging the blood to stay within his nose. 

Sanji knew now wasn’t the time to be admiring the girl’s appearance. He’d have plenty of time to do that once things were settled here, a plan already forming in his mind. “Is this true, miss?” He addressed the young woman with a nod, removing the cigarette from his lips and stamping it out on the ground.

“N-No!” Her voice wavered as she blurted out her answer. “I was only doing my chores when he came onto me!” 

“I don’t want to hear it, you liar!” The older woman had already turned and began ascending the steps to her home. “Now I see why no house can keep you more than a couple months! Homewrecking witch!” The door slammed, punctuating the accusatory statement. 

When the cook finally turned his gaze away from the door, he saw that the girl was already stomping her way towards town. He sprinted to catch up to her. “For the record, I believe you.” He smiled from her left, “I’m Sanji. What’s your name?”

The girl scowled at Sanji, stopping her movements and crossing her arms. “Vera.” She stated simply, gauging the stranger before her.

Sanji only smiled wider, “And you’re a maid, I take it?” Vera only nodded. “I don’t suppose you have any place to go now. Want to come with me?” He asked, offering his elbow to her.

“Why?” Vera didn’t move as her eyes lowered to the man’s elbow. 

“Well, I know it may not be your first choice, but a pirate ship is a better home than an alleyway.” 

The girl’s eyes widened, but not in panic. Her features brightened as she looped her arm with Sanji’s. “If you can get me off this island, sure.”

***

“So what was the witch thing about?” Sanji asked, taking a sip of black tea, continuing to eye the menu before him. Not long after Vera had agreed to accompany him, the transponder snail in his pocket began to ring. Nami’s voice came through the snail, informing him that she’d secured a hotel for the crew to rest in for the night. Currently, the pair sat in the hotel’s restaurant, deciding to eat before introducing Vera to the other Straw Hats.

“Because I am a witch.” Vera’s eyes didn’t leave the paper menu as she spoke matter of factly. In truth, she was terrified of what the man might think or say of her admission. More often than not, her identity was met with distrust. Couple that with her wrongful reputation for seducing men with her magic, and you had the perfect recipe for a social outcast.

What came from Sanji next came as a surprise. “What kind of magic can you do?” His expression was enthusiastic, the menu now forgotten on the table as his full attention was now directed toward his companion. 

Vera only shrugged. “Not a ton. I don’t get much time to practice since I’m usually forbidden from using it in the houses I work for.” Her face fell in a frown for a brief moment before rising again in a smile. “I can show you something if you’d like.”

Sanj only nodded enthusiastically, waiting with bated breath to see what spell the girl would perform.

Vera fidgeted slightly in her seat, suddenly nervous. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had been excited to see her magic. She was out of practice, and knew anything she could do would only serve to disappoint.

Taking a deep breath and exhaling, she lifted her right hand so her palm faced upright, her elbow bent. With closed eyes, she muttered something too soft for Sanji to hear. Suddenly, a book appeared in her open hand. The tome was thick, its pages yellowed with time and its purple cover faded. Despite its apparent age and wear, the book seemed to glow softly, air swirling around it.

Sanji’s mouth fell open in amazement. In truth, he hadn’t fully believed that Vera could be a witch. He didn’t think witches were real - just something made up for parents to scare their children into behaving. He knew about devil fruit and Haki, but not outright magic. “Wow.”

Vera blushed, about to say something to the effect of the spell being nothing impressive, when a deep cough interrupted her thoughts. A waiter stood before the pair, scowling in disapproval at the display of power before him. “Your order?” He asked, tone dismissive.

“The house special, please.” She spoke weakly, fear lacing into her words. Sanji’s order followed her but she didn’t catch what it was, only vaguely aware that he was speaking. How could she have let herself fall into such an obvious trap? She knew her magic was bad. That witches weren’t to be trusted. And yet she’d let a complete stranger talk her into using her powers openly. And in a public space, no less!

“Hey.” A soft hand came to rest on her left as the book she’d summoned disappeared, vanishing as if it had never been there to begin with. “You’re okay.” Sanji’s soothing voice cut through her darkening thoughts as if he could read her mind.

She looked up and saw that he was still smiling at her. “Most people don’t like witches.” She spoke weakly, afraid that her very breath would cause the man to blow away.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not most people.”

Read Chapter 2 Here

[shikonstar]

Currents 🌊

thanks for the tag, @mustardyellowsunshine! (I feel like I've reached cryptid status since the last time I was here.)

Current time: 11:38 A.M.

Current mood: Thelma and Louise sailing off the cliff.

Current activity: Work. Work. And more work. As well as dying a piece of cross-stitch fabric, cleaning the house, and getting ready to socialize with family after two days of three hours sleep. (And looking at another two weeks of the same.)

Currently thinking about: How I'm going to try to balance what is supposed to be vacation/family time with my work schedule so I don't screw up this promotion, sobbing into my writing documents.

Current favorite song: Masayume Chasing by BoA, because, apparently, I can't stop making myself sob over the Future Lucy arc of Fairy Tail. Non-anime song is We Are Sick by Indian Lake. To the point that I've belted out "Lovin' you was never hard to do, but I'm sick and they're comin' to get me soon" so many times that my husband has offered to meet whoever "them" is halfway.

Currently reading: Reading? HA! I haven't even had time for a cereal box. I'm just over here whimpering because @superpixie42 has put something out, I have a backlog of @elkonigin, and I'm behind on @clearwillow's Mercury in Gatorade (Which my sleep-deprived brain keeps waiting to call Meatballs in Gator Arcades, holy crap I'm glad I caught that before posting), and selfishly behind glad @dawnrider hasn't posted yet so it isn't one more thing I'm missing. Basically, I'm licking the bakery window as I walk past.

Currently watching: I have Fairy Tail on while I'm working around the house. Doing a rewatch of White Collar during husband/dinner time while we wait for Lego Masters to start airing.

Current favorite character: INUYASHA, MY GOODEST BOY! (And Natsu. The NaLu surges within me, demanding to be unleashed.)

Current WIPs: DROWN ME IN GUILT ALREADY. The Art of Falling in Tandem--still being worked on. Inu/Kag are awkwardly frozen in mid-boning. Reversebang project--lost a chunk of work during a phone transfer, but at least it's short (for me) and I know where I'm going. The Fixer, An Unusual Inheritance (working title) and a Secret Project. And a mysterious document containing only the words, "Dey fuq." Eloquence at its finest.

I'm Oprah tagging. There's a tag for you! ANother tag for you! You see this? you're tagged.

Currents 🌊

Tagged by: @justafewsmallsteps, thank you! I love tag games! 🤩

current time: 11:47a.m and I'm running face first towards lunchtime!

current mood: Like I'm being chased by slow-moving tigers. +1 for Anxiety

current activity: Entertaining the offspring (school's out for summer) but only when he wants it, ofc 😒 #mothersontap

currently thinking about: Vampires. look-

current favorite song: Oh dear. All of them. But according to Spotify, my top listened to track this month is Goodbye by Ramsey, which is, you know, A Moment in Arcane: LoL T.T

currently reading: Yellowface by R. F. Kuang

currently watching: My back. The Witcher Season 3 just dropped and I'm avoiding spoilers like the show runners are avoiding questions (But I also just watched both Spideyverse moovees and they're 11/10 would recommend shwing)

current favorite character: Inuyasha. Kagome. Inuyasha. No, Kagome. No, it's Inuyasha. Mmmmm, it might be Kagome. Help

current WIPs:

The third annual InuKag Anime-Only-Jewel-Void-Kiss IYRedraw

There are a dozen on rotation at any given time, but right now I'm punching to finish the last few chapters of As Per My Last Email

Technically, technically, the Incomplete's™ over on AO3. Technically!

Tagging: @iam-jacks-redacted-information @fiddlespoons @sin-and-punishment @eowynwise @superpixie42 @coquinespike and anyone else that wants to join!

[urimaginespimp]

His Hidden Gem pt 2

Alfie Solomons x Reader – to the rest of the world, well excluding Thomas of course, he was dead. That was until Tommy had an unexpected visitor who claims to be his wife.

Read part 1 here

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“Margate? I bet he hates it there.” You commented, riding shotgun next to a driving Mr. Shelby.

He didn’t comment, but a ghost of a smile appeared on his face. He had to admit, at first, he didn’t quite see how you and Alfie managed to be married for seven years, but after listening to your ramblings while on your drive, he could see it now.

Your demeanor screamed dainty and rich. And yes, you are rich, but also near as crazy as Alfie.

“How long have you known that he’s alive?” You asked.

“When he sent me a letter asking me how Cyril was, though I doubt he remembers doing so.” He recalled. “And come to think of it now, he did also ask if the talks about his death was all the news people of Camden had about him. I think he was trying to know if people had discovered about your marriage.”

“Please enlighten me Mrs. Solomons, on how you both met.” Curiosity got the best of him.

You couldn’t stop your smile at the memory.

“Well if you must know, I was set to be betrothed to a man whose bare bottom only touched the finest of fabrics…” Thomas snorted at this. “I refused, saying I didn’t want to spend my life papmered next to a grown baby’s powdered bum all my life, got cut off and was left with practically nothing.”  You both chuckled.

“I ended up in Camden town, and intended to steal some bread in this poorly lit bakery, but ended up in a bargain with this weirdly attractive man, that he’d find me a place to stay if I go out for dinner with him. Three months later we got married. But because we chose to keep it secret, it was always just secret visits in each other’s places.”

“I rarely give compliments, Y/N. But I admire you for taking matters into your own hands in finding the truth. Even though seven months is a long time.”

“We all crave certainty.” You simply answered. There was a reason why it took you that long. And they were left in Camden under the care of a good friend who had no clue who their father was.

And If you had to be honest, you were trying to calm your nerves. You thank the universe that your husband is alive, but given how he’s gone so long without even trying to reach out, the question whether he’d still want you lingered.

“Should I just have settled with the information that he is alive?” You whispered to yourself.

“You’ll never know unless you actually go talk to him.” Thomas answered, having heard what you’ve said. “And you should, because I’m a stubborn gypsy man who rarely does favors, but I did this for the wife of a man who’s been a dick to me once or twice. Consider this opportunity lucky.”

“Why are you helping me then?”

“Well I’m not as heartless as I may seem. I once had a wife I dearly love before she took a bullet for me.” You offered your sympathy, and he continued. “Plus, I’m curious about seeing the Alfie Solomons possibly getting hit from a woman as small as you are.” He smirked at the thought, and you smiled in return.

“We never laid a hand on each other, Mr. Shelby. Not unless one asked to.” Thomas coughed at what you insinuated, but was clearly amused. “Though I might just need to slap this one out later.”

You didn’t know at which part of the long drive you fell asleep, but the next thing you know, Thomas Shelby was trying to wake you up.

“Oi lady.” He was waving a hand in front of your face for who knows how long. “I believe you have a husband to confront.”

Composing yourself, you slowly got out of the car. You were in the driveway of his house. From outside it was decent. Might even be a lot better than where Alfie was living in Camden.

Once you were both by the front door, you were starting to panic.

“You do think I’m making the right decisions, right?”

“I think a man who has chosen to be presumed dead without telling his wife owes her an explanation.” He nodded.

Mr. Shelby took to initiative to knock. Followed by another. And another one.

“Who are you and what the fuck do you want?” you heard your husband’s voice and his footsteps approaching.

“It’s Thomas. I brought you one of your treasures left in Camden.” He didn’t give you away, not risking not even getting the door opened.

Alfie swung the door open. “What the hell are you ta-…”  he faltered once he saw you standing next to Thomas.

You were also frozen in place.

Tommy was looking back and forth the both of you, probably waiting for the said slap to happen. You were too shocked, looking at your husbands face. Half of it now sits with scars, and an eye that was now missing the blue you love staring into.

“Y/N?” Mr. Shelby asked. This thankfully brought you back to your senses.

“Well how the hell am I to slap him if his face looks like that?!” You yelled, still looking at Alfie.

“Well he was the one who shot me on the face you admire so much, luv.” Alfie answered, still intensely staring at you. You snapped your head at Thomas, who brought his arms up in defense and started backing away.

“He asked me to.” He defended. “I think I’ll wait in the car. You two sort your marital stuff.”

Now left alone with each other, he gestured for you to come in and you obliged. But as soon as he closed the door behind him, you have thrown your shoe at the wall at his side.

“Luv, I-“

“What the fuck, Alfie?!” You yelled at him, your voice trembling. “You have the audacity to fucking call me that after not even reaching out? What, did you like your new house here so much, you forgot you had a wife?!”

Like a treacherous bitch, hot tears started spilling on your face. Alfie still stood by the closed door, looking at anywhere but you.

“If you didn’t want me anymore, the least you could’ve done was tell me.” No, out of all the scenarios you could’ve imagined, you never imagined yourself to be the first one to break upon seeing him again. But here you were. A mess.

“Of course, I still love you.” That was all he could barely whisper.

“You have a minute to tell me everything, Alfie Solomons, or you’d be dead to me forever.” You were still crying angry tears, but the determination on your face scared Alfie to the core. He knew you were dead serious.  

He started pacing back and forth while your eyes followed. He wasn’t trying to come up with an excuse, but was rather trying to figure out where to start.

A moment had passed and you took it as your cue to leave. Sighing in defeat, you shook your head and was about to head out the door forever when he caught your arm.

“I didn’t want to burden you, okay? I- I was feeling a little funny and one day I went to the doctor and he said I had this fucker called cancer.” You were frozen on your spot, looking at him, bewildered at the revelation.

“Now how could I be a good husband when I couldn’t even take care of my fucking self.” He looked away when a tear started to fall.

It was rare for your beast of a husband to shed a tear - he dreaded showing that side of him. So you knew that news of his illness really took a toll on him.

“Oh,  Alfie…” You whispered, softly cupped his scarred face.

“I didn’t marry you to become what I refused to marry into years ago. You know how much I love you. You were never and will never be a burden to us.” He finally took you in his arms.

“Us?” He caught on what you said, a glimmer on his face.

“Don’t worry my love, I tell the twins about you all the time.” You smiled at the thought of how Alfie would be a mush of a father to them.

“You were pregnant?” He pulled away and started to wiped away your tears with his thumb.

“I was three months long when you disappeared. I was hoping to find you sooner, but I just gave birth a month ago.”

“No, Y/N , I’m the one that’s sorry.” He insisted, showering your face with pecks.

“You’re going to be a great father, love.” You smiled at him.

“But half of the face you love so much is all gone now too. Hell, how am I even supposed to look after twins when I only have one seeing eye?” He stated, making you chuckle.

“Well lucky for you, I actually think the scar makes you even more attractive.” You smiled, touching them. “As for the eye, you have me. I never said you have to take care of them both at once.” You both chuckled.

“I'd hate to admit it, but I owe Thomas Shelby.” He answered and you nodded in agreement.

“We should probably invite him in, luv. We’re starting to seem rude leaving the king of Birmingham outside.” You chuckled.

“You know..." He started, tucking loose har beehind your ear. "I once said that hell would look like Margate, but I think it would actually be lovely if we finally settle here and have a place to call our own. No more sneaking around, no secret visits.”

“I'd love that.” You answered pulling him down for a kiss.

“Life is so much easier to deal with when you are dead.” He whispered.

[bluesfortheredj]

Grigor the lover.

Smut ahead.

The women in the court could be cruel. Mostly to Catherine since she arrived, but occasionally they’d turn their attentions back to you; making snide comments about how you didn’t quite fit in to their group, or how your choices of gown were limited due to the amount of time it would take to make you one simply because you were little larger than most of them. You didn’t take much notice of them in all honesty because not only did you have a man who completely worshipped your body, but a few other admirers of it as well, including Peter… unfortunately.

“Peter has summoned us,” Grigor says quietly as he joins you at the window in the main hallway.

Your breath fogs up the glass and you draw an unhappy face in the cloud of white before turning to him and pouting exaggeratedly much to his amusement.

“I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he smiles.

“How?”

“I can’t possibly reveal such things.”

“Grigor,” you whine as you slide your hands up his coat, “please.”

He rolls his eyes at your needy whine that he is powerless to resist but before he can divulge the dirty details of exactly how he’d make it up to you Peter is suddenly at your side with a ridiculous grin on his face as he stares down at your ample bosom before looking up at the window.

“Hello! Oh! Someone’s drawn a face on the window… ha! How odd. Right, come on you two, I need your help.”

He pushes his way between your bodies and links his arms through yours as he marches you both to his dining room where a glorious spread is awaiting you. This was certainly one of the few advantages to being so close to Peter; you had access to the finest food, drink, and fabrics available to him and it was worth the ogling and leering. Peter would encourage you to relax when in his and Grigor’s company such as letting your hair down, loosening your dress, kicking off your shoes… You knew what he was after, as did Grigor, and you let Peter have his eye full of your curvy figure but never anything more, and it seemed to satisfy his lust for you quite well, as well as having quite the effect on your husband who was eager to remind you who you belonged to as soon as you returned to your apartment.

“(Y/N), I insist, as your Emperor, that you forgo any formalities and simply act as if you were in your own sitting room,” Peter smiles as he takes his seat at the head of the table.

You look over at Grigor and give him a wink, “but Peter, if I were to do that I would be sat in Grigor’s lap warming his length inside of me.”

“What a wonderful thought!” Peter exclaims.

Grigor looks up from his food with a confused frown before directing his bemusement towards his friend, and Peter quickly shakes his head at him.

“Not with you, obviously,” he scoffs, “with me! Grigor, tell me what it’s like watching those breasts bounce in front of you when she’s on top.”

“Oh, well, it’s...” he drops his fork and lifts his hands up as if grabbing onto your chest, “it’s absolutely glorious. I mean, there they are, so full and round…” his fingers flex to signify a squeezing motion, “I’m hard just thinking about it to be honest.”

“As am I!” Peter agrees, shifting around in his seat.

You didn’t mind the men chatting like this, you were used to it, and Grigor only indulged Peter’s fantasies because he knew it would keep him from making a move on you, as it could be detrimental to you both if you were to refuse him. Your eyes stay transfixed on your husband as he smiles shyly across the table at you and you have to fight every muscle in your body to stay seated and not walk around to be with him. Grigor talks to Peter but all you can hear is his side of the conversation as you watch his lips move and his hands gesticulate along with his words while his gaze returns to yours for a split second every so often. You were obsessed with the man, completely and utterly consumed by him, and whenever you were with him it was as if the rest of the world didn’t even exist; it was just the two of you in your own little universe.

“Grigor, I’m suddenly feeling very unwell,” you gasp, bringing your hand up to your chest as you feign illness, “may we go back to the apartment?”

“Of course!” Grigor nods, pushing his chair out and making his way to your side of the table.

“Oh, I do hope you feel better soon,” Peter frowns with concern as he watches Grigor help you to your feet, “do let me know if you need anything.”

“We will, thank you,” Grigor replies as you head towards the door.

It’s not long until you’re back in the privacy of your own domain and you drop the act as soon as you’re through the door; pulling loose the lacing of your dress and letting it fall to the floor as you stand there looking at your husband with a devilish smile on your lips.

“You were pretending?” he laughs.

“I want you,” you exhale softly, “I want you so much.”

Grigor takes a sharp inhale of breath as you allow part of your slip dress to fall from your shoulder, pulling the neckline down and teasing him with a glimpse of your soft skin. He falters as he opens his mouth to speak but is unable to form any words, let alone a sentence, but then he blinks twice in quick succession and finally engages his brain.

“Sit on my face,” he says softly.

“What?!” you question, hoping you heard him right.

“I want to lay down on the bed then have you lower yourself right onto my face,” he explains slowly as your mouth falls open at the prospect.

“Grigor, I-”

“I want to feel your swollen lips on my mouth, your supple backside resting on my chest, your thighs tensing around me as you soak my tongue with your arousal.”

Your mind fails you so a light whimper escapes from your lips instead of anything coherent and you almost rip your undergarments from your body as Grigor swiftly undresses and assumes his position on your shared bed. His words made you dizzy with lust and you slowly crawl up the bed beside him as he licks his lips in anticipation; those inviting pink lips that you can’t resist kissing before you straddle his upper body in preparation. His hands guide your legs forwards until all he can see when he looks up are your glistening folds hovering above him, then he slides his arms around your thighs and pulls you down to his already open mouth. Your hands reach out for the top of the headboard as you let out an almighty moan at the feel of Grigor lapping lengths of your slit over and over again before slipping his tongue inside you and sucking along your folds until he reaches your sensitive nub; it was overwhelming.

“Grigor,” you whine, “oh my god, Grigor!”

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly you feel yourself tensing up as his mouth eats you like it was his last meal, and you look past your stomach to see him with his eyes closed, enjoying every second of it almost as much as you were. His fingers dig into the soft skin of your thighs when you try and lift yourself when the sensation becomes too much and he keeps you held tightly in place as your whimpers and pants become faster and more desperate.

“I can’t… I’m going to…” a screech follows your stuttered words as your muscles release before they begin to pulsate vigorously while Grigor continues to swirl his tongue around, and you soon realise that he has no intention of letting you go yet.

His teeth graze along your enlarged lips making you shiver above him, then he begins to lavish relentless attention on your stiff button that’s now white hot with pleasurable pain, and you’re very vocal with each movement his tongue makes; alternating circling motions with pressing against it with varying pressures. Your hands are gripping the headboard so tightly now that you’re sure they’re about tear a chunk of it off while you pant Grigor’s name as another climax builds quickly. Sweat is beading on your body by the time you orgasm again and Grigor hums happily as he delves his tongue inside your soaked walls and feels your juices coating it. When he finally releases his grip and you carefully move to sit next to him you get to see just how red and swollen his lips are, and the skin around his mouth is shining with a mix of his saliva and your arousal.

“Kiss me,” you whisper as he goes to wipe his face clean.

He smiles as he lowers his arm back down and you lean over him to press your lips to his so you can capture the sweet and salty taste that surrounds his mouth, and your tongue sweeps across his chin as your hand travels down from his neck to his stiff member that stands proud from his body.

“Grigor… can I ask you something?”

“Anything.”

You lean on one elbow as you pull away from him, still stroking his length slowly and circling his tip with your thumb, “will you fuck my mouth while you spank me?”

His body twitches at your question and his eyes grow wide.

“Ye… Yes (Y/N),” he nods.

You smile and bite down gently on your lower lip as you turn your body towards where your other hand is, then lift a leg over his body once more before flicking your tongue over the small pool of secretions that had already gathered at his tip and slowly parting your lips as you take him in your mouth. The sound of him whimpering at your touch sends excitement flowing through your veins and he manages to lift his hands to your thick thighs here he runs them up and down the smooth skin before lifting one hand and bringing it down with a loud slap on your arse cheek. It jolts you forward and your eyes water as his member moves to the back of your throat, then he begins to lift his hips off of the bed as you find a comfortable position to stay in, and he fucks you hard and fast as your saliva drips down his length when he sets off your gag reflex.

“You’re taking me so well,” he pants, “I’m not going to last long.”

You move your lips back a little so that your teeth graze along his pulsing veins ever so slightly, then you reach forwards to his soft sack and massage it gently which earns a loud groan from behind you, and you feel another sharp smack that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head at the sensation. The breathing through your nose just about manages to keep up with the sucking you’re doing and the faster he thrusts, the faster his palms rain down on your cheeks, and then he pushes three fingers inside of you as he continues to spank you with his other hand. You hum around his cock as you begin to move your body back and forth to the rhythm of his fingers, and the vibrations that run along his member only push him further to the edge until a couple of minutes later he stills inside your mouth, pushing you to the limit with how deep he is inside you, and releases his seed with a groan of your name.

“Stay where you are,” he exhales as you swallow what he gave you and lift your head from his length.

His fingers continue to pump inside you as his thumb now rubs around your overly sensitive nub, and the smacks that alternate between your cheeks leave pleasurable stings on your skin that are in such a contrast to the pleasure you’re feeling inside. You have to lean your head down on his thigh as the sensation becomes too much for you to handle, and you end up a panting mess when you climax for the third time; rolling off of his body very unceremoniously and landing in a sweaty heap. He chuckles as he looks at your exhausted frame, then kisses his way up from your thighs to your stomach pouch, then up to your breasts and finally to your lips.

“You’re incredible,” he whispers as he rubs your stomach lovingly, “you’re perfect.”

“And I’m all yours,” you grin.

could you write some kinky grigor smut? &

Can I request a plus size reader and grigor?

[thiswasinevitableid]

11. Centaur Indruck (maybe specifically Duck) rating up to you

Here you go! I went with SFW, and a western theme just for fun.

It’s only May, but the desert air is hot and dry, will only get more so as the summer spreads across the mountains. The sun drives Duck to the stream running down the hill, it’s banks shaded by cottonwoods. Pa Newton sent him in search of flowers for the table; it’s Ma Newton’s birthday, and her husband is determined to make it perfect. 

“I only get so much time away from the mines, best make the most of it.”

Duck knows just what to pick. Lupines and Daisies will make the perfect bouquet. He spies a clump of daisies, lowers himself to the ground, taking care not to crush too many as he sits. There’s a scuff of rock as grey-brown dust lands on his shoulder. He looks up, expecting a jackrabbit or maybe even a deer, and finds a human staring down at him. 

The boy must be about his age, his pale hair falling about a face that’s as skinny as the rest of him. His clothes look fancy, which is at odds with the tear in the knee and smudges on his cheeks. Brown eyes are watery as they stare back at Duck, and he suspects his hands are over his mouth because he was crying and didn’t want Duck to hear him. 

“Uh, howdy.” He waves. Instead of waving back, the boy seems more alarmed. 

Maybe he’s never seen a centaur before?

Duck tries again, “You lost? I’m goin back up to town real soon, and if I can’t help you, my folks can.”

The boy sniffs, “I’m not lost. I’m hiding.”

“From what?” Duck gathers up his daisies, spots lupine near the rock where the boy is perching. 

“Other boys in town. I hate it here, hate how hard it is to breathe, hate the dust, hate how there’s odd things like centaurs and cactus cats out here-”

“Hey!”

The boy winces so intensely Duck regrets yelling, “Apologies. I just, I wish we’d never left the city.”

That explains the clothes. Duck, at eleven years old, knows very little about the town economy. But he knows that while the silver is found in the mines around his home, the money runs down hill to Carson City.

“How come you did?”

“Father got a new job at the bank. Why are you here?” He cocks his head. 

“‘Cause my family’s lived in these parts for six generations.”

“No, I meant by the water.”

“Oh. Uh, pickin flowers for my mama.”

“Don’t let the other boys see you. If they broke my glasses for drawing flowers, I don’t think they’ll be too kind to you.”

Duck shrugs, “I ain’t scared of them. And there ain’t nothin wrong with drawin flowers.” Bouquet finished, he stands, the boy’s eyes widening as he registers the differences in their shapes. 

“You wanna walk up the hill with me?”

“Yes, please.” 

As the trek back to the dusty streets of Virginia City, he learns the human is called Indrid, and that he’s much more talkative than his initial reticence implied. They’re mid discussion of the caterpillars Indrid is raising when they reach a fine, three story house. Indrid bids Duck good afternoon. Duck asks him to wait, takes a lupine from the bouquet, and tucks it safely into the buttonhole on his jacket. 

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“Want some?” Duck holds out a biscuit from his lunch pail. Indrid takes it, scarfing it down in one go.

“Hungry?” Duck teases, sipping from his canteen. 

“Enough to eat a horse.” Indrid grins as his friend clutches his sides, laughing. He’d used the turn of phrase accidentally two weeks ago, then tried to cover it with a joke about only if the horse was willing, which only made his friend guffaw and wheeze harder. Now, whenever one of them needs to crack the other up, they mention eating horses.

They’re fourteen, and have spent the better part of the summer working on the Newton Ranch. Duck’s father, after a very close call in the silver mines, decided to extend his time above ground by running an egg and dairy supply for the town. Indrid convinced his father that it was good for a young man to earn a living with his hands during his youth, as it would make him strong and healthy. Mr. Cold, with a little assurance from Mrs. Newton that she would make sure the boys didn’t loaf about, agreed.Mrs. Newton is a woman of her word. Here he is wind-burnt and tan, sweat running down his back and callouses forming on his hands. 

He’d do double the work if it meant staying near Duck. Duck’s parents seem to suspect this, and some combination of them wanting their son to be happy and wanting to earn the good graces of a wealthy family leads them to give the boys time to rest or wander about the farm after dinner before sending Indrid on his way. 

It’s during one such evening circuit, on the far edge of the property, that Indrid finds a chipmunk burrow with his foot. The pain in his ankle sends him to the ground. 

“Ow.”

“Shit. Can you stand at all?”

Indrid tries it and sits right back down, “No. I guess we’ll have to go very, very slow on the way back so I can hobble, and pray another hole doesn’t take out my left foot as well.”

Duck flicks his tail, “I mean, if you wanna take all night, sure. But, uh, what if I give you a ride?”

Indrid blinks at him in the twilight. Riding a centaur is Not Done; the centaurs find it insulting, and humans view it as scandalous. 

“You won’t get in trouble, I promise, and I’ll go slow.”

He nods and the centaur kneels, the human clambering awkwardly onto his back. 

“Duck? Where do I put my hands?”

“Huh. Around my shoulders, maybe? Yeah, that don’t mess up my balance none.”

Indrid presses himself to Duck’s back, marveling at the strength in the muscles moving beneath him.

“You know” he murmurs into Duck’s hair, “I’m awfully tempted to say giddyup or some such nonsense.”

“You do and I’ll buck you off and leave you for the coyotes.”

“You can buck me anytime.”

Duck calls his bluff by giving the world’s smallest buck. Indrid yelps, then cackles into his shoulders as Duck trots forward, the two of them laughing into the desert night. 

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“Blasted mosquitos” Indrid waves his sketchbook in the summer air. At sixteen, he’s taken to wearing red spectacles and black clothing. This style, combined with the sharp angles of his face, leads more than a few people in town to say he looks sinister. 

Duck thinks he’s dashing. Not that he spends much time looking, not at all. Indrid is such a constant in his life that he hardly notices the changes as they age. Except when Indrid smiles at him in a secretive way or when, as he did yesterday, he strips down to nothing for a swim in the river. 

“Maybe they’re mad you ain’t drawin them.” Duck reaches into the cool water, picking up several stones just right for skipping. 

“But I have. I used my magnifying glass to make a detailed sketch of one last week.”

“Jesus, ‘Drid, is there anythin you ain’t drawn at this point?” The stone skips five times

“Well….I haven’t drawn you.”

“You’ve drawn me plenty.” Six skips this time, not bad.

“I mean in the, ah, traditional sense.”

Ker-plunk

The stone sinks in one as Duck looks over at his friend. 

“You already have your shirt off. Even with the wrap gone, I, ah, I couldn’t see, that is, only if you want to.” He sighs, “I’m not expressing this well. What I mean is that you have the finest form of any human or centaur I know. I would like to capture it, try to do it justice. If, if you’ll let me?”

Duck stands, grabs the strap of the wrap covering his lower, “You’re hard to say no to, ‘Drid.”

“You can if you...need...to.” Indrid follows the fabrics path to the ground, then fixes his eyes on Duck as he lowers himself into a comfortable position. 

“This good?”

“Extremely.” The human’s gaze fights to stay clinical as it scans him, rough outlines of his body forming on the paper. Soon, Indrid is engrossed in the illustration, though whenever they lock eyes or he glances at Duck’s chest or hindquarters, he goes pink. 

Duck whistles, tracks the songbirds hopping from tree to tree. His friend doffs his jacket, rolls the sleeves of his white shirt up as sunbeams scatter through the trees.

“You really are handsome.” Indrid murmurs, “you know that, right?”

“Heard as much from folks now and then. But you sayin’ it is a, uh, interestin development. Almost like you’re tryin to tell me somethin.” His voice catches between teasing and earnest, afraid moving too far one way or the other will scare his friend away.

“I...I need to get closer, to capture some details.” He slides off the rock to sit on his knees near Duck’s chest. The half-finished drawing peeks out from the paper, it’s perspective too far away for Indrid’s current examination to be of any use to it. 

“What details are you hopin’ to capture?” Duck pushes pale hair out of Indrid’s eyes.

“I, ah, the dapples just here, and this line, oh to hell with it.” He lunges into a kiss, so eager he nearly knocks Duck sideways. The centaur snickers, cups his face as ink-stained fingers thread into his hair. Indrid licks into his mouth, messy and unpracticed. Duck holds him there tames the frantic exploration down to something more refined but no less hungry. By the time they separate, Indrid’s face is bright red and Duck’s lips are sore. 

“‘Drid?” He brushes their noses together, runs his palms soothingly up and down a rumpled white shirt. 

“I’ve wanted that for so long.” Indrid sighs, curling closer in spite of the heat. Holding him like this, able to inhale his sweat and aftershave and feel his heartbeat, Duck understands there’s no going back. There is no pretending not to know, not to see the way Indrid looks at him. Which is fine by Duck; he loves Indrid Cold, and he doesn’t plan on stopping any time soon.

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Duck is twenty years old when he learns that joy and heartbreak can exist in one body without ripping it apart. This is a pity, since he’d prefer bifurcation to the sorrow on Indrid’s face. 

“I’m sorry, Duck. I have to stay here and take over the bank, even though following you west is all I want to do.”

Two months ago, a friendly man stopped while Duck was tending the garden outside city hall and chatted with him for the better part of an hour as the centaur worked. The man turned out to be a millionaire with a massive estate mid-way up the California coast, including parts of a forest he wished to maintain but keep wild. He offered Duck the role of head gardener and arborist, and the contract was signed a week ago. The centaur assumed, from his active encouragement and celebration, that Indrid was coming with him on this once-in-a-lifetime chance. 

“I’ll send a wire, tell ‘em I gotta back out.”

“You will do no such thing.”

“Seems to me you don’t get a say in that.” 

“Duck, please” Indrid sets his left hand on his shoulder, right clenched at his side, “please do not cast your future aside on my account. Just because I have to stay here doesn’t mean you do.”

“Why do you have to stay at all?”

“I’ve been groomed to take my fathers’ place for years. I’m not sure there’s a way out of that, not one that I can see. Sometimes, fate is not in our favor.”

“Fuck fate.” He stops his front hoof.

“Here, you might need this out in California” Indrid lifts his fist, intending to give what it contains back to Duck, as the centaur placed the item there not even five minutes ago. 

Duck stops his hand, wraps his own around it, “No. I know the man for me is right here.”

“As do I” Indrids voice is tight. When his face drops against Duck’s chest, it’s damp with tears.

“Then he better write to me to let me know how he’s gettin on. And if he” Duck swallows around the painful possibility in his throat, “if he ever changes his mind, all he’s gotta do is send it back to me in a letter.”

Indrid slips his hand into his pants pocket, “Understood.”

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

“Duck!” Leo, one of Mr. Greenbanks two bodyguards, hails Duck from the mansions’ patio, “come on in a second, someone Mr. G wants you to meet.”

The centaur wipes his hands and trots briskly up the path to the house, droplets of fog strung through his hair. Most days he likes the peace and quiet of his work, but today he’s not in a contemplative mood; Indrid’s last letter was two weeks ago, when they usually come once a week if not more. Illness doesn’t stop him, he simply asks a friend in town to take down and post the letters. 

Once he’s certain he won’t track mud into the house, Duck makes his way towards the voices in the parlor. He must be more heartsick than usual today, because that voice sounds like-

“Ah, Duck, here you are. This is Mr. Indrid Cold, a talented young artist who will be illustrating my various scientific writings. And,” Mr. Greenbank winks, “will have the honor of being in charge of any artistic endeavors at the Academy of Sciences.”

Indrid extends his hand. Duck kisses it out of habit, notes his employers' perplexed expression an instant too late. 

“It’s a, uh, an old, uh, centaur custom--no, fuck, it’s-”

“We are well known to each other.” Indrid smiles his most genteel smile.

“Splendid! I’m hoping to draw up extensive records of my arboretum, so it’s good you two get along.”

“Indeed.” Indrid tips his head, then turns his attention away from Duck, “where would you like me to unpack my things?”

Duck leaves them to their logistics, stunned. Indrid not only being here, but acting distant after six months apart raises so many questions that he wants to lay down in the flowerbeds and holler until someone answers them. 

He busies himself among forest wildflowers instead, wondering why Indrid never mentioned he was applying for that position. 

“I hope this explains the gap in my communication.” Indrid, shivering near a tree-trunk, pulls out a handkerchief and wipes his glasses, “I didn’t want to tell you my plans for fear they’d fall through and make you all the more disappointed. Also, the journey here was rather chaotic due to an attempted train robbery. All that is to say I’m sorry if I caused you any distress.”

“Yeah, you did” Duck sets down his tools, “but it was so fuckin worth it.” He yanks the human into an embrace, kisses him until his glasses are all askew. Indrid moans, slipping his fingers under the hem of his work shirt to stroke the band where skin meets fur. 

“What happened to fate?” Duck nips his jaw.

“As someone I know so eloquently put it: fuck fate.”

“Smart fella.”

“He is.” Indrid pulls back, mapping Ducks’ body with his hands, “And I also have something for him.” The human tucks a sprig of Lupines-- weighed down with a silver engagement ring--into Duck’s shirt pocket.

“You said sending it with a letter meant the end of things. By that same token, delivering it in person signals their beginning, yes?”

“Yeah.” Duck kisses him, soft as the lifting fog, “guess we better tell Mr. Greenbank he can just let you stay in my cottage.”

“Indeed. May I, ah, see this lovely abode?”

“Right this way. You want me to give you a ride.”

Indrid shakes his head, simply takes Duck’s hand and falls into step beside him, “No. I suspect there will be plenty of opportunities for, ah, riding later. After all, I’m here to stay.

[m0chisenpai]

Hong Kong Garden

Oberyn Martell x young!Reader x Ellaria Sand

Chapter 1

Warnings: None

Word Count: 1,969

Oberyn Martell loved a party. He flourished in them and frequented them often as well. But this one in particular made him bitter. He would love nothing more than to leave and return to his home beneath the sun where his paramour and beloved Sands were. Ellaria was forced to stay in Dorne while his brother Doran practically dragged him to the celebration of House Tyrell’s youngest lady. 

The celebration took place not in Highgarden but in another castle not far from the home of the Tyrell family. Lord Mathias Tyrell sat beside his brother and mother overlooking the festivities of his daughter's celebration. Acrobats twisted their bodies on raised platforms, Fools made groups of nobles chortle, a glorious feast was spread for the taking, and tables filled with riches and treasures were piled high for the young Lady Tyrell.

The young woman was to turn 20 on her Name Day, but Oberyn had no desire to spare any kindness to the roses. Oberyn didn’t even spare the girl a glance nor catch a glimpse of her. According to his brother they needed to show some courtesy as they were there for much more than a celebration. They were there for diplomacy to seal the rift between the Tyrells and Martells. 

When his brother cut him from her bitter thoughts Oberyn looked from his cup of wine.

“What did you say?”

Doran exhaled through his nose, “I said have you paid your respects to Lady Y/N?”

“Is it not your job as the oldest to partake in diplomacy?”

“It is much more than diplomacy, Oberyn. The girl did not choose to be born of roses, give her just a bit of your kindness.”

And with a childish whine and heavy sigh Oberyn approached the Tyrell’s table which seemed to overlook the many others. Damn his brother for his wisdom. 

“Prince Oberyn”

“Lady Olenna” he bowed to the older woman one arm behind his back “I wish to give wishes and blessings to the young Lady of the house.”

“Ah, you have just missed her. She ran off in the gardens again, I’ll have her fetched for.” Her father spoke up this time over a glass of wine. Lord Mathias lived up to the rumors of being the living embodiment of greed. His fingers adorned with intricate rings, his robes made of the finest silks with intricate golden designs on red fabric. 

“Allow me to retrieve her then perhaps?”

“And just what are you intending if you find my daughter Prince Oberyn?” The dark haired maiden finally spoke up. She was nearly as beautiful as his dear paramour with skin just as bronze only a shade darker, and her curly hair tamed into a high bun with intricate hair ornaments. 

Unlike her husband she gave the young Prince a warm smile which he returned. 

“Hopefully bestow upon her a simple  blessing for her name day my lady.” Oberyn Martell bowed his head in respects as one of the servant boys led him to the entrance of the garden.

The garden was its own unique maze of beautiful plants and flowers that flourished under the warm sun. Had the young prince’s heart not been bitter with hatred for the family he would come to love this castle of the Reach.  A hand unconsciously brushed against one of the flower delicate petals and he uprooted the flower holding it to his nose and releasing it upon hearing hushed voices.

A bell like laugh accompanied by light moans led the prince to what he could only assume to be the heart of the garden. The servant boy bowed to the prince and quickly left. A beautiful fountain made of stone with delicate patterns and two statues of goddess-like women in the middle. And in front of this beautiful fountain was the young Lady of this castle. 

To say Lady Y/N was a mere Tyrell would be an insult. Yes the young Martell hated everything living being bearing the last name Tyrell, but it was hard to believe this beautiful, young, vibrant creature shared the last name. 

The young woman was a nymph. Little flowers stuck in her beautiful thick curls, her skin looked to be blessed by the very suns of Dorne like her mothers, and her beautiful plump lips were ensnared by a woman far from her age. Her fingers curled into the young Tyrell’s curls. For a moment he imagined the pasty elder woman was his beautiful Ellaria. Her nimble fingers curled into the young Tyrell’s hair. Her gleaming eyes gazing into Oberyn who would watch with hungry eyes.

“My lady please” Lady Tyrell’s gasps ended his fantasies. Oje would blindly assume Lady Tyrell was truly indulging in this mysterious maidens lips, but truth be told he could see far from it. Her face was blank, not a crease to her brow and those light gasps and moans were far from real pleasure. The woman’s lips nipped at the base of her neck leaving very faint dark marks and stopped at a delicate lace blue ribbon that was pulled by her skillful lips pooling in the young girl's lap.

“Hush now darling girl, allow me to bestow this gift unto you” The elder lady kissed her way back to her lips. Her hands slid a small jewelry box into the nymphs lap catching her attention. She lifted it and the young Tyrel lifted out a necklace adorned by diamonds glistening in the sun. 

“Diamonds” her eyes glistened at the sparkling jewelry, “my lady, you didn’t have to! ”

“What better way to celebrate the turning of a new age.” She slid the necklace around the girl's neck pecking along her shoulders as she did so “and not only this. I have plenty more to come in just two weeks time.”

Lady Tyrell gasped, pressing her hand against her diamond covered chest, “you spoil me.” She wasn’t complaining. She loved her Name Day for it was a day she got to enjoy watching lords and lady’s turn into mere mindless fools throwing treasure upon treasure at her feet to get a mere fraction of her affection. She had more than enough diamonds to spare. But what’s the harm in building her collection? Her mother took to taking care of the gardens to satiate her boredom, she just happened to collect hearts and diamonds for her own amusement. 

“No my dear girl you spoil me. Now enjoy your date of birth darling girl. My father awaits me.” With one last kiss the woman stood leaving Lady Tyrell alone in front of the fountain looking through the sparking gems.

Finally Oberyn stepped out after calling the beating in his chest, and trying to ignore the fire in the pit to this stomach “Lady Tyrell.”

“Lord Martell” quickly slid the jewelry box off her lap and fussed with the collar of her dress as the man stopped in front of the young girl. She’d been caught twice, both by her grandmother who cared little about her granddaughter being caught with a woman in bed. 

Today would be the first time she was caught, and not scolded. Instead the Martell gave her a smile which she was wary of. She knew men liked pretty things. And she knew men knew how to get everything their gluttonous little hearts desired.

“Please, Oberyn when it is just the two of us.” With a smile she patted the stone of the mountain and Oberyn took her invitation to sit beside her on the fountain. His hands carefully scooped the discarded ribbon stuffing them into the pockets of his trousers. 

“As you wish then, Oberyn” she tilted her head to look up at him “I thought your older brother bestowed his gift. The wine of Dorne tastes like a gift from the gods.”

“Ah yes, I unfortunately was not able to witness your tasting of it yet.”

“Perhaps you shall soon I’ve yet to taste it” she grinned looking back into the water where she watched a loose petal drift into the water. 

“You indulge in the delights of the gods I see.” 

She tilted her head to gaze up at the prince through full eyelashes, “should I not? I am of ripe breeding age as my father likes to remind me. Soon I will be married off to an old fool to be his treasure. Until that day comes I must have my own fill until I am bound to another” Though her words were solemn she held no fear, no anger, no sadness. Just a smile as she observed a pair of diamond earrings in the glowing sunlight.

She knew she was doomed to a loveless marriage. But she never feared it because she would merely amuse her fool of a husband in exchange for every single thing her heart desired while she found warmth in the arms of many lovers. Her grandmother had been preparing her for this day since she had her first flowering and her body blossomed from a childs to a woman’s body. She taught her how to turn from stable boys and milk maids to Lords and Lady’s and get much more than a quick fuck. She learned how to receive gorgeous silks, secret bonds, and beauties from the Seven Kingdoms in exchange for warmth in her bed and her lips keeping the secrets she knew from falling into the wrong hands.

“You would love Done. There one is free to love whoever and how many one chooses, and follow their own hearts desires” as he spoke the girl's eyes briefly met Oberyn’s “I wonder what your heart desires.”

“Love is temporary, and for fools” She returned the jewels back into the box “no one will truly be able to fulfill my heart's desire. I am too much for any man, and woman. But a paradise free from shame sounds like somewhere I would love to escape to.”

The longing look in her eyes made the prince's lips turn into a smirk. Her gaze shifted to look up at the beautifully carved statues of the fountain, and Oberyn shifted his own eyes to look up at it.

“If I may ask, did your father have this fountain built?”

“When I was no more than five. I begged for something to bring life into these gardens and my father had this fountain created. The statues are of resemblance to my mother and I.”

That was the day her grandmother taught her the power of the smile, and the power of reading one's eyes. She was merely six and with a bat of her lashes, a pout upon her lips, and a few sweet words her father asked whom she would like to be in the fountain.

“A beautiful woman indeed, though not born here?” 

“Somewhere among Westeros I believe” her fingers dropped the diamond necklace and she stood cradling the box of jewelry in her arms “but surely you did not come here to hear my tales of woe. Come share a glass with me. I wish to see if the rumors of Dorne’s wine are merely tall tales.”

“If it is your wish I shall grant.”

”Then I have but one more wish to ask of you Oberyn” she pulled a flower from her locks to place it behind the prince's ear, her hand slid to rest just below his golden necklace “join me at dawn tomorrow here in the gardens. I wish to hear about life outside these old walls.”

She caught her hand placing it right where his heart was. And in that moment Y/N Tyrell could not read the look in the Prince’s fiery eyes. Nor could she decipher the next sentence that fell from his lips. 

“You shall have it, my flower.”

[tsukkinami]

clever-tongued

fandom: The Last Kingdom (TV)

pairing: aethelflaed / aldhelm

rating: Explicit

chapters: 1/1

read on ao3 here

--

The evening started innocently enough—the quiet of her bedroom, a mahogany lounge lined in sheepskin, wine poured halfway to the top before rippling with the echo of colliding goblets. Aldhelm seemed weary, distracted, and Aethelflaed found she could not blame him. Who could? The burden of knowledge is a heavy one, encumbering when padded with secrets, and the man had been yoked by loyalty to Mercia through her husband for a long while. But Aldhelm is good at his job. He had always been tight-lipped and clever-tongued.

The candlelight flickers once, twice. Aethelflaed first begins to feel the hum of her alcohol running just beneath her skin, and it’s not too much. She laughs at something, spoken hushed between them, and it’s a bubble rising in her chest that bursts. Aldhelm smiles, tries to hide it by focusing his gaze to the floor between his planted feet, but Aethelflaed leans into him to pull him close, to draw him into the warmth of her small delight. She says something back, a quick retort, and his laugh mirrors hers.

And then the laughter fades into silence, into curious flicks of the eye to noses, lips, planes of cheeks. Aethelflaed never realized that gold was spun into Aldhelm’s dark hair, that his eyes held storms and his brow arched to the right, like hers. 

I want you to kiss me. She had not meant to say it outloud.

There’s a strangeness in the moment, like being plucked from time itself. Aldhelm is still, lips parted to reply, to act, to promise. No thought demands the action of Aethelflaed moving her hand to rest upon his, but she does so regardless, pink fingertips brushing against the hem of his blue linen sleeve and curling. It is an anchor, a touchstone, and it draws Aldhelm’s eyes away from hers for a moment, to assure himself that the words she had spoken were true.

“Lady, I cannot.”

It’s a push and pull, a calculated move which Aethelflaed can see him forming a plan around in his mind. He always thought two steps ahead, strategic and cautious. Oft she’d find herself thinking in stride, but tonight her patience was not held for games.

“Why?”

Her voice is as quiet as the flutter of her eyelashes, when her gaze falls from him to the small space between them, growing smaller with the passing seconds. She watches his eyes do the same, watches his mind struggle to keep up with the moments ticking by.

“I fear what a kiss becomes.” His hand twitches, turns over in her palm, to hold it, to run his thumb over the peaks and valleys of her knuckles. “I fear I am not worthy.”

His hand is soft on hers, his presence warm and comforting. He’d saved her life, time and time again, even when it seemed not in danger. The tears she had cried into his shoulder number too many to count. Aethelflaed has no fear.

“Then let me prove you wrong.”

She grants him no quarter, no time to think, to retreat. Her body moves forward, curving into his embrace, and her mouth finds him, even in the low light, with trained ease. His stubble scratches at the corners of her lips, the underside of her nose. He smells of pine and the wine they shared, and when she breathes in, he is all she knows.

For all his hesitation, Aldhelm does not fight, but responds with her enthusiasm, blended with his own long-suppressed desire. He runs that clever tongue along her bottom lip, lets her guide his hands to her waist as she presses herself against him. The heat at her core rises to simmer against her skin, to set them both alight at every point of contact. He seems not to mind being burned.

The heat grows, amplified by their closeness, and soon Aethelflaed is shrugging out of her dress, a red velvet affair which clings stubbornly to her body. Without a word or a pause, Aldhelm brings his deft hands to her collar and lets his fingers stutter across her pale skin, slipping her arms from the confines of the garment. She snatches one of his palms from her shoulder and draws it to her breast, body lurching as he molds his touch to supple skin. When she moves, upsetting their rhythm, he breaks away from their kiss, sealing his lips now to her pulse point and sucking a dark red brand against it. His lips drag, gentle and purposeful, down the length of her neck and pause to rest inside her clavicle, kissing her freckles in the pattern of a constellation.

Despite the heat, Aethelflaed shivers, eyes shivering closed in kind, and takes a gasping breath between her lips as her fingers trail up his arms to his neck. The binds of Aldhelm’s shirt are loosed with precision, and soon she is spanning her palms across his chest with possessive desperation, nails grazing across his skin in an unspoken promise to him that by night’s end, neither one of them would go unmarked.

He hums into her skin, spurred by her ministrations, and in a motion as quick as thought, he reaches around her waist and draws her up into his lap. The sheepskin is soft against her knees as she braces her hands on his shoulders and captures him between her thighs, locks of her hair falling against his ears when she kisses the top of his head. His arms curl around her back to pull her flush against him, and his mouth worships her heart, her breasts, until she can be silent no longer, her moan echoing about the room as she tilts her head back to let it slide from her throat.

“Is there still fear in your heart?” she whispers into his hair once she cranes her head back down. Aldhelm pauses, peering up at her in the same way a priest peers to the heavens, reverence only faintly undercut by lust, a darkening thunderhead in his eyes. Never before in her life has Aethelflaed so badly wanted to be caught in a storm.

“For you, my Lady—always.”

And with that, he resumes, efforts redoubled; whether it is to draw more noise from her lips or for his own pleasure, Aethelflaed does not know. She does not care. Her hips cant against him when his hands wander to the soft plush of her belly, tracing the marks of childbirth that line her thighs.

“I fear what you do to me,” he whispers as she pulls his shirt over his head, hair mussed when she twines her fingers through it. He plucks at the fabric gathered at her hips before diving beneath, exploring her searing heat. “I fear what I become for you.”

His nose bumps the lobe of her ear as his fingers breach her, eased by her arousal. Air hisses through her teeth as his wrist flexes to move his fingers inside of her, accompanied not by pain but by surprise and feverish anticipation. She moves her hips in time to assure him of his actions, moaning into his neck between uncoordinated kisses.

“I fear what you could do to my heart if you realized just how much of it belongs to you.”

In a flurry, she tears his face from her nape and bruises his lips with hers, gasping against his mouth as his fingers quicken their pace. The flat of his thumb rubs against her clit with pinpoint accuracy, and she cries as fire ignites inside her blood, tightening fast around his fingers and rocking against them as the flames lick her from head to toe. She barely has time to let the air return to her lungs before Aldhelm is lifting her upright, careful to keep her steady.

The rest of her dress falls to her feet, and she steps backwards out of it, glued to him still as he guides her to her bed and lays her gently down. He takes a knee at the foot of it once he tugs his boots from his feet and his breeches from his legs. Aethelflaed is still awash in the glow of pleasure when she feels his hands running up the underside of her thighs, hooking them over his shoulders as he inches her closer to his face.

“My blood runs hot for you, Lady,” she hears him say, and props herself up on her elbows to peer in awe down at him. “If I could—”

“Aldhelm, yes,” she cuts him off, grabbing a fistful of his hair. She knows his intentions already, and the mere thought makes her skin jump. “Please, I cannot—oh!”

The feeling is so different than what she expected it to be. It is hot to hot, slick to slick, an alien sensation which makes her angry—angry—not to have felt before tonight. It seizes her for a long moment, draws all air from her chest and thoughts from her mind as Aldhelm drags his clever tongue between her wet folds, lily soft and trembling with residual waves of shock.

Her neck cranes backward, the crown of her head brushing the pillows beneath as she lets out a long groan, bucking against his mouth and twitching when his facial hair scratches the delicate skin around her core. Aldhelm is relentlessly delicate, mouth moving with practiced form, and if Aethelflaed did not know him better, she would think him an expert at his craft. It is not long before she is all but clay beneath him, shaped to him and pliant to every scorching touch he graces her with, and not much longer after that before she is rutting against his tongue in small, febrile movements, chasing after the fire in her gut with him as a guide.

When he hums his pleasure of the moment, the feeling of her around him, all-consuming, the lady of Mercia loses her head, stars soaring across her vision as she trembles with her second shockwave of release that night. Her back arches out of her control, fingernails scratching against his hair as she pulls him close, and never once does he relent or complain. He has done now twiceover what no one else could ever do.

Aldhelm waits for her to quiet, to still, before planting kisses on her thighs, her hips, her belly, finally to her mouth. Her slick is heady and intoxicating on his tongue, and when it’s mixed with his taste, not the finest wine can compare.

“Do you still believe yourself unworthy?” she murmurs once he pulls away, body slotting neatly between her legs. She feels his arousal rub against her wetness and she brushes up into it, eager, despite the tenderness at her center and the tiredness in her veins, to continue their escapades. He gazes at her with the highest adoration, lips quirking into an easy smile.

“Lady, I have not yet begun to prove myself,” he vows, and Aethelflaed’s nostrils flare as heat does the same down her spine.

“Then you’d best start now.”

--

[soobadnoonecanstopher]

Dressed Up, Part 1 of 2 (An I Give Up Deleted Scene)

Genre: Fluff / Sexually Suggestive Situations(15+)

Characters : You x Baekhyun

Word Count: 7.4k

A/N: Warnings: a pretty woman makeover, nudity, an attempt at seduction via video call, Houston we have a sugar daddy.

[Part 2]

IGU Deleted scenes masterlist

This shop wasn’t your usual style. What was your usual style? The sale rack at that department store in the mall. This place was definitely not your style. The second you walked in you could feel it. There was a mild and pleasant fragrance wafting around your nose as you stepped through the double french doors and from the corner of your eye you saw a woman dressed smartly with a tasteful pencil skirt and heels that were not too high for a full shift of standing on her feet.

If she made any judgements about you upon entering the store, she kept them to herself. The fact that you didn’t quite fit the look of this boutique’s typical clientele wasn't lost on you and you nearly spun on your heels right on out that door before she was able to call out her welcoming greeting.

‘Something nice. This is going to be black-tie so go buy something nice. Ask the shop ladies for suggestions…’

You couldn’t leave. The company party was tonight and you’d be damned if you would be the only one wearing a five year old sale rack little black dress from the back of your closet. You didn’t even want to think about the complaining such a move would produce from Baekhyun. You’d surely never hear the end of it.

The woman in the tasteful heels immediately approached you with a stepford-wife smile on her face. You’d taken seven steps inside and weren’t circling around toward the exit despite glancing at the first tiny price-tag that hung from the sleeve of a plain white designer blouse. It wasn’t even that fancy of a blouse. It just had round pearled buttons going down the front and looked like it might even be a bit see through in the right lighting and -- sweet jesus, it was thousands of dollars. For a white shirt. Your eyes widened on their own and immediately you shook away the queasy feeling in the pit of your stomach.

‘...and please, just don't look at the prices. Please just ignore that...for me, huh? Like the way I ignored the six packages of sausages you accidentally threw away because the lighting was bad and you thought that they were expired when they totally weren’t and I just ignored it and cried silently in the bathroom because of all those delicious sausages that I had just bought and you threw them all — just….’

His heavy breathing echoed into your ear and you could practically feel the heat from his lungs coating your eardrum with his frustrating memory of that single week when you’d been on an obsessive cleaning kick since watching Marie Kondo saving counter space and saving lives in the process.

‘Just ignore the price. Like I ignored the second love of my life being wasted like...like some common garbage. Please...do this for me, as the first love of my life...’

Was this really the right place? You had checked the address for the boutique three times in your phone before you even exited the taxi cab and it all seemed to match. This was the honest to god place, Byun Baekhyun, your foolishly loveable husband, had sent you to buy your evening gown for tonight’s party. You had an appointment at a salon after this and you didn’t quite know how you would get through the evening in one piece after all the strangers and their fussing.

Baekhyun had asked you to come. Baekhyun wanted you there and it was an important evening to him. A social event with the influential, the powerful, the up-and-comings in his industry and with his friends and he wanted you, his (still secret) wife on his arm. You were certain he would be dressed impeccably with a tailored suit, shined shoes, full hair and makeup no doubt. If there was one irrefutable fact about the man, it was that he thrived when he looked good. And he was going to outshine all others. The least you could do was put forth a little effort.

“Welcome, Miss,” the woman spoke up at last and your smile felt entirely too tense to look natural on your face. “Mr. Byun called ahead. If you would follow me, we have a selection of pieces for you to try.”

Pieces. They called the dresses pieces which meant they surely would carry a price-tag that rivaled some of the art that hung on the wall of that exclusive art gallery you saw next door.

And he called them ahead for you?

Of course he did. That was probably going to be the least surprising thing about this entire evening. That Baekhyun was simply unable to contain his excitement about a fancy schmancy dress up party which the both of you were attending together; of course he couldn't resist getting in on the decision making. You wondered what sorts of dresses he’d instructed them to pick. You wondered if he paid any attention at all to keeping within some sort of a budget. That sort of thing didn’t really seem appropriate in a place like this though.

You found yourself seated in an armchair and beside you sat a crystal glass with cold ice water. You began to reach for it, but quickly pulled your hand back as images of knocking the whole thing over on yourself played through your mind.

There was but a pause to breathe before the parade began. Young women with matching uniforms all carrying evening gowns in different shades and styles all walked before you with their smiles pasted firmly to their faces and their eyes all fallen down just so. You’d been so caught off guard by the fact that not a single one of them would look you in the eyes that you forgot to look at the first five dresses that passed you by.

It wasn’t until the color red popped like a bubble in your field of vision and pulled your focus down to the gown that was making its way directly in front of you and you looked down at it and...and...

Oh.

Oh my, that was…

You sat up straighter -- a gut reaction -- and the woman carrying the red gown stopped her movement the moment you flinched.

“Can I just…” You hated to interrupt their little show, but this one felt different than the others somehow. Despite with the way it hung lifelessly in her arms like a deflated balloon you could see the quality of the sheer fabric that draped over the floral lace bodice below. The neckline below the tulle plunged deep and from the look of it, the skin-tone fabric bodice gave the illusion of showing a lot more skin than it actually did.

You couldn’t possibly pull this dress off, could you?

“Ahh, the Valentino. Excellent choice — bring that one. She will wear the Valentino.” A voice boomed from somewhere behind you and the once quiet sales woman that initially greeted you was clapping her hands as she directed her army of dress-cradling women to leave the room. Only a select few remained for the fitting.

As you threw away your reservations of disrobing in front of a room full of eerily quiet strangers, you placed your first tentative foot inside the open gown and as it was pulled up and closed up around you, one thing about this dress became abundantly clear.

You weren’t just wearing the Valentino.

Oh, no.

The Valentino was wearing you.

Your first spin to face the triple mirrors that lined the wall had you under a spell and the flow of fabric that swayed and followed your spin made you feel powerful. Perhaps it was the very real skin just above your navel that was made visible by the deep plunge of the neckline below the red tulle, or perhaps it was the way the contoured lace fabric hugged your breasts, leaving them covered while giving the illusion of leaving them bare -- and the curve around your hips that cinched around your waist and flattered the shape of you -- but, wow, this dress was incredible. This dress hugged your every curve as if it were created with only you in the designer‘s mind.

This dress was...yours. Marie might even say that it sparked joy in a way that no other garment that had been placed upon your skin in this lifetime had ever done before.

The bright overhead lights brought out a sparkle in your eyes that made you feel like a hundred carat engagement ring sitting inside a locked display case of the finest jewelry store in all of the world and as you ran your fingers down the curve of your hips, finding the spot where the under dress ended up high on your thighs and the sheer red continued as if it’s only job was to tease at the idea of a covering -- you visibly swooned.

“How much is this one?” Your voice sounded dreamy, heavily affected and almost drunk, and you caught a glimpse of humanity as you made a split second of eye contact with one of the women who had helped you into the dress. As quickly as it happened, she looked away from your face and into the face of the shop woman behind you, but her cheeks were pink -- her eyelids fluttered rapidly. It was a hairline crack in her composure. The slip of the woman made your cheeks feel flush and you remembered where you were and who you were and what kinds of questions the patrons of this shop didn’t usually ask outloud. You wondered if in another life, you and this young woman who steadied her gaze away from your prying eyes, might have been friends.

“It’s within the budget, Miss,” the shop woman said.

“There is a budget?” This time your question was genuine curiosity and you lifted your brows and spun to look into her amused face.

“There is a minimum budget, yes.”

Impossible. He was impossible.

“Just tell me how many zeroes.” It felt like bargaining with the enemy at this point and the stitched floral design in the lace bodice had some sparkle to it when you rocked your hips back and forth in this lighting. It was probably hand stitched by an expert seamstress. Someone had loved this fabric with their fingertips and a needle and sterling thread and you hoped their hard work had been handsomely rewarded.

She had gone quiet behind you and you figured her bonus was at stake if she spilled the beans your dear husband had insisted she keep a tight lid on so you lifted your chin and let out a sigh of defeat.

“I’ll pay with my own card.” It looked like defeat to the casual observer. Yes, you were using the card he gave you and yes, it was funded by his money. Yes, he would get a text message that the card was used with the purchase amount and location but the benefit of using your own card meant that you would also get the same text message.

If it was too much you could always just return it then and there, right?

Maybe you could go to the mall and find something there that looked just like this if you squinted and covered one eye as you looked at it.

Your card was already swiped and yet, the dress that had just been charged was nowhere in sight. There was a second where you paused and your eyes wandered over the faces of the shop attendants with just a hint of a question on the tip of your tongue. Your card was quietly returned by the sales woman and her smile preceded her answer to your unspoken question.

“We will have it delivered to your home within the hour.”

Oh, right. Rich people didn’t carry bags. Well, except for the designer ones hung over their limp wrists with the logo facing outward for all to see.

It was for the best anyway, you had two more stops to make before checking in with the dog sitter for the evening. She, a young girl named Sunny, had been highly recommended by one of Baekhyun’s bandmates for her reliability and patience with young puppies. In fact, she was going to be taking care of two poodles that belonged to another member tonight along with your and Baekhyun’s new puppy. You tried not to worry too much for the tiny ball of fluff. After listening in on Baekhyun’s phone call with Sunny, you were certain the poor girl had been given plenty of helicopter-parent instructions from him, she didn’t need your worried phone calls to add to the mix.

You were already on your way through the double french doors of the shoe shop when you felt the vibration of your cell phone through the layers of your leather bag against your hip.

That would be it; the text message alerting the card holder that their credit card had been used to purchase a, most likely, obscenely expensive garment that would be worn exactly one time. Did you dare look? Maybe looking was a bad idea. Maybe when you looked you would lose the nerve to make your way through the double french doors of the designer shoe store that was next on your itinerary.

Your fingers felt itchy. The back of the taxi was quiet enough to hear the sound of your cell phone calling out your name, telling you to check to see what the damage was so you could begin freaking out already.

You were powerless to stop yourself and as you pulled your cell phone out of your bag you felt it vibrating again, this time for a new text messages that had just arrived.

On your screen, just above the notification that read ‘A transaction has been made on your credit card in the amount of…’, sat a new text message notification from ‘Curry & Chocolate’ and you clicked there first. Would Baekhyun have something to say about how much the dress cost? Would he shake his head that you had squandered so much of his hard earned money on something so frivolous and wasteful?

‘Omgomgomgomgomg asdflakdfja;lkjfa … which one did you get?!!!’

This was followed immediately by a message that read ‘WAIT NO DON’T TELL ME!! I want to be surprised,’ that was succeeded by every single heart emoji he could find in his phone’s keyboard.

You hadn’t actually ever done this before. Gone shopping without him, spending vast amounts of money on yourself like this, and you could see the excitement in the messages that came one after another on your phone.

‘Is it too pretty? What if you look too pretty and i faint in public?’

‘It’s not like this is our wedding day -- you can send me a picture as you’re getting ready, so i can prepare myself, right?’

His enthusiasm was adorable and you had to bite down on your lip to keep from giggling all alone in the back seat of this taxi.  

‘No, don't send me a picture. I want to be surprised. I’ll just drop dead, it’s okay. I’ll die happy.’

Knowing Baekhyun as well as you did, you knew that his meandering mind would eventually settle itself on its own and you didn’t have to respond to these messages with anything except for a few heart emojis and a quick reminder that you were still not done shopping for tonight. You replied that you had just arrived at the shoe store and would be quite busy in the salon for hair and makeup shortly after.

You weren’t sure what you had been expecting. The fancy dress store had lead you into a false sense of security that made you forget that designer shoes were just as ridiculously overpriced as designer fashion was and you sighed right out loud as you handed over your card to pay for the strappy heels with the blood red lacquered soles whose designer’s name you couldn't even spell without the assistance of autocorrect and you swallowed down the guilt that you would be wearing something on your feet that, if sold, would feed a family of four for several months.

Your hands were shaking when you signed the receipt and when your phone vibrated again, alerting you of the charge to your card, you cursed at your ability to do mental math as you began to tally up the totals.

Of course he texted you again after the bank did and the diamond and heart emojis that he sent did not help ease any of the guilt, despite the weirdly obvious clues that he was somehow having a fun time watching you spend so much of his money. At this rate, you would be the most expensive thing on his arm tonight — blowing out of the water, the hefty price tags of any of the fancy watches he could choose from to adorn his wrist. Even if he wore them all at once, they would not compare.

Your nails were done; hands and feet to match the red of the Valentino (because everything else should fall in line when this dress was clearly the one in charge) -- your hair was halfway there and the makeup on your face was pristine and set with products that the beautician swore would not budge all night long and all you wanted to do was curl up and take a nap by the time you were done with all the card swiping and receipt signing.

You had a schedule to keep though, and once through the doors of your home you were called back to the ringing doorbell when the deliveries started. First it was the dress, shoes; a new clutch for tonight’s essentials and when the door rang again you glanced around at all of the crisp and expensive packages, taking a quick inventory and coming up with a new question mark. Everything you had purchases today had already been received, yet the young man in the classy suit who stood at your door was holding a package in his hands with the markings from a store you had not visited today.

You were friendly enough although hesitant to receive this latest delivery for fear that it had somehow been sent in error. The man in the suit smiled wider and urged your focus down, pushed the package closer to you and his eyes begged you to just take it already. When he confirmed your name and you admitted that, yes, you were the person he sought out you really had no other move but to finally accept what he was offering.

You felt downright funny about this. The package was small; not another evening gown or pair of shoes. You’d seen enough of high priced boutiques today to recognize that this item was of a similar source. Only as you reached inside and pulled out the heavy black clamshell case, you knew immediately that you were handling expensive jewelry and you definitely had not visited a jewelry store in your shopping today.

Inside, the clamshell was velvet lined and housed a set of jewelry — sparkling diamonds, lots and lots of them. You saw teardrop earrings that matched a diamond necklace and even a delicate bracelet with the sparkling stones going all the way around and you set the whole thing down onto your granite kitchen countertop to get a good look at the way the stones took ahold of the fluorescent lights above your head and shot them back at you from all directions. The sparkles were astounding. The cuts of each stone overwhelmed and you also had to get a good breath of air into your lungs because you honestly had been holding your breath as you stared at the gorgeous jewels before you.

It was too much...but at this point would such a statement even make any difference? It was already here in your hands.

You pulled your phone out and snapped a shot of the jewelry, slightly annoyed that your phone’s camera couldn't capture the full range of sparkle, and you sent the image to your husband.

‘Please tell me this is rented.’

He didn’t respond to your text message and the longer you looked down at the jewelry, the prettier the sparkle of those stones looked once you moved in the recessed lighting of your bedroom.

The more you touched them and handled them and held the necklace up against your neck or the earrings up to your ears, the more beautiful the image of those diamonds adorning your skin made you feel and when you stood in front of floor length mirror in your spacious bathroom you were wearing them all, and you wore absolutely nothing else to compete with the sparks of light shooting off of those precious stones that decorated your body -- and oh, you felt it.

The priceless and perfect, here and now.

You felt like possibly a million bucks even well before you put on the dress and everything else this man had already provided for you.

This was his mark. The strands of diamonds that completely encircled your wrist, throwing fire with each slight movement of your hand over the bare skin as you raked perfectly manicured nails over one bare breast. You watched the light travel over your skin and you felt the traces of him all over you.

The shine of the biggest stone, seated over the hollow of your neck, where his lips and teeth had tasted your skin countless times, that stone there beckoned to you with the sweet softness of his voice - mine, mine, mine, as he often called out in the warm pauses between breaths.

An urge was brewing inside of your chest. Below where the diamond sat, deeper inside where with each of your deepest inhales could not seem to satiate. Your slow exhale only quenched the superficial need for air, but this urge ran deeper.

This was not something you and he did.

You had never allowed it before — extravagant and expensive gifts. Sure he had tried in the past but you had put up enough of a fuss about the price of things he gifted you, and the unfairness of it. That you could never match the price tag with the things you bought him. You’d made it clear that this sort of disparity irked you and he had always followed along, choosing instead gifts with more sentimental value than monetary value and you and him both treasured the meaning behind these gestures above all else.

But this—

What would be his meaning behind the diamonds?

That tonight was such a special occasion and your ensemble required only the absolute finest embellishment. Ornate, gilded, and as beautiful as the love you felt when you looked into his eyes.

Was this how Baekhyun wanted to show off his love for you? Could his intentions be this obvious?

A single faint vibration sounded from the dresser of your bedroom and you pulled your eyes from the mirror for a moment.

‘What are you doing~’

He couldn’t have possibly been bored. He was supposed to be getting ready for tonight, and you knew he had less than an hour before he had to be at the venue and you had been scheduled to arrive within the following hour to keep the photographers, who likely camped outside, in the dark about the true nature of your relationship with your very successful and very important idol.

‘I am trying on the diamonds’

It wasn’t, ‘I am googling the price’ or ‘I am returning them to the store’, instead you were uncharacteristically and alarmingly honest about just how weak this particular set of jewelry had made you. Perhaps it had been the entire day of shopping and your sense of proper wifely behavior had been thrown off, but that urge that sat inside of your chest swelled up again, inflating your lungs and making the lights from the ceiling reflect beautifully off the enormous diamond that hung around your neck.

When you turned your head, the teardrops hanging from your ears swayed with the movement and you tucked an invisible strand of hair behind your ear to watch the delicate way your bracelet slid over your arm with the motion.

‘Oh?’

His response was tentative. It was the tip of a toe dipped into a swimming pool and pulled back out again. Only to check the temperature, of course. He wasn’t about to dive in just yet.

The deliberate silence that followed that single syllable word was an advanced tactic that you had been entirely unprepared for and you held your phone in one hand looking down at the screen, simply unable to believe that he had no follow up inquiry for you.

He wasn’t even typing.

He had gone completely silent after that gentle and soft nudge that had filled you with so much curiosity and tension that it sent your thumbs down hard on the screen of your phone. You hit a few random letters and deleted them, surely giving away your obvious unrest after his ploy.

Didn’t he have anything else to ask you? Didn’t he want to know if you liked them, or maybe give you some details about how he just happened to run across this particular set of jewelry that looked as if it were made specifically with your tastes in mind when you had been given less than three days notice about this entire event and the fact that you would be attending had been well up in the air until this very morning. Did he really have nothing more to say?

You were being baited.  You knew this.

‘They are very, very beautiful, Baek...’

It worked.

You had barely hit send when you saw the graphic on your screen that told you he was typing out a response.

He had been waiting it out.

‘Can I see?’

The air surrounding your bare skin had, prior to his simple question, felt quite warm and comfortable in temperature, yet the second you read his request you felt a chill run along your bare thighs; traveling quickly without a clear destination. It spread over your skin, pulling and puckering up your nipples and leaving the surface of your skin rough with goosebumps that reached well to the back of your neck.

As quick as the chill, came the heat and the surface of your cheeks felt warm to the touch as you typed out a three word response to the man who held more power over you than any other soul to walk this earth.

‘Are you alone?’

Baekhyun’s reply came without delay.

‘Mhmm’

Your fingertip stuttered for only a moment and you toyed with the decision.

You shouldn’t encourage this, the lavish spending you had always denied. You shouldn’t reward it.

And yet, a set of jewelry had never quite made you feel this way before. Sure, the tasteful diamond solitaire ring you wore on your finger was the symbol that brought all the warmth and love to the surface of your mind every time you looked down at it.

But this, it was Byun Baekhyun polished and sparkling bright and lovely around your neck. It was the years you had shared together dripping like liquid from the tips of your ear lobes and it was his long shimmering fingertips clasped around your wrist; holding on tight and promising to never let you go.

The video call was ringing and after a second of darkness the call was connected. You were rewarded with the view of his face; the top of his, already styled, light pink hair and dark eyes lined with the barest of eye makeup, applied by an expert’s hand, and his eyes focused on the view of you in front of him.

His eyes were moving and you knew from the way you held the phone and the image of yourself from the corner of your own screen, exactly what he would see. It would be the image of you, completely naked, except for the earrings, the necklace and the occasional spark of light from around your wrist.

Baekhyun’s eyes widened marginally, only enough to tell you that this was a surprise and you could hear the small puff of air exhaled through his parted lips as his eyes took in the sight of you.

He then closed his eyes and ran a hand with slender fingers over the length of his face, settling that hand over his mouth and his eyes pulled open again much too slowly. He hadn’t yet said a damn thing about what he thought about the diamonds.

Didn’t he think they complimented your skin tone perfectly? Didn’t the way that big stone pulled the delicate chain downward make your neck look pretty?

Did the sparkle of diamonds around your wrist make him want to hold your hand perhaps?

“Do you like them?” He finally spoke when he had removed his hand from over his lips and his voice was soft and low. Once the question was out he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth and he bit down. His eyes darted up to touch yours once before they drifted down again and you wondered if he was looking at the diamonds anymore or…

“I love them,” you whispered and lifted a hand to show off the way sparkles caught the light.

Your declaration pulled his eyes back into yours and pulled his lips wide as he flashed the smallest smile of satisfaction. This look on his face was somewhat hard to read. Of course he was quite pleased with himself, but there was something else inside of his eyes as his smile slowly fell and evened out again and his lips parted and a tiny puff of air escaped through his mouth.

“You look so, so beautiful in them,” he inhaled through those parted lips and narrowed his eyes, looking almost intoxicated as he seemed to loosen his focus, “I knew you would, when I saw them...I just— I couldn’t help myself, baby.”

The excuse was the first bit of a clue he had given you of the incredible cost. As you had suspected when you first saw them, they had to cost a lot.

He could not help himself, he said. Their beauty was simply too great to resist when he thought of spoiling you in such a way with this incredible gift. The idea that this man loved you so much, he was powerless against such a temptation...perhaps it was you who was intoxicated.

“Were they very expensive, Baek?” The sound of your voice was soft and heavily affected now and you played with the necklace with your fingertips.

A sound betrayed him. A throaty whine, cut off quickly when he snapped his lips shut and he closed his eyes. He inhaled through his nose before you saw the up and down movement as he nodded his head. Yes. Yes they were.

“Do you always try on jewelry this way?” It came out almost as a complaint and you felt your lips pull into a smile. You enjoyed the thought that you could still have such a powerful effect on him.

“I want to buy you more,” you heard him say under a breath, his words trailing through the effort of their escape, “if this is how—”

“You did say you didn’t want to see the dress yet.” You lifted your shoulders with a little shrug as if you had merely been complying with his own request from earlier and not playing any dirty tricks involving expensive diamonds and gold and nipples and your navel and collar bones and the invitingly suggestive way you now leaned back onto your bed. The same bed that exactly four weeks prior he had pressed your back into as he pushed inside of you.

He had yet to return to you since then and you could feel the longing beginning to turn into desperation.

So that’s what the urge was. It was to be felt and touched and kissed and thoroughly had by your husband.

The same one who was staring now, cheeks flushed, so much more than the makeup he wore. He was positively pink, to match his hair and his lips.

“Do you miss me as much as I miss you?” You asked with the desperation sitting heavy on your tongue. You were certain he could hear it. You would do anything, you’d spend a million dollars just on yourself. You’d accept the luxury car he had been trying to sell you on. You’d even learn how to drive it. You’d do anything if it meant you could have just a little bit more of this man.

You laid a hand, the sparkly one, over your chest, between your bare breasts, where you could feel the steady thump of your heart.  Something had changed on the other side of the screen and you lost Baekhyun's eyes for a split second as he glanced at something behind him. A noise perhaps. Did someone knock?

He returned to you promptly and leaned in too close to the screen for you to make anything of his face.

“Baby, this...this is already too much. How am I supposed to put on my suit if I can’t zip up my pants?”

When he leaned away from the phone enough for you to actually read his expression again you could clearly see the struggle written all over that pretty face. But, God, was he pretty. His hair was styled up, a rare hairstyle for him, and one that always made your knees weak.

There was an alarm ringing somewhere inside his room. You felt downright victorious when you shifted and let your knees fall open slightly, just enough to show off the full body wax you’d subjected yourself to as a part of all inclusive spa treatment paid for by the one and only EXO’s Byun Baekhyun and he covered his lips again with a hand that was much less steady than at the start of the call.

“Oh,” you heard him whisper. “Oh god, I’ve...I have made a terrible mistake.” He said softly to himself and he was looking down from the phone. He was looking behind his shoulder. He was looking down at his lap and then away from the screen again, in the other direction. “I should not have asked to see a damn thing. I should’ve left it the hell alone—why...why did I ask to see?”

He was looking all over, but he was not looking at you.

He was not appreciating the way the line of sparks around your wrist traveled slowly down your stomach, lower and deliberate in direction. The occasional glance of his eyes when he was too weak to resist touched upon your movement and you smiled to yourself.

He had worked so hard. He had spent so much. The least he could do was watch you enjoy them.

“It’s—it’s time for me to go—baby,” he huffed through gritted teeth, “I — do you… do you like them this much? I have to put my suit on and go.”

You nodded your head — mouth agape as your legs parted further and you slipped your hand lower, the tips of your fingers finding the smooth skin between your legs, parted directly in front of your phone now propped on a pillow. You were already so wet, you just needed him.

“F-Fuck—Wh—what the fuck— what are you...doing with your hand?”

He was cursing now. The sound of it fueled your desperation.

“Fuck.fuck.fuck— my manager is texting me. You— fuck— I’m so fucking hard, how dare you. ”

“What are you going to do about it, Baekhyun?” You hadn’t expected your question to come out sounding quite so challenging but with your fingers running lazy circles within your wetness you were already feeling entirely too reckless to control your tone.

“I’ll...there’s no time. I don’t have time. I have to go. He’s already outside knocking and texting me, baby, I have to...do some squats or fuck it, I’ll tuck it in my waistband. I’m usually dressed right but I guess I’m dressed up tonight.”

“Are you really going to go?” The realization that he seemed to be quickly moving around his dressing room and the grunting you heard didn’t sound so much like sexy grunts and more like genuine effort made you sit up and look closely at the screen of your phone. He had sent it down and you could see movement as hasty arms were pulled through crisp white sleeves and his slim fingers fastened buttons and stuffed his stray shirt tails into his slacks.

You saw the evidence. Baekhyun had a full-on, sex-ready erection sending a bulge of black underwear through the open zipper of his pants and your arrousal/irritation that he would deny you so easily was temporarily halted by your genuine curiosity now.

You watched as he grabbed it. Just wrapped his right hand right around and his face twisted into one of pain as he seemed to squeeze down quite hard.

“Baek—don‘t...hurt yourself,” he looked like he was choking the life out of it and your voice took on a tone of genuine concern. You had seen one sex related injury come into your practicals at the hospital just this past week. The last thing this man (you) needed was to pull or strain something and be unable to fuck you later. You hadn’t seen him for a whole month. You did not want to wait even longer because he’d gone and broke his dick just because you had teased him too much.

His face ticked toward the phone and with all the ire and annoyance of a truly sexually denied man his words clipped back at you, “I’ve owned it longer than you have, darling. I know what I’m doing.” You held back the eye roll. You could write novels of all the ways you’d seen people hurt themselves when they had been positive they knew what they were doing.

Seemingly satisfied with his self aggression, Baekhyun pulled the thing up and with his other hand began zipping up slacks and shifting and pulling fabric around the offending appendage.

When he was all done, you had to admit it was hardly even noticeable unless you were you and you knew exactly the shape, length, width, and girth well enough to make out the exact outline of that dick inside of those pants. Of course you would easily find what was yours.

“I can still see it,” you said with a smug smile and his focus shot back at you with an equally smug grin.

“And I can still see what’s mine. All decorated so sparkly and pretty just for me. I might decide to add a pearl necklace too. If you love wearing my diamonds this much, perhaps you’d enjoy walking around with my cum on your tits all night.”

Your hand flew up to cover your mouth and you gasped. You actually scandalized-church-nun gasped right out loud and the action betrayed you entirely against your will.

Perhaps more shocking than the words themselves was the sudden realization that your own arousal seemed to be the one betraying you.

The image he had put into your mind...it sounded so filthy, and so damn tempting. To be marked as his so obviously. This man was so desired by so many, yet there was only one for him.

Only you.

Could this possibly be why you took to the jewels so strongly?

Your response came out sounding more like a dare than a denial.

“You wouldn’t.”

He leveled his eyes and that frustrated look on his face shifted into one of sudden understanding. A single eyebrow bobbed above his eye.

“Ohh,” he whispered inside of a breath and the corners of his lips pulled into a smile, “oh, you do want that, don't you?”

You felt unable to formulate a response. You doubted the question was rhetorical, yet you felt too stunned and too affected to reply.

“You know, it makes me so very excited to give you pretty things. Expensive things. Things that will show off your beauty. Things that show everyone that you are mine.

I would give you anything you wanted, my love. Anything.”

“Any—thing...” your words eked out slowly and softly in response to his, but there was little meaning in them. What you did feel deep inside your chest was a stronger sensation that had began to take root. Perhaps it had already been there; when you looked at him, through their eyes, the fans...when you saw the things they said about him, the yearnings and the longing they all expressed in elaborate and vivid ways.

And the feeling that grew inside of you as you watched them and all of their desperate wanting that was, again and again, denied.

When the cameras turned off and when the concert ended and the curtains closed and the staff went home and the acting ceased, Byun Baekhyun would pick up his phone and he would call you.

You would be at home or at school or in the subway or having lunch and your phone would ring and you would get his tired sighs or the subtle smiles and the pet names and when the stars aligned and his time off would coincide with your time off, your door would open and you would get his face and his lips and his smell and his skin and they...they had no idea.

This part was for you only.

And that feeling would surge again, just as it did when you unwrapped some gift he gave you, or opened your student loan statements to find that he had, again, made the last payment for you because the due date was coming up and you were going to be late due to your work payment schedule not quite aligning with the due date of the loan payment.

That feeling, it wasn’t quite the same as pride. It wasn’t smugness, or boasting that was fueling this, but it was an intense satisfaction that you were the lucky one. The one fortunate enough to receive his love. Baekhyun always found a way to make you feel like the absolute most important human in his world and even sitting here on the phone with him wearing the expensive diamonds he gave you, you could feel the profound gratitude that your life and his life had intertwined at such an important time as it had. That you had been given the chance to be loved and to love such a brilliantly beautiful man.

It made you feel the kind of special that did not happen to many people.

Baekhyun was dressed now. He was straightening a tie in a mirror and giving another rough tug at his waistband and he stood again in front of his phone, bending at the waist to place his pretty face into the frame of your video call.

You had given up on touching yourself by now. What was the point when he wouldn’t watch you do it.

“I’ll see you in an hour. You won't be late will you?” His voice still sounded huskier than usual but he was making the shift into business mode.  You could tell in the way he straightened out his face, blinking his eyes wide before squeezing them tight and shaking his head a little bit to rid himself of whatever leftover effects of you might still remain there.

He was magical sometimes, the strength of character this man had inside of him was astounding.

After a few throat clears he opened his eyes. Baekhyun lightly kissed his fingertips and blew the tiny kiss toward you and responded with a little nose scrunch when you caught the kiss in the air in front of you quickly, before it could vanish, you laid it over your heart, where you liked to keep all of his long distance kisses.

The call went black and he was gone for now and you pushed yourself to your feet to finish getting ready for tonight.

[ part 2]

IGU Deleted scenes masterlist

[fangirlxwritesx67]

Queen Rowena a Sam Winchester x Rowena MacLeod Supernatural fantasy au love story Chapter 1: Queen Rowena Chapter 2: Comfort Chapter 3: Casting Interlude: Confidence Chapter 4: Courage Chapter 5: Celebration

2500 words. Rating T (feelings, implied smut, wedding, passing mention of non-character death, alcohol)

Queen Rowena fell in love with her knight Sam over a lifetime, and agreed to marry him in an instant. Planning a coronation and a wedding, however, took longer than a month. 

Through the weeks, her betrothed Sam remained by her side. By day, he commanded her Queensguard and sat on her Council, performing all the duties of his role. By night, he came to her bed and they spent hours exploring, enjoying one another’s bodies. 

But not the night before their wedding. This night, by custom, they spent apart. Rowena hardly slept, so accustomed she was to his presence and the warmth of his body beside her. 

She was awake and excited before the sun rose. She rolled over and parted the drapes on her bed to watch the dawn creep up over the horizon. The sunrise was brilliant, all pink and gold, illuminating the stone of her castle.

Her heart was light, her mind clear. Today marked the start of something new for her, both as a woman and a Queen. Today she would crown a Prince and marry him. She greeted the day eagerly, for everything it would hold. She smiled, a secret smile, looking forward to the moment that night when she would bring Sam to her bed as her husband.

Her handmaid Gwen stepped into the room, carrying a tray with tea, bread and fruit. “My queen?” she asked softly.

Rowena sat straight up, pushing the covers aside. Her hair was tousled, her face flushed, but her smile was wide. “Look, it’s a sunny day, just as I hoped.”

Gwen smiled too. “The sun is smiling on your choice. Even the earth wants to celebrate with you today.”

Rowena sat at her dressing table and submitted to her handmaid’s care. She was dressed in the finest clothing she had ever worn. The outer vest was entirely covered in embroidered flowers and gold brocade, from her bodice to her hem. Underneath, her gown was made of  silky thin white fabric. More bands of gold needlework adorned her wrists. 

She sat patiently at her dressing table as Gween braided and curled her long hair into red gold perfection. Her fingers were painted and her face was polished. She knew Sam loved her no matter how she looked, had loved her since she was a little girl running through the castle barefoot and wild haired, but she wanted to look her very best.

FInally, Gwen held up the crown she had saved for the occasion. It was one Rowena had never worn; the one her mother wore when she married her father. Rowena missed them both, especially on this most important day of her life. The crown was her way to remember and honor them. She lifted it carefully and looked in the mirror as she settled it on her head. She drew in a deep breath. It fit perfectly. 

Rowena stepped away from her dressing table to her altar, where she lit one white candle, then watched it burn for a moment. The flame was tall and bright, a sign of success and good fortune. She gathered herself up and turned to go. Gwen was by her side, as she had always been. 

Rowena smiled at her faithful handmaid.. “Thank you,” she said softly. “I don’t know if I would be marrying Sam today if not for your unfailing support.”

“My lady,” she answered with a laugh. “You certainly took your time. But I’m so happy for you now.”

They walked hand in hand down the curved stairs of the tower and into the Great Hall. There, both Rowena’s Council and her Queensguard were arrayed in ranks. She ascended the dais all on her own. For the first time in her life, the throne for a Queen’s Consort had been pulled forward side by side with her own.

Sam was waiting, kneeling below the dais. He was dressed, not in armor, but in the fine garments of a Prince. She stepped toward him and reached for his hand. He placed a lingering kiss on her fingers. His smile as he looked at her was like the sun rising all over again. 

Rowena turned to her most trusted councilor, a man who had served her father before her and guided her reign. In his hands he held a wooden box with a simple golden circlet, peaked in front like a visor. It was not the crown of a king or of a consort but of a knight, a man experienced in battle. She had commissioned it especially for Sam.

She placed the crown on his head as he knelt before her. For long moments, their eyes spoke volumes of trust and love while her fingers lingered in his hair. Then she reached for his hand and drew him to his feet. 

The two of them stood hand in hand, side by side on the dais as she proclaimed, “Samuel, Knight of the Realm, is henceforth a Prince of the Crown. He rules at my side. His words are my words and his wish is my command.”

One by one her Council performed a court bow. Then the Queensguard knelt in perfect military formation, armored knees hitting stone. Not a one, from councilors to knights, hesitated to welcome Sam as a Prince and equal to their Queen. 

Queen Rowena looked up at Sam, her tall handsome Prince, with pride. He smiled, his gaze alight with such passionate love that she felt tears spring to her eyes. He lowered his mouth and kissed her openly for the first time in their Great Hall. A cheer started in the Guard and rolled through the Council. Queen Rowena smiled in the arms of her Prince. The confidence of her people, affirming her choice, meant the world to her. 

In time her Queensguard began to move, marching out of the Great Hall in pairs. Her Council followed, making their way into the courtyard. Finally, Rowena and Sam walked out into the sunlight, hand in hand. On every side, they were thronged with people, filling the air with their cheers. These were her people, she was their Queen, and this was her happiest day. She absorbed the wave of their affection and attention as she and Sam walked by.

Finally they came to a tree, the oldest one in her castle. Its roots grew within the walls but its branches reached over towards the sea. It was the most lasting thing Rowena had ever known. It seemed the perfect spot for her to pledge her vows to Sam. 

Underneath the verdant shelter of the tree’s branches waited Rowena’s oldest councilor, the one who had helped her crown Sam a Prince. One either side of him stood Gwen, her handmaid and closest friend, and the Queensguard’s second in command, whom Sam trusted with his life. 

Hand in hand, Rowena stood with Sam. Finally the Councilor raised his hands and the gathered people fell silent. 

“My Queen, Rowena,” he said with paternal care. “It is your intention to bind yourself today to this man?”

Her breath was quick, her knees shaking with excitement. She could hardly believe such utter bliss was hers. She paused for just a moment, trying to take it all in, before she answered  without hesitation, “Yes.”

“And Samuel, a Knight of the Queensguard, now a Prince of the Realm, you intend to bind yourself to our Queen?” 

He looked at her softly, earnestly. When he spoke, his voice was true. “Yes.”

Sam and Rowena turned to face one another. They clasped one another’s right hands between them. Sam’s fingers easily encircled her wrist. She could feel her pulse racing under his gentle touch. 

“Then,” said their officiant. “Be bound to one another.”

Gwen was the first to step forward.  She had ribbons in her hands, which she tied over their hands and wrists. The second in command of the Queensguard followed, with lengths of leather. Finally, the officiant wrapped a cord over the other bindings, and knotted it.

 “Do you have vows with which to promise yourselves?” 

Rowena’s heart was pounding, her chest heaving. Her entire body trembled with eagerness. Then she looked into Sam’s eyes. She saw love and assurance in the gaze of her oldest friend. He nodded, and she drew a deep breath. Her voice was even when she spoke.

“You cannot possess me, for I belong to myself. But as we both wish it, I give you that which is mine to give. “

He answered earnestly, “You cannot command me, for I am a free person, but I shall serve you in the ways which you need.“

Rowena whispered the next words, an intimate promise: “I pledge to you that your name will be the one I cry in the night.”

Sam replied, “Your eyes will be the ones that make me smile in the morning. I’ll give you the first sip of my drink and the first bite from my plate.“

In that moment, Rowena saw only Sam. The castle and the crowds faded away. She felt as if the two of them were alone together before the tree, hand in hand under the sun. This was their day, their love.

The officiant spoke again and the world came back into focus. “Do you take this man to be your consort, and consent to bind yourself to him for life?”

“Yes,” Rowena breathed.

"And do you consent to serve this woman and bind yourself to her for life?”

“Yes,” he answered. “Yes, always yes, for you.” 

“Sam.“ She raised her voice for everyone to hear. These were the most important words she would ever speak. “You will be my living and my dying. I pledge myself equally to your care.”

He answered once more,“You will be my living and my dying. I pledge myself always to your care.”

Their lips met to seal their promise. Their right hands were fasted together but Sam’s left hand found her face and she leaned into his touch. 

Rowena heard the cheers of her court as she met the kiss of her new husband. She had chosen him to reign by her side. And he had chosen her, from the moment they had met. 

The officiant directed them to grasp their binding ties and pull their hands apart, tying the ribbon and leather and cord into a knot. Gwen stepped forward and took it from them.

Hand in hand, side by side, Rowena and Sam turned to face their kingdom. The Queensguard greeted them with a shout, a clash of arms and a standard raised. Behind them, the kingdom let loose with cheers. They filled the air with waving flags, lit sparklers, and floating blown bubbles of soap. Rowena and Sam returned to their castle in a rainbow of love and color. 

On that night, everyone would celebrate. The people would enjoy extra measures of wine and bread, and the court would feast. Rowena had never felt so fulfilled, nor so loved. 

The feast celebrating her wedding was like nothing Rowena had ever seen or could have ever dreamed. For the first time ever, the chair to her left was filled. Sam sat there so perfectly, it seemed like he was always meant to be there. 

Finally, as the bards began to sing and the minstrels to play, Rowena held out her hand and let Sam lead her on to the dance floor. Both of them thought immediately of the night, only months before, when they had danced the night away together. 

Everything then had seemed so hesitant and fragile. Rowena remembered how much she had longed for Sam, and how fearful she had been to act on her desires. What a delight it was to be here on the day of their wedding, the deepest wishes of her heart come true. How wonderful it was to enjoy their love!

They danced and ate and drank and danced some more. For the first time since stepping into her role as Queen, Rowena didn’t stay to see the feast to its close. She let Sam lead her off the dance floor.

At the door of the Great Hall, they turned back. All their people, lords and ladies, Queensguard and Councilors were there, cheering them on, wishing them well. 

Rowena smiled, then turned to Sam. She forgot everything else, and had eyes only for her husband. They walked up the stairs together, hand in hand. At the top, he paused. 

“I know this is your castle, and your bedroom, but I think I should carry you over the threshold.” Rowena laughed and let him sweep her up in his arms. He lifted her easily and held her close as he pushed open the door to her - now their - bedroom. 

“Just don’t drop us,” she said.

Sam set her feet down on the floor safely but suddenly. “Us?” he asked. 

“Us,” Rowena answered. “Me and the baby.” 

Sam’s eyes lit up, his gaze full of hope. “Are you sure?”

“It’s been almost three moon cycles,” she spoke with certainty. “I’m with child, your child.” 

Sam’s laughter was instant and full. “That’s the best thing you’ve ever said to me.”

Rowena met his laughter with her own before she answered. “I spoke my marriage vows to you today.” 

He wrapped her in his arms. “You’ve made me a Prince, a husband, and a father today. And I love you.”

“I love you, my dear, my Sam.”

“I love you, my queen, Rowena, my love.” … There is one more smutty interlude coming tomorrow but the storyline wraps up here. Thanks for reading! This was my first fanfic challenge longer than a one-shot. In 5 days I took 10k+ words from rough draft to published story, with a tremendous amount of time and attention from @there-must-be-a-lock and @mskathywriteswords I cannot thank you both enough! @samwenaweek this has been a ton of fun, and I am loving all the ship content. Thanks to @incorrectsamwena @ruthieconnells for letting me use their art. 

SPN First Last and Always: @boondoctorwho @dawnie1988 @deanwanddamons @divadinag @flamencodiva @fookinghelljensensthighs @idreamofplaid @kalesrebellion @maddiepants @magssteenkamp @onethirstyunicorn   @the-chocolate-moose  @there-must-be-a-lock @tloveswriting Sam Girl For Life: @awesomesusiebstuff @lilsylvia @winchesterxfamilybusiness Rowena My Queen: @delightfullykrispypeach , @lilsylvia @marril96, @pansexualdarling @songofthecagedmoose

[loving-barnes]

Winter’s Song (1) - Bucky Barnes x reader x Loki

(A/N): I have written this long time ago and have decided to post it here. I know I am not active at all on Tumblr, but I am trying to live a better life and find my passion for writing... and so on. I hope you will like this. 

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader x Loki

Warnings: none

Words: 3500+

Part 1

"The princes will arrive soon, your highness," said one of the maids while she was trying to dress up a young woman in front of her. She, as well as other three maids, were putting pieces of clothing on the princess, getting her ready for the biggest occasion that happened in the kingdom. The last celebration was when the youngest daughter of the king was born.  

"Your highness?" the voice brought the girl out of her thoughts.  

"Why do I have to be there?" she asked silently, upset with the thought that she was forced to attend the event where no one will notice her. All eyes will be on her older sisters who were about to find a husband. "This does not concern me if I am correct."  

The older woman raised her eyes, staring at the youngest princess. She was with her ever since she was a baby, barely walking. Her dedication and love helped her raise the princess into a kind-hearted woman. "I know, your highness, but you have to be there to support your siblings. One of them might become the future Queen of Asgard, while the other will become our new Queen," she explained.   

"And what will happen to me?" she questioned, scared of the near future. That was a difficult question even for the maid. "You know my sisters are not very fond of my presence," she sighed. It was the truth – her older siblings never treated her as if she was their blood. "Once they become queens, they will try to get rid of me because I am different, as they said – a witch."  

"No, my princess, you are special, not different and not a witch. Your parents were blessed with a child that can do remarkable things. There was a reason why you were the chosen one and not your sisters," she gave her a reassuring smile and made her turn around to see how they dressed her up.  

This was a new piece for her, turning her into something magical and unique that could be heard only in stories. Her hair was braided multiple times, decorated with white and blue flowers. Her dress was made of the finest fabric. They chose for her white and light blue with a silver cape. It made her heart skip a beat and held her breath for a long second.  

"Beautiful," the maid said proudly, patting princess's shoulders. "You will be the most beautiful girl in the room, and anyone will fall to your knees. Maybe even a prince."  

"My sisters are going to hate me even more."  

"Let them. You deserve a moment of your own. You have been in the shadows for too long."  

A knock on the door interrupted them and a man came inside, instantly bowing. "Princess Y/N, your presence is requested in the main hall," he informed her and left the room, still bowing and not looking at the woman.  

One more time, she looked at her reflection. As beautiful as the dress was, a feeling of insecurity came straight through her chest. "I cannot do this," she shook her head, already stepping away from the mirror. "Let them have everything," and with that, she ran from the room, from the maids, not listening to their calls. No one could stop her at the very moment.  

She knew that there will be consequences later that day but right now, she didn't want to focus on that. Her heart wanted to escape from the castle and the people. Her soul wanted to be outside, running through forests and meadows, to be free and not care about the princess duties. She needed to help others and with the magic flowing in her veins, she was able to do that.  

Y/N was able to sneak out of the castle through the gardens and a secret gate that was built in the castle walls. She knew that the guards will keep their mouth shut and not tell anyone if they saw her. It had a reason – she was treating them well, unlike her sisters who were spoiled and focused on materialistic things. They were mean to the servants; mean to the peasants; mean to the animals, and mean to nature.    

She went down the pathway, around the edge of the forest until she came to a vast meadow that was on a hillock, spreading above a village. There were no flowers, the grass was yellowish, and the weather was becoming cold. The seasons were about the change and the land would rest for a while.  

Yet, the people were still enjoying being outside, living lives to the fullest. Children were playing some games while running through the meadows, laughing and dancing. One of them noticed the princess slowly walking to them.  

"Princess Y/N! Princess Y/N is coming!" a little girl started to shout, ecstatic. A second later, the whole pack ran towards her, happy that she was able to visit them once again.  

No one from the royal family visited the village when unnecessary. Mostly they passed by or once a year decided to appear to do their duties, but not Y/N. She loved her people and wanted the best for them. A true king or queen should be adored by the people. Though her parents did have some respect, it was no secret that they did not like the older princesses.  

As one man once said: "We are terrified of what will happen if the throne will fall to the hands of one of your sisters, your highness."  

Don't let them take the throne, princess.  

Winters would become longer and summers harder. The happiness that was in the faces of the villagers would disappear and they'd know nothing but work and paying taxes.  

Each hand became preoccupied with a little boy and a girl while the rest of the children were surrounded by the princess. They were admiring her new dress, pointing at the flowers in her hair and gave her a lot of compliments. They wanted to have a word with her, tell her what was happening in the village. Last time she visited them; it was almost a month ago.  

"Please, one at a time," she laughed, trying to calm them down as she took the youngest little girl into her arms. She could be around three.    

"Why are you here and not in the castle?" asked an older girl. She was around thirteen.  

"Isn't there supposed to be a big occasion?" another boy asked. "Princes are coming to the palace and you are not there. Why?"  

As they were slowly walking towards the first cottages, she spoke. "They are coming here to meet my sisters and not me. One of them will become the future Queen of Asgard and the other one will become your new queen. Though it is true I should be there to support my two sisters. However, when did they support me?"  

"What if they chose you?" another child asked. "You are the most beautiful princess the realms have seen."  

"Yes! You are not only beautiful on the outside but also the inside."  

"You should be our queen."  

"We will fight for you."  

"Even the people are saying it."  

Y/N stopped in tracks, sighing. As much as it sounded flattering, these words were dangerous. "Be careful. This is treason, as you all know," she reminded them. "Do not speak these things out loud. You never know who might hear you."  

This made the children stop talking for a moment and they continued walking, slowly coming to the rest of the villagers. Those who have noticed her became cheering her name, glad that she was able to come to them again. Almost everyone stopped what they were doing and gathered around the princess, welcoming her.  

A woman brought her a freshly baked bread; another man gave her a rummer filled with red wine. Young men brought a wooden bench so she could sit on it. The people treated her well because she had done more for them than the rest of the royal family. The gathering created some form of warmth and Y/N didn't feel cold anymore. She was happy to see the smiles on people's faces, and most importantly, she felt safe.  

Y/N noticed a lot of roses on the ground. Some of them were trodden down by horses. She knew what it meant.  

"We saw the whole Asgardian royal family coming to the palace," said an older man who was smoking a pipe. "Queen Frigga was very delightful, smiling brightly and greeting us almost with opened arms. King Odin, on the other hand, reminded me of your sisters. His face was stone cold, and he barely gave us any attention."  

While he was talking, the rest of the people were listening, nodding.  

"Prince Thor was very charming," a girl of her age shouted from the crowd. "Golden hair and muscles do make him charming," she giggled.  

"Why are you not in the castle, my princess?" a woman asked, rocking a baby in her hands. "This should be a big day for you."  

Biting down her lower lip, she lowered her head. "I believe my presence is not that important, my friends. They brought their sons for my sisters, not for me."  

"How can you say that, my princess?" an old woman, leaning against a stick, asked. "Do not think for a second that you are not worthy. You are far more worthy than your sisters."  

"You have a kind heart, beautiful face and a gift from the greatest gods," said another woman who might be already someone's great-grandmother. "You are equal to the Asgardian gods."  

"But am I wise enough to be a queen?" the princess asked, looking around herself, scanning the faces of the people who believed in her. Young, old, children or mothers – they all rooted for her. Even though they did not wear fancy clothes and had dirty faces, she never thought less of them. "I do not wish to be engaged to a prince. My heart has been given to someone else."  

Somewhere in the crowd, her eyes met with a piercing green one. They were staring at her while there was a tiny grin forming on the man's lips. She did not see him in the village before but yet she sensed a hint of mischievousness in him.  

"Princess Y/N?" one of the children came to her, taking the woman's hands into their small one. "Because the winter is approaching us, will we sing Winter's song as we always do?"  

With a smile and a simple nod, the princess started to sing the song everyone knew. Her soft song was reverberating through the cottages. One by one, the people joined the song, making it even more beautiful. Some of them took their hands, bonding more through the song. The princess was swaying with a child in her hands while it tried to sing the song too. The cold wind surrounded them, caressing people's cheeks in a welcoming way. As if nature was blessing them for the upcoming winter.  

While singing, there was another person in the crowd that never took eyes off her. He was smiling the moment he heard the princess came to the village. It almost jumped from his chest when he heard her say those wonderful things. It was music to his ears. When the princess noticed the ocean blue eyes, her heart started to beat fast and she had a lot to do to hide her blush.  

The peace was wonderful, uniting the people. It caused the weather to listen to the song and let fall first snowflakes from the sky. The moment could not be any more magical than it was.  

It was until the guards from the castle interrupted their gathering. The horse tramping was loud enough to get their attention. The people ran away from them, forming an entrance into the middle of the group, stopping in front of the princess. She was immediately on her feet, shielding some of the children behind her.  

"Princess Y/N," one of them said loud, frightening the villagers. His heavy armour was clanging when he took off the horse. "You are requested at the palace, immediately. We are taking you with us. It is the king's order." He grabbed her forearm with force, yanking her forward.  

She yelped from pain, not being fond of the way this guard was treating her. He was forcing her up on the horse even though she tried to resist him. "Let me go!"  

A man stepped out the crowd of people, immediately pushing the guard away from the princess. "How dare you treat the princess like this?" he asked, mad at what he was seeing. His green cape hid the princess behind him.  

"And who do you think you are? Step aside!"  

The man with raven hair snickered, standing up straight. "I am Loki of Asgard, son of Odin," he replied to his question. The villagers gasped, letting whispers circle around. "I demand you to let the go of the princess and treat her with respect. If not, the king will be informed about your behaviour."  

Y/N eyes widened, not believing what she was hearing. Those green eyes that were watching her from the crowd belonged to a prince, to Odin's son. Her breath hitch in the middle of the throat and it made her blink a few times in disbelief.  

The villagers started to bow in front of him. It was disrespectful not to do so. No one knew who he was until he revealed his identity.  

Loki turned around, taking a good look at the princess. "Are you alright, my lady?" he asked politely.  

"Yes," she whispered.  

"She needs to be brought back to the castle," said the guard. "Now."  

"Very well," Loki nodded. "Give her and me a horse. We will be going back to the castle as requested."  

They listened to his orders. Two guards took off the horses and brought them closer to the prince and princess. Loki, as a true gentleman, helped her up on the horse. When she was seated well, she turned to him. "Thank you," her voice being soft.  

Her eyes scanned the surroundings, looking for the only person that could carry her away from the situation. Unfortunately, he was not there anymore.  

Once the prince was seated upon the horse, together, they went towards the castle, followed by the guards. All eyes of the serfs were on them, watching as they were leaving the village. They remained quiet, silently praying for the princess.  

The first snow that was falling on them stopped. The magical moment was ruined. Now, she had to face her parents, both sisters and King Odin with his family. His younger son was silently riding next to her. She could feel his eyes on her back – watching her as prey, never leaving her out of his sight.  

There were two options in front of her – follow the guards and prince Loki back to the castle or...Her heels spurred the horse and it immediately started to run away from the group, going straight to the forest. Before they were able to register what happened, she was far ahead from them, giving her a massive advantage.  

"Don't let me down," she said to the horse, trying to make him go as fast as possible. She knew the forest as if it was her second home. There was only one place she would rather be now – the only place she felt safest. When the blue eyes discovered what happened, they knew what to do and where to go. He knew what she would do.  

"Stop the princess!" the screams were echoing around her.  

There was no time turning around the shoulder to check where the guards were. She hoped that a miracle would happen, and she would get to the place she wanted to be the most.  

They almost got her. The guards with prince Loki appeared from two sides, ready to encircle her. That was when a golden portal opened in front of her and she went right through it. It closed before they had a chance to witness the magic in front of them.  

Y/N appeared at the end of the village, near a wooden cottage where were several people. It belonged to the local old smith whose son took the business.  

"She's here," said a voice that belonged to a woman.  

Y/N stopped the horse, almost falling from him. There was mud on the ground, and it made it too slippery. Luckily, she was able to remain on the horse's back.  

"Easy there," a tall man jumped to the horse, taking the cord. "We do not want the princess to fall, do we?"  

Y/N looked down at the man. A bright smile tugged at her lips, eyes sparkling with nothing but adoration and love. She reached for the man who took her into his strong hands and twirled them around. Then his lips ended on top of her, kissing her passionately. They did not care that some eyes were watching them.  

"My angel," he whispered into her ear and then kissed her cheek. "It's been so long."  

"I am very sorry," she said with the same tone with a hint of sadness. "After this stunt, I will not be able to see you for a long time, James."  

"We will always find a solution."  

Their conversation was interrupted by the others. "Princess Y/N, long time no see," said a woman. When she turned her head to the voice, she noticed her friends Wanda and Vis standing next to each other, grinning. Instantly, they bowed. Not out of respect but to humour her. They were friends in secret for a long time. There was a reason.  

"I have noticed you are becoming better with your abilities, my friend," the princess turned to the two people standing afar.  

Vis smiled at her, nodding. "I have been learning with my dearest one," and he pulled Wanda closer to him. "She is a wonderful teacher."  

Vis was a cook in a local pub and Wanda was a waitress there. The pub belonged to her father. He agreed to a union between his daughter and the cook. James, on the other hand, was a smith's son who took care of the business and he was Y/N's secret lover. What they had in common was the uniqueness that united them all.  

Y/N smiled at them; fingers still entwined with James's. "Unfortunately, we do not have a lot of time," she turned back to the man standing so close. "They want me back at the castle. There will be consequences for what I have done."  

"And what have you done?" he questioned, pretending as he did not know about anything.  

"I was not present for the arrival of the Asgardian royalty and decided to run away. I did not obey the order of my father to be brought back to the castle. Instead, I had turned my horse and escaped into the woods. Now, they are looking for me," she explained. "Even a prince."  

"Which one?" he asked again.  

"Prince Loki."  

Wanda came closer to them, not being sure if she heard properly. "Did you say Loki? The God of Mischief himself?"  

"Yes," she nodded. "He came too, with his brother Thor. He was in the village during the Winter's song."  

"Is that bad?" Vis asked.  

She shrugged. "I do not know. You never know what it can cause. Luckily, he was not able to see the portal; he was not able to see me disappear. The Asgardian family does not know about... magic in our realm. Or at least about you. I believe my parents have told them something about me."  

"Queen Frigga might know it, as well as Loki," said Wanda. "They both use magic."  

"Different kind of magic," James added.  

"Yet, it is still magic. They will know."  

"Loki is also the God of Mischief and lies. You have to be careful with him, my angel," James brushed a piece of Y/N's hair behind her ear.  

She nodded. "Luckily, both him and his brother came for my sisters and not me. I am would not let them betroth me to someone else than you."  

"That's good," he smiled lovingly. "Because you are mine, angel."  

"Honestly, this is funny," Wanda started to laugh. "Apologies, your majesty, for my laugh, but to be honest, even though you are a princess, they do treat you like air."  

"You are not far from the truth," Y/N nodded. "Royal princess that lives in the shadows."  

"That is more powerful than any of those sitting on the throne," Vis added.    

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[knightthunderis]

Ch 8 Tours and History Lessons

Byron knew that this commoner had him over a barrel.  Without her, he, Malachi and House Blanchard were out of the running.  She was certainly not like any commoner he had ever come across besides Derrick Werner and his sister Serephine.  She did not negotiate terms like a commoner or a waitress.  She spoke like a CEO and there was something about the way she presented herself that actually made him afraid of her. She radiated power and strength.  She held herself in a stance of power and she knew it, she owned it and radiated it.  As he looked her over, he noticed her crest pin and recognized who it represented.  He had to agree to listen to and follow through on her terms if he wanted House Blanchard to survive this Social Season.  He sighed and then met Reimeiko’s eyes before speaking. “Alright Lady Reimeiko, what are your ground rules and terms.” the duke asked.

“Well first off I know that you recognize the crest I wear, so you now know who I really am.” Reimeiko started.

“Yes, Reimeiko Christyne Amaryllis Thunderis, Crown Princess of the kingdom of Thunderia.” Byron said.  “The eldest child of Thor and Kyiandra Thunderis.  But we will get into that later.  Now to your rules and regulations?”

“The rules and regulations are as follows.” Reimeiko said. “One, the word commoner is not to pass anyone’s mouth anymore.  You people spout it off like it is a vulgar word and it is not.  Except for a twist of fate, you could have been born into a common family and there is nothing wrong with them. Two, you will not talk down to me or treat me like I am inferior to you, you have to earn respect to gain it.  Three, no matter what happens, what I say goes no if, ands or buts about it.  I have spent my whole life being trained to be a queen, warrior, defender, protector, wife and mother.  I know the rules of court and customs and how to conduct myself as such so only if I need your knowledge elsewhere will I ask for it.  Four, the titles will only be engaged during these formal affairs no where else.  Titles do not make the person, it is how they act around others that makes them or breaks them.  Five, there will be straight up honesty if this is going to continue.  You know who I am, where I fit in and where I come from.  There will be no secrets here between us.  If I detect any falsehood or misinterpretation on your part, I will sever my connection to the both of you right then and there and there will be no turning back.  There will more than likely be more rules that come up but for now these are a start.  Are we agreed?”

“Agreed.” Byron and Malachi said.  Reimeiko sensed sincerity and honesty in both men and breathed a sigh of relief.

“Alright, now I want the full story from you about what is really going on with your house and family.” Reimeiko said, “I want the truth, no embellished fabrication.”

“Alright, like I said.” Byron replied sadly. “Perhaps Malachi did not fully explain what is going on, but I will.  While he has been around the prince, I have been back here doing the real work of running the house and estate.  And that is where you come in, but considering everything you brought to light, maybe we should reconsider our options.  You do not need us sponsoring you considering where you come from.”

“No, the sponsorship is a good cover,” Reimeiko said. “Just like my waitress cover at Russo’s.  ThunderStarUniversal will cover you financially for now, but because of the delicacy of this investigation I can not reveal everything yet.  I think there is more on your family’s financial strain than just old man Barnaby’s excessive spending.  Your finances will be covered in other ways for you two alone.  I have my suspicions about what is going on but until I have proof I really need you to trust me.”

“It is something we could use right now actually because we are kind of well very broke.” Malachi added. “I know I overstep but she said there was to be complete honesty and since she is representing our house, we can trust her because she is trusting us.”

“There is no shame in being broke.” Reimeiko said. “I have been there.  As long as you have the necessities in life everything else does not matter.  I guess that explains why I had to buy my own outfits and I guess I will be buying everything I will need here including the gown for the masquerade.  But that is okay.  As the Princess of Thunderia, I do have help in the financial situation in more ways than one.”

“Unfortunately that is precisely so.” Byron replied. “We can only afford the bare minimum.  No one outside House Blanchard knows how bad things really are for us.”

“Cecil is in this upto his ears and we have to know why and how.” EnDaryien said. “Reimeiko, using your Knight Thunder powers, do you sense anything out of the ordinary so far?”

“Maybe it is your former brother in law’s presence that is making me uneasy, but I am not sure.” Reimeiko thought. “I will keep digging to find it all.  He is married to Seidre’s twin sister Coradae.  I am sure that she will remember Reimeiko uh, I mean me.” Aloud, she asked. “Do you get money if I end up marrying the prince?”

“Not directly.” Byron replied. “But we can leverage the prestige to great effect.  It would be best to get that leverage before others found out our situation.  In the circles we run in, if word got out about our financial ruin, it would be a major scandal.  but our name is still worth something here in the royal line.”

“Their financial ruin is due to Barnaby’s major spending.” Marco said through the earpiece. “According to reports, he is in a coma in a major hospital in the West Indies.”

Reimeiko switched to Thunderian. “I think that ought to be checked out.  Something tells me that if this coma is for real then he would not be squandering the family fortune and there would be receipts of the purchases.”

“I will check right into that and send a small group to check out the hospital that Barnaby is supposedly in.” Marco said.

“At the very least, we can introduce you to the right people and get you invitations to the right events.” Malachi replied. “We can offer you a first rate education in the ways of court, starting with your wardrobe and branching out from there.”

“What did I just say about an education?” Reimeiko asked. “I know more about the ways of court and warfare than any of those so-called women in this court.  I am about to show those snobs up when I win Karyson back and get to the bottom of this mystery.  And what is wrong with what I am wearing?  I will have you remember this is the formal uniform of the houses of Thunderia and Galaxia and I represent both.”

“I guess one could consider it well, unconventionally adventurous.” Byron offered. “The point is whether or not you dress the part.  Now it is time to start memorizing the lineage of each great house.  No wait. Perhaps it is more urgent to educate you on silverware from the least to the most obscure.  You may dress the part but you also need to play it.”

“Byron, breathe.” Reimeiko ordered. “I am up-to-date on courtly maneuvers, table etiquette, manners, wine tasting, various dinner conversations and otherwise.  Furthermore, I was at the top of my class when it came to memorizing and knowing the lineage of all of the kingdoms in and around the Universal Alliance.  I know everything there is to know about your kingdom’s various great houses and that is including yours.”

“Hey, Byron, let us not scare Reimeiko off.  She just got here.” Malachi replied. “We should show her the more fun side of living here.  I was going to take her on a tour of the palace.”

“Yes, I suppose that it would not do for Reimeiko to get lost or worse,” Byron gulped. “cause an international incident by walking into the wrong room. But the lessons--”

“Maybe while we are on the tour,” Malachi added. “You can talk about the royals of the past or something.  Teach while we are on the tour. I know that you can walk and talk at the same time.”

“I hope that you mean the distinguished history of the kingdoms.” Byron replied. “What do you say to a tour guide, Reimeiko?  Do you want to see all that the palace has to offer?”

“I would be delighted.” Reimeiko said. “I am a learning sponge.  I am ready for everything you wish to teach me.  Although, I know everything there is to know about all of the Universal Alliance kingdoms.”

“Yeah, totally radical.” Malachi gushed. “I do not even know where to start, but it does not matter since we are going to see everything.”

“Oh heaven help me.” Byron sighed. “Now the first stop is the dining room.  The Ruby dining room was built in the seventeen hundreds and is a display of the kingdom’s great wealth.  Everything you see here is made of the finest materials and by artisans at the top of their trade.  This room is most renowned for hosting the terms of the peace treaty between Thaddea and the as of yet burgeoning country of Armentaria.”

“Armentaria is well known for its overload of military might and the royal family’s brute force.” Reimeiko chimed. “The present queen Elisha is quite the stuck up little twerp, acting like she is higher and more powerful than anyone else around, but she is also arrogant, spoiled, self-centered, conceited, rude and very obnoxious.”

“You seem to speak from having experienced meeting her somewhere along the way in your life and travels.” Byron acknowledged.

“Unfortunately yes.” Reimeiko said. “I mean, granted, as young as she was at the time, she really had and has no idea how much bigger, stronger, and more powerful the Universal Alliance is compared to her fleet.  Her husband is a big blowhard who is all talk and no real action.  He talks a big game and can dish it out but he can never take it.  He is all big and bad when he is in the lead and is pushing people around, but if the tables get turned on him or someone calls his bluff and takes him down, he runs off like the hounds of hell are on his tail.”

“Wow. Now that is what I call calling them like you see them.” Malachi said gushing. “You really are the Princess of Thunderia and the leader of the Universal Alliance.”  

[amydancepants-peralta]

For the Fictomber prompts, can I get a peraltiago with a number 7?

Hi @stars-my-darling!  I’m sorry that this is a little late (I was hoping to be able to play the Timezone Difference card, but I’m most definitely just plain LATE now) 🙈 … but here it is, along with your request for a Princess AU! 👑♥️

run run run away, baby

“No!  And that’s final.”

The King was direct in his tone, sceptre slamming into the ground for emphasis as he looked down at Amy.  She can feel her heart beginning to fall, spiralling down towards her feet, and her eyes follow it’s path.

“The very idea of it is preposterous, Amelia.”

A familiar sense of defiance runs through her, and Amy shakes her head in response.  “I love him, your majesty.  I want to marry him.  And he wants to marry me.”

The jewels studded along the edge of the King’s crown glisten under the sunlight as he scoffs, shrugging off her answer with a roll of his eyes.  “What does one need love for, when you have fortune and nobility?”

Amy shakes her head again, countering - “What good is fortune, if you don’t have love?”

His laugh is dismissive, voice taking on a condescending tone that cuts to her core.  “You are the Princess of Brooklynd, Amelia.  A role that every single woman across the land would happily give up everything for.  You are not going to ruin years of tradition by taking the hand of some lowly stable boy.  You cannot marry him.  I won’t stand for it.”

Amy’s eyes are hot with unshed tears as she swivels away, making quick work of putting distance between the King and herself.  This afternoon had turned out exactly the way she had been terrified of, and there was only one person that she knew would be able to comfort her right now. 

Technically, the King was correct.  She was the Princess of Brooklynd, and there was undoubtedly scores of women within the villages who would love a chance to spend a day in her shoes.  

But she had not been born to this role.  

The story had been told to her so many times that Amy could now recite it without blinking.  That she had been just over five years old when the King and Queen had found her standing, alone and upset, along the pathway towards the kingdom.  They had lifted her into their carriage, taking her home to the castle for food and shelter while they conducted a thorough search throughout the surrounding villages for her parents.  Sadly, nobody came forward.  Amy had been abandoned, the only clue of her previous life a small locket that, too big for her neck, had been wrapped around her wrist.  It had her first name burned into the metal in a gentle cursive, and by the following week Amy had been turned into Princess Amelia - the luckiest royal daughter to ever exist.

From the outside, her life appeared enviable - evenings draped in ballgowns created by the finest of threads; a sprawling castle with it’s own library to call home; the rarest of artworks adorning their walls.  She was undeserving of this life of splendour that had been thrust upon her, and was reminded of it constantly.

As time wore on and she became more self-aware, it became apparent that Amy had very different views on how to run a kingdom than that of the King.  The Queen, having perished several years earlier from a terrible illness, had been minimal with her maternal actions, choosing to follow the lead of her husband in moulding their prized daughter into a mirror image of themselves, priming her for rule when the time would come.  But Amy was not one to have her decisions made for her, and as a result she often clashed with her patriarch.  

She had been living a life of obligation for so long it had become impossible to imagine a life without it when she first met Jake Peralta.  Having recently turned seventeen, she was hiding in the stables with only her book for company when he’d taken a wrong turn and entered a previously unused stall.  Tripping on a loose rope, he’d stumbled ungracefully, startling Amy from her position laying across a bale of hay, and after apologising profusely for a solid amount of time (even as a stable boy, he knew the dangers of upsetting a member of the royal family), they’d begun talking.  Then, they were laughing.  

Her whole life, Amy had been unable to shake the feeling that she was a part of a larger puzzle, missing an assortment of extra pieces, and that a life of solitude with just her and the King and Queen didn’t nearly count for enough.  Jake was kind, and funny; a ray of sunshine after years of grey skies, and it wasn’t long until they were meeting every single day.  He made her laugh so much that her stomach hurt, and in the quieter moments Amy couldn’t help but notice just how handsome he was.  Or how much her skin tingled whenever their hands would accidentally brush against each other.  

With Jake’s encouragement, Amy discovered how to really live - to ride horses without restraint; to climb the trees until she reached their highest branch, to lay in the grass and watch the sky turn peach with the fading sun.  She got to know a world without costumes and stuffy dinners, where duty and privilege were unimportant details and that a day without laughter was truly a day wasted.  He became her best friend: her point of solace when she would disagree with the King (which was pretty often), and the only person she truly felt she could be herself around.  

She had shown him the underside of her necklace, her name delicately traced against the metal, and from that day on he never called her Amelia again.  To him, she was Amy - and then eventually Ames - and she was falling in love with him so rapidly it made her dizzy. 

And then one night while they lay together counting stars, Jake had leaned over and kissed her, and suddenly it felt as though everything had finally fallen into place.  From that moment on, they were Jake and Amy, filling their days with clandestine meetings in various places within the castle grounds, laying together in quieter moments and daydreaming of a life outside of their own.  

Three years had since passed, and the two of them were unequivocally in love.  Last week, as they walked through the forest that surrounded the castle, Jake had gripped Amy’s hand so tightly in his, trying (and failing) to conceal his shaking body as he told Amy all of the things that she had always wished to hear.  That she was the love of his life, that the world had changed for him the moment they met, and that he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.  With the scent of blossoming jasmine surrounding them, Jake stood in front of Amy, and knelt down on one knee.   

“I know that I don’t have much to offer.  I know that I am a simple stable boy, and that I cannot give you the life you’ve had for so long.  All I can give you is my heart, and the rest of my years, and Ames, you have one of those already.  I don’t know how, or when, or if it could ever even happen, but I know that I can’t imagine a life without you.  Amy, will you marry me?”

There were fireworks exploding inside her heart as she broke out into the biggest grin, nodding so rapidly she could barely speak.  Instead, her knees sunk down into the grass beside his, pulling Jake in for a kiss that could have lasted forever if only they had the chance.  And while she knew that it was going to be difficult - and that there was a very large possibility that the King would not approve - Amy didn’t care.  All of the supposed splendour of royalty was just a facade, and worthless if you didn’t have somebody you truly loved to share it with.  

And so she had stood before the King today, resplendent in her finest outfit in the hopes of gaining his approval, and told him of the relationship that she had kept secret for so long.  

As predicted, he had disregarded her passionate pleas, declaring her betrothal to a Prince from a nearby kingdom as far more advantageous, denying her the chance to marry for love instead of duty.  And now she was running towards the stable at the back of the palace field, flinging the barn door open with a grunt when she finally reaches the structure.

Jake was inside raking through hay when she ran inside, turning to Amy with a smile so sweet she could already feel herself calming down just a little.

“Ames!  You look beautiful - wait, what’s wrong?”

The rake is cast aside, hitting the ground with a dull thud as he rushes towards her, enveloping Amy in his arms before another word is spoken.  Within seconds his shirt is wet with her tears, the anguish and disappointment of the day finally catching up to Amy now that she’s wrapped up with the one she loves.  

“He won’t let us, Jake.  The - the King.  He’s forbidden us fr-from getting married.”  Amy’s words are shaky, heart pounding too hard for her to speak clearly as the reality of the situation hits her, the sound muffled from her position against Jake’s chest.

He pulls away slightly, eyes full of regret as he takes in the devastation clearly written on her face.  “Oh, Ames.  I’m so sorry.  I should never have put you in this position.”

She shakes her head vehemently, placing one hand on either side of his face.  “Please don’t ever apologise for loving me, Jake.  You’ve brought so much beauty to my life, and marrying you is all I could ever want.  You’re it for me, Jake Peralta.  That’s never going to change.”

His head dips downwards, meeting her lips with his own, and Amy can taste the salt of her tears as she breathes him in.  The thought of marrying anybody else - of having to kiss anybody else - was enough to break her heart.  Eventually they seperate, Jake holding Amy’s hand close to his chest as they walk over to a nearby bench.

Amy’s breath shudders in her chest as she looks up at Jake, the words bitter on her tongue as she explains about Prince Tedford from a nearby province - an uninspiring man that the King has decided is worthy of her hand.  Her tears start up all over again as she speaks, hands twisting up the fabric of her skirt around her fingers as she digs her nails in.  When she looks up, and sees the horror on Jake’s face at the sound of her marrying somebody other than him, she pulls herself closer to his side, resting her head on his shoulder as one arm curls around his waist.  

“I can’t do it, Jake.  I won’t.  I could never love anybody else.”  

Jake’s shoulders raise as he takes in a deep breath, sniffling loudly as he tries to hold back his tears.  “When does he want you to marry this other prince?”

Tucking her nose into Jake’s upper arm, Amy pauses for a moment before speaking.  “As soon as possible.  Especially now that he knows that I want to be with someone else.”

Her head jostles as Jake buries his face in his hands, shaking slowly as the information sinks in.  She rests her free hand against his thigh, squeezing gently while she waits in silence.  And after a moment, Jake’s head lifts.  

“Okay, hear me out for a second.  What if we ran away together?  Just packed up a few of our things and disappeared?”

The stable falls silent as Amy’s heart leaps into her chest, the idea that maybe not all was doomed suddenly too much for her to understand.  Jake takes her silence as doubt, and continues.  “I mean … they’re not your family, right?  Clearly, the King doesn’t understand you.  Somewhere out there Ames, there’s a family that has been dreaming and waiting and praying for your return.  So let’s just go find them.”

Amy’s left hand reaches up to grasp the necklace that never left her neck.  Most days, she felt it was her only link to her real family, wherever they may be.  And now the thought that she could escape all of this, and find her way home, was a little overwhelming.  

“Jake, do you hear what you’re saying?  Run away from the palace, and all it’s guards?”  He nods enthusiastically, and Amy tries her hardest not to get swept up in his eagerness.  “Do you really think we could?”

“The guards have grown incredibly lazy over the years, babe.  Most of them haven’t even noticed our sneaking around, and there have been times when our cover story was not plausible.  We could leave in the middle of the night.  There’s bound to be some of them asleep at their post.  We won’t be able to take much, but Ames … what else do we need, except each other?”

Her eyes pool with tears all over again, but this time they’re full of joy as Amy nods, a smile breaking out on her face for the first time all day.  It might be insanity, and it was incredibly risky, but the danger of a life without Jake was far more terrifying.  He stands with a whoop, pulling Amy up and into his arms as they laugh together, the prospect of a brighter future now suddenly so much clearer than it had ever been.  

*

They choose a night in the middle of the week to disappear, relying on the stars for light as Jake untethers Amy’s favourite horse, waiting until her arms are wrapped tightly around his waist before riding away from the castle.  

For days, for weeks, they keep a low profile as word gets out that the Princess has run away.  Bounty’s bigger than most families fortunes are offered for Amy’s return, drawings of her likeness pasted on doorways and tree trunks for miles and miles.

At night, they get creative with places to sleep - finding quiet barns or abandoned cottages to give them shelter from the cold.  It’s a stark contrast to the feather filled mattresses that Amy had always slept on in the castle, but falling asleep inside Jake Peralta’s arms was more comfortable than anything she’d ever known.  With him she was the happiest she had ever been.  She was safe, and she no longer feared the future.  

The further they ventured, the less the villagers seemed to know of Amy’s disappearance, and the King’s arrogance in refusing to know his staff had ultimately worked in Jake’s favour, allowing him to remain under the cover of anonymity.  Then one afternoon; while Amy lay in her favourite hiding spot - a field of wildflowers that, untethered, had grown so tall that her position was invisible from the worn path - Jake approached her with an excited grin.  

Tucking a plucked flower into the well-worn pages of her favourite book to mark her place, Amy placed the novel to her side, giving Jake her full attention.  With a gentle kiss after sitting beside her, he gripped her hands in his before declaring - “I think I’ve found your parents.”

Amy’s heart leaps into her chest, squeezing Jake’s fingers in surprise as she shakes her head in disbelief.  “What?  How?”

Jake had been at the local market, gathering some food for their next journey to a province even further away from the castle, when he’d overheard two locals talking to a family that had recently moved into the village.  Watching as the two parents introduced their seven sons, Jake noticed the heartbreak that ran over the mother’s face as she spoke of their only daughter, explaining that she had been taken from them at an early age.  What kept his attention, however, was the woman’s striking likeness to Amy.  Same olive skin, same dark hair, same brown eyes that somehow always seemed to radiate kindness.

The father spoke up, explaining that over the years they had moved through the provinces, each time praying that this time they would finally be reunited with their daughter.  They were never going to give up, he explained.  Not when their child is out there waiting for them.  

There wasn’t a doubt in Jake’s mind that he was looking at Amy’s parents, and he had rushed back through the maze of tents, dodging the traders looking to hawk their goods as he headed to the field he knew Amy would be hiding in.  

She sat across from him now, eyes wide in amazement as the idea that she might be about to finally meet her parents washes over her.  “Jake … are you sure?” 

He shrugs, giving her a sheepish smile before explaining “The only thing I’ve ever been sure about is you.  But I feel like we have to at least try?”

Amy’s hands begin to shake and Jake stands, tightening his grip as he pulls her up to join him.  “Oh my gosh, Jake - is this really about to happen?”  Her head shakes in disbelief, looking up at him with knitted brows.  “I mean … what if they don’t like me?”

Releasing her hands, Jake brushes a strand of hair away from her face, leaning in to press a kiss to her temple.  “Impossible, Ames.  You’re an amazing person, and they’d be crazy not to see that.  And besides, if all else fails, at least we’ll have each other, right?”

She nods, teeth sinking into her lip in excitement.  It had been such a long few weeks, staying low and hiding away from the locals, but now everything was falling into place.  Quickly, she runs her fingers through her hair, smoothing away any other loose hairs before adjusting the bodice of her dress, looking over at Jake and asking - “Do you think I look okay?”

He smiles, running his hands down her arms in comfort.  “I’m probably the worst person to ask.  To me, you always look amazing.”  She blushes, and he lets out a quiet laugh.  “But yes, you look beautiful.  Trust me, they’re going to love you.”  Dropping a quick kiss to her lips, he pulls away to add, “It’s really hard not to.” 

*

Jake’s fingers are entwined with hers as he pulls her back through the differently coloured market stalls, Amy using her free hand to keep the shawl that they’d wrapped around her head close.  This town didn’t seem to have any awareness of Princess Amelia’s existence, let alone her current status as a runaway, but there was a part of her that was still fearful of one of the King’s men lurking in the shadows, and there was not a chance she was going to risk everything falling apart now that they were so close to finding her family.  

He squeezes her hand as he finds the same people from before, following them closely until they’ve reached a more secluded section, gaining their attention and explaining that there was somebody he thinks they should meet.  With Jake’s encouragement, Amy steps forward, dropping the shawl and locking eyes with the mystery woman, and in an instant she knew.

For years, Amy had been having dreams where somebody that looked just like her would visit, talking to her in such a soothing voice that any fears that had been escalating were immediately eradicated.  The idea that such a woman could have abandoned her hurt far too much for Amy to think about, and so she had pushed away the idea of having such a loving mother, relegating her to a figment of her imagination only.  Only now, she could see the memories had been real.

In a voice so similar to her own, the woman cries out Mija!, arms pulling Amy in for a tight hug as the boys around her stand in shock.  When she pulls away the older gentleman moves to stand in front of her, the eyes raking over her face growing wider as he too began to realise that their family was once again complete.

It was several hours before everything began to settle, and after years of mystery the truth finally came to pass.  

Amy was a Santiago, and sister to seven brothers.  Her parents, Camila and Victor, had pulled her aside quietly, telling Amy the story of how one day she and her brothers had been playing together when an overly adorned coach rolled down the path, pulling up and snatching Amy from her position on the grass before anybody could react.  Victor had run after the coach for as long as his legs would allow, desperate to stop his worst nightmare from becoming a reality, and the misery at his failure was still obvious all the years later.  

Having never seen the occupants of the coach, her family had devoted all the years afterwards to moving through the country, staying long enough at each new province to meet every person that lived there.  The heartache of failure grew stronger with every passing year, and Camila’s hands kept gripping Amy’s as they sat together now, scarcely able to believe that they had finally been reunited.  

They shook their heads in disbelief as Amy told them of her life as Princess Amelia, neither of them ever considering that people as affluent as the King and Queen would be so brazen as to take their child.  Having lived so far away from the kingdom, they only knew of the royal Princess by name, never seeing her likeness drawn anywhere, and not for the first time Amy is thankful that she and Jake had thrown caution to the wind by escaping from the King’s tyrannic rule.  

Jake hangs back for a long while, giving Amy a chance to meet everyone, watching her with careful eyes from the background in case it all got too overwhelming.  He moves quickly towards her when she reaches for him, arm wrapping around her waist and squeezing as she introduces him to her parents - a word that sounded so foreign on her lips, yet brought such a feeling of joy when uttered.  

He was nervous, fumbling over a jumble of words as he tells Amy’s family (FAMILY! She has a family now!) how exciting it is to finally meet them; explaining their journey here and telling all the Santiagos just how much he loved her.  They welcomed him with open arms - he was the one to reunite them, after all - and by nightfall Jake and Amy are safely ensconced in the walls of the Santiago family home.  

Within a month, they are married, family and friends gathering together under the oak tree that grew in the middle of Amy’s favourite field.  In her hand she gripped a bunch of wildflowers, the scent of which would forever remind her of this day, and when Victor led her to Jake’s side, Amy had never felt more complete.  

As he gripped her hands tightly within his, Jake promised to spend the rest of his life loving Amy - to hold her when the world grew cold, and kiss her goodnight every evening.  With tears pouring down her face, Amy vowed to spend her lifetime with Jake in her heart; to be his guidance when the road grew dark, and to hold him in her arms when they would fall asleep.  Together, they declared their love to be unending, sealing it with a kiss that made both of their hearts skip a tiny beat.

The princess may not have ended up with a prince, but Amy had found her home with Jake’s arms around her and her family smiling beside her, and that was the only fairytale ending they needed.  

*

*

“And they all lived happily ever after.”

Closing the book quietly, Jake smiles down at his sleeping daughter, leaning in with his free hand to gently brush a curl away from her forehead.  “Good night, sweetheart,” he whispered, leaving the tiniest of kisses against her forehead.  

She snuffles quietly, eyelids fluttering open briefly and smiling up at Jake.  “Daddy?”

“Yes, bubba?”

“You and mama are prince and pwincess too?”

Jake stands, moving to place the book back onto the well-stocked bookshelf before returning to his daughter.  “No, honey.  But mama and I, we’ve got our own love story.”  Tucking the blankets surrounding her, Jake whispers  “And one day, we’ll tell you all about it.  But it’s time for sleep now, okay?”

Her eyes are already fluttering close again as she nods, head stilling halfway through as she falls back asleep.  Jake pauses for a minute, watching her tiny chest fall up and down with her breaths, and for the hundredth time today alone he thanks the universe for everything that led him to this moment.  Together, he and Amy had built a life together, their unbreakable bond resulting in this family of three (and maybe someday, even more).  And while their love story would never be the same as the dragon fighting Princes climbing castle walls, like the story he had just read to their daughter, Jake knew that his and Amy’s story was even better.

He flicks on the nightlight as he leaves her bedroom, a cascade of stars climbing the ceiling in a soft blue light as he closes the door almost all the way closed.  Catching the sight of his wife leaving the kitchen with two glasses of wine in her hand, Jake tiptoes down the hallway, and on the way he thinks to himself - there could never be a happier ending than this.  

[random-imagines-blog]

House of Cards {Hermione Lodge x Dom!Female Reader Oneshot}

Requested by: Anonymous Wordcount: 3792 Synopsis: You’re a Serpent with a dominant reputation, and she was just the girl that you had grown up with then departed from. What happens when she comes to your door? Notes: Light BDSM

Your trailer at Southside was better decorated than most of the others, because you took pride in what you called your home. Your door was painted a dark shade of red, your windows were always clean and you had a small garden that you managed to grow in the dry soil nearby. Your living room was filled with artwork that you had acquired through less than legal means, and your furniture was made of the finest leather and fabrics. It was small, but it was exactly to your tastes - but there was only one thing that seemed to stand out from the rest of the decor. It was a picture of you, as a young girl - probably around the age of fourteen, with your arm around another girl your age. Oh to be young again and be able to have friends without worrying about the Serpents trying to separate the two of you. You wouldn’t ever admit it out loud, but even you - the black-hearted Serpent with a bad reputation - had a little place in your heart where Hermione Gomez - or Lodge as she was now - would live forever.

You didn’t always live in the trailer park - in fact, you grew up on the nicer side of Riverdale, where all the big homes were, the nice parks, the picture perfect families with their dark secrets. You could count them on your fingers, the Blossoms, the Smiths, the Coopers. If there was one family that put out the sunniest disposition though, and lied through their teeth, it was your own. Because of the money, the affluence and all - you grew up as a pretty happy child, though very deeply sheltered from the world. This lead to a lot of discovery later in your teens but you’ll get into that later on.

You had your friends handpicked by your parents since you were a toddler, but of course, you hadn’t known that at the time. All of the kids that you were exposed to were the children of your parents friends, and you stuck with them throughout elementary school and hardly branched out to the other kids. The person that you were closest with was the beautiful Hermione Gomez, who was already being groomed to be a trophy wife by the first grade. You two clicked instantly, and became the best of friends within a single play date. Her family became an extension of yours, your family became her second. She spent nights at your house - even on school nights when your parents weren’t too happy about the giggling that went on until midnight.

The years flew by until the two of you were fourteen and the picture had been taken at your birthday party. The theme had been Greek Mythology, and you were both wearing flowing white dresses with flowers in your hair. Except for one or two of your male classmates, the party was predominantly females, standing around your backyard eating the treats the chef had made, and enjoying the entertainment your parents had paid for. You had invited them over to a big slumber party, in which your parents graciously allowed you to use their bedroom, for their bed was a King size and could fit everyone comfortably. So you snuggled in beside Hermione, the two of you face to face in the middle, your backs to everyone else. Before you fell asleep, you felt a hand go onto your hip. Your eyes opened sleepily and you saw Hermione staring at you, holding you. You gave her your first kiss that night. You got your first rush of naughtiness at it being in bed beside a bunch of unsuspecting girls - and that your first kiss was with a girl rather than some nice boy like your parents would have wanted.

You and Hermione grew closer through that encounter. Hermione now held your hand as you walked through the halls of the school, and spent lunch hour together, sitting under the bleachers and fed each other pieces of fruit like you were royalty in an old painting. It was the best couple months of your life - but of course, everything would soon fall apart.

An awakening was in store for you, and a very rude one at that. Hermione and yourself had gotten a lot of attention because of how close the two of you were getting, and rumors had started to circle that even your parents had heard about. You had been sat down in the fancy parlor of your home, and told sternly by your mother and father that you were not to spend time with Hermione outside of school anymore. Your heart had broken, and that’s when you realized that your parents didn’t always have your best interests at heart - they only cared about their reputation, and raising someone who is a potential lesbian didn’t fit in with their agenda. Plus, on top of that, they wanted you to marry rich, they’d made that perfectly clear. It was then that you had started to rebel. It was then that your life started to change.

“Okay, now what the hell are you doing?” FP Jones asked when he caught you walking around the South Side late one night. The fact that your parents had called Hermione’s and forbid her from sneaking out to be with you after school hours had hurt you so much, you went for a walk without realizing the destination. Your instincts had guided you on where to turn, not your rationality. Why you ended up here though - you weren’t sure.

You shrugged and kept walking, and didn’t care that the teenage boy in the Serpents jacket was following you. There was enough room on the sidewalk for the both of you. “You don’t have to follow me, I’m not going to cause any shit for you.” F.P. eyed you after you said that though he kept silent. But he did keep following you until you saw a shitty looking bar up ahead - it seemed the type that wouldn’t care if there was a minor in it.

After that first initial walk with F.P. and a coke at a place called The Whyte Worm, your whole demeanor changed. You still looked longingly at Hermione during class, but she hardly looked back at you. You noticed that she started spending a lot of time with a boy named Andrews, to your dismay, and so you left her alone and tried to get on with your life. You created new friends too, with the boys on the South Side - and a couple of the girls, but you wouldn’t exactly call it a normal friendship. When your parents found out, they attempted to send you off to boarding school, but your new rebellious ways and proud homosexuality put a quick end to that. You became the disgrace of the family, and as soon as you graduated from Riverdale High, you moved into the Trailer Park and set up your life as a Serpent. You wanted to be nothing like your parents, and that was what you had accomplished.

And one day, she left her fancy penthouse, and came to the trailer park in her four inch heels and designer coat during a blustery Winter day. The look on your face when the door swung open shocked her more than a little bit. For when she thought of you, she still imagine the carefree, lovely and light you that you had been as a teenager rather than this Serpent.

“The Hermione Lodge, coming to my trailer? Despite the fact that your husband is trying to destroy our lives, you show up here?” The snort that came out of you accurately showed your feelings, though you did not let any surprise go across your features. The wind started to blow into your trailer, and brought about a cold feeling to your exposed skin. You could close the door in her face, but instead, your former adoration won out and you beckoned her to come in. You closed the door behind her, then stood in front of the photograph of the two of you that you had been looking at earlier. You had your back to it, and subtly bumped against the table it was set upon, knocking it over.

“Your trailer is ... nice,” Hermione complimented. It was obvious that she was expecting something trashy, considering where you lived, which made you roll your eyes.

“Both a TV and a toilet, aren’t I a lucky gal?” You asked, and sat down on the couch, not letting it show that you were in anyway uncomfortable. “In the neighborhood, decided to stop by, I’m guessing?”

“He’s in prison, in case you were wondering,” Hermione said, sitting opposite you on an armchair, one leg on top of the other to show off her long tanned calves.

You pointed towards the TV that you had mentioned only a few seconds ago. “It works, like I said. Or did you think that this place is so rundown that cable doesn’t run through here?” You couldn’t help but be hostile - it was the Serpent way to act out towards outsiders. Hermione counted for one, and she knew it too - she kept staring at her heeled shoes that had gotten a bit of dirt of them from outside. The fact that it was Hermione though - it made you let out a deep breath and rub your temples with your green-painted fingernails. “Expecting you would have been better than a surprise, ‘Mione. What are you doing here, of all places? This isn’t ... you.”

“All of this stuff that’s been happening ... has been hard.” Sure, you could understand Hermione’s point of view on that, but it didn’t seem like an answer. It was hard not to ask her to keep going, but you stayed silent and let her go on in her own time. “So I’ve been working hard, not leaving the penthouse much... I was feeling cooped up.”

“You came here for what ... a distraction?” Hermione seemed not to have thought this all the way through, but she nodded and eased herself back into the chair, making herself comfortable on the IKEA chair, as she no doubt had done in the past on chairs worth ten times as much. Both of you stared at one another, and you slowly started to caress the back of her hand. Usually you weren’t so gentle with women who came through that door. But Hermione wasn’t like any other woman.

“It seems I might have been thinking about the past a lot lately. It has been happening a lot, actually. No matter what goes on in my day, I fall asleep and I think of you, y/n.” On his note, Hermione turned her hand around to hold onto yours. You allowed her to do so, but didn’t squeeze back. Both of you let the silence fill the room again.

“Hermione, I am not the same naive teenager who didn’t know herself.” You said, pulling your hand back slowly from hers. “Just like you’re not the same either, clearly.” It was obvious that Hermione had changed, and she cared now about appearances more than ever. There used to be a time when the both of you would have no problem going out into the world with natural, clean faces and clothes that weren’t the most in style but you liked anyway. So maybe you still had a lot in common, even with these changes.

The look in her eyes changed, and her head tilted to the side, so she wasn’t exactly looking at you anymore. You looked in the direction that she had been staring at, and it was right into your bedroom, where some of your ... tools were on display, so to speak. You didn’t blush, or hesitate, just motioned towards the open door. “As you can see, my preference hasn’t changed but my way of doing things has. So have a look, if you like.”

But you hadn’t been anticipating that Hermione would actually take you up on that invitation. Thirty seconds later, she was off of the chair and pushing open the door to your bedroom, or what you would call your playroom. “But - how?” Hermione wondered, seeing just how much you really had changed from the gentle girl she knew. “Oh - what are these?”

You saw that she was reaching for something on your wall - a paddle, that was heart shaped. It was one of your favorites because it had a few holes drilled into the leather to ensure that there wouldn’t be wind resistance. You grabbed a riding crop out of the umbrella stand that only held such instruments, and gave Hermione a quick whack across her knuckles, showing her who is in charge here. As soon as she felt the sting, she flinched and her hand returned to her side. “You don’t get to touch, they’re my tools.”

Suddenly, defiantly, Hermione took hold of the other end of the crop. “Hey,” She said softly, while you raised an eyebrow at brashness. “You use these on women? Y/n...” Your name came out of her lips with condescension.

“Your husband never used one of these on you?” You countered. “You know, women come to me all of the time for a distraction from their problems, to get treated well by someone for once, to relieve some stress. It isn’t about the pain - and you know nothing about it, so you have no right to judge. Unless of course - you want to learn?” You asked, not being able to stop yourself from asking her. “I doubt that’s why you came here exactly, but - I don’t know what else I’m supposed to offer. Go out for a coffee? That’s not us, a serpent and ... and a Lodge.”

“I admit that I am a bit curious... I never stopped thinking about you.” Hermione admitted. You showed no emotion - that was the key to making this dynamic work. Staying in character. “Though I never thought that you would...”

“Become a Serpent? You can blame my parents for that. If they hadn’t tried to be so controlling, I wouldn’t have rebelled this hard. But it’s nice here. I’m treated with respect here, I’m valued. They don’t order me around, not even on .. jobs.” You couldn’t go further into the details, it was private Serpent Business. “You’re the one who moved on quickly though. Not even a week after we were forced to stop our relationship, you had moved on to Fred Andrews.”

“I know,” Hermione said, and was going to stop more but you stopped her by tugging the crop out of her hand.

“This isn’t a place for explanations or apologies. I’m not expecting one, I forgave you and got over it a long time ago.” You said, in a more gentle tone. “I don’t think you’re as surprised about all of this as you’re pretending. I know I have a bit of a reputation. No playing around, please.”

Hermione composed herself in front of you, straightening her back, looking you straight in the eyes in the dark room. “I ... consent. I always have.”

That was a good enough start, as you would say. Consent and trust were the two most important parts of this arrangement.

“Always?” You questioned. Hermione nodded, and slowly, she sunk down to her knees on the soft rug that took over the majority of your room, covering the uncomfortable hardwood floors - although you could always kick them to the side if you wanted to be harsh.

“It has been on my mind forever.” She admitted. You raised an eyebrow, and put the riding crop back into it’s former position without looking. You caressed Hermione’s face, resting your thumb on the middle of her chin. It was a bit difficult for you to bend over, back entirely straight, and kiss her lips, but you managed. Your mind raced with the memories of the first time that you had done that, back in your teenage bedroom. So her taste has changed - that Hiram Lodge had bittered her up. Especially with the way that she gave you such easy submission - that had been instilled in her and not in a loving way.

It didn’t take long for her to be on the bed, her back arched as you gave her permission to feel the pleasure rather than the pain and stress that she had been holding onto for so long. Hermione melted under your touch, having yearned for it for decades now. Hiram was the last thing on her mind, nor was Fred Andrews whom she had recently met with recently - only you. “Can you free me?” Hermione asked, biting on her bottom lip as you rubbed the cooling candle wax on her chest, keeping it from drying completely with your body warmth. She was revelling in the warm sensation, but even more because it was you.

“It won’t be easy to get you out, but yes.” You murmured to her, restricting her movement by tying her wrists with silk rope to the bedpost, which was already bolted to the wall to avoid banging. Honestly, you weren’t sure if it was possible but damn, you were going to try. Until the day that you died, you would consider Hermione to be yours, just like this, just as it should have been from the beginning.

Tuesdays became the night when  Hermione would venture from The Pembroke to your house in an unmarked car, telling Veronica nothing of her whereabouts. You were her little secret, and you allowed her to keep it that way. You knew that making it public would put a target on your back by Mr. Lodge, which you could not risk just yet. It had become your favorite day of the week, because it wasn’t just about the amazing sex that the two of you had, locked away in your bedroom. This relationship wasn’t built just on that, but on Hermione needing someone else to control her for a little while, advise her on what to do.

Because of Hermione sneaking away, you did have to worry about Veronica Lodge catching on. You didn’ have to worry for long - there was enough going on in Riverdale to keep the teenage girl occupied.

Well into the evening, while you and Hermione were eating the dinner that she prepared for you in your small trailer kitchen, she dropped the unfortunate news. Hiram Lodge was getting out of prison, and expected his family to be there for him, and to support him. “He really has some nerve,” You said, downing the glass of wine in one motion. “His family? Poor Hiram, he probably doesn’t even know that his wife is with someone better.”

“It wouldn’t be good to tell that to him...” Hermione said, nervously. The thought of Veronica and how this would affect her was obviously heavy on her mind. You couldn’t blame her for that. “Sleeping with you, he might forgive but knowing how I feel...”

Hermione wasn’t one to open up about her affections, so that was a bit deal to you. She nervously sipped at her wine, her hand slightly trembling, the red liquid missing her mouth and splashing up against her lips. “Hermione, how do you feel?” You asked her, setting down your knife and fork.

“You tell me.” Hermione challenged you, knowing full well that you knew the answer. Her face was pale, but started to flush. After that challenge, you stared her down, seeing just how nervous she was, and tried to pick up on her small actions to gather what she wanted to hear.

“The truth? Hermione, I think that re-connecting this last while had been really good for you.” She closed her eyes to listen to your words. “Hiram hasn’t been around to be ... well, an asshole. Veronica has been doing her own thing so you’ve had some time to yourself, and you chose to spend that with me. You’ve been smiling, I’ve noticed and other people around the town of noticed, I’ve heard things. You look so forward to coming over that you usually arrive early and wait in your car until the moment that I told you to be here, which is adorable by the way.” When she heard that, Hermione dropped her head and let her dark hair fall across her face, very much like a teenage girl. “It has been, I’m hoping, the sort of reunion that you had hoped would happen - but better. Now you’re nervous that it’s going to come to an end, that we’re going to drift away like we had before.”

You leaned in close, giving Hermione a good view of the cleavage that your wonderful bra was showcasing. “It won’t, by the way. You are too good to give up again, Hermione. The whole husband thing changes nothing. That you love me, and yes, I know you do - I feel the same way - is stronger than a marriage certificate any day.”

That meant a lot for you to say, and Hermione knew it, for she tossed her hair out of her face, and smiled. You noticed she looked like the fresh faced teenager that you knew and adored back in the day. “You should know.” She said, trying to maintain her composure, though it did usually seem to break down around you. You brought out the real person that was inside, not the Stepford wife. But you didn’t mind either side to her personality - they were both her. “Y/n... don’t let me fall back into his traps, no matter what he says.”

“He’s going to have to come here and tear you out of your bondages, which I would never allow.” A determination jumped into your voice at the very thought. Your friends, the fellow Serpents, wouldn’t allow that to happen either. You wouldn’t let his stupid expensive shoes touch the trailer park. “You’re mine. You’ve given me your trust, your respect and your heart - I’m not afraid to use my whip non-consensual on him if I had to.” You said, giving Hermione a smirk. “Now finish your dinner, my love, you need to keep your strength up for the night ahead.”

[princessvicky01]

from the Settings prompt list - I couldn't quite see how anything from the other two lists might fit, but how about 'garnet' and 'marketplace'?

Thank you @not-plaidweave for the prompt! Its nice to have a random one like this to just sit down and write free flow!  

For @dadrunkwriting - SFW- Short one shot of Cullen X Annabel set post trespasser on their way to meet the Trevelyans for the first time! 

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Kirkwall’s finest

If it’s too bloody hot for her, then Cullen must be blistering. Puffing damp hair out of her eyes Annabel goes to suggest they leave. Surely the smell in the room at the hanged man can’t be any worse than the marketplace right now? The taint of old fish is somehow mixing with old sweat from hundreds of Kirkwall’s finest citizens to make something beyond unpleasant. Only when she goes to look at him, he’s nowhere to be seen.

Odd. He wasn’t exactly the most inconspicuous of men, and yet as she turns on the spot she finds herself very much alone. Or almost.

“Jim, where’s Cullen?” she asks, absently mindedly rubbing at the joining of her prosthetic hand which is becoming increasingly annoying in the heat. Maker, what she wouldn’t give for the tiny wisp of a breeze right now! This unrelenting humidity is threatening to drive her insane and she’s certain no one wants to experience that.

“He’s not gone far, Inquisitor,” reports the officer in a manner that has blatantly been rehearsed a hundred times in his head, and one which she is not remotely going to fall for.

“And which direction is that?”

“I couldn’t say, Inquisitor.”

“Couldn’t, or won’t,” she narrows her eyes slightly, suspicions growing as the man shifts on the spot. Jim, for all his lack of acting skills, does at least remain loyal to whatever promise he’s made to his commanding officer and keeps his mouth shut. Glowering lightly she stands on tiptoes, but it’s no use in the bustle of the market. “Guess I’ll have to wonder the back alleys searching for him then,” she mock sighs while settling back down on her heels. “I mean, it’s only Kirkwall, right? How dangerous can it be?”

“Er… No… er, I don’t. The Commander said I was to keep you safe, Inquisitor,” Jim looks away unable to meet her eye, but still steps closer out of precaution.

“Then you best either ready your sword or show me where he went, hadn’t you?”

With a reluctant last glance around, Jim finally nods.

Spying her husband once there is a clear line of sight isn’t tricky, broad, sculpted shoulders make him a prominent figure wherever he went, not to mention the nestle of curls he bears, turned wheaten gold by the sun as it continues its onslaught from above. She takes a moment to admire him through the gaps in the crowd, noting how he rubs at his neck, his bare forearms starting to lightly freckle in the sun.  Hints of raw muscle can be seen rippling across his back as he performs a series of bashful gestures, she also catches patches of his shirt darkened by sweat. Hmmm… he really should take that off....

Slipping over she wraps an arm around his waist. “Buying me a secret present, dear husband, how very thoughtful,” she hums which sees him clamp is hand tight around the goods and almost jump clear out of his skin.

“Maker’s breath! Annabel - I thought,” he glances over his shoulder to the officer who is looking every which way but at them. “I thought you were looking at fabrics, I… I wanted it to be a surprise…”

Guilt tugs at her core as his eyes drop. She has a bizarre relationship with surprises, never quite sure if she adored or loathed them. But one thing is certain, and that’s when coming from Cullen a surprise was always sweet and heartfelt. Meant for a meaningful moment. A moment she has spoiled with her impatience.

“I was… But it’s just so damn hot… I didn’t mean to ruin anything,” her voice softens at that, squeezing him slightly, but his body remains still stiff under her touch. “Like I said, it’s hot... and why, Maker, please tell me, does it smell like fish even though the dock is all the way over there? Hmm?” 

That at least manages to crack a smile on his lips.

“This is Kirkwall, just be grateful it doesn’t smell like blood and brimstone,” his amber hues dance her way before the shopkeep keenly clears her throat.

“Yes, of course, apologies,” he hands over some coin and goes to tuck the small pouch in his hand away, but pauses. “You didn’t ruin anything,” he murmurs softly, turning to her now with the sun overhead, casting perfect shadows of his brows which do nothing to dampen the amber of in his eyes. “Turn around.”

For once she does as instructed without complaint, or hesitation, keen to put whatever tension she had caused as far from him as possible. The cold touch of a gemstone hits the hollow of her throat to make her gasp mildly before it slips further down, the pendant bobbing as the dainty chain holds firm.

“I was going to give this to you for the celebration your family had planned, to go with the dress you brought with you...”

Lifting up the gem to the light she catches it sparkle in a rainbow of red that blossoms warmth in her chest. The garnet is an excellent match to the rich red of her favourite gown, and she can scarcely believe he’s managed to find such a thing amidst the chaos of so many stalls.

“Cullen, I…. It’s beautiful…” her fingertips take in its subtle ridges as she ruminates on the way it sparkles, unique, every which way she turns it. “It’s...more than beautiful, its perfect… how did you…” she lets her astonished words fade as he reaches round to kiss her cheek.

“No, it’s only perfect now it’s on you,” he murmurs.

With a little chuckle, she turns around in his embrace until she’s able to hook both her arms up around his neck and let his naturally rest around her waist. Tiptoeing up Annabel places a kiss to his lips, flavoured with sweet honey mead and even sweeter tenderness.

“No,” she murmurs against them, dropping her tone for his ears alone. “It will look perfect when it’s the only thing on me...“

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Idk what that was, random writing one shot! Apologies, call it trying to find my muse XD But if you did enjoy it, likes, reblogs and comments are always welcome