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thatbloodymuggle · 9 months ago

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MASTERMIND (iii)

THREE - COLOR THEORY

SUMMARY: A child of light and dark, you are the Night Court’s best kept secret. After decades spent in hiding, you yearn to stretch your wings. But you quickly learn that freedom comes with a price, as you find yourself trying to outfox the fox in his own den.

PAIRING: eris vanserra x reader

WORD COUNT: 11.5k

SERIES MASTERLIST

WARNINGS: language, descriptions of violence, smut, oral (m receiving), thigh humping, fingering

You have always wondered if being born from Light and Dark was a blessing, or a curse. On one hand, it has granted you the ability to navigate life’s morally gray areas; to question everything and listen to opposing thoughts and ideologies. But on the other hand, your existence was born from a violent affair—and you can’t help but wonder if that Dark inevitably lives within you, shielded by the Light.

Right now, more than ever, you believe the latter may be true.

It’s been three days. Three days since you woke up to an empty bed beneath you and guilt weighing heavy atop. Three days since you self-sabotaged your entire mission. Three days since you reveled in the comfort of your enemy’s arms.

You thought the regret would be at its worst the morning after; you figured it would pass with time. But with each day, each hour, each minute that ticks by, breathing becomes just a little bit harder. You can’t even find peace in sleep; not when you are kept awake by images of Eris’s lust-filled gaze and the inevitable heartbreak on Mor’s face. If your own self-stirred panic isn’t enough, you also have the note that Eris left atop his empty pillow to worry about:

I apologize for leaving so soon, Little Bird, but I have some business to attend to. Do write back when you’d like to take a tour of the library. Don’t miss me too much.

The bastard left the proverbial ball in your court. Typically, you like being in control. But with your current frenzied mental state, the last thing you need is yet another convoluted layer to worry about.

Needless to say, you are about one misstep from exploding.

The crackling embers of the fireplace in your cabin stare back at you tauntingly. You hover your hands over the orange flames, letting the heat tickle your skin until the burning becomes too much, and you are forced to pull away. You wait a beat, before raising your shaky hands over the fire once again. Albeit brief, the pain seems to be the only escape from the assault of your traitorous thoughts. Yet, with each retreat of your hands, the empty paper and pen sitting on your bedside table glare at you expectantly. They seem to radiate a cruel impatience—as if Eris is slinking in the shadows, watching you.

Your hands begin to burn again, and you abruptly pull them away. Before you can raise them over the flames once again, you feel the scraping of talons against the cobblestone barrier of your mind.

You want nothing less than to talk to Rhys right now. But you know that if you leave him hanging, he will worry. Reluctantly, you let your walls crumble down, and a shiver runs up your spine as you feel his aura creep in.

Everything okay? His voice sings across your mental connection.

You gnaw on your bottom lip until you wince, swiping your tongue across the droplet of blood.

I don’t know, you relent.

He doesn’t respond immediately. But you can picture the cinch between his brows as he mulls over your answer. Be honest with me. I won’t share with the others, if you don’t want me to. Promise.

Your fingers dance over the flames once more. You can’t possibly divulge what has transpired thus far. But you certainly can’t hold it all in without going mad. The fire burns your skin, and you jolt back before responding.

Promise?

He replies instantly, Yes.

You start talking before you can convince yourself otherwise. I think I may be getting a little too close.

Your response is simple, straight to the point. But something about it feels…heavy.

What do you mean ‘too close’?

You’re careful not to let your thoughts, your memories of what happened in that cottage, to breach your mental connection with Rhys. You stare into the orange flames, admiring how intertwine, before replying.

The ‘seduction from afar’ plan may need to be revised. I’m in too deep to keep my distance for three weeks.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you wait for his response. You subconsciously twirl the silver ring on your thumb, never peeling your eyes away from the blazing fire. Rhys doesn’t say anything for a while. Just as fear begins to creep in, his voice sounds through your mind.

That’s fine. You jolt at his response, and he continues. Between you and me, I don’t care what you have to do. Make him fall in love with you, break his heart, it doesn’t matter. Once you’re out of there, you’ll never have to see him again.

You physically flinch as the reality of your situation hits you like a truck. Three weeks, and you’ll never see him again. Three weeks, and it’ll all be done—there will be no witness to whatever fling you have, no one left to tell the tale. No one ever has to know. Mor never has to know.

Okay, you finally respond simply.

Just tread carefully, you can hear the strain in his voice.

You nod robotically, even though he can’t see you. With a quick farewell, you put up your mental barriers. You stare into the flames for a few minutes longer, until the mere sight burns your irises.

“Compartmentalization,” you mumble to no one in particular.

Finally, you peel yourself off the dust-covered floor in front of the fire. Your legs are wobbly as you take methodical steps towards your bedside table. The empty paper and pen are quivering in anticipation as you approach. Your hand moves with a mind of its own as you pick up the waiting pen and scribble onto the paper.

Does the offer still stand?

The second you set the pen back down onto the table, the paper vanishes into thin air from your fingertips. You wring your hands together as you sit down on the side of your bed and wait. You’re not sure what you’re waiting for exactly, but you wait.

“Compartmentalization,” you say it again. And you say it a few more times. Enough to trick your mind into believing it and slow the frantic beat of your heart. Enough to don a mask of apathy as a crack sounds outside the front door followed by a sharp knock.

You twist the silver ring around your thumb once more before standing, this time on steady legs. Your steps are calm and calculated as you tread towards the door. You take one last deep breath, ridding your body and mind of any residual apprehension. With your lips curled into a beguiling grin, you swing the door open.

Eris’s smile is almost as wicked as yours as he scans you from head to toe, drinking in your appearance.

“I was beginning to think you were avoiding me, Little Bird,” he smirks.

You pick at your nails nonchalantly, “I’m flattered I’ve been on your mind, but I’m not sure I can say the same.”

His vicious grin only widens, “You wound me, Birdie. But I must admit,” he dips down and lowers his voice to a whisper, “I quite like your bite today.”

You arch a brow and don’t so much as flinch at his proximity, “Are you a masochist, Eris Vanserra? Or does chasing after disinterested females turn you on?”

Your thinly veiled insult only eggs him on. It takes everything in you not to shrink back as he lowers his lips so they graze the shell of your ear.

“Are you sure you want to go down this road? Because last I remembered, you were a whimpering little mess—”

His sentence is abruptly halted by your fingers pinching his lips shut. His eyes widen in incredulity at your childish action, and a giggle bubbles in your throat at the sight. You release him and walk briskly past, leaving him dumbfounded behind you.

“Well, are we going or not?” you snark over your shoulder.

He falls into step beside you, and you jolt as he places his hand on the small of your back. His touch gentle, but commanding. You don’t dare look at him as he warns, “I’ll let this one slide, Little Bird. But don’t forget that my teeth are much sharper than yours,” he wraps his arm tightly around your waist, “And I’m not afraid to use them.”

Your rebuttal is cut short as he pulls you to his chest before winnowing you both out of the woods.

The Forest House is just as remarkable as you remembered it—even more so in the sunlight. The tangles of ivy enveloping the red-brick walls are a vibrant green, and the intricate details of the gate itself seem to glisten underneath the sun’s rays. However, unlike your last visit, this time sentries line nearly every inch of the expansive walls. Their taut faces and intimidating steeds exude a sense of savagery that makes your skin prickle.

Eris’s hand retreats to its spot on the small of your back, and you jump slightly as you are reminded of your purpose for being here. Reluctantly, you peel your eyes away from the curvature of the golden gates and cock your head towards his. The corners of his eyes crinkle in amusement, and you can tell he’s holding back a comment from the twitch in his lips.

“Spit it out,” you feign annoyance.

He shakes his head with an airy laugh, “It’s nothing. I just like the way you look at the world—all wide-eyed and bushy-tailed, like you’re experiencing life for the first time. It’s cute.”

You frown.

His comment, while innocent, puts you on edge for two reasons. The first, and the one that really makes your skin crawl, is his incessant ability to unknowingly point out parts of yourself that belong to you, rather than Athena Ellesmere. With each destination he takes you to, you do feel like you’re experiencing the world for the first time. But that’s not Athena—and with each of your quirks he reveals, he’s one step closer to sniffing you out entirely.

The second, well…

“Cute?” you deadpan.

His teeth flash as his grin widens, “Cute.”

You’re not cute. You’re supposed to be sexy, confident, untouchable—a femme fatale. Not fucking cute.

You know your bubbling frustration is futile, so you simply narrow your eyes into a warning glare and march towards the golden gates. You know that the pout on your face isn’t helping your case—but you can’t seem to wipe it off. The sentries shift on their steeds as you approach but return to their stationed positions when Eris falls into step beside you. They don’t so much as look in your direction as you pass through the gates.

“Once you are formally welcomed inside the gates, you are free to come and go as you please,” Eris’s fingers brush yours as he speaks, “So if you are in further need of the library after today, you can return.”

Your ears perk up at this, but you nod coolly. He leads you around the side of the large mansion, away from the front door, and lowers his voice to a murmur, “But I would prefer if you’d let me accompany you, if you should visit again.”

“Why? Want me all to yourself?” you snort.

He wears a playful grin, but his eyes are vapid.

“You know I do,” he teases, “But the beauty of this place is deceptive. Darkness lurks behind these walls, Little Bird.”

A shiver crawls up your spine, but you swiftly retort, “I’m not afraid of the dark.”

“I know,” his voice is thick with trepidation.

You bristle at the way he speaks about you like he knows you. Yet again.

His hand returns to the small of your back as he leads you towards a small door, almost completely covered by thick ropes of vine. If he wasn’t guiding you, you would’ve completely missed the hidden entrance. You suck in a breath in anticipation as he pushes it open, wood creaking against rusted hinges. You hide your curiosity as you take in the burgundy carpet lining a hallway so long, you can’t see its end. The walls are built of centuries-old limestone, the darkness illuminated by flame torches.

You peel your eyes away from the hallway as Eris leads you to the left, down a steep, spiral staircase. Just like the hallway, it is built entirely of dark stone which holds a red hue thanks to the flickering flames of torches lining the walls. He steps in front of you, and you follow his lead silently as he leads you down the stairs. The steep wind of the steps is dizzying as you descend downwards, deep into the ground below, and into the heart of the tunnels of the Forest House. With each floor you pass, you picture Azriel’s map of the house. Finally, Eris takes a turn at the ninth floor you’ve descended. You follow closely behind and note the change in architecture. Gone are the limestone walls, and in their place, deep mahogany wood lined with a variety of paintings: family portraits, Autumn Court landscapes, still life’s. This hallway is also dimly lit with torches, but it holds a peculiar warmth unlike the others.

“How big is this place?” you voice echoes down the expansive hallway.

You know exactly how big it is. But you can’t stand the eerie silence.

Eris’s voice rumbles lowly, “Miles long. It would take you half the morning to walk from one end to the other.”

Your eyes widen in mock astonishment—as if you don’t know that it is exactly 4.2 miles long.

“And you don’t get lost?” you ask.

“You forget I’ve had centuries of practice, darling,” he chuckles.

You open your mouth to fire another question, but a squeal escapes instead as you feel something wet bump against your right hand. You snatch your hand to your chest and look down to find a pair of beady, vermillion eyes staring back at you. You instinctively inch closer to Eris as you stare down at the creature in awe.

You know what smokehounds are. And you know that Eris owns a whopping twelve. But you weren’t quite prepared for the predator standing before you. Its fur is gray and sleek like smoke, and its eyes are the color of blood. Your initial fear fades as you realize, despite their crimson hue, its eyes are not filled with malice—but rather, curiosity. You cautiously lower the hand clutched to your chest back to your side, and slowly stretch your fingers apart. Its wet nose bumps your hand again, and you shiver at the tickling sensation as it sniffs you. A giggle bubbles in your throat as it sticks its tongue out and licks between your fingers. You tentatively stroke the side of its face with your knuckles.

“She likes you,” Eris hums beside you.

The smokehound nuzzles into your side, and you stroke the top of her head with your full hand. You know they are vicious creatures—you’ve read about how they can race as fast as the wind to sniff out any prey. But the creature standing below you seems as harmless as a fly.

“What’s her name?” you ask as you scratch softly between her ears.

“Sage. She’s my oldest,” his hand joins yours as he strokes the back of her neck.

“I never pictured smokehounds to be so…affectionate,” you wonder aloud, curiosity piqued as she licks your hand again.

Eris laughs softly, “They aren’t. She must be drawn to you—the same way I am.”

You can feel his gaze on you but refuse to look in his direction as you fight the blush crawling up your neck. He withdraws his hand, and you follow suit as you continue your walk down the hallway, this time with Sage by your side. She trots beside you, close enough that your fingertips brush the silken fur on her back and her side rubs against your dress. Even as you continue down the dimly lit hallway, you can’t take your eyes off the elegant creature walking alongside you.

You nearly slam into Eris as he halts abruptly in front of two large oak doors. Just as you regain your footing, you nearly lose it again at the sight before you.

There are seemingly endless rows of books reaching at least fifty feet tall. An ornate rug of red and gold covers the stone floor, and hundreds of flickering candles are suspended in midair. Vibrant green ivy, much like the kind you’ve seen outside, wraps around each shelf. To top it all off, the ceiling is a mosaic of crystalline windows shining golden rays of sunlight down below—some kind of enchantment, you presume, given that you are at nine floors underground.

“Wow,” you breathe. With your mouth agape and your eyes wide with wonder, you know that you are proving Eris’s earlier point. But right now, you couldn’t care less.

You wander towards the shelves, Sage trailing behind you, and run your fingers gently along the spines of the books. The smell of parchment and wood is intoxicating, and your heart swells with joy as you scan the collection of classics. Some are so old; you presume they must be original prints. Others look brand new, completely untouched.

One binding in particular catches you attention—well, ‘binding’ is generous, considering the book is barely hanging together by a thread. You carefully pull out the amethyst-colored cover and turn it over. Shattered Realms.

“Is this an original copy?” you question, unable to peel your eyes away from the novel.

Eris looks over your shoulder, “Yes. It’s been passed down in my family for generations—although it originally belonged to the Night Court.”

Your lips twitch with amusement, but you force down a laugh at the irony. You glance at him over your shoulder, “How did it end up here?”

He takes a step closer to you, his chest inches away from pressing up against your back, and runs a finger over the binding of the book in your hands. His scent of sandalwood and nutmeg invades your senses.

“Many centuries ago, my grandfather was in a bit of a tiff with the Night Court High Lord at the time. He stole it during their feud.”

You smile softly and make a mental note to retrieve the book before you return to Velaris as a little souvenir for Rhys. You carefully place the book back in its spot before continuing your exploration. Eris follows closely behind, whereas Sage has found comfort in front of the fireplace.

“Do you have any favorites?” you wonder aloud as you come to the end of the aisle.

“I have many,” his hand brushes yours.

You hook your pinky finger over his, “Care to share?”

“Any particular genre you’re interested in?” he curls his finger against yours.

You bite your bottom lip in thought as you mull over the options. Asking you to pick a favorite genre is like asking a mother to pick her favorite child.

“I’ve recently been on a bit of a reading kick of philosophical essays,” you tap a finger to your chin in thought, “Mind-body dualism, introspection, all the good stuff,” you drawl.

Eris’s brows raise in surprise, “I never would’ve thought that philosophy pairs well with filthy little romance novels.”

Your eyes narrow into a glare, and you move to snatch your pinky away from his, but he swiftly intertwines your fingers. He’s dragging you down the aisle before you can protest, and you stumble to keep up with his swift feet. Eris leads you past rows of bookshelves, up a spiral staircase, and past even more rows of books. He doesn’t give you a chance to admire the collection of literature as he tugs you along. Finally, you halt at a small alcove decorated with stained glass windows.

Your eyes widen as you take in the collection of books written by countless ancient philosophers. But you force on a façade of indifference, careful not to fuel his already bursting ego even more. You hold your breath as he leans over you and pulls a book at least six inches out of your reach. The binding is tattered—not as badly as the original copy of Shattered Realms, but enough that you can tell it’s at least a few centuries old. He holds it out expectantly, and you tentatively grab it from his waiting hands.

“I think you might find this to your liking,” he grins, “A collection of Tydeus’s correspondences with Lady Baldwin. It’s not an original copy, but surely the closest to it.”

He releases your other hand, and you clench your jaw to conceal your excitement. You’ve been searching for a copy of this for years now—ever since you stumbled across the collection of the ancient philosopher Tydeus’s works in the Velaris library. Your mother used to love reading the copy of his correspondences in the Day Court libraries, but that feels like a lifetime ago now.

“Tydeus’s ideologies are a bit archaic for my taste. But I suppose this will do,” you lie through your teeth. Eris chuckles lightly, observing the curious glint in your eyes and the way you hold the book with a delicate reverence.

“There are wards around the house which prevent these books from leaving the premises, so unfortunately, I cannot loan it to you. And given your past thieving tendencies, I’m not sure I would want to,” he teases as he leans against the shelve of books.

Well, there goes Rhys’s solstice gift.

Your lips dip into a frown, “I know Vanserras are cruel, but I never imagined you’d be this twisted—dangling one-of-a-kind copies of ancient literature over my head only to pull them away.”

“Don’t fret, Little Bird,” he purrs, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear, “You can read to your heart’s desire—inside the house, of course. I’ll show you to a place with a bit more…privacy.”

You gulp as his fingers linger against your cheekbone. His touch is electrifying, and you fight the instinct to chase after it as he pulls away.

“Okay,” you whisper, “Is it alright if I pick out a few more?”

His teeth flash as he observes the effect he has over you.

“Take your time. I’ll be keeping Sage company.”

He brushes past you, and you remain frozen in place for a moment. Get it together, you scold yourself internally. You will your mind to empty as you continue your stroll down hundreds of rows of books. You try your very best not to pick up everything that catches your eye—only those which really pique your interest. But even so, you quickly find yourself with a stack of books so high they nearly reach your chin. Your arms tremble underneath the weight, but still, you add a couple of atlases to your stack for good measure. You have no intention of reading them—but Athena Ellesmere would.

Finally satisfied with your collection, you walk slowly back towards the front of the library. You rest your chin on the top of the stack, careful not to topple the tower of books. The winding staircase proves to be a challenge, and you nearly stumble twice. But by some miracle, you make it down unscathed, and approach the blazing fireplace.

Eris lounges on a couch with Sage on the ground beneath him. He scratches her ears nonchalantly as he flips through his own book. His neck cranes at the sound of your uneven footsteps, and a roaring laugh fills the room when he lays eyes on you.

It’s a sight he wishes will be forever imprinted in his memory—your arms wobbling underneath a stack of books nearly as tall as you, and your flushed cheeks peeking out on top.

“Some help would be appreciated,” you hiss.

He sets his book down and glides over, taking half the stack from your arms. You nearly moan in relief at the literal weight lifted off your shoulders.

“A few more, huh?” he taunts with a wily smirk.

“A few means a small number. Comparative to your collection, yes. A few,” you grit your teeth.

“Whatever you say, Little Bird. Although I except a thorough review of each,” he sings.

Eris balances his half of the stack in one arm and wraps his other around your waist, pulling you tight to his chest. You save your own stack from nearly tipping over with a stumble. You aren’t afforded a chance to protest as he winnows you both away, leaving Sage sleeping peacefully in front of the fire.

This time, you aren’t able to save the stack from spilling out of your arms as you land in a new room. Much to your displeasure, Eris’s pile of books is fully intact in his arms. You drop to your knees with a huff and begin collecting the books strewn about a patterned, crimson carpet.

“You’re a clumsy one, aren’t you?” he taunts from above you.

Your head snaps upwards and you open your mouth to retort but pause as you take in the new surroundings. Much like the library, this room holds a golden glow highlighted by swirling patterns of golds and reds along the walls. You can feel another fire blazing behind you, and just past the deep-seated sofa in front of you lies an enormous canopy bed. It suddenly clicks—you are in Eris’s private chambers.

You cock a brow at the sight and a smirk tugs at your lips, “You know, if you wanted to get me in your bed all you had to do was ask.”

He sets down his stack of books on a small, wooden table in front of the couch and reaches a hand down to you expectantly. You tentatively place your hand in his, and he raises you up from the ground, pulling you to his chest with a sultry smile.

“Is that an offer, darling?” his breath tickles your neck as he dips down to your ear.

Your cheeks flush as he caresses your jawline with his thumb. You clench your thighs as you are reminded of how his fingers felt inside you, dripping in your arousal. But before you can melt into his touch, you raise your lips to his ear and croon, “I’m not that easy. You’ll have to work harder than that, Fox.”

He presses his nose against your temple and groans, the vibration of it sending a tantalizing chill up your spine. Just as easily as he’s able to get you flustered, so are you able to drive him up the wall.

You pull away from him, ignoring his whine of protest. He is absolutely shameless in his desire for you, and the thought alone makes your gut churn with delight.

You gather your stack of books from the ground and carefully place them beside the other half on the wooden table. You sift through the titles before finally settling on the Tydeus copy Eris recommended. You don’t so much as glance in his direction as you take a seat on the couch and kick off your heavy boots. The fire is just close enough that the flames warm your skin, and you all but sink into its comfort. You can feel Eris’s eyes on you, but you continue to ignore him as you stretch your legs out across the velvet expanse and open the ancient book. You aren’t even through the first page when you feel Eris’s hands on your calves.

You squeal as he raises your legs, giving himself space to sit beside you, before lowering them again so they are draped over his lap. You glare at him over your book, but he ignores your malice as he leans forward and picks his own book from the pile on the table. He leans back in his seat, his legs spread beneath yours, as he opens the book—a rare biography of one of the original Valkyries. Your own book sits limply in your hands as you study his profile—the plump of his lips, the shift of his jaw. You can’t help but admire the freckles dusted across the bridge of his nose. He is incredibly handsome, which simultaneously makes your job easier, and all the more difficult.

“I know I’m gorgeous but try not to drool on my centuries-old book,” he hums nonchalantly, a knowing smirk tugging at his lips.

You raise your leg to kick him, but he firmly grips your ankle and sets it back onto his lap without so much as a glance in your direction. He doesn’t remove his hand, letting it rest on your leg. With a huff, you return to your book. You are halted, once again, this time by his wandering hand. He teasingly pushes up the skirt of your long dress, just below your knees, so he can rest his hand on your shin. Your breath hitches as he rubs circles into your calf with his thumb, massaging it gently.

Reluctantly, you succumb to the comfort of his touch and return to your book once more. You page through Tydeus’s correspondences with Lady Baldwin. Their letters begin simply enough. But you quickly find yourself immersed in their debate over morality. Whereas the Lady takes a relative stance, Tydeus takes on an absolutist one. As their back-and-forth shifts to the dichotomy of good and evil, you are eerily reminded of your own inner turmoil earlier that morning.

“Anything good so far?” you jump as Eris’s gravelly voice cuts through the comfortable silence.

You meet his inquisitive gaze and note how the flame of the fire reflects in the amber of his eyes.

“My mother would have loved this,” you reply.

She did love it. You remember how she used to read it constantly in the Day Court—you never thought you’d be able to get your hands on a copy of it again.

“Why is that?” he asks, curiosity laced in his tone.

You lower the book onto your lap, “She loved all of Tydeus’s works. She was a strong believer in the dichotomous division between ‘good’ and ‘evil’.”

Eris sets his own book down and rubs your leg with both of his hands.

“And what do you think?” he challenges thoughtfully.

You shrug, “I’m not sure. On the one hand, I think morality is relative—that individuals are not uniform, and thus form their own ideas about what is ‘good’ and what is ‘evil’. But then on the other, I used to believe that there are some things we universally categorize as one or the other.”

“You don’t anymore?” he counters

You bite your lip and avert your gaze to the fire. The anxiety you managed to dispel earlier that day starts creeping in. Your gut twists uncomfortably as you reply simply, “I’m not sure.”

His hands slow, noticing your shift in demeanor. He studies the furrow of your brows as you stare into the fire.

“I think it is not morality that dominates the situation, but the situation that dominates morality,” he counters after a few beats of silence.

“A moral relativist?”

“I don’t like labels,” he shrugs.

The vibrancy of the fire is burning your eyes, but you keep them trained on the flames as you reply, “I suppose I agree with that—the problem is, it’s not the answer I’m seeking.”

“And what answer are you seeking?”

You long to reach your hands out over the flames until the heat sears your skin. The déjà vu makes your stomach churn.

“It’s not so much an answer as a direction,” you speak softly to hide the quiver of your voice, “I wish there was some way to know if I’m moving in the right direction.”

He chuckles, “Which brings us back to the question of absolutism versus relativism.”

You peel your eyes away from the flame, and your eyes lock with his. They hold a certain understanding, as if he can see straight through you and into your soul. Your body moves with a mind of its own as you sit up and subconsciously inch closer.

“I suppose all we can really do is justify our actions for ourselves—and hope that others will agree with our division of morality,” you whisper.

His gaze darkens, and he bows his head towards you, “I think life is full of gray areas, and we can’t be faulted for how we choose to navigate them.”

His response strikes a chord deep within you. Your eyes flick down to his pink lips, just inches away from yours.

Compartmentalization be damned.

You lurch forward to close the gap, and he meets you halfway.

The moment your lips meet his, every ounce of worry is swept away from your mind. You barely register the thump of your book hitting the ground as his lips glide against yours. His taste is addictive—a sweet peppermint that you can’t seem to get enough of. Your nose bumps against his as you climb on top of him, your legs straddling his lap. You cup the side of his face with your hands, deepening the kiss. He grips the small of your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip: a question. Your mouth parts: an answer.

You snake one hand behind his neck and run your fingers through his crimson locks, tugging sharply. He groans, and just as he moves to deepen the kiss, you abruptly pull away.

His sounds of protest are silenced by your lips against the sensitive skin of his neck. You move tentatively at first, remembering how it felt to have his lips against your neck, and mimic his maneuvers. He tangles a hand in the hair at the nape of your neck, pushing you closer as a sign of encouragement. You become bolder, alternating between open-mouthed kisses, small nips, and swipes of your tongue. His groan of approval spurs you on, and you fiddle with the bottom of his tunic, pulling it up his chest. You draw back briefly to peel the shirt completely off his body before resuming your work.

“Who taught you how to do that?” Eris hisses as you suck harshly at the apex of his collarbone.

You grin at the blossoming purple hue on his pale skin and run your tongue over the spot soothingly, “A wily fox too clever for his own good.”

He pulls you back up, abruptly cutting your abuse of his neck short. You eagerly smash your lips against his once more and trail your hands down the expanse of his chest, dragging your nails lightly along his rigid abdomen. His hands loop around you and he swiftly yanks down the zipper of your dress. You eagerly shed the suffocating material, so it pools at your waist, exposing your bare chest to him. Eris moans at the sight of your peaked nipples and doesn’t hesitate to massage your breasts with his large hands. His lips trail down your neck, but before he has a chance to carry out the same treatment you’d given him, you slip from his grasp entirely.

Eris watches, stunned, as you slip off his lap and sink down onto your knees before him. His lips part as you nudge his knees apart, and lurch forward to trail open-mouthed kisses down his chest, to his abdomen, until you finally reach the waistband of his bottoms. He jolts as you brush your hand over the very obvious, and large, tent in his pants.

“Little Bird,” he mumbles as you palm over him, “You don’t have to do this.”

Your eyes flick up to his and you speak with conviction, “I want to.”

His Adam’s apple bobs as he gulps and you all but drool at the sight. He nods once, and you begin fiddling with his belt buckle. His hands move to help you, but you swat them away. You make quick work of the fastenings, and slowly drag the material down his legs, inch by inch. You know he’s growing impatient by the clenching of his abdomen. You flash him a sultry smile as you finally pull the material from his legs, leaving him in his underwear. His hands move to the waistband, but you swat them away again.

“Patience is a virtue,” you muse before nipping the skin of his inner thigh. He inhales sharply, and shudders as you run your tongue over the same spot, soothing the ache.

“Using my own moves against me,” he croons, but the strain is evident in his voice, “I’m impressed, Little Bird.”

Your heart thumps in your chest as you graze your hands along the waistband of his underwear. You dip your fingers underneath, and your confidence falters slightly. He runs a hand through your hair soothingly, coaxing you to continue. Your keep your eyes trained on his as you inch the fabric down his thighs. He raises his hips and releases a sigh of relief as his erection slaps up against his stomach, free from the confining material. You toss the garment aside haphazardly and take in the sight of his complete bareness.

The first thing you notice is that he’s big—well, you think so, at least, considering you have nothing to compare him to. His dick is much thicker than you’d imagined, with veins branching upwards towards the tip which is a shade darker than the pink of his lips. You can’t help but wonder how it could possibly fit inside you. A blush paints the apples of your cheeks at the thought.

Eris notices your apprehension, and he curls a finger underneath your chin so your eyes meet his.

“Would you like me to talk you through it?” his voice is soft.

The amber of his eyes is warm, like honey. You nod shyly.

“Okay, darling. Can you wrap your hand around my cock?” the sweetness of his voice is a stark contrast to the dirtiness of the words tumbling from his lips.

You rest your left hand on his thigh and raise your right hand, delicately wrapping your fingers around his girth at its base. You hold him loosely, and he releases a pleasured sigh at your tentative touch.

“You can hold it a bit tighter, love,” he hums while stroking the shell of your ear.

You follow his direction with a nod.

“Now move your hand—”

You don’t give him a chance to finish as you slowly begin moving your hand over his cock, from the base to the tip. His lips part and he shudders at the motion.

“Good,” he rasps, “Now can you spit on it? Get it a little wet for me?”

Your cheeks flare, but you follow his request. You timidly lean forward and dribble over his tip, captivated by the way it mixes with the bead of precum before sliding down. You use your hand to spread it around, and the friction eases as your hand slides more freely.

“I think you’re a natural, Birdie,” he praises through a gasp, “Can you twist your hand for me a bit?”

You twist your hand in time with your strokes, and admire the way his face scrunches with pleasure. You squeeze a bit harder when you reach his base, and his hips twitch. Testing the waters, you slowly lean forward and stick your tongue out, licking over his tip. Eris grunts at the action, and you feel a bit more confident as you wrap your lips completely around the head.

A guttural moan escapes his lips as you suckle on the head, your hand continuously pumping his shaft. You pull off his tip, and your gut twists with desire at the string of saliva between the head of his cock and your lips. You lurch forward, flattening your tongue against the base and dragging it upwards, before wrapping your lips around the tip again in a teasing maneuver.

“Fuck,” he groans, “Can you take me a bit deeper?”

You nod, pupils blown. Your hand resumes its stroking movement as you slowly, tentatively, slide downwards. Your mouth burns from the stretch of his girth, but you breathe through your nose steadily. You take him in, inch by inch, until his tip hits the back of your throat, bringing tears to the corners of your eyes. You keep your hand around the base of his shaft, pumping and twisting the length you can’t fit.

“So good for me, Little Bird,” he moans. His right-hand digs into the fabric of the couch until his knuckles turn white, and his left brushes the hair out of your face. “Can you move your pretty little mouth for me?”

You slowly bob your head up and down, timing the strokes of your hand with the rise and fall of your lips. Tears spring to your eyes each time his tip hits the back of your throat and spit dribbles down the sides of your mouth, but any ounce of insecurity is washed away by the sinful noises tumbling from Eris’s lips.

“Can you use your tongue for me?” his voice is strained.

You flatten your tongue against his length as you bob up and down, swirling it around his length to the best of your ability.

“Look at me, love,” he gasps through an animalistic groan.

Your eyes flick up and you peer at him through your lashes. His pupils are blown and his lips parted, brows scrunched with a vulnerability you never imagined you’d see.

“You look so pretty with your lips wrapped around my cock,” he rasps, “Wish I could keep you like this forever.”

You hum around him, and he shudders at the vibration. He tangles a hand in your hair, guiding your movements but not pushing you, slowly increasing your pace. Tears begin rolling down your cheeks at the delicious burn in your jaw and the back of your throat.

His chest heaves as he pants, “So close. Just a little more.”

You move with a newfound vigor at his words, finding a rhythm that keeps the noises tumbling from his mouth. You raise your unoccupied hand to the base of his cock. Experimentally, you brush over his balls with your thumb, eliciting raucous moan from Eris. He twitches in your mouth, and you do it again while swirling your tongue in a prolonged sweeping motion around his length.

“Fuck, Little Bird. I’m—”

He halts midsentence with an earth-shattering groan as his cock twitches violently in your mouth. You slow your movements as he reaches his high, thick ropes of cum painting the back of your throat. You splutter at the feeling, but continue milking him, swallowing his load. You stroke him gently, your tongue rubbing along him in a coaxing manner, until his thighs jerk, and his length softens in your mouth. You inch off him, stroking a hand over his thigh soothingly, and press one last kiss to his tip before pulling off completely.

You glance shyly up at Eris, and your chest swells with pride as you find his head thrown back in pure bliss. You rake your nails softly against his thighs, peppering feather-like kisses over his abdomen. His head lulls down towards you, and your heart skips a beat at the carnal look in his eyes. His hands are gentle as he wipes away the tears staining your cheeks before swiping over your mouth, collecting the saliva staining your lips.

“You are an enigma, Little Bird,” he mumbles while intertwining your hands with his and pulling you back up.

Your dress falls from your waist to the floor as you rise, leaving you completely bare aside from your panties. He pulls you onto his lap and you eagerly straddle him, connecting your lips to his. He groans into your mouth at the taste of his own release on your lips.

“Good?” you breathlessly ask against his mouth.

He pulls away from your lips with a chuckle and trails kisses underneath your ear as he mutters, “I haven’t finished so quickly in centuries.”

Your eyes crinkle with pride.

His lips meet yours once again, and you marvel at the way you slot together like the final two pieces of a puzzle. Mimicking his earlier move, you run your tongue along his bottom lip and he grants you entry, allowing you to deepen the kiss. His hands run down the curve of your back before settling on your ass, exploring your soft skin. Your gut clenches at the arousal pooling in your panties.

“Would you like to try something new?” he murmurs against your lips.

You respond with an affirmative hum, and whine as he pulls away.

He grips your waist, lifting you off his lap as if you weigh nothing at all, before setting you back down so you straddle just his left thigh. You jolt as your clothed arousal presses against the bare skin of his thigh.

Eris rolls his thumb over your swollen lips and whispers tauntingly, “Are you horny, Little Bird? Do you need some release?”

You nod shamelessly.

“Get yourself off, then.”

Your brows pinch with confusion, but realization dawns over you as he digs his fingers into your ass cheeks, grinding your clothed cunt against his leg. Your lips part in a silent gasp at the wave of pleasure that rolls through you. He guides you as you set a steady rhythm, grinding your throbbing clit against his thigh. The friction is electrifying, but you need more. The thin barrier of fabric separating you from him is suffocating.

You whine pathetically, and he senses your desire. Eris pinches the flesh of your ass, and you lift your hips slightly. He removes his hands from behind you and you watch as they dip down between your thighs. You throb with anticipation as he hooks a finger underneath the fabric. Your arousal sticks to the flimsy material as he peels it aside, exposing your bare cunt.

“You’re dripping for me, darling,” he croons.

A long moan escapes your lips as you settle back down onto his thigh. With nothing separating you from him, you can feel how every ridge of his muscle stimulates your clit. He continues guiding you with his hands on your waist for a few seconds, before abruptly pulling away.

You pause, mouth agape, as he stretches his arms over the back of the couch. Your cheeks flare in a combination of frustration and embarrassment as he leans back in his seat with a coy smirk on his lips.

He arches a brow expectantly, “Go on.”

You desperately want to wipe the smug look off his face—but your lust, your need for release, is too strong. You brace your hands against his broad shoulders and begin moving again. You groan at the way your clit slides against his bare thigh.

“You like making a mess over my thigh?”

You nod obediently.

He jerks his thigh once underneath you, and you cry out at the sensation.

“I need words, Birdie,” he drawls.

You roll your hips against him desperately and pant between gasps, “I love it.”

He shakes his leg at a steady pace, and the additional stimulation sends you reeling.

“Yeah?” he coos, “Tell me how it feels.”

Your legs tremble as your clit catches against the tensing muscles of his thigh.

“Feels filthy,” you mewl.

He grips your chin firmly, directing your gaze to his, before his arm returns to the back of the couch.

“Fitting for a filthy little girl, getting herself off on my leg,” he purrs, “I’m not even touching you and you’re a whimpering mess for me.”

His degrading words don’t even register, your mind clouded with desire. You can feel the tension building in your gut, and you pant with each roll of your hips. You try to increase your pace as you feel your high approaching, but your legs tremble underneath you, leaving that peak you so desperately desire just out of reach.

“Please,” your voice trembles.

Eris knows exactly what you want, but he taunts you, “Please what?”

A fat tear escapes the corner of your eye and rolls down your flushed cheeks.

Your bottom lip wobbles as you whimper, “Touch me, Eris. Please.”

He swiftly pulls you off his thigh and lays you down on the couch. He crashes his lips against yours, your teeth bumping at the force. Eris doesn’t give you a second to catch your breath as he trails his hand up your inner thigh before sliding his middle finger through your slick, from your entrance to your swollen clit. Unlike last time, he doesn’t waste time teasing as he promptly sinks his middle finger inside of you.

You cry out at the feeling of his finger deep inside you, and he curls it in response. He doesn’t hold back as he rubs your clit with his thumb while thrusting his finger, curling it against your g-spot with each maneuver. He latches his lips to your neck and sucks harshly while his unoccupied hand flicks over your peaked nipples.

Your mind whirls at the sensation—the feeling of him all over you. It’s almost too much, having him everywhere. You desperately claw at his back, searching for something to stabilize you.

Your stomach coils as you feel your high approaching again. He can feel you clench around his finger, and he groans against your skin, “You gonna cum for me, love? Finish all over my hand?”

Another tear rolls down your cheek, “Yes,” you blubber, “’M so close.”

“Let go, Little Bird,” he coaxes while slipping another finger inside of you.

The added stretch sends you over the edge. You all but scream as shockwaves of pleasure roll through your body. Your toes curl and your nails dig into his back as your vision spots. His fingers slow, but he keeps rubbing your clit as you ride through your high. He continues until your hips jerk from the overstimulation, and your hands go limp around his neck. You wince as he pulls his fingers from you and watch through hooded eyes as he sucks his fingers into his mouth, licking up every last drop of your arousal. Your chest heaves as you catch your breath, your mind spinning in a post-orgasmic haze.

Eris softly strokes your cheek with the back of his hand before dipping down and capturing your lips with his. This time, the kiss is slow—no bumping teeth or clashing tongues. You wrap your fingers around his wrist, relishing in the intimacy of it all, until he pulls away.

An airy laugh passes through your lips as he rests his forehead against yours.

“You’ll be the end of me, Little Bird,” Eris mumbles. He places a chaste kiss on the tip of your nose before collapsing on top of you. You grunt at the weight, and he shifts over enough so that he isn’t restricting your breathing, but his bare body remains draped over yours.

“The end is but a beginning in disguise,” you tease as he nestles his nose against your cheek.

He chuckles, his breath tickling your neck.

“How were you made so wise?” he muses.

“Wisdom isn’t born, Fox. It’s learned,” you trace your fingers along the arm draped over you, “And I have a lot more living to do before I can even come close to it.”

“Well, I think you’re plenty wise,” he curves a finger underneath your chin and tilts your head towards his.

Your nose is millimeters apart from his as you gaze into his amber eyes. Their golden hue is vibrant, much like his lopsided smile. But suddenly, something inside them dims, and the corners of his lips twitch downwards. Your brows furrow as you note the subtle change.

“What’s wrong?” you whisper, brushing back his crimson locks.

Eris shakes his head, “It’s nothing.”

You quirk a brow, “Clearly not.”

His hardened stare doesn’t stray from your eyes, but it seems to be searching for something. A chill crawls up your spine at his scrutinizing gaze, as if he’s trying to read your darkest thoughts. You’re suddenly aware of how exposed, how vulnerable you are to him right now—both physically and emotionally.

“Your eyes…” he pauses, as if searching for the right words, before continuing, “Do you remember the first night we met?”

The crinkle between your brows deepens, “How could I forget?”

He wets his lips before replying, “I told you your eyes were familiar.”

Fuck.

You pray that he doesn’t feel the uptick of your heart and continue stroking his arm steadily.

“I just realized,” he continues, “Who they remind me of.”

Panic washes over you, but your expression doesn’t falter, and you maintain your soothing touch.

“Oh?” you hum nonchalantly, “Who may that be?”

Eris shifts his gaze away from the eyes in question, and instead watches the rise and fall of your bare chest.

“A woman I knew a long time ago,” he finally replies.

You continue threading your fingers through his hair as you contemplate your next words. You are breeching unfamiliar territory, and one wrong step could doom you.

“Was she important to you?” you ask cautiously.

He doesn’t respond for a while, and his body is tense over yours. You wait with bated breath for his reply, your curiosity growing with each passing second.

“I don’t know.”

It’s not what you were expecting—but you aren’t sure what you were expecting, exactly.

You mull over his response, nibbling on your bottom lip in thought. Pressing him further feels like a violation—not only of his vulnerability, but of Mor’s. But curiosity is gripping you like a vice. This is the first time in a week you’ve gotten him close to talking about the Night Court, you justify to yourself, don’t let the opportunity slip through your fingers.

“May I ask what happened?” you inquire tentatively.

He grunts and rests his head in the crook of your neck, “It’s not exactly a bedtime story, darling.”

You frown, unsure how to press him further without raising suspicion.

He must notice your disappointment as he sighs, “I can practically hear those gears turning in your head, Little Bird. Would you really like to know?”

You nod. He traces shapes over the expanse of your stomach as he contemplates where to begin.

“Many centuries ago, my father arranged for my marriage to a daughter of the Night Court,” he speaks slowly, “It was purely political—a chance to strengthen the alliance between our courts.”

This is so wrong, you think to yourself. But you make no move to stop him.

“She did not want the union. So, the night before the wedding, she escaped—into the arms of another male, hoping that if she tarnished her…purity, the wedding would be called off.”

Tears prick your eyes as you know exactly what’s coming next, but you blink them away.

“Her father was—is—a cruel man. As cruel as my father,” the steadiness of his voice falters, but he continues, “When he found out what she’d done, he tortured her with a brutality unlike any I’ve witnessed. He left her, stripped naked, at the border of our court, with a sign that she was ours to deal with.”

You’re grateful for his sparing of the details, because you’re not sure you’d be able to hold yourself together.

“I found her that morning, while out with my guards,” he stops, and for a moment you don’t think he will continue. But he releases a deep sigh, and barely speaks above a whisper, “I demanded them not to touch her.”

Anger bubbles in the pit of your stomach, and it takes everything in you not to scream. You feel nauseous, the reality of your predicament suddenly sobering—the reality that you’re lying naked on a couch with a man who left your sister for dead.

“If I or any of my guards touched her, she would have been stuck in Autumn—doomed to a life she did not want, according to my court’s laws. If I had…” his voice trembles ever so slightly, “If I had touched her, my father would have killed her on the spot. So, I left her there. I knew her…her friends would come save her. But it was not a decision I wanted to make.”

The fury trembling in your bones settles, and your mind reels over his recount of the events. This is not the version of the story you’ve heard from Cassian, Rhys, and Azriel. He could be lying—but what reason would Eris have to lie to you, when he is blissfully unaware of your relation to Mor? More than that, you’re unable to ignore the sincerity, the distress in his voice.

“Do you regret it?” you whisper so quietly; you’re surprised he can hear you.

“No,” his response is immediate, “Not for a minute. I gave her a chance to live. Even if she doesn’t see it that way. But I’ll never be able to get that image out of my head…of her pleading for help, and me being unable to grant it.”

Your mouth is dry and you’re sure he can feel the thundering of your heart. Your head is a muddled mess, to say the least.

“Gray areas,” you whisper simply.

We can’t be faulted for how we choose to navigate them, his earlier words ring through your mind. But not faulting him feels like the gravest betrayal you could commit.

A humorless chuckle tumbles from his lips as he echoes you, “Gray areas.”

His head sinks further into the crook of your neck and he runs his thumb soothingly over your abdomen, unknowingly combatting the pounding of your head as you process the onslaught of new—and unexpected—information.

“Do you still align with the Night Court?” you change the subject boldly but keep your tone nonchalant.

Fortunately, he doesn’t seem fazed by your question. Unfortunately, he doesn’t entertain it either.

“I like to keep my business separate from the bedroom,” he rasps against your neck, and you shudder at the tickle of his breath.

You purse your lips into a humorless smile, “Compartmentalization.”

“Forgive me, darling,” he muses, the seriousness of his tone gone, “But I can’t bring myself to discuss pompous High Lords while lying atop a beautiful, naked female.”

“You think I’m beautiful?” you tease half-heartedly.

He raises his head from your shoulder and looks down at you, the fox-like grin that had momentarily disappeared back, “I don’t think, I know,” he brushes his nose along your jawline, “You are the most delectable little thing I’ve seen in centuries.”

You feel his groin twitch against your upper thigh, and you roll your eyes, “You are insatiable, Eris Vanserra.”

He laughs and your heart sings at the sound, despite your reeling mind. He presses his chest against yours and stretches his arm out to the floor. You watch curiously as he rolls back into his previous position with your forgotten book in hand.

“I’m not quite sure if Tydeus qualifies as a bedtime story either,” you arch a brow.

He shrugs with a cheeky grin, “Well if you ever plan on getting through that mountain of books, you’d better get started.”

Eris holds it out expectantly, and after a moment of contemplation, you grab it with your free arm. You untangle your other hand from his hair and wrap it around his shoulder so you can balance the book on your stomach with both arms. He squirms over you, and you squeak he accidentally elbows the side of your breast.

“Careful,” you hiss.

“My apologies, Little Bird,” he coos as he finally finds a comfortable position on his side. One arm rests underneath your neck, while the other remains draped over your stomach behind the book. He drops his head onto your shoulder, so he has a full view of the book in your hands.

“I’ll let you know when to turn the page,” he nods his head against you, encouraging you to begin.

You squint but relent as you see his eyes moving back and forth, reading the text before him. You can feel him smiling below you as you focus your gaze on the page in front of you and pick up where you left off earlier.

You’re nearing the end of the page when Eris taps the side of your hand with his finger. He waits patiently for you to finish, and both of your heads shift when you flip the page. You fall into a comfortable rhythm. He taps your hand softly each time to indicate when he’s finished, and you alternate between who finishes first with each flip of the page. The rise and fall of your bare chest moves in time with his breath against your skin, and despite your nudity, you don’t feel an ounce of shyness.

As you read, you can’t help but think that this must be what heaven feels like: orange flames warming your skin as you lounge on a couch reading with a gorgeous, and very naked, male on top of you. But there’s just one tiny problem—the gorgeous, and very naked, male in question.

You feel your thoughts slip from the book and urge yourself to focus on Tydeus’s philosophy rather than dwell on your anxiety. You find yourself so immersed in one passage in particular, that you don’t notice the way Eris’s breathing slows, or how his head lulls against your chest. You reach the end of the page and wait patiently for his signal to continue. Your brows cinch as the seconds stretch into minutes. You look down and realize that the heir to the Autumn Court throne, in all his glory, is sleeping like a babe using your breasts as a pillow.

The book lays forgotten in your hands as you observe him. Even in his softest of moments, his features still hold a certain sharpness. But right now, he looks…peaceful. His cheek is pressed up against the flesh of your breast, and with his eyes closed, you notice that his eyelashes are much longer than you imagined. You long to trace your fingers over the freckles splattered across his nose, to feel the curve of his nose. It’s hard to think that the male before you is capable of any cruelty at all.

But he is.

And you’re gazing at him wide-eyed like a lovestruck teenager.

You wish you could speak to your sister right now. You’re not sure what you’d say—maybe nothing at all. Maybe looking into her eyes, which are so similar to yours, would reveal some hidden truth, buried deep under centuries of hatred. Or maybe they would hold disdain—disappointment directed at you, for rolling around with a male who hurt her deeply.

Eris snores softly, halting your train of thought. Your chest tightens and the flames of the fire start to burn your skin. You can’t stay here. More importantly, you have a job to do.

You set the book down on the floor beneath you, and cautiously shift your body. He grunts in his sleep, but doesn’t stir, as you carefully slip out from underneath him. You hiss as you tumble onto the ground below and pause to make sure he’s still asleep. His snores don’t falter, and you rise from the ground.

You make quick work of gathering your clothes, cringing at the dried arousal covering your inner thighs and panties. Just as you’re about to slip out of his chambers, you turn back to take one last glance at his sleeping form. You gnaw your lower lip, a pang of guilt tugging at your heartstrings. Against your better judgment, you search for a scrap piece of paper and pen to leave him a note, as he had done for you.

‘Till we meet again, Eris Vanserra

Your lips purse—simple, yet effective. You set the note down on the wooden table and drape a throw blanket over the sleeping male in case he has any unexpected visitors. You don’t dare look back as you creep towards the doors.

The creaking of the rusted hinges has you cringing as you ease them open, inch by inch, and peer into the hallway. It’s empty—thank the Mother—with the only movement coming from the flickering flames of torches on the walls.

You slink into the shadows as you move to your left down the hallway. Assuming Azriel’s map is correct, Eris’s office is two floors above his personal chambers, about one mile to the left. Despite the sizeable distance, you don’t risk winnowing for fear of someone catching you.

As you move along the walls, there’s a heavy weight on your shoulders. You can’t help but feel guilty for playing with his feelings and using them to your advantage—especially following the vulnerability he showed you tonight. But you remind yourself that, even in life’s dimmest gray areas, your loyalty to your family is unwavering.

Your heart thumps in your chest as you scale the winding staircase, keeping an eye out for any guards or lurking Vanserras. As you make your way down the next hallway, identical to the last, you move as swiftly as you can. The sooner you’re gone, the better—but you can’t deny the unease that grows with each step. On one hand, you hope you’ll find something to report back to Rhys. But on the other, you dread finding something that may contradict your image of Eris thus far.

Your steps are featherlight, and by the grace of the Cauldron, you make it to your destination without any setbacks. You press your ear against the door before slowing pushing it open.

The room is much like Eris’s chambers: swirling yellows and reds along the walls, a blazing fireplace, and a deep mahogany rug carpet covering the stone floor. In the middle sits a large, mahogany desk, covered in parchment. You creep forward, careful not to make any noise. You run your fingers along the polished wood of the desk, glancing over the papers. Nothing stands out as you shuffle through them. You search through his cabinets, rifle through the small bookcase in the back, and even check beneath the cushions of the chairs. All you can seem to find is polite, and uninteresting, correspondences with various courts, and menial to-do lists. You check each possible hiding place but come up short once again. There’s absolutely nothing here.

You’re not sure whether to feel relieved or frustrated—or perhaps, both. You glance at the grandfather clock in the corner of the dimly lit room. 3:06. You contemplate redirecting your search to Beron’s office, but you remember from Azriel’s map that it’s six floors down, and approximately two miles away on the opposite side of the house. If you were to go now, there’s a chance the sun would be rising by the time you’re ready to leave, leaving you defenseless without the dark of the shadows.

With a sigh, you check over the room once more to ensure nothing is out of place before making your exit. You leave just as you came, slinking into the shadows along the hallways as quiet as a mouse. As you navigate the winding tunnels, you wonder if Eris is still sleeping soundly by the fire, or if he’s aware of your absence. And as your thoughts drift to the crimson-haired heir, you find yourself moving faster—as if escaping the walls of the Forest House will erase him from your mind.

The wind is even more chilling than usual in the dead of night, you realize as you finally make it out through a side door. You make quick work of the courtyard, using the shadows to your advantage to avoid detection by the sentries littered throughout. When you finally make it out, you will the air to twist and fold around you, winnowing you back to your ransack cabin just as the sun begins to peek out from the horizon. Your limbs are tired, but your mind is racing. You know that sleep will not be kind to you. So, you kick off your boots and plop yourself on the dirty floor in front of the fireplace.

You find yourself just as you were before; hovering your hands over the orange embers until the burn becomes too much, and you are forced to pull away. Again. Over and over. As if the pain will grant you some sense of clarity. As if nothing has changed since you were last sat here. As if you aren’t falling further into the fox’s trap with no way out.

Being born of Light and Dark can be a difficult thing. But there are far worse evils in the world, some lurking just around the corner.

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@lilah-asteria @goldenmagnolias @myromanempiree @i-know-i-can @hannzoaks @olive-main @lilylilyyyyyy @batboygirlie @stuff-i-found-while-crying @moni-cah @6000-fandoms @melsunshine @roseodelle @rcarbo1

#acotar #acotar fanfiction #acotar fanfic #eris vanserra #eris vanserra x reader #eris vanserra smut #eris x reader #eris vanserra fanfic #eris acotar #mastermind

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burningred1989 · 4 months ago

Text

THE WEIGHT OF THE NIGHT

A/N: Y/N and Harry Styles, estranged exes, unexpectedly reconnect when they’re invited to the same talk show. Tensions rise as Y/N’s cheating ex and his new girlfriend are also present. After the show, Y/N plans a reckless act—drinking heavily and driving to stage a crash—but Harry intervenes, saving her from potential tragedy.

MASTERLIST

<<<<<

The lights in the studio gleamed brightly, reflecting off the polished stage. Y/N adjusted her posture on the couch, her smile steady but distant. Across from her sat Harry Styles, her ex, looking composed yet aware of the tension in the air. It wasn’t their first run-in since their breakup, but this setting—a live talk show—was particularly uncomfortable.

To make matters worse, seated further down the couch were her most recent ex and *her*—the woman he had cheated on her with. They laughed and chatted with the host as if they were just another happy couple, blissfully unaware of—or perhaps indifferent to—the storm they had left behind.

Harry noticed how Y/N’s fingers fidgeted slightly in her lap, a telltale sign of her discomfort. Her eyes occasionally flicked toward them, unable to completely mask the hurt that flickered there. Still, she managed to keep a polite smile on her face, answering questions about her latest album and upcoming tour with poise.

He couldn’t take his eyes off her.

When the host tried to stir some drama, jokingly asking Y/N if she found it awkward to be on the same stage as her exes, she let out a light laugh. “It’s all part of the business, isn’t it?” she said, her tone playful but distant.

Harry, however, shot the host a pointed look, his jaw tightening. He could feel the weight of Y/N’s sadness, even if she hid it well. He hated seeing her like this, surrounded by people who had hurt her, himself included.

When the show finally wrapped up, Y/N was the first to leave the stage. She muttered a quick “thank you” to the crew and disappeared toward the dressing rooms without so much as a glance at anyone else. Harry lingered behind, his mind torn between respecting her space and following his instinct to check on her.

<<<<<

Inside her dressing room, Y/N let out a heavy sigh. She pulled off her glamorous outfit, trading it for a worn hoodie and sweatpants—the closest thing to armor she had at the moment. She glanced at herself in the mirror, her carefully applied makeup now feeling like a mask she was desperate to shed.

As she stepped out of the room, hoping to leave unnoticed, she found Harry leaning against the wall across from her door. His hands were tucked into his pockets, his gaze soft yet intent as it landed on her.

“Y/N,” he said, his voice low and careful.

She didn’t stop walking. “I’m fine, Harry,” she replied, her tone clipped but not harsh.

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. “Are you really?” he asked, searching her eyes.

She met his gaze briefly, then looked away. “It doesn’t matter. I’m used to it.”

His brows furrowed. “You shouldn’t have to be.”

Her lips pressed into a thin line as she tried to move past him. “Please, Harry. Just let it go.”

But he couldn’t. “Y/N,” he said, his voice breaking slightly, “you don’t have to pretend around me.”

She stopped in her tracks, her back to him, and let out a shaky breath. “That’s where you’re wrong,” she whispered. Without another word, she walked away, leaving him standing there, his heart heavy with regret and the weight of things left unsaid.

As she exited the building and melted into the night, Harry stayed behind, staring at the empty hallway. He wanted to fix it, to undo the pain he had caused and shield her from the rest. But for now, all he could do was watch her leave, the distance between them feeling wider than ever.

<<<<<

The bar was dimly lit, the low hum of chatter blending with the clinking of glasses and the faint bass of music playing in the background. Y/N sat at the far end, nursing her third—or maybe fourth—drink. She didn’t bother keeping count. Her thoughts were too loud, her emotions a storm she couldn’t contain. The image of her ex, laughing with the woman he cheated on her with, played on a loop in her mind. And then there was Harry—his concerned gaze, his soft voice asking if she was okay. She wasn’t, and she didn’t want to be.

She downed another glass, the sharp burn of the alcohol a temporary reprieve from the ache in her chest. Her plan was simple, even if it wasn’t logical. If she got behind the wheel drunk enough, whatever happened next wouldn’t look intentional. It would just be another headline about a tragic accident, not a cry for help.

What she didn’t know was that Harry was there too, seated in the shadows at a table near the corner. He had followed her after the show, his instincts screaming at him to make sure she was safe. At first, he kept his distance, unsure of how to approach her without pushing her away further. But as he watched her order drink after drink, his worry turned into outright panic.

When Y/N finally slapped a few bills on the counter and stumbled toward the exit, Harry’s heart sank. He quickly followed, keeping a few paces behind her. The night air hit them both as she wobbled toward her car parked just a few feet away. She fumbled with her keys, dropping them once before retrieving them with a frustrated huff.

Her balance was unsteady, and as she stepped off the curb, a car sped past, its horn blaring. She staggered back just in time, but Harry’s reflexes kicked in. He grabbed her arm, pulling her out of harm’s way.

“Whoa, hey!” she exclaimed, stumbling into his chest. Her voice was slurred, her words blending together. “Dang, that almost got me. Sir, whoever you are, you’re ruining my plan.”

Harry’s grip on her tightened, his jaw clenching. “Your *plan*?” he echoed, his voice filled with a mix of disbelief and anger.

She wobbled back toward her car, muttering, “Yeah, my plan. Just let me go.”

But as she tried to open the door, Harry stepped in, slamming it shut before she could get in. She frowned, her expression shifting from confusion to annoyance. “What are you doing? Move!”

“No,” Harry said firmly, planting himself between her and the car. “You’re not driving anywhere.”

Her frustration boiled over. She tugged at the door handle, but he held it shut. “Harry, move! Just let me go!” she yelled, tears spilling from her eyes.

“No,” he repeated, his voice softer now but no less resolute. “Y/N, think about this. What about your mom? Your brother? Your fans? They all love you. They’d be devastated.”

She froze for a moment, her hands trembling against the door handle. Then she turned to him, her face crumpling as she sobbed, “Don’t you understand? Everyone leaves me. Even you did!”

Her words hit him like a punch to the gut. He took a step closer, his hands still firmly holding the car door shut. “I know,” he admitted, his voice cracking. “I know I hurt you, and I’ll regret it every day for the rest of my life. But this isn’t the way. Please, Y/N. Just let me help you.”

She shook her head, her tears falling freely now. She tried to pull the door open again, but Harry didn’t budge. “Please,” he whispered, his voice barely audible but filled with desperation.

Y/N let out a shuddering breath before turning away, her sobs wracking her body. Harry hesitated for a moment before stepping closer. He gently turned her to face him, brushing her hair away from her tear-streaked face. His touch was light, careful.

He slipped off his coat and draped it over her shoulders, shielding her from the cool night air and the prying eyes of any cameras that might be nearby. “Let me take you home,” he said softly. “Please. Cameras might see us, and I don’t want them twisting this into something it’s not.”

For a moment, she didn’t respond. Then, with a reluctant nod, she agreed. “Fine,” she mumbled, her voice barely above a whisper.

As they began walking, her steps were unsteady, and she swayed dangerously. Harry didn’t hesitate to scoop her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest. She didn’t protest, her body heavy with exhaustion and alcohol. Her head lolled against his shoulder, and within moments, she passed out, her breathing evening out.

Harry carried her to his car, carefully placing her in the passenger seat. He fastened her seatbelt, making sure she was secure before getting into the driver’s seat himself. As he started the car and pulled onto the quiet road, he glanced at her sleeping form, her face peaceful yet tear-streaked.

His heart ached as he drove toward his home. He didn’t know what tomorrow would bring, but tonight, he was determined to keep her safe.

<<<<<

The car hummed softly as Harry drove through the quiet streets, the weight of Y/N’s earlier breakdown pressing heavily on both of them. She was slumped in the passenger seat, her head tilted against the window, her face still pale and tear-streaked. Harry stole occasional glances at her, his jaw tight with concern, guilt, and an overwhelming protectiveness he couldn’t shake.

The silence was broken by the shrill ring of Y/N’s phone, startling them both. Her eyes fluttered open, groggy and disoriented, and she fumbled to pull the phone from her pocket. She squinted at the screen, the caller ID revealing it was her brother. Too exhausted to hold the phone to her ear, she tapped the speaker icon and let it rest on her lap.

“Hey,” she croaked, her voice hoarse from crying.

“Y/N!” her brother’s voice came through the speaker, loud and panicked. “Where are you? Are you okay?”

“I’m... I’m in a car,” she said groggily, blinking against the dim glow of passing streetlights.

“What?!” he exclaimed, his voice rising with alarm. “Please, pull over right now!”

She frowned, her confusion evident even through her fatigue. “Why?”

“Y/N,” he said, his tone desperate, “I had this horrible dream that you crashed. It felt so real. I couldn’t shake it, so I called Tree, and she said you were at the club. Please, if you’re driving, pull over. I’ll come get you.”

Despite her exhaustion, she let out a weak, humorless laugh. “Don’t be ridiculous. You don’t even have a license.”

“I don’t care!” he shot back, his voice trembling. “Just tell me you’re okay. Please.”

The raw fear in his voice was enough to crack the fragile wall she’d built around herself. Tears welled up in her eyes, and she bit down on her trembling lip. “I’m fine,” she whispered, though her voice wavered. “I’m a little drunk, but don’t worry. I’m not driving.”

Her brother let out a shaky exhale, relief evident but not enough to calm him. “Promise me, Y/N. Don’t get behind the wheel. Please. Just… just let someone take care of you for once.”

She swallowed hard, tears streaming down her face as she pressed a hand to her mouth, trying to stifle her sobs. Harry’s grip on the steering wheel tightened as he listened, his knuckles turning white.

“Go back to sleep,” she managed to say, her voice breaking. “You’ve got finals tomorrow.”

“I don’t care about finals,” he said, his tone firm but laden with worry. “I care about you. I love you, okay? Take care of yourself.”

Her chest heaved as the sobs she’d been suppressing broke free. “I love you, too,” she whispered before quickly ending the call.

The phone dropped onto her lap, and she buried her face in her hands, her body shaking as she cried. The weight of her brother’s concern, the fear in his voice, and the overwhelming guilt of how close she’d come to making an irreversible decision crushed her.

Harry remained silent, his eyes fixed on the road, though his jaw was clenched so tightly it ached. He swallowed hard, his throat thick with emotion as he fought back tears of his own. Hearing her brother’s desperation and Y/N’s pain felt like a knife to the heart.

Minutes passed with nothing but the sound of Y/N’s sobs filling the car. Harry finally broke the silence, his voice soft but steady. “Your brother loves you a lot.”

She didn’t respond, just curled further into herself, her shoulders trembling.

“And he’s right,” Harry continued, his voice thick with emotion. “You need to let someone take care of you. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

Y/N sniffled, her hands dropping to her lap as she wiped at her face with the sleeve of Harry’s coat. Her voice was barely audible when she spoke. “Why do they care so much? Why do you?”

Harry’s hands tightened on the wheel, his heart aching at her question. “Because you’re worth it,” he said, his voice firm but gentle. “You’re worth everything, Y/N. And I… I care because I can’t stand the thought of losing you.”

She turned her head slightly to look at him, her tear-filled eyes meeting his for a brief, vulnerable moment. He glanced at her, his own eyes glistening, before focusing back on the road.

The rest of the drive was quiet, save for the occasional hitch of her breath as she tried to calm herself. Harry pulled into his driveway, the gravel crunching softly under the tires. He parked and turned off the engine, sitting in silence for a moment before turning to her.

“We’re here,” he said gently.

Y/N nodded, her movements slow and lethargic as she unbuckled her seatbelt. When she tried to step out of the car, her legs wobbled, and Harry was at her side in an instant.

“I’ve got you,” he said, slipping an arm around her waist to steady her.

She didn’t argue, too drained to protest as he helped her inside. The warmth of his home enveloped her, and she felt herself leaning into his side, the weight of the night finally beginning to lift, if only slightly.

For now, she let herself be vulnerable, leaning on the one person who, despite everything, still stood by her when it mattered most.

#harry styles #harry styles x reader #harry styles x insert #harry #styles #harry styles fluff #harry styles smut #harry styles angst #angst #one direction #1d #hs #harry edward styles #h #fluff #harry styles imagine #imagine #one direction x reader

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starlightz4mj · 22 days ago

Text

It’s Our Anniversary

Pairing: Michael Jackson x fem!reader

Category & Warnings: angst, fluff, smut, oral (f! receiving), p in v penetration

Era: Bad

Word Count: 10,472

Setting: Encino, California. Spring of 1987.

Note: For plot's sake, you'll have to pretend that the Havenhurst house wasn’t inhabited by the whole Jackson clan. Sorry if there’s any grammatical errors, btw. Also, I was listening to Anniversary by Tony! Toni! Toné! when the idea for this popped up, hence the title. I think using songs for my imagines might be a recurring feature. Anyway, enjoy! R.I.P. to D’Wayne Wiggins <3

Do you know what today is?

It's our anniversary

Made for you and me

Appareled in a Prussian Blue Valentino gown, you sit in the lavish dining room of the Havenhurst home designed with warm, Victorian elements. The intricately paneled walls display expensive oil canvases from the Romanticism and Renaissance periods. It was your boyfriend’s taste, not yours in particular, but still a stunning sight to take in. A pair of French antique chandeliers, adorned with crystals and bronze candlesticks, dimly light the space—accompanied by the silky notes of Jazz Noir drifting from a record player—blending together to set a mood of intimacy and relaxation.

Yet, as your dolled-up reflection looks back at you in discontent through the polished wood of the mahogany table, you are anything but relaxed. The loud dong of the grandfather clock adjacent to your right tolls aggravatingly for a third time, marking the three hours ago that Michael was supposed to be here. Unsurprisingly to you by now, he is not. That doesn't make the ache of disappointment any less painful.

For nearly the last year of the two you have been a couple, Michael’s packed schedule has been a constant interference to the increasingly rare occasions you spend with each other. Around when you had met him, he had concluded his activities for the Victory Tour, taking on less strenuous pursuits in his career after the success of Thriller. There were the infrequent appearances or interviews here and there, but overall, it was the least busy he had been for most of his life. And in that time, he and you had plenty of it to build a connection.

Being an attorney and starting out on a semi-business basis, you assisted in some of the proceedings he and your colleague took in purchasing the ATV Music Catalogue. There were a few times they came to you for advice on matters of intellectual property, that aspect of law being your area of expertise. Yet, unusually, despite Michael hiring nothing but the best for his legal selection, he hadn’t given any indication that he wanted to have a fiduciary relationship with you, even though you were the top IP lawyer at your firm. Your initial reaction was to be offended. After all the guidance he seeked, what could he possibly have against hiring you?

“Well, Mr. Jackson, I don’t quite understand why you’d request my help, but decide to not appoint me to a position on your team. Is there some reason you think I’m unqualified for the job?” Voicing your potentially out-of-line assumption, you still maintain a courteous tone, even though your pride was slightly wounded. However, he simply lets out a giggle at the question.

“It’s the opposite, actually. I’d love for you to be a part of my team, but… it would conflict with another interest I have.” His aviator-shielded eyes cast downward toward the ground as he smiled coyly.

“And what might that be?” Your arms folded across your chest as your intrigue was piqued by the ambiguous statement, waiting for him to provide clarity.

“Taking you out to dinner on Saturday night. If you're up for it, of course.”

Your face donned with pleasant surprise as his words registered—a bold approach to make with such a shy demeanour. Though you wouldn’t say it aloud due to professional conduct, you had been an admirer of him since you were a girl in pigtails, starstruck by his strong voice and cherubic charm during that monumental premiere of The Jackson 5 on American Bandstand.

Having a celebrity crush as a youth was nothing uncommon, but actually being presented with the opportunity to pursue a romantic gesture from them as an adult was inconceivable. The part of you that subdued the adolescent fancy you held for him felt as if it had been sparked again.

And with indignation replaced by delight, previous aggrievance long forgotten, you happily accepted his offer. From that point on, you and Michael went on numerous dates. You remember the more intimate ones—taking walks at night on the beach in Malibu or going to high-end establishments, such as opera houses and fine dining restaurants. The fun ones like going to the movie theater or to arcades in whatever crazy disguise he threw together. Most of them made you erupt into fits of laughter.

You always voiced the theory that the zany costumes were more of an attention grabber than if people actually saw him in his normal attire, to which he proved otherwise. Long story short, on one of your many visits to Disneyland, you both, along with the Mickey Mouse mascot you were being photographed with, were swarmed by a herd of hysterical fans in the blink of an eye. You’re still not even sure how the limousine managed to get through the crowd as his security guards threw all three of you into the backseat.

“Holy fucking shit! What the hell is going on?!” The heavily muffled shout of the man beneath the cartoonish mouse head would have been comical, if not for the overly excited group enveloping the vehicle, packed in close and trying to get a glimpse at the King of Pop. You yourself were staggered at the mob and attempting to calm your jittery disposition. All the while, you looked over to find Michael simply smiling and greeting the rowdy bunch, as if this were an average day for him.

Realizing that it was just that, you acknowledged the grace and composer he held himself with as an extremely admirable trait. You couldn’t fathom handling this lack of privacy and fanaticism since childhood. It was moments like this that made it click for you that being Michael Jackson, the popstar, came at a great price. To the world, he was this magical entity to marvel at—a wizard of entertainment. Before, due to the lack of familiar proximity, you used to hold that same image of him to some extent. But now, he was just Michael to you.

Michael, who had an affinity for Peter Pan and old Hollywood and Tchiakovsky. He always approached learning opportunities with eager curiosity, whether it was the sudden interest he’d taken in anatomy in recent months, or his humility in seeking mentorship from those he collaborated with in the industry, despite being a master himself. Michael, who was susceptible to internal struggles like anyone else and oftentimes wore himself down with his own expectations, but only because he believed in himself so fiercely. Michael, who was a beautiful fusion of contrasting energies—childlike spirit and wise, old soul, both wrapped in one. And the more of him you got to experience personally, the more profound and loving your relationship blossomed.

It carried on like this for a while, leisure time filled with frequent rendezvous, until his life started to pick up pace again. With the many filming projects he starred in, paired with countless hours of recording for his upcoming album, the days where you hardly saw him were steadily growing. You were able to distract yourself from his absence by getting lost in your own taxing work of large files riddled with dense jargon. Still, that only served as a temporary solution.

“I miss you, Michael. We never see eachother anymore.” You utter into the phone while absentmindedly twirling the coil cord around your finger. You were bundled up in Michael’s bed, relaxing on your day off. But for him, he was busy in the studio, perfecting his sound for this new era of artistry.

An exhaustion-filled sigh is let out into the receiver. “I know. I miss you too. I keep running into all these problems with the tracks. And Quincy-–he wants to go in a completely different direction with the sound than I do. It’s like, I can’t get anything worked out right today… Maybe I should just drop all of this and come home to you.”

“Well, as much as I’d love that, I wouldn’t let you do it. I know how much this album means to you, to your fans… I want you to give it your all. You’ll get where you need to be. I know it. Just keep trying.”

He’s deeply appreciative of your encouraging words, grateful to have someone so supportive in his corner, even though he’s aware his hectic schedule no doubt takes a toll on you as well. “Yeah… I guess you're right. But still, I wish we had as much time together like we used to.”

You think for a moment. “Well, how about we try our best to set some time aside out of the holidays for ourselves?” The suggestion was favorable enough, given the circumstances. And although there was some lingering resistance to practices outside of his past religion, such as festivities, he had opened himself generously to trying new things with you—some, more willingly than others…

So, that was the arrangement you both agreed upon. For a brief period, while still new, it was upheld fairly well-–until it wasn’t. The more activities Michael started to be bombarded with, the less he was able to keep his end of the agreement, and many of the days you had reserved for yourselves were cut into or entirely canceled by his heightened workload. But each time, you were understanding.

Like when he missed Valentine’s Day due to a conference he had for a potential brand deal with a fragrance line, which, by the way, ended up falling through, leaving the meeting pointless. Or when he got held back to reshoot some scenes for the Captain EO short film on your birthday, even though he was supposed to wrap up earlier to celebrate with you.

He would always return home with a peace offering, profusely apologizing for not being able to make it. And taking into account the extent of relentless demands in his career, it felt juvenile to be upset. So, you never truly expressed how much it bothered you, keeping it inside in favor of savouring the few moments you did have with each other.

However, tonight is a different case. It’s your anniversary. And with each of the many reminders you gave over the last few weeks, he promised that no matter what, he would make it here by eight this evening. Instead, you found yourself alone, staring into the porcelain plate of chicken piccata you prepared, which has gone cold by now, with the hands of the clock moving farther and farther away from that designated time. As the minutes dragged on into hours, there wasn’t a single call sent as a courtesy to explain his nonappearance.

For him to not only be a complete no-show but also fail to at least leave you with prior warning—you were nothing less than seething at this point. The fretful bounce of your stilettoed foot carries on as you take a large swig of Chardonnay to ease the perturbance, waiting for the telltale sound of loafers padding down the marbled floors of the corridor.

Meanwhile, the fluorescent lights of Los Angeles pass by in a blur as Michael heavily steps down on the accelerator of his Mercedes-Benz. Rush hour has long since been over, leaving the roads relatively uncrowded, thankfully making his race home quicker than usual. As the traffic light turns red, wheels halting in place, his right hand rummages around in his pocket to pull out a velvet box. How could I have forgotten? He inspects the small item, twirling it around with his fingers.

What happened today was nothing short of chaos. Yet again, he and Quincy spent what felt like forever clashing over creative differences. Quincy, favoring the music production, wanted Al Capone to be on the album. Michael, on the other hand, preferred Smooth Criminal. Although both had the same thematic origins, with this song, he had a clearer, conceptualized idea of how it would look and feel in a movie short—the 1920s speakeasy scene, gangster suits and some influences of jazz in the dance style. After much discussion and weighing the pros and cons, Michael's decision ultimately prevailed.

The real trouble began when they actually started recording. From too much echo and reverberation polluting the sound of the tracks to Michael’s vocals not landing where they needed to, he found himself stuck in a continuous loop of scrapping various sections of his work just to start all over again. The constant mishaps couldn’t easily be pinpointed to one thing.

The stress of the ever-nearing approach of deadlines for this album, from music videos to preparations for the upcoming tour. Fatigue from rehearsal-filled days and sudden bursts of inspiration at night—lyrics, harmonies, choreography—that left him sleep-deprived. Or the nervousness from the much more immediate cause that, somehow, amidst all the madness, had completely slipped his mind.

As he returned to the sound booth from a restroom break, fully intending to keep recording until he felt the song he’d been working on was perfected, his eyes caught the red numbers on the digital clock hanging above the entrance—10:39 PM. Panic set in as the realization dawned on him: he was supposed to be home three hours ago for his anniversary. And though being so late to this very important event that you both had greatly anticipated did nothing to ease his anxiety, it was not the primary reason for it.

Michael had planned to turn this celebration of two years together into something even grander—a marriage proposal, but the potentially disastrous outcomes he had conjured up loomed over him like a dark cloud for weeks. As result, this entire studio session ended up in no meaningful progress, and astonishingly, he’d forgotten the one thing he promised he wouldn’t. Quickly pivoting on his foot, he scrambled towards the rack where his leather jacket hung, clumsily throwing it on.

“Smelly, what’s gotten into you all of a sudden?” The quizzical tone of Quincy’s voice doesn’t falter his rushed escape out of the room.

“I’m sorry, but I really gotta go! I’ll explain it tomorrow!” He hastily offers to wrap up their session before rushing towards the elevator. After impatiently waiting for the platform to ascend and dashing in upon its arrival, he soon reaches the first floor of the main lobby, booking it towards the exit of revolving doors.

His attention is snapped from the burgundy colored cube in his hand as out of his peripheral, the stoplight turns green, putting the vehicle back in motion. As he carries on with his journey of about ten minutes left until he reaches home, his mind wanders back to the day you first met.

“There’s some parts of this document that are vague. You think you could come over and take a look?” John, Michael’s entertainment lawyer, had just had a brief exchange over the phone with someone moments ago before three loud knocks were heard at the closed door of his workspace. When it opened, in pranced a stunning woman, clad in a form-fitting red skirt suit, instantly drawing in Michael’s intrigue.

“Good afternoon. It’s truly a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Jackson,” you chime in a genial tone, approaching with a beaming smile and extended hand, which he enveloped gently to shake—a fluttering giddiness erupts at the touch. As the two attorneys began to delve into the content of the forms, their words hardly registered to Michael. He was too focused on the concentrated gaze with which you scanned the documents, the shape of your rouged lips curving over vowels.

His eyes wandered to your accentuated curves as you leaned over the desk to examine the papers—voluptuous and alluring. And as you closed your revision of the material with an ‘I’m here if you need anything else,’ he couldn’t stop himself from watching the sway of your hips as you made a swift exit from the room.

You frequented over the next week, offering advice and providing context when needed. Sometimes, he would feign confusion with some parts of the text just so you could stay a little longer. Realizing that this was not the most practical way to prolong your being, nor considerate of your actual work duties, Michael finally decided to voice an inquiry.

“Hey, John, what’s your policy on dating clients?” The brunette man sipping on a latte pauses mid-drink with a puzzled look before lowering the mug.

“I’m flattered, but I don’t go that way.”

“Not you, silly. I’m talking about her.” Michael waves in the direction of your office, lightly chuckling at John’s humorous remark. “Lawyers and clients aren’t allowed to be romantically involved, right?” He had done some research of his own about the situation, but wanted further confirmation just to be sure.

“Correct. But technically, you aren't an official client of hers, so you could still go for it.” And with that answer, he was asking you out later that very same day.

Michael had been relatively green to the world of dating by the time you two had met. The seldom flings he had with women, kept under the radar, never developed into anything serious. With the way most of them soured, he wasn’t exactly sure that he would ever find what he was looking for. He often encountered people who were more enamored with his status and what luxuries it could offer than with him.

And though he was more than happy to shower his lady companions with anything they desired, he mostly did so out of the fear of being alone rather than the rapture of being in love, yearning to experience the joys of having a significant other. But little did he know, a certain lively attorney would be the end to his string of unfulfilling situationships.

Of course, he hadn’t initially come in with much expectation that the dynamic between you would deviate from the usual—gifts and opulence in exchange for company. Yet, surprisingly, when he did make such gestures, there was often protest and reluctance from you to accept them. You let it be known that while you were appreciative, he should never feel as if your affection needed to be bought, emphasising that just being together was enough.

And in the time he’s got to share with you, you’d become both his best friend and the light of his life. Mirroring his childlike tendencies, you enjoyed the likes of practical jokes, whimsical films, amusement parks. You both gave each other an equal dose of mischief and excitement—a temporary escape from the pressures of adult life.

On the other hand, the womanly side of you was self-assured and sophisticated. Despite the stipulations that came with his public persona, you weren’t one to crease under the weight. With poise and level-headedness, you managed to navigate both the harsh anatomization and glitzy display of his idol life. And though the expectations and prying scrutiny were unrelenting, your devotion to him never faltered.

As the demands of the day faded and it was just the two of you, your tenderness was given space to flourish in the sacred confines of one another. In the sentimental conversations you found yourselves getting lost in late into the night—confidences, dreams, worries—you had become a part of him he didn’t know he needed.

You possessed the ability to truly see and understand him, even when he tried to mask the parts of himself he feared would make you grow tired and flee. The solitude of his stardom, the sadness from past traumas, which he had believed for so long was impossible to escape, were eased away by the comfort of your unwavering presence and acceptance.

While these gloomy moods burdened Michael at times, he still held a great love and optimism about life. When it came to his craft, he was fiercely passionate and hopeful about all the possibilities he envisioned for himself, even when others thought he may have been overachieving or setting his expectations too high.

But you never doubted or dissuaded him from his aspirations. You were his biggest supporter. Always uplifting, always giving your undivided attention to his enthusiastic ideas about the next big thing he was going to do, eager to get a glimpse into the innovative makings of his mind. And when the work was tiring, your love and support motivated him to keep going.

As your endearments were reified through these saccharine partakings, he was certain that he wanted forever with you. He found refuge in your affections, your embrace—your peace sheltered him from the harsher aspects of his success and internal pains that, at times, would well up so much he thought he could drown. When he felt as if he would lose himself to those turbulent waters, you were the gentle wave beckoning him back to shore.

And in all these things, his resolution to ask for your hand in marriage was absolute. However, there was an additional reason why he decided an engagement was fitting—to convey that his adoration had not been swayed or dulled for you. He was aware that the requirements of his work agendas held great potential to cause a rift in your relationship.

Consequently, he flipped between confidence that your feelings for him were so strong that you couldn't possibly reject him, to doubts clawing from the darkest corners of his mind, trying to convince him that his fame, his tireless routine, and himself, were still too much for you. As the in-house security guard granted him access through the ornamental gates of his estate, he began to feel that unease bubbling to the surface again.

Easing down the herringbone pavement leading to the main entrance of the house, he sees your car in its usual parking spot and places his directly behind it. With a sturdy twist of the metal key in the ignition, the rumble of the engine dies down, leaving him to collect himself in the still silence.

He gets out of the car, taking calculated steps as he approaches the double doors of the entry, apprehension swirling around him as he suspects that his untimely arrival will not go over well with you. His ears catch the faint rise and fall of music as he steps inside, quietly sealing the door shut. Slowly carrying on down the hallway, timidly walking past the threshold of the dining room, he is greeted by the upward flick of your gaze over the rim of a glass of wine—cold and distant. Without breaking eye contact, you chug the last remnants of the intoxicating potion before firmly setting the glass down.

“Happy anniversary. Glad you could join me.” Between your sarcastic remark and the displeased expression, he’s wary that he might not be able to recover easily from this one tonight.

“Baby, please don’t be like that. I’m really sorry. I ran into some trouble at the studio and lost track of time.” He offers his regret as he takes in the elegant layout you put effort into, left abandoned by his lack of show for the event. A twinge of guilt twists inside him.

“Save it. I’m really not in the mood to hear any excuses. You swore you’d make it, and you didn’t. Again. Simple as that,” you mutter with contempt as you move to grab the plates of untouched food, your heels clicking briskly as you make your way towards the kitchen.

From the wine you had been downing these past hours, to finally hitting a breaking point from the repeated absences from Michael, you let your frustrations flow freely for the first time. He’s taken aback by the bluntness of it, and although his contrition is strong, he feels a growing urge to defend himself as he trails behind you.

"Yes, I know I promised, and I wanted to be here with you today more than anything. But with everything I’ve had to do to get this album ready, I have a lot on my plate. I don’t think you’re being fair to me. It's not like I did this on purpose.”

His response only irks you more as you scrape the wasted meal into the trash bin. From his attempt to justify his actions to the fruits of your labor being overlooked, your tip-toe around full on confrontation has come to an end. With a heavy toss of the plates into the sink, not caring if they broke from the force, you sharply turned around, vitriol, tinted with liquid courage, pouring from your lips.

“No, what’s not fair is for you to leave me sitting here like a damn fool for three hours, and on top of that, not even call me to let me know where the hell you are!”

Michael has never heard you yell like this before. In fact, during this whole two-year relationship, you’ve never once had a serious argument. Small disagreements that were resolved so fast you both hardly remembered what you were upset over? Yes. But full-blown, furious disputes had never found their way between you. However, there’s a first time for everything.

"Look, honestly, it just slipped my mind, okay?! You have no idea how bad my day has been. Can’t you just hear me out? I don’t know why you’re giving me such a hard time all of a sudden.”

He finds himself gradually raising his volume as well. Despite his plea, his fortified reflex drives his actions, clouding the more rational approach of trying to wind down this heated energy between you instead of fanning its flames. And you’re ready to throw back just as much fire.

“Because I’m fed up with you not being here! I have been for a while now. And I’m busy too, Michael. My job is high maintenance, but I still show up for us. It feels like you're not even trying to do that!”

Deep down, you knew that wasn't a fair or honest stance to take. Yes, you put in many more hours than most, plus the mental muscle necessary for your job was hefty. But Michael’s career required even more of him to succeed. Truthfully, you just wanted him to feel the same hurt you were feeling. And as the anger in his gaze momentarily wavers into something dejected, you were certain it worked.

“I am trying! If I wasn’t, I’d still be working instead of standing here right now.” There’s a slight quiver in his exasperation as he feels his worst suspicions coming true—he had let you in, and finally, it had become too much for you to bear.

“Well, what do you expect me to make of it, huh?! I’ve been very lenient all the times you’ve failed to show up—a full year, Michael. And now, this one time I desperately ask you to be here, you can't even do it!” You exclaim as you feel the familiar sting of tears threatening to spill. Somehow, you are able to uphold an unshaken demeanor of hostility.

You don’t know exactly where this shouting match is taking you, but you weren’t betting on the cruel grin that takes over Michael’s face as he lets out a bitter cackle. Though, it’s quickly replaced by a scowl that shoots daggers through you.

“Right. So, I’m just a terrible boyfriend who always forgets about you? When we got together, you knew how demanding my life was. I can’t change that. And you said you understood, but it doesn’t seem like that anymore. If it’s not something you can handle, what are you still here for?!”

There's an uncomfortable silence that settles in the air before the unmistakable sound of a sniffle breaks it. He immediately wishes he could take his words back as he watches the tears brimming your eyes begin to trickle down your face.

“You know what?! Fine! Maybe I’ll leave then!” Your voice cracks as you exit the kitchen with a hurried stride, heading toward your shared bedroom—more accurately, your shared suite—to retrieve what you’ll need for your departure.

Hot on your tail, he’s following you up the path winding stairs, shame and dread brewing in his conscience as he takes your declaration as an act of permanence. Contrarily, you were just heading back to your apartment in the city for a while to cool off. He feels foolish for ruining the evening and the proposal he had planned, sullied by his own vexations and rash need to have the last word. And the thought of this possibly being the end of your relationship has sent him spiraling.

“Wait, that’s—that’s not what I meant.” A desperate attempt at an explanation to backtrack your decision comes tumbling from his mouth, but you are done listening as you barge through the door, determined to get away from him.

“Well you certainly said it, so you must have meant it.” Your vacant tone pulls at his heart, knowing that you’re shutting him out now. Still, with an earnest plea as he watches you shuffle around inside the dresser trying to locate something, he attempts to get through to you.

“No, I just—can you stop and listen to me for a second?!” He soon finds out what you were looking for—the silver glare of your car keys dangles from your manicured fingers. No, no, no. This is not how the night was supposed to go.

“I’ve already heard enough from you.” Your assertion leaves no space for bargaining as you turn to exit the bedroom, but Michael is towering over you with brooding eyes before you can take another step. Swiftly, he yanks the keys right out of your hand.

“You’re not leaving me.” He can’t lose you. Not like this. With firm conviction, he is hell-bent on not letting you set foot outside of this room. Aggravated by his antics, you try to grab the keys, but he just moves them farther from your reach. Like a childish game, he extends his arm higher and higher away from you as you stand on your tiptoes, pressed flush against him and struggling to retrieve the metal object.

“Michael, give me my keys back! Now!” You exclaim with heightened annoyance, slightly stumbling over your feet as he roughly pulls away from you, walking towards the glass doors of the balcony. He wouldn’t dare…

“I said you’re not leaving, dammit!” You watch, mortified, as he twists the golden handle to open the door before tossing the keys two stories down to get lost in the flower bed beneath, not even bothering to close it before he turns back around. Both breathing heavily from the exertion of your previous scuffle, you exchange a hard stare down from a distance.

“What…THE FUCK is your problem?!” You shriek incredulously as he just stands there, glowering and not saying a word. Shaking your head in disbelief, you once again move to exit the suite—this time, to search for your keys—but startlingly, Michael makes fast strides in your direction. Before you can register what’s happening, he seizes your wrists tightly, pushing you until your back is pressed to the mural-painted surface of the wall.

Both puzzled and shaken by the impact of it, you’re ready to protest this strange action, but are quickly interrupted as the sudden crash of his lips to yours cuts you off. Wide-eyed with surprise and unable to break free from his vice-like grip, the vigorous motions of his mouth forces yours to do the same.

As your eyelids reluctantly start to flutter shut, getting lost in the sensation, Michael abruptly tears from the kiss before you fully cave in. Curiously, you watch as he walks over to the bedroom door and shuts it—the snap of the lock setting in place rings through the hushed space.

His eyes are darkened with a new aura as he prowls back toward you—something fervent and burning. Suspense looms over you once he fully approaches, simply standing with his intense gaze sauntering over your flustered form. Clearly consumed by his thoughts, his close inspection leaves you wondering what’s about to happen. That uncertainty is shattered by a low command that has heat stirring inside of you.

“Take your panties off.”

“Are you seriously trying to-” stunned at the vulgar statement, you start to question him, but are silenced by the sharp slap of his hand on your behind.

“Do it right now. Don’t make me repeat myself.” The gruff command leaves no room for debate as he moves back, giving you just enough space to maneuver out of them. Though it takes you a moment to adjust from the initial shock of his harsh touch, you timidly do as he says.

The lacey undergarment slides down your legs with ease, briefly snagging on the rhinestone accents of your blue heels before laying crumpled on the floor. Slightly kicking them out of the way, you watch with anticipation as Michael hastily unzips his leather jacket, casting it aside without concern for where it landed.

He pounces back on you, meshing your lips together with fluid, eager movements that make your heart race. With just as much longing, your fingers tangle into the loose locks of his hair as your tongues become entwined through desperate pants into each other’s mouths. His usual note of cinnamon, warm and sweet, dances on your taste buds, drawing you in more. With excitement heightened by this carnal entanglement, you can feel the slickness of it starting to build in your nether regions.

His kisses trace downward to the unblemished expanse of your neck where he begins to etch dark bruises, causing soft whimpers to fall from your lips. At the same time, his hands deftly shift the sparkly fabric of your dress up higher until the skirt crumples around your waist.

“Hold this up for me.” He whispers softly, pulling away from the marks he’s painted into your skin—a canvas stained with burning desire. Obediently, your hands clumsily bunch up the coarse, lurex material as your core aches with need and expectation.

Once he’s sure your grip is secure, he impatiently falls to his knees, draping your right leg over his shoulder and grabbing hold of your hip to keep you steady. You gasp as his mouth now sears welts into your thigh, sucking and biting at the flesh with urgency as he inches closer and closer to where you crave him most.

His breath fans hotly over you wet folds before you feel him take a broad, firm lick over the surface. He prods farther, parting your lips to swipe directly at your slit, languidly moving his tongue up and down to collect your honeyed nectar. Carrying on like this for a while, muscle deliberately stroking along the strip of your womanhood, the erotic mixture of his saliva and your arousal making the movements smoother, he soon hones his attention onto your throbbing pearl.

Your breath deepens as he flicks and circles it at a steady pace, only using the tip of his tongue for the assault. And while the feeling is wonderful, it doesn’t do enough to soothe the pain deep within you. With hips canting upward, you try to get more of him, but he pulls back to deliver another hard smack to your backside. With a yelp, you jolt at the sting, looking down at him with longing and frustration.

“You’re only getting what I decide to give you. Understand?” He questions with blown out eyes. You’re both intimidated and thrilled by the wild intensity in them. You nod your head stiffly, swallowing to alleviate the dryness in your throat, but you take that’s not the response he was looking for as he slaps your behind again, much more powerful than the last. With eyes clenched, you grit your teeth from the lingering bite of it.

“I wanna hear you say it.” His stern declaration sizzles in the space between you, thick with tension, waiting for you to give a proper answer. Slightly quivering at the weighted feel of the atmosphere, you utter with avid compliance;

“Yes, I understand.” Although quiet, it is satisfactory enough for Michael as he delves back into your warmth, resuming his manipulations. The pressure continues to leave you just teetering on the precipice of what you seek. You have to concentrate to restrain yourself from moving your hips again. Sensing your struggle to hold back, the rigidity in your limbs is obvious as you now release more constrained breaths, he fully envelops your bud into his mouth in an act of mercy.

As he builds the intensity of his motions with harder laps of his tongue and the harsher suction of his lips, he is practically making out with the drenched bundle of nerves. Finally getting what you yearned for, wanton moans climb from your throat freely as your body begins to slacken against the wall, swept away in this pleasant feeling.

Your soft, pleasured utterances fall upon Michael’s ears like a sweet symphony—high and melodious. His length is straining in the tight confinement of his pants, begging to be freed as the sugared and earthy scent and taste of your sex fills his senses.

With eyes peering up, he hungrily takes in the state of your form: the rapid rise and fall of your chest with each inhale you take, eyes shut, furrowed brows and mouth agape in blissed-out desire. The elegant bun your hair was neatly pulled back into has somehow come undone in the midst of this interaction, now flowing over your shoulders. God, you’re so beautiful like this. The salacious sight sets him ablaze, making him more zealous in having you fall apart for him.

The plush skin of your thighs curve over his fingers, grip squeezing firmer and opening you more as the fluctuations of his mouth become more vigorous, devouring you until he’s drooling on your sopped and weeping petals. In embarrassment and sweltering lust, heat rises to your cheeks at the slick and tacky sounds of his mouth passionately unwinding you.

The ravenous motions of his tongue against your clit causes your walls to deeply throb, sending a new wave of your essence to mix with the messy concoction between your legs. As Michael can feel the dribble of it streaming down his chin, he moves his thumb to continue the work on your button while shifting his head to take greedy laps at the dripping source, reveling in the taste of you.

As his tongue swirls and plunges deeper inside of you, he comes to the delightful realization that he would die happily here—face basking in the warm paradise of your love, drinking down the sweet waters of your orchid. Getting lost in these elysian pleasures through tender ministrations and fervid caresses.

“Michael, I’m so close!” You wail through needy cries as you feel the muscles in your pelvis beginning to be pulled taut. There’s hot pressure growing in your lower belly with the wish for release. The fibrous cloth of your dress itches your skin as your clammy hands struggle to hold it up, trembling as you can feel the force in you, building unbearably.

Michael groans enthusiastically into your core at the gratifying revelation, gripping your hips even tighter, intent on making you come undone on his tongue. The rumble of it vibrates deliciously against your lady bits, bringing you even closer to your peak when instantly, his mouth is surrounding your whole mound with loud, eager slurps, loosening his jaw to take more of you in.

And as he hotly consumes your sensitive parts, you’re finally granted that explosive release you’ve been waiting for. Uncontrollably, ardent moans tumble over your lips as the tension in your walls spasms without reserve, sending bright tingles of pleasure radiating throughout your entire body.

Michael drinks your pleasured sounds and the sap of your orgasm with elation as he can feel his own organ twitching with excitement behind the barrier of his briefs. Slowly, as you come down from the rush of it, gasping for air, he pulls away to examine the results of his work—you’re enticingly engorged and soaking. With a more delicate touch, he brushes featherlight kisses to the inflamed hues on your thigh before gingerly removing it from its place on his shoulder.

Rising eagerly, he brings you into another searing kiss. Although, the movements are slow and relaxed as he takes his time letting you taste yourself on his mouth. As his lips flow languidly against yours, sinking into the warmth of your embrace as you let go of your gown to wrap your arms around him, you both have a quiet understanding that you’re attempting to make amends for the hurtful things said and expressed during your earlier clash.

When you both slowly part from the kiss, the amorous, yet reverent stare he fixates on you with those deep, soulful eyes sets your heart aglow with a tender longing. Delicately, you lift your hand to cradle the side of his face, stroking the smooth skin with affection. His eyelids close in comfort, nuzzling into it as his lips gently peck at your palm.

Softly grabbing your wrist to break the contact, he sets your arm down, quietly stepping back while maintaining his gaze. His hands move downward to unbutton his shirt, fingers tactfully untangling the brass knobs from the red article of clothing. His expectant stare calls for you to follow his lead.

The plunge back making of your dress causes the sleeves to glide down your shoulders with little to no resistance, unveiling your bare chest to the cool, night air the open window lets in, causing your nipples to stiffen up. The textile plummets to your feet where you shuffle it aside, kicking your heels along after. With added effort, Michael eventually disrobes himself entirely of his leather and buckled garments, leaving him nude and just as exposed as you are.

Your pupils dilate as you take in the gorgeous sight of your boyfriend. The olive contours of his lean physique are illuminated by the pale glow of the moon. Your vision moves along the faintly defined muscles of his chest and torso, down to the neat trimming of his pubes, until they land on his impressive member, hanging proudly between his toned thighs and scattered with a constellation of vitiligo markings.

With hands trembling in inclination, you reach out to pull him back to you. This time, you’re the one to initiate the passionate dance of your lips. You feel him shudder, whimpering into your mouth as you firmly grasp his thick appendage, stroking it with purposeful motions. Pushing the skin back to circle your finger around his slit, a dribble of precum glides down, smoothly aiding the up and down caress of your hand to the velvety surface of his length.

Once stiffened to full capacity, he moves your hand to take hold of himself, placing the tip between your drenched lower lips, dragging it through the slick blendings of your previous foreplay. Leisurely, he rubs through your folds at a steady pace to liberally lubricate his girth before you feel the head gently breaching your entrance.

With breath fluttering into your neck as his head rests on your shoulder, he’s slowly inching into your awaiting canal. You feel slight discomfort at the burn of his width stretching you tremendously, but you do your best to relax the muscles, inviting him deeper into you. Finally, you’re stuffed full of him with his pelvis pressed flush to yours.

He peppers light kisses onto your throat, lifting your left leg up with a secure hold to cozily lay on his hip. And then, he begins to move with a slow, steady rhythm, pulling out all the way to the tip before delving back into you. By the slight grimace on your face, he can tell that you need more time to adjust to his size. But the slick, warm grip of your tight walls has him biting his lip in resistance, struggling to hold back the need to thoroughly ravage you.

Finally, he hears it. You let out small, pleasured sounds as he’s succeeded in fully loosening you up for him. The pain has been ebbed away into dazzling sparks of pleasure as you angle yourself upward to take him in deeper. With that queue, Michael gradually breaks from the slow tempo until he is rapidly driving into you, no longer able to contain himself.

Losing yourself in the feeling, desperate moans begin to fall from your lips in staccato with each powerful thrust he delivers to your watering core. Panting and groaning just as loudly, his nails dig crescent-shaped imprints where he grips your thigh, stroking into you relentlessly. Your own carve long, red scratches into his back, being overwhelmed by the sensations taking over your body as he hits your walls in just the right way.

“Damn, you feel amazing.” He speaks lowly through shallow breaths against your collarbone, hips continuing at a dizzying rate as he gets sucked farther into your wet and fleshy opening.

“S-So do you.” You barely are able to get the words out. The dizzying way he pummels your walls has heat stirring beneath your bladder. Blood rushes to all of your erogenous zones, heightening their sensitivity, begging to be touched. One hand rises to the aching buds of your breast while the other heads down to rub at the one between your legs, but Michael pulls back to quickly swat them away.

“Baby, please! It’s not enough.” You let out in agony, desperate to have those extra flares of stimulation. Discontented at being prohibited from it, you feel tears of frustration stinging your eyes. She’s so needy. Michael thinks to himself with amusement as he takes in your expression.

“Yeah? You want more?” The teasing tone of his question, paired with the lazy smile his lips are curved into screams of devious intentions. You’re unsure of what he has up his sleeve, but you hope it’s something that puts an end to your suffering.

“Yes!” You gasp out as he has now decreased his speed to deliver slow, long thrusts, stimulating you in a new and electrifying way as you can more distinctly feel him brushing against every ridge inside of you.

“Okay, I’ll give you more.” He stops his movements entirely to hoist your other leg around his hip, suspending you in the air. Quickly, you scramble to wrap your arms around his neck and lock your ankles to keep from falling. Just as soon as you are situated, once he’s certain his hold on you won’t slip, his hips begin to snap upward rapidly, hitting deeper and pressing right to that spot that has you keening with ecstasy.

“Oh, fuck!” The hammering force of his strokes are so powerful that it has you roughly sliding up and down the wall. Your brace your legs tighter around his waist, unintentionally pulling him deeper into you. The lewd slaps of skin on skin, paired with the untamed moans and groans of rapture that rise from within your chests, echo pornographically off the walls of this ample suite.

His lips travel from your neck, down the swell of your breast where he takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling and nibbling it with fervor. While not fully sure if he means to or not, his pelvis rubs delightfully against your clit from the way he grinds you, giving you the relief you were after. He drifts his oral manipulations to the other breast, making sure it receives the same treatment.

With a wet pop, your tit falls from his mouth as he lifts up to press his forehead to yours. And then, he does something that has you nearly floundering out of his hold, not knowing how to handle this heightened pleasure that has jolts of electricity shooting up your spine.

Lightly undoing the lock you have around his waist, his arms allow the back of your kneecaps to rest on either side of him, causing you feet to dangle freely. In tandem, his arms mount you up to the tip of his erection, before dropping you back down all the way to the hilt with smooth thrusts meeting the falling motion. He does this over and over again until the stimulation of it buzzes in your nerves like static.

As wanton cries spill from your lips, back arching to take in more of his wild loving, he offers a smug question; “You like that?”

“Oh God, yes!” It breathily rushes out as his hips are angled just perfectly to abuse the sensitive, spongy bump that lies on the upper part of your walls.

“I know you do. No one else can do your body like this, baby. Only I can.” He seduces huskily, breath fanning warmly against your mouth as he pulls you into a brief, yet searing kiss before moving to lick and bite at your neck.

Everything is steamy, slick and wet between you. A thin sheen of sweat coats your bodies, causing a light glisten to waver off of your gyrating forms. The mixture of your heady arousals strings off of him like gooey webs when he pulls out, acting as a glue that sticks you together as he slides all the way back in. It pools around where you two are joined, dripping onto the ground as more from each of you overflows.

And as he melts back into you, over and over again, you let out sounds that gradually expand in octave as the friction of him rubs you in a blissfully disorienting way. That hot and familiar coil in your gut is starting to wind tight, waiting to be snapped free. He lets out his own pleasured noises against the shell of your ear as he feels his own release building, eager to spill out. And from the way you clench around him, he can tell that you’re nearing your climax as well.

But somewhere beneath these carnal sensations, lies an inkling of distress in Michael that once this is over, it may also be the end of you two. The worry has vulnerability pouring through his words as he says;

“Tell me you won’t go anywhere.” The tone pulls at your heartstrings as you feel him press a delicate kiss just below your jaw—a silent request for compromise. You lean into the mild touch as your arms squeeze tighter around his neck. You feel his heart beating sporadically as his chest lies atop of yours.

“I won’t go anywhere, Michael. Ever.” Full of devotion, the words pass your lips, holding him closer to you as he litters more affectionate kisses to your skin.

“Tell me you love me.” He whispers against your cheek, hopefully awaiting your response. Much like the storm of passionate emotions raging within him, he rolls into you with frenzy as he can feel an orgasm steadily approaching, setting his loins aflame.

“I do… I love you so much.” The declaration comes out in a desperate sigh, spoken against his lips resting on the corner of yours. He delivers a delicate kiss to it—a stark contrast to the wild way he works your body.

“You gonna cum?” Michael’s question rings in the air with eager expectation, wanting to feel you come apart on him. And from the way you’re constricting around him, he knows you're getting ready to.

“Yes, yes, yes…” You chant in a daze as you feel the simmer of your release starting to bloom with heat deep within your walls.

“Go on, girl. Give it to me.” The raspy command has you gripping him tighter, crying out as your canal overflows, showering Michael’s groin with the rains of your earth-shattering crest. The waves ride out within you, currents of electricity shooting up from your pelvis, to your chest and spreading outward to every extremity of your body. You lean back limply against the wall, basking in the feeling.

As you descend from euphoria, Michael’s thrusts continue, rubbing you into overstimulation. However, you make no complaints as his hips start to stutter their movements, signifying that he is on the cusp of his own climax.

And as he struggles to maintain his composure, the warm and gummy grip of your cunt tempting him to let go inside of you, he musters a moment of strength to pull all the way out, carefully letting you down to your feet as his hand takes over to replace your walls.

Your ears are doused in the shlick sounds he creates with fast and smooth tugs along his length. With eyes closed and face furled up in concentrated bliss, his mouth hangs ajar, emitting high, breathy moans as sweat beads down his brow. You don’t think you’ve ever witnessed something so beautiful, yet so erotic in all of your life.

Finally, with back bowed and fist clenched beside your head, his load shoots out of him in heavy spurts, coating his fingers and landing on your lower abdomen. He continues to stroke himself until every last drop has been squeezed out and his erection has died down before collapsing into your chest, wrapping his arms around your waist.

As you both use this moment to catch your breaths, your hands lift to gently stroke his head, curling the locks around your fingers, as he places a faint, yet lingering kiss over your heart, shifting the atmosphere into something soft and affectionate. You remain this way for a while, silently marinating in the calm of each other’s presence, before Michael rises from your chest to lay a light peck on your cheek.

“Wait right here.” He whispers it into your skin, pulling away to disappear into the bathroom, switching the lights on. It sends rays of yellow beaming across the floor, bringing some brightness to your dim surroundings. Your ears pick up the distant downpour of water from the shower running as Michael emerges back into view, walking over to carefully scoop you into his arms, taking you both to get cleaned up.

The calming scent of lavender permeates through the humid space, refreshing waters cascading down your bodies as your hands tactfully assist each other in washing away the remnants of your love making. Though you don’t speak as you go through the motions of bathing, the quiet between you is peaceful. The care with which you attend to each other conveys the love you are feeling.

Soon, you both find yourselves half dressed, Michael in his standard pair of briefs and you clad in a pale night slip, laying in the plush and spacious comfort of his king size bed. Your fingers idly twiddle with each other as you lie face to face, not having said a word yet, though there is a growing urge for someone to do so. Coincidentally, you both break the silence with an uttered ‘I’m sorry,’ at the same time. Staring at each other, you wait for one of you to carry on with what you want to say.

“Let me start.” You take the initiative to speak first, the satin sheets sliding off of you as you sit up to gather your thoughts.

“I’m sorry for how I acted tonight. I’ve always admired how dedicated you are to your career. It’s just that, I’ve been so lonely without you this past year… I guess I just lost my cool from not saying anything about it for so long.” You say in a small voice, now feeling embarrassed for your earlier outburst. Michael holds a solemn expression as you reveal to him what you’ve been holding back on, his thumb ghosting over the back of your hand in a soothing manner.

“No, I should have been here to celebrate with you. I know it’s been a lot to deal with, me being gone all the time, but I never knew you were struggling with it this much. Why didn’t you tell me it was this bad?” He questions with a tone full of concern. Weighing on him like a great failure, he feels upset with himself for not truly knowing the extent of the suffering you’d been dealing with.

“Your work means so much to you, Michael… I didn’t want to get in the way of that.” You mumble the last part so small that he almost didn’t hear it, but when it registers, his fingers delicately grip your chin, turning you head upwards to be eye to eye with him.

“You could never do that, angel. You’re important to me too, and I want you to let me know when things are difficult for you. Don’t ever feel like your worries are a burden to me.” He proclaims in a soft, yet vehement manner, lighting your heart aglow with adoration.

Internally, Michael feels a deep settling nervousness as he decides whether or not to state his next words. But in keeping his troubles from you, that would be hypocritical to his previous declaration. With that reasoning, albeit a murmur, he’s saying them before he loses the strength to.

“When you told me you were leaving, I couldn’t handle it. I never wanted you to know, but I think it’s best you do… I get scared sometime. Scared that you won’t stay with me. That what I do, who I am—it’ll be too much for you and one of these days, I’ll come home and you won’t be here.”

As a lone tear rolls down his cheek from the forlorn statement, you swiftly pull him into a tight embrace. Rubbing gentle circles on his back while he quietly weeps into your neck, regret fills you as you realize that you failed to even consider that he was being tormented by such doubtful beliefs.

“Oh, Michael… After all this time, don’t you understand that I’m not going anywhere?” You say as you move him to face you once again, wiping away the wet streaks that stain his face.

“You should know by now that you can’t get rid of me that easily.” It’s spoken with a light lilt of mirth to lift the mood, to which Michael offers a weak smile that fades just as quickly.

“Well, what about what you said tonight?” Raking through your brain, you scan to recall what he is talking about. It finally hits you that he mistook your ‘I’m leaving’ as an ‘I’m leaving for good.’

“Wait, did you think I was talking about forever?” It shouldn’t be funny, but the fact that he had such a big reaction over a minor misinterpretation of words has you stifling a laugh.

“...Weren’t you?” He asks with genuine confusion, looking at you with a pouty expression that you find so adorable, you can’t help but crack, giggling at the hilarity of it.

“Hahaha! No, baby. I just needed to clear my head for a bit… I’ll always come back to you.” Your laughter gradually fades into a tender utterance as you lovingly gaze into his gentle eyes while caressing his face. A bashful grin stretches across his lips, also finding humor in what transpired due to the misunderstanding. Still, there is a crucial, unresolved aspect of the night that keeps him on edge.

“I can’t believe the night turned out so bad.” He mutters, thinking about how the sole thing he wanted to accomplish this evening was squandered by the fight.

“Well, I’d say we definitely made up for it with something else...” You lightly muse, but it’s hardly noticed as Michael seems to be intensely absorbed in his thoughts.

“No, it wasn’t just the anniversary…” Contemplation pulls at his mind like a match of tug-of-war. Should he seize the moment and go forth with his plan right now, before he loses the courage to, or wait for another day to prepare more and make the event better thought out and more special?

“I’m…not catching on. What are you talking about?” There’s something unreadable in his stare that has you growing puzzled. It only increases as Michael gets up from the bed, going to where his clothes are strewn on the floor, fishing out his leather jacket before removing something from one of the unzipped pockets. What’s he up to?

Michael takes one last look at the velvet box, mind set on going through with the proposal, taking a deep breath to steady himself as he treks back to you, each step seeming to span for an eternity with all the overwhelming emotions swirling inside of him. He comes around to your side of the bed, gently shifting your legs over the edge so you can see him better.

Much to your confusion, you’re about to ask him what’s going on, but the words quickly get trapped in your throat with astonishment as he drops down to one knee. Is he getting ready to do what I think he is? Your wonder is confirmed by what he nervously verbalizes next;

“In the two years you’ve been in my life, you’ve become my everything. I never knew it was possible to be so in tune, so connected with another person, until I met you. Now, I can’t imagine spending a single day without you by my side. My love for you is infinite, and I want to share that infinity with you. So… would you do me the honor of becoming my wife?”

He pops open the box, revealing a beautiful, gold Art Deco-style ring adorned with white and emerald diamonds. Heart pounding in your chest with joy, you’re so excited and in disbelief that you almost can’t speak. Somehow, you manage to rush out a small whispered ‘yes,’ as your answer.

“You will?” Michael’s eyes lighten up as you start to nod exuberantly with a radiant smile on your face, dropping down to join him on the floor.

“Yes, Michael! Of course I will!” You warble out, being overcome by exhilaration as his own hand shakily slides the shimmering jewelry onto your finger, wrapping his arms securely around you for a hug full of relief. And now, you're crying again, but for an entirely different reason this time.

“I just got you that Mickey Mouse watch you’ve been raving about. I guess it kind of pales in comparison to your gift,” you let out a watery laugh as joyful tears flow freely. Giggling at your remark and just as elated, he eases his firm hold on you to pull you into a swooning kiss.

Giddily, Michael starts to plant smooches all over your face, which you giggle at and try to bat away the ticklish feeling. Though, he abruptly pauses his affections to give voice to something you had almost forgotten.

“Oh! And, uh… sorry about your keys, by the way.” He offers sheepishly, feeling that the earlier action was a bit theatrical.

“That’s okay, sweetie. You’re definitely looking for them by yourself tomorrow, though,” you lightly jest, not even really concerned about it. And as you nuzzle back into Michael, squeezing him tightly, those terms are more than fine with him.

Note: Credits to @cafekitsune for the divider. Thank you so much for reading! If you enjoyed, likes and reblogs would be appreciated :)

mentions: @mjfavgirlie2006 @h4rtz-f0r-lm @thatoneliberiangirl

@tsunderesheepme @st4rwild @local-she-wolf @kenzie2cool4u @kpopfan-03 @joyboxx88 @marionnas-world @dollika2w8 @margeoww @xgrisleyx @callingallbaddies @moonwalkerdiana

#michael jackson #michaeljackson #michael jackson smut #king of pop #michael jackson fanfic #michael jackson imagine #michael jackson x reader #michael jackson bad #Bad Era #starlightz navigation 💫

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postmoe · 3 months ago

Text

Yandere Feitan - What it Means.

Feitan time cause I never do Hunter x Hunter. More Slice of Lifey for the shortstack wifey.

torture, noncon, slice of life, wax play, tickle torture, humiliation, gn reader

.Feitan has no idea about his feelings when you come into his life. He thinks it's a good idea to swat you like the annoying insect you are.

More often than not you're happy, always excited when you see him and the troupe, none the wiser to the threat they possess. Some of the members joke about how easy it would be to take advantage of you since you'd more than likely do half the work for them.

It's not until his mind starts drifting to you during quiet moments does he even consider you're worth something. Perhaps a new body to try new techniques? With the orders put in place by Chrollo, time hasn't been gracious enough to let him indulge in his artistic side.

He makes up his mind that at the end of the mission he will be taking you with him to play with. You're off limits now, and if they can help it then you also get your life spared for the time being.

The heist goes off without a hitch. It's gory, loud, and you - who had been gracious enough to show them every exit, every room, every security box as part of the tours - now stared at Feitan like he had just betrayed you, even though he never made an effort to befriend you in the first place.

You get an ultimatum, follow him quietly or he knocks you out, and for every minute you stay unconscious is another body added to the pile.

Even though you hid in the security room for most of the attack, you saw everything on camera. Not to mention the horrible death that befell the guards in the room when he came, eyes wide in fear and mouths left often as they tried to breathe through the blood in their lungs. At least one thousand people have died tonight, no one else needs to suffer.

It seems to be funny to the troupe as you shake and cry behind Feitan, following diligently through the wet corpses and broken interior of the building. The blonde man cracks a joke about him finally finding someone to warm his bed, and maybe even his attitude, reaching out to touch your shoulder when Feitan swiftly punches him in the gut. It's all the acknowledgement he gives.

For some reason, you're made to carry stuff as well, mindlessly helping these criminals because you're not sure what else you can do. They're not human.

Eventually it's just you and Feitan, forcing you to walk farther and farther away from civilisation until your feet are aching and your legs are shaking from exhaustion.

You stop in front of an abandoned farm house, windows boarded up and grass taller than yourself. When he starts walking down the flattened path to the front door, it hits you harder that this is the end, this is where you die a horrible, painful death and no one is even going to know.

You're sobbing, you can't stand anymore and collapse to your knees, snot and tears running down your chin as you beg and beg and beg him to let you go.

His eyes and eyebrows, the only expression visible over his cowl, scrunch to a pissed look. He doesn't say anything, only grabbing your wrist with a hold so tight you think the bones inside might break, yanking you and dragging you towards the house.

He doesn't turn on any lights as you're pulled through the dusty interior, eventually coming to a door that leads down to the basement. "Walk or I'll push," he finally says to you after hours of silence.

Your steps are slow but he doesn't comment on it. Once your feet finally touch the cement floor, he walks around you and deeper into the darkness. You have to squint and shield your eyes when the light in the middle of the room is turned on by a yank of the cord attached to it.

The way your head begins to sting and ache from the despair is more annoying than anything now, as beneath the light is a bloody, metal table with a dirty rag, and next to it are tools obviously used to hurt someone.

Perhaps it's the prostration of your mind finally giving in, but you joke over a wavering voice, "You'll at least wash those before you use them on me, right?"

It's silent as he just stares at you, watching the way you hold your arm for comfort, your knees clacking together, your jaw unable to stay still. Then, he merely scoffs, pushing the table away to make room. He goes the the old workbench, reaching under and pulling out an old, dusty blanket. You circle around the room as he steps towards you, hugging the wall. Eventually, he just rolls his yes and throws the blanket at you, smacking you square in the face. You quickly pull it off, just in time to watch him slide down the wall in front of the stares, arms resting on his knees, "Sleep."

Nothing else is said, and any time you try to ask questions he either ignores them or tells you to sleep. You suppose it's comforting, after flicking a good portion of the dirt and dust off the blanket, having it wrapped around your shoulders as you cradle in the adjacent corner, far away from him and still under the light.

Most of the night is you two staring at each other, though you had to wake yourself up a few times as you began to nod off. You're pretty sure you did fall into a sort of sleep multiple times throughout the ordeal.

Suffice to say, this wasn't how Feitan pictured this going at all. He looks at you, he looks to the tools, he looks at you, he looks to the tools. It's an ongoing battle he has for quite a while after kidnapping you.

No doubt your fear and tears fuel him, he just loves having you around whenever he's working, sharing stories and pictures over dinner. Your screams when startles you, your blood and bruises from being clumsy; it's all catering to his taste. So why won't he put you on the table yet?

Once you've moved, you're allowed to roam the house as this main base is more secure. Privacy doesn't really exist with Feitan, unless it's his own. More than once you've come out of the shower to see him sitting casually on the toilet seat or sink, you have figured out he likes making you jump. You'll think you're alone in the kitchen, singing quietly to yourself, and he's come back from a mission days earlier than he says and talks as if he's been there the whole time (he probably has).

The worst he makes you do when it comes to his 'hobbies' or 'work' is making you watch and hand him the tools. You have to take part, you're not allowed deny him or else he'll somehow make it more sadistic.

One day you had been braver than before, shouting how this is wrong and you won't be like him. Feitan had conceded after that, letting you go back upstairs. You had gotten through to him, you really did believe that. Until two days later when you were brought back down to the basement and there were now three hostages.

They sat in a circle, tied with rough rope and stripped to their underwear. Their mouths were gagged but their eyes were clear of any restriction. Momentarily they looked to you, only look back at each other with desperation and grief. He points out and introduces each person, "Grandmother, mother, daughter. Family of Hunters."

The daughter was the one from two days ago. Feitan said a few things, that she was trying to track down the troupe, had gotten information from an unknown source that he was tasked with figuring out. He pulls her gag down, words immediately spilling out, "Please! I told you everything I know, I promise you. Leave them out of this."

Feitan nods, idly holding his hand up and lengthening his nails to a sharpened point, "I know. This, is for them."

All eyes are on you now, accusatory, like it's you that's failed them.

There's no time for words of disgust or questions when Feitan has a goal in mind. He pulls down the other two gags before turning his gaze back to you, "Three people. Six eyes. Choose three eyes to gouge."

"M-Me?!" You step back, their volunteers already flooding your ears, each begging you to only take theirs. You aren't listening, speaking over them to Feitan, "But she just said you have what you want! Why do this?"

His eyebrow raises, judging you as if it's stupid to even ask. "How do you know you don't want to be like me," like the ominous, little creature he is, Feitan slowly steps around the three victims until he's by your side. Gently, a word that has never once been used to describe him, he takes your hand and runs his fingertips along the length of your palm to your own, "If you've never tried?"

It's only when you hear yourself gulp do you realise how quiet it is. Looking over to the other three, it seems you're shaking harder than they are.

A cold object is slid into your hand. You looked down in time to see him closing your fingers around it and holding it up to glint in the light. For the first time you see carefree amusement in his eyes, his voice coming out in a soft laugh, "Pineapple eye peeler."

As it stands, after that night, you stuck with being the assistant and not the surgeon.

"So, how's the pet?" Phinks asks, he and Fei on the top of a city skyscraper as they wait for the target helicopter to land. They're late and the two are running out of conversation topics.

Feitan huffs, unable to look at Phinks because he knows if he sees that dumb smirk he won't be able to hold back, "Cranky. Not rebellious, just... temperamental."

"Ha!" Phinks kicks up a random stone from the ground, grabbing it and throwing it as far as he can, the object disappearing into the night, "Do you fuck them?"

Ah, an interesting question. He didn't notice it at first, whenever Feitan woke up slightly aroused. He is a man, it's not uncommon. Then he kidnaps you and takes care of you and it gets more frequent and harder to wake up without thinking about you and rubbing one out. He takes any opportunity to smell you, touch you, rub against you. He can't tell if you're more uncomfortable with helping with his work or when he rubs up against you to get the right instrument.

It seems his silence speaks volumes, Phinks tilting his head in coolness, "Sometimes you just need to fuck it out. If you're not going to kill 'em, fuck 'em."

The helicopter finally pops up in the distance, 45 minutes after the time it should have appeared. Both boys get ready, excited for the event to come, a certain concupiscent desire filling Feitan's head as he thinks about what to do when he gets home.

Usually when Feitan brings you down to the basement, there's already someone prepped and waiting. Sometimes, he likes to make you help get them ready, depending on how much time he has and the level of distress he wants to induce in you.

Today, the table is empty, clean even. The shelf with the instruments is covered by a sheet so you can't see what is under and in store. Your unease is heightened into fear when he stands before you with a lengthy blindfold and orders, "Turn around."

Oh gods. This is it, he's finally going to end you. You've witnessed and aided his endeavours for over a year, you're aware of what he is capable of, and now he's hiding it to let your mind wander and guess what exactly he's going to torture you with.

He clicks his tongue to the roof of his mouth, his annoyance making you shake even worse, "Calm down. Won't hurt... much."

That didn't really help. All it took was one glance to the staircase for him to step heavily towards you, reminding you of no escape. There isn't much you can do aside from allow him to blindfold you and lead you onto the table.

You think you're going to piss yourself with how thorough he is. Bringing your wrists beside your head, the clanking of metal and leather heard as he secures them so you can't move your arms. As if that's not enough, he removes your clothes with ease, tearing the threads and throwing them away before binding your ankles to your thighs and locking you in place on the table. It's humiliating. Absolutely deplorable.

You're quivering in the cold, fear emanating off of you in waves and Feitan is absolutely devouring it. Yes, this is what he wanted, to have you before him in a vulnerable way that makes your tears flood through the blindfold and your whimpers echo off the walls. He takes all the time in the world to examine your body, knowing that every second is like hell to you. You're not even sure he's still there, your small whines of his name seeming to fall into an empty room.

A single finger runs along the base of your foot and you flinch so hard it makes the metal bench rattle. "How does it feel," he begins, doing again and watching intently as your abdomen seizes, your toes curl, your teeth grit and your arse tighten around nothing yet, "To be the one tied down?"

Feitan alternates his fingers, the touch more consistent now, moving around your foot and ankle so you don't get too used to it. And then there's you, laughing, but you're obviously hating it. Your voice is shrill, your body is tensed so tightly that it's beginning to ache. "Please!" You're begging, screaming, crying, laughing, "Please, stop! Stop! Stop it!!!"

He doesn't think he's ever been this hard in his life. You can't thrash hard enough to get away, to give yourself some sort of pain from the leather cuffs to take your mind off of it. He doesn't relent until he's satisfied, when you're gasping for breath and your skin has change colour and your screams are beginning to take on the same note. He waits until he's sure you're breathing has levelled enough for you to him, "Ridiculous. Can't even handle that. Wouldn't last a second in the real world."

You never expected Feitan to get sexual during your time here. You couldn't even imagine someone like him having any human needs - you're sure he only eats with you to keep up appearances. He does, though, and it makes your life ten times worse.

Your first experience together is nothing short of traumatising. He doesn't even fuck you, he just plays with you. Testing out toys, feelings your flesh, degrading you over and over again.

"Hate this? Then why so wet?"

"Pathetic. Won't let you come like that."

"Scream louder, or are you enjoying this?"

"Tsk. Fine. Will make sure you don't stop coming, then."

The denial goes on for too long, but then the overstimulation just won't end either. His nails nick you, you're sweating, covered in fluids, throat is raw and your body aches and begs to be released from these confounds but he just won't do it. Not until you're unconscious and muttering nonsense.

After he wipes you down and lays you in bed, he stays and watches you sleep. That isn't uncommon, though in the past he had always been confused, or thoughtful. Now, he feels fulfilled. Like your purpose here finally makes sense.

There's hardly a break. When you don't have a blindfold on, he stays fully clothed. It's more about the embarrassment for you, having to stand before him naked while he barely shows an inch of his skin. Showers are the worst, you tend to have the curtain open now so you don't step out unknowingly to no clothes and no towel. Your wardrobe is cleaned out and you have to make the humiliating walk around the house to find Feitan and ask to be dressed.

He follows you around until he decides to let you find him. Don't go to bed naked, or are you inviting someone to do something to you? He hadn't realised he kidnapped such a slut.

Sometimes he will be with you when you bathe, keeping you company, making you uncomfortable. You had stripped before him when he refused to let either of you leave. Then, suddenly, you're yelping as he's pouring hot wax down your back. You've bent over and grasped the edge of the bath, looking over your shoulder with tears dripping from your eyelashes as you ask him why he would do that.

A stupid question.

He just holds the candle carelessly and blows it out, the room going completely dark. That was the night he bathed with you, sitting behind you and using his sharp nail to chip away at the wax, reveling in the redness of your skin, the little prickles of blood that mixed with sweat and bath water, and the way you jolt and yelp when it gets caught on the finer hairs.

By the time he actually fucks you, it's been months of his new torment and torture. He may not see you in the same light as one of his 'friends', or revere you like he does Chrollo. But, in the only twisted way Feitan knows how, he thinks he does love you.

As you lay beneath him on the bed, one you now share, cheeks wet and lips parted in little gasps of breath, he feels a need to push his mouth to yours. Bruises in the shapes of his hands have already formed on your hips, stomach, and now over your collarbone while he holds your torso down with one hand and cups the back of your head in another. The kiss isn't anything fancy, just hard and dominating as he figures it out, his hips slapping into yours.

You're completely exhausted, just how he likes it, voice beyond repair and body succumbed to only him and gravity. He yearns to hurt you, to make you cry, and to make you need him.

This must be it. This must be what it means to have a darling.

#yandere feitan x reader #feitan x reader #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter x reader #yandere phantom troupe #yandere x reader #feitan portor #yandere hunter x hunter

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katnisspeetaprim · 1 year ago

Text

Broad Day Light

Min Yoongi/Reader

Im so sorry if this is bad. i haven't had time to properly edit this. I've been sick again recently, but I wanted to get at least something out for you guys!

Warnings: Injury, crowds, anxiety, established relationship, idol!au

Word Count: 1203 M.list

Walking down a busy street in the middle of the day shouldn’t have been an anxiety inducing task, but here you are. That’s all it’s felt like these days.

You and Yoongi went public a few years ago and paparazzi and sasaeng’s had mostly started to leave you alone after a few months, just the odd personal space invader here and there, but you learnt to live with the new found attention.

Fast forwards to 2023 and Yoongi’s solo tour was well under way. With a world tour came massive media attention, and with media attention, came paparazzi.

You weren’t famous, so having people run up to you with cameras was a surreal experience.

You tried your best to shield your face, but it was to no avail as the group of photographers bolted towards you from across the road.

��Y/N! Over here!’

‘Are you going to any of the shows!?’

The group of men had effectively blocked your path, not allowing you to leave.

‘Please let me through. I have somewhere to be...’ You mumbled and wrapped your arms round yourself as you kept your head down and away from the cameras. You started forcing your way forwards.

‘Y/N! Yoongi and Halsey have been acting close! Did something happen between them!? Is that why you aren’t on tour with him?’ You know you shouldn’t dignify these people with a response, but the gall of implying that Yoongi would cheat on you with someone that had become a good friend to the both of you... It was enough to make you rage.

‘Of course not! They are good friends, now let me through- Ah!’ As you forcefully pushed your way through the crowd, you didn’t realise how close you were to the curb. Your ankle rolled, causing you to topple over into the road.

Your hands, arms and knees were all scratched up, along with a twisted ankle. At least no cars were coming so you wouldn’t get run over. Though that seemed like a more preferable situation than the one you were currently in.

‘AH!’ You shakily sat up and grabbed your ankle, causing you to hiss out in pain.

‘Please just leave me alone!’ You screamed out and swiped out at the paparazzi circling round you.

‘Hey that’s assault! She just tried to hit me!’ One of the men shouted out, trying to garner sympathy with his fellow low lives.

You were all but breaking down into a full blown panic attack, when all of a sudden you felt a wave of hope flow through you when you heard the shouts of police officers approaching the scene.

‘Hey! What’s going on here? Out of the way!’ They pushed through the crowd and one knelt next to you, whilst the other two pushed back the group, ultimately threatening arrests if they didn’t dispurse.

‘Miss? Are you ok? Are you hurt?’

‘My ankle- I think it’s twisted!’ You whimpered, trying to hold back your tears.

‘Don’t worry. We’ll get you to the hospital.’

Hours later and you were finally able to go home. With a lot of help from your best friend, you were now sat in your living room, feeling sorry for yourself with your poor ankle all wrapped up.

The scraped that littered your limbs weren’t too bad, just a little sore. Stories had hit the web pretty much immediately, along with plenty of videos of the incident, filmed by multiple people.

With any luck, Yoongi would be too busy to even think about going online...

-Incoming video call from Yoongles-

Ah well. There goes that idea.

After a slight hesitation, you pushed the green answer button.

Yoongi suddenly appeared on screen. He’d clearly changed out of his concert gear and was now clad in comfy sweat pants and a jumper.

And he looked pissed.

‘Hey Yoongi...’ You trailed off, trying to sound normal.

‘Seriously? You going to pretend nothing happened?’ He stared at you in disbelief.

‘You should have called me when it happened!’ He continued on, raising his voice ever slightly.

You looked away from the screen, feeling guilty that you tried to keep it from him. Of course he would see the articles, so it was pointless to even try.

‘I’m sorry...’

Yoongi took in your defeated appearance and groaned internally for adding more upset to your already stressful day.

‘No, I’m sorry for shouting. When I saw what happened, I just got so angry.’ He paused for a moment before shaking his head. ‘You got hurt because of me...’

‘Yoongi no!’ You sat up straighter, trying to reassure him. ‘This isn’t your fault. At all!’

He nodded slowly, but you could tell by the look in his eyes that he didn’t believe you.

‘I’m going to send you the number for one of our bodyguards. If you need to go somewhere, get him to drive you.

Yoongi suddenly moved the phone in his hands. He was clearly texting you.

You couldn’t help but smile at your boyfriend.

‘Yoongi! I’m sure they have better things to do than look after me!’ His message however, had already pinged on your phone.

‘You got attacked in broad daylight Y/N. Seems pretty serious to me.’ Yoongi deadpanned as he stared you right in the eyes.

The smile fell from your face. You couldn’t argue with the fact that you would feel a lot safer with someone escorting you...

‘I won’t be going anywhere for a while. My ankle is all screwed up.’ You joked, trying to lighten the mood a little.

You didn’t get to see Yoongi often these days, given how in demand he was. The last thing you wanted to do with your precious time together was be miserable.

Yoongi smirked mischievously.

‘Maybe you’ll stay out of trouble then.’ You drew back in mock offense.

‘Excuse me!?’ Where has the compassion gone to?’

‘I’m sure you’ll survive.’ He said, trying to hold back his smirk.

You couldn’t hold back and began to laugh for the first time that day.

‘I wish I could be there for you’ Yoongi suddenly spoke over your laughter. You immediately went quiet, knowing that Yoongi was still upset by the days events.

‘It’s ok. This is enough, for now.’ You smiled gently and gestured towards the phone screen separating the two of you.

‘Remind me again why you couldn’t come with me?’ Yoongi groaned and slumped back in his chair.

‘You know why. I couldn’t get off work.’ You giggled as you also snuggled down into your chair.

He frowned before once again beginning to type on his phone.

‘What’s wrong?’ You enquired curiously.

‘I’m not there, but Tae will be close by tomorrow. I’m sending him to check on you.’

‘Oh my god!’ You exclaimed with a laugh. ‘I can’t convince you I’m fine can I?’

‘Definitely not.’

You and Yoongi spent a long time on call together that night, making the most of every moment.

It was only after ending the call for the night, did you notice Taehyung had sent you a message.

Hey noona! Hope you are ready for a home spa day tomorrow!

P.S, Please tell Yoongi-hyung I made you happy... He’ll kill me if I fail!

#bts #bts x reader #imagine #one shot #scenario #reaction #fluff #angst #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #kim namjoon #park jimin #kim taehyung #jeon jungkook #idol!au

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weirdgenetic-fuckup · 9 months ago

Note

tour bus sex with appetite era slash 🫣

Warnings: Smut, slight angst, thigh riding, fingering (f receiving), oral (f receiving), if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

After a month on the road with Guns it was expected that you and Slash would be fighting.

It started when you got your period and suddenly you were another problem, Duff and Steven paid more attention to you than your own boyfriend while you were in pain.

They'd run out to get you pads/tampons and come back with snacks all while Slash was digging around for snakes in a bush. After that it just kept getting worse, Slash didn't even bother to hold you while you slept.

You came out of the bedroom one morning, groggy and rubbing sleep from your eyes. You smiled when you saw Slash and walked over to him, sitting in his lap like it was your throne.

Or you would've had he not pushed you off. You stared at him, not wide awake and starting your day pissed. "Why don't you use one of your other boyfriends?" He grunted, gesturing to the blonds on the other side of the slim lane between seats.

"We weren't keeping you from her," Steven spoke, "you just didn't give a rats ass." Slash just waved him off.

You scoffed and did just as he suggested, taking a seat in Steven's lap. You wrapped your arms around his neck and nuzzled into his chest.

Steven was shocked, honestly. He looked up to Duff who had the same look on his face. He looked to Slash who just glared behind through his shield of hair.

Steven hesitantly wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer to him and keeping you upright as you clung to him.

You were doing this just to get a reaction out of Slash, Steven knew that and that's why he did his best not to react when you start playing with his hair or whispering in his ear. He couldn't say no to you altogether, couldn't bring himself to stop you from kissing up his neck.

Slash shifted in his seat, making a move to get up but before he could Duff pulled you off of Steven in an attempt to keep the peace within the band.

He held you in his lap, his arms around your waist and forcing you to face Slash.

You crossed your arms over you chest, feeling defeated. Then, you had an idea that you figured might've gotten you killed, but it was worth it.

You shifted in Duff's lap, not so much that he immediately suspected anything but enough that you'd gotten yourself on his thigh. You leaned back against him and started grinding against him. You glanced up at him over your shoulder and saw his face flushed as he looked back down at you.

"What do you think you're doing?" Slash bit.

"What?" You asked, continuing your movements. "Not like you were gonna let me do this." You smiled at feeling your clothed clit drag against Duff's thigh.

Slash stood, taking you by the wrist and pulling you to your feet, pushing you back to the bedroom, a small room in the back of the bus with four bunks and a suitcase on the floor where Axl made Steven sleep, though sometimes he'd sneak out and sleep on the couch or something.

He through you onto your shared bed and climbed over top of you. "I wasn't giving you enough attention?" You knew where this was going, you wanted to submit and let him do whatever he wanted but you were still mad.

Mad about how he treated you, about how you started your morning because of him. You were just mad at him.

"No." You stated. "I didn't think I was asking for too much but now you don't even want to touch me.

"So you turned to fucking Steven? Duff? My fucking band?" You huffed. "Think they could fuck you like I do?" You opened your mouth to say something but nothing came out. "That's what I fucking thought." His mouth went to your neck, biting, sucking, marking your sensitive skin all while he stripped you of your clothes.

He didn't start with his clothes, just grinding himself against you. You could feel how hard he was through his jeans, bulge pushing against your clit.

"Hah! Slash-Slash!" You gasped, reaching for his hips. "S'too much."

"Oh, is it? You didn't seem to mind when it was Duff." A harsh smack came down on your ass and you yelped. He moved down the mattress, laying down.

You moved back to sit against the headboard as Slash got comfortable between your legs, wrapping his arms around your thighs and pulling you closer to him.

You didn't know what he was doing, well, you knew what he was doing but you didn't know why.

He slid his tongue through your wet folds, pushing into your hole. He looked up at you, watching your reactions as his nose bumped your clit, tongue fucking your needy hole.

You gripped his hair tightly, pulling him impossibly closer. "Hah, Slash, faster!"

He sat up, kissing you and taking your hands off his head. "I know how to fuck you." He growled. You went to say something but huffed instead, crossing your arms over your chest. Slash scoffed, rolling his eyes before going back to your cunt.

He pushed a finger into you, curling it and hitting that spongey spot that had you seeing stars. His tongue swirled around your clit, he hummed every now and then to watch you flinch at the vibrations.

"Fuck, Slash! I- m'gonna cum!" You moaned. You gripped the sheets so tight your knuckles turned white, your body heating up and melting into the bed as you came.

Slash sat up, moving to sit beside you and pulling you close to his side. "Don't ever go to anyone but me." He grumbled.

You nuzzled into him, leaning your head on his shoulder. "Don't give me a reason to." He stared down at you a moment.

"Really?" He asked. "Do I really need to give you more reason?" You chewed your cheek, thinking for a moment before nodding.

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the-californicationist · 5 months ago

Note

I need like sweet, domestic Alex like coming home from deployment or something and reader doting on him (per our recent discussion, does she give him a nice massage bc of his poor aching leg) before he's just so desperate and pent up he goes full filthy down bad for his sweet thing at home. disrespect me alex please, then go right back to snuggles i BEG

Pingu… lol bestie. Idk what happened. Something something “disrespect me alex keller”… um…

TW: throat fucking, degradation, slut shaming, gender neutral reader, pet names: baby, babydoll, pretty thing

— MDNI —

Three Wishes

—

When his deployment ended, Alex Keller told you he had three wishes: a greasy cheeseburger, a deep tissue massage, and your pretty mouth on his cock. He was working on the burger as you watched him, busying yourself by kneading his quad muscles with your hands. You were staring as the blue glow from the TV danced across his tired face, bathing him in a desaturated light. Your palms and fingers worked their way along his sore thighs, rubbing them with his trusty Biofreeze pain gel, trying to ease his strained limbs.

The prosthetic he wore for work lay discarded in the corner, still caked with sand and mud and memories of a grueling tour. If his return home was anything like his last, he’d leave it there for weeks, seemingly out of spite, much preferring to use his forearm cane to semi-gracefully amble from the couch to the kitchen to the bed and back again, moving more like an acrobat than a soldier, leaning and pulling on countertops and reinforced handles to make his way around his home. It never stopped surprising you with how quickly he could cross a room without any walking aids at all, much preferring to use his body without the augmentations.

You’d been there for him when he lost the leg. At the time, you and his mom had been way more concerned about blood clots from the injury rather than the amputation itself. It wasn’t until he was about to be discharged and you were left with an endless stream of leg-limb-cane-chair options that made your head spin. But, Alex didn’t seem to mind. He had turned his nose up at the chair, immediately deciding that if he wasn’t walking out of there on his own, he didn’t want to walk out of there at all. The doctors all hemmed and hawed, but you and Mrs. Keller stood firm. You supported him, and he made it through with flying colors.

When they’d welcomed him back to SAC, you were shocked. You’d expected him to get his Purple Heart and be left out in the cold. Since when had Uncle Sam ever wanted to put his “broken” toys back on the playing field? Hell, most veterans had to jump through more hoops than a circus poodle just to get baseline healthcare. But, Alex wouldn’t be denied. He was too good, and he made sure no one ever considered anything about him as broken. In fact, his recovery had given him extra time at the range, in the gym, and in the tactical office, honing his skills to a razor-fine edge. Alex was twice the soldier now, and you were proud of how far he’d come.

But, that didn’t mean it was easy. His work took a toll on his body, more so than his squadmates’. He’d be in pain for weeks, and you’d watch his face twist and bend in agony. It almost felt like he would only get back to normal right before it was time to deploy again. But, that was the price he paid. He kept the world safe, and he used himself as the shield, protecting you and everyone else from unimaginable evils.

You loved watching him tear into this messy burger. The juice and sauce was dripping down his hands, and there was a smear of something warm and gooey trapped in the corner of his mouth and his overgrown mustache, ready for a long tongue to swipe it away. Still, you waited patiently for him to finish. You were just as eager for the third wish as he was, judging by the obvious erection straining against his gym shorts.

Pausing your ministrations, you cleared his food away and washed your hands. You made your way back over to the couch and knelt between his legs,

“Mm, goddamn,” Alex sighed, wiping his mouth and hands with the napkin as he finished off his meal, “That hit the fuckin’ spot.”

“You ready for your last wish to come true, Lex?” You purred, digging your hands into the band of his shorts and peeling them down over his throbbing erection.

“You’re too good to me, baby,” his voice deepened as he watched you reveal his length, bending over him to suckle the shining precome from his head, “Mmf-fuck! I love comin’ home.”

You tried to take more of him, but he was impossibly hard, and your throat protested against his invasion. Gagging yourself, you choked, pulling away to catch a breath before going right back to suckle his cock.

“Tha’s it. Lemme help you, babydoll,” Alex purred, placing a firm palm on your head and shoving you down onto him, working you past your deepest point, showing you how much further you could go with his help.

“I dreamt of this fuckin’ moment,” he confessed, “This exact one. The one with your mouth full of me like this, droolin’ on me like this, suckin’ me like this… holy fuck!”

In a flash, both of his hands were on your head, shoving you down so much further onto his hard length, making your throat ache and burn.

You loved it, feeling your own pleasure building between your legs. His roughness made your mind go blank; you melted into his dumb little slut, shamelessly humping into your own hand as your brain begged for breath.

A hard fist pulled you off of him, and you gasped, rasping and wet, your shining drool swirling and pooling from your mouth, raining down onto his red, swollen prick.

“There you are,” Alex smiled, “Eyes on me, baby. Don’t look away.”

As he lowered you back onto his hard length, you obeyed, gazing up at him despite your audible struggling, the pressure and tightness in your throat making you want to wrench your eyes shut. But you didn’t. You were a good hole for him; you’d show him how much you missed him.

He moved your head up and down without your help. You were just along for the ride, breathing when you could, coughing and jerking when your body struggled to obey.

“This mouth… holy hell. Gonna make me come, baby.” Then, he noticed your hand writhing beneath you, playing with yourself as you sucked him off, “You touchin’ yourself? Oh, fuck. Fuck, that’s hot.”

He began to fuck your throat in earnest, picking up his pace, leaning his head back on the couch in ecstasy. You reached up with your free hand and lifted your shirt over your chest, pinching and plucking at your nipples, edging yourself right up to an orgasm, ignoring how lurid the gurgling noises that your throat was making sounded in the quiet living room.

“You better get that filthy hole ready for me, babydoll. Your mouth is so damn good, but this load isn’t goin’ in your tummy,” he saw your eyes widen and he chuckled, “Nuh-uh. I am gonna fuck you until you’re too hoarse to scream my name.”

You couldn’t help but moan, your eyes flashing white, rolling back into your head.

“Hey!” That same tight fist shook you at your nape, shocking you back into submission, “Give me those eyes, baby. Such a pretty little slut. So good for me.”

Then, he rewarded you by holding you down to his base, scooting to the edge of the couch so that he could shove his cock all the way down your neck, using his free hand to rub your throat on the outside, squeezing the sides to feel himself as he filled your writhing, choking body.

“Does my baby want to breathe? Givin’ up already?”

You tried to shake your head no, looking at him with tears rolling down your cheeks. You were no quitter. You’d black the fuck out before you let him think you needed mercy.

“No?” He seemed pleased, moaning as he grinded himself deep inside of you, moving your face back and forth to steep himself in his optimal pleasure, giving you brief gasps of sloppy air as he did. “So proud of you, baby. Doin’ so well. Now… Swallow me, babydoll. Mmf-fuck! Yeah, just like that. Holy fuck.”

You swallowed around him, closing your throat across his cockhead over and over, feeling the soft fleshy tip squish and squeeze in the bottom of your throat, twitching at the root of your tongue. You tried to find a rhythm, swallowing in pulsating waves. Above you, Alex was coming undone, trembling and growling like an animal, barely hanging onto his sanity.

Suddenly, he ripped himself out of you in a wet, messy stroke. You leaned into his grip, lolling out your tongue, knowing that he had lost at his own edging game. Sure enough, he began to spray hot, sticky ropes of come across your nose and mouth, covering your face in his orgasm, coating you in his mark.

He was shouting loud enough to fill the room, and he just kept coming, his body twisting and bending in mindless sexual fury. You leaned forward to seal your mouth over his head, milking him of his heavy load, sucking down his essence like it would sustain you.

“Oh, fuck!” He lamented, watching you clean his dick with your tongue, wearing his cream like a badge of honor, “C’mere, baby. Open wide.”

You opened your mouth up for him, sticking your messy tongue out as far as it would go. He grabbed your chin and began to use his other hand to swipe his load into your lips, smearing his come down your nose and across your cheeks to scoop it onto your tongue, making sure you didn’t waste a drop.

You remained stock still, feeling his seed slipping down your throat and into your belly, but you kept your tongue out, showing him you were still his obedient cockslut.

“I hope you’re ready for me, baby, ‘cause I’m still hard. Did you get that hole nice and warm for me?”

“Yes, sir,” you smiled, pleased to play your part.

“Show me,” he smiled back - all devil, no angel.

You did as you were told, turning around, leaning your chest to the ground, and peeling your underwear down your thighs to show him his prize.

His hand spread your ass cheeks apart, and you felt him spit across your flesh, chuckling with an exciting cruelty as he spread his spit around with his thumb,

“Oh, fuck. There it is. I’m gonna pump you so full of come you’ll be drippin’ for days and days and days...”

#call of duty fanfic #cod mw2 #call of duty #cod #cod mwii #alex keller #alex keller smut #cod smut #disability won’t fuckin stop me #degrade me alex keller #degrade and humiliate me #degrading k1nk #degredation kink #face fvcking

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writhyv · 3 months ago

Text

⋆｡°✩ your domestic boyfriend is away on tour

fairy of shampoo | park jongseong x male!reader

pairing: jay x male!reader genre: fluff word count: 1.0k notes: ANOTHER JAY STORY!! I just can't get enough of this man ... had the inspo to do this and all I could search online was his videos ... im sure we all did that 😫

He's a little bit far away from you.

You let out a soft groan as you lean your head against the counter, exhaustion weighing down your body. Jay glances over, a teasing smile playing on his lips, but he can see past the surface. “Bored already?” he asks, his tone light, yet his eyes betray a hint of concern as they catch your yawning figure.

“Noo… Just tired,” you reply, your voice wavering slightly, the fatigue evident in every syllable. As much as he wanted to feel concerned, it was fascinating how you still denied it with such cuteness.

He tilts his head, studying you intently. “You can go to bed, honey,” he suggests gently, the warmth of his smile a soothing balm for your tired soul. “You don’t have to stay up with me.”

You fidget with the ends of your knitted sleeves, the gesture a familiar comfort. Yet, even the fabric feels heavy against your skin tonight. The warmth you’ve come to cherish is absent, leaving an emptiness that gnaws at your insides. It drains your energy, steals your motivation, and makes the night stretch endlessly. You might even say it’s worse than being sick; at least then, you could still muster the strength to do chores, much to Jay’s playful annoyance at your relentless spirit.

“But I want to…” you murmur, your voice barely breaking through the silence.

Jay chuckles softly, but the sound carries an underlying worry. He feels a tight pang of loneliness wash over him, a sensation he can’t shake off when he’s away on tour. He doesn’t like missing out on moments like these—seeing you feel small and tired, wishing he could wrap you in his arms and shield you from the harsh confines of this oh-so-cruel world. The glow of your face on the screen brings him comfort, yet it’s not enough. He yearns to be there beside you, to feel the warmth of your presence against him.

His band is on tour across the U.S., and while he knows it’s part of his job, it pains him to just leave you behind. If it weren’t for that demanding project at work, one that you swear will break your back, you could have been enjoying a cozy getaway together. The thought makes his heart ache.

“Look at you, you’re already so tired,” he says softly, concern lacing his voice. “Are you even checking if the ramyeon is done?”

You jerk up at the reminder, the delicious aroma hitting you like a wave. “Ahhh!!” Panic sets in, and Jay can’t help but laugh at the sight of you scrambling to the kitchen. But behind that laughter lies a deeper worry; he can see how overwhelmed you’ve been lately, how the weight of the world rests heavily on your shoulders when he’s not there to support you.

As you brush your hair back, narrowly avoiding the smoke alarm again, he wishes he could be the one to take care of you. He knew that you being independent was never easy, and the thought of you feeling lonely without him makes his heart ache. You settle back in front of your laptop, a small pout on your lips, and he feels a surge of affection mixed with helplessness.

“Done?” he asks, hopeful as he seems to return from somewhere off-screen.

“Yeah…” you reply with a soft sigh. “I’ll let it cool down and maybe eat it later.”

He watches you closely, his heart swelling with concern and love. “Try to eat on time, honey.”

You meet his gaze, and for a moment, he sees the flicker of vulnerability in your eyes. “I’ll try,” you whisper, and he knows the struggle behind those words.

As you try to fix your posture atop your wooden bar stool, he picks up his guitar, cradling it with such care. “Want to fall asleep to me strumming some tunes?” he asks, his voice soft, almost intimate.

You beam a big smile stretching from one ear to another, warming his heart. It’s always a treat when he plays for you, and he feels that this will definitely be a moment of connection that will transcend the distance between you.

"Then go to bed." You look at him, almost begrudgingly. He could only chuckle back at you, knowing that little snark you had was coming out so slowly.

"Please?"

You huffed under your hot breath.

“Fine...” you say, surrendering to the comfort of your space. You then walked a little bit from your kitchen towards the warm confines of your bedroom. The ambient lights in your room create a cozy atmosphere, and you settle into bed, placing your laptop where Jay can see you clearly. He’s tuning his guitar when he notices you all bundled up in your sheets.

“I miss your warmth, Jay,” you confess, pulling the covers tightly around yourself. “I can still smell you from here.”

“Then just sleep like usual,” he replies, his gaze softening as he looks at you through the screen. “Fall asleep while I play your favorite.”

You nestle into your bed, the soft pillows reminding you of him. Seeing you so cozy makes Jay feel a little drowsy, but he fights it off since it’s still afternoon where he is.

With a gentle strum of his guitar, he begins to play your favorite song. The chords resonate beautifully, each note wrapping around you like a warm hug. His fingers dance over the strings, wanting the melody to wrap around you like his arms would if he were there, to soothe you and bring you peace. The chords resonate beautifully, each note a reminder of his love for you, a promise that you’re never truly alone, even when he’s miles away.

As the last note fades away, he glances at you, noticing your stillness. The sight of you peacefully asleep brings a wave of relief, and he can’t help but smile. It seems his music has worked its magic again—you’ve drifted off, cradled by the sounds of his affection. He wishes he could reach out and caress your cheek, to tell you that everything will be okay, but he knows he has to go now, called back to the reality of his afternoon stage practice.

“Good night, honey,” he whispers, his heart heavy with love and longing as he quietly ends the call, closing his laptop softly. He knows that while the distance separates you, the bond you share remains unbreakable.

| masterlist! | previous | next |

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leviathanleva · 11 months ago

Text

Daisy

Pairing: Cooper Howard/The Ghoul x Fem Reader [DARK FIC]

Description: Cooper Howard was not a kind man, he cared for nobody, but himself. Then he found you, a lost little dove, barefoot and crying, torn dress and big innocent eyes staring at him like he was a hero. He knew you’d be a burden, he knew you couldn’t survive in the wasteland, he was doing you a favor.

But he couldn’t pull the fucking trigger...

........................

[5.5k words]

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

Chapter 6 "The Book"

Green.

Green spanning as far as the eye could see. A thick, overflowing forest accompanied by such humid air it made you nauseous and slightly out of breath. It did well to shield you from the sun and you no longer had to use your blazer as a substitute for a poncho and avoid a sunburn.

It took you nearly two days to stop gawking at the luscious flora once you’d set foot in it and the ghoul had found it necessary to bark a threat at you a couple of times when your feet had stilled to take in the scenery. You didn’t let his grumpy nature affect you though. You’d never seen such a view and you let your eyes feast with mouth ajar and hands fisted. Sticky mud, twigs, and leaves clung to the soles of your boots and the vapor you were sure was radioactive frizzed up your hair.

You’d expected the forest to be brimming with life, from animals to insects, birds, and critters, but there was nothing. When you took the time to recollect the past three weeks while silently following behind your bounty-hunter-turned-tour-guide, you hadn’t seen any birds. The bombs wiping them out was the obvious explanation, they were gentle creatures, they didn’t stand a chance and it was a melancholic realization. Bird songs were the symphony of nature and it was painful to know you’d never be able to hear it.

You adjusted the backpack strap away from your throat and rubbed at the sore spot before taking a few springy steps to catch up with the ghoul. His pace had quickened for reasons unknown and you had to jog to be able to keep up with him. It was tedious considering the slippery ground actively worked on slowing you down, but you’d take this over going a faceoff with the sun any day.

Humanity’s traces could be spotted scattered amidst the greenery, bits of metal sprouting from the dirt, tattered cloth at the bases of the trees, or hanging off low branches, a plane wreckage in the distance. It was comforting that other people had passed by your route and left a piece behind, an echo of their presence. You wanted to believe they were good because so far there hadn’t been a soul you had encountered that hadn’t tried to attack you.

WELCOME FOR TO TILLBURRY

A bright red billboard was risen high above the treeline, fastened to a multitude of wooden planks nailed together. The once pearl white paint was now a deep yellow with spangles of rusty brown, the words were peeling off, weathered down by time, you could tell even from where you stood.

You stand shoulder to shoulder, except the ghoul’s is more at level with your cheek. He kicks some buildup off his shoes and opens his canteen.

The settlement is right down the hill. Tillburry. You made it to Tillburry.

“We made it?” you release your lips from their toothy prison and your face lights up with an untamable grin. You beam up at him and shake his arm excitedly. “We made it, Mister.” your eyes dart back to the sign, you’re practically vibrating next to him. “I can’t believe it!”

He pauses between swigs and glances down to where you’ve taken hold of his wrist. His lack of reply stirs your attention and you follow his gaze, then let go and step away with a wary expression.

“Uh…Sorry. I just got a little – ” you’re tugging at the frilly edges of your dress anxiously, one foot readies on its toes if you spotted even a glimpse of a rope peaking from behind his back. “ – I didn’t – No tying up, please? My ankles are still sore from last time, Mister.”

You’re an eye-bat away from bolting, again, and it never works because he’s scarily good with a lasso, but you’re stupidly optimistic. Last time you’d gotten on his nerve he’d tied you up and hung you from the ceiling lamp of an old farmhouse, gagged as well, mind you, because you wouldn’t stop talking. At least, he’d been kind enough to take your shoes off so you could stretch your feet and keep the blood circulation going. The fact that he’d used you as a sentient coat hanger was less nice.

Then again, you’d gotten another dose of his scent while he’d had dinner by himself and ignored your existence for a good hour or two. It wasn’t all bad, or maybe it was but you were too dependent on him to protest against his unorthodox punishments.

“Ain’t no point.” he clicks his tongue and glosses over his canteen before tucking it away. “You don’ learn nothin’ cept how to complain harder.” he taps a gloved finger against the center of your forehead, forceful enough to have your neck tipping back and you scrambling for balance. “Thought you were supposed to be smart. How come nothin’ sticks in that lil skull o’ yours?”

“Mm, have you thought about maybe…” your eyes squint at his rough gesture and you pull away with a wince. “Maybe a nicer approach to your lessons, Mister?”

“Nice don’t keep you alive, Darlin’.” he doesn’t spare a breath before answering and after a moment you reluctantly nod.

His malignity and somber methods were a necessity both for your development and safety yet you wished it weren’t so. You wanted for a kinder world and less spilled blood and were likely one of many, but no one had the privilege of choosing what they were born into. Despite all ill circumstances, you were still lucky to be taken under the wing of an expert, taught how to survive by someone who’d lived so long and accumulated enough knowledge to fill a library.

It wasn’t peaches and marmalade up here, although you had a can of both stuffed somewhere in the depths of your backpack.

The hand which had been resting on his hip reaches for the hefty tato sack slumped next to his boot and he secures it over his shoulder before nudging his head towards the welcome sign.

“Les go.”

You’re hot on his heel, stomping down the mucky hill with acute prudence, your dress was already dirty, you didn’t need to add mud stains to the extensive collection.

The peaks and roofs of ramshackle buildings loom above the shabby fence surrounding the settlement, dyed in varieties of reds and yellows, some fully, others unfinished because there was no more paint to spare. The vegetation became sparse and the soil soon gave way to dusty gravel that crumbled delightfully under your boots. Once close enough for a better inspection, you notice the defensive walls are nothing more than plates and pieces of different scrap metal bolted together. A swirl of barbed wire is draped on the top and rotting pikes are sticking out from the base.

It wasn’t exactly the warm welcome you were expecting.

Anxiety and excitement kept you glued to the ghoul, mostly hidden behind his unfriendly frame. A meager excuse came up as a means to start up a conversation that might ease your quickening pulse and sweaty palms. You decided to keep the silence, though, opting to restrain your questions for a later time, when there was less tension built up on his shoulders and his fingers weren’t instinctively gliding over the handle of his pistol.

You heard the marketplace before you saw it. Your stomach flipped once you stepped beyond the open town gates, now being able to put faces to the buzzing chatter lingering in the air.

“Holy moly…” you gasp with brows raised high and your step falters.

It was busy.

After years of solitude and countless dreams of a normal pre-nuclear war life, after nearly a month in the company of a single man who preferred action over word, the reality of civilization crashed into you like a boiling wave. Hot prickles pinched at random places around your body, beads of sweat are already trickling from your armpits and your skin becomes clammy. With a heart lodged in your throat, you stumble forward, giving in to the ghoul’s rough tug on your wrist.

“Keep movin’.” his rasp fails this time, impossibly outmatched by the turbulence simmering inside you.

“Mm…sorry.” it’s an empty apology, insincere because he sees your eyes flitting and knees wobbling.

You never expected the settlement to be this…overwhelming.

Strangers are passing by and blending together in a jumbled blur of worn-out clothes and limbs. Carts are being rolled between the isles, restocking items as soon as they’re bought, and smoke lingers high above your head, amassed from chimneys, food booths, and cigarettes.

You find it difficult to breathe the more information your short-circuiting brain is forced to process.

“Get your RadAway right here good people! Three for the price of one – ”

“ – Cactus fruit for sale! Fresh out the – ”

“ – Bullets, guns and more bullets – ”

Stalls were huddled together, adorned with junk and trinkets, things you couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And even if the owners already had at least one customer looking over their products, they still hollered at the crowd bustling around them. There’s a heavy stench in the air, of car oil and lack of hygiene, sweat and musk blending in with roasting meats that smell like no animal you’ve eaten before.

Shopkeepers had the doors to their establishments open, waving over weary wanderers with promises of a good time and helpful products.

“Stimpaaaks! Rad-X and more! Whatever your heart desires! Save a life! Buy a stimpaaak!”

You avoided eye contact, keeping your sights low and only skimming over the intricacies of the stands. The flood of strangers was cordial enough not to bump into you, but when a roasted cricket was shoved in your face and behind it a pair of foggy blue orbs stared right into your soul you recoiled.

“Ah, no thank you, Sir!” you give the merchant a wide apologetic smile and lift a hand to your mouth.

You latch onto the ghoul’s forearm when the merchant’s face falters for a split second before he’s already trying the unfortunate person behind you. For a moment there you’d thought he’d pounce on you, there was no telling considering the man looked half-dead.

“Aww, was wrong, Sweetheart?” your bodyguard barks out a laugh, sneering down at you. “Don’ want a cricket on a stick?”

You don a thin-lipped, unimpressed expression and detach yourself from him.

“I’ll stick to crackers and canned beans, thanks.”

His teasing tone unwittingly shook off a part of your anxiety. The overstimulation eases to a broiling irritation and most of the smells and sounds fade behind a wall of ignorance. You still sweat more than you’d like, but your pulse nestles back into a steady rhythm. You take a breath and squeeze your palms a few times, working through an alien mental exertion as your face settles with neutrality.

“Suit yourself.” he snorts, guiding you towards a particular stand. “Dunno what you’re missin’ though.”

“Think I’d rather keep it that way.” you murmur under your breath and turn back for a more in-depth examination of the unappealing delicacy. “…Yeah.”

Bugs…Who eats fucking bugs?

There’s a steaming caldron propped up over a steady fire, but you can’t discern the scent and your upper lip is already twitching into a disgusted scowl. The owner has his elbows resting on the display counter, and the sleeves of his shirt are rolled to just below his meaty biceps. His thick mustache spreads into a delighted smile and he abandons his hunched-over posture when he notices your uncanny duo approaching.

“Welcome! Browse at your leisure.”

“One o’ those.” the ghoul motions towards the cauldron and you’re ready to fight back nausea, anticipating a monstrous fiend turned snack to emerge.

You were wrong.

The man sinks a ladle inside the lively water and fishes out a potato.

“Oh.” you blurt without a second thought.

“What d’you think it was?” he tosses a few caps on the counter and plucks the boiled potato from the merchant’s ladle and you can’t help but grimace.

“At this point, nothing would surprise me.” you answer honestly, then cock your head with a face scrunched at the unnerving sight. “Doesn’t that sting? He just…y’know…took it out of the water?”

Does this man honestly have no pain receptors or is he just high again? Either way, you were left stunted every time he took a blow without a flinch. From bullets to hot potatoes, nothing could scathe him.

“ ‘S fine.” he blows away the steam and unfastens his hunting knife to cut a sizable piece from the top, then tosses it at you.

You catch it with a precious glint in your eye, graced with a bittersweet smile. Him willingly splitting food was a new addition, but an act you cherished fervently. A display of custody so fleeting and illusive it was unclear how intentional it was.

Then the heat finally registers and you’re forced to juggle the mushy piece between your hands.

The ghoul dips his half in the disturbed salt pile next to the fresh vegetable crate, and you mimic him once the potato has cooled enough to hold. He’s already moving and you follow closely behind while giving your treat a few more needed puffs and tapping off the excess salt.

“So what are we looking for now, Mister?” you ask and dodge bumping shoulders with a dazed old woman while adopting a steady tempo by his side. You’re looking up at him with wonder while sinking your teeth into the potato and he’s very tempted to lick his thumb and try to wipe off that incessant glee from your face.

“Trader’s shop.”

“Oh, right! For the Pip – ” a hand is harshly smacked over your mouth. He shakes his head curtly and his mouth dips into a short-lived frown; you clear your throat and nod in understanding.

Right…Everything from the vaults was considered a rare treasure on the surface. People were ready to kill for a single one of the items each of you was carrying. Caps flowed whenever a mint-condition lint roller was involved, let alone more practical things. And Pip-boys were at the top of the pyramid. They were priceless. Some would sacrifice a limb to get their hands on one because it meant they were settled for life.

You scan over the current of wanderers for any prying eyes but find none. It was too noisy; your words had been drowned out the moment they’d escaped.

Maybe you should try not to forget you aren’t living in a vault anymore…

You hold onto a wrinkle at the back of his coat as he cuts through the busy market, then wipe away the remnants of potato bits with the back of your hand.

Everything seems to have the same coat of decomposition to it, from the persons to the buildings, but it has a charm to it, it’s lively and somewhat welcoming.

Familiarizing your surroundings presents you with a feeling of peace and the anxiety is finally washed away for good. Well, as long as you keep reminding your self-centered doubt that nobody’s gawking at you or paying you any mind. You’re just a nobody lost in a sea of nobodies and you like it that way, just you and the ghoul minding your business, not being threatened or attacked or anything that would coerce you into taking action.

A safe haven. Finally.

A gargled moo pierces through the din of chitchat and your head snaps. And there, amidst the stalls a cow is lazily sloshing at a bucket of water while simultaneously rearing its snout around and sniffing the air because it has two freaking heads. It looks skinned, reminds you of your grumpy gunslinger and you can’t help but titter. You make a turn towards it, handholding with your nosiness. Then you reassure the concerned squeal at the back of your head that you’ll find your way back by the distinguishable cowboy hat sticking out like a sore thumb in the crowd.

Just a closer look and then you’ll be right back by his side.

A two-headed cow. How fascinating!

Your escapade is short-lived. An iron grip takes hold of your backpack no more than five steps in and jerks you back. The strap digs into your throat and you gag with a backward blunder.

“Ehugh – ”

“ – The hell you think you’re goin’?”

The back of your head collides with a solid chest and you gaze up to meet an acquainted scolding face.

“The cow. It has two heads.” you answer candidly, blinking up at him, dumbfounded. “I – ” your lips purse as you briefly mull over your next sentence. “ – I wanted to see it up close?”

“ ‘S called a brahmin, Darlin’.” he’s unimpressed with your revelation, lets you go, and spares a brisk, disinterested glance at the mutated cow.

You dust off his crude gesture and smooth out your dress and backpack. His barbarian tactics are slowly losing their charm; he makes a mental note to up the ante in the future.

“How does it work though. With two heads?”

“Take one good look a’ me ‘n tell me if I’m a fuckin’ vet.” his arms are crossed over his chest, weight rested on one hip. You disregard his snappiness as your eyes roll from him back to the brahmin.

“Do they bite?” you know it’s probably a herbivore, but considering its disfigured state and the scarce vegetation along your journey, you have reason to consider other possibilities. With a palm placed on your waist, you tap a forefinger against your hipbone in thought. “Can I pet it?”

“No. Now move.” he grips your upper arm like a disgruntled father and drags you forward as you keep your neck craned to the side to stare at the cow over your shoulder. “Ain’t got all day.”

“But – ”

“ – You stray more than two feet away ‘n I’m puttin’ a leash on ya.” he hisses you into silence and presses onward, towards the last few remaining stands.

The thickness of the crowd lightens as you approach the end of the market. Once you manage to escape all the fuss and buzz you give a gentle pat to his wrist and he releases you with a warning grunt to keep close.

Given more room to note the architecture and structure of Tillburry, it reminds you of an old cowboy settlement rather than a pre-apocalypse town. The buildings are raised in such a peculiar array, all random and each one different. There are no traditional houses, per se, everything is turned into a business, from a shady hospital to a loud bar made guest house because even travelers need a bed sometimes. You see a few tire-ridden trailers, but even they have a makeshift sign plastered on the door offering services for caps.

A label scribbled with coal rests above the entrance to a two-story shack.

Trade & Barter – If it exists, we have them!

Mm…Maybe you could become the local English teacher, give the folk a few grammar lessons, put that multi-subject dossier in your head to the test. Make theory into reality and try your hand at machinery, build a lamp or do some testing and create a water purifier. From what you’ve read, it’s not that difficult, but the materials needed can range from tricky to impossible to scavenge.

You step onto the wooden porch of the trader’s shack, the bell above the door springs to life when the ghoul enters and you follow suit.

First things first, you had to figure out if you were going to continue travelling with him or if he was going to keep his word and let you settle here. There was a small chance he’d forgotten and if you didn’t mention it, he’d let you trudge along. Tillburry was a nice place, but you’d choose him over anything else if you had to pick.

“Evening good people!” a scrawny old man peaks from behind the counter accompanied by a symphony of metal clanks and a few curses. He dusts off his hands and plants them over the register with a crooked smile. “Mah name’s Hank. Now how can I help you lot?”

He eyes the ghoul in an odd manner, then you.

“Oh, it’s you…”

“Got another deposit t’ make, old man.” said ghoul slaps all five Pip-boys on the counter and rests on one of his elbows as he leans down. “Thousand caps up front, the rest every few months till you pay em in full.”

You have to squint when Hank’s eyes bulge out of his skull and he hastily stuffs the merchandise under his desk.

“You tryin’na get me robbed?!” he straightens to look over the windows then hunches down and continues with a hand cupped over the side of his mouth. “Where did you find so many?” he pauses then, a certain grimness to his face. “Never mind, don’t wanna know.”

Your vision is overflowing with all the junk strewn about, hanging off walls, stuffed in dusty display cases, over tables and windowsills, there’s items even on the floor. Most of it is weaponry and repair parts, a trinket here and there, a greasy comb, gold teeth, and a half-built robot of some sort. You lightly kick at a stray margarine cap abandoned on the floor, then stop when an elbow is roughly dug into your side.

You spare your assailant a bitter glare while tenderly massaging away the pain, then click your tongue but relent at the curt “behave” you’re tossed back.

The trader has the light strapped to his forehead shining down on the Pip-boys. He fiddles with each one briefly, turning the cog and testing the menus, then tries them all on his wrist to check the security of the straps. He’s humming, muttering something incoherent while evaluating the treasures from your vault.

“We doin’ business or not, Grandpa? They ain’t fucken’ fake.”

“I might be old, but I’m still a babe compared to you.” Hank spits back with surprising vigor and disappears under the counter. “Now have an ounce of patience you grumpy bastard. Gotta check em or else Imma be the one dealing with the consequences.”

“Sorry?” your attention darts back to the ghoul who’s suddenly avoiding eye contact. “How old did you say you were, Mister?”

“Ain’t you got junk t’ stare at?”

The remainder of his reply is cut short by a snort of a laugh erupting from behind the register.

“Oh, he’s ancient that one.” the trader resurfaces with an old plastic bag stuffed to the brim with caps, he ties it neatly and pushes it forward. “Been around since – ” he sputters, frozen solid as the edge of a hunting knife is pressed flush against the collar of his shirt. “Right…” he swallows once, then gently steers the blade away with the tips of his fingers. “Ain’t my story to tell, sorry Lil miss.”

“Sure ain’t.” the ghoul nods, lower lip slanted.

“Uhm…can I – ” you pipe in and set your backpack between the two before blood is spilled. “ – Can I trade too?”

“Sure you can.” Hank nudges towards you, hands clasped together and stubby fingers intertwined in silent anticipation for your upcoming offer. “Watchu trading?”

You’re rummaging through supplies, pushing away food cans and bottles of water until you reach the very bottom of the bag. You grip a thin, plastic wrapper and force it past the sea of provisions before showing your open palm to the trader.

“Is this worth anything?”

“Well, well.” he snatches the item and settles the glasses dangling from his neck on the bridge of his nose as he concentrates on the label. “Pristine condition too. You don’t see these around much anymore.”

“A toothbrush.” the gunslinger is scowling when you turn to look at him. “You brought a fuckin’ toothbrush?”

“Three actually. One for each of us and a spare in case I lost mine. Which reminds me!” you’re digging through the bag again briefly before plunging another packaged toothbrush into his face. “Here’s yours.”

He plucks the damn thing from your grasp while you keep up a sickly sweet smile, twirls it in his fingers and he would have been annoyed if he wasn’t already so thunderstruck.

“Why do you have to be like this…”

“Twenty-five caps.” the trader declares and stuffs the merchandise in his back pocket.

“Deal!” you exclaim and gather up the caps as soon as they’re set on the counter.

“Workin’ through your debt already, Sweetheart?”

You squint at the question and shuffle away from your interrogative companion. Your foot is already tapping incessantly against the floorboards, a dead giveaway.

“Yes?” you clear the lump in your throat and lift your nose towards a book hanging just above a display cabinet. “But also I wanted to buy – ”

“ – No.” short and stern, no wiggle room. “You ain’t wastin’ no caps on a damn book.”

“Why not? They’re my caps.” you ask, but are promptly ignored when he gives you a cold shoulder and turns back to Hank. You aren’t even graced with the courtesy of debate.

With a regretful look, you secure your backpack over your shoulder and give the tome a last, pained glance as you rub at your upper arm.

“Gimme five packs o’ Grey Tortoise too.”

Hank stacks the cigarette packs in the ghoul’s outstretched hand before leaning back with a nod, instigating the end of their trade.

“Good doing business, Cooper, now get the hell out before I go bankrupt.”

You snort before you realize it.

“Shit. Shit. Shit!”

Your body freezes and you’re looking straight ahead as your teeth clamp down on your lips. The laughter bubbles, pushing against your chest and throat and you barely manage to inhale a shaky breath.

“There somethin’ funny, Smooth-skin?” the ghoul, Cooper, tantalizingly engulfs you under his frame. Each hand is gripping the counter, on either side of you, as he forces his chest into your shoulder blades and leans down until his voice is right in your ears. “Hm?”

“No.” you rasp, and your jaw clenches immediately after as your vision blurs with tears and you’re fighting so hard not to fucking cackle. You’re suppressing yourself so violently that you’re shaking. “No, Sir.”

His name is fucking Cooper. The deadly gunslinger, the boogeyman, the ruthless killer, the zombie cowboy. Cooper…

You can’t breathe.

“I’m gonna…Gonna wait outside, Sir.” you proclaim with a strained voice and slip out of his dangerous embrace, ducking under his armpit and heading towards the exit with stiff footing.

After securing the caps and cigarettes in his bandolier, he’s ready to follow, but a curt whistle from Hank stops him and he turns back to see the man waving him over. Already lacking patience for the upcoming exchange, he sighs and spares you a once-over to make sure you’re out of ear reach, and then he’s back at the counter, glaring.

“Go on.”

You shift to the left of the door, leaning back against the windowsill and leaving your backpack to rest between your feet. The world is slowly dimming, crickets deftly chip in the distance and it would have been pleasant if you hadn’t known they can grow as big as your arm. A few people pass by, scuttling towards either their homes or the bar opposite of where you stand. Besides a muffled murmur, there’s nothing you can catch from the conversation and curiosity gnaws at your gut, but you don’t have the courage to peek inside the shop and risk getting caught. A steady whizz as the minutes pass by, you don’t care for being left out, there’s already too much you’ve witnessed and endured that you wished you never had.

An abrupt rise in octaves catches your attention and your eyes flick to the side. Something in their exchange wasn’t going right, a topic was unraveled that was acrid for both parties and you curse at your limited hearing for being unable to catch any particular words.

A storm comes out the door that nearly knocks the bell off and startles you. You step back to avoid him in his blind fury, a distinct “oof” escaping you when the book is blindly thrust into your stomach. The sun has sunken, and an array of moths flutter around the swaying light bulb above the trader’s entrance and despite Cooper’s soured mood, you’re happy to have him back. Plus, he’d relented and gotten you the book, either he or the shopkeeper had pitied you enough to hand it over.

You’re dancing around him like a butterfly, the title “The Count of Monte Cristo” bouncing in and out of sight as you twirl the tome around.

The bar is well-lit, Christmas lights hang from the windows and roof, and he’s headed straight toward it. The atmosphere is unpleasant, whatever discussion he’d had with Hank had left a sour taste on his tongue, pinched some nerve that you could only guess.

“Thanks, Mister.” you try with a soft note and secure your present under your armpit for safekeeping, hoping a little sugarcoating might help ease his frustration. “I’ll cherish it forever.”

He pays you no mind, not even when you pinch the sleeve of his coat to keep in toon with his hasty stride.

“I like your name.” you peep through the mingling silence and glance up to find a strained expression and a sharp glare directed away from you. Your smile does nothing and falters quickly.

There’s a gap there, one that didn’t exist until you left him to converse in private with the old trader. The lingering question of whether you’re staying here or going with him is dismissed for the moment despite the time you have together ticking away. There’s malice building on his features the longer he stays locked away in his head and your words drift past him without effect.

“Mister?”

No response.

It’s when you wrap a hand around his wrist just as he’s about to burst into the bar that he stops.

You release a breath and ignore your skittish nature yanking at you to run, or apologize and hope for the best. There’s a clog in your throat and you feel the air becoming harder to intake, but that doesn’t stop you.

“Whatever he said isn’t true.” your eyes search the display of shells fitted over his chest, then flick up to find his. “You’re not a bad man, Cooper.”

It’s a shot in the dark because you don’t know what was said or done. But this is better than leaving him to sulk. He gets to know that you’ll stick by him no matter what happens. You’ll be there, even if the whole world turns against him, he’ll have someone who will stand by him.

“I’m a rotten man, Sweet pea.” his gaze is steady as he replies. He doesn’t believe you and not because you’re naively spewing words of comfort, but because he’s seen a lot more than you. He remembers the things he’s done and will keep doing and he knows himself well and you’re just plain wrong. “You jus’ don’ know it yet.”

“You’re a survivor.” you repost, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “And we’re all a little rotten inside.”

He rests a hand on your head, then moves to slump an arm around your shoulders and puffs out a breath. He’s not up for such a conversation, not now, not with you.

You don’t know him, not really. You don’t know that his vials are running dangerously low while your presence is turning into a solid option to get more. There’s a good reason he’s kept you safe and barely scathed and it’s not a measly three hundred caps.

And you hadn’t done anything to deserve such a fate, but his life came before yours, a rule of survival that you’d never learn.

Hank had had his suspicions the moment he’d laid eyes on you, but it wasn’t his business and despite having grown soft from decades living in a settlement, he had no right to dictate how others survived in the wasteland.

It might be cruel to keep you in the dark while your life is being weighed by a constantly shifting scale, but the ghoul would rather you enjoy the time you have left. Maybe they’d be kind and sedate you before harvesting your organs and you’d remember him as the hero he wasn’t, or maybe you’d grow a brain and stay in Tillburry. At least now he has the caps to buy off two large whiskey bottles and wash away the image of your face when struck with betrayal.

He was a survivor, you’d said so yourself, he did what he had to do, but that stupid conversation and Hank’s stupid expression wouldn’t budge from the back of his eyelids.

“What’re you gonna do if she doesn’t stay here though?”

“There’s always Super Duper Mart.”

“Oh, by the way.” your voice is a spark in the void of hopelessness, ripping him out of the maze of thoughts he’d unwittingly fallen into. He leads you through a haze of clinking tankards and lively, drunken chatter, a heavy smog of cigarette smoke that makes your nose wrinkle, and dim lighting to hide people’s identities. But you’re just happy to be with him and it’s visible by the perky smile on your lips. It’s painful to look at. “My name is – ”

“ – Don’t.”

🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼🌼

<<< Chapter 5

Chapter 7 >>>

🌼 Daisy Masterlist 🌼

Masterlist

Tag list: @bountydroid @windierhades @ultimatereality @gruffle1

@v3lv3tf0x

@fallout-girl219 @one-of-thewalkingdead @robin-the-enby @savanahc @whatthefuckrichard

@rockst4rkitty @lisnamavka @Iomlbillieeilish @itsyellow @cloudroomblog

@skykaykay @i-just-like-to-read @landlockedmermaid77 @enaelyork @maeplaysbass

#cooper howard #fallout tv series #the ghoul fallout #cooper howard x reader #cooper howard x you #the ghoul fanfic #the ghoul x reader #the ghoul x you #x reader #fallout x reader #fallout x you

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mikobeautifulheart · 11 months ago

Text

JJK men when you accidently cut yourself (but they didn't know)

TW: little mentions of blood but not alot, a little bit of angst. And unedited.

INCLUDING: YUJI AND Megumi

-Yuji-

"I'm back" Yuji said, dragging his feet along the floor.

It's been a busy week for both of you. So busy that Yuji dosent even remember the last time you've even had a proper conversation.

To hell with the shower he thought standing over your plesantly sleeping form calmly breathing. Slowly he kicked his shoes off to the side and slipped his uniform jacket off and laid down on the bed next to you.

You let out a small groan as you felt the bed shift and slowly came out of your sleep.

"Yuji..." You mumbled.

"Yeah" He said tiredly.

You sighed in relife that he was finally back

Yuji slowly it his arm around your side before noticing how damp the blanket on you was. He took just arm off and switched on the bed side light making you put your head under the pillow.

At first Yuji just thought he was tiered but then he blinked again to see that it was real, the blanket was soaked in blood.

"Y/n? Y/N? Wake up" he pulled the blanket off you to see a blood soaked bandage on your arm.

Right away he had the first adi kit and helped you sit up on the edge of the bed.

"Sorry Yuji, didn't mean to panic you, it's the last thing you need right now." You sighed putting your other arm up to your face to shield tour eyes from the light.

"I can't believe you weren't going to tell me! Y/n if your injured you need to see Shoko or at least go to a hospital" He said making sure to not apply the bandage to tight or to lose.

"You've been working all week and and youre exhausted to, Yuji look at your hands, youuve got little cuts on them, you should at least put a band-aid on them." You frowned

"Your the one to talk, with a losey bandaged cut arm. And no matter what happens I'm always putting you first." He said finally finishing up.

" Tommorow morning I'm taking you to Shoko." He said before throwing g the blanket in the wash and getting new ones.

That night he woke up every few hours to check your arm and to see if he might accidently touch it before carefully moving his arm away from it.

-Megumi-

You pushed your dorm door open and stumbled into the room, one hand clutching your side and the other practically dragging you around. You managed to take off one of your shoes before looking behind you to see your boyfried lazily dressed.

"y/n? Are you okay?" He walked over and crouched down infront of you, starting to untie your other shoe.

As soon as he carefully took it off you shot up and tried to stumble away from him.

"Wait, y/n is something wrong?" He asked, arms put streached to grab you.

"I'm grea-" you tripped over your own foot while trying to escape Megumi.

"-T" you hissed you felt Megumis arm wrapped around you, saving you from the fall.

Your breaths became fast as he slowly (practically carried you) to the couch.

You gasped for air as soon as you sat down.

"Y/N? What's going on??" Megumi asked concerned with your behaviour.

You moved your arm away from you side, shooting pain through your body when the pressure was released.

"You were right Megumi, I'm weak, I wasn't strong enough and now I have a gaping hole on my body." Tears welled up. You weren't sure if it was from the pain or the feeling of being to weak.

Within a second Megumi had you comfortably sat up on the couch while working his way round round your wound, cleaning it with cotton.

"I never said you were weak y/n, because your not. I said if you keep working yourself to much with out resting you'll become weaker, we all have our limits." He put the cotton down and started to wrap the bandage around your torso.

You looked down the other way feeling guilty that he had to deal with your mistake..your mess.

"I'm sorry" you said

"Don't be. You shouldn't be sorry. At the end of the day you helped people and your still alive, just be more careful okay?" He finished bandaging you before kissing it gently.

THANK YOU FOR READING ♡

AUTHOURS NOTE: Tehehe need to get back into writing so send some requests.

#jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x you #jujutsu kaisen x you #megumi x reader #megumi fushiguro #jujutsu kaisen megumi #yuji itadori x reader #yuji x reader #itadori yuji

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mak-be-ghouled · 1 month ago

Note

SwissAlps is on my brain today

Running little circles in my neurons

Soft or spicy, doesn't matter

Thinking they're both vers

Sorry it took so long, school, work, and writers block have been kicking my ass but I hope this lil swissalps moment is alright :)

1.6k words of Swissalps fluff under the cut

ft. a bit of angst (mountain's joint pain and overworking himself but dw swiss is there to help!)

no real spice but suggestive so MDNI (cw: "pup" used as a pet name)

With the final thawing of what can only be assumed to be the last freeze of the winter, and the steadily approaching tour season, Mountain certainly has his work cut out for him for the foreseeable future.

Sure, no one really expects him to be working in the greenhouses and gardens for as long as the sun lights his path, nor the early mornings well before the sun rises or the late nights long after the sun sets, no one but himself of course. But how else is he supposed to ensure that everyone in the ministry will be taken care of while hes gone, especially when hes expected to attend all of these rehearsals for the new Papa?

Someone has to do it, and Mountain has taken on that task himself. Of course there's plenty of others whose entire job it is to take care of the ministry grounds, the gardens, the greenhouses, hell theres even still other earth ghouls around that put their all into each and every living thing that graces the ministry grounds. But still, Mountain can’t help but involve himself, needs to know he is leaving everything in perfect condition, that nothing could possibly go wrong when he isn’t there to fix it, that if something did go wrong, he knows he did everything in his power to prevent it, only then did he feel comfortable enough to leave the ministry, to leave his former Papa, to leave his packmates.

There must have been a storm rolling in soon, Mountain could sense it, the smell of rain hanging in the air, the dark clouds blanketing the sky, shielding the earth from the sun’s warmth, not to mention the chill that creeps into his skin and settles between his joints, his knees and hands getting the worst of it.

Between the cool air and the biting pain, Mountain finally became frustrated enough to make the trek back to the ministry, just long enough to warm up and maybe make himself some tea, he hadn't even been able to get to a good stopping point, giving up half way into repotting a new tomato plant, hands protesting and locking up, rendering him utterly useless in any task that required any dexterity, his entire purpose basically. What good was an earth ghoul without the ability to use their hands? A sculpture?

The ghouls’ den was silent when Mountain crept his way in, secretly he hoped this was how he’d find it, not that he didn't want to see his pack, in fact it probably would have done him quite well to run into someone else, but this way he wouldn't have to answer any questions about where he’d been all day, or the previous night for that matter. This way he could make his tea, warm his angry joints, and carry on his work.

As he moved around the kitchen however, the pain only seemed to be getting worse, making it hard to stand, at any rate, the walk back to the greenhouse seemed impossible.

As much as he don't want to, there was no way Mountain was making it back to the greenhouse in his current state, so once his tea was done, he shuffled his way to the large recliner sitting in the corner of the den. A recliner older than Mountain had been topside, a well worn and loved thing that had seen better days but Mountain claimed to be his, and his it was.

As soon as Mountain hit the chair it was as if his body was melting into the very fabric of it, his eyes feeling heavier than they had in a very long time, in all honesty he hadn't been sleeping for anywhere near long enough, too caught up in what needed to be done and how little time there was in the day, he’d sacrificed more sleep than he was willing to admit, even to himself.

Just as he is about to loose his battle against sleep, Mountain is startled awake by the closing of a door. Not even the slam of the door, but with how keyed up he is between his lack of sleep, aching body, and stress, even the small creak of the door to the commons is enough to send him nearly flying out of his own skin.

“Shit sorry hun, didn't mean to scare ya” Swiss says quietly, cringing at himself for possibly waking Mountain, knowing how badly he needs rest right now, even if his mate disagrees.

“Hm? No you didn't scare me I was just- getting up” Mountain counters, except it sounds like he’s trying to convince himself of this as much as he is Swiss.

Biting his tongue to quiet his knee jerk reaction to tease Mountain for his poor attempt at a lie, Swiss instead, stalks up to Mountain and hurriedly drapes himself over the earth ghoul before he can fully push himself out of the recliner, effectively trapping him.

“Mhmm whatever you say love” Swiss whispers low in Mountain’s ear.

Mountain sinks further into the recliner, Swiss’ voice and warm breath sending shivers down his spine, the pain of agitated muscles and aching joints melting away with the weight and warmth of Swiss body, as if at Swiss’ own mercy.

The nagging voice in the back of Mountain's head telling him that he need to make himself useful right now, drowned out by the Swiss’ rumbling purr and praise as he makes himself comfortable as the earth ghoul’s personal weighted blanket.

Finally having regained at least some mobility in his hands, thanks to Swiss’ warmth, and the possible influence of just a bit of quinessence, Mountain brings his hand up to tangle into Swiss’ hair, scratching his scalp the way he knows the multi ghoul likes, and if the resonating purr has anything to say for it, he is correct.

Mindlessly playing with Swiss hair, it’s nice for Mountain to have something to do with his hands, rarely able to sit still without something to fidget with. His hand though, still protesting use in such conditions – conditions being a bit of rain, albeit heavily overworked – locks up again, sending shooting pain from his fingertips all the way down his forearm. Despite Mountain’s best effort, Swiss, ever observant, feels the hitch in Mountain’s breath as his entire body goes ramrod straight for just a second before trying to relax the best he can as not to alert Swiss.

“Everything okay sweetheart?” Swiss asks, looking up at Mountain, concern knitting his eyebrows together. Mountain wants to reach out, smooth that crease between bis brows with his thumb, watch peace wash over Swiss just as it does Mountain with Swiss’ touch, Swiss’ influence.

“Yeah…yeah I‘m okay, hand just locked up is all. I’m sorry baby” Mountain replies, trying to meet Swiss with a smile, but with the pain that smile resembles more of a grimace.

Mountain may have thought about it, but Swiss does reach out to Mountain's face then, holds his jaw in the palm of his hand,

“I’m sorry sweetheart, weather makin your joints act up?” Swiss asks, already knowing the answer, had he not found Mountain already in his recliner, he probably would have dragged the earth ghoul back to the den kicking and screaming if thats what it took, he knew what this kind of weather did to his mate, especially this time of year, knew Mountain would be in pain today, knew Mountain needed a break today.

“Yeah, guess so” Mountain said quietly, thoroughly annoyed with his body at this point, with his pain, with himself, hell he couldn't even love on his mate without his hands locking up.

“Its stupid and pathetic” Mountain huffs, voice trailing off into a breathy chuckle in attempt to conceal his annoyance with his ever aching body.

“Aw but I like you all stupid and pathetic for me baby” Swiss counters with a wink, a smug grin creeping onto his face

“Shut uuupp” Mountain says, bapping Swiss’ chest, unable to stop the laughter bubbling in his chest, turning away in order to hide the blush he’s sure is beginning to flood his cheeks and well down his chest at this point. Swiss always did have a knack for making him smile.

Mountain may be witty and clever and a bit of a tease himself when he has the upper hand, all of the ghouls have fallen victim to his charm on more than one occasion, and Swiss is certainly no exception.

But without the upper hand?

Mountain can be reduced to a babbling mess with a few simple words strung together just right, and Swiss is certainly no stranger to this knowledge either.

“C’mon baby, lemme take care of you tonight, hmm?” Swiss rumbles into Mountain’s neck, just below his ear.

Mountain hums a response, unable to come up with anything intelligent to say at the moment.

“What was that pup? Not sure I heard ya.” Swiss teases, knowing full well that words are not coming easy to Mountain in his current state, and if he finds a bit of pride in that, in how quickly he reduces the stoic giant to what is essentially an oversized lapdog that’s his business.

If Mountain was struggling to find words before he’s at a total loss now, whining as he nuzzles his face into Swiss’ neck.

Swiss chuckles, running his hands through Mountain’s hair.

“Seems like you certainly want something, common pup use your words, know you can” Swiss continues to tease.

“Please” Mountain whispers, barely there, and if it weren't for Swiss’ impeccable hearing it may have been mistaken for a breath.

Swiss considers teasing further, pretending he hadn't heard the earth ghoul, but watching Mountain writhing around just at the sound of his voice, that felt a bit too cruel, even for him.

“There we go, ‘course I will sweetheart” Swiss praises into Mountain's ear, beginning to stand before helping Mountain to his feet too.

Without a word Swiss turns on his heel headed toward their bedroom, Mountain following close behind.

#totally not projecting onto mountain whatsoever what do you mean?#the band ghost #nameless ghouls #the band ghost fanfiction #nameless ghoul fic #ghost band fanfic #mountain ghoul #swiss ghoul #swissalps #mak writes

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imtryingbuck · 7 months ago

Text

Three

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Summary: Y/n L/n becomes Queen of Astoria not that she wanted to. Prince James of Winterfeld meets her and falls in love.

Word count: 2,575

Warnings: angst. fluff. mentions of being hung and murdered by arrows (it does not happen!) groping.

Masterlist Series Masterlist

All she had to do was spend time with the man, it didn’t mean she was going to marry him on the spot and begin trying to pop out heirs. Her mother promised her that if she did not like the man then she would drop the topic all together. Even though she was now Queen and one of the most skilled warriors in the army she was still a child at heart, holding up her pinkie finger she made her mother wrap her own around her digit and pinkie swear.

“Please spend more than five minutes with the man before you decide.” Y/n nodded reluctantly, her original plan going straight out the window.

Prince Brock Rumlow was the man her mother had chosen. It was less than five minutes before she wanted to leave and call the meeting off. Yes he was a attractive but truthfully that is all he had going for him. He was dull, rude and so full of himself she struggled to remain stoic as he talking about himself and himself, oh and more importantly himself. She made the mistake of looking at Carlson who stood by the wall with the rest of the knights, he put an imaginary noose around his neck, closing his eyes and sticking his tongue out - she failed to stop the unattractive snort noise she made.

“What is so funny?”

“N-nothing, my prince. Please continue.”

The kingdom was bustling with the arrival of the King and Queen from Winterfeld - a neighbouring kingdom - that was coming to meet the new queen for the first time. The queens mother was busy greeting them and their family as Y/n was dying a slow and painful death called boredom as Prince Brock droned on and on.

“I am sorry that the Queen is not available at this moment, a feast will be held tonight in honour of your arrival.”

“It is understandable. Where is the Kings second wife?” Queen Winifred asked.

“S-she passed away.”

“Oh, oh I am so sorry! How are the princess’s doing?”

“I will admit they aren’t doing great but they are strong little darlings.” Her mother was giving them a tour of the castle before showing them to their chambers that they would be calling home for a week.

As her mother was busy with the King and Queen of Winterfeld, Y/n had changed out of her dress and into her training clothes and made her way to the training grounds with Carlson and a handful of her most trusted knights following closely behind her. It took her slightly longer to arrive as the townsfolk would stop her to say their hello’s and wishing her good luck in the makeshift circle, she spoke to each and every one of them.

“You have not been here for quite a while now, I do not know how you will do.” Carlson said with a smirk on his lips.

“I will pick you for my first opponent then shall I?”

“And lose? Surely I will be hung for treason”

“I will never have you hanged, no I would shoot a thousand arrows at you” Carlson gasped dramatically as she laughed.

As they arrived they noticed that there was a small crowd around the circle, some of them there she did not recognise. Those that did noticed her and moved over so she could lean on the wooden railing and watched as two of her warriors fought against each other, she was told a wager had been made - if Luka won he was able to propose to Lelands sister, his opponent, if Leland won Luka had to run around the whole kingdom in his birthday suit. She had to laugh, and admit that she didn’t know which one she wanted to win more.

Luka won.

Leland was not happy.

Carlson jumped over the wooden railing, Y/n throwing his shield to him, he looked around analysing each person there to pick out the person who would fight him - even though he already knew who he was going to pick. “You.” He smirked and pointed his sword towards Y/n.

“Me? Oh how kind of you!” Y/n was quick to jump over the railing too, her shield being passed to her. As she got into position she heard an unfamiliar voice.

“A woman? That is not fair, she should not be fighting.”

Y/n smirked and nodded to Carlson, who winked before lunging at her - not at all going easy on her. The loud clanking of their swords battling against one another rang out in the air, Carlson knocked her shield out of her hand - Y/n smirked, and lunged at her friend, her sword beating off the shield, using the side of her sword she hit him in his side. He dropped his shield and surrendered. This action made her and win the round. Everyone cheered, the new men that had made their presence known all laughing at Carlson for losing against a woman.

“Which one of you fine gentleman said that women should not be fighting?”

“I did sweetheart. You only won because he went easy on you, you know on the battle field the enemy won’t go easy.” She looked over to where the voice came from and smiled. A man leaning on the railing like the rest - handsome man with light curly shoulder length hair, slight stubble of hair on his face, his eyes were bright blue.

As handsome as he was he was a fool for two reasons, the first being that he obviously had no idea who she was, and secondly for daring to call her sweetheart.

“And who may you be?”

“Prince James of Winterfeld, and you?” Bless his heart, he laughed along with those from her kingdom thinking they were laughing with him and not at him.

Foolish man indeed.

“Well Prince James, I am the person who challenges you to get into the circle with me, just as long as you do not mind going easy on me.”

“Challenge accepted. And I promise you sweetheart, I will not.”

Carlson hands over his sword and shield to the brunette, telling him ‘good luck’ before climbing back over to where he was stood originally.

“Come on then sweetheart, I promise not to embarrass you.”

Y/n rolled her eyes at him, and began circling him - making him follow her every movement, she knew exactly what she was doing. The second he took his eyes off her she lunged at him, he stumbled back not expecting the attack but he managed to gain control. Once again the only sounds being heard from the woods were the sound of two swords clashing with each other.

James had to admit that he was impressed by her moves, her grace and the fact that she wasn’t struggling for breath even though this was her second round in the circle. She began getting the upper hand against him, he was trying to justify that by getting distracted by her beauty. He had truly never laid eyes on more of a beautiful woman before in his life.

To gain the upper hand against the woman who wasn’t backing down, James ducked as she swung her shield from the side trying to hit him, in his crouched position he sliced her right leg with his sword, blood quickly flowing from the wound. The hiss she let out satisfied him as he was growing annoyed at how he was being bested by a woman. He wanted to laugh at the men from the kingdom who were willing to jump over the railing to protect her, and how they looked concerned when she shook her head and carried on with their fight.

James looks to the side where the woman looks to - not realising it was a distraction - he had no time to react to the woman’s leg sweeping his own under him. Her sword being pointed to his chest, his hands went up.

“Looks like you have lost to a woman, my Prince. I apologise if I have embarrassed you.” He gives her a tight lipped smile watching her climb back over the railing, the man who she was fighting with before whispering something in her ear and she leaves.

“You alright Buck?” Steve asks his best friend and Prince.

“I think I am in love with the mad woman.”

The large hall was full of Lords, Ladies, knights and servants, James - who preferred to be called Bucky - had to admit that the hall was better than the one at home. After introductions and handshakes with the lords and ladies, his family was introduced to the Princess’s, Bucky had to admit that they were all beautiful but his thoughts were on the beautiful mad woman who had bested him earlier that day.

Sitting down next to Steve his eyes darting around the hall in hopes that she would be there, slumping back in his seat he turned to Steve. “After I have met the Queen I am going to leave and try to find the mad woman, cover for me please.”

“The woman from earlier?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you want to find her?”

“Hopefully I can make her a princess.”

“You call her a mad woman when you are talking about marrying a woman who bested you. You are the mad one.” Steve laughed.

“Yes, we can be the mad married couple.”

Steve goes to reply but gets cut off by the Royal Herald announcing that the Queen had arrived. Every single person in the hall stood up, the knights shifting their stances as the large wooden doors came open.

Bucky’s jaw dropped.

It was her. His mad woman. She was the Queen of Astoria.

She walked with her head held high, a crown sitting upon her head, her dress was a dark red and black. Before walking up to her seat, she greeted the King and Queen with a slight nod of her head, Bucky knew that she could feel his eyes burning a hole at the side of her face but she was ignoring him.

Steve had to pull on his arm to sit after everyone else does, he was so lost in trance that he didn’t notice everyone sitting. All that kept running through his head was that the beautiful mad woman was a Queen. A Queen he had fought against. And that’s when it dawned on him, he had hurt the Queen! That’s why the men tried to intervene, they were protecting her after he had sliced at her leg!

“- and this is our son, James.” His mothers words snapped him out of his spiralling mind.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, sweetheart.”

Nobody around them questioned the nickname she had given him, though Carlson and Steve chuckled. “The pleasure is all mine, my Queen.”

Throughout the meal Bucky couldn’t keep his eyes off her as she talked to the man who he found out was named Carlson, and talked with his parents. He was waiting for her smile to drop and order her guards to drag him into the dungeon before having him hung but so far a pretty smile was still sat on her lips, he was also nervous of tension brewing between the two kingdoms and him having to admit to his parents that it was all his fault.

“I have heard they call you the Warrior Queen, why is that?” His mother asked her, she tried to repress the smirk off her lips as she sees James sinking slowly in his seat.

“I am the only woman to ever fight in my father’s army, I have been to many battles for him.”

“How many battles have you been in?” The King then asked.

“My first one was when I was sixteen. My father did not know I was there until the battle was over.” She chuckled, the King and Queen joining in.

“Will you continue to fight now?” The Queen asked.

“Of course. I will be right at the front and centre, my men will not fight without me being there.”

“A true Queen you are” King George said, she smiled at him. Though her smile quickly dropped off her face and that had Bucky’s heart pounding.

“You. Yes you, come here.” She points at a knight who looked absolutely terrified. His eyes darting between her and his King, as he slowly made his way over to her. “You may get away with groping the servants where you are from, but you do not come into my home and do the same to mine. I see or get informed that you have done it again I will hang you myself. Is that understood?”

“Y-yes Queen.”

“Larissa, come here.” Larissa’s cheeks heated up as all eyes went on her as she moved forward, bowing to her Queen she waited. “Apologies to her.”

“I-I am sorry.” He was mortified. He was a knight and was being made to apologise to someone lower than him.

“It’s fine.” Larissa mumbled.

“Larissa darling, you may go back to what you was doing. You, get out of my face. I will say this once and never repeat myself, any man regardless of your station touches my girls I will hang you all myself. Now let the music continue.” She sits back in her seat and turns her head to Carlson having a quiet conversation.

The King was furious. Not because the young Queen had scolded his knight but because the knight had done something that even he wouldn’t permit. “Queen Y/n, I must apologise for his behaviour. I can assure you that I do not let that happen in my home and I will promise you that he will be punished for his behaviour.”

“It is fine, I believe the man has learnt his lesson.”

“My Queen, may I be bold enough to ask you for a dance?” Bucky spoke up, truthfully unaware where he had gained the confidence. When she nodded and stood the crowd dispersed off the floor, sitting down to watch their Queen dance with the Prince.

As the music began again Bucky took her hand in his, the other going to her waist. “When are you going to tell my parents what I did?”

“What do you mean?”

“I harmed you!”

She chuckled. “It was a scratch. I have had worse.”

“Are you going to have me hung?”

“It would have already happened if I wanted that. Do not fret sweetheart, I do not want to kill the only son of the King and Queen of a neighbouring kingdom.”

“Very well. I am sorry for what I did, though if I had known who you really were I would not have gotten into the circle with you.”

“Why?”

“Because you are a Queen…”

“I am a daughter, a sister, a friend and a solider before I am the Queen and you do not need to apologise, you put up a good fight.”

“I could have won if you had not distracted me!”

“If I agree will that help you sleep easier tonight?”

“Yes…”

“Very well. If I had not distracted you, you would have still lost.”

His parents and her mother watched as they danced, they all hear the dramatic gasp falling from the princes’ lips and the giggle from the queen. The two mothers share a look of joy and hope.

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