#Stolen Angelic Grace

[samanddean76]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Supernatural (TV 2005) Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Relationships: Gadreel/Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Characters: Dean Winchester, Sam Winchester, Gadreel (Supernatural) Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Dean Winchester, Alpha Sam Winchester, Alpha Gadreel (Supernatural), Protective Dean Winchester, Hurt Sam Winchester, Rape/Non-con Elements, Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Threesome - M/M/M, Knotting, Spells & Enchantments, Stolen Angelic Grace (Supernatural), Dean Winchester Bears the Mark of Cain, Bottom Dean Winchester, Top Sam Winchester, Top Gadreel (Supernatural), Dean Gets All The Revenge For Sam, Dean Will Stop At Nothing To Save Sam, Established Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester Summary:

Dean is willing to do whatever it takes to save Sam. Even if it means working with the angel that betrayed them. Can Gadreel be trusted this time? Or will Dean need to be prepared for whatever circumstance might crop up?

@spnrareships @spncreatorsdaily

[empyreansentinel]

if angel was raised on pandora it means that she and jack lived as residential settlers during dahls occupation. grogmouth likely worked for the flynts who, being a high status family at the time, in turn worked for dahl. baron flynt was the warden of thor, a dahl mining rig that doubled as a prison. the companys sole interest in pandora to begin with was to extract eridium and find alien relics, so a siren would be a priceless bargaining chip for their efforts. all of this to say its very possible that the flynts were the ones who sent out the order for angel to be kidnapped.

[mariasont]

I was wondering if you could write a Hotch oneshot smut. I was thinking like babysitter or even team member. And reader comes onto/flirts w Hotch and he doesn’t know how to act at first lol. Either way, I know it’ll slay (also no rush!)

p.s. Love your work dude 🫶

Negotiating with Mr. H - pt 1

pt 1, pt 2

A/N: I LOVE YOU! thank u 4 requesting angel face <3 i promise there will be a smutty part two ;) i just got so excited writing this i wanted to put it out b4 i went to bed lolol

‧₊˚ ✩°｡⋆♡ ⋆˙⟡♡ ⋆˙⟡♡⋆｡°✩˚₊‧

pairings: aaron hotchner x fem!nanny!reader

warnings: suggestive flirting, suggested age gap (reader is in 20s, hotch is in 40s prob)

wc: 1.2k

As you curled up on the couch, your feet hidden under the warmth of your legs, a soft yawn escaped your lips. The room was silent save for the slow murmur of the television, which seemed to grow dimmer with each passing moment, fighting the inevitable pull of sleep that threatened to overtake your best intentions to stay awake.

Being the live-in nanny, you typically followed the soft patter of Jack's footsteps to bed, but tonight the clock ticked past and light in the living room remained defiantly on. Your gaze occasionally drifted to the empty hallway, the cushions of the couch bearing the imprint of your tension. The fabric pulled tight beneath your fingers, every creak of the front door causing your heart to skip a beat as you awaited the turn of the lock. 

You couldn't even explain what had gotten you so worked up. Maybe it was pent up frustration of living with a man that was so attractive, so powerful. Maybe it was the quiet intensity that lingered in his frown, or the way his suits seemed to be a second skin, tailored to perfection. And the beard--oh, that fleeting shadow across his jawline--gone way too soon.

You wanted him. Bad. You had an ache for something more than stolen glances and casual words. You weren't sure of how you would go about it, but you knew you needed to see him, to feel him. It was worse when each case that took him away seemed to stretch time, pulling at the seams of your patience. Every time he got back, you fought the urge to jump his bones. 

You weren't even sure how he felt about you. You knew he probably had hundreds of women, all vying for a glance, a smile, anything. And there you were, just the nanny, invisible even in plain sight. The thought of him sparing you even a second glance seemed impossible.

Your train of thought screeched to a halt at the click of the door's latch. Turning, you found Hotch's eyes, a drowsy grin gracing his features. A thrill of nerves shot through you as he quietly said your name. 

"Everything alright? You're up late," he observed, his voice a low timbre that filled the quiet room. He eased out of his jacket, movements unhurried, and placed his briefcase down by the door. He glanced at his watch. "And definitely past your bedtime."

A soft smile curled at the corners of your lips. "Did you just make a joke, Mr. Hotchner?"

The chuckle that followed was more of a breath than a sound, a sound almost foreign in the stillness of the hallway. He moved towards the kitchen. "Must be the lack of sleep," he offered, pausing to glance back at you.

The simple act of him loosening his tie held your gaze. His hand, reaching for the scotch, moved with an ease born of repetition. You may not have been a profiler, but you prided yourself on understanding the subtle tells of his body language. You knew that when he starred down the glass for a moment too long before drinking, the case had been particularly grueling, and when he set the bottle back with a contented sigh, it was the opposite.

Today he took that contented sigh.

The gentle interrogation in his eyes drew you from your daydreaming. The sudden heat that rose to your cheeks betrayed your momentary lapse in attention. "Sorry, what?"

"I asked how Jack was."

"Oh," you said with a small laugh. "He's been an angel, as always, not a single toe out of line."

His nod came with a sip of scotch. You mustered your courage and stood from the couch, the chill of the floor seeping into your bare feet as you walked towards him. "How was work?"

"It was... surprisingly manageable."

"Manageable, huh?" you teased, resting your elbows behind you on the island, meeting his gaze. "Well, I hope that means we'll be seeing more of you. It's been too quiet."

One brow arched in mild amusement. "I wouldn't count on it too much. That might just put you out of a job."

"Jobless, maybe. But it's worth the risk to see you unwind a bit more. I'll take my chances," you said, a playful challenge lacing your words as you stood a little straight, tiredness melting into a newfound alertness. "And between us, I suspect you'd be calling me back before lunchtime."

He paused, his gaze momentarily caught in the soft light that seemed to frame you. "I can't argue with that," he conceded with a soft chuckle. 

You were beautiful, undeniably so, and it wasn't just the kindness in your eyes or the gentle curve of your smile. It was the radiance you carried, a contrast to the shadows he had grown accustomed to. 

Your conversation, light and unexpectedly intimate, was a balm to the solitude that had become his norm. For a fleeting second, he allowed himself the luxury of imagining coming home to this--your lively chatter, your laughter--but he quickly quashed the thought. As much as he was drawn to you, he couldn't help but feel the gap between you--a gap carved by years and experiences that made him believe you belonged to a world far brighter than his own.

"So, I suppose this means it's time for me to negotiate a raise, or perhaps some extra perks, wouldn't you agree, Mr. Hotchner?" you suggested, edging closer with a pivot on your toes, eyes dancing over his form with undisguised interest. 

"Considering you keep this place running like clockwork, a raise doesn't sound unreasonable," he admitted, the clink of his glass punctuating the silence as he set it down, arms folding across his chest in a relaxed barricade. 

You moved within arm's reach. "Or, we could discuss a more... personal kind of bonus."

"A personal bonus?" Hotch repeated, his eyes narrowed, not in suspicion, but in dawning realization. The analytics part of his brain momentarily offline as he tried to reconcile your words with his own feelings. "I'm not sure that's...appropriate."

You took another step, almost toe-to-toe with him, your breath a tease on his skin. "Maybe not, but I think I've earned it, Mr. H. Don't you?"

"Yes, you've... certainly earned it," Hotch managed to say, clearing his throat, his eyes briefly losing focus as they drifted to your lips and back to your eyes. "You're very impressive at what you do."

With a boldness that felt natural, you reached up, toying with the knot of his tie. "I'm eager to impress in other ways too, Mr. Hotchner. Care to oversee?"

Hotch felt a sudden tightness in his chest, the air seemingly thinner, not able to focus on anything but the soft touch of your fingers against his tie. "I... yes," he said after you, the name he'd heard countless times before now igniting an unfamiliar fire within him. "Overseeing... seems necessary."

You offered him a smile, tender and guileless, your eyes shimmering in the kitchen light. "I'm glad you agree. We should definitely discuss the details. Goodnight, Mr. Hotchner."

Hotch remained motionless, his breath caught somewhere between a gasp and a sigh. The kitchen seemed somehow louder now, your words echoing in his ears, every sense attuned to your presence even as it faded. What just happened?

[jesswritesthat]

Bakugou Katsuki: Soft

Fandom: BNHA // MHA — [ Masterlist ]

Summary: ~0.35k, Fluff

Warnings: None

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Your co-workers had known you for a while and knew you were happily married, but they had never met this elusive husband of yours. This man who’d stolen your heart, and according to the tales you’d told, seemed to be undoubtedly, undeniably, head-over-heels in love with you.

Of course they pictured someone so soft when you’d told them heartfelt compliments were hard for him to give you frivolously.

Of course they’d envisioned someone so pure, angels would cry when you’d mentioned the fact your husband still blushes when giving you gifts.

Of course they imagined a total sweetheart when you’d said your wonderful husband makes lunches for you when he can - even more adorable was the perfection of them.

So, of course when a total stranger in a black tank top with a muscular frame that could snap them in half in one flex walks in asking demanding to see you, they think this man would kill you and then your husband.

Then there’s you, who approaches this cold-hearted figure with a heartwarming smile. This intimidating enigma whose intensity immediately melts away upon being graced with said smile and nods at you in acknowledgement before jousting a fist out toward you.

That’s it. You were knocked out, no way anyone was surviving a direct hit from him unless they were a pro. However, it was then they noticed the parcel held out along with it, the blazing crimson glare, and the equally discreet scarlet slowing dusting his skin.

“Idiot, you forgot you damn food!”

“Thanks for bringing it for me Katsuki, I know it’s out of your way~” You’d beamed at him so brightly when taking the item from him, to which he only rolled his eyes.

“Yeah yeah, s’no problem if it’s for you. See you later alright? Don’t be a dumbass and walk home alone in the dark, just call and I’ll come get you.”

With his straightforward and slightly harsh way of speaking, he gave a quick kiss to your forehead so fast they almost missed it, along with a light shove to your shoulder as he went to leave.

One thing is for certain, your beloved husband certainly wasn’t the wholesome cinnamon roll your co-workers had conceived in their minds, but one fact remained intact:

Your husband Bakugou Katsuki was no doubt, hopelessly, head-over-heels in love with you.

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[utterlyotterlyx]

The Time Travellers Husband

Rhys x Cassians!Sister!Reader

Summary - The gift of time travel was unique to you and you alone, the only thing is that you can't control where you go or when, or for how long.

Warnings - ptsd, trauma, angsttttttt, fluff, mentions and depictions of SA, Under The Mountain trauma

Word Count - 6.8k (unedited, don't come at me)

Based on this ask x

It was an odd feeling, to travel through time. The sensation of it was like you were swimming toward a tide break, desperate for oxygen that felt an infinite number of lengths away whilst battling the currents of time like they were rips in the ocean waves.

Reaching the destination had never been the issue, it had always been the disappearance, the blinker of your essence as you faded into oblivion for what felt like minutes to only return to your husband hours, days, or even weeks later.

No one understood it. Prythian had never been graced with a traveller before you, even Helion and Thesan had researched endlessly but returned to Rhys empty handed. All he wanted was to help you to control it, he knew the mental toll it often took on you considering how you sometimes travelled to the darkest of places and memories, most of which were never your own.

Nights had come and gone where he would have to cradle you in his arms, whispering sweet nothings into your ear whilst you cried from the nightmares that plagued you; of bloody battlefields and torture, both of which you'd have to endure until the Mother decided to send you back to your mate who was waiting for you in Velaris.

Rhys had always been fated to be yours, you were certain of it.

The pair of you had grown up together thanks to Cassian being your older brother by only a couple of minutes, he had been gifted the strength and agility of the gods whilst the Mother had sealed your fate long before you were both even conceived.

It had snapped for Rhys first, on your birthday 300 years ago. Mor had insisted upon throwing you and Cassian a joint surprise birthday party at the House of Wind, though she had told you that she had planned an intimate dinner for you all to make sure that you dressed as best as you could. As a thank you for everything you had done for them, from your incessant teasing to your bounding wisdom, Rhys had delved into his mothers trousseau and had hand-picked the most spectacular dress he or you had ever seen; though, he hadn't told you where he had gotten it, you were led to believe that he had it commissioned.

Rhys had kept it a secret from everyone, he didn't want to upset Cassian or ruin anything for you, he wanted it to snap for you on its own.

It only took a year for the bond to snap for you.

It had been one of the more warmer afternoons in Velaris, and you had been tending to the garden at the River House, planting your favourite shade of peonies into the earth when you felt the sensation. Cassian had returned to the garden to find that you had disappeared, leaving your tools buried in the soil and your scent drifting away in the breeze.

You had been transported to a shared memory, but the projection of your present-day body found itself stood behind Rhys, staring inward at the room buzzing with anticipation. Nerves were pouring from him as he fidgeted in his spot, whisky in hand and swirling it every moment his attention wasn't stolen by a passer-by muttering a greeting to their High Lord.

It was a night you remembered very clearly, but you weren't there to live it again through your point of view, you had been taken there to see it through his.

Looking toward the large double doors of the House of Wind, you watched as they opened to reveal both you and Cassian arm in arm. Cassian was wearing his usual lax trousers and open collared shirt, hair styled into a low bun with strays falling over his face; and then there was you, and you watched Rhys inhale sharply as his eyes landed on your frame, scanning you from head to toe whilst joyous shock consumed your angelic features.

The dress he had gifted to you had certainly been the right choice, it accentuated each and every curve and line of your body, hugging your delicious hips and exposing just the right amount of skin. And your wings, gods, they had fluttered and rustled with every compliment directed at your from a room teeming with whispers. The garment was the shade of newly born starlight, a cascade of fine diamonds had been sewn into the skirt and they flowed downward like lazy ocean waves at sunset. Light bounced off of you, your skin held a certain shimmer to it and the warm faelight was making you glow.

The brightest star in a sea of darkness. Everything felt dim in comparison.

It felt as though you were on the first row at the theatre, enthralled in the emotions of the moment; you examined Rhys closely, how his eyes trailed down your body and then to your face, and then they widened, and he stumbled backward, his fingers floating over that particular spot on his chest whilst the past version of you was none the wiser from her spot on the other side of the room, laughing and thanking Mor for all of the effort she had put in to make your birthday as special as possible.

As though you could see the golden thread winding itself around you, Rhys muttered a singular word to himself, a word that made your heart clench in its cage

Mate.

That night was just over a year ago. Why hadn't he said anything?

Before you could fathom an answer, you felt your essence be pulled back to the present, and you landed in the main living area of the River House feeling confused and conflicted, and betrayed to a degree.

Within moments Rhys was on you, standing at your side whilst your gaze bore into the ground, he could see your mind reeling, replaying whatever you had seen from whichever moment you had been taken to. The sky had grown dark beyond the window, telling you that the day had scurried by whilst you had been kidnapped by your power.

"Hey, hey, hey," Rhys cooed to you, trying to gently pull your mind away from the memory or future, "Where did you go, darling?"

Your brows twitched with every thought that flew through you and Rhys turned your body to face his own, resting his large hands on your arms and rubbing his thumbs softly against the skin he found there, lowering his eyeline to yours to try and capture your gaze.

Then you peered up at him, eyes colliding with pools of violet serenity, and it snapped, your own thread dancing outward to meet the end that had longed for it for so long and you gasped when it found its marker, "When were you going to tell me?"

Knowing what you meant due to the opening of the bond, Rhys' expression faltered, but he held onto you tighter, "I wanted you to find out on your own. The bond is a beautiful thing. I just wanted it to snap for you when you were ready."

Rhys' fingers reached for an escaped strand of hair, delicately tucking it behind your rounded ear in a way that made your wings shiver, "You've lied to me for twelve months."

He cringed, his fingers retracting from the shell of your ear, "It was more like avoiding the truth," you gave him a pointed stare, "Which I know isn't good enough. I'm sorry, y/n."

You'd be lying to yourself if you said that you hadn't wondered what a life with Rhys would look like, the High Lord was the most stunning male you had ever seen, and the way he carried himself in front of you and others was so alluring to the point that you often thought of him when you were alone in the confinements of your bedroom. Rhys had always respected you, he had always held a certain tone of humour with you that neither Cassian or Azriel were privy to, and he had always been the one to look out for you the most.

Despite being very well aware of your tactical prowess, Rhys did all he could to avoid sending you on missions, and when he did send you away, it was often on his behalf to other courts, he knew they adored you just as much as he did so much so that you would never truly be in any real danger.

"Say something. Please."

Worry had infected his bones at the possibility that you may not want him, and the longer you stood saying nothing the more tense he became, "My head hurts," and it did, not just from the information, but from the anguish travelling brought upon your body; Rhys knew that little fact better than anyone considering he often tended to you afterward.

A hand rested on the side of your face, his fingers curling around the back of your neck, "Let me look after you," Rhys visibly relaxed when you nodded, exhaustion settling into you and coursing down the bond.

Sweeping you into his arms, Rhys rested his cheek atop your head, inhaling the lavender of your shampoo as he carried you through the house that he had permanently moved into to be closer to you; he paced up the stairs and into your bedroom, laying you onto the pristine white sheets before finding his place beside you and pulling your body flush against his.

Lazily, you traced your fingers over his clothed chest, drawing small circles and tendrils over his heart, "What did you see?" Rhys asked you, his breath caressing your forehead and his digits curling into your hair in the way he knew brought you untold relief.

"Our birthday last year but from your point of view," your voice paused for a moment as you recounted the images in your mind, you craned your head upward to meet his nervous gaze like he knew that all it would take for his dreams to burn would be the mere action of you pulling away from him, "I saw how you looked at me from across the room when the bond snapped for you, I felt the air shift in a way. You were looking at me like I was the brightest star in the Prythian skies."

A ghosting smile quirked at the corners of his mouth, your voice was soft, void of any anger. Rhys dragged his thumb across your lips, resting it at the dimple in your cheek, "You are." Rhys' eyes drifted over your face, drinking in the fine lines of happiness that had embedded themselves at the corners of your eyes, "You are the star which points to home. You are my homeland, y/n. I think that you always have been."

Watching your gaze soften, he had to ask you, "Does the idea of me disgust you? The idea of us?"

A furrowed brow greeted him, but you shook your head softly, your cheek rubbing against the silk of his shirt, "How can I look away now that I have seen you?" Reaching to brush your fingers against his jaw, eye sparkling and brimming with the silent permission he had been waiting for.

In one swift but gentle motion, Rhys rolled you onto your back, cupping your face in his hands and hovering his lips a whisker away from your own. His breath fanned across your face, it was warm but heavy, he was overthinking it and what it would mean, but nothing would stop him from claiming you. Not even Cassian.

You pulled his eyes to meet yours, dragging him from the thoughts that plagued him, and like you were a spring in eons of desert, Rhys drank. Connecting his lips to yours was something he had only allowed himself to dream of, but nothing could have prepared him for how you tasted. Honeysuckle and sea salt, with the slightest hint of sweet spice. Rhys couldn't stop himself from deepening the embrace, running his tongue along your bottom lip and then darting it into your parted mouth, exploring every inch you would allow him to whilst curling the fingers of his free hand around your hip, his other resting at the back of your head.

Reluctantly, Rhys created a space between your lips, feeling himself losing control of his body the longer he was connected to you; he watched closely as your chest rose and fell in quick succession, the curve of your breasts grazing against his shirt and lips sinfully swollen from the onslaught of his adoration for you. He found his place beside you once more, pulling you to him so that your head rested on his chest, "Rest now. We can face the world tomorrow."

What you wouldn't give to go back to that moment. Everything had been so much simpler then. The new nerves and the oncoming anger from Cassian had been the only negativity in your world, though, your twin had taken the news much better than you had expected, he had only beaten Rhys once before the happiness for you had taken over.

If you were going to be mated to anyone, at least it was to the person who doted you and protected you at all costs.

It didn't take long until he was asking when the first babe would arrive.

It wasn't like you didn't want children with Rhys, it had been a topic that made you both excited, but you were also very happy with one another so had decided to not explicitly try for a babe, but if it happened then you would both be overjoyed. It took of mounds of pressure from your shoulders.

The mating ceremony itself had been beautiful, Rhys had truly spared no expense on the intimate ceremony where he had also sworn you in as High Lady of the Night Court in front of your family, and he had cried nearly as hard as Cassian when you saw you walking down the aisle in the dress that you knew belonged to his mother, the same one he had seen you in when the bond had snapped for him with some minor alterations, that being a lace veil that clipped into each loosely wound braid of your hair and matching gloves that kisses above your elbows.

The Inner Circle had succumb to the possibility that they wouldn't see you both for at least a month afterward. You were far too radiant for Rhys to allow from his sight, not only as his newly wedded wife, but also as his High Lady and the future mother of his children. You were exquisite.

Centuries passed and your love and devotion toward one another never waned, if anything it only grew, and you didn't think it possible that you could love anything else more than Rhys, and you were right.

There wasn't a single moment of the day where you didn't want to rip his clothes off and have him fuck you until you couldn't form coherent words, and he was always happy to oblige you. No matter what he was doing, whether working through stacks of paperwork in his office with hair messed from raking his fingers through it or relaxing in the living area after a long day, if you entered his space with that feline speck in your eye, he would be the one throwing everything aside to be pulling those mewls from your lips.

It was a love that Prythian would never see again, a love it would always search for and wither when it couldn't be found.

What you'd give to go back to that. Back to the time before Amarantha happened.

You remembered the feeling as though it happened only yesterday, the tidal wave of love and regret and sorrow, a pleading tsunami that you returned with your own, and you could almost see his sad smile, drowning in that feeling for a heartbeat longer before the bond went cold. Cassian and Azriel had burst into the room after hearing your screams all the way from the training ring at the House of Wind, finding you balled up atop the cold ground sobbing and clutching at the skin where your heart lay.

Azriel had moved to you first, his arms wrapping around your body and shadows peppering your tear-stained cheeks, he coaxed your ire from you, freezing as you told him that the bond had gone cold. It had only taken a few minutes for him to piece it together, of Amarantha no doubt trapping him below the mountain and him playing along in order to protect his court, his home, his y/n.

It had taken weeks for you to rise from the ashes of your bedroom, you had refused to move from the sheets that held his scent deep within them. But you were the High Lady of the Night Court, and Amren was struggling to lead the court on her own. Throwing yourself into your tripled duties was all that you could do, if Rhys ever came home, then that home had to be healthy and flourishing.

The citizens of Velaris pitied you more than they mourned the absence of their High Lord, you were the image of despair, pallid skin and a certain voidness to you usually bright eyes, though it didn't stop you from ruling over the court whatsoever. The only time when you would break would when you would be alone, and Cassian and Azriel couldn't allow you to wither away any longer so moved you into the House of Wind, leaving your once perfect home abandoned.

Before you knew it, 50 years had drawled by, 50 years without your mate and best friend. Life had tried to curl around you gracefully, to will you back into some form of enjoyment, and Azriel had coaxed you to accept the hand offered to you, so you did, but there wasn't a single moment that came and went that you didn't think of Rhys and what he was enduring Under The Mountain.

"Cassian, have you been to Windhaven lately? I need an update on the wing clipping laws we put in place." You entered the study, your pale blue dress dragging behind you from the pace of your steps, the crown growing heavy on your head.

It had always been something you and Rhys had spoken of, banning the archaically brutal practice of wing clipping in Illyria. Once upon a time you had almost been one of those young girls, pinned to the ashen soil with a blade a feathers touch away from taking the most sacred part of you. Luckily it never happened, and you had Cassian, Azriel and Rhys to thank for it.

Not looking up from the reports in your fingers, "Cass?" you gritted, too exhausted to deal with his silence. You had disappeared again that day, it had happened much more frequently over the last 50 years without Rhys by your side, but you weren't allowed to rest when you would return, there was always too much to do. "Cassian." Finally you looked up, finding your twin leaning against your desk with a shit-eating grin on his face and puffy eyes, "Are you going to answer me within the next two working minutes or shall I just go to Windhaven myself?"

"Oh how I have missed that voice."

Frozen in place, you felt your heartbeat rattle in your chest at that voice, the voice that haunted every moment you lived no matter if you were sleeping or walking the city aimlessly. Needing some form of confirmation you looked up to Cassian, your bottom lip wobbling when he nodded once at you and leaned back.

Then you felt him, his hands on your hips and nose grazing the curve of your shoulder, those two things alone making the reports in your fingers float to the floor. His chest met your back, his arms wound around your midsection, "Tell me that I'm not travelling right now."

A chuckle rumbled within the chest behind you, his lips pressed dainty kisses to your exposed skin, "I'm here. It's real."

A sob fell from your mouth and you turned in his arms, you buried your head into the nape of his neck and cried, and you felt bad for it, you weren't the one trapped in that place, but part of you had wished that you had been.

At some point during your crying and Rhys shushing you softly with his fingers running through your hair, Cassian had left the room, closing the door on his exit to give you both the privacy you so desperately needed. Another few moments passed and Rhys pulled away slightly, creating a small space between you so that he could hold your face in his hands and know that it was all real, that everything he had endured had been worth it just to have that moment.

"You look exhausted, my love," his thumbs caressed the skin of your slightly hallowed cheeks, his face lowering to level with your own. He didn't look much better than you did, his eyes were darkened with the things he had seen, his skin rough and pallid from the lack of sun, fine lines of worry and anguish ran along his forehead, "Cassian told me that you've been running this court on your own," he told you with a gentle smile, knowing how difficult it must have been for you to rule without him, to take on that load and also deal with your gift, "You've done so well, darling. I'm so lucky to have you."

Rhys pressed his lips to your forehead like a mother would a babe, loving and certain, and you couldn't help but sob again at the words and his touch, "I thought I wasn't going to see you again. I thought you had left me forever. When the bond went cold, and I couldn't feel you, I thought-"

"Hey. Don't think that. There is no reality where I wouldn't return to you, y/n," he rested his fingers at the base of your neck, relishing at the touch of your skin beneath his fingertips, "You are the only thing that kept me alive down there," his eyes glassed over, replaying memories he would soon rather forget, "I couldn't look into your eyes, but they were all I thought about. I memorised your face long ago, but it was a mirror for me there, or a prayer I had to recite nightly to make me remember who was waiting for me. I told you that you are my homeland, I will always come back to you."

Tears rolled down both of your cheeks when he kissed you, so full of need but also so hesitant, it was tender and light and warm, and you felt the floodgates of your bond crash open, your heart fighting against the tide of his relief and exhaustion, of his love and regret.

"But right now, I would like to bathe with my wife, and hold her until we both fall asleep. That's all I want, to hold you. Can we do that? Please?"

You had never been able to say no to Rhys and you weren't about to start, not when his eyes were weary and heavy with the turmoil of being away from you for so long, for witnessing and taking part in the acts that he had.

Carefully, you took his hand in yours, entwining your fingers and kissing his knuckles, "Of course we can," a gentle tug from you spurred him to move, and you led him through the House of Wind to your private chambers, mumbling to him that sleeping in your shared rooms had been too painful.

The tub was already steaming by the time you entered the bathroom, candles were lit and the window showed the golden valley you both adored so much as well as the snow-capped mountains. A once sultry act of undressing one another held a new meaning, you stripped one another bare with the upmost of care, taking time to touch one another as if you'd blink and it would all be gone.

Rhys lowered himself into the water first, almost groaning at the lavender soak that seeped into his muscles, and he held a hand out to you, positioning himself perfectly to accommodate you between his legs and running his fingers along the membrane of the wings you had done your best to tuck away.

"I love you so much," he kissed the glistening skin on your shoulder, trailing his lips from the spot up to the shell of your ear, and he smiled into your hair when you returned the sentiment, kissing his open palms and drowning in his power.

It didn't take long for exhaustion to settle within both of you, and once it had, Rhys lifted you from the tub and wasted no time in drying you and pulling one of his shirts over your head, pecking your nose once it was secured around your frame and nestling into bed with you for the most tranquil nights sleep he had gotten in 50 years.

It had taken Rhys a few weeks to feel comfortable enough to be intimate with you, he had never given you a reason, but you knew why. There had been many rumours of Amarantha's whore, and you could only imagine how he was feeling. Whether he didn't wish to admit it to you for fear of embarrassment or judgement, you weren't really sure, but you would never push him. Everything had to be done when he was ready and he alone.

You'd wait an eternity if that's what your mate needed.

Settling back into life in Velaris had been strange for him, he didn't know a single thing that had gone on in his court during his absence, but you walked him through it all. From your detailed reports, Rhys realised just how much love you had poured into his, your, city; orphanages had opened in the city offering education to the less fortunate, you had cracked down on the barbaric act of wing clipping so much so that there were very few cases reported in the last three years, and you had funded so many projects that would better the lives of all, from art galleries and theatres to community gardens, the Night Court was undeniably thriving.

"How have you accomplished all of this?" Rhys had asked you one morning as he scanned over all of the reports, flitting through the pages in wonder.

You had nervously picked at the skin around your nails at the question, "In all honesty I never really stopped working," his gaze met yours and he softened, opening his arms to you and pulling you into his lap, "I was scared that if I stopped doing all of this," you motioned to the papers littering the desk, "That the weight of your absence would consume me. I wanted to make you proud."

"I'll always be proud of you, my incredible mate and wife. You are amazing. Truly."

The darkness still gathered beneath his eyes, more nights than not you'd be awakened from slumber by his nightmares, and you would rise immediately to hold him, to remind him of where he was and that she was gone. It was clear that he didn't wish to burden you with the details, as usual, he was protecting you.

After a couple of months, Rhys felt like he was back to his old self, his usual banter with his brothers was rife and he was spending a lot more quality time with you whenever he had the opportunity. Everything had felt peaceful.

Until it wasn't.

The feeling you hadn't been consumed by since the day of his return had slowly settled in your gut, clawing and tearing at your essence, but it felt more sinister, like it wanted to ruin you. Crashing ceramic pulled Rhys from his book to see you in the doorway, your hands turning translucent and eyes full of terror as it travelled up your arms. Rhys was moving to you in an instant, trying to reach you before you disappeared entirely but he was too late, his fingers moving through you like you weren't even there.

It felt as though death itself had come to take you in that moment as you clawed your way to the surface.

You had landed in a place you didn't recognise, dark stone glistening with day old rain, hallways illuminated by lanterns and torches. The halls were wide, so tall that you felt tiny in comparison to them, and you knew where you were, where the Mother had decided to take you.

Under The Mountain.

A faint voice drifted through the air to you, pulling you toward it, and you followed the call, peaking into each room before you found the one where the sounds felt much more powerful. Though, nothing could have prepared you for what you were about to witness.

The room was dark, dressed in hues of black and wine red, faelight illuminated the walls lined with various dark artworks, a curved tub sat to the left, and in the centre was a large four poster bed, and on that bed was your husband and that creature of a woman you knew to be Amarantha.

Rhys' eyes were closed as he thrusted into her, his brow furrowed and face flashing with pain and remorse, you covered your mouth to conceal your gasp, forgetting that neither of them could see you. Amarantha lay beneath your husband, moaning and raking her talons down his spine, breaking the skin and grinning at the blood sweeping across her lips; her legs were wound around his waist, pushing him deeper into her with every rock of his hips.

"Tell me, Pet," she drawled, rolling him onto his back and sinking down on him, riding his cock and muffling her delight at the feeling, "How do you think your precious wife would feel if she knew what we did each night?" Rhys visibly tensed, "Do you think that she would still love you? Do you think that she would still want to be wed to you?"

Everything within you was telling you to look away, but you couldn't.

It was a question that Rhys couldn't answer, mostly because he didn't want to think about what you would do if you knew, which was the reason why he hadn't told you.

Tears streaked down your face, dripping onto the stone cold floor with every roll of her hips, "Who would want to be wedded to a cheating whore?" Amarantha's talon dragged down the column of his throat, "Do you not think that she deserves so much better than a male who would allow this?"

A moment of silence passed from Rhys, a silence that was filled with her moans as she neared her release, "Yes, I think that she does."

The words broke your heart, that your mate truly believed that you deserved better than what he had done, the things she had made him do. Each night she tormented him, made him submit to her against his will, and told him that you wouldn't want him when she was done.

With that soul-tearing admittance, Amarantha's movements jolted around him, her talons tugged at her hair as her moans climbed and she rode out her release, and once she had slowed, she wasted no time in removing herself from your mate and pulling a robe over her alabaster skin, smirking to him wordlessly before padding right past you on her exit.

It had all been to protect his home from her, and by extension, you. And that fact made you feel sick to your stomach, so sick that you felt the bile rising upward. Rhys had endured the unspeakable to protect his court and family, he knew what Amarantha would do if she got her hands on any of you, but it would be you who would suffer the most, and you knew that Rhys would stop at nothing to avoid that.

As soon as she was far enough away, you watched Rhys crumble; he perched on the edge of that large four poster bed with his head buried into his palms, loud, painful sobs causing his body to tremble and quake. His pain roared through him, "I love you," you rushed to him, you tried to reach for him but your fingers passed right through his body that was covered by a thin onyx sheet, "I love you," he repeated but more strained, he looked to the ceiling, his cheeks stained with his anguish and guilt, "I'm so sorry, darling. I'm so sorry."

"Rhys, please," your broken voice pleaded, but he couldn't hear you, no one ever could when you travelled, you were a simple bystander in these types of memories, "I love you."

The loud sobs of your mate continued, he wrapped his arms around himself, it had been the only thing to bring him comfort, and it was clear that he was imagining that it was you holding him and not himself. Rhys carried on apologising to the skies, hoping that his sincerity would reach you, hoping that you knew just how much he loved you and how much he would endure to keep you safe from her.

You weren't sure how long you knelt before him on that cold stone floor, telling him that everything would be alright, that no matter what happened you would never stop loving him whilst your own sobs broke your heart at the sight of your mate looking so defeated and worthless.

Only when that memory began to fade did you realise that the Mother was done with you, that she deemed you enlightened enough to return you to your home.

You landed with a thud, your knees crumpling beneath the weight of your body making you a blubbering mess on the floor. Marred hands found you instantly, shaking your shoulder softly until you found their owner, hazel pools of worry sketched over your face, his shadows frantically weaving between one another with panic. Sound had become muffled, like you were in a daze, you faintly knew that Azriel had called out to someone, likely telling them to fetch your husband as your focus honed in on him, "Where did you go, y/n?" Azriel had never looked so distressed, "You've been gone for three weeks."

Three weeks.

Rhys must have been going insane.

All you could do is cry and fall into his arms, the vision of your mate causing your body to shake, and Azriel folded you into his embrace, rubbing circles into your back, "I was Under The Mountain," you told him between sobs and he froze, like he knew what you had seen, "I'm going to throw up."

Another presence entered the room and moved to the two of you, an angelic touch graced your lower back and a bowl appeared before you, her fingers tugged your hair from your face as you hunched over and emptied the contents of your stomach, "It's alright," Mor cooed to you, rubbing your back to ensure you had gotten out what you needed to, curtly telling Azriel to meet Rhys and Cassian before they entered and saw you in such a position.

Mor held you as you sobbed, your guilt eating you from the inside out from knowing that Rhys had endured all that pain and suffering and abuse to keep you all safe, to protect you from the devil incarnate.

It didn't take long for the doors to open once more, Rhys took one look at your coiled frame, and the bowl to your left, and strode over to you, sliding onto his knees and gathering you in his arms. Knowing you wouldn't be able to tell him what exactly it was that you saw, you felt him caress your mental shields, asking for permission to enter, and you allowed it, you allowed him to sift through the images and felt his grip tighten around you.

Rhys scooped you into his arms and didn't say a single word to anyone on your exit, he carried you to your shared bedroom at the House of Wind, the same place you had accepted the bond centuries prior, and settled you onto the edge of the bed, kneeling before you and kissing your knuckles.

"I'm sorry that she did that to you," tears flowed down your face, landing on the backs of his hands, "I'm sorry that you had to do that to protect us."

Surprise settled onto his face at your words, like he wasn't expecting anything of that nature to leave your lips, "I'm sorry that she made you believe that I wouldn't love you because of it. I do love you, more than you'll ever know. Nothing would ever be able to take me from you."

Rhys picked you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and perching on the space where you had been seated only moments before; he peered up at you, his eyes the lightest shade of violet you had ever seen them, "Don't apologise for something that wasn't your doing," he wiped your tears, "I would do it all again if it meant that you would be safe, I'd endure the most wicked of punishments to keep you healthy and alive."

"I don't want you to ever feel like that again."

"I won't. I'll never leave you, not until death finds me and even then I will cling onto life with everything I have left so that I'll be able to find you in the next. It's always been you, and it'll always be you. There is nothing that can take me from you, I would burn the world to ash if anyone ever tried it, do you hear me?"

Rhys knew how hard it had been for you even if you hadn't told him yourself. It had been Azriel who had confided in Rhys about your mental state over the years, how you struggled to sleep and that when you did you were haunted by his loss, how you had travelled more often and for longer periods of time than before and how you always returned to them exhausted and little more broken than the last time. Rhys had been told how hard the entire Inner Circle had to work to contain you, to make sure that you didn't journey to Under The Mountain yourself and get yourself tortured and killed right before his eyes.

Desperate to hear your voice, Rhys continued on, "You and I are entwined for eternity, my love. Our life is going to be full of wonder and joy, that is what we fight for. In 100 years when we have our own babe and a life of serenity, I'll know that everything we went through was worth it, to have a chance to create the life we always dreamed of, the life we spoke of before the bond snapped and we were just Rhys and y/n dreaming about the future."

Rhys' fingers ran through your hair, pulling all of the tension from your body in the exact way he knew that you needed, "Tell me how much you love me."

Your palms rested flat on his chest, his heartbeat thumping through the skin to feel you, and he smiled softly, "I love the way your skin feels beneath mine," his arms pulled you closer into his chest, his chin rested atop your breastbone and his eyes bore into yours, "I love the little noises you make in the night when you're getting comfortable, and the little content sighs when I wrap my arms around you. I love the sound of your voice and your laugh. I love your truth and wisdom, and how you've never been afraid to do what is right despite the consequences. The world bores me - it bores me and irritates me when I'm away from you. You're the only thing that makes this life worth living. I love you, I love you more than our insanely irritating family," a gentle laugh passed through your lips, and you sniffled, "I love you more than this court or my power, I love you more than life itself, because what is the meaning of life if you aren't in it?"

"Rhys?" He hummed in question, still staring deep into your soul, "Love me. Please." It was a whisper, one you weren't quite sure he had heard, but he nodded gentle and placed you onto your back, ensuring that there were enough pillows beneath your head before he lowered his lips to meet yours.

Rhys made sure that he showed you how much he adored you and everything that you had given him, his lips covering every inch of your skin in a night filled with passion and the purest or adoration. And, unbeknownst to either of you in that moment, it seemed that your collective dreams were going to come true a lot sooner than you thought.

Author's Note

Brb crying x

(Also happy 1k followers besties, my first Rhysie fic is here for the occasion)

[cheynovak]

Top or bottom

Characters: Dean Winchester x Y/N Female character     

Summary: One night after beers and jokes, Y/N teasingly asks if Dean is a “top or bottom,” flustering him and sparking laughter.

Warnings: Alcohol, Mentioning: sex. Implied spice, nothing graphic.

English is not my first language 

*Please do not copy my work, reblog/comments/likes are appreciated*

The bunker was alive with laughter and the clinking of beer bottles, a rare reprieve from the endless hunt. Y/N had seamlessly integrated into the Winchester family, earning the acceptance and admiration of Jack, Sam, and even Castiel, who considered her as steady and reliable as his celestial grace. But Dean? Dean was a different story.

It wasn’t that he disliked her. Quite the opposite, in fact. Y/N was the first woman since Lisa who made him feel something deeper than fleeting attraction. Her laugh softened his rough edges, and her fierce independence made his heart ache with admiration. But Dean Winchester was not a man who easily confronted his feelings, especially the ones that made him vulnerable.

Tonight, the mood was light. Empty pizza boxes littered the war room table, and everyone was a little tipsy. Dean nursed his beer, watching as Y/N, sitting cross-legged on the couch, threw her head back in laughter at one of Jack’s awkward but endearing comments.

"Wait, wait," she said, catching her breath. "Castiel, are you telling me you thought using your angel blade counted as protection?"

Castiel tilted his head in confusion. "Dean told me to use protection. I didn’t understand the context until later."

The table erupted in laughter, and even Cas, ever so stoic, managed a faint smile.

“God, I love this family,” Y/N said between chuckles. “I mean, you all know *so much* about each other. Sam’s stolen Deans porn stash, Castiels awkward first time..."

"Hey!" Dean interjected, pointing at Sam. "That stash was pristine until this guy got his grubby hands on it."

Y/N smirked and swirled the bottle in her hand. “Okay, Deany-boy, since you’re such an open book…” She leaned forward, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Top or bottom?”

Dean nearly choked on his beer. “What?”

“You heard me,” she teased. “Top or bottom?”

The room went dead silent for a beat before Sam burst out laughing, Jack looked utterly confused, and Castiel tilted his head again, clearly filing the question away for later research.

Dean played it cool, leaning back in his chair. “Top. For sure.”

Y/N tilted her head, locking eyes with Sam as if conspiring. “So, he’s a bottom.”

Sam howled with laughter, and even Jack joined in, though he clearly didn’t get the joke. Dean opened his mouth to retort but was too flustered to find the words.

---

**Later that Night**

The others had gone to bed, leaving Y/N, Jack and Dean to clean up the remnants of their impromptu party. Y/N wiped down the kitchen table while Dean gathered the bottles, his thoughts spinning in circles.

Steeling himself, he stepped in the kitchen opening another two bottles of beer, handing her one over while he seated against the table. “Why do you think I’m a bottom?” His voice was low, roughened by both nerves and curiosity.

Y/N didn’t stop cleaning, but a smile tugged at her lips. Finally she turned to face him, getting closer, standing between his legs, so close he could smell the faint floral notes of her perfume.

“Because, Dean,” she began, her voice soft but sure, “you try so hard to be an alpha. But underneath all that bravado, you’re sweet. Thoughtful. You care about people more than you let on.”

Her hand landed on his chest, "You're a pleaser." he felt the warmth of her touch through his flannel. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Isn’t that what most women want?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. “Strong men?”

“Maybe,” she admitted, her lips curving into a small smile. “But some of us just want a nice man. Someone who makes us feel safe enough to let go, to show our imperfections. Someone we’d want to…” She paused, her cheeks flushing as she swallowed her nerves, “climb on top of and ride till we see stars.”

Dean’s breath caught as her hand slid up to his shoulder back to his hands, caressing his skin. Her gaze held his, unwavering, her touch warm, like a fire rushing through his veins.

“Someone with strong hands… but who knows how to use them softly.”

He couldn’t stop himself. His hand moved to her face, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. His thumb lingered on her cheek as he stood taller, leaned in closer, their breaths mingling.

“Y/N,” he murmured, his voice a mix of want and uncertainty. Her hand held on to his flannel. Pulling him in.

But the moment shattered as Jack bounded into the kitchen, the last box of pizza in his hands. “This is the last one!” he announced cheerfully, oblivious to the tension.

Y/N stepped back, her hand falling away as she turned to Jack. “That’s great, Jack. Thanks for helping.”

Dean’s hand dropped to his side, his jaw tightening as he watched her retreat. I made a fool of myself, great! He thought.

But to his surprise she shot him a playful look over her shoulder.

"Are you coming Dean?"

--

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[lou-struck]

Missed Messages

Lucifer x reader

~ You have always tried to be self sufficient and fight your own battles. But when you reach your breaking point, you find yourself alone.

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, physical and emotional feelings of stress, reader getting treated poorly for being a human, group projects.

~2.9k

You feel like there is a little stress demon bouncing around your chest. In the human world, group projects were annoying, and unfortunately, they still exist in hell.

For one of your classes, you were paired up with Olivier, a Greater demon from one of the Devildom's wealthy families, and his companions. Right from the get-go, he made it very clear that he had no intention of working on a project with a filthy human and that if you were to say anything about his refusal, it would make Diavolo's exchange program look bad if it appeared that the demons at RAD were not being accepting of humans. 

At first, you thought his threat was silly. That he was simply a slacker who wanted to get out of work. But after a while, you realized that Olivier has a strong distaste for humans and could have the influence to cause problems for the exchange program if you were to speak out against his behaviors. 

So, you put on your best face and ignored his prejudiced behavior. The subtle comments he would make under his breath when you asked questions in class, the way he would cleanse his hand with fire magic after coming into contact with something you had touched, and the way conversations would die out whenever you entered a room without one of the brothers, the Angels, or Diavolo himself by your side. 

You have been tirelessly working on this massive project all by yourself; it has stolen all of your free time, and feelings of sardonic frustration are just welling up inside of you. Now, just like the too-heavy book bag that clings to your shoulder, You are nearing your breaking point. 

The House of Lamination is a safe haven for you after your tiring days at RAD, but right as you enter through its massive double doors, you come face to face with Lucifer. The Avatar of Pride greets you with a loving expression, but he looks just as exhausted as you feel. 

"Mc? Is something troubling you?" he asks, taking in your downcast features with a frown. You want to tell him of your little problem, but he is ridiculously busy and probably has more important things to do than dealing with your inability to play nice with others.

After all, a classmate not liking you is no excuse for you to receive a poor grade on your project…

"Not at all," you reply, flashing him a sweet, convincing smile. "I'm just getting a bit hangry, I can't wait for dinner tonight."

"I see," he says doubtfully.

"How are you doing?" you ask, changing the subject. 'You look a bit stressed."

"Is it that obvious?" he chuckles, raking his hand through his raven-colored hair. "Apparently, those rubber duck toys from the human world have become quite popular in the Devildom, and Lord Diavolo thought it would be fun to give them out at RAD. So now I am going through the student council finances to determine how many ducks and varieties we need."

"Sounds complicated, but why you?"

"No clue," he sighs, "But he seems to think that I have a hidden fondness for these toys."

"Well, I'm sure this Rubber Duck event will go off without a hitch," you say earnestly. "You are so organized and capable you can make anything successful."

"Do you really mean that?" he asks, a smile gracing his fine features. You nod as he gives you a soft peck on the forehead as thanks for your kind words. "I have to work through this paperwork now, but I feel more inclined to do it after your encouragement, Mc."

"Wait," you call after him. "You better make it down for dinner tonight then; if you don't, I will personally invite Solomon to come and prepare the next meal."

His eyes widen as a shudder courses through his strong back. "There's no need for that. I promise to be down for dinner."

~

Hours later, everyone is gathered around the dinner, eating some kind of Devildom variation of lasagna that Satan made.

Beel has a whole sheet pan to himself and is chowing down as he and Belphie seem to be having a telepathic conversation that no one at the table is able to decipher. Lucifer is at the head of the table, keeping true to his promise of joining you, but he is eating quickly, clearly in a rush.

Asmodeus sits to your right, talking animatedly about something that happened today when he was at the mall, you're sure it's an entertaining story based on the reactions of the others, but you are too lost in thought, poking at your dinner plate with a silver fork. 

Although you have been working on your project for days, there is no way you are going to finish the damn thing on time. This workload was meant for a large group, not just one human.

"Mc? What are ya thinkin' about?" Mammon asks, stirring you from your thoughts. "Ya haven't touched yer dinner."

"Satan looks up at you from across the table. "Do you not care for this dish?" he asks. "I could make you something else if you would prefer it?" his dejection breaks your heart.

You shake your head quickly. "No, not at all," you say. "I love it; the sauce is really creamy, I just got distracted."

"Oh, I see." he nods as you take a bite of his dish. "I'm relieved."

"Gahhhh," Levi cries from his seat as he sets his game console down on the table. His screen flashing red tells you that he has just failed the level he was on. "I can't believe it, I was so close."

"Leviathan, what did I say about playing video games at the dinner table?" Lucifer asks the purple-haired demon sternly. 

"N-not to." he sulks, slipping the little handheld off the table and into his deep jacket pocket.

"Thank you," the eldest responds. He clears his throat to get the attention of everyone. "Now, if I could just have a second of your time."

"One," Belphie deadpans, looking at his older brother. They hold eye contact, and it is clear the youngest is struggling to keep a straight face at his joke.

"Anyways," the taller demon continues, "I have a very important task to finish tonight, and I will need absolutely-"

"That's two seconds now." Satan interrupts with a snicker. 

Lucifer, with the wisdom and patience of the oldest sibling, chooses to ignore the teasing and continue with what he is saying. "As I was saying, I require peace and quiet to complete these documents, so I will now be returning to my study and enchanting the door with a noise-canceling spell. I do not wish to be disturbed, so please only contact me if it is an emergency."

"Wait? So we jus can do whatever we wanna do tonight?" Mammon asks, his eyes sparkle with mischievous greed as he imagines the possibilities before him.

"Within reason, Mammon," Lucifer's crimson glare shoots to all his brothers. "But if I find out that any of you decided to waste your free time running about the Devildom causing problems, rest assured, I will punish you using everything at my disposal." The room falls silent as the Avatar of Pride rises from his seat and turns to leave. His massive cape swishes dramatically as he walks out the dining room doors. 

Unsurprisingly, Asmo is the first to spring from his seat. His arms wrap around you as you inhale his sweet peach-scented cologne. "Mc, come to my room. I have the cutest top you can wear tonight when you go to the club with me." he purrs into the shell of your ear.

"No way," Mammon objects. "The human is gonna come to the Casino with the Great Mammon tonight." 

Before the two demons try to drag you across the Devildom to party, you object. "Actually, I have a project to work on," you say, standing. "But you guys have fun."

"Wait, Mc," Beel asks softly, his big eyes full of hope. "Belphie and I were gonna go get some shaved ice for dessert. Would you like to join us?"

Your heart flutters tenderly at the Avatar of Gluttony's request, but the stress you are feeling is hitting you ten-fold. "I wish I could, Beel. But I really have to get my assignment done."

"May I join you two?" Satan asks. "I find myself in the mood for dessert."

"Me too," Levi quips.

"Sounds like a plan," Belphie says, looking at you with a pout. "Are you sure you don't want to come with us?"

"I'm positive," you reply, giving them your most convincing smile. "Now, you guys should go before the shop closes for the night." Beel's eyes go wide with worry, and he hastily leaves the room. As the others follow him out. 

Now alone, your body begins to tremble under the stress of the deadline looming over your head. The walk back to your desk is a long one, and tears begin to wheel in your eyes as you stare down at your assignment rubric and wonder how, in the three realms, you are going to be able to finish this project on time. 

~

It's been hours of working. Stressing, erasing, and overthinking and you feel like you are nearing your wits end. 

Your screen lights up with a message from Asmodeus. When you open it is a video attachment. Clicking on it you see that the 6 brothers are sharing a lush VIP booth at the Fall. "I wish you were hereeeee," Asmo yells into the speaker just above the thrumming base that belphie manages to sleep through peacefully. Their cheeks are ruddy from demonus, and they have the happiest smiles on their faces. 

It brings a smile to your face as you rewatch the video. Just behind Mammon, you see a figure that has you seeing red. 

He is double-fisting some kind of green demonus and wearing a ridiculous hat, but you see your classmates, the demon Olivier and the rest of your 'group' out partying without a care in the world.

While you are at home, working tirelessly on their project. 

Something inside of you just shatters, and you turn away from your desk and throw yourself onto your bed. The soft pillows muffle your cries of frustration. Your DDD feels like a brick in your hand as you raise it to your eye level. 

Your tired face stares back at you on the black screen, and you feel so alone.

You need to talk to someone…

But it's the middle of the night, Simeon and Solomon have gone to bed hours ago and Diavolo and Barbatos are off at a diplomatic conference. You know in your heart that Lucifer is still awake, hunched over his desk as he works through his mountain of paperwork.

Although he said he did not want to be disturbed, your feelings are too severe. 

This feels like an emergency. 

You call him, wanting to at least hear the soothing sound of his voice. The Dial Tone rings once, twice, thrice… but he doesn't pick up.

You sit there, listening to the dull sound of his answering machine. "I guess even in Hell, I have to leave voicemails," you murmur, waiting for the beep. 

"Hey… It's me," you say into the speaker. It's a struggle to keep your voice steady. "I know it's late, and you have lots to do, but if you get this, could you ple-please come here. I just really need someone to talk to right now."

Just voicing your struggle is enough to send tears trickling down your face, and you quickly hang up the phone before you let out one of those raspy, croaking sounds loose from your throat.

Exhaustion courses through your body as you give up on completing the group project for the night. Perhaps when you wake tomorrow, you will have the energy to pretend your problems don't exist.

~

Lucifer wakes up with his head against the polished mahogany of his desk. A bit of drool wetting the surface as he runs his hands through his hair. "What time is it?" he mutters groggily, reaching out blindly for his DDD. 

He pats the empty surface and sits up straighter. Finding that his device is not in its usual place on his desk. His brow furrows as he begins to look through the mountain of papers, trying not to ruffle the organized stacks that he completed earlier before dozing off.

Minutes later of flipping and straightening, he finds it under the center stack and sees that it is flooded with pictures from his brothers, who look like they had a great, but expensive, night out together. 

It brings a warm smile to his lips when he sees their cheesing faces. But then he notices another notification he hadn't seen before. "Mc sent me a voicemail?" He clicks play.

"Hey… It's me. I know it's late and you have lots to do, but if you get this could you ple- please come here. I just really need someone to talk to right now." your voice sounds so weak and shaky it fills him with dread. 

How could he have missed this?

He stands abruptly, papers flying everywhere from the movement, but he really couldn't care less.

You need him. 

You needed him last night and he wasn't there for you.

He has to find you, hold you, and do whatever he can to make you feel better. 

~

Apparently, falling asleep after hitting an emotional low does not constitute the most restful sleep. Your neck feels stiff as you pull your head up from your pillows. The fabric is still slightly damp from your tears the night before. There's this icky feeling in your chest, but it doesn't seem to go away. It only intensifies when you look over at your desk, your unfinished project littering the once pristine space.

Your door flies open suddenly as a gust of air reaches your skin. Lucifer stands in the doorway tensely. He looks ragged, tired, and his deep crimson eyes are muddled with heartbreaking concern. You immediately remember the voicemail that you sent him the night before

You stressed him out; you have to fix this. 

"Good morning, Lucifer," you smile. But it doesn't reach your eyes. He can see through your little act. "I didn't mean to worry you with that voicemail; it was really nothing."

"What's wrong?" he says, coming forward, closing that painful distance with determination. His hand cupping your cheek, forcing you to meet his eyes.

It's funny how one simple touch has your self-assured act crumbling to the ground like a poorly constructed house of cards. 

You find yourself spilling every detail to him, your exhaustion, the group project, the ostracization from your groupmates, and how you saw that they were out at the club last night."

All the while, Lucifer nods along with your story, his thumb gently running along your cheek in a soothing motion. His actions are caring and tender toward you, but there is a fire blazing in his eyes reserved for someone else. You may not know it yet, but Olivier’s days of comfort are numbered. 

"Why didn't you tell me of this before," he asks softly once you finish your explanation. "Why did you take this burden upon yourself?"

"I was worried, "you admit. "I heard that Olivier comes from an influential family. If I said anything, he could cause problems for the exchange program that you and Diavolo have worked so hard for."

"Mc, I promise you, that little rat was greatly exaggerating his self-importance." Lucifer's hand rubs gentle circles into your back. "If anything, you have far more influence in Devildom politics than he does," he adds with an amused chuckle. "

"He's still a jerk, though." you sniffle, wiping your eyes. "Thank you for coming here to cheer me up."

"I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner," he murmurs. "You needed me, and I let you down; please let me make it up to you today."

"You have nothing to make up for," you start, glancing back at your table. "Besides, I have to finish that project before tomorrow."

"Absolutely not," he says abruptly. "You will not lay a finger on that project since clearly you have done more than your share. I will make sure Lord Diavolo hears of this situation and you receive full marks on the work you have already done. I need you to know that you can rely on me. No matter how busy I am, I should never be too busy to come to your aid."

"I love you," you sigh, feeling the burdens lifting off your chest and disappearing into nothingness. "But I should've told you sooner. What do you think will happen to the rest of my group?"

He smiles and kisses the top of your head; as you lean into his touch, you don't see the dark look on his features. "Don't worry about them, Mc, I'll make sure they never cause you pain ever again. Now, let's get changed; I'll take you to that new cafe that opened up to Majolish and enjoy the rest of the day.

Tagging: @enchantedforest-network

[leeknow-thoughts]

𝅄  ׅ⊹ ۪ ꣑୧ dance of the sugarplum fairy

𝝑𝝔 l.mh x f!reader

𝝑𝝔 synopsis : Minho believes in fact over fiction. He's a scientist. It's practically in his blood. You're as much of a scientist as he is, hell, a better one than him at that. Yet, you still find wonder in the holidays. While you find wonder in presents and twinkling lights. Minho finds wonder in you. Could a confession gone wrong end up going right for him? Could you reciprocate his feelings that he's been pushing down for years and years?

𝝑𝝔 warnings : chemistry professor!minho, chemistry professor!reader, f!reader, mutual pining, christmas in a non-religious way, crying (in a sappy way), jisung! cameo, tooth rotting fluff, smut got mixed in with my fluff??, no clear dynamics, but minho is mommy (sorry guys act fucking surprised), mommy!kink, shower sex, p in v (unprotected, pls don't do this!!), pet names, pls lmk if I missed any warnings!!

𝝑𝝔 note from the author ! : Calliope once again indulges in soft!minho and doesn't apologize for it >_< I hope everyone is having a wonderful holiday season and that all who celebrate Christmas get exactly what they wanted!! :3

You're as reactive as Fluorine, and Minho wishes he didn't think of you chemically the way he does. He wishes he didn't immediately think of you when he thought of work and his experiments and the fucking teaching position he held. He wishes he could just think of you for you and he could go fuck off for all he cares - having a crush on his coworker.

And you're humming along to the song playing over the radio - some Clario song, he only knows who that is because you love her music. Honestly, he thinks you like music more than you like chemistry - so why did you choose to do this for a living?

You surely weren't a bad singer - Minho had heard you sing, it puts the harked herald angels to shame if he does say so - and you certainly were pretty enough to be famous.

Pretty was an understatement, you were the most devine creation to walk this earth. There's no way in his mind that he can conceptualize that you breathe the same oxygen as him - to him it was a privilege that he got to see you at all.

You were sought after, every fucking college in the nation wants you to work for them, yet you stay here. It wasn't like the place you work at is bad, it's MIT for Christ's sake, but Harvard has been asking for you for years.

He's almost offended by it, colleges treating you and all your brilliance like a tradeable Pokémon card.

Speaking of Pokémon, you're watching it on your phone as you finish up a lab report. How you can listen to music and watch a show and write a detailed report baffles Minho, but he doesn't question you because you're you, and he's the utter fool in love with you.

"You're spacing out Minho," your voice graces his ears, fuck, was he staring at you? "You look like you need a coffee, let's go get a cup, I'll pay."

You smile that sweet smile and talk in your sweet voice any longer and he's sure he's going to go insane. You're letting your hair down and it falls just right, framing your face perfectly. You had curled it that morning, and worn a perfume that smells like autumn.

He knows it's ridiculously foolish to consider something a chance that is nothing but stolen glances and blush stained cheeks and private thoughts. He can't help it.

"I think Jisung needs to start letting you get some sleep, you're zoning out so much," you hum with such concern, and he crumbles.

He feels almost dirty. Dirty for the thoughts he has of you. Dirty for the reason he isn't getting much sleep. Thinking about you in ways that would terrify a Catholic, or hell, even an atheist.

"'t's not Jisung," he slurs his words together.

They become a wet mix of vowels and articulations when he's talking to you. He hopes he doesn't sound this fucking dumb when he is teaching.

"Maybe you're sick," you tilt your head.

It's a habit you have, tilting your head when you make a statement. He finds it endearing. It was one of the first things about you that he perceived as such.

"'m fine, promise," he brushes off, "'nd I don' need any coffee."

"Well, you better wake up before the festival," you sigh, and he hates to think he let you down.

The festival, fuck, that is today. Each year the college throws a winter festival for the students, a lot of sororities and fraternities set up booths and the cafeteria gets turned upside down with decorations. The faculty's Secret Santa too, shit, he hasn't wrapped his gift. He really doesn't hate the festival or the idea of it, it keeps him young. He just doesn't know if he is gonna be able to stay around you any longer.

"Who did you get for Secret Santa?" you ask, taking a seat at the table, returning to your lab reports.

"Jus' Lix," he hates how drunk he sounds, "what about you? You always go above and beyond in the gift department."

He would never lie to you, you do go above and beyond with gifts. Each year, you go all out, spending a ridiculous amount of time and effort when it comes to the gifts you buy for people.

"Can't say unfortunately," you whisper, "or else it wouldn't be a secret."

You give him a smile that makes his stomach do a flip. "But I did get you something," you perk up.

You walk over to your bag and pull out a wrapped parcel, and carefully hand it over to him. "Thought you'd like it, took forever for it to ship over from overseas."

Minho examines the neatly wrapped box, wrapped in pink wrapping paper with a pink bow tied on top of the box. "Thank you," he sounds breathless.

He opens it carefully, and is met with a white box. He pulls the lid off and pulls out the cloth that sits on the bottom of the box. Revealing a white lab coat. The fabric is crisp and ironed. In the corner the text 'Dr. Minho Lee, PhD' is embroidered in black. Underneath the lettering is another embroidered patch. Instead of his name though, it's his three cats. Each of the cats looks identical to their real counterparts. "Sorry if it's stupid, I-" you apologize, "I just- I dunno-"

Stupid? It's the most thoughtful gift he has gotten in a long time. It comes from your heart, how could it be stupid.

You're the most beautiful and thoughtful person he's ever met. I love you, loved you for so long, he thinks to himself. He's so moved he almost feels like crying.

"Minho," you're quiet, stunned into silence.

He just realizes how his mouth has betrayed his mind, and his legs are moving with a panic.

The air is so damn dense as he sprints down the hall from the lab. The white fluorescent lights taunt him with their hum as he dashes away. Away from you, away from the chance that was all in his head.

He is gripping at the tie around his neck. He sees no comfort in the double doors out of the science lab, he is running without reason.

He breaks through the double doors and is soaked almost instantly. The snow is heavy and it patters against his body.

His legs stop moving, and he just stands there. In the snow. Terribly cold and terribly wet. He could curse God, but he doesn't believe in Him.

The doors behind him open and close. Doom blooms in his rapidly rising and falling chest. "Minho," it's you again, "Minho, you'll catch a cold."

His legs are frozen through. He couldn't move if there were a bear chasing him. He can't speak either. He's rendered silent. "Minho, it's about fucking time you confessed, b-because I-I l-love you too."

He can suddenly find the strength to face you.

When he does, the first thing he notices is your face. Mascara has soaked your cheeks, tear stains evident. "Y-huh? Wh-why are you c-crying?"

"Because I fucking love you," you sound weak- Minho never heard your voice sound so scared, "a-and you love me too? Did you mean it? You love me too?"

You're equally as soaked by the snow as he is. Your arms are crossed over your chest. He moves before he thinks, there really is nothing to think.

Hypothesis : you want him to kiss you. And according to the scientific method, he must test his hypothesis.

He's putting one foot in front of the other and moving to you. He wastes no time, simply cupping your face and pulling you in for a kiss.

Sparks fly like shown in movies, his lips feel tingly and he can feel his heartbeat in every bone of his body.

Your lips are even softer than he imagined. Soft and molding against his own in ways that make him dizzy.

Like throwing a block of lithium into a pond, he feels like he may explode. Every atom in his body is undergoing a chain reaction that is so right he would never stop it.

"Love you," he's mumbling against your lips, "loved you for so long. You're everything I've ever wanted."

Tears brim his lashes, they nearly fall, but he is too elated to cry. "Minho," your voice is muffled by the sloppy kisses you're placing on his lips. You let out a groan and Minho's composure crumbles.

"Always been you," you hum, "since I met you, no one else."

All he had known until now had been decomposed and resynthesized. Like a chemical equation. He hates that he still thinks of you chemically.

Yet, he'd count every atom in your body so he could find out why you're so you. He's tear apart the heavens and the earth and chemically rearrange them just to see you smile.

Your bodies are melting together, forming a mixture of desperation, love, and lust. His hands are gripping every inch of your soft flesh available.

"Minho- mhm- take m-me home," you whimper into his mouth.

He kisses you one last time. He knows he will have this life, and the next to kiss you, he's in no rush.

His eyes finally open again, and he swears he has never seen a more beautiful sight. Your makeup is running down your face, and your lips are kiss bitten. Your body is pressed against his, and your hands are cupping his jaw. "H-home?" He stutters like a little kid.

"Your house," you grin, and he swears there's a mischievous glint in your eyes, "unless you don't wanna see me naked?"

If his jaw hadn't been on the floor before, it definitely was now. "God," he groans, "c'mon."

He's pulling you along with him, in the pouring snow, to his apartment. "If I catch a cold because of you, Lee Minho," you vaguely threaten.

"Then I'll nurse you back to health," he immediately replies.

You're both placing one foot in front of the other at a fast pace. When he sees his apartment around the corner, his heart thumps rapidly in his chest.

He doesn't struggle with the keys even though his hands are shaking beyond reasonable doubt. The warmth and comfort from his home is nothing compared to that which he gets from you.

He's stepping inside and pulling you in with him before slamming the door closed. A sudden fear rises in his chest, and any semblance of what to do next faded from his mind.

You notice this, you notice everything. "You okay?" you press your body against him.

You're both soaked from head to toe in cold water, yet you're so warm against him. "I-I?" he's stunned, like a dear in headlights.

You try and fail to hide the disappointment in your tone when you say, "do you not want t-"

He doesn't even leg you finish the sentence, "-I do. I do. I do. I-It's just not supposed to hap-happen like this."

"Please explain?"

"I - I have pictured, I've thought about us- us doing this, and I-I feel like I'm doing it wrong," you search his eyes for a clue as to what he means, "I mean-I just thought it would be so much more, romantic. N-not the confession, the- I just want to make it perfect for you."

"And how would you do that?"

"With rose petals and red wine and candles and-"

You shut him up with a kiss that is broken all too soon for Minho's preference, "you're such a dork, oh my god," you sigh playfully and hit his chest lightly, "I don't want roses or red wine, or candles. Minho, I want you. That's it."

"I-I," he stutters and can feel his cheeks heating up, "w-we should hop in the shower?"

"Excellent idea," you smirk.

Minho takes your hand in his and leads you to his bathroom, "sorry for the mess," he apologizes but knows that you won't mind.

He takes his eyes off you for only a moment to turn on the warm water, and when he turns back to you, you're halfway undressed. He swears he's never seen anything as beautiful as you.

You with your shirt and skirt in a heap on the floor, the only thing covering you is your underwear. Black cotton panties with lace hemmed on the side and a matching black bra.

You're reaching behind your back to unclasp your bra when he speaks up, "let me."

You smile at him and turn around, Minho's lips ghost down the side of your neck while his hands busy themselves, taking off your bra. He kisses down the back of your neck and your body shudders against his own.

You eagerly flip around and press your lips against his own. Now it's your hands that are pulling at his soaked shirt. You break the kiss but only for a moment, only so you can take off his shirt.

"Mhm," you moan into his mouth and Minho's grabbing at your sides like a madman.

His fingers hook under your panties and pull them down your legs.

And he finally gets a good look at your most sacred parts. They're more beautiful than his mind has ever painted them to be. Your breasts are soft to his touch, not too big nor too small. And your cunt, it looks tastier than a Sunday dinner in his eyes. His eyes rake down your happy trail that connects to your neatly trimmed bush and he wants to kiss it. He wants to kiss every inch of your skin.

He pulls down his boxers with his pants, and his semi-hard cock aches to be touched, to be inside you. You take his hand and step under the stream of water. He follows.

He'd follow you anywhere.

Hot water brings life to his cold skin. He's wrapping his arms around you, and his lips push against your own. "Where's the scar from?" you mumble the question between kisses.

"Had surgery wh-when I was a kid," he only stumbles over his words because your hand wraps around his cock and starts to slowly pump him.

He's so sensitive it hurts. Hurts all over. His body writhes at its own accord. "Your cock is so fucking pretty," you hum.

The words are filthy, but they sound as holy as the Pope's because they're said by you. "Baby- I-" you're so good at making him feel good.

Had you done this with someone else? Had you jerked them off in their shower? Had you ever brought another person this much pleasure?

Jealously pools in his chest at the idea of you with anyone that isn't him. "W-why are you so good at this? I-I just, please, wanna be the last. Can't handle the idea o-of you doing this to anyone but me," he confesses.

His sudden confession makes you falter and he tries to read the expression on your face, "last time I did this was before I met you, there's never been anyone since I met you. You were always gonna be it for me."

He almost sinks to his knees he feels so stupid. "D-do you want me to prep you?"

"There's no need, I promise," you smile at him.

You flip around, your body is pressed against his shower wall, the warm water hits his back and he swears he's never been more comfortable in his whole life.

He holds his cock in his hands and lines it up at your entrance. "You ready?" He can't help but sound a little cocky.

"God, Minho, just put it in," you whine.

His knees falter when he finally presses inside you, your walls are warm, inviting. You were right, you didn't need any prep.

"Oh, God," he groans even though he only has his tip in, "fuck, don't know how long I'm gonna last."

"Don't worry," you hum, a sharp squeak leaves your mouth when he stills all the way inside you.

He's buried so far in his cock is pressed up against your cervix. A shiver runs through his body when he finally thrusts inside you. You're tight and warm and so soft.

He's desperate, with every thrust of his hips he is losing every drop of his composure.

"Harder," you beg, "fuck me like you mean it."

His hips slam against your own, and you let out cries of pleasure as your body convulses against his own.

"Love you," you repeat the words like a mantra, they tumble from your lips with every thrust of his hips.

His hand wraps around your body and finds your clit. He would die if he didn't make you cum first. "Ah, jagi," he moans.

"Ah, Min- mama," you don't even realize what you're saying.

Mama? That was new, but he wouldn't protest. Not to you. Not in a million lifetimes.

"Mama, hmm?" Minho whimpers, "you wanna call me that?"

"Mhm," you nod your head furiously, "love you so much!"

How he loves you too.

His hand glides down your body and finds your swollen clit, he rubs it tenderly as his hips stutter in their movements. "Mama!" you squeal, "gonna cum!"

Minho can't warn you before he cums. He swears on everything he knows, this was the best sex he's ever had. His body convulses against yours and all that can be heard is the water hitting the shower and the both of your debauched breaths.

"Love you," you whisper.

Minho places a kiss on your spine, "I love you so much more, jagi. Merry Christmas."

[teenidlegirl]

⠀⠀ ⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀ ⠀ ౨౿  ׅ ۟   ֪ 𝓐cross 𝓣he 𝓢tars ۪ ׂ   𓈒 ୭

꒰⠀⠀⟡⠀.⠀knight!miguel⠀𝓍⠀queen!reader⠀.⠀⟡⠀⠀꒱

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀summary.⠀after an assassination attempt, a personal bodyguard is assigned to you by the court. an old childhood friend. as time goes on, you two rekindle your friendship but it blossoms into something more that risks both your occupations.

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀content.⠀royal!au, anidala coded, sorta futuristic setting (like star wars), forbidden love, slow burn, tension, fluff, angst, smut (mild and fluffy), pet names, mention of assassination attempts, secret pregnancy, hispanic/latina!reader ( mdni )

an assassination attempt.

fear plague the streets. citizens remain locked in their homes. whispers of fear and concern for their queen throughout the city.

the court was in pure chaos. members shouting at one another, demanding answers for this troubling incident, questioning who dares attack their queen. the room was consumed with fear and anger. an authorized investigation is underway, handled by authorities and military officials. in the meantime, a collective proposal was constructed.

a personal bodyguard.

you aren’t opposed to it, since it was your final say on the proposal. it was logical, protection against the opposer. nueva york looks up to you, their queen. they love and worship you. admire your devotion and dedication to them, the selfless spirit you carry. always putting your people’s needs as your top priority. serving what’s best for them.

to see their queen almost assassinated breaks their hearts. losing you is like heaven losing an angel. you are aware of their love for you. this assassination attempt is not going to pause your queen duties.

once the green light was given, a bodyguard was found in a manner of minutes.

general miguel o’hara.

an old childhood friend. a friend you haven’t seen in 10 years. a friend you were desperate to see again.

when he was brought in, your breath was stolen.

handsomest face on a man. chocolate curls with sprinkled gray streaks within, sharp cheekbones, and a incredible physique with of pure muscle. more than the average male. stands tall at 6’9 which makes him a tower compared to you. perhaps an intense growth spurt. he was already taller than you but now a tower. a faint scar on his right cheek, possibly from battle.

he grew up, from a shy young boy to a charming knight. he has changed so much.

“your majesty.”

oh his voice is so low yet charming. it sends shivers down your spine but in a pleasant way.

his height became more apparent when you have to crane your neck all the way up to simply meet his gaze. the height difference is quite amusing.

“general.”

your breath wasn’t the only one stolen. the minute he walked through those sliding glass doors, miguel was immediately captivated. it’s been years since he saw you personally. of course he had seen you before. the yearly ceremonies, festivals, and balls. your friendship may have ended but he observed you from afar, watch you blossomed into a beautiful, intelligent woman, his queen. beautiful couldn’t describe you best. ethereal is more accurate. his love for you never vanished from all those years.

with each step he took closer, he grew more anxious. by the time he stands before you, miguel is utterly enthralled. your beauty is truly beyond this world, this universe. those portraits of you don’t do you justice. how angelic you appear. white is your signature color, hence why the public refers you as the “angel queen.” god he truly believes an angel is gracing his presence right before him. it’s an honor to witness your beauty, the queen of his city.

the angel of his heart.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

it was simple protocols. miguel follows where you go, attached to the hip, eyes never leave your figure. stands beside your throne as you converse with the court or other officials during meetings. strolls alongside you with hands behind his back as you walk. offers a hand to assist you stepping in or out of vehicles. gently shields you with an arm from approaching individuals who wish to gain your attention. it’s a habit considering he’s a bodyguard and your life is currently at stake.

miguel is constantly on high alert for any potential threat. the crown is in his protection, your life is his responsibility. he vowed to not fail and keep you safe. he has to protect the angel he loves deeply.

in the beginning, it was a simple professional relationship between bodyguard and client. miguel remains at your side at all times and you continue with your duties as queen. your old friendship still lingers but you remain with a professional relationship with a small acquaintance.

however, those feelings of desire and admiration began tearing down that wall of professionalism.

it starts with innocent glances and soft smiles. acknowledging and appreciating each other. no one could suspect anything serious. just a queen showing her appreciation for her gentle knight.

then, those light touches.

passing large crowds, your breath hitches when you feel a large hand gently resting on your lower back as miguel guides you through the crowd. a tingly sensation invades your body. cheeks grow warm, heart fluttering, butterflies in your tummy.

that was a reoccurring hand placement. miguel’s hand resting either on your upper or lower back. most of the time on your lower back when in private.

both of you feel like a bashful mess. your heart fluttering at the intimate touch and miguel going insane at softness of your body, even through your dresses. he worries it’s an overstep of your boundaries but you kindly remind him it’s not.

the light touches grew more intimate.

during an private visit to your parents’ home, your foot missed a step which caused you to slip. but thanks to a pair of sturdy arms catching you just in time, you collide in your bodyguard’s chest.

“¿estas bien, mi reina?” miguel voiced his concern, looking down at you with worry in his eyes.

looking up at him with fluttering eyes, your heart skips a beat by the close proximity.

“y-yes, estoy bien.” you whisper, blushing.

you remain in his arms for a moment, staring into each other’s eyes. you feel his slightly nervous breathing gently hitting your face, yours hitting his chest. you can’t resist how comforting it feels being in his arms. a sense of comfort and safety. miguel relishes your soft body against his rough one. adores how tiny you appear, how perfect you fit in his hold. the fear of getting caught makes you pull away from his arms. blush creeping on both your faces.

he mumbles an apology but you kindly assure him and thank him for catching you. that moment replays in your minds for the reminder of the day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

not only intimate touches but longing gazes at each other when one isn’t looking. private conversations began taking place, learning about one another. what occurred after your friendship ended. your journey to queenship, miguel’s training, changes in both your families. you rekindle your friendship.

the more time you spent together, feelings began forming. feelings that one should not feel, especially between a queen and her knight. you try burying those feelings. the last thing you want is ruining this relationship, make things awkward. it’s strictly a professional one yet those feelings prove otherwise.

you couldn’t allow these feelings to consume you, distract you from your duties. you shouldn’t feel these feelings towards miguel, your personal bodyguard. it’s forbidden, a queen can’t fall in love with her knight. it goes against royal morals. however, you can’t deny your heart. those feelings are something you’ve never experienced before with any man. miguel demonstrates what it’s like to long for someone. being around him, you feel safe and happy. he’s the only man to make your heart race and fill your belly with butterflies when he looks down at you or leaves gentle touches on your skin.

even after 10 years, he still has an effect on you.

miguel, on the other hand, is on the verge of insanity. he knows he shouldn’t feel those feelings for you, his queen. the woman he admires and cherishes since childhood. the same woman he vowed to protect with every fiber of his being. a queen and a knight don’t belong together, a forbidden relationship. of course he is aware of this issue. those feelings are forbidden but no matter how hard he fought against them, battling with his inner thoughts for days, his feelings for you only grew stronger.

during a private getaway at a reserved villa, you and miguel take a stroll among the lakeside. no one but you two, complete privacy. other guards remain at the villa. while you babble about childhood memories of the lake, miguel is admiring you the entire time. the lake dress you’re wearing makes his heart flutter, cheeks blushed. how could you look more beautiful? he swears he must be in heaven. walking alongside an angel by a lake sounds so dreamy. miguel mesmerized by your beauty once again.

you return to the balcony where it showcases the lake and mountains. leaning against the stone fence, you look outward towards the beautiful view of the lake. miguel stands beside you, briefly admiring the lake before turning his attention back at the true beautiful sight. the sweet, angelic tone of your voice smooths his workaholic mind. pure music to his ears. everything about you calms him.

those feelings began bubbling in his chest as he continues admiring you. he can’t help it you look so ethereal in the vibrant sunlight, the gentle breeze flowing in your hair. god he wants to give into the temptations but he knows he shouldn’t.

but all self-restraint flies out the window the moment you turn and look up at him with those gorgeous eyes he loves so dearly.

you two stare at each other, lost in one’s eyes. the doorway to the soul. both your hearts pounding your chests. the soft waves of the lake and birds chirping in the background. your heart flutters as you watch his gaze fall to your lips. those exact lips that have been taunting him for weeks in his sleep.

very slowly, miguel starts leaning towards your face. or more so, bending down a little due to the height difference. his back will hate him afterwards but miguel doesn’t care at this moment. he moves very slowly, hesitantly to give you space to move away.

but you don’t.

you feel frozen, utterly mesmerized by those soft brown eyes. your breathing grows heavy as you watch him lean closer towards you with fluttering lashes. your faces are only cemeteries apart, lips brushed against each other, eyes fluttering.

then finally, your lips collide.

the mark of your sin.

wow, his lips feel incredible. but yours, oh miguel is losing his mind. so soft and sweet. a divine taste that leaves a man yearning for more. your lips intertwined a passionate kiss. seeking for more, miguel changes the angle with a head tilt and applies a little pressure into the kiss. he holds back a groan when he hears a soft moan from you due to the pressure. unable to resist any longer, his tongue licks your lips for passage. you happily oblige and he doesn’t waste a moment to slip his tongue past your lips, eliciting another heavenly moan from you.

your lips intertwined in a dance. relishing the feeling of each others’s lips. his plump ones against your soft ones. the kiss is so passionate, you feel very floaty. he takes you away to cloud nine. the stress of being a queen and the assassination vanishes from your mind. his lips takes it away.

then, realization kills the moment.

no, you can’t do this. it’s an overstep of your relationship as bodyguard and client. queen and knight. but what you’re truly afraid is being caught, another pair of eyes lurking from afar.

much to yours and miguel’s disappointment, you break away from the kiss and avoid his gaze.

“no… i should never have done that.” you spoke barely above a whisper.

miguel is taken aback by the sudden change of heart. not even a minute has passed and he misses your lips against his. but he realizes what has happened and he has never been so disappointed in himself. he allowed those temptations to consume him and look at the result. you turn away from him and feel ashamed, the one feeling he never wants to make you feel about yourself. you mean so much to him.

“lo siento, mi reina…” hint of regret and shame in his tone, making your heart ache.

there no intimate touches or moments after that. however, those restrictions only lasted a day.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

during one night, after having internal battles with yourself about your feelings for miguel and the consequences, you finally accepted your heart.

for once, you allow your heart to speak.

during this past month under his protection, spending every minute with him, you fell in love with your gentle knight. you love miguel and only want him. he has stolen your heart.

slipping on your silky robe and walking down the hallway, you head to miguel’s bedroom. standing in front of the door, a few inches away from it opening by itself, you stare it as your heart races in both excitement and anxiety. you’re about to confess your love for your charming knight. the man who has been by your side, protecting and caring for you.

inhaling a deep breath, you take a step forward and the door slides open. upon hearing the door open, miguel quickly walks over to see who is visiting him at this hour but stops when he sees you.

“mi reina, ¿que pasa? are you unwell? is there something wrong?” he asks with each step he takes towards you. a huge concern look on his face.

his worries fade away when you shake your head but he’s still curious about your sudden arrival.

“i need to speak to you.”

now he grew more curious but also a bit anxious. stepping to the side, miguel allows you entry to his private quarters. flashing a small smile as a thanks, you pass by him and walk towards the bed.

“what is it you wish to speak to me about, mi reina?” miguel asks softly as he follows you, standing behind you since your back is to him.

it’s silent for a moment. the anticipation lingers in the air. if you had advanced hearing, you’d hear both of your racing hearts. pounding like a drum.

“té quiero.”

those three words linger in the air. miguel is speechless, eyes wide and lips slightly agape. heart fluttering at your confession. a confession he has been dreaming since the beginning. a confession he reciprocates, wanting to share his own.

slowly turning around, you nervously meet his gaze. “i know i shouldn’t have these feelings for you… but i don’t care, not one bit.”

miguel remains speechless also enthralled. you feel the same. you long for him just as he longs for you. however, the fear still lingers.

“pero… the consequences? the scandal? it would ruin your reign.” miguel does not want to jeopardize your legacy, your reign as queen simply because of him. you’ve been an incredible monarch, serving the people of nueva york. betraying their trust because of your love for him is something he can’t allow.

“i can’t deny my heart.” you say softly.

fuck. his heart did a summersault. his love for you blossoms more than ever before.

“mi reina, ever since i was a child, i’ve always loved and cared you.” miguel takes a step closer, closing the remaining space between you two. “you consume my thoughts everyday. i can’t hide my true feelings for you anymore.”

your heart flutters, a warm sensation flowing through your body. slowly raising your hands, you gently cup his face. “then let’s not hide them anymore.”

miguel leans closer and you stand on your tippy toes, your lips meet once again in a passionate kiss. his large held your smaller shoulders, holding them as if they’re delicate. his gently grips on your robe, a silent ask. he feels you nod and he slowly pulls of your robe, exposing your shoulders but taking it off completely. it quietly drops onto the floor, pooling at your feet. now you’re left in your silky white nightgown. his heart flutters at the feeling of your soft skin. his hands slowly move down your back, settling on your waist. you shiver at the sensation, goosebumps forming on your skin. wrapping your arms around his bulky shoulders, your fingers dig into his hair. that elicited a muffled groan from him.

giving into his desires, miguel sought to deepen the kiss, altering the angle. it becomes more heated, sneaking a bit of pressure which elicits a soft moan from you. his lips leaves yours, brushing kisses along your jawline then to your neck. your mouth hangs slightly open, soft sighs spilling from your lips at the sensation. broad hands roam over your back, gently groping your curves through your nightdress. you melt under his touch, growing putty in his hold.

“miguel…” you whisper breathlessly.

he softly grunts in response, mind hazy from how heavenly his name sounds from your lips. continuing leaving kisses on your delicate neck as his hands continue roaming over your soft body. miguel is practically going insane of finally touching you, having you in his arms after years of longing.

“make love to me.”

before you even know it, you find yourselves on the bed. you resting on the plush mattress and miguel hovering over you, positioned in between your legs. your fingers dig into his chocolate locks while his hands gently grope your curves as you continue your passionate makeout session. his lips kiss every inch of exposed skin. from your jawline, your neck, down to your chest. a soft moan escapes you as his lips suck where your nipples would be through your nightdress. with consent, miguel gingerly removes your silky nightdress, leaving you bare to his gaze. your white panties as the only source preventing you from being completely bare to his eyes.

miguel takes his time worshiping your soft delicate breasts. kissing, licking, kneading them with such tenderness. almost experimentally. his tongue swirling and flickering your perky sensitive nipple. his plump lips sucking on it. each action rewards him with those heavenly moans of yours. music to his ears. miguel shows same affection towards your soft tummy, adoring it with kisses and licks.

with your consent, your panties were removed and now completely bare to your handsome lover.

miguel doesn’t hesitate and dives into the fountain of youth in between your legs. the room is filled with your moans and whimpers, the sounds of pleasure miguel was providing you. his tongue ravishes your wet core so experimentally. reaching those spots you’ve never knew existed, making you arch your back. as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy, miguel devours every drop of your sweet nectar, drinking as if it’s an oasis. this man made you feel things you never felt before, so revolutionary.

once he removes his clothes and is bare, he settles in between your legs once again. your mouth falls open as his thick length slowly sides through your tight, wet walls. there were a few pauses in between, allowing yourself to adjust to his larger than average size. once he’s completely settled inside, you couldn’t hold back a soft moan. the bulbous tip of his cock rests against that sweet spot inside.

with a slow rock of his hips, a soft moan erupts form your throat. pleasure consumes both your bodies, your minds dazed. your tight walls squeeze his cock, making the man groan in pleasure. your nails leaving marks and idents on his muscular back as miguel continuously thrusts into you slowly. his bulbous tip repeatedly hitting your cervix, making you arch your back off the sheets. the mixture of your moans and his grunts mingle in the air. the four walls of the bedroom concealing your love-making session.

miguel softly whispers words of praise to you that makes your mind floaty. how beautiful you look as you take him so well. he relishes your expressions of pleasure, gazing at the angel underneath him. god you look even more ethereal. he can finally worship you properly. ecstasy consumes you entirely that you can only respond with whimpers and moans. he leaves soft kisses on your neck as he continues thrusting. your hands interlocked together, gently pressed against the pillow beside your head as your love-making progresses.

as you reach the pinnacle of ecstasy for the second time, you coat miguel’s cock with your sweet nectar. he follows suit not long after, releasing his thick seed deep in your womb, painting your walls white. a shared moan echoes in the air as you both climaxed. you softly pant in unison as you both come down from the peak of pleasure.

you wake up the next morning in the arms of your handsome lover. the beginning of your love affair.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

a secret relationship.

you and miguel continue this forbidden love affair for a few months. holding hands when one wasn’t looking. sharing intimate moments when alone. passionate kisses here and there. reoccurring nights of love-making in your bedroom. it was pure love.

the love was so strong you two married in secret. at the lake house where you shared your first kiss. the only witnesses were your trusted handmaiden lyla and miguel’s younger brother gabriel.

you knew you wanted to spend the rest of your life with miguel and he wanted to spend it with you. even though the marriage is a secret, you’re forever together. once your reign is over and a new queen is elected, you and miguel will be able to live a free life.

the assassin was found but miguel remained as your permanent bodyguard, by your request. life in nueva york continued thriving until a conflict with another city ended it. the military was preparing for war, which included miguel since he was a general. you plead for him to not go, even thought about convincing captain stacy to not allow miguel to participate in the war but you know you can’t do that.

miguel eases your worries, holding you in his arms with a protective yet comforting grip. a hand gently stroking your hair as he calms you.

“i’ll return to you, mi reina. i promise you.”

with one final kiss, his eyes bore into yours, large hands cupping your tear stained cheeks. it pains him to leave you. to see tears trailing your angelic face. tears that he caused, it’s a stab to the heart. he can’t breathe without you. miguel doesn’t to go fight off in war but unfortunately it’s his duty, especially since he’s a general. but he promises to return to you.

“té amo.”

with that, you watch him walk away. tears trailing down your flushed cheeks. you want him to stay, by your side, but he has a duty to do and you have yours. all you can pray is for his safe return.

it’s been a week since miguel left for war. a week deprived of his love. during private moments, you speak to each other through holograms. he informs you with updates on the war. it’s still a long shot but there is progress. hopefully it’ll end soon.

one morning, you wake up with nausea. bolting to the restroom, you unleash that ugly feeling into the toilet. after cleaning up yourself, many thoughts invade your mind. what could possibly upset your stomach like that? was it the food you ate from last night’s dinner? no, dinner was delicious. are you ill? none of your handmaidens or staff members haven’t caught anything, at least what you know.

then, another scenario pops up.

you haven’t bled in a while. in fact, you might’ve passed the prediction date for your next cycle.

could you possible be…?

thankfully for the advanced technology you have, getting an answer would be easy. after doing a test with the help of your personal med droid, your eyes widen in shock at the results.

pregnant.

you’re pregnant, with miguel’s child.

part of you feels elastic about having a child with your secret husband. but the other part of you realizes how jeopardizing this would be.

a child with your personal bodyguard? that would cause the court to break out into chaos.

the scandal would threaten the crown.

you only have a year until your term is over and a new queen will be elected. however, that’s a year. it’ll only be a matter of time until your belly grows. hiding it is the only solution. from the court, handmaidens, staff and family members. the only person you would tell is lyla, your childhood best friend and loyal companion. she knows you like the back of her hand. you trust her completely with this shocking reveal.

unfortunately, you won’t be able to tell miguel until he returns from the war. and who knows how long that will be. you pray it ends soon and he returns.

until then, you have to keep another secret.

⠀⠀⠀⠀ ┈ ୨ ₊ ┈ ౨ৎ   ┈ ₊ ୧   ┈

four months has passed and the war has finally ended. the streets of nueva york cheer and celebrate now that peace has finally been restored.

it also means miguel is returning.

excitement flows through your veins. your husband finally returns home and you can’t wait to be in his arms after four months of deprivation. also, to share news of your unborn child. during these past four months, you’ve been wearing large gowns to conceal your swollen belly. luckily, no one has suspected.

dressed in a white silk cloak to hide you four month belly, you rush down the halls to greet your husband and father of your unborn child. oh how you missed him so much. it’s quite unbelievable how you managed to life without him for four months. without him by your side, without his touch, his comfort.

as you rush down the hall, you spot a figure tall figure dresses in black towards the end. your heart skips a beat, a smile forming on your face.

just as you reach him, your steps slow down and your enthusiasm dies down as you look up confusingly at the man in front of you. it’s miguel but he looks… different. normally when he’s with you, he has a gentle smile on his face. instead, it’s a scowl. furrowed thick brows and lips flat. he’s not even looking at you, instead the ground. he hasn’t even acknowledged your presence yet.

this confuses you. why is he behaving like this? cold, silent, angry. maybe the war has done some damage, it’s expected. but you expect him to overjoyed to see you as you are with him. those calls through holograms were prove. how badly he wanted to return to you and stay with you. seeked for your touch, longing to return to your arms.

now he has return and is the complete opposite.

“miguel…?”

taking a step closer, a soft gasp escapes your lips when his eyes finally meet yours. a horrified expression on your face.

his eyes are red. glowing and pierce.

you don’t recognize him. his eyes were brown like coco beans. sometimes stern but always soft when they meet yours. this time, red like blood and full of rage. the longer you stare, fear settles in. a feeling you never wished to feel when you look into his eyes.

his lips part open and your breath hitches. it’s unclear if you’re imagining things, but you saw a glimpse of fangs. pearly white fangs.

this can’t be your miguel. your husband. the father of your unborn child.

what happened to him?

who did this to him?

then, those red eyes soften. the scowl vanished, replaced with the old soft, loving expression he always had reserved for you.

“mi reina.”

⠀ ᰦ 󠄀 ྀ .⠀♥︎⠀note.⠀for my fellow anidala stans, this one is for you. even tho star wars day already passed, imma still post this. ngl one of my favorite fics i’ve ever written! enjoy, mis amores! ♡

𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓. ♡ @lazyjellyfish300 ( just for you, queen ! )

© teenidlegirl. don’t steal, plagiarize, or translate my work. ♡

[anthaeum]

wc. 415

the curtains were blue. the couch was gray. jason grace was leaning dangerously close. the table was round. the curtains were blue.

you could hear your heart performing a drum solo under the cotton of your shirt. you could smell jason’s cologne. the curtains were blue. you felt so warm. you felt like throwing up. the curtains were blue. you were sure that you would have fallen down a while ago if not for jason’s arms supporting you at the waist.

to say you were nervous and shy and not ready was an understatement. in this moment, you would rather look at anything else but him. a myriad of thoughts dazed your mind, “would i be a good kisser?” being the most prominent one.

he calls your name, and you offer him a small smile. you don't dare look up.

“i’m sorry, jay, i guess i’m just… nervous?”

jason gently takes your arms from where they lie above his shoulders, and draws your hands to the left side of his chest.

and you swear you feel something in you malfunction.

thump. thump. thump.

you feel the beat of jason’s heart under your fingertips. his pulse is high, and his heart is drumming against his ribcage. so perfect, so like you, so alive.

“it’s okay, angel. i’m nervous, too.”

you meet his eyes for what seems like the first time that night, and you melt.

his eyes, so bright and blue and beautiful in this light, look down at you with such a fondness you’re sure he’s convinced himself you’ve hung the stars. you don't find it in yourself to shrink away.

you don't know where this sudden surge of confidence comes from, but you find yourself on your tiptoes, your hand tracing the fine line where his cheek and neck met. you don't ignore the way he leans into your touch.

you bring him closer, hesitating, hands shaking, and the moment your noses touch, he closes the gap between the two of you.

the kiss was nothing like you ever imagined. it was sweet, intertwined with the taste of starburst and the giddiness that came with the fact that, “oh my gods, we kissed”.

your hands find solace in his golden locks as he tilts his head, deepening the kiss. this time, your lips taste the months of longing, of agonizing pining, of stolen glances.

fucking finally, you think.

as the kiss ends and jason’s eyes flutter open, he breathes out your name, and you pull him in once more.

something short & rushed i whipped up before classes start :,) none of my classmates know i run this blog and get the urge to kiss jason grace every second of the day.

reblogs and comments are so appreciated ! let me know what you think about this through my askbox 🐰

© ANTHAEUM (2024). do not republish, edit, translate, or plagiarize my works.

[found--family]

i don't blog about sam often but when i do it's about the missed opportunities.

crack thought: imagine sam drinking any demon who wouldn't give up dean's location and when they reunite demon!dean's like dude you've been drinking my kind? that's fucking rude.

but yes to demons taunting sam about his bloodfreak past: eat me. no, wait.. drink me? bc they know it would make sam powerful but also fuck him up and having one of the winchesters fucked up would be a win for the badguys no matter what's going on. and crowley might mention sam drinking a prince of hell could be the thing they need to take down some threat.

and whether he does or doesn't drink demonblood again sam does start practicing witchcraft under rowena's tutelage and she's awed and delighted to see sam's "demonblood" telekenisis return to him like a latent ability (and premontion dreams?) and ofc loreboy is a natural at spells and enchantments and we see him use more magic on hunts with dean being iffy about it at first and making jokes bc he's worried sam might go too far that rowena might lure him to the dark side or sam's past bloodfreak status might naturally steer him down the wrong path. but eventually it becomes a normal thing and dean realises it's par for the course for their lives. and ofc it opens the door for chaotic besties sam+cas to create some fun and/or dangerous messes which is wonderful.

soulless!sam would've totally drank some demons. 

sidenote: hbo!sam would totally continue drinking demonblood - he would drink a demon that goaded him just to shut them up and also get a powerboost, what of it? - embracing his bloodfreak status while also practicing witchcraft. 

in the first episode of season 10, sam’s got a demon tied up and bloody and he’s trying to get her to tell where crowley is. she says ‘eat me’ and my first thought is ‘yeah he’d like to wouldn’t he’

[silverzoomies]

135 for Peter- I can’t- it genuinely sounds like something he would say🗣️

Peter Maximoff/Reader drabble: ⚡"I'll be honest: I get off on the thought of you."⚡ warnings: use of "truth serum," dirty confessions. also, i don't usually post unedited writing. apologies if this isn't up to par with my usual, polished work !!

Spending a venturous night sneaking around with your bestie, you followed behind him on your toes. Stealthily moving through the X-Men’s base of operations, you found yourself snooping in Beast’s lab. Your teammates all slept upstairs in the mansion. Which gave your mischievous pal all the time in the world to unleash hell. Peter had a bad case of sticky hands that night. He smuggled a few gadgets from Hank’s lab tables.

While he gave into his klepto compulsions, you busied yourself with a mini-fridge labeled "Samples. DO NOT TOUCH!"

You were a good little nugget. You knew you shouldn’t be so nosy. But part of you wanted to take the risk, just to impress your trouble-maker friend. Giggling quietly, you pulled the fridge open.

“Duuuude! Check this shit out!” You whispered.

Your curious eyes scanned the army of glass vials lined up neatly inside. Cool air fanned your face as you leaned in. Squinting, you read off the labels one by one, mumbling their names under your breath. Peter appeared by your side in a speedy blur. He peered over your shoulder. On impulse, he hastily snagged a vial or two without a second thought.

“Oh, dude, sick! Are these his nerd potions?” Peter snickered.

“I think so! Metamor-...Metamorphose Elixir? What the…” You tried to keep your laughs at a low volume, “Angel’s Essence. X-Celeration. Honeysuckle…” You scoffed as you picked through the fridge, “I don’t even know what half of these mean. What’d you get?” 

Absentmindedly, Peter paced the room. He moved backwards with effortless grace, reading the vials in his hands. The stolen gadgets stuffed in his jacket pockets made sharp noises as they rustled together.

“Uhhhh…Super Sonic Boom…pppffbbbttt…what even is that?? I told you, Hanky boy’s, like, nerd supreme.” Peter rolled his eyes affectionately, before reading off the next one, “And I got…OHHHHHOHOHO!” He raised his voice a little too much, and you quickly shushed him, “Sorry! Sorry! Just…check it out! Truth Serum!”

You skittered up to Peter, snatching the vial from his hand, “You really think it works??”

Peter wiggled his silver brows. His lips stretched in a cat-like grin. Totally aloof and super chill.

“Only one way to find out, ah?”

You popped the cork off the vial, giving the sample a sniff test. Neon liquid bubbled inside. It reeked strongly of pickle juice. The scent made you reluctant to try it first. But after an impromptu game of rock, paper, scissors - of which you ultimately lost - you braced yourself and took the tiniest swig.

“C’mon! That was nothing! Don’t be chicken shit!” Peter teased, tossing the other vial in his hand into the air, catching it before it fell to the floor.

You smacked your lips and hollowed your cheeks, feeling your eyes overflow with tears; all in immediate reaction to the serum’s sour flavor. Several seconds became a minute, as you stood there in silence. Over eager and irritable, Peter huffed. He rapidly tapped his foot. Before breaking the silence with a restless exclamation of-

“Well!? Did it work ‘er not?!”

You chuckled, gesturing with the vial.

“I hate it when you do that.”

Peter’s expression fell. He slumped his broad shoulders, catching the other vial just in time after tossing it again.

“Huh? When I do what?” He asked, giving you a defeated, puppy dog look.

“That. When you act so impatient? I can’t tell if it's super annoying, or ridiculously cute.” You spoke without filter, shifting your bashful gaze, “And…augh. Please stop looking at me like that. You really are so freaking cute it’s unbearable.”

“Wait...are you...” Peter’s lips curved upward in a cocky grin.

Covering your mouth with a hand, you felt your cheeks heat up in a flash.

“Did I…what the hell did I just say??”

“You really think I’m that cute, huh?” Peter sheepishly blushed. Pulling his lip between his teeth, he flitted his gaze to the vial in your hand, before meeting your shy eyes again. He threw you a nod of his head, “Lemme see that.”

Peter downed the entire vial in one shot, instantly shuddering as the tart taste oozed down his throat. He smacked his lips, scowling, looking at the vial with a single brow raised.

Not even two seconds passed before he openly admitted-

“I’ll be honest. I kinda get off on the thought of you, like, all the time.” He said on impulse, his dark gaze still fixed on the empty vial.

When he tilted his head up to meet your eyes again, you gaped at him with your peepers blown wide. Peter blushed an even brighter shade of scarlet. Laughing uneasily, he rubbed the back of his neck.

“Uhhhhh…heh…uh…wow…awkward.” Peter whistled, shaking his head, “I guess…safe to say…this shit most definitely works. Way to go, Beastie!”

“Do…” You hesitated, biting your tongue for a microsecond before you found the courage to continue, “Do you really think of me like that? Because…I mean…I'm kind of into you too.” You confessed without meaning to, "Or...no. I'm really into you."

With no filter to hold him back anymore, Peter's lips moved at an alarming speed. He began spouting an onslaught of filthy words. As he did, you felt hot, pulsing wires of tension pull between you both. Drawing each other in closer.

“You say that now. But if you knew how much I beat my meat thinkin’ about your body, you'd never wanna talk to me again. It happens like fifty times a week. I just can't help it, babe!” He shrugged, his face burning hotter and hotter with every loose word, “H'oh, man. I should shut up now. I should really shut up. Before I admit somethin’ else. Like how I can't stop starin’ at your ass when you're not looking.”

“What!?” You burst out laughing, hiding your blushing face with your hands.

He matched your laugh with his own, “Sorry. The pickle juice of truth's got me acting all kinds of loco right now.” Peter bit his lip again, stifling his next words before they slipped out anyway.

“Sometimes you get a feisty attitude with me and it really turns me on.” He added, "Ah...shit."

Basking in the thrill of this back and forth truth game, you parted your lips. Anxiously awaiting your own, inevitable disclosure.

“I've always wondered what your speedy tongue would feel like on my…” You sealed your mouth shut once more, groaning into your hands.

"YOOOO! No way! Seriously? You're twisted, baby. That's hot."

Carelessly discarding the vials, letting glass crash the floor without a moment's pause; Peter grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into him. You both searched each other's eyes frantically.

A devastating degree of mutual attraction had the two of you on edge. Peter waited for you to break the silence with another sexy confession. You did the same. Waiting. Anticipating his next words in hopes he might say something to further turn you on.

“I have a huge boner right now.” He fessed, biting his tongue to suppress his giggles.

You wheezed loud enough to shake the earth, surely waking up the whole mansion.

[missmimii]

❦－𝐏𝐢𝐧𝐤𝐲 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞 𝐊𝐢𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬 | 𝐌 - 𝐒𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐨𝐥𝐨

୨ৎ － 𝐒𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬 | In which Matt has to leave Boston for his career in Los Angeles, as well has his girlfriend who takes the news worse then intended.

୨ৎ — 𝐂𝐖. None!

－ 𝒩ℴ𝓉ℯ𝓈 • I was in my feels when I wrote this, and it’s also fairly short. So forgive me <3

✈︎ － “Are you even listening to me?” Two days. “Baby?” She had two days.

☽－ A hand was placed on her shoulder, making the girl jump with shock. “Hey- it’s me.” Matt looked down at her with confusion laced across his face, seeing her face paler the usual, her hands fidgeting more than they did. His heart fell at the sight of his poor girl in such a state, her eyes void of the usual glint they beautifully rested upon. “doll,” He whispered, slowly dropping to his haunches in front of the girl. “you haven’t touched your food.” He said tipping her chin up.

✈︎ － His heart instantly sank as he saw the bags under her eyes, tears glistening the usual brown of her eyes. No words could fix her current state, so he did the only thing he could. Matt’s one arm wrapped around her waist, effortlessly lifting her from the edge of the couch as he stood.

☽－ Dipping his head into the crook of her neck, inhaling the scent of her sweet perfume as she curled into his chest with small sobs. I know, he wanted to say. As he squeezed his eyes shut, pressing his lips against her pulse, he oh so badly wanted to repeat the words. What did he know? Nothing. But he did know he hated seeing his girlfriend in such a way.

✈︎ － “It’s only four months.” Matt uttered against her neck softly, guilt sinking ship in his chest as he felt the girls arms tighten around his shoulders at the words. “Only?” She whispered through tears, voice cracking as she fought the sobs. She sniffed, raising her head from his chest to look into his blue eyes. “Four months, Matt.”

☽－ His swallowed the lump in his throat, nodding. “I know sweetheart.” It wasn’t just four months, it was four months without her. Seventeen weeks without hearing her adorably addictive voice. 175,316 minutes that he wouldn’t feel the weight of her head on his chest, listening to his heart beat as she lulled asleep. 2,921 hours going by each day without the smell of her body wash filling his house, steam escaping his bathroom as she showered. And 121 days with the lack of any happiness.

✈︎ － Matt knew why she was upset, but found himself throughly perplexed on she had gotten so emotional now. His absence wasn’t some surprise, he’d told her seconds after he found out he had to leave to LA. The triplet still felt the sinking of his heart when he heard the words utter from his Laura’s mouth, not only for him, but for the girl.

☽－ Boston was always a nostalgic and comfortable place for Matthew, he had his family, the familiar surroundings of his hometown, and her. Many late night drives where he’d drive by his old high-school, a faint smile gracing his lips as he reminisced the memories of the years he watched her pass him in the halls, before he finally built the courage to ask her out. Stolen kisses against lockers, his hand kneading her waist as he whispered every single thing he adored about her.

✈︎ － It was the furthest thing from ethical, getting into a relationship during the time he did, and if you asked him what he thought about it now, he would’ve said it was incredibly selfish. His relationship with her was rocky, arguments about meaningless things occurring regularly between the two, his life being swamped with unfortunate events as he simultaneously struggled with his mental health. But did he regret it one bit? Not at fucking all.

☽－ “I’ll make sure to call every single day,” He breathed against her neck, voice muffled as he held back his own tears. He knew he needed to stay strong, for her. If not for that, for the sake of having to explain why his eyes were so red when his brothers got home. Matt felt the fabric of his sweatshirt ball, the edges of her nails pressing into his shoulders his as she fisted the fabric in her hands. “You’ll forget about me.” The girl uttered meekly aside his ear, breathing in the scent of the musky aroma coming from him. She knew it all too well.

✈︎ －Matt felt his heart shatter into a million pieces, stabbing his insides as the follicles fell from his chest. “Forget you?” He whispered, two hands instantly cupping her cheeks as he pulled away an inch. “how could I ever forget you, my poor girl.” The last part was mostly said to himself, coming out as a breeze of words as he pressed his lips to hers. It was far more than the usual kisses the couple shared throughout the day. She felt it, inside and out. Heart exploding whilst simultaneously breaking into halves as she realized it would be the last for many months.

☽－Saltiness from both of their tears combined mixed together in their mouths, the sweetness from her almond-like lip mask stirring around his tongue as he pulled her impossibly closer. Strands of the girl’s hair getting caught between his fingers as ran the hand down her cheek, index finger running along the curve of her jaw while tipping her chin up. Her lips, they felt like they were meant for his. The words ‘I love you’ went unspoken between the two, but not unknown.

✈︎ －Matt’s nose grazed her’s as he panted against her soft lips, much to his reluctance pulling away as he looked into the abyss of her eyes, feeling the love radiating through her heart just from the heartbreaking glint they held. “I could forget everything ten times over,” he whispered, tilting his head down at her. “But I could never forget that look.” Never, never, never. “and it’d take me back to you every, single, time.”

𝒯𝒶𝑔𝓈 － @fratbrochrisgf ♥︎

[arjwrites]

— Guess who's back with another request.....‼️‼️‼️

A fluff Castiel x Winchester!Reader where she helps Cas with his wings after a hunt please 😘😻 (I imagine them being dark, HUGE and MEGA soft and she goes like "Woah" (completely distracted for a moment))

Saving Grace- Castiel x GN!Reader

Summary: Cas is hurt after a hunt, and when he's hurting, you're hurting. Sometimes even an angel needs a helping hand. PART TWO HERE! Warnings: None! A/N: WELCOME BACK ANON! Sorry this took me a couple of days- for some reason I was really struggling to get Cas's character right here. I really wanted to do him justice for my loyal requester!!! A bit of context for this one- Cas is able to reveal a physical form of his wings if he chooses. All of the logistics of angel wings are pretty much made up. Good thing I view canon as more of a… rough suggestion! It’s right there in my bio, people. Have a little bit of suspension of belief for a few of the details!!!! Also- this doesn't quite make it to outright romantic territory- it felt to me like a buildup to something bigger in the future! Maybe I'll write a part 2 at some point, who knows... It had been a few hours since you had finished up the day’s hunt. Upon your return to the motel, Sam had instantly run out the door to the local library in search of a better wifi connection to research for the next case, while Dean had followed him into town to grab some supplies. This left you and Castiel, perched in your usual positions on opposite sides of the bed in your separate room. It was common for you and the angel to spend some quiet time together after a hunt- you both often found an unspoken comfort in each other’s simple presence. While you were leaned back, propped up with pillows and dialed into whatever was on TV, Cas held his usual stiff posture, but something seemed off about him. His eyes were glued to the ceiling, and every so often, he would shift in his seat and his whole body would tighten and cringe. You knew he had taken a few pretty serious blows during this hunt, but the fact that he let himself continue to hurt, rather than quickly healing himself, was concerning to you. Usually, this time spent together was silent, enjoying a moment of peace while you each lost yourself in your own thoughts. But after a few episodes and many stolen, worried glances, you felt you had to speak up.

“Cas, what’s wrong? It’s obvious you’re still hurting. Why haven’t you healed yourself?” 

“I’m fine. I just need to figure a few things out.” He continued to avoid your gaze, rising from the bed and pacing across the room to distance himself from you. 

“If you don’t tell me, I can’t help you.” Your level of concern forced you to cut right to the chase. 

Cas pondered this for a second. Could you really help him? Was it even okay for him to ask? Humans certainly hadn’t taken very well to an angel’s true form in the past… But that was a couple thousand years ago, and those humans hadn’t known what you know. If anyone could handle this, it was you. If he could trust anyone, it was you. And it was only his wings- just a sliver of his full form. But still, Cas was hesitant. This was unfamiliar territory for him. 

You watched from across the room as the wheels turned in his mind. His expression was pained, and it seemed like he was wrestling with a hard decision. As much as you wanted to close the gap between you, to comfort him, you knew the best thing to do was to give him his space. You were glad you did, because after a moment, his gaze rose from the floor, settled on you, and he opened his mouth to speak. 

“There’s something wrong with my wings. It’s blocking my grace and I can’t heal myself.” His expression was solemn and his tone direct. Clearly, he wasn’t happy to have to bring this up with you.  

“Your wings?” The mention of the most angelic part of your dear angel sent your heart aflutter (no pun intended). For the most part, Cas’s wings were out of sight, out of mind. Usually he was just the dorky man in a trench coat who just so happened to have some pretty crazy powers. But when you thought about his wings, the parts of him that were so divine and otherworldly, your cheeks burned scarlet. It was a reminder of just how different Cas was from you. 

“Yes. I might need you to… Inspect them. Figure out what is wrong and remove whatever is blocking my grace. I can’t heal myself, Sam, Dean, or you until it’s gone.”

You sucked in a sharp, full breath, your lungs holding tightly to the air for just a moment before slowly pushing it back out of you. 

“Okay. I can do that.” Why were you nervous? It was just Cas. You were just helping out a… friend. 

“It’s very… personal. This vessel you see isn’t really me, but my wings? That is as close as you can get to seeing my true form. I’m… not sure how you would react. It’s not something meant for human eyes. Not here on Earth, anyways. It might upset you or-” 

“If it means helping you, I’m sure I can handle it.” 

“Are you sure-” 

“Cas. Are you in pain?” 

He hesitated for a moment before conceding the truth. “Yes.” 

“Then let me help.”

Castiel sighed, his body tightening in a way that seemed like he was bracing himself. A terse “Alright” escaped his lips, and then the whole room shifted. 

There was no earthly way to describe the sight that unfurled before you. Castiel’s wings were dark, so dark they held no color or shine or reflection- just a void, deep, black nothingness. And yet, they almost glowed. There was some sort of aura that radiated off of them, just as dark as the wings themselves yet tinged ever so slightly blue. It must have been his grace. The aura wrapped around the perimeter of each wing and hugged each individual feather, defining them just enough so you could barely distinguish one from another. Somehow, his wings were dark and light and everything in between- you had never seen anything like it. Cas was right- it was hard to wrap your head around it. You reached down to grasp the surface you were sitting on, half to ground yourself in the moment to believe what you were seeing, and half to make sure you didn’t jump right up to inspect his wings closer. You knew this was hard for poor Castiel- your greatest fear was making him uncomfortable.

“Wow, Cas,” was all you could say. You were completely entranced, absolutely at a loss. It took everything in you not to burst into tears- he was definitely right. This was not a sight for just any human to see. He started to shift underneath your gaze, each movement triggering his wings to follow in a parallel movement. He looked uncomfortable. Gathering your composure, you rose to your feet. It was just Cas, the same Cas you’ve known all along. As nervous as his wings made you feel, you knew he was just as nervous, so you pushed yourself to help him feel at ease. 

“Okay. How do you want me to do this?”

“You can touch them. See if you notice anything that doesn’t look like it should be there.” 

Touch them. Just the thought sent another jolt of electricity through your body. Touching Cas’s wings? He was asking you to touch his wings. There was no stopping the thoughts racing into your mind- How would they feel? How would it make Cas feel? How would it make you feel?

Pushing the worries aside, you crossed over to Cas. Mid-step, your gaze grabbed on to the angel’s and wouldn’t let go. As you inched closer, you were less and less inclined to look away. Because once you did, you knew you would be face to face in the task at hand.

It’s not that you didn’t want to look at Cas’s wings. They were the most beautiful, ethereal things you had ever seen. They just made you so nervous. For the first time since knowing Cas, it truly registered to you- he was an angel, a heavenly creature, so powerful and beautiful that even this small glimpse of his true form had you weak in the knees. But beyond being just an angel, he was a teammate, a friend, and to you, something far more. All you wanted to do was take his pain away.

Finally, your eyes were forced to stray from the angel’s as your feet led you behind him, ducking under his left wing and settling yourself square between them. There was a physical sensation radiating off of them- a warm, low buzz that made your whole body tingle. 

“One more thing.” Cas’s voice stepped in to break what felt like an age-long silence. 

“Yes?” You whispered.

“It will be a bit… sensitive. Please be gentle.” 

“Of course, Cas.” 

And so you were. With the softest touch you could muster up, you reached out and made contact with his right wing, settling your fingers amongst the feathers. You felt Cas’s body shudder underneath your touch, but his low voice mumbled that all was well, to carry on. So you did.

For nearly thirty minutes, your fingers worked through the wings. Touching them was like weaving your hands through silk, sifting through layer upon layer. The feathers were so light and delicate that they almost felt like nothing at all, and the way they kissed your skin was without a doubt the most beautiful sensation you had ever experienced.

Your hands zoned into their task, sifting through the wings to remove all of the debris leftover from the day’s hunt. Cas spoke to you as you worked, teaching you about their anatomy, their capabilities, and everything else. You listened intently, fascinated by this intimate insight, but you weren’t sure if he was speaking with the pure intention of teaching you or simply to distract himself from the feeling of what was going on behind him. Every so often, his voice wavered or his back pulled away, and in response, you would stall your hands, giving him a moment to adjust. 

The process was long and tedious, but you took the liberty of enjoying every second of it. Watching the ripple of the feathers beneath your fingers, the way your hands seemed to disappear as they bobbed in and out, eventually you dropped the last piece of shrapnel into the empty box you had been using to collect it all. 

“There. All done. Is that… any better?” 

Cas didn’t vocalize a response, but your question was answered when his entire form shone with the familiar blue glow of his grace. And when the glow subsided, his wings were tucked away yet again, leaving behind his unadorned trenchcoated vessel. He turned to you with a face of gentle features. 

“Thank you,” was all he could express in his low timbre. It seemed as though every trace of worry had melted away, and everything about Cas’s presence had softened. But if you hadn’t been completely sure of his newfound comfort and ease, the angel confirmed it when he took a long stride closer, halving the distance that had served as the buffer between you.

“Thank you for trusting me to do that,” you breathed through a slight daze, both lingering from the experience and sparked anew from his rapidly increasing proximity. 

“There is no one else I trust as much as you.” Now he was merely inches away, hovering closer to you than he ever had been before. Here you froze, both sinking into the feeling, until the magnetism that emanated off of him grew to be too much. Just as you took the leap of faith to close the gap, you were interrupted by the crash of the front door flying open. You jerked backwards on instinct, reinstating the safe buffer space. 

In strode Sam and Dean, oblivious as ever. Stopped just inside the doorframe, and in complete unison, the brothers tilted their heads in confusion.

Gesturing between the two of you, Dean spoke. “Hey. We interrupting something?”

[xoxochb]

Hey!! Can I request one with Jason and fem!reader maybe she had a bad day and went to see Jason and he comforts her and it's all cute please

— hoax

warnings: hurt/comfort + tons and tons of tooth rotting fluff!! pairing: jason grace x fem! reader a/n: this is for everyone who had a shitty day today like me

It started when you woke up late and missed breakfast and lunch. you had to scavenge for leftovers in the kitchen, even going as far as to asking the satyrs if they had stolen anything (they hadn’t— which was infuriating because usually they would have). you didn’t eat either meals today. then next at arts and crafts you hurt your finger with a hole puncher and had the be brought to the infirmary where you received stitches over your injury. then you couldn’t find your favorite strawberry chapstick and in a fit of ‘I’m not using cherry!’ you decided to leave your lips chapped (unfortunately you started peeling away at the dead skin until it started bleeding— you took your second visit to the infirmary after this)

then you found out that you had spilled paint all over your shirt and with your laundry not yet done all you had was an old shirt with a cringe saying written on the front of it. stupid luck, tyche would be hearing many complaints during your offerings at dinner (that is— if you even got to eat dinner!). the next thing that sent you into a frenzy was your siblings. noisy and constantly fighting. you thought it would be okay to read in your cabin for a while but the noise in there compared to outside was ten times worse. then you ran into a tree, how you even managed this was a mystery

now with your hair disheveled, a silly shirt with an inappropriate term splayed on the front, two injuries, and hot tears streaming uncontrollably down your face you knock on the door belonging to cabin one. although you were always welcomed in your boyfriend’s cabin the thought of walking in unannounced worried you. stupid anxiety, you should add that to your list of awful things that happened today. after five seconds you hear shuffling and the door opens in front of you. the sight of your blond boyfriend has you crumbling into his arms with a sob. jason is quick to return your embrace, one hand resting on your back while the other rests on your head, keeping your head against his chest

“come here, angel. come sit”

jason closes the door behind you and leads you to his bed, where you sit and curl yourself into him swiftly. he runs his hand up and down your back in a soothing manner— indeed soothing you

“do you want to talk about it?”

you sigh before saying, “just a bad day”

he frowns and places his lips to the top of your head. “poor girl. let it out, I’m here”

you indeed do. the held in emotions from the previous experiences from the terrible day you had pool out, soaking into jason’s shirt. when your tears slowed down a bit you begin to ramble about your day and the unruly events

“I woke up late and missed breakfast and lunch. then I cut my finger open with a hole puncher” you lift your pointer finger up to show jason, who kisses it gently. “and I lost my chapstick then I dropped paint all over my shirt so I had to change into this!” you grab at the fabric of your shirt and pull it up for him to see— displayed on it says, ‘reading is sexy’ “which apparently isn’t camp appropriate according to chiron. dionysus was fine with it though but again he’s fine with anything. then I was trying to read and my siblings kept fighting so I went out to the woods to read but I walked into a tree and then I just came here”

“you could’ve come over earlier y’know?”

“you were busy today. you told me yesterday”

“and you don’t think I would’ve dropped everything for you?”

you hide your head in his neck to hide the rising blood rushing to your cheeks. “can I sleep here tonight?”

“of course. we gotta get you something to eat though”

“after. I wanna stay here for a bit”

you lift your head up from jason’s neck, he takes this to his advantage and kisses your very chapped lips

“whatever you want”

[sinkovia]

The Coliseum

Gladiator Simon Riley x Fem!Reader

Violence, blood, mention of death.

Masterlist

In the splendor of the royal box, you, the princess, watched with bated breath as the gladiatorial games unfolded below. Among the fierce warriors, one figure stood out to you. The way his eyes looked up at you with a mixture of admiration and longing made your heart yearn for him.

As Simon emerged victorious, you approached him with reverence, a crown of delicate flowers clasped gently in your hands. With adoration shining in your eyes, you lifted the floral adornment and placed it upon his head, a gesture of respect and admiration for his remarkable fight.

Your voice reached his ears like a soothing melody. "What is your name?" your words carrying a softness that made Simon's heart flutter within his chest.

"Simon," he replied, his voice barely above a whisper as he bowed his head in deference, feeling unworthy to be in the presence of such grace and beauty.

"You fought with honor, Simon, something I rarely see" your praise washed over him like a soothing balm to his weary soul. With gentle hands, you took a fragrant cloth and wiped away the traces of blood from his face, your touch leaving a trail of warmth in its wake. 

As a final act of gratitude and affection, one that filled his heart with warmth, you pressed a kiss to his cheek, leaving him feeling as though he had been touched by an angel.

Simon was hesitant to entertain any feelings for you, knowing the risks involved in falling for the daughter of the king. He was a gladiator, a man bound by duty and honor, and the idea of getting involved with royalty seemed both reckless and forbidden.

However, you were always there to see him fight, sitting at the edge of your seat praying to the gods above to keep him safe. And every time he came out victorious you would be there placing a crown of flowers you had woven together on his head, smiling up at him, and placing a kiss upon his cheek.

Simon found himself drawn to you, the princess whose grace and kindness shone like a beacon in the darkness of the coliseum. Despite his initial reluctance to entangle himself with royalty, Simon couldn't deny the growing affection he felt for you, a love that bloomed quietly in the shadows, hidden from prying eyes.

Your meetings in secret became the highlight of his days, each stolen moment filled with whispered confessions and tender caresses. In your arms, he found solace from the brutality of the arena, his heart beating in rhythm with yours, bound by a love that defied all odds.

The shadows of secrecy could only conceal your love for so long. When your father discovered the truth of your forbidden romance, he devised a cruel plan to teach you a lesson.

Your father, driven by rage, forced Simon into a duel against the most formidable warrior in the land. Towering over Simon, the opponent loomed like a mountain, casting a shadow over the arena with his imposing stature.

With every ounce of strength and determination, Simon fought valiantly, his every move a testament to his unwavering love for you. But the odds were stacked against him, and despite his best efforts, he was ultimately overpowered by the brute force of his adversary. 

You watched in agony as Simon fell to the ground, his body battered and broken, while the deafening cheers of the crowd echoed in your ears like a cruel mockery of your grief. You cried out, your anguished scream piercing through the crowd. Ignoring your father's desperate attempts to restrain you, you broke free from his grasp and raced down to the arena, your heart breaking with each step.

In your grief-fueled rage, you lashed out, pushing aside anyone who dared stand in your way. With a single motion, you sent a soldier trying to restrain you tumbling down the steps, his neck snapping with a sickening crunch as his body rolled to the bottom.

When you reached the arena you grasped Simon's sword with trembling hands and as the warrior who had robbed you of your beloved raised his hands in triumph, basking in the cheers of the crowd, you plunged the sword deep into his back. The crowd erupted into shocked gasps as they witnessed the princess, their beloved royalty, committing a brazen act of violence before their eyes.

With tears streaming down your cheeks, you collapsed beside Simon's lifeless form, the weight of grief and despair pressing heavily upon your heart. Tenderly, you cradled his face in your trembling hands, your fingertips tracing the contours of his features. Leaning forward, you pressed your lips softly against his, a final gesture of love and longing.

But as your lips met his the shocked gasps of the crowd echoed around you, their disapproval thick in the air. In that moment, you were acutely aware of the gaping divide between your station as royalty and Simon's humble existence as a gladiator. Yet, despite the scornful glares and muttering voices, you refused to let go of the man who had captured your heart so completely.

Among the spectators, your father let out a cry of anguish, his voice reverberating with fury and disbelief at the display unfolding before him.

As the king's guards advanced towards you, their expressions a mix of apprehension and determination, you knew that your fate was sealed. With resolve burning brightly within you, you reached for the small dagger strapped to your thigh, a gift from Simon for your protection.

With a steady hand and a resolve born of unwavering love, you drew the blade across your throat, the searing pain nothing to the agony within your heart.

As the crimson blood stained the pristine fabric of your gown, the collective gasps and cries of the onlookers reached a fever pitch, mingling with the anguished wails of your father. 

As your blood mixed with Simon's on the bloodstained earth of the arena, you knew that in death, you would find solace in the arms of your beloved, united for eternity in a love that transcended even the boundaries of mortality and the barriers of royalty and status.