#The details on the front of her dress kill me...

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

@zepskies

Oh boy, I am ready for the angst *rubs hands* and the dancing!!

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

First I want to say that I am here for the reader rifling through Michael's drawers, YES girl, channel Daphne for Dean!! But I really love this little bit here because of the way you described Michael's gaze on her. Yes, we hate Michael... but goodness it was such a wonderful poetic line and all I want is that 😭

Also I love the little detail of Dean going out with a girl named Vanessa and especially the part where he thinks that she would:

"twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn't really remember much of what she said..."

It's so good because my mind immediately shot to the idea that Dean is already subconsciously comparing the women/girls he's going out with to the reader. And on the inside I was doing this:

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.” “Oh, I’m distracting?” You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him. It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

The boys running into the reader at the club was so wonderful, and there's really something beautiful about the way you build the scene with the dancing, the drinking, the people playing cards, and the description of the outfit the reader wore is stunning! I love the dark lipstick, dress, hat combo that shields her face is just everything I want- but above all, I really loved the banter you had between the reader and Dean.

The give and take with the dialogue is beautiful. This piece especially, because I literally needed to take a moment after reading it and the way Dean looked at the reader. 👀

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine. “Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

Oh my word IT'S HAPPENING!!! The tension! 😱

Also, I'm a complete sucker for a dance scene. I've written them a few times, and there's something so magical and intimate about them. You wrote this one between Dean and the reader so beautifully, because you made it filled with attraction, but you also made it a little melancholy when the reader is remembering a part of her life when she was happy in her marriage. The almost kiss is KILLING me lol

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said. “I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said. It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression. Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.” Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

Alright, it's official Alex my soul has left my body. It's been nice knowing you 🤣 I knew this would happen someday when I read one of your fics lol

Ohhh my word this chapter was so good! The historical fiction vibes are just so impeccable, and the entire scene with the reader and Dean in the club is going to live rent free in my head the rest of the year! Cannot wait to revive and read the next chapter lol!! 💗

BETWEEN THE CITY & THE STARS - Part 2

Pairing: Dean Winchester x Reader

Summary: In the fall of 1945, Dean is having a difficult time assimilating back into civilian life after the War. He’s visiting his brother Sam in New York City, where he’s beginning to build up his law firm. At two minutes to closing time, you interrupt their evening to solicit a solicitor. Your request? You need help in order to divorce your husband.

AN: Before we tune back into some 1940s drama, I just wanted to thank you all so much for your wonderful responses on Part 1 of this series. 🥹 It’s my first time doing a story like this, so I’m very happy you liked the jumpstart here. 💖💖

Prompt for @jacklesversebingo: Historical Epic

Song Inspo: “I’ve Got You Under My Skin” by Frank Sinatra

Word Count: 3.7K

Tags/Warnings: Angst, hints of PTSD, flirting, dancing…

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Part 2: Devil May Care

After you got home from work the very next day, your apartment was entirely empty.

Predictable. Michael was still out.

This time, you counted it as a blessing. You rifled through every corner, cabinet, pocket, and drawer in search of evidence—anything you could use to prove, without even one shade of a doubt, that your husband was the unfaithful scoundrel you knew him to be. You knew it, deep in your gut. In your very soul.

You even rifled through Michael’s desk in his office, through every single folder, drawer, and booklet. You’d never done such a thing before because he was a particular man about his things, and you respected his privacy. 

That was done now. In your search, you found a useless ball of rubber bands and old coupons. You took his father’s old collection of fountain pens, which you knew Michael was precious about, and threw them haphazardly onto the desk to make room for your seeking hands through the rest of the drawers.

You even came across a small, crumpled photograph from your wedding day. This one made you pause.

You considered the picture, its bent corners and slightly grainy black and white lens. You’d worn your mother’s wedding dress, and you stared up at your new husband with the rosiest of smiles. He stared into your eyes then the way he always used to—like a man ready and willing to drown in them.

You sighed and let the picture fall from between your fingertips. It swayed onto the desk’s mahogany wood surface, and rested there. You shook your head and returned your attention to your task at hand, holding your hands to your hips.

The problem was, you didn’t see anything incriminating here…until an idea finally occurred to you. You went into Michael’s closet. You sorted through the suit jackets he still needed to get drycleaned and pressed again.

In one of the pockets, you found a receipt. 

You brought it to Sam Winchester’s office the following morning before work, along with some documents of your household expenses. Like you did the afternoon before, he identified the receipt as one for the Cotton Club, a nightclub in the Upper East Side. You had never been there in your life, but you heard it was one of the new go-to spots in town. It was the kind of place you used to wish Michael would take you to, once in a while.

“It could be a lead or it could be nothing, but I’ll check it out, along with these,” Sam said. He gathered the financial documents you gave him as well. 

“Okay. Thank you, Mr. Winchester,” you nodded.

“You can call me Sam if you like,” he said, kind, but still professional. You smiled. Unbidden, it reminded you of his brother.

“Please,” you said, your eyes briefly closing. “Just…call me by my name. My first name.” 

Dean slowly smiled. “Perfect. I like your name better anyway.” 

This time, your smile in return was genuine, if tinged with amusement. 

“Goodnight, Dean,” you replied.

Biting the inside of your lip, you gave into the urge to ask the question.

“It was nice of your brother to walk me home last night…what is he up to today then?”

“Ah, well, he’s out to lunch with a young lady he met last night,” Sam replied, with a somewhat wry, but still amused tone to his voice. You frowned.

“Last night? Does your brother meet a lot of women after 9:00 p.m.?” 

Sam chuckled. “He’s not usually wanting for company.”

“I see,” you said flatly. You should have known. The devil-may-care grin on that man was too charming to be anything less than the mark of a shameless flirt. Maybe even a scoundrel. Lord knew you couldn’t take any chances either way.

Dean returned from his day out with Vanessa. She was a nice enough girl, a knockout blonde too. She was smart, studying to be a schoolteacher. But she also tended to twitter on about frivolous things, so much that he couldn’t really remember much of what she said. She did look good doing it though. Not to mention, she let him feel her up while they kissed in one of the alleys, between the ice cream parlor and a drycleaners.

He predictably found his brother whittling away life in his office. Dean dropped his coat and hat on the hanger with a flourish. Sam raised his head from his work with an amused smile.

“Had a good day, did you?” he remarked.

“I can’t complain,” Dean agreed. “Especially when a beautiful woman’s involved.”

Sam shook his head. Before September, he hadn’t seen Dean in three years. Yet some things just didn’t change.

“You gonna see her again?” Sam asked.

Dean made a noncommittal sound. “We’ll see. The day is young, brother.”

Sam raised a finger. “Speaking of which. Mrs. Milligan came by this morning. I’ve been looking through her husband’s finances.”

“Oh really?” Dean sobered as he approached his brother’s desk. “What’d you find?”

“Overall, things seemed to be in order, until I noticed something strange,” Sam said. Dean lowered into the chairs opposite his brother at his desk, and they went over it all together. Sam appreciated another set of eyes on this, with the understanding that Dean would keep the information to himself. 

Starting roughly eleven months ago, there was a check signed to a Mr. Johnson for a moderate sum. Three weeks later, another check, this time a bit larger. For the past few months, Michael Milligan had been making these payments at least once a month, sometimes as much as three, albeit in different amounts.

“He might just have a gambling problem,” Sam said. He rubbed his chin in contemplation.

“Or it could be what she’s worried about,” Dean pointed out. “The name could be an alias. Maybe Mike’s paying for someone’s services…or paying her bills, if you catch my drift.”

Sam slowly nodded. “That’s a possibility.” He checked the dates on the documents again and shook his head. “Mrs. Milligan told me they got married about a year ago, here in the city. It would mean this guy started stepping out on her a month after the wedding.” 

Dean both could and couldn’t believe it. He might not have been a saint himself when it came to the fairer sex, but if he went through the whole ordeal of marrying one, let alone a straight-shooting woman like you, beautiful, clever…

“Geez,” he muttered. “He could’ve at least waited until the ink dried on the certificate.” 

Sam nodded in agreement. He picked up the receipt to the Cotton Club, and he shot his brother a grin.

“Wanna go to the club tonight?”

A wall of sound. That was the Cotton Club—the band on stage playing jazz tunes, loudly, if skillfully; the clanking of glasses as drinks rolled past; the clamor of heels and leather shoes as couples swung on the dance floor; and the added layer of people raising their voices to compensate. The room was filled with the smell of cigarette smoke, fighting against perfume and cologne and musk and sweat.

It was a bit overwhelming for Dean at first. He tried to ease himself into the scene with Sam at his side, even if he did jolt at the cork of a champagne bottle popping open. Sam noticed, but he mercifully didn’t say anything. He thumped a hand on Dean’s back to steady him under the pretense of a brotherly pat, adding a smile for good measure.

Sam was there to keep a lookout for Michael Milligan. Dean would help, but it wasn’t like he was being paid for it. He was largely aiming to have some fun while his brother was all serious, focused on the work. Dean was here for the community nightlife. 

The beautiful, beautiful community. As a matter of fact, there were lovely ladies everywhere. One sultry blonde was singing an upbeat, jazzy tune at the mic. Dolores Daye, said the banner above the stage.

Dean’s attention shifted from the stage to the scattered round tables outside the dance floor, as well as the chair lined up at the bar. His gaze caught on someone familiar—on you, sat at a table by yourself. His eyes widened. He slowed to a stop while Sam went on ahead.

You were stunning, almost unrecognizable in a shimmering black dress that hugged every lush part of your figure, with sleeves that draped off your shoulders. His eyes drew down your crossed legs, the sheer pantyhose, leading to a pair of tall, shining black heels.   

You wore a hat and partial veil that covered half your face, but he knew it was you. Those lips of yours were familiar on sight. Now they were painted red, dark and luscious.

“Dean?” Sam questioned him. He’d turned back when he realized his brother wasn’t keeping up with him. Dean subtly pointed you out. Sam raised his brows, but then he noticed what you were doing. You had a glass of wine in hand, and you seemed to be watching someone.

Every now and then your gaze would travel across the room, where your husband Michael was sat at a table filled with other men and women. They were laughing, drinking, playing cards. 

Sam and Dean shared a conspiring look, one that said they had the same thought. They went over to you. 

Sensing you were being approached, you looked over and found the pair of tall, familiar men with a widening of your eyes. That pretty mouth of yours fell open in surprise. 

“What’re you doing here?” you whisper-hissed. You beckoned them to sit down so they weren’t standing out so much while talking to you. Both Winchester men were broad-shouldered and tall as oaks.

“The same thing you’re doing, apparently,” Sam said, once he and Dean were sitting across from you at the table. He showed you the camera he had hidden in his coat pocket. “I’m going to see if I can get a read on what your husband’s up to, maybe collect some evidence.”

You let out a rush of breath. “Good, thank you.”

“Until then, maybe you’d be more comfortable at home,” he suggested.

Dean knew what his brother was getting at. This wasn’t the kind of place for a woman to be hanging around…unaccompanied. Not a respectable one like you, who clearly wasn’t used to being in a roaring nightclub. Plus, if Michael did slip up here, it wasn’t exactly going to be pleasant for you.

You still shook your head stubbornly. “No. I want to see it with my own eyes.”

Sam almost sighed, but Dean shot him a nod. Right then, they had an understanding. Dean would stay and look out for you while Sam tried to get closer to Michael. Sam left you and Dean together at the table thereafter, and Dean ordered a drink for himself. You sipped at your wine.

Dean glanced at you in appreciation. You really were beautiful…and not just tonight. Though he had to smile at your “disguise.”

“You think that getup is gonna fool your husband?” he remarked, gesturing at your form.

Your lips pursed, but you kept your head angled towards him, so that your hat and veil continued to hide your face from Michael’s direction.

“It has so far,” you retorted. “And this isn’t a getup.”

You smoothed slightly self-conscious hands down the skirt of your dress. Dean smiled. 

“All right, I’m sorry. Poor choice of words,” he said. He dropped his chin and raised his brows, earning your gaze under the hat. “It’s quite a dress, sweetheart.”

I’d like to see you out of it, he thought, even though he immediately stamped it down. You weren’t exactly available, no matter how delectable you were. The interesting part was, you didn’t seem to realize it as you fidgeted in your seat, a little self-consciously.

“Is that supposed to be a compliment?” you snipped.

His lips tugged at a smirk. He tilted your hat up a little so he could see more of your frowning face. 

“Want me to do better?” he teased. 

“I’d like you to leave me be. How about that?” you said, grabbing the edges of your hat and tilting it back down. “You’re distracting me.”

“Oh, I’m distracting?”

You met his gaze to give him a hot reply, but your words failed you. Just then, faced with his perfectly handsome, roguish face, you finally noticed how green his eyes were. Holding the gleaming reflection from the crystal chandelier above the bar, they briefly dragged over you again, like he was a starving man, and you were the very last morsel held in front of him.

It was indecent, you thought, but suddenly your mouth had gone dry.

“How about this,” Dean said. He finished off his whiskey and held out a hand to you. “Dance with me. You’ll have a better vantage point to spy on Mike over there.”

“Keep your voice down,” you shushed, glancing around.

Dean just smirked. He beckoned you again with a raise of his brows.

You hesitated, but you still eventually dropped your hand into his. He stood before you so he could help you to your feet. You allowed him to escort you over to the dance floor, and all the while you fought off your nerves. You were only doing this because he had a good idea; this would help you keep an eye on Michael without looking so out of place, a woman drinking alone at the table.

The band was playing a moderately paced song, which was good. You weren’t in this to be swept into the air.

“Relax,” Dean whispered, once he had you in his arms. His hands were respectably placed on your waist and in your hand. You knew you did have to relax though. Already you were too stiff while tentatively holding his hand, your other resting on his shoulder.

“I haven’t danced in—in a while,” you admitted. You were a little nervous as you began swaying with Dean, letting him lead you. He turned you about with ease, even twirling you under his hand.

“See? There’s nothing to it,” he said, welcoming you back into his arms. “When’s the last time you had some fun?”

You tilted your head as you thought about it. You and Dean shuffled about the dance floor in more complicated steps as the song increased in tempo. You were breathless in a good way. In a way that you couldn’t even remember needing to breathe as the golden lights sparkled in the corners of your eyes.

“He took me to a club like this once, about…I’d say month or so after we got married last year,” you admitted between spins. You had to hold a hand to your head to keep your hat on.

You were distracted enough by it all—the spinning, the laughter and tinkling glasses, the flashes of spotlight in between sultry dim shades, the heady smell of this man’s cologne, and his every touch, however brief on your body, but just as confident and measured. You actually told him the truth.

“I’ve been dying to get out more ever since, but…” you trailed as he spun you again, then winded you back into the growing familiarity of his arms.

Dean smoothly guided you even closer to him by your waist, until there was hardly any room between your chest and his, between your face and his. Your hand curled around the back of his neck on instinct, the edge of your nails just barely grazing through his hair. You wouldn’t know how it elicited a hot zing of sensation down his spine.

“Your husband really is blind, and even dumber than he looks,” Dean said, glancing down at your face. “I clocked you in five seconds flat, just by those pretty lips.”

You lowered your eyes, but not very far. They landed on his plush lips in contemplation. When your eyes met his again, Dean had a conundrum. He just didn’t think he cared all that much about the consequences.

His head began to bow towards yours, just when the song slowed to a stop. Almost without realizing it, he pressed his hand a little more insistently on the small of your back. You found yourself accepting that guiding pressure. Half-lidded eyes and heavy, mingled breaths in between…

“Let’s hear it again for Dolores Daye, everybody!” the host called out.

You snapped to attention and glanced over Dean’s shoulder at the singer. She waved goodbye to the crowd with a sensuous smile on her ruby red lips. Then she walked off stage in her glittering golden dress, and she grabbed hold of a man’s tie. That man was your husband.

Michael wore a wide smile on his face as she led him to his feet by his tie. He stood, his form looming over her, though she didn’t seem to mind—especially when his arm wrapped too familiarly around her waist.

It wasn’t the kind of embrace you would see between strangers, even for the sake of a good show for the crowd. Their faces became impossibly close, but it was just shy of a kiss as she laughed, a sound like fine crystal bells.

Dean noticed why you froze. He turned to look over his shoulder and his expression faded, becoming grim. He led you off the stage, and while keeping a discreet eye on the scene, he lingered at the bar in the center of the room. His arm stayed around your waist. He could tell himself it was to stay in character, but really, he just wanted to keep you grounded…that right now, you weren’t alone.  

Here by the bar, it was far enough that Michael likely wouldn’t notice you, but close enough that you both could hear what was happening.

The host stepped down from the stage and joined Dolores and Michael, laying a heavy hand on your husband’s shoulder. Yet another clue that Michael showed his face here all too frequently. The host waved over his entire table of friends, Sam included. He’d managed to get himself invited to sit with them.

“Come on. Join us out back,” said the host, gesturing behind the curtain.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“For a card game or two, a little smoke, a nice little drink,” Michael said, grabbing Sam’s shoulder. “You in?”

Sam nodded. He glanced over and found Dean across the room with his eyes. They shared a brief, but telling look, after which Sam followed Michael and Dolores past the curtain discreetly. Meanwhile, you were already pulling away from Dean’s arm.

“I’m sorry. I’ve got to go,” you murmured.

You went back to the table to collect your purse. You left the rest of your wine there with a few bills on the table to cover it, and you were off, walking brusquely to the front doors. Dean followed suit, laying some money down for his own drink before he followed after you. The clerk at the front brought you your coat after you handed over your ticket, and Dean did the same.

“Hey, why don’t I take you home,” he said, having to raise his voice even here over the noise.

“No, thank you,” you said thickly.

After you had your coat on, you hastened to the closest bus stop outside the club. It was late, it was dark, and it was cold. You saw your fragile breath on the air as you stood there in your tall heels, and you held yourself for more than one reason as you fought off bitter tears.

You bit your lip and blinked against the burn, but you still had to swipe a few droplets quickly from your cheeks. You tried to even out your shallow breaths. It felt like someone had reached into your chest and started squeezing whatever they found. Whatever was left.

Dean sidled up to you with his hands in his pockets. You heaved a sharp sigh, recognizing him just by his shadow casting beside yours under the streetlamp. You kept your face away from him as you wiped at your tears.

“Why do you insist on watching me be miserable?” you asked. 

“Aw, come on, sweetheart.” He shook his head, carding a hand through his hair. “I know you’re upset. I just want to make sure you get home safe, that’s all. …You don’t even have to talk to me if you don’t want to.” 

You slowly shot him a glance, but you didn’t budge. Your frown deepened along with your furrowed brows.  

“Dean, please. You don’t have to do this just because you feel sorry for me,” you said.

“I don’t feel sorry for you,” he said.

It earned your attention, your confused and hurt expression.

Dean met your gaze steadily. “I feel sorry for him. Because he doesn’t have a clue what he’s just lost.”

Your breath stilled in your lungs. 

His words touched you, more deeply than he probably realized. Part of you still wanted to give a sharp retort, that you didn’t need a chaperone. You didn’t need him to swoop in and collect you like broken glass…but a larger part of you craved the company. You didn’t want to be alone.

Soon enough, the next bus pulled up at the curb in front of you. The doors opened. 

Dean gestured with a sweeping hand towards the bus’s steps. 

Ladies first.

With another small sigh, you climbed up without a word. You even accepted his helping hand as you did so. Dean stepped up after you, and the doors closed behind you both.

AN: Welp, Happy Valentine's Day! 😅💜 Quite literally an angsty ride here, but what should happen on this bus going nowhere...

Next Time:

You admired his hands as they rested casually in his lap. They were larger than yours, with long fingers. His hands look strong and capable, like the rest of him, even though they were always considerate when they touched you.

“Then you should do something you like doing,” you said. “Fixing cars! That’s good, honest work you can make a living out of.”

Dean looked over at you. “You think so?”

You nodded your encouragement, smiling bright. “I know so. You might be a bit of a flirt, but you also look like someone who can accomplish whatever you set your mind to.”

When those words slipped free from your mouth, you realized how he might take that little accusation, let alone how overeager you sounded. Your gaze fell away from him as you felt your face getting warm in a blush.

Dean’s smile slid into a smirk. “I’m a flirt, huh?”

“Well…” You bit the inside of your lip and tried your hardest not to look at him for a while. “At least you’re an honest one.”

Dean laughed freely at that.

▶️ Keep Reading: PART 3

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[greenokapiarts]

'Something she must do...'

This is a lil old actually, doodled it when I saw that last geoglyph cutscene bcs I have maNY FEELINGS!

My bff @sherlocktheravencat then did some AMAZING coloring and I LOVE!!

[aerynwrites]

Give

King!John Price x Fem!Reader

A/N: It's FINALLY here holy shit y'all. sorry for the delay, it was just slow going mainly bc i got stuck on the smut lmao. SO, i just decided to post the bulk of the story now and then post a second smutty part later. I hope you all enjoy, and as usual I love to hear what you guys think!! Comments, reblogs and such are greatly appreacited. Also: this fic was inspired by the song Give by Sleep token as well as the song Kingdom of cards by Bad Omens! Word Count: 7.6k (oops) Warnings: Arranged marriage, mentions of past abuse to reader, reader's father is abusive, hurt/comfort, soft john price, mentions of consummation, fluff, just so much fluff.

The room is eerily silent, the complete opposite of what you expected on a day like this.

Your wedding day.

Your mother had stepped out once the handmaid that was provided to you had finished helping you with your dress - panicked when she couldn’t find the veil that she was passing down to you. Your father had entered as soon as your mother had left, and you dared not break the silence first. You know what will happen if you do. 

But you can’t stop the way you fidget, wiping your hands down the front of the bodice of your dress, tugging at the fingers of your silk gloves. You hate wearing gloves, they itch and they are too warm - but your father insisted, hand raised threatening above his head when you almost muttered a complaint. 

So. You’re wearing the gloves -

“Stop fidgeting,” your father bites, standing abruptly from the armchair in the corner to storm over to you. 

The flinch that jolts your body is instantaneous, shying away from the storm of a man approaching you. The only reason you don’t shield yourself is because even you know he won’t do anything. Not today at least. 

Can’t risk marking up the wares. 

But it doesn’t stop him from gripping your arm like a vice, his nails digging into your skin beneath the delicate fabric of the ornate gown. You choke down the whimper, but fail to hide the fear you know is present in your gaze as you stare up at your oppressor. 

“You will not ruin this for us,” he all but hisses. “I understand that decorum is a foreign concept to you, but if you so much as think about sabotaging this - me - I will-”

“I found it!” Your mother calls from the other side of the door, her voice shoving your father away from you like a storm would a willow branch. 

She breezes into the room with an elegance you could never hope to match, a beauty you could never achieve - at least according to your father. She smiles at you, and you don’t fail to notice the way she takes in your shrunken appearance, the tense in your shoulders, before her eyes flicker to her husband. 

She knows. She’s known the whole time - for she bears the scars too. 

Her smile becomes tight, but she doesn’t say anything, just comes to you with the veil raised in her hands. It’s floor length, the back so long it trails even past your dress train, the lace details so intricate you can’t imagine how long it took the original creator to tailor it. it has a front piece as well that drapes in front of your face, falling to just above your collar bone where it will stay until your future husband unveils you. 

The king. 

You have to fight the shudder that threatens to run through you at the thought. You’ve only met him once, and at the time neither of you knew you would end up wedding one another. The King rules over the land, but there are many territories, many clans - his the most fearsome of all. You’d heard whispers through your childhood of the ruthlessness of the capitol city in which the King resides. Its citizens were born and bred to fight - knights and soldiers trained to kill. 

Your father’s words ring in your ears as your mother fixes your veil to your head, fussing with the fabric. 

‘If you even think about sabotaging me…’

Any sane person would. They would probably try to run for the hills when they found out they were to wed the ruthless King, a king that has never lost a battle, a King whose Kings-guard have a reputation of gutting those who dare defy him.

But not you. Little did your father know that you would do everything in your power to escape him. 

For even death must be a better sentence than your life back home.

——

Every woman you’d spoken to back home always talked about their nerves on their wedding day. Some from fear, some from joy or just pure excitement. Some of them talked of the way they got sick just before walking down the aisle or the way their hands hook or their palms sweat. 

You don’t feel anything. 

It’s just pure numbness. As if you are outside of your body watching as the doors to the massive temple open wide, all in attendance standing immediately. You can see the King, your future husband standing on the dais in front of a priest, the incense from the thurible curling around them both as your father all but marches you down the aisle. 

You can’t feel your feet or your hands, you can’t even register your intakes of breath. The only thing that runs through your panicked mind is that at least your future husband is handsome.  You remember having a similar thought when you met him all those years ago at a kingdom wide celebration here in this very city. He was easy to spot, sitting above the jousting ring, crown atop his head, surrounded by his three kings guard. 

He takes up the whole room even now, commanding it with his very presence as the priest introduces him to the crowd - to you.

“King Johnathan Price, third of his name, King of…” you zone out again, instead focusing on the very man being heralded.

He lacks the armor he usually wears, exchanging it instead for rich garments of silk and other fine fabrics. A long purple cloak, the collar adorned with fur of what appears to be a wolf, hangs from his shoulders, held together with a heavy golden chain decorated with the sigil of his house. 

The crown still sits atop his head, golden and gleaming, each crevice and gemstone polished to perfection and nestled amongst chestnut colored locks. Only when you approach the dais do you notice the grey starting to pepper his temples and beard. 

This is also the moment that you seem to come back to yourself, your soul being sucked back into your body as you and your father come to a halt at the bottom of the stairs and piercing blue eyes capture your own despite the veil. 

He smiles, a soft gentle thing that makes your lips turn down in a frown, the action only further deepened when the priest says something about your father relinquishing your hand and soon two strong arms wrap around you too tightly for a loving embrace.

“Remember what I said,” he says lowly, and to onlookers it looks like a father telling his beloved daughter goodbye. But you know better. 

“Do not disappoint me.”

And then he’s placing a kiss to your glove covered knuckles before placing your hand in the much larger calloused one before you. 

The steps up the dais are a blur until you’re standing face to face with your fate. The priest rambles on as the king takes your other hand in his own, holding them between your bodies and all you can think about is how warm his hands are and how much larger he is up close. Your ears are ringing so loud you almost miss the prompt from the priest to say the scripted words, but your father’s threat echoes loudly in your mind and you speak the words automatically, your voice mixing with the rumbling baritone of the man before you as you recite them together. 

The priest then sprinkles a fragrant oil on your joined hands, waves the thurible around as the crowd chants some vague prayer to bless your union. And then the words you didn’t realize you were dreading until the moment they are spoken into the air. 

“You may kiss your bride.”

A hush falls over the crowd as the king releases your hands to reach for the edges of your veil. He lifts slowly, and you swear you stop breathing as he places it delicately over your head, finally revealing you to him. 

And he gives you that soft smile again, the one that’s so contradictory to the stories whispered in your ears. His eyes crinkle gently at the corners as his hands come up to cradle your face, again touching you like delicate porcelain as he dips down to press his lips to your own. 

His lips are soft, softer than you ever imagined, and his hands are so warm against the skin of your cheeks, and you feel something jump in your chest and-

It’s over so fast. 

The crowd erupts in cheers as he pulls away, giving you one last reassuring smile before you both turn to face the crowd and his hand drops to take your own before raising them both above your heads in rejoice as you both descend the dais. 

Rice and flowers and the like are thrown your way as you leave the temple, and once again your body works on it’s own set of instructions, following the kings lead and the attendants ushering you both through a maze of hallways until soon your seated at a large table in an even larger dining hall and the celebration has truly begun. 

Food, more than you’ve ever seen in a place at once is piled onto the tables, music floats merrily through the room, entertainers flooding the center of the floor to vie for their King’s attention. Only when the food has been served, the wine poured, and people start eating does anything manage to catch your attention. 

And once again, it’s those damned hands. 

One comes to settle atop your own that sits rigid in the table, fork held tightly between your fingers as you have yet to even touch the food set before you. 

“Are you alright?”

His voice is like a siren song, yet also reminding you of rolling thunder, a comforting lull that soothes the nerves that must have come crashing down upon you as the weight of today’s actions finally catches up with you. 

You turn to look at the king - no - your husband, and you have to fight the burn at the back of your eyes. 

Bright blue stares back at you, brows creased with worry as he gazes at you, and you’re suddenly aware of another set of eyes on you. You can feel them burning into the back of your head, and you can’t help but steal a quick glance, only to see the seething gaze of your father looking back at you as he gestures silently to your plate. 

Oh gods…you look down to your plate, then to the kings, and you’re just now realizing his Kings-guard is also sat at the table with you, two on your side and one on his left, and they’ve all finished at least Half their plates and you haven’t even touched yours-

“Forgive me, my King,” you rush out, sitting up straighter, and immediately moving to pick up a piece of fruit - you think it’s a strawberry but you can’t be sure, not past the buzzing in your head. “I did not intend to appear ungrateful. I’m merely…nervous that’s all.”

His brows furrow further, and that must have been the wrong thing to say.

“I just meant…I’m excited, the nerves stem from joy I assure you-”

Soon the King is abandoning his utensils all together, reaching over to take your hand in both of his own, as that concerned look never leaves his face. 

“It’s alright,” he says softly, that smile coming back to his face when he sees you relax slightly at his words. “And please, call me John,” he chuckles a little, “We’re married after all. No need for the formalities.”

You nod, “Of course, my King - John-”

“Aye, dinnae listen to him, lass,” an accented voice speaks from your right, and you startle slightly when the guard next to you leans in ever so slightly, blue eyes gleaming with mischief. “He’s full’o himself, call him ‘my King’ all ye want-”

A rough shove from the man on his right stops him in his tracks, and you can’t stop the way your eyes widen at the pure casualness of the interactions. 

“Cut it out MacTavish,” the man grumbles, leaning forward to address you now, “Apologies, your majesty, but this one-” he jerks a thumb towards the one you now know as MacTavish, “never knows when to shut his mouth.”

You go to speak, only to be cut off by John.

“Leave my wife be,” he says sternly before turning back to you. “Sorry about them,” he apologizes needlessly, “they’re…” he trails off and this time it’s you who gives him a smile, a real one. 

“It’s alright, I…” you pause, “thank you. For checking in with me and…thank you.”

You turn back to your meal before John can respond, missing the way his brows furrow again at your words as you finally start eating, trying and failing to ignore the way his earlier words made your heart stutter and you can’t tell if it’s good or bad.

My wife. 

——

The celebration went on for what feels like days, music and more entertainers and more gifts from more lords and ladies than you could name. They served dessert, and then the dancing began and John had even asked you out to the floor for a dance. It was one you knew the steps to, thank the gods, and by the end of it both of you were smiling so wide even you couldn’t deny the way the earlier trepidation seemed to melt off of you. 

That was until the night started to draw to a close. It was slow, but soon guests were retiring, coming up and giving their well wishes and goodbyes before leaving. With every guest that left it felt like a second closer to your perceived doom. 

You aren’t a fool - you aren’t some naive maiden - you know what happens on one's wedding night. You know what’s expected of you as a woman - as a queen now. And that thought is made all the more terrifying when your father and mother come up to bid their own farewells. 

Your mother is first, and John is chivalrous enough to give you some space, although he never quite leaves your side, just steps a few paces back as your mother envelops you into a hug. You can’t stop the tears in your eyes as her arms wrap around you, as you know this will be the last time you see her for a while, your fathers territory being many months away. 

“I love you more than the entire world, my star,” your mother whispers, pressing a kiss to your cheek as she pulls away, hands coming up to cradle your face in her gentle grasp. “You will make an excellent queen.”

You pull her into one last hug before your father is impatiently tugging at you, though not in an obviously rough manner - he must keep up appearances after all. Even the large smile he wears as he pulls you into him is fake, full of deep seated hatred and loathing for a daughter he only ever saw a nuisance, a means to an end. 

His grip is crushing, and you don’t miss the way his fingers dig into your sides again, his breath disgustingly warm against your ear as he pretends to whisper his goodbyes, but instead whispers words you would never dare repeat. 

It feels like an eternity before he lets go, and he only does so because another hand settles on your shoulder, tugging you gently. 

“I fear it’s time for us to retire for the evening,” John says, voice tight as he gazes at your father in a way that makes you suspect he isn’t as stupid as all the others your father has fooled in the past. 

Your father bows, all reverence and kind smiles and posterity. 

“Of course, my King.”

And then you’re gone, being whisked away from the only life you’ve known into an all new and terrifying unknown one. 

——

Your footsteps echo loudly in the hallways as you follow John through what feels like a maze. This castle, just like the capitol itself is massive, larger than any you’ve ever been in. If it wasn’t for John, you feel like you might get lost in the twists and turns forever. You try to remember where he’s leading you - this is your new home after all, you will need to learn your way around. But with each turn and door your pass through it just gets more confusing. Did you turn left or right before or after the door-

“Don’t worry,” John speaks up, breaking the tense silence that had befallen you both, “you will learn your way faster than you think.”

You turn to him then, surprised that he caught on to your internal intentions. But he’s perceptive, that’s at least one thing you know about your new husband. 

You try to return the small smile he gives you as you nod, looking around once more. 

“I have no doubt I will learn my way eventually,” you agree, letting out a small sigh, “It’s just so…big. I’ve never seen a palace so magnificent. I can’t even begin to imagine what all the rooms hold…”

A small chuckle meets your ears, the sound surprising you slightly as you turn to look back at your husband as he speaks. 

“Well, I would be happy to give you a proper tour tomorrow. I have a feeling you may enjoy the library the most,” he says, eyes twinkling in the dim light of the sconces lining the hallway. 

You do perk up at that. “A library?” 

John hums, nodding. “Yes I…” he clears his throat, and if you didn’t know any better you would think that he appears almost…nervous. “I noticed the multiple trunks of books among your things as the servants were bringing it in this morning. I’m almost worried that our selection of books might be too small compared to your own.”

You shake your head, another real smile tugging at your lips. “I highly doubt that,” you say softly, “And I…I will be most happy with anything you deign to show me. You are most kind.”

John only hums again, and another silence envelops you, this one much more pleasant. Only when you take a few more turns does he speak up again. 

“Here we are,” he says, gesturing to a large wooden door a few paces away at the end of the hallway. There’s another door that you passed a few steps back, both of them having a guard posted outside of them. The same guards that shared dinner with you earlier. 

As you approach the door John directs you too, the guard standing outside stands straighter, nodding gently to you and the John, “your majesties.”

John smiles at him, returning the gesture as he addresses him, “Garrick,” he reaches up placing a hand upon his armored shoulder, “Go join MacTavish will you? Make sure he doesn’t need any help patrolling.”

The guard hesitates for a moment, eyes flicking to something behind you both before John speaks again. 

“Don’t worry,” he assures him, “Ghost is back there.”

The guard, Garrick, you try to remember nods, offering a curt bow before taking his leave and walking in the direction you and John came from. The clink of his armor fades until it’s just you and the King again, and you only realize you’d lost yourself again when gentle words greet your ears, this time in the form of your name. 

You look up from where your eyes had fallen to the ground to see John standing in the doorway to the room, holding the door open and looking at you gently. A clear invitation to enter. You clear your throat, offering a small apology as you enter, eyes flitting about the space.

It’s a large bedchamber, clearly your own if your things placed neatly about have anything to say about it. The four poster bed is larger than any you’ve ever slept in, gauzy fabric draped prettily from the ceiling and down around the tall wooden posts. Furs, dozens of them adorned what was no doubt a feather mattress, made up to perfection. A fire roars in the fireplace across the room from the bed, a table and two chairs sitting off to the side of it near a stained glass window. A yewer of  wine and two glasses sits atop the table, and if your stomach were roiling you’d make a beeline for the substance. 

By all accounts the space is warm, welcoming even, leagues better than the single hard mattress in the tiny room of your old home. But all your eyes can seem to focus on is the bed, and the towering presence behind you. And as the solid wood door clicks shut behind you, it feels like the tolling of the bell, the final nail in your coffin as your spirit seems to leave your body once more. 

You can hear John talking, voice soft as he rambles about how he tried to have the servants place your things in the best places, have them organized. You think he also mentions something about how the nights here get cold so the fires were always going. He eventually walks over to the table by the fireplace, pouring two glasses of wine, all while you struggle to breath, your eyes only leaving the bed when he calls your name again, somehow even softer this time as he offers you the second glass. 

You walk over instinctively, taking the glass in your gloved hand, giving a wobbly smile as he taps his glass with your own before taking a small sip. 

You follow his actions before you take a sip of your own. But the wine is good - it’s slightly spiced and warm and if you are to face the coming moments then you need all the courage you can get - and before you know it the wine is gone and you're turning back towards the bed. You notice a small dressing table off to the side of the large armoire and walk to it on unsteady feet. 

John is speaking again, but you can’t hear him, not over the rush of blood in your ears or the breath stuttering in and out of your lungs as you reach up to pull the veil from your hair. You drape it across the table delicately, hands trailing over the fine embroidery before your hands fall to the laces of your dress. 

Let’s get this over with.

You’re just thankful the dress laces in the front, at least you could do that by yourself. But as you tug at the strings, you find you can’t - your hands shake and the damned gloves…

You yank off the delicate silk, ignoring the raised white scars that glare back up at you as you try and manage to succeed this time in tugging the laces loose. The bodice of the dress loosens around you, the weight of the gown pulling it down slightly, the only thing holding it up being the sleeves on your shoulders. You reach up, still shaking to pull those down next, when warm calloused hands stop you. 

He’s calling your name - he’s been calling your name but you couldn’t hear him over your own panic. But you hear him now, and the sound of it falling from his lips along with the grounding warmth of his hands holding your own brings you back to yourself. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, and you notice now that he’s standing before you, having turned you away from the dressing table to face him, blue eyes swimming with confusion. 

But you’re the confused one, your brows furrow as you look up at him. “What am I…?” You pause, looking down at yourself and then back to the bed behind you. “The…the consummation. I thought-”

Strong hands squeeze your own, and you look back to the man before you. He’s still dressed, you finally notice, and he’s looking at you like a delicate piece of glass, that you might break at the gentlest breeze. 

And maybe you would.

“Do you want to?” He asks, question sincere, brows raised slightly as his thumbs brush over your knuckles. 

The question startles you. Never had it even occurred to you about wanting this or not. Of course you didn’t want this. You just met this man - this man who is constantly contradicting every horrible thing you’ve heard whispered about him. This man who is a stranger but has been so kind. 

You’ve never been asked what you want. 

You shake your head, convinced this is a trick. Like one of the cruel ones your father would play on you - asking you a question that only had one right answer and then punishing you when you got it wrong. 

“I…” you trail off, fighting with yourself. You want to tell the truth, something screaming inside you that you can trust him while the other, the years of experience tells you otherwise. 

The latter wins out. 

You swallow thickly, eyes falling to the floor, unable to look him in the eyes as you lie. 

“Yes, of course. It’s my duty to-”

He squeezes your hands again, this time dropping one in favor of reaching up to cup your cheek, urging you to look at him once more. 

“Love,” he breathes, voice gentle, “You’re shaking like a leaf.” 

He takes a deep breath, as if stilling a rage inside of him as he takes in the sight of his broken bride before him. 

“I didn’t ask about your duties,” he practically bites the word. “Do you want this?”

Gods, you can’t do it. You can’t look at him and his kind eyes and remember his soft smile and feel the way he holds you so gently and lie to him. Your lower lip wobbles, and tears burn at the back of your eyes as you internally prepare for the consequences of your next words. 

“No.”

It’s whispered so softly that if he weren’t standing so close to you, there’s no way he would have heard it. But he does, and his hands are pulled from you so quickly that your eyes slip closed, prepared for a strike or a harsh word or something. 

But it never comes. 

Instead a tense silence falls over the room before his hand is taking one of yours in his own again, and your eyes open ever so slowly. 

“That’s it then,” he says, as if it’s the simplest thing in the world. “I’ll send for your handmaid, she can help get you ready for the night.”

You can’t stop the shake of your head, mind refusing to accept that this is it. That he is just going to leave you be. 

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

John smiles, and you don’t miss the flicker of sadness in his gaze. Pity, maybe?

“I won’t start our marriage off by forcing myself on you. I don’t…” he looks away then, “I’ll wait. until you’re ready.”

You speak the next words before you can think. 

“And if I’m never ready?” 

John smiles, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to the back of your hand, either ignoring or choosing not to acknowledge the multitude of scars adoring the skin beneath his lips. 

“I’ve waited this long,” he says simply, “Forever doesn’t seem like much longer.”

And then he’s gone, slipping from your bedchambers just as a handmaiden takes his place. 

——

The same handmaid as the night before is the one to wake you, Ilora if you remember correctly. She says that the King has requested you join him to break your fast, as she’s already searching through the armoire for something for you to wear. It's a somewhat silent affair as she helps you get ready, tying your corset, brushing your hair. She even offered you a pair of gloves when she sees you staring at the ones from yesterday, but you decline. 

He’s seen them anyways, and if he hadn’t it was bound to come out at some point. 

Maybe the conversation will come easier over tea and sweet rolls. 

You follow Ilora as she leads you through the still winding passages of the castle until you eventually come to a door that opens into an open courtyard. It’s still confined by the castle walls but the ceiling is open, allowing sunshine to pour down onto the cobbled pathways that wind between a multitude of flowers and bushes and even fruit trees. 

It’s like a tiny paradise hidden within the walls, sequestered away from the grim stone walls of the building itself. Birds chirp happily, flirting from one branch to the next; and you even spot a butterfly, bright blue and fluttering so prettily in the air before you. It makes you halt in your steps, watching the rhythmic beat of its wings as it floats in the gentle breeze around you. 

You reach up before you can stop yourself, fingers held poised as you reach for the small creature. It flutters about for a moment before settling onto your offered hand, and you can’t stop the smile that splits your lips as its wings beat lazily against your knuckles. 

Soon, another presence joins you, and a familiar hand reaches up to mimic your own, a calloused finger tracing the delicate wing of the insect. Your eyes leave one color of blue only to find another, surrounded by familiar crows feet at the corners of his eyes as John gazes softly at you. 

“Pretty as a painting,” he murmurs softly, his words making the butterfly take flight, continuing on its earlier journey. 

“It was beautiful,” you agree, watching the winged creature until it’s out of sight. 

John only chuckles, reaching over to place a hand lightly on your back. 

“I wasn’t talking about the butterfly, love.” 

His words and the meaning behind them make heat rush to your cheeks, and you look at him in surprise before dropping your eyes to the floor when you catch his playful grin. 

“Come on then,” he says, breaking the tension, “let’s eat,” he turns back to your secret, “Thank you, Ilora.”

Ilora offers a small bow at the dismissal and takes her leave as John leads you a few steps further into the courtyard to reveal a stone table laden with food and only two chairs. Once again you’re slightly taken aback by the abundance of food. Yes, you were a daughter of a noble house, your family was wealthy, your father a lord of some land. But you never saw this side of that life - the life of luxury. Your father made sure of that. 

John must take your hesitance for nervousness rather than curiosity, because he smiles that warm smile and places that familiar hand on your back to urge you closer. He doesn’t force though, never pushing you if your feet did not want to go. He merely encourages, like trying to placate a scared animal. 

Maybe you are one. 

“I figured you may want to break your fast away from the prying eyes in the dining hall,” he says simply, moving to pull out your chair when you finally concede to his invitation. 

You nod politely, eyes still scanning the vast array of food before you until John takes his seat in the chair across the table. “Thank you,” you say softly, eyes flitting to the attendants that seem to come from nowhere, pouring your drink, placing silverware, and even placing a napkin in your lap before retreating once more. 

A silence befalls you both then, and you can’t help but want to shrink under the awkwardness of it all. It’s as if neither of you know what to say - what do you say to your husband or wife that - until less than a day ago - was a stranger to you. 

Thank the gods John speaks first, your throat to dry with anxiety to do so.

“Do you like blueberry tarts?” He asks, hand already reaching for one of the flaky pastries in the center of the table, “they’re our baker’s specialty,” he chuckles as he leans to place one on your plate when you offer no refusal. “If you don’t, I’m sure you will after you try this.”

You snag the olive branch offered to you, smiling as you pick up your fork. 

“I do,” you say, cutting into the delicate treat, “They’re…They’re my favorite, actually. But we…”you trail off, remembering how once your father found out your affinity for the tarts, they had all but disappeared from the tables during meals. 

You clear your throat, “the ingredients were hard to find where I’m from,” you lie smoothly, avoiding  John’s gaze. “So they were a luxury.”

You look up when he doesn’t respond right away, and find the usual upturn of his lips absent in place of a scrutinizing gaze. Not a harsh one, but one that made it clear he was studying you, watching for…something. 

But it was gone as quick as it came, that pleasant warmth back in full force. 

“Well,” he says, placing a pastry on his own plate, “I’ll make sure there’s never a shortage.”

And on the meal went. 

Conversation flowed easier after that, John picking up on when you were unsure of a particular dish or food, explaining it to you and watching in utter amusement for whether you would like or dislike a particular one. He’d let out a particularly hard laugh when you’d tried a rather odd looking dish, promptly trying and failing to spit it out in as ladylike a manner as you could. 

Blood pudding he called it - making you let out a disbelieving laugh at the withheld information, playfully tossing your napkin his way. 

He’d caught it easily, offering you a much sweeter fruit to wash the acrid taste from your mouth. 

It felt like the morning lasted forever, and truthfully, you never wanted it to end. It’s…nice, talking to someone without the fear of reprimand or a strike for saying the wrong thing. And John he…he listens to you. Truly listens and seems to enjoy the things you talk about. He asks you questions about yourself; your favorite food, your favorite color, things you like to do to pass the time, places and things you wish to see.

And he listens to all of it, seemingly absorbing every word as if he’s a man in the desert dying of thirst and you’re the oasis he’s been searching for.

It goes on like this for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, and soon weeks bleed into months and it seems like your past gets further and further behind you as this future you and John start to build gets closer.

He shows you the library like he promised, and it’s where you find yourself spending most of your time when separated from John. The first few weeks you both are nearly inseparable, claiming he wants to spend time getting to know his wife. But a kingdom cannot run itself and eventually he has duties and things to tend to, which you respect. 

It doesn’t mean you don’t miss him though. 

It’s a shock when the feeling first hits you. It’s the third day in a row of only  seeing him in the morning to break your fast together. It’s late, and you are as usual, sitting in the armchair you claimed in the library. You’re reading a romance novel, one that you confessed guilty to John early on that you enjoyed reading. Most people back home (your father) hated them - claimed they were undignified, unfitting for a lady to fill her head with stories that would never come true. 

John had hundreds of novels shipped in over the next fortnight. 

The one you’re reading now is a short one, a cliche about a knight and a low born woman. But it’s sweet, and when you get to one particular part, you find yourself looking up from the page, chuckling lightly to yourself and wanting to share it with John. 

But he isn’t here. 

And as you look up and notice the darkness outside the windows, the only light being the fire a few feet in front of you, you feel a pang in your chest. A longing you’ve never felt before, never thought you’d feel in your lifetime. 

You miss him.  

And on this night, it appears as if he misses you too. Because, like a siren's call, as soon as you stand, marking your place in your book to retire to bed, the door to the library creaks open. You expect one of the guards, probably Kyle, as he too seems to be fond of the library, having found him in here on several occasions when he was off duty. 

So, when you look up from where your book sits on the side table, you are surprised to see John slipping into the room, hair tousled, and looking as if he had just come straight from the stables. Riding boots caked in mud, light armor still adorning him. When he spots you, it’s as if the world itself falls from his shoulders, he sags beneath the relief and walks to you with sure even steps until he’s less than an arms length away. 

“John, what are you doing?” You ask, looking down at his muddy boots and back up to the weary expression on his face. “What’s…is something wrong?” 

He pauses for a moment, a flicker of something flashing in his eyes before it's gone, and those piercing blues are softening and crow's feet appear at the corners as he reaches for you, taking your hands in his own gently. 

“Nothing, love,” he says, that nickname that’s become more frequent making your heart flutter. “Just missed you, is all.”

His admission makes warmth spread through you, like warm honey on freshly baked bread. And you can’t help but lean into him, relishing in the way his hands move to wrap around your waist. 

“I…I missed you too, John,” you tell him softly, as if the words will scare him away. 

But they do the exact opposite, they make the man beam brighter than before, fingers squeezing your sides gently as he steps ever closer, eyes falling from your own down to your lips. 

Your breath hitches as he inches closer, and you can feel the heat of his words as he speaks, air brushing over your lips. 

“Can I kiss you, love?”

You haven’t kissed since your wedding day. Not other than the chaste ones he’d press against your knuckles or your cheek on occasion. He’d respected the vow he spoke to you on your wedding night, never pushing you, never forcing you. He waited. Waited until you made the decision. 

The nod you give him comes quicker than you thought it would, and his lips are on your own in an instant. They’re warm and slightly chapped from the ride he no doubt went on today, but to you it’s…perfect. It’s warm and gentle and all consuming, and even though it isn’t heated or rushed or rough you suddenly understand the passion that all those romance novels wax poetry about. 

He doesn’t dominate you or control it in any way, he moves with you - coaxing you at times perhaps, smiling against your lips when you let out a small whimper. His hands never stray far either, only moving to wrap further around your or caressing up and down your spin, maybe toying with the hair at the base of your neck before finally coming to cradle the apple of your cheek in his calloused palm.

Only then does he pull away, and you flush at how breathless you are, the embarrassment only soothed when you see he is just as affected as you are. He rests his forehead to yours, eyes fluttering closed as his thumb brushes softly against your cheek. 

“Maybe I’ll have them move my desk in here,” he says after a comfortable silence. “That way even if I have things to tend to, I can still spend some time with you.”

You pull away from him only enough so he can see the smile on your face; and the next day when you come to the library, John is sitting at his desk, right next to your arm chair. 

———

Another thing that has changed for the better is your dreams. Nightmares used to be a constant for you before the wedding, waking up in cold sweats, fear making your very bones ache. But after the first few nights in the castle…they disappeared. Once you realize that the danger you used to live amongst  each and every day is no longer present, it’s as if your body finally allowed you to rest. 

Maybe that’s why this one is so much worse. 

You’d been lulled into a false sense of security, your body's survival instincts failing you, telling you that you were safe when you should know better. It’s the very thing he screams at you as he strikes you down in this hellscape. The bitter words he spits upon you as blood splatters across the stone flooring, as the toe of his boot meets your stomach again and again. 

You naive, stupid girl - you’re nothing! 

You want to scream out at him, tell him that it’s not true, that you are something and that someone loves you and cares for you. But the words are stuck in your throat like tar, and copper floods your tongue and any and all protests crumble like ash in your mouth as you see his guard raise the whip above his head. 

You wake up screaming. 

Throat raw, the taste of copper still coating your tongue and making you gag as you fight against the furs and blankest tangled around your legs. It’s pitch black, the fire having died out to nothing but embers. So when a pair of hands finds you in the dark you can’t stop the wail that slips from your lips.

He’s come back for you. He’s come to take you away-‘

“It’s me, love stop-” the voice is muddled, far away from your panicked mind. 

You fight the grip on your wrists, only stilling when one lets go to cup your cheek. Calloused hands, warm…they speak again.

“You’re safe, it’s me. Love, it’s me…”

“John?” 

His name is but a whimper on your lips, and when he assures you that it is him, you fall apart like glass when it meets stone. Shattered into a million little pieces. 

But he catches you, he catches and holds each and every piece of you as you sob in his arms, tears soaking the skin of his neck where you hide your face, fingers clutching desperately at the thin cotton of his shirt. He holds you so softly. Always soft, always gentle. His hands run up and down your back, over your shoulders, through your hair as he shushes you softly, cooing reassuring words into your ear. 

And when you finally do calm, sobs ebbing away into ugly sniffles and hiccups, he still doesn’t let go, shifting instead to lay back against the pillows with you tucked into his side as he pulls the covers around you - a safe cocoon against the world - against the things that still haunt you. He only stops speaking, stops humming some small random lullaby he had started up, when you begin to speak. 

He didn’t pressure you, didn’t ask - he’s never asked. The whole time you’ve spent together, and you know John is a perceptive man - he knows things. You assume he’s worked most of it out himself; yet, he never once asked you. Even now, when your screams no doubt jerked him from his slumber, or when you cried into him like a terrified child. He never once asked. 

So you tell him on your own. You tell him of your childhood, of the hatred your father held for you, of the cruelty he subjected you and your mother to. You told him of the scathing words and the nights sent to your room without supper and maybe even days without anything but a simple loaf of bread and some water. You tell him of the things you swore you’d never tell anyone, of the blood and torment and beatings and the whip. 

And in the darkness of your bedchamber you pull away from his embrace, slipping your shift from your shoulders as you tell him about the scars. He’s seen the ones on your hands but…as he traces the jagged angry marks on your back, your ribs, your stomach in the darkness…you can practically feel the rage radiating off of him like the sun on a hot summer’s day.  His hands shake, fingers trembling as they trace over the evidence of darkness, of pure evil. You tell him everything, until the tears finally prevent you from saying more and he’s tugging your shift back up your arms and turning you back to face him and kissing them away with a reverence you never imagined possible for you. 

“You will never come to harm here,” he swears, voice terrifyingly calm and steady. “And if you do, gods help the man to do it, for I’ll hunt him down and slay him where he stands.”

 He pulls you tighter then, lips pressing against the crown of your head as arms wrap around your waist, soft words urging you back into slumber. 

And despite everything….you sleep, and dream this time of warm hands and kind words and a future worth living for.

[munson-blurbs]

Eddie Munson x Shy!Reader

Summary: Max and Lucas are tired of their friends silently pining over each other but never making a move, so when the Winter Formal rolls around, they take matters into their own hands.

Warnings: mutual pining, idiots in love, fluffy fluff

WC: 1.8k

A/N: Happy anniversary to the love of my life, @corroded-hellfire 💚 one year ago today, we met in person for the first time, and my life has been infinitely better ever since. Thank you for being my best friend. I love you more than Dustin loves his Weird Al shirt. Red, this fic is for you.

Divider credit to @saradika

“Kill me now.”

Three words uttered by none other than Max Mayfield, sliding her lunch tray onto the table and sitting down with an irritated sigh. 

You look at her with an amused grin. “What is it this time? Bombed a pop quiz? Got detention for flipping off a teacher—again?” Her brazen, flippant attitude provided many entertaining moments, so long as you weren’t on the receiving end of it. 

Max shakes her head, spearing a limp macaroni noodle with her plastic fork. “I wish.” She holds up two tickets to the Winter Formal. “Lucas is dragging me to this bullshit. ‘All the other basketball guys’ girlfriends are going,’” she mocks him in an octave much lower than his actual voice, “so I guess that means I have to follow suit.”

Bringing a hand to your heart, you jut out your lower lip in mock-pity. “Oh, no; your boyfriend wants to show you off at a school dance! How will you ever survive?” 

Max doesn’t miss a beat. “You could go, too,” she says, blue eyes pleading. “Keep me company when the guys inevitably bail to get wasted in the woods.”

“I don’t—”

“You don’t need a date,” she insists, reading your mind before the words can leave your mouth. “I’m telling you, Lucas is gonna ditch me as soon as Jason and Patrick show up.” She takes your hand between both of hers. “Please? I’ll even tell Ms. Kelly the lengths you went to for your poor, troubled freshie.”

You exhale, knowing that she doesn’t need to go to all of that trouble. You’d started off the school year as her peer mentor, but just a few months later, you two have become close friends. “Fine, I’ll go,” you acquiesce, laughing when she pumps her fists victoriously. “But I’m not gonna be happy about it.”

You return to your own lunch, completely missing the mischievous look that graces her freckled face. 

Unbeknownst to you, a similar discussion is had at Hellfire Club later that same afternoon. 

“Absolutely not,” Eddie scoffs, folding his arms across his chest. “Nice try, Sinclair, but I wouldn’t be caught dead at some lame dance.”

“Seriously,” Jeff smirks from his position across the table. “He’s never been to a single one in his ten years of high school.”

Eddie flips him off casually. “It’s only six, asshole. But that doesn’t matter, because I’m not dressing up in some penguin suit to drink unspiked punch with a bunch of shitty people.”

“C’mon, dude,” Lucas says, his tone bordering on a whine. “If you don’t go, I’m gonna be stuck with the jocks all night, and they just wanna suck face with their girlfriends.”

“And you don’t?” Gareth quips. 

Lucas rolls his eyes. “Not in front of everyone. And I don’t need a front-row seat to their performances, either.” He turns his attention back to the Dungeon Master. “Look, I’m desperate. Mike’ll be visiting his grandma and Dustin’s grounded because of his D-plus in Spanish.”

Eddie narrows his eyes. “What about Huey, Dewey, and Louie over here?” he asks, gesturing to the three remaining club members. 

Their collective responses are jumbled excuses; Eddie swears one of them says he’s going kayaking—in mid-December in Indiana—but he doesn’t bother to sift through their lies. “You owe me, Sinclair,” he declares, pointing his forefinger at the underclassman. “Big time.”

The next few weeks leading up to the Winter Formal are spent meticulously making plans. For someone who seemed so disinterested in this dance, Max is paying careful attention to each detail. 

You walk out of the dressing room in a velvet emerald green dress that hits just above the knee. Max is beaming as she adjusts the off-the-shoulder sleeves and smooths down any creases. 

“You look really nice,” she says, nodding her head. She’s trying to temper her enthusiasm, but you can sense her excitement. “I can’t wait to tell Lucas.”

You wrinkle your nose. “Lucas? Why would he care?” He’s a nice kid—more in tune with emotions than the average fourteen-year-old boy—but that doesn’t constitute an interest in your fashion choices. 

Max’s cheeks burn as red as her hair. “Uh, well, seeing you happy makes me happy, and seeing me happy makes him happy, so…everyone’s happy?” she finishes lamely. She clears her throat as if expelling the awkwardness from the conversation. “Anyway, let’s buy this dress so we can look for shoes.”

“Yeah, okay.” You’re not fully convinced, but you brush it off and steel your nerves to ask a question. “Is anyone else gonna be there that we know?” You really want to know whether Eddie Munson is going to be there, but you can’t say the quiet part aloud. 

“Probably,” she shrugs, a bit too quickly, but she’s pushing you back behind the curtain to change before you can inquire more. 

“Why does this stupid tie need to be green?” Eddie asks, sifting through the store’s selection with Lucas by his side. 

“Uh, Christmas colors,” Lucas stammers, fumbling for a decent explanation other than the contents of his secret phone call with Max earlier today. “And, y’know, red is way overdone, so…” he trails off lamely, going back to the display table and hoping Eddie drops the matter. 

They find exactly what they’re looking for—not without Eddie complaining about putting in too much effort just to be a third wheel—and make their way over to the food court. Eddie makes a beeline for the Pizza Hut when he stops dead in his tracks. “Shit, Sinclair; we gotta go,” he says urgently, clapping a hand on the younger boy’s shoulder and steering him away from the fast food. 

“What the hell? I’m hungry!”

Eddie shakes his head, curls brushing against his shoulders. “Look, man.” He discreetly points to his left, where you and Max are giggling at the Orange Julius. “We can’t let them see us.”

“Dude, she’s like the nicest person ever,” Lucas rebuts. “Even Max likes her, and Max pretty much hates everyone.”

“That’s not the problem.” Eddie rakes his ringed fingers through his hair, wincing when he snags one on a knot. “The problem is that she’s gonna be all, ‘hi, Eddie; what’re you doing at the mall?’ And I’m gonna be all, ‘just picking out a tie for the Winter Formal.” And then she’ll go, ‘oh, who’s your date?” And then I’ll have to say, ‘I don’t have one; I’m just playing babysitter to some freshmen like a goddamn loser!” He hops back and forth to indicate each character change.

“First of all, ouch,” Lucas quips, “second, go hide in the bathroom if you want, but I’m getting something to eat.”

Eddie exhales an exasperated sigh, giving in and schlepping over to Pizza Hut, one of the few times in his life that he’s trying to be inconspicuous. 

You pull into the school parking lot on the night of the Winter Formal and shift into park before killing the engine. Max is bouncing her leg up and down in the passenger seat, lower lip tucked between her teeth.

“What’s on your mind?” you ask, mistaking her excitement for anxiety. “You know that Lucas would think you look beautiful even if you showed up in a potato sack.” You furrow your brow. “Where is he, anyway? Why didn’t he come with us?”

She mumbles something about not wanting her mom to ask any questions about the relationship, and you take them at face value. Her eyes light up when she spots her boyfriend walking into the school alongside…Eddie Munson?

“Eddie’s here?” you ask in a hushed whisper, feeling sweat prickling under your arms. You’ve been nursing a massive crush on him for ages–one that Max is very much aware of. And now he’s here, dressed in a black suit with his hair pulled back into a low bun at the nape of his neck. “Max, why didn’t you tell me? Who’s he going with?” The idea of him slow dancing with someone else has your stomach turning.

Max just shrugs. “I don’t think he had a date.” Too casual, too blasé–she knows something. “C’mon, let’s go in.” She swings the car door open enthusiastically, leaving you shell-shocked in your seat.

“Maxine Mayfield!” you hiss, using her full government name to drive home your bewilderment, but she just skips ahead. Damn your heeled shoes, slowing you down before you can catch up to her. When you finally do, she just grabs your hand and tugs you towards the guys.

She poorly feigns surprise, jaw dropping as she exclaims, “Eddie? What are you doing here? Oh, my gosh, this is such a coincidence!” She pulls you closer, smiling far too wide. “Lucas and I both brought our upperclassmen friends! What are the odds?”

“Yeah, so weird,” Lucas says, not as loud as Max but just as transparent. He looks at Max before regarding you and Eddie. “Okay, well, we’re gonna go dance–bye!” The two of them scamper off, leaving you alone with Eddie. If their stilted dialogue wasn’t evidence enough, the way Eddie’s tie perfectly matches your dress certainly clears up their intentions.

Eddie speaks first, shoving his hands in his pants pockets and nervously swiveling his body. “I, uh, think we’ve been set up,” he says with a small, awkward chuckle. “I swear, it wasn’t my idea. Not–not that it’s a bad thing, I just meant, like, if you’re uncomfortable with this, I don’t wanna be held responsible.” His cheeks burn red. “Shit, I need to stop talking.”

“It’s okay,” you reassure him with your own kind laugh, “we might as well make the most of it. Get some punch and make fools of ourselves out there?” You gesture towards the gym’s makeshift dance floor; the band has just started playing Journey’s “Faithfully.” Eddie’s nods, following you to an empty space, and you timidly drape your arms over his shoulders. Taking care to avoid an inappropriate touch, he rests his palms on the small of your back. 

His voice is low when he murmurs in your ear, “you look really beautiful tonight.” He clears his throat and speaks again. “You always look really beautiful, though.”

The two of you sway to the music, swapping shy smiles and fleeting but longing glances. As the song ends, you look over your shoulder. “We’re being spied on,” you report, noting the way the two younger kids are watching you from across the room. You consider your next words before eventually deciding to go for it: “Did you talk to Lucas about me as much as I talked to Max about you?”

“Probably more,” Eddie laughs, bringing you a bit closer. “But I’m interested in comparing notes.”

You nod, staving off any lingering nerves. “Maybe after the dance, we can split a burger from Benny’s and discuss?”

Eddie presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “Yeah,” he says; you can feel his lips move against your skin, “I’d like that.”

--

[fear-is-truth]

how would patrick react if you decided to get back with him because you missed him?

https://www.tumblr.com/fear-is-truth/769447057976115200/how-do-you-think-patrick-will-react-when-you-try?source=share

breaking up then getting back together with patrick bateman .ᐟ.ᐟ

tw ; violent fantasies, allusions to sex & murder

part one here | • a/n: sorry if it’s ooc; i rlly tried

when patrick bateman opens the door, he is already bracing for his downstairs neighbor—the insufferable bitch who always complains about his morning jump rope routine. he has the same rehearsed excuse lined up, something about “the physics of soundproofing in luxury buildings” followed by a swift door slam in her face. even as his mouth is ready to deliver it, part of him is fantasising about cutting off those ears with a serrated blade and sending them as a gift, maybe with a tasteful balenciaga ribbon.

but it’s not her.

it’s you.

patrick blinks, his entire body stiffening, like his brain short-circuits for a seconds. you’re standing there, in the hall, and he doesn’t know what to say. for weeks, he’s been trying to erase your absence—or at least dull it—by throwing himself into other pursuits (fucking prostitutes who vaguely resemble you, at least in the right light) and nightly excursions into back alleys with a knife. but now, you’re here, standing in front of him, and he feels… blindsided.

his eyes sweep over you instinctively, taking in every detail of your outfit. the shoes you’re wearing are gucci—acceptable. still well-kept but with a slight scuff on the side. he notices the faint wear on the soles and thinks about how he’d replace them for you if he could. the dress—valentino, tailored well, though the stitching at the hem could have been tighter, sexier. your body deserves better, patrick thinks with a slight pang in his chest, prettier than you give yourself credit for, prettier than the way you dress.

then his gaze catches on the necklace. cartier. an elegant piece with a single pendant that rests at your collarbone.

before he can stop himself, he blurts out, “that necklace… it’s a good look on you.”

your hand immediately drifts up to the pendant. you touch it lightly, almost shyly,

“patrick… you bought me this. remember?”

he does.

the memory hits him like blunt force trauma, dragging him back to valentine’s day. he’d spent months securing a reservation at dorsia—screaming matches with disinterested reservation mangers over the phone, begging, bribery. it had all paid off when you walked in wearing that pink chanel dress—soft, romantic, a shade that reminded him of fresh roses. it fit you like a glove, like you’d stepped straight out of a vogue magazine. you’d squealed when he handed you the tiny cartier box across the table, your eyes wide, so bright. even patrick believed that day was perfect.

and, of course, the night. he remembers that, too. vividly. the way you were both tangled in his egyptian sheets, the way your perfume and sweat lingered on his skin after.

his mouth opens slightly, then closes. the silence stretches between you, thick and awkward, until patrick finally steps aside and motions for you to come in.

for the first time in weeks, patrick bateman feels… something. he’s not sure what “something” is, though. relief? hope? pathetic gratitude? he doesn’t know, and he hates not knowing. what he does know is this: whatever void you left behind, nothing—not the women, not even the killings—ever came close to filling it.

𝜗ϱ ┆ shock & silence

patrick wouldn’t know how to react at first. when you show up at his door, he’d open it, expecting another downstairs neighbor—bitching about the noises he makes when working out—but seeing you there would render him momentarily speechless. there’d be no theatrical display of relief or joy. instead, he’d stare at you in silence, until..

“you’re here,”

𝜗ϱ ┆ letting you in back into his world

patrick would step aside, letting you into his pristine apartment. the act of letting you back into his space would be his version of an emotional response—a silent acknowledgment of your importance to him.

he wouldn’t ask why you came back, at least not immediately. part of him would be terrified that questioning your return might push you away again. instead, he’d default to his usual routines, offering you a drink (with a coaster, of course) as though nothing had happened.

“do you want a perrier? or… something stronger?”

𝜗ϱ ┆ processing your return

while he wouldn’t outwardly express much, patrick would be reeling internally. your absence would have deeply shaken him, even if he didn’t fully understand why. in your time apart, he’d tried to fill the void with meaningless hookups and violence—screwing sex workers who vaguely resembled you, killing homeless people—but nothing could satisfy him. your return would force him to confront feelings he doesn’t have the tools to process... patrick doesn’t feel love in the traditional sense, but he’s capable of obsession and fixation, and you are irreplaceable in his world.

𝜗ϱ ┆ a shift in his behaviour

despite his relief at your return, patrick would remain on edge. deep down, he knows he’s incapable of forming a normal, healthy relationship, and the fear of losing you again would eat at him. you’d notice him becoming even more meticulous and controlling than before, as he’s trying to construct a perfect version of reality where you never leave again.

[vanishingstarrs]

taste ( katsuki bakugo x popstar!reader, sort of established relationship, inspired by please please please by s. carpenter ) ( testing the waters for this fic w a short n’ sweet chap, pls enjoy, drop your thoughts, i have a longer vers coming, sorry for the wait omg i just want this to be soso perfect for y’all )

part one, part two

“Fuck my life.”

“What?” Your best friend, Misaki, asked from the stall beside yours.

You sighed, holding your phone in your hand as you walked out and met up with her at the sinks. You hadn’t even needed to use the restroom, you just wanted to check your messages in private.

“This asshole might actually be decent.” You rolled your eyes as you sent a text back.

“Dynamight?!” She smirked, trying to peek over your shoulder, but you were quick to shield your screen from her and exclaim that she’d get water on your dress if she didn’t quit being nosy while washing up.

“Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight.” You corrected with a grin,“But yeah I guess mostly everyone calls him Dynamight for short.”

“The fact that you know his full on dorky hero name tells me all I need, girl.” She said as she reapplied lipgloss in the mirror.

You scoffed,“Uh, if anyone’s down bad, it’s him, look at this text he just sent.”

k (ृ ु*`ω´)ु: Just leave the lame ass party.

k (ृ ु*`ω´)ु: I’ll come get you.

Misaki gasped,“You dirty little slut, you wouldn’t actually leave me here to go see him would you?”

You hid your face with your hair as you contemplated your answer,“...noooo.”

“You hesitated.”

“Okay, maybe I would like to see him tonight...” You relented,“Would you hate my guts?”

“Not if you call me tomorrow to hash out all the details of your dirty little tryst with the number two hero.” She grinned devilishly.

Lucky for you that no one else had walked into the bathroom since the both of you came in here, you didn’t need everyone hearing all the details of your private life.

“Deal.”

You neglected to tell her that you’d already texted him back.

y/n ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁): how soon can you get here

k (ृ ु*`ω´)ु: Already left, be there in ten.

y/n ʚ♡⃛ɞ(ू•ᴗ•ू❁): meet u outside xo

You left once you saw Misaki make it back to the rest of your friends, waving to them and blowing a kiss from the door before heading to the front of the building and grabbing your coat.

You were just about to put it on when a pair of hands ripped the material from your hold and a voice stated,“Let me help you.”

You watched dumbfounded as Katsuki Bakugo held out your jacket for you, he raised his eyebrow at you, holding it closer to your arms and indicating for you to put them through when you just stared,“Don’t have all night, c’mon, baby.”

You couldn’t help roll your eyes as you finally put it on,“Actually, we do have all night.” You turned around and he carefully pulled your hair out from underneath before his palm found your cheek, a soft caress that had you leaning in instinctively. “How’s it looking out there?”

“Bunch of paps, I’m sorry, they must’ve already known you were here.” He placed a kiss on your cheek as his official hello to you,“Just say the word and I’ll blast them all to hell.”

You snorted,“Yeah, right, and with it your career.” You rolled your eyes again and took his hand in yours,“C’mon, might as well face the music.”

You walked out together, lights flashing in your faces from the moment you opened the door and the paparazzi realized it was you. They began shouting louder once they realized who was with you, Bakugo took the lead though, using a strong arm to push people away from you and yelling,“Touch her and you die!”

Hot, you thought to yourself as you smirked and allowed him to pull you along. Who needed security when you had the number two hero on your arm?

He brought you around to his car,“Dunce face and ears are gonna kill me tomorrow.”

“Who?” You asked, confused.

“My dumb friends.” He scoffed,“They’re huge fans of you, once they realized I’ve kept you a secret they’re gonna freak out and yell at me.”

You chuckled,“Well my friends know so you can tell yours anything you want… within reason.”

He gave you a smug grin and opened the door for you, holding out his hand for you to get in carefully with the tall heels you were wearing. He went around the car and got in himself, finally allowing himself to indulge in a deep kiss now that you had the privacy.

It wasn’t until the next morning when it all began, Misaki spamming your phone with texts and calls about the news articles and asking you to please avoid social media.

You didn’t, of course, too curious for your own good.

You leaned closer into Katsuki’s warmth as you read through the headlines and saw the photos snapped of the two of you hand in hand, your accounts were worse… people online didn’t bother to hide their displeasure. You were suddenly blind, your taste questionable, and everyone was saying you had terrible judgement.

And yet, you couldn’t help disagree as you felt a kiss on the back of your neck and the grip around your waist become slightly tighter.

This thing you had was good, you knew it.

[lunaswicked]

Coated

Paring: Jimmy Uso x Fem!reader

Summary: After reuniting with childhood friends, you find yourself caught in a charged moment with Jimmy, filled with lust, tension, and unspoken desires. 

Word Count: 4.8k

Tags: SMUT! Language, body fluids, p in v, oral (male receiving), 18+

Your fist slammed against the heavy door, and even from the hallway, you could feel the vibrations of the bass thumping through the walls. The muffled sound of hip-hop spilled into the corridor, mingling with the faint scent of cologne, alcohol, and something that definitely wasn’t Febreze. It was a WWE after-party, loud and unapologetic, exactly what you expected.  

The door swung open with a sudden creak, revealing Jey Uso. He looked exactly the same—laid-back energy, signature chain glinting in the dim light, and a grin that could charm anyone. “What’s good, sis? Ain’t seen you in a long-ass time!” he exclaimed, pulling you into a warm, slightly tipsy hug before you could say anything.  

“Yeah, I just moved back,” you replied with a soft laugh, trying to match his energy. “Heard about the party, so I figured I’d come check it out.”  

Jey stepped aside, motioning you in with a casual sweep of his arm. “Man, you already know how we do it! C’mon in.”  

You stepped over the threshold and into the chaos. The room was packed—music blasting, people dancing, bottles popping. The air was electric, full of energy and nostalgia that hit you like a tidal wave. But then reality smacked you a little harder.  

Your feet slowed as your eyes locked onto him.  

Jimmy Uso. Your other childhood best friend.  

Two years. It had been two whole years since you’d seen the twins. Two years since you left WWE to chase down your business dreams. And yet, seeing him again now, it was like no time had passed at all—except he looked… different. Grown. Polished. Dangerous in a way that made your heart do this weird, traitorous flip.  

He was across the room, standing with one hand in his pocket, the other clutching a half-full glass of Don Julio. Dressed in all black with crisp white Air Forces and his braids pulled back perfectly, he looked effortless. Effortlessly fine. His dark eyes scanned the room and landed on you, and you swore his smile could’ve lit up the whole damn place.  

“Yo, is that—” Jimmy’s voice cut through the music as he started weaving his way through the crowd toward you.  

You felt your pulse quicken, but you kept your face calm, playing it cool. Or at least, trying to.  

“Yeah, it’s her,” Jey confirmed, smirking like he already knew this reunion was about to get interesting. “She’s back.”  

Jimmy reached you in just a few steps, his presence bigger than life. He stopped right in front of you, his gaze sweeping over you like he was trying to memorize every detail.  

“You really came back,” he said, his voice lower than you remembered, but still carrying that same familiar edge.  

“Yeah, I did,” you replied, forcing a casual smile even though your insides were doing cartwheels. “Missed the city. Missed my people.”  

His lips curled into a slow grin. “Missed us, huh?”  

Jey barked out a laugh, throwing his arm around your shoulders. “Man, don’t let her fool you, Jimmy. She missed me more.”  

“Boy, bye,” you said, shoving him off playfully, though your eyes couldn’t help but drift back to Jimmy. His gaze hadn’t left you, and the way he was looking at you—it was different.  

“Two years is a long time,” Jimmy said, taking a sip of his drink and holding your gaze over the rim of the glass. “You gotta catch me up on everything. You still running that business you left us for?”  

“Still running it. Still killing it,” you said with a small shrug, trying to sound nonchalant even though the tension between you two was practically suffocating.  

“That’s what I like to hear,” Jimmy said, stepping just a little closer. “But you know, two years… that’s a long time to go without hitting your boys up.”  

The guilt hit you for a second, but you quickly shook it off. “Y’all could’ve called me too, you know,” you teased, crossing your arms.  

Jimmy tilted his head, his grin widening. “Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?”  

“Don’t let him start his rizz-talking bullshit,” Jey cut in, grabbing a drink from a passing tray. “Come on, we gotta make up for lost time. Drinks on me, turn up!”  

But as the three of you started heading deeper into the party, you couldn’t ignore the way Jimmy stayed just a little too close, his arm brushing yours every time you moved. And the way his eyes lingered, like he was trying to figure out everything you hadn’t said yet.  

This party was about to be a lot more interesting than you’d planned.

The music pulsed around you, the bass reverberating through your chest as the night carried on. The crowd had thinned out some, but the party was still alive. While Jey had disappeared into the shadows with a girl he’d picked up for the night, you and Jimmy had posted up at a small corner of the bar, a bottle of Don Julio and a growing stack of lime wedges between you.  

Shot after shot blurred the edges of reality, making everything sharper and fuzzier at the same time. The warmth of the tequila spread through your veins, loosening your inhibitions, making laughter flow freely between the two of you.  

Jimmy poured another shot for you, his eyes glinting under the soft, flickering light. “Damn, you really tryna keep up with me tonight, huh?” he teased, sliding the glass toward you.  

You smirked, picking it up without hesitation. “Keep up? Boy, I’m running laps around you,” you shot back before tossing it back like a pro. The burn hit you hard this time, and you winced, shaking your head as the alcohol made its way down.  

Jimmy laughed, his grin wide and boyish, and for a second, you were struck by how much he still felt like the kid you grew up with—until his gaze lingered just a little too long, and you realized he wasn’t a kid anymore.  

“So,” he started, leaning back against the bar, his body turned slightly toward you. His voice was lower now, more serious. “You still datin’ Melo?”  

The question caught you off guard, and you froze mid-sip of your drink. Slowly, you set the glass down, the buzz of the alcohol making it harder to keep your emotions from spilling over.  

“Nope,” you said, shaking your head. “Broke up last year.”  

Jimmy’s eyebrows lifted slightly, and he tilted his head as if he hadn’t expected that answer. “For real?”  

“For real,” you repeated, your voice tinged with a mix of frustration and bitterness you didn’t expect to surface. The tequila was definitely working. “He wasn’t what I thought he was. Let’s just leave it at that.”  

Jimmy didn’t say anything for a moment, but his gaze softened as he leaned closer, elbows resting on the bar. “You good, though?”  

The question made something in your chest tighten. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said it, like he actually cared, like he wasn’t just asking for the sake of conversation.  

“I’m fine,” you replied, shrugging like it was nothing, but your voice betrayed you, a little quieter than before. “Breakups happen. It is what it is.”  

Jimmy didn’t buy it. He gave you that look—the one he used to give you when you’d try to lie your way out of trouble as kids. “You don’t gotta act tough with me, you know,” he said, his tone softer now.  

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of your lips despite yourself. “I’m not acting tough,” you said, nudging his arm playfully. “I am tough. Always have been.”  

“That you are,” he admitted, his grin returning. But then his expression shifted, more serious again. “Still, Melo’s a bitch for letting you go. Just sayin’.”  

Your stomach flipped at his words, the tequila amplifying every little thing. You laughed it off, but your cheeks burned, and you knew it wasn’t just from the alcohol. “You don’t have to say that,” you muttered, looking down at your glass.  

“I’m not saying it to make you feel better,” he said simply, his voice steady. “I’m saying it ‘cause it’s true.”  

The air between you felt heavier now, charged with something unspoken. You looked up at him, meeting his eyes, and the way he was looking at you—it made your heart race.  

“You’ve always deserved better,” he said after a moment, his voice low and sincere.  

The tequila had officially destroyed whatever filter you had left. “Maybe,” you said, your voice quieter now, almost shy. “But what does ‘better’ even look like?”  

Jimmy leaned in closer, his face just inches from yours now. You could feel the warmth of him, smell the faint mix of cologne and tequila. His eyes searched yours, and for a second, it felt like the rest of the room had disappeared.  

“Better looks like someone who sees you for who you are,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Someone who doesn’t take you for granted. Someone who knows what they’ve got.”  

Your breath caught in your throat. “You make it sound so simple.”  

“Maybe it is,” he said, his lips quirking into a small, lopsided smile. “Or maybe you’ve just been looking in all the wrong places.”  

The tension was almost unbearable now, thick and heady like the tequila coursing through your veins. You didn’t know if it was the alcohol or the years of history between you, but suddenly, the space between you felt impossibly small, and closing it seemed like the most natural thing in the world.  

The room seemed to blur around you, the music fading into a distant hum as he stepped closer. His presence was overwhelming, the faint scent of his cologne mixing with the lingering tequila on his breath. Your pulse quickened, and your palms felt clammy as his warm breath fanned your ear.  

“You need a man that’s gon’ coat that pretty face of yours,” Jimmy murmured, his voice low and rough, dripping with intent. His words wrapped around you like a vice, making your knees threaten to give out beneath your shorts.  

A sharp intake of breath escaped your lips before you could stop it, and you clenched your fists at your sides, trying to steady yourself. Your head tilted slightly, your ear almost grazing his lips as your heart raced.  

“Jimmy…” you whispered, but it was barely audible, your voice trembling as much as your resolve.  

His gaze drifted downwards, deliberate and unhurried, lingering on the curve of your chest where your crop-fitted shirt hugged you snugly. The top of your breasts peeked out just enough to make his jaw tighten slightly, and you could see it—the way his control faltered for a split second.  

“Someone who gon’ have you shakin’,” he added, his voice a little deeper now, a little more dangerous. His words felt like a promise, one that left no room for misinterpretation.  

Heat flushed through your body, your breathing uneven as you tried to find the right response—any response—but your mind was blank. The weight of his words, the intensity of his stare, and the proximity of his body were all too much.  

You swallowed hard, shifting on your feet, but that only made his smirk grow wider. He noticed everything—the way your chest rose and fell just a bit quicker, the way your lips parted slightly as if searching for air, and the way you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from him.  

“You always talk like this?” you finally managed to say, your voice shaky but laced with a hint of defiance. “Or is it the tequila talking?”  

Jimmy chuckled, low and deep, the sound rumbling through your body. “Nah, baby,” he said, tilting his head just enough to catch your gaze fully. “Tequila might make me bold, but this? This all me.”  

Your eyes narrowed slightly, though the effect was ruined by the blush creeping up your neck. “Cocky much?”  

His grin only widened. “Confident,” he corrected, leaning in even closer, so close you could feel the heat radiating from his body. “There’s a difference.”  

You scoffed, trying to regain some semblance of control. “And what makes you so sure I need someone?”  

Jimmy’s expression softened slightly, but there was still that playful glint in his eye. “’Cause I see it,” he said simply, his voice losing some of its teasing edge. “You’ve been carrying it all on your own for too long. You don’t let people in. You put on this tough front, but I know you, remember?”  

His words hit deeper than you expected, and for a moment, you felt exposed in a way you hadn’t anticipated. You tried to laugh it off, to deflect. “Sounds like you’ve been thinking about me a lot, huh?”  

“Maybe I have,” he admitted, his honesty catching you off guard. His gaze didn’t waver, and there was something in his eyes that made it impossible to look away. “And maybe I’m tired of pretending I haven’t.”  

The air between you was electric now, charged with something neither of you dared to name. His fingers brushed against yours for just a moment, a fleeting touch that sent a jolt straight through you.  

Your voice was barely a whisper when you spoke again. “Jimmy…”  

But he just smiled, that infuriating, confident smile. “I know,” he said softly, his tone almost teasing but laced with something deeper. “You don’t have to say it. Not yet.”  

And just like that, he pulled back slightly, his eyes still locked on yours. It was as if he was giving you space to breathe, to think—but the tension between you remained, thick and undeniable. 

Your heart hammered in your chest, the tension in the air almost suffocating. Without thinking, you quickly turned away, avoiding the heat of his gaze. The rush of emotions—nerves, confusion, and something you weren’t ready to name—propelled you forward, weaving through the crowded room.

“Where you goin’?” Jimmy’s voice called after you, low and teasing, laced with that maddening confidence. You ignored him, refusing to turn back.

The bass of the music thudded against your ears, but it couldn’t drown out the sound of your own breathing as you made a beeline for the bathroom. The hallway felt longer than it should’ve, every step dragging as you tried to calm the storm inside you.

Once inside the bathroom, you locked the door behind you, leaning against it as you exhaled shakily. The quiet hum of the fluorescent light above was a stark contrast to the chaos you’d just escaped. You closed your eyes, willing your heart to slow down, but his words echoed in your mind like a broken record.

"You need a man that’s gon’ coat that pretty face of yours… someone who gon’ have you shakin’."

A shiver ran down your spine, and you shook your head as if to physically dispel the thought. “What the hell are you doing?” you muttered to yourself, gripping the edges of the sink for support.

You caught your reflection in the mirror, your cheeks flushed—not just from the alcohol but from the intensity of that moment. Your lips parted slightly as you tried to catch your breath, the weight of his stare still lingering on your skin.

The door creaked open, and your breath hitched as Jimmy stepped inside, his broad frame blocking the doorway. He closed the door behind him with a soft click, his dark eyes locked onto yours.  

“Jimmy, I—” you began, but your words faltered as he closed the space between you in two strides, silencing you with a kiss.  

“Shh,” he murmured against your lips, his voice low and velvety, the command sending shivers down your spine. His hands cradled your face, his thumbs brushing softly against your flushed cheeks as the kiss deepened.  

You gave in, melting into the warmth of him, your fingers instinctively clutching at his shirt. The taste of tequila lingered on his lips, intoxicating and familiar. Your mind raced with a thousand protests, but your body betrayed you, pressing closer, wanting more.  

His hands drifted down, strong and deliberate, until they gripped your ass firmly through your shorts. The sudden pressure made you gasp, breaking the kiss as you struggled to catch your breath.  

“Jim—” you started again, your voice shaky and uncertain.  

“What?” he drawled, his lips curling into a teasing smirk as he stared down at you. His eyes were heavy-lidded, filled with a heat that made your knees feel like jelly. “Jimmy what?”  

You couldn’t find the words. Every coherent thought dissolved under the weight of his touch, his presence.  

“Please,” you finally whimpered, the plea escaping before you could stop it.  

He let out a low chuckle, the sound rumbling against your chest as his fingers worked their way to the waistband of your shorts. “Please what?” he taunted, his voice dripping with smug confidence as he began to unbuckle them slowly, deliberately.  

Your heart pounded so loudly you were sure he could hear it. “I… I don’t know,” you stammered, your breath hitching as his knuckles brushed against your bare skin.  

“You don’t know?” he murmured, leaning in closer, his lips brushing the shell of your ear. “You sure about that? ‘Cause your body’s tellin’ me somethin’ different.”  

Your grip on his shirt tightened, your resolve crumbling with every second. “This is crazy,” you whispered, half to yourself, half to him.  

“Yeah, it is,” he admitted, his voice low and husky. “But you feel it too, don’t you?”  

You looked up at him, your eyes searching his for some kind of answer, but all you found was the same fire that burned in your chest. And before you could second-guess yourself, your hands moved to the back of his neck, pulling him down into another kiss, this one hungrier, more desperate.  

His hand moved deliberately to the hem of your shorts, his fingers brushing against your skin, sending a jolt through your body. With a swift tug, he pulled them down, and you stepped out of them without hesitation, the vulnerability of the moment mixing with the electric pull between you two.

Jimmy’s eyes burned into yours, dark and filled with a hunger that made you shiver. “You so damn beautiful,” he muttered, his voice almost reverent as his gaze drifted down your body.

He crouched slightly, his fingers hooking into the sides of your panties, dragging them down at an agonizingly slow pace. The cool air hit your bare skin, and your breath caught, heat flooding your face.

“Jimmy…” you whispered, your voice trembling, half a protest and half a plea, but he silenced you with a look—one that left no room for doubt or hesitation.

His hands slid back up your thighs, warm and firm, before parting your pussy gently with his fingers. The sensation was immediate, overwhelming, and you instinctively gripped the edge of the counter for support.

“You’re shaking,” he murmured, his tone low and almost teasing, his thumb brushing against you with maddening precision.

“I—” Your words dissolved into a sharp inhale as his fingers explored with an unhurried confidence that left you breathless.

“Tell me what you want,” he urged softly, his lips hovering just over yours, his breath warm against your skin.

You bit your lip, your head spinning from the intoxicating mix of tequila and his touch. “I don’t know,” you admitted, though your body told a different story, leaning into his every movement.

His fingers pressed deeper, drawing a soft gasp from you. “You sure about that?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Because I think you know exactly what you want.”

His middle finger slid into you slowly, deliberately, sending a wave of pleasure rippling through your body. Your head tipped back against the cool bathroom mirror, a soft gasp escaping your lips. The deliberate pace, the way his finger stroked you with expert precision, had your knees trembling where they rested against his hips.

“Fuck… Jimmy,” you whimpered, your voice barely above a whisper as you clung to the counter for support.

His eyes locked onto your face, watching every flicker of your reaction. “Yeah, that’s it,” he murmured, his tone low and dripping with confidence. His free hand gripped your waist, steadying you as he pressed his thumb against your wet clit, moving in slow, deliberate circles.

Your breath hitched as you tried to hold back the moan bubbling in your throat, but Jimmy wasn’t having it. He leaned in, his lips grazing the corner of your jaw as he whispered, “Don’t hold back now, baby. Let me hear you.”

His words sent a fresh rush of heat through your body, and you couldn’t stop the soft cry that escaped your lips as his finger curved inside you, finding a spot that made your legs tighten around him instinctively.

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands reaching for his shoulders, needing something to hold onto as the intensity grew. “Jimmy, I—”

“You feel so good,” he interrupted, his voice rough with desire as he kissed the side of your neck, his beard lightly scratching your skin. “Trynna see how that pussy feel too.”

Your hands slid up to his braids, pulling lightly as the pressure inside you built. “Please,” you whimpered again, your voice breaking as his movements quickened, his thumb pressing harder against you, coaxing you closer to the edge.

“Please what?” he teased, his lips trailing down to your collarbone as his finger continued its torturously slow rhythm. “Say it, baby. Tell me what you need.”

“I—” Your breath hitched, and your grip on him tightened. “I need you,” you finally managed, your voice trembling as your body betrayed every thought you tried to suppress.

“That's all I needed to hear, baby,” he said with a wicked grin, his voice dripping with anticipation.  

Jimmy straightened up, pulling you with him, before turning you to face the mirror. Your torso leaned over the counter, the cool surface a stark contrast to the heat radiating from your body. His hands roamed over your waist and hips, gripping you firmly as if he was savoring the moment.  

He positioned himself behind you, and the moment he entered you, a deep, guttural moan escaped both your lips. His movements were slow, deliberate, and torturous, every stroke sending a shockwave of pleasure through you.  

You gripped the edges of the counter, your knuckles turning white as you tried to steady yourself against the overwhelming sensation. “Fuck, Jimmy,” you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper.  

His hand moved to the back of your neck, trailing up until his fingers tangled in your hair. Gently but firmly, he tilted your head upward, forcing you to meet his gaze in the mirror. “Look at me while I take this pretty pussy,” he moaned, his tone both commanding and desperate, his breath hot against your ear.  

Your eyes locked with his reflection, and the intensity of his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. The way his lips parted, the sheen of sweat glistening on his brow, the pure hunger in his expression—it was almost too much to take.  

“God, you’re so sexy,” he murmured, his voice softening for a moment before he picked up his pace, each thrust making the counter shake slightly beneath you. “You feel how perfect you are around me?”  

Your legs trembled beneath you, and you could barely hold yourself up as he continued. His hand slid from your hair down to your throat, resting there lightly—not to restrain, but to anchor you to him. The added pressure sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through your body, and you couldn’t stop the string of soft moans that spilled from your lips.  

“Say it,” he urged, his eyes boring into yours through the mirror. “Say you’re mine.”  

“Jimmy, I—” Your words faltered as another deep thrust left you gasping, your fingers clawing at the counter.  

“Say it,” he demanded, his grip tightening just enough to make you shudder.  

“I’m yours,” you finally choked out, your voice cracking with the rawness of the confession.  

His grin widened, satisfied, as he leaned down, his lips brushing against the back of your neck. “Damn right you are,” he growled, his pace quickening, driving you closer to the edge with every movement. 

A sharp knock on the door echoed over the thumping bass of the music, snapping you out of your haze, though it didn’t stop Jimmy. If anything, the interruption seemed to fuel him, his hands gripping your hips tighter as he slowed his pace deliberately, driving deeper, making your breath hitch.  

Your heart hammered in your chest, the tension of the moment amplified by both the fear of getting caught and the overwhelming pleasure threatening to consume you. “W-Who is it?” you stammered, trying to keep your voice steady, though your knees were trembling.  

“It’s Jey,” came the familiar voice from the other side. “You good in there?!”  

Jimmy’s lips curled into a wicked grin, his eyes locking with yours in the mirror as he kicked your legs apart even more, pulling you back against him. The intensity of his slow, deliberate movements left you breathless, your body quivering against the counter.  

“I—yes, I’m okay!” you managed to call out, your voice a little too high-pitched to sound convincing.  

“Aight!” Jey responded, his voice muffled through the door. “When you get out, imma need yo help finding Jimmy.”  

Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your face, but Jimmy’s smirk deepened as he began to thrust faster, each movement making it harder for you to hold back the moan bubbling in your throat.  

You bit your lip, desperate to stay quiet, but when his hand slipped around to press against your most sensitive spot, a soft, breathless “Yes… yes…” escaped your lips.  

“Shhh,” Jimmy teased, his voice a low rumble as he leaned closer, his breath hot against your ear. “You don’t want him coming back, do you?”  

But it was already too late. Jey’s voice came again, this time fading as he walked off. “Aight,” he called casually. “Don’t take too long shawty!”  

The second the sound of his footsteps disappeared, the tension inside you snapped. Jimmy took full advantage, his pace unrelenting as you buried your face in your arm to muffle the cry of pleasure that tore from your lips.  

“Look at me,” Jimmy ordered, his voice firm but thick with desire. His hand cupped your chin, tilting your head back up to meet his gaze in the mirror. “You’re not hiding from me, baby. I wanna see that face when you fall apart for me.”  

Your eyes met his, and the intensity of his stare—dark, commanding, and completely unashamed—sent you spiraling. Your body arched against his as you finally gave in, every nerve alight, every muscle trembling under his control.  

Your body shuddered violently as the waves of your release crashed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling against the counter. “Jimmy…” you whimpered, your voice barely audible over the muffled bass of the music outside.  

But Jimmy wasn’t done. He pulled out, his grip firm as he turned you around to face him, guiding you down to your knees. His eyes burned with an intensity that made your stomach flip, his breaths coming fast and shallow as he stroked his dick in front of you.  

“Open up, baby,” he commanded, his voice low and raspy, sending a shiver down your spine. Without hesitation, you obeyed, parting your lips as he slid into your warm mouth.  

He started slow, his hand tangled in your hair as he guided your movements. The taste of him mixed with the salty tang of sweat, and you couldn’t help but let out a soft moan as he pushed deeper, his groans echoing above you.  

“You’re so fuckin’ perfect,” he muttered, his hips starting to move faster, thrusting into your mouth with a desperate rhythm. Your eyes watered as you tried to take all of him, the sensation overwhelming yet intoxicating.  

“Yeah, just like that,” he growled, his head tilting back as a low, guttural moan escaped his lips. His grip on your hair tightened, and you knew he was close.  

A moment later, he pulled out, stroking himself quickly as he aimed for your face. “Keep those pretty eyes on me,” he ordered, and you looked up at him, your cheeks flushed, your lips slightly parted.  

With a deep groan, he came hard, his release coating your face as you knelt before him. The heat of it, the raw intimacy of the moment, left you breathless and dazed.  

Jimmy leaned down, his thumb swiping gently across your cheek as he smirked. “Damn, baby,” he said, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “You’re somethin’ else.”  

You couldn’t find the words to respond, your heart still racing, your body buzzing with adrenaline and desire. He helped you to your feet, his hands lingering on your waist as he pressed a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.  

“Better clean up,” he murmured, a mischievous glint in his eyes as he glanced toward the door. “Wouldn’t want anyone asking questions.”

[yourmomsawh0r3]

Juno

pairing: glenn powell x f! popstar girlfriend

face card: sabrina carpenter

Before the show, Y/N stood in front of her dressing room mirror, adjusting the final details of her outfit a jaw-dropping red Swarovski crystal corset lingerie ensemble that shimmered under the light. The outfit was daring, perfectly accentuating every curve, with the playful touch of red kiss lips embroidered on the back of her bottom, a detail she knew would drive Glenn wild. She turned slightly, admiring her reflection, before glancing over her shoulder at him.

Glenn was leaning against the doorframe, his hair tousled from their recent make-out session. He had that lazy, love struck grin on his face, but as soon as she gave him a little twirl, showing off the full outfit, his expression shifted. His eyes widened, and he let out a low whistle. It was like all the air had been knocked out of him.

“Jesus, Y/N,” he muttered, blinking slowly as if he couldn’t believe what he was seeing. “You’re…wow.”

Her lips curved into a teasing smile as she sauntered over to him, running her fingers through his already-messy hair. “You like it?” she asked, her voice low and sultry.

“Like it? I think I need a minute to recover,” he chuckled, pulling her close for another kiss, his hand resting on the small of her back. “You’re gonna kill me out there tonight.”

She laughed softly, savoring the warmth of his lips against hers before gently pulling back. “Lucky for you, I’m all yours after the show,” she whispered.

He groaned playfully but leaned down, brushing a soft kiss against her lips once more. “You’re gonna be amazing, as always.”

“Thanks, babe,” she said, pressing a kiss to his cheek before turning to grab her mic. “I’ll see you in the pit.”

With one last smile, Glenn wished her luck and reluctantly left the dressing room, his heart still racing from the sight of her. As he made his way down to the pit to watch her performance, he ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to focus on the excitement of the show. But he couldn’t stop thinking about her, knowing exactly what was coming when she stepped out on stage in that stunning outfit.

When the lights dimmed and the music started, Glenn stood there, front and center, mesmerized by her every move. He couldn’t wait to see her shine, and tonight, she was about to give him and the entire crowd a show they’d never forget.

Y/N was having the time of her life on stage, her voice effortlessly hitting every note as she performed “Juno” in front of a sold-out crowd. The energy was electric, the fans hanging onto every word she sang. But one fan, in particular, stood out. Glenn Powell was right there in the pit, smiling ear to ear, and singing along with Y/N’s best friend. They had been together for almost a year now, and though Glenn wasn’t usually the type to get caught up in the spotlight, he loved supporting her every chance he got. Tonight was no different. He knew every lyric, every beat, and the way Y/N’s eyes sparkled as she commanded the stage.

As she transitioned into the bridge, Y/N’s gaze landed on Glenn, her smile widening as she leaned into the mic. “Oh, I hear you knocking, Glenny! Come on up!” she teased, her voice playful, and the crowd went wild. Glenn, caught in the moment, could only shake his head and laugh, waving his hands in surrender.

And then it came the line. The one that always made Glenn’s heart race. “Have you ever tried this one?” Y/N purred into the microphone, her body moving sensually to the rhythm. In a bold move, she shifted into a reverse cowgirl position, her silhouette accentuated by the stage lights. Glenn’s jaw practically dropped as he watched her in complete awe, mesmerized by her confidence and beauty. The fans screamed louder, but to him, it was as if they were the only two people in the room.

His heart swelled with pride and love. This woman, the one owning the stage and captivating thousands, was his.

After the final song, Y/N bounded off the stage, her adrenaline still buzzing as she made her way backstage. The moment she spotted Glenn, her eyes lit up, and she ran toward him, leaping into his arms. He caught her effortlessly, wrapping his arms around her as she kissed him, their lips meeting in a soft, lingering kiss. She pulled back just slightly, her forehead resting against his, their breaths mingling.

“You were incredible,” Glenn whispered, his hands cupping her face gently.

“I saw you out there,” Y/N teased, her smile mischievous. “Singing along like my biggest fan.”

“I am your biggest fan,” Glenn grinned, kissing her again. “You were on fire tonight.”

Y/N’s best friend wandered by, clapping Glenn on the shoulder with a knowing smirk. “You two are disgustingly cute, just so you know.”

“Thanks,” Y/N laughed, still wrapped up in Glenn’s embrace. “Now, who’s hungry?”

The answer was unanimous, and soon enough, they found themselves sprawled out on the floor of her tour bus, a giant pizza box open between them. Y/N was still glowing from the show, her makeup slightly smudged, but Glenn thought she had never looked more beautiful. They ate slice after slice, laughing and talking about the night.

“What was your favorite part?” Y/N asked, propping her head on her hand as she looked at him, genuinely curious.

Glenn smiled, shaking his head in awe. “Every part where you smiled at me. But… the ‘have you ever tried this one’ part?” He chuckled, raising an eyebrow. “You know what you were doing.”

Y/N blushed, playfully nudging him. “Maybe. Did it work?”

“Oh, it worked,” he said, pulling her closer. “You always leave me speechless.”

They continued chatting, Y/N hanging on every word as Glenn described which moments stood out to him. As the night went on, they stayed there on the floor, the pizza almost gone and their hearts full. Glenn was still mesmerized by her on stage, off stage, in every moment in between. She was everything he could ever want.

And as they sat there, laughing, eating pizza, and enjoying the simplicity of being together, it hit him all over again just how lucky he was to have her in his life.

this video is the position but imagine her in the red outfit

[miirohs]

écoute chérie [c.l.c]

pairing: Mob Boss!Charles Leclerc x Assistant!Reader wc: 3.2k cw: assult, possesive behavior (standard for a mob au at this point), bro straight up kills someone, dubcon (again icarus?), shitty french an: i absolutely cannot write but anyways if this flops i'm deleting it and then crying!!! also do you guys ever just write y/n and put her in predicaments and then go womp womp as if you didn't just do that to her? yeah.

It was fairly obvious from the subtle twitch in his jaw, to the shadow cast over his eyes by strands of his hair falling in front, that he wasn’t happy. From the moment you both had left the guarded gates of his mansion, his face has been set in a stony silence.

You’d seen him glance over at you multiple times during the length of the car ride, and it was becoming harder to ignore his erratic behavior.

Just as he looked away you reached for him, startling him from his distracted state as you moved to fix his suit, readjusting his crooked tie and straightening out the collar of his suit. Immediately you snapped back up to him looking at you, a curious look on his face.

“You should be more careful with your suits.” You chastised softly, snapping back to your seat as the heat rose to your face. “Tossing and turning around like that will probably make it wrinkle up.”

He nodded in agreement, giving you the smallest smile he could muster. You could still see the upset in his eyes as he looked at you, and you came to a slow realization of what might’ve been upsetting him.

“Are you mad with me for coming along with you?”

His smile faded a little, the frustration in his eyes visible. He never wanted this for you, but he knew he couldn’t stop you from coming along, so he resorted to simply reminding you why he didn’t want to bring you.

“Mon coeur, I’m not mad at you at all. I'm just hesitant because I know what my people are like.”

You sighed, readjusting the straps of your dress as you looked at him. “Yes Charles, you’ve made that exceptionally clear but i don’t think you quite had a choice. Carlos didn’t even want to talk about going with you.” 

He winced at your tone, tilting his head at you as he bent his own head down to your level. “I know I keep saying this, but you don’t know them like I do. I don't want you leaving my side, not to anywhere I cannot see you chérie. Do you understand?”

You took one of his hands in yours, nodding along to keep his anxiety in check. “Fine, I wasn’t planning on going just anywhere, I came with you because that's my job.”

“And your job is?”

“To be with you, twenty-four seven, whenever you need me.” You said teasingly as a cheeky smile graced his face once again, slightly more genuine than the last.

The car came to a stop, and you looked at each other, turning to the door of the car. 

“Ladies first.”

You rolled your eyes at him, obliging to climb out first as the door opened.

Your jaw dropped as you looked up to the entrance of the building. You didn’t think you were quite aware this level of grandeur could be possible, and you were honestly expecting something more inconspicuous.

Linking up his arm in yours, Charles bent down a little as you started walking, whispering into your ear.

“You look surprised. I bet you weren’t expecting this, huh?”

“Surprised doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s gorgeous.”

“Wait till you see the inside.”

You continued with him, eyes growing wider at the inside.

Chandeliers hung from the ceiling, intricate detailing all over the grand foyer as you surveyed the walls.

Charles walked with you through corridors, once again tensing up, evident in the tightness of his grip on your arm. You could see an ornate set of doors at the end of the hall, approaching them slower and slower.

You paused at the door, looking up to him as he inhaled deeply.

“Are you-”

“Ready? Of course I am.” He didn’t look at you, but you gave no further thought to his words as the doors opened, the crowds of people gathered visible from the mezzanine you both stood on. The ballroom almost glittered, light bouncing off almost every corner of the room.

“Char, if i had known this was going to be fancy, i would’ve dressed up better.” You said, aghast as he shook his head, looking at you with a hint of affection in his smile.

“You’re dazzling no matter what, mon coeur. There’s no need to worry, you’ll be just fine.”

“I- Alright.” You agreed hesitantly, arm slipping from his as you followed him down the stairs.

There were so many bodies on the floor you had a hard time following him, resorting to holding onto his sleeves to navigate through the crowds. He greeted people, and you did the same in his stead, unsure where exactly you were headed. Suddenly, Charles came to a stop in front of you, and you slammed into him, stumbling back slightly. 

“Charles, what just happened, I...” You paused as he stood motionless, stepping to peer from behind him.

Another man stood there, head tilted as you curiously as you moved to Charles side. He wore all black, jacket embroidered with flowers and a necklace that resembled a thorn necklace. He seemed fancy, but something about the way he looked at you made it feel like you were being microanalyzed by him.

“Lewis.”

“Charles. A pleasure seeing you again.”

He nodded, relaxing slightly as the man took his hand, shaking it firmly.

“And who might this be?”

You waved, tucking your hair behind your ear.

“I’m-”

“She’s my assistant.”

“Char, calm down.” You chided, ignoring how his tone almost instantly seemed to become sharp, nose flaring slightly. Clearly Lewis noticed as well, raising his eyebrow at how his tone seemed to change so suddenly.

“I’m sorry, my name is Y/n. I’m his assistant, as he mentioned before.” He took your hand, offering you a kiss to the knuckles with a smile.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Y/n. Are you new or…?”

“This is her first social event with me.” Charles butt in, arms crossed over as Lewis grinned at him. “Hm, I figured half as much. I haven’t seen much of her around, you should bring her more often. She seems pleasant.”

“Wonderful. Now is there anything else you want?” Charles answered, tone short and clipped as you frowned at his sudden defensiveness. Lewis hummed knowingly, sparing you a glance before he went back to talking to Charles.

“The negotiations are upstairs. We were just waiting for you to start, and I think Carlos got here maybe twenty minutes before you?”

He nodded curtly in response, taking your hand as he started moving.

Lewis looked down at him though as he shook his head, pointing to your hands.

“Sorry to break it to you mate, but she can’t come with us.”

“Why not?” Charles snapped, clearly annoyed by his sudden announcement.

“It’d be better for the both of you. I doubt you want her in on the grizzly details, it would only put her at risk, more so than working for you. Leave one of your guards with her if you want to, although I promise she’ll be just fine here.” He knew he couldn’t argue with that, it was apparent in the way his face fell at the realization.

“I have to go now, but we'll be waiting for you upstairs.” Lewis said as he waved goodbye to you, turning on his heel to leave the both of you alone to the side.

Charles sighed, glowering at the man's back as he turned to you.

“Écoute chérie (listen darling), it seems like Lewis has a point.” He started, reluctance written all over his expression. “So I'm leaving you here with one of the guards. I don't want you to put yourself in any unnecessary danger, so please keep them with you and talk instantly if anything happens.”

You couldn’t lie and say you weren’t disappointed, but it did make sense to you. "I understand, Char, I'll be here when you come back."

He visibly relaxed, though there was still a hint of concern in his eyes. "Thank you, chérie. I promise I won't be long."

You gave him a small smile. "Don't worry about me. I'll be fine."

With a short squeeze of your hand, Charles reluctantly left your side, disappearing into the crowd once more. 

Left alone with the guard that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere, you took a deep breath, turning around to him.

"Looks like it's just you and me for now," you said, trying to break the ice with the bodyguard, who simply blinked at you.

“Not one to talk much, huh?” He cleared his throat, bashfully turning his eyes away from you.

“I’m sorry ma’am, but i'm pretty sure Mr. Leclerc wouldn’t like me looking at you.” You stifled a sigh, simply flashing a smile at him.

“Would you like to have a drink with me then…?”

“Ollie.” He finished, even more bashful than before as scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. “And I'm sorry ma’am. I don’t think I'm allowed to drink on the job, Mr. Leclerc would kill me if something happened to you.”

Awkward silence filled the air as you sighed, looking around the ballroom.

You didn’t think there was anyone you could talk to other than him, so you were stuck with him for the rest of the night.

It wasn’t half bad either, but he followed you quite closely, almost as if carefully noting every single thing you were doing. Even as you made minor convos, he stood beside you, too close for it to be comfortable for either of you. He took his job seriously, a little too seriously, you thought.

At some point, you paused, turning around to him with your hands crossed over your chest.

"Ollie, do you have orders to stand so close? It's making me feel a bit claustrophobic."

He blinked, obviously taken aback by your directness. "I'm sorry miss. I was just told to keep an eye on you, Mr. Leclerc's orders."

You nodded, slight frustration rising up as he mentioned Charles' name. "I appreciate your dedication, but I promise I won't just wander off.”

He hesitated, yet still nodded to your request. "Is there anything I can do then?"

A lightbulb seemed to go off in your head as he asked, a grin stretching across your face as you looked at him.

"I think I'll go get a drink. Would you mind keeping an eye on things here until I come back?"

he relented with a nod, albeit with a hint of concern in his eyes.

"Alright, but please don't wander too far. I'll be right here waiting for you to get back."

You nodded sweetly, yet as soon as you left his field of vision, you grabbed a glass off a tray, pushing gently through the crowds.

You weren’t a lightweight by any means, but there was rarely ever a time where you drank because of your job.

Before you knew it, you’d finished off the glass, abandoning it on the buffet table and grabbing another one as you made your way back into the crowd.

At some point you saw Ollie again, distracted as he talked to two other boys of his same age. You decided not to interrupt, walking past them and slipping through the open doors on the opposite end of the hall.

The air was cool, fragrant from all the flowers planted around the place. As you wandered along the winding paths, you observed the little statues and carefully trimmed hedges, detailing meticulously crafted to fit the vibes of the garden.

But your peace was short-lived, as the unmistakable sound of footsteps grew louder. Turning around, you were met with the leering faces of a group of men, their laughter echoing through the night air as they drunkenly stumbled through the hedges. They were creating a ruckus loud enough to attract a crowd.

You froze, not a sound escaping your lips as you looked at them.

Clearly they hadn’t noticed you, so you took a step back, hoping to get away.

Something snapped under your heel and they all stopped acting buck wild, turning to you with wide eyes.

“Ouh, Qui est cette femme, juste là (ooh, who's that woman right there)?”

Shock ran through your veins as the one who spoke pointed to you, eyes turning towards you in a moment. A couple laughed, one of them whistled, all of them looking you up and down like a piece of meat.

“I think she might be one of those escort people they hire at parties y’know… you think we should greet her?”

Their leering gazes made your skin crawl. 

Quickly you turned on your heel, heading in the opposite direction, hoping to lose them quickly as you attempted to get back. Your heart pounded in your chest as you continued, their drunken roasts getting farther from you. You still felt paranoid, but you were pretty sure you had lost them.

As you turned around, a hand shot out from the darkness, grabbing hold of your wrist harshly. You were whirled around to face your assailant, one of the men from the group you’d seen earlier, one of the ones who had whistled at you.

"Where do you think you're going, sweetheart?" he sneered, drunken breath hot against your face as he sneered at you, a wicked grin on his face. 

He had you cornered against one of the hedges, and you had nowhere to run as he got closer, trying to grab your other hand.

“You’re cute, you think the boss would like it if we sent him back a little present like you-”

You panicked, kicking wildly until you landed a kick to his nuts, breaking free from his grip around your wrists as he staggered back in pain.

“You bitch-!”

The sound of a warning shot silenced his swears of pain, the only thing you could hear now being the buzzing in your ear.

You turned your head, Charles saying something, but you couldn’t exactly hear it as he approached, an angry yet relieved loon on his face.

“Do you know how long we’ve been looking for you?!”

You didn’t respond and he knew why, turning to look across from you at the man who glared at the both of you in anger.

"We'll discuss this later," he said, tone softer this time as he turned his attention back to you, helping you up onto a cold stone bench.

“You. Get lost. Don’t let me see you here ever again.”

"Or what?" The man spat, voice dripping with contempt at Charles' order. "You think you can scare me off with your empty threats?"

“I don’t think it’ll be so empty if i-,” He pulled out his gun from the waistband of his pants, aiming it at the mans groin, then moving to his head, “-happen to give you a demonstration of what exactly happens when you fuck with something of mine.”

The color drained from the man's face. Maybe he had just come to realize who he was fucking with.

“She was yours? I’m sorry, I didn't know!” 

“Save it.” He hissed, cocking the gun and aiming it directly at his head. “I’ll make sure that you les fils de putes never see the light of day again.”

It was over in the blink of an eye, with just the sound of a gun being fired, followed by the thumping of a body.

You hadn’t even realized it when he came to you, wrapping his jacket around you as he picked you up, allowing to you bury your face in his neck.

"I've got you," he whispered. "You'll be fine now."

As he turned to exit, Lewis had finally shown up, standing at the entrance with an eyebrow raised at the dead body then you.

“Do i get to ask-”

“No.” Charles answered stonily. voice clearly agitated as he responded to Lewis. “Make sure those creeps get taken care of. I already had the pleasure of taking care of one of them.”

“Duly noted. It was nice seeing you, and you must be busy with… her, so I’ll be off to take care of the others then.” He said, as he signaled to his bodyguards to comb through the area. 

“Thank you.” He said begrudgingly as he lifted you up once again.

You could feel him retracing his steps, motion blurred until you stopped at the entrance once more, in front of his car.

Gently, he set you down and you still clung to him, shaking slightly as you climbed into the seat. 

He followed after you, directing the man in french as he put an arm around you, pulling you somewhat closer.

“Wh.. what happened to Ollie?”

The look of concern turned to a look of slight annoyance, a heavy sigh leaving his lips.

“Even now you’re thinking of someone else, mon coeur. What am i going to do with you?”

You stumbled over your words, yet you were resolute in what you wanted to say.

“Please don’t punish him, i was the one who left him.”

“Don’t worry, no one is getting punished. But you, however-”

You squeezed your eyes shut, waiting for the barrelage of words to hit you, yet nothing did. Instead, one of his hands came up to hold your face, thumb gently stroking your jaw.

“Mon petit coeur, m'écoutes-tu parfois (sweetheart, do you ever listen to me)?”

You opened your eyes, looking at him.

“Do you have any idea how scared I was? That I thought another man took you from me? I warned you what would happen, and yet you still came. See what happened?” His grip on your jaw tightened slightly, tilting your head upwards so you were looking him in the eyes.

"I'm sorry," you whispered, your voice barely audible.

"You have nothing to apologize for, mon coeur. In fact, it should be me who apologizes." he murmured, his voice soothing compared to his actions.

“But then why…?”

“Je t'aime (I love you). It’s because I love you, I want you. More than anything.”

Charles's lips met yours in a kiss, overpowering the adrenaline in your veins as he titled his head, pushing deeper into the kiss. You could feel his overwhelming warmth as he pulled you closer, body to body in the back of the car.

As you broke it off, the heat rose to your face at the string of saliva connecting you both. You tried to pull away but he only seemed to get closer, eye to eye with you.

"Charles?" you breathed, longing erupting like your heart, beating against the cage of your ribs.

“Listen to me chérie, I should’ve never let you go like that. You’re going to be mine now, that way I can keep you safe, Is that clear?” He murmured against your lips, voice dark yet pleading. You couldn’t help but look into his eyes, lovesick and blinded by adoration.

With a soft sigh, you leaned into him, forehead against his as you let yourself be enveloped by the warmth of his embrace.

There was no escaping him. You were his as he was yours. You could never escape, now that he had you like this.

[crowsofdarkness]

Arranged: Chapter Three

*gif not mine. credit to owner*

Pairings: Mob!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: language, 18+ smut(ch 12 & ch 17), angst, fluff, mentions of death and violence. I will update the warnings with each chapter.

Summary: Reader would do anything to make her parents happy and that included agreeing to an arranged marriage. She never expected it to be to one of New York's most feared Mob Boss: Bucky Barnes. He is anything but loving towards Reader however when her parents are mysteriously killed, Bucky makes it his mission to find out who were at fault. And in the process, ends up coming close to losing Reader.

Authors Note:This was a story of mine on an old blog and I wanted to publish it on here. Since it's quite a long fic, I've decided to slowly updated it chapter by chapter. If anyone who is interested wants to be tagged, let me know!

I rushed around the room, trying to get all of my things together before meeting Bucky for breakfast. Even with our disagreement last night, I still wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt and try to make this work. It was the least I could do for my parents, I didn’t want to disappoint them. 

At the thought of Bucky, my feet stopped momentarily wondering if we were even still on for breakfast. I hadn’t heard from him since he had to leave last night and didn’t even know if he was back. My mind then wandered to what was so urgent that Bucky had to run out the way he did last night. He was into some questionable things, that was certain. But I couldn’t help but wonder if I actually wanted to know all the details. 

With a sigh, I made my way out of my room and as I walked down the stairs my eyes landed on my soon to be husband who has his own eyes on his phone. He was dressed in a suit,  minus the tie, but seeing him made my heart flutter. Even with a couple of his men behind him, Bucky stood out. 

At the sound of my heels clicking on the hard floor, Bucky looked away from his phone, swallowing deeply, before giving me a smile.

Morning,” I matched his smile. 

“Good morning. Ready for breakfast?” He asked. 

I nodded before pointing to the men behind him. “I’m assuming they'll be joining us?” 

Bucky hesitated before answering. “They’ll be watching from afar, don’t worry.” 

Giving the men a quick once over, I raised a brow while looking back at Bucky. “Where’s Steve?” 

Bucky quickly licked his lips and stuffed his hands deep into his pockets, his shoulders went rigged. “He’s busy. Running an errand for me.” 

Not wanting to press him even more, knowing that Bucky was hiding something, so I merely nodded towards the front door. 

“Let’s go. I'm fucking starving,” I exasperated. 

Bucky chuckled. “You’ve got a dirty mouth, doll.” 

My cheeks flushed with heat and my core twitched with not only his nickname for me but the way he said it. 

I coughed, trying to mask my arousal, and adjusted the strap of my purse. “Let’s go.” 

With his metal hand ghosting over my lower back, I allowed him to lead me towards his car, an army of his men following close behind. 

“So,” Bucky took a quick sip of his drink before continuing, “Have you given any thoughts to the wedding?” 

We were sitting in a secluded room of the restaurant, with two of his men guarding the entryway to the room, and we were finishing up our breakfast not saying a word until now. 

“Uh, not really. To be honest, I would be fine with a courthouse wedding; just sign the paperwork and call it a day,” I admitted. 

Bucky leaned back into his chair. “Why? If money is an issue, you don’t have to worry about that. You can have the dream wedding you want.” 

I shook my head. “No it’s not that.” 

My hands shook with nerves, unsure of the words to use in order not to have Bucky take offense. 

“Then what is it?” 

“I mean, this whole situation isn’t exactly dream wedding worthy,” I gnawed on my bottom lip. 

There was an instant flash of disappointment in his eyes but it was gone just as quick as it appeared. “Shouldn’t that be the reason why you get the dream wedding you want?” 

I shook my head. “The courthouse is fine.” 

Bucky sighed, knowing he was defeated, but eventually agreed. “Whatever you want, doll.”

My heart fluttered and I found myself slowly loving the pet name. 

“Do you have any other plans today?” Bucky questioned. 

I shrugged. “I’d probably head back into my room and read.” 

“You know you can go to other parts of the house; what’s mine is yours now,” Bucky offered. 

“I just don’t want to overstep.” 

He placed his flesh hand over mine, giving it a soft squeeze. “You won’t, Y/N. All I ask is if you remember the door policy.” 

There was an undeniable spark when our skin touched but I couldn't relish in it for long, his hand was gone before I realized. A frown pulled low on my lips, one that didn’t go unnoticed by Bucky. 

“Goes both ways,” I winked. 

We shared a laugh and for the next few minutes, we enjoyed the easy flow that fell between us. He asked me how it was growing up and some of the things I was interested in, trying his best to get to know me. Given who he was and his reputation, I was shocked at some of the things I found out about him. 

He was a huge science nerd, it being his favorite subject in school. He was always interested in the future of technology and life, trying to find his own way to enhance something. 

Steve and him grew up together, always being there for one another. Bucky’s dad was in the army and passed away when he was older while his mom passed away when he was younger. For a long while it was just him and younger sister, until she died in a car accident a few years ago. Even with all of his men that worked for him and Steve, Bucky was still alone at the end of the day. 

“Can I ask you something?” I asked. 

“Sure.” 

“Why did you agree with my parents for this arrangement?” 

The question had been burning into the back of my mind since I found out a few months ago, not knowing why anyone would agree to it. 

“Given who you are, you could have anyone. I didn’t think you would need to arrange a marriage.”

“I don’t.” 

I blinked at his bluntness. 

“If I’m being honest, my dad was in the army with your dad. Story goes that your dad saved mine and owed him a favor. But with my dad dying, yours found me in order to cash in that favor,” Bucky admitted while smiling thanks to the waiter who refilled our coffee mugs. 

I scoffed. “Of fucking course.” 

Bucky looked at me confused. “What did your parents tell you?” 

“The same old bullshit. They wanted to make sure that I was set up for the rest of my life, money wise. I didn’t have the best of luck with dating either. They claim its from the heart but still.” 

I trailed off, the anger I felt about it being replaced with disappointment; not in my parents but me. 

I was such a failure in the dating department that my parents had to reach out for a favor on my behalf? It wasn’t just insulting but embarrassing. 

“You know,” Bucky leaned in closer towards me. “I find it hard to believe that you would have trouble finding someone to spend the rest of your life with.” 

I raised a brow at him. “Are you flirting with me, Mr. Barnes?” 

A flesh finger brushed underneath my chin, bringing my gaze closer to him. My heart hammered hard in my chest from how close we were. His warm breath fanned over my lips and I was filled with this sudden hunger, wanting to taste them. 

“Trust me, doll. You’d know when I’m flirting with you,” Bucky breathed. 

His finger brushed up from my chin to move a strand of hair from my face, tucking it softly behind my ear. His touch was gentle, comforting, and I leaned into his touch. 

“Boss?” 

We both quickly looked away from each other and saw Steve standing in the doorway, hands grasped behind his back. 

“We’ve got an issue at the lab,” Steve kept his gaze strictly on Bucky. 

Bucky’s shoulders tensed. “We’ll swing by after we drop Y/N off at the house.” 

“No time,” Steve informed. 

Bucky cursed under his breath and ran a hand over his chin then gave me his attention once again. “You stay in the car, understand?” 

“Uh, yeah. Of course. Where are we going?” I questioned while he pulled me to my feet. 

He helped me slip into my jacket before handing me off to Steve. “Get her in the car, I need to make a quick call.” 

Steve’s hand was at the low of my back, ready to lead me out of the restaurant, but I turned back towards Bucky. 

“Can I at least know what’s going on?” 

Bucky gave Steve a hard look and without another word, he grasped my elbow and began walking me out of the restaurant. He was so close, I could almost feel his heartbeat against my back. 

“Trust me, Y/N. It’s better that you don’t ask questions and listen to Bucky’s orders. It’s the only way to keep you safe,” Steve suggested. 

“Safe from what?” I asked, voice raising slightly. “You guys have to give me some kind of leeway in information, so I know what I’m getting myself into.”

Steve remained silent and when Bucky’s sleek black SUV pulled up, he ushered me inside, not before giving a quick glance over his shoulder.

[sapphicromanoffxo]

Good Vibrations | n.r x w.m

ʚɞ°｡⋆ Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Wanda Maximoff

ʚɞ°｡⋆ wc: 3.8k

ʚɞ°｡⋆ warnings: Top Nat, Bottom Wanda, semi-public sex, use of strap on & vibrator, oral sex, degradation, praise kink, mommy kink

ʚɞ°｡⋆ summary: It was supposed to be a simple date night between Natasha and Wanda. Until one of them decided to spice up their night with a different vibe.

A/N: hello hello! I'm just dropping by to post this fic in celebration of Pride Month! 🏳️‍🌈 I had a little kick of inspiration lately (courtesy of this one cute girl 🥰) and I was finally able to finish writing this. Be gay and kiss that pretty girl already. 🫶 Happy reading! 🤩

╰┈➤ Masterlist

"Would you care to join me for a date this evening?"

Wanda felt the excitement bubble up within her as Natasha invited her on a date, knowing every detail would be meticulously planned by the redhead.

"Absolutely, Natasha." Wanda beamed at her girlfriend. "Where are we going?"

Natasha gently touched Wanda's cheek, amused by her curiosity. "It's a surprise. I'll be at your door at 7 PM to pick you up. I've already laid out the dress you'll be wearing." With a wink, Natasha headed to the training room.

Wanda rushed to her room, discovering a large velvet box on her bed with a note that read, "For tonight. xoxo." Squealing with delight, she prepared herself for the upcoming date night.

The brunette began her afternoon preparations by indulging in a soothing hot bath to ease her muscles after an intense training session that morning and to also give her body the chance to relax for what's about to happen this evening. With a year of dating Natasha, she knew their night will not end until the sun rises up. Following Pepper's suggestion for laser hair removal, Wanda found relief from the hassle of shaving, and Natasha grew more captivated by the change.

With only 30 minutes left, Wanda looked at herself in the mirror to see if everything was perfectly in place, including the bullet-shaped toy which is currently buried between her legs. Natasha also left a request for her to not wear any panties. Leave it to Natasha to have a surprise within a surprise to spice up even more their evening. You will never see Wanda complain as she trusts Natasha so much that she's willing to submit to whatever her girlfriend has planned for her.

Wanda heard a series of gentle knocks echoing against the door, prompting her to take a deep breath in anticipation. As she opened the door, Natasha stood before her clad in a stylish black polo with three undone buttons at the top giving a tantalizing view of her neck adorned with two necklaces and her red lacy bra, her figure was accentuated by a sleek black belt adorned with a gold buckle, cinching her waist deliciously. Completing the ensemble, the wide plaid slacks elegantly emphasised her natural heavenly curves, creating a captivating silhouette. Her eyes are painted with eyeliner, sharp enough to kill, while her lips are painted with a seductive burgundy lipstick, adding a touch of allure to her overall appearance.

The vision in front of Wanda is mouth watering and her internal assessment of her girlfriend was interrupted when her waist was snatched and her back was pushed to the adjacent wall.

"Oh, detka. I know this dress would look good on you." Natasha whispered into her ears, sending shivers down her spine. "Too bad I can't kiss you yet." She further added with an arrogant smirk on her face.

"Natasha.." Wanda grabbed Natasha's biceps and purred when she felt her hand ghosting over the slit of the dress that goes all the way to the top of her thigh.

"Red really looks good on you, detka."

Natasha could not resist and left open-mouthed kisses on her neck, and dipped further down, carefully nipping her collarbone. Thankfully, it did not leave any marks as Natasha is wearing a transfer-proof lipstick. Her hand wandered upwards going to her ass, giving it a good squeeze which made Wanda yelp in surprise.

"Natasha, please. We're going to be late if we keep this up."

"Are you wearing it?" Natasha inquired once she detached her filthy mouth on brunette's neck and her hand went on to check what's in between her legs instead. Wanda only nodded in response then gasped loudly when Natasha pushed the hilt of the toy deeper inside her. "Hmm. No panties. My good girl."

After playfully teasing Wanda, Natasha decided it was time to leave. With a warm smile, she extended her hand towards Wanda, "Shall we go?"

Wanda rolled her eyes at Natasha and answered a simple yes.

This time, Natasha got to fully appreciate her lover's outfit for the night and found herself enchanted while they were walking in the compound's hallway. Natasha specifically chose a vibrant red satin dress with an elegant cinched waist for Wanda. The dress also highlights Wanda's ample tits, leaving little to the imagination. Oh dear, Natasha doesn't think she can keep her hands to herself when Wanda looks like sex on legs with her thigh peeping out of the slit.

***

Natasha has chosen a cozy restaurant with secluded private room seating, creating an ideal setting for an intimate and romantic date. Anticipating Wanda's preferences, Natasha took the initiative to pre-order their favorite dishes. Adding an extra touch of thoughtfulness, she decided to let Wanda indulge in the chef's selection of wines, allowing her to unwind and savor the evening in the most delightful way possible.

In the intimate glow of the private restaurant, Natasha and Wanda shared stolen glances, their fingers intertwining like a secret promise. Soft candlelight danced on their faces as they savored each bite and every minute of this night. The world outside seemed to fade away as Wanda's eyes held galaxies of unspoken emotions, mirrored in Natasha's seductive gaze.

While Wanda was drinking the second glass of wine for the night, she felt a subtle vibration within her which made her slightly choke on her wine and she felt herself quiver from the sensation. Still not understanding what was happening, she looked at her girlfriend with confusion, "Natasha?"

"Yes, baby?" The redhead answered with an innocent smile on her pretty face.

"Don't tell me this is ahh–!" Wanda almost yelled when the vibration hit its peak, realising what's happening in between her legs and instinctively closing them in.

"Are you feeling alright, detka?" Natasha inquired with an unconcerned tone.

Goddamn her, Wanda thought to herself as her insides pulse again, this time the setting is building higher and higher. She should have expected that the toy is not just a toy but is also a vibrator. She brought down the glass and both of her hands are gripping the edge of the table as she's trying so hard not to let out a single sound, or moan from her mouth.

Natasha pulled her attention with a gentle touch, intertwining their hands, and the woman's face lit up with a grin reminiscent of the Cheshire cat, "What's wrong, baby?", she asked once again and Wanda felt like flipping the table over.

Wanda cleared her throat first as the vibration stopped and glared at her girlfriend , her eyes turning red which could send an enemy to surrender, "What the hell are you thinking–!"

The beginning of her rant was yet again cut off by a stronger vibration this time, effectively shutting her up, legs shaking violently and thank God the long curtains of the table concealed how her whole lower body was convulsing.

No matter how hard Wanda tried to control herself, a whimper came out loudly from her and this caused her to tumble over the sea of beautiful noises that Natasha likes hearing.

"Shhh, be quiet for me, detka. You don't want others to hear you being a slut for me." Natasha taunted with no remorse and mercy. "Whoring yourself out while I'm not even touching you yet. How pathetic." She further added while lowering the setting of the remote she's been holding in her pocket.

"Can we go — oh my fucking god — home now, please?" Wanda pleaded as she felt her insides tremble once again. If Natasha continues with her sadistic plot, she fears she won't be able to maintain her composure much longer and bursts right there in her seat.

"But honey, I haven't had my dessert yet."

A strangled moan left Wanda's mouth at Natasha's response, wanting to either wipe the grin off Natasha's face or kiss her senseless. Natasha is looking at her intensely as if she's planning something more scandalous to perform. Wanda can almost feel her pussy leaking and fear that it may stain her dress, and the velvet cushion of the chair she's sitting on.

All of the sudden, the vibration stopped and Natasha stood up from her seat.

"Are you alright?" Natasha inquired, standing behind Wanda and placing her right hand on Wanda's chest to feel her erratic heartbeats.

Wanda rolled her eyes at Natasha's inquiry, pondering whether her girlfriend was genuinely concerned or simply teasing her but still nodded in response.

"My good girl." Natasha smiled down at her and leaned down to kiss her shoulder blade. "Sit down on the table."

"Natasha, we shouldn't." Wanda protested with wide eyes, not wanting to risk exposing themselves to having sex in a restaurant, still wanting to have her decorum intact.

Natasha merely arched her eyebrow and gave her a serious look, silently challenging Wanda to defy her and refuse what she wanted.

After a minute of contemplation, she surrendered under Natasha's deadly gaze and positioned herself the way she was instructed. Natasha situated herself in between Wanda's legs, placing them on her shoulders while sitting down on the vacant chair.

Natasha then parted Wanda's dress through the thigh high slit so she can have a perfect view of her girlfriend's naked pussy. "I like you like this, sweetheart. All dolled up for me." She began kissing the inside of Wanda's exposed thighs and simultaneously caressing the smooth expanse of her long legs. "You look so pretty, baby."

A soft sigh left Wanda's mouth as she felt the feather light kisses and soft caress on her thighs. However, her eyes kept on darting to the door, feeling anxious that someone may catch them.

"Natasha, someone might come in." Wanda breathed out and gripped on Natasha's hair.

"Don't worry about that, baby. I've told the manager of the restaurant to leave us alone, unless I ask for a waiter to come in." Natasha reassured, her mouth moving upwards to Wanda's aching pussy.

"What about if they have cameras here?" Wanda voiced out her concern again, not wanting to have anyone see them in a compromising position.

"I've swept off the floor for any cameras or bugs. We're safe here, I promise." Natasha straightened up and gave her signature side smirk. "Can I have my dessert now without any peep from you?"

Still hesitating, Wanda gave a soft okay and that's all the redhead needed before resuming in kissing the insides of her thighs. One thing that Natasha loves is worshipping Wanda's body, showing how much she adores every inch of the soft skin, trailing feather light touches that will then escalate to groping and leaving either bite marks or bruises. This foreplay prolongs their inner most desires, gradually building up the intense pleasure that they will have in the end.

However, Wanda is not always fond of the slow burn of romance and foreplay. She likes to be devoured at an instant, tethering on the edge of orgasm within minutes, whining and begging to be fucked like an animal in heat, always searching for the reachable high and would gladly be taken again and again for as long as she can. But with Natasha, Wanda has learned to be patient before they get on the main event or course of the evening.

The vibrator hummed once again, startling Wanda and before she could react, Natasha dived right into her aching clit, making her eyes roll back and moan in wanton. The pool between her legs is overflowing from the stimulation that the toy is giving, making Natasha's chin drip with her wetness.

Sucking, biting and flicking Wanda's clit, Natasha relentlessly weaves her tongue from left to right shifting to up and down strokes, making sure to hit all the right places that will make Wanda tremble from extreme pleasure.

The heels of Wanda's stiletto are digging on Natasha's muscled back not caring if it will rip off the fabric or ruin it. There's a lot happening all at once inside her that makes her spine shudder from the endless pit pleasure, running higher and higher as the seconds go by.

"Natasha, baby–!" Wanda's scream came out rugged as the coil in her stomach continued to tighten uncontrollably, begging to be snapped to relieve the tension. "I'm so fucking close, Nat. Good God!"

With both of Natasha's arms holding on the sides of Wanda's upper body, she stopped for a moment to check on girlfriend, "Are you comfortable? Hold on to my head instead, baby. I don't want you to fall over the table."

Wanda shifted and placed her right hand on Natasha's hair, gripping it tightly while the other was positioned slightly behind her to support her upper body. Both of Natasha's hands are holding onto her thighs and leaned down again to lap up her throbbing core with much ferocity. Natasha's tongue feels so warm and torturous on her puffy clit but Wanda welcomes all the sensation in her pussy eagerly, making her a babbling hot mess. "Faster, faster, please. Feels so fucking good– hmp!"

Natasha's right hand adjusted the remote in her pocket and changed the settings to the highest level, quite literally making Wanda's head spin, her insides shaking intensely from the crazy amount of vibration in her cunt while Natasha is still simultaneously sucking on her stiff bud with great enthusiasm.

"Natasha! Natasha!" Wanda chanted incoherently, gripping Natasha's hair tightly this time, "I'm gonna– I'm cumming– fuck!"

Another gush of wetness streamed down from Wanda's cunt, her slick dripping through her ass, and pushing the toy out of her, barely hanging from the edge. Her head is spinning in multiple directions and she's quite sure it will take a couple of minutes before she will calm down from the height of her intense orgasm. With a steadying breath, she clenched her still throbbing pussy, making the toy totally slide out of her slippery hole and landed right on Natasha's front.

Natasha glanced at the mess in her pants, a mischievous grin playing on her lips as she saw the toy's fluids scattered across the front of her shirt, resulting in a noticeable white mark and damp spot down her crotch. She hid the toy in her pocket, stood up,and gently placed Wanda's legs around her waist, "Look at what you've done to my shirt and pants, baby." Natasha breathed in awe, her eyes glittering with satisfaction.

Head still delirious, Wanda whimpered upon realising that the toy is no longer inside her and it indeed made a mess on Natasha's clothes. However, she's still regaining her breath and too immersed in bliss to mind.

The redhead reached down to cup Wanda's enticing tits. "Damn, these nipples are begging to be sucked, baby." Natasha remarked devilishly as she groped Wanda's boobs a little too aggressively. "I'm so obsessed with these. I could stare at them all day if I wanted to."

A loud whimper escaped Wanda's mouth and her eyes rolled back as Natasha continued to play with her clothed cleavage. Before she could plead for nipples to be touched with Natasha's tongue, Wanda noticed a prominent bulge in her pants that was currently poking her bare center. She looked up at her girlfriend and asked in disbelief, "You're packing?"

"Why shouldn't I be, hm?" Natasha's thumb caressed Wanda's cheek softly and captured her lips for a small kiss. When she pulled back, she got another devilish smile on her face.

"You– you're going to fuck me here?" Wanda gulped while anticipating Natasha's response.

"Would you like me to, detka?" Natasha whispered seductively in her ear. "I bet you want my cock filling your tight, little cunt, hm?"

It's pathetic how Wanda immediately folds at Natasha's dirty words knowing that she will give in right away with no hesitation. "I want to feel you inside me, please. Please!"

Natasha started to unbuckle her belt, loosening it a bit. "So desperate and needy. Aren't you satisfied with how I made you cum minutes ago?" she taunted. "Unfortunately, I can't fuck you on this table because I know I will break it." She then wrapped her right arm around Wanda while her left was holding her thigh securely, hoisted her up then walked towards the nearby wall.

"Natasha…!" Wanda whimpered pathetically the moment she was pinned to the wall, and without wasting any seconds, Natasha started assaulting her neck like a starved animal who's always in a hunt for skin.

"Shhh, baby. Let Mommy make you feel good, yeah? Isn't that what you want? To be fucked like a slut, like a whore, hm?" Natasha's mouth further travelled down her chest and this time, her hand pulled down the thin strap of Wanda's dress and so she could finally latch her tongue on her nipples. "Such pretty tits."

Lost for words, Wanda only moaned enthusiastically at the attention that Natasha is giving her boobs. She knew for sure that she would let Natasha do anything to her at this point as she succumbed even further into needy headspace. Her breath shuddered in anticipation once Natasha leaned back and started to unbuckle her belt, pushing down her pants using only one hand as the other was holding Wanda's upper body. Natasha's amazing physique comes in very handy in times like that, her strength adds more to her allure which is making Wanda's head spin even further.

"I'm going to fuck you real good, baby." Natasha groaned as she lined up her cock on Wanda's dripping cunt. "You will walk out of her with a limp 'cause you're my slut, yeah?"

In one swift thrust and without warning, Natasha buried her cock in Wanda's pussy, pulling it all the way out just to ram it back in roughly. This caused the witch to cry out in both pain and pleasure, and held onto Natasha's shoulder tightly.

"Natasha! Be gentle, please. Ngh!" Wanda pleaded, as she needed to fully adjust first to Natasha's length before she could relax and embrace the pleasure. But Natasha is now in the mood to fuck her senseless, hard and fast against the wall and being gentle is not in her plan tonight. Then, Natasha positioned both her hands behind Wanda's thighs, pressing them against her chest and gripping tightly to prevent slipping down the wall.

"Don't tell me what to do. I will fuck you the way I want to 'cause you're my toy, remember?" Natasha forcefully grabbed Wanda's chin to assert her domineering stand, making Wanda back down and accept her fate in an instant. "This pussy is mine to fuck and abuse. So I will use it however I see fit."

The end of her sentence was punctuated with deep, long, hard thrusts, and Natasha's grunts on Wanda's ear sounded so animalistic. The brunette feared that she might be split in half if Natasha continued mercilessly drilling her into the wall, but she couldn't find it in her heart to make her lover stop.

"Mommy—"

Wanda struggles in breathing as her mouth gives out little gasps combined with her moans every time Natasha drives her hips forward in rapid succession. She knows that her lower back will suffer later in the evening from being planted on the wall once they're done fucking.

Natasha was mesmerised with how she can reduce Wanda in this state, with her tits bouncing at each hard thrusts and mouth hanging open. She also watched closely how Wanda's face contorts in pleasure, she's damn well sure that it's the best thing she's ever seen in her life. With Wanda's pupil blown wide, her green eyes glow differently albeit being unfocused and barely open when she's in the height of pleasure, "Open up your pretty eyes when I fuck you like this, baby. Don't you dare close them or else I will stop."

Wanda obliged without hesitation at her girlfriend's demand. Their intimate eye contact seems to be her undoing as she feels all the fluttering sensation deep in her stomach, signalling that she's near her second orgasm. The pleasure has already built up when she first came and despite her efforts to hold it longer, Natasha's intense gaze betrays her body response.

"Baby! I'm cumming again. Fuck! Fuck!"

Upon hearing Wanda's words, Natasha doubled her efforts in slamming her dick in Wanda's slippery pussy just to make sure her girl gets her best back-breaking orgasm that will leave her whole body weak afterwards. She also leaned forward to capture Wanda's lips and contained her moans in the process as it got louder and louder as she reached her orgasm. Although the sounds that are coming out from Wanda are the hottest thing she's ever heard, they cannot afford to be heard outside, in fear that their names will be plastered all over the tabloids the next day.

"You're so fucking tight around me, baby. That's it. That's it. Cum for me." Natasha cooed into Wanda's ear, while still holding her thighs tightly to guide her to her climax and the witch could literally see stars swimming behind her eyes as she descended further up into the endless pleasure that Natasha is driving her into.

As Wanda's heart settled from its erratic beats, she gently lifted her eyelids, only to find Natasha's gaze already fixed upon her. Unlike the intense passion of moments prior, Natasha's eyes now held a tender smile, devoid of any hint of the earlier demonic mood. This time, Wanda's heart swelled with affection, reminded once again of the depth of her love for Natasha.

With a soft, loving gaze, Natasha loosened her hold on Wanda and proudly declared, "I love you," her words imbued with deep sincerity.

Wanda enveloped Natasha in her arms, drawing her close, and wrapped her legs around her waist, craving the sensation of her melting into her embrace. "Baby, I love you too, more than words can express," she murmured, her heart overflowing with emotion. Pulling back slightly, she locked eyes with Natasha. "It's like my heart would burst from how much."

Natasha chuckled softly and touched Wanda's cheeks softly. "Well, we wouldn't want that happening right here, right now, would we, baby? But you're my everything, my lifeline."

Wanda felt her eyes moisten and a gentle warmth tugged her heart with Natasha's sweetness. Natasha, typically reserved with her feelings towards Wanda, made each instance of vulnerability a precious gift in their relationship. It was these rare moments that Wanda treasured the most, knowing the depth of Natasha's affection and the sincerity behind her words.

Noticing the change in Wanda's mood, Natasha quickly made a remark to lighten up the witch, "Aww, don't cry baby. Save your tears for later when I fuck you dumb on the couch."

"Let's head home now then, Nat," Wanda suggested, her voice laced with excitement. "So I can peel you out of this sexy outfit of yours and this time, I'll return the favor."

PS: special thanks to my broo @delulu-with-wandanat cause this fic was made out of our late night brainrots. Looking forward to our next session iykwim. 🫦🫦

[idkyetxoxo]

Aemond Targaryen - Take All My Inhibitions

Summary - Wine awakens a bold, sensually unrestrained side of her, and the evening unfolds into a game of playful seduction, where inhibitions melt and desire takes control. But with the wine's intoxicating effect comes the question—how far will they go when nothing is held back?

Pairing - Aemond Targaryen x reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2617

Masterlist for Aemond • House of the Dragon General Masterlist

Drinking wasn't something I indulged in often. I never liked the bitter taste of alcohol or the loss of control that came with it.

But today felt different. It was my name day, a special occasion, and I had been generously gifted a few bottles of rare Dornish wine.

I'd never tasted this particular wine before, but from the first sip, I was hooked. It was sweet, rich, with just the right amount of tartness—dangerously delicious.

As the day wore on, I found myself drinking far more than I intended, each chalice emptied more quickly than the last.

By now, the effects were unmistakable; my head felt light, my laughter unrestrained. I couldn't remember the last time I had been in such a carefree, almost giddy mood.

"My lady, which dress would you like to wear tonight?" My handmaiden Myra asked, holding up a few options for me to choose from.

I stared at the selection before me, my brow furrowing in disapproval.

Normally, these dresses would've suited me just fine—elegant, modest, befitting a lady of my station—but not tonight.

Tonight, they looked dull, uninspiring.

"This is all so boring," I groaned, tossing the dresses onto the bed in frustration.

Without hesitation, I dove into my wardrobe, pulling out something I'd hidden away—a gown I would never dream of wearing on any other day.

It was scandalous, with a daring cut and sheer panels that left little to the imagination.

My sober self would have blushed at the thought of wearing it, but the wine made me bold, uninhibited.

"This one," I declared, holding it up for Myra to see. Her eyes widened slightly in surprise, but she said nothing.

Dutifully, she took the dress from me and began helping me into it, her fingers quick but gentle as she fastened it in place.

I downed another gulp of the heady wine as she pinned my hair into an intricate updo, feeling more daring with every passing moment.

Just as Myra finished, the door to my chambers creaked open, and I turned to see my husband step inside.

His lone eye, always so calm and steady, widened in surprise as he took in the sight before him—my attire, my flushed cheeks, the faint sway in my stance.

"Well?" I asked, a giggle slipping from my lips as I twirled around playfully. "How do I look?"

As I twirled in front of my husband, the laughter bubbling up, a flicker of doubt crept in.

My playful smile faltered as I searched his face for a reaction. His expression, still one of astonishment, had yet to shift into something readable.

I felt a flush of embarrassment creeping in, though I wasn't sure if it was from the wine or the sudden fear of rejection.

I bit my lip, waiting for him to say something, anything, to break the silence.

Finally, his lips curved into a small smile, and he shook his head softly as if he couldn't quite believe what he was seeing.

"You look..." he began, pausing as if trying to find the right words, "...absolutely stunning."

A wave of relief washed over me, but then he chuckled, low and deep, his eye still lingering on me, taking in every detail of the dress.

"The only problem is," he continued, stepping closer, "you've just made my night significantly harder."

I blinked, momentarily confused. "Harder?" I echoed.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, his breath warm against my ear. "I'll have to kill any man who so much as glances in your direction tonight."

I rolled my eyes, but a smile tugged at the corners of my mouth, his possessiveness both irritating and endearing.

"Oh, please," I said, swatting his arm lightly. "As if anyone would dare."

"I would," he teased, a mischievous glint in his eye, though his tone carried a weight of truth. "Trust me, you look far too tempting for your own good."

I felt my cheeks flush even deeper, not just from the wine this time. He had a way of making me feel like the only woman in the world, and though I wouldn't admit it, I loved that feeling.

The lingering doubt evaporated, replaced by a warm glow of confidence.

"Come on," I said, shaking off the last of my nervousness as I grabbed his arm and started toward the door. "We're going to be late for the celebrations, and I'm not letting you ruin my name day with your dramatics."

He raised an eyebrow but allowed himself to be pulled along, his hand resting protectively at the small of my back as we headed out.

"I wasn't being dramatic," he muttered playfully. "I was being realistic."

I rolled my eyes again, but a part of me secretly enjoyed the attention.

"Just try not to scare everyone away," I teased as we walked together, arm in arm. "You wouldn't want to have to explain a pile of bodies at the feast, now would you?"

He laughed, the sound warm and rich, and leaned in to kiss my temple. "For you, my love, I'd clear the entire room."

I shook my head, but I couldn't help the smile that spread across my face. Whatever doubts I'd had moments ago were long gone.

As we entered the grand hall, the atmosphere was already brimming with life.

The flickering candlelight cast a warm, golden glow over the long wooden tables, and the soft hum of conversation filled the air.

Servants moved gracefully through the crowd, offering cups of wine and platters of food, while guests mingled and exchanged greetings.

The feast was well underway, and I felt a surge of excitement—the celebration was just beginning.

Aemond's hand rested firmly on my back as we made our way through the sea of familiar faces, towards the head table where the family had gathered.

I caught the curious glances of the other guests, but all my attention was on the small gathering at the front of the room.

Alicent was the first to notice us. As we approached the table, she raised an elegant brow, her lips curling into a faint smile.

"My dear, you look... lovely," she said, her voice warm, though her eyes betrayed a flicker of something more—a mix of surprise and perhaps a touch of concern as they swept over my outfit.

Her gaze shifted, lingering on Aemond for a moment, as though seeking reassurance.

The unspoken question was clear—What had brought this change in me? Aemond, however, simply shrugged, his lips curling into a subtle, knowing smile.

Alicent's eyes returned to me, softening a little as she nodded in silent approval. I gave her a playful grin in response.

Before I could say anything further, Aegon's gaze landed on me.

The wine in his hand nearly slipped from his grasp, and he let out a startled, disbelieving chuckle as he fumbled to steady the goblet.

His reaction was unmistakable—he was accustomed to his sister-in-law being a quiet, reserved, almost sombre presence.

This, however, was not the same woman who would normally sit beside him at these feasts.

"Brother?" he asked, his voice thick with surprise, though there was a hint of amusement in his tone.

He cast a questioning look at Aemond, who had turned his gaze toward me with an expression of faint amusement.

Aemond glanced at his brother, then back at me.

"The wine," was all he said, his tone low and almost dismissive, as though those two words explained everything.

It was a simple explanation, but one that made Aegon's eyes widen in realization.

Aegon's brow furrowed as he took a sip from his cup, still trying to wrap his mind around the sight of me—his usually composed, soft-spoken sister-in-law, now looking like she had stepped out of a dream or a vision of temptation.

He watched us for a moment, his attention divided between Aemond and me, and I couldn't help but notice the mix of surprise, admiration, and—maybe—concern in his eyes.

I turned away from Aegon, who was still muttering something to himself, and smiled warmly at Helaena, who sat on my other side.

She was gazing at the material of my dress, her fingers lightly tracing the sheer fabric.

She had always been so gentle and kind, and tonight, her soft touch was a calming presence.

"I requested something... a bit different tonight," I confessed softly, leaning into her as she smiled and stroked the delicate pearls along the hem of my gown.

Helaena's fingers danced along the fabric, almost as if she were caressing it in wonder.

"You look beautiful," she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper, but filled with genuine admiration.

Aemond, sensing his brother's lingering curiosity, shot Aegon a pointed look as the two of them watched their wives.

He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough that only his brother could hear.

"The wine," he repeated, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips as he glanced back toward me. "It's... changed her tonight."

Aegon gave a short, breathless laugh and took a longer drink from his cup.

"I can see that," he muttered under his breath, his gaze still fixed on me, as though he couldn't quite believe his eyes.

As I continued to chat with Helaena, the rest of the feast seemed to fade into the background, the weight of the night's revelations settling over us all.

Whether it was the wine or simply the spirit of my name day, the tension, the usual calm and quietness I maintained, had been stripped away—leaving behind something far more bold and daring.

Aemond, despite his usual reserve, was now amused, even protective, his eyes never straying too far from me.

As the night wore on, the feast grew livelier. The food had been devoured, the wine flowed freely, and the air was thick with laughter, chatter, and the clinking of goblets.

The guests had loosened up, and even my normally composed family had allowed themselves a bit more revelry than usual.

It was a celebration, and the wine had worked its magic on everyone, including me.

Aemond and I had settled into a quiet corner of the hall, away from the boisterous crowds, but still close enough to the warmth of the firelight.

The candles flickered softly, casting shadows across his face, which was illuminated by the occasional glint of amusement.

I could feel the effect the night had had on him—his usual composure was slightly undone, though he held it together with practised ease.

He kept his hand on my waist, a reassuring, possessive touch that sent warmth through my entire body.

The wine had made me bold, and I found myself more daring than I'd ever been before.

The veil of restraint had been lifted, and I was revelling in this new, intoxicating freedom. I glanced up at him, my lips curling into a mischievous smile as I leaned in closer.

His single eye was fixed on me, but I could see the subtle tension in his jaw. He knew something was coming—he always did.

But what he didn't know, not yet, was that tonight, I was not the quiet, reserved wife he had grown accustomed to.

I let my breath caress his ear, my voice low and sultry.

"You know," I whispered, pausing just long enough to watch his expression shift, "I can think of a few things we could do... right here... right now."

The words were daring—bold, even—things I would never have spoken aloud before. But the wine had unleashed a side of me I hadn't known existed.

I felt his body stiffen slightly, his breath hitching as he realized what I'd said.

For a moment, his eye darkened, his brow furrowing in surprise. I could feel the muscles in his body tense as if he was trying to reign himself in, to suppress whatever thoughts the mere suggestion had triggered.

His hand gripped my waist a little tighter, and his voice, when he finally spoke, was rough with restraint.

"Careful," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly. "You're treading dangerously close to my limits, wife."

I giggled, the sound light and teasing, a complete contrast to the heated tension hanging between us.

His eye darkened further, and I could see the war within him—the desire that was growing more impossible to suppress.

Without giving him a moment to respond, I slipped away from his grasp, my smile widening as I sprang to my feet.

I turned and gave him one last playful look, my eyes glinting with mischief.

"Catch me if you can," I teased, my voice ringing out with laughter as I spun away, darting through the crowd.

For a moment, Aemond sat frozen, his expression caught between disbelief and a smouldering intensity that burned in the pit of his stomach.

He had never seen me like this—so unbound, so audacious.

And though he was accustomed to controlling his emotions, to reigning in his passions, tonight was different.

Tonight, it was impossible to ignore the shift in me, the change that had come over me, and the change that had come over him in response.

"Damn you," he muttered under his breath, though the smile playing at the corner of his lips betrayed the amusement he tried to hide.

Without another word, he was on his feet, moving through the guests with a predatory grace.

He didn't need to say anything—his body language said it all. His eye was fixed on me as I weaved through the crowd, laughing all the while, knowing he would chase me down.

I could hear the growing commotion as people noticed the two of us—his determined strides, my playful giggles, and the unmistakable energy between us.

I darted around a table, narrowly avoiding a collision with a few revellers, and looked back to see Aemond gaining on me.

His strides were long, powerful, and graceful.

I loved the way he moved, the way his presence commanded attention.

And in that moment, I realized I was more than willing to embrace this new side of me—this daring, playful, seductive side.

I could hear his footsteps coming closer, and just as I thought I could escape him, I felt a strong hand wrap around my wrist.

"You think you can outrun me, wife?" His voice was a low growl, but there was an edge of amusement in it.

He spun me around to face him, his eye blazing with unspoken desire. His other hand gripped my waist firmly, pulling me close against him.

I let out a breathy laugh, but there was no fear in it—only excitement.

"Maybe," I whispered, a wicked grin playing on my lips. "But you'll have to catch me first."

Aemond's smirk widened, and I could see the struggle on his face as he tried to maintain control. But it was no use.

The fire between us was undeniable, and he was already on the verge of losing himself to it.

"You're playing with fire," he murmured, his breath hot against my lips.

And before I could respond, he captured my mouth with his, kissing me deeply, his hand sliding to the back of my neck, drawing me even closer to him.

The kiss was slow at first, deliberate as if he was savouring every second of the moment.

But soon it turned ferocious, hungry, a culmination of the night's passions that had been building between us.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead resting against mine, we were both breathing heavily, our eyes locked with that undeniable connection—one that had shifted from restraint to something far more primal and daring.

"You've changed," he murmured, his voice rough but full of warmth. "And I love it."

I smiled, my heart racing, as I slipped my arms around his neck. "Good," I whispered. "Because so have you."

And with that, he kissed me again, this time with no reservations, no holding back—just two people fully embracing the night, and each other.

A/n - Aegon gifted that wine btw ALSO your girl turns 21 today idk how it worked out that a fic about birthdays got scheduled for my actual birthday but life's funny like that 😝

Aemond tag list - @darylandbethfanforever9 @lessdepressy @veesuguru

[wholoveseggs]

Rules {Part Four}

18+ ---- {Masterlist} {Tag-List}

Part Four

Tonight is the night of the dinner party and tensions are running high. Caught between the love for your family and your own desires, things take a dramatic turn when you make a choice you can't take back.

♡♡ I finally get to write about my #1 favorite TVD moment! The Dinner Partyyy! {the campyiness, the tension, the dramaaaa... Its peak TVD} Hope you enjoy! PS: there will be a part five ♡♡

6.4k words - Warnings: salvatore!sibling reader, no smut, lots and lots of drama, so much angst, Elijah being the sexiest middle-part menace he can be, secret affair, forbidden romance, Damon being over-protective, finally adding some proper Stefan moments to the plot, Elena being Elena, my sweet angel ♡ ANDIE STARRR ♡ , vervain, tension, violence, john gilbert & chocolate mousse...

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}

♡♡ Tag-List ♡♡

Trying to fix my tags! I re-added all of you, and now you will be posted at the top!

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You sat in front of your vanity, outlining your lips with a deep shade of red, finishing off the look with a dab of gloss.

Damon didn't tell you any details of what he was planning, beyond having a weapon that could kill an Original, which would have seemed absurd if it wasn't your brother. You knew what he was capable of. 

Damon had left not too long ago, telling you he was going to lunch with his girlfriend Andie, and would be back later.

All you knew was that there would be a dinner party tonight and if Elijah showed up, Damon was going to kill him. 

Your phone rang and you glanced over to see Stefan's name on the screen, your pressed speaker, and went back to applying your lipstick.

"Hey," You said, pressing your lips together and checking the color.

"Hello," Stefan replied, sounding a bit tense.

"How's your trip with Elena going?" You asked, grabbing a tube of mascara.

"Well as it can be," he said vaguely.

"I guess you know about the deal then? Elena is willing to die for you, that's very sweet," you said casually, applying the mascara to your eyelashes.

"When did you get so callous? She isn't a martyr, she's just naive," he sighed.

You felt a pang of guilt for teasing him. He was right, Elena was kind and gentle, and both of your brothers loved her.

"Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that. I know how you feel about her," You said, trying to sound comforting. "It's just that she possesses an unfortunate face,"

Stefan let out a humorless chuckle, and sighed. "Katherine's face,"

"Yeahhhh," you laughed.

"Funny you should mention her, Elena has been reading some old journals written by Johnathan Gilbert," Stefan explained. "It's brought up a lot of memories,"

"Didn't you eat him?" You asked, screwing the cap onto the mascara.

His silence was an answer in and of itself.

"Are you afraid that if Elena learns about your lovely alter-ego she won't love you anymore?" You teased.

"This is serious," he sighed.

"Ok, ok, sorry," You said, standing up and smoothing out your dress. "Always so uptight,"

"Not everyone has it so easy, sister," he grumbled.

"What does that mean?" You asked, your tone slightly offended.

"It's nothing," he sighed.

"No, no. Please, speak your mind," You said, rolling your eyes.

"You've always just been good at it," He began, you could hear the annoyance in his voice.

"At what?" You snapped, pacing around your room.

"Being a vampire," He said bluntly. "You claim to loathe Katherine, yet you aren't that different,"

You didn't know what to say, his words cut you. How dare he compare you to the woman who destroyed your life, turned you and your brothers into monsters. Kept them under her toxic spell while you watched them suffer.

"That's not fair, Stefan," You said softly, feeling hurt and defensive.

"Isn't it?" He asked.

You stayed silent, unsure of what to say, you just stared out the window, the sun shining brightly outside.

"Anyway, I don't have time to debate your morals," Stefan continued. "I'm just calling to tell you to watch out for Damon, killing Elijah won't be easy, he will need your help,"

"And here I thought you didn't trust me," You said, unable to hide the hurt in your voice.

"I trust you more than anyone," he said softly.

You wanted to tell him everything, how guilty and ashamed you felt. You didn't even know why you were feeling these things, Elijah was nothing to you, but you couldn't stop thinking about him, the pain in his eyes, the coldness in his voice, it haunted you.

And now you were going to kill him, Stefan was right... You weren't so different from Katherine.

"Then, trust me when I say, I'll handle it," You said, keeping your tone casual.

"Ok," he said, though his voice sounded hesitant. "Please be careful,"

"I will," you said softly, before ending the call.

You sat down on your bed and pulled on a pair of black velvet pumps. They were tall, and made your legs look amazing. You checked your lipstick and smoothed out your dress, and headed downstairs.

Damon was just arriving home, with Andie in tow. They were carrying bags of groceries, and setting them down in the kitchen.

"Hi, Andie," You smiled.

"Hello darlin," she said, her voice cheery, like always. "Don't tell me that your brother roped you into this mess,"

"Mess?" You asked, raising an eyebrow, giving Damon a questioning look.

"Andie doesn't believe in my abilities to cook," Damon rolled his eyes.

"Damon has a tendency to go overboard with things," she laughed.

Neither of them were actually talking about the cooking. Damon had obviously told her about his plans for the night.

"What are we serving tonight, then?" You asked, giving him a warning look.

"A nice rack of lamb, roasted vegetables, some salad..." Damon trailed off, looking around the kitchen. "Annnd... A dessert that will be sure to knock our guest's socks off,"

You and Andie made eye contact and she smiled, trying not to laugh.

"Sounds lovely, brother," You smiled, reaching out and patting him on the shoulder. "How can I help?"

Damon gave Andie a pointed look and she nodded and left the kitchen, leaving the two of you alone to chat.

"So," he began, as he pulled out a box of matches and lit the burner on the stove. "Change of plans,"

"Change?" You asked, leaning against the counter, crossing your arms.

"I need you to stay upstairs, away from the party," He said, avoiding your eyes.

"What?!" You said, glaring at him. "Why?"

"Because Jenna is coming, and she thinks you are Elena's age... I can't have her asking too many questions," Damon explained.

"That's such bullshit!" You growled, pushing off the counter. "You can't do this on your own,"

"Yes I can," he scoffed.

"So, what? I'm just supposed to stay hidden away in my room, twiddling my thumbs while you try and kill Elijah?" You asked, getting more irritated by the second.

"Yeah, pretty much," He said, his tone casual. "And when it's done you can help me dispose of the body,"

"Are you being fucking serious?" You spat.

"Relax," he chuckled.

"How am I supposed to relax when I know you are going to get yourself killed?!" You asked, throwing your hands in the air.

Damon put down the pan he was holding and turned around, walking over to you and getting in your face, his eyes wild and bright.

"Despite you being a ravenous little killer, you are still my baby sister," he said, his voice soft, but his eyes were still angry. "I was wrong to ask you for help, it's my job to protect you, not put you in harm's way,"

You didn't like this one bit, Damon was stubborn and headstrong, and once his mind was made up, there was no changing it. It infuriated you, the way he saw you as this helpless damsel. Yet, you weren't surprised, he had a tendency to go overboard with things and forget logic. The fact that you were a vampire and could handle yourself was something he often forgot.

You felt humiliated and helpless, and that made you angry, so fucking angry.

"Fuck you," You snapped, turning on your heel, storming out of the kitchen, Damon called after you, but you ignored him, slamming the door to your room shut.

You stood in the middle of the room, feeling a wave of emotion hit you. This wasn't like you, you never let yourself feel like this, so out of control. The last time you felt anything like this was years ago, when you were human.

You hated that feeling, the way your stomach would twist, and your heart would ache. But it wasn't because of Damon... It was because of Elijah.

The sound of the guests arriving floated up to your bedroom. You were sitting on your bed, a glass of wine in hand. You had been drinking all evening, trying to numb the anger, the sadness, and the regret.

The plan was already in motion, there was no stopping it now. Elijah was going to die, and you were told to stay put and let it happen.

You picked up the voices of several familiar people, Alaric, Jenna, Andie, even Elena's estranged father John. All chatting happily, blissfully unaware of your presence upstairs. 

You looked down into your glass, you could see your vague reflection in the dark liquid. You couldn't stand the sight of yourself, the guilt, the shame… it was eating away at you, no longer could you sit there and wallow in it. 

Fuck it, you thought. You finished the glass off with one large gulp and got up, walking over to the full-length mirror.

Your hair was down, the curls flowing down past your breasts, and your makeup was perfect, smoky eyes and deep red lips. All dressed up and nowhere to go, nobody to see.

You headed down the hallway, trying to be as quiet as possible, peeking through the railing on the stairs to see if anyone was there.

Then you heard Elijah's voice, it was hushed and cold, and the words were unintelligible, but it was him, and your heart skipped a beat.

You inched closer, straining your ears, desperate to hear more.

"Can I just say that if you have less than honorable intentions about how this evening is going to proceed, I suggest you reconsider."

His tone was dark and threatening, and you knew Damon would be on the receiving end.

"No, nothing, nothing dishonorable. Just getting to know you," Damon replied, and you could picture his cocky smile.

"Hmm. Well, that's good," Elijah sounded skeptical, and you could hear him walking inside and closing the door.

"Because, you know, although Elena and I have this deal, if you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house. Are we clear?" Elijah's tone was firm and unwavering, and you could sense the tension.

You took a deep breath, steadying your nerves, and walked down the stairs. Your feet a bit wobbly in your heels, the wine was catching up with you.

Everyone was looking at you by the time you got to the bottom, and you were sure your face was flushed, your cheeks pink. But all you could see was Elijah. His dark eyes watching you, and your heart was racing. Surely he wouldn't kill you in front of all these people.

"Well, well, well. Look who decided to join us," Damon chuckled nervously, walking up to you and putting his arm around your shoulder, squeezing you forcefully. "This isn't a party for teenagers, sweet sister,"

The tension was thick, and it was clear that Damon didn't want you there.

"I just wanted to come say hello, I was getting bored upstairs," You said casually, pulling away from him.

"Oh, c'mon Damon, it's alright. She can stay for the food," said Jenna, giving you a warm smile. She was so kind, you didn't want to see her get hurt.

"No, really. She should be going, right sis?" Damon said, glaring at you.

"No, I think I'm gonna stay, I was promised dinner, after all," You replied, meeting his eyes, defiance shining in them.

Elijah cleared his throat, stepping towards you and Damon, his face neutral. "Nice to meet you Miss Salvatore," he took your hand and kissed it, his lips lingering for a moment longer than necessary.

Damon was looking at Elijah like he wanted to rip his throat out, and you had to resist the urge to smirk.

"And you, Mr. Smith," You replied, trying to hide your amusement.

Elijah gave you a knowing look, and a small smile formed on his lips.

"Call me Elijah," He replied, still holding your hand.

"Elijah, then," You nodded, a shiver running down your spine as his thumb traced your wrist.

You had no idea why he was acting so casual, he had to know this was a trap, and he was just standing there, touching you.

"Ok, now that everyone knows each other, let's eat," Andie cut in, leading everyone to the dining room.

Before you could follow, Damon grabbed your arm and pulled you aside, his expression one of pure rage.

"What are you doing?" Damon growled.

"Having dinner," You said, pushing him off and brushing past him, walking into the dining room.

The only empty seat available was next to Elijah, who grew stiff when you approached him.

"Is this ok?" You asked, smiling sweetly.

He nodded, pulling the chair out for you, and pushing it back in once you were seated, always the gentleman.

Everyone was seated, and the dinner party was in full swing. Jenna and Andie asked Elijah all about the local history of Mystic Falls, and he bullshitted his way through, telling them stories of the old families that founded the town, local folklore tales, and other nonsense.

Elijah seemed to relax a bit, although he was purposely avoiding looking or speaking to you, his gaze focused elsewhere. But every once in a while you could feel his hand brush yours under the table, making your skin tingle.

You were drinking wine like it was water, and you could feel the effect it was having on you. The world was fuzzy, and everything was so funny. You would giggle or let out an inappropriate snort whenever Elijah would talk, and your face was flush and hot.

"Not to be a party pooper but aren't you a little young to be drinking?" John Gilbert said, looking at you, his eyes narrowing.

You glared at him, raising an eyebrow, he knew that you were a vampire, four times his age no less. But you weren't about to argue in front of sweet and innocent Jenna, who had no clue about the existence of the monsters she was surrounded by.

"She can have a glass, as her guardian I allow it," Damon said casually, not bothering to look up from his plate.

"Ahh, I see, I suppose the rules are a bit more lax when you have Damon as a parent," John added, his expression bitter and cold.

"I think she's had more than a glass," Andie said softly, her tone was concerned as she looked you over.

You felt Elijah's hand come to rest on your thigh under the table, it made your heart skip a beat and Damon look up from his plate.

"She's fine," Damon said, his tone final.

The other guests exchanged awkward glances, Alaric cleared his throat uncomfortably and Jenna and Andie both had worried expressions on their faces.

Elijah's hand was moving higher up your thigh, and it was making your face flush, and you were starting to get wet.

You had no idea why he was touching you, considering he wanted to kill you. But you supposed there is a fine line between lust and loathing.

As soon as everyone finished their meal, Andie got up and Damon gave her a pointed look, whatever he had planned had just begun.

"The gentlemen should take their drinks in the study," she said, giving everyone a smile, her gaze lingering on Elijah.

"I have to say the food was almost as wonderful as the company," Elijah said, smiling at her, and standing up.

"I like you," Andie said softly, returning his smile.

You watched as the men left, Damon looked back at you before he followed them, giving you a wink, and closing the door.

You were fuming, the wine making you angrier than usual, you went to follow but Andie intercepted you, handing you a pile of plates.

Sighing, you reluctantly carried them to the kitchen and started loading the dishwasher, not wanting to draw too much attention.

"Here, let me help," Jenna smiled, taking the glasses from your hands.

"It's fine," You said, forcing a smile.

"Come, drink some water, your face is flushed," Andie said, handing you a glass.

"No more for you," John added, pouring the leftover wine down the drain.

You scowled at all three of them, lecturing you like you were a child. They had no idea what you were capable of, the things you've done. They wouldn't treat you like this if they did.

You took the water, glaring at them, and chugged it, setting the glass down with a little more force than necessary.

Alaric came rushing into the kitchen with a wild look in his eye. He made eye contact with you, and he was out of breath.

"We forgot dessert!" He said, sounding panicked.

"What?" Andie asked, confused.

"Dessert!" Alaric repeated, his body practically vibrating with fear.

Whatever was going on, it definitely wasn't about dessert.

"I can make a chocolate mousse...?" Jenna began, trailing off, looking at Alaric with confusion.

"Perfect! Let's go tell Damon and Elijah," Alaric said in a rush, motioning to Andie who gave him a questioning look but followed him out.

"What is going on?" Jenna asked, turning to you, her eyes wide.

"No idea," You lied, shrugging, hoping to sound convincing.

As soon as Jenna had her back turned, you slipped out of the kitchen and headed for the dining room.

Everyone had already returned, and the tension was palpable. Alaric looked stressed and Damon was smirking, which was a sure sign of a disaster.

Damon and John were seated on opposite ends of the table, glaring at each other, while Elijah sat in center. Andie and Alaric were behind him, rummaging through her bag for some reason.

"What I'd like to know, Elijah, is how do you intend on killing Klaus?" John said sharply, looking over his wine glass at him.

It seemed that the dinner party discussions had finally turned to the real business at hand, you inched into the room quietly, trying not to draw any attention.

"Gentlemen, there's a few things we should probably get clear right now. I allow you to live solely to keep an eye on Elena. I allow Elena to remain in her house living her life with her friends as she does as a courtesy. If you become a liability, I'll take her away from you and you'll never see her again." Elijah's eyes flickered to you, but only for a second.

Before Damon or John had a chance to respond, Andie returned with her notebook in hand, sitting down across from Elijah, ready to interview him, "Okay. My first question is when you got here to Mystic..."

Suddenly, time seemed to slow down, you watched Alaric approach Elijah from behind, an ornate looking dagger in his hand, ready to stab him in the back.

You moved without thinking, lunging at Alaric, wrapping your hand around his wrist and snapping it with ease, causing the dagger to fall to the floor with a clatter.

Alaric crumbled to the floor in pain, looking up at you in shock.

The room suddenly exploded into action, dark veins spread beneath Elijah's eyes, and he lunged at Damon, knocking him over the table and onto the ground, grabbing him by the neck and lifting him into the air, his eyes ablaze.

John grabbed Andie, pulling her out of the way, while Alaric crawled along the floor, cradling his wrist.

You grabbed Elijah's arm, trying to pry him off of Damon.

"Don't! Let him go!" You shouted, struggling against him, his muscles were tensed, and his grip was tight, he wasn't budging.

Elijah looked over his shoulder at you, his dark eyes cold and angry. You gave him a pleading look, trying to convey how important it was that he listened.

"Please, he's my brother, please don't hurt him," You said, your voice breaking as your tears began to flow.

He dropped Damon, who fell to the floor with a thud, coughing and sputtering.

Elijah looked around the room at all the frightened faces, then to the floor where the dagger was lying and picked it up, examining it.

"Clever boy," Elijah looked at Alaric, shaking his head and tsking. "I haven't seen one of these in quite some time,"

He moved to attack Alaric but you jumped in front of him, shielding him with your body.

"Please don't kill him," You pleaded, putting your hands on his chest, trying to push him back.

He was immovable, but his gaze softened when his eyes met yours and he put the dagger in his jacket pocket. His eyes went back to Damon, who was still on the floor, glaring at him.

"Please, don't hurt anyone," You repeated, your hand moving to his hair, running your fingers through it.

He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, his shoulders sagging, the tension leaving his body.

"Get away from my sister," Damon snarled, his voice rough from being choked.

Elijah looked at Damon, giving him a wicked smile and wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you close to him, your face pressed against his chest.

"Oh, she doesn't mind," Elijah smirked, looking at Damon with smug satisfaction.

Damon looked from you to Elijah, his expression a mixture of disbelief and pure rage. His brain couldn't quite compute what he was seeing.

"What did I say?" Elijah began, pausing to pretend he was pondering, "Oh yes! If you so much as make a move to cross me, I'll kill you and I'll kill everyone in this house,"

Your hands curled into his shirt, tugging on it, looking at him pleadingly. His dark eyes went to yours, and his gaze softened, he kissed you on the cheek, wiping away a stray tear.

"Fortunately for you, your lovely sister has been most gracious in her hospitality," He said, looking over your head at Damon.

You were visibly shaken up, looking at your brother with tear filled eyes, your hands trembling against Elijah's chest. He lifted your chin, forcing you to look at him instead of your devastated looking brother.

"So much for rule one," he said quietly, kissing the corner of your mouth.

Damon was seething, his fists clenched, and he was practically shaking with anger.

"Now, I hate to cut this evening short, but it seems I've overstayed my welcome," Elijah sighed, pulling away from you, his tone neutral.

"And as for you. Let me be perfectly clear, if you, or anyone else, attempt something like this again, I will kill you. No mercy. Understood?" Elijah asked, looking directly at Damon.

"Yes," Damon said, his voice dripping with venom.

"Wonderful. Now, I think it's time for me to take my leave," Elijah turned and began to walk out, "I'll be in touch," he called over his shoulder.

As soon as Elijah left, all eyes were on you. Damon's angry glare made you squirm, and the disgusted expressions from Andie, Alaric and John made you feel deep shame. You needed to get out of there.

But before you could , Damon grabbed you, the speed blowing your hair back. His hand went to your neck and he threw you against the wall, his fingers crushing your windpipe.

"Are you crazy? You’re fucking Elijah? ELIJAH?" He yelled right in your face, his rage so uncontrolled he lashed out and hit the wall beside your head, causing the plaster to crack and break.

"What the hell were you thinking?" He continued, his eyes wild, spit flying from his mouth.

"Damon," Andie said softly, stepping forward to calm him. John held her back, helping Alaric to his feet and pulling them both out of the room. John knew better than to get between Damon and his wrath.

"How did this happen? How did he get to you?" He shook you harder, causing the plaster dust to rain down. "Did he compel you? I told you to drink vervain every day!"

You kneed him in the stomach, forcing him to drop you, and you gasped for air.

"No! He didn't compel me, he would never," You snapped, rubbing your neck. "I...I care for him,"

Damon stared at you, his breathing ragged, and his expression completely blank. Then he started to laugh, it was devoid of any warmth, it was all bitterness and mockery.

"Care for him? What is he, your boyfriend? Did he ask you to go steady in-between planning Elena's murder?" Damon sneered.

"That's not fair," You said, scowling, folding your arms. 

"So he's the reason you've been so distant? The reason you've been acting so weird? What, he's using you to get to Elena, isn't he?" Damon was pacing back and forth, his hands in his hair.

"No... We never discus-" You tried to explain.

"This is unbelievable," He groaned, cutting you off, and walking over to the liquor cart, pouring himself a drink, then he froze.

"Please tell me you didn't fuck him in this house," he said, his voice dangerously low.

"Not exactly...," You trailed off, averting your gaze, biting your lip.

Damon downed his drink and smashed the glass against the wall, "Fuck, Y/N, do you have any idea what you've done?"

"I had a plan! Everything just spiraled out of control," You said, your voice shaking, feeling overwhelmed and frustrated. "I tried... I tried to steal the moonstone, for you! For us! He caught me and... and I was stupid. I'm sorry.”

"So you thought you could pull a honeypot on an original?" Damon looked completely dumbfounded, and a little impressed. "Are you insane? Or just dumb?"

His words cut you deeply, mostly because they were the same things you had said to yourself, a million times.

"I thought it would work," You shrugged, your arms dropping, you were feeling defeated.

"And I suppose letting him fuck you was an added bonus, huh?" Damon shot back.

"Yes!" You screamed, frustrated, throwing your hands up. "I like him, Damon! He's interesting and attractive and he treats me like an equal!"

Damon snorted, "Because he thinks you're a slut."

That stung, he had never called you that before and tears sprang to your eyes. You glared at him, as they began to spill down your cheeks. You were done arguing with him, and you were done listening to him. He didn't understand, and you had nothing more to say.

Without another word, you pulled the dagger out of your bra, you had managed to remove it from Elijah's pocket without anyone noticing. You threw it at the floor at Damon's feet and stormed off.

Damon looked at the dagger, his brow furrowed, then back up at the spot you had just occupied, a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had made you cry.

You ran to your room and crawled under the covers, letting all your pent up emotions flow out of you, coming out in gasps and hiccups. You had no idea what to do, you didn't want to choose between your family and Elijah. You didn't want to be forced to pick a side. 

You didn't want to have to give up what you felt when you were around him.

You didn't know how.

It had been a few hours since the disastrous dinner party. You were still laying in your bed, staring at the ceiling, replaying the events over and over again in your mind.

You heard Damon leave not long after your argument. You had no idea where he ran off too. Knowing him, he went to find more trouble. Part of you regretted the fight, the other part of you wanted to strangle him.

You were exhausted, physically and emotionally. It was like every single part of your being was weighed down.

Just then you heard a loud commotion downstairs, the voices of your brothers and Elena floated up to you. There was a strange scraping sound, like they were dragging something heavy across the floor.

You quickly got up to investigate, hopping down the stairs, stopping suddenly in front of a very nervous looking Elena.

"What happened?" You asked, trying to look past her to your brothers.

"Damon told me what happened," She said softly, reaching out to touch you. But you spotted a pair of legs being dragged away towards the stairs leading to the basement.

Your eyes went wide as you figured out whose legs they were. Panic swept over you, and you pushed past Elena and rushed to the basement after them.

Stefan and Damon were throwing Elijah's body into the cell, he looked gray and cold, the dagger sticking out of his chest.

"Elijah! No, no, no," You cried, screaming and trying to get past your brothers. But they were too strong for you, holding you back, and quickly closing the gates.

"Let me go!" You punched at Damon's chest, desperate to get inside the cell, tears streaming down your face.

Damon just held you, refusing to release you, your screams filling the small basement.

Stefan locked the door, following you and Damon upstairs. You were kicking and fighting like a crazy woman, begging them to let you see him.

Once you made it upstairs, Stefan grabbed you and held you in his arms, still you fought and cried for him, despite his pleas for you to stop.

"Please calm down," Stefan begged, holding onto you tightly.

"He came to take Elena, we had no choice," Damon said, his voice sounding tired, like this had been an exhausting evening for him.

"He promised me he wouldn't," You said, your voice cracking, your throat raw.

"He lied, Y/N, that's what he does," Damon replied, sounding exasperated.

"Shut up!" You screamed, jerking out of Stefan's arms and rushing at Damon, your fist connecting with the side of his face. "You did this! He wouldn't have done anything if you hadn't provoked him!"

You managed to hit him twice, splitting his lip, before Stefan grabbed you again, pulling you back.

"Knock it off!" Stefan said sharply, giving you a firm shake. You stopped struggling for a moment, panting.

Elena came and stood next to Damon, looking more sad than angry. She wasn't sure what to say, or what to do in this situation.

"I love him Stefan, please," you begged, sniffling. It was the first time you could admit it out loud, to anyone, to yourself and you wished it was Elijah you could have told first. "You have to let me see him, even if he's dead...I just have to see him."

Your words cut through Stefan's heart. Trembling in his arms, he had never seen you so distraught and in pain. He looked over your head at Damon and Elena, silently asking for permission.

"Fine, I'll take you, but only because you'll probably burn the house down if I don't," Damon said, rolling his eyes.

Stefan let you go and you immediately ran down the stairs, your feet skidding slightly on the concrete floor. You rushed into the cell and fell to your knees beside Elijah's body.

"lijah," you said softly, trying to coax him out of sleep.

He was gray, covered in dark veins, his skin felt cold. Your fingers trembled as you touched his face, your fingers running through his hair.

You laid down next to him, resting your head against his chest, listening to the lack of heartbeat. You lay there for a few minutes, crying to yourself.

You could feel Damon watching you, and it pissed you off.

"Please leave me alone," You said softly, your voice breaking, not bothering to turn and look at him.

Damon was standing there, leaning against the wall, his arms folded, and he looked at you thoughtfully.

"He's dangerous, and he's using you," Damon replied.

"He never learned anything from me!" You snapped, glaring at him, the anger boiling over. "We had an agreement, an understanding! It wasn't like that!"

Damon shook his head, and looked away from you.

"You can't be in love with him. You barely know him." Damon was trying his hardest to get you to see sense.

"Maybe, maybe I'm not," You lied, sniffling, "I just feel like there's something there, something real and I've never felt this way before,"

Damon let out an exasperated sigh, and closed his eyes.

"This will end badly, I'm not going to try and convince you anymore. You're too damn stubborn," He said, opening his eyes and looking down at you.

"Can you bring me a blanket and pillow?" You asked, changing the subject.

"No," Damon said, turning on his heel and leaving the basement.

"Asshole," You muttered, moving back to rest your head against his chest.

A few minutes later, Stefan came down the stairs, carrying a blanket and a pillow, and a bottle of bourbon.

"Thanks," You smiled weakly, taking the blanket and covering yourself with it. You took the pillow and gently lifted Elijah's head, placing the pillow underneath him.

"Is he really dead?" You asked quietly, not looking at Stefan, staring at Elijah's face.

Stefan let out a long sigh, he hated seeing you like this, the sight of you curled up next to a corpse was not a normal one.

I'm not entirely sure," he knelt down, crossing his legs and he sat on the floor next to you. "but he isn't alive either, he's frozen, asleep,"

He reached out and touched your shoulder, turning you to look at him.

"Damon wants to keep him on ice, he doesn't trust Elijah and... neither do I," he tried to say it gently, wanting you to know the truth. "if you wake him up, he will kill us for what we've done... Elena tricked him... He will not be happy,"

"Maybe he will forgive us," you said, looking at him with hopeful eyes, "what if he can feel everything? He must be so scared and lonely,"

"Do you really think he can feel fear?" Stefan asked, raising an eyebrow. "My impression of him is that he isn't the type,"

"He has a big heart, under all that arrogance," you smiled softly, touching his face, brushing the hair from his forehead. "Kinda like someone we know,"

"You've got it bad," Stefan shook his head, a little bit in awe of your feelings. "I've never seen you like this, not with any other guy."

You looked over at him, his expression was a mix of worry and sadness.

"Do you hate me? For loving him?" You asked, a knot forming in your stomach.

"No, never," he said, pulling you into his arms. "I'm worried, and scared... But I could never hate you. Ever."

"I can convince him Stefan, I can get him on our side, I know I can," you said, feeling the tears come back.

"And if you can't?" He asked, rubbing your back.

"Then... Then... I don't know..." You said, a sob choking you, unable to speak.

Stefan hated himself for what he had to do next, but it was the only way he could think to keep everyone safe.

While you were still in his arms, he pulled out a syringe and jabbed it in your neck, pushing the liquid vervain in. It was a large dose and it took about three seconds before you passed out.

He caught you before you slumped to the ground, lifting your sleeping body and carrying you upstairs.

Damon and Elena were waiting anxiously, eager to hear that Stefan had been able to talk you down from freeing Elijah.

"Is she ok?" Elena moved forward, "Did she try anything?"

"She had a bit of a melt down," Stefan said honestly, he placed you on the couch, ensuring you were tucked in and comfortable.

"What can we do to make sure she doesn't help him?" Damon asked, leaning on the doorway, unable to come closer to you. The sight of you like this broke his heart. "she's been completely brainwashed by the guy,"

"She loves him Damon," Elena said softly, walking over to him, laying her hand on his arm.

"Don't say that," he groaned, covering his face. "That makes it worse. She has to get over it."

"I don't think it works that way," Elena said gently, squeezing his arm.

"We have to keep her away from him," Damon explained, his hands dropping, he was looking at Elena now. "It's too risky."

"That will be impossible," Stefan said, shaking his head, "she's more stubborn than you, she won't give up until she has her way."

"So what do we do?" Elena asked, glancing between them.

"The only way I can think of is to keep her sedated, until I find a way to kill him for good," Damon said, his tone matter-of-fact.

"No, Damon.. that's not right," Elena protested, looking to Stefan to back her up.

Stefan couldn't meet her gaze, instead he turned away, "We don't have any other options."

"So we are just going to knock her out? That's cruel!" Elena said, feeling very disappointed.

"Got any better ideas?" Damon snapped, kneeling down in front of you. He placed his hand on your forehead, "I can't let her wake him up, he will kill us all,"

Elena sighed, shaking her head.

"She will hate us for doing this," Stefan said, not liking the idea one bit, but it was the best they had.

"Yeah, well, I can handle that," Damon shrugged, and picked you up in his arms.

He carried you to your room, gently placing you on the bed, pulling the covers up over your body. He sat next to you, tucking your hair behind your ears.

"You'll understand, eventually," He said softly, stroking your hair, before standing up and leaving the room, shutting the door quietly.

You were trapped in some sort of nightmare, everything around you was completely dark. You couldn't even see your hand in front of your face. You had no idea where you were, what was up or what was down.

You were calling out for help, your voice echoing back to you, but no one else was there.

Suddenly, you felt a presence beside you, it was warm, familiar and safe. You were drawn to it and you reached out, trying to find the source of it.

You heard the sound of a man laughing, it was a wild, maniacal laugh.

You started running, your feet hitting the ground hard, you couldn't breathe, but you didn't stop. The laughter kept coming, getting louder and louder.

Then the sound of a woman screaming nearly knocked you off your feet, but you kept going until you ran into something solid.

It was the edge of a coffin, made of wood etched with an ornate symbol on the top, a crest of some sort. Your fingers traced over it, feeling the deep grooves. It was the letter 'M', carved into a shield.

Finally, your hands found the lid, and you pushed, straining to open it. What was inside was three rings of fire, you could feel the heat on your face, the smoke making it hard to breathe.

The rings were getting closer, or you were falling into them, you couldn't tell. The screams became deafening. You were overwhelmed with intense anxiety, unable to move as you stared into the flames.

Then everything stopped.

And you woke up.

{Part One} {Part Two}{Part Three}{Part Five}

[prettybean]

TEASING COD BOYS (+18)

prompt: you like to tease them

* probably I will continue the konig one 🫥

ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE

Ghost

He has an angry expression on his face and appears prepared to kill anyone who crosses his path. Your panties were revealed by your dress riding up slightly. He knew you were doing it on purpose. With his hands, he grasps your hips, adjusts your clothing, and pushes you towards him. “You better behave, you don't want me to fuck you in front of everyone, do you want it?”

Soap

He's too sweet to get mad at you, but as soon as he sees how you're trying to show him your breasts, you see the bulge in his pants. Bite his lips, before looking around, making sure no one was watching. He brings his hands together and squeezes your tits together. A moan leaves your lips and someone turns in your direction, making you blush. “See love? better not to tease."

Price

During a business meeting, you came up with the idea to gently massage his thigh from behind the table. He glanced at you with a slight blush on his face, and continued to give her soldiers a detailed explanation of the next mission. Your hand moved upwards, touching his bulge, causing the captain to gasp.

He will ensure that everyone hears your moans from his room at the end of the meeting, fucking you hard to release his tension.

Gaz

He can't sit still. Your legs opening slightly while you were talking to his friends made him go crazy. Immediately after your hands caressed your own thighs, he quickly stomped his foot on the floor. Kyle's almost threatening look is immediately noticed by your friend, leading them to decide that it's best to leave. “You were doing it on purpose huh?” You look at him with a teasing smile. “You can only open those legs if my face is between them”.

Graves

He was completing his paperwork and conversing with his colleagues about upcoming enemy actions. Your hands rubbed over his shoulders while he sat. Your weak grinding against Philip was unnoticed by him due to his attentiveness. Or at least you thought so.

He grabbed your wrist and made you sit on him, holding onto your hip with his other hand and causing you to ride his leg in front of everyone. “Do you enjoy playing, huh? I want to have fun too then."

Alejandro

You were just a rookie and he helped you with your weekly training, along with all the other freshmen. “You should go down with your back”.

You followed his advice by arching your back and raising your ass in the air. “Oh Dios mío” you heard him say softly, as you continued to show your ambiguous position. “Okay, let's take a break,” Alejandro said, trying to hide his bulge.

König

He don’t talk to you much, well, he don’t talk at all, which was why you loved teasing him in every possible way. Every time you walked up to him and whispered something dirty to him, you were delighted to see his immediate reaction: he awkwardly walked away and insulted you in German.

Today was one of those days, you leaned close to his ear “I bet you have a huge cock, I mean, I hope so” This was too much for him, he grabbed your wrists with one hand, pushing you against the wall. “Why don't you find out?”

Keegan

You go out for a drink together, order two cold beers and start talking about your day. Keegan seemed focused on his story, but all you could think about was how handsome he was. you poured more beer into the glass, before bringing it to your mouth. You sucked on the top of the bottle, running your tongue against it.

Keegan's speech suddenly stops.

“Fuck, next time you do this I'll make sure my cock is in your mouth.”

[threepandas]

Bad End: In Bad Faith

Summoning spells hurt.

Reality? It doesn't want to let you go. Whether you see it or not, you are attached. Part of the very fabric of the universe. Your atoms blending into the mess that is creation, on a level so small, that the human eye can not possibly catch it. Where you begin and end? Doesn't. Not really.

We are part of a tapestry, incomprehensible in scope. Mere designs. Details. Parts of it's ever sprawling beauty and horror. And? Woven in as we are? Part of it, as we are?

It does not want to let go.

Will, in fact, FIGHT not to let go. To Summon? Is an unnatural act. Many, foolishly, believe it's not. But... that is because they mistake Transportation magics with Summoning. With swapping a design's location upon the weave... with ripping it OUT.

In one? You take what is not yours. In the other? You're just rearranging what's there.

Nature (and indeed, the very Gods themselves) abhor Summonings, along with the vacuums they create. So, one must ask; How could they be called "Holy"? Such a painful, unnatural, divinely detested thing? Who in their right mind, would EVER do such a thing? Would cross the very Gods, as Summon in Their Name?

King's of course.

High Priests of the Holiest of Temples. Rich in gold and jewels, power and influence. Full of decadence and the surety of their own pure, pure souls. So much BETTER then the masses. So much HIGHER then the rabble. Poisoned on their own twisted faith. When given the choice between their God and Power? Faith and Fortune?

They would not be able to hear their God screaming, were he to stand right in front of them. But of course, they act in HIS Name.

I can feel it. Day in and day out. He looks upon his so called "Chosen" and is SICK.

Summoning hurts. My body, my soul, torn and stretch between to places. Until something gave. Were it not for the mercy of My God? I would have arrive at this end in chunks. A paste! Shredded beyond comprehension, killed beyond even mortal flesh. My very SOUL would have-!

The Universe SCREAMED as I was torn out of it. Like a fist full of fabric, made of person, of living flesh and bone, was gored out of a living thing. It was a disembowling. A calculated mauling. All burning light and tearing void. Chanting voices that dragged like hooking chains.

I... I can't even remember what I was doing that day. The sheer pain of it all? Overwhelms everything else in my memories. Left me delirious and weak. A puppet to be hoisted up and declared holy. A success. Stripped of my old clothes and anointed in oils and silks, finery and holy things.

A Holy Maiden.

In response, of course, to the King's Holy Maiden. Which was supposedly delivered by the God of Shining Light. She is very... perky, I am told. A plucky and endearing child. For all she is treated as some woman grown. She... she means well, even as she blunders through messes of her own creation. It is easy to tell. But all told? Anyone can tell you. She sounds... young. So very young.

Gods, what is she even DOING here? What are either of us? Every day, I can only pray the girl is safe. Because? I know. I know, I can not help her.

I am trapped.

She is trapped.

Whether she realizes it or not. Can see past the pretty smiles and fancy set dressing, to the unrelenting iron bars she can't escape. Though her chains are gilded and far longer then my own. She is a prop, a tool, in the hands of power. We both are. And neither of us asked to be, were given a choice. No... no we were simply taken from our homes.

Sometimes...? I catch the edges of something familiar. Beyond the Temple that is my cage. Hints of news or bits of gossip. When Worshipers or servants don't notice me nearby. I think? Possibly. We may have landed in an Otome game, her and I. But I can not be certain. It may simply be the only framework I have, for situations like this.

I wonder what my role is, in all this. If I even have one. Since I am kept like a trinket and holy trophy. Adored but not obeyed. No purpose beyond my supposed Holiness. Worshipped AT in the place of the God they know damn well they have angered. Though, through out all this? And, out of all of them? Worst, of all of them? Is the man who... who covets me.

There really is no other word for it, with the way he behaves. What else could it one call it? As he haunts the gilded cage he has created. The way his eyes track me, obsessive and cataloging, predatory and hunting. Picking apart my every action for meaning, for preference.

Trying to pry from me, my every thought and desire. As if to crack open my mind and read it's secrets. As though observing some sweet little creature, in it's natural habitat; And not his prisoner, in the pretty little cage he had made.

Forcing me to choose, again and again, between pretending not to notice? And engaging once again with my captor. Knowing all the while, if I so much as smile? Dared to so much as soften my expression?

I would be flooded, by whatever had caught me eye.

A lovely flower? Every room would be choked by them. Buried by them. The gardens filled and filled, until I begged for change. A good meal? I would get nothing else. Over and over, until all joy was stripped of it. Until I was sick of it. Could no longer stand the sight of it. Clothing, books, or paintings? Piles fit to beggar nations.

But the gods forbid, I EVER smile at people. Oh no. They were unworthy, you see.

The Grand Priest? Did not like when the filthy, unworthy, sacrilegious masses, dared to touch HIS Most Holy Maiden Of The God's. Or when I noticed them. Looked at any of them too long. Was "forced" to acknowledge they even existed. Gods forbid speaking to them! A sermon to the faithful was one thing! That could be allowed, if they purified themselves throughly, but the unwashed masses?

Gods, No.

Absolutely no such sacrilege would take part on HIS watch! By his word, his decree from on high, it was verboten.

It was...

Unquestionably, I knew, it was the antithesis of the Gentle Dark. That very God that had held my soul together. Through his unnatural summoning; That Very God, he SUPPOSEDLY swore too? Worshipped? Everything I prayed too. Reached my soul out too, in His kindness? For just a moment's escape? That very God.

From my God, to whom I prayed. Who anchored me, in these uncertain waters. All I could feel was His concern. For me, whom he could do little to aid. And His disgust. At what was being done in His name. As though rot had been smeared upon His flesh, vile and abhorrent. He recoiled, sickened, reaching for the safety of distant, faithful halls.

"Praying again, most Holy?" Came from the shadows, cool and soft. A pleasant voice to match a pleasant appearance. As though that was all that held meaning. "Even in your diligence and purity, you can not live on prayer alone, most Holy. I am afraid we will have to end you prayers for the day. So that you may eat. This humble servant has brought you offerings to choice from..."

He trailed off meaningfully. Wanted me to ask. A favorite game of his, this little trick. A verbal set up. Prompting you to ask this or that, engage him just a bit more, here or there. Get dragged into talking to him, dispite not wanting anything to do with him. He dangles bait. Shiny and enticing, just within reach. Hoping you'll take it.

Like a fishing lure.

No, actually, I don't want to know what dinner is. I, in fact, SHALL ignore why you call them "offerings". Yes, I DO plan to refuse to engage. Grey wall. Nonresponse, just all the way down. Boring, really.

You may be able to keep me here? But by the Gentle Dark, I CAN make this as miserable for you as possible. There shall be no Happy Little Family charades. No "content within my cage." No playing along to appease you.

(Quitely, but with FEELING, I say onto you! Get FUCKED.)

"A night of contemplations, I see. Understandable. Heavy are the shoulders that hold the heavens." That's Blasphemy, you heretical BASTARD. With a capital "B". To BOTH! No. NO. Do not engage. It's what he wan-! "You will be relieved, then, to know we are one step closer to disposing of that heretical whore."

I twitched. Hands squeezing each other until they were a white knuckled grip, to keep me from lashing out. Breathing in deep and slow, to try and fill my lungs with patience. The strength needed, not to not lash out. My jaw clenching hard as it battled the words snarling to escape.

(You leave that CHILD THE FUCK ALONE, YOU CREEP. She is sixteen! Seventeen AT BEST! She SHOULDN'T BE HERE! Should be safe. Meeting up with friends or chatting about interests. As she lounges, safe, at HOME. Going to school! Not getting dragged into politics! Tarted up and told to play soilder! Made a FUCKING RELIGIOUS LEADER!!!)

(Inside me, the Gentle Dark seethes and howls. Who is this man? To try and kill a Protected Child of The God's own Brother? What is Dark without Light? Light without Dark? Who are THEY to suggest the gods want anything but Balance?!)

Rising to my feet, I can not stay here. If I do, I may try and bludgeon my captor with an alter bowl. Desperately careful not to take my rage out on the alter before me, I run through the steps to finish my prayers. Gently. Gently. My God does NOT deserve misdirected wrath. Through gritted teeth, I force my breathe to be even. With tense muscles, I refuse to so much as look at him.

I DESPISE.

"How beautiful."

Like vile spiders and the sweeping prick of claws, his foul admiration sweeps over me. Disgusting. Hateful. Abhorrent and unholy. It is as though, the colder I become? The angrier and more disdainful? The more captivated, he becomes.

Twisting and twisting me, into some sort of disdainful god for him to worship. Abusing this soft house of benevolence, to make his self-harm somehow Holy. Coveting the Divine even as he refuses Them. It is... horrifying. A soul deep wrong.

A kinder woman would seek to understand "WHY?"...

I am not that kinder woman, I think.

"You are angry that I failed you, when all you ask of me is worship. Unity." He declares to my back. Once again projecting what he wants to believe, regardless of what I do or do not say. I have already given up trying. He lives in his own delusion, prefers it really. "Forgive me."

Ignoring him, I begin to walk away. Let him monolog in peace. Talk to the Idea of me, if he's so desperate! He can paint my face upon a wall, for all he needs my ACTUAL input. Sadly, however, I do not get far. With a swish of silks, knees hitting marble, my skirt train is caught in covetous hands. Jerking me to a stop. I turn.

"Ah..." He is kneeling, as though praying at my feet, my skirt's edge pressed to his face. His voice is... almost a sigh. Monotone, yet dancing the edge of obscene. "Oh, Most Holy, forgive your most loyal dog. Look only at me, I serve only thee, does my worship not please you?"

"Do you want more?"

He looked up, eyes meeting mine. There was fire and death there. Madness and burning. Religious zealotry churned and twisted into obsession, with his self made God. What did he even see? When he looked at me? It was almost... ironic. That the Grand Priest of the Gentle Dark, would BURN with such Scorching.

The Priests of the Shining Light would have noticed. Would have warned him. Helped him. No doubt why he avoided them. The monsters of their Gods, clouded his mind... and yet? And YET?

He was a Grand Priest.

No beast could take his soul, that HE did not ALLOW.

He was a monster of his own becoming. I wondered... in this moment... was THIS how he gained the power to Summon me? What damned DEALS did he MAKE? Does he seek to corrupt me? Turn me from the Gentle Dark to the Endless Dark? Something crueler? Colder still?

Disgust. Refusal. Rage.

"Oh." His voice wavered, obscene as he sucked in air, even as his eyes widened up at me. Hands reflexively clenching at my skirts. A jagged grin, of too many teeth, slowly carved its way across his face. Transfixed. Unhinged. As he shuddered.

"Magnificent, my Goddess. So Pure. So Clean. Mine and mine alone. I alone, am Worthy. Your most loyal soldier. Your most DEVOUT worshiper. I will give you the World. Everything, my queen. My lady. My Master of the heavens. Ha ha ha! Mine."

"All mine!"

"Amen."

[poisonlove]

The Ghost of halloween p.2 | A.D

Pairing: Astrid X reader

Astrid pov's

"Is it this way?" my mother asks with a small smile on her lips.

I nod without answering, pressing my lips together and turning my head toward the window.

I didn’t want her to see how uncomfortable I felt. We had argued again, and as always, she had decided that moving was the only solution. Panicking, I had told her I had a date today.

"It's really nice here," Lydia Deetz says, looking at the neighborhood decorated for Halloween: gardens filled with decorations, skeletons hanging from trees, and people in costumes getting ready to celebrate.

When we arrive in front of the house, her eyes land on a lit window.

"Oh... it's a girl," my mother exclaims in surprise.

"Mom..." I whisper, feeling my cheeks flush.

"She's very cute," she adds with a mischievous smile, giving me a sidelong glance. I feel my face heat up even more.

"Okay, bye," I finally say, my voice tense, as I open the door.

"I’ll pick you up at 10. Have fun, sweetheart!" she calls out, her voice happier than ever. I shut the door with a loud thud, the sound of my mother’s car driving away echoing.

I sigh and close my eyes for a moment, clutching the bag full of candy and snacks. Then, with hesitant steps, I head toward the porch of the house.

I raise my hand and knock on the door.

I waited nervously for the door to open, my heart pounding in my chest. When I finally see Y/n, a smile spreads across my face. I’m wearing a long, puffy dress in a pale gray, as if it had been corroded by radiation, perfectly embodying Marie Curie. The high collar and puffy sleeves give me an elegant yet eerie appearance.

Y/n looks me up and down, and her smile widens. "You look beautiful," she says, her eyes shining. She was wearing the same clothes as yesterday.

I feel my face heat up, blushing fiercely. "I'm Marie Curie," I say, trying to mask my embarrassment. I’m not sure if she got my reference.

"The scientist who died from radiation, I know." Y/n’s response surprises me.

I smile, incredulous and happy, as the tension in me melts away.

"Is that bag?" Y/n asks curiously, leaning slightly toward me.

"I thought we could eat some junk food and watch some movies... You know... it’s Halloween," I say timidly, feeling my cheeks flush.

Y/n smiles, and her enthusiasm encourages me. "Sounds like a great idea, come in."

I enter, glancing around curiously, immediately noticing a strange but oddly comforting silence.

"How come there’s no one here?" I ask curiously, following Y/n upstairs.

"Oh, my parents aren’t home," she says simply, guiding me to her room.

Once inside, I look around, noticing the 90s posters and details that make the room feel so cozy. "What movie do you want to watch?" Y/n asks, approaching the shelf of films. My eyes land on a book on the table: The Handbook for the Recently Deceased. I smile amused. "What a strange book," I comment.

"I found it at a stall," Y/n replies distractedly.

As she scans the titles, I feel a mix of anxiety and excitement. "Maybe something horror?" I suggest, a shy smile on my face.

"Perfect," she says, but then slowly moves closer.

Our hands brush, and in an instant, she leans in and kisses me. Her cold lips against mine are unexpected, but I feel a warm explosion of emotions. When I open my eyes, a smile spreads across my face, but right after, I realize we’re floating. The joy vanishes, replaced by a grimace of terror.

I quickly pull away from her, the disappointment clear in her eyes.

"Are you a ghost?" I say in disbelief. Are my mom’s crazy ideas real?

She nods, and my heart races.

"Why didn’t you tell me? How did you die?" I ask, incredulous but curious.

Y/n sighs, her face growing serious.

"I didn’t want to scare you, I haven’t had a decent conversation in years... And it was my father... After he killed his partner with an axe, he finished me off too, his only daughter. Then he died from poisoning." She slowly lifts her shirt, revealing a deep cut on her stomach.

The sight of that mark makes my blood run cold. I can’t believe what she’s saying, yet I can’t look away.

"Why did you lie to me?" I ask, my voice strangely calm despite the turmoil I feel inside.

Y/n scratches her head, her face turning a little red with embarrassment. "I told you, I wanted company... and I also wanted to surprise you," she finally confesses, her shyness evident in her tone.

I raise an eyebrow, confused. "A surprise?" I repeat, trying to understand where she’s going with this.

"I know we only met yesterday, but... you’re a good person, Astrid. And I... wanted to help you see your father," she murmurs, her voice fading as if it was hard to admit.

My eyes widen, taken aback by her words. "Is it possible?" I ask, the emotion clinging to my chest, making it hard to breathe.

Y/n nods, serious, and a part of me, the part that never stopped hoping, starts to believe it’s true.

An unexpected joy bursts inside me. Before I can stop myself, I approach and hug her tightly, but the moment my arms touch her, her body passes through mine as if made of smoke. The sensation leaves me stunned: cold and insubstantial, yet with a certain warmth, a distant echo of humanity.

"Sorry," I mutter embarrassed, while she laughs softly, not making a big deal out of it.

Without saying a word, Y/n steps away and heads toward a corner of the room. She bends down and picks up a small white object, lifting it toward me with a knowing smile. "A piece of chalk?" I ask, squinting in confusion, but without taking my eyes off her ethereal figure.

She nods and, with precise movements, draws a door on the wall of her room. When she finishes, she stands next to me, looking at the drawing with a strange satisfaction. The drawing almost seems to pulse with life, as if an unknown force was stirring behind that simple figure.

"It’s the door to the other world," she says with a small smile, her tone light as if she were talking about something trivial.

I feel my heart race in my chest. "And what am I supposed to do?" I ask, even more confused, staring at the drawing with evident skepticism.

"Knock," she says calmly, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Hesitantly, I approach the drawn door, my hand trembling slightly. I knock, feeling ridiculous. Who knocks on a drawing? But a moment later, a dull sound echoes beyond the wall, and before I can react, the drawing comes to life. The door creaks open with a chilling sound, revealing a passage that emits thick, glowing smoke. A cold breeze wraps around me, along with a spectral light, like that of an old neon sign.

I stand still, my mouth open in amazement. In front of me unfolds the world of the dead. It’s exactly as I imagined: chaotic, grotesque, yet strangely fascinating. The walls seem to be made of a material never seen before, a mix of rotting flesh and crumbling concrete, covered with drawings and graffiti that shift shape before my eyes. Indistinct shadows move at the edge of my vision, as if the world itself was breathing. The sky above us isn’t a real sky: it’s an endless ceiling of greenish mist, studded with metallic pipes and flickering light bulbs.

In the distance, I hear the hum of old fans and the sound of distorted laughter, like an echo from a forgotten cabaret. Creatures of all shapes wander in what seems to be a surreal public office, each with a more bizarre appearance than the last: some have gigantic heads, others are reduced to walking skeletons, and still others seem to melt into goo. The world feels like a collage of forgotten things and distorted memories, a mix of the surreal and the macabre.

"Welcome," Y/n whispers beside me.

I turn to her, still in disbelief, but my heart is pounding, full of a hope I can’t suppress. Maybe, in that chaotic madness, I’ll finally get to see my father.

(...)

As we walk through the world of the dead, my head spins as I try to catch every detail, but everything is so surreal that it feels like being trapped in a nightmare. The gray and decaying offices are populated by grotesque figures moving with indifference. Faceless shadows wander the hallways, and distorted laughter continues in the distance.

"It's... strange," I whisper, my voice tense, "This place... how can it exist?"

Y/n glances at me, but before she can answer, a chilling sound fills the air. A shrill, metallic alarm starts echoing everywhere.

"ALERT! UNAUTHORIZED HUMAN PRESENCE!" A robotic and sinister voice booms through the walls.

Y/n’s eyes widen, her face pale. "Oh no... the human alarm!"

"W-what?" I stammer, but before I can grasp what’s happening, Y/n grabs my wrist, pulling me forcefully.

"We have to go! Now!" she yells, starting to run towards the exit. The creatures around us freeze, some turning with ravenous eyes, others beginning to move towards us with eerie slowness.

We race through the hallways like two shadows, our footsteps echoing as the sound of the alarm grows louder. The lights flicker, and I can hear the frantic pounding of my heart in my ears. Every corner seems to distort, making it hard to tell which way is out.

We turn a corner down a long corridor and stop abruptly. In front of us are two familiar figures. One is my mother, Lydia, with her unmistakable black bob and stern look. But the figure next to her leaves me breathless: a man with messy hair and a black and white striped suit, with a mischievous and cocky expression. Beetlejuice.

"Y/n?" says Beetlejuice, his eyes widening in surprise. "What are you doing here, kid?"

Y/n grits her teeth, her voice a tense whisper. "Dad..."

I feel a lump forming in my throat as my mother and I turn to each other, both of us with mouths agape in shock.

"Dad?" I repeat incredulously, my eyes wide as I look at Y/n.

Lydia doesn’t have time for questions. She grabs both of us by the arms. "We have to go, now!" she shouts, and we start running, with Y/n still pulling me even harder.

Behind us, the alarm continues to blare, and the footsteps of the authorities from the world of the dead begin to echo closer. Beetlejuice lags behind, chuckling as if this were all a game to him.

We run towards a door, but when Lydia flings it open, instead of finding a way out, we fall into the void, tumbling into scorching sand. I hit the ground hard, raising a cloud of dust, coughing from the impact.

"No... no, no, no!" Lydia screams, scrambling to her feet. "We’re in the sandworm desert!"

I struggle to stand, but panic takes over when I see the ground shaking beneath us. In the distance, the giant sandworm emerges from the dune, speeding towards us at a terrifying pace. Its long, scaly body slithers through the sand like a dark shadow.

Y/n grabs my hand and starts running, dragging me along with her. "Come on! We can't stop!"

Lydia follows close behind, her face twisted in fear, but the worm is too fast. I can feel it getting closer, its gaping mouth emitting a piercing scream, ready to devour us.

"It's too close!" I cry, my breath short, but just then, a miracle happens.

From the sky, a door of light suddenly opens above us, and a hand reaches out from nowhere, grabbing each of us. First Y/n, then me, and finally Lydia. With a yank, it pulls us up, taking us away just as the worm opens its jaws beneath us.

The world flips for a moment until we find ourselves on a cold floor, safe. I gasp for air, trying to catch my breath, as Y/n looks at me with concern.

"W-we made it..." Y/n murmurs, still in disbelief.

I look up and see my father watching me with pride. His skin is greenish, with some fish stuck in his hair, but he's smiling all the same.

My eyes fill with tears. "Dad..." I murmur before throwing myself into his arms. "Sweetheart..." he whispers, hugging me tightly. I pull away with a smile I can't hold back.

"I saw Lydia and decided to follow you... But what are you wearing, sweetheart? You look like Marie Curie!" he says with an amused grin, glancing at me. I giggle and nod.

Then, his gaze shifts beyond me, and I notice Lydia approaching. My father smiles at her, reaching out an arm. "Lydia, come here," he says warmly. he embraces her without hesitation. "I miss you ," he whispers, his voice full of affection and gratitude.

Lydia smiles shyly as she returns the hug.

"I miss you too " she replies softly, her voice breaking with emotion.

They separate, and my father turns back to us. "You have to go," he says suddenly, his tone serious.

He puts an arm around my waist and takes my mother’s hand with the other. "You have to go. Now," he repeats urgently, pulling us toward a staircase that seems to materialize out of nowhere.

"I love you, Dad," I say, tears filling my eyes.

"I love you too," he replies, his gaze veiled with tears and a bittersweet smile on his lips before he slowly vanishes.

My mother starts climbing the stairs, but I stay behind, waiting for Y/n.

"Go," she suddenly says, with sadness in her voice.

"Come with me," I say, confused, my heart pounding.

"I don’t know, Astrid... I’m tired of wandering. Maybe my place is here," she replies, her voice trembling.

My heart stops for a moment.

"Don’t be silly, we’ll find a solution," I say, a lump in my throat, and my chest aching.

She shakes her head, resolute.

I feel a sharp pain in my chest, but I move closer to her and grab her hands. Her touch is cold, almost as if there’s nothing to hold onto, but I don’t let go. "I need you. I... I want you," I confess, my cheeks flushing red.

"Astrid..." she murmurs.

"We’ll figure it out, okay? But I need you," I repeat, with all the sincerity I can muster. Y/n looks at me for a few seconds, then sighs and slowly nods.

My face lights up in a huge smile.

Y/n Pov's

Days later, the light of the sunset fills my old room with a warm, orange hue. Everything seems so normal, yet the tension in the air is palpable. Astrid and I sit on the floor, surrounded by lit candles, while her mother draws a complicated circle of runes on the wooden floor. It seems absurd to think that it's really possible, that I can come back to life. And yet, here we are.

The book her mother holds is ancient, its pages worn and yellowed with age. The runes and symbols I see seem to pulse with their own energy, as if the text is more than just paper and ink.

Astrid is close to me, sitting by my side, her gaze serious but kind, just as it always is when she wants to show me that everything will be okay. She was the one who insisted on finding a solution, and when her mother discovered this ancient ritual, she didn’t hesitate. The thought of coming back to life fills me with hope, but also fear. It’s like jumping into the unknown.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” I ask, searching her eyes.

She looks at me without hesitation. “There’s nothing I want more in the world.” Her hand finds mine, warm and reassuring. “I want you here, with me.”

Her mother finishes drawing the circle with white chalk and stands slowly, her gaze focused and attentive. “This is the Rite of Essence Binding,” she says, her voice firm but carrying a gravity I can't ignore. “An ancient practice that binds the soul to the body. But it’s a delicate process. Y/n, you’re suspended between two worlds. This rite will bring your essence back to the living world.”

Her words make my throat tighten. I know something big, something irreversible is about to happen. I feel Astrid squeeze my hand tighter, and I look at her, finding all the courage I need in her.

“Step into the circle,” her mother orders calmly.

Astrid and I stand and position ourselves in the center of the rune drawing. The floor beneath our feet seems to vibrate slightly, as if the ritual had already begun just with our presence. Her mother begins to mutter ancient words that echo in the room as if carried by an invisible wind. The runes drawn on the floor start to glow with a deep, pulsing blue light, and the air becomes thick, charged with energy.

“During the rite, your soul will try to reconnect with your body, but it might face resistance,” her mother explains, not stopping the incantation. “Astrid, you must be her anchor. The bond between you is what will allow the rite to work.”

Astrid never lets go of my hand, and I can feel her strength flowing into me. Every word spoken by her mother pulls me in a different direction, as if my being is divided between the world of the living and the dead. Then, the pain begins.

It’s a deep pain, starting in my chest and expanding into every cell of my body. I feel like I’m being torn in two, as if something is trying to pull me away from reality. But I don’t let go. I hold onto Astrid’s hand with all the strength I have.

The runes beneath our feet shine brighter, the blue light rising like flames around us. I feel my heart beating in my chest, strong and fast. It’s a real, tangible heartbeat. My essence is returning.

“Don’t let go of me,” Astrid whispers, her voice broken with emotion.

“I won’t,” I manage to reply, as the pain intensifies even more, becoming unbearable.

Her mother’s words grow louder, faster. The energy in the room is almost suffocating, and everything builds to a climax. I feel immense pressure, like the entire world is crushing my body, but then, suddenly, the pain shatters, leaving only peace.

The runes glow for one last moment, then the light fades, and with it, silence envelops the room.

I breathe. My chest rises and falls regularly. I feel my heart beating, I feel the blood coursing through my veins. My body is alive.

I look at my hands, incredulous. They’re warm. Truly warm.

“You’re here… You’re back,” Astrid murmurs, her voice filled with emotion.

Her arms wrap around me in a tight embrace, and I return it, finally feeling the warmth of her body against mine. Her hand strokes my back, and I know that, this time, I’m really here.

Her mother closes the book and sighs deeply. “It’s done,” she says, with a small, tired smile. “Y/n, you’re alive.”

All I can do is smile, in disbelief, as I hold onto Astrid, feeling my heart beating strong against hers. I’m no longer a shadow, a memory. I’m real. I’ve come back. And with her, I feel like I can face anything.

"Astrid..." I whisper, my voice trembling but full of emotion. I can’t say more because she suddenly moves closer, her eyes shining with something I’d never seen before. Before I can even realize it, her lips are on mine.

The kiss is sweet, intense, full of everything we’ve felt during those days of waiting and hoping. I feel her warmth, her life melding with mine, and for the first time in a long time, I feel whole. The world around us seems to disappear: it's just the two of us, in that moment.

When we pull apart, her eyes find mine, full of a joy that manages to warm me from within. She smiles at me, and I can’t help but smile back, even though a small corner of uncertainty still lingers inside me.

“You’re back,” she murmurs, as if afraid I might disappear again.

“Yes,” I reply, still in disbelief. “Thanks to you.”

I take a deep breath and decide to stand up, to take a step forward, to feel the floor beneath my feet again. But as soon as I try to move, my body seems to give way. My legs tremble, weak and unsteady, and the whole world seems to sway around me. Before I can process it, I’m falling forward, my knees giving out beneath me.

Astrid grabs my waist just in time, holding me in her arms. My heart races, not just from the panic of losing my balance. "Hey, take it easy," she says softly, rubbing my back to reassure me. "You have to get used to it again. It’s not easy coming back to normal."

“I didn’t think... walking would be so hard,” I say, trying to laugh but feeling the embarrassment take over. I look at my legs, still trembling slightly, as if they aren’t responding to my commands.

Astrid helps me sit down again, her touch always gentle but firm. “It’s normal, it’ll take time. You have to get used to being alive again,” she says, smiling at me like it's the most natural thing in the world.

Her mother approaches with an understanding expression. “Your body has gone through a shock, Y/n. Even though your soul is back, you have to give your body time to readjust. Move slowly, one step at a time.”

I nod slowly, feeling the weight of those words. Astrid is still beside me, her arm around my waist, ready to support me at any moment.

“I’m here,” she says softly, stroking my face. “I’m not letting go.”

I take a deep breath, and even though my legs are weak, I know that with her by my side, I can do this. I lift my gaze and meet her eyes. "One step at a time," I repeat, squeezing her hand. "Together."

Astrid smiles again, and in that moment, I feel like I can conquer the world.