#This has been mildly eye opening lol

[violent138]

i think you shld just stick to incorrect quotes

I guess thank you for your honesty 🤡? May I ask what specifically made you realize this or if it was an accumulation of takes you didn't like?

Or if you think I make too much not-textpost/not-incorrect-quotes stuff, and I should just stick to that because you like that stuff?

[ode2rin]

1 | ANYONE BUT YOU .ೃ

summary. as lines get blurred, hearts get flustered, and a scheme ensues, your brother's best friend suddenly seems way more interesting than he used to be.

content/warnings. 5k+ wc (part 1/3) reader has little to no college friends | reader hates kaiser's guts | PROTECTIVE kaiser lol | | pet names (dollface) & a lot of profanity (it's kaiser) | minimal proofread

💭 masterlist | next part

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I can go with you anymore.”

Your ears were ringing.

After the words hung over the line, a heavy silence descended, punctuated only by the dull thud of your heartbeat echoing in your ears. The phone line seemed to distort, and the world beyond reduced to a distant murmur as a disorienting ringing filled your ears. Yet, despite the shock rippling through, you managed to maintain a facade.

“Ah, I see. It’s no problem. See you around!” Your chirped voice made you cringe internally, but it was a better front than sounding like a defeated kid whose mom said no over a piece of candy at a grocery store.

Before he could say anything else, you clicked the end button faster than he could spew some tacky excuse. Throwing your phone to the side, you settled onto your bed, lying on your back, staring at the uninteresting ceiling of your room.

Sure, it was no problem at all— the music festival was just six hours away, and your date had just canceled on you over the phone. It’s no big deal facing your college blockmates without a companion as initially planned, and it’s totally not a problem that you will most likely be a third– hell, a seventh wheel, actually, and have them talk behind your back – speculating about why you're going alone or if you were just making it up that you had someone to bring.

Yes, it’s not a fucking problem at all.

You don’t even like the artist lineup, anyway (maybe you’re mildly interested with one band that’s attending).  You wouldn’t bother if you weren’t just a sophomore still trying to find a group of friends you can call your own. It's embarrassing enough that freshmen even had it better than you. It’s not a race, for sure, but in college– the truth lies blatant that support systems help. A lesson you learned the hardest way.

“Y/N? Are you in there?” Three soft knocks on your door and a muffled voice, surely coming from your older brother, interrupted your pity party.

“Yes. Come in,” you confirmed. The door creaked open, revealing a mop of magenta hair leaning over your door frame.

“There’s food downstairs. We ordered your favorite.”

“We?”

“Kaiser is downstairs.”

Of course, he is. 

Your brother’s best friend must have really taken it to heart when your mom told him he can treat your family as his own. Too deep into his heart, if you could comment. You see him around the house more than you see your parents, and if that wasn’t tiresome enough, he’s literally a damn superstar in your university. Every corner, every room, in halls and library, everyone can’t seem to be over his name like a broken record.

You wouldn’t be this annoyed, hostile even, if said man was just as nice as your brother. But instead, he was far by the most obnoxious, foul-mouthed, arrogant prick you’ve ever known. Alexis should have never kicked some ball with that conceited oaf a decade ago. Life would have been so much better. But no— reality is, the bane of your existence in the form of blonde hair and sharp blue eyes, is in your house’s kitchen, probably gulping down your favorite drinks in the fridge. 

If you can’t seem to have friends, your older brother seems to be goddamn bad at picking his.

“Hey, dollface. Missed me?” Speak of the damn devil and he shall appear.

The first thing you’re met with after coming down is a sight of Michael Kaiser, sitting high and comfortably on one of the counter’s bar stools. Your gaze trails down to his hand where you see a peek of his crown tattoo— and would you look at that? He’s holding a can of your Coke Zero.

“Oh, so that’s why my life was going sideways again,” you feigned a sigh in disappointment, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear, “because you’re back.”

In your unwanted years of knowing this guy, you’ve soon realized that none of your words, no matter how sharp or snarky they get, would ever faze him. Evidence would be how he just openly chuckled at your remark. “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I missed you and your smart mouth, too. Don’t worry.”

“Trust me, worry is not in the list of emotions I would ever feel for you.”

“Well, does attraction make it to the list?”

Years ago, perhaps it would have. Not that he needs to know—no chance. Your silly childhood crush on him was your deepest, darkest mistake. You might be overdramatic, but this was Michael Kaiser, and god, you would rather get caught having feelings for anyone but him.

Rolling your eyes at him, you sneer, “You wish.”

“Oh, trust me, I do wish,” he mocks your tone.

“Fuck off.” 

“That won’t get rid of me, I’m afraid,” he shrugs before winking at you. You shook your head in annoyance.

You took the seat across from him and settled. You were about to lean to reach the box of pizza at the other end of the countertop, when Kaiser reached for it first and placed it in front of you.

You turned to look at him, half expecting a smirk or yet another wink from the blonde, but instead, he was preoccupied browsing on his phone as if his body moved on its own to attend to you.

You shrugged off the weird occurrence and turned all attention to the pizza and its heavenly scent sipping through the gaps of its box, just in time for Alexis to take the seat next to his best friend. You drowned the noise of their conversation as they started talking about last away games.

Your brother and Kaiser had been the most valuable players of your university’s soccer team for as long as you’ve remembered. They were two years older, so by the time you entered university, they were already making big names in the field. Rumors had it that there were already offers lining up at their feet.

If you come to think of it, it wouldn’t be this hard making friends if you would just be vocal about being Alexis Ness’ younger sibling, but the limelight and pretentious popularity it came with was something you wouldn’t wish upon yourself. You wanted real and genuine friends, not people who wanted to be around you because it was a step closer to your brother and his best friend.

Like earlier, Alexis’ voice came reaching your eardrums, snapping you out of your thoughts. After hearing what he had to ask, though, you wished you had a way to physically block out his words.

“Are you not going to get ready for the festival?” your brother asked, meanwhile, his dear friend seemed to take great interest in what you’re about to say as both of them peered over you.

“Not going anymore,” you said, as nonchalant as you could to play pretend.

“Why? You’ve been looking forward to it the whole week.”

Heat crept into your ears and cheeks as embarrassment filled you. Sure, you might not be prancing around being all excited about it, but if your brother was able to notice it, your enthusiasm must have been evident then. God, you felt like an utter fool now.

“It got canceled,” you looked away from them.

Alexis looked at you with furrowed brows, “What do you mean? It’s not–”

“My date canceled on me. I’m not going anymore to save face and not make a fool out of myself. There, happy?” you snapped.

Before you could even feel the guilt from bursting out unprovoked to your brother, you swiftly got up from the stool heading back to your room, leaving the two of them in the kitchen looking concerned contrarily. One with worried eyes glancing at your room hesitantly, and the other one with a clenched jaw and narrowed eyes.

It seemed everyone was testing your patience today, as for the second time, your ears rang—not from a last-minute cancellation this time, but from the persistent sound of your ringing phone.

Your heavy eyes fluttered open, weighed down by the sleep from your ignoring-the-world nap after the exchange with your supposed date and your brother. Disoriented and groggy, you reached out, fingers fumbling to check the caller deserving of your unrelenting fury.

Kaiser, the screen read, and suddenly, the urge to throw your phone at the nearest wall almost overwhelmed your senses.

But you answered the call anyway, because logic says that he was still your brother’s closest, and sometimes, that warranted a call that might be about him.

“I swear to god this better be important–”

“Get ready,” he interrupted.

“What?”

“Look out your window.”

Groaning, you rose to your feet, moving your drapes aside to see what awaited outside.

Outside your house’s gates, a midnight blue sports car, all too familiar, was parked across the driveway. Its owner leaned lazily over its door, one hand in his pocket while the other held his phone pressed to his ear, looking right back at you with that shit-eating grin.

“What the hell are you on?” you muttered into the phone.

You instantly closed the drapes after meeting eyes with him.

It’s infuriating—He’s infuriating. But damn, does he look good when he smiles like that. And it’s not helping your case that he was clad in loose-fitting denim pants and a black shirt, sufficiently showcasing both his tattoo and his lean yet toned build.

It’s sorcery how he makes simple and ordinary clothing look like it was screaming high-end and luxury. Only he can do that, you admit.

“As I said, get ready,” he repeated over the phone, “We only have less than two hours before your music festival or something starts.”

He’s taking me to it? “Why?”

Only one word in response, yet the two of you understood what you’re pertaining to. Silence filled the line for a moment before you heard a subtle click of his tongue.

“Because you look ugly when you sulk,” and he hung up.

You should be irritated at him hanging up abruptly and calling you ugly, but for some reason you don’t know, it puts a smile on your face. 

The first one today.

Kaiser wishes he had a bigger car— which one would deem ridiculous, given that his car could easily match the price of two or even three minivans.

But if it meant having you sit not so close that your scent infiltrates his senses beyond his sound judgment, he’d gladly trade his lambo for a minivan any day.

You were intoxicating— not akin to the grip of liquor, because it would be inadequate in comparison. But rather intoxicating in the same way as the irresistible magnetism that beckons a madman to its vices.

And he must be really mad because you weren’t even sitting shoulder-to-shoulder close to him. You’re sitting comfortably at the passenger seat, a good distance in between, and yet he acts like a raging teenager who got locked up with his crush in the utility room. It is absolutely embarrassing, even for someone like him.

“Did Alexis ask you to do this?” you suddenly inquired, your gaze fixed on your side of the car.

Thank heavens you broke the silence first, because who knows what ungodly phrases he would come up with in an attempt of small talk with you?

“No. Though I bet he would have taken you himself,” he snorted, of course your brother would, “If our coach weren’t so pissed at him these days.”

Ah, so that explained why you hadn't seen Alexis around the house before hopping into Kaiser's car.

Momentarily, you turned to him. It was so swift that he might have missed it if he wasn’t so hyper aware of your every move in this damn confined space. “Is he in trouble?” you inquired to the blonde, your voice concerned and hesitant.

“Nothing you have to worry about, doll.”

“Stop with the nicknames,” you hissed, attempting to intimidate. 

Unfazed, he countered with a cheeky “Make me,” under his breath. His smirk practically audible, even without you glancing his way.

Silence overtook between the two of you once more. You fixated on the road ahead, noting the nearing destination as the glow of the festival stage lights peeked into view.

It’s your chance— your chance to release the words that have lingered at the edge of your tongue since he urged you to get ready almost an hour ago. You stole a glance at the man driving beside you. His eyes focused on the road, his left hand steady on the steering wheel while his timepiece-adorned hand rested comfortably on the gearshift. In another frame of mind, you might have found yourself lost in the rhythm of his long, slender fingers tapping against it. You snapped out of it before he could point it out.

You stole one last glance before turning away to whisper, “Thank you… Kaiser.”

Instead of saying welcome like a polite person would, your companion would of course, choose to say something as, “You owe me something now.”

Of course, you thought. Mentally rolling your eyes, you ask, resigning to his antics, “What do you want?” 

“Call me by my name.”

“Did you not hear? I said, thank you Kai–”

“The one you used to call me.”

Mikka.

It was a silly nickname you gave him– back when Alexis first brought him home for snacks nearly ten years ago. He and Alexis were eleven, and you were barely nine.

You remembered the blonde kid, all sweaty in his mud-stained clothes, clutching a worn-out ball by his hip, his gaze fixed on you with curiosity. “This is Kaiser,” your brother introduced, but the blonde stranger approached you, extending his hand.

“I’m Michael.”

“That’s… long.”

“What?”

“Your name– it’s long,” you echoed, looking up at him, “can I call you ‘Mikka’?”

“What?” Kaiser’s deep voice sliced through your reminiscence. “You had no problem calling me that before,” he pointed out.

“That’s before you beat up the boy you knew I like,” you scoffed at him, a familiar pettiness clouding your mind.

He chuckled at your retort, seemingly lost in his own memories. “Beat him up on the soccer field, you mean,” he corrected, though he wouldn’t particularly mind if it were an actual fight.

“Same thing.”

“Oh, come on! It was highschool!”

“Your point?” you countered.

“He was a snotface, anyway.” he rationalized.

“He was nice to me!”

“I suggest you rather get a dog instead— if nice is all you need. I heard dogs are fun to be around,” he sneered, “What do you think of pomeranians?”

You brushed off his question, preferring the depths of silence over the hypothetical responsibility of tending to a pup that bore more than a passing resemblance to him, both in appearance and, perhaps, in demeanor.

“I knew agreeing to come here with you was a mistake,” you sighed, exasperation lacing your words.

Surprisingly, Kaiser offered no retort. Taking his silence as a cue for your own, you settled into quietness, hoping for a peaceful remainder of the drive. Minutes drifted by until Kaiser broke the stillness with a whisper loud enough for you to catch.

“He was a slimy jerk,” he began, pausing as if hinting his careful choice of words, “and he was nice to you because he was trying to get into your pants.”

“How did you know?” you asked, meek and shy, fumbling with your fingers in your lap.  Seeking love advice and opinions from none other than the mighty Kaiser seemed absurd, but maybe, wisdom might sometimes fare well with age.

“Trust me when I say I know how boys can be,” he scoffed, a displeased furrow settling in his brows. “He wasn't the gentleman you thought he was.”

“And you? Are you a gentleman?”

Before you could stop your thoughts from escaping your rebellious mouth, the words spilled out like water through a breached dam. The lack of response from him compelled you to chew on your lip and fix your gaze on the road, refusing to spare even a glance his way, despite feeling his stare burning into the side of your face.

Meanwhile, Kaiser was aware he might be staring too long at your side for someone controlling a vehicle, but he couldn't help it. Not when you caught him off guard with a simple question, and especially not when you were trying so hard to avoid looking at him, your discomfort palpable in the air. You looked so cute—it made his mouth twitch.

Staring ahead at the road, he contemplated your question, needing no more than a minute to reach his conclusion.

When a man looks at his best friend's younger sibling in a way he shouldn’t, he’s not deserving of the title “gentleman.”

He was far from it, he concluded. With one last glance thrown your way before bringing the car to a full stop, he muttered in an uncharacteristically soft tone.

“Especially not one, doll.”

“Y/N! Over here!” a familiar voice cut through the cacophony, prompting you to scan the crowd until you finally spotted them.

Relief flooded over you at the sight of a familiar face amidst the crowd. Checking your phone had proven to be a wise decision; otherwise, you might have spent the night searching aimlessly through the vast expanse of the venue.

The venue stretched out before you was a kaleidoscope of sights and sounds that danced upon the senses. Laughter and chatter mingled with applause and the occasional roar of approval as performers graced the stage. 

Everywhere you looked there was movement and so much life. Yet amidst the bustling crowd and pulsating music, one figure occupied your thoughts more than anything else.

Kaiser's towering 6-foot frame loomed behind you, his broad shoulders carving a path of confidence through the crowd. He stood behind you like an immovable rock amidst a rushing river. And if your senses weren't deceiving you, you swore you felt the occasional brush of his hand against the small of your back, gently guiding you forward.

He was so close behind you that his breath on your nape soaked into your skin like ointment— warm to the touch, yet icy on your spine.

“Where's your date?” one of your blockmates inquired after the initial pleasantries were exchanged.

The question lingered, and suddenly, all eyes were on you. Mentally counting heads, you realized you were really on track to be the seventh wheel if you attended without a companion. Speaking of companions— you turned behind you with the intention of introducing Kaiser (not that they didn’t know him already), but your intention faltered when you noticed the scowl on his face.

“I’m the date, if you couldn’t tell,” he interjected. 

From his vantage point, he observed the widening of your eyes at his declaration. Yet, when he didn’t hear any immediate retaliation from you, he flashed you— and everyone else watching— a lopsided smirk. He sensed your blockmates’ curiosity lingering, some perhaps wondering if he was truly dating you. But none of them dared to probe further—maybe because he wasn't exactly the approachable type.

After a few murmurs of ‘oh’ and ‘really’ from your blockmates, they returned their attention to the stage, where the next performer was beginning their pre-performance monologue.

You, on the other hand, look like you were out for his blood from how you’re glaring at him. “Are you out of your mind?” you hissed under your breath, just loud enough for him to hear.

Yes. Perhaps he was. Irrationality had seized him upon hearing the question. After all, he was there with you, visible for all to see. Did they not see him? Did he look like a fucking chair to those people? Common sense must be a luxury these days, given its absence in this situation.

Yet, a small voice of reason within him attempted to intervene, suggesting that the question might have stemmed from genuine curiosity.

As his best friend's younger sibling, seeing the two of you together wasn't an unusual occurrence for those who attend the same university. They likely concluded that your presence with him at the music festival was simply a matter of normal friendship (which it was, but they don’t have to know that, nor does he desire for these extras to reduce it to just that).

“I’m helping you save face like you said earlier,” he tells you, still wearing that annoying smirk.

“How does telling them you’re my date help me save face?” If anything, you'd be hiding on campus after his stunt. You could only hope words won’t travel fast.

“Would you rather I tell them I'm chaperoning you because some jerk canceled on you?”

Your words stalled at the base of your throat, unable to counter his remark. That shut you up, much to your chagrin. He was right.

“Yeah. That’s what I thought,” he quipped, grinning at your silence. “Come closer, there’s a lot of people.”

You huffed in irritation and decided to ignore him behind you, determined to make the most of your experience here. You’d let this slide for now. After all, he was here because of you.

But it wasn’t too long before you realized that ignoring him would be as futile as trying to pluck roses without being pricked by the thorns. You knew very well that this man thrives in getting under people’s skin.

“You should be flattered.”

Genuinely appalled, you ask, “I’m sorry?”

“Accepted.”

If it wasn’t night time and the blaring lights were replaced by the sun, he could have seen the twitch that your eye did at his retort.

At this point, murder is a tempting option. Sure, he’s taller and much bigger in physique terms, but you have the rage for it. Just one more insufferable antic—one more word— from this man and the whole university will be mourning their star player’s demise first thing tomorrow morning. 

You took a deep breath to calm your murderous nerves, “Is that so? What part of telling people— oh wait, our schoolmates who are probably whispering behind our backs— that you’re my date, is flattering to you?”

The asshole had the audacity to shrug, “Calling me yours was.”

“Well then, you should be flattered. Not me.”

“You don’t know how flattered I am to be yours,” he mused.

If you didn’t know any better, his attempt at flirting might have sent warmth to your cheeks. But this was Kaiser— no one can tell when he’s being serious or just being his usual menace self talking shit like he’s employed to do so. Good thing you had better plans than spend it on his guessing games.

Just when you’re about to berate him once more, words halted on your throat because of a sight you least expected to see.

Han— the guy you’ve been talking to for almost a month now. The same guy who was your supposed date, to be more specific.

“What? Cat got your tongue, doll?”

If cats come in the form of a familiar man who’s a few good meters away, clearly having the time of his life dancing with someone, and clearly showing no signs of unavailability to go to a music festival he asked you to, then yes, it got your tongue.

You stayed silent far too long for Kaiser’s patience. Your lack of snarky clapbacks were starting to unsettle him more than he would allow. Shifting closer to you, he followed your line of sight to see what got you stunned in silence.

Recognizing what, or rather who, got your attention, he turns to you, his voice coming out too indignant, “Do you know that guy?”

“Do you?” you counter, picking up on his tone being all too casual as if they’re acquainted. 

“He’s last week’s opposing team’s goalkeeper,” or was it ‘striker’? He couldn’t recall, so he’s more or less incompetent to him. One thing he remembers, however, “and he hates me.”

You threw him a glance, “Not surprised.”

“And do I give a fuck,” he shook his head, “Why do you keep looking at him?” Don’t fucking tell me.

Your answer wasn’t any better to what he was starting to imagine, “He was… supposed to be my date to this music festival,” you mumbled, looking down at your feet.

You didn’t want to see the look on Kaiser’s face, fearing you might see pity, and so you nailed your gaze to the ground. Totally oblivious of the man peering over you rather softly.

“Why can’t he then?” he asks, voice an octave lower.

“He said they had late notice training, so he can’t come.” 

“Well, that better be his fucking ghost yapping with a brunette then,” he scoffs, looking straight to the lying man who canceled on you.

Sick of his face and sloppy dance moves, Kaiser turned his gaze back at you, only to be filled with rage because of it.

You look sad— and it made his blood boil. Not towards you, but for you.

“Y’know what? Let’s go there,” he urged, head pointing at where Han was.

Is he fucking crazy? You immediately shook your head at his scandalous suggestion. You might be feeling a little betrayed and angry, but rationality still had its hold on you— and it’s saying to not let Kaiser go with his idea. 

Instead, you tug on his forearm, eyes still on the floor before looking up at him, “Can we leave, please?” 

Kaiser was taken aback by your sudden meekness. He wasn’t used to this— to you, being all deflated and zoned out. He was used to your deadpan expressions and your eyes that seem to roll every time he utters a single word. He was used to you being, dare he say, feisty. 

And he would rather have you stay like that all day long, even when he’s the receiving end of it.

But this? You, saying please to him, of all people? He doesn’t like it. 

If this is how he gets to make you say please, then he doesn’t want it. Fuck that, and fuck that guy. How dare he.

Kaiser didn’t say anything back at your request, but you felt big calloused hands grasp on your hand still resting on his forearm. The next thing you knew, you were walking with him, shoulder-to-shoulder while his other hand was on yours guiding you to walk out of the scene.

“If I see one—just one drop of tear, I swear I am turning this damn car around.” 

Your thoughts abruptly halted at the sound of Kaiser’s threat—his ultimatum, rather. It sounded more like a promise than a threat, and you knew this man well enough to understand that he never ate his words.

You shot him a glance and snickered. There was no way in high hell you’d ever cry in the same space where he was. It was the last thing you’d ever do, even if it meant convincing yourself that what you saw earlier was just a mere look-alike of Han.

“It's nothing. We aren’t even a thing,” you dismissed, your voice flat.

“But you thought you could be,” he countered, and damn if he wasn't right. “How do you even know him?”

“We're kind of talking, well, sort of—”

“Kind of? Sort of?” he scoffed.

“God—it's like a talking stage or something casual, Kaiser! There, got it?”

“That's not exclusive,” he remarked, adding insult to injury.

Irritation bubbled in your throat as his interrogation continued. But even before you could unleash your venom, you caught yourself. He was right. And while this man had never brought you good, it wasn't fair to make him the target of your bad.

“Yeah, it's not,” you admitted, a dry, humorless laugh escaping you. You recalled the brunette he danced with earlier. “I wasn't exclusive material for his reputation, I guess.”

What reputation? “That’s bullshit.” He gritted his teeth, his hand itching towards the steering wheel, clearly tempted to turn back to the festival.

“You said it yourself, he’s an athlete,” you pointed out, “You people never like to go exclusive with someone.”

“You people? Oh, please. Do not insult me by comparing me to the likes of him.”

The sass in his voice drew a chuckle from you. It was amusing how he said it with genuine horror, as if the mere idea of being associated with Han was an insult. “Why? Are you telling me you can commit to someone exclusively?”

“Someone like who? You?” He met your gaze briefly, “Absolutely.”

What the hell. “Stop messing around,” you snorted, effectively ending the conversation.

He was playing a dangerous game, saying that to you. Did he even realize what it did? Did he hear your stupid heart hammering in your chest? It was too loud, too obvious, a frantic drum solo against your ribs. 

And the realization settled— he made your heart flutter. 

His words, so simple, so casually tossed out, had landed like a bomb, sending shrapnel through your carefully constructed walls.

Michael Kaiser, of all people, made your heart flutter.

Suddenly, the air felt thin, the car an echo chamber amplifying the frantic rhythm of your traitorous heart. You knew you should scoff, dismiss it as another one of his infuriating jabs, but the truth was like a hot coal lodged in your throat.

“I’m not though,” he countered, eyes steady on the familiar road ahead. He sounded serious– too serious. 

As you were about to retort back, the car lurched to a stop, announcing your arrival. You glanced out the window, the familiar sight of your house doing little to ease the tension that had coiled tight in your stomach.

“We’re here,” Kaiser announced, his voice a low rumble.

Hurried and flustered by the unexpected shift in the conversation, your clammy hands fumbled with the buckle, the metal cold and unyielding against your sweaty palms. You tugged, then tugged again, frustration building with each failed attempt.

“Easy, doll.” 

Before you could protest, a large hand swooped in, effortlessly unlatching the buckle with a practiced flick. The sudden proximity sent a jolt through you, making your breath hitch. You met his gaze, his eyes a blazing blue as he held your stare for a beat too long before turning away.

Taking a deep breath, you composed yourself. You reached for the door handle, pushing it open and stepping out onto the familiar pavement. Before slamming the door shut, you paused, turning back to Kaiser with a newfound resolve.

Crouching down to meet his gaze, you surprised yourself with the words that tumbled out. “Be careful on your way home and,” you paused, “Thank you... Mikka.”

The nickname slipped out before you could stop it, leaving a blush blooming across your cheeks.

Before Kaiser could react, you slammed the door shut, the sound echoing in the quiet street. 

Mikka. He repeats your words in his mind.

He watched you disappear into your house, a slow grin spreading across his face. Only when you were safely inside did he start the car, the image of your flustered face lingering in his mind.

Damn it, doll.

Meanwhile, you hurried to your room, clutching your chest where your heart still hammered a frantic rhythm.

Why did I call him that? you asked yourself.

The use of his nickname, a name you rarely uttered now, was a stark reminder that the two of you weren’t as close as you were younger.

It’s not a big deal, you tried to reason with yourself. He literally said you owed it to him, and calling it quits would be in the form of a stupid nickname. It doesn’t mean anything. Right— you were just returning a favor.

Your obvious self-deception was interrupted by the incessant buzzing of your phone, tossed carelessly on the bed. Picking up your phone, you opened one of the notifications, your breath catching in your throat.

It was a post on your university's gossip page, and there, plastered on the screen, was a picture of you and Kaiser. 

The image froze a moment in time, capturing him standing protectively behind you, his arms caging you against a barricade. Panic clawed at your throat. This picture, out in the open, could be misconstrued in so many ways. 

What were people going to think? Who took this photo, anyway?

Your eyes darted down the comment section, scrolling through a sea of unimaginable speculations, desperately searching for clues about the culprit.

Just then, a knock on the door startled you.

“Y/N? Can I talk to you?”

It was your brother— and his voice suggested he needed answers too.

Shit.

note. first mini series lmao xD will add cw as i go!

[ervotica]

bartyyyy 33. hushed conversation in-between kisses in the hallway or something as reader tries to calm him down and stop him from murdering a fellow student for looking at her/saying something to her lols. maybe she fails and he still gets a little murdery

thanks for requesting my love! ✩ 600 words

You know Barty can rarely deny you anything.

Not when you coo in that honeyed voice, slipping an arm beneath his rumpled shirt to palm at his bare skin. Murmuring reassurances against his lips, smoothing out his jagged edges with sweetened promises.

You have Barty against the wall in the corridor as you nose at his cheek. You thread your fingers through the short hairs at his nape and scratch, your grin imprinting against the side of his face when he sags against you. The anger melts from his expression like softened butter.

He tips his head back against the wall and it thumps; to entice him closer, your lips push out into a pout you know he won't be able to resist kissing.

One kiss, two, three.

You pull back until your lips are just grazing his, and wedge your shoulder under his armpit, an arm slung lazily round his back. You start to murmur against his mouth.

"Ignore him, baby. You know I only want you."

McLaggen's been harassing you for a date for weeks. It's been harmless for the most part, but you know Barty, and you know he won't think twice before kicking the fucker's teeth out.

"That's not what I'm fucked off about, treasure," he says, smoothing a hand over the crown of your skull.

He gets you by the scruff of the neck, anchoring you back for another open mouthed kiss. You push closer and hum your appreciation. Your fingers splay wide at the dip of his spine, tickling until he squirms under your touch and drops his head to the crook of your shoulder.

You feel McLaggen's furious stare but pay it no mind, too busy doting on your lovely boyfriend to care who's watching. You don't so much as glance away until he knocks his elbow with yours as he breezes past with a faux arrogance you know is all for show.

"Fuck off, McLaggen," you spit, pushing further against Barty. You feel your boyfriend lunge outwards before you're pushing him back and putting yourself in front of him as a shield.

"Treasure, I love you more than life itself, but move," Barty hisses. You sigh.

"Please don't."

He smears a kiss over the top of your head in apology before you're being moved by means of those thick fingers round your waist, lifted until you're thrust against one poor, unsuspecting Regulus Black. You let out a terse breath, steadying yourself against Regulus' shoulder with a splayed hand.

"Sorry, darling," you mumble.

"You alright?"

You nod before your eyes snap to Barty once more. He has McLaggen by the collar, thick fingers squeezing his cheeks in an effort to force eye contact as he bellows down at the boy, loud enough to hurt your ears.

"You touch my girl again and I'll break your fucking jaw, you hear me? You so much as look at her and you're dead."

His eyes are wild and you know his pulse is thrumming something rotten now he's geared up for a fight.

"Barty!" you scold.

Regulus hooks an arm around your waist to keep you from darting off through the crowd that's formed. You harrumph in protest.

"Okay, you're done," you declare, dragging Regulus by the wrist through the crowd with you as McLaggen sags and collapses rather unceremoniously at Barty's feet.

Barty's features morph from triumphant to guilty in an instant. He simpers, eyes scrunching at the corners until his crows feet crinkle. You snort and turn to face him.

"You're lucky I love you."

His eyes blow wide and he looks utterly lovesick. Beautiful, albeit mildly pathetic.

His expression flares with a possessiveness you know all too well. He drags you up his chest for a searing kiss that makes your insides flip-flop. You're breathing hard when he pulls away, slick with spit and beaming like a madman.

"Come on, killer," you snort. "Let's go to your dorm."

[smuttysabina]

COMM: Lisa gets Dommy-Mommyed

(Girl-Cock Celine x Lisa, 3.3k Words) Tags: OTV & BlackPink Collaboration, Not what I thought my first streamer x idol smut would be but here we are lol, Girl-Cock, Anal Oral Vaginal Sex, Dommy Mommy Celine, Multiple creampies, Unexpected voyeurism, Bathroom sex, Some cum play, Implied Impregnation

A coterie of girls relax in the restaurant booth, all of them chattering amiably about the concert they had gone to that night. All of them had enjoyed themselves immensely; after all, Blackpink were known for putting on a show, and they had not disappointed. The rather messy orgy that had occurred onstage had really only enhanced the performance's appeal, and the girls were more than a touch aroused by what they saw. The bustiest of the group politely excuses herself as the other girls go into the naughty details of what they had seen (watching Jennie taking five guys at once had been particularly impressive), and makes for the bathroom, discreetely covering her crotch. The next booth over, amusingly enough, the topics of discussion for the girls were themselves relaxing, though their discussion was far more pointed...

"...Oh please," the richly tanned Lisa was grumbling, "you're just making a big deal out of it because your brother doesn't want to fuck you." Jisoo sputters in outrage while Jennie and Rose snort into their drinks, "You fucking whore! Maybe I just don't want to do weird shit like you do!" Lisa rolls her eyes and sighs, "Whatever, I'm going to go piss, I swallowed so much cum I feel like my tummy is going to burst," and with that she squeezes out of the booth, leaving behind a stinking puddle that seeps slowly into the seat. Typical.

Celine, known to her adoring viewers as StarSmitten, had a problem, a surprisingly girthy problem, bulging from her crotch. She clamps one hand over her mouth, her bountiful breasts heaving as she struggles to contain her moans while she strokes her throbbing girl-cock. The only other bathroom stall had been occupied soon after Celine had entered, and whoever was inside of it was busily taking the messiest dump she had ever heard. The disgusting sputtering had at least provided her with an excellent cover to disguise the noise of her masturbating, but with pre-cum beading from her tip, she knew she would soon be wailing with pleasure when she climaxed. But now the din has died down, as Celine's neighbor groans with release and starts to clean up, even while the poor streamer is on the edge of painting the stall door with her semen. A sudden silence falls, as both girls grow quiet, their ears straining as they listen suspiciously to each other, one of them worried she had been caught, the other...

Lisa sniffs the scented air of the bathroom once more, certain that she had caught the scent of sex. The reeking contents of the bowl beneath her was not helping in the slightest, though after having several gallons of semen pumped into her guts, the resulting mess was going to be unpleasant no matter the situation. Lisa's brain soon filters out the foul stench, and once more she smells the distinct tang of freshly spilt sexual fluids; which meant that her neighbor was indulging themselves a little bit too much. A broad smile slashes across Lisa's face, having some fun in here would be much more preferable than dealing with Jisoo's puritanical ranting. She smoothly hops onto the toilet, using it to boost herself up to get a peek at whoever's masturbation session she was about to interrupt, and is mildly surprised by what she finds. A remarkably busty girl stared up at Lisa in shock, her tits on full display, her hands unable to stop stroking one of the largest cocks Lisa had seen that night. Both of them open their mouths, but before either can say anything, the girl suddenly moans as a rope of cum erupts from her cock, painting Lisa's bemused face with a thick ream of jizz. Delightful.

Celine is blubbering as she fumbles open the stall, only for Lisa to shove the door open, pushing Celine back into it before slamming the flimsy door shut and locking it. The idol wears a nasty smile as she licks the sticky cum off of her lips, as Celine's eyes widen once she realizes who's face exactly she had just unloaded all over, and she gasps out a stuttering apology that is only silenced when Lisa kisses her. The streamer moans as the taste of her own semen fills her mouth, unable to resist as her mind reels from the stupefying fact that one of her favorite idols was busy forcing her cum-slathered tongue down her throat. When Lisa breaks off the kiss, Celine is left dazed and more than a little aroused, "Lisa..." Celine groans, "Me!" Lisa agrees happily, idly groping her, "What, why are you here?" Celine sputters, "Does it really matter?" Lisa rolls her eyes, "I think we have better things to do than worry about the details," she runs a hand along Celine's bulging erection, "Bigger things..." Celine shudders as lust burns through her habitual shyness, urging her to take advantage of the unexpected interruption of her masturbation session by a beautiful and willing girl. Even if it was Lalisa Manoban.

Hesitantly at first, but with growing confidence, Celine guides Lisa downwards to her knees onto the cool tiles of the floor, panting as her cock throbs against Lisa's pretty face. The idol playfully licks the sizable meat resting on her face, before slightly cocking her head, "I usually don't bother asking, but what's your name? I get the feeling we might be here for a while..." Celine pauses as she considers her answer, but some boldness within her makes her say, "Mommy, Celine," Celine breathes, and Lisa smirks in expectation, "Well then, Mommy, I've been a baaad girl..." Any restraint Celine still has snaps and she grabs the idol's head before shoving her wide cockhead into Lisa's waiting mouth, forcing her dick down her throat. Celine was sure that Lisa's oral techniques were superb, but at this point she was only able to think about pumping one of her rather pent-up loads into one of the idol's warm holes. Lisa gags enthusiastically as the streamer uses her mouth like disposable toy, Celine moaning uncontrollably as she works her repressed lusts from the Blackpink concert out on one of its main instigators, "You freaking slut, I was so hard the entire concert, I nearly fucked Aria watching you getting gangbanged!" Her weighty balls slap against Lisa's chin as her pace increases, "Oh god, oh god I'm going to cum in Lisa!" Celine cries out as she forces her cock as deep as possible down the idol's throat, shaking as she dumps her seed directly into Lisa's stomach while she squirms from want of oxygen.

Celine only relents when her orgasm fades, and she hurriedly pulls out to allow Lisa to gasp for air, coughing wetly as cum splatters onto her petite breasts. She looks coyly up at Celine, "Thank you Mommy, can I have some more?" she glances meaningfully down at her bared slit... Moments later Lisa has her back against the stall, her hips thrust outwards as Celine gorges upon her pussy, lovingly eating out her idol with cock stiffly at attention. Lisa groans with pleasure, holding the girl's head against her crotch, reveling in her slow but steady worship; women were always so much better at foreplay. The idol quivers as she climaxes, squirt running down Celine's chin as she drinks down Lisa's stinking juices like it was the sweetest nectar; and when the two kiss once more, their sexual fluids mix in their mouths. Drool connects their tongues when they break off the kiss, with Celine humping Lisa's toned stomach in anticipation of what was to come. "Oh Mommy, please! I need it so bad!" Lisa begs demurely, as Celine lifts up her leg to allow her sizeable cock access to the sweetness between her thighs. Lisa's eyebrows raise as inch after inch of girthy cock slides into her belly, making it bulge noticeably as it stretches her experienced cunt out; it wasn't the largest cock she had taken, but it was far bigger than most.

Lisa wraps her arms around Celine's neck as the latter pumps furiously between her sweaty thighs, both of them flushed from the passion of their sex. Fluids splatter onto the tiles beneath them from their messy coupling, with Celine's cock leaking copiously from the stimulation of Lisa's superior cunt. The idol's pussy was sopping wet, expertly squeezing and relaxing in time with every thrust, warming her shaft with its burning heat; only Pokimane's goddess-like pussy could compare. Celine pants as fucks Lisa, every motion sending more squirt leaking down her swaying balls, staring deep into her partner's eyes even as she rearranges her insides. Her soft, pale body presses itself against Lisa's much darker and leaner form, squishing it against the hard plastic of the stall, leaving her no room to escape even if she wanted to. The pair talk dirty as they mate, their sex talk swiftly going from naughty to downright depraved, as Lisa urges Celine to slake her nastiest fantasies using her nubile body. The wall of the bathroom stall rattles as the busty streamer tries to ram the limber idol through it, their erect nipples stabbing into each other's breasts with every thrust. Lisa feels Celine's orgasm before she can, the tightening of the balls and the pulsating shaft informing Lisa of her incoming insemination, "Give it to me Mommy!" she squeals, wrapping her legs around Celine's waist, "Give me your babies!" Celine groans as Lisa's words send her over the edge, she was going to knock up Lalisa and put a baby in her belly; and after a few powerful thrusts, she creampies Lisa's drooling pussy.

The pair shudder against one another as their dueling climaxes stimulate each other's genitals, until they both recover enough to resume their passionate make-out session. "Good girl," Celine croons between kisses, and Lisa preens at her praise, she was thoroughly enjoying her submission to this girl-cock wielding Mommy; she hadn't been mothered this hard since she had gotten spit-roasted by Jihyo and Momo. Celine suddenly grabs Lisa's leg and uses it to spin her around on her cock, a maneuver only made possible by Lisa's superb flexibility, but when it is over Lisa finds herself with her chest pressed up against the wall. The narrowness of the stall made doggy style impractical though, so Celine turns the idol about and forces her against the stall-door, before starting to plow Lisa from behind. Lisa moans loudly as she gets fucked, she loves it rough and nasty, so she was hardly going to complain about heading to round two before Celine's semen had even dried. The loud clapping of their flesh reverberates around the bathroom, and if anything the stall door makes as much noise as the stall wall. The sexual cacophony comes to a screeching halt however as the door to the bathroom suddenly creaks open, and the pair stop, panting quietly as their sexual fluids drip down onto the floor.

Someone walks into the bathroom before pausing in front of the pair's shared stall, rustling with their clothes before softly calling out, "Um Celine? I can smell what you're doing, do you need some... help?" Celine's eyes widen with shock, she had been gone for so long that Pokimane had come looking for her! And now here she was, balls deep inside of Lisa with two loads already roiling inside of her petite body. The idol in question noticed her lover's embarrassment, and decided to make the situation worse by being a naughty girl. Lisa stands up straight to allow for clearance, and shamelessly pulls the door open, revealing to whichever of Celine's friends it was that her girl cock was currently occupied. She raises her eyebrows in surprise as she stares at the curvaceous girl waiting in front of the stall, her pants already around her ankles in anticipation, her shirt and bra pulled up to reveal her impressive cleavage. Lisa smirks smugly at the shocked Poki, "Sorry, Celine is in use right now," "Oh! My god!" Poki sputters, "Wait Celine is that... from the concert?" Celine moans, utterly mortified that her dear friend had caught her in the act, her natural shyness overcoming her. Rolling her eyes, Lisa slams the door shut again in Poki's face before leaning against it once more, proactively moving her hips to get the streamer's attention back. "Cmon, Mommy," she purrs, "I'm so sorry your friend saw you, it must be sooo embarrassing..."

Her chagrin artfully diverted, Celine gets work plowing the sluttiness out of Lisa, her worry about Pokimane hearing her having sex fading with every thrust. The stall door rattles violently as Lisa gets fucked up against it, Celine leaning down to press her sizable bust against Lisa's back, squishing her into submission with her weight. Lisa's cunt makes disgustingly sloppy noises as the two blobs of soft warmth stick to her back, she had always had a weakness for large breasts, probably due to sleeping with Jihyo all the time, and with her girl-cock pounding her weak spot, Celine was driving Lisa wild. Loud squelching noises from the other side of the door indicate that the pair's unexpected guest was enjoying herself as well, and Lisa unabashedly howls as her squirt sprays onto the floor. Something else splatters onto the tiles, and the idol smiles as she smells the stench of another woman's squirt; cucking other bitches was such fun. But now the excitement of having a voyeur was starting to get to Celine and her thrusting took on a fresh energy, Lisa's petite cheeks glowing a rosy red as Celine's crotch slams against them again and again. She moans loudly as pleasure washes through her shaft and up into her body, hugging Lisa tightly against her as she pumps the idol's already clogged cunt full of yet more thick coils of semen. Lisa gurgles happily as warmth spreads through her belly once more, she could get used to this...

Celine sprawls back against the toilet, sighing with pleasure as Lisa sucks on her heaving breasts, while her hand busies itself stroking Celine's cock back to its full length. Lisa takes her time suckling on her Mommy's engorged nipples, her tongue lavishing each of them with attention as pre-cum drools down Celine's twitching womanhood. Pokimane meanwhile had ensconced herself in the stall next to theirs, and was noisily adding her own fluids to the putrid mess still steaming in the toilet. Her face flushed with arousal, Celine gives Lisa's ass an emphatic slap, "Sit on it," she orders huskily, "Use your ass this time," and Lisa happily obeys. She stands above the streamers upraised cock, before slowly sitting on the tip, before demurely pausing, her anus tightly gripping just under the head, "Mommy, you're too big..." Lisa simpers, "I don't know if I can take it all! Celine's delicate hands grasp the idol's waist, and steadily forces her down onto her dick, reassuring Lisa the whole way down, "Good girl," she coos as Lisa takes it to the hilt, her cock throbbing with the petite idol's guts, "now ride it for Mommy..."

Lisa complies with gusto, her initially hesitant grinding giving way to her naturally skillful technique as her own lust spurs her to abandon her bashful playacting. Celine's girl-cock spasms as it is massaged by Lisa's sloppy innards, her guts squeezing every inch of it as it slithers in and out of her ass; masterfully pleasuring it until it is on the brink of eruption. Using Celine's tits as handles, Lisa gives the streamer the best ride of her life, making a mockery of her past lovers' most enthusiastic efforts as Lisa tries to milk her of every last drop. Celine groans once more, holding onto Lisa's waist for dear life as her load spews into Lisa's asshole, who does not relent even for a moment as she rides Celine's orgasm out. She only slows once the streamer's cock stops pulsating, languidly standing back up to allow Celine's load to leak back down onto her glistening shaft. Celine lay back, utterly exhausted by Lisa's voracious asshole, still shocked by how thoroughly it had drained her. Lisa cuddles up against her, squishing her body against Celine's comfortingly as she daintily sucks on her neck; she was enjoying the downtime as much as the sex.

The bathroom door clangs open once more, causing everyone to start in surprise, as someone new stalks into the humid room. The girl sniffs loudly before sighing, "Are you done getting fucked yet, Lisa? I kind of have to piss." Lisa giggles from her resting place atop Celine's bodice, "Sorry Rose, I'm still busy in here!" Rose grumbles before kicking off her shoes, "Whatever, I'll just use the sink them, again," she groans with release as liquid hisses into the bowl, "Oh, and take your time, Jennie is busy fucking her way through the staff, and there were some sluts next to us that I've been training. We should be finished in an hour though so hurry it up!" The noise dies down and Rose hops back down onto the tile, slipping her shoes back on as she walks out. "See you in an hour!" Lisa calls at her as she leaves, before beaming at Celine, "So, want to make me late?" Celine blushes shyly, suddenly modest once more following her colossal orgasm, "Oh! Um, I guess- but I don't know if..." she looks embarrassingly down towards her crotch, where her noticeably flaccid girl-cock was sticking to Lisa's thigh. With a patient smile, Lisa slips down between the streamer's legs, and gets to work sucking some life back into her member. Celine moans and squeaks as the idol works her magic, the jumps in surprise as Lisa slides a finger into her ass, curling it up to massage her prostate. Which was more than enough stimulation to make Celine erect once more, but not enough to reignite her dominating fire. Lisa smirks knowingly up at Celine, "I'm ovulating remember...?"

A minute later and Lisa was on her back on the cold tiles, Celine pumping furiously between her thighs as she plows her into the filthy floor. Lisa's legs kick at the the plastic walls as she gets fucked in the cramped confines of the stall, her slutty cunt already painting the streamer's belly with squirt. "Oh Mommy," she moans loudly, "you can't knock me up in my ass!" But Celine does not relent, grunting as she proves her dominance of Lisa's greedy asshole by pounding it out of shape and flooding it with her cum. Only then does she push her cock into Lisa's inviting pussy, leaving the idol's anus gaping and leaking curdles of semen. The steady slap of flesh fills the bathroom once more as Celine mating presses Lisa, squishing her breasts against the smaller girl as she does her best to breed her fertile cunt. Lisa squeals as she climaxes once more, "Break me Mommy, break me!"

Three hours later Lisa saunters out of the bathroom, her holes gushing semen down her thighs, and rejoins the rest of Blackpink around the table. She had left Celine sprawled in a puddle of their conjoined juices, leaving her Mommy with just enough energy for her frustrated friend to get a load or two out of her; impregnation always got those cock-havers riled up. Lisa beams happily at the other girls, all of whom were equally naked and covered in sexual fluids, "Sorry it took so long! Is everyone ready to go?" The other members of Blackpink roll their eyes, getting up and leaving a hefty tip to pay for the damages. The four of them continue their bickering where it left off as they wind their way through the overturned tables and chairs, picking their way through the piles of pants-less bodies and puddles of cum.

Was it really a Blackpink event if it didn't end in an orgy?

[fairy-writes]

Would it be too much to ask for a William James Moriarty x Holmes sister reader? Like she's a travelling archaeologist/anthropologist who's a genius in the field and has found many artifacts and lost cities and can be a bit of an eccentric looney like her older brother Sherly but she's also incredibly kind to those in need and often donates her treasures to the less fortunate and even helps Sherly from time to time which is how he meets her and is impressed by her smarts and sarcastic wits. Also, a bit of a parkour junky likes to wear mens clothes tailored for her measurements and often wears her hair in loose buns or ponytails and loves riding horseback much to Mycroft's displeasure🤭

A BUSINESS PROPOSAL

Reblogs and Comments are greatly appreciated!!

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Fandom(s): Moriarty the Patriot

Pairing(s): William James Moriarty x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Genre(s)/Tag(s): Female!Reader, Holmes!Reader, Mildly sexist behavior from Mycroft? It is the 1800s after all.

Notes: So this was super fun to write! 

Fun fact! I took an archaeology class for my associate’s degree in criminal justice and highly recommend taking one to anyone in college! 

I actually took several anthropology classes (intro to anthro, bio anthro, and archaeology). I even considered switching my major to anthropology at some point! (I switched it to English lol)

PART TWO HERE

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Otis whinnies, and you reach forward from your place in the saddle to pat his neck.

“Easy, Otie, almost there.” You whisper to him and gently nudge him to turn down the familiar road of Baker Street. You could spot your brother’s flat from where you were at, an unfamiliar carriage parked in front. You frown briefly and then shrug. Sherlock could have whoever he liked over. 

But… he did promise to take you out on the town in celebration of your latest discovery. Did he forget?

No… He wasn’t the type to forget something like that. You had been exchanging letters for weeks about your coming home. 

A tall man was at the front of the carriage, tending to the horses. He had spiked black hair and a glove on one hand. He looks at you with skeptical eyes as you draw near and dismount your horse. The Cleveland Bay snorts, ruffling your hair as you smooth your hand up his snout and between his eyes. Then, you promptly tied his reins to the post outside 221B Baker Street and went up to the front door. 

The door knocker was more worn than you last remembered, with the shiny brass turning a glimmering gold color from all the hands touching it. You rap the door once, twice, then a third time, and wait, stuffing your hands in your trouser pockets. 

A young man opens the door, sandy blond hair combed neatly and brown eyes alight with curiosity. A grin breaks your face, and you step forward into his arms as he realizes just who is at the door.

“My dear John!” You shriek, and he chuckles, lifting you off your feet and spinning once in a circle before setting you down. 

“I thought you weren’t due back for another two weeks!” He replies excitedly, and you laugh gleefully. 

“We finished early! Anyhow, how’s Mary? Sherlock said you two were expecting!” You say and slap his shoulder good-naturedly. He ducks his head, a pink flush on his cheeks as he nods.

“She’s home at the mo. But yes, we’re expecting. The midwife thinks it’ll be a girl based on how she’s carrying.” He said, and before you could say any more, there was a noise at the top of the stairs. 

You turn, and your grin widens even more until your cheeks hurt. 

“Sherly!” You crow, and he bounds down the stairs to sweep you up in a bear hug. His boisterous laugh made your heart sing, and you buried your nose in his hair. He smelled like cigarette smoke and whiskey. He must have been on a case. He squeezes you tight and sets you down. 

“I thought you were coming back in two weeks!” He exclaims, and you roll your eyes,

“So John said, I told you we finished early!” You tease, and it is then that you notice that there is someone else in the flat. 

He was tall, probably around your brother’s height. He had blond hair and deep scarlet eyes that studied you with interest. He was dressed in a brown suit with a crimson tie. A lord. That much is obvious.

Sherlock notices that you notice his friend and gestures to the man at the top of the stairs. 

“This is Liam! A mathematics professor at Durham University and a friend of mine who helps me on my cases.” He says proudly as ��Liam” descends the stairs and approaches you. 

You stick out a hand and introduce yourself. His hand is smooth like you expected, as opposed to your calloused one. You had bandages littering your fingertips from blisters from shovels and tools. 

“William James Moriarty. I’ve heard stories about you.” His British lilt is proper and endearing. You feel your heart flutter and your ears burn. But you smile warmly nonetheless and give his hand a firm shake.

“As much as I’d like to say the same, Sherly has yet to tell me about you in his letters.” You direct the last sentence to your older brother in the same teasing tone as before. 

Sherlock rolls his eyes and punches your shoulder lightly while William watches on in amusement. 

“I got distracted!” Sherlock complains, and you break out into giggles. 

“I would love to hear some stories if you’re up to it.” William cut in gently before you, and Sherlock could start bickering. You brighten. A chance to tell stories of your work and not have someone get bored? It sounded like heaven!

That was how you got to where you were at the current moment. 

You were seated next to Sherlock at the Moriarty dining table, regaling them with a story of the most current dig you had been on.

“—and Egypt was absolutely smashing! It was so beautiful!” You say, waving your hands excitedly as you describe the tomb that had been uncovered. It had taken weeks to uncover everything, almost months. But oh so worth it. 

“Might I ask what you did with all the artifacts you found?” William inquires, and you hum as you sip at your wine. 

“Donated it all back to the locals. It’s the least I can do. Plenty of archaeologists steal their finds and bring them back to England to show in museums. I try and do the opposite.” You say and were pleased to see William nod in approval. 

At least someone shared your sentiment. 

You got a letter to your very old and very dusty flat a week after your return to England, summoning you to your eldest brother’s estate. You had been dusting and cleaning your furniture when the postman knocked on your door. You frown, brushing your pants on the seat of your trousers, and answer the door. 

The letter was short. 

Dearest sister, 

I have received news of your return to Egypt. I would like to have your company at the family estate for dinner to discuss business and your adventures. 

With best regards, 

Mycroft Holmes

A summons to the Holmes family estate that your oldest brother had inherited after your parents retired to the country. You look at the ceiling and groan, eliciting a funny look from the postman. 

This was going to be fun.

As soon as Otis realizes where you are, he tosses his head and tries to turn around. You tug the reins so he faces the right direction and nudge him into a walk down the road.

“Otie, I don’t want to do this either. But I’d rather not have Mikey send special forces after us or something.” You say to Otis, and when you reach the stables, Mycroft’s hired stable hand takes your beloved horse’s reins. “Take good care of him!” You nearly reprimand the stable hand who agrees and welcomes you back with ease. 

The maids welcome you in excitedly when you rap on the massive double doors, and you are ushered upstairs into the dining room. 

Mycroft was seated at the head of the table, where your father would be if he were here, and he stood to greet you. He offers a handshake, but you simply smile warmly and hug him tightly. He may have grated on your nerves, but he was still your brother. Mycroft stiffens and pats your shoulders awkwardly when you step back.

“As awkward as always, I see Mikey.” You said and took a seat at the table next to him like you did when you were kids. He clears his throat and calls for the kitchen staff to bring in the food. 

It wasn’t much, considering there were only two of you. But it was as extravagant as Mycroft always demanded it to be. 

“Would you like to change into dinner attire before we eat, sister dearest?” Mycroft says suddenly, just as you are about to dig into the delicious roast prepared by the staff of the household. You put your fork down and scowl.

“Don’t start with this, Mikey. You know I hate dresses.” You snap, and he raises an eyebrow but doesn’t push the issue. 

At least… he doesn’t until you are done with your meal and in his study, talking about your travels to Egypt. 

You down the rest of your whiskey and set the glass whiskey tumbler on the table between you two. 

“More whiskey?” He offers, and you shake your head.

“I want to be able to ride home after this.” You say and hold in a yawn. The excellent food combined with the fireplace blazing with a crackling fire is lulling you to sleep. 

Suddenly, Mycroft stands and walks in front of the fire, setting his own glass down on the mantle and turning to face you. 

“Might we talk some business?” He inquires, and immediately, your mood sours. 

So this was his end goal? Get you sleepy and drunk so you couldn’t ride home and were subject to his pleadings?

“I don’t want to hear it, Mikey.” You say and stand, holding onto the back of the wingback chair for a moment as the dizziness sets in. 

He scowls, 

“You are of perfect age. The season is just starting. You could still join in and find a potential suitor!” He tries, and you scrub at your face.

“I already told you I wasn’t interested in courting! I’m interested in—”

“Your work, I know. But what happens when the digs dry up and there’s nothing else for you to do? What will you do when you get too old for this?!” He snaps, and you whirl, steadying yourself with the chair as your anger flares. 

“It won’t dry up! There are thousands of years of history still to be discovered! Hundreds of thousands of cities and archaeological finds!” Your voice rises to a shout, and you hear distant footsteps as maids scurry away from you and your brother’s anger. 

This goes on for several minutes until Mycroft a bomb on you. 

“Mother and Father have decided. If you don’t find someone to court, they will no longer fund your excavations, and you’ll be stuck here with me.” 

You freeze, hands wound tightly in your hair, and argument dying on your tongue. 

“B—But that would mean—” Mycroft cuts you off gently and approaches, putting his hands on your shoulders. 

“You’d be stuck here until you find a husband—no more digs. No more artifacts. Not until you do as they and I ask.” Tears well up in your eyes, and you shrug off his hands violently and flee. 

Your boots pound against the hardwood floors, and you run outside where it has started pouring rain. Instantly, your clothes are soaked as you make it to the stables, dress Otis in his saddle and bridle, and swiftly mount his back. He tears out of the stables at a thundering gallop, and the stable hand barely dives out of the way to save himself from being trampled. 

Otis’s hooves dash against the cobblestone roads. You cling to his reins and hunch over his back as tears stream down your face and sobs wrack your body. 

Stupid, stupid, stupid!

Taking away your funding? 

No one wanted to fund a woman on an archaeological dig! 

Much less one as young as yourself! 

You were screwed! Doomed to live as a housewife because that was society’s and your parent’s expectations of you!

Otis eventually comes to a halt, and you dismount, collapsing onto a bench, breathing hard as rain pours down your body. Your shirt sticks to your skin, and your trousers swim in water as you sit in a puddle on the bench. But you can’t bring it in you to care. 

A carriage rumbles to a stop before you, and you look up as the door opens. 

“Might I interest you in some shelter?” Comes a proper and endearing accent that you recognize. 

“William?” You sniffle, and he smiles, extending a hand. 

“If you’ll let him, Fred will handle your horse. How about you step inside the carriage, and we’ll take you back to the Moriarty estate.” He says over the rain. A young man with a blue scarf wrapped around his head gets off the front of the carriage and approaches. You hiccup and nod, handing Otis’s reins to the young man and accepting William’s hand into the carriage. He sheds his overcoat and offers it. 

It’s warm and heavy as you wrap it around your shoulders and sit down. Your boots squelch against the floor, and William knocks twice against the carriage's wall, and it starts moving once again. 

The Morairty estate is even grander than you remember, looming over you as the carriage stops by the front doors. You nearly slip in your haste to get inside and are taken up the stairs to one of the many bedrooms. 

“Draw a bath and get warm. I’ll have some clothes brought by. We can have a talk after you’ve collected yourself.” William says gently, and you nod, taking off his overcoat so he can have it back. He excuses himself, and you are left alone in the suite. 

The bath is nice and hot, and you let out a sigh as you shed your clothes into a pile on the floor and sink into the warm water. Your tears are drying, but your emotions are still raging like a rabid dog inside you.

How could they? 

Didn’t your family know archaeology was your passion? Your dream?! Of course, they did! You never shut up about it when you were but a little girl learning to play the piano! You babbled on and on about fossils and artifacts in between lessons until you were blue in the face!

It wasn’t long until you were done in the bath and dried off. As William had promised, some clothes were left on the bed. A button-down that looked like it might fit you, a pair of trousers that might be a bit too long, and a pair of undergarments. You tugged on the underwear and then the trousers, having to cuff them at the bottom so you didn’t trip. The shirt fit better than you thought so you pinned your hair out of your face and left the bedroom and down the hall. Hadn’t there been a sitting room just down the stairs? 

William was inside, stoking a fire with a poker, his back to you. He stood and turned when you rapped lightly on the entryway. His lips curled in a welcoming smile, and he gestured for you to take a seat. 

“Would you like some tea? I had Louis put the kettle on.” He said, and you nodded, sitting on the couch beside the fire.

“Thank you. For the clothes and… everything else.” You mumble, and he shakes his head,

“Don’t mention it. Sherlock mentioned you hated dresses.” He says and pours you a cup of tea.

It’s delicious. It warms you from the tips of your ears to the ends of your bare toes. You scuff them on the plush carpet as William sits across from you. His scarlet eyes are illuminated like glittering rubies in the oranges and yellows of the fire. They’re alive like a torch resides inside. 

“Now, might I ask why you were out in the rain?” William asks as soon as you’ve settled into your spot. You bite your lip and wonder if you can trust him with your problems. 

Sherlock trusted him well enough… 

Perhaps…

“I got into an argument with Mycroft. He said my parents will cut off my funding for excavations if I don’t find a proper husband.” You blurt, and he hums as he takes a sip from his cup. 

“I assume they’ve been funding your past archaeological escapades?” He says, and you nod.

“Correct. But that is going to change unless I get married.” You grumble, and he cocks his head to the side, setting his cup down on the tea table next to him and seemingly mulling something over. 

“This may be a bit forward, but I have a proposal. A business proposal, if you will.” He starts, and you narrow your eyes. A business proposal? You set your own cup down and cross one leg over the other. 

“Go on…” You say hesitantly, and he clasps his hands together as if working out a problem in his head. Sherlock did say he was a mathematics professor.

“I could marry you.” You inhale sharply and proceed to choke on your saliva. William half gets out of his chair to come to your aid when you finally get your coughing under control. 

“Why?!” You demand, and he shrugs, 

“I’ve done some research into you. You are spearheading the way in new archaeological techniques. You donate your finds back to the locals in need. And frankly, I find you fascinating. If we go ahead with this, you’ll have access to my brother Albert’s influence as well as the Moriarty name and fortune.” He says, and you sit back, stunned. 

“I could continue my work?” You say skeptically, and he nods. 

“Indeed. There’s no reason to stop you. I might ask for a lecture or two from you at Durham University. But that’s it. So…” He extends a hand for you to shake. “Have we reached an accord?”

You are speechless as possibilities run rampant through your brain. You’d be free from your parent’s influence as well as pleasing them. Though pleasing them was the last thing on your mind. Yes, you’d be married. But like William said… it was more of a business proposal…

You reach forward and shake his hand. His smile widens marginally as you speak,

“I accept your proposal.”

[archonsbane]

AND I TRY TO TALK REFINED

The one time Il Dottore speaks to you in another language, the one time he speaks to someone else in another language, and the one time you give him a taste of his own medicine.

pairing. dottore x reader

tags & content warnings. gn!reader. reader is the tsaritsa's child. reader is referred to by they/them. there's one (1) mildly suggestive sentence (and it's in a different language lol).

word count. 2.9k

author's note. so. i'm back from the dead. i have two fics for pantalone and one for diluc, around 8k+ words. (none of them are finished LMFAO) but of course i drop everything for this stupid ass man. the reader here is my tsaritsa’schild!reader, though this takes place before beauty is terror. this is set in the early days of their relationship and the start of dottore’s involvement in the fatui. reader's backstory is also implied here, but not outright stated. also i got inspiration from @fatuismooches lovely headcanons, though i strayed a bit far HAHA. thank you for letting me write this! and thank you to my two lovely delulu friends (you know who you are) bc i suddenly got into the mood to write because of them.  also, what is heavily implied to be the script of khaenri'ah in-game is based on latin, so i headcanon that latin is the language of khaenri'ah. also i had to sneak in a tsh reference lmfao it was too perfect not to. i promise i don't include it in all my fics it just so happens to be perfect for certain situations huhu. also i hope you guys catch all the little details i put in! reader and dottore have always been like this lol the title is from 'talk' by hozier.

You are undoubtedly the worst teacher Dottore has ever had, bar none. 

Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye, leaving him dumbfounded. Your teaching sessions, if they could be called that, are filled with constant interrogations of his life and large infusions of food. Half the time you aren’t even teaching him, you’re simply rambling about whatever it is you ramble about (he’s learned to tune you out, partly because he doesn’t care and partly because he can’t understand what you’re saying). He is truly reconsidering forgoing learning Snezhnayan — at the pace you're going, he might as well take his chances and learn by himself.  

“But Mother said,” you remind him, petulantly, like a small child. Yes, the Tsaritsa commanded him to learn Snezhnayan, and commanded you to teach him, but he is greatly tempted to ask her to send another teacher. It has only been two weeks since your lessons begun and he might truly go mad. Sometimes he thinks this might be the worst thing a divine being has ever inflicted on him.

In truth, he already knows Snezhnayan, but only enough to hold a polite conversation. It is his least favorite of the languages he learned from his teachers in the Akademiya, and anyway, he never quite had a deftness for tongues. He is always most at home working with his hands, destroying and creating physical matter, covered in dust and soot, cracking open the world’s secrets like an egg. But the Tsartisa willed him to learn, and he is nothing if not a scholar. 

“But Mother said,” he mocks, crossing his arms and leaning back in his chair. He’s learned that you have no convictions about his personality. If anything, you seemed to embrace it. Whereas he dons a respectful — as respectful as he can conjure, anyways — mask with the Jester and the Tsaritsa, it’s… looser, with you. Still, he is careful not to cross the line. He is only allowed this because he amuses you. You've been treating him like some sort of pet to be played with whenever you desire since his coming here. “Your mother also said to teach me how to speak Snezhnayan, but this is the third time you’ve called for snacks in three hours.” 

You flash a lazy glare at him and go back to eating your beloved pastilas. “You require a tremendous amount of effort to teach.” You’ve switched back to speaking the common tongue, obviously for his sake. “You’re a horrible student.” 

“You’re a horrible teacher!” 

You sniff and take another bite of your pastry. “You’re just really bad at learning.” 

For that, you get a glance heavenward. He is tempted to simply throttle you and be done with it. Treason seems like a fair price to pay for shutting you up. But he considers his options and decides that he would rather not be on the receiving end of your mother’s wrath — it’s too fucking cold here already. Still, greatly offended by this statement, he vents out his anger by cursing at you.

In the language of Sumeru. 

He does not really think of it; his use of his mother tongue has greatly decreased since coming here, but even then, it simply rolls off his tongue as naturally as water flows from a river's mouth.

Your brows shoot up. You open your mouth, pause, and for a moment he fears he is in danger of being exiled or thrown in the dungeon. But then you cock your head to the side. “What does that mean?” You ask. 

An idea unravels in his mind, sparkling with mischief. “It means you’re bad at teaching.” 

You frown. “For some reason, I feel like you’re lying.” 

He curses at you again. Your frown deepens. There is something so satisfying about the way those frustrated lines burrow into your face. When he does it a third time, you actually put down the pastila. 

“What does it mean?” You demand. “You aren’t saying anything bad, are you?” 

It means you’re an insufferable little bastard of mean intelligence and he hopes you fall into a ditch, so yes, he definitely is saying something bad. “It means you’re the most gorgeous, most wonderful person in the world,” he says, sarcasm dripping from the syllables. When you look genuinely taken aback, he lets out a cruel, derisive scoff. “It means you should trust me more.” 

“That seems like a horrible idea.” 

He shrugs and reaches over to take one of the pastilas, light pink with a white, foamy top, vaguely aware that another one of your language lessons has gone considerably off course. Perhaps that was too light a description. It shot in one direction and came speeding back the other way. “Suit yourself, Your Imperial Highness.” 

You smack his hand away, gently. Almost too gently. “Those are mine.” 

He eats it, anyway, and learns many new colorful Snezhnayan curses for it, though he detects no real annoyance in your voice. You ring for another batch of desserts. He counts it as a successful lesson. 

He continues speaking in Sumerian when you're near. It’s the greatest of treasures, seeing you frown and demand to know what he had just uttered in your presence. Sometimes he just says the first phrase that enters his head, most times he insults you and relishes in your clueless blinking. You can't do the same to him — he's been picking up on Snezhnayan at an exponential pace, and he's made sure to memorize all of the insults and swears first. Obviously. It’s his talent for machinations that he prides himself on, but lately, he’s been deriving vicious pleasure from the fact he can speak twenty languages, though it never mattered much to him before. It’s a good, safe outlet for his annoyance whenever you’re near, which you seem to always be, nowadays. 

Even outside the language ‘lessons’ (the word lessons being used extremely lightly) you seem to trail him wherever he goes. Ambushing him in the halls, materializing in the laboratory, and in general trailing him like some attention-starved puppy. He resents it, resents the stars that float through your eyes whenever he enters your view, resents the way you immediately disengage from whatever it was that you were doing to attach yourself to him, all smiles. 

He actively avoids you, but somehow you keep running into him. On purpose or accidentally, he has no idea. He suspects it is the former.

Today is one of those days. You’re by his side, again, chatting happily about… something. He’s trying to tune you out, focusing on the long walk back to his laboratories after a meeting with the Tsaritsa. He needs to do something about that, it’s woefully inconvenient to have to walk a mile every time she calls on him. Some sort of contraption that could go up and down easily would be of great use, and he wouldn’t have to climb so many fucking stairs.

Then — it happens. In your excitement, you bump into some government official accompanied by another, what his role is Dottore does not know and does not care to, but he must be quite high up if he allows himself to glare at you for an instant before it disappears into a cool stare. Or maybe he just has a lot of gall.

"Oh, my apologies sir," you murmur, ducking your head. 

"Quite alright, Your Highness," he says smoothly, "have a good day." He turns his back and starts to mutter to his companion, their heads bent together, completely unaware that with your godly senses and his recent enhancements to his body, you both can hear every word.

"How clumsy," the first man tuts, "what does their mother teach them? She's been too soft on them."

"She lets them run amok doing whatever they please. The other day, they—"

"—yes, I heard. Look at those clothes, aren't they too plain for the heir?"

His companion makes an agreeing noise. "And the company they keep… " 

Dottore doesn't particularly care about what other people think of him, and perhaps if it was only the last sentence that had been uttered he wouldn't have said a word, but the tirade of their complaints makes irritation, absurdly, flare inside him. He whips his head back to their retreating figures, and you throw him a glaring warning, so he clenches his jaw and stays where he is. He isn't one to do nothing, however. 

“Kol khara,” he says to them, viciously. Eat shit. He hears you stifle a sound that might be a laugh and briefly wonders why exactly you would laugh. 

The men turn back around. “Excuse me?” The first one says. 

“Nothing,” he says, curtly, his eyes like sharp daggers, “go on." They throw each other confused glances but say nothing further, going further down the hall until he can no longer see their backs. You both stay in the middle of the now-empty hallway, staring silently off into the distance.

You’ve never been able to contain your curiosity for long. After a good minute of silence, you turn inquisitive eyes on him. He’s been expecting your question.

"What did you say?" You ask.

He shrugs; makes a dismissive gesture with his hand. "Nothing."

You narrow your eyes. "I know it isn't nothing. It was something bad, right? You've said it to me before.” Clever you, he thinks briefly. Nothing gets past you. When he stays enclosed in icy silence, you press on further, “I won’t be mad. It doesn’t bother me — I think it’s funny. Just tell me.” He has no idea why you would ever think it’s funny. Nonetheless, he stays silent. 

You try again. “Tell me.” 

“No.” 

“Please?” 

“No.” 

“Tell me,” you say again, but this time you slip into the voice of the noble, unshakeable heir to Winter. The two words are a command, and they leave no room for argument. He must follow. 

He sighs and runs a hand down his face. “It means I want them to eat shit.” 

A moment of silence passes and Dottore wonders if he should start running. Then, you start to laugh. A small laugh, so small he almost thinks he could cup it in his hands and never let it go. But he recognizes it as different from the laughs you’ve given him before. This one is warm and sweet, conjured from the belly upwards. Summer in a sound. 

He tries very hard not to smile when he says, “you aren’t mad?” 

“No,” you say, still laughing, “I suppose I do deserve it.” He silently agrees. “Anyways, after coming to my defense, I forgive you.” 

He snarls, that sudden irritation reviving itself. “I wasn’t coming to your defense.” 

You shrug, not looking bothered at all. “Fine. Defending yourself and by extension — and complete coincidence — me.” 

He decides it is best not to argue, and listens quietly as you walk with him back to his laboratory, chatting happily away once more. If you notice that over the next few days, his outbursts toward you decrease, you say nothing of it. And if you notice he is insulting other people more in other languages, seemingly for the sole purpose of making you laugh, you say nothing of it, too. 

You’re speaking Sumerian. 

Fluent Sumerian. Rapid-fire Sumerian, without blinking or stumbling over your words. Clean, pure Sumerian, speaking everything with the perfect enunciation of a noble. You don’t notice him behind you, utterly bemused, as you speak to a foreign dignitary from his homeland. The First drags him out of the underground labs from time to time in order to socialize and familiarize himself with the political atmosphere, but Dottore lets you do all the work for him. You engage in polite small talk, though delivered with much more enthusiasm than necessary. But the words are barely intelligible in his head. It isn’t possible that you’ve learned how to speak fluent Sumerian in such a short about of time. He will begrudgingly admit your brightness, small as it is, but even he cannot master a language within a few months. Which means there must only be one conclusion. 

When you notice him, your face morphs into one of surprised panic. Oh. He’s sure his fury is plain to see. It’s at that precise moment the dignitary — Dottore does not see the point in blessings but, Archons bless her — chooses to excuse herself, leaving you open and without a proper excuse to escape with. 

“You can speak Sumerian,” he says, plainly, having immediately taken the empty spot at your side. You take  cautious, half-step backwards. 

You look both amused and slightly abashed. 

He grits his teeth. “For how long?” 

“... since I was five." A pause. You look thoughtful. "Actually, it was your Greater Lord Rukkhadevata who first taught me."

This new piece of information surprises him so much that the flames of his anger are snuffed out, if only for a second. Then they come back raging, and he cannot contain it.

"You knew what I was saying this entire time!" He rages, jabbing an accusing finger at you. You cringe away. "You could understand all of it!"

"Not all of it—" When you see the exasperation that crosses his face, you smile. "Alright. Most of it." 

You begin to walk away, but he furiously follows you. "You lied to me!"

"You were cursing me to my face. I think it's a fair exchange." You shrug with one shoulder, eyes sparkling with mischief. "It was funny, anyway. Your cluelessness, that is." And then, "you should know, now that you know — I can speak the main languages of each nation." 

"I can too," he says haughtily, raising his chin up at you. 

"Really?" You laugh. "Cubitum eamus?"

"What?"

"Nothing." 

"What does that mean?" He demands, only half aware he's repeating the interaction you once had over a plate of pink and white sweets. He's never heard a language sounding quite like that. Perhaps it could be a dialect, but it doesn't sound similar to any currently existing language. "What language is that?"

You deliver your coup de grâce with such smooth smugness on your face. "It's Khaenri'ahn." The dead language. 

He blinks. Opens his mouth dumbly. And lunges.

As he chases you through the halls, your laughter floats warm and clear in the frigid winter air. You easily outpace him, but perhaps out of pity, you let him catch you and drag you to — well, he doesn't exactly know where he's going, only that he does not want to let you escape his rage. You thrash in his arms like a trapped animal, still controlled by a laughing fit all the while. 

"I hate you," he grumbles later, when you've calmed him with a slice of strawberry cheesecake from the kitchens. He's still quite angry, but not angry enough to not accept your peace offering. "You're horrible."

"So are you." 

A pause, then, "Teach me Khaenri'ahn," he says, leaning forward, a bright idea sparking in his chest. "There's so many texts I have yet to decipher — you have no idea the knowledge I can grasp if you teach me." He thinks of the old Ruin Golems in Sumeru. How hard it was to learn how to control them! But with your help, with your knowledge, he could crack the world open like an egg and watch its secrets spill like yolk. 

"I thought I was a bad teacher."

"Bad is better than none at all."

The utterly offended look that flashes on your face teases a grin from his mouth. "You're horrible."

"So are you."

He thinks he sees the corner of your mouth involuntarily curl upward. You twirl your fork in your fingers, humming thoughtfully. "Why should I?" 

"... For the pleasure of contributing to my research?" The look you give him tells him you're not at all convinced. He continues, "My research that is so very essential to the success of this nation?"

You scoff, but you cannot deny it. He would not be alive if he wasn't useful to Snezhnaya.

"You'll owe me," you tell him. 

He shrugs. "There's worse things in the world. Let's start."

It startles you somewhat. "What, now?"

"Yes, now. Unless you have other things to do?" 

You don't. Your language lessons with him already ended when he reached an acceptable mastery over Snezhnayan according to your mother, and he knows that though you have a schedule (mysterious and utterly incomprehensible though it is — not even he has been able to figure it out), you'd drop everything in an instant if something else interests you. Your other engagements are often boring things, too, and the only duty you ever truly commit to are the strange missions your mother sends you on, ones that could go for months on end. He's fairly certain you'll acquiesce to his request.

You pretend to consider it, before shrugging with hardwon carelessness and saying, "Fine."

You're exactly the same. Flighty, distracted, and prone to seamlessly maneuvering to an entirely different topic without blinking an eye. Half the cheesecake is eaten before you even start on the alphabet, and the journey to that is filled with endless detours that consist of bickering, fighting over the (large) cake, and kicking each other like children under his work table. His intelligence is insulted more times in half an hour than in his entire years of study at the Akademiya.

Dottore decides, with solid determination, after eating the last slice of cake, finally learning the pronunciation of the vowels and consonants, and being on the receiving end of an onslaught of Khaeri’ahn curses he truly cannot understand — which is horribly ironic considering the past few weeks — that he might as well beg the Jester for lessons instead, and no one can do a damn thing about it. He tells this to you, chin up, resolute and unwavering in his declaration. 

He never does get around to doing that. 

[weirdkpopgirl]

Simple Pleasures | Jeno Imagine #13

Title: Simple Pleasures

Genre: Fluff...lots of it lol

Warning: mildly suggestive towards the end

Word Count: 835

Author's Note: Again, I apologize for how long it's taken me to update on here. College has been keeping me pretty busy this month (and I will continue to, I'm afraid). But I managed to write this little scenario over the past few days. I also have a new Haechan fic that I plan on posting in the near future. So please look forward to that! Thank you for reading ^ ^

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Quiet evenings have always been your favorite. As the sun dipped below the horizon and the moon rose to take its place, the day’s dishes were neatly stacked in the dishwasher, ready for their nightly cycle. Freshly folded laundry was tucked away in the dresser and closets, organized for the week ahead. After a soothing shower washed away the weariness of the day, you let your hair air-dry. Now, two hours later, it’s finally dry as you lean back in the swivel chair at your desk. 

You didn’t need to touch the long hair cascading over your shoulders to know how silky smooth it was. Freshly washed hair was one of those simple pleasures you’d grown to appreciate as you matured into a young adult. And as it turned out, your husband Jeno seemed to love it even more.

The soft creak of the door caught your attention, and you turned your head to see him quietly step inside. Even though he’d just come home from work, the sight of his oversized hoodie with a print of a white cat and black sweatpants told you he had already freshened up at the company. According to him, it saved more time for you. Not that you complained otherwise.

With just a foot in the room, his eyes were immediately drawn to your hair. A familiar warmth spreads through your chest, though he’s done every time, without fail. Jeno was always affectionate— he’d find any excuse to hold you, kiss you, or simply be close. But there was something about your freshly washed hair that made him borderline obsessed.

“Hey babe,” His deep voice was soft, laced with that playful tone he often used when he was about to be extra clingy. 

Though the compliment made your cheeks flush with warmth, it didn’t stop you from getting up and walking over with open arms. “Hey Honey,” you said back.

As soon as he was within reach, your arms naturally slipped around his waist. His strong arms wrapped around you in return, pulling you into his chest. Your shoulders relaxed as you melted into his embrace, feeling his nose gently nuzzle against the top of your head. One sniff was all it took to bring a smile to his face.

“You smell amazing,” he mumbled, his voice muffled as he buried his face deeper into your hair.

His voice was muffled as he buried his face deeper into your hair, making you giggle. “Thanks, you always say that.”

It still surprised you sometimes, remembering how Jeno didn’t like the scent of red ginseng before you got married. But after moving in together, it grew on him quickly. He’d often say he liked the fragrance far more than the taste of the Korean root.

“Only because it’s true,” he said with a confident grin.

Shaking your head with a chuckle, you pulled back just enough to meet his gleeful gaze. A shiver ran down your spine as his fingers gently threaded through your hair, brushing against the nape of your neck.

Trying not to let his touch be too distracting, you hummed. “Well if you love the scent so much, maybe you can join me in the shower next time.”

The tone in your voice was innocent, which perhaps made the playful glint in Jeno’s eyes spark even more mischievous. His lips curled into a knowing smile.

“Oh?” his voice dropped, sending your heart racing. “You want me to shower with you, babe?”

Your face turned a deeper shade of red as you realized how your suggestion sounded to him. “T-that’s not what I meant!” you stammered, stepping back in an attempt to escape his arms.

But Jeno held you firmly in place, clearly enjoying your flustered reaction a little too much. 

“Mm-hmm, sure. But now that you’ve mentioned it, I’m not exactly against the idea,” he teased, though you caught a hint of sincerity in his words.

The you from those first few months of marriage would have shied away in this moment. Honestly, you could say the same about Jeno and he’d agree. But two years of marriage had made you two a little more bolder.

Glancing up at him, you leaned in a little closer so that your noses brushed against one another. “Maybe…I don’t hate it either.”

The way your voice lowered in a soft murmur, made Jeno’s heart pound even louder than yours. His eyes darkened slightly and he leaned in to press a tender kiss to your lips. 

“Well then,” he whispered against your mouth, “I’ll hold you to that next time, babe.”

The feeling of his lips left this lingering heat, a silent promise of the many kisses yet to come that night, and forever really. As your lips met again, you couldn’t help but smile while his fingers tangled in your hair even more, making your heart feel light and full.

Among all of your simple pleasures, freshly washed hair held a close second, but Lee Jeno was undeniably your favorite.

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previous masterlist -> current masterlist

[lucygxybaird]

What about Billy doting over an injured reader? Or the other way around?

i'm not sure this is 100% what you asked for but i tried lol

It happens in a moment.

You’re riding home during a storm, the dirt roads churned into a river of mud by the deluge. It’s almost impossible to see, between the driving rain and your hair whipping in your face, strands plastered against your cheeks and your forehead. As lightning cracks the sky like a broken eggshell, you urge your horse faster, hoping to get home before the storm gets even worse. 

Your horse snorts in exertion, and you see her hoof plunge deep into a pocket of muck, her headlong forward rush arrested so suddenly that you both cry out, her whinny of alarm blending with your scream. You pitch forward, flying over your horse’s neck. The last thing you remember is the slate gray sky wheeling above you, spitting needles of rain, and then everything goes black. 

You don’t know how long it’s been when awareness creeps back in, heralded first and foremost by pain.  Aches thread themselves into your bones and your head throbs in time to the beat of your heart, which feels sluggish, as if it’s trapped in honey. Your arm feels strangely heavy, bent at an odd angle, and no matter how hard you try, you can’t find the strength to open your eyes. 

You feel a cool pressure against your forehead, trickling over your temples, and it takes you a moment to understand. There’s someone pressing a wet washcloth to your brow, and as your eyelids flutter, attempting once again to pry themselves apart, you hear a soft, low voice urging you to be still. 

The thing is, you’re fairly certain you would know that voice anywhere, and only its velvet-edged smoke could draw you out of the darkness weighing heavily on your mind. 

“Billy?” you croak, and this time, you finally manage to open your eyes. 

His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot, with dark circles sitting underneath them like crows haunting a tree branch. Billy tries to smile, but his eyes are glassy, and he has to swallow hard before he says, “Hey, baby.” 

You swallow, too, wincing as it feels like barbed wire has wound itself around the column of your throat. You want to say that you’re sorry, but you’re so very, very thirsty. Instead, you manage to say: “W-water?”

Immediately, Billy reaches for you, helping you to sit up enough so you can drink from the cup he presses to your lips. There’s a tin pitcher on your bedside table, and the water is blessedly cold. You wonder how often Billy has freshened it, waiting for you to need it. “Here,” he’s saying, his arm around your shoulders. “Is that better?”

You nod, and then you tug on the collar of his shirt with your good hand, wanting him to lay down with you. It’s only then you notice that you only have one good hand. The other, along with your right arm, is wrapped up in bandages, a splint forcing the arm into an L-shape that’s bound to your chest with a sling.  Billy understands what you want before you can ask again, and he carefully shifts his weight onto the mattress beside you, his arm still wrapped around you.

Your body aches anew from the simple movement just required to sit up, and you sag against Billy’s chest, a little whimper catching in your teeth even as you try to prevent its escape by clenching your jaw. Billy’s forehead creases. “What’s wrong? What is it?”

“I’m—” You shake your head. “I’m okay. I’m just…sore.” 

It’s putting it mildly, but you don’t want to stress him out any worse than you clearly already have. He sighs, burying his face against your hair, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “The doctor will be back in the morning,” he says. “I’ll ask him if there’s anything stronger for your pain, okay?”

You nod, though now that you’ve settled in his arms, you feel better. Part of it is the warmth of his body, soothing away the ache, but more than that is the comfort of Billy himself: the familiar scent of his skin — the strength of his embrace, even as you can tell he’s holding you gently, carefully — the gentle carding of his fingers through your hair, an instinctive bid to comfort you. 

The two of you lay there in silence for a few moments, and you know (or, at least, you hope) that it’s doing Billy as much good as it is you, to be nestled in bed together after what happened. Which — you frown a little as your memory falters, and you realize you can’t quite recall what actually did happen. 

“Billy?”

You feel him jerk underneath your cheek, and you realize with a start that he’d probably dozed off in the cradle of silence. “What?” he says, and your guilt deepens at how groggy he sounds, and at once, how worried. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” you say, reaching up with your good arm to touch his cheek. “I just…I don’t really remember what happened.”

Billy softens at your touch, closing his eyes for a second. Your heart sinks. 

“Billy, when was the last time you slept?” 

He shakes his head. “I dunno, it doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’ve been takin’ care of you. You broke your arm, y’know, when you…when you fell. That’s what happened, you fell off your horse. I…”

You wait, pressing your lips together. You start rubbing the heel of your hand in soothing circles over his chest, where his heartbeat is pressing a rapid drumbeat against the thin cotton of his shirt. 

“I was wonderin’ where you were, and I was gettin’ worried, especially with the rain bein’ so bad, so I…I went out and tried to follow the path I thought you might have used. I heard your horse first, makin’ the most godawful racket…I followed the noise, and she was panickin’, stuck in the mud, and then I saw…” 

He takes a deep breath. “I saw you, layin’ there, and you looked so…you looked like a broken doll, and you weren’t movin’, and I thought…”

You wait again. 

“Anyway, I—” He clears his throat. “I got you on my horse, and I was able to get your horse out of the muck, and I brought…I brought you home. Your arm is broken, and you’ve got bumps and bruises just about everywhere.”

“Yeah, I know,” you mutter, despite yourself, but you’re rewarded with Billy’s dry little chuckle. 

“They were…they were most worried about your head,” he says. “The doctors say you were lucky the rain softened up the ground so much, but still…”

“How long have I been asleep?”

He pushes a ragged sigh out of the depths of his chest. “A few days.”

You can feel every bit of his worry in the tension radiating through the sinews of his body, and you nestle closer to him, despite the jostle of discomfort. “Well, now you’ll just have to wait on me hand and foot until I’m all better,” you tease. “Pretty soon you’ll get sick of me.”

He chuckles again, and this time it sounds more like him. “I can’t imagine gettin’ sick of takin’ care’a you, honey.”

Not that you really doubted otherwise, but he’s true to his word. 

The doctor has decreed that you need to stay in bed for the next two weeks, and Billy is determined that you won’t set so much as a toe on the floorboards in that time. Every meal is brought to you in bed, he  drags the big metal bathtub into your room, and when you beg him for some sunshine, he carries you out to the porch and sets you in a rocking chair, nestled in blankets. 

“Mmm,” you sigh, your eyes drifting shut as Billy pulls a brush through your hair, using long, languid strokes from your scalp to the ends of your hair. “That feels so good.” 

Billy gives a low, soft laugh. “Yeah?” he says, and you hear a smile in his voice. “I’m glad, baby. You want it done up in a braid?”

You laugh, too. “Billy, you don’t have to…”

“I want to,” he insists. “I know you like to sleep with your hair plaited up. Let me.” 

With your arm still bound up, it’s not like you can really do it yourself, and in any case, you don’t have the heart to refuse Billy — especially not when you turn your head to look at him, and he’s giving you that patented pleading look. “Yes, please,” you relent, and at once his pout melts into another smile.

You close your eyes at the pleasant tugging sensation to your scalp, a soft sigh leaving your lips. “Thank you,” you say, and you can almost sense him shaking his head. 

“You don’t have to thank me, honey,” he says. “I love takin’ care of you. And I’m just…I’m glad you’re okay.” 

He ties off your braid with a length of ribbon, giving the knot a gentle tug to make sure it’s in place. You turn in his arms, the only unwieldy thing now being your broken arm. Thanks to Billy’s dedicated care, your aches and pains have all faded away, including the pain in your head. “I am okay,” you remind him. “You’ve been taking such good care of me, Billy. It means so much to me.”

Billy kisses your forehead. “You mean so much to me,” he says. “You’re my girl. There isn’t anything I wouldn’t do for you.” 

You purse your lips thoughtfully, and he raises an eyebrow. “What?” he asks. 

Looking up at him from underneath your eyelashes, you wheedle, “Do you think you could let me make dinner tonight? I wanna take care of you for once.”

You can tell he’s actually thinking about it, wondering if you’ve regained enough of your strength. But it’s equally clear he’s going to relent when his shoulders soften. 

“Alright,” he says finally, and you beam. 

“Thank you.” 

Although you do manage to make dinner for the two of you, Billy insists on setting the table — which actually ends up being a blanket outside, under a phalanx of stars. “So I have a deal for you,” he says, after you’ve eaten. He has your head in his lap, and your good hand is combing gently through his hair. 

“What is it?”

He smiles, looking up at you. “I take care of you,” he says. “And you take care of me. Alright?”

You lean down toward him, giggling when he props himself up on an elbow to meet your lips.

“Alright.” 

[kiss-me-cill-me]

Now We Pay The Price | Pt. 2

Start with Pt. 1 HERE!

Pairing: Jonathan Crane x Reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: ALL OF THE SAME WARNINGS AS PART 1, plus more angst, some fluff, general dark themes, depiction of a stick n' poke tattoo, violence, makeshift weapons, fear toxin, Crane spikes someone's drink (not the reader's)

A/N: Back by mildly popular demand lol :) First, I have to give a huge thank you to @cillianslvt for all of her help with brainstorming, concept bouncing, and song picking! She gave me the perfect inspo for this part: Supercut by Lorde.

I wanted to do something a bit different here, so this is told in alternating cuts between the fallout from part 1 (written in past tense) and flashbacks to the reader's college days (written in present tense just to be confusing lol). I probably will be writing one more part for this, but it might be a while before it's out because I kind of want to take a small break from angst haha. But, I hope you enjoy this part!

***Please read the warnings before continuing. Minors DNI***

Somewhere out in the echoing hallway, an alarm buzzed.

“Lights out in five minutes!”

The guard’s booming voice was almost too muffled to understand through the thick metal door. But you weren’t paying enough attention for it to matter. It was the same routine, for the hundredth time. You didn’t need an announcement to know that you were about to be plunged into the dark.

And besides, you had more important things to worry about.

Your fingers traced over the hearts that still littered your bedsheets. Contained to one of the corners for now, but wild and scattered, as if they might be about to spill out over the rest of the white cotton at any moment. Unrestrained.

You clenched your teeth, trying hard to focus on something other than the hailstorm of tremors that seemed ready to wrack your body. Your skin was prickling. If you opened your mouth, you weren’t sure if what came out would be a sob or a scream. You didn’t particularly want to find out.

The familiar sound of a key in the lock was enough to pull you out of your stupor. Quickly, you covered the doodles again, and whipped your head toward the door, hoping.

But no. It was nobody. Some faceless orderly, sent to give you the pills that you never took, if you could get away with hiding them.

Tonight, though, you decided to behave. You had certainly been causing enough trouble lately. And besides, if you were being honest, you could use them. Your mood had been a complete mess all day, and a little stability would be nice, for a change.

You swallowed your pride along with the pills, and flopped back onto the mattress. As soon as the orderly was gone, you inched the sheets back down, exposing the blue stains. Tomorrow was laundry day, and you knew that you wouldn’t be able to enjoy them for much longer.

Seconds later, the lights flicked out, and you were left alone with your memories.

The asphalt beneath your feet feels like it’s not even there as you practically skip down the driveway, and you’re not sure how gravity still has a hold on you by the time your hand wrenches open the car door.

“Hey!” You smile as you climb in, whipping around quickly to fasten your seatbelt. Maybe that will be enough to ground you, but it doesn’t seem likely. “Thanks for picking me up.”

“You took long enough to get out here,” he replies, slightly snarky.

But when you finally look up at him, his soft half-smile makes your heart melt, and your legs and arms feel even more weightless than ever. His blue eyes peer over at you from just below the rim of his glasses, and he tilts his head while he waits for you to respond.

“Fuck off, Jonathan,” you laugh, waving a hand in his direction.

He shakes his head, shifting to take hold of the wheel.

As he starts the car, the two of you sit in silence for a moment, and you use the opportunity to take a closer look at him. He’s bundled up tightly in his jacket. A slight chill permeates the air, though you feel perfectly warm sitting next to him.

“I don’t know how you can stand driving around without listening to music,” you say suddenly, reaching for the radio.

It takes you a minute to find anything worth listening to. Static mixed intermittently with snippets of sound fills the car as you carefully turn the dial, until finally landing on something you know. Satisfied, you sit back.

“I don’t know how you can stand listening to this,” Jonathan laughs. “I mean, are you even hearing these lyrics?”

“I like the lyrics!” you insist. “What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re just cheesy,” he says, dismissively.

You roll your eyes, and settle back with your arm resting against the car door. Before long, your head is bobbing along to the music, and you start to hum.

You’ve only known Jonathan for a few weeks, but already it’s become nearly impossible to ignore the way your heart pounds when you’re next to him. It’s nerve wracking - to think he might not feel that way about you. But you don’t let yourself imagine that possibility too often. It’s better to stay positive, and look to your future together. You honestly can’t imagine things any other way.

At the start of the chorus, your humming turns gradually into words - quiet at first, and then louder when Jonathan doesn’t try to stop you. Soon, you’re singing at full volume.

“You know, distracted driving is the number one cause of car accidents,” he informs you.

When you look over, you notice the small smile that tugs at the corner of his lips.

“But music improves mood and cognition,” you shoot back, interrupting your singing to give him a slight shove. “Shouldn’t you know that, Mr. Psychology Major?”

Jonathan scoffs, but mercifully keeps his mouth shut when you open yours to start singing again, rolling down the window to scream into the night.

Your eyes, tight with heavy sleep, shot suddenly open, to be met by the darkness of your cell. Breath heavy, you tried to remember the dream you’d been having. Whatever it was, it had gotten you worked up. So much for the sedatives doing you any good; maybe Crane hadn’t actually upped your dose like he’d threatened to do.

Or he had, and this was just your body’s paradoxical reaction to the sudden increase. Not that you had been taking the regular dose with any consistency.

You considered getting up, but what was the point in that? There was nowhere to go but from one corner of the small room to the other, and you had spent enough time pacing back and forth to last a lifetime.

The small window set high up on the wall of your cell let in a sliver of light, just briefly, as a rotating searchlight made its round, and you closed your eyes again.

The university’s library is calming, in a way. The seemingly endless stacks of books reach out to greet you as you run your hands over their spines, walking slowly down one row and then another. 

You’re looking for something specific, but not a book. You know that he always comes here at this time.

Jonathan is crouched down to reach something on a low shelf when you finally see him. You hover, half-hidden, at the end of the row where he’s kneeling, and watch as he flips through the first few pages of a book. Satisfied, he stands up, and you saunter into the aisle to join him.

“Hey,” you call, softly. “Thought I might find you here.”

Jonathan tucks the book under his arm, and looks at you curiously for a moment.

“Hey,” he echoes, apprehensive. “Don’t you have class right now?”

“Do I?” you ask, stopping next to him. “Whoops. Whatcha reading?”

“Nothing. Just a book for class. Unlike some people I know, I take academics seriously.”

As he talks, he tilts his head to the side and takes a step closer to you, crowding you back against the bookshelves. He’s smiling. Just having fun with you; you’re sure of it. But you can’t stop the warm rush that spreads over your cheeks.

You try to straighten up under his gaze, bringing the tip of your nose close to his.

“I take this stuff seriously, too,” you insist. “Here, I’ll prove it. What’re you studying?”

Before giving him a chance to respond, you reach down and snatch the book from his hand. Brushing a thumb over the cover, you consider the title.

“Phobias, huh?” you muse. “No offense, Jonathan. But you’re not very scary.”

You beam as you watch a blush creep over his cheeks. He’s been doing that around you more often, and every time you notice it, your heart swells.

“You don’t think so?” he drones, taking another step closer.

He’s nearly on top of you as you press back into the row of books, and you feel your heart leap into your throat. Not out of fear, but for an entirely different reason.

“Nope,” you challenge. “Not scary at all.”

“Hm. Guess I’ll have to try harder then.” 

He snatches the book back and starts to move away from you, but before he can get too far, both of your hands shoot out. Your fingers grab onto his sweater, and faster than you have a chance to think, suddenly your lips are pressing against his. Eyes squeezed shut so you don’t have to face his reaction, you hold him. But when you let go of his shirt, he stays there for a few seconds longer, before pulling away.

“That was scary,” you breathe, finally daring to meet his cold eyes.

But, what you see there is softness, mixed with slight shock. The piercing, frost-blue that normally seems to slice through you has taken on a watery quality, as if something has melted, if just for a moment.

You take a deep breath as Jonathan leans back in.

By the time the orderlies had started to wheel their huge bin of laundry down the narrow hall, your white sheets were already torn off and crumpled at the foot of your bed. You weren’t about to take the risk of anyone else seeing the hearts you’d drawn. This way, they were unlikely to be noticed. At least until after they’d already been mixed with all of the other patients’ laundry, untraceable to you.

Before, the worst that could happen was you losing your pen - a sorry excuse for entertainment, but nothing vital. Now, losing that same pen meant losing your one chance at freedom as well, and you weren’t prepared to give that up.

You stood in the far corner of the room, watching silently as two men came in to collect your sheets. They didn’t comment on the fact that you’d stripped your own bed - perhaps too caught up in their meaningless conversation to notice.

When they left, you finally felt able to breathe again. You exhaled, trying to push every last trace of air out of your lungs so that you could start fresh again.

Sitting back down on your new set of sheets, you ran your hand over the blank space that no longer bore even a faint trace of love.

“What are you doing?” Jonathan asks, leaning over your shoulder to peer down at whatever has you so occupied.

“Giving myself a tattoo,” you reply easily. 

“What?”

“It’s just a little heart - see?”

You carefully hold up your wrist to him, showing off the half finished lobe of a heart. One side of it, anyway. It’s slow going, but you’re determined to take your time; to not rush through the impulsive decision you’ve made.

“Why would you do that to yourself?”

“Because I felt like it,” you reply. “Do I need another reason?”

“Did you at least sterilize your wrist - and the needle?” he sighs.

“I used some hand sanitizer. M’sure that’s good enough.”

Jonathan pinches the bridge of his nose, putting his other hand on his hip.

“You’re going to hurt yourself,” he complains.

“Well, it’s not like I can’t stop now, though - right?” you say, playfully. “You’re always telling me not to leave things half finished.”

Jonathan sits down in the chair next to you, as you go back to carefully maneuvering the needle. Your tongue sticks out from the corner of your mouth, frozen in concentration. You jump, just a fraction of an inch, as the sharp point breaches your skin.

“Give me that,” Jonathan mutters.

He’s already swiped the needle away from you, and is holding your wrist down securely against the table as he inspects your work.

“This isn’t going to heal nicely,” he informs you.

“I don’t care.”

To your surprise, he dips the needle into the little pot of ink that’s sitting on the table between you, and then lines up the point to continue.

“You’re pushing it in way too deep,” he says, peering over his glasses.

When he presses down, the sharp end of the needle barely seems to graze you. It doesn’t hurt so much when he does it. Jonathan’s thumb brushes over the flesh of your palm, soothing you.

“You’re good at this,” you comment. “You’ll make a good doctor someday.”

Jonathan tries to hide his smile, but you catch the small curl of his lips despite the way he’s hunched over, focusing on your tattoo. The second jab is just as painless as the first, and you smile back.

“This isn’t exactly what I picture myself doing for work.” He laughs - just a small hum, but it’s there.

“Right - you want to study the fear of needles. Not be the one jabbing patients.”

“Something like that,” he agrees.

The two of you sit, huddled close in the silence; you watching Jonathan work as he gingerly uses the needle. It’s strangely intimate, and you feel closer to him than you have in a long time. 

Not because you’ve spent too much time apart. On the contrary, you’ve been seeing each other more often than ever. But the more time you spend with him, the sharper you seem to feel his small absences. It has, lately, started to seem like you need to see Jonathan more and more often just to feel normal; like you’re in danger of something bad happening when he’s not there.

“Thank you,” you say.

“For what?”

“The tattoo means more, now that you’re the one doing it.”

Jonathan keeps his head bowed, trying desperately not to let you see his expression. The tips of his ears give him away, though, as they turn a bright pink behind strands of hair that have fallen away as he leans down.

“Jonathan?” “Hm?”

“It’s polite to say ‘you’re welcome’ when someone thanks you,” you tease.

As he looks up to narrow his eyes at you, you take the chance to lean in and press a kiss to his cheek.

The harsh white fluorescents buzzed over your head as you leaned back in your uncomfortable chair. You’d sat in this same plastic seat for probably dozens of therapy sessions. Not once had the miserable thing ever done anything other than give you back pain.

“Are you paying attention?” the doctor in front of you asked.

“No,” you replied.

What was the use in lying, when it was obvious to both of you?

The doctor hummed in annoyance, shuffled some papers, and frowned at her clipboard. 

“Well I suggest you start,” she began, “because what we’re trying to do here is very important. You know your appeal is in the process of being reviewed, and…”

You tuned her out, turning your attention to the much more important matter of planning your escape. Even just thinking those words made you feel strangely giddy. This was something that happened in movies and cheap paperback novels; not real life. But, you had made up your mind, and there would be no going back now. You were going to rebuild your life with the person who mattered most, and doing that meant that you needed to get out of here.

You thought of the ballpoint pen, now modified and hidden, deep within the bones of your mattress. It had taken patience to sharpen the plastic casing against the concrete, and patience was something you didn’t have much of these days. But in the end, it would all be worth it.

“...three counts of manslaughter, and two more of - are you listening?” the doctor repeated. 

“Why should I? We both know that I’ve heard this a thousand times,” you sighed.

The doctor, equally as exasperated, crossed her arms and rolled her eyes.

“Whatever. It’s your life.”

“My life doesn’t exist in here,” you whispered. “Not the one I want, anyway.”

“Well, it’s the one you’ve got, so maybe you ought to start acting like it,” she suggested.

You ignored her, and retreated back into the world that only existed inside your memories. Yours… and his, if you were lucky.

The room is dark and full of music. Music, and bodies - swaying in time to the rhythm; draped over furniture or pressed up against walls, as lips meet and hands wander. You pass by two people who look like they’re three seconds away from ripping each other’s clothes off, and duck under the raised elbow of somebody else as they pump their fist in the air. A clamor erupts as you pass; some conversation you’re not part of that’s full of hollered laughter and shouts.

You’re looking for Jonathan, amidst all the colors and flashing lights. You’d left him several minutes ago to go and find the bathroom, and got turned around on your way back. The slight buzz of alcohol makes your limbs a bit looser than usual, and you pause to savor the deep thrum that emanates from the sound system. As you close your eyes, your feet sway a little, and you smile.

Jonathan is never interested in going to parties with you, but for whatever reason, he had accepted the invitation tonight. You like to think it’s because he just wants to spend time with you, even if loud, messy gatherings aren’t usually his idea of a good time.

Finally, you find your way back to the couch where you left him. And there he is, smiling that soft half-smile you know so well, from the hundreds of times it’s made your heart do somersaults in your chest.

You frown. Scowl.

Jonathan is leaning forward, hands on his legs as he talks to another woman. Smiles at her. You stop short in your tracks, and watch from a distance as Jonathan tilts his head to her ear, whispering something.

The girl stands up, giggles while she looks down at him for a moment, and then walks off. You see red; a crimson wash that feels slightly too familiar as it drapes over you.

Jonathan, still on the couch, smiles for a moment longer before reaching into his pocket. The girl has moved on by now, and you watch as the affable grin is wiped neatly from Jonathan’s face, replaced by something blank and more difficult to categorize.

There’s a tiny glass tube in his hand. You can’t see what it is exactly, but you can make out the way he removes a cap, and then brings his hand close to the red plastic cup that’s sitting on the table in front of him, right where the woman had been.

Your rage propels you forward, and without time to think things through, you’ve grabbed the sleeve of his jacket before you even realize you’ve reached him.

“Shit- Oh. It’s you,” Jonathan mumbles.

“What the hell are you doing?” you hiss.

Jonathan looks at your hand on his arm. The vial, now empty and still pinched between his fingers, hidden from the rest of the crowd. And then back up to your face.

“This isn’t what it looks like,” he begins.

“What are you doing?” you repeat, your voice wobbling louder.

Jonathan’s eyes dart off to the side, and he stands up quickly. Suddenly, his hand is in yours and he’s dragging you off, heading for a set of glass doors that lead to the back patio.

“Let’s go somewhere more private,” he says, and you can barely hear him muttering over the sound of the screeching music and the pounding, frantic whir that seems to have taken over your head. 

By the time you’re outside, the door shut firm behind you, you haven’t calmed down a bit.

“Jonathan-”

“I swear, I’m not doing anything bad,” he interjects. “I know that it… probably looks like I’m-”

“Why her?” you say, softly.

You can’t even stand to look at him as you speak. Your whole chest feels impossibly heavy; as if it’s consuming the rest of your body, piece by dissolving piece.

“...What?” Jonathan looks at you curiously, as you feel yourself fall even more fully apart.

“Why her, when I’m right here, huh?” you demand, tears squeezing out from behind your damp eyelashes, even as you try to blink them back. “I’m yours, Jonathan. I’ve been yours. All you have to do is ask.”

“That’s not… God, I’m not trying to-”

“You don’t even have to try with me!” you cry, voice rising up into a frenzy. Your hands fly to slam against him, pushing him by the shoulders. “You’ve never had to-”

You cut yourself off, and cradle your wrist to your chest. The tattoo that he gave you is settled close by to your heart, and you bring your other hand up to trace absently over the ink that mirrors it.

“Listen to me,” Jonathan says, taking hold of your shoulders. You look up at him, salty tears still welled in your eyes, starting to spill down over your cheeks. “That’s not what I’m doing. This is just… research.”

“Research?” you echo.

“Yes. That’s all,” he assures you. Both of you have started to calm down, and the pressure of his hands on your shoulders finally becomes noticeable. “It’s for… how do I phrase this?”

The sounds of the party are muffled out here, but suddenly a sharp scream rises over the music. Both of you turn to peer through the glass doors, and you catch a brief glimpse of the woman from earlier, just as the red plastic cup falls from her hand. She claws at her face, and sinks to the floor, still screaming.

Your focus shifts back to Jonathan, and you watch as he stares through the glass, his eyes frigid and, suddenly, calculating. His hands are still on your shoulders, and you feel as his grip tightens slightly, as if his fingers are itching to do… something. You can’t say quite what.

“...Fear,” you breathe, quietly.

You aren’t sure exactly what’s going on, but some sort of vague understanding has started to seep into your nerves, mending the frays that had threatened to form. Like healing salve, soothed over all of the tiny rips and tears that had nearly pulled you apart, only seconds ago.

“Yes,” he agrees. “That’s all I wanted her for. I swear.”

It takes you a moment to realize he’s looking at you again, a serious expression on his strained face. His eyes seem to bore into yours, but it’s comforting, just to feel like he’s burrowing into you.

The commotion inside becomes louder; more shouts of alarm rising to join the first, and you hear something crash to the ground. But you’re not paying attention to that anymore; you’re swimming in Jonathan’s eyes as the tears slowly dry from yours.

“Jonathan?” you ask. “Can we go home?”

He turns to look again at the riot that’s quickly developing inside; the bass of the music replaced now by shrill cries that have risen above everything. For a moment, you think he’s about to refuse, and the lump in your throat almost tears through the delicate flesh of your neck.

“Sure. Let’s go home,” he agrees.

You walk, hand in hand, away from the party. Looping around the house and down the sidewalk, your fingers intertwine with his in the night air. You smile, and grab onto Jonathan’s arm, pulling him closer.

Today was the day.

You pulled your sleeve down, trying to cover the now-sharpened pen casing that was held tight in your sweaty hand. The tip of your finger brushed over the point, as you went over the plan in your head again.

If you could manage to be stealthy enough, you wouldn’t even need the pen. Not that you would hesitate to use it, but there was a certain amount of risk that you’d prefer to avoid if at all possible. Things could get messy, and that would be sure to draw attention. For once, you didn’t want Crane to notice what you were doing.

You stayed close to the wall of the cafeteria, practically hugging the stone as you walked briskly. It was important to be fast, but not too fast.

“What are you doing?” asked a sharp voice behind you.

You would have spun faster than either of you could blink, pen at the ready to plunge into his neck. If only you hadn’t recognized the voice.

Crane grabbed you roughly by the shoulder, and you screamed silently behind your eyes.

“Nothing,” you said calmly. “Going for a walk.”

“You’re not allowed to do that,” Crane sighed, already dragging you to face him. His expression was just as drab as the bricks that now pressed into your back. “What’s in your hand?”

Your finger flicked over the sharp point again. This was the one possibility that you hadn’t imagined, of course. The one opponent your weapon was useless against, all because you couldn’t bring yourself to use it.

With your jaw set and shoulders squared, you straightened up to face him. You wouldn’t shy away from his eyes, even if looking at them meant facing the disappointment that lurked, not-so-subtly beneath their surface.

Crane grew impatient awaiting your answer, and grabbed you by the wrist. You let him. It was useless to resist, and the two of you glared at each other as he yanked your hand and your fingers fell open. The story was written over your palm, almost as clearly as if you had used the pen to record it across your own flesh.

Crane picked up the wrecked pen, considered the jagged edge of the plastic, and pocketed it. Without another word, he turned and dragged you out of the cafeteria, heading toward your cell.

Jonathan’s hand in yours is restless; seeming to flutter as his thumb drifts absentmindedly, rubbing back and forth in a way that might be more soothing for him than it is to you. You want to help him, but you’re not sure how. You’ve noticed the anxieties that have seemed to overwhelm him lately, and you wish there was more you could offer him.

“Maybe you should take a break,” you suggest. “We could watch a movie or something. Go for a walk?”

Jonathan shakes his head, and tears his hand away to go back to scribbling on the pad in front of him. The paper is already littered with letters and symbols that mean nothing to you. Three vials full of pale liquid - Jonathan’s pet project - roll gently back and forth on the table.

“I can’t get it right, and I don’t know why,” he snaps, frustrated. “I need to run more tests, but…”

“I could test it for you,” you offer.

Jonathan looks at you with a mix of shock and, maybe, revulsion, and you feel yourself shrink back into your seat.

“I wouldn’t ask you to do that,” he says.

“You don’t have to ask,” you reply. “I’d do anything for you.”

His expression morphs into something that’s harder to read. That’s been happening more and more often lately, and it’s started to panic you when it does. You know him so well, but suddenly, there are sides to him that seem almost foreign to you. You bring a hand up to cup his sharp cheek, and the smile stretched over your own face feels plastic.

“Us against the world,” you remind him.

Jonathan places his hand over yours, only for a moment before pulling away entirely.

“I just… want to know I can do something,” he says. “Something I set my own mind to.”

“You can,” you assure him. “You have.”

“My whole life, I’ve felt as if I’m just reacting to things that are outside of my control,” he continues, almost as if he hadn’t heard you. “I just want to understand why.”

Emotion has crept into his voice, and your first instinct is to pull back. You ignore it. Instead, you place a kiss on his temple, and he lets his head fall to rest on your shoulder. The room is silent for a moment, as you wrap both your arms around him and try to think of something to say.

“You know I’d be lost without you, right?” you ask, gently. 

“That’s because you have a dysfunctional attachment style.”

You stop. His words, flat and unemotional, pierce through you as if he had stabbed instead of spoken them. You can feel the ground opening up at your feet, and struggle to reassert yourself.

“That’s not true. You… don’t mean that,” you flounder.

“Maybe I don’t,” he agrees, halfheartedly. “Who knows anymore.”

Your heart aches. You hate that he’s talking like this is the end of something. A foregone conclusion that’s just out of his grasp, but that he doesn’t even care to reach for. A sentence on a page, half-finished but forgotten.

“You’ve been working too hard,” you decide. “You’re tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Let’s go to bed, then,” you suggest. 

He nods, and you take hold of his hand to guide him, the dark ink of your tattoo pressed up against the blank space on his wrist.

Back in your cell, Crane didn’t bother to lock the door behind him for once. Instead, he stood directly in front of it, hands on his hips as he stared down at you.

“I would say I’m shocked, but I’m not,” he sighed, voice already grinding against itself. “But, what I can’t figure out is this. What gave you the idea that this would go well for you?”

You didn’t answer.

“It’s not as if I don’t monitor you.”

Normally, the admission that he’d been paying attention to you would have made your heart flutter. But now, it felt like there was nothing more than a pit in your chest. The same one that was always there, longing for something that could fill it without being swallowed.

“You’re lucky it was me who found you, and not somebody else.” He moved one hand to pinch at the bridge of his nose, just like he always had. For as long as you’d known him. “Don’t you ever stop and think before you act?”

That was insulting. You’d spent plenty of time thinking about this. In fact, it was all you’d been focusing on for weeks - at least when your mind was clear enough to focus. 

And really, he was one to talk. How many times had you helped him crawl out of one failed situation or another? It wasn’t fair for him to talk like everything he did went perfectly, when both of you knew very well that it didn’t.

“Don’t have anything to say?” Crane pried.

You felt anger swell furiously within you, and - as if to prove the point he’d just made - you surged forward without thinking. Crane didn’t have any time to react, and you pressed your lips up against his in a harsh kiss that felt sickeningly void of love. Your cold fingers grabbed at the front of his sweater, and you felt your lips crush into your teeth, desperately searching for some hint of the spark that you felt certain was still there.

Crane scrambled, his back pressed against the hard door, and finally tore you away from him.

“What are you doing?” he spat.

Your eyes were downcast, unable to meet his, and you bit the cracked skin of your lips.

“Who knows anymore,” you replied, echoing his words from long ago.

“You need to control yourself,” Crane hissed. “If you can’t, I’m not going to keep making excuses for you.”

His words might as well have just echoed off the stone walls, vibrating in an empty cell. You weren’t listening. You weren’t even there anymore.

Fleeting as a beam of light. 

Crane collected himself and then left, departing just as the sleek ribbons of past life came to wrap over you again.

You woke, not realizing that you’d fallen asleep. You weren’t sure how long it had been since Crane left, but, judging by the way the lights were already turned out, it had been hours. 

Automatically, your hand went to the top corner of your mattress, intent on blindly tracing over the hearts that had once been there on the sheets. But of course, they weren’t anymore. Instead, though, you heard a clatter as something fell to the floor.

That was odd. Certainly, you hadn’t left anything there this morning. It wasn’t as if you had any possessions to leave.

Groping in the dark, your fingers slid across the floor. Finally, you found it, and held the object up close to your face.

A key.

Your lips curled as you held tight to the metal.

Read Pt. 3 HERE!

[tellerluna-stories]

catch me if you can!

PAIRING: the wanderer x reader

GENRE: fluff! how it feels to fall for him (quite literally lol)

TW/CW: no graphic content! contains a chase scene + mildly morbid descriptions thanks to salted mushroom man

A/N: this was supposed to be a part of a bunch of other self-indulgent drabbles (including childe and heizou my beloveds,,,) but I've been so busy with irl stuff that I didn't have the energy to write all of them :< so now bongo-head over here has the limelight LOL let's enjoy ourselves to the max scaranation

"Over there! In that alleyway!"

The breath in your lungs rasped uncomfortably as you ran uphill, the treacherous twists and turns of the city winding like a labyrinth before you. There was little room for light in the back-alleys, save for a faint smudge of light in the distance; you willed your feet to move towards that light, pounding against the stone in one last push for freedom—

You burst into daylight and gasped, barely avoiding pitching head-first over the railing at the last moment; the alleyway lead to a gorgeous view of the city below, with a wide spread of coloured roofs that meant almost certain death if you tried making your escape that way.

"You won't get away!" Behind you, the leader of your pursuers snarled, drawing his sword as he stepped closer. The glint in his eyes was nowhere near friendly, and talking things out didn't seem to be an option for he and his crew.

Oh well... Looks like you had no other choice.

You closed your eyes and launched yourself off the railing in one foolish, death-defying leap, and all the world became nothing but pure wind beneath your fingertips.

SWOOSH!

A familiar scent of lotuses and lightning fills your senses, and what was nothing but cold air in your hands has become something warm and soft— you didn't need to open your eyes to know who your saviour is.

"You idiot," He hisses, but in that moment you're too giddy to care. A wild, breathless laugh escapes from your lips as you threw your arms around his neck, clinging on for dear life.

"Do you know how dangerous that stunt was?! You could've fallen straight to your death and they would have had to mop bits of you off the ground!"

"But I didn't!" You singsong, screaming to the winds with all your heart. "You caught me, and that's all that matters! I can only jump like this because I know you'll always be there to catch me!"

The Wanderer says nothing, for he doesn't need to; he speaks in the way his hands tighten their grip on your waist, the slight pressure as he brings you closer to rest in the curve of his shoulder. The clouds fly past in the blink of an eye, but not even the softest of sky-fleece can tempt you to reach for them— not when your arms hold something far more precious, far dearer to your heart than anything else.

[bonny-kookoo]

the 'I like you' couple is soo cute 💖💗💓❤️ but now we need to know! 🥺 does jungkook find a nickname for her? does he really think about it? does he try out a few before deciding which one he likes? or does she does or likes something random or particular and he gets the nickname from teasing her? or he just has a light bulb moment on a random moment? lol, I love them, can't get enough!!

A/N: Masterlist

"Baaaaaby-kookoo-love-of-my-life-" you whine, and he squints his eyes as he walks into his bedroom where you're laying on your back. "My tummy hurts." You complain, and he sits down on the edge of his bed next to you to take of his socks.

"...okay?" He wonders, and you kick him with your foot a little.

"Make it better." You demand, and he chuckles.

"How?" He wonders, and you scoff.

"The fuck do I know!" You huff. "Like, I don't know, talk to it? Maybe it'll get intimidated if you're all angry with it." You offer as a solution, and to your surprise, he turns around and points an accusing finger at your lower stomach.

"You better stop fucking hurting right now because I want to go sleep and God knows my spoiled princess won't shut up until you're quiet.!" He threatens at your body, before he turns around and closes the opened window before turning off the lights as he crawls into bed next to you.

It's quiet for a moment, until you speak.

"I'm both mildly turned on and offended right now." You say, and he snorts a laugh, hand patting over the blankets to find yours to hold in the dark. "Spoiled princess? Really?" You scoff.

"You are one." He defends himself.

"I mean, a princess? Hell fucking yes, and you better start carrying me around as one from now on, prince charming!" You laugh, and he rolls his eyes in the dark.

"You're spoiled enough." He says, closing his eyes.

"So?" You ask, before a slap is heard.

And its quiet.

For a good moment.

"Did you just slap my ass?!" You yell out, sitting up, and he laughs whole heartedly.

"Was it? I couldn't tell." He laughs.

"Oh so you just blindly aimed to smack me and ACCIDENTALLY hit my ass? Fucking lying piece of shit, you knew exactly what you-"

"Do I need to spank you again, or are you gonna be a good girl and sleep?" He asks. "You've got work at 6 am, and I need to be up at 5:30." He reminds you, and you suddenly fall back into the pillows, scooting closer, closer, until you're full on clinging onto him.

"...jungkookie..?" You ask quietly, awfully shy. He hums a reply. "Can you say it again?" You ask.

"You have work tomorrow-"

"Nooo, that part before that? Like, I did what you said so I'm aaaaaa~?" You draw out the last syllable, wiggling your toes as you wait, and he suddenly chuckles.

"Good Girl." He says, and you squeal to yourself, cuddling up to him.

It's the first time he's ever really comfortable saying things like that- and maybe it's the way you've gotten closer by now, not only emotionally. Yesterday he'd been so lost in kissing you that he didn't even notice you getting so riled up on his lap- and it left him both excited and terrified.

And these days, he's been trying out some petnames for you here and there to see what would stick.

Babe or baby are cute when you say it, but they feel way too boring to him. They're too basic, nothing special, and it just doesn't feel right.

Until you're out at a shopping center, randomly spending a day at the mall together when you spot something in a kid's store window. "Oh- did you know I always wanted to be a princess for Halloween?" You say, spooning up some icecream from your cup. "But my dad never bought me the costume, and we never went trick-or-treat-ing." You pout, making Jungkook smile as he tucks in a strand of hair that had escaped your messy bun on your head.

"Well, you're a princess to me now, no need for a costume." He shrugs. "And I even buy you candy, so you don't have to knock on stranger's doors either." He jokes, and you look up at him at that, pulling him down by the neckline of his shirt to peck his lips. "Huh?" He wonders, and you just smile.

"You're just so dreamy." You sigh dramatically. "Your flirting is getting a bit out of hand though. Makes me feel all fluffy and horny." You boldly admit, making him laugh as he shakes his head, taking your empty cup from you to throw it away in a bin nearby. "Ah, such a prince charming!" You giggle, and he takes your hand In his at that, kissing the back of it for a second.

Successfully making you blush for the first time since he's met you.

And he's starting to really enjoy making you flustered.

[lemmetreatya]

Hi

Imagine:

CEO!character interviews you and you think it‘s not going well. but you really need that job

Inspired by your driving instructor!nanami (really loved that btw)

thank you sm for appreciating it!! hopefully this leads up to its expectations lol <33 ref: driving instructor!nanami

ceo!toji who doesn’t usually have any hand in the interviewing process for his off-the-ground start up tech company, but concerning his recruitment manager has been off sick for a while, had to intervene.

ceo!toji who almost bursts out in hubristic laughter once he sees your resume up next because no fucking way little ol’ heavily under-qualified you had the audacity to step foot into his business and apply for the very senior role of director.

but then maybe ceo!toji’ is proved wrong because when he sees you enter his office; shirt fastened from the third button down, trousers firmly hugging your waist and lip gloss sparkly pink, he thinks you may stand a fighting chance. there’s just something about the way you compose yourself that even made him entertain your interview. your confidence and spunk helping you act a part you were so determined you could play. if anything, ceo!toji is left excited at the new prospects you could offer not just him, but his child — his company.

“look, i see your passion — and it’s the type i want for someone who’s going to be the new visionary for my company — but passion alone s’just not gonna cut it, ya know?” you perceive that ceo!toji isnt mildly convinced by you in the slightest by the fixed look on his face.

as you imagine the worst, a flash of uncertainty runs through your chest and you panic for his verdict. you couldn’t let him rule you out over simple paperwork and you couldn’t take another dead end. you needed this job and you knew you had what it took to sustain it.

“i promise, my performance will make up for the lack of qualifications! you just need to give me a chance.”

“give you a chance, huh?”

the buzz word makes ceo!toji slightly perk up and you couldnt help see that opportunity as a sign of hope.

“yes! anything to prove myself!”

“you sure about that?” he carefully gauges and you can only nod desperately.

its no surprise then when you find yourself with the flush of your back glued against ceo!toji’s desk, your ankles dangling by his ears as he viciously fucks into you and your eyes rolling towards the back of your head.

“go on! prove yourself now, eh?!”

ceo!toji is merciless with how he surges himself pass every crevice of your opening, his hands not missing the perks of your chest as he twiddles and pinches at your nipples.

“talkin’ all that fuckin’ smack earlier and now look? can’t even take a lil dick.”

your moans are almost tearful, arm covering over your drool slicked mouth as you attempt to quieten your voice — but ceo!toji doesn’t let you! before moving your arm, he bends you in half enough so that he could curl over you and demand you open your mouth. once your lips are slack and pushing out easy thrusts, he spits a waddle of saliva into your mouth before easily instructing: “swallow” straight after.

honestly, fuck him because he didn’t even offer you the job in the end. but you do, however, receive a text through his company automative service that tells you that you have a follow-up interview with him the very next day.

[bump1nthen1ght]

A Very Monstrous Kinktober: Day 25 (Pregnancy)

Kink: Pregnancy

Pairing: Male!Werewolf x Fem!Reader

Other Kinks: Fingering

Warnings: N/A

Word Count: 1135 words

Kinktober Masterlist

A/N: This ended up being less of a pregnancy kink and more a smut piece where the reader is pregnant lol. Hope y'all enjoy nonetheless!

“Dear, please, I can take it off myself. I’m not that fragile.”

“Still,” Barrett whines, tail wagging low and forlorn behind him, “It’s gotta hurt! Can’t I aid my partner in pain?”

“Barrett, it's a bra.” You reach behind yourself, unhooking the garment through your t-shirt. “I’ve worn them since I was 9. I’m quite used to it.”

You had only put it on to go grocery shopping with your husband, swollen breasts now easily visible through most of your shirts. Even if it pinched a little more than usual, even though your healthy boobs shouldn’t be a problem, you were still too embarrassed to go in public without the bra. You decided being mildly uncomfortable for 30 minutes was worth it.

Barrett heavily disagreed.

“Let me massage you love. It looks so tight.”

You sigh as you slip the straps off your arms, pulling the bra out through your sleeve.

He had a point; you could feel the dull ache around your rib cage already, boobs sore from the small excursion

“Okay.” Barretts ears perk up,tail lifting behind him. “But!” You hold up a finger, recognizing that anticipatory look in his eyes, “No funny business. I have to write and send some emails for work, and I can’t be distracted.”

Barrett nods excitedly, murmuring a “Scouts honor!” before sitting next to you, patting his thigh. You shuffle onto his lap, laying your back against his chest. His warm fur already lulls you into relaxation, your feet dangling off the ground as you sit on his legs.

Two big, hot paws quickly scoop under your breasts, thumb rubbing into your stiff back while the others rub the indentation left by your bra band. Despite your protests the massage feels heavenly and you easily sink into Barrett's touch. His snout nuzzles into your neck, wandering eyes no doubt watching the way your breasts look in his palms.

Barrett adheres to your deal, massaging your boobs very methodically, as he’s done many times before when they were sore. An act of intimacy, sure, but not necessarily sexual. It has you letting your guard down, closing your eyes and resting your head against his pecs. You can feel the warmth of his calloused paw pads through your shirt, like heating pads for your swollen boobs.

But then there's the sensation of a paw pad brushing across your nipple, lingering in circles, that has you opening one eye.

“Barrett.” You warn.

“I know, I know!” Barrettt moves his finger away, but has already succeeded in pebbling your nipple, pushing through your fabric. Barrettt’s tail thumps against the couch. “Just wanna make sure I’m getting all of ya, y’know?”

You're about to bite back, but Barrett squeezes your breasts together in a way that has pure pleasure rolling down your back. That snark seems less appealing now.

You roll your neck, cheek resting against Barrett’s shirt. He nuzzles further into your neck, hot breath washing across your pulse. Goosebumps run down your skin.

“Wanna help you relax. You work so hard, baby.” There's no complaint when his fingers find their way back to your nipples, gently circling both. “You’ve got this great job, in charge of all these people, but who's making sure my wife is okay?” One hand abandons the pretense of the massage and wanders down to your abdomen, rubbing the small bump. You're only 12 weeks along, so there's barely anything yet, but Barrett has been extra excited to see you grow. “Plus, your growing our pups now.” Barrett nips at your ear and as much as you try to bite it down, a breathy gasp still comes out. “It’s the least I could do.” The wandering hand slides down to the hem of your pants, finding no resistance from your loose sweats; or yourself, for that matter.

Ahh, fuck those emails.

Claws clip past your granny panties, claws retracted just enough to leave pleasant trails down your skin. Still pressed against your neck, you feel Barrettt smirk once he reaches your core.

“Hmm, seems someone’s extra relaxed, huh?”

“Shut up.” You mutter into Barrett’s fur, breath hitching when his rough paw pads circle around your clit. His touch is light, teasing your aching bottom with your own slick. “It's all the hormones.”

“All the more reason for me to help you, love.” His forefinger stays on your clit as his others drift to your wet pussy lips, spreading them open with his middle and ringer. Barrett's gruff “Shit, baby.” rewards with him more of your juices, his voice always being a weak spot of yours.

“Think you could take two?” Barrett whispers in your ear, making you turn toward and give him a dirty look, almost offended.

“In my sleep.”

Your sass has Barrett chuckling, giving you a playful peck. Then another, and another, and another…

By the time Barrett sinks two of his fingers into your aching core, his tongue is down your throat, your moans muffled against his lips. His thick digits splay open in your pussy, pressing against your walls and making your body shudder. Despite all your bravado, pregnancy has made you far more sensitive than before. The gentle stretch feels more like a heavenly burning in your stomach. Your walls squeeze hard on his Barretts fingers.

Barrett's thumb presses and flicks across your clit. Before you can even react, he begins thrusting his fingers, moan catching in your throat and transforming to a desperate whine.

Barrett detaches from your mouth, a stretchy string of saliva still connecting your mouths. His eyes roll down your messy, pajama-clad and trembling body.

“Beautiful.” He moans, fingers scissoring with each thrust into your cunt. “I wish I could have you like this always. In total bliss, gushing-” Barrett punctuates with a particularly hard pump of his fingers, “-around me. Full of me.” Your throw your hand back and clutch onto the back of Barrett's head, holding him and his filthy mouth close to your head. “Such a good mama already, so sweet to me. Can’t wait till our babies are here.” Drool drips down Barrett's jaw, his breath heavy as he watches his hand go in and out. “You’ve been working so hard, I wish I could help more.” Your hips cant upward, entrance clenching around Barretts knuckles. Slicks decorates his furry fingers, slicking the fur. “That's why I gotta make sure you feel good whenever I can. Especially with a desperate cunt like this.”

Barrett emphasizes his T, all but purring directly into your ear.

“Barrett-, I’m gonna-”

“Do it baby, cum for me.”

Barrett's snarl is all you need, pussy spasming as slick gushes across Barrett's palm. His soft voice whispers indistinguishable sweet nothings, kissing your shoulder as your ride your high on his palm.

It’s gonna be a good 9 months.

[sunfyresrider]

*ೃ༄WICKED INTENTIONS | NETEYAM S.

✩Synopsis. You made the foolish decision of seeking sanctuary with a vampire.

✩Tags. blood, hypnosis, dubcon, fem!receiving, p n v, Vampire Neteyam, uhhh just smut. 1k words

✩Note. SHE HAS RISEN (lol hi)

minors dni 18+ minors dni 18+ minors dni 18+ minors dni 18+

As Neteyam lay asleep in his lair, melted candles and cobwebs lining the once luxurious walls, he had dreamt of times long past. He saw images in his dreams, from wars won and lost, of loved ones he had left behind, and of the world he had once known without a thirst for blood. In his nightmares, he prayed that he would be freed from his eternal solitude, join his companions in their graves.

Even whilst he slept his mind roamed ceaselessly, for the creature he had become never fully knew peace. The warm embrace that rest provided had been out of his reach for centuries, perhaps that’s why he had gone mildly mad. The last creature he had interacted with had been ten… no fifteen years prior, in passing. Solitude

An itchy feeling crept up Neteyam’s spine, his nose twitching as a new scent invaded his senses. Both of his pointed ears began to twitch, the pitter patter of feet quickly approaching the grandiose entrance of the castle. His eyes shot open, his golden irises gleaming with excitement. Neteyam’s body floated out of the coffin, the aroma of pulsing blood carrying him to where it stood.

A young woman, decorated in muddy fabrics and torn stockings sunk to the floor in the grand foyer. Your eyes were glazed over with tears, clutching your arms tightly to her body as she quickly glanced around your surroundings. The scent of her blood, rich and pure, was intoxicating. It was sweet and thick, like a fresh honeycomb dripping with dew.Twas a pity you appeared so patheticly helpless clinging to the old carpet.

Neteyam approached the trembling girl, his eyes fixated on the steady stream of red trailing down your pale arm. Your body was littered with scratches and bruises, blood seeping from each wound. She must have stumbled upon the castle after getting lost in the forest. The moment you spotted him you knew you had made a grave error, his appearance was far from human, more tragically beautiful beast than man.

You stuttered attempting to grab the nearest curtain to lift yourself, but your fingers only grasped thin air. Neteyam kneeled, his face mere inches from yours, his breath was cool against your flushed skin. A single claw traced your cheek, a shiver of fear running down your spine. “An intruder? Were the bodies outside not frightful enough to deter you?” Panic began seeping into your bones, you were so focused on running you hadn’t noticed anything…

“I-I mean no harm! I'm terribly lost and afraid… I only meant to come in for safety, I swear!” He stared down at the whimpering mess beneath him, the fear in her voice was intoxicating, her scent even more so. The vampire felt a stirring deep within his abdomen, his fangs beginning to ache.

The sight of your veins pumping and the delicious fear in your eyes made him more aroused than he thought possible, perhaps denying himself both food and company had long lasting effects. Neteyam picked you up by your arm, his cold skin making contact with yours. He wanted nothing more than to rip open your chest cavity and feast on the crimson liquid within, but something else stirred inside him, a desire he had long since forgotten.

“Do not fret, I don’t intend to kill you.” The master of the castle hands slipped down your neck, letting his fingers hover over your pulsing veins. “If you wish to stay, you’ll have to pay for it.” His golden eyes pierced into yours, fangs glistening, the grin on his face grew into a wicked smirk. You felt your resolve fading, eyes fluttering shut as you stared into him. Before you could utter a word the room changed, the clocks stopped ticking as you were laid out on his lush bed.

His hand caressed your cheek, a finger brushing against your bottom lip. The touch of his lips mirrored his appearance, frigid and lifeless. Your body felt light, eased into a faux sense of comfort, your mind in a cloudy haze as his lips trailed down to your nape, inching closer to your core.

thump thump thump

The sound of heart race quickening made his cock twitch with anticipation, the excitement of devouring his next meal was overwhelming. Neteyam’s tongue delved into your sensitive spots, basking in your flavor and heat he could not possess. His tongue prodded your entrance, lapping up the nectar flowing freely from your cunt.

Your hands shot down, tangling his dark hair in your fists, legs quivering as he toyed with your clit. The sensation of his cold tongue against you felt euphoric, like a cool breeze on a humid day. Your back arched, head falling back against the plush pillows as a high pitched whine escaped you.

The monster below you chuckled, your sweet taste lingering in his mouth. He brought his lips up to your ear, whispering sweet nothings as his thumb played with your clit. With the wave of his hand, the man pulled his trousers down, exposing his cock.

Neteyam hovered over you, lining himself up with your entrance, slowly sinking into your heat. The intensity of your heartbeat echoing within his ears made him shiver, denying himself the one pleasure he could obtain in this world. His hand squeezed around your throat, his thrusts quickening to match the pulsating veins within, worshiping the feeling of blood freely flowing.

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear, hissing under his breath. His free hand found your clit, rubbing circles into your bundle of nerves. The feeling of his hips against yours was intoxicating, the fullness inside of you had you drooling. Your eyes began seeing stars, the feeling of being so full, and the lack of air making you dizzy.

The intensity of first time pleasure was overwhelming, a tear falling from your eye as you struggled to breathe. The way your cunt tightened around him, and the delicious scent of your arousal only drove him more wild. Your heart pounded within his chest, the sensation of life pumping through him for a few short moments, and the tight grip on his hair made him weak.

The noises coming from you were only comparable to a goddess, if he could listen to them forever Neteyam would gladly live with his cunt stuffed inside you...

Your thighs began to shake around his waist, your orgasm rapidly approaching. Neteyam brought his lips to yours once more, kissing you roughly, biting your bottom lip till the sweet taste of iron flooded his mouth. He felt you tighten around him, walls clenching as he inhaled the sweet scent of you. Neteyam’s head dipped down into your neck, his eyes fluttering shut. “What if I drain you dry and keep you here with me forever, princess.“

Your eyes shot open, the feeling of fear beginning to seep back into your conscious as your body began to overwhelm with ectasy. His teeth sunk into you as your orgasm rippled through your body, his cock spilling inside you. Your eyes rolled back as he drained your essence, the feeling of bliss disappearing as your mind became hazy. Your eyes began fluttering close, all the limbs in your body becoming too weak to move.

Neteyam’s face came into your faded vision, hot blood streaming down his shiny fangs. “Sweet dreams, darling."

[bella-rose29]

Deck the Halls (and not your partner) - part 12

it's here everybody

I just want to say a HUGE thank you to everybody that has read and enjoyed along with me, whether that was in the form of reblogging with commentary, leaving a comment or kudos, or even if you just read it and moved on, and to everyone who binge read after the whole thing came out, or stumbled across it months after it finished, thank you to you too. this has most definitely been a labour of love, very self-indulgent at most points, and I have thoroughly enjoyed writing every word (although maybe not so much when Steph was being a grade-A Bitch), and I hope you enjoy this last part!

while the main work of this series is over, keep an eye out for holiday specials (bc I can't just let go of my schmoopies forever)!

Warnings: swearing, mildly spicy bit near the start, you might cry from this being the finale (I did lol), flustered/awkward lockwood, oh you also might cry from the part in the middle/end because I'm evil and can't let you have a fully happy ending (@ the anon who requested this hopefully this satisfied the masochistic urge hehehe), if I forgot anything it's bc I'm tired while I write this

Word count: 6.3k

series masterlist

“Are you sure you’ve got everything? It’s a long way to go if you leave something behind,” Ben said, peering in on Anthony and Y/n where they sat in their loveseat. 

They had packed pretty much everything but their wash bags (which they would need tomorrow morning) and pyjamas (which they would wear tonight), and now they were cuddled up in front of the fire that was roaring in the hearth. “Yeah, I think so. I’ve checked and double checked so if we leave anything behind then we’ll just have to make do.” Her father nodded, smiling at them before ducking back out the room. Everybody else was gathered in the kitchen, making drinks and getting dinner (leftovers and an assortment of deli), which meant that Y/n and Anthony had the living room to themselves. “You alright?” she asked, voice quiet. He hummed in answer, the low sound vibrating in his chest and through her head where it laid on his shoulder. 

“I’m more than alright, darling. Looking forward to being home again, though. Not that I haven’t enjoyed the last few days,” he hurried to add. “I just miss sleeping in my own bed.”

“I get that.” There was a momentary lull in the conversation, both of them basking in the warmth of the fire and each other. “Wait. I feel like we should probably… talk about when we get back? And what… what we’re going to do about…” she trailed off, waving her free hand between them. 

“No, you’re right. We should… we should definitely talk about that.” Another lull, although this one was slightly more tense. “I mean-” Anthony cut himself off with a huff, and she felt him clench his jaw from where she was nestled underneath it. “If you wanted, you could move out of the attic? Obviously if you’d rather stay rooming with Lucy then that’s fine too, I just-”

“Where would I go if I wasn’t in the attic?” She cut him off when he started to ramble, lifting up her head to frown at him. He flushed a delightful pink that wasn’t too dissimilar from the socks he had on, and opened and closed his mouth a few times before turning even more red and answering. 

“In… in my room? It’s a big bed, although not quite as large as the one here, and I’ve got extra pillows if you wanted. But if you would rather stay upstairs then that’s fine too.” He was fidgeting, his leg bouncing and his tongue darting out to wet his lips, and Y/n smiled softly. 

“If you’re sure you don’t mind?”

“Of course I don’t mind, darling.” The blush stayed on his cheeks but his worry eased. “I wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t want you there.”

“Then… when we get back tomorrow, can I just go straight to bed with you?”

“Absolutely,” he grinned, and she couldn’t help but mirror his smile, pressing a small kiss to his lips. 

“Ew, go suck faces somewhere else.” Y/n rolled her eyes at Will’s teasing tone, flipping her middle finger up at him and putting it away swiftly when Tom walked in, already snacking on the food on his plate. She hadn’t heard Will come in, which was quite the feat given how loudly he was chewing, but he was smiling behind his comments as he settled into an armchair. He was ecstatic that he could openly tease his younger sister now (much to her chagrin) and had wasted no time in doing so. “Bet you two are glad you’re going home?”

“Yeah. It’ll be nice to be back in London, I think,” she replied, shifting around in Anthony’s lap to face the room a little more. “And I miss the others. I did call George the other day after we booked our train tickets, just to let him know what was happening and when we’d be back, but the reception is so bad up here that contacting any of the others has been tricky.” Lucy had been somewhere near them visiting Norrie, but her signal had been awful too. Y/n hadn’t seen the point in calling when mostly it was just static. 

“I didn’t realise you’d called George,” Anthony said. 

“Oh, yeah. I knew he’d be at Portland Row so I figured I should let him know why we weren’t there. He said he wasn’t gonna spend the entire holiday with his family because of the whole ‘your siblings are engineers, so why aren’t you’ thing that always happens.” George had been the first friend that Y/n had opened up to, despite sharing a room with Lucy. They had been researching for a case together in the Archives late into the night, early on after Y/n had first joined the agency, and something about the calm atmosphere and rustle of the papers had meant that when George asked about her backstory in a tea break she had spilled it all. Lucy had been next, also late at night while the boys were on their own case, and Holly not too long after. But George had been the first, and the two of them had been close ever since. He’d opened up to her about his own family, and they’d found they had more in common than they had originally thought. 

“Well, it’s a good job you called. I imagine he would have been quite worried about us.”

“Us? No, George was definitely only worried about me. He didn’t once ask about you.”

“Rude.”

“I’m just telling the truth, it’s not my fault your ego can’t handle it,” Y/n teased. Anthony scoffed, fighting the smile that was breaking through. 

“Sure, Schmoopie.” Her responding glare would have been enough to make even Barnes shrink back, but Anthony could see that it lacked any heat when directed at him. 

He did yelp when she jabbed him in the side though, and her grin turned devilish. 

~~~

The next morning, Anthony was awake before Y/n was. 

At some point in the night she had obviously grown cold, as the duvet was bunched up more on her side than it was his, leaving most of his body out in the not-so-warm air of the bedroom. He didn’t mind, though. Not if it meant that she was happy. 

He didn’t often get the chance to admire her in the morning, not without her knowing he was doing it (not in a creepy way, it just meant that he often got caught and she often made fun of him), so he took his time now. 

He didn’t think he would ever get over how gorgeous she was. 

There was barely any light in the room, but from what little he could see she looked like an angel, especially in the t-shirt of his that she kept stealing. He didn’t mind that either, mostly because somehow she made it look so much better than he ever could. Anthony wasn’t a fool (although given his behaviour over the past few years there was definitely a strong argument against him), and he was well aware that Y/n knew the effect her wearing his clothes had on him. He’d had to excuse the two of them the other day when she’d come downstairs for breakfast wearing his grey hoodie and her pyjama shorts, and when they reemerged from their room nobody commented on the flushed faces or the messy hair of either of them (Y/n had stayed in the hoodie, too). She’d teased him mercilessly since finding out, and now he finally had an opportunity to gaze lovingly at her without her poking fun at him. 

“Morning.” Damn, he must have cursed himself and made her wake up. 

“Good morning, darling.” He smiled at her, wedging his arm under his head while he watched her wipe the sleep from her eyes and turn to face him. “Did you sleep alright?”

“Yeah. Like a log. You been awake long?” She reached out for his hand where it rested on the pillow between them, and he gladly let her thread her fingers through his. 

“Not really. Any good dreams?” There was a pause where she flushed, and Anthony’s curiosity only grew when she shook her head. 

“Not… not that I can think of.” She was avoiding his eyes, which meant she was lying. He smiled, huffing a laugh before shifting his weight. 

“Are you sure, darling?”

“Prick.” He laughed properly at that and propped himself up on an elbow. Y/n had covered her face with her hands to hide the rapidly growing flush, and she was shrinking further into the mattress with every passing second. “It wasn’t even- we were just, like… in a field.”

“What?”

“We were just having a picnic in a field. It was sweet.” She still hadn’t moved her hands so Anthony had to strain a little to hear what she was saying, but the amusement was very present in his voice when he next spoke. 

“So why are you acting like we were doing something else?” There was another pause, and he raised his eyebrows. “Were we doing something else?”

“It might… have ended up that way…”

“I see,” he said, moving again to prevent the arm under his head from falling asleep. Instead of lying back down, however, he pushed himself further up, placing one hand beside Y/n’s head and the other at her waist, slotting a leg between her thighs. He felt her shiver in response, and he gently pried her hands away from her face, lacing his fingers through hers and holding their joined hands in position on the other side of her head. 

“Anthony,” she whispered, lifting her hips a little and brushing her nose against his. 

“Yes?” He could feel her breath on his mouth, could feel it hitch when he let go of her hand to trail his own down her arm slowly, then tracing a path down the side of her body to her thigh. She didn’t answer him, instead reaching up to grab the back of his neck, tangling her fingers in the hair there (god, he loved it when she did that) and kissing him in a way that reminded him of honey. It was long and slow, both taking their time to bask in each other, although if she kept tugging lightly at his hair in the way that she was then he might have to speed the pace up a little. It was ridiculous, the power she held over him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. If she was an angel, then he would gladly fall into hell a million times over for this little piece of paradise he was experiencing right now. 

He wasn’t sure how long they were there for, kissing, laughing softly when the t-shirt got stuck around her head, tangling limbs but never taking it further than a few bold touches just in case someone walked in with the morning tea, but it felt like barely a few seconds and eternity at the same time. 

When Ben did eventually knock on the door, Anthony went to answer, collecting the teas with a smile and a thank you before kicking the door closed. He smiled down at Y/n where she lay in bed, eyes closed to the light of the lamp that had just been flicked on, and planted a lingering kiss on her forehead. The action had her smiling immediately, and Anthony felt his heart jump in his chest. 

They spent most of the next hour lazing in bed, trading more kisses and soft touches before their stomachs started complaining and they were forced to get up and have breakfast. 

A million times, Anthony mused as he watched Y/n get stuck in her (his) jumper. A million times and more, and he had definitely fallen for her already. 

~~~

“Alright, you’re absolutely sure you have everything?”

“Yes, Mum, just like I was the previous six times you asked.”

“I just want to be sure! Who knows when we’ll next see you!” The statement hung in the air for a few seconds, the words sinking in and nestling into everybody’s minds. 

“Soon,” Y/n said, her tone decisive. “As long as Steph and Linda aren’t there.”

“I think I can live with that,” her mother grinned. Anthony and her father had been pulling their bags out of the car and were just now rejoining the gathered family members. Her parents were here, as was Will, but everybody else had stayed behind. They had said their goodbyes back at the house, with promises of phone calls for Nana Jean and Gramps and games of whatever Tom liked the most when she next saw him. Olivia had pretended to be indifferent about her sister leaving, but had squeezed just that little bit tighter when Y/n had said that she really needed to go. Y/n had pretended not to notice the slight shine to Olivia’s eyes, opting to ruffle her hair and laugh instead. Sam and John had wrapped her in hugs so tight she thought she might pass out before even stepping foot outside the house, and had left one last remark of ‘if you hurt her, we’ll kill you’ with Anthony before waving them off cheerfully as though they hadn’t just threatened murder. 

“Right then, Squeak. How long ’till your train?” Will asked, placing an arm over her shoulders and drawing her into his side. 

“About thirty minutes?”

“Why do you always get here so early? You could have had another cup of tea!”

“Uh, no, we couldn’t. Have you got any idea how much can go wrong with trains?!” Will just laughed at her, shaking his head in disbelief. 

“You’re ridiculous, Squeak.”

“You love me anyway though.”

Their parents stepped over then, having finished talking to Anthony about… whatever they had been talking about (she had been too busy with her conversation with Will to hear), and wrapped her in a teary hug. “You promise you’ll come back sometime next year?” her mother choked out, pulling back and holding her daughter by the shoulders. 

“Promise, Mum.” Her father hugged her then, letting Will comfort Emma. 

“I love you, Y/n. You’ll call us too, won’t you?”

“Of course,” she replied, huffing a laugh. “I already said I would about a hundred times.”

“We’re just making sure! Right. Off you two go, then, or you’ll miss your train.”

“Ben, they’ve got half an hour.”

“I know that, Emma, but what if something goes wrong?”

“Dad, please don’t jinx it. I’ll let you know when we’re back, alright?” She moved away, grabbing the handle of her suitcase and frowning when she felt Anthony’s hand already there. “I can take my own luggage, Ant.”

He shrugged. “I know. But I’ve got two hands and you have the tickets.”

“Your logic doesn’t make much sense; I also have two hands. And anyway, you could have your bag and your ticket, and I could have mine!”

“Just- just let me take your luggage, darling.” How could she say no when he was looking at her like that? She relented her grasp on the handle, casting him a mock glare before turning to look at her family one last time. 

“Have a safe journey, you two,” her mother said with a smile. 

“Yeah, get back home safe,” Y/n responded, starting to move towards the station entrance. She could hear Anthony behind her, the suitcase wheels dragging on the concrete while his repurposed kit bag bounced against his side. 

“You alright?” he asked once they were on the train, bags safely stowed. 

“Yeah. Looking forward to being home again.” It was funny, really. The last time she had been on a train she would have scowled at herself for calling Anthony Lockwood’s house her home, but now here she was, doing it without a second thought. 

“What are we going to tell the others?”

“Well… it’ll be late when we get back, right? I mean it’s already three o’clock now and it’s getting darker, so maybe by the time we get in they’ll be in bed? Or on a case if they managed to get a client. We could just do what you said and see how long it takes them?”

“I think you coming out of my bedroom in the morning would be a pretty big hint, darling. But I do love a game,” he grinned, already thinking about their friends’ reactions. “How do we think they’re going to respond?”

“Not a clue. George will probably say ‘I told you so’ or something.”

“Was… was that meant to be an impression of George?”

“Yeah?”

“Darling, no offence, but I think you might be worse than me.”

“Arsehole.”

~~~

It was dark when they got back, although that wasn’t a surprise given it was the middle of winter. 

Anthony had unloaded the bags from the taxi, smiling and thanking the driver with both words and payment, and had turned around to see Y/n stood on the pavement. She looked exhausted, rubbing her eyes and yawning while she waited for him to finish up. The gate stood locked, and 35 Portland Row seemed empty, the windows as dark and grey as the sky. 

Weird, he thought. Maybe they’re out on a case.

He shouldered his bag and pulled up the handle on Y/n’s suitcase just as the last of the noise from the taxi leaving died off and the road went quiet. Then he heard a scream that was so piercing he dropped the luggage and clapped his hands over his ears, squeezing his eyes shut as though it would save his hearing. A ghost? Only Visitors could make a sound that fear-inducing, and if the chill that crept along his spine was anything to go by he would need some sort of weapon. Maybe their best bet was to get inside the house, so he reached for his keys and tried to block out the screaming. 

His keys. 

Shit, where were his keys? He looked up to see if Y/n was alright, if she had maybe had the wise idea to remove herself from possible danger before he did, and his heart stopped in his chest. 

The gate was still closed, and 35 Portland Row still empty and cold. Somehow it felt a whole lot darker than it had just a few moments ago, and Anthony belatedly realised that it might have something to do with the rapidly spreading blue tinge on Y/n’s arm. He couldn’t see any Visitors nearby, or any death glows that might have been stepped on by either one of them to provoke an attack, but all of that had happened so fast that he didn’t have time to process any of it. “Darling? Darling look at me.” He couldn’t hide the tremor in his voice when he spoke, memories of another time a girl he had loved died in much the same way, and he refused to let that happen again. “Let’s get you inside, yeah? There’s some adrenaline shots in the hallway, I just need you to stand up for me, darling. Y/n, please. Please, just stand up.” Why was she so heavy? Why was he so heavy? Was this what dying felt like?

“Anthony?” 

Why did her voice sound so far away? No. He couldn’t let this happen. He tried to lift her again, but somehow she was even heavier than before. Maybe he was tired, or too weak. 

“Anthony, what’s going on?” Her face was blurring and he realised that it was because he was crying, but his hands were too weighted to lift and wipe the tears away. 

“I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice cracking. “I don’t know, darling. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You’ll be okay.”

“Anthony!” 

That had been louder, as though she were talking right into his ear, and he gasped for air and sat bolt upright. 

“Anthony, are you okay? You looked-”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, eyes blinking back the harsh light that threatened to turn him blind. 

“What are you sorry for?”

“I can’t… I can’t help you,” his breath was coming faster now, and vaguely he noted that there was someone nearby offering him water. His gaze was solely fixed on Y/n, though, and-

Wait. Hadn’t she been on the floor? Now she was on his left where before she had been on his right and in his arms, and her arms were the colour they always were, no blue tinge in sight. “Anthony, what were you dreaming about?”

He stared at her, partly in realisation that none of it had been real, but mostly in disbelief that she wasn’t dying in his arms in front of their home. “What?” The train carriage came back into focus, checkered seats and wooden table forming solid shapes in his line of vision. The view out the windows was barely visible from how dark it was. 

“You were asleep, and then you started… I don’t know. Twitching, I guess? And you were talking but I couldn’t make it out but you sounded really sad, and-” He cut her off by launching himself at her, wrapping his arms around her torso and burying his face in her neck and holding his breath. “Ant?” She paused, slowly bringing her own arms around him and shifting position so that she was more comfortable. “Are… are you breathing right now? I’m gonna need you to breathe for me, Ant, can you do that?”

He did, and immediately choked on a sob. It hadn’t been real, and she was alive. They sat there for a long time while he cried, and then even longer after his tears had subsided and he was just sniffling into her neck. He didn’t know whereabouts they had been when he first woke up, but Y/n finally moved him off of her the station before theirs. “Sorry, just need to shake my arm out. You’re heavier than you look, you know.” They both sat up, and Anthony went to take a tissue out of his coat pocket. “Here,” Y/n whispered, reaching up to wipe his face with her sleeve. Her hands were gentle, barely-there touches on his cheek, but Anthony needed more. He pushed her hand to his face, focusing on the pressure and the warmth of her skin, and the callouses that had built up from being an agent all these years. A few seconds later he felt her forehead against his, and her breath on his mouth (her breath was warm too), and her other hand slipping into his hair, holding him as close as possible. “You’re okay. It’s okay. We’ll be back soon, alright? I think it’s only about ten minutes until we get to our station and then we can call a taxi and go home.”

“Okay.” Whoever it was that had been offering water earlier had left the bottle on the table, and he reached for it now, twisting the cap and downing the liquid. “We’ll be careful once we get out though, right? Because it’s dark and there could be Visitors, and we don’t have our rapiers, and-”

“Anthony, we will be absolutely fine.” Her tone was firm and she pulled his chin up to stare directly in his eyes. “The taxi will drop us off right outside, and if you like I’ll take the keys and get the kettle on. Or you can do that and I’ll get the bags, or we can get our own bags and go up together. Whichever you feel most comfortable with, yeah?” When he nodded she sighed, letting go of his chin and holding his hand instead. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. But if you do, I’m here, alright?”

“I know. Thank you.”

He didn’t let go of her hand until they were safely back in 35 Portland Row, front door shut and locked and bags in his room ready to be unpacked in the morning. 

~~~

Lucy Carlyle had had the best sleep of her life. 

She’d come back from seeing Norrie the day before, the freak snowstorm keeping her from getting back sooner, and the journey had been so horrific she’d passed out the moment she got into bed. Screaming children and drunk men had populated the carriage, creating so much noise that she hadn’t been able to go to sleep on the train, and she was starting to look like Lockwood with the bags under her eyes. 

Now it was nearly midday, and she had managed to crawl out of bed, sling on some clothes, and stumble down the stairs to put the kettle on for some tea. 

Given how late Lockwood and Y/n must have got back last night (it had been after her, and the clock in the hall had shown a time that was both far too late and far too early for her liking), she had been expecting them, as well as George, to be in bed. But then again Y/n hadn’t been in the attic with her when she’d woken up just now (although her vision had been rather blurry, so she totally could have missed a whole human being in the room), so maybe she was already downstairs?

What she hadn’t expected was walking in to the kitchen to see both Y/n and Lockwood having a normal conversation (well, as normal as conversations in this house could go, she was quite sure they were discussing frogs), in which neither of them was glaring or looking like they would commit a felony at any given moment. Lockwood was leaning back against the kitchen sink (looking very snug in his grey hoodie and comfy trousers), mug of tea in one hand while the other braced his weight on the counter, and he was chatting happily to Y/n (who was wearing what looked suspiciously like one of Lockwood’s jumpers). She was sat at the kitchen table, cupping her tea with both hands, and the smile on her face, Lucy realised with a start, was genuine. 

“… Morning?” She started, pushing the kitchen door open and moving further into the room, eyeing her friends. 

“Morning, Luce,” Lockwood replied, taking a large gulp of his tea. He didn’t seem fazed by the incredibly strange situation that was happening right now (was this some sort of a fever dream? Maybe she was hallucinating from sleep deprivation or something), and Lucy nearly poured the still-hot water on her hand instead of in the mug. “Sleep alright?”

“Uh… yeah. What time did you two get back last night?”

“Oh, I don’t even know,” Y/n started. “Definitely past two in the morning, but we were so tired we didn’t really look at the time.”

“Right.” There was a pause while Lucy finished making her tea, and as she took an experimental first sip she regarded them over the top of her drink. “So… Y/n. Did you just collapse on the sofa downstairs or something? I didn’t hear you come in last night.” The other girl froze for a moment, and if Lucy wasn’t a trained operative then she probably wouldn’t have noticed it since her panic was almost instantly replaced by forced calm. 

“Oh, uh…” she glanced at Lockwood, who made some sort of face in reply. “… no?”

“Huh, you must have been quiet, then. That or I was sleeping like a rock.”

“Sure,” Y/n said, a weird look on her face. She was smiling, but almost like she knew something that Lucy didn’t, and that puzzled her. A chuckle sounded from the corner of the room, and under a blue and white striped tea towel, Skull had woken up. 

“You’re really going to take that for an answer? She didn’t even pick one!” Lucy frowned, begrudgingly realising that Skull was right. Y/n hadn’t really answered her question, and what had happened at her parents’ house the last couple of weeks for her to stop trying to kill Lockwood by glaring at him? 

As nonchalantly as possible she asked “So you were quiet? Or was I sleeping like a rock?” 

“Um… I was quiet?” She didn’t sound very sure, and Lucy’s suspicion was growing at the same rate that Skull’s grin was. 

“I know for a fact she didn’t make it all the way up the stairs last night,” he said, some of the sludge in the jar forming comically large eyebrows that waggled around. Now that was interesting. Why would Y/n say she’d been quiet coming in if she had never come in in the first place? Lucy was just about to ask that very question when George trudged into the kitchen, oversized shirt thankfully covering what his lack of trousers didn’t. He pushed his glasses up his nose and squinting at the people gathered. 

“… What’s going on? Y/n’s not trying to murder Lockwood.”

“Why is that a thing?! I’m not always trying to kill him!”

“In fairness, it was a regular occurrence, dar-” Lockwood’s mouth snapped shut, cutting off whatever he’d been about to say. Lucy saw his jaw clench, unclench, then clench again while he flitted his eyes closed in some sort of silent prayer. 

“Yeah…” George said. “This is weird.” He stood at the head of the table, lifting a hand to scratch at his side like a monkey. “Dare I ask how your Christmas was?”

“I mean… Steph and Linda were there, but after I slapped Steph and Mum shouted at Linda they left.” Lucy stood straighter in shock, pushing off the counter she had previously been leaning on. George was similarly surprised, but Lockwood? Lockwood was grinning with pride. 

“You slapped your cousin?!” George exclaimed, a smile growing on his face. “Like, you properly hit her?!”

“I mean… yeah?” Y/n replied, taking a sip of tea. 

“It was awesome,” Lockwood added, and Lucy and George shared a look. 

“You think he would have said that before?” Skull piped up again. “I certainly don’t. Something happened while they were away, that’s for sure. And I know what it was!” He said the last part in a sing-song voice, face turning over in the jar. 

“Yeah, well you could just tell me,” Lucy muttered, drawing everyone’s attention. “Sorry. Skull’s talking.”

“Where’s the fun in that! Better to watch you figure it all out on your own!”

“Bastard.” 

George had started making his own tea, popping two slices of bread into the toaster and giving it a good whack when it didn’t immediately start working. Satisfied that his breakfast was underway, he busied himself with his drink. “So Y/n… how come your suitcase was in Lockwood’s room?” he questioned, turning and pushing his glasses further up his nose. Lucy tried to disguise her shock, but that resulted in a small smirk instead, her eyebrows rising while she regarded her friends. 

Lockwood answered. “She didn’t want to lug it all the way up the stairs, not with the time being what it was. It just… hasn’t been moved yet.” Y/n nodded, a little too enthusiastically, and cast a worried glance towards Skull. 

“So Y/n and her suitcase slept in Lockwood’s room?” George asked, still probing for answers. He had a little smile on his face, one of those ‘I figured it out’ ones that when she had first joined the agency, Lucy had mistaken for ‘I’m better than you’ smirks. She wasn’t far behind him, and if she hadn’t already figured it out then the reactions of Y/n and Lockwood were enough to confirm her suspicions. 

“Yeah, that’s right,” Y/n said, sipping her tea. There was a brief pause in which Lockwood nodded, smiling softly at her, and then it set in. Lockwood looked like he had malfunctioned, the cogs in his brain turning but not producing any kind of reaction other than a blank stare with confused eyes. Y/n choked on her mouthful of tea, spitting some of it back out into the mug and resting it on the kitchen table while she coughed. Immediately Lockwood’s brain started functioning properly again, and he quickly put his own tea down and went to help Y/n, fussing over her like a worried parent. 

Skull was chuckling in the corner again, and Lucy couldn’t help but join in. George laughed too, his mirth only growing when Lockwood and Y/n turned and glared at him. “Alright,” Lucy started. “Why was Y/n sleeping with Lockwood?”

“I wasn’t sleeping with him!” the other girl spluttered, apparently thinking that Lucy had suggested that the pair of them had had sex, and George was now nearly doubled over with laughter. Lockwood smirked, and before Lucy could protest he was already opening his mouth. 

“I mean not last night, but there were plenty of times at your parents’ house where we-”

“OH MY DAYS NO, STOP-” Y/n got up, all but tackling Lockwood to the ground and slapping her hand over his mouth to prevent him from finishing his sentence. Lockwood went down like a sack of potatoes, and the ‘oof’ he let out on impact had made Lucy snort into her mug. “They don’t need to know that, idiot,” she whispered, but since sound echoed in the kitchen Lucy and George could still hear her, even after the toaster popped loudly. 

“How long have you two… been like this?” Lucy asked, waving her hand in their direction where they now laid on the floor. Lockwood tried to talk but Y/n’s hand was still firmly keeping his mouth shut, and while he was attempting to prise himself out of her grip she was apparently too strong. Lucy didn’t want to think about how much his jaw would hurt afterwards; she had had pillow fights with Y/n that had ended with trips to the medical cabinet because the pair of them got too ambitious with their hits. 

Y/n answered, still attempting to maintain some dignity. “On the floor? A few seconds-”

“Let me rephrase,” Lucy cut her off, putting her finished mug of tea down on the counter with a decisive thud. “How long have you two been together?” Y/n stilled, giving Lockwood time to wriggle out of her grasp and glance awkwardly between his gathered colleagues. He pushed himself to sit back against the kitchen cabinets, one arm resting outstretched on his knee while the other scratched at his neck. He was nervous, then. He looked like he wanted to answer, but he was still shifting his gaze between them all. 

“Uh…” Y/n started. There was a pause, and then she sighed. “Dammit.” She fished around in her pocket and pulled out a slightly crumpled five pound note. Lucy frowned for a moment, wondering what the hell a fiver had to do with this situation, then huffed in surprise when it was passed very begrudgingly to Lockwood. He looked very pleased with himself, accepting the money without moving much, hand outstretched to catch the note between his index and middle fingers. 

“What was that for?” George asked, although he’d just taken a mouthful of his toast so it came out more muffled. 

“Lockwood said we wouldn’t last a day keeping it secret from you both, and I bet that we could.” Y/n shrugged, shuffling around on the floor to sit between Lockwood’s legs. He didn’t get the message at first, too busy stuffing the money into his hoodie pocket, but after a sharp jab to his thigh he moved, wrapping his arms around her waist and complaining when Y/n shoved her elbows into his middle. 

“I swear you do that deliberately,” he muttered, but there wasn’t any malice behind it like there would have been before the holidays. 

“I don’t! If you keep complaining about it then I will do it on purpose, dickhead.”

That was better. Lucy shuddered at the thought of the two of them being overly sickly sweet, all cuddles and pet names like ‘Sugar’ or ‘Schmoopie’, and was instantly glad that the competitive streak in them both had apparently stayed. It would be a lot easier to stomach living with a new couple if they weren’t being insufferably cute. 

“So… you bet on your own acting skills?” questioned George, finishing his slice of toast. “Seems a bit stupid, really. You’re both awful at acting.” Lockwood and Y/n stopped bickering, instead staring up at George in shared outrage. 

“How dare you! I’m a charades champion!”

“I can act, it’s Lockwood that’s the problem!”

They spoke at the same time, both pointing at Lockwood for their respective comments, and Y/n took a moment to take in what he’d said. “Charades champion?” she said, drawing out the syllables and turning slowly to look at him over her shoulder. “We already talked about this, Ant. Using props is cheating, so you lost every game you played!” Lucy frowned. ‘Ant’? Since when had Lockwood let anybody call him Ant?! Apparently he didn’t mind, instead being too busy looking at Y/n with hearts for eyes while he tried (ineffectively) to argue his case. It was obvious that Y/n would win, given how wrapped around her little finger Lockwood was, but the argument wasn’t really an argument. More like… friendly teasing. Lucy could deal with that, she decided. It was much better than having to comfort one of them or convince apologies out of them after a screaming match. 

Skull had gone silent in the corner, but there was a smile in the sludge. He almost certainly had some information, but Lucy could get the details out of him and her friends later.

For now, she was content to watch them be a proper family for the first time since Y/n joined, even if Lockwood’s laughing face was being shoved away from the aforementioned girl as he tried to kiss her in an attempt to apologise for cheating at charades. 

tag list (if you're on here twice or I forgot you I'm so sorry, this tag list is honestly such a mess whoops):

@strawberryloveyyy, @chameleon021, @genderfluid-anime-goth, @cottagecore-babe, @anthonylockwoodandco111, @a-taken-url, @ahead-fullofdreams, @aislinrayne, @anathemaloren, @anthgoldenhrry, @augustisintheair, @aysha4life, @briar-rose23, @curseofhecate, @dangelnleif, @edible-rat-vomit, @el-de-phi, @ell0ra-br3kk3r, @ettadear, @fearlessmoony, @fudosl, @idkbubs, @imaginebeingmentallystable, @informedimagining, @karensirkobabes, @lady-ashfade, @light-23, @locklyebrainrot, @locklyle1kanij, @locknco, @magicandrosewaters, @mentallyillsodapop, @mischivana, @mitskiswift99, @mrsklockwood, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @newbooksmell777, @no-morning-glories, @novelizt, @phlooper, @ran23sblog, @reggiepeterss, @simrah1012, @somethingrandomwatzit, @star-of-velaris, @superpositvecloudshipper, @t2sh0, @taygrls, @tournesol77, @whistle1whistle, @whenselenefallsinlove, @wordsarelife, @y0urm0m12, @zoom1374, @asyouwish-fromcabin3, @rhysand-devorak, @a-candle-maker, @h0lyheck, @apple-bottom-jeans6, @icantwaittoliveandlearn

@neewtmas, @bobbys-not-that-small, @avdiobliss, @demigoddess-of-ghosts, @maraschinomerry, @lewkwoodnco, @uku-lelevillain, @oblivious-idiot

[fbfh]

curiosity is a wonderful thing - chapter 1

wc: 2k

genre: slice of life, slow burn, best friends to lovers

pairing: slowburn best friend ben! x fem daughter of alice!reader, current audrey x ben

warnings: audrey being a bitch, unnecessary amounts of tea, ben being ben, mildly implied nd reader

summary: after a junior royal council meeting, you hype up your best friend Ben to tell his parents about his plans for his first proclaimation as king.

song recs: main titles 1 2 & 3 - descendants score/david lawrence, cheshire kitten (we're all mad here) - sj tucker

a/n: THE NEW SERIES IS HERE!!!! I am so excited for this, it's been one of my comfort indulgence daydreams for the longest time so I'm really elated to share it with y'all. BIG FAT FANGZ TO CICI FOR BETA READING!!!!!! and fangz to you guys for reading!!!!! I hope you enjoy lol <333 have an optional outfit. as a treat.

tags @dustyinkpages @demirunner @strawberry-cake1 @kiara7777 @yesv01 @magcon7280

Audrey was shocked when Ben had first told her that you and he weren't dating. She knew that you were friends, best friends at that. Everyone in Auradon did. Everyone also knew that what you had between you couldn't possibly be just platonic, not with the way you look at each other, how much time you spend together, or how intimately you speak to each other. It’s like you have your own language.

Everyone in Auradon knows this, with the exception of you and Ben, apparently. Even now, in the middle of a junior royal council meeting, Aziz shares a pitying look with Herkie at the way Audrey holds onto Ben’s arm while he goes over the agenda. Neither of them miss the way her gaze flicks between you two, trying to see if you’re stealing glances. You’re seated at his right hand side, like you usually are, as he goes over the last few items on the agenda for the meeting today and try to pay as much attention as you can. You scribble in your notebook as he does, nibbling at a tea biscuit and trying not to miss any of the important bits. 

“...Facing a longstanding struggle to keep up with the increased demand of the textile industry,” Ben says, skimming through his papers. He glances up, and he knows no one is really paying attention except for you. “Looking to open up a- a more collaborative process of dialog with key workers in the textile industry, and unified front between all the major groups who paved the way to textiles as we know them today, while also compensating for the rise in automation.” 

Across the table, Chad yawns. Lonnie and Melody pass notes between them, at least attempting to be subtle about it. You listen to Ben continue to update everyone on the ongoing current events in Auradon, and your pen drifts away from taking notes as you do, and begins to scribble little shapes in the margins of your well loved notebook. Your other hand moves down under the table, adjusting your pale blue skirt and tugging at the elastic of your black and white striped stockings. Ben’s gaze flicks over to you as you adjust in your seat, tugging at the puffy sleeves of your white blouse a moment later. He can tell you’re starting to get fidgety, which means it’s about time to wrap all this up. Plus, he has a suit fitting in ten minutes that he can’t be late for, or else Lumier will probably char something by accident. 

“Negotiations are still in progress, and of course, we’re looking for any way possible to avoid an embargo. I think that’s the last thing anyone needs…” Ben trails off with a chuckle, only to be met with silence. He looks back at his paper, trying to find his place before the silence gets anymore awkward. Before he can, he hears you let out a puff of air in agreement. 

“That’s quite an understatement.” You smile up at him, catching his eye before you each return to your respective papers. Your Wonderlandian accent is comforting, like a familiar friend in a tough crowd. People have described your accent many ways, most concluding it’s somewhere between british and transatlantic, but you don’t think you have much of an accent at all. Ben says you do, and you trust his judgment on the topic. Audrey maintains a tight smile on her face as Ben gently frees his arm from her to look through his papers in more detail. Once he’s sure he’s not missing anything, he goes through the usual motions of wrapping up a junior council meeting. 

“All party planning committee members are welcome to hang back, the floor is yours,” He says to Audrey, gathering up all his papers with a smile. “Everyone else, thank you for your time as always, and have a good evening.” 

Ben heads to the door as people start to funnel out and make conversation. Audrey waits as the other people on the party planning committee move up the table to sit closer to her, glancing at you as you put your notebook, pens, notes, and teacup back into that teapot shaped bag you always carry. It’s enchanted with Wonderland magic, and it makes her uneasy. She thinks you should just get a tote bag, or backpack, like a normal person. 

“Bunny,” Ben calls from the doorway, getting your attention with the nickname he’s had for you for years. Her train of thought quickly turns away from bags as  you look over, noticing it’s time to go and scurrying over to him. She watches you both talk quietly and head to wherever you’re going next, trying to ignore the quiet, burning jealousy seeping up into her. It’s nothing new, she reminds herself. She knew you two were best friends when she got together with her Bennyboo, so she knew what she was signing herself up for.

“Are we ready?” She asks curtly, turning towards Jane. She refuses to spend another second worrying about you, and instead, she channels all her energy into sifting through streamer sample colors. Whatever you two are doing can’t be as important as this. She’s sure whatever you’re discussing right now during Ben’s suit fitting is just meaningless small talk. Nothing of any importance. 

“I… truly don’t think you could have picked a better, more impactful first proclamation, Ben.” You conclude with a sip of raspberry tea. A wave of relief washes through him as he pulls on the blue suit jacket for Lumier to tailor. 

“You think so? Because, I-I’m only going to get to do this once, and-” 

He’s cut off by you nodding solemnly. 

“What better way to pave the way to the future than mending rifts of the past?” You ask rhetorically. 

“Yes!” Ben exclaims, letting his hands fall to his sides with a smile, a gesture you mirror. “You get it…” 

“Of course.” You smile at him, and it’s quiet for a moment as you take another sip of your tea. “You know your parents will…” You begin, but Ben is already nodding. 

“Oh yeah.” He agrees. “I wrote down everything from the pros column, and ideas for everything in the cons.” 

“Good,” you say, encouragingly. 

“And I have a great mission statement.” He adds, and you can see him getting fired up. You know how much this means to him, how much of his heart he’s putting into helping as many people as possible and being a good king to everyone, even the citizens on the Isle. If you know Ben - and you’re sure you do by now - you know how he can start to overthink things right before a presentation, even an informal one. He’s as prepared as he’ll ever be, and you have his back. He knows this.

“Oh, I meant to ask,” you say breezily as Lumier enters, “how are things going with Audrey?”  

You wiggle your eyebrows at him, sending him a comically scandalous look. He laughs as you wave hello to Lumier, and you think it’s the first time he’s relaxed in the last 30 hours or so. You flip through your journal, selecting a few pictures you took recently of flora in Wonderland, doodling their leaves and stalks on a mostly blank page. He laughs, hanging his head at the unexpected nature of the question, and Lumier pulls out a tape measure to begin the alterations of Ben’s suit. 

“You’re really- we’re really going to go there?” He asks through a smile. You look up at him, nodding. 

“Mhm.” You confirm. He can’t say no to you, he never can. 

“Okay. Uh, yeah things are good. With me and Audrey.” 

“Good,” you smile, looking up from your paper. He wonders what you’re working on, and always looks forward to seeing your little drawings. Even the ones you dislike, he finds beautiful. He tries to think of what else is going on with Audrey. 

“We, uh… we have a date later this week.” 

“Sleeve.” Lumier interjects, moving Ben’s arm.

“Oh, how fun!” You smile. 

“Head.” Lumier turns Ben to look out the large windows. He thinks for another moment, struggling to find anything else Audrey related to talk about as you distract yourself with the expression of a pouting mushroom you’d gotten a good picture of last time you were in Wonderland. Before he can think of anything else his eyes land on the Isle. His mind wanders toward how forgotten everyone out there must feel. You look up at him, following his gaze. 

“I know.” You say softly. You’ve discussed the Isle and its’ residents at great lengths, both finding a greater deal of compassion for them than most people seem to have. 

“How is it possible that you’re going to be crowned king next month?” Comes King Adam’s booming voice as he and Belle enter from the patio doors. 

“Hello, dear,” Belle smiles at you, resting a hand on your shoulder as they pass, approaching Ben, and you smile a greeting back up at her, and begin putting away your notebook. As close as you two are, you can’t expect anyone but the royal family to be in the room during discussions of Ben’s first proclamation. Both you and Ben knew this had to be a conversation between him and his parents, and as much as you both might like it to be, it’s not really something he can do with you by his side. You scurry past him, sending him an encouraging look. 

“You’ll do great.” You say, your voice just low enough for him to hear it. You touch his arm encouragingly until Lumier shoos you away, not wanting anything to jeopardize the way he finally got Ben’s shoulder to lay on that side. Ben locks eyes with you as you leave. It’s only a moment, but those three words, that one little gesture from you have him more ready than ever. He prepares himself with a breath. 

You’ll probably sneak off to Wonderland for a while, like you usually do with any pockets of spare time you find, so you’ll get to update him on the feud going on between the bluebirds and inchworms by the time he’s done. He takes comfort in that, knowing that even in the worst case scenario, even if everything goes horribly wrong, you’ll still have some fascinating Wonderland stories for him, just like you always do. He finds great comfort in the thought as his parents approach, and knows two things; it’s time for him to begin stepping up, and that you have his back all the way. 

You close the heavy wooden door behind you, walking a few feet down the hall so you don’t accidentally eavesdrop. You sit down against the wall to wait for Ben, and your mind drifts to Wonderland, as it so often does. There’s a peace there, something you’ve never been able to find overland. It calls to you, like a sailor’s heart calls to the sea. You wonder if you have time for a quick trip, just a few minutes in paradise, but you know it’s never really just a few minutes. Time works differently in Wonderland than it does in overland, and it’s unpredictable. The last thing you want is not to be here when Ben is done talking to his parents. 

“I’d better not…” you sigh. Being here for Ben is more important right now. He’s your best friend. So you settle into your little spot in the hallway, smoothing out your blue skirt around you. You reach into your teapot shaped bag, pulling out a small white porcelain teacup with little violets on it, and a matching saucer. You think for a moment about what kind of tea you want right now. Hibiscus, you decide, with a touch of honey. You tilt the spout of your bag, letting the perfectly brewed cup of tea fall from the spout. You take a sip, leafing through your homework to see what you can bore yourself with to pass the time. You don’t know how long Ben will be in there, and you don’t care too much. You’re sure he’ll do wonderfully, and that’s really all you care about right now.