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thirstworldproblemss · 1 year ago

Text

Fic: Closer

cowritten with @astroboots

Fandom: Moon Knight Pairing: Jake Lockley x F reader (x Steven, x Marc) Length: 5.6k words Rating: Explicit 🔞 Warnings: This fic contains explicit sexual content including dirty talk, spitting, anal play, and anal sex. (That's it. That's the fic.)

Summary: Jake checks an item off his bucket list, and you both thoroughly enjoy yourselves.

Notes: Many thanks to @guruan who fixed our my extremely questionable Spanish (any remaining mistakes are entirely my fault) and whose deliciously debauched art is a never-ending source of inspiration. More thanks (and uh... oh god, sorry 🙈) to the poor anon who submitted the prompt that spawned this to Cici last Kinktober and had to wait a whole year to see the damn thing. And, of course, ALL my love to my darling cowriter and 🤡💖🤡 sister, @astroboots, who always makes writing a joy, and without whom this never would have been started, finished, or posted at all.

[ twp’s Masterlist | boots' Masterlist ]

Jake hasn’t spent a lot of time in the driver’s seat over the years. For a long time he only fronted on rare occasions. Life or death situations mostly. Those hair-trigger moments when the body is in critical danger and a moment’s hesitation is all it’d take for all three of them to wind up dead.

Those times when things are too much for Marc or Steven to be able to handle? That’s when it’s Jake’s turn at the wheel.

It’s why normally the first thing he sees when he opens his eyes, in command of the body, is the source of imminent danger:

The face of the man who has a knife pressed against the collar of his military uniform in the middle of a desert.

A panoramic view through the windshield of a truck that is seconds from veering off a winding cliff-side road.

A long-haired Jim Jones wannabe staring down at him along a glowing walking stick protruding from his own chest.

But things have been different lately. For one thing, he’s been spending a lot more time fronting, and not just in dangerous situations.

For another, he’s learning that there’s so much more world out there than he’d ever imagined. There’s Ben & Jerry’s peanut popcorn flavored ice cream, Saturday karaoke nights, Derby Girls and you.

Always you.

You were just Steven’s girl first, and then somehow against all odds Marc got involved too, and now that Jake’s been allowed a taste, he's never letting you go. You’re his guide to the wide world, the road map keeping him on the right route, the safe resting place when he’s tired. Su alma, his soul.

And right now you look exhausted. Your thighs shaky and trembling, matted hair glued to your forehead, all of you dripping with sweat and other things. Steven must have really worn you out before he ceded the front.

Sweet, shy little Steven—Mr. Sunshine—who just fucked you seemingly within an inch of your life before he remembered that he needs to share.

And Marc thinks Jake is the unhinged one.

The punch of adrenaline that always comes with fronting is still running through his veins, and he’s already hardening at the sight of you on your stomach, ass up in the air on display for him, Steven’s come just beginning to drip out of you. It doesn’t matter that the body just came, it’s Jake’s turn now.

He slides his rapidly stiffening cock through your slippery folds, nudging the head against your clit, you and him both slick and sloppy with Steven's come and your own wetness.

“Aaah – Jake,” you gasp sharply into the pillow.

You know it’s him. He doesn’t know how. You haven’t even turned around to look at him, but somehow you just know. You always know. It’s an uncanny magic trick that impresses the hell out of him every time.

Jake grips one side of your ass in his free hand, squeezing hard. You’re all smooth skin and soft flesh under his finger, your cute little asshole peeking up at him. You’d kill him if he’d called it that out loud. So he doesn’t. He bites his tongue, swallowing down the groan that’s simmering in his throat at the sight of you.

He can't resist sliding his thumb over that little pucker. He barely even brushes over you when you let out a pretty gasp for him. His cock is fully hard now, and it jerks against you at the sound, so he does it again, just to see if you’ll make the same noise twice. You do.

Then you moan, sharp and keen, and he has to pull back, hand sliding over his slick length once before he leans in and replaces his thumb with the head of his cock. Taking his time, he slides it along the curve of your ass before nestling himself snugly between your cheeks. He makes an absolute mess as he goes, smearing the shiny slick left by Steven all over your bare skin until everything is a glistening sheen under the dim light as he begins to thrust forward, sliding his cock between the valley of your cheeks.

Jake's dreamed of taking you here. He wants to take every fucking hole you have, fill you up and cover you with his come until it's dripping off of–out of every inch of your body.

Mierda. Even just the thought of it has heat climbing his spine, and his cock jerks in his fist and spitting even more precome into the mess already covering your spine and the rounded curves of your ass.

He thrusts against you again, fucking himself between your cheeks, and you mewl quietly, pressing back against him. Maybe he won’t even fuck your pussy this time. Maybe he’ll just stay right here and rub his cock on your gorgeous ass until he comes all over it. Add to Steven’s mess with one of his own. He’ll do it. And reach around and rub your clit so you come too.

Maybe if he can get you used to the idea of his cock rubbing against your ass, maybe one day you’ll let him put it inside too.

"You can, you know," you mumble out into the pillows, and Jake freezes, heat streaking down to his balls, and he has to grip himself hard at the base to avoid painting your ass with his come right then and there.

Shit, did he say that out loud? He’s pretty sure he didn’t. He must have heard you wrong. Or he misunderstood. You can't possibly be offering what he thinks you are.

"You can try putting it in. I might ask you to stop if I don't like it, but..." you your knees slightly, and the move has your ass practically wiggling at him in temptation, "It feels good right now."

Jake's brain stalls out. His body flashes hot all over. The back of his neck is tingling. He squeezes the base of his cock so hard he thinks he might be in danger of doing permanent damage, but he'll be damned if he comes on your ass right now when he’s just been told he might get to come in it.

Gritting his teeth, Jake breathes through his body’s urge to come, pushing down the near-overwhelming need to shove his cock into your tight little asshole immediately. He knows he has to prep you if there's going to be any chance of you enjoying this, and he needs you to enjoy it because he wants to be able to do it again (and again and again and...)

Shit. He needs to get on with it, or he's going to finish before he even makes it inside.

Jake makes himself let go of his aching cock, leaves it bobbing and dripping in midair, and turns his focus on you.

Leaning closer, he uses both hands to pull your ass cheeks apart, and just looks at you for a minute, watching your body clench around nothing.

"You want me to fuck you here, sweetheart?" he demands, sticky thumb sliding down through the mess of your slick and Steven’s come to circle your puckered hole, almost but not quite touching it, "Gonna let me put my cock inside this tight little hole and fill it up with my come?"

You whine, your whole body shivering under him, and he grins, satisfaction buzzing in his veins when your hips cant further up, trying to get him to touch you.

It’s fucking adorable is what it is. He is starting to understand why Marc likes to edge you now. How could he not? You’re always so reactive and needy when you’re denied. You make it so fun to tease.

Sliding his thumb down, he slicks it around and around, just to watch you whine and shiver and shift, hips chasing his touch. His dick jerks with every noise you make and every time your body visibly clenches.

As fun as this is, a bright delight humming in his chest at your every little reaction, Jake doesn’t have the patience to tease you for long.

He’s not like Marc. El Jefe seems to have infinite patience when it comes to this, but it’s only a minute or two before Jake can’t wait any longer. He feels like he’s going to jump out of his skin if he doesn’t get inside you one way or another. So he stops, holding his hand still to let you “catch” him.

When you do, he sucks in harsh breath, heat punching through him as he watches you rub yourself against his thumb, heart rate spiking as you lean back, the tip of his thumb pushing inside just a little.

It's barely anything, but the feeling of you parting to let his his thumb slips inside, then squeezing him back out is addictive. He presses harder, wanting more. His thumb slides a bare inch inside, and his groan barely covers the strangled sound you make, body tensing under him.

Sweat breaks out on his forehead along with the realization that he cannot fuck this up.

"Alright, mi alma?" he asks, trying to sound sweet and gentle, but his voice, low and eager, betrays him. A starving wolf in a sloppy sheep disguise. He’s not fooling anyone, not himself and certainly not you.

Reigning himself in as best as he can, his fingers close into a fist with tight tension blaring in every nerve. Then he unfurls his palm to pet his hand over your back and down your side to give your ass a gentle squeeze.

“Do you need me to stop?"

"N-no," comes the shaky answer, and Jake thanks any gods who might be listening, "It feels a bit odd, but..." you squeeze around his thumb, hot and unbelievably tight, and Jake swears under his breath, "It’s a good odd, I think. Just– just give me a moment."

You shift slightly, clenching again, and his cock jerks and throbs like the nerves of his thumb have somehow been reattached directly to his aching length. He really fucking doesn’t want to come before he even gets inside you, but right now he’s not sure if that’s in the cards for him.

Then you push back against him, and his thumb slides in another half inch, and both of you gasp. He pulls out slightly and risks a small thrust back inside. He's rewarded by another gasp and a small moan, so he does it again, a little further this time, and this time the moan is louder.

Fuck, you look so good like this, ass all slick and slippery. Before he even knows what he’s doing, Jake leans forward, spitting onto the curve of your ass right above where his thumb is inside you.

You jerk when it lands on your skin, and he likes that. Likes that even though he’s done it before it always seems to take you by surprise. Likes how his spit looks on your skin too, shiny and slick as it slides down the crack of your ass to join the rest of the mess he’s smeared there. Likes that when he pushes it into your tight little asshole, it’s one more way that he can be inside you, make you a little bit more his in a way that will linger after he’s no longer with you.

You whine as he pulls his thumb all the way out, he spits again, hitting his target, directly on your pretty little asshole, then he presses in again, shoving more of his spit into you.

Like most things when it comes to how he feels about you, Jake doesn’t entirely understand why he likes this so much. It’s primal, somehow, a deep-seated need to mark you with himself–his spit, his scent, his come.

His cock is aching, throbbing in time with the way you clench every time he pushes his thumb into you. Jake can't stand it, has to wrap his free hand around himself, gripping as hard as he dares, and stroking slowly. He grits his teeth against how good it feels, red hot pleasure searing up his spine as he leans in to slide the head of his overwrought, leaking cock along your ass, right next to where his thumb is shoved inside.

"You feel how hard you make me?" he demands, pressing himself against you, relishing the way you shift and moan again, body still squeezing around his thumb, but loosening with every passing moment as you relax. It also has the added benefit of his precome dripping down to lubricate things even more as he thrusts into you a little deeper each time. "Fuck, I can't wait to get inside this tight little hole. You gonna let me in, mi alma?"

"Yes, yes, Jake! Please!" you cry out, only partially muffled where your face is pressed into the pillows, and he damn near loses it again. Has to press his cock against you hard, almost to the point of pain as fire licks out along his nerves, threatening to send him over the edge.

"You want this cock in your ass right now?" he grits out, vaguely aware that he should probably spend more time prepping you, stretching you so you can take him easier, but he can't wait another fucking second.

He pulls back, pulls his thumb out, and you whine out his name Jake, Jake, Jake as you push your ass up and back, chasing his touch.

He looks down to see a blur of movement between your legs, and realizes that at some point you shoved a hand underneath yourself to rub at your clit.

It’s pure impulse. He doesn’t think. Before he even realizes what he's about to do, Jake’s hand flashes out, coming down on your ass with a sharp crack that sends your flesh jiggling in an all-too-appealing way.

You cry out, sharp and high-pitched, but Jake knows from experience that it's a cry of shock, not of pain, and he quickly follows up on his advantage.

"Naughty naughty, sweetheart,” he scolds, “Who said you could touch yourself?"

You freeze, obviously caught, and several seconds tick by where he watches approvingly as the mark left on your supple skin from the impact of his hand shades into a darker hue before you whine again, "Please, Jake. I need– I need–"

That's more like it.

"Pobrecita," he croons to you, enjoying the way you relax at his gentle tone, "Do you need more?"

You nod into the pillow.

He leans in and smacks his cock against the same place his hand struck. You jolt, letting out the hottest fucking sound, so he does it again, and has to grit his teeth against the noise that wants to escape him at the sensation.

"You want this cock, mi alma?" he demands, voice harsh, "You want me fuck your ass with it right now?"

"Yes. Yes, Jake. Fuck, please. YES!" you pant out, sounding as desperate as he feels. You’re pressing back against him, hips shifting so you can press that pretty little hole right against the tip of him, acting for all the world like you're going to fuck yourself back onto his cock if he doesn't give it to you fast enough.

It's a heady feeling, to hear you beg for him, and part of him wants to hear you do it again, and again and again. To leave you there, begging for him as you struggle to fuck yourself on him. Lucky for you, he is nothing like Marc.

"All you had to do was ask, mi alma," he grates out as he begins a slow press forward, "All you ever have to do is ask, and I'll give you the world."

Your body yields to him, the head of his cock slipping inside, and he has no more words. Only a strangled groan to match your whine as you clamp down hot and impossibly tight around him.

A sparkling clarity descends, time dilating, stretching out the way it does when he's in the middle of a fight, and he can only be grateful because he's barely clinging to his composure by the tips of his fingers here.

One truth stands out above everything else: he can't hurt you.

He has to go slow, keep control, make it good for you.

Jake wraps an arm around you, fingers tangling with yours to rub desperate circles around your clit, and he breathes a sigh of relief when you relax slightly under and around him. Still he doesn't move, not sure if he can without losing it and pumping you full of his come right then and there.

It's only when your hips start to move, hitching forward against his fingers, and then back to fuck yourself a little farther onto his aching cock that he dares draw in another breath, dares to meet your movements with small thrusts of his own, fucking in a little further each time.

And you take him just like that, little by little. One slow press, one torturous inch at a time, until he's buried as deep in you as he can go.

"Fuck. Jake," you gasp out, clenching hard around him, and he groans.

He makes the mistake of looking down at where you’re stretched tight around the base of his cock, taking every fucking inch he has to give, and the sight hits him like a punch to the gut. His hips stutter forward involuntarily, and somehow you take him even deeper.

You make a strangled sound, clamping down so tight it borders on the painful, and he freezes, shuddering behind you.

"¡Mierda! ¿Estás bien?" he demands, has to stop and mentally scramble for the words before he can ask again in English, "You okay, mi alma? Shit, did I hurt you?"

"N-no. I'm okay," you pants out in response, "You can– You can move, Jake. Please. Need you to mo–"

Before you even finish the sentence, he’s already pulling out and easing back in. It’s a tight fit, your body hugging him so snugly that nothing else would fit.

Lento, he reminds himself, gently. Not too fast. Gritting his teeth against the demands of his body, he presses himself in and out of you as slowly and carefully as he can manage, and he tries to keep his fingers moving on your clit. His free hand grips your hip, fingers digging in until he’s sure it must be painful, but he can't make himself let go.

You whine, writhing under him as he inches back into you.

"Jake," you pant out, nearly sobbing his name, "Jake, Jake," and he slows further, worried that it's too much.

"No!" you cry out suddenly, and Jake freezes on instinct, holding still as you prop yourself up on one elbow, turning your upper body sharply to one side so you can glare at him over your shoulder, "Don't bloody stop. I want you to fuck me."

The words hit him like a blow, knocking the air out of him, and the determined look on your face stabs him right in the heart, his whole chest pulling tight.

"You've been so patient, Jake,” you cajole him, “and it's good. Better than I thought it would be. I want you to stop holding back. Fuck my ass for real. Let go, Jake."

Fuck, he loves you so fucking much. The feeling is so big, he doesn't know how his body can contain it. He wants to move mountains, conquer the fucking world just so he can lay it at your feet. He'd give you anything.

But the only thing you're asking for right now is his cock, and that he’s just as desperate to give you as you are to take it.

He pulls out slowly, one… last… controlled… withdrawal, then he slams into you so hard it drives you forward across the bed away from him. Digging both hands into your hips, he yanks you back to him, back onto his cock.

"Like this?" he asks as he pulls out and slams into you again, "You want it hard? Like this, mi alma?"

"Yes– Fuck– Yes–" you gasp out between harsh thrusts, "Ja-Jake!"

His name breaking on your lips is the sweetest fucking sound he’s ever heard in his entire life, and it severs the last threads of Jake's control. He lurches forward with a roar, driving himself into your tight little ass over and over again, as hard and fast as he can go.

The force of it knocks you off your elbows, flattening you into the bed, but Jake just yanks you back, repositioning his knees as your hands scrabble uselessly at the sheets.

Every thrust is deep and relentless, burying himself inside you as deep as your body will let him, giving you as much of him as you can take. Until his hip bones are pressed flush against your ass, until his cock is buried inside you to the root, until every inch of him is enveloped by you.

He's so lost in the feel of you, he doesn't realize he’s fucked you all the way across the bed until you're precariously balanced on the edge of the mattress.

Your knee goes first, slipping sideways off the bed mid-thrust, and it's enough to pull him off balance and send you both tumbling to the floor.

Instinct takes over, and before Jake even has a chance to consciously register what’s happening, he’s already twisting, shielding your body so that he takes the brunt of the fall. He winds up hitting the hardwood ass-first before coming to rest with his head against the nightstand and you in his lap.

Miraculously, you’re still connected, the force of the fall shoving you down on his cock farther than ever before, the feeling of being lodged so far inside your tight ass more than enough to overwhelm the slight pain in his tailbone from the fall.

There's a moment of stunned silence, then you start shaking, trembling in his arms, shoulders vibrating against him. He has half a second to worry that he’s fucked up badly enough to make you cry before a loud, bright sound rings out in the room.

You’re laughing. Oh thank fuck.

"Oh my god, Jake! You just fucked me off the bed, quite literally. That's definitely a first!" you exclaim, twisting around to giggle down at him, eyes crinkled with amusement, mouth curved in an open, full-toothed smile. Jake has a handful of seconds to marvel at how beautiful you are before you shift in his lap, your body clamping down around him, and any last lingering shreds of control he might have been clinging to are gone.

Jake lifts his hips, fucking up into you, and watches your eyes go wide, a gasp falling from your lips.

It's not enough.

He grabs your hips, fingers digging into the soft flesh and rolls to his knees, and your gorgeous laughter dissolves into a broken cry of surprise as he drags you with him. The sound melts into a long drawn out moan that has the tip of his ears tingling. He can’t think, all he can do is keep going as he fucks forward into you again, his chest tight against your back as he forces you down onto all fours so he can keep fucking you.

Fuck. The wood floor is hard and uncomfortable under his knees, digging into his kneecaps. He knows it must be worse for you with his weight bearing down on you, but he can't make himself stop.

He's been dreaming about taking you this way for so long, and now he finally gets to. He knows, he knows he should stop and check on you, should move the two of you back up onto the bed where you'll be more comfortable, but that pretty little ass is stretched around him so perfectly, tight and hot around him, and his need is riding him hard.

Heat prickles from the tip of his fingers, spreading along the nerve endings along every patch of skin, fuck. It’s everywhere, expanding across the span of his chest, pooling in his abdomen, gripping into his lungs. He can’t breathe. Can’t stop. Can’t–

"Lo siento," he stutters out. "I'm sorry, mi alma. I can't– I have to–" Words leave him, and all he can do is pant against your neck as his hips jerk into you with increasingly sloppy thrusts.

His end is approaching fast, whether he wants it to or not, and he barely has the presence of mind to shove a hand underneath you, rubbing desperate circles over your clit with fingers gone clumsy with need.

He has to make it good for you. He has to. He has to–

Por fortuna, it only takes a minute for you to tense underneath him, sobbing out his name and tightening around him so forcefully that he can't keep thrusting, his cock locked in place by the tight clench of your body.

The lack of movement is enough to stave off his own orgasm, but just barely, the pleasure is overwhelming, teasing at the tip of his tongue as you shudder underneath him and you flutter rhythmically around his cock. It's so similar to being inside your pussy when you come, but it's different too. The pulse of your pleasure there squeezing him so tight it's nearly painful, but its so, so fucking good.

He breathes through it, pressing open-mouthed, panting kisses against the skin of your back. Does his best to keep his fingers moving on your clit, trying to prolong the moment for you, to draw you pleasure out as long as he can. He wishes he could see your face.

Next time, he promises himself. Face-to-face next time, so he can watch every expression you make as he fucks you full of himself and see the pleasure break across your face when you come with his cock lodged deep inside.

All too soon, you're collapsing forward onto one elbow, your other hand shoving at his where it's buried between your legs, and he lets you push his hand away, planting his palm on the ground next to your head.

You turn weakly to look up at him, pulling partially off of his dick as your body sags like you can’t keep yourself up.

"Are you ready, mi alma?" he grits out, dimly aware that he's shaking as he braces himself above you, "Ready for me to fuck this tight little ass full of my come?"

"Mmm," you hum, sweet and contented under him, "yes, please."

That's all Jake needs to hear.

He slams his hips forward into yours, and the force of the first thrust knocks you forward off your elbow, your chest meeting the ground as you half-collapse under him.

Jake follows you down without stopping, fucking into you hard. You sink a little further towards the floor with each thrust until you're flat on your stomach, but Jake still doesn't stop. He can’t, though he's sure he must be flattening you. Doesn't think he could stop if his life depended on it

He's grinding into you now with increasingly sloppy thrusts, burning heat burrowing into the base of his spine as he holds back his orgasm by sheer will, slurring out endearments against the back of your shoulder.

“Mi alma. Mi vida. Reina de mi corazón.”

And you are. His soul. His life. The queen of his heart. You are all of that and more. His gorgeous, perfect love, taking him, all of him, exactly as he is.

"Do it," you say from underneath him, and reality seems to recede, his vision tunneling in on your lips as they shape the words that just might kill him.

"Fill my ass up with your come. Fuck it into me as deep as you can. I'm yours, Jake."

Jake's orgasm crashes into him like an unexpected switch. Like a bomb going off. Like a knife sliding between his ribs, sharp and sudden. Pleasure sears though every inch of the body that has never felt more like his than it does at this moment, his forehead pressing against the warm skin of your back as he empties himself inside you in pulse after pulse of aching release.

By the time the last shuddering spasm subsides, Jake feels wrung out like a bloody rag. He barely manages to avoid collapsing on top of you, mustering just enough strength to roll the two of you to the side so that he’s no longer squishing you. Pressing a gentle kiss to your shoulder, he carefully pulls out, then pulls you back against his chest, curving his body around yours, and the two of you lay cuddled together like that for a long moment.

Eventually, his strength returns, along with the awareness that the floor he’s holding you on is both hard and probably not all that clean given Steven’s penchant for pouring sand all over. You deserve better. He gets up first, and carefully helps you rise to standing, waiting a moment to be sure you’re steady on your feet, before guiding you gently into the bathroom.

When he flips on the bathroom light, the shadow of his reflection in the small round mirror transforms into a flushed, wide-eyed Steven who mumbles, “That was… God, that was… ”

He doesn’t seem to be able to find the words. Jake’s not sure he could either, but Mr Sunshine doesn’t need to know that, so he just shoots the mirror a smug smile and tips an imaginary cap in that direction before he moves to turn on the shower.

You shiver a little when he steps away from you, so once the water is running, he wraps both arms around you, encouraging you to lean against him while you wait for it to get warm. You do, wrapping one arm around his waist in return and curling into his chest like there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

Jake just watches you. Tilting his head back and slightly to the side to get a better angle, he lets his eyes roam over your face, taking in the soft curve of your cheek, the eyelashes feathered against the soft skin there nod that your eyes have fluttered closed, the hand you’ve settled against his chest, right over his heart, the way your lips curve up into a slight content smile.

You’re beautiful.

You always are, but right now, something about this moment makes Jake’s chest tight. It steals his breath as surely as if there were hands wrapped tight around his neck, choking the life out of him. But instead of stealing his life, it’s as if you’re giving him more of it, pumping him full of its essence, filling his chest until he doesn’t know how his body can contain the feelings you inspire in him.

The bathroom is getting warmer, steam starting to form on the mirror, but Jake is loath to relinquish his hold on you. You seem equally uninterested in leaving him. You’re snuggled contentedly into his chest, but the way you slump lower and looser with each passing second tells him that he needs to get you moving fast, before you fall asleep standing up. “Water’s warm,” he tells you, and you hum sleepily against his chest. It’s so, so tempting just to carry you back to bed, but he knows you’ll be happier if you’re clean.

“C’mon, mi alma. Into the shower. Vamos.” He herds you gently backwards until you’re standing under the spray.

You hum sleepily up at him without opening your eyes, and he’s worried for a moment that he’s lost you to sleep already, but you stay standing when he cautiously releases you.

Reaching for your soap, he quickly lathers up a washcloth. The smell of the soap—the smell of you—quickly permeates the small space, and he breathes deep, letting the familiar scent wash over him. He runs the cloth gently over your shoulders, taking extra care with the still-visible bite mark one of them left there, then down over your chest. The skin of your breasts is soft and warm under his fingertips, and he’s half tempted to try for another round, but he feels strangely protective of your soft sleepiness.

Instead he dutifully rinses you off, letting the water cascade over your body.

You blink your eyes open long enough to shoot him another warm, sleepy smile, and the contentment in his chest seems to expand, taking root and spreading with every breath until it feels almost too large for the small space of the shower.

He steps out, reaching for a towel, and drys you off gently, before doing the same to himself with much less care.

Then he carries you back to bed and tucks you in, doing his best to straighten out the wrinkly covers before pulling them up over both of you. Curling his body around yours, he holds you tightly to him. There are a lot of things in this world Jake can do without, has done without. But this– you are no longer on that list.

In the cozy warmth of the bed with your body pressed against his, his eyes feel heavy. Jake never used to fight to stay in the driver’s seat, not once the excitement was over. But he clings to consciousness now. He wants to prolong this moment when his vision is filled, not with yet another threat to body, life or limb, but with something altogether perfect: the sight of you drifting off to sleep, your head nuzzling into the pillow, a slight smile on your face… safe.

It’s the last thing he sees as he falls into a deep, restful sleep. .

Thanks for reading!

—

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wingedhallows · 5 months ago

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prank gone wrong; marauders (sirius black)

pairing: marauders (sirius black) x reader | 2.1k words plot: the marauders prank one of your best friends, you're not too happy about it and take matters into your own hands, just to have one of them a bit smitten by you. authors note: hi, i brewed this up last night. I don't really know what this is but i hope u like it :) <3

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“I forgot my textbook, fuck.” Amelia complained, hand on her forehead. You sighed and pushed your sunglasses up, squinting your eyes at her. You took a drag from your cigarette and spoke with a sigh.

“I’ll get it for you, I need another pack anyways.” She waved her hand, as if to swat your offer away. “You don’t have to.” She tried but you shook your head and lifted yourself to your feet. You took your ropes off, it was too hot anyways. “Just shut up.” You offered with a grin.

Without waiting for an answer you took off. It would be a rather long walk, the Slytherin dorm was the furthest away. You needed some time away from your the girls and a new pack of fags.

Amelia, Philippa and Cecily were nice, not to misunderstand but they were shallow. Still you strangely loved them, how carefree they seemed.

Their newest topic to gossip about was if Marlene Mckinnon had gotten a nose job over the summer break. She didn’t, not that you cared. She looked fine, just like she did the past five years.

You didn’t know her though, you didn’t know any Gryffindors to be honest, so you didn’t have any ground to speculate.

The only Griffyindor you knew was Lily Evans. A muggle-born witch, not that that changed anything about her abilities.

She was kind, shy and had hung around with the infamous Marauders. Four boys who liked to play pranks on many. You didn’t care much, they never targeted you.

On your way back, your pack of cigarettes in your pocket and Amelia’s textbook in hand, you watched the sky, birds gliding above your head. You pushed a cigarette between your lips and lit it.

The smoke filled your lungs with a comforting feeling. You heaved a sigh and blew some more smoke through your lips. You wondered what they would talk about next? A poor Hufflepuff’s boobs or a Ravenclaws fake behavior to suck up to Slughorn?

You wouldn’t complain though, no matter how shallow they were, they were still your friends. They took care of you, cared for you and did their best to be good friends, since the first year they were all you had.

You caught sight of the courtyard and the blanket you had spread out to study on. The girls sat, laughing and talking. With another drag from your cigarette you flicked the stud away and made your way to the three.

“Here you are.” Philippa smiled at you. She patted the spot next to her and Amelia reached for the book in your hands.

“Thanks.” She smiled at you and you gave a smile back. “No problem.”

“This is so good.” Cecily smiled and drank a bit more from a cup you never saw before.

“What’s that?” You asked as you leaned back, taking the sun in. “Iced coffee." She answered, her words slurred the tiniest bit. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“You okay, Cici?” Amelie asked as he placed her hand on the girl's shoulder who just nodded with a content grin on her lips.

She seemed… drunk?

“What’s up with her?” Philippa whispered as she looked at you, her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. “Where’d you get that, Cici?” You tried but she kept drinking.

“She went to the toilet a few minutes ago and came back with the drink in hand. I figured she got it from the kitchens or something.” Amelia said, face worried.

Without much thinking you took the drink from Cecily and looked her straight in the eyes. “Who gave this to you?” She frowned but needed a moment to form the words in her mouth.

“Pot..Potter.”

She stammered and hot rage burned through your body. You never cared much about their pranks but to target a kind, loving girl who minded her business better than anybody else was infuriating.

You threw the cup to the ground and lifted yourself off the ground. “Get her some water, I’ll take care of this.”

Amelia nodded and rummaged through her bag for a bottle. Philippa caressed Cecily’s hair and gave you a tight nod. You walked as fast as you could manage, hands cold and features angry.

Students stepped out of your way, eyes wide as they watched you march through the corridors. You caught sight of some Griffyindors, Lily to be accurate. They were sitting on a bench, giggling with each other.

“Where are they?” You spoke, interrupting their conversation. Mckinnon turned around, eyes squinted at you, Lily watched you with wide eyes.

“Who?” She tried but you crossed your arms with a roll of your eyes.

“Those idiots you hang around with, Potter and the others.” Alice winced and threw her gaze to the stone ground.

“What did they do?” Lily asked again as she raised to her feet.

“They fucked with one of my friends and I’m not too happy about that.” Marlene’s face softened, her mouth opening to speak. “Who-”Cecily.” Lily threw a hand over her mouth with a gasp.

“But, she’s so sweet.” You nodded, jaw tightening.

“Yeah, well. Sweet Cecily is now sitting in the yard, drugged out of her mind because Potter decided it would be funny.” Alice frowned and got to her feet as well.

“That’s too far.” She said and you nodded. “So, tell me where they’re hiding.” Lily sighed and nodded.

“They’re in our common room, password’s Dilligrout.” You nodded and gave her a sad smile.

“Thank you, Lily.” She turned to you again and gave you one as well. “They went too far this time, to drug Cecily. You better teach them a lesson.” You nodded and turned to walk away.

“Let me know how she is, when you see her.” You looked at her, not sure what to answer. With a nod you said. “I will.”

Outside the Griffyindor dorm you threw the password at the picture and it opened, whispering things like snake in the common room, how odd.

The room was dimly lit, quiet but faint voices could be heard. With slow steps you emerged into the warm place. Some first years almost shrieked at the sight of you but you only gave them a nod towards the stairs. Without much thinking, they fled the scene.

The morons were splayed out on the chairs and couch, laughing to each other. They haven’t noticed you yet. So you thought to change that and with fast steps you made your way to the empty chair before the fire. The voices stilled, silence embracing you.

“Y/N.” Sirius, the pureblood run away whispered. You didn’t answer but instead plucked a cigarette from your pack and lit it quickly. Dramatic, but who cares.

“I always knew that you lot had a knack for stupid pranks, I mean who doesn’t know.” You paused to take a drag. Potter sat himself up, Peter hadn’t moved since he watched you appear, face contorted in fear.

“But to drug someone in broad daylight, that's another level of idiotic.” James seemed to catch on and fumbled with his hands.

“What is it to you, who we prank?” You barked a laugh as you leaned forward. Remus couldn’t look you in the eyes, Sirius stared at you, not moving a limb.

“You don’t even care who you prank, now?” James sighed and crossed his legs, his arms crossed.

“Let me enlighten you, Potter. Cecily Santoro, who you pranked is a very kind soul, one of my best friends, limbing behind in herbology, deathly afraid of frogs and loves coffee with all of her heart. But you don’t care about any of that because she’s a snake, a vicious horrible Slytherin. So when you pushed that cup in her hand this afternoon, she couldn’t say no.

She loves coffee too much to think twice about taking anything from a Marauder. She probably thanked you with a smile on her face and you had a good laugh, right?

Well, she’s drugged out of her mind, she’ll fail her herbology exam and cry a good week about it. But you wouldn’t care about that, because she’s just another Slytherin, a too good enough reason to pass up on pranking her.”

He didn’t answer, Remus sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. You blew some smoke and shook your head.

“I hope you lot are proud of yourselves. You’re not an inch better than Malfoy or Nott.” Sirius stood and pushed his hands through his hair.

“I’m sorry.” James whispered.

You chuckled and threw the done fag into the fire which hissed upon the impact. “I’m not the one you should apologize to.” Sirius took a step towards you, face in a sorry twist.

“We fucked up big time then?.” He said. His eyes dared you, to argue with him. To fuel what he felt in his core.

James hissed at Sirius. “What the fuck are you doing?” He now stood in front of you.

“What do you want then?” His hands crossed he looked at you, eyes devouring your frame. Remus stood and put a hand on Sirius’s shoulder. He swatted it away and proceeded to look at you.

“Apologize.” He nodded.

“You are all to apologize to Cecily or I’ll bring this matter to the headmaster.” James sighed and narrowed his eyes at you.

“So you’ll play your cards?” You had to chuckle. You pushed Sirius down onto the couch, faces mere inches apart. Sirius licked his lips, eyes swaying from your eyes to your lips.

“If I were to play my cards, you’d be expelled and not allowed to step even a toe back on school grounds, you daft idiot.” You gave him a small smile before you continued.

“Don’t think i don’t know the ridiculous rumors you guys spread about me but just to assure you, I might fulfill them soon if you anger me any more.” You patted his cheek and turned to leave.

You turned around once more to face Sirius who watched you, his eyes bored into your face, he licked his lips as he watched you leave. Your eyebrows furrowed and you shook your head.

Cecily was back to normal, Amelia and Philippa had taken her to the infirmary last night. Madam Pomfrey had complained on end but let her sober up nonetheless.

“I’m fine, really.” Cici threw Philippa a small smile and tried to snatch her bag from the taller girl. “Nuh uh.” She slapped her hand away and continued walking.

Just as you turned the corner four figures sprung to their feet. The Griffyindor boys walked up to you and obviously struggled to deliver the promised apology. You had to suppress a laugh at the sight of the four.

“What do you want?” Philippa snapped at them.

“We, umh, wanted to apologize for yesterday.” James begann.

“What we did was out of line.” Remus carried on.

“We regret it.” Peter almost whispered.

“After your dear Y/N gave us a good talking to, we apologize for what we did.” Sirius finished off. Cecily turned to you with a confused expression on her face.

You just shrugged and gave her a small smile. The girls didn’t answer but started walking.

You stayed behind and pushed a cigarette between your lips. Sirius was quick to raise his lighter to your lips.

“That was Oscar worthy.” You chuckled. James frowned and kicked with his feet before himself.

“Are we good now?” Remus tried but you huffed in amusement.

“Sure sure.” You puffed some smoke and took the cigarette to push it between Sirius’ lips. He stared down at you with darkened eyes.

“For the nerves.” You smiled.

He took a drag and blew the smoke above your head.

“You’re quite feisty.” You chuckled and patted his shoulder.

“First time for you?” He chuckled and took another drag. You took a step to leave them behind but Sirius was quick to hold onto your arm.

“Hogsmeade next friday?” He spoke, cigarette still hanging between his lips, some strands from his bun fell over his face and you would have to lie that you didn’t think he was attractive.

“Are you asking me out right now?” You asked with a grin on your face.

A grin formed on his face as he inspected your face.

“Will you?” You wringed your arm from his grip. You took a step towards him and took the cigarette from his mouth, took a drag and blew the smoke towards him.

“In your dreams, Black.”

He barked a laugh and watched you leave with the cigarette you had shared. Fuck, was he smitten.

#harrypotter #hp fanfic #marauders imagine #the marauders #marauders era #sirius black #harry potter fanfic #sirius black x reader #remus lupin #peter pettigrew #sirius black imagine #sirius black fanfic #siriusblack #sirius orion black #marauders fanfiction #marauders

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reallyhardy · 10 months ago

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OH I DO LOVE LOVE!!! 😭💖😭💖😭💖😭💖

Extra surprise mini present for @reallyhardy because her exchange request made me feel things

#LOTR musical #OHHHH YOu!!! cici 😭😭😭 thank you #this is SO cute. ohhh you know how to get me with all the photos of my dear loves #the siblingy vibe!!! the besties forever vibe!!!

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fbfh · 3 months ago

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Curiosity is a Wonderful thing ch. 11

wc: 13.2k

genre: slow burn, little angst, childhood best friends to lovers

pairing: slow burn bff!ben x fem daughter of alice!reader, mal x ben (allegedly), platonic reader + mom!alice

warnings: severe mommy issues, brief touch on food scarcity and trauma, COMPHET, reader scratches her arm and bleeds a little, one use of the word purge in a non food related sense, ben has a gnarly panic attack, very mild dubcon bc mal used mind control on ben without him knowing (she didn't do anything physical with him it was just ethically questionable at the very best and the important thing is ben feels gross about it), ben very briefly contemplates involuntary manslaughter, one use of the phrase "being [someone's] bitch", comfort from reader's mom

summary: Ben and Mal go on a date. You follow a rabbit. All three of you begin to realize things of critical importance.

song recs: dream girl evil - florance and the machine, girls against god - florance and the machine, tell me I'm okay patrick - rachel bloom/crazy ex girlfriend cast, hovering - miley cyrus ft trace cyrus, when you wish upon a star ethereal remix - a.krishna, nothing is every anyone's fault - crazy ex girlfriend cast, when you wish upon a star (music box) - the by8nd, silly lullaby - natasha richardson

a/n: your outfit, your mom's outfit, optional face/voiceclaim for adult alice (it's natasha richardson)

THANK YOU GUYS SO MOTHERFUCKING MUCH FOR YOUR SUPPORT??????? LIKE WHAT THE FUCK. also as per ush (how do we phonetically spell the first part of usual????) fangz 2 cici 4 betaing lulz mcr rox. btwTHERE IS WONDERLAND TERMINOLOGY USED IN THIS CHAPTER!!!!!!! HERE IS THE GLOSSARY!!!!!!!!!! the tldr from memory is as follows:

brillig = late afternoon around when you would start cooking dinner

nunz = don't go (with a sense of urgancy/immediate importance)

gyre = to spin around and around like a gyroscope

mimsy = flimsy/miserable hybrid word (think sad wet pathetic little mewmew)

gallymoggers = cuckoo bananas crazy

so yeah!!! I think I got everyone from my asks and replies (LOVE YOU ALL SO FUCKING MUCH EVEN YOU SILENT READERS YES I LOVE YOU TOO LURKERS AND LIKERS AND SILENT REBLOGGERS <333 YOU SPECIFICALLY READING THIS RIGHT NOW) so if you wanna be added or I missed you just hoot and holler in the notes!! (or if you wanna be more anon you can message me too I don't mind in the slightest uwu)

tags @yesv01@magcon7280 @hopefullhearts @thatawkwardlittlefangirl @sunshineangel-reads @dustyinkpages @inejsknifes @tulipmagnoliaisme @ev3ningrain @yokolesbianism @ma1dita @casey1-2007 @roseidol @eaterof-concrete @enhacatalog @inejghafawifesblog @jjmaybankisawesome @leovergurl @formulas-bitch @starsdotalk @tulipmagnoliaisme @inejsknifes @ficslutt @bwormie @urmomlikeslinotoo @jazhandzzz

Mal has a lot of reasons to hate herself. She’s weak, sensitive, and incompetent at best on a good day, as her mother likes to say. She has no grit, no spite. She knows this, because she grew up hearing it. One of the last things her mother told her before shipping her off that god forsaken rock was don’t blow it. Mal knew from her words, from the frightening pleasantness in her voice and tension in her eyes what she really meant. The way she clamped her sharp nails down painfully into Mal’s shoulder - from a distance, a maternal and supportive gesture - the weight that this opportunity held.

If you asked Maleficent for a list of all the things wrong with her daughter, she could easily fill a book. Probably several, but Mal doesn’t think she actually cares enough about her daughter to pay close enough attention to do so. If she found out her mother put that much effort into listing her flaws, she thinks that would be the most mother daughter bonding she’s ever received. She might try becoming worse somehow, just to disappoint her mother further and give her more to work with.

Many of the things her mother thought of her, she had started to believe over time. But now, Mal finds herself in an unusual, almost funny position of being able to add a new failure, a new flaw to that eternally winding, growing list.

Mal is getting attention from a boy. And worse, she likes it.

So really, it’s two for one.

Being around Ben felt weird at first. He kept trying to kiss her, which was… gross. Mal justified it as being above all that, being too wicked and rotten for mushy gushy matters of the heart. Maybe it’s really because it’s just… too much. It’s all so much, happening so fast. A week or two ago she couldn’t be alone with anyone without trying to figure out who was going to shank who first.

She knows that’s not how Auradon works, she knows the crime rate here is basically zero, and she wonders if she’ll ever be able to shake that feeling. Like being safe is somehow worse than being in danger. At least danger is familiar. That’s probably why she’s able to strut playfully across the rickety old rope bridge the way she is. Behind her, Ben chuckles nervously, holding tight onto the sides.

It was annoying at first, all the attention. She laughed about it with Evie. Or she tried to, at least. But the more time they spend in this frilly princess infested hellhole, the more Mal notices Evie seeming… different. Their banter and mean spirited jokes that flowed so easily seem to have evaporated overnight.

She can tell Evie’s not as into it anymore. No one else could, but Mal can. She wonders if this means Evie isn’t as into her anymore. Mal wouldn’t call them friends. She wouldn’t call any of her friends friends. But no one would ever deny the bond, the loyalty between the four of them. The thought of Evie drifting away, pulling back from her like this hurts. It would be so much better if she just full on betrayed Mal, stabbing her in the back and sabotaging her. At least that way, they’d still be speaking the same language.

She thought if anyone would be excited about getting some idiotic prince in her clutches, a figurehead to manipulate and make dance like a puppet, it would be Evie. But now, for the first time in her life, Mal feels like she cares more about boys, about bagging a prince than Evie does. It’s strange. It’s unfamiliar, uncomfortable, and she doesn’t know how to fix it. How to make things normal again.

It’s not like she could even call Evie out on it, either. She’s being normal enough. Mal could see her beaming ear to ear with that dazzling, blinding smile before she even got the question out of her mouth - will you help me get ready for my… date? She gagged a little when she said that, but Evie was too busy hugging her and talking about what to do with her hair to even notice. When they talked about dresses and blush undertones - something she’s still not sure she fully understands - things were great. They were better than normal, she felt like she and Evie were more in sync than they have been in years. It felt good.

It’s when she brought up Ben that she noticed Evie’s light dim a little. Her heart just wasn’t in it. So Mal did what she does best. She deflected. She started talking about split ends, and kibbe types, and other stuff Evie has encyclopedic knowledge about that Mal has never even heard of, and just like that - boom. The sparkle was back in Evie’s eyes, the sincerity back in her smile. So Mal swore to herself that she just wouldn’t bring him up. Unfortunately, that’s proving to be easier said than done.

Ben isn’t making things any easier for her, either. He’s been so nice, so disgustingly kind and considerate that it makes Mal sick. The worst part, the thing that really fills her with dread and sickening disgust is that he’s been like this the whole time. Before this stupid spell and the stupid cookie, before the stupid tourney game. He’s been thoughtful and considerate and kind, and good since the moment they stepped foot out of the limo. If limos don’t normally come filled with candy, that means he was good and kind even before they got to Auradon.

She feels giddy around him. Sick, and giddy. Despite everything, despite a lifetime of training for this, she can’t stop leaning into it, indulging herself. It’s so fucking stupid, she barates herself even as she turns and smiles at Ben, lets him guide her through the forest.

“Tell me something about yourself you’ve never told anyone,” Ben requests gently, so gently it makes her flinch. For a moment, she’s pulled out of her spiraling maelstrom of self loathing.

“Um…” She hums out loud, silently letting herself revel in this feeling of captivating someone. Not scaring them, not grabbing them by the jaw and locking eyes while hers flare green, imposing her will, but actually having someone want to listen to her. Voluntarily, and not under threat of bodily harm.

“My middle name is Bertha.”

Ben chuckles behind her, and she turns back around away from him quickly so she doesn’t have to look at him. She’s not even sure if that’s true, and for the first time, she feels a dull pang of guilt for lying. It sounds stupid, the kind of thing no one would lie about, but Mal doesn’t even know if she has a middle name. She doesn’t know if she has a last name, other than Young Mistress of Evil, but having an embarrassing middle name sounds like something that other normal people her age would experience.

So she goes with Bertha.

She makes some little comment about her mom, and it gets a laugh out of Ben, one she tries to laugh along with.

“Mine’s Florian.” Ben says in understanding. “Ben Florian Lemaitre-Alarie Leroy de le Lumme-Mont.”

Mal turns her head away, but she can still feel his eyes on her.

“Wow. How princely.” She quips.

“Yeah,” he chuckles, trying to look at her. She starts walking again. “It’s- it’s a mouthful…”

He follows her closely, and soon they reach the end of the bridge.

“Okay, close your eyes.” He instructs, placing his hand on her shoulder to stop her.

Her stomach drops. Her brow furrows, and she shifts away from him on instinct.

“Why…?” She asks skeptically.

He pauses for a moment, then laughs sweetly at her reaction.

“It’s okay, it’s just a surprise.” He says, his voice so earnest she can almost bring herself to believe him. “You’ll be okay. I promise.”

Sixteen years of muscle memory force her to dig in her heels, to throw his allegedly good word out the window. But against her better judgment, her mind clouded with that squishy sappy dizzy feeling, that contact high she’s been getting from being around him too much, she reluctantly agrees. She knows that Ben won’t harm her because he can’t - not as long as she’s in his head.

She thinks back to the relief that flooded her when she finally pieced the plan together. She had two obvious choices; a love spell, or some sort of mind control. Mind control would have been ideal, she thought. It’s more predictable, plus it will score her some major points with her mother.

She thought about how great it would be, following in her footsteps and hypnotizing Ben with incorporeal hypnosis, just like her mother had hypnotized Audrey’s to touch the spinning wheel.

She tried her hardest, she really had. But it turns out that hypnosis with eye contact or an artifact is already hard enough to begin with. Incorporeal hypnosis is about a thousand times harder. Worse off, Mal had never been able to practice magic a day in her life. All she knew until recently was theoretical second hand knowledge, gleaned from her mother’s drunken recollections of the good old days after a few too many absinth martinis.

Mal never knew how her mom could drink that stuff. She once tried a pinky dip of the poison ivy infused gin her mother made to use in her drinks, and quickly realized it was a terrible mistake. It tasted like bitter greens and itchy, fiery spice. Her mouth was burned for a week, but her mother could easily down two or three over dinner, insisting the poison ivy gives it just the kick it needs. She asked her mother about it once, and shocked Mal when she actually answered her question instead of glaring or going off on another delusional tangent.

“Oh, it’s a dragon thing.” She sighed. “Once you’ve had fire in your mouth, nothing tastes strong enough.”

For a moment, Mal could pretend this was what things were always like. They were always a normal mother and normal daughter. She always got advice and anecdotes from her mom. She’d get scolded if she came home scraped up or too late because her mother always cared enough to notice. Then Maleficent grabbed her shoulder, bringing Mal to look out the window at Auradon with her.

“Someday you’ll know what I mean. After your first time transforming, you’ll understand.” She had chuckled. For a moment, just one moment, Mal dared to see the faintest glimmer of hope on the horizon. Maybe things will get better, her mother will care about her, be proud of her already.

“Because one day, Mal, we’re going to get out of this dump… and onto the throne. Right where we belong…”

That was the day she’d been forced to let go of that hope. Her mother doesn’t care about her, just that she can have an extra pair of hands, a faster set of reflexes and a sharper pair of eyes. But she never quite let go of making her mother proud. That still seemed like something she could try for.

That’s how she came up with the whole cookie angle. She found a simple amplification and extension spell, and managed to bake it into a cookie. Once Ben ate it, the spell would be absorbed into his system longer, making it easier to control him. After days and days of research, she came to two conclusions - one shocking, the other terrifying. Shocking was that love spells don’t actually exist. The only ones she could find word of were gimmicky ads in gossip magazines, and even those were few and far between. That’s when the second realization hit. She has to figure out how to make hypnosis work. That’s her only hope, her only chance.

Ben’s hands are strong on her waist, strong enough to make her jump and pull her from the memory that seemed to envelop her out of nowhere, hiding her from the world. She lets him guide her through the unfamiliar terrain. She tries to shake the memories, tries to get rid of that sinking, disorienting, cold feeling. Right now, she has a part to play. She has to be a good girlfriend, she has to get the wand and make her mother proud.

It’s all part of the plan. It’s part of the evil scheme, that’s why she’s acting so coy and flirtatious, that’s why she’s letting Ben keep his hands on her waist and guide her gently through the forest, his voice soothing in her ear as he instructs her on where to turn and where any rocks and branches might block her path. She keeps telling herself, reminding herself of this because maybe if she tells herself enough, she’ll be able to ignore the fact that she’s enjoying it, leaning into the attention and safe presence of Ben’s big hands and strong chest behind her.

“Oh, watch your foot… there you go.” He coaxes, guiding her past an overgrown shrub, careful to make sure she doesn’t get scratched up. “You good?”

He asks so gently, so sincerely, that Mal feels herself almost shrinking back a little.

“Yeah,” she says lightly, with a forced chuckle.

“Good,” he breathes, and she can hear the smile in his voice. He moves her so easily, positioning her so she stands just in front of him, his chest to her back. She doesn’t like how small and… dainty, and pretty, and fragile she feels around him. It’s intoxicating and terrifying.

“Okay,” he says, gentle voice spiking with anticipation. He rubs his hands up and down her arms softly, struggling to stifle his excitement.

“Ready? Open.” She hesitates, then complies. She sucks in a breath, eyes widening at the most breathtaking thing she’s ever seen.

Covered in ivy, and vines blooming with morning glory and lilac, an open air greek pavilion sits in the middle of an enticing, crystal clear lake. Even though only half of the pillars and colonnades remain, the circular stone base is solid. Buttery golden sunlight dapples peacefully through the lush flora and plant life all around them, hiding it from sight.

The lake itself - calm and so blue it’s almost green - is surrounded by rocky, grassy bluffs, just high enough to dive off of. To Mal’s shock, nothing around her looks… menacing. The cliffs aren’t jagged and ominous, the water isn’t murky and threatening. The rocks are smooth. Inviting, even. The crumbling pavilion itself seems like it’s been worn away from time, not from neglect or destruction. There’s no litter or trash, there’s no graffiti, no broken beer bottles or cigarette butts.

It all seems so… welcoming. Safe, and friendly. Peaceful. After a moment of basking in the haven of tranquility before her, she notices a blanket spread out on the middle of the stone floor. It’s a bright, vibrant blue, and is free of any stains or patches or holes. Laid out on top of the blanket like something from a magazine is a spread of the freshest, juiciest, most wonderful looking food she’s ever seen.

She gasps softly, turning to look at him, and sees he’s been looking at her the whole time. She studies his face for a moment, trying to figure out if this really is all for her. His smile tells her everything she needs to know. She lets out another breathy gasp as she turns back to the pavilion, feeling like it’s the sort of thing you’re supposed to do in this situation.

She knows it’s all pretend, playing the part of the pretty damsel like this. The type of girl who’s wanted, who strong, influential people like Ben always protect. Somehow, knowing that it’s pretend doesn’t get rid of the way it feels - the good feelings, or the sickening ones.

When the rocks have magically moved themselves to form a footpath onto the pavilion, Mal lets Ben guide her some more, and sit her down for their thing. Even thinking the word date still feels strange and uncomfortable. She’s quickly distracted from the uncomfortable knowledge that she’s on a date by how good the food is.

Good doesn’t even begin to cut it, it’s delicious. Better than that, but she can’t think of anything better than delicious. It’s the kind of food she used to dream about, the kind that would show up in lavish spreads and banquets. She would always stuff her face as much as she possibly could, wanting to get enough before she woke up. Before it could disappear.

“Is this your first time?” Ben asks softly, a knowing smile on his face. She startles slightly, forgetting he was there for a moment.

“Um…” She starts, licking the powdery sugar off her fingers. “We don’t really date on the Isle. It’s more like gang activity.”

Ben chuckles, but it’s really not an exaggeration.

“I meant your first time trying a jelly donut.” He clarifies sweetly. She pauses. She’s rudely awakened by that contextualizing feeling of abnormality. No, everyone doesn’t grow up not knowing their fruits and vegetables. No, everyone isn’t used to living off scraps and whatever can be scrounged together. It’s not a common, shared experience to have soggy boxes stacked up with nutraloaf bars shipped in on rat infested barges as an after school snack.

She blinks, trying to pull herself back to the present.

“Is it bad?” She asks cutely. Ben doesn’t chuckle like she expects. It doesn’t seem to land as endearing with him, but as a genuine question.

“Not-”

Her eyes flare green before he can finish. Once they do, Ben chuckles. He leans closer to her, smiling softly.

Wipe the sugar off her cheek. Caress her. Act like you mean it.

No sooner does she transmute the orders into his mind that he complies. He leans in as he does, more invested in the sticky powdered sugar dusting her lips, and has her mirror his gestures.

“Go like this…?” He says, licking the sides of his own lips where sugar sits on hers. She does, and he giggles again before reaching over to brush the rest off. Mal smiles, looking away coyly.

“Can’t take me anywhere, I guess…” She looks away and bats her eyes like she’s seen Evie do before. Even though it’s familiar, it feels staged and contrived. It doesn’t feel natural, but like something that anyone in her position should do, so she does it. She glances down at her hands to look for any remaining sugar, and for the first time she can ever recall, she finds herself bothered by the jagged edges of her bitten nails, the chips in her worn down purple polish.

Across from her, Ben is looking at the ground near a big old elm tree. Mal adjusts in her seat, but he doesn’t notice. She stares at him more intently, but he’s still looking off into the distance, transfixed by the place where the gnarled roots and lumpy trunk meet the grass. The illusion around Mal begins to crack. The immersion of playing princess to his doting prince starts to slip as she realizes that for the first time since casting the spell, she doesn’t have his full attention. Her expression grows stony with a cold, sick feeling as she watches his distant, almost melancholic gaze fixed on the tree.

“A tumtum what?” He had asked you one day with a chuckle.

“A tumtum tree!” You’d exclaimed back with a smile, as though you were having to explain to him something as common as clouds or air or tea. You had sighed playfully, gesturing with your hands as you explained.

“Tumtum trees have only ever been found in Wonderland. They’re quite large, even their seeds are around the size of your fist. They look like…”

You trail off, trying to think of a suitable comparison. Ben waits. He’s used to this, these pauses in your descriptions of Wonderland. The problem that you’ve found when trying to tell him about your home down there is that not everything is always like something else. It can be quite hard to describe something out of nothing, or nothing out of something. No sooner had the perfect thing popped into your mind.

“An elm tree.” You exclaim with a resolute snap of your fingers. You nod in satisfaction as you clarify, “Like a wych elm tree. A bit, at least.”

“Like which elm tree?” Ben asks, unsure if he had heard you correctly.

“Exactly.” You nod confidently, drawing a confused, familiar smile from him. Ben watches you in fascination as you continue to describe the trees in question.

“Tumtum trees are usually quite friendly. Good at watching over one when one should find oneself in need of a cat nap.” You state, nodding surely. “Good conversationalists, too.”

Ben lets out a laugh, free and organic from his chest.

“I forgot trees can talk down there,” he says.

“Some of them,” you say, then nod solemnly. “Some prefer other methods of communication, like pelting those they dislike with acorns, or pollen.”

He laughs again, contagiously, and it begins to spread to you as you continue.

“The most notable thing about tumtum trees is their roots and their bases. They’re usually quite big and tangled, curling in and out in lumpy little nests and sprawling through themselves-”

Ask about her.

It grabs him by the neck, roughly yanking him from his thoughts. He’s pulled from the pleasant memory of you, the voice destructively ripping through his train of thought.

Look at her. Look at her. You have to know everything about her right now. You’re dying to know everything about her.

The orders repeat over and over in his mind, his eyes glassy and green for the shortest moment as he’s locked into Mal’s toxic glower. The words begin to ring true. He finds himself burning with an almost painful need to know every possible detail about her. He leans closer to her.

“Tell me everything about yourself.” He asks, only hearing the question for the first time as it leaves his lips.

Mal smiles, acting surprised and flattered by the question she made him ask.

“Well,” she starts with a soft sigh, as if trying to find where to begin, “I’m sixteen. I’m an only child, and… I’ve only ever lived in one place.”

The poisonous light glows from her eyes for a moment, casting strange shadows around them. Ben responds quickly, as if he were waiting for a cue.

“So am I! We have so much in common already,” he laughs, leaning closer. Mal laughs too, leaning away.

“No, not as much as you might think.” She glances away, then back up at him. “Anyway, you’re going to be king soon, huh?”

Ben’s laughter grows stale, and he begins to get that distant look again, the same one he had when looking at the elm tree.

“A crown doesn’t make you a king.” He says softly, more to himself than to Mal.

“Well… it kind of does, yeah.” Mal says dryly. She waits for another laugh, but no laughter comes.

“Your mother is the mistress of evil, my parents are the poster for goodness, but-” he hesitates, searching for the right words. “That doesn’t mean we’re automatically like them.”

He finishes quietly, eyes falling down to his signet ring. Even with his mind a blank slate, weaved around Mal’s fingers like an obedient snake, he can still feel all the pressure, all that he has to live up to. Everything he wants to be is still right on the horizon.

“We choose who we’re going to be.” He finishes softly.

Across from him, Mal’s heart pounds. She didn’t make him say any of that. She didn’t tell him to, he did it himself. He said that she’s not like her mom. He said that. Her heart pounds, and she wants so badly for him to say it again. His words ring in her mind like a bell, over and over. We choose who we’re going to be. No one had ever said that, or anything remotely like that to her before. No one had ever made her believe it.

Those strange shadows dance across Ben’s face again, and Mal squeezes her trembling hands, trying to calm herself.

Say it again, Ben. Tell her. Say she’s not evil. Say it. Tell her right now. Tell her she’s not evil. You don’t think she’s evil.

He leans in even closer. He moves his hand onto her cheek. He locks eyes with her, oblivious to the shared glowing green light between them.

“I can look into your eyes and… tell you’re not evil.” He says with certainty. “I can see it.”

He moves closer, letting his eyes drift shut softly, tilting his head to the side-

Mal jerks away, letting go of the active control with a sudden drop. She lets out an uncomfortable laugh, scooting away from him. The pressure on his chest eases, and it almost feels like he can think again. Having a modicum of control over his thoughts and actions again, he stands up. He nods his head, gesturing for Mal to join him.

“Come on. Let’s go for a swim.”

“Uh-” Mal falters, eyes darting between Ben and the water. “Um, no. I think I’m okay.”

“It’ll be fun,” Ben coaxes with a smile.

“I- I think I’m gonna stay behind and try a strawberry. I’ve literally never had a strawberry before.”

She grabs a nice juicy berry and bites in, humming performatively for Ben. It takes a moment for the flavors to explode in her mouth. She can’t believe something so delicious could come from a plant. It’s so sweet, and a little bit tangy, but in a good way. It’s a different sort of sweet than sugar, though. She can’t put her finger on exactly what it is, but there’s a light twist, a depth and complexity to the taste that she never could have imagined. It somehow tastes like a bright clear morning and a darkening rich sunset all at the same time.

“Mmmh…” She hums, for real this time, taking another bite. She eats the whole berry - stem and leaves included - and Ben chuckles softly. He says something she doesn’t catch, then goes off to swim. The moment he leaves, Mal has only two things on her mind.

Strawberries are fucking delicious, and Evie is going to love this. All of this. Picnics, strawberries, pagodas or pavilions or whatever the hell they’re called. She can see it clear as day; taking Evie out here with Carlos and Jay, the two of them can sit and talk while the boys are off splashing in the water. Evie will be so excited that she makes her and Mal matching sundresses in their colors - blue and gold, and purple and green.

They can eat strawberries and laugh when the juice gets everywhere. They can throw shells and tourney balls into the lake for Carlos and Jay to get to keep them busy while she and Evie talk. Mal will scoff and laugh and roll her eyes when Evie reminds them all to wear sunscreen. She and Carlos will agree, but Jay will insist he doesn’t need any, and they’ll spend the following week treating his sunburn. Evie will insist on braiding Jay’s hair or twisting it up into some kind of bun or ponytail so it doesn’t get tangled.

She’ll make Mal hold all the bobby pins and hair ties, and she’s sure Evie will have some sort of goop to put in Carlos’s hair so the water doesn’t turn it green. What’s that called again? Evie had been going on and on to Mal before they left for Auradon about how some water can turn blonde hair green. Cholera? Fluorine? Chlor… chlorine maybe? Yeah, that sounds right. There’s no chlorine in the water in the Isle, but since it can affect your hair, Mal’s not surprised that Evie knows everything about it. She doesn’t know if lake water has chlorine, but she’s sure if hair is on the line that Evie will be cautious.

She’s only pulled from her hazy strawberry high when the berries have run out. She catches a remaining drop of strawberry juice on her finger from the edge of the bowl, and brings it to her lips. She looks around and sees Ben on top of one of the taller grassy bluffs. He waves at her, and after a moment she waves back hesitantly. She looks at his swim trunks, then yells across the lake.

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?”

Ben smiles a little, remembering when you had helped him pick them out.

“Maybe,” he calls back.

He lets out a loud, animalistic roar, then jumps.

She looks away before he hits the water. Her eyes fall down to the empty bowl of strawberries, the ones Evie would love. The ones Ben provided her with. She starts to relax a little now that he’s not watching her. Her facade, her perfect princessy persona starts to slip. She relaxes - her shoulders, her jaw, her posture, the grip she keeps on Ben.

She takes a few deep breaths, trying to reorient herself, to figure out how she feels. She’s so confused, unused to acting sweet - at all, but especially around other people. She has to keep it together. She needs to use these few minutes of Ben swimming to make sure she has her head on straight and her eyes on the prize. She has to stay focused, stay grounded.

She clenches her fists so tightly that her nails, bitten short and chipped with a deep plum polish, dig into her palms.

She hopes the slight sting will get her head back where she needs it. The pain is good. A reminder of where she came from, what she’s here to do. She tries, but this time, it’s not enough. Not anymore. She shakes her head a little, hoping it will clear her mind, make her feel like herself again. Her hair is fried under all the purple dye, and she can tell it’s growing frizzy from the humidity and movement. She lets out an annoyed huff, and reaches up, trying to fuss with it until it looks like Evie made it look before.

Are you kidding? The thought shows up suddenly as she catches herself worrying about her hair of all things. Realization sets in that not even that is enough to snap her back to herself. A sense of shame washes over her as she realizes how deep in all this she’s getting. In the moments after that realization, her mind begins to wander. It goes further and further from anything she had ever let herself think before.

Maybe she could… make this work. Maybe there’s a shot at pulling it off. If she could keep Ben under her spell a little longer than necessary, she could make him fall in love with her for real. She can implant so many thoughts and repeating orders until it scrambles his brain and… makes it real somehow. Then he’ll want to look after Mal on purpose, not on principle. He can get her and her friends into witness protection or something, get some guard gargoyles and knights to watch over them.

She can talk Ben into giving her a little cottage deep in the woods - it will be safest for them there anyway. And that’s what he wants, for them to be safe. He wants that because Mal wants that, and when a prince like Ben loves someone, he makes sure they have whatever they want most. And what Mal wants most is a safe, secure, roomy cottage in the woods for her and Evie, Jay and Carlos. They’ll have a little lake just like this one, and maybe like, some ducks or something. Cats, or snakes, or whatever makes a good pet.

Jay can chop the firewood, and Carlos can fix the computers whenever they get weird. Mal still barely understands how to use smartphones and dropbox, but Carlos has taken to all that stuff like… well, like his mom takes to furs. She’ll make sure there’s a nice big room for Evie to sew, and she won’t complain as much when Evie uses her as a dress form. They’ll have more delicious, fresh food than they can eat, and they won’t need to worry about any of this anymore.

She’ll reluctantly let Evie teach her how to use blush, and style hair.

They’ll sit in the nice sunshine in the fresh clean air all day. She’ll make Evie crowns from all the pretty flowers that grow here so she can have as many crowns and tiaras as she wants, and Jay and Carlos can play tourney and climb trees and do whatever else they’re always doing. She can see it clear as day; Evie’s head resting in Mal’s lap while Mal uses her spellbook to weave together flowers, enchanting them to make them sparkle while Jay and Carlos laugh and roughhouse nearby.

They’ll still share bedrooms. That’s the one thing Mal has actually kind of liked since moving to Auradon, sleeping in the same room as Evie. Getting to be close to her. She’s sure Jay and Carlos sleep better knowing they’re not by themselves, too. Maybe if the cottage is kind of small she and Evie can share a bed. She’d be fine with that. They’ll bake non magic cookies and eat strawberries, Evie will have all the ingredients she needs to make every kind of face mask and hair mask and lotion she could dream of.

Ben will come and check in on them sometimes. Not very often, just once in a while. He’ll stop by and make sure they’re safe and protected and left alone all the time, because that’s what princes do when they’re in love with someone. They’ll never leave unless they want to, and they’ll have VIP tickets to all the balls and galas and sporting events in Auradon. Mal will go with them, because she knows things wouldn’t be the same if she stayed behind. Even though parties are boring and sports are dumb. But as long as Evie’s having a good time, she’s sure she can handle it.

If only… if only she could figure out that it’s a sure thing. Then she’d be all the way in.

You can’t recall a time your heart pounded in your chest like a jackrabbit as it does now, as you tread through roots and bushes and grassy forest terrain to the enchanted lake. You’ve been following the white rabbit who had alerted you to Ben’s whereabouts until you arrived at the lake. You find a little hidey-hole in the brush and gnarled roots of an old elm tree within eyeshot of the pavilion, and crouch down. You can almost make out what he’s saying, but not quite.

You fumble for your teapot bag, digging around for something you’re sure must still be in there.

“Come on, come on…” you murmur frantically. You let out a gasp as your fingers close around the monocle, and you pull it out quickly. You’d pawned it off a ring of ring-a-ding worms in Wonderland several months ago. You weren’t sure how trustworthy they were - which usually means not very trustworthy at all if you’re doubting it in the first place - but you simply couldn’t help yourself. The monocle was a very old sort of subtitling spectacle, a kind of eyewear that lets you see what people are saying. They’re not always right, nor are they always perfect, but right now you’re desperate.

“Please please work,” you ask the glass silently before holding it up to your left eye. You squint at Ben and Mal, and between the fragments of conversation reaching your ears and the monocle, you’re able to understand things a bit better.

“...You’re not evil. I can see it.” Ben says to Mal, as you watch and listen to his words intently. The sun is closer to setting and brillig draws nearer, basking everything in that not quite sunset glow. You try to crawl closer to see and hear better, not even noticing when you nearly lose one of your shoes in your efforts. You rub your eyes in disbelief, waiting to see what they say next. An elm leaf falls, tangling itself in your hair, and you find yourself unable to believe what you’re seeing. If you were using two monocles, you would surely dismiss it as the subtitle spectacles breaking. Unfortunately, there’s no disguising the truth you see before you.

Ben leans in to kiss Mal, and you recoil backwards, suddenly and in shock. Your stomach twists in that terrible way, and you’re sure you’re going to be sick. You grip the grass tightly, hoping it will stop your head from spinning. This doesn’t make sense. None of this makes any sense, or nonsense at all. The world around you makes positively nothing. You can deal with chaos, with spontaneity, but this? This is just cruel. The world is… mean for making you live through this.

You summon a rabbit hole back down to Wonderland faster than you can blink. You tumble down, dirt sprinkling down on you as you fall. Right before you’re swallowed by the earth, you scratch your arm on a rough patch of bark and roots. You catch a glimpse of your blood and tears falling in beads before you’re shrouded in darkness, blurry and delicate. They dance together like pained flurries of your heart and mind’s shared turmoil. You let yourself fall carelessly, the stuffy air disturbed by your stifled sobs slipping out where you don’t want them to.

You don’t plan on staying long at all. You just need a few moments to collect yourself, to gather your thoughts. You take in a few deep, heavy breaths, your brow furrowing with determination. You must overcome this. You must stay focused. You have to if you’re going to have any chance at helping Ben. You let out a sharp breath with a sharp little noise attached to it, and you can feel your head coming back in place. There will be time to deal with all of this, there will be time to cry, but that time is not now.

The second Mal turns away and pulls her face from his gentle embrace, Ben takes in a deep, panting breath, feeling like his chest is suddenly less tight than it had been. He hadn’t noticed it before, but he feels the absence of his contracting muscles and shallow breaths now that they’re gone. He immediately looks back over to that elm tree, the one he was looking at before. For a moment, just a moment, he could swear he saw your fingertips, the ends of your hair, the dark glint of your silky blackberry bow falling into the earth. But he blinks, and whatever might have been there or not is gone too quickly to tell.

He shakes his head a little, hoping to reorient himself, but a breeze blows by and he could swear on anything there’s a trace of your scent carried in the air. The faintest hint of something so quintessentially you - your perfume, your smell, your blood. His chest squeezes again, this time with longing.

He’s about to realize how long it’s been since he saw you, about to realize this is the longest he’s gone without even speaking a word to you, but something drags him back, keeping his thoughts here and now. He turns back to Mal, with that dull, throbbing headache he hasn’t been able to shake since the tourney game.

“Let’s go swimming.”

The enchanted lake is one of Auradon’s hidden gems. It was a gift to the newly united front of Auradon as a whole from the gods of Olympus; a thank you, an offering of goodwill for assisting in the containment of Hades. Hercules and Megara had gone through many lengthy strategy sessions and battle plans with Adam and Belle, trying to figure out how to prevent Hades from another attempt to overthrow Olympus. Adam and Belle knew that Hades was dangerous - he is a god after all - but they had no idea the extent and reach of his power.

The First Villain Uprising was a dark time that spread over many years. Most people know the events of VU1; the poison apples, the sleeping curses and dark magic. They’re familiar enough with the coups and the curses, the unregulated dark magic running rampant through the land, wielded by power hungry loonatics. Villains. Brave leaders and heroes in countries from down near the Southern Isles to way up north in Winter’s Keep refused to cower in the face of evil. They did everything they could to stop it, and for many years the villains were presumed dead.

The problem came from all the different countries not having a united front, not communicating with each other. There was no teamwork, no global council, so no one knew that the moment Maleficent was pierced through the heart by the sword of truth was the same moment Hades had managed to claw his way out of the river styx. The first thing he did once he got his bearings was drag Maleficent down to the underworld. She wasn’t dead, not quite yet, and they both saw the opportunity before them. A combination of Maleficent’s dark fairy magic and Hades’ rule over the souls of the dead meant they could drag the worst villains back from the depths.

That was the start of the Second Villain Uprising.

When the rulers figured out what was happening, they knew they had to band together, be stronger as a whole. That’s when Adam gathered up as many kings and queens as he could to start planning the first crusades. Fairy Godmother sent word out to the most powerful wizards and fairies and sorcerers she could, pleading for them to join the fight against evil.

It didn’t take long to start rounding up villains, but they needed somewhere to put them. Eventually, Fairy Godmother devised a plan. With the help of Merlin of Camelot, Yensid of Schwartzvald, the Great Genie of Agrabah, and the Three Good Fairies of the Moors, they were able to create a magic barrier around an abandoned isle off the southern coast of Belle and Adam’s kingdom. This became known as the Isle of the Lost, the only secure place where villains and all the evil they bring with them can’t escape.

As a thank you to the mortals down below, the gods gifted them with the enchanted lake, right in the heart of Auradon. Each god added a blessing or a gift of some kind, which is how it got such steadfast healing properties and good magic. The lake itself is magical, which is something that Belle and Adam decided not to advertise during the aftermath of the expulsion of evil.

There was so much terror and fear in the land, people afraid of something going wrong, of some new villain popping up right when they let their guard down. Adam and Belle decided to keep the lake’s properties under wraps for the most part, preemptively stopping any attempts to stockpile or weaponize magic purely to get the upper hand in a magic cold war that has long since ended.

The cleansing and healing properties of the enchanted lake are simplistic, but effective. Ben remembers a time when he was young, there was a brief few weeks when Adam seemed to lose control over shifting his form from man to beast. His condition was ultimately traced back to stress, a comorbid symptom of some nasty migraines, and high cholesterol.

Rumors of his condition began to circulate, and Adam found himself splashed across the covers of gossip rags on newsstands and store checkouts. Fairy Godmother was able to fix him right up, and instructed him to fully submerge himself in the enchanted lake once a week for about a month or so. He followed her instructions to the letter, and was soon back to rights.

As he stands on the small cliffside overlooking the serene, enticing water, Ben’s not sure what jogged that memory, or why it’s at the front of his mind right now. He shakes his head a little, but it keeps coming back, tugging at him like a child vying for their fathers attention.

“Are those little crowns on your shorts?”

Ben glances over at the pavilion where Mal sits. He looks down, then chuckles.

“Maybe,” he calls back. Their eyes lock as Mal gathers her thoughts. Ben can feel it, the tightness coming back in his chest. Before it reaches all the way up to his head, his instincts kick in. He lets out a loud roar, then he jumps.

The water hits his skin. Instead of cool and refreshing, just the way he remembers it, it feels like a freezing cold burn. The world goes quiet as he sinks deeper and deeper into the lake, eyes widening in shock at the unpleasant, almost painful feeling. His skin burns, and he scratches at his arms and legs and chest. His hands move, frantic and sluggish in the water as he itches his neck, then his cheeks, then his head…

He freezes, muscles relaxing, limbs falling still as the water soothes him and purges the last of the fizzing magic out of him. He had no clue what was happening until it was over, and now, hovering underwater, it’s over. He knows he can’t have been down there for too long, but it’s when his instincts scream at him to hyperventilate that he realizes he’s still underwater. His eyes widen, and he fumbles, swimming to a rock hidden from the shore.

He drags himself out of the water, chest heaving, body shaking. The surface of the rock is smooth, but he struggles to maintain his balance. He manages to flip over and lean back on the rock, praying for some stability. His free will, his mind, his cognizance is all coming back to him at once. He feels like a computer flashing a blue screen from too many programs running and downloading at the same time.

He clutches his chest, unable to control his breathing. The disorientation starts to fade and his eyes widen with horror as the reality of the situation starts to set in, cutting through the painful panic gripping him. Mal… drugged him. Or worse, cursed him. His stomach drops, twisting sickeningly, his hands trembling out of control. He’s not normally like this. He never lets himself get like this. He heard stories about extremely powerful villains being able to use mind control or hypnosis on rare occasions, but he never expected it to feel so… violating.

His gaze drifts downward to the rippling water. No one can know about this. This can never get out. If even a whisper of this gets out, the consequences and aftermath would suffocate him. She just jeopardized the entire future of the United Republic of Auradon. She could very well have just pounded nail after nail into the coffin containing the lives and futures of all those poor kids stuck on the Isle, the ones she claimed to care so much about. She may have destroyed lives, futures, an entire nation, for… what?

He tries to figure out why. Why would she do this? She has to have some sort of motivation for reaching into his brain and jerking him around like a puppet, making a fool of himself in front of the public. Oh god- he thinks, remembering the tourney game. He never acts like that. He never acts erratic or impulsive. What must his parents think of him? What must you be thinking of him right now? Or the entire country?

His throat tightens up as he starts to panic again, mind already clouded by the doom of plummeting in the polls. He’s unopposed for king, but after a disaster like this, who would want him? Someone else will run and win, because no one in their right mind would trust someone who voluntarily lets themself become a villain’s personal sock puppet to run a goddamn country! He breathes harder, flexing his fists open and closed until his knuckles go white. Why would she do something like this? What does she want from him, a second date?

He pauses. That must be it. A new wave of rage overcomes him as he realizes - unless he’s given a miraculously better explanation for this - that Mal pressed a self-destruct button for the entirety of Auradon because she has a crush on him. A stupid, goddamn teenage crush. And now his political career will be over before it could ever start because of it. He’s going to be the first king to be impeached before he’s crowned. He can’t stop spiraling, can’t stop the racing thoughts drowning him above the water.

A loud, animalistic roar tears from his chest. It’s much more primal, more beast-like than he ever allows himself to be, but he supposes that it’s understandable for something like that to slip out given the circumstances he finds himself in.

“Breath,” he tells himself, swallowing thickly. “Breathe.”

If he can’t get his head right, if he can’t be smart about this, it… well, that’s not even an option. He has to collect himself. He has to live up to the person his parents think he is, his country thinks he is, that you think he is. He has to be that person. He only has a few moments of this realization to reorient himself before he hears Mal’s voice.

Instead of enticing and distracting like it had been before, now it feels like the lure of an angler fish’s light in the murky depths, it feels jarring. He shudders, recoiling like she just threw glass at him. She calls out for him again. This time, he can hear the spike of fear carried along in her voice as it echoes across the lake. Is she hurt? In trouble? He starts to go check on her, then for a moment, he hesitates.

All the thoughts racing through his mind like the piston cup find their way to the forefront of his head again. His chest aches as he relentlessly beats himself up over this. How could he let this happen? This is exactly what his parents warned him about, what he promised them - gave them his word - that he would not let come to fruition. And yet, here he is, sitting on a rock with the livelihoods of innocent people at risk because of him and his naive, stupid optimism.

This, the wellbeing of all innocent people of Auradon, is what he’s devoted all of his time and power and care and focus and everything else he’s got within him into. All that work, all that potential for good, and now he lays paralyzed below the sword of Damocles. He can only stand there, watching the ropes fray one after another.

“I can’t…” he pants, chest squeezing in terror again. “I can’t let this happen.”

He swallows hard, muttering to himself.

“Can’t let them win.”

He can’t let Mal achieve whatever the hell her endgame is here. He has to stop this before it gets worse. And above all, this cannot become known to the public. He can see the faces of disappointment and fear on the members of the council, on the senate. He was never ready to be king, they’d say in hushed, justified tones, the boy is a fool! How could we let him bring evil into our homes on purpose?!

The voices in his head go on and on, painting the worst outcome possible in vibrant colors. The nation will lose any trust or faith they might have had in him. More painfully, he realizes how deeply disappointed his parents will be in him. The kind so irreparable that they can never even speak of it. His father will go silent, his mother will try to smile at him, but her tears will give her away. Disappointing his parents, disappointing you…

Oh god, you. Where are you? Where have you been during all of this? You and Ben are usually joint at the hip, but he hasn’t seen you in days. The realization makes him feel sick, like he’s just come to the realization that he hasn’t had air to breathe. What have you been doing without him? Have you been in Wonderland, or at the Wonderland Embassy with your mother? Why haven’t you texted him? Or at least called? Worse fears attack him relentlessly from the inside out, worse than ruining innocent lives or his political career because these fears are about you.

A scream, followed by a large splash, then another more fearful scream pierce his senses, pulling his attention out of the momentary panic over you and your wellbeing. It must be Mal, he thinks, it has to be. She’s the only other person out here. She must have gotten into the water to look for him, but why does she sound like she’s struggling? He listens intently for a moment. She definitely sounds like she’s struggling. He stands up to jump into the water and find her, but before he can, something unusual happens.

He hesitates.

After everything she’s done to him, and to the people of Auradon, after she stabbed him in the back and violated his free will for days, should he even bother trying to help her? What if this is part of some elaborate ruse, luring him into a trap by pretending to drown. Maybe she’s going to turn him into a bug and trap him in a jar, letting him suffocate slowly while she shakes it and laughs.

What if she just… had an accident? Anyone could drown in a lake if they weren’t being careful, and he’s sure children of villains aren’t raised to be super cautious. Maybe it would be better that way. It would certainly give Ben one less problem to worry about, one less moving part to constantly keep track of.

He dives back into the lake, swimming towards her. He bites his cheek, dismissing the fleeting, impulsive thought as quickly as it could intrude into his stream of mind. He’s not even going to waste time considering it or letting it argue his case. He knows who he is, and he knows who he chooses to be. He is never going to choose to be the kind of person who lets someone else get hurt when they can do something about it.

If he can help anyone - regardless of who they are or what they’ve done to him - he’s going to. Even if it’s from a distance, he can’t knowingly be complicit in tragedy befalling anyone. That’s why he’s bringing over the kids from the Isle in the first place. He can’t sleep at night knowing that there are people struggling and suffering while he has the power to do something about it.

He has to give his parents credit for raising him to have such strong moral character. That’s why, against his better judgment, he swims as fast as he can back to the pavilion. It only takes a moment for him to see her, kicking and flailing mere feet from the pavilion.

He dives as deep down as he can. He hopes that the longer he’s under the water, the more submerged he is, the less likely any more magic she tries on him will succeed. Or at the very least, she’ll have less time to try and pull something on him. His hand skims the bottom of the lake, brushing against something uncharacteristically sharp. He sees a cluster of glowy crystal like geodes - a wishing stone, he realizes. He grabs it, and shoves the rock into the pocket of his swim trunks.

It’s not much, it’s barely anything really. But he’s sure any mildly sharp object is infinitely better than nothing when facing off against an unpredictable dark fairy. Trying to use a wishing geode to defend himself from dark fairy magic - either as a magic shield or a physical weapon - is like trying to use an umbrella in a hurricane. He’s really going into this blind, but at least he’s aware of the disadvantage he’s working against. In spite of all the massive errors and failures he seems to have accumulated out of nowhere, he can at least say he’s not stupid enough to be entirely unarmed at a time like this.

He can see Mal, splashing and thrashing about, slipping below the surface as she loses her footing. He rushes closer and grabs her, scooping her up and confidently walking them both out of the lake. He catches his breath, focusing everything he’s got on one thing - he cannot let Mal know that he knows. He has to keep his face neutral, act sweet and normal, not say or do anything that could possibly tip her off. He’s in the lion’s den, and one wrong move could ruin everything beyond repair.

He silently thanks his parents for years and years of diplomatic training, for teaching him how to maintain his composure no matter how overwhelming his emotions are, no matter how much pressure and scrutiny he finds himself under. He reaches the pavilion in just a few steps, and sets Mal down gently. She doesn’t seem to notice anything about his behavior is different, so he keeps doing what he’s been doing. It seems to be working so far, which provides him with the briefest sense of relief.

“Ugh!” She shrieks. He shakes the water out of his hair, trying to clear his head, and she swats at his chest, “You scared me!”

Ben falters for a moment, nearly letting a grimace loose at the nauseating feeling of disgust permeating him from this, from having to be so close and sweet to her after she violated his mind, his free will. And she did it on purpose.

“Uh,” he starts, trying with everything he’s got to sound so light and casual, like she made him sound before. “You… you can’t swim?”

It’s really not that important to either of them right now, but it’s the first thing he can think of that doesn’t start with why the hell or how the hell or jail.

“No!” She yells indignantly, like it should be obvious.

“But you live on an island.” He notes. He never would have been able to challenge her under the curse she cast on him, not even something as small as asking why she can’t swim. He watches her expression closely, wondering if she’ll notice.

“Yeah, with a magic barrier around it, remember?” She demands incredulously. There’s a shrill tone to her voice with a venomous sting, like Ben was the one who cast her out and put up the barrier himself. He flinches at the sound of her voice.

She can’t swim. She nearly drowned looking for him, and he let himself consider allowing it to happen. A stab of unwelcome but justified guilt catches him off guard for a moment, causing him to falter.

“And… you still tried to save me.” He murmurs solemnly, mostly to himself.

He hates this. He hates that she did something so horrible and so kind to him right after each other. It’s tempting to dismiss her searching for him in the lake, to let himself focus only on the pain and damage she’s caused in such a short time, and he tries desperately to cling to his moral values. Values that he’s always sworn to himself he will never abandon, no matter how hard or complicated things get.

Now here he stands, looking hard and complicated square in the purple framed face.

People are nuanced, he tells himself, trying to remember it. Nobody is all good or all bad. People… people are complicated. It’s a hard philosophy to hold onto, and an even harder one when you’re the one that’s been made a fool of, made to dance around in public and cater to her every whim. It’s hard to remember that people are nuanced, not all bad when you’ve been made into someone’s bitch.

“Yeah, and do you thank me?” Mal demands rhetorically, “No!”

He struggles to follow her. Her voice makes him flinch, buzzing around his head like an angry hornets nest. It makes his ears ring. He feels that strange, painful headache stirring up again - the one that got worse and worse every time she forced her voice into his mind.

“All I get is soaking wet!”

She looks at him expectantly, then huffs. It sounds exactly like the noise Audrey would make when she wanted something that wasn’t handed to her instantly. A new wave of indignant rage begins to bubble and boil up inside him as he realizes what she wants. She wants him to grovel. She wants him to apologize, and kiss her hands, and beg for everything to be smoothed right over. He swallows hard, managing to contain it. Just barely.

In a split second, he realizes he has to do something. The more time they spend together, the sooner Mal will realize she doesn’t have control over him again. If she finds out, that will open up more trouble than Ben would care to count. He has to pacify her, just enough to get them both home as fast as possible. Before she can do anything else to him.

He reaches into his pocket, handing her the geode.

“And this, uh… this fancy rock.”

His stomach twists, spiking with anxiety as he offers it to her. Wishing stones - also called wish geodes - are a natural and common byproduct of fairy magic. They can vary in strength and appearance based on what fairy they came from, and since they usually form underground or by bodies of water, they can be hard to find. They’ve become even harder to source in recent years as less and less people use magic - fairies included.

The ones near Auradon are from Fairy Godmother’s magic. The ones way up north in Schwartzvald are from the mainland forest fairies deep in the Fantasia Woods, the ones out west are from the Blue Fairy, and any wish geode you find on the northeastern coast will always be from Flora, Fauna, or Merriweather. Since wish geodes are essentially nature’s way of recycling magic leftovers, they’re usually not too strong. Unless they were charged up with something, like a blessing, or a falling star, or enchanted spring water from Olympus.

Ben, however, is painfully unaware of this. He hasn’t studied magic and magic theory as extensively as you have. He suspects sometimes that you may know more about magic than the good fairy herself. He does know some introductory magic theory, and a few little facts from you that he’s remembered over the years.

What he does know is that wishes and hypnosis or mind control or whatever the hell Mal did to him are two completely different kinds of magic. He knows that if he gives Mal the stone, even if she did wish for something, it couldn’t possibly do more damage than she’s already done. At this point, it’s the lesser of two evils. Really, it’s the only viable option he’s got. The geode shimmers and glitters, glowing softly against her skin in a luminous pearly hue. She glares up at him, and he plasters on a smile. Hopefully, a convincing one. He gestures back behind him.

“Make a wish, and throw it back in the lake.”

Unless her goal of hypnotizing him was to somehow end up with a good grade on the next test, or a really good hair day, this rock will do nothing for her. It’s just not strong enough on its own, which makes it the perfect placebo. Mal scowles up at him, and winds up to throw the rock bitterly into the lake.

In that moment, her heart’s unsung desires cry out desperately, begging for something that not even her mind can grasp. I wish what he said was true, her heart cries, that he doesn’t think I’m evil. I wish Ben would keep being nice to me, even after I break the spell. I wish Ben would defend me from all the people who act like they’re afraid of me, I wish he would make me feel like I belong here!

The rock sinks into the water, bubbling and glowing as her desires are realized. A soft whispered voice floats into the air, seeming to speak only to her.

“Malorie Valda Faery, Princess of the Moors and Young mistress of Evil… your wish has been heard, and your wish has been granted. So long as you do not act on the evil inside your heart, and stay trustworthy, honest, and kind, he shall see no evil inside you.”

It’s so faint, so hard to hear that she thinks she must have imagined it. She falters, thrown off guard for a moment, then stands up and shakes off some of the water still clinging to her. The glowing water swirls and pools around Ben. An almost ticklish, tingling feeling floats down onto him. It’s so light and so soft, it’s gone so quickly that he struggles to remember if it really happened.

He takes in a breath, his brow softening as he realizes the panic is retreating. A breeze blows by, carrying the scent of magnolia and the impending night air that quickly makes its way closer to them as the sun sinks. Little goosebumps prickle down Ben’s arms and back as his defenses begin to relax back to normal. He picks up his varsity jacket to wrap around Mal, and grabs a towel for himself. The last thing either of them need right now is to catch a cold.

He takes a few more breaths as she sits down, mildly puzzled at why it’s so easy to breathe now, but so difficult just a few moments before. He searches every crease and crevice of his mind for what was bothering him before. He doesn’t usually struggle to remember what he was thinking about, but this particular thing just seems to evade him, like a child playing hide and seek. He knows it was important, really important, but he just… can’t remember. He looks down at Mal in hopes of jogging his memory, but seeing her sit there, all sad and wet and swallowed up by his jacket, all he feels is a pang of sympathy.

He feels himself relaxing, his reflexes softening from a state of panic to their usual level of low, constant background anxiety. Look at her, he thinks, does she really look like she wants to overthrow an entire country? The question is rhetorical, and the answer clear. No. She just wants a home, somewhere to fit in. She looks so small, so vulnerable and powerless like this. He chastises himself for letting himself lose sight of why he brought her and her friends to Auradon in the first place.

She’s here to grow, to heal - they all are. Of course she’s going to make some silly mistakes like spray painting her locker, or cutting class, or using magic to get Ben to go out with her. Besides, with coronation coming up so fast, it makes sense that she would feel like she couldn’t find an opportunity to ask Ben out without a little extra help. That’s all this is, a silly mistake. It’s nothing to be blown out of proportion, really. He sighs, sitting across from her, feeling a dull nudge of something that could grow into fondness with time.

He reaches over to fix her hair, and she looks up at him. She searches his eyes, desperately looking for any signs of hate or change in how he views her. That’s what this is, he confirms to himself. She just has a crush on him is all. He would never say that to anyone, he wouldn’t run the risk of embarrassing someone dealing with such delicate feelings, but it does make sense. She said herself just a while ago, dating on the Isle is more like gang activity than picnics and drive in movies. Of course she wouldn’t know how to talk to someone she likes, how to find ways to spend more time with them.

Ben almost chuckles at the thought, the idea of her trying to figure out how to enchant her crush into liking her back. It’s sweet, really. Nothing malicious at all. Besides, everybody knows that love magic doesn’t exist, there is no such thing as a love spell. So if she still doesn’t know that yet, could her knowledge of magic really be that dangerous? It can’t possibly be. She just used a harmless little spell to speed things up a little. No one would ever act out like that if it wasn’t for some matter of the heart or other. It’s almost flattering in a strange way.

He decides to test his theory, letting his fingertips linger in her damp, sugar plum hair, twirling it lightly.

“Mal?” He starts, getting her attention.

“I, uh… I told you that I loved you. At the tourney game.” He says, jogging her memory. He looks at her, studying her face. “What about you?”

This is perfect, he thinks, this is the most opportune way to offer her a way to tell him how she feels, get it all off her chest.

“Do you love me?” He prompts.

Normally, he would never be this direct with someone. But he feels it’s warranted, given the circumstances. It’s taken many years for him to learn to trust his gut with things like this, and he’s not going to doubt himself now. Yes, what she did was bad - unforgivable, even - but at the end of the day, she’s just a hormonal teenage girl with a crush. She can’t possibly be faulted for that, for having feelings.

“I…” Mal starts, swallowing thickly and looking away from him again. She clutches the sides of his jacket, pulling it tighter around her. It smells soapy, like it’s too clean. She knows she should probably be feeling something, but she has no goddamn clue what it is - much less how to recognize and articulate it. She feels… queasy. Kind of shaky and sweaty. Are you supposed to feel like that when a boy says I love you? That has to be the feeling that people are always talking about, getting butterflies in your stomach. Mal supposes butterflies just don’t agree with her.

“I don’t think I know what love feels like.” She replies simply, in a rare and impulsive moment of vulnerability. If she’s ever going to be vulnerable, it will be when she can control how the other person reacts to it. She looks down. Instead of looking at Ben, she traces her eyes over the skirt of the dress Evie put her in. It’s calming, relaxing. There’s the faintest trace of Evie’s perfume, and it makes Mal feel a sense of warmth and longing that she desperately needs right now.

Ben’s heart squeezes sympathetically. He feels so bad for her. That tragic compassion reassures him that bringing her to Auradon was the right decision, and this whole thing was just a silly miscommunication. A mistake.

“Maybe I could teach you.” He says softly. He puts his hand on her arm, helping her stand up.

“Come on. Let’s get you home.”

When you show up to the Wonderland Embassy, the home away from home you share with your mother, you look positively and uncharacteristically ragged. It’s merely a pebble’s throw from campus, so it couldn’t have been a particularly tiring walk - unless you walked your way from Camelot, which is highly improbable. Your blackberry bow is loose and slipping off towards your ear, your skirt is all rumpled, and you haven’t even noticed the run in your favorite pair of knee socks.

Worst of all, worse than your slouching or lethargy or the tear tracks down your cheeks, are your eyes. The vibrancy, the hope and curiosity is all but gone. Your dear mother, Alice - better known as Alice Liddel, Ambassador of Wonderland - notices all of this right away. You answer her usual question, are you ready to embark on your weekly mother daughter dinner, before she can even ask it.

“I’m afraid I can’t make dinner, mother,” you say, babbling around the tea biscuit you grab from the counter and hold in your mouth, keeping your hands free to drop off the useless information you’ve gathered throughout the day and search for a few books in your mother’s collection.

“But I promise I’ll get something more than tea and cakes from the school kitchens tonight.” You assure her half heartedly, more worried about her peace of mind than your dietary habits. The moment the words leave your lips, she knows that something is wrong. Not wrong in the sort of way that a leaf floats down a brook, but deeply wrong, like a subaquatic shrub.

Shrubs are not subaquatic by nature, and if one is found it’s recommended to bring it to the nearest tree surgeon as quickly as possible. She looks at you, her darling daughter, her wonderful little dear, and sees a subaquatic rose garden. You never skip dinners with your mother, not for the tiffletoo flu, or final exams, or anything else regardless of urgency or importance. The only time you’ve skipped dinner in the past was one time, one terrible night where Ben was rushed off the tourney field with a broken wrist and a nasty concussion.

The standard for skipping dinner and tea with your mother is one that’s very rare and quite extreme, so you’re not too terribly surprised when she stops you from leaving the Wonderland Embassy with a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Nunz yet, my love,” She says softly, soothingly. She fixes your hair in that comforting motherly way of hers, then moves on to fix your bow how you like it.

“I can’t watch you gyre like an overwrought sulphide marble for a moment longer.” She looks at you softly. “What’s got your mind so snaggled, sweets?”

Your mother, your dear dear mother is your most favorite person in both worlds, right alongside Ben. You’ve always found your inability to lie to her or hide your feelings as a relief, a blessing. Now, however, you find yourself wishing for the first time that you were able to lie to her as easily as Audrey and Lonnie lie to their mothers. Your stomach twists uncomfortably. You don’t like this feeling. You wish it would just go away, but you know you can’t tell your mother everything that’s going on. Not yet, at least.

She’s so close with Ben’s parents - in both business and personal regards - that if you were to make the wrong move, it could mean a world of nasty repercussions and consequences for Ben. The exact ones you’ve been maddening yourself trying to shield him from. You trust your mother implicitly, but you also know she has a duty - not just as a politician, but as a parent - to inform Ben’s parents imminently of any perils regarding Ben that she is made aware of.

You sit down, fussing with the pleats of your dress, tugging at your stockings to buy yourself some time, give yourself a moment to carefully choose the most right, non incriminating words you can muster up.

“Ben has been behaving strangely.” You state. Your voice is soft, but not fragile. This worries your mother. If your voice were fragile, you see, it would mean this was all very new and fresh. But the reluctant acceptance in your tone of voice tells her the severity of the situation in which you’ve found both yourself and Ben. Your voice is quiet, your words simple, and a soft hum of understanding leaves your mother’s lips. She nods empathically, silent in the moment that follows so you can continue.

“And, I… can’t quite seem to figure out the reason why.” You continue, even more quietly - almost shamefully so.

Your mother hums again, this time with a deeper, more resolute understanding of how you’re feeling and why exactly you must be feeling the way that you are. You and Ben have been so terribly close for so awfully long, that if either of you had felt at any point during your numerous years of friendship that you were mildly confused by the behavior or the other - much less left clueless and in the dark, as you currently are - that that in and of itself would be nothing short of anomalous.

So naturally, when something this catastrophically unusual occurs, it should come as no shock at all how deeply distressing it would be to you. The very worst part, you realize, is that your mother has already come to this conclusion with barely a fraction of the information you have. You shudder to think about how distraught she’d be on your behalf if she knew everything you do about your trouble with Ben’s unusualness as of late.

“Lovey…” Your mother says warmly. She reaches over to you, handing you a warm porcelain teacup and saucer of her ever perfect chamomile tea. It’s sweetened with just the right amount of honey, but not so much as to overpower it - a mistake that you’ve seen many people make quite often - and topped off with just a little bit of shaken cream and rose pollen.

You’re never sure how she manages to make it so perfectly with so little effort every single time, but it must be a mother’s touch, you suppose. A gentle hug and a warm cup of her specialty tea always gets you to open right up to your mother, no matter how mimsy and gallymoggers you may be feeling.

Your expression drops, and your mother recognizes it instantly as the look of finally allowing yourself to let in the very best of ideas. Your posture straightens imperceptibly, and your mother disguises her proud smile with a sip from her own teacup. She loves seeing you like this, lighting up as your mind is flooded in a flash brainstorm.

“That’s it…” you mutter again, aloud this time. You stand up, careful not to spill your beverage, and you take a great big sip before setting it down hastily.

“Thank you,” you sigh gratefully to your mother, giving her a squeeze around the middle, and a honey chamomile kiss to the cheek before you depart.

“I really must go now,” you say regrettably, but she’s already waving you off with affection.

“Be safe, dear.” She smiles, then gives you a subtle and humorous look. “And don’t lose your head.”

You let out a laugh from your nose.

“I think you’ve come close enough for the both of us.”

You exit the Embassy in a rush, determination and your mother’s laughter following in your footsteps. For the first time in days, you know what to do next.

#curiosity is a wonderful thing #curiosity #descendants #descendants x reader #ben florian #ben florian x reader #daughter of alice #daughter of alice!reader #alice liddell #liddell!reader #I finally got my adhd meds upped so I'm having a productivity focus let's be normal party #also I bit the bullet and read this chapter to my mom and sister to make sure it hit right because WOW it's a lot. subtext by calvin klien.#anyway yeah they loved it???????? so fucking sweet

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seiwas · 2 months ago

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here for your game!! i am kindly asking for megumi and royal au!! 💗 hope you’re doing well sel!!

cici!! thanks for playing with me 🥺 this was so fun to think about! i hope you’re doing well too 🥺

megumi + royal au

megumi was born to be your knight, and yuuji your prince.

at least, that was what was intended.

your mothers had all grown together in a town south of where she eventually married into. your mother and yuuji’s had both married into royalty, while megumi’s remained in the noble high class.

every summer, your families would gather on an island east of the southern sea—a place your mothers had spent their blazing summers in as maidens. it was where they could be free, without the watching eyes of their tutors from the academy.

it was where megumi’s mother had met his father, and where they eventually fell in love, then married. megumi was born in the winter, but you are certain that if he were born in the summer, his first breath would have been the crisp air of the southern sea.

the island is your second home, a place where you, megumi, and yuuji grew up together. afternoon tag games in fields of cosmos, and stargazing at night, just at the hilltop overlooking the island’s coast. it holds every memory you keep close to your chest.

you lost your first tooth there when you slammed face-first into yuuji’s back after finally catching up to him in your game of chase. yuuji ran straight back to the summer house to call for your mother, but megumi remained right there beside you, crouched low with his arm stretched out to your lips. he’d pulled his sleeves all the way down for it, offering up the fabric for you to bite into to stop the bleeding in the meantime.

memories of summer remind you of yuuji’s bright eyes, like the sun, constantly beckoning you and megumi for a day of adventure. they remind you of megumi’s, a deep blue-green that takes on light like the stars. a depth hidden in constellations; to this day, they still make you curious, and you still find yourself lost in them more times than you would admit.

you were a formidable trio, your bond unbreakable the same way your mothers’ was. a relationship grown in fondness but predestined all the same. you had an inkling early on that you and yuuji were to be paired at some point of your lives.

and you love him, yes. it is impossible not to, in some way. but you do not love him like that—for you, it has always been megumi.

since training for knighthood in your kingdom, and being orphaned from a tragic accident that killed both his parents, megumi has been by your side, his life sworn to yours.

he watches you quietly and carefully, standing close to you when you go into town. his body is but your human shield, though you know it is out of more than just his obligation when he remains on edge, even for paper cuts and needle pricks from sewing his or yuuji’s latest handkerchiefs.

megumi has a steady resolve and an even steadier hand; he would occasionally teach you the essentials of holding a knife, though you know combat training is far from what any of your tutors would want you to be doing on a sunday night.

“for your letters, and other things,” he’d penned on the note attached to his gift for your 16th birthday.

a thin, dainty thing. sharp at the tip with elegant vines at its base. a letter opener.

you do not receive as many letters as you send off, he knows that much. the only letters you write are for him and yuuji, but even those are different in nature; yuuji’s often come in elegant envelopes, wax-sealed with his family crest. megumi’s, however, are on papers torn in haste, folded to be slipped discreetly into his pockets, or to be slid right underneath his door.

‘and other things’ he had said, and you are certain he means ‘for your protection, when i cannot be there’. it fits perfectly into the palm of your hand and is light enough for you to carry wherever you go. he has given you enough lessons for you to know how to use it when you need to.

marriage is a topic you have yet to fully speak to your parents about. they have never imposed it on you, knowing full well there is no rush, especially when your father is not so particular about political alliances. but ever since you were young, you have always known it was predestined to be yuuji.

but again, that was what was intended.

during the tail end of your 17th spring, the gojo family put out a hunt. the royal family only comprised the lone gojo king, his own parents now retired and out of the political scene—and he needed an heir.

to your surprise, the king himself appeared on your family’s doorstep, carefully assessing all the boys in your household.

then, his blue eyes landed right next to you, to the boy who has always been right by your side; the boy who has sworn his life to yours by knighthood.

“you,” the gojo king points.

your megumi.

you freeze, gripping the letter opener behind you. you don’t know how to feel; you can’t tell if this is a good thing or not.

would he have to leave?

the gojo kingdom is further up north, and surely megumi cannot reign as its prince if he is away from it.

megumi looks at the king, then at you.

what do you do?

#this got waaaay longer than i intended 😭😭😭😭😭#HAJEKELSNKENDKDJDN I HOPE U ENJOY CICI !!!!#this was so fun honestly 🥺🥺🥺#i didnt realise i was writing this for so long until my fingers started to cramp from holding my phone 😭#megumi x reader #megumi #jjk #ask #rep #ask game answered #cielo.💫#aimfor-theheart #shotorus.workbook

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rikkiz · 2 days ago

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hii cici! t’s meeee :3 ‘🎀’ anon .. ♡ are you open for a request? I NEED to take this out .. since ’m ovulating 🥺, i’d love to request Riki with bulge kink and spanking the reader’s a$$ also covered the reader’s mouth as she was causing too much noise with her crying and m♡aning. he got so JEALOUS ’cause reader were too close to her male friends, Riki noticed reader’s friend holding reader’s waist, holding her hands, stroking her hair so he had to punish reader. PLEASE!🫸🏻🫷🏻 thank you so much, i hope you have an nice day ♡ and i love you, cici! :33

Jealous - Nishimura Riki

Riki had invited you to a party at Heeseung's place. He invited you. No one else. You had come with him. So, he was awfully confused and annoyed that you were not only not with him but with some guys that he didn't exactly love.

He watched your interactions with them from across the room. He seethed at the way this one particular guy was touching you. His hands hold onto your waist before moving to hold your hands or stroke your hair every once in a while. What bothered Riki the most, though, was how you just let him. You didn't try to push him away or didn't even look uncomfortable in the slightest and he hated it.

Although he couldn't exactly hate the guy for it since you weren't exactly pushing him away or telling him no and because no one really knew that he and you had a thing going on.

What was that thing? He wasn't sure. I guess it could be seen as friends with benefits but it was so much more. Riki knew you felt that way as well. That's what made him even more pissed about this whole ordeal.

As soon as that guy left your hip to go to the bathroom and you headed to go get a drink from the kitchen, Riki was grabbing your wrist and pulling you along with him upstairs.

You didn't fight him off though, you just let him pull you along which was telling.

He pulled you into some guest room with him and honestly, it was surprising that no one was in here yet, hooking up. Riki shut and locked the door before letting you go, making you stumble onto the bed.

"Are you fucking serious?" Riki asked as he walked over to the bed.

You look up at him from where you lie on the bed, "What?" You meekly ask but you both knew that you weren't dumb.

Riki doesn't say anything before manhandling you so that you were now flipped over on your stomach and he spanks your butt with some force, causing you to let out a whine.

He sits down on the edge of the bed, "Come here." Riki says, his jaw clenched.

You bite your lip before going over and lying across his lap, already knowing what is going to happen. Without any warning, you feel his hand make contact with your ass over your skirt.

"Letting him touch you like that when you know you're mine." Riki scolds before landing another smack on your ass.

You can't even bring yourself to defend yourself because he was right. You were his, whether it was official or not, you both knew it, yet you were doing stuff like that.

Riki spanks you a few more times as a form of punishment for what you did out there but that's all because at this point you were crying and babbling. He didn't need anyone to know what was happening in here, not right now. Though, maybe that guy hearing it wouldn't be too bad.

Riki has you sit up from where you lay across his lap. He then instructs you to get undressed and you do as he says, you never argued much with him. Riki also gets undressed as he eyes you the whole time.

You sit back down at the edge of the bed and he comes over, standing in between your legs. He pushes you up a little bit more to make things a bit more comfortable because despite how mad he was at you, he still loved you. He spreads your legs apart before sliding inside.

Riki then starts to fuck you hard and deeply. You hold onto his biceps for support as he stabilizes himself on the mattress. All that you could hear in the room for a while was the sound of skin slapping, your pussy, and the both of your sounds of pleasure.

Riki glances down for a moment and he can see a bulge forming every time he fucks into you, making him grin.

"Look, baby." He says but you don't process his words, too lost in pleasure. "Look." He says a bit more firmly and you look into his eyes before looking down at where he looked. You both look down at the bulge that formed in your stomach as he fucked you and it made him fucking crazy.

"Fuck." He groaned out as he continued to fuck you, going a bit harder, and it wasn't long before you were cumming. He fucked you through it before he was pulling out and cumming on your thighs because he didn't want to risk anything. Not yet, anyway.

You lie back and he leans over onto you, he can feel the stickiness of his release against his hips from your thighs as he leans down but he doesn't care right now.

He leaned in and kissed your neck a little messily before pulling away and looking down at you.

"Don't pull that shit again." He firmly says and your nodding obediently.

A/N: Hi 🎀 anon! I hope you like what I did with this! Love you!! You're so sweet :)

#rikkiz #rikkiz 🎀 anon #enhypen #enhypen hard hours #enhypen hard thoughts #enhypen smut #nishimura riki #nishimura riki smut #nishimura riki hard thoughts #nishimura riki hard hours

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tyungelic · 1 year ago

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cici this is so sweet omfg these are all so nice and thoughtful i feel so loved 🥹🥹 thank you for thinking of me this made my day!! 🩵🩵

Favorite thing about your moots?/things about them that stand out to you

(you can do anons too, always fun to include them)

oooo i love this question cause i always associate my moots with things, that’s why they all have representative emojis hehe.

okay so i’ll do like 5 moots but whoever wants to know just shoot me an ask hehe. i’ll maybe do some anons in a different one too🥰

@agustdiv1ne - my favorite thing about ashlee is her humbleness, i could talk about her and how amazing she is ALL day but i won’t for the sake of getting other moots on here hehe. Anyway she’s so so nice and humble it’s the first thing i think of when i think of her.

@mazeinthemoon / @napofamoon - oh man, mazey is kind of tough for me to think of, she’s really sweet and i love how adorable she can be compared to my first impression of her (i was scared of her) idk i think i just like moony as a person and that’s my favorite trait about her, she’s just really fun to talk to ☺️

@nightlyawnzz - y’all know i had to include Lia, my best friend on this app :> my number one supporter and literally one of the funniest people i know, my favorite thing/trait about her is her love for small things, this girl owns a pet rock (her rose quartz) like is that not adorable?

@cherrypeeking - CHERRYYY! my older sister hehe 🫶🏽 my favorite trait about her is her ability to make anything and everything about her girlfriend, it’s literally so cute watching her love crystal so loud and proud like i know yall see her on your dash and fully expect to see crystals name to pop up cause like if cherry doesn’t say her crystals name once a day it’s not her, it’s an imposter.

@tyungelic - speaking of crystal LOL my other older sister hehe, ima jump right into it here my favorite trait about her is her calm and collected personality, compared to cherry she’s so so calm, like ying and yang. The way she interacts with moots on here is so sweet too, she just gives that older sister vibe all the time and idk i can barely put it into words but i hope some of you guys get what i mean :>

(not to mention all these people write the best drabbles n fics)

#thank you so much little sis 🥺🩵🩵#hehe cherry’s entry is so sweet i love my sweet babygirl so much >//< she loves with all her heart #me if making everything about my gf was a crime #cici 🌹#cherry bear 🧸🍒🩷

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frostycatblr-fandom-files · 4 months ago

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Hi Frosty!!!! I just saw you had requests open! Is this true?

If so.... could I please have a brief....Hunter reaction to an accidental seeing reader in a wedding dress? I'm a sucker for this and will reread this trope over and over redone.

Thank you ❤️ and it's ok if not, just discard this then! Love your writing!

Alignment Events [Hunter x Fem!Reader]

Warnings and Information: You and the tattooed sergeant of Clone Force 99 have caught unexpected feelings for one another towards the end of the Clone Wars following a chance meeting in the middle of a friend’s special night. Following the end of the war, your friend has chosen to get married to her soldier sweetheart on her adoptive home world of Naboo. You and Hunter are attending as part of the happy couple’s wedding party right around the time your feelings have gotten a little more serious for each other. While being involved in the preparation means there could be a fair amount of rumination on the future of your relationship, what you don’t expect is how much a fun bit of playful dress-up could end up changing your life. Second Person POV, undescribed Fem!Reader. Republic Victory AU (so no Order 66). Limited Mando’a (pet names and familial terms). Minimal Star Wars and real-world swearing. Reference/allusion to alcoholic beverages. Iler Ci is an OC who serves as Reader’s friend for the story. Narrative and stylistic use of italics.

Word count: 4,926

Call it what you like - the Force, an alignment of the planets and stars, maybe fate - the galaxy had a funny way of bringing people together.

Meeting someone special in the middle of the Clone Wars had been an unexpected but pleasant happenstance. It hadn’t been in your immediate plans to make any changes to your dating status, but the first time you crossed paths with Sergeant Hunter of Clone Force 99 amidst what would later become a celebratory night out with some friends, there was something about him you simply couldn’t resist.

A busier night than most, clumsy encounters and a spilt strong drink were to be expected. Trying to cross from one end of the cantina to the other, one did a fair bit of running into happy couples and hopeful romantics.

Hunter had been neither.

There had always been the fleeting flirts and flings, but never anything serious and steady for either of you. There were no qualms about dating statuses, feelings of loneliness or even the emeralds of envy while in the company of partnered people.

Not until the night you met.

It would be a chance meeting. You and several friends were meant to be working, but the soldier sweetheart to a mutual friend had reached out and asked for help planning a special surprise earlier that morning. It would mean losing shifts and owing favors due to the last-minute nature, but hearing what he had in mind, you and your friends were willing to do anything.

Lane was a pilot in the Grand Army of the Republic, and had been in a long-distance yet serious relationship for some time now with your friend, Cici. They met while Lane had been on an assignment near Naboo almost a year ago. Emboldened by some of his brothers, he’d tried asking her out after a helping or two of liquid courage, but it must have been stronger than he anticipated. Lane maintains that while he recalls her politely declining the first request, he has no memory of her agreeing to get some food instead, or how she had apparently “helped” him back to the barracks.

In the morning, he would find a note, and only then in his sobered state would he realize the Pantoran woman he had been trying to charm all night was none other than Iler Ci. For all her humility and generosity, many would not suspect that she was the heiress to a well-known family of artists on Naboo, by whom she was adopted and raised after her birth on Pantora.

Thanks for a nice dinner and lovely company, Lane. Perhaps, if you ever remember where to find it while you’re still here, we can go to that Pantoran place you recommended? :) - Iler “Cici” Ci (PS: Don’t forget to take something for the headache.)

Though he would be reassigned before they could have a more proper date, Cici and Lane have been smitten with each other since.

It would be in front of a full house at 79’s that you and your friends helped Lane propose to his sweetheart, mere months before the end of the Clone Wars. It had never been so loud within the bar as the moment the pilot dropped down on one knee in front of his brothers and other patrons to present Cici with a ring someone had fashioned for him that very morning.

Soldiers in deployments of every color cheered for their brother when she agreed to marry him, and had drawn in from every corner to congratulate them. Marriages among Clones were less of an officially recognized thing, at the time, but Lane had been too eager, too deeply in love to care. The same could be said for Cici; it would not matter that it would only be another few months before the war was inexplicably over.

Among the last to offer congratulations were five men, each of them clad in grayscale, non-standard armor accented in red.

Standing ahead of the rest, a man somewhat shorter than Lane approached and put his hand forward. “Good to see you again, Lane. I came to offer our congratulations on behalf of the Bad Batch.” His handshake seemed quite firm. The four men behind him offered their respective greetings after that - two waved (one half-heartedly) while another merely nodded, and the fourth offered the only other handshake, even firmer than the first’s.

In spite of having most of the feeling squeezed out of his hand mere moments ago, Lane was almost excited, arguably starstruck, by who had come to offer their congratulations to him and Cici. He would make eager introductions to everyone.

“This is Sergeant Hunter, Tech, Echo, Wrecker and Crosshair of Clone Force 99. They’re the ones who helped us pull off that crazy rescue mission two months ago!”

Quite honestly you missed most of the short conversation between Lane and the sergeant as the other four went down the line and got everyone’s name; exchanging nice to meet you!-s with varying degrees of enthusiasm and politeness, shaking hands as they went. At the other end of the line, you were the last to personally greet each member of the squadron.

Introductions had been going smoothly until it came time to shake Hunter’s hand. Feeling somewhat caught under umber brown eyes, you inexplicably tripped while taking that half-step forward to better shake his hand. To your great fortune, Hunter’s reflexes were sharp; though it proved to be a slightly embarrassing method—strong arms laced across your back that brought the two of you chest-to-chest—you were caught before you would have been seriously hurt.

You could only offer a stammering apology, your composure rather rattled as you all but gawked up into the skull-tattooed face of the sergeant. There was a gentleness to the way he eased you off his chest only once he’s certain you’re unharmed, a softness in the way his aquiline nose bunched as the corners of his mouth turned up in a warm smile.

In a voice smokier than the alleyway behind 79’s, he made a small joke in hopes of lightening the mood. “So long as you’re alright, there’s no need to be sorry about falling for me, mesh’la. I’m rather flattered.” It’s nothing you haven’t heard before, but the level of confidence and self-assurance he has came as a surprise at the time.

Flirting came with the territory at 79’s; passing advances were to be expected now and again from the GAR’s soldiers by Coruscant’s diverse nightlife. But you found yourself especially charmed by the sergeant.

It would only be the beginning.

Though he may have been the one to make the joke about you falling for him, the truth was Hunter found himself equally smitten with you. He couldn’t get you out of his head. Comm numbers had been exchanged, but a bulk of the communication was done through Lane for the first few weeks following that special night at 79’s.

It was becoming increasingly obvious that Hunter was trying to keep you closer than just the periphery of his life; it isn’t every day that Lane finds himself telling you that he’s pretty sure Hunter went out of his way to get a bottle of your absolute favorite body fragrance from a crowded Outer Rim market because he recognized it by smell alone (and heard a rumor it would be discontinued on Coruscant soon).

“He must really like you.”

A month out from the end of the war, there is plenty of accumulated evidence that things are looking a little more serious between the two of you. The near-daily electronic exchanges are a good start. But it’s more than that, of course. Your respective companions have been privy to plenty of instances where you’ve thought about the other, and not to mention the interactions outside of the healthy helping of mutual flirting.

Like the night you had asked Hunter what his favorite mission so far was, his brothers sent you multiple pictures of him—all from different angles, all varying in quality—around their tiny attack shuttle, working on his response for at least an hour or more. Bathed in the blue glow of his datapad, smiling softly to himself.

Or the time you were enjoying a night in with some friends when Hunter would make a near desperate request for holofilm recommendations. They had strict orders to wait out bad weather before returning to command, so they were looking for something Tech could “borrow” in the meantime. There had been much hemming and hawing about certain types of media in the recommendation list you were compiling for him, but your friends gave you encouragement to include them.

“Promise you won’t laugh if half of it’s for kids?”

“Promise. My vode, too.”

Hunter may not have understood what it was about those movies that appealed to you right away, but he kept his promise, and filed the list away for another time, putting it to use later.

A month out from the end of the war, he asks to meet you at 79’s the very same night he and his brothers are due to be planetside. They have some important, short-term business they have to take care of; it’ll take a day at most. It could be his only chance to see you in person after all these weeks of long-distance communications. To great delight, you have agreed to meet him once you get off work, so long as he doesn’t mind that you’re in your work uniform.

You could have worn a full sleep set for all he cared, he would be just as glad to see you.

You’ve beaten him to the bar by a matter of fifteen minutes, finding yourself lucky with skylane traffic for a change. Taking advantage of your extra time, you first make use of the ladies’ refresher, cleaning up your hair and any makeup applied that morning before settling in to wait for him. Securing a two-person table, you wait out any remaining time by glancing over a few personal messages. It won’t be long before Hunter meets up with you.

Pay stub. Spam. Spam. Coupons. Work reminders. Delivery notice. Ooh, good coupons! More spam. Cici and Lane’s wedding plans.

Intrigued, you open the mass message and begin to skim. The happy couple is thinking of tying the knot somewhere large enough to include everyone, having had some concerns that a marriage office here on Coruscant would prove too claustrophobic. Instead, to make sure no one is left out, they’ll be using property within Cici’s family - a charming lakefront villa on Naboo.

You don’t get any farther than that before Hunter turns up, brothers in tow.

Uh oh. Should you have gotten a bigger table?

Before anything can be done, Hunter takes the opposite seat at the table, followed by Wrecker and Tech. They each say hello before the latter carefully begins tipping a few small packages and envelopes out of the former’s pack onto the table. Two small, neatly wrapped packages and a handful of envelopes aren’t a lot of items, but it’s certainly more than you expected. Once everything is laid out on the table beside your bag, Wrecker offers encouragement over his shoulder as the two of them quickly take their leave.

“Have fun, Hunter! You’ll do fine!”

The sergeant must be nervous. Tugging the crimson cloth keeping the curtain of brown curls off his neck and out of his face, Hunter clears his throat before doing his best to flash you a smile, carefully setting a third package on the tabletop.

“Thanks for agreeing to meet me here on short notice, cyar’ika.” More tugging, this time at the neckline of the bodysuit under his armor (which appears to be glistening) catches your eye. You gloss over the Mando’a for sweetheart and darling for the moment realizing he must have quickly wiped down his full kit before meeting you here.

He not only called you sweetheart, but he cleaned up for you? Aww.

You chuckle softly. “Of course! I see I’m not the only one who brought something either.” You pull your bag closer, wishing for the moment you had time to wrap any of it. It won’t matter. Hunter appears surprised to hear you have something for him, and offers you the chance to go first, if you’d like. You accept, reaching into your bag to pull ten identical items out. Two are offered to Hunter. “These are for you. I have more for your brothers.” Special micro-weave cleaning cloths from an electronics store are all you have to offer currently, your less practical gifts are either sitting in your apartment or still out for delivery.

Hunter’s nervous energy dissipates as he smiles, dumbfounded. “Guessing you got these for us because we ran out? That was… rather kind of you. Really.” Rubbing the back of his neck in thought, he debates which of the items on the table you should open first. Should he give you the largest package, the one carefully balanced on his knees under the table? Should you start with something small, and leave the best for last? (He should have asked Tech what the best way to do this kind of thing was while they were still at the Marauder. But then again, Tech was busy wrapping everything in old schematic papers.)

Maybe it didn’t matter. Come to a decision, Hunter nudges the pile of envelopes closer to you. “Start with these,” he says. “My brothers got these for you.” Hunter knows he’s made the right call when your immediate response is a surprised “Really?” paired with a smile brighter than the twin suns of Tatooine.

You carefully open one of the flat sleeves to find several stickers and a note inside. The short note is from Tech, explaining he’s taken some inspiration from “nat-born” trends seen on the holonet and everyone has found a handful of stickers you could use to decorate computer terminals or water canisters.

The conclusion and postscript make you smile before you set the note aside and look over the modest assortment of stickers he’s given you.

They are waterproof and weather resistant, so they should last quite a long time. We hope you’ll enjoy them as much as we’ve enjoyed the process of you and Hunter getting to know one another. Postscript: I hope the butterflies will suffice since I was not certain if you have a favorite insect.

You see evidence of how much Hunter has shared about you in the types of stickers each of his brothers have collected for you. Tech’s butterflies are mostly in your favorite colors. Echo’s given you stickers relating to places you’ve been, and planets you have an interest in seeing one day. Wrecker’s envelope is the heaviest out of the bunch; his collection showcases popular characters from your favorite novels and shows, and a few stickers of your favorite snacks have been added for good measure. (The sticker that says “Make today a BLAST!” with a rough depiction of a thermal detonator is probably your favorite from him.) And finally from Crosshair, you were given a few generic yet nice designs of animals you’d discussed early on with Hunter.

The entire spread is swept into their respective envelopes once everything has been looked at, at which point you make sure to thank Hunter at the very least. You trust him to pass along the sentiment for you in case you don’t get a chance to speak to the rest of Clone Force 99 tonight.

It was sweet of them to get you anything at all. You certainly didn’t expect it. When you agreed to meet with the sergeant you had really only expected one little token from their travels at the most, only possibly wrapped; nevermind three from Hunter alone and all of them wrapped.

One thing was clear: Hunter really likes you.

Between chilled drinks and appetizers, more alignment events occur as the two of you have an enjoyable night using the limited time available. Quite honestly, most of what you talk about goes by in a blur between each package you open. From one such parcel, the face of a favorite character from one of the holofilms previously recommended to him peers up at you in soft, fabric form. You recognize this rendition as one you already own, but you see that it’s been customized.

Added in thread, little details that are not typically included in merchandise have been sewn in with such care to make the character more screen-accurate.

“Wow… This must’ve taken a long time.”

Hunter’s chuckle is warm. “For me, yes. Fortunately it’s just an afternoon or two for Crosshair.”

“He did a really good job. I have one just like it at home, but I like this one a lot more.”

There’s some congratulatory commotion from the booth where his brothers are sitting nearby, among which you hear an excited “did you hear that?!” from Wrecker. Hunter waits until they’ve mostly settled back down before encouraging you to open the second of the three packages, watching as you carefully tear back the wrapping. What you find inside thoughtfully ties into one of your hobbies, made from recently-carved wood. It’s a material not-often come by in the jewel of the Core Worlds, so the rich, earthy smell catches you off-guard, adding to your amazement.

“I made this one myself.” He seems quite proud. And he should be.

Made with his own vibroknife, Hunter has given this gift a lot of care and attention. Wide, curious eyes trace the patterns of swirling grain as you repeatedly turn it over in your hands to admire from every angle. Everything had been sanded smooth, eliminating any stiff edges left by the process of whittling and carving.

You smile appreciatively before finding something to say. “I hope you didn’t get many splinters for all the trouble this must’ve been…”

Shoulders bounce in easy-going fashion.

“A few. Nothing too bad.”

That’s relieving to hear. “I’d feel bad if you went through all this trouble for me and ended up hurt.”

“And if I thought you were worth the trouble?”

Hunter’s question has left you stunned, dropping a delicate hush over the table. Hearing you’re worth the trouble - the possibility of pain - is a sincere sentiment you have not heard outside your social circle in quite some time, perhaps even longer than you realize. Feeling now is the right time, Hunter surrenders the last of the packages to you, the one he has been carefully guarding throughout the night. “I hope this is enough of an answer.” he says by way of answering your unspoken doubts.

An answer that carries you through the months to come. It’s a soothing balm to the long distances apart before the war finds an end, and fuel for the even longer nights after. Every time doubt had crept in and questioned the validity of what you have with the sergeant clad in smoke-gray armor, you returned to the note taped to the bottle of perfume to reassure and reaffirm.

In a promise more precious than pearl or priorite, your relationship will only ever move as fast as you’re comfortable with when Hunter asks to make things official.

No amount of playful pushing will change his resolve when friends, family and brothers find themselves gathered on Naboo in preparation for Lane and Cici’s wedding some months later.

There’s a fair bit of work to be done to get the lakeside villa gussied up for the big day, but with everyone pitching it, it’ll be over before you know it. There’ll be plenty of time for pre-wedding activities before it comes time to tie the knot. After a week of steady progress, there’s only one room left at this point.

One of the largest rooms on the property, Cici’s art studio overlooks a large, glimmering lake, so it should make for the perfect place to serve as the wedding hall once everything has been cleared out. It’s probably double, maybe triple, the size of an average apartment on the surface level of Coruscant, crammed with all manner of art supplies. Ignoring the fine layer of dust and disorganization, it feels akin to standing in an art store once Cici has unlocked the studio door and let everyone inside.

“I guess my parents never used my studio while I was away. That means there’s more in there than I thought… But! Between all of us, this shouldn’t take too long. A day at most, I’m sure!”

Wrecker matches her enthusiasm. “That’s the spirit, Ms. Ci!”

The workload is divided among the fifteen or so people who made it to Naboo ahead of time as equally as possible. You and some of Cici’s other friends from work would find yourself spectating the clean-out if you let the men of the GAR get away with it. They’re certainly efficient, and have made a real art of talking and tidying up at the same time, too. Any messing around is kept to a minimum, but the conversations are plenty playful as teams take boxes and crates full of studio items to temporary storage.

Wrecker and Echo are joking with one of your coworkers as canvases (some as tall (or taller) than the demolition expert) get shuffled into the hallway. One of Lane’s fellow pilots has volunteered to help Tech pack the various paint tubes by general color. And though you could easily move things off of the high shelves on your own, with Hunter holding the rolling ladder steady, Crosshair will not take no for an answer and insists upon helping you dust everything down.

“It will be safer to pass them down to me.” The fourth word escapes in a soft hiss, toothpick rolling with building irritation. “I don’t like the look of the fourth rung.”

It was a little wobbly when you’d climbed up the ladder, hoping to spare Hunter’s heightened senses from the dust… “Mind dusting them down for me, then?” Cross takes a decorative box set from you without a word, offering only a nod.

“Thank you, Crosshair.”

“Don’t mention it.”

As a team of three, you make steady progress. Hunter braces the ladder while Crosshair takes care of the larger items, leaving you to take care of the shelves and any smaller items. You would prefer to focus on getting this done as quickly as possible, so you leave the talking to the brothers. Brushing down a decorative bust, the marksman tries getting under the sergeant’s skin with a sarcastic smirk. “Taking notes for later, vod?” A sweeping gesture to bring attention to all the wedding prep is pointedly ignored as Hunter pretends not to hear the teasing question.

“You missed a spot, Cross.”

Maker, he loves you, make no mistake. Hunter is content for the time being to take all the time the galaxy gives him with you, for the time being.

But it’s too early to be thinking about marriage for him, he tells himself.

Maybe one day.

When the last of the crates full of various odds and ends have been moved into storage, and any paint splatters have been scrubbed from the floor, all that remains for the happy couple and their wedding party is waiting for the big day. Time is idled away with plenty of sightseeing and general merrymaking, everyone forging new memories together in the welcome wake of a three-year war.

Perhaps the most exciting of these pre-wedding events was Cici’s final dress-fitting, for which Cici’s mother invites you and the rest of Cici’s mutual friends into the studio late one evening, when the sky has turned dusky and dark. Large changing screens have been brought in for the fitting, and curtains have been drawn over most of the curtains that overlook the lake.

As Cici and her mother duck behind one of the opaque dividers, most everyone’s attention is given to something off in the distance, likely a first time for many. The elaborate structure, another Nabooian villa, glows brilliantly on an island’s lakeshore in the twilight.

“We were hoping everyone would get to see it lit up. That’s Varykino Villa. Isn’t it beautiful?” Cici swoons over the sound of rustling and shifting fabric. “Before a family friend gave my parents this place, he told us he spotted a private wedding on Varykino Island while looking across the water one day. That was, what, almost three years ago, mom?”

Mrs. Ci hums in confirmation. “Before he completely lost his eyesight. It was already starting to go, then, but he was pretty confident the man and the woman were alone, aside from the officiant. A golden protocol droid and a blue astromech were all they had for witnesses.” The last of the zippers are fastened as some speculate on the unusual choice in witnesses, and Cici steps out from behind the divider to a wave of fawning awe.

Wreathed in a flowing dress, Cici looks like a princess with her long hair pulled loosely over one shoulder. The cool-white fabric compliments the blue skin of her Pantoran heritage well. If she looks this good now, you can’t wait to see what she looks like once she’s gone through the hair and make-up process. She’d look like a proper queen.

Smiling, she wrings her hands somewhat nervously. “Do you think Lane will like it?”

It takes no time at all to reach a general consensus: how could he not?

“Lane will love it when he sees you’ve recreated his armor pattern.” you tell her, gesturing to the beaded embellishments in the bodice. Paint patterns were just as personal as their names. Their colors were just as important too, if the way Hunter reacted to you wearing any combination of red and gray was any indication.

He would tell you you looked good in just about anything, regardless of what you wore, but wearing anything in his colors was guaranteed to make your day extra special.

Now that the final fitting has taken place, you expect to enjoy the refreshments and socialize for the rest of the night, but the fun is only beginning.

Cici does more than just redressing in her previous clothing when she ducks behind the changing divider. With help from her mother, she wheels a large clothing rack covered by a large drop-cloth from behind the privacy screen.

Curious murmurs ripple through your friend group. Is this what you think it is?

“Are you ladies ready for a little fun?”

The cover is removed with a flourish, revealing the rack packed full with all manner of fancy dresses and gowns in various sizes and styles. “There’s more behind the screen, too.” Cici promises, inviting you and everyone to look through all the fancy garments. A majority of them are wedding dresses, but intermixed you find ball gowns and cocktail attire in all manner of material. Chiffon, lace, satin, silk, tulle, velvet. The choices are near overwhelming.

“Who’d like to go first?”

Down the hall from the primary studio, Hunter excuses himself from the bachelor party, a scribbled list of additional beverages he volunteered to get from cold storage in one hand with a promise he won’t take forever. From here, he can hear plenty of excited teasing and tittering from the studio. Sounded like the ladies were having a fun time, too. Good.

Hunter starts down the hall, thinking he can slip past the partially open door unnoticed, but finds himself slowing when he hears your friends saying your name.

“Need help, honey?”

“Um, I think I got it!” you call back.

Curiosity and temptation has gotten the better of him; from the door left ajar, Hunter peers into the studio. Just for a moment, he tells himself. Friends of yours are cloistered in a semicircle, trading giggles and whispers as their excitement builds. There’s several racks worth of expensive-looking dresses, and a changing screen in the corner.

Mock fashion show?

While Hunter has seen you wearing plenty of pretty and flattering things for everyday, casual events and special post-war celebrations, nothing would prepare him for the moment you step out from behind the privacy screen, clothed in a large, predominantly white dress.

From the uncomplicated neckline and upper bodice of the a-line dress, the waist’s lacy accents hug you in all the right places before the skirt material fans out and creates a wide pool of silk at your feet, colors gradually building into a golden train with silken accents all the while. This doesn’t look like any sort of fancy party dress, as he initially assumed, but rather something bridal.

You’re modeling in a wedding dress.

Hunter listens to the women peppering you with compliments, all while his heart flutters madly in his chest at the sight of you. Maker, you look beautiful. Radiant.

You look like you could be the rest of his life.

Hunter can’t explain it right now. He can’t tell what’s aligned, what’s fallen into place to make him so certain right now, but the feeling is unmistakable while he watches you show off the bridal gown to your friends. Spurred on by cheers and applause, you twirl and toss the fabric with bright laughter. You’re having so much fun. You have no idea he’s even there, practically entranced by you, envisioning your future, together.

One day, when the time is right, Hunter will make you a part of the rest of his life.