#and only a little outside influence. like the diamonds over the eyes and red hair

[daxwormzz]

Posting oc art but you ALSO get the baron. Yeah that’s right you have to look at my art of Vladimir Harkonnen.

[cutesuki--bakugou]

New Pleasures

Main Pairing: Katsuki Bakugou x Koge Naegi (OC)

Side Pairings: Eijirou Kirishima x Nene Date (OC), Seijirou Eguchi (OC) x Dokuji (Doey) Kobayashi (OC)

Story Rating: Explicit

Genre: Fluff / Romance / Domestic / Humor / Some angsty things

Story Warnings: Cursing, sex (vaginal and anal via pegging), foreplay (oral via blowjobs, face sitting, and rimming), alcohol consumption, sex toy use and discussion, lots of references to anxiety and self confidence issues

Koge has always had a fantasy about taking more control during sex and, to be blunt, fucking her dear husband with a strap-on. Bakugou, however, is hesitant, though he works through his issues with the kink to create a new and enjoyable adventure for them both. 

Art in banner is by me. You can see the full unedited version on my Twitter ( @hvalrossnoodlez ) IT IS AN 18+ ONLY ACCOUNT AND I BLOCK MINORS IF I CATCH YOU

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“Why do you get so embarrassed? It’s just a little adult conversation, honestly-” 

“How is talking about the way we fuck a normal conversation?!” 

“That isn’t at all what I asked! I just made a comment that you should experiment a little, that’s all.” 

“It’s none of your business, Eguchi.” 

Koge sighed quietly as she glanced between the two bickering men, one being her husband beside her and the other being her mentor, who was really more like a part of their family at this point more than her boss. Sure, if they were just close business wise, this would be completely inappropriate, but he was truly more like a brother to her than anything else at this point in their adult lives. Besides, this hadn’t even started out as a raunchy conversation, anyway. Just a tease from Seijirou that Bakugou needed to get laid because he was so anxious and wound up is what started it, but the way he said it is what ticked Bakugou off. 

“Let her do all the work for a change, a dildo in the ass won’t kill you.” 

Oh, boy, was Koge’s first thought, and the bright red flushing of her lover’s ears and irritated snarl appeared faster than she could even think of what to say to calm him down. His retaliation was actually much calmer than she expected, probably reduced by the four glasses of whisky he had consumed up to this point, but she still had to place a hand tenderly on his thigh to remind him that they were in a public place and yelling about sex wasn’t a good idea. He kept a bit quiet due to her silent warning, but it was still just as aggressive as it would have been should he have let it all out. 

Seijirou, though? There was nothing she could do about that. That man had a mouth sharp enough cut diamond, and if he wanted to say something, he was going to. Period. Even his lover had little to no influence, especially now since he was nose deep in his notebook writing away with no recognition of the conversation going on beside him. Koge envied him for being able to shut out everything around him, because now, she was the one stuck in the middle of this and would have to figure out how to get both men to drop it. 

“I didn’t say it was my business! I just made a harmless comment. No need to be so uptight about it, there’s nothing wrong with it. And, from my personal experience-” 

“I don’t need to hear about how good you think ass fucking is, okay?” Bakugou barked, silencing Seijirou with the simple growl of his voice. “If Utsuro wants to take over fine, she does all the time, but I draw a line with shit going up my ass.” 

“Shit technically comes out of your ass,” Koge spoke softly as she sipped from her own glass of whisky, chancing a glance up at Bakugou as his glare turned down to her. 

“Are you on his side?!” 

Face flushing, Koge put her glass down, looking across the table at Seijirou before up at her husband. “Katsuki, I’ve tried to bring it up before, but you’re pretty, uhm… Against it. Though I think it would be fun.” 

“Fun?! For you, maybe! Remember how long it took for you to even be ready to take a dick in the ass? We had to work on it for weeks.” 

“But I’m really small compared to you, I don’t think it would be as hard for you as it was for me.” 

With a heavy sigh, Bakugou rested his elbows on the table, rubbing his face with both hands vigorously in frustration. “Utsuro… Eguchi. It isn’t going to happen. And even if it did, your stupid ass would be the last to know.” Pointing an accusatory finger at Seijirou, Bakugou’s annoyance visibly spiked at the amused smirk on the older man's lips. “What the fuck is that face?!” 

“It’s just funny that you think I don’t know every little thing about you. Your wife has to have someone to rant to and give her advice, you know. Do you need some advice, Bakugou? I’m an experienced man, I can help you in whatever you need!” Seijirou leaned back, letting his arm rest across the back of the booth behind his lover. “Isn’t that right, Doey?” 

“Hm?” Dokuji barely picked up on the sound of his nickname, icy blue eyes tearing off his notebook to glance around the group. At first, his freckled nose scrunched up in confusion at the varying expressions on everyone’s faces, before sitting up to turn his full attention to Seijirou. “What? What are you fighting about, now?” 

“I’m just saying that Bakugou needs to relax and let loose and letting Koge use a toy or two on him would be good for him. He doesn’t agree.” 

“No, I don’t fucking agree!” Bakugou snapped, slumping down into his seat with his arms crossed over his chest as if he were a child throwing a tantrum. “It’s stupid!” 

“Hm, no, I don’t see him doing that.” Dokuji picked up his drink, taking a few deep swallows of the light-colored beer before continuing. “It would absolutely damage his fragile ego.” 

“Hey! Fuck you, carrot top! I don’t have a fragile ego! I just don’t want shit in my ass-” 

“-But there’s already shit in your ass, Katsuki-”

“-Utsuro, your comments aren’t helping!” Bakugou took hold of Koge’s face in his hand, squishing her cheeks together to pucker out her lips in punishment. “This is your fault, you know! Telling him shit about us and that you want to do that!” 

“He’s easy to talk to.” Koge spoke against the pressure on her cheeks, not at all perturbed by his retaliation or aggressive demeanor. “And I figured he’d be better to ask than anyone else, especially for that.” 

“But that shit is between us!” 

“I’m sorry, Katsuki, I… I guess I shouldn’t have.” The visible upward furrowing of her brow had Bakugou’s grip loosening, her guilt at upsetting and embarrassing him so much becoming quite visible on her typically void expression. “I suppose… I mean… I guess I don’t have an excuse. It’s just a fantasy of mine I had always wanted to do, and I was hoping I could talk you into it eventually if I knew more about it. Sorry…” 

With a heavy sigh, Bakugou released her face to instead run his fingers through her hair softly, giving her forehead a tender kiss in acceptance of her apology and a silent hint that they would talk about it later. Yes, Bakugou had known for many years that Koge had always wanted to really take control, to use toys on him and maybe even a strap, but the thought just… what did it do? How exactly did the thought of doing those things make him feel? Was he really disgusted by it or was he just embarrassed? Or was it really that his ego was too big to even allow Koge to completely dominate him like that? 

Now he was just confused and feeling… selfish. 

“It’s healthy, y’know.” Dokuji spoke up again, gaining the attention of the couple across the table. “For your relationship, to try things that one person wants but the other is a bit uncomfortable with. And it’ll open you up to something you might actually like, on top of like… bonding or whatever. Just take the dildo in the ass, man, don’t be a fucking coward.” How quickly his calm demeanor switched into annoyance had Koge and Seijirou almost cackling, both holding their breath as Bakugou nearly leaped over the table to strangle the redhead, slamming his hands on the table to rattle the glasses. 

“Fuck off! It’s not about being a coward! You don’t fucking get it.” 

“Oh no, I get it. I was like you before, completely ignorant to everything outside of traditional sex, but in my young rebellion I started acting out and experimenting to find out who I was attracted to really and what I liked, since I was so in the dark about myself. This prick opened my eyes to a lot of things,” In his reference to Seijirou, Dokuji reached up and flicked his lover on the nose, gaining an annoyed whine and smack of the hand in retaliation. “Because there was a lot I didn’t know and was scared of, or uncomfortable with, but now it’s like… fun. I guess. And not just sex, dude. Like… Even just keeping up my appearance and taking better care of myself.” 

Huffing as a simple stroke along his back from Koge had him sitting back down normally, Bakugou’s glare bounced from Dokuji, to Seijirou rubbing his nose, to the half empty glass of whisky in front of him. Sure, this shit was making sense, but it still didn’t make him feel confident enough that he’d be able to pull it off without backing out. Would he do anything for Koge? Absolutely. He’d die for her. But her fucking him with a strap was… difficult for him to agree to. 

“It’s okay, Katsuki.” Koge spoke up softly after a while of silence, timidly taking his hand. “Don’t stress about it. I won’t bring it up again.” 

Resting his elbow on the table, Bakugou hid his face in his free hand, rubbing his flushed skin and tired eyes as he let out a heavy sigh. “I just can’t think about this shit right now, Utsuro. It shouldn’t even be something we’re discussing in public. Knowing my luck, there’s a fucking reporter here or some shit and there will be an article out tomorrow about how I want to be fucked in the ass.” 

“I doubt that, love.” Resting up against him, Koge laid her head on his shoulder, taking a sip from her drink while she avoided looking up at the men across from her. Although she was trying to hide it, she really did feel ashamed for this entire conversation happening, knowing she should never have talked about such private things with anyone in the first place. Even though she could hide it outwardly, her guilt and Bakugou’s embarrassment were palpable, bringing an awkward and deafening silence to the once talkative table of friends. It wasn’t long before they decided to part ways, with Seijirou and Dokuji taking a taxi home while Bakugou and Koge walked the couple of blocks back to their house. 

Although they held hands and walked close together as always, the heavy awkwardness didn’t fade. In fact, it grew heavier and heavier with every step they took, until it felt like they were tied down by the ankles by the time they reached their front door. Neither of them really even made the move to unlock the door, standing there beside each other with fingers laced and gazes averted. There were many moments that Koge thought a sudden heavy intake of break would mean that he was going to speak, but each time there was only silence, until he finally pulled out his keys and unlocked the door. 

They showered. They brushed their teeth. They got comfy in pajamas. They fluffed their pillows and settled into bed. And that was when Koge couldn’t take it anymore. 

Since he was on his back with one arm resting up over his eyes, Koge slowly and sneakily cuddled in close, wiggling herself under his free arm to latch herself to his body. Tenderly, she kissed his cheek, trailing more down along his jawline and neck before she settled down against him. 

“You still love me?” 

“Yeah.” 

With a delicate touch, Koge traced her fingers along a scar he had on his upper left pectoral, watching his chest move with his calm breathing. “I really am sorry, Katsuki…” 

“It’s fine. Honestly, I can’t expect you to not talk to people about us, especially if you’re looking for advice. I do it, too. It’s hypocritical of me to be mad at you for that.” 

“I just feel bad it got brought up like that and it made you so uncomfortable… But we don’t ever have to talk about it again if you’re against it. There’s always other things for us to do.” 

“But you really want to… right?” 

Falling silent, Koge nuzzled her face more into his skin, squeezing herself in as close as she could. It took her a moment to gather her thoughts, speaking quietly. “It… doesn’t matter. Yes, I have a fantasy about it, but that’s all it has to be. I’m more than satisfied with where we are now and the other things that we could do one day.” Sitting up, she plopped down to sit onto his stomach, taking hold of both his hands to push his arms up above his head and finally reveal his face. Smiling, she placed kisses all across his flushed cheeks until he huffed with annoyance, bringing her to place a final one against his lips, releasing his hands to instead caress his cheeks. “But you know what I can’t believe?” 

“What?” Bakugou’s hands fell down to rest on her bare thighs, slowly moving upwards to her hips. His hands against her skin were incredibly warm, and Koge couldn’t help but share another kiss with him with a soft hum in contentment. 

“Mm… I can’t believe that we have this entire night and tomorrow morning all to ourselves, and we’re spending it sitting here like little awkward turtles.” 

Bakugou chuckled softly, unable to help the smirk on his lips. “Are we? I didn’t notice. Let me fix that,” While one hand stayed firmly on her hip, the other came up to caress the back of her head, pulling her down into a more passionate and tender kiss. It was quick to deepen as all tension broke, every morsel of their souls immediately craving to be close to each other, as close as one could possibly get. Before either of them truly knew it, Koge had begun to sink her body down onto his erect cock, both of them sighing in unison as every inch of her was filled to the brim. At first, they found themselves just sitting there, soaking in the feeling of being so close with passionate kisses and tender touches that screamed how strong their love for each other was. Koge could have stayed like this forever with him, but a simple shifting of his leg had him pressing up into her core, and she couldn’t resist moving another second. 

Sitting up from him, Koge began with a light grinding of her hips, her hands trailing down his torso and leaving light pink marks from the raking of her nails. Although it started out very slow and sensual, it wasn’t long before Koge became lost in the pleasure, digging her nails into skin as she rode him with vigor, moaning out freely and face flushed from ear to ear. As he let her take control, Bakugou had to admit that being under her like this was incredibly addicting, completely focused on doing what she could to pleasure them both. 

If he did decide to try allowing her to live out her fantasy, is that what it would be like? Would it really still feel this good and be this enjoyable for the both of them? Could it really still be just as intimate of a moment, or would he feel too vulnerable? He knew that she would take care of him and allow him to take it all at his pace, but it was still such a foreign thought to him. On top of that, all the prepping and just… foreplay that would go into it all. It was so much-

“Katsuki?” 

Koge’s voice and pause of her body pulled him out of his haze he hadn’t even realized he had been lost in, pulling his eyes off the random spot on her t-shirt he had been locked on to instead look up at her face. She gazed down at him with visible worry, her hands nervously clutching at the hem of her oversized shirt to fiddle with the fabric, and he immediately felt the pit of his stomach fall at the realization that he… wasn’t as hard as he had been. 

Clearly having noticed that before anything else, Koge sat up a bit until he was no longer inside her, sitting back down on his bare stomach instead. In their silence, the palpable awkwardness returned, and so did the guilt that came to rest over Koge’s shoulders. 

Swallowing hard, Bakugou gave a small shake of his head, glancing everywhere he could in the dark room but at her. “I don’t know what happened, Utsuro, I… My mind wandered.” 

“Did you… not want me on top? Is that bothering you right now?” Her voice was barely a whisper, fighting back a burning in her senses that bubbled with her frustration and confusion. “Or are you… actually upset with me?” 

“No, no! I’m not upset with you!” Bakugou sat up, carefully shifting her from sitting on his stomach to instead on his lap. “I just got lost in thought. I’m alright, Utsuro. We can keep-” 

“-No, Katsuki, it’s okay.” Koge avoided holding onto him even as he put his arms around her body, her hands still clutching at her shirt and head hung. “I should have guessed that you wouldn’t really be in the mood after all that. I didn’t mean to pressure you again.” 

“You haven’t pressured me into anything.” Cupping her cheeks, Bakugou urged her to look up at him, stroking her skin with his thumbs softly. “Koge it’s not that.” 

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I was just excited to have a night alone after so long. I hadn’t wanted to spend it all upset, I thought that I could help you feel better if I… I shouldn’t have been on top. I just wanted you to relax.” 

Frowning, Bakugou sighed heavily, resting his forehead against hers tenderly. “I had just started thinking… I don’t know where my mind was… It’s not your fault.” 

“Bedtime?” 

The question was soft, with only a timid glance up into his gaze as she kept hers mostly downcast, the disappointment and regret visible on her from head to toe. With this cut off of the issue, Bakugou knew that he wasn’t going to get anything else out of her about it right now, but he also knew that he had majorly fucked up. Him going soft in the middle of sex was a very rare occasion and only happened usually when he was just too tired, but this was different. No, his thoughts had actually made him uninterested in her and in sex in general right at that moment, and his body reacted exactly how he had expected it to. But how could he tell her that? It would hurt her feelings more than he already had, and at this rate, he was going to have to try very hard in the morning just to get her to look at him. 

Running his fingers through her hair softly, Bakugou gave a small shrug, kissing her forehead before replying. “If you want. But on one condition.” 

“Hm?”

“You let me hold you. And give me one more kiss goodnight.” 

Koge spared him a small glance and a miniscule nod after a moment of silence, allowing him to carefully scoop her up and lay them down on their sides where he promptly cuddled her in close to him. The position gave her no choice but to reciprocate, her arm slipping around his torso and legs intertwining with his, and though she was very obviously still upset, she clutched onto him like she was scared he would leave. Instead, he only held her closer, kissing her forehead before receiving that final promised kiss to the lips that she allowed to linger. 

“You still love me, Utsuro?” 

The repeat of the same question she had asked him earlier had Koge’s face flushing, her eyes immediately tearing up with all the frustrations she had been trying to keep down, forcing her to sniffle as she tried to hold it all back. “Yes… Always.” 

“Good. Get some sleep, baby. We can talk about this more in the morning if you want.” 

They didn’t. 

In fact, with the first lights of sun through the blinds of the lazy morning, the couple found themselves completely entangled in each other, spending the few hours they had alternating between cuddling, falling back asleep, talking, and making love. What happened the previous night, both the conversation at the bar and while they were in bed, never came up again, even though Bakugou always expected it to. It was on the forefront of his mind and he couldn’t help but think about it all, and he knew that if he was thinking of it, she was, too. But she had promised to never bring it up again, and she didn’t. Not the rest of the day. Not for a few weeks after. Not even when Seijirou brought it up again later that month. 

But Bakugou couldn’t get it out of his head, and more than anything, he found himself… curious. He knew that ‘pegging’, as he learned it was called, was actually a very popular thing. He was surprised he hadn’t heard more about it in his adult life, or even his adolescence when exploring his blossoming sexual desires on the internet was at its peak. Toys for men, sure, but letting his wife use a strap on him? It was… intimidating, and Bakugou was never one to get easily intimidated by anything. Even still, this kink wasn’t really all that scary. The couple had done much worse, even including knives, risky breath play, tight bondage, and real injury often coming out of it all with bites, bruises, and scratches. There was one clear definition, though. 

It was all things that he did to her. Yes, he would often come out of a session with scratched up skin and a bruise or two where she would bite him in the midst of it all. Yes, she enjoyed it and wanted those harder sessions frequently and she never complained about it. But her, having any significant dominance over him? Never. 

And he suddenly felt very selfish for it. 

Koge had told him before about her fantasies and desires to be more dominant, to tie him up for once and tease him with toys and her body alike. ‘Eventually’, he would tell her, or otherwise just make some type of joke that she wouldn’t be able to handle him like that for long before she begged for him to take over. It had always been a joke to him because he knew that it would never happen. He was too dominant of a personality over her, so much larger in body size and strength that she just wouldn’t be able to push him around like she thought she could. 

Not to mention that it scared him to allow it to happen. 

Bakugou had always hoped that awful nagging in the back of his mind would vanish completely one day. That little voice that always told him to be bigger, be better, to take and want control, to never let or accept it when anyone put him down. It had gotten better over the years, but it was still there. He found that he just couldn’t let it happen, however subconsciously, and he was putting her down every time he did. It truly was his selfish need to hold on to that control keeping him back, no matter how much he wanted to believe it was something else. 

Koge had no negative intentions, he knew that. She would never do something that truly upset him, and she would stop if he asked her to. All she wanted was a chance to live out a fantasy that she had rather than something mutual they shared. She had let him do things she was uncomfortable with at first, and every time it ended up becoming a frequent occurrence to their love making. In the end, there was no fear or excuse he could make up to explain himself of why he couldn’t do what she wanted. It was just selfishness. 

If he was going to go through with this, then he needed advice. A nameless person describing and giving information on a blog was hardly helpful, especially when the opinions and tips tend to be different as he hopped along the endless links and websites. No, he needed serious advice, from someone close to him that he knew had experience with these things, or at least… some type of experience when it came to getting fucked in the ass. 

One morning, Koge proclaimed that she was going to go shopping with her best friend Nene for the day, leaving him to his own devices. This was the perfect chance to see if he could gather those chosen to help him figure out what to do, since his best friend was married to Nene and had the day off from hero work, just as Bakugou did. The other person he knew wouldn’t put up much of a fight. If anything, his partner would, but there was no chance in hell that Bakugou was seeking help from the man that belittled and berated him about it in the first place. 

me 2:09 pm: hey. you two free today?

Kirishima 2:10 pm: Hey, bro! Yeah man, Nene is off with Koge today. 

Kirishima 2:10 pm: Wait you know that. 

Kirishima 2:10 pm: How did you know I was off??? Did I tell you???

Kirishima 2:10 pm: Oh, I did. 

Kirishima 2:10 pm: LOL

Doey 2:11 pm: am i rlly in a txt group with blasty and hardhead rn? 

Doey 2:11 pm: also ffs you txt like a hyperactive girl.

Kirishima 2:12 pm: Wait

Kirishima 2:12 pm: Dokuji???? 

Doey 2:13 pm: i hate it here. what do u need.

With a huff and a roll of his eyes, Bakugou leaned back against the couch, rubbing his temple as he glared at the text messages scrolling by with Kirishima’s incessant multi texts and Dokuji’s snide remarks. For a moment, he thought about backing out, but the gnawing feeling of guilt made him press on. 

me 2:15 pm: shut up. i asked if you were free. 

Doey 2:15 pm: yeah and i said what do u need. 

Kirishima 2:15 pm: Totally free!!!

me 2:16 pm: i need help with something and you two are going to help me. 

Doey 2:17 pm: u have a stick up ur ass or something, dude? ffs just ask.

Doey 2:17 pm: o wait. wait. wait. you dont yet, yeah? 

Kirishima 2:18 pm: Do what now???

me 2:19 pm: just come over at 5!!! fuck, i just need some help. 

Doey 2:20 pm: k

Kirishima 2:20 pm: No worries, man! 

Kirishima 2:20 pm: I’ll be there! 

 …

“Just let her shove it up your ass, dude. No lube. No prep. Just mmph- jam that shit up in there.” 

“I’m not that fucking ignorant, Carrot. I know the prep it takes, we did it with her, but I don’t know the… if it’s the same.” 

“Yeah, dude, it just goes in your ass, it’s not a big deal. You’re such a priss.” 

With a frustrated, heavy sigh, Bakugou slumped down into his seat, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to keep himself calm. Dokuji was doing very little to actually help in this situation, and Kirishima wasn’t much better. ‘Just go for it’ wasn’t something he could realistically accept. He needed to know the process, to understand it from a male perspective, but both of his friends were either not getting what he wanted to know, or just refused to tell him to fluster him further. “I get the whole point. I get that the fucking thing goes in my ass. I want to know where to start, you fucking dickwad.” 

“By shoving stuff up your ass, man! Do you still have the toys you used to train Koge? Use the same ones.” Dokuji pulled his legs up onto the couch, crossing them comfortably and leaving his slippers on the floor. “You’ll still want to start small, even if you’re like… three times the size of her.” 

“Nene and I started with just fingers and stuff during foreplay,” Kirishima finally spoke up after a while of embarrassed silence. “And we just moved on to bigger and bigger toys after a while. Took like… three months to get to a decent strap on size. But I also did some training on my own when I’d… y’know.” Clearing his throat, he sipped nervously from the glass of wine Bakugou had offered him, timid crimson gaze flashing between the two other men without making eye contact. “You have to do a lot on your own.” 

“Finding time to myself is a problem. I rarely need to jack off, anyway. Koge always wants to fuck, so if I’m horny, she’s all over me.” Taking a sip from his own glass of wine, Bakugou stretched his long legs out in front of him, his aching knees popping. “I wouldn’t even have the time to if I needed to. If I’m not here, I’m at work. And if I’m here, Koge’s here.” 

Dokuji gave a yawn, leaning his head back. “Make time. In the shower is the best, really, I doubt she joins you every time.” 

“She would if I let her, but she knows I need my space, too. Just like she needs hers. I just know that she’s going to catch on… She’s too intuitive.” 

“Oh, you aren’t going to tell her you're prepping for it? What, you just want to surprise her one day?” Dokuji smirked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “Just lay on the bed, displayed for her with a plug in your ass? Candles lit, rose petals-” 

“-Okay, shut the fuck up-” 

“-wine, lube, soft jazz-” 

“-Carrot-!” 

“-oh no wait, you’d rather have heavy metal, right?! So she can really pound you-” 

“-Alright, I get it!” Bakugou finally barked, glaring daggers at the snarky older man. “Not telling her is stupid! But I don’t want her to expect it!” 

“Why don’t you want to tell her?” Kirishima asked curiously, taking a quick glance at his phone as he received a text, the alert a soft ding that vibrated through the room. “Are you embarrassed to? Or you really just want to surprise her?” 

“I just know that she’d try to talk me out of it, now. Or she’d feel like she guilted me into doing it, and then she wouldn’t enjoy it. Surprising her would be more fun, for her. That’s the whole point of this. Also, I’d rather try to hide it just in case it’s something that I end up not being able to do… I don’t want to get her hopes up just to bail.” 

Kirishima gave a soft hum in understanding, rubbing his chin as he thought. “True… You’ll just have to find time to prep and practice without her around.” 

“I hardly even know where to start, though.” 

Suddenly, Dokuji stood, beginning to make his way up the stairs to the second floor of the home. With a click of his tongue, Bakugou stood as well, placing his glass of wine and phone down on the coffee table at his knees. “Excuse me, where the fuck are you going?” 

“To find your fucking stash! You want to know how to start, I have to see what you have!” Dokuji huffed as he continued up the stairs and around the corner before Bakugou could even take his first step, though the blonde was quick to leap two steps at a time to catch up the instant Dokuji finished with his proclamation. 

“Hey, wait, Carrot! You can’t just go dig around in my fucking house!” 

“I’m not! I knew you were going to follow me, so hurry the fuck up!” Dokuji glowered at Bakugou as he waited at the entrance to the master bedroom, being respectful enough to not go in. “Show the goods.” 

Glancing behind him as Kirishima joined them, Bakugou felt heat spread from his ears across his cheeks, starting to feel that nervous nausea beginning to build up in his stomach. Was he really about to discuss sex toys with his friends? The thought of digging through and picking what toys he should use from Koge’s stash was horrifically embarrassing, but he knew that if he didn’t have their help, he may end up too ambitious and ruin any chances of success he had. So, with a deep breath and a hard swallow to keep down the vomit, he headed into his bedroom, allowing the other two to follow him in. “Just… stay by the bed, I’ll bring them out.” 

“All of them.” Dokuji reiterated, meandering around the room as he looked around curiously in wait while Bakugou shuffled into the walk-in closet. Though, little did he know that there were too many for Bakugou to just carry. So, the blonde dumped out a dirty laundry bin on the floor for the meantime, placing the toys inside it from the drawer they had been hidden in. He was a bit too ambitious with his scooping and dumping, accidentally startling himself as one turned onto a high vibration and he had to rush to turn it off, feeling his face flush once again at the amused scoff from the bedroom. 

Once sure he had them all, he carried the basket back into the bedroom, placing it on the bed and allowing the two other men to come look at the contents. Dokuji gave a click of his tongue, starting to dig through them to find the ones he thought would be appropriate. “Fuck, most of these are anal toys already. This rivals Seiji’s collection. Actually, some of these are the same!” 

“Kook probably suggested some to her.” 

“I don’t doubt it. Okay, man, here’s the deal. When doing this on yourself, don’t use shit like this.” Dokuji held up a gel silicone dildo that had no base, wiggling it a bit to emphasize his point. “With all the lube you have to use, you’ll lose it up your ass. And believe me, that’s not a fun ER visit.” He tossed it to the side, along with others that were similar to it. “Avoid these bead things.” More tossed to the side. “This is like a g-spot toy, fuck that. Fuck that, too. You’ll never get to that size, fuck that one.” With each one tossed to the side, Bakugou grew more and more irritated, wishing that Dokuji would just pick out the ones that would be good instead of going over what was bad. But, before he could retort, Dokuji finally grabbed a couple of small beginner metal anal toys that they had first used with Koge. 

“Here! These fucking things. Though, they’re almost about as wide as your fucking sausage fingers, so maybe you can just finger yourself instead if you’re scared of these.” He put down the set of toys, tapping on one a few times to focus on it. “Though this plug would be good for training. Wear it during the day when you know you’re going to practice that day. Eventually, you can work yourself up in size. Here,” He dug through the collection again, finding a variety of anal plug sizes and setting them out in order. “I’d work yourself up to at least being able to handle this size before you let her use anything on you.” 

“Leave it in…? For hours?” Bakugou’s nose scrunched in annoyance, unsure he could function with something in his ass like that for hours. “I mean… Koge did it, but I didn’t think that was so much of a requirement.” 

“Don’t puss out, it’s not that bad. It’s not like a constant pleasure type of thing. Yeah, you feel it, but if you aren’t turned on, it doesn’t affect you. I mean, yeah, it can turn you on feeling it, but just don’t until you’re ready, y’know?” 

“That makes no fucking sense…” Bakugou looked over at Kirishima for some type of emotional support, though Kirishima just nodded in agreement with Dokuji.

“You gotta do it, man. I mean… I even went to work with it and stuff. Like if you know that’s gonna be a part of your night, it’s actually kind of hot to wear it all day. It’s exciting, and Nene goes crazy for it!” 

“And what size are you at?” 

“That big one.” Kirishima gestured to the largest size of plug. “Nene uses that size of dildo on me. The one that Doey said you’d never get to? Yeah, that one.” 

“Tch… and you’ve been doing this shit for, what? How long?” 

“Uhmmm I think like five or six years, man. We don’t do it all the time, and it started out with her just sticking a finger in my ass one night, and it was like wow, y’know? Like boom, fireworks in my gut.” 

“I just don’t see how it could feel good…” Bakugou grumbled as he picked up a different toy that Dokuji had sectioned off as appropriate for use, one which he and Koge used very early on during her journey so that she could have the feeling of double penetration. “Even for Koge, I don’t get it, but she gets off on anal way more than regular sex most of the time.” 

“We have a little thing in our ass called a prostate. It’s kind of like a woman's g-spot. I guess.” Dokuji rubbed the back of his head, glancing over his selected toys to see if they were appropriate for him to suggest. “It’s like… I don’t fucking know how to describe it. If you don’t do shit right, it can hurt, so just take your time, use more lube than you think you need, and listen to your body. If shit feels off, then stop. But yeah, work your way up in size for these toys here. Clean the shit out of them when you’re done, and then do whatever you want to hide the fact that you’re using them from Koge.” 

“How often should I be practicing?” 

“Any time you jerk off. At least a few times a week, though it also just depends on how fast you want to get to the fun stuff, man. Also how your body reacts to it all. Maybe you already have a loose asshole, who knows.”

Face flushing, Bakugou scoffed as he began to pile the toys back into the laundry basket to return them to the drawer, though he did make a strong mental note of the specific toys and order that Dokuji had laid out for him. “Whatever. Anything else?” 

“What type of lube do you use?” 

“We don’t even have any right now…” 

“Huh? Koge does anal and you don’t have lube? The fuck is wrong with you two, masochists-” 

“It’s not that! The woman is like a fucking waterfall, she doesn’t need it. Kirishima, does Nene need it?!” 

“Oh, Nene won’t do anal.” Kirishima shook his head, cheeks growing pink with the sudden question. “She has this weird thing about being on the receiving end of that. Something about not wanting to have to use diapers when she’s an old woman?” Brow furrowing, Kirishima rubbed the back of his head. “Hopefully that doesn’t happen…” 

“It’s not going to happen unless you constantly use huge dildos. And by huge, I mean fucking four plus inches in thickness. You’re fine, man.” With an amused chuckle, Dokuji gave Kirishima a firm pat on the shoulder before he began to leave the room, calling out loud enough for Bakugou to hear as he headed down the hallway. “Get some lube made for anal! Not the numbing shit, though! I’ll text you a brand I recommend once I remember what the fuck it is.” 

Slowly shuffling out of the closet once he was done putting the toys away, Bakugou rubbed the back of his neck bashfully, barely able to keep eye contact with Kirishima before he felt a rush of embarrassment and had to look away. With a cough to clear his throat, he shoved his hands into his sweatpants pockets, fighting against the awkwardness that he knew he was the only one experiencing. “Thanks. I know this is fucking stupid.” 

“It’s not stupid!” Kirishima grinned, his sharp teeth and bright smile enough to lighten any mood. “I wish I had someone to talk to when I first started with Nene! It’s intimidating, but it’s awesome that you’re doing this for her. I think you’ll both enjoy it more than you think.” 

“It just makes me feel vulnerable in a… weird way.” 

“It’s just Koge. I’m sure she’s seen you in way more vulnerable situations, and she won’t take advantage of you or anything weird like that. Can I make a suggestion?” 

“Sure…” 

“Don’t do doggy.” Kirishima held up a finger as he spoke, as if he were giving an important life lesson or lecture. “That’s a really vulnerable feeling position. You’re too… big of a dude to ride her, technically, and you shouldn’t do that your first time anyway. So stick with missionary. You can at least see her that way. It’s more intimate.” 

Bakugou felt the fire of his face grow hotter the longer Kirishima spoke, until his ears were burning, and his eyes began to ache. Just the thought of any of it made him want to crawl under his covers and hide, his chest aching with the anxiety of it all. Still, all of this information he gained was extremely helpful and guided him in the right direction, and he wasn’t sure he’d feel confident enough to go through with it without his friends' support. So, he gave Kirishima a strong pat on the arm, before using little pressure to direct his friend out of the bedroom. 

“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” 

“Sure! Anything you need, just let me know-” 

“Uncle Doey?! Why are you here?!” 

The sudden loud racket in the living room immediately made Bakugou almost lose his lunch, hearing the soft voice of his lover greeting Dokuji behind the multitude of children's voices. “Ah fuck, they’re home already.” As casually as he could without looking like he was rushing, Bakugou made his way down the stairs, doing everything in his power to swallow his embarrassment and restrain the fire beneath his skin. He caught Koge’s gaze immediately, giving her a small nod in greeting as she smiled at him. 

“Having some boy time?” Struggling with many shopping bags hanging off her arms, Bakugou was quick to jog to her side and help, taking them from her and placing them off out of the way on the floor near the fireplace. “Thank you, love.” 

“Sure, Utsuro. And yeah I just figured we’d… hang out for a bit while you were shopping.” 

“Fun!” 

Before he could say anything else, his daughter's voice caught his attention, looking over to watch Natsuki as she wandered around Dokuji, who was purposefully keeping his back to her. 

“Uncle Doey, why are you here?! Is Uncle Seiji here? Did you bring me a gift?” The blonde four-year-old circled him, though Dokuji continued to playfully ignore her. 

“What is that buzzing sound? I hear a little gnat or something. Matsuki, do you hear it?” Dokuji turned his attention to the young blonde boy that was the spitting image of Bakugou, doing his best to restrain a laugh as Natsuki tried to wave her arms to get his attention. Matsuki, who was currently pulling books out of a bag, gave a shy smile and nodded. 

“Yeah, that’s been happening all day. Just a weird buzzing sound.” 

“It is weird. Where’s the little bug?” 

“I’m here, I’m here!” Natsuki finally snatched onto his hand, tugging eagerly. The instant she grabbed him, Dokuji took hold of her hand and yoinked her up into the air, making her squeal and burst out with laughter, clambering to take hold of him as he swung her around to sit up on his shoulders. 

“Ah, there’s the bug! How’s it going, squirt?” 

“Uncle Doey, you’re so mean, pretending I wasn’t there!” Natsuki wrapped her arms around his head, shoving her face into his feathery orange hair. “So mean! I missed you!” 

“I missed you, too, kiddo. So what did you go do today? Looks like you spent a lot of money.” 

“It wasn’t my money, silly! It’s Daddy’s money!” 

Dokuji couldn’t help but to laugh, moving to sit on the couch with the little girl still latched to his head. “Oh man, Bakugou, she’s a hoot. Better check your bank account.” 

Bakugou couldn’t help but give an amused scoff, though he did peer down at Koge as she immediately began to leak guilt. “You went over the budget, didn’t you?” 

“N-not by much, no. But I bought winter clothes for me, you, and the kids! Matsuki needed new books to read and crafting supplies, and Natsuki was just begging for this and that. It just went over-” She was cut off as Bakugou cupped both her cheeks, leaning in to kiss her to silence to rambling to explain. 

“I’m picking on you. I already knew you’d go over. It’s okay. You didn’t have to shop for me, though, I told you that.” Letting up on her face, he gave her another kiss, feeling exceptionally affectionate. “Thanks, though. I’m excited to see what you got.” 

Koge smiled softly, stealing one more kiss before he released her. “I just saw some stuff I knew would look great on you; I couldn’t resist. On top of that, half your winter clothes don’t fit anymore ‘cause you just keep gaining muscle. You have to stop that.” 

“I’d turn into flab if I stopped. And I’d probably get my ass kicked. It’s one or the other, babe.” 

“Just keep your cute butt, it’s fine. Oh, I also got your new set of reading glasses that you needed.” 

“What?!” Kirishima spoke up from across the room, standing next to his wife with his twin children hanging off his impressive biceps. “Bakugou, you wear glasses already?!” 

Face flushing, Bakugou stuttered as he snatched the small box Koge had pulled from a bag, immediately shoving it into his pocket to hide them. “Shut up! Only to read!” 

“Daddy! You wear glasses, too!” Kirishima’s young daughter Otoha spoke up, dropping to the floor. “But only in the sun!” Chuckling, Kirishima put his son Daiki down as well, allowing the twins to run off as Natsuki leaped off the back of the couch to chase them. 

“Those are sunglasses, darlin’.” 

“Oh shove it!” Bakugou snapped, storming off into the kitchen with his petite wife at his heels. “You jerks want more wine!?” 

“Oh, Seijirou’s not here?” Koge stopped, looking back at Dokuji, who had his phone out. At the sound of his lover’s name, Dokuji looked up, a moment of confusion flashing across his face as he tried to figure out how to explain this without giving Bakugou away. 

“Ah… he wasn’t up to it.” 

“Really? How weird, I hope he’s okay.” 

“I’m gonna head out, anyway.” Dokuji stood, immediately gaining protest from Natsuki as she ran back up to him to latch to his legs. “I was already out when I dropped by, so he’s probably wondering where I am, anyway. Natsu, I’ll see you next weekend, okay?” Squatting down, he gave the pouting little girl a hug, standing and heading towards the front door with her still latched to him. “It’s the last weekend before Uncle Seiji and I go to America. We’ll visit for sure.” 

“Nooo, don’t go away! That’ll be forever!” 

“We’re just going to be in America for a few months, squirt. And we’re bringing back a big surprise. Remember?” 

“Serina?” 

“That’s right.” Dokuji smiled softly as he sat Natsuki down, ruffling her wild blonde hair as he shoved his feet back into his boots without lacing them. “We’re bringing Serina home. Uncle Seiji and I have to finalize her adoption papers and wait for her to be old enough before we can bring her on a plane.” As Bakugou approached, Dokuji shoved his wallet and keys into his baggy pant pockets, looking up at him curiously. 

“Let us know if you need anything before you head out. You good?” 

“Yeah man, no worries. I hope I was helpful.” 

“You were, even if you were a smartass. We’ll see you next weekend. Don’t tell Eguchi about this, I don’t think I’ll ever live it down.” 

“My lips are sealed until yours aren’t. Later,” An informal bow, a wave to the rest of the people in the house, and a final goodbye to Natsuki was shared before Dokuji left, leaving Bakugou to shut and lock the door behind him. After shooing his daughter away from the front door, Bakugou immediately caught Koge’s gaze, his face flaring up again with fire at the reminder of everything that had been discussed that day. Seeming to notice, Koge gave a small nod for him to follow her into the kitchen, which brought that feeling of vomiting back to his gut. He had to hide all of this from her for now, no matter how guilty that made him feel. But he also knew that Koge would be able to read him like a book if he didn’t get control of himself.

Once alone with his wife in the kitchen, he decided to busy himself with fetching a fresh bottle of wine from the rack, grabbing two clean glasses for Koge and Nene as well. “What’s up, Utsuro?” 

Arms crossed over her chest, Koge leaned back against the kitchen island, watching him closely. “You had some boy time, huh?” 

“Yeah, we just sat around and talked for a while. Why?” 

“Nothing. It’s just interesting that Dokuji came without Seijirou. Usually they’re attached at the hip, and Dokuji hates socializing. Did something happen, or is something wrong?” 

Waiting to answer until he pulled the cork out of the bottle successfully, Bakugou put the trash and corkscrew aside, pouring equal amounts of wine into the glasses. “There’s nothing wrong, Utsuro. I invited Dokuji to bring Eguchi if he wanted, but he said he didn’t want to. Eguchi and I have trouble getting along, anyway, if you’re not around… I can see why he didn’t.” 

“That’s not true. You two get along better than you think.” Making her way to stand next to him, Koge slipped her arm around his waist, resting up against his side as his arm tucked her in close. “Did you have fun?” 

“Yeah, it was fine. I can’t believe you spilled about my glasses, though.” Glowering down at her, he gave her a good squeeze in punishment, forcing a giggle from her lips. He hoped to change the subject so she wouldn’t pry, and he seemed successful right off the bat. 

“Sorry! I thought you would have told Eijirou already. Don’t be embarrassed, love, it’s okay.” Turning to face him completely, she cupped both of his cheeks, stroking his burning skin with her chilled thumbs. “You look so cute with glasses. Very distinguished.” 

“They make me look like my dad…” Grumbling under his breath, Bakugou placed one of his hands over hers, turning his head to place tender kisses across her palm and fingers. “Mmm… what’s this lotion smell?” 

“It’s like a citrus thing. I couldn’t resist it after trying it on, so I bought some. You like it?” 

Slipping his hand around her waist, Bakugou pulled the petite woman up against him, his lips continuing his affections down her arm. “Smells good. I think I need to lather you up in that sometime.” 

“Ooh, like a sexy rub down?” 

“Yeah, baby. Full body.” He released her hand to put both his arms around her, caressing her small body and urging her up into a kiss. Koge sighed softly against his lips in happiness from the affection, holding onto him tightly as he nearly lifted her up off her feet. He wanted her so badly in that moment, to soak in her affection and have his frustrated thoughts crushed under the happiness being with her brought him. But, nothing affectionate could last in a house full of children, and he was forced to release her at the sound of his daughter screeching for him. 

“Daddy! Daddy?! Are you in the kitchen?!” 

Setting his wife down, Bakugou got one last peck out of her before setting her free, looking over at the entrance to the kitchen as his daughter bounced in, her spiked pale blonde hair perfectly matching the wild look on her face. The instant her crimson eyes landed on him, Natsuki dashed over, quickly followed by Matsuki and Kirishima’s two children. Although Bakugou knew exactly what was going to be requested, he decided to ask anyway, ruffling the top of his daughter’s hair as she came up to him. 

“What’s up, squid?” 

“Daddy, can you make us a snack? Like, a yummy snack. A pizza!” 

“Pizza isn’t a snack, that’s dinner. Are you hungry for dinner?” 

“Yeah, yeah! Pizza!” 

Seeing Kirishima and Nene come in to join the group, Bakugou turned his attention to them, ignoring the feeling of Natsuki swinging his arm back and forth as she waited for her answer. “Would you like to join us?” 

“Sure!” Nene smiled happily, plopping down to sit on a bar stool on the other side of the kitchen island. “We haven’t had a full family hang out like this in a while!” 

“But first,” Kirishima stood behind her, one arm around her body while he leaned forward, propping himself up with his elbow on the countertop. “You gotta put on your glasses, man, I can’t take the unknown!” 

“Daddy is so cute with his glasses!” Natsuki giggled at the immediate glare Bakugou shot her way, sticking her tongue out at him as she went deadweight, swaying back and forth with only her grip on his hand to keep her up. “He actually looks smart!” 

“‘Actually’? Are you saying I look dumb otherwise?” Bakugou picked her up, holding the giggling and snickering child by the arm up near his chest. “Is that what you’re saying?” 

“Yeah! Daddy’s got a dumb face- pfft, hey! No!” Immediately with the insult, Bakugou flipped her in the air and snatched her by the legs so that she was upside down. “Daddy! You’re gonna make me dizzy!” Although she complained, she giggled and cackled as Bakugou walked her over to the refrigerator, guiding her to open it and grab a bottle of juice for the kids to enjoy. “Yay, melon juice! That’s a treat! Can I drink it upside down?” 

“No, you goof, you’ll spill it. Here, put it on the counter.” 

Once four child sized cups and a bag of chips was gathered in the same upside-down manner, Bakugou held Natsuki up high enough to give her a punishing kiss on the cheek before plopping her back down to stand normally on her feet. 

“Alright,” Bakugou began, opening the bottle of juice and catching the gaze of his lover nearby, who was already holding the phone up to her ear to order the demanded pizza. “Let’s get this party started, eh?” 

… 

“A-ah, fuck-!” Bakugou bit down on his bottom lip, pressing his forehead into the cool tile of the shower wall, eyes shut tightly as he did everything he could to keep his voice down. With one leg propped up on the seat they had built into the shower long ago, he kept his gaze locked onto his thigh, watching the warm water that cascaded down his back dribble and gather around his foot, doing all he could to focus. The pleasure made that incredibly difficult, one hand pumping his erect cock while the other was reached around behind him, two fingers plunging in and out of his asshole eagerly. Two months into preparing and practicing to allow Koge to use a strap on him had passed, and he had gotten to the point where he actually enjoyed the pleasure he gained from anal stimulation. 

Could he cum from it alone? No, he wasn’t quite there yet, but it did enhance it all for him in a way that he couldn’t really describe. Whatever sensitive little spot there was inside him really did drive him mad, and he would even get hard just thinking about it. He had also come to realize that going a normal day with an anal plug was not as easy as his friends had made it out to be, and that part of his training had been the most frustrating and difficult. But, it was effective, and Bakugou had gotten to where he could take at least a one and a half inch in width dildo comfortably. With the success of cumming with that, he knew that it was time to get Koge in on this, which is exactly what he was prepping for now. 

He had done the whole deal that Kirishima had talked to him about all day, from wearing a plug most of the day to masturbating at least a little bit before to loosen his body up. The kids were bummed off on his parents, so he didn’t have to worry about that, and Koge was waiting patiently in their bedroom, reading or doing who knows what. From what he could tell, she didn’t suspect anything, but he hoped that he could pull off being just his regular self-up until the very moment he decided to bring it up. He wanted to at least get them going, to pleasure her and get her all riled up so that she would want to do it. 

As he grew closer to his peak in the shower, just the thought of her using a strap on him brought on a new tingling under his skin, an excitement that he hadn’t experienced yet and that was so different from his initial thoughts about this so many months ago. His fear had blossomed into anticipation, and what he was so against before was something he now craved. He wanted so badly to do this with her, and he just hoped that it wouldn’t end up an awful or awkward experience. 

Clamping his teeth together and eyes shut tightly, it took all his willpower to not moan out as he finally came, the release so intense that his entire body felt weak in the few seconds afterwards. Fuck that feels good… It’ll be so intense with her doing it. Ugh, stop thinking about it, you idiot, you’ll get hard again too soon! That’s what I get for not fucking her on purpose the past few days, too, I guess. I just hope she’s as horny as I am. Pushing himself up to stand up straight, Bakugou finished up his very thorough shower and cleaned up the tile wall, doing everything he could to not think about Koge’s body or the pleasure he was hoping for. 

It didn’t help that the petite woman sitting on their bed was already practically naked, sitting within the puffy mess of pillows and blankets in nothing but her favorite silk nightgown. Very engrossed in whatever book she was reading, Bakugou took it upon himself to get her attention, grabbing a pillow and playfully whacking her with it hard enough to make her whine and topple over to the side, her book quickly abandoned in favor of trying to grab the pillow in his hands. 

“Rude! I was reading.” 

“Reading time is over, it’s time to pay attention to me.” His first pillow now out of commission, he simply grabbed another to smack her with, forcing giggles from her lips as she kicked her legs in defiance. 

“There’s nicer ways to get attention!” 

“But this is more fun.” Crawling up onto the bed, he began to pile the pillows on her body, unable to resist a smirk in amusement of her giggles. She was so adorable to him and he found himself just wanting to snatch onto her, but he didn’t have the chance as she exploded from the pile of pillows, tackling him down onto the bed with a war cry and expert skill. Her tiny frame was no match for him in such a battle, and he was easily able to roll them over and pin her beneath him, her arms held up over her head and legs fastened around his hips. She attempted to struggle and push him off with her feet against his hips, but found that she was no match for his brawny frame, a pout crossing her lips with her defeat. 

“You’re too fat! I can’t wrestle with you anymore like when we were teenagers. I could even win sometimes! Now I can’t even get both my hands around your forearm.” 

“That’s because you’re a little shrimp. My cute little shrimp.” His hands sliding up her arms, he let their fingers lace, placing tender kisses down the bridge of her flushed nose. “You’re so fucking cute.”

Cheeks flushing darker from the affection, Koge couldn’t resist her ear to ear smile, squeezing his hips playfully with her thighs. “You’re being so extra affectionate today. All day you’ve been so mushy! I love it.”

“Yeah? Well, you make it hard for me not to be.”

“I also just make you hard… apparently.” With a playful nuzzle of their noses, Koge rolled her hips up against his, stroking her exposed sex along the hard form of his cock beneath his boxers. “Hm?”

Smirk crossing his lips, Bakugou moved to hold both Kobe’s wrists in one hand, the other moving down to hold her hip to grind himself back against her. “Who could blame me?” A low groan rumbled in his chest as he rested his forehead against hers, merely teasing her with a hint of a kiss while his movements grew more eager. “You’re so fucking sexy in that little nightgown, and just the thought of getting to fuck you all day has been driving me crazy.”

“Well you have me now, Katsuki,” Each attempt she made to kiss him was fruitless as he continued to pull back every time, only making her more frustrated and push their grinding even further, until she was panting and gasping softly. “All to yourself. So why don’t you show me what you’ve been wanting?” 

“No, baby,” Bakugou ran hot kisses and nibbles along her neck and jawline, releasing her arms to caress her entire small frame up against him tighter. “I want you to tell me what you want. To do what you want. Anything.” Catching her gaze, he saw surprise only for a moment before excitement took over, her mind immediately going to work to decide on what exactly it was she wanted. That guilt he had felt for being so selfish in their sexual endeavors creeped back upon him in that moment, but her eagerness was quick to pull him back as her hands slipped down between their bodies, freeing his cock from his boxers. 

“I just want you inside me, Katsuki. I just want you to make me cum… please.”

“You don’t have to beg, Utsuro. I told you. Anything you want.” Once her hands were moved out of the way, Bakugou took the chance to sink his entire length into her, bringing a pleasured groan from his throat as Koge moaned. “Ah fuck..! You want to cum, baby? I’ll make you cum-“

“A-ah, yes! Yes!” Koge clutched onto him tightly, pleasure rocketing through her body with the rhythmic thrusting of his hips. The sweet squeaking of her voice as he dug himself deep into her core was enough to drive Bakugou mad, wanting to give her more just so he could hear her moan and scream louder for him. He wanted to do all of this for her, to give her anything she wanted, and her first orgasm was quick to clash into her like a violent wave. It came with nails in his skin, fingers clutching his hair and her body trembling and twitching against him, her voice praising him and soft lips against his ear. This woman was perfection, and he’d be damned if he left her unsatisfied or unhappy for a single moment. 

Before her high could dissipate, he returned to rolling his hips in slower and softer motions, moving his lips back to hers as he dug his fingers into her hair. “You like that, babygirl? You want more?” 

Struggling to speak between her moans, his kisses, and hitching breath, Koge kept her eyes locked with his, her nails raking down his sides to send ticklish and pleasured tingles across his skin. “K-Katsuki… You’ll do anything I want?” 

“Anything.” 

“I… Can I sit on your face? Please?” 

“Don’t ask me.” Bakugou increased his efforts, slamming into her rougher to get his point across, sending her into a new round of moans with the eye rolling pleasure. “Tell me. Tell me what you want.” 

“Mm… I- I, a-ah-! I want…- Fu-fuck, fuck! Your cock feels so fucking good, I can’t think!” 

Smirking against her lips, Bakugou took this opportunity to tease her a bit, sliding his hand under her head to grab a fist full of her hair. “You have to tell me, Utsuro, or I can’t stop. This is all you… So tell me.” 

“I-I want to sit on your face! Please-!” 

“-No begging-!” 

“Now!” Koge clutched onto his cheeks, fighting through the pleasure to press her forehead into his and glare up at him in frustration. “Lay your ass down!” 

“Mm fuck, that’s it, baby. You’re so sexy when you’re aggressive.” Bakugou kissed her passionately, stopping his movements to instead scoop her body up against his, maneuvering them to where he was laying on his back. Not a second passed that he was settled that Koge had shifted herself off his cock to instead straddle his head, steadying herself on the headboard of the bed. Bakugou took to eating her out immediately once her hips were in his grip, doing what he could to ignore the antsy twitching of his cock at the sound of her moans. 

He had an idea of why she had chosen this exact position. Even though Bakugou truly did love eating her out, this was never particularly one of his favorite ways to do so, and they had talked about that many times. Koge, however, loved it, and he knew that it was more rare for her than what she would have liked. They compromised how they could, of course, and nearly every sexual endeavor they had involved him eating her out one way or another. But by choosing to do it this way, he knew that she was really testing him to see if he was being honest, and he was glad she was being so bold, especially with what his endgame was. He needed her to be bold and firm enough to either ask for the pegging, or to accept his request when he brings it up. 

“K-Katsuki,” Koge spoke breathlessly, digging her fingers into his hair as she was unable to resist a slow rocking of her hips. “R-right there! Ah, fuck!” Her body began to tremble, his hands sliding up her body to grip and squeeze her breasts, pinching her sensitive nipples as he pleased. How turned on she had become was apparent by the incredible flow of her essence that coated his face, and when she finally came again, he couldn’t help but smirk at the feeling of it beginning to drip down the sides of his neck. This is exactly how he wanted her, so eager and consumed with pleasure that she would push him for the things she wanted. Her next demand came after a moment of resting to catch her breath, loosening the tight grip her thighs had on his head. 

“When I move, put your arms up above your head and keep them there.” Carefully, Koge slipped backwards to sit on his chest, then his stomach, until she came to rest between his legs. Bakugou did as commanded, resting his arms under his head comfortably to watch her, though he couldn’t help a slight twinge of embarrassment as his boxers were stripped and flung away to the void that was their bedroom floor. He didn’t really know where the embarrassment came from. Maybe it was the glee in her gaze that made him feel flustered? It was obvious that she was excited, and he wanted to know exactly what was running through that clever head of hers. 

With a firm touch, Koge took his aching cock into her hands, teasing his tip with her hot tongue and letting her saliva flow freely to stroke up and down his length with ease. Just this initial touch from her was enough to make him want to reach down and dig his fingers into her hair, but Bakugou did as he was told, keeping his arms in place as she pleasured him. Well, in truth, it was more like teasing, giving him only hints of true pleasure with every touch, lick, and kiss. It only made him ache more, and he couldn’t resist a light rising or bucking of his hips when it was too much, groaning and cursing in his frustration. 

“Damn it, Utsuro…! That’s driving me fucking crazy!” 

“Is it?” Koge smirked against his sensitive flesh, her hands squeezing and stroking slowly all the way up his shaft until right below his tip, before sliding back down to avoid his most pleasurable areas. Again, Bakugou couldn’t resist a frustrated grunt and shifting of his hips, now clutching on to the pillow beneath his head. 

“Yes! You’re being a tease!” 

“You were the one that said I could do whatever I wanted. Here, let’s do something different, then.” Gripping his legs behind his knees, Koge pushed up and back until his body was bent, immediately making Bakugou flush a bright red and shout out in surprise. “You’re so flexible, Katsuki! All that stretching and weird movements do you pay off.” 

“U-Utsuro, what the fuck-” 

“Hold your legs, pretty please?” Koge leaned over him, smiling slyly in pleasure at just how flustered Bakugou was becoming, and it only grew as he followed her direction to hold onto his legs to keep his body contorted how she wanted. He wasn’t quite used to having his dick so close to his face, or his entire body exposed in such a way, but he couldn’t protest. He had given her this chance, and even if it was different for him, it wasn’t something that he hated. He just needed to adjust and let it all happen, and the excited throbbing of his cock was confirmation enough that he wanted to let it happen. 

“Hmmm, I’ve never had a view like this before.” Koge slipped one arm into an easy position so that she could continue to stroke his member, slowly and lightly pleasuring him as she trailed kisses and nibbles along the underside of his thigh. “You being so shy is cute, but you’re so sexy, Katsuki.” Within the same breath as her words, she ran her tongue along the form of his balls, sucking them into her mouth and increasing the tightness of her hand around his cock. Bakugou couldn’t resist the deep groan that rattled in his chest, though he found it difficult to keep a hold of his legs or stay in position, and he nearly crumbled into himself the instant her tongue slid across his asshole. 

“Ah fuck, Utsuro-” Bakugou did what he could to control the nervous waiver of his voice, though he wasn’t as successful as he would have hoped. “Straight to it, eh?” 

“Well I have a question for you.” Koge continued to tease his sensitive skin, from the base of his cock to his waiting hole, her fingers still pleasuring his straining cock. “I’ve noticed that some of my toys have been missing from my drawer for a while… And even some of my anal plugs. There’s even an unmarked bottle of liquid hidden under your sink in the bathroom. Did you really think you could hide it from me?”

Throat growing strangled from the confrontation, Bakugou couldn’t find it within himself to answer, though his embarrassed crimson gaze locking with hers was clearly enough of a confession as Koge’s lips curved into a smirk. 

“Ah ha… I knew it. What a guilty look. I had thought at first that maybe you pulled them out to use on me. But when that never happened, I began to suspect something else… But I couldn’t ever be sure.” Slipping her hand between her legs, Koge coated it in her slick before running her delicate fingers around his sensitive hole. “And it’s extra clean down here, even for just taking a shower. You wanted me to want this, huh?” As two of her fingers slipped inside him, Bakugou couldn’t stop a sharp intake of breath, his cock twitching eagerly in her hand and face burning violently. 

Even though her fingers were small, the pleasure of her moving them within him paired with the more rigorous stroking of his cock and new sucking on his balls brought forth a restrained moan, leaning his head back and doing what he could to push down the embarrassment to enjoy it. He had always been pretty vocal during sex, and those sounds pushed through the attempted restraint easily, especially as the pleasure grew. It felt so good, more than he had ever really expected, though when her fingers finally curved at just the right angle, he nearly lost it, releasing one of his legs to reach down and take hold of her head. 

“S-stop! Wait-!” 

Confused, Koge did as asked, removing her fingers from him in worry that she had hurt him. “What’s wrong? Did I do something that hurt you?” 

“No-” Breathing heavily to catch his breath from the rush, Bakugou ran his fingers through her hair gently, leaning his head back and closing his eyes to ground himself. “No. I don’t want to cum yet.” 

“It was that fast?” 

“I just wasn’t ready for it. I didn’t expect it to feel so different with you doing it instead. I have something for you, anyway.” Reaching down between the mattress and headboard, Bakugou pulled out a plastic bag that held said surprise, shoving it towards her and dropping it into her waiting hands before he let himself bail on the entire thing. Immediately upon feeling the concealed item, Koge’s eyes lit up and her face flushed bright red, digging her nails into the plastic to rip it open instead of taking the extra time to undo the knot that held it closed.

The excited squeal that left her lips immediately had Bakugou covering his eyes with his arms, groaning in momentary regret, though it was drowned out by her excited rambling. “Katsuki! Are you serious? Are you sure? You’ve prepped this much? This one is nice, it’s double ended! Oh, and fancy lube! You really mean it-” 

“-Of course I mean it!” Bakugou snapped to silence her, though he couldn’t find the confidence to remove his arms from over his face. “But you had better get on with it before I change my mind, or my boner goes away!” 

“Neither is gonna happen.” 

The sound of the bag being tossed away and the bed shifting as Koge sat up on her knees to put on the strap only increased Bakugou’s nervousness, closing his hands into tight fists as he struggled to even keep his quirk in check, which was a feeling he hadn’t had since high school. All the thoughts he had months ago came rushing back to him, making his stomach twist and head spin. It was time now, and there wasn’t any going back, not without absolutely crushing her. 

I can take it. It’ll be fine. It’s just Koge. She won’t make me feel small or vulnerable. It’s fine-

“Katsuki.” 

The soft and comforting sound of her voice pulled him back, bringing attention to the fact that he had been breathing quite heavily in his panic. Gathering himself, he moved his arms just enough to be able to peek up at her, the burning in his face somehow growing hotter just at the sight of her, strap in place and smiling down at him softly. She had removed her nightgown and was left mostly bare, her soft beauty bringing back those urges of pleasure in whatever way he could have her. Though, she surprised him as she held her hands out, wiggling her fingers to urge him to take them. 

“Sit up, love.” 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Bakugou took Koge’s hands and sat up, sliding his hands up her arms as she moved to straddle his lap. Her delicate touch sent tingles all across his skin as her hands worked their way up to caress his cheeks, and her tender kisses soothed his nerves almost instantly. She was so understanding of him, not moving on in pleasuring him until his hands moved down to take a generous squeeze of her backside, to which she responded in kind by stroking his strained and twitching member. Though, she was quick to pair it with the pressure of the toy she had strapped to her hips, using both her hands to hold it against his cock and rock her hips lightly. At some point before she got on him, she had slathered the toy in lube already without him noticing, and he couldn’t help but groan eagerly against her lips. 

“I’ll be gentle with you, Katsuki. Unless you tell me otherwise.” Koge caught his gaze, nudging her nose against his to keep his attention. “How do you want to lay?” 

“Just… on my back. I can’t promise I won’t cum fast, I’m struggling.” 

“That’s okay. I’ll just make you eat me out again if I don’t get to before you do.” 

“Tch,” Bakugou couldn’t resist the smirk on his lips, letting one of his hands come down hard onto her backside in punishment of her snarky comment. “Whatever you want, baby. But you’d better hurry up before I change my mind.” Gripping tightly onto her hips, Bakugou used his strength to push her back so that her butt plopped onto the bed, giving him room to lay down again. Huffing, Koge snatched onto the previously discarded lube bottle, putting the liquid on the toy and over his cock, using her hand to spread it down over his balls and between his cheeks. 

“I’m about to wreck you and you’re being a smartass. You’d better watch it, or I’ll change my mind. Then you won’t get to cum at all.” Putting his legs into position, and finding that she needed to prop a pillow under his hips due to their size difference, Koge positioned the tip of the toy at his waiting asshole, catching his gaze one last time for final approval. Just feeling the tip threatening to enter had his heart racing, and after a final moment of internal nervous panic, Bakugou gave a small nod. The instant it slipped inside, slowly digging in inch by inch, Bakugou had to cover his face again with his arms, struggling to not beg or moan like a bitch in heat. Everything about it was different, from the unfamiliar feeling of this particular toy to the way it filled him and pressed against every sensitive spot he had discovered, and then some. It was incredible, and with the first roll of her hips that brought the toy nearly all the way out of him before plunging back inside, his voice broke with a trembling whine. 

“That’s okay, Katsuki?” Although he couldn’t see her, Bakugou could just hear that Koge was already totally lost in this, even though she kept her current movements slow and steady as she waited for his response. It was difficult for him to open his mouth and restrain his moans, so all he could manage was his typical grunt of agreement, his hands clenching into fists with her slight increase of pace.

Bakugou knew that it was going to end up feeling good. He knew that it was going to embarrass the shit out of him and that he was going to struggle to gather himself once she started. What he hadn’t expected was how he already wanted to beg for more, how his body craved to feel the pleasure crash onto him faster and harder. He hadn’t expected that he was going to strain to hold back his voice to this extent, that each thrust had him wanting to cry out and moan. He hadn’t expected to love it this much so early on. 

“Look at me, Katsuki.” 

He couldn’t. He was sure that the embarrassment would kill him if he had to watch her, but her next move just proved that he really didn’t have a choice. A sharp snap of her hips and rougher pace finally forced all the restrained air from his lungs, his arms moving up so he could clutch on tightly onto the pillow his head rested on. “F-fuck, Utsuro, you can’t- you can’t just- a-ah, damn it!” Still refusing to look at her, Bakugou turned his face into his bicep, teeth clamped shut tightly to do everything he could to hold himself back. He couldn’t turn into a horny little bitch so easily, even if every thrust and the feeling of his cock slapping against his abdomen was driving him nearly mad. His pride wouldn’t let him break just yet, but it was quite clear that Koge wasn’t going to have it. 

“Just let it out, you stubborn brat,” Koge’s voice was tinted with her own pleasure, stimulated from the other end of the strap that rested inside her. “You didn’t care about moaning or hiding yourself while I sucked you off or fingered you. Look at me, Katsuki, and just let it loose.” 

Her hand wrapping around his cock and the first stroke paired with the anal stimulation is what broke him, his entire body shuddering and the restraint of his voice shattering into loud curses and moans. “Fucking shit, Koge-! That’s it! Fucking harder!” 

“Greedy, huh? Only if you look at me.” 

There was hesitation, but it was brief, as the craving for more was stronger than his embarrassment as he grew closer to his release. Opening his burning eyes, he finally tilted his head more to face her, gazing over every inch of her beautiful body and the way her hips slammed eagerly into his. What really captivated him was her expression, flushed and hazed over with lust and excitement more than he had seen in a long time. She was completely lost in the moment, and a smirk crossed her lips as he finally caught her gaze. 

“There you are. Now don’t hold back, love. No one can hear you but me, and you’re so sexy like this,” As a reward for him finally looking, she gave him what he had asked for, pushing him closer and closer to his release. “But I want you to touch yourself while I fuck you.” 

The lack of pleasure from her hand on his cock hand him immediately bringing his own hand down to do as she told him, pumping eagerly. There was no longer any restraint or control of himself like he had to start with, and he allowed himself to grow lost in it all, not caring about how he may be perceived. It was just them and the pleasure, for how long he wasn’t even sure, and before he knew it, he was teetering on the edge of release.

“I’m going to fucking cum, Utsuro-! I can’t fucking hold it anymore!” 

“Do it, Katsuki,” Koge pushed his hand away so she could stroke him instead, wanting to bring him to orgasm completely on her own, keeping the pace of her hips steady. Hands free again, Bakugou couldn’t resist clutching onto the pillow he rested on at his hips, his head tilting back as he let the pleasure overwhelm him. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-!” His release was more intense than anything he had ever felt before, and all that time masturbating didn’t prepare him for it like he had expected. His entire body was on fire, the crash of pleasure nearly sending his eyes rolling back. It was euphoria and took much longer to come down than normal, though his first deep intake of breath was quick to bring him back to reality. The first thing he noticed was the incredible amount of hot cum all over his stomach and chest, surprised that it was so much even after having cum just an hour before in the shower. “Holy shit…” 

“Holy shit is right, Katsuki,” Having clearly cum herself, Koge carefully removed the toy from within him before flopping back to sit on her butt, propping herself up on her arms as she heaved to catch her breath. “Humping like that is hard work!” 

Bakugou couldn’t resist a chuckle, letting his arm come up to flop back over his eyes as his body struggled to recover. “Don’t be a pussy.” 

“I still can’t believe you even wanted this. At first I couldn’t understand where my toys were going and stuff, but I really didn’t expect it to be ‘cause you were training.” 

With the click of the strap-on harness coming loose, Bakugou peeked under his arm to look at his lover, who was more focused on removing the toy than watching him. The contented smile on her flushed face had the butterflies in his stomach turn crazed, feeling the heat in his own cheeks spread almost down to his toes, and the urge to clutch on to her was nearly suffocating. Sitting up on weak arms, he yanked the petite woman over to him, who cuddled up into his lap and against his chest without protest or being bothered by bodily liquids that coated them both. In fact, she hummed happily, nuzzling her face up into his neck as he caressed her close. 

“I’ll be honest, I didn’t think I’d be able to do it or that I would like it at all,” Bakugou spoke as softly as his gruff voice would allow, running his hands along the soft flesh of her thigh. “But it was… Fucking awesome. Sorry I was such a prick about it for so long.” 

“I had a feeling you’d like it! And I think how shy you were was really, really cute. But it’s also so sexy, Katsuki. This whole thing was amazing, I don’t think I’ve been this turned on in a while. Trying new things always gets me super crazy.” 

“Well hopefully this will keep you crazy.” Bakugou urged her head up a bit to kiss her lips softly. “Won’t be the last time.” 

“Can I do you doggy next time?” 

Ignoring her question for the moment, he showered her with more affectionate kisses, running his fingers through her hair softly. He wasn’t sure why, but this entire experience had him feeling so close to her, so accepted and safe that he couldn’t restrain his adoration for her. “Mm… Why? I thought you liked me looking at you.” 

“I do. But I want to see that cute bubble butt of yours jiggle.” 

“Then no.” 

“Well, I say yes.” Cupping his cheeks, Koge squished them together playfully, kissing his puckered lips in punishment. “Let me spank you.” 

“Never!” Breaking free from her grip, Bakugou first gave the tip of her nose a vengeful nibble before blowing a rough raspberry onto her cheek, ignoring her giggles and squeals as he leaned forward to cocoon her down onto the bed beneath him. “You have to work for that privilege!” 

“I will! I will get the chance to spank that booty. But seriously, Katsuki,” Koge paused for a moment, gently pushing his bangs back out of his face so she could better catch his gaze. “Thank you for trusting me.” 

“Tch, of course I trust you. Thank you for not making me feel like a pathetic horny bitch. 

“Oh, but my Katsuki, you are a horny bitch. Ouch, don’t bite me! Meanie!” 

[mvrtaiswriting]

Hello! I love your work and stuff, so I’ll just leave this here for now. Take your time btw! So anyways, Josuke with s/o who gets really down and is in need of cuddles? You can inspire it off of Golden Days by Panic! At the Disco. Josuke just reminding there s/o of happy thoughts and stuff! Please and thank you, have a lovely day! ^^

Golden Days. - Josuke Higashikata.

Helloo and sorry if this took way too long! CwC I do have an excuse: I’ve only recently started JJBA pt.4 so it was kinda hard for me to exaclty understand Josuke and be talh about him as accurately as possible! Anyway, this was fun and made me notice way more things about him so thank you very much for requesting him! I love P!ATD so your request was spot on. I hope it will meet your expectations. Enjoy! x

Ps: thank you for your compliments and I hope you’ll have a wonderful day too! xx

Neutral reader x Josuke

Jojo’s bizzare adventures: Diamond is Unbreakable 

SFW

Trigger warning: references to panic attacks, minor references to paranoia 

Words count: 1484

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© bearing in mind everything I post/write is my intellectual property so please don’t steal/copy and paste and post it as yours.

It wasn’t unusual for you to lose yourself inside your own mind. Sometimes you would just zone out and wonder by the corridors of the labyrinth inside your head, falling into an infinite spiral of overthinking which wasn’t easy to escape. It was complicated to keep your paranoia under control; there were times in which you just couldn’t stop obsessing over a minor inconvenient happened to you, overthinking it enough to make it seem bigger than it really was, becoming anxious and hypervigilant as a consequence. And you hated it – you hated how your mind was able to control you in such a tricky way; you felt as if you were your own slave. Once crisis were over and you finally regained your so called ‘lucidity’ other emotions would take control of you; you’d start feeling stupid for making yourself go through all that suffering for something so silly, making you enter a loop of self denigration and severe self judgement. At times it would just be too much.

However, you were lucky enough to have Josuke by your side. The two of you had been together for some months and somehow he was perfectly able to save you from your own self. He always managed to put a smile on your face – he knew how to make you happy. Not that he was something that he had to plan ahead; it was just so natural for you to feel better whenever he was around. His smile, the way he managed to be so naïve yet so smart and mature at the same time just always enabled you to relax and feel better. His simple presence was enough to make you feel protected from both the outside world and the terrifying world that lived in your head.

Josuke never quite understood what really happened inside your mind whenever you’d have a crisis, and he learnt with time that the best thing he could do was simply listening to you. You were sure your thought process looked so indecipherable and nonsense to him, but he never pointed out. He would always be so supportive and would try his best to understand how you felt and your point of view – the last thing he wanted was to make you feel worse. He never judged you and he would always try to convince you that you should never feel ashamed of the way you felt. He was the first person to make you feel as if every little complicated emotion you felt was valid and wasn’t something that made you crazy, and you were just eternally glad to have him by your side.

Since the two of you started dating, you made some progress. Crisis became less usual and (most of the times) less intense than before, and with Josuke’s help, you were able to manage them better. His company had a major influence on you and on your overall state of mind, making your heart feel less heavy and filling your mind with wonderful memories – almost as if every moment you shared together somehow redecorated your mind, making it a bit less threatening and less uncomfortable than before.

However, this didn’t mean that crisis completely disappeared. You were playing videogames together in his living room when something just seemed to click in your mind. Although the enthusiasm shown by your boyfriend while playing, you just felt as if something just shut down. All of a sudden, you didn’t want to play anymore and felt as if you didn’t have any strength to push the buttons of your controller. That sensation led you to feel ungrateful and worthless. You started to think about how you ruined a perfect afternoon which your boyfriend was clearly enjoying, remembering all of the occasion something similar had happened. You thought he deserved way better than someone who’s broken and, like a hurricane, manages to destroy everything around them. These thoughts started to become louder and louder in your mind, as if a voice screamed at you about how you’d always stop Josuke from being happy. You tried your best to ignore it but you could only focus on how guilty you felt towards your boyfriend, and before realising it, tears started streaming down your face. Your cheeks became red as you ran your fingers through your air, starting to breathe heavily.

Josuke immediately noticed something was wrong, and he carelessly threw the controller away from him, turning to his side so he could face you.

He was visibly worried, yet he gently smiled at you as he delicately pulled you into his arms, kissing the top of your head. ‘Hey, hey..’ he said quietly, caressing your hair. 

‘What’s wrong?’

He questioned, looking at you while rubbing the tears off your face with his thumb. A small moment of silence settled down between you two. ‘It’s okay, I’m here. Breathe with me, mh?’ he whispered gently. He took your hands in his and, looking at you, he helped you normalising the pace of your breath. You followed the movement of his strong shoulders as he breathed, slowly relaxing yourself.  

‘I’m sorry. I always do this. I ruin every moment we get to spend together. You deserve better.’ 

You sniffed, hiding your face in his chest – not being able to bear any type of eye contact. ‘Hey! I thought I was the funny one!’ he said jokingly, leaving a cute kiss on the tip of your nose. You smiled weakly, shaking your head in disagreement. ‘You make me so happy. And in this regard.. I want you to see something!’ 

He continued, standing up from the couch and going to his bedroom. A few minutes later, when he came back to you, he was holding a little box in his hands.

You looked at him in confusion, while he goofily smiled at you, blushing. He sat next to you, putting his arms around your body and letting your back rest on his chest. He took advantage of this position to leave a kiss on your cheek. ‘Open it!’ he said, raising his tone in excitement.

You held the little square box in your hands for a bit, observing it. It was made of rough wood, probably crafted by hand by your lover. On the top of it, a writing made with a red marker pen said ‘Golden Days’. You opened the box only to reveal a pile of Polaroids of you, Josuke and some of your friends, taken in particular days of which you had a wonderful memory of – you could vividly remember the happy and how light-hearted you felt in those days. As you leafed through the pictures, Josuke would happily start talking about the day they represented.

‘Do you remember this day? We were on my uncle’s yacht!’ 

He said, pointing at a picture you were holding in your hand.

‘How can I forget? The air was sauna hot and you complained all day about how the temperature was ruining your hair!’ You said laughing, as your boyfriend started to tickle your waist. ‘HEY!’ he screamed. ‘My hair is a serious issue and you know it!’ he continued, as he tickled you more as if he was trying to punish you. He knew you couldn’t resist it and soon enough your laugh filled the room, followed by his. When he finally stopped, Josuke looked at you for a few seconds before showering you with kisses while you tried your best to keep looking at the polaroids without getting too distracted.

‘I didn’t know you had this box!’ you said, feeling way better than you did minutes before. 

‘I had it for a while, and decided you needed one of this too.’ he answered seriously, while moving your hair from your face.  ‘If I’m not there, I want you to have something for when you feel as if the light begins to fade.’ He continued, leaving a soft kiss on your temple.

After hearing those words, you couldn’t help but smile. He had his own, simple way to make you happy – and he never failed at it. Somehow, he was capable to make your heart and your mind to feel completely at peace, gifting you of special moments when things weren’t so complicated. You turned around to face Josuke, putting your hands on his chest and leaning on him for a kiss. As you did so, he smiled too, letting one of his hand gently running up and down your back. 

‘Thanks.’ you whispered as you rested your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. In response, Josuke let out a tender laugh. 

‘I love you, (Y/N). This is the least I can do.’ he replied, never stopping from cuddling you.

The two of you remained like this for a while, enjoying each other’s attentions and delicate touch.

[ashley-ghuleh]

Where It All Began

I am putting this here at the top, for I would not have started writing again if it weren’t for the lovely people on this site supporting me and helping me find hat drive again. Thank you @gasolineghuleh and @drugfreeemo

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It was the end of July, 2013. And a wealthy family was hosting a block party for a charity they were raise money for every year. The usual gaggle of individuals were there, tall thin semi beautiful women, dripping in diamonds and wearing the finest designer outfits they could, clearly misunderstanding or not caring that this was a casual party. And those ladies were almost always with the fat short balding men who literally had their wives on a payroll to keep them by their side, always amusing seeing them walk around like they actually love each other. The party was indoor/outdoor, the hosts had a huge house so why not flaunt it. The backyard was lavish, with soft string lights hanging from every little tree and bush to be turned on closer to the setting of the sun, the garden freshly clipped and groomed to wow anyone who glanced by. Not to mention the fountain in the center of the garden providing a soft misting if you walked by it, but controlled to flow out of a jar that three women back to back held out in different poses, crystal clear water trailed into the bottom of the spring where it would be cycled right back up. In the open side of the yard were tables with tents providing shade from the sun, though it wasn’t dry or humid, just warm enough to stand out in and go, ‘Yea, this is doable’. The tables were lined with all sorts of finger foods and drinks, maintained by staff at each table to help serve or suggest what to have. 

Inside the house where the glass doors opened out into the yard, a spacious dining area spread in three directions, one to the kitchen, one to the living area that branched out to other areas of the house, and one to a study that was more like a tiny library. The dining hall was set up similar to outside, tables with some food, more fruit in here then anything, and some more adult drinks at an open bar in the corner.

The hosts in all of this were out mingling, sometimes together sometimes apart, husband and wife working together to influence and charm anybody they could into donating or more.

But that wasn’t all, in the back corner of the garden, where an old pagoda sat in the cover of trees and hidden behind a maze of bushes only a few knew how to traverse. Sat a young girl, 13 soon to be 14 in August. Dressed in jean shorts and she had gotten from Walmart along with the babydoll cap sleeve top that was a deep emerald green, she’d never tell her parents its why she cut the tags out, and her little feet were clad in cherry red chuck taylor’s, she really loved that color. The girl’s name was Ashley, she was the only child of the Carter family apparently her mother and father wanted a son but they couldn’t get pregnant again after her so they got stuck with her, at least that was how it felt. Ashley was a sweet girl, dark brown hair almost black braided into a nice french style down the center of her head, her features were soft like her pale skin, highlighted in its fairness by her intensely dark hair.

Her features were soft but the softest thing amongst them? Her eyes. Ashley was born with Ocular Albinism, thankfully she didn’t have too many issues like the long list that usually came with the birth defect, but her eyes were sensitive to bright lights and her depth perception was off as well. The color of her eyes always made people gasp in shock, thinking she was blind, which yes as a kid was fun due to the amount of pranks you could pull, but it got to be more irritating than enjoyable, the older she got.

Eyes that are a milky blue aren’t common, but Ocular Albinism isn’t either. 

Being uncommon in a common society like the one her parents loved to live in, had been a difficult pill to swallow. Most days she wore colored contacts or sunglasses. Today she wore both with how bright the sun was, she’d probably have a seizure if she didn’t have them.

Special sunglasses just for her, made with the best material from her eye doctor to protect against the uv rays and harmful bright lights of everyday life.

“ Ashley! The Wilsons are here! Come say hi to Tommy!” Came the cool yet calculating voice of her mother over top the hedge maze, “ Tommy fucking Wilson..” She grumbled rolling her eyes before tossing her shades back on and standing. “ Of course mother~!” Ashley called back with a bright tone and fake grin that could outshine the Joker and Cheshire cat combined.

And she ran off through the maze, the sun warming her pale flesh, speckling it with new freckles and her braid bouncing around behind her. The sudden jolt to run giving her ideas she’d had before, they were reappearing once more.

Looking up at the sky briefly, she smiled genuinely while seeing a flock of birds flying high, “ One day. I will to~”

[kylorengarbagedump]

Little Bird: Chapter 36 (NSFW)

Read one AO3. Part 35 here. Part 37 here.

Summary: Your bullet wound is tended to. Somehow, Gilead makes things like this even more awkward than normal.

Words: 6600

Warnings: woundplay, bloodplay

Characters: Kylo Ren x Handmaid!Reader

A/N: Hiiii! I am so glad to hear people enjoy my self-indulgence, so, here, have some more! Haha. Can't help myself, have loved this shit since I was young.  Please forgive me. As usual, I am so grateful for y'all. You truly brighten my day--I feel so lucky to have what I have. I love y'all very much. I try to respond to as many comments as possible. Thank you thank you. TwT <3

You weren’t surprised that Johana was furious when she opened the door to find you, yet again in the arms of your Commander, the both of you drenched with rain and iridescent with blood. 

What did surprise you was how quickly this fury crumbled into a trembling, panicked concern. 

Her attention darted between your wound and his face, and she moved toward you, half-reaching toward your arm, then thinking better of it. “What--what happened?” She glared at her husband. “What are you doing here? Take her to a hospital!”

Kylo pushed past her, wet boots squeaking on the hardwood, and Johana growled, shutting the door and trailing behind him. His grip was tight, fingers pinching your flesh. 

“I’m going to call the ambulance,” she said. “I’m not letting a Handmaid bleed out in our--”

He whirled on her, and you rocked with him, stomach churning with the sudden movement. “Pryde is staging a coup,” he replied. “Until I discover the reach of his influence, there is no safer place than this home.” He paused. “For her. And you.”

Silence lingered for a moment, and Johana’s expression sharpened, lips parting. Her eyes followed the grain of the wall, slow air leaking in her lungs. She glanced at the floor, horror falling like a curtain over her face. 

“Commander,” she said, “I…” She swallowed with a frown. “Commander Pryde stopped by the house this morning. He wanted to speak with you. I…” She stepped toward him, chin quivering. “I told him you’d left and hadn’t informed me where you were going, I shouldn't have said anything, I’m sorry--”

“Enough.” Kylo tensed, a wall of muscle against your frame. “It’s irrelevant now. Once she is stable, I’ll be departing with the Knights.” He adjusted you in his hold. “There’s a bullet in her arm.”

Johana gazed at him, hands wringing together, and sighed. Sucking in a long breath, she stepped forward and studied your wound. Your face flushed in embarrassment, expecting admonishment, or even cruelty from her, but it was as if she’d transformed, taken on another skin. She was calculating, cataloging something as she stared, leaning on her toes, humming in thought. There was no evidence of the woman you feared in the person before you--she’d been replaced by a confident, objective analyst. 

“Well, there’s no arterial damage,” she said, “she would’ve bled out already. The tourniquet isn’t necessary.” She eased closer, mouth screwing in thought. “Might’ve clipped the humerus, too hard to tell.” Eyes narrowing, she pressed her thumb to the perimeter of the wound, and you seethed--Kylo’s fingers bit into you. “It’s not infected yet. I can clean it. Stitch it. Even if we’re going to keep her out of the hospital, she’ll still need antibiotics. And to rest for at least two weeks.” 

“I’ll arrange for it,” he said. “I’ll return when this is resolved. You will be responsible for her.” He shifted close, voice low. “This is an order as your husband. Do you understand?”

Johana nodded, glancing at between the both of you and then to her feet, face pink. “Yes, Commander, I understand.”

“Prepare your supplies.” He turned and strode down the hall.

Kylo carried you through the home into his bedroom, shutting the door and locking it. He eased you to the floor and popped the tourniquet from your arm--you winced at the release of pressure, the new pulse of pain through your nerves. In silence, he crossed to the bathroom, and you heard the squeal of an opening pipe, the gush of a spigot, and blushed. He was running a bath for you.

When he returned, he removed your coat--his coat, technically--and tossed it to the ground, leading you toward the bed with a gentle hand while he gathered the hem of your nightgown and drew it over your frame. It stuck to you like plastic wrapping, leaving damp stains on your skin--and you plopped on the mattress as he guided it over your ribs. He raised your uninjured limb and lifted the rest of the gown over your head, your arm, and then down over your wound. You whimpered as the fabric peeled from your aching flesh, leaving you in your soaked undergarments.

Focused, he took your legs, throwing your socks and shoes to the floor, before looking to your bra, reaching behind you and unhooking it. You were speechless, teeth chattering, pain biting like skeleton claws as you watched your Commander--the man who had just single-handedly slaughtered dozens of soldiers--tend to you like you were the most precious, most delicate creature he’d ever had under his hands. His fingers were firm, soothing you with even the slightest touch, and he met your gaze, sliding his thumbs toward your underwear, warm brandy gleaming in his eyes.

Still trembling, you nodded, and he wedged them free, fabric bunching as it rolled down your thighs, and added them to the sopping pile of clothing on the hardwood. Having finished that, he released you and began to strip himself, starting with his boots and coat, still without words as the mountain of garments grew larger. He was stoic, never once sneaking a glimpse of your body until he was nude, too.

Though you’d cum for him four times already, and though your cunt twinged from the recent stretch of his dick, it was impossible not to revere him, like this, skin smoldering in dim light. Kylo Ren’s broad, crushing power and his beauty were seemingly disparate--yet the clean strength of his body only served to accentuate the elegant curve of his nose, the petal-pink of his lips, the soft, wet waves of his hair. He returned the stare, gaze dancing over your figure, but only in quiet, worried praise, as if you were a damaged triumph of art that was his to repair.

Blinking, he broke away, and walked to check your bath. Inside, you heard the splash of water, a knob adjustment, and he appeared again, silent as he scooped you to his chest. The shivering hadn’t stopped, and now that you could see it, you noticed that the bleeding hadn’t fully stopped, either. It wasn’t a river, more of a weep, tiny trickles pushed from your pulsating flesh as it rippled with every beat of your heart. You couldn’t see the bullet in the red mess of meat--and as you crossed the threshold, you wondered how far down it had gone. 

Kylo’s bathroom was wall-to-wall white subway tile, extending to the walk-in shower at the far end, the floor a pattern of black and white ceramic diamonds. The towels, too--whether hung or stowed or folded--were white and black, every accessory a silvered pewter. A ceiling light exposed the steel-grey skies outside, the room illuminated by two incandescent glass sconces above the mirror. The air was hot and thick--water half-filled a large clawfoot tub, and your Commander suspended you above it, lowering you into the bath like you’d splinter from shock. 

Relief was immediate, and you sighed, an imitation of a corpse in his arms. Heat engulfed you, sucking the tension from your skin, the steady stream of the spigot drowning your anxious mind. He released you, let you float, and your head rolled along the tub, a soft, satisfied hum escaping your chest. Steam wafted into your sight, and you breathed it in, hoping to fill your lungs with its comfort while Kylo pulled up a wooden stool. He removed the towel folded on top of it and sat, adjusting until he was at your side.

Your cheeks burned as you watched him gather the towel in his hand and pass it under the spigot, mesmerized by the taut muscles in his arms, his back. It was the third time in 24 hours you’d seen him without clothing, and still you salivated for it, each time an entirely new experience to your mind. Ignorant of your admiration, Kylo wrung the towel of excess water and lathered it with soap before gazing at you, face blank--your lip wibbled, your heart skipped. If it weren’t for the gunshot wound in your arm, you’d try to prod yourself awake.

His free hand cupped the back of your neck, eased you up, while the other started at your shoulders, drawing slow, soapy circles down your mottled neck and clavicle, moving to your uninjured arm, cleansing away the cold film left by the rain. He shifted then, to your chest, sitting you straighter, and washed the mud and splattered soil from your breasts and abdomen, caressing you with the cloth, pushing the fear from your flesh. You trembled in the tenderness of his touch, throat tight with emotion you were too terrified to name.  

Noticing this, Kylo shushed you, placing his lips to your forehead, murmuring something at your hairline that you couldn’t hear. Prickles of affection blazed through your nerves, your blood racing, and he sat back and lifted one of your legs from the tub, scrubbing it clean, passing the towel over the ticklish soles of your feet. You hid a giggle, wriggling from the contact, and he squeezed your ankle, holding you still until the muck was gone. One leg completed, he switched to another, untarnished section, and repeated the action with the other leg, never once breaking his attention from his task.

With both spotless, he switched sections again, and leaned you forward, rubbing soap into your back, strong thumbs pressing along your shoulder blades as he passed them, massaging down the line of your spine. You groaned, shuddering, goosebumps alight in the wake of his touch. He shushed you again, and washed you over with water, easing you back to the tub before spilling the soap clear from the rest of your body. The warmth flooded you, eyes fluttering in delight before settling on him.

His brow furrowed, and he lifted your wounded arm, coasting across it with a new patch of cloth, skimming the sensitive skin, brushing away the sludge and caked blood, revealing fresh, pink flesh. Your free limbs tweaked, and you grimaced in pain, but kept otherwise still, choosing to fixate on his pursing lips, how meticulous he’d become in his movements. Baffling, how this one man was both the blunt-end of a bludgeon and the precise feather fountain-pen--as deft with his hands as he was deadly. The last of the grime was wiped free, Kylo scrutinized his work, folded the towel over, and wet a clean swatch.

He then cradled your head, weaving through your hair, focus following his fingers while he wiped your storm-smattered face, swiping at your lips, under your lids, the rust smeared on your chin. As he dabbed your nose, he glimpsed you, and your lungs stalled in memory of the first time he’d done this--the first time he’d ever made you feel human, the first time he’d ever made you feel cherished. You gazed at him, your chest thumping with an appreciation so swollen you were afraid it would split through your sternum at a pinprick’s pressure. Kylo blinked, averted his eyes, and with a soft pat of your cheek, he sat back, appraising, his own face still sullied with crusted crimson. 

Words wouldn’t find you. You grabbed for the towel instead, taking it from him and sitting straight. Swallowing your nerves, you preened the loose strands of hair from his face and swept the cloth over his forehead, down his nose--he froze under your touch, his irises clouded with confusion. Hands quaking, you continued, smoothing over his cheekbones, along the line of his jaw, scraping away the remnants of battle. His mouth twitched, his throat knocked, and when you finished, you draped the towel over the tub’s edge. 

Finally meeting his stare, you exhaled, stroked his face with your thumb, tracing the edge of his scar. It was lithe, almost lovely in its length, cresting down his neck and over his collarbone, a rose-gold crack on his alabaster skin. Yet what made it beautiful was its origin, its legacy--the knowledge that he’d earned it in the act of saving you.

His eyes were liquid amber, gilded rims glimmering with a feeling you could only identify as gratitude, a reflection of the recognition you felt in your soul. It was an acknowledgement that in this mire of madness, you were thankful for each other, thankful that through the suffocating strangle of Gilead’s air, you’d discovered breath in the other’s embrace. He glanced at your mouth, and you wet it--something distant and familiar lingered on your tongue. Before you could give it life, Kylo tugged you by the neck and against his lips.

The kiss was tentative, exploratory, his mouth skipping over yours, testing your need, ghosting tingles at your nerves. You whimpered into him, clutching the back of his head, skating nails over his scalp as you returned his ardor, your tongue out slipping to taste him--he tilted his head, capturing you, his own tongue rolling slowly over yours. A quiet groan escaped him, and he pulled you closer, holding your head in both of his enormous hands, one stroking through your hair, the other keeping you still as his mouth grazed you. Your thighs braced together, forcing friction as fire dripped like oil between your legs. 

Kylo guided you back to the tub, chasing you, never increasing his insistence, taking time to brand you in dedication, rather than desire. Humming with pleasure, his tongue slid past your teeth, and the hand in your hair glided down your neck, over your shoulder, gripping it, as if to prove you were alive. You shivered, worked your lips over his like he was to be savored, flesh plumping from the pressure--underneath the running water, the only noises were your and his hidden breath, and the slick sound of your meeting mouths. Passion crept through you now, signaling a need that, despite having been more than sated this morning, was happy to awaken from its slumber.  

You shifted closer, growing needy--the sudden movement speared your arm with agony, and you yelped, breaking the kiss. Kylo nuzzled you with his forehead.

“Do you want relief?” His hand traveled from your shoulder, inching down your chest. “From the pain.”

Tremored, eager air left your lungs. “Yes.” You nodded. “Please.”

He pressed his lips to yours as his hand fell to your breast, groping it absently, thumb petting your pebbling nipple. You squirmed, releasing a moan, and he silenced you with his mouth, kneading your tit, making your stomach tighten with hunger. Giving a nip to your bottom lip, he kissed across your cheek, huffing into your ear while his hand dipped into the water and drifted over the rolls of your belly.

“Be a good girl for me.” Long fingers crawled over your mound, and you nodded, legs parting in welcome. “There we go...”

Two digits trailed up and down your outer folds, teasing them, and you gasped, throwing your good arm around his neck--his breath was slow and quiet at your ear, the baritone resonance of his voice rumbling through you. One finger drew up your slit, glancing over your clit, and you squeaked, core clamoring for more. 

“That’s it.” His mouth moved to your cheekbone, following your jaw. “I’m going to make you feel so good.” He licked up your pulse. “You’re gorgeous.”

Gooseflesh erupted over your skin, vision fuzzing with joy. “Even… even like this?” You nodded toward your wound.

“Mm.” Kylo kissed your throat, prying open your folds, probing your layers. “Especially like this.”

His thumb grazed your clit, and you whined, jerking him closer--he growled and taunted your entrance, swirling a single digit in its slick, daring to press in only half a centimeter. Your hips shifted, cunt craving more, but he refused to yield, thumb passing your nub with long, torturous strokes.

“I know men who’ve broken over a bullet.” He wiggled in another half-centimeter, and you clenched. “But you haven’t shed a tear.” More kisses to your throat, suckling at your heartbeat. “My brave little bird."

Heat rushed you in waves--at this rate, he'd have you cumming without even having to go inside of you. "Why should I be afraid?" you whispered. "I have you."

His breath hitched, and he plunged in, curling inside of you--a sigh left you as you throbbed around him, even knowing one finger wouldn't be enough. You adjusted your weight on his neck, bringing him closer, letting your injured arm dangle out of the tub.

"That's right. And you’re being so good for me," he murmured. "Getting so wet. Always ready for me to make you cum..."

Kylo slipped out, then pushed back in, then out, and in again, relishing in the tight ridges of your cunt as he stretched you open. You bucked your hips, trying to fuck him in rhythm, water sloshing in the bath--but he dodged you, forcing you to meet his pace, swiping back and forth over your clit in little bolts of bliss while he exhaled in excitement.

"Relax." His mouth moved from your neck to your shoulder, teeth dragging new welts over your clavicle. "I thought you were going to be my good girl." 

You swallowed and stilled. It was hard to control yourself when the rush of pleasure was numbing everything else. "I-I will. I'm sorry." 

"Better." Kylo caught your lips in a brief kiss, rewarding you with a second finger, crooking them both inside of you--you cried out, spasming in delight. "Fuck. How does a cunt this little take me so well, hm?" Another kiss, lingering. "Just thinking about how tight you are makes my cock hard." He smirked against your mouth. "You know I think about it whenever I wake up. And before I go to sleep."

You whinged, lava boiling in your blood--you wanted to melt into the water, liquefy in his hands. "Oh..."

"That's right," he said. "I make myself cum every morning thinking about fucking you. And it's never enough." He was panting, kissing back down your neck, to your chest again. "I could fuck this pussy every night for the rest of my life and it wouldn't be enough…"

“Kylo…”

Your brain swarmed with that distant feeling again, dizzying you, robbing you of language, weakening your joints. You clung to him, a raft in the sea of your lust, choking back your moans as his palm rocked against you, thumb circling your clit, fingers thrusting in and out of your cunt--you let your lids close, let pleasure encompass you, let yourself submerge to his will, trusting him to give you exactly what you needed. His lips scorched your shoulder, singeing a path toward your wound, but you were too rapt to notice, too elated to care. 

When he kissed it, something snapped--perhaps it was the plush of his mouth on the tender tissue, perhaps it was the ecstasy already seizing your sanity, or perhaps it was the delicious slice of pain twisting through it all. Whatever it was, you sobbed, back arching, pussy clamping down on his hand like it would sever him clean, head thrown back in a plea. Kylo stopped, purring with satisfaction, lifting his pretty, stained scarlet lips from your arm. You met his eyes, shaking, too embarrassed to say a word. 

Thankfully, he appeared too engrossed to further humiliate you, kissing the top of your shoulder before falling to your wound again--he rolled his fingers inside of you, rubbing the bundle of nerves in tight, quick strokes, and let his mouth sketch the edge of your injured flesh. You winced, writhed, jaw dropping in an open, continuous pant, and he licked light lines around it, lapping the seeping blood; when you clenched again, he slipped his tongue into the hole.

Your sight went white, you collapsed in the bath, a mix of scream and squeal shredding your throat. The sensation was a knife, carving bliss into your skin, your cunt pulsing with greed as your Commander laved you from the inside. Everything blanked, your only reality consisting of the thumb caressing your stiffened clit, the fingers pumping into your throbbing pussy, the tongue digging absolute pure pleasure-pain into your veins. Your hands furled into fists, teeth cutting your lip while you fought to find yourself in the hurricane that had replaced your brain. 

“Kylo,” you whimpered, as it was the only word you could remember, “Kylo, Kylo…”

“Good girl.” He moaned, lavishing hot, open kisses at the frayed flesh. “So good for me, so perfect--”

“Please.” Your lips buzzed, unsure what you were even asking for. “Please, I--”

Somehow knowing what you needed before you did, Kylo’s bloody mouth met yours, his thumb worming through your wound, and you shrieked into him--he swallowed every cry, painting iron along your tongue, kissing you in anxious fervor. Your orgasm bubbled with volcanic intensity, gravitation at your core, absorbing each spark of nerve and billowing to something so powerful that you were afraid you would shatter if it burst. 

Kylo nudged his digit deeper, pain ricocheting to your cunt, while his other hand flicked your clit fast, stuffed a third thick finger into your pussy, coiling and delving and fucking you wide, and you suffocated in his kiss, winding your tongue around his, gasping, groaning, and he drove into your hole, filling everything inside--you ruptured, ecstasy exploding through you, escaping in euphoric shrieks into his throat, happily consumed by the voracity of his mouth. He led you through it, easing his thumb free, rubbing you through the aftershocks of your climax as you descended, crumpling limp in the water’s warmth, chasing his gentle, lazy lips.

By the time you’d regained control of your faculties, you’d realized he’d pulled out of you and turned off the spigot, leaving you to soak in a bath that had risen past your breasts. And he was still catching his breath--through your daze of disbelief, you saw him stroking his hard, needy cock, pounding it to his own release. Kylo sought your mouth again, but you shifted away, enthralled by the sight of your Commander, cheeks flush, jaw dropped, thrusting into his fist. He huffed with a half smirk, leaning back, allowing you to see the contractions of his stomach, the flexing in his chest.

“You like that?” He pushed the skin to the head, coaxing a drop of precum from the slit, smearing it over his shaft. “Is this making you feel good?”

Your mind was mush. All you could think to do was nod.

“Fuck…” Kylo’s pupils were blown, his chest heaving. “Then you can remember this when I’m gone. Think of me like this.” He rolled his palm around his length, tugging it faster. “Think of me fucking myself because of you.” 

Saliva pooled from your cheeks, your eyes pinned to the muscular slabs of his legs, how they spread and framed his cock, long and thick and beautiful, how his hand wrapped around it with a soft shuffle, how his flesh bounced with the effort. You could see the peaking tide of unadulterated pleasure, his face obscene with it--his head dropped onto his shoulders, his thighs tensed, hand a blur over his dick. 

“Fuck… fuck.” His voice was shredded with bliss. “You want to watch me cum, little girl?” 

“Y-yes…” 

His lids closed, he gasped. “Tell me to cum.”

You almost choked. “Christ. C-cum for me, Kylo--”

Kylo Ren snarled your name, gripping his cock as it twitched and pulsed between his legs, sticky cum shooting in spurts onto his sternum, roping over his abdomen. He groaned, jerking himself into sensitivity, sucking in a deep breath as his hand slowed, head falling forward, the tail of his climax dissipating. When he was finished, he exhaled, paused, and gathered some of his seed onto his fingers. Your throat thickened--and he held you in his stare, sucking them clean.   

No words would come to you. Between the still-crackling cinders of your orgasm and the image of him eating his own cum, you’d temporarily lost your ability to speak. Kylo smirked--he kissed you a final time before tucking a lock of wet hair behind your ear and rising to his feet.

Your Commander walked to the sink and grabbed a towel, wiping away the remaining blood and cum and debris. In the valley of post-climactic rapture, watching him--this man, your savior and enslaver--you yearned for that moment in the cemetery, before you’d been shot. The moment when it seemed as if he’d considered you--a moment you felt him echo when he’d said every night for the rest of my life. You sank into the bath, that nagging, terrifying feeling welling within you again. You shoved it down, knowing that to name it while still wading in uncertainty would damn you to despair.

“Um. What you said earlier. Is that something you’d want?” you asked. “To… have me? Every night? For...” The rest of the words wouldn’t leave, stuck like impossible barbs on your tongue.

He said nothing, taking a swig of water from the sink and swishing it in his mouth before spitting it into the basin in a pink spray.

“I think we could do it.” You were being careful--but you were less afraid of his words than your own. “We could have that.”

Still silent, he took a fresh towel and rustled it through his hair, whipping excess water from the curls.

“I know you believe in destiny,” you said. “But what if you have two?” He stilled--you continued. “What if… I saw another path. Where you--where we were free?” 

Kylo Ren glanced over his shoulder, considering you. There was not a single hint of emotion in his expression. Your chest tightened.

“It would make me happy,” you murmured. “What about you?”

His gaze fell, wandering the tile, the walls, until it led him to the mirror. He stared into himself, like a stranger to his own reflection, jaw steeling. Rain rattled the skylight, thunder crashing through the clouds, a rumbling of the past--he remained there for a moment, inspecting his face, searching for something, wallowing in recollection. His back crested, muscles hardened, and he tore away, eye twitching as he looked back to you.

“There are greater issues to rectify,” he said, and left the room.

Wilting, you slid deeper into the water, keeping your arm tossed over the edge. It wasn’t that you had expected him to drop it all and agree, like a hero from some romance--yes, darling, let’s steal away at midnight--but you had hoped for some concession, some inkling of hope that he wanted to sustain what was unsustainable. Yet, in the back of your mind, you both understood there was only one way he could do that. And it would involve abandoning everything he’d ever known. 

The question you weren’t willing to answer was how you’d balance your willingness to wait with reality. Running was not an option, now--not as long as your Commander had both the will and the governmental power to find and keep you. No matter his compromises, the existence of Gilead meant his inherent rejection of your agency, his unwillingness to let you go, despite it being your only wish. 

And every second wasted translated to years of lives hanging in turmoil. The next time you met with the Resistance, you knew you’d do whatever they asked to help them cripple Gilead. One way or the other, they would bring you your freedom. You just hoped that by the time they were ready, a time that could be days or weeks or years, he’d be coming with you. 

Some might think you were asking too much--for him to relinquish his power, destroy as much as he could in the process, escape with you into anonymity--but the Kylo Ren you knew was capable of anything. You’d ask for all of it, or ultimately accept none.

 Of course, you’d need to heal from this damn gunshot, first.

Kylo returned, dressed and dry, adjusting the cuffs on his coat. “Two Knights will remain in my absence. Johana will care for your wound and get you to rest.”

“Oh,” you said, starting to stand, “okay--”

“Don’t move.” 

Confused, you stopped, splashing into the tub. Johana couldn’t see you naked, and especially not while you were covered in his hickeys and bite marks. “But--”

“A precaution,” he said. “To protect your temperature.” 

“But...” You folded your free arm over your chest. Your options were paltry few, and inviting in a strange, possibly deceptive doctor, one without any personal investment in your well-being, seemed even less appealing. “Okay.”

“You will be safe.” He scanned your body in the bath. “Be good, little bird.”

A jumble of words waited on your tongue: Be safe, be careful, I’ll miss you, I…

Instead, you only nodded. “I will.”

He met your gaze a final time in silent regard, and turned to leave. You listened to the sound of his boots cross the floor, wondering how the water had made it into your eyes. Blinking, you wiped your cheeks. You weren’t sure how long you laid there after your Commander had left--only that when you heard the creak of the bedroom door, steam had fled the air, and your breathing had evened out. 

When Johana entered the bathroom, she brought a tote with her, avoiding you entirely as she plopped it next to the sink and washed her hands. Finished that, she pushed her sleeves to her elbows and grabbed a pair of gloves from the bag, pulling them on before fishing through it again. Chewing her cheek, she procured a needle, a pair of tweezers and scissors, a few square packets, dental floss, a roll of gauze, two tiny white tubes, and a small plastic bottle of clear liquid. She laid them out on a towel, picked it up, turned to you--and nearly flung all of it across the room.

“Jesus Christ.” Her face contorted in a mix of disgust and dismay--she went to say something else, but shrugged it off, heading to the stool and sitting down. 

You blushed, taking a quick inventory of your chest. Yes, it definitely looked like an animal had savaged your upper-torso--and, in a way, that’d been exactly what happened. Settling on silence, you stared at your feet. There were no words you could think to say that would ease the awkwardness of her acknowledging the evidence of her husband’s illegal affair. 

Johana sighed, took one of the tubes, squeezed its contents onto a gloved finger and rubbed it over your wound. You squeaked in pain, watching as it worked into a lather before she took the bottle of liquid and squirted it over your skin (water, to your relief). Stone faced, she patted it down with gauze before grabbing the needle and one of the packets--an alcohol wipe, you now realized. You frowned.

“Wait,” you said. “Aren’t you going to… um. Remove the bullet.”

She snorted. “Not unless you’re interested in bleeding out in the bathtub.” Tearing the packet open, she plucked the wipe free. “Digging around could further traumatize the wound,” she said. “It’s safer to leave embedded projectiles where they are.”

“Oh.”

Her brow furrowed as she sanitized the needle. “Yes, oh.” Contrition flashed over her face. “Not that you had any reason to know that.”

Regret puddled in your heart--not for what you’d done, but that you’d both been placed in this hell at all. At least you’d had a distraction in the form of the Commander. Johana had been floundering alone for, maybe, the past three entire years. You knew she was miserable, knew that you’d seen a moment’s hesitation before she’d stolen the switchblade. Even if that object was long-gone, if you could soften her, even a little, maybe she’d hear you out. Maybe freedom was a possibility for all of you in the home--the Marthas included.

“I’m sorry,” you said, nodding toward your chest. “I wasn’t expecting--”

“Don’t really care.” She wound out a string of floss from its container. “The faster you get pregnant, the better.” 

“Is that why you won’t report me? Or the Commander?” you asked. “You just want me to get pregnant?”

“Yes.” Narrowing her focus, she held up the needle in one hand and the floss in the other before glimpsing you. “And no.” She paused. “It’s not like you’re the worst Handmaid I’ve had.” 

A reluctant grin pulled at your lips. “The dinner party?” 

“Ha!” It wasn’t a true laugh--more like a squawk. “The only other person who has ever talked to Commander Hux like that is my husband.” Pride twinkled in her eye. “But seeing his reaction to you was even better.”

You chuckled. “Was he always such a bastard?”

“Oh, yes,” she replied. “Always.” Her mouth opened to speak, but she said nothing.

Silence descended over the bathroom; thunder rumbled under the shower of rain. Johana looked between the floss and your wound.

“Anyway, the Commander’s preoccupation with you won’t be a problem once you give birth.” She tossed it and unfurled a longer strand. “And I know you can’t help yourself anyway.”

“Ms. Johana, please.” You sighed. “Do you really care about him?” you asked. “I mean. Even after…” Invoking her dead husband’s name seemed tacky. So you didn’t.

She rolled her eyes. “What does it matter?”

You shrugged your good shoulder. “I just…” Quiet, you sought out her gaze. “You really loved him.”

“I did,” she said. “So what? He’s dead now.”

“How did you meet him?”  

Johana didn’t respond, focused on threading the needle, taking one, two, three attempts before the floss passed through the eye. Blowing frustrated air through her nose, she wiped tweezers down before using it to pinch the needle. Turning to your arm, she went to poke you--and paused.

“Church.” Her voice was soft. “I met him in church.”

Using two fingers, she compressed the sides of the wound together--you flinched--and pierced the bottom, pulling the strand of floss through. It was a tiny nip, hardly comparable to the pain of the wound itself. You shook the discomfort away.

“What was he like? Ah--”

“Stop squirming.” Johana exhaled, looping the floss and making another stitch. “Very traditional,” she said. “Very organized.” A tiny smirk eked over her lips. “Very bossy.”

You raised a brow. “Oh?”

She fought the urge to smile. “Oh, he was funny about it,” she said. “He liked things to be a certain way. He was always teasing me for fussing until it was perfect.” For a moment, she looked content, sapphire glittering in her irises, face glowing as she slipped the needle through again. “He had high expectations. I could always meet them.”

“Oh.” Kylo Ren, you imagined, was a devastatingly unfair change of pace. “It must be hard. The Commander seems so different.”

Like fog, the facade of peace faded, revealing the vacant, tired bags beneath her eyes. “He is.” She jabbed you, perhaps a little harder than intended--you winced. “But...”

You frowned. “But?”

Johana’s hands froze, and she swallowed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter.”

She said nothing more, face drawn in focus as she made another stitch, and another. You watched, almost in awe of her nimble fingers; you knew for certain it’d been over three years since she would have last done this, and probably longer than that. If you hadn’t known her in the context of being your Commander’s Wife, you never would have guessed it.

“Being a nurse was probably tough.” 

A short, tight laugh caught in her throat. “Dealing with bureaucratic red tape and doctors all day? Yeah. I don’t miss it.” Her tone softened, and she shrugged. “But I was good at it.”

“I can tell.”

“I’d hope so. I was top of my...” She sighed, rolling her eyes again. “Whatever.” With the tweezers, she wreathed the floss in on itself, made a knot, and tied it off. “I don’t have the luxury of surgical thread.” A snip as she cut the loose ends with the scissors. “This will pop if you’re not careful.”

You nodded. “I understand.”

Exhaling, she took the second white tube and collected a clear gel from its tip, spackling it over your sutures like paste. Satisfied, she then grabbed the gauze, binding your arm in several rotations before cinching it tight. For a moment, she stared at it, and then peeled off her gloves and rolled up the towel with all of her supplies. She brought it to her tote and stuffed it inside before marching out of the room, leaving the bag on the sink.

Beyond the door, you heard her shuffling in the bedroom, and you let loose a long, disappointed sigh. She’d been a tougher nut to crack than you anticipated. It wasn’t as if you were queen of mind games, but you’d at least expected her to be intrigued by the chance to open up to anybody other than her pillow. But perhaps you couldn’t blame her for not trusting you when you kept showing up to her home with increasingly bizarre injuries. 

Johana entered the bathroom again, a heavy, black robe in her arms. “I don’t have one that will fit you.” She flopped it open, held it out. “He’s never worn it, anyway.”

You stared. “Oh.”

“Don’t just oh,” she said. “Come on.”

With a wobble, you eased yourself to your feet, steadying with the wall as you stepped out of the tub and into the robe, allowing her to bundle you in it. Johana guided you with a hand on your back to Kylo Ren’s bed and observed while you climbed on. 

Offering a restrained grin, you said, “I know you don’t like me. And that I keep getting hurt. But thank you.” 

“It was an order. I follow them.” Her gaze traveled your figure, and she sighed, grabbing one of the pillows and fluffing it. “Look. I don’t--I don’t dislike you.” She wedged it behind your back. “I just don’t get why he keeps doing all of this. I don’t know what he sees in you.”

You frowned, face hot. For once, you actually felt insulted. “Maybe it’s because I see something in him,” you replied, bending so she could fluff another. “Something that you might not care to see, anyway.”

She balked, shoving it under your shoulders. “What are you talking about? We’ve been married for three years.”

“And you’ve never stopped loving Moden that entire time.”

Johana paused and looked at you, propped upright along the headboard. You sat there, smothered in your robe, supported by cushions, constricted in a full-body cast of cotton. Her gaze drifted to the floor, and she raised her brow in thought, folding her arms over her chest. There it was--the gap in her shell.

“Maybe it’s all for the same reason,” you said. “The fact that you still love him. The fact that the Commander seems attached to me. The fact that I keep getting caught up in... everything.” You held your breath, and let it go. “Maybe it’s all because this entire thing is just… bullshit.”

She blinked. Then glanced up. “You might be right.” Her fingers burrowed into her arms. “But Moden expected me to get remarried if he passed. And he expected me to carry on what he couldn’t.” She swallowed, jaw tensing. “I don’t intend to disappoint him.”

With that, she spun, flouncing into the bathroom to grab her tote, and crossed to the bedroom door. She met your eyes in silence before staring at the hardwood. A weight, laden with deferred, unrealized, and deadened dreams, suspended between you. Shaking her head, Johana opened the door, slipped into the hall, and shut it behind her.

[likesomekindofcheese]

Hide Your Love Away (Paul McCartney x fem! Royal! reader Oneshot)

From an anon request:  can you write Paul x reader oneshot or something where she’s going to have an arranged marriage the following day, which is forced by her family. but she doesn’t want it since she’s secretly dating Paul. So they go on their last date, pretending it’s their honeymoon just for one day since they know they have to be separated after that🥺(sry I’m a sucker for sad/angst fic with lil fluff)

Word Count: Less than 2K

Warnings: swearing, angst with fluff, mentions of weddings and sex. Lack of editing,

A/N: I hope you enjoy it! In order for the premise to work, I decided to make you a member of the noble class who has to marry into royalty  (I got inspired some by The Crown on Netflix, whoops) when you really love Paul. Much love to my angels @joeneslee​ @bens-jawline​ and @rhapsodyrecs​ for helping me when writers block stuck for this one!

 “I just met him, how can I marry him?” you asked with tears blinking in your eyes.

Sighing, you could tell the diadem on your mothers head was beginning to droop. Your father began cutting his meat with more fury. It made the metals on his suit follow in a clink, clink, clink.

“Because this marriage is important to us- to your whole family!” he said.

“But he…I…how do you know it will work?” you question. The diamonds on your necklace feel like an icy grip.

“That doesn’t matter, you will make it work. You always have. It’s the price you pay for your title. It’s going to secure everything. The Prince of Cardonia already agreed to it,” your mother said.

“I…”

“Y/N, you’re a duchess. You do understand the consequences if you don’t do this…money will fall, we’ll lose protection…our house, everything.”

Squeezing your hands together, you began to blink away tears.

“And think of how the alliance will help us, politically. Do you want our people to suffer?” your father pointed out.

You agreed to the match. In a way, you could be a good leader still. Carry out orders. Make changes. Protect people. But it was useless now.

In your room, you began dialing madly for his number. Pacing, the ring on the phone seemed to last forever. Who knew a chance encounter at a party for music led to you both. Then all these phone calls. The meetings. Then meetings led to more talk. And soon your mouths stopped talking and started kissing.

“Y/N…I’m speechless…and you…you can’t say no…” Paul wonders. Your throat feels dry.

“I don’t have a choice! I…I didn’t choose this, they just…announced it,” you mourned.

Those calls are made in plenty the following weeks. You get fitted for the wedding gown a month later. It’s a wide gown decked in lace covering your neck and shoulders with a long train that leaves lace down like a cape. Everyone says you look beautiful, but you don’t feel like it. You are constantly asked for details about the wedding. You gave boring answers. You don’t want to make it too fussy, but at least pretty. But it’s soulless, you feel like.

The day comes sooner, so Paul suggests something…a trip.

You don’t know how, but you managed to get away. You had a few trusted friends who covered for you

The prince of Cordonia isn’t like Paul at all. He is stiff and dull. Not abusive, you don’t think, but that could change.

Paul is super ambitious and works to get the secret trip right.

Right as you get on the plane, making sure it is private and paying guards and the pilot extra, you look at Paul.

“We could…pretend…”

“Pretend what?”

“Pretend we’re married. That we’re going to be at our honeymoon…I don’t know if we’ll get a chance to later…”

Smiling, you begin to drum your fingers on the tan plush arm of your seat.

“How in god’s name did a damn Beatle escape from the press?” you asked. The plane whirred as it soared over the air.

Paul sighs, taking a sip of water from a plastic cup. 

“A lot of help, that’s what. Didn’t you get your friends in? Well, I got friends too,” he answered with a wink that always flipped your stomach.

“Where are you even going?”

He smiled.

“Ibiza, Spain!”

“Spain! I’ve never been to Spain!” you cried. Running up, you give him a girlish hug and kiss his cheek.

The jet plane landed and you both made your way to a hotel. Paul donned fake facial hair and as soon as you were led to your suite, he ripped it off. Though it looked red and tears stung his eyes.

“Oo-owww!”

You began to laugh hard at his reaction before tossing yourself on the feathery bed. That first night you both indulged in a large dinner while watching the sun go down and after much evening walking, settled into your bed for the first sleep after traveling.

When you both woke up, you saw his face first. Then your eyes flitted open. The sunshine of the Spanish morning poured in from over his head. He looked even more angelic.

“Hello husband!”

“Hello Wifey!” he said, kissing your forehead. 

Both of you cuddle up against the cold air from the AC before ordering a breakfast and spending time in your pajamas…as well as out of them. Smiling and taking in each other. Chatting about the habits of his other band members and laughing at them like normal.

They explored old towns. Spanish architecture, orange and tall, surrounded them. You bought lunch at little local restaurants, usually saving room for cold gelato served in cones dusted with cinnamon. It was touristy. It was cliche. It was perfect.

Both of you go through markets all afternoon when it’s too hot to do anything else. Thanking the heavens for shade and cheering at the sight of a working fan. One market had a tendency to be overpriced. Not that neither of you couldn’t afford it. 

Glancing over there was a young woman eyeing a necklace. Maybe a local. Her eyes were bright as she admired how the gems shone in the light and how they flattered her skin. But when she glanced at the price tag, she frowned.

Nudging, you murmur “I’ll be over there…”

You walk up to the young woman and smile.

“Hello, do you like that necklace?” you greet.

She blinks in confusion and sighs.

“Yes, I do” she says in a voice as sweet as honey. “It’s just…expensive, is all. I’ll look for another one.”

From the pocket of your pants you pull out several dollar bills and hand them to her. She is frozen looking at the numbers. It’s enough to buy at least five necklaces here.

“Not anymore…”

“Why are you doing this?” she asks.

“Let’s say…I have more than enough. Least I can do.” You answer.

Walking back, you see Paul’s eyes grow wide and then he smiles. He wraps a hand around yours as you walk out. Glancing back, you can see the girl is slack jawed. Then she went and bought the becklace with a smile as big as her face.

As soon as he got home, with only a few packages of things, Paul flung himself on the bed.

“Ooof! I’m bloody exhausted!”

You lean over, smiling. His face has gotten a little red from the sun. Your hands creep over to his shoulders.

“Let me massage you sweetheart…I don’t want my… my husband to be in pain,” you insisted.

Paul grinned larger at the use of the word.

For the rest of the night, you went over piles of photographs Paul managed to take. His love of the camera made him keep it as close as if it was his baby. You both managed to find local places and take pictures. The cheesiest pictures one could manage. Smiling faces, wide arms, and mountains and beaches and buildings too beautiful to be real.

“I’d like to keep a few…” you say.

Paul looks up at you.

“Is that…is that possible, Y/N? They look through your things, y’know…” he warned.

You shrugged, looking at one picture you took of Paul smiling, squinting into the sunlight with a castle from long ago far behind him, poking out of the green hill. Then another one where you managed to travel out and visit another real palace with elaborate floors outside and pigeons flying by.

“I can manage. I have…have places in my home only I can enter. Royalty, y’know…”

Looking back, only your closest friends were in on this. Friends you knew would not tattle. Friends who could influence any nosy servants.

He leaned over on the bed, in a white shirt and long pajama pants. Placing a hand, he traced a strand of hair.

“You might be their duchess, but you’re me girl. Always.”

The next morning, both of you were napping, naked, and smiling in post-coital bliss. Unaware that it was already noon. And there was a newspaper with your brunch.

As you groaned, opening your eyes, you heard Paul nearly spit out his tea from the tray.

“Oof, too hot for you?” you teased.

He looked at you and turned the page.

There was a small, minor article. It shouldn’t have caused much attention. But it was about your parents. It mentioned them addressing rumors that you were running away with another man and may have been spotted in Spain- or someone who looked like you. They couldn’t tell who the man was, but it was not your betrothed.

“Oh shit.”

You toss the paper onto the sheets, looking at Paul with his face, white as the sheets.

“We’ll…we’ll just have to be careful…” you suggest. Leaning forward, you cup his face and he nods.

You both had to be too careful. You went to beach. The sun was bright and you tasted the salt in the wind, but you had to look around you. Everytime there was a stranger, you felt their eyes on you. Both of you picked a time when there would be less people, but it felt there were now invisible cameras somewhere.

Both of you waded in the water and laid around in a towel underneath an umbrella for shade. But even in the most relaxing moments, you couldn’t help but worry if eyes were staring. Paul opened a picnic basket and handed you a bowl of strawberries, but you wondered if even a nice snack would somehow make it’s way to tabloids.

The next few days, you were more careful. Going to less crowded places. On your penultimate day, you ignored the paper. Paul was still asleep. You glanced for any news. Once you saw a photo of your parents worried faces. “We are concerned for our daughter…”

You tossed it into the trash bin. You would deal with it later. You wanted to enjoy each minute while you had it.

You kept trying to sneak into sites with less people, odder hours. If not, you were at each other like rabbits in your hotel room. Savoring intimacy and feeling one while you still could, or lazing about in your pajamas-ordering food and watching the sea. Talking about everything and nothing.

Paul opened his eyes, lashes fluttering. You couldn’t’ help but smile at him. His lashes were long, curved naturally without any mascara. How could one man be so beautiful?

“What…what is it?”

“Nothing hubby…” you said quietly, kissing his forehead. “Let’s just…let’s just enjoy the day.”

Spain had the loveliest sunsets. You watched from your hotel and then walked at night. The stars were out and the ocean was calming. Both of you felt a breeze. Paul handed you his jacket. Even in the dark, you could make out quiet sniffling. Clutching his hand, you turned to the ocean to look up at it’s infinity underneath a night sky. You never let his hand go the rest of that night. You wanted this pretense to last long as it could until you could no more, when the plane landed and you were back home at the palace with photos of Spain snuck into the bottom of your suitcases. 

 Besides, there was a wedding next week. 

Taglist: @stardust-killer-queen​ @queenlover05​

[holylulusworld]

My best friend’s wedding - Part 4 - Long time no see

Summary: After two years of radio silence your former best friend finally sends you a letter. An invitation to his wedding. The man who never wanted to settle down wants to marry someone who isn’t you. 

Will you attend his wedding? Will you bear the pain of losing him forever? Will you find someone new? And even more important can you hide the secret you have?

Pairing: former Dean x Reader, Sam x Reader (platonic), Dean x Lisa, Castiel, Crowley, Jody Mills, Donna Hanscum, Rowena

Warnings: angst, a secret, a plan to get rid of Lisa, a hint of fun, Crowley being a good bro/just like Castiel, Lisa hate – I’m not even sorry, longing, pining

A/N: This is partially an AU but the Winchesters and the reader were/are hunters.

My best friend’s wedding Masterlist

Back at the hotel, you needed a moment on your own. Sam was understanding and followed Castiel and Crowley outside to talk about their plans to ruin Dean’s wedding.

Laughing you glance at your phone as Sam sent you a picture of Lisa placing a vegan cake in front of Dean. You can see Dean’s disgusted look, but he learned to play along, you guess.

----

Pacing. All Dean does since you entered his apartment with Sam is pacing while he looks at the addressee of your hotel occasionally. Lisa is gone, headed off for her hen party, leaving Dean alone with his doubts.

His eyes land on the picture frame, showing a picture of Sam, Bobby, and Dean. With shaking fingers he grabs the frame to open it, revealing the ring he bought over two years ago.

“Messed up…” Sniffling he is close to driving to your hotel, but he stops in his tracks, gulping as he looks around the apartment. “Son of a bitch, get your shit together…”

Your image, the way you hid the hurting today is burned into Dean’s mind. All this time he believed you left him, not wanting to be his girl – now he knows you believed he chose Lisa and his stomach drops every time he looks at the piece of paper with your addressee.

“Fuck you, Crowley…��� 

Closing the frame, Dean hates himself for wanting nothing more than burying his face into your neck and to tell you he missed you every single day since you left. “I can’t break another woman’s heart.”

Falling onto his couch Dean closes his eyes, remembering your eyes when he got the call, and how you tried to talk to him till he finally decided to end things with Lisa. He never thought you wanted to talk to him to make your relationship bloom, Dean assumed you wanted to call things off.

“Fool…” Dean’s hand starts shaking as he feels the heavy weight of the engagement ring in his hand. Sighing he wants to toss it away, wants to forget about you but one look around his apartment changes his mind.

Nothing inside these four walls belongs to him. Lisa didn’t allow anything from his past life to enter this apartment, except for the picture of his brother.

Lisa never cared about what he likes. Never baked him a pie or laughed about his stupid jokes. All he got so far are angry looks and demanding words, along with sex without passion. 

“Y/N…” Playing with the ring Dean jumps up as Castiel sits next to him, looking at the beautiful ring. It’s a simple gold band with a tiny diamond, not a fancy one, like the one Lisa insisted on buying.

“Beautiful ring, Dean. You should give it to the right woman. It’s still time, my friend. No one is forcing you to marry a woman you do not love.” Castiel says as Dean wants to hide the ring. “Just go to her, maybe she will forgive you for…”

“What for, Cas? She left me not the other way around!” Angrily clenching his fist Dean shakes his head. “I was ready to settle down, to propose and Y/N left me.”

Castiel raises to his full height, showing Dean his wings as his eyes flash blue.

“Silence! Do you know how much Y/N suffered?” Dean gasps, glancing at his fist pressing the ring painfully hard.

“I…”

“No, you don’t know about Y/N’s pain as you were selfish and asked Lisa to marry you not a week after the love of your life left.” Castiel covers Dean’s fist with his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“She called, and called, Dean. For two months Y/N tried to reach out for you. Not out of guilt – out of love my friend.”

Dean can’t react as Castiel vanishes before he can find his voice. Suffered…out of love…

----

Smiling you talk to your daughter, listening to her soft voice you need to hold back the urge to pack your things and leave town, but you made a promise to Sam.

“Mommy loves you, Baby Girl. I’ll be back in a few days when I watched my friend marrying a woman not loving him.” You whisper bitterly as your mother takes the phone.

“Just tell him about his child, Y/N. If this was a misunderstanding you should at least try…” Your mother sighs as you sniffle lightly.

“He said it was my fault, mommy. Dean broke my heart and has the guts to tell me it’s my fault. Sam is right, Lisa has a bad influence on Dean. I will help him ruin this wedding but after I’m gone…” There’s silence at the other end of the line for a moment.

“If that’s what you want, do so, honey, but if you still love him…” Whispering your answer you hear someone knock at your door before you can start to cry again.

“Sam is back, mommy. I got to go. Kiss my little girl and tell her mommy loves her…”

Hanging up the phone you blink the tears away. You need to make sure Sam gets his brother back so you will help him to succeed…

----

Meanwhile out of town…

“So…Y/N is all in?” Donna looks around the room as Sam is pacing around the table, pointing at some papers he gathered.

“Holy! She’s using all his money to buy shit and she…oh…he will kill her…” Jody gasps. “How can Lisa do such a thing?”

“Better question, Jodes. – How can Dean let her do this?” Donna deadpans while Crowley sits on a chair silent since a while.

“I gave him an ultrasound picture with Y/N’s name but so far it’s still stuffed in his pocket.” The demon suddenly blurs out and Sam gasps.

“Holy hell, Crowley! That wasn’t the plan. It was our last resort!” Castiel grab’s Crowley’s jacket, trying to intimidate the demon.

“No one told me so. I can’t bear this slut any longer. She looks at me like I’m a bad guy…” Snickering Crowley winks at the angel. “I’m a bad guy, but that chick doesn’t have the right to look at me like that.”

“Dude, this is not about you, okay.” Sam sighs pointing at the papers. “Lisa wants to sell the Impala without Dean’s knowledge. This is far from loving my brother. She doesn’t know him at all.”

“Bloody hell! Let me finally kill that bitch! One nice deal and she’s history…” Crowley curses.

“I hate to admit it, but I got some nice memories of that car. The trunk especially.” Smirking the king of hell shrugs as Castiel mouths ‘no’.

“Crowley…” Jody warns but Donna snickers, giving the demon a wink.

“Why not, Sheriff? Lisa is evil, I’m the king of hell. Let me do this for Dean. A wedding gift…” Sam is silent for a moment before he shakes his head.

“Not yet…”

“Uh-huh, Moose. Just tell me when and where! I’m burning to kill that bitch. I got a special room in hell for girls like her.” Crowley swoons as he hears Castiel sigh.

“I tried to convince Dean. I can feel his love for Y/N and he still got the ring.” 

The angel is sure Dean will find his way back to you. Not wanting Lisa to die even while not liking her. 

“I don’t like that woman either. She calls me angel boy…” Shuddering Castiel leans against the sideboard, glancing at Sam.

“Maybe Dean will call things off, maybe not. We need to be prepared. First, we need to make sure Lisa can’t sell the Impala.” Sam insists.

“Too late, Moose. Someone bought it half an hour ago. Uh—fuck. Bloody hell she’s a keeper.” Smirking Crowley shows Sam who bought the car on his phone.

“Y/N bought it?” Gasping Sam looks at your name again. “How did she find out?”

“I might or might not let a nice e-mail spam her phone…repeatedly.” Snickering the demon gives Sam a wink, knowing he’s the puppet master again. 

“I will make Dean love that girl, even if I have to raise hell to do so. That chick called me a stinking demon and worse!”

“I got no words…” Jody laughs. “We are a bunch of hard-boiled eggs determined to help two blind love-birds find each other.”

“What else can we do? I’m hopeless romantic.” Donna shrugs, keeping the ‘killing Lisa’ part in the back of her mind – just in case.

“Good thing we found Y/N’s whereabouts some weeks ago. I tried to find her for years. How could we not see she lives right under Alex’s nose?”

Sam opens another folder, revealing Lisa already looks for expensive houses Dean will never be able to pay for.

“I kinda helped her with a spell.” Rowena finally enters the stage - or so she thinks in her mind as everyone looks at the red-haired witch.

“You did so, mother? I did the same, just like wings over there…” Crowley rolls his eyes as his mother calls him Fergus only to rile him up.

“Let’s say I’m the mastermind behind this crazy plan.” Rowena chuckles, not giving away what she did today.

“What did you do, Rowena?” Jody cocks a brow, not trusting the witch at all.

“I made sure Dean and Y/N get some ‘free’ time. Lisa is busy with stripper, drinks and tossing money at the said stripper. She will be out cold for at least a few hours. Time we need to get rid of that woman.” Walking toward Sam the witch shows him an amulet. 

“Nice jewelry but I do not wear that kind of stuff.” Sam tries to be funny, but Rowena slaps his hand away when he tries to touch it.

“We need Dean to touch it at the same moment as Y/N does. It will reveal their true feelings and make them see a future in which they are together and the alternative version.” Rowena explains as Castiel smirks.

“I like my mother’s plan, but let’s not forget the ‘killing Lisa’ part.” Crowley tries one last time as everyone yells ‘no’ at the demon. “We will see that…” 

----

While you try not to think about the fact you just wasted thousands of dollars to buy Baby you need to hold back the tears.

Dean changed beyond repair. How can he sell his beloved car? How could he abandon his ‘home’ for a woman not loving him? 

“Oh, Dean. What happened to you? What did that woman do to you…?” Sniffling you sent´d a message to the trader to make sure you will get the car tomorrow afternoon. If anything, you will give it to Sam, knowing he will take good care of your old home.

Your tears of sadness slowly turn into angry tears as  Dean changed for that woman. While anger wells up your stomach you hear the person outside your room knocks impatiently at your door.

“Yeah, Sammy I’m on my way. I had to say goodnight to my…” Gasping you swallow the last word. Not Sam is standing in front of you, Dean is leaning against the doorframe. 

He seems to be nervous as he awkwardly glances at your room. “Y/N…can I come in? We should talk about a few things…”

My best friend’s wedding

@unsung-knight, @sherlockedtash88, @idjit-angel-radio, @linki-locks11, @abbiewrites1808, @mychemicalimagines, @carryon-doctor-lock, @heyyy-hey-babyyy, @ofpoetryandlove, @chaoticfiretaconerd, @idalinette, @youaremyfiveever, @marvelslut16​

SPN Forever Tags

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[shireness-says]

Wherever You’re Going (I’m Going Your Way) [1/6]

Summary: 1952. A lost boy without a home, Killian Jones rides America's back roads on his motorcycle, searching for a purpose that's just out of reach. This pit stop was only supposed to be a few days, a couple of weeks at most, but a pretty blonde waitress just might be his salvation. Is he brave enough to let her? Rated T for language. Also on AO3.

~~~~~

A/N: I’m pleased to present my contribution to the CS Rewrite-a-thon! Big thanks to the organizers at the @captainswanbigbang​ for organizing this. This is an expansion of a oneshot I wrote a couple of years back called A Sunlit Night, and I loved the chance to get back into the feel of that piece. The fic title is from “Moon River”, which didn’t exist in 1952, but some things are about the aesthetic and it fit too well to resist.

Special thanks to my beta, @thejollyroger-writer​, and to @snidgetsafan​ and @profdanglaisstuff​ for the extra eyes and helping me work through some hurdles along the way. 

Tagging the usuals. Let me know if you want to be added to or removed from the list! 

@kmomof4​, @aerica13​, @thisonesatellite​, @searchingwardrobes​, @let-it-raines​, @teamhook​, @ohmightydevviepuu​, @optomisticgirl​, @winterbaby89​, @spartanguard​, @scientificapricot​

Enjoy - and let me know what you think!

~~~~~

Storybrooke, Maine could be any town in America — just as picturesque as the name suggests in a way that doesn’t seem quite real. The houses have picket fences and boats bob in the harbor and there's an honest-to-god Main Street, lined with a diner and a general store and a pharmacy with advertisements for Ovaltine in the window. It's every picture of America that's ever made its way across the pond, every stereotype of small town life made real. It makes his presence all the more jarring; loners on motorcycles don’t belong in this picture-perfect magazine print town. 

He never meant to stop here — in fact, it’s the kind of little hamlet Killian doubts anyone ever means to find themselves in. Though he may not have planned on stopping — not here, not anywhere, not for anything — he also hadn’t planned on the noise his bike’s engine had started making as he cruised down backroads under the emerald canopy that is rural Maine in June. Killian is used to making minor repairs to the machine — it’s inevitable with the miles he’s putting on the motorcycle, and besides, there’s things you pick up in a war, especially when he spend much of World War II criss-crossing Europe in his plane — but for all of his handy skills, he still can’t make parts materialize out of thin air.

And so, he finds himself in Storybrooke — the nearest town, according to the road map he’d picked up at a welcome center on his way into the state. He’ll find a garage, he’ll work for parts, he’ll be on his way. It should be simple; a few days, a week at most, and then he’s gone again.

(The sooner, the better, in his opinion; a woman wiping down tables outside of the diner shoots him a dirty look, and Killian can’t help but feel like he deserves it for disrupting this idyll they’re living in.)

Blessedly, there is a garage attached to the town’s service station — NOLAN'S REPAIR, a large painted sign advertises across the top of the panelled door — but there's no sign of life inside. A quick glance at his watch, one of the few relics of the war that Killian willingly carries with him, reveals that it's already past seven. That's fine; he doesn’t mind waiting until the morning. 

It's easy enough to find space to park his motorcycle, conveniently alongside a park bench Killian suspects that he'll be spending the night on. As uncomfortable as it might sound to others, he barely thinks twice about the prospect anymore; he's spent plenty of nights on worse, both during the war and after it. His bedroll does more to counter the hard ground than anyone would expect. 

(Sleep is hard to come by these days anyways, and when it does, it only brings nightmares — visions of falling and flames, reminders that there’s no real good reason why he was pulled out of the Atlantic when so many others weren’t.)

(It should have been Liam who was saved, not you, a terrible voice in his mind whispers. It’s easier to drown out during the daytime; at night he’s too tired to deny the truth of it.)

Satisfied that he's got a plan until tomorrow, Killian unbuckles the satchel containing his few important belongings from the body of his bike and sets out to locate the diner. He remembers the sign promising the establishment was open 24 hours a day, and he intends to take advantage of at least a few of them.

Sure enough, the lights of the diner still shine brightly as Killian approaches. Granny's, the neon letters out front read. By all appearances, it's typical of family-type joints across the nation (or at least the parts of the nation he's seen so far). A bell jingles merrily as he pulls open the door; inside, the diner is adorned with a busily patterned wallpaper that somehow avoids looking suffocatingly dark like he would have expected when paired with the red vinyl upholstery of the booths, chairs, and barstools. The jukebox plays faintly at the edge of his hearing, just low enough for him to ignore the sound. Not that he could place the song anyways. Even if there is something of a feeling that the establishment could have been located anywhere and he wouldn't have known the difference, there's a comfortable aura in the air as well. 

"Seat yourself," an older woman calls from behind the counter without looking his way, apparently apprised of his entrance by the aforementioned bell. Considering the diner’s moniker, Killian can’t help but wonder if this is the eponymous Granny. It’s probably for the best that she hasn’t turned to face him; he can’t imagine the woman would be as welcoming had she seen his face. He’s a bad influence, they say wherever he goes in voices too loud to be a whisper, too loud to ignore. On a Tuesday night, the crowds here are minimal, a small blessing; after surveying his options, Killian chooses a booth in the back corner where he can watch everyone but hopefully not be disturbed. Already, his unfamiliar face is drawing attention from the few other diners. They’re not used to outsiders, he can tell, and he’s not surprised about it in a town this small. Already, he can feel an unnatural hush in the air as suspicious and in some cases curious faces follow him as he makes his way across the room.

Maybe, in another life, Killian might have stared back, daring his spectators with a look to do something about their staring. That life slipped away when he crossed the ocean in search of anonymity, however, and he makes a show of ignoring the stares, rustling in his satchel instead. From the cluttered depths, he extracts two books; one for his own reading, picked up from the last used bookshop he ran across, and one blank for his own use. Once upon a time, the sights he’s seen and the faces he’s met would have inspired verses, the words tripping over his fingers and across the page in a quest for life, but it’s been a long while since that’s been the case. There are many reasons Killian forges ahead on his endless, aimless ride — some of them tangible, some of them unknown even to him — but his pursuit of his words is part of it. The closest he comes these days is behind the controls of his bike, once more racing through the open sky; it’s only then that the guilt quiets somewhat and he feels like inspiration could be dancing along the breeze, like a bit of dandelion fluff. 

This diner, however, is not the open air or the world rushing past him without a care, and his notebook will once again go to waste.

"Can I get you something?" a different voice asks — feminine, but a little deep and throaty. Killian glances up, expecting to order tea and a ham sandwich and turn back to his own distractions. He expects a passing, forgettable interaction.

He does not expect to look up and find himself faced with an angel.

It's far too fanciful to call her that, especially when she stands in front of him, flesh and blood and bone, but it's all he can come up with when faced with such perfection. Her hair is a shade of gold that painters and pirates must have coveted in times long past, shining and catching in the light with every movement. Though her tresses are pinned back, a few tendrils have still worked themselves loose to frame her face and model the slight curl to the lustrous strands. The way it's swept and pinned makes her eyes shine brighter than any he's ever seen, highlighting their green in a way she can't possibly be oblivious to. There's an aura about her that he can sense but not quite see that practically makes her glow, even in a blue uniform dress and stained apron that's less than flattering. She's somehow entirely separate from the drab surroundings of this small town diner, yet simultaneously he knows she must be an integral part — like the purest diamond embedded in the dingiest mine.

(Maybe there's a verse in there, somewhere. It's been too long for him to even tell anymore.)

He must be gaping like a fish, because she arches an elegant eyebrow at whatever expression graces his face, the barest hint of a smile pulling at her own mouth. It ruins the goddess effect a little bit, but makes her look more human instead — someone with a sense of humor, perhaps even a bit mischievous. "Sorry?" he finally manages to stutter out, though whether that's an apology or a request for clarification is anyone's guess. 

"Would you like to order?" she repeats. "Or would you like some more time to look at the menu?"

"Just some tea, please." It's some kind of miracle that he doesn't trip over his own tongue, though not enough of one to remember that ordering tea in this country is a fool’s errand. "And a ham and cheese sandwich."

"Earl Grey alright?" she asks, surprising him, quickly scratching his order down on her notepad. From Killian's vantage point, he can just see her handwriting — a messy kind of script that fits his impression of her, casual and hurried and somehow still elegant. 

"That's fine." Better than, really; he’d expected that terrible facsimile Americans insist on calling tea. He keeps drinking it anyways, for some indiscernible reason, like a last-ditch grab to hang onto a piece of who he used to be.

The waitress must see some of his surprise on his face, as she smiles knowingly. “Granny spent some time in England in her youth, and came back with very specific opinions about tea. None of the Lipton stuff here.” That would explain it — though it’s still unexpected in a tiny Maine hamlet. “Now, do you want that sandwich grilled or cold?"

"Grilled, please." The mere act of ordering a meal constitutes the most decisions he's had to make in a long time, and certainly the most he's spoken to anyone; his voice feels scratchy with disuse, which can't make the good impression his ego desperately needs. He was considered quite the catch once, if anyone could believe it; Killian wouldn't blame those who called him a liar, to see him now. 

As he grimaces at his own ineptitude, the waitress finishes scribbling out his preferences and tucks her order pad back away in the pocket of that awful apron again. "We'll get that going for you then," she smiles. "Let me know if you need anything else."

(A name would be nice, for one, but it feels like overstepping to demand that particular snippet of information. He'd caught an E at the corner of her breast pocket, but that could be so many things. Eleanor? Elizabeth? Etta?)

"Wait, lass," he cuts in as she turns to disappear back behind the counter. Her head tilts in a sign of her attention — an adorable one at that. If he were a braver man, he might ask her a bit about herself. Unfortunately, he is not a braver man. "Is there a telephone somewhere I could use?"

"All the way down the hall," she nods. "Can't miss it."

"Thank you, lass," he murmurs as Ella-Ernestine-Elsie walks away again. There's no telling if she heard him or not, but Killian is almost afraid to bring any more attention to himself. 

Sure enough, the payphone is just down the hallway. It's far enough away to offer Killian a modicum of privacy, which is more than he's come to expect in many places. It's dimly lit, and right next to the bathrooms, but he's not here for the ambiance anyways. 

There’s a calming ritual to making the phone calls to New York, even if they’re only sporadic. He’s accustomed by now to speaking with the operator, inserting the change when directed, waiting for the shrill ring as the call connects across hundreds of miles. He doesn't make these calls very often, but it's been several weeks — somewhere in upstate New York was his last call, he thinks — and this unexpected pit stop is as good an excuse as any.

It doesn't take long for the other end to pick up. "Scarlet residence," declares the softly accented voice on the other end of the line, familiar and comforting even across such a distance. 

"Hello, Belle, it's me." Killian leans into the corner formed by the wall and phone as he settles in for the conversation, propping his forearm on the top of the telephone's boxy structure. Belle just might be the last family he has left — certainly the last family he’s aware of — some sort of distant cousin on his late mother’s side. The details of it don’t particularly matter; what does matter is that she’d opened her heart and home when Killian had left, nay, fled England without any plan to speak of. London had still been in shambles, even after hostilities had long since ceased; Killian had found it impossible to live every day surrounded by ghosts and memories, all decaying and obliterated. Belle had offered to let him stay, too, help him get back on his feet again, but the itch to keep moving had been too strong under his skin.

(One thing they don’t tell you when you enlist in the Air Force is this: the solid ground will lose its appeal in a way you can’t imagine, and the world will start to move too slow everywhere else when you’ve spent enough time in a cockpit.)

Besides, Belle has a family of her own, a husband who loves her and two small boys; as kind as she is to offer, and as hard as she has tried to include him, Killian would inevitably always be an outsider in that tableau. It was for the best that he left, to try and settle his demons and rediscover who he can be on his own. 

"Killian!" It's easy to hear the warmth and excitement in his cousin's voice. "How are you? I was just thinking about you today." Just worrying about you is what she means, but Belle's always been too much of a lady to say it out loud. Besides, she understands why he's doing what he's doing; as settled as she is, he hadn't expected her to understand the itch to move that's settled beneath his skin, impossible to ever truly alleviate, but she'd just smiled and asked what she could do when he'd told her his plans. It's how she wound up the custodian not only of Killian's scant belongings, but also his savings account in his absence. 

"I'm fine," he assures her as best he can. "I'm in Maine. I'll be here a few days, I think."

"A few days?" The worry isn't back in her voice yet, but he knows it's coming, just as soon as he shares his reason for stopping. 

"Aye. There’s a nail in my tire. I’ll get it checked out at the shop tomorrow, but I assume they’ll need to order in the new tire. I doubt they’ve got the right ones for the bike on hand."

"But you're alright?" Ah, there's the worry. "You don't need anything? I can wire you money, if you like —"

"I'm fine, Belle, truly," he hastens to assure her. "I'm hoping to trade my labor for parts, help out around the shop if the owner will let me. I'll need something to do around here anyways, it's a pretty small town. I'll let you know if you need to wire me money, don't worry."

"If you're sure..." Belle tries to start, but Killian cuts her off. 

"I'm sure."

"I suppose I'll have to be fine with that. But now, Killian, how are you? Not your motorcycle or the roads — how are you?"

"I'm okay," he says truthfully. It's the best he can give most days; he hasn't quite found what he's looking for, can't even put his finger on what that might be, but he knows it's still out there, still out of reach. Still, it feels better than being cooped up in some office job, forcing himself into the boxes polite society wants him to inhabit that are slowly smothering him. It lets him try to figure out who he is now without Liam and without a clear purpose.

"But are you happy?" It's not the same thing, she doesn't say, but Killian hears it anyways. 

"Enough." It's the best he can give her. "Listen, I just wanted to call and let you know where I am. If it seems like I'll be here more than a few days, I'll give you a number you can reach me at. Tell Will and the boys hello for me."

"I will," Belle promises. "If you need anything at all, if there’s anything I can do, promise you'll call me, Killian. Promise."

"I promise. Love you."

"We love you too, Killian. You can always come here, even if it's not home."

She says that every time, and every time, Killian hangs up to avoid responding. The truth is, he still doesn't have a good answer, and as much as he loves his cousin and her family, their apartment just isn't home. That's something he's not yet sure he'll find again. 

He's barely returned to his seat before a steaming pot of tea is placed before him, the cup following in its wake. "Your sandwich will be ready shortly," the blonde angel assures him. "Let me know if you need anything else."

"Thank you, lass," he tries to smile. At least his voice is audible this time after his conversation with Belle. 

As Killian lifts the pot to pour himself a cup, he’s thrilled to see the genuine article trickle out. Even with the waitress’ explanation, his expectations of the promised tea had been low. This, though, is steaming and hot and just the right strength. It tastes like a little cup of the home he’d left behind, and infuses him with a warmth and comfort that he hasn’t felt in… years. Not since before the war, just he and Liam sitting at the kitchen table with a cuppa and the radio. 

(It’s a feeling he’s long since lost, and one he didn’t expect to find again in the middle of nowhere, Maine. Everyday miracles can still sprout anywhere, he’s learning, as long as you’re looking for them.)

His dinner arrives as quickly as promised, and time begins to blur together in between warm bites and crisp pages and his thoughts. At some point, the empty plate is whisked away and another cup of tea is brought for him to enjoy. Killian is so used to entertaining himself that he doesn't truly notice any movement around him — that is, until a new plate is placed on his table and nudged into his hand. Glancing at the clock, Killian is surprised to find that the time is now just before ten; he'd been at the diner over two hours, far longer than he’d intended. Blame it on a good book and intriguing, if passing, company, he supposes.

Another quick glance reveals the small plate that the waitress had deposited to display a slice of pie — blueberry, if he's not mistaken. The thing is, he’s certain that he’d never ordered it.

"Excuse me, miss," he calls before she can walk away, "I believe you delivered this to the wrong table."

"No, I didn't," she smiles back, before glancing towards the door. It must be time for her to go home; Killian will regret her absence once she departs, though he knows he doesn't have any true right to do so.

Still, he must insist. Good form and all that. "I didn't order this, I'm afraid." I'm not sure I can afford it, he doesn't say, though that's what he means.

"I know," she replies. "You like pie?"

"I do," he assures her, still confused.

"Then it's on the house. Granny's got a soft spot for the lonely ones." As she tears his ticket off from her order pad, Killian wonders if the woman in front of him might have a soft spot, too. Maybe she was a lonely one herself, once; something in her eyes speaks to the kind of understanding you just can't fake. "If you'd like some more tea, Ruby will be happy to help you," she nods towards a smiling brunette behind the counter. "Have a good night."

"You as well, lass." 

The pie is delicious; he should have expected such just from the look of that flaky crust, but the confirmation is its own revelation. He can't say any of this was what he expected when he set out for dinner — not the blonde angel, and certainly not her unexpected kindness towards him. The more he thinks about it around bites of pie, the more he thinks the diner's proprietress had nothing to do with the sweet treat in front of him — especially since he hasn't even seen her on the premises since his server made that claim. No, he thinks that the pie must have come from the waitress herself, though he can't fathom for what reason.

He finally pays his bill and leaves, letting the diner's bell ring behind him as he exits, but it's not until he's nearly halfway back to the garage and the bench out front that he realizes:

He never actually learned her name.

[ourplaceinthecosmosphff]

Chapter 5. Truth or Dare

‘TRUE BEAUTY is not of the body or of the face, no, it is a thing of the soul - of fire and air, breath and spirit, something brave and unafraid.’ Segovia Amil

The door opened without a knock; I saw through the reflection in the mirror Cadie stop herself from walking straight in, instead fixing her posture and looking solemnly at us.

“Excuse me, Ma’am.” She said, formally.

“Don’t bother with formalities on my account, Cade.” Louis told her, grinning. “We’re all friends here. I won’t tell Auguste you usually call my sister by her name.”

The secretary grinned, but didn’t move. “There’s a delivery for you.”

“For me?” She replied with a nod. 

“I think it’s a dress.”

“Oh!” Louis exclaimed, jumping up from his seat in the two-seat sofa in front of my bed. 

I raised a hand in pause to Cass, who was just about finished doing my hair, and turned around to eye my brother suspiciously.

“What is it? And why is it in my name?”

“It’s for you.” He said, walking to the door and speaking to someone outside. “In here, please!”

The Prince of Wales’ butler walked in, solemnly carrying a garment bag over both his arms, which he laid over the couch where Louis had been sitting, before turning around to bow to the both of us, and leave as swiftly as he had come.

“If it’s for me how come I don’t know anything about it?!”

“It’s a surprise.” He shrugged, smiley. “Cass, are you done over there?”

Cass, who had been discreetly spraying my hair as we talked, pulled another couple of strands leading into my bun and took a step back.

“Look at me, please, ma’am? Oh, yes, I’m done. Beautiful!”

I looked in the mirror. My hair was pulled loosely to the back in a bun, with strands falling artfully to the sides of my face. Atop my head, sat Empress Eugénie's 1853 pearl and diamonds tiara, commissioned by Napoleon III to celebrate their marriage. It was adorned with 212 pearls and 1998 diamonds. After Napoleon III’s 1870 defeat, the tiara was surrendered to the Savoyen Royal Family and now it laid on my hair. It was one of my favorites from the Savoyen Crown jewels vault, and Maman had sent me with Georgian pearl earrings to match, which I picked up as Louis rushed Cass and Cadie out of the room.

“I already have a dress, Lou.” I told him, approaching the garment bag.

“How would you know it’s a dress?” He asked, teasingly, to which I only gave him a suspicious look with one raised brow. “Okay, fine, it’s a dress…”

He pat a chair next to the bag and I sat down, just as he sat in the coffee table in front and held both my hands in his.

He cleared his throat. “As I have expressed, I am sorry for the things I said when we were fighting.”

I watched him, silently, then nodded slowly. “Okay?”

“However, there is something I have been meaning to talk to you about, which may have transpired during our, uhm, bagarre.”

“...yes?”

“Maggie, you have to stop letting mom and dad walk all over you.”

“I do not-”

“You have worn at least three outfits this tour I know for a fact that you wouldn't even have purchased if it weren’t to make sure Maman wouldn’t have something to criticize.”

“Excuse you, I think my outfits were very cute!”

“I didn’t say they weren’t!” He clarified, pointing a finger at me. “All I said was… they weren’t you.”

I sighed, resting my back against the chair.

I couldn’t say I hadn’t noticed before that every time I had to do something regal there was a tiny voice in the back of my head wondering, what will mom approve of? before I chose an outfit. Her style had more of a conservative, 50s debutant vibe, while I tended to be more romantic yet modern. It was a fine line that separated both styles, and the advantage usually fell to my mother.

“She’s a very stylish woman.” I countered, and he nodded enthusiastically.

“She sure is. And you are twenty-five years-old! You should be allowed to wear things that are… out there, daring, iconic!”

I laughed. “I’m not exactly a fashion icon!”

“My point exactly. You could be.”

“Louis-”

“I know you have style! I have seen it! You just hold it back because you think you have to!”

“I do have to.”

“It’s the twenty-first century! The Swede Princesses show a lot more skin than you do!”

“They don’t have our mom breathing down their necks.”

“Maggie, fashion is supposed to be fun! But you need a little bit of courage to really shine in it.”

I sighed. “What exactly are you suggesting?”

He leaned back and crossed his legs, confidently. “Let me guess, the dress maman chose for you for tonight's of a light shade, probably blue to match your angelic eyes, with a simple silhouette that covers everything God gave you, am I right?”

I didn’t have to answer; he knew he was right, so instead he merely walked over to his delivery as he spoke.

“I have made some very good contacts since I moved to Britain, in part thanks to religiously attending London Fashion Week. So I made a call.”

He dramatically opened the bag, to reveal a strong, smooth red fabric. 

“Red?!”

“I looked it up, the Duchess of Cambridge herself has worn red to a previous state dinner.”

I bit my lip. It did look quite pretty. And much more interesting than the very conservative choice my mother had made.

“Okay, I’ll try it on.” He squealed as I got to my feet. “But just because I’m curious! If I feel it’s too much cleavage, or too out there, I’m putting on the blue dress.”

“Yes!” He threw the garment bag at me and ran to the door. “I’ll go get dressed as you do that, and send Cadie in to help you.”

As I rummaged through the bag, I saw another thing inside.

“Spanx, Louis?!”

He closed the door with a thud.

I needed Cadie’s help to get everything on without damaging my makeup, hair or losing the tiara in the mess, but at last, I was ready. 

Cadie approved it. “It’s perfect!” She breathed, amazed.

I walked out of the bathroom to the full body mirror in the room, finding Louis sitting in the sofa again. His eyes widened as he saw me. “Woah.”

“Strapless?!” I asked him, unfazed. “Lou, you know I can’t show cleavage on a state dinner!”

“Oh, no, mustn't let the British know you have arms!” He rolled his eyes, getting to his feet. “What will they tell the church?!”

“Lou!”

“Relax, look, it’s an upper neckline, you’ll be fine! Again, the Swedes wear strapless all the time”

“We’re not Swedish!”

“To be fair, the draping does cover much of your chest.” Cadie added, to Louis’ joy.

“Thank you, Cadie. Why don’t you go wait outside?” I told her, with an eye roll. She left, grinning.

The shape of the dress was almost a mermaid-cut, but the draping made it a lot loser in the lower-body, and added a very interesting detail to the hips; in my case, making it look like I had some.

I sighed. “It’s… beautiful.”

“But?”

“There’s a lot that goes into choosing a dress for an event like this, I can’t just change it last minute.”

“Your tiara matches, I made sure of it. The dress is tighter on your body, but not that much that Maman will have any right to criticize, the dress is red, which is new for you but not against the rules, and most importantly, out of your comfort zone! With the added bonus of the sexy factor!”

“This is the gayest you’ve sounded in your life.”

He put a hand to his heart. “Thank you!”

“I shouldn’t be looking sexy in a state dinner, anyway.”

Through the mirror, I watched him give the windows a look he seemed to be hoping I would see. 

“What?!”

“Well, you know, that is true… unless there’s a very handsome man in the state dinner who’s been shamelessly flirting with you for three days straight.”

I rolled my eyes, but smiled despite myself. “I was wondering if that had any influence over this intervention.”

“No!” He replied, quickly. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. Although you gotta admit, it’s perfect timing!”

“Harry’s just being…”

“Nice?” He asked, sarcastically, before walking over to adjust the drape. “What’s wrong with nice? You deserve nice.”

He placed a hand over my arm and looked at me in the mirror.

“Chris didn’t deserve you. You know that, right?”

I wanted to roll my eyes at him for bringing him up again, but instead I just nodded, trying to allow the words to take root in my heart.

“But Harry might.” He shrugged. “He seems to at least know you’re way out of his league, that is more than Chris already.” We chuckled. “So wear the dress. Feel as powerful as I know you are and let him know it too.”

So I held his hand, took a deep breath, and said, “Okay.”

---- ---- ---- ---- 

Once you’ve seen one palace, you’ve seen them all: high ceilings, golden fixtures, red carpets. The one thing that changes is the art in the walls, the people in the paintings, the era of the vases. Buckingham Palace was not different, which is why I wasn't taking too much notice of it as we walked in that night; I had spent our first day in the country admiring Buckingham, tonight was about more.

Tonight was the ultimate opportunity we had to show the world how friendly our countries' relation was, so that the people might pressure their politicians into putting work into fixing the immigrant crisis. In a more direct way, the star of the night were the speeches by the Queen and King. In an indirect way, I had been informed by Cadie on the way over that the pictures of Louis and me with the Cambridges and Harry had become very popular online, and that it wouldn't hurt to look as friendly as possible.

That would be harder, though, because on state dinners the seating chart was made very carefully so that the main visiting royals can mingle with the hosts, and the spare royals can give their attention to the other guests, so they feel heard.

As we walked in, I suddenly felt absolutely wrong in the dress. Though there was limited photographers in State Dinners, they were definitely there. Particularly at our arrival. The flashes were so blinding I could only focus on walking without tripping over my train, but in the back of my mind I couldn’t help but wish I was wearing my comfortable, old blue. Louis had prepared me for it, though.

Back in Clarence House, as we descended the staircase, the last ones to be ready, he reminded me that everything new felt wrong until it didn’t. That was easier to say when all he had to wear was a boring tuxedo he had worn at least twenty times prior. 

When we walked into the living room, the conversation stopped. My father and our five person staff stared at me, head to toe, mouths opened, as my brother offered them a cocky look. 

“Well,” I said, “I’m ready. Shall we go?”

Though Auguste said nothing, he looked as though he wanted to, but reconsidered when my father merely smiled, offering me his arm, and we made our way out.

Now, walking into the palace, I was reconsidering the choice myself. The dress was beautiful, my hair and makeup were perfectly in place thanks to Arnie’s flawless work, the tiara was a dream come alive; it was me. I was a pile of nerves. 

As Louis offered me his hand to climb up the steps, he looked at me, confused. 

“Why are you shaking?” 

I shrugged, and he grinned.

“Just you wait.” He replied when I questioned this.

Dad led the way, greeting Her Majesty with a kiss on each cheek, before taking one step to say hello to the Prince of Wales and his wife, just down the line. As the heir, Louis was next, so he stepped forward and bowed his head before kissing her as well.

“Your Majesty, is it 1956? Because you look barely a day over 30.”

The Queen let out a naughty giggle, caressing the diamonds in her bracelet shyly. 

He was going to make a fantastic King.

“Your Majesty.” I said, bowing down in a curtsey when it was my turn. 

“Princess Margueritte.” She greeted as I, too, kissed her cheeks. “You’ve been making quite a ruckus these last couple of days.”

I looked at her, feeling my head tilt sideways. “Have I?”

“I hope my grandson hasn’t bothered you too much.”

“Oh. No! Harry? No. He is… No!” I assured her, feeling my myself blush. “Uhm. He, he is-”

“He's always been a bit like a shark like that. If they stop swimming, they die. Well, he does if he stops flirting.”

I laughed, aware we were being filmed, hoping the press wasn't close enough to pick audio, trying to look as unbothered as possible.

"He's been very friendly and... Welcoming."

"I'm sure."

"What is it?" asked the Prince of Wales, drawing the attention of my father, brother and the Duchess. I shook my head, but the Queen told him merely, "Harry".

It seemed to be enough, though, as the whole group nodded, grinning.

"Oh, yes. It seems my son is a bit taken with your daughter." The prince told my father.

Though his mouth said "oh" in an amused way, I could tell it wasn't the first time he heard of this. 

“It doesn’t help she’s exactly his type.“ The duchess commented, making the group laugh again, so I‌ attempted to hold a steady, polite smile on my face.

We moved on to mingle and get in our positions to enter the dining hall; as the guest of honor, since Dad was here, there wasn’t anyone else to wait for. The rest of the guests were already in the dining hall, probably being told to find their seats now. The royal families - hosts and guests - were to enter later, so for now we could be ourselves and enjoy some privacy.

“Breathe.” Louis told me again, as we followed dad around the room. “You look about to pass out.”

“What did she mean by ‘his type’, you think?” I asked him, in a whisper.

“He’s probably dated someone who looks like you.” He replied, grinning.

“More than one... but ‘his type’, though. You think he just likes me because I’m blonde? He just likes my looks?”

“Great relationships have started with looks.” He said, turning around to face me, stopping me in my tracks. “How do you know he’s dated more than one person who looks like you? Have you stalked him online?”

I rolled my eyes, turning to look around the room. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You have a tell, Maggie. When you’re lying you look away so people can’t see your eyes.” 

Instead of dignifying his - smart - insight with an answer, I merely hooked my arm in his and walked off, having just identified the people I’d been looking for, and trying to ignore the smile on Louis’ face when he realized where we were going.

“Good evening.”

Though Harry had his back to me, I could watch the reaction of his brother and sister-in-law. They looked at me as I approached, unsurprised I was coming; almost as though they had seen me already. When I got to them, instead of greeting us, their eyes went to Harry. 

His shoulders squared back in a long breath, and then he turned around and looked at me. I watched his mouth open and his eyes widen, both so slightly it made me question if I’d imagined it, but also so obvious I wanted to turn around and go back to Clarence House to get changed immediately. It didn’t help he looked me up and down quickly and then gulped, before averting his eyes.

“You both look very dapper tonight.” Catherine said, smiling awkwardly between her brother-in-law and us. She was wearing a dark blue gown and a diamond tiara, hair half up, half down.

“Thank you!” Louis said, returning her smile with none of the awkwardness, and a lot of amusement. 

“Yes, we’re very happy to have you.” William said, looking equally as amused. “I’m afraid you’re at the boring table today, Louis.”

Catherine gently edged her elbow to her husband’s arm. “Don’t say boring.” She whispered, making Louis laugh. 

“Trust me, I understand what you mean.” He replied; I tried to smile, as it felt like that was the tone the conversation required. But it was hard when Harry still hadn’t looked back at me. “What is the party table, though? Does Harry get a round of Bubbly Pong going?”

They laughed, I mimicked. Harry looked around the room very still. There was an uncomfortable silence as the laughter died down, and suddenly there was a British aide telling us it was time to get to our places in line to enter the dining room. 

I gladly took the excuse to move away, feeling sick to my stomach. Had I been excited before? I hardly remembered it anymore. 

“I’m in the boring table, too.” Catherine told me, walking quickly to catch up to me as we moved to the middle of the line as the heirs went forward. “It was terrifying on my first time at one of these, but I’ve come to find you can have some interesting conversations, don’t you think?”

I smiled, remembering her nerves from the car the day before. “No, you’re right, it’s not that bad, actually. Though, it’s not as interesting as it seems to outsiders, either, I suppose. My sister is convinced there’s dancing, like in a ball in a Disney movie.” 

She laughed, looked back, and then added, whispery, “You make him nervous.”

“What?”

“I’m over there, I’ll talk to you later, I hope.” 

We exchanged a smile, even if mine was a bit confused, and she moved to stand next to the Prime Minister.

“You know, in Britain only the married women attend these,” Harry started, standing next to me in line. “And you wouldn’t be allowed to wear one of those until married, either.” He said, staring at the tiara in my head with - I was happy to see - some reverence.

“In Savoy, unmarried women can wear tiaras as long as they’re over twenty-one. Good thing I’m not British.” I said, on a low tone, glad Auguste couldn’t hear such an undiplomatic sentiment. 

He grinned. “Yes. I’m very glad about that.” 

I looked around, seeing the line basically done. “Are you not going to find your place?”

“I think I’m right where I belong.” 

“With me?” I asked, surprised; he returned a flirty smile.

“Yes, Mary, with you.” I rolled my eyes, grinning.

“Do you get all your pickup lines from Taylor Swift songs?” He laughed a bit louder than the current volume level in the room, and more than one pair of eyes turned to look at us.

Usually they wouldn’t pair the ‘lower royals’ together like this. The high ranking ones, yes; queen and king, heir with heir. My father and Louis were both ahead, and would be sitting at the head of the table, with William and Catherine, I supposed. But Harry and I should have been paired with diplomats or dignitaries. 

As we walked into the room, to the sound of their national anthem, I noticed two important things. One, Harry looked very handsome in white tie and tails, with his military medals pinned to his chest. Two, as we walked, he gave a grateful smile to a nearby aide, and I wondered if he had arranged to be seated with me. I felt… strangely flattered. 

As we got to the table, and the anthem finished, a staffer pulled the chair for me, and we were all seated in silence as, at the center part of the table, they prepared for the speeches.

“I don’t think I can stress this enough, Mary.” He said, whispery, leaning closer to me than it was necessary.

“Marie.” I corrected, now more teasingly than anything else, making him smile as he looked into my eyes.

“You’re the most beautiful thing I have ever seen.”

I didn’t have a teasing answer for that; I could barely think straight as he kept staring into my eyes from so close. 

Suddenly, however, his grandmother’s voice startled us both out of it and we stared ahead as she began to speak.

It felt as though the Queen and my father spoke for hours; I‌ kept my eyes focused ahead hoping to steady my breath and sweaty palms enough to be able to look back at Harry at some point in the night.

Luckily, by the time they started serving the entrees, I‌ had remembered that due to the dinner etiquette I was supposed to make conversation to the man by my other side before Harry. So I took in a deep breath, smiled politely, and asked him about his work.

By the time it was our turn to talk, he gave me a friendly smile and said,

“Dare.”

I sighed a short giggle. We had, now that I‌ thought about, left the truth and dare game unfinished the day before. I‌ had answered last, so I supposed it was his turn. I cracked my brain to think of something that was good, but not scandalous. 

“I dare you to,”‌ I‌ started, slowly, staring into his water glass, “tap you fork to your glass loudly to call the attention of the room to yourself, get up, and improvise a speech in honor of my father.”

He barked out a laughter that started louder than any of us thought was appropriate, and we quickly ducked our heads down to hide our playful grins and blushing cheeks; Harry was still laughing. Taking a deep breath, he looked around the room. 

“I can’t!”‌‌‌ He replied. “It’s not protocol, it’ll be too weird. It will make the news!”

I sighed, smiling. ‌“Alright, then. I‌ suppose you could… start coughing when the staffer comes back for our plates and then dramatically grab his sleeve and pretend to have an allergic reaction.”

This time his eyes widened as he laughed, leaning closer to me. “Are you trying to get me disowned?!” 

I‌ laughed.‌ “Too much? Okay. I dare you to…”‌ I looked around the room, thinking. 

The table was shaped like an upside-down U. The Queen and her guests were at the top, horizontal edge; Harry and I were at the start of one of the legs, close to the curve of the table, which was narrow and had no one sitting there. The person closest to the other gentleman on my side, was Catherine, and by her side, ‌my brother.

“I dare you to throw a pea on my brother’s wine glass.” 

He leaned closer to me in order to see around the tall centerpiece arrangement in the middle of the table. He smelled of… lime, possibly? And I‌ felt myself leaning back towards him to smell it better.

“Hm, how about Cath? She’s more in my line of vision.”

“No!” I‌ whispered, making one of his eyebrows raise slightly above the other. “She’s nice, I‌ don’t want to mess with her.”

“And your brother isn’t nice?”

I rolled my eyes. “My brother has been a royal since birth and is used to me. Your sister-in-law seems to still be trying very hard to… behave the way people expect her to. I‌ don’t want to make that harder.”

He smiled.‌ “How do you know that?”

I‌ shrugged.‌ “I’m observant. Stop stalling. If you won’t do that, then…”‌ I looked back, seeing the staffers come back around to collect our plates. “When they’re removing your plate, I‌ dare you to burp your thank you.”

“For such a pretty girl, you are… disgusting.”

“Ouch.”‌ I said, on a bored monotone, making him fight a smile. 

I‌ kept my eyes ahead as the poor staffer approached by his side to remove the plate, and then I‌ heard a loud and disgusting “thank you”, making me laugh.

We waited until they had left and broke down in a fit of giggles that made me feel very hot; I‌ took a long sip of my water, deciding I had had enough wine for the night.

Throughout the night, the game went on through each course; because I‌ didn’t want him to get any ideas about revenge, I‌ kept choosing truth, and as the first one traumatized him so much, so did he, and we ended up just having a regular conversation. Well, kind of. 

He asked how many people I had ever kissed; I did the quick math in my head and told him nine (Chris was my first everything, as he was a childhood friend, and other than one 7 minutes in heaven incident at 16, the rest were all casual dates during the one time when we broke up during University, and since the last break up). So I asked him the same, and he very quietly, blushing, justified his double digit as he stuttered through a lot of excuses, which I thought was cute. 

He asked what my pet peeve was, and I talked about wanting to scratch my eyes out when people chewed gum open-mouthed. I asked who was his favorite out of all the famous people he had ever met, and he told me about meeting Paul McCartney, which lead me to volunteer my experience in a Paul McCartney concert in New York a few years before, and soon we were exchanging our favorite Beatles songs, and what were our favorite bands as teenagers, which was particularly cringey for both of us (I had an insanely embarrassing obsession with Britney Spears, he had a gangster rap phase).

He asked how old I was when I stopped playing dolls (13), I asked how old he was the last time he peed himself (20, drunk). He asked what was the last text I sent, and I told him about confirming lunch plans with my coworker for the day after tomorrow. I asked him what was the last thing he searched on his phone, and he told me about googling how to tie a bow tie, which earned him a confused look.

“I know, I know. I ought to know it by now. But I told you about my terrible memory. I can never remember.”

“Okay, okay. Tell me one thing on your internet history you wouldn’t want me to know about.”

He stared at his plate, thoughtfully. 

“Well, in the name of our blossoming friendship, I feel I should come clean. After your brother mentioned it at polo, I did google you.”

I nodded. “Yeah, so did I.”

“You did?”‌ I‌ nodded. “Well, may I just say those pictures are low quality, and everything is actually much bigger-”

“I‌ meant I googled myself, you narcissistic piece of work.” I‌ laughed. 

“Oh, you googled yourself and‌ I’m narcissistic?!”

I‌ shrugged.‌ “I guess I wanted to see what you would see if you googled me.”‌

“Well, I‌ saw some adorable childhood pictures.‌ Bangs look cute on you.” I rolled my eyes.‌ 

“Shut up.”

“Found out you have three dogs, amazing. And Christopher looks like trash. You can do better.”

I laughed again, drinking more water just to have an excuse not to have to comment on it.

As we moved to the next course, we took some time to talk to the people on our other sides, so I did my best to focus on the questions the gentleman to my right was asking me.

In the back of my mind, however, something bugged me. I couldn’t stop thinking that he still didn’t know about the first time we met, and the longer I‌ took to tell him, the more uncomfortable it would be when I finally did.

“Truth or dare?”‌ He asked, without preamble, as soon as I turned to him again.

“Truth.”‌ I‌ smiled, hoping he would ask how we met so I could get it over with.

“Which of your siblings is your favorite?”

I‌ sighed; mostly because he had a very irritant, smug grin on his lips. 

“I can’t answer that. Also, it’s so unfair that you only have one so I can’t return this horrible question.”

“Yes, that’s why I asked. Go on, you can do it.”

“Fine. Louis. But I‌ have-”

“Oh, wow, Mary!” He said, mock-shock all over his face.

“You asked!” I‌ said, whispery.

“That is cold!”

“I have reasons!”

“Fine, what are the reasons?”

“I was eleven years-old when Lourdes was born! I love her, of course. But I‌ only had a couple years with her before going to boarding school. Louis is just a few years younger than me, we grew up together! We’re just… closer.”

He nodded. “You went to school abroad, right?”

“Well, I‌ had a year in Savoy, then I‌ transferred to Belgium.”

“One year?”

“Yes, and it was easier to see them then, I came home every weekend, spent as much time with them as I‌ possibly could. Even when I was living in Belgium, actually. I still did my best.”

“You came home often?”

“As often as I could.” I said. “Lourdes was three when our grandfather abdicated due to his age. She will never remember a time when she wasn’t the daughter of a king. I was already off at Belgium by then. I wanted to be… I don’t know, to be…”

“There.”

I sighed. “Well, yes.”

“You felt guilty you were away.”

I looked at him, but didn’t say anything for a while. 

“I don’t- I don’t know. It’s stupid. I know there was nothing I could do, I just… They were so busy, our parents. Busier than ever. And I just... ”

“You didn’t want them to feel alone.” I looked at him, surprised. He shrugged. “Will did the same for me.”

He reached over and took a sip of his wine. “When… everything happened. Not just the divorce, but everything that came after, I think he felt guilty leaving me.” 

I didn’t need to ask what was the ‘all’ that had happened. The entire world knew. For this reason, I think, I wanted to offer something vulnerable in return.

“I came over to Savoy every weekend.” I confessed. “I left school every Friday on a private plane, and went home to see my family as if I still was studying in Savoy. My father shielded me from it, but the press found out and he was under attack for the expense. They called me spoilt, and said my mother insisted I was educated in Belgium out of an unpatriotic whim.”

He gave me a sad look, but I shrugged.

“I just wanted to make sure Louis and Lourdes were alright. I didn’t want them to forget about me, or think I might have forgotten them.”

He nodded. “You want to know what I think?”

I smiled. “I know you’ll tell me.”

He chuckled, silently. “I think you sound like a girl who really liked her country, and her home, and her family, and really wanted to be there, but could not, for some reason, stay in school near them. I wonder why?”

I leaned back, sighing, a grin on my lips. “And what is your theory?”

“Don’t lawyer me, Mary.”

We laughed.

“Marie.”

“It must have been tough.” He added, seriously. 

He didn’t know; he seemed to just… understand.

The staff arrived to remove our plates, and we took some time to ourselves. When they left, I turned to him again.

“The girls didn’t like me.” I confessed, softly. “I see now where they were coming from. I was too… too much. Quiet, but I overcompensated a lot. I had… a lot of opinions, which I mostly shared with the teachers, in class, when forced. I was always called on and, of course, everyone knew, or thought they did, every detail about me, and my family. And they all seemed to think I needed to be… more.”

“More what?”

I shrugged. “Everything. Or maybe less of everything... I don’t know, I just wasn’t enough. I just wanted… for no one to know who I was.”

“So you moved to Belgium.”

I smiled, sadly. “No one cared who my father was there. They found out, eventually. But I already had a couple of nice friends by then. It was all I needed.”

He smiled. “I hated school.”

I rolled my eyes. “Everyone did-”

“No, I… I really did. I’ve never been smart.”

“Excuse me?”

“I’m serious. I don’t mean it in self-pity, either. It’s just… I’ve never been good at it. I don’t have an affinity for academics. I never had… an affection for any subjects, at all. I always just liked… the outdoors. The conversations, the connections with others. The adventure. I hated being inside.”

I smiled. “People are different. The only problem is the system that convinces us there’s only one way to be.”

After dessert, as soon as the Queen and King stood up, we were allowed to, as well. We were then ushered to another saloon where drinks were going to be served, and guests could mingle with other guests other than the ones they had been seated with at dinner, and soon after say their official goodbyes to the Queen.

The gentleman that had sat to my right introduced me to his wife, and we talked about their children for a while before I felt the conversation die out and gave a secret signal (adjusting my earrings) for Cadie to rescue me. 

“Hello…” Louis grinned when I‌ joined him, where he was observing our father from a distance.‌ His tone alone got me to blush.

“Shut up.”

“Why? I was just going to say you and Prince Harry sure seemed to be having fun.”

I sighed, “We did.”

“That’s nice.”‌ The tone was different this time, more… honest. Less mocking. So I smiled in return.

“And I deserve nice.” I repeated his line back to him, making his smile grow.

“Auguste noticed it, too.”

I sighed again.‌‌ “Let me guess. Have I‌ behaved promiscuously?”

“He is not sure if anyone will have noticed, but he thinks it’s a bad match.”

“Ugh, what is this, the eighteenth century?”

He shrugged.‌ “He said something about both of you being spares, and none having a throne to inherit, it’s just not good politics.”

I gave him a flabbergasted look. “What?!”

“I’m obviously kidding!”‌ He laughed, but I‌ rolled my eyes. “Look, just don’t let him talk you out of it, okay? Harry is great. He’s funny, and polite, and according to Kate, seems to really like you.”

“What? What did she say?”

He grinned again. “She told me in confidence, I‌ can’t repeat it.”

“Louis!”

“He’s nice!‌ And you deserve nice!”

“I know…”

“…he’s also super hot, which doesn’t hurt.”

“Shut up.”‌ I replied, but with a grin of my own this time. 

“What, you’re telling me you don’t think he’s super hot?”

“That’s not- I‌ don’t- Shut up!”

I‌’d seen Harry approaching out of the corner of my eye, and was desperate for him to stop talking.

“Hello.”‌ He greeted.

“Hi, Harry…”‌ Louis greeted him with the same teasing tone he had used to greet me.

“…Hi.”‌ Harry’s smile grew a bit more, and he blushed looking at the floor, uncomfortably.

“Stop.” I‌ whispered to my brother.

“Oh, look. I’m getting a call.” He returned, dead-faced. showing us his dark, silent phone, which was most definitely not receiving a call. “Talk to you later.”

Harry laughed as I‌ sighed. “Sorry, he’s…”

“Hey, do you want get out of here?” I stared, intrigued. His smile dropped as regret took over his face. “No!‌ I‌ just mean… To walk around, in the palace. See some cool closed wings and stuff.”

I‌ laughed. “Sure.”

“Really?”‌ He seemed genuinely surprised, and my heart ached.

I looked around at the room, enough people looking at us just because we were who we were. Our brothers looking away from us in a way that made me sure they were very aware of our movements. Auguste was standing by my father, but keeping an eye on me from the corner of his eyes. Cadie gave me a discreet thumbs up from the corner.

I remembered we were meant to be leaving the country tomorrow morning, and thought of how he still didn’t realize when we met. I remembered just how much he annoyed me only three days ago, and realized I didn’t know when I might see him next. Sure, it was almost time to leave, but I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. I wanted to see this through.

And I deserved nice.

So as he watched me with expectant eyes, I felt my heart jump in my throat and smiled as I said, “…yes.‌ Lead the way.”

--- ---- ---

Margueritte’s State Dinner Outfit

[A//N: Thank you so much for reading!!!!!!! I’d love to know your thoughts, please drop me a message here or like this page? Again, it’s a privilege, thank you for reading! Next week: Harry and Margueritte go on a secret Buckingham palace adventure!]

[riicahr]

Finally got to finish the ref and info sheet for my Bnha OC Akai ♡

• NAME: Akai Daiyamondo (meaning "red diamond")

• GENDER: female

• BIRTHDAY: September 19th

• AGE: 16

• OCCUPATION : student

• HEIGHT: 164 cm

• HAIR COLOR: burgundy fading to peach

• EYE COLOR: green, turquoise

• NATIONALITY: Japanese

• SCHOOL: U.A. High

• CLASS: 1-A

• DISTINGUISHING FEATURES: neko ears (sensitive) and tail, ear piercing on the right side, crystalline eyes (though she needs glasses sometimes, she refuses to wear them), little fangs [no other cat-like abilities]

• PERSONALITY: Akai is a quiet person who rarely puts up a fight and prefers to be in the background. She might seem distant and cold at first but she's very observing and kind-hearted. Once Akai is comfortable with someone she opens up to them and is easy to talk to, will give advice, comfort, etc. If something upsets her, it's not rare that she tends to become mad and even raise her voice, though she'd never use actions in those cases, only words. Akai is very affectionate to close people and won't hesitate to protect and even stand up for them, having no difficulties to put up a fake confidence if necessary. Overall she's generous, trusting, helpful, thoughtful, a bit sarcastic and sneaky.

• HERO NAME: Rubina

• WEAPONS: none yet

• GADGETS/TECH: none yet

• FIGHTING TECHNIQUE: mid to long range

• STATS:

POWER: ●●●○○

SPEED: ●●●○○

TECHNIQUE: ●●○○○

INTELLIGENCE: ●●●●○

COOPERATIVENESS: ●●●●○

• FAMILY: Jirou family (adoptive, she decided to keep the last name)

• BIOLOGICAL PARENTS: Ibuki (mother), Makkuro (father)

Sibling: Yashin (twin brother)

• ROMANTIC INTEREST: Monoma Neito

• ALLIES: Toki (OC), Jirou Kyoka, Kendo Itsuka, Aoyama Yuuga

• RIVALS: Todoroki Shouto

• LIKES: chill music, night, mint, tea, hot chocolate

• DISLIKES: being the center of attention, loud noises, bugs, summer heat

• HABITS: biting on stuff with her fangs making little holes in them, gets easily distracted, her insecurities often tend to come over her and influence her rational thinking

• FEARS: darkness, being abandoned

• QUIRK: Crystallokinesis

• DESCRIPTION: By extracting minerals from her surroundings, such as the ground, water or even air, Akai is able to create crystalline stones out of them by changing their chemical structure. Once these crystals are made, she can control and shape them as well as making them float and disappear again. However, since she uses oxygen to create the crystals, using her quirk for too long may result in shortness of breath, muscle cramps or fainting in the extreme case.

• STRENGTH: speed, agility, reflexes

• WEAKNESSES: no good combat abilities, stamina

• AT WHAT AGE DID IT MANIFEST: 5 years

• HOW DID IT MANIFEST: Akai went outside to play while it was raining, mud was formed and when she came back inside, little stones and mud drops were floating after her.

• MENTAL/EMOTIONAL WEAKNESSES: unable to prove her worth, being abandoned again by close people, insecurities and self doubt

[popcorn-kitten]

Mallek Week Day 4 -Quadrants

Pairing: MallekxReader, MallekXReaderXGalehk

Rating: M/18+ Only

Warnings: concupiscence in all quadrants, 3-way, specific human genital descriptions

Read on AO3

Red:

Sometimes you lose yourself in him.  The way he kisses you so softly, and his fingers bury themselves in your hair. You don’t know anything that goes on outside of your bodies being pressed together.  

Mallek’s bulge is deep inside you, he’s moving his hips slowly while the appendage thrashes against your insides, curling around and in on itself.  

He hums quietly, his purrs coming from somewhere deep in his chest.  His mouth moves against yours and your tongues lazily trace along each other’s. His taste has ingrained itself in your mind as home.  

You move your hips against his to get a little more friction between you two, your fingers dragging down his back as a whimper escapes you.  

He smiles against your lips and pulls away just a bit.  Your eyes meet and you nearly melt at the sight.  His flushed face and mussed hair is your favorite thing to look at.  He rubs the tip of his nose against yours and gives you another chaste kiss.  He stops moving all together and leaves you with only the sensations of his bulge rubbing against you on its own.

You whimper again and try to move against him, earning a chuckle.  “Impatient?” He teases, “And here I thought we agreed to try something slower.”

You grin up at him and lift your head just enough to capture his bottom lip between your teeth.  He gives in easily, closing his eyes and following as your mouths mesh.  You break away, a hair length of space between you and grin.  

“I just can’t get enough of you.” You admit, your heart fluttering as his face goes slack for a moment. But Mallek isn’t one to stay speechless for long and he’s smirking down at you.  

“I’ll make sure you != wait to get away from me.” He teases burring his face against your throat. He kisses along the sensitive skin, his hips moving again, he bites shallowly at your flesh.  Your eyes close and you move against him as soft moans escape you.  

You’re lost again as his mouth moves against your neck; you tilt your head to the side to allow him more access.  His mouth latches onto you and your back arches as he bites down.  You’re getting closer to your climax.

Your fingers dig deeper into Mallek’s shoulders as his pace speeds up, his quickened breathing alerting you to him getting close to his own release as well.

Your legs circle around behind him, trapping him against you as you thrust up to meet him, moans falling freely from your lips.  Mallek gives two more deep thrusts then grunts, pushing his bulge as deep into as it can go.  He releases his genetic material inside you as your own orgasm hits.  

Your walls close tightly around him pulling another gruff groan from him as he rides out his orgasm. You can feel the genetic material spilling out of you as you come down, your body’s senses still heightened.

You lay with each other for a few moments, breathing one another in.  You leave a trial of kisses along his cheek and neck as his breathing and heart rate slows. Your eyes are closed and you focus on him, getting lost once again in your matesprit.

Pale:

You aren’t sure this is what moirails are supposed to do, but who are you to question it?  Mallek had said he was your trusted diamond and would do everything to help you feel better.  That’s what a moirail did.

You whimper as his fingers press more firmly against your panties, the crotch is already soaked and you aren’t sure how much more you can take of him teasing you.

His tongue flicks out and runs along your check, clearing the residue from your earlier tears that lead to this ‘jam session.’ 

“I’m going to make sure you forget all about it.” He whispers in your ear, voice heavy and slow. “By the time I’m done with you, you != even know why you were upset to begin with.” He continues, as his tongue leaves your cheek to run along your ear.  

You whine again and arch your back as his fingers finally slip past the fabric of your panties and dip into you.  When his cool digits move away your hips follow naturally.  

He smirks against your ear and you hear him chuckle.  “Be patient.” He advises, “I’ll be taking good care of you all day.” He kisses your cheek and lets out a sigh.  “My sweet diamond.” He whispers letting his fingers slip back into you.  

Your breathing picks up as you move against his fingers, they curl upwards and put delicious pressure against your walls in a way that has you almost crying again.  His thumb circles around your clit as his index and middle finger stroke you in a slow rhythm

You can feel his bulge against your back and when you reach back to help him out his free hand catches your wrist.  He tuts against your ear and brings your hand up to kiss your knuckles lightly.  “No, today is for you, only you.” He whispers, adding another finger into your soaking cunt.  

His hand moves quicker and in an embarrassingly short length of time brings you crashing and clenching around him.  Your panting as he removes his fingers and kisses your cheek, taking in your flustered face.  

“Only you.” He whispers again.

Black:

“You think you’re a victim but you’re just a coward!” You shout your anger finally getting the best of you as you grab a handful of his sweater.“Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” He yells back his face twisting into a snarl.“You!  I’m talking to you, you self-righteous, piteous fuck!  I am so sick of listening to you bitch about the system but not lifting a finger to do shit!  You have money, influence, and all you do is sit in your room, holed up staring at a computer and doing fuck all about it!” 

“And what the hell do you know?! You come in here acting all high and mighty but you != know anything about this planet, how it works, or anything.  You != get to dictate what someone = and != do. What have you ever done for anyone aside from throw yourself at them like a pathetic bucket chaser?!”

You’re both breathing heavily, your hand is still twisted in his hoodie and his hands have taken a hold of your top.  There’s a tension hanging heavily between the both of you, a type of electricity you have never experienced. You don’t know who kissed who first, there’s certain to be an argument about it later, but what you do know is Mallek is a damn good kisser.  

His teeth are sinking into your bottom lip and you open to let his tongue enter only to harshly scrape your teeth across it.  

He grunts and something from deep in his chest rumbles.  He’s got you pressed against the wall and is already moving to get your bottoms and underwear out of the way.  You’re distracted by his tongue and teeth clashing against yours.

He’s got your pants and underwear around your ankles and you hear his pants hitting the floor too. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t turned on; your legs are on either side of him and he grips your ass to hoist you up higher.  His claws dig into your flesh and you remove your mouth from his to reward him with a rough bite to his neck.  

He hisses against your ear and without a warning shoves his fully unsheathed bulge into you.  His hips snap fast and hard against you as his teeth break your skin.  You gasp and move your hips as best you can against his, taking a hold of his horn and yanking roughly to get him away from your sensitive throat.

He grunts and buries himself inside you, coming and filling you entirely too full. The added pressure brings you to your own orgasm and your grip on his horn tightens as your walls clench around his bulge.

Ashen:

They weren’t good for each other, anyone with eyes and a brain could see it.  And Galekh already had a kismesis that was made for him.  

Someone had to do something, but you hadn’t really understood what intervening meant.  You didn’t know it was a relationship. And you certainly didn’t know it meant being pressed between them.

Galekh’s broad chest and strong arms held your legs apart, exposing you entirely to him and Mallek.  His mouth was latched onto your neck where it met your shoulder and you shivered as his teeth scraped along the bruising skin.

Mallek’s chest was against yours and his mouth had yours entirely occupied, his tongue exploring almost too deeply down your throat.  

Galekh’s bulge is buried in you twisting around and rubbing against your prostate as it stretches you out almost painfully.  Mallek’s bulge is twined around your penis, squeezing and squirming along the length, the coolness and piercing of it adding to the already overwhelming stimulation. Their hips moved arrhythmically from one another as they both thrusted into you.

You were all far past the point of speech at this point, the only sounds filing the room being labored breathing and skin hitting skin.  Your head lulled back helplessly as both boys had their way with your warm, alien body. You would be lying if you said it wasn’t beyond heavenly to be where you were though.  

Their paces pick up at the same time and you feel Galekh’s fingers dig painfully into your hips as his snap up into you.  His heavy pants fill your ears as his bulge, buried so deeply inside you, prods against your inner most walls. Mallek’s grip on your wrists tightens as well, the bulge spasming around your dick as genetic material mixes with your semen as you cum.

Both men hold tightly to you as they release within moments of one another.  A scream rips itself from your throat as your hips try to buck away as your filled even more.  The combination of their scents and being so full has you coming hard.  You cry out, but your moans are swallowed by Mallek’s mouth over taking yours again.  

You helplessly buck against their retreating bulges as you ride out your orgasm. You hear them coo-ing at you, but you can’t make out what they say as your exhausted body goes limp between them.  

[jupitersson]

Here’s a headcanon question for ya: how do you think the group members came out? Jamie and Aff gender wise and the rest with their relationship, both to family and others

Oooo, this is an interesting one.

I’ll start with Aff and Jamie, mostly bc I more recently came out as non-binary compared to coming out as gay, and I really gotta think about how they reveal their relationship.

In the one-shot, Mr. Flowers calls Aff by she/her pronouns, and Aff even admits to Sasha that being non-binary is a new thing for them. I think that neither of their parents know, and with my hcs about Aff’s mom, their mother definitely won’t ever know. I feel like, post-Amanda and with some encouragement from their SOs, Aff would feel confident enough to kinda sit Mr. Flowers down and tell him that instead of being his daughter, they’re his child. They probably fumble a bit through it and apologize a lot, but I hc that Mr. Flowers is super accepting about it (even if he’s a lil confused), and hugs Aff real hard. The first time that he calls them Aff, they almost cry because he looks so proud of himself for remembering.

I feel like Jamie never explicitly comes out. My hc is that after their freshman year in high school, they spent the summer in New York with their dad and started to experiment a bit more than they did during school. Then, sophomore year, Jamie came back as like proto-Jamie. Not quite the Jamie we met in the one-shot. An in between Jamie, if you will. Sasha is the one to question Jamie about this sudden turnaround in fashion and expression, and they just grin at Sasha and say “people change.” People kinda keep questioning it, and Jamie keeps brushing it off, until finally they tell Sasha that she can spread around that their pronouns are they/them and for people to stop fucking asking them about every move they make.

As for their RELATIONSHIP, well.

Mr. Flowers is the first one to learn about it, mostly because he’s the Cool Dad™ who lets them all hang out at his place when they want to escape their parents, or just be alone together. He’s accepting, if again, a little confused. When the polycule doesn’t make a big deal of it, Mr. Flowers decides to also not make a deal of it. He’s just happy that their child is happy, and if that comes from being in a relationship with three of the most… eclectic people he’s met, he’s not going to disturb that happiness.

Ms. Wrenly is next. She figures it out when she gets home early from a shift and finds them all passed out in a cuddle pile together, remnants of black (Jamie) and red (Sasha) lipstick fading on everyone’s lips and cheeks. Honestly, nothing could surprise her about Jamie these days, she’s just glad they haven’t gone and gotten arrested again. She thinks that, despite the whole being witnesses and suspects in a murder investigation, that the polycule might be a good influence on their child.

Then we move onto the problems, because Mr. and Mrs. Solomon and Mr. and Mrs. Murasaki aren’t… perfect parents.

In the beginning, Cam only lets his parent’s know that he’s with Sasha, because that’s the safe option. They’d dated for two years prior to the one-shot, after all, so his parents already know Sasha quite well (and I’m sure their parents have connections.) He never brings the others over, given the reactions his parents had to both Jamie and Aff that we saw, but eventually Cam slips. His parents track his phone one time he’s at Diamond Liquor with the rest of them, and his father sends him a text asking what he’s doing there. Cam tries to play it off by saying he’s just getting some snacks (even though they both know there is a pantry full of Cam’s favorite snacks at home) but when he doesn’t leave the liquor store, his dad drives down to confront his son. Mr. Solomon starts a cold argument with Cam that quickly escalates to yelling the more frustrated Cam becomes, and eventually our favorite Infernal explodes and says, “y’know what? I don’t fucking care anymore! You’re right, I lied about why I was here! Why? Because I’m just trying to spend time with my partners without you or mom breathing down my neck!” By this point, Mr. Flowers and the rest of them have emerged from the store, and the former goes to talk to the shellshocked Mr. Solomon as the others sweep Cam back into the store to console him.

And finally, Sasha’s parents. Mr. and Mrs. Murasaki aren’t in Cinderbrush often, flying around the world being philanthropists, businesspeople. They still think that Cam and Sasha are together, which they are post-oneshot, but Sasha never really has a moment to tell them that she’s also dating two other people. But, when Cam outs them to his dad, Mr. Solomon doesn’t waste a second before contacting the Murasaki’s to let them know their daughter is in a relationship with three people. Immediately, Sasha receives a phone call from her mother, and her heart drops like a stone. She excuses herself from consoling Cam to take the call, tears pricking her eyes as she takes the intense interrogation from her mother about just what she’s doing. “A lady does” this, “a lady never does” that. It infuriates Sasha, but she’s never had the courage to go up against her parents like Cam. She just cries and takes the dressing down, shivering in the hallway outside of Aff’s room until Jamie comes out and throws an arm around her shoulder, tucking her into their chest as they slide down the wall and tune out Mrs. Murasaki’s voice. They play with the ends of Sasha’s hair, and when the call ends, Jamie starts to talk her down from her ledge of panic and fear. Saying that she doesn’t have to listen to her mom. Soon enough, they’ll be out of Shitterbrush, and Sasha will get to be her own person. “You’ll become the youngest president in history, breaking all of those fucking bullshit age restrictions, I swear to god.” It comforts her, and she laughs wetly into their shirt, and eventually the two of them are joined by Cam and Aff, and they just sprawl in the hallway with Sasha and Cam sandwiched between the other two.

As for how they reveal themselves in public, they don’t. At least, not until after all of their parents know. It’s a small town, and the gossip is bad enough when it’s about people thinking they killed Amanda, they can’t imagine how awful it’d be if they found out that four of the Most Notable people in town are in a poly-relationship. Once all of the parents find out, though, they start getting more visible. Before, Sasha and Cam were open during school, and everyone figured that they had reconciled and it was normal to catch them sneaking kisses behind locker doors. Aff and Jamie hung around them, but neither particularly expressed their own affection as Sasha and Cam did. It was their agreement, and they all respected it, because they all knew how Cam and Sasha’s parents would react. In post of that, though, they start small. Whenever possible, it feels like at least two of them are holding hands. Sasha isn’t the only person Cam is kissing behind locker doors, and the same goes for the others. The Hive grow used to the casual touching between the polycule, and Jesse has teased them to no end about it, affectionately calling them weirdos. Sasha retorts with a quick, pointed “what, Jesse? You never dated more than one person at a time?” and he kinda sinks in his seat and crosses his arms, glaring at her. 

Everything kinda just falls into place for them, and the Cinderbrush Rumor Mill keeps spinning about them, and it probably won’t ever stop. Why would it when these four disastrous teens keep giving it material? One day, maybe, but that day isn’t today.

[cake-writes]

Little Lies (Part Seven)

Pairings: Steve x Reader // Bucky x Reader // Slight Natasha x Reader

Chapter Warnings: Angst, Graphic Violence, 18+

Summary: You went to Bucky when you wanted punishment. He’d be rough with you because he understood your self-loathing, and he’d leave bruises on your hips that wouldn’t go away for a week. You loved it. He didn’t.

You went to Steve when you wanted reassurance. You went to him because he liked to whisper sweet, sweet things into your ear as he made love to you. He’d tell you that you were perfect and amazing and beautiful. Then you’d get your fill, just far too much of it. He cared too much.

It all came to a head when the three of you went on a mission together. You’d done it a hundred times, even during this mess of a situation, and still neither of them was any the wiser. Your little lies always slipped right through the cracks - until one night, they didn’t.

Master List

June 2016

A month passed, during which you fell back into your old ways far too easily. It was almost like you’d never left. You weren’t a good person the last time you were here in Cancun, and you certainly weren’t one now, despite the fact that you’d worked with SHIELD and the Avengers over the last five years in a ridiculous attempt to make amends for your many misdeeds.

Now, it was like nothing had changed.

Except it had.

You still kept your phone hidden away in case you needed to reach out to Tony, but you didn’t. You were going to do this on your own from the inside. You could do it yourself. You didn’t need them. You didn’t need anyone.

What you especially didn’t need was to be the heiress to an empire.

Your father welcomed you back with open arms. He’d been angry for a long time after you’d left, but he eventually came to think that it was just a phase and that was exactly how you played it. Five years was a very long time to be a phase, but he believed you anyway, because you were his only child and he loved you. You used that fact to manipulate him, just like you always manipulated everyone else so skillfully.

His lieutenants, on the other hand, were far more suspicious and for good reason. You hadn’t exactly kept a low profile in your dealings as an Avenger, and your face was frequently on the news, especially after your background was released to the world. What was omitted from those documents was your connection to the cartel, and of course it was.

You once worked for the most secretive organization in the United States. No high-ranking US government official would ever let it become common knowledge that one of their SHIELD operatives was also heiress to the Carmesí Cartel. Something like that could very easily start a war.

In a moment of weakness, you turned the phone on once and only once. There were too many missed calls to count, let alone the messages. They were from Tony and Natasha, mostly, but even Sam and Wanda had sent you a couple. 

Your vision blurred with tears as you read through them:

Where are you?

We miss you.

Come back.

We’re worried.  

Come home.

Home. You didn’t have a home. The mansion was your home once, but not anymore, and neither was the compound. Steve and Bucky had made it clear enough that you weren’t welcome there, not anymore. Neither of them had sent you a single message.

You could still remember the look of betrayal on Bucky’s face right before he stormed out of the room that night. The sheer hurt in those beautiful blue eyes of his wasn’t something you were able to shake. That same hurt was reflected on Steve’s face, too, and he hadn’t said a single word to you when he returned without Bucky.

You’d blown them off so easily, too many times to count – but they’d never done it to you until that night.

You couldn’t blame them for it. You were an awful person. Neither of them even knew the whole story, yet, and they’d already rejected you, so why prolong the inevitable?

It felt so strange and unfamiliar to be back. The mansion was the same – you’d grown up here, after all – but everything else had changed. There were a lot of new faces to remember, but the most unsettling part of it all was returning to such opulence. You’d grown used to sharing run-down motel rooms and threadbare blankets and poor water pressure during your missions over the last few years. You’d grown used to having comradery in actual friends, not people who just wanted to use you for your influence. You’d grown used to bonding with your teammates over doing good things. Not crime.

Nothing was good about this place.  

Not the designer clothing in your closet, which was sexy but tasteful. Not the sparkling diamond jewellery wore on the daily. Not the Egyptian cotton sheets, the plush bed, the bodyguards. 

Not even the sheer wealth surrounding you, and you’d been raised with it all. You’d known these luxuries for the better part of your life, but now it was all so unfamiliar.

Still, you kept your head held high and fell right back into your work. You immersed yourself in it, just like you always did as a distraction. You coordinated shipments in pretty Alexander McQueen skirt suits and black patent Louboutins, and if someone disobeyed your orders on the ground—

Well, to say you were merciless was an understatement.

Just like the last time.

Every now and then, you got the feeling that you were being watched. If you were, it wouldn’t have surprised you. Turning on the phone even just the once would have given Tony your location, something that you knew before you even did it. Maybe deep down you did want some help, but you’d never admit it, especially if you weren’t even aware of it yourself. 

It was a little after midnight, now. The warehouse was quiet and dark, with the only lighting coming from the moon outside along with a single lightbulb above the chair upon which you’d duct taped one of your new drug traffickers. 

A liar. A thief.

“I thought you said it was a hundred kilos,” you said emotionlessly, slowly trailing the tip of your handgun down the side of his face. He’d lied to you about the amount of cocaine he’d imported from Colombia – skimmed some off the top and tried to deceive you about it like you were an amateur.

“It—It was,” was his frantic reply. “I swear.”

“Was it?” you hummed, before you painfully gripped his hair in your free hand and pressed your Beretta into the tender flesh under his chin. “I don’t believe you.”  

“I’m sorry,” he gasped out. “It’s my family, they’re—”

“Shh, it’s alright,” you cooed, slowly lowering your weapon. Then you took a couple of leisurely steps away from him, musing thoughtfully, “Oh, I understand. These things do happen sometimes, don’t they?”

His teary eyes lit up at your compassionate response, at least until you lined up a shot. Then you put a bullet in his brain. 

His blood splattered messily onto your sleeveless cream-coloured dress and exposed thighs, but your only thought was that he’d ruined a perfectly good dress. It didn’t faze you at all that you’d just executed someone in cold blood. You’d done it too many times to count and, since you’d returned, your nightmares had ceased entirely. This was who you really were.

That was when you heard the sound of bodies crumpling to the floor, three of them: your bodyguards. Not that you ever really needed them.

When you spun around at the last minute, you held the business end of your gun right against someone’s forehead. Your finger was on the trigger, ready to make yet another kill, but when you saw who it was you just couldn’t bring yourself to pull it.

Bucky.

His lips were set in a grim line as he took you in. There were dark circles under your eyes despite your immaculately-applied makeup. Your diamond earrings and necklace sparkled in the moonlight, and although your delicate cream dress accentuated your curves and fit you like a glove, it was now stained a stark, bitter red.

As were your bare legs, so silky smooth that small droplets of blood were rolling down them, leaving trails of crimson behind.

As was your beautiful face, so blank and emotionless despite the blood spatter on your lips and cheeks.

There were so many things he could have asked. You’d just killed a man in cold blood, murdered someone so easily without a second thought. You were sadistic about it, too, having given him false hope before you shot him.

Your aim was, as always, impeccable. Now Bucky finally understood why.

You’d left a month ago with no explanation whatsoever, and they’d been tracking your movements ever since. They saw how easily you’d fallen back into your old life, how easily you took and traded lives. They watched you destroy yourself, and it hurt every single one of them.

Tony was a wreck. He blamed himself. He was the one who dragged you into this.

Natasha still saw herself in you and knew how easily she could have fallen back into her old ways, too. While she wished that there was more they could do for you, she knew that you were too much like her. You’d made up your mind and you weren’t coming back.  

Steve blamed himself, too, but in a different way. You’d been nothing but open and honest with them for what was probably the first time in your life, and he hadn’t even asked if you were okay. Instead, he left. He abandoned you.

So had Bucky, but he didn’t feel guilty. No, he was angry - angry at you and angry at himself for a multitude of reasons.

There were so many things he could have asked, and yet, he didn’t say a thing. Instead, his eyes were hard on yours as he wordlessly dared you to pull the trigger. 

He knew you wouldn’t.

You did, too, and your handgun clattered to the ground. 

Quite the contrary, you wanted so desperately to reach out for him, to seek comfort in his arms like you’d done a thousand times before, but you didn’t. You didn’t deserve to be treated so kindly.

Bucky didn’t bother to kick away your weapon. It was clear you wouldn’t go for it again. Even still, both of you knew that you weren’t going to go with him willingly. That was the reason he was here, because why else would he be?

When his warm fingers wrapped around your throat, you didn’t resist. His touch was a hot brand against your skin, but gentle, almost kind: a lover’s touch.

Despite the fact that you knew what he was doing – that he was taking away your consciousness and, with it, whatever fight you may have put up not to go with him – you didn’t struggle. Instead, you leaned into the familiar way he compressed your arteries just like he’d done to you so many times in the past. Of course, that always happened in bed when the two of you were in throes of passion, and mostly on the nights that he was especially rough with you. 

Never like this.

The memory was what made your breath hitch, not the pressure around your neck and certainly not when you started to see those familiar spots in your vision. Even now, knowing how much control he had over your body sent a surge of heat straight to your core.

Bucky’s eyes were on yours the entire time, searching for something, some emotion - and he found it just as your eyelids fluttered shut.

It only vaguely registered in your brain when your knees gave out. Bucky caught you easily with his vibranium arm around your middle before your soft body finally slumped against him. When he lifted you into his arms, he did it so carefully, like you might break.

Your last thought before everything faded to black was that Bucky felt like home.

Part Eight

[conceptstage]

Hey Molly

For Mollymauk Lives Fest Day Five: Resurrection AO3

The diamonds are heavy when they carry them in. Five years of scrimping and saving, of taking dangerous jobs because they paid so damn well, of taking low paying jobs just to make something instead of sitting around the Xorhaus moping, and it had all come to this. The table was draped with several blankets and pillows as they poured the diamonds out of the bags and into the center, spreading them out in a single layer. Jester was bouncing on the tips of her toes, biting her lip nervously. “Do you think we have enough?” she asked. Her hair had grown out in the last several years, though she had pulled all of it up into a high bun on the back of her head to keep it out of her way for this. There was a single strand of curled blue hair that dangled near her nose and she blew it away.

Her style had matured over the years, though her dress this day was still pink. It was less frilly and puffy and hung to the middle of her thighs. She’d ditched the corset and her old, green, short cloak but the Traveler still had a prominent place on the sash around her hips.

Caduceus was standing next to her with a large, kind hand on her shoulder. It had been a while since he’d come to visit them. The Grove was doing well now but Shady Creek was always a threat to the Wildmother’s expanding reach and influence in the area so he preferred not to leave Nila and her tribe alone there more than a few times a year, though he made a special trip out when they sent him a letter saying that they had finally acquired enough money. His hair was so long now it reached his still thin hips and was beautifully braided over his shoulder. He still wore the same armor but there were dents and cuts on it that told the story of his adventures. When he had left with them the very first time, the carapace had been spotless.

“I’m not the best at math, but Caleb has assured me that he has done the calculations. It will be enough.”

Fjord carried in the next bag and dumped it over onto the table, using his scarred, calloused hands to spread them out. He gave Jester a playful smile. “I’m surprised Veth hasn’t nicked any of it yet.” His real accent sounded smooth and Jester still felt a little thrill when she heard it, even after so long. His undercut had grown out to match the rest of his hair and there was only a bit more black than gray in it anymore. His usual armor had been put aside for today and he was wearing a loose gray tunic and black pants. The amulet around his neck had the Wildmother’s symbol carved into it, handmade by Caduceus for the Wildmother’s champion.

Veth kicked him in the back of the knee. Her dark brown hair was trimmed short with a shiny blue sapphire comb pushed through it. The comb had been a gift from Caleb after she’d been changed back into a halfling almost a year ago. She was wearing a handmade dress decorated with buttons and embroidery. Jester had helped her design it but she had sewn it all herself. “Dick!” she said, her three month old daughter in one arm and a small bag of diamonds in the other.

Fjord chuckled. “When Jessie’s first word is ‘Dick’ I’m gonna laugh so fucking hard.”

“So the fuck will I, what makes you so goddamn special?” Luc and Yeza were standing off to the side, leaning against each other and watching the scene with interest but not wanting to intrude on what was clearly a Mighty Nein moment. Veth handed off Jessie to Fjord so that she could climb up the step stool to dump the gems.

Fjord grinned at the baby and held her close, letting her hold onto his finger. “Hey there, little baby. Are you excited to meet-” he paused. “What will she call him? I’m Uncle Fjord, she’s Auntie Jester…”

Veth shrugged and held her arms out to take her child back. “He can pick. I get the feeling he’s not gonna like Uncle or Auntie. Those are too standard, he’ll want something more dramatic.”

They both looked up with Yasha stepped in the door of the war room, three bags of diamonds in her fists. Veth gave her a small smile and hurried over to stand beside her husband and clear the way. Fjord stepped around the table to stand beside Jester, gently pulling her close and kissing her hair. She looked up at him with a smile.

Yasha hesitated in the doorway, then stepped fully inside. “Beau has the last bag,” she said, sitting down two of the bags on the ground beside the table and dumping them out one by one. Her hair was fully black now, still braided in some places but mostly still loose around her shoulders. There was a scar, almost three years old now, across her left eye, leaving it milky white and difficult to see through.

When she had dumped out the last bag, Beau stepped into the doorway, a single bag tossed over her shoulder. “This it?” She asked, meeting everyone’s eyes one by one. She still routinely shaved her undercut but had grown out the hair on top of her head and it was braided down her back. Jester said it made her look like a storybook heroine. She didn’t wear blue anymore, not since the falling out with the Cobalt Soul and Dairon. She wore a dark green crop top and tan harem pants with jade on her wrists and neck and a gold ring in her nose.

Fjord nodded. “Caleb said there were ten bags, that’s nine empty bags over there. I think we’re ready once you pour out yours.”

She nodded and stepped towards the table, dumping out the last bag of diamonds. Veth and Yeza exchanged a silent glance and he nodded, kissing her cheek and taking their daughter. He lead Luc out of the room but the boy paused to kiss his mother’s cheek as well. She smiled, her eyes a little wet and whispered to him that she would see him at dinner.

After they left and Beau finished dumping her diamonds, Caleb stepped into the room. He paused in the doorway and took a deep breath, looking over the table and doing some math in his head. He nodded, confident that they had enough. His red-brown hair was about shoulder length and tied back at the nape of his neck. He was wearing a nice shirt and a leather vest. His pants were pressed and his shoes were shined. He only broke out this outfit on special occasions. None of them had seen it since Luc’s last birthday party. He had a silk scarf around his neck to half hide the slowly fading burn scar that crawled up his neck from under his shirt and ended just under his ear and behind the back of his jaw.

“You look very nice, Caleb,” Jester said, smiling kindly.

“You look fucking uncomfortable,” Beau said, smirking. “You sure you want him to wake up and think you still have that giant stick up your ass after all these years?”

Caleb flipped her off. He had become very free with that over the last several years. She secretly considered it a bonding moment every time. When he came up to the table she put her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He sighed and laid his hand over hers to comfort her back. They had both been waiting for this moment since they’d seen their friend murdered five years ago. Everyone started forming a circle around the table, looking down at the pile of diamonds. Beau reached out to put a hand on Yasha’s arm. Her expression was stoic, but they knew her well enough to see how nervous and excited she was.

“Ready?” Fjord asked.

“As we will ever be,” muttered Caleb.

Beau grinned. “Let’s get the fucking show on the road.”

Caduceus held his hands out over the table. He closed his eyes and muttered something under his breath and, suddenly, the diamonds shattered. They started floating around in the air above the table like a collection of stars, glittering in the moonlight that shone in the Rosohna sky outside the window.

After a few more seconds of quiet muttering, the diamonds started to coalesce in the shape of a body. There was a pop and the diamonds disappeared, leaving a tattooed purple body on the table in their place. At first, no one breathed. No one shifted, no one spoke.

Then, red tiefling eyes blinked open and looked around at them in confusion, then recognition. He grinned tiredly with pointed teeth and the entire room let out the breath it’d been holding.

“Hey, Molly.”

[dongiovannaswife]

400 followers!

Count your last blessings; Don!Giorno Giovanna x Donna!Reader

summary: that's how Mafia works (literally). When the union of two gangs brings the interest and discomfort of a traitor, Giorno and (Y/n) won't doubt on showing who rules the underworld.

Warning: a bit of torture, blood, language, death of a character.

Side note: this is the milestone for the 400 followers! Thank you so much to all the people who's there 💕 I wanted to write a power couple for this one and since I've been flirting with this idea for MONTHS I finally decided to write it. Special thanks to @naranciabestboi for encouraging me! 💞 you're an angel.

Feedback is always appreciated.

The room was dark, the only dim light illuminating the unconscious man on the chair, his arms and legs attached to the wood by chains, his head hanging in an angle that advertised how much his neck would hurt when he woke up.

Or when they decided to wake him up. And not in a sweet way.

In the shadows, sitting in a box alongside Alessandro Esposito, who toyed with a cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other, was Guido Mista, his own gun on his hand, lazily pointing at the target in the chair. Not so far from the gunslinger was Pietro Li Fonti, who drank now and then from the vodka bottle on his hand; Panacotta Fugo stood at the other side of the room, the back of the man on the chair facing him, Fugo was close to the door, having been told to stay there until they came back.

Out of the creepy dark room, besides the door, with the light being almost blinding, waiting patiently stood Giorno Giovanna; the slim boy who took over Passione 12 years ago now gone as the tall man towered besides everybody, the only thing one could recognize from his old self was the braid. The white suit hugged his figure, making him look like an angel. A powerful and dangerous angel who could become the emperor of the world if he wanted. Still, he choosed only one country. And that's how he would stay.

His eyes held the same calm from before, a shadow of maturity making the edges darker, almost a deep green.

The door at the other side of the corridor was opened by the hand of a tiny boy, Paolo Mazzi. This boy was the definition of «appearances can be deceiving» even with his 145 centimeters he was as deadly as the long dead Risotto Nero. His age wasn't in correspondence with his height: 28 years old. This man was the bodyguard of the woman who appeared carrying the authority and power on her shoulders as if she was born with them; truth be told, she was. Even before she was born her father had already planned her life as the donna of the gang; Uroboros. Second most powerful gang in all Italy. Dressed in a black cocktail dress, high heels on and that mysterious glance dragging his attention instantly, the friendly nod from Paolo almost unnoticed as she got closer, her heels sounding in the scary silence of the long abandoned factory.

"Don." She muttered sweetly, the intimidating glance now gone as her eyes held a deep admiration and love.

"Donna." He answered in the same tone, closing the space between them, his hand found his way on her waist, the fabric of the dress cold against his big calloused hand. A kiss exchanged between the lovers; lingering, sensual but still loving. Despite the way they met, the situation was far from the one from that time and now, Passione and Uroboros had plans to unite with the marriage of the leaders.

However, someone wasn't pleased with this, the alliance of the two most powerful mafias in all Italy wasn't a good augury for someone who planned on taking over the second most powerful. Uroboros didn't had half of the power Passione did, but it certainly had potential. Even more than Passione.

Godfrey Alighieri was the poor bastard on the chair. The traitor who was trying to drag the most trusted men on Passione and Uroboros at his side, the man who slept on the chair.

The door sounded with three knocks in a certain rhythm and Fugo, after confirming the message, opened the door.

The first one on entering was (Y/n), Pietro nodded with a genuine smile, Alessandro waving distractingly at the two leaders. Her response was a nod, the heels alerting of the way she was taking. Following close behind her was Giorno; Mista nodded and Fugo gave him a handshake. As Paolo entered, being the last one after confirming the other guards outside, the door closed; Fugo and him stood at the door, guarding.

Giorno watched as (Y/n) toyed with the gun attached to her thigh, taking off the security on the gun, her eyes turning a bit to find his already fixed in her. Even in the dark, the diamond as eyes of the don shone bright. Enough to let her see them. Giorno nods and Paolo whistles, playfully commenting. "Get a room, you two."

Mista snorts and (Y/n) looks back at Paolo, a smile making it's way on her lips. The gun's suddenly on the air, pointing at the ceiling. "Time to wake him up."

The gun ends up pointing at his knee. She pulls the trigger.

Godfrey Alighieri wakes up with a scream as the pain sends a shot of adrenaline through his system. Everyone stays silent.

"Buongiorno, signore."

Godfrey growls, trying to bend over to check on his injury, however, Megadeth controls his spine, making him stay still.

"I've heard the rumors that came true." She says, the gun back at her thigh. "Did you knew about them, my dear capo?"

Godfrey snarls, whispering something indulging her mom. "Mhm, I knew you would say that. So, I brought with me your biggest fear; Pietro Li Fonti. Do you remember him? Yes, just like you and everyone in this room, he's a stand user. His stand has always terrified you. You told me that after he joined, remember?" She does some gestures, "he's a monster, how could someone's soul be so putrid to the point their stand can transform blood into acid?" Pointing at him, the woman sends a cold glare at the brunette man. "Now, this isn't about your comfort. Right now, you're wishing death, a quick, painless death. But truth be told, you damaged the honor of one of my men."

Megadeth, (Y/n)'s stand, forces Godfrey's arm bones to brake.

As Godfrey screams, she keeps talking. "You'll see, Godfrey, every since I was a little girl I've been around the family business. The first time I saw my dad torturing a man I was (…) seven. When I asked him why he was cutting off that poor man fingers, he looked at me like the next pray of a predator. Then he looked at me like he did always and explained to me the thing that would change my mind and perception of Uroboros: honor. We're men of honor, Mr. Godfrey. And you killed one of my men when he refused to join your stupid rebellion."

The screams echoes in the room as Godfrey's spine broke under the influence of the stand. "Now, now." A piece of paper ended on his mouth as a ball, forcing back his screams. "You didn't just went with killing him fast and without suffering; you asked his family for money and silence; you told his husband to don't say anything to me, you asked for a money he didn't had and even if he did the impossible and actually paid, you killed him."

Godfrey tries to breath right, to process her words and talk, but the pain was suffocating, the paper on his mouth making his tries to breath almost impossible.

With an exuberant force, and the pain sending a jolt of adrenaline to his system, Godfrey manages to throw the ball out of his mouth, looking up at her, the man's eyes fill with tears and regret. "Please, heal my spine. Y-you can do it! Your stand is capable of doing it."

Turning a strand of her hair, she seems bored but her voice and the glance she throws at him it's enough for Godfrey to feel like he's going to shit his pants.

"It can. But I don't want to."

Godfrey's face turns red with anger, his stand out in the blink of an eye; she's on his range. Godfrey's Muse launches at her.

But stops midway.

"Your Muse is useless against Megadeath." It's a death statement, a letter sent from hell and signed by the devil itself.

Suddenly, a raspy and almost scary voice sounds from the dark as a man, tall and blond, steps out of the shadows.

"All your efforts are useless."

Giorno Giovanna.

He steps behind her, his big hand resting on her waist; pressing a kiss to her head, he still glares at the scared man on the chair. As he speaks, the aura around him turns darker at every second and Godfrey almost forgets his legs, arms and spine are broken, his body being held at the chair by the little and lethal stand of the donna.

"Not only you killed one of her men, you also betrayed her trust. Our trust."

Stepping in front of him, the Don's eyes seem gold, his own stand present. "Your actions aren't based on truth, not even in evil; you're trying to be something you can't be, something you will never get the chance to."

Godfrey laughs, a wholeheartedly laugh. He's about to speak when a string of blood runs down his lips, following his jaw.

When the liquid reaches the floor, the cement underneath it melts; it's not longer blood but acid.

Pietro Li Fonti grips the vodka bottle, "I paid you and you still killed him."

Mista places a hand on his shoulder, Pietro looks at him with so much sadness and grief the gunslinger gifts him a knowing smile. "Let them start, then he's all yours. (Y/n) said that, remember?"

Pietro nods, his red hair covering his eyes. Party Poison no longer on Godfrey's system.

Giorno looks back at his fiancée, throwing an accomplished glance. She nods, now standing besides him.

With a smirk and his voice turning teasing, he asks. "What should we do with him, Donna?"

She sends a wink on his direction, then her eyes are fixed on Godfrey's forehead as his bones on that area start deforming until the skin breaks and the Uroboros sign stands proud; Godfrey can't talk, his jaw is closed, forced to be like this until they finish.

"What we do with traitors."

[darkkept]

RULES. repost; do not reblog! tag 10! good luck!

TAGGED BY: stolen from @salt-water-and-glaives forever ago TAGGING: Steal it from me or I will kill again.

BASICS.

FULL NAME: Astraea Andromeda Lucis Caelum NICKNAME/S: Stray, Rae/Rae-Rae, Starshine BIRTHDAY: February 28th NATIONALITY: Lucian LANGUAGE/S: Lucian, Tenebraean, Old Lucian, Altissian, fragments of Imperial SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Pansexual ROMANTIC ORIENTATION: Panromantic RELATIONSHIP STATUS: It’s Complicated (verse dependent)

CLASS: White Mage

HOMETOWN / AREA: Insomnia, Lucis. Born a royal in the Crown City, Stray was raised in the highest echelons of Insomniac society. Raised above most, she was kept largely to the world of privilege and safety afforded by the wealthier circles of her walled world. CURRENT HOME: On the road

PROFESSION: Princess, Advocate

PHYSICAL.

HAIR: Inky black in color, shot through with traces of blue highlights. It falls thick and loosely curled to her mid back, though is often styled tidily up and away from her face in vintage styles. After the fall of her homeland, she cuts her hair just above her shoulders and only styles it minimally.

EYES: A dark shade, leaning heavily towards a steely blue. Downturned and mono-lidded in shape. Has long dark lashes framing them, often accented with a hint of black eyeliner along her upper lids and highlighter to obscure dark circles beneath her eyes.

NOSE: Straight, with a slight downward turn. Average sized.

FACE: Diamond shaped, with an angular and overtly feminine face giving way to a pointed chin. Slightly elongated in imitation of her father in his youth, with no noticeable scars or discoloration

LIPS: Wide and plush, naturally a pale pink. Often decorated with a smear of neutral lipstick or gloss during public appearances. Most often pulled into a placid or neutral smile.

COMPLEXION: The light ivory skin of a person who does not often brave direct sunlight, with warm undertones. While she might burn at first, with time she’ll settle into a soft tan when introduced to the world outside of the city. Appears more ashen in the post-Nightfall world, due to a combination of factors.

BLEMISHES: None, and should any appear. they’re likely to be photoshopped out or made to disappear via make-up.

TATTOOS:  A small lineart of a feather on her left hip, a remnant of a past relationship. The feather means a lot to  her on again off again boyfriend, and she thought it would be a cute surprise for him. That on again lasted all of two months after this tattoo. She’s mortified by the mere thought of the ink on her hip now.

HEIGHT: 5′1″

WEIGHT: Around 105-110 pounds.

BUILD: Slim and diminutive, with delicate bone structure and slender limbs. While there is some toning along her upper arms and core, she remains slight. Her figure is relatively straight, with little in the way of curves.

ALLERGIES: None.

USUAL HAIRSTYLE: in public: A vintage brush out or demure braid will be her go to hairstyles when facing the people. The  styles are made more elegant by the inclusion of hair accessories, usually dark silver clips to contrast off of her dark locks.

in private: Keeps her hair loose or in a low ponytail, letting her curls simply be so long as they are out of the way. She’s not particularly fussed about her hair when her time is her own, and actually enjoys just letting it loose and bouncy down her back.

at work: Kept into a messy ponytail or bun with long, loose curls falling at the sides of her face if not swept back behind her ears.

USUAL EXPRESSION: You know how newscasters have that perpetual, unnerving buoyancy to their smiles and unblinking eyes? Unfortunately, that is Stray, who wants to always appear affable and trustworthy to the people. Smiling softly, eyes bright, but in an altogether neutral expression otherwise, she might come off as insincere were she any less pretty.

USUAL CLOTHING: The modern goth meets the vintage rack. Stray has an appreciation for old school elegance, be it tea-length dresses or old pencil skirts and cardigans, the more femme the better. Her choice of fabric is overwhelmingly black, though she accessorizes with shades of red and magenta. Has been known to wear sunglasses when out in the world. Polished black heels are a must, as Stray refuses to live at her actual height.

PSYCHOLOGY.

FEAR/S: Seeing as Stray is a person to define herself by her use to others, she has a twofold fear of uselessness and imperfection. If she is not the best she can be, the nshe struggles to understand who she is or what her purpose might be. Beyond this, she has a deep-seated fear of losing what little family she has, which unfortunately comes true during the course of the narrative. 

ASPIRATION/S: Above all, Stray hopes to see a Kingdom united, with no walls and prejudices. Her primary goals as a political figurehead focus on the plight of the Outlands, and especially that of refugees. She hopes to one day make reparations for what her forebears did so wrong in handling those outside of the Crown City.  Her more personal goals are mainly defined day by day, though as of the game’s primary plot, she is focused totally on finding her brother and keeping him safe. After his loss, Stray throws herself into finding a conclusion that does not end with her brother being sacrificed to Bahamut’s game.

POSITIVE TRAITS: Approachable. Caring. Generous. Just. Passionate. Playful. Witty. 

NEGATIVE TRAITS: Evasive. Insecure. Self-sacrificing. Smothering. Subservient. Workaholic.

MBTI: ENFJ-T - THE PROTAGONIST

Protagonists are natural-born leaders, full of passion and charisma. Forming around two percent of the population, they are oftentimes our politicians, our coaches and our teachers, reaching out and inspiring others to achieve and to do good in the world. With a natural confidence that begets influence, Protagonists take a great deal of pride and joy in guiding others to work together to improve themselves and their community.

The interest Protagonists have in others is genuine, almost to a fault – when they believe in someone, they can become too involved in the other person’s problems, place too much trust in them. Luckily, this trust tends to be a self-fulfilling prophecy, as Protagonists’ altruism and authenticity inspire those they care about to become better themselves. But if they aren’t careful, they can overextend their optimism, sometimes pushing others further than they’re ready or willing to go.

People with the Protagonist personality type are passionate altruists, sometimes even to a fault, and they are unlikely to be afraid to take the slings and arrows while standing up for the people and ideas they believe in. It is no wonder that many famous Protagonists are cultural or political icons – this personality type wants to lead the way to a brighter future, whether it’s by leading a nation to prosperity, or leading their little league softball team to a hard-fought victory.

ENNEAGRAM: The Reformer

ZODIAC: Pisces (sun sign), Libra (rising sign), Taurus (moon sign)

TAROT: Death: “You can be a bit intense and find yourself drawn to dark and mysterious things. You’ve been through a lot and have probably seen your fair share of endings, but probably cope with it through humor. On top of that, you are surprisingly easygoing – you’re open to change, try not to let past baggage weigh you down, and seek out new experiences” (there was a quiz going around and that’s where the description comes from)

TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine

SOUL TYPE/S: the caregiver (change)

The quintessential characteristic of a Caregiver type is the desire to take care of others. For this reason, Caregivers may be drawn to the long-term care of children or the elderly. Though some Caregivers find their need to nurture satisfied by raising a family, many others seek out work in such venues as schools, hospitals, and animal shelters. The long-term care of those with Alzheimer’s, autism, and mental illness often becomes the responsibility of Caregivers.

If you recognize yourself as a Caregiver, you may already have noticed the tendency to put others’ needs ahead of your own. This trait makes it essential that you go out of your way to take care of yourself as well as those around you. Remember that you’re no use to others if you’re not healthy or fit enough to help them.

You are loyal to the extreme, and you guard those who are entrusted to your care with your life. Fighting another person’s battles can be important if that individual is unable to stand up for themselves, though you should be cautious not to dis-empower those in your care by not allowing them to do things for themselves.

Your empathy allows you to understand nonverbal emotional signals. This ability will tell you when someone needs your help, and how best to assist them. It is common for Caregiver types to intuitively know what someone needs at any given time.

VICE/S: Stray is someone who cuts loose by thrills. A favorite vice is driving fast, racing around the Crown City once the streets are emptied. She tears across the roads like a stunt driver, handling her car well but with a blatant disregard for traffic laws. She has also been known to take part in recreational drug use in secret, favoring marijuana to unwind when her stress peaks. 

FAITH: Formerly a lapsed adherent to the Astrals, the six gods of her native Eos, with a particular focus on the veneration of Bahamut as patron of her family. While raised a proper faithful child, Stray never had a vested interest in the Astrals, and began to put her faith instead in the physical world over the spiritual. In the time since the fall of her homeland and the revelation of her brother’s fate, her disinterest has turned to outright hatred, and she now aims to work against the gods and their ambitions.

GHOSTS?: Misidentified daemons, in her honest opinion. If the haunted painting can actually be possessed by one, who knows how many times ghosts have simply been misidentified species of Daemon? She wants to believe, however.

AFTERLIFE?: She’s unsure what shape it takes, but does believe it exists. Whether you ascend to dwell with the Astrals, or go on to watch over your loved ones from above, she cannot say, just that she doesn’t think life ends just because your body dies. Not that it immediately concerns her, seeing as a lot of her ancestors end up stuck in a ring for all eternity.

REINCARNATION?: A fascinating theory she’s seen bandied about certain Outland beliefs. It’s not truly in line with the Astral-based faith she was raised in, but she does think it’s a beautiful idea. Though, she does tend to treat it irreverently when drawing comparisons between the Founder King and her younger brother.

ALIENS?: You mean like the kind Cor swears up and down he saw driving through Tenebrae once? Sure, she totally believes the Marshall. 

POLITICAL ALIGNMENT: Revolutionary. At heart, Stray sees little use in a continued monarchy, and believes in equality for the people who would ideally represent themselves. Outwardly, she settles for being the more liberal royal, campaigning for changes to at least two generations of perceived injustice against Lucian citizens.

ECONOMIC PREFERENCE: Surprisingly frugal. Most finery she owns was either a gift or a necessity for osme event. On her own, Stray has a preference for function over anything else, and durability over couture. This might go a long way in explaining several of her vintage interests.

SOCIOPOLITICAL POSITION: Royal, the eldest child -- though not heir -- of an established monarch. Stray is at the highest level of Lucian society, trumped only by her father as ruler and brother as heir. 

EDUCATION LEVEL: University educated. Topped her classes throughout her private education, and truly excelled in high school. Earned her Bachelors in poli sci, despite intending to study medicine at the start. Her education goals have been put on hold due to her familial obligations, though prior to the treaty signing she intended to continue on for a Masters.

FAMILY.

FATHER: Regis Lucis Caelum, King - deceased

MOTHER: Aurea Lucis Caelum, Queen - deceased

GODFATHER: Clarus Amicitia (her father’s Sworn Shield)

SIBLING/S: Noctis (younger brother)

EXTENDED FAMILY: Ardyn probably counts here as her 114 times removed great uncle. In the more realistic, she has a maternal uncle on the council, and a few younger cousins she sometimes hangs around with.

SIGNIFICANT OTHER(S): Verse dependent.

NAME MEANING/S: Astraea is derived from the root Aster, meaning ‘Star.’ This was the name of a classical goddess of justice and innocence. Andromeda roughly translates to ‘mindful of man,’ and was the name of a bound princess in mythology. Lucis Caelum is a Latin surname, taken from the words for ‘light’ and ‘sky.’

Her first and last names become ‘star of the light sky’,’ in juxtaposition to her brother as the ‘night of the light sky.’

Stray is a nickname derived from her younger brother’s attempts to pronounce her name as a young child. It was easier on the tongue than her full name, and stuck among both the royal family and the prince and princess’ closest friends.

HISTORICAL CONNECTION: The eldest child of the royal family of Lucis, a dynasty dating back 2000 years. Though not the heir -- inheritance favors female rulers only when there are no men left -- Stray is among the latest link in a very long chain of duty and magic. She is 114 generations removed from the Founder King, and sister to the long-prophecised Promised King.

FAVORITES.

BOOK: Stray is most engrossed in medical journals and any technical publications that come her way. That is, she has more time for magazines than books. When she has a moment to sit down, however, she has a taste for poetry and the classics -- Tragedies, especially.

MOVIE: Legally, the princess is required to say that she enjoys a good drama, and is very interested in the yearly award circuit nominees especially. In private, the princess prefers less conservative fare, namely erotic thrillers. There is something about the interplay of sex and danger that she enjoys. None can know just how lowbrow her tastes are.

DEITY: Outwardly, she will admit to being a great admirer of the stalwart Draconian who protects her family and their kingdom. In private, she often had a soft spot for Titan, shouldering the load of saving the world from calamity. Now, she thinks they are all unworthy of worship.

MONTH: October.

SEASON: Autumn.

PLACE: Her private chambers within the Citadel, where she can really  be herself at the start and end of every day.

WEATHER:  Cool and overcast, with the threat of rain on the horizon not quite reaching her. The kind of weather where you bring your umbrella just to be safe, but still go about your day.

SOUND: The laughter of her loved ones.

SCENT/S: Roses. Sea salt. Old books. Her partner’s cologne/soap.

TASTE/S: Honey. Molasses. Black tea. Apples.

FEEL/S: Leather. Fur. Velvet. Scar tissue.

ANIMAL/S: Chocobo.

NUMBER: 13

COLOR: Magenta

EXTRA.

TALENTS: Public speaking. Problem solving. White magic.

BAD AT: Obeying traffic laws. Expressing and working through negative feelings. Accepting failure.

TURN-ONS: nonsexual: Older/stronger partners. Emotional intimacy. Risk-taking. Tolerance for others.  Free-spirits. sexual: Spanking. Praise. Roleplay. Big dicks. Being able to let her partner take control. Laid-back sex.

TURN-OFFS: Degradation. Unyielding. Lack of compassion. Traditionalist views. Immaturity.

HOBBIES: Socializing. Reading. Research. Racing. Clubbing. Chess.

AESTHETIC TAGS: Stars. Midnight. Moon cycles. The serpent. Rebellion. Stranger in a strange land. Girlhood gothic. Shades of red. Growing up too fast. The healer has the bloodiest hands. All-loving heroine. The dutiful daughter. Shields. Dark mirrors. Breaking cycles. Dark curls. Sensuality. Who’s a heretic now?