#can you imagine princess peach getting slapped??

[allurilove]

Just wondering…are we gonna get a story with husband’s daughter anytime soon? Maybe like a lil cute princess tea party?

Oop. I sooooort of forgot about his daughter, but here's the fic!

Yandere husband thought his daughter’s version of princess tea time was ridiculous. If she had asked to be flown to Paris or Italy, where they could enjoy actual delicious crumpets and have people dote on them hand and foot, he would have agreed in a heartbeat. However, she seemed content to be in their cold, dark living room, and instead of having professional workers or servants, she enlisted her bratty older brother, Henry, to drop off the tea.

Yandere husband adjusted the childish accessory on his head, which threatened to cut off his circulation, and muttered his thanks to the pre-teen waiter. Henry held out his hand, and your husband slapped another dollar into his palm with a scoff. The fake plastic tiaras hurt his scalp, and no matter how many times he insisted that his daughter get a real one, she was always drawn to the ones advertised on television. To be fair, the tiaras endorsed by her favorite child pop star did look pretty cool. Every Sunday, he’d see that ad. The moment he heard the mind-numbing lyrics, he knew Moira’s face would be squished up against the screen. The shiny effects made the tiara look ten times prettier, and the promise of 'real' gems must have been appealing to an infant who could barely read the tiny disclaimer at the bottom of the screen.

He hated the tiny, uncomfortable chairs he was forced to sit in for hours. His large frame was on the verge of breaking them each time, and he swore he saw the legs of the chair bend under his full weight. The table where they held their most important princess meetings was never tall or big enough, yet the little girl in front of him couldn’t care less about his discomfort.

Ah, Moira. The most perfect, beautiful, adorable, sweet, charming, caring, imaginative, headstrong, brave, lovely, smart, free-spirited baby he had ever created. And then, well, there’s Henry too.

It took yandere husband some time to warm up to Henry; he’d had his reservations. He’d always wanted a child who looked like his wife, and on the second try, he finally got what he wanted.

The man reached over to gently adjust Moira's tilted crown, smiling as she babbled in response. "Are you hungry?" he asked, reaching for the organic peach puree beside him. He scooped up the smooth baby food and brought it to her lips. "You must be—especially after telling me all about your plans to take over the neighboring kingdom," he said, amused.

Moira squealed, nodding her head excitedly. For a split second, a look of naughtiness crossed her face—a glint of mischief sparkled in her eyes as she clapped her hands together. Yandere husband just knew she’d raise hell the moment she could speak and start bossing him around. And it would be a job he’d carry out no matter the ask, as if his life depended on it.

“Eat up, dear. Sleep awaits you, and when you wake up in the morning, we’ll have another tea party,” Yandere husband murmured, watching as the infant swallowed her food and opened her mouth for another spoonful. “And perhaps we can discuss your plans to dethrone your mother, hmm?”

[sebscore]

I saw you mentioned Pierre and Charles babysitting a young leclerc sister? Can I request an imagine of that? Them being about 17 and 18, reader being a toddler? Thank you! Love your work.

YOU CAN'T SAY THAT WORD | CHARLES LECLERC & PIERRE GASLY

pairings: charles leclerc x sister!reader / pierre gasly x leclerc!reader

warnings: swearing. piarles are horrible babysitters. charles and pierre are teenagers in this for plot purposes.

author's note: this is heavily inspired by modern family, btw. thank you so much for the request! I hope you enjoy this fic and let me know what you think of it!

• • • • • • •

''Sorry, I know this isn't what we had planned for tonight.'' Charles apologized as he and Pierre settled into his living room. The Frenchman chuckled, not very amused. ''No, this is not what I had imagined.''

''It's the only way my parents would let me keep the house to ourselves.'' The teenager explained, looking down at the toddler sitting on her playmat.

It had been more difficult than expected for Charles to persuade his parents to let him and his friend be by themselves for the day. The truth was that Charles' parents didn't fully trust the teenagers to be left alone without any kind of supervision. However, Charles had been very adamant that he could be responsible and keep the house intact. So, his parents let him have his friend over on one condition: that they babysit the youngest Leclerc sibling.

Pierre patted Charles' back. ''It's okay, Charlito! It can be fun, right?''

''Yeah,'' he sighed out of relief, happy his best friend didn't want to leave, ''we'll play with her for a bit and tire her out, then she'll sleep easier.'' Charles loved his little sister more than anything, but he still wanted some guy time.

''Hey, Little Leclerc! You still know me, right? What's my name?'' Pierre sat himself down next to the toddler who was playing with her Barbie dolls.

She looked up at him, a bright smile covering her face once she noticed who it was. ''Gasly!'' Y/N screamed, making the two young men laugh. ''No, no, no! It's Pierre, Y/N! Pierre.'' He clearly articulated his name in hope she repeated it back to him.

''Gasly!''

''Pierre.''

''Gasly!''

''Pie- Oh, whatever,'' he sighed loudly, giving up on trying, ''should we play some Xbox? We haven't played in a while.'' Pierre suggested, his attention back to Charles.

The younger one nodded his head, moving to grab his two controllers. ''Mario Kart?'' The Monégasque smirked, already knowing the answer. ''What else would we play?'' Pierre got up from the ground and took a seat on the couch.

Charles sat down next to him, getting the game started. ''I beat you last time, remember?'' He grinned, recalling the previous time they played and Charles had won, much to Pierre's dismay.

''I'm ready for revenge, Leclerc.'' The older one stated, raising his eyebrow.

Before they could play against each other, they had to choose a character that would represent them in the race. ''Who are you choosing?'' Charles asked Pierre as they frequently switched up their avatars.

''Peachy Peachy!'' Y/N exclaimed, pointing with her small hands to Princess Peach who appeared on the tv screen.

Both boys chuckled at the girl's excitement. ''You want me to be Princess Peach, Y/N?'' Pierre asked her, lingering on the female character. The toddler babbled some inaudible words, but it was obvious what her answer was.

''Charlie, Daisy! Daisy!'' She focused her attention on her brother, who was about to choose Mario as his character. Y/N walked up to him, slapping her hands on his knees. ''You Daisy, Charlie!''

Charles glanced at an amused Pierre, who shrugged his shoulders. ''We can always change characters, Leclerc.''

''Okay, I'll be Daisy then.'' He gave in, a bright smile covering his face as his little sister started clapping her hands and stomping her feet, because of the overwhelming excitement she was feeling.

The babysitting gig was going well so far. Y/N plopped herself down on her mat and patiently watched the screen as the two guys raced against each other. She would clap for either of them whenever someone won or she would enthusiastically jump with them.

Charles was running in P1 until Pierre passed him in the last second and pushed him into the walls, making him come in last as everyone overtook him. ''Putain, Gasly!'' As soon as the words left the Monégasque's mouth, their eyes widened and immediately went to the little girl sitting in front of them.

''Maybe she didn't hear,'' Pierre whispered, making sure the little one wouldn't be able to hear them, ''just move on like nothing happened.''

''Hey, Y/N,'' Charles called her over to him, ''you want to play with me against Pierre?'' A wave of relief went through him as his sister jumped up at his words, pleased that she didn't start repeating the curse word.

He picked her up by her underarms and planted her on his lap. Charles trapped his sister between his arms, so she could grab the controller and play along with them, although he was practically doing all of the work.

Pierre let the Leclerc siblings have the win in the first round, knowing it would make the girl happy. ''You're so good, Y/N! You're better than both of us!'' He complimented her, booping her nose.

All was well, until Pierre used one of the red and green shells, and threw it at their character, making their Princess Daisy avatar spin around and lose their first place position. ''Putain, Gasly!'' Y/N repeated her brother's words, having it heard loud and clear before.

All the tension that had left came right back to smack the two boys in the face. They slowly glanced from the girl to each other, seeing a flush of panic in each other's eyes.

''Uh, Y/N? Go grab your crayons and coloring book, we'll draw together, okay?'' Charles spoke up, coloring being the first distraction that came into mind.

She adamantly nodded her head, excited at the thought of the three of them doing something together again. ''Okay.''

As soon as she was out of sight, Charles looked with wide eyes at his friend. ''I'm in so much trouble.'' His hand flew through his hair, frustration visible on his face.

''As long as she doesn't say it in front of your parents it's okay, Charles.'' Pierre tried to calm him down.

''That's the thing, she's learned something new and every time she learns something new, she wants to show it off to mum and dad.'' He explained, pretty confident that his sister would say the word when his parents got back home. ''They're not going to be thrilled that their 4 year-old daughter is saying curse words.''

Pierre thought for a moment. ''We can just explain to her that she can't say that word? She's very smart, she'll understand.''

As if on cue, the toddler hopped back into the living room while holding her box of crayons and several coloring books. Y/N put everything on the dining table, standing on her tippy toes and took a seat on her chair. She started coloring right away, not waiting for the two older guys that were still seated on the couch.

''Alright, we'll explain it to her.'' Charles agreed to Pierre's idea. They got up from their seats, put the controllers away and joined the girl at the table. ''Y/N, we have to talk to you about that word you said earlier.'' Her brother started off.

''What word?'' She looked up from her butterfly drawing.

Pierre shot Charles a warning look as if to say ''don't be dumb and repeat it''. The Monégasque got the hint and nodded. ''The one while we were gaming, the one that starts with p.''

''Peachy?''

''No.''

''Pierre?''

''You do know my name!'' He exclaimed, it was the first time she properly pronounced his name. ''But no, not that one.''

Maybe she doesn't remember, Charles thought to himself. He glanced at Pierre who simply shrugged his shoulders, he seemed to be thinking the same thing.

''Oh, you mean 'putain'?'' Y/N said the word again, the innocent and pure tone in her voice almost not making it sound like a curse word. Pierre had a hard time not bursting out in laughter, it just sounded super adorable coming from the little girl.

Charles was shooting daggers at his friend with his eyes, they had to look serious. ''That's a bad word, okay? You can't say that anymore.'' He told her, getting on her eye-level.

''But you said it?'' Her confused expression was difficult not to swoon over, but they both had to be strong.

''I shouldn't have said that, that was really bad of me,'' Charles clarified for her, ''we're not allowed to say it, okay?'' He had an hopeful glance in his eyes.

Y/N glimpsed over at Pierre, his hands covering his face to try to hide his laughter. ''But it's making him laugh, Charlie! Why is he laughing if it's a bad word?'' She asked her older brother, not understanding it.

''Pierre shouldn't be laughing.'' Charles semi-scolded his friend.

The man in question scratched his throat. ''Your brother is right, it's not funny and I shouldn't be laughing, Y/N.'' He tried to sound stern.

The small girl simply laughed in their faces and got away from the table, running back upstairs to her room. ''We're not joking, Y/N Pascale Leclerc!'' Charles yelled.

''She thinks we're not being serious.'' He sighed to Pierre, letting his head drop onto the table.

Pierre chuckled. ''Well, are we being serious?'' Charles rolled his eyes at the Frenchman's words. ''Hey, come on,'' Pierre patted Charles' head, making the younger one look up, ''we're just gonna drop it, alright? By the time our parents get back, she'll have forgotten all about it, you know small kids.''

''Yeah, you're right.'' Pierre's assurance brought him some comfort about the situation, kids get distracted easily. They don't have anything to worry about.

The rest of the day went by quite smoothly. Y/N took a long nap after they played some football in the garden, so the two boys could play some more non-toddler-friendly games on the Xbox. Once Y/N had woken up, they ordered pizza and despite his mother drilling into him that she couldn't have any fast food, Charles let the girl have a few bites.

The three of them were laying on the couch watching 'Cars', when their parents returned home. ''We're back, mes chéries!'' Pascale, Charles and Y/N's mother, greeted them.

Y/N jumped up from Charles' lap, running into her mother's arms. ''Maman! I won against Pierre in Mario Kart!'' She bragged to her, a beaming smile on her face.

''Really? You had fun with the boys?'' She asked, subtly looking around the living room looking for anything that indicated they had caused trouble, but she found nothing.

''Yes!'' Y/N adamantly nodded, making everyone around her laugh.

Hervé had taken notice of the empty pizza boxes in the kitchen. ''Did you enjoy the pizzas? I hope you didn't give anything to your sister, Charles.''

Charles shook his head. ''She didn't have pizza, Papa.'' He lied.

''Chérie, what did you eat tonight?'' Her mother asked her, not entirely convinced by her son's answer.

The young girl glanced at the two teenagers before replying. ''I had pasta and Charlie gave me a lollypop after we played in the garden.'' She made sure to use her bambi eyes, knowing it worked on her parents and brothers every time she made that cute face.

''That's good, mon amour!'' Her mum hugged her, winking at Charles behind her daughter's back.

''We're gonna take off then, we have quite the trip back home.'' Pierre's mother, Pascale, signaled for her son to get up from the couch and to bid goodbye to everyone.

Pierre sighed, but stood up. ''Thank you so much for having me over, it was really fun.'' He thanked Charles' parents. Hervé hugged the boy, while Pascale ruffled his hair as she was still holding the toddler in her arms.

''Bye, Little Leclerc! I'll get revenge on you next time we play Mario Kart, alright?'' He crouched down a bit to be eye-to-eye with the girl. She nodded and the two high-fived.

Everyone moved to the hallway, waiting for Pierre to put on his shoes, so the Gasly Family could start their journey back to France.

''Maman?'' Y/N whispered in her mother's ear, covering her mouth with her hand.

''Yes?''

''Why does Pierre look sad?'' The young boy was disappointed that the day with his best friend was already over, even though they would be seeing each other in a few days.

Her mum chuckled, endeared by her daughter's observations. ''He had a nice time here, so he's a little sad that he has to go home.'' Pascale explained, whispering back.

Pierre and his parents were almost out the door when Y/N came up with her masterplan to make the older boy laugh and cheer him up. ''Pierre! Pierre!'' She yelled, grabbing everyone's attention.

''Putain!''

The silence in the hallway didn't last long as all the parents burst out laughing at the unexpected words that left the girl's mouth. Charles and Pierre, who looked like they had seen a ghost, slowly let the situation sink in and laughed along with them. They were mostly smiling out of relief that their parents could see the humor in it.

''Alright, goodbye, everyone!'' The Gasly's bid them goodbye one last time before disappearing from their sight.

Charles continued smiling until his father closed their front door and turned around, a serious look on his face contrasting the laughing one from before. ''I gotta go.'' He swiftly moved away from the hallway to the living room.

''Charles Marc Hervé Perceval Leclerc!''

[trashyswitch]

Don't Taunt The Tall Ones

Peach gets a noise complaint from a toad about Mario and Luigi. She goes to investigate, and discovers the boys having a pillow fight! But when Mario's competitiveness begins to go too far, Peach and Luigi make sure Mario remembers who he's messing with.

This fanfic was a funny little idea that I came up with weeks earlier. I had originally imagined a pillow fight with Peach showing annoyance and calling them children...and then it slowly turned into a funny game I like to call "How many short jokes can I possibly make in a single fic?"...But reading over Mario's dialogue, I realized I had turned Mario into a complete tool of a person...which wasn't accurate. So I rewrote some moments, and...here it is. I hope you enjoy!

Princess looked down from the balcony as a toad walked into the castle entrance. “Princess! The toads have reported a noise disturbance from Mario and Luigi’s house.” The roads told her. 

“A noise disturbance?” She asked, confused. “Do you have a witness?” She asked. 

“Yes.” The blue toad showed her a nervous, red toad. “He lives right nearby, and told us about it.” The blue toad told her. 

Peach looked at the red toad with a softened expression of empathy. “It’s okay, toad.” She told him, waving for him to come closer. 

Nervously, the toad walked closer and let Peach pick him up. The princess’s calm demeanor helped him calm down slightly. 

“You’re probably worried…” Peach said. 

The red toad nodded. 

“Did it sound distressing?” She asked the toad next. 

“Well…” the red toad cleared his throat and spoke up. “On one hand, it sounds like yelling and pain…but then it changes to laughter? Then back to yelling? It’s very confusing.” The red toad explained. 

Peach nodded and gave the toad a hug before putting him down. 

“I don’t know…I’ve never come across such a thing before.” The red toad admitted. 

“Don’t worry. I’ll go and find out what’s going on.” She told him. 

“Okay…thank you, Princess.” Toad told her. 

She smiled and patted the red toad’s head. “No problem.” 

Peach started to walk up to Mario and Luigi’s little house. And as she slowly got closer, she could understand what the toad was talking about. Sounds of yelling were filling her ears the more she got closer to the house. Have they never heard of noise complaints before?! 

She walked up and cleared her throat. She raised her hand up, ready to knock on the door…but quickly yelped and backed up as something heavy crashed against what she assumed to be the other side of the door. Then louder muffled sounds of familiar yelling mixed with laughter could be heard from where Peach was. It was unusual, and surprised her at first. But she quickly worked up the courage to walk up again, and finally knocked on the door. 

The muffled yells halted for just a second…before the words “WAIT THERE’S SOMEONE AT THE DOOR” could be heard. Peach crossed her arms as the door opened. 

“Hello- Oh!” Luigi reacted, opening the door more. “Hello P- WAH!” Luigi yelped as he felt a pillow hit the back of his head, knocking his hat right off his head and onto the floor in front of Peach. He turned around to the man behind him. “MARIO!” Luigi yelled. 

“Whaaat? I did nooothiing!” Mario teased before throwing another pillow at him. 

Luigi caught this one with his hand in front, before throwing it back at Mario, slapping Mario in the face. Then, the man turned to look at Peach. “Sorry, Princess. He’s being a pain.” Luigi admitted before getting hit with the same pillow again in the back of the head. 

Peach raised an eyebrow as she gave Luigi his hat back. “What…are you doing?” She asked. 

“Eh, just pillow fighting.” Luigi replied, pretending that another pillow hadn’t just hit him in the back. 

“HAHAAA! Mario wins 2-1! WAHOOOO!” Mario declared. 

Luigi frowned and turned to Mario. “You did NOT WIN!” Luigi yelled. “I said T-Game!” Luigi reminded him. 

Mario frowned. “No you didn’t! The game is still going!” Mario reacted. “And I win!” 

Luigi rubbed his nose, clearly annoyed. It didn’t take long for a green pillow to be thrown at Luigi’s face. As the pillow slid down the green man’s face and onto the ground, Luigi picked up the pillow and threw it back at Mario. “Aw come on! Don’t be such a sore loser!” Mario reacted, grabbing a small red pillow and throwing it like a frisbee towards Luigi. 

Luigi quickly opened the door wide open and moved Peach to the side.  The pillow soared right past them, out of the house and onto the grass below. Once the pillow landed, Luigi shot Mario a glare. 

“WAH!” Mario reacted. His eyes were as wide as saucers as he had realized who he had almost hit with the pillow. He cleared his throat and straightened up, Bowing to her. “Sorry, Princess. I didn’t see you there.” Mario admitted. 

Peach chuckled while rolling her eyes. “I didn’t realize you were 5 years old.” Peach said. 

“Oh…ehm…” Luigi mumbled. 

Mario raised an eyebrow and stood in front of his brother. “I didn’t realize you were such a stick-in-the-mud.” Mario added. 

Luigi widened his eyes and looked at Mario with shock. Did he just-

Peach raised her eyebrows. “Telling by that attitude, I guess you ARE 5 years old! Would also explain the size difference too.” Peach joked. 

If this would’ve been a normal person, Luigi probably would’ve laughed. But this is the princess, who deserves better respect. So…he kept his laugh in. 

Mario walked up closer to Peach. 

“Uh- Mario-” Luigi could tell things were gonna go down, and attempted to interject. 

“You may be taller than me…” Mario mentioned before pointing his index finger at her. “But perhaps you need a small reminder: I have knocked Bowser down multiple times. So knocking YOU down is going to be easy as pie.” Mario declared with a smirk on his face. 

Luigi shoved a green pillow into Mario’s face. “Shutting your mouth would be much appreciated, Mario.” 

Mario hit Luigi with his small red pillow, knocking Luigi back. “T-Game is OVER!” Mario sprinted to Luigi and tackled him to the ground.

Luigi felt as his back hit the ground, knocking a slight bit of air out of his lungs. But the man recuperated super quickly…because as Mario sat himself up and adjusted himself, Luigi quickly picked up Mario under the arms and literally stood back up onto his feet with no issue. “Mario…” Luigi tried to tell him. 

At first, Mario widened his eyes and looked down at his feet, which were literally dangling. Then, Mario growled in anger and began struggling to get out of Luigi’s grip. “LET ME GO!” Mario shouted. 

Luigi sighed and looked at Peach. “I apologize for Mario’s behavior. He’s usually like this when he’s being really competitive.” Luigi admitted. 

“I win! End of story!” Mario yelled, starting to push on Luigi’s arms and get out of his grip. Luigi looked at Peach again with slight exhaustion, whispering the words ‘sorry’ to her. 

Peach shrugged her shoulders and just watched in awe as Luigi easily dominated his brother. 

Luigi looked back at Mario and waited patiently for his brother to stop struggling. It took a few extra seconds, but Mario did eventually go limp in his arms. Luigi calmed down slightly as well when Mario stopped. Mario soon pulled himself into a much calmer position. “Luigi…” He said. “Please put me down.” Mario said. 

Luigi smiled slightly. “I will put you down.” He said. “Good.” Mario replied. 

“BUT…” Luigi said, narrowing his eyes at him. “...I think you first need to be reminded of who you’re messing with.” Luigi said. 

Mario rolled his eyes. “I know exactly who I’m messing with.” Mario told him. “And newsflash, I’m not scared.” 

Luigi gave him the best warning face he could. 

Mario raised an eyebrow, clearly unfazed. “What’s that look for?” Mario asked.

Peach seemed to understand the look on Luigi’s face, though. “I think you should listen to him, Mario.” Peach told him. 

Mario scoffed. “You seriously expect ME to be scared of my little brother?!” Mario asked. “HA! Please…Don’t make me laugh.” Mario taunted. 

Peach widened her eyes. The man is seriously taunting him? Even while being clearly dominated?! Peach shook her head as she stared in awe…Then, she put on a slight smirk as she walked closer. “Geez…I wonder: How on earth do you deal with him when he’s like this?!” Peach asked, acting surprised. 

Luigi smiled brightly as he looked at Peach, noticing her change of expression. “I’ll happily demonstrate if you help me.” Luigi offered with a wink. 

Mario widened his eyes and frowned. “Demonstrate what?” Mario asked. 

“Deal. What do you want me to do?” Peach asked. 

Luigi chuckled and brought his brother up to Peach like he was holding a toddler. “Please hold onto him for me.” Luigi told her. 

Peach lifted Mario’s arms up into the air, before placing Mario’s feet on the ground. “Like this?” Peach asked. 

Luigi raised his eyebrows, but…quickly smiled. “Yeah, actually! That’s an easier idea than I had in mind.” Luigi admitted. 

Mario dropped his jaw, utterly offended that Luigi and Peach were treating him like he wasn’t even there. “Wha- Hey!” Mario pulled on his arms. “Peach…If you don’t let me go, then- Th-Then-” 

“Then you’ll what? Throw a temper tantrum?” Peach asked. “Run to your Mommy?” She taunted back. 

Mario growled as she treated him like a toddler. He pulled on his arms again, but grew quite shocked when he realized how strong the princess was. “Peach, let go!” Mario yelled. Luigi walked another step closer to him, causing Mario to straighten up slightly. “Don’t even think about it, Luigi!” Mario warned. 

“Don’t think about what?” Luigi asked, cracking his knuckles. 

Mario’s breathing sped up a little as he pulled on his arms once again…but they didn’t even move an inch. Mario was stuck in place, and as vulnerable as can be. This alone began to scare the boy…And with Luigi getting closer and closer, Mario’s face was changing from slight nervousness, to slight panic.  

“Now where to start…” Luigi said out loud, holding his chin. 

Peach widened his eyes and smiled brightly, chuckling a bit. “I know where this is going.” Peach said. “It all makes sense now.” 

“Luigi, this is ridiculous! Think about what you’re doooOOOHOHOHOIHIHING! OHOHOHO NOHOHOHOHOhohoooo!!” Mario interrupted himself as he felt a single finger touch his armpit, and drag itself all the way down his right side. 

“Oh I’ve thought about it…and I wanna do it!” Luigi declared, before moving his finger towards the spot right below his ribcage.  

“Luigi, LuigiiiIIIHIHIII! BAHAHAHAhahahaha! Nohohot thehehere! NOT THEHEHERE- HAHAHAHA!” Mario laughed. 

“Wow! How did it take me this long to find out Mario’s ticklish? We’ve known each other for years now!” Peach reacted. 

Luigi giggled at this. “He doesn’t like other people knowing about his weaknesses.” Luigi teased. 

“LUIHIHIGI’S TIHICKLIHIHISH TOHOHOHOO!” Mario yelled. 

Luigi rolled his eyes. “Well duh! Everyone’s ticklish! I’m sure Peach is ticklish too!” Luigi added. 

“Yes…but you’re not tickling me.” Peach warned with a smirk. 

“Ey ey, Princess.” Luigi replied. 

Peach moved her hands around, so she could rest her left arm for a bit. 

Luigi noticed this right away, and tilted his head slightly as he removed his hands from Mario’s ribs. “Do you want me to hold him for a bit?” Luigi asked. “We can switch positions.” He offered. 

“Luhuhuigi, dohohon’t you dahahare!” Mario warned. 

Luigi looked at Mario for only a second…before looking back at Peach. “Peheheheheach, Ihihi’m waharning you toohohohoo!” Mario warned next, hoping at least one of them would listen to him. 

Peach looked down at Mario this time for a moment, before looking back at Luigi with a small smirk. “Really? You’re actually gonna let me tickle Mario?” She asked, a bit surprised. 

Luigi shrugged his shoulders. “Well, only if you want to-” 

“Yes! I want to!” Peach declared happily. “Take his hands.” She said as she waved for him to come over.

Luigi walked over and took Mario’s wrists, holding them up above Mario’s head. “Ready, Mario?” Luigi asked as Peach walked up with a smirk on her face.

Mario looked to the bottom corner, biting his lip and going quiet. “uh-...I…” Mario muttered. 

Peach giggled and looked over at Luigi, who only chuckled back with a smile of his own. 

Peach leaned over, right into Mario’s face. “I’ll take that as a yes.” Peach teased. 

Mario gulped as he visibly grew more and more red by the second. This redness only grew more scarlet as Peach removed her white gloves and wiggled her fingers in the air at him. Unless he had been living under a rock since he was born, Mario knew EXACTLY what was going to happen. Mario closed his eyes and tensed up as he awaited the inevitable. 

He waited…waited impatiently for something to happen…

Even though he knew that only seconds had passed, Mario still refused to open his eyes. 

“...Well this is boring…” Luigi mumbled. 

Mario opened his eyes only slightly. He was hesitant to even attempt to open his eyes. But…the wait became too much for him…And Luigi’s words only worsened his confusion. 

Nothing was happening…and Mario needed to know why. 

“What are-” Mario widened his eyes. “GyaAAHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” Mario shouted, throwing his head back and knocking his own hat off his head. 

“Hehe! Nice try, Mario.” Peach switched to squeezing his left hip. “But your attempts to stop me, will only make things worse~!” Peach teased. 

“Wowie!” Luigi reacted, taken aback. “Not a bad choice, Princess!” Luigi added.

“Thanks!” Peach replied with a little giggle. “And just call me Peach, okay?” Peach asked. 

Luigi blushed slightly. “Oh...okay.” Luigi mumbled. 

“STOHOHOP FLIHIRTIHIHING!” Mario yelled at them. This comment alone was enough to make Luigi’s cheeks brighten. 

Peach rolled her eyes. “I’ll stop flirting as soon as you stop laughing.” Peach teased. 

“WHAHAHAT?!” Mario yelled as he curled his toes from inside his brown shoes. “HOHOW IHIHIHIS THAHAT FAHAHAHAHAIR?!” Mario asked. 

“Well clearly, it’s not.” Peach replied, before booping Mario’s nose with her free finger. “But that’s what makes it soooo fun~”  

Luigi bit his lip as he tried (and failed) to look away so he could cover up his bright red face…He did NOT expect Peach to be this good at teasing. And the teasing wasn’t even directed at him! It was supposed to be directed at Mario! He hoped and prayed that Peach hadn’t noticed his face yet. 

But unfortunately…when Luigi looked at Peach again…

Peach was staring right back at him with the biggest, most evil little smirk on her face. Not only that, but she had actually stopped tickling Mario…only to observe Luigi in his overly embarrassed state. 

And as if Luigi’s face couldn’t get any more red…

It did. 

“You…” Peach was struggling not to laugh. “Look like you’re ready to buhrhrst of embarrassment!” Peach reacted. 

With Luigi temporarily distracted, Mario pulled his hands free and turned around to look at Luigi himself. “Oh…” Mario muttered, shocked. 

Luigi squeaked and covered his face, mumbling to himself and stuttering helplessly as he continuously failed to explain why he was so red and embarrassed. 

Mario could only feel sympathy for his brother. “Did Peach’s teases get to you?” Mario asked, patting his upper arm. Luigi only let out a little whine in response. 

“Is…that what’s going on?” Peach asked. 

Luigi could barely communicate properly…so the only response they got from Luigi was a little muffled mumble. 

“Awwww…” Mario chuckled before grabbing something. “Okay. Luigi?” Mario asked. 

Luigi hummed very quietly, slightly uncovering his right eye for a moment. Peach smiled and walked up, covering Luigi’s eyes. “Close your eyes.” She told him. 

Luigi let out a nervous breath before uncovering his eyes, revealing his closed, squeezed eyelids. 

Peach took the item from Mario’s hand, before readying her arms…

And in one fell swoop something soft slapped Luigi right in the face! 

Luigi opened his eyes and froze in place, shocked as anything by such a soft, but strong blow. But the moment the pillow landed in his hands, Luigi fell out of his trance. “Wha- HEY!” Luigi reacted before riling back the pillow, a newfound confidence growing on his face. “Oh, you’re on!” 

“Whoa! You wouldn’t hit a girl, would you?” Peach teased. 

Luigi hesitated for a moment…and softened his expression…Oh gosh…Should he? Should he really hit a gir- 

PWUFF! Another pillow to the face by Peach! 

Luigi fell backwards, landing on his back. “OOF!” Luigi let out. “WOW!” Mario reacted. “What a hit!” 

“Put your hands up where I can see ‘em!” Peach declared, her hand back, ready to throw the pillow again. 

“WAH-” Luigi quickly listened to her command and put his hands up in arrest. 

Despite having his hands up, Peach still threw the pillow at his face…but only to temporarily distract him long enough for Mario to jump on his brother and tickle him back. Peach’s ‘stick-in-the-mud’ attitude was completely gone, and a more playful princess had finally come out. And though everyone’s laughter filled the room, Luigi’s laughter was the strongest out of all of them. Though who would’ve blamed the man? Mario’s primary tickle spot to target was Luigi’s hips! And as it would turn out, the twins have at least one ticklish spot in common. 

[crookedlykawaiibunny]

(3/3) here’s the rest!

[souyaszn]

MINE! ⁂ [ kawata nahoya ]

18+ content! minor, ageless and blank blogs will be blocked if they interact with this work.

﹡come getcha fics!

﹡synopsis: getting your nails done a certain way makes your boyfriend even more of a menace.

﹡wc: 1.9k words.

﹡includes: mirror sex. mentions of possessiveness. fingering. edging. orgasm denial. clit stimulation. one (1) clit slap. also one (1) thigh slap. dacryphilia. overstimulation. squirting. use of petnames (princess, baby). praises (atta girl). the kawata twin with the lil grin on his face. watch out for him.

﹡xtra! repost from my old blog. i think about it more than i should.

Nahoya feels...betrayed. Somebody should have told him about this. You should have told him about this.

Writing on nails: why was he just finding out this was a thing? Aren’t you supposed to be the nail art expert? You’d gotten all sorts of cool shit before. Rhinestones, animal prints, galaxies, symbols (he remembered that currency theme you loved so much) but text? Never. If he hadn’t suggested you get his initials inscribed across your fingers during your next appointment, he would have never known it was even a possibility.

Truthfully, he didn’t even mean to say that when you posed the question. Nahoya never cared for whatever you did with your nails. All he asked was that they’d look pretty when you had them wrapped around his dick; he’s a simple man with simpler tastes. It just so happened that you asked him when your feet were spread across his lap on the couch, the anklet he’d gotten you for your birthday, with his initials decorated in little diamonds embedded in the letters, flashing at him, planting an idea in his head he thought was a long shot.

Imagine his surprise when you quickly agreed, sliding off of him to book the appointment right then and there. What pissed him off more, what wiped the smile clean off his face, was how pleased you looked while doing it, kissing his cheeks as you scheduled the appointment, murmurs of thanks brushing against the shell of his ears. As if you hadn’t known you could get the design yourself until he mentioned it.

Nahoya thought he’d be calmer when you got them done. That the anger would quell into pride, subside into contentment. But when you show him the finished product, wiggling your fresh manicure in his face, it just intensifies. Ten fingers, ten fingernails and ten Ns written across the body in Old English font and colored peach, an obvious nod to his hair.

He doesn’t even notice what color you got for the base coat. Could’ve been black, could’ve been blue, who cares? His initials are all he sees. He watches you gush over your hands, rambling about how this may be one of the best designs you’ve ever gotten with a tight smile. You don’t even realize you’re making it worse for yourself when you drag him into the bathroom, shut off the lights and the only source of any in the room comes from your upheld hands.

They glow in the dark. They glow in the fucking dark.

The only compliment you get from him is, “Pretty.” Otherwise, he’s silent. Silent and seething.

The day blurs for him. Lunch passes quickly and by the time the sun sets, Nahoya can name every surface your hands have touched and every object you’ve held within them by memory.

He’s obsessed with them, which goes without saying. Your nails are the laser pointer and he’s the cat who falls for the same trick repeatedly, attention drawn to wherever they move. He never looks away for too long.

Each finger is an affirmation that you’re his, his, his, his and his; see next hand for further proof. You didn’t even need to speak. Your hands tell everyone who you came home to. Why the hell hadn’t you done this sooner? Did you not want people to know you were his? Did you lie when people asked what the initials on your anklet meant? His thoughts spiral downward, each one further detaching him from reality and firmly rooting him in rage and jealousy and possessiveness.

Did you need to be reminded who you belonged to? he wonders, boring holes into your unsuspecting head as you send pictures of your hands to your group chat. You’re so happy, completely unaware of the storm brewing in your boyfriend’s head and that’s fine.

Ignorance isn’t so blissful come nightfall.

“Look at you go,” Nahoya, the (literal) devil over your shoulder, mutters, watching you fuck yourself stupid on your pretty fingers through the mirror propped up against the bed in front of you. He’s seated behind you as a guide as well as a barrier for your thighs whenever they dare to clamp shut, spreading them open again with little effort.

So lost in the throes of what little pleasure you gather from your hands—they pale in comparison to your boyfriend’s—you didn’t realize what he was saying to you. It’s not until he’s cupping your jaw and directing you where he’s facing that you understand.

Your reflection looks whorish, unbecoming with its knees pulled tight to its chest, puffy folds and ass glossy from all the orgasms he’s ruined for you so far. Any of your slick that’s not currently smeared across your lips or along the length of your fingers are left to stain the sheets, fabric sticking to the underside of your thighs whenever your hips raise and buck into your fingers wantonly. He knows the image is crude, he knows it embarrasses you and that’s exactly why he makes you look, gaze dark as he forces you to watch the small flickers of peach disappear and reappear as they squelch wet and loud within your cunt.

Overwhelmed by the sight, your fingers stutter, losing the rhythm you were building in the process. Nahoya shakes his head with a disapproving tsk and a hard smack is sent to your thighs, skin stinging from the blow. The only warning you’d get for the night. “Who told you to stop? Keep going.”

“H-hoya, please!” You resort to pleading after the tears didn’t work.They never do and they certainly won’t today, but that doesn’t stop you from crying them. They sting the corners of your eyes as you tip your head back, mewling for mercy into your boyfriend’s shoulder. Mercy you won’t get.

“What are ya calling me for? These are your fingers, baby.” He knows why. Motherfucker’s been edging you for what felt like hours. The fact that he’s not even touching you adds insult to injury, using two phrases to control the work put in and the buildup of your orgasm, but never allows you to cum. Given how many times you’ve heard them tonight, you’d probably hate the words stop and keep going when this was all done. “Chin up, gonna miss the best part.”

It’s not a lie. This is the best part. This is when things get nastier, when your cunt gets sloppier, soaking you down to the wrist near the beginning of your forearm, walls clutching onto your fingers for dear life, when your lips part, lashes flutter and your head drops, when the pressure in the pit of your stomach increases. The peak is right there, you feel it. If he’d just let you-

“Stop,” he orders, exercising his strength to pull your fingers out from between your trembling thighs when you don’t follow instructions. Your sob of protest doesn’t even reach his ears. Every one of his five senses save for sight leave him as he’s staring down at the two fingers you were stuffing your cunt with, a chain of slick holding the two Ns on your index and middle finger together, thinning the further he pulls them apart.

Fuckin’ mesmerizing. You were definitely getting this again. He’d make sure of it.

“Again.” He’s unmerciful, you think whilst you lean into the crook of his neck, sniffling how you couldn’t possibly endure any more of this torture in weak begs for him to just fuck you already. “Last time, princess. I fuckin’ swear,” he assures in coos.

He means it too. There’s no way he could keep this up any longer hard as he is, but he has to prove it now since you’re shaking your head, probably thinking that this is just his sadism coming out to play again. Proving himself? Nahoya’s never had a problem with that.

Fingers sink into the warmth of your pussy for the nth time tonight, but they’re not yours. They’re thicker, coarser and indubitably more skilled the way they navigate through your cunt, tips taking only seconds to find their way to that one spongy spot inside you that has you wailing and your toes curling into the sheets. The sudden movement sends the N charm on your anklet crashing into its adjacent K. “There we go. Ain’t that nice?”

Assaulting the spot with razor sharp focus, Nahoya scissors his fingers within you with merciless accuracy, watching every reaction you give him in the mirror with a smile that does his nickname justice, moon crescent-eyed and cheeks split open with white teeth.

You’re hypersensitive, body scorched hot from all the stimulation. The worst part is, you can’t run. He’s everywhere: in the mirror whenever you open your eyes, wrapped around your ankle, plastered across your fingers. In hazy delusion, you’ve begun to feel him in places he’s not. Around your throat, for example. You’d swear he has an arm wrapped around it given how choked up you are, but he’s nowhere close.

All of his hands are preoccupied with your cunt and thighs, one fingering you the way you deserve while the other busies itself with keeping your thighs splayed open so you can’t escape what he’s giving you— what you will take.

There’s a familiar burning in the pit of your stomach—the tell of your impending orgasm—, but it’s deceiving. The closer it nears, higher it builds up, you find that it’s not so familiar at all. It’s different, and would be completely foreign to you had Smiley not been your partner. But he is, and you’ve been with him long enough to know exactly what this means. “Hoya! ‘m g-gonna make a mess!” you warn.

He hums as if he hadn’t the slightest clue until you told him, like your walls weren’t threatening to break his fingers with the iron lock they have them in. “Yeah? Go head, pretty baby. Make a mess out of my fuckin’ fingers. Make em’ useless,” he commands, muscles in his jaw tensing when you sink your nails into his thighs so deep the bloody crescents they’ll leave are practically guaranteed. Those goddamned nails.

He says, you do. The dam breaks and you flood his fingers, broken whimpers of his name falling from your mouth as you cum, cunt pulsating around him prettily, just as he ordered it to.

And because Smiley is well, Smiley, he doesn’t stop until you gush, using his other hand to rub at your throbbing clit and not letting up even when viscous liquid splashes from your pussy, the sheer force of it pushing his fingers out of your weeping slit and soaking everything in its vicinity from the mirror, the sheets, down to your thighs and a bit higher onto your stomach. He’s giggling praises the entire time you’re bawling your eyes out, kissing your tear stained cheeks in the middle of Atta girls and That’s my babys.

The comedown is vicious to you, has your body twitching sporadically in the bed from the aftershocks. You look fucked out and that’s a shame, because Nahoya’s nowhere near finished with you yet.

“See? Now every time you finger fuck yourself, you’ll remember whose pussy this is.” He gives your clit a smack, blunt of the ring catching the sensitive nub, and chuckles when you sob out and another spurt of warm juices comes spraying out of your messy hole.

Bringing your hand closer to his mouth, he deftly flicks his tongue around your fingers, intermittently wrapping his lips around the digits to clean them of the arousal you left on them. When he’s done, he holds them out for you to see, the neon Ns emblazoned across each fingernail iridescent and shiny with spit, and says, “The only one who can make you cum like that.”

You’d be wise not to forget.

[delicrieux]

corpse husband... 👀 could I get a soft pastel aesthetic reader playing among us with the group and being absolutely terrible at it. maybe like she sees him kill someone and doesn’t say anything or report it and he follows her around to sorta protect her from the other imposter? at the end she asks why he didn’t kill her and he says it’d be too easy but ofc someone’s gonna make jokes and be like “no you’re just a simp” idk i think that’d be funny? you dont have to tho- no worries

⤹⋆⸙͎۪۫｡author’s note: we love pastels and corpse in this house. we love the “i’m helping cuz u cute” trope. we love the public simping. gotta stan this request

masterlist.⁀➷｡˚⸙͎۪۫⋆ ༄

There is a long list of things you’re terrible at, and Among Us is at the very top. But besides your lack of prowess at the game, it is perhaps luck you should curse, for what you have just witnessed will send you into the afterlife: Corpse’s little black astronaut murdering Rae in cold blood. You still by your keyboard; out of the corner of your eye, you see he chat going nuts. The stream just got ten times more interesting.

For a long few seconds neither of you move. You’re not exactly surprised Corpse is the Impostor, it’s just that you desperately did not want to get in his way - you’re bad enough at this game as it is, and trying outmaneuver the master at this game of chess? Impossible. 

Shrugging, you glance at your camera, “I ain’t see nothing.” Before, in-game, you promptly turn on your heel and glide to the other side of the map. Corpse follows. You start sweating, “Noooo, I swear I’m not gonna snitch, please spare me, sir. I swear on my” You idly tap your cat headphones with your hand, “-only prized possession. And my plushie collection.” He’s still trailing after you, even when you hop into Navigation. Turning to the chat, you ask, “Guys, how do I telepathically convey to Corpse that I’m not going turn him in? No one tell him, though, that’s cheating.”

“girl, start manifesting” one comment reads.

“Oh, manifesting, okay. Saw that on TikTok. I also heard it’s like a big thing in LA.” 

You’d imagine that if somehow you were actually transported to the cool chamber of a dying spaceship, cornered by a black figure with devil horns blocking your exit, you would probably start crying. But you’re safe in your little stream room, decorated in fairy-lights and soft colours and even softer blankets. That initial primal fear of having nowhere left to run lingers, though, and you gulp.

A meeting is called and you breathe out a heavy sigh of relief before unmuting your mic, the first to chime, “What happen--No! Rae! Who killed Rae, fess up now!”

“Well, maybe you killed Rae!” Sean exclaims, and even if you can’t see him, you instinctively know he’s pointing a finger at you. 

“It wasn’t (Name).” Corpse says smoothly, “We’re together.” He backtracks quickly, laughing anxiously, “Uh--In game, I mean.”

The conversation rages on, though you’re forgotten, which is a small reprieve. Corpse is quick to frame someone else and everyone agrees to vote. Momentarily you can’t believe you’re betraying your fellow crewmates and wonder why you’re doing it exactly. To make an entertaining stream? That’s definitely part of it. Charlie is flung into lava and you know it should’ve been Corpse but you’re having a bit too much fun to care.

“nooooo!!!! they corrupted her!!!! our sweet baby is on the villain arc!!! RIP”

You hope not mentioning what you had seen transpire minutes prior will dissuade him from killing you - he still could, but he’s just standing by the door, watching your movements. You decide you will only figure it out once your back is turned to him, whilst doing your tasks. Apprehensively, you get to it and--

Nothing happens.

Once you’re finished, you run circles around him. He joins in soon. The olive branch had been accepted. You grin. Rush out of Nav and he, once again, follows after you. 

The game continues like this, you doing tasks and he hoovering by your side like some little guardian devil. You almost forget that he’s the Impostor until he murders Sean right in front of you. You slap your hand over your mouth. Did Stockholm Syndrome kick in already? He self reports and his first words are, “(Name) and I found a body in Weapons.”

You aren’t sure how much your betrayal aided the Impostor victory, but you were the only survivor left between two serial-killers. Your chat spams celebration emoticons and fake-deep monologues about living in a society. While you were an unofficial Impostor, your audience single-handedly decides you were the best one.

It’s all laughter and apologies from your part to your slighted teammates, though even they have to admit it was a good game. Everyone agrees to play another round, but before it can start, you just have to know, “Hey, Corpse?”

“Yes, (Name)?”

“Why didn’t you kill me?”

“Oh,” He mutters, a small chuckle following after his words, “it would’ve been, uhh, too easy, I guess?”

“Lies.” Sean interrupts, “It’s because you’re a fucking SIMP!”

The discord call choruses “SIMP SIMP SIMP” in surprising harmony. You sit in your chair, giggling, smiling so brightly your cheeks start hurting.

“Guys, come on--” Corpse says, sounding like he’s smiling, like he’s got his face covered with his hands, like he’s embarrassed; he laughs - it’s a light, pretty sound, “I just wanted (Name) to have fun. And not be killed by Sykkuno.”

“Wait--” Sykkuno pipes up, “So you just...followed her around the map?”

“...Yeah.”

“Oh my God, you stupid simp!” Sean laughs, “(Name) was there when he killed me, I was so confused why she didn’t say anything because I figured she was the other Impostor, but turns out he just kidnapped her. Don’t worry, (Name), we don’t blame you for betraying the crew. You did what you had to do to survive.”

“It’s the her seeing Corpse kill me and pretending she’s blind for me.” Rae snickers.

“Wait a fucking minute,” Charlie says, “you mean to tell me, (Name), our little pastel princess fucking peach over there, saw Corpse slitting your throat and fucked right off, and then lied like a grade-a-politician during the meeting? Who killed Rae fess up my ass, you all are saying Corpse played us like a fucking fiddle but it was actually (Name) the whole time.” You hear a smile in his voice, and somehow feel a surge of pride, “(Name)--” He’s cut off by Sean trying to interject but quickly shushes him with a few choice words “Jesus fucking Christ, shut up, I’m trying to figure something out. (Name), did you or did you not use Corpse for protection?”

You’re giggling; you can’t control the sporadic giddiness mixed with light anxiousness, “I just...I just didn’t want to die!” You exclaim. More laughter.

“I rest my case, she’s a fucking wolf in sheep’s clothing, it’s always the nice one’s that stab you in the back for the fuck of it.”

“Guys,” Corpse says, “guys, guys, guys...Let’s play another round?”

“Yes”es are exchanged like trading cards. Before long, your screen lights up and you gape at the word IMPOSTOR written over you little astronaut standing right next to...Corpse.

You grin: if the last game was crazy, this one will be straight up insane.

.

hope you liked it! xx

.

[lewdbabies]

~My Pet~ part 3 warning: BDSM, MDNI, Choking, Raw sex,breeding, Degrading, Rough sex, Language

sukunaxreader smut

~

His eyes are cast down as you watch him bite into a soft peach nectar dripping down his chin, how could something so simple be so erotic. How can he act like nothing happened between you last night... could it have been just a dream? You scrape your plate in a daze pushing your eggs from one side to the other. The noise catches sukunas attention a look of irritation sets in his handsome features.

“Is something...bothering you” he strokes his chin In curiosity.

“Not at all, I was just wondering when I will be set free” you give him a stern look.

He laughs “You are as free as a bird ,by the looks of how you had my head trapped between your thighs last night... it is I who is the hostage” Your hands shoot up covering your burning face, ‘ how dare he talk to me that way’ you think frantically.

You peek through your fingers to see a satisfied grin plastered on sukunas face.

You shake your head composing your rabid thoughts “Fine then I will be taking my leave” you stand slamming your palms on the table. In a flash your back is pressed against A marble pillar, sukuna towering over you engulfing your small frame. “Never turn your back on me” he breaths in your ear, electricity shoots to your groin. The line between arousal and Fear became muddled ,you wanted to challenge him to see all the ways you knew he would punish you. You look up at him with a glint of danger in your eye, his breath hitches he wasn’t expecting this sort of reaction out of you.

Pushing yourself up onto your tip-toes you brush your finger across his soft plump lips. A dark blush creeps into the demon lords cheeks he looks away in embarrassment. “ what did I tell you about touching without permission...” his voice is dripping with lust.

“I suppose I need to be punished...Su-kuna”

Before you can utter another word he throws you over his shoulder as if you’re weightless and storms towards his bedroom. You’re absolutely giddy inside praising yourself for earning the reaction you wanted. You can finally finish what had started the previous night, you were moist and he hadn’t even touched you yet.

He plops down on the bed maneuvering your body to lay sprawled across his lap. He starts to gently caress your exposed thighs kneading the soft skin, it feels good your body starts to relax a moan escaping your lips. He rubs all the way up to your ass pushing your robe up as he goes, the air is cool on your now exposed bottom goosebumps prickle on your smooth skin. Sukuna leans down sprinkling small kisses all over you, you wiggle signaling for more.

“-Slap!-“ Your breath catches in your throat. He kisses the sore spot licking away the stinging sensation he’d just created. Your pussy is trembling as a surge of adrenaline shoots through you.

“-slap!-“ you shout in pleasure gripping the sheets.

“-slap- what’s my name, say my fucking name”

Your vision is blurred with ecstasy “S-sukuna”

“-slap!- it’s sir to you Slut, You like getting spanked don’t you princess” You moan loudly as another slap lands on your warm ass cheeks.

“Y-yes sir!”

“Fuck yeah just like that moan for me Bitch” he growls, you feel his member growing, pressing against your stomach.

He tears away your panties as if it were nothing but a loose string. His fingers slide between your thighs teasing your soaking cunt. You’re panting now letting out animalistic groans unable to control yourself , the balance of pain and pleasure drives you insane.

“Uhn- Fuck Please more “ your tongue lols out of your mouth, he grabs a handful of your hair with his free hand yanking your head back and shoving his tongue desperately down your throat. His fingers plunge deeper inside you swirling against your sopping walls, you clamp around him.

“You don’t cum until I say you can do you fucking understand me?” Your eyes roll back drool dribbling down your chin .

He pulls his fingers out achingly slow earning a groan of protest from you.

“Do you fucking understand me “ you nod frantically yearning for his touch. He grabs your jaw staring deeply into your tear filled eyes.

“Use that pretty little mouth of yours”

“Y-yes sir” you pant

He plows his fingers into your needy hole finger fucking you mercilessly, your cum drips down his forearm he revels at the sight of your arousal. Sukuna begins to squirm at the friction against his strained member. He rocks you to a earth bending orgasm, he holds you in place as you convulse to your climax. Once your high subsides you roll over curling in a messy ball. You look in amazement as sukuna grips his throbbing cock stroking it. He throws his head back stroking himself faster. “Ah Ah fuuuck” he cries out

You crawl over wrapping your small hand around the base of him mimicking the pace he was going. Pre-cum seeps out of his twitching cock you lick your lips hungrily. Without hesitation you swirl your tounge around his tip licking him clean savoring his flavor. He grabs a handful of your hair pushing himself deeper into your throat. You gag but adjust to his size easily bobbing your head in rhythm with sukuna. He pulls your head up, “stick your tongue out whore” he slaps his cock against your tongue watching your drool slide down his length.

“Come here”

You climb up his body throwing your legs on either side of him straddling his waist.

He reaches up ripping your dress from your shoulders exposing your hard buds.

“This is the second robe you’ve ripped” you giggle.

“I can buy a hundred more for you...” he pulls you forward catching your nipple between his lips. You moan grinding your hips against him , “You want me inside you don’t you, tell me how bad you fucking want it”

He pushes his hips upward teasing your entrance with his tip.

“I want it so fucking bad Ah-uhn fuck me please fuck me”

“I love how you beg for it you’re my little slut aren’t you” he grips your hips pushing you down onto his thick twitching cock.

“Ahhhhh fuuuuck” you are being stretched further than you’d ever been. Your pussy clenches as he fills up your inside.

“Yeah, Ah fuck you like how I play in your insides yeah, mmm you’re so fucking tight” he thrust up closing the distance between you ,your pelvises collide. He drills into your core slamming against your G-spot with each thrust. He bounces you up and down using you as his own personal fuck toy you’re loving every second of it. It feels even better than you’d imagined...There it was... the pressure. It builds up inside you like a geyser aching for release, sukunas strokes become needy you can tell he’s close. Your hips slam into each other rocking each other to the finish line.

“Ah cum for me Baby “ your body Quakes your walls clamp down milking him for every last drop of cum he can spare . He throws head back claws digging into your hips as he fills you to the brim. You feel his cock twitch helplessly inside you completely spent.

You fall forward, your body’s both sticky with sweat. He wraps his arms around your quivering form whispering gently in your ear.

“ you’re such a good girl, such a good little pet”

~ the end

Comment if you’d like to see more and leave suggestions 💗

[believeitseeitdoit]

A Defiled Uniform

Steve x reader x Bucky , Steve Rogers x reader , Bucky Barnes x reader

Summary: the boys find a particular garment in your stuff, and set out to fulfill an old fantasy in the bedroom

Rating: 18+, don’t touch this if you are under age please, and sweet Jesus wrap it up folks,

Warnings: CW brief discussion of religion and old style school punishments, SMUT, 3 some, if it isn’t your style, don’t read (I’ll be less offended if you ignore it than if you read it and get cranky), blowjobs, spanking, man on man kissing, dirty talk, language, teacher kink … let me clarify the reader is 100% of age and consenting to the scene!!!

The boys are helping you pack up your apartment so you can move to the compound up North with them. Natasha is helping you wrap dishes in the kitchen while Steve and Bucky tuck your clothes into suitcases from your closet. Classic rock plays throughout, windows open letting fresh air flow, and you can hear Sam bickering with the spiderling about what order to pack your furniture into the moving truck. Nat hands you another champagne flute from the top rack when you hear Bucky call your name.

“Y/N! When did you get all these shirts?! You literally wear 3! And since when do you wear so many shoes???” He yells from the closet, tossing your stuff at Steve, who patiently chuckles and sets them down in his organized fashion.

“It’s called variety, Buck, you’re not a woman on undercover missions. I need options!” You chirp back at him and set the wrapped plate into the box.

Bucky continues to mutter over your items and sighs happily when he can finally see the other side wall of the closet. Only 2 hangers left to go, he thinks gratefully. He grads an aged, faded green hoodie with your university logo and puts it to his nose so he can soak up your scent on it. Your choice fabric softener and hints of your favorite perfume, Black Opium, waft through and he thinks fondly of how much he loves those scents. Tossing the top to his best man, Bucky grabs at the last hanger. Huh, never seen this skirt before, he thinks while holding it up to the light.

“Hey Stevie, have you ever seen her wear this? Looks awful small for mission gear.” Bucky aims the skirt at Steve, giving it a gentle shake for dramatic effect.

“No, Buck, can’t say I have. You know what it reminds me of though? Those uniforms they used to wear at the all girls school across the road from the park back in Brooklyn.” Steve looks from the clothing to his boyfriend suggestively.

“Oh yeah! Those nuns sure kept the girls in line, remember the stories Dot and Molly would tell us about the rulers and paddles? Shit today that’s corporal punishment!” Bucky pulls the skirt off the hanger and folds it, placing the garment in your overnight bag rather than the suitcase.

“You gonna do something with that?” Steve nods to the new addition to your bag.

“Just gonna ask a question later is all Stevie.” Bucky winks at his partner and smiles.

Later that evening, the apartment is signed away and no longer your monster to manage, and the three of you are celebrating the next step in your relationship and life with your men. Lounging on the couch between them, your back against Steve and your legs curled up on top of Bucky’s, sipping a whiskey coke. Steve reaches to your chin and tips it up to place a chaste kiss on your lips, while Bucky rubs up and down your calves softly. You return his peck by sliding your tongue across his teeth, asking for permission to deepen the kiss. As he obliges, he lets his hands drift around your waist to rub your breasts and knead at the full flesh.

In your lustful haze, you hear Bucky speak up. “So where in hell did a good Catholic student learn how to kiss like that? I’m pretty sure they didn’t teach you how to moan like that in school princess.” His eyes are dark with desire and he rests his hands on your knees, locking them in place. You turn your eyes away from one man to the other, bewildered and slightly warm.

“What do you mean Bucky?” You ask with genuine uncertainty. Regardless of the commentary, your arousal grows with the ministrations from both your lovers.

“Well see doll, we did a little research today while you were unpacking. Shield likes to keep full files, and boy was it satisfying to learn that our sweet girl was an innocent little catholic school student. Went to church twice a week and everything.”

Steve whispers in your ear while rubbing a nipple between his fingers.

“And what better detail to find than your old uniform hanging in the closet. Blue is really our favorite color princess.” Bucky adds while snaking his vibranium hand up the inside of your thigh. He ghosts a finger across the seam of your panties, and gives them a quick snapping tug.

You turn to hide your head in the couch cushions, an attempt to cover the blush spreading across your cheeks. They weren’t supposed to find it! How could you slip up with that , as a SHIELD agent??! That fantasy was to remain deeply hidden.

“Don’t hide princess, we want to see that face when Steve tells you what happens next.” Bucky continues working your mound with his metal arm while he previews the future of the evening.

“Now sweet girl, you are going to go upstairs and open your overnight bag. You are to strip out of these clothes, put on the items in there, NOTHING else. Understand me?” Steve’s voice drops an octave as his mind shifts toward his dominant state.

“When you’re ready, I want you to sit at the desk, ready for the bell to ring.” Bucky adds his request as you nodded toward the blonde.

You swing your legs off the couch, palms sweaty with the anticipation of fulfilling the fantasy of defilling such a symbol of purity and innocence. As you turn away from your boyfriends and head to complete your task, each man takes a palm to your ass and smiles. You yelp, and scurry to the bedroom to find your drag bag placed at the foot of the bed. With shaking hands you peel the zipper apart to pull out your wardrobe. A white button down blouse, white ankle socks, the soon to be defamed plaid skirt, and the most ridiculously padded fire engine red bra you’d ever seen. With a chuckle, you peel off one layer of clothes and begin re dressing with the second. Not knowing how much time you have until the “class” begins, you hastily throw your hair into a ponytail and slap a little lip stain on before sliding into the large desk chair and crossing your ankles.

Moments later, you hear heavy boots scuff the floor and the stairs creak under the weight of two super soldiers. Your thoughts drift to dirty places and you imagine seeing bucky’s vibranium hand slide under the skirt while Steve massages your flushed and heavy tits through the top half of your given uniform. A shrill school bell pierces your thoughts and a heavy thud from the door forces your eyes up.

“Now who do we have here? Looks like Miss Y/L/N was sent in for a dress code violation. Mr. Rogers, would you please identify the specifics on why you have sent this young lady to my office?” Bucky looks you up and down as if he were stalking his prey.

Steve looks over his reading glasses and gives you a once over. “Well Mr. Barnes, this young lady clearly has no respect for the rules. I guarantee that skirt is far too short, bet you can see her backside if she stands up.” He begins to circle you as well, and pulls at your blouse. “This shirt is practically transparent, I’d say that’s a bra redder than a sunburn on the Fourth of July.” He grabs a strap and allows it to snap sharply back against your shoulder.

Bucky reaches out to you, asking for your hand. “Now young lady, I am a pretty lenient man, but disrespecting the code of conduct is an inexcusable offense. Mr.Rogers didn’t even mention that lipstick you have on. I happen to know for a fact your lips are not that shade of plum.” He swipes a thumb across your lips to smear the stain. “I think we should allow him to assist in your punishment since he had to leave his duties to discuss this with us.”

“I haven’t used a ruler on this one yet, will that suffice Mr.. Barnes ? She looks a bit delicate for much else.” Steve comes up behind you and begins to caress your thighs, not yet going past the skirt.

“I think a palm should get the point across rather eloquently, perhaps 10?.” Bucky keeps hold of your hand and reaches for your other to pull you close to him.

Steve releases your legs and allows Bucky to take you away. With his vibranium hand, Bucky pulls you to the opposite side of the desk, and leans you across it bringing your chest flush against the mahogany. As he releases your hands he whispers in your ear. “Now princess, I want you to count them and just maybe this will be your punishment for not telling us about your dreams sooner.”

Your thighs clench as a wave of wetness rushes through you, and your breath comes in pants as you hear the pair of them come to face each other over you. Bucky grabs your hands again, and brings them together in front of you so he can hold you down, while Steve runs a hand up your legs and slots one of his between your knees.

“I knew this tight ass couldn’t hide under that skirt, such a bad girl princess,” Steve says as he pushes the skirt over the globes and gives each one a squeeze. “Damn Bucky, can you tell how turned on she is? Dripping all over the place, ready to cum still all dressed up.” He continues kneading your backside while ignoring your moans and wiggling frame.

“Wait til you’ve finished her punishment, bet she’ll be ripe and sweet like a peach for us to taste Stevie.” Bucky growls as he pushes you back down onto the table.

Distracted by Bucky’s words and touch, you nearly miss the sound of air moving as Steve’s palm cuts through it toward your ass. You Yelp again, and whimper at the prospect of not sitting for a week. Bucky taps on your shoulder, reminding you of your duty. “What did I ask you to do princess? Are you going to be a good girl and count for us?”

“Yes, One Sergeant.” You groan out the count.

Another smack comes down to the same spot, right above the crest of your cheek. You gasp into the desk and suck in a breath from the sting. “Two Sergeant.”

Steve continues doling out your punishment to your backside, by the time he hits nine tears are welling in your eyes from the sting and pleasure building in you. Your legs are shaking with effort from standing and your voice is wrecked from garbled use.

“Ten, Sergeant. Thank you Sir.” You whisper after Steve finishes his smacks and begins to rub the marks in soothing circles.

“Good job princess, you did that so well, now it’s time for your reward.” Bucky releases your arms and Steve pulls you up from the desk, the pair of them sandwiching you between them as you all move toward the bed. Your blouse is pulled over your head between frantic kisses with Steve, while Bucky strips his clothes. As they switch positions, you go to unzip the skirt and wrap your legs around Bucky, but he catches your hand and yanks it behind your back.

“Who said you were allowed to take that off? Class is in session, and you must be ready to learn.” His eyes glow with desire as he leans in to kiss you.

Once Steve has rid himself of his clothes, he returns to the bed and comes to lay behind you as Bucky sits you up. “Today’s lesson princess, is the art of how to keep sucking while you cum.” Steve is stroking his member while watching your eyes roll shut with want as he explains the plan to you. Bucky houses you forward into Steve’s chest and pulls your backside to him.

“Damn Stevie, those handprints won’t be gone for a week. She’ll have to find a softer surface to sit on.” He admires his boyfriend’s handiwork while getting his girl set. With your head down and ass up, Bucky slides his flesh hand between your thighs and begins to run two fingers along the outside of your slit. Using your arousal to coat his fingers, Bucky pushes two inside you and begins to work them slowly. He picks up speed as you begin moaning and looks up at his partners nodding to Steve to fill you from the other end.

As Bucky’s fingers move against your walls with vigor, you moan and writhe seeking out more friction on your clit. Steve takes the opportunity to place his hard cock against your open lips, and waits for you to begin sucking. No motivation needed, you lean into his groin and take him in one swallow. Moving your head back and forth, you swirl your tongue against the shaft, and as Bucky adds a third finger to your pussy, you let a moan vibrate through your body, sending a secondary shiver through Steve as well. You relax your jaw and allow Steve to begin fucking into your mouth as his own release builds, the sounds of skin slapping and your muffled moans driving him wild with want. Bucky withdraws his fingers and reaches under you to lift you higher onto your knees. With this motion, Steve lifts into a kneel of his own and makes eye contact with his boyfriend. You pay them no mind as greedily sucking down your boyfriend's dick takes precedence and the prospect of getting fucked by the other makes you giddy with anticipation.

Bucky grabs a fistful of your skirt and slams your ass into his hips, setting your pussy ablaze with the slide of his thick curved cock against your walls. You groan against Steve’s painfully hard member, and before you can take him all he grabs your ponytail and pulls you off. Bucky’s brutally fast and deep pace has you close to the crest and Steve wants you to remember the rule of the scene.

“What did we say about today princess, you need to be able to keep sucking my cock while Bucky makes you come. Don’t stop, go it?” He wraps his hand in the ponytail and as you nod he allows you to take him in your mouth again.

Bucky’s thrusts are getting frantic as he chases everyone's peaks, and he reaches his vibranium hand to your clit while grabbing Steve with his opposite hand to pull him in for a hard kiss. Both men are panting as they pound into you from both sides, a hand touching each body as your body grows tight with the desire to orgasm. Bucky pinches your pearl and he tells you to come, giving a final hard thrust as he feels your walls clench around him. Like a rubber band, you snap into oblivion, no longer aware of what occurs beyond the throbbing in your pussy and the perfect fullness that surrounds you. You feel the waves of pleasure crash through you, and still both men continue their chase. Hypersensitive and fuzzy, you relax your jaw again and take Steve all the way to the hilt, and you bob your head quickly, sealing your lips around his large base trying to finish him off. Bucky’s thrusts have gone shallow as your walls have him locked like a vice, but you feel him begin to shatter as well. With a final thrust from both men, they spill into you with heavy grunts.

Bucky pulls out of you and Steve lifts you off his softened member, laying you onto the pillows.

“Did we properly defile the uniform, princess?” Steve kisses your forehead as Bucky pulls the garment off you with a smile.

“Yes Sergeant. Thank you Sir.” You nod sleepily, thank each man, and curl into their frames as Bucky climbs under the sheets. “If I had had either of you for teachers, it would have been a shameful garment way sooner,” you chuckle as they share a kiss above you.

[night-unfurls-its-splendour]

The Critique of Manners Part VI

~Or~

An Attempt at an Objective Review of Emma (2009)... VOLUME TWO

Haha, bitches you didn't think I could wait a whole week did you? Nah, not me. and guys, I added to it--all total, it's 9,023 words now. this half of the review is 5,214. HOW DO I HAVE SO MANY WORDS FOR THIS THING? I'm not gonna split it into a third part, because I don't need to for picture limit purposes, but buckle in.

If you didn't catch it, read part 1 here

Here it is, the stunning conclusion to my Emma Adaptation Review series (but this isn't really the end because I plan on doing some rankings later). In this half of my review of BBC'S Emma (2009) we'll discuss Costumes and all the very specific things that I love about this version, and some things I don't like, and some things I'm here to defend.

Let's dive in!

Costumes

Generally I liked these costumes pretty well. They were designed and facilitated by Rosalind Ebbutt, also known for her work on PBS’s Victoria and Vanity Fair (1998). And her work is, as her filmography would suggest, by turns, great and so-so.

These costumes are definitely in line with the adaptation’s general aesthetic: warm pinks and golds, with mints emeralds and blues to cool it off a little, are the order of the day. I really appreciate that every character has a definite color palette. The tradeoff is that this adaptation is the WORST EVER offender for the Jane Fairfax Blue™ trope.

Daywear

Emma’s daywear is full of warm and muted colors. Salmon and magenta are commonly seen. I love that most of Emma’s daywear consists of sleeveless or short-sleeved gowns with wide-sleeved linen blouses underneath. It’s not a commonly seen aesthetic so it feels light and fresh. My favorite of Emma’s daywear dresses is the pale yellow with purple floral print.

There’s one other in particular that I love.

Emma’s blue, sleeveless dress. I love this because of HOW OBVIOUSLY it’s a reference to this portrait of Charlotte, Princess of Wales. I mean...

I’M NOT IMAGINING THIS, RIGHT? WHY DOES NO ONE TALK ABOUT THIS? This is a REAL dress. They still have this exact gown of Princess Charlotte’s. It’s on display. It’s faded, but it’s the same dress.

Harriet has a fresh and innocent green, white and purple color scheme with healthy doses of peach and pink showing. I particularly like her white and purple floral print dress.

Mrs. Weston’s color palette varies, but leans heavily on tans and purples, which is very flattering, I must say, to Johdi May’s coloring and is really refreshing for Mrs. Weston who seems to get stuck in pinks and yellows a lot. No idea what’s going on with the laced-front dress though? This doesn’t quite read as authentic to me, but I do like that her first dress seems to be an apron-front.

I know I already said that this is the worst Jane Fairfax Blue™ offender, but guys I can’t stress it enough. WE ARE 5/5 ON DAYWEAR HERE. LOOK AT THAT. (Also of note, Jane 5 is one of Gwyneth Paltrow’s dresses from the '96 Emma.)

Mrs. Elton seems, at all times, to be wearing some form of pink, but I think I’m right in saying that the white day dress with the rose patterned bodice under the yellow and pink spencer is one of Jane’s dresses from P&P ’80. Can anyone confirm that? They did sneak in some Mrs. Elton Orange™ though, for Box Hill, and it’s worth noting that Mrs. Elton is the only lady who’s appropriately dressed on that occasion.

Isabella gets some understated day gowns that are very nice and also VERY “Jane Austen” in the sense that I feel like Jane Austen herself might have worn them.

Miss Bates, unfortunately is slapped with brown at just about every turn, but at least her “Nice” day outfit has some subtle leaf patterns, which is refreshing. Also Mrs. Goddard has a slappin’ cap. Love that.

Also, Harriet’s Grecian costume for the painting (upper right hand corner). What can I say, but that I love it. I love that it hints at the neoclassical influences on Regency fashion too. This is my favorite interpretation of the painting too.

Evening Wear

You know what I love about this version? It’s the first version of Emma where her gown for the Crown in Ball isn’t WHITE. I know, I know white was fashionable, but it’s just… it’s nice for not EVERY gown in a ball scene to be plain white friggin muslin and also, it’s not one she’s ever worn before, which is great.

Harriet does have only white evening gowns but that’s okay. My only complaint is that, specifically on her Crown Inn dress and in a lot of her costumes in general, the waistline seems just a little low. Hmm. I really like the pale blue pattern on her first evening dress though.

Mrs. Weston though. Woo. Look at those. She has a dark chartreuse gown with black lace trim that any other version would have put on Mrs. Elton, so you know from the dark tones that she’s a bitch. Not so with Emma '09, and that’s good. And her teal dinner number is a favorite of mine. I never paid much attention to her green and gold ball gown but it has some really beautiful, subtle leaf or maybe peacock feather patterns on it and I love that. My only problem is that there seem to be some fit issues. She’s got muffin top way too often. Her orange evening dress is a bit of a dud though, firstly, because it has long sleeves (which is an evening gown no-no) and the fabric slaps a bit too much of sari fabric for my tastes.

Jane, not only is put in blue with both of her evening gowns (although one is so pale it borders on white), ONE of them is another Emma ’96 repeat and not only that, it’s one of Jane Fairfax’s dresses in that film! Perhaps that’s enough to make it an homage, and I have to say, I think Laura Pyper wore it better.

Miss Bates only has one evening wear ensemble, but at least it’s cream and not brown.

Mrs. Elton’s gowns are surprisingly understated, and yet still seem to be annoyingly fussy and, what’s better? They’re not sickly green. One of them is actually a very pleasant mint.

Outerwear

Outerwear is roundly pretty great here. Emma’s primary choice of color for spencers is emerald/evergreen and one of them is Elizabeth’s Bennet’s from the 1995 P&P (though to be honest, I think Jennifer Ehle filled it out better.) I do love Mrs. Elton’s pink and yellow number with the slashed sleeves. Jane Fairfax’s only spencer is, you guessed it, blue, but her friend Miss Campbell has a rather fun mauve one.

There’s no shortage of pelisses and redingotes either. Harriet can be seen in one borrowed from Elinor Dashwood in the '08 S&S, Mrs. Weston has a rather fabulous purple one which she wears with the most delicious looking hat I’ve ever seen.

Emma has two. The first one is a great magenta number with military braiding (and I think she wears with it one of the brown slouch hats that Kate Beckinsale wore in the same role) and while the other pelisse is brown, they had the sense not to make her wear a hat with it that was also brown. Instead, they gave her a contrasting color. Good on ya, Rosalind!

Speaking of hats, I don't often single them out for commentary, but I want to here because… the hat authenticity is… kinda spotty. Let me show you.

Okay first of all, Emma may be a teenager in this pic on the upper left, but she is not dressed formally enough for her sister’s wedding (which is what’s going on in this scene) but at least her hat is pretty good. You can see the ribbons are on the inside of the hat here, which is as it should be… but she never wears this hat again. At any point in the series. Instead, we next see her in the one on the upper right and ye gads this is atrocious. WHY IS HER HAT NOT PINNED ON? IT’S SLIDING DOWN THE BACK OF HER HEAD. SOMONE FIX IT. PLEASE. But wait, there’s more. This kills me because these bottom two are so similar to the one she wore earlier (the correct one) but crappier looking. Jeez.

This is not a hat. It’s a peanut. You know who doesn’t have this problem? Harriet. She only has one sun hat but at least it’s correct.

I also wanna touch briefly on this ^ costume continuity issue.

WTF is this? She’s in the hall, her ribbon is contoured to the line of her dress; she goes into the drawing room and… it isn’t anymore? Wha happun?

I took more menswear screencaps for this version than any other version. And that’s because the men just have more outfits that are, y’know, different from each other.

Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight the first pic there and why I love it. This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding.

He also has a rather lovely blue evening waistcoat that I WISH I could have gotten better shot of (although I do believe it’s also worn by Henry Crawford in the '07 Mansfield Park, so for further reading…)

Mr. Weston finally gets to wear clothes that aren’t all brown! He only has ONE brown outfit. He gets PATTERNED waistcoats, one of them a rather spiffing blue and brown striped number. And he wears TROUSERS! Because he’s a gentleman, and he’s not that old and trousers are worn by fashionable gentlemen in this period!

You know who else gets to wear trousers and at least one fun waistcoat? Mr. Woodhouse. Check out that lovely Sunday Best™ waistcoat. The red striped one. That’s delightful.

John Knightley’s evening wear intrigues me. That’s a double-breasted jacket, and you know I’m not totally sure that’s very authentic for evening-wear of this period, but it is different. Unfortunately he also has a flared top hat and that is definitely not on for this period.

One of my favorite things about this version is that they don’t dress Mr. Elton as a clergyman all the time. Yes, he may be the vicar, but he’s also allowed to dress like a fashionable, handsome young man. So I’m really happy that he gets to flex his fashion muscles here.

And speaking of fashionable young men, FINALLY frank gets to be COLORFUL and his trousers are even tight enough. Both he AND Elton are often seen wearing TWO waistcoats, as I would expect them to, and even though Frank’s a dandy, he knows that flashiness is gauche so his pops of color are bright, but not in your face. His green and red waistcoats are always worn under more muted colors, and I just love it.

The only problems are… what’s with the turned-down waistcoat collars? There’s no precedent for this, in fact I think it’s directly contradictory to the style at the time, and also it makes the cravats look a bit unruly.

A Critique of Manners

A lot has been said about the manners in this adaption. Like, the actual manners, body language and facial expressions, specifically vis-à-vis Romola Garai.

And, oh yeah, there’s a lot to pick at here, but first I’d like to talk about the facial expressions.

I'm mostly gonna be talking out of my ass here, but this is my take, so if anyone can make a better argument against my points, I am listening, because I don't really like talking out of my ass and I like to be informed. That said...

I tend to be lenient on the… exaggerated facial expressions because, something I’ve noticed reading Austen��s works through the last several months is that Austen is very descriptive when it comes to facial expressions and I just find it hard to believe that people in the Regency Era never made exaggerated expressions like this.

I’ve heard a lot about how Garai’s Emma is not dignified or lady-like. But let’s think about the context of Emma Woodhouse – she’s never been in society. She’s only had a governess to teach her, and we know Emma’s always been sort of averse to being told what she can and can’t do. Emma is the highest ranking woman in her social circle (barring Isabella’s occasional presence). Emma doesn’t have to be ladylike. At 21, she’s already her local Lady Catherine. She puts a lot of stock in her position in society but, as Mrs. Elton will be the first to hypocritically point out, she’s very poorly behaved. I'd be very curious to see what would happen if Emma went to London for the season. Probably, she'd be seen, comparatively, as a country bumpkin. Can you imagine how she might get on in a sea of accomplished young ladies? She can barely handle having ONE rival with any kind of grace.

Austen never describes bodily movements of the kind we’re looking at when we watch adaptations, so why not have Emma’s body-language be un-ladylike in the conventional sense of the time? I’m not saying this to excuse the absolutely inexcusable (Frank’s head in her lap, kneeling on the sofa backwards etc.), but while Emma’s mannerisms aren’t exactly ladylike for her time, they’re not overtly masculine either (which was one of my biggest problem with Death Comes to Pemberly for example.)

Yes, there’s an ideal for manners. But we know real people didn’t always follow those ideals. In dancing for example, many dancing guidebooks of the day were full of repeated instructions not to be too loud or rambunctious when dancing. What this tells us is that people were doing just that, and probably quite a bit, too. I think that, while taking societal strictures into account, we shouldn’t totally discount the idea that people in the Regency weren’t really that different from us, and young people especially.

Now I’ve already mentioned some of the inexcusable aspects of interaction in this adaptation and they’re so notorious at this point, I don’t think that I really need to go over them much here. Although I will say: is it ridiculous to have Frank Churchill put his head in Emma’s lap? Yes. Did it make me more viscerally uncomfortable with the situation on Box Hill than any other version? Yes.

I was like, 14 when I watched this the first time. This was an effective way to telegraph to young people like me that Emma is being extremely inappropriate here in a way that no other version really managed to, even when I watched them when I was older and understood the period more. I’m far more acquainted with Regency manners than I was then, but to be honest – if they had been accurate with the manners here, when I was 14 I would not have understood what the big deal was. Is there merit in circumventing historical accuracy in favor of reaching a less-informed but still-interested audience? Yes, I think so. There were three other versions of this, at that point, that did this scene with more or less pristine manners. Not every version has to follow the manners of the time to-the-letter to be good. That’s my feeling on the matter.

There are things that do really bother me though. Like the idea that Harriet Smith doesn’t know how to spoon soup, for instance. As I said in my review for the Miramax version, table manners are pretty basic, there’s no reason Mrs. Goddard wouldn’t have taught Harriet this. It does provide a good moment to show Emma tacitly coaching Harriet and showing the trajectory in which this relationship will go, but personally I don’t think it was necessary—there are plenty of other ways that could be done.

Also: kids at the dinner table? I know this is part of building the familial atmosphere but it really does annoy me, because apart from building the familial atmosphere (which they do very well and frequently in other ways) it really didn’t need to happen, and it doesn’t add anything.

The Heart of Highbury

So, as I’ve hinted at throughout this review, the bread and butter of this adaptation of Emma is emotion. This version goes hard and heavy on showingthe relationships – Emma’s relationships with Mrs. Weston, Mr. Knightley, her father, her sister, her brother-in-law, Miss Bates; Jane’s relationship with Frank; Frank’s relationship with his father; The John Knightleys’ home life – and it illustrates things that can be surmised from just reading the story, but really draws your attention to them in ways that other adaptations just don’t.

It does this from the very beginning with the prologue which explains in detail (not just in quick exposition between characters) how Jane and Frank were separated from their families at young ages. We know now, from psychological study, that being taken away from their primary caretakers during their formative years is one of the most psychologically traumatizing things for a child. This is deeply important context which is explained in detail by the narrator in 2-3 large pages (in my Barnes & Noble anthology) in the book.

In the featurette on the houses, they talk particularly about Hartfield and the Woodhouses being the heart of Highbury and how they particularly wanted it to feel homey because Hartfield is Emma’s house and they wanted the audience to feel why everyone is so drawn to it, and to Emma; to me that is what they did with the whole adaptation in microcosm.

I usually talk a bit about the dancing and I'm going to here as well because this is maybe the most special dance scene in any Austen for me. Of course I'm going to link to Tea with Cassiane as usual because she knows what she's talking about and I don't. But I wanna add some comments. She gives this a pretty low rating in spite of a generally favorable commentary because of two big oopsies, the circle dance formation is one, and the other is I believe, an issue with the style of dance not matching the tune in Emma's dance with Knightley. Throwing out any objective technical analysis though, this is my favorite Ball in any Austen and it all comes down to the cornerstone of this adaptation--emotion.

All of the songs and dances were original compositions and choreography made for this adaptation. So they're not period per se, but the tunes at least are representative of how Regency dance music should sound. These dances are upbeat, and lively and, damn they look like fun. Everyone is excited here and it makes me understand why dancing was such a big thing. Best of all that excitement adds to the emotional charge of the scene. "The Ship's Cook" is the most fast paced dance and I'm glad they made this the dance where Elton snubs Harriet because it really hits for me just what Harriet would be missing out on if Knightley wasn't so fucking aptly named. In all other versions you get the insult, but the dance that's taking place is usually a Baroque walker so it doesn't seem terribly like she's missing out on much. Here, this is like not getting picked for kickball-- not only is it a slight that no one wants you on their team, but you miss out on even playing the game. Harriet looks so lonely, and her feeling of being out of place rolls off of Louise Dylan so forcefully it chokes me up just thinking about it because I've been there, man. I feel this shit. *dabs eyes*. Ahem. So, yes, when Knightley engages her for the dance the excitement the viewer feels is that much more forceful and Harriet's exuberantly starting to jump in when the timing is off and Knightley gently pulling her back, it just hits me in the feels center, guys. (I wanna take a moment to give a shout out to every camp counselor who ever partnered with me for any game at summer camp.) Emma's reaction too, is gold. Her genuine relief at Knightley swooping in is one of those great reminders that Emma is Harriet's friend, and she does care about her.

Finally on the dancing front, I wanna talk about Emma's dance with Knightley and why I prefer it to the one in the 2020 version. I already talked about this a bit in the 2020 review, so I'm gonna try and keep it brief. That shouldn't be too hard, because I'm probably mostly going to repeat a lot of what I've already said about Emma and Knightley in this version as a whole.

The big thing everyone loves about the Crown Inn dance in the 2020 is the yearning, the sexual tension, the quivering touches etc. Don't get me wrong, I LOVE all of those things but... not all the time. Not in everything, and definitely not in Emma. Because Emma, to me, isn't about repressed sexuality or heated tension or seething passion. Emma and Knightley are the opposite of that, to me, really. One of my mutuals put it best, I think: "Emma and Knightley are more suited to stolen glances than hot touches."

In Part 1 I talked about how Knightley is Emma's comfort object. When Emma is out of sorts, Knightley re-centers her. It helps set up, and puts emphasis on, the crisis of the story in the last act--Emma not knowing what she has until [she thinks] she's lost it. Emma and Knightley are Friends to Lovers done as it should be. She is already so comfortable with him she doesn't even realize her own feelings. She just feels right with Knightley and that's what this dance is here to show you--a foreshadowing of matrimonial harmony.

The dance itself, of course, is always up to interpretation, because Austen never describes how it goes, just that Knightley asks Emma to dance and Knightley doesn't dance (barring charitable causes). If you prefer the sexual tension take, if that, to you is an improvement on Austen's story and gives you what you've always felt was missing, I'm glad that there is a version now that gives you what you've been looking for, but for me, I think the 09 approach hits closer their dynamic in the book.

Now do I do think the Emphasis on emotion maybe went a little too earnest in some places in this adaptation? Maybe. Just a little.

In my last review (1972) I went on a rather lengthy tirade about the scene where they turn Emma’s appeals to Harriet to exert herself and move on following Mr. Elton’s marriage into Emma guilting Harriet into thinking she’s a bad friend for being heartbroken and then throwing her into the situation most likely to rub salt in that particular wound.

In this version, while I love the emphasis they put on the stress Emma puts on her own guilt for being the reason for Harriet’s situation in the first place, I think it’s maybe a little too… much.

That’s the only way I can put it. I know I’ve just said that I think there should be a bit more expressiveness in period drama, but this doesn’t quite match the way I read it (Emma’s a bit less desperate in Austen’s prose. Very dedicated to helping Harriet feel better, but just a skosh more composed). I think she’s even crying in this scene.

While we’re here let’s go over to Box Hill ONE. MORE. TIME.

First of all, this is where this screenplay shines, in my opinion. This is the big turning point in the story and as such, should be a touchstone for the judgment of any adaptation. This sequence in the 2009 version is a perfect crystallization of everything I love about this version—namely that this is the version that, to me, most feels like someone read the book thoroughly, paid attention to what Austen was describing and then actually tried to convey it on screen. A lot of other versions sort of feel (to me), like the director glanced at the page and said “here’s what I want to convey in my version”. Insofar as making a piece of art goes, that’s good. Directors are artists as much as painters are and movies are their canvass, but it’s seldom that you find a director who honestly wants to hit as close to the author intent as possible and this Box Hill sequence makes me feel like that’s what Jim O’Hanlon was going for. I have the book open next to me as I write this and it’s shocking to me how minutely the atmosphere described in the book is conveyed here. Most of all, the fact that Emma’s insulting Miss Bates is not the only thing faux pas she makes here. Box Hill as a whole is a disaster, and it’s largely because of Frank.

“When they all sat down it was better; to [Emma’s] taste, a great deal better, for Frank Churchill grew talkative and gay, making her his first object. To amuse her, and to be agreeable in her eyes, seemed to be all that he cared for—and Emma, glad to be enlivened, and not sorry to be flattered, was gay and easy too, and gave him all the friendly encouragement, the admission to be gallant, which she had ever given in the first and most animating period of their acquaintance; but which now, in her own estimation, meant nothing, though in the judgment of most people looking on it must have had such an appearance as no English word but flirtation could very well describe. “Mr. Frank Churchill and Miss Woodhouse flirted excessively.” They were laying themselves open to that very phrase—and to having it sent off in a letter to Maple Grove by one lady, to Ireland by another. Not that Emma was gay and thoughtless from any real felicity; it was rather because she felt less happy than she expected. She laughed because she was disappointed…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Most other versions rush through Frank’s “excessive” flirting with Emma (Right in front of Jane) to get to “Three Things Very Dull Indeed” as fast as possible, and yes that’s the crowning horror of Box Hill, but there’s a very intricate setting here, too, and this version has the time to lay back and let it all unfold in the oppressive discomfort of an English summer day.

Even better than all of that though is Knightley confronting Emma after it all goes down. This treatment is neither plaintive, nor aggressive as it was in ‘96 and ‘97 respectively. I’ve already extolled the virtues of Johnny Flynn’s Box Hill rebuke, but for a change I’m not going to zero in on Miller’s performance which is, at least as good as Flynn’s, but on Romola Garai’s, which I find superior to Anya Taylor Joy’s. Specifically, her reaction once she’s alone.

ATJ in the 2020 version immediately breaks down sobbing and it’s hard for me to feel that she’s sobbing for “anger against herself, mortification, and deep concern” or that there’s much self-reflection going on there. To me it rather just feels like she’s crying because she got shouted at. The theatrics of it, to me, feel childish and self-centered.

I don’t feel that with Garai’s performance.

“She was vexed beyond what could have been expressed—almost beyond what she could conceal. Never had she felt so agitated, mortified, grieved, at any circumstance in her life. She was most forcibly struck . . . How could she have exposed herself to such ill opinion in anyone she valued! And how to suffer him to leave her without saying one word of gratitude, of concurrence, of common kindness!

Time did not compose her…” --Emma, Chapter 43

Of course one can make the case that Emma's reaction should be a bit childish because Emma is an immature character, but that's the thing--I can agree with you anywhere else in this story but this is Emma's maturing moment. This is her turning point as a character. It's where we should see her reactions shift from the same childish denial we're used to seeing when Knightley scolds her, because this is different. It's not the usual brushing off of big brother Knightley, this is a young woman reacting to an esteemed friend pointing out how abhorrently inappropriate she's been and her having to admit that to herself.

I didn't really want to drag comparisons to the 2020 film into this, not on this scale at least, but this just jumped out at me the last time I watched the new film and I have to express it somewhere.

What I see in Garai’s performance is desolation and mortification. That shocked tearfulness of knowing you’ve been justly reproached for wrongdoing, but being too frozen in a pretense of composure to actually cry about it until you’re quite sure that no one will see you. And especially when it’s someone you esteem rebuking you, the horror of them leaving before you can admit that they’re right. There’s so much more depth here, I think, and I can’t even quite express what it makes me feel.

The aspect of time not composing her is another thing that they decided to put stress on in this version. Emma looks fucked up in the following scenes. When she goes to see Miss Bates, she clearly either hasn’t slept or has slept very badly. I feel like this is maybe an anticlimactic conclusion to this section but I’m afraid I’m very close to reaching incoherence, so I’m just gonna leave it here.

My absolute favoritest thing about this version though—something that sets it apart from ALL other versions and even adaptations of other Austen stories—is the inclusion of the post-confession conversation.

This is something of a trope in Austen books but it very rarely finds its way into adaptations: confessions of love are out of the way, the hero and heroine settle into an easy an comfortable conversation, glowing with happiness as they explain and laugh over their actions and misinterpretations of each other’s choices. It happens in Pride and Prejudice, in Persuasion, and yes, in Emma. This is the only Austen adaptation, that I've seen, to include this kind of conversation in any kind of detail. The 1995 Pride and Prejudice alludes to the corresponding scene in it its source material, but the lines pulled from it get tossed into the confession scene itself and then it flies through to get to the obligatory wedding—a side effect of rushing through endings, a convention I’m rather tired of.

Emma (2009) takes its time with this, as with all other aspects of this adaptation. For a version that’s so full of energy, its pacing is extremely laid back and comfortable, without dragging. When you hear the gentle musical swell and Emma and Knightley have their kiss (this whole confession sequence is so sweet and wonderful in its own right), you expect that to be it. But no, we cut to them, the picture of contented happiness, sitting together on a bench overlooking Hartfield’s garden, just talking and enjoying being together, with no teasing, no pretense. If Jane Austen stories emphasize anything, it’s the importance of communication in relationships, and I think that’s maybe why she made it a point in almost every story to show her characters communicating their feelings in words, even after all the conflict has been resolved. This is my favorite scene in the whole series (In case it being my header image didn’t make that obvious.)

This is followed rather promptly by a cut to the next day, with Emma bursting in to Donwell in hysterics about how they can’t be married because she won’t leave her father alone.

This is one of those maybe over-the-top choices that a lot of people don’t like, but guys, it was so funny to me when I was fourteen and it still makes me laugh. It might seem outlandish, but to me it’s just the emphasis on personal relationships and emotion coming through again and it always makes me smile.

Final Thoughts

It’s hard for me to give a proper round up of my feelings for this section because I think I’ve poured just about all of my feelings on each aspect into its dedicated sections.

At the end of the day, the only thing that really disappoints me about this version is the number of missed opportunities there are here. One of my favorite parts of reading Austen is when I run across a line in dialogue or narrative that just… slaps. But they never make it into the adaptations. Emma is full of them and I just wish that Sandy Welch could have taken an opportunity to slip a few of them in.

In summary, I think this is a wonderful, heartfelt adaptation aimed at getting to the emotional heart of a story that often gets caught up in the Mean Girl-ness of its main character than the coming of age story that it is. It's one of my favorite period dramas because it's one of the few that really captures the spirit of the source material as it's always felt to me. There's really only two other period dramas that I esteem on the same level as this, and they're North & South (2004) and Jane Eyre (2011) and it's for the same reasons; because they impact me deeply on an emotional level--which is what art is supposed to do--because of how well it captures the essence of the story that I know and love.

So did I succeed in a more objective review of Emma 2009? I' feel like probably not. But I tried my best. It’s so hard to be objective about something that makes you as happy as this adaptation makes me.

Ribbon Rating: Most Agreeable (83 Ribbons)

Tone: 10

Casting: 9

Acting: 9

Scripting: 7

Pacing: 10

Cinematography: 7

Setting: 9

Costumes: 6

Music: 8

Book Accuracy: 8

[heyyyharry]

Last chapter: Heavy Is The Crown

(from ‘The Conman and the Maid’ Series)

…in which the end is a new beginning.

Warning: SMUT

Word count: 6.1k

AU: princess!y/n, conman!harry, prisoner!harry.

Series description: Y/N is a princess and Harry is a prisoner in her castle. With his help, she escapes from her arranged marriage in search of a happy ending, if there is one.

Wattpad link (Reyna as Y/N)

The epilogue and synopsis of the sequel is at the end of this chapter :) Enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

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Kenny started at the sound of the door creaking open and whipped her head around to find Stefan peering in. The fire cast an eerie shadow of her upon the wall, making him look more like a small and helpless child than the master of his own house.

“Sorry, I should have knocked,” he said.

“It’s okay.” She sat up straight and folded her hands on top of her knees. Stefan still idled at the door. She nodded her head toward the other seat in front of the fire, trying to suppress a smile. “Come sit with me. This is your house, Stef.”

“It is, yeah,” he chuckled, kicked the door close and shook his head as if he hadn’t meant to forget this was his house. She watched as he dropped heavily into the chair facing hers. They both started talking at the same time and both looked away. It had been a long time since they’d seen each other in person. She stifled a laugh as he rubbed the back of his neck and said, “Y-You first.”

She pressed her lips into a smile. “I was just going to say thank you for letting me stay.”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?” His eyes disappeared into two lovely curves, but as soon as he leaned back into the chair, his face shadowed grimly. “I was going to say,” he added, “that I’m so sorry for what you had to go through.”

Kenny’s smile wavered a little. “It’s all right now. I’m safe here with you.”

She could never tell poor Stefan that every time she closed her eyes, she saw the dead bodies of her husband and the man in the black cloak lying at her feet. She’d murdered someone and seen Harry murder someone. Those two deaths would stick with her forever, and maybe she deserved that punishment for having broken her vows and married someone else, or maybe it was for her jealousy and the wicked thoughts she’d had about the Princess of the North without even knowing the girl.

She waited for Stefan to say something, and when he didn’t, she broke the silence. “Where do you think Harry is now?”

Stefan drew a breath. “Probably at the North castle, or close.” And regarded with her curious eyes. “So are you two…”

“No, not anymore.” She cleared her throat. “I wish him happiness with whoever he falls in love with.”

“He must get over the Princess first,” Stefan said.

“Yes,” Kenny sadly agreed. “He must. But I don’t think he can.”

There was a moment of silence.

“I wish he’d stayed with us,” Stefan said regretfully. “He could be happy here.”

Instead of telling her friend she also missed Harry and wished that he’d never left, Kenny let the silence descend. The dancing flame hypnotized her, and she allowed herself to get lost in it for a moment until she heard Stefan shifting in his chair. When she cast a glance at him, he was holding out something shiny.

“I almost forgot. Harry left this for you.”

It was the gold hairpin, which she had already given back to him on the night she’d asked him to run away and he’d turned her down.

Reluctantly, she took it with both hands and held it like it was made of glass. The gems and the gold flickered like stars in the firelight. For a second, she dared to imagine herself as a little girl and tried to recall the happiness she’d felt when she’d received it. The very first gift from her very first love.

“He told me,” Stefan went on, “that he couldn’t keep it. Because when he gave it to you and you accepted it, it was yours and yours forever. You could either sell it and open your own sewing business here, or you could keep it and remember him.”

Kenny closed her fingers around the jewellery and pressed it against her heart. Her eyes found Stefan’s face, and she realized she was looking at him through the tears. “Oh, I hope he’s safe and warm now, Stefan. I hope he’s not hurt.”

Stefan reached for her hand and held it tight. “He’s Harry. Nothing and no one could hurt him.”

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“That hurts, Peach! Why would you do that?!” Harry cried out as he leapt away from the bed. The left side of his face still stung from the force of Y/N’s hand.

The Princess flung right at him and shoved him so hard his armour clanged as he stumbled backwards and caught the bed-post to keep himself standing. She took another step then stalled at the dagger pointed at her.

Maybe this wasn’t his princess. Did she have a twin? It would be so fucked up if she had a twin. No, she couldn’t have a twin. It was she who’d shouted his name in the garden.

Her eyes gleamed with rage as her voice lowered dangerously. “Give me the dagger, Harry.”

She knew his name! She was his Peach!

Half of Harry was relieved, while the other half trembled at the black look she was giving him. She advanced and he immediately stepped back, holding up his free hand. “I will, if you promise not to attack me.”

Her jaw dropped. “You snuck up on me! You attacked me!”

“You attacked me first! I wanted to surprise you and you almost stabbed me! What the fuck was that?”

“You pinned me to the bed and held my weapon at my throat!”

“That was self-defence!” he retorted, but when he saw tears welling up in her eyes, he dropped the dagger and flew right toward her. She didn’t scream or kick or punch him as he tugged her into him and locked his arms tightly around her shoulders. She hugged him back, and he hated that this armour kept him from feeling her warmth.

They stayed like that until she pulled away and blinked up at him, tears still hanging on her long lashes. “Did I really hurt you?” she asked.

He bared his teeth. “Do I still have perfect teeth?”

“Yes,” she replied, amused.

“Then no. You didn’t really hurt me.”

“Would you have hurt me?”

“I can’t believe you asked me that. Of course not.”

“Really?” Her eyebrow rose. “Not even if I’d called the guards.”

“You’ve got no guard here. Your prince had sent all the guards to the ballroom to protect you. Except for this one.” He gestured smugly at the armour and shushed her before she scolded him. “Don’t worry. I didn’t kill him. He was drunk and I knocked him out. He’ll wake up naked in a random room somewhere.”

“My prince?”

“I don’t know.” He mimicked her tentative expression. “You tell me. You let him hold you and cried on his shoulder. He’s also very princely, which is irritating.”

“Princely,” she echoed with a soft laugh. The sound was as sweet as honey. Until this very moment, Harry hadn’t realized how much he’d missed her. His heart swelled as he laced their fingers together and took half a step back to take in her new look. She smiled when she noticed his expression; he supposed it wasn’t what she’d expected.

“What?” She smirked.

“You,” he said, still eyeing her up and down.

“Me what?”

Instead of answering the question, Harry moved closer. Their eyes locked as he reached behind her to untie her braids. She didn’t protest as he freed her hair which fell messily down to her back. He tousled it and dipped his fingers underneath her chin, observing.

“There.” He grinned. “That’s my girl.”

With an unreadable expression, she asked, “You don’t like how I looked before?”

He was taken aback. She seemed to notice the slight change in his expression because her smile faded as well.

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “You looked beautiful. But so...untouchable.”

“What does that mean?” she whispered.

He worked his jaw for a moment, trying to come up with the right words, but the ones that came out could not sound more wrong. “You looked like you belonged to that Prince.”

Y/N tossed his hand away, and before he could speak, she had marched across the room to the window, facing away from him. He clasped his hands together at the nape of his neck while the voices in his head started cursing at him. Since the moment he’d got here, he’d made the girl he loved cry twice, held a knife at her throat, got slapped, and insulted her. This night had gone quite far from those romantic fantasies of his.

He strode toward her, reaching out to touch her shoulder but then he faltered and hid both hands behind his back. He cleared his throat and tried again. “I’m sorry if I offended you. That wasn’t what I meant.”

“What did you mean, Harry?” Her hair lashed the air as she spun to face him. “And why are you here? If you, just like everyone else, assume that I’m betrothed to Lance now, what is the point of showing up in my bed-chamber?”

He gulped and squeezed his hands into fists. His gaze fell to the floor. “Because I had to see you once before I go.”

She stood rigid in front of him. When his eyes found her face again, she was pale with shock. “Going away?” Her voice trembled like it was going to break. “To where?”

“I don’t know.” He lifted a shoulder, his mouth twitched. “I can’t stay. But if I disappeared without saying goodbye to you, I would regret it for the rest of my life.”

Tears shone in Y/N’s eyes as she moved closer and caught his face between her hands. “You are not leaving. I forbid you. You are not going anywhere!”

“Peach–”

“You’re staying here with me. I’m never letting you go again.”

Seeing her like this made him regret coming here. He should have known better, that once he’d seen her cry, he could never leave; he would spend the rest of his life going back to this moment and this room.

He held both of her wrists and his thumbs found her violent pulse. “You’re...a queen, my love. Even saying that hurts me. You can’t be with me. I’m not worried about me, but your people would turn against you if they found out about us.”

Y/N’s lashes fluttered as she blinked back her tears. He knew that she knew he was right. Her coronation was in a week. She’d be a monarch. But even with all the power in the world, she could not bend the rules to her own advantage without losing her people’s loyalty. It was either him or Isolde, and he did not want it to be him.

“You can stay here in my court,” she said, hopefully. “I’ll make you a guard. You’re better than most of them anyway. Then...then we can be together in secret. No one has to know.”

‘No one has to know.’ That reality stabbed him like a knife, and he hated himself for allowing a tiny spark of joy before it occurred to him that her idea would ruin him if not both of them.

“I’d have to watch you marry a prince.”

He hadn’t realized he’d said it aloud until she shook her head and retorted, “I won’t. I’ll never marry. I can’t–” Her voice suddenly dropped. Her expression dimmed. “I can’t carry a child, so a marriage would be pointless.”

Something stirred uneasily within Harry as he pondered over the words she’d just said. He thought he’d misheard it, and when he realized that they were real, he released a shaky breath and brought their foreheads together.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered into her cool cheek. “I’m so sorry, my love.”

A bitter laugh caught in her throat. “You’re not going to ask me how I know that?”

“You would have already told me if you wanted to talk about it,” he sighed.

She didn’t say it wasn’t true. Instead, she fisted his shirt and buried her face into his neck. “Just don’t go. I can’t do this alone.”

“Peach–” he began, but instead of pushing her away, he held her tighter. She started kissing his neck, her fingers tugging roughly at his hair, and soon their lips found each other and he could taste the salt in that fiery kiss. Her arms bound around his neck as he pushed her against the wall and tilted her head back with his fingers wrapped gently around her throat. She let out a soft sigh as he licked and nibbled at her flushed skin.

“Will you stay?” she murmured.

“Yes.” His reply sounded like a promise he would regret later on, but right now, it was what they both wanted.

He kissed her, again and again, to make up for their lost time, and when he forced her away, she almost shouted, “What?!”

Breathless, he knocked on the breastplate of his armour. “Do you know how to take this thing off?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, hard, and shoved him back. Before he could utter a single word, she dragged him toward the bed, pushed him down and sank to the floor. He propped himself up to stare owl-eyed at her aggressively tearing off each piece and tossing it aside.

“How do you know this? Did you fight in the army, too?”

She shot him a glare. “No, I helped undress my father every time he came back wounded from a battle.”

Once she’d opened the buckles and released the breastplate, she bunched up her skirt, pinned him down and mounted him as easily as she did Thunder. He swept his palms up and down her back, feeling the soft and expensive fabric that he’d never thought he’d get to touch. He’d never dreamed of kissing a Queen either, yet here he was.

“If you don’t know how to wear armour, you probably don’t deserve it,” she said, a smirk peaking at the corner of her lips. Then she kissed him again. He pushed himself up to feel her as much as he could, but her dress was too big, it was swallowing them both.

He broke the kiss to say, “Can you also demonstrate how to take off your dress?”

She scowled at him, their mouths just a feather apart. “I don’t know how. The maids helped me put it on.”

“Do you love it?”

His question startled her a bit. She tilted her head and looked at him funny. “Well, not really. It’s quite uncomf–Ah!” A shriek escaped her when he flipped them over and slipped off the bed. She propped herself up on her elbows just in time he picked up her dagger from the floor.

Realization seemed to dawn on her as she opened her mouth, yet Harry did not wait. He ripped the first layer of her skirt and yanked it right off. She gasped, her eyes flying to his face, wide with shock yet darkened with lust. He waited for her to kick him off, but she just gazed up at him, her chest rising and falling with each struggled breath. And so he tore off another layer until her thighs were exposed. She was about to say something when one flick of the blade slid precisely down her bodice, cutting through the fabric and laces of the corset and her breasts sprung free, bouncing beneath his wild eyes.

She gaped at him, half angry, half impressed, then forestalled his speech by pulling his mouth back upon hers. He palmed her breast, trying not to think about her bruises and the freshly healed wound on her bicep. He hated to imagine the torture and grief she’d gone through.

“I might regret this later,” she said into his mouth, and he smiled.

“One who doesn’t know how to take off her own dress probably doesn’t deserve it.”

Y/N threw her head back and laughed for the first time tonight. As Harry sat back to discard his shirt, she stared at him thoughtfully.

“What?” He leaned back down, arms cradling her head, their noses touching.

Her mouth curved lightly. “Not fair. I was looking forward to destroying your shirt.”

“Life’s not fair,” he said before locking his lips to hers again.

The warmth of her ruined dress enveloped them as she worked quickly at his belt, and soon his trousers were off and there was nothing else keeping them apart. She curled her fingers into his hair as he kissed his way down her scarred body until he nosed along her hip bone and pressed his lips to her skin. She angled her hips up for him. She was already dripping as he took his time licking a line from her thigh to her pussy, before he sucked on her clit and pushed two fingers into her.

She moaned, holding his head firmly between her legs. His cock hardened at the sounds she made and the squish of her pussy around his fingers. He sucked and slurped at her, pushing her legs farther apart until she had one calf over his shoulder. She surprised him by grabbing her other knee, opening up for him.

He slid his free hand along the curves of her body and gripped at her breast, brushing his thumb over her hard nipple as he tried to press his tongue between his fingers, his nose rubbing around her clit. She dug her heel into his back and pulled him in tighter until all he smelled and tasted and heard was her.

He fucked her slow and slurped up her wetness for a moment before withdrawing his fingers and sucking them clean. She was gaping at him, eyes a little wet, a flush spreading across her chest, up to her ears.

“You did miss me,” she murmured.

“So much,” he told her and moved forward between her legs, pushing her knees up to her breasts and sank into her easily. She half-sighed, half-moaned and craned her neck to kiss him. Her hands were on the back of his neck and his hands found her breasts between them. As they kissed, she moved her hips up to fuck up into him while he thrust down into her, trying to be as careful as possible for her wound might still hurt.

“I’ll love you forever,” she whispered into his ear before he caught her lips again and sucked at them. He knew she'd have to be able to taste herself on his mouth as her arousal was slick around him. He leaned down to suck at her nipples, biting lightly at her breasts.

“I’ll love you forever, too. Forever and always,” he said between thrusts, grinding his cock as deep into her as it could go as she encouraged him with her moans and nails scratching down his back. He slid his hand down to her pussy and rubbed along her clit, joining her fingers there. She thrust back against him immediately, fucking herself harder on his dick, her arse pushing against his groin.

He was mouthing along the side of her neck when she came. Her hips shook and her clutch tightened around him, and then he fucked her a while longer, just a little more, knowing this would ruin his only attempt to move on and leave her to the life he didn’t belong to. He came, muffling his embarrassing groans in her shoulder as he spilled into her and fucked his release deeper with every thrust, until he only jerked with the little aftershocks and eventually slipped out.

The room quieted. The North wind blowing through the window gap cooled their damp skin. He threw the cover over them, still on top of her because she refused to let him go. He didn’t want to go, either. What would happen to them in the morning? He did not want to wonder.

He was nosing at her throat when a knock on the door sounded, making them jump.

“Y/N,” spoke a female voice, “Are you all right? Prince Charming told me you didn’t feel well.”

Y/N raised her head and shouted at the door, “I’m fine! Don’t come in. I’m going to bed.”

Harry could hear the violent rhythm of her heart as she waited for a response.

“Goodnight then,” said the voice, “I’ll come back in the morning with your breakfast.” Her shadow wavered under the door before disappearing.

Harry chuckled and kissed Y/N’s jaw as she placed a hand on her chest and heaved a sigh of relief.

“Was that your lady in waiting?” he asked.

“And my best friend,” she replied.

“Well, your friend sounded like she hated the Prince. Maybe we could be great friends.”

Y/N giggled and shook her head. “If she hates the Prince, she’d probably hate you, too.”

Harry wondered why; it seemed like there was more she’d like to add, but he supposed she was too weary for stories so he didn’t question.

“Stay until morning,” she demanded, twirling one of his curls around her index finger. “You can put the armour back on before my maid comes back. I’ll take care of the rest. Please don’t let me sleep alone. I’ll have nightmares again.”

Harry raised his head to peer down at her face as he brushed his thumb over her half-closed eyelids. “Don’t you worry. I’m not going anywhere.”

He flipped over onto his back and gathered her to his chest. Y/N didn’t sleep right away. She began to tell him everything that had happened since they’d parted. Some details he’d already known from the gossip spreading among her people, like the duel and Egon’s death and how a witch had brought Jo back to life. Some other details shocked him, like the bargain she’d made with the witch, and the Prince, who had murdered his half-brother, asking for her hand in marriage to secure their alliance.

With a troubled heart, he watched her face in the fire glow until her tale came to an end and her breathing steadied. Eventually, the whistling of the wind and the crackling of fire lulled Harry to sleep.

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Y/N awoke when a spiteful winter gust slammed the window violently. She’d had a dreamless sleep for the first time in so long, but as she woke up beside her ruined ball gown to a grey morning and an empty bed, she wished she could just go back to sleep.

Her eyes flicked frantically around her bed-chamber. Where was he? Where was Harry? The armour was there, while every trace of him was gone.

Fear filled her up like a bubble as she rolled out of bed, put on her nightgown and a heavy fur coat, shoved her feet into her riding boots and ran out into the long corridor, terrified. She hadn’t been terrified since Jo’s death, then Harry came back and now she had too much to lose. 

Maybe she’d already lost it.

A small part of her hoped that he hadn’t gone for long and that she could still catch up with him at the gate. This time, she would at least knock him unconscious for lying to her face and playing with her heart.

As she swept past the throne room, loud familiar voices pulled her to a halt. The guards bowed as they saw her and opened the door for her to enter. This was the worst situation she’d ever walked into. Lance was standing beside her throne accompanied by only two of his guards. He was wearing his fancy black suit and black fur coat with a sword strapped to his right hip. His shiny raven hair was uncombed yet as perfect as it could be, and his stern gaze was fixed upon the man kneeling before him.

Harry.

His was the first pair of eyes in the room to catch Y/N’s, and his shocked expression got three other heads turning to the door.

“There you are, Your Majesty,” Lance spoke, his voice rough and echoey as if he was presenting a show. “I wasn’t sure if I should send a servant to wake you but I was going to anyway.”

“What is happening here?” she asked and strode up the steps to her throne.

Lance eyed her up and down, making her conscious of the fact that she wasn’t properly dressed. The humour was etched on his face, yet he made no snarky remark and motioned to Harry. “That happened.”

“Let this man go. He’s my servant,” Y/N commanded the two guards behind Harry, only to realize they weren’t holding him down; he was kneeling on his own. He didn’t even seem scared or worried. Maybe a bit guilty, but it was because of her presence.

What was happening?

“Actually,” Lance said, “he came to me on his own. Showed up in my room at dawn. Can you believe it?”

“What?!” she cried out, her eyes pinned on Harry.

He did not speak.

“Yes,” Lance answered on her lover’s behalf, one elbow resting casually on the side of the throne. “Did you say he was your servant?”

She cast a tentative glare at him. “Yes?”

“Then why did he ask to join my army?”

Y/N started, and then her head burnt with rage. She was angrier than she was confused for she had no idea what was happening and why Harry had snuck into Lance’s chamber and asked to join his army. Harry had not said a word to her about this plan (if this was a plan). If she didn’t love him, she’d probably let Lance’s guards beat him up.

“He did not know what he was talking about,” she said, glaring at Harry.

She did not expect him to speak, but then he rose to his feet and told the Prince, “I do know what I’m talking about. I wish to join your army if your men still want to fight for my Queen and Isolde.” Then his gaze flicked to Y/N for a brief second. “I knew Her Majesty wouldn’t allow me to join her army so I came to you, Your Grace. Once again, I apologize for the chaos.”

Chaos?

“Yeah, right, I forgot to tell you.” Lance nudged Y/N slightly with his knuckles. “Your servant somehow managed to disarm ten of my guards to get into my chamber. I could have killed him myself, but only a fool would let such talent go to waste.”

Y/N clenched her fists while Harry refused to look at her. It made her blood boil. She would kill him once this was over, only if Lance hadn’t done it first.

“He is my personal guard. He is not joining your army.”

Harry arched an eyebrow slightly at Y/N, and she realized she sounded like an angry mother when her child asked to go play in the snow. Better safe than sorry, she thought. She did not get him back to lose him again.

Lance held his hands behind his back and stepped closer to whisper to her. “My army will fight with yours, Y/N. He’ll still be by your side.”

That was the moment she realized, Lance knew. She had no idea how, but he knew who Harry was and how much he meant to her. But could she actually believe that this prince was doing this for her, so that she and Harry could be close without her people’s prejudices?

Her eyes searched for Harry’s again. This time, he didn’t avoid them. He stared right back and she knew that look; she’d seen it too often during their journey to the South. It said, ‘You’ve got to trust me.’

And she really wanted to.

“Won’t you have to take him with you to Attwell?” she asked Lance, not breaking eye contact with Harry.

“Once you’ve accepted my proposal, one thousand Attwell soldiers will come to Isolde and serve in your court, and this man can join them.”

Harry seemed indifferent to the mention of the proposal. He knew that in order to keep him she would have to marry Lance. She told herself to just give him up and turn Lance down, but she was also well aware that her own army could not last an hour in battle with the South. She’d be outnumbered and the Isolde soldiers weren’t well trained compared to Theros. Not to mention the fact that she’d already lost a handful of alliances after the massacre in this throne room. Suddenly, she understood why Harry was doing this, and still, it didn’t make her hate him any less.

She bit her lip and sucked in a deep breath. Harry and Lance seemed to be holding their breath while waiting for her final decision.

“Very well,” she said forcefully. “But I want two thousand men with fleets and strong horses.”

“Deal.” Lance flashed a smug grin and offered his hand in a businesslike manner. She didn’t take it. Amused, he stepped closer. Out of the corner of her eyes, she could see Harry flinch as if he was about to attack the Prince right there. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. If he still managed to get jealous maybe he should not have manipulated her into marrying the Prince.

Lance got so close that she could smell the winter from his coat. When he lowered his head, her heart jerked at the thought that he would kiss her in front of Harry, but then his mouth was at her ear, and he whispered, “You really thought you could make him your personal guard and people wouldn’t talk? Grow up, Y/N. Let me help you.”

“I could just take your sword and gut you right here for talking to me like that.”

She could feel a ghost of a smile on his face in response to the threat.

“You can protect him. But I can protect you, Y/N.”

Lance drew back and their eyes locked for a second. His expression remained cold as ice, yet there was rare tenderness to it, or she was really hallucinating.

She didn’t say another word to him. “Harry, come.”

And shoved Lance away before she stormed out of the room.

She kept on walking as Harry’s hurried footsteps echoed behind her. Once they had returned to her bed-chamber, she slammed the door shut and crossed her arms over her chest. The look she was giving him said, ‘Go on. Explain before I kill you.’

“If I stay,” he began, fingering his own belt out of nervousness, “you’ve got to let me help you.”

“You could help me by not offering your head to the enemy on the battlefield.”

“Are you really telling me you would sit behind these walls while your men fight to the death, Y/N?” She blinked at her real name, yet he didn’t notice her reaction or he didn’t care. “I know you’d be on the battlefield and I’m not going to stay here knowing I could lose you any minute.”

“Then you could have talked to me first! You didn’t have to manipulate me into marrying him! You made me feel bad for even considering it and then you went behind my back and–”

He closed the distance between them with two long strides, and she backed against the door with a thump as he cupped her face and kissed her like he had the night before. She didn’t resist him. The kiss warmed their cold lips with one another, and her heartbeats gradually slowed though her anger hadn’t subsided.

He pulled back just enough to look her in the eye. “I do not want you to marry anyone but me. Especially him. But you cannot stand a chance against Calanthe, and the last time she came to see me, she made it clear that she wanted you dead.”

Y/N was taken aback. “She came to you? Did she–”

“My family is safe,” he sighed, “for now, but I don’t think your people will be.” The words made Y/N shudder. Harry went on, “On my way here, I’ve heard so many whispers about how you are illegitimate to the throne. Your people didn’t like Egon but at least it made sense to them that he was the true heir and not you. Their faith is already fragile. Calanthe could easily turn them against you, and you keeping me as your guard will not help.” He thrust his fingers into his hair. “I didn’t only come to say goodbye but also to warn you about Calanthe. I thought I could just move on, but I couldn’t leave you to fight on your own. So please help me and help yourself. But you also knew that, didn’t you? When you agreed to the deal with the Prince, you thought you did it for me, but it was also for your kingdom, love. You know your people need this.”

“I don’t trust Lance,” she whispered, shutting her eyes. “And what were you thinking sneaking into his chamber? He could have killed you. I saw him kill–”

“I know him.”

Y/N’s eyes shot open and widened. “You what?”

Harry pursed his lips, looking rather indifferent, yet she knew he was not. “Well, actually, I know of him. He used to captain a ship and his crew went from kingdom to kingdom to free slaves and recruit them for his own army. He was as much a prince as you are a princess, and therefore, he’s got as much to lose.”

Y/N ground her jaw and threw her arms in the air. “Great. I don’t even know my betrothed used to be a pirate.”

“Don’t call him your betrothed,” Harry said bitterly. “The marriage would be fake.”

She stabbed a finger at his chest. “You should have thought of that before you made me accept his fake proposal.”

Harry opened his mouth, though it seemed like he was out of arguments.

“So you’re saying he can be trusted?” she asked.

He lifted his shoulders. “Honestly, I don’t know. But he could have just killed you and Egon if he wanted Isolde, right? Why bother to go along with a riskier plan unless he’s just as desperate? No offence.”

“None taken.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest.

Harry curled his lips as he nudged her cheek with the tip of his nose like a horse. “Also, I don’t want to be mean but from what I’ve heard, he’s kind of a player. Just so you know. I’m the safe bet here.”

“You’re the least safe thing I’ve done and I’ve duelled my own brother to the death.”

He gasped at her remark and she couldn’t help but burst out laughing.

“Do you trust me?” he asked, his arms around her waist.

“More than myself,” she answered.

“Good. Because as long as we’re together, I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.”

Y/N touched his face as she returned the smile. He could promise her the world, but heavy was the head that wore the crown. The royal court was her battlefield, and she would have to make sure nothing bad would ever happen to him.

.

.

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EPILOGUE

One year later

It was late-fall in a village deep in the northern forest. The air grew colder and the grey landscape wearier. Kennedy Rowley sat in her house beside the fireplace, holding her first-born in her arms as she hummed a lullaby and began the story of four princes and one hundred kingdoms. She hadn’t got any farther than ‘Once upon a time’ when she heard a knock on the front door. Her husband rushed out from the kitchen, waving his hands about his head to get rid of the smoke of burned food.

The knocking sounded again, more urgently this time. Then came a gruff masculine voice, “I’m here on the command of the Queen of Isolde.”

“Y/N?” Stefan Russo cast his wife a glance. “But the royal wedding is a month away. Why are they here?”

Kenny was just as clueless as he was. She hurried him to open the door, and an Isolde guard heavily stepped in. He was so large he had to duck his head to fit through the door.

“My apology, I didn't mean to disturb you,” he said as soon as he saw the half-asleep child, “but the Queen has arranged a carriage to bring your family to Isolde tonight.”

“Tonight?!” cried Kenny. “It’s so urgent. Is everything all right?”

The soldier’s expression remained stiff although there was a glimpse of worry which he’d done his best to conceal. “I’m afraid not. It’s about the Commander.”

“Harry,” Stefan muttered, exchanging looks of concern with his wife.

“Get your things,” the soldier said. “The horses are waiting outside. I’ll explain everything on the road.”

(END OF BOOK 1)

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Book 2: THE WINTER AND THE CROWN (release date announced soon)

Synopsis:

Winter. A wedding. A war.

Y/N has to protect her kingdom from the enemy from the South and also the love of her life from the ruthlessness of the royal courts. But her destiny is paved with blood and revenge. And as she and Harry set off on another adventure to find the cure for an ancient curse, what they find is much more than they have anticipated.

Meanwhile, Calanthe is scheming to take away everything that Peach holds dear, and with the help of other dark forces, this time she might succeed.

Blood will shed. And the seasons will turn.

[oftenderweapons]

Everyday

Pairing: member x reader 

Wordcount: 300-400 words each piece

Genre: fluff, smut, slightest angst

Rating: suggested 18+

Small announcement

Unfortunately, I couldn't complete Jin's Love Talk scenario in time, since his conversation with Angel is a lot more difficult to handle and I still have some research to do (a lot of educational BDSM talk Yay! And I want it to be accurate and as precise as possible).

To earn your forgiveness, I will publish a double update next week, with Jin's part published on Thursday 1 am GMT, and Yoongi on Saturday at 3 am GMT. (Please don't judge my night owl lifestyle)

Here are some mixed drabbles (watch out for the text mentioned in Joon’s Love Talk) 😉 Also this is unedited, I’ll grammar check it in the morning. Each drabble is about 300-400 words.

Here is my Masterlist!

TRIGGER WARNINGS: dirty talking, spankings, oral male and female receiving, cum play (pearl necklace), male masturbation, breast worship, mentions of role play, mentions of sex tapes, mentions of subbing and pain kink, mentions of nipple piercing.

Namjoon

--  the morning after Love talk --

Sunday morning felt like a nightmare. He asked himself why, why for fuck’s sake he had left. 

You had kissed him, rubbed all over him, pressing your ass on him as you watched the film on the sofa, spooning. WHY!

He grabbed his phone. You were probably still asleep. Unless…? He texted you.

How’s your head? Mine is a mess. 

You don’t know how bad it feels to wake up alone. I felt like eating some tiramisu for breakfast and ruin your underwear. Did you touch yourself last night, after I left?

I thought about you, you know. That perfect ass of yours. How much I want to bite it. God, I want to spank you so bad, Vixen. I swear, if I put my hands on you I’m gonna ruin you. You won’t sit for a week. For all that fucking teasing last night. You don’t know how many times I thought about putting my hand under your skirt. Were you even wearing panties, naughty girl? You bent over at dinner and I noticed that there were no lines on that incredible peach of yours… Wanted to push you down against the table, drag your skirt up and just ram into you from behind. But I wanna take my time. Toy around this mind-blowing chemistry with you, until you’re on your knees begging for me to be your daddy and teach you how to do it right for me. At that point I would finger you nice and slow, the way impatient, hungry girls like you can’t handle. I would make you cum so intensely your legs would twitch merely at the thought of me doing it again. And then I would lie down and have you sit on my face. Cute right? I would help you ride my face with my hands cupping your butt, until you’re dripping all over my face. I want you to look down at me like a queen on a motherfucking throne, Vixen. And right after your second orgasm I would make you roll down so I can fuck you missionary, looking at the face you make the first time I slide into you, those pretty doll lips wrapped around the hand I used to make you cum. 

I know you must be so tight, little one. I can’t wait to leave angry, purple lovebites on your sexy hipbones and thighs, baby. 

Tell me you want that too, little vixen. 

After ten minutes of you not answering, he just headed to the shower, in the hope of blowing off some steam. 

When he returned he noticed the notification. 

My head? No complaints 😉😏

Thank you for the orgasm, daddy. Maybe I could help you with yours now?

Yeah. he was hard again anyway…

Seokjin

-- shortly after the Conversation with Jimin -- 

Water fell heavily on his back. You were laying in bed, your cute pjs making you look like a princess from a fairy tale. 

That princess had your cum all over her chest precisely five days ago.

He pressed his forehead to the tiles. No, a part of him said, but his hand was already there, lingering on his shaft. 

She licked it clean. Scooping it up with her fingers. Grinning at you. 

He hit his head against the tiles in the hope it would help him stop. 

You had your mouth on her panties, you coward? She was so lost she would have told you yes. He thought of your taste. He allowed himself that only once, maybe twice a month. Not because he didn’t like that, but rather because he had probably never done it before. Which seems ridiculous, but apparently his exes weren’t interested in cunnilingus? Was it absurd that he wanted to try with you? 

He dragged his hand up and down, angry at himself. 

He should just get in the bed and make you scream until even the florist at the end of the street knew who’s fucking you so good.

He thought about your hands tied up, about you cumming just with him ramming into you. He wanted to give it to you so hard you even forgot you had a body. He wanted your pleasure to be one with his. Just like last time. 

Not like your previous life was unsatisfactory. But he saw the superior look of bliss, how radiant you had looked the morning after. How easily you had fallen asleep in his arms as he caressed your hair. 

“Jinnie, love.” You called from the bedroom. 

He didn’t understand what came next, he was lost in bliss, your voice and his imagination making him fall in the deepest pits of pleasure. 

Yoongi 

-- after date five, art gallery --

Fuuuuck. He fixed his trousers in the elevator headed to his apartment. 

Rushing through his door, he almost tripped on his shoes as he took them off hastily. He had promised himself he wouldn’t. Yet again, here he was, sitting on the edge of the bed, elbows propped on his knees. He took off his turtleneck lightning fast, his naked pale chest emerging from the dark cotton that protected him from the chilly spring air. He didn’t actually have enough patience to get rid of his trousers. He let them bunch up at his ankles.

“Kitten.” He whispered shyly, reaching for his hard on. He was so sensitive his hips thrusted up as he gave himself the first stroke. 

Those tits. Fuck. Pressed against his back as you explained a picture to him, the tip of your nose running against the curve of his ear. 

He had wanted to pin you against the white walls of the gallery, like a work of art, get his head under your cute skirt and nuzzle his face against your mound.

And the ice cream. 

He thought he would cum in his pants, with you licking up your ice cream cone, your kittenish licks deviously appropriate to your nickname. And the ice cream dribbling down your hand in thick droplets a couple times. The way you had sucked it clean. 

Fuck, fuck!

He laid down on his back and kicked off his pants, hand still busy on his cock. Half delirious, he turned to his belly, thrusting his hips up into his hand, one arm propping him up. “Fuck, kitten, so good.” He nuzzled his face against the sheets, lost in his imagination. “Love, please. ____.” And with your name on his lips he let himself crumble and dissolve. Crashing, exhausted on the bed he took only a couple seconds before emitting an exasperated cry. He had stained the sheets like a teenager. 

Three times this week. And it was only Tuesday. 

Hoseok 

-- a couple days after his Conversation with Taehyung --

“Are you sure you want to keep it? We don’t have to, sweetie.” He reassured you. 

“You’ll have to leave soon. I know you get frustrated with phonesex. This could help you.” You combed his hair back and booped his nose. 

He hid his face into your neck. “Tell me you’ll see me in Los Angeles. Promise me you’ll come.”

“I promise, puppet.” You held him tighter. 

“The guys hate me when you’re not around. They say I get duller.” He whined with a sad voice. 

“My poor little puppet.” You fondled him. “And that’s not true Hobi. You’re always lovely.” You started waddling, bringing him from the kitchen to the sofa. Waddling always gets him to laugh. 

Indeed, a few seconds later he giggled as you both plopped down on the cushions. He shifted around until he was perfectly curled against you, his head laying on your chest.

“You sure you’re okay with me keeping it?”

“Guard it like your own life, Hobi. You know the risks.” You reminded him. 

“Yes, of course. It’s in my personal luggage. Safe. Don’t worry, seriously. Taehyung instructed me. And I’m pretty sure he travels with a whole library of this stuff.”

You cringed and laughed. “At least he can help you, eventually.”

“Your copy is in the pendrive in the bedside table.” He murmured. “It’s only three weeks until LA. It’s not awful. We can do this.” He tried to convince himself. 

“Just three weeks. You’ve got enough stuff to last you a month.” You kissed his forehead. 

“I love you.” He said, stretching to reach for your lips. 

“I love you too, puppet.”

Jimin 

-- The morning after your sixth date --

He woke up with an awfully painful erection. Probably because the night before you had teased him endlessly and when he’d come back home he’d been too tired to jerk off. 

Pushing up his hips tentatively, he felt the softness of the cotton on his naked body. Turning around he found his spare pillow between his thighs. 

Yes, he huffed out, thrusting his hips harshly. He moaned. He started with a punishing rhythm straight away, pushing so hard his whole back arched over and over.

His hand grabbed his own thigh, using his knees and free arm for leverage. 

The hand on his leg climbed up to his ass, cupping it, slapping it carefully, gently. He wanted you to do that. Grab his ass as he rammed into you. Manhandle him a little. His hand climbed further up, toying wit his chest. 

Shit. He tweaked his nipple, wetting his fingers with his mouth and bringing them back to his pect. His hips stuttered. 

He thought of your mouth. Of your sinful red lips, Of the way you always seemed to have the situation under control. Of the way you make him always feel desired.

Were you touching yourself at the thought of him?

Were you as eager as he was? Having wet dreams about him?

He was tired of this frustration. He fucked harder in the pillow, one hand around his neck, the other gripping his ass, his short nails diggin in the flesh. 

He could only think that your nails would look prettier. Sink deeper. Hurt more. Make it all sweeter.

Taehyung

— around date three or four —

“That lipstick looks lovely on you, Doll.” He murmured, holding your hand as you strolled down the gallery, a big bucket hat over his eyes. “I think I’ll call you poppy. That’s perfect poppy red. How fitting that opium comes from poppies.” 

You looked at him surprised. “Are you saying I’m a drug?”

“I’ve been high on you for the last four days. Since I saw you at the shop. Do you usually strut around in full pin up attire?“ He asked, intertwining your fingers. 

“No, not usually. I was just on my way to a theme party. I figured I could just get ready at the shop. I wasn’t expecting you to come around.”

“Theme party... Were you supposed to be the naughty housewife who can’t just get enough of her husband and has an affair with the poolboy?“ He asked, getting close to you enough to bite your earlobe. Oh, the teasing. He was reckless with it. 

“Tae.” You reprimanded him. You looked around. The gallery was empty since he knew the owner and he had allowed him to come visit behind closed doors. 

“It’s just us, Doll. No worry.“ His arm wrapped around your waist. “I can be your obedient poolboy.“

“Why be the poolboy when you could be my husband, spanking me because I ruined one of his expensive white shirts?” You looked at him mischievously as he cleared his throat. You both stopped in front of a painting. The still nature had a variety of vases with different flowers. Of course poppies were included. 

“There they are.” He pointed to the flowers. “And here she is.” His arm wrapped you up, dragging you closer to him, his mouth dipping to yours.

You thought his spell would wear off, but time after time, his kisses taste wilder. Would it ever become too much?

Jungkook

— shortly after Where, when and how —

Jungkook was laying on top of you on the sofa, and god, didn’t it feel nice...

Nuzzling his face against your chest, he let his hand climb under your T-shirt, meeting the elastic band of your sports bra and slipping his fingers underneath, tracing the outline of your pierced nipple.

“Again, baby?” You asked him, who had already reached his destination.

“I love it. I’m sorry.” His face felt ten times hotter on your neck, his blush apparent.

He made to remove his hand, but you locked it there.

“It’s sweet, it’s just that it turns me on a little.” It was your turn to blush.

“If you want I can just let it be. Really. I mean... Unless you want me to... help you out with... that.” He questioned, doubtful.

“Are you asking me if I need to be fucked?” You asked, unceremoniously, with a grin on your face.

“I mean. I wouldn’t oppose if you asked me to.” He kissed your neck sweetly.

You combed his hair with your fingers. He emitted a low whine, especially when you massaged his nape.

“Would you like to try something, Koo?” You were getting an idea.

He seemed to raise his head like a curious bunny. “Mhmh.”

“Remembered when we tried cockwarming?” You asked, ready for mischief.

“Of course.” He replied. Duh.

“What if we did the same here. I mean, if you kept your mouth there, did your thing until I can’t keep my cool?” You suggested.

“Take off this damn shirt right now.” He replied immediately, lifting himself off to allow you to move.

There we go.

[the--blackdahlia]

It’s So Easy (And Other Lies) Chapter 14

Title: It’s So Easy (And Other Lies) Chapter 14

Summary: Stevie Adler likes Duff McKagan. She has for a while now, but she is convinced Duff doesn’t like her that way. Duff likes Stevie, but so does their new bandmate Axl Rose.

Chapter Warnings: Mainly language, fluff overload

AN: Thank you for all the feedback!

It was close to Christmas when Izzy, Slash, and Axl landed in Seattle from LA. It was almost like a shock, going from a warm climate to one that was almost freezing. Axl wrapped his leather jacket around him. He had not been prepared for this.

“Why the fuck did they decide Seattle was a good place to live?” Axl asked as they headed towards Duff, who was waiting for them. “This seems like the total opposite of a good place to live!”

“It’s Duff’s hometown,” Slash shrugged.

“Well, Layfette is my hometown and you don’t see me rushing back to buy a mansion there!” Axl groaned. Duff met them halfway, waving at them.

“Hey guys!” He smiled, laughing a little at watching the three of them shivering and trying to bury themselves deeper into their coats.

“How can you be smiling?” Izzy asked. “It’s fucking cold.”

“Aren’t you from Indiana? With a known history of shitty weather?” Duff asked as they headed to Duff’s car and all piled in.

“I’ve been living in LA for about half of my life. I’m spoiled,” Izzy snapped back. Duff rolled his eyes.

“Come on. Stevie’s been doing stuff all day like unpacking and decorating. I told her when we got you guys there, we’d order food,” Duff started driving towards the house.

“You guys have been here for almost a month and you’re still unpacking?” Slash asked. “You didn’t have that much stuff.”

“Well, we’re trying to get the studio set up, and Stevie keeps getting distracted by Princess Peach.” Duff explained. The boys all looked at each other.

“What the fuck is a Princess Peach?” Axl asked, rubbing his hands together to warm up.

“Our dog,” Duff explained. “We thought we were getting a girl dog, got a boy, and Stevie thought it would be hilarious to keep the name.” The drive from the airport to Stevie and Duff’s house wasn’t that long of a drive, just enough for the boys to warm up some before having to step out into the cold again. Duff pulled into the driveway and laughed a little bit.

“What’s so funny?” Slash asked,

“Well, since you guys can’t really run away now, Tommy, Nikki, Mick, and Vince are here too.” Duff chuckled, knowing exactly what Axl’s reaction was going to be.

“What the fuck?!” Axl asked. “You didn’t tell me they were going to be here when you invited us!”

“Surprise,” Duff laughed. The boys got out of the car with their bags and headed inside. Christmas music was playing loudly as they walked in. It was warm, with a fire going in the fireplace, and it smelled slightly of cookies.

“Fuck, I wouldn’t have come if I had been told that Axl was coming,” Vince groaned when he saw them come in from his seat on the couch.

“Is it too late to go home?” Axl asked. Stevie came out of the kitchen from where she had been making cookies, done unpacking things for the day. Her face lit up as she saw her friends and bandmates.

“You guys made it!” She hugged Slash, Izzy, and Axl. A little pug ran up to them, excited about all the new people there for him to play with.

“Princess Peach?” Slash asked as the pug walked up to him. Duff nodded with a smile on his face. Slash knelt down to play with the dog, enjoying the kisses from the pup.

“Isn’t he the best?” Tommy asked with a laugh. He had gotten all the puppy kisses when they had came in a few hours before Guns n’ Roses did.

“I already ordered the pizza,” Stevie told Duff, walking up to him and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. “And I have cookies in the oven.”

“Damn, someone’s been busy,” Izzy laughed, going to take up a seat on the couch by Mick. “I like the place.” He looked around, admiring the decor of the living room.

“Gets kinda dark in here, but I like it,” Nikki laughed. Princess Peach jumped up onto the couch by him, loving when the bassist gave him some love. Duff had an arm wrapped around Stevie as he turned to look at the two bands.

“Okay, who wants a tour while we wait on the pizza?” Duff laughed. “And we have plenty of room if you guys want to stay here instead of finding a hotel or something.” They all go up and started to follow Duff around the house.

“Wow, this is a lot different than the condo,” Slash commented as they started walking around. Stevie stayed behind to listen for the door, but both bands followed Duff around, Tommy and Slash working as a buffer between Axl and Vince.

“There’s so much room,” Izzy nodded.

“It’s perfect,” Duff had a big smile on his face. “I’ve wanted this house since I was a kid. And here it is.”

“And Stevie likes it?” Nikki asked.

“Yeah, she does.” Duff finished showing them around. By the time they got back, Stevie was carrying the pizza into the dining room and setting them on the table. Everyone took seats around the table, passing pizza, breadsticks and wings. Stevie, with Tommy’s help, brought out beers and other drinks for everyone. Everyone was relaxed as they started to eat.

“This place is awesome,” Vince took a big drink of his beer and grabbed another slice of pizza. “We’ll have to remember it when we come up here on tour or something.”

“Not allowed when we’re not here,” Duff laughed. “Stevie will kill you if you trash the place.”

“Oh, come on Stevie, you love us,” Mick laughed. Stevie shook her head.

“I do. But not enough to let you guys destroy my home like we did that hotel in...multiple states,” She smiled at the boys. That’s when he gaze fell to the window and her eyes widened. “Duff! It’s snowing!”

“Oh fuck no,” Axl groaned. “I hate snow.”

But Stevie wasn’t listening to him. She jumped out of her seat like something bit her, running to get her jacket and shoes.

“Where are you going?” Slash asked, watching her. She turned to look at him like he had asked her the dumbest question in the world.

“Snow!” She yelled before turning back around to run outside.

“Wow, okay then,” Nikki laughed. “She’s excited about...Duff, you okay over there?” Duff had a goofy smile on his face. He stood up and looked to make sure Stevie wasn’t able to see what he was doing. He went to the hall closet and pulled a box out of one of his jackets.

“Oh my god, is it time?” Tommy asked, bouncing in his seat. Axl’s smile fell when he eyes the box in Duff’s hand.

“Yeah, I think it is,” Duff smiled at them. He pulled on his coat as the others got theirs.

“Come on Axl, get your coat. You don’t wanna miss this!” Tommy told the redhead, slapping him on the back. Vince noticed Axl’s quiet demeanor. Any other time, the frontman would’ve been yelling at Tommy. But he was quiet. Vince just shook his head and got his coat, heading outside with the others. Duff made his way out to their backyard garden, where Stevie was standing, watching the snow fall.

“Duff, it’s so pretty,” she laughed, looking up at the sky. “We never got this in LA. At least not on this scale.”

“See if you still like it in a few weeks when it’s slush,” Duff laughed. Stevie looked over to see Motley Crue and the rest of Guns n’ Roses coming outside.

“ Too bad there’s not enough for a snowball fight.” Stevie laughed. “We could have a couple kickass teams. Even though I think Izzy and Axl are allergic to cold and snow.” She turned back to look at the snow.

“You’re happy, right?” Duff asked. Stevie looked at him, raising an eyebrow in confusion.

“Of course,” She told him. “I love our house, I love Princess Peach, and I love you. Why?”

“Well, I just wanna make sure before I do this…” Stevie watched as the taller man fidgeted a little. “Stevie, I think I’ve been in love with you for much longer than I realized. And that’s why… I want to do this.” Stevie watched as Duff got on one knee and opened the ring box. She gasped and stared at him. She had had a feeling that this was coming, but she had no idea when. “Stevie Adler, will you marry me?”

“Yes!” She smiled and nodded. Duff slipped the ring on her finger, a gold band with a simple, yet elegant looking black stone. Stevie looked down at it, tears in her eyes. Duff stood up and cupped her face, kissing her deeply.

“Stevie’s getting married!” Tommy called out, running over to hug them. “Guys! Come on! Bring it in!”

The next thing Stevie knew, she was getting all kinds of hugs from her friends. She had a huge smile on her face as the snow fell around them.

No one noticed as Axl slipped back inside as Duff and Stevie got hugs and congratulations from their friends. He closed his eyes when he heard the happy laughter ring out. He wanted nothing better to do than to hide. Which is what he did, shutting and locking the door of the downstairs bathroom.

“Can we go inside soon?” Izzy asked. “As happy as I am for you guys, I can’t feel my fingers anymore.”

“Okay, okay, let’s go in,” Stevie laughed, admiring her ring. “I’ll make us hot chocolate.” They all headed inside, Stevie getting to work on making the hot chocolate for everyone while Duff found a game for them all to watch. Axl came out of the bathroom then.

“Where were you? You missed all the excitement,” Slash laughed.

“I had to piss,” Axl shrugged and headed into the living room to watch the game with the others. He let himself relax and argued with some of them over who was going to win, Seattle or Indianapolis.

Stevie watched them through the kitchen door as she heard the playful arguing and smiled. She finally had a family that loved her.

Forever Tags: @anathewierdo​ @dekahg​ @marvel-af-imagines​ @feelmyroarrrr​ @nanie5​ @imboredsueme​ @gemini0410​ @aiaranradnay​ @babypink224221​ @mogarukes​ @xxwarhawk​ @sandlee44​ @shatteredabby​ @caswinchester2000​ @supernaturalwincestsblog​ @lauravic​ @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk​ @teller258316​ @horrorpxnk​ @tommyleeownsme​ @marvelismylifffe​ @mrslogansixxpixx​

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[suffering-and-happy-about-it]

WhatsApp? Part 18. (Steve Rogers x reader) - ENDING

Description: You’ve never been lucky with guys. You just wanted to catch someone’s eye, to be loved. One day, that’s about to turn completely - with one fake, completely imagined number a guy gave you.

A/N: And that's that. The series is over. It was fun, guys, but don't worry, we'll move on. Also kinda inspired by Turning Page by Sleeping At Last? Because it's just a classic love song. Also, the reader has kinda those beautiful fucking Bella Cullen dress because this dress is just a piece of art.

Warnings: DAT PURE WEDDING FLUFF YOU GUYS. I AM A SENSITIVE MF OKAY?

Word count: 3.7 K

Tagging: @missdictatorme, @songforhema, @mikariell95, @jaqui-has-a-conspiracy-theory

Read the rest here: Part One  Part Two  Part three  Part four  Part five  Part Six Part seven  Part eight  Part nine  Part ten  Part eleven  Part twelve  Part thirteen  Part fourteen  Part fifteen  Part sixteen  Part seventeen

If you like to have your readings in order :):  H E R E  

Sometime after everything settled down in your batshit crazy life again:

A small child made everything in your life change. You thought that you won't be able to survive the labor, you cried, you screamed, you yelled some pretty bad words, almost slapped Steve and almost broken a doctors arm, but in the end, it was worth all of it when a small baby girl in a blanket was put on your chest so you could hold her on your arms. She was so... Small, gentle, warm and smelled so nice. You broke down in tears at that very moment.

Your apartment changed drastically - it wasn't existing anymore. When Sam heard that you're about to extend your family, he moved to your old place so you could both move to Steves in Brooklyn, because he had a spare room there. Bucky moved to Deena's basically and had a sleepover on your couch only when he and Deena had one of their fights. 

Both of the boys, plus some Clint, random Scott and the literal GOD Thor helped with remaking that place, repainting those walls and piecing new furniture together while they dismounted the old one. You moved your stuff there - from your cosmetics to your photos. Ans Steve let you hang them all around the place. And just a side note, because you were grumpy and complained about your huge belly, you two even bought a huge-ass bed. Slowly, Steve introduced the very pregnant you to the other Avengers - and boy, you and Natasha became the ultimate sisters in crime.

When Steve had to work or went to the gym, you, her, Deena and Suzie usually met up at your place and played scrabble, read Cosmo or watched romcoms all the time. And when it came to the wedding you were planning on, Natasha was planning literally every step with you. Deena was asserting her ideas too - May and Suzie were only agreeing on everything since both Natasha and Deena were scary like demons from the worst part of hell most of the time.

"I think you're freaking too much about that, May." - You smiled at that lovely lady, looking at her face in the mirror, shoving another daisy into the waves of her hair. - "I love the dress."

"I'm not freaking out even a shitty bit. I just think that the train is too long. That's that." - May said in a playful tone just as you braided another flower into her hair. Your hair was already done, it was braided in a really difficult hairstyle with big, white daisies and some gently toned make-up to make it all come together. You looked like a beautiful fairy from the fairy tales.

"Oh snap, sis is serious, she's cursing. But yeah, I don't wanna get it shortened as well. Y/N can walk with that easily, she is not a pussy, May. And there's no time for shortening at all." - Deena smiled, taking your side, giving you a devilish wink. You simply nodded to prove your point. ¨

Peter was in Steve's room for that matter, but you would use some of his freaking out to make you laugh at that very moment. You were nervous to say at least.

Your heart was like a drum, constantly reminding you that you're in fact very much alive at the moment and that everything is happening so fast.

"I like the train a bit loosed in the back. It makes my feet somehow more gentle. I love those shoes, that flower lace... Jesus, it looks like some shoes for a princess." - You took your own side as well and Suzie looked into the room with a smile. She had her hair loosed and curled and she looked like an angel in her peach-colored dress. That color surprisingly suited every one of them.

"Somebody wants to see you." - Suzie sang and Deena took your place in braiding May's hair.

"If it's Steve, tell him that I'm not coming down. If it's Sam, tell him that any of us is naked and that he should fuck off. If it’s Bucky, we are not out of plums." - You laughed happily, making sure that your velvet ribbon holds tightly on your body. But Peter came into your room with a smile of a shy boy. He held a small girl in his arms, making sure that she is completely safe in his hands. The girl was about to cry her eyes out. She yelled loudly - and you even knew why she was crying.

She was hungry as hell - it would be super weird if she wasn't, she ate in the morning for the last time.

"Hello, my little angels." - You opened your arms for little Maggie and sat on the bed, looking Peter to the eyes.

"You look so... Are you even Y/N?" - He joked, but Deena took him at the back of his neck lightly, giving him a personal escort back to the door and made him leave. Just after that, you took one of your boobs out, letting the small one to having some lunch before everything truly starts.

"See? That's why I didn't want to get dressed. I knew that this lady will be hungry. She's just like her very own father." - Your finger trailed on her cheek as her eyes slowly closed. Even she had something similar to dress on her, in the peachy color just every other bridesmaid.

Yeah. Obviously, the wedding until the labor date wasn't something you two didn't make happen. You were already at month two when you told him, oh, you dummydumdum - and he didn't want to make you do it. He let you take your time. 

Even if he wasn't exactly the happiest about you not being married at the time Maggie was born, her and your health were way more important than being a married couple. (Steve had something to say, but you were ready to kick his balls because you were pregnant and the hormones were making you just crazy - he was seriously afraid of you.)

You waited until Maggie was at least three months old, so Peter could take care of her for at least an hour without being afraid he'll hurt her. But Steve didn't care. He was crazy for you to say at least, even more, when you had your big belly and shining eyes.

And he also stayed when you could cry your eyes out, vomit out your stomach, when your feet were swollen and when you called him dipshit just because you were angry with him. Without any clear reason to say at least, your hormones were just getting crazy.

But your pregnancy brought some sweet moments with it, just as when Natasha arranged you a photoshoot in the central park and Tony (YOU WERE FORCED TO CALL HIM TONY EVEN IF YOU FREAKED THE HELL OUT EVERY TIME STEVE SAID JUST “TONY? WHATEVER”.) made some super scary fucking system for your baby to be. Some Clint or who gave you some coupon for your baby to have bow shooting lessons with him. They were hand-drawn as far as your suspicion went, but you just smiled and took it.

Steve's friends were just the weirdest and the loveliest you had ever met - but just as Samuel and Bucky, you loved them as your family soon enough, having a shit ton of photos with them in your family album.

So that why the whole Avengers squad came to your wedding and that was why the paparazzi were going basically crazy because of your wedding. Only Natasha was late, as always when you had a meeting with her. So you knew that there is no reason for being too stressed about the time.

But none of that mattered because as at all weddings, everything was already late. The only one who seemed to be freaking out about the time was Tony (TONY STARK), who thought that there will not be enough time where he can just make a cap appear like a fool at the wedding party. At least that was what you have heard, none of that was confirmed. 

Even if everyone was making something extremely serious out of that, it was truly only a small wedding. The most expansive were the dream-like dress, and even those were given to you as a gift from your plum-diet coach and Deena. Heck, that wedding even made it to Forbes on the list of the most important wedding of the last ten years. You were just two places after the Royal family of England. 

A comment about Tony Stark’s and Pepper’s relationship was, of course, made in the last paragraph - everyone was bitching about them need to marry already.

Soon, there was the time when you needed to get dressed into those velvet expansive dress and shoes, while May and Suzie were making Maggie a company. You were trembling so much you barely stood on your feet. Of course that Deena had to point that out as soon as she realized it. 

“Wow, you sure that you won't have a heart attack on me?” - She giggled silently, supporting you while Natasha, who arrived late, yelled a chaotical FUCK, was all messy and almost forgot her dress, was buttoning up the dress at your back. 

“Fuck you.” - You answered sharply. Deena made a surprised face, giggling at your reaction. 

“Missy, you're kind of rude today, aren't you? Are you good?” - Deena asked teasingly and this time, May took your side.

“She's nervous, Deena. Let it be, once the ceremony is over, your beloved Y/N will be back.” - May lisped sweetly while making faces at your daughter. 

“You're nervous?” - Deena said sweetly, smiling at you with shining eyes. She was more proud than a mother could ever be; she was telling you that she is your mother since she helped you with planning out the very details. - “Come on. You're living together for almost a year and you haven't even argued, you haven't even bickered, or at least literally no-one here had the chance to witness it. You're just the sweetest couple that makes my teeth rotten. You're perfect parents to that small angel. What is a certificate, when you're already happy together?” 

“What if this the biggest bullshit of my whole life? What if he's not the Mr. Right? What if we split up?” - You huffed into Deena's face.

“You want to make me laugh?” - Natasha spoke all of a sudden with her firm voice. She was scaring you like hell sometimes, but she was a great chit-chat maker and the lady you wanted to spend the evenings and rainy days next to the fireplace with when Steve was gone on a mission. - “Have you two even see each other? You're like a goddamn puzzle. Hold her tighter.” - Nat commanded to Deena and Deena just smiled into your face, telling you that everything is going to be alright.

“And you should think about that before you two have Margareth, don't you think, honey?” - Deena smiled at you ironically and you nodded, closing your eyes and exhaling slowly in order not to kill your bridesmaids before the wedding itself even begins.

The ceremony? You would've loved to tell stories about walking down the aisle, watching all those happy and crying faces, how your heart almost popped out of your chest... But you really had a blackout. You were so nervous that you barely knew how to walk and how to say yes. All you could recall was that you almost tripped on your high heels and that you stood in front of Steve without breathing for a minute straight while he was telling you his vows.

It made Pepper cry so hard she almost left the room, because she hasn't heard anything sweeter until that day. But you could only hear the tone of his voice, you could only see the color of his eyes. You wanted to scream because of how good he was looking; you never saw anything sexier than Steve Rogers in a tuxedo. Somehow, your brain couldn't still connect shit as you were telling him your vows in a sweet voice. You seemed cool even if you weren't.

A few minutes from that moment, you will be a married woman. You will have a hubby on your own, and your last name will be legally changed to Rogers. But when you held his hands and looked him in the face while you were saying your vows, your brain still didn't make you realize any of that.

You still didn't realize that when you had that ring on and when you walked out of the church covered in rice. You slowly started to realize that you're someone's wife when you changed into a normal pair of jeans and a blouse so you could be comfortable at the reception. You pieced it together when you rode there with Maggie sleeping in a safety car seat and Steve held your hand while his thumb gently played with the ring on your left palm. That was when you started to cry and when the happiness replaced the overall stress you had. 

He still had his shirt and tuxedo on - only you were the jackass who told everybody that they will not be wearing that beautiful dress during the whole reception. You only left the shoes, which were stunning as well. 

Every guest was already there at the moment you arrived, hand in hand. Every woman who was out there was crying, hugging you and told you how beautiful it was - you could ever see Tony wiping away some tears. First, you let everyone have some good food, so you could spend the whole evening by telling embarrassing stories, drinking and eating even more delicious food. After that, the main program came - all the speeches, photo presentations, and laughs. 

All the Avengers basically laid into Steve pretty bad - but it made you cry out of laughter. Tony provided some extremely embarrassing photos, Bucky was telling the stories from the forties, Sam was baing sam and Natasha had a heartwarming and long speech which made everyone sobbing - because nobody knew that she was capable of that in the first place.

Your colleagues made one long video consisting of your group achievements and photos since the very day you first came to that working place. When they were done, you were a crying mess once again. Hugging each one of them to tight that you almost squeezed the air out of their lungs. And Peter had his dorky speech, that poor boy almost didn't speak a sentence without stuttering. 

But it was all perfect. So everyone looked at Steve after everyone was done with their speeches, starting his very own. You didn't even know that he prepared one. 

"Hi, hello. If you don't know by now, I am the groom, nice to meet you all.” - He joked nervously, standing next to the place you were sitting. Most of the people let out a quiet giggle, just as you did. Clint, who was almost shitfaced alongside Bucky and Thor shot up from his chair, raising his hand in your direction. - “I'm Clint, nice to meet you!” 

“When I look back at the two last years of my life, I am grateful for all that time more that I've been ever grateful for anything. I've been a man who lost almost everything you can think of and one day... A damn text appeared on the screen of my phone and I didn't know that on the other side is the woman I will want to marry since the first kiss she gave me.” - Steve smiled at you, smoothing your shoulder, earning a small aw from everyone.

“And... If you ask me - I know. We're taking everything too fast. The first was our beautiful angel, after only four and a half months, the wedding came after the first year, and to be honest, every one of her friends thinks she's crazy about doing everything so fast. And I know that.” - That was Deena's time to yell You bet that we think that! with a peal of soft laughter, her head leaning into Bucky’s shoulder - “And... To be honest, we have a very strange list of approaching those big things in life that everyone dreams of achieving." - Steve told with a glass of champagne in his hand, leaving the other palm to hold yours, while you slowly kissed him in the valley under his thumb, then leaning your chin into that small place. It was a few minutes before nine p.m. and he was already only in his shirt and trousers.

You watched him with adoration and your smile slowly grew bigger and bigger. Even he was ready to make you weep. Again. Around ten p.m., there was a girl supposed to come to look after Maggie and until then, she was just lying in cradle put beside your table and made some sweet baby noises, talking to herself.

"But you know what? As far as she doesn't mind, I don't care. I don't care if she's willing to give me five minutes, five months, five years or her whole life. I'm just happy to have this gorgeous, lovely woman with the most beautiful smile on the whole world by my side." - He leaned down to kiss you and you shook your head as you were crying again. But then you stood up as well, ready to have your own speech.

“Hi. I'm the bride, folks.” - You started the same way. - “And I don't have a single word written down and even if I did, I'm terrible at speeches. But I guess that this is what true love of someone does to you. It encourages you and inspires you beyond your own belief.” - You said, looking at him and him only. - “Because every word they say is making your heart melt, with every touch, they redefine a new paraphrase and their smile means everything to you.” - You said quietly, so drunkards in the back couldn’t hear you for shit. But you didn't care.

“I was and I am just a normal girl from New York, not exactly hit with the men, so anything on this whole planet couldn't prepare me for the privilege of being Mrs. Rogers. When it all started, I couldn't believe that such a guy would want to even have something with someone so normal like me. It took a lot of time, empathy and patience before we were able to stand here as a bride and groom, but as I said, that's what love is about. Redefining your old world, exploring new sides of you and let me say... Your kiss was the first one that made me feel something. I love you.” - You said with a look into his face and all you could see was crying Deena and Natasha holding the tears back, but she couldn't.

“I love you.” - Steve whispered when you kissed him, just as he did at the end of the speech. 

After Maggie was picked up by her nanny, and Peter left with the small baby as well to protect her, and because the nanny was seriously hot and in his age, the true party began. Everyone laughed, drank and danced - and let me say, Thor was a pretty wild dancer once he was drunk. You wished for that day to never end, yet after a too short amount of time, there was a deep night and only the last ones were standing on the dance floor, dancing. 

Bucky was whispering sweet nothings to smiling Deena and a few of Steve’s friends, a blonde lady named Sharon and a guy you didn't know for shit were just turning in small circles. Sam and Thor were sleeping on one of the tables with loud snoring. You tightened hand around Steve's neck, playing with his hair. You were slightly drunk, you couldn't actually drink and Steve was sober as ever.

“Hi.” - You whispered. After a long day, you finally had the intimacy to talk to each other. 

“Hello there.” - He chuckled. At that moment, nothing could make him more happy and contented than holding you in his arms. 

“My day was completely insane. How about yours, big guy?” - You laughed quietly. Steve shot a look at Deena making Bucky do a bow. 

“It was the best day of my life, and trust me, that is telling a lot about that day.” - Steve answered after a while, stealing a kiss away.

“One false number... And who would have thought that I will be marrying that dork two years after that?” - You smiled and leaned into a tight embrace, enjoying how warm and tight he feels under your touch.

“That dork was hoping that the beautiful woman marries him. Just saying.” - He teased you with a giggle, then he spin you around carefully before hugging you. 

“I would appreciate if you showed me how beautiful that woman is, what do you say?” - You whispered wickedly, stealing another kiss with a moan so quiet that no-one around could hear it.

“That would be my pleasure, Mrs. Rogers.” 

FIN 

[lilhemmo]

forbidden words

a/n: requests are “star-crossed lovers” and “trapped in a room due to inclimate weather” - you let me know how i did once you’ve read!!

send me two au’s from this list + a ship/character

The curse had come at a young age for the Princess of North.

She was but a babe, merely days old, hardly clean from her mother’s womb. The goddess had appeared from thin air only to place her slender hand on the tiny newborn’s forehead, muttering a curse that would haunt all of her future days.

“There will come a time in this younglings life, where she will have to choose between love or strife. Those who love her will die a cruel fate, but those who would rise against her should dig their grave.”

Before her parents could push the goddess away, she had already wished the incantation upon the young mortal. Her fate was sealed.

The South was in need of food, in need of shelter, with nowhere to turn. The young maiden, but fourteen years of age, welcomed them in with open arms and open gates. The South was allowed to eat with the royalty of the North, allowed to partake in their wine and finest meats. No one from the Southern Kingdom had ever eaten bread that was less than three days stale.

It was happenstance when the Prince of the South and the Princess of the North met.

“I-I’m sorry,” he mutters, bristling at the warmth of another’s touch. He hadn’t felt someone else’s skin since his mother had passed away. The memory of her cold touch as the life bled out of her still haunts his nights.

“It’s okay,” you respond, a warm smile on your kind lips. You curtsy, dipping your head out of respect. This boy will be a King before you know it. It would be wise to have him on your side.

The Prince tilts his head towards you like an inquisitive animal, dark eyes tracking your movements. He coughs before he speaks, “What your family is doing for our Kingdom will not be forgotten, Your Highness. I’m sure they will arrange our union soon enough to keep the ties bound.”

You shake your head, your blood running cold, “Oh no, young prince. I shan’t believe they would do such a thing at all.”

He glances back to you, confusion evident in his swirling brown irises. A chestnut curl flops over his forehead unceremoniously. He is handsome, that much you know, but you do not allow yourself to be torn away from the present by such frivolous things.

“Surely you will be wed to another suitor, then? I apologize if I overstepped, and you were already betrothed. I was not aware.” The Prince shuffles his feet, kicking at nonexistent dirt on the floor. He licks his lips and looks you in the eyes again, but this time it is your turn to speak.

“I will never be wed,” you hold back tears, steeling your resolve as you stand before this boy. You grip your hands into fists by your side, “To love me is to be cursed, and to die. I would never wish that upon another soul.”

The Prince looks at you quizzically, but you make your exit before he can ask any other intrusive questions; questions you never want to think about answering.

--

News spreads around town on your twenty-first birthday that you are still unwed to one of your many suitors.

People begin to wonder: Is she unfit for a man? Is she unfit to rule? Is she unlovable? Does she lust after women?

And, while at least one of the rumors is true, only your family will ever know the truth.

The only other person you’ve ever opened up to was the Prince of the Southern Kingdom. And you haven’t seen him in years.

Until he shows up on your castle doorstep, asking about a treaty.

You are spending time in the stables when you hear his deep voice approach.

“My parents do not understand how I have not chosen a bride yet,” he laughs, a deep, throaty laugh that sounds more like a bark than anything. “They continue to have events in my honor, dragging in women from every which way, but I cannot find it within me to say yes.”

He looks up at you, and you wish your heart didn’t stop.

The Prince has grown much more handsome than you last remember. He has a chiseled jawline and strong cheekbones. His lips are full and his muscles now fill out his tunic. He is no longer lanky and awkward; instead, he walks with a certain sense of regality in his gait.

“Your Highness,” he bows to you, dipping his head out of respect. You swear he is smirking at you when he rises to his full height again, but the expression has gone from his face as soon as you try to pin it down. “Would you care to go for a ride?”

He’s gesturing to the horses, but you’re trying to look your father in the eyes so you can silently ask for help. You do not need to get close to this Prince. In fact, you need to stay very far away.

“Um,” you manage to stutter out, “I-I would like that, actually.”

You mount your horse, Athena, and he sidles up to you with his frame settled atop your father’s steed, Heracles.

You are out for hours, exploring the lower parts of your kingdom’s land. You ride through the countryside, smelling of the fresh fruits and flowers that the citizens are growing to help your kingdom thrive. You wave to the people as you pass by, asking about their families and their crops.

“You are respected in your Kingdom, princess,” The Prince nods to you as you clear out of another apple orchard. He chuckles, shaking his head, “I don’t think I’ve met another quite like you.”

“Well,” you begin, straightening your spine, “that might be because there isn’t another quite like me.”

You ignore the swelling in your heart when he looks at you with shining eyes, respect glowing in his chocolate irises. You slap the reigns against your horse and head back to your home.

--

Five years pass and The Prince is not a stranger to your home. You learn he likes to be called Sweet Pea and that he enjoys riding his horse and eating peaches. He does not like to wear typical prince clothing and cannot stand the taste of alcohol. His hands are warm as they guide your back and elbow, and his eyes are gentle when he looks at you.

There comes a day when he gets too close and your face gets too hot and your heart pulses too quick and you realize what is happening.

You are falling in love.

And instead of falling heart first, you push him away with rough palms and a tight voice.

You banish him from your kingdom, forcing your guards to keep him at bay when he visits. You cannot allow your heart to grow much fonder of him, or else the curse will ring true and he will lose his life.

Letters appear at your door, slipped under the frame, always sealed with the dark green wax and his ornate stamp. You cannot bear to open them, so you hide them away in hopes that one day, once your heart quenches it’s thirst, you might read them to remember the time when you were almost in love.

--

Another year passes and the letters stop.

Princess Lodge of East La Bonne is hosting a ball to celebrate her engagement to Prince Mantle of Riverdale. Before you can make out which is left and which is right, you’re being loaded into the castle’s finest carriage and driven to East La Bonne without another word.

Princess Elizabeth and Queen Topaz are both in attendance, which makes your heart’s anxious beating quell to a gentle thumping in your chest. You lean on them for support, sipping on a fine, bubbly drink in the meantime. You dance with Antoinette, your hands on her shoulders as her fingers guide your waist. She makes you laugh and when you finally open your eyes to thank her for the dance, you catch the gaze of a certain Southside royal.

As soon as his eyes lock onto yours, he begins to trek your way. You push yourself out of Antoinette’s arms, an apology billowing from your lips. Your dress catches on the doorframe as you make your way anywhere, god, anywhere, but here. You find yourself tripping through a side door that leads to the back garden. The blooms smell enticing but you cannot stop to appreciate them.

Heavy footfalls echo behind you, only driving you further away. You push yourself into a small stable, pretending not to feel the beginning of rain on your skin. The wetness of the weather makes your dress slick, sticking the fabric to every contour of your body. You feel tears well up but you know you cannot cry; cannot risk him hearing you.

“Princess?” he calls.

You hear the stable door swing shut and your heart drops into your feet.

The rain begins to pour outside, loud droplets echoing off the rooftop. You wrap your arms around yourself and bury your body further into the bale of hay, praying yourself invisible.

“I don’t understand,” he continues, “You never even told me why.”

He sounds angry, and you cannot blame him. You imagine the way his upper lip would curl in discontent, and the way his cheeks would tinge pink in embarrassment that someone else might be able to control his temperament, even for a moment.

You force the thoughts out of your head – you cannot continue to list the things you find beautiful about this man, it will only mean his demise.

“Go away!” you shout finally. Your voice is grief-stricken and thick with emotion. Tears cloud your eyes as you thrust your pointer finger towards the stable door. “You will leave, now! Did you not understand before, when I banished you from the North?”

Sweet Pea takes a heavy step towards you, his boots loud against the stone floor. His spirit feels weighted, as if chains were tied to his ankles. He reaches out to touch your elbow but you yank it away as if burned.

“Please tell me what is going on, Princess,” he begs of you.

Thunder and lightning crackle outside the door and you know you should retreat back indoors, where the party can keep you safe.

“I do not owe you any sort of an explanation,” you shake your head and fight more tears. Your throat begins to close up as your feelings swell to the surface. “Please, leave. Now.”

Sweet Pea angrily approaches you, backing you into the wooden wall of the stable. He presses the pad of his index fingertip to the valley of your breasts, accusing you even in silence.

“You were my friend. I cared for you. I was there for you when you were sad and when you were angry. You held my hand when my brother was ill.” His hands shake with emotion, eyes alight with something akin to fear. He sucks his lower lip into the bite of his teeth for just a moment before releasing, “And you have the audacity to shut me out without another word? I lo-“

“Don’t!” you screech, falling to your knees in front of him. You crumble, unable to deal with the thought of losing this man to the curse that befell you as a child. “Do not go any further!”

“Why not?!” he beseeches. Sweet Pea squats in front of you, cradling your cheeks in firm, large hands. His thumbs brush over the tear tracks on your skin, “Why will you not let me tell you how I feel?”

Your hands are numb as the rain pours down outside. There is no way you will ever be able to leave now. It is as if fate has locked you away in a room, destiny sending your beloved Sweet Pea to his death right in front of your eyes.

“We cannot do this,” you tell him. You cover his hands with your own, relishing in his touch for a moment, “I am cursed. I cannot allow you to bare your soul to me because it will mean certain death for you. I will not allow it.”

“I don’t care about a lousy curse,” he assures you with a gentle voice. His eyes are kind, just like the day you met, and his smile tugs gently at his full mouth. Oh, how you long to taste the delicacy of his lips. And yet, you are barred from partaking in any bit of this man.

“I care!” You shout, your hands gripping furiously at his tunic. Tears relentlessly drag down your cheeks, heat steaming up your chest to your face to pinken the skin of your cheeks.

You shake your head and lightning strikes on cue, “Don’t you understand, Pea!?”

He swallows, his throat bobbing, “I do not care about a curse, princess. I care about you.”

“And that will be your undoing,” you whisper, voice cracking.

You release his tunic and allow yourself to finish crumbling. You rock back and forth, the anxiety creeping up like a pack of spiders on your spine. You want to itch, to scratch them away, but you know there will be nothing there when your fingernails scrape at your skin.

“You need to forget me. Forget all of this. You need to go, find a woman who will bear you healthy sons and continue your lineage.” You swipe at your face to rid your skin of tears. You cannot look him in the eye, not when your heart is breaking.

“How can I forget you?” he whispers in a husky voice, tears begging to be released from his lids. “I love you.”

Just as the words are spoken, he falls to his knees, clutching his throat.

a/n: considering writing a part two??? since i never TECHNICALLY killed sp, y’know ;) 

PLEASE LET ME KNOW WHAT YOU THOUGHT OF IT HERE IN MY ASK BOX! AND FEEL FREE TO SEND ME ANOTHER REQUEST!

[bravadoseries]

All the evens for Audrey and all the odds for Margo!

thank you!  this got super long so i’m putting it under a cut hehe

audrey: 

2. why is your oc problematic?

audrey is problematic because she has no clue what she’s doing when it comes to anything and when it comes to being a hero, she relies almost entirely on trial and error.  

4. what crossovers with other ocs have you talked about?

i have talked about crossovers with you for leila, @emiliachrstine​ with jacqueline, and @notaboutcat​ with grace barnes!!!  

6. if your oc were to have superpowers, what would they be? if your oc has superpowers, what are they?

so audrey has super soldier strength as her primary superpower, and also there’s some other stuff that will be revealed during the thor: tdw arc

8. alright, be honest—whether or not they get the chance to prove it, is your oc worthy?

so i think that audrey does become worthy eventually during endgame, but i think that all the avengers are.  

10. what’s your oc’s fight song? (e.g., immigrant song for thor, just a girl for carol)

girls just wanna have fun!!! i think is the biggest one.  but i have actually picked out songs for the main fights in all of the movies audrey is in: 

avengers battle of new york: “mama talking” by parov stelar

moscow fight against bucky: “bad guy” by billie eilish which i know wasn’t technically released yet but it’s okay

thor: tdw final fight: “big god” by florence and the machine

tws final fight: “seven nation army” by the white stripes

avengers: aou battle of sokovia: “glass & patron” by fka twigs

captain america: civil war airport scene: “bad blood” by taylor swift

angels of mercy final fight: “tomboy” by princess nokia

thor: ragnarok: “the future’s so bright, i gotta wear shades” by timbuk 3 

avengers: iw: “yellow flicker beat” by lorde

avengers: endgame: “girls just wanna have some” by chrormatics and “lights up” by harry styles and “boys wanna be her” by peaches 

12. what was your oc like in high school?

audrey didn’t officially go to high school because she was tutored privately until she started just going to college but she was generally bored with her tutors.  when she went to high school in the 80s, she was jarred.  even though she’d gotten several degrees by that point, she was like freaked out by being with other people and having to have a social life because in college she just didn’t talk to anybody.  so she was nervous and quiet but she did have one good friend!

14. your oc meets thanos. what’s their first move?

omg audrey’s first move is to spit on him, i think, and then she just like attempts to tackle him and scratch his eyes out ngl

16. your oc gets married. which canon characters are in the wedding party?

yesss braudrey wedding time!! natasha is one of her bridesmaids, tony is the officiant, and both steve and darcy walk her down the aisle.  steve and darcy have a young daughter by this point who is a flower girl with morgan, and they’re super cute.  i could talk about the braudrey wedding for so long though i have so many little plans

18. what are your oc’s bad habits or vices?

audrey loves sweets, i think is one of her vices. she also tends to know she’s making bad choices but go through with them anyway. 

20. your oc wears the gauntlet (without any detrimental effects on their health) and gets one snap to wish for anything they want. what do they ask for?

audrey asks to destroy the infinity stones, i think most likely.  she doesn’t want that energy to be condensed into such a powerful form because that’s like a nightmare.  i think it changes from film to film, but by the end, her final wish is for everyone to not be so powerful all the time

22. what does your oc’s bedroom look like?

audrey’s apartment is very minimalist, because it’s easy for her to get overwhelmed.  before she moved into the tower, she was a workaholic because she would get so bored with her freetime that she always had case files everywhere.  once she joins the avengers though and kind of like starts building a life for herself, she starts to settle into her place more and have details that reflect her life more—photos on the walls, little things that she collects from good memories, and a lot of books on the shelves!  audrey likes big windows and keeps them open, but the space is mostly like white with dark blue accents.  

24. which characters from other movies or shows is your oc a combination of?

excellent question!  so audrey reminds me a lot of like the most chaotic combinations of mike schur main ships?  she’s both chidi and eleanor, and both jake and amy.  she’s anxious but also impulsive, awkward but also extremely loving, strong but also scared.  

26. which canon character would they go to for advice? why?

audrey goes to different characters for advice about different things!  with moral problems, she goes to steve.  with fighting advice, she heads to natasha, obviously.  with relationship advice, she heads to darcy.  and later, post aou, audrey actually spends a lot of time with wanda and pietro becoming more politically active.  

28. what’s your oc’s biggest flaw?

audrey is scared of everything! i think is her biggest flaw.  it’s hard for her to overcome that fear.  

30. what movies or shows is your oc featured in?

audrey is in agent carter, she has cameos in iron man 1+2, thor 1, captain marvel, and captain america: tfa.  she’s a main in avengers, thor 2, tws, avengers: aou, captain america: civil war, thor 3, and avengers iw and endgame!

margo: 

1. how did you pick your oc’s name?

margo is short for margaret! i think peggy is kind of an old-fashioned name (technically so is margo) but margo is cute and short too 

3. besides their main ship, who else do you think they would work well with?

i think margo could have a relationship with magnus (thor and jane’s older son) but it probably wouldn’t be super healthy.   also i think she and calliope could have had a cute relationship which coulson would have lost his mind about lol.

5. what’s a crossover with another oc that you’ve wanted to do, but haven’t officially discussed or planned?

i feel like it would be cool to talk about margo with @cassercole​‘s queve family ! i think an audrey and q crossover would just slap in general because i think it would be angsty and cool and i can imagine q being like . i did not sign up to be a stepmother, but thanks, but then the two of them actually becoming friends eventually.  

but anyway, i can imagine bonnie and tristan teasing margo and making them call her aunt and uncle but them all getting along well and hanging out at family reunions and getting into trouble . having a vision of the three of them stealing a blunt or something from tony’s jacket pocket at thanksgiving and then all of them being high and paranoid about getting caught by steve. 

q catches them and margo is like please don’t be mad and please don’t tell my mom and q just rolls her eyes and closes the door to the room they’re all in after telling them dinner’s in 10 minutes, and she won’t tell but it’s up to them not to get caught.  

7. rank their compatibility with the marvel teams: avengers, guardians of the galaxy, agents of shield, defenders, runaways

okay so: 1) avengers, because they’re her family.  2) gotg, because she thinks they’re all super weird and cool.  3) runaways, because i think she’s scrappy and has a similar sheltered background to them.  4) aos, just because found family time.  5) defenders.  super brutal and she’s just like ummmm i am scared . 

9. which other mcu characters would your oc really get along with?

i think gamora and margo would get along super well.  also margo’s close with carol because she likes how she’s not too serious about herself as a hero.  i think she’s also probably gets along well with wanda and pietro.  she’s super close with her dad, also.  

11. post a snippet of the next chapter of an oc’s fic!

okay to be honest i have not written any of margo’s fic yet so i will have to pass 

13. what’s a secret about your oc that they would never admit? feel free to be as angsty or as silly as you’d like!

margo would never admit it but she has a slight schoolgirl crush on thor, who is one of the strength instructors slash english teachers at the academy.  

15. if your oc has a costume/were to have a costume, what does it/would it look like? what colors? cape or no cape?

no cape, but sometimes she ties a towel around her neck and dances in her dorm room.  margo’s costume would probably look a lot like helena bertinelli’s costume on arrow—very classic, infinity mask, etc. 

17. after a battle, how does your oc recover?

she cries into her pillow for several hours and enters a period if intense self loathing and eats ice cream.  

19. what were some other faceclaims you considered for your oc?

when audrey was shipped with pietro, margo was played by josefine frida petersen!

21. if your oc survived the snap, who do they miss the most?

in an au where audrey has margo before infinity war and the snap, margo would be devastated to grow up without her mother

23. what’s their love language? what’s the love language of the character they’re shipped with?

i think margo’s is words of affirmation, and leo’s is quality time! 

25. which characters annoy your oc? why?

margo gets annoyed with her mom, a lot.  audrey and bex are really close and so she feels left out of that relationship.  i also think that margo doesn’t get along super well with pepper because she thinks pepper doesn’t like her.  she doesn’t like peter quill that much, even though she likes the rest of the guardians.  and she never meets loki, but i think she would absolutely hate him.  

27. what’s your oc’s biggest strength?

i think her biggest strength is her big heart!  she feels a lot and she’s kind of intense but she’s a very loving person.  

29. team cap, team iron man, team i don’t care, or team please stop fighting?

team please stop fighting!! she’s like why is my life an episode of family feud . i know she doesn’t exist then but she looks back on it and brings it up sometimes and they’re both deeply embarrassed about it in hindsight and also like . okay BUT and she’s like okay nevermind!!!!

[cherrytart-ffxiv]

#18: wilt.

[[ Content warning: brief mention of mutilation, blood, and drug use. ]]

She sits on the red velvet couch with a pink cigarette between her lips, plump and plush, the fur coat that Alfie had given her hanging off of one shoulder. You’d expect her eyes to be as glassy as a doll’s, but they aren’t. They’re dark and deep, and if you look too long, you’ll fall into the void they host. Black lashes kiss against her cheeks on the rare occasions that she blinks, the humidity of the room and the sweat from dancing making her peach hair cling to her neck.

I hate her. None of us other girls like Cherry. Maybe Violet does, at least. 

Some of us who are older and have been away for way longer were witness to the way Alfie cast aside the girl before her in favor of Cherry. He doesn’t spare us a glance save to gather up our cash, always dragging his little porcelain doll here, there, and everywhere. Their shouting matches are deafening. I remember the day he came out of his office bleeding with security dragging a screeching Cherry in front of him, a bloodied shard of glass clenched so tight in her hand that it was cutting her. She was like an animal, unaware of the pain she was causing herself. I remember those void-black eyes turned amber, brimming and baying for more violence.

No one asked what Alfie had done to earn her ire that day. He didn’t offer to tell us, and neither did Cherry. He had a fresh scar on his face, and she came back to work after a sennight in the ‘Quiet Room.’ Fucking bitch deserved it. She gets to be the apple of his eye, gets treated like a fucking princess, and she throws tantrums about it. She gets everything. She’s the special favorite. None of us girls dare to say a bad word about her if we aren’t sure it won’t be overheard. Even Alfie’s bouncers and middlemen are afraid to get on her bad side. For all of their fighting, it’s clear that no one is allowed to hurt Cherry but him.

“Heard she literally bit the tip of one of her client’s dicks off and all she got was three days in the Quiet Room,” another girl mutters to me, shooting Cherry a glare as she stares into nothing. “Out of her fucking mind. Look at her. You can see the bitch is batshit fuckin’ crazy.”  

We hear the rumors, of course. She goes primal on one of her clients, outside or inside the bedroom, and she gets a merciful slap on the wrist. There’s a vigilante that goes around in all black, in the swankier areas of Ul’dah, and lots of people say that it’s Cherry. She carves ‘RAPIST’ into their chests or stomachs and then doesn’t have the mercy to kill them. She lets them bleed out, or quietly alerts a Brass Blade to it before disappearing into the night. It sounds like something out of a story, right? No shit. I don’t know if I believe that it’s her. She might be crazy, but I don’t know if she’s tough enough to take down some of those guys. 

“It’s alright,” I reply, watching Cherry in the mirror. She’s still as a statue. “Alfie’ll get tired of her sooner or later... Gods. I can’t stand her fuckin’ face.”

“She thinks she’s better than us, but we’re all suckin’ dick for gil. Just another pretty face that’s let it get to her head. That, and the drugs. Fucking junkie.” 

We don’t even hear her approach. I don’t see it in my mirror. But suddenly, I feel a hand on my shoulder and jump, turning in the makeup chair. There she is, with those eyes so dark they look like pitch, and the dark circles beneath them to match. She’s so pale, almost pale enough to see through. The girl beside me - Rachael - blinks, and she goes white, too. 

“Sapphire Avenue, beside the peddler in the alley that sells all those oils... Your daddy, right?” Her voice is quiet, a slight drawl in it, as her eyes drill into my face. “He had your turning tricks, and then Alfie found you there, scooped you up. And you, Rachael... He found you half dead in a ditch behind some dive bar because you overdosed, right?”

Cherry stands, and though she isn’t tall by any stretch of the imagination, it feels like she’s towering over us. I don’t want to admit it, don’t want to say it out loud, but she terrifies me. The charm is turned on so easily right before her face falls again that I wonder if she’s a sociopath, a psychopath, if she is that vigilante, and how much she gets off on making those men bleed. Her hand tightens on my shoulder, like she can read my mind, and she smiles that smiles that doesn’t even come close to reaching her gaze.

“Keep your opinions of me and any constructive criticism you might have out of your mouth,” she says, her voice low and even, but... dangerous. Unsettling. “Because you’re right. I am the favorite. And if I say the word...” Her smile grows, fingernails in my skin. “Alfie will dump you right back off where he found you. In far worse condition than you are now.”

“You’re twisted,” I spit at her, and she tilts her head at me.

“And you’re not?” she asks me, pouting her red lips at me. “You want what I have? Go ahead and try to take it. We’ll see if you last a week.” 

There’s a chiming coming from her linkpearl, and she gives me one last withering, wilting look before she turns away. I reach up to where she had grasped my shoulder, eyes widening when I take my hand away to see that there was blood on it.