#chandelier over breakfast table

[hypedfire]

Living Room - Open

[wandamaximoffsbadgirl]

Bound by Desire

I've Got a Feeling (1)

Dom!Natasha x switch!Wanda x subby!brat!fem!reader

Word Count: 1.9K

Summary: Natasha and Wanda have been in a happy and healthy BDSM relationship for years, but have been looking for a third for Wanda's sake. When they meet you, they might have gotten more than they bargained for.

Warnings: 18+, MDNI, BDSM relationship, dom!nat, switch!Wanda, sub!reader, Daddy!nat, Mommy!Wanda, strap use(r receiving), bondage (more will be added as things occur)

A/N: I worked on this all yesterday and some the day before when the idea came to me. Please Enjoy~

The sun filtered through the curtains of the bedroom windows and the skylights. You had never appreciated the morning before, but as you wake up under silk sheets; your sleep shorts and tank top it feels right.

As you stretched out you felt a set of arms wrap around you, pulling you close and breathing you in. A smile spreads across your face.

“Good morning Pchelka.” The husky voice you'd come to know as Natasha whispered in your ear, sending a shiver down your spine.

“Good morning Daddy.” You have a purr to your voice as she kisses over your shoulder and up your neck.

Small noises making their way out of you as her hand glides down between your legs. She rubs you over your shorts only increasing the need and ache between your legs.

“Tasha! Honey bee! Breakfast! Come help with setting the table!” Wanda called up the stairs.

You didn't want to, but a whine came out of your mouth and a chuckle from Natasha.

“Mommy is calling Pchelka. Guess you'll have to wait a little longer.” She whispered in your ear making another whine come out.

“Please Daddy…so achy…” you turned slightly to look into her dark green eyes. Pleading with your own for her to give in, but you knew better by now.

Her hands slipped away from you as she got up. “No Pchelka. Mommy's calling and you know not to keep her waiting. Head down, I'll be there in a few minutes.”

A pout on your face as you got out of the sheets, another shiver overcoming you as your feet hit the cold hardwood flooring. You headed down to find Wanda still cooking, by the smell of it she had turkey bacon. You learned early on that Wanda liked anything that was a healthier option.

You moved over to her, leaning up and kissing her cheek, “Good morning Mommy.” You felt her smile as you kissed her cheek.

“Good morning my precious girl. Did you sleep well?” Her arm wraps around your waist and gives a kiss back to your cheek.

“I did Mommy, but then Daddy started to tease me when I woke up…” you complain, giving the same pleading eyes to Wanda.

“Oh my poor little girl. I bet you're all achy right?”

Your lip is shaking in a pout, all you want is their touch right now. Wanda gives you a sympathetic look. Leaning down to kiss your forehead.

“Please Mommy…so achy…” you bury your face between her arm and chest. She pulls you back out, gently by your chin.

“Dorogoya, be a good girl for Mommy, get the table set, get me out the juice and after breakfast we can discuss your neediness.” You wanted to protest, but knew that would result in a punishment instead of a reward. So you got to doing as asked.

Their dining room is elegant and bathed in soft morning light streaming through tall, arched windows draped with sheer, ivory curtains. A crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling, casting a gentle glow over the room. The polished mahogany dining table is set by you with lovely plating and sparkling glassware, ready for a refined breakfast. Elegant high-back chairs, upholstered in rich, deep blue velvet, are neatly arranged around the table. A vase of fresh flowers that Wanda changes weekly, a mix of white lilies and pale pink roses, sits as the centerpiece, adding a touch of natural beauty to the sophisticated setting. The atmosphere is serene and inviting, perfect for a leisurely morning meal.

You smile at your handy work before bounding back through the curved archway to the kitchen. You stop in your tracks when you see Natasha's arms wrapped around Wanda's waist, as they share an intimate moment it makes something bubble inside of you. Your hands curl into fists and then out a few times.

“Hey!” It's bubbling over before you can stop it. “I set the table and I come back to this!?” Your voice is a shrieking tone. Wanda and Natasha looking at you. Though Natasha wants to stop this before it starts Wanda stares you down.

“Y/N. We were having a moment just like you and I were before you went to set the table, remember?” Wanda's voice is gentle and motherly, it always was. You know logically she's right and besides, they're married you're just some college girl they felt sorry for.

You look down at your fingers that are now absentmindedly dancing together. “M’Sorry Mommy…” You manage out. They deserve each other, you're just here to help. Eventually they'll get bored of you and then you'll be back to your old life living in an apartment that's two sizes too small and way too expensive.

“It's okay dorogoya, come get the juice and we'll have breakfast. Come here and give Mommy a hug first.” She calls, ushering you over as Natasha takes the plates of bacon, pancakes, and eggs to the dining room.

You trudge your way over to Wanda, burying your face into her chest as her arms encircle you. Her hands rubbing your back lightly in an attempt to quell the feelings rising inside of you, but she couldn't help the feelings she didn't know about. You weren't about to tell her either as she soothed you with kind words of reassurance without ever actually mentioning the words ‘I love you.’

°○°○°○°○°

She filled you perfectly. Her strap was made for you and though earlier this was all you wanted, now it was somehow feeling suffocating. Your thoughts from earlier never stopped. They'd been going through your head all day. You'd just wish it would stop as you tried to concentrate on the pleasure your Mommy was giving, but it wasn't helping.

Thoughts racing and suddenly it's all feeling like too much and you're pulling at your restraints. “Red!” Everything stops and in a whirl you're set free. Wanda tries to scoop you up, but you stop her. “Space.” It wasn't often you asked for that as you got off the bed in a hurry, running to your room.

You curled up under the sheets, tears falling as your body shook. You heard the soft knock at the door, thanking yourself you had locked it.

“Dorogoya please let me in, I just want to talk.” Wanda's voice called for you lovingly, making you clam up more. You didn't want to talk, you wanted to be silent, words felt too hard right now. “Y/N…please let me in…” you heard her voice crack ever so slightly.

You had never gone non-verbal around them, you had never brought it up either. You internally cursed yourself for this as you sat up, wrapping a blanket around yourself and plod over to the door, twisting the lock and moving back to your spot in the middle of the bed.

You heard Wanda slip in behind you, her soft steps on the hardwood. The bed sinking beneath her weight. Judging by the feeling she sat away from you towards the pillows.

You couldn't look at her, but you heard her take in a sharp breath before speaking. “I'm not sure why you called red darling, but whatever the reason is I'm glad you did call it when you needed to. I know we're still getting used to this. It's only been a month so I'm sure we're going to have bumps along the way. I'd like to fix this if possible.” Wanda's trying to make things better and still you can't answer her.

You finally sit up facing her. She's in a scarlet robe, she must have thrown it on quickly once she took off her strap. There was only one time you had called red and it was from lack of reassurance.

Wanda had been using a lot of degrading on you in a session and not enough praise. You ended up calling red and crying in her arms for a bit.

You point to your throat and making a silent scream, trying to let her know you can't talk as she looks at you a little confused. Then you added a zipped lip to it and it clicked.

“You can't talk right now, okay, that's fine. I can work with that until you can. So yes or no questions?” She asks with a little head tilt and you give a nod.

“Was it something I did?” You shake your head. “Was it something you did?” You tilt your head from one side to the other, contemplating before pointing to your brain. “Okay your head, was it bad thoughts?” You give her a nod.

You're scrunching up the blanket in your hands, worried about what's to come next for you. Tightening back up a bit before she shifts forward just enough to reach out for your chin. Such a gentle clasp she has as you tilt up to meet those sea glass eyes.

“Darling whatever those bad thoughts are saying I can promise you they are untrue. I know that's hard to believe because you haven't told me about them, but I know they're untrue.” Her honeyed voice always wrapped around you. It made you feel so safe. Like nothing could hurt you.

The tears fall freely as you crawl into her lap, koalaing your way around her. She soothes you the whole time, rubbing your back and humming a light tune, every so often a bit of Sokovian comes out in the song.

You could have stayed like that for hours. It almost felt like you did, yet at the same time it felt like mere minutes.

“M'Sorry Mommy…I just…bad thoughts…felt suffocated…” She kept rubbing your back, not forcing anything out of you. “I just…feel like you and Tasha are gonna get bored of me…you have each other and…and…” your voice started cracking as more tears fell.

Wanda wanted to intervene; she knew exactly where those thoughts were going, yet she let you talk. Knowing it would be best to let you get it out. It was already eating you alive.

“Just want to be important…want to be special…” Your throat stung as you choked back sobs to keep it together long enough to speak.

“Oh my precious little honey bee. Mommy was right, those thoughts aren't true. You mean so much to Daddy and I. You are our perfect little girl. The missing piece to our puzzle. We wouldn't dream of letting you go.” She always knew what to say, making your tears fall more.

She pulled you back just enough to wipe the tears. A small apologetic smile gracing her lips. “I know my words only go so far, but I will always make sure to let you know you are loved by us. You aren't something we're tossing away.”

You smiled before pressing your forehead to hers. She took the opportunity to give you a little peck.

“Thank you for the reassurance Mommy. I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier.”

“That's okay honey bee. I'm glad you were able to tell me. I do worry about you not telling me things. I know you like to carry everything, but I'm here and so is Nat. You can tell us anything.”

You simply nod against her, re-resting yourself onto her shoulder. A soft content sigh falling from your lips. You knew the bad thoughts would come back, but now you know you can always talk about it.

Taglist: @itsalwaysskorpioszn @boredandneedfanfics @godhatesgoodgirls

[qcomicsy]

Phrases I bet were said on the Wayne Manor without context.

Duke *looking at Dick while he puts his coffee on the breakfast table*: So you're telling me that superman was your stepdad?

Dick: He was NOT my stepdad.

Duke: HE TOOK YOU AND BRUCE TO BOWILING!

Dick: He was being nice!

Duke: MY BROTHER IN GOTHAM THAT'S A DATE-

Alfred: Master Tim ..... Wheres your spleen?

Jason (To duke): Oh yeah shit you haven't died-and-brought-back yet- So...

Tim: Now if you beat me- It's a hate crime.

Duke (to Jason): See? this is why you died without ever having felt the touch of a woman.

Damian (to Tim): I couldn't care less if your friends are coming over for diner, Alfred the cat it's not leaving this table.

Steph (To Bruce): You just mad because I me and Tim used to make out on the Batcave

Bruce (to Tim): You what?

Damian: ... No I don't care if it's homophobic Iwill break his hand if he touches my Utena collection again.

Jason (to dick): whY IS THIS MF ALWAYS HERE?! DON'T YOU HAVE A JOB-

Tim (to Damian): Have you ever had this days where you feel like nothing

Damian (to Tim): "hAveE yOu eVeR hAd ThEsE. dAyS-" Go find someone who gives a shit.

Bruce (To 29 year old Dick): I will not ask again get out of this chandelier right now-

Bruce (To 10 year old Dick): No I cannot refund you that's not gow it works-

15 Year old Dick (To Bruce): HE'S NOT MY BROTHER ... (To Wally on his phone) Yeah I can't go today I have to watch my stupid brother.

Jason Todd (To a very very scared Bernard): Have you ever killed someone?

[minty364]

DPXDC Prompt #61 Part 4

Danny woke up to a stream of sunlight on his face. The room was just as rich as he remembered, he stood up and stretched a bit before he heard a knock at the door.

It was Alfred bringing him a change of clothes, “Breakfast is ready, Master Danny. You can find the dining room down the hall to the left.” the old butler smiled at him. 

“You don’t have to call me Master, Alfred, I’m not your Damian.” Danny said, turning around to address him.

“Ah, yes, however you are still Master Bruce’s son, even from another world.” The butler gave him a cheeky smile.

Danny shrugged and headed to the bathroom to get changed. Once he was decent again, he headed down to the dining room. 

The room was just as fancy as the rest of the house with a chandelier and ornate vases. 

Danny noticed Damian and a few others already seated at the table. Damian wore what Danny could only assume was his rich kid school uniform. He sat across from Damian who made a small ‘Tt’ and turned away from him. 

Next to Damian was Tim who put away his laptop once Danny sat down. Tim was wearing a business suit, a dark red colored one. “Ah, you sleep much longer than Damian does, you must have been tired.” Tim smiled at him.

Also seated at the table and wearing a navy blue suit, was Bruce himself. He was drinking coffee and reading a newspaper.

“Stop comparing me to him, Drake, I’m nothing like this imposter.” Looks like Damian still thought he was a clone. 

Whatever, he shrugged it off and filled his plate. 

“I don’t really have a lot of free time,” was all Danny said before he started eating.

Tim kind of watched him for a minute, he looked kind of shocked for a second, “You’re eating meat??” 

Ah so that was another difference between them, “again, I’m Danny, I’m not Damian.”

Damian scoffed, “So that’s what you call yourself, imposter.”

Danny gave Damian a tired sigh, looks like the him of this universe was a lot more prideful than he was. Danny went through way too much to carry the same, dying and being crown prince of the infinite realms wasn’t exactly something he was born into. Danny was a bit jealous if he was being honest with himself. 

“Damian, please at least attempt to be friendly. Danny is our guest for the meantime.” Bruce said, putting his newspaper down. He then turned his attention to Danny, “I know it isn’t ideal but I think it’ll be best for you to stay here until we can get you to your own world. I’m planning a trip to the Watchtower tomorrow so I can speak with some of my colleagues about the situation.” 

Danny sighed but nodded his head, “I get it, you can’t have two of us running around.”

“Quite, you’re more than welcome to go around the mansion and the grounds, I’d also like to invite you along to the Watchtower but we’d need to come up with a disguise for you, secret identity and everything.” Bruce continued after taking another sip from his mug, “Alfred will still take you out today to get some basic necessities for you. We’ll get you a proper disguise so you're able to go with him.”

Danny nodded again and continued eating. He thought things over as he ate, he technically had a disguise they could use for the Watchtower but Danny was still on the fence on what exactly he’d tell everyone here.

It wasn’t exactly an easy conversation to have, thankfully some more people arrived for breakfast.

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[adore-laur]

Dadrry idea: since Harry left his position of head chef and there’s a second baby now, maybe they’re struggling a tiny bit with money. Not too much but things are a little stressful and they have to cancel a holiday maybe? Or one of the girls just doesn’t get a toy she wants or something? And they have to explain it to the child just while Harry picks up a few more shifts

——

Harry handled the finances and was highly aware of each transaction made in the family. With two kids, you both had to be quite frugal, especially since Harry was working fewer hours at the restaurant and you were a stay-at-home mom. While there was never an issue of not having enough money to pay the bills and provide your children with life’s necessities, the prospect of running out still haunted your mind. It was possible that an unforeseeable emergency could snatch a hefty chunk of money away. Additionally, there were other boring adult charges like mortgages, taxes, and monthly subscriptions that all left a bigger deduction with each year that passed.

Then there was the summer trip to Italy happening in two months. The plane tickets had already been bought and gifted for Christmas, and the villa was booked in advance. It was expensive, but the other option of staying in a cramped hotel room for a week was undesirable in all regards. The space and privacy were crucial for your sanity.

Italy was not a cheap travel destination per se. There would be money spent every day on transportation, dining, tourist traps, and whatever else sucked you in with its magnificent European beauty. Indulging in extravagance would be tempting, but if you planned and budgeted ahead of time, maybe the financial repercussions of the trip wouldn't be so deplorable. Your wishful thinking was blatantly deceptive.

After putting the kids to bed, you sat at the kitchen table under the dim chandelier and waited for Harry to finish unloading the dishwasher. His silent presence was comfortable as you pondered the logistics of the upcoming trip. Well, pondered was putting it lightly—you were brooding.

"I can hear you thinking," Harry said, setting the last bowl in the cupboard to his left. He washed and dried his hands, then walked over to you with his cotton pajama pants slung low on his hips. His bare torso was at your eye level, and you fought the urge to bury your face in the warm, chiseled skin there.

"My head is going to explode," you muttered, feeling an imminent migraine pulsing near your temples.

He fell into the chair beside you, exhausted from an eventful Saturday filled with dad duties, and scooted it closer to you. "Why, baby?" he asked, his palms scrubbing down his face as he yawned.

"I'm overthinking everything."

Placing his elbow on the table, he cradled his cheek in his palm and gave you his full focus. "Break it down for me."

"There's mainly one thing." You huffed, deciding to broach the topic before it got swept under the rug. "The Italy trip. Prices are going up, and I'm worried we won't be able to afford going anymore."

Harry's expression was the epitome of flummoxed. "Wait, what? Where is this coming from?"

"You're not working full-time," you explained, "and I'm not raking in any income. I mean, will we be able to financially recover from the trip? What if—"

"Hold on, hold on," he said softly, his eyes pinching shut. "Can I interrupt, please?"

You half-heartedly waved your hand in his general direction, in desperate need of his sensible guidance. "Be my guest."

"Let's backtrack for a second. Honey, why do you think we won't be able to afford it? The biggest costs are already out of the way."

"I just told you why. Think about it, Harry." You tapped the table to emphasize each point. "A meal for four people will probably cost over a hundred dollars. That includes breakfast, lunch, and dinner, so if we multiply that by the seven days we're there, it's going to be well over a thousand dollars."

"Okay," he said. He didn't seem to have anything to add after that, so you continued.

"Then there's transportation." You groaned, staring up at the ceiling. "We still have to decide if we're renting a car. If not, we'll have to pay for a bus, or a train, or a taxi. That's going to add up very quickly."

"Mm-hmm." Harry had a dopey look on his face, a hint of a smile tugging the corners of his lips up. Whatever. You were being realistic, and he was in a dreamland where money grew on trees.

You carried on, getting tangled in the vines of your brain's dense jungle. "And then what about all the sightseeing and activities? That's the most expensive aspect." You shrugged helplessly. "I was recently searching for free things to do in Tuscany. I guess there are a lot of buildings we can look at, but I don't know if the kids would enjoy it."

Harry nodded along. When he realized you were done with your long-winded explanation, he lifted his eyebrows and said, "It's a good thing we can spoil them with the raise I got yesterday."

"And also—what?" You stopped abruptly, catching your breath. Did he just...?

Harry stood and bent down to kiss your forehead in that sweet way of his—gentle and imploring, like he wanted to caress your brain and will it to calm down. "I got a raise yesterday," he repeated nonchalantly, nuzzling his nose into your hair.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you demanded, lightly smacking his shoulder.

"I'm telling you right now. I wanted to wait until we had a moment to ourselves." He crouched in front of you, holding your knees just like he'd done when you told him you were pregnant for the second time. The memory was so vivid that it almost left you stunned with emotion. "Five percent pay raise. We're going to be just fine." His simple smile was remedial. "We are not canceling this trip."

You exhaled, releasing all of your worries into the air, the pounding in your temples dissipating. "Why didn't you stop me from rambling on?"

"Because it's healthy to speak those types of thoughts aloud instead of letting them simmer," Harry replied like the perfect husband he was.

You cupped his cheeks and kissed him deeply, pouring all of your love and gratitude into it. "I'm so proud of you," you whispered against his mouth. He savored your words by humming and sliding his tongue across yours for a brief second. "I appreciate the hard work you put into making our little family happy. And thank you for making this vacation possible."

"Wanted to spoil my girls," Harry murmured, craning his neck to kiss you more. His wet lips pulled at yours, greedy for their pliancy.

"Are you going to pick up more hours at the restaurant?" you asked in between the sounds of lip-smacking and heavy breathing. Something about him at night, in the dimly lit kitchen, with you as his sole focus, was igniting that secret fuse only he could play with.

"Shhh..." His fingers dug into your waist as he lifted you off the chair. Your legs and arms wrapped around him, warmth flooding right under your skin like wildfire. "No more work talk. I want some alone time with my wife before a hungry baby wakes us up."

You giggled and bit his bottom lip in excitement before he carried you to the bedroom.

Miraculously, your six-month-old gave the both of you forty minutes of uninterrupted time to roll around in the sheets.

When you went to sleep later that night, visions of Tuscany's hillside vineyards and swimming in the vast sea erased your concerns. As did the unequivocal vision of the man beside you making precious memories with his babies.

With Harry, there was no need to sweat the small stuff. His eyes were set on the most important thing—family.

——

[harleehazbinfics]

On one hand I couldn’t imagine any scenario where cannibal chef reader chose anything over alastor

But imagine they reconnect with like a friend from when they were alive and for probably the first time in their afterlife, not chase after alastor 😨

Busted~

A/N: Bet. Here you meet Jan, they're genderfluid. Using they/them pronouns for this specific fic and reader to be she/her to avoid confusion.

i imagine them all cool and wearing very fashionable clothes, being a striving designer when they were alive and all. i think that's cool. i'm sorry for inaccuracies but i didnt focus on that but rather their dynamic with the reader so pls enjoyyyy

Cannibal chef! reader m.list | profile

"(Y/n)~! I HEARD YOU WERE STAYING HERE SO I CAME OVER!~ I respect your privacy as a decent person but asserting my authority as your best friend by coming in anyway!"

A series of screams erupted from the crowd that was enjoying breakfast at a large dinner table at the front of the entrance, when someone knocked down the front door with a heavy slam making the giant chandelier swing over their heads.

You perked your head from the crowd when you heard your name being called. You were met with a person with blue hair styled into a wolf cut, having very striking features, who triumphantly poses with their hands on their waist with a proud look on his faces as he harrumphs, as if to brag he defeated the 'evil door'. They immediately spot you and rushed for a hug.

"(Y/n)! I missed you so much," they cried, "When you were reported missing, I sacrificed life and limb looking for you."

"(Y/n), respectfully, what the fuck. This is the 3rd time this week," Angel complains stabbing his food.

"Jan! How'd you even find me? I thought you said you'd live 'til you were 150," you exclaim, ignoring Angel's comment, finding Jan's appearance very surprising.

"I WOULD HAVE IF YOUR DUMBASS DIDN'T DIE!" they say whacking you over the head with a clenched fist.

You let out a pained cry holding your head as you got nagged on.

"Hi, uhm, who are you?" Charlie asks.

"The name's Jan, pronounced the way you would January. I'm (Y/n)'s best friend," they say pulling you in headlock with a smile on their face. "Anyway, I'm here to pick her up. We've got a whole day to catch up on."

Before Jan could bolt out of the door with you raised above their head. Alastor stops them in their tracks with a comical screech.

"Hi, uh, can you get out of the way.. please?" Jan tries trying to circle around him and failing when you get plucked out of their hand into his arms.

"And where do you think you're going with my dearest companion?" he asks with hostility laced in his tone. Your eyes quivered as you watched two very important people in your life glare at each other that you had to intervene.

"You're coming with me, right?" Jan pleads giving you puppy dog eyes.

"Oh please. She stays with me," Alastor answers for me making you nervous for how you torn you were. You wanted to talk to your best friend, but you couldn't disappoint Alastor.

After much deliberation and many confused noises coming from you. You finally answered, "I'd like to go with Jan, Sir Alastor. But it'll be only for a day--"

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jan pulls you with a victorious squeal and dashed out the hotel with no time to spare. Leaving behind a flabbergasted Alastor, eye twitching in annoyance at the fact that you actually left his side willingly. Of course, it would happen eventually for an occasion, but that nonetheless it annoyed him to his core.

Everyone looks at Alastor who was emanating a ferocious aura that made everyone tremble in fear. Collectively thinking of the same phrase, 'Oh shit..'

As quickly as it came, a calm washed over them. His anger becoming a mirage unsettling them. He then states, "I guess there's no harm in giving them time to reconnecting with an old friend. I'll be in my studio if you need me."

They watch as his coat sways side to side fading into the distance.

"How much you wanna bet he won't make it at the end of the day," Angel arranges with a smug smile.

"So, how's everything? Last I heard from you was that you've gone missing on TV. You were everywhere! Up until Yuta got arrested for allegedly killing you and a few other murders," they say, eating the cotton candy in their hand.

"Well, I did die cause of Yuta," their jaw drops making you answer their unspoken question, "I got eaten by him."

She looks at you jaw dropping to the floor as well as the cotton candy in her hand before composing themselves and offering me a fist bump, "That's fucking hardcore dude, respect."

"They must've just linked your killings and pinned it on him since you were already gone. Not that you left any evidence for the missing bodies tho," they say dragging you to a bar where you guys' shared drinks.

First shot in you already got tipsy though, it makes Jan laugh. "Hah! Even in hell your alcohol tolerance is still shit!" they laugh at you manically holding their stomach.

You pout slowly losing your rationality and spilled on Jan, "Do you think I'm annoying?"

Jan stops laughing and pulls on a serious face. "No? What makes you say that?" they ask looking directly at you.

"I don't know. Sometimes I'm a bit too much on Sir Alastor. I'm starting to think he dislikes me instead," you continue pouting while you spilled your grievances.

"I don't think you're too much, babe. That's just how you show your affection. Any fucking guy is lucky to have your love," Jan answers truthfully downing their drink, "Why? You like this Alastor guy?"

You moped and sat your cheek on the counter getting all red from the shots you've taken and nodded at them "They're the first one to not be disgusted at me," you explain rolling the glass at your fingertips.

"He likes my cooking. He tells me that he appreciates what I do for him. He even took me out for a birthday dinner just the two of us!" you cried a river of tears falling down on the counter while Jan wordlessly rubs your back, comforting you.

"Sounds like this guy is into you, babe," Jan admits with a smug smile happy that you found someone that actually likes you for who you are.

"You think so?"

"Positive," they smile giving you a thumbs up, "Have I ever been wrong?"

"No..."

"Damn straight! Now let's get shit-faced!!"

Several hours later, we find Alastor in his seat a shadow covering his face absolutely fuming. He abruptly stands up and storms after you. He finds you both at a bar, you are slumping on the counter surrounded by a dozen shot glasses.

"Oh, it's you. Alastor guy," Jan says acknowledging Alastor, red faced from the alcohol. "You gonna take her now? She's out cold probably won't even remember it tomorrow."

Alastor huffs at them while carefully pulling you into his arms. Jan notices the odd gentleness he had with you and smirks. "You're a good guy, Al. Good to know you like her back."

He glares at Jan who figured out his affection for you, as much as he wants to butt heads with them, he respected your friends as he doesn't know much about your life, and he doesn't want you to dislike him despite his rough actions.

"She went off about how you were a perfect gentleman, how much she loves you and a lot more other stuff. You better take good care of her or I'm dragging her ass back to my side," Jan half-heartedly threatened, before raising their right hand and made a serene face and says, "You have my blessing."

He raises his brow while giving them the fattest side eye before teleporting you back to the hotel where Angel and Husk's eyes trailed after your figure in the overlord's arms. With a groan and a roll of his eyes Husk gives Angel a 20 dollar bill.

"Sir Alastor??~ Hello, hehe. Bite me~"

"Ask politely."

"Bite me pretty please with a strawberry on top~"

TAGLIST:

@bonnie-02, @marxo5, @whaatttlaufey, @froggybich

[romione-trope-fest]

Red Rings

Fic Title: Red Rings

Author Name: @honouraryweasley12

Selected Trope: Soulmates

Brief Summary: While recovering at Shell Cottage, Hermione discovers something that will change her relationship with Ron forever.

Word Count: 4831

Rating: T

Any Trigger Warnings: Mentions of torture

~~~

Her eyes opened slowly, as had been the case for the past week as they rested and recovered from their ordeal at Malfoy Manor. She could hear the seagulls in the distance, the faint sea-salted air wafting in through the barely cracked window. Hermione blinked a few times, waking up from her slumber and feeling strangely refreshed.

It was the first time she’d woken up without a pounding headache, which seemed to indicate progress. She was starting to feel like herself, after the torture she’d been subjected to. Her visible wounds had healed, the cuts from the blade and the glass from the chandelier criss-crossing her neck and skin with small scars. The tremors of pain and the muscle aches remained but had lessened in intensity.

Another sound got her attention, a soft wheezing of low snores. Noting that Luna’s bed was empty—her temporary roommate starting each day early so that she could ‘bask in the glow of the rising sun’—Hermione peered over the edge of the small bed and couldn’t help but smile. Ron was curled up on the floor in a tangle of blankets, his ginger hair sticking up haphazardly as he clutched his pillow.

After a long day of planning left her feeling weak, he’d insisted on staying the night, in case she needed anything. He’d been so sweet to her since he’d saved her from a certain grisly death at the hands of Greyback. His gentle care for her, and his patience during her recovery served to push away any lingering hurt around his abandonment.

As if on its own volition, her arm reached down and she gently brushed her fingers across his pale, freckled cheek. The same spot where Bellatrix had struck him, but that mark had mostly faded away, thankfully. The same spot where she’d once kissed him before a Quidditch match.

His nose twitched, and she had to stifle a giggle. Her eyes were suddenly drawn to a small line of red around her wrist. She frowned, as she hadn’t noticed it before. It looked like someone had circled her skin with a red pen.

Perhaps the ropes the Snatchers used had burned her skin, the injury just blending in with all her other scrapes and bruises from that horrid night. She shrugged it off as she watched his almost blonde eyelashes blink for a second, before she was met with the brilliant blue of his eyes.

“Morning, sleepyhead.”

Ron yawned and smiled at her. “You seem like you’re feeling better.” His hand reached up and caught hers, holding it against his cheek.

“I am, no headache this morning.”

His eyebrows raised. “Seriously, that’s great news. That means you’re getting better.”

Hermione nodded. “Thank you for staying last night.”

His thumb brushed the back of her hand, sending shivers through her whole body. “Of course, anything for you.”

The tips of his ears blazed red, but he didn’t look away. She knew he meant it. She could get lost in those eyes.

Ron broke them out of the spell. “Shall we go down for breakfast?”

“Yes, I’m famished.”

“Your appetite is returning, that’s another good sign.”

It was comforting and natural, so Hermione continued to hold his hand all the way down to breakfast. She snuck a quick look down and noticed that he had the same red mark around his wrist. Odd, but it did support her theory that it was the bonds they’d struggled against when they were captured.

They sat down at the crowded table and greeted the rest of the houseguests. Hermione tried to help Fleur, but the French woman instructed her to relax. She took a seat next to Ron, facing Harry.

“How are you feeling, Hermione?”

“Much better, thanks Harry.”

“Did you sleep?”

“Yes, I slept well.”

Harry turned to Ron. “What about you, did you sleep?”

Ron looked away and nodded slightly. Harry gave him a pointed look, and Ron returned it, his eyes wide. Harry looked at her again and then back to Ron, before shaking his head. She wasn’t sure what that exchange was about, but she was going to find out. It felt like they were hiding something from her.

It was a quiet breakfast between Bill, Fleur, Dean, Harry, Ron, and herself. Luna had eaten early and was down at the beach, while Griphook and Mr. Ollivander preferred to stay in their rooms. Hermione tried a few times to spy on Dean’s and Harry’s wrists; there was something strange about that scratch mark that was bothering her.

Ron leaned over halfway through the meal, his voice tickling her ear. “Everything alright?”

Hermione nodded, feeling silly. “Yes, just checking something.”

As Harry held up a bowl for Fleur to fill up with extra croissants, Hermione had a perfect vantage point, and Harry had no such mark. He must have used dittany to get rid of it already. As they finished and began clearing the table, Dean yawned and stretched. His wrists were also clear of any blemishes.

Harry pulled them both aside after they’d all pitched in to clean up the kitchen. He whispered to them in a low voice, his eyes darting about for anyone listening. “Let’s take a break from planning today. We made a lot of progress yesterday, and I know you were quite tired after, Hermione.”

Her face twisted into a look of indignation. “Harry, I’m fine. You don’t need to treat me like a child.”

His tone was hard, not taking her plea into account. “You need to recover for us to have any chance of pulling this off. It’s just one day.” He sighed and ran a hand through his black hair. “Rest up today, the both of you.”

Hermione started to argue but stopped when she saw the look on Ron’s face, his features looking far more exhausted than they had earlier. “Please, Hermione?”

She hadn’t even noticed they were holding hands again as he gave her a quick squeeze.

“Fine, we can clear our heads today and come back fresh tomorrow.”

Harry nodded, his eyes downcast, and made his way out of the small cottage for his daily visit to Dobby’s grave, leaving the two of them alone.

After a moment, Ron yawned again. “I think I might just take a quick kip on the sofa.”

Hermione nodded. “Before you go, come with me. I noticed that we both still have scratches that need mending.”

She led them back to the kitchen, which was now empty. She asked him to get the dittany while she got a towel and put it down on the table, before placing her wrist on it. As Ron sat down, she grabbed his hand and did the same.

“See?”

He examined the mark and shrugged. “Yeah, it’s kind of weird they’re the same. I noticed mine a few days ago, but I figured it would heal.”

She poured a couple of drops of dittany on his wrist, and nothing happened. “Odd, that should fix it.”

She tried the same on her own wrist, and just like his, nothing happened. “I don’t know why it isn’t working. I might need to research healing charms a bit further.”

“I’m sure it’s fine Hermione. Maybe the dittany has lost its potency or something. I think we should use this day off to get some rest, like Harry wanted.”

Ron cleaned up as she sat there, trying to puzzle out what these red lines around their wrists meant. It was strange, because under closer inspection, it didn’t look like a cut or a scratch. It was almost embedded in her skin, like a Muggle tattoo.

“You want to head up and rest for a bit?” Ron held out his hand and she took it, allowing him to help her up and walk her up the stairs. Though she’d argued with Harry, if she was honest, another day of just rest couldn’t hurt. Perhaps she’d take a quick bath later, but for now, she wanted to try and figure out the mystery of this red band.

Ron helped her into bed and tucked her in, gently kissing her forehead before he turned toward the door. She could see his ears aflame, and she smiled. “Get some rest, alright?”

“I will. You too, you look tired, and I’m sure the floor wasn’t comfortable.”

Ron shrugged. “Cushioning charm. If you need anything… anything at all, just call out, ok? I’ll leave the door open a bit so I can hear you.”

“Thanks, Ron.”

She watched as his lanky figure retreated down the hall and the stairs, before reaching under the bed to retrieve her beaded bag. She had somehow held onto it through her ordeal. She spent a few minutes digging inside to find some of the books was looking for. If this mark she and Ron shared was magical, as she was beginning to suspect, then surely she’d find an answer in her books. They’d never let her down before.

After two hours of research, she’d found nothing describing what she was seeing. What she wouldn’t give for access to the Hogwarts library right now! Her head was swimming with information, so she put the books away and lay back down, trying to work through everything that had happened over the past week.

She must have nodded off, because she woke up with a start an hour later, an idea in her head. Her door was open wider than she remembered, and she instinctively knew that Ron must have come up to check on her. It made her feel so cared for.

She pulled herself out of bed and quietly padded over to the stairs, unsure of where anyone else was. She went downstairs, only to find Ron asleep on the settee, though he seemed restless with a frown on his face. She hoped he would fall into a deeper sleep and get the rest he needed. No one else was around, having vacated the cramped cottage to take in the warm afternoon.

The idea that had struck her was simple. She realized that she was sharing the house with a wizard who had a vast amount of knowledge around magical lore. Luna had even mentioned everything she’d learned from Mr. Ollivander while they were held captive. Perhaps the old wandmaker might have seen something similar in his time, either in a book, or through the sheer volume of people he’d met in his lifetime.

She snuck up quietly, so as not to disturb Ron. She approached the door where Ollivander was staying and knocked quietly, hoping that he too wasn’t sleeping. He’d faced many months of brutal captivity and needed the recovery time more than she did.

“Come in,” a frail voice called out.

Hermione gently opened the door and poked her head in. “I was hoping I might trouble you for a moment.”

He squinted at her. “Of course, Miss Granger.”

She slipped in and closed the door silently behind her.

“Would you mind opening the curtains? I’ve missed the sun.”

She pulled open the pastel blue curtains, flooding the room with afternoon light.

“Ah, much better.”

She surveyed the older wizard. He certainly looked better than he had a couple of days prior, when he’d come down for a quick dinner. Some colour had returned to his face and his silvery eyes seemed sharper in the sunlight.

He beckoned Hermione to approach, so she pulled a worn wooden chair over and sat down next to his bed.

“What can I help you with?”

“I’ve noticed something strange, on both me and Ron, and I wanted to ask you if you’ve ever seen anything like it. I’m certain it’s something magical, but the books I have access to don’t seem to mention it.”

He sat up, intrigued. One of the traits that made him such a legendary wandmaker was his curious nature. He’d often had to research deep and ancient magical lore to improve the wands he was creating.

“You see, we both have this thin red mark around our wrists, but they don’t seem to be an injury, as dittany did nothing to them.”

She thrust out her arm to show him.

The older wizard examined the mark carefully, turning over her wrist to see the path all the way around. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Hmm… that’s interesting. Yes, very interesting indeed. You said that both yourself and Mr. Weasley have this mark?”

“Yes, just the two of us, no one else that I could see. I thought it might have been from the ropes that bound us, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. The mark also seems to be under the skin. We certainly didn’t have them until after we were captured.”

Ollivander nodded for a moment as he continued staring at her marked skin. “I believe I know what this is, but you may find the idea unbelievable.”

Hermione let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding. “What is it?”

“This is very old magic. Ancient, in fact.”

Hermione gasped and jerked her hand away. Everything she’d read about old magic was steeped in horrible, antiquated beliefs and traditions.

Ollivander let out a dry chuckle, perhaps his first laugh in ages. “Not to worry, my dear. Many misunderstand this type of magic. This, I believe, can be a good thing. Much like the magic Harry’s mother performed in sacrificing herself to save him when he was a baby.”

“But how?”

“Magic is extremely powerful, as you know. What can make it even more powerful is connection. Connection between us, as witches and wizards. Connection with the world around us. Connection to our wands, which help us to hone and amplify our magic. But in this case, I believe that connection leads to our very core—connection to our souls.”

Hermione nodded, not completely understanding. She allowed Ollivander to continue, as she formulated a thousand questions in her head.

“Do you believe in fate, Miss Granger?”

She frowned, not liking where this conversation was going.

“Judging by the look on your face, I believe you were going to say no. That is fine, you can have your beliefs. One of mine is that there are powerful forces at work, for good or for ill. I believe that through these forces, some people meet and create an important connection. Given what you’ve shown me, I believe that is true of yourself and Mr. Weasley.”

Hermione gasped. “Are you saying that Ron and I are… soulmates?”

“Not quite, it is far more complex than that. Soulmates imply a pre-destiny. What I believe is that you two share a deeper connection, one that’s been built over time. A connection you both chose to forge. From what I’ve seen, this mark is a rare thing. A physical manifestation of a soul bond.”

He paused for a moment, watching the disbelief on her face. He seemed to be thinking of a different way to approach this.

“Have you asked yourself why the Cruciatus Curse that you endured did not affect your mental state? Most people who endured what you did would have been driven to madness, especially by such a powerful and uniquely hateful witch as Bellatrix Lestrange.”

“I-I just thought I got lucky. That I did everything in that moment to keep focus and not lose myself to the pain.”

He looked at her shrewdly. “Did Mr. Weasley do anything to protect you, given this connection between the two of you?”

“He… he tried. He tried to take my place. He volunteered himself to take that torture for me, but Bellatrix didn’t allow it. She said he was next if I died under questioning.”

“Ah, so though he failed, he was still willing to sacrifice himself for you? In much the same way we’ve seen protective magic work before?”

She nodded. “Yes.”

“You see, this is where I believe the soul bond came into existence. For it to happen, there would have to be a strong underlying foundation of connection already. Perhaps you love Mr. Weasley, or he loves you. I think you love each other for it to manifest in this way.”

“I’ve not heard of any of this happening before.”

“This is ancient magic. Even though he couldn’t protect you physically, I believe your souls bonded in that moment and he was able to protect your soul, your very being, through his love for you. The torture being inflicted on you was not on one, but rather split across two souls, and that protected you from experiencing the full power of the curse.”

“Wouldn’t that mean that he would have felt the same things I was when I was being tortured?”

“Very astute. Miss Lovegood told me you were extremely bright. He likely would have felt it in a different way—as you felt it in your body, he felt it in his soul to save you from having to. The despair he would have felt and his own screams, as I recall, reflected that. Like he was losing an important part of himself, which he was.”

Hermione nodded slowly, not even aware that her cheeks were wet with tears from Ron’s sacrifice.

“The soul bond itself can exist due to a deep connection, that is known, but it’s rarely tested in this way. What you went through, this attack on your very souls in such an extreme, violent way, is why I think the mark has shown itself. Your connection was stretched to its very limit, to its very breaking point had you not survived, and yet you overcame it. It’s miraculous, really.”

Hermione looked back down at her wrist, and was filled with warmth, and of love for Ron.

After a moment, Ollivander spoke again. “Are you going to tell him what we’ve talked about?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I owe it to him to tell him, and I want him to know I feel the same way about him.”

“Then I wish you luck.”

“Thank you, Mr. Ollivander. This means so much to me.”

“It is nothing, my dear. You and your friends have rescued me from a much darker fate, and for that I will be forever grateful.”

Hermione said her goodbyes as the wandmaker settled down to sleep before she shut the door and made her way back to her room. The conversation took a lot out of her, and she required her own rest, her hand around her wrist and thoughts of Ron playing in her head as she drifted off.

Her eyes opened to the late afternoon sun, and her Ron leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his face.

“How long have you been up here?”

“Just a few minutes. I could hear your snores from downstairs,” he teased.

“Oh, shush!” She blushed, and he chuckled.

He pointed to the weird lumps under her blanket. “What are those?”

“Oh, just books. I was doing a bit of light research before sleeping.”

He gave her a knowing look. “Did you actually rest?”

“I did, I promise. Did you get some sleep?”

He nodded slightly but didn’t meet her eyes. “A bit.”

She sat up in bed, all the while staring at the bags under his eyes. “Do you want to take a walk with me, Ron? I could use some fresh air.”

He strode toward the bed and held out a hand to gently help her up. “Let’s go, I think everyone else is outside anyway.”

“Can we walk down to the beach? There’s something I need to discuss with you in private.”

“Did you find something out about these marks on our wrists?”

“I did, but we can talk about it later.”

With their hands connected, they made their way out of the small seaside cottage. They waved to their friends, before walking down the worn path to the sand below. The tides gently rippled against the shoreline, the air warming their skin. The weather was surprisingly lovely for March.

They walked slowly for a few minutes, their hands swinging freely between them. The breeze was making a mess of her overgrown curls, making her feel carefree for the first time in months.

Hermione could feel Ron’s eyes on her, most likely making sure she wasn’t overexerting herself. She met his glance and smiled, which he returned, seemingly relaxing.

They came across a large piece of driftwood that had likely been placed there as a place to sit. Hermione tugged Ron toward it, and they took a seat, staring out at the mesmerizing body of water.

Ron pushed his hair back from his forehead, before placing an arm behind her back, bracing her. “What did you want to discuss? Is it about these marks?”

“Yes and no.” Hermione glanced at him. “What was that exchange with Harry about this morning?”

“What exchange?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, Ron. You know what I’m talking about.”

Ron shook his head in mock anger. “Bloody know-it-all.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment.” She placed a hand on the denim of his thigh and gave it a quick squeeze. “Now, please tell me.”

He huffed but started speaking after a few seconds. “I haven’t been sleeping much. Every time I close my eyes, I hear your screams in my head—it’s like I’m right there in the cellar again, re-living the torture. The first couple of nights I woke up screaming, but we shielded your room from it so you could rest and recover.”

She looked closely at him through the tears forming in her eyes as he continued. “All I can picture is you, alone on the floor of that room, Bellatrix standing over you as you scream and writhe in pain. It’s like I can feel it in my gut. It takes me hours to fall into a restless sleep, and then I’m exhausted when I wake up.”

Her hand reached up and cupped his cheek, and he leaned into her touch. “Oh, Ron. Is that why Harry was asking you about sleep this morning?”

“Yeah, he knows what I’ve been going through, but I swore him to secrecy. I didn’t want to tell you and worry you; I just wanted you to focus on getting better. Should have been me who got tortured, Merlin knows I deserved it.”

“Don’t say that. Please don’t say that.” She wiped her sleeve across the wetness running down her face. “I wouldn’t have been able to stand it if she’d have done that to you.”

“I couldn’t stand it either, I was out of my mind trying to get to you. I just can’t seem to get past it. That, and the guilt from abandoning you… and Harry. I’m just so… fucked up. The only thing making it better is being able to take care of you and seeing you recover. Of seeing you alive.”

She leaned into him, and he wrapped his arms around her as she lay her head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. They both craved the closeness.

She heard him sniffle a few times, and could feel his breathing slow down before she pulled away and met his eyes. “I think I might know what’s happening.”

He smirked slightly. “Course you do. Found it in one of your books, did you?”

“No, not this time. I had a chat with Mr. Ollivander.”

Ron’s eyebrows lifted in surprise. “Really? When?”

“While you were sleeping. But I-I’m a bit afraid of telling you what I learned, because of what it might mean.”

Ron’s voice was low. “You know you can tell me anything, right?”

“I know, Ron. I trust you.”

Hermione pulled his arm into her lap and slowly traced the red circle around his wrist. “Mr. Ollivander had an interesting theory on what this is, and it relates to why you might be having trouble sleeping.”

He nodded, his breathing quickening from her tender touch, his eyes following the path of her fingertips.

“He told me about the deep connections that we can form through the power of magic, and he believes we have formed such a connection… between our very souls.”

Ron’s eyes widened as he stared at her. His voice croaked as he asked the question she hoped. “How?”

“It’s like when Harry’s mum sacrificed herself for him. First, there had to be a strong foundation already between us, one we’ve built deep within ourselves. In Harry’s case, it was the love of a mother for her son. In our case…”

She trailed off, her cheeks hot at the implication. Ron just nodded, his face pale despite the sunshine. “Go on.”

“He believes that when you volunteered to take my place at Malfoy Manor, to sacrifice yourself for me, that something like that happened again.” Hermione could feel tears forming again and spilling down her face, and her voice hitched, knowing there was no going back. “Except this time, since you physically couldn’t protect me, your… your soul bonded with mine and you still protected me, my very being. Because… because you love me.”

Hermione let out a sob and threw herself into his chest. His arms immediately encircled her as she cried against him, overwhelmed. He held onto her tightly, but she felt his whole body shaking, his own tears dripping and landing in her hair.

“Oh, Ron. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” she cried, suddenly flooded with guilt at her previous actions toward him, this man that loved her with his very soul.

He sniffled loudly, before he whispered. “You don’t feel the same.”

“NO!” Her shout startled him as she pulled back and looked up at his red-rimmed eyes, her arms still at his sides as she shook her head vehemently. “I do feel the same, Ron, I do. I love you, too. The connection is so strong because we love each other.”

She hugged him tightly again, and it was like they were one. “I’m sorry because I treated you so terribly when you returned. I was just so heartbroken.”

“I deserved it, Hermione,” he whispered in her ear. “I never should have left; it was the worst mistake I’ve ever made.”

“I forgive you, a thousand times over. I owe you my life, Ron.”

“You don’t owe me anything. I’d do it again in a heartbeat, love.”

Her breath caught at the word. She looked up at him, and though she knew she looked terrible, he was gazing at her like she was the most precious, most beautiful thing he’d ever seen. He tucked a curl behind her ear and cupped her chin in his hand.

“Do you know how badly I want to kiss you right now, Hermione? I’m afraid that if I start, I’ll never be able to stop, and we have bigger things to worry about right now.”

She nodded tearfully. “You’re right. We have to save the bloody world first.”

His eyes nearly popped out of his head. “You swore! My soul’s already a bad influence on you.”

She grinned, her eyes roaming his face openly, taking in the wonderous sight of the man she loved. “The worst.” She moved out of the temptation of his embrace and sat next to him, dropping her head onto his shoulder.

He picked up her hand and kissed it, before examining her wrist.

“So, this mark is because of the soul bond?”

“It’s usually something you only feel. Ollivander thinks ours manifested physically because our bond was tested in such an intense way, and we still survived it. It’s why I wasn’t harmed mentally by the torture, and why you’re experiencing nightmares and pain. You need to heal from the torture you took on to protect me, just as much as I do.”

“Yeah, I think I do. I slept a bit better last night—even though I was on the floor, being close to you was comforting.”

“Good, you need to get your rest. You’ve been taking such care of me, but you need to focus on yourself, too.”

“I will, especially now that I know what’s happening. I’ll think good thoughts, like when you told me you loved me.”

He turned and swiftly kissed her on the forehead, which is all he dared to do for the moment. Standing up, he dusted the sand off his trousers and helped her up again.

“What do we tell Harry?”

“I don’t think we should tell him anything, Ron. He has enough soul-related matters to worry about. He needs to know we’re with him.”

“You’re right, as always. Since there won’t be any other opportunities, I want to say it properly. I love you, Hermione Granger.”

She beamed at him and wiped away another stray tear. “I love you, Ron Weasley.”

He knocked his shoulder into hers playfully. “If you ever get the urge to jump me and snog me senseless, feel free. You have my permission.”

She giggled and squeezed his hand as they walked back toward Shell Cottage. “One day, love.”

[dragon-kazansky]

Veil of the dreamless

Morpheus x Reader

A cursed Morpheus holds your father prisoner when he enters The Dreaming without permission. You, also able to enter the realm, take his place. Now a prionser to the Dream Lord, you do all you can to learn about the curse and hopefully break it.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Chapter Four - A little tour

☆☆☆

The next morning, you leave your room and arrive in the dining room for breakfast. Matthew had come to fetch you. You were getting used to the talking raven flying around now.

Things here were becoming your new normal, even after a day.

As you enter the dining room, you pause when you realise you will not be earing alone. There, sitting on the other side of the table is Dream. You follow Matthew over to your chair and sit down, though you feel a little awkward now.

Morpheus doesn't say anything. He avoids your eyes.

Lucienne brings out 2 plates and sets one down in front of each of you. She then stands off to the side and lets you both eat. Matthew flies off to settle on the chandelier hanging over the table.

You both eat in awkward silence to begin with. You want to break the ice somehow, but you're not sure where to begin with him. Morpheus' aura is cold and unwelcoming.

You catch Lucienne looking at you. When she realises you're looking, she simply nods her head at you. It's the go-ahead to talk to him. You sigh softly to yourself and gather the courage to say something.

"Woukd you... That is to say, if you wouldn't mind, perhaps give me a tour of the palace?" You wish a hole would open up and swallow you. That sounded so awful in your head.

Morpheus, however, had stopped picking at his food. He raised his head to look at you. In the light, you could take in his cursed state more clearly. He was covered from head to toe in feathers. He wore black clothes, a shirt with a long coat over the top. His wings were current draped over each side of the chair. They looked heavy.

"A tour?" His voice was deep and smooth. He no longer sounded agitated. Curious, if anything.

"Yes... if... if that's alright with you? Even if it's just the garden or the bridge..."

Morpheus was no longer interested in his breakfast. He was solely focused on you. He fell silent for several seconds, looking at you. You began to shift in your chair when he finally spoke. "Very well."

You felt yourself relax, letting out a sigh of relief quietly. Lucienne smiled proudly from where she stood. However, Morpheus saw her, and she stopped.

He turns back to you and finds himself relaxing, too. There's something about the way you asked him to do this that made him wonder what kind of person you were.

"Shall we?" He rises from the table. You watch the way his wings stretch out and then fold behind him. Slowly, you also rise from the table. You follow after him.

Matthew flies down and lands on the table. Lucienne comes to stand beside him.

"They might be the one," he caws.

Lucienne smiles.

Meanwhile, outside, Morpheus is leading you through the gardens. He hasn't said much since you left the palace, but you haven't said much to him either. He walks slowly. You take this tike to really look at him. Long legs, straight posture, yet you can't help thinking the wings were inconvenient for him.

He comes to a stop near a fountain. You stop a couple of paces behind him. The fountain had collapsed in on itself. Rubble lay at the bottom of it. The area still looked pretty though. Just aged.

"I can't imagine how beautiful everything was."

Morpheus turns his head to look at you with his blue eyes. "It was quite a sight."

You sit on the edge of the fountain and look around. "I wonder what kind of dreams I would have had if things hadn't become this."

Morpheus watches you. "Wonderful ones, I am sure."

"How do you know?"

"I am the Dream Lord. This realm is a part of me as much as I am a part of it. I know that you would have magnificent dreams."

You smile. "If only I could."

He says nothing.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to bring the mood down. Your realm is beautiful. I'm curious... how did father get here?"

"It shouldn't have happened. No one has come to the Dreaming since the curse."

"Mother told me she and father were both able to. Her parents had been able to also."

"Really?" He asks, curious. "I don't recall."

"Maybe they didn't come to the palace when they came here," you suggested.

"I should have sensed dreamers."

"Maybe the curse has hindered your abilities somewhat."

"Maybe..." He says quietly.

"No matter. I'm here, and that's just how it is." You sigh.

"Doesn't that bother you?" He asks.

"At first, it did. Now, I have accepted my fate. Unless you let me go..."

"No." He states clearly.

"Thought that would be too easy," you chuckle.

"You are my prisoner, so here you will stay."

"Still calling me a prisoner? Guest, at least."

You swear he almost cracks a smile, but it's gone as quick as it was there. He looks at you with his piercing eyes. "Anything else you wish to see?"

He takes you around the gardens and across the bridge. He stops you when you reach the other side and faces the dark clouds that surround the palace.

"Do not go through there," he warns.

"Why? What is it?"

"Rogue nightmares. At my current capacity, I am not strong enough to control like I once could. They now have free roam and take up most of the shadows. It is dangerous to wander into the dark."

"Rogue nightmares?"

"Yes. Unfortunately, there is not much I can do. I'm not as strong as I once was. Do not wander into the darkness."

He turns and begins to cross the bridge back to the palace again. You take one last look at the dark clouds and step backwards, turning to follow Morpheus. It was unsettling to think there were dangerous creatures roaming about so close.

You both return inside the palace, and Morpheus leads you to a room you hadn't seen before. His throne room. The hall is vast and bathed in low light. Three tall stained glass windows highlight the room. A small staircase leads to a single throne.

"Wow..."

Morpheus stands by and watches you look up at the throne and the windows.

"You really are a king."

"Was."

You turn and look at him. "You still are. Just... without a kingdom..."

"What kind of king doesn't have a kingdom?"

"You."

He sighs and joins you at your side. "I don't come in here much these days. Lucienne has kept it in good condition though."

"Yes. She's very talented."

"You are welcome to come in here if you wish. I have no use for this room any more..."

You pick up on the sadness in his voice. You wonder what the Dreaming was like when it was thriving before the curse. It must have been wonderful.

Morpheus takes you up the stairs where the staircase splits, east and west. He faces you, his feather ruffling slightly. "That was... nice."

You smile. "Yes. It was." You peer over his shoulder to the western hall. He sees you and stands in the way of your view.

"Get some rest. We were out for a while."

You nod and turn to head to your room. You glance behind you to find Morpheus looking at you. You turn back around and walk away.

Maybe he wasn't so bad after all.

☆☆☆

@littleblackcatinwonderland - @kpopgirlbtssvt - @missdreamofendless - @intothesoul -

[xotyx]

@jegulus-microfic | June 7th – welcome | 534 words | cw: implied child abuse

The Potters’ estate was bright in a way 12 Grimmauld Place never was, even in the late evening. The lights of the tableside lamps painted the living room in a soft golden glow, rather than the way the slightly blue lights that shone from the crystal chandeliers of Regulus’s childhood home made the rooms there seem cold and impersonal.

On the couch across from where Regulus sat, back straight and hands on his thighs, were Sirius and James, both their bodies in impossible positions that, beyond being rude, couldn’t possibly have been comfortable. “I’m glad you’re here now, Reggie,” Sirius whispered so quietly that Regulus barely heard him over James’s almost screamed assurance of, “Mum made up one of the guest rooms for you, Regulus, you won’t have to sleep on the couch or anything.”

Privately, Regulus thought he might prefer to sleep on the couch rather than in the same hallway as James, as his room, where he slept and did Merlin knew what while Regulus would be a maximum of three doors away. Nonetheless, with a nod, Regulus stood, whispered a small thank you into the now silent air without specifying to whom it was directed, and climbed the winding staircase to the second floor. It was easy enough to find the room Mrs. Potter had decided would be his–the doors to all seven of the guest bedrooms were open, and they were all more than well enough made up for Regulus’s tastes, but only one had a pair of flannel pyjamas laid out carefully on the bed.

It was hours until morning, until anyone disturbed him, hours that Regulus spent laying in the bed in the pyjamas the Potters had been so kind as to lend him, unable to sleep thanks to the pain that reached all the way through his body. When someone finally did disturb him, it was with only a soft knock at the door. “Regulus?” Mr. Potter spoke through the wood, loud enough for his voice to carry to Regulus but soft enough that there wasn’t a thought in his mind that he was in any way displeased. Regulus hummed in response. “Breakfast is ready whenever you want to come down.” With that, the sound of footsteps walking away filled the hallway, though Regulus had to strain to hear them.

Eventually, more around lunch time than breakfast, Regulus ventured down the stairs of Potter Manor, pulling up the legs of his too long pyjama pants to avoid tripping on them. To his shock, Sirius and the Potters were still at the dinner table, although now they appeared to be playing a rather spirited game of cribbage. As soon as they noticed him, they all put their cards down. “Good morning, Regulus,” Mrs. Potter greeted, a smile in her voice as well as on her face. “There’s a plate of french toast under a stasis charm for you on the counter that you're more than welcome to, Darling.”

“Do you want us to deal you in?” James asked, bright smile in place on his face as always. Regulus barely muffled a groan. How he would survive sharing a house with James Potter and his constant sun like demeanour he wasn’t sure.

[secondgenerationnerd]

What was Mar-Mar's first reaction to snow? I feel like it was incredibly adorable for the batfamily to witness.

I like to think they call her Riri, but Mar-Mar is cute!

Honestly, I’ve had this in my head for a while so here’s the fic of it!

————

An empty bed is nothing new for Dick to wake to. Especially in this room, remnants of his teenage self on the walls. But the smiling face of a beautiful woman, with impossible green eyes and red curls, from several pictures reminds him of who had fallen asleep in his bed last night.

Before he panicks, Dick walks down the hall. Sure enough, the door to Jason’s room stands open. He pokes his head in. Curled up on her broadchested uncle, his 8 year old daughter sleeps peacefully. Her stuffed elephant hangs from her hand. While she doesn’t wake, Jason’s eyes open, an arm wrapping protectively around her.

“Just me, Jaybird.” He says, smiling at the pair. “I’ll be downstairs.”

Yawning, Jason nods and closes his eyes, arm still around the little girl. As Dick heads down to the kitchen, he makes a note of who Mar’i went to. In the months since she came to Earth, the family quickly noticed a habit of hers.

Whether in their apartment in Blüdhaven or here at the manor, she would often end up in someone’s room. Curled up on their floor, sleeping fitfully. Not every night, but enough they figured it had to do with her late mother. They’d found a simple enough solution—Mar’i usually slept in her dad’s bed and, if she went to someone else’s room, she left to door open.

“Good morning, Master Richard,” Alfred says, setting down a mug of coffee.

“Morning, Alfred,” Dick takes the coffee with an appreciative smile, “Anything I can help with?”

“You may set the table for breakfast.” Dick knows better than to argue with his pseudo-grandfather. Setting the table, the pair chat about the gala from the night before. Then, Alfred asks, “Did Ms. Mar’i enjoy herself?”

Last night was Mar’i’s first Gala, and Dick couldn’t have been more proud of how she behaved, “I think she gave Bruce some gray hairs. He’s so used to our antics, he wasn’t prepared for her being an angel.”

“Clearly a trait from her mother.” Alfred notes, “I recall your goal to see which manor had the strongest chandelier.”

“Hey it was cute when I was 9!” Dick laughs, taking a seat at the breakfast bar.

“Daddy?” Mar’i’s sleepy voice warms something in him. Jason walks in carrying the little princess, her stuffed elephant in her arms.

“She heard your heartbeat leaving.” Jason says, handing her off to her father, “Think she’s still fighting sleep.”

“Hey, Starshine,” Dick takes her easily, kissing her dark curls, “You keep Uncle Jaybird safe last night?”

Nodding, Mar’i wraps her arms around his neck, face pressed to his shoulder. Dick’s come to love their morning routine. Sitting at the table while Jason helps Alfred cook breakfast, he reads the news and last nights reports. Letting her wake slowly.

By the time the rest of the family joins them, she’s coloring happily at the breakfast bar. Cass leans over to admiring the drawing of them dancing. Damian feeds Titus and Ace, accepting help from his stepmother. Once they’re all at the table, the dig into breakfast, chatting amongst themselves.

“Oh, look!” Cass says, pointing to the window, “It’s snowing!”

Everyone looks and, sure enough, find thick flakes falling from the sky. Frosting the grass and bare branches with soft snow.

Tim checks the weather, “We’re supposed to get a few inches today. Maybe we’ll get a few days out of it before it turns into a gray slu—“

“Princessa,” Jason interrupts, watching Mar’i heading towards the front doors, “Where are you going?”

Mar’i doesn’t answer. Stepping out onto the front porch, snow crunching under her bare feet, Mar’i stares up at the sky. Fluffy flakes land in her dark curls. Her hands stretch up, flinching at the first flakes until she realizes they won’t hurt her.

That’s when they hear it. Something they haven’t heard much of. A bright warm laugh bouncing off the walls. As they look back at Mar’i, they can’t believe their eyes. She’s floating. A few inches at first, then rising higher and higher.

“I thought she couldn’t….” Tim’s voice dies off.

“She hasn’t since….”

“Tamaraneans fly when they feel unbridled joy.” Dick murmurs. Mar’i keeps floating, giggling at the new sight. His own smile forming, he walks over to her, holding out his arms, “Come back, Starshine. I’ll miss you if you go.”

Mar’i twists in the air, as if it hadn’t occurred to her she was flying. Rather than taking off, like they’d expect most kids to do, she floats down into his arms.

“C’mon, beauty. Let’s eat then we can play outside.” He promises, carrying her to their family.

“Promise, Daddy.”

It’s not a question, and it still makes him smile.

“Promise, promise.”

[nebulanovella]

Things The Regressors Of The X-Men Team Have Done

Remy once snuck an entire cake out of the kitchen for everyone to split 15 minutes before they were supposed to eat dinner while Logan was the distraction. Jean just let out a long, deep sigh of annoyance when she found the plates shoved under the couch

Warren called jubilee's favorite videogame dumb so she held his favorite blanket hostage until he apologized

Logan was told he couldn't have ice cream for breakfast and hid on the chandelier for six hours in retaliation

Remy exploded Kitty's slice of watermelon after she hogged the unicorn pool floaty

Kitty was having a play date with Lance and he wouldn't share the blue paint with her, so she phased it through the table which resulted in it spilling on the carpet and splattering them. Mystique laughed, Kurt did not

Logan dangled Morph off the edge of the roof because they had transformed into Scott to teasingly call him sweetie after overhearing Scott do it, which made Logan angry and embarrassed

Remy got stuck in the walls playing hide and seek. Twice

Warren used the feathers from Morph's pillow to make wings for his action figures, the next night Morph hid under Warren's bed and scared him

An unidentified assailant tracked mud all over the mansion, including both the walls and ceiling

Remy and Jubilee set a tree on fire and had to buy Hank's silence

[vanillaxoshi]

Elements Seperated - Human form not (really) needed

It’s nice, Gempa thinks, waking up to the warmth of your family, feeling their presence, knowing they’re all here. Safe and sound, but he needs to get up. Slowly not to wake his siblings, the earth spirit made his way out from under the blanket to welcome a new day. He glances at the clock on the table. It’s still early in the morning.

And it seems his older brother already got up too. Old habits die hard huh?

Slipping off the bed, Gempa’s form shift and changes. There’s no need for a detailed human form right away, just whatever will let them function. Both spirits ended up just looking like vaguely humanoid constructs decorated by their elements, but nobody will mind.

“Mrgh… Guys?”

Their master, Boboiboy asked in his sleepy morning voice. He must have woken up because of their absence.

“Yes, we’re here Ori” Gempa touched his forehead against Boboiboy’s, shards of mineral gently brushing Boboiboy’s bed hair out of his face.

“What day is it?”

“It’s a Sunday. You can sleep in if you want”

Boboiboy looks at his current state, surrounded by the still asleep orb elementals, chuckling.

“Yeah, I think I’ll have to be in bed for a bit”

“I’ll be in the kitchen if you need me”

A look in the fridge tells him he’ll probably need to go grocery shopping today, but for now, this is plenty ingredients for both breakfast and lunch, there are also leftovers from yesterday.

At the kitchen area, he spots Hali opening the cupboard with a limb made of red lightning, bringing out a bag of coffee instead of cocoa.

“Coffee?”

Gempa nods. He usually prefers tea but coffee doesn’t sound half bad this morning. The lightning spirit hits a few buttons, and got the coffee machine working. The delightful smell spreads throughout the house, successfully rousing another of their sibling out of sleep.

“Good morning you glorified chandelier”

“Good morning to you too, Hymenopus Coronatus”

No, Solar didn’t cast a spell on Hali. The two are simply calling each other by what they look like now. Gempa goes back to cooking after saying his own good morning to the spirit of light, seeing no reason to worry about a fight.

“I smelled coffee”

“Yeah, making some right now. Want any?”

“Obviously”

The sudden increase in lighting for a brief moment tells huge spirit of earth that Solar just had his coffee.

A warm beverage goes well with this peaceful morning, Gempa thought, as one of his arms brought the cup to his ‘mouth’. Just this finishing touch and breakfast should be ready. Suddenly, the doorbell rang, he could hear the fastest game of rock paper scissors ever happen, and Solar walking towards the door.

It’s natural one would prefer nice home cooked meals over rations, and Fang certainly isn’t the best chef, so eating at Tok Aba and Boboiboy’s house it is then. Not that he would ever admit that out loud, it’s embarrassing. He can give a compliment when it’s due though and it shall be expressed in actions.

But either he misremembered, or something bad has happened, as the one who opened the door… Whoever it is definitely isn’t human. A body made of light with no discernible features save for limbs, hands with blackened tips, and worst of all is their head. It was like one of those ‘biblically accurate angels’ he was shown by Gopal once, golden rings intertwined together, covered in silver eyes and mystical patterns. In the middle of it all, is a white dwarf.

It took Fang a few seconds to process what in the name of stars he just saw, but he reached for the door handle and pushes it back.

“My apologies, it seems I’ve gotten the wrong house-“ the alien said as politely as possible, while frantically trying to close the door.

“Wait a minute- Child it is I- Wait no, Fang it’s me, Solar!” The light spirit was also frantically trying to convince Fang it’s him, while keeping the door open.

Breakfast was nice, but Fang wished he had a warning about the elementals not bothering to look human today.

“Please, transform properly before opening the door?”

“Sorry about that. You know caffeine has no effect on us”

The purple haired alien could only sigh and bury his head in his hands. Now he knows why all those ancient civilizations were so spooked by the elementals

- By your pal, SP Anon

Drew the scenarios :)))

[slafkovskys]

hi love! can i request “ Having a tender moment in the early morning” with luke hughes? love you have the best day! 🫶🏻🫶🏻🥰

you had seen the video accidentally, well more like it was sent to you by your roommate who was notorious for staying awake until all hours of the night. it was the first thing you had seen when the plane had touched down in boston, someone had filmed you and your boyfriend walking out of the arena in tampa. while he had his sticks in one hand, his other hand was tangled with yours and you watched as he had only nodded to the man who had offered him congratulations and good luck on his career.

you watched it an unhealthy amount of times, you wheeling his suitcase, him attempting to adjust the strap of his heavy gear bag. you could probably recite all of the signs that were briefly shown from memory.

and ever since that moment when you had been reunited in some spare room in the bowels of amelie arena, seconds after luke had broken the news of his final decision — he wasn’t going home for a couple of days, he was ready now — you were certain that luke had not let you be more than a foot away from him at most.

not in the car on the way to the airport, not on the airplane, or in the second sleek black suv that the two of you had slid into at damn near three in the morning that was shuttling you to the hotel where his new team was already waiting. still, as the elevator descends to the lobby, he has you tucked into his side, fingers curled into the fabric of the worn development program t-shirt that basically swallowed you whole.

you hadn’t slept a wink. you had been up for the last three hours, running your fingers through his hair while he dozed on your chest, thankful that he had been able to find peace in all of the chaos of the last twelve hours.

“do you think that they’ll have waffles?” he mumbles, voice still raspy with sleep. you had tried to convince him to stay in bed, and rest for just a little longer before you were due down in one of the hotel’s conference rooms where he was putting pen to paper, but he had refused, insisting on one last hotel breakfast. one last moment of normalcy between the two of you, even though your four-year relationship had been essentially an antonym of normal.

“they have like four chandeliers in the lobby, lu,” you look up at him just as the elevator doors slide open, “if they don’t have a waffle maker, i’m leaving a bad review.”

that gets a smile out of him as you wrap your hand around his arm and lead him toward where breakfast had just started being served. you weren’t the first people there, but you were the only ones still dressed in pajamas. you share a look as a group of men dressed in suits look at you disapprovingly, sharing a giggle. you gasp and nudge at his side, “waffle maker!”

“you get the cereal, i’ll make the waffles?”

“sounds like a plan,” you hum. he presses his lips to your forehead and you go to separate ends of the room. the space beside you feels empty, having had him occupying it so consistently for the last few hours, but the thought is fleeting as you start loading up a plate with various food for the two of you to split.

with two plates loaded, you find a table tucked away in the corner that faces the boston street. the sun had just started to break over the horizon as the city's residents were getting their days started. luke joins you a moment later with a plate stacked full of waffles and what you were sure was the bowl of individual syrups they offered.

“is that-”

“don’t be suspicious,” he holds a finger to his lips as he slides the bowl across the table, “there were a lot of options and i didn’t feel like making a decision, okay?”

“okay, babe,” you reach across for a waffle while sliding the plate of fruit you had gathered in between the two of you. people start to filter in and out, grabbing a quick bite or a cup of coffee before leaving as soon as they had arrived, but you and luke find quiet comfort in your little corner.

“there was a reason that i wanted to do this with you,” he says, voice low as he pushes a grape around his plate with the fork.

you set your knife down and angle your body towards his, reaching out for his arm to pull into your lap, craving his hand in yours, “yeah? what’s that, lu?”

“we’ve been through a lot, me and you. we haven’t gotten to really have a normal relationship, be kids. you’ve sacrificed a lot for me and i’ve thanked you for it a million times it seems like, but it’ll never be enough,” he sighs and turns his head towards you. he squeezes your leg, “life’s not about to get any easier and we both know that, so i wanted to just have time for the two of us where we could just be us. i wanted to remember us this way before-”

“before you have to leave again?” he nods and you reach out to run a hand through his hair, “you don’t have to thank me for anything, luke. i do it out of love because i want to see you succeed. you’ve come so far as a person and a player, i’m just happy i’ve got to come on this journey with you.”

he grins, bringing your hand to his lips, “i’m excited for this next chapter, for me and for us.”

“me too,” you hum, pressing your lips to his, before gesturing to his plate, “now finish eating because you need to go back to the room and shower before eight.”

“what would i do without you?”

“look really bad in pictures.”

requests are closed!

[creampuff-nonanon]

dear creampuff,

may i request smooching session with al haitham /hj

ok fr tho, aftercare with al haitham :))

sincerely, uh idk someone 😶‍🌫️

Alhaitham x Reader

☆— I'll do it

A/N: *that one legend of zelda scene* OH BOY SMOOCHING TIME-

I WAS LISTENING TO LO-FI CAUSE IT WAS RAINING THEN WAP STARTED PLAYING???? SPOTIFY. HELP SQUIWARDS NOSE BY CUPCAKKE SCARED ME

DEAR GOD SCHOOL HATES ME THIS IS SO LATE ANS LAZY ANON IM SO SORRY

Warning/Notes: Reader has no gender mentioned, Aftercare, Getting caughted by Kaveh LMFAO, smoochies and kissies mwah mwah chup chup beso beso

⋆ After you both fuck the fuck out of each other–

⋆ You two stay there for a while, He rests his head on your stomach.

⋆ Asks you if you need anything. Food, more blankets, water and such.

⋆ While you change the bed sheets he prepares a bath tub for the both of you.

⋆ What? Expect him to sleep covered in sweat? Hope not.

⋆ He sits behind you, allowing you to sleep on his chest

⋆ Lucky bitch

⋆ Uses those small scented candle lights than the chandelier.

⋆ Not a fan of bright lights after "it"

⋆ Kisses your shoulders a lot.

⋆ Massages you scalp.

⋆ Maybe if he can, washes your thighs for you♡

⋆ try not to get a boner, Alhaitham (impossible/hj)

⋆ After the bath he'll ask again if you want something to eat.

⋆ If you do, he'll tell you to go rest on the bed as he go gets it.

⋆ If you don't then you both lay on the bed.

⋆ Lowkey a sucker for hugs

⋆ The door opened wtf

⋆ Kaveh no-

⋆ Kaveh looked at you two

⋆ He gave you a "girl bffr, this man? Yours?😭" look

⋆ after he leaved you both decided to sleep

⋆ he'll deal with Kaveh tomorrow.

⋆ speaking of "tomorrow"

⋆ You thought this mans aftercare is over? Nope

⋆ Like bringing you breakfast on bed

⋆ If you're a bit of a messy eater, he'll carry you bridal style to the table

⋆ mmhm yes very malewife of him yes

[monster-cock69]

a different future

AO3 link here

Pairings: Developing Peter x Steve x Bucky, established Steve x Bucky

Tags: Omegaverse, PTSD, mentions of suicidal ideation

Warnings: Peter's depressed, MPreg

Rating: Mature for content purposes, not smut

Summary:

Peter didn't like thinking of the future. It never ended well or lived up to his expectations.

Sometimes, well, sometimes he had to.

Peter sat in the backseat of the car, staring out the window with his eyes squinted against the harsh morning light. A dull thud had started sounding through his head, but for some reason, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. 

He wasn’t quite sure what was different about it today. It was the same sun he’d looked at day after day, forever unchanging and eternally uncaring. 

But something was different. 

Maybe it was him, or at least whatever strangeness had started to bubble up within him. He liked to consider himself that was easily content with the flow of life, but recently he couldn’t be more pissed with it. 

The car came to a sudden stop and he clamped his palm over his mouth in a futile effort to combat the sudden nausea. Everything was always too much now, too loud, too bright, too intense. 

The little tree hanging down from the rearview mirror didn’t help. It was supposed to smell like black ice. 

Peter didn’t like to think about black ice too much. Just like he didn’t like to think about himself either nowadays. 

Thinking about the immediate future was simple.

This current immediate future was easy too. They were coming up on a corner, the car would turn, and he would get out. He’d grab his duffel bag, and be as polite as he could manage. 

Then well – that was a different future. 

The turn came up, and he reached down to grip the handles of his bag. This part went as planned at least. 

But then he was staring up at the townhouse in front of him, chewing on the inside of his lip like it would have all the answers. 

He took in a deep breath and thought of his social worker’s email. It came to mind, a clear image of what it looked like the last time he’d read it. 

Internally reciting the instructions, he made his way to the gate. The townhouse was large, looked at least four floors high, and had a bay window on each floor after the first. 

His feet shuffled up the steps infuriatingly slow. 

Now, he let himself think of what kind of impression he would make. His hair had gone unwashed for weeks, there were more than a few stains and a couple of holes on his sweats, and the entirety of his life had been condensed down into a duffel bag with his foster agency’s name printed on the side. 

Without warning, the door was yanked open the second he reached the top of the steps. 

Inside was one of his new alphas. Beard and surprisingly dark hair aside, Peter couldn’t help but compare the man in front of him with the man on the cover of his high school history book. 

“Come on in,” Steve Rogers grunted, leaning to give Peter space. The inside of the townhouse looked even more opulent than the outside had suggested. The ceilings were ridiculously high, there was a glass chandelier hanging above what he guessed was the living room off to his right. He felt like he’d stepped into a magazine cutout – or a housewife’s wet dream. 

Peter was led down the hall and toward another staircase, forcing his eyes to stay glued to the space around him rather than looking directly at the man in front of him. 

They ended up inside the second kitchen Peter noticed, and another alpha was already sitting at the breakfast table. His posture was ramrod straight, palms placed carefully on the table in front of him, and his eyes were locked on Peter. 

At the center of the table was an assortment of food, something Peter expected to see at a conference or business meeting. 

“We wanted to get started with setting some uh,” the first alpha – Captain fucking America – started, “house rules. They’re more an expectations and boundaries sort of thing.” 

Peter nodded, trying to pour his attention into it. He couldn’t afford to forget anything. Though his words sounded scripted like this was the start of a speech he’d tried and mostly failed to memorize. 

“The most important thing is that at least one other person will know where you are, and where you plan on going. Most of these expectations are also expected of Bucky and I. It doesn’t mean you don’t have free reign over where you go. As long as it isn’t something that needs to be cleared by the social worker just let one of us know. If both of us are out, we’ll tell you as much as we can about where we are and how long we’ll be gone.” Here, he paused as if waiting for someone to drop from the ceiling and interject. 

“The second is that we respect each other’s space. Aside from common areas, bedrooms, and private rooms like my office or studio, all need permission to be entered. No one will go into your room or the nursery without permission and we expect the same in return.” 

Peter nodded again, feeling suddenly overwhelmed with doubt. This all sounded too easy, too simple.

But– 

Immediate future first. 

“The last is about self-care. All of the food in any of the refrigerators in a common space is available for you, and we expect you to keep up with any doctor’s appointments or speak out if you need something you have not been provided with. We purchased a few things for you that’ll be in your room but aside from that we’ll give you a credit card to use for anything else  you need.” He paused then, looking around like a wild animal waiting to return to hiding. 

“Do you have any questions?” The words felt forced like Peter was holding a gun to his head or physically dragging them from his throat. 

“What do you want from me?” He asked, then cursed himself. He’d promised that he wouldn’t bring up anything that hadn’t already been brought up. 

But he couldn’t help but think that the alphas wanted more than a housemate. To take a pregnant, orphaned omega home was ridiculous as is. To do it without wanting something in exchange was even crazier. His last foster mother had been an older woman who had too many kids in the house and needed another adult’s hands in the mix. The one before that had wanted–

Peter just needed to know what they wanted from him.

“I’m fucked in the head,” the other alpha’s words were said so quietly Peter almost had to strain to hear, “so’s he, and having you around is supposed to help with that. You’re a prescription. Not a fucking toy.” 

Peter nodded, digging his short nails into his palms. 

In a sudden burst of movement Bucky – Steve had called him – pushed himself from the table and stomped toward the hallway off to their left. 

Steve rubbed a hand over his tired face, one of the only movements he’d made since they sat down. 

“We’re all here to help each other, Peter. We all have something to gain and not much to lose. Come, I’ll give you the tour.” 

As they walked around the gigantic house, Peter couldn’t help but think that those were some of the only genuine words he’d heard said aloud in a long, long, time. 

The only issue with them was that he had an entire world to lose.

~~~~

As Peter lay in bed, completely showered for the first time in what felt like years, he rested a hand on the lowest part of his torso. 

The skin under his hand had grown taught, and he had more stretch marks than he could count if he tried.

He didn’t break his rule yet, didn’t dare ponder the what-ifs or let the tentative bit of hope that had bubbled up in his chest surge forward. 

But he put his hand over his baby, and let himself dream that the tiny thing inside of him would be happy one day. 

A small, barely there tap against his hand was his answer. 

~~~~

Time passed oddly in the gigantic townhouse. It felt like the weeks he’d been there were months. The living room window had a perfect view of Prospect Park, and Peter couldn’t help but stare at it – he had no real memories tied to the park, but it still made him feel nostalgic for someone whose visage had started going hazy at the edges. 

Peter had forced himself to be content with sitting in the surprisingly small backyard, but he itched to go out into real nature. 

One morning, after a particularly vivid nightmare, he dressed himself in the lightest outfit he owned and cautiously approached Bucky. 

They hadn’t spoken much aside from pleasantries. Steve always asked him to join them for dinner, so they’d mostly ask each other some variation of “Can you pass me that.” 

Steve hadn’t been much better, but he would at least pretend holding a conversation with Peter was pleasant. 

Bucky, well on the days that Peter saw him, he’d be sitting stock still, looking either at nothing or everything at once. 

“Can I–” Normally, if someone had that look in their eye, Peter would try to make some noise to tell them he was in the room. 

Bucky always knew where he was. 

“Is it okay if I go to the park for a bit?” He finished, wringing his fingers in the hem of his shirt. He never had to tell anyone about therapy or doctor’s appointments. Steve always bought it up at some point either that day or the night before, and he was always sent off and picked up in a taxi they ordered. 

Bucky missed his next inhale, clenched the fingers of his metal hand, then nodded. 

Peter nodded as well, itching to flee but worried Bucky would have something to say and he’d miss it. 

The alpha tapped his index finger against his knee three times before taking in a slow breath through his mouth. 

“Here,” he grunted at last, then pulled a wad of twenties from his pocket and held them in Peter’s direction. 

A protest formed on the tip of his tongue, but it died down quickly and he took the bills with a muttered thanks. 

He didn’t bring anything with him, so laying on an unoccupied spot of grass wasn’t as comfortable as he thought it’d be. 

Around him, the park was filled with sounds that reminded him of another life. Children were laughing and squealing, a group of teenagers was comforting a sobbing beta girl, and dogs roamed the area.

Head tilted back, he decided that the sun looked different again. It didn’t hurt his eyes this time. 

He lay there until he heard the ice cream truck not far from him. There wasn’t much of a line yet, and he got up to wait behind a few nannies. 

It was the first craving that he’d really had – the first that he’d actually listened to. 

He even got sprinkles. 

And it was the best ice cream he’d ever fucking tasted. 

~~~~

His nightmares grew less frequent, but somehow worse at the same time. 

Instead of just dreaming of those nights, the memories twisted in on themselves and turned against him.

May, instead of shouting futile reassurances cursed and blamed him. Uncle Ben’s dead body turned its head one final time to spit vitriol. 

Peter stayed in bed those days, scared to close his eyes but unprepared to face the small world outside his door. 

One night one car crash melded with another, faces and seasons blended together, and Peter woke himself up screaming.

His stomach was rolling, his heart was racing, and all he wanted was for everything to stop. 

And god part of him wished he could stop.

“Hey Peter,” he heard from the other side of his door. 

He didn’t answer, his skin was too tight, and he was choking down screams that were begging to be set free. His body hurt in ways it hadn’t in months. 

He was scared that if he looked down at his legs he’d see sharp white bone instead of skin. 

Even if he could speak he didn’t know what he’d say. 

“I don’t know what you dreamed about,” Steve continued, “but I know that it’s only the bad ones that make me scream like that. And sometimes it helps to know that there’s someone on the other side of it hoping for you to pull through.”

Peter choked on his next sob, hating how much he felt like the little kid he’d been when he got the news of the first crash. 

Hating how much he wanted his mom.

“Can I open the door, Peter?” 

He nodded, hating how much he wanted more. He wanted a fucking hug but his skin was too tight, the space was the only place in the house that didn’t smell like alphas, he couldn’t let them see him– 

“Yeah,” he said when he realized Steve wouldn’t see his nod. 

And the alpha was right there, looking patient and with such a genuinely kind expression that Peter wanted to rip his face off. 

Steve had been so cagey, so unsure, but a crying omega would make anyone feel pity. 

And how Peter hated pity. 

He had enough for himself. 

But fuck did he want a hug. 

“I don’t have to come in, I can stay right here.” Peter really wanted to rip his face off now, because that sounded so perfect that Peter could barely comprehend it. 

“Bucky was a bit– he was kinda slutty when he felt like it. So well, one time between us wanting to stuff our faces full of hot dogs and him wanting to impress a girl we had to hitch a ride back from Coney Island on an ice cream truck.” 

Peter’s sobs stilled as he focused on Steve’s calm, level voice. 

“The jerk barely even won the stuffed animal for her. He spent, god, probably sixty bucks in today’s money trying to win that thing.” 

Steve sat down against the wall opposite the door and opened his mouth to either continue the story or start another one. 

Bucky came into Peter’s view and placed a hand on Steve’s shoulder. “You can’t just make me look bad. Now I gotta tell him about how we spent a bunch of money on food for you to waste it hurling after we rode the cyclone.” He got comfortable leaning against Steve’s side, eyes fixed intently on Peter. 

“Ever rode the cyclone?” Peter shook his head, but Bucky plowed on nonetheless, painting a vivid image of the rollercoaster’s first opening day. 

They told him stories of swing dancing, late-night talks on fire escapes, running away from gay bars when the cops got called, and so many more that Peter tried to commit to memory. They talked and talked, and eventually, Peter felt his eyes shut. 

His dreams were of good memories that time.

He dreamt of his mom’s hugs.

~~~~

Wandering around the townhouse seemed like a pointless venture. He’d already seen most of it, but it looked different. 

At this time of night, the dark hallways made the ceilings look higher, the space so vast that it was intimidating. He had an indescribable restlessness within him though, and he couldn’t bring himself to go back to his room. 

Bucky and Steve had been gone for days, on some mission that they couldn’t tell him about. All he’d been told was that they were in Russia – and according to Steve, even that was too much information. 

Frustrated, he slumped over the kitchen island, debating the merits of going out for a walk.

The oven clock glared at him, and he contented himself with groaning into his arms. 

Peter was tired, restless, and – 

He kind of wanted Chinese food. 

Decision made, he reached for his phone, hoping futilely that there would be a Chinese restaurant open. 

Once he found one, he keyed in their regular order accidentally. Peter froze once he realized, then cursed and ordered it anyway. They were supposed to be home soon, and he could always make his way through the leftovers if– 

Too far. 

Peter didn’t want to think about when they’d come back to the townhouse, or what shape they’d be in. 

They hadn’t gone on a mission in the entire time he’d been staying with them. The most they’d done was go to work meetings and even those were infrequent.

He occupied himself with a book, sitting in the window seat after finally turning some lights on. 

It was a book on the rise and fall of political structures in Eastern Europe – something Peter would have never imagined himself being willing to read. Oddly enough, it was interesting, just not enough to occupy his mind. 

His thoughts continued to wander, no matter how much he tried to stop them. He wound up pressing his palms to his eyes and taking as slow breaths as he could. 

When his phone buzzed with the delivery notification, he slowly made his way down the stairs. His body hurt, and his knee throbbed so hard Peter could feel it reverberate up and down his leg. 

On days like this, he walked with a small limp. Since his center of gravity had shifted, he felt like he had no way to comfortably compensate for the aching leg. It was an odd sensation that made him want to drag his leg behind him rather than put weight on it. 

He heard the sound of the door open as he approached the bottom of the steps and froze, fear flashing through his body. 

Bucky came into view first, dressed like – like a fucking spy straight from an action movie – holding two over-filled bags of food. 

“Hi, doll.” 

~~~~

Peter didn’t particularly enjoy going to the doctor’s office. His OBGYN was a fairly kind alpha woman, with streaks of grey spread throughout her long black hair. 

She had her moments, would be fairly kind to him one appointment then condescending another. It didn’t help that he’d been seeing her for regular checkups since he presented. 

Dr. Garcia was one of the only people still in his life who had met May and Ben. 

And she insisted on meeting Bucky and Steve. 

The two alphas looked comical, sitting in the small plastic chairs of the sonogram room. Bucky looked as haunted as he ever did, but somehow his frantic energy looked more excited than it did frightened. 

Steve wasn’t even pretending to be stoic, squeezing Bucky’s metal hand and smiling as broadly as Peter had ever seen him. 

Peter didn’t get it. 

Sure, they spoke more now than they had before, and sometimes Steve and he cooked together, or Bucky and he would lay in the grass in the park together, or– 

Fuck

Peter blinked the thoughts away, refusing to entertain the idea that he was starting to become friends with them or worse – 

“So,” Dr. Garcia started, slathering Peter’s belly in gel, “before I spoil it, I want to hear if we have any guesses.” 

Peter sighed, then looked back at the alpha pair. Steve was shaking his head and Bucky was staring intently at the sonogram screen. It wasn’t his first chance at learning his baby’s gender. The first opportunity came weeks ago when other genetic testing was done. 

He’d said no, he wasn’t sure why he’d said yes this time. 

“I say girl.”

“Let’s see if mother’s intuition is right,” she put the doppler on his belly, moved it around a bit, then paused. 

She fiddled with the machine with her free hand, and the heartbeat sounded in the otherwise quiet room. 

The doctor muttered something, moving the doppler this way and that before pausing. 

“What is it?” Steve piped up. 

“No,” Peter interjected before the doctor could answer. 

“I’m so sorry Peter, I have no clue how we missed this.” She pressed the doppler against the front of his stomach, “Everyone meet Baby A, a beautiful little girl,” She shifted around to nearly his rib cage, “And Baby B, a handsome little boy.” 

Baby B was almost completely hidden behind his sister, and they could barely see his silhouette.

“Baby A looks perfectly healthy, but I want to bump up your next appointment so we can try and get a better look at B. This changes your due date a bit too. I’d put you closer to twenty than twenty-four weeks now.”

Her cleanup was fast and brusque, and she handed Peter the pictures she’d printed without another word. 

“That was fun,” Peter announced when she left, wiping away at his stomach. It made sense, in a way. His stomach was a bit too big for only six months, and he never quite felt movement in the same spot at once. 

They left the doctor’s office, Steve still clutching Bucky’s hand. 

“We’re gonna need a lot of diapers,” he mused when they reached the car. 

Peter froze, “Well, not too much stuff. Not until they’re born.” He felt guilty about how much money they’d already spent on him, but this wasn’t about the money. 

His parents didn’t believe in buying too many things for the baby, and he was always taught that it could bring bad luck. He didn’t hold onto many superstitions anymore but couldn’t bear the thought of bringing more bad luck down on himself. 

“It’s bad luck to put up the crib too soon,” Bucky added. 

“Between the three of us, our luck is already pretty bad. The least we can do is avoid bringing in any more.”

Peter laughed a rough and ugly sound. It was like Steve had read his mind. 

“Chinese or Mexican?” He asked. Dinner was an easier thing to think about right now, with so many people walking around and doing double takes at Steve’s face. 

“Chinese and picnic?” Bucky offered. 

Steve called to put in the order once they’d settled into the car. Peter never felt right about being in cars anymore. They always made him uneasy and put him on edge. For months he’d refused to entertain the idea of getting into one and had insisted on walking or taking the train wherever he went. 

For whatever reason, longer car rides were easier. Maybe it was because he needed a way to justify them. 

He hadn’t driven much with Steve or Bucky in the driver’s seat. It was rare that they’d all go somewhere that they couldn’t walk to. 

Peter couldn’t stop thinking about how excited they’d been, how eager they seemed even now. It was a quiet joy, one that Peter might have missed if he hadn’t gotten used to how muted their emotions almost always were. 

It distracted him from the car ride, and he let himself think of the future – if only for the moment. 

They’d be good for the babies. Bucky would take them to the park and Steve would be calm while they raged and screamed at night. 

Peter didn’t know how he’d be. He hoped he could grow accustomed to the sleeplessness and prayed that he could smile at them. 

He was terrified of the worst, that ACS would deem him and the home unfit, that he’d fuck up and get kicked out of the house, and anything in between.

Peter didn’t want to think about it too hard this time. 

He was having twins. A year ago, he would have laughed at the idea. 

He still wanted to laugh at the idea, wanted to pretend that it wasn’t real. If he tried hard enough, he could almost convince himself that he’d wake up in the morning in his twin sized bed at the apartment he’d shared with Ben and May. He could almost pretend he was still dancing, still practicing for a future that wasn’t his anymore.

But he knew he couldn’t pretend anymore. Thinking of the what-ifs had never helped him, and the little sonogram picture in his hand knew just how true that was. 

[lostfirefly]

Trembling, crawling across my skin, feeling your cold dead eyes, stealing the life of mine (Ch.1)

This fanfiction story is my present for my friend @yujo-nishimura, whose birthday is today! Sending hugs from Russia and wish you a lot of Crocolove!

Two things inspired me to write this fic: One of my fav songs from which the title is taken and Elena and Damon's dance (from The Vampire Diaries, S1). My 1st attempt to write the story about this character.

Description: Yujo is a young girl whom her father has betrothed to Mr. 3. She and her sister come to the ball, where she meets one of the members of the Cross Guild Corporation Sir Crocodile.

Warnings: No warnings

Words: 1307

Sir Crocodile x OC

The title is taken from "Dance with the Devil" by Breaking Benjamin.

English is not my native language, errors may occur. As always, feel free to share your thoughts :)

Taglist: @gingernut1314

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"I can't believe we're going to the castle ball tonight!" A blonde girl with curly hair and brown eyes was bouncing happily on the bed.

"Helena, calm down," another girl with green eyes sitting by the dressing table answered her in a calm voice. She brushed her brown hair, occasionally glancing in the mirror. 

"I'm so impatient. We're going to see your fiancé, Mr. 3 again, Yujo! He's so cute!" Helena jumped off the bed, spinning around the bedroom. Her light white dress in small florals fluttered beautifully in the air. 

"I don't know. He doesn't seem like a bad person. Writes nice letters and courts quite non-trivially.", Yujo put her hairbrush down on the table, slowly stood up and walked over to the closet. "Stop spinning around, Helena. Our parents are expecting us for breakfast."

The day passed in preparation for the trip to the ball. After breakfast, Helena and Yujo strolled around the large summer garden and talked about many things. Helena could hardly contain her excitement for the evening, dreaming that she would be able to meet a wealthy young man at the ball.

"And I also heard that either all the members from Cross Guild Corporation are expected to attend, or at least just one. They're some kind of tycoons. I bet they're all handsome and young."

"I've never heard of them." replied Yujo calmly, gently running her hands along the branches of the trees. 

Finally the evening came and Yujo and Helena walked down the steps of their house down to the front entrance. It was a warm summer evening, and a large white carriage drawn by two red horses was waiting for them at the gate.

"Oh, my God! Ball, ball, ball, ball!" Helena ran up the stairs faster than anyone else. 

"You're incorrigible!" Yujo laughed as she watched her sister hop into the carriage. She lifted the hem of her mauve colored chiffon dress and sat down carefully next to her sister.

"What if Mr. 3 isn't coming alone? What if he brings someone cute?"

"Who? Mr. 2 or 4?" Yujo put her arm around her sister's shoulder. "Our parents are already there. For all I know, our father was going to discuss some kind of deal with Mr. Jinbe. And mom probably wants to gossip with everyone. 

It was already dark when they arrived at the gates of a large castle made of gray stone. 

"Here we are, here we are!" Helena jumped out of the carriage and adjusted the hem of her mint-colored dress. "Yujo, where are you?" 

"Coming!", Yujo stepped out of the carriage and looked at her sister. "Let's hurry up or you're going to die of impatience. Just please behave yourself."

They walked into a huge spacious hall. There were tables covered with white and gold tablecloths all around. A large crystal chandelier adorned the ceiling. The ladies were dressed in their best clothes, and the men were all in suits. 

There were whispers, negotiations, and girlish chuckles coming from various directions. 

"Good evening, Yujo, Helena!" a skinny man with a funny hairstyle in the shape of the number three, walked up to Yujo and kissed her hand. "It's nice to see you here. I brought you both some wine.”

“Thank you so much!” they both said in unison. 

"Say, Mr. 3, is it true that the owners of Cross Guild are expected to come?" Helena giggled and sipped her wine a little at a time.

"I don't know about the others, they seemed to have some pressing business, but one is definitely coming." said Mr. 3, looking around the room. "And why are you inquiring, Ms. Helena?"

"No reason..." Helena blushed. 

"I'll leave you ladies alone for a moment," Mr. 3 bowed and stepped aside.

"I heard there's a swordsman there and he's available, and he's pretty cute," Helena poked Yujo lightly in the shoulder. 

Suddenly all voices were briefly silenced and heavy footsteps were heard.

"Ladies, let me introduce the member of the cross guild, Sir Crocodile." Mr. 3 turned back to the girls. "This is Yujo, my fiancée. And this is her little sister Elena."

A tall man with purple hair and dark eyes stood before them. He had a coat thrown over his shoulders and a hook hand.instead of one arm. Yujo was surprised, but tried not to show it.  

“Nice to meet you,” Crocodile kissed the girls’ hands. “So young and so beautiful.”

Helena turned red as a lobster hearing these words. She lightly rubbed her sister’s hand. 

“You see? You see? The hook!” Helena whispered to her sister. Yujo lightly stepped on her sister's foot, silencing her.

“Excuse me, ladies. I have to speak with one man and I’ll come back to you,” Crocodile said calmly. 

“Woooow! He’s so.. So handsome.” Helena was so amazed by Crocodile that she seemed to forget how to breathe. “There seems to be another one there, but I don’t remember who. He must be somewhat unremarkable, since I don’t remember him. I wish I could see the swordsman. Who’s better, that guy with the hook or the swordsman? What do you think?” 

“I have no idea. Aren’t there other people there or what? In this Cross Guild,” Yujo quietly asked her sister, watching Crocodile out of the corner of her eye.

Helena shrugged. “Don’t know. I’ve heard about these three.”

Yujo's father, a plump man of short stature with gray hair approached her with Mr. 3. They had a long discussion about the upcoming wedding ceremony, the guest list and the menu. Yujo found herself looking for Crocodile with her eyes the whole time. 

Finally the start of the ball was announced and Mr. 3 took Yujo's hand and led her to the center of the room. The girls had to stand in one line, the man in another. Yujo found herself in front of Crocodile. The music started. Everyone stepped towards each other, touching one palm to the palm of their partner's hand. Holding their palms side by side, they moved smoothly in a circle. After making a couple of circles, everyone put their second palm to the partner’s palm.

"Sorry you have to settle for a hook," Crocodile said dryly.

“That’s ok,” Yujo said and smiled. 

After making a couple more circles, everyone came closer to each other. The men put one hand on the girls' waists. Crocodile hugged Yujo with a hook. 

Finally the dance ended and everyone bowed to each other. At the same moment, Helena ran up to Yujo.

“God, the chemistry between you just killed me!”

"What?" Yujo asked. She felt as if her mind was clouded during the dance.

"I'm so jealous of you. I want it too! You should ask your Mr. 3 to introduce me to a swordsman!" Helena was almost jumping next to her sister.

“Will you calm down? We are at the ball after all. What if someone is looking at you now, and you are behaving inappropriately,” Yujo laughed, noticing how her sister pouted. Yujo looked around the hall and saw how Crocodile approached her father. They shook hands and started talking about something.

“Yujo, this is Mr. Magellan. He will marry us,” she was pulled out of her thoughts by Mr. 3, who approached her with a tall man, his face resembling a mandrill, with very sharp teeth and thick beard. 

“I have to admit, your bride is amazing, Mister 3. Can’t wait to perform your ceremony,” Magellan said and kissed Yujo’s hand. 

While the all-important potential guests were discussing the upcoming wedding, Yujo was catching more and more that she was thinking about Sir Crocodile. What was it? A charm after the dance? Or is it something else?