#god put a curse on me and it's that men twice my age fall in love with me & want to fuck me

[there-will-be-a-way]

Fucked up even more than I thought I would. The weed person wasn't rechable today (neither by knocking at her door twice a day nor by calling her) so I ended up compromising by drinking enough beer and wine to make me feel like throwing up. So much about sobriety. While spending time with my roommate I thought, "Well, this'll end in the ER again." Not today, but in the long run. Because I've reached the point in addiction where one drop of beer ends with me drinking for days and days, while using other substances, until I'm so physically addicted that going cold turkey is dangerous 🙃

[audientvoid13]

The Vampire by Conrad Aiken She rose among us where we lay. She wept, we put our work away. She chilled our laughter, stilled our play; And spread a silence there. And darkness shot across the sky, And once, and twice, we heard her cry; And saw her lift white hands on high And toss her troubled hair. What shape was this who came to us, With basilisk eyes so ominous, With mouth so sweet, so poisonous, And tortured hands so pale? We saw her wavering to and fro, Through dark and wind we saw her go; Yet what her name was did not know; And felt our spirits fail. We tried to turn away; but still Above we heard her sorrow thrill; And those that slept, they dreamed of ill And dreadful things: Of skies grown red with rending flames And shuddering hills that cracked their frames; Of twilights foul with wings; And skeletons dancing to a tune; And cries of children stifled soon; And over all a blood-red moon A dull and nightmare size. They woke, and sought to go their ways, Yet everywhere they met her gaze, Her fixed and burning eyes. Who are you now, —we cried to her— Spirit so strange, so sinister? We felt dead winds above us stir; And in the darkness heard A voice fall, singing, cloying sweet, Heavily dropping, though that heat, Heavy as honeyed pulses beat, Slow word by anguished word. And through the night strange music went With voice and cry so darkly blent We could not fathom what they meant; Save only that they seemed To thin the blood along our veins, Foretelling vile, delirious pains, And clouds divulging blood-red rains Upon a hill undreamed. And this we heard: "Who dies for me, He shall possess me secretly, My terrible beauty he shall see, And slake my body's flame. But who denies me cursed shall be, And slain, and buried loathsomely, And slimed upon with shame." And darkness fell. And like a sea Of stumbling deaths we followed, we Who dared not stay behind. There all night long beneath a cloud We rose and fell, we struck and bowed, We were the ploughman and the ploughed, Our eyes were red and blind. And some, they said, had touched her side, Before she fled us there; And some had taken her to bride; And some lain down for her and died; Who had not touched her hair, Ran to and fro and cursed and cried And sought her everywhere. "Her eyes have feasted on the dead, And small and shapely is her head, And dark and small her mouth," they said, "And beautiful to kiss; Her mouth is sinister and red As blood in moonlight is." Then poets forgot their jeweled words And cut the sky with glittering swords; And innocent souls turned carrion birds To perch upon the dead. Sweet daisy fields were drenched with death, The air became a charnel breath, Pale stones were splashed with red. Green leaves were dappled bright with blood And fruit trees murdered in the bud; And when at length the dawn Came green as twilight from the east, And all that heaving horror ceased, Silent was every bird and beast, And that dark voice was gone. No word was there, no song, no bell, No furious tongue that dream to tell; Only the dead, who rose and fell Above the wounded men; And whisperings and wails of pain Blown slowly from the wounded grain, Blown slowly from the smoking plain; And silence fallen again. Until at dusk, from God knows where, Beneath dark birds that filled the air, Like one who did not hear or care, Under a blood-red cloud, An aged ploughman came alone And drove his share through flesh and bone, And turned them under to mould and stone; All night long he ploughed.

[hockeyforthefirsttime]

Speechless- Nolan Patrick

AN: Is the ending literal trash? yes, do i care at this point? also yes, but not enough

Word count: just over 3k

TW: none that I can think of, but let me know if i need to tag something:)

i

Nolan is definitely bored at the bar. He is out and supposed to be celebrating a win, but third wheeling with Tavis and Karly, simply is not fun. Not that it ever has been, but as he watches them laugh at each other on the dance floor.. well he takes a deep sigh and an even deeper swig of his beer. Some of the team is gathered around the bar ordering another round of drinks, and as he is scanning the crowd a woman walks in front of him, making him look up at her. 

And stop dead in his thoughts. 

She is wearing jeans that cling to her curves just right, a deep magenta top that seems to wrap around her stomach, before it reveals a little more than he can handle, and he looks up at her and sees the ghost of a smile on her lips. She isn’t looking at him though. She seems to be looking into the crowded dance floor, and Nolan desperately wants to know who she is looking for. 

In any other situation like this, he would have swept her off of her feet and wouldn’t have put her down until they’d reach his bed. But her obliviousness to him has knocked him off balance it seems. 

“Hey Patty, me and Karly are gonna head home. Want a ride?” 

Travis comes up to Nolan, Karly in tow and the mysterious girl moves with a quiet sorry and a fleeting smile. Nolan can feel his eyes drift after her before he meets Travis’ eyes, which are brimming with amusement. 

“Nah, I’m good.” 

He answers, and Travis bursts out laughing. 

“What, so you can sit here and stare like some kind of creep the rest of the night?” 

Nolan sees Karly gently shoving on Travis, also having noticed Nolans lingering gaze. 

“As opposed to going home in the same car as you two rabbits? No thank you.” 

Travis and Karly bid their goodbyes as the rest of the team and their significant others appear back at the table. Nobody seems to take notice of the Nolans distantness though, pinning it down as just his Philly personality. Nobody really sees him staring at this girl dancing in vans and a pink top. 

As the song ends he watches her go up to the bar, so in normal Nolan fashion he gets up and heads in that direction. He takes a look down at his watch and in a second, a split fucking second, she is gone. 

ii

He’s so fucking tired. The game last night had been decent. They’d won in overtime and Nolan had the assist, yet he keeps going over the chances he had and the chances he missed making in his head. Driving to the rink is dreary but even more so than usual. It’s not until he stops at a red light that he wakes up. He’s supporting his head on his left arm and looking out the passenger seat window. His eyes widen when he sees who is in the beaten up truck next to him. 

The girl from the bar three weeks ago. She has her hair down her shoulders and is looking at him through her own window. When she catches his eyes, she gives him a wink. As if she recognizes him. And if this was anyone else he might have given her a half smile, or even a wink back. But no. He can feel his cheeks heating up and getting rosy. God how he wishes he could be as confident as he usually is. The girl in the other car seems to be laughing a little, a smile on her lips. Nolan swears she starts slipping away from view, and in that second he remembers. He’s at a fucking red light. Except it isn’t red anymore, made obvious by the boisterous truck behind him, basically laying on his horn. 

Quickly he presses his foot down on the gas pedal and looks for the beaten up truck, which is nowhere to be seen. 

iii

It’s still winter and Nolan for some reason unknown to him decides to take a walk in the park not far from his apartment. He blames it on his restlessness, which stems from sitting inside the entire weekend. It’s nearing Christmas time and the main section of the park is covered in fairy lights and christmas decorations. There’s even a stand that sells hot chocolate. 

He buys a cup, puts in his earbuds and starts walking. It is nice out, he decides, with all the people out enjoying the snow on the ground. There are even some kids out rolling big snowballs, which turn into snow men and women. He feels a sudden wave of content roll over him. And a smile subconsciously finds its way onto his lips.

Nolan walks a little further, and doesn’t really stop, until a ball of golden fur is at his feet, almost making him trip. The wagging tail is making the entire body of the dog move and he catches himself smiling and taking out one of the earbuds. Immediately he hears the voice of a girl shouting. 

“Akira!”

The dog at his feet, looks around eagerly as her owner sprints up to him. And Nolan can hardly believe his luck. It is the bar girl. 

“I’m so sorry, she usually doesn’t run off like that.” 

And judging by her attire she is out for a jog, which would explain how out of breath she is. Quickly she pulls a leash out of her pocket and hooks it onto Akira’s harness. 

“Oh there’s no worries.” 

Nolan manages to stutter out. He sees a little smirk on her lips and curses his reddening cheeks for being so obvious. He bends his head a little and scratches Akira behind her ears. The golden retriever leans into his touch and a soft chuckle escapes the girl standing in front of him. 

He is just about to ask the girl her name when a phone starts ringing. It’s hers. Quickly, from another pocket, she pulls out a phone and answers it. He watches with steady eyes as a frown starts to grow on her face. 

“Fuck, okay yeah, I’ll be home in a few.” 

She hangs up the phone and pockets it, before she turns to look at him again. With a wink she turns around and Akira follows. 

“See you around Shy Guy!”

And just like that she’s gone. His chocolate is no longer hot, so he tracks back to his apartment, with discouragement sitting in his chest like a rock.

iiii

The Starbucks is so full, the line goes through the door and that’s the reason why Nolan doesn’t even consider entering it. He turns and treks back a block until he sees this quaint little cafe he’s never really noticed. Which is no surprise, because it seems to be mostly inhabited by students. With the amount of computers and books up at the cafe tables and its location closer to UPenn it should come as no surprise. 

And maybe he gets a little hopeful that the bar girl will be there, so despite his logical mind, he enters through the glass doors and goes straight to the counter. The boy has to be around his own age, but a fair bit skinnier and with glasses on. It makes him look a bit too young in Nolan's eyes, but it doesn’t really matter. 

“Hey, what can I get you today?” 

The young boy asks as he wipes down the counter. 

“Ehh, just a large black coffee, please.” 

Nolan says and pulls out his wallet. He doesn’t completely register the bell over the door ringing, not until the gust of cold air washes over him. Instinctively he turns and spots a smaller frame entering the cafe. A hoodie over their head and a black jacket, lightly dusted with quickly melting snow.  And a pair of beaten up, black vans on their feet. His hopes rise, and yet again he is rewarded with the presence of the bar girl. She shakes out her hair a little as she pulls the hood off of her head. Nolan could swear his heart stopped right there. The evening sun shines through the window, making her hair appear as a halo around her. 

She hasn’t noticed him yet. So he turns and tries to calm his blush. The guy behind the counter has begun making his coffee so he doesn’t really know what to do. The bar girl comes up behind him. He can tell by the way the barista nods at her with a smile. 

“Hey Dylan, how are you today?” 

And Nolan is instantly a bit jealous of this Dylan, who gets to hear his name falling from her lips. 

“I’m good Rory, thanks, how are you?” 

Dylan answers, and it feels like his heart is in his throat. Her name is Rory? It suits her. 

“Could be better to be honest, this paper on existence due next week is really kicking my ass.” 

She answers as she comes closer, and Nolan moves further up the counter to give them room. 

“Tell me about it, you want the usual?” 

She nods and slings her backpack off one shoulder to unzip a pocket, and pulls out a card. Dylan finishes Nolan's order and places it on the corner of the counter. Nolan can feel his chance slip through his fingers and begins to panic a little. 

Until he spots a pen on the counter near his cup. Quickly he grabs it and scribbles his name and number on the cup. And he couldn’t have cued it better for AV to call him. He puts the cup down again and picks up the call. 

“Nolan, have you looked over the videos yet?”

Alain, straight to the point as usual. 

“Yeah, saw them yesterday, and I have some ideas in mind for me to improve.” 

He speaks into the phone, while he puts a hand on the back of his neck. 

“Good good, I will see you tomorrow then?” 

“Yes, sir. Bright and early.” 

And then they hang up. He sees that another cup has appeared beside his. He throws a quick glance at Rory, who is still talking to the barista,  and turns his cup the other way so the writing isn’t visible and grabs her cup. Then, he nods a goodbye to Dylan and exits the door. 

He’s almost half a block away when his phone rings. He hasn’t drunk out of the cup, but it smells a little sweet and enticing. He looks at the phone and sees an unknown number. He lets it ring twice more before answering.

“Hey, this is Nolan?” 

He tries to sound nonchalant. 

“Hey, Shy guy. This is Rory. You didn’t by any chance grab my coffee on the way out?” 

Despite the fact that he doesn’t actually know her, he swears he can hear a smile over the phone. And he is a little bit shocked by the nickname. 

“Oh, so this is who it belongs to?”

She lets out a little chuckle, before she answers. 

“Yeah, mind returning it?” 

He smiles at the laugh. 

+1

Nolan is different, not that he will admit it, but the team can tell. He seems to be more patient, more focused on practicing drills and getting them right, and also for some reason, more ready for practice to be over. At first it’s a subtle change, but after a while and two games where he plays over all very well, it seems to be more than just determination. It seems like he wants to impress someone. 

At first they shake it as him wanting to prove himself to.. well everyone. But one day when Oskar asks him who he is texting so frequently, Nolan can feel his cheeks and ears tint even more than usual. Damn her and the effect she has on him. He tries to play it cool with a casual shrug, but half the locker room seems to burst out laughing. Quickly he puts his phone in his pocket and heads for the door. 

“Have a good weekend guys!” 

He calls out behind him out of habit, as it is a weekend without games and he is taking a short trip home. Various chirps get called out behind him, but Teeks seems to be the loudest one. 

“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!” 

And all hell breaks loose as they all start on chirping Travis about how he can do anything then. With a fond smile, Nolan heads for his car, where he has a pre- packed bag as well as his passport and a carryon. 

He parks his car in the airport parking lot and he swears, there is something familiar about the truck beside his car. He shoves it to the back of his mind and starts crossing to the terminal. He’s late tho, and only half an hour to get on his flight, so as he anxiously stands in line for check in he pulls up his phone and sees a new text from Rory.

Hey, I’ll be gone for a couple of hours, text when I can:)

It was sent five minutes ago, and he groans a little at the fact that he has to wait faster, very bored. Finally he has checked in his bag and been cleared to enter the airport all the way to his flight. 

In a half jog, half sprint he manages to make it just shy of ten minutes before the gate closes. He pulls his cap further down on his head and puts his ticket and passport on the desk. The hostess scowls at him but lets him enter the already boarded plane. 

The smell of too many people and bad flight food smacks him in the face as he enters the plane with another nod to a different flight hostess. 

34B seems too far away, but he bites his tongue and keeps walking. He looks at the bald man in 34C and the hooded figure in 34A. He swears, there is something familiar about this too but his mind is a little fuzzy and he can’t quite place it. 

“Scuse me.” 

He mumbles to the man and he politely moves so Nolan can find his seat. The girl in the seat next to the window turns and looks at him, and finally it seems that he has steady ground under his feet. 

“Well, seems like I won’t text you in a couple of hours then.” 

Rory smiles at him. And he smiles back. 

“Nope you’re stuck with me for the next five and a half hours.” 

He teases and plops down in his seat. 

“What the fuck are you going to Winnipeg for though?” 

Nolan asks as he fastens his seatbelt and ignores the security instructions completely. 

“Oh I haven’t told you? My family lives there.” 

He feels flabbergasted, how in the living hell has he forgotten to ask? He always assumed she was from Philly.

“Why are you going there anyway?” 

Rory asks, but he sees the twinkle in her eyes, she’s just joking with him.

“I’m visiting my girlfriend.” 

He decides to reply dead serious. And the twinkle in her eyes disappears, a frown begins to form between her eyebrows and he instantly feels a little bad. 

“I’m- sorry, that was a really bad joke.” 

This time it seems, it’s her turn to get embarrassed. Neither of them get time to think it over though, because the plane starts accelerating and her hand immediately lands on his. He sees her jaw tense and feels her hand tighten around his knuckles. Nolan doesn’t want to comment on it though, and just lets her hold on. 

As they lift off the tarmac her hand slowly starts easing up and when they level out in the air, she seems to have realised that she’s holding his hand. Quickly she lets go, and Nolan already misses it. 

“Sorry about that, I get a little nervous about the take off.” 

She seems a little nervous to admit it, but he asks anyway. 

“How come?” 

“Oh, ever heard of the irresistible force paradox?” 

He shakes his head no, and that launches her into an explanation of what happens when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object. It’s obvious she loves theories like this, with the way she talks and moves her hands. 

“- which stems from both a chinese and a roman legend. The roman is about Zeus and how he fixed the Teumessian fox, who can never be caught, and the hound Laelaps who never misses what he hunts to the sky in constellations.” 

She stops, and Nolan really wishes she wouldn’t. Her voice is so calming yet enchanting at the same time, he could listen and learn every day for forever. 

“But wouldn’t that mean that the fox wins? because it never gets caught?” 

He questiones. 

“Exactly! I’ve been thinking about it for days now.” 

And the plane ride goes on like that, until Rory has heard of most of the flyers and Nolan knows the name of almost all her professors. It’s closer to night time when she starts to slur her words, because of tiredness. She ends up with her head on his shoulder and his hair a little bit in her face. But the weight of his head leaning against hers is priceless.  

Nolan wakes up a little bit before her and sees that they’re landing soon. So he shakes Rory awake with a promise of a date in the morning. Since they don’t live too far away from each other. And she agrees. 

They step off the plane together, collect their luggage together, Nolan’s arm slung around Rory’s shoulder, and hug each other so long, before departing to their own separate families. 

“Hey, see you tomorrow shy guy!” 

She winks at him, rendering him speechless in front of his family. His sister glances at him with a questioning look as she watches the other girl walk away. Usually few people render Nolan at a loss for words. 

[dylanxmin]

nobody does it like you do∣ k.nj

this work made for valentine’s day and there is a masterlist where a couple of writers came together to write for the sprit of the valentin’s day. please check the masterlist, and give lots of love to each work !  ♡ ♡

bangtan pastries ; valentine’s mlist

you didn’t fall in love with kim namjoon at the first sight, or he didn’t look anything sweet in the metal cage, but out of the ring, he was the sweetest, kindest one you can meet. Day by day, you fell in love and after two years, he decided to be the cheesy lover. 

OR to cringe you in and out on the valentine days.

pairing; fighter!namjoon x female!reader

genre; cheesy romance, smut, light angst(very very light dark atmosphere,oops:), established relationship, valentine au, pwp?,,

rating; m +18

warnings; mention of blood(as nj is a fighter:), mention of sex, kinda toxic but not toxic relationship(they just way too in love:), cage fighting, mention of yoonmin(and they have daddy issues:), mention of crossdressing, namjoon is totally an exhibitionist(but not gonna happen), a couple of curse words, Valentine's Day cliches(of course, duhh!), master - pet kink, bdsm motives, bondage, shibari(?), dom namjoon, sub reader, oral (f), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, spanking, begging, dirty talk, pain kink, humiliation kink, degradation, choking, biting, marking, hair pulling, rough sex, messy sex, unprotected sex(u know what not to do:), ig reader has a thing for namjoon’s hands but yeah,,,

word count; 11.4k 

a/n; heyyy, happy late valentine’s???,,, well, i have lots of complicated thoughts on this one ‘cuz my mind and my muse had a big fight on this fic. One of them wanted it to be very, very dark while the other decide it would be too much(you should guess which one wanted it to be dark and which didn’t)... so ion know if this come out as dark or light? maybe in between? hopefully? Plus, smut took me ages to write, as it clear, I can’t write smut now. Yeah, tea is out ! lol. a n y w a y s.... hope you will enjoy reading it? PLS mind the warnings guys, ion want you to feel uncomfortable,, soo, enjoy it xx  ♡

             ‘‘Listen to your heart when he's calling for you

                 Listen to your heart, there's nothing else you can do’’

The question starts with a wrong turn at the top. Not ‘why?’. It should be ‘how?’. Would be more fitting, more understandable. 

How did you fall in love with him? 

Yes, you. How exactly did you fall in love with the man you called the love of your life?

Because he was a fine looking man? He was tall? Got a sense of fashion? He was hot, maybe? 

No. You fall in love because he has everything you want. Everything you need. And also more. Even more. 

It was the way the dark pupils lost behind the curl of his eyelids in a good laugh. Sugar skin dips down to force out the cute little holes, the dimples. Or the apricots, you called them mostly. 

Maybe you fell in love because you were jealous of the way he loved, cared for his plants and simply wanted to take their place in his heart. Or, he was so caring that he could still love watering his plants, talking to them while loving you crazy. Sending you to the moon before you can understand the lackness of your weights, the easiness of your heart, he would take you back. Land you gently as ever.  

Not knowing for sure, but you may also have fallen in love with him when he rented the second bike for you, so you could go to the mountains with him. Or when he had read the book you mention out of the context, without even paying attention that you couldn’t even remember when he said he read it in three days. 

Maybe it had happened because he gave you a soda when he took it for himself, or the one time he had chosen to stay with you rather than going out with his friend because you weren’t feeling well enough. Maybe-

When the killer hands for his opponent tangled above your skin so carefully that it felt like a feather, it may be the reason. The same hands that bloomed scarlet stains bake the most beautiful, heavenly pastries for you to lose in the taste, you may or may not fall in love. 

But-

You could say countless examples and it wouldn’t be enough as it didn’t happen in one night, or because of a thing. Just simply as ever, you, fell in love with the most dangerous - as well as the softest - man in Korea. 

The ruthless, mellow, the raptorial, thoughtful, destructive fighter one can ever see in a lifetime. 

Brightest man in the fighting industry. The idol of the young ones. 

The Chopper. 

Your lover. Everything you want. And more. 

Kim Namjoon. 

The darkest night and the brightest star at the same time. Every nightmare, every heavenly dream he was able to be at the same time but now, inside the metal cage, he chose to be the first one. To be his opponent’s nightmare as the constant strikes didn’t stop, continued to smash on the skin of the man who was looking almost at the same age as your lover, something was cracking. 

Stage surrounded by the crowd, acclaimings, a chain of the name of your lover’s attached to the lips of the audience, he was feeding by it. As it was obvious by the curl of his mouth, back muscles going lack and strains again with every syllable of his name. 

Opposite to the others, you were silent. Tongue-tied, mostly. 

Not because you are afraid of the crimson on his hand, or the light of something inhuman deep inside of his eyes. You were muted against the glory he held around himself. The way he owned everything and everyone in there, you as well. Sun-kissed skin glowing with victory sweats, and more, the bell ringed. 

Once, twice, and three times. 

Bell of the Chopper’s victory call. And everyone going crazy behind you, beside you, in front of you, you continued to watch your lover. Muted. Frozen. Swollen with pride. Couldn’t even take your phone to stick this moment into eternity, even though you want to have this moment in your pocket. Your lover’s arm on the air, fist tight enough to break a neck, smile of his proud beamed on his face. Daunting glares melt the moment they land on yours, melting into something you may call affection. 

Maybe a bit of bashfulness, as well. 

But then, the familiar sweet apricots come to light, and the ice that holds you still breaks into million pieces. And you smile back, eyes heavy with unshed tears. Chest fluttering as the effect of seeing his dimples never, ever fades away. Starting to clap one palm to the other, ease takes over. Relief gives your air back in your lungs after you realize there is nothing to be afraid of. He, your lover, the Chopper, Kim Namjoon won the fight and he is safe now. There is no harm he could get. 

So, that means you can turn your back, and leave the crowd behind to wait for him in the locker room for him to get done with all the things he has to. Such as taking photos, talking with his boss, and filling his pocket with money. Shortly, the thing you don’t want to be included, so you pushed the iron door to get inside the to-be-empty room but clearly it wasn’t and you stop at the entrance like a deer in the headlights. 

Obviously, you weren’t expecting two shirtless men to eat each other’s face, but the loud thug of the door broke their sessions while two pairs of eyes turned over you. Shallow breaths, pink glowing cheeks, you must say that they looked adorable. 

‘‘Happy Valentine’s Day, I guess?’’ biting your lips to prevent any sort of voice from coming out, the face eaters’ smiles burned bright, like the pink horizon on their cheeks. One of them waved at you from afar, and you returned the act.  

The one with mint neon hair sat on the bench, brushing his hair back before greeting you. ‘‘I assume Namjoon won as you are not crying or screaming your lungs out?’’ 

‘‘Maybe you can be a little lighter than that, hyung.’’ even though the other tried to hide away the bluntless of the older, you snorted. He didn’t say anything wrong, though. 

Waving a hand, you open the locker of Namjoon to get his things to leave here quicker. ‘‘It’s okay Jimin-ah. I know Yoongi enough not to be bothered by him, and he is kinda right. I did cry and scream a lot when Namjoon lost a fight, so..’’ your smile and shake of your shoulder gave the younger boy relief as he moved further to settle beside you. Eyes beaming bright, he was up to say something. 

Probably something he shouldn’t. 

‘‘You gonna beat his ass, don’t you?’’ to-be whisper words coming out of the orange haired boy right beside, the older’s scoff towered behind you two. ‘‘As he took you to his match on Valentine’s Day. You must be angry.’’ 

Placing the big bag on the bench, beside Yoongi, you shake your head with a smile stuck on your mouth. While placing the cloths and couple of wires in the bag, you began. ‘‘Well, this is not the best way to be in on such a day but I’m not mad. I would be if he hadn’t won the match, but I’m not right now. Plus, are you mad at him because he took you to his match?’’ 

Before answering, Jimin leaned and put a not so light kiss to his boyfriend’s lip. Or his kinda boyfriend’s lips? You didn’t know, they were kind of weird about the whole relationship thing they had. For the last two years of your life, they were in an on-again, off-again relationship and this mainly caused Yoongi's fear of coming out by his closet. The very oh so famous businessman father of course wouldn’t let his son go all around the city with a man who had the most beautiful face that his highly known friends could see around his son’s arms, and god forbid Jimin sometimes wears so mini shorts and skirts that could get the said man have ultimate heart attacks. Mr. Min’s fear was probably beyond what you could think, and that’s why Yoongi never was able to come out and act the way his heart wanted. His father holds so much power in his palms. And Jimin sometimes was okay with this, and sometimes it was the opposite. So that’s why you weren’t so sure if this was a relationship right now. It was something, something cute, funny, deadly and very, very destructive. But something. 

‘‘He’ll watch mine after his so, it’s okay.’’ his giggle alarming yours, you both voiced out soft laughs to the air of the room. After a couple of words exchanging, the iron door opened without a crack or a force like it weighing nothing, and you know, who was behind it. And the idea flapped your stomach before even seeing his face. Even after two years, you still haven’t built up immunity to seeing him with bruises. 

Probably he had very few, but still. It played with your stomach. 

Though, it wasn’t easier being far away from him only to not see his bruises, marks that were left behind after the momentarily act of violence. The need was immediate after the ring bell. The need where you only want to hold him between your arms, protect him as much as you can from any kind of danger, and even though you weren’t built for that, he would let you to cover him for protection. Let you play your little game in your mind if that means you were happy. But the cruel pain would still affect you as seeing his skin blooming purples and reds never been an easy thing. Of course, only on him. 

Of course, the man that you had no idea about the name he had or the age he’s in, didn’t bother you. Not in the past, or the moments ago. It only fascinated you. A grand sample of the power Kim Namjoon has had in him. A staggering but not a bad reminder of your lover’s impact. 

‘‘Ready to see me, Moonlight?’’ the honey sound coming from deep in his throat, it’s enough to shake your breath. Torturing the skin above your bottom lip, you made the choice of turning your face to him, and the ache was rapid to crawl and sit heavy on your chest. 

He opened his arms to guard you from the acidic pain you will have all around your skin, you run right into the giant embrace. But, acid still manages to boil the poor skin. Whether in his embrace or not. It was just a tiny bit more comfortable way to burn in agony. Even though knowing the man who lost the fight was probably too damaged to get another strike, you just wanted to land a punch to his rival. 

Again, again, again, again, and yes, again-

‘‘Shh… you know I’m okay, right? I won. We won, Moonlight. Look at me.’’ swelled fingers lifting the chin, glossy eyes reflected from his. Every muscle working so hard not to cry, almost purple ish, slightly open wound on the corner of his lips didn’t help much. Cheekbone throbbing below the fingertips you covered on his face, you stand on your fingertips to smack a kiss. No word would be enough for you to soothe you both, more likely yourself. 

Or maybe, your voice would crack so hard that you wouldn’t be able to hold the persistent tears anymore and would cry out loud. Which you weren’t sure if that was a bad thing. 

‘‘Does… Does it hurt?’’ voice coming out raucously, you sniffed. Croons of his pupils curl so caringly as Namjoon’s heart is way too soft for your red buttoned nose. Too much for the image he holds. Smile creeping up with a morning sun swiftness, the warmness it spread is fast. Almost sweet as the first light of the first summer day, it heals you from inside a bit. Then, Namjoon shakes his head, leans a bit to capture you in a world lifting kiss like there is no one. Open-mouthed, saliva mixing under the sweet taste, your heart purrs as you receive the source of your addiction. His kiss, and the chubby lips were indeed addicting. 

Behind the fake coughs, you pull away as the last piece of air left your lungs. Space full of loud panting, staring continued. 

‘‘You see, I am great. Nothing hurts, unless you start to cry and leave me aching.’’ snort drawn out by you, Namjoon frowns as he is offended. You open your mouth to say something, but the older of the room forestalls. 

‘‘Okay, love birds. Shall we give you some privacy or can you lead this sticky sickness somewhere else?’’ Both of you focus on the man who speaks by turning your heads at him. He still stands half naked in the room, his body looks a bit red as he warmed his muscles before his fight. And they still hang broad and visible. 

But the reply won’t come from you or Namjoon-

‘‘Sickness? You were humping my leg minutes ago.’’ Jimin spats, vein throbbing ferociously on the side of his neck. 

‘‘That was different, they-’’ 

‘‘Different my ass!’’ orange hair sways from one way to the other, Jimin knits his brow. ‘‘You are only disgusted because they are in a committed relationship and your feckless ass can’t do that.’’ 

The mood change was so sudden that the smile on the corner of your lips faded so late. No one, especially Yoongi wasn’t waiting for this as his mouth parts, voiced breath drawn out. He just blinks and watches as Jimin throws a tee over his naked body, and furiously leaves the room by your side as murmuring a faint ‘sorry’. It has Yoongi stand stock-still for a couple of minutes before he goes after Jimin, running and yelling his name. 

As you said before, they were something. Something your mind couldn’t catch the mood swings. Happy for one minute, a total disaster the next. 

‘‘He’s gonna have his ass sore in the night.’’ against Namjoon’s bluntless, you punch his shoulder out of reflex. And he laughs. 

‘‘Okay, okay. Not saying anything.’’ his hand hangs on the air, a dark shade washes over his eyes as his smile turns wicked from sweet. And you know what just possessed him. Both because the familiar smirk, and being captured between him and the cold lockers. ‘‘Or, would you want your ass sore instead?’’ 

His light brown locks messed with the darker ones, forehead covered by a couple of them, he hovered over you. Breath hitching around the throat, him jamming you to the locked with his huge, muscled fighter body has you warm. A little bit too hot as you gulp loudly, nasty grin grows more. And you want it. Want him to smash you right on the cold metal and make you sore everywhere but someone could walk in. Just the same as you did to your friends. 

‘‘What’s wrong, Moonlight? Don’t you want to celebrate?’’ index finger on your cheek wondrously shakes you inside and out. Each draw of the slender skin has you gasping because that’s all you can over him. ‘‘Not so happy over our win?’’ 

A smile comes out in your breath, you shake your head while his leg finds a way between your legs. ‘‘Not- not because of that. Someone… someone might come-’’ 

‘‘And that would be a bad thing?’’ 

Lips parts, closes and parts again. Brush of his fat thigh on your skin feels too much, you blurt out a moan before you get your head together. The moment you saw him without any cover over his upper half on the cage, you wanted to have his way with you. The need was burning by the start of the night, every punch, every loud growl had been making it grow bigger and bigger and you were pulsing on the down below. If he had his way with you, you could even forget the fact that he had a fight on Valentine’s Day, but the side of your brain, the consciousness place was screaming otherwise. Not that you ever listened to it.  

Namjoon kissed again. 

It was only understandable of you to give in. As he is the Kim Namjoon, the one who knew so well about taking whatever he wanted. It didn’t matter if it’s a fight, a place he wanted to get in, or you. He will get whatever he wants, and whenever. The taste on his tongue dancing sweet and thick down yours, you’d gladly stand defenceless. What can one do? He wanted it, and he got it. 

Kiss longs enough to choke you both, though he looks way unfazed comparing you, it broke apart. ‘‘This- this is not how I imagined spending Valentine’s with you.’’ chest heaving, you put your hands on his broad chest in case he tries to lean in. Not that it’ll affect him much, but… 

Namjoon’s brow knits while the ghost of his smirk wanders wide around his mouth. ‘‘Exactly. We need to do it, it’s Valentine’s Day-’’ he exclaims but you cut him immediately. 

‘‘Not in an ugly basement of some cage fighting thing going on!’’ 

He rolls his eyes with curled lips. ‘‘Like it would be the first time.’’ and you punch him this time. Hard enough to hurt because he deserved it. He laughs, claiming it’s only a joke and lands another but quick kiss. ‘‘Let me get clean and we can get out of here, okay? I may or may not have some plans.��’ then he won’t speak for feeling like eternity to you. No matter how many times you ask or whine what his plans are, he continues to hum the same song. He showers, the same hum on his lips, he changes into clean clothes while it still lingers. 

It is true that waiting sucks. It even more when the man you love so much keeps you waiting. You play with your phone until he is done with whatever he is doing, give some breaks only to huff and puff occasionally as both missing and curiosity fills too much of you. You know it’s not much as you both don’t like to be so fancy over anything, and don’t have so much to spend too. But whatever it is, it’ll make you so happy and thrilled because spending time with him always has you ecstatic. You were ecstatic the first time you saw him and have been till today. 

All the previous protests you held against your friend’s request of going to a cage fighting night had died the moment your eyes landed on him. Opposite to what Jungkook thought about you being petrified because of fear of all the bone crashing sounds, blood and violence, you weren’t. 

It was epiphany.  

Coming to a realization of the evil indeed could look beautiful, mesmerizing. Shouldn’t have been surprised so much as the evil itself is an angel, fallen or not. And it looked glorious in the cage, hiding under the skin of pink haired - brown locks were once pink and had undercut. - man who was beating the shit out of his rival in the cage. If he had that face when he lurked in the blood of the first one’s, you wouldn’t blame them for getting kicked out of the gates of heaven. It’s only natural to obey him, fooled by him. 

Even that moment, you knew he was everything. You knew you had to be with him, somehow. You craved his sweat covered body, his sinful fingers, parted lips to close them sweetly. 

His rage, his laser eyes, his flames-

The lust came before love, but they got along well. Falling in love felt like falling from the sky, and you were glad that you could understand how he felt years ago. The obscurity of it was terrifying, yet the thrill still beamed high. 

You were intoxicated by him, soothed by the tasty nectar of his apple. You were in love with him. And you were more than ready to be dismissed. 

‘‘Daydreaming again?’’ the man in his not so tight black jeans, matching boots and nothing more is now standing an arm length away, remains of shower still alive as his muscles and tattoos gleaming with the water drops. Air hitching around your throat, his smile beamed while he was busy drying his hair by a towel. ‘‘Bet you were thinking about me and what my plans are.’’ 

‘‘Cocky aren’t we?’’ a throaty laugh was his answer at your eye roll, a kiss you barely felt licked against your temple before he disappeared again to get fully clothed. A little bit of lying wouldn’t hurt him, but the truth about you thinking him twenty-four-seven would damage your pride so it was okay. Namjoon would not mind it, anyway. 

                                                                                                       ⋅＊⋆ ♥ ⋅＊⋰＊⋅ ♥ ⋅＊⋆ ⋅

The ride back home was a bit tough both for you two. Maybe more for him but if he wanted he could easily ease down your endless questions, but fortunately for both he didn’t. He hummed every question with a completely blank face, and chose to drive you wild. 

‘‘This is our way back home. We are going home?’’ 

A hum.

‘‘Are we going to the pub in the corner of our street? What was it, Bailey’s?’’ 

Another hum. 

‘‘You are not gonna tell me aren't’ you? This sucks, waiting sucks, you suck!’’ 

And there is the fucking hum and the laugh. He laughed at you like you were the one who acts hilarious. For the whole ride - and it was nothing more than twenty minutes but it felt like it - he hummed and laughed. Most of the questions were welcomed by silence, and the others died around your throat before even voiced out as well as your enthusiasm. Knowing he was doing this on purpose didn’t stop you from falling right into his game. Rather, you stuck in the middle of it and the struggle for going out pulled you even more. 

As they said, once you’re in the spider web, you fucked up. 

Well, you didn’t know who said it but it was true as you couldn’t get out of the bog of question and unknown. A nature you could call it, your curse. Being the absolute form full of curiosity and undying grudge you hold when you wouldn’t be able to get what you want. Maybe a bit spoiled as the other always called you, it never bothered you. What’s wrong with being a bit spoiled as long as you have what you wanted and didn’t hurt anyone? Well, at least the damages were not bad.

‘‘Home sweet home, huh? Hop off now.’’ it was direct when he stopped the engine of the car. Though, not rude. Namjoon could never be rude, and you know it better than anyone. Maybe he is in the cage, but that’s only natural. Cage was for animals, and he was one inside of the worn out metal. 

And again, you were angry. ‘‘Why didn’t you tell me I guessed it right at the head of the ride. I could have suffered less, you know.’’ and you had all right to feel your blood raging inside your veins, jumping right and left. Slamming the ages old car’s door without having mercy on it, you act before him and hurried your steps into your apartment. One hand searching the bag for the now lost keys. Of course, you weren’t just angry because you were going to spend the night in your house, you loved being at home with him. You were half-serious, half-acting your rage as a revenge. 

‘‘Woah, now don’t take our anger out of my girl, huh. What do you say?’’ he was coming back at you, grin hide away. Namjoon always adored how you were the literal ball of anger. Looking from out, everyone could easily misperceive who was in the charge in this relationship, but when you were all alone with your demons lurking free, he was always too eager to bend the knee. 

Maybe he didn’t have to work hard to get you at first, as you were already too deep in him. Yet, he knew. He knew that he'd chase you until the end of the world and beyond only to be with you more. To be close to you. To be yours. 

He shamelessly eyed the shape of your hips while you were climbing the stairs, as it’d be dumb not to. Outraged echoes of your mud covered boots beaming all around the walls, he bite his lip hard. It was a shame not to just have you right here, right now, where everyone could easily see. Maybe another time-

Now, your reaction is more important for him, so he waits while you fight with your purse to find the key, opening the door of your shared apartment, and then stopping instantly. 

As the night only allows you to see so little thanks to the light that echoed by the street, your body leans on the other sense you had. The smell that you shouldn’t smell tangles around your nostrils, magically the taste finds a way to bloom above your tongue, watering all over your mouth and you turn your head at Namjoon who is not sharing the same confusion with you. Rather, he was smiling with brows lifted high. And it only lead you to think-

‘‘What did you do?’’ he laughed at you as waiting this reaction, pushing you inside to close the door behind you and him. 

When the lights on he whispers behind your ear, way too delighted. ‘‘What does it look like?’’ 

And then, they were the things that shouldn’t be in your living room. The not so big clothed table, having lots of ornate belongings that didn't belong to you. Black covering above the white table cloth, there were so many forks, spoons that you would never use. The combination of red roses and black candles made you sick on the stomach as you stood there, mouth hanging open, literal disgust in your feature. 

Turning your head once again, you faced the man who was biting his smile, hiding it behind a thin line. ‘‘What do you think?’’ he asks, although knowing the answer very well, Namjoon needs to hear it from your lips. The delight was shrouded under it. And before you can utter an answer, you give one look to the table, and then your lover’s expecting face. Words loading to your closed mouth, you pushed them to the air rather than swallowing down. 

‘‘It’s hideous, I loved it!’’ 

Running in the middle of the room to examine the table better, Namjoon follows from behind, a laughter on his throat. From up close, it looked even worse. The absolute cliche you never grew liking. But you loved it because it was also not fitting with the man who Namjoon was and it made all these things amusing. Yes, he was kind, caring and a romantic without acknowledging it but never like this. More likely, he would do things without any romantic motive in them and that's exactly the reason you fell in love with him. He never bought you roses, but you were growing so many plants that one can call it a garden. He never took you out to a fancy place for dinner or never, ever made a table like that but he did cook the best food you ever had in your life. 

As the room filled with the tasty smell of something, you were going to turn back to ask what was the cause of it but the broad weight capturing you between the fat arms, your question melted away. 

Small, semi-wet touch of kisses painting your neck, you grabbed the head of some chair. Lashes flutter shut, you lean a bit back and bare your neck for more. ‘‘It smells so good. What is it?’’ barely whispered words coming out of you, Namjoon kissed the crook in the back of your neck, creating a deep purple before popping the skin off and clearing his throat. 

‘‘It’s something you would love to eat, but before-’’ the sound of his pocket continued after his word died, fingertips occupying you by the play on your stomach, the barrier of your shirt already passed. Flutter of your lashes, you lean back and wait rather than asking him what he was up to, or when he gathered these cheesy atmospheres. Namjoon chose to not rush anything, taking his phone from his pocket, steadily, unrushed. As he had already prepared it, he only had to touch the play button and the music filled the room. 

‘‘Oh- NO!’’ the flip of your stomach was funny as the laugh popped out as a reflex. Familiar melody echoing through the ice blue walls, your body moves with the man behind you, simultaneously. Following his steps while taking little right and left, tiny touches of his lips continued as he giggled with you. 

She's a little pirate in my mind.

‘‘You gotta be kidding me, right?’’ things have you surprised as they were highly odd, not expected from the man who never does anything this obvious. And plus, this isn’t being romantic in your language, this was being cheesy for both of you and you have had no idea why he was doing these all of a sudden. 

Give her all the love she gives to me. Rather than replying to you, he go alongs with the song. 

‘‘Never felt this love from anyone’’ Namjoon nudges at the side of your neck with the tip of his nose before talking - not mimicking the song this time -. ‘‘Remember the song, yet? It’s from the time where we first gathered on the bar, you were there with your friend, staring deep into my soul?’’ 

A man can never dream these kind of things

Especially when she came and spread her wings

Whispered in my ear the things I'd like

Surely you remembered the day he was talking about, how could you forget it while you did wait for that moment to come for feeling like a lifetime after you first saw him inside the cage. All that sweaty caramel skin had glowed in your dreams, the image of his tightened muscles left you leaking for so many nights. Therefore, you obviously remembered the day when Jungkook stalked him to find his favorite place so you two could act like you were always hanging there - which it worked -. There was no use pretending you weren’t captivated by him, so you did stare at him too much. Until he had noticed you, asked for your number, and fucked you on your bed, wall, kitchen… Poor Jungkook for hearing all of them, though, you learned that he used them for his own pleasure, so you guessed it was a win - win situation. 

‘‘Well, you know I get what I want, so…’’ the laugh coming rough, almost reminding a growl on your neck, he turned you over so you can meet him in the eye. Now, back rubbing one of the chairs, his long bony fingers already wrapped above your cheeks, you did the exact thing from the day. Stare deep in him. 

Side of his lips curled high, he wets his lips. ‘‘Hope you will have the same courage later in the night.’’ the eyes of him digs in you cold and greedy, your gulp sounds loud. It has him laughing, not so loud ‘hah’ presents his pearly teeth. ‘‘Before you, we have other things to eat.’’ 

                                             ⋅＊⋆ ♥ ⋅＊⋰＊⋅ ♥ ⋅＊⋆ ⋅

As Namjoon told you the details that you were very oblivious to, you learned that he got Jungkook’s help to decorate your apartment, all the cheesy atmosphere related to your sweet valentine just because you grumble behind his back that he wasn’t romantic enough, - even though you couldn’t remember when - and obviously, he wanted to punish you by doing this. Well, he didn’t call this as punishment but for you, it was because the romantic words, the whole decoration was too sweet for the souls you two had. 

‘‘It’s good that Jungkook helped you out while we were at your fight, but you know that he won’t help you with the cleaning, right?’’ like a lightning just struck on him, the pastry fell on the plate. His puppy digits grow wide, you find it beyond cute. 

‘‘Then it’s good news that I have the most caring girlfriend by my side?’’ the shake of your head wears his smile off, as he betrayed. He will think better next time before covering the whole floor with rose petals, now. And you hide your giggle behind the delicious pastry that he baked by filling your mouth with it, as his whines loud. ‘‘After all of these, I guess it’s too much to wait for a thank you in return.’’ 

Nodding, you take another bite. ‘‘Cream cheese mixes with the apricots way better than I thought.’’ he watches your struggle to lick the remains of the cream, so he leans and cleans the corner of your lips with his thumb. Brain freezes for a couple of minutes as his tongue curls around the thumb, leaving nothing behind. ‘‘Why- erm- why the apricot danish, though?’’ 

He leans closer, elbows rest on the table as the voluptuous eyes lure in you, stomach makes a funny flip at the way his stare goes between your eyes and the now chewed lips. Voice low and rough, it’s enough to have you clenching your walls. 

‘‘I wanted you to experience how it feels to eat me, as I always do the eating out.’’ unnecessarily bold words has you gasping, crumbles of the pastry goes to the wrong pipe and you almost choke. 

Wine nearly dries off when you clash the glass to your mouth, drinking it to ease the coughing. Namjoon watches all of these very calm, grin sneaky on his mouth. The back of his head was busy with what he prepared for later that night, in your bedroom. 

While you were still dizzy with the image of tonight's fighting, the duality he was showing was whirling your head, tongue feels lull, eyes burning from behind. And you loved how he makes you weak in and out. A toy at the end of his words. You pressed your thighs together to reduce the ache, and it barely helped. All you can think of is now his sweat glistening muscled back, your nails adding sweet crimsons to the palette, tongues ferociously devouring each other, breaths loud enough for your neighbour to hear as he takes you down-

‘‘S-so, you are the desert itself?’’ 

As the images flashing behind your head having you too hot, you had to cut it with blurting out the first thing that related to the topic but away enough to get you cold, again. Though, your voice did come out weird, high and distracted. 

Amusement tangled on the line of your boyfriend, his smirk only adds gasoline to your fire. And you visibly could see the reflection of the sharp edged flames by his eyes. To your liking, he didn’t force more and nods while explaining.

‘‘Well, you always refer to my dimples as apricots and we can agree that my personality kind of bittersweet as the cheese cream and when you mix them-’’ he abruptly stops and opens his hands in front of his face, resembling a blooming flower. ‘‘Voila! A complete pastry that you can enjoy.’’ Suspicious enough, his features change. As innocent as he can, he looks at you with wide, shining orbs and the man who teases you, almost chokes you down with his words now nowhere to be seen. Like he was never there at first. And this was exactly what was fucking you up every time his duality slips. Like he wasn’t the one who was breaking bones as they were chips, washing the scarlet down from his flesh, mounting behind you like he was the animal. Would growl, bite the thin skin over your neck so severely that it would bloom purple and yellow for the whole week and maybe more- 

This time, to capture your slipped attention, Namjoon had to wave his hand inches away from your blushed face. You had to swallow down hard as the cock of his brow openly, showing that he knew exactly what your dirty mind was busy with. And the tongue poking his cheek from inside always enough to have you drooling, as the air is getting thick and bothering you have to drink another sip of wine. 

‘‘Clear as glass, your mind can’t stop thinking what I can and will do to you. So, I want to make it obvious that at least one of us tried to be kind today.’’ the index finger pointing himself, he smiled one more time before his eyes went deep black. Shaking you in and out. And your mind wandered around the thought of you getting under the table just so you could hump on his leg as long as he lets you. But the tone of his coming words warned you before you can lose on the thought. ‘‘Now, I want you to go in there, and wait for me. That’s something you can do?’’ 

Behind your fluttering eyelids, your eyes trailed where his finger pointed, the mutual bedroom, and back his face. As the tone and the words enough for you to understand who was sitting in front of you now wasn’t just Namjoon. 

He was the Chopper. 

Merciless, brutal, bruising. 

The Chopper and his killer hands, choker fingers, cutting teeth. 

Everything you wanted and more. Everything you can’t even dream of. 

‘‘Y-yes. Yes, I can do that, Master.’’ the name enjoys the man, he feels proud that you can go into submissiveness even before he says much. In the end, he did train you for that, and he did it well because now, you are on your feet, walking further to the room he pointed by tripping over your shoe just once. 

It’s another whiplash for you to go into your room and find a black hook, secured to your ceiling after you turn the lights on. It wasn’t there before, was it? You’d have known if you had something like that on your ceiling because weird as ever, you stare there too much. Whether when you were overthinking or just dazed upon. Shaking your thoughts away, you forced yourself to focus on the hook again. Because obviously, it wasn’t the best time to think what you were doing in your seperate time as you had a fucking hook over your head, and a Master inside. 

‘‘That’s right.’’ well, he wasn’t sitting on the table inside like you guessed as his breath is tickling behind your ear. ‘‘I will hang you there, in the middle of our room, all tied up, helpless, and then-’’ with the connection of his skin on your sides, not so high from your hips, you shut your eyes and leaned back. He grabs your skin hard enough to draw a whimper, before continuing. ‘‘Eat your pretty cunt until you cry, overwhelmed. Then, gonna fuck you again, again and again, for you to cry even more. How that sounds, pet?’’ 

The last part putting chills all over your skin, you tremble under his embrace. Voice so controlled, husky, dizzying that your knees ready to give up just from that. Years after, the impact of his words never faded. 

‘‘Sounds… s-sounds good, Master. Sounds so good.’’ even though knowing you shouldn’t, your hands at your side, burns with the need of holding him close so you can brush your ass over his crotch to get a friction. It feels so empty, and that can push you into a stage where it drives you mad. ‘‘Please-’’

‘‘As a pet, don’t you think you talk too much even though no one asks you anything?’’ 

It hits as sharp as a whip to the gut, with the shame of making your Master angry, you feel like crying. But you only nod and utter certain words. ‘‘Yes, Master. I’m sorry.’’ 

Then, everything starts and goes so smoothly. The acts are unrushed, familiar, thrilling in a way that your stomach feels like a cheerleader and doing some flips over and over again. It even causes another rush of dizziness to you more. You’ve got used to feeling his hands on you, on the skin, so elegant yet enough to break, but against his smooth touch, the rope now covering your body, restrains your arms on your back in a very aesthetic way, has your heart fluttering its wings.  

His silent grunt reaches your ears weakly when he finishes with the last knot, and now you are bare as ever, helpless, and in his mercy. 

Before he talks, his kiss on the neck is full of lusciousness. ‘‘Just one last step, and then you will be my dessert for tonight.’’ nothing higher than a whisper, his words have you gasping. Nowhere on your body left unaffected by the sinister’s great word play. Behind your back, Namjoon’s eyes are going deeper and darker, stars glowing with lust in them, and you don’t need to see them to know it. Witnessing and memorizing the reactions, the actions of his body came at the same time with the hasty need you had for him, and it goes for both of you. 

So, when he finally finishes with you tied and hanged, you know his tongue rolled over his sharky-white teeth. 

‘‘Does anything bother you, baby? Something too tight, or loose maybe?’’ 

Safety is the thing Namjoon values much, even though you love it when he loses control and attacks you like an animal in bloodlust, you still stop and check yourself. Floor is a ghost for your toes, barely there for you to hold on to, everything seems fine when you try to escape, writhing in the trap of him, purposely trying to hurt yourself by the ropes but nothing hurts. At least nothing hurts that much because you like it when things hurt. Especially the thing standing behind your back, hovering over you, touch of his lips wet and affectionate on the flushed skin.  

Finally, Namjoon gets his answer. ‘‘Nothing hurts, Master. Thank you.’’ 

And he laughs at that. Not too much but enough to draw a sound between his teeth. ‘‘Always so good, so grateful to his Master, aren’t you little pet?’’ a tiny slap on your bare asscheek and you answer him with a breathy yes, master. 

Namjoon’s fingers move slowly, like in an exploration. First on your shoulders, nail drawing red where it touches, a thin line of tiny bruises. It goes all the way down from your shoulders to your hips, plays around the rope where it slightly covers your breast, capturing them in their own triangle shaped ropes. When he stops to draw circles inches high between your legs, you jerk your hips and that causes you to lose your balance. 

‘‘We are so responsive today.’’ he chuckles but it dies with the bite of his nails on the same spot as he positions you back. ‘‘So out of manners, can’t even stay still for Master. You are being useless like this, and I don’t like to play with a pet that has an empty skull. But you already know it, don’t you?’’ 

His nails are still digging your skin, it brings tears to your eyes and you nod. ‘‘I-I know, I’m sorry.’’ 

‘‘Apologizing won’t work if you continue to act like a ill-behaved toy.’’ to underline his anger, he lands another slap on your ass but this time it burns. And it takes all your effort to not writhe under it. 

‘‘I won’t do it again-’’ 

Another hit encourages your first tear to roll over to leave a wet trail on your face. Skin burning, itching, but all you feel is ecstasy to have more. To him, you shouldn’t enjoy it when he tries to punish you for not behaving right, but you can’t help it. Every strike, every killing hit brings shameless joy in you and you just can’t get enough. 

His octopus tattooed hand grabs over the bruised skin. ‘‘Are you enjoying this? Did I corrupt you that much, Puppy?’’ he snickers, teeth biting the flesh of your neck and you let your head rest on his shoulder. A similar smile tugs on your mouth, another tear goes down. 

‘‘I love it when Master hurts me. It feels too good.’’ 

Sounds sick, but there is no use of hiding the truth. Licking over the bite he gave you, Namjoon replies with the remain of his smile appearing on his words. ‘‘Oh, I know that baby. I know how you look stunning in red. All smiley with tears.’’ 

You giggle as his fingers go lower, playing with the skin of your slit. Though, you stay still. No matter how much it tickles when your blood rushes over there, even when his finger finds your needy clit. Already throbbing in bliss, you stay still. Though, even when he says you shouldn’t move, he likes to make a trembling mess out of you. Maybe it’s wrong to feel, but your tears give him unbearable joy. If the cry was caused by him, though. Otherwise, he could fuck up if someone even cause your lip to tremble which he proved that, many times. 

With hands tied up behind, you have too little mobility. Plus, your toes barely touch the floor, so even when he starts to rub your clit, you can only thrash as a response. Moaning after every rude circle, the heat was building fast and heavy in your stomach. Soft kisses on your neck turn into wet ones, and include his teeth. Available other hand goes up to hang around your breasts, toying around the now hardened buds, pulling when you least expect, and earning another choked moan. 

His very clothed body against your naked one creates a big contrast, a visible sample to show who is in charge, but you can feel how ready he is behind his clothes, his groin hard and furious as he rubs it on your hips with controlled movements. And every rub remanding how empty you are, his fingers above your clit making it even worse as it builds the sweet coil inside, inches high from your stomach. 

Pushing your hips back, you pleaded, voice all broken. ‘‘Feels.. feels so empty. P-please fill me, Master.’’ 

His fingers at your entrance, plays with your mind to believe he would push them in. You gasp as he just pushes his thick digits inches, mocks you with a laugh as he takes them back right away. 

‘‘Asking so cute and docile, yet you will feel that a bit more.’’ 

And you whine loud, not in a rebellious way but much like in need. Which, that is what you are, a needy mess as you were dreaming of him from the start of this day, seeing him half naked, angry, in an act of violence, drenched in sweat. Today was a torture, and Namjoon contunied the ruthless game. Rubbing, pulling, twisting every tender spot, your nipples, clit, inside your thighs, over your stomach. Every inch of you tortured, played by him, and it was going to continue as you heard a rustle behind you. His hands stopping on your thighs, he sighs. 

‘‘Fuck, my pet looks so tasty, all wet and ready.’’ your walls dripping, Namjoon licks his lips as the sight has him hungry. The pink skin nearly drooling in front of his sight, he was beyond ready to eat you, drink everything you give.

Like a starved man, on his knees, he takes a lick from you. The taste whirling his head, he growls, holding you tighter in his palms while you try to chase his tongue. Sob so agonized as it leaves your lips. 

But when his tongue finally finds the throbbing core, in relief and heat you let your head fall back. Wanting to clench your palms but the robes won’t let it as he tied some of your fingers, too, only to leave you more desperate. So you whine even more when his tongue pokes your insides, not entering but enough to shake your legs, swirl your head and to lose your breath into the room. Humiliating as ever, every swirl of his tongue pulls another cry, another tear, and his name the only thing that spills from your lips. 

Mind blinded by one thing. And it’s just The Chopper. 

His hot tongue. 

Tickling hair. 

Bruising hold.

Bite over your skin, here and there had you whimper repedately. The rich ardor boiling high, ready to explode as he circles, and circles, and circles his tongue over your clit- 

His lips lock around the frantic nub- 

And it causes you to lose yourself in the consuming delight, coming on his face as he starts to suck your clit. Toes curling, thighs trembling as the sharp euphoria boils in your veins, blood pumping faster as your eyes go behind your head. 

But Namjoon won’t stop until he catches every drip, sucking the spent bud, pushes you to the edge of overstimulation and your cries won’t work, either. 

‘‘Please, please, Master please,’’ is all you can say without even knowing what you were begging for. 

Which this is all you losing control more and more, limbs going weak, head dibs into the thick, blurry stage where the only thing you want is Namjoon. The only thing you need, the only thing you feel covered by him and you fell into the substage where he has you in his palm. To use it on behalf of both you and himself. To bring joy in your submissive brain with his domineering talks, touches, attacks. You were coming down from your first high, but already lost on the sensation where everything just started. The Chopper’s tongue cleaning the remains of your climax off your inner thighs, he gets on his feet after leaving two specific bruises, red and purple, by sucking the flesh hard and deep. 

‘‘I made you come but you still beg for more? One high isn’t enough for a slut like you, hm?’’ next, his fingers shove into your hair, pulling by the roots rough. ‘‘Nothing enough unless you have my cock in you, you greedy bitch.’’ 

Words nothing but like slaps landing on your face, your breath hitches under your moan. It should feel wrong to get off on hearing these, but the words throbs where you need the most. 

Fist to the gut, but the pain that comes with it is a bliss. 

Vulgar, yet caring your needs like a feather on the skin. 

Shady, vehement, maybe even tainted but you can’t stop loving that it cuts your heart and brings wings out of the wounds. It may be bleeding, but bandages have flowers on them. 

On your toes, it has all your effort but you manage to push your ass high, right on his crotch to tease, touches nothing more than a wind on the hair, you still giggle as he grunts and pulls your head back. The angle wicked as your neck looks like it’s going to give up, you whimper low by the pain. 

Sick smile still tugged on your mouth. ‘‘Yes, yes that’s true. Your pet is all empty, needy. Need you to mark her like you would mark your territory, Master. Your pet needs your cum on her.’’ maybe it is because of the words you just said, or the pout on your lips, Namjoon growls like an animal, hands grabbing every available flesh, pulling, clawing as he wants to tore your skin off and reach your soul to corrupt it visibly like he didn’t break you already. 

Then he bites down the skin between your neck and shoulder, enough to draw blood. 

‘‘My territory?’’ he spits. He sounds outraged, and even though you said things enough to get him angry, the shade of joy is still in his tone so you know he also likes how you provocate him. ‘‘Well, after all a pet should be treated the way it deserves.’’ 

Humiliation burns hot red, you squirms at the words. A need of holding on to something is increasing in you as after coming down by your high never stopped being tiring. With him, it’s like you feel everything ten times harder, deeper, and undoubtedly better. However, it only causes you to want more, never having enough of the things he gives. And you had a whole night to consume one another. 

When he talks, you see his reflection on your dressing mirror by the corner of your eyes. His hand ready above his belt, lewdness lingers on his smirk. And he looks gorgeous, hovering behind you, huge and sturdy. If you weren’t held by these ropes, your knees would give up many minutes ago. 

‘‘As we are animals tonight, shall we continue our hunt?’’ shaking you from head to toe, he truly looks like a predator with the gaze of a wolf, ready to eat you whole, make a feast out of you. Remains of your ecstasy shines when the light hits his face. A very graphic proof that he is out for hunting. Already captured his prey, and now there is only one thing left to do. 

To devour. 

As he finally releases his dick, it hangs angry and gigantic. The head in a deep red, shows how much he needs to come, it’s already wet, nearly dripping. In awe, and hunger, you watch him kicking his pants aside, taking everything off and leaving himself naked as you. With that, more of his tattoos reach your eyes as they go up and down. Sizing him up like you never see him, truly naked, looking like a partly completed palette with his body covered with so many colors. So many figures, numbers, blacks, reds, blues… 

Having so many things, he creates his noble singularity. Becoming a very special piece of his own. 

A mouth watering sight. All those muscles, buffy chest, eyes that have a hold of your soul, you leak even more. Though, he stays there, enjoys the way you watch him hungrily, as he strokes himself with slow moves. Eyes crossing each other’s paths on the mirror and he cocks a brow before letting his head fall back as he continues to stroke himself. 

His dimples out but from biting his lower, thinned lip and the taste of the pastry he baked blooms at once, covering all over your tongue as you want to dive it in his dimples, cover them wet with sloppy kisses. The thirst distinguishes itself once again. Murky and strong that you have to clench your walls, emptiness drives you mad more as he just continues to pleasuring himself while you literally hang from your ceiling, dirtying all over your carpet with how much you leak desperately. 

As expected, one low keen whimper by him is all it takes for you to let everything aside and submit to his merciless game. Fluttering like a fish on a net, you beg without holding nothing, tears streaming hot and fast. 

‘‘Namjoon, Master, please-... just please can you please fuck me? Please I need this, I need you, please?’’ 

‘‘Oh, was I too intense, maybe?’’ even though he asks as he worries, he still has that goddamn smile while placing himself behind you. Brush of his red skin to your damp pussy has you choke on your breath immediately. The loss of the contact affected you more than you realised and now having him so close feels just like heaven. Or hell. You didn’t care as long as he was there with you, to hold you close, kiss you sloppy, and fuck you like he hates you. 

Nothing mattered as long as you had him. 

Lips over your earlobe, you drip more right on his shaft between your legs. Pulse drums right over the skin where he touches you, teases you, like it’s all your body is waiting for. 

‘‘As you wished, now I will fuck you, darling.’’ teeth licking the skin with a faint press, his fingers go down to adjust himself. He fixes his bulge between the pink lips, not entering but it’s enough for him to rub his dick with what you were leaking, wetting himself to ease the act. 

But after every slow grind, your insides clenches with anticipation, waiting for the damaging push and the frustration grows more and more as you wiggle in his hold. It’s not a surprise how delirious you are just from not having him inside, as the need always wins with its whole glory over every other sense you have. Leaving you completely brainless when things come to the point where you are so desperate to have him in you that you would go on your knees and beg your lungs out for it. Of course, the sex is good, but with Namjoon it’s never only because of it. It’s the way you feel complete, leaving the worries behind and letting yourself completely at his hands. It’s always much better when you have nothing to decide because Namjoon will do that for you, like you couldn’t handle it, like your mind was too useless that he has to deal with everything, and will bring unbelievably severe pleasure with that- 

A sudden pull of his arms tears you away from your thinking. Your back hits his chest, hands settling on your hips as he starts to move further. Filling you full with one move, steady and unrushed. It takes him a couple minutes to fill you wholly as the length meets with your clenching walls inches and inches deeper. 

With every inch, he stretches you more, moans spilling as a mantra by your lips mixed with thank’s and broken Namjoon’s. Eyes rolled back, your heart goes insane in it’s cage, as the feeling of being finally full is the best thing that happens to you, tears of happiness go down one by one. 

Every nerve goes into a very brief shock after meeting with him, muscles strains and eases for a couple of times before he stops fully deep in you. 

‘‘Fuck! You feel so good, so soft, baby.’’ Namjoon hisses, waits only to feel you clenching and unclenching around him. Gives you a minute for you to adjust his length, not wanting to hurt you more than you need. Yet, you barely have a limit for that shit. Like a parrot who doesn’t know what to say other than ‘more’, you always end up repeating it. 

Without spending more time, when he convinces himself that you are ready and on edge from waiting as you cry nonstop for him to move, have his way with you, he does. A long, impelling push steals the breath you had in your lungs, pulling a croaked moan as he doubles his move. Slow rhythm of his stomach meeting with the swell of your ass, the sound of your soaked pussy reacting every push with a desperate squelch, you shut your eyes. 

Nails digging in your skin, it won’t take long for him to fasten. Unrushed grindings turn into famished jams as he shoves himself deep. Burning breath right behind your neck, he sucks the skin until it blooms red from the torment of his teeth, licks the throbbing flesh but not with intention to soothe. 

‘‘Look at you in the mirror, pet.’’ behind his clenched teeth, he commands. ‘‘See how spent...you... look. Just like a dirty cockslut you are,’’ every word coming after a rough pound, they are also as remorseless as his movements. Not giving you a minute to actually look at your reflection, and as much as you see, drool dripping by your lips, makeup ruined by tears, body all red and tormented, you really do look spent. Feel also as your limbs are still lazy after the first orgasm you had. But the rude push only excites you more, delicious high builds once more as every nerve wracking slam gets you wetter. 

Then, his hands leave your hips. One of them finds your throat, the other goes over your mouth, fingers dipping inside without permission. ‘‘Suck.’’ is all he says, harsh and demanding. And you do. 

Tongue curling around the two thick digits as it was his dick instead. Lips sucks hard while you circling your starved muscles around them. More you suck it, lapping your tongue around it, you drool more. Wet patch goes all over your chest from your throat, passing his hand around it. His pace not coming down even for a bit, digits leave your mouth and find your swollen nipple. 

Damp wrap brings chill over your torso, he pinches the poor skin as harsh as his slams. You howl, wiggle in his hold but he stops you with one wild squeeze on your throat. Cutting your breath as he continues assaulting your walls. 

‘‘This is what you’ve been waiting for the whole night, right pet?’’ you try to look at his face but all you see is a blurry sight as the tears won’t let more from that. Though, you are still able to see the way he moves fast. Fast and brutal. The sound of skin hitting skin smacks on the walls, deafens you. ‘‘Hanging around my cock because that’s the only thing you are good at. Being fucked by me, until you stand boneless, brainless, hm?’’ 

You open your mouth to give him an answer but fingers tightening around the darkening skin, only a strangled grunt leaves the lips. 

‘‘Sorry, couldn’t hear it.’’ he says with a wicked smile, biting his bottom lip as he quickens his moves. Hand only loosens when your face turns purple and coughs follow one another. When he lets you breathe, you cough even more as the air burns acidic in your lungs. His fingers pinching, pulling the aching nipples, hand heavy around your throat has you on alert, slams getting more and more deep, angled hitting right on the soft pooled nerves. You found yourself on the edge of another maddening rhapsody. 

Thighs trembling furiously, you try to close your palms mindlessly, clenching your walls around him as he growls low. 

‘‘’M gonna c-cum… S-shit, I-’’ 

Throat trapped in his palm once again, his fingers finds your swollen clit, his impale focused on your sweet spot, he pinches your clit, ‘‘Then cum. Drip all over my cock, slut.’’ he says, pushing you from the edge of the luscious high. 

And you find yourself thrashing, tears filling your mouth, yes, yes, yes’s irritating your own ears as the seventh heaven welcomes you from it’s door. It takes long for you to come from your high as Namjoon continues his brutal actions. Cutting your breath, fucking you merciless, biting down every spot he finds available. Your nerves locked, mind foggy and body tender to any kind of interaction, with three deep, hurtful smack after Namjoon spills white. 

Grunts by his lungs, he fucks his cum into you. Until overstimulation feels too much for himself, he doesn’t mind how loud you cry for him to stop. Because now, everything is beyond feeling sensitive. Every poke of his dick just puts hundred needles on your skin, as you hiccup, saying it’s too much. 

Then with one light smack, he stops. Panthing behind, he stays inside of you, arms covering your body tight in an affectionate embrace. He kisses your neck, down your shoulders, over every mark he left by biting. And with every contact, your body reacts to it by shaking in his hold. Mouth lull, mind too dizzy to voice anything, he grabs your chin to turn your head. 

A soft smile is all you can see behind your tears as he leans to capture your lips in his, ‘‘Happy Valentine’s, my sweet Moonlight.’’ then he pulls you into a sloppy kiss. Tongues curl around one another, drool mixing, lips smacking repeatedly, you whimper as the sensation comes too much. 

After a rough fuck, your mind - and of course your body - finds this affection bizarre and reacts by melting under it. And it goes so long that his lips never leave yours while he sets you free from the hook, torso still tied by the rope but now you sit on his lap, losing yourself into a rousing kiss session. His fingers go up and down on your stomach, sometimes lingers around your nipples to hitch your breath. And it goes on like this until you two burn with need once again. Hard and ready for another all-consuming bliss as he helps you to ride him. 

Holds you by the waist, circles your hips on him as his head rests on the pillow. 

‘‘H-harder. Master please, I need m-more…’’ sobs won’t let you talk more, Namjoon smirks at that. Fingers grabbing you tighter, as he holds you high. 

‘‘Can’t even talk but still cries for more. Tch, always starving for Master’s cock.’’ 

Answering him by nodding, he won’t wait long to fuck you ruthless. Bouncing you on his cock, you mewl, mewl and mewl until he changes the positions to push himself deeper in you. Knees hitting your shoulder, he goes so deep that your eyes roll back until he stops his movements. Your cunt clenched around him to hold him inside, it has him coming thick and lot. Brushing his finger around your clit, rubbing and pulling the wasted bud, you come around him before he goes soft. Panting loud, desperate as everything feels too much, too strong, too surreal. 

So, when Namjoon finally lays beside you, hand patting your hair while he adjusts his breathing, you try to stop crying. 

‘‘Are you okay, baby girl?’’ he asks, a kiss to your temple. Freeing your face from your tears, you see the concern buried deep in his eyes. ‘‘Let me untie you, okay?’’ 

Nodding, you let him pull you on your ass. ‘‘I’m okay… It was just intense.’’ smile wandering on your lips, you continued. ‘‘And amazing. Don’t worry okay? I really do love when you go harsh on me. It was… fascinating.’’ 

Namjoon laughs at your face, all flushed and dreamy like you were still in the heat of your sex. Setting you free from the last knot, he kisses every mark that rope left behind, helps you to move your muscles, clench and unclench your palms to fasten your blood circulation. 

‘‘It’s like you want me to tie you like this all the time, love.’’ Namjoon cocks his brow high, as the smile still lingers on your mouth. 

‘‘Would you?’’ answer coming so fast and full of hope, he has to laugh at your eagerness. You, indeed, would love him to hang you from your ceiling all the time. As you said to him, it was intense, mind-blowing, and you did like it so much. 

Shaking his head, he laughs once again. ‘‘You need to eat some sugar, then we can talk about… this. Okay?’’ he points the hook, you nod at him with a pout on your lips, But he leans and kisses it, massaging your arms. Then he stops abruptly, eyes go wide. 

‘‘Shit. I forgot to water my plants.’’ he then jumps from the bed and rushes to the corner where he kept his plants. 

Rolling your eyes, you let yourself fall on to bed. ‘‘Of course you did.’’ you mumble, watching your boyfriend spraying water at his plants, humming to himself with a heart melting smile tugged on his face. Duality causes you to giggle on your own. There the man who made you choke on your spit moments ago, now with all the care he has, he waters his plants. All naked, and happy. 

Tiny jealousy in your heart, you close your eyes to listen to him humming a song that comes familiar but you are so tired that you can’t find the name. Stretching your arms with all the power you had, as Namjoon talks to his plants with a soft voice. 

‘‘I know it took so long…’’

‘‘Look how grown you are…’’

‘‘Oh, guess we need to change your place, huh?’’ 

You sigh deep, a tiny giddy sense blooms in your chest while your boyfriend’s voice licks behind your ears. A warm smile grows on your face, you think,

Happy Valentine’s, indeed. 

[blahkugo]

Biggest Fan

DABI x HAWKS x READER

Music! AU inspired by THIS photo set...or, the one in which Dabi, Hawks, & Endeavor are a famous rap group, and the reader gets VIP treatment. 

NSFW begins after the ~~~ for those of you who don’t care for plot! 

Warnings: 18+!, SMUT, cursing, threesome, rough sex (? not sure what your definitions of the word are but they do be slapping you around…), just pure filth basically 

You’ve been squealing into the phone for the past ten minutes. Honestly, you can’t believe the words coming from your best friend’s mouth, even after asking her to repeat them a fourth time. 

“Babe, even if you weren’t my agent, I would have found a way to get you in,” Rumi scoffs into the speaker, unphased by your relentless questioning. Though she’s always been a bit impatient when it comes to your antics, she knows how big of a deal this is to you. “How could I not? You talk my ear off about them.”

“I owe you for the next thirty years!” Your screech turns the heads of a few other customers, and you can feel the irritation radiating off the glare of one particularly peeved woman seated near you. But who cares? You’re too excited for a few middle-aged drags to dampen your mood. 

“Remember what you just said the next time I try to skip out on an interview,” her laugh echoes loudly; she must be at the studio.

“Yes! Whatever you want, Twinkle Toes. It’s yours!” She begins to grumble at the use of the old nickname,

“How many times have I told you not to-” You catch the scowling woman turning towards you.

“Got-to-go-text-me-the-details, love you!” The parting phrase comes out a hurried ramble. Unbothered as you are by a few stares, direct confrontation definitely isn’t worth the trouble. You’re out of the bistro and in your car before anyone can open their mouth. 

The cup of iced coffee you press to your flushed face does nothing to curb the elation threatening to bubble over from inside you. Rumi really has outdone herself this time. Being that she’s both a long-time best friend and client of yours, you know just how hard she’s been working to book a job of this caliber. Images of the two of you icing sore feet after hours of grueling practices spring to mind, making your bad ankle throb. If you could tell your younger selves who they are now— an internationally acclaimed dancer and a talent manager with a novel’s worth of influential clients— they wouldn’t believe it. And the work was paying off in more ways than one. Soon, Rumi will be making her music video debut...and you’ll actually be in the presence of your favorite artists, Suns of Icarus. 

The rap trio’s been all you can talk about forever. No, like really, forever. Even back at arts school, Rumi had to talk you out of choreographing dances to their music practically once a week. You can still hear her promising you that your 70 year-old ballet instructor did not, in fact, want to see you pirouette to a song that's chorus consists of Hawks saying the word “pussy” over and over again. Usually the memory would drown you in embarrassment (especially considering the story is Rumi’s favorite icebreaker), but now even that can’t hamper your mood. You sigh cheerily, pulling into your reserved parking space. Tomorrow, you’ll be surrounded by your idols.

-

“Are you sure I look okay?” You ask for the third time in an hour, tugging at the hem of your silk tank. Though you’re wearing your favorite suit, you can’t help but feel out of place in the large dressing trailer. After all, it’s  not every day that you accompany your clients on their gigs. Your job is getting them the gigs, and usually you prefer it that way.

“(Y/N), quit stressing! If you looked any hotter the guys would have a heart attack,” your best friend bellows loudly. “Doesn’t she look smokin’?” She questions the hairdresser who, apart from a nod and reassuring smile, you can’t quite understand over the sound of the blow dryer. “Who’s the bad bitch that got me this job in the first place? Oh right, that was you,” she pumps a manicured finger towards you to echo the claim, “so woman up!” 

She doesn’t put her finger down until she sees your face soften. It’s not like she’s wrong. “Professional smooth-talker” is basically your job description. In Hollywood people are afraid of you, the woman who can make or break a career. Who are you to let a couple of talents get you riled up? You allow your body to relax in your seat. Even if those talents are the group of boys that you’ve been crushing on since you were 16. Recalling that fact has you scrambling out of the trailer, face beet-red yet again.

“I’m going to grab something from the coffee cart. Be right back!” The door shuts behind you with a loud thud. Rumi should be spending this time going over the routine, not talking you down from the ledge you’re attempting to throw yourself off of over a few stupid guys. Besides, you’ll probably receive a polite greeting at best. The world’s favorite musicians have more important things to do than indulge your fantasies. 

Having iced coffee and a bagel in your hands is all you need to feel the tension in your shoulders dissipate and your smile return; truly a working woman’s comfort meal. The spring in your step is restored as you walk back to the trailer, too entranced by the savory goodness to properly hear the voice that hollers from your right. You do, however, hear the scolding that follows the catcall,

“How many times have I told you not to hit on people that work for us, birdbrain.” Your entire body swings towards the familiar nickname and a piece of bagel nearly falls from your mouth. Not even a few feet away, Dabi holds your favorite vocalist in a one-handed headlock, attempting to ruffle the blonde’s hair while keeping a cigarette balanced between his own fingertips. 

“Not the hair, man! The stylist’s already had to touch it up twice today!” Hawks’ shrieks are muffled beneath the bicep of his counterpart. 

“Go apologize,” The lanky man shoves Hawks towards the spot your feet are now cemented to. Though he’s reprimanding him, you swear you detect a hint of amusement in his tattooed face. “I’m sorry about him, sweetheart,” he calls, lips contorting into a smirk that should be illegal. You feel your thighs press together on their own; the situation isn’t made any better by the pretty boy walking towards you, hands threading through his golden locks in an effort to fix the havoc Dabi wrought. 

“My bad,” he flashes you an award-winning set of teeth you’ve previously only had the pleasure of viewing through your laptop screen; somehow they’re even pearlier in person. The glimmer of a tiny gem catches your eye and you notice one is sealed to his canine, only dazzling you further. “I meant what I said though, you’re gorgeous,” his hand moves from his own hair to twist a piece of yours between his fingertips. The lack of boundaries leaves you feeling stupefied, but he doesn’t let up, going as far as wrapping the lock around his polished index finger. God, even his hands are pretty...What if they were trailing the inside of your thigh and—  Your mind shouts at you to behave, a fruitless undertaking when the object of your adolescent desires is touching you ever-so softly. 

“Um- I- Thank you?” The stuttered phrase comes out confused. Where the hell is the professional smooth-talker side of you when you need her? “I’m Rumi’s agent and uh- I-I’m a big fan!” Heat blazes through your face and chest; you’d slap yourself for the outburst if they weren’t here. 

“Oh, really? She told us all about you!” He waves a hand towards Dabi. “Oi! Matches! She’s not an assistant, she’s Rumi’s manager!” The gloomier man extinguishes his cigarette before making his way towards the two of you, smug expression wavering only when he glances at Hawks. A short wheeze leaves the blonde when his chest is smacked lightly by his partner. 

“I told you not to call me that.” Dabi turns his attention towards you. “(Y/N), right?” He sticks a hand out to shake and you quite literally drop the remains of the bagel to reciprocate the motion, a move that makes you redden and him snicker. “Rumi told us you’re our biggest fan,” his sly grin tells you your loud-mouthed best friend had probably spilled too much information their way. Oh, she’s definitely going to get an earful later. 

He doesn’t drop eye contact the entire time he’s speaking to you, and you find yourself enchanted by the deep sea-blue of his irises. You would literally swim in those pools if given the chance. Only when Hawks clears his throat do you realize you’re still shaking his friend’s inked hand. After dropping it rapidly, you urge yourself into composure out of pure distress. 

“Sorry, I’m honestly a bit starstruck. I’m sure Rumi told you how much I love your music,” you finally sound a bit like your usual self. 

“She didn’t really mention our music, did she Matches?” Hawks chirps, dodging Dabi’s fist this time.

“No, I don’t think she did, dipshit,” he spits the insult through gritted teeth as a final warning. “But I do remember her telling us something about being your first two crushes...or was it your ‘sexual awakening’? I can’t really remember the term she used…” Your knees almost buckle at the obvious teasing, and you silently swear to murder Rumi when she’s done shooting this video. It’s evident that the mockery is highly amusing to them— the glints in their eyes border on ravenous. 

Because you’re not typically someone whose presence is taken lightly, the thought of being toyed with by a few arrogant men has your blood boiling. You’ve already dealt with too many pretentious assholes who don’t believe women, especially younger ones, belong in management; you didn’t claw your way to the top of the industry for all of that hardship to go to waste. Ever the more perceptive of the duo, Dabi seems to realize the shift in your mood. 

“Relax,” he reaches a hand towards you before thinking better of it, choosing instead to tug at the thin, silver piercing adorning his bottom lip. “We’re only teasing. She didn’t say anything like that, obviously.” You stare at him incredulously, arms crossing your chest. “Why don’t we give you a tour?” Though he’s the one who makes the offer, it sounds as though he’d rather be doing anything else. 

“We’re not really assholes, promise,” Hawks jumps in, crossing his fingers over his heart in a show of good faith. “This one just gets too big headed around beautiful women,” he points at the heavily-inked man, who simply rolls his eyes at the accusation. You’d thought the blonde was…well, nothing more than the stereotype his hair color implied, but he’s sharper than he seems. It appears that unlike Dabi, who comes off curt and ungenuine, Hawks’ wit stems from his charm. 

You can’t help but think of how the two of them compliment each other beautifully. That’s probably why their entire fanbase thinks they should be dating. With that ludicrous thought, your exuberance returns. After Hawks assures you they don’t have to be on set any time soon, you find yourself taking them up on their offer. They seem to be a handful, sure, but how long have you dreamt of spending uninterrupted time with your favorite members of the group? Besides, it’s only a tour. What could go wrong?

-

It’s apparent only five minutes into your time together that Hawks (despite his insistence you call him Kiego, it’s difficult after years of referring to him by the stage name) does not know the meaning of personal space. He spends the better part of the tour hooking an arm through yours, touching your hair, or pestering Dabi. While some may take this over-familiarity as a sign of disrespect, it feels more to you as though he’s simply comfortable in his skin. 

Rude or not, his bold actions do nothing but spur your heart to beat out of your chest. Every time he guides you towards an attraction with a cheerful comment, you swear his fingers purposefully dash under your layers of clothing, brushing faintly at the skin of your waist in a way that makes your heart (among other parts) flutter.  

“And as I’m sure you know, we’re filming this music video mid-tour,” his hand flits away as swiftly as it skimmed you, prolonging the torture of wondering whether his movements are purposeful or a figment of your twisted imagination. After showing you most of the fabricated scenery— and even the gorgeous, cherry-red convertible that was rented— for the video, you’ve arrived at the group’s infamous tour bus. You once read that most of their concerts end with the vehicle being mobbed by ruthless fans, one of the sole reasons you’ve never attended a show. Someone as busy as you doesn’t have time for all the horrid traffic the mobs cause. “Wanna see inside? It’s actually pretty roomy.” 

You nod, eyes trailing towards Dabi, who’s busy stomping out the most recent cig he’d been puffing on. Aside from the occasional chuckle at your flustered blunders or annoyed curse thrown towards Hawks, the taller man had kept mostly to himself. His indifference confuses you, makes you wish you hadn’t reacted so bitterly to the loose smile and banter he offered you upon first meeting. At the same time, part of you is irritated by his standoffish personality. From what you’ve seen so far, his remarks serve the single purpose of humiliating others for his own amusement— a stark contrast to the misjudged softy he’s portrayed as on camera. 

You’re guided onto the bus and Dabi follows, cursing under his breath at something or other. Sociable as he is, Hawks begins to chatter again, seeing no issue in being the center of your attention. You realize the space is much roomier than it seems. State of the art technology allows the bunk beds to fold back with a press of the button, leaving room for a decently sized couch. It’s also much cleaner than you would expect three young men living on the road to allow. 

“And the lowest one was my bunk, just in case you’d like to see it again later,” he whispers the sentence as though it’s his best kept secret, wagging his thick brows exaggeratedly to key you in on his joke. “Hey, why are you laughing? I’m totally seriou–” The doors swivel open and your giggles are cut off by heavy footsteps and a booming voice,

“Oi! Keigo! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” You have to crane your neck to see the pillar of a man’s scrunched, stoic face. Endeavor, the pyrotechnic-obsessed “hype man” and third part of Suns of Icarus’s trio, stands a few feet from you, clearly exasperated by something his bandmate has done. Hawks must know precisely the reason for the bottle-redhead’s tone, because his face pales. 

“Enji, we made a new friend!” He pulls you into his chest in an obvious attempt to shield himself from the giant, but your face heats at the close contact regardless. 

“You were supposed to be on set for your solo scenes ten minutes ago,” he crosses his sculpted arms, “so let’s go.” The lively man is being whisked away by the larger one before he can utter a word of rebuttal. “Nice to meet you,” he calls casually to you over his shoulder. 

“Dabi, keep (Y/N) company! I’ll be back!” Hawks shrieks with a dramatic flare. The man was truly born to be an entertainer. 

An unbearable awkwardness envelops the two of you once you’re alone. Without his best friend around, Dabi drops any semblance of amiability, but it’s not as if he was trying very hard before. He plops down on the couch and pulls out his phone. You sit as far away from him as possible, but realize you don’t have your own device to keep you busy. After a few nervous minutes of twiddling your thumbs, you attempt to break the silence.

“So, Haw– Keigo and Endeavor use stage names, why don’t you?” You spout the first question that comes to mind, hoping it’ll spark an interesting conversation.

“Dabi is my stage name,” he answers curtly, without looking up from his cell. 

“Oh...but– even your bandmates call you by it?” 

“Yep. Don’t care for my real name,” his eye roll sends ice through your veins.

“Excuse me,” you snap, “have I done something to offend you?” The frustration in your tone wins you eye contact, at least. 

“Nope.”

“Unbelievable….I’m going to need your publicist’s information.” 

“Huh?”

“Well, anyone who can make you seem like the world’s most ‘misunderstood heartthrob’ on camera certainly deserves a pay raise, dontcha’ think?” His eyes drop to send a steely glare your way, but you’re too fed up to feel intimidated. You smirk at him, a single eyebrow raised in twisted satisfaction. There’s the bitchy self you know and love. 

“You don’t know the first fucking thing about me,” he sits up, “but I know everything I need to know about you.” 

“Oh? Enlighten me then, sir.” 

~~~

“You may think Keigo likes you, but he likes everyone. You’re, what, thinking you’re special because he’s throwing some attention your way?” Dabi inches closer. “Hoping he’ll get in your panties?” 

“It’s not like that at all–”

“Don’t lie. The idea of being with someone you’ve idolized for years is thrilling, isn’t it?” The heat that rises on your cheeks is enough to confirm his suspicions. “He doesn’t like to see people for who they really are, but I know your type...just another tramp that’ll use him and move onto the next,” his smug expression returns after that little rant. Paired with the tattoos covering most of his face, he appears every bit as wicked as the skeleton his ink emulates— devilish, even. 

“You’re wrong.” You can’t think of a proper argument when he’s so close to you, basically breathing down your neck. 

“Am I?” His hand trails up your clothed thigh, and an unwelcome shiver crawls up your spine. “So you’re going to stop me when I do this, right?” Then, he kisses you. 

It’s not at all soft, or compassionate, or anything resembling your naive teenage fantasies of the artist in the slightest. Rough, slender fingers wrap around your jaw and yank your lips to his. He doesn’t stop at a peck either, choosing instead to assail your mouth with all of his pent-up rage. The cool, hard metal of his lip ring strains against you, a pleasant contrast to the quick heat traveling the rest of your body. You want nothing more than to prove him wrong— to throw him off you, tell him to go straight to hell— but he takes your bottom lip between his teeth and- God, it just feels so good. Your mouth parts in a breathless moan and Dabi takes the reaction as an invitation to swipe his tongue against your teeth. With your bodies melding together violently, the make out feels simply a continuation of the intense argument you were having moments before. 

Pulling you between his lap, he shifts you so that your back is flush across his chest. Nimble fingers make quick work of your clothes. You just barely raise your hips so that he’s able to take your pants off with ease, but you’re sure he notices the eager movement. When you’re left in nothing but your panties, you feel the rumbling of his solid body behind you as he laughs, the sound bitter and pleased all at once.

“Oh you really are a whore,” he chides. “Who’d you wear these for, hm?” He runs his fingers across the band of your red lace thong. 

“Not you,” you bite back, feigning disinterest towards the dangerous position he has you in. The asshole’s not going to get to actually hear you admit defeat so easily. One of his hands kneads your chest and the other grabs your cheeks harshly, pushing them together so that you’re unable to speak.

“Not me? Take a good look at yourself, sweetheart.”  He lifts your head upwards and your breath hitches; the entire ceiling of the bus is covered in a dark, reflective surface. “Who has you naked in their lap right now?” he whispers onto your neck, licking a long stripe upwards until his teeth graze your ear. You watch fervently as he strokes his digits across one of your perked nipples, tweaking the bud roughly. “Who are you being such a slut for?” He’s aware he won’t get a response because his left hand still grips your face, demanding you watch his every move. 

Dabi then snakes his fingers down your midriff tortuously slowly, brushing lightly in a way he hasn’t touched you yet; as if the skin there is delicate, worthy of his valuable adoration. The ink traveling his arms makes him appear so ethereal, so sinister and compelling, that you can’t help but let out a muffled mewl. Once he reaches your panties, his fingers dart beneath the material and the tender moment is lost. An onslaught of pleasure wracks your body when he begins to draw quick circles on your clit. He lets go of your cheeks, now sore and reddened from both pressure and bliss. 

“I’m going to ask one more fucking time,” his fingers glide against your soaked slit, “who are you being such a dirty slut for?” You contemplate not giving him the answer he’s looking for, and part of you is sinfully curious about what may happen if you enrage him further; however, that idea is put to rest immediately when he snaps his head up to look at you through the mirror, blue eyes pooling with lust and a hint of something animalistic. That stare, paired with the relentless strokes across your clit, provokes your moaned answer,

“F-for you, Dabi.” He uses his free hand to insert two, thick digits inside you.

“Say it again.” 

“I’m- fuck– a s-slut for you,” you practically sob out. You press the back of your head into his shoulder harder, squeezing your eyes closed and biting your lip. 

“Not going to keep your eyes open? Fine.”  The fingers are removed from your clit and you’re about to let out an unsatisfied whine, only for him to grab the back of your head and mash your swollen lips to his once again. Then, after another brief caress of your abdomen, he’s back to touching your sensitive bud. All of your moans are silenced by his mouth, and you feel the vibrations of a low groan from his own throat when your ass grinds against his clothed member. When your stomach pulls taut you know you’re seconds away from feeling that all-encompassing pleasure, the tidings of an orgasm so close to washing over you. 

“Oi, Matches! You didn’t throw her out did you?” Hearing Hawks’ voice call out from the front of the bus has you reeling your lips away from Dabi, and though he slows his movements, he doesn’t remove his fingers from your core. Rather than push you away, he takes the other hand off your clit to hold you tightly against him. “(Y/N)? Dab–”

For a few seconds, the only sound you can hear is your own heart beating out of your chest. Takami takes in the scene in front of him— your bare body splayed across his best friend in the lewdest of positions. You know your face is blooming in embarrassment as you wait for a reaction, for his face to drop in disappointment, anger, anything. Instead, he smirks. 

“Starting without me? That’s no fair,” the golden-haired boy actually pouts, but there’s something deeper swimming in his eyes, something almost bloodthirsty. Though this is happening right in front of you, you can’t truly believe it. Dabi relieves the pressure of his arm from your chest.

“Look Kiego, the whore’s fucking drenched for us,” he lifts his fingers towards the beautiful man in front of you proudly, as if showing off a trophy or a new toy. Then he pops the damp fingers in his own mouth, humming at the taste of you. Hawks’ tongue dips out of his mouth, darting across his bottom lip. 

“I want a taste,” he leers at your bright panties, now soaked through. You think you must have died and gone to heaven, what with the two Adonises staring at you as if you’re their last meal. Hawks kneels at the foot of the couch, brings his face right up to your navel, and licks a long, cold swipe. His digits toy at your waist like they were earlier, except this time the movements are decisive and fierce. Just as he’s about to tug your panties down and place his mouth where you want it most, Dabi seizes his jaw and pulls his partner into a long, sloppy kiss. You let out a sigh at the view and— teases that they are— the sound doesn’t go unnoticed by either of them.

“Is watching us turning you on?” Dabi taunts cruelly. 

“Looks like she’s a bit of a pervert, hm?” Hawks retorts, sliding a finger across your clothed slit. The movement causes your entire body to quiver, your senses on high alert. Without another word, he leans down again, shifts your panties to the side, and takes your clit between his lips. The way he laps at you hungrily makes you believe your initial judgment of him was completely inaccurate, and when he inserts two lengthy digits inside you, the thought is confirmed. Hot, white pleasure consumes your body as your core clenches around his digits. He simply cocks an eyebrow at you and chuckles darkly, holding you tightly against him by your waist so that you’re unable to wriggle away. Gone is the lovable persona you were introduced to, replaced now by someone entirely foreign, deviously lewd. 

“Fuck, Hawks,” you whimper, greedy for more. 

“Thought I told you to call me Keigo,” he scolds beneath you, biting the inside of your thigh so that a sharp gasp leaves you. 

“I-I’m sorry, K-Kei–” You’re cut off mid-moan when Dabi kisses you, wrapping one slender hand around your throat and squeezing. His other one threads through your hair and tugs harshly. A painful hiss leaves you but the sound only makes him pull harder, smirking against your lips.

It’s as though they’re competing for your attention. If one of the men evokes a sob or whimper, the other attempts to outdo him— and they have no regard for your body, becoming instead the battleground for their lascivious rivalry. You lose yourself in the intense sensations, unaware of time or its passing, instead focusing solely on the coil tightening in your abdomen. Every gasp, every moan, only pushes them further, and soon your legs are shaking as you feel yourself nearing the delicious edge. 

Just as you’re about to let go, allow yourself the mind-numbing relief of an orgasm, Kiego withdraws his fingers. Rubbing your bruised thighs together is a desperate attempt at friction, but the momentum is completely lost. Your core clenches around nothing, and you cry out, hopelessly bitter at the emptiness between your legs. 

“Sorry, princess,” his hair is sticking up, golden locks tousled from the harsh grip of your fingers. And yet he still looks perfect. He wipes your juices off his chin with a thumb, “but that’s for starting without me.” Despite the apology, he sounds absolutely delighted at your loss. You whine again, hoping it’ll change his mind. “What do you think, Dabi? Should we let her cum?” 

Hearing his name, the tattooed man takes his attention away from your chest and the onslaught of purple marks his lips’ were just peppering on your throat. 

“I don’t think so,” he tweaks at one of your nipples, eliciting a soft groan from you. “I want the bitch begging for it.” Dabi pushes you away from him and stands to unbuckle his belt. “Besides, don’t think she’s done enough to earn it.” You should be outraged at the way they decide your fate as if you’re not even present, but in reality it only thrills you, your clit throbbing at the lack of control. 

“You’re right,” your idol sneers, canines bared and gleaming as he unzips his own pants, “and I wanna see those pretty lips wrapped around me.”

They switch places, shifting you so that your breasts are pinned against the couch between Kiego’s legs. Dabi grinds his hips against your clothed center, and you mewl at the long-awaited friction, hard member straining against his briefs. 

“Get to work, princess,” Kiego calls to you, boxers down to his knees. You can only balk at the sight in front of you. His cock is thick and long, essentially everything you could’ve ever hoped for, but that’s not it. 

Rather, it’s the shiny, silver ball pierced through the shaft and poking out from the top of his head that stops you dead in your tracks. He notices your eyes widen at it, but only snorts, wrapping your hair around his hand and yanking you roughly towards him. 

“Oh, that little thing?” Now he’s shoving you against his length, using your face as nothing more than a means for friction. “Just a drunken dare from Matches.” The nickname provokes the other man into leaving a stinging slap against your behind. And just like that, the angered man drives himself into your cunt. 

“I told you,” slap, “not to,” slap, “call me that.” With each thrust into you, Dabi releases an onslaught of pent-up anger onto your rear, the biting pain causing you to cry out around Kiego’s member. 

“Yeah sweetheart, just like that,” he leans his head back against the couch with a deep groan. “Such a pretty little whore, choking on my cock.” One of his free fingers shoots out to wipe at your tears, hand moving ever-so-lightly to cradle your jaw. The gesture might have been sweet if his other hand wasn’t forcing you down further to swallow him whole. 

“Mmmph–” you scrape carelessly at Kiego’s thighs in an attempt to secure yourself, moans coming out garbled with his cock down your throat. 

“Not done with you yet, slut” Dabi still pounds into you relentlessly. You’re overwhelmed with the feeling of being stuffed from both ends, knees on the verge of giving out until he fastens his hands around your thighs, pulling you into him with even harder plunges. “Fucking take it.” Something hard and cold grinds inside you, and you’re acutely aware of the ridged piercings now pressing against that perfect, spongy spot in your heat.

When he reaches an arm around to rub furiously at your clit, you’re sobbing. Kiego’s deep, golden eyes watching you, Dabi’s unrelenting fingers and thrusts, it’s all too much. 

And then you’re finally letting go. Legs shaking, mind wracked with white as you clench your eyes shut. Your mouth moves away from Kiego’s shaft, only concerned with riding out your high. The tattooed man behind you doesn’t stop his movements either, still pressed deep inside you until your tongue lolls out of your mouth and you’re tapping furiously at his waist. Kiego smiles, taking himself in his hand and slapping his cock against your cheek while he strokes himself. 

“That’s it, baby,” he smooths your hair back, grunting. “You look so pretty when you cum.” He pumps himself a few more times before he finishes, sticky liquid spurting across your lips and into your hair. You reach around to grab at Dabi’s waist again, willing him to stop. He removes himself from inside of you only to flip you around and your cunt clenches at the feeling of emptiness. 

Pulling you into a long, winded kiss, he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip to taste Kiego’s release. Then he’s pushing you to your knees once more, hands threading through your hair roughly.

“Suck,” he scowls down at you. Though you’re breathless, still reeling from your orgasm, the simple command spewed at you has your lips wrapped around him in a second.

He isn’t as girthy as Kiego, but just as long. A trail of piercings go down his length, and your tongue brushes against the cool metal while you wrap your fingers around the area you can’t reach. You stare up at him through thick lashes, piercing blue eyes ogling you as you take him further in. His hand is still perched on your head, but he makes no movement to push you down— instead, basking in your slow seduction. 

You’re sure you look a mess, dried mascara down your cheeks and still covered in Kiego’s cum, but Dabi only revels in the power he has over you, positively thrilled at the way you no longer fight for dominance. He breaks eye contact only when the blonder man tugs him into a kiss, deep and passionate, and the sight only urges you to swallow him deeper. 

“I like her with her mouth so full,” Kiego whispers against Dabi’s lips. 

“Just as long as the bitch isn’t speaking,” the other man groans, rutting into your mouth so that you know he’s close. 

Soon he’s pulling out of you to pump his shaft, your mouth wide open so that the head of his cock brushes against your tongue. Kiego reaches down to move Dabi’s hand, grabbing at his partner’s length so he can stroke it himself. It doesn’t take long after that for the brooding man to cum, head thrown back in a loud grunt while the tantalizing male next to him coaxes him through the orgasm. Kiego angles him so that his hot, white liquid gushes onto both your face and tongue; you suck at Dabi’s head until he forcibly pushes you off him. 

“Fuck,” he sighs, running a hand through his sweaty locks. “Knew you were good for something.” With that final statement, he turns away from you, pulling his pants back on and returning to his spot on the couch as though he wants nothing more to do with you. 

Kiego walks away as well, and you’re sure you’re about to be kicked out now that they’ve had their way with you. A part of you is angered, but a larger part is still processing what just happened, savoring the earth-shattering orgasm the pair blessed you with. 

You look for your discarded clothing, trying to compose yourself so you’re able to get out of their way as quickly as possible. Kiego walks back into the common area, wet rag in hand. He doesn’t speak until he pushes you into the couch, rubbing the clean towel over your face softly.

“So, you’re coming to our concert next week, right?” 

---------------

Tags:

@mindninjax @rat-suki @bakatenshii @yukiimanic @theygottheircages @lookslikeleese

DM me if you’d like to be tagged!

[thefemdomenchantress]

The Enchantress: the Century Woman

The hero has a specific maneuver for whenever he encounters a sudden possible threat. He does not react offensively, not willing to bear the tragedy of slaying somebody who meant no harm. He simply raises his shield in a manner that anybody would recognize as a threatening way. This defensive maneuver protected him if the possible threat was, indeed, a threat, but allowed non-combatants a chance to explain themselves.

This maneuver was not perfect as it was still possible to interpret the raising of the shield as a promise of battle, but nine times out of ten it prevented an unnecessary fight against a non-combatant.

This time, however, the noncombatant...attacked.

The hero has spent ten minutes fighting the being: a humanoid woman twice as tall as any man. A creature the hero has never seen before in his travels...

Her visage is unnerving. Eyes larger than normal. Her hair silver, but with bright orange ends, and a some evidence of blue strands. Large shoulders beneath her gown of royal blue, and large tentacles for arms that she uses to bludgeon the hero around the abandoned house. Instead of buttons or lace the front of her gown seems a sideways jaw full of sharp fangs. The rare moments the hero got to see her legs beneath her full length gown he saw two long, muscular thighs and calves.

But her voice... her voice is that of a regular woman in her fifties or so. Her cries of battle hold no malice, only fury.

The hero would parry and escape her blows, but he finds himself unable to harm her. His instincts tell him she is fighting out of fear and indignity. He is an intruder, after all.

Hero: Please! Let’s stop fighting! I’m sorry for intruding, I was only here on a job!

The blows stop. The creature woman looks at him. The hero lowers his sword, but does not leave himself unprotected. His shield remains up.

Hero: Recently... the will of the owner of this estate, a duke who died one year ago, has been read. His family was shocked that this summer villa was left not to his descendants but to an unknown woman. I was hired by the family to investigate...

The large eyes of the creature grow at the mention of the duke.

Hero: . . . Is the woman you?

The creature nods. The hero lowers his sword slightly.

Hero: . . . You’re a shape shifter?

She nods again. She sits down on a tall desk, letting documents drop to the floor. It creaks slightly against her weight. She mutters...

Shape Shifter: My lord... left me this house...

Hero: He also left you four hundred silk bills. Enough to live on for quite some time...

The shape shifter looks up at the hero.

Shape Shifter: Money, too? I’m...

She sobs into her tentacles. She seems so human despite her appearance. The hero places his sword against the wall and reaches for a pouch full of money. He approaches the shape shifter but she is too distracted to take the money

Hero: . . .My lady. . . Just to clear things up, may I ask. . . What is your relationship to the late duke and his family?

She calms down, although her story is told between sobs.

Shape Shifter: I have no... no relationships to his family... They have no knowledge of me... I... I was... His alone...

She stands up and ceases her crying. She looks down at the hero.

Hero: This form... is it your original form?

Shape Shifter: No. I am a century changeling. An immortal race who live our eternal lives in one hundred year cycles. At the beginning of each of our one hundred years we take new shapes... But I can not change perfectly. With each form we take there are parts we cannot discard until the end of the century, where we shed our old forms and begin anew...

Hero: Then what is this form?

The changeling smirks.

Shape Shifter: Would you believe me if I told you that fifty years ago I took the form of a regular woman? I was homeless and the duke found out about my race. He took me in, allowed me to stay in this estate, as long as he lived. All he wanted out of me... was my body...

Hero: You... were his mistress...

Shape Shifter: You’re too flattering. He treated me as more of a concubine... Not that I minded...

The hero cannot believe the story. But the way the tall changeling towers over him... Her strange large shoulders were off putting at first, but now that she stands over him they make her look regal...

Her gown is modest, but he notices her rather large bosom...

But everything else! The large eyes... The tentacles... The teeth dress...

Shape Shifter: You have questions... At first he was a plain man... But soon he began to realize the potential of my powers in our sex lives...

Hero: Oh Gods...

Shape Shifter: You know how bizarre men can get. Vanilla sex began to bore him after our first ten years together... He had wants, and needs. I was a good concubine. With just a little encouragement and prying I made him admit some of his fetishes. They were tame at first... He wanted me taller... Shapely, muscular thighs... But as he grew bolder his fetishes morphed. Encouraged by my shape shifting, he wanted stranger things. Tentacles. Technicolor hair...

Hero: That’s almost reasonable compared to the... the um...

Shape Shifter: The dress? Yes, for some reason he wanted my gowns to “swallow him” into sex. Strange and perverse, but I complied.

The changeling’s dress mouth “opens up,” revealing her shapely nude body beneath. The sight causes the hero’s imagination to stir. He shifts awkwardly, hoping the shape shifter does not notice.

Shape Shifter: At first my shoulders were just a natural consequence to support the tentacles, but he soon wanted me to keep them... I never understood that. I suppose it was in fashion for queens and princesses to wear padding beneath their shoulders a few decades ago. He must have been watching those royal dames... The dirty old pervert...

She pronounces “pervert” with a strange fondness...

Shape Shifter: With each strange fetish my body was permanently changed. Large eyes, small fangs, a long dextrous tongue... Now I have become... THIS as a result. I did this all for him, but I was fine. I was fine because he loved it. He lavished my body with praise, and drew such satisfaction from it, and I felt loved. And now he’s gone, and I’m stuck like this.

She wraps her body with her tentacles, as though ashamed... And although she is crying and the hero desperately wishes otherwise, her monstrous form has begun to captivate him...

Her shapely hips, her bright eyes, the handsome curvatures of her mature and aged face...

And as for the parts of her that are not human...

her tentacles are thick and powerful...

her height so domineering...

her bizarre dress that opens and closes like a mouth, so dangerous and yet there was something exciting and arousing at how it can turn from modest but form fitting to lewd and revealing... and could gobble him up...

the shape of her large, muscular shoulders were the hardest to latch onto, but the hero has found himself aroused even by them, longing to touch them...

Shape Shifter: I can’t leave this house! I can’t change into something normal now. I’m trapped. Even with the money he’s left me. For a year I came close to cursing his name. How could I not? I never knew he cared enough about me to mention me in his will... I...  There’s no one out there who could appreciate this body but him... No one can love this bundle of strange, ghastly fetishes... My only hope being that it is almost time for my form to renew...

The hero’s body seems to disagree. Behind his shield he hides a barely controlled erection. He takes a step back, praying she will not notice... Notice that he is weakening...

Hero: I’m sure it’ll all work out...

Not good. The changeling looks down at the hero. She noticed the nervousness in his voice. Her tentacles unravel around her body, her gown opens slightly. She approaches him...

Shape Shifter: Young man...

Her tentacle easily whips his shield away... He tries to hide but she holds him still... She gets a good look at his blushing face... and very visible lump in his pants...

Shape Shifter: It can’t be...

The hero can see her nude body within the toothy split of her dress... The duke must have at one point had normal desires, as her breasts are large, though they droop and there are visible veins like any regular human at a certain age. But they are still beautiful...

Her waist is large and round...

Her legs are muscular as tree trunks.

The hero is utterly captivated. The changeling’s “grotesque” and “inhuman” face that he once feared looks down at him. There is a light smirk, a brightness in her large eyes...

Shape Shifter: Young man... please take off your clothes...

The hero’s panic and attempt to flee is short lived as the tentacles bind around his limbs tight. He can’t resist as she pulls him closer... Her dress’s mouth opens wide and he sees her bare body.

Shape Shifter: I can’t believe you, boy... You’re just as depraved as my young lord, and at such a young age...

She pulls his face to hers and kisses him. Her long and dexterous tongue invades him and it is wonderful. He squeals in protest, but also in passion.

Her tentacles pull his pants down, his shirt off... His belt falls to the ground with a clunk of tools and coin pouches. His light armor and trousers as well. His bare body is pulled toward the grotesque and horribly arousing body.

He passes through the dress’s jaw. The teeth, although sharp, are pointed inward. His restrained body comfortably slips right in, but could never get out. He ceases struggling, partly to avoid being hurt by the fearsome gown mouth, but also because his entire front half is pressed against the shape shifter’s gorgeous feminine body and he can think no more...

Her breasts smother him, his cock pointed to the side, pressed against her crotch, his balls bullied and teased by the tips of her tentacles... She allows his hands to cling to her muscly shoulders. He can feel the smooth skin, the hills of strong muscles...

Finally, she lets his cock slip into her vagina.

But it feels different... the inside of her vagina is... tighter. Tighter than normal... And ribbed... And her hips begin to vibrate inhumanly fast... She whispers into his ears...

Shape Shifter: Oops... I did not mention, did I? As he grew older his cock needed more... support...

The hero is not paying any attention as he is too busy screaming in ecstasy...

But she slows down before he cums...

Shape Shifter: How resilient are you, boy?

She looks down at his face half buried in her cleavage. His eyes, moist from passion, meets hers. Large, wide, and bright. He becomes lost in them.

Shape Shifter: It doesn’t matter... I’ll make you last.

She brings her prisoner up to the bedrooms.

*** *** ***

It is mostly riding. Her heavy weight atop his small human body, her form expertly molded to squeeze pleasure out of an old man... The hero’s young and perfectly virile body stood no chance.

She pries out his fetishes, his secrets, and takes advantage. Her strange, seemingly disgusting body, is a perfect match for his repressed imagination... Binding tentacles, a hungry gown, and mighty muscles... The hero is defeated against all of these.

Her vagina feels like a sex toy, designed for pleasure. But make no mistake, it is fully sensitive and she feels everything. In fact, she cums more than he does. She does not let him become too excited, letting him orgasm at the end of one hour long cycles of play.

They have sex long into the night, all the way to morning...

*** *** ***

The hero is exhausted, his eyes open with difficulty. She strokes his hair lovingly with her tentacle...

Shape Shifter: I didn’t believe there was a man in the world who would get hard for me like this... let alone one so passionate...

She chuckles.

Shape Shifter: I almost don’t want to let you leave.

She stands up. The hero watches as she retrieves the bag of money she inherited. She smiles at him.

Shape Shifter: Boy... tell the family of my lord they may have this house. I will need it no longer. I’ll be taking the money, however.

Her body begins to glow as bright as fire.

Shape Shifter: Thank you. For letting this form experience lust one last time.

There is a prolonged flash, and then it dies down. Her body is the size of a normal human now. She is silvery, with no face aside from two glowing eyes. Featureless and sexless and beautiful. Holding her pouch of in her hand she gives a curt nod and walks toward the exit.

The century changeling leaves to begin its next century.

The End

***

[This is how I picture sex with an alien would be like]

[saladejin]

Admire | Prologue

Seokjin x Fem!Reader | arranged marriage!au, husband!Seokjin | Strangers to lovers, angst, self discovery, loneliness in luxury, touch starvation (eventual smut), eventual domestic fluff

Summary:  You’d never needed anyone else. Growing up alone, living alone, existing alone. It all came naturally and effortlessly, quite like breathing. That was until your somewhat distant parents finally decided it was time to make good on a promise. One they’d made before you were even born.

Warnings: Slight mention of absent parents and some unhealthy mindsets

Word Count: 1.3k

A/N: Finally getting around to posting my most recent ongoing series. The prologue is written in 3rd person, but from then onward it continues in 2nd. Hope you enjoy! :)

<< masterlist

»»————- << next >> ————-««  

All she could see were those eerily beautiful chocolate-brown eyes looking back at her. Even though she’d only first seen them that morning, and besides the fact that they regarded her coolly because of that, she couldn’t help but let herself be drawn deep into them. Melting in front of the man himself, as if he’d cast a spell on her and bent her to his will upon a simple glance.

She could only let a small sigh of acceptance fall from her parted lips. It was nothing but an inevitability at this point.

Kim Seokjin… no, my husband.

The days leading up to that point had been excruciating for (Y/n) (L/n), but for some reason knowing that her entire life had just been signed away to some stranger didn’t shock her as much as she thought it would. It would have, and definitely should have, but the young woman always knew in the back of her careful mind that the day would soon dawn.

“Dear, your father and I told you a while ago about our company connections with the Kims, right?”

(Y/n) blinked the crusty sleep from her eyes as her mother’s words rang sharply through the quiet living room. She sat further back into the plush couch and brought her legs up underneath her, eyeing the way her parents exchanged wary looks.

“Mum, Dad… Please don’t beat around the bush. Yeah, everyone knows about the Kim family because of how filthy rich they are, and even though you guys barely talk about them I do know that our company is connected to theirs somehow. It only serves to explain why Dad’s so successful half the time.”

Her groggy voice held no malignant tone because it pretty much felt like reciting a memorised speech at this point. If her parents were insulted by her brutally honest commentary, they showed absolutely no sign of it.

“Yes, I firmly believed you would’ve kept up with at least some of our more important professional relations. Sorry to get you up early, but there’s something we need to tell you before we leave for our business trip,” her father continued after clearing his throat. (Y/n) quirked an eyebrow in confusion, because it wasn’t normal for her parents to act so interested in her.

They’ve never really paid mind to my opinions.

Well it sounded bad no matter how you put it, but that’s truly what it was like. Working for a big corporation and having to run many aspects of a widespread company meant that her busy parents didn’t have as much time for their daughter. Growing up, she learnt how to take care of herself and didn’t mind developing that sense of independence many of her high school friends lacked. Her bond with her parents was built on a foundation of mutual respect and trust, so when people asked her about growing up neglected, she directly shut down the idea.

In her mind, being brought up by parents who treated you as an adult early on was the best way to get a head-start in life.

“I don’t know if I should be concerned,” The sleepy girl grunted and fiddled with the pyjama shirt she still wore.

“Well, that’s for you to decide now. It’s about the marriage thing we discussed a few years back. Do you remember?” her father asked bluntly, to the point and not sugar-coating a single thing along the way.

“Oh, yes,” (Y/n) hummed after making a small ‘ah’ noise of recognition.

“Where you guys agreed to marry me off to their son?”

The son no one really knows about, to be honest.

“Don’t put it like that,” her mother started sternly, “It was an agreement with the Kims that we made long before you were of age. It’s only right, considering both of our families and their lineages.”

(Y/n) still didn’t allow any emotions bleed into her tone or expression. She wasn’t shocked, upset or disgusted by what was going on, because she knew that this day would come around and rear its ugly head eventually. It was one of the many perks of being born into a family such as hers; having your partner decided for you so that you could keep the family’s wealth and bloodlines within a ‘respectable’ standard. God forbid you ludicrously fall in love, or something.

It was an outdated tradition, but it still existed. She knew this, even if it had in fact been swept under the rug and forgotten about for most of her teenage years.

“The ceremony is happening after we get home. The maids already know what’s going on and preparations are already underway. We’ve left you some files to read up on about the Kims and Seokjin himself, if you’re curious.”

So this is why I got my measurements taken the other night. Sneaky staff.

(Y/n) heard the sound of the front door clicking shut echo through the whole house as her parents finally left. She just really didn’t know how to feel about it all, or how to feel about her future husband. She already had this voice nagging in the back of her mind telling her about how awkward the whole relationship was going to be. Two strangers thrust into marriage, only having uttered maybe a simple ‘hello’ to one another prior.

More likely than not, he was going to be some pompous ass who grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, a spoilt brat, and she honestly didn’t know how she was going to put up with a constant niggling annoyance after living such a supposedly quiet life. The cold truth was she wouldn’t be able to, and that would only lead to constant fighting and unnecessary tension. Were there any positives to think about here, actually?

(Y/n) shook her head and groaned in frustration, not caring about the noise level since there would be no staff milling around the house for a few hours yet.

What did they even say his name was? Sock…something? They’re Korean, aren’t they?

She gave up on trying to eat an early breakfast and decided to find the so-called files her parents had left for her to browse. She needed to know a name and birth year at the very least.

Shuddering at the thought of marrying someone twice her age, the young woman slipped into the study room and found what she was looking for almost immediately. There were multiple files on the Kim family in general, but there was only one that held her focus.

Seokjin. Seokjin Kim, or I guess the other way around in, uh, Korea.

There wasn’t even a photo to help douse her curiosity regarding the looks department, but she breathed a sigh of relief after reading that he was in his early twenties like her. No need to worry about perverted old men or baby-faced teens fresh out of high school. Nope, she could cross a few major concerns off the list already. What a plus!

There wasn’t too much to read about on his file at all, but she didn’t mind. Thinking about it now, she was going to have the rest of her life to get to know this dude whether she wanted to or not. Why not keep an element of mystery while you can?

She could already tell she’d bypassed the heavy stages of grief. Only settling deep into acceptance after already having years to move on from any other feeling. This was it.

~

A week or two later was when she found herself standing across from him. Him and his cursed eyes. Cursed, because of how they were so beautiful yet so chilling at the same time. How they looked like they could see so much of a person’s soul with one fleeting look. She didn’t know if she liked it or not, but he had an effect on her regardless.

The minister’s words faded into the background as she observed the tall, silent man in front of her.

Yep, this is Kim Seokjin, and now I belong to him.

Copyright © 2020 by salade. All rights reserved. No part of this collection may be reproduced, distributed, or translated in any form or by any means. Legal action will be taken if necessary.

[snelbz]

Lovely {6}

@tacmc​ x @throne-of-ashes-and-beauty​ collaboration

A/N: Hello, you beautiful people. That’s right, it’s back. We love to see y’all’s reactions to our stories so please reblog and comment and let us know what you think! Enjoy!

FIND PREVIOUS CHAPTERS HERE

SHELBY’S ASK BOX // SHELBY’S MASTERLIST

TARA’S ASK BOX // TARA’S MASTERLIST

Azriel opened his eyes, enjoying the comfort of his bed. He assumed it was fairly early, considering only the faintest stream of sunlight had peeked through the curtains, and Asher wasn’t crying to be released from the confines of his crib yet. Until then, he would lay and relax.

There was a shift on the other side of the mattress and Azriel cursed himself, silently, for waking her; but, when he rolled onto his side, Elain was still fast asleep.

Her hair had come undone at some point in the night, and the brown curls were sprawled out across Azriel’s dark gray sheets. Her plump, pink lips were parted, her breathing even. His comforter laid just below her breasts, and it took a hefty amount of self control not to reach out and brush his fingers over her peeked nipples.

The night before had been incredible. They’d made love twice, and every other second was spent in drunk kisses and soft giggles. He took his time exploring her, and she with him, and he’d never experienced anything so wondrous and enthralling.

He was falling in love with her, and the thought was terrifying. It was one thing to like someone, to even like them a lot, but now he was falling, head over heels, at full speed. He had never fallen in love before, not like this.

He came with way more baggage than most men his age, and that was just the messy custody battle with Ianthe. He was dreading the conversation they’d have when she asked about his parents.

Draeven was not his father’s last name. No, he’d taken his mother’s maiden name as his own when the bastard was officially sentenced to prison. His name had never been formally released, always redacted in every story and news segment, so very few knew the truth, the notoriety of his childhood. He didn’t want to see the look of pity in her eyes when she found out.

He rolled over, pressing soft kisses to Elain’s shoulder, and just as she was starting to stir-.

A cry came from the baby monitor.

“Thanks, little dude,” Azriel groaned quietly as he pulled his discarded boxer-briefs on from the night before and hurried across the hall. Asher was sitting up in his crib, eyes wide as he gazed around the room. “Good morning,” he cooed, lifting his son from his crib and carrying him to the changing table. “We have a guest this morning, so we can’t be screaming this early, yeah?” Asher just chewed on the pacifier Azriel had popped in his mouth and stared up at his father while he put a fresh diaper on him. Azriel pressed a kiss to his belly and said, “Glad we’re on the same page.”

A cute onesie was a necessity and after getting Asher as adorable as possible, Azriel carried him back to his bedroom. Where he found the bed empty.

He glanced towards the bathroom, seeing the light was off and it was empty. Then he heard a noise from down in the kitchen. He crept down the stairs and found Elain in front of his coffee maker, his shirt skimming her thigh. He could tell she wasn’t wearing anything underneath it.

On quiet feet, Azriel stepped up behind her and pressed a kiss to her neck. “Good morning, beautiful.”

She jumped as she spun around, and for a second Azriel thought that she might curse him for scaring her, but her eyes were on Asher’s. She took the giggling baby into her arms and said, in a perfect, high-pitched voice, “Good morning.”

Asher clapped his hands together, his toothless grin wide as Elain set him in his highchair. Azriel was already mixing his cereal together, which was a good thing, because Asher was obviously hangry. His angry little voice filled the air as he banged on his highchair tray.

“I know, I’m coming,” Azriel promised, grabbing a little spoon from the drawer and pulling a chair up in front of the highchair. After putting a bib around Asher’s neck, he was chowing down.

Before he could even ask, Elain had set a cup of coffee down in front of him. Azriel smiled as he put Asher’s spoon up to his little lips. Most of the cereal trailed down his chin.

“Thank you,” Azriel said, looking at Elain, who had sat on the opposite side of the table. “It’s going to be a coffee day. Someone kept me up all night.”

Her cheeks turned pink as she sipped from her mug. “Pretty sure it was the other way around.”

Azriel’s grin widened. “Fair enough, I’ll take the blame.”

Elain sucked in her bottom lip, and Azriel was just about to say something when Asher blew a raspberry and Azriel got splattered with cereal, all over his face and his chest.

He slowly set down the bowl and the spoon before looking at his giggling infant and saying, “Thank you. Thank you, so much.”

Elain’s hands were covering her mouth as she laughed. “Go clean yourself, I’ll take over.”

Azriel couldn’t help but laugh at Asher’s joy, and as he stood up, he kissed Elain, softly, before she took her place in his chair and started to feed Asher.

Azriel had only just made it to the sink when there was a knock on the door. He blinked, then looked to the clock above the stove. It was only just after seven.

He wiped off his face, but when the knock came again, he was hurrying toward the door. After pulling on a pair of sweatpants that were hanging over the back of the couch, Azriel opened the door, and stilled.

Ianthe was there, in her jogging attire - which didn’t amount to much. When she saw Azriel, bare-chested and hair still a mess, a wide, feline grin spread across her lips. “Well, good morning, baby daddy.”

He gaped and finally said, “What are- Ianthe, what are you doing here?”

“I’m here for my baby. Where is he?” She tried to peek around him into the house, but he angled the door where only his entryway could be seen.

“It’s seven in the morning. On a Saturday.” He crossed his arms and leaned against the frame, becoming a veritable wall blocking her view.

“Well, we have plans this morning and I have to get him ready,” she said, taking another step up his porch stairs.

Before he could say anything, Asher’s happy giggle could be heard echoing through the house. And then Elain’s voice was floating towards him. “That’s not very nice, Asher. You can’t spit your breakfast on daddy and on me. No, you can’t. No, sir.”

Azriel had tensed and when he turned back to Ianthe, she had an eyebrow raised and her eyes were like ice. “Who’s that, daddy?”

“None of your concern,” Azriel said back, his voice calm. “And I have him until tonight. I’ll drop him off at six, like we agreed on.”

“Plans changed,” she snapped. “Now get my baby away from the whore or I’ll go in there and grab him myself.”

Azriel’s jaw locked as he stepped out onto the porch and shut the door quietly behind him. “Watch your tongue.”

“Or what?” she asked, intrigued. “What will you do, Az? As of right now, you have to do what I say, legally, and I’m telling you to get your pretty little ass inside, grab my son, and bring him to me so we’re not late.”

Azriel didn’t move.

Ianthe took a step toward him. “Or it’ll be awhile before I let you have him again. Understand?”

Azriel crossed his arms. “I don’t like threats.”

“Too bad,” she said. “I have the power, and you’ve already pissed me off by letting my son around that skank. As you’ve said, it’s seven on a Saturday morning. Now, why would a woman be in your kitchen so early?”

“Oh, fuck off. How many men have you been with this week alone, Ianthe?” The words came out of his mouth before he could think better of it. He pressed on before she could bite back. “Nothing in our agreement stipulated that I wasn’t allowed to be in a relationship.”

“Consider it added now,” she said, a wicked smile on her face, pulling her phone from her leggings, the gods knew where there was room. She typed out a quick text message and Azriel stared at her, in absolute shock.

He breathed, “You vindictive bitch.”

She smiled up at him again and was about to say something else that was meant to wound him, but he gripped her wrist with far too much gentleness considering the conversation, and turned it over.

Because that crazed look in her eye, it wasn’t only delight at fucking him over once again. There was a reason she was so chipper at seven on a Saturday morning.

The words were deathly soft. “Are you using again?”

Her arm was jerked from his grip before he could react. “Get your hands off of me. That’s none of your fucking concern.”

Azriel chuckled, humorlessly, as he shook his head. “You’re not taking him. You’re on a high, and you’re not taking him.”

“Don’t fu-.”

“You didn’t even drive here,” Azriel began, exasperated, his hands shaking from the pure anger radiating throughout his body. He looked behind her to find the street nearly empty, her car nowhere in sight. “What was your plan? Jog him on your hip back to your parents house? Fuck, Ianthe-.”

“Give me Asher.”

“No,” Azriel said, firmly. “I’ll drop him off, at your parents, at six tonight, so that I know he’s safe. And that was our agreement.” He’d have a talk with them, too, Ianthe’s parents.

Because he sure as hell wasn’t going to let Asher go with Ianthe. Not if she was back on drugs, not again. He would fight it, and if he lost his parenting rights in the process…

No, he wouldn’t let himself think that way, wouldn’t let his mind wander to the horrid, unfair possibilities. The world couldn’t be that cruel.

Then again. As a child, himself, the world was that cruel.

Ianthe hadn’t said another word. She stared at Azriel, venom igniting those teal eyes.

“Go home, Ianthe,” Azriel warned.

There was a small list of things he had expected her to do in response, but spitting in his face wasn’t one of them. His body tensed as her saliva smacked him in the face, right between his eyes. But then she was walking back down the porch steps, all while saying, “You made a big mistake, Azriel.”

He didn’t move, not until she was down the street, jogging around the corner.

Azriel stepped back into the house, heading straight for the kitchen sink. He took a paper towel off of the holder and wiped Ianthe’s spit off of his face. When he turned around, he froze.

Elain was sitting in the same chair, still in his t-shirt, and Asher was asleep in her arms. She was watching Azriel, though, her eyes full of concern.

All he said was, “Did you give him his bottle?”

She nodded. “Burped him, too.”

His smile was tired, but he said, “Thank you.” He sighed and let his head fall. “Elain, there’s something I have to do today, but I don’t think I can do it alone.” He swallowed hard. He’d never once taken anyone with him to meet with Helion, nor had he ever wanted to. But today, he needed someone there to steady him, to keep him grounded.

Because he’d never been so angry in his entire life. He’d seen red and couldn’t allow himself to do so, but the fact that Ianthe had actually intended to take their child while she was…

Elain stood, cradling his son as if he were the most precious gift, and walked to him. She took his hand in her free one. “I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

___

Rhysand had given Feyre a cup of coffee, but she couldn’t drink it. All she could think about was Tamlin, still lying on her couch. All through the night, it was all she could think about. No, she and Rhys hadn’t had sex, and every time they got a little too hot and heavy, she pushed him away and looked toward the doorway of her bedroom, thinking that Tamlin would be standing right there.

But he hadn’t moved, all night, and now that morning had come, she wanted him out of her fucking house.

“Do you want me to wake him up?” Rhysand asked, for the tenth time since they’d rolled out of her bed.

Feyre didn’t answer. She had told Rhys no so far, thinking that if Rhysand was to wake him up, there would be an instant fist fight, and that was no way to start a Saturday morning. So, instead, although she was unsure how it was any better, Feyre went to the cabinet by the sink and opened it up, retrieving a glass. After filling it up with water, she walked to the back of the couch and dumped it on Tamlin’s face.

With a shuddering gasp, Tamlin was sitting up and looking around. “What the fuck?”

“Time to go,” Feyre said, setting the glass down on the side table, with a little more force than necessary. He flinched at the sound, but she couldn’t find it in herself to feel bad about it.

He groaned as he leaned forward, water dripping from his hair.

She sighed and said, “Come on, Tam, I’m serious. I need you to leave.”

He narrowed his eyes, but didn’t say a word. He just stood and turned to leave, but when his eyes fell on Rhysand, he froze. “You always have to win.”

Rhysand rolled his eyes, but he remained silent. Feyre stared at the floor as she listened to his heavy footsteps walk through the foyer, and out the front door.

For a moment, the small townhouse remained silent, but then Feyre looked up to meet his gaze. “What did he mean by that?”

“I don’t know, Feyre-.”

“Bullshit!” she yelled, exasperated. She was annoyed, angry, and sleep-deprived. She didn’t have the time or patience to be dancing around the subject any longer. “I have to know what happened between you two, Rhys. I like you, I really do, a lot, but I can’t deal with secrets, not anymore.”

His lips snapped shut, and for a moment, she thought that he would tell her he didn’t want to, that he wasn’t in the mood, yet again, but then he sighed and raked a hand through his hair. “Fine.”

As if she wasn’t expecting it, which she truly wasn’t, her body stilled. Then, before he could change his mind, she was slowly sitting in the chair next to him at the kitchen table. She didn’t push him, didn’t rush him, only sat perfectly still, her anger turning into nerves. The possibilities of what he was about to say had her stomach churning.

He took a deep breath and said, “I’ve known Tamlin pretty much my whole life. We went to the same elementary school, played on the same teams, and we were… we used to be friends.”

Shit. Feyre had known there was history, but she didn’t know it went that far back.

Rhys continued, “I don’t exactly remember when we had our falling out, but Tamlin’s dad was always pushing to be better, by using me as an example. He’d talk to my dad at work, find out how I was doing in my classes, and then he’d go home and berate Tam about how much better of a son I was.”

Tam. The familiarity of the nickname made Feyre’s heart hurt.

“In short, somewhere in middle school, he started to hate me, and I understood it,” Rhysand continued, shrugging. “His dad was an asshole, and he had to have someone else to blame it on. Considering I was a part of the equation, it made sense that it was me.”

There was something sad, something regretful in Rhysand’s eye, but Feyre didn’t question it. She remained quiet, and she listened.

“Anyway, middle school went by and then high school began,” Rhysand went on, staring at his intertwined hands. “We didn’t talk much, only when we had to. We’d drifted into our own groups of friends, found our own places where we belonged, even though we still played on all the same sport teams yet. Anyway, that’s just kind of how it was between us, at least for a while. Things were tense, but they were never bad, you know?” He didn’t wait for Feyre to answer before he went on. At this point, it was like he was talking mostly to himself. “Our junior year, my parents were out one night, coming home with my little sister from a dance recital. They got in an accident, and none of them made it out alive. My parents died instantly, having gotten hit head on. And my sister, who was only thirteen at the time, was in a coma for two days before they made me make the decision to pull her off of life support.”

His voice had become a deadly quiet, and Feyre couldn’t breathe. Rhysand wasn’t looking at her, he was still staring at his hands. His eyes had lined with silver, those tears nearly about to fall, but he only cleared his throat.

“It, uh,” he started, then shook his head, sending those tears that had held themselves in down his tanned cheeks. “It was Tamlin’s dad that had hit them. He was drunk, behind the wheel, and swerved in his lane, going way too fast, hitting my parents and my sister.”

Every thought in Feyre’s mind faded away. She had never met Tamlin’s dad, and Tamlin wouldn’t talk about it, only told her that his dad was gone. She didn’t understand, not yet, but as Rhysand went on, all the pieces came together.

“He hated me after that, blamed the fact that his dad was in prison for life on me,” Rhysand said, a humorless laugh loud in the quiet of the townhouse. “And I hated him for that. I hated him for blaming that shit on me, just because he needed someone to blame it on.”

Feyre stood, rounding her table and taking his hands in hers. She knelt in front of him.

“Rhys, I’m so sorry.”

He smiled at her, it was sad, but it was a smile nonetheless. “You have nothing to apologize for. You had every right to ask, I just… It’s a part of my life that’s still painful to open up. I’m glad Rayn doesn’t remember any of it, but that doesn’t mean we don’t miss our parents everyday.”

Feyre’s phone rang from the kitchen counter, and she glanced at it, but Rhysand said, “Go ahead, baby.”

She hurried to catch her phone before it was sent to voicemail, but when she saw her father’s name on the screen, she hesitated.

With a sigh, she answered, “Hello?”

“Feyre? Hi.” Isaac sounded far too cheery for such an hour. “Busy today?”

Feyre looked over at Rhysand, who was watching her with furrowed brows. “I’m...not sure. What’s up?”

“I was going to meet your sister for lunch. Was wondering if you’d like to join us?”

Feyre blinked. “Which sister?”

Isaac laughed quietly into the phone. “Nesta. Elain says she’s busy.”

Of course, I’d be the last one you call.

“I don’t know, dad, I-.”

“Come on,” Isaac begged, and the sincerity in his voice was overwhelming. “I haven’t seen you since I’ve been back in town. Hell, I haven't seen you in six months. It’s just lunch. To catch up.”

Feyre leaned back against the counter, nibbling on her bottom lip as Rhysand continued to watch her, intently.

“Okay,” Feyre breathed. “Fine. What time?”

“Nesta told me she’d be at the diner at noon, will that work for you?”

She nodded, regardless of the fact that he couldn’t see her. “Sure, dad, I’ll see you then.”

Isaac sighed, “Thank you, Feyre, dear.”

She cringed. She hated it when he called her Feyre, dear. It felt so...formal. “You’re welcome, bye.”

As soon as she hung up, she closed her eyes and let her head fall back against the cabinets, which gently banged with a soft thud! Feyre groaned. The last thing she wanted to do, especially after a night of little to no sleep, was go sit through a forty five minute cold shoulder contest between her father and eldest sister.

But then she smelled jasmine and nightshade and citrus, and she felt fingers skimming up the outside of her thigh. Rhys breathed, right by her ear, “Don’t tell me I took the day off of work for no reason.”

Feyre tilted her head down until her eyes met his. He lifted her up onto the counter, stepping in the space in between her legs. She let her arms drape around his neck and said, “I’m afraid so. I have to meet my dad and sister for lunch.”

“What time?” He asked, leaning down and pressing kisses to her jaw.

His fingers dug into her bare thigh, her shorts having ridden up. She said, “I’m meeting them at noon.”

He glanced over her shoulder at the clock on the microwave. “We’ve got about five hours, don’t we?”

Feyre groaned. “It’s that early? Why aren’t we in bed?”

Rhysand leaned back and met her gaze. “Are you inviting me back to bed?”

Feyre grinned, tilting her head as she pretended to think on it. “If you carry me there.”

Rhysand didn’t have to be told twice. He lifted her off the counter and slowly carried her up the stairs, his lips never parting from her skin. Feyre closed her eyes and dwelled in his touch, in the way the touch of his lips set her on fire.

Rhysand carried her back into her bedroom, where they’d spent their night tangled in each other’s arms, and dropped her on her mattress.

They kissed for a little while, but due to her night full of worry and anger, Rhysand didn’t pressure her for anything at all. Instead, he pulled her back into his arms and rubbed her back until she fell soundly, peacefully asleep.

_____

Lunch had been horrible, just as Nesta had expected it to be. Nothing too eventful happened, but it was horribly awkward. She got a free meal out of it, she supposed, so that was a plus; but, she was grateful that it would be another six months before her father asked her out to lunch again.

There had always been that pattern.

Nonetheless, it was over and done with and the day was still fairly young, which meant she got to spend it at Cassian’s.

His apartment was on the other side of town from the diner she had met her dad at, and by the time she had gotten there through the busy city, she had nearly lost her mind. She hoped Cassian had wine, and that he didn’t judge her too much for starting to drink so early in the day.

He’d given her a key, just in case he was asleep when she arrived back, as he’d claimed that the previous nights’ activities had completely exhausted him. He’d even said that without a nap, he’d have no energy to please his girlfriend all night again. She’d rolled her eyes and kissed him goodbye, before smacking him in the face with the pillow she’d been sleeping on.

True to his word, when Nesta called Cassian when she was about five minutes away, he hadn’t answered. She laughed quietly, debating on the ways she could wake him up. She parked and let herself into his apartment, careful not to let the door slam. But Cassian wasn’t sleeping.

A gentle melody floated through the apartment from down the hall. Nesta froze in the doorway as the music grew louder, and slipped off her shoes and put down her purse before quietly tip-toeing down the hall. He was in his office, across from his bedroom, facing the wall where a small, wooden piano sat. It was old, but finely tuned. He said it had belonged to his grandmother who was a music teacher for young students back in the day.

He constantly thought about getting a new one, but he’d always said there was something about the piano that made him love to play even more.

She couldn’t see his face, but she knew by the way his head was tossed back that his eyes were closed. He wore sweatpants and an old t-shirt, his hair tied up at the back of his head. He obviously hadn’t heard her come in, and she didn’t want to ruin the moment she’d caught him in.

As his fingers danced gracefully across the keys, Nesta leaned against the doorway and watched.

She closed her eyes, listening as the melody flowed around her. It made her heart want to dance, when so many things these days didn’t. Her soul felt like it could breathe and as she listened, she imagined the dance she would craft to his songs, the stories they could tell together.

Nesta hadn’t realized she was crying until she sniffled quietly and Cassian’s hands slowed and stopped on the ivory keys.

He looked over his shoulder, surprised to see her standing there, and hesitated when he saw she was crying. “What’s wrong? How long have you been standing there?”

He was up on his feet and walking toward her when she answered, “Long enough to get emotional, apparently. You play beautifully.”

His eyes softened as his arms wrapped around her and he kissed her, softly. “You used the key.”

She nodded, her forehead falling into his chest.

He was quiet for a moment before he said, “You should keep it.”

Nesta kept her head pressed into his chest as she stilled and said, “It’s… Cass, are you sure? You don’t think it’s too soon?”

He shrugged and she finally looked up at him. “I want to spend as much time with you as possible. If that means giving you a key so you can come see me, so be it.”

Nesta could feel her walls rising, could feel every instinct she had telling her to run, that it was too soon, that she couldn’t get attached. But regardless of all of that, regardless of the pit in her stomach, she nodded and said, “Okay.”

He could tense the tension in her body as he ran her hands down her arms. “You don’t have to always use it,” he followed. “Just when I’m lost in my music, or sleeping.” She chuckled and then he added, “Or, you know, when you miss me.”

She pushed back from his chest and lifted a brow. “And what makes you think that I ever miss you?”

He pulled her back toward him by her waist as he grinned. “Oh, you miss me. Judging by all the noises you were making last night-.”

She pushed him in the chest, trying to suppress her laughter as she did so.

[isadomna]

 CATHERINE OF ARAGON AND MARGARET TUDOR

In June 1513, as soon as her husband set sail for the English port of Calais, from where he was finally to launch his campaign against the French, Catherine of Aragon was to rule in his place or, rather, in his name. Henry VIII had appointed Catherine queen regent, governor and captain general in his absence, little knowing the redoubtable Catherine would oversee the defeat of an enemy of perhaps greater danger to the English throne than was France. The threat came from Scotland, whose King James IV felt more loyalty to the “Auld Alliance” with France than he did to England —despite the fact James’ wife, Margaret Tudor, was Henry’s older sister. The French queen, Anne of Brittany, sent James IV her glove and turquoise ring and asked him to be her champion. The Scottish King decided to invade England. While Catherine remained childless, Margaret Tudor and her infant son James were first in line to the English throne. 

Whilst the army was gathering, the King and Queen of Scotland were at Linlithgow. A pregnant Margaret, apparently racked by nightmarish visions of her husband falling off a precipice or her losing an eye, was said to have begged him not to invade England. He supposedly treated her warning as the stuff of dreams. ‘It is no dream that ye are to fight a mighty people,’ she said, according to the story as it was told more than a century later. Margaret knew those people well, and many of her childhood friends were on the other side. ‘What a folly, what a blindness is it to make this war yours and to quench the fire in your neighbour’s house of France to kindle and burn up your own in Scotland,’ she warned.

Should the letters of the queen of France – a woman twice married (the first half in adultery, the last almost incest) whom ye did never nor shall ever see – prove more powerful with you than the cries of your little son and mine, than the tears, complaints [and] curses of the orphans and widows which ye are to make?

This version of the story, which may well be apocryphal, suggests that if the two sisters-in-law had been left to sort it out there might not have been any bloodshed. ‘If ye will go suffer me to accompany you,’ Margaret begged him.  

It may be my countrymen prove more kind towards me than they will to you, and for my sake yield unto peace. I hear the queen my sister [Catherine] will be with the army in her husband’s absence; if we shall meet, who knows what God by our means may bring to pass.

Catherine and Margaret never had the chance to talk sisterly peace in the dramatic fashion imagined later. Having parted from Margaret Tudor, James crossed the border into Northumberland on 24th August at the head of the greatest army ever gathered in Scotland. Early in September Catherine rode to north with a body of troops variously described as ‘a great power’ or a ‘numerous force’. If Surrey found the Scots too strong for him, he could fall back on this support. If he fought and was beaten, the Scots would still find a powerful army between them and the south. But Queen Catherine’s army did not need to go into combat. Surrey and his men defeated the Scots at Flodden Field. The King of Scotland were killed in the battlefield. The news was brought to Margaret at Linlithgow, the fairy-tale palace James had beautified for her. Margaret was left a widow at the age of 23. 

The island of Great Britain was, temporarily and for the first time, in the hands of two women. Catherine governed England as regent for her husband. It was her task to administer the victory. The newly widowed Margaret ruled in Scotland as protector for her one-year-old son, James V. The infant king had been crowned shortly after his father’s death at what, because of the tears shed for the dead left behind at Flodden, became known as the ‘Mourning Coronation’.

In England, Catherine worked loyally to forward her husband’s plans. Scotland had taken a stunning blow, and there was always a party in Henry’s council, a party with strong backing in the country, which felt that Scotland would be a conquest easier and more valuable than France. This seemed a time to push the northern war home, and make an end of the Scottish menace for ever. But Catherine realized that England could not afford two simultaneous campaigns of conquest. Promptly on the news of Flodden she began to disband the reserve army, and to arrange to decrease Surrey’s. 

Nor was Catherine as hard-hearted in victory as her initial jubilation might have indicated. She sent a message to Margaret, offering her consolation for a husband killed by her own soldiers. ‘The queen of England, for the love she bears the queen of Scots, would gladly send a servant to comfort her,’ it said. Soon one of those forthright friars of whom Catherine was so fond, Friar Langley, was on his way. Catherine continued to oversee negotiations for a truce with the Scots. Neither woman felt much like prolonging their war. The letters exchanged between the two queens looked to a permanent peace.

Catherine’s prompt steps to end the Scottish danger as much as her courage in opposing it showed her complete fitness for the hard task Henry had left in her hands. Henry returned home from France in late October, after taking Tournai, and rode hard to Richmond to see Catherine. There the victorious husband and wife were reunited and, ‘there was such a loving meeting as everyone rejoiced’. Margaret had hoped to build on Catherine’s letter of sympathy, and asked her sister-in-law to put her in her brother’s remembrance, ‘that his kindness may be known to our lieges and realm’.  But as Henry took charge of the follow up to Flodden, Scotland’s agony continued. His captains were ordered to strike again and again north of the border, burning corn and destroying villages. It was February 1514 before he decided they had been punished enough and a treaty was signed.  

  Sources:

Giles Tremlett,  CATHERINE OF ARAGON Henry’s Spanish Queen

Garrett Mattingly, Catherine Of Aragon

https://tudortimes.co.uk/people/margaret-tudor-life-story/flodden-and-its-aftermath

https://tudortimes.co.uk/guest-articles/margaret-tudor-and-the-battle-of-flodden/the-final-victory

https://www.historynet.com/henry-viiis-war-games.htm

[rosesnink]

The Fall And Rising Of A Rose

A/N: I’m struggling to bring myself to write the current chapters of The Cursed Heiress, so I decided to write some one-shots that gives boosts to some small plots I do not have the chance to explore in the main series. I’ll start with some characters we’ve met/will meet and sometimes the characters before and after meeting Joanna. I reccomend listen to Dynasty by Miia while reading for better experience! 

Summary: A visit of Mr. Sinclaire to the house of ill repute changes a poor woman’s life...forever. 

1813

Ernest was certain that this time he was at a bed, though he could not tell which one was. There was a woman, one whose face he could not see. She was naked and giggling, such a pleasant sound that made his heart race rather rapidly. She had some scars on her chest, though he couldn’t identify them because the vision was blurry. Her hand brushed his chest as she mounted atop him, her smile the most enthralling thing he’s ever seen, her rich lips now swollen and red, probably his fault. He didn’t know what was happening. He knew he was in the dream, but the Ernest in there wasn’t quite him. It was someone more different than him, though he couldn’t tell the difference between them. The woman leaned to kiss him and he did too, meeting her partway, her lips tasting like morning breath and blueberries from his garden back at Ledford Park. It felt incredible and his version of the dream hummed in delight.

“Mmm, we should do this more oftenly, my queen.” He mused.

“Hm, I think the grown men of the court would not like it.” She whispered as she kissed his jaw, waking goosebumps on his body.

So he was with a queen? He wondered which queen it was and how the hell did he win her over, his position being so low. Alas, he didn’t think that there was a queen out there who was redheaded. Not that he studied of, at least.

He pulled her closer to him, pinning her on the bed, but she out strengthened him and pulled away coyly, making him chuckle as she dressed in a very expensive and rich dress, red and off shoulder that showed her cleavage and started to coif her hair in a very complicated way.

“Shouldn’t you call your ladies in waiting?”

“My dear Ernest, a lady has more refined jobs in my chamber than something as easy as dressing one self. Last time I checked, women are killed by childbirths, sickness, old age and offended men, not dressing themselves.” She turned around him, some strands of her hair still out, her long hair showing. He shrugged, giving her a point. He couldn’t see her eyes or nose, but he could see her lips, a smirk tugged at her lips “Don’t tell me you’re capable of everything but dressing yourself! What are you, five?”

“I assure you, I can dress myself rather fine. I’m just impressed that a woman of your status is able to dress herself with such rich silk and difficult garments.”

“Back in the village, I was undercover. My poor mother had to learn to do work she was not used to!”

“I can imagine your poor mother trying to figure out how to put a frock or the corset on.” He mused.

She laughed before throwing him a pillow, thing that made him laugh.

Whoever this woman was, she was special. No woman ever made it to his bed than Roselyn and they weren’t clearly married. He got up and spun her around, kissing her lips as he adventured to lift her skirt with care and picked her up “Must you really spend three hours fixing yourself up for these grown men?”

“I must look good so they see me as their queen. Especially when introducing them to our Liz.”

He kissed the nape of her neck “Surely a woman of your talents will think of something...” He pleaded her.

She giggled again before kissing him, his hands undoing the pins on her hair and throwing her to bed, happy and--.

“Sir? Are you awake?” A rather familiar voice woke him from his curious dream.

He blinked and saw her again. He quickly got up and started to dress himself, aware of the situation at hand.

“It… happened again, didn’t it?”

“Yes… and I know the speech already. You needn’t worry, sir, your secret is safe with me.”

“Good, that’s… that’s good.”

He noticed she had her worries too, her mind drifting awa too. He fished some coins and gave it to her. She smiled at him and nodded in gratefulness “You don’t need to, sir.”

“I know, but you deserve it.”

“For what, doing my job to content you at night and keep quiet at day?” She questioned.

“For putting up with me. My time here has been most educational and I wish you well in your career. May I put good word with a friend of mine? He is looking for a housemaid and he’s growing desperate.”

She got up, looking at him with surprise “You’d do that?”

He nodded.

“…It’s not that I am not grateful for this job, but I could really use the money…”.

“I shall speak with your future patron straight away.”

He finished getting dressed and went to the door when her words stopped him “Marianna Howard.”

He spun around to look at her better “Sorry?”

“My name, my true name. It’s Marianna Howard, not Rosemond. But please, call me Mari.”

“Very well, Miss Howard. I give you my word that you will have a job at the end of the week.”

She smiled at him, bowing her head respectfully.

Then, he left.

Three weeks later

The blonde woman threw up again, shaking her head as she went right to check as she begged her body to bleed… but nothing came out “Come on, bleed, bleed for fuck’s sake! FUCK, NOT AGAIN!” She wailed as she shuddered, leaning against the wall and falling sobbing quietly.

Mrs Wayward, the cook, rushed to her and caressed her shoulders “What is it, Mari?” She looked at the cold stone and gasped “You’re…I…”.

“Pregnant? It seems so.”

“Who’s the father? It cannot be Mr. Chambers, he doesn’t even fancy women that way!”

She looked at her intensely “Promise me on your son’s life that you shall keep this secret to your grave.”

“My god… it’s an aristocrat’s child!”

“Give me your word!” She begged.

“…You can count on me. I shall not tell a soul, not even my dear husband.”

They talked and soon she had to tell Mr. Chambers about her state on her knees, pleading him not to ask too many questions or fire her. Lucky her, her patron was a sunshine and told her she owed him no explanation whatsoever and that she’d have his support should she were to raise this child on her own. She knew that he had his suspicions, but kept his word on not ask around and soon forgot about his musing once Mr. Byrd came to visit, his only focus him.

On the 18th of April, she gave birth to a girl who she decided to name ‘Girl’, in case she died or had to sell her should she be a sickly kid. But she grew strong and thrived, growing the same untamed hair than her father and his eyes too, just as his full lips. Though she had too her capacity to charm a man and Mr. Chambers grew fond of the child, buying her a doll and a brush of her own and raised her salary so she could maintain her. With the changes in the world, she would send her to work soon at a factory. Until one day, her luck would turn around…

April of 1816

“Mama, it’s sunny outside!” Her three-year-old daughter called “May I play with the other girls in the park? Please?”

Mr. Chambers knocked on the door, looking away first, ever the polite man and then beamed at the young girl “Happy birthday, beautiful! How many years do you have now?”

She signalled him the number three and he gasped “How old!” He knelt down on her and handed her a few coins “Here, buy yourself something at the center. It shall be my present to you.”

“Thank you, sir!”

She bowed her head to him “You are too kind, Mr. Chambers.”

He smiled “It’s nothing, really. Your girl is delightful and you have been my saviour all of these years. It’s the minimum I could do for you both.” He heard three sharp knocks and smiled “I’ll get that, you go and have the day off with her. I was about to, ah, dismiss you for the day anyways.”

She giggled “Of course, sir. Have a good day with your… dear friend.”

They strolled around the streets, trying to avoid rich neighbourhoods as they saw a nice tavern and beamed at the bartender, who greeted them “So, it’s the kid’s birthday, I hear?”

“Yes!” The girl beamed.

“A birthday cake and some drinks, coming up!”

“Oh, I don’t think we can afford—.”

“Don’t worry, the nice lady has paid for it.” She signalled a redheaded girl a few tables away from her, dressed in a rich, very expensive violet gown and the prettiest tiara she has ever seen. She smiled at them and raised her glass.

“Who is that woman, Mama?” Her daughter asked.

“Someone who is nice enough to pay us a birthday cake, apparently.”

“We should thank her!”

“I don’t think it’s safe to—.” Too late, because she already approached the woman and started talking to her. Her demeanour was regal, almost royal, and her hair was flawlessly coiffed. She must be a high aristocrat, though she had never seen her before. Perhaps she was some poor girl who was hidden until she was of age? She was pretty hard to miss.

She approached them both and bowed respectfully before catching her daughter “Excuse my daughter, madam. She still needs to learn some etiquette manners.”

“You needn’t worry, Miss Howard. Your daughter is delightful and lovely. I always thought that expressing your gratitude to kind strangers is what makes you a proper lady, no matter how above your station they are.” She extended her hand “Lady Joanna Mills of Edgewater, but call me Joanna, please.”

“Oh! You’re the firstborn daughter of the Earl of Edgewater!” She gasped before bowing a bit lower “I am so humbled you’d look twice at someone of our characters…”

“You needn’t worry. A few months ago, I was just like you. I’m new to this noblewoman thing. Besides, I’ve been dying to meet this girl and you for some time.”

“Wh-what you could possibly mean?”

Her face was unreadable, but she looked down to the girl and smiled warmly at her “Why don’t you take the cake with you and share it with your friends? One of my men shall be with you.”

She nodded before bowing to her and ran off with her guard trailing not too far with the rather big and lavish cake. Marianna focused on the woman, now unsure of how to approach this.

“How do you know who we are?”

“Because I know the right people.” She said nonchalantly, looking at her in the eye “You see, people know me for being an acknowledged Foredale, but I’m the legitimate daughter and heiress from the Crochanes.”

Marianna gasped “Th-that’s impossible! They are a fantastical, fictional family, almost like an Arthurian tale.”

“Ah, but you see… all those stories are real.” Her eyes glowed and instead of blue, her eyes were now amber, to then blue. Her hand caught hers and stood her on her seat with firm strength “Calm down, ma’am, I will not hurt you. I come here in peace.”

“What—I—and the eyes—.”

“Breathe, Miss Howard. In and out. Good girl.”

“So… may I know why someone as powerful as you wants to do something with my daughter?”

“You see, your child is a special one, it’s almost an insult to her destiny that she is unnamed.”

“Wh-what do you mean destiny?”

“During centuries, Queens from the Circle, thanks to their magical abilities and special connection to the Ancient Gods, were able to foresee many things: especially their children. They come in either visions or dreams: premonitory dreams. The current Queen dreamt of me being her successor…”

“…And you dreamt of her being your successor!” She gasped “I can’t believe it… my child, royalty!”

“And I believe we have an acquaintance in common.”

“What do you mean?”

Ernest Sinclaire, master of Ledford Park.

She blushed deeply and looked away “I—I mean, he—we weren’t—he doesn’t—”

“—Know that you two have a daughter? I know. And I won’t tell a soul, for it is not my secret to reveal. But he must know.”

Suddenly, her head started to spin and Joanna seemed to notice. She lunged towards her and caught her before she could fall and felt how strong her hands were. She gasped for air before giving up…

She didn’t know if it passed down days, hours or weeks, but her daughter’s voice woke her “Mama, wake up!”

She opened her eyes to find herself on a very comfortable bed and Lady Joanna tending to her. A guard got the girl out of the room as she took a seat and looked seriously at Marianna.

“Today’s swoon hasn’t been the first one, was it now?”

“Uh… no. But it’s just exhaustion.”

“It is not. You see, your bad conditions on birth and previous pregnancies, with your poor treatment has taken over your body; your womb is almost rotten and with the poor health here and how unhygienic and the conditions you live in are slowly killing you.”

“No…”.

“Sadly, yes. I’ve seen people die before and it’s the very similar motives. You’re dying, Miss Howard, and it is too late to turn back. I can take care of the girl once you’re gone, but you must put in order your other affairs. Not even me can do something about it; my hands are tied with this matter.”

“You know the remedy, don’t you?”

“…It’s difficult to explain.”

“Try me.”

She sighed before starting to explain: the Dracarian Empire was an advanced society (over 200 years old advanced!) everything they had, the humans would achieve it in the 2010s! But that knowledge was a precious one and giving it to the humans was dangerous: many had died for possessing such properties and had risked their identities, too many things had been lost.

“So, if I gave you the remedy, you’d be accused of witchcraft, I’d betray the Queen by revealing the secret we share and you’d be hanged; your girl? Ernest would meet her before she were sent away, somewhere he could never see her again. Do you want that? Or do you want your daughter to be raised in one of the richest, most advanced and privileged societies in the world, to one day to become the greatest Queen, she who shall bring peace and so longed thriving society?”

“Of course I want that. But I don’t want to leave her all alone.”

“She has her father, a man with a heart of gold. And she has me: once she’s under my wing, she shall never starve or ask for anything again. I give you my word, once you’re gone, she will be provided for and will have a loving, caring and beautiful family.”

“Do you promise?”

She looked at the girl, giggling and teasing the guard, who took it very well for a scary guy.

“You can count on that. I never back up my word, and neither will Ernest. His word is beyond reproach.”

“I know. How much time do I have?”

“A month. Make it count, Mariana.”

“I will.”  

[emospritelet]

Heatstroke - chapter 9

Okay, so I didn’t quite follow the prompt, but - um - here

[AO3]

x

Getting a little of his own back on Lacey French put Gold in a good mood, and he couldn’t help grinning to himself as he opened the shop the next day. It felt as though he had regained a little of his equilibrium. As long as he didn’t think about what she might be doing with the sex toys.

It was Friday, and he was further cheered by the knowledge that Neal and Emma were visiting that evening, and bringing his young grandson Henry with them. Henry was just over a year old, and kept his parents on his toes. Gold was looking forward to spending the weekend with his family, and was easily able to distract himself with planning for their visit whenever Lacey French wandered into his head.

Neal was late, an accident on the interstate causing severe delays, and it was almost eight when they reached Gold’s house.

“Sorry,” said Neal, looking harassed, as he dragged a suitcase into the hall. “That journey was a nightmare.”

“Hey, Pops.” 

Neal’s wife Emma leaned in to kiss his cheek, Henry tucked into the crook of her arm and a diaper bag in her other hand. She glanced at Neal.

“Can you get the stroller? I need to change him and put him to bed.”

“Sure thing.”

“I was making dinner,” said Gold, still holding the door. “I figured it would be too late to take Henry to Granny’s by the time you got here. Twenty minutes?”

“Perfect,” said Neal, heading out of the door again. “Wouldn’t say no if you offered me a drink, either.”

Gold smiled to himself, leaving the door open and heading back to the kitchen. It looked as though his good mood would continue for the whole weekend.

x

Lacey herself was in a bad mood, which was only partly due to Gold’s insufferable behaviour on her doorstep. It wasn’t as though she minded him knowing she used sex toys; she was certainly comfortable enough in her own sexuality not to care what others might think about it. It was more that she had found herself tongue-tied and blushing when he brought them over. Being flustered was something she wasn’t used to: at least not so people noticed.

She had been trying to think of a way she could get him to agree to an interview that didn’t involve embarrassing herself further, but as yet hadn’t come up with anything. Her interview with Zelena West was pencilled in for Monday morning, so she had spent Friday preparing for it by talking to other people to get a more balanced picture of Zelena’s charitable works than her own self-promotion. She clocked off at five-thirty, wishing Sidney a good weekend, and hurried home to eat dinner and change before meeting Ruby in The Rabbit Hole at seven.

Over the few weeks she had been in town, she had gotten a fairly good idea of the type that frequented The Rabbit Hole. Sad drunks, lamenting their lives, young women with nothing better to do, and young men desperately trying to find a woman who wasn’t too picky for a night of meaningless sex. She had to admit to herself that some of them were her usual type, being good looking assholes with more between their legs than their ears, but she was surprised to find that she wasn’t tempted to make another poor choice. Perhaps she was growing up.

“You deserve better than them anyway,” said Ruby, when she mentioned it. “Ashley says Keith has no staying power, if you know what I mean. Glad she took one for the team, because…” She shuddered, pulling a face, and Lacey chuckled.

“Don’t need to bother with sub-par sex,” she said. “Besides, I got my sex toy delivery. I can take care of myself.”

“Tell me when your article gets published,” said Ruby, winking. “I could do with some recommendations.”

“I recommend you don’t let your neighbour open the damn box,” remarked Lacey, taking a drink, and Ruby chuckled.

“I wish I’d seen his face.”

“God, I wish I hadn’t,” sighed Lacey, leaning back on her stool. “The little bastard just stood there smirking at me like it had made his bloody day. I was right when I told Sidney he hated me.”

“Maybe it’s because you saw him naked,” suggested Ruby, stirring her drink, and Lacey frowned.

“That was an accident,” she said. “And if he didn’t insist on getting his cock out every five minutes it wouldn’t happen.”

“Yeah, but it did happen,” said Ruby, gesturing with a straw. “Twice. You’re probably the only person in Storybrooke that knows what he keeps under that suit of his. Not that I’ve been wondering, or anything.”

“So?” Lacey took a slurp of her drink. “He seems pretty comfortable with being naked. Like way too comfortable, if you ask me. I can’t take that trail through the woods in case he’s out there, swinging it around.”

Ruby burst out laughing, shaking her head.

“Look, all I mean is, he’s a very private person, and no matter how comfortable he is being naked by himself, he’s buttoned up to the neck the rest of the time,” she said. “You seeing everything he’s got to offer put him on the defensive. Hence he’s in asshole mode. To the power ten.”

“Got that right,” muttered Lacey moodily. “And Sidney wants me to interview him. No way he’ll agree.”

“Not right now,” agreed Ruby. “So you’ll need to find a way to apologise. Even the score.”

Lacey pursed her lips.

“Even the score,” she said slowly. “I could do that.”

x

Lacey slapped a hand against her phone, silencing the alarm and cursing herself for forgetting to turn it off. She rolled onto her back, rubbing her hands over her face and grumbling at the ache in her head. Pushing up into a sitting position, she reached for the glass of water on her nightstand and drained it in a few gulps before letting her head fall back against the headboard. Ruby could drink.

She needed the bathroom, so she slid out of bed, grabbing a bathrobe and pulling it around her, figuring she could take a quick shower to wash away the scent of The Rabbit Hole. 

By the time she got downstairs, robe wrapped around her naked form, she had woken up a little, and Darcy was waiting for her, mewing loudly and winding around her legs as she filled the coffee maker. She fed him before he caused an injury, and left the coffee brewing, wandering out onto the back porch to breathe in the cool morning air. The robe was wrapped around her, the light breeze pleasant against her naked legs, and she went down the steps, picking her way across the uneven lawn with her bare toes. From her position, she could see that the light was on in Gold’s kitchen. Of course he’d be up. Wonder if he wanders around the house in the nude, too. She chuckled to herself, but then remembered her conversation with Ruby. Even the score, huh? No time like the present.

She hurried to the front of the house before she could lose her nerve, scuttling around to Gold’s back garden and mounting the steps of his porch. She could smell fresh coffee, and hear the sounds of him moving around in the kitchen, and she crept to the door, undoing the belt of her robe and letting it hang loose in front of her. She could see him through the window, in a dark grey robe with the hood up and hiding his face, filling the kettle at the sink. The cool air licked against her naked thighs, caressing her belly, and she took a deep breath. The back door was already ajar, and so she teased it open with a foot, grasping the robe in both hands and marching in as she flung it back off her shoulders, turning to face him with her arms spread wide and her naked body on full display.

“Now, we’re even!” she announced.

The hooded figure turned to face her, but it wasn’t Gold. It was a young man close to her own age, dark eyes wide with shock.

“Uh…” he said. “Hi?”

Lacey’s eyes flew wide open, and she yelped loudly, wrenching the robe around herself. The young man scratched his head, looking perplexed. He had Gold’s eyes. His son? Oh fucking fuck!

“Fuck!” she spat. “Shit! Fuck!”

“Uh…”

Lacey stumbled out of the door, putting on a burst of speed and tearing around the side of the house before diving back into her own kitchen. This is going from bad to fucking worse!

[vanillawinston]

Mad World| Chapter THREE

Joker x OC(Jane Parker)

Summary: Jane was in the wrong place at the wrong time and suddenly her life was falling apart. The past and future of a dangerous obsession which changed his life and destroyed hers completely.

Warning for this chapter: /

Back to the start HERE

Previous part HERE

Next part HERE

Words: 1987

My nerves were raw when we all, dressed in our new clothes, equipped with our weapons, had to enter a helicopter. Unwanted I remembered how the first time ever in such a thing I had been by his side; I remembered how happy I had been back then, how different my world was. This situation now was weird. It was strange not being in a cell, being kind of free, sitting here, surrounded by those people. A few days ago I was ready to die, to let everything end, and now I was here with all those other prisoners, and one of them was Harley, the new girl at the side of the men I once would have died for without thinking twice about it.

I sighed hardly when I fastened my seat belt and of course hat the misfortune to sit right in front of Quinn. On my right sat this weird and kind of creepy crocodile man, who had the name Croc. From a nearer view he looked less creepy, but I was still freaked out of sitting next to him, in the end he still was a fucking crocodile. On my left sat the tattooed man, El Diablo. I had heard some stuff about him and his power of creating hell like fire out of nowhere. Weird. The other strangers were Captain Boomerang and Slipknot. We were for sure the weirdest group ever, especially in the company of Rick's friend Katana who was walking around with a bloody sword in her hands like some ninja and who was looking at every one of us like she wanted to nothing more but to behead all of us.

"So, I still have some issues understanding our position in this matter," Floyd spoke up while the last technical details were checked before we would depart.

"You will do as I say, you will follow the rules and do what you can do best."

"If not then... Pshhh," Boomerang said and made a gesture with his hands like he was imitating an explosion, and I shivered of it, but to explode doesn't sound that nice, not at all, and this Rick guy had the full power over us and our lives.

"Typically," Floyd snorted. "We are doing your dirty work and getting nothing in return."

"We will see," Slipknot mumbled when the helicopter started, and for a moment I was frightened of this sudden noise and the movement. It was still strange to process this whole thing, to really accept that we would go on this mission, that I was free, away from the prison and the torture in it.

"Easy kid," Floyd laughed now more friendly and calming, which was really helpful. I calmed down, remembered that everything was ok, even though it was strange lifting up, leaving the earth, the prison behind. My calmness didn't last for long though when I saw Harley's curious gaze on me. "Aren't you a bit young to be here?" she asked me amused, like it was some joke, but she was right. I was the youngest of all of them. I was a lot younger than the rest.

"The girl is 19 and in here for two years," Floyd answered and manged it that everyone was staring at me impressed. Even this Samurai Lady looked astonished to me. Yeah, everyone was asking themselves what the hell I did to end up here, how bad my crime was to suffer so much in such a young age.

"And why?" Boomerang asked, and I saw how this Diablo guy eyed me silently from the side. He didn't say a word, stared at me intensively, and it was really distracting.

"I'm useful," I said, didn't want to think about it again, about everything I've went through. The last few months I never had to go through all of this crap, but these last days I had to relive everything over and over again, talk about it, remember some horrible stuff, and I really had enough. I didn't want to say more, especially since no one knew my connection to the Joker and no one should, especially not Harley.

It is common knowledge that the Joker once had another toy than Quinn, but everyone, including himself, thinks she is dead. No one knew my real name back then, except for the Joker. I had a different name, one the Joker liked more, since only he was allowed to know the real me, the real Jane. I had managed it to stand all this time at his side without anyone ever recognizing me, only if they would have been close to me. Just the government had found out the truth.

"We really are weird," Boomerang laughed loudly, and I used the distraction of the others to look to Diablo, who was still staring at me.

"Is something wrong?" I asked him, and he seemed like he was trying desperately to find an answer when suddenly there was a loud bang and the whole helicopter started to spin around. It felt like I was pressed sharply against my belt, everything was spinning, my body was shaking from one side to another, and the fear of dying surrounded me. It felt like we would all gonna die, and even though I've welcomed death a lot of times in my life, I was scared, I didn't want to go now, not like this.

Some of the belts of the others stopped working by all this shaking, I saw how someone was falling without a hold in the vehicle, and this destiny almost was mine as well when I heard my belt click. I saw with wide eyes to the wall in front of me, knew that I would fall against it, that I would probably die, break all my bones, when suddenly Diablo put his arm in front of me, hold me back like some sort of extra belt and he kept me safe this way. It must be so hard and so painful holding his arm in front of me like this, holding me back, but he didn't stop, not until we finally reached the ground and the whole horrible trip found an end.

Breathing hardly, I looked to him when I took his arm away from me and he was just like me out of breath and exhausted. I stroked my hair back, tried to calm myself, but it was hard, after all we almost died here.

"A hell of a landing," Boomerang laughed, stood up from the ground and seemed ok, considering he was the one who was falling around during the crash, the one whose seat belt has stopped working just like my mine did, with the only difference that he didn't had a Diablo who saved him.

"Oh, this was funny," Harley giggled, and I thought I had to throw up, for one because of her but also because all this spinning made me dizzy.

"Everyone ok?" Rick asked, and I stood up, followed the others out of the wreckage, tried not to fall, so giddy was everything.

My eyes widened in shock when I saw the city around us, saw all those demolished buildings. It was nice seeing something different than the prison, but what the hell had happened here? It looked like a T-Rex or something had a fight with Godzilla here. Has Gotham changed this much during the last years or was this just part of the mission?

"Everyone is fine," Floyd mumbled and stand next to me, looked just as shocked to the city.

"I'm really here, seeing all of this again," I breathed quietly, and Floyd smiled. "Enjoy it. This won't be a journey to an amusement park like Harley is assuming," he said amused, and I sighed hardly.

"No, it won't." I looked back to the others, who were trying to get all their stuff out of the wreck and where I saw how Diablo was already looking at me. The guy was weird, but he has saved my life. Who knew what would have happened without him? I wasn't as stable as Boomerang to survive something like this. I was small, thin, really thin, it wasn't healthy anymore. There was no chance I would have survived. This was why I took all my courage to walk right to him, saw how he eyed me curiously while doing so.

"Thank you," I said struggling, and it was weird saying this. Gratitude. How long haven't I felt something like this?

"It's ok," he said shortly, turned around, and I rolled my eyes. He wasn't a big talker, was he?

"It is not. It wasn't easy holding me there, even if I'm not much of a weight, so thank you!" He looked me in my eyes before he stroked his in tattoos covered head.

"It really is ok, but try to watch out for yourself, lightweight," he said smirking, and I immediately smiled back when Rick shouted us all together, so I walked to him, asked myself what would happen next?

"So we have to keep walking, and I warn you, don't try anything or I will blow you up." "We got it," Slipknot answered him, was clearly annoyed, didn't seem too impressed of this whole blowing up thing. Either he wasn't believing Rick, or he simply didn't care, but it was his problem not mine. My biggest problem right now was trying to stay alive but also not to kill Harley who was a pain in the ass with her annoying behaviour.

"Don't be so tensed," Floyd said when we started to move, right into the destroyed neighborhood.

"I'm not tensed," I defended myself, and he smiled. "I see your tension and I really don't know what the reason behind of it is, but I'm sure it is not only because of this mission." "Then have fun trying to find out," I said amused, wouldn't tell him anything, he would probably judge me for my past, think I'm some lunatic, and if Harley finds out the truth... god, she would kill me! She would definitely kill me, she was too obsessed with the Joker, I was a threat, she would never let me live.

"I will find out, I promise," he said smiling when I suddenly heard Rick curse and fast saw the reason why. Slipknot tried to flee; so he really didn't believe Rick. Skillfully he climbed up one of the buildings, and I really thought he would escape, he would manage it, so fast and easy he moved up the building, when there was a loud bang, and he was dead. From one second to anther he was dead, just like that.

"Holy crap," Boomerang mumbled shocked, and I put my hand on my fast beating heart, but this was horrible. We really were damned, we really could die just like this if Rick wants us to, but it was also terrible to see someone die again, to see, after such a long time, someone die again in front of me. I've completely forgotten how fast this could happen, how fast someone, who was just breathing, could be gone forever, and I really don't want to think about it. This view opened so many old scars, old horrible memories came up, and I hated it.

"I hope this was a lesson to all of you," Rick said, looking with a weird look to the dead Slipknot, before he turned around and started walking again.

"Oh, how much I hate this son of a bitch," Floyd said disgusted, and I knew this whole thing would end in a tragedy, and I was right in the middle of it.

Aloha :) I hope you liked it. In the next part there will be finally something about the Joker. Sorry for any grammar or editing mistakes, tell me if you like to be tagged and the Gif is not mine xx

Tag: @xxqueenwxtchxx

[sserpente]

24 little kinks | Doors 9, 10, 11, 12, 13 🎄

“You remember that chocolate advent calendar I got you for December?”

“I do,” he chuckled and pressed a tender kiss to your temple. “You made me display it in the kitchen so I would not eat it all at once.”

Your smile widened. “How about we get another one?”

Loki raised an eyebrow, only now paying proper attention to the sex toy ad. Then, he frowned. It was an odd mixture of disgust, genuine curiosity and even a hint of arousal flashing in his blue eyes.

A/N: It’s been snowing all day here, I couldn’t stop grinning when I woke up! 😍🌨❄

NSFW warnings: public orgasm, knife play

-

Loki paid Banner a visit the following morning, to check on any progress made with the alien artefact they had found. Not even he had a clue what exactly it was and without his beloved books from Asgard, it would take him ages to do the necessary research. Hence, the God of Mischief spent the whole week teleporting from library to library, even visiting Doctor Strange in his sanctuary, for any useful information.

Thor had rarely seen his brother so passionate about a mission before—but perhaps it was simply because Loki harboured a deep hatred for the creatures he had once meant to use against humanity for power. Little had he known how much the sceptre had influenced his tainted heart back then.

Besides, the sooner the Chitauri were gone, the sooner he could go back to peacefully enjoying Christmas with you and let you pamper him with your traditions, customs and delicious treats. They never failed to calm him down after an exhausting day, after all.

At least, despite his lack of time due to the amount of research he did with both the Avengers and Strange, you still got to open your advent calendar.

Before he left, Loki eyed the nipple clamps inside door nine suspiciously, worried he would hurt you with the metal toy.

“How am I supposed to use these on you? They look like torture instruments.”

You hummed. He was right. You had never tried nipple clamps before but you assumed that the general rule was—as long as it felt good, keep them on, play and have fun, as soon as it started to hurt, take them off immediately.

Loki knew your body almost better than you did. He’d also know when to stop.

“I’ll look it up online while you’re gone.” In the meantime, you would also get some Christmas shopping done. You were late this year and there were only three weeks left for you to purchase everything you needed. Loki’s present you’d pick up no earlier than on Christmas morning. You couldn’t wait for his reaction.

Two hours later, you wished you had taken the God of Mischief with you. The shopping centre had been transformed to a Winter Wonderland. Giant trees towered up to the ceiling, richly decorated with thousands of ornaments and baubles; holiday lights hung from every railing and festive Christmas wreaths made every single store a little jollier.

You bought both Loki and yourself a giant candy cane before you returned home with two full bags of gifts for your friends—among them a pair of black silver earrings with a tiny storage function for Natasha and a giant box full of poptarts for Thor. All you were still missing was a present for Tony. That man was a billionaire. He could afford anything he wanted in a heartbeat… you pursed your lips. It might be harder than you thought to find something for him.

-

“Ready to open four doors at once?” Loki had just stepped out of the shower and was welcomed not only by the scent of homemade Christmas biscuits you had just shoved in the oven but also you wearing a Christmassy red pullover along with a black skirt and equally black and almost knee-high boots. He almost purred at the sight when you approached him.

You had promised him to open the calendar before you left for Tony’s Christmas party. Because of all the panic and havoc the Chitauri attack as well as the discovery of another otherworldly artefact on Earth, both of you had almost forgotten it was tonight—on Friday the 13th. You both wondered whether that was a good or a bad sign.

You had promised to bring some biscuits and Loki had promised to behave and not to play tricks on the party guests—at least for as long as Stark and the other superheroes treated him with all due respect; and you simply hoped, sincerely, that Loki would be able to enjoy himself tonight. Christmas parties were a wonderful thing.

People came together after a long time of not having seen each other, they had mulled wine and hot chocolate, talked about what they are getting their loved ones for Christmas and sometimes even sang Christmas carols together.

“I thought you’d never ask, my sweet.”

Loki was dressed dangerously… scarce with only that towel around his hips. He knew you were very well aware he could magic on his infamous and outrageously handsome black suit to cover his well-defined chest, strong thighs and that v-line which made your mouth water whenever he wanted… you cleared your throat, eliciting a cheeky smirk from him when he followed you into the bedroom. Excitement cursed through your veins when you thought about what adventure the calendar would take you on next. You were yet to use those nipple clamps too, after all.

Two of the four boxes you had missed were rather big and heavy. Sheepishly, you handed one to Loki and allowed him to unpack it first. Door ten revealed a small vanilla-scented candle. You realised immediately what it was.

“It’s for wax play,” you stated, grinning to yourself as Loki fingered the candle with his head tilted slightly. He glanced at you with a playful glistening in his blue eyes.

“After all those little doors I had not yet considered how very depraved you are, my sweet little (Y/N).”

What could you say to that? Loki had seen the amounts of erotic novels on your bookshelf. They were a lot more enticing than porn could ever be—and they provided you with loads of information on sex toys.

“Come on, you love it.” You replied. Loki winked, making your heart jump.

“What is in yours?”

Quickly, you opened the next box. Perhaps you should always wait a few days and then open several doors at once to be more creative in bed… door eleven revealed a… oh.

You chuckled. It looked like a vibrator, although shaped a little unusual—not to stimulate your g-spot but to stimulate… the prostate.

“That’s for you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“It’s a prostate massager. A vibrator for men.”

Loki frowned, clearly suspicious of the device. “And how exactly am I to use that?”

“It goes up your… butt.”

His gaze was outraged, his lips slightly parted when he looked back up at you.

“Absolutely not.”

“Loki… it’s meant to make you feel good. Lots of men say vibrators like these make them cum like crazy. At least give it a try.”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No!”

You sighed. It wasn’t so bad—and it certainly wasn’t like you had asked to peg him. But fine… you’d convince him at some point.

“Oh fine…” Perhaps you’d be luckier with the next box. Loki took it from you impatiently. Yep… he would definitely like this one better. It was a little black flogger.

“Much better… I remember promising you to spank that lovely backside of yours, do you?”

You swallowed thickly. “Right now?” You chirped.

“Oh no… when you least expect it.” Loki tested it on his palm, bringing it down forcefully. The sharp sound sent shivers up and down your spine—pleasant shivers. “Oh yes… I am looking forward to using this on you. Last box, my sweet.” He mused. Blinking, you cleared your throat yet again and tended to the last box. Door number thirteen. Curiously, you pulled out a pink vibrator egg with a white removal cord and a remote control.

“That appears to be…”

“Oh, I believe I do know what that is, my sweet.” His eyes locked with yours. Loki’s grin was downright malicious. Your eyes widened. “You can’t expect me to… not tonight!”

“Especially tonight… you asked me to enjoy myself. I can ensure you that now, I will.”

He pushed you down on the bed, his towel falling in the process. He was semi-hard, the thought of putting that vibrating egg in you arousing him endlessly. Part of him wished he could simply skip that superficial Christmas party and fuck you already… but then again he loved teasing you—and he loved an interesting foreplay almost as much as he loved sinking his length into you.

Loki used his thumb to brush over your entrance, testing your wetness. Just like he had expected, he found you dripping, no lube needed for inserting that little toy. You moaned when he pushed it all the way in at once, testing the vibration with the remote control. You flinched, pressing your legs together. Oh dear…

The God of Mischief smirked. Good thing those toys came charged already.

“We will be late for Stark’s Christmas celebration, my sweet.” The constant buzzing made you even hornier than you already were. Damn… this was only the lowest setting. How on Earth would you survive the evening? The vibrator inside you hit all of your sweet spots. If he kept going like this, you would be coming undone for him soon.

Biting your lower lip, you forced yourself back up on your feet, adjusting your skirt. Loki simply flicked his wrist, wrapping himself in his all-black suit—except today, he had exchanged the black tie with an emerald green one matching the season.

He stopped you the moment he switched off the vibrator.

“Hold on. I want you to wear these along with the toy.”

Loki handed you a box he materialised—it was the crotchless panties you had bought along with the calendar in the sex toy. Your eyes widened. Loki would make sure to drive you crazy during that Christmas party, that you were sure of. Leaking through your panties was one thing but leaking all the way down your thighs? Entirely another.

-

Tony had outdone himself. The compound, although smaller, was decorated twice as much as the shopping centre you had been to today. It had been rather chilly on the way here—not short of a miracle since Loki had made you wear that thin excuse for panties.

He had not used the remote since your arrival. You were chatting with your friends—enjoying biscuits, drinking wine and painstakingly spending a lot of time with Tony to figure out what to get him for Christmas.

Loki was by your side the entire time, he’d even gotten involved in a few conversations—but thus far, the Christmas lights Stark had put up everywhere seemed to have been a lot more interesting for him than the party guests.

You had almost forgotten about the vibrator inside you—right until Tony put an arm around you and the instant punishment was the lowest setting of vibrations stimulating your walls, making you flinch. The good thing was, thanks to his raving about his current Iron Man project—you now knew what you’d get Tony for Christmas.

Loki seemingly pretended to focus on one of the wreaths on the wall, one of his hands in his pockets, fingering the remote. When he caught you staring at him warningly, he smirked… and then pressed a button to increase the power.

You suppressed a moan, clenching your fists. If Tony hadn’t been tipsy already, he might have noticed your sudden discomfort but luckily, nobody paid attention when you excused yourself and returned to Loki who was still grinning like a cat who got the cream.

“Enjoying ourselves, are we?” Anger flashed in his blue eyes. “Who gave him the right to touch you?”

“Loki, please, calm down. Tony is a friend, that gesture was purely companionable. Besides, I was merely trying to find out what to get him for Christmas.”

The God of Mischief growled quietly. There was not a lot he called his own. There was no throne, no kingdom, no army and no people he ruled, and certainly no women that threw themselves at his feet. All of those privileges had been snatched from him even before his birth in the cold of Jötunheim. Thor was the hero, he was the villain. Some things would never change, even if the Avengers pretended they did for the most part. But Loki would never allow them taking you from him. The only woman who took him the way he was, who listened and understood… who loved him. He could not possibly, in spite of his silver tongue, phrase how much he loved you too.

He took the freedom of jealousy, sometimes. Especially when he was in the possession of a little remote which could control your pleasure.

His torture continued for several more hours. Every now and then—whether you were dancing, talking, eating or checking your make-up in the bathroom, Loki would startle you by switching the egg on, slowly or quickly working you towards orgasm and then letting you cool down again. The panties only added to your arousal, knowing that if Loki slipped his hand under your skirt, he’d have instant access to your private parts, testing your wetness for him.

At some point, you wished he’d take you in the bathroom already, grant you some relief. But he didn’t. Loki let you suffer. It was almost midnight when you sat at the bar with Nat. You knew Loki was close by—you could practically feel him staring daggers at your back, yet when you glanced back, you saw him engaged in a chat with his brother. The vibrator was quiet… for now.

You had crossed your legs—making sure not to take any risks. You had just finished another glass of wine when the egg suddenly hummed to life again, making you flinch and sit up straight in an instant.

Natasha eyed you down. “You seem tense, are you alright?”

“Just tipsy…” You lied. Gosh… you felt like crying and smirking at the very same time.

“Tipsiness looks different.” You sighed. Nat was perceptive; of course she was, she was a master assassin. Loki switched to a higher setting—and he kept doing so until the vibrator had reached its peak. Thankfully, because of the Christmas music in the background, no one could hear the buzzing between your legs. What people would notice, however, was you cumming. If he didn’t stop… your breathing quickened.

“(Y/N)… what the hell is wrong with you?” She paused, eyeing you up and down a few times. “Bože moi, please don’t tell me Loki and you didn’t… did he put a—“

Your eyes widened. “Nat! Oh God, shut up! No! Nothing is… I mean, I’m just… he didn’t… If you lose a word about this, I’ll…”

The assassin lifted an eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I wish I never asked.”

“I’m… I should leave.” You squeaked.

She hummed in approval, shaking her head slightly when you stormed towards Loki before your orgasm washed over you like a tidal wave. You squeezed your eyes shut, clutching at his black suit with a suppressed moan, your pussy contracting around the still vibrating toy. You would have dropped to your knees if he hadn’t supported you instinctively, letting your pleasure consume you. Luckily Thor had just left to pour himself another drink.

“My… that is quite a show you are putting on for me. Tell me, did you enjoy it? Knowing I control your pleasure, your orgasms wherever we are?” He chuckled when you didn’t reply. Finally, the vibrations stopped. You took a deep breath. “Am I right to assume you wish to return home now?” He then asked innocently.

You nodded briefly, allowing him to lead you back to the entrance to pick up your jacket. Your goodbyes were rushed and quick but you couldn’t care less as long as Loki finally brought you away from here.

-

You were angry with him; angry for putting you in such an embarrassing situation! You doubted Natasha would blab, still, her knowing in the first place was shameful as was. But there was more to your rage. You were angry with yourself too, for you had enjoyed this, thoroughly. You had loved how sexy and sneaky Loki had made you feel among the party guests, wearing those crotchless panties and having a toy inside you, with him, just like he had said, controlling your pleasure. Natasha had picked up on that aspect rather quickly too, so you figured. Damn it.

Once you were back in your bedroom, you reached between your legs. You pulled out the toy with a silent popping noise, throwing it on the bed.

“Loki, what were you thinking?!” You pointed at the wet toy as if it were to blame for what happened tonight. “Do you realise that Nat smelled the rat immediately? She probably even witnessed me… oh my God!”

Burying your hands in your face, you shook your head.

“What does it matter? Let them all see what is mine and what they will never have. Let them see what we share.” He spat, arousal glistening in his eyes. Rest assured, Loki had imagined fucking you before the Avengers’ eyes before. He would not actually do it… but the thought of demonstrating them how much you wanted him filled him with both pride and arousal. Natasha Romanoff knowing about your intimate… connection during the Christmas party did not worry him. He would not have taken it this far if he had had doubts the assassin would act on what she saw tonight.

“You’re such an animal sometimes!”

Loki lifted his chin, approaching you slowly and threateningly—yet you did not dare move away from him. “If that truly is the worst insult you can come up with when you are angry with me, my sweet, I gladly accept.” He growled. Unceremoniously, he wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you flush against him. “Is there anything else you would like to say?” A barely visible smirk tugged at the corners of his mouth, his lips only inches from yours. Oh…

“Yes!” You hissed. “Fuck me already!”

Loki happily obliged. He threw you on the bed effortlessly, removing your boots with magic. A dagger materialised in his hand, the green shimmer making you squint for a second. It was almost pitch black in your bedroom.

“Keep still…” He ordered softly. You nodded, unsure of what he would do next. You gasped for air when you suddenly felt the cold blade against the sensitive skin of your neck, the metal tip slowly trailing down to your collarbone ever so slightly, right until he reached the hem of your pullover.

“I have been waiting to take these clothes off of you ever since you put them on, my sweet.” He purred in your ear, making you shiver. Loki cut those annoying layers of fabric between you two open like they were made of paper, revealing your bare skin. You had relinquished wearing a bra tonight—a circumstance which he thoroughly enjoyed.

As light as a feather, he used his dagger to draw an invisible line all the way from between your chest down to your navel. Any wrong movement could mean serious injury and blood—the thrill of him using his weapon of choice to bring you pleasure catapulted your arousal to another sphere. Loki always knew how to keep things exciting in bed.

You stilled almost completely when the tip of his blade reached your skirt and crotchless panties. One tug with the sharp end—and they fell off of you and on the mattress. You flinched when you suddenly felt the knife on your outer lips, tracing your vulva lazily.

“Loki…” You whispered. The God of Mischief took your hand for reassurance, signalising you were safe with him. In all honesty though, you were already on the verge of orgasm again. All you needed was a little… just a little stimulation to come undone for him.

It was like he read your thoughts. You never learned when his own clothes disappeared—only when he thrust into you without any forewarning, claiming you fast and roughly. The dagger disappeared, instead, his skilled fingers began to explore you relentlessly all the while he fucked you into oblivion. Your fingernails dug into his back, wanting him even closer, your legs wrapped around his hips so he could bury himself inside you even deeper.

Tonight, there was no love making. Tonight, there was primal fucking, giving in to your most depraved urges for one another. Neither of you lasted long. Loki came inside you with a loud grunt the moment he made you climax with his fingers rubbing your clit demandingly—almost forcing that orgasm out of you. You contracted around him repeatedly, milking him for all he was worth all the while he spilled his warm seed into you, throbbing against your walls.

Once you had come down from your high and your jar of bottled-up emotions had emptied again, he flipped you over so you came to lie on top of him, still joined. Your eyes were already half-closed when you felt him draping a blanket over the both of you.

“I love you so much…” You mumbled, right before you fell asleep. His quiet ‘I love you too, my sweet (Y/N)’ was already part of a wonderful dream.

-

A/N: Do not worry, I have not forgotten what the other doors revealed. ;-) Doors 14 and 15 will be opened on Sunday, December 15th!

These doors also contained three anon requests! :-)

Check out my blog to find more Imagines and take a glimpse at my first (to be) published novel! Also, if you enjoyed this story, I would appreciate so much if you supported me on Kofi! ko-fi.com/sserpente

[astraeagreengrass]

The Queen’s Husband [1/?]

When her reign is threatened, the Queen of Ergona must find a husband to secure her throne.

Pairing: King!Steve x reader AU

Word Count: 2.875

Warnings: Minor descriptions of violence. No smut - but there will be in later chapters. English is not my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

A/N: This was originally my submission for a writing challenge that never came to be. My prompt was “Elizabeth”, the original score composed by David Hirschfelder for the 1998 movie starring the incredible Cate Blanchett. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to try and sate my King Steve obsession - which I blame entirely on  @invisibleanonymousmonsters​‘s Heart of Steel and @shreddedparchment​‘s Pseudo Princess (two masterpieces written by incredible authors whom I look up to so much!).

Series mastelist 

The air smelled like salt water, blood and smoke.

Your face was damp from the sea spray or your tears, you weren’t sure. Wiping your eyes furiously you stood still, staring straight ahead at the burning fleet of Zerbolian warships.

Their soldiers were still screaming.

Closer to the cliffside, Ergona’s armada stood in defense position. Over one hundred ships at the Queen's command, making it the most powerful and feared navy in the world. The Zerbolian king had been a fool to think that, out of all ways, he would win this war at sea.

He hadn't believed his advisors, choosing instead to put his faith on the assumption that he could never be bested by a woman, and a young one at that. His mistake, you pondered, hadn't been to think that Ergona would bend to his will as it had during your father's reign, but to think that you would.

You, however, were not your father. And tomorrow you'll ride into the capital city of Albeon like he never did, celebrated by your people as the ruler who put an end to the Zerbolian threat.    

But today you would mourn.

It didn't matter that most casualties had been on the enemy's side. Death was still death. Across the Muir Sea women would cry for the men they had violently lost at the hands of Y/N of Ergona. Women such as yourself, albeit none of them had to carry the heavy crown of their kingdom, and for that they were better than you were.

The sound of hooves broke through the howling of the wind. Looking back you saw a beautiful black stallion making its way to you. His rider was a blonde man you could tell from afar, whether from his distinct shield or from the sheer strength of his presence.

“Your Grace” he said, moving his horse to stand next to yours.

You cleared your throat, trying to disguise your choked voice.

“Captain Rogers” you answered, sounding as stoic as you possibly could. “I thought you were at sea.”

“I was. But I noticed your horse standing at the edge of the cliff so I sailed ashore.”

“Isn’t it reckless to sail ashore while the enemy’s fleet is still burning?” you retorted.

He let out a dry laugh.

“Forgive me, Your Grace, but this is far from the most reckless thing I’ve ever done.”

You didn’t answer. Captain Steven Rogers indeed hadn’t made his fame by being careful. The son of a wealthy Duke, he had traded the comforts of a life at Court for a military career.  He had yet to reach his third decade of age, but his accomplishments on the battlefield were well known in all of Ergona, earning him the respect of powerful men much older than him. 

For the five years you had been queen he had stood by you. A man of unquestionable loyalty and honor, Captain Rogers not only managed to unify the army, but to restore the naval forces to their glory in an incredibly short time. You owed him the defeat of Zerbolia, as well as your safety in the face of the assassinations attempts he managed to uncover. 

Twice now you had questioned him about his future aspirations during small council meetings and twice he's given the same answer:

"My duty is to Y/N of Ergona. As long as my queen judges me fit to fight for her and her kingdom, then so I will."

His words unsettled you. Your experience taught you that no man could be that virtuous. They always wanted more. And Captain Rogers, with his prestige and influence, could very well be coveting your crown.

"I hope I'm not being too forward" the man himself said, as if he knew you were thinking of him. "But are you alright, Your Grace?"

His concern surprised you.

"I suppose it is odd for someone to cry for their enemy's loss" you answered.

"Not odd, just surprising. But I shouldn't have expect less from you."

You turned to him, brows furrowed.

"Whatever do you mean?"

Under your questioning gaze, Steve blushed, his cheeks turning a subtle shade of light pink.

"Pardon me, Your Grace. I didn't mean to offend you" he quickly apologized. "But, in my eyes, crying for those poor dead soldiers doesn't make you weak or odd. It only showcases you humanity. And maybe it is unwise for you to show yourself like this - God knows you have enough criticism as it is. It is strange this world we live in where humanity is seen as a vulnerability, but, in my eyes, it just makes you greater queen."

Smiling, he added:

"Not that I ever doubted your greatness."

The screams were gone now. Only the strong wind remained, bringing ashore the distinct smell of burning flesh. And although you were starting to feel nauseated, you couldn't take your eyes off Captain Rogers.

"Do you think we did well by crushing the Zerbolian fleet the way we just did?" you finally inquired him.

"I think our worst decisions are made during war. But yes, I doubt we'll have any more conflicts with Zerbolia after today."

"I don't want to be a warmonger queen. I don't want my greatness to come from the blood of my enemies or the tears of my people" you continued.

Captain Rogers was silent but his eyes were filled with an affection you can't place.

"You are repairing your father's mistakes and they were many. There will be blood to pay, but ultimately, Ergonia will rejoice. It already is. The people call you The Golden Queen - the one who brings glory back to the land", he said.

You are lost for words. Your most basic instincts, the ones who recalled the way your father mistreated your mother and the everyday hardships of negotiating with men who didn't take you seriously, willed you not to fall for his kindness. But another part of you - young and carefree on the fields of Foghar - found solace in the hope his words brought you.

Before you could answer another rider arrived, bearing a red flag with the dragon sigil, your House motifs.

"Your Grace. Captain Rogers" he greeted, bowing while still astride his horse. "Lord Stark calls for you, Your Grace. He wishes to ride back to Albeon as soon as possible."

You nodded.

"Thank you, Mister..."

"Peter Parker, Your Grace".

"Thank you, Mr. Parker. Please tell my uncle Captain Rogers will escort me back to camp."

"Yes, Your Grace", the boy bowed once again, before returning the way he had come from.

Turning to Captain Rogers you realized the moment was gone. Whatever talk you had shared today would stay here, atop the Gaothach Cliffs, only the restless sea as your witness.

"Thank you for your company, Captain Rogers" you said and your voice was back to the detatched tone you usually spoke in.

Steve glanced at the last remains of the enemy's ships, before pulling the reins of his horse.

"Anything for you, Your Grace."

A fortnight after the events at the Gaothach Cliffs you sat in the council room surrounded by your advisors.

"A letter arrived today from the King of Zerbolia" Lord Fury, the master of warfare, announced. "He wishes to sign a peace treaty, putting an end to the conflict between our nation and his."

The corner of your lips lifted slightly, in a discreet but satisfied half-smile.

"And what do you propose we do, Lord Fury?" you asked from the head of the table.

"The peace treaty is what we coveted, but it may be a trap. I suggest we send a diplomatic party to the Isle of Solas, which is neutral ground, and celebrate the treaty there. Furthermore, to protect Your Majesty's well-being, I suggest that you send someone to sign it, rather than going yourself."

 "Very well" you said. "You'll be responsible for organizing the diplomatic party and the signing of the treaty for as soon as possible. And when the day comes you'll sign it as the queen's representative."

 Lord Fury bowed. His face, usually an inscrutable front adorned only by his eye patch failed to hide his surprise. He expected you to oppose him, instead going on to sign the treaty yourself. And to deny what you felt was an obligation as a ruler was another blow to your pride - a king would have braved any threats on his life to ensure his country's peace. But a queen such as yourself - young, unmarried and childless - was expected to sit still. 

You'd had a small victory when the council agreed on you going to the shore to accompany the army as it faced Zerbolia. You suppose you could grant them this concession.

 "Lady Natasha, what news do you bring?" you turned your attention to a beautiful redheaded woman standing on your left, Natasha Romanoff, the master of whispers.

"Your Grace" she begun in an uneasy timbre you hardly ever heard. Natasha was anything but meek. Whatever one of her spies had discovered was not good. "Earlier this morning your cousin, Queen Margaret of Beathan, gave birth to her first child."

Lord Fury coughed on his wine. It would have been comic if the news weren’t dreadful. Natasha’s heavy words rung in your ears, distorted, as if your body had been been dunked underwater and the pressure kept you from doing anything other than allow the current to plunge your body deeper.

Lord Stark, master of coin, finally broke the silence.

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

"It is a boy" Lady Natasha answered. "Heir to the throne of Beathan… And Ergona."

Lord Stark cursed. Lord Strange, master of trade, stood and began pacing the room.

"Are you positive that this child has a claim to the throne?" he said.

"Of course he has" Lord Fury cut in, face red from all the coughing. "Your Grace has yet to bear children, therefore she has no heir. And Queen Margaret is her closest living relative. If Queen Y/N dies before securing her lineage, then the throne goes to Margaret. And since Margaret is already queen the crown falls upon her son, who would unify the kingdoms of Beathan and Ergona."

Queen Margaret was your cousin on your father's side - the royal side. Her mother, your aunt, had married the King of Beathan and Margaret was their oldest child, thus becoming queen upon his death. Since you had no siblings, Margaret was next in line to the throne of Ergona which was always a very remote possibility considering she had her own kingdom to rule. But the birth of a son changed things immensely. 

Under the table, Natasha squeezed your hand.

"My Lords" you faintly rose your voice, silencing the debate between your male advisors. "What shall we do about this matter?"

They were dumbfounded, each one not-so-subtly staring at the other wondering who’d be brave enough to answer. Sighing, Lord Strange spoke:

"Your Grace, there is only one way for us to end this threat. You must marry and produce an heir."

“Once you have an heir, then he or she will be the next in the succession, guaranteeing the future of you House" he completed.

"No, Lord Strange. Only a son will guarantee the future of my House. A daughter will be just like me - as prepared as any man, as educated as any man, but in the end she'll still need a husband to secure her reign. It happened to Margaret and apparently it is what will befall me: queens, it appears, are only means to an end. It looks to me that we're not meant to rule with our hearts, but with our wombs".

Lord Strange slumped on his chair, embarrassed. But his words were true: you had tried, day and night for the past five years to establish yourself as a strong ruler. You ended wars and initiated policies which benefitted commoners and royals alike. The taxes were controlled, the public coffers were full and the military thrived. Ergona had established itself as a key player in international trade routes. However all your accomplishments failed to quell public demands for your marriage. Your gender threatened to topple everything you've built. 

You weren't oppose to marriage, per se. Lord Stark and his wife had a long, happy marriage and so did Lord Strange and others you knew. Your anxiety came from having to share your crown and the responsibility that came with it. As queen you had a wide variety of suitors, Ergonans and foreigners alike, but anyone could fake their intentions in order to secure power. The wrong husband could mean a hellish life to you and your people.

Lord Fury, never one to be subtle, landed the final blow:

“There has been much talk about your lack of commitment to marriage, Your Grace. I know you’re aware of it. And they will only get worse with the news of Margaret’s son. Your father weakened the kingdom, but you’ll never restore it to its full glory on your own. Fight as many battles as you want but in the world we live in a queen can’t rule without a king.”

"I am well aware of the world we live in, Lord Fury" you replied. "More so, I am well aware that my position demands sacrifices."

For the second time that morning, he was visibly surprised.

"I only ask that you be very careful as you chose my betrothed. Not only for the safety of the kingdom, but for my well being as well."  

"Your Grace?" Natasha asked in a whisper but you didn't answer. There would be time for you to confide in her privately.

Lord Stark cleared his throat. His eyes were filled with unshed tears.

"Your Grace" he said. "My beautiful niece Y/N. I have raised you as my own since you were nine years old. My sister's spirit lives in your words and deeds and in the way you rule this country with all of your heart. I protected you with everything I had until that fateful morning when you were forced to abandon your youth to carry this heavy crown and since then I've felt that my everything is no longer enough to spare you from suffering." 

"Right now, not as your advisor, or as the Duke of Foghar, but as a man who loves you like a father, I ask that you please consider Captain Steven Rogers to be your husband. He is the best man I know and the only one I trust to treat you as you deserve."

Surprisingly, Natasha agreed.

"It is not a bad idea" she turned to you with a gentle gaze. "He is related to the Asgardian royal family. His late mother was Queen Frigga’s sister and his father is the Duke of Arvenia, who was one of your father’s closest advisors."

“Well that brings me no comfort” you muttered dryly. “We are all well aware of how costly my father’s and his advisors' actions have been to the kingdom.”

"The Duke of Arvenia was indeed a terrible advisor" Lord Fury said. "However he wasn't chosen as an advisor for his expertise, but because whoever controls Arvenia controls the West. It was how your father managed a stable relationship with that part of Ergona, a relationship that is now at risk without a strong western representative at Court."

He continued:

"You have secured good support in the East because of Lord Stark and your mother's family. Besides, your House is traditionally an eastern house. Be that as it may, the western lords never fully accepted your House's ascension to the throne, which lead to seven rebellions in less than five hundred years. That is a lot. The Duke of Arvenia is rich and powerful on his land and if his son becomes king then we’ll no longer have to worry about the West rebelling."

Ergona was traditionally divided in two provinces – Arvenia do the West and Foghar to the East. Once two separate countries, they were unified by your ancestors after a bloody war centuries ago, in a move that established Ergona and it’s capital, Albeon, a fortified city strategically located between the two regions.  

History made dealing with the West a tricky matter. When it’s lords weren’t blatantly questioning your House’s authority, they were either demanding more representation at Court or fomenting new conflicts which resulted solely in dead soldiers.

A Western king could shift this dinamic positively.

“Your heir - the son of an Eastern mother and a Western father. Ergonia united. You'll secure your crown and the safety of the kingdom" Lord Strange professed.

You squeezed Natasha's hand under the table for the third time. Your grip was so strong your knuckles had to be white. Your gaze landed on Lord Stark - Uncle Tony - and he gave you a reassuring smile, tears now streaming freely.

He knew this day would come, when you, much like your mother, would mary out of duty instead of out of love. He could only hope you’d have better luck than she did.

Taking a deep breath, you said:

"Please summon Captain Rogers to Court. I will speak with him myself. This council is dismissed."

[your-worst-knightmare]

Flipping Off the Universe

Jaytemis Week 2020: Day 7: Scars/Wounds

Ao3 Link

–––––––––––––––––––––––––––––

Artemis huffed as she sent the last thug crumpling to the ground with the hilt of her axe. Finally. Those men were annoyingly resilient. She raised her hand to the comm in her ear to contact her team-mate– the Red Hood. “You good over there, Hood?”

The audio crackled to life. She could hear him panting: he’d likely just gotten out of a brawl himself. “Yeah. Think some guy nicked me. Nothin’ too bad though.” 

Her mouth twitched. “See you at the rendezvous point?”

“I might be a minute though, Arty. Don’t wait up.” 

“Nonsense. I must see how badly you messed up your beloved jacket.” Artemis snarked, leaping from the roof of one building to the next. Jason’s uneasiness about her having to wait, although adorable, was something she had a sneaking suspicion he was using to hide an injury. Being the only human on the team, he  tended to also fill the slot for ‘most injuries’. Jason wasn’t proud of that status.

By now, Artemis had been waiting much longer than she would have liked to. Patience was never her strong suit. She spoke into her comm again. “Hood, what’s your ETA?” 

The line was silent for a few seconds. “I told you not to wait up.”

“Arrival time, Hood.”

He sighed. “Don’t know. Five minutes?”

“If you’re not here by then, I’m coming to get you. You should know, if you’re hiding another injury, you will not be able to fool me.”

“Promise not to get mad Arty?”

Artemis pressed her lips into a line. This wasn’t going to be great. “I can promise nothing.”

“Great. Well, I think I dislocated my shoulder and there’s a gash on my right arm.” 

“Okay, I’m coming to get you.”

“What–” Jason sputtered. “Come on, I’m not dying here, Red!”

Artemis rolled her eyes. “That’s not the point. Now turn on your GPS and stay put.” 

Artemis found the fearsome Red Hood leaning against a dumpster in one of many disgusting alleyways. The smell alone justified his need to have an air filter on every suit he wore. 

“You need a hand there, Hood?” Artemis asked, crossing her arms. 

He looked up sluggishly. “No, in case you didn’t hear the first hundred times...” Despite his grumbling, he let Artemis take him to her safe-house.  

She’d gotten it after she and Bizarro had returned from their unplanned ‘trip’ to one hell of another dimension. She didn’t spend mush time there, as she did tend to get lonely, and being alone with one’s thoughts, especially unwelcome ones, was never enticing. But, at the end of the day, it was still hers. 

Getting in through the window turned out to be quite the process, considering Jason’s injuries and the security measures Artemis had taken to ensure the safety of the apartment. However, after some cursing, pointless arguing and snarky comments, Jason was finally on the couch, minus his boots, helmet, holsters and jacket. 

“You know, when you said that I should come over to see your apartment, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Jason muttered.

“Oh stop complaining. What did you want, dinner?”Artemis tore off her vambraces, grabbed her box of medical supplies and sat down beside him. Happily, he’d already done her the favour of exposing his arm. At least now she wouldn’t have to hear him whine about how he had to keep repairing his suits.

“Yeah, except I’d be cooking. Let’s face it Arty, your skills are meager at best.” 

The Amazon frowned as she cleaned the wound. “You need stitches.” 

He sighed. “Figured that. Just make it quick.” 

Artemis prepped the area wordlessly. She liked to think that she was good at it. Steady breaths, in and out. She could see Jason glaring at the ceiling from her peripheral. What she didn’t like was his insistence of no painkillers. He had done nothing to not deserve the ease that they brought. But she respected his decision, as mindless as it may be, and so she continued. 

“Try not to pull these within the first week this time,” Artemis said, finishing up. 

Jason flexed his hand, once, twice. “Set the shoulder too,” he breathed. 

“Are you sure?”

He nodded, gritting his teeth. He braced himself against her as Artemis forced the bone back into place. She ignored the string of foul curses that spilled from his mouth. 

”Good?” Artemis asked, squeezing his hand. 

“Yeah.” His nostrils still flared. He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Mostly.”

Artemis grunted, finishing up setting his shoulder. “ You’re staying for the night,” she finally stated. 

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure, you oaf. You’re not invading– I brought you here.” She cracked a smile. “Besides, it’ll give you an opportunity to steal some of your wardrobe back from me.” 

“Well damn, I can’t pass up that, now can I?”

Artemis grinned, an action that was becoming increasingly more frequent. “No you can’t. Now shove over, you’re taking up the whole couch.”

Jason moved over. “You know, getting a sweater when you’re cold instead of stealing body heat from me will just be easier for both of us.” 

The Amazon curled onto the couch, huddling against Jason’s uninjured shoulder. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” 

____________

Despite the constant throbbing in Jason’s shoulder, he couldn’t seem to wipe that goddamn stupid grin off of his face. His sutures ached and he was sure he’d lost all circulation in foot, yet his chest swelled with contentment. 

Artemis had fallen asleep beside him, still in her uniform. She had, apparently, deemed taking a nap on top of him more important than changing into something more comfortable. Her quiet breathing blew a strand of hair from her face every time she exhaled. Jason watched for a moment before bushing it away. 

She looked peaceful, relaxed, younger even. He could picture her as a normal college student, living a normal life free of violence. The scars that ran up her bare arms told him otherwise– the life she lived, the life they lived, was quite the opposite. But what always fascinated him was how she never hid them. She was not ashamed of them.  

Jason glanced at his sutures, which was most definitely going to leave a mark. It wasn’t vanity that drove him to hate them. He knew that much. He hated the reminder that they brought. You aren’t good enough. Look what you’ve done to yourself. Look at your mistakes. He hated the mistakes that littered his body.

“Exhale, Jason.” Artemis. 

Jason obeyed. “Sorry I–”

She shushed him. “You get tense when you think too much.” She thought for a moment. “Do you wish to talk?” 

Her intuition left him silent for a moment. “It can wait until  tomorrow.. You should get some sleep anyway...” 

“That can wait.” Artemis sat up. “What has been bothering you?”

He laughed dryly. “It’s stupid... so stupid...”

She tilted her head, causing her hair to fall into her face. “And yet the fact that it bothers you negates its stupidity.”

“I guess...” Jason trailed off. He could trust Artemis. “Just... how do you deal with it?” He took a breath. Woah, make your sentences clear. “The scars, I mean. I just... whenever I see mine, I...”

“Remember where they came from?”

“Yeah, but like, in a bad way.” 

Artemis was silent for a moment. Then she took Jason’s hand and traced several scars that trailed down her back. “Outside of Bhana-Mighdall, Man’s World had a testing ground for weapons. As a girl... Akila and I used to practice there sometimes. There were... several mines still active in the area and one day...” She sucked in a breath. Jason ran his thumb over her hand, offering what little comfort he could. “We were both hit. Had to drag ourselves home by the skin of our teeth.” Artemis offered him a small smile. “ But we made it. We survived it. Yes, our stupidity was what got us into that problem, but we made it out. And we trained so that it would never happen again.”

“So you’re saying scars are your way of flipping off the universe?”

Artemis laughed. It was short, but by God, was it beautiful. “Essentially, yes.”

Jason pursed his lips, thinking. “You know, you might have been a dumb kid, but I think I got you beat.” 

She smirked. “Do you, now?”

He guided her hand to the whitened mark cutting through his eyebrow. “You don’t grow up in a city watching a kid your age jumping around on rooftops without getting some ideas. The rooftops in Park Rowe were pretty close together, so I thought it was probably as safe as I could get. I even found a mattress to act as a mat if I fell.” Jason rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling. “I was a dumb kid. So I jumped, and whoosh.” He pantomimed falling to the ground. 

“Ouch.”

“Yeah. The good thing was that I landed mostly on the mattress.” 

“What do you mean, mostly?” Artemis exclaimed. 

“Well, I hit my head on the ground. Got a concussion. And this. I was scared that I needed stitches because I knew Ma couldn’t pay for that.” 

“Alright, that was dumb, but still doesn’t match going to play in a minefield,” Artemis remarked. 

“Hey, hey, hey, don’t write me off yet Arty! Don’t forget; I stole the tires off the goddamn Batmobile and had the nerve to attack Batman for it.”

“Are you competing with me to be the dumbest Outlaw?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

They stared at each other for a moment before they both broke down laughing. Artemis was the first to regain herself. “Well, here’s to flipping off the universe.”

“Amen.”

[saltandburnsis]

pilot, pt. 3

Characters: Dean, Sam, Reader, Joseph and Constance Welch

Age: 20

Warnings: Gun Use, Car Crash

Word Count: 2,730

Summary: You’ve stumbled upon a major break with John’s motel room, or so you’d thought. When he’s found to be long gone, you, Sam, and Dean must pick up where he’s left off. An unforeseen run-in with the local law enforcement leaves you and Sam stuck working without Dean. Will it lead to more disaster or push you both in the direction you need to go to fix your relationship?

A/N: All dialogue taken from the show will be in italics. Part 4 will be the final part!

~ ~ ~ ~

You were frozen in the doorway, staring at the covered walls of the motel room before you. Sam and Dean stepped into the room, Dean turning on the lamp placed the end table while Sam went to get a closer look at some of the papers. Dean grabbed the half-eaten burger on the end table and sniffed it, recoiling at the smell.

“I don’t think he’s been here for a couple days at least,” he sighed, dropping the food back in its spot. Finally, you were able to walk into the space, looking down at the floor as you stepped through.

“Salt, cat’s-eyes shells. He was worried, trying to keep something from coming in,” you mused, making your way over to Dean, who was now reading over some of the papers on the wall by the lamp. Sam looked over at the two of you then quickly crossed the space.

“What do you got here?” he asked.

“Centennial Highway victims,” Dean replied. Sam began walking around the space again, this time really looking over each and every paper and surface he passed. Dean spoke again: “I don’t get it. I mean, different men, different jobs, ages, ethnicities. There’s always a connection, right? What do these guys have in common?”

It was silent for a few minutes as the three of you continued reading over everything John had compiled. You heard a light behind you click as Sam turned the second lamp on but continued reading from the paper before you, only turning when you heard Sam scoff.

“Dad figured it out.” The words fell from his lips, sounding more like he was annoyed rather than relieved at the idea.

“What do you mean?” Dean questioned. The two of you turned around to look at Sam but remained where you were.

“He found the same article we did. Constance Welch. She’s a Woman in White,” Sam revealed. Dean looked back at the victims on the wall.

“You sly dogs. Alright, so, if we’re dealing with a Woman in White, Dad would have found the corpse and destroyed it.”

“She might have another weakness,” you spoke up. Dean shook his head.

“No, Dad would want to make sure. He’d dig her up,” Dean countered. He walked over to Sam, looking at the papers. “Does it say where she’s buried?”

“No, not that I can tell. If I were Dad, though, I’d go ask her husband…if he’s still alive.” Sam pointed to a picture of the grieving man from the article.

“Alright, why don’t you see if you can find an address. Y/N and I’ll go clean up.” Dean dug your room key out of his pocket and tossed it to you before heading towards the bathroom. Thankfully, the owner’d made you pay for a room before giving you any more information about your father’s room. No fighting over who’d get to shower first and a space all to yourself—even for ten minutes—sounded like heaven. As you turned toward the door, Sam cleared his throat.

“Hey. What I said earlier about Mom and Dad— I’m sorry.”

“No chick-flick moments,” Dean quickly replied, putting his hand up to stop Sam from continuing further.

“Alright, jerk.”

“Bitch,” Dean shot back. You shook your head, offering up one word before walking out of the room: “Freaks.”

———————

Three hard raps on the front door shook you out of your thoughts as you finished drying your hair with the scratchy motel towel. You remained silent. That wasn’t Dean’s knock, and you were certain it wouldn’t be Sam. You slowly dropped the towel and went to the toilet, quickly climbing onto the seat to get a full view out of the window. The coast was clear, but you could see the back end of the police cruiser parked in front of the building. Shit.

Another three raps on the front door. You stepped off the toilet and grabbed all of your belongings before climbing back up and sliding out the window. The fall was short and easy, nothing compared to your swan dive off the bridge. You slipped into the sparse woods behind the building and pulled your cell phone out of your pocket. Sam’s number flashed across your screen the moment you were about to call Dean. You ducked behind a tree and answered the call.

“Five-o, dude. You guys gotta get out of there,” you spoke before Sam could.

“I know, I know. They grabbed Dean—“

“Son of a bitch.”

“Where are you?” Sam asked.

“There’s a bit of woods behind the rooms. I’m about ten feet in. I should be out of sight, but I still have a view of the lot.” You glanced back at the cruiser, ducking back behind the tree when you saw two officers throw Dean in the back. “They’re going to be coming after us, you know.”

“The two of ‘em at least are gonna take Dean back first.” Sam emerged in the woods and you hung up your phone.

“Yeah, well, finding him in a room covered in information on all those missing person cases isn’t going to bode well.” Sure, Dean had gotten himself out of stickier situations before, but it only took things going wrong once to get him hauled away for god knows how long.

“Let’s just focus on finding Dad. Dean can take care of himself,” Sam reminded. You nodded and looked back at the parking lot. The cruiser had driven off shortly after Sam had reached you, and so the two of you snuck your way back to the parking lot and over to the Impala in record time. Sam slid in the driver’s seat and you the passenger’s seat, and the two of you were off on the road before anyone could catch sight of you.

———————

“Yeah, he was older, but that’s him,” Joseph Welch spoke, walking back to the Impala with you and Sam. He handed the picture of a younger John, Sam, Dean, and you back to Sam. “He came by three or four days ago, said he was a reporter.”

“That’s right. We’re working on a story together,” Sam replied, sliding the picture back into his pocket.

“Well, I don’t know the hell kind of story you’re working on—the questions he asked me.”

“About your late wife, Constance,” you mused, fiddling with the strap on the camera around your neck. Honestly, the places you got into with a fake press badge and the old, broken camera were baffling to you.

“He asked me where she was buried.”

“And where is that again?” Sam pressed.

“What, I got to go through these twice?” Joseph questioned.

“It’s fact-checking,” you reassured him. “If you don’t mind.”

“In a plot behind my old place over on Breckenridge,” Joseph answered after taking a deep breath.

“Why did you move?” Sam asked. Joseph looked up at him incredulously before replying, his voice shaking.

“I’m not gonna live in the house where my children died.” The three of you stopped once you’d reached the Impala, and Sam turned to face Joseph.

“Mr. Welch, did you ever marry again?”

“No way. Constance—she was the love of my life. Prettiest woman I ever known.”

“So you had a happy marriage.” Sam pretended to summarize. Of course, the two of you knew that was false, or else you wouldn’t have the Woman in White on your hands. Joseph was quiet, staring up at Sam. A quick shake of his head, however, pulled him out of his thoughts.

“Definitely,” he answered. Sam nodded.

“Well, that should do it. Thanks for your time.” He walked over to the car with you and unlocked it. But, neither of you reached for the door handles. Instead, you looked at each other, having a silent conversation with your eyes. The two of you used to be so good at reading each other, which worked in your favor in moments like these. Joseph turned to go back to the house, but you called after him.

“Mr. Welch, have you ever heard of a Woman in White?” you asked. Joseph looked back at you, eyes narrowed in confusion.

“A what?”

“A Woman in White, or sometimes a Weeping Woman. It’s a ghost story. Well, it’s more of a phenomenon, really.” You started walking towards him, Sam following close behind. “They’re spirits. They’ve been sighted for hundreds of years, dozens of places in Hawaii and Mexico. Lately in Arizona, Indiana. All these are different women, you understand, but all share the same story.”

“Girl, I don’t care much for nonsense,” Joseph spat. He spun on his heel and began walking back towards his house. You and Sam followed him

“You see, when they were alive, their husbands were unfaithful to them, and these women, basically suffering from temporary insanity, murdered their children,” Sam continued your thought. At this, Joseph stopped in his tracks and turned back to look at you two.

“Then, once they realized what they had done, they took their own lives. So now their spirits are cursed, walking backroads, waterways,” you picked up where Sam had left off.

“And if they find an unfaithful man, they kill him. And that man is never seen again,” Sam finished. Joseph looked between the two of you

“You think…you think that has something to do with Constance, you smartasses?” He took a few steps towards Sam.

“You tell me,” Sam spoke calmly.

“I mean, maybe—maybe I made some mistakes. But no matter what I did, Constance never would have killed her own children,” Joseph’s voice was shaking again, this time seemingly from a mixture of his anger and sadness. “Now, you two get the hell out of here, and you don’t come back.” He looked between the two of you, jaw clenched and lip quivering, before turning his back on you. You looked up at Sam for a moment before walking to the car.

——————

Sam grabbed his phone as you sped down the road and, after a quick glance at the caller ID, flipped it open and put it on speaker. Dean’s voice immediately came through.

“Nice call on the fake 911 call.”

“Get this. It was all Sam’s idea,” you informed Dean, smiling over at Sam before turning your attention back to the road.

“I don’t know, Sammy. That’s pretty illegal,” Dean said. Sam chuckled.

“You’re welcome.”

“Listen, we gotta talk,” Dean started.

“Tell me about it,” you held your hand out for the phone, taking it when Sam handed it over. “So, the husband was unfaithful. We are dealing with a Woman in White. She’s buried behind her old house, so that should be Dad’s next stop—“

“Y/N, would you shut up for a second?” Dean interjected, but you were talking a mile a minute, trying to relay all in information to your brother, think and keep a steady hand on the wheel at the same time.

“We just can’t figure out why he hasn’t destroyed the corpse yet,” you mused.

“Well, that’s what I’m trying to tell you,” Dean interrupted again. “He’s gone. Dad left Jericho.”

“What? How do you know?” Sam asked.

“I’ve got his journal.”

“He doesn’t go anywhere without that thing.”

“Yeah, well, he did this time.”

“What’s it say?” you asked, grip tightening on the wheel.

“Same old ex-marine crap when he wants to let us know where he’s going.”

“Coordinates,” you breathed out, shaking your head.

“Where to?” Sam asked.

“I’m not sure yet,” Dean replied.

“Dean, what the hell is going on?” Sam was exasperated. You sighed, then jumped half out of your seat when a woman appeared on the road in front of you. Constance.

“Whoa!” You jumped, slamming on the brakes. Your grip on the wheel tightened even more, your knuckles turning a ghostly white. The car went right through her. Once you were fully stopped, you slowly sat back, letting out a long, shaky breath. You shot a quick look at Sam to make sure he was alright, then turned your attention to the rear-view. As soon as your eyes met Constance’s ghostly figure, she spoke.

“Take me home.” Her eyes were locked on Sam’s figure. You looked over to him, pursing your lips. Constance spoke again, her voice angrier. “Take me home.”

“No,” Sam stated firmly. Immediately, all the locks went down into the doors. You reached for your lock while Sam reached for his. While you were turned away from the wheel, the car began driving down the road. As hard as you tried, you couldn’t stop it, and neither of you could leave.

Shortly, you arrived at the old, dilapidated house. The car rolled to a stop then shut off. You stared out the windshield, trying to devise a plan.

“Don’t do this,” Sam spoke up.

“I can never go home,” Constance spoke.

“You’re scared to go home,” Sam corrected. He turned to look at her, but she’d vanished. You both looked around the space, and she quickly appeared on top of Sam, pinning him down on the seat.

“Hold me. I’m so cold.”

“You can’t kill me,” Sam struggled against her. “I’m not unfaithful. I’ve never been.” Constance leaned in close to him.

“You will be.” With that, she pressed her lips to his.

“Oh, that’s sick,” you couldn’t help but comment. Reflexively, you searched your pockets for your gun, but it must have gone flying when you’d slammed on the brakes. Your hands found it under the seat just as you heard Sam begin groaning in pain.

“Y/N!” He was able to get out. You looked over to see her hand in his chest, face morphed into something truly evil. Without another thought, you began shooting at her form. She disappeared just long enough for you to finally get a grip on the situation—now that she wasn’t holding your brother’s life in her hand. Finally, it clicked. You dropped your gun and started the car.

“I’m taking you home, bitch.” You slammed your foot onto the gas pedal and launched the car forward, crashing through the front of the house.

“Sam! Y/N!” Dean called, running inside. He ran to the passenger side and looked in. “You okay?”

“Fine,” you replied, crawling out of the car through the window after you were unable to get the door open through all the debris.

“Yeah, help me,” Sam answered. Dean helped him out through his door.

“There you go,” he stated as he got Sam up in his feet. You eyed Constance carefully, unsure of her next move, as you walked over to them. Constance threw the picture she had been holding down on the ground before looking to the three of you. She stepped out of the way and sent a large dresser across the room, pinning the three of you against the car. You groaned and tried to push it away, unsuccessfully.

Suddenly, the electricity began to crackle, lights flickering all around the space. Even Constance looked around, unsure of the cause. Water began to trickle down the stairs, and Constance looked to the top.

“You’ve come home to us, Mommy,” two young voices called out. You watched on as the two children appeared at the bottom of the stairs. They hugged Constance, and the three of them disappeared into the ground beneath them, Constance screaming and changing shape the whole way down. Finally, the three of you could push the dresser away and move away from the car. Dean led you and Sam over to the spot where the ghosts had vanished.

“So, this is where she drowned her kids,” Dean said, staring down at the wet spot.

“That’s why she could never go home. She was too scared to face them,” Sam added.

“You found her weak spot.”

“Nice work, Y/N.” Sam smiled weakly down at you.

“Thanks, Sammy. Couldn’t have done it without you, though.” You hit his chest, smiling, before following Dean over to the Impala.

“Ah!” Sam laughed through the pain then looked over at you. “But, what were you thinking, shooting Casper in the face, you freak?”

“Hey, saved your ass,” you shot back, still grinning. Dean looked up from inspecting the car.

“I’ll tell you another thing, Y/N. If you screwed up my car, I’ll kill you,” he threatened. You rolled your eyes, laughing softly.

“Oh, come on. I crash a car through a house one time…”

—————--

SPN rewrite taglist: @mrsfortune1306 @marvelous-glims

forever taglist: @griff1ndor @gothsatanicrapunzel @choosemyname @mersuperwholocked-lowlife @not-astounding @sassy-specter @vicmc624 @idksupernatural