#grateful that there will always be an audience i can count on to support my writing

[saetoru]

something that’s always been funny to me is that long fics with smut tend to do better than long fics without but it’s like. if you write a longggg 10k+ word fic with a build up and plot and sprinkle in smut at the end, people will read that long build up and pay attention to the plot in order to get to the smut. and 99% of the time the tags and comments will talk about the plot itself and the way it was written as opposed to the sex and they will ask for more or for part 2’s and as annoying as the part 2 comments can be sometimes, it also means that they focused on the plot and not the smut. but if you post that fic without the smut—as in same fic and same build up and everything, but the smuts not there, a lot of those same people will simply not give the fic a chance. it’s just funny to me bc yes, a part of it is just horniness, but also i think it’s partly that there is also some conditioning to believe that a “perfect romance” or a “perfect story” of a romance is sealed with intimacy that’s more often than not sexual in order to actually be valid. and yeah. idk. it’s an interesting thing to see from a writers perspective

[pa1nrema1ns]

Opiate² || Sung Jin-woo (18+ One-shot)

Featuring: Yandere!Priest Sung Jin-woo x Fem!reader

If you want to get your soul to heaven Trust in me now, don't you judge or question You are broken now, but faith can heal you Just do everything I tell you to do

Summary:

“What you feel in your heart, the yearning you have for this man, it’s only to be expected. You are flesh and blood, malleable and weak to temptation. As am I… If you would indulge me, may I ask who it is that you covet so deeply?" “He—he is a man of faith,” you stutter, “someone I should have no business thinking about.” Father Jin-woo’s reply is sharp enough to cut bone: “But you still want him all the same, don’t you? This forbidden fruit of yours?”

♱ Word count: 5.8k

♱ A/N: It's finally here! My first, full-fledged smut fic, and I am beyond excited to share it with you all! Once again, I want to thank the incredible @ekkurea. She completely knocked it out of the park with her drop-dead gorgeous rendition of Father Jin-woo. She is an amazing artist and an absolute joy to work with. I highly recommend visiting her gallery and commissioning her.

I also want to thank my lovely friend and beta-reader @heyimkana for brainstorming ideas and offering encouragement during the writing process of this piece. Her help and insight has been invaluable, and I am extremely grateful for her support.

♱ Content warnings: 18+ mdni, smut, piv, body worship (giving and receiving), canon compliant AU (hunters and gates exist; Jin-woo is a retired hunter), afab!reader, dirty talk, religious themes and imagery, blasphemy, sacrilege, manipulation, possessiveness, voyeurism, gratuitous praise, pet names, softdom!Jin-woo.

♱ Dividers by: @firefly-graphics and @anitalenia

♱ Header artwork by: @ekkurea exclusively for this fic. Please do not repost, edit, or use for your own fics, headcanons, or drabbles.

Your heart hammers inside your chest as you gaze at the confessional booth. A cursory glance at your surroundings reveals no other churchgoers inside the cathedral. Apart from a lone priest hidden behind the lattice, you were the only sign of life in this house of God.

An eerie silence floods the communal hall, worsening your anxiety. You release a shaky breath and wring your fists in consternation, too nervous to move from your spot in the pews.

Given your circumstances, you’re unsure if you should consider the lack of an audience a blessing or a curse. The foreboding atmosphere inside the church makes the latter seem more fitting, and for the first time since joining the parish, you find yourself feeling unwelcome and isolated here.

As if you were an outcast.

You clench your teeth at the thought.

In all your years of being a loyal parishioner, you hadn’t once sought penance. And up until this point, you didn’t have a reason to. You were a highly pious individual, regularly attending Mass, participating in the holy sacraments, and devoting all your free time to liturgical services. Of course, you weren’t always so virtuous. You had your vices, as all people do, but you remained steadfast on the path of righteousness. You had done everything in your power to live a life free from sin.

But the devil never sleeps, and evil lurks in the hearts of men.

Despite your best efforts, you were seduced into partaking of the forbidden fruit, and from the tree of knowledge, you ate. Now a blight has been cast on you, an affliction so devastating in its destructiveness that it left you teetering on the cusp of madness. Sin crept its way into your life, and it was slowly rotting you from the inside out.

Wickedness and temptation manifest in many ways depending on the person. For some, it’s hedonistic pleasures like promiscuity, excessive drinking, or gambling. For others, it’s immoral acts such as violence, theft, or murder.

For you, sin came in the form of a man.

Father Jin-woo stood out among the rest of the clergy. Young, roguishly handsome, and captivating in all measures, he attracted a considerable amount of attention from the parish. What’s more, the enigmatic priest proved to be a highly capable shepherd to his flock. In fact, he was held in such high regard within the church that many of Jin-woo’s followers attended his sermons just to catch a glimpse of him. The man was simply mesmerizing, both in aura and appearance.

Rumors abound about him being a former hunter, and if word of mouth is to be believed, he had been a damn incredible one. Why Jin-woo chose to abandon glory and riches beyond all reckoning for a humble life of the cloth, you did not know. To your fellow parishioners, it was a noble and benevolent decision.

But his aloof demeanor gave you pause. The man seemed to keep everyone at arm’s length, and then there were his eyes, so unlike anything you’d ever seen before.

You noticed right away that Jin-woo always had a coldness to his eyes, even while proclaiming the word of God. It was a truly menacing stare, one that burned white hot with the promise of brimstone and hellfire.

Yet it wasn’t fear or adoration that struck your heart when you first witnessed this side of him.

It was pure and unbridled lust. An animalistic desire to be so thoroughly ruined, so thoroughly fucked by Jin-woo that not even the deepest dregs of Hell would have you.

You remember the rush of heat curling low and heavy in your stomach as you watched him give Mass the other day. You swiped your tongue across your lips as you imagined mouthing at the smooth expanse of his neck. You’d leave little love marks on the sensitive skin just above his clerical collar, making it impossible for him to hide.

When the priest raised his arms in supplication, his muscles pulled taut against the sleeves of his cassock, causing your breath to catch in your throat. That single action triggered a domino effect on you. Your panties began to dampen, your heart rate skyrocketed, and your clit pulsed for attention. You pressed your thighs together, attempting to quell the ache between them, but the small amount of friction it produced just wasn’t enough; you needed more. You needed Jin-woo’s fingers to be knuckle-deep inside your tight, wet cunt.

You bit back a moan and tried to ignore your arousal, hoping it would just go away on its own. But it was no use; every aspect of the priest bewitched you in that moment. His calm composure, the hard ridges of his body, and his quiet self-assurance all spoke of virility.

Ultimately, it was his piercing gaze that sealed your fall from grace. During the Penitential Act, you locked eyes with Jin-woo. There was such a smoldering, sexual intensity in the way he looked at you that it bordered on being indecent. You trembled under his stare, and for a fraction of a second, you saw the hint of a smirk upon his lips before he turned his focus elsewhere.

After that, your fantasies ran wild and unimpeded, your mind full to bursting with pornographic prose. You thought of Jin-woo pinning your knees to your chest as he pounded into your pussy until it molded to the shape of him. He’d bend you to his will, forcing every ounce of pleasure out of your pliant body while your ankles dangled helplessly from his broad shoulders like earrings.

Next, you fantasized about him eating you out like a starved beast as you writhed and moaned like a whore on the altar. The other clergymen would watch on in envy as they stroked their plump and leaking cocks, wishing they could also get a taste of your dripping pussy.

You idly wondered if Jin-woo would make you cum with slow, purposeful licks or if he would ruthlessly tongue fuck you, sucking and flicking at your sensitive little clit until you were a wailing mess.

Eventually these lust-fueled thoughts became too much to bear; slick coated your thighs, and the fire in your loins was blazing into an all-out inferno. You ended up sneaking out of Mass midway through the scripture readings to slake your thirst.

You took refuge in an unoccupied sacristy and slid your soaked panties to the side. Your cunt was positively throbbing with want; it was frightening just how aroused you were. But fear wasn’t about to stop you from making yourself cum.

You circled your clit and slowly pumped two fingers in and out of your sopping core, curling the digits against a spot that caused you to let out a small whimper as you sought more stimulation. The priest’s face was on your mind and his name on your lips when you came with a hushed moan.

The entire time, you were oblivious to the silent specter watching you from the shadows.

When you returned, there was something decidedly wrong with Jin-woo. His forehead was dotted with sweat, he had a white-knuckled hold on the podium, and he’d bitten his lip so hard blood ran down his chin. A few of the parishioners voiced their concerns, worried he might’ve taken ill, but he waved them off, wiping his mouth and continuing his oration as if nothing had happened.

You felt the priest’s eyes boring into you as you took your seat, and you ended up avoiding his gaze for the rest of the sermon.

At that time, an irrational part of you feared that Jin-woo knew what you did in the sacristy. But he couldn't have heard you through the thick walls of the cathedral… could he? No, there was no way. He was probably just pissed at you for disrupting his service; you’d have to apologize the next time you saw him.

That night, you prayed to the Almighty for forgiveness, but no amount of Hail Marys would be enough to rid you of the guilt and shame you felt. You needed absolution, an act of mercy that only an ordained priest could grant you.

You don’t know whether to cry or laugh at the irony of it all. Fate had a really fucked-up sense of humor, didn’t it?

And this brought you to where you are now, a penitent seeking salvation.

After several minutes of self-reflection, you strengthen your resolve and finally stand up from the pews; it was now or never. You approach the booth and make the sign of the cross prior to entering.

You cross yourself once more as you kneel behind the screen. All is silent, save for the steady breathing of the unseen priest. You swallow nervously before greeting him, “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. This is my first confession.”

A deep and familiar voice responds wholeheartedly to your call.

“Peace be upon you and take heart. You show much bravery by coming here today. To seek penance is to acknowledge our own faults and misgivings. It is a vulnerable act, but the Lord is merciful and just. You’ve nothing to fear in his presence. Now, please tell me, what have you come to confess?”

Just your luck; it was Jin-woo. Fate definitely had it out for you.

You release a breath you’re not even aware you’ve been holding and begin to speak your truth.

“Father, for the last few months I’ve been overcome by sexual desire for… an acquaintance of mine. At first, I thought it was an innocent crush, but as time passes, I find myself becoming more and more obsessed with him… to the point where it scares me.”

You can feel your face growing hot as you speak; it makes you feel even smaller and more exposed in front of the priest. You keep your head firmly bowed, refusing to face him.

“I see, so these lustful thoughts and feelings are what trouble you?” he inquires, tone impartial.

“Yes, Father,” you answer sullenly.

“God sends us many in the way of trials and tribulations, both to test our faith and to build character. It is unfortunate that affliction often precedes deliverance, but only in suffering can we truly blossom and grow stronger.”

After a short pause, he continues, his voice dulcet now. “What you feel in your heart, the yearning you have for this man, it’s only to be expected. You are flesh and blood, malleable and weak to temptation. As am I… If you would indulge me, may I ask who it is that you covet so deeply?"

“He—he is a man of faith,” you stutter, “someone I should have no business thinking about.”

Jin-woo’s reply is sharp enough to cut bone: “But you still want him all the same, don’t you? This forbidden fruit of yours?”

You raise your head and direct your gaze at the screen, diffident. He continues, “Two days ago, I saw you departing from Mass quite suddenly. I grew concerned, of course; you’re always so engaged when it comes to receiving the message of God, so I found your actions to be highly out of character… Now, after listening to your plight, I can’t help but wonder if that unusual behavior has anything to do with what we’re discussing right now.”

‘Wait, what!?’ You think, internally panicking. ‘Did he know? Did Jin-woo actually know—’

“I recall one of the deacons pulling me to the side after service that day. He was blushing furiously; when I asked him what was wrong, he mentioned hearing a noise that sounded like a woman’s moans and whimpers coming from our sacristy. Strange, isn’t it?”

“…” Words fail you. From behind the lattice, the priest’s eyes shift from cobalt blue to a sinister shade of amethyst as he studies your face.

There’s an audible smirk in his voice when he next asks, “Does any of this ring a bell for you? And do be honest with me when you answer this time. You’ll find that I have a low tolerance for liars, sweet girl.”

Your heart plummets into the pit of your stomach. So, he knew. He fucking knew this whole time, and he played you like a fiddle. The writing was on the wall, and there was no use in playing coy with a man who saw straight through your bullshit.

“Yes… it does,” you answer in barely above a faltering whisper, “I was in that room when I should’ve been at Mass, and I—I was touching… myself.”

There’s only silence on the other side of the lattice. The lack of a response makes you feel an even deeper sense of embarrassment.

You frantically apologize to Jin-woo, hoping to make amends. “I’m sorry! I’m so sorry, Father! The sins I’ve committed behind these sacred walls are unforgivable, but I just couldn’t take it anymore! The person—the man I’ve been lusting over—is you!”

The priest inhales sharply, his first notable reaction since this debacle began.

“I lost control of myself as I watched you during your sermon; I couldn’t stop thinking about having your hands all over me!” you babble, “I left that day because I was so turned on by you; it was driving me insane! I hid in the sacristy and masturbated just so the hunger would go away…and I imagined some truly terrible things about you as I touched myself.”

When Jin-woo graces you with a response, his voice is husky, with an air of desperation in it. “Tell me what it is you thought of; reveal to me your darkest and most depraved impulses. And do not hold back. I won’t be able to cleanse your soul of sin unless I know the true depths of your debauchery.”

Your eyes widen, not so much from his request but from the wanton neediness in his voice. It awakens something inside you, something primal that rids you of all shame and inhibition.

“I’ve daydreamt of you fucking me in front of the clergy with my legs spread wide open on the altar.” you say, emboldened now, “I fantasized about sucking your cock and forcing so much pleasure on you that you forsake God, and I become the new deity you worship. I want to corrupt you in the same way the devil has corrupted me. There’s a sickness inside me, Father, and I don’t know how to stop it.”

You hear the faint rustling of clothes and a belt clinking. A moment later, a throaty groan escapes the priest, and the sound shoots straight to your core. You slip a hand beneath the sundress you’re wearing and run a finger along your slit, already wet with slick.

You didn’t care if he saw you this time. There was nothing left for you to hide.

“Meet me outside of the booth. Now.” Jin-woo abruptly demands, his terse tone brooking no argument. You heed his words without question, standing on coltish legs and walking with a slight tremor as you exit the confessional.

Jin-woo is in full view before you now, a licentious shell of his former self. Strands of hair stuck to his forehead haphazardly, sweat ran in rivulets down his face, and his fly was undone, exposing his hard and drooling cock.

You shamelessly drink him in. His cock was thick, thicker than you could’ve ever imagined, with prominent veins and a slight curve towards the tip that looked like it would hit you just right. His cockhead was also flushed a vibrant shade of red, and pearls of precum glistened at the glans. You wet your lips in anticipation, eager to get a taste of him. Jin-woo notices your ogling and gives himself a languid pump, once then twice, his gaze never leaving yours.

“Come to me,” he purrs, “Come so that I may bestow your penance.”

You take a step, but then he stops you with a second command.

“No, angel; I need you on your hands and knees. I want you to crawl to me like the lost little lamb that you are. Crawl for me, crawl for my cock.”

You sink to your knees and lower your hands to the ground, making sure to give the priest an ample view of your cleavage as you slink towards him on all fours. His expression is rhapsodic as he watches you, like a man who’s finally found purpose in his life.

“Look at you, look at how fucking gorgeous you are on your hands and knees. Such an obedient girl for me,” he coos at you with honeyed praise, cracks starting to show in his stoic façade.

Once you’re at his feet, Jin-woo quickly resumes his authoritative tone. “Give me your chin,” he orders. You obey, tilting your head back, and he grabs you firmly by the jaw, forcing you to look at him.

His eyes emit a luminous glow, reminding you of his status as an S-rank hunter. You’d all but forgotten this through the haze of your lust-addled mind, but you weren’t afraid of the priest’s change in attitude. In fact, you find his display of power invigorating.

He slowly caresses your cheek with his thumb and gravely states, “The devil has sunk his fangs into you, sweet girl, and he tempts you just as he tempts me, through our baser instincts. Your soul is tainted, but it’s not beyond salvation by my hands. Only by succumbing to your carnal desire for me can you achieve absolution. Knowing this, are you fully prepared to accept the penance you’ve earned?”

You try to nod your head, but he tightens his hold on you—not enough to hurt, just enough to let you know who’s in charge.

“Use your words, angel.”

“Yes, Father.”

A rakish smile spreads across his face, and he presses a chaste kiss to your head. “Good girl. Now, take my cock into that pretty little mouth of yours. Earlier you said that you would make me forsake God for pleasure. That was the devil speaking through you, no doubt. Let’s test this twisted conviction of his, shall we?”

He releases you and rises to his full height, glancing down expectantly. You immediately get to work, eager to satisfy him. You tug at the waistband of Jin-woo’s trousers, and he tilts his narrow hips to assist you. Once the pants are halfway down his thighs, you’re able to fully take him in. Not only was his dick intimidating in girth, but it was also long and even prettier up close.

There’s a potent headiness in the air that surrounds him, a distinctly masculine scent that you can’t help but crave more of. Unable to resist, you lean forward, bracing yourself against one of Jin-woo’s legs, and press your nose against the coarse hair at the base of his cock.

When he sees you smelling him, the priest lets out a soft chuckle that breaks into a moan when you begin to play with his balls. You gently fondle them, appreciating the weight and feel in your hand. With your other hand, you stroke his shaft, alternating between twisting and up-and-down motions. Jin-woo lets out a pleased grunt at your ministrations and rasps, “Hah…ahh… yeah, just like that, just like—oh!—oh, fuck!” The priest hisses as his cock is suddenly engulfed in the wet heat of your mouth.

You swallow around him, swirling your tongue on the underside of his shaft before pulling back to kitten-lick at his leaking cockhead. He tastes like salt and skin, and you dip your tongue into his slit to savor more of him. Once you’ve had your fill of his pre, you hollow your cheeks and sink your mouth further down his length. Jin-woo tosses his head back, eyes fluttering shut in ecstasy.

“Good girl—fuuuck!”

At this stage, your neglected pussy was wet and positively aching with need. Without stopping your ministrations, you sneak your other hand between the juncture of your thighs and slide a finger into your core. There’s absolutely no resistance, allowing you to effortlessly slip two more fingers in, up to the knuckle. This finally gives you the sense of fullness you’ve been longing for. Once satisfied with the stretch, you begin to massage your inner walls and grind your clit against the heel of your palm.

Your actions cause you to whine and moan around Jin-woo’s cock. He hums lowly, equal parts amused and aroused by your neediness.

“Mmm…are you touching that greedy cunt again? Heh, how cute... no—no, don't stop touching yourself, angel. I want you to get off too. I want you to make yourself cum with my cock in your throat and your fingers thrusting into that perfect pussy.” Praise intermingled with filth spews from his lips as he becomes lost in the feeling of your mouth. The priest promptly tightens his hold on your head and starts to buck his hips, face-fucking you at a brutal tempo.

The sudden intrusion causes your eyes to well, and you gag as you feel him hitting the back of your throat. You focus on breathing through your nose and attempt to relax your throat, a monumental task given how girthy and long the priest's dick was. Jin-woo takes note of your discomfort and stills his hips. You glance up at him through tears, and there's a softness in his features you'd never seen before. Unprompted, he loosens his hold on your head and cards his fingers through your hair, brushing the strands from your face. Next, he rubs the pads of his thumbs over your dampened cheeks. You melt into his touch and nuzzle against his hand.

After remaining like this for a few precious moments, Jin-woo begins to thrust again, this time at a much slower and less punishing pace. You allow him to guide your head down his shaft while you pump your fingers into your wet heat. A coil was sprung tight in your abdomen, and each swipe at your clit and scrape against your inner walls sends a thrum of pleasure throughout your body. The shockwaves to your impending orgasm were already set in stone; all you needed was that final push to send you toppling over the edge—

Without warning, you feel the presence of a large palm cupping your mons. It glides along your panties, tracing your pussy lips through the thin material. Before you can process what's happening, your underwear is tugged to the side and your fingers are pried from your cunt by an invisible force. Something much bigger replaces the digits. It fills you to the brim in one go, knocking the air out of your lungs. Your thighs shake when the appendage starts to undulate against your plush walls. Every twist and turn causes you to inhale sharply. The phantom's touch wanders aimlessly, with no set destination. Or so it seems, until you feel an intense burst of pressure on your sweetest spot.

You squeal at the sensation and lurch backward, a string of saliva lewdly trailing from your lips as you part from Jin-woo’s cock. You thrash wildly, trying with all your might to escape. It was just too much, too soon. But the priest effortlessly maintains his hold on you, and you can only watch in horror when several more tendrils of mana manifest from his hands.

The magic slithers across his forearms, down the floor, and between your thighs before disappearing into your exposed cunt. Using Ruler’s Hand, Jin-woo plays with the wetness that dances along your puffy folds. He then lifts the hood of your clit to lightly graze at the bud beneath it before pinching at the sensitive bundle of nerves. That was all it took to send you spiraling over the edge. Waves of white-hot pleasure rip through you so violently, your vision fades in and out. All the while, the telekinetic appendage steadily fucks you through it, reaching depths you'd never imagined.

Your body clenches, then slackens, in the aftershock of your orgasm. There’s buzzing in your ears, a white noise that temporarily deafens you. But through the static, you’re able to hear the faint sound of someone screaming. It doesn’t register as your own voice at first; it was raw, hoarse, and unrecognizable. Like the pale imitation of a changeling.

Time slows and distorts, and you feel yourself drifting, sinking further and further away from a state of consciousness.

But Jin-woo manages to reel you in, away from the darkness.

“—come back to me, angel. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere.”

Choked moans and broken syllables are all you can muster in your blissed-out state, “Hnng—ahhh! Fa—Father! I… ha…ahn!”

“Shhh, it's alright." Jin-woo murmurs softly while stroking your cheek with his knuckles. He wraps his other hand around his pulsating cock and repeatedly runs his fist from the base to the tip, using a mixture of his own pre-cum and your drool as a lubricant. Above Jin-woo lay a large stained-glass mural of Saint Mary Magdalene. He's cast in iridescent rays of light as the setting sun illuminates the window, making him appear transcendent. The sight of him takes your breath away.

So enraptured were you with Jin-woo's beauty that you don't even realize he's lowered his hand from your face to your tits. He kneads at the supple flesh, admiring your softness. You mewl and arch into his touch, surrendering yourself to him. The priest then dips his hand into the décolletage of your dress and yanks it down, exposing your luscious breasts and the hardened peak of your nipples. Your core throbs at the strangled moan he lets out. “Oh fuck, you’re so soft, so warm,” he whispers shakily as he gropes at the plump mounds, “And the way the sun lights your skin, the enticing curves of your body, the quickening of your pulse as I take you in my hand… how? Just how can you be real? I’ve never wanted something—someone—so badly in my life.”

No sooner had the words left his mouth than the movements of Ruler’s Hand came to a complete halt. In an instant, all the telekinetic energy that surrounds your partially clad form dissipates. You’re not even spared the chance to gather your bearings before Jin-woo unceremoniously hauls you to your feet and presses his muscular frame to yours. He brings his face close, with only the narrowest of margins separating your lips from his. You can feel his breath in yours, the beating of vitality in his heart, and the rigid planes of clothed muscle against your bare breasts. You yearn for him to close the gap, to finally submit to the searing passion that consumed both of you.

Several agonizing seconds pass before Jin-woo pleads—begs, as the last of his restraint crumbles. “Please, please, let me have you—!” Unable to control himself, the priest captures your lips in a hungered kiss. You moan into his mouth and gasp when he slips his tongue inside to gently brush against your own. A low growl emits from the priest’s throat, and all semblance of rationality is lost.

Jin-woo delves his tongue further, deepening the kiss. You readily yield, wrapping your arms around his neck and leaning into him. Jin-woo grasps you by the throat possessively and allows his other hand to drift freely over your figure. He caresses the swell of your breasts with his calloused fingers, treading slowly over your pert nipples and leaving goosebumps in his wake. Next, he smooths his palm down your sternum and along your abdomen until he reaches the curve of your hip. The priest sinks his fingers into the pliable flesh, and with his lips never once leaving yours, he starts to walk you backward.

Jin-woo leads, and you follow; your submission to him nearly second nature by now. After a few stumbling steps, your back hits something hard, and the strange sensation causes you to break the kiss. Undeterred, the priest slides his hand from the front of your neck to your nape, and with the other hand he has on your hip, he uses his strength to hoist you onto a table—no—an altar. Jin-woo then lowers your upper body onto the platform, slots himself between your legs, and pulls the hem of your sundress up until the fabric bunches at your waist.

The breathless “oh fuck,” he mumbles at the sight of your bare cunt, has you clenching around thin air. The priest pants, and a sheen of sweat coats him as he pins you to the altar with his larger frame. He gazes at you with eyes glazed over before grabbing at his cock and running the tip of it along your slit. You bleat pathetically, and Jin-woo presses a feather-light kiss to the corner of your mouth to coddle you. He then slides his lips over yours, kissing you in earnest. When he parts, the priest murmurs imploringly, “I wanted to take my time with you, angel, really, I did. But if I go for another second without fucking you, I fear I might go insane. Tell me, are you sure you want this? This is your last chance to back out. I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to stop once I’m inside you.”

You answer without hesitation, “Yes! Oh god, yes—”

He cuts you off midsentence, sheathing himself entirely in your heat. Your eyes well up as he splits you apart on his cock. No matter how wet you were, nothing could’ve prepared you for the sheer breadth of Jin-woo’s dick. He stretched you far past your limits, filling you so completely that you swore you could feel him at the back of your throat.

Your thighs tremble and your head lulls to the side, baring your neck to him. The priest licks a fat stripe from your collar bone to the apple of your check, lapping up your salty tears. Your walls flutter and tighten at his actions, and he groans approvingly, pushing his cock in even deeper. Your thighs tremble and your face scrunches at the sting. Jin-woo hadn’t even moved yet, and you were already falling to pieces underneath him. You clutch onto his shoulders for purchase, digging your nails into the well-defined muscles. Jin-woo grunts and lowers his face into the crook of your neck to nose against it. You shudder when you feel his breath tickling your ear.

“You feel fucking divine, angel. So warm, wet, and inviting… I think I’ll keep you for myself once I’m done. You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Oh—shit! Did you just clench? Sweet girl, if you keep doing that, then I really won’t hold back.” The priest emphasizes his warning with a nip to your throat, drawing a cry of surprise from you.

Using this momentary pain as a distraction, Jin-woo pulls out of you until only the tip remains and then rams his hips forward, spearing you on his dick. You babble and wail incoherently as he batters your bruised walls. True to his word, the priest was holding nothing back from you. He pistons his hips in and out at an unrelenting tempo and grinds his pelvis on your clit with every thrust he makes. Gradually, the soreness in your cunt gives way to pleasure. You wrap your legs around Jin-woo’s waist and dig your heels into the small of his back, anchoring him to you.

The sound of skin slapping against skin and cries of ecstasy permeate the room. Jin-woo thrusts desperately into you, his nostrils flaring and the veins in his forearms bulging from exertion. If the pulsing of his cock inside you was anything to go by, then he was close. Dangerously so. You weren’t far behind either; the priest was hitting all your spots, and the constant stimulation on your clit was maddening.

Jin-woo catches you totally unawares when he presses his forehead to yours. He peers into your eyes, looking intently into the depths, and then he speaks a secret meant only for you. “Allow me to make a confession of my own. There was no deacon wandering by the sacristy that day. It was me; I was the one who saw you in the throes of passion. And when I heard you moan my name—my actual name and not the title that binds me to the church—it took everything in me not to mount you right then and there! You have no idea what you do to me, sweet girl.”

“It’s not your fault. Nothing is your fault. I’m the one to blame, Angel, not you.” Jin-woo quickly silences the unspoken apology burning at the tip of your tongue. He could sense it coming from the hurt look in your eyes.

“As a hunter, I’ve dirtied my hands, stolen countless lives, and conquered lands unknown to man or God, all in the pursuit of power. I am tainted, bathed in sin. A disgrace to our lord and undeserving of someone as pure and as beautiful as you. But I don’t care what hell awaits me. All that matters is that you’re mine now. Mine—mine—only mine!” He snarls at the end, punctuating every word with a snap of his hips. Your breasts bounce, your thighs quiver, and your mouth forms a small ‘o’ under the influence of his ministrations. To Jin-woo, you were the spitting image of a fallen angel. You were also his undoing, as his thrusts became sloppy and more erratic. His hips stutter then cease all movement as he spills his seed inside you, cumming with a deep and guttural groan. You follow suit shortly thereafter, tossing your head back and screaming the priest’s name as you climax.

Jin-woo slumps forward, dipping his face into the valley of your breasts. You reach down to idly stroke at the ebony tresses. The two of you bask in each other’s presence as the afterglow washes over. You were boneless and utterly spent, but the exhaustion was well earned. Sex had never left you feeling so sated or fulfilled before. It was incredible… and tiring.

Your lids start to grow heavy, the promise of sleep too tempting to ignore. As your eyes flutter shut, you feel a strong pair of arms coiling around your waist and lifting you into a sitting position. Your body then becomes weightless, and footsteps echo in the background. Jin-woo must’ve been carrying you. ‘Such a kind man,’ you think.

When your breath evens out and you at last fall asleep, the priest pecks your forehead and peers up at the mural of Jesus Christ at the entrance of the cathedral. Jin-woo addresses the Son of God with a plea on your behalf.

“Forgive her, for she knows not what she does.”

[healinghyunjin]

Blossom

Pairing: Kim Seungmin x Reader (fem)

Genre: crack, smut, fluff; historical!AU, magic!AU, fuck-or-die(ish)!AU, enemies(ish)-to-lovers!AU, 18+

Word Count: 6.5k

Warnings: swearing, explicit sexual content, unprotected sex, outdated sexual norms/attitudes, public sex.

Author’s Note: After another ~long~ hiatus... I'm back! The premise of this fic is heavily inspired by a super old, now deleted AO3 fic I once read for a now dead fandom (showing my age here for you children lol). I love navigating these forced interaction scenarios - so please let me know your thoughts! Feedback and reblogs are love as always - and I now have a Ko-Fi that I would really appreciate contributions to as well (linked in my Bio)! Thank you for your support~

Summary: But what this ritual required of you, the High Sorceress, was not just some spellwork or incantations - no, this ritual involved you losing your virginity. To your King - to Seungmin. On the High Table. In front of the entirety of the royal court. 

You were sure you looked like a thundercloud - dark skirts swirling, white sparks crackling from your fingertips - as you stalked through the castle towards the royal chambers.

“Milady!” Changbin chased after you, your long-suffering knight trying his best to head you off. “His Majesty is in a council meeting right now,” he huffed out. “Maybe we can seek an audience another time?”

“I don’t ‘seek audiences’ from His Majesty, Bin,” the title grating in your mouth. “I talk to Kim Seungmin when I want to talk to Kim Seungmin - especially when he wants to pretend like I don’t exist.” 

You were laying it on a bit thick. But you were the High Sorceress. You had no insignificant amount of pride yourself, and nothing made your temper flare like Seungmin outmaneuvering you - exactly like he’d just done. 

You arrived at the heavy wrought iron doors of Seungmin’s private chambers and, with a swish of your palm, sent the doors flying open, almost rattling off their hinges. A tableful of lords turned around to gawk at you - but you only had eyes for the man at the head of the table. He leaned back in his chair, watching you stalk into the room with a barely concealed grin. “And there she is.” The faint note of humor in Seungmin’s voice made you want to wring his neck.

“Your Majesty,” you greeted in the frostiest voice you could muster up. 

Seungmin smirked. “You only use my proper title when you’re fit to rip my throat out, Lady Sorceress.” 

You ignored the barb. “We have an urgent matter to discuss, my lord.”

One of the old, stodgy lords piped up in a reedy, disapproving voice. “What can take precedence over matters of council and state, Sorceress?”

“Matters of national security, Lord Park.” Seungmin rose to his feet, making everyone else jump up to theirs as well. “Council is adjourned, my lords.”

You held your head high as the councilmen streamed out of the room around you, some barely bothering to disguise their resentment. Seungmin sauntered his way around the table, coming to stand right in front of you. You scowled as you inevitably had to tilt your head back just to look into his amused face. 

“You’ve been avoiding me, my witch.” 

“I wasn’t avoiding you,” you snapped back, cringing at how petulant you sounded even to your own ears. 

Of course you’d been avoiding him. Ever since he’d slapped those scrolls down on your worktable a week ago now, you hadn’t been able to think about him without flushing, let alone be in the same room as him. It would be for the good of the people, he’d announced crisply, looking so tall and prim and regal as he towered over you sitting on your little garden stool. I’m sure you won’t see any harm in it. You’d scanned through the parchment, ignoring the scribe’s careful translations to parse the ancient runes yourself. It outlined an ancient magical ritual to replenish the barrier wards for your nation if they ever fell - which they had. But what this ritual required of you, the High Sorceress, was not just some spellwork or incantations - no, this ritual involved you losing your virginity. To your King - to Seungmin. On the High Table. In front of the entirety of the royal court. 

Seungmin snapped you out of your thoughts with a brief “Ahem,” quirking a skeptical eyebrow at you. “I haven’t seen you in a week. Every time I’ve gone to your rooms since the day I gave you those scrolls, you’re conveniently ‘not there,’ and that poor fool,” he flicked a thumb over to point at Changbin, “is stuck trying - and failing - to make excuses for you.”

You shot a glare over at Changbin - he didn’t look sufficiently embarrassed of himself, but you would deal with that later. “Well, I’m here now, my lord. And I’d appreciate it if you could tell me how you unilaterally decided to add ‘Publicly Deflowering the High Witch’ to your agenda for this evening?”

You’d hoped to embarrass Seungmin, browbeat him - like you’d clearly done to Changbin, judging from the choking sound that came from next to you. But you’d underestimated your enemy. 

Seungmin sighed, clasping his arms behind his back. “Because we don’t have a choice in the matter, my dear witch. If you’d allowed me the chance to actually talk to you this week, I could have convinced you of that, and you'd have had time to prepare yourself. But - you didn’t, and so, I had to force your hand.” You shuffled uncomfortably under his piercing stare as he continued. “I know you translated the runes yourself - you know just as well as I do that this ritual needs to be done soon. Now, if we don’t want the Eastern Army taking advantage and invading us as soon as they muster up the forces. But unlike you, my lady - I don’t have the luxury to pretend like this problem will go away if I ignore it.” 

And that was exactly what you hated most about Kim Seungmin. He was smart and logical to a fault - enough so that he’d trained himself to not let pesky emotions get in the way of doing what needed to be done. You on the other hand… the less said the better on that front. 

Before you could snark something back at him or even just bristle up, Seungmin stepped away from you, rubbing his hands together. “Now that that’s been settled, I’m sure you have no more objections. Anyways, you have a busy afternoon ahead of you, Lady Sorceress. I’ve sent several maids to your chambers to help ready you for this evening - I’m sure you remember how exact the runes were in terms of preparation.” Seungmin wasn’t even bothering to hide his grin as he dismissed you with a wave of his hand, striding out of the room. 

That patronizing bastard. You briefly contemplated throwing a fireball at his laughing back - but being executed for treason wasn’t exactly the way you intended to go out. 

With a deep, soul-weary sigh, you turned on your heel to leave, resigning yourself to your fate. 

Of course, if you knew exactly how the rest of your afternoon was going to be spent, you might just have thrown that fireball at Seungmin and gotten it over with. 

After that useless showdown, Changbin frogmarched you back to your rooms, handing you off to an actually intimidating keeper - Chaeryeong, your personal maid. But, to your even greater chagrin, she wasn’t alone. As promised, an army of maids descended on you, all charged with different vicious tasks - stripping your skin bare and smooth with hot sugar paste; kneading various herbal, floral unguents into your skin before dunking you into cold and hot baths; brushing your hair out until it fairly gleamed in the fading sunlight. By the time you were passed off to Chaeryeong for her final inspection, you almost didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. 

Chaeryeong clicked her tongue approvingly as she walked around you, tightening the laces on your virginal white chemise. “You finally look presentable, milady.”

You bristled. “Are you saying I usually don’t?”

“Last week I had to pull a twig out of your hair before sending you down to supper. There isn’t a single dress of yours that doesn’t have mudstains, milady, and you think a splash of cold water every morning or two is enough to care for your skin.” Chaeryeong looked scandalized.

You rolled your eyes. “Well, I’m glad one of us is satisfied with this situation.”

“You’re not?” 

“Why in the name of the Goddess would I be?”

“Sleeping with a man who’s young, tall, handsome, powerful, wealthy,” Chaeryeong giggled as she counted off each word on her fingers, “isn’t the worst thing in the world, milady.” She flicked you a mischievous glance as she smoothly slid to stand behind you. “Especially when the man in question has a major soft spot for you.”

You scoffed. “Kim Seungmin doesn’t have a soft spot for me, Chae. He can't even be in the same room as me without snarking at me - and I can't remember the last time he actually said anything nice to me.”

Chaeryeong’s fingers stilled in your hair as she stared you down in the mirror. “You really believe that, don’t you?” You arched an eyebrow at her in response. She let out a deep sigh. “For such a brilliant witch… you really can be dense.” She shook her head before reaching over to grab flowers to weave into your hair. “I hope you realize - the one thing standing between him and war is you. Most men - especially a King - would have just tossed you onto that table and had their way with you. And maybe they would have begged your forgiveness and understanding afterwards - maybe, if they were worried about you cursing them into oblivion. No one else would have spent a whole week waiting to try and convince you into doing this willingly.”

You opened your mouth to snap something back in your defense... and realized you had nothing to say. 

“See,” Chaeryeong murmured softly. “Sometimes it feels like you’re… willfully blind to His Majesty’s kindness towards you. He’s always treated you with respect - and made sure you’re treated with respect. I wouldn’t take that for granted, my lady - or ignore what’s behind that mask he puts up all the time.” 

As she put the final touches on your hair, you couldn’t help but reflect on Chaeryeong’s words. You had extraordinary freedom and liberties as the High Sorceress…but no, that wasn’t exactly right. You were given extraordinary freedom and liberties as the High Sorceress - by your King. If it wasn’t for his unwavering support for you - against the Council, against any and all reactionary forces - you wouldn't hold any of the power you did. Sure, he riled you up, jerked you around a bit - and you still hated just how easily he could outwit you. But you were being childish to fixate on that - to lose sight of the forest for the trees. 

“And here’s the final touch.” Chaeryeong sidled up to you with a long scrap of silk in her hands - your blindfold. “You’re not allowed to see His Majesty until the ritual starts.” Her quick fingers made short work of fastening it around your head - and being the jerk that she was, she put it on properly tight, making sure you couldn’t see a thing. “Maybe that’ll teach you to let yourself lean on him for once,” she mused, before pulling you up out of your chair with none too gentle hands. 

Chaeryeong, as always, was right. You were completely unmoored by the loss of your sight, limiting your magical abilities too. You were forced to rely completely, like a baby, on Chaeryeong to guide you through the halls to the oldest wing of the castle - and you only realized that you were in front of Seungmin when the two of you came to a sudden halt, a reverent “Your Majesty” coming from her lips. 

This was it. 

Chaeryeong subtly pulled you down into a curtsy, pinching you in the back to make sure you stayed low as she stepped away from your side. From the sound of her sharp footsteps receding down the hall and the lack of any other noise around you, you presumed she’d left - and you were now alone with your King. 

“You may rise.” Seungmin’s amused drawl sounded from somewhere high above your head. Disoriented by your imposed blindness, you stumbled a little as you stood up - but you were caught by warm hands encircling your arms, steadying you on your feet. “How low the high have fallen, hmm?” Such a tease, you thought. But the gentle tone of his voice, the circles his thumbs were rubbing into your arms… he was helping ground you, to put you more at ease - which only made you feel more guilty. 

“My lord,” you started softly - earning a harsh inhale in surprise from Seungmin. “I… I owe you an apology. My behavior earlier today - for this entire week - has been immature and not fitting for a ranking member of your court. Forgive me for my negligence.” You made to dip into a curtsy again - but Seungmin’s grip on your arms tightened, keeping you from lowering yourself. 

There was a heartbeat of silence before Seungmin responded, his voice more tender than you’d ever heard it. “I don’t know what prompted this… change, but - you don’t need to apologize. I knew we both knew this is what must be done, and I knew we were going to eventually do it - but that doesn’t make it any easier for you. You didn’t want this with me, and I know that.”

Why did that last statement sound a false note in your heart? You ignored it in favor of speaking out. “But I’ve spent the past week shirking my duty. You had to force me back in line.”

“And that is my responsibility as King, my sorceress. No harm done.” You could tell that he was leaning down closer to you, his voice loud and clear in your ear. “And remember - neither this kingdom nor I will ever forget this sacrifice.”

There was an oddly charged moment of silence after that statement - which was abruptly broken by the sensation of the ground suddenly falling away from under you. You gasped as surprisingly sturdy arms lifted you up until you were cradled against a lean, hard chest. “Seungmo!” You squeaked, the childhood nickname slipping past your lips. “S-since when were you strong enough to do this?”

There was a pause - you were positive that Seungmin had rolled his eyes at you. “Just because I don’t have bulging biceps like that bodyguard of yours doesn’t mean that I’m a weakling, witch.” 

“Well, it won’t be good to kick things off with you tripping over your feet carrying me in,” you muttered sulkily. 

You couldn’t hold back a shiver as Seungmin tsked, his warm breath ghosting across the sensitive shell of your ear. “Such disrespect for your king? Bold, given that you’re at my mercy for the next hour.” 

“Next hour? That ego of yours is still clearly giant.”

Seungmin let out a husky laugh. “It’s not the size of my ego you should be worried about right now, sweet.” You thumped a useless fist against his chest - even as your core involuntarily clenched and slickened.

There was a ear-ringingly loud blast of trumpets, followed by the creak of the gates to the ancient hall being pushed open. The murmurs and chatter of the crowd awaiting your arrival fell silent, an almost eerie hush settling in as Seungmin strode into the hall. Even with the enormous fire spluttering away in the ancient hearth, the room was always chilly; gooseflesh pimpled your arms, and you almost automatically burrowed closer into Seungmin’s neck for warmth - at least, that’s what you told yourself. The sharp raps of Seungmin’s footsteps against the flagstones came to a halt, and you were securely sat onto a hard surface - the High Table. Your sacrificial altar, you mused to yourself cynically. 

You jumped a little as you felt gentle fingers clasp your hands, giving you a firm squeeze. Those warm fingertips then ghosted across your cheeks, twining through your hair as they searched for the knot of your blindfold. Your heart was bounding in your chest, blood roaring in your ears as Seungmin leaned into you, that familiar, titilatingly musky scent of his flooding your senses as he worked to unravel the tight knot, until the blindfold finally came free. 

You blinked your eyes open to mellow, golden light - and the sight of Seungmin standing over you, watching you carefully with a small, soft smile. The great hall was awash with candlelight, long tapering candles and sticks of smoking perfume burning all around you, throwing the faces of the crowd of onlookers beyond you into shadow - but bathing Seungmin in glorious, warm light. He looked impeccably regal as he stood above you in his smart black leather doublet and swan white shirtsleeves, his royal purple ermine-edged cloak clasped around his throat. His hair was up, brushed off his forehead, and the gold of his royal circlet shone out bright against the ink black of his hair - but the brightest of all were his eyes, warm and deep brown, steady and clear as he - your King, you truly felt down to your bones for the first time - held your gaze. 

Taking a deep breath, you let yourself fall back, the ancient stone of the table icy against your spine. While you couldn’t see any of the spectators surrounding you and Seungmin - the vaulted ceiling of the great hall the only thing in your line of sight - it felt like you could sense their gaze prickling across your skin, weighing you down. But before you could let your mind wander too far, Seungmin was there, leaning over you with those broad, square shoulders, blocking your sight of anything but him. You felt your cheeks flame as his hand came up to cup your face, and  your heart skipped a beat as he pressed a petal soft kiss to your forehead, breathily whispering into your skin. “It will be good, my sweet. Trust me.”

Maybe Chaeryeong was onto something… You searched his eyes, finding so much affection and reassurance beaming back at you that you blinked your own shut - before giving him a brief nod. 

He let his lips drag over to your temple, then down to your cheek, leaving open mouthed kisses in his wake as his lips trailed lower and lower, down your jawline, down your neck - and lower. Your mind reeled, your hands fisting the flimsy material of your gown. This was supposed to be brief and impersonal - you’d even readied a lubrication charm in preparation for the inevitable. But you should have known that Seungmin wouldn’t just do an adequate job like that. You were fighting for your life to stay silent as he added his teeth into the mix, working the thin, sensitive skin of your throat until you felt the sickly sweet pain of a bruise forming. His hand slid down from your cheek so he could softly thumb at the mark - his mark - marring your skin, and when he pressed down just right on the bruise, you whimpered - and watched as his eyes darkened to black. 

From there, he was insatiable. Your hands flew up to his shoulders at the swipe of his tongue against your hardening nipple; they desperately slid to clutch at his hair when he took it whole into his mouth, the wet heat tantalizing even through the cotton of your chemise. He palmed your neglected breast hard, the soft flesh spilling through his fingers. A whine finally tore itself free from your throat, and Seungmin snapped his head up to look at you, lips twisting into a triumphant smirk. “I thought you weren’t going to enjoy this, Lady Sorceress.” His fingers came up to tweak your nipple - hard - as he mouthed carelessly at your other breast, his eyes watching you hungrily as you writhed under his touch. The pleasure carried you away on a hazy cloud of lust, into the dreamland of dangerous possibilities. What would it feel like to have this dumb chemise out of the way, so his fingers and lips could traipse your naked skin? What would it feel like to have the heat of his bare skin pressed up against yours - the weight and friction of his hard chest crushing into your sensitive breasts?

Your attention was yanked back into the land of the living at sudden, discordant noise: gasps and murmurs, you quickly realized, rippling through your audience - for your King was dropping to a knee at your feet, hands sliding with promise up your legs under your chemise. You shot up onto your elbows, staring down at him in horror. “Your Majesty,” you hissed. “This is wanton.”

Seungmin arched an eyebrow. “I’d rather be wanton than have you in pain at my hands.” You felt a traitorous flutter in your chest. “And most importantly - when you have the kingdom’s most powerful woman laid out in front of you... you worship her.” 

Those large, long-fingered hands of his found purchase in the soft skin of your inner thighs, forcing them spread and keeping them spread with that hidden strength of his. He let out a small groan at the sight of your swollen folds, dragging a single, deliberate fingertip down the length of your slit. At the very first touch of his soft lips to your sensitive bundle of nerves, you choked out a moan - and startled as the candles around you all simultaneously popped. From between your legs, Seungmin laughed darkly. “Looks like I won’t need to ask you whether I’ve done a good job,” he said, the sensation of his breath and lips against your core making you squirm with stimulation. His hands slid up to your hips, anchoring you in place as he lapped languidly at your cunt, tongue flicking in and out of your aching entrance, nose rubbing up against your swollen little pearl. 

There was no chance in hell you could stay quiet any more. As a moaning keen spilled forth from your lips, your eyes flicked up to the shadowy figures in the crowd watching you. You’d thought they would be judgmental - critical, gossipy, as people always were in situations like this. Instead… there wasn’t a face you could make out that wasn’t flushed, expression glazed over. Seungmin slid his arms under your legs, yanking you down the table until the base of your spine rested on the very edge of the table, your core putty under his mouth as he supported your weight - and you watched as some woman in the crowd whimpered, biting her lip in response. 

Your head lolled back onto the table, and you started shuddering in Seungmin’s hands. 

“I guess I was wrong about needing an hour.” With a final kiss to your folds, Seungmin rose to his feet, leisurely wiping his mouth on the back of one hand, the other drifting down to the laces of his trousers. “I didn’t anticipate just how thoroughly you would enjoy my attentions, my witch.” Tease. His eyes danced with mirth as you whined in annoyance. You felt the blunt tip of him dragging through your folds, its weight catching deliciously against the tight ring of your entrance. “I’ll start slow,” he murmured, a hand coming up to brace himself above your head. And from the first breach of his length into your walls, you knew you were in trouble. 

“Big,” you gasped out. Seungmin let his free hand run loose over the flesh of your thighs and hips, kneading and caressing and soothing. “Relax for me, sweet - it’ll be easier if you let me in.” His voice was breathy and soft, eyes so warm - daresay loving - as he leaned in over you, covering your body with his. You gave him a small nod, breathing deeply and doing your best to let your body sink into the stone under you. As he carefully, firmly worked the rest of his length into your tight cunt, you couldn’t help but whimper, eyes squeezing shut at the deep, deep stretch of him, your spine arching off the table as your body contorted to accommodate him. “Beautiful,” he murmured, pupils dilated with lust. “Made to take me.” 

And as the sting and discomfort started to morph into the burning, insatiable stretch of pleasure, you were inclined to agree with him. 

“Let me know when I can move, sweet,” he asked, the flat of his hand rubbing soothing circles into your lower belly. “Please,” you rasped out - and the delightedly vicious grin that curled his lips in response only sent another surge of fire through you. Your limbs ached to twine around him, pulling him down into you, imprisoning him between your legs - but you were determined to maintain some public decorum. Seungmin made the decision for you though, salaciously bold as ever as he leaned forward into you, splaying your legs out wide, knees almost to your chest. He tested the waters with a rapid snap of his hips in and out - and the two of you stared at each other with wide eyes at just how deep it all felt in this position. Seungmin’s hips started rocking back and forth, almost as if on their own volition - almost as if they were enchanted - and your hands desperately scrabbled for purchase on the unyielding stone as he started pounding into you. 

Your hips canted up into his, trying to answer his thrusts with your own. And you were clearly doing something right, judging by his drawn out groans. “Mine,” he moaned. As he bore down on you, every thrust ground delicious friction into your bundle of nerves - and Seungmin’s hips were driving into yours at such a punishing pace that you were overwhelmed by stimulation. You were sure the two of you were making an absolute mess, the squelching sounds of him pumping into you only growing louder with every thrust. Just with his lips and nose and tongue, the friction and sensation and pleasure had all already brought you close to the cliff of your peak. You knew it wasn’t going to be much longer now before he dragged you over - but there was something positively strange happening to you. Your pleasure was merely riding the edge of some deeper, powerfully visceral sensation that had you gasping, shivering with every plunging stroke. But Seungmin, your ever-wise, your ever-aware Seungmin, had cottoned onto what was happening to you - and wrapping you tightly up into his arms, he only picked up the pace of his hips. “Let go, sweet,” he eked out. “I’ve got you safe, here - let go, my queen.” And before your mind could even process what he’d just given away, you felt yourself clenching up, eyes squeezing shut and nerves singing in pleasure as you hit your release - the pain of your fingers digging into the broad expanse of his back, the spasms of your tight cunt triggering Seungmin’s release simultaneously, spurts of his hot, thick seed flooding into your core, serving as a balm for your aching walls as he collapsed into your waiting arms. 

Before you could let the waves of pleasure carry away your mind with it, however - your eyes shot open at the gasps and shouts coming from around you. Gold - that was all you could see - a golden bubble encasing you and your King. Seungmin lifted his head up from where it was pillowed on your chest, a look of pure wonder on his face as the two of you watched the bubble slowly float and collapse inwards, coalescing into a glowing yellow orb hovering above all of your heads. The hazy whorls of incense and candle smoke in the air took on a bright golden hue - before it all whooshed outwards in a rapid gust of wind, rattling the windows of the hall as the orb and its golden mist exploded out into the sky . You recognized the magic for what it was - the largest, purest barrier charm you’d ever witnessed. 

You and Seungmin had pulled it off. A giggle of delight squeezed out of your chest, and you let your gaze snap back down to the man resting on his elbows over you. Seungmin was watching you with a small, mysterious smile, panting slightly as he tried to catch his breath. And as you looked back at him… you felt a wave of emotion wash over you, as powerful as if the ground had literally shifted under your feet. An almost unbearable fondness filled your heart as you beheld him - your King, your protector…your lover. 

You had been right about one thing - there would be no going back from this, at least for you. But now you found yourself wondering… why was that such a bad thing?

Ignoring the shuffling footsteps around you as your audience slowly started to disperse, you let your arms wrap around Seungmin, relishing the feeling of his muscles bunching under your touch as he slid his arms in turn around you, helping you to sit upright. His dark eyes were fixed on the place the two of you were joined as he slowly extricated himself from you, the feeling of his sticky seed trickling out from between your legs strange and foreign. That ever intelligent, searching gaze then slowly scanned your body, looking you over head to toe as he tucked himself away in his trousers, before his eyes fluttered shut. Seungmin let out a slow exhale before blinking his eyes open again - and you were startled to see that professional mask of his slide back into place. 

“Up you go,” he murmured, arm sliding around your back as he helped you off the table, supporting you as your legs quailed under your weight. With a few deft pulls, he unfastened his cloak, wrapping it around your shoulders instead. You were thankful for the warmth it provided - and the coverage, you realized, as you noticed the servants hovering at a respectful distance from the two of you. “Give me a second,” Seungmin said before turning away to address his valet and knight-at-arms. 

One of the maids stepped forward, a fan in her hand to put out the few lingering candles. Before you could even hesitate on what to do, she dipped into a low curtsy, bowing her head - to you. “Your Highness,” she breathed out, an almost reverent look on her face as she glanced back up at you. Awkward with the unfamiliar courtesy, you smiled hesitantly, tilting your head at her in acknowledgement. 

How had you misjudged this situation so badly? Part of your hesitation leading up to all of this had been because you’d thought that you’d be made out to be a slag - no better than the King’s kept woman. Why hadn’t you appreciated the power inherent in this? With the spectacular care with which he’d pleasured you, with the demonstration of your magic in front of the whole court, Seungmin had marked you - just as he’d told you with those hungry eyes - out to be the most powerful woman in the kingdom. 

You snapped out of your thoughts to see Seungmin making his way back to stand in front of you. You frowned to see that mask of his still in place, a strange awkwardness in his manner as he addressed you. “I can help you back to your rooms now. Or,” he turned to gesture behind him, “one of the servants can take you if you prefer.”

You arched a critical eyebrow at him. “Could we go to your chambers instead?”

His eyes widened for a second, before you watched understanding wash over his face. “Ah yes, that was careless of me - there’s too many stairs to get back to your chambers. You can rest in mine as long as you need.”

Wrapping an arm loosely around you, he let you lean on him as the two of you walked out of the hall. His rooms weren’t too far away, the royal chambers taking up a significant portion of the ancient wing of the castle. But an awkward silence reigned over the two of you, Seungmin stoically looking straight ahead as you limped along beside him. 

Something had clearly changed in you - because for once, instead of being the reactive fool you normally were, you saw the situation - and his reaction - for what it actually was. Seungmin was taking his turn to be the awkward overthinker - a role he’d grown out of once he’d become King… except when it came to a few specific things he couldn’t stay purely rational about. The things he cared about the most, the things that mattered most deeply… in this case - you. 

You sighed. You’d probably need to gift Chaeryeong a necklace or something after all of this was over. 

You bided your time until Seungmin finally shut the two of you into his chambers. He’d turned away to lock the doors behind him - and startled when he turned back around to find you standing right in front of him. As you stared up at him, watching his lips twitch in discomfort… you came to a shocking realization. 

“You never kissed me,” you breathed out, even more surprised as you said it. He’d kissed you literally everywhere else - but he hadn’t touched your lips. You gazed up at him with wide eyes. “Why?”

Seungmin shifted uncomfortably. “It felt too…intimate.”

What? “You took my virginity - in public. We unleashed a magical force field together,” you deadpanned, trying to get a laugh out of him - and failing, as Seungmin continued to look at you stoically. “I’d say that’s pretty intimate, my lord.”

He shrugged, hugging his arms around him and hesitating for a second - before bluntly, in Seungmin fashion, getting to the heart of the matter. “The reality is that… freely given sacrifice, prophecy, whatever you want to call it - I took something from you that you didn’t mean for me to have.” It was a testament to Seungmin’s poise that his voice stayed even, his eyes stayed steadily on you as he spoke. “I wanted you to have something - a part of you - you could still give away of your own will.” He sagged heavily into the doorframe, finally breaking eye contact as he trailed off. 

Poor baby. Your heart fluttered. “That is… quite thoughtful of you, my lord,” you choked out, taking a small step forward. Then another. And another, inching towards him. “So - that means it’s alright with you for me to do this, right?” Reaching up, you twined your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up onto your tiptoes to press your body into his. His hands reflexively grabbed your waist, steadying you even as his eyes widened in surprise - before fluttering shut as you pressed your lips to his. 

His mouth was divine heat - soft, pliable against yours. He gasped as you nipped at his lower lip, and you seized the chance to lick into his mouth, deepening the kiss until your head was whirling, ignorant of where you ended and he began. 

When you finally pulled away for air, his lips chased yours for a second before he caught himself. You giggled, beaming up at him. “How low the high have fallen, hmm?”

Seungmin let out a low warm laugh, such fondness in his eyes that you couldn’t help but shy away. “I have much, much lower to fall still, don’t worry,” he murmured as he bent down over you, his hair falling into his eyes as he smiled. In a single, smooth movement, he flipped the two of you around so he had you pinned up against the wall, his body pressed firmly into yours. 

You cleared your throat. “Y-you really like having me against hard surfaces, don’t you?”

He shrugged, focus elsewhere as his fingers busied themselves with the laces of your chemise. “Seems like it’s the only way to keep you good for me, witch mine.” You whined as his hand accidentally grazed your sore, tender nipple, the sound making his eyes snap back to yours. A dark, wicked smile curled his lips before he crashed his mouth back onto yours, long fingers working your breast deliberately, possessively. You responded with enthusiasm, tangling your own fingers into his silky hair, until the spell was broken - for you at least - by loud noises from outside his chambers. 

You pulled away from his lips with a loud smack. “What’s that?”

“Never mind that,” he rasped out, pulling you in tight against him. “Worry about it later.” Your breath hitched as he nosed his way into your neck, pulling at the loosened neck of your chemise to expose your collarbone for him to feast on. 

Steeling yourself, you pushed your hands firmly against his chest. “Seungmo, I want to worry about it now.” He groaned, rolling his eyes, but let you go without a fight, releasing you from his embrace. Turning on your heel, you tugged him along to his balcony. The sounds had seemed to come from the royal gardens, which were sprawled right below Seungmin’s chambers. Pulling your cloak - his cloak - more tightly around you, you stepped out onto the balcony - and froze, as an astounding sight brought the two of you to a standstill. 

Wherever you looked - below you, around you - every single plant and tree was in abundant bloom. Regardless of season, of age - fruit and flowers were everywhere, swinging in the breeze, littering the ground. You turned to Seungmin in shock - only to see him looking back at you with loving, wondrous awe. “That’s all you,” he murmured, brushing a fond hand against your cheek. “My powerful, mesmerizing sorceress.”

You flushed. “No, it’s not.” You stepped closer to him, wrapping your arms around his waist. “It’s us.” You tiptoed up to press a kiss into his cheek - and promptly hid into Seungmin’s neck as whoops and cheers rang up to you from the gardens below. 

Seungmin laughed, tucking you into his side as he led the two of you back inside. “Well, you know what this means,” he said.

You quirked an eyebrow at him. “What?”

Shooting a dazzling smile your way, he caught you up in his arms once again, the heady sensation already warm and familiar to you - before peremptorily throwing you onto his bed. 

“The fate of the flora of this kingdom is in our hands, Lady Sorceress.” He intoned in a faux serious voice - made only the more ridiculous by the sight of him crawling on all fours towards you on the bed. “We have crucial work to do, milady - and we must start posthaste.”

You threw your head back in laughter before wrapping your limbs around him. “Yes, my lord - let’s start immediately.” 

Fin.

~

[If you made it all the way here... please comment, reblog and give me feedback!! My Ko-Fi is also linked in my blog if you're able to support :)]

[celestie0]

Are we gonna have smut in ihm soon?🤭

man it’s really fuckin disappointing and sad to spend 10 hrs out of my week to try to create a meaningful story, one that resonates a lot with me and the things i’ve been through in my life, one that i hope my readers can resonate with and see themselves in, just to get asks like this.

like, picture this. you get super excited to write this story of yours, you plan aaaaaall these secondary plot lines, introduce new characters, create different character dynamics, try to include scenes that strengthen relationships with already existing character dynamics. plan out an ENTIRE story on paper (my ideas doc ALONE for ihm has 13k+ words) and try to leave subtle clues here and there in your chapters to support a build up of tensions that’ll lead to a payoff later on in the series. oh, and this is just the planning part. did you know that it takes the average person 1-2 hrs to write 1k words? the last ihm chapter was 14.1k words. go ahead and do the math, and try to figure out how long it must’ve taken me to write it. without even counting the time spent i spent editing it.

i know that this fandom is so horny brainrot fucked up to the nines, i’ve sincerely never seen a fandom that needs to touch grass more than the jjk fandom. and admittedly, i am also super excited to write more smut in my stories! sex is fuckin cool n sexy! but let me just get one thing straight to you horny anons that send me asks like this: my stories are STORIES first and foremost. they are not VESSELS for your FANTASIES. they are not PORN with PLOT. they are my stories, that i write drawing from my real life experiences. and, hey, news flash, they mean a fuckin lot to me! i’m assuming you didn’t do the math on the 14.1k word chapter thing, but i’ll tell you right now: it took me maybe 20 hours to write ch3 of ihm. something that probs took you 1 hour to read, and then ten seconds to send me this ask. surely your tonedeaf brain can at least understand that i wouldn’t spend that much fuckin’ time writing something if it was just supposed to be porn with plot.

listen, i know that i’m not the best writer. i understand that, after reading all of this, you might be thinking “shut the fuck up bitch, your writing aint alla that for me to respect you. we only care about the smut, don’t you understand?” that’s valid. i’ll respect that. i never claimed to be a great author, or deserving of anything meaningful from you in return. ultimately, it’s my choice to spend the time that i do writing, no one’s forcing me, and i would never expect people to support me either (although i am always infinitely grateful for it and tbh the support is what keeps me writing). but what i don’t deserve is to be sent careless asks that make me feel like you see no purpose in my stories other than sex. other than smut. other than a penis going inside a fucking vagina.

anon, you know what would make me excited to continue writing my story? excited to get to the parts where characters ARE intimate with one another? is if you maybe threw in something as simple as a fuckin “hey i loved that part in ihm ch3 where [x]. thought it was a cool thing to do. btw, looking forward to the smut!” would’ve taken you a solid 30 seconds. it just took me 30 seconds to type that. or? you know what else you can do? go sit the fuck down, shut the fuck up, and spend 20+ hrs writing a 14k+ oneshot on the smut that you so badly wanna see. it’s your choice. really! i mean it. go be the change you wanna see in this world.

i have never once felt like i deserved any of the support that i’ve gotten. idk how to write pretty prose. or moving stories. i read some other people’s work on this app and i’m genuinely gobsmacked by how talented they are and constantly think how shitty my writing is in comparison. but my thing is that i am at least trying my best to write stories that people feel worthy of reading, because i feel like that’s the kind of respect that an audience deserves. i am trying my best to put my character and integrity into things that i write, even if what i produce ends up falling flat or doesn’t come across. but this ask isn’t an isolated issue. this issue has come up multiple times in the time i’ve had my blog, where people just reduce my stories down to smut smut smut smut smut when are we gonna get smut when are they gonna fuck write more smut in kickoff you should make ihm couple fuck like rabbits in the next chapter oh we better see them do [redacted redacted redacted] or else imma [redacted redacted redacted]. my fics are literally TAGGED with "slow burn romance"...i am fully transparent about it. and while i’ve also gotten so many meaningful heartfelt reactions to my stories (which, btw, were tastefully horny…yes, there is a way to send an author an ask that is tastefully horny while also appreciating their work!! insane wild concept!! /sarcasm), unfortunately these bad interactions will always stick.

like. would you ask someone you knew irl that was writing a novel, when they're gonna write the smut for it? would you tell them to hurry tf up and finish their novel just so that you can read the smut? would you send them your smut fantasies and be like "include this in your novel for ME because I want it "? no. because they'd think you're creepy n weird asf n overbearing then drop you. so why is it okay to do that to an author on tumblr? what happened to manners? what happened to decorum? especially for creators who are making you content for FREE.

if i was an author that wrote purely smut oneshots, i’d maybe kinda sorta understand (still think it's wrong asf, regardless of the content of stories that you write). but i feel like, after the 200k+ words that i’ve poured into my two stories (including the chapters i’ve written that i haven’t yet released) where it’s CLEARLY evident that these stories are much more than smut, i’d think that i deserve treatment a little bit better than this.

i’m done. i’m done trying to be nice. i’m done just silently deleting rude asf asks because i don’t wanna cause a scene. i’m done worrying about hurting people’s feelings, when I’M the one that is getting my feelings hurt while you just get to hide behind an anon.

i. am. just. fucking. done.

[shubblelive]

— FRONT ROW

summary : for the first time, you see just how many fans wilbur has in person, and for the first time, you begin to feel like you might not be able to handle it.

genre : angst -> fluff, happy ending

warnings : one or two swearwords, reader gets overwhelmed, they almost break up (but not really i promise)

pairing : cc!wilbur soot x fem!reader

pronouns : she/her, reader is called wilbur's girlfriend

featuring : cc!wilbur soot, cc!ranboo (mentioned), cc!philza (mentioned), kristen

requested : @gracietaylorsversions Hiii! Ilysm could you maybe write a fic inspired by the song “dark red” by steve lacey, more specifically the part: “only you my girl, only you babe” where the reader gets insecure and jealous but wilbur makes sure to reassure her <333

word count : 1.5K

note : hello angel! now, i personallly hate writing jealousy fics i feel like i can NOT do it well, so i opted to delve more into insecurity than jealousy with this one. i'm so glad you're liking my stuff thank you so much it means the worlds

the room was massive. it was like a warehouse, but with seperate rooms off the main one, and way more people. you were in one of the separate rooms, carpeted and less crowded, a yellow card around your neck with your name written on it suspended by a lanyard. 

you weren’t a creator. you didn’t stream or make youtube videos or anything, you hardly even posted on instagram. the only reason you were attending vidcon was because of the man whose arm was wrapped around your shoulder as he chatted avidly to ranboo. 

they had a panel later, the first one since the pandemic had started. it had been somewhat of a surprise to you, when wilbur started getting so big as quickly, but you’d always know it was bound to happen. now, three years into your relationship, you were about to see your boyfriend in front of his first live audience.

one of the vidcon crew members arrived in the room as signalled everyone’s attention, everyone in your group falling silent. they’d all be leaving to go on stage soon. you wouldn’t be alone though, phil’s wife would be there in the audience with you. 

while wilbur got instructions from the crew member, another producer lead you, kristen, and a few other guests of creators into your seats, and you waited anxiously for your boyfriend to come out. 

the two of you had together since 2019. you had helped him move into his streaming office (and subsequently out of his streaming office after getting evicted), and had been there every single step of the way through his streaming career. his fans knew of you. they knew your name and what you looked like, and that you and wilbur had been dating for years, but not much more than that. 

you were as supportive of a partner as you physically could be, helping him out as much as you were able to. for his first ever vidcon, you’d been lucky enough to be able to take time off work to go to LA with him, and he’d let you know over and over how grateful he was for it. you’d held his hand across the atlantic ocean and let him go just in time for him to meet his adoring public. 

and adoring they were. it had been your first time ever truly seeing your partner’s fans in person aside from the odd chance meeting. this was extremely overwhelming. he stepped out of the wings and made eye contact with you immediately, waving at you subtly as he greeted the rest of the crowd. the featured creator hour went for, predictably, about an hour, and as your boyfriend and his friends left the stage, the audience was left to disperse on their own. you guys had saved seats for this one in advance, so you’d had a producer escort you into them, but this time it was just you and kristen in a sea of hundreds of teenagers.

“excuse me,” a small voice piped up, and you whirled around to see a young girl, no older than fourteen standing nervously behind you. she introduced herself nervously, and told you that she thought you had always seemed lovely, and asked for a photo. kristen took it for her, and she left with a beaming smile on her face as you felt your heart thrash against your ribcage. 

there were so many people here, and you were already incredibly overwhelmed by the noise, but now the knowledge that people were perceiving you, even if it was only one fourteen year old girl was just too much to handle. “hey!” you called out to kristen as you both reached the door, having to nearly yell over the noise. “bathroom, i’ll be right back.”

“do you want me to come with you?” her husband would be back in the creator lounge by now, you knew, so you shook your head. 

“no, i’ll be alright, you get back to phil. will you tell wilbur where i am though, please?” she nodded at you, and you took off towards the nearest bathroom. it was absolutely packed, so you skipped it and went straight outside to the carpark. it was hot, and you took a swig of your water bottle as you sat down on the concrete, back against the wall of the building. there were still somehow dozens of fans out here, but you didn’t care.

you needed to get better with this stuff. this was wilbur’s job, and you were his partner. if you were going to spend the rest of your life with him, then you’d need to be able to go to things like this and support him. 

he had so many people’s eyes on him, and you knew that all he wanted was yours. you couldn’t be there for him in the way you needed to. he deserved better. 

the internet was a cruel place. of course you’d seen hate of yourself. you’d seen wilbur shipped with any female friend he came into contact with, and you had always been okay about it. but maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea if he dated someone from the industry. he was bound to find someone eventually, someone who loved him just as hard as you did and was able to be there to support him. 

you weren’t cut out for this. you needed wilbur.

he was beside you. “are you alright? what’s going on?” he was scanning the small scattering of fans around the carpark areas, hoping to find somewhere to get you away from prying eyes. “darling?”

“i’m okay,” your voice shook, and he helped you to your feet. “you should go back inside.”

“i am not going anywhere without you,” he said resolutely, hand securely wrapped around yours. 

“i’m such a shit girlfriend,” you tried to laugh, but their were anxious tears forming in your eyes. it was so bright that you had to squint to look at wilbur, who was shielding you from the LA sun. “i’m sorry.”

“what are you talking about?” he asked softly. “you’re not shit, darling. furthest from it, in fact. you’re the best girlfriend i’ve ever had.”

“i’d hope so considering we’re still dating,” you said quietly. “maybe we shouldn’t be, though.”

wilbur thought he couldn’t feel more anxious after the creator hour. existing in front of such a massive croud of people was something that had never felt real to him, but then he’d looked out into the audience and had seen you, and he knew that after he left he’d be able to pull you into his arms and kiss you, and that you would fix the pounding of his heart. and then he’d stepped back inside the lounge and been met with just kristen, he waited, ten, fifteen minutes, believing you when you’d said you’d gone to the bathroom, before he used the find my friends app on his phone to see where you were. but that sentence made earlier feel like the most calm he had ever felt. “you want to break up?”

his voice quivered, low and deep, and you shook your head frantically. “of course i don’t want to. i was just thinking that…”

“that we should.” he finished flatly. “why?”

his hands were still around yours, but this felt more for his sake than yours now. “i can’t do this, wilbur.” you breathed out. “i can’t do the crowds and the screaming and the hoards of people who know that i exist, i can’t do it.”

wilbur’s face crumpled with relief. “you don’t have to, darling. i promise. from now on, no more events or conventions or panels that you don’t want to go to. please, i love you so much, i’m not gonna lose you over this.”

“but you deserve to have someone there who can do these things!” you argued. “someone who gets it, who understands!”

“i don’t want someone who gets it.” wilbur shot back immediately, silencing you. “i want you. i love you so much, darling. i don’t care if you don’t like the crowds, or if you don’t feel comfortable with me talking about you on stream or posting photos on instagram. none of that means anything to me. the only important thing is you and only you.”

you were almost crying as you kissed him, having to close your eyes instinctively against the sun as his lips pushed against yours, his hands caressing your back comfortingly. “i’m sorry, wil.” you said softly, lips still on his. “i’m being silly.”

“just a little,” he admitted between kisses. “but so am i. i’m just glad you’re here. i love you, silly.”

“i’d say it back but i don’t feel like it anymore.”

he barked out a laugh. “fine! i’m sorry. i love you, darling. my serious girl.”

“that’s somehow worse.” he kissed you to make it up to you, though, so you allowed him to drag you back inside, this time he got a security guard to sneak you in through a back corridor where you were still met with a room full of people who knew your name. except this one had a reserved seat right next to wilbur as you got to watch him live out his dreams, right there in the front row. 

[froggibus]

SUMMER SUNTACULAR AND THINKING ABOUT LUCIO’S GOLDEN WET SKIN IN THE BEACH DRIVES ME CRAZY RAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH

one shot. smut. please im thirsty.

thanks your existing i love you 🥰

- Lucio’s simp

Sex On The Beach - Lucio

Pairing: Lucio Correia dos Santos x fem! reader (uses fem pronouns + has a pussy)

Genre: smut/nsfw

Word Count: 1.5k

Summary: a beach day with your boyfriend turns steamier than expected

CW: public sex, Lucio humour, sex on the beach, unprotected sex, nipple play, creampie

sgfdhskskl I was so so so excited to write this. idk if its cause of the summer games event or lucioball or what but whenever its summer, i always think about our froggi boy. this was sm fun to write and i hope you like it! also thanks sm for your support & participating in the event <3

this is part of our Summer Suntacular event! come check it out!

The sweltering sun overhead gleams across your boyfriend's chest, his tanned skin turning golden in the sunlight. He flashes you a bright smile and gives you a wave from where he stands knee deep in the shimmering, blue water. 

The thinly strewn muscles in his arm flex with the motion, the rippling, golden skin enough to make you drool. You’re grateful for the distance, partly so he can’t see you salivating over something as simple as him shirtless, and partly so you don’t pounce on him in such a public place. 

You take a deep breath—though it does nothing to sate the heat washing across your skin—and cross your legs. You return his wave, cupping your hand over your eyes so you can see him better. 

Grabbing the melted remnants of your mai tai, you settle into your towel in the warm sand and look around. Despite being such a gorgeous, hot day, hardly anyone is around. The family that had been set up about twenty metres away from you have long since packed up, leaving the two of you in almost complete isolation. 

You sip back the rest of your drink and go back to watching your boyfriend do the backstroke. Each wave of his arm in the water is followed with water rolling down his muscles—all you can think is how badly you want to rub your hands down his skin and lick the water as it drips down. 

“Earth to y/n, hello?”

You flinch, your heart beating a thousand times a second. You glance up at your boyfriend and offer a sheepish smile. “Hey baby.”

“Whatcha looking at?” He asks, but judging by the grin on his face, he knows damn well what you were looking at. 

You dig your hands into the sand and push yourself up. “Just you.” You grin at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. 

He leans in and presses a kiss to your lips. “What about me, hm?”

You slide your hands down his neck, to his shoulder blades and the muscles that live there. His skin is warm to the touch with the occasional cold drop of water relieving your palms. You plant another kiss on his lips. 

“You’re just so sexy,” you admit, suddenly feeling a little hot. “You look like a demigod.”

He laughs. “More like a music god.”

You roll your eyes at his stupid joke, letting out a snort. He slides his hands to your waist, digging the pads of his fingers into your sides and tugging you towards him. 

He kisses you again, intensely, desperately. You press your body closer to his, drawing him in as close as you can. You can feel every crevice of his body, feel the flexing of his abs and arms with every little motion he makes. 

He slips his tongue into your mouth, eliciting a gasp from you. He laughs against your lips, the vibrations tickling your sensitive skin. 

Just as he slides his lips to the edge of your collarbone, you gently push him away. He offers you a puzzled look, his dark brows raised. 

“We’re in public. What if someone sees?”

He gestures towards the miles long empty beach. “Yeah, look at this crazy audience. I wish I had a turn out like this at my shows.”

“Okay, okay, I get it.” You lightly slap his shoulder. “Jerk.”

“You love it,” he beams and tugs you in for another kiss. 

It’s needier than before, pure desire following in the wake of each sloppy motion. His hands trail down your body, running down the curves of your bathing suit and settling on the spot where the waistband of your bikini bottoms rest on your skin. 

He slides his fingers across the band, dipping them just inside and stopping. His lips trail down from yours to your collarbone, planting sloppy kisses as he makes his way down from your neck to your chest. 

You gasp when his lips wrap around your clothed nipple, the warmth of his mouth teasing at your sensitive skin. You slide your hand through his hair, twirling his locks around your fingers. 

His other hand slides into your bottoms and cups your heat. You can feel him smirk against your nipple, the sudden motion forcing a moan from your mouth. 

The pads of his fingers rub at your clit, drawing lazy circles while his mouth makes quick work of your nipples. He slowly drags his finger down your slit, collecting your juices before slowly pushing his index finger inside of you. 

You clench around him, your knees suddenly feeling wobbly and threatening to send you face first into the sand. Lucio braces you against him, kneeling down until both of you are awkwardly laying on the towel together. 

The towel is warm on your back from the sand underneath it, but it’s a welcome warmth. On instinct, you spread your legs, trying to silently tell him you want more. 

Lucio obliges—always reading your body language even better than sheet music—slipping another finger inside of you. You throw your head back, a puff of sand flying up on either side of you, and arch your back to give him better access. 

He curls his fingers inside of you, the soft pads digging into that spot inside of you that drives you crazy. Just as you get used to the rhythm of his pumping fingers, he pulls out. 

“Babe!” You cry, looking at him through your lashes. “Why’d you stop?”

He pulls back, propping himself up on his knees so he can slowly tug down his board shorts. “Can’t let you have all the fun, can I?”

Lucio swears drool leaks out of the corner of your mouth as he tugs his shorts down just enough to free his thick, throbbing cock. He was already half hard just from seeing you in your bathing suit, but when he stuck his hands in your cunt and felt just how wet you are for him, his cock almost hurt from how hard it got. 

He reaches his hand towards your core, pulling your bikini bottoms to the side to make room for his cock. He leans into you, lining his cock up with your entrance, and slowly pushes in. 

The stretch makes you whine, fisting your hands in the sand and clenching your eyes shut. Lucio digs his hands into the meat of your hips, using it to push himself even deeper. It feels like forever until he bottoms out, until his cock scrapes that spot deep inside of you that only he can hit. 

He strokes your cheek gently, prompting you to open your eyes. “How’re we doing, baby?”

“G—good,” you stutter out. 

The sun behind his silhouette casts a godly glow to his skin, making him look ethereal. You wrap your arms around his neck and slowly bounce your hips against his. 

He smiles at your eagerness, taking the hint and starting to meet you halfway. His thrusts slowly pick up the pace as he finds his rhythm, his skin making loud slapping noises as his balls smack against your thighs. 

Beads of sweat roll down his neck and arms, making his muscles glisten. Soft grunts and groans escape his lips in tandem with the thrust of his hips against yours. He rolls his cock inside of you, the tip just gently brushing your cervix. 

You tug him closer, burying your face into his neck so you can whine even louder while he fucks you. Lucio mimics you, lips pressed so deep into your collarbone that you can feel the vibrations of his moans in your chest. 

The knot in your stomach build with every motion, coiling tighter and tighter and threatening to snap with each drag of his cock. You clench around him, desperate for more. More of what, you’re not sure. 

“If you keep clenching me like that,” he grunts, “I’m not gonna be able to pull out.”

You wrap your legs around his waist, forcing him deeper inside of you. “I d-don’t want you to.”

Lucio cums almost as soon as the words leave your mouth, thrusting sloppily as he shoots rope after rope of white hot cum inside of you. The heat and the motion and his sexy fucking moans send you spiraling, the knot in your stomach bursting open and pushing you over the edge. 

All the muscles in your body contract, the heat in your body reaching a nearly unbearable temperature. Your eyes flutter open and shut, tears pricking the corners and threatening to spill through the waves of your orgasm. 

Lucio strokes your head weakly while you cum, still winding down from his own high, and whispers praise in your ears. 

You blink at him a few times when the aftershocks of your orgasm finally subside. The world around you comes back into view and suddenly you remember exactly where you are. 

“How are you feeling?” He asks and rolls off of you. 

“Good, good.” You say, pulling your bottoms back into place before his cum can fully leak out. “Hey babe?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we go home? I need to shower.” You swallow back a laugh, “I have sand in places you should never have sand.”

summer suntacular | masterlist | overwatch masterlist

(if you enjoy content like this, interactions go a long way! comments, likes & rbs are always greatly appreciated ^-^ !!)

[random-introverted-blog]

No More [Selunite!Shadowheart x F!Reader/Tav]

NOTE: THIS IS A CONTINUATION OF FLICKERS OF LOSS. Yes, I did it, thank AO3 you cowards.

Honestly, I planned more but like where it ended too much to drag it out [sandcastles next time?]

Continuation/Part 3 - Shadows of Shar

Intended Audience: Mature [it gets a teeny bit questionable but that's why the teens will ignore this rating anyway]

Who be smoochin?: Shadowheart x F!Reader/Tav (I got tired of y/n, broke my writing immersion)

The Bit: It's been a month since Selunite!Shadowheart and you escaped DarkJusticiar!Shadowheart. You haven't been sleeping well, and are struggling to adjust. It doesn't help that the wound she left on your hand, binding you to her, still torments you. Or the nightmares you have nearly every time you lay down. Or that you have few memories of your prior life with Selunite!Shadowheart to guide you.

Warnings/Advisories: Fluffy hurt comfort. You're going through it, lingering Stockholm Syndrome is making your thoughts questionable at times, one of your nightmares gets pretty spooky, you're still pretty damn brainwashed and your girlfriend is mega supportive. Mildly graphic detail of a relived memory, a distinct lack of sandcastles (sorry guys it was mostly written by the time it was suggested BUT... maybe next time? NO PROMISES)

Words, all the word (count): 2,583, baebeeeee

Link to the AO3 page if you prefer reading there

MINIMAL EDITING - WE FORGET AND DIE LIKE SHARRANS (AGAIN)

Providing a continuation I didn't think I'd actually write I'm 3...2...1...

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Absentmindedly, your fingertips brushed over the wounds on your hand, staring into the darkness of the night surrounding the cottage. The rough texture of the log you've perched yourself on helped keep your mind from wandering too far while the chirping of crickets and hooting owls provided a beautiful, calming melody.

Dawn would break in two or so hours. You think. It was still odd, having to relearn things that came so simply to others. There was no need to memorize the lights in the sky when you seldom found yourself beneath them.

Twinkling and bright, they soothed something in you. Sure, the moon was beautiful, and you'd always be eternally grateful for everything Selûne has done. After all, it was her amulet around your neck that provided enduring guardianship over you. But sometimes... you just wanted the sparkling freckles scattered along the dark canvas of the night sky.

But your mind always wandered back to where it shouldn't. Or maybe it should. It was still so hard to tell. Even as you trace the shapes scarred into your flesh, something inside you... ached. Was that man hurting her? Does he make sure she has her black velvet tea stuff in the morning? Does she miss you?

Like you miss her...

Gods, how pathetic can you be?

A searing, throbbing burst of pain surges across your nerves from your hand, spreading up your arm and finally subsiding at your elbow. The scars-turned-sigils flickering a brief violet, while you wince and hiss. You were getting better at tolerating the pain...

Familiar footfalls crunched the leaves and twigs leading to your log. The first time, you jumped and darted into the woods. Found only when your wound flared so intensely, you screamed. The times after that, you jumped.

You've started to relearn the feeling of her presence, like a warm embrace that lingers in your memory. Differentiate it from what you were trained to know.

She took a seat beside you, positioning herself on your right. Close enough, you could feel her, distant enough to avoid suffocating you. The soft rustle of her clothing barely registered amidst the ambient songs of the evening. Silence enveloped her but was not unexpected, as she occasionally left you to your own musings. Just by being there, she effortlessly offered endless support. Provide soothing reassurance, an attentive ear or a warm shoulder - Whatever you needed, she would make sure you had it. It was one of the first things she taught you.

Though... recovery was still difficult. Part of you wanted to hear her. Scoot closer until you could feel her warmth. All you had to do was ask. Reach out for her. You weren't sure how to do much of that yet, but you wanted to try... you wanted to so badly. "I... don't want to sleep anymore." The words escape your lips in a hushed murmur, echoing the reason behind your presence in this place, reminding you why you're out here in the first place. And you fought desperately to shut it out.

"I know." She whispers, tone brimming with empathy. As you glance sideways, you can see her eyes locked on you, watching your every move. "But you need to. Running from it won't heal you, my love." Her hand moves closer to you, silently asking for permission.

All you do is return your hand to your side on the log, and Shadowheart does the rest. Her fingers delicately traced the contours of your hand as she slid hers over yours. You hesitantly meet her eyes, feeling a surge of nervous anticipation. All the warmth and happiness you wanted so badly was now laid bare and raw before you. Ready for you to come to your senses, get over yourself and...

Again, but worse this time. Your arm throbbed intensely, the pain spreading from your hand and into your shoulder, igniting a blazing fire pulsating through your entire body. It felt as though invisible knives were mercilessly carving your skin, prompting an involuntary cry of agony for just a fleeting moment before you quickly stifled it by clenching your teeth, your eyes screwed tightly shut.

You're barely aware of Shadowheart's hands clasped around yours, closer to you now, her soft-spoken words of affection and comfort. "Shh," she coos warmly, trying to soothe you. "It'll pass... just breathe. Shh... I'm right here, listen to me and breathe, love..." As your hand relaxes between hers and your breathing finds a steady rhythm, she can't help but smile. "There... See? Already passed." Shadowheart adds, placing a delicate peck to your temple, sending a warm tingle down your spine.

"Mine is bound to..."

"I know..." She cuts you off gently, rubbing soft circles on your hand. "This is the most she can do to you now. And the more you reclaim of yourself, the less this will matter. I promise."

Giving your hand a gentle squeeze before rising to her feet and gently pulling you with her. You don't fight her.

Leading you back inside, she playfully shoos away a dog lingering at the door, giggling quietly as it scampers off. A frown briefly creases your lips, wishing you could recognize the animals as much as they recognized you.

As she led you up the stairs to your bedroom, she made sure to keep your hand in hers, providing a constant sense of comfort until you reached the bed. She lifts a cat from your side of the bed and settles it on the floor before reaching for you to help you in. But she reads the look on your face, smiles almost apologetically and settles for just holding your hand until you sit on the edge of the bed.

Once you appear to relax, she gracefully rounds the bed and climbs in on her side, the mattress sinking slightly beneath her weight. Her eyes burning into your back as you sit there, hesitating. "Love, please..."

Her fingers lightly graze your exposed shoulder, causing you to flinch involuntarily. Shadowheart pauses, and you cringe at the hurt you sense radiating from her now still hand. But she tries, so slowly and timidly. "I'll be right here, sweetheart. Whatever comes, you won't face it alone this time. I swear..."

The tenderness in her voice is so different from the harsh commands you've come to expect. It's like a balm to your wary mind and you carefully ease yourself down to rest your head on the pillow.

For a split second, you're staring at the dark ceiling of that place and your core twitches in anticipation, ready to give everything and anything she wants of you.

A warm hand settles over yours, its touch so gentle that you don't notice your own trembling until she holds them steady. "You're safe here." Shadowheart reassures, voice barely above a whisper beside you. Nights have been difficult for the entire month you've been here, beset by restless sleep and haunting dreams. Surely it was wearing on her, this constant need to comfort and ground you... But here she was, just as patient and present as she was the first night. Not so much as implying a single complaint, passive or otherwise. "Can I hold you?" She asks, voice deliberate and measured, like the very words would startle you into the woods.

You offer a subtle nod, the faint sound of your affirmation barely audible in the room. As you do, you notice her cautious shuffle, the soft rustling of her moving across the bed. The moonlight through the window behind the bed casts a gentle glow, illuminating her hands, which she purposefully positions within your line of sight. You can sense her deliberate awareness, her conscious effort to ensure her actions remain visible. Gradually, she encircles you with her arms, her touch conveying a tender and guarded embrace. The scent of her envelops you - lavender and night orchids - adding a touch of familiarity.

She would never have... your body was hers to suit her whims...

"You're safe here..." Shadowheart whispers into your ear, returning you to the cottage. The present. Her nose gently presses into the crook of your neck, the warmth of her breath a soft caress you fixate on as your eyelids drift closed.

The initial darkness is hushed and welcoming, like a gentle whisper in the night... until it's not.

Until it's frigid and gripping at your limbs so tight, you almost lose feeling in them... Until they're pulling at the seams of you, tearing at you and boils your blood hot enough you swear your skin is melting off your bones like wax off a wick. You would scream if your mouth were allowed to open. "You've strayed, pet..." the icy voice scolds, her tone low. From the depths of the darkness, a faint silhouette emerges, steadily approaching you. "And we both know deep down that's not your honest desire."

Closing the distance between you, She emerges and looms above, her presence dominating. You realize now you're on your knees, with a sense of vulnerability washing over you.. Wearing her black robe you could still vividly envision even without seeing it. "Recall your prayer of contrition, when you first came to the Nightsingers' embrace."

You do, and the sharp pang of unmitigated anguish shoots through you. "When you wavered at the altar, when you turned away from her and hesitated to send Nyxara to her endless dark." It's as if a floodgate opens, and the memory of your first friend in the cloister rushes in. And your first act of wickedness to earn your place in it.

How She had to take your hand and drive the blade into her chest. The ghostly touch of tears streaming down your face lingers, as if they were shed just moments ago. You could almost still feel her heart beating its last into your palm through the dagger, as if you were still holding it. Could nearly feel the warmth of her life ebbing away in your hand.

You were permitted a pass only because She needed you initiated as soon as possible. But you had to pray for hours, the soft murmurs of your pleas mingling with the soft rustle of her robe as She circled you. Watched over you. Ensured your prayers were offered with utmost deference and reverence. Punishing you with your wound if you slipped in fervor.

Before you were called again to sacrifice Umbric, your only other friend. Your last one. Both a second chance to do it properly, and to repent of your failure... No more attachments. Only Shar. Only Her.

You knew better than to make friends after that.

Her slow crouch brought her eyes, icy green and intense, to meet yours, leaving you feeling completely powerless, entranced and held captive by her gaze. "Recite it. Recite it and repent for forswearing your faith to Lady Shar." The demand feels impossible to ignore, your mouth returning to you and an expectant glare follows.

"Mistress Shar, in the shadow of loss, I beseech your forgiveness. Forgive my faltering..."

"Tav!"

Your body lurches forward, drawing in a deep breath that fills your starving lungs. You feel your entire body trembling until warm, comforting arms encircle you. Offering a sense of security and safety. "I've got you, you're okay..."

"F-forgive my faltering faith, Mistress Shar—"

"Tav, no," Shadowheart says firmly, "come back to me, my love, I know you're stronger than her..." the stifled tremor is enough to clear the fog in your mind. "You're more than a puppet for her amusement. You always have been..." pressing a soft kiss to the top of your head before nestling her nose in your hair. Drawing you deeper into her arms.

Recite it.

"I... don't want to..." Finally you break, the intensity of your training and your hunger for this new way of life conflicting so fiercely it overwhelms you.

Without further clarification, she amazingly understands. "No, my love, you don't have to. Not anymore... Never again." Shadowheart mutters into your hair. Holding you tighter when she feels the wet warmth you're bathing her shirt in. "Gods, I'm so sorry," she mutters, her voice filled with a self-reproach. "I should have done more, planned better, gotten to you sooner..."

You don't think, not really. You just act. Like you know already. The motions are a blur, but you know you pull back just enough... then your lips are on hers. She takes a moment to gather herself, but eventually eases into the moment and reciprocates. And it's unbelievably amazing.

The way she kisses you is sweet and tender, as if she wants to savor every moment with you. How she touched you, looked at you, now kissing you, like you were the most cherished and adored person in the world. Her lips against yours is so soft and electrifying that it sends wonderful shivers down your spine, and your body tingles in bliss.

There's no teeth, no pain, no blood. Only the warmth of her mouth moving slowly with yours like a delicate caress. Her hands are soft on your back, maintaining the security her arms provide you. It's everything beautiful that your stunted memory can recall of her kisses, and more... and you never want her to stop, craving for more. How have you gone this long without realizing how indescribably incredible she is?

But surely she does, if ever slightly. Neither of you seems ready to fully disconnect from each other. Your eyes remaining closed. "No more..." you whisper quietly.

"No more..." Shadowheart echoes just as quietly. Her lips twitching slightly, one hand brushing away a few lingering tears from your cheek. "Not anymore." Pressing a small kiss to your lips. "Never again." And another before her smile spreads wider.

Shadowheart gracefully maneuvers you both again to lie down in bed. This time you're practically on top of her, your face nuzzled into her shoulder. You gently weave your fingers through her smooth, flowing white hair, which partially cascades over her other shoulder, eliciting both a smile and a small sigh of appreciation from her. Mesmerized by her beauty, you can't help gawk in awe. Bathed in the ethereal glow of the moonlight streaming through the window, she looks absolutely radiant.

Her hand, still playing with the hair behind your head, guides you to rest on her shoulder. Securing you against her with her arm.

The memory crosses your mind and though you tense a moment; it doesn't... hurt as much as you've come to expect. Shadowheart gently tightens her arms in silent reassurance, and you respond by wiggling impossibly closer to her. The last thing you want is for her to think you feel or appreciate nothing she's done.

Instead, you gently drape your arm over her waist, feeling a sense of belonging and protection, as your mind wanders to Shadowheart... Your Shadowheart, savoring how your body melds so perfectly with hers. The adventures you must have shared. Wondering if there's a way to get those memories back.

Shadowheart fills all the dark corners of your thoughts, leaving no room for her to overrun your peace of mind. Before long, the rhythmic rise and fall of her chest, her steady breathing, has created a soothing lullaby that lulls you back to sleep.

This time, you're welcomed by a soft radiance and a soothing warmth.

In your fragmented memory, you can't recall a time when you've slept as soundly as you do now, peacefully drifting into a deep slumber.

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A/N: Wowowow okay hi. I didn't honestly expect to write anything beyond where it ended. Nothing public anyways. But AO3 asked very nicely (thanks!) for a continuation. I honestly intended this to be a beefy one but really liked the vibe and way it ended. Ya get what ya get. Quality over quantity, yeah?

Thanks again to everyone who likes, reblogs, replies, supports this little project in anyway you deem worth your time! And with that... Unpopular writer, awayyyy...

[inquisitornocturn]

𝖑𝖆𝖈𝖗𝖎𝖒𝖔𝖘𝖆 𝖎𝖓 𝖗𝖚𝖇𝖊𝖔, 𝖘𝖆𝖓𝖌𝖚𝖎𝖓𝖆𝖗𝖎𝖚𝖘 𝖎𝖓 𝖆𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖔

𝔠𝔥𝔞𝔭𝔱𝔢𝔯 1 - 𝔠𝔞𝔯𝔪𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔢𝔫𝔢𝔟𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔰 𝔴𝔢𝔟

“Art should comfort the disturbed and disturb the comfortable.” – Cesar A. Cruz

⫸ pairing: Cazador Szarr/f!high elf reader

⫸ tags: no y/n used etc, POV second person, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, canon-typical violence, asphyxiation, physical abuse.

⫸ story summary: Accompanying your father, the General of Baldur's Gate, has always been a duty that bores you near to death, but for first time you feel completely unnerved as you come to Szarr mansion. The family's patriarch is a strange man and so is his wife and son. Son, who seems unperturbed by anything, until he's left alone with you that is. Then and only then, Cazador shows emotion and what kind of a threat he is. You realize soon - behind those dark eyes there's something dangerous lurking and your future soon becomes inescapably intertwined with his.

work contains illustrations, credit at the end

⫸ word count: 5,825

⫸ author note: oh god where do i even start. this fic has been for a very long time in the making, and plot has been reworked so many times i nearly lost count. besides drastic changes and rewrites - he it is. i want to thank artists who kindly worked with me to bring more life to this fic with their skill and as cheesy as it sounds - i want to thank people who constantly supported me through planning and every other agony that i went through while i was figuring this work out. i call this my magnum opus and i can only hope that those who read it buckle up for the journey. it's going to be a wild, dark ride. enjoy♡~

⫸ chapter list: [link]

“Vice is ever most dangerous when lurking behind the Mask of Virtue.” ― Matthew Gregory Lewis

1021DR

A throne, carved from stone and elevated over the rest of the hall with steps leading to it. Steps are draped with red carpet, askew in parts, and there’s candles everywhere. The evening is coming, casting only slivers of orange sunlight through the gaps in heavy bronze colored curtains, making the room sink in darkness if not for the candles and a fireplace. You glance around with only your eyes, feeling unnerved and on edge, not even knowing why.

Your father is on your right, a tall figure with long white hair that he keeps loose on his back, and his silver eyes are looking ahead of him with seriousness of a warrior about to engage in a battle. You have seen this look before, the look that tells you that your father, the recently appointed General of Baldur’s Gate army, is taking his opponent seriously. Except this time his opponent is not a raging zealot or a horde of goblins, it’s a man.

This man, when you finally return your gaze to him, doesn’t look very intimidating except for the throne he’s sitting on and his relaxed pose. With knees parted and his back lazily leaned against the backrest of his seat, this man exudes power through his body language, even with how his jaw is resting easily on his knuckles or how fingers of his other hand tap lazily against the armrest. You take the man in: black long hair, straight, draping to his waist, red piercing eyes gazing down from an upturned, arrogant face. His nose is straight, his lips are pulled into a tiniest of smirks and his garb is embroidered with bronze threads of light gold silk. A garment to show status, not practicality.

“Lord Varitan Szarr, I am grateful you granted an audience.” Your father begins and you glance at him, unable to stop yourself before you do. Granted an audience? You never heard him speak like this before, even to the Duke. “Can I assume you have been informed about the purpose of my visit?”

You look back at the patriarch of the Szarr family. He’s not speaking, not yet, because he’s clearly observing your father with sharp eyes. Led by curiosity you glance at the chair on the left to the throne, noticing a woman there. Her black hair is put up and her dark eyes are watching you. When your gaze meets hers, a shiver runs down your spine. You turn your eyes away, not sure if the woman is trying to provoke you or make you uncomfortable, but either way – you are not willing to play the games of strangers.

When your eyes move to the right of the throne you see a young man sitting in the second hair. He looks maybe around your age, maybe few decades older, you can’t quite tell, but it’s hard to tell such things even among the elves. His uncommon appearance, just like Lord Szarr and the strange woman, tell you that he is related to the man in the throne. Young elf doesn’t seem to see you as he watches your father, his dark eyes fixated on the General, his hands resting on his thighs in a disciplined manner, and you can’t help but notice that he has same length hair as Szarr patriarch. Could he be the young man’s father? The resemblance is definitely there, to the woman as well.

Your observations don’t last more than a long moment and your eyes instinctively snap to the speaker, Lord Szarr, the moment he opens his mouth.

“Yes, I have been informed. I hear you are reforming the army, is that correct, General Cradith Sylven?”

“It is.”

“I hear you want my son to be part of it?”

A pause short as a heartbeat and yet you still notice your father hesitating before he responds with a voice that betrays none of his own thoughts. That’s something you always admired in him as he taught you how to be a soldier just like him.

“That’s correct.” A curt, short reply and another pause before he continues. “I’m sure that young Lord Cazador would benefit from such position.” General gestures to the young man and you follow the direction with your eyes, seeing how the one named Cazador is focused on your father, his eyes watching with silent curiosity.

“Would he now?” Lord Varitan laughs and your eyes are drawn to him when he moves, getting off the throne and making one single step to Cazador, placing a heavy looking hand on the young man’s shoulder, but not receiving any reaction as he does so. “What do you think, child, would military strengthen your character?” Patriarch laughs but nobody else finds humor in his words, not even your father who often jokes with other soldiers about how every child needs a sword in their hand to gain a spine.

Awkward silence is cast upon the hall as only Lord Szarr’s laughter seems to be echoing off the walls, and you notice how he squeezes Cazador’s shoulder, tight enough to turn his fingernails white, yet the young elf seems completely unperturbed by it, sitting in silence before his eyes suddenly turn to you and meet your curious gaze.

You almost lean back from the intensity of his dark eyes that bore into you, and you nearly look at your father, instinctively wanting to ask for help, but then you frown and arrogantly raise an eyebrow at him, as if challenging him, and Cazador’s gaze slips from you to your father once more. You can barely hold your smirk down – a victory, however small.

“How old is your daughter, General?” Lord Szarr speaks again once his amusement settles and you watch the man descent the steps from his throne, approaching you and your father, making you suddenly realize how tall he is.

“Hundred and ninety-seven, Lord Szarr.” Your father replies calmly and the patriarch stops once he’s in front of you. He faces you specifically, his gaze cast down on you as he confidently reaches out and takes a strand of your long hair into his fingers, caressing it without pulling at it.

“Beautiful flower, General. But made of steel, I can tell already. I hear you’ve trained her to be a quite skilled little soldier?” there’s something mocking about how the man talks about you and you frown, albeit you otherwise don’t move a muscle. Your expression is noticed immediately and the Szarr patriarch lifts an eyebrow at you, eyeing your stance as you keep yourself straight and proud, just like your father taught you.

“I would suggest you talk about my daughter in more respectable terms, Lord. I’m sure you wouldn’t appreciate such things being said about your wife or son.” Your father immediately verbally steps in and you feel relief. Yes, you could respond, snap back, mock, maybe even physically take down this pompous ruler of his household, but you know better than to act upon your anger. You’ve been taught better than this.

Lord Szarr drops the strand of hair he was holding the moment your father finishes speaking and you watch him turn from you and face your father at last. General Cradith is not short by any means but even he has to turn his face up when speaking to this self-important man.

“My wife wouldn’t mind, I’m sure of it.” He laughs and then crosses arms on his chest. “My son wouldn’t either. Is that right?”

“Yes.” A singular reply comes from Cazador, making you briefly glance at him.

“Good. And you, Donnela?” without being looked at, the woman is addressed, but she slightly bows her head anyway.

“Yes, my dear.” Her voice is smooth, soothing even.

“Good, good.” Lord Szarr laughs and uncrosses his arms to place a palm on your father’s armored shoulder. “Now let us go somewhere more private to discuss your proposition, I’m sure the children will be fine without us.” His eyes snap to his wife. “Donnela, make sure that Cazador entertains our esteemed guest while I talk to General.”

You glance at Lady Donnela and then at your father, question in your eyes but he just nods.

“Get to know the lad, I’m sure he’s a pleasant company.” He says and you immediately want to reply and say that you doubt it, but instead you remain quiet and obediently nod. Not the time or place to be snarky with your own father. This Lord Szarr obviously is a tricky man to interact with, so when your father nods to you in return, you exhale slowly and watch him being led away to a door on the side of the room.

Once the men are gone, with the door tightly shut behind them, Donnela raises from her seat and looks at Cazador with an emotion you can’t call anything but contempt.

“Go, do as your father says.” Her voice is nothing like it was before, not soothing or pleasant anymore, but instead sharp and demanding. “Go, you idiot boy!” She snaps at him before even a moment can pass since her previous words and you yourself nearly flinch at them, but not Cazador. He raises to his feet and without looking at his mother, descends the few stairs and walks to you.

“Come. They will take a while.” He says in a tone that’s quite blank and you frown but nod, following him.

As the young man leads you outside of the hall, you throw one last look into Lady Donnela’s direction, noticing her smoldering gaze that speaks of hatred cast upon her son, and you wonder why, but Cazador opens the door, letting warm evening air enter the chilly room and the sunlight looks so welcoming now, after spending time in the dark hall even for as little as you did.

You two walk out and approach the balustrade of the mansion, glancing upon the fields and the houses down below. You know that Szarrs are building the palace in Baldur’s Gate, but here, in Anga Vled, you find the view quite bucolic, relaxing even. The streets can get so busy after all.

Cazador leans over the balustrade, draping his arms over it and looks into the horizon as you take a spot on his right, looking to the setting sun yourself. Silence follows and how long it lasts you’re not sure.

“She’s not my mother.” Cazador suddenly speaks and you look at him, seeing his long black hair whisp in the light breeze. He’s beautiful in this moment, you admit to yourself. His features so unusual for elves and yet you can’t deny that he’s handsome.

“Really? Lord Szarr seemed to insist that she is.” You comment and you hear the young man scoff.

“He insists everyone is a family.” A puzzling comment, but you don’t have time to think about it before Cazador speaks again. “Well, she is my mother, but she forgets that more often than not.”

Silence.

You don’t know how to reply so you remain quiet for a time, thinking about what he just said.

“I call her aunt, it seems more fitting.”

Ah. You understand now.

Yet you remain quiet for some more time, unsure if you should address what Cazador just said or let your suspicion that his mother is actually also his aunt too go unspoken, so you try to think of something else to talk about.

“Do you want to join the military?” you ask with your throat quite dry and Cazador looks at you, his waist-length hair wisping across his face and he moves his hand to tuck rogue strands behind his pointy ear. A smile appears on his face, tainted with same arrogance his father showed before.

“If anything, it would get me out of this barn.” He smirks and you raise an eyebrow at that. Szarr mansion surely is not as luxurious as some houses in Gate but calling it a barn seems a bit much. And spoiled, it sounds very spoiled to you.

“You’re not going to survive through the training if that’s your attitude.” You can’t help your snark as you smirk back at him and Cazador pushes himself off the balustrade, stepping towards you, his eyes narrowed.

“And who are you to judge me, hm?”

“My father says I was born with a sword holding hand.” You grin at him, feeling superior than Cazador. You’ve been training how to fight since you were a toddler, you’re not sure if Cazador’s pale skin and slender fingers are telling the same story. He seems the type to spend bent over books instead of holding a weapon, but his towering figure does intimidate you to a degree, and you swallow as you look at him, your eyes locked on his while a moment passes charged with tension.

You are caught off guard when Cazador’s hand shoots up, grabbing you by the throat and squeezing so tightly you immediately cannot breathe. Your eyes widen at the assault and you try to pry his fingers away while the young Master begins lifting you as if trying to elevate you to his eye level. Yet when you’re on your toes he bends over you, bringing his face close, and you see a chilling joy in them because of your struggle, because how you gasp for air. His other hand now clasps over your open mouth as if he doesn’t want to risk even a smallest sound escaping you, and a wicked smile appears on his face. Pure, unadulterated delight is reflected on his face, tainted only by how cruel it is. He’s terrifyingly beautiful as he looks down on you like this, like the death itself.

“Quite a little soldier you are.” Cazador hums in near sing-song voice that’s barely above a whisper, you and only you are meant to hear it. “But not quite sharp as you reckoned, don’t you think? You could be dead. You can be dead if I just keep this going for a moment longer.” He chuckles and pure fear begins spreading in your chest. With your eyes still wide you stare at him, gripping his hand and trying to pry it away from your neck while your lungs burn for air more painfully with each passing second. “But don’t worry, you’re too important to damage.” Szarr finishes with a whisper and with one last gleeful look at your shocked, fearful face he releases your neck.

You land on your feet, immediately stepping backwards from him. Your fingers instinctively move to your sword by your side and you tug at it only to stop when Cazador raises his hand at you, smirking with satisfaction at this little display of power he just showed to you.

“Calm down.” He laughs while your heart beats fast in your chest and you gasp for air with your face twisted in anger. Cazador upturns his palm with a wide smile, now looking less cruel but still amused. “Give me your hand.”

“Do you think I’m stupid?”

“Yes.”

“You little-“

“Give me your hand.” Cazador’s tone is suddenly sharp, cutting you off mid-swear and if you could frown any more you would.

However, begrudgingly you realize that in the end he didn’t harm you. On top of that, you suspect he’s trying to make a point and, despite your anger and your wounded pride, you are still curious about what that point is. So with some reluctance you release the handle of your sword and straighten your back, showing pride with which you were born when you step closer and place your hand in his. Cazador’s smile is soft when you do as he wants and then he tugs you towards him.

“What are you doing?!” you gasp with sudden blush on your face when you’re pressed chest to chest with him, but young Master just takes your hand more comfortably, placing his other on your waist and begins leading you to music that only he can hear.

Shocked and quite speechless, you try to follow his steps until you recognize the pattern and let him lead you, turning and spinning, dancing with you while he watches you go through several emotions: shock, then anger again for being treated like this, then curiosity accompanied by a slight blush.

“You dance well.” He comments and you smirk at him.

“I’m a noble too, not just a soldier. I attended my fair share of balls and battles.”

“I can tell.” Cazador says and stops, pulling you by your hand and making you spin around, then tugging you to his chest again, this time your back to him as if you’re a marionette he’s controlling, pulling you by your strings.

His arm wraps around your waist and your hand is released only for you to feel his fingers around your throat once again. Your heart skips a beat in fear and he can feel it, because he’s pressing his fingertips against your jugular. You gasp and stay still, with your hands on his arm on your waist, as Cazador makes you look into the horizon, to the setting sun that’s slowly letting the sky become darker as it loses the orange coloring. His touch is firm, yet gentle and warm.

“Look, what do you see?” Cazador asks in a quiet voice and you sweep your eyes over the sky, then over the fields and houses.

“Life.” You respond in a voice that matches his and you feel him begin to rub the underside of your jaw with his thumb.

“Indeed. There’s life. In the sky, on the ground, in the earth.” He continues, the warmth of his chest against your back soothing you, the flicker of fear that you just felt snuffed out at last. You feel strangely safe, even with his hand on your throat after letting you know exactly what he can do. “Do you think you can protect that life, soldier?”

Cazador’s question puzzles you slightly, he’s still getting to the point and you’re becoming impatient. So you turn your head slightly, to look up at him and the dark, calm gaze of his eyes meets yours. The closeness makes you feel flustered but you try to hide it.

“I don’t look to protect life, Cazador. I enjoy the rush of the battle, the feeling of victory, the blood on my hands.” You finally respond and notice a glimmer of surprise in his expression before he grins, obviously satisfied with your answer. His thumb props your chin just a little higher as he leans closer, his eyes not leaving yours.

“I’m sure they scream beautifully when you kill them.” Szarr whispers with same terrifying glee that you saw on his face when he was choking you and you can’t help but find it… appealing. Yes, that’s right. He’s crazy, insane, absolutely nuts, that’s what you tell yourself, but somehow how he acts, how he talks, it makes your blood run faster.

And so you break into a grin of your own.

“They do.” You pause, wondering if you should share the secret you never uttered even to your father and decide that you can, that Cazador will understand the joy of a good fight, the adrenaline of it all. “If I have time, I make sure that they suffer as much as they can.” Your whisper is so quiet that Cazador has to lean even closer to hear it, and when he hears what you’re saying - there’s like a spark in his eyes. He’s surprised, pleasantly so.

“Then I would be glad to ride into a battle with you, my Lady.” He whispers back and you blush slightly, feeling like you both suddenly formed a strange connection, found someone who shares the same view of a good fight and good victory.

But the moment, that is clearly turning intimate somewhat, is suddenly interrupted by the opening door and a loud, angry scream.

“Release her at once!” Lady Donnela’s voice is shrill and Cazador flinches at it, but he doesn’t let go of you just yet. His eyes move from your face and to his mother, a moment passes and you finally feel his hands leave you.

Blushing now for being caught like this you step away from him, your eyes downcast as you don’t want the woman to see that you’re embarrassed, but she quickly walks to you both and then you hear a slap. Shocked, you look up to see that Donnela just slapped Cazador so hard the sound is still ringing in your ears, but he doesn’t look phased. In fact, his face is completely calm and you can only imagine the red mark blooming on the right side of his face as Donnela now turns to you.

For a moment she looks worried as she grips your jaw to look at your face, her eyes scanning your neck, as if she is expecting Cazador was trying to hurt you, but the moment she finally pays attention and notices your blush, Lady Szarr realizes that it wasn’t the case at all. Her expression becomes a painting of rage and her nails dig into your jaw so painfully you frown.

“Stay away from him.” She warns and you blink few times in surprise, not quite sure what she means by that. Stay away for his sake or… your own?

Donnela releases your jaw and looks at her son with anger, then reaches out and grabs his long hair in a fist, beginning to walk back inside and drag Cazador with her. With utter shock at such display of abuse you stand frozen, not knowing how to react, but Cazador himself doesn’t look distressed, if anything his face is completely blank as he follows his mother back inside, and in couple seconds you are left alone, the door closing.

You exhale slowly, trying to understand what just happened, and begin walking to the door yourself when you hear a crashing sound. You run now, swinging the door open only to witness Lady Donnela on the floor, a candelabra broken by her side and Cazador standing over her, with same emotionless mask across his face. Donnela’s face, on the other hand, is both shock and rage.

“Leave! Now!” She shrieks at her son and Cazador only shows a small smirk before he nods and walks off, without giving you or her another look.

You stare at Donnela and finally snap out of your stupor before you rush to help her get up, but she pushes you away with hatred in her eyes.

“DO NOT TOUCH ME!”

You recoil immediately and just watch her quickly scramble to her feet, not even giving burning candles on the floor a glance, before she too rushes off out of the hall, leaving you alone. Utterly shocked you stand as you are for a moment, trying to understand what just happened, but when you begin smelling burning wood you walk to the broken candelabra and snuff out the candles. Then your eye catches a glimpse of something, a shine that appears right under the heavy curtain as you are putting out the flames.

After carefully looking around to see if there’s anyone else here besides yourself, you step to the curtain and kneel with one knee picking the shiny object up, then stand up and turn to the nearest candlelight to see better what it is.

You realize that the object you picked up is a pocket miniature, usually meant to portray passed loved ones that their family members can carry with them. You have seen some of your father’s soldiers carry these before and you become intrigued because you suspect Lady Donnela dropped this during whatever altercation happened between her and her son.

When you flip the portrait you see a young man, clearly an elf, sketched with a pencil instead of being painted, situated in a beautiful silver frame. You can’t tell the color of his hair or eyes, the picture carrying only the shades of grey, but you notice an emphasis on white streaks of hair framing his sharp features. What catches your attention most is this elven man’s eyes, because it seems that whoever drew this - they were captivated by the look of his piercing gaze. Regal in outfit, you assume him to be someone Lady Donnela might’ve cherished.

For a moment you just look at the picture, wondering who he is. He doesn’t seem to be related to Szarr’s, they have their unique looks making them stand out among other elves, but whoever this man was, you realize that Donnela is still attached to him enough to carry his portrait with her.

Once again you lift your eyes and look around, finding no one present in the hall except for the sounds of soft crackling fire, and you wonder what you should do while you wait for your father. The answer comes for you in a form of footsteps nearing the hall.

As Cazador returns you notice his completely calm expression. He doesn’t pause before walking to you and you just watch him approach in silence, not knowing if you should address what you have just seen, but before you can speak he’s right in front of you, eyes darting down to the object in your hands and he raises his eyebrows ever so slightly. Without a word he extends his hand, palm up, beckoning for you to place the miniature there. After a glance to his open hand you do as he wishes and young Master quickly pockets the item.

“Who was he?” you speak before you can consider if it’s a good question to ask and Cazador gives you a smile that you can see is strained.

“A friend of a family.” A pause then he clears his throat. “He’s close to Donnela.” You look at Cazador for a long moment, wanting to know more. Not because you’re overly curious about this person, but because you simply don’t know what else to say or do.

Yet before you can formulate a proper thought, the door opens and you both look in the direction of the room where your father disappeared with Lord Szarr. They both exit, smiling and seemingly relaxed.

“Child, come closer.” Varitan waves his son closer once the two men stop and your eyes meet your father’s, but you can’t exactly read his face except for the fact that he seems more relaxed compared to how he was when coming here.

Cazador, without a word, walks to his father and Lord Varitan smirks at him, clapping a hand on his shoulder. You realize that they are both nearly exact same height, making even your father stand shorter than them which is usually not the case and you approach as well, not needing permission.

“It has been decided that the boy will join Gate’s army for some time.” Patriarch of the family speaks up again and you watch him, wondering what’s the reason behind his decision because you already learned that Cazador is quick and sharp, even against someone as skilled as you. “He won’t make a military career, but I’m sure that under General Cradith he will learn a lot, won’t you, child?”

“Yes.”

“Since Lord Varitan informed me that you do have a degree of training, which you acquired back in your homeland, it was decided that you will start at the similar position as my daughter.” General says and you frown at that. This… this new recruit is going to have same position as you? You glance at your father but he either ignores your pointed stare or doesn’t see it, because he continues without skipping a beat. “Being a family member of a noble household, I’m sure Cazador knows how to take on some responsibility. Is that correct?”

“Of course he does, he is my son.” Lord Varitan answers and you now look at him, trying to keep your face neutral but finding yourself disliking the man more every time he opens his mouth.

“Then it is settled. When young Lord is ready, please do send me a letter so that we can welcome him appropriately.” Your father speaks and you finally look at Cazador, still finding that mask of nothingness across his face, completely unreadable, completely still. Even his eyes look void of emotion as he stands by his father, frozen like a statue.

You wonder what’s going through his head. You wonder if he’s happy to be promised an escape from his mother, maybe even his father, because the way he gripped Cazador earlier comes back to your mind with vivid intensity. Knuckles turning white, fingers meant to hurt, to remind him of what, his place? Or that he can’t escape, not forever?

“Of course, of course.” Lord Szarr grins and his crimson eyes look unpleasant when accompanied with his sharp smile, making him look more predatory than polite and you want to leave, as soon as possible. This mansion makes you feel like you’re in a den of wolves, or worse.

“Very well then.” Your father goes out of his way to shake Varitan’s hand and you nearly grimace at that without even knowing why, but the idea of touching the Szarr patriarch unsettles you deeply. “Come on then, let’s go.” General turns to you and with relief you nod.

When your father passes you, you turn to follow him, not sparing another glance at the dark-haired elves as you notice Lord Varitan also turn to walk away, but suddenly you hear words spoken to you.

“I guess I’ll see you soon, little soldier.” Cazador’s voice is quiet, meant only for you and you stop, turning just enough to see his face, to see the arrogant smirk on his face and he steps to you, confident and proud, his eyes now burning with excitement.

“Don’t think it’s going to be easy, recruit.” You reply with a grin, not wanting to let him feel as if he’s somehow better than you, stronger than you, and Cazador raises his eyebrows as he stops in front of you. He tilts his head slightly to the side then leans close to your face, staring deep into your eyes as if daring you to step back from him for invading your personal space, yet you stand your ground, letting him get as close as he dares, letting your own arrogance show on your face.

“I’m sure you will make army an interesting challenge to me.” Young Master’s voice is barely above a whisper, you feel his breath on your skin when he speaks, and you begin to feel blush coloring your cheeks, this closeness is too much for you, too intimate, his dark eyes becoming all that you can focus on, all that you can see.

Yet you’re not the one to admit defeat, no matter how perceived or imaginary it is. You stay still, looking back even if your palms begin to sweat. You know he’s challenging you and you are accepting it, he’s some spoiled noble after all, however capable in surprising you he was for a moment, when it comes to real fights you know, you are sure, you would best him. You have no reason to let him think he can intimidate you, so you don’t.

“Don’t make me break your neck on the first day, Szarr.” You taunt and Cazador’s grin widens, he’s pleased with your answer.

“We’ll see about that, Lady Sylven.” He too addresses you by your last name and you raise your eyebrow at him, but pause when you hear your father call for your attention and you exhale slowly, annoyed to be interrupted, but Cazador just leans back from you. “See you soon.” He says with ego dripping of each syllable and you briefly cock your chin at him, then turn and walk off, catching up with your father who’s lingering by the hall door. But entire time you walk away you feel eyes on your back, it makes you grin to yourself.

When you and General walk out of the mansion into a gently dark evening, your father glances at you as you both walk to your horses that you two took to come here from the encampment outside the Gate’s walls.

“What was that about?” he asks and you snap out of your thoughts, giving him a quick look.

“Nothing. He just told me he’s excited to join the defenders of the city, father.” You lie and quickly approach your horse, taking the reins that you tied to a wooden fence, but your father stops you by grabbing your shoulder.

When you look at him, you see that his eyes are serious, his lips pressed into a thin line, worry of a father with seriousness of a General.

“Don’t get involved with that boy, you hear me?” he says strictly and you stare at him completely baffled, not sure how to even react.

“What? Why?” you let out a nervous laugh, unnerved by his sudden mood change, but General’s fingers linger on your shoulder for a little longer before he releases you and gently presses his palm onto your cheek.

“I have a bad feeling, that is all.” Father sighs, making you feel even more confused.

“Surely you can’t judge anyone’s mettle based on what… bad feeling?” you realize you sound defensive, in a moment General’s worried expression is changed by a frown.

“My gut feeling saved my life on the battlefield multiple times before. So did yours. Do not underestimate it just because the boy is charming.” He responds and you know you’re blushing now, but you frown, still slightly defiant.

“He’s not charming, father. We just talked while waiting for you and he seemed like an interesting person.” You lie again, the memory of Donnela’s abuse flashing in your mind and then quickly disappearing. You don’t want to tell him about that either and you realize that you’re lying on Cazador’s behalf already. It makes you feel uneasy inside.

“Heed my warning, child.” Lord Cradith begins and removes his palm from your face, his hard eyes pinning you in place. “Szarrs are bad news. Be very careful with the young Master.”

You can’t argue, not when he’s using his commanding tone, this will not bode well if you talk back, so you just curtly nod and he seems to relax at that, then even smiles.

“Good. Glad you understand.”

With that you both untie your horses and mount them. As your father begins leading towards the encampment you pause and look back at the Szarr mansion, all stone and wood. At the second level of it you notice something in the window: a pale face and black hair, and at first you think it might be Cazador, until you suddenly recognize red eyes and a sharp, unsettling grin.

Grin that looks too wide to be natural.

⫸ end note: thank you @sadist69 and @alienrat-art for wonderful illustrations that helps bringing this story to life♡~

[high-infidelity-series]

Illicit Affairs - Chapter 3

Banquets set up by Demeter can always be counted upon to have the best food, and plenty of it.

They can also be counted upon to have shameless matchmaking attempts in the seating arrangements.

Which is…ridiculous, honestly. Demeter had taken so long to come around to the idea of Hades as a son-in-law, but now she is overcompensating by pushing him and Persephone together at every available opportunity. A year ago, Persephone was grateful, and happier than ever that she could finally sit between her mother and her husband without either of them making a scene. This year…

This year, Zeus has finally made an appearance, and Demeter, seeing an opportunity to reignite their old flame, has seated him at her left side.

Which would be all well and good, except Persephone is seated at Demeter’s right side, and Hera is on Zeus’s left, which places Hades directly across from Hera. It would be an uncomfortable arrangement even if Persephone wasn’t currently sleeping with her mother’s ex, and the fact that she is just makes it almost intolerable.

And Zeus is NOT helping by deliberately playing footsie with Demeter, her mother, while he has a captive audience.

The purple menace catches Persephone’s eye, and smirks. “You haven’t touched any of your roast pork, Pinky. Are you feeling all right?”

Oho, she is going to make him pay dearly for that.

“You will address my wife by her name, Brother,”Hades butts in right on cue, his eyes brightening from deep crimson to bright scarlet.

“Of course, of course. My apologies, Percy-Poodle, would you mind passing the salt?”

Hades grips his steak knife with murderous intent, but Persephone just laughs and shuffleboards the salt shaker across the table. “I would think a man your age would be watching his salt intake, Zeusy-woosy.”

Zeus’ eyes glitter playfully at that, and he preens. “You flatter me with your concern for my health, but it’s not for me, it’s for darling Hera. Salt output requires salt intake, dearest, make sure to keep up with your electrolytes.”

Hera wets the rim of her ambrosia glass, sprinkles the salt on it, and then downs it in one go. “Thank you, precious.”

“You’re welcome, cupcake.”

Demeter glowers at them all from the head of the table. “Just one dinner. I would love it if we could have just one dinner without it turning into a petty little pissing match.”

“You’re in the wrong pantheon for that,” Hestia snarks from Hades’ right. “You want nice family dinners, marry into the Egyptian pantheon.”

Poseidon snickers beside Hera. “Just don’t eat the salad.”

Fed up, Demeter hammers one deep green hand on the table. “ENOUGH. Come on, guys, there has to be a civil conversation we can have? Just one? Can we discuss the past year, or happy events like birthdays, or coming marriages…?”

She pointedly directs her gaze at Hera with that last sentence, and Hera nearly chokes on her fourth glass of ambrosia. “Married, me? Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I know Echo isn’t here for whatever reason, but you two are pretty serious, right? Are you thinking about tying the knot?”

Hera pales to a sort of piss-yellow, and, notably, avoids even looking at Hades or Persephone. “Echo and I are…taking a break, for now. And that’s the end of it, the rest is between us, so don’t pry.”

Persephone lifts her water glass to her lips, studying her husband’s face over the rim. Hades keeps his cool, but she sees one long leg extend to the table’s center support, ostensibly to stretch, but also within prime caressing distance for Hera. “You know we’re always here for you, if you need to talk.”

“I think what we need the most right now is our own space,” Hera replies, discreetly pulling her legs away from the support - she’s much better at this game than he is. “But thanks, Blue; you’re too kind as usual.”

Zeus makes a gagging noise, and pulls at his collar when Hera glares daggers at him for it. “Sorry, ahem, a bit of ambrosia went down the wrong tube.”

“WELL.” The table shudders under the force of a two-palmed slam near its middle. Ares stands up, dressed in his embellished armor and his finest red cloak, his golden face and red eyes practically gleaming with excitement. “If none of you old fogies want to talk about anything happy, then I have an ANNOUNCEMENT!”

“Yeah, when Auntie Demeter said not to turn this dinner into a pissing contest, she meant that literally as well as metaphorically.”

Ares chucks a spoon at Hermes’ head. “SHUT UP, I am not NEARLY drunk enough to urinate in public.”

“Yet!”

“SHUT YOUR FACE.” The god of war smiles again, as if the brief exchange of insults never happened. “I’m going to be a dad!”

“…You’re already a dad,” Aphrodite remarks dryly. “At least thrice over, on my part.”

“YES. But THIS TIME, I am going to be a dad with my lovely WIFE.”

…the entire table seems to take a breath at once. And then all of Tartarus breaks loose.

“Your WIFE? WHEN DID YOU GET MARRIED?!?!” Hera shrieks. “WHY IS THIS THE FIRST I’M HEARING OF THIS?!?”

“Fuck when you got married, WHEN THE HELL DID YOU FALL IN LOVE?!?” Aphrodite screams, tapping wildly at her phone. “I DON’T RECALL AUTHORIZING THAT!!!”

Poseidon, clueless, slaps his nephew on the back. “Congratulations! Who’s the lucky gal?”

Aphrodite’s call goes through, and she sets the call on speaker before Ares can answer. “EROS!!”

“…Ma? It’s three in the morning here, what the fuck…”

“YOUR FATHER HAS REMARRIED!!”

“WAIT, WHAT?!? WHEN DID THAT HAPPEN!?!?”

Ares grins. “Last year!”

“WHO PERFORMED THE CEREMONY?!?” Hera thunders.

“Themis did, we had a quiet courthouse wedding.”

“WHO AUTHORIZED THE FUCKING ROMANCE?!? IT SURE AS HELL WASN’T ME, DAD!!”

“A Grace named Aglaea!”

“Oh, Aglaea!” Hephaestus says. “Nice girl, really knows her electronics?”

“Yeah, and she helped us navigate our social media so the wedding didn’t get out to the press! She was really nice!”

“She always has been.”

Aphrodite is almost puce with rage. “SO YOU MARRIED ONE OF MY GRACES AND YOU DIDN’T FUCKING TELL ME?!?!?”

Hera stands on her chair, irked. “Excuse me, YOUR Graces?”

“Oh hell no, I didn’t marry Aglaea, she’s just the wedding planner. No, I married Minthe!”

The entire table falls silent, and Persephone ducks under the table before sharp implements can begin flying. Other gods follow suit; she can see Hermes and Artemis bro-fisting several chairs down.

And then all Tartarus, already loose, goes absolutely berserk.

“THAT NYMPH TRASH?!?”

“THAT FUCKING WANNABE!?!”

“MY EX-GIRLFRIEND?!?!?”

A hand lays over hers, as the noise becomes too chaotic to follow. “IS THIS BANQUET ALWAYS THIS LIVELY?” Zeus has to practically shout to be heard, even when he’s right next to her ear.

“NOT ALWAYS! SOMETIMES WE MAKE IT TO DESSERT BEFORE AN ATTEMPTED MURDER!”

“I GOTTA COME TO MORE OF THESE THINGS, THEN! THIS IS HYSTERICAL!”

***

Zeus is right. The banquet is hilarious.

The fallout of the banquet is…less so.

Hades paces back and forth across the living room in Persephone’s cottage. His hair has gone completely white, and it has not only frozen into ice, it is sublimating into water vapor through the sheer force of his fury.

“Married. She got married. She always said she didn’t want to get married, but now she’s MARRIED. And to my IDIOT NEPHEW!”

Persephone takes a sip from her water bottle, watching as her husband does his best to freezerburn a hole in her carpet. “Hades…it’s been fifty years since you two split up. That’s more than enough time for people to change.”

He shakes his head without even halting his neurotic dance. “She’s having a child. That was the one major point of contention she had to marriage, was that she never wanted to be a mother. But she’s pregnant, now, and by FUCKING ARES.”

“No pun intended.”

He whirls on her, growling, his eyes glowing like little red points in the dark shadows of his brows. “Are you…making fun of me?”

“Noooo, darling, not at all…well, maybe a little…”

He slumps. “Kore…” he whines.

“Aidoneus,” she responds with the same tone she uses when she’s admonishing Cerberus for trying to eat plastic. “You’re making yourself sick. I need you to take a step back.”

“Ugh…you don’t understand. Minthe…no matter what I gave her, she always wanted more. There was no pleasing her, there was no satisfying her, she just kept taking and taking and giving nothing back to me in return.”

“…Have you considered the possibility that you were, perhaps, giving too much?”

He stops moving at last, peering at her from under his bangs. Good, she’s got his interest.

“Hades…I know that giving gifts is how you express affection. It’s sweet, and I love you for it, so much; but there’s a point at which even the most grateful giftee feels…obligated to reciprocate somehow.”

His hair begins to melt a bit as he straightens slightly out of his slump, regret in his expression and his bearing. “You never have to repay me for anything. I hope you know that.”

Persephone raises an eyebrow. “Did you ever tell Minthe that?”

He blinks; it seems that thought had never occurred to him before now. “She…I thought she knew? I thought…that much would just be obvious…”

“Well…perhaps it wasn’t as obvious, to Minthe.”

Persephone stands then, approaching her husband gently. She’s not afraid of him, never, but she doesn’t want him to retreat and then overthink himself into an even worse funk over a relationship that was over and gone half a century ago.

“The concept of marriage to a King is…intimidating, my love. It’s not just a relationship, it’s a job, one that Minthe felt she was not up to the task to perform. Marrying you meant that she would have become your Queen Consort, and that she would be expected to bear heirs in good time…and if she didn’t, she would be punished with even more gossip tearing her down. ‘Wannabe,’ ‘nymph trash,’ so many other worse names…I nearly caved under such pressure myself, when I was suddenly thrust into the spotlight. I can’t blame Minthe for having second thoughts.”

Hades gaped down at her, but his hair had finally congealed away from ice back into his normal, neat coif. “Sweetness…you’re talking about the girl you turned into a plant.”

“I’m also talking about the woman I healed from being a plant, who found it in her heart to adopt an orphaned nymph in the Mortal Realm, and to start a school for agricultural nymphs who wanted careers in business. I know that she…blossomed, away from the constant pressure of the Underworld and from the responsibility of being a King’s fiancée.”

Persephone took her husband’s hand, and nestled the palm of it against her cheek. “Every plant wilts when it is overwatered, Hades; some are just made for different water levels.”

He smiled, brushing his thumb under her eye. “I…that’s a good way to think of it. I’ll have to write that in my journal.” He closes his eyes, breathes out the last of the tension, and then frowns again. “But, out of all the people she could have chosen…Ares?”

She can’t help but laugh; his face is just too funny. “Well, to be honest, I’m kind of surprised I didn’t see it coming. The two have the same sense of humor, and they’re both in the position as the black sheep of their social circles. They both shy away from commitment before they know if they’re capable of living up to it. And, out of all your children, Ares is the least likely to inherit any throne, so Minthe wouldn’t feel much pressure in having to act the princess.”

“That does make some sen…wait, did you say out of all my children?”

Persephone feels the ichor leach from her face. She let herself get complacent for just one moment, let herself think about how similar his and Zeus’ voices sounded one too many times, and almost leaked the secret she had been working so hard to cover up. “I…I’m sorry, it’s late, I mean to say your ‘niblings’ but it came out as children.”

Hades’ other hand cups her other cheek, gently raising her head to look at him. “Sweetness…you know you can tell me anything, right?”

He’s not buying it. Persephone forces herself to look him in the eye, even as she frantically searches her brain for a way to fix this slip. “Of course, darling. It’s just…I overheard some stupid gossip from Olympus, is all.”

Hades tilts his head, confused. “What sort of stupid gossip?”

“Um…well…” oooooooh, gods, she’s actually going here, she’s throwing Hera under the bus to hide her own affair, “some…stupid satyrs were just joking about how none of Zeus and Hera’s kids have purple skin, but all of Zeus’ illegitimate children do.”

Hades looks at her for a moment, then throws his head back and laughs. “That is ABSURD,” he chortles, wiping a tear of mirth from his eye. “I am as infertile as a brick; everyone who’s read any of the tabloids about me over the years knows that much. The only reason we have any children at all is because you’re a Fertility Goddess and you can un-kill my sperm…”

Hades’ eyes slowly widen as the implications make themselves clear to him: Hera is also a Fertility Goddess, though that was unknown to either of them at the time.

Persephone doesn’t let him consider that any more, however; she doesn’t want him inquiring into her cover story of eavesdropping on gossip too closely. “Like I said, it’s stupid, right? If Hera’s kids were yours, she’d have figured that out by now. After all, she’s the goddess of marriage - I’d think she’d know if her own kids were conceived out of wedlock. I didn’t believe it for one second, my love; I’m just, tired, and I misspoke.” She takes his hand in hers, leading him to the bedroom. “You’ve got a long trip in the morning, too; come, let’s both get some rest while we can.”

Hades follows her into the bedroom without complaint, and cuddles up behind her, like he has for so many years. But he doesn’t sleep; and neither does she, though she pretends to well enough that he slips away from her in the night to make a phone call.

“Hecate…yes, I am aware of what time it is there, it’s late here, too. Yes…I get it, Hecate, but this is an emergency. Can you…is there a way you can discreetly get a paternity test…no it’s not for Macaria, it’s for Hera’s kids…”

“YOU TOLD ME YOU WEREN’T FUCKING HER ANYMORE!!!”

“Hecate, pipe down,” he hisses. “Persephone is asleep, and I don’t want her to…Hecate, I trust her with my life, I just don’t want to hurt her. You know we’re trying for another baby…please, Hecate, please, I just need to put my mind to rest on this.” There was a pause, and Persephone can see the sleepy eye-roll Hecate performs whenever Hades wakes her up like this. “Thank you, Hecate. Tell Hermes I said hi…night, old friend and thanks again.”

Hades slips into bed again, and nuzzles against the back of her neck. Persephone does not open her eyes all night…but neither does she sleep. If Zeus is right…there is no way this will not leak to the tabloids, either now or later. It’s only a matter of time before Mount Olympus erupts once again.

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[ssa-sapphic]

Pairing: Emily Prentiss × (POC)fem!oc

Previous Chapter: part one

Summary: When the bodies of several women show up all around LA, it's Garcia who aids the team in making the shocking connection that all of the victims look exactly like one of her favorite actresses, Sloan Hudson. Upon making this discovery, the team soon realizes that this famous celebrity might just be the unsub's final target, meaning that she is now in grave danger and needs to be protected. Unfortunately for Emily, her days of being a profiler are soon put on hold when Hotch assigns her to be Sloan's personal bodyguard.

Warnings: Basically all that an episode of Criminal Minds consists of. I don't really know what to specifically list, but if you have any additions or specific triggers, please let me know

Word Count: 4.6k

“Hollywood is a place where they’ll pay you a thousand dollars for a kiss and fifty cents for your soul.” - Marilyn Monroe

“Good morning, everyone!" The talk show host introduced, directing his words to the huge camera lens a few feet away and the small audience sitting behind it. "We’re here with America’s Sweetheart, Sloan Hudson, daughter of the late world-renowned director and Academy Award-winning actor Omar Hudson, and she’s here to catch us up on how life has been treating her over the past year since her father’s passing.”

On the sofa next to him, Sloan sat with her legs crossed and a dazzling smile plastered on her face as she looked out into the crowd filled with many of her adoring fans and supporters.

“So, Ms. Hudson, first and foremost how are you doing?” He asked, politely.

With a glance at her manager, who stood backstage with a pointed look, Sloan swallowed the lump in her throat and addressed the man next to her.

“Well, Jimmy, I’ll admit things were rough the last several months after my father’s accident. Loss isn’t ever an easy thing to experience, and it was difficult picking myself up from such a dark place in my life. However, I knew the impact he left on this world would never be forgotten and in a way, it’s like he’s still a part of me. Of course, I know firsthand that life and the industry itself won’t ever be the same without him, but it’s that idea alone that has motivated me to continue in his footsteps and keep his legacy alive. He helped shape me into the woman and actress I am today and I will always be grateful and honored to share the same passion he had for acting.”

Once again, she looked over to her manager behind the scenes, who was now sending her a nod of approval, almost as if she had doubted Sloan’s capability to remember the simple words written for her on yellow note cards that morning. Did she honestly forget that reading pages and pages of scripts was part of her job?

“Yes, his death certainly shocked all of us who watched his career develop over the years but we’re glad to hear that the Hudson talent won’t be ending so soon,” Jimmy noted solemnly, allowing the audience to clap in encouragement before he moved on to his next question. “I think we’re all looking forward to seeing your career flourish just as much. Speaking of which, I hear you’ve already begun a new project that’s set to hit theaters as early as next summer. Can you tell us a bit about the film and what we can expect to see from you this time around?”

"Unfortunately, I can’t say much,” Sloan smiled apologetically, knowing she’d get in heaps of trouble for disclosing any details while production was still underway. “But I’m excited to introduce my fans to this new character I’m portraying. She’s nothing like the roles I’ve had in the past and I hope she touches their hearts just as much as she has mine. I know you’re all used to seeing me in romantic indie films and the like, but this one is going to be a real emotional and dramatic performance for me and I’m honored to be part of such a brilliant storyline. I can’t wait to see it come to life.”

“That’s amazing!" He exclaimed. "It sounds like maybe this could be your year to take home an award, what do you think?”

With a small chuckle, Sloan suddenly grew bashful as she hid her face behind her hands, while the crowd cooed and awaited her answer. Truth be told, her anxiety crept up on her like a shadow in the night from his question, but within a second, she managed to ground herself and slip her mask back on before addressing his words.

“Well, it’s like the famous painter Van Gogh once stated: I know nothing with any certainty, but the sight of the stars makes me dream. In that same aspect, I don’t know what the future holds for me or if I’ll ever take home an Oscar. All I can say is that I’ve been dreaming of it ever since I was a little girl sitting in my father's director chair, and that drives me to be the best that I can be. We’ll see if that’s good enough.”

“Ah, Miss Hudson, just as humble as ever, huh?” Jimmy smiled at her. He then turned to face the camera. “When we come back we’ll talk more with Sloan and even play a few games with her that are favorites on the show! I’m sure all of you watching at home don’t want to miss it. So, stay tuned and we’ll be back after a quick commercial break.”

On the way out of the studio, lights flashed and shouts erupted as Sloan and her security team rushed through the crowd of paparazzi, journalists, and fans. Quickly they made their way over to the limousine waiting for her in front of the building, but not before being stopped by a woman with a microphone blocking their path.

“Sloan! Is it true you’re dating your costar, Colton Davis!? Are you engaged to him?? Where is he, and why isn’t he here with you!?”

“Who said he’s not here?” A male’s voice cut in, as the dirty-blond himself emerged from the limo and threw an arm around Sloan’s waist. She had to force herself not to cringe away from his touch as his hand lingered far more downward than she’d liked. “I’m always supporting my girl from the sidelines. Isn’t that right, babe?” He turned to her, leaning down to press a kiss to her lips knowing the press would have a field day with it.

But just as his chapped lips neared her freshly glossed ones, she moved her head so that they met her cheek instead. It was an act of nonchalance executed so perfectly and ritualistically, that no one seemed to notice. They never did, and it was one of the few reasons that made having a PR boyfriend manageable. As long as they were seen out and about together, that was all that mattered. The nonexistent kisses and intimacy could happen behind closed doors and away from the public’s knowledge.

Sloan ignored the rest of the questions thrown at her and blew a kiss to her fans before entering the vehicle, where she finally let out the breath she had been holding in since pulling up to the studio just hours ago. Moments like these were when she was thankful for whoever invented tinted windows, or in her case, the acting shields that allowed her to remove her mask completely without the worry of being seen. It was there that she could let her guard down and wipe away the thick layers of makeup caked on her face consisting of nothing but fake smiles and faux happiness.

She looked over to her manager, Vera, who was currently having what looked to be a serious conversation on the phone. The older woman spared a couple of glances her way, a mixture of worry and skepticism clouding her features, but Sloan couldn’t seem to find enough energy in herself to care. It was probably a modeling gig or another interview that fell through.

Cancellations and rain checks were like the end of the world to Vera, but to her, they were the calm between each passing storm. Moments where she could finally rest and step away from the limelight to have a day or week to herself.

Outside the car, she watched Colton wrap up his goodbyes. His proud demeanor and love for himself amused her to the point where she let out a dry laugh. The people out there didn’t care about him at all, and she knew that. They were all there for her and the only reason they gave him the time of day was so they could find out more information about her life. However, he was too blinded by his new rise in fame to see that.

Deep down, she couldn’t blame him though. When her career first set off, she too enjoyed the love and attention, but over the years she soon recognized it all for what it truly was:

Misconception.

With a roll of her eyes, she sat back in the leather seat and pulled her iPod out of her bag. Within seconds, “Please, Please, Please, Let Me Get What I Want” by The Smiths flowed through the earbuds she had placed in her ears. Listening to music was her usual way of grounding herself before getting into character, and knowing she was due on set within the hour, she figured the car ride there would be her only time to do so.

The song choice was deliberate, not only because The Smiths were one of her favorite bands, but also because the lyrics resonated with her in more ways than she knew how to explain. As a celebrity, you’d think she had access to everything she ever wanted. Truthfully, however, that was far from the case. There were many things she wasn’t allowed to have, and those specific things just happened to be what her heart desired most in the world.

“Sloan,” Vera called for her attention, having hung up the phone. “Don’t think I didn’t see that kiss with Cole. If you could even call it that.” She muttered the last part. “Remember what we talked about? You need to sell this relationship to get more publicity, and that won’t happen when you’re giving him the cold shoulder right in front of the cameras.”

“I still don’t see why I need a fake relationship.” She muttered. “I mean, I’m literally in the middle of filming a new movie. Isn’t that enough to warrant publicity?”

“That’s what showbiz is all about, you can’t rely on one single project to keep you trending, you know that. Besides, your fans don’t know anything about this movie aside from the cast. There’s not much keeping their attention. This relationship, however, is the key.” Vera exclaimed. “Haven’t you checked your socials? You and Colton are the hottest new couple, everyone and their mom is shipping you two.”

“I just don’t understand why it had to be him.” She mumbled in reply, looking out the window and watching him take a few photos with fans.

“Look,” Her manager sighed. “I know you’re still upset about our talk last week, but this is for the best. What you were asking me could’ve put you at risk for so much backlash and negativity. You’d lose hundreds if not thousands of supporters and that’s not what’s going to skyrocket your career, Sloan. What the people want from you is to see your face plastered on skincare ads telling them the secret to beauty, or on movie posters for upcoming blockbuster hits. I mean, you’re America’s Sweetheart for a reason. The public loves you, just as you are now. Why change that?”

“Seriously?” Sloan asked in disbelief. “Vera, this is just the kind of thing that could tell me who my true supporters are! I don’t care about the fake fans or what people think of me. People constantly come into my life just to end up taking advantage of me or using me for their own gain anyway and I’m so tired of it. For once, I just want someone to love me for who I am, not some false image that you or anybody else is forcing me to be. Why don’t you get that?”

“Because it’s ridiculous,” Vera answered simply. “We’ve worked too hard to get you where you are in this industry, and I won’t have you throwing it all to waste over some happily ever after fantasy that isn’t necessary when people literally throw themselves at you every day.”

With a scoff, Sloan put her earbuds back in. “You know, contrary to what you may believe, having people constantly throw themselves at you or want something from you doesn’t feel as good as you think it does. It makes trusting people impossible.”

“Sloan, come on–”

“No, Vera.” She cut her off. “I’m done with this conversation. If you want me to keep acting like someone I’m not then I’ll do just that. Luckily, for you, I know how to put on a good show.”

With that, she turned the volume on her iPod up to drown out any other remarks Vera threw at her. That, and also to distract herself from the overwhelming thoughts constantly plaguing her about life and adulation. It was all becoming too much, and Sloan just wanted to remember the passion she once felt for acting again. Lately, it felt like she was putting on this never-ending show for the world and she hated it. She felt used, empty, and hopeless. If she knew pursuing her dreams would end up making her sign her life away, she would have chosen a different route. At least then she would know who she was, because nowadays she felt her true self slipping away from her with each passing day, and it was starting to take its toll.

“Agent Hotchner,” The lead detective, Owen Kim, shook his hand. “I can’t thank you and your team enough for coming all this way to help us out.”

“Of course,” Hotch replied, before turning and introducing his team. “These are Agents Rossi, Morgan, Prentiss, Jareau, and Dr. Reid. Our technical analyst Penelope Garica will also be here this evening to help assist. Where are we so far in finding Kayla Shafer?”

“Well she’s now classified as a missing person, so we have her face plastered on the news and her family has orchestrated a search party of their own.” He answered, solemnly. “We’re doing everything we can but I’m afraid we don’t have much to work on. My officers are heading down to the bus stop area in a few minutes though to see if we can find any working surveillance cameras along the route we think she would normally walk.”

“Great. I’ll have my team set up in the conference room and we’ll go from there.” Hotch spoke formally, watching Detective Kim nod and walk off before JJ slipped into his sight next.

“So, how are we going to approach this?” She asked, quietly, knowing they had to be careful with letting more details about the case reach the media with a celebrity possibly being involved.

Hotch sighed as he looked around the precinct, discreetly. “If Garcia was able to connect the pieces from being a fan of Miss Hudson, sooner or later other fans will too. Our priority right now is to work the case like normal until we hear back from her management team. Until then, I want you to call Garcia and work on putting together a list of all of Sloan’s past roles in chronological order so we have a map to base off of. Hopefully, we’ll learn who the unsub’s next targets might be.”

“Got it.” She gave him a quick nod, before stepping aside to make the call.

Once the rest of the team finished setting up, they equally dispersed in pairs to take care of the respective tasks given to them on the jet. Rossi and Reid headed over to the morgue to examine the other bodies while Prentiss and Morgan followed the LAPD officers to the diner where Kayla worked.

Immediately after walking in, they were hit with the fresh smell of burgers and fries wafting through the air as the bustling breakfast hours quickly turned into lunchtime for many customers. Waiters and waitresses scurried about, taking orders and wiping down counters left and right. Derek just managed to move away from a serving tray filled with plates of food coming his way as the family in the booth next to them got served their meals.

“Looks like we came at the worst possible time’,” He commented, removing his sunglasses and trying to look for someone in charge. Or at least, someone who wasn’t too busy enough to talk with them.

“There’s something so nostalgic about vintage diners.” Emily looked around in awe. “During my college years, I worked at one just like this so I could pay for my apartment. There was a jukebox and everything.”

Derek smirked, “And how’d that work out for you?”

“It sucked.” She dry-panned. “But it did give me a whole new level of respect for waitresses.” She added, just as a woman with ginger hair walked up to them.

“Table for two?” She asked, already picking up menus.

“Oh, no ma'am.” Emily politely declined, as she and Derek held up their badges. “We’re actually with the FBI, here to talk about Kayla Schafer. Did you happen to be working with her the night she went missing?”

“Yeah, we were on the same shift.” The girl answered, whose name tag was revealed to be Julie. “But it's like I told those other cops when they came asking this morning, I clocked out early for my hair appointment so I wasn’t here during closing hours. I don’t know if she left with anyone or not.”

“That’s okay,” Emily assured her. “We’re more interested in the hours you two worked together. Do you remember if there was anyone suspicious hanging around either without ordering anything or maybe even after paying?”

“Perhaps all they ordered was coffee, but they still stuck around for hours anyhow,” Derek added.

“I’m sorry, I don’t.” She shook her head. “As you can see, it gets pretty busy in here. Most days I’m so occupied with running back and forth between tables and the kitchen that my mind is elsewhere. I don’t focus too much on who’s ordering what, you know?”

“I understand.” Emily nodded.

“I really wish I could help, but I have to get back to work,” Julie explained, before reaching into the pocket of her apron. “Here, this was Kayla’s notepad she used to take orders. It might not be much help either but if you’re looking for odd customers maybe there’s something in it you can find. Kayla hasn’t been working here for too long and after an incident that occurred her first day, she’d often make notes about customer appearances to help her remember who ordered what.”

“Thank you.” Derek accepted the small notebook. “Can you tell us more about this incident?”

“Oh, it wasn’t anything major.” She dismissed it with a wave of her hand. “Some woman complained that her food wasn’t right and made a big fuss. Just the normal slip-up with orders. Even the most seasoned of us workers still have those days. I don’t remember it much but if she came back after that day, Kayla’s got it jotted down somewhere in that book.”

“Alright, thank you. We’ll let you get back to work.” Emily replied, nodding before she and Derek walked out into the parking lot.

“You think this has something in it?” Derek asked, flipping quickly through the pages to see quick scribbles of dates, food orders, and vague customer descriptions.

“I’m not sure,” Emily answered honestly. “We’ll let Reid take a look at it though. He’ll be able to read it faster than any of us and point out specific characteristics in the handwriting.”

After Derek agreed, the two of them entered the SUV and drove back to the precinct. Meanwhile, on the other side of town, Rossi and Reid were in the middle of examining the bodies of Jessica Dunnings, Rina Mendes, and Sofia Lombardi.

“The toxicology reports indicated that various traces of poison were found in each of the victims,” Spencer recalled, his hands gloved up as he leaned closer to Rina’s body. “Have you found out what they are yet?”

The M.E. in charge nodded, picking up his clipboard and reading the report. “We found white powdery residue in each of their nasal passageways which the lab identified as cyanide salt, so we believe they inhaled some sort of potassium cyanide prior to their deaths.”

“Most likely how our unsub abducts them,” Rossi noted, standing over the body as well. “They become dizzy, confused, and end up unconscious right there at the scene. Blitz attack.”

“Initially that was all we had discovered,” The examiner continued. “But after closer inspection, we found neurotoxins in the flesh of their hands consistent with aconite and mesaconitine as well.”

“Aconite and mesaconitine,” Spencer repeated, deep in thought as he lifted Rina’s lifeless hands to observe her palms. “The flowers each victim was holding when they were found were purple. I couldn’t get a decent look at the shape of the petals in the files but now after learning that I’m almost certain that it was Aconitum. Also known as wolfsbane.”

“You’d be correct.” He replied, handing Rossi the full report. “Each of them had signs of respiratory distress, which can happen when the neurotoxins of the plant absorb through the skin. It’s why in the crime scene photos there was no blood around the stab wounds. Cardiac arrest is what caused their deaths, the stabbing was inflicted post-mortem.”

“That doesn’t make any sense,” Rossi frowned. “How did the unsub have time to do all this at the disposal site? And what reason did they keep each girl for when there are no signs of torture or assault?”

“That’s another thing,” He went on. “When I checked for defensive wounds, I noticed that all three bodies had their nails neatly trimmed, and their hair was freshly washed. Not only that but their torsos had markings embedded in the skin from around their waist and up towards the chest region. Most likely from a corset or restraint of some sort.”

That piece of news instantly made the two agents look at each other knowingly. Perhaps their original theory of the case relating to Snow White might not be as far off as they thought.

Once the team regrouped at the station and exchanged all of the new information they discovered, by that time Garcia was able to get in contact with Sloan’s management team. Unfortunately, they only had a small window to meet with Vera, but hopefully, it would give them enough time to convince her that Sloan needed to up her security and answer some questions that they had.

To keep things hush, only Hotch, Prentiss, and Morgan went to meet with her, while JJ drove to LAX to pick up Garcia (who was bummed out she wouldn’t be meeting Sloan herself). Spencer, on the other hand, stayed back to look through Kayla’s notebook with Rossi assisting him.

“Always a first for everything,” Emily spoke up, as the three of them pulled into the Hollywood lot location where filming was currently underway. Trailers were set up in rows all around, and crew members roamed about with several large pieces of equipment and props, making it hard for them to find a parking space.

Hotch furrowed his eyebrows as he scanned the lot, “Vera said to meet her in trailer seven, does anyone see it?”

“Over there,” Derek pointed out, motioning to the right.

Hotch nodded and maneuvered the car over in that direction. Finally, after finding an open spot, the three agents stepped out into the blazing heat of Los Angeles and walked over to the trailer.

“I want you two to scope out the trailer as I talk to Vera.” Hotch directed them as they neared the entryway. “Look for any signs of fanmail lying about or over-the-top gifts. If our unsub truly is obsessed with Ms. Hudson they no doubt attempted to contact her more than once.”

“How do we know for sure it isn’t Sloan herself committing these murders?” Derek wondered aloud. “I mean, we agreed that the crime scene photos depicted to be the clean work of a female. It wouldn’t be our first celebrity unsub case like that either. Remember Jonny McHale, the comic-book artist?”

“Let me stop you right there.” A new voice cut into their conversation, making each of them turn their heads.

An older blonde woman stood behind them with her arms crossed, looking at them with a mixture of impatience and skepticism laced in her features.

“Sloan has been working endlessly on this new movie, and in between set hours and resting she has had other bookings to attend to where she’s constantly followed by fans and paparazzi. That girl wouldn’t have time to kill anybody even if she wanted to.” Vera argued, defensively. “Now, I took the time out of my busy day to talk with you agents but I will not stand here and allow you to accuse her of murder. I’m sure you’d run right to the press with it and have it be the headliner for tomorrow’s paper.”

“My apologies, Ma’am,” Derek replied. “I’m just trying to make sure all possibilities are covered.”

The woman scoffed but said nothing as she quickly opened the trailer door and ushered them in before they were seen. After closing the door, she led them to the small living space at the end of the trailer and sat down on one of the cushioned chairs motioning for Hotch to sit on the adjacent one.

“You guys have 20 minutes before the cast is dismissed for the day,” Vera sighed, as she texted away on her cell phone. “What’s this about a bunch of killings related to Sloan?”

Emily fought the urge to roll her eyes at her blatant nonchalance, as Hotch introduced everyone and started diving into the case findings with her. She and Derek, however, took that as their cue to wander around the place looking for clues.

There wasn’t much to the eye besides the luxurious furniture and interior design elements. Still, Emily’s eyes landed on what looked to be a black notebook or journal sitting on the small table in the dinette. It was bound in leather and had gold letters imprinted on the cover that spelled out “HUDSON” in cursive. Inside the journal, she saw a white envelope poking out and wondered if it was fanmail or something more personal.

Though curiosity tempted her to read it, she ultimately decided to leave it be and ask questions later, not wanting to leave a bad impression if Vera had caught her snooping. However, when she averted her gaze over to the counter across the way, what she saw next certainly piqued her interest even more. A fresh bouquet of purple flowers rested in a vase by the sink, with the gifting tag still attached to it.

At the sight, Emily walked over and picked up the tag with her glove, but unfortunately, no name was listed. It was completely blank. She was about to call out to Vera and ask if she knew who delivered them but before she could, the trailer door creaked open, and Sloan herself emerged from outside with a look of surprise.

Emily’s breath nearly caught in her throat when she locked eyes with the young actress standing just a few feet away. Instantly, she was hit with flashbacks from the night before when she was watching one of Sloan’s movies with JJ and Garcia. Yet, Emily couldn’t remember a single scene that did the girl justice in terms of her beauty and physical essence. For one thing, her eyes seemed much more warm and vibrant in person. Whatever filters and color editing were added in the film completely dimmed the natural glow radiating behind her false lashes. She could only describe them as golden pools of honey hypnotizing her in the very spot she stood. Unable to look away, all she could do was stare in a trance as Sloan studied her back with furrowed eyebrows.

Though her presence was quite alluring, Emily was soon brought back to reality by the repellent attitude in Sloan’s voice as she slammed the trailer door closed behind her.

“Who the hell are you?”

A/N: hope you liked this chapter! drop a comment and let me know your thoughts if you enjoyed :) also let me know if you want to be tagged whenever a new chapter is posted! thanks for reading <3

[steveskafte]

CONSISTENCY When I met Susy, my daily journal was only a year old, and I was twenty-one. I was already certain that I'd never stop – but finding someone who really cared gave it a whole lot more meaning. Some are sure that every artist who creates with all their heart will find an audience. But overnight successes are just as rare as lifelong failures are common, and I was a long way coming to find eyes and ears on my side. 95% of the folks who follow my vicarious adventures came along quite recently. I was ten years in with just a few hundred regular faces, a decade down the line, still feeling like I'd never make a living where I'm most alive. Susy kept me going. She was the one unshakable force of hope, the positive person not apt to shrug her shoulders and offer giving up as a good option. Nothing I was chasing seemed so hard next to her struggles. She'd clawed up after a childhood emigration from Cuba, a hip replacement in her twenties, and a gauntlet of post-secondary education to a career as an ultrasound tech. Susy was someone to live up to, keeping me working every single day of my life, and pushing through those long and lonely nights. Every artist has a crisis of belief that's always ongoing, hoping that people will care when the time comes. Consistency of love is a gift I've got, and one I try to return. It's why you always find me saying how grateful I am. But the realist in me never forgets how certainty is hard to come by. This keeps coming back to the age-old concept of patrons. Throughout the history of modern society, artists have survived at the whim of those who love them most. Currently, there are around fifty people who've helped to provide a support that I can count on. I'm here for you daily, with all of my heart, all of the time. For as little as pocket change, I hope that you'll consider being here for me on Patreon each month. Hold fast.

www.patreon.com/steveskafte September 15, 2023 Margaretsville, Nova Scotia Year 16, Day 5787 of my daily journal.

[tillthelandslide]

Happy Birthday Indeed

Plot: Band mate! Y/N’s birthday during LOT

Authors Notes: I was looking through Pinterest for some photos to use for my Instagram concepts and I came across a photo of Harry in the champagne coloured suit and… well this happened. I hope you enjoy it, if you do please consider reblogging :) this is my first Harry piece in a long time so please be nice - L x

Warnings: pure filth basically… enjoy

Every single show she played felt like the most extraordinary and other-worldly experience. She felt extremely lucky that her good friend and long time crush had invited her to join him on tour. They had first met when one direction had initially split, Harry was looking for a band of his own, to support him on his solo tour. A friend of a friend had recommended her, she was multitalented: an amazing singer, a sick drummer and an even sicker pianist. The two met, alongside his manager, she explained that although she did play drums, piano was her forte, she also explained (prior to their initial meeting) that her schedule for that year was a little blurry, she wasn’t 100% sure she would even be able to join him on his first tour. He still begged her to play for him, so she did.

Harry listened to her play piano and then drums and was blown away by both. He explained that they unfortunately had already filled the position of pianist (although Harry thought y/n was far better, contracts had already been signed). To cut a long story short, the position was offered but due to bad timings with her university degree, y/n was unable to accept (a decision she still regrets to this day). Y/N gave Harry the contact details for her best friend: Sarah and the rest is history.

Until the position of pianist opened up again for this tour: Harry called her before he even discussed things with Jeff. The two had grown closer and closer over the years, she finished uni and was invited to join them on tour whenever she got the chance. The pair soon became good friends and Y/n began helping Harry with all sorts: she dabbled in helping him write lyrics, come up with melodies and even recorded some demos with the star.

She blew him away every chance she got and to say she had him hooked was an understatement. She was beyond excited to be joining him on tour, which leads us to now.

There she was on stage, her fingers playing the last notes of “As It Was”, the crowd erupted with screams and she could see Harry’s face light up, she smiled alongside him. She turned to Sarah and she smiled widely at her too, with a slight mischievous smirk on her face, making y/n question what she was smirking about.

Her eyes found Harry’s again and she found him already looking at her, the fans began to scream again, some questioning why Harry was staring.

“Before we start the next song, I would like to say a few words” Harry said, looking away from her.

“Today is someone very specials birthday” he said making the crowd “oooo” as he turned to face her.

“Crap” she said, not loud enough to be heard. Harry read her lips and chuckled to himself.

“This wonderful lady right here” Harry began, gesturing to her, making her blush, especially when a spotlight was placed over her.

“Has saved my arse more times than I can count. No only did she introduce me to our wonderful drummer: Sarah!” He continues making everyone cheer.

“She has helped me with some of the songs you hear today” he said, sharing some information that the fans maybe didn’t know.

“She also stepped in last minute for this tour and I will forever be grateful to her for that” he says, his hands coming together, resting under his chin as he bowed his head slightly and thanked her. She smiled widely at him.

“She is not only one of the most talented people I know, she is undoubtedly kind in a world that isn’t always so. She is a brave, beautiful soul and every single person on this tour is lucky to have her” he says, facing the audience until the last second to look her deep in the eyes.

“Especially me. I love you, we love you!” He says walking towards her.

“Happy birthday darling” he says, stepping up to her level of the stage and meeting her in a hug. The audience coo and whistle.

She hears the band and Harry start to sing as someone backstage begins to bring a cake towards her. The fans begin to join in and tears fill her eyes. Harry doesn’t let go of her, one arm still holding her tightly against him as he sings, only loosening when the cake is placed in front of her.

“Make a wish sweetheart” he says, only so she can hear.

“I don’t need to, I have everything I want right here” she says, gesturing towards him and the band and his fans too.

“Go on, make a wish, for me” he says, and his words hit her in a way she didn’t expect. That is the only thing she could possibly wish for that would make this situation even better.

“I wish for you” she thinks to herself. She wants him, she wishes she had him, in more ways than just a friend.

She blows the candles out and to her upset, Harry let’s go, but not before squeezing her tightly once more, she feels a kiss land on her head before he leaves and returns to his spot. The spotlight moves back to him and the show continues as normal.

She’s more smiley than usual throughout the show, just being so content and unbelievably happy to be there. Harry’s fans were screaming for her as well as him and it was baffling to her.

He kept gravitating towards her, singing words directly to her. He also was throwing her compliments throughout the night.

“Isn’t she amazing?” He kept saying to the fans making them scream and making Sarah and Mitch wink at you, to which she either rolled your eyes or laughed at them, shrugging it off.

The last song was played and adrenaline was running high, she stood up to bow. Harry found a place next to her, his arm wrapping around her shoulders, he placed a kiss on the side of her head, which again made all the fans scream.

“Wait for me yeah?” He said and she nodded. Sarah and Mitch found each other’s hands and walked off stage together. The rest of the band left too, but she waited at the side stage, just like he asked. She spotted some fans that could see her taking pictures but she simply smiled or waved at them. Harry did his bows and his kisses and then ran off towards her.

He found her and took his hand in his, the both of them began running the route around the arena that took them to backstage. Jeff and a person from security followed.

“You were amazing H” she said and he smiled at her as he ran.

“As were you darling, truly” he said. No other words were exchanged until they were backstage. Harry paused outside his dressing room, she wondered why but didn’t question it. He waited for Jeff and security to walk past and join the others before he opened the door and pulled her inside.

He closed the door behind her, lightly pushing her against it, making her breath bitch. His hand was placed above her head and although she couldn’t see him, she felt him looking at her, smiling.

“I’ve wanted to do this for the longest time y/n” he whispers “will you please let me kiss you: a birthday present” he says and she smiles. Maybe wishes do come true.

“I’d love that H” she feels him lean forwards more, their lips graze and she sighs. His strong hand comes to cup her face and she feels him smile against her lips. A knock on the door interrupts them and Harry all but groans, taking a step back, bringing y/n with him as he opens the door. The light that comes in snaps her out of her trance and she sighs again, this time in disappointment. However, Harry’s hand finds her back and rubs lightly, letting her know that he’s sorry.

Jeff stands there, a look of shame on his face. He knows Harry has wanted to make a move for years now but ultimately chickened out, so he feels unbelievably guilty for breaking it up.

“Um- sorry guys, everyone was asking for the birthday girl, we’re thinking of going out to celebrate, how does that sound?” He asks awkwardly and the couple smile and nod.

“Sounds great Jeff, thank you” she says and then he looks to Harry.

“Good idea mate, promise you’ll have her in a minute, just give us a second yeah?” He says and jeff nods before scurrying off quickly.

The door is left opened but they both turn to each other and smile.

“Sorry about that” he says, awkwardly itching the back of his head, he’s not entirely sure if the moment has passed or not.

“It’s okay H really” she says, smiling up at him. Their eyes lock and he has a “fuck it” moment.

“Come here” he says, his own smile resting on his lips as he grasps her jaw in his hand, pulling her gently to him, their lips moulding against each other. They both let out a sigh as their lips finally meet. It’s a soft and sweet kiss, perfect for their first and she wishes against all odds that it’s not the last.

His lips are soft and he tastes like mint but also like him. She can’t fully explain it but his taste is undoubtedly him. He holds her tighter against him, quickly pausing before pressing his lips against hers again, firmer this time, his lips capturing her bottom lip. She leans into it, his strong embrace lifting her slightly.

“Happy birthday sunshine” he says as he pulls away. She doesn’t reply, simply pecks at his lips again, not being able to get enough, her feet touch the ground again and she feels like she’s back on earth again, a little more with it and grounded.

——————————————————————————

The night continues at a club they found, Jeff had invited lots of people, all whom were close to Y/n and/or Harry. Harry hadn’t bothered to change, still adorning his champagne suit, the tuxedo of which only had three buttons and revealed most of his chest, covering all but the top of his butterfly tattoo.

Harry Lambert had managed to find y/n something more fitting for the birthday girl, a champagne dress which matched Harry perfectly.

They took up most of VIP section, people buying her drink after drink. Harry had pulled her into his lap the moment they had sat down and to their surprise no body reacted, even when he had placed a daring kiss to the corner of her mouth, surprising her more than anyone else. That was the only real time they had got to spend with each other.

She wandered between the booth and the dance floor. She felt like she was being pulled left right and centre, anybody and everybody, Harry was happy to see it at first but slowly started to feel impatient and jealous. He knew tonight was about her but he also wanted nothing but to have her all to himself.

He found her again after what felt like an eternity, she smiled a goofy smile when she found him, she grabbed onto his shoulders and he giggled at her, she was being handsy not that he minded. He had been keeping a close eye on her throughout the night and one thing he realised that she wasnt drinking many of the drinks that had been handed to her, choosing to pawn them off on somebody else. He had wondered why but didn’t question it, little did he know, it was because she was hoping more would happen between then and she wanted to be at least mostly sober for it, the same reason he hadn’t drunk much either.

“Hi sweetheart” he said, wrapping his arms around her and placing a kiss atop her head. She took a step back so she could look at him. He looked so good, he always looked good but tonight… well he looked divine, simply ravenous.

“Feel like I haven’t really got to see the birthday girl much” he said and she giggled, he knew she wasn’t drunk, not even nearly tipsy, she was just happy and excited to be there with everyone, high from all the attention.

“What do you want to see Harry?” She joked making a suggestive comment that had him laughing too, pulling her back to his chest and pressing another kiss to her head. Harry decided to bite, trying get a reaction out of her.

“More than you know my love” he mumbled against her hair, their chests were flush against each other and he could feel her heart beat pick up on her chest.

She pulled back again “take me somewhere?” She asks and she sees Harry gulp heavily, making her smirk up at him. He quickly took her hand, leading her away from everyone, leading her into a private toilet. Everyone was a bit too far gone to realise either would be missing.

Harry pressed her against the door again, just like earlier and her hand twisted the lock until it clicked. Her hand then found it’s way up the fabric of his shirt, slipping past the open buttons, resting against his bare chest.

“Can feel your heart beating” she states as he looks down at her. She feels her eyes watering at the way he’s looking at her: as if she’s the only one for him, like she was made for him.

“Do you know how lucky I am to have you sweet?” He asks and she shakes her head.

“So unbelievably lucky” he says, leaning down to peck her lips, the first time since earlier that they shared another kiss.

“Kiss me properly Styles” she commands.

“As the birthday girl wishes” he says and it makes her giggle like a school girl. Their lips meet again, this time in a much steamer kiss than the ones previously shared. His lips massage hers, moulding against each other perfectly as if they had done it a hundred times over. His tongue grazes over her bottom lip, as if begging her to just open up for him. She does, of course she does, he thinks, she’s an angel he thinks.

Their tongues meet in a passionate battle which has the both of them gasping. Nothing had ever felt more perfect yet so natural. He pulls her closer to him, if possible. There’s no room left between them as their lips continue moving against each other.

“I’ve wanted this for so long, you have no idea” he says, his lips moving to her neck.

“I think I have some idea H” she says and of course she does because she’s wanted this just as long.

“Wait a second” he says pulling back from her, she frowns slightly as he continues to step back, his mouth agape, the only part of them that is touching now is their fingers.

“Wait a second” he says again.

“What H?”

“You’ve been wearing this the whole time? How did I not realise” he says, leading their hands above their heads and spinning them. The fabric of her dress catches in the light and sparkles.

She finds her self smirking at the effect she has on him.

“Wow Y/N” he says “how did I not realise sooner?” He asks himself again.

“This old thing?” She jokes and he pulls her against him again. This time away from the door.

“You are stunning Y/n. Completely ethereal” he says and the word choice stuns her. She spins them round and pushes her hands against his chest, this time pinning him against the door. He doesn’t even resist and continues to stare, mouth agape from the distance she’s now created. He’s about to complain about the distance before she closes it, hands still on his chest.

“Ethereal?” She questions and he nods simply.

“Oh yeah love. Ethereal” he confirms and she giggles. She leans forward and just when he thinks she’s above to place her lips back on his, her lips are placed against his chest, just above his heart, her hands that were there previously move downwards, gliding against his torso until they reach the buttons, she undoes them slowly, eyes trained on his as she reveals the rest of his butterfly tattoo.

“Hey hey hey. You’re the birthday girl” he says as her hands continue southward, he grabs them before she can continue her ministrations. She begins to pout and he chuckles at the look.

“Such a pouty baby” he says in a baby voice, lips brushing against hers as he speaks.

“What if the birthday girl doesn’t want to stop” she says as he lets go of her hands, them finding there was back to his stomach. Their darkened eyes meet and: as if someone switched a flip, he has her in his arms again, spinning her so her back is to the door again, he grabs her thigh and pulls it up harshly, coming to stand in between her legs, slotting himself against her now exposed centre.

Their lips roughly fight against one another and their hands explore every bit of skin they can find. One of his hand is squeezing her thigh as the other holds her in place by the opposite hip. Their grunts and moans and sighs fill the room, so thankful for the loud music playing the other side of the door. His hands tug at the top of her dress, pulling it down slightly, revealing her breast, his mouth envelopes her nipple as his hand grasps the surrounding flesh, she moans against him, swearing and gasping.

His lips move to her neck and he almost begins marking her.

“Careful Harry. Wouldn’t want your fans speculating about that now would we?” She teases.

“Fuck it” he mumbles, lips and tongues meeting again.

She rolls her hips forward against him and they both groan at the feeling.

“Fuck y/n” he says, his cock straining painfully against his trousers, pulsing against her covered centre. The both of them know this isn’t how they want their first time to be but Harry is insistent on giving her a gift.

“Let me please you” he says, his hand sliding inwards from her thigh, she keeps it wrapped around him as his fingertips graze her inner thigh. She shivers as he gets closer and closer to her entrance, he’s so close: so dangerously close. Her breathing is heavy as his finger tips graze her folds, just as he’s about to touch her centre, he stops. She tears her lips away from his and her eyes find his.

“Will you let me?” He asks and in the next second she’s nodding her head profusely, almost begging him to continue.

“Use your words love” he commands.

“Yes H, please” she says and his fingers pull down her underwear. The air meets her wet entrance and she gasps and so does he.

“Fuck you’re so wet” he says, fingers finally touching her, gathering her wetness so he can get a taste.

“All for you H” she says and he doesn’t think he’s ever heard anything so perfect. “Fuck” he mumbles. His fingertips move away from her making her whine, they slips past his lips and she moans at the sight.

“Mhmm. You taste so good! Let me taste you properly yeah? I want it.” He asks and she nods. He doesn’t indulge straight away, his now glistening fingers find their way back to her pulsing entrance again and she moans as he fondles her swollen clit.

“I need you H”

“Patience is a virtue my love” he evilly smirks. Shit she should’ve known this would happen, the man who speaks about edging on stage in front of millions of people has his fingers in between her thighs, what else did she expect.

“It’s my birthday H and I want you” she reminds him and he groans, lips smearing against hers suddenly as he dips a finger into her.

She moans as he eases a finger into her. He groans at how tight she is and he smiles against her lips.

“Everyone out there is probably wanting to spend time with the birthday girl” he continues as he slowly works her up on his finger.

“Meanwhile I’ve got her pinned up against the door with my fingers in her cunt” he utters the dirty words as he thrusts another finger into her pussy making her moan loudly and her thighs clench together.

“Yeah that’s it love” he says as he picks up his pace, curling his fingers at the end of every stroke, rubbing against her g-spot deliciously. No one had every managed to find it that quick, if they even found it at all.

“Fuck Harry” it’s the first time she’s moaned his name and it goes straight to his cock.

“Shit” he groans “fuck you’re so tight” he says and she continues to moan. Two fingers continue to pound into her as his thumb finds her clit.

“Oh- my- ugh- god H” she sighs, her head falls backwards against the door as he back starts to arch. He pulls out of her suddenly and she’s just about to complain when he drops to his knees. His hands hold the bottom of her dress up. She looks down at him and she swears she’s going to cum just from the sight alone. Her bottom lip is taken in by her teeth and she feels her core tightening at the sight of him on his knees for her, about to worship her. Harry licks his lips, eyes snapping away from hers to look at her glistening heat before they find their way back to hers again.

“Happy birthday love” he says again before his mouth lands on her, she gasps loudly. She had never felt anything like it before, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from him despite the overwhelming pleasure coursing through her body. His skilled tongue massages her folds before it dips into her, curling upwards to reach that spot that his fingers had claimed only a few minutes before.

He switches between pushing the tip against her g-spot, sucking on her clit and toying with the bud with his tongue.

“Fuck H” she says, her hands grasping his hair tightly in her hands. The groan he lets out has her flinching against his tongue, the vibrations adding to the mix and nearly overstimulating her.

“Careful love” he says before he chuckles against her, sending the vibrations to her core again.

“Shit Harry” she moans again.

“Like that love?” He says cockily. All she can do is nod and squeeze his hair tighter in hopes he groans again. The tighter she pulls the harder he moans into her and she nearly screams at the staggering pleasure he’s bringing her.

She can tell he is loving it just as much as she is and that turns her on even more.

“Hold this my love” he mumbles against her, and his hands that are holding her dress find hers, the dress drops momentarily but she quickly finds it and holds it up, wanting to see his face.

He licks his glistening lips, and brings two fingers up towards her.

“Suck” he demands before returning to sucking her clit. He feels her pulse pick up at her centre.

His eyes find hers and her mouth is open in shock.

“I said. Suck.” He says, harsher this time and a split second she has her lips wrapped around his fingers, sucking them until they’re wet. They leave her mouth with a ‘pop’ and he brings then back down to her core. He thrusts them harshly inside her, making her moan loudly her head shooting backwards at erotic feeling it brings her.

His mouth works on her clit as his fingers thrust up into her, curling against her g-spot again.

“Harry, Harry, Harry” she chants, lost in everything that is him. He knows she’s close when she tries to escape him a little, he holds her against his mouth, applying more pressure against her sensitive bud.

She needs him closer, if it’s possible, she transfers the material of her dress into one hand the other finding its place in his hair again. She pushes against his head, sending him further into her

“I’m so close h” she moans. He moans into her again as she tugs his hair. He moans louder and louder the vibrations sending her into overdrive.

“Fuck Harry! FUCK!!” She screams. She feels herself reaching ecstasy when he slows his movements and she gasps, looking down to see him smirking up at her. Tears well in her eyes, not because she’s upset but because she’s never ever felt this good before.

“You little shit” she continues to moan, her orgasm being drawn out in the best way and he chuckles against her.

“Ohhh Harry” she moans and Harry swears it’s the most erotic moan he’s ever heard.

“Hold it for me my love” he says. His tongue makes slow, deep, sensual movements against her sensitive bud. He’s edging her beyond belief and her thighs are tightening around his head as her body continues to spasm. She knows this is the longest yet most amazing orgasm she has ever had and will ever have.

He drinks up everything she has to give him and he thrives off it, devouring her until her orgasm comes to an end. She feels like she’s on cloud nine and she gasps when he doesn’t stop his movements, sucks her clit until she feels herself cumming again.

“Fuck Harry I can’t” she says, her eyes finally closing as she feels the waves of pleasure pulling her under again.

“Yes you can my love. There you go” he says and he feels her clenching around his tongue as it dips inside her, he leaves the tip of it against her g-spot massaging it until he can feel her body go slack against the door.

He quickly leaves her wet centre, standing up to quickly get ahold of her body before she fully falls.

“I’ve got you, I’ve got you” he says, placing gentle kisses against her cheeks and her eye lids.

All she can see is white, she’s in subspace but she can feel Harry holding her, and she can smell him.

“Hmm” she signs against him. She feels him lift her and place her somewhere, her bottom resting against something cold. The toilet they were in was spacious and had a leather couch, not that she remembered that in her current state.

Harry sits holds her, gently playing with her hair as she comes back to him. He sees her eyes flutter open a little while later, still blissfully dazed.

“Hi” she says, her voice spaced out still but sounding more like the y/n he knows.

“Hi” he says, chuckling. She leans forward and kisses him.

“That was… fuck that was heaven” she says and he blushes deeply.

“No wonder you wrote a song about that… Jesus” he chuckles and kisses her again, bringing her back to him slowly. She takes him in fully, the swollen glistening lips, the dishevelled hair, the unbuttoned shirt… the painfully hard erection that sits strained against his trousers.

“Harry” she purrs and his eyes darken: she utters one word and he feels like he’s about to combust.

“My god you’re fucking amazing” he replies. She pulls him to stand in front of her. She now realises she is sitting on the leather sofa. Harry follows her instruction and stands, her hands find the zipper of his trousers and he pauses her.

“Lovie you don’t have to” he says, grasping her chin in between his fingers.

“I want to H, really I do. It’s my birthday” she reminds him.

“Can’t use that for everything my love” he chuckles.

“Please” she pleads, her eyes giving him an innocent look despite begging to suck him off. He doesn’t speak but he sighs and that’s enough of a sign for her to continue her ministrations. Her hands make quick work of his zipper, tugging down his trousers and boxers in one quick movement.

Her mouth opens in a gasp as his member snaps against his abdomen. He lets out a sigh of relief, no longer confided by the tight fabric of his boxers.

“You’re huge H” she says in disbelief, she sees him twitch at her words. His fingers toys with her chin and his thumb makes it’s way into her mouth, her lips close around it, she sucks and moans around his digit and he groans at the feeling.

Her petite hand reaches up to him, lands on his abdomen before slowly, tantalising making it way to his member, her doe eyes never waver, staring into his soul as her small hand wraps around him. He gasps deeply, a deep groan escaping from his lips. Her hand runs along the full length of him and she moans, her lips snaps between her teeth and his thumb pulls it back out, tutting at her.

She starts slow, her hand grasping him, massaging him gently, his hard enough as it is already and she can feel him pulsing in her hand. He’s heavy and she moans at the realisation.

“What’s going on in that pretty little head huh?” He asks, thumb running along her jaw .

“You’re just so perfect H” she said before she finally took the tip of him in between her lips. The warmth of her mouth was heavenly, and the suck she delivered nearly had his heart pounding out of his chest. She was being a right tease, one harsh suck and then she held him there, batting her eyelids up at him.

He chuckled darkly and grabbed her by the hair. She was testing him, that much he knew. Her tongue played with his tip, pressing against his slit, precome coating her tongue. She showed him and he groaned loudly, throwing his head back to distract him. Otherwise he’d thrust into her mouth like no tomorrow, but for now he had to be nice.

“Patience is a virtue my love” she threw his words back at him and he looked down at her again.

“Oh you’re such a little shit” he said before she let him have it. She took him fully into her mouth, bobbing her head up and down his length at an unforgiving pace. His moans filled the room and he gripped onto her head, his eyes never looked away from hers and hers continued to flutter up at him.

“Oh fuck you’re perfect” he moaned. She held her mouth tightly against him, bringing her mouth all the way down his length until her lips rested against his pubic bone. He swore loudly at the sight, she didn’t falter, she didn’t gag, and he groaned loudly.

“Oh you’re my angel. Oh shit you’re my angel” she sucked him harshly before moving back to the tip of him, allowing herself some time to breathe. Her hand continued to move against him as she sucked his tip.

“Oh fuck I’m not going to last much longer honey” he said, throwing his head back. She saw his abs clench and she had to clench her thighs at the sight.

“Want you to come for me H” she said, her voice was like velvet and he had to stop himself from coming undone right then and there. She wrapped her lips around him again switching between bobbing up and down and hollowing out her cheeks. Her hands came to gently squeeze his balls and that was Harry done for.

“Pull off” he said just before his hips started to falter. She shook her head no and took him to the back of his throat. She pulled back quickly and the words she uttered next shocked him.

“Fuck my mouth” the dirty words were uttered and Harry didn’t give it a second thought before his hands were placed on the back of her head, leading her movements. She moaned against him and once against she had proven to him that she couldn’t be more perfect.

“Fuck y/n, god you are a gift” he grunted. His hips snapped, sending his cock further into her mouth.

“I’m going to come” he said and she moaned against him, he pulled back slightly, her lips now wrapped only around his tip, not wanting to make her gag as he came.

She could feel his cock twitch and he began to release his load into her mouth. Her hand found his at the back of her head and she pushed her hand against it, forcing her own head further along his cock. This only made him come harder, his hips shook and he came; hard.

“Oh fuck. Oh my god you’re perfect” he repeated the phrase he had said so many times this evening. He swallowed every last drop and pulled off him with a ‘pop’.

He helped her stand as pulled up his trousers, tucking himself back in.

“Happy birthday indeed” he said making the both of them chuckle. His thumb wiped at her mouth, cleaning off some of his juice that had managed to escape her mouth. She looked at his thumb and sucked it clean making him groan again, which made the both of them laugh.

“That was-“ he said “amazing” she finished.

“Will you let me take you on a date?” He asked and she nodded, smiling widely up at him. He leant down and kissed her sweetly.

He wanted nothing more to tell her that he loved her, he had loved her for so long. She knew just by the look in his eyes that he loved her and she loved him too; so much. She had for a long time, but that could wait to be said another day.

“Better get back to the party, birthday girl” he said smiling.

“Willing to share me now?” She said.

“Never” they laughed heavily at that. Returning to the room of people, not one of them noticing how long they pair had been missing.

It took two weeks before they were officially a couple. Harry continued to tour the world: with his girlfriend. Fans speculated that the two were together, longing looks on stage were exchanged, lingering touches and nothing but hints were thrown their way. The didn’t confirm nor deny it. They just basked in each other’s love, always.

[storiesforallfandoms]

and the winner is... ~ eminem

word count: 1784

request?: yes!

“hey, love your writing sm ❤️ I really like the concept where the reader is a young actress with Eminem, so can I request one where they go to Marshall’s award show for the first time publicly, they try to keep it low key but the reader presents an award and when Em wins they share a warm moment on stage and the media loses it? thanks in advance”

description: in which they say they’re going to be lowkey for their first public appearance as a couple, and then he wins the award she’s presenting

pairing: eminem x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two)

It was hard to keep my hands off of Marshall as we walked down the red carpet. It was our first public outing as a couple, but Marshall wasn’t very into PDA so we had decided to keep it somewhat lowkey. It seemed like a good idea in theory, until Marshall did the unthinkable and showed up dressed in a suit. How am I supposed to not jump his bones when he looks damn fine in a suit?

Every time I so much as glanced at him the paparazzi would go crazy. So many flashing lights that eventually I was seeing spots. It was hard to keep smiling when I couldn’t even see ahead of me.

Marshall put an arm around my waist - which of course led to more flashing lights - and walked me off the red carpet into the venue. The minute I walked through the doors into the dimly lit room, it really was like I couldn’t see. I had to take a minute to let my eyes adjust to the sudden light change.

“Weird how quickly I go from basically a nobody on a red carpet to a hot commodity just because I have attractive arm candy,” I joked.

A half smile tugged at Marshall’s lips. “You were never a nobody. Not to me anyways.”

“Awe, that’s so sweet it’s kind of gross,” I teased.

This earned me an actual laugh as Marshall pulled me in for a kiss. Without any prying eyes around, we felt free to actually be a couple.

We engaged with some others in the industry, including those Marshall considered to be close friends of his. I felt out of place at this music award show as an actress who was still trying to become more than just a side character in the movies she starred in. I was grateful to have Marshall there to help me through it.

When we took our seats as the show was starting, Marshall reached over to take my hand. “Are you okay?”

I shrugged. “Nervous I think. Which I shouldn’t be because it’s just me announcing an award, but it’s my first time on an award show stage for any reason, and it’s a pretty big award.”

“And it’s one I’m nominated for.”

I looked over at Marshall with wide eyes. “What?!”

“You didn’t know?”

I shook my head. Now I felt so much more nervous. What if I pulled a Steve Harvey and said the wrong name because I wanted Marshall to win? Or what if he actually did win but everyone thought I said he did because we were dating? I tried to focus on the stage ahead of me but my heart was beating so fast that my vision was starting to get blurry. I felt warm, like I was sweating, which made me worry that my makeup was starting to run. I was going to look disgusting with my makeup running on live television.

Sensing my new found nervousness, Marshall gave my hand a reassuring squeeze.

“Hey, look at me.” I glanced over to meet his gaze. “It’s going to be okay. You’ve rehearsed this speech so much that you can say it without the teleprompter. It’s not going to be any different just because I’m nominated. If I win, you give me the award and I do a speech. If I don’t win, you give the award to whoever does and they make a speech. It’s not a big deal, (Y/N), don’t worry too much about it.”

I wished I could’ve just let my fear rush from my body, but it was still there. Before I could say anything else, the lights went down and the show officially started.

I tried to just sit and enjoy the show but it was hard when I had my upcoming presenter role looming over me. Of course, it was one of the last awards of the show, so I had to sit there and let my nerves build as the suspense for the winner of the award grew as well.

Every now and then Marshall would give my hand another squeeze and I would calm down for that split second. Having him by my side helped a lot, but every time I remembered that he might be the recipient of the award I became nervous again.

Finally, it was my time to take the stage. They passed me the envelope with the name of the winner and motioned for me to take the stage. I plastered a smile on my face as my name was called and I walked onto the stage. I hoped the cameras couldn’t pick up my shaking, and I really hoped my shaking wouldn’t make my voice sound as bad as I feared it would.

“This award can only go to the best of the best,” I started, glancing at the prompter in front of me to make sure I was saying the words correctly. “The person who worked the hardest and had the best payoff with their release. The competition this year is fierce, and it was hard to narrow it down to just these five artists, as there have been so many amazing works of art released this past year. It has been an even harder choice to pick who of them all is the best, although I might be bias in saying I’ve already chosen my favorite.”

The audience chuckled at my improved addition to the speech.

“Ladies and gentlemen, here are your nominees.”

I watched the video that played of the nominated artists. My heart skipped a beat when Marshall came up, a few clips from the music videos he had filmed playing in a short montage. He had worked so hard on his latest album, every part of me hoped that he would be the winner I was announcing.

As the video came to an end, I turned back to face the audience (and the cameras) to announce the winner.

“And the award goes to...”

I tried not to let my slight fear show as I fumbled with the envelope for a moment. I started to worry that I wouldn’t even be able to open it and completely embarrass myself on live TV. I tried not to sigh with relief when the seal perfectly popped open and I was able to pull the card out. The smile on my face had to have given away the winner before the words were even out of my mouth.

“Eminem!”

The crowd cheered and stood from their seats. A camera found Marshall, who was standing from his seat and hugging Paul and Denaun before making his way to the stage. I couldn’t help but smile proudly at him as I extended the award I was holding - his award - to him.

I was taken by surprise when he wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me in for a kiss. It was brief since he had an award to accept, but it was enough to make my head spin, the way his kisses usually did.

When he pulled away I was still so stunned that I almost forgot to give him his award. I could see him trying to hold back a laugh as he took it from my hands and turned to the microphone.

“Thank you,” he said to the still cheering audience. For a minute I forgot there was anyone else in the room, and realizing so many people had watched that kiss made my cheeks heat up. “I’d like to thank my manager, Paul, who for some reason still backs me with everything I do and produce even when it pushes the boundaries a little too much. I also want to thank the good Doctor, who has been supporting me since day one and who has always believed in me and gave me this platform to make music and to push the boundaries that Paul has to deal with. My daughters, my biggest inspirations. And of course, I’d like to thank the beautiful lady who presented this award to me tonight. I may not show it publicly but I am my happiest when I’m with you and I cannot thank you enough for that.”

I blinked away the tears forming in my eyes as I clapped along with the audience. The music started playing as Marshall offered me his arm to walk me off the stage. I felt like I was floating on cloud nine as we walked down the stairs and backstage, away from the cameras and the thousands of people watching us, both in person and on TV.

We were greeted backstage by other presenters and winners who were still mingling and celebrating their wins. Marshall was congratulated and a few of the other presenters told me how well I did with my presentation. I was proud of myself for getting through it, but I was more proud that I didn’t go completely airheaded after Marshall kissed me.

When we finally got away from the large amount of people, Marshall pulled me in for another kiss.

“So much for keeping it lowkey, huh?” I teased when I pulled away.

“I was caught up in the moment,” he said with a shrug, but I wasn’t completely convinced.

“That speech was uncharacteristically sweet,” I said. “For your public persona anyways. I figured you’d keep it short and sweet and maybe get the show into a little bit of trouble with an unplanned curse word.”

He chuckled. “Well normally that would be how things go. But I meant what I said during my speech: you make me the happiest I’ve ever been. When you said my name I just couldn’t help but feel this unfamiliar surge of happiness and excitement at winning. You know I don’t care about these types of award shows, but the fact that you presented this award to me made me care for just a second. I know I’ll be the talking point for the next few days because of this, but right now I don’t care all that much.”

Tears were welling in my eyes again as I pulled him back to me. “Shut up, you’re gonna ruin my makeup.”

His laugh filled my ears as he pulled me for another kiss. The happiness he said he felt coursed through my veins too. I couldn’t imagine being with anyone else in a moment like this.

When he pulled away he put his arm around me again and started to walk towards the door. “Let’s get out of here. I think I wanna celebrate my win with the most beautiful girl I’ve ever met.”

I smiled brightly at him. “I like the sound of that.”

[sotangledupinit]

a little bundle of icing - My CS Gift Exchange Fic

Prompt: Giftee's Wants: Established relationship, cs family fluff, cs parents, modern au with established relationship. NO: character death, angst

SUMMARY: She thought the hardest part would be hiding the gifts from the (mostly) reformed pirate. In actuality, the hardest part has been wrapping them. For some reason, every chance she’s gotten has been foiled by one thing or another.// or Emma tells Killian she's pregnant.

RATING: G for General Audiences

WORD COUNT: 4,575 words

TAGS: Captain Swan, Christmas, Holiday fluff, Pregnancy

AO3

AUTHOR’S NOTE: this was fun to work with and try, as i haven't done much established relationship writing. hope everyone enjoys this!

hi @middlemistcs13​ ! i picked your prompt for the gift exchange! as you already know (and read), this fic has been up on AO3 for a few days but here’s the tumblr post to accompany it! yay! for anyone who hasn’t read this yet - i hope you enjoy!

***

“And this Santa Claus… your world doesn’t consider him to be flagrant?”

The answering huff of a laugh from Henry is loud, even from the other end of the table. “Dude. Of course not. He leaves presents for you to reward a year of being a good person.”

“But aren’t you required to cook for him as well?”

Emma’s eyes drift to the end of the table where Henry and Killian stand side by side, each holding a piping bag of icing, one red and one green. Sprinkles litter the table and powdered sugar is dusted across Killian’s leather vest, not that he cares much. Their sleeves are rolled up to their elbows and a mixing spoon is still taped to his brace (a brilliant idea that he and her son supposedly had; the mess they have yet to clean up says otherwise).

She tries hard to suppress her grin at the image but she knows she’s failing miserably so she ducks her head and kneads the dough beneath her knuckles, listening along.

“Well, not really,” Henry says. Emma feels his eyes on her for a moment but she pretends not to notice. “It’s more like a donation or a gift.”

“Ah ha!” Killian cheers, mixing spoon gesturing wildly as he points a finger at Henry. Some of the red icing drips from the bag under the pressure and lands with a plop! on the counter between the naked gingerbread people and sugar cookies. “So it’s not from the goodness of his heart!”

At her quick glance up, she catches Killian’s eye and he winks at her. Her kid can be too easy to rile up sometimes, something Killian likes to do to get back at Henry’s quips about his struggles with modern technology. She doesn’t always understand their relationship, the way they can rile each other up one moment and immediately slide into the caring, supportive step-father/son dynamic the next – but she’s grateful nonetheless to have them be so close.

Henry rolls his eyes. “Yes, it is. He’s basically our world’s Robin Hood.”

“Didn’t this world already have a Robin Hood?”

“Oh my god.” Henry groans and then calls out to Emma, a gallop of green icing landing on the face of a gingerbread man. “Mom, you need to divorce your husband.”

“No, you need to start decorating those gingerbread cookies instead of the table.” She thinks she succeeds in keeping the amusement out of her voice but Killian’s quiet snickering tells her otherwise. “And you,” she continues, aiming her glare at the husband in question, “have to clean up. I’m not letting you two leave without cleaning up first.”

“Are you positive you can’t to come with us, love?”

There’s nothing more that Emma would love to do than pick out a tree with Henry and Killian for their first Christmas in their house when there’s nothing going on. No foes, evils witches, or snow monsters appearing out of nowhere to ruin any holiday plans. Storybrooke has been blissfully peaceful for the most part for the last two years following the Final Battle.

Emma still knocks on wood when those thoughts cross her mind. Best not to jinx it.

Still, as much as she wishes she could join the boys on their tree hunt, she can’t as she has far more pressing matters to attend to. Those being trying to wrap Killian’s Christmas gifts without him finding out what they are first. She thought the hardest part would be hiding the gifts from the (mostly) reformed pirate. In actuality, the hardest part has been wrapping them. For some reason, every chance she’s gotten has been foiled by one thing or another.

Her first attempt was when Killian was going out for a day excursion on the Jolly Roger with Smee. She waited until she was absolutely sure the ship left the docks to pull out her gifts only for her sheriff’s beeper to go off. By the time she handled the situation and returned home, the Jolly had returned to shore and it was only a matter of time before Killian came back.

There were a few more close calls at home after that – enough to make her consider wrapping his gifts at the station. By the time she actually attempted it, David had barged through the front doors at such a speed that Emma’s surprised she managed to hide the gifts in time. Despite what most of the town believes about her mother, there’s no worse gossiper or meddler in town than her father. The only thing possibly worse than Killian discovering his gifts early is finding out about them from someone else.

After that, she assumed her luck had almost completely abandoned her. Christmas is coming up quickly and she can’t bear to give him his gifts without wrapping them. Last year he took so much pleasure in showing Henry how easily he could rip through the wrapping with his hook. She can’t take the idea of preventing the look of glee on both of their faces appearing again.

Plus, she wants to be able to watch Killian unwrap one of the most life-changing gifts ever, see the different emotions play on his face as the realization sinks in.

“I’d love to but I really can’t,” she answers honestly. “I have to handle security at the school’s Christmas fair today and we can’t keep putting off the tree. At this rate, we’d be getting it in January.”

“We’ll pick out a good one, Mom, don’t worry,” Henry consoles. He winks at her once Killian isn’t looking and his comforting smile only grows bigger.

It’s her own fault, really. One of her earlier attempts to wrap Killian’s gifts only resulted in Henry coming home from school to see them laid out on her bedroom floor when he went looking for her. The surprise that crossed his face quickly turned into pure joy and Emma unsuccessfully willed herself not to cry.

No bribing was needed to make Henry keep the gifts a secret. He knows how special this is for her.

For the second time in her life, Emma’s pregnant. For the first time, it’s with someone she loves – her True Love at that – and she has no fear of what the future might hold for her and their baby. She’s excited.

All she needs now is just ten minutes of peace with a guarantee of No Killian so she can actually keep it a secret until Christmas.

Killian and Henry are able to appropriately decorate the gingerbread and sugar cookies after a few elbow nudges are exchanged while she puts the last batch of cookies in the oven, though there are some close calls that Emma has to shut down the moment her eyes catch what one of them is trying to do. She does not want to deal with her father’s sputtering and mother’s giggles at the sight of any cookie decorated in any way less than a G rating.

By the time they’re leaving and Killian is warming up the bug, Henry pulls Emma aside under the guise of finding his missing shoe.

“You’re not really missing your shoe, are you? Because otherwise you’re going barefoot, kid.”

Henry rolls his eyes. “Chill, it’s in my backpack.” He hooks a thumb to gesture at the bag on his shoulders and Emma nods. “Grandpa’s already at the school and says he hopes you ‘feel better’. I’m planning to take my sweet time inspecting every tree with Killian. I’m gonna feed him a bunch of fake facts so that he gets really invested too. Should buy you like two hours.”

Emma worries her lip, shoving her hands in her back pockets so she doesn’t play with her ring, a sure sign that she’s hiding something if Killian sees her. “What if Killian’s researched about Christmas trees though? He may be a pirate but he’s also a nerd.”

Henry exudes a confidence that she doesn’t have, given her track record this season. “Trust me, I know how to rile him up.” She rolls her eyes goodheartedly at that. As much as Killian loved to tease and rile Henry up, her kid loved to do the same just as much. She worried at first that it meant the two didn’t like each other and couldn’t get along, but her worries were quickly tossed away when she saw the two sitting at her kitchen table as Killian spoke to Henry in low whispers, helping him with an issue in his friend group.

He treated Henry like an equal, let him know that everything he said, saw, and felt held value. A trust existed between them that Emma didn’t breach – not that she wanted to. She respected that as much as she wants to be able to do everything for her kid, sometimes he needs to seek out someone else and she’s thrilled that most times he chooses Killian. Ribbing on each other is just another way to show that affection.

Emma bids her goodbyes to the two. Henry’s hug leaves her feeling the warmth one only gets from being a parent, and Killian’s goodbye kiss sends tingles down to her toes. That tingling is the exact feeling that got her into this situation and if she hadn’t been already, the look he gives her as he shuts the door behind him would’ve done it.

She waits for them to make it to the tree farm, according to Henry’s location and update texts, checking in with David who’s covering her shift at the school’s Christmas fair. It is then and only then that she feels comfortable enough to wrap the gifts.

Hauling them out of the closet in no time at all, she makes quick work of wrapping them. Despite the assurances that no one would be bothering her, especially her husband, she still chances a glance over her shoulder every few moments, just to be sure. She’s come this far and she’ll be damned if letting her guard down ruins the surprise.

Wrapping goes seamlessly and Emma triple checks that she has gathered and wrapped all the gifts before she places them in the closet under the stairs with the others. One more thing she can cross off her list.

*

When Emma wakes up the morning of Christmas, it’s to soft humming against her neck, a Christmas song that’s been on the radio more often than not this last week. She’s just thankful it’s one of Kelly Clarkson’s songs and not Wham!’s Last Christmas.

“Merry Christmas, love,” Killian whispers to her neck before placing a light kiss there. He wraps his arm tighter around her middle, pulling her back flush against his front, and she feels her stomach erupt in butterflies. He doesn’t know it yet but his hand rests right where their kid is growing and she works hard to refrain her glee for the time being.

Instead, she focuses on the trail of kisses he places down her jaw until he leans over her side to plant one on her mouth. She hums contently into the kiss, turning onto her back so she can wrap her arms around his neck. “Merry Christmas indeed.”

They share a smile before he leans back in for a short kiss.

“How long do you suppose we have before the lad comes stomping down the stairs for his gifts?”

Emma considers his question, furrowing her eyebrows when she realizes she forgot to charge her phone overnight and it’s dead. “What time is it?”

“Nearly eight.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “It’s a matter of seconds then, not minutes.”

“Think we can distract him with his PlayStation?”

“Wait – PlayStation? Not ‘Playing box’? Not ‘Stationary play’?” He crinkles his nose at her poor imitation of his accent and shakes his head.

“Of course I’ve learned the names by now, Swan.” He ignores her interjection of ‘Jones’ though it does earn her a smile. “I’ve known them for quite some time. But Henry doesn’t know that and I quite enjoy annoying him with that bit.”

She laughs and runs her fingers through his hair, tugging lightly on the silky soft strands as her reprimand. However, his reaction shows it is anything but. “I don’t know which of you is worse. Honestly.”

The two of them lean in with the full intent to enjoy as much of a lazy morning in bed as possible on the holiday but their lips don’t even meet before it’s interrupted.

“Merry Christmas!” Henry yells as he comes down the stairs. His feet stomp on each step and Emma grins at the way Killian cringes. He pauses on the landing outside their door and shouts before hurrying down the steps with stomping feet again. “You’ve got five minutes before I force you out so get dressed!”

“Like a bloody ogre,” Killian mutters as he rolls off of her. Despite his grumbling, the smile he gives her as he helps her out of bed and pulls her close is soft. The walls between them disappeared long ago and neither of them are afraid of the openness that exists in their relationship. It’s another first for Emma, being able to be so unapologetically herself and so vulnerable with her emotions when before Killian, she’d always been waiting for the other shoe to drop. Never before him did she allow such a complete offering of herself to another person. With him, it doesn’t feel so scary.

It's also why she’s so excited to have this baby. Being with Killian makes anything they face not seem so bad.

The thought of what lies beneath their tree brings a giddiness to her movements that even her husband notices.

“What’s gotten into you this morning?” he asks as he puts on his brace. He sends her a wicked grin that has her toes curling as he attaches the hook – the same one he shined the night before so he could show it off to Henry in all its unwrapping glory.

“I’m just… really happy.”

“Aye,” he says once he comes close to her again, one hand on her waist and his lips descending upon hers. “So am I.”

Their moment is broken by Henry banging on their door, warning that they better come down that instant or he’s opening everyone’s presents. The notion gets a laugh out of her, knowing that despite his threats, her kid wouldn’t follow through with this one. Maybe.

Nervousness doesn’t come to her until it’s time to hand her gifts over to Killian. He sits in a pile of wrapping paper on the couch, the ‘Best Dad in the Universe’ mug Henry got for him sitting on the coffee table. Henry had been sheepish as he handed over the gift, calling Killian ‘Dad’ on occasion now and then, nowhere near a regular occurrence. Still, the sentiment behind the gift, and the true feelings it relayed, left both her son and husband emotional. They exchanged quiet words that left them both teary-eyed and Killian had wrapped it up by showing Emma the mug as if she hadn’t helped Henry design it online. He then sat it on the coffee table so gently like a prized trophy and couldn’t stop looking at it.

If he reacted this way to Henry’s gifts, she can’t imagine the emotion that’ll come with hers.

The two of them have led hard lives, obstacles in their paths trying to prevent them from wanting to push for the light at the end of the tunnel. But they both did, whether out of sheer stubbornness or resilience, she’s not sure, and it held it them together until they found each other. Then suddenly they weren’t navigating the ups and downs of life alone and everything became a bit more bearable day by day.

Fatherhood is something that always came natural to Killian, she could see, and something that he wanted. His pirating ways took him to many lands and realms but he’d gotten to the point where he wanted to settle down and have a family. To live a life of peace he was never granted beforehand. Villains didn’t get happy endings though so he assumed it was out of the cards for him.

Henry accepted him, made him part of their family, and looked to him as a father. The remaining Lost Boys sought out his comforting presence, a familiar figure, despite their tangled pasts or because of it, when they were feeling particularly lonely or destructive, and he provided a guiding hand back. Hell, even baby Neal latched onto him almost as quickly as he did her parents.

There was a contentedness to Killian when he stepped into the role of father-figure that she never saw before. It shined brightest with Henry but she always saw the longing look in his eyes when Henry left for a weekend at Regina’s or when they saw Sean and Ashley with their baby at Granny’s.

Her mother once said, “Happy endings always start with hope.” Their life together was the start. This is the continuation of it.

“Ready for my gifts?” Emma asks. She discretely wipes her sweaty palms on her thighs and takes the gifts from Henry’s outstretched hands. He gives her a reassuring smile and she can only manage a quick, tight but grateful grin in return.

“Thanks, love.”

Killian lifts his hook to open the smallest of the boxes when Emma shoots her hand out to grab his wrist, a loud ‘No’ leaving her lips before she even realizes what she’s done.

Concern fills Killian’s gaze as he leans closer. His eyes rove over her person, searching, cataloging, trying to get any hint of what’s happening. “Emma, what’s gotten into you?”

“Actually…” she starts with a sardonic laugh, tilting her head.

“Ew, gross, Mom,” Henry crimes in, face wrinkled in disgust.

She clears her throat while rolling her eyes and instead taps the biggest of the three boxes. “Open this first.”

“O-kay…” Killian eyes her as he gently, slowly, unwraps the biggest box. Instead it lies a photo album titled Daddy & Me. “It’s blank?” he asks.

“Yeah, it’s for you to fill it with photos.”

“Ah.” Killian turns to Henry. “I suppose we should start filling this up, aye?”

A quick moment of panic flashes across Henry’s face as he looks to Emma for guidance, both of them floundering. “Uh, yeah!” he says in a hurry. “I can help you fill it up.” He then gives Emma a pointed look, Killian none the wiser.

“Open your second one,” Emma encourages. Killian takes another hard look at the album, the content in his gaze soothing any nerves that remained from Emma’s anticipation.

Earlier, Henry laughed smugly as Killian ripped through about thirty layers of wrapping paper to finally uncover the mug. Henry encouraged him to really dig into it, something that flashes Emma’s mind back to the beanstalk and made her laugh. Killian had taken the message to heart.

Now, he uses the hook to lift the edges of the wrapping paper and gently unravels it. Beneath the paper is a box and Killian gives her a watery grin once he sees what’s inside.

His very first Christmas ornament – or at least the first that’s meant specifically for him – lays inside. It features a large brown bear holding a baby bear wearing a diaper. Beneath the figures is a banner that reads, ‘Papa Bear, Est. 2022”.

Emma expects the questioning glance he sends her way and the subtle, confused one he gives to Henry. However, he receives no answers and Emma finally taps the small box. “Now you can open it.”

She bites her lip and her and Henry share a reassuring nod as Killian opens the last gift. Sitting inside the small box, cleaned off and surrounded in tissue paper is a positive pregnancy test.

Killian picks it up with a cautionary gentleness that she hasn’t seen before. His mouth drops open as he stares it down and he mouths the word ‘Pregnant’ over and over again as his eyes get misty. “Is – is this real?” he asks, voice full of emotion. Emma nods, blinking back her own tears.

“Yeah, Killian, it’s real.”

“Gods, love.” Suddenly, Emma is pulled out of her chair and swept off her feet as Killian tugs her into a tight embrace. He kisses every inch of skin he can find, pulling back every few kisses to catch her lips before he embraces her again. His arms are bound around her tightly, the squeeze between them only getting tighter as Killian urges Henry to join their hug. “You’re going to be a big brother, lad. The best there is,” he whispers and Emma nearly lets out the croaking sob stuck in her throat.

As much as it is a monumental moment for Killian, he still includes Henry and still makes sure that he’s wanted around. The notion makes her heart burst. Once again, she’s aware that she never needed any official True Love test to give her confirmation that Killian is it for her. The way he acts proves it more than enough. It doesn’t make her any less emotional, especially as Killian whispers, as giddy as she’d been that morning, “We’re having a baby!”

“Yes, we are!” she whispers back excitedly.

The trio embrace for a few more moments before Henry’s phone rings and lets him know that it’s Regina reaching out. He congrats the two of them, tells them what wonderful parents they already are, and then bounds out of the room.

“Wow,” Killian says with the long release of a deep breath. “You’re pregnant.”

“I am,” she teases.

Killian’s wide grin matches her own and even though he leans in to kiss her, they aren’t able to do much as their smiles keep breaking through.

It’s not until Killian places a hand on her stomach that her breath catches and realization sinks in. They’re really doing this. They’re having a baby. She can’t explain it but she thinks she’s having a girl. Even Killian’s seemingly decided so as well, babbling on about their daughter despite the fact that they won’t officially find out until Emma’s next appointment in two weeks.

They will have a baby. Together.

They’re going to bring someone into this world that’s half him and half her and it’ll be their responsibility to not screw them up.

With Henry it was easier. He was already ten by the time he connected with both of them, respect and manners already instilled in him. All they had to do was encourage them to flourish. But with a baby, they’ll be starting from scratch. In all honesty, neither of them know much of what to do aside from the basics to keep a baby alive, but she figures they’ll approach it like they do everything else: together.

“You know, little one,” Killian starts as he leans down towards her stomach. “Your grandma is a very wise woman and she once told me that happy endings always start with hope.” He swallows, glancing up at Emma for a moment as his voice gets even quieter. “I’m excited to meet you, Hope.”

*

4 years later…

*

“No, no, no, love, not like that.”

Emma looks up from drying dishes and fixes her gaze on the other end of the table. Killian and Henry are bent over it, heads close together. Between them, Hope kneels on a chair and squeezes an icing bag with so much force that fat glops of red icing plop onto the cookies, nearly covering an entire group of gingerbread men. She watches the way Killian keeps the rounded curve of his hook, sharp tip pointed away, pressed against the center of Hope’s back to keep her steady, attempting to guide her in how to decorate the cookie while she just wants to mix colors together.

One of Henry’s hands holds a gingerbread man in place for her, fingers turning red from the icing that’s slipped over the side, and he’s quick to grab the green icing bag before Hope’s grubby little fingers can grab it. “Oh no you don’t, munchkin.”

“I’m not a munchkin!” Hope pouts. Her glare is fierce as she turns her attention to Henry, cookies completely forgotten as she stands from her kneeling position.

“Oh really?” he eggs her on, fighting to keep the grin off his face. “How come you’re on a chair and I’m still taller than you then? Munchkin.”

“Stinky nose!”

“Short stack.”

“Hairy back!”

A whistle breaks through their teasing before Emma can step in and all eyes go to Killian. He leaves his hook pressed against Hope’s back even as he straightens and stands tall. “Enough of this nonsense from me crew!” Hope stares at him with wide eyes and a dropped jaw, joy filtering its way into her features.

An aspiring pirate captain herself, the three-year-old takes great glee in seeing her father step into his, admittedly watered down, pirate persona. She turns towards Killian, bouncing where she stands in the chair. Her hands attempt to come together in claps but only succeed in dropping more icing all over her hands and Henry’s.

Killian plucks the icing bag from Hope and places it aside. “Now,” he starts, voice an octave lower. “This mess needs to be cleaned otherwise I’ll let Santa know to toss yer presents overboard! Aye?”

“Noooo!” Hope shouts. “He can’t do that!”

“He knows Santa,” Henry says. He nods to Killian as he catches the wet washcloth Emma tosses to him and begins to wipe his icing covered fingers. “He can totally make it happen.”

“Aye,” Emma adds, grinning wide at the way Killian’s nose crinkles. She holds a second wet washcloth in her hands and comes over to Hope, gently wiping her hands clean. “But perhaps me and Papa can clean up the kitchen while you help Henry put some tinsel on the tree instead. It’d be a big help.”

“Aye, aye, captain!” Hope tugs at her hands, pouting when Emma won’t let them free yet. However, once she’s able to, she turns and jumps on Henry’s back, already urging him towards the living room.

“You know,” Killian says, “you’ve just granted her permission to make a mess even worse than this one.”

Emma grins, “Are you saying you weren’t also desperate for five minutes to ourselves?”

Killian hums, giving her a grin that she knows so well. His arms come around her waist while hers wrap around his neck and their lips meet in a soft kiss. When he tries to pull away, Emma keeps him locked with her and the heat between them rises. So lost in the progressing passion of their kisses, she doesn’t even realize Killian’s lifted her onto the table until Henry voices his disgust.

“Gross, guys,” he says. “We eat there.” He shakes his head, shuddering at catching them mid-make out, and reaches for the extra bag of tinsel on the counter. He holds it up and points at it before he leaves. “For scarring me, I am not cleaning this up.”

A snort comes out of Emma before she can stop it and she closes her eyes, content as Killian presses a soft kiss to her cheek. His hand drifts down to rest against her stomach and she feels the butterflies of excitement start up again. Only two more weeks before they can share their big secret.

“This will be a fun Christmas, love.”

[saintodo]

thots: makki’s only fans

♡ note: uh….yeah <3

♡ word count: 646

♡ warnings: gn!reader, sex work/only fans, talk of nudes, doggy style fucking, consensual filming

i love the idea of people mistakenly assuming that you’re the breadwinner between you and hanamaki. it makes sense, you have a well-paying stable job while he’s been unemployed and “in between jobs” for the longest time. they just assume that he’s your deadbeat boyfriend, who’s mooching off of you.

neither you nor hanamaki really say too much when people have the audacity to make jabs right to your faces. you just uncomfortably laugh and try to divert the conversation, but hanamaki straight up just doesn’t give a fuck. he laughs and slings his arm around you and agrees with them. he says something along the lines about how he’s practically your sugar baby. it normally gets the other person to get real awkward and drop the topic, maybe even walk away under the guise of some excuse. you always get embarrassed by his antics, but let him get away with it.

i mean, the other person should feel weird for trying to pass judgement on your relationship like that, especially when they don’t know shit. if they did, they’d learn that you’re not the money maker in the relationship, hanamaki is.

as one of the top 1% creators on only fans, hanamaki makes a shit ton of money, way more than what your salary is worth. he’s incredibly successful, it’s safe to say that people love his content. whether it’s simple nude photos or videos of him jacking off, his audience eats that shit up. but his most popular videos are the ones he films with you.

you’re so supportive of his career, which hanamaki is so grateful for, but he was pretty surprised when you first offered to join him in a video. when he asked what made you want to, you just shrugged your shoulders and said “gotta make sure everyone knows you’re mine.” his cock immediately chubbed up at the subtle possessiveness in your tone.

the rare videos you make together are carefully filmed to ensure your faces are always hidden. hanamaki doesn’t show his face anyways in any of his content and he’s not going to let anybody see yours. the lewd expressions you make when you’re bouncing on his cock are reserved for his eyes only.

after he posts content with you in it, hanamaki always gets flooded with comments talking about how fucking hot your body is or how cute your breathy moans sound. damn right, he thinks. hanamaki agrees with them, he knows damn well how much of a catch you are.

sometimes he reads replies where the user says something about how they could fuck you so much better than hanamaki or how you need a real dick in your life. he snorts whenever he comes across them. he doesn’t get mad, but he does file those comments in the back of his mind.

people are surprised when hanamaki uploads another video with you right after posting one with you in it. the videos you appear in are normally few and far between. clicking to view the recording, it shows hanamaki fucking you in doggy position. your back curves so pretty as hanamaki drills his cock in and out of you.

“nobody can fuck you like me,” he muses aloud. the slick sound of his hips hitting the curve of your ass fills the pauses between his words. “c’mon baby, tell the camera who fucks you the best.”

you moan when he lands a resounding smack on your ass and press your face further into the pillows. “a-ah! it’s you, you fuck me the best, fuck me so good and deep. feel it in my throat,” you babble, rocking your hips back against hanamaki’s cock.

“that’s right, baby.” he smooths his hand over your ass, pressing his thumbs into the dips of your back. “you were made for my cock.”

safe to say, people got hanamaki’s message.

[hes-writer]

Confessions: A ‘Favourite’ Extra

Summary: beatrice graduates and dad!harry is not invited

Warnings: angst!

Word Count: 3305 words

A/N: this is part of the ‘Favourite’ universe :D this scene takes place sometime between the first and second part! please read them before reading this.

Part One | Part Two

_____

Graduation.

Through Beatrice’s 18-years of living, she did not think that the celebration of liberation would be so sour. The day started off like any normal day. That is, except, she did not have to deliberately avoid the areas of the house that her dad, Harry, was in. It was strange that she had to feel uncomfortable in her own home.

For this special event, Beatrice had initially bought only three tickets for Ruby, Caleb and her mum, Y/N. Her dad had a packed schedule of promoting his newest album anyway so Beatrice thought that it wouldn’t even matter. She didn’t think he would want to come anyway. If Beatrice knew anything about her father is that he never really cared much about what went on in her life.

Beatrice supposes that it was okay. She had a whole lifetime to get used to it. A full lifestyle living on the edge because she didn’t know when her dad would clap-back with an insult for no reason. However, it didn’t mean that the spike in pain hurt any less. Don’t get her wrong; she was grateful for Y/N being around and involved. But Beatrice sometimes wondered how it would feel like to be wrapped in a fatherly embrace or be guided with wisdom and courage.

She really couldn’t remember the last time Harry did anything that made Beatrice feel like his daughter. Aside from the family photos they took on during the holidays or when celebrating whatever work achievement he managed to snag--that was the only time where Beatrice would feel Harry’s hand resting on her shoulder.

___

“Can I get one?” Ruby asked, tugging on the coloured strings of Beatrice’s cap. Her small body was being held by her older sister while Y/N took photos of the three siblings.

“Caleb, put your phone away please,” Y/N requested, shaking her head at the way the young boy groaned. Nonetheless, he followed the instruction.

"You’re lucky I love you or I would not have shown up,” Caleb grumbled, offering a sweet smile afterwards to suggest that he was joking. The three siblings posed for the camera, Beatrice trying hard not to let Ruby tilt her square cap.

Between a plastered smile, Beatrice replied, “Probably why dad isn’t here,”

Caleb widened his eyes significantly. Though, it seemed conspicuous to Y/N who was busy figuring out how to brighten the screen.

“That’s not true, sissy. He’s just busy,”

Beatrice chuckled, shrugging off the comforting hand of her younger brother, “Always busy but never when one of you have something going on,”

“It’s just a coincidence,”

“Yeah, sure,”

Caleb frowned at her response, focusing her attention on Ruby’s babbles. He almost spilled the surprise that their dad was going to watch Beatrice cross the stage. Caleb knew how his sisters felt about Harry and he hoped that his appearance would help patch things up between them.

Caleb walked over to Y/N, “Are you sure that Dad’s coming?”

Y/N nodded, “Yes, he said he’s looking for parking now,”

Caleb bit his lip nervously, “Do you think she’ll be surprised?”

——

“Graduate with honours, Beatrice Y/LN,”

Applause filled the venue as Beatrice walked up the steep steps of the stage. A shy smile was placed on her lips when she caught sight of the projector screen showcasing her achievements for her senior year.

In the audience, both Harry and Y/N were confused as to why Beatrice used her mother's name to be announced. The cinch in Y/N’s brow smoothed out when the principal continued speaking. Harry, however, couldn’t help the questioning frown.

“Top Chemistry. Top Biology. Overall Best Science Student. Gold Volunteer Badge. Level 4 Music Theory. Beatrice has been excelling both academically and musically while serving the community,”

Beatrice squinted at the bright lights, placing her diploma and speech on the podium. She had never been good at public speaking. However, her announced name gave Beatrice newfound confidence. It’s just her. All her achievements wouldn’t be credited to her father just because he was Harry Styles.

“Hi, uh,” She cleared her throat, “I’m Beatrice Y/LN and I’m very honoured to be standing in front of you today,”

Her speech was short and to the point; thanking her fellow classmates even though there were very few to thank personally. There were a few jokes in between and some nostalgic memories about various school events throughout the year. Beatrice mentioned remarks to her teachers who helped her achieve high grades. Lastly, she thanked her family for supporting  her

“I’d like to thank my family. My brother, Caleb. My sister, Ruby and my Mum. You guys have been so wonderful to me and I hope that I made you proud,”

Y/N was tearing up with a hand clasped over her mouth. She could not believe that her oldest daughter was off to university in a few weeks. Beatrice’s work ethic was unmatched and it showed in her getting the recognition that she deserved.

There was a pregnant pause before applause filled the space again. Despite switching her name last minute, everyone in her school knew that Beatrice was a Styles kid. They were probably waiting for her to mention him in her speech. But Beatrice felt no need to mention the man that had done nothing for her. He wasn’t even here.

“Thank you and congratulations, everyone!”

Harry slumped lower in his seat. He could feel Y/N’s worried eyes and Caleb’s observant gaze inspecting his face.

____

Beatrice stood beside her family, watching Harry a few metres away who was currently busy attending to the fans that recognized him. Even with his graying hair, many parents greeted him with a reminiscing statement about how they ‘saw him in concert back in the day’, to which he would chuckle at and proceed to converse for a few minutes until their child--Beatrice’s age--tugged them away.

All that Beatrice wanted to do was to get home and interact with her online friends. She had mentioned that she was graduating today and they were all very proud of her. Beatrice would rather take the peace and quiet of her own room than a bustling party.

“You’re invited,” Emma, a popular girl, stated while handing her a piece of paper with all the details of the party. Beatrice mumbled a hushed ‘thanks’, despite knowing that she wouldn’t even attend it in the first place.

“Are you going, Tris?” Y/N asked, holding Ruby’s hand so the youngest child would not get lost in the crowd.

Beatrice shook her head ‘no’, explaining that there was no point.

“I don’t know anyone there anyway,”

She was kind of a loner, but Beatrice was happier by herself anyways. “Besides, I don’t think dad will agree. It’s way past curfew,”

Y/N nodded in understanding. The curfew set for their eldest child was at nine in the evening. Y/N was sure that Harry would be lenient to let Beatrice go; it was her graduation after all. Sooner or later, Beatrice would be leaving for university.

____

Beatrice should be grateful. She should be happy, yet somehow those emotions were non-existent to her brain right now. She should be smiling, eyes brimming with tears because her dad actually cared to throw a party for her. But all she could feel right now was a pure disappointment and agonizing anger because Beatrice knows that he was trying to make up for years of mistreatment.

At this moment, the rowdiness of the party only proved that Harry really did not know anything about Beatrice. She did not know over half the people here, aside from the few relatives they see during the holidays; her grandparents, cousins, aunts and uncles. The rest were recognizable from Harry’s industry. Beatrice swore she saw Lizzo sipping a cup of liquor in their kitchen.

Aside from the initial greeting of ‘congratulations’, paired with the large banister taped on the foyer of the house, this party wasn’t much of a celebration based on Beatrice’s milestone in life. If anything, it looked like a regular get together for celebrities and industry people. Frankly, she had no interest in interacting with them. As rude as it may sound, the swirling turmoil of emotions beginning from her stomach made Beatrice push past the packed crowd with a tight-lipped smile in order to get to her room.

She felt like she couldn’t breathe, especially knowing that these people in her house absolutely adored Harry. They saw him as a family man, loved and appreciated by his kids. It wasn’t a complete lie, per se. Beatrice just didn’t have much experience to confirm that he was, in fact, a lovable and caring person.

If she had to put a finger on it, Beatrice was feeling utter disgust. She was disgusted because Harry was the perfect person in their eyes when everything he had shown her was that she was someone that didn’t deserve any of his attention. It felt like this was a celebration of her dad’s façade--he was not actually proud of her. He was just making it seem like he is so he wouldn’t be perceived as the dead-beat dad.

A knock at her door sounded. It was almost as if Beatrice could sense her dad’s presence without turning around to look at who just entered the privacy of her room.

“Tris?” Harry whispered, hesitating on mumbling the nickname. He had never done it willingly before, much less not as bitter as the previous times.

Beatrice swore that she could practically see the venom slithering on his tongue every time he said her name. But maybe that was just her skewed perception.

The chair that she was sitting on creaked as she shifted her weight, leaning her elbows on her desk.

“Why did you even throw a party, dad?”

It was merely a genuine question that held so many underlying meanings. Why now? Why not earlier when there was still hope to fix whatever sort of broken and fucked up relationship they had with each other?

Harry fully stepped into the room, observing the walls decorated with art and artists whom he recognized were his friends. He didn’t realize that she was a fan of Florence Pugh.

He cleared his throat with a fist to his mouth, “I wanted to celebrate your graduation,”

Beatrice internally rolled her eyes, “Did you really? Because you haven’t been there when I needed your help with my homework or assignments or anything. Now,  suddenly you want to act like you were a big part of how I achieved my accomplishments?”

It was a sour realization. It was accurate that Harry refused to help her with schoolwork. He swore that he was busy looking over new options for his upcoming projects. Retrospectively, he might have subconsciously spewed out excuses so that he wouldn’t be able to help his dear daughter.

Beatrice sighed, flattening the balls of her palms against the edge of the sleek wood, pushing the rolling wheels of the chair back. She stood up.

“Just admit it. You threw the party because you felt guilty and you think that somehow, everything will magically be okay between us?” Beatrice shot him a questioning look, chest-puffing when Harry’s lack of words confirmed her theory.

Beatrice propped her feet in the middle of her room, twisting her body so that her back was facing away from the closed-door; from him. She breathed heavily through her nose, lungs rising up and down as she gathered her thoughts.

Unbelievable.

Harry stood with his arms by his sides, staring at his daughter with curious compassion. He did not know what to say, nor did he know how to act because he didn’t take the time to get to know her. He didn’t spend time with Beatrice; nurturing, caring, calming or comforting her because he simply couldn't get over the fact that she was once a person that caused calamity in his life.

“Tris,” Her dad spoke, earning a pinch of her facial expression from the familiarity of the nickname. Yet, it was unfamiliar because Harry used it mundanely.

Beatrice cut him off, “I’ll be leaving for university in a few weeks. You can quit pretending like you care. You say this graduation party is for me but I don’t even know most of the people here!”

The volume of her voice reached a threshold that should warn both of them to keep quiet. However, Beatrice knew that with the hustle and bustle of the celebration going on downstairs—no one would hear her honesty except for her and Harry.

Harry blinked twice, mouth dropping slightly agape. Why did he throw this party? He knew his intentions; he was proud of his daughter. He wanted to show her off to everyone he knew about how intelligent and well-rounded Beatrice was.

The girl continued speaking as if reading Harry’s train of thought.

“This is for you,” She spoke bitterly as if her tongue was left with an odd taste in her mouth. “Showing off a ‘trophy’ daughter who graduated with honours but that doesn’t matter, does it? Nothing I ever do will match what you’ve done.”

The accompanying laugh—albeit, sarcastic— left Harry confused.

“What? No, this is for you. I’m proud of you,” Harry quickly disagreed with Beatrice, gesturing his large hands in a wave to emphasize his words.

She turned around with gentle disbelief; her features were hardened yet Beatrice’s eyes gleamed with hope. She wanted so badly to believe her dad, but his lack of attentiveness to her led Beatrice to roll her eyes at him instead.

“Cut the crap, Dad,”

“Language,” Harry added, pursing his lips when Beatrice scoffed.

“I can’t believe this,” Beatrice muttered, she stared at the ground as if picking out the words to say.

As bad as it sounded, she wanted to hurt her dad the way he did to her. Years of being treated like an unwanted child slowly built up inside of her and Beatrice wanted the pain to end.

“You wanted to be everything so bad that you forgot to be my Dad,”

“I am your dad, Tris,” Harry watched as she walked over to her desk. Fingers cascading the glass picture frame which held a still of their family.

“Don’t you think I know that?” Beatrice turned around, throwing the edged frame on her bed in a fit of anger.

Harry’s brows shot up to his forehead, watching his daughter’s eyes well up with tears.

“You are my dad but you’ve never been one to me! Why is that? Huh?” Beatrice pressed, crossing her arms and digging her fingernails on the skin of her bicep.

“I’m sorry that I took those opportunities away from you. You got movie deals, You had an album coming out. Tours, shows, money—you had everything and I ruined it, didn’t I? As you said, it would’ve been better if I wasn’t born,”

Harry was no stranger to not interrupting someone when they spoke. However, he couldn’t let Beatrice believe the words she spoke.

“Don’t say that! That’s not true,” He stuttered over his words, heart-shattering under the weight of Beatrice’s truthfulness. Sure, he had everything, but it didn’t mean that he was satisfied.

“But you thought about it right? You wondered how different it would be if I wasn’t born at the wrong time. Maybe you would’ve loved me more—like you do Caleb and Ruby,” Beatrice smiled sadly.

She was glad that at least her siblings would not have to experience the searing pain of being unappreciated. They did not deserve to be seen through like a ghost.

“Maybe you would’ve paid more attention to me. Maybe you would have cared that I was hurting every time you showed me nothing but disdain,”

Beatrice used her forearm to wipe away the tears beginning to soak her reddened cheeks. She sighed, plopping down at the foot of her bed, watching Harry look at her with an unreadable emotion on his face.

“You know, It’s not my responsibility to ask why,” Beatrice whispered. Though, she wondered what would have happened if she did question her dad why he looked at her as if she was a burden in his life.

Beatrice’s monologue crescendoed as utter pain cracked her voice every now and then. Her figure slouching as she truly experienced what it was like to let go of the turmoiled affliction soaring through her body.

“I’m your child! You’re the one who’s supposed to be looking out for me. You’re the one who’s supposed to show me what love is supposed to feel like. I’ve always wondered how you’d react if I came home with a boyfriend like all the movies and books talk about. But, all you’ve shown and made me feel was my first heartbreak when you’re supposed to be the one nursing me from it,”

At that point, Harry could not remain the eye contact he shared with his daughter, gazing down at the floorboard in shame.

“You were supposed to scare guys off because I’m your eldest daughter. You’re supposed to protect me from everything that could hurt me, even when it’s irrational because that is what Dads do,”

That same bitter laugh that pierced Harry’s ears earlier echoed again.

“But I guess you never really wanted to become one to begin with. Or maybe just not with me.”

Harry took a few steps back. Her words figuratively churned and twisted his gut. He caught his balance on the doorknob that moved feverishly under his weight. Sure, he didn’t want to be her dad at first. And he had many chances to fix a strained relationship, but he never took them. So really, he had no shield at denying the truth. He was simply a father who failed to be the dad to Beatrice.

“I-I do! I want to be--if you'd let me,” He hated the way his voice became weary.

Despite their differences, Beatrice and Harry both mutually hated the way his tone pinched. The way he had to plead and beg for his daughter’s forgiveness when it seemed to be too late. This could have been avoided if Harry took the chance to become the dad that Beatrice deserved to have. The dad that her siblings--Caleb and Ruby--saw and spent time with while Beatrice watched behind, wondering why she was never treated the way they did.

“For years, I wondered what was wrong with me. I listened to the music that you liked. I asked mum what you enjoyed doing because you never talk to me. I wanted you to see me as a daughter instead of this--this invisible speck that you shrug off your shoulder every time I needed you!” Beatrice cried out, hugging herself for comfort.

The worst part was that she could see Harry’s legs buckle in hesitation to come closer to her or not. He shouldn’t even have to think to comfort his daughter, but he did.

“I wanted you to like me as if I even have to do that in the first place! You’re my dad, don’t you get it? Because I didn’t. I spent so much time being the perfect child in hopes of you giving me an ounce of your attention aside from the face you put on when I walked into the room. Why did you have to treat me this way, huh?”

Tears spilled from her forest-green eyes, identical to Harry’s glazed ones. His mouth parted in retaliation. As if he was plopped in quicksand, Harry had no idea how to defend himself.

“I know that you didn’t want me in the first place but--,” Beatrice sniffled, wiping the salty liquid to her damp temples, “I just wished you treated me like I wasn’t a burden to you,”

_____