#hand hammered dining set

[allonsyblue]

Dining Room Kitchen Dining

[notmyneighbor]

Back Alley - Doppelgänger Francis Mosses x Female Reader

Word Count 5k

Rating Explicit

CW - minor blood/injury, fluff and smut

Also available on AO3

The end of your shift. The quiet part of the evening.

Nestled downtown in the oldest part of the city, the diner you’re employed at as a waitress caters to DDD members and civilians alike. The final patrons have already filed out the front entrance, a pair of glass front doors with shiny chrome handles. You begin the process of closing the establishment for the evening, starting with a final wipe down of all the surfaces in the dining area while the young man that washes dishes works his way through the last batch of soiled utensils and plates and cups. You count the money in the register and gather the receipts, placing everything on the owner’s desk in the tiny office in back of the restaurant.

The adolescent has finished the washing in the kitchen and finds you putting leftover food scraps onto a plate, a snack for the stray cats that dwell in the alley behind the diner. He rocks on his heels, the apron he’d been wearing already removed and now anxiously wrung between his hands. “Did you want me to wait, or…”

You smile softly. “No, that’s alright. I’m just going to set this out and bring out the trash and I’ll be locking up. Go on home. Be safe.”

Needing no further encouragement, the youth darts from the kitchen. You shake your head ruefully, gathering the ends of the plastic bag in the kitchen’s rubbish bin together and knotting them. Balancing trash in one hand and the plate in the other, you manage to open the heavy steel door at the rear of the diner that leads to the alley.

Normally there are several strays to greet you as soon as you open the door, accustomed as they are to this nightly routine.

Tonight it takes you several moments to locate one solitary form after you’ve lobbed the bag into the dumpster and closed the lid, retrieving the plate you’d set by the back door.

You spy one of your usual clients hovering near the stockade fence further down the narrow passageway, a raggedy looking gray tabby with a torn ear that’s normally the friendliest of the bunch.

“Hey there. What’s wrong, you’re not hungry?” You walk forward a couple of steps, crouching down and holding out your empty hand, making little affectionate sounds to lure the animal closer.

In the distance you hear voices shouting. Not uncommon in the city, but you’re still wary as you straighten, leaving the plate on the ground.

The cat, still hunched by the fence, issues a warning growl.

You turn and see a shape moving from the opposite end of the alley where it divides into the main road, the hair on your bare forearms rising, the skin goose pimpling.

You whirl around, already making for the open door at your back, that slice of light inside a beacon that’s frustratingly so close and yet so far.

You don’t quite make it.

A hand reaches the door before you do, slamming it shut. It becomes a wall at your back as you shrink against it, recoiling from whatever just closed it.

No, not whatever. The strays knew what it was. Now you know, too.

A doppelgänger.

This one dressed in the uniform of a milkman, though his outfit had seen better days. Spattered with blood, you cannot find a single patch of the white shirt that doesn’t bear some trace of scarlet droplets. Shouting again in the distance, though this time it sounds closer.

You open your mouth to yell for help and a hand instantly clamps down over it. The doppel is breathing heavily. It must be the DDD pursuing him. Without the light of the diner’s interior, you can’t see much of the creature’s replicated features in the night shrouded alley. You wonder why he hasn’t killed you yet, your heart hammering like mad.

“I’m not going to hurt you. If you help me, I’ll do something for you in return.”

He was trying to bargain? Bad idea. Doppelgängers were notorious liars. By definition of their very existence they had to be masters of deceit. He must have been desperate if he was making this offer. Definitely being chased by the disposal team officers, the likely source of the shouting you’ve been hearing, the details of the situation coming together in your mind.

You can’t imagine a single thing the invader could offer you that you’d desire.

“I’m going to remove my hand. We’re going to go inside. You’re not going to make a sound. Agreed? Nod if you understand me.”

Wide eyed, nostrils flaring, you move your head, signaling your acceptance of his terms. What choice did you have?

The barrier over your mouth lifts and you’re pushed aside, firmly but without malice, the heavy door wrenched open. You’re shoved inside and the door is quickly shut again.

“Is the front door locked? Lights off?”

You nod, swallowing past a panicked lump in your throat as you take a couple of steps back away from the intruder.

The male copycat sighs, shoulders visibly sagging with relief.

He’s still hiding.

Still wearing the visage of the human he’d duplicated, a tired looking brunette male probably in his early thirties with tousled chestnut hair, shadowed under eyes, a long nose with the slightest bump along the bridge—an old injury that had never healed quite right, perhaps—set above thin lips.

The arm that’s been tucked tightly against his side the entire time, never once in use to restrain you or open the door, you realize, now lifts, exposing a gash across his lower abdomen, rent right through the fabric and severing the flesh beneath.

You’d incorrectly assumed the blood had been from a struggle with the original milkman he’d replicated, not from the alien himself. You suck in a deep breath, wincing as your eyes linger on the injury. “What happened?”

“Got cut jumping the fence.”

“That’s going to need stitches,” you observe as he drags the shirt’s hem free of his belted pants, hurriedly thumbing the buttons open and shrugging out of the garment, thrusting it into the garbage bin you hurriedly point to. The undershirt is similarly stained, but this he leaves in place, merely lifting the edge to better expose the wound.

His eyes meet yours. “Can you do it?”

“I mean, I’m not a physician. All I have is the sewing kit I keep in my purse to mend tears in an emergency. You need to see a doctor, go to the hospital…” Your voice trails off. Of course he couldn’t. He’d be killed instantly.

“Get it.”

You hesitate. Were you really going to risk helping this foreigner?

“Please,” he adds through gritted teeth. Perspiration beads his forehead. You wonder if he hasn’t already been exposed to something that would prove infectious later on. Not really your concern, though. You just needed to survive until you could get away from him. Somehow.

“Alright.” You don’t spare any more time debating about what the right course of action is. You grab one of the clean dish rags from under the kitchen sink and your purse stashed in the bottom desk drawer in the office.

The doppelgänger’s eyes remained fixed on your every movement, watching as you soak the wash cloth in warm water and pull the sewing kit from your purse, the fingers threading the needle shaking. You drag one of the chairs from the dining room for him to sit on, kneeling on the linoleum beside his seated form.

You hesitate again. You really didn’t have the appropriate kind of materials for this. Should you have heated the needle to try to sterilize it first? Was there even time for that? Would it be easier just to attempt to cauterize the area? Somehow you don’t think the invader would be keen on the idea of getting burned, even if the intention was to aid and not harm. “I don’t know that this is going to work, but I’ll do my best. This is going to hurt,” you caution.

“Worse than being cut open?” He asks bitterly.

“No, I suppose not.” You begin washing around the cut, scrubbing at the dried blood, trying to clean the edges of the laceration. It’s still weeping blood but the flow has slowed, the body’s natural clotting process coming into effect. The milkman he’s replicated is on the leaner side, with little softness in the abdomen you’re cleansing. “Why can’t you just replicate the skin again? Make it intact?”

“It doesn’t work like that. It’s penetrated through the outer layer. You humans are so fragile. It doesn’t take much to tear through…” He lets that thought remain unfinished.

You shiver, thinking of how, were circumstances different, he would’ve torn you to shreds without a second thought, murdering you at best, devouring you at worst. You can’t help but wonder if the doppel will turn on you once you finished patching him up.

“Okay, I’m going to try to start sewing.” Your heart is still thudding rapidly. Your eyes narrow in concentration as you pierce the skin, hurriedly seeking the adjacent flesh to sling the thread between, then drawing it taut. You’re feeling a little nauseous and lightheaded. You tell yourself you’re not piecing a person back together. Urging yourself to pretend it was something else. Mending a torn shirt. A ripped stuffed animal. Anything but the gruesome sight before you.

At last the task is completed, the pale skin sutured together. You sit back on your heels, heaving a raspy sigh, your hands clasped tightly together in your lap, willing them to stop trembling.

“You’re skilled,” the doppelgänger murmurs, looking over your handiwork, probing the closed incision gingerly. It is a rather impressive job if you’re being honest, a neat line of even stitches despite your shaking hands.

“You’ll need to keep this clean so it doesn’t get infected. And you can’t move around too much. I don’t know how well that thread will hold.” You gently push his questing digits away, applying gauze and tape from the first aid kit in the office to cover the wound and he eases the ripped undershirt back down.

“Thank you.”

Your eyes meet his. You’ve never heard of an invader asking a human for help. Being grateful. You don’t know what to make of it.

“I won’t forget this.”

You rise, tossing the used wash cloth in the trash and returning your sewing kit to the depths of your handbag. You return the chair to the dining room once he’s slid from it, watching as you settle your purse strap on your shoulder, keys to the diner in hand. The replicant opens the back door a crack, peeking outside, head cocked slightly, listening. No shouting. The DDD had passed through the area. He glances back at you a final time before slipping through the gap.

You lock the door behind him, then sag against it, exhaling a shuddering breath. He’d let you live, as promised. A doppelgänger that kept his word.

What did it mean?

***

He’s in the alley again.

You tell yourself you weren’t looking for the milkman’s clone every night for the last three shifts, merely taking out the garbage and feeding the strays per usual.

Your stomach does a little somersault as he approaches. His skin color is better, no longer so ghostly pale. The milkman uniform he’s wearing looks clean and crisp and starched. Where had he gotten it? Was he keeping a low profile, pretending to be the human he’s dressed as? There certainly seemed to be some transfer of knowledge that occurred when the replicants adopted a human form, intelligence information that surpasses beyond what could be obtained through just casual observation. The doppels knew so much about humans, and humans still knew so little about the invaders, what should have been a home field advantage hampered by the persistence of these alien visitors.

“How are you?” You greet him cautiously.

“Healing well. You did a fine job.”

What should you say to that? You’re glad you helped the enemy? You shudder to think what would happen if anyone ever found that out.

The doppelgänger steps closer. “Are you going to invite me inside?”

As if he was a vampire, seeking permission to grant entrance. You can’t imagine what he wants from you now.

Still, you push the door open wider. He eases past you, his body lightly brushing yours.

“What do you have to eat?”

“Um…” As far as you knew, the invaders only ate human flesh. “What…what did you want? I haven’t cleared out the displays yet. There’s pie, donuts from the morning, though those are probably stale by now. I can make you a sandwich, or…”

He follows you into the dining room as you list the possible offerings, reaching for one of the chocolate iced pastries tucked under the nearest glass dome. He takes an experimental bite and his mouth turns down in disgust at the flavor.

“I warned you they’d be stale.”

“It’s not that. It’s the sweetness. Overwhelming. We’re primarily carnivores.”

“Is turkey okay? Or maybe ham? I don’t know what to offer you.”

He tips his head to one side, considering. “Cow?”

“Yes, we have ground beef.”

“That would be preferable.”

“You just want it…raw?”

“Yes.”

“Okay.” There are a couple of defrosted packages in the fridge. You resolve to put some of your tip money towards the meal. You don’t like the idea of stealing from the restaurant.

It feels weird just handing him the styrofoam tray, but also silly to dump the mass of pink pulverized meat onto a plate. You refuse to watch him eat, studying one of the laminated menus resting on the counter intently, unfortunately catching a glimpse of him licking the traces of blood lingering at the bottom of the package when you dare to glance over at him.

“I’m aware this adds to the debt I owe you,” he says.

You discard the tray and fold your arms across your chest, trying to exude more confidence than you felt. “I’ll put it on your tab.”

A slight frown appears as the creature processes the phrase.

“It means adding it to the list of things you already owe that you intend to repay.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” He watches you finish cleaning up after his grim repast, wiping the counter down a final time before accompanying you to the front door and waiting as you lock the entrance from the outside, tugging on the chrome handles to make sure they’ve been secured properly. “Do you live nearby?”

“Yes,” you answer, suddenly wary.

“This is not a very safe part of town for humans,” he muses.

Is anywhere safe anymore?

“Is your living space guarded by the DDD?”

“Not internally. There’s just the street patrol.”

“I’ll accompany you as far as your destination, then.”

“You don’t have to.”

The doppelgänger insists, now walking beside you. It feels unwise to allow the invader to see where you live, but then again, had he done anything to harm you thus far? Surely there had been opportunity if that was his main goal. What was his main goal? What did he want, if not to consume, to take over control of the planet like his brethren?

“You’re not like the others,” you murmur your thoughts out loud, feeling the mimic’s eyes flick in your direction.

“Do you know many doppels?” He sounds bemused.

“No,” you reply, stepping over a broken bottle littering the pavement.

“Is every human the same?”

“Of course not.”

“So why should we be any different?”

“I guess you’re right,” you concede.

You’ve reach the end of the street you’re traveling on and take a right, leading the invader onward into another back alley. You’ve barely taken a few paces before the sound of heavy footsteps alerts you to someone else’s presence.

“Disposal team.” You hear the disgust and fear in your companion’s tone as he tenses, jerking to a halt. The sounds are getting louder as the guards draw closer. “Play along. They won’t be suspicious if they see a couple.”

Suddenly you’re pushed against the wall, so abruptly the air leaves your lungs, your next desperate intake of oxygen interrupted when the doppel’s mouth covers yours.

You feel you stomach do that little somersault motion again. His tongue finds the inside of your mouth. He tastes slightly metallic. The movements are inexperienced, clumsy. Imitating something he’s seen. The teeth that nip your bottom lip are sharp.

“Hey! You there! What’s going…” The DDD officer halts, the beam of the flashlight illuminating what appears as your lover pinning you against the wall, caught up in a moment of passion. You don’t even have to fake the look of embarrassment as your eyes shyly meet the guard’s, the doppel’s mouth sliding from yours.

“Sorry, sir. Just picked my girl up from work and I couldn’t wait.” He offers a sheepish grin that looks extremely convincing.

The DDD member’s partner draws even with his cohort, the gun in his hand lowering, looking over the pastel yellow dress you’re wearing.

“I know you. You work over at the diner.”

You nod frantically.

“You should get on home. It isn’t safe out here. Even with your man with you. Especially not down the side streets.”

“Sorry, that was my idea. My feet are killing me and I just wanted to get home faster.” You pause, reaching for your purse still slung over your shoulder. “Did you want to see our IDs?”

“Nah, that’s alright. Imagine a doppel making out with a human. Right?” He elbows his companion, grinning.

“Get home safe, now. No more dallying,” the older of the pair cautions before abandoning you, resuming patrol with the more inexperienced member who’s still wearing a smirk as he trails slightly behind, darting one more glance in your direction as if hoping to catch you in the act again.

The copycat heaves a sigh of relief when they’ve both finally departed, the booted steps receding in the distance. His eyes lock with yours, and you see his nostrils flare slightly, a slight frown wrinkling the bridge of his nose, then his eyelids lift, whatever mystery he’s been puzzling over solved.

“You liked that.”

“What?” It’s your turn to be confused.

“You liked what we just did.”

Oh. Your cheeks flush again. “No, I…I was just playing along, like you said. You caught me off guard.”

“You did a good job. Thinking on your feet. Admirable, really. How deep in debt I’m getting,” the doppel hums beside your cheek. He hasn’t shifted much since your discovery, one hand still braced on the wall at your back, his body leaning close to yours. “You smell good. Good enough to eat.”

You shiver and gasp. “You promised me you wouldn’t hurt me.”

“No, no. Not what I had in mind at all,” he hurriedly reassures you. The clone of the milkman plants a kiss on the side of your neck. Gentle. Not rushed, not under the guise of something to trick the guards. Repeating the process, getting accustomed to using the human body he’s replicated for this new task. He kisses your lips again, and you know you should be repulsed.

You’re not.

Your mouth parts for his, inviting him inside. He’s already growing more skilled, the tongue against yours slick, deft, curling and stroking, the fire he’d begun stoking in your core flaring anew.

You’re French kissing a doppelgänger, and you like it.

You feel a hand caressing down your body, pausing to drag the purse off your shoulder, then kneading one breast before sliding down to your hip, moving neatly around to grope the curve of one buttocks cheek. The fingers curl, dragging up the fabric of your dress.

“I can smell your arousal. Your body wants to mate.” It’s crass, vulgar, sheer filth the alien should be slapped for uttering, but there’s nothing derogatory in the way he mentions it, the words of observation that he spreads before your lips lilted with a kind of wonder, fascination, curiosity. He’s finally reached the hem of the skirt portion of your work uniform, shifting quickly to the waistband of the panties you’re wearing, dipping underneath and nudging at the fork of your body.

To be doing this, with a doppelgänger, in public…

Your legs are already shifting, your stance broadening slightly to grant him better access. A little grunt of satisfaction, and then his fingers glide through your slickened folds, searching for the source of that dampness.

You moan softly, disappointed when the fingers do not linger, instead brought up to the invader’s lips, his thumb rolling the slick of your sex over the pads of his index and middle fingers curiously before he thrusts them into his mouth, a fresh flood leaking from your canal as you watch his eyes slide closed, a sound of some rapturous enjoyment hummed around those digits.

He kneels down, the movement swift and smooth, your eyes darting nervously to the lit street so close and yet so far, the last of the street lamp glow’s reach ending just beyond the shadows you’re standing in. The doppel looks up at you and you bury a hand in the thick mane of chestnut hair, a tender gesture of permission, pleading. You don’t know if he’d stop even if you’d declined the offer, that ravenous look in his eyes intense as he impatiently shifts the hem of your dress again, dragging away the flimsy undergarment that clothes your sex, this last barrier discarded carelessly on the pavement nearby.

Your low heeled pumps scrape against the dirty gravel of the alley as you adjust your position, the alien’s face instantly at your pussy, nose digging into your mound, tongue laving the rosy sensitive flesh. He groans and you echo the sound, your legs already trembling as his tongue delves deeper, dragging fluid back, the inadvertent flick of the tip of the curled muscle against your bud making you gasp and moan, your head rocking back against the brick and mortar.

His attention focuses on that sensitive bundle of nerve endings, mouth clamping over it and sucking, slurping, nursing at it until you see spots in front your eyes. You know you’re being loud, your only saving grace being that the building at your back is a long abandoned shirt factory with no one to hear your lewd sounds of pleasure.

His fingers are at your entrance again, paired to penetrate into that opening. The milkman he’s imitating has long fingers that reach deep, curling and twisting inside, scooping out more of your arousal for him to lap at before he sups at your pussy, drinking straight from the source.

You bite your bottom lip until it bleeds when you climax, shuddering against that incessant mouth worshipping your cunt, your fingers knotting restlessly in his tresses. You cum like a freight train, hard and fast, an unstoppable force driving you right through into bliss.

He’s still lapping, enjoying the taste of you, this new creamier substance that emerges from deep within after your release. You can’t tolerate it any longer, now shoving gently at his shoulders, pleading you’re too sensitive, it’s too much, you feel as if you might faint if not for the strong building exterior supporting your spine.

The doppelgänger rises, face wet with your juices smeared across his mouth and chin and cheeks, a distinct shine visible even in this dim illumination. “Delicious,” he growls softly, dragging his fingers over his dampened features and then nursing them clean.

His gaze focuses on the smear of crimson on your lower lip and he licks at that spot, sucking the wedge into his mouth, tasting that little copper tinged leakage of your lifeforce. You whimper and keen, feeling his hand guide one of yours to his crotch, pressing it against the erection straining there.

You squeeze gently and he huffs in pleasure, dragging your hand up and down. Needing no further guidance, you begin struggling with the belt buckle and button closure and zipper keeping you from your goal, dragging his cock through the opening flap of his briefs, smearing precum over the tip and eliciting another deep growl, the mouth nuzzling your throat vibrating in pleasure.

“Want to fuck you,” he gasps, and you find yourself nodding, no longer caring about the exposed location or what you’re about to let invade your body. You want it, the brief satiety you’d just enjoyed already dissipating, leaving you hungry for more.

His hands loop around the back of your thighs, his body crouching slightly then lifting you up, your dress scraping along the bricks. He fucks up into you and your legs wrap around him, your wrists draped over his shoulders as you’re thrust into and back against the building.

The milkman’s copycat prick is large, long and thick, stretching you as he fills you when his hips snap forward. Your unprotected buttocks suffers abrasions each time you’re impaled but you couldn’t care less. The pain is lost amidst the pleasure you’re experiencing as he buries himself deeply, withdrawing just slightly before driving forward again. Your mouths seek one another’s but it’s difficult with all the jostling, a sloppy collision of wet lips and wetter tongue, trails of saliva linking your panting openings.

“Your stitches…the strain, you shouldn’t…you’re bleeding,” you gasp, the hand that snakes down finding his shirt sticky with blood.

“Don’t care…fix it later…”

Your breasts are tender from the repeated battering of his chest against yours. You’re being pummeled mercilessly now, the invader pushing so hard it’s as if he’s trying to merge completely with you. You almost think you can see, just for a moment, a shift in the facial features, a glimpse of the doppelgänger’s true form lurking beneath the false human surface, but then it’s gone and it’s just those soft tired eyes and that slack, generous mouth as his cock pounds into your cunt until your body finally surrenders to another release, your muscles clenching, sucking at his member. He chases his own climax, moaning against your mouth, pumping streams of hot seed inside of you.

You realize then you’re both sweating, both drenched in perspiration and saliva, blood from his reopened wound and cum that leaks out of you and coats the erection he withdraws from your body as he slowly lowers you back to the ground, your stockinged feet touching the dirty road, your shoes lying nearby where they’d tumbled during the rough intercourse with the alien creature.

The doppel retrieves your panties and you hastily shove them into the purse he hands you. There’s no way you’ll be putting those back on after being in the dirty alley, almost laughing aloud at the idea when you’ve just been soiled by something you should consider disgusting. The amusement fades as you watch him brush the sole of each nylon clad foot clean before assisting them back into your pumps, the gesture almost oddly tender and thoughtful.

The doppelgänger straightens, his fingers reflexively reaching for the bloodied area staining his shirt, then moving to refasten his pants. His eyes meet yours again, waiting to see what you’ll do next. Wondering if there is regret, perhaps. Or if this is the start of…something.

“I…I live two streets over. We’re nearly there.” As if you hadn’t been interrupted on your journey home. You don’t know what to say, just wanting to fill the sudden silence.

He nods and you begin walking in slow, measured steps. Your limbs are still tingling, the aftershocks of your most recent orgasm still firing through them.

You and your companion reach your destination. The building looms up between two shuttered shops. Five stories. No elevator. You resided on the top floor. A lot of stairs to tackle on a good night when you’d merely worked a shift at the diner. Now, after this…

“It’s a long trek. I’m on the fifth floor. Will you be okay walking that much? I don’t know where else to stitch you back up again. I need to wash it, I need a good light source, I…” You’re inviting him inside your apartment. The realization suddenly dawns on you.

“Yes, I’ll manage.” He pauses. “Thank you,” he says softly.

“For what?”

“Helping me avoid the DDD earlier. This. Letting me into your home.”

You nod, your hand resting on the rusted railing that borders a flight of cement steps leading inside the building. The nearby street lamp flickers, a bulb that was long overdue for a change, the filaments within struggling.

“Of course. People should help each other.” You ascend the stairs, holding open the door for him.

He nods gratefully. “I’m not human, though. I’m the enemy.”

“Are you?” Your voice sounds wary at this reminder and you pause at the top of the first landing.

“I won’t hurt you,” he promises, following you up the next flight of stairs.

“Until the debt is repaid?”

“You don’t trust me.” It’s a statement, not a query.

“I don’t know how I feel.” You’ve reached the third floor. Despite his bravado earlier, you see him wincing slightly, his breathing ragged as he keeps one hand pressed to the injury. You wait for him to recover but he waves his other hand, indicating you should continue your journey.

“Did you enjoy it?”

The words make you halt abruptly and he nearly collides with you. You hurry up to the next landing and clear your throat before you give voice to your admission. “Yes, I enjoyed it,” you say when he reaches your side.

“Will we do that again?”

“Now?”

His solemn features break out into a smile. Handsome. The milkman whose appearance he’d copied was attractive, especially like this. You like the curve of that mouth, the flash of his teeth. “No, not now. I’m hardly in any condition to…I meant later,” he adds for clarification. “Another time.”

“Oh. Yes.” A sudden thought occurs to you. “Will you be safe from the patrol? On the way back, to wherever…”

“I’ll manage. Don’t worry.” He steps closer to you. “Are you that anxious to be rid of me?”

“No, I only meant…” You shake your head, feeling flustered.

“Were you looking for me tonight? When you were behind the diner. Hoping I’d be there, maybe?”

“Why would I…I hardly know you.”

“You know me a little better now though, right?” He crowds you back against the wall of the stairwell. You’re thinking maybe injury or not, he still wants you. You can feel the desire radiating from his eyes, his lips hovering close to yours. “You’re really something special, aren’t you? Out of all the humans to run into, and I find the only one who’s willing to take a chance on me, risk…” His voice trails off before he kisses your mouth. It seems impossible there would be any passion left inside of you to respond but you find your lips melting against his, one hand curling around the nape of his neck, holding the doppelgänger close.

[mywritersmind]

DRAGGED AND DRIPPING - KA12

summary : Prankster Kimi is bored and stuck inside as the rain in Brazil hammers down. A mischievous move lands him in the rain with a very pretty screaming girl over his shoulder.

listen up : no warnings!! wrote this while waiting for quali (idek if it’s happening still but hiii)

word count : 880

⋆｡‧˚⋆

The rain pounds on the roof of the Mercedes hospitality, the announcement that Qualifying is delayed on my phone and the grinning face of Kimi Antonelli in front of me.

“Can I at least eat my cake before you go prank people?” He sighs dramatically, slumping back in his chair across from me and looking around the dining area.

“You’re a horrible replacement for Ollie.” He mumbles under his breath.

I scoff, licking my fork and rolling my eyes, “I’m so sorry that your best friend is too busy with his job!” I say sarcastically, “But I will not be partaking in your childish games.”

He’s leant back in his chair when I feel my own seat getting pulled closer, his foot hooked on the leg of my seat. He's got a mischievous smirk on his tanned face, his ring clinking against the table as he taps his finger on it.

“Please?” He knows exactly what he’s doing. And I'm completely falling for it. Kimi and the rain do not go together for the singular reason that he hates being stuck inside.

However, give me a good book and some hot chocolate, and I'll stay by the foggy window all day. “Y/n!” Kimi whines again, standing up and leaning against the table so he’s closer to me now.

“No.” I groan and keep scrolling on my phone, looking away from his arm that is bracing himself on the small table.

“Fine.” He sighs and just when I think he’s about to leave me alone, he snatches my mercedes hat right off my head, and runs.

“Antonelli! You thief!” I stand immediately, running after him as he giggles and starts down the stairs. I almost fall but grip onto the railing just as I see him trip but land on his feet at the bottom, “How are you so uncoordinated as an athlete!?” I yell and turn to the corner.

He glances back, shooting me an offended look before flipping me off and pulling my hat onto his head, over his own hat.

I roll my eyes and keep going, already out of breath. I pass Ollie who looks at me weirdly, “This is your fault!” I scream before setting my eyes on Kimi again.

I chase the boy down until I have to slow my pace because he slips behind the Mercedes garage door. “Pussy.” I mumble quietly, opening the door and stepping inside.

I think I've gone the wrong way until I feel my hat slapped back on my head and his hands on my waist, “Ah!” I scream just as I feel myself get lifted upside down and over his shoulder.

The garage is laughing as I yell at Kimi, “Antonelli I swear-” I try and maneuver myself so I’m facing where he’s walking but his hands are tightly keeping me in place. When I finally get a glimpse of where he’s going, I realize my impending doom is coming faster than I realized.

My hat has fallen off and when I kick Kimi he just scoffs, “You really wanna fight me right now?” I glance back up to the pouring rain.

“Yes!” But when he walks out of the cover, cool water hits us, “I hate you!” He’s laughing still, shaking his head and jumping around.

He finally sets me down but when I go to run away, he’s grabbing me again and pulling me against him. I can see the Mercedes workers videoing and whistling, the crowd on the other side surely can see us too.

But Kimi still leans in, whispering in my ear as his wet curls smack against my neck, “How much you think they’d scream for us if I kissed you?” I can’t help but laugh at my Italian idiot.

He’s laughing too now, holding me up so my knees go to my chest and my head leans against his shoulder, “Put me down, Antonelli!”

“What’s the magic word, Tesoro?” I elbow him which causes his voice to crack and his grip to loosen.

I push my hair out of my face, wet and stringy all because of the boy who’s smirking at me, “You’re a dick!”

He just grins, his breath labored and his clothes dripping, “Sei bellissima.” You are beautiful. I don’t know italian. But I know that. He says it to me all the time.

I shake my head, biting back a smile as the rain pours down on us. I walk closer, suddenly not in a rush to get out of the harsh weather.

“Prankster.” my tone is softer now.

He smiles jokingly saying, “I love when you talk dirty to me.” He slips his hand in mine as I narrow my eyes at him, his smile turning into a frown, “You’re shivering.”

I gape at him, “No Shit. I was dragged into the rain in my cute dress and curled hair by my childish boyfriend who won’t stop laughing at me!”

He brings my hand to his lips, kissing it. “Come on, I'll get you hot chocolate.” A smile finally meets my lips as he lets me hop onto his back. His hands are warm against my wet skin, gripping my legs as my arms slip around his neck.

[rabbitblackx]

Bubs,Nubs,Chops and Brahms with a typically sweet and quiet s/o but is very protective and hot headed when it comes to them. Like if someone insults the slasher they literally have to hold their s/o back from attacking the person(or not and just let them go ham 🤷‍♀️) bonus points if the person insulting Brahms is Malcolm

Slashers when Sweet!Reader gets overprotective

Includes: Nubbins, Bubba, Chop-Top and Brahms

Nubbins Sawyer💖

You made Nubbins melt. He was in a fit of giggles as you littered his red face with little kisses. He often told you that he did good, and that you were a nice one. He was very proud to call you his own

Though you were a sweet little angel, sometimes your nice nature was challenged. Like when one of Nubbins victims tried to escape. She tore herself free from the dining chair and made a run for it. Just as your boyfriend grabbed ahold of her, she bit down hard on his hand

You launched yourself at the girl, throwing her roughly to the floor. You went to attack her some more, but Nubbins grabbed your wrist

“It’s okay! I’ll handle this.” He stuttered

Before you could rip into her more, you forced yourself to go into the living room to blow off some steam. It wasn’t long until Nubbins’ victim stopped screaming. He entered the room covered in her blood, a crooked smile on his face

“Are you okay, honey?” You asked sweetly

You walked over to Nubbins and gently looked over his bitten wrist. You then grabbed his face, placing soft kisses all over. You were the perfect balance for him. One moment your violent and possessive, the next showering him in affection

Nubbins wrapped his lanky arms around you, hearts in his eyes

Bubba Sawyer💖

You were the love of Bubba’s life. Every moment spent with you was a blessing. He wasn’t afraid to give back any affection you threw at him. You both gave each other many, many sweet kisses during the day

Bubba chased a trespasser through the house, readying his loud chainsaw in the air. You were hot on his trail as they ran into the dining room. The victim panicked, snatching a sledgehammer from the table. Just as Bubba charged him, he threw the hammer. It spun in the air before hitting your boyfriend dead in the forehead

“Honey! Are you okay?” You gasped

As you set your sights on the trespasser, all you saw was red. You ran around a dizzy Bubba to tackle the man to the floor. How dare he hurt your precious boyfriend? That wasn’t very nice!

After finishing off the trespasser, you stood from his bruised body and raced over to Bubba. You kneeled down where he sat against the wall. You lifted a bloody hand to carefully touch his sore forehead

“You poor baby. Does it hurt real bad?” You cooed

Bubba rambled some gibberish, shaking his head furiously. He was only concerned about you. He took your hands in his, blood getting on him but he didn’t care

Chop-Top Sawyer💖

Chop-Top was always trying to rile you up. You were so sweet and quiet, he just wanted to tear that from you. He got off on you going crazy. He loved your two sides. One minute you were cuddling into his side, making him giggle. The next, you were strangling some poor girl for hurting him

Chop-Top’s victim got loose within the abandoned amusement park y’all called home. It wasn’t long until he found her, running after her with his knife ready. You watched from across the way as she screamed and bashed her fists against him. She screamed profanities, digging her long nails into his wrists

You stormed over to the pair, snatching Chop-Top’s hammer from the table in the process. You shoved the girl off him, and threw the hammer down onto her head. Chop-Top laughed hysterically as you slammed it over and over into her mushed skull

“Whoa, baby! You got her good!” He exclaimed

You loomed over her corpse, your chest heaving as the bloody hammer hung limply from your fingers. You carelessly tossed it next to her, slowly turning to face Chop-Top

“How’s your wrists, dear? She didn’t hurt you too bad, did she?” You huffed

Chop-Top didn’t answer. He crept over to you with a big grin, snaking his arms around your waist and pulling you close

You were so hot to him

Brahms Heelshire💖

Brahms was so soft for you. You never denied him any kisses. Which was honestly all he could ever ask for. Every little kiss you gave him made him melt. Your kind and gentle nature was so appealing to him. He wrapped his arms around your waist as you cradled his face. You offered the cutest smile, before planting a warm kiss to his mask

Brahms hid within the walls while Malcom delivered your groceries. It was obvious that he was trying to befriend you, but you were much too busy with Brahms. He was also still under the impression that he was just a doll, and not a six foot three guy in the wall

Malcom was trying to convince you to leave the manor for a bit, and get some fresh air. He offered to take you out into the village, but you politely declined. He asked you why you were so bent on caring for the doll, and even poked at his porcelain cheek

You had to bite back your anger as he made jokes about Brahms, calling him harmless names. But it still hurt you. Before you could snap at Malcom, you simply strolled over and scooped Brahms’ doll up from his seat

“Okay, that’s enough.” You said, feigning politeness

You felt a bit silly as you exited the kitchen, placing the doll onto the couch. Malcom didn’t even know that Brahms was still alive. It wasn’t like he was insulting him, but still. You were very protective of your boyfriend, and even his doll at times

You waved off Malcom dismissively, offering a rushed goodbye as you forced him out the door. You walked back into the living room with the doll, calling out for his human counterpart

“Brahms, honey?” You cooed

Brahms crept out of the walls, slowly lumbering over to you from behind. You whirled around, a hurt frown on your sweet face

“Oh, honey. I hope you didn’t take what he said to heart.” You lifted your hands up to cradle his mask. “I think you’re just lovely.” You smiled softly

Brahms didn’t care nearly as much as you did. He kind of liked that you got riled up over him like that though. He threw his arms around your waist and tugged you close. He hid his masked face in the crook of your neck, emitting a deep hum of affection

[finelinefae]

you & I (prince!h)

synopsis: harry is a royal in love with a serving girl

word count: 5.7k

contains: fluff , nothing crazy I don’t think

. . .

Y/N was a simple serving girl. An orphan by the age of twelve after her mother and father died of influenza, she learnt to live alone and did so graciously. She knew that there was no point in arguing with the forces of life and so she spent much of her time doing small jobs in order to buy a small something to eat in the evenings and keep a roof over her head.

"Y/N, where have you been?" Maria looked at her wide eyed with hands on her hips as she wiped the sweat from her brow.

After a long time of searching for a permanent job, Y/N met Maria at a local market in the town centre of the village. She was at her worst, begging for scraps of food or something that would stop her stomach from rumbling for at least a little while. Maria was kind enough to offer her a tangerine and a job at the Duke's mansion where she would be a serving girl for as long as she could.

She didn't earn a lot but it was enough to get by and she even managed to save up enough to buy a little cottage home outside the town where she had her very own vegetable patch and an apple tree in the front garden.

"I'm sorry Maria, I came across a stall at the market and they were selling fresh loaves of bread. I thought it would be perfect to serve for the Duke with his breakfast." She placed the brown bag on the kitchen counter and took out the loaf of bread.

"Y/N my darling," Maria shook her head, she was use to the girls antics and couldn't help but let it slide. Maria was unmarried and couldn't have any children of her own so, in her eyes, Y/N was a gift sent from heaven and she cared for her as a mother would for her own child. "Pequeña soñadora." (Little dreamer) She wiped the dirt from Y/N's cheek and kissed her forehead.

Y/N grinned and grabbed her apron off of the pegs where the other servants would hang up their aprons as well. She sat on the bench close to the back door where she replaced her small, battered, brown pumps with black, lace up shoes which has a small heel to them.

She grabbed the trays of food which would be served to the Duke for his breakfast. "And what mood is the Duke in today Anthony?" Y/N leaned over and smiled, Anthony was the Duke's servant and was always giving updates on how the Duke was acting.

"The usual my sweet," He says, "Make sure you put a few more raspberries on his pancakes, might do the trick in cheering him up." Y/N nods and carries the tray to the dining hall, Ariana and Taylor following behind her.

They two double doors creek loudly as they're opened by the doorman. Y/N curtsies in front of the Duke and Duchess, keeping her head down as she brings them their breakfast. "Your breakfast my Lord." Y/N speaks, clearly.

"Thank you Y/N." The Duke addresses her and awaits for his plate of breakfast to land in front of him. Y/N takes the plate of raspberries and pours a few more onto his pancakes just like Anthony told him too.

Suddenly, the double doors open again and the sound of clicking shoes against the marble flooring catches Y/N's attention. She looks up as she reaches to grab the pot of tea and makes eye contact with a set of piercing, green eyes.

"Good morning father, sorry I'm late." Harry Styles, son of the Duke, a Marquess, enters the room and sits down in his usual spot opposite his mother.

"And what is your excuse this time boy?" The Duke responded, Y/N's body temperature changing from being so close to the Marquess.

"It was a perfect morning for hunting, took Banksy out with me and went out into the forest." Y/N pours tea into the Duke's mug before walking over to Harry, her pulse raising with every step she took.

"Did you catch anything?" The Duke feasted on his breakfast as he spoke, food getting caught in his greying moustache.

As Y/N poured the tea, her heart hammered against her chest when she felt Harry move his hand to brush against hers. She had a steady hand but was close to pouring the hot tea all over him.

She looked down at Harry who was still looking at his father, pretending the interaction didn't happen but she knew exactly what he meant by it.

"Will that be anything more my Lord?" Y/N asks, it was usual protocol.

The Duke says nothing and waves her off, giving her the signal to leave. Y/N leaves the dining room but doesn't hesitate to turn back and glance over at Harry who's already smiling right back at her.

Breakfast was over and Y/N was given a five minute window before she had to help make lunch. She reached for her coat and wrapped it around herself, looking over her shoulder before walking outside through the back door.

Once she had reached her destination, she looked around and was elated to see the head of brown curls walking towards her. His lean, long legs walking hastily knowing she had such a short amount of time to talk.

Without a moments hesitation, he picked her up and spun her around in his arms, a giggle eliciting from her lips. "Oh my beautiful girl." He grins, happiness apparent in his appearance. "How has it been just little under twenty four hours since I last saw you yet I have missed you ever so much?"

Y/N bites her lip, she could already feel her cheeks aching from a want to smile at his words. "I missed you too Harry." She leans forward and pecks his cheek but he shakes his head, leaning into her and placing his lips onto hers.

"I'd die happy, right here with you." He pulls away and looks at her so deeply into her eyes.

Y/N frowns, her mind was always plagued over the fact that her love with Harry was forbidden. She was a mere serving girl in a house that belonged to Harry's father and would soon belong to him.

"What's wrong baby?" Harry rubs his thumb under eye, feeling her skin beneath his touch.

Y/N nuzzles her cheek against his hand, "Do you ever wonder what life would be like outside these walls?" She murmurs, admitting her desires all of a sudden.

"What do you mean?" He looks at her confused.

"Harry you know there is no possibility for us to be together within this kingdom. Your father is a royal and you are too, as much as you hate to admit it," The more she spoke, the more Harry grew frustrated by her words because as much as he detested the true state of their relationship, he also knew it was true. "But out there my love, there is so much for us, so much we can do. I've seen it."

Harry knew of Y/N's past, she had told him once on a night she would never forget. The night they had their first kiss under the stars in the garden that she adored spending so much time in.

"What are you suggesting?" He knew what she was suggesting but he also knew his little love was so full of dreams and it hurt him knowing she had no way of reaching them considering her class.

She felt her lips turn downwards slightly but she tried to smile, her expression bittersweet knowing she was off in one of her daydreams again. "I'm not suggesting anything Harry, it's merely a dream I have. I know your duty lies here with the Duke and you will live out your life in this mansion where you will marry a rich, beautiful woman and have plenty of children who you will pass the name down to. Whilst I, a poor serving girl, will be at your side until my last dying day."

She tried to pull away from him, the words upsetting her no matter how true they were. She felt Harry grip onto her arm softly, not wanting to hurt her but wanting her to stay. "My sweet girl what on Earth are you talking such nonsense for?" He spoke, "You know I've never wanted to be Duke and the only beautiful woman I will marry is you. You and I will have plenty of children which we will pass our name down to and we will be at each others side for eternity, long after death."

Y/N smiled at his words, imagining the life she could have if his words ever came to life, but they couldn't. "Harry-"

"Baby," He interrupted her, "run away with me."

Her lips parted in shock at what he was suggesting. She shook her head in much disbelief.

"You have no idea what you are saying." She speaks as if she wasn't suggesting it a few minutes ago.

"Oh I know exactly what I'm saying," He smiles, cheekily and pulls her into his embrace.

She looks up at him, resting her head on his shoulder as she whispers into his ear, "The life you'll live Harry, it's nothing like it is here. There are no servants waiting on you and serving you three meals a day. We may not know if we'll even get breakfast let alone supper and we'll have to run away from the village. You'll be missing and the Duke will have no one to give his title to, the Styles name ending with him. Think about this."

"My love I have spent many nights thinking about this, I spend all my nights dreaming of a life with you where we don't have to sneak around to be together. We can live somewhere far away where I can touch you," He runs his fingers down her arm and goosebumps arise, "Feel you," He whispers so close into her ear and digs his fingers into her waist and she gasps but doesn't halt his actions, "Worship you." He kisses the spot under her ear.

"You'd give it all up for me?" She wonders, in awe of the man she was falling in love with.

"I'd give up my life for you." His lips brush against hers, moving in closer to get a kiss from her.

"Y/N?" Maria called from the kitchen.

Y/N pulls away from him, knowing her five minutes were up and she had no choice but to go back and help the other servants. "Your leaving already?" Harry sighs, holding onto her hand so tightly she couldn't let go.

"Lunch is soon to come around so I have to help out in the kitchen." She wished she had more time to spend with him. "Are you still coming over tonight?" She had been excited about tonight considering she and Harry had been planning it for the last two weeks. He was planning on coming to her cottage since the Duke was leaving after lunch for formal duties at the crown court. He wouldn't be back until the morning which gave Harry much opportunity to sneak away and visit her in her little cottage.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world baby." He kisses her passionately before she can leave.

"I love you Harry." She whispers.

"I love you more and don't forget about what I said." He calls after her as she runs back to the kitchens.

She walks in through the back door in a daze, holding her hands to her heart and looking up at the ceiling. Being with Harry always felt like a dream.

She could feel someones eyes on her and looked forward to see Maria glaring at her. She shook her head after they made eye contact, "Estas entrando en aguas peligrosas pequeña soñadora." (You’re entering dangerous waters, little dreamer)

Y/N bit her lip and brushed her off. She knew what she was doing by being with Harry but she wouldn't give him up. She had done that far too much throughout her life and she wanted to be selfish just this once.

Lunch came about quicker than expected and the kitchen was already starting to get hectic as the servants plated up the food for each member of the family. Y/N was preparing the wine which she was going to serve and listened as Maria spoke to the other servants.

Anthony came in to alert everybody that the family were already waiting for their food and everyone picked up the trays of food. Y/N smiled, feeling giddy about seeing Harry after the conversation they had this morning.

The doors opened and she could already see him sat in his usual seat beside his father and opposite his mother. Y/N realised they had caught them mid conversation, her ears perking up to hear what they were talking about.

"Harry, are you prepared for the ball this Saturday night?" The duchess asked, a smile overcoming her features.

"In all honesty mother, it's barely crossed my mind." Harry sighs, his eyes glued to Y/N as she pours the wine in the duchess' glass.

"Well I've had Gerald go to the town to buy your garments. We need to looking spectacular since it's the perfect opportunity to find you a bride."

A loud thud catches the family's attention, their eyes diverting to Y/N who's picking up the jug of wine she had dropped on the floor. "I'm so s-sorry My Lord and Lady." She curtsies, apologising to them profusely.

"It's perfectly alright dear." The duchess places a hand on her to calm her down.

She ignored Harry's eyes on her as she got back to serving the wine. "I've already told you mother, I will do no such thing as finding a bride." He speaks.

"Nonsense Harry," It was the Duke's turn to speak, "We all agreed you would find a bride before the sixth month which is vastly approaching."

Y/N could feel her heart slowly breaking, Harry had never mentioned any of this to her. The sixth month was only a month away which meant they had little to no time in finding a bride.

"You cannot force me to marry father." You could hear the tension in Harry's voice as he tried to control his anger.

The Duke scoffs, "I think you'll find that I can because I am your father and above that the Duke. You are a Marquees Harry, you will be taking my title and carrying on the bloodline so, yes, I can force you to marry."

The servants were trying to go about their business knowing of the rise in tension in the room but Y/N couldn't ignore what was going on. Harry was going to find a bride and he didn't tell her of the short amount of time he had to find one.

"You and mother have always said to marry for love - I cannot force myself to fall in love with somebody." The Duke ignores Harry's words so he looks to his mother for help but she shakes her head, trying to stop him from angering the Duke even further.

Harry looks over at Y/N again, he knew she was hearing every word the family was saying and his heart felt heavy when he noticed the glassy look in her eyes as she kept her head down to avoid him.

Unable to control his rage, he hits his closed fist against the table, the entire thing shaking and startling everyone around him. "I have done so much for both of you, taken part in every duty you have signed me up to when you both know I'd rather die than keep my title. The least you could do is accommodate my one desire of refusing to marry someone I do not love." He spits, eyes filled with fury at both his parents.

The room is filled with an eerie silence with nothing but Harry's heavy breathing as the servants stand away from the table to one side, keeping their heads down.

Finally the Duke looks up at Harry, "You will be at the ball this Saturday night boy." Harry doesn't bother staying to hear the rest, he stands up and storms out of the room. The Duchess turns to the servants and apologises in a flustered state at the actions of her son.

Lunch was over before it had even begun and the servants had no choice but to clear up the plates which were still loaded with uneaten food. "Unbelievable." Ariana muttered under her breath, it was never fun when they had slaved away in the kitchen only for their food to go un-eaten.

Y/N was too far in her own head to respond, trying to mentally heal the heartbreak she was feeling after the whole ordeal at lunch. She carried the cups away with her and left the room to deliver them to the kitchen.

As she was about to turn the corner, she felt a tug on the end of her dress and was startled to see Harry, sympathy in his eyes. She could tell by the look on his face that he wanted her to follow him and, as much as she tried to fight herself, she followed him.

Harry pulled her into a vacant room that wasn't often used regularly. Y/N stood with her arms crossed waiting for him to talk. He paced back and forth and Y/N made no effort to calm him down even though she could see the torment across his features.

He finally looks at her, "Can I kiss you please?"

Y/N doesn't get the chance to say anything before he walks over and cups her face in his hands, kissing her lips. Y/N melted into him like she did every time. No matter what was going on between them, he never failed to make her feel so wanted and that was something she never often felt growing up.

But she couldn't deny the incessant reminder in her head that even though she was wanted now by him, she may not be in the future. After Saturday night he could make someone feel the exact same way and she refused to put herself in a situation like that.

"Harry," She pulled away, "Don't come over tonight." She hadn't even realised she had started crying until she wiped away a stray tear from her face.

She forced herself out of his embrace and turned away from him. She could hear him calling her name from behind. However, she knew Harry was stubborn so she had no choice but to be the one to walk away.

It was for the best. They had both always known that their relationship was doomed from the very beginning and now was the time to accept that.

Y/N walked home in the dark after a hard day at work. She carried a whicker basket with a loaf of bread inside that Maria had kindly sneaked her after supper was served in the evening. Considering the day she had, she was glad to have a little something to look forward to.

At the sight of her tiny cottage, her shoulders relaxed. She was so happy to finally be at home and away from everywhere else where she had time to think to herself. She immediately walked to the kitchen to heat up the loaf of bread and prepare a vegetable broth to have for dinner.

As she was about to add in her chopped carrots, a knock sounded at the door. Her eyebrows furrowed when she tries to this of who could be here at this time of day. She walked to the front door and held her ear to it in hopes it would give her an idea of who was there but it was impossible to make out any sound.

"Y/N it's me." Her breath caught in her throat when he spoke, her mind dividing her opinion of whether or not to open it for him. "I just want to talk to you, I-I want to explain everything and I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier but you have to believe me when I tell you all of this is what my father wanted... All I want is you."

Y/N was holding onto the door knob as she listened to him speak until one choice outweighed the other and she opened the door to reveal a sad looking Harry. He was a disheveled mess, his hair all over the place like he'd been running his fingers through it over and over in frustration.

Despite the flash of guilt that came to her, she stood her ground, crossing her arms and glaring at him. Harry couldn't help but grin as she tried her best to look angry, he knew she wouldn't hurt a fly. "You're so cute." He says, not caring how angry she was. He was always going to compliment her no matter what mood she was in.

"Did you follow me?" Y/N wondered, he had never been to her home before which was why tonight was so exciting for them.

"Maybe or maybe I asked Maria." He shrugged. "Can I please come in?"

Y/N wanted to keep him outside so he wouldn't think she'd forgive him so easily for not telling her about the deal Harry had with his parents but she was cold and tired and her soup was still on the stove. So, she moved to the side and allowed him entry.

Harry's face softened and he thanked her as he passed by. Y/N released a sigh and lead the way to the kitchen where she walked to the stove and went back to making her soup. "Your home is perfect, exactly how I thought it would be." Harry speaks, admiring the simplicity and cosiness of the home, wishing he had something remotely similar.

"Exactly how you thought it would be?" She wonders, smiling to herself since her back was to him.

"Mhm," He stood behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, she couldn't help but sink into him. "Soft and pink." He murmured, "I'm sorry Y/N. I know I should have told you about the whole thing with my mother and father but I never thought it mattered when my plan has always been to run away with you."

Y/N turned around in his embrace and looked at him confused, "What are you talking about?"

"Baby, since the day I met you you had me wrapped around this tiny little finger," He held up Y/N's hand and pressed a kiss to her fingertips before placing it to his cheek so he could feel her soft skin, "I've always had dreams of running away with you, living a life of simplicity with just the two of us and maybe a few little ones too." He placed his hand on her belly and butterflies swarmed under his touch.

"You're crazy, you heard what your father said Harry. Maria likes to call me a little dreamer but she has yet to meet you," She pushed him away and turned back around to take the soup off of the stove.

"Why do you act like this isn't something you dream of as well." Harry was starting to get annoyed with people telling him that what he desired wasn't achievable.

"Of course I have dreamt of running away with you many times and-"

"The let's do it," He steps in front of her, picking up both of her hands in his, "Let's leave this place and be together."

She could see the true desperation in his eyes and she wanted nothing more than to say yes, "W-we can't."

Harry stepped away, "Why? Why can't we?"

Y/N looked at him and felt the flood gates fall open, tears running down her cheeks, "Because I am in love with you Harry." She confesses, having never confessed it before, "I am so in love with you my heart could burst and it's that exact reason I have no choice but to give you what's best. Maybe in another life, where class wasn't important and being poor was no longer a cause of death, we could be together but I love you so much and I want nothing more than for you to have everything you need."

Harry was speechless. "Y/N," He reached for her, pulling her into his chest as she cried. He touched her so delicately, looking into her eyes and seeing the love and heartbreak twirling around together in an achingly beautiful dance. "I love you too."

She sobbed even harder and kissed him on the lips, "Thank you for loving me so strongly my love but you have to understand, I don't want to be the next Duke. Not because of you or anyone else, it's a feeling I've had for as long as I can remember. My whole life I've been told what to do by my father and mother but you were the only person who saw me as something other than a Marquees. You've been the only thing I've needed to know I need to take control over my own life and so I need you to run away with me. Please, Y/N."

Y/N had been fighting hard for so long, knowing what was best for him and knowing how many problems this would cause if she were to say yes. She was tossing between her mind and heart but her heart was always going to win, it always did. "When?" She whispers.

Harry exhaled, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief. He kissed her so fiercely, harder than he had ever done before. They were finally going to get what they had both dreamt of, "Tonight. I've already told Maria and she's asked her husband to get us as far away from here as possible."

"You spoke to Maria about this?" Y/N was surprised Maria knew this was happening and even more surprised she was willing to give them money for their escape.

"It was the only way for me to know where you lived." Harry confessed. "You'll have to leave all this behind but we'll find a home and make it ours."

Y/N's heart warms. The soup was long forgotten about now as she ran about packing a small bag of her most valuable possessions to take with her.

Harry nodded in reassurance at her and lead her outside where he already had a horse waiting for them. It would be their main source of transport until they could got to the harbour where a boat would be waiting to take them away.

"Are you sure of this Harry?" She wanted to double check before they carried out the life changing decision.

"I've never been so sure of anything in my life." Harry says and helps her onto the horse. She glances back at her cottage. It was bittersweet leaving it behind, it was the first home she purchased in her whole twenty three years of living after being homeless but now she was going to be living somewhere new with Harry and money wasn't something she had to worry about for the time being considering Harry had bought a few valuables of his own for them to sell in order to start their new life.

They reached the harbour just as the sun was starting to rise. Y/N jumped off the horse and ran over to Maria who was arguing with her husband over something to do with the safety of the boat. Maria opened her arms when she noticed Y/N running towards her, "mi pequeño soñador." Maria teared up, "Be safe my love and don't forget to write to me."

Y/N nodded, crying with Maria who had been the only person before Harry who had always been there for her. Maria's husband was going to be taking them to the next border so they would be far enough to find somewhere to hide away.

"Baby," Harry reached out for Y/N's hand as he stood on the boat waiting for her.

"Thank you Maria for everything." Y/N cried and took Harry's hand, glancing back at Maria.

She waved to her as the boat began to sail away. She was sat in-between Harry's legs with her back against his chest, "I love you." He whispered, kissing her cheek.

"I love you too." Y/N responded, looking out at the sunrise feeling excited for her bran new life.

. . .

Four Years Later.

The sun shone through the window as it began to rise. Y/N felt the warmth from the sun rays hit her bare back as she lay in bed in the softest, white sheets. Harry ran a finger up and down her spine as he watched her sleep.

He pressed his lips to her bare shoulder and up her neck, "Are you hungry sweet girl?" He whispered.

Y/N smiled and nodded her head, slowly opening her eyes and meeting his green ones. Before Y/N had the chance to reply, the door to their bedroom creaked open and in waddled a their little baby.

"Mmmmaama!" Marie squealed, wearing nothing but a pullover around her waist. She was three years old but looked a year younger, she was born pre-mature and since Y/N was already quite small, Marie was tiny.

Harry's head fell onto Y/N's bare chest as he let out a groan, wanting time with his beautiful wife which was very rare considering they had a very clingy toddler.

"Dada no!" Marie tried to crawl onto the bed, clinging onto the blankets in a tight fist to try and pull herself onto the bed.

"C'mere Ri Ri," Harry chuckled, picking her up and placing her between Harry and Y/N.

"Maaamaaa!" Marie squealed and reached for her mother.

"Good morning little dove." Y/N kissed her chubby cheeks.

Harry smiled, he loved watching his girls interact together. "Hey Ri Ri, wanna come with dada to pick some fruit from the garden?"

Marie squealed, not really understanding what her father had said but agreed with him anyway. "Let's go cherry, let mama get dressed." He kissed Y/N on the forehead before grabbing the baby.

This was their life now.

They had ran away together four years ago and it was the best decision either of them could have made. For a while, both Y/N and Harry struggled to make a life for themselves. They were staying in a small hut as Harry went to work on a farm whilst Y/N worked at a local food shop.

They were so close to giving up in that moment but Harry was prepared to keep his promise of the life they both desired. They ended up travelling further down south after saving up enough money to buy a permeant place to live where they found a small cottage.

After a while, Harry had found a job on a job which gave him enough money to get by. Y/N also had a small job working three days a week at a hat shop but a year later she fell pregnant with Marie so for now she was only working twice a week.

There was no word on what happened to the Duke after Harry's disappearance. Both Y/N and Harry tried their best to avoid any talk of the Duke and Duchess but it didn't stop them from hearing rumours in their local town.

Y/N got dressed into one of her favourite dresses Harry had bought her for her birthday two years ago. She put on her boots to go outside where she saw Harry, wearing nothing but black trousers and boots as he held Marie who was now dressed into something besides her pullover.

She walked over to them and pressed her hand to Harry's bare back, catching his attention. Marie was picking apples off of the apple tree that had even planted in their back garden before they had bought the house.

Marie held up the apple to Harry, "That looks perfect Ri Ri," She giggled and put the apple in the brown basket.

"Marie decided we were going to have pancakes with fruit for breakfast." Harry updated Y/N.

"Oh that sounds wonderful." Y/N kissed Marie and then stood on her tiptoes to kiss Harry.

"You look beautiful." Harry says, his compliments never failing to make her blush. "Can we have another baby?"

Y/N laughed but he was completely serious about it, "Harry-"

"Let me put a baby in you." He pouted, "It'll be fun!"

"Fifteen minutes for nine months of pain? Sounds like fun to me," Her pregnancy with Marie was really difficult and swore her off having kids for the rest of her life.

“You know it’s a lot longer than fifteen minutes thank you very much.” He pinches her sides, "I won't force you because I know it's your body, m’love but just know whenever your ready I'll be right here to fulfil your wishes." He smirked and Y/N nudged him.

"Mamaa look!" Marie held out her chubby hand that was full of raspberries.

"Wow dove! Can mama try one?" She crouched down and opened her mouth for Marie to place a raspberry. "Delicious." She hummed and Marie giggled.

Y/N stood up and looked to Harry, "Maybe we can have another baby."

Harry grins, "I'll call Estella." He says, referring to Marie's babysitter.

He wraps one arm around Y/N's waist as they both stand and watch Marie picking berries in the home they dreamt of having together. He kissed her forehead, "I'm glad you ran away with me." He speaks softly into her ear, happy with the life he finally got to choose.

[cranberryjuice-posts]

- forging bonds -

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! Hephaestus! reader

An - i had a random burst of inspiration and just wrote and it kinda ate

Slamming your hammer down onto the bright red metal you tried to fuel all of your emotions into the forming weapon. You were mad, mad at clarisse, mad at silena, mad at everyone.

It was like there was a dumbass curse placed on Hephaestus kids since this isn’t the first time it’s happened. You liked clarisse a daughter of ares, she not only flirted and spent time with you practically leading you on all while you helped fix her dumb fucking spear just to see her kiss silena a daughter of Aphrodite at the fireworks show.

Throwing the hammer to the ground you breathless looked at what was supposed to be a sword, in reality it was a bent and curved mess. Hot tears filled your eyes, it hurt.. a lot.

Your hands were gripped at your side as you held back tears, tears that you refused to let fall, tears that you refused to waste on a bitch like clarisse. Being so caught up in your thoughts you hadn’t realized when pair of comforting arms wrapped around you; shocked you looked up to see your brother Charlie.

Realizing that he was hurting to you turned to hug him back. There was a comforting silence for a while that neither wanted to break. It stayed that way until you gave in. “I’m sorry about silena” you mumbled sighing upset.

“It’s whatever I doubted a girl like her would of even given me a chance Anyways” he tried to play it off but you could tell he was hurting just as much. “Sorry about clarisse… I knew you really liked her”

You Just shrugged. “It’s like You Said i highly doubt Someone like her would of given me a chance” after a moment you patted Charles back while moving away. Looking down and seeing your mangled mess of metal you gave an annoyed sigh, picking it up and throwing it back into the pot watching as it melted away, secretly wishing your feelings could leave that easily.

“Let’s Just get dinner” You threw the rubber gloves and tossed the apron aside, rolling your shoulders back while walking towards the dining hall.

Leaving the pavilion you rubbed the side of your neck. It wasn’t a wonder clarisse wanted silena, she was beautiful. Everything about her was perfect and if you were in her position you’d want her as well.

Wandering around you found yourself in the forgery once again. A place that you could go to and build everything only for your main source of creator to be gone.

“Figured you’d be here” turning around instantly you saw clarisse walking in, her Hands in her standard camo pants.

Rolling your eyes you shook your head walking away from her. “Get lost— the forgery is closed” You almost demanded.

Clarisse Held her Head slightly low almost like she was embarrassed. “I uh I came for my spear” she managed out.

With you back facing her you tried to just hide the growing tears in your eyes. Of course she came for her weapon.. that’s probably why she even fucked with you in the first place, just to get her damn spear fixed.

Grabbing it off the wall you shoved it into clarisses chest. “There now leave I have to clean up” your voice broke as you weakly pushed her out.

Turning your back to her once again you walked to the mess you had left earlier starting to pick the discarded items up. Setting the gloves into a drawer clarisse spoke up one again. “I didn’t mean to hurt you it’s n—”

“Can You Just Go! I don’t want to see you right now come back when you have a weapon problem” you didn’t want to hear her bullshit or her poor excuse for a sorry. Silence filled the room for only a few seconds before you heard a loud snap.

Instantly turning around you saw clarisse toss her now in half spear in front of her. “What is wrong with you!” You almost screamed quickly dropping down to grab the broken weapon, tears coming up as all your hard work was wasted. “Are You Fuc—“

“You said to talk to you when I need weapon help so my spear is broken can we talk now” clarisse shouted crossing her arms and glaring down at you. Her spear was her everything so her breaking it in half had to of meant something important.

Picking up the two pieces of the stick you nodded walking over to your working station.

Clarisse stood beside you as you got to work. “I didn’t mean to kiss silena” she sighed, at first you wanted to scream at her because you don’t just not mean to kiss someone but instead you just kept quiet. “I know your mad at me but.. fuck I don’t know why I kissed her I just did… I really like you YN.. I swear”

She reached out to touch your hand only for you to pull it away. ��Basically you just kissed silena Just because you could but it’s ok because you actually really like me?!” You looked over at her pissed off. “Make up your fucking mind clarisse”

“I have!” She quickly responded. “It’s you I want you, look silenas great but her heart is set on Charles just like mine is on you, I’m not the best with words but I broke my gods damn spear just so you would talk to me!” “Please.. I realize I fucked up and I know I don’t deserve another chance but please”

You’ve never seen clarisse plead for anything. Seeing her beg for you to give her another chance broke your heart some. Closing your eyes you placed your hands on her biceps squeezing her arms gently you creased your shoes stepping up to kiss her. You shouldn’t of forgave her this easily but you knew your heart and you knew you couldn’t deny her.

Clarisses arms found themselves on your waist as she turned her head pushing the kiss to become deeper. Her tight grip and her gentle kiss both shocking you some though you played to her strengths to. Letting your hands lace into clarisses hair she pushed your back into the table.

Breaking the kiss just to catch her breath clarisse muttered between you both. “I think I love you.”

“What?” You breathlessly asked. Clarisse quickly let go of you embarrassed and cleared her throat. “I’ll see you around babe uh bye” she awkwardly left.

Babe?! I love you?! You knew you were done for, this girl has completely won you over. With a flustered sigh you turned around starting to work on her broken spear again. Making a silent vow that if she did actually break your heart again she would never have any weapons fixed again.

[nmyphomania]

╰┈➤ ❝ [Kinktober Day 20: Dumbification]

Summary: “A dumb, but very beautiful. An oddly likable combination to take full advantage of.”

Warning(s): F! Reader, degradation, daddy kink, breeding, choking, mouth spitting, rough sex, unsafe sex, slapping, p*ssy spanking, squirting peeing, dub-con if you squint, belly swells, creampie, dick imprints, doggystyle, lift-fuck position, cervix kissing, overall messy

WC: 1.1k+

•𑁍•

Nothing, absolutely nothing came to mind in moments like these. Each time he’d ask you to legitimately ponder and properly answer a question or statement of his, all you’d do is shrug as if it hurt to think for too long. It honestly irked Zuko, but he knew you for far too long to ever really be mad at you, you were just there with nothing behind those eyes. Sparkling mindlessly, sitting there in the background only to look pretty and prim. Not a real woman of intellect, or talent, or no knowledge on anything of importance, just a trophy withholding the blessings of genuine beauty.

It was like you wanted to be presented as just a prop to be knocked up and spoiled, even shown off like a prize, you held little regard for anything but those things and it showed. So of course the only real special part about having you to Zuko happened to be the way you fucked him. You knew of nothing else, just sex on your mind all of the time, you’d cry about wanting your pussy beaten to a pulp until you fell asleep. He’d only roll his eyes at your begging and give you exactly just that.

Yes, he treated you like a princess who descended down from the heavens, but he’d dick you down like a ragdoll in an instant.

Great, you pissed him off during an outing involving some very significant persons, he couldn’t act on your behavior immediately because it’d taint his professional demeanor as the firelord. Anger wasn’t the only thing that bubbled up inside of him; however, watching your hips rock side to side and your ass bounce about as you walked off from the dining room made him taste a bitter tinge at the back of his tongue. He caught himself staring as you stormed out of the room, swirling around his wine in his glass, he simply moved his view over to the other side of the table in discrete frustration. It was best to deal with his guests first, then you, later.

The two of you left no room for discussion once he’d closed the room’s door behind himself. Your fate was set in stone as Zuko lashed an aggressive hand to slam your neck down into the firm bed mattress, his sour attitude very evident in his eyes. Your clothes now stripped almost animalistically from your disposable body, shoving one of his knees against your already dripping pussy to urge you further up on the bed.

“Fucking filthy, is that all you fucking think about?”

He stood by his words seriously when he meant he would hurt you if you dragged him off to that point. Spanking your pussy just to make you cry into this situation you got yourself in, and he was nowhere near to the worst part of hurting you. You genuinely wouldn’t know what pain was until he had your face squished up on the headboard, recklessly being beaten into it from each time he’d collide back into your gasping entrance. Snot, tears, and drool smeared over the expanse of that same beautiful face he proudly showed off to others and the world.

No matter what came out of your mouth, your wails were like music to his ears. Your throat audibly sounded like your vocal chords were being torn from your neck and shoved up your ass along with his dick. Zuko’s hand locking your neck to stay put on the headboard so you’d choke and cry over your words, his name, those meaningless thoughts. Pulling your head back by your neck urged you to gasp in exaggeration to breathe in some much needed air, a wad of his spit rolling off of his tongue into the confines of your hot mouth. Your hips popped with every stroke that hammered down your insides, making your body jerk around involuntarily accompanied by pained screams.

“You’ll behave yourself next time right?” Zuko lulled gently in her ear amidst vigorous rhythm his hips kept at, all she could really do was barely turn her head to the side through warm tears and keen out an indistinguishable noise. His eyebrows furrowed, hinting his lips to form into a light frown. Sobbing from the quick stinging aftershock from the slap he brought down on the side of your face, you collapsed over to cry like some pitiful child.

“I asked you a question, m'love. Answer me.”

Eyes snapping open as far as they could go, you were left dumbfounded from him pressing down your front to force your lower half to stand up taller in the air for him to drill out a mold only his dick could fill up perfectly. Resting his pure strength on top of your, practically made you pee yourself all over the bed and him. Your mind blurred into a mess of cock drunkeness, nothing but him pounding in and out of your convulsing body like something that was so petty it was horrendous.

“Agni yes, Zuko! Please m’so full!”

Zuko settled a large hand to lay over your smooth stomach, the imprint of his thick shaft ricocheting through your gummy interior past those drooling lips suctioning around him. The bed moved along with the couple on top crashing loudly against the thick walls of the room, the intermingling noises of relentless skin spanking into more skin caused the room to rise in temperature. The air growing hellishly sticky and humid through you two fucking each other like your lives depended on it, Zuko’s long hair clung messily over his condensing sweat accumulating over his entire body.

“Daddy, I can’t take any more!” She screamed in protest, trying to shove him off from her body.

“Oh but you can though. Don’t lie to me.” He remarked almost sarcastically, it burned your entire being at his persistent words.

And suddenly you were lifted up from the bed to be satiated in the air, splashing your warm juices to fly over the floor and your bodies. Over the course of the hours Zuko put into punishing and making a snotty slut out of you for the night, he filled you up to the brim and beyond with his white-hot cum. After the final, messy round to wrap up that night, he laid you down on the bed to press down on your swollen tight abdomen. He adored the sight of your body quaking like you’d just seen hell up close, his seed spilling out from your body like a testament to your dedication to being used, knocked up, and being worthless to everything but to sex.

A dumb, but very beautiful slut. An oddly likable combination to take full advantage of.

•𑁍•

Tags:

[primofate]

A Shot in The Dark (Chapter 1) Wriothesley x fem!reader

Summary: As the upcoming Weapons Master of the town, you've started to take more responsibilities in your father's shop. Little did you know that taking up this job would cause you to get thrown into the messy world of criminals and the messy world of confusing feelings for the Duke of Meropide.

Warnings: Slow burn, this is gunna be long. Like Ruthless Prince long, maybe. Nothing much happens. This is the first chapter after all. Excuse any mistakes, I am a busy mother.

Author's Notes: Tell me what you think?

Read other parts: Coming Soon

In the shop, a quiet tick-tock rang around as you stood behind the counter, drumming your fingers against the table, watching as the short hand of the wooden clock slowly inches towards the number 7.

You take a deep breath through your nose, squaring your shoulders up, holding the air in your chest for a second before puffing everything out in one go.

It was your first time alone in the shop, and while your father didn’t have a lot of customers these days, you heard that he was quite the sought-after weapons master back in the old times.

A small chime takes you out of your reverie. That was your cue that the day had to start, going around the counter with a slight hum, opening the door to the outside and flipping the store sign “Open”.

You took a moment to look around the small street of Vasari Passage. From where you stood at the shop’s entrance, you had a good view of the swirling fountain in the middle of the Court of Fontaine. There are a few other shops lining the street: the snack shop, the fruit stand, up a set of stairs was the House of Hearth and further down the street was Café Lutece.

It was a nice location, close to the entrance to the city and walking distance to food if you were too busy or too lazy to cook for yourself that day. The shop was on the ground floor, but your father and you resided above the shop, one floor up.

The apartment was rather modest. A two bedroom with wooden floors that now sort of groaned when you stepped on certain places. A dining room that also served as a living room, a 4-seater table in the middle with a fireplace off to the side. A kitchen, where your mother used to spend all her time, cooking up something wonderful for the family. And lastly, one bathroom that was strangely quite spacious with a bath and built in shower.

You pull the shop door open once again, a small ring from the tiny bell hanging above reverberating in your ears. You had only taken a few steps forward, barely even reaching the counter when the tiny bell rang again, followed by the closing sound of the door.

“Welcome to Hammer and Hand, how can I—” you twist around just as you reach the counter and there stood a very, very familiar face. “Oh, Ms. Clorinde,”

No, you had never spoken to her before. Nor were you in any way acquainted. But she was someone that everyone knew and as soon as her name left your lips you felt nervousness crash into you, as if a wave of Primordial Sea water was trying to pull you under its depths.

Clorinde regarded the shop briefly. Looking up at the shelves on the left and right. Surveying the carpet on the floor. Eyes glancing at the several chairs littered around for waiting customers. Then, she looked at you. “…I heard that there might be someone who could take a look at my pistol,” she wasn’t asking a question and she sounded as if she might be in a hurry.

“That would be me,” you sighed out with a forced smile, hands fumbling under the counter to take out a sleek, velvet-lined, black box for the Champion Duelist to rest her weapon in.

A quick click-clack of her heels, Clorinde placing the pistolet into the box and you, hovering your hands above it. “May I?”

Clorinde made a quick sound of approval, and your hands gently took the weapon, now examining it for what might be wrong.

Clorinde peered at you through her hat, just a quick look.

Truth be told, she wasn’t the kind to judge others by appearance…but you looked very, very young to be a weapons master. After a moment of silence, just the little clinks and ticks of your hands tapping on the pistol, Clorinde decided to speak up. “…I was told the shop owner was a man,” She kept her eyes on you to gauge for a reaction, perhaps wary that she might have offended you.

On the contrary, you were unphased, and didn’t take your eyes off her pistol. “My father,” you curtly answered, eyes narrowing at the frame of the gun. “He’s off on vacation at the moment…He hasn’t been on one in a while so I’m stepping in for him for a bit,”

Clorinde made a sound of understanding. That made more sense. “…Everyone needs a vacation,” she said in a different tone to what she used earlier, almost as if she was striking up a casual conversation.

This caught your attention the slightest bit, eyes involuntarily dragging up, meeting hers, then awkwardly breaking the gaze in a split second, going back to the weapon.

“There seems to be a problem with the firing pin, Ms. Clorinde,” you lay the pistol back on the velvet box, then take out a number of small trinkets and tools that would help you open the weapon.

You didn’t talk as you worked, Clorinde was mostly impressed by how much you knew of a weapon you just met, and how your hands were almost as steady as hers when she took aim.

“…You use this often?” She hears you ask and she takes a moment to reply.

“…You could say that,” again, she replies in a short manner.

You let out a little hum in thought. In the next 5 minutes you spend some time taking out different types of firing pins. You explain what each one does. One valued speed. One was a chunkier, sturdier type. One was absorbent of elemental energy, so on so forth. Clorinde explained what she usually used the pistol for, and what attribute she valued over others.

With that, the firing pin was easily replaced and the pistol felt as good as new in her hands.

“My sincere thanks,” Clorinde nods her head, and for the first time that morning sent a small yet satisfied smile your way.

“My pleasure, Ms. Clorinde, do come back if there’s anything else wrong with it, or if it doesn’t feel right in your hands,” you keep your back straight and tense until the Champion Duelist walks out and the door creaks closed. You puff out another sigh of relief, shoulders slumping and yourself crumpling on the counter.

“Of course my first customer has to be a celebrity!” You freak out on your own, cheek pressed against the table and trying to replay the whole interaction in your mind. If you had said anything weird or awkward, if you had stumbled over your words at all—a little CLINK had you scrambling straight up and smiling at the door yet again. “Welcome to—”

“I just came back to warn you,” Clorinde was only halfway into your shop. She paused for a moment, wondering if she should have said anything at all. “You might get a few more…odd customers in the next few days,”

She didn’t explain herself, and you were thoroughly confused. What exactly was her definition of “odd”? The Duelist had already left before you could say anything, not that you could think of anything to say anyway.

The rest of the day had actually been quite slow, despite Clorinde’s warning. A few gardes came by, an aspiring duelist, a collector…Nothing as surprising as your very first customer of the day.

From 7 in the morning it had turned into 7 in the evening. The short hand of the clock started yet again inching closer to the number 7…it was then, yet again, that the door rattled open and in came a rather grand looking young man, different from all the other customers of the day.

Wriothesley had a greeting at the tip of his tongue. “Hey old man,” or something of the sort. Except, he didn’t see an old man at the counter. “Uhh…” he started, looking around the place as if he was lost.

Something about this man seemed familiar, but you couldn’t place your finger on it.

“If you’re looking for my father, he’s on vacation at the moment,” You help him out, knowing that he probably wasn’t expecting to see you manning the shop. Your eyes dropped to the gauntlets tucked under his arm. “Were you wanting to get those looked at?” Head jerking forward to signal towards his gauntlets.

Wriothesley stood like a deer in headlights in the middle of your shop, now looking more surprised than ever. His eyes narrowed and his hand came up halfway to point at you shyly “You’re Y/N?”

You were taken aback, eyes evidently widening. “…Yes…? Do I…know you?” It was your turn to squint your eyes at him. His black hair was a little unruly, his build was of a seasoned fighter’s. The coat draped on his back gave him a sense of importance, and the way he carried himself screamed of confidence.

No. No lightbulbs came up to give you a clue.

You could only smile sheepishly when he didn’t offer an answer and you had to speak up in the silence. “I’m sorry, I don’t really recall where we met,”

It was only then did he chuckle and finally stepped forward to meet you at the counter, placing his gauntlets atop it. “I don’t blame you. Anyway,” he brushed away the subject quickly and proceeded to tell you that his gauntlets had been feeling a little “clunky”.

You, in all your consciousness, felt horrible that you didn’t recognize someone who seemingly knew who you were. The man, however, seemed like he didn’t want to breach the subject anymore.

“Hmm…?” You bring your hand up to your chin as he finishes complaining about his gauntlets. You scour over them with your eyes and notice a few marks on the glossy finish of it. “This looks like…it’s been damaged,” you rub a finger over the area you’re talking about. “…by…a pistol…” An image of Clorinde passes through your head. "...Are you…a criminal?” You look up to your current customer, a mix of worry and intrigue etched on your face.

Wriothesley blinks, and suddenly bursts into short laughter. “Me? Not recently no,” he answers with a chuckle on his lips.

Then why would Ms. Clorinde shoot at you? Was your first thought. He cuts through your thinking quite fast.

“You can tell this is a pistol mark?” Wriothesley didn’t hide that he was impressed.

“Specifically Ms. Clorinde’s…” You take your hand away from his gauntlet, now wary of your visitor. “Why would she shoot at you?”

“You can even tell it’s Clorinde’s?” He barked out another set of laughter, running his hand through his hair in the process.

“Well…She came by this morning and I had a good look at her pistol, so…” You didn’t elaborate that Clorinde’s pistol was a special kind, it was easy to tell that the marks left on his gauntlets was definitely from her pistol.

“Oh did she?” He seemed to be a very chipper guy. Everything you said, he was somewhat amused by it. It was then that he dismissively waved a hand. “It’s alright, we were just…sparring. I’m the one who told her to come ‘round to your old man’s shop. We went at it too hard and…well, more customers for you,”

“Uh huh…” you start, still unsure. “Well, in any case, I’d like to have your name, please? It’s just good manners to know your customer’s name,” You smile a bit, and quickly add under a whisper “or in this case, my potential killer's,”

Wriothesley hears you, another chuckle emanating from his chest. “It’s Wriothesley,”

Something clicks in your mind. A very, very far off memory.

“…Oh!” One of your hand involuntarily shoots up to your mouth, at the same time your eyes widen, you stare at him “Wriothesley!?” You look him over, up and down, then back to his face. “You…You grew up a lot!”

“So did you!” He has a sincere smile on his face, arms crossing and looking rather proud.

“Oh, oh my Archons,” your hands fumble to find each other and you gather yourself once again, straightening up “I didn’t realize it was you, I’m so sorry. Oh and you’re the Duke now, right? I’m SO sorry, I didn’t mean to call you a criminal—or a killer!” Your words start to skim over each other in your embarrassment and desperation to explain yourself.

Wriothesley gives somewhat of an awkward and guarded smile, if only you knew, “It’s not a problem, just…call me Wriothesley,”

“Right... Right! Erm…” You focus your attention back to his gauntlets. “So these are, uh…just needs a bit of polishing and erm…” You’re still trying to gather your racing thoughts. There were bits and pieces of memories coming back to you that were connected to him. Most of them were from your father, and you quickly recalled that you’d met the Duke as a teenager, just a few odd times, really not a lot. “I have a suspicion as to why you think it’s getting clunky…”

You reach under the table again to look for a tape measure, “Do you mind if I measure your hands?” somehow getting most of your brain and thinking back, you ask him to extend one of his arms out and he complies rather easily.

As usual, you quietly work. Taking various measurements of his wrist, fingers, arm length and the sort.

“…You’ve gotten really good at this,” he remarks, just to fill in the silence. You maintain your concentration and mumble back absentmindedly.

“Mmhmm…Well, I did study this in school…and my father has taught me a lot,”

Wriothesley had wanted to comment that yours was still an extraordinary skill. He didn’t think that you’d be so good at assessing weapons and finding solutions for it, he dare thought that you were getting even better than your old man, but he kept quiet, seeing your concentration.

“As I thought,” you breathe out, rolling the tape measure back into a circle. “Your gauntlets are a tad bit small on you now…you’ve probably gained a bit of muscle, or something,”

“Oh,” was all he could let out, not expecting the answer to be so simple.

“I can resize it…but…” you glance at the clock. 7:32 pm. Way past closing time. “…You can leave it with me and pick it up tomorrow or…come back with it tomorrow? I imagine you might not want to part with it, even just for a night,” You don’t know what the duties of a Duke are, but if he was in charge of Meropide… you guessed that the one thing he really needed with him was his weapon. “I mean, it still fits you, it’s just… not in optimal shape.”

“I understand,” he moves to take the gauntlets back with him, but gives you an appreciative nod. “I’ll come back tomorrow morning then,”

“Okay,” you whisper, holding his gaze, the edges of your mouth turning up the slightest bit. “See you tomorrow then,”

Wriothesley keeps your gaze for only a few moments longer before he gathered his weapon and tucked it under his arm again. He then returns your smile, briefly. He steps away to turn, his coat swaying with him. “See ya,” he throws a hand back as a goodbye and as he exits the store, it is suddenly quiet.

You stand there for a moment to replay the interaction. The quiet helps you organize your thoughts. You can’t help but think that he had grown up to be a good man, and there was no denying that he was good looking—anyone with eyes could see that—you hum a bit, and keep the thoughts to yourself.

You close the shop up, feeling rather good of how the unexpected events of the day unfolded, and went to sleep easily.

Chapter 1: End

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⸻ what happened to you?

· pairing: soldier boy x fem!reader · type: one-shot · summary: wishing to make amends, ben ends up on your front porch, only to discover he's too late. · word count: 3,073

You were his greatest regret.

But not for the reasons you might think. Or, rather, might’ve thought.

As he stands in front of a familiar porch that he hasn’t seen since the mid-forties, listening to wind-chimes softly tinkling in the breeze, and birds chirping in the apple tree out front, he doesn’t feel the sense of calm he’d expected—hoped for. Instead… He’s sure if a Geiger meter were nearby, it’d be playing a symphony.

He takes one measured step up, onto the front porch, and then another, and another, until he’s standing before the front door—his shoes resting over a mat which welcomes him—with a raised fist that wavers.

Perhaps he’s not welcome here.

He shouldn’t be. Not after how he’d left before.

How could he have left like that?

How could he have expected you to react any differently?

You’d been right. He was, and will forever now be, ‘just an empty suit’.

Finally, he knocks, heart hammering away in his chest, knowing he needs to get himself under control. And quickly.

Slowly, the door opens, the storm screen being pushed outward by an elderly man—fine lines crease his tan, weathered face, his silver hair carefully combed to the side, and he dons a light blue button-up, with beige slacks.

His brows furrow. “Can I help you?”

“I… I’m looking for someone. She lived here a long time ago. Do you happen to know a woman by the name of Y/N?”

The man studies him for a moment. “You mean to say you knew my mother, young man?”

Young man… If only.

“You’re…her son.”

He nods. “I am.”

“Is she here, then? Or, do you have her address so I can—”

“She died. Thirteen years ago.”

His world stops spinning.

He had known that there would be a likely chance. A more than likely chance that this was how it would turn out. But he’d needed to come. Had needed to try.

And he was too late.

He swallows thickly. “I—I don’t know if you know who I am—”

The man looks him over once more, then nods. “I know who you are. I used to watch you on our television set. Well, when I could sneak a peak in, that is.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “Thinking of it—thought they said you died yourself? Over in Africa or something, wasn’t it?”

Ben shakes his head. “It’s a long story.”

Chris turns his body sideways then, making a beckoning motion with his hand. “Would you like to come inside, Benjamin?”

His heart stutters, and he just stares.

This had been your home. He doesn’t know that he should…

“Would she have wanted that?” He asks doubtfully.

The man sighs. “To tell you the truth, I think she’d have let you in, just the same as me. You came back after all this time, didn’t you? Must count for something. To make amends, maybe. Never did tell us the full story. Either way, it’s my house now, and I say you’re allowed.”

He steps over the threshold.

Ben sits at the dining table that’s next to the kitchen, just on the other side of a high marble counter, flipping through pages of an old photo album—full of memories.

Of you. Your family. Your life.

Meanwhile, Christopher, your eldest son, makes himself busy in the kitchen preparing a fresh pot of coffee.

“I always wanted one of those action figures of you, you know,” he says.

He rummages around in a cabinet for a moment. “Begged and pleaded for one one Christmas. Momma always told me no. Finally, daddy took and sat me down one night and told me if I asked anymore it’d end with a whoopin’. That he and momma had made it clear you were not welcome in our home in any form. So, I knew it was pretty serious, because he never raised a hand to any of us.”

He waves his hand. “I just thought I’d be able to win her over with puppy-dog eyes like always, but she held firm. After that, I stopped asking. Got a different one instead. Forget what it was now.”

He shrugs, pouring a cup of coffee, and then another, returning to the table.

He sets one down before Ben, who’s seated at the head of the table. He takes the chair to his right, groaning as he sits.

“No fun in getting old,” he says with a wink, but Ben doesn’t smile.

He takes a sip of his coffee. “Guess you wouldn’t know much about it, though. Must be strange sometimes, I reckon.”

Ben flips another page of the album, not bothering with touching his mug. “You have no idea.”

He nods. “Oh, I do. The things these kids get up to nowadays…”

He shakes his head. “No sense anymore. I’m just glad momma passed before it got to the point it’s at now. Not knowing who or what they are—men dressin’ as women and vice versa. Would’ve broken her heart to see.”

He sets his mug down. “She and daddy loved this country. To see it in shambles the way it is—after he fought for it on that beach—”

Ben looks at him. “He was at Normandy?”

Chris nods. “Says you never were. That true?”

Ben is quiet for a moment and then he nods. “It is. I got there two weeks later. It was just propaganda. Just like everything else I ever did.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “A lie.”

Chris shakes his head softly, but doesn’t reply.

Ben smiles at a photo of you sitting on the front porch, smiling softly as you hold your swollen belly between your hands.

Chris glances to it. “That was her and me. Eight children… You believe that? I don’t know how they do it.”

“She always wanted a big family,” Ben replies, turning the page.

“By golly if dad didn’t help give her one. Those two were in love as two people can be. They met in Europe, you know? During the war.”

Ben’s head shoots up. “They did?”

Chris nods. “They’d eventually both been put on the same base. She was a nurse, as you know. And the first time he saw her, he said his heart stopped. Said he turned to the guy next to him, pointed to momma and said ‘that woman is going to be my wife’.”

Ben recalls how he had the exact same reaction when he first met you himself. Being left speechless by the kind look in your beautiful eyes.

No one had ever looked at him like that before. He’d wanted so desperately for them to—for his father to—but they hadn’t. Not until you walked into his life, that is.

Chris grins, shrugging. “Said the fella laughed at him. Said she hardly talked to anyone, so she wasn’t going to be talking to him, neither.”

He looks at Ben. “It was after you disappeared, turns out. But he started comin’ in every day to see her. Flowers in-hand. When he could get a hold of some, that is. When he couldn’t, he’d walk miles off-base when he had a weekend pass and would pick bushels of them so he’d have enough before he got another chance to go out. The guys ribbed him for it, but he didn’t care a lick.”

He takes another sip of his coffee. “Just used to say that after he sets eyes on her, she’d never be lonely again.”

“Sounds like he was telling the truth,” Ben replies quietly.

He clear his throat then. “Did she ever…talk about me?”

Christopher grows serious. “Not if she could help it. If you so much as came on the television set or the radio, she’d just quietly tell us: ‘turn it off’. We asked her why, but she’d just shake her head. It was daddy that took me out in the garage one day—they always had us up to somethin’; momma would have the girls in the house cooking, cleaning, sewing, while daddy would have the boys outside with him—while he worked on our old Coupe, and he told me that you were no hero to them. That the men who fought and died on those beaches and battlefields were. And you weren’t that. Said you were just…how’d he say that, again? Empty suit?”

Ben swallows thickly. “I hope you listened to ‘em. Found better idols.”

“Oh, me and my brothers worshiped the ground our old man walked on. Just thought he was the best thing since sliced bread. Thought he knew and could do every and anything. He was a good man. But he’s gone now, too. Was about a year after momma.”

He stares out the window. “He never was the same after she passed. Used to talk about her like she was still here. Would tell us all the time ‘she’ll be back real soon, just had to run to the store’. I think he just couldn’t accept her being gone. Still gives me chills when I think about his last night with us. He looked right at me—we were just sitting on the porch out there enjoying the evening—and tells me ‘I’m going to see your mother tonight’. We found him the next morning in bed, clutching her robe to his chest.”

He sniffles, clearing his throat. “So we put him next to her. He had two plots picked out before they ever even left us. Headstone was ready to go, other than adding in their dates of death.”

Ben looks at him.

“Me and my siblings take turns visiting on the weekends, bringing flowers and telling them about how boring our lives have gotten, while our grandkids are off to college, and getting married, and having babies of their own.”

He smiles wistfully. “My sister, Elizabeth, her granddaughter is named after momma, actually. She’s twenty now. Going to school to become a doctor.”

He shakes his head with a wistful smile. “A doctor.”

He grins, looking at Ben. “Maybe I’ll get my checkups done for free, huh? Medicare only does so much for an old man with a body that’s falling apart.”

Ben wishes he had that problem. But, instead, he’s practically fucking invincible. The Russians had proved that more times than he could count. If an AK-47 being shoved in his mouth as they held down the trigger hadn’t been enough…what would be?

When Ben turns the next page, he stares down at a photo of you hanging laundry on the line.

You’d just been bringing it inside the last time he saw you.

He’d stepped up proudly onto that porch in full regalia—his new suit—a broad smile on his face, and he’d knocked confidently.

You’d called from inside ‘just a moment!’ and he’d breathed in the scent of warm peach cobbler cooling on the windowsill on the other side of the house.

And then you’d opened the door.

And instead of you throwing yourself into his arms and kissing him, smiling at him, or taking his hand in yours as you tugged him inside and into your bedroom, you’d stepped out with furrowed brows.

“You’re here.”

He’d nodded. “Know I’ve been MIA for awhile, but you’ve probably seen on television, or in magazines—”

“What happened to you?”

He had thought, mistakenly, you’d meant after he disappeared from the Army base. When you woke one morning in bed alone, and when you went looking for him, all you found was a broken heart.

“Long story short, sweetheart,” your stomach had turned at that term of endearment rolling off his tongue. “I volunteered for some government testing and now I’m new and improved. The damn hero of the war!”

You’d wrapped your arms around yourself—he hadn’t seen your engagement ring—as you stared up at him.

That previous look of love that you’d had when you gazed up at him at night while he was inside of you was long gone.

“This isn’t you.”

You’d taken a step forward, reaching a hand up, cupping his cheek. “This isn’t the man I fell in love with.”

He’d soured toward you in an instant. First his father and now…

“What, I’m too much for you now?” He’d sneered. “Too much man for you to handle? Well, that’s fine. Because when it comes to women, I have no shortage of them.”

Your eyes had filled with tears.

“It’s like you’re a completely different person,” you’d whispered.

“And for the better,” he’d snapped back. “But that works out just fine. Me being too much, because now? You wouldn’t be nearly enough for a guy like me.”

You’d choked back a sob, cupping a hand over your mouth, the other remaining wrapped around your middle.

He’d wanted to shove a gun in his mouth.

Because the truth was? The ticker-tape parades, the money, and women, and notoriety meant nothing to him.

After receiving further rejection from his father, he’d gone to you. Wanting you to fix it. To make it all better. Just like you had before.

How could he have ever been delusional enough to think a woman like you would ever accept the parody of himself that he’d become?

“Please leave,” you’d choked out. “And don’t come back. I can’t take seeing you wearing that empty suit again.”

He’d flinched. “Believe me, only time you’ll ever see me again will be in the headlines, honey.”

And then he’d walked away, and as he put one foot in front of the other, all he could hear was your heartbroken sobs behind him.

Finally, Ben shuts the photo album, turning to Christopher. “Were her favorite flowers in the end still tulips?”

Chris’ brows had furrowed. “They were.”

Ben had stood. “Can you tell me what cemetery I can find them at?”

After carefully placing a bouquet of white and pink tulips in the vase mounted atop your side of the headstone, Ben kneels down, gripping the top of it while he looks it over.

On your husband’s side is his name—preceded by his Army rank: corporal—and dates of birth and death, as well as those things he’d been, which had meant the most: beloved son, brother, father, grandfather, and husband. And on yours: beloved daughter, mother, grandmother, and wife.

In the middle are two rings, bound together in stone.

He presses a kiss to the top of your headstone, tears slipping down his cheeks. “I’m so sorry, baby. I’m sorry it took me so long to find my way back to you. But I’m here now.”

He sniffles. “Maybe you don’t want me to be.”

He glances to your husband. “Maybe neither of you do. And I’d understand that. I just… I have a lot of things I’d like to say. And I’d like for you both to hear them.”

He sits back, looking at your headstone, his arms wrapped loosely around his bent knees—his hand holding his other wrist. “I went to see your son, Chris. He’s a hell of a kid. Told me stories about the two of you. Told me…”

He shakes his head, glancing away. “I know I broke your heart. I knew it that day. I’d just…hoped maybe you’d forget about me. I wasn’t worth remembering. But I’m sure I was around every goddamn corner you turned. On TV, in the paper, on the news, on store shelves.”

He fucking hates himself for it.

“I never deserved any of it. The only thing I ever really wanted was you. And I threw that chance away. For nothing.”

He laughs without humor. “You want to know what happened to me? In the eighties, the woman I thought I loved…” He shakes his head. “I should’ve known even then it was only ever going to be you.”

He sighs. “She betrayed me. My team did. Handed me off to the Russians. And for three decades they…”

He trails off, then starts again. “The things they did…”

He swallows, shaking his head. “At first I tried to hold onto some misguided hope that she’d come for me. And when I finally resigned myself to the fate of knowing that was never going to happen, I lost myself, instead, in you. You were the only thing I had left to hold onto. I had a whole life with you inside my head…”

He’s quiet for a moment, a small, sad smile playing on his lips as he thinks back on it. “A good life,” he says, nodding.

He runs his hand down his face, wiping away tears. “We had a family. A good marriage. I came back to you and I gave it all up just to have you. And it was the best thing I ever did.”

His shoulders begin to shake. “And then they came and woke me up and tore me away from you. And I realized it had never been real. Not for one goddamn second. I can’t…begin to tell you what that did—has done—to me.”

He looks at your headstone with a watery smile. “But to find out that you got everything you ever wanted? Deserved to have?”

He looks to your husband’s headstone. “Thank you for that. For taking care of our girl. For being the man I never was. I’m just glad she found someone worthy of her. Who deserved her. Because we both know I never did. Thank you for fixing what I broke.”

He looks back to you. “I hope to God you never felt guilty for the things you said to me that day. Because you were the only one willing to. I needed to hear them, even if I didn’t want to. That was your last gift to me: a hard truth. So, thank you.”

He stands, kissing your headstone one last time, his hand fingering a picture in his pocket which Christopher had given him before he’d left—he’d said he’d nearly forgotten he’d had it.

Apparently, the kids had found it in your things after you passed—they’d never told your husband: a photo of you sitting on his lap while he smiled softly at you, you smiling meanwhile at the camera, holding a small American flag in your hand, still in your nurse’s uniform.

At least he’ll have some shred of his humanity to hold onto, with that, in what’s to come. The fact you’d held onto it for all those decades… It’d meant a great deal to him.

“I love you,” he whispers, walking away.

For the final time.

[muddyorbsblr]

what makes a princess

See my full list of works here!

Summary: Morgan asks a question about Jane's royalty status that leads to her revealing one of Loki's secrets

Pairing: Loki x Reader

Word Count: 3.4k

Warning/s: potentially inaccurate depictions of how to become royalty in Asgard; other than that, none, this is just fluff [let me know if i missed anything!]

Things to be aware of: Morgan being an adorable lil beb; Nat doling out some tickle torture; teammates/coworkers to lovers

"Is Auntie Jane a princess?" 

You looked up from your laptop, taking a break from typing out your latest set of reports to wrap up your most recent mission with Nat to look at little Morgan Stark, who was sitting across you at the dining table. She looked the spitting image of her father as she anticipated your answer. 

"I don't…think so…?" you trailed off, trying to remember if Thor had even mentioned anything recently about plans to marry the mystical hammer wielding scientist. "Maybe one day soon, baby. When they get married."

"Who's getting married?" The velvety low timbre of Loki's voice nearly made you jump out of your seat, his fingers briefly ghosting over the skin of your shoulder not helping in the slightest. A small squeak of protest slipped from your mouth when he picked up your coffee mug. "Ease your worry, darling. I'm simply refilling your cup. Black with a teaspoon of sugar, or would you prefer something sweeter?" 

Morgan's little laugh began to echo throughout the common area. "You have confuzzled brows again, Auntie Y/N." 

The image of the raven-haired god looking up at you through his lashes from where he stood behind the kitchen island may very well haunt your dreams tonight in the best possible way. "You know what…surprise me, Mischief." The smirk he sent your way should have had you worried with what he had in mind, and yet the only thing you felt was the violent fluttering in your stomach that had nothing to do with your prolonged fasting. "As for your first question…we were talking about Thor and Jane." 

"Ah, well my oaf of a brother may think he's been keeping relatively quiet about the matter, but that day will most definitely be coming sooner rather than later," he spoke over the clinking of a metal spoon stirring around in your cup. 

"So it's like in the cartoons?" Morgan directed her question at him. "The prince has to marry the woman he loves so that she becomes a princess?" 

"Not quite, little Stark." Your brows knit together again at the sound of whipped cream coming out of a can coming from his direction. "There are no strict marital customs in Asgard, and as such if a member of the royal court were to publicly commit themself to another, then in turn that individual would become royalty as well. Thor has publicly committed himself to Doctor Foster, and despite having abdicated the throne to the Valkyrie, he is still a Prince of Asgard." 

"So Auntie Jane is a princess?" 

"Don't arm us with this info, Laufeyson. I might just call her Princess Foster for the rest of time," Nat's voice sounded through the common area, her usually lethal hands wielding a more delicate touch when she ruffled the hair on your and Morgan's heads before occupying the seat beside you. 

"By Asgardian customs, yes. You can consider Doctor Foster a princess." 

The assassin eyed Loki's approaching form with a knowing smirk on her face, tilting her head to look at the mug he placed on the table a few inches from your hand. "Hold on, are you telling us that all that's needed for someone to be considered royalty in Asgard is if a member of the royal family is in love with them? That's it?" 

"If it's as widely known as how my brother loves his mortal," he confirmed. "And while I surmise that she will not appreciate being addressed as such, you would not be incorrect in calling her Princess or Your Highness." You were acutely aware of the god's proximity to you from the slight movement in the corner of your eye of his fingers at the back of your chair. And the slight heat coming from his body literally inches from your side.

"Her Royal Highness, Princess Jane Foster," you mused, blowing lightly on the hot beverage in your mug and holding back the slightest thrill as the taste of your favorite little indulgence, a white chocolate mocha with a cold vanilla flavored whipped cream on top, flooded your tastebuds and blanketed you in an instant comfort. "She's definitely gonna hate that. Thank you, Mischief." 

Your heart caught in your throat when he tucked a hand under your chin, keeping you looking up at him as his free hand straightened out the ruffled locks of your hair, putting them neatly back into place. "My pleasure, little mortal," he murmured, swiping his thumb briefly at the corner of your mouth before walking back to the kitchen, starting on his own drink.

"You wanna fill me in on this domestic bliss vibe I'm picking up from Horns over there?" Nat whispered, leaning in so close she was practically draped on your lap trying to sneak the cup of coffee away from you to take a quick sniff. "He knows your 'treat yourself coffee'? Alright how long have you two been doing the horizontal tango, spill the hardware details, I'm texting Wanda and Jane. Toot suite. You've been holding out on us, you absolute slut--Ow." 

You rolled your eyes at her reaction to you elbowing her in the side. "Please, we both know that barely tickled. Now stand down, Romanoff, I haven't been holding back on anything and you know it--"

"That means you're a princess, too, Auntie Y/N!"

The Russian spy chuckled at Morgan's excitement, resting her chin on your shoulder like a child awaiting a bedtime story. "Uhm…no, sweetie. It doesn't work like that," you tried explaining to the little girl. "See there's more than one kind of love. There's the romantic love like you see in your princess movies, and that's the type that your Dad has for your Mom, the type Thor has for Jane. And that's what makes your Auntie Jane a princess."

"Then there's the love for family and friends," Nat continued for you, motioning between the three of you. "The way I love you, Uncle Clint, Auntie Y/N, and the rest of the team--well, most of them." She elbowed you before you could let out the teasing words dancing at the tip of your tongue. The name of the one that Nat loved in the romantic sense. "Not a single word, Williams."

"I wasn't gonna say anything," you deflected coyly, batting your eyes to feign innocence. "It's not like when you said 'most' my mind immediately went to a certain Serge--NAT!!" You busted out into giggles as nimble fingers found every single ticklish spot by your ribs and showed you no mercy. "I'll get--hahahahaha--I'll get you back for thihihihis, Romanoff, I promise you."

You made a quick note to slip some hot pink hair dye into her shampoo bottle on your next sleepover. The tickling onslaught had taken up all your attention that you didn't even notice that the dark-haired Asgardian leaning back against the kitchen counter was watching the scene before him, a fond smile slowly stretching across his face the longer he watched you.

Nat eventually let up once you started clutching your stomach from laughing too hard, continuing her explanation to little baby Morgan, who was currently the picture of angelic patience. And now looking not a thing like her father.

"Anyway, that kind of love is the kind that Thor has for us. That means that while there is love there, it doesn't make the entire team princes and princesses. You get me, baby?" 

"I get you, Auntie Nat. But you don't get me. Auntie Y/N is a princess, too." 

You took a breath before closing your laptop, promising yourself that you'd finish the reports later tonight. "Last I checked, sweetheart, Asgardian Barbie doesn't like me like that." 

She rolled her eyes at you. "I know that! But Prince Loki does, and that's why you're a princess, too!" 

The amused smile on your face immediately dropped at her words, your neck twitching from the sound of a spoon clattering against the sink and the sound of hurried footsteps walking out of the kitchen causing your skin to prickle. "Morgan…sweetie, you know it's not nice to say things that aren't true," you said softly, not bothering to mask the wavering tone of your voice. 

"But it is!" she insisted, pointing her little hand towards the door. "Princess Auntie Jane, tell her!" 

"Princess--? Oh…I'm guessing you all know about those customs in Asgard that technically make me a princess now?" You nodded your answer at her, not trusting yourself to say anything while you were still struggling to wrap your head around that bombshell that Morgan dropped on you. Wondering if it even was a bombshell to begin with or just the child's overactive imagination. "So I'm also guessing that now you all know that Y/N's a princess, too?" 

"She most definitely is not," you protested, briefly poking at her ribs to drive your point home. "Jane. Babes, this isn't funny." You motioned a pointed finger between her and Nat. "You both know how I feel about him, so baiting me with this kind of hope is just cruel and unusual punishment, especially when I know I haven't done anything wrong to either of--"

"You kind of really are, though," the scientist kept on, giving you a look as if she was amused by how this was completely new information to you. "You really didn't know that Mr 'You are all beneath me' wants you literally beneath him?" 

"Foster, I am two seconds away from kicking your ass over that line. Mostly because I didn't think of it myself." You elbowed Nat in the side again. "Harder. I could almost feel that." 

"Can you two just be serious for two seconds and tell the baby that she's wrong about Loki?" 

You were about to face Morgan again to advise her to find the god and apologize for saying something so outlandish, when Nat and Jane moved in unison, a hand placed on each of your shoulder, leaning in a way that you were now face to face with both of them.

"Okay, little baby," Jane started with a mock serious look. "You're wrong about Loki." 

"Unbelievably wrong," Nat capped off. "Fine. If you don't believe us, then let's start with how he saved you from that building in Belarus." 

"He has saved each of our asses at least once in the last few years," you argued.

"Yeah, but he doesn't heal us with his magic and then stays with us in the medical wing waiting for us to wake up. And I should know because that entire night Thor gave me a laundry list of the times that he got injured from battle and Loki would tell him, and I quote, that 'he shouldn't expend his energy on healing magic when it could have been better utilized for fortifying defenses'." 

"That's--That can't--That doesn't sound right," you muttered, trying to remember anything from Belarus other than being trapped under a collapsed column, convinced that your legs were done for and you'd never walk again, assuming that anyone would even find you in the wreckage. And then next thing you knew you were in the medical wing, with the god only briefly touching your head and telling you that he was glad you were alright before running off to call for Bruce to check on you.

"You make him smile," Morgan spoke up, her face lit up the same way it did when you sat with her on Princess Movie Nights. 

"He smiles around everyone as long as they're not your father or your Uncle Steve." 

"No, Auntie Y/N." She flopped herself onto the table, arms outstretched towards you, like she was trying to quite literally grab your attention and hold on to it. "With us, Prince Loki smiles with his face. When you're around, he smiles with his heart." 

Her words had you stunned silent, frozen in your seat as your friends let you go to walk over to the other side of the table and lift Stark's daughter up in the air to wrap her in a warm embrace and nuzzle her cheeks, earning them several little echoing giggles from her. 

"I uhm…I should go," you mumbled, standing from the table and giving your laptop a small tap. "I'll finish my reports tonight." 

"Tomorrow," Nat corrected you. "I have a feeling you're gonna be a bit busy tonight, Princess." 

Your pulse was drumming loudly in your ears with every step you took towards Loki's apartment, every single nerve on your body on high alert as if readying you to run at a moment's notice. Whether that was away from his place and back to the compound to tell everyone they were wrong, or into his arms, was yet to be seen.

When you reached his door, you could hear voices coming from the other side. One more hushed and panicked, the other jovial and boisterous. Thor.

"You should have stayed, Brother! You finally need not hide your affections for her, and might I say. 'Tis about time because your skirting around her was getting more than tiresome, Jane and I have been considering locking you two in a tiny room together so you could just tell her." 

You couldn't hear what Loki said in response other than something about 'being exposed by Stark's offspring', but that was more than enough to convince you that maybe this wouldn't end in you feeling like a total clown. That maybe there was more credit to the words of Morgan and your friends than you first believed. 

Just three seconds of bravery, that's all you need, you told yourself, raising your hand to rap on the door before you could talk yourself out of it. 

"It seems that in matters of the heart, your little mortal is braver than you, Brother," you heard the blond Asgardian comment before the door opened to reveal the towering bulging god, giving you a knowing look before shuffling out of your way. "I will gladly answer any question he leaves unanswered by the end of the week, my friend." 

"I'm holding you to that, Blondie," you waved him off with a playful smile before turning to face Loki. "Can we talk?" 

He looked at you with a hint of caution, almost as if he was on the same level of anxiety that you were, before giving you a small nod and motioning toward the door. "Come in, darling." 

The words tumbled out of you as soon as you closed the door. "They told me about Belarus." The caution in his eyes turned into panic. "But I need to hear it from you. Because I have…gaps? In my memory. Things I can't reconcile." 

He closed the distance separating you two, taking your hands in his. "Ask me." 

"The last thing I remember from that building was that I couldn't feel my legs. And I know that even with all the tech Stark has at his disposal, I shouldn't be up on my feet right now. Not like this. Rhodey is still in crutches despite all the efforts of Stark and Banner combined, and yet somehow…I'm not. So please. Tell me. Did you--" 

"I healed you," he cut you off, finishing your inquiry. "I could not bear the thought of you waking up distraught. Adjusting to a new reality where you had to rely on any form of machinery to help you function. Not when I knew that I could cure those ails." 

The air left your lungs at his admission, leaving you struggling to even form your next words. "What happened to energy better expended fortifying defenses?" 

His mouth turned up slightly in a knowing smirk. "I see my brother told Doctor Foster of our days in the battlefield." 

"And he's a touch wounded about it." You gave him a playful squint of your eyes, trying your damnedest to keep the mood light despite how closely he was standing, so close you could feel the slight heat radiating off of him, thinning the air to the point that you found it hard to take in your next breaths. "Why did you do it? You were in the clear, everyone else was in the clear, we finished the mission--"

"I didn't give a damn about the mission," he hissed, stepping even closer to you and effectively trapping you between him and the solid door behind you. His breath came out in shuddering exhales, bottom lip quivering ever so slightly as he rested his forehead against yours. "The only objective that held any weight with me was keeping you safe." His hand rested lightly on your waist, thumb softly stroking your ribcage. "I have braved far worse things than a burning building and I will face even more dire perils if it means your safety. If it means I do not have to witness your light fading away. And as for why…"

He brought his hand up to cup the side of your face, pressing a light kiss to the tip of your nose before his lips ghosted a path to your forehead. If it hadn't been for the god wrapping his arm around you and securing you against him, you would have sunk to the ground from his attentions. 

"It is because Stark's daughter speaks the truth," he whispered into your skin, pressing a kiss between your brows. "Because I love you, precious mortal. I never intended for you to know this, to be burdened with the knowledge of my affections, but seeing as I cannot unring this bell, I only wish for you to know that I hold you under no obligation to say anything. All I ask is for to not detest me for my--"

"Are you sure you don't want me to say anything?" you choked out, your heart at your throat from attempting to come to terms with this reality. That these words were actually coming from the god you'd silently pledged your heart to so long ago. That not only did he feel the same, but he was on the exact same page that you were on, believing that the love was unrequited.

"I have long ago resigned to the certainty that my affections for you are--"

"Requited," you breathed, raising shaking hands to rest on his chest, tears welling in your eyes as you felt his erratic heartbeat against your palm. "Don't you dare even try to unring this bell because I don't detest you, Mischief." You braced yourself on his shoulders, rising to the tips of your toes to press a soft, fleeting kiss to his lips. "I love you, too." 

You felt your feet leave the ground as his arm tightened around you and lifted you up, bringing your faces level to one another, his fingers weaving through your hair in a firm yet gentle hold. "Are you sure, darling? You wish to be mine?" 

"Yes!" you blurted out, your face breaking out into a grin that instantly made your cheeks ache. You could feel the tension that flooded you just moments ago slowly melting away at the sight of him mirroring your joy over the turn of events. Any words you wished to say fell silent with a small squeak at the back of your throat when he leaned in again and captured your lips in a more heated kiss, sighing into each others mouths as he lifted you away from the wall, causing you to wrap your legs around his waist. 

When Loki held you up by one arm, opening his apartment door with the other and proceeding to walk back out into the hallway, you let out a little squeak against his lips. "Where--"

"You'll see, my love," he said with a chuckle, pressing one more kiss to your lips before shifting his hold on you, swinging your whole body until he carried you bridal style. "I believe I owe someone a small debt of gratitude for telling you what I had insisted I keep to myself for fear of your abhorrence." 

He leaned down and touched his forehead to yours, lightly rubbing the tips of your noses together and making you giggle at the tender gesture. "I could never--"

"I told you he smiles with his heart!" Morgan's little voice pierced the silence of the hall. "And now you do, too, Princess Auntie Y/N!" 

A/N: For some reason this has been microwaving in my head for weeks before I even began writing it, so now y'all have it, too 👀🫡

‘everything’ taglist: @simplyholl @loopsisloops @unlucky-number-13 @imalovernotahater @coldnique @loz-3 @huntress-artemiss @salempoe @vickie5446 @athalialaufeyson @lokiprompts @sarahscribbles @kats72 @kikster606 @evelyn-kingsley @lokixryss @thomase1 @mischief2sarawr @peaches1958 @lovingchoices14 @lunarnights95 @goblingirlsarah @iamlokisgloriouspurpose @creationsbyme @maple-seed @mjsthrillernp @ladyofthestayingpower @mygfloki @sititran @glitterylokislut @ozymdias @fictive-sl0th @lovelysizzlingbluebird @lokidbadguy @mochie85 @silverfire475 @joyful-enchantress @dangertoozmanykids101 @elizabethmidnight2017 @holdmytesseract @lokidokieokie @lunarnights95 @superficialdomina @anukulee

[chiefdirector]

I'm feeling kinda sappy.

Could I ask for a story where Gibbs gets married to the reader and she moves into his house. Gibbs is away on a case and maybe she starts going through boxes in the basement and digs up pictures of his mom, dad, Kelly and Shannon. She hangs up a bunch of their pictures on a wall. Gibbs comes home sees it. He stares at it and is very quiet. The reader is nervous but then Gibbs tells her it's perfect and no one he's ever been married to wanted to honor them like this.

we keep this love in a photograph... | Jethro Gibbs | NCIS

I know it isn't exactly how you asked, but i took a few liberties, hope you don't mind

-

(Y/N) knew she shouldn't have been snooping around, it could break the trust that she worked so hard to earn, but she couldn't resist. Jethro had recently asked her to move in with him, a big step considering the nature of their relationship. They had to work together and trust that their lives would be safe in the other's hands, but living together meant not only trusting your life with someone, but opening it up to them too.

She knew that Jethro had a past filled with too much sorrow for one man to carry alone. He had tried to bury it in failed marriage after failed marriage, eventually resigning himself to the bachelor lifestyle. He had tried to continue his ways when he met her, but she was something new, something unexpected.

Vance had given (Y/N) the day off to move her stuff in and get settled fully. She had spent countless nights and weeks here with her lover but had never really left anything here except a toothbrush and a spare set of clothes. She never really needed anything more. It was easy enough to part ways with most of her belongings, sofas and dinings chairs never meant all to much anyways. Managing to fit most of her stuff her a pick-up truck, she had set off to her new home.

It was only when she opened the old hallway cupboard to store her now empty suitcases did she find the box. It wasn't labeled, but the creases and fingermarks on the cardboard showed that it had been opened and shut rigorously over the years. The rest of Jethro house was meticulously organised, there wasn't anything that didnt have its own place. Nothing was stored where it wasn't meant to. Especially old boxes.

Slowly, she opened the box and peered inside, being greeted by several picture frames. Most of them were empty, or cracked. There was no reason to keep any of them. Still she flicked through the frames. Lifting the last, she made eye contact with a young redhead holding a small infant. Even though (Y/N) didn't recognise the faces, she knew who they belonged to; Shannon and Kelly.

Quickly, she put the box back, but left the final frame out. She placed it on the sofa before trekking down to the basement, her mind focussed on one thing only.

----

Jethro got home hours after the sunset.

The house was quiet and still, he had expected as much. After toeing off his shoes, made his was through the house, intending to set the coffee maker ready for the morning. One less thing to think about in the far too early hours of the day. He stopped before he made it to the kitchen.

Jethro wasn't a man that hesitated, but the sight of his smiling wife and daughter handing on the wall made him freeze. Her bright eyes and red hair was the last thing he had expected to see, but after the day he had, he couldn't be more thankful.

He took a moment, turning to his left to find (Y/N) laying on the couch, nails and hammer strewn messily on the coffee table. Her engagement ring shone in the moonlight. Gently, he shook her shoulder to wake her.

(Y/N) hummed tiredly. "You're home?"

"Thank you." Jethro said, ignoring her question.

She shot up at the memory of what she had done. Making eye contact with him, then the photograph. "You don't mind. I didn't overstep, did I?"

"Not at all." Jethro sat next to her, wrapping his arm around her shoulder to pull her onto his chest. "Not at all."

Tags:

@innercreationflower

[ghostchems]

bad idea right? - raphael x f!tav (part three)

you set foot into raphael's kingdom without a chaperone to retrieve the hammer he's promised you.

author's note: read part one/two. sorry for taking so long with the next installment. 4.2k words! there's lots in here. haarlep makes an appearance (of course). cunnilingus, face sitting, blowjob, rough sex, overstimulation. ao3 link.

You only caught a glimpse of the House of Hope when Raphael whisked you away during your first meeting but now you’ve nearly been through it top bottom. Yes, he told you to come here and go straight to the boudoir to retrieve the Orphic Hammer but were you really going to give up the opportunity to go through all his stuff? Of course not.

His house floats in the desolate hellscape of Avernus, yet he has no allegiance to Zariel as far as you’re aware. It’s moody and dramatic, two key adjectives for Raphael himself. The archive is overflowing with infernal knowledge, bookshelves from floor to ceiling and his prized possessions on display as if it’s a museum. The dining room is just as grand as you remembered it but with a hint of unease due to the rotting food. He knew he was having company - shouldn’t he have at least cleaned up? You attention is pulled from statues of devils to portraits of himself to the grapes and wine and hookahs seemingly strategically left throughout the house. You fine yourself drawn to the many balconies that oversees the green souls keeping the house afloat. You wonder what would happen if you fell. Will your soul be dammed? Will your bones turn to ash? Will you shed your human body and be stripped down to the delicious soul you are?

You may have learned more about Raphael in the last half hour than all of your other meetings combined. Much to your companions ire, you’ve stopped to speak to every single debtor. They’re broken. Broken souls worn down to the very essence of their being, cursed to toil away in eternity in Raphael’s House of Hope. Something about it… tickles you. He’s been nothing more than “helpful” since you’ve met him, sure the threats have always been there, but seeing what he is actually capable of with your own two eyes makes you remember what he is. A devil. A cambion, specifically. He could turn you inside out with the snap of his finger. But he doesn’t. He’s touched you instead, slithered his way between your legs just as the tadpole has wormed into your brain. Does he see you as a formidable ally? Or another plaything to break down? You wonder if Raphael has already started on you — if this is apart of your deal, scribbled in infernal (a language you can’t read) on your contract.

The thought makes you shiver. It makes you want him all over again. Even if he hasn’t started trying to wear you down… you hope he’ll try.

Speaking of Hope. You didn’t know what to expect when he gave you the order to steer clear but it certainly wasn’t a dwarven cleric being held captive in his basement. She accosted you the moment you set foot into her home, begging you to help her. You smiled and told her you would, the hero that you are. It was a lie, of course. She is desperate and broken but she still clings to her namesake. You can understand why Raphael would keep her — she rebukes his every advance and won’t give up her optimism. She believes she can be saved, and maybe she’s right but your hands are tied. Still, the thought of him having her here to continue to torture when he could be focusing that energy on you. You decide to at least bring it up to him the next time you see him, which has yet to be “scheduled”. Part of you wants him to be waiting for you in the boudoir, hammer and a glass of wine in hand.

“For all the sense of dread and horror seeping through this place I really feel quite at home.” Astarion chirps, tearing you away from your thoughts in an effort to get you back to the task at hand. He’s far more understanding than the others and at this point you’re not sure what you would do without him. You offer him a small smile and start to lead your merry group of companions to the boudoir. A crowd, certainly. But this should be easy — pop in, take the hammer which is the salvation for all of Faerūn and then have a pint at Elfsong (and maybe a visit from a certain devil later that evening).

The boudoir is expansive and you can see why it is held in such high esteem by the debtors. There’s a large, steaming bath surrounded by more grapes and wine. You fight off the urge to dip a toe in. There are several desks with journals, quills, books all stacked on top and large canvas paintings of hellish scenes and dark portraits. If these walls could talk…

You see sparks out of the corner of your eye, your head twisting to see an empty space where you companions once stood behind you. A trap. This is a trap. Your chest tightens and you swear to yourself, you should have known something wasn’t right. Anger boils within you and a readiness rises to swing your blade at the next living, breathing thing that comes into your eye line. You keep your hand firm on the handle of your sword and move deeper into the spacious room. Are you a fool to have fallen for Raphael’s trickery? Or is he really that good? Even in the face of potential betrayal,

“Raphael?!” You are bewildered, mouth agape and eyebrows furrowed. The devil gives a delighted laugh as he slinks to his knees, his wings stretching out behind him. You blink a few times, overwhelmed just by the sight of him — displayed in all his glory in a leather harness, even though you are sure this is some sort of trick. The second he opened his mouth, you knew. You suck in a deep breath, steeling yourself to focus.

“No, no, love… has he not told you about me?” Haarlep bares his fangs in a sinister smile, creeping closer to you at the edge of the bed. His tail slithers back and forth behind him, dangerous yet playful. You open your mouth to respond but he cuts you off — “I’ve heard quite a bit about you, mouse.” Warmth blossoms in your chest. He talks about you? Haarlep swings his legs over the edge of the bed and lifts himself to his feet, his body becoming the only thing you could possibly focus on. He lingers in front of you and eyes you as if you are a delicious meal, his tongue wetting his lips and a low hum rumbling from his chest. “A pretty little toy, aren’t you?”

“I… no, he hasn’t told me about you.” Confusion. Utter confusion. And, is it… is it hot in here? You’re sweating — you can feel it on your brow. “I’m here for the hammer.” Back to business. “We made a deal and he said it would be here.” Your voice strains, a mix of frustration and being so completely lost in the situation.

“A shame.” Haarlep purrs and leans in closer, leering over you with a sharp smile. “I am not too surprised though — how does one bring up having their own personal incubus who takes their form in casual conversation?” A claw runs along your jaw, the tip of his nail giving you goosebumps. From your adventure in Raphael’s house, it was easy to come to the conclusion that he has a plethora of kinks but this — this is something else. “You’re here for the hammer, that is correct, my dear, but you are also here to play.” His tail starts to slink up your leg and warmth starts to pool in your core.

“B-but Raphael —”

“You have his permission, mouse. And, fun fact about me using Raphael’s likeness — he’ll be able to feel everything we do. He’s expecting it, in fact, and I’m sure he’s looking forward to it.” Haarlep’s claw closes around your chin and forces you to gaze into his familiar burning eyes. Black holes. You feel their pull. “Perhaps he is conducting business right now — could you imagine? Him trying to make a deal while being able to taste you on his lips?” A jolt of arousal rushes through you, bringing a blush to your cheeks. Haarlep’s lips twitch into a devilish grin as you fall right into his grasp. The image he’s painted for you is beyond tempting; having Raphael be helpless to your touch while he’s off doing his devilish duties, desperate to conceal his erection. And, well, you have his permission, don’t you?

Haarlep lets go of your chin and swishes by you, his warm bicep brushing your shoulder and his tail flicking against your ankle. Your eyes trail after him, catching a glimpse of his toned back and his wing joints, veins bulging from the taut skin. You wonder if Raphael’s looks the same. It dawns on you that you haven’t seen much of his skin, in fact, you haven’t even seen his cock yet despite him spilling his seed inside you. You swallow thickly and take a step back, the backs of your knees hitting the foot of the bed.

“Cat got your tongue, mouse?” Haarlep moves in closer to you, the heat radiating off his body making your chest flush.

“No.” You answer sharply before slowly sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning back on your palms and spreading your legs wide. His eyes rake over your figure, tilting his head to get a better look at you. You say nothing but Haarlep understands and sinks to his knees in front of you with his head settling at eye level. A hand rests on his chest, coarse hairs underneath your fingertips as you start to wander lower. Haarlep’s arms curl around your back, the tip of his nose just about touching yours as his body makes your legs spread even more. The heat between you is palpable and only continues to grow while you start to stroke at the ridges along his hips. It’s unusual for Haarlep to get this sort of attention, from both guests of the House and Raphael himself.

“You do not deserve to call such a man ‘Master’.” He can’t help it, locking eyes with yours. His words sting but the feeling is quickly washed away by his tongue slipping into your mouth. The breath leaves your lungs, sinking into the hellfire that is Haarlep. Nothing matters but how he tastes you in a deep kiss, his claws pricking at delicate skin beneath your sleeves. You top is gone in a matter of seconds and whether your helped him take it off of you or it disappeared with magic is beyond your at this point. All you want to do is feel. He breaks the kiss and brushes his lips along your jaw, his teeth nipping right where it meets your earlobe. You pull him closer by his harness until he is flush against you. Haarlep trails kisses further down your neck and your collarbone, sucking and biting enough to draw gasps and hums from you. He gently guides you to lay down on your back, his entire body enveloping you until he starts to move his mouth lower and lower.

Each kiss is like an explosion of sensations along your skin, buzzing and burning yet feeling so deliciously blissed out. You’re melting into the mattress, melting into him, each touch of his taking more and more of you. He leaves a trail of goosebumps in his wake, his mouth then closing around your nipple. His tongue flutters around your hardened peak, making you tip your head back as you give a breathy moan. His hands are somehow everywhere all at once; Fingers feather through his hair and then settle at the base of his horns while he continues his descent. You feel him mouth around your navel with light scrapes of his teeth, his hands slinking down to tug at your pants. He takes his time, pulling them down inch by inch, lavishing kisses across your hip bones. You wriggle out of your pants, growing impatient but not wanting to order him.

Haarlep tongue lazily traces your clit and a ragged gasp escapes your lips, a jolt of pleasure rocketing through you. He laps at your slick folds, groaning at the taste of you and presses his face into you, his nose settling just at your clit. Your grip on his hair tightens and you can’t stop yourself from giving it a sharp tug as you squirm and huff. His claws curl around your thighs, the tips of them digging into the tender flesh of your inner thighs. You’re seeing stars, his tongue pressing into you so deeply while he grunts and laps at your juices. Your back arches off the mattress, your mouth hanging open and spilling hoarse moans. It’s devastatingly sensuous, your temperature rising to a comfortable simmer as your mind starts to clear. This could be forever, couldn’t it? You could stay here with Haarlep’s head between your thighs, devouring you until nothing else matters.

Your hands close around two of his horns and your hips start to roll, tugging him with each of your fluid movements. He growls into your cunt, making your thigh and core muscles tense, a deep groan falling from your lips. You’re so far gone yet so close to the edge, his tongue laving at your core as his claws dig even dipper into your thighs. The fire in your abdomen is raging, overwhelming you almost to the point of no return with soft moans turning to deep whines. You hear a rumbling groan, one too deep to be Haarlep’s, just as your dam bursts. Your eyes flutter open and you see him — Raphael — in cambion form with his navy blue doublet and a smug expression on his face. A broken sob heaves from your chest, Haarlep savoring the taste of your cum.

“Enjoying the amenities, are we?” Oh, he sounds so pleased with himself. If you had any energy you would mouth off but all you’re able to muster is a dramatic eye roll. Raphael slinks out of view, the bed dipping behind your from his weight. He had planned for this, the bastard. Your mouth is still slack and your heart is still pounding, trying to come down from an impossible high when Haarlep grips you by the hips and flips you over, your chin nearly landing in Raphael’s lap. He grabs you, his claw nearly clasped around your entire head and lifts you so that you’re looking up at him, though he makes sure you’re able to get a nice view of how hard he is through his trousers. “You taste sweet, little mouse. It’s only fair that you taste me after how wound up you’ve got me. Allow me to assist in getting you started.” His voice is dangerously low, glee in his fiery eyes as he unlaces his trousers, freeing his leaking cock**.**

It renders you speechless, larger than any cock you’ve seen before and it’s ribbed, a pearl of pre-cum already collecting at the top. Your jaw drops and Raphael takes this as an opportunity, forcing your mouth around him and guides you down his length. You groan as soon as you taste him, his cock heavy on your tongue as you run it along the underside, feeling every bulging vein. He’s so large that you drool and gag once he hits the back of your throat, swallowing and trying to breath comfortably. Haarlep is lurking behind you but you’re too focused at the task at hand to notice — until it’s too late. He positions his head between your legs, this time underneath you, his horns flush with your stomach, hands digging into your ass as his tongue savors your folds.

A moan of surprise rumbles up your throat and your head wrenches backward. Raphael’s grip on your head tightens and forces you back down his length with a violent tug. You’re eyes are watering and you struggle to breathe with his pulsing cock shoved down your throat while Haarlep toys with your clit, pinching it between his fangs and flicking his pointed tongue. Raphael bucks his hips into your mouth, fucking your face as he growls with need. You whimper around him, your vision blurring further from the tears in your eyes and the building tension in your core. You feel helpless, used. It’s the first time with Raphael you’ve felt you didn’t have the upper hand, or at least a cool head. The devils have reduced you to a mewling mess, a toy for them to play with. You mindlessly grind you hips against Haarlep’s face and he groans into you, his nose pressing firmly into your clit. A choked sob falls from your lips, your fingers digging into the sheets and your skin buzzing.

“Your lips are so pretty around my cock, mouse.” Raphael croons and tilts your head up so he can see you. Your cheeks are flushed and streaked in tears, your lips swollen and eyes half-lidded. He would paint you if he wasn’t so preoccupied by that mouth of yours. Hmm, perhaps he could paint your face. His claws dig into the sides of your head as he pulls you off of his cock, his other hand giving himself a few strong pumps before spilling his seed on your face. You’re panting, gasping for air as you sink forward, your cheek landing on the soft sheets. Raphael lifts himself off the bed but you’re too tired to lift your head to watch him, instead focusing on steadying your breath.

“You’ve had your fill.” He sneers and pulls Haarlep out from underneath you who gives a frustrated snarl. There’s some bickering but you’re too overstimulated to listen. After a moment Raphael’s claws settle on your waist with a low hum. He says nothing as he drags his cock along your dripping folds and you give a sharp whine, scrambling to adjust yourself. Your hips press back into him, sinking himself deep inside you with a calculated thrust. Primal lust explodes and courses through your body as you give a broken sob, your legs trembling and your core tensing while you ease his size. One large claw rests on the side of your head, nearly covering your eyes with his long fingers, and he clamps down on you, your face smushed against the mattress. His hips buck wildly against your ass, his pace brutal and punishing but you are basking in it, pushing back into each of his thrusts.

You feel his devilish strength, each roll of his hips sending you forward, your face buried in the covers as you cry and whine in twisted pleasure. Raphael has you laid bare. You’re nothing but a hole to him right now, a means to get him off just as he uses Haarlep. But there’s something about it that sends shivers down your spine: the possessiveness of it all. His claw is splayed out over your head, his other one digging harshly into your hip, slicing your flesh and making you bleed. The only thing on his mind is having you, having you in his true form, exerting his strength over you until you’re a quivering mess. He wants to fill you. Raphael hikes your ass up even higher and fucks into you, the new angle making your toes curl. You moan his name and he gives a pleased purr, driving into you quicker and harder.

You body feels as though it splits apart, overcome with your white hot climax. He rest his entire body weight on you now, crushing you beneath him as he buries himself deep inside you, over and over. His hot breath fills your ear, sharp and strained. You’re shivering, tears staining the sheets. Raphael utters one last hiss, teeth grazing your ear as he spills himself inside you, his hips slowing with each pulse of his cock. He’s on top of you until he’s spent, his nose nuzzling into your hair.

You can’t feel your limbs. Your body is trembling, your voice hoarse in your throat as you manage a weak protest. Raphael has you on your back in the blink of an eye, his tail slithering up your hips while he slots himself between your legs, using his knees to spread them further. His board is hard against yours, his clothes having disappeared. Your breath catches in his throat at the pressure of the top of his hard cock against your entrance. Surely you couldn’t take any more of this? You feel like you are about to melt away physically and mentally, your body limp and your brain fogged from the intense overstimulation. Raphael’s massive claws close around both your wrists, pinning them to the bed as his forearms cage you beneath him. The edge in his fiery eyes has softened and his nose drifts along your cheek, taking a deep inhale of your scent.

“A delicate little thing, aren’t you, sweetling?” He growls into your ear, his mouth hot and his sharp teeth pricking your skin. You open your mouth to answer but Raphael shifts his hips forward, the head of his ridged cock easily slipping inside you, the words getting caught in your throat. He hums against your ear and then drags his sharp tongue down the side of your neck. Your eyes roll back, squeezing them shut as he gives a languid thrust and pushes in to the hilt, a loud gasp forcing its way up your throat. Arms slip around his broad shoulders, body arching into his and you feel yourself start to disappear. Raphael lifts his head and hovers his mouth above yours. A groan vibrates up his chest to his throat, his lips parted as he continues at a lazy pace. He can’t get enough of your reactions, your cheeks flushed a delicious shade of pink, your lips swollen from how he fucked your face earlier and those sweet, breathless sounds that are spilling from them.

This is a stark contrast from how he had just taken you, his hips circling in slow, sensual movements that has your core twisting in arousal despite your exhaustion. His own deep moans send current after current through you, reigniting your passion and need for him. You bring your hips up to meet his with each thrust and he bares his teeth as your writhing grows more fluid. Raphael releases your wrists so that he can drag one of his sharp claws down your collarbone and along your side, leaving scratch marks. You move your hand to his hair and you realize this is the first time he’s been comfortably within grasp. Self control out the window, you touch his pointed and then bravely run your fingertips over his horns. Despite looking rugged and razor-sharp they’re smooth beneath your fingers. You wrap your hand around one of them and give it a gentle tug.

“Mouse.” The word is strained, sounding like a warning or potentially a challenge. You take the gamble and pull on his horn again. Raphael shudders, an uncontrolled moan spilling from his lips. His mouth drops open, lips curled into a blissful smile. You hum in response, feeling a deep flush in your chest from his reaction. His eyes sharpen as the feeling passes, slowing his thrusts and silence falling between you. Your breath catches in your throat, tension in your chest, your mind hurdling a million miles an hour suddenly because you feel like you’re in trouble. Raphael slowly moves his claw to curl underneath your chin, eyes locking with his. He groans, his entire body rumbling against you and leans in, capturing your lips. It’s shockingly gentle, passionate that only increases with his need to consume you. His hips jerk, tail wrapping tightly around your leg only to peel you further apart as he picks up his thrusts again. Your tongue runs along his sharp fangs and he purrs into your mouth, biting down on your tongue and lip playfully.

You’re all too aware of the way he throbs inside you, his ridges massaging your walls in a way that makes you see stars. Raphael’s growling grows deeper, vibrating through him as his pace starts to grow ragged, frantic and out of time. He gives a strangled hiss into your mouth, his body shuddering while he empties himself inside you. You’re already so full that it seeps down the insides of your thighs. Raphael breaks the kiss and presses his nose to your flushed cheek, catching his breath.

“I won’t stop. Not ever. Not until I own you completely.” A hot whisper of the clearest words he’s ever spoken to you. You sink further into the mattress, melting away as he rises over you, his red wings ruffling behind him. His obsession with you is written all over his face, his eyes taking in every part of your exhausted body, plotting more ways to keep you in his bed. He cracks his neck and his expression hardens in an effort to get back to the business at hand, though you feel one of his hands stroke at your arm.

“Rest now, mouse.”

Comfortable darkness envelopes you.

[ghosts-bandwagon]

Hello! I would like to leave a request for ghost and alejandro (I don't know if you write for him, if you don't, then leave the request with ghost only). maybe where if s/o is a bookworm, she loves to read, every time that she can, she buys books and only spends her money on them. Until they (ghost/alejandro) pick up out of curiosity the book s/o was reading and falls into a smut/hot chapter and now they tease her about it and make fun every time she buys a new book.

Or something like that, you know. Thank you.

I will gladly write for Alejandro! This kind of took on a mind of its own, I hope you like it!

Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley:

You always had your nose deep in a book for as long as he’s known you. Whenever there’s down time and you’ve accomplished all your tasks, you’re in your room, reclined on your bed, hot tea streaming on your night stand, and a small bowl of your favorite fruit. Simon had to commend your focus, it was downright impressive.

He was a man who valued his privacy, so naturally he’d respect yours. Still he couldn’t help the curiosity that tugged at the back of his mind, what could possibly be so interesting?

One day while you were reading on the couch, you were so comfortable and wound up dozing off. Your book was held loosely in your hand and Simon couldn’t help but be endeared at the sight, and then the silence broke when your book slipped off your lap and onto the ground. He knew how delicately you treated your books and he’d hate to see you get upset over bent pages, so he leaned down and picked it up off the floor.

Unfortunately, Simon is cursed with the ability to read things quickly. And as he slid your bookmark into place, he was met with paragraphs full of descriptive and erotic literature. He didn’t mean to read it, he really didn’t, but now that he saw the books contents, it all seemed to click. It made sense why you’d never read around others, but in the comfort of your room or the comfort of your shared home. He couldn’t blame you though, the words seemed to stir something in him as well. Still, he slipped the bookmark into place and set the book on the small table beside you.

The next time you went to the bookstore together, he decided to have a little fun himself. Simon tracked you down in the fiction section and stood behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his head on yours.

“Struggling to find something?”

“Sort of, nothing’s really standing out to me.” You leaned back against him as you reached out and grabbed another book,

“Not titillating enough for you?”

The little shit knows.

“What do you mean?” You feign ignorance, knowing full well he can feel your heart hammering in your chest,

“Just wondering if it’s interesting enough for you.” His hands have started wandering, smoothing down the curves of your waist, squeezing the push of your thighs,

“Just spit it out, Simon. I’m not an idiot.” Your face started running hot as his lips ventured the column of your neck, nipping the skin of your jaw, kissing along the shell of your ear,

“Just sayin’ you might have developed a preference for a reenactment, pet.”

Alejandro Vargas:

He loved seeing you read, it brought him so much peace to watch you. Coming home from the hectic chaos that is dealing with the cartels was made significantly more soothing when he saw you in the kitchen, making dinner with one hand and holding your book in the other

He’d always go with you to the store to get more books, he loves going with you. He loves seeing how meticulous and thorough you are when you’re picking your books, you’re so focused, it’s impressive. He honestly wished his men had a quarter of that focus you possessed, god only knows what they could accomplish. He’d always tease you about it, and you’d playfully shove him with a deep blush on your cheeks.

One day, you had to step away from your book to take a phone call, so you set it face down and walked away to take it. Alejandro came into the dining room and saw the overturned book and heard your voice carry down the hall. Being the chismoso that he is, he took the opportunity to take a peek at what you’ve been reading. He felt the heat rush to his cheeks, his ears, and everywhere else. Dios mío, is this really what you’re always reading? That would explain why you tuck the book away when you fall asleep. He was so enthralled by what he was reading that he didn’t hear you hang up and come back in, until he saw you in the corner of his eye,

“Mi vida, is this what you read constantly?” He asked with a smirk on his lips, he sees you start backing away, your face losing and gaining so much color. He set the book down and walked over to you, you were rooted in place, stuttering and stammering. His hands snaked around your waist, his hips pressing against yours, he can feel your heart thundering in your chest, and god he could swallow you whole. He rested his forehead against yours, lips molding against yours, tugging your bottom lip between his teeth,

“Corazón, I’d be happy to recreate those scenes if you want to.”

[readychilledwine]

I am SO sorry if I've requested this already, I genuinely can't remember! If I did, my apologies. But I saw that one of your favorite SJM men is Sam. Could you write some headcanons for being in a relationship with him? Pretending he lived of course. And also how he would be valuable to the plot of TOG all together? Thanks!

What Dating Sam Would Be Like

Warnings - contains both SFW and NSFW headcanons, set in a world where Sam lives ♥️

✨️Sfw✨️

Dating Sam is honestly hard at first. You were living up to a bar Aelin set, regardless of him knowing who she actually was. And that bar was high.

It caused a few fights at first, especially with him working for her, but those fights quickly became few and far between when you two realized how deeply you actually cared for each other.

Sam, despite his... career... is a gentle lover. He is soft-spoken with you at all times, even in anger. He could not imagine ever raising his voice to you.

Sam brings you flowers 2 to 3 times a week. Your dining table, vanity, and office always have flowers brightening their surfaces.

Forehead kisses. All the forehead kisses. In the morning, in passing, at lunch, at dinner, before bed. It's Sam's favorite form of affection. Something so innocent, but with heavy meaning to him.

He's also constantly holding your hands. Anything to feel close to you. To know you are there and safe.

Sam dedicates his nights to you. He refuses any work from Aelin and Rowan, which requires him to be gone overnight.

All of this isn't to say Sam won't hunt someone down and kill for you. His gentleness is yours and yours alone, so if someone hurts you, let's just say they are not normally seen again.

✨️Nsfw✨️

Sam is vanilla in bed. But that does not mean he is boring.

He wants to make love to you, and he will cherish sex with you.

He doesn't enjoy quickies with you. It prevents him from taking his time.

Sam Cortland eats out. Constantly. He'd drown between your thighs if you let him.

Sam is into a gentle form of domination. He's happy to let you ride or be in any position, but even when you believe you're in charge, Sam is.

"Look at you. That's my girl, riding my cock like queen she is."

Sam doesn't want to hurt you to dominate you. He doesn't feel the need to spank or degrade you. He doesn't feel the need to just jack hammer into you.

Even during sex he is praising you, complimenting you, making sure you feel safe and loved.

Sam is open to trying *some* "kinkier" things. He'll put his hand on your throat, bite you, mark you up if you ask. He draws the line at anything that could harm you or scar you, though.

He hates degrading you. Hates it. Will not even tolerate the idea of it. You are his life, his woman, his love. Nothing will insult you. Even him.

Aftercare with Sam melts your heart. He carries you to the tub and bathes you as he whispers sweet words into your skin.

He brushes your hair out, oiling the ends and massaging your scalp. He will pick your softest pajamas and massage your skincare into your face.

If you'd ask, he'd lotion you up, too. Shamelessly, actually. Anything that allows him to touch your skin longer.

Sam always ends aftercare with cuddles. He loves holding you tight against him.

In summary, sex and aftercare are all about intimacy for Sam. Not domination.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Rue the Day

Bones in the Ocean Masterlist

CW: Creepy whumper, blood, restraints, magical whump, nonhuman whumpee, multiple whumpees, defiant whumpee, threats of death

“The rabbit is excellent tonight, wouldn’t you agree?” 

Guilford Wentworth sipped from his wine glass. When Kira didn’t answer right away, he smiled, and his teeth seemed stained slightly red. Kira fought back the way her stomach flipped and bile seemed to rise in her throat, fighting to find its way out. 

She had to stay calm. 

“Miss Losna?” Wentworth’s smile widened, giving the lie to the carefully practiced false concern in his voice. “Are you quite all right?”

Kira cleared her throat, blinking rapidly and forcing herself to sip from the wine as well. She kept her eyes on Wentworth, because if she looked at the display behind him, she may not be able to hold the scream back any longer.

There as a whimper, half-suppressed, and Kira set her jaw and told herself to ignore it.

“I am fine,” She managed, and her voice was calm where her heart beat with frantic, frightened wings within her chest. “Rabbit is not my-... it is not a meat I often dine on, is all. The taste is… new to me.”

“Oh? My apologies. I would have chosen a different entree, but I had heard you come from… well, shall we say humble beginnings, and I thought rabbit may be familiar to you.”

His mockery strengthened her nerves. Kira stabbed a bite of rabbit viciously, trying not to think about how the meat had been coated in a bright red berry sauce that tasted too dark and rich. She chewed, and tried not to taste copper.

Because of course there was no copper.

There couldn’t be.

It was all in her mind, all because of-

“I was not raised on rabbit, Lord Wentworth,” She said coldly, and forced her eyes down to the pale ivory ceramic of her plate, painted with a beautifully oceanic blue. Images of mermaids and sea serpents cavorting in stylized waves, blocked in some spots by the rabbit. Just to the edge of the plate, she saw a handful of painted sirens, looking at the other creatures with… melancholy, perhaps.

The whimper came again. 

Kira’s teeth worked the rabbit to nearly nothing before she swallowed. There was something to that soft sound of pain that struck her like a hammer to a gong, her despair ringing in the air so loudly she could nearly hear it. 

“It is not the siren’s fault that your son spoke up,” She managed to say, if only so she could speak over the way the siren’s careful, determined silence had begun to break against the waves of pain. “You shouldn’t punish him for it.”

“So I should end our dinner early and go punish Ford in person?” Wentworth asked, unbothered by the scene behind him, by the sounds the siren could no longer hold back. “You have quite the cold soul, Miss Losna.” His smile widened. “Perhaps I chose you better than I realized.”

“I do not think you should do anything to your son but leave him alone," Kira bit back. "And you did not choose me." Her fork dropped with a clattering against the plate. “I answered an advertisement. You had no idea who I was before I walked up your front steps.”

“True.” Guilford Wentworth tipped his head forward in acknowledgement. "You answered my advertisement for a job."

“I wish to the gods I hadn’t.”

Guilford Wentworth laughed, a harsh, barking sound that nearly made Kira flinch. Somehow, though, she held steady. “I should be honest with you, Miss Losna. I’m not entirely convinced there are any gods at all.”

Kira sat back. Took another drink of wine, and let the room spin a little around her. It loosened her tongue and stiffened her spine, but it also set her cheeks aflame and left her unsteady. Strong, but dizzy, as if spun endlessly in a dance. “That’s blasphemy.”

“It is.” Wentworth nodded, picking up a heavy red fruit and biting into it, red juice on his chin, dripping onto his plate. Kira’s stomach threatened once again to heave itself empty, and she had to grip onto the edges of the table until they nearly cut into her palms to settle the twisting, flipping sensation. “And yet… well, Miss Losna. If there were gods, then you have to assume one of them would have noticed me, hm? I have one of their own. I live longer than men were meant to live. I haven’t aged a day since my siren was bound to me. They are supposedly a gods’ children, aren’t they?”

Kira was silent, then. 

If he wanted to give a speech, let him. She would simply try to get through this meal, and try equally not to be furious with Guilford’s son Ford, whose dismissal from the table had left her alone with this monster masquerading as man.

From the window, the siren’s soft sounds of pain lengthened into a soft wail. Even that, Kira thought with a shiver, sounded like music.

Against her will, she looked at him.

The siren was strung up like a tormented saint, arms up over his head wrapped in rough sailor’s rope that scratched up his skin and smeared it red. His toes barely danced on the floor, barely able to hold even a little of his weight. To stand normally, he had to let his arms hold all his weight, and it tore the ropes in more deeply, bit by bit. Staying on his tiptoes stretched his leg muscles to what must have been screaming agony. 

He was framed by the yellowing evening light coming through the window, nearly making him a silhouette, a suggestion of endless darkness ringed in awful light.

Kira’s eyes burned with what she resolutely denied could be tears as she saw him twisting his wrists a little, blood running in a rivulet down one arm now. The muscle in his arm twitched as the trail worked down to the crook of his elbow, heading towards his shoulder.

He was naked now, the markings that kept him in bondage to Wentworth’s wicked demands on full display. Kia’s heart beat faster than the rabbit whose remains were on her plate had ever been able to run.

Wentworth had given the order in between inane commentary about weather and what grew in the garden’s greenhouses. It had been tossed out like an aside, as if it didn’t matter at all. Areyto had - staring at Kira all the while - begun to tie himself up. He had climbed up himself into position, moved each arm and leg as Wentworth ordered. The butler Babbage, his eyes clouded and cheerfully convinced he was doing something with curtains, had finished stringing him up. 

Once the weight had become to much, Areyto’s eyes had gone blank and empty. He had wiped himself from his own body with the pain.

Or… perhaps only by the work it took to survive it.

He had no ability to die.

Not unless Guilford Wentworth allowed him to.

Servants bustled around - Nadette and Babbage cheerfully refilled empty cups and whisked away each course and brought the next as though they saw nothing. Nadette had come back puzzled as to what she had even been doing upstairs when she was meant to be attending Kira at dinner, and Kira could only pray to gods that may or may not be real that the clarity in her had lasted long enough to find Kira a way out.

They didn’t see the siren for what he was, or even seem to hear his crying.

Kira did.

And she hated Ford, in the moment, for having been here but then getting himself dismissed so she had to be here alone.

“They are,” Kira said, voice trembling a little. “The moon goddess made the ocean’s creatures, sirens, the mer people, the-”

“And yet,” Wentworth interrupted, too committed to his monologue to allow her to cut him off before he was done. Kira stared at Areyto, watching salt tears running down his cheeks, even though his face was utterly blank. “And yet. Look at him, Miss Losna. Look. Does his goddess save him now?”

Kira swallowed, but her throat felt nearly closed and it took far too much effort to manage. “No,” She whispered. “No. His goddess does not save him.”

Lord Wentworth’s fork scraped in dissonance along his plate, dragging Kira’s gaze back to him. “Clearly she doesn’t,” He said, with confidence. “A century and a half, give or take a dozen years here and there, and my siren remains mine. And he will remain mine. There is no goddess of the moon and waters, Miss Losna. There is no god of the land, no mountain deities to worship, no demons hiding in the Maitsa. There is nothing but people, and two kinds of people at that.”

Kira tried to tear her eyes from the siren’s suffering, but all she could make herself look at was the bottom of her emptied wineglass. There wasn’t enough wine in the world to make this bearable.

“The first sort of person goes on living the life prescribed. Does all the right things, says the right words, gets married and bears a few children and then dies. It’s all for nothing. It means nothing. The second sort of person is far more rare.”

Guilford Wentworth stood, and Kira’s breath caught as he picked up the sharpened blade of the knife that had been beside his plate. He turned away from her, walking over to the siren. Kira should have stood, then - stood and run - but she felt frozen. 

“The second sort of person,” Guilford said, voice lower now, “Is one who controls his own fate. Who refuses to live the prescribed life. Who takes control.”

The edge of the knife cut into the unmarked side of the siren’s body, a slow slice echoing the line of his ribs. 

“Hold still for me,” Guilford said, voice low and thick with some sickening emotion Kira didn’t dare name. The siren turned to look at him, and something in his empty face flickered back to life. There was a pleading there. A scream, but a silent one. “Hold, Areyto.”

The siren’s lips trembled as the knife left him and cut again. Blood ran down to his hip, maneuvered around and over it, ran down the inside of one muscled thigh. Kira’s heart beat so hard she had trouble breathing around it now, as if her lungs refused to expand. She took shallow gasps instead. 

Her fingers closed around her own fork, unconsciously, and she pushed herself to her feet. “Stop,” She whispered. 

“Areyto is mine.” A third slice had the siren weeping openly, unable to fight the pain everywhere within him any longer. Guilford raised his free hand and wiped a tear away with his thumb, licking it off the tip and humming, as if he’d tasted the finest wine. “As you will be. I could cut you just like this, and if he commanded it, you would hold perfectly still.”

“I said-” Her voice cracked. She moved, though, without thinking, coming around the edge of the table and heading towards him. The fork seemed to come to life in her hand, silvered metal twisting and heating up until her palm felt like it was burning. But somehow the burn did not hurt at all. “I said for you to stop. He does whatever you want, leave him be. I don’t require this showcase of your power, Lord Wentworth, you already have me held here against my will!”

“Oh, Miss Losna.” Guilford sighed, happily. “You find yourself terribly mistaken. This isn’t about you at all. I’m not doing this to show you my power over him.”

“Then-” Kira came to a stop, a few feet away. The fork in her hand no longer felt like a fork at all. She looked slowly down at it. “Then why are you-”

“Because he is beautiful,” Guilford breathed, looking back to the siren with shining eyes. “Like this. Because there is nothing I cannot do now.”

Kira had no ready rejoinder, and after a heartbeat of trying - and failing - to think of one she gave up. Standing here watching her captor torture a siren who had done nothing but run into him hurt more than it should. Sirens, after all, were monsters who sang men to their deaths, who took sailors to the depths. But Areyto was also a man, if not a human one. One worn down like river rocks, and soon enough he would be fine as sand, and then he would be nothing at all. 

The air felt heavier and heavier around her, as if any moment now she would cease to be able to breathe it. The inside of her head, by contrast, felt too light, floating away from her. 

Torn in two, she decided to hell with false politeness. 

“Why not just get it over with?” She asked, without looking away. The siren seemed to feel her eyes on him and managed to - briefly - meet her gaze. There was something pleading, there, in the darkness of his eyes. 

“It?” Guilford cut him again, and Kira watched skin twitching beneath his knife and wondered if she could simply vomit all over Wentworth to make this awfulness end. In her hand, the for had become long, straightened out. A sort of tiny spear of silver, and it burned hot enough that she knew if she hadn’t been the one to create it, her hand would be blistered and bubbling. 

She raised her chin. “It, Lord Wentworth. Whatever it is you plan to do to me. Destroying my mind, marrying me off to your son, whatever it is you’ve got tucked away to ruin lives for your own amusement. Why not just do it and cease forcing me to… wait?” 

“Ah.” Wentworth smiled. “Well, that’s quite simple, Miss  Losna.”

“It… it is?”

“It is indeed. Areyto? Would you care to explain?”

The siren cut his eyes back to Guilford, staring at him with such open, baleful loathing that the sheer force of the expression took Kira’s breath away. Then the pain overtook his ability to hold the expression and he slumped into sullen silence, seconds ticking past. 

“Areyto.” Guilford Wentworth’s eyes narrowed. “Tell. Her.”

Areyto’s mouth opened without his say-so. Kira watched him as he spoke, rote and lifeless, voice thin and rough with pain. “The magic-... must be written with free will, or… or it is too weak to hold me.”

Kira blinked. “But-... wait. You-... you enthralled your first magician-”

“I had the thrall lifted,” Guilford said, voice going a little softer. He looked away, then, over towards the grand floor-to-ceiling windows. “Every ten years. For two days, I had it lifted. And she strengthened the spell.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Guilford said, almost gently, lifting his own knife just under the siren’s chin, nicking his throat just to watch the blood run from there, too. “If she didn’t, I would ensure my wife would throw herself off the roof.”

Kira took in a breath.

There was only one monster in this room.

She moved all at once, pushed by a swell of emotion that felt like being sucked under by the riptide, and reached up as high as she could. The burning-hot silver in her hand sliced through the ropes that held the siren as if they were made of butter, not heavy hemp, and the siren dropped to the floor all at once with a cry.

She turned, stepping between Guilford and the siren, lifting her chin. 

“You have no such way to force me, Lord Wentworth.”

To her shock, though he did step back from her, Guilford Wentworth did not react with fear or anger. 

Instead… he laughed. “Of course I do.”

“Oh?” Kira shifted, unconsciously moving closer to Areyto, who had not moved from the floor. She could hear him growling, a sound somehow utterly animal and deeply musical, a bass note held unending. Blood smeared under his hands, soaking into the shining wood under him. It was a deep, oxygen-rich burgundy, darker than Kira’s own - a reminder that despite his appearance, he wasn’t human. 

Not that being inhuman meant he deserved any bit of this.

She faced Wentworth head on, chin high, with every ounce of courage she had in her. The wine had gone entirely to her head, but her voice stayed steady and strong. “And what, exactly, will you do to make me obey you and help you make an empire for yourself when I would happily tear out your throat with my own damn teeth if they weren’t so blunt?” 

Behind her, the siren made a new sound.

It wasn’t quite open laughter - he was in far too much pain. But the soft sound, the huff of breath with the barest edge of volume to it, set stronger steel in Kira’s spine just the same. Warmed something in her that had frozen over before. 

“I won't lift a finger to stop you, Miss Losna.” Wentworth moved away, picking up his wine glass and taking another sip. 

Her lip lifted in a snarl at the smug lie he told so easily. “You speak like a man who hasn’t barred all the bedroom windows to keep me inside,” She responded, voice tight.

Wentworth’s smile did not waver or fade, but something in it tightened. “I will not stop you,” He repeated. “But everyone else here will.”

“You will have them… attack me? Do me harm?”

“No. I will have them do themselves harm.”

Kira froze. “What?” Her voice was a whisper. 

Wentworth shrugged. “Every single one of them will die, by their own hand, as soon as you step off of my property. Their deaths will not be quick or clean, and they will be because of you.”

Kira’s jaw worked, her eyes moving to where Nadette and Babbage still stood by the kitchen door, both of them smiling politely and seemingly unaware of the confrontation by the window. “You lie.”

“No, my dear, I do not. The order has already been given.” Wentworth sighed, voice gentling. “It was given as soon as I knew you had already met my siren. If you leave, they will die. You will consign three dozen servants to their deaths, including my butler and of course your own sweet maidservant… even the stable boy will hang himself in the barn. Every one of them will die in some way, and they will know why they do it but be unable to stop. So.” He lifted one hand, twirling his finger in pointed down. “I suggest, Miss Losna, that you drop your weapon, or I will command the first death. Which of course will be the lovely young Nadette.”

Kira hitched in a breath, fear washing cold across her. She stared at Nadette’s smiling face, where she stood across the room, and thought of the terror in the girl when she had grabbed her arm and said I don't want to be here. “I-... You wouldn't. How would your life ever continue-”

“I will. If you refuse me, and I lose my siren���s power, then my life will be short and brutish regardless. I have little to lose, if the creature is lost. So leave and know your selfishness will be their cause of death. And know, also, that I will ensure you are charged by the king with every single murder. After all, I have no magic. But you do. Or so the king will believe. Drop the weapon, Miss Losna. Now.”

“Lord Wentworth-”

“Drop the weapon,” Guilford said, voice lower than ever. “And say, yes, my lord. Or Nadette will drink the vial she carries in her pocket, and you will watch her die in agony.”

Kira stood still for a long moment.

The bit of silver clattered from her numb fingers to the floor. 

When Wentworth's eyebrows raised and he leaned forward, one hand cupped behind his ear as he waited, she swallowed and managed, in a trembling voice, “Y-... Yes, m-my lord.”

“Good girl.” Wentworth's voice was sickly sweet and low. His smile widened once more - too wide, grotesquely stretched. “Sit back down, we still have to enjoy our dessert.”

Kira felt her feet moving without her, drifting back to her chair. Her mind raced and the world around her felt suddenly unreal as she settled, staring down at her plate until Babbage whisked it away and disappeared back into the kitchen again.

Kira looked over at the siren, where he still knelt on the floor.

“You, too,” Wentworth said, beckoning the siren with a single crook of his finger. Areyto pushed himself uncertainly to his feet, struggling to stay upright. His ribs were still bleeding, the smell of it overwhelming and making Kira’s stomach flip again. Or maybe it had never stopped. 

Areyto sat back in his chair, still naked - the servants didn’t seem to notice. Kira couldn’t see anything past his bright eyes and the red of his blood. The sight of him felt real in a way nothing else in this house of horrors did. 

“You will not leave your room again unless summoned,” Wentworth said, imperious now. “If you are found anywhere else, even once, I will begin ordering deaths. If you care about the lives of anyone but yourself, Miss Losna, you will go where you are bid and do what I tell you. And you will bind my siren back to me with all the magic you can use.”

Kira kept her eyes on the siren.

She had no idea what was served for dessert. She heard nothing Wentworth said after that. At some point, she was given leave to return to her rooms and she fled to the stairs, feeling a stab of guilt at leaving the siren once again alone with this monstrous man. But it was not enough guilt to stop her.

Once she had closed the door behind her, she flung herself on her bed, screaming into the heavy soft pillow.

How had she already begun to think of this as her room? This bed as her bed? How could she have been so well encircled and not realized he would use the servants against her?

She screamed again.

This time, she kept it up until her throat burned with it and her voice began to give, going hoarse and rough. She held the pillow against her face until sparks danced behind her closed eyes as she fought for air. Finally, she threw the pillow away, watching it thump onto the floor.

Then she turned to where it had been and saw the crumpled paper there. Kira swallowed, picking the folded piece of paper up and slowly opening it. 

Young Master Ford, Young Miss Nathalie, and the twins all have rooms without bars on the windows. 

Master Ford will come to you at midnight with the siren. 

Miss Nathalie will, too.

Nathalie. Kira felt something in her settle. That would be the eldest daughter from the painting, Ford’s younger sister. Clearly she and Ford felt similarly, if they were going to help Kira and Areyto, or even just Kira…

No.

She wouldn’t leave here without the siren beside her. Areyto needed rescue more than she did, in the end, and it wasn’t his singing that made her believe it. It was her own conviction. Her own certainty.

Kira pushed herself off the bed, then, setting her shoulders with resolution and heading into the bathing room, hoping against hope she could somehow manage to get this dress off all by herself.

She was sorely in need of a bath.

-

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[flowery-laser-blasts]

DINE 'N CRIME: DUMPLING

This recipe is part of the menu of 'Chez Molerat vs Dine 'n Crime'.

HOW TO MAKE THE FILLING. Ingredients: - Fatty pork meat/porkbelly slices (preferably ground meat) - 2 hands full of big shrimp (deshelled and cleaned out). - Two gloves of finely chopped garlic - A piece of ginger (size of your pinky finger), also finely chopped - 2 Spring onions - 1 can of bamboo shoots (use only half of it) - 2 quick shakes of ground white pepper (or to your preferred taste) - 2 tbsp of water - 2 tsp of Soy sauce - 2 tsp of Shaoxing cooking wine - 1 tsp of Sesame oil - Samyang Buldak sauce to your liking (HOT!) Optional ingredients: - Finely chopped carrot - Finely chopped cabbage - Finely chopped shiitake mushrooms

Instructions: - If you have ground pork, great! If you don't; chop the pieces of fatty pork meat as big as your pinky fingers. After that, carefully start hammering down on it with two knives; ground it ye olde way! It's a bit time consuming but you'll feel like a professional chef when you start double wielding kitchen knives. Keep in mind that this causes a lot of noise though and PLEASE BE CAREFUL BECAUSE KNIVES ARE SHARP! Once you are done, put the ground pork into a bowl. - Wash and deshell the shrimps in cold water. Take out the guts, wash the shimps once more and finally chop the shrimps into 4 to 5 pieces. Add the shrimps to the pork. - Clean and finely chop 2 spring onions (depending on the size it can also be 1 or 3). Chop the bamboo shoots and lastly mince the ginger and garlic into tiny pieces (you can also grate the ginger and use a garlic press for the garlic). Add these ingredients to the pork shrimp mixture. - Add the water, ground pepper, soy sauce, Shaoxing cooking wine, sesame oil and Buldak sauce to the mixture. Stir well until everything is evenly divided. Once combined, cover the bowl and set the filling aside in the refrigerator. NOTE: If you do not have the Buldak sauce, that's no problem! You can easily replace this with a bit of Madam Jeanette or any other hot pepper to your liking. It's up to your spice level. Keep in mind that this recipe is made to my preferences and not everyone likes hot foods. So if you want to eat good dumplings without the spice; leave out the Buldak sauce (or use it seperately for dipping).

HOW TO MAKE THE DUMPLING SKIN (RECOMMENDED FOR MORE ADVANCED COOKS). Ingredients: - Water 120mL/4.2oz - 200g/0.85 cup of All purpose flour - A pinch of salt - 80g/half a cup of Spinach (preferably fresh baby spinach) for the green dough - Liquid Squid ink for the black dough

Instructions: - Add the flour and salt to the mixing bowl. - Boil the water, turn off the stove and add the baby spinach to soften it. Make sure to NOT overcook spinach as it contains 'prussic Acid' which means that your body can turn this stuff into Cyanide.Not enough to actually kill you, of course... I hope. I'm a Doctor, but not a health doctor or dietician, so don't take it as hard facts from me! Technically speaking, you're also not a 'doctor', you know... Since you're a drop out. ZIP IT, SHEGO! - Add the softened spinach and the water to a mixer and blend it until smooth. - Sieve the blended spinach juice until all the pulp is seperated from the warm green water (yummy). Make sure that the water is around 45°c/113°f - Carefully add the warm water to the flour as you mix it - Make a ball of dough and if it's too wet, add a little bit more flour but not too much! Keep on kneading and once the ball of dough is springy to touch (push it in with your finger and it should go back up) it's ready! - Divide the dough in two equal pieces. Wrap up one of them and to the other we will add a few drops of squid ink. Knead the ball (yes it will be a bit sticky again) until it changes color. We're aiming for a dark grey color, not to worry; this will turn black during the steaming process. HOW TO FOLD THE DUMPLINGS: For the life of me I cannot explain to you how to fold dumplings so here; have this amazing tutorial by China Sichuan Food. My auntie taught me how to fold crescent moon dumplings but well, I'm still not the best at it when it comes to folding home made dumpling skin. That's the reason why I adviced at the start that making this is for more advanced cooks. If you have never folded dumplings before, I recommend you start with store bought frozen gyoza skins. They are WAY easier to make dumplings with but sadly, I haven't found any black and green frozen gyoza skins in stores.

Once you're finished making all your dumplings, you can go right ahead and steam them for 7~8 minutes OR you can store them in the freezer (make sure to first seperately freeze them for up to 1 hour (or until slightly hardened) and then you can put all of them together in a bag, this way they won't stick together) If you want to heat them up after freezing; steam them for 15 minutes.

HOW TO MAKE THE DIPPING SAUCE. Ingredients: - 1 tbsp Chinese black vinegar - 1 to 2 tbsp Soy sauce - 1 tsp Sesame oil Mix these condiments together in a little bowl, for topping you can add: - Sesame seeds - Sliced chilli - Finely sliced ginger

Enjoy these dumplings while hot! Carefully bite the tip to create a little air hole so you won't burn your mouth because these dumplings are juicy!