#he's a well adjusted man with a perfect immediate family a perfect extended family a perfect found family

[feral-peacock]

[mytheoristavenue]

MHA Commoner!Eijiro Kirishima x Princess!Reader - So This is Love? - II

Summary: Kirishima accompanies you to the castle to make ready for the ball, and he can't help but drown in the cultural difference.

Warnings: Reverse harem, social class difference, fluff, slight angst, mentions of suggestive thoughts, love at first sight, princess x commoner trope

As promised, just as the sun got ready to settle, a carriage pulled up to the home and shop of the Kirishima family. It had arrived right on time, not that there was a chance Kirishima could miss it. He'd sat in the front room over his parent's shop since this morning, always with a perfect view of the window. He'd long since given up on his work for the day, there weren't any pressing jobs today anyway. All he could think about was the arrival of the carriage, and here it finally was.

"I-It's here!" he shouted anxiously to his parents, running to the back room to kiss his mother's cheek. "I have to go!" His parents wished him well as he scrambled out the door, stumbling over the threshold. To his delight, the footman was waiting at the end of the walk to let him inside. "Uhm," he waved nervously, slowing down a bit as he grew near. "Hello, sir..."

The glare the footman shot him made him uneasy. It reminded him of the social distance between himself and the opportunity he was presented with, and he presumed this one wouldn't be the last prejudicial stare he got by the end of the night. Nevertheless, he pressed on, letting the footman help him into the carriage.

His blood ran cold when he was met with a floor full of fine silk, ruffles, and cotton with intricate designs. Following the full skirt upwards, his eyes once again met yours as he paused, still on the carriage step. Just like before, your eyes held a mysterious beauty, barely visible thanks to the angle and the hand fan obscuring your painted lips.

"Y-You're majesty!" He gasped, scrambling into the carriage, and sitting across from you. He was suddenly acutely aware of the amount of space he took up as his knees grazed yours in the small space. "Forgive me, I hadn't expected to see you again until tonight." He admitted sheepishly.

"Quite alright," you answered, voice saccharine from beyond your fan. "I would be remiss if I didn't accompany you on your way, considering I invited you so last minute."

"Well, thank you..." he nodded timidly, hands folded in his lap. "If I may ask, why did you invite me?" He finally asked, the question having burned sores into his mind.

"All in due time," you answer cryptically, folding your fan to reveal a friendly smile that made him queasy when paired with your mystique. "All will be revealed soon, you have my word."

"Yes, my lady..." He relented with a small bow, still feeling microscopic in your presence.

-----

Arriving at the castle, the carriage halted, the footman coming around to open the door. Kirishima stepped out first, immediately turning back to the open door, extending you a hand. "Allow me, your grace." He said with a focused expression, though your could see the way the tips of his ears turned red when you gave him your hand.

"Why, thank you," you smiled, nodding to him as he helped you onto solid ground.

"Of course," he responded, holding your hand high as he always assumed a man should when escorting a lady. A bit of him was joyful when you didn't withdraw your hand, even though you had every opportunity, as it simply rested in his palm. You allowed him to help you up the castle stairs, stopping a few feet before the entrance. Giving the guards time to open the doors for you, you stepped forward, prompting him to do the same, still holding his hand as you stepped over the threshold. It almost made you giggle the way he kept sneaking glances, adjusting his posture to match yours. It was almost as if he was mimicking you to fit in.

Entering the castle, you halted, finally taking your hand back as the pair of you were swarmed by servants, dutifully directing you both up a grand staircase to the right. Once up several flights of stairs, you were ushered into a hallway where you were pulled into separate yet adjacent rooms. For you, this was nothing out of the ordinary. For Kirishima, this was strange and almost cult-like, the way people seemed to buzz around you, as if automated.

Now inside your personal chambers, you could relax, plopping down in a decorative armchair. "Best not to get too comfortable, my lady," your chambermaid, Tsu said, smoothing a white sheet into a wooden tub towards the center of the room. "Your bath will be ready soon."

"Come now, my lady," another maid smiled, kneeling in front of you to remove your shoes. When she was finished, she offered you her hands to help you up. "Can't be tired now when you've got the ball to look forward to." She chirped, bustling around you to begin the long process of removing your day dress.

"Of course," you nod half-heartedly, shivering as she reduces you to nudity before slipping a paper-thin linen gown over your head. "Ochako, I don't believe I'm prepared for tonight." You confess, approaching the tub just after Tsu has finished filling it.

"Why ever not, your grace?" The brunette asks, her chipper smile fading into a look of concern as she takes your hand, helping you into the tub.

"I fear this night will be a disaster," you lament as their hands begin to graze your skin, flannel washcloth dragging about.

-----

In the adjoined room, Kirishima sat similarly in a bathtub, a luxury he wasn't accustomed to. Not only that but he certainly wasn't accustomed to having someone bath him, let alone a young woman. His cheeks flushed as her fingers grazed his skin and occasionally, for a moment at a time, when he glanced at her hand, he'd see your manicured nails and blushed knuckles, smooth skin wet with his bathwater. Each time he caught his mind wandering off, he'd promptly call it back, never daring to tarnish your visage with such a lewd filter.

When the maid deemed him clean, she helped him out of the tub, unphased to see him naked as he tried to keep himself modest. It was as if she did this every day; like it was typical of her routine- and it probably was. After toweling him off, she stepped to a large armoire against the East wall, taking out what he assumed must have been the outfit you'd described.

Expertly, the maid helped him into a large linen shirt and cream-colored stockings that tucked into red breeches. Afterward, she slipped a matching waistcoat over his shoulders before circling back around him to fasten its gold buttons.

Once he was fully dressed, the maid quietly took her leave, but not before showering him with compliments that he couldn't tell the genuineness of. Stepping over to the full-length mirror, he studied himself in the mirror, remarking how different he looked. He was the cleanest he'd ever been and his hair was groomed and tied back with a gold ribbon. The suit he wore looked more expensive than the cottage that he and his family lived in, all crimson satin, embroidered with shiny gold threat into complicated patterns too small for him to fully appreciate. He hadn't ever worn clothes that felt so heavy, feeling weighed down by the thick coat he wore, yet still transfixed by the luxurious visage in the mirror. He definitely looked like royalty.

Just then out of a door he hadn't before noticed on the East wall, you appeared, and his breath was stolen away. You peered around the door shyly, face once again hidden by a hand fan, but not the same one as earlier. Seeing that he was decent, you strolled in, the corners of your eyes crinkling, indicating a sweet smile just behind an accordion of metal boning, embroidered silk, and ostrich feather.

"I thought it appropriate to have our outfits match..." It was obvious that your gown and his suit had been cut from the same cloth- literally. Your bodice and skirt were made up of the exact same crimson satin with identical stitching. The pair of you were a perfectly matching set, save for the long ruffled sleeves that spilled from your elbows, and the shape the fabric took on. Kirishima couldn't help but stare in awe at the way your corset hugged your ribcage and the way the crinoline under your skirt filled out your hips in a manner that tempted something primal within him.

"Y-Your majesty..." he breathed, air caught in his throat as his eyes wandered up over the curve of your uplifted breasts settling momentarily on the silk ribbon that hugged your throat, holding up what he assumed to be a ruby framed with pure gold. "You are a truly..." he paused for a moment, his eyes finally reaching yours, noticing your made-up face and complex updo, and how soft ringlets framed your cheekbones. "Breathtaking visage."

His words put an irrefutable glow in your cheeks as you inched closer, drinking him in as he had done to you. "And you, I must say, kind sir, look rather dashing this evening."

"Thank you, your highness." he nodded in appreciation, throat dry at the prospect of you finding him attractive.

"Aye," you nodded in return, pivoting on your heels to a small table to your left. "Before I forget," you say, opening a small decorative box that sat atop the table. Pulling two objects from it, you step back to him, pinning a small rose to his lapel. He stares at the gesture, heart swelling, taken by surprise when you hand him another one, this one in full bloom, along with a stick pin. Letting your eyes shut, your hands clasped behind your back as your back arched, offering your chest to him. With trembling fingers, Kirishima carefully pinned the blossom to your bodice, touch lingering a few seconds longer than needed. "Thank you, kind sir..." you said, batting your lashes.

"Y-You're welcome, my princess." he stammered, letting a beat of silence pass between the two of you.

"I'm afraid I haven't been entirely honest with you," you finally confessed, looking sheepish. It was the first time he'd seen you not entirely sure of yourself and it made him all the more nervous.

"Please, go on, my lady." he spoke calmly, concern written all over his face as he urged to to continue.

"You see..." you began, nipping at your lip. "The true reason I invited you tonight was-"

Suddenly, there was a stern knock at the door, frightening the both of you out of your skin. A servant then entered, eyes shifting towards your date with visible haughtiness before simply stating: "Your highness, the pair of you are expected in the grand hall immediately to be introduced."

[bat-therapy]

a bird's wings

warnings: gun violence (it's jason. what did you expect)

Dick doesn't fall.

It's become somewhat of an ongoing bit within the family. He's trained for such a long time ("too long," Tim complains, immediately after falling off a set of bars) that it's become almost second nature. He moves with the ease of decades of practice. His body had been trained almost from birth to be more flexible, to move his weight at the strangest angles, to keep stretching beyond his limits - all with a smile on his face.

It doesn't matter what League-inspired traps Damian leaves on the stairs, silently watching and analyzing the way in which Dick barely spares razor a passing glance as he simply bends out of the way. It doesn't matter if Cass tries for a well-timed shove down the stairs when his body is positioned just the wrong way, not when Dick simply vaults over the bannister, balancing on the rail with one hand for just long enough that Cass knows it's intentional, the cocky bastard. It doesn't matter how many of them team up against him - and they have tried.

Even when he does fall - as he tells his family constantly, he does fall - it's an elegant thing. If his hand slips, it's quickly replaced by another, redirecting him through the air, moving with a wind that only exists for him. When his feet don't meet the ground quite like he expected, his momentum carries him into a roll that looks just as intentional as his original movement. His mistakes are erased in the space between heartbeats, expression unwavering, a true performer.

In fact, Dick is so agile that Duke, when they first met, had wholeheartedly believed that he had to be a meta-human. Sure, there are plenty of flexible and agile people out there, but it's unnerving how he moves. His joints bend too far; his ligaments stretch beyond Duke's comfort. In a moment of curiosity, Duke asked Jason and Tim. Jason's expression didn't change (dying internally), and Tim made an odd choking noise (swallowing his own laughter). Duke interpreted these as (Jason) he was correct in his belief, which was no laughing matter, and (Tim) Duke should not know about Dick's meta-human status. It took years (and a blood test in the Batcave) for Duke to believe that Dick was actually a very unusual human.

Bruce, in his quietest moments, thinks it's magic. Years ago, lives ago, Jason had described being Robin as magic. And, of course, the role does hold its own power, but Dick's magic has always been his own. He was magic before he was Robin, and he was Bruce's son - a title that carried its own kind of magic.

That magic extended to his nights out on patrol, particularly when he was with Red Hood and Robin. Of course, he often found himself Batman's patrol route - Nightwing, Red Hood, and Robin tagging along just for shits. Hell, Nightwing wasn't even supposed to be out - not when he'd had so many consecutive night patrols - but with so many of them, what could go wrong?

That night, the four of them cornered a criminal on a rooftop. Even after clambering up a fire escape, Nightwing's breathing had barely changed, Batman's was easily concealed, Robin had tested a new grappling hook, and no one is quite sure how breathing works for Red Hood after some oddities in the Lazarus Pit.

Instead of surrendering, the desperate, stupid man had sprinted directly at them, firing a gun wildly with one hand and screaming at the top of his lungs. Nightwing sidestepped easily, having seen similar idiocy in Bludhaven. What he wasn't expecting was to step into Robin. He adjusted, angling his body to the side to plant his other foot--

--which landed on Batman's cape, right as the older man was turning to watch the criminal run. The material pulled out from under him just in time for the criminal to impact Nightwing directly. On its own, it would barely be enough to move him, and even still, Nightwing watches as the man bounces off him directly into Red Hood's grasp.

But in this moment, in the perfect cascade of errors, Nightwing stumbles backwards off the roof.

Nightwing doesn't panic immediately. He twists his body, turning his stumble into a somersault without a second thought. He looks down, trying to find something, but there are no windows. No ledges. He is too far away from the fire escape. It is a solid, brick wall, and there is nothing for him to grab onto.

And Dick falls.

It's never the fall that hurts, he knows. Falling is so close to flying, and he spreads his arms like a bird about to take flight. For a heartbeat, he's a child being tossed in the air, he's a teenager slipping off a trapeze bar, and he knows there is something below him. Strong arms and laughter, a net that will bend with his inertia.

The only thing beneath him is concrete.

When his body hits the ground, it makes far too loud of a sound for a man who had always seemed lighter than air.

Out of everyone, that night, Oracle hears the impact the most clearly. Through his earpiece, she hears the clean snap of small bones, she hears the dull thud of a now-limp body, she hears a sharp gasp of air being forced out of lungs - all compressed into one, horrific heartbeat. She listens to rattling breaths get quieter and quieter until she can't hear them at all.

Bruce feels the impact in his throat, caught somewhere between his head and his heart. That's his boy, on the ground, but his other children are still up, still staring down the now-damned soul that had grounded their Nightwing. It takes him a moment to react, barking to Oracle to send medics to their location as he stalks towards the criminal.

Jason takes a more direct approach: a bullet through the man's skull. He doesn't have the same hold-ups as Bruce about killing, not when this man is responsible for hurting his brother. It is violence, simple and honest. It is protection, raw and vulgar.

Damian is the first to make it to Dick's side, practically leaping off the rooftop. He has learned enough, between volunteering at a hospital and what one learns when trained by Ra's al Ghul. He checks for a pulse, checks for breathing. He stabilizes Dick's neck, holding in place. His hands are small, but they do not shake, even when his muscles begin aching. He does not let them shake. Damian looks almost feral, teeth gritted and bared, silhouetted above Dick's body in off-putting streetlamp fluorescents. "No one touches him," he hisses. He only relinquishes his hold when the medics arrive. His hands curl into fists, fingernails biting into his palms

It is a quiet night in the Wayne manor that night. All of the siblings sit vigil around Dick. They all refuse to leave his side, barely moving, even when Alfred delivers pillows and blankets. Dick's face is slack and expressionless, and the sight feels like a blade to the chest. No one knows if he knows they are there.

Oracle clings to the sound of his laugh, pulling up old files. The last thing she hears from Dick will not be the sound of blood in his lungs. Jason fidgets with the shell of the bullet he put through the criminal's skull. Damian holds a medical textbook open in front of him, but he does not turn a page. His gaze is stuck on Dick's eyelids, waiting for them to move.

Here, surrounded by his family, Dick has never seemed more painfully, awfully human.

[pleathewrites]

bellow the fire into my deadened lungs

chapter 4: i am the antichrist to you

(summary) | dabihawks, todoroki family, seroroki, kiribaku, aizawa & class of 1a, ua traitor

____________

DAY 1

____________

Bakugou Katsuki kicks the seventh rock that’s encountered his path in this hell of a street. He’s never been to this part of town, his cell service has never been so shit, and he’s convinced the last three people who’ve bumped into him haven’t showered in weeks.

He’s about to give up until he spots a vaguely familiar pair of blue sneakers. They’re torn, dirtied down into a shade of dull navy, but the four written initials still stretch across the midsole.

KH. NT. AT. 

The shoes are right, but the skin-wrapped skeleton of the body who wears them is someone Katsuki does not recognize. 

Dabi’s horrible rasp rings loud in Katsuki’s ears — ‘I’ve heard about you, it’s pretty easy to get info from hungry delinquents.’

Kemuri Hashiga and Nagai Tesaki, once bright and plump juniors, sit outside the worst halfway house Katsuki has ever fucking seen, passing around either a cigarette or a joint. 

The same boys who used to complain of their fathers’ smoking habits. 

‘Really? You don’t even keep up with the very kids that followed you around everywhere? Your ‘extras’? Man, maybe you are the perfect pick, huh. A little bully to quirk-less kids, you’ll fit in here just fine.’

Katsuki takes a deep breath, adjusts the hold of his wrapped bento, and stomps forward for answers. 

Kemuri’s black hair is wild as ever, but it’s the resigned look in his eyes that falters Katsuki’s step. 

“Long time, no see, Bakugou.”

And, Katsuki, well, he’s never been one to beat around the bush. He drops the towered bento between the two kids — ‘according to that patchwork son-of-a-bitch, they need to eat.’ — and demands, “What the fuck happened to you? You guys were rich.”

Long, spindly fingers snake around the bento like pale garden snakes. Katsuki suppresses a shiver, he never did like Nagai’s quirk — the sound his fingers would make when extending always reminded him of those overly-gory horror movies. 

Nagai doesn’t say anything. He won’t even look up, his face shadowed by greasy strings of hair that droop past his shoulders. 

Katsuki used to like his hair, it was always shiny and thick. Brown, with the most subtle highlights one could only see when it was spring and sunlight would beam from the classroom windows right over his seat. He used to complain of overheating during these times. Katsuki used to send small explosions around his chair to make him sweat.

‘I’m not like that anymore,’ Katsuki begs of himself. 

He squats down to their level and watches as the two tear into the bento like hungry wolves. 

He waits until they’ve had a few pieces of meat and some rice, “Where’s Akairo? I can’t find anything on him.”

“Dead.”

Katsuki whips his head to Kemuri, “What?”

“Yeah,” grains of rice dot the boy’s cheeks. Kemuri brings the bowl up to his face and licks the bowl clean, “Thought you knew. Dumbass made a deal to be some old fucker’s experiment — thought he’d get stronger, or something. He never got into a hero school, and he liked flying.”

Katsuki remembers. Akairo Tsubasa was a dragon-like mutant — ‘heteromorph, you can’t call ‘em that’ — who spent 90% of his day above ground. His favorite hero was Ryukyu, to which Katuski used to roll his eyes over and tell him, ‘There’s no use in idolizing a hero that can do the same thing as you. No one’s interested in what the world already has.’  

To his credit, Akairo usually would just laugh and respond with, ‘I don’t care about charts. I just want the license so I can fly without having to worry about getting fined or arrested!’

Katsuki latches onto the word, ‘experiment’. He can’t help but immediately think of the Nomus. 

“Was he killed?”

Kemuri nods, “Stain.”

‘Gods, no,’ Katsuki couldn’t explain it to himself, he couldn’t logicalize the cold feeling in his chest. If he were to be completely honest with himself, he wasn’t really friends with those three. He was their fucked-up cult leader and they were dumb enough, impressionable enough, hell, maybe insecure enough to have followed him around like loyal puppies. Half the time, he barely remembered their names — admittedly, that’s why it took him so long just to find them.

Katsuki sighs and looks at the building the two boys lean on. He studied the dilapidated state of the wood — not rotted, but splintered and discolored. Mismatched tree bark nailed hastily throughout like bandaids, the temporary last-minute fixes of an oozing, wounded thing. 

Katsuki clears his throat, “Why’re you two here, though. Did you run away from your homes?”

‘Were their homes as hostile as mine?’

The two have been scarfing down the contents of each bento bowl since the minute Katsuki arrived, but at this question, they both freeze. The knuckles of Nagai’s unstretched fingers turn white with the strength of his grip around the bowl.  

“We’re orphans,” Kemuri starts, and his voice is so low and strained, that Katsuki has to lean in closer, “Our parents died in a hero fight. Building caught on fire, there were no survivors.”

‘Gods,’ Katsuki rubs his eye, ‘It just keeps getting worse. How did I not hear any of this?’

“Why this place? One bad rainstorm and it’s going to fucking collapse.” 

Nagai hasn’t moved a single inch, and Kemuri shrugs, “Used to be one of the best, till heroes just kept flingin’ rocks and fuck-knows what else at it. A rainstorm taking this place down would be a blessing, at this point — insurance might then cover something.”  

Kemuri’s tone, for the first time since Katsuki’s heard, turns bitter and his mouth tips into an ugly snarl — one Katsuki doesn’t think he’s ever seen, not even when they were bullying kids in their middle school homeroom. “Fuckin’ heroes,” he spits, literally, over his shoulder, and down the concrete they sit on with a frothy splat, “Never watching where they fucking aim.”

And, Katsuki — well, he’s a boy with the worst kind of anger issues and there is an undying need to defend his line of work, defend the concept of, ‘the ends justify the means,’ because — “These villains never stop, heroes have to make last minute decisions and they can’t — ”

“ — You think I care?” 

Nagai’s voice has never been so loud. 

He’s finally looked up and those eyes immediately shame every defense to die in Katsuki’s throat. 

They’re angry, Nagai’s eyes — they’re pissed, but the set of his furrowed eyebrows speaks volumes of loss. 

The loss of his family, the loss of his home — of warm food in his belly and the mundanity of watching Sunday quirk-sports with his father on a worn suede couch. 

‘Yeah,’ Katsuki is right to be shamed. He’s never known loss, and though his house had never been warm, he cannot deny that the closest thing he might have to ‘a home’ awaits for him with the comradery of a hundred other kids, with the guarantee of a bright-eyed boy with too short eyebrows and too sharp teeth. 

Katsuki admits he’s never cared much for these two boys, a thing he wishes he had the capacity to change, but he is striving to be a hero, and justice must be served.

With his unending resolve, Katsuki asks, “Who was the villain responsible for your parents’ death? I swear, I’ll fuckin’ get ‘em.”

Nagai’s burning eyes turn cold and a hopeless tear escapes to trail down his sunken cheek,  “Endeavor.”

CLICK TO READ REST OF CHAPTER 4 ON AO3

[speechlessxx]

my house of stone, your ivy grows & now i’m covered in you.

{King!Steve Rogers x noblewoman!Reader}

with a side of Prince/King!Peter Parker x Reader

ROYALTY/MEDIEVAL AU

summary -> engaged to the Prince of Arachnia, the young maiden finds her heart calling out the name of another. 

warnings-> infidelity. age gap! (reader’s age isn’t explicitly said but she’s younger than Steve). poorly & awkwardly written SMUT.  (includes: unprotected sex, brief fingering, slight breeding kink). rambles. angst. fluff. lots of tension. bittersweet ending :)  

A/N -> for smut part, please scroll if you are not 18+. MINORS DNI

word count -> 12k+ !!! this one’s a lengthy one & i had no intentions of turning it into a series. it just got long. 

Buy Me A Kofi

At the ripe age of five-years-old, you were plucked from your childhood, abandoning all the childish whims and adventures to be groomed to be the perfect wife. No more rolling in the dirt with your older brothers or mucking about the stables with the horses or fencing with sticks that substituted the steel bladed swords.

It all quickly became sewing needles and recipes, cleaning and books balanced on your crown.

You were taught it all.

How to behave. How to stand or sit. How to greet and host. How to exist in silence because “a lady is to be seen and never heard,” as your teacher, Madam Morris, would say. The many lessons were engraved into your mind while the meaningless tasks and skills became muscle memory.

Be pious. Be kind. Smile. Be what your husband wants. Laugh. (no, not like that). Do as your husband says. Be interesting but not too much. Never overshadow your husband. Don’t disappoint or you will bring shame upon your family.

What a burden to place on the shoulders of a young teen though it was expected of you. Coming from an aristocratic family, it was all you ever knew: “get a husband and make us proud”.

As the years droned on and you approached adulthood, the pressure to marry became more and more prominent. And when you shed past your teen years as an unmarried young adult, the disappointment and shame began to show. Your family throwing distaste your way with snide remarks and mocking smirks.

The embarrassment felt as if it had been painted across your cheeks and you grew restless, convincing yourself to accept any opportunities of marriage just to be rid of their cruelty.

So, when the Prince of Arachnia arrived at your father’s estate and asked for permission to court you, you had no choice but to accept.

Prince Peter Benjamin Parker was nothing short of the perfect gentleman. As you walked, he’d ensure that you were safely tucked into his side opposite of the streets. He’d hold your hand steady as you exited carriages. He’d leave chaste kisses on your forehead or knuckles – almost always on your left ring finger – even though your chaperone would throw a disapproving glance his way.

You thought of him as charming with his tousled, dark brown curls with matching eyes that squinted as he smiled or laughed harder than he intended.

“He would make a great king someday,” your father would sing his praises. “And you, my dove, will be his fine queen.”

You were never fond of these comments, never finding any appreciation or gratitude when they were uttered to you. Though the thought of being queen would make any young girl giddy with excitement, you found an odd sensation of dread within you.

You weren’t sure where the feelings had originated from. Were you nervous about being a queen? About the responsibility of running not only an estate but an entire country as well? Or was it the fact you would forever be labeled as his queen rather than the queen? Did you detest the idea of belonging to another person for the rest of your life?

“Are you alright?” His voice brought you back into the present. You swallowed as you turned away from the window facing the garden of roses that your mother was so proud of to face the prince. You curtseyed although he’s told you many times it was unnecessary.

“I’m grand,” you lied with a weary smile though he bought it all the same.

Peter grinned a toothy smile as he took your hand in his. It was then you felt the weight of the engagement ring on your finger. The sapphire blue was an oval shape, large enough to cover the skin of your knuckle. The center jewel adorned a halo of smaller diamonds. All this sitting on the delicate white gold band that wrapped around your finger like a shackle.

He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss upon the sapphire. “I shall be counting down the days,” he whispered in the quiet room. You forced another smile and nodded.

“As will I.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

Arachnia wasn’t a large country nor was it tiny either. It had eight main roads that extended into the towns with the capital and its palace in the center. It had been said that the main roads were all equal in length so that everyone was at an equal distance from the palace though you weren’t so sure that there was truth to this. Your father’s estate sat near the south of Arachnia, in one of the nicer towns. The ride to Peter’s real home felt like an eternity.

It had been his idea, of course, that you be brought to the palace months ahead of the wedding. “Life in the castle is different to life in the towns,” he told you before, weeks into your courtship, “Everyone’s always watching.” He reasoned that the prying eyes needed to get used to the presence of his future queen, but you understood it all the same – that although it was crucial that you adjust to court, it was equally, if not more so, important that the court adjust to you.

“I will give you the grand tour,” he said as you put your head on his shoulder. The journey, although short, had picked at your energy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep, but his excited chatter kept pulling you back into consciousness. As much as you wanted to tell him to pipe down, you knew you couldn’t. Not only was he your husband to be, but he was also your soon to be king. “There’s fountains and gardens – I had them plant roses like the ones in your mother’s – “

The words became muddled nonsense as you slowly dozed off. The journey and your sleepless night, picking at the skin on your fingers, had finally caught up to you, making your eyelids heavy with sleep.

You jolted awake as the carriage hit a bump. You and Peter’s head slammed into each other, waking you both. You groaned, rubbing the spot as he mirrored you.

“You alright?” Peter asked you. You nodded, still rubbing the spot. Peter leaned over and kissed it and you gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve been rather quiet. Is there something on your mind?”

You shook your head. “No, your highness,” you said. “I am just a bit nervous, is all.”

“Don’t be.” Peter chuckled. “The kingdom will fall in love with you just as I have.”

“And if they do not? Shall you find another bride?”

Peter’s smile faltered before shaking his head. “Those who do not immediately fall for my queen are mad and I shall find them the greatest court physician to treat their delusions.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You placed your head against his and took in a shaky breath.

There it was again. My queen. Another reminder that you no longer belonged to yourself. That as soon as vows are exchanged and he places another band on top of the enormous ring you already wore, you were completely his to own.

And suddenly that sweet moment, wrapped in your fiancé’s arms, was cut short as that familiar feeling of dread washed over you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

After weeks following your arrival in the center of Arachnia, it still didn’t feel like your home, rather it was Peter’s. The maids didn’t follow your orders nor did the kitchen staff. Heavens knows that the knights and the other noblemen wouldn’t acknowledge you. It felt as if no one knew your name, save for Prince Peter and his aunt, Lady May Parker.

You were merely a stranger in their court, the soon to be king’s guest.

Although the preparations for Peter’s coronation should’ve been your duty, Lady Parker seized the job, citing that you weren’t the queen just yet. “Let me alleviate you of this, Lady (Y/N).” She told you with a smile. “After your marriage, I shall step aside and allow you all the duties as the lady of the castle.” And in many ways, you were grateful that this was not your responsibility for the coronation of Prince Peter Parker had been long awaited for.

After Peter’s uncle, King Benjamin, passed and with Peter’s father long gone before then, the young prince was suddenly eyed to be the king. However, the councilmen thought that the boy was too young – too green to be king. They waited years until Peter came of age and once he finally did, they refused a peaceful transition of power. Instead, there were harsh rumors that the kingdom would be handed to Brooklyn’s King.

This debacle led to rumors of unrest and threats of civil war. It felt as if the entire continent held its breath as it stared at Arachnia, waiting for the violence to begin.

If King Anthony of Starken and Lady Parker did not intervene, then there would’ve been lives lost and a country torn. An agreement was made between House Parker and their council: that before Peter may take the throne, he must either be married or engaged, so that the line of succession may be secured.

And with your presence and Peter’s sapphire ring, the crown became his in an instant.

Nearly three weeks before his coronation, lords and ladies along with royals from other countries flocked to Arachnia to celebrate its king.

Lady Parker and Prince Peter introduced you to so many people in the coming days that none of their names truly stuck. All except one.

King Steven Rogers of Brooklyn.

The tall, broad man strode through the castle halls. His royal blue clothes made his eyes pop in the daylight. You thought he was beautiful. His presence demanded attention and he walked with a knowing smirk. Cocky. Arrogant. You profiled as he stood in front of Peter, towering over him.

Peter, still a prince, bowed to him as you did. “You’re younger than I expected.” The King’s voice was contradicting to his loud presence. His tone was even and steady like soft currents of a river or the expert strokes of a painter upon a canvas. You didn’t realize he was speaking to you until Peter called your name.

“King Steven, allow me to introduce my bride to be, Lady (Y/N).” Peter’s brow glistened with sweat though he stood tall. He was nervous. You could tell by the way his pitch was higher than it usually was. Under the king’s eye, he felt inferior. Insecure, even. Because although Peter was charming and slender, King Steven was intimidatingly handsome and built. Peter looked like a prince whereas Steven exuded the confidence of the king and looked like it, too.

You knew of the history between Brooklyn and Arachnia. There had been rumors that if Prince Peter could not get the crown, that the entire country would become part of Brooklyn’s, part of this other king’s domain.

“It’s a pleasure, my lady,” the king smiled at you and your eyes rounded as butterflies erupted from your stomach. He took your hand in his and you felt goosebumps rise all over your skin. A nervous, ragged breath escaped you as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon your knuckles like Peter’s done a million times.

But your reaction was different. Your face went hot, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel it between your legs, a feeling you had never felt before. Pulsing. Throbbing.

King Steven’s hand lingered over yours for a few seconds more, thumb grazing your skin and over the sapphire. You suddenly felt embarrassed – as beautiful as the ring was, it was so large that it looked odd on your dainty hand.

“Beautiful ring,” he complimented with a nod to Peter. “Excellent taste.” It wasn’t clear if the king was complimenting the ring or the young woman who wore it and no one dared question such a distinguished man.

You pulled your hand away from his with a bow of your head. You couldn’t look him in the eye for a second more. “Thank you for joining us, your majesty.”

The king smiled at your fiancé before nodding. “I look forward to your coronation, Peter. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant event.”

You forced a smile as you and your fiancé greeted the next guest. The pleasantries and introductions fell upon deaf ears because as you looked up, searching through the crowd, your eyes immediately found his already staring back at you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

It felt as if there was a party every single day. A festival in the courtyard. A feast every night. You began to wonder where was all this money coming from – were the people being taxed heavily for the enjoyment of the upper class? Lady Parker assured you that Arachnia was well funded and that where the expenses exceeded their budget, they were handled by King Anthony, who considered it an early marriage present.

You sat like a decorated ornament next to Peter, surrounded by the other royals at a round table. You felt out of place in a gown made from your town’s finest tailor whereas the queens and princesses around you wore one-of-a-kind pieces. You were reminded, again, that you were just an aristocrat’s daughter, the fiancé of a king sitting among the men and women that bards wrote songs about.

You felt as if you were set to be the butt of the joke in another round of ridicule as King Anthony drew his attention from teasing Peter to you.

“You,” he began, words a bit slurred due to the ale in his overflowing cup, “are very gorgeous. My love,” he directed to his wife, Queen Virginia, “don’t you agree?”

“Yes, you are a delight, Lady (Y/N).” The strawberry blonde smiled at you. You returned the smile, timidly.

“Likewise, your majesty,” you returned before nodding your head to the rest of the table. “All of you are wonderful.” Truthfully, many of their names went over your head and to save yourself the embarrassment, you refrained from calling any of them by name, only saying simple titles like your majesty and my lord or lady.

“Lady (Y/N),” the princess from the foreign land, Sokovia you think, called your attention. You believe her name was Wanda, or at least that was what the King of Hawksview called her. “Are you excited for whatever adventures marriage will bring you?” Her tone was drunk and teasing. It was clear what she was alluding to though you weren’t quite sure if you caught on.

“Oh, dear,” Peter chuckled, awkwardly, obviously understanding. His face a beet red as he patted your hand that sat on your lap. “Dove, you do not need to answer.”

“Dove?” King Steven, the one man you knew by name, questioned from across the round table. He sat directly in front of you and you swore he sat there deliberately.

“It’s what my father calls me,” you explained though your voice was a bit scratchy, your throat dry. You coughed before taking a sip from your barely touched ale, finding the taste quite revolting. You shifted uncomfortably in the seat as you felt the prying eyes of the Brooklyn King stare through you as if you were glass.

“Dove.” He repeated, trying the petname out. “Sweet. Innocent.”

“Oh, you stop teasing, Steve,” the woman with dark red hair rolled her eyes. You remembered her being called Nat though you did remember her from your history lessons. Queen Natalia Romanova of Widow’s Peak, the queen who paved the way for women on the battlefield. She was revered and you were in awe when you met her.

“If we’re teasing, shall we jest about how Steven has yet to marry?” The prince from Asgard laughed. He pushed his long black hair over his shoulder as his older brother, the blonde – the King – swatted at his forearm with the back of his hand as if to say be quiet.

Steven smirked, eyes shifting to his lap, before chuckling. “Laugh and tease all you want,” he said, grabbing his cup and bringing it to his lips.

“Why is it you haven’t married?” Queen Natasha’s husband, Bruce – you think – asked.

Attention shifted back to Brooklyn’s king as he shrugged, taking another swig from his cup. His eyes darted around the table as if gaging – studying – the group.

You found it odd. Many of the royals around you considered the others their closest friends, yet here he was, a mystery to them still. It was as if he was content with going unseen and unheard. You could understand.

“C’mon, Stevie,” King Anthony taunted with a pet name. The blonde’s jaw tensed for a moment but quickly released. You frowned at that – was there tension between the two kings? “Handsome, wealthy king with vast holdings and a powerful kingdom, yet no marriage? It’s like you’re not trying, Steven.”

The Brooklyn king chuckled again, brows lifting with an amused look. His eyes met yours and you felt your face go hot again. Your gown shifted underneath the table as your knee bumped Peter’s when you crossed your legs. He looked away.

“I would not get married simply because I need a crown,” his eyes shifted to Peter before shifting back to his cup, “or I need an alliance, or my country requires finances or resources. Brooklyn’s striving under my rule.” He said it so calmly and smugly as if he weren’t throwing condescending comments about his friends’ marriages right in front of them.

“If I were to get married,” Steven’s ocean eyes met yours again like the waves crashing into a shore, “it would be because I’m in love.”

You shifted in your seat, that pulsing, throbbing ache returning as you held his stare. You bit your lip before nervously breaking the eye contact to pick at the bread roll on your plate.

You suddenly jumped when Peter draped his arm around your shoulder, completely unaware that he was about to do so, too preoccupied to appear occupied. He shot you a worried glance, but you gave him a tight smile and a nod.

“Well, I, for one,” he smiled, “am marrying for love.” Peter pressed a kiss to your temple, and you felt your smile drop for a second. Just a mere second – maybe even less.

No one noticed, you assured yourself with a relieved exhale. You scanned the round table to find that everyone smiled at you and your fiancé with dopey grins, staring at the two children in love. However, Steven’s was different.

No… The king had a knowing smirk on his face as if to say, I saw.

»————-　⚜　————-«

With the coronation in a fortnight, you and Peter found yourselves on edge. Your shoulders always felt tense which left an ache in your neck, leaving you to rub out the knots but to no avail.

Peter’s nerves made him jittery. During meals, his leg bounced up and down with nerves. The sudden movement often shaking the table, leaving you in an annoyed silence. To cope with his pending coronation nerves, the young prince whisked himself into meaningless tasks and hobbies in hopes to distract himself.

Unfortunately, this meant that he often left you to yourself, leaving you to dwell in your unease on your own.

You confided in Lady Parker about your nerves though she returned your concern with a small frown. “You aren’t getting coronated, why are you nervous?” She chuckled dismissively. You nearly snapped then but was able to stop yourself before saying anything offensive to Lady Parker.

Deciding that your thoughts were better left unsaid, you isolated yourself in the stairwell on the south wing of the castle. In your time here at Arachnia, this quickly became your favorite spot. The south wing was nowhere near the bustling crowds of guests and their parties, making it the quietest place in the castle at times. There was a wide window that stood above the stairs; it brought in gorgeous sunlight and you often found yourself basking in its warmth.

However, with your troubled thoughts, the south wing stairwell’s window brought you no comfort at all as you gnawed on the bump on the inside of your cheek. It was a habit you picked up when you were being taught to be a lady – a lady is to be seen and never heard – so you opted to biting back your opinions and retorts, whether it be physical or metaphorical.

Though Lady Parker was right, the coronation was Peter’s worry alone, it would not only be Peter that would be judged and watched by the entire continent the moment that crown is on his head. Even now as a mere lady, the fiancé of their soon to be king, you were burdened with such scrutiny and you were sure that this would only increase three-fold once Peter was crowned king.

The pressures would only worsen once you were dubbed Peter’s queen.

So, you sat pensively in your thoughts near the top of the stairs as you enjoyed the last few months of peace you had left.

“For an engaged woman, I do find you alone too many times,” a voice took you from your thoughts as it carried through the empty stairwell. You looked up and met the amused smirk of King Steven Rogers.

You stood up from your spot and found your footing at the top of the staircase before you curtseyed. “Your majesty,” you greeted.

“Most brides tend to cling to their fiancé, fighting to be by their side every waking moment,” the king mused, quirking an eyebrow up, “but not you.”

“I suppose.”

“May I?” He gestured to the unoccupied seat next to you. You bit your lip before nodding, sitting down again, but this time with the king’s warmth next to you. “Is something on your mind, Lady (Y/N)?”

“No, your majesty,” you said a bit too quickly and he saw through you.

He tutted, knowingly. “I know a troubled lady when I see one,” he pressed. “Please, my lady, speak freely as if I am just a friend.”

“I hadn’t realized I was friends with a king,” you muttered. You felt his eyes on you as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and stared at your lap.

The conversation stilled as the silence built, but you found comfort in the king’s presence. Although his eyes made you uneasy and nervous, he brought you a strange sense of peace.

His soft chuckle pulled you from your thoughts again. “Lady (Y/N).” He said your name and you glanced over at him with a brow cocked up. “I noticed that you don’t speak, not often, at least.”

“I was taught to never speak unless spoken to.”

He scoffed. “That’s a habit that you’ll grow out of.” He saw confusion flash through your expression and smiled, gently. “A strong, respected queen demands attention as she enters a room. Every step she takes must be a stride of confidence so that no one ever questions her status.”

“A status that my husband, the king, gives me. I cannot over-step. I would undermine him.”

“Peter’s a king,” Steven corrected. “I never said you would over-step, but a true king would ensure that he and his queen are in equal footing.” He cocked his head to the side as he noticed your grimace. “You don’t like that.”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked before quickly added, “your majesty.”

“Being called his queen,” he clarified with a smile.

Panicked, you began, “I am humbled to wear his ring on my finger – that he considered me for marriage and that – “

“You are not on trial,” he interrupted, quickly with a laugh. “It’s merely an observation.” You nodded, awkwardly. “In my opinion, I feel as if a marriage – any marriage, whether royal or otherwise – is a partnership, but unfortunately, many see it as an ownership.”

“That’s just not how our society sees it.” You muttered with a shake of your head.

“Where is your fiancé? It’s too often that I find you alone. I shall share a word with him about his manners.” He joked and you laughed lightly at his attempt to lighten the mood.

You sighed, fidgeting with the sapphire on your finger. “He’s … preoccupied.”

Steve frowned at that but abruptly stood, stretching his hand out to you. “Then, come, my lady, I shall escort you to the festival to enjoy this beautiful day.”

Your hands flew to your face as you shook your head, defiantly. “Oh, god no!” You groaned. He amusedly raised his eyebrows at you. “I hate leaving the castle to join the others… Everyone just stares at me. It’s unsettling!”

Steve laughed and leaned down to pull you to your feet. Although you stood at the top of the staircase and he a few steps beneath you, he was still taller than you.

“They’re admiring their future queen,” he tried. He took your hands in his and you felt a shiver run down your spine as the goosebumps rose. “And from where I stand, I must say, she is truly a vision… Even if she’s moping.”

The butterflies didn’t cease to exist as they fluttered excitedly under his stare. You bit your lip and avoided eye contact, staring at your hands clasped in his. His words lifted your confidence, but his presence made you nervous and you didn’t quite understand why.

He whispered your name; fingers reaching out beneath your chin and lifted your chin. Blue eyes staring deep into your wide ones and for a split second he glanced down at your lips.

“You can tell me to stop.”

He was so close to you. Your noses were nearly touching.

“What if I don’t want you to?” You whispered. You held your breath, but he gladly stole it as he pressed his soft, plump lips onto yours.

You swore it was almost instinct… It had to be. You moved in sync. With your lips pressed against his, you felt this feeling of belonging – something you hadn’t felt in all your time in the palace of Arachnia, in all your life. In all your time spent with Peter, it never felt like this.

Your hands fisted his dirty blonde hair as his hands cupped your face, holding you there… keeping you in the moment and you swore time stopped.

You were breathless when you finally pulled away. Eyes wide in realization.

You had just given your first kiss away to a man that wasn’t your fiancé and there was no ounce of regret in either of you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

Time passed so slowly when all you’d wish for was that it’d up – skipping to a time where you and Peter were already married and the royals have all vacated Arachnia and back to their own lands, where the king that occupied your mind was long gone.

In the days that followed, you avoided each like the plague. You’d turn the corner and see Peter then immediately turn the other way or you’d bow your head down so low so that you could avoid Steven’s fixated stare as you passed him in the corridors.

The only time you couldn’t escape the two was during meals. Although during breakfast and lunch you usually spent alone, it was during the feasts of dinner that you could not escape the lingering stare of King Steven nor the possessive arm of Prince Peter.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter whispered in your ear. You were guilt-ridden as you stared at the concern that filled his deep brown eyes. You muttered that you were alright just a bit tired although under the king’s eyes you have never felt more alive. But he accepted your answer nonetheless.

“Are we interrupting,” teased King Anthony with a playful grin. “Shall we order the absence of everyone in the room so that you two may have all the privacy in the world?” His wife slapped his shoulder with a chuckle as you and Peter bashfully apologized – Peter because he was truly embarrassed for being caught whispering in your ear and you because you felt Steven’s eyes staring through your soul. “Tell us, Lady (Y/N), how did such a lovely lady such as yourself end up with a brute of a prince like Peter?”

You swallowed as all their attention turned to you. You stared across the table at King Steven who eyed you with a smirk. His elbows rested on the table with his hands clasped together, head resting on top of his knuckles, as if taunting you, egging you on. You tore your eyes away as you focused on your lap.

“Well… uh – “

“We met at her brother’s party,” Peter announced, proudly. You took your cue and nodded with a small grin and kept silent. “My father and hers were friends before he passed, and so they invited my aunt and I. We had no choice but to accept, and thankfully, we did. She was truly a sight, this one.” You forced a laugh as the other chuckled. “I knew then she had to be mine, this little dove.”

You grimaced but quickly covered it up by grabbing your cup of untouched ale. Your eyes flicked over to Steven who was already staring at you. He cocked an eyebrow up at you as your eyes met. You brought the ale to your lips and he stared as your lips pressed against the rip of the chalice but never drank anything.

The conversation drifted to another topic, but you excused yourself, telling Peter you were exhausted. He nodded with a smile and leaned in to kiss you and your eyes widened, turning your head – had he wanted your first kiss to be in front of all these people? Marking you as his? His lips pressed against your cheek and you muttered goodbye to him and bid a goodnight to the others.

You wondered aimlessly throughout the corridors, lost in your thoughts. With everyone in the grand hall for dinner, the castle was felt empty, and your shoes clicked against the tiles and echoed through the halls. After minutes of silent walking, you felt the hairs at the back of your neck prick up and goosebumps run down your arms.

You turned to find the dark hallway staring back at you. You frowned before you turned and ran into a sturdy build of a man.

“I thought you retired for the night?” and you recognized the voice immediately.

“Your majesty,” you whispered, bowing awkwardly to King Steven.

He chuckled as you apologized frantically. He shushed you, seizing your hands but you snatched them away. Steven frowned. “You’re avoiding me.”

“What happened shouldn’t have happened,” you hissed.

A playful smirk replaced his scowl as he tilted his head, tauntingly. “But you could’ve stopped me. You could’ve said no.”

“Of course,” you chuckled dryly. “It’s always the woman’s fault. Men can never take responsibility for their misdoings and kings,” you spat out as if it were poison on your tongue. “are no better.”

“Was it your first kiss?”

Your tongue darted out and wet your bottom lip and you didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced down. Embarrassment washed over you like a wave as your shoulders slumped. Were you that bad?

“It was, wasn’t it?” He smiled. “I wouldn’t have known… but you were a natural – “

“Don’t flatter me.” You snapped and he laughed.

“So, I had the honor of being your first kiss…” He muttered. Steven’s hand grabbed your bicep, which was significantly smaller than his, and pulled you closer to him.

“Your majesty – “He shushed you as he kissed you again in that corridor, but you pulled away abruptly, not allowing yourself to melt into him. “We can’t. I am engaged to the prince.”

Steven rolled his eyes. “But you don’t want to be. Others may dismiss it as nerves, cold feet, even, but,” he tsked, “I know better.”

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.” He whispered. “Enough to know that I want you.”

“I have to be married to the prince. I wear his ring. I live in his castle.”

“And enjoy a loveless marriage? He can dote on you and you can learn to love him, yes… I’ve seen it in my parents’ union and in my friends’, but you’ll never truly be happy, no…” He told you, brows furrowed and shook his head.

“And I’d be happy as your mistress?” You scoffed, shaking your head, but you made no motions to step away. “A noblewoman reduced to nothing but a king’s play-thing? The dishonor, the shame – “

“I never said you’d be my mistress.” Steven shook his head as he cupped your jaw.

“And you intend to marry me?” You laughed as if he had said the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. And it was. It was hilarious to think that he was being anything but truthful. You were sure he was jesting with you. Empty words. Empty promises. But his stare was serious.

“I want you.”

“You want the idea of me,” you corrected. “The idea that you can take another king’s wife. Kings throughout history are all the same. Covet another man’s wife, his property, or his land. Just to prove you are better.” You shook your head. “It’s a pissing contest for you. It’s treason for me.”

“I am a king.” He told you and you rolled your eyes.

“Not mine.” You whispered. “Your teasing, your jokes. Your eyes… they linger in a way only Peter’s should, and it has to stop.”

“I want you.” He repeated. “And I know you want me, too.”

“I don’t – “

“Or else you would’ve walked away. You could’ve pulled your arm from me – I’m not holding onto you tightly. You could’ve run off to your little prince, but you’re avoiding him, too. Is it guilt, my lady?” He asked you, leaning down and whispering into your ear. Your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, kissing the skin beneath it. “Because you know you don’t want the boy… but you’re too kind to hurt him.”

“You’re trying to get me killed.” You stifled a moan as his lips left a trail of wet kisses down your neck. “Shunned and humiliated – “

“I want to be yours,” he confessed.

A sudden burst of laughter had you jump from each other. Your back pressed against the wall as he took a step back with a smirk. In the distance, you could hear drunken men and their courtesans stumble about the castle, doors slamming shut. The feast must’ve been over, and the halls were soon to be crowded again.

You two held each other’s stares as you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The moonlight that slipped through the curtains of the windows had his deep blue eyes gleaming and he was marvelous view.

»————-　⚜　————-«

The room was stuffy and the jewelry that adorned your neck and wrists were heavy. They weighed you down as if to remind you of the pressures that your new life held – what lay ahead of you. The dress you wore was a combination of white and gold. You looked regal like the betrothed of a king should look like. You stood in the crowd next to King Anthony and his wife, behind you was King Steven and his piercing stare.

The feelings that you held for Steven were wrong and you knew that. You often wished that Peter had been flawed – an unfaithful man or a cruel one but he was the opposite. He was kind and gentle albeit a bit dismissive or not present at times. The guilt gnawed at you each time you and the Brooklyn king met behind closed doors, or in the secluded library, or in the depths of the rose garden, planted especially for you by Peter’s order, but you didn’t care.

It was innocent, really – at least that’s what you told yourself. The meetings always started the same. Bickering and joking. He had even taken an interest in tutoring you about chess – “a game for kings,” he would say. Although he had beat you every game, you never minded because all the meetings ended the same – with your lips pressed against his and you melting into his touch.

The crowds all stood as Peter entered the throne room. He was dressed as a king in his house colors – red, blue, gold. He was sweaty and his hands were clasped together nervously. He shot a glance your way as he walked by and you gave him a soft, encouraging nod. He returned it with a smile as he kneeled before the throne.

The priest slipped a ring on his finger and he was later handed the scepter and the orb. You caught the way the scepter slipped due to his clammy hands – not too much but just enough to have him fumble. Behind you, you heard Steven chuckle and you shot him a look as if to tell him to behave and he shook his head at you with a grin.

The crown was placed onto Peter’s head and he hesitantly stood. He was unbalanced, weighed down, but he took each step towards the throne with stride and a proud smile.

“Long live the king!” You and the entire crowd chanted in unison though you were almost certain that Steven didn’t say a word.

The party held afterwards was filled with dancing and music, but you were tied to Peter’s side the entire evening as he thanked his guests and accepted their congratulations, all eager to get in favor with their new king.

Instead of the usual round table, Peter and his family – Lady Parker and you – were seated in a long table at the front of the grand hall. The rest of the royals scattered in other tables near yours. You picked at your food, boredom sinking in as another nobleman approached.

You glanced up and met Steven’s eyes. He brought his chalice up as if to salute you and you softly laughed before turning your attention to the duke. The conversation was dull with fake pleasantries and complaints of lost land – Peter promised the duke that he would look into it. You remembered Steven tell you that kings should make no promises that he could not uphold. and you wondered if Peter had any intentions of honoring it.

“Do you want to dance?” Peter asked you after the man left, offering you his hand. You smiled and nodded, taking it.

He pulled you onto the dancefloor, joining the other couples. Peter’s hold on you was tight as if you would run away or disappear. The crown on his head was just a little big and would slip over his forehead. You’d giggle and push it back up.

He pulled you close to him and swayed to the music. “This is grand,” he told you. “The crown, a beautiful bride.” You hummed in agreement though you didn’t entirely adore the idea – not as much as you used to. You hated being compared to that awful crown as if you were just an accessory to him. “And … In a few days’ time, my dove, we are to be wed.”

“What?” You shook your head with a dry laugh, taking it as a joke. “Your high – majesty,” you corrected, and he beamed at the title, “we are set to be married in the late spring. Not in a few days.”

Peter frowned. “Had no told you?” You shook your head, no. He sighed. “I suppose I should’ve… The council believes that it’s best we get married immediately. Now, that I’ve got the crown, they say I need heirs,” you blanched at the idea, “and besides, the other royal families of Marvel are already here.” Your breath hitched as the realization set it. “Well, aside from King Steven, he’s one to never attend weddings.”

“Peter – “you shook your head. The panic beginning to rise. Despite being trained for this very day since you were young, you were convinced you weren’t ready. You told yourself the anxiety was from the idea of being queen, but the truth was – the anxiety was from the idea of being wed… to Peter.

“May I cut in?” You didn’t hear Peter’s response just that a pair of familiar hands seized yours and your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Are you okay?”

You stared up at Steven’s worried eyes, brows lifted and lines of concern all over his forehead. You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You hated the idea that you would be Peter’s completely, and that Steven would never be yours.

“Peter said we are to be wed in a few days,” you uttered. The words didn’t feel right. Your voice was shaking as you held back your tears. Steven’s jaw dropped before he nodded. “Steve,” his eyes stared into yours, “I don’t want this.”

“And what is it do you want?” Steven asked you. He was hopeful although naively so. And in many ways, you were as well to believe that your affections for Steven could extend to something more. But reality set in, you were engaged to a king – just not the king you wanted.

“I want to marry you,” you confessed though voice hushed, afraid that any ears would hear your treasonous words. You let out a shaky breath as you stared at him before shaking your head. The idea that you fell in love with a man after knowing him for only three weeks was preposterous. “Or at least… that I want to be with you.”

Steven smiled softly at your confession – words he had been hoping to hear ever since he cornered you in the empty hallway. He leaned in and your eyes widened, but he brought his lips to your ear and whispered, “keep your chamber doors unlocked tonight.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

One of the peculiar things about your move to Arachnia’s palace was your bedroom. It was rather enormous for the fiancé of the now king. When you first arrived, you expected a room modest in size though not as big as this – especially since you’d move into Peter’s chambers once you were married. The mattress was pressed against the back wall between two large windows that never opened. Bookshelves filled with novels though no work area – no desk or study. Instead, you were given a vanity. Besides those pieces, the room was pure empty space.

You used to joke to yourself that you were just a prisoner who adorned the prince’s, now king’s, jewels and a fine title.

You stood by the window, watching the fireworks that celebrated the coronation. You swore you could see the towns in the distance, all lit up with anticipation. Peter would soon be making his rounds throughout the country as its official king. Would it happen before you were married or after? Would you be asked to join him as his queen?

You stared down at your ring finger. The sapphire staring tauntingly back at you. It shackled you to a man you didn’t want. It reminded you of your family’s side eyes and low whispers when you didn’t immediately get married once you were of age, or the hushed voices and stares of the other nobles as they judged your every move calling you unworthy to marry a prince, let alone a king.

And all you could think was – to hell with it all.

A soft knock was heard from the wooden door of the chamber and you walked towards it. The stone tiles were cold against your bare feet and the doorknob even colder against your already freezing hand. With a twist of the doorknob, a smile formed on your lips as Steven came to view.

You hurriedly pulled him inside, eyes scanning the now empty hallway, before closing it.

He eyed you up and down and smiled, admiring you – hair undone and natural, face free of any makeup or colors staining your cheeks or lips, no gown with a corset that clung onto your body that left you with no room to breathe.

You were beautiful and oh, how he’d kill to see you like this every day.

“Did anyone see you?” You asked him, softly, though within the thick walls of the castles and in the privacy of your chambers no one would hear you.

Steven shook his head, one hand finding your waist and the other cupping the side of your face. “They never do, do they?” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

You pulled away, leaning into his chest, settling into his warmth. You loved being in his embrace – it was safe and warm like a small cottage in the countryside with no judgmental stares or rumors whispered about.

You realize you could live like this until your last day – and with your intentions, that final day might be quickly approaching. “Why is it you asked to meet me here?”

Steven’s jaw ticked. Truthfully, he had no real answer. He could’ve asked to meet anywhere, and the risks were just the same. The mere act of meeting you in private was damning, no matter what he intended.

He thought that admiring you from across a crowded room, under the cover of hundreds all staring at you, too, would be enough. He thought his eyes would go unnoticed. He told himself that his attraction would be fleeting, but it wasn’t – and it became clear the moment he pressed his lips against yours at the top of the south stairwell.

“Steve?”

He sighed. “I… I’m not quite sure if I’m honest with you, Lady (Y/N).”

You smiled to yourself. In the time you’ve known King Steven, he had always been so smug, so confident. Every step had a direction and every word so sure, but you’ve reduced him to a man begging for the affection of a woman.

You pulled yourself from his chest and stared up at him before you stood on the tips of your toes to press a kiss onto his lips.

It was as if you two were molded together or made from the same cloth. Lips pressed together as if they had always belonged there.

His large hands found the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his tapered waist. You felt the heat rise to your face when that familiar throbbing feeling between your legs came back – and with your cunt pressed against the middle of his body, you were sure he could feel it, too.

Your back pressed against the soft, silk sheets of your bed. Steven draped over you like ivy covering the castle’s stone walls.

The framework creaked beneath your combined weight as he began to grind aimlessly against your center, eliciting a gasp from you as it helped the ache from deep within you.

He smirked into the kiss, but you caught him off guard yet again when you whispered, “I – I want you.” He pulled away, taken back. “I want all of you, Steve, please – “

“(Y/N) – “

He began to climb off you, but you sat up, hands cupping his face and staring deep into his eyes. You shook your head as you gave him a quick kiss.

Foreheads touching, you told him, “if I am to go marry and live in this hell, I might as well be granted a taste of heaven.”

“You will be ruined – “he whispered though the idea made his cock twitch in his trousers. You jumped as you felt it too.

You shook your head again, “how can you ruin anything, Steve?”

Steve licked his lips as he tried to fight off his morals. The devil and the angel on his shoulders disappeared and became one – the beautiful maiden beneath him, begging for him to take her.

“If we do this,” he whispered as he nudged your cheek, lips kissing your jaw, “there will be no going back, (Y/N).”

“I want to be yours, Steve,” you told him, honestly. “I – I love you.”

And that’s all it took to have his lips ravish yours, hands roaming, desperately grabbing on to what he could. He pulled away and grabbed your hand. He slid the ring off your finger, tossing it onto the table next to your bed before he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You heard a rip and you gasped as the cold air hit your bare skin. Steven’s hands pushed the torn fabric off away from your body, throwing the ruined white silk behind his shoulder.

He pulled away from you, admiring the view beneath him – the woman spread out before him like an offering, nipples perked in the cold winter air, mouth ajar as she panted, and the perfect, untouched pussy.

“I love you, too.”

He began to undress, and you couldn’t take your eyes off this Herculean being in front of you. He was thick and broad, the muscles that were arranged all over his body were hypnotizing as were the scars undoubtfully from all his training and his time spent in wars.

He was a god in the body of the king, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

Steven began to undo the strings that held his pants up and you watched with you lip between your teeth. The anticipation, alone, killed you. He pushed down his pants and your eyes widened at his massive cock – tanner than the rest of his skin, with a red angry tip, thick veins, and clear liquid coming from it.

He saw your uncertain expression and he raised his brows at you. “I – I –“you began to stammer.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now, little one,” Steven whispered. His hands reached out and cupped your cheek, hungry eyes scanned your body and your mouth went dry. The throbbing within you was relentless and made you clench your thighs together. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes looked away, bashfully, as his hands explored you – cupping your breasts and tracing the curves of your body. All Steven wanted was for all of you to be his.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you hesitantly looked back at him. He had a soft smile and adoring eyes as his fingers slipped through your folds. You let out a soft gasp and your eyes fluttered closed as the ache was relieved by his touch. “Look at me,” Steven repeated, and you forced your eyes open to stare at him. Your lover smirked as he found your small bundle of nerves and rubbed tight circles around it.

It felt as if something within you had blossomed and you couldn’t help but grind into his touch, but he tutted at you, using his free hand to hold your hips down. “You’re soaked, my love,” Steven whispered, leaning down, and nipping at the base of your neck. Hard enough for you to gasp but not enough to leave marks. “Already so wet and I’ve yet to do anything.”

“It’s just my reaction to you,” you confessed, heat rising to your face.

You tried to avert your eyes away from his piercing stare, but he tsked and pinched your inner thigh. You hissed in return and brought your stare back to him. “Don’t make me tell you again, (Y/N),” Steven warned.

You nodded, speechless as his fingers wandered further down, ghosting over your untouched opening. You let out a shaky breath.

“Steven – “you moaned as he sunk one long, thick, skilled finger inside of you.

“You’re so tight,” the king noted with a smirk. He relished in the idea that he would be the first to have you and he wished that he’d be the only one to have you forever.

“Steven, I want you… Please – “

He tsked at you with a quick shake of his head. His lips pressed against yours again, silencing your soft whines and protests. “I need to open you up, my love,” he told you, lips still against yours, “or else you might get hurt.” He pressed another finger into you, and you pulled away from his lips.

The back of your head pressed against the mattress as another moan escaped you. The king began to scissor your opening. The stretch was tolerable though still uncomfortable and had your breath shuddering.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised you, nose tracing your jaw. His lips kissed the column of your throat.

You groaned when his fingers began to thrust, opening you up to him. You heard the faint sound of your arousal on his fingers, the wetness spilling onto your thighs, too. Your hands tangled up into the king’s long, dark blonde hair, pulling him into you as he added a third finger, effectively stretching you out.

“Are you alright?” He asked you, fingers thrusting into you in a rhythm of their own. You nodded, eyes staring at the top of the canopy over your bed and hands pushing the king flush against you’re the joint between your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there, trying not to suck on it to leave you with his marks – marks that young Peter would undoubtfully see on your wedding night.

You gasped as you felt this tightening knot in the depths of your stomach. “You almost there, my love?” Steven asked and you nodded though you weren’t sure where there was. Your thighs tightened around him. You whined when his fingers left your heated core right on the precipice of pleasure, leaving you with an emptiness. Steven chuckled.

“I was – “

“First time you get to cum will be around my cock,” he told you brazenly and it felt as if your entire body flushed at his words. He brought his fingers to his lips and your eyes widened when he began to suck on them, and he groaned. “You taste so sweet, my lady.” The king quirked up an eyebrow at your curious expression as he swiped his fingers against your lips. “Have a taste, my love.”

Your tongue reluctantly darted out over your lips, gathering the sweet yet musky taste of your essence. Your hand reached out, wrapping around his wrist and bringing his fingers to your mouth. Your lips wrapped around his index and middle finger and sucked carefully as he did, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh at the sight.

He watched you intently as you cleaned off his fingers, his free hand stroking his throbbing dick. He swiped the tip against your slit, causing your body to shudder when he bumped your clit.

He took his fingers from your mouth and both hands held your waist. Instinctively, your pushed your knees further apart, opening up to him. Steven’s blue eyes flicked up to you as he pressed his tip against your heat.

“Are you sure?” He asked you.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

You threw your head back as he began to press into you, the pressure unbearable and made your entire body tense. The king began to hush you, holding still. One of his hands caressed the side of your face, combing through your hair. “You need to relax, my love,” he cooed.

You muttered an incoherent agreement as you tried to will your muscles to loosen. You heard the squelching sound of your cunt engulfing the man, slowly. Your hand flew to his wrist and grabbed onto it, unsure of what to do.

He praised you as the tip slipped in along with an inch or two, but he was nowhere close to bottoming out. The king began to pull back, only leaving the tip in before pushing in more of him. You hissed again as he pressed past the thin veil of your innocence, being the first and only man to tear through it.

His cock was no match for his fingers, being much thicker and so much longer. You tried to even your breathing and he chuckled. “You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Taking me so well… Look…”

His nose nudged the side of your cheek and you slowly craned your neck to look down as he bottomed out completely – his public bone flush against your clit. Your mouth watered at the sight as he slowly pulled out an inch or two. You took a sharp breath when you saw the faint strips of red on his length.

The king began to rock into you slowly and you couldn’t take your eyes away from where you were connected. The pain, although still there from the burning stretch, was incomparable to the pleasure when his tip brushed against a certain part of your canal.

You moaned, loudly, head thrown back, exposing your throat to him. Steven kissed the hollowness before capturing your lips in his. “I love you,” he murmured into the kiss as his hips began to speed up. Your own matching his thrusts.

The sound of skin clapping against each other echoed throughout the enormous room and you felt yourself clench against him.

He groaned in return. In one quick motion, the king hoisted your knees over his shoulder, giving him a much deeper angle to take you from. He thrusted so hard and so deeply that you swore you felt him in your chest.

You moaned his name as your hands grabbed your breasts. He watched with a smirk as you fondled yourself and one of his hands began to rub tight circles around your swollen clit again. Your back arched at the sensation.

“I’m gonna fill you up, my love,” he told you. “Have you fall pregnant with my child. Watch you swell…” It was a fantasy, on Steven’s behalf. He’d always wanted a wife and children but never found the right partner until you. “Do you want that, little one? Do you want my children?”

“I want you, Steven,” you moaned. No coherent thoughts were forming as the familiar tight knot in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your hips ground up against his as your walls tightened around the king, milking him, and pushing him over the edge.

Steven thrusts faltered, leaving his rhythm, and pushed deeply into you one last time. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt each spurt, covering your walls in his white.

You two laid on top each other, legs entangled, and bodies intertwined like lovers. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you said, “I love you, Steven.”

And in that moment, all was right.

»————-　⚜　————-«

“What?”

The disbelief in each of their tones hung in the air. The councilmen shook their heads in shock as Peter stared at you from the throne with his brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“I beg your pardon, Lady (Y/N).” One of the men said.

“My lords, my king,” you addressed with a bow of your head. “I asked for this meeting to tell you that I am incredibly humbled to have been homed here in the palace of Arachnia and to be the betrothed of the prince – king – to have witnessed you be crowned, your majesty… But I,” you swallowed and took a deep breath. “I do not want to marry you.”

“What brought this on?” Peter asked you as he leaned into his throne. He eyed you, suspiciously, eyes glancing over your figure. Although the new king had been wrapped up in several meetings ever since his coronation, he noticed the change in you – the way your body filled out, hips wider and the glow in your complexion. You looked more radiant than you usually were and much happier. Though he wasn’t sure what was the cause, he was certain it had not been him but he refused to believe it was another.

“I cannot believe this!”

“We’ve wasted all this time preparing a marriage!”

“How dare she – “

“He needs a bride to keep his crown.”

“Silence,” Peter ordered the men and their murmurs quickly disappeared. Words and unfinished sentences hung in the air. “What brought this on, my lady?”

You cleared your throat as you took a step forward. “Your majesty, I … I am not meant to be your queen.”

Peter nodded in contemplation and you were hopeful. He had always been understanding. He would’ve surely granted you a swift exit from this engagement without another – “No.” And just like that your hopes were dashed. “You are to remain my betrothed as you have been for months.”

“But Pete – “

“Our wedding is in days!” Peter snapped and your eyes flicked to the floor. “And you want to end our engagement now? You had months to concede – “

“I was afraid!” You objected. The lords stared on as your voice rose higher than the king’s. The tone, the higher octave, may have been from a moment of frustration, but the men in the throne room saw it as one thing only: a lady undermining her king.  

“Afraid?” He scoffed. “Of what? Of me? My lady, I am not a cruel man – “

“Then grant me my wish. Release me from this engagement.” You begged.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “We are to be married in a few days’ time.” You saw how his kind eyes darkened as he frowned at you. “You do your best to rid of your cold feet now, my lady.”

Defeated, you rushed out of the throne room. Several servants and other nobles stared with confused expressions as you ran past with tears in your eyes – running to the only man that understood you, the only man that could help.

You banged against his chamber doors, desperate for him to whisk you away.

“Steven!” You called when the door suddenly opened to reveal a maid. Her arms were full of linens and you stared at her in confusion.

She quickly curtseyed to you and cocked her head to the side. “My lady, have you been crying?”

“No,” you shook your head, jaw clenched, though your sniffle gave you away. “Where’s King Steven?”

“He left this afternoon, my lady.” She told you.

“What?” You felt the color drain from your face. You shook your head at her as if she were wrong. He wouldn’t have left you – not like this. “No… There must be a mistake. Steven – King Steven – “

She frowned before shaking her head. “No, my lady… The Brooklyn King left hours ago. If you had wanted to know, I would’ve told you. I had no idea you two were so close.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Though the maid had been kind in her intention, you heard the accusation loud and clear.

A shaky breath left you as you forced a smile. “No,” you said shaking your head again, “no… The king, our king, Peter and I were hoping he’d attend our… our marriage.” The word felt heavy on your tongue as the world around you began to crash down. “I suppose, we were too naïve to believe he’d stay.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

The barren winter trees passed by in blurs as Steven stared out the carriage window. The bickering of his two friends and advisors, Lord Samuel Wilson and James Barnes, became background noise to his pensive thoughts.

He wondered how you were – were you as devasted as he was? Would you understand if he told you the truth – that he, though desperately and completely in love with you, could not have you? That his overstep, his coveting of Peter Parker’s fiancé, may reignite a feud long buried between Arachnia and Brooklyn.

That as a king, it was his duty to put a stop to a potential war.

Though as a man, he knew his duty was to you and may always be.

“The girl,” Barnes’s mention of your name had him turning from the window and towards the two men, “she seems well. A great match for the young king.”

Steve scoffed. Although he knew his opinion was heavily biased, he knew that you were most certainly not a good match for the Parker boy. Peter would have you as a decorated figurehead – a pretty woman on his arm for the world to see – while Steven wanted so much more in your forbidden union.

“I see you disagree,” Samuel nodded to his king. Steven sat in silence and the two lords shot a knowing glance at the other. “They are to be wed in a few days.” Steven hummed though the two didn’t miss the way his hand formed a fist over his knee.

“The sooner the better, I suppose,” James nodded, eyeing Steven wearily. “Peter, being so young and the last of his line, he needs an heir quickly.” The king shifted in the carriage and they felt the entire cart jolt with his fury. “Steven, I address this as your friend, nothing more, but what is your issue?”

“Nothing.” Steven said quickly and he scolded himself. He felt like a young boy throwing a tantrum with his mother.

James raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his king and childhood friend. “The girl has piqued your interest, hasn’t she?” His friend’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. “Steve – “

“I know,” Steven snapped. “I know it is wrong to want another man – “he scoffed, “child’s bride…”

“And yet you still do?” Samuel asked. “Steve, the consequences of your feelings,” he shook his head, “it will incite an unnecessary war… and over what? A girl?”

“If she’s a war, then I will fight.”

“A love blind man’s word… Not a king’s.” Samuel rebutted.

“Why did you leave her, then? You could’ve stowed her away in this carriage with us. You could’ve stolen her from under Peter’s nose. Why didn’t you?” James quizzed.

With a defeated sigh, Steven said, “it’s for her own good. My affections for her, whatever my heart says or hers, it will get her killed. Arachnia will not take lightly to her betrayal of their king.”

James nodded in agreement. “You’re saving her. This is for the best, my friend. For if you listened to your heart instead of your head, she will be a casualty in a pointless war.”

“It’s difficult,” Steven confessed, “to have let her go. And it’s something I will regret for the rest of my life.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

ONE YEAR LATER…

Your entire family cooed at the fussing three-month-old in the king’s arms. The child continue to wail and thrash, finding discomfort in your husband. “Argh!” He glanced over to you as if asking for your help. You stifled a laugh as you walked over, seizing your baby from him. “She prefers her mother over me.” He joked as the babe almost instantly calmed in your arms.

“Have you chosen a godparent, yet, your majesty?” Your father asked you, subtly pushing your older brother forward as a silent suggestion. You rolled your eyes.

The king ran a hand over his brown curls and shook his head at your father. “No, my lord, we have yet to choose.” Peter nodded in your direction. “I thought since most of baby Fallon’s life will be decided by me, his mother should have a say in that.”

Your father chuckled with a shake of his head. He clasped a hand on your shoulder, and you fought the urge to shrug it off. “Indecisive, this one, isn’t she?”

Peter glanced your way, “you have no idea.” The two men laughed, and you gnawed at the knob in the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood. Fallon yawned and you gave Peter a look. “I suppose, we should all greet our guests.”

“Oh, yes,” you nodded, “the christening. You go ahead, Peter. Someone should stay with Fallon.”

“Oh, nonsense, girl,” your father told you. “The nanny will – “

“She is my child and I will care for her. I do not need a nanny.” You snapped, your bottled up frustrations slowly bursting.

Peter laughed awkwardly, hands finding your waist though you pulled away from him. He coughed. “It’s the separation anxiety,” he joked with your father.

“Well, I never had that,” your mother piped up.

Of course, you didn’t. You sent me away as soon as Peter asked. You bit back the response.

Your family began to vacate the nursery and you felt a bit of relief. You felt Peter’s hands on your hips. You tensed when you felt his lips ghost over your ear. “Why don’t you join me in greeting our guests?” He asked you.

You shrugged him off. “I want to be alone.”

The young king sighed before releasing his hold on you. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to you again. “You do realize your duty is not only to Fallon? It is to me and my kingdom as well.”

“I understand that my duty was to give you an heir,” you deadpanned. “I have done just that.”

“You have given me a daughter. Not an heir.” You glared at him and he immediately silenced.

“A daughter is an heir. Do not dare discredit her birthright because of her sex!” The babe began to stir in your arms and let out a small cry. You immediately shushed her, coddling her in your arms and she began to quiet.

You heard him sigh, defeatedly, before the door slammed shut again.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you as you stared at the child in your arms. Many times, you found peace in Fallon’s presence, but as time went on and as the child began to resemble her father, you began to worry. Though Fallon had adorable dark curls, she had striking blue eyes – ones that undoubtfully belonged to her father.

On the day you were to wed Peter, he had gotten caught up in the affairs of the state. The wedding was quickly rescheduled for two weeks after despite the protests of the nobles and royals who had all stayed extra days to witness your union. As you were doing the final adjustments to your gown, you realized you were due for a bleed that had yet to come and a sickening feeling of realization ran erupted through you. You did not consummate that night – your nerves and guilt making you sick to your stomach.

But you decided that you would survive – if not for yourself, then the life within you, the life in your arms now.

Moments later, the door creaked open and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Peter, I said I wanted to be alone – “in the silence, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand and a shiver run down your spine. A familiar feeling you wanted to forget. You turned around and your eyes widened. All the fury you felt, the regrets, the pain – all of it – melted in an instant.

“Steve.”

He stared at you with adoring eyes. You had grown more beautiful if that were even possible. Your glowed, motherhood becoming you. “(Y/N).”

“You shouldn’t be here.” You shook your head.

“You weren’t with Peter,” the Brooklyn king told you. “I thought you may have been with your child…” He chuckled. “Near the south wing, next to the staircase.”

“I love the sunlight it brings in.” You muttered. “Peter never lets Fallon out of the castle, so I suppose, it’s a substitute.” Steven nodded.

After beats of silence and longing stares, Steve finally said, “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” You nodded. “At first I was angry. I cursed your name in the dead of night. I wished you were dead and I often pretended so.”

“I deserve worse.”

You laughed. “You do.”

“I did it because I was afraid if I took you from him, in a furious rage, he’d strike you down. You are not of Brooklyn. I could not protect you against your own king.” Steven explained.

You nodded. “I told you. I would marry into hell.”

“Has he been cruel?” Steven frowned, his fury slowly rising and hands forming fists.

You shook your head. “No, far from it, actually.” You chuckled humorlessly. “In fact, perhaps, I’ve been the cruel one. I push him away because I don’t want Falon to believe that he is her father – “

“What?”

You glanced down at the child in your arms and beckoned Steven with a cock of your head. The king slowly walked over to you and the babe. Steven’s eyes watered slightly as he stared at the small creation. “She’s … she’s mine?”

You nodded. “They pushed the wedding back two weeks and I didn’t… uh… I didn’t bleed… and I knew then. We didn’t consummate,” you saw how he frowned at that, “until a week or so after. I was with child not long after.”

“How do you know?” He asked you. “Not to be accusatory, but – “

“She has your eyes.” You smiled. “Every time she stares at me, it’s as if you are.”

“She looks like me,” Steven smiled, a gentle finger caressing the child’s plump cheeks. You nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to hold her?” You asked and he eagerly nodded. He took the child from you and you felt your heart swell when Fallon didn’t immediately begin to fuss like she would with Peter. “She likes you.”

“I hope so. I’m her father, after all.”

You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder, both admiring the life that you both created. You imagined that this was your life… just for a moment. That you weren’t in Arachnia but in Brooklyn, bearing Steven’s name rather than Peter’s… Married to the one who truly held your heart.

You sighed, finding the calm in your daughter and your lover.

And in that moment… all was right.

let me know what y’all think

[witcher-and-his-bard-archive]

All Dressed Up (And Nowhere To Go)

Pairing: Geralt x Jaskier Warning(s): just your regular smut  Rating: explicit

Summary:  Things haven't been perfect since Geralt and Jaskier reunited after the mountain, but Jaskier suspects he knows why and he's determined to fix it.

on ao3

the italics didn’t transfer properly to tumblr (🙄) so for best reading experience, follow the ao3 link <3

Six months. Six months since that memorable day when Geralt showed up in his audience. Six months since his apology. Six months since Jaskier had pulled him aside and forced him to talk things through. Six months since their reconciliation.

Six months and more tension crammed into that time than any man deserves in his life. And things are good between them, very good. Maybe the best they've been since the incident in Cintra now that everything is out in the open and steps are being taken to consider each other more carefully. So Jaskier can't figure out what the problem is between them, but he'll be damned if he's not going to solve it.

He's tried talking about Ciri, but that seems to be going quite well and he's even brought up Yen, but she and Geralt are working on things for Ciri's sake. Their personal relationship seems to have been set aside, but Geralt is okay with that.

The only remaining things are Geralt's family and him and since winter was some time ago now he doubts it’s the other Witchers. So. It must be him. But Geralt has been different since their reunion, softer and more forgiving than before, so he doubts Geralt is upset with him. Which only leaves one option. One that makes his heart beat quicker and his mouth go dry. One that feels altogether like he should be imagining it, but what if he's not? He has to try.

So, Jaskier keeps an ear out for new contracts until he finds one he knows Geralt won't pass up. He goes to town ahead of him and waits until, as expected, Geralt shows up a couple of days later. Jaskier keeps an eye on him but stays out of the way until Geralt heads out for the hunt, then he puts his plan into action.

- - - - -

Geralt's exhausted. The graveir had proved to be tougher than expected and his right shoulder aches from a bad swing. He wishes he hadn't turned down Jaskier's offer to accompany him to Novigrad because he might still be with him now and Geralt sorely misses him. But things are good - or they will be, they're working through it and he doesn't want to push too hard too early.

But Melitele, what he wouldn't do for one of Jaskier's massages right now. Or just to have him fuss over him in the bath like he used to. Or, fuck. Even just to listen to him sing while he bathes and stretches out the aches and pains. They'll see each other soon enough, probably, but every time they part, there's a small part of him that wonders if this will be the time Jaskier doesn't return. He couldn't blame him for it, after the things he said before, but he'd still be devastated to lose him like that again. And despite being much better, things haven't been perfect since their reunion.

There's a block of some sort that they can't seem to pass - or maybe it's just his imagination, but it's so persistent he can practically feel it in the room with them. They have talked at length about their problems in the past, Geralt has apologized as well as he can and Jaskier had accepted that with the condition that Geralt continues to try. And he will, as Jaskier promised to do as well; they'll keep working at it until it's good again, maybe even better. But something is still in the way.

Geralt sighs as he heaves himself up the stairs, already eyeing the door of his room. He could use a damn good nap, but thinking about Jaskier has him feeling otherwise. He crosses the landing, shoving a hand against the door and leaning on it more than pushing it open, but as soon as he's inside, he stops dead in his tracks. The door bumps his hip on its way shut and he barely shifts to let it fall closed behind him.

In his bed, wearing nothing but a feathered hat and ankle-length jacket is Jaskier.

Geralt's eyes dart from his bare chest up to his face before sliding lower again and he struggles to take it all in at once. Jaskier's hair was longer when they first reunited, but he's got dark stubble covering his jawline and that hat does something to him that it really shouldn't.

Before he even realizes he's moving, Geralt's shucked his swords and he's halfway across the room. He bends down, hauling Jaskier into his arms and barely sees the flash of a smile before Jaskier's kissing him, soft and deep with both hands on his face. Geralt shifts as surprisingly strong thighs wind around his waist and he adjusts his arms to hold Jaskier tighter, reaching up to brush a hand through his hair.

Jaskier shifts in his arms and the jacket slides against his skin, smooth and silky on the inside and he hums against Jaskier's lips. This… feels right. This feels like coming home and he can't even find the words to express himself, to tell Jaskier the magnitude of his emotions. He deepens the kiss, slipping his hands to Jaskier's thighs to hold him as Jaskier shifts.

He breaks the kiss but his mouth only briefly leaves Geralt's skin, slipping down to his jaw and what little of his neck is exposed while his fingers seek out the clasps of Geralt's armour. He's gotten him out of it more times than Geralt knows, either because he's been too weak or injured to do it himself or just because he liked the help. A pang of guilt distracts him for a moment, a reminder of how he once took him for granted, but Jaskier's mouth finds his own again and he forgets about it.

It doesn't take Jaskier long to undress him and Geralt has to kick the pieces out of the way to keep from tripping on them. He huffs a soft laugh as Jaskier's fingers immediately drop to his waistband, unbuttoning his trousers and tugging his shirt free. He gets his hands on his bare skin and hums as he slides up his chest, fingers tangling in his chest hair before returning to his task of getting Geralt out of his clothes.

Geralt drops him down on the bed, reaching to push down his trousers, but Jaskier stops him. He's got his bottom lip trapped between his teeth, looking up at him with dark eyes and Geralt couldn't deny him anything in the world. When Jaskier softly asks let me? Geralt drops his hands to his sides.

Jaskier's hand finds the back of his neck, pulling him down again and Geralt doesn't protest, shifting to kneel over him. Jaskier draws him into another kiss before even touching his trousers, hands sliding up and down his sides.

When he finally slips his hands down, sliding Geralt's trousers over the swell of his ass, he draws him into another kiss, nipping at his lips. Geralt shuffles to kick his boots off and Jaskier is pulling him back against him before Geralt's trousers are even off of him. He huffs a laugh, but Jaskier seems unconcerned, happy enough to kiss him and tangle his fingers in his hair.

But Geralt has been waiting for this opportunity for longer than he can truly remember. Jaskier's chest is covered in a thick thatch of hair and Geralt has spent far too many summer afternoons longing to run his fingers through that hair. He presses his nose into it now, inhaling Jaskier's scent and humming against him. He licks his nipples, wrapping his lips around each of them and delighting in the soft little moans he gets in response. Jaskier is incredibly responsive, more so than anyone he's been with, and his skin prickles with every little moan and whine out of him. It only makes him more eager to please, to hear more of those sounds.

He slips lower, dragging his lips down toward Jaskier's navel. He presses his palm to his thigh, his thumb just sliding against the crease of his hip and Jaskier rises into the touch. He's got his head thrown back, lip between his teeth again, and Geralt is feeling like he's burning apart seeing him like this and he hasn't even touched his cock.

Part of him is afraid to, afraid that if he gets what he really wants, that this will prove to be a dream and Jaskier will be gone again. So he nips and sucks at his hips, fingers slipping closer and closer but never touching his cock, even when Jaskier whines and pushes against him. But Geralt can only hold out for so long and his own cock is aching beneath him, desperate for any relief, but he doesn't even dare press against the mattress lest this be over before it starts.

He lifts his head, watching the way Jaskier squirms, hat tipped forward over his forehead as Geralt's fingers press into his skin. He's stunning, truly beautiful like this and he wonders if all the others who have shared his bed have taken the time to appreciate him the way he deserves. Unlikely, he thinks sadly. With a soft hum, Geralt noses at his stomach, following the thin trail of hair down to where his cock sits against his hip.

He brushes his lips against him and Jaskier whines, shudders beneath him but doesn't push even a little. He lays still, chest rising quickly with each anticipating breath, and when Geralt's mouth finally slides up to the head of his cock, wrapping loosely around him, Jaskier curls in on himself.

He lets out a low whine before extending himself again and Geralt sinks lower, sealing his lips around him. He licks the pre-come from the head of his cock and sucks at it. It's been ages since he's had another cock in his mouth, but he lets Jaskier's sounds and movements guide him. He hums around him, working him over thoroughly before pulling up to look at him again.

Jaskier's got the hat pulled all the way down over his face, holding it there as he groans and bucks beneath Geralt's ministrations. Geralt pushes a hand up his chest and Jaskier groans, reaching for him and curling his fingers around his. It stirs something in Geralt's chest and he pulls off of Jaskier's cock, kissing his way up his chest before tipping the hat up and finding his mouth again.

Jaskier's free hand slips into his hair and he kisses back furiously, moaning softly between his lips. Jaskier quickly overpowers him, rolling him onto his back and sliding a hand down his stomach. He teases the head of Geralt's cock with his fingertips before breaking the kiss and pulling away.

"Mm, I wasn't finished with you," Geralt mumbles but Jaskier just huffs a laugh and leans back in for one quick kiss before shifting down the bed.

He pushes Geralt's trousers all the way down and tugs off his boots, leaving them in a pile at the end of the bed before sliding his hands up his thighs and smiling down at him. He readjusts the hat on his head and moves to take it off, but Geralt reaches up before he can think, wrapping his fingers around Jaskier's wrist.

"Leave it on?"

"Anything you want, darling."

Jaskier's eyes flash dark and he dips down, mouthing at the centre of Geralt's chest. He lets his teeth graze his skin and Geralt sighs, shifting so he can wrap a hand around the back of Jaskier's neck. He slips his fingers through the loose locks of hair, wrapping it around his fingers as Jaskier nips and sucks at his chest, hands firmly pressed against his sides. Like this, with Jaskier's hair brushing his shoulders, Geralt thinks he knows why Jaskier liked washing his hair so much. He likes the feel of it through his fingers, likes the thought of doing something for Jaskier not because Jaskier needs it, but because Geralt can offer.

"After," he hums, tugging a little unintentionally as Jaskier's mouth wraps around his nipple, "could I wash your hair for you?"

"Geralt, my sweet, I would be delighted. But let me take care of you for a little while, hm?" He flicks his tongue against his nipple again before moving lower and Geralt shuts his eyes.

He pushes his fingers further into Jaskier's hair, dislodging the hat a little, but wants as much of him as possible, wants to hold him as close as he can for as long as he can. Six months seems like an eternity walking on eggshells around each other, but he's wanted this for so much longer than six months. Wanted Jaskier from that first moment in Posada where he strolled right up and made himself at home. From when Geralt told him in no uncertain terms that they were separating now and Jaskier told him no.

Jaskier's mouth around his cock draws him from his thoughts and Geralt bucks against him, arching off the bed. He thrusts shallowly into the wet heat, lips parted and head thrown back as he groans softly. Jaskier's hand settles on his hips to steady him, but it doesn't keep his hips from twitching, jerking up into his mouth. He's careful not to push too hard, but he wants this, wants it more than he should.

"Jask-" he pants, "Jaskier please."

Jaskier sinks down on him again, slipping a hand down to cup Geralt's balls. He rolls them between his fingers as he sucks him down, bobbing slowly in his lap. Geralt's thighs spread further and he mumbles a shuddered fuck as Jaskier's hand squeezes around him. Jaskier's mouth rises, tongue pressing against the underside of his cock as he slips to the head and sucks hard before pulling off.

"What would you like, love?" His free hand comes to stroke Geralt's cock in place of his mouth and it feels good. He loves having Jaskier's hands on him this way, but it's not enough, not right now.

"Fuck me?" he whispers, "gods, I want you- please." The hand on his cock twists right below the head and Geralt groans.

"Do you want that?" Jaskier asks, slipping his other hand lower. Geralt spreads his legs as Jaskier's fingers tease the crease of his ass.

"Wanna hold you," he hums, "wanna feel you."

"Yeah," Jaskier whispers, "I want that, too. Do you have slick, love?"

"Mm, yeah, in my bag."

"Fuck. Get it out," he mumbles, then before Geralt can move, Jaskier's mouth is around his cock again, taking him all the way down.

Geralt shudders, but Jaskier flicks his eyes up at him, giving him an encouraging look and he reaches over the edge of the bed. He fumbles with his pack, unable to look away from Jaskier, the way his lips are stretched wide around him, but he locates the bottle and plucks it from the bag. He clenches around it as Jaskier's teeth graze against him and he shoves the bottle at him urgently.

Jaskier gives a little laugh, the reverberations of which make Geralt squirm, then he's pulling off and taking the bottle from him. He doesn't waste any time slicking up his fingers and pressing between Geralt's cheeks. He hums as he presses over his hole and Geralt's hips jerk.

"Why don't you roll over? It'll be easier."

Geralt shifts obediently, rolling onto his stomach and he moans as Jaskier tugs him down the bed, making his cock rub against the rough sheets. But Jaskier is quick to get back to work, getting his hands on him and spreading his cheeks. He shifts up closer, bending to kiss the base of Geralt's spine as he runs a slick finger between his cheeks.

Geralt shudders when he doesn't pause, squirming to get that touch back. But Jaskier doesn't leave him wanting for long. He runs two fingers along next time, pressing into him with one and then, when Geralt opens beneath him, he rubs the second finger around his rim.

He's enjoying this, Geralt realizes, he likes playing with him like this just touching aimlessly. And Jaskier doesn't stop. Once Geralt is loose enough, he adds a second finger and thrusts into him. He pushes in deep and Geralt rocks back onto him; he loves the stretch, but he wants more, wants it deeper.

"Shh, you'll get it," Jaskier breathes and Geralt realizes he's been speaking his desires out loud. "I love that you're so needy, Geralt, gods. Tell me what you want, darling."

"Want your cock," he groans, quick enough that he surprises himself. "Want you inside me, fuck- more Jask, please." Jaskier pulls out a little before thrusting in with three fingers and Geralt arches into the bed, pushing onto his knees. "Want your cock," he mumbles, "you won't hurt me."

"Geralt," he starts gently, but Geralt shifts as soon as Jaskier has pulled out, turning onto his back again and tugging Jaskier down by his jacket.

"Jask I have spent every night this week with a wooden toy up my ass imagining you fucking me instead. I'm ready, you won't hurt me."

"Oh," Jaskier gawks, "fuck Geralt that's…" his eyes are wide, dark and Geralt just grins at his shock.

"I only wanted you." He nuzzles against his cheek, delighting in the rough scratch of stubble and moves down, nipping at his jaw and neck. "And since... " he doesn't want to say it out loud, doesn't want to ruin the moment, "fuck, this beard Jask. Been driving me insane."

"You like it?" he asks and when Geralt looks up, Jaskier is resettling himself between his thighs, taking himself in hand.

"Very much."

Jaskier's cock nudges against him and Geralt bites his lip, groaning as he pushes inside him. He kisses up his stomach, nuzzling against the side of Geralt's neck and thrusts deep, sinking all the way into him. Geralt's eyes flutter shut and he tips his head to give Jaskier more space, better access to his skin. He nuzzles in close and Geralt has to reach up to keep the hat from falling off. Jaskier just huffs a laugh and pulls up to kiss him properly.

"Like the hat too, hm?" he asks, breathing softly against his lip.

"Mm, looks very good on you." Geralt wraps his arms around Jaskier's waist, arms slipping under the fabric of his jacket once more to hold him against him.

Jaskier kisses him again and Geralt loses himself in the press of his lips and the shift of his hips. Jaskier rocks slowly into him, but he hits his prostate every time and Geralt is helpless to do much but hold him closer and moan against his lips.

They fit together easily, chest to chest, and when Jaskier rolls him onto his side and the hat tumbles to the floor, Geralt is too wrapped up in him to even notice. He slips a hand up into Jaskier's hair and rocks against him, rutting against his stomach. He's so close already, too worked up to last long, but now that the rush is over, now that he's got Jaskier in his arms, his orgasm is secondary.

Jaskier lifts Geralt's leg, hooking it over his hip and the slight change in position has Geralt moaning, sparks shooting up his spine as Jaskier rocks into him.

"'M close," he mumbles and Jaskier nuzzles against him.

"Gods, me too. Come for me, love, come on."

He does, almost as soon as he's told. Jaskier pushes deep, grinding into him and it pushes Geralt over the edge. He whines as he comes, clinging to Jaskier and rocking his cock into his hip. He's still riding through it when Jaskier comes a moment later, arm hooked under Geralt's thigh and bringing him closer.

They rest for a moment, tangled up like that, before Geralt pulls back far enough to kiss him again, Jaskier huffs a laugh but lets himself be drawn in, deepening the kiss and tangling his fingers in Geralt's hair.

"Should clean up," he hums, "I remember someone wanting to have a bath? Hm?"

"Not yet," Geralt mumbles, "just grab a shirt, for now, bath later."

Jaskier reaches over the edge of the bed to pull one of Geralt's shirts from his pack and Geralt immediately uses it to wipe the mess away, cleaning them enough that they won't make a mess of the bed. He flops onto his back, tossing the shirt to the end of the bed, and Jaskier crawls up over him. He leans over his chest, smiling down at him and pushing his fingers lightly through Geralt's chest hair.

"This was… good," he says as if expecting confirmation.

"It was," Geralt agrees, though he can't help but be a little suspicious at the way Jaskier looks at him. "But-?"

"No but," he whispers, "just… good." He leans down and as soon as their lips meet, Geralt hauls him on top of him, arms sliding beneath the jacket to wind loosely around Jaskier's waist.

"Things have been difficult lately," he says and he can see in Jaskier's eyes that he knew this was coming. "I'm afraid I might have added to that."

"How?"

"I- I'm not oblivious to my own feelings, Jaskier. I know they say Witchers are cold and heartless, but that's not- I'm not."

"I would never suggest such a thing."

"I know, but I withheld certain things from you. I never told you how I truly felt-"

"I think we're past that," Jaskier grins.

"But maybe if I'd said something before, we-" he sighs, frustrated and Jaskier reaches down to brush a stray hair from his face.

"We what, love?"

"I learned a lot of things being with Ciri and Yen. Before I didn't know how to… how to cope with what I felt for you and it came out… wrong-"

"Shh," Jaskier whispers, "I know, Geralt. We talked about this, it's not perfect yet, but we'll get there."

"Jaskier," Geralt whispers and when Jaskier looks down at him, soft and loving, Geralt almost chokes on his words. "I want to be good for you."

"Geralt you are. You're trying, my darling and that's all I can ask for."

"Hmm."

"Don't you hmm at me mister, I know you know how to use your words now."

Geralt laughs softly and tugs him down into another kiss, humming softly against his lips. "Okay," he whispers, "we keep working on it."

"Exactly," Jaskier grins, "although, I believe working hours are over so-" he sweeps an arm down and recovers his hat, winking at Geralt as he sets it back on his head and slides down the bed.

[babydaddyleorio]

Tantalizing (Toji x reader)

pairings: Toji Fushiguro x fem!reader

word count: 1,649

summary: You are the director of a security company, charged with the simple task of selling your technology to esteemed businesses. The simple task, however, becomes more complicated than you imagined when you meet Mr.Fushiguro. Buckle up because work becomes a lot more difficult when the heart gets involved.

warnings: slight cursing, grammatical errors 

AN: y/n = your name , l/n= last name

You sat in your black, leather chair while focusing all of your attention towards decreasing the stacks of paper that were currently piled on top of your wooden desk. You had, much to your dismay, procrastinated completing your work for the past week and now you were reaping the consequences of going into overdrive. You clenched the ballpoint pen that was in your hand rather tightly, and your feet tapped against the grey carpet with impatience. You felt like banging your head against your desk, repeatedly might you add, and you probably would’ve done so if your eyes didn’t catch the shadow of someone moving towards you from your peripheral.

“Knock, knock.” Your assistant, Nadia, tapped her knuckles on your door frame while peeking her head into your office. You glanced up from your papers with low eyes as she walked towards the printer sitting in your corner, suddenly deciding to yourself that talking to her would be the perfect excuse to take a break from doing your work. You then straightened your posture and cleared your throat loudly, Nadia already rolling her eyes at your predictable behavior.

“So, Nadia-”

“No, don’t even think about it.” Nadia wagged her finger and sang her words to you in a teasing manner, simultaneously pushing buttons on the printer she stood in front of. “You are not using me to get out of your work.”

“Why nooootttt?” you groaned loudly and threw your head back against your leather chair, eyes rolling up to glare at your ceiling. Nadia turned to face you with papers in her hand, fixing her beige hijab while doing so.

“Because you have a deadline you have to meet.” Nadia stated matter of factly to which you side eyed her with annoyance.

“Deadline my ass, I’m taking a nap.” You murmured and reached over to lift a messy stack of documents so you’d have more room to sleep on your desk. Nadia furrowed her eyebrows and stormed towards you, rolling up the papers in her hand before whacking you on the head with them.

“Ouch, what was that for?” You whined while holding the top of your head, a pain now circulating in the spot that she hit. You glanced up at the annoyed woman who stood in front of you with her arms crossed and an eyebrow cocked challengingly. The thing was, Nadia was not only your assistant, but she also happened to be your best friend as well. Nobody could really tell that the two of you were close because she always kept your relationship professional and cordial while at work, but sometimes her “take no shit” side (as she would call It) would slip through the cracks of her cool façade.

“Y/n, I am this,” Nadia pinched her fingers together while shoving them in your face. “close to molly-whopping you if you don’t finish these damn papers.” 

You rolled your eyes at her threat, but still chose to pick your pen back up because you weren’t in the mood to test her right now. Once Nadia saw that you were getting back to your work, she brought her hand to her mouth and blew you a kiss.

“Love you, bestie.” She cooed in a sickly-sweet voice and turned around to strut out of your office. You looked up from your papers with squinted eyes, slyly sticking your tongue out at the back of your retreating assistant.

“Also, don’t forget that you have a meeting with the Zen’in Association in 3 hours! So chop, chop!” She called out over her shoulder with a smirk and this time you didn’t stop your head as It fell on to your desk. 

          ✧✧✧

“I think I have a wedgie.” You whispered into Nadia’s ear as you stood next to her in the elevator, hand reaching behind you to pull the annoyance out. Nadia rolled her eyes and looked at the watch on her wrist.

“At least we got here on time, although you really need to work on your driving.” She chided and you looked at her with your forehead scrunched.

“My driving is completely fine.” you scoffed, slightly offended at what your assistant was insinuating.

“Oh please, you are the definition of road rage.” She said while rubbing her temples and you clicked your tongue in disagreement.

“It’s not my fault some people are complete idiots behind the wheel.” You said and Nadia snapped her head to look at you.

“And you’re not one of them?!” She asked with her eyebrows raised high. 

You snorted as the elevator doors pulled open. The both of you walked out of It and were immediately met with the receptionist who sat behind the desk that was placed in the center of the room.

“Hello, how can I help you?” The woman asked with both hands clasped together and a smile on her face, revealing a set of deep dimples. You and Nadia walked towards her and Nadia pulled out a paper from the manila folder she had in her hands.

“We’re here for our appointment that is scheduled today.” Nadia replied and the receptionist took the paper from her hand. She then examined the white sheet, but It seemed like the more her eyes drifted over the information on the paper, the more the bright smile on her face disappeared.

“Oh.. It seems that you’ve arrived promptly for your appointment with Mr.Fushiguro.” The receptionist said, you picking up on the hint of nervousness that was now intertwined in her voice. Her sudden mood change threw you off and you wondered to yourself what would have shaken the girl up in that short amount of time.

The receptionist stood up from her rolling chair and politely told you to “hold on one second” while bowing. She then scurried off through one of the doors behind her, leaving you and Nadia standing in front of the wooden desk completely baffled.

“Well that was weird.” You said out loud and Nadia nodded in response.

“Right, I wonder what got into her...” Nadia trailed off, just as lost as you were.

Moments later, the receptionist came back, but this time an extremely tall woman followed behind her. The new woman wore a yellow, sunflower dress with white wedges on her polished feet and her faux locs pulled into a high ponytail. She had a bright smile plastered on her sun kissed face as she moved to stand in front of you.

“Good afternoon, It’s a pleasure to meet you both. I am Mr.Fushiguro’s assistant and you can call me Laila.” The woman chirped happily, extending her hand to shake Nadia and yours. The woman’s persona was a complete contradiction to the receptionist’s ghostly one and your eyes trailed back to her sitting behind the desk with her eyes now casted downward.

“Ms. L/N, I will escort you to the 1-on-1 meeting now. Your assistant can wait in the waiting room until you're done.” Laila nodded and began walking towards a hallway, beckoning for you to follow behind her.

The Zen’in headquarters was very fancy and also seemingly calm, you thought to yourself as you trailed Fushiguro’s assistant. The whole place had a dark theme going on with black marble structure, black colored furniture, black framed paintings... hell It seemed like even all the employees were clad in black- well minus Laila that is. You whistled to yourself lowly with your hands in your pant’s pockets, eyes wandering to look out the tall glass windows that framed the hallway. To be completely honest, you really wanted to skip this meeting. You would rather be at home, binging your favorite show while munching on some very questionable healthy snacks, but unfortunately you had priorities to attend to. You were in charge of a security company that dealt with supplying high-grade technology to other businesses and that is essentially why you were here today. From what you were told, the Zen’in association was run by a prestigious family, Toji Fushiguro being one of its members. You were supposed to meet with a different family member today to discuss the arrangements of your products, but for some reason you were swapped to consult with Toji instead.

Whatever, It didn’t make you any difference anyway.

“Ms. L/N, we’re here.” Laila interrupted your thoughts and you turned to see that she had stopped in front of a tall, black door. Laila then knocked twice on the smooth marble before turning the handle and stepping inside the room, you taking that as a sign to follow behind her. As soon as your foot stepped over the threshold, you took note of how the office reeked of expensiveness and still matched the dark theme that the whole building had, but It also seemed minimalistic as well. 

“I see you finally made It.” A low voice suddenly reached your ears and you whipped your head to the side to see a man that was blanketed by darkness sitting in the corner of the room. The man reached an arm behind to adjust the blinds, and you squinted your eyes at the sudden bright light that hit you, and once they adjusted they caught sight of the man’s appearance. The man wore an obsidian, polished suit with a white shirt underneath that was slightly unbuttoned. His legs were spread wide, and he had his elbow propped on the arm of the chair as the other twirled around a glass of alcohol.

“Toji Fushiguro.” The man said with eyes scanning your body, slowly moving his glass toward his mouth to take a sip from his drink. You stood immobile in your spot as you watched his veiny hand set the glass down on the table beside him and lean his body over, extending his hand for you to shake while smirking with his eyes low. “Pleasure to meet you.”

[starcrossedyanderes]

Would Rygel take his darling stargazing?

Yesssss

I’m sorry I just love it when I get requests that fit my ‘aesthetic’. I decided to take my own twist on this request so it turned into this. Also with this picrew Rygel has much darker skin but this was the darkest skin tone in this picrew.

“We have an event tonight.”

You quirked an eyebrow at Rygel’s words.

“When did you do events?”

“I must admit I usually abhor going to such required events. But I believe we shall find this one to be quite enjoyable.”

A smile actually pulled at Rygel’s lips as he looked down at you from his 6’9” stature. You felt a phantom hand caress your cheek; no doubt from Rygel’s own psychic abilities.

“Besides I think now is an excellent time to go ‘public’, don’t you agree?”

The hold on your cheek tightened.

“I expect that it has been long enough for you to have come to terms with my.. actual identity. And with that the expectations and status of you being my moonlight. I trust that you shall live up to these expectations, yes?”

The way his mind and eyes drilled into yours had you give out a meek “yes.”.

Rygel’s aura immediately lightened up and the feeling on your cheek disappeared only to be replace by the feeling of your whole body being gently squeezed; Rygel’s form of an affectionate hug and sign of approval.

Rygel bended down to your height to place a chaste kiss on your lips as the feeling of other kisses being placed all over your face accompanied it. You even felt some of your hair be lifted up and twirled.

“I’ll have a car pick you up at 8:30 and I believe the money I have just provided you should suffice for preparing for a formal event. Oh, and do be sure to wear the circlet I gifted you earlier. It is only fitting with your status being announced and all.”

Rygel pulled away with his flowy purple hair slightly ticking you. He started to walk towards the exit before suddenly turning around to face you again.

“Oh and one more thing my moonlight. Try and make yourself look as good as you truly are. In other words, perfect.”

~|~

After hitting up the mall you finally stood in back home in front of your full length mirror striking poses. Like, dang, you look good. You don’t know if this is how good you truly are, but dang is this as close to perfect as it gets.

Except for a teeny-tiny issue. Your circlet. How does one even wear such a thing? You just couldn’t get it sit quite right, look quite right, or anything! You just don’t know how to circlet!

And of course it was at that time you heard the opening of a car door.

Crud.

You would have to fix it in the car as you only had time to grab your purse and book it down to the car before Rygel blows up the planet or something.

You didn’t even pay attention to the chauffeur who held open the door for me as you scrambled in.

Of course like the idiot you were this also meant you didn’t notice that Rygel was also in the car with you.

There his majesty sat, for the first time legitimately speechless. Even you could practically feel the change in the mind pheromones thing. There clad in his suit and own matching circlet the Emperor sat truly admiring all that is you. It was times like these he remembered why exactly you were his destined one.

His eyes even became hooded!

“Darling, you look positively ravishing. Yes, I do believe this is the definition of perfection itself.”

As you buckled yourself in your face blushed as you let out a meek “thank you.”. But in classic Rygel fashion his face returned to mostly normal as if he hadn’t just said such out-of-character things. 

It was with a slight chuckle at your positively adorable behavior that the car started up to wherever the heck you were headed.

As always the car ride with your ‘betrothed’ was almost completely silent since Rygel was never very talkative.

During this extended time you couldn’t help but to continuously fiddle with the garment on your head which just.. wouldn’t.. sit.. right! You had no idea how long you were trying to get it right before you were met with Rygel’s rich voice.

“Let me.”

You arms quickly fell down to your sides by both of your minds commands as Rygel lifted the circlet from your hair. You felt portions of your hair float into the sky as Rygel brushed your hair in certain directions before digging some pins out of his pocket. 

“I always find pins to work best at keeping these in place. I never really use them though but I try to keep them on me at all times just for cases like these.”

It is with a few flourishes of his hands that the circlet was perfectly placed in your hair.

“Rygel..I.. Thank you!”

A sudden pull was administered on your waist as you fell into his chest. A large inhale was heard as Rygel took in the smell of your hair. A smile tugged at his lips as he placed a kiss onto your lockes.

“It is no issue. I pride making myself and others look presentable. Besides, I’m sure you’ll become more comfortable with putting on a circlet later. I’ll send you some info about how it is typically worn.”

“I would appreciate that.”

You sat in a comfortable silence before you broke it.

“Hey, where exactly are we going?”

“We’re going to an observatory where some of my people are holding an event in honor of us soon leaving this accursed place.”

Rygel truly was a master at saying sentences with a lot to unpack.

You turned to face him.

“Hold up? Your people? Aren’t they all supposed to be in space or something?”

Rygel let out a hum as you felt your hair mindlessly float about you.

“Well of course most of them are indeed in space but a few like me have infiltrated Earth and have made lives for themselves. Such as my foster family.”

“Are you telling me there’s a bunch of aliens walking around us in plain sight without anyone knowing?”

Rygel shrugged as a playful smirk pulled at his lips.

“Perhaps. I mean, I did manage to fool everyone for what? 18 years?”

At his remark you let out a few mumbles which only earned you a smile and pat on the head.

“You truly think the most hilarious things, my dear.”

~|~

“Isn’t it a bit much to.. float?”

The two of you were currently going up the stairs to the observatory with your small hand being engulfed by his slender, graceful one.

“Absolutely not. It is a show of status and is simply much more enjoyable than walking. I will never understand you humans. Why walk when you can simply float everywhere?”

“Because we can’t float.”

Rygel frowned slightly at that. 

“Ah, yes. Pity. Really moonlight what ever would you do without me.”

“Walk.”

With a smirk you rose right up to him. His smirk seemed to widen even more once you clung to him to catch your balance.

“This.. is weird.”

“Just wait until you try dancing like this. Actually, stay like this on me for the rest of the night. I would hate for a small accident to occur.”

That was a lie and you knew it. He just liked you like this. But even so you couldn’t imagine how you would ever be able to dance on this invisible floor beneath you.

~|~

“Is that his imperial highness?”

“He’s so tall.”

“And so.. pretty...”

Rygel let out a quiet sigh only you seemed to hear.

“And all of the sudden I remember why I don’t enjoy such events.”

You had to agree with his sentiment once walking past an uncomfortable amount of gazes. How did they even know who you both were?

It’s probably because you’re the only two wearing circlets and floating that high off the ground. Curse that fancy headpiece!

The two of you began to walk deeper into the dome where the large telescope could be seen.

But you were quickly interrupted.

“Oh! Your imperial highness! How wonderful it is to see you!”

You could tell by the change of Rygel’s aura that his mood had quickly soured.

“Ah, Devah.”

Out of the corner of your eye you could both see Rygel’s strained smile and 2 glasses floating your way.

As the glass landed in your hands Rygel slightly turned to you.

“This is one of the main sponsors of the missions on Earth.”

Devah put on way too cheery of a smile as he hissed out a whisper; as if he was making sure you could not hear.

“And is it alright if I ask but what exactly is a human doing here?”

Rygel’s golden eyes flashed as his grip tightened on you and his mind readied for a strike.

“She is my mate. If you are not as dimwitted as I thought then you should know that things such as species has no effect on who a person’s mate is. Human or not, she is your empress and you shall treat her as such.”

As the aliens face paled it dawned on you that Rygel may be invisibly choking like in Star Wars.

“Y-yes, my apology your imperial highness.”

Rygel raised a purple eyebrow at this as the man jerked into a bow as yellow energy surrounded him.

“Highness?”

“Y-yes your imperial highnesses.”

Rygel actually let out a smile at this.

“Much better. But I think we’ll just leave you like this for the rest of the night. Perhaps it will help you remember your status. Come now, my darling.”

You were pulled away from the bowing alien by Rygel’s long strides towards the large telescope; the focal point of the room.

As Rygel peered in and gave some slight adjustments to the machinery you took a sip from the glass in front of you only to pull back in shock.

This was a new taste for sure. Despite scowering your mind’s attic of a memory you could not place such a taste anywhere. You were honestly kind of scared to ask what the drink was made because of the possible response being blood.

And you kinda needed to know if this was alcholic.

“Um.. Hey, Emperor?”

Rygel let out a mere hum as his only indication of hearing you as his psychic energy caressed you.

“What exactly is this drink? And is it alcholic?”

Rygel let out a light chuckle as his golden eyes continued to look through the lens.

“Don’t worry, it isn’t alcholic. I know you technically aren’t of age to drink here but you’re always more than welcome to. Beauty of world domination and all.”

You hated how he says such awful things so eloquently.

“What you are currently holding, my dear moonlight, is a drink that is drived from one my home planet’s natural fruits. I believe in your language it would be pronounced as the xoqub fruit. Care to look?”

Rygel pulled away from the telescope to give you your turn at the stars. As your eyes peered in you continue your questions.

“How did you even get that stuff here? That has to take forever to ship out.”

“It does take quite a bit to get here but it is admittedly faster than transporting life forms. We actually do a mix of getting some delivered, growing it ourselves here, and just using food replicators.”

“HOL UP YOU GUYS HAVE REPLI-”

“If you point it more this way you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

Rygel prematurely interrupted you by moving the telescope slightly.

“This is the closest point this telescope can get to our planet. It can be seen far past this point.”

You were the one to actually shut yourself up as you stared deeply at that tiny little point.

“It’s really that far away?”

“Yes. It is at least a one month journey to reach there. We will also have a few days added on as we will be making a few stops along the way for various things and your own enjoyment.”

You looked up from the vast before you.

“My own enjoyment?”

“This will be your first time into space, yes? I figured you could at least see some of your new territories. I also have some things to take care of at these places anyway. We’re mainly stopping at the Europa colony and this area by the Kupier belt. After that it’s a non stop journey.”

You turned to look back at all the stars.

“It’s weird.. to think I’ll be riding through the stars and going to places humans have never gone before. But it’s all so.. pretty.”

Rygel hummed as he took a sip from his own glass. 

“And all that ‘pretty’ shall be ours, my moonlight.”

[bellshells]

Merry Christmas, Dearest

Merry Christmas from me and mine, to you and yours.  This is a little something I wrote this evening with a glass of port and my heart so full. It’s been a shit year I’m sure you’ll all agree, so lets just escape to a world where things are a tiny bit better. 

Severus Snape x Fem!Reader

Reader wants Severus to come to bed after being neglected on Christmas Eve.  Warnings: Fluff, Smut, Dominant!Sev, Language, just him being perfect really  Word Count: 2602

  “Dearest, please leave that there and come to bed.” You implored softly as you leaned against the doorframe to his office and tightly crossed your arms against your chest, it was cold here, the fire long since dead. Severus sighed and rubbed his temples with ink-stained fingers, he had promised you he would be finished with his writing hours ago and yet; when you had inevitably fallen asleep in an empty bed and awoke hours later to the same, you had tried not to turn to anger. He was a busy man after all. Severus turned to you sheepishly, tiredness strained his onyx eyes and after a while of regarding your frame, he frowned. Long lines of stress marked his pale face and his shoulders slumped in defeat.   “I’ve done it again, haven’t I?” Severus asked quietly, almost timidly. It was so unlike him to show any vulnerability it was almost jarring, and when his eyes began to fill with tears your heart sank into the pit of your stomach with shame. You crossed the room in three swift steps, your arms enveloped the stiff potions master and brought him close to your chest. The pitiful sniffles against your shoulder caused your already aching heart to burst with love.    “I’m so sorry (Y/N). When I looked at the clock last it was only five o’clock, I must have gotten carried away. Have I missed dinner?”

You stifled a giggle and pressed a loving kiss to the top of his raven-haired head.   “Well seeing as it’s ten to eleven I would say so, yes. It was delicious too. They had the Christmas Cake with the fruit rum you like.” Severus groaned at your words as he brought his arms up around your waist and tugged tightly, you landed in his lap rather ungracefully and smiled widely at him.   “Do you mean to tell me I’ll have to wait another bloody year for my Christmas Cake?” He pulled away slightly you frowned at him somewhat, you wondered whether there was another meaning to his words. Severus’ brow furrowed as you bit your lip.   “Well, we could stay here tomorrow if you like Sev, we don’t have to go into town. I’m sure everyone will understand.” Severus shook his head vehemently.   “Hush. I’ll not have any talk of that. We said we’d visit our friends on Christmas Day and that is exactly what we’ll do.” He reached forward and captured your lips to his in a chaste kiss.   “My friends.” You corrected, “You’ve said yourself you don’t like them, Severus.”   “Yes well,” Severus began, he squeezed the top of your thigh reassuringly. “In the absence of family in which we are both severely lacking, friends will have to do. And I suppose your friends are better than most, darling. Whether I like them or not is of no consequence, if it would bring a smile to your face, I would duel the Dark Lord.” He offered you a small smile, but you couldn’t miss the look of sadness that danced fleetingly across his features. Christmas was always a difficult time for Severus, he missed his mother greatly during the festive season. It was something you had bonded over very quickly when you had met, absent fathers and mothers who couldn’t seem to get it right.   “But I want to do what makes you happy, dearest. Would you like to stay at the castle?” You pressed gently; you brought your head down to rest against his shoulder as Severus shuffled backwards into the chair. His long fingers wound their way around your knee, pulling you tightly against him.   “No no. We have our plans for tomorrow, what I wish to know is what we can do about tonight.” Severus said softly into your hair, his cheek nestled against the top of your head.   “What do you mean?”   “I have severely neglected you on Christmas Eve. I am a terrible partner; I would like to make it up to you.”   “Honestly Sev, it’s fi-”   “Quiet.”

  In that one word he had captured every inch of your attention. Every hair on your body stood on end as Severus’ grip on your knee loosened and his hand travelled up your thigh, slowly. You swallowed hard, a whimper on your lips as he patted at the inside of your thigh as a direction to part them.   “Severus please, you don’t have to.”   “I have no objections to throwing you onto your stomach and spanking your pert bottom Miss (Y/L/N).” Severus said sharply, his black eyes now alive with excitement. Your face flushed and a soft moan escaped your lips, part of you wanted nothing more. “Now,” He continued, “May I?” You nodded your consent and a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth; his gaze swept over you as you parted your legs for him. You heard his sigh of contentment and with a satisfied wriggle, he shifted you further up onto his lap so he could gain better purchase of your frame. His fingers ghosted over your clothed entrance; you couldn’t help yourself as your hips lifted slightly against his featherlike touch. His chuckle reverberated in your back as he continued to run his long fingers from the top of your sex to the bottom and then back again.

  You groaned with impatience as Severus refused to end his teasing, your thighs shook with strain as you again lifted yourself eager for friction.   “Sev…please,” You breathed, he eyes glanced to your face for only a moment before he stood and pulled you by your wrists. You yelped in surprise as, gruffly, Severus lifted your hips and pushed you backwards onto his desk. Your quim ached with desire and you watched with half lidded eyes as Severus reached under the hem of your large sleep shirt and grasped your knickers, pulling them down and discarding them in a record-breaking speed. You pushed your knees together, suddenly aware of yourself and feeling utterly self-conscious. Severus lowered himself to his knees and placed his hands either side of where your feet sat on the desk.   “Spread for your legs for me pet, I want to see your pretty little cunt.” Severus instructed, without even considering it for a moment you complied. He took a sharp intake of breath as without being asked, you spread your labia for him, allowing the brooding man on his knees for you a good look.   “That’s it little one, let Daddy see.” He once again took your hips and roughly pulled you toward him, you could feel his hot breath on your mound, and you moaned wantonly in response. “I’ve neglected you terribly, haven’t I?” He cooed, you weren’t completely sure whether he was talking to you specifically, or your vulva- but in the state of heightened arousal you were in you decided you didn’t care. You writhed beneath him as he softly caressed the sensitive flesh of your thighs, you knew he was getting off on this, the tease was one of his biggest turn-ons. He wanted you a whimpering, pleading, needy mess before he would even consider fucking you, and you were shameless of your admittance of the fact.   “Please…please touch me.”   “You’ve been a good girl, haven’t you? Hm?” His nose brushed against your clitoris in a fleeting touch and your hands flew to the sides of your head, and you pulled exasperatedly at your hair.   “Yes! Yes, please! I’ve been so good!”   “That is good to hear pet, as I’m sure you’re already aware- good girls get rewarded.”

  He lapped at you like he would never get his fill. Severus ran his tongue greedily from your perineum to your clitoris and rolled over it in delicious circles. You moaned again, a long, throaty moan as the sensation of Severus flattening his tongue against you made your toes curl. He brought two fingers to your entrances and pushed into slowly, you didn’t need time to adjust, your cunt was greedy for him. You throbbed against his fingers and he let out a low chuckle, it vibrated against your folds and accentuated the pleasure. He focused his lips on your clitoris, he suckled and nibbled on the sensitive nub. Your moans became louder until your throat began to ache, the pleasure he plucked from your body was almost divine. Severus twisted his fingers inside you, fucking you with a merciless pace. You wound your hands into his hair and pulled his head further into you, grinding your throbbing quim against his heavenly face. When you came, it was guttural. A release you didn’t know you had needed. He let you settle yourself, your grinding ceased, and your legs flopped open further, completely spent. He pushed back onto his heels as you propped yourself up onto your elbows. The evidence of your orgasm dripped from his chin as he regarded you devilishly.   “Delicious.” He whispered. You didn’t dare move. You didn’t think you could, even if you tried. He stood after a moment and quickly removed his belt. You felt excitement build in your stomach as you watched as he removed his trousers and underwear, his proud cock stood to attention illuminated softly by the sparse candlelight. “I’m going to fuck you now.”

  You nodded eagerly and opened your arms to him. In that simple gesture, Severus’ expression changed from the dark charged one he had worn to one of pure adoration. He faltered, cock in hand. He closed his for a moment and then extended his hand to you.   “Come my love. Let’s go to bed.” You sat up immediately, terrified that Severus had changed his mind. Panic began to rise in you, your hands trembled as you accepted his and gently lowered yourself from the desk. He pulled you close to him and pressed a finger under your chin, lifting your lips to his. The kiss he gave you was loving and safe, he was warm and so very open to you. Instantly you felt at ease as he peppered kisses to your cheeks and forehead.   “Come.” He said again and he slid his hand into yours and led you into the bed chamber.

  Severus wasted no time in burying himself into you deeply. As soon as the door was locked and warded, you were on the bed and the sordid passion from your earlier play was replaced by an unbridled devotion that even the world’s greatest lovers couldn’t match. You were so very in love with this man, and there was nothing you loved more than being as one with him. He seemed to fit into every aspect of your being, heart and soul. He made love to you then, his heart close to yours and kisses and caresses and whispered words of love. It made every cell of your body sizzle with passion. This man, this wounded soul had been emptied of love and you had made it your mission to fill him to the brim of all the love you possessed. Severus in return, made your mind and body sing with pleasure. He was your equal in every way and yet you felt like you would never be deserving of him. He was perfectly imperfect; he could be rude and obnoxious and in the same breath be the most thoughtful and adoring person. You weren’t deserving of him, no. Not even close.

  He reached parts of you no man had ever reached before, and as he pushed his cock into the hilt, you grasped hold of his buttocks and squeezed.   “Will you come for me, dearest?” You whispered against his neck, you pressed a lazy kiss there and felt him shudder under your touch.   “Yes…” Severus groaned, “Oh (Y/N), I love you. Please, come with me. Oh gods, I can’t hold on.” His breath came in short pants as his thrusts became sloppier, Severus brought a hand in between your bodies and began to rub furious circles against your clitoris. You bit your lip against the grunt that threaten to escape you and allowed Severus to pull from you another orgasm. Courteous as ever, he waited until the very last second before he allowed himself to come. Your orgasm coursed through your veins and set your skin ablaze and you told him, over and over again, how much you loved him. Severus came in three sharp thrusts and collapsed into a heap of sweaty sighs beside you on the bed. You ached, your legs, your arms, your poor quim in its overstimulation. Severus wasted no time in pulling you close to him, leg hooked over yours and fingers tracing lazy circles on your skin. You hummed contentedly and nestled closer to him, your arm firmly around his waist.   “Is it past midnight?” You asked after a while, a comfortable silence had enveloped you and sleep threatened to take you once again. Severus merely hummed in response, obviously equally as tired. “Merry Christmas.” You whispered and pressed a kiss to his shoulder. That seemed to rouse something in Severus as in an instant, he had rolled you beneath him once more, his body flush to yours. He lead against you this time, he brushed your hair gently from your face and looked earnestly into your eyes.   “Merry Christmas my darling girl.” Severus said softly, he pressed a long kiss to your lips and smiled. “Would you like your present now?”   “No!” You protested, “All of your presents are under the tree and I’m not moving from this bed.” You laughed, he snickered and kissed you again.   “I don’t want anything right now other than for you to accept this.” He said, his eyes glistened with something you couldn’t quite describe. He licked his lips and bent over towards his bedside table and instructed you to close your eyes. When you did, you felt Severus resume his position and sigh. “You may open your eyes, (Y/N).”

  What you were expecting to see and what you actually saw were two completely different things. Severus held between his finger and his thumb was a ring. An emerald surrounded by diamonds on a gold band. You blinked twice.   “Is that-?”   “Edwardian, yes. I thought you might appreciate something vintage I-”   “Is that an engagement ring?” You asked, Severus looked at you blankly.   “What else would it be?” He had you there. Your eyes filled with tears and Severus sat up like a shot.   “(Y/N)? What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?” Severus’ own eyes betrayed his surprise as you wept in his bed. He placed the ring onto the bed beside you and wrapped a comforting arm around your shoulders.    “Ask me.” You said finally, Severus looked at you quizzically. His brow furrowed and his hands trembling. “Ask me.” It seemed to dawn on Severus what you were asking him to do. He shuffled in front of you and grasped both of your hands in his.   “Would you do me the tremendous honour, the only real honour of my life, in becoming my wife?” Severus chest heaved with the weight of anticipation, his hair framed his face like a portrait of a roman god, his body bare. Noble and true.   “Yes.”   “Yes?”   “Yes you foolish, silly man. I would love nothing more than to be your wife.”

  Severus pushed the ring onto your finger and admired it with a teary expression, his smile threatened to falter at any second.   “Are you certain? Really, truly certain?” Severus asked quietly, you pressed a hand to his cheek, and he melted into your touch.   “I am. I love you.”   “I love you too. Merry Christmas.”   “Merry Christmas.”

[thgreatestblue]

false god [part II]

➜ pairing: kokushibou x fem!reader ➜ warnings: mention of prostituion, past trauma, smut, fluff (if you squint) ➜ words: 7.5k ➜ a/n: let’s start this hell of a year with a very long and spicy chapter, shall we? this is the second part of my fic false god, and i’m so excited to hear your thoughts for this chapter. thanks to everyone who left comments or likes, it made me so excited that now i’m already writing the third and final chapter!  ➜ ao3

➜ false god [part I] / false god [part III]

summary: The last piece of the puzzle you’ve been trying to put it together finally appears right in front of you, completing the picture you so feared to see, but knew that eventually it was going to be revealed. You understood everything now.

III.

The stars were brighter on this side of the country; there were an infinity of them, painting a beautiful pathway to heaven throughout the horizon. The sky was illuminated by their shine, in a space of time where they danced around the galaxy and lit up each corner of the universe, never letting darkness prevail. 

Or, it was just because you have been so afraid of the night for so many years, that only now you were able to fully appreciate its beauty. How the moonshine gleamed over the flowers and the petals seemed to sparkle tiny bits of stars over their form, so delicate you were afraid of touching — the white ones were your favorite, smooth like satin. 

Kokushibou’s house was in the countryside, in the middle of nowhere. The servants even had a special wagon and a few horses for when they needed to buy supplies. It was far away from the city noises; the chatting and the everyday life. Far away from the smell of cement and street food. From people; good and bad. From memories and dreams. From everything. 

It's been a few weeks since the first time you stepped into this world, one that was kinder than you expected. The servants were always calm, doing their tasks in such a peaceful motion that it was soothing to watch. It was a perfect mundane life, going to sleep covered in comfortable blankets instead of stick sweat, eating with others while talking without fear of being too loud. 

It was strange to think that everyday you caught yourself thinking this was a dream; because everytime you look at the flowers in the backyard, every time you felt the wind on your face and the warmth of the sun on your skin, you remembered of long lost dreams about having a normal life, hopes that were on the verge of dying, resurfacing in the deeps of your mind. It made your dreams a little bit happier, almost as if you were floating in a different dimension. 

The house had two floors; the first one is were the kitchen, the living room, the dinning room, and where the servant’s bedrooms were located — and even though when you lived with Muzan you had your own room, you didn't mind sharing with another girl if it meant to stay in this peace forever. 

The second floor though, you didn't know much about it. Only that it was where Kokushibou bedroom was, and where he spent most of his time, since he would only appear when the sun settled down. Sometimes you would hear heavy footsteps and noises of something being hit multiple times, so maybe it had a training room as well. 

You were on the second floor only a few times, most of them by his request — to ask you how things were going, if you were adjusting to the job. It was so unfamiliar, having a Demon, of all people, being so polite and thoughtful of your well being. You were definitely not used to kindness — to someone showing a minimum of respect — that everytime you would slightly blush, looking at his feet rather than his face. 

It was so out of your comfort zone, being treated like a human being. You sometimes had to laugh at how twisted your world had become to think that a simple “good morning!” from one of the servants was an act of generosity. One day you caught yourself tearing up as you watched the sunrise from the window. 

To what extent have you been broken? The pieces you always tried to put it back together now didn't seem to fit anymore; it was going to be a long way to find the right materials to build a new house for your heart, but at least you were given the chance to try. And if anyone had told you it was because of a Demon, you would have laughed. 

Kokushibou's presence was still heavy and unsettling for you. It still managed to keep you on your toes. Whenever he would appear from his bedroom, or even hearing his voice from another room, a red siren would go off in your mind. It was still a rooted fear you couldn't help feeling, no matter how much you repeated to yourself that everything was fine. 

His gaze on you didn't help the seed of doubt from staying rooted on your mind. Although the Demon didn't stay in the house at night — preferring going out and coming back only when the sun was about to show in the sky. However, on rare days when he chose to remain home, you would always try your best to stay far away; washing the dishes in the kitchen, feeding the horses, anything other than being at his company. 

It wasn't because you were afraid, not exactly, the old lady had said that in the beginning it was normal to stay alert when in his presence. It was something else. How his eyes seemed to always find its way to you, fixing on watching your movements from afar, traveling down your body when you were cleaning a room, or even when you were just standing next to him. 

You still remember how high you jumped one night when Kokushibou decided that it was a good idea asking for more towels for his bathroom by whispering in your ear. You’ve been dealing with Demons and men for so long in your life, it wasn't now that you were going to slip into wherever game he was playing. So, you tried your best to ignore those little things, moving on with your life as if his glance didn't make something crawl under your skin, begging to be scratched. 

As the night came and Kokushibou decided to stay inside, you found yourself in the kitchen, washing the dishes from the dinner. There’s a beautiful song playing on the radio, and the sweet melody makes you lose track of time, lost in imaginary scenarios and charming tales. When you come back, the dishes are done. 

Taking a long look at the kitchen, you notice that there’s nothing else to do; which means that you would have to come to the living to see if Kokushibou wanted something else, or you could go to sleep. You take a deep breath, leaving the apron on the table as you walk towards the room. The song is still playing but the volume has been tuned down. 

Kokushibou is seated next to the bookcase, reading. He seems so peaceful and unharmful like that — if it wasn't for those pair of eyes, you would have never guessed he was a Demon. His hair is always tied up on a ponytail, and sometimes you can’t help but imagine how he would look with it down. You immediately shake your head, trying to erase those intrusive thoughts that have been more frequent by each day. 

“Kokushibou-dono.” 

As a habit, you bow to announce your presence. As you look around, you notice that there’s no one in the room besides him. Probably already too late in the night to have many servants around, you glance at the clock and it was indeed past midnight. Before you can say anything else, he closes the book, finally lifting his eyes to meet yours. 

“Do you know how to dance, Y/N?” 

Saying that you were surprised by the question was an understatement. You open your mouth to say something but nothing comes out of it. Well, you did know how to dance, however, you highly suspect that it wasn’t that type of dance he was referring to. Your heartbeat starts to accelerate, something you were already used to when in the same room as the man.

“No, Kokushibou-dono,” Your voice sounds weaker than you intended, but that was another thing you were getting used to; apparently your body liked to react as a mess when in his presence, “I’ve never had the chance to learn.”

Kokushibou nods, getting up from the pillow he was seated on. And even after weeks, it was still mesmerizing to watch him move; how his hair would graciously swing from one side to another, his posture always so elegant and refined, even the way he walked was hypnotizing. He definitely was born as someone who belonged to a royal family. You wondered why, then. Why did he turn into a Demon if he was so skilled and polished like a real diamond?

“Follow me.” 

Before you can think too much about it, you follow him. Hands on your back, picking at your nails as anxiety starts to settle on your stomach; the odd feeling on your gut appearing from nowhere to poke at you, telling you to be careful and keep your eyes open. You watch him turn the volume a little bit higher.

“It gets easier once you learn the basics.” He says, looking at you from the middle of the room. The radio was playing a delicate melody that was perfect to put you to sleep, although right now not even the sweetest song would be able to calm you down. 

“… I don't understand.” You say, shifting your weight from one leg to another.

“I’m teaching you how to dance.” Kokushibou simply explains, fixing the sleeves of his kimono with a serene expression; as if nothing was wrong, as if this was normal.

You hold your breath as he extends his hand in your direction. The look on his eyes is almost inviting if it wasn't for the fact that he was a Demon, and above everything else, your lord. There's a very fragile line Kokushibou is crossing by inviting you to dance, inviting you to be intimate with him. And you're not sure if you are ready to face the consequences — to take a step in a territory that he has been cornering you since the moment you arrived. 

However, like everything in your life, you don't have a choice. So, you release the air you were holding, pressing your lips together as each step in his direction starts to consume your entire body. Kokushibou's gaze is fixed on your face — if becoming a mess of yourself in front of him was one of your habits, his stare on you was one of his. 

You hesitate before touching his hand. His fingers brush against your palm, so delicate that you have to double remember yourself of your position, of who the man was. Kokushibou hands were rough and big against yours, but held your palm on his with a tender flow. You bite your lips as he grabs your other hand and puts on his shoulder.

Kokushibou hums with the song as his other hand comes to rest on the small of your back; the sound vibrates in his chest and through your skin. It was as if you were struck by lightning; every hair on your body standing with every touch. 

“It’s an easy six steps tempo, just follow my lead.” Kokushibou’s voice so close to your ears is sinful; it’s dangerous. His low tone always did things to your stomach, and you knew it wasn't because of fear. 

Kokushibou nods at you before taking a few steps around, leading your body to move with his own. He’s so close you can feel his heat, the ghost of his breath on your neck sends shivers down your spine. It takes all of your will to not stare at his hand holding yours, your legs already having some trouble to work properly.

“I’m sorry...” You flinch as you step on his foot, but he doesn't say anything. 

It was quite an easy dance, and the way Kokushibou lead you made it even easier — if it wasn't for your nervousness it would have been almost fun. You watched his feet move from side to side until the rhythm was stuck in your mind, focusing on the dance instead of his body so close to yours - which was hard, every step making you come closer and closer. 

“Eyes on me.” Kokushibou whispers close to your ear. 

You immediately look up at him, his voice takes you out of the trance you had created to stay safe. And it takes only one look at him to make everything come crumbling down. The hand on your back brings you closer and your mouth slightly parts, breathing through it seems easier when his chest comes to touch yours. 

Kokushibou squeezes your hand lightly as your eyes travel down his face. Up close like this, you can see each detail, his title of Upper-Moon One carved on his eyes, the texture of his perfect skin, the intrinsic shape of the red marks adorning his forehead — he’s indeed a beautiful man with interesting features. 

It’s only when he hums again with the song that you realize you have been staring at his mouth for too long, a smirk growing at the corners of it is enough to shake you out of your trance; cheeks going warm and red in shame. Kokushibou presses a little closer to your body and you feel like combusting in flames with the feeling of his breath against your neck.

The song slowly fades away, and he continues to guide you as it finally comes to an end. Kokushibou gradually stops his movements, but still holds your hand, maintaining you in place. And you don’t know what to do with yourself; standing in the middle of the room with his stare still pinning you down, the touch of his rough hands still holding yours. 

“Thank you, Kokushibou-dono.” It takes all of the strength left in your body to pull back, taking a few step backwards. 

You are the first one to move and break the little bubble you two created. Kokushibou nods, letting you go from his hold. The weight of his hand still linger on your back, a ghostly feeling that you knew wouldn't go away that easily, if ever. 

“Good night.” You could only hope your voice wasn’t trembling as much as you were on the inside.

You bow, turning around and making your way back to your room. Trying your best not to run from his gaze, form his touch, from everything that had happened in the past few hours. 

With your heartbeat on your throat and the phantom feeling of his body still pressed into yours, you scream into the pillow until fatigue comes to take over you — putting you out of your misery, for now at least.

IV.

You could complain as much as you wanted, but Kokushibou’s home was so much better than Muzan’s. The opportunity to stay in the sun in the morning, feel the breeze hitting your skin as you washed the bedding in the backyard, the warm of the sun on your skin everyday even helped gaining a little more of color. As the summer went by; the sight of rain gracing your eyes, birds flying around the field with their beautiful singing, you realized how deprived you’ve been from simple things. 

For 3 years you had stayed in the dark, almost never leaving Muzan’s house — surrounded by darkness and the metallic smell of blood, with no friends to help you when the nights were too scary. The only thing you liked was the sounds of the city, but even that became a nightmare, to think that there were so many victims in a single place would give you so much anxiety. 

Even though Kokushibou was still a Demon, this was a far cry from the place you were just a few months ago. You couldn't say it was the best option though, you were still involved with a supernatural being that could easily kill you in a blink of an eye. The only difference was that he did seem to respect who worked for him — and an extra interest in you. 

Taking another bite of a very sweet apple, you swing your leg casually, humming a random song while you were sitting on the big porch at the back of the house. The yard extended until it reached an infinity of trees, covering your view of the pond a few minutes from the house. You had heard it was a beautiful place, but havent had the time to go yet. 

“Y/N, Kokushibou-dono is calling for you.” The old lady calls you from the window. You silently nod, taking a long breath before looking at the sky. 

It had been a few weeks since he invited you to dance; since he had touched you in such an intimate way that no lord should be touching his servants. The odd sensation still lingered in your gut, but the feeling of his firm body against yours, his big and strong hand on the small of your back, the warmth of his breath against your skin, his lips inches from your neck… Gods, it was enough to send you to a place where you wouldn't be able to come back even if you tried; already lost in those six eyes all over again. 

It has been a tough task to pretend that the small moment didn't affect you. The aftertaste stuck in your tongue like the sweetest apple you’ve ever eaten, and you hated to see yourself in such a state. Everytime he would enter a room, every time his eyes stared at you, hearing his voice… Your body would tense, goosebumps spreading through your body, but this time not because of fear. 

No man has ever had this impact on you, and you’ve been with quite a lot of them. 

It was still afternoon, the sun shining in the sky was a sight you would never take from granted again. What does he want with me now? You ponder, thinking about the last time he had asked for you. You were supposed to just hand him the ink, but of course he had to touch your hand for a little bit too long while grabbing it. 

What Kokushibou wanted from you was something you could only imagine, there was nothing predictable about him. But if you dared to listen to the odd feeling in your gut, you knew exactly what it was going to happen — you were just denying it at this point. 

Throwing away the rest of the apple, you make your way upstairs with your heart in your throat. Each step closer to his bedroom felt like an eternity, the hallway seeming like an endless corridor while the tension building up in your muscles were making your body ache. Stopping by his door, you run your hand through your hair; fixing the few strands that had escaped from your bun behind your ears. You take a deep breath to calm down your nerves before knocking on the door.

There’s a small pause before you can hear the sound of a chair dragging just a little across the floor, you can practically feel the expectancy choking you as you hear him stepping closer. You bite down your bottom lip right at the moment Kokushibou decides to open the door.

“Kokushibou-dono, how can I help you today?” You try to sound as casual as possible, trying your best to ignore the way his eyes lingered on your lips for a few seconds before meeting your eyes. 

“Come in,” He says, walking back inside his bedroom, “And close the door.”

A strong chill runs down your spine and you have to strain yourself from quivering; a thin layer of sweat is forming on the palm of your hands, but you quickly clean it on your clothes. There was no use to be nervous right now, you were already at the predator’s door, head right inside his mouth, just waiting for its teeth to sink on your neck and break it. 

Kokushibou's presence brought another type of nervousness, one that left you shaking from head to toe; but instead of cold settling in your stomach, it was pure fire consuming your entire being. 

As you step inside, closing the door with your back, you take a quick look at the room. It’s fairly simple and definitely what you expected; a big and expensive futon is placed right in the middle, the bedding is clean and tidy up — something he probably never uses but keeps it as a habit. There’s two paper lanterns at each side of the futon, the light coming from them is minimal, leaving the room with a somewhat cozy atmosphere. 

You see him standing beside a table by the corner of the room. There’s a few books piled up at one side, a wooden tray with a few bottles and glasses on the other. He picks one of the bottles and pours himself a glass, filling just half of it. 

The liquid is thick and dark; you can’t see what it is, but you have an idea — Muzan used to drink blood in front of you all the time, and you always wondered when he would want to drink directly from a source. Then, he picks another bottle, and pours another glass. The liquid seems more diluted and a shader brighter, this time the smell hits your nostrils; it’s wine. 

Kokushibou grabs both of the glasses, and holds one in your direction. He looks calm and collected; there’s no room to interpret his actions, his features never giving away what he was really thinking. The light hits one side of his face, the other is half hidden by the shadows, but it’s clear how all of his eyes are staring at you, his hair is in a perfect ponytail, swinging perfectly as he moves to hand you the glass.

“...Thank you.” Fingers brushing against yours, you take the glass. 

Your gut screams something you can’t seem to hear; it seems like your mind went numb the moment you entered the room — not listening to any of the alarms that went off in your head. You can only feel your stomach tossing and turning around as you watch the man leaning on the table, studying you from behind the shadows like a predator plotting how to kill its prey.

“Before working for Muzan-sama, you worked at Yoshiwara.” Kokushibou says in a low tone, taking a sip of the drink.

Immediately, your cheeks burn. You clench your jaw as the sour memories start to come back from the deepest of your mind. He wasn't asking a question, it was rather a statement - and you had a few ideas how he got that information. Biting the inside of your cheek, you take a long sip of the wine — and for the first time you’re glad that he decided to give you the beverage.

“I worked for Daki for some time,” You tell him, feeling the bitter taste in each word, “She introduced me to Muzan after I kept my promise of not telling anyone about her.”

It wasn't something you were proud of, not in the slightest. You were just in the wrong place, at the wrong time. You had been so close from dying that night that anything else felt so little, compared to facing a Demon with a bloodlust so high that you couldn't count how many bodies you had seen that night. 

However, it was covering up that atrocity, or dying. And you didn't want to face what afterlife had in store for you that soon. So you begged and cried, and like a miracle, Daki gave you the benefit of the doubt. After that, it only took 5 months from that incident for you to come work at Muzan’s house; selling your fate once again. 

“So you did work at a brothel, didn't you?” His fingers tap the wooden table and you have to hold yourself still, trying not to shrink under his words. He stops the glass midway from his mouth, choosing to drink your reaction instead. 

You did work as a prostitute, didn't you?

The silent question hangs in the air, you can’t bring yourself to open your mouth, to move. It was quite clear that he knew everything about you, there was no need to lie or hide any information, it would only piss him off. 

However, the fact that he was making you say it - confirming the fact himself — was something that felt a bit degrading. You finally nod, not being able to find your voice anymore. Then again, it wasn't something you were proud of — apparently, you weren't proud of anything in your life. 

Kokushibou slowly takes a sip of his drink then, eyes traveling down from your face to your body; studying every inch of your being. And every single part his eyes gazed upon, it would set your skin in flames, until you were combusting in anticipation.

“Show me.”

Your heart stops beating for a second only to come back at full force; and it hurts your chest, the impact leaves your rib cage aching at each pound of your desperate heart.  

“...I beg your pardon?” You had to ask, you probably heard it wrong and this was your mind playing tricks with you, you knew how twisted it could get. There was no chance that Kokushibou was asking you to...

“I told you to show me,” He says in a challenging tone, raising an eyebrow, “Or did you lose your touch?” 

Suddenly, everything falls into place.

The last piece of the puzzle you’ve been trying to put it together finally appears right in front of you, completing the picture you so feared to see, but knew that eventually it was going to be revealed. You understood everything now. 

All those long stares, the need to touch your skin every time he had the chance, the dance… Everything was just small steps he was taking, leading you to a direction he had in mind since the beginning. Building you up for this moment; so you wouldn't hesitate, so you wouldn't run away; afraid of what might happen.

Kokushibou wasn’t a stranger asking for your services, not anymore. Because you had had a taste beforehand, because he had built you up into someone who would want him as much as he apparently wanted you.

The worst part was: it worked.

“What if i don't want to?” 

All your life you were never given an option. It was selling your body or dying in the streets. It was waking up everyday knowing that you were covering up dozens of murders, or being murdered by the hand of a Demon. It was hearing screams of agony as you laid your head on the pillow, or being the one devoured. It was never what you wanted, but what you needed to do to survive. However, for this you needed to have a choice.

“Then, you can turn around and leave.” He says with no heat in his voice, motioning towards the door.

For some twisted reason, now that you truly knew what he wanted from you all this time, you relaxed. The tension left your bones as your mind processed his words. Your gut didn’t scream anymore, the pitch of your stomach now was filled with another type of warmth. 

Kokushibou was a beautiful man, and somehow you knew this wasn't going to be bad. Not when he could have just pushed you in a room and had his way. Probably it was his pride not letting him act so animalistic, choosing to have a partner that was on the same page; reciprocity.

You finish the rest of the wine in one single gulp, letting the drink burn down your throat. 

Approaching him, you sensually bite your bottom lip, letting the glass on the table before slowly getting down on your knees — if you were really going to do this, then you would put on a show. 

Feather touching his thighs, you leave a few soft kisses on his crotch over his clothes, he hums in response, watching you closely as you grow bolder with open mouth kisses, feeling his cock respond to the stimulus through the thin fabric.

Kokushibou licks his lips, glass long forgotten by his side — you had his full attention now. His hands were gripping at the side of the table as he watched you; and you made sure to watch him back, each moment caught by your eyes; two could play this game. As soon as you start to untie the knot of his hakama, his hand comes to rest on your cheek, his thumb caressing it while the other fingers wrapped around your neck. 

You tease at first, lapping and sucking sweetly at his head, your hands squeezing at the base. His taste is strong and heavy on your mouth, a little bit salty but you don’t mind. You look at him between half open eyes, batting innocently your eyelashes at him. He groans low in satisfaction, as you feel his cock grow harder on your tongue. You think about keeping teasing him, but then he eagerly pulls your neck closer, and you swallow down his full length in a swift motion. 

It hits the back of your throat, and you have to fight back your gag reflex — it has been quite a while since you did this. He groans louder in approval, still rubbing your cheek while you swallow down his length again. Hands starting to move up and down, you fall into an easy pacing, bobbing up and down your head as you suck his cock, lips closed tight around it to give the right amount of pressure. 

Kokushibou's hand grips even tighter around your neck each time you swallow him down, tongue rubbing against his length. A little bit of saliva drips down the corner of your mouth and he cleans it with his thumb, running it over your bottom lip that is now red and swollen. You glance up at him, always trying to keep eye contact. 

His eyes start to fall half open, mouth slightly open, his breathing starting to become unsteady. You reach between his thighs to stroke his balls, and his moan vibrates through his body and you can feel it on your mouth. It makes you eager, sucking him harder, wanting to hear more of those sounds coming from him. 

And because you can’t help, you let your teeth slightly scrape along his cock. The sharp inhale Kokushibou takes is music to your ears. He grips your hair and pulls it as punishment, making you whine at the burning sensation on your scalp, but it’s worth it. 

The grip on your hair tightens as he pulls your head back until only the tip of his cock is inside your mouth. Then, he bucks his hips further; fucking your mouth in a ruthless pace. All you can do is take it, holding onto his tights as hard as you can, trying to not gag as he shoves his cock down your throat. You can taste his precum filling your mouth, heavy on your tongue. 

He pulls your head back again, and you release his cock from your mouth with a loud pop.

"That's enough.” He commands, voice low and rough that makes you shiver. You watch his cock stand against his stomach in full length, he’s big, “Now, undress.”

Before getting up though, you lick at the side of his cock, from the base to the tip, leaving a wet kiss at his head and Kokushibou groan resonates through his chest. He unties the ribbon that was holding your bun, and your hair falls loosely on your back. 

All of his six eyes are following your movements as you stand, fixed on each swing of your hips, each batting of eyelashes you throw at him. What once made you flinch, now is more than welcoming. It sets on your bones like a tender touch, sweet like honey as you savor all of his lust. Lust for you. 

You move your body sensually; throwing back your loose hair to show more of your neck, running your hands down your chest as each piece of clothing falls into the floor. Now that you knew exactly what to do — what he really wanted from you — it was so much easier to stay under his gaze without quivering, even when he started to lazily stroke his cock while watching you undress. 

When the last piece of clothing falls into the floor, you turn around, spinning on your heels. It had been awhile since you showed off your naked body to someone, the confidence that you had a few years ago decreased slightly, but seeing how Kokushibou was affected by the display — hand now stroking his cock faster — was enough to dismiss all the doubt starting to rise on the back of your mind. He has chosen you, after all.

You step closer, grabbing his kimono and sliding down his strong arms, tossing on the ground without batting an eye to see his reaction. At the first glimpse of his bare chest, your mouth waters. You knew he was strong, but hell, he was ripped. His body was so perfectly sculpted that you have to bite your lips to stop the small whine daring to escape your mouth. Your hands travel down his stomach, feeling the very defined muscles with the tip of your fingers. 

Kokushibou grabs your chin, his breath hits your skin like fire. It spreads down your body and you shiver from the ecstasy of his touch; there’s a certain expectation growing on your being, waiting patiently until the final moment when he decides to fuck you — and damn it your sanity for not wanting anything else right now. His eyes are locked on your lips, red and swollen from sucking his cock. He leans closer, but before he could meet your lips you pull back just a little bit.

“I don't kiss my clients.” Your voice comes out rasp, your lips brushing his. It’s an empty threat, however, you needed to tease him as much as you could before he fucked you out of your mind. 

“Good thing i’m not a client.” Kokushibou bites back, his grip tightens on your chin. 

He wraps his other arm around your waist, pulling you towards him, and you come crashing into his body. You moan as his muscles rub against your nipples; feeling his cock, hot and erected, on your belly sends a wave of warmth down your belly. He moves his hips, slowly rubbing his cock on your clit. You throw your head back a little, moaning. 

“No. You aren't, my lord.” You manage to say between small whimpers of pleasure as he squeezes your ass and grinds harder against you. 

He groans at your words, and not wasting any more time, devours your mouth. It’s rough and borderline desperate, slamming your lips together with no room to breathe, the warmth of his skin intoxicating your better judgment. His mouth is unforgiven, teeth pulling and biting your bottom lip between kisses. You gasp in his mouth and he takes that as an opportunity to shove his tongue inside, yours coming to meet his, sliding against each other with desire on its tip. 

It’s dizzying the feeling of his touch on you, how he pulls your hair and runs his tongue on the seams of your lips. It clouds your head and increases your desire, making you rock against his body, your pussy pulses with desire, searching for some kind of relief from the tension building up on your lower belly. 

Kokushibou runs his lips down your neck, sucking then licking the spots he meets. It leaves you breathless, holding on his arms for dear life as he travels down your body and savors every single part of your tender skin. His tongue leaves trails of fire, marking each part with his saliva and brute carnal lust. 

Without any warning, Kokushibou bites down on your neck. It stings so much that you know it broke your skin, but you helplessly moan. It’s definitely going to bruise and it’s going to be ugly. But right now you don't care. He sucks the spot, drinking your blood as the best licor he ever had. 

Kokushibou sucks the sore spot again, making you whimper, before releasing you from his grip, pushing you away just a few inches so he could finish undressing the last pieces of clothing. And heavens, his body was even more perfect under the dim light coming from the lanterns; as the light casts shadows over his form, making the shape of his muscles sharper and defined. 

He puts both hands on your waist, motioning for you to walk towards the futon. Your heart beats faster on your chest. Kokushibou wasn’t a very vocal man, preferring showing what he wanted through actions. So, he pushes you, and you fall down on the soft surface with your legs open; his eyes immediately are filled with a different type of hunger, and you instantly can feel what he wants - though, this time, you wanted him to devour you. 

You hold yourself on your elbows as he kneels between your legs, and you can feel how wet you’re, though he didn't even do more than touch you. Damn, when did you become so desperate. You were already a mess, hair sticking on your forehead, breathing through your mouth because you can’t seem to make your lungs work anymore. 

Or maybe it was just him and his overpowering effect on you, like no one else ever did. 

His fingers hover over the delicate skin of your legs, traveling on the inside of your thigh in a feather touch that makes you whimper from how sensitive you are feeling from those small stimulations. You watch him from behind heavy lashes, his body in full glory over you should be a sin, it should be your salvation. 

How beautiful and desirable he was, standing in between your legs just like that, eating you out with just a gaze. You moan as you watch his body move, each muscle carved on his skin as a perfect work of art. Your eyes fall on his length and your pussy clench on nothing, wishing he would bury himself inside you already. 

“Turn around.” He commands in a low tone, leaning down and caging you in, hands fisted at either side of your head. 

Your breath gets caught up on your throat, suddenly he is so heavy above you that not a single thread of air gets on your lungs. You slowly nod, turning around so you would be lying on your stomach, then you push your hips backward, rubbing against his cock. The contact has both of you moaning. 

Kokushibou quickly grabs both sides of your hips to rub his cock between your folds, your head falls down between your shoulders as you moan desperately at his thrusts. His front is hot and firm against your back. But the way he’s teasing is tortuous; with slow drags of his length against your clit. It makes your whole body tremble underneath the pressure. 

“Kokushibou, please…” The pleading scapes your lips before you can process it. It makes your body burn in shame — never in years of working in the field you pleaded for someone. 

And you can feel how pleased he’s with himself when his mouth on your neck turns into a smirk. He bites down on your shoulder and you flinch, waiting for another wave of pain, but this time it’s gentle, still hard enough to leave a mark, though.

He positions his cock on your entrance, and you hold your breath, biting so hard on your bottom lip that you can taste blood. He pushes past your folds, pushing his way inside you so dangerously slow that has you moaning for more. You grip the sheets, knuckles going white. The burn that comes with him stretching you open is blinding, but you want more. 

You don’t know if he’s going slow on you because he wants to let you take your time to adjust to his size, or because he likes to see you plead for more. You try to push your hips backwards, to finally have his cock buried till the tip inside you, but he stops your movements with his strong hands, holding your hips in place. Yeah, definitely the latter.  

“Look at you, taking me all in with no struggle.” He purrs in your ear, still pushing half of his cock inside, “I’ll have to tell Daki that you are much more than what she sold you for.”

Your eyes grow wider with the confession, but before you can say anything, he shoves the rest of his length inside you and all the air is knocked off your lungs. He doesn't wait for you anymore, leaving just the very tip of his cock inside, then thrusting in you with enough force that has you tumbling over your arms, cheek buried in the sheets. 

Kokushibou falls into a rough rhythm, the sounds of skin on skin fills the bedroom as he slam his cock inside you, his nails digging deeper on your hips, biting down another spot on your shoulder. You moan, and then again, and again; each one louder than the other, not being able to hold back your voice with each drag of his cock. 

He deliciously stretches you open; the burning sensation fading away as pleasure overtakes it, your pussy clench around him, sucking him in. You thrust your hips to meet his movements, arching your back so your hips are higher, so he can go deeper. Every time he moans in your ear you feel yourself drifting from reality, mind clouded by the pleasure and by his voice. 

“Oh—nnh, harder,” 

With only his precum and your wetness easing his way, Kokushibou raw thrusts ruins you, making you feel each of them ten times more. The way he bites down on every inch of your body is animalistic, marking you all over. It’s going to be a pain to hide from the rest of the servants - but right now you can’t bring youself to think about that — asking him for more and more until you’re painted purple and blue. 

There’s no room to think, to breath. You were turned into a mess of whining and moans as he breaks you until there’s nothing left but your voice; hoarse, but surely screaming for him. He fucks you hard into the futon; your eyes roll back, toes curling with the upcoming orgasm, your entire body trembles over his thrusts.

Your knees almost give in, but Kokushibou holds your hips up, slamming inside you mercilessly, his moans starting to fill the room as well. The sounds coming from his thrusts are filthy and wet, but barely audible, your moans overtaking any type of noise. For once, you are grateful that this room doesn't have any windows, or else, everyone would’ve heard you by now — but you suspect that’s probably what he wants. 

“Aah, nnh, — K-Kokushibou!” You moan, not recognizing your own voice anymore.

Kokushibou cups your breast and squeezes harshly, dragging his nail over your nipple. You jerk away with the sting, but falls right back into his thrusts; it buries so deep inside you feel youself being torn apart, his cock throbbing inside meets the beats of your heart. Tears run down your cheeks, and he licks it as if he’s savoring each part of you that he can get. 

“You're a really one of a kind,” He whispers in your ear, biting down your lob, “And now, I have you all to myself.”

The heat on your stomach is unbearable, you can’t take it anymore, it’s consuming you, driving you over the edge so fast that you can’t put a stop on it. Your pussy tightens so hard around Kokushibou’s cock that he has to stop his thrusts, your scream is muffled by the sheets as you feel yourself splitting in two, coming with his cock buried deep inside you. 

Kokushibou doesn't let you catch your breath though. He pins your head down, slamming into you fast and rough that you have to ride down your orgasm while he continues to fuck you. You whimper, over sensitive, but he doesn't stop, moaning a bit louder as his thrusts starts to become more desperate and erratic. 

He comes inside you with a guttural moan that has you shivering, it shakes you down to your core, hitting the deepest part of your being. You moan while his cum, hot and thick, fills you up. 

Even though you were oversensitive, he continues to ride his orgasm lazyly thrusting into you until it starts to become borderline painful. Now that the adrenaline is leaving your body, you can feel your back aches from the position, your bones are heavy and all you want is to lay down and catch your breath.

Probably sensing your distress, Kokushibou stops his thrusts; but stays inside you. He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you to the side, so both of you could lay on the futon. He buries his face on your neck, and even though the feeling of having a cock inside you after you both came is odd, you decide not to mention it. 

Your eyelids are heavy, you’re tired and still drunk from the orgasm. Usually at this moment you would get up and leave, but since Kokushibou didn't say or made any movement to let you go, you decide it’s safe enough to fall asleep just like that.

[goldentournesol]

Mon Cher

(Spencer Reid x Reader)

Part 2 of Mon Lapin

The one where Spencer and Reader finally go on a date after pining over each other for too long. (Reader owns a French bakery)

Length: 2.6k

A/N: tooth-rotting, cheesy FLUFF! thank you to everyone who requested a part 2, i wasn’t going to write it but y’all--i think this might be my favorite thing that i’ve written so far!

masterlist

Spencer knew that across many cultures, pink lilies represented love, admiration, and compassion. All things he wished to convey to Y/N, so it really wasn’t difficult to pick a bouquet of pink lilies for her. His heart thumped against his ribcage as he neared the bakery where he told her he’d meet her. He hoped he wasn’t too forward with her yesterday, but he was getting antsy. Despite seeing her a couple times a week when he was in town, it was never enough just to chat casually. He wanted to lose himself in conversations with her. With all his ambition for knowledge, he couldn’t think of a subject he wished to memorize more than everything she is. 

He cleared his throat and made sure his tie was as straight as it possibly could be before pushing the glass door of her bakery, the chime of the small bell reaching the corners of the store. His eyes swept across the familiar scenery, but she wasn’t there. He approached the counter nervously.

“Hey, Marissa. Is Y/N here yet?” He asked her coworker and she beamed upon seeing him.

“Hey! She should be here any minute. I kind of forced her to go home to get ready and all, it’s really hard getting her out of the bakery!” She laughed and Spencer nodded, smiling, grateful for the extra minutes he needed to compose himself. 

He found Y/N’s dedication to her job endearing. He glanced down at the bouquet and adjusted the flowers in an attempt to find something to do with his hands instead of tapping nervously against the counter. Why was he so nervous? She wouldn’t have agreed to the date if she wasn’t interested. Well, then again, he didn’t really give her an option. Was that the wrong decision? 

Just before he could spiral into his thoughts any deeper, the bell chimed again, causing him to turn to face the door. The air evaded his lungs as soon as his eyes settled on her, an occurrence Spencer didn’t think happened in real life. He’s read about it, sure, but he never thought he’d ever experience it. She strolled in, a dark emerald dress flowing with her movement. Spencer had to remind himself what the function of the respiratory system was when she approached him. 

“Spencer?” She spoke softly, realizing that he hadn’t said anything. He blinked, snapping out of his daze with a prominent blush. 

“Y-yes. Hi, sorry, um,” he paused, a bashful, sheepish grin overtaking his face, “you look beautiful, Y/N.” She mirrored his smile, cheeks reddening as she glanced at the bouquet of flowers in his hand.

“Merci, mon lapin. [my bunny] You look just as dashing as ever. I see you remembered the lilies.” She sent him a sly smile. He had forgotten about the bouquet in his hand under her intense gaze. He nodded, his arm extending the flowers to her. She graciously accepted them and immediately buried her nose in the center of the bouquet, emerging with a smile that could make Spencer’s knees buckle if he wasn’t careful.

“They’re beautiful, thank you. Give me one moment.” She scurried off into the kitchen of the bakery and returned with the largest cup she could find. She settled the flowers in their new home before picking one out of the bunch and securing it to one of the bobby pins near her left ear. Spencer was positive he resembled a love-sick puppy as he took in the sight. Marissa was pretending to wipe down a table in the background, but really she was fawning over the two lovebirds. 

“Shall we?” Spencer managed to speak, gesturing towards the door. 

He tried to contain his grin as he stared at her ethereality. She smiled up at him and nodded, taking one last look at Marissa before she left. Her coworker sent her a teasing look and waved goodbye. Spencer offered his arm to Y/N as they stepped into the chilly air. She gladly took it and beamed up at him. He tried not to focus on the way his arm felt tingly with hers around it.

“I’m so glad we’re finally doing this, Spencer.” She spoke and he nodded.

“Me too, Y/N. So, I wasn’t sure what you liked so I settled for a reservation at an Italian restaurant. Would that be okay?” He tried to swallow his nerves.

“Yeah, that’s perfect!” It didn’t really matter, she knew she’d go wherever this man asked her to go. 

The nervous energy in the air was lighthearted and it made her feel like she was a teenager going on a date for the first time again. They caught each other up on their lives as they walked. Both of Y/N’s hands ended up around Spencer’s arm and he found himself relishing in her warm touch as well as every little squeeze she gave when she got excited about something she was saying. He wanted to pay attention to the direction they were walking in, but it was too damn hard with the way the lamp lights reflected in her irises. He’d almost walked right past the restaurant.

“Oh, we’re here.” He laughed lightly, leading her to the entrance and they were seated immediately.

Dinner went smoothly. She’d known that he was an interesting man, but he made it so easy for her to get lost in him, what he was saying, his eyes- oh man, those eyes. She knew all about eyes being the windows to the soul, but she didn’t know how one man’s eyes could possibly convey so much emotion. She watched him talk about his work family and his real family, although not in great detail. They were so captivated by each other, the waiters had to make noises with either their throats or mouths to get their attention.

Once they were out of the restaurant, they continued walking down the same street, still deep in conversation about a topic probably wouldn’t interest anyone else. Spencer hadn’t really planned the night out, he didn’t know what exactly she would like, so he decided he’d let the leaves fall where they may. All he did know was when she giggled, his heart skipped a beat. Suddenly, they stopped in their tracks and she let out a loud gasp.

“Oh! You know what I just remembered?” Spencer stared at her curiously, “There’s a tiny theater up ahead that plays some really cool foreign films, you probably know about it. I know the owner, she texts me whenever they add a French movie. Tonight they’re playing one of my favorites, Les Parapluies de Cherbourg! [The Umbrellas of Cherbourg] Oh, you would love it! Would you like to go? It’s totally fine if you have something else planned, though.” Spencer grinned at her excited nature and nodded eagerly.

“Are you kidding? I always have to beg my friends to come see foreign films with me, I’d love to go.” Spencer couldn’t believe this was happening. They arrived at the theater soon and she was disheartened to hear that they didn’t have subtitles for the movie.

“It’s okay! I don’t mind if there aren’t any subtitles.” Spencer said once he saw the smile dissipate from her face. He hadn’t had the heart to tell her that he’d already seen the movie before anyway. The gleam in her eye was much too precious when she spoke of the film.

“Are you sure? I can probably whisper-translate to you, uh, i-if you’d like.” She stated somewhat shyly, a blush creeping up to her cheeks.

“I’d like that.” Spencer smiled as he realized that the roles were usually reversed and he’d usually be the one whisper-translating a movie to someone.

And so they sat in the small theater, arms tangled in each other over the arm of the chair between them. She had one hand on his bicep as he leaned the top half of his body closer to her. They were probably sitting closer than they normally would have sat, but she used the excuse of whisper-translating to her advantage. She felt a strand of his caramel hair tickle the tip of her nose as her lips whispered in his ear. Spencer fought to regulate his breathing every time she came near. He was glad he’d seen the movie before because he was sure that if this had been his first time seeing it, he’d have absolutely no clue what was going on. She also fought to resist the urge to press her lips to his clean shaven jaw--and basically everywhere else. 

The movie ended before they knew it and they could finally see each other in the gentle light of the theater. Spencer turned his face to send her a grateful smile just to find her face inches away from his. His eyes involuntarily flickered down to her lips. The same lips that were by his ear a few moments ago. She smiled back softly and they enjoyed the closeness for a short moment before Spencer shyly broke eye contact. They broke apart, both blushing from head to toe. Both far too shy to initiate anything. He cleared his throat before standing from his seat. Y/N followed him out of the theater.

“So, did you like it?” She asked as they stepped out, noticing that the streets were a lot darker and quieter than they had been prior to entering. It must have been late. 

“Yeah, I loved it.” Spencer said, almost breathlessly, but he wasn’t talking about the movie, of course. She grinned with triumph and courageously slipped her hand into his as they walked back in the direction they came from. He took it one step further and laced their fingers together. She swooned over his smile. 

An aggressive gust of wind suddenly washed over the two of them on the sidewalk, which made them instinctively close their eyes to brace themselves against the dust in the air. She only opened her eyes as she felt the lily in her hair slip out of its secure place from in between the prongs of the bobby pin.

“No!” She gasped and Spencer quickly -and ungracefully- leapt to catch it before it flew too far. She laughed as he turned to face her with a pleasantly surprised expression, almost in disbelief that he actually caught it. He approached her again and gently returned the lily to its rightful spot just above her ear. He moved a stray strand from her face and she gazed up at him with a certain type of adoration. His hands moved to cup the plumpness of her cheeks as they relished in each other's tender gazes. She let her hands rest right under his ribs and pulled him impossibly closer.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, his breath washing over her face. He felt the skin under his fingertips warm up.

“Merci, mon cher.” [my dear] She whispered back, a definite level-up from mon lapin. That he did know the meaning of.

Spencer grinned slightly before finally leaning down to close the gap between both their lips. It was gentle and sweet, neither of them rushing it. To many onlookers, they were just a young couple sharing a kiss on the sidewalk in the middle of the night. To them, it was a silent declaration. A statement that conveyed more emotion than any of the thousands of words that existed in all the languages they spoke between them could. Y/N found herself following through after Spencer reluctantly pulled away for air. She stopped herself, blushing profusely at her involuntary movements. He only grinned wider in response before stepping back and grabbing her hand again.

“Let me walk you home.” He told her as they began walking again.

“Actually...the night doesn’t have to end yet, if you don’t want it to, I mean.” She smiled up at him.

“I don’t want it to, what do you have in mind? Everything’s closed down.” Spencer pointed out.

“Um, I might know a place.” She said in a teasing manner with a slight smirk, “The owner and I go way back.” She giggled.

“Oh really now?” Spencer played along, laughing.

“Mhm, we’re practically like this.” She laughed as she crossed one finger over the other on her free hand to represent a bond.

She unlocked the door to her bakery and pulled him in, closing the door again behind him. Before Spencer could even register what was happening, she had grabbed a hold on his tie to gently guide his face back to hers and enveloping his lips with her own. Spencer responded immediately by wrapping both arms around her waist securely. The kiss was significantly more passionate than the first, but just as sweet. She pulled apart first and bit her lip sheepishly.

“Sorry, I couldn’t help it.” She admitted and Spencer stood in a daze. 

She giggled and moved away to turn the lights on, but only some. The soft light illuminated the empty bakery and he realized then just how beautiful the place really was. Or maybe he thought everything would look ten times more beautiful after a kiss like the one he’d just received. The thought had extended to her, of course. Spencer didn’t think it was possible that she could look any more beautiful. But there she was, in all her glory, proving him wrong as each second passes.

“Come with me, I have something to show you.” She hooked her pointer finger around his and dragged him to the kitchen. He was in awe as he took in the sight of all of the kitchen appliances. It wasn’t a large kitchen, but it was oddly spacious and organized. 

She smiled wide at his reaction, “This is quite literally where the magic happens. Ooo! Come look, I made these right before I left, Marissa must have taken them out of the oven before she locked up. They’re for tomorrow.” She pulled him to a tall bakery rack and he spotted his favorite treat, pain au chocolat. She took one off the tray and gave it to him. It was still warm on the bottom. He couldn’t hold his excited grin back as he took a hefty bite out of it. She giggled as she watched him close his eyes dramatically.

“I’m truly at a loss for words, Y/N. They’re so good. How do you get them right every time?” He asked with fascination and she propped herself on the counter of the kitchen, taking one for herself.

“Well, it took time and effort to perfect the recipe, Dr. Reid.” She giggled, biting into it. “I can show you how to make them one day. Maybe our next date?” She looked at him hopefully and he nodded eagerly.

“Yes! You can finally show me how to make pain au chocolat.” He tried to imitate her accent, he really tried. She burst out laughing at his cuteness.

“Pain au cho-co-lat.” She emphasized, separating the syllables.

“That’s what I said! Pain au chocolat!” He laughed, although the pronunciation was still slightly off.

“Alright, close enough.” She giggled again as she pulled him closer, locking her legs at the ankle behind his waist. They’d have plenty of time to perfect his accent later.

“Embrasse-moi, mon cher.” [Kiss me, my dear] She whispered. 

Right then, he thanked himself for having the foresight to brush up on the language enough to do exactly what she asked. 

Half-eaten pains au chocolat were long forgotten.

Mon Lapin (part 1)

[et-lesailes]

hot young neighbor

pairing: andy barber x reader

word count: 2233

summary: you’re not expecting such a sexy next door neighbor upon moving into your new home. you already know you want to make a move, but he seems to do it first when he invites you over for dinner.

themes: smut, age gap, oral sex

taglist: @evanstush, @tanyam93, @bval-1, @wonderwinchester, @patzammit, @rohaintahquil, @deidrashouseofpain, @sammyslonglostshoe, @jadedhillon, @bohemian-barbie, @whysparker, @sebastian-i-stan, @sebabestianstan101, @lille-kattunge, @teller258316, @peach-acid, @allsortsofinterests, @xoxabs88xox, @heyiamthatbitch, @cptn-sgrogers, @heyyouwiththeassbutt, @bangtan-serendipity, @troublermalik, @beardburnsupersoldiers, @bookish-shristi, @kind-sober-fullydressed,  @gingerninjaprincess16, @straightforwardly,  @denisemarieangelina,  @frencchfries, @xlanawriter, @littlemoistcarrot, @pottxrwolff, @arianatheangelworld, @ifuseekamyevans, @southerngracela, @nsfwsebbie, @rororo06, @savemesteeb, @raveviolet, @inactivewhore, @hurricanerin, @captainamerica-is-bae, @shaddixlife, @tessa-bl, @marvelouspottering, @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc, @thegetawaywriter, @dwights-new-plague, @rynabarnesrogers, @fckdeusername, @doloreschanal, @ssworldofsw

notes: sorry, this was supposed to be posted earlier but my laptop was getting fixed! hope you guys enjoy!

You’re going for a run in your new neighborhood when you see him.

You had just moved in a few days ago, and while you had already gotten to introduce yourselves to a lot of your neighbors, he’s the one you’re most interested in, and haven’t gotten a chance to talk to yet, either. He lives in the house right next door, and you sometimes see him from your window when he’s pulling up in his driveway or on the lawn throwing a football with whom you assume to be his son. You have yet to see a woman around, though, which pleases you.

He’s hot. Sexy, really, you’ve never seen someone as attractive as him. While casually digging for dirt when talking to the other neighbors, you only know his name and his occupation, but nothing about his love life. 

You glance down at yourself, happy that you’ve chosen your cuter workout apparel consisting of a sports bra and matching leggings. Coming to a stop in front of his house, you call out just as he’s about to open his front door, his arm carrying what appears to be takeout. 

“Hey! Sorry to bother ya, I just wanted to introduce myself- I just moved in next door.”

He turns around and although it’s quick, you notice his blue eyes take in your appearance. Your entire appearance. Just what you wanted. A charming but genuine smile crosses his lips, nearly making you swoon. “Oh, hey there! Sorry, I’ve been meaning to come by to say hi. Work’s been crazy this week, though, hence-” he pauses to nod towards the bag, “- Chinese for dinner tonight, no time to cook.” He sets the bag down by the door, though, coming over to you and extending his hand. “I’m Andy.”

Now it’s your turn to eye the perfectly form fitting outfit he’s wearing, that coat, the button down shirt with the sleeves rolled up, the tie, the dress pants. “You must work somewhere fancy, huh?” you tease (even though you already know). Shaking his hand, you reply, “Y/N. Nice to finally meet you!” 

He laughs, and the mere noise in itself is arousing. It’s so warm and deep, you want to hear more of it. “I’m an assistant district attorney. And it’s very nice to meet you, too.” You swear you catch a bit of an emphasis on that “very”, and you smile up at him biting your lip. “I’ll let you get back to dinner, I’m sure your family must be waiting.”

“Actually,” he sighs, looking back towards the door before looking at you, “it’s just me tonight. My son, Jacob- he’s at his mom’s place for the weekend.” He suddenly tilts his head. “Would you wanna join me, actually? I got way too much food, to be honest. Got a little overexcited when I was looking at that menu.”

You can’t believe how lucky you are- sure, you wanted to get to know your incredibly cute neighbor, but you never thought it would happen so fast and so smoothly. “Really? You’re sure? Because that sounds great.” You smile, brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear. “I still have, like, no food at home. I’ll just go take a quick shower first, I’m kinda gross and sweaty right now.” You laugh, and he chuckles too. “Gross? No way. But yeah, sure, come on over whenever you’re ready- I’ll leave the door unlocked.” He gives you a smile and you return it, trying not to look as eager as you are as you turn back to your house to get ready. 

Dinner with Andy is amazing. The two of you sit at his dining table and talk the night away, chatting about everything under the sun. He’s a perfect gentleman, always offering a drink the second yours is finished, urging you to eat more, and not even taking any phone calls while he’s in the middle of conversation with you. After eating, the two of you decide to watch a movie together- it’s Friday night, after all, neither of you have anywhere to be the next morning.

You’re walking to the living room when you notice a family photo on the credenza. “Is this Jacob? And your… ex wife?” you question, picking it up and observing it with interest. “It’s a really cute photo.” He looks over and nods, barely smiling though shrugging slightly. “Yeah. It was taken kinda recently, actually. Laurie and I divorced not too long after…”

“How are you doing with all of that?” you ask softly, coming over to the living room and sitting down on the couch. He aims the remote at the television, currently working on finding the movie you guys had decided on. “Honestly? Fine. Our marriage was a little messy for a while. I think in a way, I was always bracing myself for this to happen.” You listen to him somewhat curious, wondering how on Earth a woman could just let herself lose a man like him. He’s practically sex on legs. 

“So are ya dating again?” you ask playfully, and he glances at you amused. “Hmm. Wouldn’t you like to know,” he replies in jest, and you laugh, nibbling on your lower lip. “I guess you’re not. I doubt a girlfriend would be very happy you invited the new neighbor half your age into your home for dinner alone, hm?” you muse with a smirk, and he scoffs in amusement. “Excuse me? Half my age?” He suddenly pauses and shakes his head playfully. “You know what? Don’t elaborate on that, you’re probably right. But yeah, I’m not seeing anyone right now.” 

“That’s kind of surprising.” You blurt out, unable to help yourself. You’ve always had the tendency to speak your mind. “You’re, like, the most attractive guy I’ve met here.” He blinks in surprise but chuckles lowly, pressing play before coming to sit next to you. “Well. Thank you. And to think my son told me I had to step up my game.” You laugh softly, biting on your lip somewhat mischievously. “Yeah, I think you’re definitely doing just fine…”

He looks down at you, his expression suddenly becoming a little more serious. You’re practically lost in his deep blue eyes, staring back up at him as your heart begins to pound a little. It’s definitely happening. You can feel it. Whether this was always his intention or not, you’re unsure, but you know he wants you just as badly as you want him. 

It all happens so fast. His hands are grabbing your waist and pulling you onto his lap, his lips against yours in a furiously heated kiss, his arms wrapping entirely around you to keep you close to his body. You kiss him back now straddling his lap comfortably, your hands already lunging for the buttons of his shirt to push it off. His grunts of arousal are turning you on more and more, showcasing his absolute need and hunger; it’s clear he's been deprived ever since his divorce, and you’re more than happy to give him what he’s been ravenous for. You let him pull your top off, adjusting yourself so you can remove your shorts. He pulls back and stares at your half naked body, already panting. 

“Fuck. I forgot how sexy girls your age are,” he mumbles as his eyes rake over your figure, hands running up your waist to squeeze your breasts through your bra before traveling down to dig his fingers into your ass. “So damn tight and perky in all the right places…” You giggle breathlessly, unbuckling his belt as you lick your lips. “I think you’ll find I have a lot more… enthusiasm, too.” 

You slowly slide off him, getting down onto your knees in between his legs. He looks shocked but pleasantly surprised when you push down his pants and briefs, his teeth digging into his lower lip in anticipation when you curl your fingers around his thick length. You can’t help but stare a little, somewhat intimidated by his shaft though excited at the same time. Looking up at his expression, you barely smirk. “What’s wrong, Andy? Your ex-wife didn’t like to get down on her knees for you?” You use your other hand to rub his thigh slowly as if to comfort him, leaning down to give his tip little kitten licks. “Mm… because I’d do it for ya anytime…”

He lets out a groan, bucking his hips already in greed. “Fuck, don’t tease, Y/N. You did enough of that today standing outside my house in that tiny little bra and those tight pants.” He mutters through clenched teeth, and you blink before giggling lightly, pumping his base. “Oh? You were checking me out even then, huh?” 

“Of course I was… who wouldn’t be?” he growls, suddenly reaching out and grabbing a fistful of your hair, jerking your head forward. “Suck my damn dick already, honey, I want to fuck the back of your goddamn throat…” 

You gasp slightly but feel the wetness pool between your legs upon the pet name and dirty talk, immediately leaning forward to wrap your lips around him. You’ve never wanted to please someone so bad. He’s older, much older, and all you want to do is impress him. You bob your head up and down as your tongue swirls around his length, enjoying the sounds of his pleasured grunts and groans, looking up to see his eyes practically half shut. “Shit. You’re doing so good, honey, so… fucking good.” He hisses, clenching your hair tighter as he bucks his hips upwards. “Keep going, just like that…”

You feel his cock hitting the back of your throat, your coughs muffled from how full your mouth is. You don’t want to stop, though. You want to do everything you can to please him, to show him just what a good neighbor you are. You keep sucking, peering up at him through hooded eyes, moving your tongue skillfully to draw him closer to his edge. “Oh… oh, fuck…!” he growls, his grip on your hair tightening. “Oh, baby, I’m gonna cum…”

He releases down your throat, his shoulders finally dropping as he releases his hold on your hair. You hum happily as you swallow his load, gasping for air immediately after, your chest heaving up and down. He scoffs in awe as he stares down at you, nibbling on his lip hungrily. “You look so good taking my cock like that, honey. But I want to taste you now.” 

You squeak in surprise when he hoists you up, carrying you upstairs and to his bedroom with ease. You don’t even have time to look around before he tosses you down onto the bed on your back, crawling over and leaning down to leave a trail of kisses all the way from your collarbone, over the tops of your breasts, down your stomach and to the hem of your panties. He playfully bites on the lace to lower them down, making you giggle breathlessly. He stares at your soaked pussy, his blue eyes practically a shade darker from lust. “Look at you. All pretty and wet just for me,” he murmurs, voice dripping with fervor. “Taste me,” you whine, shivering slightly from the cool air now upon your entrance, arching your back desperately. “Please, Andy, I want you to tongue fuck me so bad.” 

He groans just from hearing you. “What a naughty girl. I can’t believe how lucky I am you moved in right next door.” He smirks and leans in, swiping his tongue across your dripping folds. You whine slowly as your eyes flutter shut, fingers grasping the bedsheets. “Mm… something tells me I’ll be here just as much as… at my house…”

“I think so too.” His voice is low and husky, his sharp features displaying nothing but carnal hunger. He nibbles teasingly around the edges of your entrance before pushing his tongue inside, hands gripping your thighs to keep your legs spread apart. Plunging in and out, spitting once to create more wetness and saliva, his tongue travels all over and laps up everything it can get. He’s grunting to himself in enjoyment, his lips even finding your clit as he sucks on it carefully but excitedly, his fingers wrapping behind to squeeze your ass. You can’t help but moan loudly, your breaths airy and uneven, the occasional gasp coming out accompanied by pitchy and pleasured hums. “Andy…!”

“Mm… mmm…. so good…” he mumbles to himself in between, his tongue working your clit and wet core expertly and sending you closer and closer over the edge. “Oh! Ooh… I’m… I’m close…!” 

You finally release and he happily cleans you all up, exhaling deeply as a satisfied smirk crosses his lips. He pulls back only to come lay next to you, his bare chest moving up and down with his irregular breaths and his fluffy brown hair now slightly tousled from his head in between your thighs. You look up at him with an amused and breathless smile, raising an eyebrow playfully innocent as you whisper, “Did I taste good…?”

“Incredibly.” He answers with a low scoff, suddenly rolling over to face you and throwing his arm around you. “You make the perfect dessert. And I think I’m going to want you every night.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I’m right next door…”

[seven-oomen]

Breaking the cycle | How Teen Wolf portrays its traumatized fathers

First of, I would like to say that the following words are my take on this. I am a 29 year old trans man of Caucasian descend who is an domestic violence and abuse survivor. I am diagnosed with ADHD since 12 and diagnosed with CPTSD since this year. I understand trauma and I understand what it does to people. But I am not a professional. I am a fan.

Secondly, the characters I’ll be talking about today are specifically the fathers of some of the main characters in Teen Wolf. Namely Chris Argent, Peter Hale, and Noah Stilinski. 

I realize there are many more traumatized parents who would fit well in this essay and while I thought about including them, I decided that for now, these are the three characters I’m focusing on.

I would love to hear your thoughts about some of the other parents and how their traumatizing pasts might have contributed to the way they raised their children.

Sources are listed under the read more. The gifs I’m using are from Google.

I will be focusing on these characters, discuss what sort of trauma they have, how it affects them and how it affects the way they then raised their children. And why their stories are important for trauma and abuse survivors.

Let’s start with Noah Stilinski.

From Episode 3, Season 6 Sundowning we know the following about Noah’s homelife:

Elias was known for being both emotionally and physically abusive, and on at least one occasion, Noah stepped in to protect his mother from his abuse, causing his father to inadvertently throw him into a glass coffee table; his shoulder was scarred, and tiny fragments of glass remain under the now-healed wound even in the present day.

He even tells Scott: (While talking about a memory of him and Claudia in College.) “The kind of father I wish I had. The kind I... I hope to be."

In the same episode Noah also refers to the incident above as “That time.” Indicating that it wasn’t the first time this happened and it wasn’t the last either.

Piecing all the information together we can conclude that Noah was emotionally, psychologically, and physically abused by his father. We can also conclude that this abuse extended to his mother. Meaning he was also a victim of domestic violence.

There is also evidence in the episode that Elias might have abused Stiles, or at the very least has a very negative opinion of his grandson.  “ That's right! Act like I'm not even here! Go crawling back to your dead wife and loser son!”

This scarred Noah, both physically and mentally. We see evidence of this in episodes where he reacts violently and explosively any time his son is hurt. He immediately blows up and threatens physical violence against the people who hurt his son. 

A part of that is parental protection, but imagine that someone beat the living crap out of you and those you love every day of your life. Once you’re free of that person it leaves a mark and a smoldering fear of seeing the people around you getting hurt. When it happens you get angry, at the people who hurt your loved one, and at yourself. You weren’t there to protect them, you were too late.

Noah blames himself whenever Stiles gets hurt. I believe, based on his childhood home life that Noah corresponds his son getting hurt with failure as a parent. And knowing where he comes from, that’s an extra sore subject for him.

We have basis of it in canon.

We can also see that Noah’s guilt tends to eat at him if he ever has to discipline Stiles or yell at him. As shown in the following scene.

I believe that the abuse Noah endured makes him a very scared individual especially when it comes to raising his son. He’s constantly afraid he’s turning into his father, his afraid of making the same mistakes. He’s afraid he’ll scar and traumatize his own as he was traumatized himself.

The fact that Noah is aware of what he’s doing, that he stops when asked is enough of an indication to tell us, the audience, that he isn’t his father. Once Stiles indicates he’s okay, or simply tells his father to stop, Noah stops immediately. He usually hugs his son or initiates a kind physical contact right after. 

He stops, he reflects, realizes his mistake, and tries to do better.

This is one way to break the cycle. Noah’s not perfect at it, we can see him struggle many times. He insults Stiles or his intelligence without meaning to, passing it off as a joke, he’s constantly working and is not around as much as he should be. And those are valid criticisms of this character.

But deep at his core Noah’s trying to break a cycle of physical and emotional abuse, he’s trying to be there for Stiles. Tells him to go to school, tries to keep an eye on Stiles and tries to talk to him whenever he has the chance to explore Stiles’s wellbeing and feelings.

This is a man who went through hell as a child, became a father, and decided to do better.

Noah is a character who effectively broke a viscous cycle and has a wonderful and strong relationship with his son as a result. It’s not without flaws and Noah’s not perfect. But he’s generally not abusive or an abuser. And that is a step in the right direction.

It also shows us, the audience, that no matter what home life you come from, you can arise above your own traumas and do better for the next generation.

-

Now Chris Argent is an interesting one. I already talked about Chris and trauma in my daddy’s little soldier meta.

Considering the type of person Gerard is, and how he treats several teenagers in the show. I believe Chris is also a victim of emotional, psychological, and physical abuse. We don’t know much about his home life with his mother, so that I can not speculate on.

What we do know is, Gerard has no qualms about hurting children and teenagers. He’s admitted that he would kill his own son if it meant he survived. He’s raised his own son to be a weapon and to compartmentalize his emotions. I shudder to think as to what methods Gerard must have used on Chris. But as we never see them, I can only speculate.

So how did Chris break his cycle of abuse?

By not raising Allison to be a hunter. For the first seventeen years of her life, Allison didn’t know the Supernatural existed. She was kept out of her father’s life until it was no longer possible. She was never raised as a soldier, she wasn’t raised to hide her feelings. If anything, her father encouraged her and nurtured her to the best of his abilities. Chris tried to be there for his daughter. 

He even moved her to France to get her away from their lives. He quit something he was raised to do and did it successfully, just to protect his daughter. He grew up to be everything his father wasn’t.

And while Chris, too, is not perfect at it, he does try and breaks the cycle.

He’s aware of their problems, addresses them, and tries to do better. He even extends this nurturing and protective side to Isaac later down the line. 

Chris, a victim of abuse, sees the signs of abuse in Isaac, and decides; this one, this one I will nurture and protect too. Which he eventually accomplishes by bringing him to France and away from the craziness that is Beacon Hills. (Would have been nice to get a good plot about Chris adopting Isaac, but well, that’s another rant.)

Chris, like Noah, shows that even if you were raised in the worst circumstances, by being aware of your trauma and how that affects others, you can break the cycle and come out on top.

-

And last but not least we have someone who went through an horrific event and possibly emotional abuse from his family, discovered he was a father, and then had to adjust.

I’m talking about Peter Hale.

Now Peter is not a morally good character in general. He has no qualms about killing people who get in his way. From what we know about his childhood Peter also had anger issues as a small child and often broke his toys. 

However, the reason why I’m stating that Peter was most likely emotionally abused (I think by his sister Talia) is because we know that Talia, would not believe Peter about the fire and the Argents and waved his concerns away without considering them. She manipulated multiple of his memories and frequently hid the truth from him. And we know that their relationship from before the fire was strained.

We also know that Peter does care about his family. He cared for Cora in the hospital and he does care about whether Derek lives or dies and tends to keep an eye out for his nephew. In later seasons we also see Peter caring about his only daughter Malia and even express fear for her wellbeing when they go up against the Anuk-Ite. 

His love for Malia is eventually what frees him from the Ghost Riders control and his wish for her to live is what motivates his decisions in Season 6 to try and keep her safe, and when he can’t keep her away from the fight, he joins her and tries to protect her.

Now I believe that the Peter we see in S1,2, 3 and S6B are the real Peter Hale. A traumatized man who believes his only way to stay alive is through manipulation and careful planning. But he does genuinely seem to care about a few people, Cora, Derek, and Malia.

In Season 1 Peter is still coming out of his traumatic event (being burned alive and then being in a coma) and he has to navigate a new world. He kills Laura (or so it is speculated) for her Alpha power and to heal himself. Because to Peter, he is the only one who can avenge his family and resolve the traumatic event he went through.

Revenge, of course, is generally not a good way to resolve trauma and the plan doesn’t work. His trauma is not resolved by killing Kate and he dies that night.

When Peter comes back practically powerless he has to navigate carefully and he does so through manipulating the people around him. To Peter, manipulation is the only way to stay alive and get ahead. This idea of his, had to come from somewhere.

This is where my theory of emotional abuse kicks in. Because if Peter was emotionally abused by his sister (for which there is evidence in canon), he most likely picked up his tactic of manipulation as a survival tactic.

Now out of the list. Peter is the only person who doesn���t fully rise above his past. The past still haunts him as he becomes a protector of Beacon Hills in S6B. But I firmly think that if we got to see more of Peter past this point, we would have seen a man starting his journey to recognizing his toxic traits and trying to do better by them. But that of course, is just speculation.

Peter’s story teaches us that the road to healing and becoming a better person isn’t always linear. It’s not a given that you’ll heal if you aren’t ready to accept it. Or if you’re so focused on getting revenge that healing is impossible, it’s also not going to work. And usually, trying to heal requires a positive presence in your life (Malia), a support system (Malia and the pack), and a willingness to recognize what you’re doing wrong and to better yourself moving forward.

Sources:

Breaking the Cycle of Child Abuse - Article written by a psychologist and peer reviewed by a psychiatrist

The cycles of violence - Article written for the WHO by the University of Birmingham

The Teen Wolf Wiki - for all information and episodes of these characters

Teen Wolf - MTV tv show that owns the characters.

[slasherfilth]

You Are What You Eat - Chapter One (Thomas Hewitt x Reader)

You hum along to the chorus of the song blasting from your radio as you drive along the seemingly endless dirt road. Your eyes were squinting now and again to try and see through all the dust your car was kicking up as you made your way down to your Fathers old property. It had been at least a decade since you had seen it; since you'd experienced dirt roads and the sticky feeling of sweat dripping from your forehead in the sweltering Texas sun. You'd moved out of the home a long time ago, eager to leave the backwash town of Fuller and onto something greater as you had once told your father. He'd been supportive in the decision but always said you would come back to the quiet life. Like your privacy too much to be livin' in those tiny places with too many people. You had rolled your eyes naturally, adamant that you would never miss this place once you made it out. But here you were. You were driving along the same dirt road from your childhood, surprisingly eager to be away from the hustle and bustle of city life. He had been right. A small smirk curled on your lips as you thought that. He'd have a field day if you'd ever managed to tell him that. However, a small pang of sadness hit you just as quickly as the thought came. That's the main reason your back. You couldn't tell him. The only reason you could afford to move back out was because of the inheritance and a house already paid into your name. A small sigh left your lips as you tried to focus on the music once more, at this point too exhausted to cry about it anymore.

It wasn't long until you finally pulled into the old house. A smile bloomed on your face as you took in the sight of the place you once called home. Memories of you running up the steps to the patio in a hurry from school, ready to blurt out your day to your parents. A simple rope and plank swing still hanging from the big sturdy tree that sat outside the front of the house. Remembering how you would read books from dawn till dusk under the cool shade of the tree as you grew older. With a huff of effort, you jumped out of the car, eager to stretch your legs after hours of driving. And with that you began to walk towards the all too familiar house, ready to start your new life. You could only hope you enjoyed it more than your last one.

Making your way inside you couldn't help but appreciate how cute your home really was. A housewife's dream really. Sky blue the outside, and a mix of light colours painting the interior. Big white windows over the walls, letting in natural light that bounced off the wooden furniture beautifully. You'd been fortunate. Dad had left everything to you. Which you'd appreciated since all you had yourself was a small couch, TV and a washing machine. This would be a much different experience. Humming, you made your way around the house, opening windows to let light and air in. Hoping to remove the musty smell that had built up over time. Once you finished your task, you sat down on the dining room table, taking it all in. You felt lighter already. The sadness of why you now have all of this was still there, but you pushed it away to think of the better opportunities. You could do so much more here—no one to tell you what to do or what to make. A broad grin enveloped your lips as you thought of that. And with that lovely thought, you made your way back to the car. You were initially going to wait before heading to the old business, give yourself time to adjust before setting to work. But the hardworking mentality of a country upbringing wouldn't let you. There was so much to be done, and you were more than a little excited.

 _____________________________________________________________

 By the time you got to town it was already in the evening, but you were too eager to take a look at the old bakery and see how much work is needed to start up again. You promised yourself you wouldn't stay long, that you could come back tomorrow and begin the real work. Still, for now, you just wanted to bask in the idea of finally being able to live your dream of having your own bakery. You hoped it would all work out. Hoped the locals remembered how good the bakery once was and feel the need to come to inspect again when word got out it was open once more. It wouldn't take long. Word travelled like wildfire through these parts. And with that, you wondered how long it would take for people to realise there was a new face in town. Not too long, you hoped. You were not always the most social person, but you would still like to make friends and have tea sometimes. Maybe you would even find that once special guy out there. You almost laughed at the thought. How many times your mother had asked about boys in your life. When were you gonna get yourself a man? You ain't gonna be bringing back one of those city boys are ya? You'll need a country boy, someone who can work and take care of you. At one time, it had made you laugh. How were you going to find a country boy in the city? But she had been right in the long run. Them boys had never tickled your fancy much. Always focused on their looks, carrying around combs and swaggering around all the ladies, acting smooth. You saw right through it all.

None of them would be able to handle a good day's work. Too weak to do some heavy lifting, no matter how much they bragged and too vain to get a bit dirty to accomplish something. You wrinkled your nose. You'd be lying to yourself if you said you hadn't fantasied about a tall, muscled up, hardworking family man taking you for a spin when you were planning your new life out here. Someone that would come along and just sweep you off your feet with one hand and help you around the house and bakery with the other. Another laugh left you; good luck, girlie. How about you make it through setting up and living here before you start fantasying about all that jazz.

As you were lost in your own thoughts, you checked around the small joint, happy to find big working ovens, a register, walk-in cooler and massive pantry. It had definitely been revamped since the last time you were here which made you happy. A lot less work than what you were expecting. A simple clean down and electricity organising and it would all be good to go. You would be open by the end of the week with any luck. A hum of appreciation left you as you walked back out to your car. Thinking of some recipes, you thought the locals would like. Maybe you should try to catch up with that old meat business. See if you could strike up a deal for some meat pies. And with that you drove home, giddy about what the next few days would bring.

 _______________________________________________________________

You were in the back, kneading some dough for a new apple pie recipe you had been dying to try. After finding an apple tree at the end of your yard growing some beautiful juice fruits, you'd spent some time trying to perfect a recipe. Today you were eager to make it and offer some free samples to see if the locals would like it as well, maybe it could be a signature dish in your cosy little bakery. You'd been here for a few weeks by now, settling in nicely to your new house and property. And even happier with the bakery opening the week prior. You had been quite busy that day, everyone seemed to have noticed the work you'd been doing there. Maybe the few brief conversations you'd had when visiting stores had managed to get the word around enough for people to be interested. You smiled as you went to grab the rolling pin however paused as you heard the faint jingle of bells, alerting you to someone's presences. Putting on a big smile, you dusted the flour off of your hands onto the lavender apron you donned making your way to the front. You found an older lady waiting in a lovely floral dress, thick glasses perched on her nose. She immediately gave you a loving grandmother vibe that you adored instantly.

"Good morning, Ma'am. What can I get 'cha?" You placed your hands on your hips and turned to the lady.

"Morning, Darlin'. I just wanted to come check out this old place. Haven't seen it so busy since ol' Danny passed, rest his soul." You smiled gently, feeling an odd tug at your heart. No one had mentioned your father at all since this place had opened. You were relieved but also sad in away. You would have hoped people remembered him a bit more.

"Well thank you, Ma'am. I'm trying my best to continue in his likeness. I'm (Y/N), Danny's daughter. I recently moved out into his old place." You extended a hand, feeling your cheeks heat up as her eyes widened briefly, giving you a once over from head to toe before taking your hand in a soft but firm handshake.

"Well, I'll be darned. Who knew someone like him could raise such a good-looking young lady? I'm Luda Mae. I'm on the property next to yours with the Hewitt family. Got Charlie, Monty and my boy, Thomas out there." A smile flashed on your face. You had seen the old white house briefly before and wondered if anyone was even there anymore. The idea of having neighbours was a delightful one.

"Pleasure to meet you, Luda Mae. It's nice to know I'm not the only one all the way out there. How about I get you some coffee and cakes, I'd love to hear a little about the town and yourself." You decided to be a bit more forward than usual. This woman just made you feel comfortable, and you were interested in who exactly was staying near you. A wide smile adorned the older woman face.

"Well, I'd love that darlin'. White with two sugars, please. And I'll like to try that lemon tart you've got in there. Haven't had a good one in a long time since this place shut down." Joy filled you as you nodded and set to work, making double for yourself as you went to sit down with her.

"I hope it's just as good as you remember." The two of you seemed to get along great, the conversation flowed smoothly as you explained why you came back out and your ideas for the business in the future. How you had gone to culinary school in order to start your own little bakery and how excited you were to share it with people here. The two of you exchanged recipes, and Luda let you in on what local flavours and harvests were available at different times of the year. She also told you about her family, the town's history since you left and odd bits and pieces that came to mind. In between the conversation, you would have to get up to serve some people, but she seemed to enjoy the talk and food which made you happy. No one had been incredibly rude or anything here, but this was the first time someone had shown you that good old country friendliness you remembered so fondly from your childhood.

"Yeah, is a shame the old slaughterhouse shut down, would have been great to have some meat pies around this place." That piqued your interest.

"Oh? I hadn't realised it shut down. I was thinking about trying to get some meat just for that. Well darn, I'll have to think of something else now. Will be too expensive to import for now." A small frown tugged at the edge of your lips. Luda Mae clicked her tongue but smiled.

"No worries dear, I'm sure you will figure something out. If you're ever in desperate need for something you just us know. Us Hewitts aren't the richest folk around, but we're the most generous if you can look past all that ridiculous talk." You kept a smile on your face as you took in Luda's small rant, slightly worried about what she could mean. Where they not well-liked amongst the community? Luda Mae looked like a typical town grandmother though. It was very strange to you. But you didn't wish to comment as you could already tell it was a sore spot. Instead, you nodded and thanked her profusely for her offer, offering a hug as she stood tidying up the plates and cups.

"Oh, don't worry about that I'll handle it. It was lovely to meet you, Ms Hewitt, you can come around anytime for a good chat. Feel free to bring the family too." She smiled wide at that and nodded at you while you gathered up the dishes quickly.

"Will do dear, you take care now. I'll be back." You move to the back with a warm feeling, dropping the dishes next to the sink. Turning you look back at the pie you were initially making before you had gotten interrupted—thoughts of Luda Mae's rant filling your mind. From what you gathered, they weren't the most well off and were considered outcasts even in this small town. You frown. You wondered why. But shaking your head, you turn back to work. You decided you would make up for the town's ridicule and begin making small goodies for the family. You're sure she would be appreciative. She also said she had a son, you wondered how old he was. Maybe a teenager? Perhaps he would like sweets as well.

_______________________________________________________________

So I’ve kind of been lurking around my favourite slashers for awhile and I love everyones stories so much. And now I feel confident adding my own little peices. I’m sure you can guess where the story is going from the clues and I hope you can see which amazingly gruesome muscial this is derived from. Tell me what you think and if you guys like it, I’ll be sure to bring that next chapter with lots of our amazing beefy boi. 

[twilitty]

Moonlit ch.2

This is the second chapter in my new fic Moonlit, it will be posted on Tumblr, ao3, and ffnet. New chapters uploaded every week and a half. Message/comment to be added to my tag list.

3.9k words

previous chapter

big thank you to my beta reader @effervescentlyirrevocable who has given me the absolute best criticism and helped make this chapter so beautiful :)

Bella Swan is introduced to a possible new friend and receives a gift. The doctors new family may not be as well adjusted to small town life as Charlie would like.

Chapter Two

The next morning I wake up to a growl of thunder beating against the inside of my skull. I had a night of thankfully restful sleep for once, only waking up to get a glass of water. My hands are clasped against my chest, fingers knotted in annoyance as I hold back what likely will be a spill of expletives. Why must there always be noise? Why can I not sleep soundly and awake soundly, just once?

I open one eye experimentally, hoping the sun has already arisen and I won’t be missing out on any leftover sleep. My room is shrouded in darkness. The expletives, swear words crude enough to make a priest gag, spill out in a muttered breath and my hands squeeze against each other once more before reaching for my alarm clock. The red numbers blink back at me and it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to the light before I read the time. Nine in the morning. I look back to the window where my blinds are drawn closed, but still no light, even filtered through the canopy of clouds, peaks at the edges. 

The thunder, which had gone quiet after waking me up initially, rolls again for a moment before silencing itself. Only, was it thunder? It sounded heavy, like machinery but with a deeper growl. Was there construction nearby? I didn’t recall any on my few trips up and down the street, and I question why there would need to be any construction anyways. It’s not as if this is a booming neighbourhood with a subdivision being built. 

Charlie knocks against my door, quieter than yesterday. “Bella, it’s time to get up.” You’d imagine that with my age being nearly twenty and my status as a legal adult I’d be allowed to choose my own time to wake up. My annoyance dies down quickly when my thoughts bounce back to Phoenix, waking up early each morning to drive Mom into her early morning classes. Nine in the morning really isn’t that early, in fact, it allows me time to get some chores done before class. “Someone has dropped by.”

My lips contort into an annoyed pucker. Who would have stopped by? Mom had warned me before the move that nothing but rumours and nasty mold comes from Forks. Apparently her quick marriage to Charlie, and even quicker pregnancy with me, was enough gossip to fuel conversations for years. I remember a trip to Forks at eight years old, a woman had stopped my mother in the grocery store and asked her over for coffee. “They just want the inside scoop,” Renee had told me afterwards, “Give them anything and they’ll find a way to make it ugly.”

My bare feet brush the ground and a flash of cold spreads up my shins. Apparently, even in spring, the weather is dangerously cold. I tell Charlie I’ll be downstairs in a moment, pulling on a pair of jeans and thermal socks. I was hoping for a relaxing day alone, just me, my sweatpants, and the laptop. I compromise on the socks, regardless of who is downstairs, my toes will not be cold today.

I pull the blinds open, the lawn stretching out beside the house is bathed in shadowy darkness despite the morning hour. The forest that lines our property, secluding us from the neighbours, is eerie and mysterious. The green tones that I initially found alien and too bright are now gone and replaced with navy. I wait a moment, staring into the trees, my thoughts rambling into fairytale imaginations. 

My brain conjures an image of a man, tall and insidious, stepping out of the tree line, long claws attached to his fingers and a nasty grin revealing pointed teeth. His shirt is ripped in the front, a long tear reaching from throat to navel and from inside the shirt tufts of hair stick out. No, not hair, fur. He growls menacingly. 

I close the blinds quickly and blink against the pictures my brain throws at me. 

The landline rings downstairs and startles me, a jolt of anxious adrenaline surging through my cold feet and up into my heart. Maybe one of the reasons I enjoyed Phoenix’s barren, plain landscape was that I would not be subjected to such terrible thoughts. I remember being twelve and watching Scream with my mother, she was on a horror movie kick and had rented a whole stack of DVDs for us to watch. That night when I was tired but my eyes refused to close as I didn’t want to imagine what could be lurking outside my bedroom window. Crawling into my mother’s bed, she ran her warm palm against my forehead and hummed a song until I calmed down. 

“Bella,” she had said quietly, the nurturing lilt of her voice expanding my heart, “We live in a desert. You can see for miles and miles and miles, if some bad man was coming we’d see him from forty minutes away.” I giggled quietly into the comforter, our bodies pressed against each other in near sleep and my mother’s hands maneuvering through my hair with expertise. 

Now, I look out at the grassy lawn from a crack between the blinds. It resembles the set of a slasher movie, the forest borders it with every possibility my imagination can muster. I can see a man from four seconds away, not forty minutes.

There's a chorus of male laughter from below and I sigh, assuming this is my cue to go downstairs and meet with whoever has stopped in.

Charlie is sitting in the living room, facing me and his back to the television which is decidedly blank. On the couch is a head of glossy, black hair. Beside him is a wheelchair with an older man sitting in it, a mug clasped between dark hands. I curse whatever forces brought these strangers into the house so early, I am not in the mood for interaction. I was hoping for a bowl of oatmeal and a quiet morning. 

“Hey!” Charlie braces his hands on his knees and pushes out of the armchair. His face is split in half with a grin. I can’t recall him smiling this large in the past week of my stay. The two men turn, facing me with warm smiles.

One of them is older, perhaps Charlie's age, his mouth creased with smile lines and his eyes wrinkled with sun damage. His skin is a warm russet brown, his eyes deep-set behind pronounced brows and a large smile. Bright white teeth stare back at me as my brain picks over his features, how do I know this man? I know almost immediately that he’s Quileute, from the Reservation to the west of town. I vaguely remember trips to the beach with Charlie and eating hotdogs over fires with some of the children from the area. 

“Do you remember me, Bella?” He asks in a deep, commanding tone. His voice transports me back to the beach, collecting colourful rocks with the other kids and being called to dinner. Billy Black. He lives in a small, red house with a large kitchen perfect for gatherings. He’s older than I remember, but my last time being here for any substantial time was nearly four years ago. 

“Dad, c’mon,” the boy says with a sarcastic eye roll. He stands from the couch, his height towering mine by a few inches and his broad shoulders slumped forward happily. I wonder how tall he’d be if he stood to his full height. His voice is deep, not as deep as his father’s, but still an indicator of the family resemblance. Where his father is strong and sure, this boy is aloof and casual. Jacob Black. “She hasn’t been back in ages, she probably blocked your nasty attitude out of her memory.” 

I bite back a smile, but Billy laughs and shoots Charlie a look that says, kids, am I right? I step forward and extend my hand to Jacob, who takes it gratefully in his own and gives a soft shake. His hand covers mine and is most definitely a few degrees warmer than I am. “Jacob Black, we used to make mud pies together.”

“Best in town,” Charlie adds in from the back of the room. I smile. 

“No, no, I remember you guys,” I tell the Blacks. “It just took me a moment.” Charlies sits back down in his chair and motions for me to take a seat. 

“Billy and Jake just stopped by,” my father explains. I sit beside Jacob on the couch, a cushion between us. But, even with the provided space and the lack of physical contact, I feel heat come off of him in waves like a radiator. I wonder if he’s sick. “Jake here is a mechanic.” A furious blush settles under the boy's brown skin as his mechanical skills are brought up, this is my first time hearing of his expertise. I remember his sisters being twins, both tall and beautiful with matching smiles. They were almost two years older than me, Jacob had followed closely behind and was only born in the same six months as me. Of course, now that I try to remember, the date falls short in my memory. It’s possible he has a career as a mechanic somewhere on the Reservation, but he mustn’t work in Forks. I hadn’t seen a single mechanics garage in town. 

“No, no,” he looks between me and my father with an apologetic smile, “it’s just a hobby. Something for fun.” Billy tsks at his son, shaking his head in a way that makes me believe this conversation has occurred before. 

“Hobbies can bring in money, hobbies can turn into jobs,” the older man says with a scolding tone. Jacob just shakes his head crookedly, not responding. Charlie takes this as his cue to interrupt the trajectory of the conversation, and I’m grateful. I haven’t spoken to these men in nearly four years, that last place I want to be is in the middle of a family feud. 

“Well, now, there was a reason I brought up Jake’s skills,” Charlie interjects with a wave at the large boy next to me. “Bells, go take a look outside.” My fingers twitch anxiously in my lap at being thrust into the center of the conversation. I was hoping I could slide under the radar here, not end up in the middle of it. 

It takes great restraint for me to get up from the couch and not stumble over my ankles in the act, my clumsiness reaches new heights when I’m being watched by a room of people. Even if there are only three people in the room. The window at the end of the room is open, the curtains pulled to the side, and when I reach it my gaze falls on a group of kids biking down the street with a rainbow of helmets. Apparently, the dark sky doesn’t scare them the way it does me. 

They pedal quickly, little screams of delight just barely audible through the thick glass of the living room window. They pass the porch and disappear behind a large red truck parked out front of the house. I blink. It’s still there, rounded fenders and shiny door handles, long bed, ancient grill adorning the hood. It’s beautiful. “Is that your truck, Billy?” There’s a chorus of laughter behind me, the men’s baritones mixing and producing a flaming blush starting at my neck and creeping up into my face. I turn to look at them, my stomach clenching as I turn away from the beautiful vehicle. “What?” 

“It’s yours, Bella,” Charlie tells me. The breath I was holding leaves my lungs through my gaping mouth, I struggle to close it and take an experimental inhale. “Bella?” I turn and look back out the window, the glorious truck still sits there staring at me from across the dark lawn. I can only imagine how beautiful it is in the sunlight.

“I- it’s mine?” I ask. Another series of laughs echo through and then footsteps come up beside me, Jacob stands looking out the window. “You made it?” I question, looking up at him. 

His shoulders shake silently and his lips press together as he tries to compose himself, I’m not sure why he finds my comment so funny but it reignites my blush. “I fixed it up, yeah. But, don’t get too excited. The thing runs at sixty miles max, push her further than that and you’ll be walking home.” 

We all go outside quickly, me leading the pack with an excited skip in my step. It’s a miracle I didn’t fall on my face or stumble over my words as I spoke my thoughts aloud. “It’s so pretty, I love it! Jake, I have no idea how you could make it look so perfect.” The truck sits against the curb, its red paint flaking in places around the tires, but even more perfect than I could have imagined. 

The sky is a disturbing shade of grey, a fact that irritates me more outside than it did in the house. Why does the weather have to ruin such a perfectly good moment? But I spend the majority of my time on the vehicle, petting its sides carefully like I might damage it. Finally, seemingly having had enough of me quietly admiring the vehicle, Billy tells me to hop in and check it out on the inside. 

Jacob produces a set of keys, no automatic locking mechanism, and twists it in the truck's door handle. He holds the door open for me, producing a hand to help me in. I take it gratefully, stepping up into the driver’s seat and letting myself sink into the seat. Jacob closes the door on me, but my thoughts are lost and focused only on how much I love this truck. 

“So,” he says after opening the passenger door and climbing up next to me, “You ever driven a truck before?” I shake my head, fingers curving experimentally around the thin steering wheel. I can see myself now: driving down the empty highway, the sun blinding against the dry pavement, window down and hair blowing, radio blaring. It’s exactly what I needed, a way for me to get around without needing to borrow the cruiser (which, yes, is illegal) or have Charlie drive me around. 

“I can give you lessons,” Jake offers, fingers clasped in his lap, drumming a tune against the opposite knuckles. “If not that’s cool, but she drives a little funny.” “She?” I ask, eyes leaving the steering wheel momentarily to watch his face. He notices, the serene expression dropping from his face and replaced with a quick upturn of his lips. 

“Uh, yeah.” He palms the back of his neck roughly and seems almost apologetic. “I have a thing for cars, y’know, so naming them is kinda part of the deal.” I can barely make out a faint red tinge over his cheeks. “Wait, hold on,” I can’t contain the giggle that slips out but firmly press my lips together before trying again. I can only imagine the toothy smile I’m giving him, a girl all too excited over some old truck. Only, this is the perfect old truck. “What’s her name?”

“Betty,” he responds sheepishly, his hand still massaging the back of his neck. “But if you tell anybody that I’ll have to kill you.” 

“That’s okay, Betty is our secret.” 

And, just like that, I now have a secret with someone. Does this make us friends? Regardless of whatever it makes us, my heart sings happily from within my chest, excited to think that maybe Forks won’t be as lonesome as it’s been this past week. Maybe Jacob and I will become friends and bond over Betty and I won’t only have Charlie and school and books. 

“Well, before you accept her turn the keys,” Jacob instructs. I oblige, setting the keys in the ignition and giving them a gentle twist. A roar of mechanical thunder envelopes us. I nearly leap out of my seat in surprise, the loud rumbling of the engine settling in my ears and blocking out all other noises. Jake says something but I can barely hear him from over the thunderous growl of Betty. I turn the keys back and the truck dies down with one last rumble. “She’s loud,” he says obviously. 

“She’s perfect.” 

Jacob hands me a spare set of keys after we get out, telling me that he’ll be back the day after tomorrow to give me my first driving lesson in the truck. Charlie was all too excited with that idea, even though I already have my license and know how to drive. In fact, other than illegally borrowing the cruiser with Charlie’s permission, I have never committed an illegal act involving a vehicle. If memory serves me correctly, Charlie has two speeding tickets from his youth. 

But, I don’t argue against Jake's offer. In fact, I thank him profusely and promise to pay him for the lessons. “Bella,” he says in an exasperated way, as if we’ve known each other for years and I always say such supposedly outlandish things. “Why would you pay me for something I’m offering to you?” 

We’ve stopped in front of the Blacks vehicle, a large brown and beige truck which seems to only be a decade newer than the red one. This isn’t saying much for the brown vehicle as the red one could be from the fifties. Billy is wheeling his way down the driveway with Charlie walking beside him, laughing emphatically at something his friend had said. 

“That’s crazy,” I respond with a shake of my head. “That’s like me not paying you for the truck.”

“Yeah, I know.” I take pause at this, the words welling up inside my brain and the meaning lost to me for only a moment. Then, like finally finding the missing puzzle piece under the table, I understand what this means and the picture is clear. 

“You- I- This truck isn’t free.” The words stutter out of me, the first two the beginnings of messages I abandoned immediately after starting them. This truck, though old, is not cheap, and neither is Jakes’s skill. I should pay him for labour if nothing else, but I know he doesn’t want to include that in the bill. He doesn't want to send me a bill. 

“It’s a gift,” he states simply with a shrug of his wide shoulders. Billy pulls up beside me, slapping away Charlie's hand as he tries to adjust his chair for him.

“Careful, Swan,” the older Black warns with hostility. “I have more muscle in these arms than you do in your entire body. Touch the chair and you’ll get what’s coming to you.” 

Jacob helps Billy into the passenger seat, folding up the wheelchair and securing it into the truck bed with quick hands. Charlie stands beside me, shooting fiery threats back and forth with his friend until Jacob climbs behind the wheel. “Storm coming through,” Jacob says with a wave towards the dark sky. “If you need any help with anything, tying stuff down or moving let me know.” Charlie thanks him for the offer and I lean in to thank him again for the truck and the lessons. I also assure him that the argument over billing is far from over and that he’ll get an earful the next time we meet. 

The rest of the day is spent restlessly. I log into my online classes but my attention is continuously claimed by my truck in front of the house. The sun never shows itself, content with hiding behind the cloud coverage. I’m sitting in the living room when Charlie gets home for dinner, my book discarded on the couch somewhere beside me. I reach for it once I see his cruiser pull into the driveway, deciding it would be better to look busy than to look like I’m obsessing over my new means of transportation.

“Bella?” He calls, the door shutting behind him with a creak. At some point I’ll have to oil all the hinges in the house. It’s that or I go clinically insane from the constant noise. 

“Yeah, just in here.” 

He comes in bearing a brown bag with the Forks Diner logo written on the side. “I brought dinner, it’ll be on the stove.” I nod and thank him, telling him that we can eat together once he’s down and out of uniform. “Well, actually, I won’t be eating until a bit later.” His moustache twitches irritably and he disappears into the kitchen to drop the food off. 

“Are you meeting with Billy?” I ask, knowing this isn’t the case. It must be an issue with work causing him to feel stressed. And when he comes back into the living room from the kitchen I’m able to see the tension holding his shoulders in place. “Did something happen at work?” “It’s nothing to worry about,” he assures me, but his words do anything but. So much for police chief being a boring job. “Just those new kids in town, the doctors children,” he waves a hand in the air as if trying to gather his thoughts. “Kicking up trouble in their first week here, something about racing.” 

“Oh.” I pull my knees under me and turn to face him fully, my arms hanging over the back of the couch like a child. 

“Anyways, no big deal I’m sure they’re just used to city life or something.” But, my fathers tone indicates that he most definitely does not believe his own words. In Charlie's books a bad apple is always a bad apple, and he’s probably dreading all the other trouble these kids will kick up. “I’ve just gotta go check-in with them, make sure it doesn’t happen again.” His hand moves towards my arm, as if to pat me goodbye but it stutters midair, falling back to his side awkwardly. 

I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, biting on it as he mutters a goodbye and leaves through the front door without looking at me again. I wonder when this will get any easier. 

Renee left Charlie a year into their young marriage, taking me away to live with her in Arizona. She had given me partial reasons over the years for her leaving, talking of them being too young, the weather too wet, how she wanted a life where she could be free from responsibilities. I’m not sure whether it dawned on her that a child constitutes a responsibility, but she took me to every yoga class and rarely left me with a babysitter. 

My mother was never too keen on Forks, not that I fault her for it, the weather leaves much to be desired and there’s virtually nothing to do. But, because of her disliking I rarely visited my father, my first extended visit being when I was twelve and stayed the entire summer as Renee travelled with her then-boyfriend. I came back to a scrapbook of kissy photos and pressed leaves from her travels, all I had to show for my trip was a runny nose and a strong distaste for hamburgers. One can only eat so many burgers before the novelty wears off.

taglist: @musingsofvenus @maybesandohnos​

[crashdevlin]

Another Second Chance 1- Black Hole

Another Second Chance Masterlist,  Happily Ever Eventually Masterlist

Author’s Note: The final (hopefully) installment of the Happily Ever Eventually RPF series.

Summary: It's been five years since Jensen broke Y/n's heart and she's avoided him completely, but avoidance only lasts so long.

Pairing: past Jensen x Reader

Word count: 2302

Story Warnings: past cheating, little bit of background angst, mostly no warnings.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Things change. Either gradually or in catastrophic leaps, things change. Fact of life, unfortunately. Songs have been sung, books have been penned, movies have been made, all centered around that single inarguable fact.

When I was a younger woman, I thought that nothing really ever changed, that the facts of my life were that I was weak and stupid and I was always going to be in love with people who didn’t want me and were too good for me, that I was going to be miserable and alone forever. I was certain that I was the same person at 26 that I was at 16 and that’s just how things were always going to be.

I can honestly say, at 34 years old, I’m a different woman than I was at 16 or 26 or 30...and I may be alone, but I am not miserable.

I’m successful. I’m happy. I have friends and I have fans. I am well-rounded and, despite a hundred things working against me, well-adjusted. I’ve learned that I don’t need to be dating someone to be happy. In fact, without all the drama surrounding me whenever I do date someone, I’m happier. I have my children and I have my friends and I am happy. 2025 is shaping up to be one of my best years yet and I am ecstatic to see where it leads.

I’m sitting at my computer when my phone goes off. I don’t recognize the number so I Google it. King Woods Private School, the school Jensen wants to send Mav to. Weird that they’d call me when Jensen has primary custody. I answer immediately. “Hello?”

“Is this Miss Y/l/n? Maverick Ackles’ mother?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Hi, Ma’am. I’m Caroline Smith, Dean of Admissions for King Woods Private School. Your son’s father applied to our institution for the Fall semester for Kindergarten.”

“Oh, yeah. He told me. Said his father is very excited to get him in there.”

“His father didn’t tell you?”

“Mav’s nanny mentioned it, too, but...Jensen and I-”

“Had a very public falling out a few years ago, we’ve done our research,” she interrupts me. “But the thing is, King Woods is a very family-oriented institute and we need both parents to participate in all activities like monthly PTAs and volunteer nights. We need to make sure that both active parents can work together amicably. On that note, we have an admissions interview with little Maverick on Friday and we require your presence. Can you make it? 10:30 am.”

“Ten-thirty on Friday? Y-yeah. I can...I can totally do that. I will...see you then, Mrs. Smith.”

“See you then, ma’am. I’m looking forward to meeting you and your son. Goodbye.”

“Goodbye.” I set my phone to the side of my laptop and take a deep breath. Jensen and I haven’t been in the same room since NolaCon 2020. We’ve emailed a few times, but haven’t even spoken on the phone...in several years...and that’s better. It’s better for everyone if we don’t talk because then we don’t argue and we don’t fall into patterns that leave us in bad shape.

But for Maverick’s future, for Maverick’s good, I will have to do it.

I call Misha. He encourages me and tells me it’ll be okay. He supports me. He’s an amazing friend, has been for years, one of the few I got in the breakup. Most of our friends specifically didn’t take sides. Kim and Briana and Misha, they sided with me...the girls a little more vocally than Meesh, but it ended up a small rift between Misha and Jensen. I put an end to J2M and it hurts a bit when I think about it. They still talk sometimes but nothing like they used to.

Jared still talks to me every once in a while, but he sided with Jensen. Of course he did. Jensen’s his brother. But Jared tries to keep me involved in his life, he tries to stay a friend...but he’s Jensen’s first, always has been.

“It’s gonna suck,” I say, shaking my head.

“Yeah. But still. You gotta do it, right?” Misha says and I chuckle. To the point with Mr. Collins.

“Yeah. I gotta do it. It’s just...I haven’t seen him in years. I mean...except pictures on Instagram. It’s gonna be weird.”

“You know what I say about weird, right?”

“Yeah. But this isn’t the GISH and Random Acts kinda weird, this is...a pit in my stomach that feels like a bowling ball and a fear of reversion to the person I was in the past kinda weird.”

“You’ve grown too much to revert and that bowling ball will go away when you get comfortable again.”

“That’s…that’s the problem. What happens if I get comfortable with him again, Misha?” I’m scared of it. “He’s like this black hole that sucks me in every time and the only way I’ve been able to stave off the destruction of my universe these last five years is to keep my distance. I don’t know what to do when I’m in close proximity to the black hole.”

“You can do this, Y/n. You won’t have any problems...and maybe Jensen’s grown over the last five years, too.”

“Well, you’ve talked to him more than I have. You’d know how much growing he’d done.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re spending all our time together anymore.”

I nod. “So...hope for the best, that he’s grown and things will be okay, and keep my distance from the dark vortex.”

“Exactly.” Misha smiles and looks directly at the camera. “You got this.”

Yeah, I do. I got this.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I wear an embroidered black silk Joanna Mastroianni dress to the interview. Not a lot of makeup, but enough to accentuate my features. I keep my hair out of my face and I wear sensible, cute shoes. I look good, but not like I’m trying to look good. I look like I’m trying to look presentable and classy for the people in charge of my son’s education.

I make it to the school first and I sit in a plush chair in the waiting room and wait with my legs crossed neatly to the side. I pull out my phone and start playing a game of Solitaire.

“Mommy!” Maverick’s voice pulls my attention away from the Seven of Hearts that is stuck behind the Six of Diamonds that is arresting my forward momentum in the game. I smile as he runs at me, full-speed, and I slip my phone in my purse as he throws his arms around my neck. “I missed you!”

“I missed you too, Mav!” I exclaim. I lean back and look into the beautiful green eyes he inherited from his father. “Have you been having fun with Daddy?”

“Yes! All the time!” Mav says.

He turns his head to look at the door to the lobby as Jensen walks in. Holy shit. He let his hair grow out a bit...little longer than when he was playing a demon. It's multi toned, what would be called 'Salt and Pepper' in any other man, but it looks more like 'Walnut and light Roux' on him. He's rocking his ginger beard and it has some actual salt in the color. He's wearing a blue suit...a masterpiece tailored to take away your breath. The man knows how to make an entrance.

He's still gorgeous...and I’m still stuck on him. Fuck.

I stand and take Mav’s hand as Jensen steps closer. I focus on his forehead. I can’t look at those eyes. I can’t look at those lips or those freckles on his cheeks. Forehead is safe. He tucks his hands in the pockets of his slacks and licks his lips. “Hi,” I greet him, and my voice sounds awkward, too high-pitched.

“Hey,” he responds and oh, God, that voice.

Breathe. Stay away from the singularity, avoid being pulled into the black hole. “You doin’ good?”

He nods. “Yeah. You?”

“Just fine.” Dying, being sucked into a vortex in space.

He opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something else when a tall brunette woman in a smart pantsuit walks out of the office. “Mr. Ackles? Miss Y/l/n?” We nod as she drops to kneel in front of Mav and me. “And this must be little Maverick.”

Mav turns and hides his face in my skirt. “Sorry. He’s a little shy around new people. He’ll warm up to you.”

“It’s okay. It’s natural.” She stands and extends her hand to me and then Jensen, shaking our hands. “Good to see you both here. So, we’re going to take Maverick in and watch him play a bit, get a sense of his social and developmental placement and if he’s a good fit for King Woods, then we will make that happen.”

Jensen and I nod, then I gently pull Mav away from my legs. “You’re gonna go with the nice lady and play with some toys, answer some questions, okay? You can rock that, right, buddy?” Mav nods and smiles at me and Jensen.

“And you two will be just fine out here together, right?” Mrs. Smith says. She’s making sure we won’t freak out on each other. Freaking out on each other is not the problem.

“Of course we will,” Jensen answers. “We’re gonna park ourselves right here in these chairs and wait for you to tell us how brilliant our boy is.” He winks at the woman and she swoons a bit...I have to stop myself from doing the same as I step back toward the chair I was sitting in before. She offers Maverick her hand and he looks back at me before he takes it and follows her as she leads him away toward a playroom. I play with the hem of my dress for a few moments as Jensen takes the seat next to me, his bowlegs stretching out in front of him a bit. “So...listened to that cover album you did...with, uh, Rob, Rich, and Mark. It came out real good. ‘A Little Dive Bar in Dahlonega’ was perfect.”

I look down and my cheeks heat up. “Thanks. Uh...you and Steve are working on Volume Four, right? How’s that comin’?”

“Pretty good. Not bad at all, actually.” There’s a moment of silence and I sneak a look at him. He’s biting his bottom lip. Black hole, black hole, black hole. “Oh, and how’s that Shakespeare thing goin’?”

My eyes light up and I look over at him. “Midsummer! Yes. My pet project! It’s coming. Rich has signed on to direct a few episodes and Matt signed up to be my Puck. I’m really excited to see what we can do with that universe. Fairies are so my jam!”

“Are you just producing and writing it, or are you gonna be acting in it?” he asks, leaning forward, showing interest, active listening.

“I’m Hermia, actually. It’s coming along very well.”

“That’s really good. I’m...happy for you.” He smiles and I bite my tongue. God. This is bad. This is so fucking bad. I look away from him. “So, uh, I heard that you RSVP’d to Padalecki’s July Fourth barbecue, but you never showed up.”

I shake my head and sigh. Of course Jared told him I flaked on Independence Day. “Yeah. I was, uh...I was gonna go but-”

“But then you heard my shoot in Georgia got rescheduled and I wasn’t gonna be in Atlanta like I planned so you decided not to risk runnin’ into me?” he guesses.

“Yeah.” I nod and look over at him. “It was fine. I ended up watching fireworks with Nova over Skype.”

“You know...it’s been years. You don’t have to avoid me. We can be adults. Jared misses you.”

I lick my lips and nod. “It’s just hard for me to be around you. I miss Jared too, but I can’t be around you. It’s too hard.”

“This is hard?” he asks. I open my mouth to respond ‘Unbelievably’, but he keeps talking. “Because it’s not hard for me. It's the most natural thing in the world to me.”

I close my eyes and shake my head, settling back in the chair to lean away from him. “This is why it’s hard.” I open my eyes and pull my phone out to finish that game of Solitaire.

He doesn’t say anything else until Mrs. Smith walks out with Maverick fifteen minutes later. “They had a lot of toys in there!” Maverick shouts.

“Indoor voice, Mav,” I say as I stand up. I focus on Mrs. Smith. “So?”

She smiles brightly. “He’s a brilliant child. We would absolutely love to have him here at King Woods.”

“That’s great news!” Jensen exclaims.

“Indoor voice, Jay,” I joke before it hits me that I just called him ‘Jay’ and teased him. Slippery slope. Don’t get comfortable. “Uh, a-anyway. That is great news.”

“We’ll send you the information for tuition and supplies. It was wonderful to meet you both,” Mrs. Smith says.

I bend down and give Mav a hug as she walks away. “You’re awesome, kiddo. I’ll see you this weekend, okay?”

“Okay, Mommy!”

He runs to his dad and I pick up my purse, stepping toward the door. Jensen puts his hand out as he picks Maverick up to hold him on the other side. He pulls me into a half hug and I go stiff as his hand lands on the small of my back. God, he smells so good...and his hand is so big and…

I pull away and lick my lips. “You and Daddy have fun, Mav!” I almost run out of the lobby and into the parking lot.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Kitchen Sink - @emoryhemsworth @flamencodiva @wasabiwitteks @rainbowkisses31 @rissbennett @mariekoukie6661 @officiallyunofficialperson @dolphincliffs @mrs-meghan-winchester @gayspacenerd @foxyjwls007 @ilovefanfic86 @marvelfansworld @f-yeahfandoms @wonderlandfandomkingdom @hhiggs @sev3nruby  @hobby27 @paintballkid711 @divadinag @thewhiterabbit42 @fantasymyth-1 @queenoftheunderdark @cosicas-cuquis @superfanficnatural @letsby @supernatural-bellawinchester @onethirstyunicorn @swinchester27 @chalicia @sunnyroadtrips @screechingartisancashbailiff @death-unbecomes-you @dayasvalkyrie Hunter Tags - @atc74 @sandlee44 @spnbaby-67 @kalesrebellion @tumbler-tidbits @hoboal87 @stoneyggirl @kbl1313 @cookiechipdough @mrswhozeewhatsis @winchesterxfamilybusiness @holylulusworld @pretty-fortune @screechingartisancashbailiff @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits @imperiusimpala @supernaturalenchanted Gaga For Green Eyes Tags- @typicalweirdbookworm @deanmonandnegansbitch @jadesupernatural @stoneyggirl @4fareader @squirrelnotsam @lyarr24 @akshi8278 @pretty-fortune @we-are-all-a-bunch-of-idjits Happily Ever Eventually Tags- @deanmonandnegansbitch @jamielea81 @xhannahbananax03 @traceyaudette @fabinaforever11 @pretty-fortune @vicmc624​