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geminiwritten · 2 years ago

Text

undercover ; billy butcher

fandom: the boys

pairing: billy x reader

summary: you have to go undercover as butcher’s wife to vought’s annual supe celebration - prompt (that i don’t remember where i saw it, i’m sorry!): ��I bet you one hundred dollars that you’re hard right now.” *he stands up and drops $100 on the table*

notes: i wrote this in one day and you can tell!!! it’s so rushed, i’m so sorry, but also i’m just hot for this man and refuse to stop??? let me know what you think!

warnings: swearing, very small alcohol consumption, very light smut, and a bit of harassment from an unwelcome dude

word count: 6496

“You have a thing for Butcher?” Hughie gasps, the apartment door swinging open as he steps inside.

Annie’s eyes grow wide, her hand covering her mouth to try and hide her cheeky smile. You scowl at her before turning to Hughie, his face a comical mixture of disgust and amusement.

“What have I said about eavesdropping on movie night, Hubert?” you demand, calling him by the stupid nickname you know he hates.

He rolls his eyes, “I wasn’t eavesdropping, I texted Annie to say I was on my way home. It’s not my fault you’re practically shouting about the fact that you want to fu-”

“Hughie,” Annie giggles, “be careful.”

“Hey,” he says, turning to her, “I’m just repeating what I heard.”

You hold your face in your hands and groan, sinking back into the soft couch cushions and praying that they might open up and swallow you into a different dimension.

“I’m sorry,” Annie sighs, “I honestly just lost track of time.”

Hughie drops his keys and wallet on the kitchen bench alongside two plastic bags that wreak of cheap Chinese food. Your stomach grumbles at the smell, and you reluctantly pull yourself off the couch before dragging your feet toward the kitchen.

“So,” Hughie says with a grin, “how long has this been going on then?”

“Nothing is going on,” you state, “and it’s certainly none of your business.”

“Oh, come on, it’s not like I’m going to tell anyone,” he begins helping you unpack the bags of food, “besides, I had a sneaking suspicion. You do kind of look at him like-”

You pull a butterknife out of the draw and point it at him, “Like what?”

He freezes, his hands flying up on either side of his head in surrender.

Annie laughs again, “Okay, you two, cut it out.”

You put the knife down and retrieve three full sets of cutlery before setting a stack of bowls beside the containers of food. Hughie serves himself first before Annie fills her own bowl and you last, already shovelling mouthfuls of noodles into your mouth as you move back toward the couch.

“You know,” Hughie says between mouthfuls, “if you wanted to talk about it, I might be able to help.”

You scoff, “Yeah? How?”

He shrugs, “I don’t know, talk to him.”

“And say what?” you drop your fork into your bowl, mocking Hughie’s voice as you say, “Hey Butcher, do you think Y/N is hot, because I know she dreams about fucking you.”

He scowls at you, “I can be subtle.”

Annie giggles, hiding her face behind her bowl as Hughie casts his glare toward her.

“I appreciate your concern, Hughie,” you say, “but I think I’ll just stick to fantasising about him in the shower.”

His expression morphs into disgust as he begins choking on his mouthful of food, his face turning bright red. Annie’s laughter fills the room, and you join her while Hughie struggles to compose himself.

To your surprise, and relief, Hughie agrees to keep your little secret to himself. He doesn’t even make a stupid face the next day when the three of you arrive at the boys’ current hideout, finding MM, Frenchie, Kimiko, and the man himself huddled around the dining room table.

“Righ’ on time,” Butcher says with a grin, “let’s get to it, then.”

You knew he was excited about this next mission, if you could call it that. Everyone was, in fact, because thanks to Annie’s excellent intel, you were all attending Vought’s annual ball. A night of celebration to thank the mighty Supes for keeping the streets safe, or as Butcher liked to call it, Vought’s annual wank-fest.

“Your invitations are all sorted,” Annie says, pulling a small handful of envelopes out of her bag. “Hughie came up with all your aliases, so please stick to them, or you’ll be kicked out in a heartbeat. Security is tough at this thing, and there’ll be no talking yourselves out of a bad situation.”

She looks pointedly at Butcher, but his smirk only widens.

“Frenchie,” Hughie says, “you’re going as a member of the tech team, so you’ll be behind the scenes and keeping an eye on the cameras for anything suspicious.”

Frenchie rubs his hands together excitedly, taking the envelope from Annie and tearing it open.

“Monsieur Felipe Lavigne, senior security technician,” he announces, reading the ID card aloud.

“MM and Kimiko, you’ll be with me,” Hughie goes on, “we’ll be posing as press on behalf of the city council. There’s a huge group of council members and associates, so all we have to do is blend in.”

MM takes two envelopes and passes one to Kimiko.

Hughie turns to you, “I originally had you listed as press too, but then decided it might be smart to double down on Butcher’s alias, give him another level of cover, you know?”

You frown, tilting your head sceptically as he hands you and Butcher an envelope each.

“You’ll be attending as prospective stakeholders, invited by corporate to bask in the glory of Vought in the hopes that you’ll invest in their cause,” Hughie explains. “An affluent couple from upstate New York, recently immigrated from Britain after growing bored of your rich English lifestyle.”

You’re almost positive your brows have reached your hairline as you stare at the envelope in your hands, your trembling fingers struggling to pull the ID badge out.

“Brooklyn Williams,” you read aloud.

Annie shoots Hughie a look, promising that he would be paying for this later, and you realise that he must have made this decision in the past twelve hours without consulting her.

“William Williams,” Butcher says, frowning at Hughie, “really?”

Despite being the target of several unhappy stares, Hughie chuckles.

Frenchie snickers too, “At least you will not forget it, eh?”

“Smart move, Hughie,” MM speaks up, “Butcher is the one most likely to be caught, but with Y/N in tow, he might think twice about putting himself in danger.”

Butcher rolls his eyes, “Do none of you ‘ave any faith in me?”

Hughie, Frenchie, and MM respond in unison, “No.”

The seven of you spend the next two hours going over the details of your aliases and the agenda of the function. It’s going to be a huge event, which meant little risk of actually running into Homelander or anyone who might recognise any of you. Annie won’t be able to help on the night, being one of the spotlight attendees, but that isn’t what’s was making you nervous. You’re going to have to spend a good five hours pretending to be married to Butcher, the one man you desperately want and the one man you were trying very hard not to fall in love with.

After what feels like forever, Frenchie announces that he is going to get dinner and Annie bids you all goodbye to check in at Vought tower. Hughie sets his laptop up at the desk in the corner of the lounge room while MM excuses himself for his nightly facetime call with Janine.

Kimiko turns to you, signing a question about what you were all going to wear on the night.

“Annie helped me organise some things,” you reply, gesturing toward the suitcase by the door. “You should try it on now, and if you don’t like it we can find something else.”

You know Kimiko isn’t a fan of cocktail attire, and you definitely didn’t want her walking into the dragon’s den worrying about the way she looked or if she’d be able to fight should the need arise.

“What ‘bout me, love?” Butcher asks, his signature smirk curling the corner of his lips.

Your cheeks burn under his gaze, “You don’t get a choice, you’ll be wearing a suit.”

He chuckles, “I do love a stubborn woman, must’ve been why I married you.”

Your pulse thrums in your ears, and you fail to think of a sarcastic retort, instead turning away in the hopes that he hasn’t already noticed the bright colour in your cheeks.

Kimiko drops the case on its back with a thud, unzipping it quickly and throwing it open to pull out each of the bagged costumes. There are four suits of various styles with varying accessories, and two dresses. She stands holding the one labelled with her name, dragging the zip right down the middle and revealing the soft black fabric of her dress. It isn’t quite full length, hemmed just below the knee in a pencil skirt style and devoid of any embellishments. A simple black dress with long sleeves, fitted but flexible.

She grins, signing to you that it is perfect and thanking you for not putting her in anything ridiculous.

“We chose two pairs of shoes too,” you say, “in case you don’t want to wear the heels.”

Butcher strides toward the suitcase and picks up the last bag, but you follow him, quickly snatching it out of his hands before he can pull the zip.

“My dress can wait until the night,” you hold it behind your back for good measure, “I’m still not sure about it.”

He quirks one brow, “You’re not wearin’ latex, are ya?”

You roll your eyes before turning on your heel, taking your dress into your room and tucking it into the back of your closet. You fall back on your bed, your chest rising and falling with deep breaths as you try to calm your erratic pulse. It’s just one night, you can hold it together for one night, right?

The next two days pass in a blur of preparations and planning, and before you know it, you’re staring at the dress hanging in your closet with a towel wrapped around your body. Your hair is clean and curled, pulled into a half up do with twisted gold pins creating the illusion of diadem just below the crown of your head. You took a little longer to do your makeup than usual, out of practice in the art of winged eyeliner and false lashes, but in the end, you were proud. Now, the dress.

Your fingers are numb as you pull the zipper down, revealing the red silk material of the gown that Annie convinced you would be a good idea. You blame her for this just as much as Hughie.

“Come on, Y/N,” MM calls through your bedroom door, “we have to go.”

You sigh and throw your towel aside, hurriedly pulling the dress off its hanger. The material is cool against your skin, sliding easily over your curves and fitting your body like a tailor-made glove. You twist awkwardly to secure the zip before turning to the mirror.

The dress is floor length, a few inches of the red silk pooling at your feet, with a long slit reaching scandalously up to your left hip. The straps are about an inch thick, and the neck cowled, showcasing your breasts and the perfect amount cleavage. The silk hugs your torso, and you’re a little startled at just how good you feel in this dress.

Another knock at the door has you rushing to slip into your beige heels, and you check that your underwear are pulled high enough to not be seen in the slit of the dress before opening the door. MM’s jaw drops.

“Holy shit, Y/N.”

You blush, “Thanks.”

Being the gentleman he is, he tears his eyes away from you, offering you his arm with a cheeky grin plastered across his face.

In the lounge room, Kimiko is helping Frenchie with his tie and Hughie is struggling to secure his suspenders to his trousers. Your breath catches when your eyes land on Butcher, dressed in a classic and perfectly fitted black tux. He has even trimmed his beard and styled his hair, still a little dishevelled but holy shit, does the sight of him make your mouth water.

“Damn,” Hughie says when he sees you, “nice dress.”

“Nice suspenders.”

He chuckles, “Are we ready?”

Butcher turns to you, his jaw going slack and his eyes dark. Your chest squeezes, your lungs struggling to draw enough breath as your head spins from the lack of oxygen.

“Ready,” MM says beside you.

“Good,” Hughie tucks his ID badge into his shirt pocket, “I’ve organised two cars, one for Y/N and Butcher, and the other for the rest of us. Once we’re there, we can’t slip up, keep your masks up and don’t even look at anyone you think might recognise you.”

You check your small black clutch for your ID badge and phone.

“Earpieces are too risky tonight,” he continues, “so keep your phones on you, and if one of us is out, we all abort.”

Kimiko checks her own purse and the boys check their pockets before you all shuffle out the door. Hughie, MM, Frenchie, and Kimiko exit the building first, leaving you and Butcher alone in the lobby.

“You ready, sweethear’?” he asks, gazing at you with the same dark eyes as before.

You nod, “As I’ll ever be.”

After a minute, you exit the apartment and climb into the awaiting car. Butcher greets the driver as the car pulls away from the curb, and you take the chance to pull your phone out, typing out a quick message to Hughie.

‘I’m going to kill you.’

Your phone pings before you can put it away, and you quickly turn it to silent before reading his reply.

‘You’re welcome ;)’

A warm hand on your bare legs startles you, the heat sinking into your blood and making it sizzle through your veins.

“You sure you’re alrigh’?” Butcher asks.

“Yeah,” you mutter, “just nervous.”

His thumb rubs soft circles on your thigh, sending shockwaves of desire right to your core.

“Nothin’ to be worried ‘bout, love, I’ve got you.”

Your eyes almost roll back in your head at the sound of his deep voice. He truly does not know how much he does have you, all of you.

“Thanks, Billy,” you whisper, your voice unsteady.

His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of car ride, and your pulse refuses to settle. Anxiety and desire tangle in your stomach, twisting it into loops and winding the knot in your core even tighter than it already was.

Eventually, the car stops, and you both thank the driver before climbing out. You’re not at the main entrance of the building, but there is still a ridiculous number of security guards standing around, and barriers preventing anyone without an invitation from getting within twenty feet of the door. Butcher wraps an arm around your waist to guide you forward, his warmth shielding you from the cold night air.

“By the way,” he whispers, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, “you look fuckin’ delectable in that dress.”

Another wave of heat washes through your veins, and it takes every ounce of focus for you to not stumble up the walkway. Two security guards step forward as you both flash your ID badges.

“Mr. and Mrs. Williams,” the guard in front of Butcher says, scanning the barcodes on the badges, “welcome to Vought tower.”

The security guard in front of you is younger than the other, his blonde hair slicked back and his mouth etched into a sleazy smirk as his eyes rake up and down your body. He winks as he steps aside, and Butcher notices, his expression twisting into a scowl.

Just as you reach the doors, Butcher’s hand slips from your waist to your ass, squeezing it as he dips down and plants a hot kiss against your neck.

“Fuckin’ perve,” he mutters, before guiding you through the doors and down the corridor.

Your mouth is dry and your knees wobbly, but you move with practice and manage to appear cool and collected as you step into the huge event room. It’s extravagantly decorated with drapes of sheer fabric hanging from the high ceilings and a huge crystal chandelier in the centre. There are dozens of round tables, all set with fine silver-wear and obnoxious centrepieces made of red and white roses.

“Nice to know where all our money will be going if we decide to invest, darlin’,” Butcher says with a cheeky grin.

You giggle, letting him guide you through the clusters of elegantly dressed attendees toward where you assumed your table would be. You don’t remember ever finding out that piece of information, but you assume either Hughie or Annie told Butcher while you were still reeling about having to play ‘happy couple’ with him.

You listen carefully to snippets of conversations as you pass, waiting for anything interesting to catch your attention. Butcher stops at an empty table and pulls out a chair, you smile in thanks before taking a seat, quickly shuffling forward to avoid flashing everyone due to the ridiculously high split in your dress. Butcher notices though, chuckling to himself as he takes the chair beside you.

Before you can speak, he places a hand on your bare leg and squeezes, knocking every thought right out of your head.

You gasp, “I-It’s hot in here, is it hot in here?”

“I think that’s jus’ you, sweethear’,” he replies with a wink.

The room quickly fills with guests, conversations growing louder and drowning out the soft music playing over the speakers. Eventually, a woman takes the stage and the room falls quiet, listening to her lengthy introduction about how grateful Vought were for this night and how wonderful it is to be able to celebrate America’s finest superheroes. You can barely hear her though, your ears filled with the thrum of your pulse as Butcher’s fingers draw patterns on your leg. Your core aches, and you shift in your seat only to feel the dampness between your legs.

When the room erupts into applause, Butcher’s hand freezes, and you turn to see Homelander striding onto the stage, his hair blinding beneath the bright spotlight.

“Hey,” you whisper, placing a hand on top of Butcher’s, “you okay?”

He turns to you and his scowl relaxes, a soft smile pulling on his lips. “Yeah,” he replies, “I’m good.”

You slip your other hand beneath his, praying that he doesn’t notice how sweaty your palms are as you play with his fingers beneath the table. Although you had started in the hopes of calming him, you find your own sense of relaxation in his touch, focusing on the feeling of his skin as Homelander drawls on about Vought and The Seven.

After what feels like an eternity, he finishes his speech and the room cheers again. The woman returns to the microphone to announce the first course of food before music and conversation fills the air, and you turn your attention toward the centre of the table. Butcher grips your hand as you attempt to move it, entwining his fingers with yours and only allowing one of your hands free.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you two at one of these events before,” the woman beside you says.

She’s older but extremely elegant, with a pendant around her neck that you don’t doubt costs more money than you’ll ever get to see in your bank account.

“We’re new in town,” you reply, your voice very slightly lilted, “just moved from London’s east end, actually.”

“How charming,” she places a hand against her pendant, “I’m Lucille, and this is my husband, Jack.”

The podgy man beside her nods, his cheeks and nose bright red as he guzzles from his glass of champagne.

“Pleasure to meet you,” you say, “I’m Brooklyn, and this is my husband, William.”

You cast a glance at Butcher, only to find his eyes already locked on you, sparkling under the soft yellow lights. He has dopey smile on his lips and an emotion you can’t discern floating behind his gaze. Your stomach flips.

“You do make a charming, if you don’t mind my saying,” Lucille says.

You nod, your cheeks tingling with warmth, “Thank you.”

“So,” her husband, Jack, speaks up, his voice gruff, “what brings you here?”

You wait a beat for Butcher to reply, but he only watches you with that same expression.

“To be totally honest with you, I’m not sure,” you reply with a half-hearted laugh, “we have been thinking about investing, but I do wonder why a company of this immensity even needs investors.”

Jack chuckles, “You’ve got that right, seems greedy, doesn’t it?”

Lucille frowns at her husband before turning back to you, “We don’t do it for them, we do it for our grandkids, for their future. In the hopes that they will have a future, a safe one. This world is a nasty place.”

“You’re not wrong about that,” you sigh.

She nods, “That’s why it’s important to protect what you love, and hold on to it.”

Butcher’s hand squeezes yours, making your heart thump violently within your chest. You turn to him and meet his eyes, the fire in your veins blazing with a new intensity and heating every inch of your skin.

“I-If you’ll excuse me,” you stammer, pushing your chair back, “I need to use the bathroom.”

Butcher nods as you stand, and you can hear Lucille strike up new conversation while you weave between the tables toward the exit. Fresh air fills your lungs the moment you reach the foyer, and you pull your phone out of your bag, finding Hughie’s contact name with trembling fingers.

‘If I survive tonight, I WILL kill you.’

You hit send and turn toward the bathroom, almost stumbling when you see the same blonde security guard who had been stationed at the doors.

“Can I help you, ma’am?” he asks, his slimy smirk loading the question with innuendo.

“I’m okay,” you reply, “thank you.”

He steps forward before you can move, “You sure? You look a little flustered. Perhaps a step outside might help? It does get awfully hot in here.”

The first spark of fear rattles up your spine.

“I appreciate that, but I just need to use the restroom,” you say.

His smirk doesn’t falter, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. I’d be more than happy to escort you. Can’t have a stunning woman such as yourself wandering the streets alone.”

You force a polite smile onto your face as you step around him and hurry down the corridor toward the bathrooms. With one subtle glance over your shoulder, you see him watching, still standing at the end of the hall looking almost predatory.

“Shit,” you whisper to yourself, turning sharply into the first stall.

You close the toilet lid and sit on top if it, holding your head in your hands and counting your breaths. After a minute of trying to wrangle your wild thoughts, you decide that Butcher is either a fantastic actor or… in love with you. Your heart aches to agree with the latter, but your brain fights for reason, reminding you that you’re in an incredibly sensitive situation and he is only acting like this to keep up the façade.

You sigh and stand up, panic piercing your chest when you remember the pushy security guard waiting for you in the foyer. You find your phone again, tapping on Butcher’s name and quickly typing out a message.

‘Don’t freak out, I’m totally fine, but I need you to come get me. Foyer.’

You count to thirty before exiting the stall and washing your hands, pleasantly surprised by your reflection in the mirror, aside from the deep red splashed across your cheeks. You walk calmly out of the bathroom and down the corridor, ignoring the spike in your pulse when you see the back of the security guard still standing there.

He turns around at the sound of your footsteps, a smirk curling his lips. “Hey gorgeous, are you-”

“There you are,” Butcher calls, striding toward you.

He wraps an arm around your waist, his hand splayed across your lower back as he presses your body against his. You don’t have time to respond before his lips capture yours. Your knees almost buckle, your hands gripping his shoulders for support as his mouth moves against yours and your mind goes completely blank.

He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead still touching yours as he whispers, “I missed you.”

The feeling that bubbles in your chest makes your heart want to explode.

“Better get back in there,” he says, carefully releasing you.

You nod, unable to summon a single word as he looks at you like that, his pupils blown and his lips swollen from the kiss. He takes one of your hands in his and pulls you toward the doors before casting a menacing scowl over his shoulder at the security guard.

“Did he touch you?” he asks, his voice low.

You shake your head, “No.”

“Good.”

“Wait,” you tug on his hand before he can walk through the doors.

He frowns as you pull him to the side, into an alcove beneath the grand stairs that lead up to the private rooms above the event hall. He doesn’t resist when you press him against the wall, your hands on his chest and your body covering his. You look up at him through your thick lashes, and you can feel a soft groan rumble through his chest.

“I’m not sure we were convincing enough,” you whisper, before surging up and pressing your lips against his.

His hands hold the back of your head as he tilts his own to deepen the kiss, his tongue pushing past your lips and making you whimper. Your ears fill with the erratic thrum of your heart and the soft moans from the man in front of you, making you forget about everything that isn’t him. The fire rushing through your veins collects at your core, burning with need and making you clench as his hands wander down your back to cup your ass.

Time loses all meaning as you tangle your limbs with his, your body throbbing almost painfully. You have to stop yourself from clawing at his clothes, every desire within you craving to tear his suit apart and absolutely devour him.

Eventually, your lungs begin to burn, and the short gasps between kisses aren’t enough to appease them, so you pull away. His pupils are huge, consuming almost all of the colour in his eyes as he studies your face with a small smile.

“You’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” he murmurs.

You open your mouth to tell him the same when someone clears their throat, and you both snap toward the sound. Hughie is standing a few feet away, his ID badge now on a lanyard around his neck and a notebook in his hand. His face looks pained, struggling to contain what would be a hysterical laugh if you weren’t all supposed to be undercover.

You stumble back from Butcher with wide eyes, your mouth trying to form words but no sound comes out.

Butcher straightens his jacket and clears his throat, “Sorry, mate, as you were.”

Hughie takes a deep breath and turns toward the room, and you have to commend him for his self-control.

Butcher looks down at you, “D’you think that was convincing enough?”

You giggle, “Maybe a little too convincing.”

He smirks and swipes his thumb across your bottom lip, wiping at the smeared lipstick. You know you must look like a wreck, your makeup smudged and your face blotchy and red, but you don’t care.

“Better get back in there before you get me arrested for public indecency,” he says, taking your hand in his.

You laugh again as he leads you back into the room, guiding you through the throngs of people and toward your table. Lucille greets you with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief as she surveys your flustered state. Butcher sits and shuffles his chair closer to yours before placing a hand on your thigh, much higher than where it was before.

“It’s a wonderful thing, isn’t it?” Lucille whispers to you.

You frown, “What is?”

“That love and passion,” she replies with a grin. “He just adores you, I can tell. Don’t ever let go of what you two have, it’s rare.”

You try to hide your smile, but it’s almost impossible. “I won’t.”

You’re not sure what you’ve missed but you assume it was Annie’s speech as the chatter around you is filled mostly with her name. The woman from before returns to the stage to rave some more, though you don’t bother trying to pay attention. Butcher is watching you with hungry eyes, filling your head with filthy thoughts and absolutely soaking your panties.

“So, Mrs. Williams,” he says, his voice low, “got any plans after this?”

“Not really,” you reply, “but I do think there’s a toy in the top drawer of my dresser calling my name.”

He swallows thickly, “Is that so?”

You nod, “I’m feeling a little wound up.”

“Perhaps I could help you unwind,” he whispers, “think I’d do a better job than that fuckin’ toy.”

“That’s a bold statement, are you sure?”

His fingers dig into your thighs with enough pressure to bruise, making your whole body jolt.

“Oh, I’m fuckin’ sure.”

His hand slides up your thigh and you part your legs instinctively.

He smirks, “Good girl, so responsive.”

The burning in your core pulses, sending white hot waves of desire up your spine to cloud your mind. His fingers brush the crotch of your panties, barely a touch but enough to make you sigh softly.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, “so ready for my c-”

Cheers erupt throughout the room, drowning out his voice and startling you out of your stupor. His hand slides back down your leg and his smirk breaks into a devilish grin when you look at him with a scowl.

“Sorry, love,” he says as he retrieves his phone from his jacket pocket.

You take a moment to collect your thoughts, drawing steady breaths and trying to focus on anything but the man beside you. He chuckles at his phone before tucking it back into his pocket.

“Was that your mistress?” you tease.

He raises his brows, “Is that jealousy I’m hearin’?”

You slide your hand up his thigh, stopping just below his crotch to squeeze.

“You tell me, do I have anything to be jealous of?”

His voice is almost a groan, “Never.”

“Good.”

You slide your hand over his crotch, relishing in the way his whole body tenses before you pull back and fold your hands in your own lap. He sighs and takes a generous gulp from his glass of champagne, grimacing at the taste before leaning toward you with an arm over the back of your chair.

“You’re a fuckin’ tease, you know that?”

You turn to him, your face barely an inch from his, “Oh, baby, you haven’t seen anything yet.”

He leans back in his chair, his jaw tense but his eyes sparkling with mischief.

“You fond of that dress?” he asks casually.

“This old thing? Nah.”

He nods once, “Good, because I’m goin’ to fuckin’ destroy it.”

The woman sitting on his other side chokes on her mouthful of champagne, casting an abhorrent glare toward the two of you before completely turning her back. You have to swallow your laughter, averting your gaze to your lap as Butcher chuckles quietly.

You feel your purse vibrate at the same time that Butcher reaches for his pocket. You pull your phone out and check the messages, finding several from Hughie.

‘We’re here to WORK, not fornicate.’

‘I just spent five minutes laughing to myself in the toilet.’

‘The shows closing soon, we should leave before the crowds. Unless you and Butcher are busy ;)’

“D’you think you can make it out of here without your knees bucklin’, love?” Butcher asks with a smirk.

You tuck your phone away and twist in your chair so that your legs are toward him, parting them slowly. The red silk slides against your skin and the split opens with your legs. Butcher’s gaze drops, his whole face turning red as his eyes grow wide.

“I bet you a hundred dollars that you’re rock hard right now,” you whisper, leaning forward.

His jaw twitches as his gaze moves to your chest, and you smirk before twisting toward Lucille.

“We’re going to duck out before the masses, but it was lovely meeting you,” you say, “and best wishes to your grandkids. They’re lucky to have such incredible grandparents.”

She smiles at you, her eyes watery, “It was lovely meeting you too, dear.”

Her husband grumbles a farewell and you smile politely at the rest of the table who you hadn’t bothered to meet before turning back to Butcher expectantly. You have to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from giggling at the way he shifts in his seat.

“Pleasure meeting you,” he nods toward Lucille and Jack.

He pushes his chair back and stands up, drawing a hand out of his pocket and dropping two fifty dollar bills onto the table before stepping back. A grin breaks across your face as you snatch the money and stand up, taking Butcher’s outstretched hand and letting him lead you out of the room. You almost stumble at the pace at which he drags you through the crowds, not stopping until you’re through the foyer, out the doors, and a good distance from the building’s entrance.

“You owe me,” he growls, yanking on your wrist so that you fall into his arms.

“Take whatever you want,” you whisper, “I’m all yours.”

Another rumble vibrates through his chest, and the knot of anticipation in your stomach twists tighter.

“Good, you’re here,” Hughie calls, his feet slapping against the pavement as he jogs toward you.

Butcher’s hold goes slack, and you take a reluctant step away from him as MM and Kimiko follow a few paces behind Hughie. The cold air nips at your bare skin, making you shiver.

“Where’s Frenchie?” MM asks.

“On his way,” Hughie replies with his phone in his hand, “and the car is close.”

You startle at the feeling of material falling around your shoulders, and glance up as Butcher steps in front of you, his arms guiding his blazer over your trembling body. You pull your bottom lip between your teeth, looking up at him through your thick lashes as his lips curl into a soft smile. He moves back to stand at your side and wraps one arm around you, pulling you against side.

Hughie’s grin is so wide you want to slap it off his face.

“Not a word,” Butcher mutters.

Hughie chuckles, “I didn’t say anything.”

MM is clearly amused, and even Kimiko is giggling when Frenchie comes jogging up behind them.

“Did I miss something?” he asks, his brows raised as he looks from Butcher to you.

“Car’s here,” Hughie announces, and you all step toward the curb.

Hughie climbs in the front seat and greets the driver before texting rapidly on his phone, no doubt messaging Annie to let her know you were all safe and heading home. Kimiko and Frenchie shuffle toward the back of the van, and MM grumbles when neither you nor Butcher volunteer to join them. He squeezes between the two of them on the backseat before Butcher helps you into the van, and you take the single seat behind the passenger as Butcher falls into the last seat behind the driver.

You shrink into his jacket, enveloping yourself in his scent and relishing the warmth that his body had left behind. His eyes don’t leave you for the duration of the trip, studying your face, lingering on your lips, and moving up and down your body over and over again.

The drive feels much longer than it should, but the car finally pulls up outside your apartment block and you all pile out. Frenchie begins rambling about pieces of information he overheard, and MM fills in some of the gaps with snippets that he picked up in the press crowd. You almost feel guilty that you did nothing but dry hump Butcher and chat with an elderly rich woman, but that guilt washes away the moment you step inside the apartment.

“Bed, now,” Butcher tells you, tugging you by your hand toward the master bedroom.

“Y/N,” Hughie calls before you can disappear, “I thought your bedroom was that way.”

You turn to him with a frown, finding that stupid boyish grin stretched across his lips as the rest of the room watches you with amused faces.

“I’m not going to sleep, Hughie,” you say, before turning to Butcher, “I’m not tired.”

You catch a glimpse of his disgusted expression before you turn and rush into Butcher’s bedroom, followed closely by the man himself. His hand catches the collar the jacket and pulls it off of you as you step toward the bed.

“Not tired?” he asks, starting on the top button of his shirt.

You sit on the edge of the bed and kick your heels off. “Not at all.”

“Good.”

In two strides, he’s right in front of you, using his knee to nudge your legs apart so he can stand between them. His eyes trace up your bare leg, stopping where the red material reveals an inch of your black panties, and he sighs.

“So,” you say, leaning back with your hands on the bed, “what do I owe you?”

His self-control snaps and his hands yank at the opening of his shirt, ripping the rest of the buttons apart before he shrugs it off his shoulders. He straddles your hips and pushes you back, his lips assaulting your neck as you writhe beneath him.

“You said, I could take whatever fuckin’ I want,” he mutters against your skin.

You only moan in response and he sinks his teeth into your neck, hard enough to leave a bruise before soothing it with his tongue.

“I’m gon’a take all of you,” he growls, “but first-”

He sits back suddenly, his fingers making quick work of his belt and the fastenings of his trousers.

“I made a promise to this dress,” he finishes, before gripping the material on either side of the slit and ripping it.

You gasp as the silk falls loose around your body, tearing right up to the neck and cleaving the dress apart entirely. His eyes rake over your bare skin as he licks his lips and drops onto his hands to hover over you, grinding his hips down and eliciting another moan from your mouth.

“Fuckin’ hell,” he sighs, “you’re gon’a kill me with those pretty noises, sweethear’.”

“Butcher,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need you.”

His elbows buckle and his body falls on top of yours as his lips capture yours in a searing kiss.

“You have me,” he murmurs against your mouth, “you’ve got all of me.”

END.

#billy butcher #the boys #billy butcher x reader #butcher x reader #karl urban #one shot #oneshot #homelander #hughie campbell #starlight #mm #mothers milk #frenchie #kimiko #the female #fanfic #fanfiction

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by-their-side · 3 months ago

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hubert! in the fan story i am working on he has a cane... i still have a hard time drawing him... the way i want...

#hubert von vestra #fe3h #fanart #fire emblem #hubert #be

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cherishedboxart · 7 months ago

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Hubert is really hard to draw

#hubert von vestra #fe3h #fire emblem three hopes #fewth #this was meant to be for his bday

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return-of-a-space-cowboy · 1 year ago

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Eagle under the lions paw pt 3

You and Dimitri did end up spending more time outside of training, having meals at the dinner hall, and doing errands together. It was nice to finally know the one you were so desperate to meet all those years ago.

"So what's up with you and Dimitri? I knew you guys sparred together but you two have been noticeably closer as of late" Dorathea brought up before sipping her tea.

"We've just hit it off" you replied. You noticed her eyebrow raised.

"Just as friends of course" you blurted out.

"(Y/n) You know you can trust me to keep a secret" she assured you.

"I swear we're just friends" you replied.

"Ok, it's just I've noticed the way he's been looking at you since you arrived at the academy," she said.

"What do you mean by that?" You asked.

"You haven't noticed? He looks at you the same way a lost little puppy would. He looks at you with absolute adoration, honestly, I'm a little jealous" she sighed.

Was Dorathea right? Did Dimitri like you romantically? You didn't know how to feel about it. Yes, he was strong, handsome and kind. All qualities that a spouse should have but you didn't really see him as a romantic partner.

"I don't really see him in a romantic way" you replied.

"Then you should probably tell him, it's better to let him know soon than lead him on" she advised.

"But what if he doesn't have a romantic interest? Then it'd be embarrassing" you asked.

"Trust me, even if it's all platonic it's better to draw that line before things get messy" she explained.

That conversation has been playing on loop in your mind since then. You felt a wood tap on your hip that shook you out of your trance.

"Are you alright?" Dimitri asked you.

"Yes, sorry I was just thinking about class this morning" you lied.

"Finding it overwhelming? If you want we can cut the training short today" he offered.

"No, I can continue. After all the battle of the eagle and the lion is only a few weeks away, there's no way I can slack off now" you replied.

"You're not confident in your abilities?" He asked.

"I'm confident but I have no idea about everyone else's skills, and if I am unfortunate enough to get pitted against you then there's no way I'd win" you replied.

"You shouldn't be hard on yourself, all you can do is try your best, it is a mock battle after all," he told you. You could see why Dorathea said what she did about how he looks at you. A soft and kind expression was always plastered on his face when you were around him but it wasn't enough to be evident that he did have feelings for you.

🦅🦅🦅

"Edelgard and I have discussed the plan for the upcoming battle of the eagle and the lion" Manuela addressed the class as she crudely drew a map of gronder field.

"This battle will be against both the blue lions and the golden deer so we must effectively fight both teams.

"So we must separate to take on both teams," she said before drawing three arrows from the left side, one to the top, one to the right, and one to the center.

"Caspar and Ferdinand will advance north to the lions, Linhardt and Hubert will follow behind to provide support" she addressed the three.

"Edelgard and Petra will advance to the east and take on the deers with Dorathea providing support"

"This central fort is an advantage for archers so try to stop the other teams from capturing it and allow Bernadetta to claim it" she was explaining before a shriek was heard.

"No I don't want to be in the center, I wouldn't last a minute there!" Bernadetta retorted.

"That is why (Y/n) will cover for you" Manuela reassured.

"Don't worry, it should be a piece of cake Bernie. With everyone else, it makes it easier to pick off anyone who gets too close" you tried to reassure Bernadetta who was obviously stressed.

"If things get too tough I'll cover you," you said.

🦅🦅🦅

You signaled Bernadetta to take the position at the fort while there was a clearing.

"I hope this ends soon…" she muttered as she got into her position after hopping off her horse.

"So do I" you replied as you looked out. The golden deer had suffered a significant loss. Not that the Eagles were doing much better. You could see that both Casper and Ferdinand were walking off the field, while Hubert and Linhardt retreated to the east to form up with Edelgard and Petra.

"Bernie, you might want to start firing now" you advised, earning a shriek from her.

"Where?!" She struggled to make out.

"North, Sylvain, and Dedue are coming. You take out Sylvain and I'll stop Dedue" you suggested.

"Ok…" she replied before you moved forward to stop them getting through.

"Dedue you fall back to cover Ashe, I'll try capturing the fort" Sylvain told Dedue.

This wasn't good, Sylvain was now in a blind spot for Bernie and Dedue was leaving range.

"Hey you're the girl I've seen Dimitri hanging around recently" he commented.

"So what of it?" You asked him as you approached him.

"Nothing just realized it was you," he said as he tried to strike you and you dodged.

"You're pretty cute, maybe after this is over we could get something to eat?" he proposed. You could feel the heat in your cheeks rise. You swung your lance towards him with enough force to knock it out of his hands.

"Whoa, you're feisty!" He exclaimed.

"I'm sorry, I didn't hurt you did I" you asked, shocked that you'd managed to knock it straight out of his grip.

"I'm fine, just didn't have a good grip… I guess I'll have to forfeit" he told you as he picked up his lance.

"My offer's still open by the way," he told you before he walked off the field.

You had very little time to relax before you saw Dimitri's approach.

"Bernie fall back!" You shouted earning another shriek from her. The Blue Loins were overwhelming in comparison to your house. You readied yourself knowing you'd certainly fail but still like Dimitri told you, you'd have to give it your best shot. You charged toward him and tried to strike him overhead, however, he blocked and pushed you back. He then tried to counter but you barely avoided him as you tried to center yourself.

You tried desperately to best him but he always manages to block your attacks. You can barely keep a good grip on your lance with the force that he strikes back with. Then you hear a crack and feel his lance hit your ribs. The air in your lungs was knocked out of you as you hit the ground, unable to comprehend what happened til you tried to get up, realizing that your lance was snapped in half and feeling a horrible pain in your side causing you to yelp in pain.

"(Y/n) I'm so sorry!" He exclaimed as he kneeled to you. He looked at you with horror.

"Are you alright? Do you need help getting up? I swear I didn't mean to hurt you" he asked, panic evident in his voice. He hadn't realized how hard he was hitting with the adrenalin pumping in his blood.

"I know you didn't mean it…" you replied between labored breaths as you tried to stand.

Dimitri took notice of your pain and helped you up. "Do you want me to help you get back to camp?" He offered. But you shook your head and declined.

"I should be fine. Besides, you have to support your team" you told him. In honesty, you did need help but you didn't want to burden him, as helping you would also count him as retreating. You walked forward a bit before flagging Bernadetta to come over and support you.

"Oh goddess, he nearly killed you…" she stuttered as she let you lean on her for support.

"No, he didn't, I'm sure it'll just be a bruise" you tried to calm her as she took you to the infirmary tent.

Manuela inspected your injury for a while before giving you some medicine.

"You've got a bruised ribcage, I can't really do much except give you some pain relief and suggest you take it easy for the next month," she told you before handing you a glass of water.

"I can't believe how quickly the blue lions managed to advance. They barely gave you guys breathing space, that new professor really is something" she sighed.

You swallowed the bitter medicine she had offered and drank your water before noticing Edelgard in the corner of your eye.

"Did you get injured too?" You asked.

"No, I wanted to check up on you. I heard from Bernadetta that you were hurt" she replied with a hint of worry in her voice.

"Manuela told me I've got a bruised ribcage, I've just got to take it easy for a month" you replied trying to play it off as something minor.

"How did you manage to bruise your rib?" She asked as she grabbed a nearby ice pack and gently pressed it against your ribs.

"My lance ended up snapping in half while fighting Dimitri and his lance ended up hitting my ribs" you explained.

"(Y/n) You need to be more careful… I don't want anything happening to you" she said to you in an almost sorrowful tone, yet you still could feel her reservation.

"Edel, I'll be fine for now. But I promise you I'll be more careful, as long as you promise me the same.

A small smile formed on her lips yet her eyes showed that she was upset.

"I promise," she said as she held out her pinkie finger.

"I'll hold you to it" you replied before wrapping your finger around hers.

"And so will I," she told you.

"You should rest now, I don't want you getting hurt again," she told you before leaving.

So you lay staring at the top of the tent for what seemed like forever. A few more students entered suffering from far less than you had. From what you could hear amongst them the blue lions had a firm lead, now only Claude, Hilda, Petra, and Linhardt remained compared to the nearly unscathed blue lions.

Then you heard the sound of a horn. It was over. You wished you had just given up your position and avoided Dimitri, maybe that would have given your team more of a chance. Everyone was beginning to pack up. You sat up and surprisingly your ribs didn't hurt as much, now more of a dull pain thanks to the medicine.

"(Y/n) are you alright?" Dimitri asked as he entered the tent.

"I am, I just have to take it easy for a bit," you told him.

"I'm sorry" he kneeled beside you.

"It's fine, I know you didn't mean it. Obviously, my lance wasn't that well crafted" you told him.

"I still feel awful for it, tomorrow I'll get you a replacement," he said.

"No, you don't have to" you retorted.

"No it's the least I could do to apologize," he told you.

You stood up, trying to not express the pain you still felt.

"We should probably get going now, it'll be a long walk back to the monastery," you said as you gathered up the armor you had removed when you'd arrived.

🦅🦅🦅

"Thank the goddess that was a mock battle" was something you'd hear for the rest of the day. Even during dinner, you hear more of it.

"The blue lions were leagues ahead of us, they barely gave us a chance" Caspar sighed. You could tell he wasn't too satisfied with his performance.

"(Y/n) you haven't had a bite of your food yet, are you alright?" Dorathea asked you. You hadn't even realized you had just been staring at your food blankly.

"No I'm alright, I've just been thinking about today" you replied.

"Yeah… today's results have left a bitter taste in my mouth" she replied.

You ate in silence. What the others kept saying was on your mind, what if it hadn't been a mock, what if it had been an actual war? It was terrifying to imagine. All these people sitting with you would have been dead. That blow Dimitri had dealt to you could have killed you if it hadn't been a training weapon but he wouldn't do that, he cared about you deeply.

Honestly thinking about it made a knot form in your stomach. You stood up and picked up your half-eaten plate of food.

"(Y/n) are you sure you're alright?" Dorathea asked you again.

"I'm fine," you told her before leaving the table and returning your plate to the front.

You walked out of the dining hall and were on your way back to your dorm when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

"(Y/n) Is something wrong?" Dimitri's voice asked.

"Dimitri, why aren't you inside? You and your class should be celebrating" you asked him.

"I saw you leave your table after barely eating, I was worried about you" he explained.

"I'm fine, just tired," you told him. You tried to leave but he reached out and grabbed your wrist, his grip was firm, like his life depended on it.

"Tell me (Y/n), I know there's something on your mind," he said. You remained silent.

"Do you not trust me?" He asked.

"I do" you replied.

"Then tell me, I promise you it'll only be between us if you wish," he told you. You sighed before finally responding.

"I've been thinking about today… What if it hadn't been a mock battle, I know it sound stupid but the thought terrifies me" you explained.

"I think almost all of us have thought about it today, but just think what reason would we have to start a war?" He replied.

You thought long and hard on what he said. There really wasn't a reason as far as you could tell.

"The isn't" you replied.

"See, so there's no reason to worry" he told you.

#yandere x reader #yandere #yandere fe3h #yandere fire emblem #yandere fire emblem three houses #Yandere Dimitri

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have-a-hiddles · 6 months ago

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Within Your Heart, A Story To Be Told

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five

Pairing: Cardinal Copia/F!Reader

Words: 4.5K/16.4K

Warnings: Vague reference to suicide, but no such act occurs. Intense bullying both verbal and physical. Reader is a Sister of Sin and is written to be quite plump. Lots of swearing, both in English and Italian.

🔞 MDNI 🔞

A/N: I’m keeping Primo, Secondo, and Terzo alive. Because I fucking can. However, Sister Imperator is still the only one aware of Copia’s familial connection. Copia knows Imperator is his birth mother, but not that Nihil is his father.

Everything takes place circa 2018-2019 between Terzo getting dragged off-stage (30 September 2017) and Copia being anointed as Papa IV (March 2020).

Tucked away in a short hallway that only led to a janitor’s closet, hiding among discarded crates of merchandise, you struggled to breathe without sobbing. It was not the first time you’d had to utilize this barely frequented hiding spot. You’d been with the Ministry for nearly five years; yet you still remained unable to find your place. It seemed to be a lifelong fault of yours; never fitting in.

Your earliest memory was of being picked last for recess sports in elementary school; of stern-faced priests telling you to stop crying, stop being so sensitive. Boys will be boys and boys like to pick on their classmates. Maybe if you didn’t present such an irresistible target, they’d leave you alone. Always turning a blind eye to your skinned knees and bruised arms.

Middle school was no better. In fact, it was worse. Now, the girls got in on the bullying too. They mocked your chosen hobbies; reading, drawing, singing. The one time you got a solo in the school choir for a special Mass for some important visiting Cardinal, they made farting and oinking noises behind you, whispering and laughing just low enough that the Sister didn’t hear them. You’d faltered in your singing, trying desperately not to cry, your cheeks flaming red. You had worked so hard on this part! It was your favorite hymn! Sister had yelled at you and berated you for not practicing enough on your own. In the end, she took the solo away from you and gave it to another girl who wasn’t as good a singer as you were but was vastly more popular.

And high school? High school was pure torture. Everything that sucked about middle school, but now with hormones and heartache mixed in for a toxic cocktail. Other students now sought to humiliate you by dangling a mirage of hope. Some bold joker would sidle up to you to say something along the lines of: “Hey, my friend over there thinks you’re super cute. You should ask him out.” And naturally, naively you did, hoping against hope that said boy was telling the truth.

Said boy never was.

University life hadn’t treated you much better, although the overt bullying ceased. You tried to keep a low profile. Went to social events even though you were an anxious wreck the whole time; house parties that your exasperated roommates might drag you on, street festivals for arts and crafts by local artisans, concerts in crowded and often smoky clubs.

It was at one such concert that you first saw the band Ghost and had something of an epiphany. If the so-called “good” people were so horrible to you; then maybe the so-called “evil” people would treat you nicely. Twelve years of Catholic school with its mean nuns and creepy priests had soiled much of your interest in faith. You hadn’t been to Mass since graduating from Saint Hubert’s. Not even for Christmas or Easter. When you’d flat out refused to attend a Catholic university, your family had all but disowned you. And sadly, that changed very little for you. They’d never been much interested in you.

Then Ghost had returned to your city, now as their own headliner instead of an opening act. You’d ponied up the money for general admission tickets to the Haze Over North America tour even though the idea of being jostled around by a bunch of sweaty strangers made you feel nauseous. You’d queued up before anyone else even got there. You’d even caught sight of the band and roadies arriving, although you wisely did NOT rush over to them even though you really wanted to. You very briefly caught sight of Papa (still Secondo at that time!) in his full robes heading from a black SUV into the side of the venue.

You’d been all but clinging to the stage, watching them and, more importantly, listening. Secondo liked playing to the pit, often making eye contact with various individuals. He had a reputation of being something of a man whore and you could see where that idea had come from. Despite his papal robes and miter (or maybe because of it?), he exuded a dark and very tempting sexuality. Still, he didn’t see you, his mismatched gaze always seemed to go to someone just to your left or right.

Then came the encore, Monstrance Clock. The quieter instrumentals reminded you of that long ago choir that you had loved so much. You had closed your eyes to take it all in, your heart feeling as though it was expanding to press against your ribs, a shuddery sensation going through you. You were a virgin, yes. But you knew what an orgasm was; and although not quite the same, this feeling was very similar. Distantly, you remembered that many paintings and sculptures depicting a spiritual awakening often called them an “ecstasy”.

Hypnotizing horns of ram Paralyzing pentagram And the eerie sound of the monstrance clock Singing

Come together Together as one Come together For Lucifer's son

You then felt as though you were falling, but you weren’t scared at all. The sensation of a dark and heated cloak being draped gently over your shoulders, wrapping you in warmth and safety, made you feel completely protected and loved. It was a feeling you had searched for all of your life and never expected to find at a metal concert! When you finally opened your eyes, Papa was kneeling on the stage right in front of you with his eyes boring into yours. And despite his very stern and somewhat scary expression, you weren’t afraid. He’d narrowed his eyes briefly then nodded at you, claiming one of your hands and brushing his lips over your knuckles. When he rose to his feet, he looked to one of his ghouls and jerked his head in your direction.

When you’d stayed put long after everyone had left the pit, that same ghoul had darted out to you, explaining that Papa wanted to see you. To say you’d been surprised was an understatement. Backstage, Secondo had already removed his skull paint, although the absence did not lessen his presence. Under the watchful gaze of the Nameless Ghouls, he explained the Ghost Project and the Ministry. As Papa, he had a few subtle quirks that sometimes helped him find those who would be excellent additions to the faith.

And apparently Satan had singled you out. During Monstrance Clock, when you’d been so overwhelmed by the music; that had been something of a test. A test to see how you reacted to His Light, His Presence. A test you passed with flying colors by not panicking or blaming the feeling on some physical malady caused by the festival environment, by accepting the warmth of the Father of Outcasts.

Did you want to join their faith? You would be sheltered and cared for. You would be protected. You would have a job for which you would be paid. You would take classes to further your knowledge. And, oddly enough, your Catholic upbringing would prove to be an advantage. You already understood the ritual and hierarchy and language. You knew enough Latin to easily understand what the prayers meant. You understood nebulous concepts like transubstantiation and substance–attribute theory.

You’d agreed with almost no hesitation.

Everything after that was a blur. You’d packed up your few belongings and quickly been instated as a postulate in the New York ministry. You’d had very high hopes after being lauded for your intelligence and organization skills. You were set up as an assistant in the library, which also gave you plenty of time to study up even more on this new path you found yourself on. As such, for the first few months, you mostly kept to yourself, your hyper-fixation on learning temporarily replacing the bleeding need for companions. When you did try to make friends, swallowing down your fear as best you could, things did not go as planned. Attempts at jokes only got you blank looks. Trying to join in on conversations or activities only seemed to make others around you uncomfortable.

After two years, it was decided that you didn’t fit in at the New York ministry. And while they weren’t kicking you out, they thought you might do better in a different location. One year in Los Angeles later, it was decided you didn’t fit in there either. So, you’d been moved again, this time to the main Ministry in Sweden.

Two years into your life here and you were still longing for that feeling of belonging that you’d experienced for a scant few moments at the festival while Secondo had sung. Secondo had “retired” and it was Terzo’s turn under the miter. He was wildly successful; more personable with audiences than Primo or Secondo, more confident and charismatic. You’d never spoken to him directly. The handful of times you’d made eye contact (during Black Mass or on-site rehearsals) he had smiled and winked at you. But you knew full-well that he did that to everyone. It was a band-aid over a slit wrist, but it was better than nothing.

Abruptly, that had all changed too and now there was no Papa, but a Cardinal was “filling in” while he was also schooled in being the new Papa. You’d only seen him a few times, his red cassock drawing attention amongst all of the black and white of the habits you and your Siblings of Sin wore. He always seemed to be off in his own world, muttering to himself in Italian, probably going over prayers or sermons. Most people thought he was a tad weird. You, however, found him a bit fascinating.

Most of the other Siblings fawned over Terzo, which you could hardly blame them for. He was incredibly popular. Cardinal Copia, though? Something about him struck you with warmth whenever you did catch sight of him or overheard him at rehearsals with the band. You found him very handsome in an off-beat kind of way. Whenever he led Mass, you were more attentive than you ever were for any of the previous Papas. Something about him just called to you.

Whatever that something was, it was obviously one-sided. The Cardinal had never so much as glanced in your direction.

You were still working as a librarian, but no longer an assistant. You were the scribe of the ancient texts; carefully going through delicate parchment of dense Latin and digitizing them so they would never be lost. Being one of the younger members in the Ministry scholary, your grasp of technology was far and away better than that of the other librarians.

You didn’t know what you’d done to draw attention to yourself; but less than a month into your time in Sweden, you were re-living junior high school. A trio of your fellow Siblings; Kaser, Lynx, and Cantata, had decided that you were a fun target to torment; with plenty of ammo at their disposal. You were still awkward and anxious. You’d developed something of a nervous stutter and struggled more than ever to put your thoughts into words. Worse, your body had decided that freshman fifteen was meant to be a challenge; as you had gained thirty pounds, so you were much chubbier than most of the others; wide hips, a sizable ass, a rounded belly, and tits that refused to be contained by most bras. Like the long-ago middle school boys, they liked to painfully snap your bra strap. Or they would trip you in the hallways. Shove you into walls. Tug off your veil when they knew Sister Imperator was near so that she would scold you for having it off.

Their favorite thing, however, was to harass you about the fact that you’d been a postulate for five fucking years! Most postulates became novices within a year and then a full Sibling at three. Were you too stupid to pass the exams? Were you such a loser that even Satan didn’t want you? Were you afraid that Papa would turn you down?

That last one was closer to home than they knew. Part of a postulate’s “graduation” into a novice was to have sex with Papa; sometimes in private, sometimes on the altar in front of everyone. You simply couldn’t stand the idea of any of the Papas taking one look at you and deciding that he was not going to put his cock in someone as pathetic as you. It had never happened before to your knowledge (and you’d looked it up!) so there was no reason to fear such a thing. But fears are nothing if not irrational.

All of which led to your current predicament, sitting on a crate of Ghost merchandise near a janitor’s closet, hiding from your triad of bullies behind a double-stack of the same crates. If the closet hadn’t been locked, you’d have been in it. You sputtered and coughed, choking on your own tears. Were you always going to be so painfully lonely? You prayed as hard now as you ever had as a Catholic… and, like God, Satan was now frustratingly silent. Perhaps it was just time to accept that you didn’t fit in anywhere and never would. Maybe you’d ask to transfer to another Ministry just to escape your abusers; but you’d stay with the church since at least your work was satisfying.

Footsteps approached, prompting you to cover your mouth to silence yourself, not wanting another round of abuse if it was Kaser, Lynx, or Cantata. You curled yourself into the tightest ball you could, cursing your extra weight for making that very difficult.

“Eh, hello?” a soft voice, lightly accented in Italian. Oh, fuck… had they lied to Sister that you’d done something wrong to get you in trouble? They’d done it before; blaming you for something they’d done. Fucking hells bells, what had they done that would prompt one of the elder Italians (of which, there were many) be addressing you?

“I’m sorry!” you burst out, covering your face with your hands. “I was just, um… j-j-j-just… ah, taking a… m-m-moment-.“ Curse that idiotic stutter!

“No! N-n-n-no, sorella. It’s… ah… okay. I only… I mean I just was passing and I h-h-heard you.”

The foreign sound of someone else stuttering made you look through your fingers. At first, all you saw was red. A long, red cassock and black gloves.

The Cardinal.

You were so shocked by the revelation that the man who would soon be Papa was apparently a bit anxious and awkward too, that you didn’t say anything for a moment. You merely stared at him, your cheeks still stained with tears, but at least you were now breathing somewhat normally.

“You’ve been c-crying,” he pointed out as if it wasn’t obvious.

“It’s… it’s nothing, Your Eminence,” you shook your head, finally remembering your manners and lowering your gaze, wiping hurriedly at your cheeks. “You needn’t worry about it. You must have many more important things to do!”

A long silence followed, both of you seeming to size the other up with caution. Strange, he was so confident and eloquent when he performed Mass or gave sermons. And now he seemed genuinely lost as to how to talk to someone one on one.

“C-congratulations, by the way!” you finally blurt out. “If… if that’s the proper thing to say. I’m sure you’ll make a wonderful Papa. I’ve overheard some of the rehearsals and you sound amazing.”

That was at least true. The Cardinal had a beautiful singing voice and a powerful stage presence.

“Oh! Eh, grazie… thank you. It’s a great honor,” he smiled slightly, his black upper lip curling up at the corners in a way you found immediately endearing. “Not to be, eh, too forward, b-b-b-but… what has so upset you?”

“It’s… it’s nothing. It’s stupid. I just… I feel like… I don’t really…” you paused, closed your eyes, and took a deep breath. “I’ve never really fit in anywhere…and even though I’m trying so hard… I don’t seem to fit in here either. Square peg, round hole.” Woah, that was the most pulled-together thing you’d said in months!

You silently prepared yourself to be told to try harder, not be so sensitive, don’t be so weird, or some other variation of unhelpful advice that authority figures always tossed at your feet.

“Sì, it’s very difficult. I understand.”

You snapped your eyes open to meet his uneven gaze head-on.

He continued, “Some people just seem to effortlessly be adored and others… others must work tirelessly to be accepted by even a few.” He sounded contemplative, even a touch sad. “It… it can be overwhelming, I know.”

“Are you saying that… you’ve had t-trouble fitting in? But you’re terrific on stage and at Mass! In fact, every time I’ve heard you talk, you’re always so sure of yourself!” you exclaimed.

He gave an ironic smile. “It helps, sorella, to have a sc-script. At the microphone, I already know what I’m going to say or s-s-sing. I don’t have to anticipate the questions or comments of others because I’m the only one expected to t-talk, sì?”

“Oh,” you said with a note of surprise. You’d never really thought of it that way. “I’ve not really ever spoken to an audience. Or sung. Not by myself anyway.”

“You sing, sorella?” he perked up, the motion making something warm slide over your heart.

“Yeah, yes. I mean… I used to. I sang in choir all through school and I was in the Mass choir in Los Angeles. I’d like to join the choir here, but they aren’t accepting new singers right now,” you shrugged, biting your bottom lip.

“The choir at the L.A. ministry?” his eyebrows rose. “You must be talented then, sorella. The choirmaster there is very exacting.”

You smiled, despite knowing that your cheeks were flaming red. That had been one bright point of the last few years. The confirmation that you did still have a good singing voice had meant a great deal to you. “He is. The rehearsals were grueling sometimes, but I loved it just the same. Music is just so… powerful. I can’t think of a better word. Even ‘powerful’ feels inadequate. It’s what brought me to the Ministry in the first place. I saw Papa Secondo during the Haze tour and, I don’t know… something just clicked in place.”

“Papa Secondo, eh? Small wonder, he was quite the commanding presence when he was Papa. Still is, actually. But, wait…” he paused, looking up and muttering in Italian. “Papa Secondo hasn’t been Papa since, what 2013? That was five years ago. You’ve been a postulate for that long?”

Motherfucking Christ on a popsicle stick, why did you have to mention Secondo?

“Um… yeah. It’s just… never felt like… the timing was right. And… if I’m honest, I’m scared,” you swallowed tightly.

“Scared?” he repeated with a cock of his head. “What is there to be scared of?”

“If I may speak plainly… it’s the whole… um… sex thing..?” Your words came out more like a question than an answer.

“You’re scared of… sex?” he said, seeming to only want to confirm that he had heard you correctly.

“Not exactly. I’m not afraid of the act. B-b-but I’m afraid of… it’s-s-s-s-stupid of me, I know… but I can’t help but be sc-sc-scared of being… rejected…” you managed to strangle out, eyes glued to your hands folded in your lap. “No one’s ever wanted me before. Why would this b-b-b-be any different?”

“Sorella, it’s not stupid. Fears like that are very… d-difficult to shake. However, being as currently said deed would fall to m-me, I can promise you that I will not be rejecting such a lovely soul.” His voice had gone a little lower and he drew closer to you, kneeling down so you were at an even level, although you didn’t look up at him.

A black leather glove obscured your view, curled fingers tucking up your chin, coaxing you gently into looking up at him. “Sorella, I promise it. I would be more than honored to help you complete your… eh… training, if that is the word.”

You chanced looking up and meeting his gaze. Even at a distance, it was obvious that the Papas and Cardinal all had one ghostly white eye. But this close, you could see that his other eye was a rather pretty shade of green. You’d always liked green eyes.

Apparently, your momentary contemplation of his eyes made him a little nervous, because he looked down, cheeks slightly flushed. “I-if-if you like, of course… I’m not… I mean… eh, Sathanas, no pressure? Is that the, eh, the phrase? If you don’t want to have me as your initiator, it’s eh… it’s o-o-o-okay. One of the other Papas would be happy to serve in my place. I know most people seem to like T-T-Terzo the best. And if I know him, he would never turn down an initiate,” he rambled slightly.

Under any other circumstances, you would have assumed that he was agreeing to make you feel better and then trying to pass you off to one of the former Papas to get out of the chore. But something about the Cardinal’s anxious patter convinced you that he was only trying to give you options, not avoid the task.

Completely on impulse, you clutched at his nervous hands, holding them still. This also served the purpose of stilling your own hands. “You don’t need to advertise the others to me. It will be you, Cardinal.”

He looked up from your joined hands with a half-smile. “It will, eh? Does that mean you’ve decided to go through with becoming a novice, sorella?”

Your breath stopped. You had just implied that hadn’t you? Shit. Shitshitshitshit! “I guess it does, Your Eminence.”

“Bene, sorella. I look forward to it,” he smiled, though his gaze returned to your hands. A small shift and he was able to press your hands into his, palm to palm, with your fingers entwined. The motion reminded you of something…

-Good pilgrim, you do wrong your hand too much, Which mannerly devotion shows in this; For saints have hands that pilgrims’ hands do touch, And palm to palm is holy palmers’ kiss.

The Cardinal chuckled softly under his breath, a rather deep sound that gave you delightful goosebumps. “Shakespeare, sì? Hmm, let me think…”

Fuck! Had you said that out loud? You must have! Random Shakespeare was not going to get you anywhere and of course you’d choose a passage rife with Catholic imagery.

- Have not saints lips, and holy palmers too?

Holy shit on a shingle, he was reciting Romeo’s part now? Oh Satan. Lucifer. Lilith. Hecate. Kelly Clarkson! What was the next bit?

-Ay, pilgrim, lips that they must use in prayer.

-O then, dear saint, let lips do what hands do. They pray: grant thou, lest faith turn to despair.

-Saints do not move, though grant for prayers’ sake.

-Then move not while my prayer’s effect I take.

You’d both been leaning closer to each other and now were barely a breath away. You licked your lips nervously. That small gesture apparently spurned him on. He completed the connection, kissing you so sweetly that you thought you might actually pass out. You’d been kissed before; but those previous kisses felt nothing like this! Your lips felt as though they were burning, the familiar heat of arousal curling low in your belly.

-Thus from my lips, by thine, my sin is purged.

How could he even remember the next line after that! It took you a decent minute and a half to recover your thoughts and remember the next line.

-Then have my lips the sin that they have took?

He smiled, nearly grinned, teeth very white against his black upper lip.

-Sin from my lips? O trespass sweetly urged! Give me my sin again.

You were ready this time, meeting his kiss with one of your own, tenderly mapping the sensation of his lips and the searing path of want as it spread in your veins. Fuck, you already had a little crush on Copia; this would inevitably push it into full-blown infatuation.

-You kiss by th’ book.

You practically moaned that last line as you both paused, foreheads pressed together, hands still palm to palm. He was panting ever so slightly, as were you.

“You understand what I mean about having a script, sì?” he whispered softly. “Neither of us stumbled or hesitated even once. Not what you were thinking when you began reciting, I know. But, for myself at least… I would not yet have had the nerve to kiss you. But with the Bard’s words to encourage… it felt very natural to kiss you.”

You felt your cheeks grow hot, although for once it was not from humiliation or shame, but from pleased embarrassment. The way he was looking at you! No man… hell, no person or ghoul or whatever… had ever looked at you the way Copia was looking at you. There was a hunger in his eyes that made your stomach do flips. But under that desire lurked a sweet, longing kind of affection.

A beeping noise interrupted your thoughts. “Cazzo!” he hissed and pushed back the sleeve of his cassock to reveal an old digital watch. “Perdonami per favore; I seem to be running late for rehearsal. Had I the choice, I would not be leaving you so… eh… abruptly,” he apologized with sincere regret.

“It’s OK,” you replied somewhat dreamily, still feeling a bit floaty from his kisses.

“I will look for your… ehm… initiation papers and authorize them. Then you n-n-nneed only set the date,” he assured you as he rose to his full height. “I must go, sorella.”

“Oh! Yes! Right. Don’t let me keep you. Rehearsal’s important,” you nodded hastily, not wanting to come across as needy even though you wanted to bury yourself in his chest and cling to him like a koala.

“It is, si,” he allowed, before looking down on you with a fond expression. “But you are important too, no?”

He turned to leave and was almost around the corner before he stopped and turned back to you. “Eh, mi scuzi, but… I didn’t get your name, sorella.”

“Huh? Oh! It’s Y/N, F/N L/N,” you replied perhaps a bit louder than you should have.

“Y/N… lovely,” he echoed with a small smile. “Arrivederci, Y/N.”

What? Just? Happened?

FOR THE LOVE OF (deity of your choice) PLEASE LIKE AND REBLOG! COMMENT! VISIT ON AO3 AND LEAVE KUDOS AND COMMENTS!

I NEED FEEDBACK!

#ghost #the band ghost #ghost the band #ghost fan fiction #AO3 #cardinal copia #copia/reader #reader insert

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nevassan · 3 months ago

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happy anniversary and munday, toa! credits to neffi for the munday form - thank you for all your hard work and love!

Name: harrow

Pronouns: he/she/it

Birthday (no year): 8/25

Where are you from? What is your time zone? US | CST

How long is your roleplay experience? 10+ years

How were you introduced to roleplaying as a whole? roleplaying warriors on fanfic.net as any good soldier of the time did. i did it on my 3ds because i didn't have a laptop yet.

How were you introduced to TOA? i messaged leo in december and went "i missed tellius" and leo went "hey i rp tellius on tumblr" and the rest is, as they say, history.

Do you have any pets? four cats - hubert von vestra (black), odessa silverberg (calico), anakin (gray), and kaoru hakaze (tabby).

What is your favorite time of year and why? i love autumn so much i'm about to be thriving

What is your IRL occupation? math tutor & pizza delivery driver!

Some interests and things you like/enjoy? i like competitive games, drawing, old english literature, and really obscure jrpgs.

What non-Fire Emblem games do you play? obscure ass jrpgs - fragile dreams, eternal sonata, magical vacation, etc. i also play a lot of fighting games. catch me in guilty gear strive 10x streak.

Favorite Pokemon type & Pokemon: favorite pokemon type is fairy or normal, but my favorite pokemon is dhelmise!

Tell us some funfacts and trivia about yourself! one time when i was 6 a playdate i was having ended so me and the person i was hanging out with (i barely knew her and did not consider her a friend) decided our only course of action was to run away from home and i think it's really funny. we did get decently far.

How did you get into Fire Emblem? my ex in 2016 went "hey dude you should play this tellius stuff" and the rest is history

What Fire Emblem games have you played? every one except gaiden. I'm sorry n

First & Favorite Fire Emblem games: first - awakening, favorite - radiant dawn

List your 5 favorite Fire Emblem characters across the series! HUBERT VON VESTRA!!!!!!!!!!, Micaiah, Arthur (FE4), Olwen, Takumi

Who was the first character ever to make you go “ooh I like this one in particular” and why? Can be any context and reason! probably Sephiran. iyky

Any Fire Emblem crushes? 😳 hubert von vestra i am free. i am free whenever. Please

If you’ve played (or are familiar with) the following games, who was your first S support? Who would you S support nowadays? - Awakening: i don't...remember? if i got the gay awakening mod now i'd probably do henry. - Fates: niles / still niles - Three Houses: i don't think i s supported anyone on my first playthrough, as weird as that is. nowadays i pick girleth so i can kiss hubie and seteth - Engage: i didn't ever beat the game on my own (thanks youtube) but i would like to marry pandreo or nel.

Favorite Fire Emblem class? i love mages. i love mage emblem. i like trickster a lot too.

If you were a Fire Emblem character, what would be your class and stats? Would you be playable? i would be a green unit and if you don't rescue me i die. like regardless of if the enemy units kill me i get executed in a cutscene after the chapter or something. i'm just a villager.

If you were a Three Houses character, what would be your affiliation? black eagles forever baby!!!

If you were an Officers Academy student, what would be your boons, banes and potential budding talent? boons - faith & dark; banes - axes & heavy armor; budding - authority.

If you were an Engage character, which nation would you originate from? firene realistically but i want to go to elusw

How do you pronounce TOA? 🤔TO-AH

Current TOA muses: Diarmuid, Sothe

Past TOA muses? Hortensia, F!Morgan, Shez, Lukas

Who was your first TOA muse? If you no longer have them, can you see yourself picking them up again? Sothe, soooo...

Do you believe you have a type of character you gravitate towards writing? I need you to not look at my muselist and look at this answer. I love silly girls. I love whimsical little girly girls so much.

Do you have characters or types of characters you don’t think you can handle writing, but wish you could? I want to be able to write really villainous characters/ Smart characters, but I'm not good at writing manipulative stuff and im too embarrassed to dm another mun like hey can you pretend i gaslit gatekept girlbossed your muse

What kind of scenes, situations etc do you believe you enjoy writing the most? i like battle and high-emotion scenes. stuff i can use prose for.

Do you have any scenario in mind for your muse(s) that gets you thinking “man I hope I get to write this one day”? i want diarmuid to break :thumbsup: make this guy cry

Favorite TOA-related memories? i've honestly just been really happy the whole time i've been here. even when my muse wanes i enjoy being in toa so much it overcomes the feeling of writer's block because i just want to be here with this group i've come to love.

Present or past tense? present

Normal size text, small text, no preference? no preference

Got any potential muse delusions to share? 😉 monica and hortensia are playing tug of war w my last braincell that needs to be doing homework

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angelsandarsenic · 7 months ago

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An ever after high oc?? In this economy??

Guys im having so much trouble with outfits. I have a ton I could show but idk if they're good/eah enough

It is so hard to find Scottish female voices I was about to bite the bullet and make it Kelly macdonald anywayyyyy there's a short version of their story under the cut i'm not gonna write out a whole long thing so pardon the straightforwardness

Voice claims: Lachlan—Jamie Fraser, outlander Saoirse—Laoghaire McKenzie—outlander

This story goes…a little differently.

After the events of Brave, Clan Dunbroch continued to prosper, now in closer link than ever with the other clans. Princess Merida ascended to the throne, but she never did take a lover or have children. Hamish, Hubert and Harris, all grown up, went on to find their own partners and lead their own lives. Their eldest children—Shaun of Macguffin, Ailsa and Alec Macintosh, and Lachlan of Dingwall—are now all eligible for the Dunbroch throne

Now let’s turn back time a little bit.

The ancient kingdom is crumbling. The first prince has gone on a rampage and Isla has just watched her husband turn into a massive bear.

She flees.

It takes her two days to find the witch’s cottage. By then the spell had been set in stone, and the witch can tell the woman is with child. She’s not heartless, she wants to help, but all magic comes with a price. So she does the only other thing she knows how and shepherds them through the magic circle to the realm of the faeries, where no one will ever find them.

~~~

Lachlan is certain he can win the competition for the throne. He wants it. His grandfather definitely wants it. He’s strong, skilled and fast and not afraid to knock his cousins out of the way, however close they may have been as children. Besides, he’s the Queen’s favorite—how could he lose?

The four clans have all gathered for three weeks of festivities and friendly competition before the actual games. After one too many ruthless victories, Lachlan gets in a fight with his cousins. After being scolded by his father for his behavior as well, the young prince has had enough and takes off into the woods to cool down.

He brings back a girl.

An odd girl, to be sure; her thick braids make two strange piles on her head and she won’t ever tell him where she’s from, but there are no kingdoms or settlements around here, so a girl lost in the forest needs help! She introduces herself as Saoirse before the Queen and quickly gets welcomed to stay.

Lachlan likes her at first. She’s fiery and mischievous and actually manages to beat him in combat. It’s just a sparring match, he tells himself, it doesn’t actually matter. Except it does matter. Because Saoirse is getting way too close to the Queen and she’s too good at everything for her- her existence to be natural. Lachlan's cousins loved her, meanwhile Lachlan himself was only growing more irritable and distant. Was she replacing him? What was more, there were rumors that the Queen wanted to let Saoirse, an outsider, compete for the throne! Too bad no one believed Lachlan when he tried to tell them. They all think he’s simply jealous.

And then one night there’s a bear in the castle.

Understandably, Lachlan panics and draws his sword. He’s heard the stories. What happened to his father, his brothers and the late Queen Elinor. Heard about the demon bear Mor’du. If he doesn’t slay the beast then-

But just before Lachlan calls for help, the bear disappears and a wide eyed Saoirse is standing in its place. Her hair fell loose down her shoulders, revealing furry ears atop her head.

“W-wait! It’s not- Lachlan listen-“

“Monster!”

“No!”

He had won. He had proof, right there under her hair! If he brought her before the Queen and lords, they’d probably kill her, but so what?

In a desperate flight for life, Saoirse ran through the palace as a bear to escape. The clans awoke with much clamor and the hunt was on, but the beast had disappeared into the night.

The very next morning, the clans set out again, splitting into groups to canvas the forest more thoroughly. Lachlan set off on his own--he knew just where to go.

He didn’t find the bear at the stone circle like before. He did find a wisp. A will-o-the wisp! Here to lead him to his fate, undoubtedly.

Lachlan followed the little spirits eagerly, ignoring the way the trees grew thick and dark, and stone jutted further from the ground. At first, he thought the stone archway was a cave. Inside lay the bear, curled up by a pile of rubble, asleep.

“Wake up.” Lachlan kicked it. He had more honor than to kill a sleeping enemy.

She transformed back as she startled awake. That was fine, a human was easier to drag back anyway. She was clutching a bow, a sword lay on the stone steps behind her.

“Did you steal these from the castle?!”

“No, I made them you brute!”

Lachlan scoffed. “You made them?”

“Yes. Did you think your weapons just popped out of thin air, your highness?”

“I- w- no. But you’re a beast, what the devil do you need weapons for?”

“I'm a human,” she hissed. It was then that Lachlan noticed. Stairs?? And were those carvings?

“Is this the ancient kingdom? Do you live here?”

“No. I just…come here sometimes.”

“Why?”

The look on her face made him think she might snap at him, but she kept herself in check. Instead, she said, “becoming the kingdom hero won’t make you loved, you know.”

“What? I’m loved, what are you talking about?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Really? Because you don’t act like it. Are we sure I’m the monster here?”

“Yes!”

The girl huffed. “Well, I hope you figure yourself out soon, before it’s too late. You’re really lucky you know. You have so many people who care about you. Four whole clans at your fingertips.” Her own fingers traced a withered carving on cracked stone. She muttered something about “mum told me not to come back here” and stood. Lachlan readied his weapon again, not realizing he had ever lowered it. She didn’t attack him. She simply hefted another massive rock over to her spot from the other side of the cave and laid back down. “Do it then. Go on, I’m ready.”

…

“What?”

Saoirse actually managed to look annoyed. “You’re planning to kill me right? For ‘attacking your castle’?” Her voice ridiculed him, yet she seemed completely serious. “Go on then.”

Lachlan actually dropped his weapon then. “What is wrong with you?” What was so important about the stone then that she wanted it close? “Don’t you- I mean okay, I understand being suicidal, but don’t you have someone who would miss you?”

“Nope.”

Lachlan’s heart fell. He dropped down beside her. Surely she couldn’t be serious. “Where do you live?”

A mournful frown pushed her bottom lip out like she was about to cry. “Right here. I was supposed to live here. Ages ago. But it- it got destroyed.” As if an afterthought, she added, “I was never going to hurt you, you know.”

Lachlan finally took a look at the carvings she had rolled over to lean against. The four brothers, he could recognize easily enough. He had heard the story more than enough times for a lifetime from his father and aunt. There were people with them. The king, he assumed, was one, standing in the middle with the crown. The others were three women—the fourth brother didn’t have one, but he held a little boy in front of him. All of the brothers had a family, Lachlan realized. Even the eldest, though he didn’t seem to have a child yet.

“We never learned about them,” the prince murmured.

“No, you wouldn’t have. They all died.”

“But- but this is all ancient.” She must be crazy. “You can’t live here.”

“Time moves a lot slower in the realm of the faeries.”

Now Lachlan looked at Saoirse like she was in fact crazy. Then it clicked. “The circle…”

Well, that's...kind of sad... “You’re another victim of the witch,” he surmised. He hadn’t thought they could turn into humans again but maybe she had gotten a different spell?

Saoirse snorted. “No, the witch is married to my mum now. She’s lovely, really. I’m-“

“A victim of Mor’du then? Did he kill your family?”

Saoirse cut him off with a roll of her eyes. “Mor’du was my family ya gommy nyaff.”

…

“Oh.”

~~~

All in all, they returned to the castle. Lachlan apologized and made up with his family. Saoirse, with some trials of trust, was welcomed back as well. Eventually, Lachlan does take the throne. Except there were never any competitive games. Or rather, the lead up was the competition, in a sense. The Queen wanted to test the heirs' genuine traits and familial bonds. With the ability to admit he was wrong and put family above himself, Lachlan passed with flying colors.

#ever after high oc #brave #ever after high brave #mordu #eah fanart

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