#i am getting caught up on bittersweet all at once from the beginning and the listener has manifested MIGHTILY in my brain

[cat-arsenal]

Bittwersweet Ch. 1 Pt. 4.5

Listener, as soon as Al is out of sight: cracks knuckles and beelines for the woods

[leighsartworks216]

In Sickness And In Health

Zayne x gn!Reader

I have been lightheaded for two days now and I need a doctor-husband to take care of me soooo bad. But instead I'm focusing on my built up medication angst

Warnings: medical angst, hurt/comfort, medication (pills), bittersweet, pet names (love, my love), established relationship

Word Count: 798

Main Masterlist

Love and Deepspace Masterlist

AO3

Tag List Form (Psst fill this out to be tagged in future fics)

You frown at the pill bottles lined up on your counter. Your pill-minder was empty and waiting to be filled up, but seeing all your medications lined up like this stirred something inside you.

You know they're all necessary, they all help you in some way or another. But…

"Love?" Zayne steps into the bathroom, resting a gentle hand on your arm and trying to meet your eyes. "What's wrong?"

You sigh. You hate it when you feel like this. You hate burdening Zayne with your health in his work life and his day-to-day life.

"There's so many..."

He looks down at the counter. Most of these were prescriptions he filled out himself, all of the names were immediately familiar as well as their purposes. "Does the amount bother you?" he asks. His mind is already working to figure out how to narrow down the amount of medications you take, to find medicines that act as a combination for what he's prescribed.

You shake your head and begin opening the days of your pill-minder. You pop each one open slowly, like moving any faster would accidentally detonate a bomb.

He begins opening the pill bottles and dropping the doses into each compartment.

"I'll never be healthy, will I?"

The question gives him pause. He stops his task, watching you instead. Your frown causes a crease to form between your brows; makes your eyes seem more tired than they are. It takes on the bone-deep exhaustion you've been carrying ever since you were first prescribed long-term medication.

He finishes dosing out the first bottle of pills, before closing it and setting it back in the lineup. Your frown only seems to deepen as you stare at it. "My love..." He cups your cheek tenderly, cool palm soothing the upset bubbling under your skin as he turns your face, urging you to look at him. "Needing medicine is not a failure, and it doesn't mean you're unhealthy."

Your eyes flicker from his own to go searching his face and back. The way he looks at you is so intensely caring, it makes it hard for you to meet head on for too long. "But I need them because my body isn't... right."

"No body is perfect," he rebuts. "I have never met a single patient who has not had at least one issue."

"Yeah, but all your patients see you because they have issues."

He chuckles. "Most of them, but you forget I am also a primary care physician to some. No matter what shape my patients are in, there is always something that impacts their life because their body can't or doesn't provide it."

You stare at his chin. He brushes his thumb across your cheek, encouraging you to look up at him again.

"You still don't believe me."

You meet his eyes again, caught red handed. He's known you for so long, of course he should be the one to know what you're feeling with just one glance. You look apologetic, though. "I'm sorry, I want to, I just..."

"Just...?"

"I wish I didn't have so many issues." You close your eyes and lean into him. He meets you halfway, resting his forehead against yours.

He wishes there was some way for him to magically cure all your issues. Some may go away with time, but with time also brought new problems. He pulls away briefly to kiss your forehead, a quiet promise of solidarity.

He sees a small grin begin to form on your lips. "Thank you for making a house call, Dr. Zayne."

He chuckles. "It's outside of my usual job requirements, but I'm happy to make an exception, just this once."

"Guess I shouldn't get too used to it, then, huh?"

"Hm. Fortunately, my marital oath as your husband dictates that I care for you in sickness and in health." He gently pulls away. You open your eyes and watch as he opens the second bottle and continues to refill your pill case. "And as your husband, I'm always happy to take care of you."

Your small grin slowly breaks into a smile. The weight is still there. You think it always will be. But Zayne has taken some of it off your shoulders for now, carrying the burden of your health just as you would for him if the circumstances were reversed.

You lean up to kiss his cheek. He smiles, not looking away from his work as he finishes up the second bottle. You take the third. The cap pops off and the pills jostle around inside. They fall into the sections with a repetitive sound, a percussion to a silent song as Zayne grabs the fourth bottle.

You can start to hear the melody when he leans down to kiss your cheek.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope

[dmwrites]

Martyn was yelling. Martyn was yelling and coming at Impulse with a desperation and fury that rooted him to the spot. It didn’t make sense, Martyn was… cheating. Scott was dead, gone in a flash of fire that Impulse couldn’t even begin to comprehend. And he was facing down a man who was all greens and yellows and reds and-

There was a slice through the air, a pain so brief it might have been imagined, and then-

“I’m so proud of you, homie buddy!”

“For goodness sake, Skizz, put on a shirt!”

Impulse tried to extract himself from Skizz’s chest, but his friend only pulled him closer.

“Let him breathe a little, Skizz, he just died, after all.” Tango’s voice floated up somewhere to the left of him, and he felt a pat on the back. “Nice work, man, second place ain’t too bad.”

Skizz let Impulse go, finally, and Impulse was instantly being congratulated by his other friends, Scott giving him a distracted smile, Pearl sticking out her tongue before hugging him tight.

“You’re a good guy, Impulse. Thanks for sticking by me.” Etho came over and clapped Impulse on the shoulder, a small smile in his voice and a twinkle in his eye. “You fought well.”

“Thanks, man.” Impulse beamed at him. “You did too. Not washed up at all.” He chuckled, and Etho grumbled good-naturedly before wandering back over to The Clockers.

Skizz was standing next to him still, almost vibrating with energy.

“You’re being ridiculous.” Impulse told Skizz. “You should be congratulating Martyn when he dies. Or Scott, for that matter- there was no way I would have won even if we’d all played fair.”

“Come, walk and talk with me, buddy.” Skizz said, floating in the direction of the TIES tower.

They passed by the small group around Grian, who were watching Martyn below, still alive and on the ground. He caught a bit of conversation as they passed.

“We should probably slash-kill, G. Game’s over.”

“No, let’s leave him for a moment.” Grian mumbled, watching Martyn with a troubled look on his face.

The tower was empty, and Skizz and Impulse perched on the edge of Skynet, watching the other dead players float around.

“Dude, I said it once, but I’ll say it again- I am so proud of you. You’re like a warrior, man!” Skizz crowed.

“But I didn’t win!” Impulse exclaimed, although he couldn’t help but smile at Skizz’s enthusiasm.

“What- are you kidding me, dude! I told you- all of you before I died- team TIES gets top three, and you got to second place!”

“Well, second is a poor replacement for first…” Impulse grumbled.

“You know what, dude?” Skizz said, snapping his fingers, “I never did get to your affirmation, did I?”

“No, but I’m not, like, offended.” Impulse replied.

Skizz cleared his throat. “Impulsesv, my bestest friend-”

“You don’t have to do this, I’ll be okay without my affirmation.” Impulse interrupted.

“Shut your face and let me say nice things!” Skizz waved his hand dramatically at Impulse to make him shut up. “Impulse, my friend. You know, when I was doing these affirmations, I had to study people, even the ones I knew before. But you��� it was easy to come up with the words. Perseverance. Focus. God, man, look at what you did. You wanted to win, and the way you hunted, killed… it was incredible. You never stopped, and I could tell how badly you wanted to win. You put your mind to it and you just go, man. If death herself hasn’t stopped you, I’m sure you would have walked right through Martyn’s axe to get the win.”

Impulse laughed. “I think you’ve been hanging out in the afterlife for too long, man, you are making less sense with every sentence.”

“I’m just proud of you, man.” Skizz smiled.

“Careful, Skizz,” Impulse teased, “people are gonna start thinking you’re some kind of angel or something, with how nice you’re being.”

“Ha! Whatever, dude.”

Skizz and Impulse started trying to elbow each other off of Skynet, laughing and waiting for Martyn’s life to end. The sun was setting, and there was that bittersweet taste of second place that settled heavy on Impulse’s tongue. Not good, not bad, but at the end of the day, there were always people who loved him, so it didn’t really matter.

[munsonluhvr]

♡ august | steve harrington x reader (summer fling) (record player series #3) word count - 1.9k

author's note: sorry for the delay in finishing out this little project. back to writing I go!

August. 

The air between you and Steve is bittersweet; all at once, your heart is heavy with sadness, yet peaceful and warm sitting beside him. You lean into Steve, your body crumpling against the strength of his arm that is placed around you. With ease, he lifts his hand up, his palm grazing the back of your head in a gentle, comforting stroke. You look forward, the rough sea stretching out for miles in front of you;  you dig your feet into the sand, the gritty, cool feeling overwhelming your toes. 

“I can come back,” Steve says, sensing the dissatisfaction that radiates off of you. “Maybe over winter break, and we can write letters to each other in the meantime.” Steve searches for anything to say, anything within him to make you happy, to put the smile he loves so much back on your face. 

At the mere suggestion of having to wait several months just to catch a glimpse of him again, to write letters to pass the time and close the distance between you, makes tears begin to collect in your eyes. You make a poor attempt to sniff them away quietly. “I’ll miss you too much,” you say, your voice cracking. 

You and Steve had been tied to the hip since the beginning of the summer. It had been fate that you two met, just two people in a crowd on the beach. Steve had been on vacation with his parents, a tourist in the little beachside community you call home. It’s nothing new to you to see visitors that catch your eye, only to stay for a few days or weeks and then return back to their own home. For that exact reason, you made sure you would never become intertwined with a tourist, someone who will leave in a matter of time. But Steve was different. 

End of May. It had been a warm summer evening, the sun setting minutes before. Nonetheless, the boardwalk was crowded, the action showing no signs of slowing down. Though the ocean was only a few feet away, the scent of the saltwater thickening the air, there was a dense smell of cotton candy, the distinct scent of boardwalk food that could only make your mouth water. 

Minutes before you had said farewell to your friends, separating for the first time that day. You and a group of your friends spent the day on the beach, letting the sun drench your skin and tan it just right. Now, however, you were tired, your eyes threatening to close on you as you made your way through the crowded street. 

Your bag that was looped over your shoulder weighed down heavily, your towel spilling out the top of the bag. You sighed pathetically, shrugging your bag back up onto your sunburnt shoulder; you wince from the friction between your skin and the handle of your bag. You look down at the ground, getting peaks of peoples bare feet and shoes shuffling passed you in all different directions. You’re so caught up in your thoughts, caught up in the way your body is exhausted, that you don’t notice a brown-haired boy coming your direction. 

In an instant, you’re tossed to the side, landing with a thud on the ground. Your sandals, beach towel, and sunscreen scramble out of your bag and onto the sidewalk, each object getting kicked into different directions by people who are too oblivious to notice you sail to the ground. 

“Holy shit-“ a voice says somewhere above you, though you’re too caught up in the sharp feeling coming from your knee to see who curses in your direction. Drips of blood dribble from your knee and you sigh once more. “I am so sorry, I wasn’t looking.” 

You wipe the blood from your knee with the heel of your hand, shaking your head without looking up. “It’s fine, I’m fine.” It’s only when the boy kneels in front of you do you look at him, catching sight of his big, brown eyes and his messy brown hair, laced with salt from the ocean. His skin is lightly tanned, the smell of sunshine and sunscreen radiating off of him.  

He shakes his head. “And you’re bleeding. Let me at least help you find a Band-Aid.” You’re exhausted, annoyed, and now in slight pain, and you relinquish control over the situation and let the nameless boy help you up by his outstretched hand. You reach out, his hand clasping around yours. You’re pulled back onto your feet, and you make an attempt to brush off debris from your clothes. You mutter a soft ‘thanks’ and begin to finish crossing the street, the boy trailing a few steps behind you.

Replaying the fall in your mind as you walk, the light heat from embarrassment creeps across your cheeks. There’s a light sting coming from your knee, and you wonder where you’ll find a band-aid. Your eyes graze the front of the shops that line the beach, all filled with people buying food or sweatshirts with the name of the beach branded across the chest. You sigh softly to yourself, glancing at the stream of blood that dribbles down your shin. 

“Here,” you hear a voice say beside you, and you turn to see it’s the same boy. He’s holding a white slip of paper, clearly a band-aid. “Let me help,” he says before you can object. He kneels in front of you, peeling back the paper and placing the band-aid on your split skin. In the process, he wipes the blood with a paper towel he holds in his other hand. 

“Where’d you find a band-aid?” You ask, trying to break the silence. 

He stands up, shrugging. “I just asked the lady behind the counter. I’m Steve by the way.”

You offer a small smile, his kind gesture beginning to make your hostility slip away. You look up from looking at your knee to look at his face again. “I’m y/n.”  

At the time, you never thought at how heartbreaking a summer romance could be. In every novel you’ve read, it’s warm and soothing, something you crave for yourself – someone to see and understand you so deeply, even if it’s temporary. Now that you’ve experienced this, you know the books make it seem like something it’s not. 

After Steve put the band-aid on you, you didn’t say thank you and continue on with your night. You stood there, as if your feet were glued to the sidewalk. You held Steve’s eye-contact, the world around you seeming like it slowed to a halt. You didn’t even notice people had to maneuver around you as they walked along the boardwalk. You were in a trance, immediately smitten by Steve. 

“Are you visiting?” Steve asks.  

You shake your head. “No, I live here. Are you?” 

Steve nods, running a hand through his hair. “Yes, but for the whole summer. My grandmother has a house here.” 

You nod slowly, knowing there was no chance a good-looking guy like Steve would live in your town. “Nice.” 

Steve chews on his bottom lip, thinking of something else to say. Little do you know, Steve’s heart thumps rapidly against his chest, being in your presence proving to be intimidating. He thinks you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen, his eyes glued to your face and body. “Yeah, I don’t really know anybody here though.” 

You shrug, trying to be nonchalant. “It’s easy to make friends.”

“Would you want to be friends then?” As Steve says this, he realizes how juvenile it sounds and he knows he’ll beat himself up for saying that later. 

You laugh, folding your arms across your chest. “Sure, I’ll be your friend.” 

From there, you and Steve were inseparable. It was a slow burn at first, the tension between you growing over time. You both knew it was there, but who was going to acknowledge it first was the question. 

You and Steve spent nearly every day together, meeting up at the beach, the pier, and eventually, at each other’s houses. It was easy to spend time with Steve, his charisma and sense of humor keeping you on the tip of your toes, his kindness, and flirtatious ways roping you in further and further. You found yourself laying on your bed into the early morning, replaying the time spent with Steve over in your head. Despite enjoying your time with Steve, you dreaded every day that passed by, an internal countdown clock until the end of summer and when Steve would return to Indiana playing in the back of your mind. 

Months into hanging out with Steve, you sit on the edge of the pier, feet dangling off the side, arms placed behind you to prop you up. It was July 4th, and you had managed to find the best spot to watch the fireworks. When Steve had sat down, he made sure to sit close beside you, leaving your thighs and swinging feet to brush against each other.  You chat with each other, waiting for the firework show to start. You both jolt, laughing softly, when the fireworks begin out of nowhere. While the fireworks were bright and beautiful, Steve couldn’t help but watch you instead. He watches as the colored fireworks reflect of your face, your face watching intently, a small smile decorating your face. His stomach twists with anticipation. 

You look over to your right, seeing Steve’s eyes trained on you. You smile, a little laughing escaping your lips. “What?” 

It’s then that Steve leans forward, his large hand cupping the side of your face. His lips are warm and soft, entangling with yours. You lean forward too, letting your mouth move against his. You sigh happily, all your dreams coming true. His lips taste lightly of red wine, knowing he must have had some over dinner with his parents. Though the fireworks echo off the ocean, the world is silent to you. 

Thinking about this moment now, nearly two months later when Steve is leaving for Indiana the next day, your heart aches. Where had the time gone? 

Standing on the beach with Steve, tears in your eyes, your heart pangs with sadness. You glance up at Steve. He breaks his glance at the beach to look down at you. He offers you a small,  half-smile, letting his fingertips guide strands of your hair away from your face. He pulls you into his chest, wrapping his strong arms around you. “In the beginning,” Steve begins to say, resting his chin softly on your head. “I thought you weren’t mine to lose, that this was just for the summer. But now, saying good-bye to you feels like the greatest loss.” 

You clench your jaw, wishing all your emotions away. You can’t think of anything to say. 

“-But I want to make this work. When you think about it, Indiana isn’t that far away. Throw some weekends trips in there, winter break will come in no time, and I can be here for a month.” You smile thinking about that, but it seems so far away.

Steve notices your mind drifting away. He turns towards you, loosening his arms around you to cup your face between your hands. “Hey,” Steve says, leaning his forehead onto yours. The tip of his nose brushes yours, your eyes staring into his. “We will make this work, okay?” 

You hesitate, and Steve wiggles you. “Okay?” he repeats. You can't help but smile at Steve showcasing his commitment, the feeling of anticipation of missing someone you've spent everyday with for the last few months and hope for the future beginning to fill you up.

You laugh, nodding. “Okay.” 

[secretagentsloveblogs]

i am NOT late to day one of Redactedtober 2023

ive never posted or shared fanfics before and im hella nervous to do so esp because i put this together in two hours with no proofreading

but i suppose now is as good a time as ever to post 🫡

uhhhh

1.3k words

cw: implied family trauma/abuse, read at ur own discression. nothing is "seen" in the fic.

Characters: Lovely x Vincent

prompt: Home

tagging: @specter-soltare @xanyiaz

Lovely shut off the car, sitting silent in the driveway for just a moment. They wanted to take a good look at the house before them. It'd been years.

Their childhood home.

They didn't know what exactly was pulling them, urging them to drive here today, they just knew they needed to see it again.

It wasn't nostalgia, really. There weren't many happy memories made in that house, so it wasn't like they missed it or anything. Just the opposite.

They stepped out of the car, leaves falling apart below their feet. The place could use some intense landscaping and yardwork, seems it hadn't been touched in decades. Moss had overwhelmed the front facing walls, the roof drain pipe was overfull with fallen leaves and pine needles, and god knows what else.

"Time has not been kind to you." They stated as they stuffed their hands in their pockets. With a sigh, they walked up the driveway. They weren't going to get caught for tresspassing, or breaking and entering, the house hadn't been touched in ages anyways. They also had no desire to go in the place, they just wanted to...peak around.

And peak they did.

Through the kitchen windows, they saw the old appliances they once used on a daily basis. The creaky cabinets were still the same, too.

Next was the living room windows. The house looked so different with no furniture, but it still felt all the same. You can't remove the memories of a place by replacing wallpaper or a fancy new rug.

They remembered what it was like, getting them and their siblings up for school each day. Taking care of the littles was important to Lovely. They needed to show them that if no one else, their older sibling wanted the best for them. Early mornings making breakfast, late nights helping the kids with homework, or trying to distract the young ones from the bickering down the hallway.

They hoped they had a good life now. Hoped they were happy.

With a heavy breath, they walked to the backyard gate, pushing the old metal back to let themselves in. The old tire swing came into view. A half smile grew over Lovely's face. Bittersweet.

Pushing the kids on the old rubber wheel, the laughter filling their memories. It was just enough to make them tear up for a moment.

They sat down on the swing, for the first time in years. The branch holding it leaned with the weight, but held strong just as well.

This house wasn't a happy one. It was... only okay for a few years. But the walls grew cold fast, and the warmth just never returned. It was as if it was built on a hellmouth, doomed from the beginning.

6:14 am. Shit, it's getting late. They needed to get home before the sun rose, Vincent would be getting back soon anyways. They stood from the swing and walked back to the car, looking back only once before they reached the car.

They drove with the top down on the car, taking in all the cool October air in their hair. The drive was therapeutic, leaving their old living quarters in the past.

As they pulled into the driveway, they smiled. A real smile. They took their time going inside, they just wanted to appreciate the place for what it is.

The garage smell that they hated, the quiet squeak in the door to the house, even the paint on the walls. (It was starting to chip, and the couple had planned on getting it fixed up, or even painting it a new color entirely, but for now they appreciated the wear and tear).

They wandered the place as if it was brand new to them, appreciating every doorframe and lightswitch in their path. Sure, it might seem goofy to take pride in these minor details but... to them, these things were signs of new beginnings. Happiness. A new life.

Lovely stumbled into the guest bedroom, the one they had taken over shortly after meeting Vincent. Some of their things still lived here in this room, but more as a decoration now.

They sat down on the bed, picturing the moment they had woken after Sam healed them. Lovely remember Vincent sitting next to them in the chair. How guilty he felt after the conflict happened. How they reached from the bed to lace their pinkies, a form of affection they share with him now. A way of reassuring him or themselves that things are okay. Will be okay. They had each other, through everything.

Lovely stood up, opening the doors to the, albeit small, closet. It was so cramped once they had officially moved in as Vincents... "little roommate," and the thought of the nickname made them laugh just as it had when he first said it.

Nothing besides some shelves and hangers existed in the closet now, making the space seem much bigger than they previously remembered.

Lovely heard Vincent pull into the garage now, his music blasting as always. They told him more than once that if they had closer neighbors, they'd get so many noise complaints because of him. (But that usually ended with him saying something about how the pair could give the neighbors something "different" to listen to, instead).

"Lovely?" His voice echoed through the house, but they were too focused on memories and appreciation to answer him just yet. They heard him placing the blood bags into the fridge, but they also smelt it, too. They delighted in the idea of feeding soon, but not yet.

"Baby? Whatcha doin'?" He asked, he had traced their aura to the guest bedroom. A look of confusion and curiousity played across his face when he found them standing inside the closet, of all places. It was weird enough for them to be in this bedroom, let alone the closet.

Lovely reached over with a smile, pulling him in with them. "Hi." They wrapped their arms around him, taking in the smell of him as much as they could.

Vincent stumbled slightly, he wasn't expecting his partner to practically jump in his arms upon greeting them. Or being pulled into the closet, but uh...priorities?

"Hi," He laughed, pressing a kiss to the top of their forehead, "you doin' alright?"

"Never been better." They mumbled into his chest softly. They reached for their boyfriends hand, lacing their fingers before pressing kisses to each one.

"Well... I'm glad you're good. But uh... any particular reason we're standing in the closet of your old bedroom right now? I mean, I'll hold you wherever you want me too, but it's a little cramped in here." He took a moment to look around them, realizing just how tiny it was. One wrong move and he could bump his head on a shelf or something.

"I know! I know. It's perfect, isn't it?" Lovely squealed, practically bouncing in their spot. This earned them a laugh out of Viincent, who was still very puzzled by his partner, but whatever made them happy made him happy.

"Well, I brought home some blood bags, if you want to join me for one?" He asked. It had been a couple days since the pair had fed, and it'd be nice to feed again soon.

"Hold on, just wait. I want to stay here for just a minute."

"So... while we are here, you wanna explain what exactly we're doing in the closet right now?" Their boyfriend asked, though he showed no intention from moving from where he stood, his arms wrapped tightly around his partner.

"I was just... appreciating the place. The life I have now. And now that you're here... my home." They looked up with a smile, leaning on their toes to kiss him on the cheek. The sentiment made vincent smile wide, nodding as he pulled them in as close as possible. He shared that sentiment too, Lovely was just as much his home as he was theirs.

They wouldn't have it any other way.

[myulalie]

Author interview

@aceon-ice tagged me and I’m really looking forward to this, thank you ♥

1. How many works do you have on ao3:

165 and I am extremely upset because Alex Rider got more than Teen Wolf and I can’t seem to catch up D:

2. What's my total ao3 wc:

1 047 026. wow. apparently I wrote 400k in 2020 and I’ve been putting out between 100 and 200k every year since, just wow.

3. What are my top 5 fics by kudos:

Mixing business with pleasure (Explicit, Malec, Shadowhunters)

Alec has to go to the Seelie Queen herself and strike a deal, release Jace from the curse in exchange of… what, exactly? He has nothing to offer. Magnus Bane is the warlock who grants wishes. His father is a Prince of Hell after all, the demon of lust… maybe Alec has something to offer then.

Yeah this fic took off alright, I really liked the concept ♥

Eyes on Fire (Teen, Sterek, Teen Wolf)

When a rival pack goes after Scott and his friends, Stiles finds himself caught in the crossfire. With his subsequent turning to haunt him among other nightmares, Stiles has to learn how to control his new abilities and make something of a situation he never wanted for himself, much less with the tensions that linger in Beacon Hills since the awakening of the Nemeton. As he eventually figures out how to be a werewolf, he finally finds common ground with one Derek Hale, catching feelings as he goes. The unexpected alliance might be just what Beacon Hills needs to bring the established werewolf packs together once and for all.

This was my first reverse bang and I finally tried my hand at werewolf!Stiles, I had a lot of fun coming up with the fic to match the art.

Deepest Desires (give in) (General, Malec, Shadowhunters)

Were-cats are good luck by shadowhunters' standards, so when a black, jewelry covered cat appears at the Institute, Alec pays him his respects. He needs it, considering the messes Clary and Jace keep dragging him in. Alec certainly doesn't expect the were-cat to take a liking to him, and even less to start flirting with him...

Now I want to read it again haha

A piece of night sky (Teen, Malec, Shadowhunters)

Alec is doing his best to keep the city safe. With no support from the Clave, the New York Institute is desperately understaffed. He begins patrolling with help from the Downworld factions - which proves to be tricky at best, and becomes almost impossible when the werewolves start hunting Alec.  His siblings have no idea of what he’s up to at night and to keep them all safe Alec needs to keep it that way. Then, he meets the High Warlock of Brooklyn. Suddenly, patrolling also includes pop songs and bird puns in between watching someone's back when fighting demons. But, what’s one more secret to keep?

This was my first collab with a beta and an artist for a bang, I’m exceptionally proud of this one!

(Vir)Gin and Tonic (Mature, Malec, Shadowhunters)

Alec and Magnus have barely met when the High Warlock asks for virgin shadowhunter energy in exchange for Clary’s memories. Naturally, Jace offers Alec’s virginity. It doesn’t go according to plan.

The first fic in this list is actually a remix of this one with a slightly different take on virginity x)

4. Do you respond to comments, why or why not?

Yes, always! I just love interacting with other fans, it’s nice to know someone actually read your fic and noticed details or reacted to some choices you made in the narrative. Also it can be a great way to find new ideas and motivation, I wish I could be more invested in writing communities to keep those creative juices flowing.

5. What fic has the angstiest ending?

I’d say Dangerous Tastes (Explicit, Yalex, Alex Rider), it’s a bit of a star-crossed lovers romance and the ending is particularly bittersweet, albeit hopeful.

After a failed assassination attempt during his horse ride around the property, Alex gets a bodyguard against his will. He keeps flirting with danger from then on, even at the risk of getting his heart broken.

6. What fic has the happiest ending?

Oh, definitely 17 Suits (Explicit, Malec, Shadowhunters)! Alec and Magnus find common ground over the one thing that pushed them apart all throughout the story.

Magnus Bane, a sworn bachelor, receives his fair share of wedding invitations on a regular basis and makes sure his friends get through their weddings unscathed. One dark, wounded and mysterious Alec Lightwood is not going to rain on Magnus’ parade as he celebrates the best day of his loved ones’ lives.

7. Do you write crossovers?

Not really, I don’t read them either. I do write fusion fics though, specifically Pokémon like I did with Idris Tour Sweethearts (General, Malec, Shadowhunters) for instance.

Alec is fascinated by dragon types and has learned everything about them in books. He’s always dreamed of finding them in the wild and see them for himself, but he never went on his journey with a Pokémon and now, it’s too late to travel the world. Except, is it? Alec’s siblings are all grown up, and he doesn’t have a job — or friends — to keep him in his hometown. He could leave and attempt to complete the Pokédex, hopefully meeting some dragons along the way. Maybe he’ll even find love, like so many Idris Tour sweethearts before him… But the winner of Pokémon beauty Contests, Top Coordinator Magnus Bane, couldn’t possibly want more than one night in Alec’s arms. Right?

8. Have you received hate on ao3?

No? but then I usually assume good faith so unless you’re insulting me or my mom I’ll either think the comment is clumsy but the person meant well, or just move on. 

9. Do you write smut?

Yeah, surprisingly. I was never really interested in smut, would even skip smut scenes for the longest time but eventually I found it useful in some stories and then I made a point of doing kinktober (Malec, Shadowhunters / Sterek, Teen Wolf) and smutember (Yalex, Alex Rider) just to figure out how to fit the prompts into some ideas and it’s been a lot of fun!

10. Have you had a fic get stolen?

I don’t think so or at least I’m not aware if there has been one. I did occasionally share ideas that got passed around and written by somebody else which is always uncomfortable but that’s on me for both sharing and not mentioning it wasn’t up for grabs lmao

11. Have you had a fic get translated?

Nope! I thought of translating a couple myself though, I’m just too lazy x)

12. Have you co-written a fic?

Several! Even though @spark-draws will deny it I do consider them a co-writer because they came up with a good chunk of the outline and I implemented major edits due to their feedback on The Mortal Instruments: Skyrim (Mature, Malec, Shadowhunters). 

Magnus and Alec are now enemies who have been saddled up with a mysterious quest to save Skyrim. Will rivalry, distrust and fierce and dangerous dragons get the better of them? Or will they find some much needed guidance on the slopes of the Throat of the World, where a mysterious brotherhood holds some of the answers they so desperately need?

I also recently worked on Vastly Different Things (Teen, Yalex, Alex Rider) with @polarnachtsblog as a thank you fic for our pinch-hitter in the Yalex Secret Santa. We literally wrote parts of the fic on our own then merged it all together with minor edits and transitions, it was a lot of fun!

Alex almost gets tossed from a helicopter into a river in Chile, and spends some quality time with a certain assassin.

13. What's your fav ship?

Right now I’m on a roll for Sam Carter x Ba’al (Stargate SG-1) but my one true pairing is definitely Helen Blackthorn x Aline Penhallow (Shadowhunters). I love them. so much.

14. What's a WIP you want to finish but never will?

I don’t know, I’ve completed WIPs several years after I started them so I tend to not consider a fic discontinued until I’ve deleted the fic from the platform, and considering most of my WIPs have not been posted anywhere… ;)

15. What are my writing strengths?

I’m really good at “getting it done” I think because productivity breeds productivity. If you get started and power through long enough, it becomes easier and you can keep going and enjoy yourself while you’re at it!

Same with edits, I’m not afraid to change things (although I can be lazy). It also applies to plotting/outlining, I’m an excellent planner, sometimes too much of a planner though.

Style wise I’ve been told I’m good at writing fight scenes and setting, I do enjoy my descriptions!

16. What are my writing weaknesses?

I’ve always thought I’m terrible at dialogue!

I can get stuck in a writing slump from too much planning.

17. What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages on ao3?

I used to really like it, especially since I’m bilingual myself. I wanted to use some fancy script to have the translation appear when you hover or link it to the notes and then back to the exact line in the story but I couldn’t figure it out xD

Nowadays I like the much simpler “POV character doesn’t speak the language” or “blah blah blah, they said in French”. You get it or you don’t x) 

18. What's the first fandom you wrote for?

Either Naruto or Harry Potter, let’s say Harry Potter because there is a completed fic I can actually remember lmao.

19. What fandom/ship have you not written but want to?

Definitely Stargate SG-1 these days because I’m on a Sam/Ba’al binge!

20. What's your fav fic you've written?

Right about now it’s Blue for Brooklyn (Teen, Malec, Shadowhunters) but it may change depending on my mood!

Asmodeus is a legend among Shadowhunters and Magnus has a duty to the Downworld. When a renegade warlock unleashes a powerful demon in the streets, he has no choice but to get involved.

Tagging: @polarnachtsblog @geekmom13 @brightasstars @sterekxhale @countessrivers @1lostone @strangesoulmates @kelkblr @lastlymatt @ravenjames @junemermaid @freesirius4life @turtlesnails

[whosaya]

It is beginning to look a lot like Christmas...

But this year, that feeling stirs something different inside me. When I was younger, Christmas was pure magic, with bright lights, presents under the tree, and the thrill of waiting for something wonderful. Now, as I get older, Christmas feels deeper, more layered. It’s no longer just the excitement of gifts or holiday songs on repeat. It’s a time to reflect on the year that’s passed and to hold close the people who mean the most to me.

The holiday season still has its sparkle, but I notice how fragile that joy can feel, too. Traditions change, people come and go, and Christmas takes on new meanings. It’s both comforting and a little bittersweet. This year, as I look around at the decorations and hear the familiar carols, I feel a mix of nostalgia and gratitude. Christmas isn’t just about what I once thought it was, it became a moment to cherish where I am, who I’m with, and the memories that brought me here.

Yet, something feels different this year, a quiet, empty space where my dad used to be. Last october, we lost him, and this is the second Christmas without him here. My sisters, who were so close to him, seem to carry memories of him like treasures, each story and tradition shared filling their hearts with a bittersweet kind of comfort. For them, Christmas is a chance to remember the good times, to laugh and cry over the moments they shared with him. I wish I could feel that same warmth, but the truth is, my dad and I were never quite as close.

Growing up, it was always my sisters who had those easy conversations with him, who seemed to understand him in a way I never could. I loved him, of course, but our bond was different, quieter, sometimes a little strained. Now, I find myself wondering what Christmas might have been like if we’d had more time, or if I’d somehow bridged that distance between us. The memories I have of him feel more scattered, less certain, and this season I feel caught between missing him and missing the closeness I never really got to have.

But as Christmas gets closer, I feel the ache of my dad’s absence, like a quiet, lingering sadness that’s hard to put into words. But there’s something else there too, warmth that I didn’t expect, a feeling of comfort that I know comes from having my stepfather here. I may not have had the closest bond with my dad, but with my stepdad, it’s different. He’s been there for me in ways that felt natural, filling spaces I didn’t even know were empty.

As Christmas approaches this year, I find myself reflecting on the life I have now. One that’s shaped by love, growth, and unexpected joys. Though things have changed and there are still moments of longing for what could have been, I’ve come to appreciate the family I have today. My stepfather, with his quiet strength and unwavering presence, has become an anchor in my life, and I’m grateful for the bond we’ve built. This Christmas feels different, not because it’s perfect, but because I’ve learned to embrace the beauty in what is. The memories we’re creating together are just as meaningful as the ones that came before, and as the season unfolds, I realize that the true gift is appreciating the life I have now, with all its imperfections and all its love.

Wishing you a season filled with warmth, joy and cherished moments. <3

[feralego]

@wristful / @timetell sent "an exploratory kiss,  testing the waters between them" 

Luz jumps a little when she hears Logan's unexpected, 3 am entrance into the kitchen, but she warms at the sight of him. Happy to see that she'd not been the only one unable to sleep; happy in a bittersweet way to share the misery of insomnia with someone.

Even if it means she'd been caught in her little pajama shorts and camisole, her robe abandoned on the counter by the fridge to keep the too-long sleeves clean and clear of the stovetop.

"Hot chocolate?" she asks him, her voice too quiet for how far they are from the sprawling bedroom wings of the Westchester mansion. An old habit carried over from when she'd still lived with her step-father. "We just got marshmallows today. I threw the old ones out so Sean would stop throwing them at Josh."

Logan tells her, yes, he'd like some, and Luz pours a little extra milk, sugar, and chocolate into the pot on the stove, stirring it all together. And they chat a bit--avoiding the topic of what, exactly, was keeping them up--while Luz takes care not to scald the mixture.

They move to the window bench in the breakfast nook when the drinks are poured, and silence finds them there, weaving into the space between them while finish. It gets comfortable there, wound around them and holding them close. Working in tandem with the chill from the old windows to draw them closer together, until their knees bump together; until the sides of their thighs are flush against one another.

Luz blushes a little--literally glows a little--looking down into her lap, and her hair falls forward from where it had been tucked behind her ear. But Logan lifts a hand and sweeps the strands back into place, as though he can't stand not to look at her.

Pulling her head back up, she wets her lips and looks at him. Really looks at him.

Logan is familiar. He's a good friend. A comfortable companion. And she's not so naive as to not notice the way he watches her. But she's never really-- She's never really felt anything like this for him. And she is curious.

And so she moves in to kiss him, and she tastes the sweetness of the sugar and the warmth of the vanilla and the bitterness of the chocolate all lingering on his lips. All things she'd put there; things she'd given him to enjoy.

Perhaps she is one more thing she can give him, if he'll let her

Suddenly she's shifting, rocking further over onto her hip, one leg curling up onto the bench beneath her to get a better angle. A hand gripping lightly against his pajama top and the other laid gently against his face.

And just as Logan's shaking hands begin to stake claims of their own--one finding the curve of her hip, the other snaking around behind her waist--her empty mug thuds against the old rug on the floor, startling her for the second time that night, pulling her out of the moment and away from Logan.

Her heart beating furiously in her chest, she gets to her feet in record time, plucking the unbroken mug up off the floor with a rush of adrenaline.

"--oh, thank god," she breathes after examining the porcelain for chips, scuffs, anything that would have spelled trouble for her in her old household, all the while, her limbs fading in and out of view.

Only then, once she's sure there'd been no damage, does she look back at Logan, expression sheepish and half-transparent. Ghostly.

"I-- I'm sorry."

He won't see her again until the afternoon.

[todayisafridaynight]

Prior to sending the ask I was just guessing what matrophobia meant based on the root words but I looked it up after and went ohhhh and then you confirmed that extra dimension to it and I went OHHHHH

I think that gets to the heart of what I've been thinking about, that bittersweetness, because despite his best efforts... of course he could never end up anything like Yoko, but he still ended up with an abusive "household." Because in addition to Masato ending up how he did, he has to see those same situations play out, feel that same tension in the air between Jo and Ichi, over and over for almost a decade straight.

Like, in a way, he's forced to put himself in Toshio's shoes when that happens. He can't really get through to Jo, in the same way Toshio can't get through to Yoko, but he can try to step in before lasting damage is done, and he can try to make it bearable for his son. You know. Have a nice talk. Treat him to Peking duck. I'm SO normal about the (drawn-out) parallels of those scenes

So then with Jo... he kind of does become his father, even if he never wanted to (no one wants to), both through his ruinous neglect of Masato at birth and through how he comes to look at discipline and corporal punishment. I'm sure it's not lost on him in Masato's case (owww), but with Ichi, it's not like he has any reason to see him as his son... But How Far Can That Take You.

Because it's like, at the start, he was openly beating Ichi in front of Arakawa and not letting up much when Arakawa intervened. But then you have The Yubitsume Scene and Arakawa walking in on All That and... he looks sorry. Sorry for being caught, probably, but sorry nonetheless. Like... what changed between then and now... have you two had a Heartfelt Conversation... do you know where Arakawa got that scar... are you unable to change your "nature" even then...

Side note bro your SHOE is the size of his TORSO I promise you do not need to kick him with all the strength you've got like what the hell is this 😭😭😭

BUT ALL THAT ASIDE thank you so much for delving into the symbolism! Wonderful read. I don't really have an eye for symbolism, so that makes it all the more enjoyable to revisit the comic and everything with what you've gone into. I think a lot of your experiences resonate with mine, so conversely I'm not sure what others would take away from it, BUT I think there's enough there that's so insightful and evocative that it's effective without personal experience. I don't think there's anything I could add, so. Yeah. For once I am happy to sit back and take it all in... On that note, definitely looking forward to your next comic!

AUUUGH YEAAAH YEAHEYA HYEAH THAT EXACTLY OUUUGH OWIEE OWW.....

that's literally it though. like no extra notes. except The Obligatory Few i dont think it was an accident that arakawa is set up as the beginning of the game's 'protagonist' and planting that 'troubled family' taste first thing in our mind. i remember how i felt when i first saw arakawa walk in on jo and ichi and then arakawa taking ichi out for dinner i was just like🧍‍♂️Girl No The Cycle.... It's Continuing...... //screams// LIKE UGH IT WAS SO GOOD BUT ALSO OWWW STOPPP and then on the REPLAY it just hurts more cause with the added context to jo's character its like Oh No...... You're Your Father's Son....

and youre right: jo doesn't have an implicit reason to see how he treats ichi is wrong, hence he similarly doesnt have any reason to stop- not unless arakawa intervenes of course (and i will stand outside my window thinking of the possibility arakawa ever did try to have A Conversation with jo... arms folded behind my back and all like Man™️....)

oh but yeah, absolutely no problem ! im lowkey of an egotist so i do like to talk bout the stuff i make. More In Depth (though thats obvious considering the fuckin essays in the tags i always leave ☠️☠️) gerjlgaELKjg. so i was happy to explain ♪(´▽｀) !! what i like about symbolism is that it can be intentional or not, and the fun is always finding it just by chance. i cant explain it properly, but i just think its a neat 'seasoning' of sorts to drawings (❁´◡`❁)

[writer-in-theory]

my baby's got a gun — spencer reid

summary: of all the agents, they never expected spencer to get caught in an unsub's web—most dangerous of all, they never expected it to be her. request?: no pairing: spencer reid x fem!unsub!reader category: smut, angst with bittersweet ending content warnings: 18+ MINORS DNI, language, murder(like, a lot of it), a bit of anti-cop statements in the beginning (reader), references to the cat adams plot, heavy allusions to past csa (spencer), unprotected sex, oral sex (male and female receiving), brief choking, gun kink (it’s one quick line), pet names (baby mostly), light degradation, extremely morally gray characters word count: 7.8k a/n: so um, hi everyone. this idea came out of nowhere after the release of hayloft ii yesterday. i spent a lot of the night furiously typing away and it felt a little like a fever dream. no beta on this one, so please excuse any mistakes. also, please keep in mind this is unsub!reader. their relationship is definitely a lil problematic. with that, enjoy. spotify playlist

masterlist

“Pops, please! Please it’s not what you think, don’t hurt him!”

“Get out of the way or I’ll shoot you too!”

“Papa, please! Don’t do this, you don’t have to do this!”

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Spencer, I’m so happy to meet you in person.”

Even without the knowledge he had of her, Spencer knew not to mess with this woman just by looking at her. She was smiling, yes, but her eyes snapped around the restaurant from the moment she stepped foot inside—a careful and thorough analysis of the environment completed in mere seconds. It was his turn next, her eyes looking once, twice over him from where he stood. Normally he would have thought the way she lingered on his waist was a bold flirtation tactic but even Spencer had done the same, looking in all the spots she could have possibly hidden a weapon.

“You look beautiful,” Spencer returned, wrapping his arms around her in a hug despite the way it sent chills down his back. This woman had a kill count higher than nearly every other unsub they’d tracked down, even with his team as backup she could kill him in seconds.

“I am beautiful,” she corrected, sliding into the seat across from Spencer at the table. Just over her shoulder, he could see Rossi sitting in a booth, menu held up to conceal the weapon he had in his hand. Though he couldn’t see them, he knew Derek and Tara were right behind them to keep their eyes on this woman’s reactions. “but so are you.”

“Good evening, you two. Have you had time to look over the menu or do you need a few minutes?” the waitress asked as she stepped over.

Even still, the woman in front of Spencer kept up her polite facade, smiling and saying, “We’ll need a few minutes. We’ll call you over when we’re ready.”

“So, have you thought more about it?”

“Woah, jumping right into it, are we?” she countered, smirking and wrapping her fingers around the glass in front of her. “You don’t want to talk for a little bit, get to know each other?”

“Why, do you?” Spencer pressed back, leaning forward against his forearms on the table.

“I like to get to know my clients before just doing what they want, surely you get that.”

“I do. You don’t like to be given orders, it challenges your superiority complex.”

“Oh, I have a superiority complex now?” she laughed, copying Spencer’s stance by leaning forward against the table. “That’s no way to get a contract signed, now is it, Dr. Reid?”

“Did you really think we’d be signing a contract today?” Spencer asked, watching her face for any minute change in her expression. Of course, she was an expert at this: there was no change perceptible change, just that cool smirk that made his blood run hot.

“No,” she confirmed, easier than he thought it’d be. This was part of what he enjoyed about the job anymore—the chase, coaxing each unsub so they walked right into the cuffs themselves. It was usually far easier than Spencer expected from the worst criminals in the nation, but occasionally they’d get one who actually gave him a run for his money—someone who kept him coming to work every day, in the hopes that the next case file would be theirs.

“Then why did you show up? Why take the risk?”

“Maybe I wanted to meet the famous Dr. Spencer Reid,” she answered, the smirk widening into a dangerous smile as she added, “It’s not every day an FBI agent is convicted for murder.”

“I wasn’t convicted, the charges were dropped.”

“Ooh, defensive. I like that in a man.”

“I’m not defensive, I was correcting your obvious error. Clearly, you’re nothing to worry about if you can’t get basic facts about me right,” Spencer snapped. He’d expected the comments about his stay in prison, had even braced himself for the reminder of the worst months of his life. Still, before he could stop it his hands clenched tightly into fists, fingers curling into the arms of his suit jacket.

He knew about women like her. She would try to get a rise out of him, would try to anger him so badly he makes a mistake.

There would be no mistake, not tonight.

“Wow, already underestimating me. Cat was right about you.”

“You spoke to Cat?” Spencer asked. She hadn’t, he knew enough from the prison logs that no one with her description had come into the facility Cat Adams was currently imprisoned in.

“What, you think us ladies don’t talk? News flash, Dr. Reid, we share all the dirty details.”

“What ‘dirty details’ did she share about me then?” Spencer asked, trying to press for any more information. Unfortunately, they didn’t have much on this woman—they weren’t even sure they had the right name.

All they had was that she popped up as a hitwoman not long after Cat Adams was arrested. She killed each of her victims without any discrimination or remorse, with a few obvious exceptions. Specific clients began turning up dead—single fathers.

They’d searched for her the best they could. All they had was the name she went by—Daisy. There were no foster system records, no hospital records they could find either. She was well and truly off the map. To the US government, she hardly existed at all.

“Now that’s the question of the hour, isn’t it?” she asked instead of answering, leaning back and settling into her seat. “What do I get for telling you?”

“What do you want?”

“I want a lot of things, Dr. Reid, but somehow I doubt you’d actually give me any of them.”

“You won’t know unless you tell me,” Spencer told her, trying to keep her talking for as long as possible. The plan had worked with Cat, another unsub they’d profiled similarly to her, it would work now. All they needed to do was get an opportunity to take Daisy in alive without any risk to civilians.

“I heard you like games, is that true?”

“Cat lost every game she played, you really want to try that?”

“I’m not Cat Adams.” It was the first sign of anything other than a cool composure. It was small, barely there, but Spencer caught it in her eyes. Anger, fury, a deep resentment for being compared to the woman he’d won against.

“You’re not,” Spencer agreed, “you’re a silly little girl who’s waving a gun around and trying to be her hero.”

A sharp laugh slipped from her lips then, bitter like an unripe orange. “You think Cat Adams is my hero?”

“Why else would you be taking over her contracts?”

“Cat Adams is a joke,” she spat out.

“Why go through the trouble of talking to her then?” Nothing Daisy was saying was adding up, nothing giving Spencer even a tiny handhold to grip onto.

“Isn’t it obvious? I thought you were a genius with two PhDs or something.”

“Three.”

“And you make sure everyone knows it, don’t you?” she said, smirking as Spencer’s body involuntarily jolted. She was infuriating to a whole new level, only increasing his need to catch her. This would be over tonight, of that Spencer was sure. “Because deep down, you know you’d be nothing without that intelligence. Everyone you’ve ever known has kept you around because of it, because it makes you useful to them. That sound about right, Dr. Reid?”

“Applications to be a profiler closed a month ago, sorry,” was all Spencer could say, words clipping off sharply in his attempt to keep his cool around her. He’d never admit it to her that, yes, there were times he wondered what would happen if he couldn’t be useful to his friends. He’d like to think by now that they’d keep him around but then again, who really knew for sure?

“I don’t need to be law enforcement to feel powerful,” she said simply, shrugging her shoulders. “You can’t say the same though, can you?”

“No, you just have to kill people to feel good about yourself.”

“So do you,” she snapped, “the difference is you have a shiny badge that gives you permission.”

“The people I’ve had to kill deserved it.”

“So did mine, Dr. Reid. The world isn’t as black and white as you cops want it to seem.”

That, unfortunately, was a lesson learned the hard way. It didn’t happen all of a sudden, but rather slowly, every time he woke up Spencer believed a little less in the mission. To protect the American people. Somehow, firing a weapon upon them or taking risks to save their team at the expense of others didn’t particularly feel like protecting anyone.

As time went on, sometimes Spencer wondered if they were doing more harm than good.

That was exactly what Daisy wanted him to think, though. She wanted him stuck in his head, making him doubt everything so she could get away. Whatever she wanted out of tonight, Spencer would make sure she didn’t get it.

“Did they deserve it because they hurt their children?” Spencer pushed, recognizing an opportunity when he saw one. It was the perfect moment to exploit, to press on any vulnerable wound still bleeding on this woman.

“What, you think I’m killing dad’s because my daddy hurt me?” She laughed again, quick and sharp like the sound of glass shattering. “I may have daddy issues, but Pops never hurt me.”

“I don’t believe you,” Spencer shot back. He knew that look, that bracing of her expression every time her father was mentioned.

“Why not? You think you know me, Dr. Reid?”

“I do know you,” Spencer answered quickly, giving her his own smirk in return. “You’re just like everyone else we catch. You kill because you’re too scared to kill the person who hurt you. You think see his face on every person you shoot because you know you’ll never be able to hurt him like he hurt you.”

“Let me make one thing clear, Dr. Reid. I’m not scared of my Pops, not anymore,” Daisy answered coolly, though the rough-cut edges of her stare told another story than the calm words she uttered now. “And what about you? I did my research too, and I found some interesting things about you. You specialize in catching sexual sadists, am I right? With your logic, wouldn’t that suggest you’re hunting them because you got hurt too? Did Daddy hurt you, Spencer?”

‘Reid, we can pull back and re-evaluate. Say the word and the team will come in.’ Emily spoke directly from the earpiece, giving him an out from being exposed by yet another unsub. Emily would never know how much the suggestion hurt, would never know the way he fought now not to remember everything he’d once shoved deep down inside himself.

“No.” The simple word was for both Emily and Daisy. No, he wouldn’t give up on this woman, and no, his entire career wasn’t because of his father. His father had nothing to do with his life now.

They couldn’t arrest this woman now, not when they knew so little about her. Just as Cat had, this woman could easily have an escape plan they didn’t know about. She could have a partner, someone waiting to bail her out when things began to look tight. She could be planning anything right now and they didn’t know, Spencer didn’t know. No, they couldn’t give up now.

If he wasn’t determined before, he knew now that he would do what it took to figure her out.

“What do you want, Daisy?”

“Don’t call me that,” she said quickly, shoulders hunching in forward as she began to close off more. Why not? It was a name the media had begun calling her after the recent murders, where a single daisy had been left in the bullet wounds of the men she’d killed.

“What should I call you then?” Would he be so lucky as to get a name? Was she slipping so soon in the game? It almost made Spencer disappointed, wondering if his opponent truly wasn’t as good a match as he thought.

“Well if it’s you, then you can call me Baby.”

“I’m not calling you that.”

“Then this conversation is over.” Why was she so difficult? No one had ever made him as angry as she did, no one had ever stumped him as much as this.

“Fine,” Spencer conceded, rolling his eyes at the strange request. He knew it for what it was: a power play. She was beginning to feel boxed in so would do anything she could to exert more power over him, even if it was something as simple as a name.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“What do you want, Baby?” Spencer repeated the question, trying to make it sound as cold and robotic as possible. She wanted a reaction, and he’d be sure not to give it to her.

“Aww, I’m so glad you asked. I want to go on a little road trip with you.”

“Absolutely not,” Spencer shot back at the exact moment Emily said it into his ear.

“I thought you wanted to know more about me, Doctor.”

“The Bureau has protocols, I can’t just take you on a road trip,” Spencer countered.

“What, you’re really worried about what the Bureau thinks of you? The same Bureau that completely abandoned you after you were falsely imprisoned? The Bureau that only cares about you if you’re serving them?”

Those were the words, the rage-filled thoughts that flooded his brain as he laid awake at night in his prison cell. He’d wondered why—why couldn’t they trust him, why couldn’t they help him? Sure, he’d made a mistake, but who hadn’t?

With daunting clarity, Spencer realized exactly one thing from this meeting: this woman knew far much more about him than he did her. She was dangerous, and he wanted to know more.

“No, no road trip.”

“Bummer, I was really looking forward to ‘Life is a Highway’ and gas station snacks with you,” she answered, sounding anything but upset. If anything, it seemed more like she’d expected that response from him. “Then I’d like to go now.”

“Do you really think we’re going to just let you walk out of here?” Who did she think she was? Maybe she was more delusional than Spencer thought she was.

“Normally, no, but considering my partner is exactly a minute from Henry LaMontagne’s school right now I think you will.”

Each word sent a dagger straight through Spencer’s chest. He could see JJ over this woman’s shoulder jolt, unable to do anything but glare at the back of this woman’s head. This was Henry, Spencer’s godson and the most adorable little boy he’d ever met (though Michael was giving him a run for his money, too).

“Go on, talk to your team. I know they can hear me.”

Immediately Spencer spoke, “Can we get there?”

‘Not in a minute,’ Emily spoke immediately, sounding as physically pained at the thought as Spencer felt. This was it, the trump card that he’d been trying to find all night. It was Henry.

‘What are the odds she’s bluffing?’

‘I’m not risking that,’ JJ chimed in, looking near tears.

“I’m not either,” Spencer reassured her before looking right back at this woman. She was smirking, pulling on her coat as though she knew already that she’d won. “Okay, you can go. This isn’t over.”

“Oh, it better not be, Dr. Reid,” the woman stated as she stood up, “this was far too easy.”

And as she walked out of the restaurant past his entire time, Spencer couldn’t help but think that he was missing the point of this meeting entirely.

It took five weeks to see a sign of her again.

In that time, it was safe to say Spencer had become obsessed. This was a woman who not only tried to challenge him, but won. She came to play and she walked out of the restaurant a free woman. She outsmarted and outplayed him, simple as that.

They’d searched for weeks, trying to find anything they could use against this woman. There was just nothing. What they did find, though, was that she almost hardly worked with other people. This was a solo killer, one who had played them all well. She’d bluffed and none of them called her out on it.

It was when Spencer came home from a case that he saw the first signs of her.

Sitting on his desk, beside a carefully plucked daisy, was a note.

Dr. Reid,

Come meet me where a piece of the sun grows from the Earth each summer.

Spencer knew it was a bad idea. The implications of getting caught alone with her would be far too great. How would it look if the agent previously accused of murder was found talking with one of the few unsubs who had actually escaped from them?

Still, now was the chance to learn more about her. He needed to know—had to figure out how this woman had beaten him.

That was how Spencer ended up standing in a field of not-quite-ready to bloom sunflowers, gun in its holster but his hand inches from it.

“I missed you, Dr. Reid,” a voice cooed from behind him. She was there, dressed in dark-colored pants and shirt. The red of her lips stood out under the full moon, reflecting the danger she carried tattooed within her.

“Why would you lie about Henry?” Spencer asked immediately.

“I don’t mess with kids, let’s get that straight,” she answered, sounding almost offended at the assumption, “but I knew it’d get you to let me go. A little white lie never hurt anyone.”

“How many people have you hurt since then?”

“Do you really care to know? Or are you just trying to convince yourself this is a bad thing?”

“It is a bad thing,” Spencer practically hissed back at her. How could she possibly imply anything else?

“Wow, they really have you nicely collared and leashed like a good puppy, don’t they?”

“Why am I here?” Spencer sighed.

“What would your team think if they knew you were here?” she asked instead, making Spencer wonder what the fascination was with answering questions with more questions that all unsubs seemed to have. Still, he would play her game for now, if it meant learning something from this.

“They wouldn’t like it.”

“And why not?”

“Because it’s breaking the law.”

“Ah, interesting you say that, Dr. Reid,” the woman countered, stepping closer to him as she did. “Your team breaks the law all the time if it means catching the big baddie, so that’s not it. Think a little deeper, really try to think about this. I want an honest answer.”

Spencer knew the answer she was looking for. He knew it because it wasn’t necessarily wrong either. He could see Emily’s face if he ever admitted to this, he heard JJ telling him to take a break, to let this case go before it ruins him. “They think I’ve gotten too close to this case, too obsessed.”

“With this case, or with me?”

“Both,” Spencer admitted, pulling a smile out of the woman.

“Because you can’t stand the fact that a woman beat you.”

“I can’t stand that anyone beat me.”

“I like you, Spencer,” Baby told him, reaching up to pat his cheek twice. “Let’s go on that roadtrip.”

“No,” he answered again. There was a limit to his curiosity, he knew there had to be. There was a line that he was getting dangerously close to crossing, and Spencer wasn’t sure he could ever come back from that.

“Aren’t you curious about what it is I have to show you?” When there was no answer, she let out a dramatic sigh. “Fine, I’ll go. Guess you’ll just have to deal with never knowing.”

She walked by him, and Spencer could hear the plants rustling to evidence the fact that she really did intend on leaving just like that. It would’ve been easier to let her walk away. The smart move would be to let her leave then tell the team about this, to tell them that she was just as obsessed with him as he was her.

Would that truly help anything though? If anything, the team would be more concerned. They’d been walking on eggshells around him since prison, surely this would only add to the treatment. JJ had asked him once if he ever considered leaving the Bureau, if he’d lost faith in them after what had happened. Spencer had never even considered it until now, until this damn woman put the thoughts directly back into his head.

The Bureau wouldn’t help him with this, they’d put him on another psych leave.

“Wait,” Spencer forced out, not looking over his shoulder but knowing she’d stopped walking anyway. “Where are we going?”

“Tennessee.”

“I have to be back by Monday.���

“Done,” she stated simply. “Come on then, Dr. Reid, we’ve got a lot of ground to cover.

Anyone would’ve been able to tell you that this was a risky mistake.

Getting involved with a federal agent could mean your direct end. One wrong move, one simple miscalculation, and you’d become well acquainted with the feeling of a chemically-stopped heart. This was a well-calculated risk, though, because this wasn’t just any federal agent. This was Dr. Spencer Reid, who had been to prison and back, who had gotten involved with another killer before.

Spencer was no ordinary FBI agent.

The car ride was mostly silent, and as expected Spencer spent the majority of it with his hand near his gun. You’d pulled your own out and sat it in your lap, a quick reminder that he wasn’t as in control as he thought he was.

“Did you know you can tell a lot about a person based on their opening positions in chess?” you asked, smirking at the clear surprise painted over Spencer’s face. He would never stop underestimating you, would he? It would catch up to him eventually, of that he was sure.

“You play chess?”

“When I can manage to find a good opponent,” you answered. “I bet you play the Reti the most. Strong, quick starts that grab control of the board as soon as possible. It’s a risky move, one that requires complete faith that you’re the most intellectual person at that board. It’s risky because you don’t take many risks after the beginning. You’ll pass up easy captures because you know your original strategy doesn’t need altering. It’s like you’re not even playing against another person, you’re just concerned with your own moves.”

“What about you then? Do you play a Queen’s Gambit?”

“You’re cute, but no,” you told him, shaking your head. It was an obvious choice for him to make for you: named for the female piece, the ambition, the practicality of thinking through every option. “You can try again later.”

“Where are we going?”

“Trust the process, Dr. Reid,” you cooed, wishing he’d stop asking that question every chance he could. “I’ve answered a lot of your questions, I think it’s time you start answering mine.”

“Like what?”

“Honestly, I can’t seem to figure out how you survived three months of prison,” you told him, glancing over to see his tightened expression, “not when the way you’re acting now makes it obvious you’re a cop. Unless...”

“Unless?”

“What did you do in there, Spencer?” No answer. “It’s okay, there’s no judgment here. After all, I bet I’ve done much worse for something less important as survival.”

You would give him a few minutes—time to gather what he could possibly say and time for him to try to figure out your intentions. How could he possibly figure you out though, when Spencer was so clearly confused about himself? He’d lost who he was years ago, but that was just how they’d wanted him—lost, confused, nothing without this job.

“I poisoned several inmates because they’d killed my only friend. They could have easily died,” Spencer admitted, and you fought the triumphant smirk that wanted to reveal itself.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you told him instead. “And I totally get it. They probably would’ve killed you if you hadn’t, right? You did what you needed to do.”

“I guess.”

“What?” you asked, feigning surprise at his guilt-ridden words. “That’s not what you’ve heard?”

“I’m a federal agent,” Spencer stated as if that explained anything. Sometimes these people could be so dense, with their tightly-wound morals.

“So what? You can’t honestly think your team would have rathered you be dead as perfect little Spencer than alive like this.” He didn’t answer, but that was an answer all in itself.

You’d give him time to think it through before you tried again.

“Do you believe in destiny, Spencer?” you asked, watching the way his expression gave away how lost in thoughts he’d been.

“Why?”

“I’m just wondering if you think you were destined to be a cop or if there was another path you could’ve taken,” you explained simply, shrugging your shoulders. “Was I always meant to be a killer?”

“My friend used to tell us that each person who went through trauma as a kid had options. They could become serial killers, or they could become the people who caught them,” Spencer explained, voice as gentle as you’d ever heard it. The tone was almost reminiscent of the way he’d spoken to his team—dare you to say, it was the beginnings of trust.

“So in another life, we might’ve met on the same team?” you asked. And what a thought that was? To think, if things had gone just a little differently, you might not have had to go through life this way. It could’ve been easier, having friends and a team you could rely on. You could go home to the same house each night without fear of being caught. You could find someone to love without fear of them seeing the way your hands were stained red.

“We could have,” Spencer answered, tone lighter as he seemed to also consider the alternative.

What would you have become, the two of you? Would it have worked out? Without the red scarring your entire persona, would he have been able to truly see you?

“You killed him already, didn’t you?” Spencer asked suddenly, shocking you out of the imagined future.

It took a moment to place the statement, to figure out who exactly the ‘him’ was in this scenario. It was the same person it always was though, everything coming right back to him each and every time. Even though it had happened years ago, you’d never be able to escape from him.

“How’d you come to that conclusion?” you asked, begging your voice to remain as steady as possible. You didn’t want him to see the flash of vulnerability—the shock as your Pops was brought up without time for you to brace against it.

“You said you weren’t scared of him anymore,” Spencer told you, at least having the decency to speak softly. “Anymore implies that you once had been. I don’t know of another way to make that fear go away.”

“Are you still scared of your dad?” you asked instead, turning your head to look at him once you hit a stop sign. You practically pleading with him now, fighting back the glacier-cold tears in your eyes. “Catching men like him, did that make it go away?”

“I’m constantly looking over my shoulder for him, every day,” Spencer admitted, jaw tightening. “As I said, I don’t know of another way to make it go away.”

“So I did the right thing.”

“Why do you need it to be the right thing?” he asked you instead, and God knew if you had a good answer to that. You’d never cared about any of the others, but damn if your Pops didn’t still haunt your dreams so many years later.

“I was eighteen when I did it,” you explained, beginning to drive down the country backroads that would lead you to your old home. “He killed the boy who promised to take me away from here, to make something good outta me. I think Pops couldn’t handle the fact that he’d lost control of me.”

“You did what you had to do.”

That was enough for you to slam the brakes of the car, jolting both of you forward. You turned to face Spencer completely, eyes searching his for any sign of lying. It would be a cruel game to play, to make you believe he really cared at all. “You really mean that, Dr. Reid?”

“I do.”

“Interesting,” you answered, hoping the plan would work out in your favor. You had to have read Spencer correctly, right?

It took only a few more minutes to reach your old home. It was a smaller farmhouse, a plot of land that was left unkept and untamed for decades. The old barn with that damned hayloft still stood in wrecked pieces just beyond the house. The burned remains of your old life still rested with it—the two men who’d died that night still kept there. You’d been the only one to survive that night, and yet, somehow it felt like the losing end of the deal.

“Come on, Spencer,” you urged him forward, wanting to get the burnt-down barn out of your view as quickly as possible. It had been years since you’d felt this panic—the racing heart, the clenching and unclenching fists, the urge to check over your shoulder for danger you knew was long since gone.

“Why are we here?” the man following just behind you asked. You didn’t answer, he’d find out soon enough.

Because sitting tied to a chair in the living room, was a man you’d only met once. William Reid, gagged and struggling in his binds once he noticed you two. It had been far too easy to find him, and far too easy to figure out that he was in fact guilty of everything you thought he was.

“Dad?” Spencer gasped, then soon directed to you, “What are you doing?”

“I’m helping you take the fear away,” you explained, holding out the handheld gun you’d been using for years. “Just one simple squeeze of your finger, and it’s gone.”

“Are you crazy?” Spencer exclaimed, “I can’t kill him!”

“Why not? You said I did the right thing, Spencer!”

“Yeah, for you!”

“What, how are you any different? You can’t tell me he didn’t hurt you. I see it, Spencer, the way a piece of you never recovered from what he did,” you told him, pressing the weapon into his palm and curling his fingers around it. “Tell me I’m wrong. Tell me it didn’t take you years to learn those kinds of touches weren’t supposed to destroy you inside. Tell me that, and I’ll let both of you go right now. You can cuff me and take me to your team, and forget all about the broken girl who thought you were anything like her.”

Spencer stood there for long enough that you began to wonder if you’d miscalculated. Would he not do it? Would he really take the cuffs you could see on his belt and bring you in? After everything, did he still think you were just some crazy woman who was always meant to end up like this?

Then, once again, Spencer Reid surprised you. He stared down at the weapon in his hand for a long time, moving it as if to test the weight of it in his palm. Then, slower than you’d ever seen someone move, he raised it to point at his father. With one loud bang, William Reid was gone.

Instantly, Spencer switched the safety on and dropped the gun to the ground. He gasped, palm still open as if the weapon might’ve burned it.

“Congrats, Spencer,” you whispered above the deafening silence, “you’re free now.”

Where once he’d moved slowly, now Spencer moved so quickly you couldn’t catalog his movements first. Suddenly you were pressed with your back to the wall, one of Spencer’s large hands bracketing your middle while the other resting on your neck. It was still warm from the gunfire, and you wondered if it would leave gunpowder residue there on your lifeline.

Spencer’s lips were on you, pressing hard enough to bruise. You were quick to fight back, hands coming up to tangle in his hair and tug. Your tongues slid against each other, playing a well-choreographed dance. Spencer was quick to try to engulf all of you, to grip you hard enough to bruise and make you his. As he moved his lips down your jaw to your neck, your fingernails scratched along his scalp, occasionally tugging when he elicited a loud moan from you.

“Say it again,” Spencer ordered, lips barely picking up off your skin.

Immediately you understood. “You’re free, Spencer,” you told him, head tilting back to expose more of your neck to him. “You did the right thing, you don’t have to be afraid anymore.”

Any other time, you might’ve protested against the way Spencer tore through your shirt. The fabric was discarded easily, and then your hands were working the buttons of his shirt to free him of that too. There was an urgency to each of your movements, a desperation to be closer to the one person who understood you completely.

Then Spencer’s hands were on you again, squeezing each breast until you moaned. He rolled and pinched each nipple until your back arched off the wall, baring more of yourself to him. “Please,” you whimpered, but for what you were begging for you had no idea. More, less, everything.

“Get on your knees, Baby,” Spencer demanded, giving a rough pinch to your sensitive nipples when you didn’t move.

“You think I get on my knees for just anyone?” you teased, smirking and looping your fingers through his belt loops, pulling his hips closer to yours. “You’ll have to try a lot harder than that, Doctor.”

The cool press of metal on your temple was a shock but sent shivers down your exposed back. He’d kept the safety on, but the knowledge that he now had his own gun aimed to your head was enough. Spencer matched your smirk, hazel eyes filled with triumph as you sunk to your knees in front of him.

“Don’t make me use it again,” he threatened, to which you only laughed.

“I think I’d like that, Doctor,” you told him, quickly freeing him from his pants.

Spencer groaned the second your lips were on him, head tilting back as you sunk down as far as you could. You came back up, tongue sliding around the head of his cock as you guided his hands to your head. The second you’d given him permission, Spencer’s hands dug into your hair and guided your head back down. You took everything he gave you, humming around his length as he groaned.

“Fuck, Baby, you feel so good.”

And God, what would you do to hear him call you that again? It was easy to get lost in the moment, Spencer’s hands holding you steady as he fucked your mouth.

“You’re perfect for me, Baby,” he told you, sending shocks of pleasure straight through you, “I could keep you like this all the time, on your knees with my cock in your mouth. Would you like that? Are you mine, Baby?”

All you could do was hum against him, taking his member further in, in the hopes he’d understand. Yes, fuck yes you wanted to be his. You’d be his Baby for as long as he’d have you if it meant you could feel this way again. You weren’t sure someone had ever made you feel this good.

“I’m gonna come if you don’t stop,” Spencer warned, releasing his hold on your head so you could slide off of him. What a sight you must have been there—on your knees, tears building up in your eyes and a bit of spit slipping from the corners of your lips. Spencer had made a beautiful wreck of you, and all you could do was beg for more.

You stood, allowing Spencer to guide you to your old bedroom when your knees shook from the position you’d held for so long. He guided you to the bed with more care than expected, gently tugging your pants off of you and discarding them. Once your panties were tossed away, Spencer was guiding your legs apart and slipping between them.

“Fuck, Spencer, please,” you begged as he made his way up your leg, pressing kisses up your thigh and just barely missing where you’d hoped he’d land.

“What do you want, Baby?” he teased, fingers drawing gentle circles into the flushed skin of your inner thigh.

“You, please,” you groaned out, hips squirming a little in the hopes of making his fingers connect with your center. “I need you, Spencer, now.”

“You’re perfect like this,” Spencer cooed out, smirking as you cried out when his fingers brushed over your clit. He barely touched, simply brushing small circles over you and holding your hips down with his other hand. “I could keep you like this, desperate for me. You’d do anything right now, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes, yes, fuck!” you whimpered out, “Fucking touch me already or I’ll make you.”

“What could you do? You gave your gun to me,” Spencer reminded you, hazel eyes alight with pleasure. “You’re mine tonight, Baby.”

And fuck if that didn’t sound perfect. Finally, blessedly, did Spencer bend to replace his fingers with his tongue on your clit. You whimpered, hands reaching down to tug in his curls as he lapped up your wetness. His hands held your hips steady, fingers digging in enough to leave marks for you to remember him by.

“Please, Spencer, please,” you begged, “you feel so good.”

You wouldn’t last long like this, Spencer gently sucking and licking at your clit while his fingers began to gently pump in and out of you. Your entire body felt like it was on fire, pure warmth and pleasure filling your veins.

The tension that built over so many weeks came out all at once, released in this moment. You weren’t sure when the hate turned to passion—or maybe it always had been from the start—but you were thankful for it now. All you knew was that now, in this moment, you needed all of him.

“Spencer, please,” you choked out, tugging on his hair to get his mouth away from you. “Fuck me, please. I need you.”

“You’re my desperate pretty girl, aren’t you?” Spencer cooed, moving up so he could press his lips to yours. You could taste yourself on his tongue, the burst of your own pleasure mixing with the lingering taste of coffee and something sweet on his lips. His thigh slotted between your legs and immediately you ground down on it, wanting to show him how desperate you were for him. “You’re perfect, you’re such a good girl.”

You smirked then as Spencer moved, lining himself up with you. “I don’t know. I think you handed your leash over to me, Doctor,” you teased, gasping as Spencer finally slid inside you. “You’re being such a good boy for me.”

His hips stuttered at your words, a moan slipping from him as you dragged your nails over his back. You could already see the beginnings of red marks, and you wondered briefly how long he would carry the mark of you with him.

“I’m not your good boy,” Spencer fought, thrusting hard into you to elicit a gasp.

“I don’t know, you’re pretty good at following orders, Dr Reid,” you fought right back. Each movement was as rough as your words, both of you fighting for dominance in that moment. You’d let him have his moment before, but just as you were his, he was yours. “Admit it,” you dared him as his pace picked up. You could feel each thrust, each time he filled you up and pulled back out. You weren’t sure anyone would ever compare to this again. You brought your hand down to rub against your clit, feeling the pleasure build up in your core. You gasped, arching your back as you clenched tightly against him. It was a burst of pure pleasure as you finished, fingers digging into his back as you tried to catch your breath. “Say it, Spencer.”

“I’m yours,” Spencer told you, groaning as he thrust one final time in you., “I’m all yours, Baby, only yours.”

The two of you collapsed into one another, a pile of entwined limbs. You weren’t sure how long you stayed like that—tucked up against his chest and held like you were the most important thing in the world. For the first time in a while, you wanted to cry. You wanted to cry for how good this had felt, for how perfect Spencer was for you.

You wanted to cry because there was only one way this would turn out for you.

For now, though, you would toss all fears for the future away in favor of holding onto Spencer. After all, you knew that no matter what, you would always be his Baby.

When Spencer woke without the pressure of another person beside him, he truly thought you’d left. You’d taken the car and left him stranded in the middle of nowhere in Tennessee with the body of his dead father.

Someday, he’d have to come to terms with what he did yesterday. It would be a tough realization, to think about the way his finger felt against the trigger—to think about how, in the brief seconds after the gun had been fired, he’d wanted to smile.

You’d managed to free him in a way he’d never thought possible. Spencer wanted more of you. He wanted to learn everything about you, and he wanted to touch you in every way he could. Spencer wanted a thousand more nights like this, the two of you finding yourselves in each other’s hands.

Spencer also knew what today meant.

The slowly rising sun meant an end to all of this. In another life, he could have had this, had you. If the world had been a little kinder to you, if you’d had the same lucky breaks he’d been offered, maybe you two could’ve spent your lives learning one another.

Instead, Spencer climbed out of bed and into the clothes you’d gathered up for him. When he padded out to the living room, he found you’d already cleaned up all evidence of the previous night. As much as he wanted to know, he knew it was best not to ask what ended up of William Reid. In your own way, you were taking care of Spencer by not making him clean the mess.

He found you by the barn.

Spencer had seen it when he came in—the building having long since been burned to the ground. The beginnings of new life had begun around some of the planks, bits of ivy climbing the wood, and weeds filling up the space where animals might have once lived.

“I could come with you,” Spencer offered, though knew he didn’t even believe the words himself. He would go where you were going, but from the look on your face, he knew you’d never let him.

“No, you can’t,” you confirmed, not taking your eyes off the remains of the barn. “In another life, it might’ve been different. But who we are now? I’m meant to do this, and you’re meant to hunt down people like me.”

“I don’t believe in destiny,” Spencer countered, desperation leaking into his voice as he recognized this conversation for what it was. “We’re not meant to be anything.”

“I play the Najdorf,” you explained.

“That suggests ambition, a drive to succeed by any means necessary,” Spencer told you in return, not wanting to say goodbye just yet.

“And pragmatism.” You sighed, finally turning to face him. Your expression was made of stone, trying to convey the strength that had kept you alive and free for so long. “These were wicked games we played, and I know when it’s time to call checkmate.”

“It’s not time,” Spencer fought, reaching out for your wrist. You easily dodged his hand, giving him a grief-filled smile. “You can’t leave. I finally understand you.”

“Go home, Spencer,” you told him, your mind made up. “You have a beautiful life, I’d never want you to give that up for a woman like me.”

“What am I supposed to do?”

“The same thing you always did. Go to work, catch the killers, and go home every night knowing that you’re free from all of that fear you’d been holding onto for far too long,” you told him, tossing him the car keys. “And know I’ll always be yours, in case our paths cross again. Goodbye, Dr. Reid.”

“Goodbye, Baby,” Spencer told you, willing himself not to cry knowing this would be the last time he saw you.

You smiled then, the kind that was wet with unshed tears but at peace all the same. In the same way he’d found closure, you’d found your own peace to hold onto that night. “Call me Y/N.”

“Goodbye, Y/N,” Spencer corrected, and as you finally heard your name on someone’s lips for the first time in years, you wondered if maybe Spencer had been right.

Maybe you two would always be destined to find each other again, someday.

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[intimidating-fettuccine]

Scenario of jason visiting Y/N's grave

please remember to drink plenty of water

I am drinking water as I write this. Gotta stay hydrated for the angsty tears. 

He does it quite frequently. Not necessarily every day, but enough that his body has been conditioned to move on instinct at the end of his work day to trek the familiar path out to the cemetery behind the mansion, out to the area of your final resting place. He's always found this area of the mansion to be incredibly beautiful, filled with wonderous flowers and trees for a pleasant area, but now, as he constantly visits you, he feels more bittersweet than wonderous.

Today is a cleaning day for him, products brought with him to tidy up your gravesite and your headstone, the one that he personally designed for you after you passed because he wouldn't bear the thought of you just having any old headstone, no, it had to be just as perfect as you were. Assuming it wasn't too stormy or snowy out, he'd only have to clean your gravesite maybe once a week, but still, sometimes he'd clean it extra regardless. It was therapeutic for him and made him feel like he was still able to help you and do things for you even in death. 

-

"Hello there, darling. It's that time again. Please, excuse me and bear with me while I work." He greets you gently, softly stroking the top of your headstone with his hand before setting out to work. 

He started by gently moving all of the belongings and gifts the others had left you off to the side, being sure to take extra care not to damage any of them, not wanting to ruin something that was given to you. He'd always looked over the various trinkets fondly, somewhat at peace inside to know that the others missed you as he did. He'd always take care of those little items as well, cleaning them and treating them as they needed so they didn't break down too much. 

As he set out to work at cleaning your headstone, he allowed the music box resting in his chest to play one of your favorite melodies from it, occasionally humming along as he gently scrubbed away at the stone, not wanting to damage or scratch it in any way. He'd done this countless times before, but each time he would still tell you step by step what he was going to be doing, listing out the whole process so you knew what was coming. He wasn't sure why he did it, but in a sense, he assumed it was just easier for him to process things. Easier for him to hold his tears in until he returned to his room so nobody had to watch him lose himself to tears anymore as they did in the beginning. 

"There you are darling, looking beautiful as ever." He cooed, looking at the finely cleaned stone. "Now, I'm just going to work at tidying up all this grass and getting rid of those pesky weeds for you." He gave the headstone another pat before he set out, getting down and removing any weeds or overgrown areas of grass.

Never would someone have assumed that Jason would do something like getting on his hands and knees and crawling around in the dirt, yanking up weeds. He hated being dirty, hated the mess, but for you- for you, it was well worth it to keep your resting place as gorgeous as could be. Sometimes he'd even plant flowers around you, always your favorites or ones that he thought would suit you. It was peaceful for him, making things nice for you even in death. He knew you'd appreciate it, and praise him for his hard work, and so it eased his nonexistent heart to continue working hard for you, the one he treasured above all. When he was done, he'd swiped at his forehead, removing his work gloves as he delicately placed all your gifts back into their designated spots. 

"Alright, darling. There we are. You look wonderful as always now, all cleaned up and beautiful." He felt something get caught in his throat, felt his eyes begin to burn as he looked down at your grave again, scanning for any imperfections. 

"I know, I know. You'd tell me not to cry, say it would all be okay, and I know that. But you also know how much I miss you." His voice cracked and he reached out as though he was going to grasp you, but you weren't there for him to grab on to. He sniffed, clearing his throat.

"You know I'll always come out here to visit you, no matter what. I won't make you have to be alone. You'll never have to worry about a thing with me looking after you." A few tears ran free down his face, and he didn't bother wiping them away, shaking his head as he laughed a bit at himself.

"I've got to go eat dinner now or they'll all start to get worried, but I'll come back later and tell you goodnight, alright, darling? You just stay here looking pretty for me, and I'll be back." He bent over, pressing a parting kiss to the top of the headstone, before he packed up and headed back.

He'd have to make a pitstop at his bedroom to stop all those tears from flowing and cries from coming out of his mouth before he'd be able to make it to dinner. 

[moldy-mold]

So far...

In May, I paid my old pal from Ragnarok Online a visit after being friends for 15 years!! It was also my first time visiting Portland, OR. We had a great time! I’ll see you again soon...

Finished reading Golden Kamuy and went through many emotions... I’m very happy that my faves got appropriate closure. Noda did a fantastic job. Right after that, I picked up Dungeon Meshi which I also really like! I caught up within a few weeks of intense reading. Happy that they’re finally getting an anime by Trigger - what an honor!

A highlight of these past few months was the discovery of excellent anime. Occasionally, we find a series that we really enjoy, but I wanted to LOVE something. This was the beginning of my dive into the golden era of OVAs.

There was a lot of experimental, high quality animation during the 80s... I was allured by the potential of finding something amazing amidst a lot of really weird stuff.

I finished a handful of unique series and films before getting caught on a certain one. This, my friends, was Captain Harlock. I knew about the series some years ago but Harlock looked a little too ~edgy~ for my taste so I made the mistake of judging him before getting to know him. Turns out he’s actually just a flashy space dad, befriending other space dads, adopting space kids, and teaching them space lessons, while fighting for space freedom. Its bittersweet and hopeful tone struck the right chords with me which gave it a place among my all-time favorites.

Picked up Xenosaga, an old PS2 series from my HS days. Every few years I replay Episode III. For me it’s a comfort game. It has all the things I like in a jrpg: turn based strategy, mecha, switchable party members, and great music. I’ve never gotten my hands on the first two games, but thanks to a cool friend, the entire series is finally mine this year! Imagine only playing the third game... yeah I had many questions.

Naturally, I am a Xenoblade fan as well. I haven’t gotten the third game yet (very jealous of those who have). Once my brother finishes it, I am next!

Freelance illustration in the wedding business picked up for me so that keeps me busy on weekends on top of my normal job on weekdays. I’m doing okay. It’s busy but not so much that I’m dying. Funny enough, it was due to the long hours glued to my desk that I... sort of got into Yugioh duel monsters from my childhood again?? I like to put videos on while I’m painting and YGO is really great at describing what is going on so I don’t have to look up. I mean, they literally call out every attack LMAO.

My friends are YGO fans as well. Their enthusiasm rubbed off on me since we’re all watching Zexal together. It’s pretty good though I’m only a quarter of the way there. It’s like a close cousin to DM. :)

NGL, I do feel pretty insane for jumping from one fandom to the next every few months. But Moldy, how are you supposed to develop a following if you keep dragging your people everywhere?? I guess I’ll just die? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ Idk how other people keep their special interest for so long. It’s just not for me. When I get interested in something, I put all my passion and emotions into it like a raging fire and then it just burns out after a while. I’m trying to see if it yields some interesting results in regards to my art style. They say you shouldn’t try for a style, just let it develop, but I do think goals are healthy. My goal is to evolve with a retro twist as my art journey goes on!

Another subject I wanted to address is my struggle with selling my art. It just makes me squirm since I worry about what might happen to my work if I keep trying to sell stuff. It obviously helps in the money department! I’m just afraid that my work will lose its soul if I turn it into a commodity. It’s silly cuz everyone does it. Surely, they can’t be mutually exclusive: making great content and making great sales. Occasionally, I do get inspired to make a merch item specifically so that can be a positive outlook, right? I will mull over this for another couple months. :\

-

Plant Saga

Tried caring for strawberries (in a strawberry planter, so meta). I managed to harvest a few funky berries so far! They weren’t that sweet... not yet.

New plant! Repede the African Violet.

New plant! A red geranium, named after my beloved Harlock.

Hubert the Monstera is so big now!

New plant! Canna, unnamed for now.

-

Finished Watching... ◆◇◇ lacking ◆◆◇ enjoyable ◆◆◆ i’ll watch it 4 times

Lupin III: - Part 6 ◆◆◇ - The Columbus Files ◆◆◇ - The Fuma Conspiracy ◆◆◆ - Farewell to Nostradamus ◆◇◇ - Goodbye Partner ◆◆◇ - Alcatraz Connection ◆◆◇ - Dead or Alive ◆◆◇ - The Secret of Twilight Gemini ◆◆◇ - Crisis in Tokyo ◆◆◇ - The Elusiveness of the Fog ◆◆◇ - Voyage to Danger ◆◆◇ - The Bloodspray of Goemon Ishikawa ◆◆◇ - Legend of the Gold of Babylon ◆◇◇ - Blood Seal of the Eternal Mermaid ◆◆◆ - The Hemingway Papers ◆◆◇ - From Siberia with Love ◆◇◇ - Castle of Cagliostro ◆◆◇ - Nusumareta Lupin: Copy Cat wa Manatsu no Cho ◆◆◇

Retro Anime: Bubblegum Crisis (80s OVA) ◆◆◆ Bubblegum Crash (80s OVA) ◆◆◆ *RG Veda (80s OVA) ◆◆◇ They Were Eleven (80s Film) ◆◆◆ Record of Lodoss War (90s OVA) ◆◆◇ Battle Angel Alita (80s OVA) ◆◆◇ Space Adventure Cobra (80s Film) ◆◆◇ Kimagure Orange Road ◆◆◇ Kimagure Orange Road: I Want to Return to That Day (80s Film) ◆◆◇ Wicked City (80s Film) ◆◇◇ Project A-Ko (80s Film) ◆◆◇ Vampire Hunter D: Bloodlust (2000s Film) ◆◆◇ Night on the Galactic Railroad (80s Film) ◆◆◇ Zeta Gundam (for the 5th time) ◆◆◆ Captain Harlock/Leijiverse: - Arcadia of my Youth (80s Film) ◆◆◆ - Arcadia of my Youth: Endless Orbit SSX ◆◆◆ - Harlock Saga (90s OVA) ◆◇◇ - Space Pirate Captain Harlock I (70s Film Compilation) ◆◆◇ - Space Pirate Captain Harlock (CG Film) ◆◇◇ --- WELL the man himself looked stunning!! The plot was less stunning! - Galaxy Express 999 (70s Film) ◆◆◆ - Adieu Galaxy Express 999 (80s Film) ◆◆◆ - Queen Emeraldas (90s OVA) ◆◆◇ - Maetel Legend (2000s OVA) ◆◆◇ - Gun Frontier ◆◇◇ - Captain Harlock: Endless Odyssey ◆◆◇ Demon Slayer: - Season 1 (Vietnamese Dub) ◆◆◇ ---my third time watching... the Viet dub was excellent. - Mugen Train Arc ◆◆◇ - Entertainment District Arc ◆◆◆ --- watched it twice. one in JP and one in EN. waiting for the Viet dub...

Others: Samurai Flamenco ◆◆◇ Encanto ◆◆◇ Shang-Chi ◆◆◇ Kotaro Lives Alone ◆◆◇ The Bad Guys ◆◆◇ Gundam: Doan’s Island ◆◆◇ SPY x FAM S1 ◆◆◇ Haikyuu S3 ◆◆◆ Haikyuu S4 ◆◆◇ Obi-Wan Kenobi ◆◆◇ BELLE ◆◆◇ Phantom of the Opera (2004) ◆◆◇ PROMARE ◆◆◇

*Tbh I watched RG Veda because this swordsman looks like 80s Gaius...

Okay, that’s enough content to last 20 years lol...

-

Hmmm life lessons: This year was a year of learning how to spend time specifically with people who care about you and also learning the importance of being alone. I made a terrible mistake of trying to hang out with someone out of routine and it damaged the relationship forever. Don’t be like me, kids.

Thank you for being here and see you next time. :)

[honeycomb-cinammonroll]

SHE - L.E

SUMMARY: Through the years (Y/N) has fallen in love with Lily Evans while she falls for James Potter.

PAIRING: Lily Evans x femSlytherin!reader.

WORD COUNT: 1.7k

WARNINGS: Angst with a sad ending. OOC Severus Snape. Mention of death. I cried while writing this so beware.

✧✧✧

Am I allowed to look at her like that?

Could it be wrong when she's just so nice to look at?

Lily was laying face down in your bed, she wore a long T-shirt that barely covered her thighs, while you changed your outfit. You tried not to look out of respect, however you couldn't help but worry for your sanity. After all, being in love with your best friend meant having to endure looking at her without being able to touch her or kiss her.

If someone asked you when you realized you were completely smitten with the redhead at your side, you would answer in a heartbeat. Fourth year, Slytherin had won the Quidditch cup after a rough game against Gryffindor. All her housemates were booing and yelling, but not Lils, she ran to the other side of the pitch and tackled me in a bear hug.

“What do you think?” You asked her. Lily dropped her magazine on the bed and turned to look at you, her bright green eyes roaming your body as she examined the lime green dress you wore for your friends date.

“Gosh (Y/N) You're such a babe.” You knew she meant it, but not in the way you would've liked. Still you smiled brightly at her. But deep inside you, you longed for the day when those words were more than just friendly, when Lily Evans looked at you with the same adoration and love that you had for her.

And she smells like lemongrass and sleep

She tastes like apple juice and peach

You would find her in a polaroid picture

And she means everything to me

Lily Evans always carried around that peach flavored chapstick everywhere. It was her thing, her perfume was a green apple scent that you gifted her for her birthday, you didn’t know, but she wore it everyday. It made her feel closer to you, her best friend.

You on the other hand were never seen without that muggle camera, your mother had given it to you and you carried it everywhere, most of the polaroids you took were of the daily Hogwarts life, studying at the library, hanging at the Three broomsticks, spending time with Severus and Lily.

The picture you cherished the most however, was a polaroid of the Gryffindor redhead, Lily appeared smiling at the camera, her head tilted a little bit to the right, her hair loose while her eyes were closed, the sunlight couldn’t have been more perfect because it captured her essence brightly.

“Are you ever going to tell her?” Severus asked, clearly annoyed at your lack of bravery and Lily’s obliviousness. You looked at the other side of the great hall, Potter was talking to her happily while Lily rolled her eyes, but you could see the smile that creeped on her lip.

“Let it go, Sev. You and I both know it would only end badly.”

I'd never tell

No I'd never say a word

And oh it aches

But it feels oddly good to hurt

“Merlin, When is he going to give up?” You said, your tone clearly showing how annoyed you were at James Potter, maybe it was the fact that he could express how he felt without the fear of judgment, of losing Lily because he never really had her. But then again, you didn’t have her either.

“I don't know, but he's getting less insufferable. Don't you think so?” You rolled your eyes, Lily was caught off guard by this, you were never one to act that way. If only she knew just how badly you wanted to tell her, show her how you truly felt.

“Are you alright, (Y/N)?” She asked, completely oblivious to the bad feeling that settled into your chest, you got a hold of your books and abruptly stood up. “I’m perfectly fine, I just remembered I have to go and ask professor McGonagall something about that essay.”

With that, you left the library, the tears that rolled down your cheeks went unnoticed by Lily, but not by a certain glass wearer Gryffindor that had been watching you from afar.

She smells like lemongrass and sleep

She tastes like apple juice and peach

You would find her in a polaroid picture

And she means everything to me

You loved to spend your nights on the Slytherin common room, especially when it was cold, you were wrapped around a warm blanket, laying on the love seat while the fire of the chimney brought you comfort, the book in your hand that narrated the love story of two naive teenagers spoke to you.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, (Y/N)?”

“Huh?” You raised your head from your book to look at Lily, she stormed into the empty common room, something she did since both you and Severus were Slytherins and you used to sneak her in. She was just back from her first ever date with James Potter, a few weeks ago she had asked for your opinion on her outfit, and ever since then, you both were drifting apart.

“I asked what on earth is going on with you lately? You haven't spoken to me in three days, you act distant, and all of a sudden James tells me that he thinks you're in love with me!”

You noticed the tears that rolled down your cheeks, your heart was beating so rapidly that you believed it would get tired and stop. “Would it be so bad if I was?” Your voice sounded so vulnerable, broken.

She stood there, just looking at you with her mouth parted, at a loss for words. “Wh-what?”

“You stood from your seat, fully facing Lily, her fiery red hair matched the fire that you felt at the pit of your stomach. “Would you be so disgusted by me if I told you that I love you? That I have fallen for a girl who happens to be my best friend?”

“ (Y/N) I-'' She tried to carry on but you continued talking, getting closer and closer to the girl you loved. “That the reason why I needed space was because i can't stand the thought of you and James Potter because that should be me and-”

This time, it was her who took the next step, Lily got a hold of your shirt and pulled you towards her, the movement so sudden you would have fallen if it wasn't for the pair of hands that held you by the waist.

All your life, you dreamed for the moment your lips met, and now that it was happening, your mind couldn't think about anything but her. Lily Evans tasted just like that stupid peach flavored chapstick, the smell of her perfume was so intoxicating and you felt like you were floating. And at the same time, it was such a bittersweet feeling that was installed on your chest.

Lily pulled apart just as abruptly as she kissed you, both of you had tears in your eyes, she wouldn't even look you when she turned around and without a single word spoken, left, leaving you behind. All you could think was how it was perhaps the ending of your story, one that never even had the chance to begin.

And I'll be okay

Admiring from afar

Cause even when she's next to me

We could not be more far apart

And she tastes like birthday cake and storytime and fall

But to her

I taste of nothing at all

A month had gone by and even if you tried to speak to Lily, she avoided you at all costs, by the second week you had accepted that not only had you lost a friend, you had lost your other half.

So, taking matters into your own hands, you stood outside the Gryffindor common room, trying to ignore the deathly glares you received from the other members of the house.

Once you spotted Lily leaving the common room, you got a hold of her hand. “I have to tell you something.”

All it took was a look into your eyes to know that this was your last chance of making things right between both of you, so she nodded as she said goodbye to Marlene and Alice.

As Lily guided you through the halls and into an empty classroom, you felt your chest tightening once more, what you were about to do had you in tears already. She opened the door and you threw yourself into her arms.

“I love you Lils,” You said, the tears that fell from your eyes right into her shirt were the last thing you worried about, her arms wrapped around your torso and she held you just as tightly.

For a couple of seconds that was all you did, hold each other.

And then you broke apart, looking into those green eyes once more. Shit, maybe green has been your favorite color for all the wrong reasons. You leaned in and pressed a kiss on her cheek. Your hands were intertwined together as you whispered once more. “I love you, Lils.”

“James asked me to be his girlfriend and I said yes.”

“I know.”

“Then why did you-” You smiled, although it didn't quite reach your eyes, you promised yourself this was the last time you cried over her. Over something that never happened. “Because, it's my way of saying goodbye Lily, I'm sorry,”

After that day, the world was just a little gloomier, you would find her looking at you during class, cheering from the stands while you played Quidditch, but not once did you allow yourself to look back. Often you wondered if she too had been just as enamored by you as you were with her. Maybe she just couldn't take that leap of faith with you.

Had you known that it would be the last time you'd speak to her, you would have repeated those same three words until it stopped making sense, in the end, Lily Evans died young, and you went on to live with the memory of those piercing green eyes and the taste of that cherry chapstick.

She meant everything to me...

[willwriteforhugs]

just a sniffle!- hwang hyunjin

boyfriend! hyunjin x reader- one shot !

word count: 1.6k

genre: fluff, domestic scenario

synopsis: after your boyfriend comes home from a long day, you swear you can detect a scratch in his throat... but he insists he’s fine. fast forward 12 hours, and hyunjin is practically bed-ridden with fever. and now what...

warnings: sickness/a high fever (obviously), minor cursing

a/n: this prompt was requested by an anon!! i hope i didn’t take too long to put this out- it takes me forever to edit when the fic in question is a request, because i just want it to be perfect :’) anyways, to my lovely anon: thank you for the request, and i hope you enjoy!

- - -

earlier, when hyunjin had told you he’d be able to get off early, you’d been over the moon- it was a rare occurrence, after all. your boyfriend has- as many idols do- an extremely hectic schedule, with practices often going late into the night. so when he’d said the two of you would be able to spend the evening together, it had taken all your self-control not to start cheering right then and there. but you had managed to stay calm- and still devise a thorough, detailed plan of how the night would go.

you would make dinner, and it would be ready by the time hyunjin got to your place- because who doesn’t love being welcomed by a warm meal? then, after you eat, hyunjin can run and get cleaned up while you do dishes. when that’s all done, the two of you can get down to business by binge watching all the drama episodes you’d missed. (you never watched them without him, even though you usually fall way behind in the show, due to his lack of free time. he insists that you shouldn’t wait- but you love to watch them with him, so you always let them pile up...)

now, in the moment, you scurry aimlessly about your apartment. dinner is ready, waiting to be served in the kitchen, so you walk around your front room. you know that everything is clean- this is the fourth time you’ve checked. but still, this isn’t an everyday thing, and you want the place to be tidy for your boyfriend. (you also know he doesn’t really care all that much- but it’s the thought that counts, right?)

your train of thoughts ends abruptly when a knock sounds from the front door. already smiling, you rush to answer it- and sure enough, there he is.

hyunjin stands in your front entryway, tilting his head as he looks at you. a smile toys at his lips, and he extends an arm. fighting your own glee, you lean into his embrace, breathing in his familiar scent.

“hey,” you say into his chest. he hums in reply, and you stand there for a moment, simply appreciating each other. after a beat has passed, you speak up again. “let’s go inside.”

the two of you enter, hyunjin closing the door behind him. he’s wearing a casual outfit, made up of just black sweats and a hat. you assume he’s already showered, too, because, well- you won’t lie- he usually doesn’t smell that great after a long practice. but he seems clean, and all for the better- that just means the schedule gets sped up, and more time for the two of you! 

as he usually does, your boyfriend wanders into your bedroom to set down his things, not lingering. he meets you back in the kitchen as you begin to serve the food. you see him smile at the spread, and finally he speaks: “wow, babe. that’s a lot of food.”

at the sound of his voice, you start a bit. it’s much lower than usual, and you detect a bit of scratchiness in it. without looking up, you make your inquiry: “are you feeling well? you sound a bit froggy.”

hyunjin snorts at your description. “froggy? you really are something...”

you smile, bringing two servings of food to the table. as you begin to eat, the two of you settle into comfortable silence. 

as the meal continues, though, you feel yourself begin to frown. despite his obvious attempts to hide it, hyunjin seems to be having trouble swallowing his food. with every bite, you see your boyfriend flinch just a bit. 

not being able to take it any longer, you set your chopsticks down. “really, hyunjin-ah. you don’t seem well, are you getting a cold?”

your boyfriend makes a mocking pouty face at you. clearing his throat, he responds: “i’m fine, y/n. i really am, so don’t baby me.”

you give a half hearted glare. “fine. but if you wake up tomorrow feeling like shit, don’t say i didn’t warn you.”

- - -

you had been right, of course.

and, for the record, you had warned him.

it’s 6:48 in the morning, and both of you were awake. you lean over in bed, switching on the light. laying in a pathetic lump on your other side, hyunjin groans loudly. you turn back around to face him. “hyunjin-ah, seriously. let me feel your head, you’ve been coughing all night!”

the lump that happens to be your boyfriend shifts to face you in bed. you frown once you can seem him clearly- his face is red, and his eyes are watery from the coughing. you place your own cool palm on his forehead, and almost jerk back in surprise. “babe, you’re burning up!”

flinging your blankets away, you spring out of bed. “hyunjin!” you groan. “i knew you sounded off, why wouldn’t you say anything?”

he coughs again, finally managing to clear his throat. in his raspy voice, he manages: “i didn’t want to ruin your night. i knew you were excited.”

you sigh, knowing the feeling, and hating the understanding. hyunjin was overworked, truly. he shouldn’t have felt the need to lie just to spend time with you, no matter how excited you were...

“c’mon.” you say nudging him in the hips. “sit up, i’ll get you some painkillers and water. are you hungry?”

he grunts in response. when you don’t move, he finally mutters into his pillow: “i don’t know.”

a smile tugs at your lips at this. “that’s alright. i’ll get you a bit anyways.”

you know that hyunjin’s dramatics are probably a conductor to this situation, but a tiny part of you is excited at this opportunity to spoil him, even if it’s at his expense. 

in the kitchen, you dig around for the promised medicine and some snacks, then pour a glass of water.

when you re enter your bedroom, you see hyunjin has managed to sit up. his tall figure is slumped as he leans against the headboard of your bed. nonetheless, he smiles as you enter the room. “you’re so pretty in the mornings,” he mumbles.

you gently smack his head as you set down the water glass. “oh, shut up. at least take the meds first so you’ll be able to defend yourself later on.”

at this, he chuckles- but the joy quickly dissipates as the laugh turns into a pained cough. you use your palm to rub circles over his back as he regains his breath. the fit passes, but the tension in the air doesn’t. 

in perfect unison, the two of you sigh.

hyunjin breaks the silence. “i’m so sorry, y/n. i should have just told you i wasn’t feeling well last night... maybe we could have caught it before it got this bad.”

you give him a bittersweet smile. “your pride can be a weakness, my love.”

at this, hyunin puts his hand to his chest in fake shock. “i can’t believe you’d say such things to me. and while i’m ill!”

“it’s just a cold, your highness. take the tylenol and see how that helps.” you pause, knowing that he is probably in more pain than he’s letting on- you can tell because he was covering it with humor, something he rarely does. “do you- do you want a washcloth or something? an ice pack?”

your boyfriend’s expression is warm. his voice is still uneven, and he responds in an almost whisper: “is that alright?”

your heart stutters at his demeanor. “yes, that’s alright.”

when you return with the cold washcloth, hyunjin has slid down a bit- now only half sitting up. his eyes are closed, though you suspect he isn’t asleep, at least not fully. but you can tell he’s exhausted from being up all night with his sneezing and coughing... maybe he really is asleep...

you make your way to him, and pause to admire his peaceful face. he truly is beautiful... you reach over and gently sweep his long hair away from his forehead, allowing your fingers to linger. he’s still very warm to the touch, and you can’t help but worry for him. after a moment, you swap your hand for the washcloth, draping it gently across his already damp forehead. 

you aren’t really sure how to properly care for a sick person, but a cold compress seems to be what all the dramas suggest. so you sit back down and hope for the best. 

a few minutes pass- hyunjin breathing peacefully in the bed, and you in a nearby chair watching him. suddenly, your counterpart’s eyes flicker open, deep brown eyes meeting your own. “y/n-ah?” he rasps.

you almost launch out of your chair. “yes? are you alright?”

hyunjin gives a half-hearted snort as his eyes drift shut again. he continues to speak without seeing you. “i’m fine. but- will- do you mind sitting with me? over here?”

you stare at him for a moment, processing. then you smile. “yeah, i can do that. as long as you don’t get me sick.”

“no promises.”

and with that, you crawl back into bed with hyunjin, his back to you. you scoot up a bit, positioning yourself so you can hug him from behind. you’ve never been the big spoon before- but honestly? you love it, and you bury your face in between his shoulder blades, filled with an overwhelming rush of affection.

“y/n?” comes hyunjin’s voice again, very quietly.

you don’t move, answering into his back. “yes?”

“i love you.” 

and with that, hyunjin slips back into sleep, this time nestled in your arms.

[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

[yelenasdog]

moving out, moving on (mitch rapp x fem reader)

genre: fluff

summary: mitch and reader are taking another step towards mitch moving on, and it’s bittersweet.

words: 2.2k

warnings: drinking wine, kinda suggestive at times, talks abt katrina, mitch being emotional, my writing being melodramatic LOL

a/n: so. this was written during an all nighter that went to 7 am where i was listening to nicki minaj and eminem (???) for a good duration of it so. i’m very sorry if this is wonky at times! i hope u enjoy either way! mwah 

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The early morning rays streamed through thin fabric, draped above the assassin's window. Dust particles floated about, becoming visible within the section of light cast from the sun. The birds perched outside the small apartment tweeted happily from their branch, their songs beautiful. 

Though, they were quite pesterous to the pair that lay together, wrapped in gray sheets. They reveled in the heat provided by the soft blanket, but even more so by the warmth from their joint bodies.

A mop of dark brown hair stirred, bringing one hand up to softly rub his eyes with his knuckle, the other hand snaking around the waist of the woman peacefully sleeping beside him. He watched with fond eyes as she lightly groaned, rolling to face away from the invasion of bright, turning towards her love. 

Mitch smiled down at her sleepy behavior, reaching out and brushing stray hairs from her forehead. He reluctantly retracted it only moments later, forcing himself out of bed to go and prepare the two of them for their big day as best he knew how: Coffee.

His sock clad feet dragged across the hardwood as he went, his sweatpants hanging low on his hips and groggy-ness (a word Y/n had donned as her own, and Mitch had caught on to) still very prevalent in his entire system. 

The Rhode Island air was frigid this time of year, Mitch allowing a grin to break out on his face upon remembrance of two nights previous, just how cold Y/n had been in the arena of the Providence Bruins hockey team. Nose pink, donned in a beanie proudly showing the team's logo, well, he had found himself a new lockscreen.

He shook his head in an attempt to rid himself of said groggy-ness, his body on autopilot as it made the beverages. He picked out her favorite mug from the cupboard (AKA a souvenir from Dubai he had picked up long ago) that she had adopted as her own, drinking out of it every time she would spend the night, almost like clockwork. He waited for his coffee beans to brew, scratching his stubble along his jaw. He flinched, though, when he felt two arms wrap around his middle. He quickly relaxed into the embrace upon realization of who the supposed assailant was, her head finding its way to rest on his bare shoulder.

“You scared me, there.” Mitch muttered, his larger hand inching towards her’s on his waist. He closed his eyes in content and she hummed in acknowledgment. Mitch allowed her to turn his figure to face her, still residing in her arms, seeing a bright smile plastered across her face.

“Only for a minute though, right?”

She laughed to which he chuckled in response, nodding in false surrender. “You’ve got me there, Y/n/n.” He mused, his eyes lighting up at the sound of the coffee machine beeping. He looked back to her, shrugging.

“I made you coffee, was gonna bring it to you in bed but, y’know.” He gestured to where she had now climbed up to sit on top of his counter, his sweatshirt around her that read “Brown University” across the front in large lettering pooling around her thighs.

“It’s alright, I need to get a move on anyway.” She smiled, hopping down to retrieve the mug, taking the warm ceramic from Mitch’s hands and sighing at the wondrous feeling that had spread through her whole body. She lifted it to her lips and drank, not surprised that her boyfriend had made it just the way she liked, to perfection. 

“Thank you, baby.” She commented, reaching up to plant a chaste kiss on his lips. Her lip curled as she pulled away, Mitch already knowing what she was going to say, a laugh bubbling up in his throat.

“Mitch! Go brush your teeth, for the love of God!” She whined, watching as he scampered off towards the bathroom, snickering all the way. She rolled her eyes, downing the rest of her beverage before following where Mitch had gone.

Once in the bathroom after rinsing her and Mitch’s mugs, she tied her hair up, undressing and turning on the water (practically scalding hot, of course). Mitch had no objections to the temperature, though, seeing as it was his last time showering with her in that apartment, and in that apartment, period. 

The whole thing felt very symbolic to Y/n, at least, seeing it as washing themselves clean for the next phase of their lives together, a sort of preparation. (Maybe not so much for Mitch, who really was just pleased for any excuse to see his girlfriend naked.)

They used generous amounts of soap, as not only were most of them nearly empty (in fact, a few were and if it weren’t for Y/n, they probably all would be), but also that they had decided to simply just buy new toiletries as a whole for their new place.

They giggled at the sight of each other, all lathered in bubbles and suds. Mitch reached a finger forward, wiping it from above her eyebrows and preventing it from falling into her eyes. Y/n brought her arms around his neck, her lips connecting with his. “Much better.” She regarded with a smirk, before leaning back in.

Nearly 40 minutes later, they both emerged from the shower, fresh faced and ready for the day ahead. He didn’t have a lot that needed to be packed up, given that his place came fully furnished, so it took all but 2 hours and 5 boxes to pack up Mitch Rapp’s life. It honestly might have taken even longer than originally would have been needed, as Y/n would stop every time she found something interesting, allowing Mitch to tell her all about whatever stories had been connected to the item.

It had started with the ridiculous bird lamp that sat on his bedside table, once belonging to Mr. Nazir, and ended with his lacrosse stick. (And, a promise that one day, he’d show her how to play. He swore he’d never seen her smile that big.)

They also threw away and donated a lot, some of Kat’s old stuff bringing a pained smile to his face as he would place it in a box simply labeled “Kat” in messy, thick letters. He wasn’t sure if the box would end up in his new closet, covered in dust and unopened, or back with her family. But either way, he wasn’t quite ready to say goodbye to her completely, which Y/n was able to understand.

“Mitch? Did you pack away your coats already?” Y/n called out, opening up the closet near the front door. Her breath slightly hitched in her throat upon seeing all of the photos of Mansur, still pasted to the painted wood, the edges curling up. 

“Nah, not yet, I was gonna handle that while you worked on the cupboards” He responded, busying himself with a text from Irene on his phone wishing him good luck. He looked up and saw what she had been asking about, his phone quickly sliding into his pocket as he made his way over to where she stood, visibly distressed. 

“How long have these been here?” She questioned, feeling Mitch’s arms wrap around her shoulders. She brought her hands up to grasp onto his wrists, leaning backwards into him and biting into her lip.

“Since the beach, when I decided to go after Mansur. When everything happened with the CIA, it was kind of a whirlwind, I didn’t really have enough time to even think about taking it down when I was only even here for hours at a time.” He lightly chuckled, watching as she stepped forward and began to take the pictures down, crumbling them up in her hands. 

She ran her fingertips over the indents left in the door, feeling the splinters against them. She turned back to Mitch, quipping how “Mr. Nazir won’t be too pleased about that.” 

He smiled, joining her in taking all of the images down, ripping them or balling them up in his fists. All of them ended up in one of the old Target bags they had been using for trash, filling up an entire bag (minus a few Dunkin cups sitting at the bottom).

Mitch trailed a few tender kisses down the left side of her next, and though it sounds cheesy, a feeling of hopefulness flooded himself out of most of the bitterness that had been stuck inside for so long. 

She turned her head to catch his lips with her own, and smiled into the kiss, her hand finding the back of his head. She lightly tugged on the chocolate colored strands and he groaned in content, to which her grin only widened. She pulled back, ruffling the top of his head before beginning to pack away the remnants of what was left in the closet. He rolled his eyes, following suit.

They had piled all of the boxes into the back of Mitch’s old decommissioned CIA vehicle (which was obvious that is was such, given that the side was littered with bullet holes and metallic scratches), returned the key to Mr. Nazir (who was glad to see Mitch go), and with that, they were off.

The new place wasn’t too far away, the pair taking a page out of Stan’s book and opting for a wonderful sense of privacy. It was nestled in a rural corner of Massachusetts, where Mitch would be able to come home to a sense of serenity. Y/n had already moved in her possessions, Mitch’s items being the last step. They’d also furnished the cozy cabin, trips to IKEA and Urban Outfitters (along with several other over-priced boutiques) making the place feel like a perfect fit for the couple.

Mitch’s strange and varied knick knacks made the house feel like a home, his lacrosse stick finding a new home by the front door, right under a hanging potted plant that Y/n and Mitch had decided to affectionately name “Charles” after a drunken night watching the X-Men movies. The house was littered in plants such as Charles, in fact, with Mitch’s first response to seeing all of them being “Wow, looks like a greenhouse in here.”

(Still, he’d grown to love the plant babies. Trust me.)

Two tired smiles made their ways to their faces as they both sat on their new sofa, admiring a job well done. Though several boxes still lay on the hardwood, unopened, they felt accomplished enough to pull out a bottle of wine that they had been saving for the occasion. It was an early housewarming gift from Stan, to which they were unprepared to take advantage of, it seemed.

“Baby, did we unpack the wine glasses earlier?” Mitch questioned, his mind slightly foggy of the day's events and early start.

“No, I think they’re still packed up.” She replied, to which Mitch’s eyes lit up, an idea forming and an imaginary lightbulb popping up over his head. He got up from his seat, a wide smile spreading across his face. Her expression mirrored his own, with an added quirked brow at his antics.

“I’ve got a solution, wait here.” Mitch responded, padding over to where he had remembered the new home of the mugs to be. Upon realization of what he was doing, Y/n smiled, rolling her eyes and bringing a hand up to run through her roots.

He shuffled back over moments later, his girlfriend recognizing one of the mugs in his hands as her favorite. He sat down next to her, with the bare skin of her thighs touching his own, jean clad. He bumped his knee to hers with a giggle, pouring out the Pinot Grigio into the mugs. 

She gratefully accepted it as it was handed to her, smiling as she took a sip. Mitch did the same, the two of them leaning back into the soft sofa. Y/n brought her legs up, cuddling into his side and absorbing his warmth. He brought his free hand to her side, a strong hold giving them both a strong sense of comfort as she lay her head on his shoulder.

The box labeled “Kat” remained unpacked along with the others on the floor, dust already beginning to gather. Mitch had come across it a few times that day, each time more thoughtful than the last as he struggled to decide what it was exactly he was feeling towards the objects; or perhaps towards the memory of Katrina.

He had come to realize that it was acceptance he felt, deep in his stomach, settling down. It had been brought upon him in totality over time, today’s events being the final step. A soft smile spread across Mitch’s face, a single tear falling from his eye. Y/n looked up, eyebrows furrowed with worry.

“Mitch, are you alright?”

He leaned down, connecting their lips in a watery yet nectarous kiss, his hand beginning to rub small circles on her shoulder. 

“Yeah, Y/n/n.” 

The fire they had built earlier was roaring, now, casting a warm glow across the pair’s features. The damp trail down his cheek was highlighted, nearly glistening on his skin like an amber. 

“I’m doin’ just fine.”

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ok btw ik that wine in mugs would be a horrible idea but this is fiction so SHUSH

anyway i hope yall enjoyed! i love writing for mitch and i have lots of future fics for him, so if u liked this, please reblog and follow if ya wanna. mwah, go drink water and have some protein <333

 xx hj