#i truly thought that adulthood would get rid of that

[fellintotartarus]

just found myself sitting in the law library on my lunch break reading smut on ao3. when will i be free

[stromuprisahat]

Hello! Firstly, I want to make it clear that I love your blog and your opinions. And secondly I would like to ask about your thoughts on what would happen if Ulla accepted and went with Sasha when he asked her to go with him? (It also makes me a little curious if they stayed together they would end up developing codependency and emotional or perhaps literal incest…)

I think this would be an interesting event that would greatly change the events of the shadow and bones trilogy.

Sorry for any mistakes in my writing, English is not my language!

Hi! Thanks, and don't worry- I might write (and occasionally dream) in English, but it's not my first language either. I'm still checking most of my posts with the help of Uncle Google and Seznam Dictionary. :)

Sashka and Ulla...

There are two variables we might need, but don't have. We don't know how old Aleksander is, when he dies, and we don't know how old he is, when he meets Ulla. It wouldn't be precise, but it could help us guess how worn out he might be.

If Ulla went with Aleksander, it would certainly help him cut off Baghra. When we meet him in Shadow and Bone, he's aware she isn't good for him, but he doesn't have an alternative. Not even belief Alina will eventually have only him, isn't enough to truly get rid of his mother. Maybe having another immortal, who got screwed over by Baghra AND acknowledges it, would be the correct impulse to dump the old hag.

I can't see a "healthy" option for immortal life or relationship. Certainly not the way rules are set. Others will still die. Their world will still be the horrible place it is. Then, there are the philosophical questions like "Can life still have a meaning, when your time isn't limited?".

Having a single person to lean on for centuries should surely lead to codependency. Let's hope Ulla and Sasha wouldn't at least have it as unequal as he does with his mother.

From what we're shown, Aleksander sees sex mostly as a tool, but then again- we've never even glimpsed his previous romantic relationships, so who knows... maybe he's god-tier demi sexmachine. That would be a no for physical incest (although all those deliciously naughty options... read Nådeløsheten by Madismen for Darklina/their immortal son tasteful short). I had to look up emotional incest for specific details, and:

(x)

After centuries of losses and difficulties no mortal can understand, I don't think boundaries between any two people, who have both been through it TOGETHER, could remain intact. Sasha and Ulla have the advantage of adulthood- their personalities are mostly formed- but after that?

Picture Alina arriving in Little Palace, but instead of the pressure of being the long-awaited Sun Summoner, there's only a mild concern how she managed to slip through testing. She's expected to clear the remains of the Fold, but one of the previous Sea Witches already made a path to the sea. Or more precisely- made the sea come to the capital itself, creating a swift way through the Fold (bonus points for sea monsters, snapping at volcra from depths Liopleurodon-style).

Second Army is traditionally lead by the Darkling and Sea Witch. No one knows if they're related, or married, they always seem incredibly close. If one dies, the other usually passes away or leaves to spend the rest of their life in seclusion. After that, another pair arrives from the safe place they were raised, to take over the work.

Alina's correctly assessed as unreliable (just like in the book), but even if he catches feelings, Aleksander isn't so desperately lonely. We can sprinkle some drama due to possible jealousy and above mentioned co-dependency, add possible parallel with Malina and contrast between their causes and solving. We could even use Baghra, waiting in hiding to screw over her errant children, especially her ungrateful son. Shenanigans ensue.

[cheesetalia]

fly a diamond night

For @aphcardverse-week's Day 1: You Can't Fight Fate | oracle | prophecy | "I'm not supposed to be here."

Liechtenstein/Switzerland (platonic) | 1.9k words |

Summary:

In the Kingdom of Diamonds, everyone's role, whether a lowly two or the highest King, is set in stone by fate immutable. So is one's innate nature as a submissive, dominant, or switch. Basch, with his prickly personality and dislike of following others' orders, is a poor choice for a sub. The fates must have been drunk when they assigned his nature. But when his hoarder tendencies get to be too much, his submissive nature may prove useful for once.

Can be read on the Archive of Our Own or underneath the Readmore:

Life in the Kingdom of Diamonds was no meritocracy. Basch had heard that things were more relaxed in Spades Kingdom, but all he had ever known was his own land, and a bit of the Kingdom of Hearts that bordered it. And the Hearts' people were just as rigid in their hierarchies as the Diamondians.

In both lands everyone's position was decided by the suit symbols revealed on their matured bodies when they reached adulthood. This was the same whether you were an unlucky two all the way up to the supposed winners in the lottery of life, the King and Queen.

If that was all there was to it, then Basch would have little to complain about—his sister was Queen, and he himself was a Jack. But fate also pushed its heavy, oppressive hand down in other ways. Basch, like everyone else, had had to undergo another sorting of sorts that happened at puberty—one that revealed his innate nature as either a dominant, a submissive, or a switch.

One's role was immutable, unchangeable, laid down by nature, and to go against it was to court pain and death. Basch had never questioned this as a child, but that was because he'd never truly thought there was a chance he of all people would be a sub.

Presenting as a submissive had been a horrible shock. If Lili hadn't had an early presentation as a switch shortly after him, he might have done something terrible. Even now there was no way he'd tolerate submitting to anyone but Lili.

Although his sister was an excellent dom (the <i>best</i> dom, he'd tell anyone if he had a little too much to drink) he'd never come to love or even like submitting the way most subs did.

There were times his nature came in handy though, although he would never admit it to anyone. Today was proving to be one of those times.

Basch had a...little bit of a hard time throwing things out. Who could say what could one day be useful? Even if it was "broken junk" as Francis called it, it might be able to be repurposed for something?

So what if that shirt was too small to fit Lili now? It could still be cut up and used for cleaning rags one day, or used as stuffing for a pillow, or maybe to make a comfortable bed for an animal.

"I can buy you a thousand shirts! And when would either of you need to clean? You're a Jack now, and your sister is Queen. You need to get rid of that peasant mindset!" Francis exclaimed.

Basch ignored the King, his attentions having a much better place to be directed—like shoving Lili's unwanted shirt into the overflowing spare wardrobe in his quarters. Or trying to.

It was a bit full.

"Maybe you need to go into subspace for a bit, hmm?" Francis said, his voice tilting up coyly as he stepped closer to Basch.

Basch whirled away from the wardrobe and glared at Francis. Hand on his gun as if ready to blast his own king to bits if Francis tried to make him submit.

Francis sighed, and stepped back. While he'd dearly love to see his new Jack in a submissive state—fierce glaring mint eyes made soft and shy, body loose and pliable and putty in Francis's hands—Basch hadn't submitted to him even once in the year he'd lived in the castle.

Instead that honor was reserved for Lili, Basch's little sister and Francis's queen, and a switch through and through. She would happily be whatever her husband and brother needed of her.

"Shall I tell your sister she's needed here?" Francis asked.

"Hn," was all Basch said, but Francis had known him long enough now to know that meant "yes".

*****

"Brother, what's wrong?" Lili asked.

Her brother was standing in front of one of the wardrobes in his room, a pale tangerine blouse tucked under one arm. Lili recognized it as one he'd caught her throwing out earlier. He'd said he had a use for it...

Some use! It looked like he was just planning to store it away to be useful "some day" like half the junk in his room.

"I can find a use for it," he muttered, but looked off to the side, not meeting Lili's eyes.

"Brother," Lili said reproachfully, and held out one small hand.

"Hmph," Basch said, but handed her the blouse.

"I think maybe we should go through your room, declutter a bit..." Lili said.

Basch made a small growling noise. Lili forced her face to remain serenely composed. Her brother was so cute like this, all flustered and frustrated! She wanted to coo over him but she knew he would take it the wrong way.

"Brother, is that okay?" Lili asked.

Basch crossed his arms and gave a tiny nod.

"Good," Lili said, her voice shifting to be firmer.

It was still gentle and patient, but there was the almost imperceptible pressure behind it of someone with a backbone of steel. No matter how many layers of cute soft fluff surrounded his sister, inside she was strong.

(Unlike Basch.) But he shoved that thought aside. His dom had in the past given him very strict orders to avoid thinking badly of himself or of subs.

"Can you kneel on the ground for me?" Lili asked.

The asking was a kindness to him; Basch had seen her dominating Francis before and she was nowhere near as nice or gentle. In fact, she was very very harsh with the Diamonds' King, but he loved it (Francis was lucky enough to be a switch, the bastard. The king was submissive for <i>fun</i>, when he felt like it.).

Basch didn't hesitate to sink to his knees. He might not like such things, but he would crawl over burning hot coals for his sister's sake, a little kneeling was nothing.

"Very good," Lili praised.

Basch was silent. He hadn't done anything yet worthy of praise. His sister was too nice to him by far.

"Now, can you take your outerwear off for me?" Lili asked.

Basch shifted, pulling his orange coat off and folding it. The he removed his matching hat with the little cream-colored poofball, and handed them both to his sister. She sat them on the bed and looked at him expectantly.

He held his breath as he waited for her next order. He <i>knew</i> the routine; usually it was "Can you take your outerwear and jewellry off?" but this time she hadn't mentioned the diamond-shaped pendant dangling from his neck, or the ivory brooch pinned to his shirt (a gift from King Francis; and Basch only wore it because it would be a crime to let something so expensive moulder away in a jewellry box. And he couldn't throw it out!)

He couldn't take the jewellry off unless she told him to—a sub was supposed to take orders, not act on their own initiative. He might not be in a submissive headspace yet but he knew that!

Finally Lili smiled and said, "And your jewellry too," and held out one tiny perfect hand, palm upright and waiting.

Basch quickly removed his pendant and brooch and handed them over.

Then their routine carried on as expected. Lili asked him to do a variety of small nonsensical tasks. Touch his nose three times. Pat his head and rub his stomach simultaneously. Whistle the Diamonds' national anthem. She even had him imitate one of their pet doves. He didn't mind acting silly to make his sister smile.

Hearing her girlish giggles and seeing her face, so delighted with his obedience (he was making his dom happy!), he started to relax and slip down into subspace.

It was peaceful there. He was still coherent, still present, but everything was kind of fuzzy and a little hazy, as if all the sharp edges that usually jabbed at Basch (annoying noises, people moving around in his eyesight, people <i>period</i>, a head full of decisions to make and duties to carry out) had been worn down so they no longer pierced him.

It was like settling into a warm bath, relaxing and cleansing all at once, washing away the aggravated chatter of his normal thoughts.

"I think you're ready," Lili said.

Her hand was on his head, petting him and soothing him. Basch didn't do petplay, he wasn't that kind of sub, but he could see the appeal in it, in purring and leaning into that sweet delicate touch and nuzzling her.

"Stand up," she said.

Basch rose, and she took his hand and led him to the first wardrobe. It was a mammoth piece of furniture, with four doors and two drawers. Lili opened the doors, revealing not rows of neatly hung clothes but rather stacks and stacks of them, piled from bottom to top filling every square inch, along with some objects that had no business being stored with clothing.

When she opened the drawers, she had to grip the wardrobe tightly and pull, because they were so overstuffed they didn't want to budge.

Something deep down in Basch squirmed at the sight, he knew he should be better than this. The thought and feeling of discomfort faded quickly though, smoothed away by the calm euphoria of subspace.

"Help me pull everything out," Lili ordered.

Basch set to work pulling everything out. Soon they had it completely cleared, everything spread out on the bed or piled next to it.

Lili picked up a very ugly eye-searingly orange sweater with a bunny on it. Hand-knitted by the Queen of Spades himself, and gifted to Basch.

Basch took a deep breath. This was the part that was intolerable when he wasn't sunk into subspace.

"Have you worn this?" Lili asked.

She knew the answer. The sweater was...distinctive, and it made Francis's eyes water, so Basch wore it sometimes to piss him off. It had been a while since he'd put it on though—he'd thought it lost, that Francis had finally gotten sick enough of it to steal it and throw it in the trash to spare his eyes. But no, it had just been buried under a mound of junk.

"I do, Basch answered.

Without saying another word, Lili folded the sweater and set it in a new pile. Then she picked up the next article of clothing.

It went on and on like that. "Do you wear this?" "Do you need this?" "Do you like this?"

"No," Basch admitted about many of the things. Most of them, in fact.

By the time they'd gone through both wardrobes, Basch was exhausted. But the wardrobes looked like they should, with a normal amount of clothing in them now that he could easily look through and find what he needed.

The bed meanwhile, was completely covered in stacks of clothing.

"They won't be wasted," Lili said, her voice like milk and honey to him, "they'll be given to charity to help people who need them like we used to."

Basch managed a small smile for her as she took him by the hand and led him out the door. They would walk through the gardens until he rose up from subspace. While they strolled, the clothes left out would be gathered up by the servants and packed up to be sent to the poor.

[koreihanna]

Losing Your Youth Amidst The Grand Scheme of Things

by Reihann N. Edres

Or does it not? I contemplated this title fifty times over before finally arriving at a conclusion and it still led me to an existential crisis. For some reason, the grand scheme of things is a loop of endless questions back and forth. Today, my quill trembles with the weight of my decision to divulge my perspective on this unending cycle: Losing Your Youth Amidst The Grand Scheme of Things.

A year ago, I joked to myself that I would lose my precious Spotify discount once I graduate because no Enrollment Billing Form could attest to my student status. And now, here we are, with reality serving me a piping hot dish of laughter! My discount has slipped away, just like my dreams of being a responsible adult.

The weight of that joke did not truly sink in until I found myself on the other side of the employment fence. Fate has dealt me a surprising hand. Not only have I earned my hard-fought degree, but I am also now a licensed nurse, serving at one of MSU-System's campuses, where I once walked the halls as a student. The pace at which these changes occurred left me breathless, struggling to keep up with the whirlwind of activity. Looking back to a year ago, I remember the palpable anxiety that gripped me, driving me to tears as I prayed that Allah (SWT) wouldn't let me end up married to a stranger or fail my board exams. The memories of those nerve-wracking moments still haunt me to this day.

I thought that was already the peak of my adulthood- a constant barrage of trials and tribulations. Like a bulldozer plowing through a mound of dirt, I was fueled by the fiery determination to redeem myself. The thought of finally ridding away those pesky acne marks, paying off debts, and splurging on all the things I couldn't afford as a poor student, propelled me towards the person I am now. Truthfully, I felt like a powerhouse, a veritable force to be reckoned with in my unwavering quest for redemption. But in hindsight, my goals seemed insignificant, almost trivial in the grand scheme of things.

Despite my newfound fulfillment, there are still some things that have remained constant like my student instincts kicking in, prompting me to brainstorm ways to snag a Spotify discount. Let us be honest, we all love good bargains. It's like a rite of passage, a testament to the resourcefulness that got me this far. So, even though my life has taken a different turn, my nature remains unchanged which most people question as if telling me to relinquish my youthful nature of sunshines and butterflies. As I contemplate this conundrum, I cannot help but wonder if perhaps this is why people age and grow wrinkled, as the weight of the world forces them to become old before their time.

The unyielding demands of life can be overwhelming, leaving one feeling drained and depleted, unable to resist the ravages of time. And should the world demand that I abandon my youthful nature, it would mean relinquishing the very things that helped me get to where I am today. It would entail giving up the simple pleasures, like worrying over a Spotify discount, or the bittersweet pain of letting go of old friends and memories, or just the mere thought of coming back home.

During high school, I had to relocate to the countryside abruptly—don’t get me wrong as it turned out to be one of my fondest memories. Throughout college, I had to live independently with family support coming only financially. My responsibilities although not apparent never afforded me the luxury of experiencing the simple pleasures of life such as observing the trees sway or the warmth of the sun on my skin. Now, at 22 years old, I find myself in a rare moment of reflection, pondering over the questions that have long eluded me: Is it still worth fretting over a mere Spotify discount? Are my worries truly trivial? Or can I really move forward when the world around me grows ever more complex and grandiose, while my nature remains unchanged?

[mytheoristavenue]

Day 6: Eddie + Christmas Cookies

Summary: You decide to make Christmas cookies for Wayne, as a sign of appreciation, and you force Eddie to help.

Warnings: Fluff

"Eddie, quit!" you huffed, slapping your boyfriend's hand away as he dipped his fingers into the batter that would become dough with the addition of flour, before popping them in his mouth. "Honestly, I don't know why I even asked for your help."

"Funny," he snickered, leaning against the countertop. "I was thinking the same thing. You know I'm shit at cooking."

You rolled your eyes, rationing your dry ingredients into the mixing bowl. "Well, I'm sorry, I thought it'd be more meaningful if you helped make them. Wayne loves gingerbread and he's been working really hard to support us until I finish college." you reminded. "Making him cookies for Christmas is the least we can do."

"Yeah, yeah," he waved you off, coming behind you and snaking his arms around your waist while resting his head on your shoulder. "What he really wants for Christmas is to get rid of us freeloaders." he laughed, nuzzling you as your whisked the mixture. "Don't worry, I'm savin' every penny from this knew job. Pretty soon, we'll have our own trailer, can you imagine?"

"Color me spoiled." you rolled your eyes. You were just playing with him, of course. You were excited for you and Eddie to have your own place, and you were so thankful to Wayne for convincing the owner of the trailer park to hold off on renting out the adjacent vacancy. He had also recently set Ed up with a job at his place of work, and made him swear to pinch every penny until he had enough for the trailer. In the meantime, you were finishing your classes at the local community college, all the while, his uncle providing for you both. He truly wanted to give the two of you the best chance at young adulthood that he could, and you were so grateful.

-----

You hummed lightly as you very carefully iced the now baked and cooled cookies, your boyfriend doing the same by your side. "Hey, is that one of my songs?" he perked up, recognizing the tune as his bands newest song.

"Mhm," you chirped, smile shining brightly. "It's stuck in my head."

Suddenly, the front door unlocked itself from the outside, swinging open and flooding the living room with light, startling you both. Instinctually, Eddie rose to defend you, should the situation escalate. "'m home." A tired older man stumbled into the trailer with a heavy sigh before glancing up at you and smiling sweetly. "What're you kids up to?"

"Nothing!" you blushed, jumping out of your chair to loom over the cookies spread out across the table, some iced, and some not. "What are you doing here?"

"It's my house?" he laughed, crows feet gathering beside his eyes as he approached. "Boss let me go early since the shop'll be closed for the rest of the week. " Eddie sighed, glancing back at you, still standing.

"Gig's up, babe." he sighed half heartedly. You sighed as well, carefully unlocking the cage you'd made over the display with your arms, before sitting back down.

"We were trying to make you cookies." you explained, cheeks flushed and hands wringing nervously. "Just to say thank you for everything you do for us."

Wayne took in a deep, shaky breath, silent and stoic as ever. His voice trembled meekly as he sat at the table, plucking an iced one off the display plate you'd picked from the cupboard. He sniffed it curiously before his brows knitted together. "Ginger bread?" he asked quietly.

You nodded timidly. "Eddie said you liked gingerbread and gave me an old recipe to follow." As you explained, the older man eagerly sank his teeth into the treat, eyes becoming glossy as a result.

"Just how mom used to make?" Eddie piped up, knowingly. You hadn't known it, but the recipe he'd given you usually called his mother's old cook book home. Wayne grew up with this recipe being filled by his mother, and then later on, by his late sister.

"Exactly..." he sniffled, wolfing the cookie down.

"Do...you like them?" you wondered aloud, shirking into your seat, nervous about his reaction. He glanced up at you with a sincere smile.

"They're perfect, darlin;'. Thank you, that was very thoughtful of you." he answered, standing up and opening his arms. "C'mere, both ya."

Beaming with pride, you eagerly stood and scurried over to him, sharing a group hug with your boyfriend and his relative. "Merry Christmas, Uncle Wayne." you muttered warmly. The said man's eyes widened in surprise at how you'd referred to him, considering it was the first time you'd called him 'uncle'.

"Merry Christmas, kiddos."

[beyondspaceandstars]

One shot | Bucky | Fluffy: 1 , 9 | Angst: 5 , 6 | w/ a happy ending

I kinda wanted to make it a challenge, and I thought these prompts were the most interesting! If you do choose to do it, I hope you have fun! Have a great day ❤️

Pizza With a Side of Confessions

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: N/A, bit fluff, bit angst

Word Count: 1.8k

A/N: thank you so so much for requesting! this also include in the second ask you sent i did see it and make note of it! you certainly did give me a challenge here this one took some real mapping out to complete but i think i got it i hope i checked off all the boxes :)

Masterlist

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

You had sworn the knock on your door was going to be from your date. The sleazy, creepy date you had just rejected on the stoop of your apartment building.

He had ended up being the complete opposite of what he appeared to be online. Through text messages, he seemed caring and kind. Interested in you. But then when you two met… He hands kept groping. Wandering. Caressing. You had begged him to stop in the restaurant which he eventually did after he walked you home, something you only agreed to to keep the peace, he began working on you again and you had to put your foot down, forbidding the night from going further.

He didn’t look too happy about your attitude which made you assume when that knock landed on your door, it was him and he was coming back for revenge. You had grabbed the first knife you could find and quickly pulled the door open, ready to hopelessly defend yourself…

But as you blinked back the tears cascading down your face, welling in your eyes, you saw a familiar pair of blue eyes along with a familiar frown.

"Bucky?" You sniffled, still pointing the knife at your best friend’s chest.

"Hey, doll," Bucky said, cautiously. He was standing as still as he could while also balancing a pizza box in his arms. "Do you… Do you maybe want to drop the knife, like, right now?"

You shook yourself out of your daze, quickly pulling the knife away from him. He visibly relaxed but his expression was cold, serious, as it took in your upset form. You brought the back of your hand to your face trying to get rid of the tears but they just wouldn’t stop.

"I-I’m sorry," you mumbled as you stepped away from the doorway, letting Bucky into the apartment. He immediately abandoned the pizza on your kitchen counter and turned to you, brows furrowing in waves of worry.

"What happened?" He asked — well, more like growled. If a man could growl. He truly sounded beyond angry which made you jump a bit. Bucky must’ve noticed because he immediately took a step back and tried recomposing himself. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you it’s just — seeing you cry — I need to know, whose ass am I kicking now."

You let out a light laugh at that, seeing his such protective side. You and Bucky had formed quite an interesting friendship over time. When you two first met, he loved bickering with you, teasing you here and there about anything and everything. You’d be the bud of the joke with him and while you tried not to let it bother you, admittedly, it had very quickly gotten quite annoying. Eventually, he seemed to just abandon the act and while you were cautious, you welcomed the newfound friendship — Lord knows those were hard to come across in adulthood.

Bucky has been an amazing friend to you ever since. Maybe even a little too amazing because over time you couldn’t deny some feelings had begun to form. But in your eyes, there could be no way such a handsome, funny man was going to be as interested in you. You tried to suppress it and instead just taught yourself to enjoy his little acts of kindness.

"I-I went on another date tonight," you sighed, setting the knife back in its holder. You leaned against the counter, opposite of Bucky. His arms were folded, waiting. "I and this guy had been texting for a while and… and I really thought he was great, I truly did, but then when we met he just made me so uncomfortable. All touchy, feely… Just making my skin crawl, even now." You sighed, dropping your gaze to the kitchen floor. "I told him I wasn’t interested after he walked me home and he didn’t seem very happy about it so… When you knocked, I thought it was him trying to get into my apartment."

You felt like such a fool explaining the situation. Despite this being Bucky and knowing, at some capacity, he wasn’t going to hold it over you, it was still embarrassing. You seemed to be constantly going on these dates trying to find a partner and time after time you came up disappointed. And Bucky would always be there to pick up the pieces.

When you looked back up at your friend, you found he was studying you closely. He was sure taking a while to respond but, then again, what more could he say? You felt he probably had grown exhausted trying to comfort you after these failed dates.

And it seemed your suspicions had been confirmed — but not in a way you could have ever seen coming.

Bucky cleared his throat as if he was preparing. You took a deep breath, ready for whatever blow he was about to serve. Would he yell at you? Would he give some speech on his disappointed he is? Beg you to delete the apps? Would he—

"Maybe you just shouldn’t be going on those dates anymore."

"Huh?" You frowned.

Bucky sighed. "You can’t keep putting yourself through this."

"But how else will I find someone to date? I’m not getting any younger here, Buck."

He turned away suddenly. You heard him let out a deep sigh. Your heart was pounding loudly in your ears.

"You could maybe start by looking at the man in front of you."

Your jaw just about hit the floor. "B-Bucky—"

But there was no stopping him as he went in for the declaration. "Remember when we first met and I used to tease you relentlessly? At the time, did it ever cross your mind that maybe, just maybe, I didn’t hate you? That I wasn’t doing it out of spite? I was doing it because I was nervous. Here waltzes in this amazing, beautiful woman, and I-I didn’t know what to do. I was falling for you and I couldn’t stop it. Hell, I’m still falling for you. Every day, darling. Every goddamn day." He paused, shaking his head. "I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear tonight but I can’t sit here any longer watching you get taken advantage of by the men in this city. I’m sorry it’s coming out like this but I think you needed to hear it. I apologize for that but I won’t apologize for loving you."

You didn’t know what to do. All you could focus on was Bucky’s pleading eyes and the tears forming in your own. But they were coming on for a good reason this time. They weren’t wasted tears over an uncomfortable date. They were tears of relief.

"Do-Do you really mean all that?" You finally asked.

Bucky nodded. "Every word."

In a spontaneous move, you pushed yourself away from the counter and took determined strides towards Bucky. You threw your arms around his waist, burying your face in his shirt. It took Bucky a second to react but you eventually felt his arms snake around you.

"I love you, too, Buck," you mumbled into his chest. You felt his body shake as he chuckled.

"You sure, doll?"

You nodded. "I’ve loved you for a while, too. I just never thought you’d ever…"

"Stop," Bucky said. "Don’t say anymore. Whatever you thought, it’s not true. I have always loved you."

You pulled away from his chest, putting some distance between you two but keeping your arms locked around him. He was looking down at you with a great mixture of relief and adornment on his face. You couldn’t help but smile. You felt the same.

"I can’t believe this," you giggled. "So are we… Are we like…"

Bucky laughed. "I think we need a date first."

You gasped, happily. "A date?"

He nodded then untangled himself from you. You watched as Bucky walked over to the forgotten pizza. "How about pizza and a movie?"

You looked between Bucky and the pizza box. "Bucky, do you want to explain why you were at my door with a pizza?"

Realization flashed across Bucky’s face. "I-I didn’t come here expecting a date or anything, I swear. I stopped by because… well, I didn’t know you had your date and thought at the very least we could hang out. I even got your favorite."

You smiled, stalking over to the pizza. "Pepperoni and jalapeños?"

Bucky scoffed. "I did say I got your favorite, didn’t I?"

You let out a cheerful squeal as you hugged Bucky again, throwing your arms around his neck. He leaned into you and it all felt natural, like the stars in the sky had finally aligned.

You broke away and said, "You take the pizza and find a movie. I’ll grab some plates."

Bucky agreed and you two broke into your separate tasks, eventually coming back together to sit on your living room couch. At first, though, you two just kind of stood there, the smell of pizza wafting between you two. You weren’t just sitting on the couch to watch a movie — you were sitting down, on a date, to watch a movie.

But you were tired of being so hesitant and running into wrongs after wrongs. You were taking this opportunity. You sat on the couch and patted the spot right next to you. Once Bucky sat down, you got a bit bolder and threw his arm over you, allowing you to cuddle into him. He was a bit tense at first but soon eased up, welcoming you to invade his space.

Bucky had decided on some action movie but you didn’t particularly care about it. All you could focus on was the fact you were cuddling with Bucky while eating pizza. It was a date. A real date where the touching felt natural and you weren’t scared of saying the wrong thing. Had you really been so blind?"

The emotions and questions within you were building quickly. You needed a way to break it, to distract yourself. You landed on your sad, silly humor to save the day.

"Hey, Buck," you mumbled as the car on screen blew up or something. You didn’t know, you just shifted closer into Bucky — if that was even possible. His hold on you got tighter.

"Yeah, doll?"

"Remember when I pulled a knife on you? That’s crazy. Who would’ve guessed a little civilian like myself could hold a knife to the Winter Soldier and live to tell the tale." You were well aware that you were rambling now, the roller coaster of a night catching up to you, but Bucky didn’t seem to mind.

The laughter that escaped him was like music to your ears. His body shook beneath you as he comically laughed at your ridiculous comment.

“You drive me up the wall sometimes, darling," Bucky mumbled back once he had calmed down.

You giggled, "Better get used to it."

"Yeah," he sighed, "I guess I better."

[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

[cagcd]

     In youth he wished for the comfort of a better family,   in adulthood he had avoided any possibility of a deeper connection,   a paradox in being that had divided him at the core between wanting and fearing,   to claim something robbed throughout childhood,   but never act upon it for fear of the ache that comes from rejection.   Out of his family there was none left but his mother that he maintained a good line of connection with,   although the relationship had long been strained in a downfall caused by arrogance and addiction,   he had managed to salvage it into something stronger.   His siblings had led themselves down worser paths,   his father,   his father                   the mere thought of the man makes his stomach churn,   the scent of alcohol and the tone of his voice were the only memories he had left,   and he aches not for those small bits of remembrance but the inevitable realization of the startling similarity between father and son.   A fault of nature he holds too harshly upon himself,   a glorified star that witnessed his own fall from grace,   pride comes before the fall as they say,   a twist in fate he regrets most terribly but is thankful for regardless,   lest he kept going down that path and truly becomes like the man he had grown to despise with all his heart.

  It was a much needed wake up call that gave sight to what truly mattered,   although nearly lost,   he held onto the bits and pieces and climbed from that deep pit into recovery.   When one is so consumed by the ailings of their own hearts,   it blinds the senses,   shrouds the world in a veil of darkness,   pitch black to the point that it seems nothing is in there,   unintentionally isolating oneself in the worst forms of solitude.   Johnny had experienced it,   &.   once he had clawed his way back into the light,   there was still that emptiness to be filled,   a whole world to get familiar with once again,   not entirely void of demons by own creation,   but lighter now that he learned to keep them at bay.   Perhaps it was for the experience that he feel a sense of sympathy for Hanzo ;   wondered how it must have been like to set foot back into a world he could not stomach but is forced to adapt into.   It was a journey for the former sceptre to discover,   and indeed,   the man had shown considerable change,   become a great ally to the special forces,   and a good father in the eyes of Takeda who had nothing but respect and admiration for him.   &.   yet,   there was still that shadow that loomed over,   a deep melancholy no controlled instances of silence or meditation could hide.   Johnny knew better than to ask,   a parent's grief was a fate he hadn't experienced but taunts him whenever Cassie would set forth on a mission without him or Sonya.   He asked despite his better judgment,   and saw how that familiar fire would spark figuratively in a glance and tone so mercilessly sharp.   He held his tongue for long,   allowing the grandmaster to make sense of himself,   he seemed to him like a wild animal driven to a corner,   but it wasn't for the sake of being forceful that he posed the question.

       ❛❛                It's because I have a daughter,   that I know.   ❜❜        he said plainly,   leaning closer by resting his arms at the edge of a chair instead of cowering away,   Hanzo ought to know better that Johnny Cage was a difficult man to be rid off.        ❛❛ �� ...   I was so irresponsible that I nearly drove her away.   I could still lose her,   there's not a time that goes by that I wonder if it's gonna be the last time I see her,   and that                there's nothing more terrifying than that.   ❜❜        the actor admits with a sigh,   a familiar pang of concern tugging at the heart strings,   it never gets easier,   does it ?        ❛❛   I know I have a big mouth,   but I'm not trying to get on your nerves or pity you,   just talking,   one parent to another.   ❜❜

hanzo    had    simply    watched    as    the    daughter    of    cage    came    and    went. he    knew    not    to    give    2    cage's    fodder    to    crack    wise    jokes    to    him. but    still,    he    offered    his    respect    as    both    of    them    were    good    friends    of    takeda. hanzo's    yellow    gaze    watched    solemnly    as    the    father    and    daughter    would    interact. the    dynamic    they    have    developed    from    father    and    sole    protector    to    fully    grown    and    well    off    daughter. [    there    was    something    in    the    pit    of    his    heart. he    could    no    longer    say    it    burned    since    he    no    longer    knew    the    feeling    of    fire    burning    skin... it    felt    more    reminiscent    of    a    rotting    deer    in    the    forest. ]    hanzo    was    beyond    jealousy    of    others    having    what    he    never    had. he    was    no    longer    in    a    realm    of    envy    for    parenthood... rather,    every    day    no    matter    how    well    he    seemed    was    a    day    dedicated    to    those    he    wasnt    meant    to    protect. while    seeing    johnny    and    cassandra    interact    didnt        evoke    a    need    to    have    what    he    did,    it    rather    just    left    him    sore. [    however,    he    has    gotten    better    at    not    letting    his    grief    affect    others. so    he    remained    silent    ]   

   hanzos    reliable    aura    of    steeled    quietness    could    not    deflect    everything    however. johnny's    question    as    gentle    as    its    delivered    comes    as    a    dagger    towards    him. something    seeking    to    tear    open    leather    walls    hanzo    has    placed.

      ❝    i    do. ❞   

   from    hanzos    silence    interjects    a    contrasting    sharp    tone. the    initial    rush    of    anger    comes    to    him    as    a    flush    of    warmth    over    his    skin. nothing    burning,    but    certainly    feverish. rising    temperature    usually    a    tell    tale    sign    of    his    mood. hanzo's    gaze    had    snapped    to    johnny... but    soon    he    blinks    somewhat    and    turns    his    features    away. taking    a    moment    to    get    past    this    initial    reaction. cooling    down,    figuratively    speaking. when    hanzo    speaks    again,    he    is    not    looking    johnny    in    this    eyes    this    time. a    restrained    tone. as    if    he    was    trying    to    maintain    a    easy    demeanor.

      ❝    i'm    afraid    i    barely    got    to    know    him. he    was... ❞    his    jaw    becomes    tight. when    a    fissure    of    uncertainty    rises    in    him    he    could    only    answer    with    an    edged    tone,    though    he    does    try    and    rear    it. ❝    are    you    trying    to    feel    sorry    for    me    ?    i've    had    enough    pity    to    fill    netherrealms    pools. just    because    you    have    a    daughter-    ❞    abruptly    he    stops    himself. hanzo    wasn't    sure    how    to    feel. from    one    tide    to    another. still,    he    tried    to    seek    a    center.

[capesandshapes]

All You Had to Do Was Stay (Post Reveal/ Pre Relationship) (1/4)

Thanks to LNC for the title!

Summary:

Three years ago, Marinette revealed her identity to him. Three years ago, he promised to wait in a hotel room for her. Three years ago, she opened the door to find it empty.

Now she's expected to play nice with him, since she's the maid of honor and he's unfortunately the best man. But old habits die hard, and old feelings die harder.

"This is a wedding, not a death march, Marinette."

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Things that need to be done before Alya Cesaire could marry Nino Lahiffe:

1. Designs combining both Martinique culture and Réunion style needed to be made for the whole wedding party. Everyone should get to have a say in what they wear.

2. The video of Alya dancing overenthusiastically to the cupid shuffle needed to be removed from Lila Rossi’s Instagram, lest Nino’s nana see and wonder what type of woman he’s marrying.

3. The cake tasting needed to be had. Marinette needed to make sure that her parents didn’t go overboard and keep the couple for the whole night. Even if Alya was practically their daughter. Even if they begged. Even if papa cried.

4. A totally unique and unreplicable combination Bachelor and Bachelorette party needed to be planned.

And, lastly… The most difficult of all:

5. Marinette somehow needed to be able to stand in a room with Nino’s best man, Adrien, and hold a conversation for more than five minutes. Even if, three years ago, he found out her identity, left Paris, and broke her heart.

“Easy,” Marinette groaned, sinking further into her barstool as she closed her notes app, her head touching the counter of the bar. She’d already crossed off the top two of the list items, and yet…

“I’m not asking for a miracle,” Alya began, obviously knowing what she was thinking about. She was the one to ask Marinette out that night, wanting to find out her progress… and also to check in on her wellbeing. It was obvious that she felt bad, she knew how things went between the two and how Marinette originally thought they would go. But she couldn’t just ask Nino not to have Adrien be his best man. “Five minutes, that’s all I’m asking. Just five minutes in a room together. You quickly plan the bachelorette party, since we know that you’re far too organized not to, give him the run down, and then leave. Back to your life, back to doing whatever it is you do now.”

“Sit at home. Alone,” Marinette supplied.

Alya grimaced. “It’s for the best that Luka got married, Marinette. You couldn’t keep playing that game. All that kiss and tell was gonna kill you some day.”

Marinette groaned, somehow sinking further into the wood of the bar. Anymore and she’d become part of the grain.

“Plus, Juleka’s in a better mood with you now,” Alya said, obviously looking at the other young woman as she undoubtedly danced on the floor with Rose. Marinette’s habit of coming back to Paris and making out with her brother had obviously put a strain on their relationship, even if Luka insisted that things weren’t committal and he was totally fine with only seeing her twice a year. “Who knows, maybe Nino will have a handsome cousin and you’ll fall madly in love.”

Marinette raised the side of her head to cast Alya a glare from one eye.

Alya didn’t falter. “So, he’s back. After spending three years in New York, Milan, Hong Kong, and Tokyo. I get it, it’s life changing, it’s world ending, it’s all the things you don’t want and more—especially after how things ended,” Marinette groaned, Alya carried on, “but, you know who else is back? Max, Rose, unfortunately Lila, and Kim. Good old Kim. All your friends, everyone who you’ve known for years, everyone who has missed you as you flitted in and out of Paris! Sure, you found out that Adrien was Chat Noir, went to his hotel room, thought you were finally going to get together, and then opened the door to find it empty—but you know, life happens! And when you least expect it, it keeps going on and on and on and on!”

Marinette turned her face back to the wood.

“I really did try to get Nino to change his mind,” Alya said flatly. “I begged.” Marinette doubted it, but…

“Why couldn’t he just stay in New York?” Marinette mumbled.

“Because Nino is his best friend.”

“Why couldn’t Nino go to New York,” Marinette said, “or Adrien done a zoom call for the wedding.”

Alya snorted. “Okay, that’s it,” she said, grabbing Marinette’s arm. “Adrien’s landing today, nothing’s going to stop it, you just have to clear your head and power on.” She leaned into Marinette’s view as her friend finally turned her head, insistently stating, “you were Ladybug for god’s sake. Even if no one else knows it, you do. I do. You gotta suit up, lovebug, and face the day, lest another evil butterfly come flying by.” Never mind the fact that there hadn’t been an Akuma in years.

Not since Gabriel Agreste was arrested.

Marinette rolled her eyes, finally lifting herself off the bar.

“There’s my girl,” Alya said. “Now, finish your dirty shirley, order another drink, and come do karaoke with me. I’m a hundred percent certain that I saw Say You’ll Be There on the song list, and you know that I’ve been singing Spice Girls since I was in diapers.”

--------------------------

Marinette stumbled into her apartment at one am. Not drunk, she didn’t get drunk, not out in public at bars. In friends’ apartments, maybe. She was still a bit tipsy which was, in its own way, dangerous. But she could fight through it, maybe.

Kicking off her heels, she looked at it, the studio she called home and had once been so proud of a few years back, the same studio she’d lived in ever since she was a fashion design student. The same one in which she’d left Chat knocking on her balcony door when she struggled to stay asleep, and eventually relented to let him in time and time again before he knew who she was.

“Someday, I’m going to move,” she grumbled, beginning to pull the bobby pins from her hair. She wouldn’t, of course, not for a long time. Rent-controlled apartments were rare, and while she pretended that the history that practically stained her hardwood floors was something she would rather forget, she was a nostalgic young woman. She’d be there for at least another five years, or until she was finally well and truly over Chat.

Five years would probably come first.

She passed by the photos washi taped to her walls, the ones where fourteen-year-old kids gave toothy smiles and eighteen-year-old young women gave winks while leaning into blond young men. If she was so concerned about history, she’d have to get rid of those first.

She sighed, finally removing the last bobby pin from her hair and letting it fall down her back, placing the black pin in one of the many bowls around her apartment placed for that very reason. Adrien would be in Paris by then, she was sure. He was probably sound asleep in the Agreste mansion.

“Welcome home, kitty,” she said sarcastically, beginning to climb the steps to her lofted bedroom, a space that was not unlike her childhood room.

This wasn’t how she expected things to be.

Of course, this wasn’t how anyone expected things to be. If you asked anyone, they told you how the story ended. Ladybug and Chat Noir finally got together, they were hiding in Paris somewhere, they were in love. They probably had kids, a dog, a hamster—normal jobs and normal lives. That was what the people of Paris wanted. She thought that that was the ending they would get.

She thought that when she went to the hotel room that night, he would be there. She thought that he was happy to know who she was. She thought that he loved her.

She thought wrong.

Marinette always thought wrong.

She thought she could get over him. She thought making out with Luka was a solution, one that she could keep trying every time she went to Paris. She thought that she would miss Adrien more than Chat, the promise of love more than sitting in her bed and watching subtitled anime while he mouthed the English translations.

By now, she thought she’d be waking up to someone else. That maybe she’d have a steady life, someone to wrap their arms around her in the morning.

Adulthood hits hard.

“Adrien Agreste,” she said, flopping back in her bed and pulling open her phone. She wasn’t above social media stalking.

There he was. Gold hair, tanned skin, too many muscles to know what to do with. Landed in Paris four hours ago, his Instagram posted a picture of him with his arm around Nino. His eyes were still kind, his smile still flawless. Her heart still pounded.

“Jerk,” she muttered, letting her phone fall down beside her. “I didn’t need you anyway,” except for all those times she did. Like when she put the earrings back in the box and said goodbye to one of her closest friends. She could have used him then.

She could have used him a lot of times.

Her eyes stayed glued to the ceiling, her chest rising and falling with every breath. There was no sound, no doting kwami, no laughter from her parents, and no Alya playing with her hair. Just her.

“Now I’m going to see you and fall in love with you all over again,” she said, wishing she could steel herself against the inevitable.

[buckyownsmylife]

daddy issues - chapter xiii

The one where Ransom doesn’t feel ready to become a father, but he should have thought about it before sleeping with a complete stranger.

When Ransom’s latest one night stand lets him know that he’s going to become a father, he finds himself looking for the qualities he never believed to have so he can become the parent he never got to witness as a child.

for general warnings and author’s notes, please go to the fic’s masterlist.

Ransom’s P.O.V.

As excited as I was about her accepting my proposal, I couldn’t deny that I was nervous about it, too. Being with her during a trip to her family’s house was one thing - actually living together was something else entirely.

One month in and all of my anxiety had disappeared, though. We easily settled into a routine and although she didn’t accept to move into my bedroom, she wasn’t against ending up there when the baby was keeping her awake or she wanted to get something off of her chest.

That was my favorite part about having her as a roommate, actually. Her voice being the first thing I heard in the morning and most often then not, the sound that I listened to as I fell asleep every night.

Even if we hadn’t been… intimate ever since the trip, the very nature of our relationship seemed to have changed in a way or another. Now, I felt more comfortable being flirty with her without the fear of crossing a line. It seemed like I’d learned what was appropriate to do with her and what wasn’t, but I liked to think that she warmed up to my ways a bit, as well.

“Are you sure you don’t want to get rid of the night shirt and come to bed completely nude, darling?” I asked her one of the evenings she patted towards my mattress after I’d already dimmed the lights, only to hear her warm chuckle as she slipped underneath my blanket - unfortunately, still dressed.

“Not tonight, honey.” I didn’t say anything else because I still struggled to admit just how much the petname affected me. And any night I managed to fall asleep with her in my arms, my hands over my child, was a win for me, even if I was having to ignore my cock much more than I’d ever had to do before.

I was okay with being patient, though. Especially since I was reaping the rewards from it, even if they were completely different from the things I had grown accustomed to look for my entire life.

“Ransom, your phone’s ringing.” Her sweet voice pierced my concentration easily, getting me to finally realize the device had been buzzing right in front of me for at least a few seconds without managing to catch my attention.

“Thanks, sweetheart.” Looking over the blinking screen, I was surprised to see my grandfather’s name staring back at me. “Hello?” I greeted, intrigued about why he was calling but not all that surprised since it did happen once or twice a month.

“Ransom?” He confirmed like he usually did, making me smile.

“Yeah, it’s me.” I could hear the rustle of papers in the distance, it made me picture him in his study, surrounded by his books and pens, his natural habitat.

“I was just calling to check in on you. It’s been over a month since you last came to visit.” It was like a bucket of ice had been dropped on top of me. He was right. Usually, I’d visit him weekly, or once every two weeks - but ever since I traveled with Y/N to her parent’s place, I hadn’t visited my grandfather or even sent him a message or anything.

“Oh, shit!” I cursed, running my fingers through my hair as I smiled to Y/N so she wouldn’t think anything too bad was happening when her eyebrows flew up in surprise at my reaction. “Well, I’m about to leave the house to take Y/N to work, how about if I stop by your place on my way back home?”

Silence followed my question, making me furrow my eyebrows. Then, as my grandfather answered with his own question, I realized just how hugely I’d screwed up.

“Who the hell is Y/N?”

Harlan’s P.O.V.

Ransom was trying to act as nonchalant as possible when he got out of the car, which meant that he was seriously nervous about talking to me today. He knew me enough to be aware of how I watched everyone arrive at my house from the windows in my study, and so he tried to come accross as calm and collected but missed it by a mile.

“Hey!” He greeted after knocking to announce his entrance. I was surprised to notice the little differences in his appearance - how his hair was a bit longer, like he hadn’t had the time to give it a cut or hadn’t really cared to do so, how he kept trying to hide a small smile that seemed to be permanently etched into his expression now.

This wasn’t the same Ransom I’d always known. The Ransom I’d known had carefully constructed a mask that sported a scowl since he left his childhood, whereas this one seemed to have rediscovered the joy he used to be filled with when he was young, while still carrying some of the weight of adulthood over his shoulders.

A month ago, I wasn’t even sure Ransom knew that adulthood was supposed to be heavy.

“Hello!” I greeted back, waiting for him to occupy his usual chair before me. “It’s good to see your face again. It seems like so much has happened in your life since the last time you paid me a visit.”

The guilt was clear in his expression - another thing I wasn’t used to seeing in my grandson. It only added to my curiosity, my desire to understand exactly what had happened to make such an impact on Ransom.

“I’m sorry for forgetting to call, life’s been crazy,” he explained, to which I nodded patiently.

“So it seems… Care to tell me more about it? Is it because of the baby?” Ransom finally raised his gaze to meet mine, expression stuck between fear and excitement, and it made me smile. He looked so much like a kid, thinking he might have done something wrong, but that something was so fantastic to him, it made it worth the risk of being caught.

“Yes… and no.” And so he launched into an explanation of what it was that he’d been doing the last few weeks he’d been absent. The more spoke, the brighter his eyes became, the more energized his movements were. So by the time that he was done retelling the tale of his pursuit of a closer relationship with the mother of his child, one thing was abundantly clear.

“You’re in love.” He fidgeted on his seat at the affirmation, averting his gaze once more, but didn’t deny it. It had me opening up a smile, barely believing what I was clearly seeing. “Well, this turned out better than I had hoped for.”

Ransom’s head whipped up to find me genuinely happy with what he had shared, and I could see that a weight left his shoulders when he realized that I wasn’t against the incredible changes that he was going through in life.

“What you have found with that woman is something very precious, Ransom. Now, you have to be careful not to lose it.” He gulped, visibly concerned about the possibility, and it only made me more aware of just how deeply he felt for the woman. “I can see that you’re trying. That’s more than you’ve been willing to do your entire life.”

It took him a while to find the courage to say what he wanted to voice. It was clear something was stuck in his head, running in circles, worrying him. “It’s just so hard to look at her and have to remember that she’s not mine.” He hesitated a bit before admitting, “I-I’m terrified.”

“That’s how you know that what you feel is love.” I smiled as patiently as I could to my grown-up grandson who was just now figuring out what life was truly about. “If you weren’t scared to lose her, it wouldn’t be it.”

I knew there was more that he wanted to ask. Now that he’d seen that he didn’t need to be scared to open up his heart, it didn’t take him as long to question, “How do I make her fall in love with me too? She’s so… different from me. Much better than me.” A self-conscious chuckle gave away just how dark his mind was when it came to himself. “She’s almost innocent, in contrast.”

I gave him a smile that I hoped would offer some comfort, reaching over my desk to grasp his wrist. “If you keep being patient, it’s only a matter of time.” From what he told me, it was clear that the girl actually liked him, and was just having a hard time giving into the feeling - much like he was.

“Say, I’ve asked you this about a thousand times since you’ve become of age, but I’m getting the feeling this time you might give me a different answer. Would you like to accompany me to the publishing house later in the week? I want to get your opinion on some of the different projects we’re starting for the next quarter.” I watched him take a deep breath before giving me an answer, and I knew what was going through his head. He was thinking about her and what she would think of his decision when he nodded and said the words I’d been hoping to hear for the last twenty years.

“Yes, I would very much like that.”

[tenthgrove]

Omg imagine la squadra with a teenage teammate 👀 (platonic obvs but I'm 18 and I wonder how they'd act with a team member that's a lot younger than them) cause I hc them as being in their late 20s early 30s ‼️

Okay I love love love this idea! I decided to go for the approach of a younger teenager, someone around 14 or 15 years old, and make them someone who is keen to prove themselves and be respected, but still has all the fears that would be natural for someone in this situation so young, hidden beneath the front they put on.

La Squadra Interacting with a Younger Teammate

Formaggio- The prospect of La Squadra’s next recruit being a kid is actually quite appealing to Formaggio. He doesn’t get much respect from the rest of the team, but he hopes a teenager would be more impressionable, more easy to wow. As soon as the newcomer is through the door Formaggio is already pulling out his cool uncle act. He’s always begging to show them something cool (usually just some random thing he shrunk) or tell them a gruesome story from the job. He totally forgets how naturally weary they’re going to be as someone who recently moved teams. When he finally realises how uncomfortable he makes them, he feels very guiltridden and backs away. But then one day, by pure accident, he makes them laugh. Genuinely. Things ease up a lot after that.

Illuso- Since he isn’t particularly good with kids, Illuso thinks it’s best to just treat them the same as he does any other teammate. This doesn’t go well, their interactions clunky and awkward as the newcomer is unsure how to respond. Eventually, Illuso realises too and decides he’s going to have to change tactic. What do teenagers like? Mischief? While the idea of taking the kid around the mirror world to wreck havoc on the base is tempting, it would not go down well with Risotto once he finds out. What else is there? Gossip? Yes, that could work. When Illuso finds himself alone with the kid with nothing else to talk about, he starts telling them all the dirty secrets he’s collected about his team over the years. There’s nothing age innappropriate, but it’s enough to break down the image the kid has of La Squadra as humorless, intimidating adults. The others soon notice a change in the kid’s behaviour and congratulate Illuso for helping them settle in, however it was he managed to do that. Well, that certainly wasn’t Illuso’s intention, but he’ll take the applause anyway.

Pesci- The arrival of the newcomer marks a big change for Pesci. He’s no longer the youngest of the group, both in age and in experience. While he’s glad to lose the associated teasing, it fills him with a sense of responsibility he isn’t quite ready for. Being the youngest in the group gave him a slight feeling of immunity for all his fuck-ups, both real and percieved, and that’s gone now. Worse, he sees this kid and he sees someone far newer to the game than he is yet somehow still able to face it with more courage than he does. The kid scares him, really. It feels like he is the junior member of the dynamic they have together. Then one day he finds their phone in the front room. He knows the others have a habit of pinching things like this for mean-spirited jokes, so he puts his anxiety regarding the kid on hold to go up to their room and give it back to them. He didn’t expect to find them crying there. He rushes up to them immediately, patting them on the shoulder nervously to offer some comfort. He asks them what’s wrong. “Everything. I’m scared.” At the end of the day, they really are just a child.

Prosciutto- The second-in-command doesn’t have time to mentor the newcomer to the same extent he does with Pesci, but he’ll still keep an eye on them whenever he can. Any of those violent idiots could teach them to kill, but Prosciutto’s going to make sure they learn to carry themselves right as well. For one, they need to get rid of those grungy hoodies and jeans they insist on wearing. He supposes he’ll just have to take them shopping. Overall, he can seem quite harsh on the kid, but he has their best interests at heart. He wouldn’t be paying them any mind at all if he didn’t have faith in them to go far.

Melone- As is only natural with his stand, Melone is good with kids. Teenagers are a different matter, and with little concrete memory of the whirl of heartbreak and emotions that were his own teen years, Melone isn’t as sure of himself as he would like to be. So he takes the experimental method, observes how their reactions to certain interactions in order to figure out the best way of keeping them at ease. It’s overall a good approach, and Melone becomes one of the earlier members of the team who the newcomer opens up to. The only issue is the others. They do not trust him. So, Melone takes it upon himself to prove himself. He makes a point of adjusting his behaviour, abandoning some of his more unsavoury habits for good, and not just in the kid’s present. The others are surprised, but pleasantly so. Melone is thankful to the newcomer for improving his standing with the team in general.

Ghiaccio- He is not happy. He knows about other teams getting actual children dumped on them, but he never thought it would happen to them. It makes him absolutely furious; the last thing this team needs right now is some petulant brat to take care of. Ghiaccio will give them the cold shoulder for a long time. Eventually, it takes Risotto dragging him into his office and point-blank asking what his problem is to make him reconsider. Ghiaccio drags his heels, insists he needs nothing to do with the newcomer, but then Risotto reminds him how young Ghiaccio was when he got trapped in his life. That changes things. That evening, as Risotto watches on silently from the doorway, Ghiaccio approaches the newcomer in the sitting room. “Hey… kid… do you like video games?” he asks uncertainly. The kid perks up, surprised to hear such an offer from Ghiaccio of all people. They accept. Ghiaccio invites them to play with him often after that. Risotto doesn’t need to ask him.

Risotto- Well, this is interesting. Risotto finds the kid hard to deal with because of how much he sees himself in them. They’re pretty much the same age he was when his own life went to hell. Risotto may have trouble facing the newcomer, but he’ll do it anyway for their sake. He wants to do what he can to make their own youth easier than his, if only by a fraction. For them, he’ll let down his walls and be a confidante. He’ll let them be honest about their fears with him, and he’ll comfort them to the best of his ability. He doesn’t want them to end up like him. He doesn’t want them to lose their humanity.

Sorbet and Gelato- “Sorbet, that’s a baby.” “Christ, you’re right.” Sorbet and Gelato may be devoid of sympathy towards a majority of humanity, but they at least have it in them to feel sorry for a kid. Especially a kid dumped into the closest thing the couple has to a family. Truth is, Sorbet and Gelato have long desired a child of their own, but never truly believed the opportunity would present itself. They know taking in a scarred teenager a few years off from adulthood will never truly take the place of a child to call their own, but if this is the closest they can get, they’ll take it. So yeah, congratulations kid, meet your new group assinged fathers. Sorbet is the more realistic of the two, the one who reluctantly accepts the need to prepare the newcomer for mafia life. They develop a dynamic somewhat comparable to Pesci and Prosciutto, with Sorbet becoming the primary mentor for the child when Risotto is too busy. Gelato is the one who really tries to baby the kid, trying to keep them away from their work as much as possible and always fussing over them whenever a mission can’t be avoided. The kid might be reluctant to accept it, but it is what they need. At least once in a while.

[paulapuddephatt]

LUCETTA: SHORT FICTION

Claire wouldn't have thought of herself as being obsessed with Lucetta. "Obsessed" wasn't the word she would have chosen.

   But she had always wanted to be Lucetta's friend. To absorb some of the light that seemed to radiate from the girl, with her long, ice-blonde hair and pale blue eyes.

   The two girls had met at primary school, aged seven. Claire had known she wouldn't be Lucetta's first choice, for a best friend. Had watched her work systematically through all the prettiest, most popular girls in the class. First Allison. Then Cathryn. Then Donna, Julie, and Isabelle. Her friendships never lasted long, but whose did, at that age?

   Although Claire's mother was keen to point out that Claire herself had never really had any consistent friend other than Susan. 

   Mum's own best - in fact, only - friend was Susan's mother, Rosemary. And she was critical of what she viewed as her daughter abandoning Susan. It was with extreme reluctance that she did - and just the once - allow Claire to invite Lucetta around for tea.

   "I always thought Susan was your best friend. Who is this Lucinda girl, anyway?" she had initially asked.

   "Her name isn't Lucinda. It's Lucetta. And Susan is mainly friends with Hazel and Imogen these days."

   "And whose fault is that? Claire, Hazel and Imogen have been best friends for a long time, haven't they? I shouldn't think it's ideal for Sue."

  That was true enough. Hazel and Imogen could seriously be twins. The pair had been inseparable since the first day of infants. They definitely went against the trend for fickle early friendships. It was probably true that Susan was tagging along. But, honestly - how was that Claire's problem?

   Ironically, for a while, in the early years of secondary school, Lucetta became best friends with Susan. 

   That was when Claire resorted to more drastic measures. In a progressive sense. 

   Increasingly drastic - desperate. More so, over the years - into young adulthood.

   She'd loved Lucetta, truly and genuinely. In a way, she still did. Always would.

   All Claire had ever wanted was to be Lucetta's best friend. All. She. Had. Ever. Wanted.

   Shit, how had it ever come to this? 

   She had to get rid of the knife. Then, she would be able to think. To feel. Had to dispose of the knife.

[rocorambles]

The Beginning

Pairing: Nekomata x Kuroo

Genre/Warnings: NSFW, Yandere, Grooming, Extremely Dubious Consent, Manipulation, Slight Feminization, Virgin Kuroo, Slight Degradation, Undertones of a Corruption Kink, Bottom Kuroo

Summary: Nekomata has always been Kuroo’s favorite mentor and now that Kuroo’s officially entered adulthood, the older man has new lessons for his favorite protégé. 

Author’s Note: LMAO I CANNOT BELIEVE THIS IS A REAL THING, BUT HERE WE GO. The first installation of my Yandere Nekomata x Kuroo monthly series. I can’t even defend this other than to say I promise there will be a not as degenerate, perfectly normal (at least by Roco standards) Sakusa NSFW fic also coming out sometime this weekend to help you wash this cursed thing down. 

@terushimooo I BLAME YOU FOR THIS

Next Chapter

He hadn’t thought much about the quiet young boy who showed up to his training camp all those years ago and yet, maybe Kuroo had left more of a mark on him than he had thought because he instantly recognizes the tall lanky messy-haired high schooler who steps inside of Nekoma’s gym on the first day of the school year. He certainly left an impression on Kuroo and something flutters inside of him when Kuroo shyly asks to speak to him alone after practice one day, bowing deeply and thanking the older man for his wise words about “experiencing the joy of playing”. 

Looks aside, Kuroo isn’t anything like that scared little boy he had met so long ago and Nekomata watches in interest and maybe a little bit of pride at how confidently he carries himself, easily making friends and conversing with the rest of the team, a beautiful smile and glint in hazel eyes. Or so Nekomata had thought. But it seems like you can’t truly change your inherent nature all that much and he sees the little cracks in Kuroo’s act, and as much as he appreciates the man Kuroo is evolving into, he thinks he’s more fond of the introverted little boy he still sees hiding inside. 

For someone so mischievous and cunning, Kuroo is ridiculously easy to manipulate and something dark thrums inside of Nekomata as he sees how Kuroo instantly picks up on all his subtle cues, putting all his faith and hope in this father figure he’s never really had. Sure, he has an actual father, one who barely has time for his son, and two grandparents who’re too tired to care for the boy as they should, but it’s not enough, never enough and Nekomata takes full advantage of the empty hole that Kuroo craves to have filled, practically taking the boy under his own tail so to speak. 

He’s not thrilled when he sees hazel eyes begin to look at his female classmates in interest, but he’s prepared for the question he knows he’ll get soon and when, as expected, Kuroo quietly asks him why he’s still single, what love is like, what girls are like, Nekomata is harsh, but firm, planting the seeds of doubt in Kuroo’s head as he goes on and on about how girls are just distractions, problematic, how they’ll do nothing but cause pain and heartbreak. And just to drive it home, he cruelly reminds Kuroo of the heartache his own mother had caused him and his family and he hides his satisfied smile when teary hazel eyes bawl into his chest, lanky arms wrapping around his larger figure and rigorously nodding a messy head of hair as he takes all his wise words to heart. 

And so Kuroo never dates, never even bats an eye towards the females in his school, ignoring the curious whispers as everyone wonders why such an eligible bachelor is still single, only focusing on volleyball, his team, and his coach. 

Nekomata thought that it would be enough to know that he has the boy all to himself for three years, that his selfish greed would be sated, but as Kuroo’s 18th birthday approaches, as his third-year threatens to come to an end, as his departure from Nekoma draws ever nearer, he realizes it’s not enough, it’ll never be enough and wise cat-eyes scheme. 

Kuroo hates birthdays, hates the reminder that his family could care less about him and there’s an even bigger pang than normal as his 18th birthday approaches. He should be elated and excited about the prospect of finally being an official adult, a man, but all he feels is indifference and neglect as his grandparents completely forget that it’s his birthday in their old age, as his dad sends a cold two word text, not even an exclamation mark at the end to convey any feelings about the matter. He just wants this day to be over, to forget it ever happened, feeling no different than before even though he’s now an “adult”. 

But when Nekomata asks him to stay after practice long after everyone has left and the gym is clean, he can’t help the happy tears that trail down his face when the older man brings out a small cake from behind his back and urges the messy-haired captain to blow out the single lit candle illuminating the empty locker room, blissfully ignorant and naive of just how close Nekomata is to him, their thighs pressed against each other, wrinkled eyes attentively watching Kuroo’s lips as he happily eats a slice of the cake, tongue flicking out to lick the extra cream that hasn’t quite made it into his mouth. 

However, Kuroo is all too aware of a rough finger that brushes against his mouth, scooping up some extra cream that he had missed before gently nudging his fingertip past his lips and Nekomata groans at how the athlete instinctively sucks his finger clean even while staring wide-eyed and confused at him. 

“Coach?”

“Call me Yasufumi.”

He chuckles at how flustered and adorable the man beside him looks as he tentatively tests out the new name, and he can feel his cock begin to twitch with interest at the way it sounds in that ridiculously attractive drawl Kuroo has. 

“Tetsurou, you’re an adult now and when you’re an adult, you can start doing certain things.” 

“Coach! I don’t need a sex talk. Plus, weren’t you the one who said girls are a waste of time-”

Kuroo instantly hushes as a weathered hand grasps him by his chin and forces him to lock eyes. 

“I said to call me Yasufumi and yes, I did say that, but you don’t need to have sex with just girls. I think sex between men is better anyway. I could show you, teach you. Only if you want though.”

Sex between men? Of course Kuroo knows it’s possible, knows it’s a thing. But for him? Him and another man? How would that-

His rambling thoughts are cut off and he squeaks when lips press against his, too surprised to break away as a tongue slips into his mouth, playfully entangling with his own wet muscle and he moans as he’s pulled into straddling Nekomata’s thighs, his lean body pressed tight against a thicker chest and stomach. He tries to form thoughts, question what’s happening, but he gasps when hands grope his ass, a tiny moan escaping him as his hips and groin grind down on something hard protruding from Nekomata’s sweatpants. 

“Come on, Tetsurou. Don’t you trust me? Haven’t I always taught you well?” 

And Kuroo hesitates. 

It’s true. For as long as Kuroo can remember, Nekomata is the only person he’s considered family, who’s guided him, cared for him, shown him what love, even if it's just familial love, feels like. He’s never led him astray, always treated him like his own son, brought him to his full potential as a volleyball player and team captain. 

He cries out as Nekomata gently thrusts up, rubbing their erections against each other. 

It feels so good, so different, so much better than when he awkwardly wraps his own hand around his cock late at night. Surely it can’t be wrong if it feels so right, if it’s Nekomata who’s doing this. It’s just another life lesson, right? 

So he seals his fate with a shy kiss as he relaxes, helping the man underneath him rid him of all his clothes, bashfully looking away as eyes hungrily roam all over his body. But his eyes are snapping back to attention, wide in shock as a strange pleasure lances through him when a mouth greedily suckles on one of his nipples, his other nipple tweaked and pulled. 

“I-I’m not a girl! Stop it! Don’t play with my nipples like that!” 

But his complaints are lost between desperate moans and he loses himself in the strange overwhelming pleasure, flushing at the lewd slick sounds of Nekomata’s sucking. 

“But doesn’t it feel good, Tetsurou? You have such pretty tits.”

“They’re not tits- AH!” 

He whimpers as Nekomata punishes his outburst with a slight nip to his aroused buds. 

“Come on. Be a good boy and cum from having your tits played with.”

“I- I don’t think- I can’t-”

But all it takes is a few more rolls of his hips and a few more tugs and bites before Kuroo is wailing, thick white spurts coating both of their stomachs as the raven haired man exhaustedly collapses and curls up in Nekomata’s lap, humming contently as a hand strokes his messy tangled locks. 

“Good boy, but we’re not done yet. Don’t you think I deserve to feel good too? I think you need to give sensei a thank you gift for such a good lesson.” 

Bleary hazel eyes peer at him before slowly nodding and Nekomata laughs as Kuroo attempts to shimmy to his knees in between Nekomata’s legs, hands eagerly pawing at the hem of his sweatpants only to startle when he’s teasingly slapped away. 

“We’ll use your mouth another day. I have something else to show you.”

Kuroo’s an adult now, but there’s a childlike innocence in the way he curiously looks on as Nekomata pulls out a translucent bottle, craning his neck to see what the older man is doing even when he’s coaxed into laying on his back on one of the benches, his legs spread out on either side of the metal apparatus. And Nekomata coos at the confused nervous sound Kuroo makes as he generously coats Kuroo’s pretty puckered rim and his fingers with the clear liquid. 

“I need you to relax and take deep breaths, okay?” 

That’s all the warning he gets before a finger is pushing at his tight hole and he keens as one knuckle breaches his unused hole, taking in desperate panicked breaths as it becomes two knuckles, and borderline hyperventilating when he’s taken the digit all the way to its hilt. But he desperately listens to the familiar voice as it orders him to keep on relaxing, keep on breathing. 

Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. Relax. Breathe. 

One finger becomes two. Two fingers become three. The stretch is uncomfortable, but not painful, yet Kuroo still just feels strangely full, can’t comprehend what the appeal of this is- 

He screams. Back arching and body twitching when Nekomata’s fingers move inside of him, brushing against a spot that has him seeing stars and his cock hardening once again. He scrambles to sit up, find purchase, register what’s happening, but then those fingers are bushing against that spot over and over again and all he can do is sob, cock pathetically splurting thick drops of pre-cum all over his stomach as his mind breaks under the new delirious pleasure he’s being drowned in. 

If he thought he had already been overwhelmed, it’s absolutely painful and agonizing when the stimulation abruptly stops and he’s howling, clawing like an animal to keep Nekomata’s fingers inside of him, sobbing even harder when Nekomata gently shakes him off and leaves him gaping open, cold, and alone like he’s always been his entire life. But he tries to stifle his sobs, gasping for breath when Nekomata is right there with him again, softly kissing his forehead and urging him to continue being his good patient boy and he sighs in relief when something larger begins to refill him, whimpering and moaning at the larger stretch, but ultimately finding peace in the connection, the fullness. 

And he relaxes back down on the bench, mewling as Nekomata’s cock drags against his insides, reaching further and further inside of him until the head is pressing against that same spot that has him writhing wantonly underneath the older body on top of him. Words are spilling past his lips, incoherent babbling he can’t even make out himself, but as if Nekomata understands the indecipherable pleas for more, he offers the younger man a weathered smile before beginning to rock back and forth and Kuroo’s head shakes back and forth, eyes rolling back in his head as his prostate is continuously brushed against. 

Kuroo has always been attractive, but like this? Vulnerable, lust and arousal clearly painted all over his face and body, pretty noises and tears, a shaky hand wrapping around his own leaking cock? He’s breathtaking and Nekomata feels like a young man all over again as he increases his pace, ignoring the irritating pang in his old hips as he desperately chases his own end, balls feeling full and ready to explode in a way they haven’t for decades. And he sputters and chokes as he empties himself inside of the lithe body underneath him, nearly crushing the younger man as he exhaustedly collapses on top of Kuroo and catches his breath. 

But he grumbles when he feels the body underneath him continue to wriggle, something uncomfortable digging into his stomach and he lifts up just enough to see how Kuroo desperately continues to stroke his cock, tears in his eyes from being so close to release and yet unable to find it by himself and he takes pity on him, nudging Kuroo’s hands away and wrapping his own hand around the cock, sloppily kissing the pretty captain. And he smiles when wiry arms wrap around him and hold him tight, swallowing Kuroo’s endearing moans as the raven haired athlete falls apart underneath him once again, coating his hand with his creamy essence. 

He holds his cum covered hand to Kuroo’s mouth, fondly smiling as he immediately begins lapping and licking him clean, only a slight wrinkle of his nose indicating his dislike of the salty bitter taste. That’s okay, he’ll let the birthday boy get away with it for now. After all, he has plenty of time to fully train him to be the perfect cum slut, his perfect cum slut.  

[itslieutenanthawkeye]

After Laughter

Day 1 of Jeankasa Week 2021: Reunion / After The Three Years

Ao3 

After over a thousand days of grief, Mikasa is able to laugh for the first time in years.

Mikasa’s heart was frozen in time, fixated, perhaps, on the man that had laid beneath the ground for three years now.

She’d almost refused going to the royal party organized by Historia in the inner districts, the one to commemorate the beginning of peace. Proposals from men swarmed her each time she showed herself to any event Historia invited her, and comments from people who hated her were even more prevalent. She didn’t like attention and it seemed that the older she grew, the more attention she received.

But above all, Mikasa Ackerman didn’t think she deserved the fun of that night. She could count the number of times she’d laughed since her return to the island with one hand. She wasn’t worthy of the island’s forgiveness, of the future it had to offer, not after seeing the horrors the man she had loved had caused, with the man’s head She couldn’t forgive herself for loving a monster, for mourning him still. Not now, not ever.

Thus, happiness was a commodity she couldn’t afford. Lovers of monsters didn’t deserve anything.

She wondered if the same thing went through her friends’ minds as she walked into the room, followed by two dozen pair of eyes. Traitor, A few voices echoed, giving her the urge to roll her own eyes. For some reason, jaegerists focused all their hate on her, going as far as using slurs against her whenever they saw her.

She didn’t understand it, neither did she like it, but Mikasa had learned to live with it. Maybe she deserved it, she thought gloomily.

Her feet took her to the first balcony she saw. What was she doing there?  Historia had invited her, but for what? What purpose did she have with all these people? She had a home, an empty home with a cold stove and a hard, colder bed, but a home she’d built herself nonetheless. She could’ve been knitting something instead of suffocating in the dress the queen had sent for her.

“Mikasa?”

Mikasa turned around, certain she could recognize that voice anywhere. “Jean,” she said, blinking in surprise at the sight of him. “You got taller.”

He wore a fancy looking black suit, which somehow enhanced the hazel in his eyes. “I know,” he said, scratching the back of his head awkwardly. “I must look like a big goof.”

“You don’t.” Mikasa replied, playing with the embroidered sleeves of her dress. “Welcome home.”

“Thank you,” he said, giving her the kindest smile anyone had given her in a while. “Armin’s looking everywhere for you in there.”

“I figured,” Mikasa said. “Did he send you for me?”

Jean lifted a packet of cigarettes in front of her, taking slow steps until he stood next to her. “I wanted to have a bit of a smoke,” he said, moving his neck one side to the other. “It’s a bit of a large crowd in there…and I had something different in mind for the first time I saw you again.”

“How so?”

“First, I wasn’t going to be reeking of cigarettes,” Jean chuckled, putting one in his mouth, struggling with what seemed to be an lighter. “Second, Connie and I thought maybe flowers would’ve been appropriate.”

“To hide the smell of cigarettes?”

“Good one,” Jean replied, giving her a sideways glance. “How have you been?”

His question was polite enough, but Mikasa knew of the layers of meaning it conveyed. She’d been apart from them for a whole three years, frozen in time and in grief, and Jean knew it as well as the rest of what was left of their squad. A cordial answer came to her mind, but she didn’t think Jean would be the person to believe a lie, not from her. “Lonely,” she admitted. “Sometimes scary.”

A crease appeared between Jean’s eyebrows. “Scary?”

“Sometimes I think I won’t get rid of the things we saw back then, and from the things I saw on the way back to the island,” Mikasa said without looking at him, knowing that he probably had his eyes set on her. “I see them when I’m asleep.”

“Me too.” Jean said. Mikasa turned to look at him and he smiled again. Suddenly, the music from the party became distant in her ears. “You’re not the only one who has it, Mikasa. The guilt. I see them every night, too. I feel bad for not stopping him earlier, I feel bad for not saving him. For still caring about him, too.”

“You as well?”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you,” Jean replied. “You loved him, didn’t you?”

Mikasa nodded; for some reason, admitting that she had loved Eren, to Jean of all people, didn’t make her feel as much of a terrible person. The syncopation of grief and peace was new, and not at all bothersome.

“Have you loved anyone since?” Jean asked suddenly.

“No.” she said. There had been more than a few men who had shown interest in her; they were handsome enough, good sons and brothers with good hearts, and yet Mikasa had never paid attention to any. But she wasn’t going to start gossiping about men with Jean.

“How about you? Any of you have someone back in the continent?” she asked, clearing her throat.

“Connie does,” Jean replied. “She’s a cute girl, a couple years older than him. I don’t know which one of them speaks louder, and I still don’t know which will get tired of the other first, but they’re happy. I’ve no idea how, though.”

A low chuckle escaped her, and Mikasa brought her hand to her chest.

“What’s wrong?” Jean asked.

Mikasa shook her head, undermining the matter. “I couldn’t remember the last time I laughed.”

“Well, it’s a lovely laugh,” Jean replied automatically. “I’ll tell the others to make a point of making it come out more. I’m sure Connie will help, also Pieck. She’s a bit of a handful, though. Lovely, but she does have a tendency to get in your nerves when she tries.”

“Are you and her…”

“Pieck?” Jean laughed. He hadn’t touched the cigarette he’d lit since the beginning of their conversation; and the embers of it had gathered in a heap near his hand. “No. She likes girls, for the most part. Besides, she’s not my type.”

“But do you have someone?” Mikasa asked, suddenly curious.

Jean turned to look at her, his eyes almost shinning in the moonlight. “How could I?” he said in a stark, unusually bitter voice. “I feel like I can’t move on.”

Mikasa nodded; she understood that better than anyone. “Move on from everything that happened?”

“That, and other matters.” he said, his eyes still on hers. He’d grown at least a couple of centimeters since the last time she’d seen him, which made him look even more mature, more like a proper adult. Years ago, during their attack against Marley, she thought Jean had finished with all his growth. But he’d settled more into his adult self even more during those three years across the sea. The lines of his face were sharper, his expression sterner and yet just as kind as before. He was truly a leader now, a diplomat and a war veteran. Adulthood suited him well.

The rest of them would be the same; they would all keep moving forward, growing, living life, and leaving Eren and their other fallen comrades behind, frozen in time as mere memories. There was a burst of energy in her chest all of a sudden; one that told Mikasa she didn’t want to be just another comrade left behind.

“What other matters?”

“That’s a secret,” Jean replied. “I’ve been keeping that one sealed for a while now.”

Mikasa frowned, curiosity growing. “Is it bad?”

“Is love bad?” Jean asked. Mikasa looked at him for a long moment, realizing how close they stood, how intently he was looking at her.

Jean laid his hand on the balustrade, his skin touching the hot embers from his cigarette. “Fuck!” he shouted, jumping up and down in the same place as he tried to shake off the ashes, cursing in both eldian and another language from the continent she didn’t recognize. He put the cigarette in his mouth, but it only fell apart on his perfectly white shirt, leaving a stain.

“Fuck!” Jean shouted again.

Mikasa’s chest jolted once, then twice, then thrice; each time, a little hiccup of laughter escaped her at the sight of Jean trying to shake off the hot ashes off him. She folded over herself, her eyes filling with tears, her laughter accompanied by snorts. It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for Jean to join her.  

“Hey!” he said after a few minutes. “Don’t laugh at an injured man.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Mikasa repeated, laughing still, leaning against the balustrade and holding her stomach. She looked up at him. “It’s just…”

Jean smiled widely as another fit of laughter took over her. “Mi-ka-sa!” he shouted. “Come on, don’t laugh at your comrade.”

“I’m sorry,” Mikasa replied, catching her breath. She straightened and used the sleeves of her dress to wipe the tears that had spilled down her eyes during her fit. “You’re taller, but you’re as much of an idiot as always.”

“Am I?” Jean said, smiling. Mikasa nodded, covering her mouth with one hand to laugh a little more, using the other to lean on his shoulder to steady herself.

“Just as much.”

“Well, at least I made you laugh.” Jean pointed out. Mikasa’s lips fell open in surprise; how long had it been, really? She couldn’t remember one occasion in which she’d laughed this hard. Ever since Eren had told her he hated her—no, since before. Ever since Sasha’s death, or perhaps since before Sasha’s death…

“I don’t think I’ve laughed this hard in over ten years.” She admitted, almost embarrassed that her last memory of a fit of laughter was one from her childhood, from before the rupture of her small family. What a sad little human she must be.

“It’s lovely,” Jean repeated, smiling. “Even when it’s at my expense, thank you very much.”

Mikasa snorted again. “I’m sorry. It’s just…your dance, it was ridiculous.”

“I was on fire, Ackerman.”

“You were dancing, Kirstein.” Mikasa quipped back, surprising herself at how easy they’d fallen into banter territory. “Thank you, Jean. I don’t…I don’t think I remember the last time I’ve spoken this much. It’s weird to hear myself speak.”

“I’ll be here for a while, and then maybe a little while longer,” Jean replied, moving his arm to gesture towards the benches laid out across the balconies. “I’ve all the time in the world to talk, if you want to.”

Mikasa considered it, looking at his anxious face. Was he fearing that she would say no?

She couldn’t say no, not after what he’d done, not considering he’d been the one to make her laugh for the first time in an eternity. Besides, Mikasa realized, she didn’t want to reject his invitation. This was Jean, after all. She wasn’t talkative, but she knew he’d make up for it. “I’d like that,” she said. “I don’t have many stories, though. Do you?”

“I do,” Jean replied. “I’ve got a hundred stories for the continent.”

“You won’t mind telling me?” Mikasa said as they walked together towards the benches, separated by only a few inches.

“I’d love to tell you.”

Mikasa gave him another look. “You really did get taller.”

“And you really got lovelier.” Jean said. “Loveliest sight in a thousand miles.”

“Are you trying to make me laugh again?”

“I’m trying to give you a compliment.”

“Oh,” Mikasa said, lowering her face to hide the heat that had rushed to her face. “Thank you.”

“Your hair’s longer again.” Jean said.

“I was thinking about cutting it.” Mikasa replied. “But I didn’t want to, in the end.”

“Thank Ymir for that.”

“Why?”

Jean shrugged, smiling as he looked up at the sky. “That hair of yours is pretty.”

Mikasa smiled. “Tell me about the continent, please.”

__________________________

Armin frowned as he made his way across the ballroom, hand in hand with Annie. They’d been looking for her for the better portion of the party, and they hadn’t caught a glimpse yet. She was there, he knew from what some of the guests had informed him, but he couldn’t find her.

He wanted to show her their rings, he wanted to ask her to be at their wedding at the continent, he wanted to tell her of all the things that had happened in those three years while they’d been away. Above all, Armin wanted to hug her, to tell her, to promise her, that she wouldn’t be alone anymore.

“I think I see them.” Annie said, opening the glass door in front of her.

“Them?” Armin asked.

“There,” Annie said, pointing with her index finger. “On the benches. I think that’s Jean.”

“Jean?” Armin said, bewildered. Armin pulled him forward, and they walked across the balcony until they reached the two sleeping figures on the bench. Mikasa had her hand on Jean’s shoulder, while his head rested peacefully on hers.

“Should I wake them?”  Annie whispered. Armin shook his head, noticing the dark circles under Mikasa’s eyes. Anyone who knew her as well as he did would realize this was probably the first time in a long time she got to sleep peacefully. “Is this why he never paid went with any girls back home?”

Armin smiled. Back home. That was the continent now, for him, and for Connie as well. It had never been for Jean. To Jean, home was someone. And that someone had grown out her hair, and wore a pretty dress with embroidered sleeves.

“We should probably get them a blanket.” Armin said. “They’ll be embarrassed enough when they wake up though.”

Annie snorted. “I want to see that.”

__________________________

Mikasa leaned a little closer to the warmth to her right, which felt like sunlight itself giving her a hug. Dreamless sleeps were a bliss, a bliss she hadn’t had the privilege of in a long time. And the warmth next to her was soothing; an ointment for even the deeper scars of her heart. In her sleep, Mikasa smiled.

[bellatrixobsessed1]

A Life Wasted

Azula Week Day 1: Childhood

Summary: Azula has trouble coming to terms with that she didn’t really have a childhood and struggles to see a future for herself.

She is surprised to get as many visitors as she does, Azula could have sworn that they would stick her in this horrid place and forget all about her, leaving her to her own nightmares and personal horrors. Somehow they don’t forget her. Somehow they find it within themselves to pay her visits now and then. Sometimes they come with specially prepared meals other times they come only with stories and company.

Azula wishes that she could appreciate it. Wishes that she could push her resentment aside. She wishes that they would just leave her to suffer and fester in her shame alone. It is bad enough having them around to see her like this, to make their judgments. But they have to bestow her with stories about how great the outside world is, about how they have all accomplished so much.

They do so until she one day snaps at them to stop bringing her news. She expects them to stay away from then on out. Instead they come back with tales from the past.

TyLee’s childhood is bathed in shades of pink. She was never alone and was constantly at the tailend of a braid chain. She always speaks of laugher and gossip and trips to the berry fields. Of coming home with smeared cheeks and stained clothes.

Mai’s childhood was more subdued, lonely. But when her parents came home it was warm. They would take her onto their laps and read her stories about dragons and courageous Fire Nation warriors until she begged for a blade of her own.

Katara and Sokka both have frosty and cold childhoods but in the most dreamy way. They both recount different aspects. Sokka tells her about fishing and hunting trips with his father; about adrenaline spikes and hiking around glaciers. While Katara paints a more domestic image in her mind; the smell of cooking fish and firepit smoke. Of heavy coats and fur rugs.

Toph’s childhood was sheltered but exciting when she could sneak away. It was full of adventure and mess. Of tussling with the boys in alleyways and knocking on strangers’ doors and running before they can get to the door.

Aang’s was serene. Otherworldly and mystifying. His childhood makes her stomach ache with longing the most. He speaks of how all of the children were raised side by side. Every adult was a mother and a father to all of them and each child was a sibling to the next child over. Before he found out that he was the Avatar he was never alone. He would munch on pastries and and have glider races.

And Zuko’s...she knows about Zuko’s and she doesn’t want to hear anything of it. It is as unforgiving as her own but in such a different way.

She wishes that she could have had a childhood. Maybe she wouldn’t be this way if she did, if she had been allowed to be a child for just a few years before being thrust into the war machine. Maybe if she had hours of running wildly through the palace garden instead of hours of training and katas she would be less of a weapon and more of a human being.

She stares at her palms, trying to recall even one moment where she had been a child. Just one that isn’t tainted by undertones of political speak and warfare. But she can’t find even one. Even her fondest childhood memories are either followed by something awful or had war in the background.

On one occasion, a golden day on Ember Island--she had convinced Zuko to help her swipe some mangos from a fruit cart just to test their skills. They had snatched one and darted off to climb a palm tree and hide as they tasted their prize. Father found them with sticky mango juice smeared around their mouths and dripping down their chin. That evening they were dirty, disgusting miscreants and he was ashamed to be their father. That night there was no trip to the beach to collect shells and build sand castles, they were locked in their rooms listening to mother and father argue; “they’re children, Ozai! Children do that stuff, let them have fun!” “They have duties to their nation, they are better than other children.” Zuko blamed her for getting them in trouble with her stupid idea and she blamed him for talking too loud and getting them caught.

On another occasion she found herself sitting at the edge of the turtle-duck pond, kicking her feet at the shimmering waters, the sun reflecting on its surface. In one had she held a calligraphy brush which she was using to paint random doodles on her legs. In the other she held a loaf of bread which she was biting into, paying little mind to where she was nibbling on it. She was quite and out of the way so no one paid her any mind. Which is probably why they so openly discussed how triumphantly they had slaughtered Earth Kingdoms soldiers on the battlefield.

Such are the types of memories her childhood is sprinkled with. And the more she thinks on it, the more she realizes how truly and deeply imprinted the war is on her mind. She doesn’t think that she knows anything else but battles and punishments.

She remembers when her mother stopped loving her. When the woman realized that her baby had already been claimed by propaganda and a sense of patriotic superiority. Azula wishes that the woman would have done something more to keep her from succumbing. From falling so deep into the indoctrination.

She remembers when mother had told her that Lu-Ten had died. That was the night that mother stopped loving her. When mother realized--before anyone else--that something was very wrong with her. That was the night when her father had told her just how proud he was of her.

She was finally the weapon he had been craving.

And now she is broken. The remnants of a once mighty war machine. And in a world without war, she doesn’t have much use. She supposes that it is just as well that she is stuck in this institution. She can’t see herself doing anything anyways. Can’t seem to think up any other purpose for herself.

They mistake her low for recovery. She no longer yells and screams and demands that Zuko and his friends be sent away. She is simply indifferent, it doesn’t matter if they are there or if they aren’t. It doesn’t matter if their happy childhood tales make her tummy tingle with sorrow and longing. Nothing matters. She doesn’t matter.

She had wasted her childhood. Now she is wasting her adolescence. Her life is a waste…

Zuko grips her shoulder. Her blank eyes don’t lift from her palms. Not until he helps her stand and leads her out of the institution. She questions his decision but decides that she can’t be bothered to stir up any trouble anyways, so his decision won’t really leave an impact either way.

“I think that it’ll be good for you to get some fresh air.” Zuko comments. “We’re planning on taking a trip to Kyoshi Island and I thought that you should come with us.”

She furrows her brows, “why would you think that?”

He shrugs. “I guess that I want us to both have a few memories that are just...nice.”

She doesn’t think that this is it.

“We can’t exactly make good childhood memories, but we can do this.”

Azula nods.

“I also thought that it would be good for you to start to...get back into the world so you don’t fall behind.”

“I already have.” She mumbles.

He gives her back a little rub. “You’re not too far behind. Nothing we can’t catch you up on. And besides, we’d like your input on certain things. There’s this new city in the making and we think that you’d be good at helping us plan and fine tune it. You’re good with details.”

“What does that have to do with Kyoshi Island?”

Zuko laughs, “nothing. Kyoshi Island is just going to be a break before we really get into it.”

“I’ve already had a break…”

His smile falters but only for a moment. “I guess that you have. But I’m talking about a real break, Azula. Something that could be fun for you if you’ll give it a try.”

She supposes that, at this point, she is willing to try anything to get rid of the despair and helplessness that has taken root within her soul. “It would help more if I can just have a look at this city. I need something important to do. Something that matters.”

“You will be doing something that matters on Kyoshi Island.”

“Oh.” She quirks a brow.

“You’ll get to have a good time and learn about some new cultures. And you’ll get to watch me struggle with awkwardness. The last time I was on Kyoshi Island I...did some things…”

“How is that important?”

“Because it’s about your health and you matter. You know that, right?”

“Important to who?”

He gives her a gentle hug. “Believe it or not, you’re important to me. And as soon as the others see that you’re not a completely mean and angry person…”

“I’m not angry.” She thinks that she has only ever been angry once, during the comet. Mostly she is just numb and unfeeling. Cold. And maybe that is worse than having a temper. At least a temper can be cooled…

“Trust me, this is going to be good for you. I can’t fix our childhood bet we can make something of the future.”

She doesn’t know if she believes him, but she would like to. At least she is out of that facility. At least she can get back to firebending and relish in freedoms to be rediscovered. He smiles again and she decides that the least she can do is humor him. Either nothing will change at all and she will continue on in her melancholy or he will be right and she will pave herself an adulthood that is warmer than her childhood ever was.

[sweetcoffeebean]

Fluff & Smut Fic

welp it do be another leon fic that i wrote between the hours of 12 am and 4 am

i believe the longest i’ve written??? which is spicy. this one however features an OC, although not by name. characteristics are mentioned and her personality and backstory, but that’s it. please feel free to immerse yourself and treat it as a leon/reader fic. and if you get the chance, it’s also posted on archiveofourown if you’d like to leave a comment or kudos <3

Another morning comes, where she steps into the quiet kitchen and opens the blinds to the window above the sink, letting in the early rays of light that shine over the countertops and negate the need for the kitchen light. It’s a quiet morning, 7:04 AM on the dot, according to the time on the stove. The silence is welcoming, after too many mornings of action and terror that had plagued her and her love over the years, the likes of which made her forget the rising sun was ever warm and inviting like it was as it spilled into the silent kitchen.

Turning on the coffee pot, she watches as the caffeine slowly drips its way down into a proper morning drink, the scent of it quickly filling the room. She reaches for the mugs in the cabinet just above the pot, the quiet clinks of porcelain on porcelain echoing together, another sign of a peaceful morning. It always hit her hard as she thought about the years before, and how something so normal and commonplace always surprised her when she was in the midst of it. So many people woke up to mornings like this each day, no doubt dreading a long work day or simply going through the motions without a second thought. To her, and to her love, this was paradise. This was what they craved, something they fought for without even realizing it over the fight for peace and the safety of the world’s people.

Only once the coffee had finished brewing and she was pouring it out, did she hear the sound of feet shuffling towards the kitchen. Looking over her shoulder, she sees the man she had grown to love with her entire being over the years.. The man she fought beside, the man she had supported and who supported her through every trial and tribulation.. One of the very few people who knew exactly the horrors she had experienced, and vice versa. Face was unshaven, a five ‘o clock shadow adorning his handsome features, coupled with the dirty blond hair she’d run her fingers through a countless amount of times. Leon barely had his eyes open as he came straight for the counter, straight for her, and wrapped both arms around her waist while she let herself relax against his muscular frame.

“Morning, sweetheart… still getting up so damn early..?” He lets his chin rest on her shoulder, arms staying slightly slack around her waist so she’s still able to move as she tilts the coffee pot, watching as she slowly fills both mugs.

“Old habits are hard to break… but who’s to say we can’t just lay back in bed after we have some coffee? And maybe food. Food would be lovely.”

Leon laughs at her words, knowing full well she would be hungry in the morning as she always was after waking up. She feels the way he brings one arm up, and pushes back her hair off to one side of her body, revealing her neck to him. Next comes the feeling of familiar lips, kissing along her skin languidly… once, twice. A third time over a fading pink mark he had left the night before.

With a soft giggle, she brings one hand up to gently caress his cheek, her soft skin a contrast to the rough stubble on his face. It’s another moment she feared she wouldn’t get to have when they were in the middle of fighting the living dead and those that created them. When they were running for their lives, being shot at, being thrown around like ragdolls. And now here they both are, in a room where the only noise they hear is the sound of their bodies shifting against each other and the dulled sound of birds chirping from the trees outside.

“We deserve to have a day where we just do a whole lot of nothing. I do have to run to the store, though.. But I shouldn’t be gone more than 20 minutes.” She lifts her mug to her lips, blowing on the hot coffee before taking a small sip.

Leon lets go of her waist and moves to pick up the other mug she had poured, not bothering to blow on it the way she did and simply drank it as if it were only warm. Whether or not he did it to show off, or he was simply used to quickly downing a hot drink while he had the chance, was a mystery.

“You’re not in a rush to go, though. Right? We can worry about that later.” As he spoke, he leaned back against the counter, that fringe of hair falling near his right eye as it always did, the signature hairstyle he refused to ever get rid of. Even with his hair being unbrushed, it still fell normally to frame his face as if he had already mostly styled it for the day.

“Mhm… no rush. I want to enjoy the morning with you.” As she speaks, she sets down her mug and looks into his eyes… a beautiful blue like hers, but deeper. Darker when the light wasn’t shining into them.

It was always damn near impossible not to smile when she saw his face, even after all of the years that have passed. All of the years of heartache, fighting to survive, fighting to communicate during it all… it wasn’t easy by any measure. It wasn’t the perfect relationship either, there were personal matters to deal with on both of their ends, on their own and with each other. Ada Wong was a sore topic for a while, it took a lot of time and communication to get Leon to work through what he had going on with her in his mind. That was a point of contention, even she had trouble dealing with it at the time. And on the flip side, Leon being there to help her soften and truly open up to him, to trust him with her heart and let him see the real, unabashed sides of her. To help her learn she was meant to be loved, and she didn’t have to always rely on only herself as she had done for years before.

As she steps forward, Leon leans in towards her, both in sync as they knew what the other wanted from a simple look. Placing a hand on her hip, he gently brings her in closer as she places a hand on his chest, both leaning into each other for a kiss. Soft at first, their kiss is held for only a moment before they pull away, faces still close enough that with a subtle movement their noses would brush together.

Despite what many would think… Leon wore his heart on his sleeve. He was always compassionate, caring, and with a sense of justice like no other. While he may seem stoic and tough in many situations, if you actually talked to him… he could be surprisingly honest and earnest. In moments like these, those parts of him glowed so brightly it was blinding. Never did she think she would feel love radiating off of a man before, not like this. And not towards her.

For so many years, she knew she was a good person. She was kind, she always wanted to help, she did everything she could to help people. Not unlike Leon, really. But she kept herself hidden, spoke about herself and her life yet never told anyone anything of substance that related to her true self, her real feelings. Vulnerability was not something she learned over her years growing up, well into adulthood. Be kind, but not a pushover. Help those in need find a balance between independence and depending on others in times of necessity, but never help herself do the same. There was no such thing as a time of need for dependency to her. Things that applied to others did not apply to her, she was the exception of what she taught others. And because of that, she made peace with knowing she wouldn’t be able to find someone who would genuinely love her… who would ever get the chance to love her. Who she would ever actually be able to open up to. Who can fall for a woman hidden behind so many closed doors, she may as well not exist at all?

And how funny life is, for her to find a man who didn’t think love was an option for him, either. His work had become his life, there was no time for love and affection, for getting to know another person at all. His job being far too dangerous, friends and lovers would be a liability. It almost felt selfish to get too close to people knowing it could make them targets. For a long time, fighting and monsters was all he knew. She helped him see beyond that, to a life where he could wake up in the morning and kiss the love of his life up against the kitchen counter at 7:13 in the morning.

The sun warmed their skin as the light shone on them, both smiling softly as their gazes remained locked.

“I’ll be needing some more of that, you know…” Leon brings both hands up to her hips now, holding her in place.

“Oh…? You mean more coffee? I can pour you some more if one mug isn’t enough.” Her words with that wry smile on her face makes him laugh, making him give a small shake of his head. He pulls her closer, body pressed against body.

“More of this. More of you.”

With those final words, he wraps both arms around her waist, as she drapes her arms over his shoulders to hold him close, lips meeting in the middle again. Their bodies shifted until she stood with his leg between her own, and lips began to part and press together over and over. The sound of their kisses filled the silence of the room, even more so as his tongue slipped in to meet her own, causing a soft moan to reverberate within her throat.

Hands began to wander as one of his dipped below the hem of her shirt, calloused fingers caressing over her stomach as it moved higher and higher, lifting up her shirt with it. As he reached her ribs, just below her chest, the kisses paused as a breathy chuckle escaped his lips.

“Glad you didn’t bother putting on a bra yet.” His fingertips grazed below the curves of her breasts, teasing her.

“Mm… I wasn’t in the mood to… I don’t need one at home, do I?” She speaks softly as she leans in, placing a kiss just below his ear, then another along the side of his neck.

With a slight shiver quickly moving down his spine, Leon finally brings a hand up to properly cup her chest, one thumb brushing over her nipple. Her warm breath grazed his neck, an exhale of pleasure brought out only by a simple touch of his. With that, he spoke in a low tone of voice: “Absolutely not.”

Already, Leon could feel the blood rushing to his cock. It didn’t take much for her to bring that out of him, the curves of her body alone brought so many thoughts to his mind he could hardly stand it. She stood there, beautiful as ever in his arms, knowing that he had permission to run his hands all over her body and bring out the most delicious noises she could make. He remembered their time just the night before, only a few hours ago. When she was laying on their bed, naked, with her legs spread and beckoning for him to take her. Yet another thing that he gets to do with her that makes him forget all about the world outside of their home. The DSO, the government, the villains, the BOW’s… none of them existed in these moments.

Leon could feel the heat between her own legs pressing against his thigh, and while he may still only have just woken up, that has no effect on his strength and determination for her body. His hands reached down to grip both of her thighs, and with a brief little ‘hmph’ he lifted her up as if she hardly weighed a thing, placing her onto the countertop. The shorts she wore only covered part of her thighs, while the rest was bare and felt the cold sting of the marble countertop below her. Only a moment after he heard her mumble the word ‘cold’ did he place his hands onto her inner thighs, gently shifting them apart and responding with, “I’ll warm you up just the way you like…”

Her heart rate picked up now, as he leaned back in to kiss her, far more passionately than he had before… but still not quite as aggressively as they had kissed that night. It was still morning, after all. Part of the kitchen was still dim as the sun had yet to rise quite enough to blanket the entire room with light, much of the world beyond their window still waking up. Even they were still waking up, to a degree. It was something she absolutely loved… something exciting that they rarely ever got to do. Sleepy morning sex.

Sleepy morning sex, now taking place in their kitchen instead of their bed.

And lucky for her, Leon was already half naked. He had walked in wearing only his boxer briefs that morning, having no need to get dressed beyond that when he was staying in their house. Even she wasn’t wearing much, just a pair of underwear, shorts, and a simple t-shirt so on the off chance someone in the far distance glanced over into their windows, they wouldn’t get a free show.

His shirtlessness meant that she did not have to wait to run her fingers over his chest, feeling the taut muscles he’d built up over the years and then having the opportunity to simply look at the man who she gripped onto so tightly when he was slamming into her at top speed, edging so close to orgasm. He drove her crazy, and she drove him crazy right back.

Crazy enough that with her on the counter, rather than coming up to kiss her again, he leaned down to kiss along her inner thighs. Again, he kissed over a few fading pink marks left on her skin… sucking gently on unmarked spots to create new ones. Slowly he made his way up higher, and once he reached the apex of her thighs, he placed his hands along the waistband of her shorts.

“Lift your hips for me, baby.”

There was no hesitation as she obliged, placing her hands to her sides in order to lift herself up, allowing him the access he needed to slide her clothing off and toss it onto the kitchen floor. Leon watched her as she let her legs hang off the counter, thighs still spread apart to give him access to her already wet pussy. Her breath had already begun to pick up, he could see the rise and fall of her chest as she laid herself bare to him, a dusting of redness rising on her cheeks.

Coming forward, Leon grips her outer thighs and leans in, kissing along her skin again… unable to stop himself from teasing.

“This is new… looks like I’m the one that gets to eat first this morning.” The smirk on his lips was absolutely terrible, and she had already parted her lips to say his name, to scold him for making such a silly comment when she was spreading herself for him and trying not to lose her control. The words never came out of her mouth beyond saying the first half of his name, however, as he brought one of his hands forward and slowly dragged his middle finger up from her entrance, all the way up to brush against her clit and spread that wetness he had caused in just a matter of minutes.

Her head lolled backwards as her toes curled for just a moment, her pussy sensitive right from the start as she thought about what they were just getting up to. A soft, brief moan escaped her lips.. Only to be replaced by a sharper moan and exhale of breath, when he brought his head down, spreading her apart and immediately bringing his tongue down onto her clit.

“Leon… shit…” The words slipped out seemingly beyond her control as she shivered, looking down to see that dirty blond head of hair nestled between her legs, feeling that masterful tongue licking up and down, running in circles around her clit and tasting every inch of her. Biting her lip, she watched as his eyes gazed up at her, deep blue eyes that focused solely on her.. And even those teased her, too. Just from the look he gave her… he knew exactly what he was doing. He knew she was melting for him, that he knew every single sensitive spot she had on her body and he knew just how to play with each one.

The feeling of his rough, unshaven face against the softest, most sensitive part of her body adds an entirely new sensation that now has her toes curled indefinitely. Her thighs began to squeeze together, pressing him tighter against her body as he continued to use his tongue to pleasure her, lapping at her as if she was the greatest tasting thing he’d ever experienced. She may just be so, in actuality.

Leon knew she was getting close already, just by the way her body wracked when he reached her clit… and so he no longer focused on anything else. Keeping a tight grip on her thighs, he changed his motions as he alternated between sucking on her and flicking her with his tongue, causing her moans to truly fill the room at this point. Her body shook, hands came down to tangle in his hair… and when the waves of pleasure washed over her, she arched her back and let her head fall backwards, letting out a long drawn out, “Fuuuuccck…..!”

Not once did he stop, not when he could see that her orgasm continued to wrack her body, making her shiver over and over when it reached its peak, came slightly down, and hit her with another peak all over again. Hungrily he helped her ride out her orgasm, and only once her body began to go limp and relaxed did he finally pull back away, quickly swiping the back of his finger over his bottom lip as he brought his gaze back up to her face.

Dazed and content, she smiled as she saw the look on his face, accomplished and satisfied. Unable to help it, she let out a little giggle.

“That was incredible, honey…”

Standing up properly, he leans in and gently cradles the back of her head, fingers gently weaving into her long hair as he leaned in and kissed her cheek, then the corner of her lips. “And it’s not over yet…”

She lets her body come forward, and he watches as she slides herself off the counter onto wobbly legs, her hands coming down to the hem of his boxer-briefs. Already she could see the large bulge that had formed, and knew that he had to be absolutely suffocating with keeping those on. Pulling at the hem, she brought his underwear out and down, freeing his cock and watching as precum instantly came to the tip. Her gentle fingers come down to wrap around him, giving him three long strokes as he closes his eyes and exhales, one hand coming to rest on her lower back and keep her close to him. After only a moment, his blue eyes opened and focused on hers again.

“I can’t wait for you anymore… no foreplay for me.” And she lets out the tiniest yelp of surprise and happiness when he places both hands on her ass, pulling her in for a hard kiss.

Bringing his lips to her ear, his hot breath brushes against her as his words are spoken: “I need to be inside of you. Now.”

Nothing else needs to be said to her with that. While she may have only just orgasmed, it meant nothing. She was ready to go again immediately, feeling as if something was entirely missing now that she’s horny and seeing that absolutely starving look in his eyes.

And while he had half expected her to hop onto the counter again… she decided to go with a position they don’t get to do as often, given that they both value seeing each other’s faces in their throes of passion. Sometimes it was nice to spice things up, and she’d been wanting to do this one for a while.

Leon watches as she takes off her shirt, and turns around. His eyes are completely glued to her as she keeps her feet firmly planted on the ground… and leans over the counter, her upper body now laying on it with her ass out to him, legs slightly spread. From this angle, while he couldn’t see her face… he could absolutely see everything else.

He does get to meet her gaze again however, as she turns to look back at him over her shoulder. And while she’d always been a sweet, very mature woman… she could get absolutely dirty. Keeping his eyes locked to hers, she gives him the dreamiest of smiles, paired with her pleading words:

“I want you to fuck me from behind, Leon. Please…”

As if any man would be able to say no to her like that. His stunning girlfriend, again spread wide for him.. But now he could admire the curve of her back, the way her legs looked as they gently stretched to keep herself planted on the floor, and the way her long, black hair fell over her shoulders and onto the counter where her arms were crossed beneath her head for cushioning.

Words are breathlessly spoken as he moves forward, both hands on her ass not only to keep her steady but to spread her just slightly further apart, lifting her ass and giving him every bit of access he needed for his hardened cock.

“As if I could ever say no to you.”

And with those assertive words, Leon lines himself up with her pussy, something he’d done so many times it was absolutely second nature to him. Moving forward, he lets out a low, quiet groan of pleasure as he feels himself slide inside of her, slowly filling her up until he reaches as deep as he can go. That familiar warmth and wetness, her body felt as if she was made for him… and of course, she felt as if his body was made for her, too. Gently she digs her nails into her arms, biting her lip as he simply rested inside of her for the moment, allowing her the time to get used to him being inside again, as if he hadn’t been in her just hours before.

It’s only once he sees her turn to look over her shoulder at him again, seeing those pretty blue eyes of hers begging without words for him to move, that he slides himself back out again. Leon keeps his hands on her hips now, holding her in place as he thrusts himself back in, unable to keep the moan from escaping his own mouth. While he may not be the loudest in bed, he was surely not shy with the moans and groans that do come out of him.

Picking up the pace, the sound of skin on skin melded with the moans of ecstasy released by them both as Leon continued to fill her to the brim, getting to a point where he refused to pull out of her more than halfway, choosing instead to keep a faster pace and slam into her over and over again. Soon she feels him rest more weight on her, one hand coming down to press onto her clit, causing a much louder gasp from her, a gasp that quickly changed to a shaky whimper of pleasure when he used three fingers at once to rub circles on her clit.

It isn’t long before she begs for more, for him to go faster…. Until he hears those words that always bring him over the edge.

“Leon, please… make me cum…!”

Leon nearly becomes blinded by his own rapture, groaning the word ‘fuck’ desperately under his breath as he holds her steady, holds her close.. Making sure that she never strays far from his thrusts as his dick drove her to the brink all over again, just like he did last night.

He felt it, it built up so fast every time he felt her walls constrict around him, squeezing his cock and driving him insane with the tightness she enveloped him with over and over again. There was nothing else he could do, no more holding himself back as he finally lets out a desperate groan and long exhale, only slightly muffled by her own cries of an orgasm taking over her body all over again, causing her to shake and shiver just as it had before when he ate her out.

Not only did she cum, but he came even harder. She felt it as he unloaded into her, hot and thick cum completely filling her from the inside and nearly making her eyes roll into the back of her head. Never did she let anyone cum inside of her before… only Leon has ever been allowed that privilege. And it was a privilege he never took for granted.

It took a solid few minutes for their orgasms to finally subside, the waves turning to an overwhelming feeling of warmth that remained evenly across their bodies, inside and out. Both bodies turned to jelly as Leon slowly slipped out of her, watching as his cock moved back and he could see his cum beginning to drip out of her. He had to admit, he came pretty hard for what was essentially an early morning quickie. That sleepy morning sex sure as hell woke them both up.

Slowly, she stood back up to face him, taking it easy as her back shifted and returned to a comfortable posture. Without fail, he came forward and hugged her, holding her up against his body so she didn’t have to worry about using strength that had been sapped from her after two back to back orgasms.

“Bet you’re starving now, huh? You were already hungry to begin with.” Leon says with a chuckle in his voice, leaning in to kiss her forehead after the words had been spoken.

An exhausted but contented laugh spills from her own lips as her head tilts, resting against his shoulder and allowing herself to simply be held and loved the way he always did after sex.

“Mhm… but that was all worth it. We earned ourselves a big breakfast and a hot bath together afterwards.”

The smiles remained on both of their lips, even more so as he leaned down to whisper right into her ear: “I love you.”

And as her arms snaked around his body, she hugged him showing how he truly was the most precious person in the world to her. Never would she let him think otherwise.

“I love you too, Leon.”