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warmaidensrevenge · 2 years

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Eddie is that a baby?

Papa Eddie Munson x plus size reader

If you want to read my other work you can find it HERE

Ok I just love the idea of Eddie getting crazy flustered trying to raise a baby girl. How protective he is with her.

Warnings: Language, mentions of child loss.

Summary: Eddie needs help with the baby.

Chapter 1: Rosie

🍼🥹💗

It was Eddie's first day working at the steel works and he was so damn nervous. Not because it was his first real job after the shit that happened 2 years ago. All his wounds were only skin deep. Except the one on his neck causing him to bleed out of his mouth. Henderson still gave him shit about being an over actor when he woke up in the hospital.

Eddie was no longer the main suspect once Jason disappeared/died. So he was free to go. After that everyone treated him differently. He thought they would avoid him like the plague. But for some reason he was as popular as Harrington. After the events in the upside down Eddie became really good friends with Steve, Robin, Nancy and Johnathan. They're the reason he now went to parties. He would go to parties before the asshat Vecna tried to ruin his life. But he only went to supply the people with the best drugs money could buy. But now it was like everyone loved him. Especially girls. Sure he hooked up all the time but now he was drowning in a sea of pussy. And he couldn't have been more smug about it. Every night it seemed he was getting laid. But he grew tired of all the different girls. So he started dating Tina. (Vickie's friend) he was able to get a diploma and he started working at the local auto shop. But after just a few months he had to quit and find a better paying job.

See he knew Tina was pregnant with his baby. But what he didn't know was that she was gonna ditch him and their new baby girl just a month after she was born, Tina bolted. He was in a panic for a solid 3 months. He barely slept and he barely ate. He was so worried about her. He was also frantic about providing for her. He wasn't making enough at the shop and no way was he gonna keep selling drugs. He had to make sure his daughter was utterly and completely safe.

The only people he trusted with her were his uncle and Erica Sinclair. But his uncle was working with him that day and Erica was at school. So he had to leave his now 4 month old with a complete stranger. And he was so afraid something would happen. He called on every break and during "restroom" breaks. The babysitter assured him she was fine. But he couldn't help but worry.

During lunch instead of sitting with his uncle right away he called the sitter for the 11th time. And this time she didn't answer. He freaked. He kept calling until someone answered. He guessed it was a helper who answered. He explained that he was checking on his daughter and asked why it took so long for them to answer the phone. The person on the line said that his babysitter was feeding his daughter.

Still a bit worried he went to sit next to his uncle. He was so anxious this morning that he forgot to pack a lunch. So he was sharing a bag of cheez its with his uncle. He wasn't paying attention to what was going on around him until he heard a commotion at the door of the break room. A girl came in with the biggest lunch pail Eddie has ever seen. People were surrounding her as she passed out Styrofoam take out boxes. She looked familiar but he couldn't put his finger on it.

He watched as you approached the table where they were sitting.

" Hey Mr. Munson. I hope you guys are hungry." You said while putting two boxes down.

"Starving kiddo. How much we owe ya?" Wayne said pulling out his old tattered brown leather wallet.

" Please. I don't want your money. Besides this is a thank you for fixing the kitchen sink. I really appreciate it."

" It was nothing. Anytime you need anything. Just let me know."

" Will do. I uhh I gave you guys an extra cookie. Don't tell anyone." You winked at Eddie "Enjoy guys. I'll see out on the floor."

Eddie stared at you the whole time you were there. He wanted to introduce himself but he was too worried about the baby.

" Better eat fast son. We only have 15 minutes left."

Eddie pulled the Styrofoam box open and there was a large piece of homemade lasagna. Complete with garlic bread a small salad and 2 chocolate chip cookies.

" Make sure you thank her when you see her later."

Eddie with a mouth full turned to his uncle.

" Who is that and why is she giving us free food?"

" That's Y/N. I went to fix her clogged sink."

" I hope that's not code for anything."

"What? God no. I'm old enough to be her father. Don't you remember her?"

Eddie shook his head shoveling food into his mouth.

" You guys went to school together."

" We did?"

" Yes. She was there before you disappeared."

"Wait y/n l/n. The one that dropped out because she was pregnant."

" Yup. Poor girl."

" Why is she working here? I thought she was supposed to get married."

" Well I don't want to gossip but supposedly it never got that far. He left her when she was in the delivery room."

" Ugh I hate it when they leave."

"Yup. So be nice. She knows what you're going through. She's the one who let me know about the babysitter" Wanye leaned in and whispered. " Also, She just lost her son to sids a few months ago."

" What's sids?"

" Sudden infant death. He was only 4 months old."

" Rosie's 4 months old!"

" Shhhh."

Great. Like he wasn't worried enough.

" Rosie will be ok son. It's more common in boys than girls. We just got to make sure she sleeps on her back."

Now Eddie was freaking out. How could he stay at work when Rosie could be dying right now. Somehow his uncle convinced him to say for the rest of the shift. But as soon as he was done he raced over. As soon as he saw Rosie he cried and held her so close to his chest that she was pushing him away.

...

A week later he had the day off. He spent it playing with Rosie. Trying to get her to say dada. But she just made noises. He was worried about her. She hadn't pooped in 2 days.

" Common princess. Poop for Daddy." He was seriously considering giving her prune juice.

She was crying. He figured that she was uncomfortable. He was about to give up and take her to the hospital. He was bouncing her up and down while she screamed her head off.

" Rosie honey please."

Her crying made him want to too.

" That's it. Let's go princess." He was about to put her in the car seat when someone knocked on the trailer door.

He went to open it and saw you there. You had a huge gift bag in one hand and a brown paper bag in the other

" Hi Eddie. I- umm do you need help?"

" No!" It came out way harsher than he meant too.

"Sorry. I didn't mean...I'm just gonna leave these here" You set both bags on the porch and headed down the steps.

Eddie felt bad. But he thought that maybe you could help him. He really didn't have the money to pay for the emergency room. But if Rosie needed it he would take her. He thought maybe the same thing happened to your son.

" Hey uhh y/n don't go. I uhh I do need help."

You stopped and turned around. Eddie was still trying to calm Rosie down. Giving you pleading eyes. You picked up the bags and went inside, setting them on the coffee table.

Eddie watched as you pulled out a bottle of hand sanitizer and put some on. He was just about to ask you to do that but it was like you read his mind.

" May I?" You asked

He was apprehensive for a second but handed her to you.

"Oh sweet girl. What's wrong?" You cooed.

" She hasn't pooped in 2 days." Eddie looked at you worried. But you didn't look at him when he said it.

" Oh no. We can't have that. Right princess?" You were bouncing her just like Eddie did.

He felt that maybe you couldn't help after all but then you moved to the couch and sat down.

" Eddie I know this is gonna look weird but don't freak out. My mom used to do this to me. And don't worry. I won't hurt her. I promise."

Eddie eyed you but nodded. Anything to stop Rosie's pain. You laid her down on her stomach and started massaging her lower back gently. He could hear Rosie start to settle down but not by much. Not until you pulled at the skin under he onesie softly where you had been massaging her. He immediately got angry. He was about to yell at you when he heard Rosie let out a little fart. Rosie stopped crying and he could hear her trying to push. He looked at your hands and you were massaging her again.

" That's it princess. Let it out."

Rosie was very flatulent. As soon as she was done, you picked her up and handed her back to him rubbing her back one last time.

"I'm sorry if I upset you Eddie. I know it looks bad. But I swear it's not."

"Thank you for not hurting my daughter. And thanks for getting her to go." His eyes never left Rosie.

" I would never hurt her Eddie."

Eddie smiled and took Rosie to his room to change her. When he came back out he noticed your shirt was wet. Your breasts were leaking.

" Hey uhh. Your shirt."

You looked down and immediately covered yourself.

" Oh I'm sorry. It must have been the crying. Umm I'm gonna go." You were out the door before he could say anything. He would have offered you one of Tina's maternity shirts.

Eddie put Rosie down for a nap. He went and sat on the couch to see what you brought. He opened the big bag first. It was filled with baby clothes and a few toys. There was this one thing that didn't match all the blues and greens in the bag. It was a pretty pink dress. It was a little bigger than Rosie's size but he knew it was for her. It still had the tags on it with the price scribbled out. Eddie smiled. He would never say no to free stuff. But he was definitely going to wash what you brought over. He opened up the small paper bag and found 2 big ass burritos and a pack of circus cookies. He loves those cookies. How did you know? Why were you being so nice? He scarfed down both burritos before they got cold and started the wash.

He looked through the phone book trying to find you. Once he did he called you.

" Hello?"

"Uh hey y/n. It's me Eddie."

You went silent. He thought you were holding your breath.

" Hey look. I'm sorry about earlier. I didn't mean to embarrass you." Eddie heard you clear your throat.

" No I'm sorry. You shouldn't have seen that. I should still be wearing my pads."

" Don't be sorry. It's perfectly natural. I have seen it before you know. Tina used to leak through her pads all the time."

There was an awkward silence for a second.

" I uhh. I'm still sorry though. I umm I never got your daughters name. I feel so bad for not asking."

Eddie chuckled. " Don't feel bad. I'm sure she won't be offended that you guys didn't get an introduction. Her name is Rosemary. Rosie for short."

" Oh that's pretty."

" Yeah. Named her after my mom and well after the movie."

" Movie?"

" Yeah Rosemary's baby."

" Oh." You laughed. " That's umm weird. Probably only mention the mom part of the story when you tell people about her name."

" Ehh. Yeah probably. I don't want people to think I'm back to being an occultist."

"God I remember that. That was so crappy."

" Yeah. But whatever. I'm not in high school anymore."

" Yeah. And you're a dad now. It's so crazy. Hey did you get to go through the stuff brought over?"

" Yes thank you so much. But you didn't have to do that."

"Please. Your uncle told me about you not having a baby shower or anything. Neither did I. So I thought you could use it. Sorry there's not much pink in there"

" Yeah she will definitely make use of everything. And don't worry about the colors. I'm sure she won't be upset that she's not wearing girl colors. Besides she really needed more socks. I swear that damn dryer is holding half of her socks hostage."

" You see I always thought that too. But I feel like it's the washer who is the real cooperate. I mean who would really question the washer? Me that's who."

" Huh. It would be the perfect cover since it doesn't have a lint trap."

" No but it does have this drawer thing in the back. So it might be possible."

" There's a drawer in the back?"

"Uhh yeah....it's next to the little black plug. You know the one that should get emptied once a month."

" Oh...yeah... That drawer."

" Eddie? You don't know what I'm talking about do you?"

" Uhh. No..."

Eddie heard you laugh again. " just ask your uncle about it. He was the one who showed me. Oh just so you know those clothes were washed already. But if you feel like you need to wash them again. I understand."

" Shit am I that predictable?"

" You're a new father. Don't worry about it. "

"Thank you...for everything."

" You're very welcome. If you ever need anything. I'm just a phone call away.

" Yeah. Thank you."

" Bye Eddie."

" Bye y/n."

When he hung up he had a thought. Maybe it would be nice to have someone around that knew what they were doing. But he pushed it away. He didn't know you. So he was gonna keep you at a distance. Just until he knew you were ok for his daughter to be around.

...

He saw you at work and you guys ate lunch together. But that was pretty much the extent to that relationship. He thought you were really nice and one hell of a cook. Every Friday you would sell food to people at work. Eddie guessed it was a coping mechanism for your loss. At least that's what his uncle said. They both tried to pay you for it. But you always refused. But Eddie found a way to repay you. He would show up to work with a coffee for you. He would always buy you a pop and a candy bar from the vending machines. It wasn't much but it was at least he could do without you getting suspicious.

You asked about Rosie every now and again. Eddie knew you were giving him space. You knew that if he needed you, he would call. And about 2 weeks after the no crap incident of 88. Eddie was waiting for you to answer the phone.

"He- llo"

" Y/n it me. So listen. I have fed her, I've burped her, bathed her, changed her and I still can't get her to stop crying. I'm sorry to call but my uncle pick up a double.

" No it's ok. Does she have a fever?"

" No I've checked her 5 times already."

" She didn't get bit by anything did she?"

" No not that I could see."

" Eddie how old is she again?"

" She's almost 5 months old."

"hmmm. Is she grabbing her ear or trying to put things in her mouth?"

"Yeah her mouth."

" umm. Can you do me a favor? Can you put her down for just a second so you can wash your hands?"

Eddie didn't question you. He put Rosie down and washed his hands quickly then picked her back up.

"okay. I need you to hold her face still and look into her mouth."

" I don't see anything. Her gums just look irritated. Crap did I give her something she's allergic to?!"

"Eddie, calm down. If you did she probably wouldn't be able to cry like that. uhh can you just touch her bottom gums in the front and up top. Tell me if you feel anything."

"y-yes it feels like something is.....shit she's teething."

" Uh huh. Do you have a ring for her?"

" Ugh no. I didn't think it would happen this soon."

" Eddie it's fine. I gave you one. Do you remember seeing a wooden ring with a small towel with lions on it?"

" Ye-yeah."

" Good. That's a teething ring."

" Isn't she gonna get splinters in her mouth?"

" No she won't I promise. It's actually better for her."

" Alright. But if something happens to her. I know where you live." He joked

"If anything happens other than her being happy, I will come to you."

Eddie stayed on the phone with you until Rosie calmed down. Eddie heard you yawn. He looked at the clock and it was 3 in the morning.

" Oh man I'm sorry y/n. I didn't know it was so late."

" No it's okay" you yawned again. " I told you if you needed anything. I meant that."

"Thank you so much."

"Night Eddie. Get some sleep ok."

" You too. Night."

When he hung up the phone he took Rosie into his room.

" Aww princess. Daddy's so sorry. Thank God for y/n huh? She's so nice."

Eddie sat on the bed with her watching how she was gnawing on the ring.

" Mmm better princess?"

Eddie was so thankful for you. He was really happy that you two met.

...

After some time you guys spent more time together. Going out to the park for walks or just hanging out. Rosie seemed to really like you and that made Eddie happy. He liked the way his daughter laughed when you made silly faces for her. He liked how you never really asked to hold her because you were afraid that it would bother him. Even though it didn't, he really appreciated the sentiment. Slowly but surely he was beginning to trust you with her. He was getting comfortable leaving you two alone while he showered or ran errands. He even allowed you to start picking her up from the babysitters.

One night you invited them to come over for dinner and a movie. Eddie sat at the table with Rosie on his lap eating. You had made meatloaf with all the fixings. It was Eddie's favorite. He sat there talking to you and feeding mashed potatoes to Rosie. He had a thought of what this would be like if Tina would have stayed. Just a little happy family.

After dinner you put on the Labyrinth. Eddie loved that movie not only because it was pretty cool but because Rosie would always try to dance to the Magic Dance song. As the trailers played Rosie grabbed Eddie's hair pulling it.

" Oh princess. That hurts daddy."

He tried to get her to let go but she had a kung foo grip on him. He heard you laugh. He turned to look at you. You had gotten up and taken out your scrunchie. You went behind him.

" Tickle her." You said with a small giggle.

He did so and Rosie dropped his hair. You quickly and gently pulled his hair into a bun, tying it up for him.

" Thank you."

" No worries." You said sitting back down.

" I uhh will give it back later." He pointed at his bun

"No it's ok you keep it. You're gonna need it." You smiled at him and turned to the TV.

The movie was about half way through when Rosie fell asleep. You offered up your bed so he could lay her down. Eddie pulled out 2 baby monitors and went to lay her down. He surrounded her with pillows so that she would roll off. He set up the monitor and went back out to the living room.

After about 30 minutes you guys heard Rosie crying. Eddie was about to get up to get her when you asked if you could.

" Alright but if you try and run away with her. I will hunt you down."

"Pfff me? Run? Eww." You joked and went to try and put Rosie back to sleep .

He reached for the baby monitor and turned up the volume. He watched as you went into the room.

" Oh princess. It's ok. Did you have a bad dream?" You said picking her up and swaddling her. " It's ok sweet girl. How about I sing to you. Would you like that?"

Rosie was starting to simmer down a bit.

" I used to sing this to my baby."

Eddie sat there feeling so bad for you. This was the first you had mentioned your son. He stood up when he heard the sadness in your voice. Maybe it wasn't the best idea that you were with her. He didn't want to hurt you more. But then you started to sing, causing him to sit back down again. He knew the song well. His mom sang the same one to him.

"Moon river, wider than a mile. I'm crossing you in style some day

Oh, dream maker, you heart breaker. Wherever you're goin', I'm goin' your way

Two drifters, off to see the world. There's such a lot of world to see

We're after the same rainbow's end. Waitin' 'round the bend

My huckleberry friend. Moon river and me"

Eddie sang with you. His mom loved Audrey Hepburn. He could quote Breakfast at Tiffany's word for word. Though he would never tell anyone that. He heard you sniffle while you laid the sleeping Rosie down and gave her a kiss on the forehead.

You had left the room but you didn't come back right away. Eddie got up to see where you were. He heard you softly crying in the bathroom.

" Hey sweetheart are you ok?" He asked knocking gently.

" I'm ok Eddie. I'll be ok."

He stood there for a minute before you came out. Your eyes were blood shot and your nose was a little red. You tried to smile but it was a halfhearted attempt. Eddie didn't know what to say so he just hugged you. You tensed up for a moment but then wrapped your arms around his waist. You guys stood like that for a while before you pulled away.

You cleared your throat. " Let's go finish the movie."

...

@salenorona23 @b-irock @browneyes528 @mrsjaderogers

#fanfic #eddie munson #eddie munson x female original character #eddie munson x you #stranger things #eddie munson x plus size reader #eddie x reader #eddie my beloved #eddie x fem!reader #eddie x y/n #eddie x you #plus size reader #eddie x plus size reader

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ncisfranchise-source · 10 months

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NCIS: Sydney 1×05 “Doggieccino Day Afternoon” is the best episode of the show so far, and the first one that truly feels like a team episode. Everyone’s got a role and case-wise, everyone is necessary. NCIS: Sydney has been building towards that conclusion for the first four episodes. But that’s not just true in the professional sense, it also very much applies to the family this team is building.

It took five episodes, but NCIS: Sydney 1×05 “Doggieccino Day Afternoon” focuses on the one member of the team we hadn’t spent all that much time on — Doctor Roy ‘Rosie’ Penrose. It does so as subtly as this show has handled all episodes, by showcasing his importance in the office, subtly reminding us of the relationships he already has within the team, and shining a light on the new ones he’s building.

But the show also takes the time to provide some very important context on Doctor Penrose, enough that by the end of the hour, we feel like we know him — and by extension, the team better. Now, that’s an effective episode of a procedural.

Family

Family is at the center of every decision made in this episode — from a kid just trying to save his family, to Doc trying to get home so his wife has someone to call, someone to be there for her. But NCIS: Sydney 1×05 “Doggieccino Day Afternoon” is very clear in the messaging about the good doctor, starting from the moment he calls J.D — he might think his wife is all the family he has left, but that is very much not the case.

Family is, has never been, just blood. Family is the people who show up when you need them. The ones who pick you up when you’re feeling down, who make ill-advised decisions (and sometimes defy authority) to try to help you, and yes, the ones that wait in a car for you as you go do something hard. Not because they have to, but because they don’t want you to be alone.

Sometimes you’re lucky enough to be born with them, yes. But sometimes you choose them, or they choose you. And the ones you choose are just as important as the ones that life chooses for you.

You Can Stay In the Fight

Seeing one of your own in danger isn’t easy — especially when we consider how much the team has clicked in such a short time. And everyone deals with things in their way. In the case of Blue, sometimes that means not dealing. In a way, that’s understandable. She doesn’t have the training the other members of the team have. And it’s hard to keep it together when you care. This is why Mackey giving her the Mackey pep-talk is so important.

There were no false promises made. But there was respect. Mackey was treating Blue with the respect she deserves as a member of the team, one Mackey is holding to the same standard she would anyone else. And on this team, no one gives up on each other. It’s that simple.

It all, of course, starts with Mackey and J.D. It has since “Gone Fission.” And though it’s too early to say if those two have the makings of an epic ship, it is not too early to say we want a lot more of them to figure it out.

Things I think I think:

I will take more of Mackey and Evie casually ganging up to tease J.D, please and thank you.

Honestly, I appreciate how the show doesn’t do subterfuge in some things. Someone like J.D would catch on fast.

This might be the best episode of the show so far at teamwork.

They’ve done great with the twosomes, this is a team episode as much as a Doc Penrose episode.

J.D standing in the way of the shot was hot, WHAT CAN I SAY.

I thought this was a safe episode about dogs, not one that would compromise my emotions! How very wrong I was.

Seriously, everyone got me this episode. Everyone.

All this information on J.D! A marriage (and a divorce). Plus a kid?

Give me a Mackey and J.D heart-to-heart every episode, please. But without Todd Lasance smiling like that, because that’s just unfair.

Did I finish the episode crying at Doc and Blue? Maybe I did.

There’s only eight episodes total in the season, what do you mean there’s a hiatus?!

#ncis sydney

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milazka · 4 years

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pull yourself together | 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐬𝐭.

the less i know the better masterlist

main masterlist

summary: i really don’t know how to summarize this, if anyone has suggestions, leave them in the comments please!

warnings: swearing, smoking.

last thought: it’s a short one, i always hate writing the first chapter/one shot of a story. also, i won’t follow the exact timeline of ginny and georgia, i will use some events but it will be focused on charlie and marcus. btw, i made them seventeen cause i don’t want to write smut for fifteen years old kids. hope you’ll still enjoy! love, milz.

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Nights are peaceful.

Some will say it’s the most dangerous time to be outside, especially for a girl. Some others may be afraid of the dark or convinced that only bad things happen during those unlighted hours. For Charlie and Marcus, night equals freedom. Everything seems to be in slow motion, trapped in the silence of darkness. It creates a safe space where they can live fully, without boundaries.

Her age-old well-worn black converses stride on the slightly damp pavement, kicking the tiny rocks along the yellow stripe in the middle of the road. The cloud-covered nocturnal sky captivates her attention. Her cerulean eyes linger on every detail of the damp air masses, paying no particular care to her surroundings, knowing the path to her final destination by heart. Some clouds remind her of animals, while others are more in the shape of objects.The habitual barking of Jack, Marcus' neighbor's dog, indicates that she's a house away from her best friend's home.

Charlie turns into the hallway, sneaking through the opening in the fence that leads to the backyard of the Baker's house. Kurt Cobain's exhilarating voice is cut short when her earphones cord gets stuck in the fence, yanking them from her ears. She tucks them into the front pocket of her forest green jacket, turning off Smell like Teen Spirit’s melody.

Leaning against the old wooden door frame, arms crossed over her chest, she quietly contemplates the eighteen-year-old man laying on a small rolling piece of wood, his head buried under the old motorcycle engine.

“Howdy, blondie,” her best friend’s deep, raspy voice shouts from under the bike. A soft smile slips on her rosy lips; he knew it was her, no one else would come here to meet him in the middle of the night. She tilts her head to the side, watching him grab the screwdriver with his right hand, a perfectly rolled joint between his plump lips.

“Hey John Bender,” she can see him smirk at the nickname which is a reference to the first time they met, five years ago. “How was your day?”

“Miserable, darling, as usual, perfectly wretched,” he rolls forward, revealing his oil-stained face. Her sapphire eyes roll; Marcus always provides the same exact response whenever she asks him about his day. She shouldn't even ask him anymore, she thought.

“Still working on this bike? I thought your mom told ya to get rid of it,” she gracefully steps over his outstretched legs, stealing his blunt with the tip of her thumb and forefinger.

“She did,” he says, a faint smile teasing the corner of his lips. “That’s why I’m working on it at night,” his tall sculpted figure stands in front of her, eyes to eyes with her since she sits on the stainless steel countertop.

“Ellen will kill you,” she blows a cloud of tarnished air on his face, grinning at the sight of his scrunching nose and half-closed eyelids.

“Oh I know,” his crinkled eyes give him an innocent look as he inhales the poisonous smoke exiting the blonde's parted lips. “That’s why she can’t know, capiche?”

“I guess that would probably be a good time to tell you that your parents bedroom light is on,” his hand immediately flicks the light switch, plunging the whole space into complete darkness with the exception of the bright light emanating from the master bedroom window. They both fall into silence, him watching carefully through the window while she leans her back against the wall, mesmerized by how his eyes sparkle in the reflection of light. She has always loved his light-brown eyes and how she is able to read him through them.

“Shit, she’s in the kitchen” he curses, seizing her delicate hands in his calloused ones, yanking her from the countertop that was in sight of the sink window. The blunt still between her soft lips, he pins her against the corner of the wall, hiding the both of them out of sight of his dear beloved mother. From her perspective, she can see his jugular vein pumping quicker than normal, pushing an increased flow of blood through his body. His hands are slightly clammy and coated with motor oil. Her fingertips gently graze the scar along his right hand that he got when he attempted to climb up the gutter to get to her room last summer. As far back as she can remember, Marcus had always been the taller of the pair, and he never failed to remind Charlie when she had trouble climbing the fence of the public pool in the middle of the night or when she was struggling to climb up to his bedroom window.

Their noses graze as he leans his head towards hers, grasping the joint between his teeth. He let go of her hand, taking the forbidden thing between his dirt-covered fingers. The warmth smoke tickles the top of her skull before she lifts her chin up to meet his hazel orbs.

“If this was a romantic comedy, we would’ve kissed by now.”

His furrowed eyebrows show his surprise and it doesn't take long for a smile to appear at the corner of his luscious lips. His thin, long-fingered hands are pressed against the wall on both sides of her head, his face close to hers to the point where their breaths merge.

“Should I correct that?” marcus whispers, his lips curled into his well-known cocky grin that she is so used to seeing.

“It was an observation, not a request, idiot!”

“Your loss, darling,” he winks as she pushes him away, her two hands resting on his chest covered with a Pink Floyd shirt. She then stands on tiptoes, her mouth a few inches away from his ear.

“Pull yourself together, Marc’,” a shiver runs down his spine as her warm breath brushes against the skin of his neck. “I know you’re the one dreaming about it.”

Oh if she knew.

second.

─── ° • ❀ ───

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akookminsupporter · 2 years

Note

In relation to that one ask, I find it funny (not really) how everyone always forgets about Hobi. Like, seriously. Every single damn time he or anyone else is out with JK and Tae, they just disappear. And it magically turns into "TK dating" or "Wow, they are standing up to Hybe!" Just enjoy the damn Hobi, Tae, and JK outing! Don't misinterpret it, just be happy for them! They are living their lives, not trying to prove something to us! Their relationships are, well, not for us, but them! Plus! How can anyone turn how happy they all looked into some inconsequential drama?

(Sidenote, but I love the fact that KMers mention or try to mention everyone who is at the outing. They try not to leave anyone out or scew the information they are providing (and if they do, then they are damn sure corrected.). Sounds completely different from a certain side, doesn't it?)

I also find it funny that people need to explain things to us, as if we haven't already comprehend the situation. As if we should be doubting every interaction between JK and Tae or JK and JM, or whatever pair they bring to the table. Why should we be doubting a relationship we have no ties or connections to? Why are these anons acting like they have connections to these boys when none of us do? Shouldn't these anons be questioning themselves if they are acting like this? It's definitely not a healthy parasocial relationship, if so. Like Rosie and others say, please, please, go touch some grass. Maybe the air will clear up the absolute shit that has filled or is filling your brains.

"Why should we be doubting a relationship we have no ties or connections to?"

Anon you have no idea how much that pissed me off to see today. A few hours ago I saw a reporting account Hobi asking people to report accounts on Weverse that were posting a picture of the three of them but Hobi had been crossed out. Not that they cut the picture so that only Jungkook and Tae were in it, they literally crossed out Hobi and posted it celebrating tkk's date.

The fucking disrespect towards Hobi pisses me off. Someone who the maknae line ADORES.

Something that I thought was funny but it's how that subgroup always acts so it doesn't surprise anyone (THIS IS NOT AN INVITATION TO SEND ASKS ABOUT THE SUBGROUP), is that when the picture of Jimin and Jungkook having lunch with some friends a few weeks ago came out they SCREAMED all over the place that it was an outing between friends because there were other people present, how dare jikookers to say it was a date??!!! but oh, this time it was a date even though there was another member present. I guess that's why they're pretending Hobi wasn't there with them? Pathetic.

It is because of things like that that I don't understand how many people take what they say seriously. They are annoying that's for sure, disrespectful too but don't take what they say seriously, report their accounts and block them. STOP GIVING OXYGEN TO THE STUPID THINGS THEY SAY.

#anon #ask #fandom #tkkrs #JK #JH #TH #shippers

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curlynerd · 3 years

Text

What He Wants

Happy gift posting day for @starrynightdeancas gift exchange! My gift recipient is @bipridedean! She requested a Destiel, canon-adjacent fic, so here it is! I hope you like it! <3

Word Count: 2.6K Rating: G Summary: 5 times Dean said "I do" and 1 time he didn’t. Notes: Post canon, fix-it fic, oneshot, love confessions, Destiel wedding

Also read it on AO3!

The first time it happens Sam is the only one to hear it. They’re alone in the bunker, surrounded by months and months of tireless research. But finally, finally, Dean thinks they’ve discovered how to get into the Empty.

Dean wants to push through the night and get a portal up and running as soon as possible. Sam insists they both go to bed, pleading with Dean that he won’t be able to concentrate on the spellwork to maintain it without at least a few hours of sleep.

Dean spends most of the night staring at the ceiling, thoughts racing through his head at a hundred miles an hour. This time tomorrow, he could have Cas back. This time tomorrow he can--Dean is almost afraid to think it, afraid that giving form to what he wants will somehow curse it and stop it from ever coming true. After all, the thing he wanted most before this was for Cas to love him back, and that didn’t exactly end rosy.

Still, as Dean finally closes his eyes, he allows himself a small, private wish. He hopes this will be the last time he falls asleep alone.

The next morning, they’re both expecting some sort of bump in the road, some rare ingredient or some missing incantation that will set them back even longer, keep Dean from seeing Cas again for God knows how long. But fortune is on their side, and Sam executes the spell flawlessly.

Dean is armed to the teeth with every weapon and protection spell they could collect on short notice. His plan for finding Cas and dragging him back home sits clearly at the front of his mind. His heart pounds in his ears, fast but steady and strong.

“You know, if this doesn’t work, you could get stuck there. I might not be able to open a new portal.” Sam looks at the pulsating mass of black that serves as the portal to the Empty. Worry is etched deeply into his forehead. “Do you really want to do this?”

Dean thinks of Cas’ face, the way he had smiled as he said he loved him. He thinks of how he was so close to having the one thing he really wanted. How Cas had wanted the same.

There’s no peace in loneliness.

Dean tightens his grip on his angel blade, his jaw set, his eyes determined. He’s ready to get his angel back. “Yeah. I do.”

The second time it happens, it takes Cas by surprise. It’s been a week since Dean heroically pulled the love of his life from the Empty...and also since Dean lost all remaining courage. He choked. His unspoken response to Cas’ confession is a taut tension wire between them, keeping them inches apart, words suffocating in their tightly sealed mouths, both terrified to say anything and risk breaking something that can’t be mended.

Dean hates himself for it. It’s cowardice is what it is. It’s a lifetime of desperately fighting against the things that make him vulnerable. Against wanting things. Against believing anyone could love him. Even with Cas’ confession still crystal clear in his memories, Dean doubts.

He is deep into those self-deprecating thoughts when he finds Cas in the garage, struggling to figure out how to change a flat tire on his truck from a Youtube video.

“Cas? What’re you doing?”

Cas startles and immediately hunches his shoulders in guilt. He wasn’t expecting to be caught. “Dean.” He looks down at the lug wrench in his hand, and Dean can see the wheels spinning in his head, trying to concoct a cover story before he shrugs and gives up the truth. “I was trying to fix the truck.”

“You need to go somewhere? Cuz I can just drive you.” Dean’s heart pounds, his mouth going dry. Cas wouldn’t need to sneak around for a little errand.

Cas shakes his head and confirms Dean’s fears. “I wanted to have it ready. In case I needed to leave.”

“Leave?” Dean repeats, and his blood goes cold.

Cas deflates a little, resigned and sad. “I assume I’ll need to soon.”

“You can’t leave!” ‘Tell him!’ screams in Dean’s mind, but he can’t. He can’t. What if he’s wrong? What if Cas doesn’t love him like that? What if Cas doesn’t love him at all anymore? What if Dean screwed it up by staying silent and Cas realized he deserves to be with someone who can provide a simple answer to “I love you?” What if--

“I don’t want to,” Cas says softly. The pain is evident in his eyes as they flicker to his truck, like he expects to need to book it out of here at any moment. “But I wasn’t sure if you wanted me here after--” He cuts himself off and shakes his head. “I don’t want to overstay my welcome,” he amends.

“Cas, this is your home, same as me and Sam.” Cas doesn’t look so convinced. “C’mon man, you really think we don’t want you around?” Dean leans against the side of Cas’ truck to ground himself. “Cas, I want you here.” ‘I want more than that,’ he thinks, and it would be so easy to say what he really needs to say, but he can’t. He fights viciously with his own self-esteem, ripping at it, begging it to let him say more. “Please don’t leave,” he says, small and helpless, and it’s like moving a mountain to say that much.

Cas’ expression softens into longing. His hand clenches at his side, like he’s fighting the urge to reach out to Dean, but he smiles a soft, incredulous smile. “I can stay? You really mean it?”

Dean swallows thickly. A hundred words crowd his throat, fighting to get out, but his own fears win this round and keep them down. Instead all he can manage is a choked, “Yeah. Yeah, I do.”

The third time it happens, it takes them both by surprise. They’d gone on a hunt, just the two of them while Sam was visiting Eileen, and everything had gone sideways. What they thought was just a troublemaking demon turned out to be an extremely powerful witch, one with more than enough experience in Enochian magic to put Cas in serious danger. And of course Cas was reckless in his desire to protect Dean, and only managed to avoid getting killed by quick thinking and, to be honest, a helluva lot of luck.

The fight left Cas injured, and Dean pissed. “What the hell were you thinking!” he scolds at the end of a cold, silent drive back to the bunker.

“I did what I needed,” Cas shoots back with a steely glare.

“No, you didn’t need to go rushing in like that!” Dean’s worry leeches out as anger, the fear of losing Cas yet again clouding his reasoning that Dean himself would have died without Cas’ quick action. “You could have gotten a lot more hurt!”

“Why does it even matter to you?” Cas yells back, and it’s the note of hysterical bitterness darkening his words that makes Dean snap and say what he’s been hiding for far too long.

“Because I love you, you stubborn ass!”

The words freeze in the air between them, sharp and strong, wedging themself right where Dean’s anger was just a moment ago.

“You...love me?” Cas asks, his voice small, his eyes big.

And like that, Dean’s fears seem so foolish. Cas loves him. Cas died because just admitting he loves him was the happiest moment of his life. Cas has already done the hardest, scariest part for him. Dean doesn’t even have to fear Cas not feeling the same.

Silently, Dean takes a single step forward. Cas is frozen on the spot, staring at him like he doesn’t know whether to laugh or cry. He takes another step, and another, until he’s close enough to reach out and tug Cas into an embrace.

“Of course,” Dean breathes. He holds Cas close, tucking his chin over his shoulder and squeezing tight, like he never wants to let go. He doesn’t ever want to let go. Cas is slower to react, but when his arms finally wind around Dean, he breathes out a soft, sobbing gasp and clings to Dean. Dean turns his head to bury his nose in Cas’ hair. “Of course I do.”

The fourth time it happens, Cas doesn’t even hear it. Cas found out about a nearby crafts fair, and all it took was one particularly soulful look from those big blue eyes of his, and Dean was driving them a full hour and a half away to look at homemade pottery and local honey and overpriced tacky mesh wreaths and pretending that the entire atmosphere of the place wasn’t giving him hives.

Cas is having a blast. Dean is carrying bags and lurking in the shadiest spots he can find away from the summer heat while Cas browses. Cas is having an animated conversation about beekeeping with a honey merchant when Dean ducks into a large tent filled with the kind of flowy, bedazzled, polyester shirts he thinks of as “PTA Chic” because they also happen to have a large fan blowing.

“Lookin’ for something in particular, sugar?” The tent owner saunters over to Dean, her Southern accent thick and her top scandalously low. She’s stunningly pretty, and Dean’s eyes and smile light up out of a lifetime of habit. She responds in kind, dragging her eyes down, then back up Dean’s body. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were lookin’ for more than clothes.”

Dean chuckles and flashes her his best charming, but chagrined smile. He feels a little guilty for leading her on, and he doesn’t want to hurt her feelings. “Oh sweetheart, if I were single, I’d gladly take you up on that offer, but I’ve already got my special someone.” Dean nods to the honey booth next door.

Her eyes trail over to where Dean gestured, and for a split second her brow furrows in confusion before she laughs just a little, more incredulous than cruel. “You really want someone like that over me?”

Dean looks over at Cas. And, yeah, Dean gets the question. He’s a grown-ass man wearing cargo shorts, carrying a canvas bag with the most obnoxious sunglasses-wearing beach ball Dean has ever seen, and his hair looks like it's been electrocuted. Dean grins, feeling a rush of fondness for his dorky, criminally unfashionable angel.

“Yeah,” he says softly, without an ounce of hesitation. There’s no one else in the world for him but Cas. “Yeah, I do.”

The fifth time Dean says it, Cas is the only other person around for miles. He drags Cas out of bed bright and early one Saturday, forcing him into the car before he’s even fully finished his coffee. Cas allows it, only because he can tell Dean is positively vibrating with nervous energy. Dean brushes off all of his prying questions during the long drive until they finally arrive at a small, peaceful meadow in the middle of nowhere.

He’s packed a lunch, because ostensibly this outing is meant to be a picnic, even though Cas is suspicious on that fact alone. Dean never picnics. It doesn’t really matter though, because Dean is too nervous to even consider eating.

“So why are we really here?” Cas asks after a few minutes of nibbling at his chips. Dean’s sandwich lays untouched on the blanket.

Dean steels his nerve and takes a deep breath. “Do you know where this is?” he asks, fighting the jittery bouncing of his heartbeat to keep his voice steady.

Cas nods. “This is where I returned when Jack resurrected me.” He looks around, smiling down at the flowers surrounding the two of them. The windmill behind him creaks softly in the wind.

“And where I spread your ashes.” Dean’s fidgeting fingers find a frayed edge on the blanket, and he starts picking at it.

Cas nods again and remains silent, patiently waiting for Dean to find the rest of his words.

“And it’s…” Dean pulls a thread out of the blanket and lets it fly away in the wind. “This is where I realized I love you. I’m an idiot who didn’t even realize how much I loved you until after you were gone.”

Cas leans forward and rests his hand on Dean’s knee, warm and reassuring. Dean continues, “At the time I’d thought, ‘I can’t do this. I don’t want to live without him.’ Which was stupid because you were already dead. It didn’t matter what I wanted.”

Cas squeezes his knee. His eyes are gentle. “We’re both okay now.”

Dean’s heart warms. “Yeah. We are. But you know I...That feeling’s never gone away. You and me? I want us to be forever.” Dean reaches into his pocket. There’s no small velvet box, no shimmering diamonds, just a thick band of practical silver he found at a pawn shop. He looks down at the ring with a tender smile. “Man, never in a million years did I think I’d ever be doing this,” he marvels, and when he looks up, Cas’ eyes are wide with surprise.

“Dean?” His normally steady voice wavers.

Dean reaches for Cas’ face, his thumb gently stroking across his cheek. He holds up the ring. “What do you say, Cas? Wanna go legit about this?”

Cas’ expression is impossibly soft, eyes overflowing with love and devotion. He swallows thickly around a lump in his throat and takes the ring from Dean. He slides it onto his finger and stares at it like it’s his own personal miracle.

“You’re serious, Dean? You really want to get married?”

Dean smiles as he leans in close. Just before he kisses his new fiance, he whispers, “Of course I do.”

The sun is setting, casting long shadows down the sand. The shifting winds coming from the sea carry a chill, making the little crowd gathered around them draw their jackets close and huddle together, but the smiles on their faces are nothing but warm. There’s no altar. No stage. No decorations. Just Cas and Dean, standing in front of the ocean, wearing their favorite flannels and jeans, two bright yellow black-eyed susans pinned to their shirts--stolen right out of someone’s garden on their way to the beach.

They didn’t even bother trying to put out chairs for the ceremony, not knowing how many of their friends and family would be able to make the long drive to see Dean get hitched to his angel, but in the end it’s a good thing, because damn near everyone came, and they need to crowd in close to hear them over the wind.

It’s completely and utterly perfect.

Dean grins, unable to take his eyes off Cas while Donna, the only member of his overly-emotional family he trusts not to bawl her eyes out through the ceremony, finishes the last of their vows.

“Do you, Castiel, take Dean Winchester to be your, well, not so lawfully wedded husband?”

There’s a twitter of laughter from the crowd. Cas smiles a sweet, crooked smile and squeezes Dean’s hand. “I do.” His voice is soft, meant for Dean’s ears only, because Dean is the only one his promise matters to.

“And do you, Dean Winchester, FBI’s Most Wanted, thrice dead criminal, and the terribly generous gentleman who will surely be covering our drinks on this celebratory evening, take Castiel to be your husband?”

Dean looks at Cas. Even in the dim light of the setting sun, his eyes are impossibly blue. His smile is so warm Dean knows he’ll never feel cold again, so long as he can see it every day. Dean beams back and proclaims loud enough for everyone on the beach to hear, “Oh hell yes!”

#userstarry #starrynightdeancas gift exchange #bipridedean #tuserari #destiel #deancas #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #deancas fanfiction #destiel wedding #deancas wedding #dean winchester #castiel #spn #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #katie writes things

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years

Text

Deal With The Devil. Yan Hades Giorno x Reader

Warnings: Isolation, implied kidnapping, forced marriage, brief non explicit sexual themes, and mentions of death. Word count: 3.2k.

Time alone is better than time spent in the company of someone you despise.

Skillful fingers run over the wilted stems of your carnations, a frown on your face at the current lifeless appearance. Dull shades of grey slowly turn to a vivacious green where your fingers pass over. Next are the petals, which are all but gone, a far cry from the flora’s typical beauty. At your delicate touch, it’s as if the hands of time are set in reverse. Soft fibers tickle your bare your skin, petals flourishing anew, now with a rosy glow. Standing from your bed, you return the revitalized carnations to their previous position on the windowsill.

The bright, pastel colors are in stark contrast to the obsidian colored walls that trap you. Darkness, like an everlasting night, cannot be cast aside by your pretty decorations. No matter how hard you try to do just that. The lone sources of illumination in the underworld, torches or lanterns, have also earned your scorn. How you had taken the sun for granted, the natural warmth it provided ethereal in comparison to this manufactured light. Sighing, you push the negative thoughts away, aware they do nothing for you. Wallowing in your grief harms the precious flowers you create.

The onyx marble flooring beneath your bare feet is cold and unnatural. Closing your eyes for but a moment, you remember how blades of grass used to feel in the summer and spring. Those blissful days traversing fields without a care in the world feel like centuries ago. You’ve tried to recreate grass as it is on the surface, but with mixed results, and now stick with forming flowers instead.

You take a mental inventory of the surrounding flora to check for problems. These creations of yours are a reliable pastime and bittersweet memory. No matter the life you instill into the delicate blooms, in the underworld, they wither away at an accelerated pace. Your days are spent reviving them or creating new bouquets to decorate this dreadful bedchamber. What else is there to do?

Nothing, you answer the question yourself, scowling. As if on cue, your poppies wilt at the sharp turn in mood, petals falling onto the ground and crumbling to dust. So the cycle continues. Understanding the passage of time when there is no sun is difficult, but if you were to guess, those poppies were just a few hours old. While you consider what to replace them with, a pair of eyes watch from nearby.

“In my brief time down here, this would be my first time seeing such beautiful flowers.” A feminine voice praises. Your eyes widen, head whipping around to find the source of the words. In front of your canopy bed stands a wispy figure. It takes the faint form of a human being, though lacking color and partially transparent.

It takes a second of tentative thought for you to realize what this apparition is. A soul. Not just any soul, a soul of a mortal, you presume. You haven’t spoken to a mortal in some time now. How did a soul manage to find its way to you, hidden away in the depths of the underworld’s palace? As if sensing your bewilderment, the soul speaks up.

“Is it true that I am speaking to the daughter of Demeter?” The soul questions. You nod, pushing down the agony of hearing your dearest mother’s name. “Then it seems I have hope after all.”

Silence settles in after the soul’s relieved statement. You take the time to contemplate the possible meaning of this soul’s words, reaching no conclusions. “How is it that you’re here?”

“... You will not call on his guards?”

Biting your bottom lip, you swallow down the bile that threatens to rise in your throat at the passing mention of him. “I will do no such thing.”

“Then lend me your ear for but a moment,” the soul’s voice is tinged with melancholy. “I am dead now, yes, but I was once alive. At that time I was Sotiria. I mothered three children, each splendid in their way, the lights of my life... I do not say this for complaining’s sake but to offer perspective. I never was given a decent lot in life, the child of a sickly widow whose face I can no longer remember.

Poverty was all I knew until I drew my final breath. I took work equally as it came, whether it was working the fields or being a companion to men at night. Anything for the sake of feeding three hungry mouths. But it was never enough. My youngest, Cyril, fell ill. To keep him alive I had to be by side at all hours. And so it goes… at my wit’s end from starvation, I had no choice, you must understand.”

Sortiria’s voice grows weaker, barely reaching your ears as she finishes her sentence. “I coveted, and I stole. Nothing more than I would need to keep my children alive for another day. When they caught me, well,” she motions to her phantom-like form with a pained smile. “I was killed.”

Your heart aches at her plight. “How terrible...”

“Yes, I’d agree so,” she doesn’t linger on the topic, eager to move to her final point. “But it need not end this way.”

“There is a reason I stand in your presence now. I heard rumors, waiting among the listless souls for Charon to ferry us to judgment. Rumors that gave me hope where I had none. That the god of the underworld had taken a wife, a wife who boasts a compassionate heart. You, [First].”

The pieces she’s presented you with fall into place. Your lips part, the world around you spinning, as Sotiria presents a final plea. “Please, go to him and ask that I may return to my body. That I may return to my children. Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door. I implore you, hear my prayer now.”

“I will not speak to him, no, I refuse to speak to him. Even if I did as you asked, who is to say he will listen to me? My cries for freedom have been denied, how would this be any different? I hear your prayers but have no power to answer them. My matrimony did not make me the goddess of the dead.”

Neither of you dares to mention Giorno by name, remaining cautious of what could happen, as he’s made aware every time his name is spoken. Even the mortals fear him, you think. And for good reason. You wonder if that’s how this was presented to the humans. A requited romance between the daughter of Demeter and Giorno, a union that gives hope to those dying. None of them know the truth, that you’re forced to remain here, tucked away from the wistful life you once had. That his self proclaimed adoration is nothing but suffocating and self-serving.

“You and you alone are the apple of his eye,” Sotiria insists with utmost urgency. “He will heed your words more than anyone else’s.”

“He has refused me everything of value that I have begged for.” The words are spat out with venom. You fail to notice that with your growing temper, the flowers you tended to prior shrivel up at unprecedented speed, a reflection of your distraught emotional state. Your chest heaves with each strained breath, fists clenching by your side until your nails pierce your skin. Does Sotiria not understand? How could anyone empathize with how the sorrow you feel? You stand in this saturnine chamber that remains your prison, Giorno the steadfast ward.

“I can not speak on what I don’t know,” she lowers her head. “But I do know this. You have his favor. You are his wife -- whether it was by your design or not -- and he holds affection for you in his heart. Go, speak to him, I beg of you. If not for my sake, then for my children.”

“But--”

“I can’t spend any more time here,” Sortiria looks around, her already faint form disappearing. “Please.”

Then she is gone.

You stare, eyes wide as a doe, at the spot Sortiria once occupied in your dim room. Nothing of her remains but the convicting call for action. Her words ring like funeral tolls in your mind, unrelenting, and weighing down on you. There’s no denying the effect her request has on you. Sortiria’s dedication to her children reminds you of your mother, who has tried everything to get you back. An ache in your chest pushes you forward, your legs moving subconsciously to the door.

She risked eternal damnation to speak with you. Leaving your room that never remains locked, you’re met with a similar color palette of midnight black and crimson red bricks. Hell flame is blinding at first, but when your eyes adjust, you catch the demonic guards stationed at your door looking in surprise. Giorno has granted you the freedom to traverse his palace as you please, but you rarely take him up on the offer, preferring to spite him by remaining in your room. When he searches for your company he knows where to find you. Loneliness haunts Giorno Giovanna like a plague, never warded off successfully until he acquired you.

No one dares question your intentions, averting their gaze to avoid eye contact as you travel down twisting halls. Your heart pounds against your ribcage through the journey, not knowing how Giorno will react to your uninvited appearance. This would be the first time you’ve sought him out of your violation. While wandering his palace, you can’t help but notice the difference in decorum compared to your room. He had tried to make adjustments to your personal space so that it would reflect a different aesthetic than the underground, fully aware of your displeasure with the gloomy architecture.

Not that it matters, you think. Nothing could make up for what Giorno’s taken from you aside from permanently returning to the surface. Rounding a sharp turn, you hold your breath at the sight. Cerberus towers in this grand hall and immediately picks up on your presence. The daunting creature lowers itself to the ground, three pairs of eyes piercing through you. A tense moment later, it seems content to let you pass, recognizing your position as Giorno’s beloved.

Behind Cerebrus is where your true challenge lies. Two monumentally sized doors that lead to Giorno’s throne room stand in your way. Taking a deep breath, you close your eyes, Sortiria’s words reverberating in your mind. Perhaps you are soft on the mortals, as your mother once warned you, but she was guilty of the same. Should you be successful, and Sortiria lives to tell the tale, you wonder if your mother will visit her and ask after you.

The doors open when you take a step forward. This palace is an extension of Giorno, you’ve come to realize, bending to your whims to please you. While lacking the necessary preparation to make a sound argument, you have an idea of what may convince Giorno to do as you bid. Any confidence you may have had from knowing you have his favor melts like ice in the spring when his eyes land on you. These eyes, that belong to one of the universe’s most powerful gods, feel heavy and cumbersome. Giorno nods his head in acknowledgment, a good sign. You wish you could hear his thoughts. His sculpted face is impossible to read as ever, in comparison, you feel like an open book.

You manage to force out a cordial greeting despite your petrified state. “I was hoping to have an audience if you’re not otherwise occupied.”

Giorno sits on his sizeable throne, presence imposing yet regal. In contrast to his spun gold hair, the throne is dark as twilight, embedded with rubies and numerous precious gems. He isn’t just the god of the dead, you remind yourself, but also the god of wealth. That’s all Giorno has ever felt like to you, some distant figure. Nothing more, not now or ever. His attempts to kindle an intimate relationship with you have been discarded like weeds. Now in his physical presence, reverence takes place of the disgust you normally feel towards him.

“If it pleases you.” Giorno’s voice is undeniably soothing, every syllable ringing clear as a bell. At his confirmation, you tread forward, over an expansive vermillion carpet. The walk feels like an eternal punishment. He takes the time to scrutinize your body language. You didn’t expect anything different, fully aware that he’d be taken aback by this bold arrival. Doubts in your head cry louder as you lessen the distance. That after all this time, he might see fit to punish you for this final act of entering his throne room without an invitation. Interfering with Giorno’s work might be the final insult he tolerates. You are his wife, but what respite has that granted you before?

You bow your head down as a show of respect. “I apologize for arriving unannounced.”

“Your presence is a welcome one,” Giorno seamlessly dismisses your concern. “Though, I might add, unexpected.”

Despite your best efforts, your posture goes rigid, likely playing into what Giorno designed. Your husband is as pleasant as he is efficient in his conversations, you’ve learned. It’d be a fool’s wish to think otherwise. Sortiria’s words, though you wish they didn’t, held truth. All have come to know Giorno’s affection for you through his special treatment. It’s a blessing and a curse.

“I would’ve come sooner, but I feared you were busy.”

Giorno gazes up at your through golden eyelashes, voice lowering as he speaks from the heart. “I will always make time for you.”

Is it wise to start with your true request? The clock’s ticking and you need to decide without further delay. Anxiety and regret battle for dominance in your mind, but you keep it at bay, recalling the true priority. A mother’s tender love for her offspring. There’s nothing more important to you than doing right by this tormented soul. Sortiria’s words resurface, “Us humans have taken to praying to you for mercy when knocking on death’s door”, she had told you. You were but a minor goddess until this point, and content as you were with that, there was nothing of astonishing value for you to offer the world. Creating and maintaining gardens was all you could do. Now, you have a real chance to do good, to reunite a family. The prayers offered up to you until give strength.

“Would you please stand?” You ask with a sheepish smile. It’s a simple request to test the waters and also a way to feel less intimidated. Giorno blinks but voices no complaints. From his throne, he stands, still towering over you but feeling less intimidating. You step forward, raising your hand and placing it to his cheek. His skin is cold and smooth to the touch. It reminds you of the flower petals you adore so much. There’s no denying Giorno’s beauty, you must confess, it’s almost like his face is perfectly sculpted art. You can tell he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Truth be told, there’s something that troubles me deeply,” you confess, to which he frowns. “That’s what I wanted to speak about.”

Giorno prompts you to continue. “And that is?”

The worst he can do to me is say no, you tell yourself. He’s had no difficulty doing that in the past when you’ve begged for freedom. No harm would come to you -- any spite Giorno might feel would be directed elsewhere -- but that doesn’t bring comfort. Sortiria would be punished if Giorno believed she was taking advantage of you. Sentenced to eternity in Tartarus.

“A single request. I wish to reunite a soul with her body, so that she may continue her life that was cut short,” you rub your thumb over his cheek. “Please do me this one good.”

“Sortiria, was it?” Giorno takes your stunned silence as confirmation, not that he needed any. The two of you were careful not to mention him by name. So he knew all along? It shouldn’t come as a surprise, but you still feel disheartened, blood draining from your face.

“It’s a rare occurrence that I permit a soul to leave the underworld,” he explains what you already know in a calm tone. “[First], you know I hate to deny you anything, but--”

“I wasn’t done.” You interrupt without thinking, overwhelmed by enough emotion to drown out logic. Giorno’s mannerisms and subtleties can be picked up on after all this time you’ve spent with him, and you know he was going to politely reject your request. Neither of you utters a word. It’s a split-second decision, but you set your qualms aside, considering the greater implications.

“Giorno,” you call him by his name for the first time, his eyes widening at the slight nuance. “If… if you do this for me, I… I will allow you to finally consummate our marriage.”

Your face feels like it’s on fire from the lascivious suggestion. There’s nothing else you can offer Giorno that’s valuable enough to convince him. Nothing other than yourself that is -- which you’ve vehemently refused him up until now -- swearing you’d sooner cast yourself into Phlegethon than let him lay with you. You hear your heart pounding in your ears as you await his final response. Giorno’s eyelids flutter shut, eyebrows scrunching together.

“This means that much to you?” He asks, not entirely convinced himself. This fiery passion you’re portraying is new. Days of passively tending to your flowers gave him a different impression of you. Now, faced with a cause you truly believe in, you’re willing to do anything.

“It does,” you confirm without further hesitation. “Please give me this single happiness.”

You don’t dare breathe until Giorno speaks again. He reopens his eyes and appears deep in thought. Dread clouds your mind, dominating any thoughts that might bring you comfort. You’ve done the best you could.

“Very well.” Giorno bends to your whims after a long moment’s deliberation. Joy blossoms in your chest, a genuine smile gracing your features. He places his hand over yours, shivers running down your spine from the cool sensation. The negotiations are far from over, as Giorno returns his attention to your prior claim. He wants to test your conviction and see if you’ll give him a piece of what he’s ached for.

He squeezes your hand gently, voice so quiet that only you could hear it. “Is what you said true?”

It’s the only viable option, is how you reaffirm yourself. A degrading option, you recognize, but no one aside from the two of you would ever know. It’s been a long and good fight that you’ve put up. Denying a god his desires is not an easy task by any stretch of the imagination. Goosebumps dot your skin, reality feeling so far away, as you seal your fate.

“You have my word.”

Giorno smiles -- in a way you’ve never seen before -- an unidentifiable gleam in his omnipotent eyes.

“Then I will see it done.”

673 notes · View notes

ukiyoexo · 4 years

Text

HAUNT ME, BABY! — PJS

PAIRINGS — nct, park jisung x reader

GENRES — ghost!jisung, quarantine!au, humour, lots of fluff (+grumpy!cute!jisung), angst (?)

SYNOPSIS — when you see a ghost, you’re supposed to be scared right? yeah, that’s what jisung thought too until he met you.

a night spent in boredom leads you to lighting random candles and attempting to summon a ghost. you never expected it to work — or for the spirit to be so cute.

WARNINGS — ghost summoning, mentions of blood, swearing, pricking your skin for blood, mentions of how jisung died, unedited

WORD COUNT — 5.2k+

TAG LIST — @uwu-yifan @peachjaem00 @heartyyjeno @guccichan

NOTE — i basically took the bloody mary ritual and made some shit up so enjoy :) this is also the fluffiest of all the fics from deviltales so yeah... this is also shorter than i intended but oh well.

DEVILTALES — MASTERLIST

quarantining alone had its perks. like being able to eat whatever you liked whenever, and never having to actually get dressed. as well as the fact that you could spend the day doing what you pleased, without anyone getting in your way.

and maybe that’s why you were going through with the slightly crazy and slightly stupid idea you had come up with whilst spending your fourth hour scrolling on tiktok. there was no one here to stop you from summoning a ghost and you wouldn’t be getting in anyone’s way. plus, you couldn’t help but think it would be nice to have someone other than your cat to talk to — even if that someone was some demon that probably wanted to possess your body.

“red and white candles, check. mirror, yep.” you mumble off the checklist to summon your very own supernatural being. your finger scrolling over the wiki how page on your phone screen one last time before powering it off and chucking it onto your bed.

next stop was the bathroom connected to your bedroom, where you had already lit the two candles, placing them at either corner of the sink. you had already turned off the lights and plugged the sink like instructed, all you had to do now was repeat the chant and prick your finger.

you clear your throat, debating what you would do if your attempts actually worked but deciding to instead remain unbothered. “yolo i guess.” you mutter, only to laugh at yourself when you wonder how many people’s last words were that.

you repeat the chant confidently, despite the fact that it was some random latin that you didn’t understand and most definitely mispronounced. after rerunning it through your head to make sure you had it, you pick up the pin you had placed next to the sink. the cool metal almost numbs the feeling of it piercing your index finger, yet still not enough to completely distract from the unpleasant pinch. a steady drip begins even before you remove the needle, landing against the white ceramic sink bowl and trailing it way down to the plug. one drop, two drops, three drops, you keep count until you hit 16 and a small pool of the metallic liquid has formed at the drain.

nothing happens for a while, and you wonder if it really was just make belief. and then when the red candle blows out, you try to convince yourself that it’s just a draft. you know, because a draft in a closed room with no open windows is so common.

you’re not scared per se, but the feeling of someone’s hot breath against the neck is slightly unsettling, the hairs on your back standing up just that bit straighter with every exhale. you know the next step is to look up and face the mirror, but a part wants to just turn on the lights and pretend nothing ever happened.

then again, you were never one to back down from something once you had begun it.

“fuck it.” you take a deep inhale, holding your breath as you direct your eyes from the bloodied sink towards the mirror.

there it is. the dark outline of a body— a person, you can’t see it’s face at first and wonder if it’s just your shadow. but then the features slowly become more clear, a wicked smile, one white eye, there’s blood dripping from the crown of his head, trailing down to his other, reddened eye, where a thick cut is sliced through. “boo.”

“jesus fucking christ.” you’re pretty sure your soul leaves your body at that very moment. definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost- definitely a ghost. but what fucking ghost says boo?

one hand is clutched to your chest, heart hammering against your ribcage, the other fumbling for the light switch. your widened eyes still trained on the mirror.

“you— you’re like actually a ghost?” you question, the light switch seemingly impossible to find despite your frantic attempts. the boy behind you seems caught off guard by the enquiry. “i mean—” he begins in the most unghostlike manner “yeah, i guess. i prefer haunted spirit of the underworld though.”

you finally hit the switch and the boy comes into full view, your body turning so you can get a better look at him. he’s— he’s surprisingly unthreatening.

sure, he has copious amounts of blood dripping from his being, and yeah, he looks like he could possess you with the snap of his fingers. but, he also has the roundest rosy cheeks, and the most adorably button nose. plus, he talks like most of your friends do — not the spooky victorian vibe you were picturing. “huh.” you lean back against the sink basin, arms folded across your chest, eyes narrowed. “hmph, you’re kind of cute.”

the ‘haunted spirit of the underworld’ looks a mixture of offended and confused at your statement, eyebrows furrowing with a exaggerated pout on his lips. “what?” he mirrors the action of your arms, “you’re not supposed to find me cute— you’re not supposed to.” he stomps his foot and you can’t help but lose it, giggling erupting from your chest.

“not my fault, dude.” you inform him casually once you’ve caught back your breath. sliding past him to get to the bathroom door and promptly opening it. he follows as you enter your bedroom, standing above you with the same expression as before as he watches you slump onto your bed.

“but no one ever finds me cute.” he just looks more confused now. “guess im the exception,” you shrug, “i mean how many people have summoned you anyways?”

“a lot, ok? and that’s not the point. you’re killing the atmosphere by being so chilled out and i’m not here for it.” the boy continues but you’re more focused on examining him. under the thick red liquid is a dishevelled, ink black mop of hair, a slightly tattered black shirt that is loose fitting to his figure and then a pair of ripped black jeans, although you can’t tell whether the rips are intentional or a result of his untimely death. “hello? are you even listening to me.” your eyes flick back up to his face, “yeah, yeah i’m listening— something about atmosphere or some shit.”

he lets out a huff and indicates for you to shuffle over, moving to sit on your bed, “whoa, pause, that blood won’t get on my sheets right? i just washed them.” he pauses in his tracks, looking at the white linen and then back at you. “i’m a ghost.” he states obviously. “good point.”

silence seems to settle in the room once he gets himself comfortable, his eyes examine your room whilst your eyes examine him. the pout on his face had vanished, only to be replaced by this almost saddened look. for some reason, you can’t help but feel like it’s your fault.

“you can try again.” you mutter awkwardly, offering up the best comforting smile you could. “try what?” “you can try scaring me again. we’ll go back to the bathroom, i’ll turn off the lights and you can jump out again.” his head tilts as you explain your suggestion and you swear you can see the apples of his cheeks redden just slightly. “i— i mean it won’t work will it? you already know i’m here.” he reasons back.

“ah, my dearest haunted spirits of the underworld, you clearly haven’t witnessed my superior acting skills before, lemme show you how to be scared.” you stand up confidently, sliding backwards to the bathroom, wiggling your eyebrows as you do so.

he once again follows, watching inquisitively as you relight the candles and turn off the lights, closing the bathroom door behind you, once you’re both fully in. “now, do your thing.” you offer him a quick smile and he nods hesitantly, settling himself in the darkest corner of the bathroom where you can’t even see him. “haunt me, baby!”

as you let out your last, more joking, words, the red candle is blown out once again, the white candle merely flickering and provided little to no light. your breath catches in your throat and any humour you have left to offer seems to dissipate out of your body.

there’s a tapping against the tiles to your right. then a scraping behind you. you can hear an unintelligible whispering echo throughout the small space but can’t make out what’s being said.

a cold draft hits the back of your neck, following the shiver that runs done your spine and leaves goosebumps on your arms.

your eyes are locked on the mirror in front of you. you don’t even have to act scared, you just are. your heart pounding harder and quicker in your chest with each passing second, your breaths unsteady and shallow.

one tap on your shoulder, then two, then what feels like someone tugging on strands of your hair. your body tenses at the touch, limbs stiffening.

and then, in the glow of the weak candle light, a face appears, a familiar face but one that given the circumstances, looks all the more terrifying. your eyes widen just as before, your features hardened in the tense moment.

“boo.” he repeats the same ‘scary’ word as before but in a low whisper. you try your best to remain calm but it’s at that moment that you lose it, your eyes squeezing shit and your hands flying to hit the lights. “nope, nope, nope.” you repeat in a chant, jumping on the spot as if that would make things any better.

“what? was i good?” the ghost sounds surprised, chirpy, and it’s enough to convince you that you can look up again. “were you good?” you respond bewildered, staring at the boy, “you were to fucking, i hated that.” you inform him, pacing to wards your bed. he trails behind, cheering to himself proudly.

“promise to never scare me like that again?” you hold out your pinky once he’s sat back next to you.

he pauses slightly but then nods, extending his pinky as well, hooking it around yours. “promise.”

♡ ♡ ♡

“wait, you never told me your name? and how old are you?” you and ghost boy are lying on your bed, having established that he’ll be ‘haunting’ you until dawn, leaving you with six hours to kill.

“jisung, eighteen.” he hums back, “you?”

“i’m y/n and the same age.” you roll onto your stomach and closer to jisung, giving him a wide, cheesy grin. his eyes narrow, as if to say what are you doing, but then widen when he feels your arm shove him off the bed. of course, it doesn’t work because he’s a ghost and can hover, but you still receive the same amount of entertainment.

“why can i touch you?” you continue your questioning after jisung settles on the chair next to your desk, “and why can you sit on things?”

he huffs out a breath but doesn’t really seemed bothered by the pestering, in fact he rather enjoys having someone to talk to. “you can touch me because you summoned me, and i can sit on things because i control what i go in and out of.” he explains as simply as possible, holding his hand out against your desk. “look, like this.” he rests his hand ontop of the surface as if it’s nothing. then he lifts it back up and lowers it again, however this time, it goes straight through the wood. “whoa.” you gasp, genuinely impressed. “cool, right—”

“can you go through me?” you burst brightly, and jisung looks mildly concerned. “i mean— i’ve never tried but—” “try it on me! try it on me! try it on me, please!” you extend the last your vowels desperately, grasping your hands hands together in a begging motion.

jisung rolls his eyes but agrees nonetheless, rising from seat and walking towards you with his hand extended. “ok, hold out your hand.” he instructs and you comply eagerly. your hand pointed outwards with your fingers spread slightly.

jisung rests his palm against yours, his skin is cold but soft. but then the feeling seems to vanish, and you watch wild eyed as jisung closes his fist, inside your hand. “what does it feel like?” he asks.

“like nothing.” you tilt your head, it wasn’t as exciting as you thought it’d be.

jisung then pulls out of your hand again, places his palm back against yours and threading his fingers with yours, materialising his flesh again. “aw, you’re holding my hand.” you tease sweetly, “cute.”

jisung scoffs, quickly pulling away at the mention of that horrid c-word.

“anyways then, what do you want to do?” you flop back onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. jisung lifts off the ground, hovering above you and looking down to make eye contact. “what do you mean?”

“well, is there anything you didn’t get to do whilst you were alive that you wish you could? are there things you want to experience again?”

jisung smiles, it’s a sweet question. bittersweet though.

he had never really thought about the things he had missed out on, and he’d tried his hardest to not think about the things he actually missed. but something about you asking it, so innocently, so pure hearted and warm, makes him smile. makes him less sad about his untimely death.

“i don’t know.” the ghost drops beside you, fiddling with his fingers. “well let’s make a list then.” you match his smile and jisung swears this is the most he’s felt since becoming a ghost.

♡ ♡ ♡

half an hour passes before you finally have a list you can actually accomplish within the confines of your apartment.

first on the list is learning how to skateboard, your board that had been propped up in the corner of your room since the start of quarantine coming in extremely useful. “ok, put one foot on the deck,” you instruct calmly, hands already being grasped by jisung’s. the icy feeling if then still something you couldn’t entirely get over. “then the other.” he does as he’s told. stepping on carefully but surprisingly soon, he was a ghost though — nothing to lose.

it goes pretty smoothly, your body guiding his around the hard wood floor of your bedroom. there’s a few wobbles but nothing too severe. “fun?” you grin and he nods eagerly back, it was almost like having a puppy.

“now you try on your own.”

he stops smiling at that.

“but what if i fall off?”

“you’re a ghost.”

“oh yeah.”

jisung adjusts the board so that it’s facing down the longest stretch. he confidently settles himself on the deck. with one, slightly too strong of a push, he’s off across your room. he picks up speed quickly as he goes and it’s only near the end of his path when he realised that he’s fucked up.

whilst he jumps off, the board keeps flying, only stopping when it hits the wall — or rather goes through it.

you both stand, frozen in you positions, staring at where your plaster wall had been broken through. “you just put a hole in my wall.”

“that, i did.”

“ok enough skateboarding for you.”

you move on swiftly after that, finding out that jisung can still eat and deciding to order a selection of his favourite dishes: sushi, pizza and even pork belly.

whilst you wait for food, you decide to move onto the next on the list: alcohol.

“so you’re telling me you never drank alcohol, like any at all, before you dies?” jisung nods to your astounded question. “seriously?” you scoff, genuinely shocked. “the most i’ve had is a sip of mum’s wine and it was nasty so i just steered clear of alcohol as a whole.” he informs you and you’re pretty sure your jaw is touching the ground. “what about drinking games?” he shakes his head again. “that’s wild dude.” it seems like the only motion jisung can do is moving his head as nods awkwardly for what feels like the hundredth time.

you don’t pay much mind as you head to your kitchen, choosing a selection of alcohols and mixers and several glasses before making your way back to the bedroom with full arms.

you settle yourself on the floor of your room, pouring out the various liquids into different glasses. “you don’t have to drink if you don’t want, you know that right?” you asks, swirling a glass of lemonade and lemon vodka in your, wanting to make sure that you weren’t forcing the ghost boy to do something he didn’t want to. “yeah, i know, but i do want to.” “ok, good.”you grin, hoding out the glass in your hand towards him.

he winces at just the smell which makes you giggle, the way his nose srunches being incredibly cute. he takes swig anyways however. its a quick one but you can tell by the range of emotions that spread across the boys face that he definitely got a taste. “good?” “i guess.” he twists his lips and you laugh even more.

“up next is gin.” you inform him, swirling another glass of alcohol and this time tonic.

you hand him the glass and he readily takes it, offering you a concerned look after taking his routine sniff as if to say ‘you really drink this?’. you smile encouragingly, despite thinking the drink you had just handed him was the worst of the lot.

unfortunately for jisung, he takes you expression as a form of reassurance that the gin will be better than the last and takes a more confident sip than the prior drink. however, just as quickly as he’s sipping it, he’s spitting it back into the glass, this disgusted look on his face as he tries to hold back a gag. you let out a boisterous belly laugh at his reaction, much to jisung’s distaste.

“you like that?” he questions between gulps of water, watching you intently. his eyebrows arching wildly when you respond with a “rarely.”

“so, wanna taste the next one?” you grin again, but jisung as trusting as before. “not really.” he pouts but you circle the drink around his face and he can’t really say no, he had never really had any self restraint anyways. “fuck it.” he hums before downing the mix of malibu and coke, a pleased look flashing across his face. “you like?” you nudge him into a response, “i do.” he smiles back, surprisingly happy.

you appreciate his good taste in alcoholic drinks but decide to do only one more round before wrapping the session up.

the last differs from the rest. the fact that it was dairy based and thicker eing the most obvious differences, as well as the fact that you put no mixer with it. “what’s this?” he holds the brown liquid up to the light as if that would help him decifer what he was about to sip on. “chocolate baileys.” you smile at him fondly, and he tilts his head at you. “don’t worry, you’ll love it.” you offer him some more genuine reassurance this time and his nods timidly, “bottoms up.” he raise his glass to his lips, taking a small swig. “wow.” he has another taste. “good?” “really good.”

food arrives shortly after and you waste no time stuffing yourself with the selection of delicious foods, making that jisung has plenty and enjoys the meal to its full.

♡ ♡ ♡

next on the agenda was catching up with all the music jisung had missed. and god, there was plenty.

you created a playlist of your favourites, a collection of ones he may know, and other new ones, setting it to full volume on your speaker — your neighbours could deal with the noise for a while.

when you begin to twirl around the room, busting out your favourite moves, jisung doesn’t seem too fond of joining in. unfortunately, no one told him how hard it would be to say no to you. the way you grip his hands and spin him on the spot with encouraging cheers make him laugh too much for him to then say no.

“there you go!” you grin ecstatically, watching jisung throw out some peculier but workable dance moves. your questionable singing matched with his much better singing when a song he knew came on.

your dance party goes on for what feels like half an hour but is really half an hour at most.

you spend half the time belly laughing while battling it out on who could dance better and although jisung won, it’s one of the best half an hours of your life. it almost makes you sad that, despite your exhaustion, you can’t continue with the dance party for longer.

you cross it off the list happily, looking for the next doable thing — watch avengers: endgame.

you were never much of an avengers fan but it turns out jisung was a huge one. and one thing he didn’t get to do before he passed was watch the last to the film, something he had been dying to do.

thankfully for him, you had already bought it after one extremely boring day in quarantine, figuring it would help you easily pass three hours of your time. only now, you were hating the length as it just meant less time to spend with jisung.

jisung actually having to agree to play truth or dare with you whilst watching otherwise you refused to turn it on.

it gets only fifteen minutes into the film and your prodding at the ghost’s arm. “psst,” you over exaggerate, “truth or dare?” you grin taking a scoop from the ice cream you had retrieved earlier.

jisung flickers his gaze between the screen and your pleading, hating how cute he finds you. “dare.” he whispers back.

if he hadn’t been so focused on the film, jisung would have seen the almost maniac like smile that spread across your lips. he then, would have been less shocked and disgusted when you dared him to drink a shot of soy sauce.

“you want me to do what?” the boy splutters, looking at you with mild concern. “what happens if i don’t?” one eyebrows quirks upwards. “then i choose a different date, as well as a truth.”

the manic smile returns.

“ok, fine.” you’re almost more shocked that he agrees to the questionable, sodium packed drink. “really?” you gasp. “yep, really.” he only confirms back.

you return to the bedroom a couple moments later with a glass bottle of dark brown liquid in one hand and a pair of shot glasses in the other. “you doing it with me?” jisung wonders once he sees the two small vessels, normally for alcohol.

“might as well.” you nod, questioning your own sanity as soon as you agree, “you only live once right?”

the joke is probably inappropriate given the circumstances, yet jisung chuckles nonetheless.

the humour dies down shortly after when the sodium liquid meets your tongue. your attempt short lived as you wait a whole five seconds to spit the shot back out. grabbing one of the glassses of water you had prepared and swirling it around your mouth.

jisung seems to struggle less than you, the alcohol most likely acting as a good warm up to him. however, you can tell by the expression his face twists into that he still definitely doesn’t enjoy it.

you fire more dares back and fourth after that, resulting in you snacking on a whole lemon and jisung ending up in an outfit of your choice — turns out ghosts can change clothes. and it continues until jisung finally chooses truth.

“so,” you clear your throat awkwardly, “well,” you continue to stall, twiddling with your thumbs. you open your mouth to speak again but jisung cuts you off, “you can ask me anything, like anything at all.” jisung nudges you encouragingly.

you sigh, looking at him with a pout, “ok then,” you don’t sound very enthusiastic but it’s more that you just feel bad, you couldn’t imagine that many people would enjoy reliving their last moments — assuming that’s what he was referencing, “my truth for you mr jisung is, how did you die?”

a silence settles between you and you’re too scared to even look up from where you were playing with the hem of your shirt.

“i— why would you ask me that?”

his words cut through the tension sharply. his tone serious.

“i— you- but you just said—” you’re beginning to panic, wondering if you had just hallucinated th last five minutes, but for all you knew, you could’ve been hallucinating all of this experience. “i’m sorry—”

“i’m fucking with you y/n, it’s fine, i was surprised you didn’t ask me earlier in fact.” jisung is evilly giggling just a bit too much for your liking, enough for you to attempt to wack his stomach. of course that fails though as he lets your arm just fly straight through him. “i hate you.”

“you don’t really,” he teases, reaching over to squish your cheeks as you glare at him. “it wasn’t interesting anyways, i was just hit by a car, boring really.”

“was it on purpose?” you pull the ice cream spoon between your lips.

“huh,” he takes another scoop himself, “i never thought about that.”

“well, did it hurt?”

“kind of,” he hums, looking like he’s genuinely trying to remember, “this bit hurt.” he motions towards his eye and for a second you almost forgot having a thick red gash across your eye wasn’t normal.

“hmph,” you lean towards him inspecting the cut, “that’s wild.”

“well, how do you wanna die?”

the way jisung asks so genuinely has a bubble of giggles brewing in your stomach, but you expression hardens when you realise he’s being serious. “i don’t know, i’ve never thought about it before. i die when i die, you know? i can’t stop it, so i might as well just enjoy what i have now and accept whatever death comes to me in the future, momento mori or some shit.”

you answer nonchalantly and jisung’s surprised by how calm you are about death.

he remembers the first time he experienced death. his grandpa passed away when he was eight and although he didn’t fully understand the concept of dying, he understood enough to be sad. and when his grandma passed away at ten, he was finally able to grasp the concept of it.

if he was being honest, death terrified him.

it was uncertain. and jisung didn’t like uncertainty. the unknown darkness that was death scared him and he even at eighteen, he hadn’t fully accepted it.

but hey, he was a ghost now, not much he could do to change his death anymore.

♡ ♡ ♡

the film ends sooner than you had expected and there’s not long left before jisung will leave. it’s weird, you didn’t think you could get so attached to someone so quickly, but then you summoned jisung and you both just clicked.

you had both decided that for the last moments you’d sit out on the balcony of your apartment, let jisung jisung feel the warmth of the sun as it filtered through the clouds.

“i think you’re my favourite ghost.”

“you’ve met other ghosts?” jisung quirks up his eyebrows, tilting his head towards you.

“nope, but i imagine you’re the best.” you continue confidently, watching as pastel blues and pinks fade into the sky.

he smiles at that.

he thinks you’re the best human he’s ever met, too.

you attempt to pass you the time by talking about life before death and your life after he goes but all conversation simmers down into a silence. it’s not uncomfortable, more just this solemn quiet. jisung didn’t want to leave, but he didn’t really have a choice — being a ghost really sucked sometimes, that was for sure.

“you know, there’s something else i kinda want to do before i go.” jisung hums, drawing your attention to his face. “what?” you question innocently which in itself makes the ghost smile.

“well,” he begins, suddenly nervous and blushing under your gaze, “when i was alive,” you nod, encouraging him to continue, “i never got to have a proper first kiss.” he quietens at the end slightly but what he’s saying is still clear as day.

“oh.”

you watch him shift in his seat, waving his hand in and out of the arm rest anxiously. “mr haunted spirit of the underworld, are you asking if you can kiss me?” you can’t help but tease the red cheeked boy, swirling your finger on your lap.

“i mean— you don’t—”

“i’d love for you to, jisung.”

your grin is suddenly matched on the boy’s face, a genuine smile that makes your heart pump even faster and this bittersweet feeling to settle in your stomach.

you stand up from your seat and he does the same, intertwining his fingers with yours and shuffling closer towards you. his gaze lingers on your lips for a moment before shifting towards your eyes. the way your irises glow in the morning sunlight something he wishes he could witness everyday. the way your cheek feels against the delicate touch of his fingertips, something he wishes he could experience everyday. “thank you.”

“for what?”

“for making me feel alive for the first time in all my eighteen years, dead and alive.” he confesses barely above a whisper, your hand shifting to cup the back of his neck.

he tilts forward, resting his forehead against yours, letting out a soft breath before closing gap completely.

his lips are plush, a soft velvet against yours. this heavenly feeling that makes you wonder whether he’s more of an angel than a ghost. the feeling has jolts of electricity sparking through every nerve of your body and you wonder if he feels it too. you do your best to savour each second of the kiss, letting yourself indulge in the moment.

hoping to imprint it in your memory for ever.

when you pull back, you’re met with nothing but the rays of sun indicating that dawn had come and jisung had gone.

you’re not sure what comes over you but there’s a gentle trickle of tears that escape your eyes. you were happy to have gotten to know him while you could, but it hurt knowing that you couldn’t do more.

you settle back in your chair after the realisation comes to you, dwelling over the questions you didn’t ask him. the most important being whether he’ll ever be able to come back.

you hoped he would.

and if not, you found comfort at least in knowing that he had still left his mark. from the hole now in your wall to the many memories you had to look back on.

even though you had never been one to believe in soulmates, you couldn’t stop yourself from wondering if that’s what you and jisung were. even if you roamed in different worlds, you couldn’t help but think you were made for each other. only hoping that in your next life you would finally get to be together.

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txemrn · 3 years

Text

The Missionary's Daughter

Ch. 1: "Meant to Live"

Need to catch up? Prologue: "It's Over"

Chapter Song Inspo: "Meant to Live" by Switchfoot

Series Song Inspo: "Changed by You" by Between the Trees

Pairings: Drake Walker x OC (Margot Hughes); Liam Rys x Riley Brooks

Series Warning: 🛑 for mature audiences only (🔞); series contains angst, language, NSFW🍋 material; trigger warning: heavy discussion/depiction of drug and alcohol abuse, suicide, religion, mental health; please be advised and exercise discretion

A/N: When I say that this took a village, it would be the understatement of the century! Huuuuuuuuge thank you to all of my amazing sweet writing sisters that encouraged me and helped me pull this together, but especially to @charlotteg234 for brainstorming and mapping this out with me, @kat-tia801 for doing the same, but then having to deal with me incessantly asking, "Does this sound right?" and @chemist-ana FOR GIFITNG ME MY FREAKING AMAZING MOODBOARD! It's SO beautiful, and it literally puts me in the mood to write about my Druggy Drake and Margot! Thank you so, so much, friend! Most of the characters and some of the plot belong to our friends at Pixelberry.

A palpable crackle ignites the sterile air of the staff locker room. To say she was ‘nervous’ is a painfully severe understatement to the jitters that spark from her fingertips. But, rather than dance chaotically like cut wires on pavement, she is lightning, mesmerizing, lighting up the sky with excitement and power.

***

Dressing for another Monday morning at her weekly volunteer job at the prestigious Cordonia Family OB/GYN, Margot Hughes swiftly shimmies a monogrammed ceil blue scrub top down her curves. Pulling her brilliant strands of autumn harvest into a high bun, she slips on her work clogs while nudging her locker closed with her knee.

Before leaving the changing area, she catches her visage in the mirror, the unflattering fluorescent lights casting more shadows onto her worried features. She can feel the rumble of her rapid heartbeat echoing in her ears; her chest constricts tightly as her breathing becomes shallow. Her eyes begin to sting with fear as the whites burn red, threatening with a glaze of tears.

Today is the day her entire life will change; everything she has ever wanted, everything that she has ever worked for will suddenly determine the course of her future in a single moment. Seeing the all-too-familiar terror in her eyes, Margot flutters her eyelids shut. Her fingers nervously trace along a simple chain around her neck until they finally grasp tightly to a dainty sterling silver charm: a cross.

“Take my anxieties, Lord,” she whispers with prayerful conviction, her sparkling blue eyes gracefully opening to look at her necklace. She exhales deeply. “Your will be done.” Margot stares at her reflection for a few more moments, focusing on her breathing to calm her restless heart. “You are strong, Margot. You've got this,” she affirms herself in a hushed tone, a bright smile breaking across her face. “This is your day--" suddenly overwhelmed with peace, a joyous smile paints across her face. Chuckling to herself, she glances upwards: “I'm counting on You.” Taking a deep cleansing breath, she eagerly exits the stillness of her thoughts, and joins the bustle of the morning's clinic appointments. Today is her day.

***

Halos of blurred auras bleach his vision as Drake cautiously opens one blood-shot eye. His tongue sticks to the roof of his roughly parched mouth as he massages his pained forehead. Clueless of what day it is--much less what he did last night--he is greeted with a sudden glorious sensation: a supple wet mouth on his hardened morning length.

His body relaxes back onto the dampened, disheveled sheets of his bed; he releases a pleasurable exhale as he blindly reaches for the head behind the lips. He strains to focus his view, but can only make out a foggy shape of a nude woman with long, tousled brunette waves.

It’s her. His love.

Drake smiles; delicately tangling his grip in her strands, he admires how even the afternoon sun catches her beauty perfectly. He quietly smacks his lips. He can still smell her on his stubble; he can still taste her on his tongue.

Had she told Liam? Were they celebrating that they could finally be together?

As she takes in the head of his girth, he arches his back, relaxing his body into her hungry touch. Closing his eyes, he offers a guttural groan deep in his chest as she swirls her tongue around his firm thickness.

“God, you’re incredible, Riley--”

---

Pulling out a pen, Margot reaches across the counter to grab a patient’s clipboard--that is until Iris, the front desk manager grips her long, manicured nails to the other side of the particle wood. “Miss Mary-Margaret,” she leans in conspiratorially, lowering her voice, “do we know anything yet?” Margot chuckles, shaking her head. “Child, you better come find me the moment you know!”

“Only if you promise to start calling me ‘Margot’” the young blonde jests, opening her client’s chart.

“How about I start calling you what we’ll all be calling you in just a few short years: ‘doctor’?” Rosy pink swirls splash across Margot’s face, warming her cheeks to the touch. She bows her head coyly at the mention of her dream becoming a reality. The thought that she will soon find out if a medical career is in her future makes the twenty-one-year-old’s heart leap with unbridled excitement.

For as long as she can remember, Margot has had a strong desire to serve and help other people. Much of that selfless attitude was instilled into her heart by her own parents. They were called to be Christian missionaries when Margot was only eight years old. After much planning, church fund-raising, and prayer, Roy and Mary Hughes left their comfortable home of Lafayette, Louisiana, and settled in the small Mediterranean country of Cordonia.

Many of their friends and family were shocked that the church would send them to such a beautiful area of the world. Typically missionaries humble themselves to serve the needy, the homeless, the lonely and the sick. They sacrifice the luxuries of home for the sake of loving humanity. They help people in war-torn countries, third-world countries, countries that don’t have electricity or running water. But, this country?

Cordonia itself is a lavish nation, rich in heritage and traditions. And funds. Thanks to the ideal weather conditions, the fruitful soil produces bountiful harvests and exquisite supplies for fine textiles that remain in high demand throughout the world. The Cordonian government, a monarchy, discovered a new opportunity to expand their wealth in the late 19th century: costly tariffs to international investors. Within the first ten years of increasing the taxes on exports, the national treasury was not only in the black, but their funds had exponentially increased every year. Farms were flourishing as the working class became larger, stronger.

But, the treasury began to dwindle quickly due to the extravagant demands of the royals. For the first time in the country's history, commoners were wealthier than some of the nobility. Disdain from the upper class quickly ensued until finally, in the early 20th century under the rule of William I, a new tax law was implemented to all of Cordonia: anyone involved with international exchange would have to pay into the treasury to handle such business.

Unfortunately, there were no limitations to this new tax law, and many farms floundered, property ownership being seized by the government. Families were uprooted; jobs were lost, and worse, assets were sold for even more money, filling the pockets of the greedy leaders. The people that once had a plethora of goods at their fingertips were now starving and unsheltered. And vengeful. The Cordonians were outraged by the gouging, many of them forming violent riots, banding together with outside influencers in hopes of overthrowing the government.

On the cusp of a civil war, King William I decided to rezone the country, providing a place for the displaced working class to claim safety and sanctuary, a place that would offer shelter, education, and more affordable options for goods. To appease the people even more, he named the project ‘the Core,’ paying homage to their greatest export, the Cordonian Ruby. It was also a way for him to forever express his gratitude for such a fruitful nation: they were the core reason the nation was thriving so richly.

Like many government-assisted programs, it didn’t take long for the cracks to show in the infrastructure. And with funding cuts over the years, the Core began to crumble, striking a sharp contrast from the rest of Cordonia. The Core, now often referred to as ‘the slums’, have become a breeding ground for crime, drugs, and prostitution. It is the blemish of Cordonia, its existence often not acknowledged amongst the elite.

But, according to the Hughes, ‘God saw the need’. They were sent to serve in the slums of Cordonia, starting up several free programs, including a nightly soup kitchen, afterschool programs to keep children out of trouble, and trade classes to help adults out of poverty. The people accepted the help and adapted quickly to the missionaries; but even more importantly, they embraced these Americans as their own, many of them forming important and lasting relationships with the Hughes.

But, still there was something missing, something that burdened the missionary’s oldest daughter: healthcare. Having good health and access to a doctor is still treated as a privilege in Cordonia, and time and time again, the curable were disabled or buried. A change needed to take place. And Margot, although unsure of how, knew she would devote her life in making it happen for the Cordonian people.

As she makes a few notes on her clipboard, an olive-complected arm stealthily reaches around Margot, gracefully grazing her sun-kissed skin before gently placing a cup of piping hot black coffee in front of her. Staring at the hand, she instantly knows who it is. And she titters, playfully rolling her eyes. “Tadd! Another coffee?” She grabs the coffee, twirling on the ball of her foot to face the clinic’s young ultrasound technician. "My tab must be over a hundred euros by now!"

"Oh, don't you worry about that," he chuckles, rocking on his feet. “Plus, I figured with your new gig at Bríki--” he jovially shrugs his shoulders.

“You figured what?” Margot playfully punches his shoulder. “That I could sneak you free coffee?” She gives a mischievous smile, raising an eyebrow. “I don’t think Mr. Pavlis would appreciate me offering free drinks, especially since I haven’t even started yet--”

“That’s right!” Tadd eyes widen. “Today’s the day--!”

“As if I didn’t already have enough to be nervous about today,” Margot’s voice becomes shaky, as she clenches her teeth in a forced smile.

“Hey,” Tadd’s voice turns into an endearing whisper. He shifts his head until his piercing jade eyes meet Margot’s baby blues. “You have nothing to worry about. We both know you did well on that American doctor test--"

"The MCAT," Margot stifles a laugh, rolling her eyes into an appreciative grin.

"Whatever," a crooked smile grows across Tadd's handsome features. "And as far as the coffee shop, you're a fast learner. And a hard worker. Plus, if they see what we all see in you--" he sighs, his gaze never breaking free from hers, "-- they're going to love you."

Margot looks down at her feet, hugging her clipboard tightly to her chest. Feeling her palms begin to sweat, she coyly looks back up at her dear friend. "Thanks, Tadd."

After a few silent moments of staring at each other, Tadd clears his throat. "So, um--" he starts, "have you heard anything yet? About the test?" Tadd changes the subject. Margot shakes her head as she takes a pull from her coffee. "Well, when you do, um, maybe we could, I mean, I thought we could--"

Suddenly an intercom buzzes overhead. "Thaddeus to exam room four. Thaddeus to exam room four."

Tadd furrows his eyebrows, looking to the ceiling before resting a kind half-smile back on Margot. "Duty calls," he nervously sighs as he bounds down the hallway. Halfway down the corridor, he spins around to face Margot. "Hey, um, come find me! Before you leave at noon!" He finger-guns the air before returning to his pursuit.

Margot awkwardly finger-guns him back before smacking her forehead with the palm of her hand. "Seriously, Margot?" she mutters to herself, turning her attention back to the central desk of the clinic; however, she realizes quickly that the attention is all on her.

"When are you two going to make it official, Miss Mary-Margaret?" Iris chokes in the midst of her belly laughs, nodding with other scrub-adorned coworkers.

Biting her bottom lip feeling her heart flutter, Margot straightens out her demeanor, becoming stoic. "I--I don't know what you're talking about--"

"Margot, isn't it obvious?" Chimes in a jolly intake nurse. "That boy loves you--!"

"Who? Tadd?" Margot feigns innocence. She fixes her attention to the chart as she scribbles down more notes. "It's not like that--I mean, we're not, um--" she sighs. "We're just friends--" An instant roar of laughter abrupts from the reception desk, making it impossible for Margot to hide her toothy-smile paired with her scrunched up nose.

"You say that now, baby girl--"

"That's right," chimes in another giggling co-worker, "friends for now!"

An older plump nurse places a tender hand on Margot’s hand, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Some of the best relationships come from friendships, moró. Give it time. Let the love grow," she winks at Margot.

Margot fidgets with her pen, delicately licking her bottom lip. She then tries to form words with her mouth, but no sound is heard. Her pink cheeks reveal she is flustered. She quickly closes up the chart, pushing loose hairs behind her ear. "Have a good day, ladies."

Hearing the squeals of her coworkers diminishing behind her, Margot quickly escapes into an empty exam room. Closing the door behind her, she leans against it, looking up at the textured ceiling tiles. She can feel the butterflies in her stomach bouncing through to her heart as her legs wiggle with weakness like gelatin.

The idea of 'falling in love' excites Margot, an idea she has dreamed about ever since she saw Baby meet Johnny. But, so far in her young life, she has never experienced it first hand, let alone a romantic hand- hold. Was this love? All she knew for sure was today was not the day to figure it out.

***

As soon as Riley’s name escapes his breathless moans of ecstasy, a searing sharp pain instantly ignites around his hardened girth. And Drake sees red.

"Fuck!" He lets out a guttural roar until no sound comes out of his mouth. He gnashes his teeth, trying to breathe through the agony, but only froths at the corners of his lips. The veins in his neck and his forehead protrude violently as streams of tears roll down his face. Petrified to move, his face turns a deep ruddy color. Before turning violet.

A sudden sensation of relief washes over him as the stabbing sensation fades to throbbing. Drake nervously looks down at his softening cock, relieved to see his member in one piece. "Goddamnit, Brooks," he pants furiously, "you fucking bit me--"

The brunette quickly tosses her curls out of her eyesight right before her fist meets Drake's jaw. "Oh, shit!" The cracking of the joints in his face echoes around the room. Drake starts to gently massage his chin. "You're not Riley--"

She climbs off of his body, standing her naked body in front of him. "No shit, Sherlock!" She slinks her short black spaghetti-strap dress over her dangerous curves before hastily grabbing her clear platform heels and racing out the door. "Fuck you, Drake Walker!"

***

A heartless, cocky laugh pours over the phone speaker. "Shit, Walker. Just--" the baritone voice trails back into a fit of laughter.

"It's not funny, Leo--" Drake warns, accidentally shifting his weight in bed, stirring a soreness to his recent injuries. "Ow!” he sucks air quickly between his gritted teeth, “fuck!" he whimpers to himself, adjusting the cold packs on his genitals.

"But you actually called her a different name, bro. A different name! With her mouth on your salami, your pocket rocket, on your--on your anaconda--" Leo's words fade back into cackles.

"As if you remember every goddamn hook-up’s name--"

"Dude," Leo interrupts, "if she's going to go all hungry, hungry hippo mid-blowie, I'm going to remember her name."

Drake scoffs. "Bullshit--"

"What? I'm serious, bro" Leo's voice becomes sincere. "All of these bitches we meet are looking for one thing--" he pauses dramatically for his wounded friend to finish his sentence; but the silence proves Drake is clueless as to where Leo was going with this. "A connection, Walker!" Leo's voice drips with conviction. "These women don't want to feel like they're disposable, even though--" he chuckles to himself, “let’s be honest: we’re doing them a favor--”

"--’A connection’, Leo" Drake interrupts, urging the conversation back on track.

"Right! ‘A connection," reaffirms Leo, circling back to his point. "Now, okay,” he knowingly titters, “I can’t remember all of these names--”

“Ha! See?” Drake barks.

“--Which is why--” Leo enunciates over Drake, “I use a single pet name. ‘Girl’.”

"'Girl'? That’s your trick? You call them 'girl'?" Drake raises an eyebrow in disbelief.

“Hear me out,” Leo continues. “If you call them something like ‘baby’ or ‘sweetie’, it can be seen as patronizing, that you’re clearly looking to smooth-talk your way into their pants--” Drake rolls his eyes, moving the phone to his other ear “--but now, calling them ‘girl’, I’m showing I want to be a friend, that I just simply want to connect. And then when you’re having your way with her, call her whatever the fuck you want as long as you finish the name with ‘girl’. Good girl. Dirty girl. Naughty girl. Sweet girl. Or in your case, hungry girl--”

Drake clears his throat, stifling a laugh. “--That is the dumbest shit I’ve ever heard--”

“Hey!” Leo interjects. “Who is wearing a bag of frozen peas on his one-eyed trouser snake?”

“Touché,” Drake sighs. “So, where are you right now?”

“With Jason up at his shop.”

“Who?” Drake lets out yawn, looking at his bedside alarm clock.

“Shit, Walker, you really were fucked up last night," Leo sighs. "Jason. You met him last night.” Leo’s voice lowers into a whisper. “He helped you get fucked up last night.”

“Oh! Right, right,” Drake rubs his head, “that was--wow, that shit was--”

“Good, right?” Leo finishes. “Hey, come join us at his shop. We’ve got coffee, and he’s got some new, um, product he’d love to show you--”

“Oh, Leo, I don’t know--” Drake removes the melting bag of vegetables from his lap. Gently lifting up on the waistband of his boxers, carefully inspecting his bruised parts.

“Does Liam have you working today?”

“No, no, it’s not that--” Drake hesitates.

“Oh!” Leo knowingly exclaims. “Does Riley have you working today?” He begins to chuckle. “You might need to let her know that you’re currently indisposed for --”

“Leo--” Drake warns.

“Then what's the hold up?"

Drake glances over at the mirror affixed to his antique dresser, but he doesn't recognize his own reflection. There's an emptiness in eyes, an inexplicable turmoil overcoming the man he once was. How did everything get so complicated? How did he get to such a place that it's better to be absent in life than to live it?

She was just a friend--at least that's what he convinced himself when Riley Brooks first caught his eye. Beautiful. Extremely witty with a fight he had never seen before. When they first kissed, he swore it was a mistake. Hormones. It had been so long since he had touched the delicate petals of a woman's lips.

But, this wasn't just any woman. It was her. And he soon would find himself wrapped up in her bedsheets, wrapped around her finger, wrapped in an awful web of lies.

And, all of his transgressions were against him, his very best friend, the man he regards as closer than a brother, his closest ally and confidant. Normally, Drake would turn to Liam in a heartbeat with any troubles, but this? How could he? How could he talk to Liam about his own devastation when the truth would devastate Liam?

It's been four days since that fateful night of Liam's coronation, four days since the love of Drake's life walked away from him, forcing his hand into harboring secrets from the crowned prince. It's been four days since Drake heard his own voice in his head, four days since he's been sober enough to even think. Even though he deemed the temporary escape necessary, the sudden twinge of discomfort in his groin makes him realize that taking another hit right now is the absolute last thing he needs.

"I think I better stay put," Drake answers, combing his fingers through his disheveled tresses.

"Suit yourself," Leo jovially retorts. "If you need any oxy for your boo-boo, hit me up--Oh, and Drake?"

“Hrmmm?”

"Her name is Whitney."

"What?"

"Jaws? You know, the bitch who chewed on your Moby Dick?" Drake sighs heavily, regretting that he ever told Leo what had happened. "Her name is Whitney."

Drake furrows his eyebrows. "Now, how do you remember her name--?"

"Oh, bro, you don't forget WAP Whitney--oh shit, you probably haven't gotten a good look at your sheets this morning, have you?"

With a grunt, Drake ends the call. “Fuck me,” he mutters under his breath. He carefully gets up, waddling to grab his clothes before heading to the bathroom to get ready for the day.

In the middle of splashing his face with cold, soapy water, Drake's phone rings. Grabbing a hand towel he carefully saunters back to his room, answering the call without hesitation. "Just let it go, Leo--”

"Drake?"

An icy chill shoots down Drake’s spine, freezing him in his steps. He knows that melodic voice anywhere, a voice that reminds him of early morning sunrises and late night silver moonlit paths. “H-hey, Riley,” he stutters, caught off guard. A brief awkward stillness falls over the conversation. “How are you--?”

“I miss you, Drake,” she interrupts.

Drake’s vision suddenly begins to spin as the air in the room becomes stagnant. Stiffening his bottom lip in anger, his breathing quickens as he reaches out carefully to brace himself against the wall.

“Drake?”

“I’m here,” he chokes out. “What do you want, Brooks?” He can hear the tears in her voice, but he wills himself not to care, he wills himself to not even ask.

“Drake, I think I made a mistake--”

“No,” Drake barks out, “no, you can’t do this to me--”

“Drake, please,” Riley sobs, “I’m on my way to the doctor--”

“The doctor?” Drake’s tone suddenly changes. “Are you okay? Is everything with--um, you know--” he slaps his forehead with the palm of his hand, “--okay?”

“Yes--” she sniffles, “--no. I just, I can’t do this alone, Drake. I can’t do this--”

“Riley--” he roughly says her name to grab her attention, “you made your decision: you chose Liam. You want to raise our baby--my baby with him--”

“Don’t you think I want to have this baby with you? That’s all I can even think about Drake,” she takes a moment to calm down her shaking voice. “I love you, Drake. I want a life with you. I want you to be there when this baby is born, when this baby needs his or her father--when this baby needs you--”

“Riley--” Drake exhales with frustration, pinching the bridge of his nose, “--but Liam--”

“I know, Drake. I know--” Riley takes a deep breath, “Can we just talk? In person? Just so we can figure this out? I can come over there--”

“Brooks, I--” Drake stumbles over his words as he runs his fingers over his coarse, overgrown stubble. Of course, he wants her to come over. And to stay. But, has anything changed? Liam just proposed, and she made it clear what her intentions were. But, still, it’s possible she had a change of heart, and this was a second chance he may never get again. He sighs heavily. “Sure. Okay."

After finishing his impromptu conversation with Riley, Drake realizes he needs to make another phone call. He scrolls through his call history, and clicks the green send button.

"Did you change your mind, Evander Holyfield?"

"Funny, Leo," Drake sarcastically responds. "So, yeah, um, what's the address to the shop?"

***

“Does that--does that say what I think it says?” Margot nervously stammers. "I think I saw my score--oh gosh!"

“Here. Let me look--”

Margot quickly covers the computer screen with her hands, "No, Mrs. Iris!” Margot squeals. “I’m not ready--I’m not ready for this!”

“Child, you have been ready for this for months. Now, if you don’t get your hands out of the way--"

"What's with all the commotion?" A few technicians and nurses pile into the room, each giving an endearing rub to Margot’s back. Everyone begins craning their necks to see the computer, covered by Margot's arms. "Is it time? Have they posted the scores?"

"They sure have!" answers Iris before turning to Margot. She tucks several blonde wisps behind Margot’s ear before putting her finger under her chin. "C'mon, baby," she smiles encouragingly, "it's more fun celebrating than worrying."

"I'm--" Margot takes a deep breath, biting back her tears, "--I'm so scared--"

"--and the Lord knew you would be, baby." Iris wrinkles her nose at Margot, her voice becoming stronger. "That's why He called you to be courageous. C'mon."

Margot bites her lip, slowly nodding her head. Feeling the storm brew in her eyes as the weight of the world sits on her chest, she carefully peels back her hands. Her eyes scale the black and white on the screen, but nothing seems to make sense. A burst of silence overwhelms her hearing, time standing perfectly still. Her only company is the beating of her heart.

Take my anxieties...

You have nothing to worry about…

Your will be done…

Be courageous...

Like suddenly breaking through the surface for air, an abrupt roar of cheers fill the room, shaking Margot from her trance. "Our baby girl got a 519!" screams a tearful Iris, pulling Margot from her seat and into a tight embrace. Other coworkers join in, creating a giant group hug.

Margot remains speechless, shocked by her score. She always knew she was an excellent student, studying hard all through school and excelling in her classes. When it came to the MCAT, she was confident she would score better than average, a score of 500. But, to even be noticed by top medical schools, she needed to score in the top 5%, a score 517 or greater.

News swept like wildfire through the clinic, and shortly thereafter, Tadd and some other technicians filed into the breakroom with a decorative chocolate cake and punch in tow. "I knew you could do it!" Tadd cheers victoriously, offering a chaste hug to Margot. "Dr. Hughes," he swipes his hand in the air as if to paint an imaginary portrait. "It has a nice ring to it."

"I still don't understand why you put yourself through all of that," mentions an older phlebotomist. "Cordonia has a medical school right down the road--"

"Because Margot wants to go to one of the best medical schools in the world," interrupts a deeply demanding, yet sincere voice. “To Harvard. Like me.”

"Dr. Ramirez," Margot smiles brightly, jumping up to greet her mentor with a hug.

"That is, you are still looking at my alma mater for medical school--"

"Yes ma'am!" Margot's eyes light up with the thought that her dream of going to Harvard Medical School is becoming her reality. "It would be such an honor to go there, let alone to follow in your footsteps."

Dr. Ramirez pulls Margot in for another tight hug. "My word, Mary-Margaret, 519?" she presses her cheek to Margot's, "I am so proud of you."

"Thank you, Dr. Ramirez," Margot warmly responds, "thank you for taking a chance on me and helping me so much with my studies and research--"

"You know I did that for selfish reasons, right?" The practitioner stifles a smile while Margot squints her eyes with suspicion. "Cordonia needs more female physicians, and more importantly, physicians that will make a difference in its healthcare," she grips tightly to Margot’s hand, "for everyone. I believe you will lead this country in a health care reformation."

"I don't know what to say," Margot clears her throat as she fights back the tears. "I hope I make you proud--"

"You already do." Dr. Ramirez gently touches Margot's cheek lovingly before turning to exit the room.

"Oh!" Margot quickly chases after the obstetrician, “can I talk to you? Privately?” With a nod, Dr. Ramirez leads Margot into a quiet corner. “I know my work-study ends in two weeks--”

“I know. Don’t remind me, Margot--”

“Well, I was wondering,” Margot chews on the side of her mouth, fidgeting with her fingers, “if by any chance I could possibly stay on?”

“Oh, Margot, I wish I could. Unfortunately with budget cuts--”

Margot shakes her head. “No, no, Dr. Ramirez, I meant if I could stay on, shadowing my usual Monday and Thursday mornings, I mean, if that’s alright. Learn more? Keep up my skills?”

“You want to continue volunteering with us?” The doctor gives an inquisitive look. “Don’t you want to get a job to earn money before you move to the states next year?”

“I already got that covered,” Margot assuredly answers. “I just got a job at Bríki, the coffee shop past the square--”

“Oh my gosh,” Dr. Ramirez’s eyes light up. “Does Aleksi still own that place?”

“Mr. Pavlis? Yes! Him and his son run it together, I believe--”

“They have the best coffee,” she energetically smiles, “now I have another reason to stop by.” She kindly places her hand on Margot’s shoulder. “Of course, you can stay on as a volunteer. Whenever you want, however much you want. It is a pleasure to have you around.” With a squeeze of her arm, Dr. Ramirez turns to go to her next appointment, but stops halfway down the hall. “Oh, Margot? My nurse stepped away to make an important phone call. Do you mind escorting my next patient to the exam room?”

Margot dutifully nods with a grin. She twirls around, bounding for the front desk to grab the chart of Dr. Ramirez’s next patient, a new patient. After making a few small notes, Margot opens the door to call her back.

“Brooks? Riley Brooks?”

*****

Tags: (this is my original tag list for this series; if you wanted to be added or removed, please let me know!) @alyssalauren @ao719 @bbrandy2002 @burnsoslow @charlotteg234 @chemist-ana @choiceskatie @forallthatitsworth @gkittylove99 @glaimtruelovealways @kat-tia801 @khoicesbyk @lovingchoices14 @lovelyladyk88 @lucy-268 @mainstreetreader @marshmallowsaremyfavorite @neotericthemis @nestledonthaveone @sfb123 @shannonwrote @shewillreadyou @sweatyrysconnoisseur @taniasethi @tessa-liam @texaskitten30 @thefrenchiemama @thegreentwin @twinkleallnight @yourmajesty09

#the royal romance #the royal romance au #the missionary’s daughter #drake walker x oc #choices fanfiction #trr fanfiction #liam x riley

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lettrespromises · 4 years

Text

PLAN À TROIS.— TODOROKI, BAKUGOU.

A.N:

❝ dear reader,

why hello it is i, nikki, back at it again. this post was specifically written thanks to @sasukelore’s big brain, meaning that this one is for the boys with the booming system, top down, AC with the cooler system😔✊🏻. it’s my first attempt at writing smut (which means it’s a direct ticket to hell) so please bare with me, i hope you’ll like it! if you have any feedback, please feel free to send it to me! also, my requests are open for business hehe.

sincerely yours,

nikki.

P.S: “plan à trois” has a double meaning— it means “threesome” in french but it also literally means “a plan involving three people” which is the core of the story, both literally and figuratively. ❞

Genre: Smut. (All three of the characters have been aged up.)

Warnings: Cursing, mentions of drugs (but no actual use of drugs), unprotected sex (please use a condom), nudity, spanking, choking, cunnilingus, blow-job, temperature play, threesome, dirty things.

Word count: 6.5k (she’s a big girl, don’t be shy.)

Letter object: One hotel. One gala. One mission. One person to take down. Three heroes. You and Shoto have to play the perfect fake couple to gain your enemy’s trust, the only thing is, Shoto has no clue how to behave as a couple. The unexpected help comes from Ground Zero who seems a bit too impatient and eager to show Shoto how to really treat a lady.

Metaphorically speaking, the heroes are seen as the predators and the villains as the preys, it’s always been that way— an eternal game of hide and seek, which only ends in binary results, either victory or loss. The latest news concerning the hero world had put this little game to a halt: the hushed rise of the anti-quirks drugs were concerning. The enemy was everywhere and nowhere, it was all whispers, a thread of ‘who said what’, mere illusions replaced authentic clues. The rules of the game had been changed into a paradox where the villains became the predators and the heroes were deemed as the preys.

The rule of silence, which could have easily been personified as the ringleader of this dystopic scenario, was cruel— anyone could be suspected of being a link of the drug chain. But fret not, if you were suspected and voices started to echo around louder and louder, a little bit of hush money was the price to pay to reinstate the rule of silence. Anyone could be a culprit, even (or mostly) into the highest spheres of society. Those who are worshipped in an agnostic way, they were on top of the social food chain and, perhaps even, on top of the drug chain. These elites have been very vocal about their will to suppress the almighty authority pro-heroes possess— feeling threatened for their own sake and their own inferiority complex, they were willing to play dirty to be able to rule the country with an iron fist.

The corrupted elites still remained as elites and enjoyed their mondane occupations— galas being one of them. It was a dream opportunity for you as a pro-hero, a room crowded with highly potential culprits served on a silver plate with a cup of champagne to serve as the cherry on the cake.

Stealth missions were highly dangerous if you didn’t have a cover good enough, and treading on the playground of influential people could possibly cost you your career as a pro-hero, but if you managed to succeed, you were bound to bask in glory. Keeping a realistic cover is the number one check on the list entitled “how not to blow up your whole mission and be hated by the rest of the country.” Luckily enough, your agence had already done all the dirty work for you and sent you everything you needed— a flawlessly cut evening attire, a shockingly well-done fake ID and a full file regarding the background of your character, all down to the tiniest details. And I cannot emphasize enough “all” the details...

“Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me…” Amongst the myriad of details (and some of them were completely unnecessary, I mean, was your favorite fruit really important?), one of them was impossible to ignore. “Shoto Todoroki, really?” His name rolled off your tongue for a reason, you were supposed to play his pseudo fiancée for the night. Your thumb brushed the surface inked with his name, unconsciously wishing that if you were brushing hard enough, his name would disappear and so would your almost wilted high school crush on him.

Your silent complains were cut short, the sound of someone knocking on your door stirred you from the invasion of your thoughts. Then the knocking sound echoed once more. “Just a second!” Has anyone heard of the concept of patience? Waiting a few seconds for someone to open the door isn’t a inhuman task. Eventually (although it could’ve have been funny to let this mysterious person fume because you purposefully took too long), you opened the door to your hotel room and it just felt like you had welcomed a storm in. Much to your surprise, there were two surprise guests, two U.A alumnis just like you— Shoto and Ground Zero.

“Well, shit, were you planning on letting us fucking die in the hallways, woman?! What the fuck took you so goddamn long, ha?” When I mentioned a storm earlier on today, I meant Bakugou Katuski— his annoyance was transcripted upon his face through the frowning of his eyebrows and the wrinkle sitting between them. “It’s good to see you too Bakugou, glad to see you missed me after all this time.” His hands were shoved in his pockets, clearly not keen on listening to your sarcastic remarks nor wearing a tuxedo for the night. “Tch. Keep your smart ass talk to yourself, dumbass.”

You had indeed let a storm invade your hotel room. But unbeknownst to you, you had also welcomed a hypotizing breeze, the polar opposite of Bakugou, and apparently future fiancé for the night: Shoto Todoroki. His facial expression reflected nothing but pure serinity, a signature stoic face which radically clashed with Bakugo’s scowl. Todoroki was so discreet, almost blending his presence with the newfound silence. He was wearing an evening suit of his own, aquamarine was his color after all, it was a known fact since your high school years.

“Y/N, as you may be aware, I am here for the stealth mission. Bakugou is going to accompany us just in case something goes wrong. It was a last minute change, but considering the household names who are going to attend this gala, too much precaution is better than not enough.” Ohh, so that was the reason why the angry gremlin was here. Although, you wondered how Shoto felt about the two of you acting as a fake engaged couple, was he still serene about that? “Yeah, while you two fake lovebirds will be busy eating each other’s faces off, I’m gonna be around to check if there is any intell on these anti-quirk selling bastards.” Each of his word was accompanied by a hand gesture pivoting between you and Shoto and, of course, the same old look of annoyance plastered upon his face. You and Shoto, on the other one hand, appeared a bit surprised at the use of “fake lovebirds”, it just hasn’t sunk in yet... Denial, perhaps?

“Speaking of kissing and shit— you, half and half bastard, do you still have a fucking stick up your ass or do you know how to act in a relationship?!” His interrogation was accompanied with a daring glance thrown in Todoroki’s direction and an eyebrow lifted just to emphasize the characteristic of his question a bit more. A bold question which immediately found its answer from the mouth of Todoroki, needless to say, you felt this remark coming. “Bakugou, you’re the last person here who could pretend having the knowledge necessary to provide relationship advices.” You couldn’t help but let a laugh escape at Todoroki’s remark highlighted by its bluntness, although you quickly changed your mind once you felt Bakugou’s stare landing on you with such rage causing you to hush your laugh by biting your thumb.

“Ha?! What the fuck did you just say, half and half bastard? Use that fucking mouth for yours for good measure and let’s see if you can kiss Y/N correctly. I won’t let this mission be blown up by your stupid ass.” This time, there was a hint of amusement in Bakugou’s voice, it was hard to distinct if he asked that because he truly cared about the mission or if he just wanted to push Todoroki out of his comfort zone. But the ghost of a smirk drawn upon his face seemed to support the second hypothesis.

“Guys, just a second here. I understand why we have to take care of our cover but it’s not like Todoroki and I are going to kiss all night long.” Your gaze alterned between Todoroki and Bakugou, it became impossible to hold your gaze on a fix structure due to how flustered you felt, and soon enough, your cheeks were quick to adopt a rosy tone. “Y/N, are you scared of kissing me by any chance?” You secretly hated the obvious tone of concern in Todoroki’s voice, he was willing to do anything to make this mission a success but also make sure you were comfortable around him. “N-No! It’s just… I don’t mind it.” What a miracle, you finally managed to look at him in the eyes but the blush on your cheeks was as lively as ever. “Then damn, if you don’t mind it just fucking kiss already we don’t have all night, dumbass.” You could tell by Bakugou’s body language that he was growing more and more impatient by the second, his arms were crossed over his chest— he was getting pissed.

Todoroki captured your attention once more when his index brushed the surface of your skin right below your chin while his thumb was carefully set upon your jawline. His orbs shone by their gleam of reassureance, his eyes met yours, as a silent way to ask your for permission and you fluttered your lids shut as an answer. As if it was some kind of second nature to him, his other arm compassed your waist in order to bring you close to him. His lips finally touched yours. Each one of his actions was so soft, you could barely feel them yet, you felt like you were floating on a cloud. His lips were melting ever so perfectly with yours, as if your lips were the sole one which could fit is, you couldn’t help but to hum as the carefulness of his lips overwhelmed you. The kiss was shy, experimental, and yet so agonizing. He was temptingly and agonizingly slow, which only made you crave for more. However, given the lack of oxygen, you had no choice but to (relanctutly) break the kiss. You opened your eyes and basked in Todoroki’s beauty, still in awe at what just happ—… “Oi! Have you ever kissed anyone before, Icyhot? Fucking hell, what was that?!”

Of course this was bound to be expected— the angry gremlin in his natural behavior. You and Todoroki exchanged a look which held a thousand questions before you felt your wrist being caught by a much warmer palm, and eventually, you were yanked straight into Bakugou’s chest (not that you were complaining.) “Open your damn eyes and look, this how you fucking kiss a woman, dipshit.” The sound of his voice roaring against your eardrum made you flinch in the nicest way possible. Bakugou naturally made himself at ease all while maintaining his gaze upon Todoroki who was looking at him in return with a noticeable disdain in his eyes.

Bakugou was challenging him in a way, he perfectly knew that Todoroki was observing his every move, hence why he took the liberty to let his palm roam over the curve of your derrière as a way to taunt him. However, the taunt didn’t last too long not to make you feel uncomfortable. He quickly settled one of his hand on the small of your back (to maintain you as close to him as humanly possible) whilst his other hand was set upon your neck. He didn’t waste any more time and went straight to business.

Bakugou’s kiss was, as expected, a vivid contrast compared to Todoroki’s kiss. While Todoroki’s felt hesitant, caring, sweet… Bakugou’s kiss was rough around the edges and his sole purpose was to make your knees weak. Once he crashed his lips upon yours, he immediately swiped his tongue over the surface of your bottom lip, demanding immediate access to your mouth. You knew better than to upset Bakugou so you pleased and allowed his tongue to explore your mouth— your tongue was at his mercy for a few instants before finding a steady rhythm for you two. His presence was overwhelming— his smell, how close you were to him with nowhere to escape, his mouth, his tongue, everything caused you to rightfully let a moan escape into the kiss. At the sound of it, Todoroki’s eyes widened while Bakugou smirked into the kiss, he knew he made a point. You, in return, started to tug at his blonde hair— the rough atmosphere of the kiss affected your actions as well. Just prior to breaking the kiss, Bakugou’s teeth dug into your bottom lip and applied a few pressures while you were looking at him with pleading eyes to continue. Once he got what we wanted, he ended the kiss with a surprisingly soft peck upon your lips.

With his hand still settled on the small of your back, Bakugou turned to Todoroki’s direction and offered him his biggest smirk to show his secret victory. You were left breathless by the kiss, a series of uneven hot breaths crashed down onto Bakugou’s skin.

If anyone were to walk in your hotel room, they would be able to feel and even touch the graduating tension in the air which almost felt agonizing. The tension was mostly radiating off of the two men, a silent battle for dominance had been declared through glances, holders of pure will to outbest the other.

Todoroki observed the scene on his chair, and unbeknownst to him, Bakugou had indirectly offered him the best seat in the room to watch the manifestation of his talents. An almost inaudible sigh left Todoroki’s lips which translated into a sign of discontentment. “Y/N, come here.” The tone was strict, cold even, and you felt obligated to do as told.

Detaching yourself from Bakugou’s embrace (you could tell he didn’t want to let you go judging from how his palm lingered on your back), you stepped away and made your way to Todoroki, a quizzical look noticeable in the reflect of your eyes. “What now?” You asked. Todoroki gestured to his lap and you knew what it meant, it was a speech without any word necessary.

Paradoxically enough, Bakugou stared at the scenery in front of him in pure silence, and although it was very unlike him, he was mimicking Todoroki’s actions earlier on- he wanted to witness how Shoto was going to respond to his own deeds.

You placed your hands over Todoroki’s shoulders to gain stability before sitting on his lap, it was a foreign feeling, but goodness, it was already addicting as hell and you were not interested in finding a cure. Both of Shoto’s hands crawled on the same spot where Bakugou’s hands used to linger just a few moments ago, you understood rather quickly that he was using his own methods against him. You were the center of Todoroki’s attention, his gaze graced your frame and he was loving the sound of your uneven breath, he wondered if he could make your respiration even more irregular.

He paid no mind to mind to the silent Bakugou who was already fuming in his corner as Shoto delivered a succession of pecks on the delicate flesh of your neck, and you tilted your head just enough to let him play on a wider surface. He traded the pecks for a few daring bites on certain areas, he needed to find your weak spot. “A-Ah... Shoto!” the sound of his name rolling off your tongue coated in such bliss was enough for him to curve his lips into a smirk.

It was a brief moment of peace before he dug his teeth on the same spot and you failed to prevent any whimpers from coming out by biting your lower lip. He knew you were restricting yourself, prisoning these beautiful sounds of ecstasy, and he didn’t like any of it. He focused on your lower lip and rubbed the oh so soft surface with the pad of his thumb to prevent your from biting it, and thus, keeping your sounds of pleasure to yourself.

“Don’t be shy, love. I’m pretty sure both Bakugou and I can agree on the fact that the little sounds you’re making are too divine to be hushed. Will you be a good girl and let us hear the sounds you’re making?” It was as if his voice was coated with honey, just his voice alone was enough to make you feel weak, and if you paid enough attention, you were pretty sure he purposefully blew a fit of cold air onto the skin of your neck. “Yes, please... I’ll be good, so good.” From that moment you knew you were at his mercy and he enjoyed every second of it. “You’re such a good girl for us.”

And so he continued, but it was rougher this time, a harsh contrast compared to his hesitant kiss from just a few moments ago. His teeth dug into the flesh of your skin harder this time, the sole purpose of leaving a mark on your crimson colored flesh was haunting his mind. To accomplish said purpose, Todoroki alternated between biting motions and a few swipes of his tongue on the newly bruised skin. The whimpers coming out of your mouth shamelessly only added fuel to his fire. He knew what he was doing, and you knew just how sensitive this particular area could get.

Once he judged it was enough, he delivered a few pecks on the love bites, a way to kiss his art into your skin. “You’re so perfect, love, so perfect with my name written over your skin.” He whispered between kisses. Your head was thrown back, fingers grasping at the roots of his hair, your mouth agape- your whole body language testified of the addictive effect he had on you.

Such bliss couldn’t last for long, and quickly enough, another voice was being heard, a roar even. “Oi, oi, oi! Don’t even think for a single fucking second that you can have her all to yourself, half and half bastard.” It was almost a miracle that Bakugou had observed you in silence, but as expected, patience was nowhere near his forte. He had already crossed his limit long before you sat on Todoroki’s laps. Bakugou’s eyes were strictly focused on your frame, he was completely under your spell after observing how your chest would rise and fall unevenly to grasp any ounce of oxygen.

Your knees felt weak already, you could only stare at Bakugou and silently ask him to continue, to make you feel even weaker, to make you experience pure bliss. You wanted to say his name, it was right on the tip of your tongue, but as you observed his figure reducing more and more the space between the two of you, you just admired him in silence.

“Hah? What’re you looking at, brat? You want more? Is that it? You want fucking more? Say no more.” You should’ve known that the wicked smirk plastered upon his face was a pre-indicator of what was bound to happen. He lifted you off of Todoroki’s lap, the latter frowned a bit at the lack of your presence on him, and carried you to the bed before dropping you on the mattress. Todoroki was quick to follow from behind and stood right next to Bakugou, his hands already busy taking off his jacket and unbuttoning the first button of his evening shirt. “I’m sure that Bakugou and I can find a little agreement. After all, we can share, correct?” Todoroki’s rhetorical question found its answer once Bakugou let a discreet chuckle escape from his mouth after throwing his jacket God knows where and messily undoing his tie. “We’re gonna take real fucking good take care of you, baby girl.”

You were refraining yourself from already touching you, it took all the strength in the world not to give in to the most passionate temptations. But deep down, you already knew you were bound to be overwhelmed by pure bliss judging by how they were looking at you. You could only hum in response, unsure of how your voice would have sounded under the heavy influence of desire.

Bakugou made the first move, after all, his poor soul felt left alone when Todoroki overwhelmed you with pecks and bites. He crawled over you, his knees were on each side of your waist, his hands however, assured total domination- his right hand clutched your wrists now pinned above your hand while his left palm settled by force on your throat, needless to say, the pressure was already applied on your windpipe. “You wanna’ play that game with me, hah?! Let Icyhot have all of you to himself and I got fucking nothing in return? Babygirl, I don’t watch, I fucking play.” It was too ferocious to be qualified as a whisper, and yet, when Bakugou pronounced the last bits of his sentence right in the shell of your ear, you felt like you were floating in pure bliss. “Answer me.” His grip on your throat felt a bit tighter. “P-Please... Ju-Just do whatever you want... With my body.” The lack of oxygen felt agonizing, you were deprived of fresh air and you were laying on the bed while Bakugou exuded pure confidence and domination, an aura so thick, you wished you could’ve touched it. “That’s my babygirl.”

As Bakugou’s lips crashed onto yours, forcing its tongue into your mouth while maintaining the right amount of pressure on your throat to offer you a panorama of new sensations, Todoroki had already gotten rid of his shirt. If you paid close attention, you could see shy flames on his shoulders, he was absolutely adoring the scenery unfolding before him. Everything about you filled his senses, the sight of you giving in to Bakugou was nothing short of divine, the whimpers leaving your mouth in cascade whether the reason was the lack of air or the fierceness of Bakugou’s intentions was the sweetest melody he had ever heard. Everything was perfect.

You felt the oxygen become one with your body again once Bakugou broke the kiss and allowed his hand to travel from your neck down to your chest, but his eyes were never leaving yours. He wanted to watch you come undone under his touch, he swore it to himself.

“I’ll take the bottom half. Icyhot, I don’t give a damn about what you do, just don’t fucking interrupt me.” His eyes were already set on the prize, your heat in all its glory. Shoto said nothing in response, you were the holder of all his undivided attention. As Bakugou took a firm grasp of your thighs, opening the way to his newfound purpose, Todoroki took over the top half of your body- he started by planting a succession of pecks from your lips down to your collarbone, passing by your neck, and each kiss was amplified by the cold air he was blowing on the surface of your skin. The contrast in temperature cause you to allow a few whimpers to escape, you already knew you craved for more, it was a way of manifesting it.

“You won’t need that, will you, love?” He said while pointing at your shirt, as his index was already hooking the fabric. It was a rhetorical question of course, you simply answered by humming. Your silent response was the only thing necessary for Shoto to send your shirt flying somewhere in the room. He continued his trail of kisses down to the valley of your breasts, the same cold air following him as he went.

Bakugou, on the other one hand, had already gotten rid off your skirt, but not before letting his palms explore the generous cheeks hidden underneath it, and eventually, leaving a slap right on this area which caused you to yelp in surprise. The pad of his thumb was already brushing against the surface of the fabric, oh what a pleasure it was when he felt the sensation of humidity coming through your underwear. A sensation so good, so addicting, so divine that it brought a sly grin to his face. “Already so wet for us, babygirl? You’re not wasting your damn time, hah?” Your skin was burning under his touch, you could already feel the chills running down your spine and he hadn’t even taken off your underwear yet.

Todoroki took the strap of your bra between his thumb and index, and much to your suprise, he used the right amount of his quirk to burn the fabric and applied the same treatment to the other strap. Before you could even protest about the poor outcome of your bra, he planted his lips on your own to keep you quiet. Now, he focused his attention to your breasts and the bits of clothing left which prevented the upper half of your body from being fully exposed. He took the opportunity given by Bakugou who had gotten rid of your underwear which made you arch your back to unclip your bra. There was nothing stopping him now. He let his gaze fell on you, so full of adoration, while he leaned down and caught the last piece of fabric remaining of your bra between his teeth. His eyes held so much envy, so much desires which reciprocated in the reflect of your own orbs.

Shoto threw your bra out of his mouth, and there you were- your body bare in all its glory. “Fuck, you’re so perfect...” He whispered right against your chest, causing you to let out a sigh you didn’t even know you were holding. He used his mother’s inherited side to trace the contour of your breasts, he knew he was going to earn a moan in return and he was so please to hear such a sinful melody at the clash of his cold fingers against your burning skin. His thumb and his index worked in harmony to twist the bud of your nipple and overwhelm it by Shoto’s cold touch while his tongue delivering hot saliva on your skin was already doing wonders on your other breast, a perfect balance between cold and hot which made your arousal erupt even more and someone was quick to notice...

“Oi, doll face, focus on me, not on this goddamn fucker. Don’t you feel so fucking good when I touch you like that, hah?” His burning jealousy amplified the voracity of his deeds. Every single one of his touch served the purpose of pleasuring you, but also outdo Todoroki’s touches. He needed to be the best at everything, including making you melt under his touch. You struggled to keep your eyes open, the desire to close your eyes and let your body attract all the attention while basking in pure bliss was too strong and yet, Bakugou’s voice roared into your mind, you couldn’t help but lay your eyes on him through half-closed lids.

Once he knew he was the bearer of all your attention, he put his body and mind to work. Both of his hands planted your thighs on each side of his body, you felt too weak to move under his touch and did not dare resist the pressure. You whined in advance because you knew what was coming- and boy, did he look good with his face buried between your thighs.

One long, sharp, vertical lick was all it took to let yet another moan escape your lips once more, and to Bakugou, it was the best reward. The heat of his tongue responded to the heat of your core, it was pure harmony. He licked the your core over and over again, tasting you, loving you, worshipping you even. One time he left lingering kisses to the side of your core, another time he was left licking motions all over your folds because your taste was the best thing he had ever felt. His motions echoed to your whines and moans, he was sure of hearing a sinful melody each time his tongue entered in contact with your skin.

“Keep making these noises for me, don’t be fucking shy.” His hot breath on the center of your heat embraced perfectly the succession of his actions, “Y-Yes... P-Please, I want... I need more.” Bakugou couldn’t help but let a low chuckle leave his lips, in response to your needy attitude, he left a harsh slap on the surface of your butt, to which you whined loudly in response. “Such a fucking filthy mouth you have there, hah?” He smiled to himself, knowing perfectly that what he was about to do was bound to leave you as a whimpering mess. Without any warning, he slid two of his fingers inside your core, and fuck, you were tight. His thumb was brushing against your sweet bundle of nerves which had already been cherished by Bakugou’s tongue earlier.

You clutched the sheets of the bed to release some of the buildup pressure inside, it was as if a tornado, a volcano and a firework were exploding at the same time in your stomach, each of them resulting in a series of whimpers and moans at the overstimulation. Your lids were shut close already, yet, they kept fluttering over the invisible crimson touches left by both Todoroki and Bakugou.

Speaking over Todoroki, he was tasting you in such a different way as he started to get the grip of Bakugou’s mechanic. His mind kept roaming and roaming, he knew that just one mark on your neck was not quite enough and he needed to beat Bakugou at his own game- he positioned himself right over your right breast and blew a fit of fresh air, causing him to smile at himself for being the reason of such a reaction, and dug his teeth into your flesh. Motivated by the the way you kept tugging at his hair, he kept biting the same area over and over again until sucking your flesh just enough to create yet another love bite over your breast, such an intimate area, isn’t it? And now his whole name was written on it.

“B-Bakugou... I can’t take it... Ahh! Anymore, please, please...” His fingers weren’t enough anymore, you were pleading his name, begging him to become one with you because you were unsure as to how you were going to keep the unleashed pressure within you ruin you. “So eager for my fucking cock, aren’t you?! You’re gonna count with me each inch entering your fucking cunt, got it?” You were willing to do anything at this point- Todoroki’s bites and his cold touch, Bakugou’s fingers and tongue, it made you fill dizzy but you knew, deep down, you were slowly approaching a pure state of bliss. “Yes... Yes I will.”

For his own purpose, Bakugou took his fingers off your core and flipped you on your stomach so you could be on all fours. You were giving him the view of worthy of a masterpiece: the crimson colored marks on your butt cheeks, the vivid rosy tone of your dripping core, oh he wanted all of you. “Love, don’t you forget that I’m here too, right? Open your pretty mouth for me.” You did as Todoroki preached, opening your mouth for him to stick his index in there. “Suck.” he commanded, to which you obliged by creating hollows in your cheeks and embrace his finger around your tongue, this feeling was beyond perfect, beyond the wildest fantasies his imagination had to offer. He could only let his subconsciousness roam about how his cock would feel around your perfectly pouted lips.

Bakugou’s hands gripped your hips tightly, his fingers turning white in the process while your flesh adopted a reddish tone in response. With the use of the pad of his thumb, he spread the pre-cum leaking all over his length, and so it began: the first inch. “One.”, it sounded more like an order than a statement, “...One.” you echoed, your response didn’t come quick enough to Bakugou’s liking, making you earn a harsh slap on your cheeks in return. Then another inch “Two.” , another faint sound coming from your lips “T-Two...”, yet another slap on your abused flesh. And so it went on, the process remained the same- another inch, another whisper escaping your mouth between sobs, another spank.

On the other side of the bed, Todoroki was stroking his own length at the sight before him. You were on the brim of tears, and Bakugou didn’t show any mercy regarding your current state. “I’m sorry, her mouth is going to be full soon, she won’t have room to count out for you.” Bakugou grunted in response to Todoroki’s taunt. His strokes became gradually faster, like a crescendo if you will. His other hand, however, was placed right underneath your jaw to give you some support and your mouth was already open in anticipation for what was bound to happen.

With his hand to keep your jaw steady, you welcomed Todoroki’s lenght into your mouth and he automatically let a groan as the tip of your tongue caressed his sensitive tip. You imagined how rewarding it must have felt for them to hear your own moans and whimpers because hearing Todoroki’s moan felt like a blessing to your eardrums.

Your tongue circled around his cock, your hand was pumping his length, and Todoroki wondered if this is what heaven looked and felt like. Your whimpers were hushed by the presence of his member in your mouth, but somehow, even these half silenced sounds of pleasure sounded even better to his ears. He felt his lids shut close under the miracle work of your tongue while his hand lingered in your hair to motivate you to keep going.

Bakugou, frustrated by this change of plans due to Todoroki’s own personal pleasure, slid the entirety of his phallus into you abruptly. The shock caused you to remove Shoto’s member from your mouth momentarily to catch your breath and release yet another whine before pleasuring Todoroki again. That came as a surprise to no one, not even Shoto himself, but Bakugou’s pace was rough and almost animalistic.

The sound of his testicles clapping against your flesh testified of the pace and yet, it felt so enticing. Bakugou was not so vocal, but he did leave his fair share of grunts as he buried himself into you more and more until reaching your cervix. It was too much, your core was burning, hell your whole body was on fire. The tears that threatened to fall had put their threat to execution, you knew you were close, the overstimulation was getting the best of you leaving you in a whimpering, trembling mess.

You continued to stroke Shoto’s length with your tongue, but his need to take control took over him. The same hand that rested in your hair suddenly took a firm grasp of your hair and he thrusted himself into your mouth and from there, his grunts became more repetitive. Truthfully, it was the only push he needed to bring him over the edge, the previous work of your tongue had put him under a spell. A spell he never wanted to wake up from. He knew what was coming, you felt it too but how the tip of his phallus was tickling your throat deeper and deeper.

Shoto didn’t even notice the small flames making their apparition on the blades of his collarbone, meaning that it was finally time for him to cum. He set your mouth free and hinted his length towards your chest, letting the drips of cum color your skin, and allowed the most magical moan to leave his already parted lips in satisfaction. “Love, look what you fucking did to me. You’re so beautiful, so beautiful with my cum all over you.” Your first instinct was to fill your lungs with oxygen, something so common yet it was cruelly needed. You looked through your lashes at Shoto with pleading eyes while he looked at you with a glimpse of adoration in his. His digit was carefully wiping the excess of cum leaking down your chin to place it right into your mouth. He could only stare in awe at the sight of you tasting him. He felt so full, and fulfilled. He was finally at peace, soaking in pure bliss.

The grasp Bakugou was holding over your hips became even harsher, which you though was impossible just a few seconds before. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He grunted, trying to keep his volume at bay by digging his teeth into his lower lip but it was all too much to be contained. He knew his climax was close, so close that he could picture it if he closed his eyes just for a second. Bakugou’s name fell on your lips like a forbidden prayer, his name had turned into the only thing you were able to say. “I-...Ah! Inside, inside, fuck, please...”, you felt a wave of pleasure taking over your body, a pleasure so intense, no word could have done it justice. Oh well, that was the sole indication he needed to hear before digging his nails into your sides, causing you to arch your back and bite the sheets, already preventing the cascade of whimpers from echoing in the room. “Fucking hell... Cum with me, now.”

With one last thrust, Bakugou came within you, his face was facing the ceiling as he came undone with you. His cum slid within you and in return, your body thanked him by letting your own juice flow all over his length.

Silence invaded the room. No more grunts, no more moans, no more cries. Pure silence inhabited by the uneven breaths of three protagonists who had just touched heaven by the tip of their fingers. Three victims of passion.

Bakugou pulled out of you, earning a whimper in return at the sudden feeling of vacuity. Your legs were shaking, and you secretly thanked every God for allowing you to stay relatively steady on all fours for this long and be able to endure the bestial-like pace of Bakugou. Needless to say, you were panting, you mouth was agape and you were crying for air. Your body immediately crashed onto the mattress, the soft feeling of the sheets enveloping your skin after reaching heaven made you feel as if you were floating on a cloud.

Bakugou and Todoroki shared a look, a small grin even, before crashing down onto the mattress next to you. You were unable to move, your mind was comparable to a wild blur as a result of your orgasm. A rush of words flew through your air but absolutely none of them was powerful and meaningful enough to qualify how you were feeling. At peace? No, not strong enough. Full? Nope, did not carry enough meaning. It was a unique feeling, worthy of all the praises in the world.

Todoroki draped an arm over your waist and left a trail of kisses upon the flesh of your shoulder, a silent way to thank you for allowing him to experience heaven in a rush. Bakugou, on the other one hand, was facing your back and allowed his index to draw invisible patterns on the skin of your back. Paradoxically enough, the silence carried more words and emotions than an actual speech. Until...

“So... Um, about the mission?”

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shreddedparchment · 4 years

Text

Pseudo Princess Pt.33

His Heir

07/07/2020

Pairing: King!Steve x Reader Word Count: 5,876

Warnings: angst, childbirth, blood

A/N: I don’t really have anything to preface this with except to say that I saw this chapter very clearly in my head a few chapters back and it was fun getting it all tie up here. As always, if you happen to reblog, thanks so much for helping me spread my work! xoxo

Please REBLOG only. No reposting on any other sites.

Tag list is CLOSED!

It all passes in a flash. Like a dream in quick snippets as your heart pounds with the stressful images that fill your mind.

There’s fear. It clouds your mind and paints the images with a looming midnight that seems to stretch on for ages.

The images are hazy. They’re gone before you can really focus but you see them, and your mind manages to make sense of them.

A heavy sword that makes your arms ache as you lift it to block a blow. An aching in your lower body as you stutter in a hallway, too scared to stop but in too much pain to carry on.

Your hair nearly pulled from your scalp. Gushing blood that coats your hands. A terrible blow against your cheek that sends you spilling to the floor.

The images shift but the fear is just as terrible. Grandmother’s aged white hair is a mess, strands falling out of the carefully gathered curls atop her head. Her skin is sticky, sweat dripping down along her temples and the heavy creases around her eyes as she fusses by your feet, your legs spread as Sharon paces behind her nervously, chewing on her thumbnail.

Your breathing is heavy, pained moans escaping your lips as you sit up and push with all your might.

“You’re doing wonderful, Y/N.” You follow the voice and meet storm blue eyes. Familiar. Loving.

Steve your brain provides.

The image shifts again and you’re flat on your back, shaking your head, body coated in sweat.

“I can’t…” You sob, voice weak. You’re clearly exhausted. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can.” Steve’s voice is right by your ear. His hand clinging to yours as he pulls it to his lips and kisses it. “I have never known anyone with your strength, my flower. You can do this.”

Steve slides behind you, helping you sit up once again, holding your hands to give you something to hold onto.

You can feel the soft texture of his white puffed sleeve shirt. Despite the smudges of dust and blood on parts of his neck and arms, the subtle smell of pine and mint and something else that is only his and no one else’s fills your senses for one strengthening moment.

This King of men, believes in you.

He leans down to place his lips beside your ear. “I’m sorry that I can only hurt you. I’m so sorry but you must push, my petal.”

His quiet urging fills your chest with warmth but the pain snuffs it out almost as quickly as it appears. You obey him and groan as you push and your body nearly feels as if it’s being torn apart.

The images in your mind shift again and grandmother rushes away from you, holding something in her arms. She stops by a water basin, her back to you so that you cannot see.

“Steve…” You whisper weakly. “Where is he?”

“Agatha?” Steve asks, voice guarded as he helps you lay back down but you keep your body up as you strain to see Grandmother.

It’s so quiet…it stretches on forever, this moment of silence where you heart is in your throat and you exhaustion threatens to consume you.

“Steve…” You begin again, voice only just above a whisper. “Where is he?”

The images flash through your mind once again, so quick that it’s a blur and as a terrible fear floods your heart with that last image that seems to replay itself over and over, you gasp.

“Steve!” You cry out, still mostly asleep as the nightmare lingers.

“Here.” His voice comes from your right where you find him sitting in front of a dwindling fire. The cinders barely glowing with light.

Candles in their black metal braziers lining the walls every now and then fill the room with a soft yellow glow.

He rises slowly, his gaze drawn down to his chest and for one confusing moment you wonder what he’s looking at until he turns, and you hear the smallest whimper float out from his careful embrace.

You push yourself up eagerly, your heart suddenly racing as a happier memory of sweet relief fills your mind of a clear and lively crying. Newborn. Quivering little voice struggling with his first breath. A silence broken with the promise of a happy future.

“We’re right here.” Steve smiles, moving to sit beside you as you strain your neck to see your little one. “We’ve been waiting for you to wake.”

You sigh, your heart truly soaring as your eyes devour the little bundle all soft silky skin. Steve’s tone. Hair a little darker than his blonde but still on the lighter side. The lips are yours. Everything else seems to scream Steve.

“Do you want to hold her?” Steve asks, adjusting your daughter as you shift back so that your back rests against the headboard of your bed. Your new bed. One that you’d seen what feels like an age ago and you’d sworn never to sleep here. Ever.

But the sheets are a silver blue and the décor is a pastel yellow, silver blue peonies embroidered into cushions and blankets and curtains. Dark wood compliments the lighter colors and although this room is the room where you’d found Steve sleeping with another woman in his arms, it’s not the same room anymore.

This is so very much your room and though your mind is flooded with fuzzy memories of sleeping in here for what must have been days it feels new and foreign.

Steve holds her out for you. You take her carefully, this tiny little angel with her quiet coos as she settles into the shape of your arms. While you know that you must have been in this room for some time, this is most definitely the first time you’re holding your daughter.

Tears pour from your eyes and Steve reaches over to wipe them away. His hands, arms, and face now clean of blood and dirt.

A million questions fly through your mind. Instead of asking them, you ponder over the little one in your arms with her hay colored hair and rosy pink lips.

“I’m sorry, Steve.” You whisper, voice hoarse.

“Why my petal?” He scoots closer, hooking his hands around your waist as you continue to adjust yourself up some more.

“I-She’s a girl.” You shake your head, wondering how terrible his disappointment must be.

“What of it?” He brings his hand to your chin and tilts your gaze away from your daughter to his own quizzical storm blue eyes.

“You needed an heir.” You explain.

“And an heir I have. She will make a wonderful Queen. A strong Queen. Just like her mother.” Steve smiles, and there is truth in his words. You can’t find the trace of a lie in his declaration.

“You mean…you’ll accept her as your true heir?” You’re almost breathless with relief.

“Y/N, Broklin has never discriminated against the heir of the throne. The first born will always rule whether they are man or woman. Our daughter is first born, she will be queen, and the kingdom is safe. Not only is Pierce dead, but you’ve given birth to the first royal child since I was born. You should see the people. They have not stopped celebrating since we arrived with the news that our daughter has finally arrived.” Steve smiles, wiping the last few tears that roll across your cheeks.

“They’re really happy?” You smile, waiting for him to confirm it.

“Yes. They’re ecstatic and cannot wait to meet her when she’s older.” Steve caresses the back of your head before reaching down to stroke the Princess’s cheek. “Now that you’re awake, we’ll need to have those with title for a feast to meet her.”

“Do we have to?” You wonder, looking down at the beauty in your arms. She’s fast asleep, oblivious to you or Steve but she looks comfortable, swaddled in a luxuriously soft yellow blanket. Underneath you can see the long white dress of a newborn, a small bow tied just underneath her chin to keep it closed.

“Do you not feel well?” Steve wonders, caressing your head with a bit more force as he tries to catch your eye. “You’ve woken up a few times since we got back but this is the first time you’ve even asked about the baby.”

You meet his concerned gaze, surprised by this as you have no memory of waking up. “I…I feel fine. I’m just not eager to share her yet.”

Your confession deflates his worry and he settles in beside you, urging you closer with a simple flex of his arm. You adjust into the circle he provides and the three of you relax against the pile of pillows behind you.

“I understand the impulse. Unfortunately, we must present her. It’s tradition and it will give the people something to hold onto. If someone has seen her, then no one can dispute her validity as heir to the throne. The political sides of the crown are inescapable, my flower.” He sounds sorry about it too, but you understand why it’s necessary.

“Can we rest for a bit longer? Two days?” You look up at him, watching him watch your little girl. His eyes are full of love and admiration, deeper than you’ve ever seen on any man’s face.

He loves her so much and you are so grateful that he’s as good a man as you always thought he was.

“Take a week.” Steve relents. “You have a lot of bonding to make up with her, or so Grandmother tells me. I am not to take her from you again unless you ask me to. She was adamant.”

“Where is Grandmother?” You wonder, worried about the old woman after the sight of her in your memories.

“She’s in her cottage, resting. Ordered by her King.” Steve meets your eyes. “Don’t worry, she’s alright. She’ll no doubt show up again today as she has every day.”

“How long have I been sleeping?”

“Four days.” Steve sighs, wrapping you up a little tighter. You realize now that he’s been terrified. Worried out of his mind for you while you’ve been sleeping.

You know better than to focus on that however, and instead you look at your baby. “I’ve missed four days with her?”

“Don’t worry, my petal. I explained to her that you fought hard to keep her safe and you were only tired and resting so that when you woke, you could give her all the love that she deserves.” He smiles, reaching down with his free right hand to trace the shape of her nose.

“You haven’t left her side?” You check, though you know the answer as you watch her little face twitch at his touch.

“Never.” Steve assures you. “I will never leave her side.”

With a sigh you lean into his embrace, settling your head in the spot underneath his chin as he also relaxes, both of you watching your princess.

It fells like you and Steve sit in bed watching your daughter sleep for ages. You almost think he’s asleep until his lips press against your temple and you quickly turn to look up at him, lips puckered.

He smiles at you, pouring affection, before meeting your lips with a soft kiss.

There’s so much both of you need or perhaps it’s want to say, but instead you each pour it all into one long peck before you tear your eyes away from him to look back at your daughter. You can’t seem to get enough of watching her.

“I’ve been eager for you to wake for more than one reason. Before we can meet with the Lords of the kingdom, we have to name our princess.” Steve whispers.

“You haven’t picked one?” You ask, tilting your head as you consider the little life within your arms. What kind of woman do you hope she becomes? Her own woman. Her own person.

“I wanted to wait for you. We should do it together, though if I’m honest, I could not think of anything while you slept. How does one choose a name?” Steve wonders.

“It’s true, her name will follow her for life. It should represent who we hope she’ll become while also giving her the grace to shape that name into who she wants to be.” You rationalize as you continue to watch her, head cocked to one side.

If you’re honest, you’ve already chosen a name. It grows louder and more pronounced in your head the longer you sit there with her in your arms. The first two years of your marriage have been rocked with one trauma after the other. So much violence and uncertainty but also love once Steve came around. And even before he embraced you, Nat was always there with kind words and safety.

The name is one that you swore to forget. To purge from your life for all the pain it has caused you and yet, as you watch your daughter, it’s the only name you can think of. The only name that feels right.

“I want to call her Margaret.” You say. Voice even and thoughtful as you reach down to trace her cheek. She stirs but then settles quickly as you shush her and bounce her slowly.

“Why?” Steve sounds confused, but you don’t dare look at him. Your insecurity is still there, deep down within your heart where you will always hear him comparing you to his dearly departed first wife. You also know that he will never stop trying to make it up to you.

“Because she was important to you. Because you loved her, and she was strong and brave and because I want to love her too. Despite the negative affects her lingering presence had on our marriage when it began, she also helped us grow into who we are now. As a pair, you and I would not have been as strong, I don’t think, if Margaret hadn’t been there to divide us in the beginning.” You turn to look at him now, because you want him to know that you aren’t holding it against him.

“I want our daughter to grow up to be just as powerful as Margaret was. I want her to command someone’s heart the way Margaret commanded yours for so long. I also really need to stop hating her name simply because you spoke it often when I wished it were my name spilling from your lips.”

A terrible ache echoes within you as you remember Steve calling Maggie’s name while he slept with you. The memory is faded but so powerful to the way you developed in the castle that it will never go away.

“We don’t have to name her Margaret, Y/N. We can name her after your mother, or Natasha? She’d love that.”

“Steve…” You begin and he knows he won’t talk you out of it. “Do you hate it?”

“No, I-” Steve’s voice is suddenly thick. “-I just don’t want you to think that I wish in any way that this were me and Maggie. It’s only you for me. No one else, not even Maggie, can compare to how much you mean to me…well…”

Both of you look down at Margaret within your arms and both of you laugh.

“…Maybe this little Maggie might compare.” Steve relents. “But you’re my only love, never doubt it.”

You meet his eyes again and with a smile on your lips, kiss him again and again. You don’t stop until Margaret begins to stir and you know that she’s hungry.

Steve begins to rise, “I’ll get the wet nurse.”

“No!” You protest, grabbing his arm to pull him back down beside you. “No, I’ll feed her.”

You quickly reach down to expose your breast and adjust your princess until she’s positioned and gasp at how quickly she latches onto you.

Steve rushes to the dying embers of the fire and quickly stokes it, adding more wood so that the fire will build quickly. He moves back to you, fussing with a blanket as he wraps it around both you and Maggie so that you’re warm and comfortable.

You let him help, all smiles and careful watching of your girl. Finally, things feel just as they should.

~~~~~~~~~~

“Natasha and Bucky will be back tomorrow.” Steve crosses to you with a tray full of food, his hands steady.

Gracefully he lowers himself down onto the bed beside you as you watch Maggie sleep in her small cradle. Though small it is, simple it is not. It’s made of the finest irons and woods, embellished with shining pearls and velvety yellow fabric. The cushion within is plush, the rest of it lined in soft padding to keep her safe.

“I could sell this cradle and feed a village for half a year.” You frown, feeling a little guilty in the extravagance.

“Then when she’s outgrown it, we will sell it and do just that.” Steve places the tray of food on your lap and adjusts the pillow behind your back.

“Really?” You ask, hopeful.

“Of course. If that’s what you want to do. We could also keep it, as a keepsake. She may not use it again, but we will always remember her at this size if we save it. She may want to use it when she has her own children.”

You frown, hating the way his words make sense. Steve laughs but kisses your cheek before handing you a fork.

“Eat, my petal. You need to be strong for her.” He’s right about that, so you eat, stealing long looks at the baby in her bed.

“They didn’t have to come back so soon.” You feel guilty about Bucky and Natasha’s rushed return.

Steve had sent word to them that you’d woken up three days ago and they’d written back that they’d be home soon, but their letter arrived just before they would.

“They should enjoy their time alone together.” You lament.

“I’m sure they’ve made up for lost time.” Steve says with a smirk and you hit his gut knowing right where his mind has gone.

“They have every right to be eager. They’ve both wanted each other for so long. I don’t know how they could restrain themselves, to be honest.” You admit, cheeks flooding with heat as you give Steve a quick once over before going back to the breads and meats on your plate. “We should do something for them.”

“I already have.” Steve gets up and sits at a smaller desk that he’s had moved into his room so that he can be around you and Maggie as much as he wants while still dealing with Kingdom business. “I’ve given them a cottage up in the hills. It needs work, but Natasha and Bucky have asked me to hold off on orders for the renovation. I’m sure they’d like to decorate their home in their own style.”

“By cottage, do you mean a like Empire Cottage? Or like my home in Bright Rise?” You tease.

Steve huffs a laugh at your sass but continues to write busily while also keeping track of your conversation.

“Something in between. It’s much smaller than my mother’s cottage, but much larger than your small home. Should I pay to have that one renovated for you?” Steve wonders, the scratch of his quill coming a stop as he looks over at you while you chew in confusion.

“Why would we renovate my hut in Bright Rise?” You wonder.

Steve shrugs, setting his quill down as he leans back against his seat.

“I know that you have many unsavory memories there, but the village is quaint, and the scenery is lovely. If our daughter should ever want to know where her mother grew up, it might be nice to have a place we can all go should we decide to stay.” Steve smiles at you.

You lick your lips, swallow hard, and try to keep the sadness from showing on your face too much.

“Steve, I do not own that land. The house…was abandoned. I moved in there because nobody cared about it or me. The land still technically belongs to the person who left it there. It’s not mine to truly claim or to make a home. It was the shelter I needed-we needed at that time, but it was never my home. Not like here.” You explain.

Steve’s eyes sparkle mischievously before he nods. “Alright, we won’t renovate that hut.”

Despite his words, you know that he’s planning something. You recognize that glint in his eyes but don’t press the matter. You’d like to spend these moments with him in peace for as long as you can. Eventually you know that you’ll need to start speaking up, but just for now while your little one sleeps and your breakfast is tasty and the morning is so quiet, you want to cherish it.

As he leans over to resume his writing, there’s a knock on the door that puckers his brow. “Who could that be?”

Grandmother had already come to make her daily visit and Natasha and Bucky are not due until tomorrow…

Steve is up, pulling the door open just a crack as he peeks. Suddenly his back relaxes—or do his shoulders slump?—and with a sigh he looks at you and rolls his eyes.

“It’s for you.” He says, voice flat and full of annoyance.

As you chew the last of your toast, your curiosity is quenched as Thor’s smiling face pokes through the door.

“Little Bird!” He greets then lumbers through the door.

He’s a vision in a comfortable looking red tunic that fastens with golden buttons all the way up the high neck. Under that he wears a soft white shirt, long puffed sleeves carefully folded up to his elbows exposing thick veiny forearms with what looks like very fine golden hair. The blonde on his head is freshly washed, braided on one side and his cheeks are flushed with pink.

He’s already been digging into the ale.

“Are you seriously here to see me while you’re drunk?!” You demand, extremely happy to see him despite his state of inebriation.

“What?” He gasps, stopping at the foot of your bed. “I would never do you the dishonor of coming to see you in a drunken state.”

You squint at him and see that he’s not really drunk. There’s definitely alcohol in his system but it hasn’t impaired him.

Your lips break into a wide smile and Thor rumbles a laugh, pushing Steve aside as he hurries to sit beside you and pull you into an awkward hug over your empty tray of food.

He frowns, looking down at the obstacle and quickly grabs it then thrusts it into Steve’s chest as he walks by to move back to his desk.

“Get rid of this will you?” Thor orders, then settles in beside you more comfortably and pulls you into a rib cracking hug.

Steve glares at the tray then protests loudly when Thor hugs you.

“Thor! Be gentle! She’s still recovering from her attack and giving birth.” Steve gripes, moving to his desk where he drops the tray a little too loudly.

There’s a whimper from the cradle to your left and you quickly pull from Thor’s arms to take your little one from her bed and into your own supportive embrace.

She begins to coo and nearly begins to cry but as you settle back into Thor’s waiting arm, you reach up and trace the curve of her little nose from the tippy top all the way to the bottom.

She settles quickly, little hiccups of her breath escaping her rosebud lips as her eyes shut once more. She continues to breathe like that, a small wheeze of baby noise floating up to enchant all three of you as she sleeps.

“I’m sorry, Y/N.” Steve worries, moving closer to look her over.

You’re already shaking your head. “No. She’s alright. Just startled.”

Steve bites his lip. “I’m sorry my Maggie.”

Your heart goes into arrest and then you remember that it’s your little Maggie too that he means, and you feel relief calm your nerves.

“Maggie?” Thor asks, looking from you to Steve and then to the baby. “You didn’t seriously name her Margaret, did you?”

The anger in Thor’s voice is frightening and the air is suddenly filled with that same charge from his lightning.

“I chose it.” You say quickly, reaching over to place your hand over his.

He flips it over and takes yours, holding it back while he gives it a little squeeze.

“I wanted to name her Margaret. I couldn’t think of any other name that fit.” You explain. “She was important to more than just Steve, Thor. And she was strong and capable. I want our little Maggie to also be everything that Margaret was.”

Thor accepts your explanation, but he purses his lips for a second as he looks down at your beautiful Princess.

“Perhaps a little sweeter? A little gentler?” He suggests.

You almost speak, but Steve beats you to it. “Just like her mother. She’s perfection, Thor. Isn’t she gorgeous?”

All of you are watching her, eyes full of hearts for your little girl. In unison, smiles spread across your lips.

“She is indeed.” Thor agrees, then gives you a squeeze. “Congratulation, Little Bird. You’ve done a swell job.”

You smile wide as you meet his eyes. “I couldn’t have done it without Steve. He was there with me from beginning to end.”

“Not the very beginning.” Steve laments, moving closer to the two of you before stopping to caress the back of your head.

“You were there when it mattered.” You assure him.

“You did have us quite worried.” Thor tells you, frowning as he tears his eyes from your daughter to look at you. “How do you feel?”

“I’m tired.” You admit, feeling exhausted for reasons you don’t understand. “But otherwise, I’m alright.”

“I’m glad Lady Carter was there to help you.” Thor admits.

“Me too.” You nod. “Is she still here, Steve?”

“She is.” He moves back to his desk and settles in for more work. “She’s been waiting for you to feel better. She’d like an audience with you.”

“What?” You gasp, holding your baby closer. “Why didn’t you tell me earlier? She’s been waiting a whole week?”

“There’s no rush.” Steve looks downright confused with your reaction and blinks as he tries to understand it.

“Send her in, Steve.”

Thor begins to rise. “I’ll come back later. To see you and the little one. I’m off to Malibia.”

“Why?” You fuss, reaching to take his hand as he stands.

“You’ve got a very stubborn sister who demands to come see you and the Princess or she will cut off her hair and dance naked for all the guard to see. Or that’s what Tony has said she has threatened to do.” Thor chuckles. “I should get her here before she makes good on her word. Tony doesn’t think she will, but Pepper promises that Morgana will not hesitate.”

You’re laughing too by the time he finishes. “I don’t doubt it. Hurry back, Thor. I’ve missed you.”

He leans down to kiss the back of your hand and then gives Steve a quick friendly nod—Steve returns it though there s a small bit of ice in his eyes at that kiss to your hand—before sweeping from the room as quickly as he descended upon it.

“Why didn’t you tell me about Sharon?” You gripe, turning your head to look at Steve who looks thoughtful.

“I didn’t want you getting upset.” He admits. “I want you happy and healthy with our baby, marching through the castle making all of the guard swoon with both your beauty.”

“Steve-” You begin only to stop as the door is knocked on a second time.

“That’ll be Sam.” Steve informs you. “Come in, Sam.”

Sure enough, Sam moves through the doors, stopping with his hand still on the handle.

“I can’t wait until Barnes is back so that I can get back to my real work and stop operating as your personal doorman.” Sam teases.

“He’s married now. You’ll have to take over.” Steve says, returning the playful tone. “Is Sharon free?”

Sam glances at you nervously then back at his King. “Yes, she is. Why?”

“Send her in, Samuel.” Steve orders, putting an end to whatever questions Sam has but isn’t asking.

“Have you seen our Maggie, Sam?” You ask, wondering if Steve has told all of your friends to stay away while you recover.

Sam’s eyes sparkle in excitement but then dull as he hesitates when you speak her name.

“M-Maggie?” Sam asks, edging his way towards you.

“We’ve named her Margaret.” You explain. “I wanted to honor her in some way.”

“Hm.” Sam says, but turns his eyes on your daughter. “She’s as cute as a baby bunny.”

You smile and nod. “Can I count on you, Sam? To protect those most precious to me?”

The request is random, and you know that this freezes both Sam and Steve as they digest the words you’ve spoken.

“I haven’t made many decrees as Queen of Broklin, but you are a man with unparalleled skills. Peter will always be here to protect me and by extension, Maggie but I need someone who will only think of her. I need someone who will drop everything and put her life before everyone else’s. Even Steve and I.” You clarify.

“Can you do it, Sam? Can you be her protector? Her guardian angel?” You ask, watching his guarded expression as it softens and then settles on your little one again.

“Of course, I will.” He reaches down to stroke her cheek. She doesn’t stir. “I will defend her, with my life.”

You and Steve exchange a look of relief before you relax again, adjusting Maggie a little closer to your chest.

She coos but continues to sleep.

“Sam?” Steve says, “Please send Sharon in for her Majesty.”

Sam gives you a bow then goes to fetch Sharon who actually doesn’t take long to arrive. You’d be lying if you said your nerves weren’t on edge as the knock finally comes. Steve clears his throat and looks to meet your gaze.

“Shall I leave you two?” He wonders, giving you the option of facing Sharon alone.

“I have nothing to say to her that you can’t hear.” You assure him.

“Come in, Sharon.” Steve calls.

With your little girl in your arms, you have all the strength to face the woman who saved your life. Still, with your belly still there along with your exhaustion, you can’t help but feel a little jealous of the sleek black dress that she’s wearing, raven feathers along the shoulders to accentuate the curve of her neck. Her blonde hair is pulled back a little, black pearl clasps holding it in place.

Her cheeks are flush with a nervous blush, her eyes wide and searching. She finds Steve first and smiles brightly at the sight of him.

“Steve…” She begins, moving in further until finally she scans the bed and finds you sitting up, tense. Maggie fast asleep. “Your Majesty.”

The sudden frenzy in her eyes makes you feel slightly guilty.

“Hello, Lady Carter.” You offer a smile.

“Oh, please, call me Sharon.” She looks chastised though you haven’t said anything to indicate any displeasure with her.

“Sharon…” You begin, taking a deep breath before sparing Steve a glance. He’s so polite however, that you find him staring intently at his paperwork, his quill propped to write but it isn’t moving. He’s listening hard, trying not to look. “Come closer.”

You tap the right side of your bed and watch her until she’s sitting beside you, her eyes glue to Maggie.

Rather than introduce her right away, you want to say what you need to before you let the pleasantries really flow.

With her right beside you, you feel a sense of calm overcome you and you lean back against the headboard to relax.

“Are you alright?” She worries, probably seeing how tired you are.

“I’m a little tired. The past week hasn’t been the easiest for me.” You smile. “Sharon, I feel I need to thank you.”

“Oh, no. Your Majesty-”

“Please,” You sigh. “Let me finish.”

She shuts her lips, pressing them into a straight line to force herself quiet.

“You and I didn’t exactly start off on the right foot.” You acknowledge.

And despite your desires for her to stop speaking, “Your Majesty, I should apologize. I had no right invading the sanctity of your marriage. Really, I’m very sorry to you both.”

“Sharon…” You try again.

“Right, sorry.” She bites her lip.

“All I want to say is that I am so thankful for your presence at my father’s castle. If it had not been for you, we would not be here. You saved my daughter’s life, if there is anything that you want or need, I will do all that I can to ensure that you have it.” You promise, then look to Steve who is now watching both of you intently. “Well, anything except for my husband.”

Your teasing makes her smile and you laugh with her when she chuckles.

“Truly.” You try again. “Thank you. I can never repay you for what you’ve given me.”

Sharon can only smile.

In your arms, Maggie stirs and her little eyes open. She almost seems to be in a daze, her eyes moving but unfocused. She shuts them again but makes more noise.

“Well, hello there, my Princess.” You greet her, and she coos in return her eyes open once more as she searches for you.

“She’s beautiful, your Majesties. She looks like you, Steve.” Sharon admires. “Have you chosen a name?”

“We have.” You nod, looking to Steve who smiles with only half of his mouth. It’s a sheepish grin, proud and happy. “We named her Margaret.”

Sharon’s face is robbed of all expression as she tears her eyes from your daughter to you, Steve, and then back to the little one in your arms.

“You named her after Maggie?” She asks, voice weak and quiet with emotion.

“Considering the fight she was born in, I thought it was appropriate to name her after another strong warrior.” You boast.

Another knock on your door steals the focus from your baby as Sam re-enters the room in a hurry.

“Sam?” Steve checks.

Sam moves to him and hands him a scroll, seal already broken but says nothing.

Suddenly wary, you and Sharon both watch the two men as Steve reads for only a few moments before he’s up out of his seat and flying from the room with Sam hot on his heels.

“Steve?” You call after him, a deep worry settling into the base of your stomach.

“Don’t worry.” Sharon offers. “Steve’s dramatic. I’m sure it’s nothing.”

As much as you wish you could believe her, you know very well that Sharon is only trying to appease you and that something must be very wrong.

#king!steve x reader #king!steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x reader #captain america x reader #medieval au #medieval fantasy au #royalty au #marvel au #avengers x reader #steve x reader fanfiction #steve rogers x reader fanfiction #captain america x reader fanfiction #medieval avengers #pseudo princess #pseudo princess pt33

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annabethy · 4 years

Text

under the mistletoe, watching the fire glow day 22: ugly sweaters

Character A loses a bet to wear Christmas sweaters every day until Christmas. Character B works at the store.

The first time Percy sees her, it’s the first of December, and it doesn’t take long for him to regret ever walking in.

“Do you sell ugly clothes here?” he asks the girl sitting at the front.

She blinks at him, looking mildly offended. “We’re not supposed to.”

She’s still looking at him, and he admittedly gets distracted because she’s really pretty. Her hair is flowing and long, and her cheeks are rosy, lips glossy. He really likes the thin white sweater she’s wearing, and the way it compliments her. It takes a moment for it to click in his head that she’s still looking at him, relatively upset.

“No, I don’t mean the clothes are ugly—” he tries. “I just need an ugly sweater, like yours!”

Her jaw falls open. “Excuse me?”

Percy chokes, and is about ready to sulk out of the store and never return. He’s going to absolutely murder his friends for getting him into this position too, because if it weren’t for them forcing him to wear a different ugly sweater every day until Christmas, then he wouldn’t be stuck here attempting to explain himself to a stranger.

“I mean I just need a sweater!”

“And you threw on the ugly for the fun of it?” she questions, armed crossed in front of her. Her eyes are sharp, and he is vaguely terrified.

“I—” He swallows, his face suddenly feeling too hot. “I need a sweater like yours, but mine has to be ugly. I’m saying I need an ugly sweater. I promise I’m not calling your sweater ugly.”

Her face doesn’t lighten. “And why do you need an ugly sweater?”

Percy whines like a child, even stomping his foot. “Because my friends aren’t actually my friends.”

“Do you always talk like you have no idea what you’re trying to say?”

Percy’s shoulders drop. “It’s for Christmas. I lost a bet and have to wear different ugly sweaters until Christmas.”

There’s a pause, and then a laugh. “It would’ve been a lot easier if you just said I need an ugly Christmas sweater from the start instead of I need an ugly sweater like yours.”

“I’m realizing that now,” he says. He wants to just drop to the floor and die, but she’s smiling now, and he can’t help reciprocating that smile.

He watches as she moves around a few of the racks of clothing and pulls a specific sweater out. It’s red and green with rainbow garland glued over it along with random pom poms all around. It’s definitely ugly, and it’s perfect.

“I’ll take it,” he says, partly because he wants to get out of here and never look back, but also partly because she’s cute and he can’t resist saying yes to please her.

“Glad to hear it,” she says. She checks him out quickly, putting the sweater in a pretty bag, and as she does, she says, “Now that I know you weren’t insulting my fashion sense, you’re always welcome back here to buy the rest of your ugly sweaters. We have plenty.”

It sounds a lot like an invitation to definitely do so. Percy smiles back, taking the bag from her fingers. “What’s your name then, so I know to make sure I never run into you again out of mortification?”

She laughs, and it’s music to his ears. “I’m Annabeth.” The second time Percy sees her, it’s a week later.

Snow is falling outside, and when he enters the store, he is immediately overcome with warmth. He shakes the snow off of his coat when a voice calls, “Glad to see you came back.”

Percy turns to the familiar voice and smiles at her kindly when he spots her sorting clothes on the rack. “Had to come back for my healthy dose of embarrassment. It keeps me on my toes.”

She comes around the aisle, and there are two hangers in her hands. Today she has on a knitted blue sweater, a bit oversized, but it looks perfect on her. “I was getting worried I caused you to lose the bet one day in.”

“Me? I’d never give up on a bet.”

“That’s good because I’ve been deciding on some more choices in case you did come back.” Now she holds up the two hangers so he can see them. “We have a light-up Rudolph, or we have the festive llama saying Feliz Llamadad.”

He pretends to think. “Rudolph is looking pretty cute, not gonna lie.”

She pouts. “Really? I thought you’d go for the llama.”

Annabeth looks so adorable, pouting there with her hair half down, the top half with two separate pigtails tied up, that he gives in. “I’m more of a marine animal type of guy myself, but the llama will do.”

“No marine animals here,” she says, cheerful, leading him to the checkout counter. There isn’t anyone else in the shop, and it makes him wonder if they get a lot of business. He hopes so, because from what he’s seen, they have some decent clothes there. Also, he thinks she deserves business because she is nice and pretty.

“Is it always this empty?” he wonders out loud.

She follows his gaze around the store, amused. “At six in the morning?”

Percy blinks. It hadn’t even occurred to him that most people don’t get up so early just to make sure they have a new sweater each and every single day.

Annabeth shakes her head at him, taking the payment from him and handing him the bag in exchange. “Should I have a sweater ready to go next time I see you then?”

“You don’t have to if it’s too much trouble.”

“I want to,” she says, “but I do need some form of compensation then.”

“Oh? Is money not typically what you get when you sell something?”

She rolls her eyes. “Your name.”

“I’m Percy.”

“Percy,” she says, feeling the way it rolls of her tongue. He likes hearing his name in her mouth. “I’ll have that sweater waiting.”

That day, Percy leaves with a smile he can’t seem to wipe off.

It’s not until December fifteenth that he does see her again. He’d gone to the store a couple of times since he last saw her, but she hadn’t been working those shifts he supposes, so when he walks in that freezing morning, it’s a pleasant surprise to see her there.

“Percy!” She stands up from behind the counter, but not before pulling a wrapped box from the shelves below her. “It’s about time I saw you again.”

“It’s not my fault you weren’t here when I came,” he teases, stepping towards the counter. “I was getting worried I wouldn’t see you again.”

“I’ll make sure to give you a warning if that’s the case,” she says, winking. She slides a wrapped present across the counter, and he eyes it, confused. “For you.”

“For me?” He grins, fingers gently running over the ribbon around it.

“I told you I’d have something waiting, didn’t I?” With that, Percy pulls the ribbon off of the box. He has to rip a bit of the wrapping paper to open it, and when he does, he can’t help the laughter that bubbles out of him.

“Do you like it?” Percy pulls out a black sweater, turning it to face her. It has Nemo embroidered on it wearing a Santa Claus hat, little bits of sequins attached throughout. “Nemo?” he asks, amused.

“You said you liked marine animals. I assumed that included Nemo.” “You assumed right.” He traces over the fabric, taking in every detail. “You just had it lying around here?”

“Uh, no.”

Percy looks at her.

“I was shopping for my friends when I saw it, and it was too perfect to pass it up, so I just got it.”

“You paid for it yourself?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t mind.”

“Thank you,” he says earnestly. “Let me pay you back.”

“Absolutely not. This is a present for providing me entertainment this month.”

“This couldn’t have been cheap,” he says.

“It wasn’t too much.” Annabeth tilts her head at him. “Percy, please. Just let me do this for you.” “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” she says. “Take it. It’s yours. Just whenever you wear it, you have to think of me.”

Percy decides not to tell her he’s been thinking of her, even before she got him the sweater. “I promise.”

He leaves soon after, but he can’t stop feeling like there was something he should’ve done. She went out of her way to get him a sweater she knew he’d love, even when she has no obligations to him, and he felt like he should repay her.

So when he walks back in later that day, wearing the very sweater she got him, a box of donuts in hand, it’s hardly a surprise.

“You’re back early,” she comments lightly, eyes flickering to the box.

“I brought you something.”

“I can see that.”

“It’s to say thank you. For getting me the sweater. It really does mean a lot to me.”

“I told you that you didn’t have to worry about it,” she says, but she still accepts the box when he thrusts it into her arms.

“I know, but I wanted to do it anyways.” “Percy… I’d feel bad taking this.”

“Then how about you give me something else in return?”

She glances at him. “Like what?”

“Your number,” he tries.

Annabeth’s eyes light up brighter than the snow outside. “I like you, Percy.”

It makes Percy’s heart flutter, and his lips pull up. “I like you too.” It’s a wonderful feeling, he decides later that night. He’s at a dinner with his friends, but he can’t stop thinking about her. He wishes she were here, and he barely knows her. He wants to sit next to her and her warm sweaters, or to run his fingers through her soft curls. He wants to get to know her because he just knows that if he does, it could blossom into something beautiful.

They text back and forth for days, but it still takes him a while to build up courage before he’s back on Christmas Eve. He walks through the doors when it’s still dark out, and he lets out a breath of relief when he sees her sitting behind the counter like always. His fist tightens around the small bag in his hand.

“There you are,” she says lightly, but she doesn’t move. “It’s been almost ten days.”

“Were you counting?”

“I was, actually.”

“You must really like me then.”

“I do, but we already went over this.” She stands up now so she can walk around the counter. She looks like she’s going to pick out his last sweater, but he stops her with a hand around her wrist, ears hinting red.

“Actually, I already have a sweater.”

“Oh.” Her hand pulls away from the racks. “What are you doing here then?”

Percy lifts the bag to her sight before he hands it to her. She hesitates, looking at him with suspicion but also humor, but she tugs the stuffing paper out of it when he motions for her to go on.

“I was thinking,” he starts, watching her pull open the bag. “You’ve been helping me with my ugly sweaters all month. Even when you weren’t here, you had stuff set aside for me, and it always made my day, so I figured I could repay the favor.” Annabeth snorts as she pulls a sweater out of the bag. It matches his, and he looks at her sheepishly when she spreads it out across her hands. It’s a simple Merry Christmas with lights poking through holes in the shirt and just a little too much red and green glitter. “Matching Christmas sweaters?”

“I thought it would be cute,” he confesses.

“It’s something couples do,” she says, a sly grin.

Percy scratches the back of his neck. “I thought maybe we could do that too. The couple thing. That’s why I got the matching sweaters, actually. I was going to suggest we could go out today, and tomorrow, maybe even the day after, and you could come to a Christmas party with me, and meet my friends—”

“Meet your friends?”

“I’d be lying if I said I didn’t talk about you all the time.” Percy wrings his hands together, looking down at her. Her eyes gleam, a beautiful sparkling grey. “Annabeth. Would you like to go on a date with me?”

She doesn’t answer him at first. Instead, she unfolds the sweater and tugs it over her head. It’s too big on her, just like every sweater usually is, but it looks adorable on her anyways. He wants to kiss her so badly, but she takes care of that for him when she stands on her toes and pulls his lips to hers.

“I’d love to,” she says against him. From that day on, the rest of their lives spiral out of control in the best way possible. It’s filled with laughter and love and way too many ugly sweaters, but the life is his, and he’s never been so grateful to have it.

#percy jackson #annabeth chase #percabeth #pjo #percy jackon and the olympians #my writing

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writer-ish · 4 years

Text

hopeful hearts, part two

Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x f!MC (Brooke Spiers)

Word Count: 3,750

Rating: E (NSFW 18+)

Summary: During the Gala, Ethan and Brooke sneak off for a more private encounter.

This is a more detailed version of the office scene in Chapter 17, from Ethan’s POV.

PART ONE HERE.

once again, special thanks to: @openheartthot for providing the script that started this all ♥️

Dr. Ethan Ramsey doesn’t care.

It’s a point of pride for him. He does his job - and he does it damn well - but that chip that most people have, the one that makes them ache and burn and torment themselves over the thoughts and feelings of others—no.

That he does not have.

Which is why he finds himself unable to explain—unable to reconcile with his own perceptions of himself, why the woman beside him in this moment makes him ache and burn and torment himself, day in and day out. Why the only thing he finds himself caring about is her thoughts. Her feelings.

Why the feel of her hand in his, gripping him tightly, the trust that’s imbued in that simple gesture as they walk recklessly through the corridors of the quiet hospital, is enough to knock the breath out of his lungs.

Ethan Ramsey finds himself realizing that, for someone who had never cared, this seems to matter a whole lot.

His heart pounds a steady rhythm as they swiftly and silently approach the doors of his office. He lets them both in and then closes the door resoundly behind him.

“Here we are,” he says, hearing the gruffness in his tone and unable to utter the words any differently. “Alone at last.”

She looks up at him and, once again, breathing seems out of reach. It’s a feeling in his chest—one that he can’t explain away with logic or reason, the two tenets with which he’s structured his life.

“Any idea what we could get up to with such a rare moment of privacy?” She’s disarmingly contradictory—provocative and bashful, sincere and flirtatious. Every contradiction stirs his blood in unprecedented ways. He wants her, needs her—not just now, but always.

“I have a few,” he murmurs in response to her question, stepping forward and linking his fingers with hers, drawing her hands around his torso before leaning forward and touching her lips with his.

The kiss is softer, less performative than the one he’d given her downstairs. This one doesn’t need to prove a point to anyone other than himself. And the point he’s trying to prove is how necessary it is for him to be kissing her at this moment.

Pulling away, he takes in the sight of her. The gleaming auburn curls tumbling over her shoulders, the red dress that seized him by the chest the moment he saw her in it—she incapacitated him with her beauty.

He’d seen her at six in the morning and eleven at night (oftentimes in the same day). He’d seen her rested and exhausted. With makeup and without. He’d seen her—

He wills away the image that appears in his mind’s eye. The one of her that’s always a little blurred around the edges — as though he’s looking at her through a transparent barrier; since, of course, that’s exactly what he’d had to do. It’s the image of her unwell. Scared.

His heart thumps painfully as the fear returns again, an old, familiar feeling now, like a cloak that shadows his mind. The moments that he thought were numbered. Panic, the likes of which he’d never before experienced—

No. He won’t think of that now.

He forces his tone to be casual, but the depths of his emotion still seem to break through.

“I looked around and it's definitive. You were the most stunning woman in that room tonight.” The statement pales in comparison to the way he truly feels.

She dimples, pleased by his compliment even as she tries not to show it, and his heart soars.

“Are you trying to flatter me, Dr. Ramsey?” she teases.

All pretence of casualness is gone as he responds, his voice husky and low: “Is it still flattery if it's an understatement?”

Her cheeks redden and suddenly she’s even more of a vision, the rosiness of her face contrasting the colour of her hair and the hue of her dress in the most incredibly charming way.

She reaches up to caress his cheek softly and he feels himself lean slightly into her touch, unable to resist the allure of her body making contact with his.

“I’m glad you did that just now. Kissed me.” He sees her vulnerability and knows that he’s at the root of it—his damned fears and pride and sense of propriety and justice all being part of what almost ruined this for him. For them.

His public declaration - that she was his and, even more importantly, he was hers - was something they’d both needed more than either of them had realized.

“Trust me, Brooke.” He leans forward, whispering the next words. “I’m just getting started.”

Their lips meet and Ethan feels a hunger in his very soul; like he could devour her whole. A frenzied heat runs through him, his entire body thrumming with the anticipation of what’s to come. Now, now, now, are the only words his pounding heart speaks as he guides her to the first available surface: his desk.

Ethan is not a man prone to fantasy.

Even in previous relationships - more like arrangements - he’d always maintained a level-headed foundation to every encounter. The exchanges were simple at their core: the satisfaction of a mutual need. An itch to be scratched. And, once they were over, he barely gave them further consideration.

But Ethan Ramsey would be a stone-cold liar if he’d ever said that he hadn’t had a recurring, relentless daydream - and occasional night dream - of taking Dr. Brooke Spiers on top of this very desk in a multitude of imaginative, creative, and depraved ways.

And now, now at the cusp of this almost two-year fantasy coming to life, it feels as though something inside of him has truly, finally been unleashed.

Keeping his lips crushed to hers, Ethan cups Brooke’s round bottom, squeezing appreciatively before dragging his hands down the sequined fabric of her thighs until he can gain enough purchase to do what he really wants: lifting her effortlessly, he defers all her weight to one arm while using the other sweep every goddamn thing off his usually-meticulous desk. Pens and paper trays clatter to the floor as Ethan lays Brook gently across the desk, with a precise calmness he doesn’t truly feel.

She lets out a disbelieving laugh as she pulls away slightly, hands carding through his hair. “What’s gotten into you tonight?” she breathes against his lips, joy and unrestrained pleasure in her tone.

“Whatever it is,” he replies, pressing his lips to hers briefly before continuing, “I think it’s long overdue.”

“True.” She shimmies her way further up the desk, before reaching for him. “Which is why you shouldn’t keep me waiting.” Grabbing his collar, she drags him on top of her, lips colliding once more in a frenzy of taste and touch. He feels her lithe fingers give his hair a sharp tug and he groans against her mouth.

“Brooke.” He’s panting now, unable to get his heart rate under control. “I need you.”

Leaning in once more to take her again, he’s surprised when she leans away, pressing a finger to his lips. The expression on her face stops him and he finds himself stumbling back a step as she pushes him gently and climbs off the desk.

She moves a few feet away and looks at him coyly, one eyebrow and the corner of her mouth hitched slightly upwards.

“Brooke…” She’s killing him. Does she know she’s killing him?

Probably.

“Shh…” she admonishes, lightly. “Just watch.”

Slowly she turns and Ethan drinks in every curve - from the dip in her waist to her well-rounded bottom. Reaching up, her slender fingers snag the gold zipper resting at her nape and she slowly tugs it down.

Ethan swears he can hear every excruciating millisecond of that zipper’s descent, even over the thundering pulse in his ears, as he watches it go down… down… exposing the creamy white skin of her perfect back, inch by inch.

It stops just below the small of her back, right above the cleft of her bottom, two familiar dimples taunting him. The opening of her dress has gaped over her shoulders and she looks at him one last time over her shoulder, her smile luminescent, before letting the garment fall to the floor in its entirety. Turning back around, she strikes a coy pose, one hand flipped up and the other on her cocked hip, as if to say “Well?”

He takes in her pink-tipped breasts, the perfect size for the palm of his hand. The indented waist that he can span if he so chooses. The swell of her hips, hugged in black lace. Her shapely legs, long for her height.

And the heels. That she’s still wearing.

He almost swallows his tongue.

Well, indeed.

Ethan reaches her in a single stride and pulls her towards him, cupping the nape of her neck as his lips reach hers with a soft reverence. He can feel the heat of her naked body against his, warm and electric, and he steps back only for a second to tear his own clothes off, barely considering the buttons that will need to be re-buttoned, or the obscenely expensive suit jacket that probably shouldn’t be left in a heap on the floor.

All that matters, all he can consider, is his all-consuming need to feel her body against his, unimpeded by clothing.

He tilts her jaw so that she’s looking up at him. He can’t help but be pleased to see that her breathing is irregular, too, her lower lip caught between her teeth, her nipples poking sharply into his chest. When she’s this close, he can see the flecks of green in her hazel eyes. The light smattering of freckles not entirely hidden behind her concealer.

God, he loves her.

The words come to him, unbidden yet familiar. A truth he has known for much longer than he cares to admit. He hasn’t told her yet, not really. But he hopes he’s shown her in all the ways that he’s let her in - into places no one has ever reached - and in all the ways he’s tried to care for her, to protect her, to nurture her and to guide her. And soon—

Soon, the words will come, as well.

For now, he settles for speaking another truth: “You’re so beautiful, it sometimes takes my breath away.”

It’s how he’s always felt around her; like the air has gotten a little lighter. His lungs a little shallower. He sees her and the visceral response of his body to hers feels like a sucker punch.

Every.

Damn.

Time.

Her eyes spark, a light glistening that foretells the chance of tears. They cause the irises to grow brighter, greener.

“Don’t tell me,” she says finally, swallowing hard. “Show me.”

With pleasure, he thinks, navigating her towards the desk again.

As if reading his mind, she’s already halfway there, boosting herself up and pulling him with her. She scoots back again along the smooth surface and he follows her; a predator, his lovely prey trapped between his arms.

“I mean,” she says blithely, her hair fanning around her like a crimson halo, “you did such a good job cleaning it up.”

He bites back a grin at her teasing tone and dips forward to nip at her throat.

“I was hoping you’d notice,” he murmurs against her skin.

She turns her head, guiding his face to hers, and kisses him fiercely on the lips. He responds in kind, tasting and licking at the sweet fullness of her mouth.

Keeping his lips on hers and one hand braced on the desk, he glides his other hand down her smooth skin until his fingers reach the lace of her panties. Teasingly, he plays with the little bow at the front, running his fingers lower, overtop the lace-covered mound, teasing the dampness he finds below.

She moans against his lips and he brings his hand back up, tucking it under the material, touching her skin, finding the slick heat underneath it all.

Biting back a groan, he dips his middle finger down lower, finding the wet give of her body and bringing some of that essence back to the tiny nub at the top of her entrance. Rubbing in slow, deliberate circles, he pulls back to watch her face.

Her head is thrashing lightly as she moans quietly at his touch.

“Someone’s...eager…” she pants, arching against the shiny, cool mahogany, her nipples peaked and straining towards the sky.

“I’ve been dreaming of this moment for months, Brooke,” he says, unable to resist the allure of those pink nipples, beckoning for his touch. His mouth latches onto one and he runs his tongue around the dusky areola before grazing his teeth over the distended tip. She whimpers and bucks under his hand, growing wetter at each moment that passes.

“The chance to be with you without hiding from anyone,” he continues, moving to the other nipple and giving it the same treatment, his middle finger still working her in an agonizingly slow caress.

“Now that it’s here—” He shifts the finger back down to the entrance of her body, filling her with it, unable to help the groan that escapes him as he feels her clench around him.

“—I can hardly help myself,” he ends in a strangled groan. His desperation reaches a fever pitch. All he wants is for her to feel good, to shatter around him, to be brought to the brink and over the edge because of him—

“Show me what you want.” His voice sounds hoarse, pleading, even to his own ears. “What I can do to make you feel good.”

“How about,” she breathes, a slight sheen over her heated skin, “you use—” She breaks off, blushing slightly, before persevering. “How about you use your mouth instead? I’m enjoying your dexterity but—”

She breaks off with an awkward laugh, eyes going skyward as if she can’t believe her own gall. Her face is almost the same colour as her hair and if he wasn’t so worked up he would laugh, too.

“Say no more.”

He takes his time in kissing his way down her body, marking every pale freckle and scar he finds along the way. He moves over her stomach and she giggles breathlessly at the tickle of his stubble. Further down he goes, before finally he’s kissing her over the lace of her panties, breathing in the familiar scent of the most intimate part of her. Reaching up, he pulls the underwear down and off, sending them flying in the same general direction as his clothes’ heap.

He stares down at her for a beat, pink and red and perfect all over, her pale skin marred in places by the scratch of his beard, the rosy nipples beckoning him still, the neat tuft of dark auburn curls between her legs, her trembling thighs and shaky intakes of breath. Her Titian beauty strikes him once more and it’s all he can do, not to prostrate himself between her gorgeous thighs and worship at the altar of those private curls and glistening petals.

Instead, he approaches her with what he hopes is a shred of dignity, tucking his face between her legs and kissing the part of her that he covets the most. Savouring the intimate and familiar taste of her; the taste of coming home.

He feels her fingers thread through his hair, tugging almost sharply as her hips lift underneath his chin, but he’s too immersed in his task to notice. He runs his tongue over her in a measured rhythm, slipping a hand down once more to join in his ministrations, inserting one finger and then two, as she opens easily for him.

“Ohhh.” Her loud moan from above his head is nearly his undoing and he presses a hand against himself, hard, to stay his own desires for the moment.

“I love tasting you,” he murmurs against her, crooking his fingers slightly as he presses deeper inside her.

“I love the way you do it,” she pants in response. He can feel her unravelling, can feel it in the liquid heat surrounding his hands and mouth, can feel it in the increasingly erratic movement of her body beneath his.

“I want you so badly, Brooke,” he groans and, against the vibrations of his confession, she shatters.

She lets out a shout and he holds her in place as her body trembles, gooseflesh rising under his hands and on his cheek where it rests on her thigh. His own body feels shaky, tremulous, as he waits for her to come down.

“I want you to have me, Ethan,” she says finally, her voice hoarse and low. “Now.”

He almost weeps with relief.

“I was hoping you would say that. I honestly wasn’t sure I could hold off any longer—” His gratitude gets caught in his throat as she tremulously slides off of the desk and looks at him, almost bashfully, but with that familiar coyness that he’s grown to love.

She cups his face in her hands and their eyes meet, her greenish-hazel with his electric blue.

“Then don't.”

And then she turns and leans forward, forearms on his desk, ass propped up in front of him, those sky-high heels bringing her to the perfect level for—for—

Ethan feels the air depart his lungs in full force, his knees almost giving way underneath him. He looks at her bottom blankly, before searching her face. She’s smiling at him softly, those damn perfect teeth biting that damn bottom lip, a face perfectly designed to be the death of him. She inclines her chin slightly, as if to say: Are we doing this?

It’s all the permission he needs as he takes himself in hand and positions himself at the entrance of her body. Pushing back slightly, she accepts him immediately and easily, her back arching to take him further, deeper, as her palms flatten against the desk.

The moment he’s fully seated within her, she gasps, and that slight intake in breath is enough to almost make him come on the spot. Her gasp settles into a quiet moan as they find an easy rhythm, bodies moving together in perfect synchronicity.

“Ethan,” she says breathlessly, her fingertips pressing into the mahogany. “Harder.”

Thank Christ.

“I don’t know how much longer I can last,” he admits in a strangled tone as he feels the wholehearted pleasure of their union overwhelm him, body and soul. Never before has he felt such a connection beyond the physical. When she grasps him inside her, when he feels the clutch of her body, intimately connected to his, it’s an emotion beyond reasoning.

A hefty admission, for someone who’d structured his whole life around reason and reason alone.

But now, “reasonable” is a far cry from how he feels as he moves his hands over her body, tracing the arch of her spine, the curve of her waist, before settling there, thumbs almost touching across the span of her back as he rocks into her, his pleasure building by the second.

He groans loudly, unable to control himself. “You feel incredible, Brooke.”

She whimpers in response and he quickly checks her face to ensure she’s alright. All he sees is her flushed cheek pressed to the desk, her full lips parted in a soft, perpetual moan, the imprint of her heated palms leaving streaks on the dark, shining wood as she drags her hands to the edge of the desk and holds on tight.

His vision whites out and it’s all the warning he can give her—

“Brooke… I’m—”

“Yes, Ethan—!”

The force building inside of him erupts in a blinding flash of undulating pleasure, skyrocketing through every extremity of his body.

Brooke’s own cries echo through the empty office as he feels her body rhythmically clenching his oversensitized flesh. A wave of exhausted, satiated rapture threatens to overtake him as he braces his hands on the desk, his bare chest meeting her bare back. Once he’s certain his legs can hold him, his arms shift into an embrace, wrapping around her torso and gathering her cooling body against him.

He holds her tightly against him for a beat, before lifting her up effortlessly. Her head lolls against his shoulder as he carries her to the couch in his office. He sits first, shifting her weight in his lap, and then he lays back, bringing her back with him. As she settles herself into his chest, he finds himself kissing her hair over and over again, the feeling of total adoration threatening to spill from his chest.

They stay like that, wrapped around one another, for a moment or two when he hears her mumble something indiscernible against his shoulder. Stroking her hair back from her face, he tilts his chin down to look at her.

“Hmm?” he murmurs, wondering if his own gaze reflects the same heavy-lidded contentment that he sees in her eyes.

“I said, ‘do we have to go back’?” she repeats, her voice still a replete murmur.

He chuckles softly, kissing her head again. Go back. He knows that she’s referring to the Gala, to their friends and colleagues gathered on the first floor of the decorated hospital. But in Ethan’s mind, it’s a more involved and complicated question than that.

No, they’re not going back.

They won’t be going back to the way things were.

To secrecy and shame, to denial and frustration.

They also won’t be going back to the job they knew, in the ways that they’ve known it. Before touching his lips to hers in that public display he’d performed down there, he’d known exactly which direction the Diagnostics Team would be headed in and what that meant for him, for her, and for the nature of her relationship.

It had been a long time since Ethan had felt anything resembling superiority over Brooke and now, they would both truly be at the same level, in every way that mattered.

He smiles softly as he rubs his cheek against the top of her head, listening to her even breaths.

There still isn’t much that Dr Ethan Ramsey cares about.

But there is one thing.

And he wraps his arms around it even tighter.

#open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #choices open heart #open heart 2 #open heart fanfic #playchoices #open heart 2 fanfiction #Ethan POV #ethan ramsey fanfiction #ethan ramsey pov #oph #oh #oph2 #ophsy #oph fanfic #oph 2 fanfic #my fics

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rochiomaru · 3 years

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My Brother's Keeper

Things have been going well for the Family at Spider Miles. I continue to make plans to invade underground trades deeper within the Grand Line, the money is pouring in, and I have learned that Dressrosa has become ripe for the Donquixote lineage to return where we belong. I smile whenever I think of this land, as it is mine by right of my birth.

Those fools at Mariejois thought to take my royalty from me when they cast me from heaven, but my family ruled that land long before the Celestial Dragons became what they are now. Taking back this nation will be the first piece in shoving my bloodline down their fat, self-righteous throats! Finally, I shall be acknowledged as the king that I was born to be and can stop living in this trash heap. I can begin to provide more for my family and to give them all they deserve!

A part of me thinks that everything is lies, but I ignore these troubling thoughts. My family loves me and have been here for me since I was ten years old. My brother has come back to me and stands at my right hand. How can it be anything other than perfect?

It is what I have always dreamed of. And now with Law here, my little family somehow feels complete. Not that I would love the other children less. That is why I gave them devil fruits to make them stronger, just as Trebol did for me. It’s what you do for those you care for. You give them ways to protect themselves and those they love, as well as the power to take revenge on those who hurt them. To make them invincible to the world!

There’s a small feeling of uneasiness in the back of my mind as I think of Trebol. The voices like to mock me, saying that he is using me. However, I know he loves and worships me. Without him, I would have died years ago… Right? I shake my head to clear the unwelcome feeling and refocus my attention on Law.

I haven’t really seen him around since the other night at dinner. I can feel the frown deepen on my face as I remember the cruel way some of the others treated the boy. I have been gathering devil fruits and either using them, or selling them for a while now, but there is one that I have been unable to reach that would be of great use, I think.

The Ope Ope no Mi. The power of this fruit would undoubtedly save his life and would allow him to heal others. He was already training to be a doctor with his biological family. Maybe he will allow me to adopt him into my family and continue his education. Once I find that fruit, Law will be unstoppable. He will be my successor. My own son. The smile on my face practically hurts, but I do not remember having been this happy before. Not even before my family broke when we left heaven.

I call for Machvise and Giolla to go and find him for me before going into my room to read. I take off my glasses and drink some wine to try and relax after a long day. I do not even notice the world beginning to fade away when suddenly I am there again.

I can feel my body struggle against the villagers, but the flames are hot against my skin! The ropes are again digging into my flesh and the blood is pounding in my ears. The pain is so much! Please make it stop! I can sense the arrow loosed towards my brother when the power wrenches from my stomach.

The next thing I know, I am again in my room, covered in sweat, and I can’t breathe. I lean forward, gasping for air, but the tightness in my chest will not relax. I reach for my sunglasses, and though they bring me some relief, the bottle of wine next to them is a welcome sight. I grab the bottle and begin to drink without even bothering to use my glass. Anything to drown the memories and thoughts that come from these nightmares. I don’t even care how I must look right now. For a moment I wonder what it was that brought this on after so many months of being free from this problem.

However, as the world comes back into focus, my attention is taken from my musing and I notice what must have woken me. The transponder snail keeps his incessant ringing until I pick up the receiver. Ah. It seems they have found Law. I throw down the bottle and the sound of breaking glass barely even registers. I will have Baby 5 come clean it up later, as I have far more important things to attend to now.

Once I make my way into one of our common areas, I see that Rosinante is already there. He looks at me and appears to get up to leave. I shake my head at him and smile. “Please stay, brother. I would like you here for this.”

He nods and pulls out a cigarette. I reach over to light it for him to ensure he does not set himself on fire again. As I watch him take a drag, I smile softly. He is truly my light and the one to save me from myself. We are the same and I know that he will take my pain and save me from these demons that constantly scream in my head. I was so lost before he returned to me. I wonder if he felt lost too?

I am about to tell him my plans for Law, as I want him to understand how important it will be for me to have a son to carry on the Donquixote legacy. I know my brother doesn’t like children, but if he would just give Law a chance, I know he would see the same thing I do! He would see the same piece in him that is in us. The same pain, the same potential, the same power…

I go to say something to my brother when there is movement at the door and my family has returned with Law carried between them. He looks angry, but that is nothing new. I smile at the boy and watch as they tossed him to the ground. I glared at the two of them and let a piece of my haki catch their attention. Apparently, they did not understand my intentions the other night at dinner. Well, at least after this moment, Law’s place here will be undeniably clear.

“Law, I called you in for just one thing. I’ve decided to welcome you to the Donquixote family officially.” I sat back and genuinely enjoyed watching Law’s mouth drop open in shock. I’m not sure why he thought he had been summoned before me, but I know he did not expect this. I was expecting some push back from my family, but fortunately they seemed to be happy for the boy and are congratulating him.

I feel like I should explain myself to him. He is, after all, going to be my son in all but blood. “Because you went through such a horrible experience, you got that incomparable hateful look in your eyes.” I look into his eyes. “You have the quality.”

Giolla puts her hand on his head and begins fawning over the boy while going on about my “vision”, but he seems to reject her assessment, bringing up his illness. The voices are clamoring within my mind, but I don’t care because this is such a happy day for me! I’m going to have a son and I will raise and protect him. I will give him a place in ten years as my legacy to the world, so how would I ever let him die?

I begin to laugh and tell him it depends on his luck, though I know it has nothing to do at all with luck. He was destined to become the son of a god. I have the blood of celestial dragons in me, whether the fools at Mariejois were willing to let me and my brother back into heaven or not. The voices and that power are swelling inside my core and I am beginning to become overwhelmed in it all.

I told Law about the devil fruits and that there are types that could heal him, though I did not mention the exact one I have in mind for him. That will come for later. I also told him that in ten years I want him for my second in command. I know that the boy is still skittish and very prideful. I want him to build bonds with me and the other family members before I push him too fast. I’ve already given him a lot of information, so I will see if he will grasp the opportunity presented to him.

At that moment Rosinante begins to cough and my attention is taken away from Law. As I look towards my brother, I suddenly feel like all the air has been sucked from my lungs and the smile is wiped from my face. I force myself to stay calm as I see blood covering Rosi’s side.

For the slightest of moments, even the voices have gone completely silent and everything is numb inside at the sight of his shirt soaked in dark red liquid, though he appears to be trying to hide the spot beneath his hand. In the back of my mind, the only thought I can form is that the villagers got my brother with their arrows. My brother is going to die!

At that thought, a hurricane unleashes inside me and the demons begin to howl and rage! Who would dare to harm my precious baby brother? Do they not realize that he is descended from gods? I fight back the swarming madness and keep my face calm, but my fists clench from the efforts and my frown deepens. When I ask Rosi what happened, I am surprised to hear how controlled my voice sounds.

He writes a note to say that an enemy has done this to him, but it does nothing to quell the tempest that is beginning to storm within me. I can feel the violence within me increasing as I picture the vengeance I plan on taking on whoever did this to my brother. I will make an example of them that the whole world will know to not fuck with my family!

I ask if he took care of them, just to try and get more information from him. I don’t understand why he didn’t say anything to me in the first place. Perhaps when he sees how I rip this enemy to shreds with my strings, and pull the flesh from their bones slowly while they bleed out and scream for hours, he will then understand how much I love him? I would do anything to keep him safe and punish anyone that would dare harm him! He can trust me to save him, just as he’s saving me. We are family, and that's what you do!

He answers me by writing that he finished the enemy off. The pressure on my heart relaxes and I calm the thoughts that torment me, but the wound still bothers me. I can’t lose my brother. “That’s good. Get it treated, okay?” is all I trust myself to say at that moment.

I reach over to pat Rosi on the shoulder and look once more at Law. He looks like he’s in shock, perhaps at my offer to raise him to be my heir? This makes my heart swell with pride, but I can’t deal with my brother’s pain at this moment and don’t dwell on it long. I can feel myself begin to slip into the darkness again and need to go out for some air. I ask Giolla to get medical attention for my brother as I pass her on my way out, and she responds she will get someone right away. I thank her and move on quickly past the others.

As I move to one of my favorite spots to sit on the rails outside of the buildings, I watch the waves crash against the garbage on the shores and try to breathe. I know that my brother can take care of himself, but when I look at him, I see my moth… I see her and I just want to protect him with everything I have. I lost him once and will not lose him again!

The voices began to scream again that he was lying to me and wanted me dead, but I pushed them aside and continued to watch the waves. I know my brother loves me. He is my heart and my salvation. One day, I know we are going to rule the world together.

#donquixote doflamingo #donquixote rosinante #my demons #drabbles #one piece #doffy #love that flamingo #trafalgar law

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wonkasmissstarshine · 4 years

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The Chocolatier’s Rose {Willy Wonka x OC} Ch. 1

So this story was originally published on Wattpad, but I’ve decided to post it on here as well since some of you may not have an account on there. I want you guys to be able to enjoy it as well. There will be a tag list for this so if you enjoy the story, then you can ask to be tagged for future chapters.

GIF not mine. Credit goes to owner.

Summary: Rose Bucket is Charlie Bucket’s older sister. She works as a waitress at Mrs. Mason’s Magical Pies to earn some money for her family. She loves her family, she loves her job and she loves her boss. But what she doesn’t love is unwanted attention from her stuck-up “suitor”

A/N: Rose’s face claim is Lily James as Cinderella (for those who didn’t know that) so that’s why she’s up there.

Tagging: @holdmeicant @willymywonkers

It was a normal day for Rosalie Bucket. She worked at Mrs. Mason's Magical Pies as a waitress. Rose loved working for Mrs. Mason. She was such a kind woman, whom often treated Rose like her own daughter, and even treated Charlie like her own son whenever he came in to wait for his sister. And she was always willing to let a pie go home to the Bucket family.

Rose always felt guilty for the fact that she never paid for one, but Mrs. Mason assured her that it was fine.

The Buckets weren't the wealthiest family in the world; they barely even got by. But, they had each other, and that was the most important thing.

A bell above the door rang, indicating that a customer walked through the door. Rose, who was in the middle of sleeping the floor, looked up to see that her brother had entered the small cafe.

"Afternoon, Charlie!" Rose greeted him. Charlie always stopped by after school to wait for Rose to finish her shift. They always walked home together.

Charlie smiled at his beloved sister. "Afternoon, Rosie" He took a seat at a table close to the big window.

Mrs. Mason emerged from the kitchen. "Is that my dear boy?" She said, her face covered in flour. Mrs. Mason grinned when she saw Charlie. She walked over to him and ruffled his hair. "Hello, dear Charlie! How are you today?"

"I'm fine, Mrs. Mason" Charlie smiled at the woman. "How are you?"

"Couldn't be better, Charlie! How about a piece of pie?" Mrs. Mason always offered Charlie a piece. "I've got a nice piece of blueberry with your name on it!"

"Thank you" He said politely.

Rose smiled at her brother. "Make sure not to spoil dinner"

"I won't. I promise" Charlie said to her. Mrs. Mason brought the pie over to the table and set it in front of him. She even gave him a cup of hot chocolate.

"It's a bit cold out today. Thought you might like some" Mrs. Mason winked. Charlie thanked her yet again, and began eating the pie. He took slow bites out of it, savouring the warmth from the pastry.

Rose has finished sweeping, and was ready to move onto cleaning the dishes. It would be her last task for the day. She started scrubbing away at the dishes when Mrs. Mason approached her. "Rose dear, that boy is back and he's asking for you"

Rose wiped her hands on her apron and peered into the dining room. She saw a blonde haired man, around her age, sitting at the table with Charlie. That man was Harry Roberts. "Oh, Mrs. Mason, please get rid of him!"

"My dear, just tell the boy the truth" Mrs. Mason told the girl. "You don't love the boy, you barely even think of him as a friend. Why marry someone you're barely even friends with?"

Harry was quite smitten with Rose from the first day he walked into the cafe and laid eyes on her. However, the same couldn't be said for Rose. It wasn't that Harry was a terrible person, (although sometimes it felt like he was following her on occasion) it's just that Rose didn't feel the same way as he did. She merely saw Harry as an acquaintance, and besides, she was too busy with working and trying to provide for her family. She was lucky if she was able to buy a bread roll to eat with their cabbage soup.

And that's what brings us to Harry's many attempted marriage proposals. He knew very well of the Bucket's situation. Harry was always proposing the idea of marriage to Rose, on the basis that it would save her family. He also added the promise that her family could live with them.

But, Rose always refused. She didn't love the boy. Even though it would be good for her family, she didn't want to be stuck in a one-sided marriage. She didn't want to live with that guilt.

Mr and Mrs Bucket were aware of Harry's proposals. Rose would always tell them, "Maybe I should marry him. We could have a better house and we wouldn't have to live off of cabbage soup"

But her parents always assured her, "Darling, we don't want you getting married until it's with someone you truly do love"

Rose took a big sigh and stepped out of the kitchen. With a forced smile, she approached the table occupied by her brother and her suitor. "Harry"

Harry smiles up at the young woman. "Rose" He spoke her name softly. He grabbed her hand and brought it up to his lips. "I still can't get over how beautiful you look, even in your uniform"

Rose glanced down at what she was wearing: a blue dress, a white apron and her Mary Jane shoes.

By now, Charlie had finished his piece of pie. He watched the two people in front of him, but kept his eye mostly on his sister. He knew the smile on her face wasn't a genuine one.

"How can I help you, Harry?" Rose asked, just wanting this conversation over with.

"You know why I'm here, Rose" Harry's tone seemed to grow darker. The girl scoffed and turned around to go back into the kitchen. But Harry had grabbed her wrist with a tight grip.

"Harry, you're hurting me!" Rose yelped. He gripped her wrist with such force that she was sure a bruise or some kind of mark would be left. "Let me go!" Harry didn't.

That is until Charlie spoke up. "She asked you to let go" His voice was soft, but it made Harry let go. Truth be told, he just didn't want to seem like a monster in front of the boy.

Charlie looked up at his sister. He saw a tear run down her face. He reached up to wipe it away from her. Rose gave him a soft smile.

At this point, Mrs. Mason came out of the kitchen, waving a rolling pin around. "The girl told you to leave, so I think it's best that you go!"

"Y-yes, ma'am" Harry sputtered. He wasn't going to lie, Mrs. Mason scared him a little.

"And if I see you lay one more hand on this girl, I'll use this rolling pin to flatten you like dough. Do I make myself clear?"

Harry nodded once more before running out of the shop. Once he was gone, Rose broke out into tears. "Oh, sweetheart" Mrs. Mason cooed. She rubbed Rose's back. "I'll make sure he never comes back in here to bother you again" She looked at the young Bucket boy. "Would you grab your sister's coat from the kitchen? I'm sending her home early"

Charlie went into the kitchen. Mrs. Mason still attempted to comfort Rose. "And I'll send you home with another pie for your family"

"Oh, please, Mrs. Mason! I can't let you do that!" Rose pleaded with her. "I know business hasn't been what it used to be these days and I—"

"It's alright, dear" Mrs. Mason assured her. She made her way into the kitchen just as Charlie came out with Rose's coat.

"Are you going to be alright, Rosie?" Charlie asked as he helped his sister put on her jacket.

"I will be, Charlie. Thank you" Rose smiled at him, wrapping her arms around him in a hug. "Mrs. Mason is letting us bring a pie home for dessert tonight"

As if on cue, Mrs. Mason came out with the pie. This one was cherry. "One cherry pie for the Bucket family" She gave the pie to Charlie. She then reached into her pocket and pulled out some money. "And buy yourself a loaf of bread. Something to go with that cabbage soup"

"Mrs. Mason, I couldn't—"

"It's alright, my dear"

Charlie gave an appreciative smile to the woman. "Thank you, Mrs. Mason"

"It's my pleasure, Charlie! Please say hello to your parents and grandparents for me, yes?"

"We will Mrs. Mason" Rose said. "Thank you" She grabbed Charlie's hand and the two of them left the cafe.

Mrs. Mason watched them walk away with a sad smile on her face. Her shop wasn't going to last much longer, and she knew Rose needed the money. Mrs. Mason didn't know what she was going to tell the poor girl.

And that Harry boy was getting more aggressive with each passing day. It wasn't going be long before he forces Rose into a marriage by physical measures. But the fact that he loomed Rose's poverty over her head, and tried to use that against her was bad enough.

But little did anyone know, that the Bucket's luck was about to change.

#willy wonka x oc #willy wonka x reader #willy wonka #rose bucket #my oc #rose and willy #the chocolatier's rose

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varric-tethras-editor · 3 years

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Silvhen Mahariel OC Answers

I found this template by @justafewocprompts and decided to tell everyone about my Warden Silvhen Mahariel. It quickly got away from me and became.... quite long.

Please enjoy.

Character’s full name:

Silvhen Linise Mahariel

Reason or meaning of name:

Silvhen: sal’melin, given name, mean. Someone who thinks of others before herself, lit. “thought people, thought of people”

Linise: lenal’melin, Mother’s name, mean. Child of fire

Mahariel: lethal’melin, clan name

Character’s nickname:

“Silvhenan”

Reason for nickname:

Alistair Theirin thinks he is immensely cute and funny with his girlfriend. He learned that the Elvhen word for “heart” was vhenan and decided to get clever.

Birth date:

29 Kingsmere, 9:11 Dragon

Physical appearance:

Reference photos (will be eventually) provided

Age:

18 at the start of Fifth Blight

How old does he/she appear:

Representative of actual age, but is short and small.

Weight:

105

Height:

5’0

Body build:

Very small frame with surprising dense muscle in arms, abs, and thighs.

Shape of face:

Oval with petite chin

Eye color:

Forest green

Glasses or contacts:

N/a

Skin tone:

Porcelain with rosy, windswept cheeks

Distinguishing marks:

Mauve, brown twisting, vine-like vallaslin

Predominant features:

Petite, pointed ears

Hair color:

Light Wheat-Toned Blonde

Type of hair:

Fine but thick with silky texture

Hairstyle:

Short pixie cut

Voice:

Higher-pitched and chime-like.

Overall attractiveness: Decently attractive, but often overlooked. Figuratively, and literally. She’s small.

Physical disabilities:

Only has 7 toes. Lost three when she was 13 and on her (first) mission to move from apprentice to hunter. She claims this is the reason for her clumsiness but her companions have seen her slice through darkspawn too effectively to believe that excuse any longer.

Usual fashion of dress:

When exploring or wandering around she wears typical fennec leather or wolf leather leggings and cloth tunics cinched at the waist with belts; both for combat enhancement and because most clothes are too big. Foot wraps because she is a Good Dalish Girl.

Favorite outfit:

She wore a skirt for the first time this year when Leliana leant one to her for a tavern outing one night in Denerim. Despite knowing the vast impracticalities of skirts, Silvhen could not stop admiring how it twirled around her and she felt very pretty that night. (Especially when Alistair couldn’t keep his eyes off her legs and the blush off his cheeks.)

Jewelry or accessories:

Usually wearing various enhancing pendants and rings. Always wears a special silver ring that Morrigan found in a Denerim market and bought for her. Silvhen knows the importance of the gesture and never takes it off.

Personality

Very kind and selfless. Slow to anger and quick to compromise. Effervescent and clumsy. Loves to laugh and smile. She has a strong sense of community and prioritizes others, always.

Good personality traits:

Magnanimous, always sharing and giving to others. Very diplomatic even though it intimidates her to be a Grey Warden sometimes. Patient and quick to come up with solutions. Immensely friendly and welcoming to all people regardless of race, class, or background. Remembers absolutely everything about her friends (birthdays, preferences, favorite things, etc.) and loves being able to finally give gifts freely.

Bad personality traits:

Over-trusting, impulsive, bad at math and payment due to growing up with trading in her clan. She often gets taken advantage of by merchants if she is shopping alone. (Wynne has noticed this and usually tries to follow Silvhen around the markets to glare at any merchants who try any shady business.) She also likes to start a lot of projects/missions/quests and abandon them when she gets distracted. Oftentimes she is already looting the bodies before the fighting is over and her companions do not appreciate it. They usually overlook it, however, when Silvhen shares all the gold and goods that she finds.

Mood character is most often in:

Casual and agreeable.

Sense of humor:

Light sparkling laughs when others make jokes. Not loud or overly joking herself, but loves being entertained by her friends. (She thinks Zevran is the funniest of all her companions but would never admit that out loud to Alistair.)

Character’s greatest joy in life:

Meeting new people, from all walks of life. Especially all her new, interesting, and diverse companions!

Character’s greatest fear: Losing all her friends. And the Archdemon.

Why?

Her friends are the reason she perseveres and fights for a safe Fereldan and without them everything would be for nothing.

Have you seen that creature? It is huge and scary and Silvhen is very small.

What single event would most throw this character’s life into complete turmoil?

Well, she’s already lost her childhood best friend, had to forcibly become a Grey Warden, and learned that she is to be the saviour of all of Ferelden during the Fifth Blight so nothing else could probably really phase Silvhen at this point. Maybe if she woke up with nug arms it would be pretty difficult to use her daggers though…

Character is most at ease when:

Sitting around the campfire with her companions, drinking Oghren’s ale, listening to Leliana’s music and trying to hide her laughter when Morrigan and Zevran tease Alistair.

Most ill at ease when:

Having to deal with political leaders or nobles. She always remains kind but gets nervous about the consequences of her making a political or social gaffe.

Enraged when:

People belittle her and her race/culture or when people imply she cannot do something because she is an elf or a woman. This is the only time when her kindness slips, usually. All of her companions relish the moment that someone says a slur or offensive comment because they find it very entertaining to watch her tell off bigots.

Depressed or sad when:

She is alone. Being lonely makes her sad, but also she will usually only express her sadness when alone. She doesn’t want to risk making other people sad alongside her.

Priorities:

Beat up the Archdemon

Save Ferelden and her friends

Spend the rest of her life making Alistair Theirin know how loved he is

Life philosophy:

Be kind to everyone and everything. The world will repay what you provide, always.

If granted one wish, it would be: That she could travel with more than 3 of her companions at any given time.

Why?

She feels bad when her friends have to be left behind. She feels fortunate to see as many amazing places as she does and wishes she could always share that with ALL her companions!

Character’s soft spot:

Her companions.

Is this soft spot obvious to others?

Yes. She literally never shuts up about how much she adores her companions. She gets drunk in taverns after one mug of Ale and starts gushing to strangers about her love for her companions. Sometimes she doesn’t even need the mug of ale.

Greatest strength:

Her empathy and compassion.

Greatest vulnerability or weakness:

Her empathy and compassion.

Biggest regret:

Not being able to save Tamlen, and feeling like she gave up on him.

Minor regret:

Stealing her dad’s staff to “practice magic” in the forest when she was 6. She had never seen him scared before, and that was the night she learned about Templars.

Biggest accomplishment:

Becoming a Grey Warden and helping to save the people of Ferelden.

Minor accomplishment:

Winning the rock skipping contest at the last Arlathvhen. Of almost 200 Dalish contestants she bested everyone and won an ironbark dagger.

Past failures he/she would be embarrassed to have people know about:

It took her two tries to eventually move from apprentice to hunter. She attempted the first time right after turning 13. She finally succeeded when she was 15 and had worked on developing her patience further.

Why?

She was very gifted, but impulsive when she was young. She felt she had much to prove since her father was a mage (the clan’s First under Marethari Talas) and she was not. She was eager to prove herself and instead was very hurt. She ended up losing three toes in the end, instead of her whole foot, but was very embarrassed and felt she let down her Father. She tells everyone that she lost her toe in the second hunting excursion and doesn’t tell anyone about her first attempt.

Character’s darkest secret:

Silvhen desperately wishes that she would have been born a mage, like her late father.

Does anyone else know?

Not anymore, but she thinks that she might eventually confide this in Alistair. Tamlen was the only person she had ever told.

Goals

Drives and motivations:

Making the world a better and kinder place. Keeping people safe and making them feel loved.

Immediate goals:

Gather allies. Slay the Archdemon. Save Ferelden from the Blight. Find a place that serves authentic Dalish Hot Pot Stew.

Long term goals:

One day, once Fereldan is safe, she would like to settle down with Alistair and spend her entire future loving him and being loved in return. She also wants to be a mother, but keeps this dream a lot closer to her chest.

How the character plans to accomplish these goals:

With the help and support of her companions!

How other characters will be affected:

There will be lots of bruises and scrapes. Some broken bones and many gauges. Scars will form, but so will friendships.

Past

Hometown:

Nomadic Dalish

Type of childhood:

Raised by members of the community as well as her single father. Her mother passed at child birth, due to poor maternal mortality rates among the Dalish.

Pets:

Silvhen was given a Halla by her father after she lost her toes to help aid in her recovery. She named her Atisha, meaning peace or calm as a reminder that impulsivity would not yield positive results. Atisha has become positively enamored with Morrigan, much to her displeasure. Silvhen likes to say it’s because Morrigan wears so many shiny baubles, and that attracts Atisha to her. Morrigan scoffs at this, but Silvhen has caught Morrigan shape shifting and calmly wandering the forests with Atisha when no one at camp was paying attention.

First memory:

Her father performing magic tricks for her as a child in their aravel.

Most important childhood memory:

Becoming friends with Tamlen. He had fallen down on the outskirts of camp and scraped his knee and was afraid to tell his mother that he had snuck out of camp. Silvhen brought him home to her father who healed his knee with magic.

Why:

Tamlen was her best friend for her entire childhood. They grew up alongside one another because Tamlen’s mother was neglectful and abusive. Silvhen realized later that her father, by healing Tamlen’s knee, had saved him from a rough punishment. Tamlen was the person she confided everything in. They spent all of their time together, shared jokes and tears. When Tamlen’s mother passed away when they were 12 he was essentially raised by Dianisamhal, Silvhen’s father for the years until Dianisamhal died.

Childhood hero:

Her father

Dream job:

Keeper (impossible and secret due to her not being a mage)

Education:

Homeschooled in a sense. Given the traditional Dalish education which consisted of more lessons in culture and lore, hunting, survival skills, and clan trades. Was mostly illiterate until becoming a Grey Warden. Alistair helps her learn words that are more difficult by reading posters around markets.

Religion:

Taught extensively about Dalish and Elvhen lore and gods. The Creators were prayed to and honored while growing up in her clan.

Finances:

Living in the clan they didn’t have much of a class system or difference in wealth versus their neighbors.

Present

Current location:

Wherever her travels have taken her today. Anywhere in Ferelden at any given moment.

Currently living with:

Her companions! They all share tents while travelling but she usually tries to share with Alistair most nights because she gets very cold and she likes how big and warm and safe his body feels.

Pets:

Her halla, Atisha, and her Mabari, Doghren.

Religion:

Believes in the Dalish gods casually and culturally. Not exceedingly devout but does believe.

Occupation:

Grey Warden

Finances:

She is not to be trusted with any of the parties finances. She does not understand how the Thedosian currency operates and is consistently overcharged and overpays. She is also too kind for her own good so she is constantly giving coin to strangers and beggars. (The only time she did not give coin to a person asking was when dealing with Goldana, Alistair’s horrid sister. Silvhen wanted to give that lady nothing more than a swift slap to the face.) The others no longer trust her judgement or knowledge in money and make sure she never has more than 2 gold on her at any given moment, for emergencies.

Family

Mother:

Linise Aralla Mahariel (mean. Child of fire. [Linise was born in the Denerim Alienage during a fire that encompassed many of the buildings.]) (mean.

Relationship with her:

Passed during childbirth. Her father does not talk about her mother incredibly often but she cherishes the stories and information she does have from both him and from old journals of her mothers who was a writer and poet.

Father:

Dianisamahl Eolaselan Mahariel (mean. Filled with laughter.) (mean. Knower, an agent of knowledge.)

Relationship with him:

Silvhen loves her father very much and had a wonderful relationship with him. Unfortunately he was killed by bandits attacking the clan. Silvhen was 16 when this happened and was devastated.

Siblings:

None, only child.

Relationship with them:

N/A

Spouse:

None

Relationship with him/her:

N/A

Children:

None

Relationship with them:

N/A

Other important family members:

Tamlen was always considered a sort of family member for Silvhen. He spent most nights with Silvhen and her father eating dinner together and playing.

Favorites

Color:

Green

Least favorite color:

Red

Music:

Anything Leliana plays is immediately Silvhen’s new favorite song. You can find her gently humming them for a few days afterwards, without fail.

Food:

Growing up Dalish she never had a terribly diverse cuisine. Now that she travels all over Ferelden she tries new things, but still typically prefers to eat stews, jerky, and vegetables. However, she has grown to appreciate hot, sweet rolls that some bakeries make.

Literature:

She was mostly illiterate in common until joining the Grey Wardens. She used to read her father’s Elvhen magic manuals though, and found them very interesting. She also loved listening to the clan’s hah’ren tell stories to the children and often joined in the tellings.

Form of entertainment:

Her friends are where she derives much of her entertainment. They are all so diverse, humorous, and interesting! She really enjoys observing and people watching, and asking questions about others.

Expressions:

She doesn’t have many common phrases that she uses. Mostly lots of laughter.

Mode of transportation:

Walking, mostly.

Most prized possession:

The rose that Alistair gave her, and the journal/sketchbooks of her parents.

Habits

Hobbies:

Now that she is learning to read common better she has been enjoying reading various books. She still struggles with adult novels but she found few advanced children’s tales in a Denerim bookshop and reads them in the morning when her companions are still asleep. She also enjoys taking walks around nature and finding various flowers and leaves to pick and press. She keeps a journal of all her favorite flowers she has come across while exploring.

Plays a musical instrument?

No. And she cannot sing well either.

Plays a sport?

No. But she does hunt.

How he/she would spend a rainy day:

The same as any other day? There are still things that need to get done and water doesn’t stop that!

Spending habits:

We know how Silvhen is about this and we love her anyway.

Smokes:

Silvhen and Tamlen definitely would sneak away in their adolescent years to smoke various versions of elfroot and deep mushroom once in a while. Occasionally while walking through the forests in Southern Ferelden she spots the best kinds and brings them back to camp where she and Zevran stay up late and giggle with one another around the campfire.

Drinks:

Occasionally she will have a drink or two socially with her friends but cannot consume much due to her being so small and such an infrequent drinker. She does enjoy making out with Alistair while drunk though, so he often has to watch her while they go out to taverns together to make sure she behaves herself.

Other drugs:

She has concocted a mixture of various root powders to help with either energy or calmness. She uses thee as needed and gives servings to her companions as well. Wynne and Morrigan keep asking her for the recipe but she won’t share it with them.

What does he/she do too much of?

Overthink her decisions.

What does he/she do too little of?

Indulge in things for herself.

Extremely skilled at:

Hunting and using every part of an animal. She is quick and efficient with her kills. Then she creates wonderful stews and jerkys from the meats, she uses the bones for glue and crafts and to make beads. She uses the hides for leathers and clothing or armors. All of her companions seem thoroughly impressed by this trait but Sten especially so. After watching her do this ritual from start to finish one afternoon he called her “kadan” for the first time. She has never forgotten that moment.

Extremely unskilled at:

Cooking, except for her smoked jerky she makes from her hunts, which her companions adore. The rest of the meat she must give to Sten and Wynne who prepare most of the meals at camp.

Nervous tics:

When she is uncertain or anxious, and her hair has gotten too long she twirls the tiny pieces around the edges of her neck. She usually cuts it short for this reason, as well as practicality.

Usual body posture:

She almost always stands very straight because she is short, and slouching wouldn’t do any favors.

Mannerisms:

Very casual and breezy among her friends or common folk. More timid around leaders or nobles.

Peculiarities:

Her accent is quite prominent and it sounds odd but endearing with her higher pitched voice.

Traits

Optimist or pessimist?

Optimist

Introvert or extrovert?

She gets her energy from being around people but isn’t always outwardly exuberant. She laughs along and joins in the conversation but isn’t the center of attention or the loudest in a room.

Daredevil or cautious?

As a child she was impulsive, but learned patience with age and practice.

Logical or emotional?

Logical

Disorderly and messy or methodical and neat?

Methodical and neat.

Prefers working or relaxing?

Working.

Confident or unsure of himself/herself?

Quietly confident. She is a little worried about how she will face the archdemon, but knows that she has friends and allies to help her.

Animal lover?

Yes

Self-perception

How he/she feels about himself/herself:

She is generally pleased with the person that she is, however she doesn’t feel as though she’s done anything truly “great” in her life so far to make her mark on the world. She’s eternally grateful to Duncan for not only saving her life but also for giving her the opportunity to achieve that greatness.

One word the character would use to describe self:

Considerate

One paragraph description of how the character would describe self:

A Dalish elf who travels with those she loves and tries to do the best for others. Loves the nature that surrounds us and the people that inhabit it. Wants to make the world a better place through kindness, compromise, and laughter.

What does the character consider his/her best personality trait?

Her patience

What does the character consider his/her worst personality trait?

Naivety

What does the character consider his/her best physical characteristic?

Her smile and lips.

What does the character consider his/her worst physical characteristic?

Her ears, but simply because she thinks they are too small. Other elvhen children used to tease her and call her a “shem” because her ears were smaller and less pointed, so to compensate when she turned of age she chose a very deliberate and bold Vallaslin to ensure that everyone she met would immediately know she was an elf.

How do the people in the character's life view him/her:

The literal most kind person they’re ever met. Alistair sometimes secretly believes she might be divinely blessed because he has never in his whole life met someone so kind and considerate and patient and Maker’s breath how did he get so lucky to be cared about by someone like her he’s no one special-- *Silvhen kisses him to shut him up*

What would the character most like to change about himself/herself:

She would like to have a better understanding of the world outside of life lived in a Dalish clan. She loved her upbringing but sometimes she feels overwhelmed and insecure as a result of things like money, politics, and street smarts.

Relationships with others

Opinion of other people in general:

She thinks people are the most beautiful things about the world. Growing up Dalish she loved the land but she’s always had a fascination with people. She finds other races and cultures interesting and enlightening and enjoys hearing tales from all over Thedas.

Does the character hide his/her true opinions and emotions from others?

Not usually. She prefers to be sad while alone, however.

Person character most hates:

Goldana, Loghain, and (secretly) Isolde and Eamon. Basically, any human who has ever wronged Alistair.

Best friend(s):

Tamlen (childhood through start of blight)

Alistair, and Leliana now.

Love interest(s):

Alistair Theirin <3

Person character goes to for advice:

When she wants validation she goes to Leliana. When she wants tough love she goes to Wynne. When she wants to get the truth fast and dirty she goes to Zevran. (Or when it’s about sex she goes to Zevran.)

Person character feels responsible for or takes care of:

Herself. Her pets. Alistair, in an emotional sense.

Person character feels shy or awkward around:

Politicians and Nobles.

Person character openly admires:

Alistair, Alistair, and Alistair. Also, Leliana.

Person character secretly admires:

Wynne and Morrigan. Silvhen sees Wynne as a sort of Mother figure that she never quite had. Silvhen thinks Morrigan is the most fascinating human she has ever met but usually doesn’t bring this up because she knows Alistair doesn’t care for her and that her fascination would make Morrigan uncomfortable.

Most important person in character’s life before story starts:

Her Father and Tamlen.

After story starts:

Alistair, and all of her companions.

#silvhen #mahariel #dragon age #dragon age origins #dao #my ocs #oc prompts #oc answers #TELL ME WHAT U LUV ABT MY OC PLS SHE WANTS VALIDATION #silvhen mahariel

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