#mantra to stop marriage

[temis-de-leon]

Pick me girls and Dateables - Part 3

Characters: Diavolo, Barbatos, Solomon and Simeon (x reader, separately)

Part 1 - Lucifer, Mammon and Levi (x reader, separately)

Part 2 - Satan, Asmo, Beel and Belphie (x reader, separately)

Masterlist

CW: pick me girl behavior, suggestive, mentions of sex, mentions of violence and threats, mentions of concubines (no concubines, tho), implied marriage (??), jealous mc, some fluff, some hurt, some comfort, the most ooc out of every part of the series, Barbatos's part is based on one of his chats (A patissier's suffering?)

A/N at the end.

.

Diavolo

So the Devildom had concubines, what about it? It's not like Diavolo had any concubines. You were his only partner and, apparently, the first one in a long while. You had nothing to worry about.

Still, it was impossible not to feel so dejected when every single one of the demons in his court buttered him up so blatantly, not caring that you were next to him, arms linked and fingers intertwined.

And he smiled. Of course, what else could he do but smile? He had a duty to fulfill and that probably meant keeping certain people happy, right?

At least, that was the mantra in your head. Your heart kept hurting itself, but having a reason made it manageable.

"Well? Have you thought about it?"

You turned to your side and stared at the demoness beside you. She was mesmerizing and looking at her directly made you lose focus.

Have I thought about it? I haven't stop thinking about it.

"Remember that I'm acting on behalf of his wellbeing" she said sweetly, caressing your wrist like she wanted to flirt with you "And I guess I could make you happy too"

That made you laugh without an ounce of humor. Both of you knew she wasn't being serious about that one and you wondered why she said it in the first place. Making her Diavolo's concubine would make her his wife in everything but paper. Did she expect giving you orgasms would make you happier about it?

"Leave me alone" you whispered against your drink, not trusting your voice to act decently.

"How can you be so selfish?" she spat, leaving you speechless "This is for his own good. How long will you live, human? Do you expect him to be alone after your death? My only wish is to keep him company once you're gone and starting now would make the transition easier. He'll still love you, sure, but this way he could be happier. How can you not understand something so simple?"

A demon she was, you remembered. Had you been a regular human, you would've believed her concerned face, but to you it was obvious how impatient she was and how much she wanted to leave you there, alone and breaking, so she could finally speak to Diavolo.

"MC"

Both of you jumped, turning around just to see Barbatos's unfazed smile.

"Lord Diavolo asks for you" he informed when you didn't answer, too surprised to react. "Follow me if you please"

"If I may" intervened your companion, close to giving you a heart attack "I must speak to Prince Diavolo. It's an urgent matter"

The butler looked at you, asking for your permission, but you didn't know how to react. It seemed your throat decided to stop working at that exact moment.

"Very well, then"

The demoness eagerly jumped at his words, not wasting a second in leaving the corner you were occupying to look for the prince, who had finally stopped talking to his subjects and was sitting alone in his throne.

Barbatos stared at her before offering you his arm.

"You have nothing to worry about"

He seemed confident, so you believed him. However, the distance you walked towards the throne felt longer than ever.

Your boyfriend looked unnaturally serious at your arrival, an expression his face was not made for. It softened when he saw you, but, still, he didn't fully smile.

"My love, come here" he palmed his thigh and not in a million years would you reject that offer.

Diavolo smiled at the speed you moved, barely restraining himself from kissing you. Instead, he turned to the demoness and presented her to you.

"I believe you've met her already, MC. Did you know about her offer? Did you know she wishes to serve me?"

He patiently waited for your answer, holding you against his chest and caressing your hip bones with the pad of his fingers and the tip of his nails, making you shiver.

Serve? That's the word she decided to use? She wasn't lying, sure, but it was far from the intention she actually had.

"We talked about it" you said in the end.

There was silence for a few seconds, broken only by the sounds of people still drinking and dancing. Diavolo and Barbatos looked at each other, having a conversation no one else could hear.

"I take it you rejected her proposition?"

Obviously.

You nodded and he cupped your face with a sad frown. Your heart skipped a beat.

"That's a pity, my love"

For a moment you moved away from him, too lost in your incredulity to answer or even acknowledge the crazy smile on the demoness's face, but, not even a second later, Diavolo brought you back to him and continued.

"She would've make a wonderful lady in waiting"

Huh?

"Wait, what?"

Both of you ignored the woman, who looked like she'd been slapped in the face with something rotten, which, in her mind, was probably accurate.

"I asked to serve you, my Lord, not the human..."

"Beware your words" interrupted Barbatos, his tail swishing behind him like a whip.

She stopped talking then, very obviously swallowing her opinions. Diavolo speaked again.

"By serving you, she'll serve me. Give her an opportunity to make you happy and, if she fails, we'll get rid of her"

What did he mean, get rid of her? You opened your mouth to ask, but he jerked his leg, making you jump. His smile was wide, but his eyes held a warning.

You decided to let it go.

"Okay"

Diavolo laughed as loud as he usually did, finally hugging you and ignoring both Barbatos's reprimanding glance and the demoness's sour expression.

But wait.

Wait.

He said 'lady in waiting'. Like... Uh...

Were you getting married?

Barbatos

'I'll be waiting in the classroom'

That's what his last message said.

And you'd never be dumb enough to reject that invitation. ¿Spending time with your boyfriend and eating his homemade cookies? Hell yeah!

You just had to be careful not to catch Beel's attention, avoiding the main hallways and hiding between the taller students, which were almost everyone.

By the time you finally arrived to the classroom (you got lost, but you'd never admit that to anyone), you were fairly sure all of your classmates had already gone home.

Alas, you were wrong.

Barbatos's figure was as composed as ever, but you knew him just enough to know how irritated he actually was. Were you this late? It was never your intention!

But no, no, that wasn't the root of the problem.

You knew her, kinda. Not personally, but you'd seen her a lot of times in the castle, cleaning plates in the kitchen or clearing up the table after one of Diavolo's dinner parties. She looked weird in the school's uniform instead of the one the maids used, but you guessed they too had to go to RAD, just like the brothers did.

So why did Barbatos look so uncomfortable?

Both of them stared at you when you entered, walking towards him while staring at her in search of an explanation.

"MC! You're finally here"

He smiled at you with candid eyes, discreetly holding your hand and restraining himself from kissing you in front of the girl, who cleared her throat to break the moment and grinned at Barbatos like you weren't there at all.

Foolish mistake if you'd ever seen one.

Your boyfriend frowned before turning in her direction, clearly giving her one last oportunity before kicking her out of there and reclaiming his alone time with you.

The girl purposely made herself meek, lowering her gaze as if making visual contact with him was too much, something you could totally understand.

"Master Barbatos, please, I'm begging you. I just wish to learn"

You raised your eyebrows and waited for his answer. Instead, she kept talking.

"I'll follow every one of your orders, sir, I promise" arms behind her back and body slightly swaying, you now understood why he was in the edge of snapping "The others don't appreciate you as much as I do. I'll be your best student"

He stared at her, you stared at her, she stared at him, batting her lashes with a weirdly fake innocent smile.

Her demeanor vanished when the Royal Butler spoke.

"I recomend you stop this nonsense at once" he finally said, breaking the uncomfortable silence "You're embarrassing yourself and Lord Diavolo's service's good reputation"

The poor maid gaped like a fish, although you weren't feeling bad for her.

You stayed behind him, closing the distance as much as possible while staring at her over his shoulder. If you ate a cookie now, would it be too much? He'd probably forgive you, but you'd rather not risk your chances.

"You will stay on cleaning duty as long as I say and you will stop the rumors that I know have been traveling all around the castle"

She lowered her gaze again, this time in submission and humiliation. His voice sounded venomous and you could swear the room's temperature dropped a few degrees. The air was still and smelled damped and rottening.

"If the gossip hasn't disappear by midnight, rest assured, I will make sure you keep your mouth fully shut"

The threat was clear in his words, something that shouldn't, but still surprised you. The maid trembled in response before bowing and running out the classroom.

You stared at the door in surprise, not turning around until he talked again.

"Do forgive me, my dear, but you know how much I dispise rats"

He sounded scarier than ever, letting his forked tongue slip between his teeth before he searched around the room, like he was trying to find more pests.

Then, he turned to you and smiled like nothing happened, holding a cookie to your mouth as the tips of his gloved fingers caressed your jaw.

"Let's forget about this ordeal, MC. After all, I saved these just for you"

Solomon

If there was something worse than feeling jealous, it was Solomon knowing you were jealous.

You thought you could catch a break, uh? Well, you couldn't be more wrong: your boyfriend knew the moment he saw you staring at that witch.

She was cute, you guessed? Nothing exceptional, but not hideous either. You wouldn't mind at all if not for the fact that she used her appearance like a nuclear weapon.

"Oh, you're so cute!" she'd told you once "I wish I was as cute as you!"

And at first you thought nothing of it. She was just being nice! A little weird about it, sure, but who wasn't weird in RAD?

Except, she wasn't looking at you when she said that, but, instead, at your boyfriend.

Of course, Solomon, unbothered as ever, was too engrossed in the cooking book he'd borrowed from the library to pay attention.

(Later that night you had to order takeout, but you were already counting on that).

The point was: she was trying too hard. You couldn't blame her, really, you dated Solomon for a reason; but still. She was getting on your nerves.

"I'm so dumb... I'll never get it! Solomon, can you help me with this?"

Opening a door with magic? Difficult? Yeah, right.

"I've never dated a human before... How is it, MC? I bet Solomon is a great boyfriend"

He has his moments.

"Solomon! Sit with me, I saved you a seat! Why? Oh, I concentrate better when you're here!"

Shit, could she concentrate at all?

"You're so powerful! You'll have to let me have him for a night, MC! He could teach me a couple of things..."

You closed your fist, staring at her with a frown while talking yourself out of mauling her across the table. You didn't need Lucifer's rants about impropriety and self restraint on top of all of this.

"MC and I have a lesson tonight" the sorcerer said with a polite smile, unusually kind eyes and an unreadable expression "Would you like to tag along?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes, lowering her gaze in embarrassment, although you weren't sure if she was really embarrassed.

"Could we hang out alone, tho? I don't want MC to see how dumb I am. They're so much better than me! I bet I need you more than they do!"

Well, you didn't need to study with her to know she was dumb as bricks.

You looked at Solomon, opening your eyes so much in bewilderment that even the insides of your cornea were getting dry. Not a second later he turned to you, smiling with mischief, and then you remembered who were you actually dating.

"It's either this or nothing. Be in Purgatory Hall at 6, we won't be waiting for you"

The witch quickly looked at you, frustrated at his words. It wasn't ideal, you knew, thirdwheeling your crush and his partner in a study date, but what else did she expect? Every other option was plain stupid.

"Okay"

She snorted, trying to hide the disgust and disappoinment without much success. Once she left you alone, swaying her hips and her ponytail, you punched Solomon in the arm and reveled in his pain.

"MC!! Relax!"

"Don't tell me to relax!"

You tried to choke him, but he hid his neck under his shoulders before you could lift yourself to reach him better. He knew you too well.

"MC, I have an idea! You'll like it, believe me!"

"Oh, really?"

"I swear!"

Once free from your attacks, Solomon avoided your eyes and stared at his hands. It took him a couple of seconds before he could look at you again, cheeks red, while he spoke from his heart.

"I couldn't care less about her attempts, MC, but she's obviously making you uncomfortable. I won't let this keep going if I can do something about it"

"But why did you invite her to our lesson, then?"

He laughed in a carefree manner, still blushing while he took your hands in his, looking at you like he was about to uncover a precious secret.

"As your teacher, I want you to explore your potential to the maximum"

His voice lowered to a whisper and you got closer to him, letting your body shiver when his breath caressed the skin of your neck.

"Say, MC, wouldn't you like to have your very own training dummy?"

Simeon

Oh, the privileges of being friends with the most powerful demons in the Devildom.

All you had to do was pout a little and act like you were miserable, missing the warmth of the sun and the familiar scenery of the human world. Of course, all of them knew you were exaggerating, but none would take the risk of actually making you sad.

So there you were, waiting for your drinks while Simeon sunbathed outside, sitting in one of those ornate metal chairs and writing some loose ideas for his next book in a napkin. After all, you'd be crazy if you ever went to the human realm without using the opportunity to have a date with your sweetheart of a boyfriend.

If not for the brightness of his suit, he would look like a college student from an old movie, all dreamy and focused in his own world.

And, apparently, you weren't the only one thinking that.

There were a group of girls outside the cafe, all of them young, maybe even fresh out of high school, staring at Simeon like he was some kind of celebrity. Maybe it was his angelic charisma? Maybe it was just his good looks? Whatever the reason, the girls seemed ready enough to conquer the world and they wanted to start with your boyfriend.

You studied your surroundings, realizing with an uncomfortable weigh in your chest just how busy the place was. There was no way you were getting your order in less than five minutes, even being the first in line, so the only thing you could do was wait and hope the girls wouldn't bother Simeon too much.

They stayed in a closed circle for a few moments until one of them finally dared to go and talk to him. She tried to sit in the second chair, but Simeon stopped her with a quick movement of his hand, probably saying he was saving it for you.

That made you laugh, but you were starting to get second hand embarrassment. You could tell she was trying hard to catch his attention, twirling her hair around her finger and hugging her waist to make her breasts look bigger.

You couldn't see Simeon's face, but, by the way he was scratching the paper, it was obvious he was losing focus on whatever he was previously writing, which would only make him irritated.

Fortunately, and rather rudely, the waitress finally gave you the styrofoam cups and immediately ignored you again, but you couldn't care less. The girl returned to her friends just as you stepped out of the cafe, letting you know part of what happened.

"He said he didn't know what part of him made him look interested in me" she snarled with a hint of hurt in her voice, trying to hide it with offense "That I should find someone that actually finds me entertaining"

Her friends gasped and you had to stop yourself from laughing. He wasn't usually that snappy, but she did interrupt his daydreaming.

"I don't even care what he thinks, he's just some dude! I can catch anyone I want, you know?"

Anyone but him, apparently, but the only thing her friends could do was agree.

Shaking your head and holding one drink in each hand, you stopped the eavesdropping and hurried towards him, leaning over his shoulder to kiss his cheek and smiling softly when he raised his hands to stroke your hair. He was warm from the sun, but he still curled close to you even after letting you sit next to him.

The girls audibly gasped at your actions, clearly offended by your presence as if Simeon would change his mind if they waited enough.

You couldn't bring yourself to pay them attention. Not when he was caressing your knuckles with such love in his touch and a feeling so deep in his eyes that it made your heart violently stop.

"So what were you writing?"

He smiled and eagerly showed you the napkin. By the time you turned around, the girls were already gone.

Tagging the party: @hello-gloomy @the-sassiest-toaster @hero-nii-blog @yourlocalyin @elaemae @eliciria @darkflowerav

Author's note:

Simeon's part sucked the soul out of me (not in the good way), but at least it's well-written. Also, this will be the last part for now: I don't know Mephisto, Raphael or Thirteen enough, so they won't be in any of my posts (for now)

[realcube]

can't stop thinking about quirk marriage au! with tenya iida.

with villains becoming stonger as the years go on, the iida family realise they will need to toughen up if they want their future generations to stand a chance at becoming decent heroes. especially after what happened to tensei.

to preserve their prestigious lineage, they arrange a quirk marriage for tenya, with a reader whose quirk is related to stamina or durability, in hopes to bear offspring who are both fast and hardy. reader comes from a poor background so they agree in exchange for money to support their family.

at first the marriage feels very much like business and tenya treats it as such; respecting you as much as he would a co-worker. which, albeit, is a lot but he doesn't care about you the way a husband should. he opens doors for you and will help you with household chores and is generally nurturing during your pregnancy, but he has no interest in sharing a bedroom or even eating dinner together. because he may be the father to your child, but he's not your friend.

it goes on like that for a while, until one day he hears you crying in your room. he's not monster, so of course he checks on you to see what the issue is, and you explain to him that you're afraid of what will happen if your child doesn't inherit a composite quirk. if you would be replaced and left to care for it on your own. he reassures you that he'd never abandon you or his child, and that the two of you could always try again. success doesn't come easy.

however, the moment of vulnerablitiy he shared with you was exactly that — a moment. afterwards, he immediately went back to being stern and distant, which contributed you putting up walls to protect your feeling from if he were to ever disappoint you again in the future. like a mantra that repeated in your mind constantly, he doesn't love you and you don't love him.

he never picked up on your increased resistance though, not until three years after the birth of your child and they began displaying signs of a fusion quirk. he turned to you, delighted, and you appeared relieved too, but he was left gawking incredulously after you said, "how lucky. thank the lord we don't need to have another child. one was hard enough."

hearing that caused his heart to drop, as he realised who he had become and the cumulative impact his behaviour has had on you. how could his own wife depise him to that extent? this question haunted him because he knew the answer, he just never had the strength to confront it before.

he had to do something to fix it, now. loving him wasn't necessary, but he needed to prove to you his worth as a father and a husband. he did his best to attend every single one of your kid's baseball games with you, he'd buy you a new bouquet of flowers every week, he'd kiss you on the cheek as a show of affection, whenever you needed a self-care day he'd arrange time-off work, he'd take the family out to the aquarium and the zoo and disneyland and wherever you pleased.

but none of it was ever enough to penetrate your rigid defences. despite his best efforts, he was left with a wife that hates him and child that may grow up to resent him. what a legecy he has paved.

one night, he is sat in bed, doing some light reading before he goes to sleep, when his child sulks into the room. they explain they had a nightmare and want to sleep in their dad's bed tonight. of course tenya agrees and usually there isn't any problems, but tonight the child continued to stir, until they requested, "can mommy sleep here too?"

tenya blinked. usually he would bend over backwards to cheer up his kid, especially as they are having sleep troubles, but this is a bit more complicated as you might be opposed to the idea. however, there was no harm in trying, so tenya sent the kid to your room to ask if it was okay with you.

and of course, you adore your child with everything you have, so if sleeping with your useless husband is what it takes to help them rest soundly, then so be it. you trudge into tenya's room and plop down on the queen-sized bed, with your beloved baby nuzzled between you two. it actually wasn't as awkward as you initially thought, and all three of you are lulled off into the serene night.

tenya woke up before you, so he was the first to realise that your child had snuck off in the middle of the night, while the two of you subconciously cuddled each other. hence, he had you wrapped in his strong arms, with your face nuzzled into his chest.

even with bedhead and a bit drool smudged on your cheek, he thought, you were still so beautiful. so much so, he couldn't help but smile and protectively tighten his grip on you. so funny too. sarcastic yet sickeningly sweet and caring.

had things been different, he wondered if the two of you would've truly been in love. he reckons so; you really are his type, and the perfect girl, which is something he's realising all too late. he blames the circumstances and wishes more than anything that the two of you could've met organically, because although he isn't the best husband, he would give anything to have been your boyfriend.

[revehae]

hurts so good (2)

pairing ↠ mark x you x jeno

genre .. warnings ↠ unprotected sex, degradation, slapping, impact play, cheating, cuckolding without the marriage, brief mention of nonconsented recording

summary ↠ jeno proves to be the perfect remedy to your bedroom problems with mark, but not without cost. the longer you lie to your perfect boyfriend, the more guilt builds like a plaque in your chest. but is it enough to make you set aside your pleasure?

wc ↠ 3.9k

a/n ↠ this the second and final part of a repost. part one here! happy readings lovelies!

don’t like it, don’t read.

“fuck,” you moaned.

“don’t talk.”

you bit your bleeding lip, trying hard to comply in spite of knowing your attempts would be in vain and you would ultimately earn yourself a smack. later you would have to explain to mark why you had a bruise on your bottom lip, and likely the rest of you, but you were of no mind to be worried about that right now. 

not when jeno was currently pounding you out against a wall.

you met his heavy stare. even his gaze made you feel small and dainty, like you could break if he just looked at you for too long. looking at you, jeno thought the same thing. you were such a pretty, fragile little thing, but you liked being broken just as much as he liked breaking you.

you wanted to loathe how good jeno made you feel in spite of hurting you all the while, but your body couldn’t lie and you were clenching around his thick cock, fighting back the most pathetic of whimpers. he was dangerously deep inside you, borderline fucking you into the wall as he tried to coax himself even deeper.

“jeno,” you cried out at a particular thrust, your back roughly hitting the wall. like he was of a mind to force you through it. 

your legs tightly coiled around his waist, drawing him into you like you were afraid of letting go, gave jeno the perfect opportunity to wrap his hands around your throat, hissing, “i said shut up. i’m not afraid of choking you unconscious if it means you’ll shut that big mouth.”

one of your arms dangled from his neck, and you used one to weakly try to pry his hands off your throat, though to no avail. jeno was stronger than you could ever dream to be. “i can’t… jeno, i…,” you choked out, struggling to speak and breathe.

jeno chuckled darkly, tightening his grip. “you can’t what, baby? say it. i fucking dare you.”

though you tried, it was difficult given that jeno had you pinned to the wall by your throat. you loved how effortlessly cruel he could get, firmening his hold because he knew damn well what you were trying to say.

he knew that you were struggling to breathe, and he didn’t care, cruel enough to choke you out even harder. you adored his cruelness because it was everything you wanted and everything you knew you could never have in the long run. he was your biggest, most tantalizing temptation. when you left his apartment that day, you told yourself over and over that it couldn’t happen again, but you knew when you looked jeno in the eye after he came inside you that this couldn’t be a one-time thing.

and so it happened again. a few more times.

you were beginning to lose count of how many times you had made the poor decision of getting into bed with him again (or, in this case, onto a wall), but you tried to fight off the urge and ultimately succumbed to your need for twisted pleasure. a kind you could only find in jeno.

it made you feel bad when you lied to mark, a gut-wrenching feeling that made you bristle with self-disgust. don’t lie to me. that’s the worst thing you can do, said his sweet voice, replaying on repeat like a mantra in your head. you could see the look on his face when he found out, the sting of betrayal. with his best friend, no less. but you were too far gone to stop now.

the most sickening part was that you had a terrible feeling that mark wouldn’t even want to break up with you, he wouldn’t fault you. he would beat himself over it and find fault in himself, which was even worse because he had done nothing wrong. 

so why were you letting jeno have what you swore to mark was only his - why did you keep running back?

you had tried to break things with jeno off, to restrain yourself and be a good girlfriend, but it never lasted for very long. it got to the point where whenever you told jeno that it had to be the last time, he would merely laugh in your face and scoff that you weren’t going anywhere.

he knew you too well. much like mark. it made you contemplate.

jeno let you breathe when you tapped his fist with your fingers and you sucked in a large breath like it was the last time you would ever inhale again. you never really knew with him.

“know a girl like you can’t keep quiet,” jeno said snidely. “feels too good, doesn’t it? you like being fucked like a whore too much to shut up.”

you tried to say no, to save what was left of your pride, but only a squeaky noise rose from the back of your throat. 

jeno asked teasingly, “do you get this noisy with mark too, or just me?”

you didn’t want to answer, face hot with shame because you knew the answer and it didn’t in any way make you look good. jeno, of course, already knew the answer. he had heard enough about you and mark’s sexcapades from both sides. he just wanted to hear it from your own mouth.

jeno grabbed your hair, not in any way gentle, and growled, “that was a question. don’t act all shy now.”

“no,” you whispered. 

jeno scrunched his brows as if he couldn’t hear you, pulling your hair even rougher. “what was that, baby?”

“no,” you cried out, partially from how forceful he was. “just you, jeno.”

jeno merely laughed and released his hold again. you swore it gave him some kind of ego boost to know he fucked you better than mark. you wondered if he cared, given that he was just as guilty as you for sleeping with his best friend’s girlfriend on more than one occasion, but he never seemed to give a damn. part of you envied his carefree nature, but another part of you wondered how he could be so shameless.

not that it mattered. you knew as well as he did that it wouldn’t stop you from crawling back.

“you’re the prettiest like this, you know,” jeno whispered, though not necessarily meaning it affectionately. “when you look like you’re falling apart, all these marks all over your body.”

you were so close to orgasm it was mind-numbing. and jeno was unintentionally going to be what brought you to the end, dangling over the edge.

“you’re close,” jeno stated, not even needing to ask. it was both awful and astonishing that he learned to recognize the signs. once upon a time, only mark knew your body that intimately. 

you nodded. then, begged, “can i please cum?”

“cum around my dick, princess. just moan my name when you do,” was all he had to say in retort.

and a couple of moments later, you were doing as told, arms looped around his neck as you clang to him and your legs tightening just below his ribs. you sang jeno’s name, and the cry was so sweet it brought about his own climax, an even sweeter sound leaving you when you felt his load inside you.

then, jeno carried you over to his bed in his brawny arms and threw you on top of his mattress to fuck those sounds out of you again. and likely all of your sense.

“we really need to stop,” you told jeno after a couple of rounds.

jeno groaned, half-tempted to duck tape your lips. “you keep saying that. then, you hit my phone when you need a fuck and you’re on my dick again. make up your damn mind.”

“but i like it too much,” you whined. 

“i could have told you that.”

you gave him a look.

“listen, it’s not my fault you keep spreading your legs for me. what the fuck do you want me to do when you’re the one begging me to fuck the shit out of you? tell you no?”

yes, because someone needs to control me. i can’t do it myself, you mused, having no rein on yourself whatsoever. your urges had a mind of their own. you couldn’t be the one to make yourself stop, and if he didn’t, then nobody would.

“don’t you feel the least bit guilty?” you asked, sorrow in your eyes. post-nut clarity was a bitch.

jeno shrugged. no, was the simple answer, but he didn’t feel like explaining himself right now. “is guilt stopping you from lying in my bed right now?”

“this isn’t about me,” you groaned. 

jeno laughed at that. “please. this is all about you,” he said. “i’m the middleman here. i’ve only been doing what you wanted.”

“you should stop doing that.”

“then, leave,” jeno said nonchalantly, picking up his phone as he pretended not to care. “you act like i’m making you stay here. you have free will. but i bet you’ll be back in no time at all.”

and you were.

it was maddening that he was always right. what the hell were you thinking? you couldn’t give something as good him up for another girl to fuck, because you knew you could be replaced in no time. you couldn’t even convince yourself that you didn’t want him. 

god, you had only been fucking him for a week and you were already addicted.

one night, you crawled into bed with mark after a hot shower, washing away jeno’s scent. you were facing mark, just staring at each other with complete awe, but a tear fell from your eyes.

mark immediately fretted, kissing your cheek chastely like he knew to and asked, “why are you crying?”

you shook your head. you couldn’t tell him. it would break you. “no reason,” you lied, whispering. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” mark said without a second of hesitation. he knew in his soul that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with. “i love you more than anything.”

don’t make this harder on me, you whispered to yourself, falling apart as you let your hand touch his pretty face. mark smiled at your touch, and you gave him a smile back. on nights like this, you could pretend everything was alright.

on the other end, mark didn’t know how to feel. you really thought he was a fool. and maybe he was. maybe he was foolishly in love with you, and that was why he pretended to not know. it was almost better that way. 

he was still thinking about last friday. 

how’d it go?

how do you think? 

she’s glowing. what did you do? 

it’s not that hard, mark. all you gotta do is slap her around a little. 

i’ll keep that in mind.

still on for friday?

you bet. 

wanna see? 

mark furrowed his brows. what is there to see?

[jeno sent one attachment] when you jack off to that later, don’t let her see. 

mark’s jaw slacked when he realized what the video was. you recorded it? what the fuck, dude? 

you’re welcome. 

you never noticed the far from perfectly hidden red flashing light, especially not bent over, too absorbed in how perfect jeno had been making you feel. mark had been reluctant to open it at first, but ultimately caved in to temptation, and he had gotten off to it countless times since then.

it made no sense how beautiful you looked being fucked into oblivion by a man that wasn’t him. 

on friday when mark left to run errands, you were back at jeno’s door. he gave you a scan. he could feel your anxiety from a mile away. 

“don’t say a goddamn word,” you hissed, walking past him and into his house. 

jeno closed the door behind you, chuckling in amusement. and as if he didn’t hear you, said, “i gotta give you some credit. it’s been like, what, five days? you lasted a lot longer than i thought you would.”

you narrowed your eyes at him and snarled, “didn’t i just say…”

jeno cut you off with a kiss, backing you into a wall. it was intense and greedy, and you could barely keep up, letting him take the lead while his hands roamed all over your body. the more you moaned into jeno’s mouth, the rougher he kissed you. if you didn’t know any better, you would say he had been impatient himself. 

you were both shirtless by the time he had pulled away from you, and your bra was thrown across his sofa in the heat of the kiss. you could see the arousal in his eyes, feel it in his touch, and it was driving you mad. 

“i’m tired of listening to you,” jeno growled into your ear, breath against your neck. “you’re gonna do what i want.”

all you could do was nod. jeno crashed his lips against yours again and kissed you the whole way to his bedroom, leaving a trail of clothes in your wake.

you were so engrossed in the way his lips felt on yours that you didn’t even notice the other man in the room.

“breathe,” jeno told you when he pulled back, chuckling. 

you giggled, trying to catch your breath, but when you caught a glance of the bed through the corner of your eye, you nearly leapt out of your skin, shrieking, “mark?”

mark was silently sitting on jeno’s bed, eyes fixed to you. the look on his face was so unreadable that you couldn’t tell what kind of thoughts were running through his mind and you were borderline afraid to. your heart was racing quicker than you thought healthy. you glanced at jeno, baffled, but he merely gazed back at you with a smirk.

you stiffened. “mark, i... i thought you were… what are you…”

“i overestimated you. i thought you were smarter than this,” jeno teased, shaking his head.

you were frozen in your skin, scared to speak. 

“well, i technically was running an errand because i was talking to jeno about something, but you got here earlier than expected,” mark mumbled. 

jeno chipped in, “in other words, you’re so needy you did all the heavy lifting for us.”

“i… don’t understand?”

jeno threw his head back. “how much more do i have to dumb it down for you? mark knew about us this whole time. he set you up.”

you paralyzed with cold realization. it was all beginning to add up now. jeno’s nonchalance and detachment in contrast to your nerves. he’ll be glad it’s just me instead of somebody else, jeno had once told you. to which you replied, you say that like mark himself told you that.

because he did. 

you covered your tits, throwing mark a fretful glance. 

mark knew you better than anyone and spoke up before you could, “i’m not mad.”

“why?” you asked. he should have been furious. he should have ended things with you then and there, if not a long time ago. 

mark met your eyes tenderly and whispered, “because i just want you to be happy.”

this fucking loser, jeno scoffed to himself. “because he gets off to knowing somebody else is getting you off,” jeno added. “you know he asks me every detail of every fuck we have? he’s just as freaky as you.”

mark flustered. and so did you. maybe you were a match made in heaven.

“you both annoy the shit out of me,” jeno said, deadpan. then, he leaned into you and asked quietly, “wanna give your boyfriend a show?”

it was jeno touching you, but your eyes were fixed to mark. at those words, you noticed the slightest bit of excitement become visible in your boyfriend. what he couldn’t conceal, you saw glimmer in his eyes. so, without breaking eye contact with mark, you nodded.

“good girl,” jeno praised, before switching on a dime and growling, “bed.”

you knew what that meant. with no hesitation at all, you climbed into bed and mark gawked in astonishment at how quickly you presented yourself in a perfect arch at jeno’s command. he had you completely trained to bend to his will as if you were some sort of pet.

jeno was right behind you, grinning with unadulterated pride. he knew you belonged to mark, but you were also his now in some sick, twisted way. and he wasn’t about to give you back up. “good. you’re already watching each other,” jeno commented, amused. “don’t take your eyes off of him.”

“or else what?” 

jeno grabbed you by the throat, but it wasn’t harsh at all, much more like a warning. “fuck around and find out,” he replied darkly.

that sent a shiver down your spine. 

mark watched jeno position himself behind you, silent as could be. jeno slipped your panties to the side, not bothering to prepare you in spite of his size. he couldn’t imagine it. to mark, you were like some deity than deserved absolute worship. you moaned when jeno pushed inside you, tempted to tip your head, but fought it for now.

mark could feel his heart racing and arousal gripping him by the throat. he couldn’t put his finger on it, but there was something about this that made him mad with lust.

your lips parted, tears making your eyes burn. you could still feel the lingering bruises jeno had left on your body that you desperately tried to hide from mark, because not only were they proof of your trysts, but mark would probably kill anybody that hurt you. except for jeno, apparently.

“she’s so tight, mark,” jeno groaned like you weren’t even there. “it’s like she gets tighter every time she runs back to me. do you ever fuck her?”

“it’s been a while,” mark said, sucking in a breath. he was getting hard. 

“clearly,” jeno mumbled. 

you whimpered, nails digging into the sheets to anchor yourself when jeno picked up his pace. which wasn’t after long. he was fucking you into the mattress before you even knew it yourself, making it all too difficult to hold eye contact with mark, and you broke it, glancing downwards. it was an impossible challenge from the start, that all three of you knew.

“jeno,” you whined, trying to pry his fingers from your hips.

jeno glanced down at you, seeing what you were doing, and asked, “where does it hurt? here?”

you bobbed your head. 

instead of making an effort to be more careful, jeno pressed his fingers down on the bruise, chuckling to himself when you cried out in a mixture of pain and shock. “eyes up, princess,” he whispered icily.

you brought your eyes back to your boyfriend’s, silently observing each other with a kind of telepathic communication. you had mastered that art in the past couple of years. there was no need for words. 

it was lewd and taboo. never had you done anything that felt as wrong as this; letting your boyfriend’s best friend fuck you right in front of his face, watching each other the whole time. but he made no move to stop either of you, merely standing there like a complete fool.

ironically, you were starting to understand each other better that way.

you looked pathetic as ever right now, tears rolling down your eyes in a stream. you made the wise choice not to wear makeup today, but jeno wished you would have. he always loved the look of streaks of black mascara running down your cheeks. it made you look even more ruined. but you never got like this for mark; most of the time, it was you ruining him. you liked making mark fall apart without doing much at all.

though to be far, you had never seen this side of mark either. had you known he liked it that much, that would have made everything a hell of a lot easier.

maybe this new situation could mutually benefit the three of you. you loved the grunts jeno made when he was pressed deep inside you, dragging his cock against your velvet walls. you liked when he put his hands on you and you could feel the sting for days. and you knew jeno loved fucking you, almost as if he couldn’t get enough of your body. 

“harder,” you cried. 

jeno cocked a brow. “you want it harder? you look like you’re about to break, princess.”

all you had to say to that was a hoarse, “break me.”

that jeno had every intention of, with or without your blessing.

mark was painfully hard at this point and made a move to take his clothes off, but jeno interrupted, “don’t touch yourself.”

mark shot him a look, flabbergasted and unsure if he should have listened or not. 

jeno beckoned him to approach the two of you. it was as if he had taken control of your relationship now. he flipped you onto your back, resulting in you emitting a loud sound of surprise. “hit her, mark,” jeno commanded, watching your face tense. “do it.”

mark stammered, “i… i can’t.”

“oh, for fuck’s sake. must i do everything for you?” jeno groaned, irritated. “it’s easy. i’ll show you.”

the pleasure of knowing he was about to hit you fused with the pain of his palm on your cheek and blended into something inexplicably erotic.

“see, the freaky little bitch likes it,” jeno commented, pointing out the dazed look on your face. “your turn.”

mark hesitated. he never wanted to hurt you, that was why he had gotten jeno to do the job. well, part of the reason. inwardly uttering a couple of motivational words to himself, mark gave you a weak smack to your cheek.

“lame,” jeno deadpanned. “but progress is progress.”

“harder, mark,” you whimpered, smiling up at him. “please? for me?”

mark could never tell you no when you looked at him like that, begging him with that sweet voice. so he gave in, hitting you again, even harder. you made a noise, face turning to the other side, which worried mark before he ultimately realized it was a sound of pleasure.

jeno laughed, on the verge of applause. “would you look at that.”

“did you like it?” mark asked bashfully. curse his need for validation. 

“mm-hm,” you hummed, sighing out in content.

mark smiled a tiny bit and his eyes fell down the rest of your body, spotting bruise after bruise. he had to give you credit; you had done an amazing job at concealing them, though the lack of sex definitely helped. now that you were naked, they were everywhere. apparently, jeno only put them in areas where they wouldn’t be immediately visible. he started to kiss them, one after the other, and much to your surprise, his tenderness somehow brought you even closer to finish. 

“i’m so close,” you told no one in particular, merely putting it out there. 

“come on, baby. show mark what it’s really like when you cum,” jeno said, grabbing a handful of your hair. “gonna let me fill you up with your boyfriend right there?”

you could do nothing but nod. you were chasing relief, chasing satiation. 

then, the thread snapped, and you came hard as ever. jeno was whispering mean words in your ear and all the while, mark was showing your body in affections, the contrast strong enough to give you whiplash. you moaned when you felt jeno finally cum inside you, and he pulled out to watch it drip from your stuffed cunt.

jeno glanced to mark and asked tauntingly, “need another tutorial or do you got it this time?”

you tried to catch your breath. maybe you could get used to this.

[makethatelevenrings]

Royalty AU - Simon Riley x f!reader

A/N: 9,335 words (20 pages) all in one sitting. I'm unwell. My mother became increasingly concerned as I didn't move from one spot. This is unedited. I'm sorry but I'm not.

Warnings: period(?) typical misogyny, allusions to sexual assault/rape (reader thinks she will be forced to perform her marital duties), illness, fever, violence, light smut so 18+, Simon being emotionally constipated, pregnancy (at the end)

This is part of my 5k Follower Celebration! Check it out to see if any prompts are still open to claim!

The first time you met your husband was your wedding day.

Crowds of people lined the dirt roads as the carriage lurched across the hills and valleys. Their faces peered carefully into the windows in an attempt to see past the velveteen curtains that obscured you from view. Your dress was a heavy combination of silk and a golden brocade that clung to your skin. The veils of your unmarried status hung around your face, giving the appearance that your face was something precious to behold.

Beside you, mother sat silently. Father was in the carriage ahead of you so he could escort you out once the time came. This was supposed to be a happy day, a blessed day, but all you could feel was dread as the wheels crept closer to the looming castle at the center of the village. Hushed whispers permeated the air and you couldn’t tell if the townspeople were looking at you in pity, anger, or disgust. Who were you? Some princess who was now going to be their queen despite never having stepped foot on their land.

You shut your eyes against the shame that burned at your cheeks. You didn’t open them until the carriage stopped.

“Let’s go,” Father said gruffly. He stood at the door of the carriage with his hand extended. Your mother exited first and then you did, only to be greeted by more hushed whispers and judgmental stares. You sucked in a deep breath and straightened your shoulders, raising your head to focus solely on the doors before you. One step. Two steps. You let the mantra guide you through the hall, past the people seated on the sides of the aisle, and to the raised dais before everyone and the gods.

Your betrothed stood on the opposite side of you. King Riley was as big as a mountain, a maid whispered to you as they dressed you that morning. His cruelty knew no bounds, another said. He killed without mercy on the battlefield. He was violent and vicious. No one had ever seen his face. He was incapable of loving anything but blood. His people were the same. Violent and rude, unrefined and uncivilized. Children left feral in the streets. Men and women who wrought vengeance for the smallest infractions. A kingdom ruled by fear and bloodlust.

When the rider came to the gates of your town with a treaty and alliance written out with the stipulation that the princess would marry King Simon Riley, you knew that you would have to accept. Your people were starving from the famine in your lands. Your parents had raised you for this.

Stepping onto the dais, your hand left your fathers and instead slipped into the larger, gloved palm of the king. Your head raised and you could see through the veils that he truly did wear a mask, something awful with a skull painted across the front of it. He couldn’t have gone without it for his wedding? You averted your gaze and instead focused on the priest. The words reverberated through your ears, but you hardly paid attention to the vows. You knew when to say the right words and how to say it.

And then the priest was announcing your marriage finalized and those gloved hands released yours to lift the edge of your veils. The lower half of his mask was raised to reveal his lips and the kiss was short, perfunctory, and colder than ice. Perhaps your maids were right, you thought to yourself. Fear gripped your heart for the rest of the night. Through the reception, the dances, and the dinner, you waited for this hulking mass of a man to take you to his bedchambers and force you to do your duty.

But he never did.

King Riley, your husband, merely sat back in his chair and watched the dancing couples on the floor. He occasionally spoke to the men seated beside him, but he never once glanced your way. When a maid approached you to take you to your new room, you glanced back at him, but he didn’t spare you a glance. She undressed you without saying a word, so unlike your friend and compatriot Lucy who had accompanied you but was probably packing the carriage for the return home. You would be all alone in this foreign place with no friends, no allies.

The maid left you in your thin nightgown and you sat in the big, empty bed and waited for your husband to come so you could perform your marriage duties.

The door lay untouched. As did you.

When the fire began to dim in its hearth and you realized that he wasn’t coming, you pressed your face into the soft, goose down pillow below your head, and wept, both in relief and out of despair. This was your life now.

The next morning, you awoke to someone gently touching your shoulder. Turning, you expected to see the same stone-faced maid from last night but was surprised to find Lucy standing over you.

“The king asked your father last night if he could retain me on his staff,” she explained. Hope filled your heart at the realization that you weren’t truly alone. One of your closest friends and allies would be here. She dressed you quickly as you picked at the tray of breakfast she had brought. As the bells chimed the arrival of seven in the morning, a knock sounded on your door. You settled yourself primly in a chair by the fire as Lucy went to answer.

“Your Majesty,” a knight greeted you as he stepped inside the room. He was tall, but not as tall as your husband, and his kind smile betrayed the intimidating broadsword that was strapped to his back. His hair was cropped short aside from a mohawk that split down the middle. All in all, he didn’t look like any of the stuffy, dignified knights of your parents' court.

“Good morning,” you greeted stiffly. His smile dimmed slightly and he inclined his head to you and then Lucy.

“My name is Sir John MacTavish, Your Majesty. I was sent to provide you both with a tour of the castle and the grounds.”

“Am I in any danger?” you asked. It was unusual that a knight would be sent to do a simple tour, but this whole court seemed entirely different from the way you were raised.

“No, my lady. It’s His Majesty’s version of a punishment, I’m afraid. He didn’t take too kindly to Sir Garrick and I stealing his sword for a day.” His crooked grin grew. “But if my punishment is to escort two beautiful women, then I fear I will find myself in more trouble.”

You exhaled a huff of laughter as Lucy’s cheeks flushed. This MacTavish was trouble, but he was the kindest person you had met so far in this country. Lucy grabbed a cloak for you and you thanked her for grabbing one without all the ornamentation that your mother insisted was fit for a queen. How on earth were you supposed to get your hands dirty if you were weighed down by jewels?

Sir MacTavish opted to show you the grounds first. The village bustled with activity and no one seemed to pay you any mind, which you preferred. Vendors stood at booths and bartered with tradesmen. Knights patrolled the edges of the market to keep an eye out for anyone with an intent to steal or deceive. Mothers with babies swaddled to their backs and chests carried laundry baskets on their hips. Men headed for the great doors implanted in the walls. They were open now, enabling the farmers, shepherds, and tradesmen to come and go.

Oh, it was delightful.

You were rarely allowed to step out into the village of your home because your mother insisted it was a dirty, loud, disease-filled place. Sure, it was full of voices and raucous laughter, and dirt and dust swirled into your hair and skirts, but it was full of people.

“Now, your main export is wheat, correct?” you asked over the din of the crowd. Sir MacTavish’s large stature and imposing sword made the crowds part, giving you a chance to examine the houses and buildings on either side of you. Lucy slipped her hand in yours in an attempt to stay close and not get swept up in the crowds.

“Aye,” he replied in his thick brogue. “How’d you know that?”

“When I first learned of the proposed alliance, I made an effort to learn about the country,” you admitted. “The orchards are your second greatest export, but I was told that you have to import medicinal herbs from other countries. Is the ground not suitable for those kinds of plants?”

He looked at you with something akin to surprise and then shrugged. “Alex, our main healer, has been trying to grow herbs for a while but they never last. He’s tried damn near everything. We try to stock up before the winter months when the fevers typically arise, but we’ve lost quite a few people to sickness.”

You pursed your lips in thought. “Your land should have the nutrients for the plants to survive. Their must be something else stunting them. Could you set up a meeting with the healer, if that’s allowed?”

The knight scoffed at your question and you felt, for a brief moment, that you overstepped. But he quickly dissuaded that thought. “You’re the Queen, m’lady. Of course that’s allowed.”

Hours later, MacTavish watched you talk with Alex, head bent over a book and finger pressed against the lines of text. Lucy stood next to him, rocking back and forth on her heels. You gestured to something outside and Alex lit up, your talking increasing in speed and volume.

“Is she always like that?” he asked the maid. Pride effused from her veins and she grinned brightly at him.

“Oh yes, she’s always been focused on caring for her people. The King and Queen…” Lucy faltered. “They were not as conscientious.”

When Soap first heard about the impending marriage, he thought Simon was off his rocker, well and truly. Price said it would strengthen their trade and provide protection from the west, but his king was the exact opposite of a touchy-feely love kind of person. But Soap also forgot that they were no longer a bunch of soldiers playing hero on the battlefield, but knights turned politicians. Gaz had nearly laughed himself out of the council chambers when Simon announced his intent to marry, especially to a princess of a small country. All they knew about you was from your parents. Your mother was a known court gossip and cared more about the latest dress trends than the status of her citizens. Your father was known for his callous nature and manipulation of his court.

All in all, they hadn’t heard good things about you.

Simon intended for it to be a purely political marriage. At some point, an heir would need to be produced, but Soap realized pretty quickly that Simon was betting on you producing some sort of bastard heir. Well, he thought to himself, Ghost’ll be surprised to hear about this.

That night, long after Lucy left you to sleep, you found yourself unable to fall into that state of semi-unconsciousness. The bed was too large, too empty for you. Sighing, you got up and pulled on a dressing gown over your thin nightdress and grabbed one of the candlesticks from the mantle. You used the dying light of the fireplace to ignite the wick and used the light to guide your steps out of the room and down the hall to where Sir MacTavish had shown you the library. This was your house too, now. Right?

Carefully, you eased open the doors and slipped into the library to find that a decent fire warmed the seating area. A maid must have left it going on accident and you made a mental note to smother it before you left. 

Shelves full of books lined the room and you tentatively approached the closest one, lifting your candle higher to see the titles inscribed on the spines. It seemed like every book in the world filled this room. You wanted to know more about this country and its culture, economy, everything. Three shelves down, you hit a jackpot and started to acquire a small stack of books that you could carry back to your room.

Until something tugged at the edge of your gown.

A startled shriek escaped you and you looked down to find a little kitten playing with one of the tassels of your dressing gown. You laughed at your own foolishness and bent down to set the candlestick on the ground and offer your hand to the kitten. It chirped and butted its head against your palm.

“Well hello,” you cooed. “You’re just a baby, aren’t you? Where’s your mama?”

“They stay in the library to kill any rats that get in.”

This time, you nearly jumped out of your skin. You didn’t even hear another person approach and certainly not the huge man that stood before you. A gasp escaped you as you pulled your dressing gown closer around your body. You were fully aware of how improper this was. You were a married woman. You were the Queen. You could not be seen half-dressed in the library with a strange man.

His dark eyes tracked your movements and he turned to look at the books beside him. “My apologies, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“No, by all means, sneak up on a woman at night, all alone,” you huffed. You gave the kitten one more scritch under the chin and then gathered up the books and pressed them against your chest to hide yourself better. Your other hand scooped up the candlestick and you stood to face him. Well. As best as you could. He towered over you easily and you swallowed past the lump in your throat. He was beautiful, in a haunted sort of way. His nose was crooked, as if it had been broken before, and a thick scar ran across his cheek and through his lips. Messy blond hair fell across his forehead and some strands into his dark brown eyes. You had never seen him before, but you assumed by his ease of movement in the library and the muscles that rippled under his shirt that he was a knight.

“If you will excuse me now,” you said tersely. He stepped back to give you space and you practically stormed past him and out of the library. No way in hell would you be accused of impropriety.

Simon watched you leave with an amused smile pulling at his lips. He bent down to offer the kitten a gentle pet and noticed that you had left a book behind. Scooping it up, he assumed it would be some frivolous thing but found himself surprised when he read the title. What the hell were you doing reading last years tax collections?

Two months passed and you were settling into your new life quite well. You rarely saw your husband and, when you did, the two of you barely exchanged more than a stilted greeting and farewell. You didn’t mind. Sure, the court and the villagers were starting to whisper about your lack of body changes, but you didn’t give a shit. King Simon hadn’t darkened the doorstep of your bedroom and you preferred it that way. 

Despite the fact that villagers turned their backs to you, for once in your life, you didn’t feel pressured to exist by the constraints of others' expectations. For once, you felt like you could truly just…be.

The winter was beginning to creep up on the land. You could feel it in the mornings when your joints were a bit stiffer and the bed a little more inviting than it typically was. A new fur pelt blanket appeared on the edge of your bed after the first cold front pushed through and you accepted it gratefully. Lucy denied having acquired it, but you figured she was just being demure. King Simon and Sir MacTavish were off hunting with a few men before the winter finally closed the city walls for the season. It allowed you a chance to breathe just a little easier without wondering what your so-called husband was up to.

Despite the cold, you were in the garden plots on the far side of the castle wall. After talking with Alex, you had realized the old garden plot was too close to the castle and absorbed extra heat off of the sun’s reflection from the windows. The new garden spot provided the perfect amount of shade and light in equal turn and the herbs were growing beautifully. Alex had been called to help with a scythe injury in the fields, so you volunteered to gather the last of the herbs before the first frost. Lucy sat nearby with a basket of darning next to her. Your ever faithful friend rarely left your side and you were eternally grateful. Even if you knew she made sure to change out her dress and apron if Sir MacTavish came by to chat.

“Your Majesty!” a shrill voice shrieked in the distance. You glanced up and saw a young boy rushing towards you with two knights hot on his tail. The child’s face was stained with tears and his breaths choked off with the occasional hiccuping sob, but he still outpaced the two knights. You stood and wiped the dirt on your hands onto your skirt and kneeled in time to catch the boy by the shoulders before he bowled you over. The knights drew their weapons, but you raised your hand to stall them.

“What is it?” you urged the boy to explain. “What’s wrong?”

“My mother. She’s ill. Healer Keller is in the fields and Lady Karim went to get him, but she’s getting worse a-and I don’t know what to do,” he sobbed.

“Put your weapons away,” you ordered the knights. The older one left, presumably to fetch help, and the younger one sheathed his sword.

“Your Majesty, it’s the fever,” the knight explained. His soft eyes cast a worried glance at your hands that held the boy, but you brushed aside that concern. He was a child and he needed comfort. He needed to feel as though his mother had a fighting chance.

“Lucy, I need feverfew, ginger, and echinacea. Sir…” You turned to face the knight and he tipped his head in a formal greeting.

“Garrick, Your Majesty.”

“Sir Garrick will lead you to the house. Come, show me to your mother.” The boy grabbed your hand and you used your other free hand to gather your skirts and run. His house was on the opposite end of the village and the braying of cattle and sheep filled the air along with the clanking of their bells. When you stepped into the house, the earthy richness of the soil was overwrought with the pervasive scent of sick. A woman on the bed curled in on herself and let out a violent cough into the rag loosely clutched in her hand. Next to the bed, a baby wailed in its cradle.

“What’s your name?” you asked the boy gently.

“Tommy, m’lady.” Tears lined his eyes once more and you smoothed his hair down, offering him a reassuring smile.

“Alright, Tommy. Can you do me a favor? If I move your sister outside, can you take care of her until Sir Garrick and Lucy arrive?” He nodded his head so quickly, you thought he might injure himself.

You scooped up the baby and placed her in her brother’s arms before you grabbed the cradle and carried it outside, the children following close behind. The cold winter air nipped at your nose and you quickly discarded your fur-lined cloak. You wrapped it around Tommy and the cradle and instructed him to stay outside.

Once back in the house, you rolled up the sleeves of your gown and washed your hands in a basin set up by the door. Approaching the woman, you pressed the back of your hand to her forehead and cursed under your breath.

“Tommy?” she whimpered. You brushed your hand over her brow and shushed her.

“Rest. It’s alright. I’m here to help.”

Lucy came only a few minutes later with the supplies you ordered and a few other things she thought you would need. She then took Tommy and his sister, Eleanor, to the castle to stay at for the time being. The mother, Fiona, wasn’t too far gone in your estimate. You had helped the healers back home during the fever, slipping out when your mother wasn’t looking. The study of herbs and medicine fascinated you, even if it wasn’t a ladylike pursuit. Despite Sir Garrick’s protest at it being too dangerous, you stayed with Fiona even when Alex returned from the fields with her husband in tow. Instead, you banished the two men to find somewhere else to stay to lower their risk of infection. It would be no use if the children lost both parents and the country lost its best healer.

“Inhale, you’re doing great,” you coaxed Fiona through a steam treatment. The echinacea helped relieve some of her cough and the feverfew was bringing her temperature down. You had been at it for hours now and even though your mind ached for rest, you needed to see this through. Sir Garrick posted himself outside of the door and refused to leave until you did, so you weren’t the only one with a sleepless night.

As dawn broke on the second day, so did her fever. You must have dozed off at some point in the early hours and you rose to stoke the fire to keep the small cabin warm. Fiona stirred on her bed and let out a slight cough that sounded much better compared to the first time you saw her. A little bit of color returned to her face and you knew that you were past the point of the illness being lethal.

“Your Majesty,” she breathed. The woman tried to rise from her bed, but you shook your head and motioned for her to stay seated. You poured her a cup of ginger tea and settled yourself on the edge of the bed, helping her drink it in long, slow sips.

“How do you feel?” you asked.

“Better, m’lady. So much better. How did you…?”

A quiet laugh escaped you. “An old healer in my home village taught me all she knew. She was accused of being a witch, but she was really just smart.”

“Tommy and Eleanor? Are they alright?”

“Being doted on by the castle chef’s, I believe,” you assured her. “And your husband is with them. They’re all well.”

Fiona inhaled deeply for the first time in days and then blinked back tears. Her hands grasped yours and she bowed her head. “I’m so sorry, Your Majesty. We thought you were some foolish girl. We’re so protective of the king that we just assumed… oh, my Queen, please forgive me for the contempt I felt towards you.”

A wave of both sorrow and adoration washed over you and you hugged the woman close. “You need not apologize. What’s done is done and let us move past it.”

On the third day, with her fever down and the risk of contagion passed, you granted the family to return to the cabin and accepted Sir Garrick’s offer of an escort back to the castle. You were sure you made a right sight, with your dress dirty with soot from mending the fire and spills of both tea and sick staining the fabric. You kept your chin up and shoulders back as you walked through the village. You didn’t want to look at the faces peering through their windows and open doors. You didn’t want to see their judgment at the sight of their Queen in such a disarray.

As you approached the castle, you asked Sir Garrick the question that had brewed in your mind since you left the cabin. “Has the king returned yet?”

“No, m’lady. We expect him back tomorrow.”

Good, you told yourself. He won’t see you looking like this. He won’t be present for what happens next.

Lucy heated bathwater for you and had it ready when you stepped through the doors of your suite. You refused to let her help you undress and bundled your dress into a bag before instructing her to burn it to ensure that contamination didn’t affect anyone else. The scent of rose petals lingered in your nose and you let your head loll back against the rim of the tub. 

“You should go,” you instructed your maid. “I will fall ill in a day, maybe earlier.”

“Is that an order?” You had never used rank on her. It was unheard of between the two of you and the thought of it made you cringe.

“Never.”

“Then I shall stay.”

Through the fog of sleep, you heard the doors shudder against the force of something. Sunlight was streaming through the windows and you could guess from the position of the rays on the bed, it was near noon, far past your usual wake time. You willed your body to rise from the bed, but all you were capable of doing was releasing a violent cough that rattled your lungs and made your bones ache.

The door rattled again and you concluded that it had to be a dream. Another cough escaped you and you looked at the fabric below your cheek to see a small splatter of blood on the fabric. Yes, a dream. You were still at home. You had fallen asleep in a bed of wildflowers in the garden, a book on your chest and a bird perched on your shoulder. The warmth that flowed over your body was simply the sun bathing you in its gentle light.

Footsteps pounded against your eardrums in the steady thudthudthud that matched your heart and you shut your eyes to ward off the ache that accompanied it. A wheezing breath passed through your lips just as two hands grabbed your cheeks.

“Your Majesty!” Lucy cried from somewhere to your left.

“How long has she been ill?” a voice growled above you. You tried to place it to a face, but all you could see was what appeared to be a skull. You couldn’t be that far along in the fever, right?

“This is the second day,” Lucy explained. “It’s only going to get worse tomorrow and, if we can stymie the fever, it will abate and she will make it.”

“Soap, alert Keller now. Bring me rags and a fresh pitcher of water.” You turned your head towards the voice and tried to see past your swimming vision. A delicate touch stilled you and you let out a slow, rattling exhale.

“My lord, if you stay, you risk the security of this nation,” Lucy said quietly. What? What on earth did she mean by that? A calloused thumb rubbed along your cheekbone and you let your eyes fall shut as exhaustion began to claim you once more. You nestled closer to the comforting touch and it stilled for just a moment before resuming.

“I had the fever as a child,” Simon explained to your maid. “And if my wife is brave enough to sit with the sick, then I must be too. Go rest. I will watch her for a bit.”

She meant to protest, but one look at her king made her change her mind. He wasn’t even looking at her, but rather his entire focus was on you. He had charged into the room looking like something fresh out of war when he saw your weakened from sprawled out on the bed. Lucy had been doing her best to provide symptom relief and to lower your fever, but she was exhausted too. Sir MacTavish took hold of the maid’s arm and gently led her to a spare room on the floor so she could rest, quarantine, and regain her strength.

When the fever broke three days later, you opened your eyes to find the hulking form of your husband crushed into the tiny chair he had drawn up next to your bed. One of his rough, calloused hands wrapped around your wrist and you realized with a start that he was checking your pulse. As your heart race increased, his eyes opened. He wore a different mask than usual, just a simple black fabric that bridged across his nose and hid the lower half of his face. It revealed a few scars that marred his temple and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and smoothing the tips of your fingers over the puffy skin. He caught your wrist and you quickly realized your place and started to pull away, but he shook his head and merely drew your hand up to touch the silky blond hair he usually kept hidden from you.

It should be laughable to you. The first time your husband saw you in your nightclothes, in your bed, unmade and unraveled, and it was because you fell ill. This was the first time he had been in your room and it wasn’t for the expected production of an heir.

One of his hands came up to cradle your cheek and the other wet a cloth before dabbing it against your brow. You found that there were no words to say anything. Instead, you merely shut your eyes and let him care for you.

Things changed after that. Gone were the days spent in the company of only Lucy. Now you couldn’t make your way through the castle or the village without someone accompanying you. The villagers greeted you warmly and offered you fresh baked bread or holiday treats. When the first snow fell, you and Lucy found yourself ganged up on by some of the village kids in what turned into an all-out snowball war. Laughter rang out in the courtyard as you dashed around the bend of one of the stables to avoid a well-aimed snowball. Lucy had been tackled by some of the smaller kids and succumbed to them piling on her with shrieks of laughter and giggles echoing off the stone. You could hear some of the older kids coming towards your hiding location and you quickly turned around the corner only to land against a firm, unyielding chest.

Before you could say anything, a hand came up to cover your mouth and your husband raised a finger to his lips. He stepped away from you and bent down to scoop up a handful of snow and pack it into a perfect sphere. By the time the kids emerged from their hiding places, the two of you had a nice pile of ammo growing.

“You dare threaten the Queen?” Simon boomed in an overly exaggerated voice. As you pelted the kids with snow, Simon lunged and scooped up one of the smaller children who erupted into shrieks and giggles. Your heart seized at the sight of one of the world’s strongest warriors gently carrying this child. In all of your time here, you had never seen one of the rumors of the Riley clan come true. They were not vicious or cruel. They were good, kind people. They were as good as their king.

The parents came to collect their children and haul them back inside to warm up. It sounded like a good idea to you as snow dripped down the back of your cloak and soaked your dress. Lucy was off talking to Sir MacTavish, or Soap as he asked to be called, so you started to head inside alone. As you stepped out from the stable, a shiver wracked through your body and then a heavy fabric draped over your shoulder and settled across your body. You looked up to find your husband in a staring contest with one of the horses and you looked down at his cloak that now graced your body. A shy smile bloomed across your lips and you slipped your hand out of the bundle of fabric to seek out his.

“Would you like to join me in the library for some hot tea after we get out of these wet clothes?” His eyes darkened at your words and, afraid you overstepped, you started to draw your hand back when his fingers entwined with yours.

“I’ll have the cooks make hot cocoa,” he said in that rough, rich voice of his.

After a quick change into something dry and comfortable, you made your way down the hall to the library. You hadn’t been in here for at least a week due to being inundated with preparation for the solstice celebrations. Holly hung from shelves and crevices. Warm fur and soft knitted blankets lined the seating area. A tray of sweets and cocoa sat on the low table between the two sofas. A crackling fire jumped and danced within the hearth and beside it, a momma cat with her (now) adolescent kittens slumbered lazily by the warmth.

And standing by the window, watching the snow fall down, was your husband. He turned when he heard the door open and offered you a small smile.

Oh.

A smile.

He wore no mask.

“You were the one that scared me half to death that night,” you blurted out. He ducked his head, almost bashful, and nodded.

“My apologies, once again.”

You stepped closer to him and took a solid look at him in the light of day. You reached up and touched the edge of his lip, right where that nasty scar bisected his smile. There were stories of the old king of this land, stories that you wished desperately weren’t true, but you were afraid of their veracity. This scar wasn’t obtained from battle, you figured. But rather his father.

“You’re so handsome,” you breathed, truth in your words. His eyes watched you carefully as you ran your fingers along every one of his features, as though you could commit the touch of him to memory. When you first learned you would be marrying the King of the Riley lands, you were scared. Was he some snarling beast of a man? Would he take and take and take until there was nothing left of you?

No, you whispered to your past self. He was nothing like the rumors and everything like the man you dreamed you would marry. He was kind and gentle. He cared deeply, so deeply that it etched into every fiber of his being. He read literature, he took care of cats, he loved seeing his people experience joy, and he-

He kissed you as though he was a drowning man taking his first breath in a long time. You raised your chin to beckon him closer and curled yourself into his large frame. There was no fear in your mind or body, not when Simon was here. His large palm settled low on your back and pulled you flush against him, eliciting a tiny moan from you. You could feel his desire grow against you and you pulled away with a gasp.

“I have been a terrible husband,” he murmured and pressed his forehead against yours. You breathed him in and slid your hands up and over his broad, strong chest, his biceps, his shoulders, and into his hair. You tugged the strands gently and he groaned, his lips leaving open mouthed kisses along your jaw.

“I misjudged you, dear wife.” His hands slid down to grasp your ass and you whimpered, your heated fleshing erupting with desire. “I had no idea how precious you would be to me, to my people.”

“I fear we were both wrong about each other,” you gasped out. He picked you up with ease and left the library, turning right instead of left towards your room. For the first time, you were entering his room.

“Let me make it up to you, my love. Let me atone for every day I have left you without knowing how truly worthy you are.”

The maids and ladies of the court had gossiped about how it hurts, but they didn’t speak of what pleasure it could bring. He practically drove you mad from the way he drew you apart and made you snap. He took you apart over and over again only to bring you back together with such a gentle touch that you couldn’t believe that he was yours.

Four months after your nuptials, your husband finally laid you to bed and claimed you as his. But he waited until you breathed your assent against his lips, until you begged him to take you, until you claimed him as yours too. And when you finally collapsed against his sweaty, heaving chest, you waited for him to get up and walk out as so many women told you that their husbands do. But he merely slid his arm around your waist and drew you into his chest, his hand settling over the soft skin of your stomach.

“I have always been scared at the prospect of being a father,” he admitted. His words were stilted and slow, as if he had to consider each one carefully before he said them. You stroked your fingers through his hair and drew his knuckles to your lips so you could pepper kisses along the calluses of war that remained there.

“I’m not,” you said.

“Not what?”

Your eyes met his and he curled his fingers around your jaw, guiding you to meet his lips in a sweet kiss. When you broke apart, merely a hairbreadth away, you spoke. “I’m not afraid. I can be brave for the both of us.”

You nestled your face against his bare chest and hummed softly. His hand stroked along your bare waist, not in desire, but solely as a means to touch you in pure devotion. Your words seemed to stun him, but he regained his wits and leaned down to kiss your temple.

“If you don’t bring me those cookies, dear husband, I’m afraid I will never speak to you again,” you said, cracking one eye open to look at him. A brilliant smile spread across his lips and he hopped up, throwing on some pants so he didn’t scar any guards walking down the hall. You sat up to watch his toned body disappear through the door and bit your lip as want pulsed through your veins.

That night, you didn’t return to your bedroom. You wouldn’t have been able to, you mused, not with the sheer weight and muscle of your husband wrapped around you. But you didn’t mind. Here, in his bed, you didn’t feel the same emptiness or cold that seeped into your bones when you were alone in yours.

Spring brought new life to the world. You sat out in the gardens and plucked some weeds that threatened to overtake your herbs. The kitten from the library, now a full grown cat but definitely still a kitten in your eyes, lounged lazily at your feet. Lucy worked on embroidering something that you pointedly didn’t ask if it was for her wedding night. Because she and Soap refused to announce that they were betrothed even though you all had bets on it. That is precisely why they wouldn’t say, you figured. Brats.

Soap and Simon and Sir Garrick (Gaz, you reminded yourself) were off with a few other knights on a hunting party and also a reconnaissance mission. Word had it that a faction from a neighboring country was looking to cause trouble. Shadows, they were called, due to their ability to just appear and disappear into the forests.

The captain of his guard, John Price, stayed behind to protect the castle. John was a nice man, older than both you and Simon, but he was a good leader and an even better fighter. The knights listened to him and there were times that Simon went to him for advice on matters of state. You trusted John.

So when he approached you that day in the garden with a troubled look on his face, you knew to listen.

“Your Majesty, I have reports of movement on the western quadrant. I’ve dispatched a rider to inform the King, but I am about to place us on lockdown. I need you to come with me.”

Lucy was up before you could even begin to stand and she quickly helped you to your feet and guided you towards the castle. You knew that you needed to keep a serene, calm expression on your face so as not to incite panic. You hated that you were going into hiding when your people would be caught in the crossfire.

“How far is Simon?”

“About two hours away.”

A lot could happen in two hours. A siege could last days or the walls could fall within minutes. You inhaled deeply as you followed him through the winding maze of the castle halls. Time and experience had made you quick to learn the routes through here and hopefully, it would confuse an intruder.

John led you to a small room hidden under the stairs in the servants quarters and offered a reassuring smile. “It’s nothing but a precaution, my lady. But do not leave this room unless the King or I come for you.”

He overestimated your ability to sit quietly and listen to your people die. These so-called Shadows felt no remorse in taking down innocent people. Lucy had to practically sit on you and cover your mouth as you trembled with rage. Hurried footsteps sounded all around you as servants rushed about and knights set up barriers and mounted defenses.

It wasn’t enough.

They attacked at the beginning of spring, when people were lax from the winter feasts and lack of physical work due to being kept inside by the cold and snow. They knew this was when you would be weakest and that’s why they exploited it. 

Fear lapped at your stomach and you shut your eyes as a pained cry ripped through the servants quarters. No, you couldn’t do this. The Shadows weren’t after them. They were after you.

You shoved Lucy back and forced open the door, coming face to face with a knight in black armor. He raised his blade but hesitated when he took in the sight of the circlet that adorned your head. With a chuckle, he raised his helmet and revealed his smarmy face.

“How do you do, Your Majesty? Name’s Graves.”

“Go to hell,” you spat.

The knight dragged you out of the castle with little protest on your end. Servants peered around the corner of walls and furniture as you strode past, but they were safe. Now that the Shadows had their hands on one of the monarchs, they no longer needed to target the people. More of the Shadows fell in behind the two of you and you were glad to pull them away from terrorizing your family. Your friends. Your citizens.

“Your Majesty,” an older man greeted. “I wish we met under better circumstances. Herschel Shepherd.”

“Fuck you,” was your simple reply. The man chuckled and then backhanded you hard enough to split your lip thanks to his thick signet ring. The Shadows spread out in a circle around the three of you, blocking anyone from rushing to your rescue.

“You know why we’re here then,” Shepherd said. Graves yanked you back into a standing position and forced your chin up so you had to look the man in the eye. You simply rolled your eyes and glared at him, your hands bunching in the fabric of your skirt.

“I know you’re a coward. And pathetic.” Another smack to the other side of the face had you tasting blood.

“I know the King probably likes your pretty mouth, but I’m getting tired of it. You know what I want.”

“I won’t do it.”

“Then I’ll slaughter your entire village.”

Your chest tightened because it wasn’t an empty threat and you knew it. You had heard the reports of other villages and countries. You had heard the stories of what they had done to women and children and men.

“Will you do it yourself? Or make your men do it so you can go to bed every night lying to yourself that your a good man?”

His eyes flashed with something dangerous but you didn’t flinch. Rather, you curled your lips into a sneer and spat directly into his face. He grabbed your jaw, hard enough to force your teeth together with a painful clack, and dragged you to face him. His grip shifted down and around your throat, cutting off your air.

“I should kill you. I should. But once I get you to submit and renounce the crown, I’ll keep you around. Looks like Riley hasn’t laid his seed yet so I’ll let Graves do it. I’ll make sure that no matter how hard you try, you’ll have the heir to the Shadows. You’ll be our whore. Our bitch.”

You struggled against his hold and kicked out, connecting with his shin. He released you but Graves grabbed your arms and pinned them back, securing them with rope, before he pressed on the back of your knees.

“Kneel,” Graves hissed.

“Make me,” you snarled. You just needed to buy some more time. You just needed to-

No. Lucy was thrown into the mud next to you, her hands bound behind her back. She was breathing deeply and you could see her wince with every movement. Broken rib, maybe two, you cataloged. Those bastards.

“Kneel and I won’t kill her,” Shepherd commanded. Your heart pounded painfully against your chest as you slowly, slowly knelt down in the mud. He grinned, an awful and predatory smile, and yanked the circlet out of your hair.

“Look at your queen!” Shepherd boomed. “Come out and see how she prostrates herself before her new ruler. It’s alright now. You all are saved.”

Villagers peeked out of their houses and saw the spectacle before them. The Shadows parted to reveal you to the crowds in a mud-stained dress, crown gone, and bruises already forming on your face. A noise rang out in the village, some kind of holler. Shepherd’s smile widened.

“Yes, yes. Gone are the days of eating scraps while your ruler lives in riches,” he called. “Come see for yourself. She’s merely human.”

You bowed your head to look at Lucy and check over her. That’s what you told yourself, at least. You didn’t want to see the truth. You waited for the derision, the sneers, for the anger they surely felt at your failure to keep them safe. You waited for the rage to rain down upon you.

It never came.

A roar, no, a battle cry swept through the village and then they were descending en masse. No amount of armor or training could save the Shadows from the pure, violent rage of your people. You raised your head to see Fiona jab a pitchfork through a knight’s neck and let out a breathless laugh.

Chaos reigned. You wrenched yourself over Lucy’s body and pressed your cheek against your dear friends, listening to her labored breathing below and the sounds of war above. What if a horse struck you? Or a blade stabbed you in the back? What if a Shadow grabbed you and made for the forest? What if, what if, what if?

Someone grabbed your bicep and you kicked back, but a familiar voice calmed you instantly. “It’s me, m’lady!” John shouted. He sliced through your bonds and did the same for Lucy. You turned and saw that he was in a dreadful fucking state. Blood practically caked every inch of his armor and exposed skin.

“We need to get you out of here,” he ordered.

“And go where?” you retorted. “Give me a knife, sir, and watch me cut out every tongue of the men who dare harm my people.”

“Where is my wife?” Simon’s roaring voice erupted over the din. The villagers stopped their rabid attacks as the King’s Guard swept into the walls of the city. You nearly wept in relief at the sight of the masked figure atop the pure black horse. He looked as thought he were the Grim Reaper himself, but death would not touch you today.

Rage filled his very veins when he saw you, battered and bleeding and standing in the middle of carnage. He jumped down from his steed and pushed through the crowd to you. Blood caked your hair and dripped down your forehead and for a moment, he was terrified it was yours.

“Are you hurt?” His armor was cold where it touched your cheek and you shook your head, reconsidered, and then nodded.

“But not as bad as Lucy or others. I need to get to the healers room. I need to help them,” you pleaded. Soap had dismounted and rushed to join you when he saw Lucy and he knelt next to her now, gentle hands probing against her broken ribs.

“Where is he?” Simon snarled. “Where is Shepherd?”

“Right here, sir,” Fiona announced. He turned to find the farmer’s wife with her foot planted on the man’s chest and her pitchfork digging into the exposed skin of his neck. “Lou’s got the slimy bastard too. No one hurts our queen. No one.”

Affection squeezed your heart so tightly you feared you would break down and weep right there. These people, this nation, had adopted you and loved you unlike any other. You were a mere princess married to their king for an alliance but to them, you were their queen by merit alone.

“Round up any of the Shadows that remain,” Ghost ordered. “Leave Shepherd to me.”

You knew he would kill him. In fact, you knew he would torture him. But that didn’t scare you. Simon’s hands didn’t leave you until you were finally pulled away to aid with healing. There were bodies to prepare for burial, items to repair, people to hold as they grieved.

A queen’s job was never done. You wouldn’t give it up for anything.

In the quiet of the night, when the injured were sleeping peacefully thanks to droughts and pain relief, you slipped out of the healer’s quarters and found Simon leaning against the wall. He raised his head when he heard you step out and his tired eyes shut in relief.

“You should be sleeping,” you chastised. He shook his head and removed his mask, baring himself to you.

“I close my eyes and I see your corpse,” he admitted. “John informed me as to what you did. Sacrifice yourself.”

“I did what I had to do to keep them safe.”

He tipped his head back against the wall, exposing the smooth column of his throat and the way his throat bobbed with every labored breath. “I know. Fuck, I know. But I am a selfish enough man to admit that I would have rather you remained untouched.”

“I can be replaced. Our people cannot.”

He screwed his eyes shut and covered his mouth with his hand. Simon inhaled deeply, as if calming himself, and shook his head. “Don’t say that. Don’t ever fucking say that.”

“Say what?”

“That you can be replaced. You are not some expendable object. You are not some figurehead I can stuff a new body into. You are…you are exquisite. You are magnificent. Our people would rather die than ever lose you, do you understand that?” His armor creaked and groaned in protest but this man, this king, kneeled before you and fisted the fabric of your dirty, blood-stained gown in his hands and pressed his face against your stomach.

“Never say that,” he begged. “Please, I cannot bear to hear you say that in my presence again.”

“Simon.” Was that tears you saw in his eyes? “Look at me.” Truly, it was tears that lined his honey brown eyes. You swept your thumb across his lashes and gathered the salty tear on your skin. Leaning down, you pressed your forehead to his and breathed him in.

“What can I do to make you understand?” His voice was hoarse and thick with emotion.

“Nothing. I understand.” Exhaustion sank into your bones and dragged you down into his arms. He cradled you against him and hauled you up with ease. The day’s events were catching up to you quickly and you wished for the sun to rise again, simply so you could move past the blood that was caked on your skin.

He carried you all the way to his -- your shared -- room and set you on the ground before a bath of steaming water. Simon undressed you carefully, peeling off each layer as if you would dissolve once he reached your chemise, and then settled you into the tub. He stripped off his armor, his underclothes, and settled in behind you. His fingers etched their devotion with every gentle pass of soap against your skin and he took your hand in his to scrub the blood out from under your nails.

“Lucy?” Your tired voice sounded foreign to you, like another person was speaking.

“Soap’s with her. She’ll make a full recovery, just in time for the wedding.” A soft smile curled at his lips and you tilted your head back to rest against his shoulder. His lips traced along the cuts that Shepherd’s hands left and he removed the pain with a simple kiss.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said. You could feel his frown against the skin of your neck and he took a deep breath before asking what you meant.

“I lied to you. I’m afraid.”

“Oh my love.” He kissed your shoulder. “I was afraid too.”

“No, Simon, I wasn’t afraid before. I knew you would come. I knew that, whatever happened to me, you would avenge me. That didn’t scare me. It’s what is to come.”

You drew one of his hands away from the side of the tub and rested it on your stomach, above the slight swell that Alex confirmed earlier was indeed the next heir to the Riley throne. Simon’s breath hitched against your neck and then he fell silent. You shut your eyes and waited for his condemnation at your foolish actions today. You could threaten your own life all you wanted, but the heir?

“Simon?” Fear laced your voice and he hated that he put it here. He pressed his cheek to your hair and stroked his thumb against your stomach.

“I was content to rip out one of his lungs,” Simon murmured in your ear. “But now I have two reasons to remove both entirely. He threatened the life of my queen, my love, and he threatened the life of my heir.”

You exhaled a shaky breath and felt a smile grow on your face. He tapped your hip and you stood, letting the water slough off of you and back into the water that was now a mix of mud and blood. Simon took his time drying you off, leaving lingering kisses on every part of your body. Your shoulders, breasts, stomach, hips, even your calves received an equal measure of love. As he knelt at your feet once more, you cupped his face in your hands and pulled his gaze up to meet yours. He settled his chin on your stomach and looked at you with so much adoration.

“Are you afraid?”

His smile grew. “No, for I know you will be brave enough for both of us. And you, my little wife, have the bravery of a lioness.”

[penkura]

last forever [8/13]

Summary: Zoro only offered to marry you to keep you out of an arranged marriage with a man much older than you. You agreed with the caveat of ending it via annulment once you received word from your parents regarding the original engagement, despite your growing feelings for your close friend.

Pairing: Zoro x Fem!reader, mentioned Sanami later (like epilogue later so chill)

Warnings: Marriage of Convenience, Fake Marriage, referenced sex (waaaaaay later on), mutual pining, Zoro is bad at feelings but what's new there, eventual romance I promise, mention of past attempted assault (I'll warn in that chapter), creepy older dude later on

Note: This is my personal favorite chapter I've written. That's all I have to say lol.

Taglist:

@misfits1a

[Ch. 1] ● [Ch. 2] ● [Ch. 3] ● [Ch. 4] ● [Ch. 5] ● [Ch. 6] ● [Ch. 7]

“Hey, Sanji. Do me a favor.”

Sanji's nearly unconscious as Zoro speaks to him, his favor loud and clear before the blond passes out, leaving the swordsman to face Bartholomew Kuma alone.

You thought Zoro was going to die, you had convinced yourself he wasn't going to wake up. You'd stayed by his side, praying, ever since Sanji and Chopper brought Zoro back into Moria's mansion to treat his wounds and let him rest. Sanji won't tell you a word of what happened, no matter how much you beg him to.

“Mosshe– Zoro wouldn't want you to know. I doubt he wants anyone to know. Least of all you and Luffy.”

Whatever Sanji meant, you don't know, and right now you don't even care about what had Zoro knocked out the last little while.

Finally he was awake, it felt longer than it really was, three (agonizing) days, he had freakish healing like Luffy did, of course. But seeing he's awake, you can't help it, you throw yourself at him saying his name over and over like a mantra as you cry. Of course it freaks him out a bit, once he bites back a heavy groan from the pain you've just inflicted on him with your tight hug, it takes Zoro a moment to register you hugging him before he's able to do anything about it.

And he returns your hug slightly. Loosely wrapping his arms around you, one around your shoulders, the other barely touching your waist, an attempt at comforting you while you cry.

Damn it, he's tried so hard to push your feelings away, get you to stop looking at him like he was your world, but now Zoro realizes he's only stoked the flames by doing so, only made your feelings stronger without meaning to.

But, maybe he doesn't mind. He'd seek you out each morning, mostly asking if you'd gotten anything from your parents about your little sham marriage, but he'd also ask you to train with him if you weren't busy, and even be the one to go into town with you whenever the Sunny docked for a day or two. You never asked, you just knew he was coming with you so you waited for him, waited until he was by your side and then you'd smile and lead Zoro into the town to shop for whatever your heart desired (and your wallet could afford). In the time he'd started doing that, Zoro noticed different things about you.

The way you laughed with store clerks as they told you about an item you were looking at, your eyes would sparkle with every new find, how you'd hold onto his wrist to make sure he didn't get lost, you staying beside him when he'd nap on Sunny, you making sure he had enough water during his workouts.

How you'll help anyone on the ship with anything they need. You'll bring Nami the supplies she needs to make maps, help Usopp and Luffy fish for dinner, wash the dishes after dinner despite Sanji telling you he'd do it. You've been learning from Chopper how to treat wounds, you'll sit with Robin and listen to her tell you about history, you've even started helping Franky with his projects and helping to perform maintenance on Sunny if needed.

Then with him. With Zoro you're content to sit quietly while he naps, or watch him while he trains, never expecting a conversation. You willingly bring him whatever he needs, whether it's water or sake, you fix his shirts if they get torn, you even stay up when he has night watch and share drinks with him. He never thought someone would want to spend all their time with him or that he'd accept someone being so close to him, what had changed that made him actually want company during times he'd normally want to rest and be alone?

You. Damn, it was you.

You whose inner demons would infiltrate your dreams, causing you to slip into his bed for comfort, stability, as he slept soundly which gave you peace to do the same, a silent promise after the first time of yes, I’ll keep you safe. You who he had saved from drowning more times than Luffy and Chopper combined. You who made him feel like he was on fire with the slightest touch, even a brush of your fingers against his at dinner. You who had stitched him up multiple times, the first one turning into a jagged scar that if asked he'd say was his favorite. You who cared enough to stay sober in bars to drag him back to the hotel or the ship when you knew he needed to stop and rest.

You who would tell him every detail about the books you were reading, the ones you'd purchased or borrowed from Robin. The one time you told him the main love interest of a romance novel reminded you of him, making his face burn red out of embarrassment before he told you not to say such things, especially in front of the others (mostly Sanji).

Even after telling you in Alabasta that nothing was going to happen, you two weren't going to become a couple, he wasn't here to play romance with you or anyone else. Even after all that, you still stuck to his side almost like glue and didn't let it change anything.

Even with your argument after Robin joined, nothing much changed between the two of you. If anything, Zoro felt more drawn to you than anything or anyone else. He wanted to spend more time with just you and him. What a change from just a few months ago, he just realized.

Even once you kissed him and he returned it in Water Seven, you attempted to apologize soon after, before he stopped you. There had been nothing to apologize for, not from you anyway. If he'd thought about it at the time, Zoro would have apologized for not giving you a proper response then. For making you go to bed alone that night.

Damn it all.

What has happened to him? Ever since your sham marriage began something has been creeping into his mind every time he looks at you and remembers "Oh yeah I'm married to her" that makes him want to pull you away from everyone and damn it, he wants to kiss you again. There's another feeling of wanting, needing to protect you, despite how strong you are in your own right. Everything about this is weird, yet somehow comforting as well. Who put this spell on him, who made him have feelings like this? Are you secretly a witch on top of a swordswoman?

"Zoro…?"

Zoro breaks out of his thoughts when you speak his name again, this time as a question, your voice shaking as you hold him tighter, trying your best not to hurt him again.

"I…” your voice shakes again, and you hide your face in the crook of his neck, briefly wondering if this was the smart thing to do, before the words fall out of your mouth, “I love you…"

He pulls you closer, just a bit, your whispered confession only loud enough for him to hear. He doesn't have a response, not right now, but you're fine with that. You'd accepted long ago he may never love you back, but you had to tell him. He had to know.

After nearly losing him, you had to get these feelings out.

So when he ever so quietly thanks you, pressing the softest kiss to your temple, it makes you cry even more. You feel there's a chance, however small it may be, that Roronoa Zoro may come to have feelings for you one day.

Chopper returns a moment later, not wanting to pull you two apart, but he's so happy to see Zoro's alive and awake that even he cries a little, before checking the swordsman's wounds as you release yourself from him, Zoro allowing you to continue holding his hand for comfort.

Not only for you, but for him as well.

“I probably won't make it out of this…so take care of her for me, got it?”

+!+

"I told Zoro I love him."

It becomes so quiet you can hear a pin drop after that. Nami had asked why you were so spaced out that day, she and Robin now both so surprised at your confession. Nami's jaw drops and Robin has a small smile, before they look at each other with one thought in mind.

Impromptu girl's night.

"I'm getting extra blankets and pillows!"

"I'll ask Sanji for some wine and snacks."

Once everything is together and all the pillows and blankets are spread on the floor, you have glasses of wine and small snacks, Nami demands to hear every detail and you tell her and Robin everything about your love confession.

"He…he thanked me and kissed me–"

"On the lips again?!"

You laugh and shake your head, taking a small sip of your wine. "No, just on my temple this time."

Nami squeaks a bit, Robin laughing lightly at her reaction and the longing look on your face. As soon as she joined she'd seen the love you held for Zoro on your face, anytime you spoke of him or someone else did, your eyes would light up and your cheeks would burn pink.

You were deeply in love with him, even though he showed no romantic feelings for you. Robin had given you a romance novel once specifically due to the fact the love interest even reminded her of Zoro, which you quickly agreed with and finished the book in nearly three days which surprised her.

Nami, knowing you and Zoro were married, wanted you two together from the start. Every time you told her something that made you fall more and more in love with him, she'd giggle alongside you which always got a strange look from Usopp and Luffy, who thought you were both insane. She'd push you two together so often, that when Zoro started following you off the ship she thought it was a good sign, since she didn't have to bribe him with reducing his debt or anything. He just went on his own.

"That's such a great sign!" Nami throws her arms around you in a hug, making you laugh while Robin nods. "He's starting to fall for you! Finally!"

"I wouldn't go that far, Nami."

"I would! After all these months, you guys could be a real couple!"

"Nami, let's calm down a bit," Robin smiles and puts a hand on your shoulder, "She and Zoro will need to talk things out eventually, but let's see if anything changes since she's confessed her love to him."

Sighing loudly, Nami nods but still holds onto you, seeing a strange look on your face. She's not sure if it's one of concern or what, but it makes her hug you a little tighter.

"I'm sure he loves you, maybe deep down right now, but, he's gonna tell you one day."

You smile a bit with a slight nod, hugging Nami back. You believe her, you really do. Even if it takes a while for Zoro to say anything back to you, it doesn't matter. You'll wait as long as it takes and not give up.

For Zoro, you'll wait a lifetime.

+!+

You're crawling into Zoro's bed a few nights later. Your nightmares had turned from your neglectful parents to losing him at Thriller Bark, waking you with tears and sobs that Robin tried to help you through, calming you down enough for you to tell her you were going to slip into his bed like you'd done every time before. She simply nodded and let you go, promising to tell Nami nothing about it, you didn't want her worrying.

Zoro's fast asleep, as always, as you quietly sneak into the boy's bunks and step over Luffy who had fallen out of his hammock. You hear him mumble something about meat in his sleep while Usopp snores and Chopper sleeps happily beside him, but you pay no mind to it. You feel lucky Franky's in his workshop, Sanji's still busy in the kitchen, and Brook is out on the deck playing his violin. None of them should cause you any problems this time, but does it matter if they do?

Your thoughts are entirely on Zoro and making sure he's okay. He's still injured, but you have to be certain nothing is wrong.

You quickly and quietly slip into his hammock once you reach it, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his back, hearing a slight groan from him due to his wounds still not being fully healed. You feel bad waking him, even as he turns around and throws one of his arms over you, looking at you as if asking what was wrong, even though he thought he knew. It's been a while since you've last done this, your nightmare must have been particularly awful for you to return to this habit he'd thought you'd stopped.

"You okay?" His brows are furrowed while he wipes a few of your tears away. He's never seen you this upset after a nightmare before.

You try to speak but all that comes out is a whimper and a quiet sob, making you grip his shirt tighter as you shake your head. You can't tell him, you can't get the words out that it was a nightmare about him dying after he’s told you numerous times he wasn’t dying until he became the world’s greatest swordsman. He came so close to death at Thriller Bark that you were just terrified deep down about it becoming reality.

Instead of inquiring further, Zoro just nods, pulling you closer in an effort to calm you down.

"You're safe here. Nothing's gonna get you while I'm around."

You feel the quickest of kisses on your forehead before Zoro tucks your head under his chin, closing his eyes to sleep again, and it's all so strange to you. You've not had time to sit and talk since you told him you love him, but he's treated you slightly differently lately. Still going into town with you, training with you, but now sitting beside you at every meal which pissed off Sanji at times, purposefully leaning against you while he napped as you read a book.

He let you hold his hand the other day in town, even stopping at a small café with you for lunch and refusing to let you pay for your own meal despite his own money problems.

Zoro may not be in love with you yet, but you can tell he definitely cares for you in how he treats you. He saw through your façade of acting like all was well while you were still nursing the pain from your parents treating you like property and trying to sell you off to someone nearly twice your age just for money, the pain your brother tried his hardest to lighten before he helped you run away. He'd noticed from the moment he met you that there was something you were keeping from him and when he got it out of you one night, he said he'd keep you from having to go back. That was why he married you, you had more to give and do than be someone's third bride, he'd help you achieve it himself.

"Thank you, Zoro."

He's still awake, but once you finally fall asleep, he opens his eyes and watches you, finally peaceful. He feels bad he doesn't have a true response to you yet, he’s still working things out in his own mind and heart. Telling you once before that he held no romantic feelings for you, but now realizing that his thoughts have changed, it’s hard to work through that without letting anyone know. He doesn't want to get your hopes up just to tell you he doesn't feel the same in the end.

But, Zoro thinks that maybe, maybe staying married to you won't be so bad. Maybe, once he works out his feelings, he'll try to properly court you, give you a relationship you deserve, he'll protect you from anything and anyone else.

And then, one day, you could revisit this being a married couple thing, maybe actually live as husband and wife.

+!+

There's a slight bit of teasing the next morning from Franky. He'd finally gone to bed at one point and was surprised you had snuck into Zoro's hammock, the swordsman having an arm around you as you both slept. Granted he's seen how close you two are, especially after the fiasco of Thriller Bark, but didn't think you were that close.

He's also surprised by none of the others, apart from Brook, saying anything about it either. Was this normal for the two of you, to share a bed like that? If it was, why didn't Zoro just join you in the women's bunks? Surely your bed was more comfortable than his hammock.

Your face feels like it’s burning all through breakfast, the same as when Sanji first caught you in Zoro's hammock and made a fuss about it. Zoro just sets a glare at Franky anytime he says something about you two getting cozy with a grin that tells him your shipwright is getting the wrong idea. You two hadn't done anything, you slept like the other times, there's no reason for this teasing.

Zoro eventually has enough and slams his hand on the table, frightening most of your crewmates, standing up and continuing to glare at Franky.

"Would you just shut up about it? She had a nightmare and came to me for help, that's all. Come on, let's go."

Luckily you're done with breakfast when Zoro tells you to go with him, nodding and doing so as you hear Sanji and Nami reprimand Franky, who's now wondering why Zoro, of all people, got so angry about a little bit of teasing.

"I don't get what the big deal is," Franky leans back in his seat, ignoring how Nami is still looking like she's going to smack him, "So what if they're together? Not like it's against the rules or anything."

"Except they aren't together." Sanji responds before Nami can, and all it does is make Franky question the situation even more. He's trying to diffuse the situation, making sure your arrangement with Zoro doesn't get out before you either annul or Zoro decides to stay with you.

Luffy nods, before saying "They're married though, but don't tell anyone else!"

"Luffy!!" Nami doesn't even wait to smack him over the head, making your captain whine and ask what that was for. "That's not our secret to tell!"

"Well they're gonna get an annulment thingy anyway, so why does it matter??"

"Wait what, what the hell?"

“I didn't know Zoro and [Y/N] were married!” Chopper sounds beyond excited, while Brook laughs.

“Yohoho, what a surprise!”

Franky and Brook try to question Luffy and Nami about the whole thing, while Robin smiles to herself.

She's heard you and Sanji talking about your marriage to Zoro every now and then, and knew most of the details already, but knowing your feelings for him, she’s sure it’s only a matter of time before you two actually became a couple.

Though, she’s also fairly certain that if you heard your marriage had been revealed, you'd crawl in a hole and die while Zoro would seriously consider throwing Luffy overboard, before saving him in the end.

+!+

"I don't think Franky was trying to be rude about it."

"He was being obnoxious is the point, [Y/N]."

Nodding in agreement, you keep your eyes on your book once Zoro comes back from showering after his morning workout. He'd gone straight to the crow's nest after leaving the kitchen, you running to get a book and joining him once you'd picked one out. You've been sitting there ever since, having small conversations with Zoro while he worked out, eventually leaving long enough to take a shower before coming back to you in the same spot. He didn't want to talk about the morning's events anymore, but you felt like you had to say something no matter how obnoxious Franky was about the whole situation.

Zoro sits beside you, and you barely glance over a few times, wondering if now was a good time to talk about your confession and what's next for the two of you, before he speaks first.

"Anything from your parents?"

Ah yes, that makes sense. He hasn't asked yet today, that's what was missing from this day.

Shaking your head, you close your book and lean back to stare up at the ceiling. "Not a word. Makes me think they forgot they had a daughter."

"We're three days out from having to divorce, right? So there's probably no chance of them responding in time."

You're not sure if you hear annoyance or concern in Zoro's voice, but again you nod.

You don't know how to voice that you don't want to annul or divorce, that your confession to him after he woke up at Thriller Bark wasn't a heat of the moment thing or simply crewmate concern. You really are in love with him, that was a fact you've come to know over the last few months but were only able to voice recently.

Why do feelings have to be so complicated?

"You meant what you said, after I woke up?"

He's very quiet, you almost miss him speaking, but your breath catches in your throat, and its all you can do to just nod, a small 'yes' coming out of your mouth.

Zoro's not at all surprised as he nods, trying to plan his next words carefully. He's not ready to say the same love confession to you, but he might be willing to try. Try a relationship with you and keep you safe, whether your parents ever reply to you or not. He's willing to give the two of you a shot.

It's strange, how just six months ago you were in tears to him about the arranged marriage and he quickly offered to marry you and keep you from going home, from leaving him. At first, he tried to convince himself it was because you were useful, you worked well with him when taking down bounty targets. You knew how to use a sword and could perform recon work on your targets, all of that was more than what he needed in a bounty hunting partner, when he'd never thought of having one before. Not until he met you in that dinky little bar when you were running away from home, nearly passing out when you ran into him because you'd had a fever and he kept you from hitting the ground. He lost a couple days of work taking care of you, a complete and total stranger, that you were so grateful to him you offered to help and he only let you do so after you sparred with him. You lost obviously, but Zoro was impressed enough to let you follow him if you wanted to.

The year and a half you had traveled and worked together was enough, he knew it when he told you he'd marry you. You didn't know it, still don't to this day, and Zoro would likely take the truth to the grave with him, but at this point he knew it.

He knew he had feelings for you, it was just telling you. That's the difficult part right now.

You'd said your side of it, Zoro just needed the right place and time to return your words.

"I want–"

There's shouting from down on the deck that snaps you both out of your little world you're in, and you sit up to look out the window, seeing what looked like a large fish tail and Sanji freaking out over something. You wonder what's going on, before looking at Zoro, who looks less than thrilled you two were interrupted.

"Something's going on! Let's go see!"

He doesn't fight or grumble while you grab his wrist and pull him up, there's nothing he can do about it now.

Maybe tomorrow I guess.

+!+

“What’s with the bird?”

You don’t even have the chance to untie the letter from your parents before Zoro asks, you just smile before petting your family’s carrier bird on her head, giving her a few scratches as she perches on your shoulder.

“My parents are wealthy, so they have their own carrier birds. We’ve had Chisa here since I was little, she brings me mail and letters all over, wherever I am she’ll find me.”

“Seriously? All of that just to flex their cash?” Zoro rolls his eyes when you nod with a small giggle, opening the latest letter you’d been sent by your parents.

Every one so far had been a demand to return home and “fulfill your duty” of marrying the man they’d chosen for you. It was ridiculous, you’ve let Zoro see a few of them, even though every letter says the exact same thing. The only one that had been different was a letter exclusively from Elias, telling you about his marriage because he knew you’d be happy for him.

You start to follow after Zoro as he attempts to lead you back to the town you’re staying at, not even sure why you’re reading the letter that’s most likely just their demands for you to come back, until you catch a new line in the letter that makes you stop in your tracks.

The second he hears your breathing pick up, Zoro stops and looks over his shoulder at you, eyes widening just a bit when he sees your shoulders shaking and it almost seems like you’re about to have a panic attack.

“Hey, hey, calm down,” he’s almost instantly in front of you with his hands on your shoulders, Zoro knows he isn’t good at this stuff, but he’s got to get you to calm down, “What’s wrong? What’s in the letter?”

“I…I’m eighteen.”

“Yeah…? So what about—”

“Shit, shit, they’re gonna,” Zoro can barely keep you from hitting the ground while you crouch down, still holding the letter but putting your hands on your head to try and calm yourself down, “They’re gonna find me and force me to marry him.”

Zoro takes the letter from you while you start crying over your fears of being forced back home, reading the letter himself to see there’s some caveat in the agreement between your parents and alleged fiancé, where you’d be legally married soon after turning eighteen whether you had a wedding or not. Scowling, Zoro starts to rip to letter up, watching you fist your hair and close your eyes tight. Whatever you went through while dealing with this arranged marriage situation, it’s left a bad impression on you, he’d be surprised if you ever chose to get married one day because of it.

After a few minutes, Zoro helps you back up, holding your shoulders again, before trying to speak to you.

“What—"

“I can’t go back, I can’t!” Finally looking up at him again, you’re still in tears and griping his shirt so tightly, almost desperate for some way out of this arrangement, some way to keep from being found and dragged back there. “I won’t go back, Zoro, please, help me!! I can’t marry that man!”

What is he supposed to do? There’s very little chance your parents haven’t sent people out to find you, or sent your name and picture across government facilities that honor small village traditions, no matter how dark or outdated they may be. He doesn’t know what to do, this is so foreign to him! How is he supposed to keep you from marrying someone?

“I’ll marry you then.”

“W-What??” This isn’t what you expected for help, not even in the slightest. You don’t even think Zoro knew he was going to say that, or planned to, it seems like it just came out with no rhyme or reason.

But, it would fix the problem. If you married someone else, your parents couldn’t rightfully force you to marry someone else, whether they had chosen the person or not.

“I…” You shake your head, not wanting Zoro to feel like he has to do something, it’s not his job. All you’ve done is follow him the last year and a half, he’s not supposed to be your protector or anything like that, just a friend that let you go with him so you didn’t have to go back home, back to what you’ve fled. “We can’t! I mean, we aren’t—"

“If I marry you, will that keep them from forcing you home?!”

“I…I think so?”

Nodding, Zoro takes your hand off his shirt, watching you for any signs of rejection or if you want to say anything else. There’s something in his eyes, you don’t know what it is, you probably never will. But he holds your hand so tightly, keeping you from pulling away before he says it again.

“Marry me, [Y/N].”

For a moment, you don’t respond, wondering if Zoro’s screwing with you or not. But that’s not like him. You’ve only known him for about eighteen months, but you know that he would never joke around about something like this. He might be a little closed off still, but he would never play with someone’s feelings this way.

After another minute or so, you nod.

“I’ll marry you, Zoro.”

+!+

You’ve not thought about how Zoro offered to marry you in quite a while, the memory waking you up from a dead sleep in the village you’ve been in the last eighteen months. After receiving Luffy’s message about when to meet your crew again, you ended up staying in a village that excelled in training swordswomen, working your hardest every day and improving to the point very few of the other women even tried to spar with you.

Now I can’t sleep.

Sighing, you get up from your bed and go to the balcony in your little apartment you’ve been granted use of. Remembering the proposal that’s put you in this situation still, where you’ve been legally married for two years, have told Zoro--who was supposed to be your temporary husband--that you’re in love with him, and it seems like he might be starting to feel something similar towards you. It’s still all so strange, but it makes you smile while you watch the stars for a few minutes, silent prayers for your crew’s continued safety, and hopes that you and Zoro can make things work out.

“Happy anniversary, Zoro.”

+!+

You’ll be surprised to hear, one day in the future, that Zoro had the same dream about his impromptu proposal around the same time you did. He even realizes that it would’ve been your second anniversary at the time, give or take a few days, Mihawk doesn’t have a calendar or bother to keep him and the ghost girl up to date on what’s going on outside the island.

The dream isn’t enough to wake him the way it does you, but it does linger in his mind the rest of the day, even as he trains. It gets to the point that Mihawk stops him, asking what on earth could be distracting the twenty-one-year-old so badly that he’s making beginner’s mistakes, and Zoro decides to tell him, just to get it out there. Maybe that will help him clear his mind.

“Just… thinking about my wife.”

This earns a raised brow from Mihawk and a shout from Perona.

“A wife?”

“You’re married and never told us?!”

“You aren’t my crew!”

Perona sticks her tongue out at him, demanding answers about you and your marriage, questions Zoro refused to answer right now, before Mihawk interrupts them.

“I care not that you’re married. You can think about your wife later, focus on training now.”

Though Zoro knows Mihawk is right, he should be focusing on his training, thoughts of you and your strange marriage don’t leave his mind, despite his nodding.

“Right.”

I’ll talk to you soon then…[Y/N].

[roseapov]

Empress

Claude de Alger Obelia x F!Reader

Tw: sexual themes, obsession, implied kidnapping, arranged marriage and pregnancy

! Sexual themes ! 13+ !

Povtober 2023, Day 14 [Masterlist]

You, a second-in-line royal, neglected by your family. The audacity of your family to do so, as they were ruling over a small kingdom, completely insignificant with the comparison to the whole continent.

Your kingdom is only still standing cause of one condition made by the Obelian Empire. As long as you were to be engaged and later married to the Obelian Emperor, your country will continue to stand strong, with the help of a powerful empire.

However if the conditions were to be broken off, everyone in your land would suffer a great loss, being led to a war with a completely crushing opponent, that would weep out your homeland in a week, if they so desired.

And yet you still got mistreated, even as a peace keeper. One day, when you had enough of it, you run away, or at least planned to. Your escape plan seemed decent with a big chance for success, as your wing of the castle was almost empty, with most of the servants in your parents and older sibling side.

On the same day the said emperor came to your castle to talk about the marriage details. When you tried to sneak off through the royal gardens, you got stopped by some unknown man with blonde hair and blue jeweled eyes.

Tossing from side to side, desperately trying to run away from his grasp, chanting like a mantra that you wanted to leave this place forever. Eventually you became tired and with this man unrelenting grip, falling asleep in his arms.

The next moment you wake up, you're in bed with that mysterious man from the last night, being dangerously close to each other.

Later on you found out, you were taken to the Obelian Empire as a future empress, and the man you woke up to was the emperor.

And... You don't want to know what happened to your kingdom.. That's the safest option to choose!

Ever since your arrival you finally got treated like a real royalty, being drowned by all that valuables and attentiveness of the servants and guards.

The man, whose name you learned to be Claude, never really left your side ever since. You had a hard time warming up to him, even when he took you away from your family, his cold glare scaring you endlessly.

Shortly after your arrival, the marriage and coronation came shortly after. People welcoming you with open arms and a great amount of hope, that you will be able to tame their ruler.

Claude was very attentive to you, seeing your every little discomfort, swiftly disposing of its source. Example?

When you didn't like the food the chef cooked, and Claude ordering to execute him. That's the exact part when you step in, pleading him to spare this poor soul. To everyone's surprise he indeed listened to you and left this person alive.

From that day onward you earned the utmost respect and adoration from your subjects, being known for your benevolence towards anyone, no matter their status but also the ability to calm down the tyrant emperor.

But after a while of your reign with Claude came the question of the children. As a married man Claude has slayed all of his concubines, just for you, which left you scared and speechless, to discard someone's life so easily, how.. vicious.

As a ruler without concubines and children, he had to, well.. make some. Preferably with the empress, but some other women would do the thing too, no they wouldn't, he killed everyone seconds after these words left their mouths.

The fact that they had the audacity to suggest him making future heirs with someone else? Truly outrageous, they met an end they deserved.

To make all that nonsense quiet you don't have a choice and decide with your husband that it is time to make a royal heir. You're doing that only because it's a part of your royal duties, but don't worry your husband knows it and just pretends that you want it as much as he does.

During this time, he would constantly cling to you and if it were for him, you wouldn't need to stand up from the bed at all, which you rarely did anyway.

He threatened everyone with death if you were to leave your shared bedroom.

He greatly enjoyed your baby making process, taking in all of you. Your expression and sounds you made, he has it all detaily memorized.

Being even more intoxicated with you, and when you tried to muffle your moans, he got even harsher, considering it disrespecting the emperor and denying his wishes.

He became ruthless, telling you how lucky you are that he favors you, that anyone else in your place would be already dead. You should be thankful you haven't met this horrible end, and yet you still have the audacity to disobey him, truly bold of you, Empress.

Let him put you in your place, always beneath him.

If you do get pregnant, you'll forget what it was like to have a moment for yourself. Now you're under the watching gaze of Claude as he doesn't let you do anything at all. While always standing right by your side, watching you as your belly gets rounder with every passing week.

That child will be the next ruler of the Obelian Empire, it will be yours child, yours and his.

A living proof that you decided was forced to make love with him, a living proof that you were all his and he all yours, till the end of the time, saved in the history for all to read.

I went all out on this one which is weird since I had 0 thoughts after my sickness, but I'm not complaining🤭 This came out mostly 'you' centered, so I'm sorry to everyone who didn't liked that, it was an accident🙏 I tried making it more Claude centered by making this fic longer, to conceal the 'you' centered part, but I don't know how well I pulled that off 👀 Feedback is greatly appreciated💛

~roseapov

[jedi-enthusiasm-blog]

Star Wars Masterpost

Pro Jedi/In Defense Of The Jedi

The Jedi didn't free Shmi and why that's not a slight against them

The Jedi aren't stuck in their ways just because they don't allow marriage

The Jedi aren't stuck in their ways just because they don't allow marriage (addendun)

Jedi culture tag (derogatory)

Jedi culture tag (derogatory) (meme)

Villains Praising the Jedi (and fandom not getting it)

Sith (derogatory) VS Jedi (affectionate)

On the Jedi's limited numbers (+ an anti)

"Cal and Kanan fix the mistakes of the Order and stop repressing what makes them human" Shut up

Inconsistency in anti-Jedi arguments

"There's being critical and there is slander"

Fandom experience (derogatory)

Age is not an immediate disqualifier

Friendly reminder about emotional mindfulness

Jedi kidnapping (affectionate) VS Mandalorian foundlings (derogatory)

If you're gonna critize the Jedi they have to be wrong

The Jedi's political power: canon vs fanon

Most Jedi don't struggle with attachment

Mace Windu and actively fighting fascism

Jedi Order: broke vs woke

When others are the best versions of themselves

I wouldn't want a romantic relationship if I was a Jedi

Antis stop projecting your religious trauma onto the Jedi, the Sith are right there

No, Luke doesn't save his father with attachment

Fandom experience (derogatory)

The Jedi made the right decision in using the Clone Army

Pro Jedi community rite of passage

Jedi Culture/Jedi Positivity

If the Jedi have no fans I'm dead

Heart of a Jedi

A Jedi's Weapon

Multilingual Jedi Babies

Why the Jedi stopped wearing white headcanon

Non-Master/Padawan Jedi Relationships

Jedi Positivity (community)

Collective Jedi Parenting

Q: Who's the best Jedi? A: Yes

Many Jedi are orphans

My interpretation of the Jedi Code/Meditation Mantra

Mace Windu Best Jedi

Obi-Wan Best Jedi

Gushing about Reva

Gushing about Reva (II)

Reva/Vader parallels

Jedi-antis when jedi-enthusiasm-blog likes the Jedi

"Be with me" AKA cool tribute to the Jedi I found on YouTube of all places

"The importance of Luke Skywalker"

"What Jedi used to be" AKA why we love the Jedi

Tag game

Force-sensitivity and being aroace

Star Wars History ( @saturnidiot thank you so much)

When The Night Is Darker, The Stars Shine Brighter (my AO3 series)

"So be it, Jedi"

Anti Mandalorians/Mandalorians Critical

Why Mandalorian Culture and Mando'a don't make sense

Jedi kidnapping (affectionate) VS Mandalorian foundlings (derogatory)

Mandalorian foundlings (derogatory)

Mandalorian culture and how people fall for fascist rethoric

Fanon dissonance

Slugthrowers don't kill Jedi anymore than blasters (you know why this is here)

Anti Sith

The Sith are not oppressed by the Jedi

Darth Vectivus is a bastard (derogatory) and I love him

Peacekeepers vs nazis in a galaxy far far away…

The Sith don't have balance (joke unfortunately not mine)

Obi-Wan roasting the Sith

Sith are nazis

If I find myself agreeing with Sith philosophy…

"I think the Sith are better than the Jedi" What flavor of stupid are you?

What flavor of stupid are you?, an addendun because somebody doesn't have basic literacy

Anti Anakin/Anakin critical

Anakin is not mentally ill

Others

Star Wars Lines (Pt.1) (Pt.2) (Pt.3) (Pt.4)

Opinion on Ahsoka

The Dark is generous and it is patient

Sabine as the successor to Tarre Vizla

Opinion on Rey

The Force is fine the way it is

Gray morality in the Prequels

[kazutora-kurokawa]

Cheater!Bonten!Mikey x Fem Reader

♡ NSFW obviously, Reader is Mikey's assistant and sidepiece, Reader is kind of a homewrecker, Mikey is married to a random woman, long ass fic because this idea was driving me crazy last night, also thinking about making a taglist but I'm not entirely sure ♡

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

~I wonder if she knows it ain't your sister that she's sharing all her time with. She may do the cooking and the cleaning, but that's my dick~

❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀❀

It was a marriage of convenience. She didn't really love him, all she cared about was the power he held in the palm of his hand. At least that's what he told himself. Repeating it in his head like a mantra, as if saying it enough would make it true. But in reality, she did love him. That didn't really matter to him though, not right now. Not with you underneath him, looking so beautiful. Every inch of your body on display for him and only him. You were all his and despite his marriage he was yours.

He didn't plan to cheat on his wife, but there was something about you he just couldn't resist. He hired you as his assistant 5 months ago, but your relationship quickly escalated from professional to romantic. He always seemed distracted when you were around, and you took notice. You weren't the only one though, the Bonten executives could see it too. They felt the tension in the air when you two were in the same room, the sweet tone in his voice when he talked to you, the way his eyes undressed you. They all know about your relationship. They also know to keep quiet about it if they want to stay on his good side.

They couldn't help but feel sorry for his wife though, imagine how heartbroken she'd be if she found out about you. The way he talks to you, the way he looks at you, the way he fucks you. If only she knew how he flaunted you around town. Taking you to the most expensive restaurants, sitting in the VIP sections of Bonten's clubs. And she'd just die of a broken heart if she knew that he's brought you back home and fucked you in the same bed she sleeps in. Filling your pussy with his cum and your head with promises of leaving her and becoming your husband.

He just can't help himself. He's just so... obsessed with you. He doesn't just want you, he needs you. He'd rather die than not be able to feel you gripping his dick with your tight cunt. He loves you more than he'll ever love her, so it's not hard to grasp how truly relieved he is when his wife gets home early from a shopping trip. The clunking of her designer heels stops at the bedroom door. Mikey knows it's over, so he doesn't bother stopping. Why would he when he knows how close you are? Your breath hitches as the doorknob slowly turns and Mikey deepens his thrusts, hitting every spot you like. There she is, his poor, heartbroken wife. She drops the bags she was holding in shock and covers her mouth with her hands. The tears start flowing as he looks over at her. Your hands disconnect from his shoulders, yet his hands still gripped your waist. He seemed annoyed at her presence.

"Manjiro... how could you do this to me?"

He thought for a second before he responded.

"We might be married, but I'm not obligated to stay faithful to you. Especially when I'm not even in love with you."

She looked at him in disbelief, then at you. You looked away, not because you felt ashamed for sleeping with her husband, but because of the secondhand embarrassment you got from her crying. She turned around, stumbling out of the room and out of the house. Mikey looked away from the doorway and down at you. He leaned down and kissed your forehead before whispering in your ear.

"Now I'm all yours."

[atinylittlepain]

Part Two

no outbreak!joel miller x f!oc

series playlist

joel miller masterlist

series masterlist

She's tired. He's tired. They're neurotic. They're in love. Something needs to change. They need to change.

word count | 5.1k

chapter content info | 18+ little angst, couples counseling, just two tired people trying to figure out the tangle of their relationship together

a/n | part two is here, and i'd just like to say thank you to everyone being so kind about the first part - i know this isnt the usual peepaw fare, so thanks for giving her a chance - and also big thank you to @wannab-urs for beta-ing this bad boy <3

............................................

This is not a failure. She is not failing. They are not failing. Every Thursday at four o’clock she shuts her laptop and locks her office and stops in the bathroom at work, silently repeats these things to herself in her mind while she rubs her fingers at smudged mascara in the bathroom mirror. Like a mantra, though she’s not sure she’s fully bought into it yet. Because the truth is, she has had plenty of conversations with plenty of girlfriends that, really, they shouldn’t have been having about other girlfriends, not in the room with us girlfriends who, did you hear, started going to therapy and, did you hear, started going to therapy with their, oh no, husbands. Yes, she has been the bitch who has made jokes about death knells and a marriage’s last gasp for breath, jokes about the husband having the emotional range of a goldfish, and the wife being so up the husband’s ass she should give him a colonoscopy while she’s at it. She’s not really making jokes like those anymore. 

She’s not supposed to be doing what she’s doing this Thursday at four o’clock. When they first went to Vicky (LMFT, for the record) her fundamental decree had been a period of full separation. Sixteen years, she had asked, and they had nodded, and she had said whoa boy, yeah, y’all need to back off each other before we do anything else. If Paula Dean had a penchant for self-help instead of butter, she’d be something like Vicky. And so, with all the care of a drill sergeant delivering commands, or a mechanic running a diagnostic on a fucked-up car, Vicky had told them how this is going to go. An apartment, she said, don’t care which one of you lives in it. Minimal contact between sessions, right, keep it civil, right, this isn’t for forever, right. So Joel got an apartment, and Tommy helped him move all the furniture in the basement with admittedly minimal, but still present, wariness, and for the last four weeks they’ve been doing everything their beloved herr-therapist tells them. She supposes it’s working, although you can’t really do much fighting when you only see the other person for ninety minutes every Thursday so, the results might be confounded, actually.

“Hey there.” Hey there? What the fuck, what the actual fuck. He doesn’t think he’s ever said those words to her, ever, maybe not to anyone actually. He feels a little insane, a little itchy under the skin, mouth full of cotton, brain too, because they’re not supposed to be doing this, not really. The first time she’s seen the apartment, or, well, the doorway of the apartment, doesn’t really seem interested in stepping further inside, running her curled palm up and down the strap of her purse and right, not here for that. He shuts the door behind him and then they’re on their way to therapy because it’s four o’clock on Thursday and this is what they do now at four o’clock on Thursday.

“Thanks again. I didn’t think my car would still be in the shop today.”

“Oh of course, you said it’s a transmission leak?” 

“Yeah, the bad, expensive kind that’s above my paygrade. Guy said they’re still waiting on a part for it.”

“Well I’m off work tomorrow if you need a ride anywhere.”

“Vicky’ll get pissed.”

“If she finds out. Are you gonna tell on me to Vicky?” It’s a joke, they can joke, right? She laughs a little on the end of her words to make it clear, hey, it’s a joke, awkward and out of touch and unsure of what the rules are. But he offers a breath of a laugh, at least, fine, it’s fine, they’re fine, and now they’re silent driving to Vicky’s office. 

Should he ask her how her week has been? If the kitchen sink is still leaking? He’s not sure. Not sure about any of it, really. Every week, Vicky asks them how they think they’re doing and Cass doesn’t even hesitate. Good, she says. Not fine, not okay, but good, usually with a sure, terse nod. It takes him a little longer to find the right word to describe how he’s doing. Not sure about that either, but it’s definitely not good. Some things are better, sure, easier not to argue when under foot, easier not to remember all the ghosts they’ve built up around themselves. But at the most basic level, he misses her, even misses arguing with her, in a perpetual state of missing something, walking around and wondering if he left his wallet at home, or if he remembered to call a client about a new build, wondering if he’s missing something essential, a limb or an organ he didn’t know about. No, none of that. Missing something else.

“You’re not wearing your ring.” She flexes her left hand over the steering wheel in response, her very bare ring finger making him feel a quick pinch of something he’ll call anger, though it’s probably something else entirely. 

“No, Vicky advised I try not wearing it during the separation.”

“Why the fuck would she tell you to do that?”

“Joel.”

“I’m just asking.”

“You’re swearing.”

“Well, why didn’t she say the same thing to me?”

“Maybe because I told her this is how you would react.”

“I think I’m having a pretty normal reaction to it, actually.”

“It’s not a big deal. It’s just for now.”

“Right.”

“It is.” 

“Seems like a strange thing to advise someone to do when they’ve been married for nearly two decades.” She parks outside of the office complex that Vicky works in, lets out a long sigh through her nose and doesn’t spare him a glance as she reaches around to the backseat and pulls her purse up front, producing her ring from somewhere deep inside of it and sliding it back on her finger. 

“There, are you happy now?”

“Why the hell were you keeping it in your purse?”

“Oh my god, really?”

“That’s a real easy way to lose it is all I’m saying.” The truth is, she’s been keeping it in her purse in order to have easy access to it. Like a pulsepoint, sometimes she just needs to know it’s there, reaching into her purse underneath her desk and yep, still there, still okay. Sometimes she doesn’t get through a whole day without putting it back on. Like reflex, like ghost limb aching. But she’s not about to tell him that.

“Do not bring this up with Vicky.”

“Why not?”

“Because then she’ll know we drove here together.”

“You’re that worried about what Vicky thinks?”

“She’s our therapist, I’m a healthy and appropriate amount worried about what Vicky thinks.” 

“You know she’s not the arbiter of marriage just because she has a couple of degrees, right?”

“Really, the arbiter of marriage?” 

“Are you doing that thing you do, is that what this is?”

“What thing?” 

“Cass.”

“What thing?”

“Are you trying to win therapy?” Fuck him. No, really, fuck him. He’s doing that thing, his thing to her thing, half a smile in the passenger’s seat like he’s got her. Awful, of course he’s got her, smug and sure in his getting her. She doesn’t answer his question, knowing that her silence is an answer in and of itself and not really caring because they have therapy, damn it, and it’s going to be his fault if they’re late to therapy, damn it.

“You know, I’m starting to see why Vicky told us no carpooling to sessions.” Slammed shut, he sighs when she gets out of the car, thinking idly to himself that yes, he doesn’t necessarily disagree with that commandment of their therapist either. At the very least, Cass’ ring is still on her finger. He tried a few times in the past to get her something new, something nicer than the gold band he had given her when they were still young and still not able to afford much of anything, but sure enough in each other to want to keep doing it, all of it, together. No, she would tell him, doesn’t want anything other than the gold band. What she doesn’t know is that he pawned his grandfather’s watch and an electric saw for the ring the shop owner kept in a padlocked display case. Twenty-six years old, and looking back, he thinks he would have sold a whole lot more just to get it for her. 

He used to call her pearl. Something about grit that would make her roll her eyes and ask him what late night National Geographic TV special he got that line from, all the while inwardly swooning because sure, she had been baby before, babe, an errant sweetheart even, but pearl was new, and tooth-decayingly sweet. And when he proposed, Sarah bouncing around them like a manic cupid, Cassandra made an ugly sound somewhere between a laugh and a cry, little black velvet box and a ring that was more signet than wedding, simple and gold and a single pearl set in the center of it. Her hands clasped, she runs the pad of her finger over her ring, wordless and worrying it on the elevator ride up to Vicky’s office. 

Vicky has a thing for lamps and art prints of naked women. Her waiting room is a little dim, no windows, green velveteen loveseat and two high-backed wooden chairs that they always take when they get here, his eyes scanning over the coffee table laden with back-ordered Psychology Today magazines, headlines about overcoming anxiety and exercising your way out of depression. There had been one about postpartum  depression somewhere in the pile the last time they came, but he had made a point of hanging back after Cass left, some excuse about checking an insurance thing with Vicky, though what he really did was pluck out that magazine and throw it away in the men’s restroom down the hall. One less thing to worry about, at the least. 

“Hi, you two, come on back.” The sessions always start the same. Vicky asks them how they think the week went, and they both offer up some iteration of fine. Vicky asks them if they’ve been upholding their phase of separation, and she answers before Joel can, pointedly not looking at him, yes, no contact between sessions. But apparently, this week is going to be different.

“We are nearing the end of the total separation phase. After this initial period of cooling off for both of you, the real work can begin.” Right, phases, because Vicky works in phases like this is some sort of military siege. He tries not to roll his eyes at the real work beginning. 

“Can either of you remember the last date you went on together?” 

“It would’ve been in August, right before the separation.” Cass scoffs at his answer, tilt of her head like, really?

“Tommy and Maria’s baby shower hardly counts as a date. But we did go to dinner at the end of July.”

“I don’t think your work banquet counts either.” Vicky hits them with that look, that yeah, that’s what I thought look, all raised brow and scrunched nose and nodding. Not that she is, but if she, hypothetically, were trying to win therapy, Cassandra thinks she wouldn’t be doing a great job of it right now.

“Right, well, you’ve made my point for me. It’s not unusual for people who have been together for as long as you two have to let things like this fall to the wayside. However, it can be very helpful to reestablish some of these routines. Think of it as marriage maintenance.” 

“So you want us to start going on dates again?” 

“Yes, but not with each other.” Did she? Did he? Hear that right? Cass is nodding like it’s the most reasonable thing in the world, like, yes, of course, this is just the solution they’ve been looking for. This time, he doesn’t hold back a laugh.

“I’m sorry, what?” Both of them look at him like, yes, keep up, please, let us explain this to you very slowly so you can keep up, please. Something about seeing what life is like outside of their marriage, testing the waters, seeing if they still like the same things without their extra marital limb, something about making a decision about their marriage, though he tunes most of that part out because, no, thanks, no new decision has been needed since he got down on one knee during that trip to Galveston, sunscreen and sticky sweet and he’s not sure if he or Sarah was more excited, but he was definitely more nervous. And Cass said yes, and then he wasn’t nervous anymore, not scared anymore, and that’s all there was to it, is to it, right? Right. 

“This is the closing exercise of the total separation phase. It’s really important that you both have this opportunity to see what it’s like to be back in the dating pool. Think of it as a trial run of if you decide to make this separation–”

“No, no thanks. That’s not– we’re not those people, so, you know, we can just move onto the next phase.” 

“Joel.” The mom voice of all things, and he knows for certain now that Cass is trying to win therapy, nudging her shoe into the side of his, and, come on, really? She’s really bought that hard into what Vicky’s selling? Now that, that isn’t like her, at all. 

“What feelings are coming up for you right now, Joel?” She fucking hates that question, and she imagines that he does too, fingers drumming on his knee, long sigh, and she knows that look, that’s his getting ready to bolt look. Big man, big, skittish man who has accidentally nailed his fingers to house frames and hardly shed a tear. But feelings? Yeah, forget it. 

“Uh, I guess I’m confused as to why that is so important for us to do. We came here to help our– to help us, not to create more problems.”

“And you think that if you and Cassandra went on dates, one date, with other people, that it would create more problems in your marriage?” Well, it’s hardly rocket science, Vicky, though judging by the way she’s speaking to him, he’s pretty sure he failed some kind of test of hers. He doesn’t particularly care.

“I imagine it’d do that to anyone’s marriage.” 

“It’s just one date, it’s a part of the process.” She’s starting to get pissed, and trying very hard not to show it in front of Vicky should she get the what feelings are coming up for you treatment. When they agreed to start going to therapy, like a pair of dogs gagging down a pill, they had both agreed to put their full effort into it, and if Vicky wasn’t in the room with them currently, Cassandra would sharply remind him of that agreement. 

“Maybe I should clarify the expectations around this exercise. It’s one date, preferably with people outside of your shared social circle, and it would be best if the focus is just on the date, no sexual relations.”

“Oh really, you think that’d be best?”

“Joel.” He gives her a slack and slanted look, speaking two different languages, apparently. And really, she doesn’t see what the big deal is. One date versus sixteen years is pretty obvious math for her to square up, though it doesn’t seem to be for him. But, watching him engage in psychological tennis with Vicky, some new jab dripping in sarcasm for every reassurance she tries to offer him, the realization comes to Cassandra slowly, simply. Joel is scared. 

By the time they leave Vicky’s office, he feels deflated, defeated, because yes, they are, apparently, going to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them, scheduled in three weeks instead of one to give them time to do this fucking exercise that fucking Vicky has fucking assigned to them. 

“Can’t we just, you know, say we did it but not actually do it?” 

“Are you serious right now?” Judging by the look she gives him, a quick, sharp flicker of her eyes before she focuses back on the road, he thinks he probably shouldn’t say anything else. He shouldn’t, but, well. 

“Is this about pleasing Vicky, or are you just that interested in dating someone else?”

“Don’t be a child about this, Joel. It’s a therapeutic–”

“It’s bullshit is what it is. I don’t– I already know what I want, and I don’t need to go testing the waters to be sure of it. What I’m not so sure about is if you can say the same.” She can’t put her finger on anything specific,  probably just a slow-building amalgamation of things. Stressful week at work, and the leaking sink getting worse, and her doctor increasing a medication dosage that’s made her body feel like something other than her body, and this fucking therapy and this fucking trying and she’s trying so hard and she feels like she’s failing and when she glances at him he looks hurt, really hurt, a close crumple in his face, deep frown, and it frustrates her because all she’s trying to do is do it right, and all she gets is this constant rhythm of resistance, this push and pull and yes, it’s all of that, all of that creeping up her throat tight and hot and curling behind her eyes sending salt pinpricks and sharp pangs. When the first sob breaks, it does so as a gasp, like a small and stunned thing in her chest. And, well, it’s never uphill from there, is it?

“Do you– do we need to pull over?”

“No, I don’t need to fucking pull over. I’m not an invalid, I can cry and drive at the same time.” Except it doesn’t come out quite like that, not smooth like that. The words get stop-started with each new shudder, new stutter, hiccuping on fucking and invalid. The world has gone to slanted stained-glass through all her tears. 

Unsure what to do, but that’s nothing new. He doesn’t say anything else, watches her through the wary side of his eye, sobs turning into something more subdued, little wounded sounds high in her throat, a choice fuck you with a little more bite behind it when someone cuts her off merging onto the highway. He feels useless, feels like, maybe, this is what Vicky should be talking with them about instead of her siege on marriage plan. All he knows is that he seems to get it wrong every time, so this time, he doesn’t interject or intervene, doesn’t say any more than he already has. He lets her cry, and he lets her drive.

He doesn’t know when it happened. When he decided he was going to fix things for her, or just fix her, really. His lady in pieces and he was going to put her back together, and it seemed like every time he tried to, she just shattered a little more. That April is the obvious answer, the most shattered he had ever seen her. But the fighting had started before then, and so had the fixing that wasn’t really fixing. Like a relief, like a release, the slow realization that no, it never worked, and no, it was never going to work. The sobs turn into shivers turn into something even smaller. By the time they pull up in front of his apartment complex, it has passed. 

“I just– I want to do this right, this therapy thing, and I want it to work, and I want it to work so we can be okay again. That’s what I want.” The words hang between them. He makes no move to get out of the car, and she counts her inhales in the silence, waiting for him to say something, anything. It feels like a child’s logic, or maybe a hail Mary, and she knows it, feels a little insane saying it, the words fitting strangely in her mouth. The brief wondering comes to her, what would she have said about where they are now to her girlfriends, what snark, what sharp jokes at their expense? Him in an apartment and a fifteen minute drive separating them and a woman named Vicky unraveling (and in theory, putting back together) their marriage in phases, fucking phases, and fucking Vicky. She doesn’t want to go on a date with someone else, and she doesn’t know why she’s taking Vicky’s instructions as gospel. But she does know, doesn’t she? It’s not about Vicky, not about Vicky and her fucking phases. Fixing, being fixed, that’s what she wants. 

“So, you’re saying you want us to date other people in order to fix our marriage.” Grateful that she takes it for the joke he meant it as, it’s just enough to slough off some of the tension, roll of her eyes, please. They both let out a sigh, too tired for much else. But maybe, he thinks, this counts as progress, sitting here with her in the car and the sun washing everything down burnt and orange. He watches her eyes drop shut for a moment, fine lines like porcelain fissures and he loves those lines, liked catching her in the bathroom with her face pressed up close to the mirror and her fingers pulling those lines taut around her eyes, her mouth. He’d pull her hands away from her face, ask her if she was planning her halloween costume for next year, earning a scoff and a roll of her eyes and her trying to pull away from him, and he wouldn’t let her. Making it better with kisses to those lines, and eventually, her pressing her fingers as light as prayers over his, an implicit wondering, where did the time go?

“Look, if it really makes you that uncomfortable, let’s just lie to Vicky. We could still get like, an A-minus in therapy if we leave just one thing out.”

“I didn’t realize therapy came with a grade.” He smiles, all soft, and she can’t help the sheepish bloom in her chest, rolling her lips back into her mouth to hide her own grin, eventually, reluctantly, admitting in a quiet, skewed to the side voice, okay, so maybe, maybe I was doing that thing, that winning thing. He doesn’t say anything, and that’s a mercy. Just nods, of course, and of course, he knew, maybe even before she did, and is that knowing not a mercy too? She thinks it is. 

“I want to do this right too, Cass. And, I mean, we’re paying Vicky enough money that we should do what she tells us to.”

“Are you saying you want to do it then?”

“Want is a strong word.”

“Okay, are you saying you’re willing to do it?” 

“It’s just the one?”

“Just the one.” 

“Alright, fuck it, let’s do it. We better get a goddamn A-plus at the end of this.” 

“Mmm, gold stars too.” Another sigh, another settling. How nice, another sigh, another settling. It’s a strange equation, but she thinks it still adds up. Neither of them want to do this, not really, but they’re willing to, and they’re willing to because of each other. Willing to try and get it right for each other. Just, well, ignore the finer details of what getting it right entails. 

“You hear from Sarah lately?”

“On Monday, yeah. Called to wish me a happy birthday.”

“Well, only off by four days, not too bad.”

“Oh no, she called on Monday because she was, and I quote, too busy the rest of the week to call.”

“Wow.”

“Right?”

“Is it bad that sometimes I kinda hate it?”

“Hate what?”

“That she’s like, a fully-formed person now. I miss the days when she was a little blob who liked holding onto me by one of my belt loops.” He has to smile, nod, because he knows exactly what she means. And the truth of it is that Sarah was so good, maybe the best, if he’s allowed to give his completely biased opinion. And the other truth, Cass is, was, one of those people simply meant to be a parent, a mother. He remembers when they first started dating, and all the exhausting maneuvering he did, getting his parents or Tommy to watch Sarah, a string of canceled dinner plans when his kid couldn’t seem to stop catching things at daycare. He was sure that Cass would lose interest every time another piece of his reality was revealed to her. After all, he was not unfamiliar with being left behind. But that never happened, she stayed every time. 

It was Cass who first suggested it. Didn't want to impose, but what if, maybe we could, would it be okay if, why don’t we. They went to the zoo that weekend, if he remembers correctly, Sarah in tow, shy at first around the woman she barely knew, though she bloomed over the course of the day. Yes, he thinks, it was the zoo, because he remembers how by the end of the day, Cass had her on her hip, as easy as anything, so she could get a better view of the rhinos. He knows now that, even in those earliest days, she loved his kid just as much as she loved him. He knows now what a gift that was, and continues to be. 

“She’s gonna be alright, Cass. We did good with her.” She sighs, yeah, we did. She had been worried about telling her about the whole lieutenant-LMFT thing, the whole quasi-separation thing, but that was a direct command from Vicky, letting the family know what was going on. Sarah had taken it surprisingly well when she called, could be good, mom, like a reset. Of course, they kept the worst of it away from her, and of course, she still knew something had changed, something not right between them. No one was left unscathed after that April.

From the start, loving him included loving Sarah. It was never difficult for her to do both. Sweet girl, bright like the sun girl, rounded cheeks and bouncing curls, and Cassandra found that her love for her had a particular effect on her heart. Whenever small hand reached for one of hers, whenever small face tucked into her neck, whether tear-damp or milk-tired, and eventually, whenever she was given the name mom, like a stop and restart of her heart, like something turning back on inside her and finally working right. An everything kind of love, to not only be chosen by him, but to be chosen by her too. 

“Well, anyways, Vicky didn’t make any stipulations about birthdays, so I have something for you.” Just a small thing, she says, leaning over the console and into the back seat, and he knows better than to say no, shouldn’t have, because there’s already a perfect package being placed in his hands, navy blue wrapping paper and a white bow, and her hand cups underneath his for just a moment, there and gone. 

The truth is she had already picked out this gift two months ago, what feels like a lifetime before this separation. Now, watching him open it, she’s a little worried it had been presumptuous of her, if not completely narcissistic. But if he thinks that, he makes no show of it, lets out a quiet laugh as he takes the watch out of the box and holds it up in the fading light to look at it. 

“It’s a little sappy, maybe. But, well, we have something that kinda matches now.” Something is unfurling in his chest, heat loosening something he didn’t even realize he had been tightening up around. It’s a beautiful watch, rich leather strap and polished silver. And the face of it catches and shimmers a little in the light. He knows right away that it’s mother of pearl. 

Here, she says, let me, and he does, feeling a little indulgent watching her fasten the watch around his wrist, and definitely breaking one of fucking Vicky’s fucking rules when he ducks his head down and steals a kiss, another one, letting the third deepen just a little, both of them humming because missed this, missed this, didn’t realize how much, but missed this. 

“Thank you, pearly.” It feels good to be so close to him, noses brushing and smiles curling around each other. Feels like a relief. 

“Happy birthday, one day ahead. We could, you know, do something tomorrow? Get dinner maybe?” Before he can answer, say yes, she’s already caught herself, sheepish smile and pulling a little further away and oh, right. She says sorry, wasn’t thinking, and they do an awkward dance around the whole thing, right, yeah, probably shouldn’t, right, yeah. He is not a hateful man, and it would be too strong to say he’d wish Vicky harm. But if something were to happen, in theory, that’d make Vicky go the fuck away, in theory, he wouldn’t be too torn up about it. 

“See you next Thursday then?”

“Well, next next Thursday, because we have to do the– yeah.”

“Right, yeah.” Right, yeah, this is the part where he gets out of the car. The part where he goes up to his apartment and she drives home and they don’t eat dinner together and they don’t brush their teeth together and they don’t go to sleep together. Right, yeah. They say goodnight. He’d like to say love, but he doesn’t. She’d like to say love, but she doesn’t. And they part ways. 

She hates being in this house alone. Leaves all the lights on all hours of the day and checks all the locks three times before going upstairs to bed. Passes by the closed door that remains closed with her breath held. She knows it makes no sense, but she’s been sleeping in the guestroom, makes the whole thing a little easier. Always had a tendency toward insomnia, tossing and turning brain and body. 

When they were just starting to get more serious, and she was just starting to stay over at his more often, she got worried that eventually it'd drive him mad enough for the whole thing to not be worth it, neither of them getting much sleep as they learned how to share a bed together. And she doesn't remember how it started exactly, maybe out of a moment of pure exasperation, him draping just enough of his weight over her to press slower breath into her lungs and still her body. It became a routine, she'd ask could you? And he'd already know what she was asking for without her having to say any more than that. What she also doesn't remember, when that stopped working, when she stopped asking, and he stopped answering. She supposes it all happened slowly, just like the rest of it. 

[nightghoul381]

Ellis Twilight~ Main Route Chapter 1

Disclaimer for route warnings | Masterlist

Additional Content Warnings: None

This a fan translation so it is definitely not 100% accurate. I do not own anything related to Ikemen Villains. Support Cybird by buying their amazing stories!

Part 1

--What is happiness?

It’s like a twilight sky that changes color the moment it burns into your eyes…

Even though it holds my heart forever and never lets go, I can never have the same one again.

Time, stop—don’t let this happiness fade away.

(From today onwards, my life will be monitored by the members of the assassin organization “Crown” that controls evil with evil.)

As a ‘fairytale keeper’, it is my duty to record their sins—my only lifeline.

Getting ready in front of the mirror, I try to re-energize.

(Honestly, I’m scared to face ‘sin’ again…)

(Up to this point, I’ve only had to deal with complaints at the post office or handling deliveries in crazy busy situations.)

(I’ll be okay, I’m sure it will work out somehow.)

Kate: “Okay, only one month. If I try, I can do this…okay.”

I repeat this to myself like a mantra, opened the door and took a brisk step forward--.

???: “Woah.”

Kate: “Kya!?”

I accidentally bump the tip of my nose into the chest of someone who was standing in front of the door.

Kate: “I-I’m sorry…!”

Ellis: “I’m sorry too...are you hurt?”

(Oh…this guy--)

--Flashback—

Harrsion: “…So what are you going to do now that you’ve explained everything so thoroughly, Victor?”

Victor: “Hmm…That’s right…”

Ellis: “Shall I kill her?”

(Eh--?)

Ellis: “She doesn’t look happy at all, but I’ll take the job.”

--End Flashback—

(He was the first to suggest killing me.)

(But, after that…)

--Flashback—

Ellis: “I’m Ellis.”

Kate: “Ellis… Nice to meet you.”

Ellis: “Mmhmm… likewise. Jude and I are often away on business.”

Ellis: “While I’m here, I’ll make you as happy as possible.”

--End Flashback—

With the same mouth, a line that sounded like a marriage proposal was said without hesitation… what an odd person.

(Why is Ellis in front of my room?)

Part 2

(Ah, I see. Surveillance has already started.)

If I misbehave, I might be killed.

(I can’t just keep acting like everything is the same.)

(I’ve already stepped into a different world.)

Kate: “Mr. Ellis, right…? I look forward to working with you from today onwards.”

Ellis: “Yes, Ellis Twilight, nice to meet you… no need to be so formal.”

Ellis laughed lightly and looked into my face with concern.

Ellis: “…your nose is getting red.”

Ellis: “Sorry, the door opened just as I was about to knock, so I couldn’t avoid it.”

A long, slender arm holds the door.

Behind his curly hair, as his name suggests, are twilight eyes.

I gasped when I notice how close we were and hurriedly apologized.

Kate: “No! I’m sorry I got anxious and jumped out…”

Ellis: “Are you anxious? Why?”

Kate: “What!? Um…”

(“I was getting anxious because I was scared of living with all of you.”)

(I can’t say that…)

Kate: “It’s like I was transferred to a new department that I don’t know at all…”

Kate: “It’s like… Gaahhh!”

Ellis: “Gaahhh…”

Ellis blinks in surprise.

(Ah, that was too weird…)

Ellis: “… you’re a cute person.”

Kate: “Um… it’s okay, you don’t have to follow me…”

(I should have been able to make up and excuse, but I feel so embarrassed.)

As I avert my gaze, looking for a place to move to, Ellis returned to a straight face and spoke in a whisper,

Ellis: “ I’d like to give you your first job in the ‘new department’… is that okay?”

Kate: “---Wow…”

(What a beautiful garden.)

I was taken to the courtyard of Crown castle…

There was a beautiful English garden that had been carefully maintained down to the last detail.

Seasonal flowers are in full bloom, and it smells like paradise.

(Last night, I could only feel the majesty and dangerous atmosphere of the towering castle…)

(But there are places where I feel so at ease.)

As I followed Ellis down the path, admiring the beautiful garden, a gazebo came into view.

Tea and scones are set on the table, as though a tea party is about to begin.

Ellis: “Please sit.”

Kate: “Oh…uh, thank you.”

Ellis pulled out a chair and was waiting for me, so I sat down in the chair, confused ,and he sat in the seat across from me.

(You said earlier that you wanted to give me a job, but…)

Kate: “Is this where I’ll be working my first job?”

Ellis: “Yeah… your first job is to eat breakfast with me.”

Part 3

Ellis: “Yeah…your first job is to eat breakfast with me.”

(…hmm?)

Ellis: “Tell me about yourself while eating delicious food, I’ll tell you about myself too.”

Ellis: “If you record it, it will count as your report as fairytale keeper, right?”

--CHOICES---------------------------------

That’s honestly helpful/ That honestly helps +4 +4

Isn’t that a nuisance? +4 +4

Why would you help me? +4 +4

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

Kate: “Why are you helping me?”

Ellis: “I thought it would make you happy.”

It seems like he’s seriously trying to help me.

Ellis: “I’ll also tell you about the other members of Crown.”

Ellis: “I think it’s a little scary to live among people you don’t know.”

Kate: “…!”

(I never expected this ‘first job’ to be…)

Kate: “Did you invite me just to relieve my anxiety?”

Ellis: “…That’s a little bit correct.”

Kate: “A little bit?”

Ellis: “It’s also for me to talk to you… that’s the bit that was incorrect.”

A faint smile appears on his lips.

(Maybe my first impression of Ellis last night was a misunderstanding.)

Just being near him made me feel like my temperature dropped instantly.

It felt like something was peeking out at me from the gaping darkness--.

I’m sure I felt that kind of anxiety last night…

(I don’t feel that way from Ellis in front of me now.)

(Maybe it was because I had just witnessed the murder scene.)

I gently pushed aside the strange feeling in my chest and decided not to acknowledge it.

--In hindsight, that turned out to be a mistake.

Part 4

(Anyway, Ellis took the trouble to arrange this for me.)

(I’ll take his word for it and listen to various stories.)

Kate: “Thank you, Ellis.”

Ellis: “I haven’t done anything to deserve your gratitude.”

Ellis: “Do you like sweets? These are scones Victor baked this morning.”

Kate: “Eh? Victor baked…?”

Ellis: “Yes, it’s like his hobby. Al is also a good cook.”

Ellis: “The clotted cream is something I learned from Al and made myself.”

Ellis: “Liam recommended this jam, so he bought it for me.”

Ellis: “Perhaps he knows a lot about what’s trending because he’s a stage actor.”

Ellis: “This meat pie is from the restaurant where Roger took me to lunch the other day. He treats me to drinks often.”

Kate: “W-wait a minute. I want to write down what you just told me…!”

When I take out my notebook that I had kept in my pocket,

Ellis told me a lot about the people in Crown--.

Kate: “Oh, I know about the shop that sells this apricot crumble too! There’s usually quite a line there, right?”

Ellis: “I bought it with Harry. Harry apparently has a sweet tooth and is obsessed with delicious sweets shops.”

Kate: “Hehe… Everyone in Crown is good friends aren’t they?”

(I felt like I was living in another world,)

(I feel relieved to know that we are all people living in the same London.)

(Thanks to Ellis.)

With a big smile on my face, I spread cream on the scone in my hand.

Ellis: “Kate.”

Kate: “Yes…?”

Very naturally, the palm of Ellis’ large hand reached up to the side of my face.

Ellis: “You’re going to get cream stuck in your hair.”

Kate: “Huh? Oh…”

(That’s true, I didn’t notice.)

Ellis scoops up my hair with his fingertips and gently tucks it behind my ear.

Kate: “Thank you.”

Ellis: “You’re welcome… It was so good you went crazy for it didn’t you?”

Ellis, resting his chin on his hand, looked at me and smiled.

Kate: “…Yes, it’s delicious.”

Ellis: “Good.”

(If Ellis can do something like this so casually… he must be popular.)

Realizing that my heart was pounding, I tried to calm down my erratic heartbeat.

Kate: “Preparing a seat, caring about me like this…”

Kate: “Why are you being so kind to me?”

(I don’t remember doing anything to Ellis yesterday that would make him treat me so kindly…)

Ellis: “Kate, you haven’t looked happy since last night.”

Ellis: “I want the people around me to smile as much as possible.”

(That’s all…?)

(Even though I’m a complete stranger to Ellis… I don’t know anything about him.)

Kate: “Do you do this for anyone? Even if you just met for the first time?”

Ellis: “Huh…? Yeah… is that wrong?”

The simple question, in turn, made him look confused.

(Ellis is a bit of an odd person after all.)

(But…)

Kate: “…I’m happy.”

(I’m sure I feel better thanks to Ellis.)

Ellis: “I see… If you don’t hate it, good.”

Part 5

By the time the peaceful breakfast was over, my wariness had completely subsided.

Ellis: “Is going to the theater your hobby?”

Kate: “Yes. In fact, last night I took on an unfamiliar night shift because I wanted money for tickets…”

Ellis: “Heheh… you’re quite passionate.”

I chatted endlessly with Ellis, as if we were new friends.

Then, the sound of another set of footsteps echoed.

Victor: “Hey, hey! This is exciting!”

Ellis: “Victor.”

Kate: “…! Good morning.”

Victor: “Oh, you don’t have to stand up! I don’t want to interrupt your pleasant conversation.”

Victor: “Since Ellis offered to do so, I left breakfast to him… Do you feel a little less nervous?”

Victor kept smiling and looked at me searchingly.

The shadow of the unfathomable feeling I felt from him last night has faded, and I can feel the warmth of concern in his jewel-like eyes.

(Maybe it’s because I enjoyed my first job with Ellis and it relieved my tension.)

Kate: “Yes. Thanks to Ellis and the delicious scones you baked for me.”

Victor: “…”

When I smiled gratefully, Victor seemed a little surprised.

But soon a smile appeared on his face, like a flower blooming.

Victor: “Yeah, yeah. Your smile says ‘I’m so happy to be Crown’s exclusive fairytale keeper!’”

Ellis: “…Did it really say that much?”

Kate: “…hehe.”

Victor’s eyes narrowed as he watched my shoulders shake.

Victor: “Well I had two requests for you as fairytale keeper, keeping our secret and recording our sins.”

Victor: “The former is fine, but the latter I would imagine has you at a loss as to what to do specifically.”

Victor: “May I give a little explanation?”

Kate: “Yes. Please.”

Victor: “It’s not difficult. I want you to carefully observe the people of Crown and write down what you feel is a sin.”

Victor: “I’ll leave it to you to figure out how.”

Victor: “You can have multiple people watch over you on a rotating basis or you can choose one person to work with.”

(Observe the members of Crown carefully. I am free to choose my methods and partners… I see.)

Kate: “I understand, um, how far does my surveillance extend?”

Victor: “Even though I say surveillance, I don’t mean to restrict your freedom of movement other than going out alone.”

Victor: “I may ask you to accompany us on missions, but you can spend the rest of the time however, you like.”

I was a little relieved as I had expected to be under much stricter surveillance.

Kate: “Understood. Thank you for your explanation.”

Victor: “…Honestly, I was a little surprised just now. I didn’t expect to see your smile so soon.”

Victor: “You witnessed a terrible scene, and we are an evil organization that cannot be said to be safe.”

He gave me a joking wink…

Then Victor squinted his eyes as if looking at bright sunlight.

Victor: “I hope that the darkness that will inevitably touch you from now on won’t take away your smile.”

Strangely enough, I didn’t believe what I was told was a lie.

(The people of Crown are definitely dark and terrifying people who don’t mind harming others.)

However—I thought that if I looked deep into my heart, there were feelings that I could understand.

Victor: “Then I’ll excuse myself. The Queen’s Aide is quite busy.”

Victor seemed to have just come to see what was going on and immediately left without coming to the table.

(To record their sins, first I’ll have to take a good look at the members of Crown.)

In that case—I’d like Ellis to be the first one I want to know more about.

Such feelings come naturally.

Kate: “Um, Ellis…What are your plans for today?”

However, my question was interrupted by a harsh voice.

Jude: “Yer supposed to be workin. How dare ya slack off.”

Ellis and Kate: “!”

I jumped at the sound of a loud voice.

(That voice is--)

When I hesitantly turned around, I saw Jude standing in the garden with his arms folded, looking irritated.

(Oh, you’re angry…!)

Ellis: “Sorry. I’ll go now.”

Without even standing up, Ellis leisurely turned his gaze toward Jude and answered.

(Such carelessness….)

Jude clicked his tongue, quickly flipped his cloak with a flourish and left.

Ellis: “…As you can see, that is today’s schedule.”

Kate: “You work for a trading company right?”

(Jude is the president and Ellis is the president’s assistant...right?)

(I was thinking of observing Ellis, but maybe I should try another day.)

Kate: “Thank you for making time for me. Good luck with your work.”

Ellis: “……”

Ellis was staring at me, thinking about something--.

Kate: “Um…?”

Ellis: “If you don’t mind, would you like to come with me?”

Kate: “Why are you helping me?”

Next Chapter

[v-dkja]

An Obedient Wife : zhongli

˚ ༘ .˚⏳TW୭ ˚. ᵎᵎ forced marriage, emotional & physical abuse, ooc!zhongli, pet names, trauma, kidnapping, mentions of “guizhong”. (lmk if i missed some and if there’s any grammar mistakes!!)

Zhongli had always been a good husband, at least that was what others thought.

His very handsome face can attract anyone who sees it, his muscular, dashing and ideal body always manages to seduce women.

Whoever managed to get him was the luckiest person, that's what they thought. And you really want to deny it outright.

“Good morning, my love.” A deep voice that echoed in the room greeted you and made you startled. You, who were cooking for yourself and your husband, Zhongli, immediately stopped to give him a hug as a morning greeting. “Good morning, babe.”

Zhongli happily returned your hug. Your hand is now touching his. Cold, that's what you feel. The coldness made you a little surprised and made you have to adjust to the touch of his hand.

His hands were cold, as usual.

He was the one who ended the cold hug. His amber eyes which always watched your movements were now looking at you sharply even though you’re his wife now.

“Wife, i'm going somewhere after this.”

“Huh? What about the breakfast i made?”

He played with strands of your hair, then kissed it. His gaze remained on the strands of your hair that he was holding.

“You have to eat it alone as usual, you don't mind it—” he's looking at you now, and it feels like a threat. “—Right?”

“Yeah… yeah of course.” You looked down to hide your pathetic face. “… as usual.” your murmurs as small as possible.

He lowered his head to whisper in your ear. "Don't try to escape, or i’ll punish you.”

You flinched slightly at that, then tried to adjust your expression. "Of course. Why would I run away?"

Hearing the answer he wanted, he then let go of a strand of your hair and smiled. “Alright.”

You looked at zhongli who turned around and walked away from you. You can only stare at him, without being able to say anything.

“…..” silence fell for a few moments, that’s before you decided to let out your voice, preventing him from going any further. “Actually, zhongli…”

His steps stopped. Without looking at you, he replied, “yes?”

Suddenly your heart beats faster than before .“Um…” you play with your fingers. “Can i… can i see my parents?”

There was no response from him yet making you scared. “Just this once, please.”

“Neverm—“ Before you could process what was happening, zhongli's hand, which had always been worshiped by women, now gripped your hair. Making you unable to do anything other than groan in pain and ask him to let go. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry—" The apology that you have said many times like a mantra has no effect whatsoever like a mantra.

“Don't you have an obligation to do here? Live with me, serve me, and give birth to my children. Is it just a blur in your stupid brain?” His voice rose, a sign he was angry.

“Im sorry, my love. Im so—“ Before you could finish your words, he dragged you by your hair and took you to a room. The room that zhongli called "your room".

“W- Wait, what are you doing, zhongli?! WAIT— no, no, NO!! DON’T, DON’T DO THIS AGAIN, PLEASE. DON’T GO!”

An expression you couldn't read—either because there was no lighting or it’s because you’re too low to be able to see it—was the last thing you saw of him before he locked you in that room.

You banged on the door, hoping he would have a little mercy to open the door. “PLEASE, OPEN IT!” Even your cries weren't enough to make him have compassion. Is it necessary to crawl or bark like a dog? Or kiss his feet to get him to move?

“I– i don't want to do all this. That stupid wedding you've been planning ever since we met. I hate this. I hate you.”

“What's wrong with you? Guizhong always obeys me. Of course, you should be like that too.” Guizhong, again name of the woman that always slipped out of your mouth. ‘Is it always her who comes to your mind when you see me?’

“I’m not guizhong! Stop all of this and wake up! You have to accept the reality!”

“Did you kidnap me at that time in the hope that I would behave like that guizhong, the person you love?” Silence, no answer from him.

“Please… open this door…” your voice that was too weak to scream was now pleading.

The sound of his retreating footsteps indicated that he had left you locked in your room.

In the end you have to accept the fact that as long as it’s thunderstorm tonight, you will always be locked in your dark room. And with windows without curtains that will always show lightning strikes. And that's what guizhong always do, be obedient.

[bullet-prooflove]

Hi. This is an ask for Jesse Boone. It’s a shame but I have no idea who he’s but I love your writings about him. The prompt is: 4. You gotta know how to treat me like a lady. Thank you so much.

So I adore exploring Jesse, so feel free to keep these coming!

Jesse has a reputation.

He’s a gentleman, you’re told when you first arrive in Pearl, he’ll treat any woman who’s lucky enough to be with him like a lady.

It plays out through your interactions. He’s good natured and consciousness. He holds open doors for you, helps you carry evidence to and from the van, for all intents and purposes he’s everything that people tell you.

What they don’t know about Jesse is there’s a little wildness in him, you can see it in his eyes when he talks about his youth, the excitement of cliff diving, the foray into street racing in Washington, the write ups for insubordination back then. It had all stopped with Heather, she tampered him, repressed those qualities. He’d lost himself in that marriage, he tells you over drinks on the beach one night, he’s only just now starting to figure out who he is.

The two of you are watching the sun set over the ocean on a picnic blanket, sharing a couple of beers when he kisses you. You can feel the bubbles on his tongue, taste the citrus on his lips as the sound of the waves roar in your ears.

He goes down on you that night out in the open, in a secluded space on the sand. It’s been years since that he’s pleasured a woman like this. Heather never liked it but you, you respond to him with a ferocity that does wonders for his ego.

The noises you make for him, ignite something inside of him. It’s a primal sensation, the urge to claim you, to show you just how good he can make you feel. You’re an attractive woman and there’s a handful of men already vying for your attention. Jesse wants to be the one that you belong to, the one whose name you say when you’re all alone in bed, touching yourself.

He takes his time exploring your pretty, pussy. His lips ghosting over your clit, his mouth still cold from his beer. You like that, he realises, the hot to cool sensation, he uses that against you by sipping from his beer before he thrusts his tongue inside of you. The way your fingers grip his hair…

He knows he has you right where he wants you.

You come like that, his tongue pressing deep as his thumb rubs featherlight circles over your clit. The sound of his name carries through the darkness like a mantra as he licks up that sweet nectar. He kisses a trail up your body, palms guiding your panties and denim shorts back up your hips as his stubble grazes across your sensitive skin.

You’re beautiful, he thinks as his thumb chases along your jaw, guiding your mouth back to his. He drinks down your kisses greedily, basking in the glow from your ecstasy as the moonlight illuminates your skin.

It’s in that moment he realises that this is the man he wants to be, the one with a little excitement in his life, the one with a partner who craves it just as much as he does.

@yezzyyae @@kgkslgohogkdlslgk

[arcielee]

Farewell Wanderlust

Warnings:  Death mentioned in graphic detailing, night terrors, SA implied/mentioned, overall sexism because it is the 9th century. MDNI, 18+ Pairing: Osferth x OFC Word Count: 2136 Summary: Torn from her home country, Keavy finds herself trying to survive across the Irish sea. She happens across Uhtred and his motley crew, and finds herself befriending a monk who is determined to become a warrior.       Author’s Note: This will be a hybrid of the books and TLK show. The timelines will be adjusted for the plot and the names will match the Old English/9th Century. Please be mindful of chapter warnings as this shit will have dark moments and mature themes.   Thank you to my darling beta reader @aspen-carter​ for helping me with this first chapter and to my darling @killergirlfuria​​ to help me with the summary, as I am terrible at them. UPDATE: Thank you for this gif! @itbmojojoejo​ ♥  Please let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Dividers are by @saradika​​​ Taglist (Tumblr kindred spirits): @aaaaaamond​ @annikin-im-panicin​ @watercolorskyy​ @schniiipsel​ @aspen-carter​ @aemondx​ @fan-goddess​ @babygirlyofthevale​ @randomdragonfires​ @httpsdoll​ @tssf-imagines​

Chapter 1 

The day was warm and bright, a beautiful day suitable for the celebration of the marriage between Æthelred of Mercia to the trueborn daughter of King Alfred. Wessex swelled from the festivities, with the bittersweet smell of ale, foods, and sweat that meshed with the wave of bodies gathering within the city walls. 

Osferth was tall and lithe, able to see over the heads of the crowds, and surefooted to slip in-between the masses as he searched for one man in mind, as his uncle had encouraged.

Uhtred of Bebbanburg. 

Before this, his life had been spent in the shadows of the monastery, well aware of his paternal heritage but unallowed to breathe a word about it. His clandestine confinement consisted of the repetition of scripture and prayer to atone for sins that were not his own, and it did not feed his faith, but instead allowed his bitterness for his banishment to fester within. 

This changed on his thirteenth name day when Leofric came for a visit; he remembered him to be large, his voice low and grizzled as he regaled his time spent with the Dane slayer and he even shared about his mother; she had died during childbirth, but his uncle swore her strength was passed to him. 

“I know you are angry, little man, but this is the safest place for you right now,” and his large palm rested on his thin shoulders, a fatherly squeeze for reassurance. 

Osferth was heartsore when he learned of uncle’s death; the memory of those days they spent together was something he cherished, replaying in his mind and becoming a balm for his bitterness. His grief allowed a moment of complacency until his eighteenth name day when the abbot brought him a sword and a piece of parchment; he realized the scrawl of words belonged to his uncle and they brought a newfound peace, a drive with how Leofric spoke that  a man could be set on a path, but only his steps could create his own destiny. 

The letter ended with a mantra, destiny is all.

So he left the monastery, wearing his weatherbeaten albe and with the baldric wrapped around his slim waist, that kept the gifted sword sheathed at his side. 

He traveled, following the trail of celebrators into Wintanceaster until he saw him ahead, lounging on the steps and surrounded by his men; their eyes were watchful as Osferth pushed forward, he only stopped when he saw the blue eyes of the ealdorman-of-many-monikers focus on him.  

“Lord,” he began, “you knew my uncle, Leofric.” 

He saw how his eyes softened at the mention of the name and Osferth knew he held his attention. “Leofric was a great man,” Uhtred tilted his head up, looking over the young man. 

Osferth nodded. “I have come to serve you, to be at your side as my uncle had.” 

The motley men that surrounded Uhtred varied from Dane to Saxon; he heard the scoff and lilt of a dark haired, dark eyed man who muttered how they had no need for a baby monk. Osferth swallowed, “I have come to serve as a warrior, lord.” His eyes did not leave Uhtred. 

He could see the quiet assessment from Uhtred, how his blue eyes surveyed him, and then he heard a smaller man, who was standing apart, who spoke out loud of his heritage beyond Leofric–that he was Alfred’s bastard. 

“You are Alfred’s son,” Uhtred said, in part a question, but also a clarification. “Your father would not be pleased to learn you’ve come to offer me your sword.” 

“And what has he done for me?” He struggled to smooth the bitterness that edged his tone. “Sent me away so I could become a priest or a monk, to be forgotten or simply denied my very existence altogether?” It was his turn to scoff. “But if I were to stay in Wessex, what would I expect to find? Favour?” 

Uhtred raised his brows with his words and looked over at his Irishman, who only shrugged in response. “You may never see Wessex again,” his eyes did not break away from him.

“Then I would give my thanks to God for that,” and their looks showed Osferth it was not the expected reply. “It is the stench, lord,” he clarified, his eyes flitting around the people crowding the city.  

Uhtred grinned, but before he could speak further, a guard called to his attention that the king called for him. Osferth shifted his weight under the guard’s gaze and Uhtred stood up, his eyes rolled over him once more before he said, “If you have a sword, you may stay,” and followed after the guard. 

His lips curled with what he considered his small victory and his hand fell to the hilt, a pat on the pommel to reassure it was there. He felt the dark eyes of the Irishman focus on him. “Can you wield that, baby monk?” he asked Osferth. 

“Well enough,” he replied and he heard a chuckle, looking behind to see a Dane with his arms wrapped around a woman whose auburn hair burned more red in the sunlight. “Though, I am willing to learn…”

“Well, thank the gods for that,” and the Irishman stepped down and placed a palm onto his shoulder, a squeeze to show comradery, or perhaps to feel for his strength, with a hold that reminded him of his uncle; his grin showed beneath his beard. “Let’s leave this noise and see what you are capable of then, baby monk.” 

+ + + +

Keavy would allow her mind to return to the days she spent at the nunnery, a brief reprieve that allowed her to relive the only bit of peace she experienced since she arrived across the sea. 

It began with the abbess and her pitied look when the slavers rolled through; Keavy was barely ten years of age, thin, quiet, and did her best to stay hidden. She remembered the warmth in her kindly brown eyes when the abbess looked to her and called for the cost of the little girl. 

He had scoffed at first, but when she pressed, he only requested a cup of ale in exchange and it was quickly provided. Keavy watched the bob of his neck, how it spilled from the corners of his mouth and stained his tunic as he downed it. He belched when it was finished and shoved her forward. “She is yours, nun, but know that she has been cursed.” 

She fell to the ground, her legs weak from the weeks at sea, unable to stop herself from hitting the dirt path. Keavy felt the burn in her palms and knees, her scars that lined the left side of her jaw and cheek–a parting gift of desperation from her mam the night their village was raided. 

It was a night seared within her blood and that often returned to her with violent flashes when she slept. She was haunted by the cries from the villagers, how her daid handed her his dagger before taking a sword and leaving to fight with the other men. Her mam had begged and screamed for him not to leave, as anyone could see from the flames curling from the rooftops, licking the night sky, to the blood soaked earth that this battle was already lost. 

Stories had terrorized the coast of Irland of the blood-lust traders and slavers who ravaged the shores, taking whatever they deemed profitable. They spoke of how villages would be nothing but ashes, how the surviving men would be sold off as slaves, of the horrors of what would happen to women and girls. 

Her hands shook as she tied the belt around her waist, hiding the sheath beneath the layers of her skirt while her mam continued her screams. Keavy clung to the dagger as if it would keep her tethered to her daid, crying when her mam finally ripped it from her hold; her own hands shaking as she attempted soothing sounds that were choked by her tears. “I will not kill you, child,” she breathed and Keavy saw the manic fire in her blue eyes. “But you are far too pretty to survive across the sea.” 

Her daid kept the blade sharp, his prized possession that came from his father before and his before that. She did not feel it until it nicked into her jawbone and only then did she cry, the blood spilling onto her clothes; she screamed for her mam to stop and fought back to pry it from her hands when the door barged in. 

They were faceless, large and covered in blood and grime. Her mam was killed without so much as a scream and another grabbed her, searching for cloth for her wound and unaware as she tucked the dagger back into its sheath beneath her skirts. There was the tear of fabric and he pressed it to her face, before dragging her from her home, dragging her towards the shore. 

She would never forget the heat of the flames, how she choked on the soot and smoke as she stumbled over the fallen bodies around; her hand pressing the cloth on her face and the other gripping her side, holding the handle of the blade. There was a bold moment that seized her chest, to plunge it into his side and run to find her daid, but then she saw him, one of the dead amongst the many bodies, with his sword in his hand and his eyes empty as they bored forward. 

Keavy remembered how the fear replaced and gripped her heart and her vocal chords; she would not scream because she knew that no one would come for her. 

She did not know how she survived crossing the sea, nor could she remember much more than the crude stitches that were given onboard, an attempt to save her, and the burn of her fever that ached her bones. “It is because God has a plan for you, little one,” the abbess would tell her later.

“I am cursed,” she would say, partly in defiance, partly to watch the reaction of the abbess and her wide brown eyes. 

“Hush, child,” she would scold her, as always. “That man was a godless heathen and knew not what he said. He thought your worth was equal to a cup of mead!”

The nunnery she was brought to was built to overlook the rolling fields of Ebchester, with a river that curved through the hills. Here the abbess seemed relentless for the salvation of Kaevy’s soul and Keavy would allow the repetition of her fables and scriptures, all while palming the Celtic silver cross she wore beneath her plain tunic. 

She remembered the day when Lady Gisela arrived, how her kindred spirit called to her and the lady was all too pleased with the bold Irish girl who shadowed her steps. The abbess allowed her to stay, Dane or not, and Keavy was delighted with her company over the other Saxon nuns. 

Gisela had a kind smile and took care to answer her questions about her life before Ebchester. Keavy admired her worldly insight and her attention was rapt to the stories she told her about the love she shared with Uhtred of Bebbanburg. 

“My lady, how do you know he will come for you?” Keavy asked, with a genuine curiosity of the faith Gisela held that seemed comparable, if not stronger, to the faith the nuns held for their Christian God.

“It is something you know,” Gisela smiled and it was as bright as the sun that warmed them. “You will know this when you are older.” 

Keavy saw a glimpse of Uhtred of Bebbanburg, of Uhtred Ragnarsson, when he arrived as the savior promised. The day began with the arrival of strange men who spouted of the power of their God and how it allowed them to marry Gisela against her wishes; the abbess held onto Keavy tightly as she struggled forward, choking on the same helplessness she felt the night her village burned. 

Uhtred was a force when he arrived, barging through the doors; when the abbot refused to be quiet, he killed him to silence him. The nuns cried, but Gisela and Keavy watched him. “Child, look away,” the abbess had whispered, but she was a young woman now and could not help the sense of satisfaction she felt as she watched the abbot bleed out on the wood floors. 

Keavy remembered when they had left and for the first time she had prayed, not to a deity in specific, but the quiet prayer for Lady Gisela to enjoy her happiness. The stories she had shared stayed with her and allowed a sense of hope that she had not felt before.

Chapter 2 | masterlist

[howlingday]

CRWBY: Wanna see us scar Jaune *kills Pyrrha*

CRWBY: Wanna see us do it again? *Stabs Weiss*

CRWBY: Wanna see us do it again? *Makes Jaune stab Penny*

CRWBY: Wanna see us do it again? *Isloation Jaune for 20 years and kill most of his new friends*

CRWBY: Wanna see us do it again?

Hang, let me do something... Alright!

TOP TEN WORST THINGS TO EVER HAPPEN TO JAUNE ARC!

Based on Watch Mojo

10. Jaune Arc has his eye ripped out and eaten by Salem. 9. Jessica Cruz comes back only to be revealed to be clone created by Neopolitan, leading to Jaune revealing his secret identity as The Huntsman to his sister Saphron. 8. Jaune learns that Weiss Schnee was impregnated by Cardin Winchester, but when she refused to use her children to kill Jaune, Cardin arranged for her death and raised the children on his own, believing they were abandoned by their father Jaune, who murdered their mother. Ruby Rose knew of the affair, but kept it hidden as a promise to Weiss. 7. Jaune Arc swaps minds and bodies with Arthur Watts, who was dying in a comatose state of Dust-Lung. Arthur's body dies, leaving Jaune's body in the control of Dr. Watts. In that time, Jaune then broke up with Jessica, disbanded Team JNPR, and was brutally violent. 6. Jaune Arc was buried alive by Hazel Rainart, who believed he had killed the young huntsman. He then went on to wear the similar armor to Jaune while Jaune was left paralyzed and in the dirt. By the time he'd left the earth, Hazel had already smeared Jaune Arc's good name. 5. In the RWBY Heroes Manga, we watch as Jaune Arc come into his own from dorky kid to genuine hero. Sadly, he met his untimely death at Tyrian's claw, passing away after defeating his hated foe, but not before he says good-bye to his sister and Weiss. 4. Jaune's sister had suffered a stroke and was in a coma for some time. She later recovered and the two then reconciled in some very sweet moments. However, she then dies again, a landmark event for Jaune only for the death to be... pointless, since she was a paid actress hired by Jacques Schnee while his real sister was imprisoned far and away in his mines. 3. Jaune and Ruby's darkest moment must have been when she had a miscarriage due to complications when she went into labor. However, this turned out to be a ruse by, surprise, surprise, Dr. Merlot, after Ruby was poisoned and led to believe her child died. This, of course, led to another rocky chapter in the marriage of Jaune and Ruby. 2. We come now to the tragedy that started it all. The origin of Jaune Arc's heroic pursuit, time and time again, the death of Terra Cotta Arc at the hands of a thief he hadn't bothered to stop mere days before. Terra had always been a mother figure in Jaune's life ever since his parents' death. Her mantra of "always go forward," words that stick by Jaune to this day as his own huntsman mantra. 1. Jaune Arc's greatest failure. His girlfriend, Pyrrha Nikos, took his place and was abducted to Beacon Tower by Cinder Fall. Jaune Arc had managed to reach to her but was too late to stop the arrow from piercing her heart. This was only made all the more tragic when their friends Ren and Nora were critically injured by Cinder as well, but not before revealing they knew Jaune was The Huntsman. Pyrrha's death spurred Jaune to chased down Cinder Fall, who died when her own fireball caused her to be crushed by the cavern they battled in. The death of the woman he loved hangs heavy on the heart of our hero, The Huntsman.

[madsworld15]

Why Queer as Folk (2000) Was Seemingly Forgotten

An analysis by a professional TV Critic

Let me start off by saying the initial run of Queer as Folk and its current resurgence can be represented by this mantra by Brian Kinney: There are two kinds of straight people. The ones who hate you to your back and the ones who hate you to your face.

The initial run of QAF coincides with the first half of the statement: hate behind your back.

So, recently I started thinking about how in the early 2000s, Queer as Folk seemed to be on a trajectory of going down in TV history. Then, seemingly just as quickly, people stopped talking about it. So much so that by the time I finished watching it in 2009, I only got a few good months of chatter on social media platforms (Twitter mostly) with other fans before it just stopped being talked about in a wide-reaching manner.

I will even admit that I stopped thinking about the show not long after that and wasn't reminded of its full impact on my psyche until late last year when it was back on easy-access streaming due to Showtime's merge with Paramount+.

But why is it that this show is only just now starting to pick up speed again? (I'm talking fan cams on TikTok, memes, etc.)

I have some theories about all of this, so buckle in.

To really get a grasp of what Queer as Folk was working against when it aired on Showtime -- a paid subscription channel back before the days of an overabundance of streaming services, you have to look at the climate we were living in. Also, how inaccessible a paid TV channel was for most people.

So, in the early 2000s, life in the United States, and probably the world, but I'm not fully educated enough to comment on that, wasn't the greatest for those in the LGBT+ community. It would be years before the President of the United States would pass legislation that Gay Marriage be legal nationwide.

Employers were able to fire people for being gay, and the employees couldn't fight it. Gay parents had very little in terms of rights to their own children; in fact, some couldn't even adopt the kids they wanted to because there were no laws against discrimination.

All of these things are depicted left and right throughout Queer as Folk, with Ted getting fired from his job, Michael being extremely closeted at his job, and Melanie not being afforded rights to Gus because of adoption regulations during that time.

So, for our community to receive a show that was by us for us, we were overjoyed. There was something so resolutely refreshing about the unapologetic manner in which these characters were allowed to present themselves and live their lives. And while the show gets dinged today for its lack of racial diversity, we were glad to see queer people represented in a variety of ways -- we got to see the Emmett's and Justin's of the world being friends with the Ted's and Michael's and Brian's.

Not only that, these characters got to love who they wanted, however, they wanted, and whenever they wanted. Characters like Michael and Emmett could go from wanting to freely fuck whoever to finding that special person and settling down. We got to see Ted find the right guy at the wrong time over and over and over again until it was finally the right guy at the right time.

But most of all, we got to see a character like Brian, who, in the hands of a straight person, might've actually gone "soft" and "domestic" just by being with Justin. Instead, we got to see him never change his opinion about what he wanted, but still finding love in his own way.

However, not long after the show ended (like around 2008), the climate in the United States started to shift more towards open acceptance of the queer community. So, people stopped needing an escape from the hardships of real life because things seemed to be on an upward trend toward love and equality. Therefore, Queer as Folk sort of fell off the radar of viewers because we didn't want more of the gritty, complicated, messy queer stories. We wanted our stories to be happy and lighthearted.

(Keep in mind I am speaking in terms of general viewers. There are always exceptions to the rule)

Then, in 2016, Donald Trump was elected President of the United States, and suddenly, it was totally okay for people to openly mock us and hate us.

This is where the resurgence of QAF falls into the second half of Brian's mantra: hate us to our face.

Around 2016/2017, people started talking about this show again. And the love and fervor for it has only increased exponentially over the last few years, especially with the onset of COVID-19 and the merging of Showtime/Paramount+. Both events made the public more aware and able to access the show.

Now more than ever, we need something that isn't afraid to show queer people as we are, not as the media and those outside our community paint us. We need to feel like there is a media format that understands what we are like when we are with our closest friends. We say things that, in today's world, would probably get us canceled, and we judge those around us and have very biased opinions about certain people.

Brian Kinney's unapologetic "I am who I am and fuck anyone who tries to change me" attitude is the exact level of strength and courage we wished more people right now had. His biased, but not illogical, opinion of non-queers needs to be loud. It needs to be shouted from the rooftops because we now live in a world where we are hated just for existing as we are.

Even our rights that had been given to us just a decade ago are being stripped away from us once more. So, the fight for love and equality continues, and the hope that Queer as Folk gives us is important now more than ever.

So, people are seeking this story out and are begging others in the world to watch it and understand that we have always been here. We've always been these flawed but loving characters. We deserve to be heard.

In 2022, Peacock tried its best to create a redo of the series but failed miserably. But why? If we are desperately looking for queer media that is gritty, unapologetic, and real, then why didn't we latch onto this latest iteration?

The answer is simple. This new version was great at creating a more diverse image of the characters created for the Showtime series but failed to understand that recreating things almost note for note with entirely new characters isn't what we want.

It would've been better if the show stuck to broad-stroke themes and made these characters and their experiences their own. Queer today is different than queer in the early 2000s, just like queer in the 2000s was different than queer in the 1980s. Trying to put queer 2000s stories into a queer 2020s world isn't going to work.

We need to embrace this resurgence of Queer as Folk (2000) and give it the love and attention it should've always had. Perhaps finally giving its rightful due in the eyes of the history of queer media. Does it have its issues as the world changes? Absolutely, but we also can't sit here and deny the insane level of impact this show had on the queer media we now know and love.

We wouldn't have casually queer shows like Schitt's Creek, Heartstopper, and Our Flag Means Death if Queer as Folk hadn't broken down our walls and made us realize that we can demand stories for queer people by queer people.

[deadmenandthedivine]

DEAD MEN § the DIVINE

chapter eight: dead flowers and garden bugs

Maetilda Targaryen, First of her Name, was supposed to be many things. What she became was entirely different.

table of contents

trigger warning!!! this fic contains many graphic topics and depictions. such as but not limited to: dead parents, abusive parents, toxic family systems, incest, medieval misogyny, forced marriage, threats of assault (sexual § physical), actual assault, imprisonment, kidnapping, murder, blood/gore, uxoricide, familicide, PTSD and other neurodivergence. i will do my best to update as i go along, but please let me know if i have missed anything!

word count: 3838

Everything around her seemed so calm. The gentle breeze barely disturbed the gardens and branches above. The birds sang their songs. Even the sounds of hustle and bustle of King’s Landing seemed quieter, more peaceful than usual. Her sisters breathed calmly and spoke softly as they flanked her sides. They hadn’t stopped holding each of her hands since they had grabbed them and led them out of the Great Hall. The princess shook like a leaf. The casual air that radiated from her sisters disturbed her suspicions. Had they seen someone die so gruesomely before? It had been their kin after all. They had known him far better than she had. Did they not like him? Were they relieved? Whenever she blinked, she could see the insides of his head. His tongue limply falling out of it to rest on the floor. She could not remember such a horrific sight since Lucerys took Aemond’s eye. The cut was horrific, but to the point where she did not want to peel her eyes away. What was left of Vaemond was abominable, and she was frozen in shock at the sight of it. The image of it was imprinted on the backs of her eyelids. Her father had been so swift, so nimble, and so very silent. It happened so fast she questioned if she had actually seen it. But she most certainly had, it replayed over in her mind in a constant loop.

If it weren’t for her two sisters, she knew she would have completely left her own body. It had all been too much. If it were not for their interference, she would have caused quite the scene. Yet the princess could hardly think of anything beyond how the two seemed to be acting so normal. Her mind was stuck on it. Yes, they had seen violent deaths bring the end to proud men from the time they were small girls. Tourneys, executions, duels for one’s honor. She had seen such deaths too. But this one had been different. They had to have felt something. He had watched over them at Driftmark while their grandfather was off at his many wars. They had known him far better than she ever had. She felt guilty for it. Her emotions. She cursed her own audacity to put herself above them in such a manner. I am fine. What I saw was fine. It was nothing. I am fine. I am fine. It was nothing. Everything is fine. It will all be fine. With the inner mantra and steady breaths, the princess fought to regain control of herself. She knew she needed to check in on them. She was their older sister and she was not acting like it.

“How are you both? Are you well?” She finally forced out.

Baela scoffed out a dry laugh.

“Are you well?” Rhaena asked.

The princess nodded stiffly, unable to answer the question verbally. Her sisters stared at her unconvinced, “Congratulations on your engagements.”

Baela laughed again, a bit more incredulously.

“Thank you, Til.” Rhaena smiled.

“Jace and Luke have always been very good brothers to me over these years.” The eldest stated, “It gives me no doubt that they shall make even better husbands. I hope you will let me know if they ever upset you. I swear I will straighten them both out — promptly.”

“I fear no husband.” Baela stated proudly.

“Good, they are not worth your fear. You’ll see once we eventually go riding.”

“I believe that we have been suitably matched.” Rhaena smiled, “Our future titles are quite fitting too.”

“Lady of Driftmark and Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. They suit you very much. You will make a good queen someday, Baela,” The princess nodded, “Did you know ahead of time?”

“Yes.” Baela shrugged.

“Grandmother told us of the offer late in the night, but she did not tell us that she had accepted it.” Rhaena clarified, “But I am sure you have had plenty of proposals. Any pretty ones?”

The eldest sister shrugged. Her chest tightened again at the reminder of her perpetual solitude and shame. It seemed to be the only topic of discussion amongst the Seven Kingdoms. Soon, she would undoubtedly be considered a laughingstock. The proposals would surely slow over the next few years, if she was lucky they hadn’t already stopped. With every question, it seemed her days were dwindling. How long until she was referred to as the Spinster of Runestone? A dry, ugly hag? She would be mocked at every tourney, feast, or social gathering, perhaps even in songs. The sneers and taunts already echoed in her ears. Who would wed her after that? Certainly no one the those of Runestone would be pleased with. From how her knights spoke of other lords when they thought she couldn’t hear, she was sure of it. Would they even let her in her own castle if they didn’t approve? Hopefully Shrykos would be enough to convince them. But what if she wasn’t? What if the proud men of the Vale would rather see death by fire than an unwed spinster as their Lady? Like Vaemond would rather commit treason than see Rhaenyra’s son rule his family seat. It was a rigidly noble stance to take. Yet she could not blame them. Especially those of Runestone. They did not know her. They only knew of her parents, one they cherished and the other they wholeheartedly condemned. She had been cursed at conception perhaps. Parents such as hers should have never been given a child.

“No, uhh,” Maetilda answered quickly after realizing how long she had been lost in her thinking, “If there are, I do not know of a single one.”

Clutching her necklaces, Baela gasped, “That’s not true.”

“Certainly you have suitors, sister. Lining up all the way from the Iron Islands to Yi Ti.” Rhaena’s brows were furrowed as she looked at the princess with suspicion.

“Very sweet of you both. But there is not much that I can do about any of it.”

“I will have a word with Grandmother.” Rhaena disagreed.

“Grandmother can’t fix everything, Rhaena.” Baela retorted.

“If she cannot fix it, she will show us what to do.”

“No need, it is fine. I will be fine.”

“Maetilda, you do not look like you will be fine.” Rhaena stated matter of factly.

“What are you insinuating?”

“The way you looked at father in the Throne Room. You were terrified of him.” Baela crossed her arms.

“He was— It is fine. I was just shaken up from what happened. There is nothing to worry about.”

“I take offense to how stupid you must think we are.” Baela scoffed.

“Baela!” Rhaena scolded.

“I am not going to apologize! She is the one who called us stupid.”

“I made no such accusation!”

“You deem me a liar now? The gall on this one, Rhaena! Can you believe her?”

“I could call you worse things, if you would prefer.” The princess smirked, not being able to pass up the opportunity to make such a threat.

“I could call your mother worse things!” Baela stuck out her tongue childishly.

“I am sure your mother would be very pleased to hear what you have to say.”

“You may call for my mother all you like, she will not answer.”

“Do not underestimate her!”

“Pardon my lapse of judgment, your mother did call for me just the other day.”

“That is enough! Both of you.” Rhaena finally butted in.

“Now the fun is dead too.” Baela rolled her eyes.

“Since when were you the responsible one?” Maetilda teased.

“Since I was stranded in a Keep with grandmother and this one for years on end.” Rhaena smiled smugly as she gestured toward her older twin sister.

“My deepest apologies.” The princess grinned genuinely as her two sisters giggled alongside her.

The three seemed significantly more relaxed as they continued to pace about the gardens together. There was something so delightfully soothing about reuniting after so long. Like she could breath without any residual tightness in her chest. The last time they had seen each other had been the twins’ last nameday, their seven and tenth. The girls had gone riding over Driftmark together on their dragons. Their father had hired Pentoshi street performers and Norvosi bell dancers to entertain them as a reminder of their shared youth. The festivities and celebration lasted for days. By the end of it, the bell dancers had taught the girls a few moves and they had started to develop a tolerance to Dornish wine. Each night, they would drink more cups than the last until they would end up dancing up and down the corridors. It had been one of the best nameday celebrations the princess could remember. Their father was always a lot more generous with his pocketbooks when it came to the twins. Despite the fact that the two had never been left wanting in the care of their grandparents. Before the girls had dragons of their own, their parents would take them riding on Vhagar and Caraxes. The twins would normally ride together, either with their father or mother. Maetilda would ride with whoever they didn’t, which meant that she frequently rode Vhagar. Despite being the biggest most famous dragon in the whole world, the twins would almost always choose to ride with their father. The alone time with Laena had always felt a bit off to the princess. Her late stepmother had never been short of kind and loving, always spending extra time to help her with her stitching and calligraphy. She always made sure to hear the princess’s side of the story when the three girls fought. Yet atop Vhagar, all she could think about was her own mother. They would never ride dragons together. She was jealous that her sisters got to choose who to ride with. She was jealous of their engagement status. She was jealous of their caretaker and the elegance they inherited from her. She was jealous of the fact that they could keep their sanity in front of everyone. The jealousy had a tendency to eat at her insides whenever she was around them. She felt guilty for it. Such matters were not their fault.

After their legs grew tired, the three sisters took a seat on some shaded cushions that overlooked the waves. The sea mist was humid, but familiar. They talked for what felt like hours about books they’d read, frivolous gossip, and if they thought Rhaenyra was carrying a prince or princess. In reality, time moved differently in the warmth of each others’ presence. Eventually servants brought them tea and snacks, after seeing that they had ceased their walk. Apple fritters with honey and syrup. Different cuts of quail sandwiches, the perfect size to be eaten with one’s fingers. Assorted freshly cut fruit. Breads and cheeses galore. The tea was ginger, wheatgrass, and lemon. Maetilda added sugar to hers and they all dug in. The twins even ate as if their grandmother meticulously coached every movement. She tried not to gawk at her sisters for it. Especially Baela, who had always been the more rambunctious. Little to no crumbs fell. They fell silent while they ate, enjoying the food. Their lack of chatter allowed for them to take in the sounds around them. The crashing of the waves, the hum of life from the city, the chirping of birds, the passing bits of conversations from working servants. Even the buzzing of wings from the garden bugs that caught a whiff of the elaborately prepared cuisine. It was all broken by the sound of footsteps approaching, heard long before their owner’s identity was revealed due to the weaving of the garden paths. They were distinct, just like any knight’s. The armor was quieter at the joints. The crunching gravel from boots meeting the ground suggested they were made of a different material, almost sounding heavier. All three girls tensed as they passed looks of inquiry and speculation amongst themselves. Emerging from a path lined with browning bushes, one of the Cargyll twins approached and bowed. Ser Wyllam stood at attention and looked to his princess for direction.

“Ser Cargyll, good day,” Maetilda greeted, not entirely sure which twin it was.

“Good day, Princess, Ladies. You may call me Ser Arryk, less confusing.”

The logic would be sound, if she could actually tell them apart in the first place. She suspected she would lose that game the minute the brothers stood side by side again. Telling her sisters apart had never been hard. Even when they were babes.

“Pardon me for being forward, but what brings you here?” She asked.

“Not forward at all, I have been sent for a reason.”

“Yes, and that reason is?” Baela inquired suspiciously.

“My prince has sent me to see to your good health, Princess Maetilda. We are all quite shaken by today’s events.”

Her cheeks grew red as she felt herself sinking into her seat. Had she made a scene? Her father would undoubtedly have a word with her about it later. Especially if it was dramatic enough for others to take notice. Her sisters’ eyes bore into her worse than the sun on a hot summer day, “… which prince, Ser Arryk?”

“He did not want me to say.” The knight muttered.

“Yes, but I want you to say.” Maetilda smiled sweetly.

“Forgive me, princess. I do believe his order outweighs yours.”

“Whether that is true or not, we are certainly nicer to talk to, prettier, and some of those among us will be the future Queen, you know.” Baela shrugged as she glanced around inconspicuously and checked her nail beds.

“This is very true, Ser Arryk, you should tell us regardless.” Maetilda tried, “A strong, skilled, and valiant knight such as yourself should be able to get away with it.”

“I truly hope you can forgive me, princess, lady, and future Queen. If my head was not the wager, I would’ve already told you.”

Rhaena leaned forward like a lord over a war table, “Tell us this, knight. If that is even what you are. Why is this alleged prince not seeing after the princess’s health himself?”

The other two sisters dissolved into held-back giggles at the youngest’s genius. Even the Cargyll brother smirked. He sat his weight back on one of his feet and glanced up at the sky in thought.

“His grace is seeing to his brother.”

“Forgive me, Ser Cargyll. Your lack of answers is insufferable.” Baela grumbled.

“Truly! Do Kingsguard have no fun?” Rhaena teased.

“Not when under orders, unfortunately.” Ser Arryk bowed his head.

“Simply miserable.” Maetilda sighed, “You may fulfill your orders however you like, Ser Arryk. Tell the prince what you see fit. But if he wants to know the truth of my health, he must come find me himself.”

“I shall pass along the message,” The knight bowed, “Good day, princess, lady, future Queen.”

As quiet as a kitchen mouse, Ser Arryk turned on the balls of his feet and left the same way he came. The princess replayed the conversation in her head over and over again, milling over each person’s words. Her heart fluttered and sank at the same time. One of the princes had sent after her. The options were numbered, exactly five. Aegon, Jacaerys, Aemond, Lucerys, or Daeron. Six, if her father was to be counted, but he would not have sent a Kingsguard. By the same logic, Jace and Luke were unlikely to be culprits. Ser Arryk was not their knight, and they would have asked themselves. Neither of them were thoughtful enough to send someone after her. Daeron was not a strong candidate either. He was older than Joffrey, and likely at the age where he would have crushes on girls. A disturbing notion for the princess to think about. However, the King’s youngest son was also in Oldtowne with his great uncle as a ward. That left Aegon or Aemond. She really did not want the former to come looking for her. Something that she had just invited via the Kingsguard. The thought alone made her nauseous. Her stomach boiled and bubbled. He was married to Helaena, but she knew such bindings would not be enough to stop him from his pursuits. He could have laid the trap.

“Gods be damned, what did I just do!” She groaned as soon as the coast was clear.

“You took the reins, sister!” Baela proudly giggled.

“I cannot have the King’s drunken son harassing me in the corridors.” The princess snapped quietly.

“It wasn’t the drunk one. That’s who is being looked after.” Rhaena smirked, “Aemond is not subtle.”

“Aemond?” Baela sneered with disgust.

“Aemond?!” Maetilda simultaneously gasped.

“Baela, you cannot still hold a grudge against him. He was a wounded boy who wanted the world’s largest dragon for himself.” Rhaena sighed.

“Of course I can! I do not forget.”

“Sisters, we do not need to get into this. We don’t know it was him.” Maetilda attempted.

“He called Jace and Luke slurs. I would wager all the jewelry in my possession that he still uses them.” Baela ignored her.

“They both do. Yet one of them seems to have his eyes on our sister and would be politically advantageous.” Rhaena hissed.

“Politically advantageous or not, he’s not a good match. I will not see it happen.” Baela crossed her arms again.

“Father would never marry me to a Hightower.” Maetilda pointed out.

Rhaena frowned in agreement. Baela smiled as she threw her hands up in relief, “There’s always the Manderly Lord! Part of me thinks he has not yet taken a wife because he waits for you.”

The twins giggled until they cried at the shared memory from their nameday some years ago. But the princess felt knots in her stomach build at her sisters’ increasing interest in her engagement status. Briefly, she wondered if they could have an ulterior motive. They could work together to ensure her disgrace, yet their betrothal to the most sought after bachelors in the Kingdom took away all need to compete. They were no longer in the same race as her. They were promised. Soon, all of the Realm would know. It would be a disgrace for them should they not follow through with marriage. Neither Rhaenys nor Rhaenyra were the type to change their mind. In a perfect world, Rhaenyra would have a say over Maetilda’s marriage arrangements as well.

“Sometimes I wonder if father will ever have me marry.” She whispered barely loud enough for the two to hear, “Sometimes I wonder if he— what lengths he would go to keep my castle.”

It was as if all sound throughout King’s Landing and Blackwater Bay ceased for the span of a few breaths. The twins looked at their older sister with wide and shell shocked eyes. Their expressions were identical. The same sort of face that Laena would have made. It made the princess want to pause. The blood in her veins changed temperature.

“You think father would do something nefarious in order to keep possession of an old castle in the Vale? When he is to be King Consort?” Rhaena attempted to piece together the puzzle.

“Father does not want to be left without a contingency plan.” The princess pointed out.

“He has always been one to plot.” Baela nodded in agreement, “And brood.”

As the princess’s hands rubbed up and down the outsides of her thighs, they brushed past the bumps in her waist pocket. The stones were still in there. She had not moved them. They had all collected to one corner throughout her day. She could not tell her sisters. They would only run to tell their grandmother. She needed more time to find the caster and undo the binds. Princess Rhaenys would only put a stop to that. Panic flooded Maetilda’s every sense at the very thought of her losing such an opportunity to prove herself.

“Father is getting older, but he has time to change his mind.” Rhaena stated with a sigh.

Maetilda was not so confident. She pursed her lips to keep her dissent at bay.

“We shall convince him.” Baela agreed.

“We should go riding tomorrow.” Maetilda changed the subject.

“I have missed Shrykos!” Baela gasped happily.

“I do as well. She is not here. We all traveled by boat for Princess Rhaenyra’s sake.” The princess frowned softly.

“You must ride with one of us!” Rhaena insisted, “We could leave after breaking our fast. You could eat with us! We must ask grandmother.”

“Must ask me what?”

The regal woman appeared silently out of nowhere. Perhaps the bushes around them had disguised her footsteps. Their knights should have announced her arrival. Rhaenys must have told them not to. Each of the girls bowed their heads respectfully at her presence.

“We wish to go riding tomorrow, like on our birthday. May we please?” Rhaena replied sweetly.

“Grandmother, the skies call our name!” Baela interjected dramatically.

The Queen that Never Was smiled. There was a hint of a nostalgic gleam in her eye. Her hands that were neatly tucked behind her back moved to tuck in front of her.

“I may allow it. First, you both must come with me to ready for dinner.” Rhaenys sighed, “Princess Maetilda, I am certain you should be expected at dinner soon as well.”

All three of the younger girls nodded. The twins slowly and solemnly rose. Their arms hung limply at their sides as they glanced over to their sister. The three girls all shared goodbyes, with promises to reconvene in the morning. The twins' grandmother watched the girls with an unreadable expression. She was clearly deep in thought. Her eyes were staring forward, but she did not seem to be actively observing with them — at least for a moment.

Before officially turning to leave, Rhaenys lingered in her place, “There will be a family dinner tomorrow night. With all of you.”

Once more, the three nodded in acknowledgment. There was not much to be said. There was no room for argument or question. Only obedience. The twins began to follow the path out of the gardens. The same one Ser Arryk had followed. But Rhaenys did not move to follow them. She remained in the same place she lingered. Maetilda was almost too scared to look at her, to see what kept the elder princess from leaving with her granddaughters. Thoughts of what the next day would bring began to overwhelm her senses. A family dinner could only mean tension and trouble. Of which, she was already feeling overwhelmed by. Instead of looking up at her elder, she dropped her gaze to her lap in defeat.

“Keep your head up, Princess. Feel your fear on the inside, do not let them see it… lest they use it against you. And they will — do not for a moment think they won’t. They are jealous of you.”

A/N: i love a little sisters moment :P hope y’all do too!! i love baela and rhaena so much. the younger generation girl are all so precious imo.

also, thank you @marvelescvpe for your comment on my last chapter. this blog is linked to my other one and i couldn’t figure out how to reply from this blog on my phone! 😂 shoutout to you!! i’m so glad you’re enjoying!

xoxo messy