#my gorgeous grey eyed king

[luv-indigo]

more felix

[inkiedraws]

I love the way you draw my gorgeous grey eyed king, Trafalgar Law. He's so HNXHEBHBH I love him.

Thank you!

I like it when he does the face.

[lovelyyandereaddictionpoint]

Can I ask a Yandere genderben of Snow White?

Art: From Possibly Sakimichan (lmk if you know for sure)

When you were trained to be a working servant as the amnesiac servant found in the King’s garden, you were more amazed that the characters weren’t acting like the fairytale. Within a month, mind you freshly trained, you were promoted to King’s personal servant. He was gorgeous and incredibly nurturing to you, the exact opposite of the Disney character of the evil queen. Even in his lonesome the King proved to be a learned man who greatly appreciated your ability to read, enticing you with the knowledge he gained to rule the kingdom. Above all else he was wiser and nicer than the supposed hero. Snow White, while known for his beauty he was also known for his two-faced nature. 

Around the commonpeople he was the definition of bubbly, humble, giving but around those who knew of his true nature he was a man with a grim outlook. Too many times in an argument over some decision had he suggested the bloodiest option. 

“Father, might I suggest we skip the pleasantries with the Fallico family and hang them-no excuse me–send them to the firing squad?”

And on your rounds as a servant you caught him on multiple occasions luring creatures with his voice only to brutally torture them before ending their life. No doubt the actions of a future psychopath thus you kept your distance…well as much as you could considering the King was so vigilant with knowing the constant ambitions of his little monster son. 

“Oh (Y/n), I worry I’ll have no choice but to send him away.” 

He moved a piece on the chess board, nodding to you for your turn. 

“But sir he is your heir…what will you do then?”

You made your move setting back into the chair as you saw the King do a thoughtful rub of his greying stubble. 

“Well I considered making you my new one.”

“W-what?!” 

Looking wide-eyed and slightly worried you were met with the loving close-eyed smile of the King. You hesitantly smiled at him as he moved his king once more. 

“B-but if you did that, how would anyone accept it? I’m not of noble birth and I’m not married into the family..it would bring so much criticism to your name.”

“But I’ll be dead or dying anyway it won’t mean much to me.” He spoke so lighthearted about his own demise it made you tear up a little but you wiped it when you saw his expression soften. Getting up from his seat to, with difficulty, kneel at your side; swatting at you when you tried to assist him. 

“(Y/n) listen to me, I have made it my will and it truly is my ambition that the kingdom be placed in your hands.” For emphasis he held your hands in his gruff but warm hands as his warm eyes of indigo looked into your own. 

“This is my final wish. All I ask is that you grant it.”

“...For you my King, I will do it.”

“Thank you (Y/n).”

______________________________________________________________

The very next day your apron and cleaning supplies were revoked and a select group of informed staff escorted you to a spare room filled with books. Hushed and succinct you were informed of your schedule with every new day with only the door opening to bring meals or for tutors to come in. As you counted it had been over three weeks since you agreed to take the throne you couldn’t deny you worried. If the prince were to find out there’d be a price to pay and you were sure it would contain blood. 

Hearing the wooden door open once again you expected it to be one of your tutors; turning to excitedly question him. 

“Mr. Grimsby about the theory of–Oh!” 

In all his dastardly glory stood Snow White who looked just as surprised to see you there. You quickly prepared yourself to lie enough to not get stabbed with the sword he boasted at his side. 

“Reading…? My father locked his favorite servant in a room to read?”

The prince looked at you as he flipped among the pages of a book laying open on the desk, effectively losing your place. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes as you tried to not stomp over to find it once again. 

“Yes, his highness has wanted my opinion on some political matters and I wanted to make sure I was better informed.” 

You internally praised yourself for how smoothly you said only to be taken aback by the prince ruining your-previously made-bed by plopping down on it. For the next hour you kept politely trying to get Snow White out of your room only for the prince to further mess everything up in your room. Which you so neatly organized when you got tired of studying. 

“My prince, don't you have somewhere you need to be-AHH! THE VASE!” 

“Well I guess that concludes your time–””Ooo look at this pillow I wonder if it has feathers in it? Let’s see!” “OOmmpf! WHY YOU!” 

By the time your door opened once more your tutor stormed in red with anger and a few guards following behind gawked at the sight. The sight being your room and stack of books in absolute disarray: glass on the floor, sheets strewn about, and the subjects in the room?  Well the Prince was holding your body above his head almost effortlessly as he was about to toss you onto the bed hardly bothered at all by your flailing arms and legs. You were well aware that all he really intended to do was toss you on the bed and sit on you just to show how dedicated he was to staying. How’d you know all that? Because he laughed and talked about it in detail while chasing you around the room. But even if it was just an innocent thought it looked as though the calvary was convinced he was trying to murder you. 

With great struggle you were pried away from Snow White as more guards were brought to overpower him. Brought to the King’s chamber without struggle you were assessed for injuries before being sat down by what looked to be a panicking monarch. You told him of everything that the prince did and how you evaded his questioning when you were asked. Luckily the King didn’t seem too disturbed and dismissed you to sleep in an identical room. Finally feeling safe enough to rest, you hoped you wouldn’t have any more close calls.

______________________________________________________________

“I know what your doing, I’m not as stupid as you’d hoped.”

Petting the red bird on his pale finger without turning to look at the person who had entered his room. The footfalls were slow and calculating just as he always was. 

“Leave them be you’ve never fought for it before so why now?!” 

The voice spat angrily it would have made others cower but it only made the listener sigh out loud. 

“I have no problem with it, just let me…have some time with them.”

“...time?”

“Yeah just give me an hour of their time every day and I won’t interfere…at least not as much as today.”

“What if I said no?”

“Well then,” the petting began to be squeezing and a smile crept up his face revealing his perfectly shining whites. “I guess I get free reign.”

*POP*

______________________________________________________________

For whatever reason you weren’t told to stay in the room and instead were suggested to visit the garden after your tutor left in a huff; yelling something about being locked in a closet by the devil prince. You chuckled to yourself as you once again opened up your book that had nearly lost your page the day before. 

“Whatcha doing?

You deadpanned as the grass caved under the soles of Snow White’s boots. The prince was rocking on the balls of his feet as he blocked the sun aka your reading light.

“Reading alone.” 

“That sounds boring…”

You didn’t respond; best not to engage if he was trying to provoke you. Seeing as you weren’t going to react the prince squatted down just above you. 

“Y’know what I think would be fun? If you came with me for a ride on my horse.”

“Why would I-AAA!!!!” 

In his typical fashion he scooped you up to throw you over his shoulder. All you could do is cry helplessly at the staff who could only send sympathetic looks as he carried you to the stable. Throwing you over the back of the horse’s back; he denied your multiple pleas to sit normally.

“No way, I quite like this position you’re in! Now you can’t run away, again!” 

Other than the fact that this prince kept adjusting you so that you were basically rocking against his crotch, the wind felt nice and when you had the stomach to look up the forest looked beautiful. 

“Hey you there! Unhand them!” 

A woman’s voice called out and you couldn’t believe your eyes the prince or rather the Snow White was here. She wore a white corset top with puffy blue sleeves. Her make-up was natural and really enunciated the beauty of her ebony skin. You could hear the light gnashing of Snow White’s teeth before he spoke. 

“My apologies princess but I was taking my mandatory servant while I rode along the forest. As of right now I am grounded and my father, the king, preferred that I have…supervision. This servant and I have a really comedic relationship and you just so happened to catch us in a compromisin”

“..I see..well I’m sure they may be able to supervise better if they were sitting up, right?”

“Isn’t this a little outside your jurisdiction, princess?”

The woman huffed before waving her hand, somehow signalling the guards that emerged from the bushes and fell into formation around her. With a sneer and the turn of her horse your possible savior and posse left. The prince himself huffed before pulling at the back of your clothes to sit you upright on the horse. 

“You run and I’ll break your legs.”

He spat in your ear as if he wasn’t already caging you in with his hold on the horse’s reins. When you two returned back to the castle the King was standing outside with the guard and tutors prepared to escort you away. The King lingered to glare at his son who smirked at him before trotting off to the stables. 

“I told you, free Reign!”

For the following months this was your typical routine; in between studying to be a monarch you had to survive whatever entertainment Snow White forced you to participate in. The King encouraged you all the while and you were confident that perhaps the events of the fairytale wouldn’t come to pass until the morning leading up to your coronation. 

“Here, for good luck.” 

The prince handed you the most delectable red apple and you felt a cold sweat develop under your royal attire. You were well aware what would happen if you bit into this and even with so many people around rushing to complete final preparations for the event you couldn’t trust that you’d ever wake up again; not without a ‘true love’ bound to kiss you. You held the apple close to your chest with plans to throw it out.

“Thank you my prince, but it's best if I avoid eating before the festivities.”

“Oh is that so?” 

“Yes.” Calling a maid who had a trash can you tossed it and escaped the scene by heading to your mark at the balcony. Breathing in and out you tried to keep yourself from hyperventilating. The sudden warmth of the King brought you comfort, turning to see that same look of pride as he hooked your arm with his. And with that the ceremony began. 

The ceremony was successful, the people accepted you with open arms and you said your vows perfectly. Now as the festivities commence, you and the King sit on your portable thrones in the heart of the capital. As part of your new reign you suggested a more hands-on approach with the people which of course had you witnessing the joyous occasion first-hand. You ate and drank a lot of different things throughout the night enjoying the flavors of the culture; which may have lowered your ambitions when a man dressed like a hunter offered you apple cider. 

“A-are you a..hunter?” 

“Your highness!!”

“AAAAHH they’ve been poisoned!” 

“It was him! I saw him!”

“Guards grab him!!!”

As you feel your eyelids grow too heavy to open you realize your mistake. If everything was opposite here then the one doing the poisioning wouldn’t be the King. And instead of the hunter disobeying knowing his life was forfeit it would only be right that he obey knowing his life was to be ended for the sake of his master.

__________________________________________________________________________

“For any of you able to revive our poisoined highness, an award will be given to you. One of your choosing. Without question or consequence.” 

The King was distraught, for his beloved successor had fallen into a deep slumber that couldn’t be broken by any normal methods. He cried at your side only leaving to brutally execute this man who gave no rhyme or reason as to what he’s done. The King made the decree that he hoped would wake you; willing to take any kind of route.The next day the line in front of the castle was so long it went into the town and as he agreed when the sun was fully risen would he open the doors. 

“Please open the doors, I shan't wait any longer.”

“Ummm your highness there isn’t anyone here…”

“What?”

Rising from his chair he quickly paced to the double doors flinging them open to find a parted crowd gawking or running from the man making his way to the doors. Doused in freshly spilt blood was Snow White, sword in hand matching his entire visage. With every step he took a puddle was left making a growing path as he neared the entrance of the castle

“W-what are you doing here!? I sent you to the kingdom over with the princess who needed a husband. I-if you wanted to rule a kingdom I gave that to you so WHY are you here?!” 

The King’s frustrated cry seemed to stop the prince. The silence was broken by the belly laughs of the man in question; his father backing in fear. 

“Ha ha ha, old man you did just that but you seemed to miss the part why 'anyone'. was invited here” 

Reaching into his pocket he held up an apple identical to the one he had offered you a day before. 

“Behold the cure. I have shed the blood of many to save your beloved (Y/n) and I will do the honors of reviving them for that wish.!” 

As much as the statement was meant to despair the king it brought support from the people. 

“Revive them! And any of your sins will be forgotten by us!” 

“Please bring them back to us!” 

“Prove it!” 

“Woooohooo!” 

Relishing in the whooping and jeering of the surrounding villagers Snow White began his walk towards your sleeping form. The King was unsuccessfully trying to calm the crowd as he watched his guard hold them back from filling the room. 

“H-how do you plan to give it to them!?”

Horrified he cried out as if to delude himself there was some other way to administer this supposed antidote. To answer all he heard was the laugh of the Prince who was now standing over you happily putting away his sword to toss the fruit between his hands. 

With the light shining out of the grand windows of the royal room the silhouette of the man taking a bite from the apple before leaning down to the sleeping monarch. In front of all to see he chewed; brushing his lips against yours as though testing the waters before diving in. Pushing your lips with the prodding of he struggled to get past your guards for teeth. Slightly annoyed he abandoned the apple to forge one hand in the roots of your hair (or the back of your head) to hold you up to him and the other to move the lower half of your jaw. 

Finally allowed full access to your mouth he wasted no time sending his pink muscle down your unsuspecting throat with the chewed bits of your cure. But just because the mission was finished it didn’t encourage the prince exploring your mouth further. Marking your lips with the crimson fluid that was drying on his person. 

For a while the crowd was enveloped in a silent awe as they watched the Prince makeout with the sleeping ruler. The King was avoiding wretching for the hope of seeing his child wake and that he did. 

You blinked once.

Blinked twice discovering that you could move your eyelids.

Blinked thrice more to blur the spotty image of something red.

You blinked for the fourth time registering who was still hovering near your face. 

In shock and fear you moved to push him away only for your hand to be grabbed and intertwined with by the man you had always been wary of. Smiling like a lovesick freak you hoped that the guards or the watching crowd would pick up on your distaste. Only to confirm with a quick glance that they were cooing and cheering at the sight. You could hear the crumpling of the former king fighting tears as dug his hands into the floors. 

“And for my wish that you promised to grant that I may be king through marriage to the new ruler (Y/n)!” 

The crowd erupted in cheer and wordlessly the time for celebration rang throughout the kingdom. Oblivious to your struggling as the Prince shoved a diamond ring on your finger before once again hauling you off into the castle. 

There was one thing that didn’t change in this story.

Just about everyone believed in Snow White.

[eideticmemory]

LOUISIANA | MATTHEW GRAY GUBLER

It’s summer in New Orleans. It’s hot, sticky, and you need some action.

Word Count: 2,472.

Warnings: Explicit sexual intercourse. Cougar!Matthew, 19 year age gap between adults.

You’d never been to New Orleans before, but your impression of it so far was not so great. It was hot, and sticky. It smelled of booze, spices, herbs. It was noisy, and busy, and bustling. It moved quickly and constantly, and you were holding on for dear life. You thought about being home, in your bed, in your house, that you shared with your boyfriend.

In California.

But Matthew was here. He was in New Orleans, on the set of 68 Kill, all day, everyday, for the past few weeks. You love Matthew. You would fly across the entire earth to be with him — hell, you practically have — but you’re sweating all the time, and still getting lost, and still not getting laid.

He comes home, tired and drained, everyday. The later, the worst it is. And while the house he has you settled in has seen you two fuck plenty of times, it hasn’t nearly witnessed it enough. Not like your home. Not like your bed, in your house, that you share with your boyfriend.

You woke up at 10 in the morning, alone in a king size bed, and your vibrator was dead by 10:30. You let out a frustrated groan, your body relaxing at the loss of stimulation. ‘Stimulation.’ If that’s what you could call it. It wasn’t Matthew. Nothing is Matthew, and you hate him for spoiling you with orgasm after orgasm after orgasm. Getting you attached, dependent.

So dependent, in fact, that for the first time since filming began, you planned to visit Matthew on set. You hopped out of bed, showered, brushed your teeth, and picked out an outfit ever so carefully. The white tank top hugged your figure, the hem tucked into a plain jean skirt that hung just below your ass. Hair done, lips glossy, you drove out to the set of 68 Kill, where cast and crew were hard at work under the summer sun.

You anxiously fiddled with your hands, searching the area for anyone resembling Matthew. He saw you first, calling out to you, “[y/n]!, [y/n]!” with his hand raised up in the air. He looked like a dream — the sun beaming down on him, sweat soaking the material of his thin grey shirt. His hair slick back and styled by product and sweat. Jeans that were so tight, they left very little to the imagination.

You matched his excited smile, rushing over to him with open arms. He picked you up, spun you around, and held you against his body like you were a life preserver. You’d never felt so safe. So loved. You could feel your heart pounding between your legs.

Setting you down on your feet, Matthew happily held onto your hands, swinging your arms side to side. “What are you doing here, baby?”

“I just wanted to see you,” you smiled. “Um, could we talk for a second?”

“Yeah,” he breathed out. “Come on.” His face noticeably transitioned to one of concern and confusion, and instead of questioning you on the spot, he led you into his trailer.

You stepped onto the stairs, and then the level floor, and wandered into the space. You held all your weight on your heels, ready for the moment Matthew closed the door behind him. As if activated by the sound, you spun on your heels and grabbed Matthew’s face in your hands, pulling him into a deep and dirty kiss. His hands instinctively gripped onto your waist, and pulled you close, very close — chest to chest, skin on skin.

You reluctantly broke the kiss, desperately needing to take a breath. Matthew pressed his forehead against yours, softly huffing and puffing. “What was that for?” He chuckled.

You sighed quietly, and flicked your eyes up at him, holding eye contact as you whispered the words, “Eat me out? Please?” Your voice was shaking, weak.

“Oh? Right now?” He replied, his mouth curling up into a sly smile.

“Please, Matthew, I need it. I need you, just—“ You grabbed onto his hand and promptly placed his palm underneath your skirt. His eyebrows raised instantly as he recognized the familiar feeling of your skin, free and uncovered, no panties in sight. You leaned in and held your mouth near his ear, “Put your mouth on me, please. I miss it. I miss you.”

“Oh, baby, you know you never have to ask me twice,” he grinned, using his body weight to push you backwards, your legs colliding with the couch. You let out a horny and happy laugh, laying back on the cushions. Your body stretched across the bedding, head to toe, and it was a sight for Matthew to see. “Spread your legs, beautiful.”

You followed his command, swiftly opening your thighs for him. Matthew let out a long sigh of excitement, falling to his knees and hooking your legs over his shoulders. “Thank, God,” he whispered, and looked up into your eyes. “I’m starving.”

You let out a soft laugh, grooming your fingers through his hair and licking your lips. “You’re so fucking gorgeous, my love,” he mumbled, his lips pressed against your inner thigh. “God, you have such a pretty pussy.”

“Stop,” you blushed, already overwhelmed by the small contact.

“No, I mean it,” He added, his fingers grazing over your clit. “You’ve always been so pretty. I love touching you . . . kissing you,” he placed a gentle peck on vulva, and you sucked in a breath of air to remain calm. “Being inside of you.”

With a quiet hum, he leaned in and pressed the tip of his tongue to your clit. He immediately drew circles around the sensitive nerve, and you gripped onto his shirt with a high pitched moan. You’d almost forgotten — this is Matthew. He’s careful, and gentle, and knows how to move his tongue perfectly. He’s never been timid or unsure of how to touch you, he just always knew. He knew that if he didn’t hold onto your thighs, you’d be a writhing mess. That if he held you down, pushed you against his face, you’d shudder and weep. That if he did a little combination of circles, and side swipes, and quick tongue flicking, you’d come in minutes.

But it really felt like seconds. Your hands uncontrollably and aggressively tugged at the sleeves of Matthew’s shirt. Gasps fell from your lips in a mess of heaving and shivering and whining. “M-Matthew,” you panted, your head falling back onto the couch, your eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Oh-oh, my-fuck.”

In response, he sped up the tempo of his tongue, the tip lapping at your clit with an intensity that had your back arching and your thighs tightening around Matthew’s face. The sound of his mouth on you — sticky and oozy and slimy — was drowned out by the volume of your moans. Matthew’s hand slid up your body, from your waist to your ribs to your breast, gripping one in his hand and playing with the nipple through your shirt. You licked your lips as you put your hand over his and squeezed it until the bubble inside of you burst.

Your whole body curled into a weak and trembling mess. You pulled Matthew’s hair from the roots, clawing at his scalp as you huffed his name. “Matthew! A-ah, fuck! Hmm—“

His tongue slowed to apply steady and forceful strokes, and then he began planting kisses along your hip bone. Your eyes were closed in complete bliss, you hand on your chest, still holding Matthew’s fingers. You shuddered as his lips trailed up to your neck, and your head tilted to give him more access. He pulled away and looked you in the eye, cupping your cheek gently in his hand, his thumb tracing your temple.

“Yeah?” He whispered.

“Fuck yeah,” you giggled.

“Wanna fuck? Make it quick?”

“Really?” You grinned.

“Absolutely.”

You quickly started to unfasten his jeans, shaking so much that your movements were sloppy and uncoordinated. Matthew laughed, and grabbed both your wrists in one hand, pinning them over your head.

“I’ve got it,” he murmured, with this look in his eye that made you gulp.

His freed his cock from his zipper, and you felt his precum leaking on your inner thigh as he pushed your legs open. It was as if your eyes were magnets, holding each other’s gaze while Matthew kneeled in position between your thighs. He ducked his head, and spit out a line of drool, and you watched it fall onto the tip of his cock, and felt it land on your pussy.

Matthew pressed himself against you, the tip of his member teasing your clit. You whimpered into your mouth, attempting to pull your hands from his grip. No luck. “Matthew, baby, please. P-please. I want it so bad, pl—“

You were interrupted by a sharp slap to the face. It had your jaw dropped open, your face stinging in pain. “Enough of the begging, babygirl,” he said, punctuated by him pushing his cock into you. All the way into you, filling your entire body with a ripple of pleasure and shock. You released a loud and high pitched yelp, going cross eyed at the deep pressure inside of you. Matthew leaned down and said a quiet, “Shhh,”in your ear. His hand snaked up to wrap around your throat, and he squeezed it tightly as he moved out of you slowly, and slammed his way back in.

“Fuck!” You whimpered. “Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.”

“‘Oh, fuck, oh, fuck.’” Matthew laughed, mocking you while pounding you into the couch cushions.

“F-fuck you,” you spit.

“Not if I fuck you first.”

Your throat throbbed within his grasp, and you struggled to breathe between the moans and the groans and the lack of oxygen. Matthew watched you with a wild look in his eye, his teeth digging into his bottom lip as he grunted into his mouth. You could feel his cock striking your soul, your spine, practically rearranging your insides. And he could not stop. He was lost in you, both figuratively and literally.

“You’re so fucking tight, beautiful, fuck. You feel so good.” He sealed his words with a kiss, and as his tongue slipped between your lips, you tried to touch him, not realizing he still had your hands in his hold. You whined and rattled you arms, but Matthew only responded by fucking you harder. Faster — the couch wobbling on it’s legs, the trailer rocking on it’s wheels.

“Ah! Huh-uh!”

“Open your eyes, watch me make you come,” Matthew ordered. “Watch.”

Your eyes fluttered open, your eyelids heavy and hooded. You watched him move in and out of you, coating himself in your slickness. You tilted your head up and looked into Matthew’s eyes, and at that moment, he let your hands go.

You instantly grabbed onto his body, hands on his waist where you could feel the sweat on his skin. One hand still on your neck, the other traveled between your legs and his fingers expertly worked on your clit. Your hand wrapped around his wrist, you beginning to choke on your own moans.

“Mhm,” he cooed. “You’re gonna come.”

“N-no,” you shook your head. You didn’t want it to be over. Not yet. Not now. But he was so good. Better than good. He was perfect. He was fucking you, perfectly. Rubbing you, perfectly. Feeling his skin slapping against yours, a knot forming in your stomach, all you could do was melt into the couch underneath you.

“Oh, come on, baby,” he whispered to you, the tip of his nose touching yours. “Come for me. Come on my cock, I know you want to. I know you can’t take it anymore, so c’mon,” he tightened his grip on your throat, causing your jaw to drop. “Come, [y/n].”

And as if your body was programmed to listen to him, his voice, you came. You came, and it took everything out of you. You yelled out a loud and broken, “Fuck!” You clawed at his arms, pulled at his hair and fell into an uncontrollable fit of trembling.

Matthew gave you a cocky smile, fucking you through your orgasm, using his body weight to hold you down. “Good girl,” he breathed in your ear. “Good girl.”

You wrapped your arms around his torso, and allowed him to rail you, mercilessly, crazily, until you could feel his own release building inside of him. You placed gentle kisses on his chest and neck, earning more than a few moans from him. “I’ve never — fuck — never wanted to put a baby in someone s-so badly in my fucking life.”

You chuckled breathily, watching his face twist and turn in pleasure. You grabbed him by his face and pulled him into a passionate kiss. It was just the thing he needed to push him off the edge, and as he felt his release coming, he went to pull out of you. But you stopped him in his tracks, wrapping your legs around his torso — tightly — and holding him inside of you.

“F-fuck, oh, fuck,” he huffed. His face was a bright shade of red, his body tense and shaky. And it wasn’t long before his was pushing his hips forward, and coming inside of you, stilling himself as he filled you up. The two of you held eye contact with one another, Matthew crumbling as he reached his peak. And you, grinning sinfully at the warm feeling in your stomach.

Matthew looked down between your legs, a wet sound echoing through the room as he pulled out of you. He made sure to look back into your eyes, pushing himself back into you with a few forceful thrusts.

“Mmmm,” you hummed.

Matthew helped you get fixed up. Turned your skirt the right way around, tucked your shirt in. He even used a shirt of his to wipe away the come dripping down your thighs.

“Thought you said we were making this quick?” You smiled, draping your arms over his shoulders.

Matthew held you close, chuckling and putting his forehead against yours. “They can’t film without me, we’re good.”

You rolled your eyes at him and placed a small kiss to his lips. “I love you.”

“I love you,” he replied. “Are you sure you don’t wanna stay on set for a little bit before you go?”

“No,” you shook your head softly, and ran your hands along Matthew’s arms as you stepped away from him, over to the exit. “I got what I came for. It was . . . a successful mission. I’ll see you at home.”

Matthew watched as you stepped out of his trailer, a smile on his face, “See you at home.”

[faccal]

Dragon fic

This is part of chapter one, and is so far all I have written for this fic, lol. I'm working on it! Slowly but surely damnit

Logan struggled to remember the last time his grandmother hadn't told him a story about dragons, or some heroic, conquering Prince with gorgeous eyes who died over three hundred years ago. Dragons seemed to be her favorite topic however, with the elderly woman often gushing about them as if she herself had known one years ago. If she did not talk about dragons, she would explain to Logan the history of their country as well as their neighboring ones, telling him in varying details about the many close kingdoms and how they met their downfalls either by the hands of one family, or from the arrogant greed and gluttony of dragons.

"The Nagonian Russ Dynasty is one of this country's oldest Dynasties. Its first appearance being recorded by the family close to two thousand years ago!" She chirps animatedly, far more awake than Logan as his grandmother wobbles around their tiny kitchen, making him lunch on a cool Sunday afternoon. "The son of the most recent King and Queen, Prince Keegan, was known to be just as, if not more lethal than his parents were!" She rambles, setting a pot filled with water and fresh eggs on the fire. 

"Gran.." Logan grumbles, tired eyes fixed on her as she moves about the kitchen, his right arm supporting his head, chin pressed tightly to his palm. "For the last time, enough about Keegan-"

"Yes, yes, I know. I know." She interrupts, waving her hand dismissively at him. "I'm just explaining to you our country's history! You'd think you'd have at least a little bit of decency to try and learn it." She grumbles the last part with a huff, yet Logan still hears her crackly little voice over the fire, and responds with a soft and tired sigh.

"Women." He whispers, dodging a wooden figure she chucks at him. 

"Respect!" She barks, her fading eyes filled with annoyance.

"Yes, gran. I'm sorry." He stands, walking over to wrap her in a tight embrace. "The fields have just been overly tiresome today, my apologies." He kisses her cheek, inhaling her wild berry scent. "Did you pick fresh fruit?" He asks hopefully, calloused hands gently pushing her away. 

She stares up at him with a motherly grin. "Of course! Can't have my baby working the fields all day and not pick him some well-earned berries!" She walks over to their small countertop, removing the damp rag from atop a cracked ceramic bowl, displaying all of the different berries she picked. "Raspberries, blackberries, a few strawberries I snagged from the neighbor's garden, let's see-" she digs her hands around for a second, pulling her long grey hair from her face with her other hand. "Ah ha!" She grabs a small stem and turns around, revealing to Logan his favorite fruit. 

"Elderberries!" He moves rapidly, carefully picking up the fruits, an excited glint in his brown eyes. "Have you had any?" 

She nods once, pointing to the empty stem on the counter. "I'm afraid I was only able to grab two small stems." She smiles apologetically. 

Logan gives her another kiss, hugging her once more before stuffing his face greedily. 

"Now, don't be a pig!" She swats his ass with her spoon, turning now to her boiling eggs. 

"Perhaps if the King weren't such a selfish prick, I wouldn't have to be a pig." He retorts, knowing how many people risk their lives and hands to steal from the King's garden, filled with rich and exotic foods the poor are deemed unworthy of consuming. 

"You can enjoy items we don't have access to without being a pig." She explains softly, a small grin on her face. "I am pleased you enjoyed your gift. Ephaltes brought them to me." 

"He did?" Logan asks, recalling the bizarre purple eyed aristocrat who often stole for the poorer families in the realm. 

[jaskierswolf]

The Prince of Darkness

Written for @thewitcherbog flash fic challenge a while back but I never posted!

Rating: M

Summary: Jaskier is the King of the Underworld, and it's Valdo's day of judgement.

CW: Demon!Jaskier (and witchers), implied sexual content, death, torture (burning, choking, freezing.), Jask has an open relationship with all the witchers (but Geralt is his favourite), mentions of non con.

The hotel lobby was sophisticated and yet traditional, like something out of a movie. The dark panelling on the walls were dimly lit by flickering candles, and there was a fireplace roaring in the centre of the foyer, and a handful of gorgeous golden-eyed beauties were making their way around the room. They were finely dressed, perfectly tailored suits with silken blood red waistcoats detailed with golden buttercups, a tray balanced on their hands as they passed out flutes of champagne. In the corner of the room was a black grand piano, the lid propped up as the man behind it let his fingers dance across the ivory keys, rings glistening silver and gold in the candlelight.

Jaskier smiled to himself as he played, his eyes shut, focussing on every little sound in the room, blending it with the music, manipulating the souls around him until they were practically eating out of his hand.

The Prince of Darkness, the mortals called him.

Lucifer himself.

He preferred Jaskier; buttercups were so beautiful, so innocent, so toxic.

It was the perfect moniker.

Lux was his domain, his hotel, a haven for demons and sinners alike, and the perfect stage for when Jaskier had to deal with… unpleasant business. The witchers, as he liked to call his inner circle of demons, would deal with the aftermath, cleaning up the elevator before any of Jaskier’s regular clientele could see.

The witchers were just such good pets.

Geralt approached the piano, his honey golden eyes almost entirely black as they approached the end of another poor soul’s contract. There was an itch that creeped under Jaskier’s skin, hot fire burning through his veins, but it didn’t bother him. No, he relished in the flames, let it warm his cold immortal body. Cracking an eye open, he peered at the witcher who had disturbed his music.

“He’s here, my lord.”

Jaskier sighed, bringing the music to an end, and then, with a snap of his fingers, the ivory keys started to play anew. The song was a familiar tune, a well known pop song from the mortals’ charts. It would keep his honoured guests entertained, after all, at Lux the party never-ended. Those who stepped through the swinging doors were transported to a realm of endless night; cocktails, champagne and designer clothes. The chandelier in the middle of the room twinkled, and there was a sharp clack of high heels on the granite floor as his guests mingled.

None of them ever seemed to realise there was something not quite right about Lux. When they were done partying, when Jaskier had made deals for their souls, they would leave and return to their realm as if they had only been there for an evening, never to return until their contract was up.

And they always returned.

Occasionally, a poor mortal would fight it, realising their impending doom. They’d try to flee the country, get as far away from Lux as possible, but the witchers were excellent hunters. Once the demons got the right scent, they could track their prey to the end of the known universe. The mortals never stood a chance. They either came willingly or they would be dragged through the doors by two of Jaskier’s finest demons; he wasn’t sure which he preferred.

Yes it was simpler if they accepted their fate, but he couldn’t deny that he just adored the thrill of watching the poor terrified soul being thrown at his feet.

He thought of himself as a kind devil, if such a thing existed, his father would certainly disagree, but his father could rot in heaven. Truly, Jaskier did his best to be fair. He granted the mortals wishes and made sure they lived their best lives, he even allowed most of them to live for many decades with the gifts he gave them, their deepest desires. Really, for some of the wishes he’d granted, it would have been kind to allow them even a year of life, let alone what he gave to them.

Ungrateful bastards, the lot of them.

Valdo Marx had been an easy soul to claim; he was greedy, lustful, full of pride. He’d practically begged at Jaskier’s feet back when he was in his first year of university.

“I want to be the best musician the world has ever seen, I want the most beautiful woman, Virginia Stael, to be my wife, and I want-”

Jaskier had waved his hand, his dark feathered wings spreading out behind him, and Valdo’s jaw had snapped shut, muffled sounds coming from his throat.

“I want, I want, I want,” Jaskier had cooed, his finger hooking under Valdo’s chin as he pouted down at the mortal, whipping his tail round to caress down the poor man’s arm until his wrist had been locked in a vice. “Do you know what I want… Marx?”

The wanna-be musician had scoffed, a fatal mistake and one that had cost him years off his life. “Everyone knows that, Lucifer.”

“My name, Valdo, is Jaskier,” he’d hissed, his forked tongue flicking out from his lips as more and more of his devil form had been revealed. “And I just want to have fun.”

“You want my soul.”

“No, your soul is the price. A mere business transaction. I just want to get wasted and shag my rather lovely demons, and you are wasting my time.”

Ah yes. Valdo had always been a little shit-stain in Jaskier’s life, but now his time had come.

The piano music began to build to an earth shattering crescendo, making the glasses rattle, and dust fall from the chandelier. Jaskier cracked his neck, feeling a prickling sensation on his scalp as his horns began to grow, and still the sweet, oblivious mortals noticed nothing. They sipped on their champagne and chatted amongst themselves, ignoring the way Jaskier’s cornflower blue eyes slowly turned onyx, his skin deathly pale. He smiled sweetly at his favourite witcher, running his lips along Geralt’s sharp cheekbones.

“Thank you, darling,” he breathed, capturing Geralt’s lips with his, tongues meeting in a quick but heated display of passion.

And then the doors burst open, Lambert and Aiden dragginga handsome but aging man through the doors, grey hairs dusting his temple, crinkles at the corners of his eyes. It had been a long time since Jaskier had seen Valdo Marx, but there was no denying his beauty, now distinguished, a true silver fox. Dark chocolate eyes met his as all the colour drained from Marx’s face.

“Oh God, no… no, please,” he stammered, struggling in the arms of the demons that held him.

“My dear father holds no power here,” Jaskier chuckled, smirking at the man at his feet. “There’s no use in praying. Your soul belongs to me.”

“Lu- Jaskier, please. I’m too young. It’s too soon,” Valdo begged, reaching up to Jaskier with open hands. “My wife, my children.”

“Oh but Valdo, It’s never too soon. I am never early and I never try to back out of a deal, darling,” Jaskier pouted, squatting so he was at eye level with the mortal. “So why don’t you come with me, love? Stop all this fussing. You’re ruining my party.”

With a fire not often seen in mortals, Valdo spat at Jaskier, and an eerie silence fell over the club. The piano music screeched to a halt, the lid closing with a bang, and the only sound was a low rumble of growls from the witchers. Geralt was at Jaskier’s side in a flash, his sword drawn and pointed at the man.

It was sweet.

As if Jaskier couldn’t defend himself, but he did enjoy the show, the way Geralt’s arms would flex as he gripped the sword, twirling it in a circle before executing his victim.

“I had planned to give you an easy death,” Jaskier lied, standing back up to his full demonic height and clearing his face with a snap, “but now, I think I’ll have some fun. Geralt, Eskel, with me. Lambert, Aiden, make sure our guests stay out of the way.”

“No!” Valdo cried, falling once more at Jaskier’s feet, gripping onto his ankles.

Oh, how he loved it when they begged for their lives.

When Jaskier glided through the foyer, picking up a champagne flute from Coen’s tray with barely a brush of his lips to the demon’s cheek, the crowd parted before him. Compliments fell off their tongues, sweet like honey, unaware of the influence Jaskier had over them. They all watched him, they always watched him, so very eager to please. Geralt snarled behind him as one brave mortal rested their hand on Jaskier’s arm, but it was Eskel who snapped their fingers, silent and deadly, before they’d even realised he was there.

Valdo was pulled into the elevator, tears streaming down his face and choked off screams ripping from his throat, but Jaskier remained calm, and if it weren’t for his eyes and the horns amongst his tousled brown hair, he would have looked like any other hotel owner.

Until the doors closed.

And then all hell broke loose; literally. Jaskier’s body cracked and snapped into place as his legs extended to inhuman proportions, his fingers growing into talons, and he let out a sinful moan as his wings unfurled behind him. He flicked out his tail, and his three-piece suit melted away into a gorgeous black silk corset, embroidered with golden buttercups. Red stockings adorned his legs, held up by lacy black garters, and as he flicked out his ankles, a pair of strappy heels materialised on his feet, the soles flashing red before clicking back onto the floor.

“Jaskier, please, please,” Valdo cried, falling against the side of the elevator as lightning sparked and they dropped fast, the dial on the wall spinning out of control.

“Your soul… belongs to me,” Jaskier hissed, pressing Valdo up against the wall, his hands wrapping around his throat.

He was tempted to snog Valdo’s soul right out of him, a sweet kiss to seal the deal, but that was too kind, and he was feeling a little more dramatic than that, so he pushed back off the wall, beating his wings so he hovered just off the floor. Geralt and Eskel were standing on either side of him, swords drawn with toxic black eyes, veins like ink beneath their skin.

Flames burst out behind them, whipping around so the whole elevator was surrounded by a burning pyre, singeing Valdo’s clothes, and the mortal screamed as the fire licked at his hand, scorching the calloused skin. His precious hands, his livelihood, the first things that Jaskier had blessed for him.

There was something so delightfully poetic in that, and Jaskier found great pleasure in it.

“Everyone always thinks that hell is eternal fire,” he purred, stroking a talon along Geralt’s cheek, before pulling Eskel into a soft kiss, taking his time to enjoy the taste of sulfur on his tongue, “but that isn’t always true.”

“W-what?”

Jaskier just pouted at Valdo. “Do try to keep up, darling.”

And then he snapped his fingers, the fire was suddenly extinguished, replaced by a flood of muddy tar. Valdo spluttered and choked as he slid to the ground, the tar catching in his hair, and wherever it landed his handsome looks withered away. The wedding band slipped from his finger and disappeared, despite Valdo’s desperate scrambling to find it.

The muddy mixture spewed all over the lift, covering the two demons as well as their victim, but Jaskier stayed clean and dry, untouched by the tar. He really wasn’t in the mood for ruining his clothes, not like this. He was rather hoping Geralt would tear them from his body later on that day whilst his other beloved witchers watched.

“J-Jaskier!” Valdo screamed, just as the entire elevator froze.

Blue ice creeped up the walls, wrapping around the legs of both the demons and the pitiful mortal on the floor. Valdo sobbed, trying to escape the ice but they both knew it was over. His back pressed against the wall as the ice grew, crystallising over his body, wrapping around his throat. Snowflakes fell from the ceiling, landing in his eyelashes as he struggled to breathe.

And Jaskier stole back his voice.

The final gift.

Valdo’s soul ripped from his body, and the man fell limp against the wall.

With a wave of his hand, Jaskier captured the soul, weaving his magic until a silver fox with chocolate brown eyes was nestled in his arms. He grinned, lowered the fox to the floor and then snapped his fingers to open the doors.

Before he left the elevator, his corset grew into a beautiful gown, split all the way up to his thighs, and his demonic features melted away. He patted Geralt once more on the cheek, pressing their lips together, before striding back into the foyer, not looking back at the frozen massacre he’d left behind. Beside him, a silver fox trotted along, a shadow of the man he used to be.

[amphxtrite]

cedric diggory x hufflepuff fem!reader

warnings: swearing, cheating, slut-shaming, sad boy cedric, like one sentence of thigh riding, spelling/ grammar mistakes.

summary: Cedric and the reader have been best friends since the moment they met. Cedric realizes his feelings for you as you fall for someone else, but your new romance doesn’t go as planned.

flashbacks are in italic

a/n: thank you to @cedricsyellowscarf and anon for requesting, I felt these two ideas went really well together.

word count: 3.1k

tag list: @cupidpoison @wonderful-writer @coldlilheart @inglourious-imagines @mullthingsoverinthehotwater @cedricsyellowscarf @glossierkisscs

enjoy<3

__________________________________________

“Do you promise we’ll be best friends forever?” A young boy with grey eyes questions the girl next to him.

“Yes Ced, everyday until we’re a thousand years old!” The young girl laughs, taking the boys hand and pulling him to a run across the grassy field.

Y/n L/n and Cedric Diggory have had an unbreakable bond from the day they met.

Amos and Cassandra Diggory were friends with your parents throughout their years at Hogwarts, but you didn’t even need your parents to push you together, because from the moment Cedric locked eyes with you in your cradle, the two of you were inseparable.

From then on you grew, laughed and played together. Your parents would often giggle behind their hands saying that the two of you were ‘made for each other’, but at your young age you never understood.

When you received your letter to Hogwarts you immediately ran to Cedric to learn he had also gotten his. You threw your arms around his shoulder and laughed joyfully, muttering on and on about how much fun you were going to have. Cedric’s cheeks went pink and for the first time he saw you in a different light.

“Dad?” The young brunette called for his father.

“Yes Ced?” Amos responds, walking into his son’s room and flicking on the lights.

“I think I might be sick.” Cedric sighs, looking down into his palms.

“Really? What’s wrong?” Amos sits onto Cedric’s bed and puts an arm around him.

“Well- when y/n wrapped me in a hug today, my hands started to sweat and my face went really hot. That’s never happened before, do you think I have a fever?” Cedric shuffled around to face his father.

Amos smirks and takes a deep breath.

“Son, you don’t have a fever, but I think someone has the love bug.”

Cedric tilts his head to the side in confusion as Amos chuckles.

“The- love bug?” He asks, grabbing onto his father’s sweater.

“You’ll understand when you’re a little older son.” Amos smiles, pressing a kiss to Cedric’s head, before standing and turning off the lights.

“Sweet dreams Ced.”

You and Cedric arrived at Kings Cross station together and boarded the train with huge grins plastered on your faces. You sat side by side in an empty compartment, sharing a couple of sweets and excitedly wondering which house you’d be sorted into.

“I don’t know Cedric, I think hufflepuff suits you better.” You smirk, patting the pouting brunette on the head. “Yeah okay, but so are you!” He grins, playfully taking your hand from his head and poking you on the cheek.

As your conversation continues, a flash of red catches your eye and you look up to see a gorgeous brunette in a red sweater, laughing and bumping shoulders with a couple other boys. His brown eyes seemed to twinkle in the sunlight, his teeth were pearly white and his hair looked silky smooth. He must’ve noticed your face because he looked into your compartment and shot you a quick wink followed by a little smirk.

“y/n? snap out of it, what are you looking at?” Cedric waves his hand in front of your eyes and pulls you back into your head.

“Isn’t he handsome?” You sigh, gazing out the cart door to the boy in the red sweater fooling around with his friends.

“W-what?” The gray eyed boy stammers, swiveling his head and coming eye to eye with the brown orbs of the gryffindor. Oliver shoots Cedric a smirk, but Cedric furrows his eyebrows in return, turning back to you to see your eyes wide and your cheeks pink.

Cedric could not understand the strange sensation bubbling in his stomach, hatred mixed with love and the sudden need to push the boy down the stairs as he held you in his arms.

“He’s fine.” Cedric grunts, huffing and crossing his arms.

Just as thought, you and Cedric were sorted into hufflepuff, being welcomed with open arms into the house of black and yellow. Cedric turned to talk to you during the feast, but your eyes were focused afar at the table of red and gold. Eyes trained on a brunette with chocolate eyes.

In the years to come Cedric suffers from a terrible case of unrequited love. The hufflepuff grows into a handsome boy with people hanging onto his arms and every word, but the one person he continuously pines for is stuck on the gryffindor keeper. Students across the school would do anything to be in your position, the hufflepuff golden boy at your side like a lost puppy. But you never knew, you could never tell that Cedric’s blush was because of your smile. You never knew Cedric gazed at you in every class or that he rejected everyone who asked him out because he was so hopeful you’d see him in a different way.

You began going to Oliver’s games around fourth year, when you had finally plucked up the courage to talk to him as friends. You’d go to see the keeper in action; gliding around on his broom and blocking quaffles with a grin on his face. And you’d stay late afterwards just to see if you could catch the gryffindor captain.

“Hey Ollie!” You smiled walking closer to the brunette.

“Oh hi y/n.” He smirks in return, his thick accent rolling off his tongue.

“Amazing game! You absolutely crushed it.” You compliment.

Oliver grins down at you and reaches over to take your hand in his.

“You know you’re not so bad yourself.” He states squeezing your hand. “Why don’t you come down to the pitch tomorrow and we’ll hang out. Just the two of us?” Oliver finishes, dropping your hand and walking back towards the castle.

“I-It’s a date then!” You stammer, holding back your cries of joy to smile at Oliver before rushing back to the hufflepuff common room, laughing.

Cedric on the other hand collapsed onto his bed and let his tears flow free when he heard the news. What did Oliver have that he didn’t?

How could you not see what he felt for you?

The hufflepuff curls up and sniffles into his pillow, slowly trying to rock himself to sleep.

You woke up bright and early to begin getting ready for your date, putting extra effort in to impress the gryffindor keeper.

“Hey Ollie.” You smile as you step into the open field. “Morning y/n.” He shouts back, motioning you to take a seat next to him.

Oliver lays out a large blanket and you oblige, scooting over to him and smiling. You spend the morning laughing with the brunette, joking about life and telling him about your interest. It was all going well until Oliver began to talk about quidditch, going on about his favourite and least favourite teams, plays that were called wrong and how he could have done better. You were unable to speak anymore once he’d begun and your head quickly became muddled with things you did not understand. You knew quidditch well enough to play on the team, but what Oliver was going on about confused you to no end.

In the afternoon after the date you sat in the common room with your eyebrows furrowed and arms crossed. You barely got a word out for the hour remaining on that date, yet Oliver still asked to see you again. You held onto a hope that next time would be different.

“Hey y/n.” A nasally voice called behind you and you swiveled to see Cedric with red eyes and tear stained cheeks.

“Oh my Godric! Ced are you alright?” You jump up and pull the tall boy down onto the couch, cradling his head in your arms as he sniffled and took deep breaths.

“What happened Cedric? And who do I have to kill?” You threaten, searching Cedric’s eyes to see hurt and confusion doting his steel grey eyes.

“I-It’s nothing lo- y/n.” Cedric clears his throat and wraps his arms around you.

“I’m just confused is all.” He sighs.

“Hey, tell me about it as we walk?” You suggest, pulling Cedric to his feet and quickly escaping to the quiet halls.

Cedric does his best to hide the situation from you. Simply stating he was having problems getting his feelings across to someone and it made him upset. As you continued to walk, you did your best to comfort your best friend, but your words came to a halt as you reached the outside of the gryffindor common room.

Oliver had his tongue stuck down some poor girl’s throat as his hands went groping her every curve, she looked conflicted, but when she spotted you and Cedric she immediately pulled back and backed away, fear present in her eyes.

“Ollie?” You question, looking at him and the girl again. “What’s going on?”

Oliver smirks and shrugs his shoulders.

“I’m snogging a girl, what does it look like?”

“But, I thought-“ You murmur.

“What? that I’d actually want to see you again?” The gryffindor laughs as the unnamed girl scurries away. “It was a dare y/n, I got some cash asking you out on a date.” Oliver chuckles, walking down the stairs and coming face to face with you. “So, it was all a lie. You never liked me back.” You shake your head and try your best to hold your tears.

“Of course l/n. Did you really think I’d ask you out if there weren’t galleons on the line?” Oliver snorts. “But, I-I thought-“

“Oh shut up y/n, everyone knows you’re a slut for Diggory, and I wouldn’t want his dirty leftovers” Oliver laughs, looking at Cedric and shaking his head.

Your eyes begin to fill with tears despite your attempts to stop it, but when you’re about to run Cedric steps in front of you.

In all of Cedric’s years he knew the feeling he got when you looked at Oliver was jealousy, the feeling shown as he wanted something Oliver had. But as he looked at Oliver now, his vision went red. Hate and rage flooded his senses as he watched the boy who had caught your affection and thrown it away.

It was one thing to have the girl of his dreams, but a whole thing entirely to throw something he’d wanted for years away and call you a slut.

“Get the fuck away from her.” Cedric snarls, as Oliver’s smile grows.

“You’ve been in love with her for years mate, and she still doesn’t know. She fancied me and completely ignored your feelings. Don’t you want to see her burn?” Oliver taunts, a smirk resting on his face.

Cedric’s vision goes red and blurry as his rage consumes him and he snaps.

“It’s not y/n’s fault she never knew I liked her, and I won’t have bloody twats like you convince her she’s anything but perfect.”

The hufflepuff swings his arm and in one swift movement his fist connects with Oliver’s face.

Your eyes widen and your mouth drops. Cedric had a crush on you, and you never knew. Disbelief swims in your mind as Oliver retaliates, grabbing the front of Cedric’s shirt and trying throw him to the ground. You’re frozen in place as you watch your best friend beat the boy you thought you adored. And one thing is made remarkably clear.

Oliver has never been there for you when you cried, never held you after you were yelled at by Snape, never congratulated you after a game, never pinky swore when you were four to be by your side until you were a thousand. But Cedric did. Cedric had stuck by your side even when you only saw Oliver, Cedric had fought past all of your nonsense and remained your best friend while you never saw his affection.

It was never going to be Oliver. That idiot could never be the one you’d spend the rest of your days with. But you knew who was.

With angry tears in your eyes you lift your wand to the fighting boys and you shout.

“Immobulus!”

Oliver hits the ground with a thud and Cedric stands, Oliver seemed to have the worst of the damage, but you noticed Cedric’s eye began to bruise as he grew a little light headed, you brought him into a tight hug before kneeling down to Oliver’s level.

“I have never been ‘all over you’ I was to stupid to judge your character and I fucking know that I won’t make that mistake ever again. Now leave me and Cedric alone.” You snap, landing a punch right on Oliver’s nose before pulling Cedric to the hospital wing as he passes out.

___

“Dad, I think I know what you meant when you told me about the love bug.” Cedric confessed to his father in the summer of your third year.“Really?” Amos smiles, rubbing his son’s shoulder. “Yes dad, I- I have a crush on y/n.” Cedric smiles.

___

“Hey it’s alright y/n, Snape’s always been a bloody prat, now come on, I have chocolate stashed in my room.” Cedric smiles as your eyes immediately light up and you wrap him in a hug.

“You’re the best Ceddy!” You sighed as Cedric’s cheeks heated up.

___

“You were absolutely amazing out there!” Cedric laughs, ruffling your messy hair after you scored the winning goal before Cedric caught the snitch, ensuring your place in the coming tournament. “Hey, you’re the one who ended the game Ced, I’m just the one who made sure we didn’t come up behind!” You laughed, bumping shoulders with him as he chuckled beside you.

___

“Pinky swear it?” Cedric flashes a toothy grin and lifts his finger up.

“Pinky swear, we’ll be best friends for life!” You replied, throwing your arms around your best friend.

___

Through everything in the word, Cedric had your back. He made you happy, he supported you, protected you and helped you through your worst days. He was everything you ever wanted, but you never knew. You were almost thankful to Oliver for your realization, but you’d never forgive what he did.

“It’s always been you.”

Holding back your tears as you watch Cedric’s chest rise and fall, it all comes crashing in on you.

“I was stupid enough not to see it.” You drop your head and almost laugh at yourself. “I fancied that asshole for no reason. But I never loved him like I did you Cedric. And I know now that it’s always going to be you. I’m sorry if I’m too late.” You sigh, leaning down to press a kiss to Cedric’s forehead.

Leaning back to leave, strong arms pull you back down again.

“Took you long enough don’t you think?” Cedric’s low voice laughs.

“Oh Ced.” You latch onto him and hold him close. “Don’t scare me like that again.” You sigh, letting a couple silent tears escape.

“Did you mean it?” Cedric’s eyes flicker up to meet yours, his piercing grey eyes pulling you into a trance.

“Every word.” You smile, pushing back a strand of Cedric’s hair and taking a deep breath.

“It’s always been you Cedric Diggory, you’ve always been the one. I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

“You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear that love.” He smirks, sitting up to hold you closer. “Just please don’t beat yourself up about it. I never did tell you how I felt. I don’t blame you.” He reasons, tilting your chin up and wiping the tears from your cheeks.

“But I should have known, I always thought you were blushing around me because I embarrassed you or something.” You confessed, sitting up.

“Y/n I could never be embarrassed of you. I’m in love with you, have been since we were eleven.”

“Can I kiss you?” Your voice seems to find a mind of its own as you begin leaning over and closing your eyes.

Cedric responds by meeting you halfway, wrapping his arms around your hips and pulling you onto the bed and tilting his face for a better angle. The kiss was short and you pulled away quickly, but your lips seemed to fall back into place, meeting again and this time really melting together in a slow and sensual way. Each movement of your lips conveyed feelings you never knew existed and gave Cedric a way to show his feelings without the fear of tripping on words. The hufflepuff pours his heart into this kiss, exploring your mouth with his tongue and sighing at the sweet taste of chocolate and mint. He’d dreamed of this moment since he was a kid and now he could finally be the one to hold you close.

When the two of you pull away to catch your breath, your eyes stay closed for a moment longer. Everything about Cedric was right, his lips, his hands, his everything.

Your body begged for you to get closer, and when you open your eyes again Cedric is gazing down at you with adoration and need.

“You’re so gorgeous you know that.” The hufflepuff grins. Kissing down your cheek and jawline before moving to your neck.

“I’ve wanted this for so long. You in my arms, our lips together.” Cedric presses another kiss to your lips. “I want it too, Ced.” You smirk, running your hands up and down his shoulders, taking in his warm scent of vanilla and wood.

Cedric sits you on his thigh and presses your lips to his again as you grind down, the friction of his jeans causing silent pants to build up. Cedric smirks and reaches over to pull you down under him when a sharp pain digs into his head.

“Bloody Hell!” Cedric cries, cradling his bruised face in his hand. You stop what you are doing to slip down beside Cedric’s bed and grab an ice packet. “Here, we’ll save that for next time.” You smirk, holding the cool package to Cedric's face as he pouts.

“I’ve waited since I was eleven y/n, I think a seventeen year old can wait a couple hours.” Cedric smirks, rolling his eyes with a light wince.

“Alright love, get some rest now.” You smile placing butterfly kisses all over Cedric’s face.

“Join me?” Cedric pouts, reaching and arm out for you to take. Smirking, you lift the covers from the small hospital bed and relax beside Cedric’s chest. The brunette wraps an arm around you and places the other one over your shoulders as you snuggle closer against him.

“I could get used to this.” Cedric sighs, pressing a kiss to your temple as his smile grows. “Mhm.” You nod sleepily, tracing circles on Cedric’s chest as his steady breathing and heartbeat lull you to sleep.

“I love you y/n.” Cedric whispers dreamily as sleep pulls him out of his thoughts.

“I love you too darling, it’s always been you.”

[entishramblings]

The Rings and Jewels Upon Your Ears - Sensitive Elf Ears [Legolas X Reader]

A.N: hey guys! here is another one shot about our favorite blue eyed elf that I wrote while procrastinating my fanfic because writers block!!! So enjoy this short fic about sensitive elf ears bc I am, and always will be, a slut for elf ear fics oop. Also if you do not have earrings I’m so sorry this was just an idea!

Request: none

Pairing: Legolas X Reader

Summary: Girl falls into middle earth and the elves of Mirkwood are confused about her earrings; most find it distasteful, but Legolas is fascinated!

Word Count: 2,246

Warnings: heated kissing (nothing further)

*all elvish was looked up online from numerous sources so please dont hate if it is not entirely correct*

(gif not mine)

MASTERLIST

(Y/N)‘s stomach dropped and queasiness overtook her as she plummeted through the cold air. She tried to grasp onto something—anything—to stop her from plunging to her death. But no matter how much she reached outward, the only thing she held in her hands was dewy water and moisture—for the only thing to grasp was dark gloomy clouds. (Y/N)’s limps felt limp as freezing rain collected on her skin, soaking her to the bone; Her wet hair whipped around her face like an over-sized mop in a miniature tornado, inviting the thick strands to get stuck in her mouth. Her whole body was numb from the cutting cold as she spun downward. To make matter worse, she was 89% sure she had lost a shoe as her one foot felt significantly colder.

(Y/N) didn’t think the circumstance could possibly get more terrifying as her heart was already struck with paralyzing fear; but alas, it was just her luck. A brilliant bolt of light shuttered from the sky, zapping through the air right next to her. She was sure she could feel the electricity rushing through her blood as the thin hairs on her arm stood up.

This was it. This was how she would go out.

Suddenly, pain erupted up her spine. She felt her nerves become overloaded with intense agony that extended through her body. She squeezed her eyes shut.

It was over. She had hit the ground. She had met her end.

But when (Y/N) opened her eyes, she saw grey stone high above her.

She groaned loudly as she pulled her body into sitting position. Her back ached slightly but the pain was not anywhere near as severe as her shock. How was she not dead....or was this death? Her curious eyes wandered in examination of her surroundings. She was in a large dark corridor that had big archways and extravagantly carved doors scattered amongst the sides in an orderly pattern. The air felt eerie and sinister as she stumbled over the abandoned, smooth, stone floor. Anxiety crept into her soul.

So this what was the invitation of death felt like.

Alone, soaking wet, missing a shoe, and shrouded with fear.

How lovely.

(Y/N) was pulled from her thoughts as chaos surrounded her and grabbed her upper arms. This chaos was tall, long haired, strikingly gorgeous, and many in number. These strange people encircled her and bound her wrists while hollering words in a language she didn’t understand.

Her head spun, what was going on? was this the afterlife? if so, it was quite weird.....

She was in a daze as they dragged her through hallway after hallway; taking so many twists and turns she would never be able to find her way back—not that going to that spot again would help anything. Where ever she was, there was no escape.

(Y/N) was brought forth in front of a long blonde haired man highly decorated in silk and jewels. He sat upon a winding wooden throne and an elaborate crown made of branches and berries rested upon his head. In one word, any individual would describe him as: regal.

The peculiar people pushed her to her knees as he spoke. Words flowed from his mouth with a smooth, deep, and intimidating tone; but those words meant nothing to her as they were completely foreign to her brain.

Silence feel between them as they looked upon her, waiting. Waiting for what?!

He spoke again, anger and irritation tumbling from his lips.

Suddenly her head was grasped by warm hands and roughly tilted upwards and to the side. Her eyes met those of another that were strikingly blue. She gasped, from the shock and the slight pain that radiated through her neck. Another hand that did not belong to the man above her pulled her locks from her face. They all looked at her ear intently. Weird kink?

The one who freed her ear from the sopping mess she called hair spoke, “Est a- an elleth, ach nad othren est lheweg (she is a female elf, but something strange is upon her ear).”

Whatever he said, it was the cause of her head being viciously tilted once again.

The King hollered at her a second time, his displeasure and irritability obvious.

(Y/N) attempted to pull from the blue eyed man’s grasp but failed exceptionally, for his grip was taught.

More harsh words were thrown at her and the hold upon her squeezed tighter—initiating pain.

A slight whimper escaped her lips. The blue eyes above her seemed regretful and their owner drew his eyebrows together in concern and confusion.

(Y/N) looked up at him, her gaze meeting his.

“Please...” she whispered ever so quietly; she wasn’t even sure he could have heard her.

Instantaneously, his hands fell from their hold and the blue pooled with intrigued perplexity.

He spoke, his voice was powerful and commanding. “She speaks the common tongue.”

She felt the eyes of those around her pouring into her soul with confusion and the yearn for answers.

“What is the point of and elf who doesn’t understand Sindarian?” The regal figure spoke.

(Y/N)’s eyes widened in bewilderment. “An elf?”

The King rolled his eyes, “Yes that is what you are, is it not? The tips of ears do not lie. Now speak quickly who sent you and how did you gain entrance?”

She looked about her dumbfounded as her gaze searched all the individuals ears—all pointy. Elves? When it dawned on her that she hadn’t answered the question, she spoke, “Sent me? I don’t even know where I am!”

Silence fell between every individual in the room and the tension lingered; she felt the agitation seeped into her skin as a shiver rippled through her body.

The King tilted his head slightly as he examined her. Only then did she realize just how unusual they really were. Their clothing was bizarre—old fashioned—and they were loaded with weapons; but no guns were in sight, they held bows in their callused hands and knives were strapped upon them. If she didn’t know any better, she would’ve thought she fell into the past. But that would be impossible. However, one thing was certain: she couldn’t be dead.

“What did you do to your ear?” The King questioned.

She frowned, suddenly remembering her immediate reality, “You—you mean my earrings?”

“Yes, the rings and jewels upon your ears.”

(Y/N) was taken aback. What a strange question. She had a large amount of earrings; at least 8 or 9 on each side, placed differently on each ear. Did he not know of piercings? How big was the rock that these people lived under?

She chose her words carefully, by the way he spoke she figured he would not understand her normal slang. “They are for decoration—for beauty.”

He spoke again but his tone laced with disgust, “Why would you desecrate yourself in such a way?”

(Y/N) was filled with confusion. This was a normal custom where she was from. Quite rude for him to insult her in such a way.

When she offered no response the King turned to the man....or elf shall she say....that had held her taught. “Legolas, lock her in the dungeons.”

(Y/N) felt a lump in her throat. Dungeons....that could never be good.

The blonde elf pulled her up gently and led her away with other guards pursuing them closely. More winding halls and steep stairs became her only sight as she was ushered along.

......

The metal bars slammed in her face as she felt numb misery confine her soul. Was this to be her life now?

As the elves filtered out, one stayed behind. Legolas, she recalled his name. He was quite tall, but alas, they all were tall to (Y/N) for she had always been considered small. His face was proportional and structured as the shadows from the torches danced upon his form. His jaw line was sharp and defined while he stood before her with confidence. He definitely had a position of authority, she thought. Furthermore, His dark eyebrows were a contrast to his sleek blonde hair that was held back by three simple braids; but it did not look unfitting, rather it was quite suitable. His light pink lips were pulled into a line as his blue orbs gazed upon her. She could see him pondering the circumstances.

He spoke lightly, no animosity upon his tone. “You are not from here, are you?”

(Y/N) nodded. Her world felt so far away and the hopes of returning faded into the shadows as despair stretched across the corners of her mind.

......

Many months had past of (Y/N) living in a cell. Within this time, she had become quite friendly with Legolas—who she had found out was the son of the King. However, the blue eyed elf was nothing like his father. For starters, on the first night she arrived he brought her fresh clothing and a towel to dry her soaked self. Legolas was kind and patient. When she threw the fabrics back at him—screaming and hollering to be released—he did not lash out; she had a suspicion any other would. Looking back, (Y/N) realized that he must have suspected her entire world was turned upside down. I mean how often do you find out you had a species change and were transported to a different sphere of reality?

The Elven Prince came to visit her often and they would have long conversations. She told him of where she came from and he taught her of the new world she now lived in. He tutored her in the language of the elves—Sindarin—and spoke of their ways. They were creatures of intense, impressive, and impeccable skill who lived immortal lives. She could feel her senses heightening and improving as the day’s went on and her muscles began to strengthen. It took long for (Y/N) to wrap her head around her new reality; and how she became of it, she knew not.

It was evening when Legolas came to visit her once again. She smirked at him from behind the bars, “What do you have to bring me this time?”

A soft smile tugged at the corner of his lip. He held up a large, dark green book and slipped it through the metal shafts. “The history of Middle Earth. Teach yourself wisely.”

She grinned, “Thank you, Legolas.”

He turned to leave for he had other duties that his father insisted upon, but he hesitated. Legolas rotated his body to look at (Y/N) once more. His gaze lingered upon her exposed ears as her hair was tied back in a tight braid.

He spoke softly, “Did it hurt?”

Her brows knitted together, “Did what hurt?”

“Your ears—the jewelry.”

She shook her head, “No not really? Why do you ask?”

He took a couple steps towards her and a slight chuckled escaped his mouth, “An elf’s ears are very....sensitive.”

She tilted her head, “What do you mean?”

He drew his bottom lip between his teeth for a moment as he eliminated the space between himself and the bars.

“May I?”

(Y/N) took a step closer, so she too was against the thick metal rods. She could feel his hot breath upon her face as he looked down at her; She was sure he could hear her heart pounding for elves could pick up any sound—she could hear his. Legolas raised a hand through the bars and gently cupped one side of her face. He lightly touched the tip of her ear and trailed his finger down. (Y/N) gasped as the sensation shuttered throughout her entire being. She could see his blue eyes shift to her lips before locking back with her eyes once again. (Y/N) lifted her hand through the bars, her expression begging to commit the same action.

“(Y/N), you know not what you will do to me.”

She bit her bottom lip and looked up at him. She did not heed his warning one bit; she grazed her finger along the edge of his ear.

Without warning both his hands flew through the bars; one wrapping around her waist and the other clutching her face. He forcefully yanked her body into his and smashed his lips against hers, both their faces pressing against the cold metal. The taste of mint and honey melded in her mouth as their lips moved in a gently rhythm, dancing against each other. (Y/N) snaked her arms up his chest, feeling the firm muscles underneath his tunic, until she wrapped them around his neck—tangling her hands in his soft hair. She felt a heat rise from her stomach to her chest as she hungrily moved her mouth with his. When Legolas’s teeth tugged on her bottom lip, nearly all her thoughts silenced and her desire for him grew. She opened her mouth to allow his tongue entrance; they battled for dominance.

Suddenly, the warmth was torn from her. Legolas pulled his head back and turned his face from her, but his hands would not move from their grasp. (Y/N)’s swollen lips parted as doubt flooded her, had she done something wrong?

His voice was one of a growl, “Look what you do to me.” His breathing was heavy and his chest was rising and falling. He turned his attention back to her, “You allow me to divulge in my impulses.”

(Y/N) smirked, “Is that such a bad thing?”

Legolas leaned his forehead against hers and he gave her a lopsided grin, “Never.”

[snowbellewells]

CSSNS20: “A Cottage by the Sea” ~ the Epilogue

** A grateful Thank You to @searchingwardrobes once more for this gorgeous cover art!!

** Thank you as well to the @cssns20 event and those who have stuck with this story despite my halting and glacially slow posting schedule. You’ve reached the happily ever after at last! :)

Summary: Princess Emma has always been drawn to the shores of Misthaven, where the sea meets the shore near her parents’ castle. When an unknown boy washes up on the sand, with eyes as fathomless and blue as the waters that brought him to her, he soon becomes Emma’s best friend, her partner in crime, and her other half.  But the tides give and the tides take away, and as her blue-eyed boy sails in her father’s navy and risks all in defense of those who made him family, unexpected danger and challenge will try to tear them apart, and might well show him just where he came from that day he first appeared to her from the sea…”

From the beginning here on Tumblr  or on AO3 ~Epilogue ~

When they could finally bear to part from each other (some hours later, if Emma was honest, a blush flooding into her cheeks upon reflection) they made their way toward her parents’ castle. With Killian’s navigational knowledge and natural instincts, not to mention Emma’s lifelong penchant for wandering the beaches and hilly paths around her kingdom whenever she could do so, it wasn’t long before they could see the familiar spires and turrets rising into the sky in the distance ahead of them.

Despite putting themselves back together as presentably as possible, little could be done for the soaked and rather bedraggled state of their clothes, not that Emma could bring herself to mind very much. They had hardly stopped holding hands since Killian had emerged from the sea and come back to her once more, and returning hand-in-hand was the least of their worries at appearing before the throne.  Raising her fingers entwined with his up to his lips, Killian pressed sweet kisses to her knuckles, looking away from the imposing sight of the castle before them to hold Emma’s gaze intensely with each step they took. “Your parents will be overjoyed to see you return unharmed, Love,” he murmured, humored affection lighting his eyes along with the words. “You must have sent them out of their minds with worry, setting off alone on a fool’s errand the way you did.”

Shaking her head with an indignant huff, Emma managed to break away from his incendiary stare to defend herself. “I don’t see why they should expect anything else! Either of them would have done the same if the other were missing. Are they not the fabled True Loves who claim they will always find each other?” She tossed her disheveled mane of curls saucily when he had the nerve to snicker at her pique. Narrowing her green eyes at him. Emma went in for the kill. “Thank that’s funny, do you? Well, I suppose you’re going to tell me you would simply sit in safety and comfort doing nothing if our roles were reversed and I had gone missing?”

That did stop the humored teasing in his manner. There was no way he could ever lie to her, and they both knew he would do anything, cross any distance or boundary to come to her aid if she needed him, so he really had no denial to offer. 

“That’s what I thought,” Emma concluded with a smart little bob of her chin. And then, shaking the fraught moment off - she had too much to be overjoyed for at present - she leaned into his side to whisper against his still half-bared warm chest, “And that’s exactly as it should be.”

Killian merely hummed noncommittally low in his throat. He was not about to admit for a moment that he was flattered and touched that Emma had come seeking him against all odds. He was - infinitely so - but he would never consider his own life or limb worth his princess putting herself at risk. It had been a revelation to see her once more when her trusty little skiff had appeared on the horizon, but if she had not made it to Calypso’s island… if she had been lost…

Rather than answering her directly, he offered a gentle smile which stirred something delicate and warm in her stomach despite the interlude in the surf they had already shared. Shaking her head, Emma eyed him with knowing fondness before she reminding him sincerely, “They love you too, you know that, right? You are the one they will be overjoyed to see alive and well.”

His head dipped into a quick, dismissive little nod, while a finger went almost unconsciously to scratch behind his ear. Clearly, her sailor was no more willing to believe his place within the royal family than he had ever been. “Aye, as you say,” he agreed lightly, but he didn’t elaborate and she didn’t push.

Instead, Emma let their joined hands swing easily between them as they moved toward the castle with renewed purpose and waited for him to speak when he was ready. She was biding her time as patiently as she could. Killian would soon see at any rate - as soon as they stood before her parents.

After that, with the castle in view, they kept traveling steadily, and it did not take long at all for them to enter her parents’ throne room; her mother cried out with joy and rushed forward to embrace them both, her tears of relief wetting her daughter’s hair before she turned to clasp her adopted son to her breast. Emma tried to shoot him a look of pleased satisfaction, ‘See? What did I tell you?’ clearly conveyed, but she couldn’t catch his eye over her mother’s enthusiastic fussing and fluttering, nor could she get a word in edgewise to badger him.

Then her father reached them as well. He hadn’t run, giving his wife her reunion moment, he had kept a more sedate pace, but his immense solace at their arrival was felt as he engulfed Emma in his strong arms, one large hand cradling the back of her head, and for a moment squeezing tightly enough to seem he might never let go. “Thank Heavens you made it home, Sweetheart,” he breathed softly against the hair at her temple. Quickly, he stepped aside just enough to reach Killian too, clasping his upper arm firmly. “Thank goodness the both of you have returned.”

Snow nodded fervently, wiping more tears from her cheeks even as they continued to fall from her twinkling eyes. She was beaming in spite of her emotion, adding, “You were right, Baby.” A knowing look and press of the hand for her daughter had Emma simply returning the gesture with quiet grace; the frustration she had felt when she set out forgotten now in the happy reunion with Killian at her side. “And praise be that you were! What a blessing to have you here with us again, Killian.”

The older monarch’s green eyes still sparkled a verdant hue as lovely and captivating as her daughter’s, her raven hair only barely beginning to be streaked with a sophisticated grey. Still, Queen Snow White had all the enthusiasm and energy of a much younger woman as she turned to her husband. “Charming! We should celebrate! Don’t you think?”

The king’s full lips had tilted upwards in mirth, knowing his wife and her love of royal events all too well after so many years together. She was still clutching his hand, but didn’t even give him a chance to answer aloud before turning back to Killian and Emma enthusiastically.

“What do you think?” she pressed, practically bouncing on the balls of her feet. “A homecoming ball, in honor of your safe return?”

Emma found she expected the flush that suffused her sailor’s skin at the suggestion, stealing up his neck, over his cheeks and even to the very tips of his adorably elfin ears, as he ducked his head at the Queen’s lavish plan. It would seem she was beginning to know her love’s quirks nearly as well as her father knew her mother’s - True Loves and all. “There’s no need for all of that fuss over me, your Majesty,” Killian answered hastily. In fact, he gulped and quickly raised his face to stare directly into Snow’s gaze intently. “Actually, I mean no offense, but I would prefer to simply return to my duties without fanfare. It hardly seems right to have such a celebration when all the others on the ship - good men, all of them - were lost.”

Snow’s expression sobered quickly, her compassion immediately making her feel for Killian’s loss of friends and compatriots, and for those sailors’ families. Obviously, she and Charming had seen to notifying those households and making sure any widows and orphans left behind by the lost sailors were cared for, but she could see that Killian held some sort of responsibility on his shoulders that was not ready to be recognized for making his way home when others could not. “Of course,” she stated firmly, “You’re right.” Her smile was more tempered, but still hopeful and encouraging; reminding the rest of them in the room just why her kingdom followed her absolutely, why her people loved her, and how she could inspire others to carry on whatever the odds. “Perhaps a memorial service for those who were lost would be more in order.”

“As you say, your Highness,” Killian agreed simply, bowing his head in deference to her decision. 

“Good man,” the King added heartily, the words low and restrained, but no less meant. Reaching out , he clasped forearms with Killian, who returned the gesture, though soon he had been pulled into a less dignified fatherly embrace, bone-crushing and back-slapping strength giving away King David’s happiness equal to his more effusive wife’s at seeing their honorary son home again.

~~***~~

Meanwhile, back out to sea, well beneath the surface off Misthaven’s shores, startling changes were afoot. From the very deepest bowels of Davy Jones’ dungeons and caves, the aftershocks and reverberations of his defeat were still being felt, radiating out in ripples as the darkest shadowed corners of his domain were slowly brought to light.

With their nefarious master so undeniably vanquished, the unfortunate souls pressed into Davy’s service by death at sea were released at last - a boon unlooked for - too much for many of them to have even hoped to receive after so long. Gradually, their souls felts the weight of their imprisonment lighten, the metaphorical chains binding them in darkness and the deep releasing their hold.

And one such soul, captured not so much by misfortune or chance than by demented grand design, could feel those shackles fall away more profoundly than most. Liam Jones broke the surface not far from the beautiful if deserted shores of Ogygia. Not sure where exactly he was, the elder Jones sibling bobbed in the shallows, taking in his surroundings curiously and thrilling to the feel of the sun on his skin. Wherever he was, he could remain until he found out; he could stay forever, if he chose. Or he could build a vessel and sail elsewhere. Either way, he would no longer be summoned back to his prison at another’s beck and call.

Still marveling at the return of long departed human sensations returning throughout his body, Liam struck out with a strong, determined stroke, swimming for shore. Ater so long trapped below, it seemed strange needing air to breathe, feeling the human pinch in his muscles at the exertion, the chill of such cold water enveloping his skin. And yet, pleasant or not, each bit of stimuli made his breath catch and his heart pound; it meant he was alive, unbelievable as it might seem. 

Though he could have managed the distance in seconds with the powers tied to his father that he had possessed, it still took Liam little time to reach the sandy ground stretched out where the water washed up and over it in a continually receiving and returning caress. He had always been a strong swimmer, with the sea in his veins. “Her little guppy” he distantly remembered his mother saying, in one of the few hazy visions of her his memory had retained; her voice gently teasing, dark eyes crackling with good humor and pride. Strange that he would think of her now, after so many years…

Reaching land, Liam staggered out of the surf, chest heaving, eyes scanning the area, already taking note and attempting to discern where he might be. He would have bet he had been banished to the very edge of the known world for his shift in loyalty, if his father still held any power. However, the blast that had rocked him and made him lose all sense of time and place, even consciousness for some moments, and which had made Emma vanish from his hold, had seemingly destroyed and ruined Davy himself. It had also almost certainly nullified any punishment the old monster would have tried to throw at him. He must be somewhere in the known world; and yet, it resembled nowhere he had ever traveled himself, now anywhere he had charted or mapped, before.

He was half-sitting, half-leaning against a large branch stretched across the sand, the trunk of some tree felled from a small stand of them nearby making a decent resting place to catch his breath, when he sensed he was not alone. Keen senses from a life of hard work and striving to protect a younger sibling thrust into the harsh world much too soon, were returning to him more and more with each moment that passed. Where nothing had been able to truly hurt him as one of Davy’s souls in the deep, his senses now all but blared in self-preservation to be on the alert.

Turning sharply to look back toward the surf he had only just emerged from, he saw a lovely female form standing on the edge of the sand, watching him, unmoving as the waves washed up over his feet and back out to sea again. Though she made no move, nor did she speak, the space between them seemed almost to vibrate with tension - as if she wanted to run to him, to speak, even though he couldn’t say that he knew her, not for sure. Still, the sense of unseen danger, the need to watch his back was gone. Liam forced himself to release a taut breath and lower his shoulders… then slowly took a step forward.

The graceful, dark haired lady before him did the same, took two quick steps nearer in fact, as if she could hold herself in check no longer. It was as he squinted, moving forward again and trying to see more clearly against the bright light of the sun glancing off the water as it began to lower to the evening horizon, that who she must be - impossible as it was - became suddenly clear. A stronger breeze kicked up, sending the gauzy, draped, light robe she wore whipping against her calves and making her hair fly wildly across her face, her elegant hand reaching up to catch the riotous, nearly black curls and hold them back, even as a joyous, enchanting laugh escaped her throat and rang merrily in the space still between them.

And then he knew. That laugh came echoing back to him from long-treasured, nearly forgotten memories of a little house on a hill looking out over deep blue waters. Of a dark-headed woman standing on the slope waiting hopefully for the ship she expected to come in, those same wild tresses - curly as his and as dark as Killian’s - floating around her in the breeze. That same laugh had tickled his childish ears, always pleasing him when he was the one to call it forth, and the voice that accompanied the laughter, so warm and mellifluous, had sung him to sleep when he missed his papa, and soothed his young heart when he was hurt or afraid. His mouth opened, wanting to greet her though no sound came out, no words escaping. ‘Mother,’  his soul cried. 

She reached him at that moment. Her cool palms framing his face gently as she seemed to drink in his features like a woman long denied. “Liam… my dear, precious son,” she crooned softly, as if she could feel how overcome he was.

His mother’s touch, her sweet voice in his ears once more, brought tears to his eyes for the first time in what felt like ages. She opened her arms, swaying slightly as his shoulders shook, and she simply held him as she had so long ago. “I’m here, Darling. You’ve had to be so strong. I’m here now,” she soothed. “Just let it go.”

~~***~~

When the storm of his emotions had calmed, Liam learned from Calypso all that had truly taken place when they were children - who she was, where she had been and why, just as Killian had on this very island as well. It seemed so fantastical: their mother, a sea nymph, the sea nymph of myth and legend, making he and Killian half supernatural beings as well, even before his disastrous stint as one of his father’s minions. And yet, it made a strange sort of sense to him as well, as the pieces shifted and settled within his mind. He had been older when they were left with only their father, remembered more… and it had never seemed quite right that their mother would simply vanish. His father’s abrupt, “She left us, went back to her own,” had never rung true. He might have been a mere eight-year-old, but he saw enough, understood enough, to know that it had been Mama who kept them fed and clothed with what little Papa provided. Mama who snuggled with them when storms raged and kept them warm when cold winds whistled through the cracks in the walls. It was Papa who was seldom home, who seemed likelier to take off one day and never return. Whereas he had believed Mama, had known she meant it with every fiber of her being when she’d sworn to him that she would stay with them as long as she could. He had missed her terribly when he woke one morning, so early it was still dark, to Papa shaking him, urging him to hurry - they were off on an adventure. The ache had faded over time; he had thrown himself into seeing to Killian, making sure his little brother knew the songs she had sung, the stories she had told, and that he did not lose that last little germ of sweetness - despite what their lives had then become - that sweetness which reminded Liam of the mother they had both lost.

To see her before him now, hardly able to stop brushing her fingers through his curls or squeezing his hand with both of hers, eased something deep inside that had still been gaping wide and empty though the pain had dulled. They had been taken from her. She had been seeking them, wishing for them back, all along.

Finally he managed to clear his throat, blink out of the awed daze he’d been in, and asked anxiously, “And you’ve seen Killian? And his princess?  They - they’re safe?”

Her loving smile, so fond and proud, warmed Liam’s heart in a way that was wonderfully healing. “More than that, they are home… together… and ecstatically happy.”

“Good,” he nodded, genuinely relieved, even if he felt sadness welling too, knowing Killian was where he belonged, but not sure he would ever see his little brother again. He wasn’t even sure why he hadn’t passed on to the afterlife, or just where he was, what he was, or what was next.

“You always were so noble,” his mother commented, shaking her head as she studied him calmly. “So thoughtful. I can see you’re wondering what’s next. The truth is, that choice is yours, Liam. You deserve that much, after so much time was taken from you, against your will.”

Blinking, Liam simply stared back at his mother, trying to grasp that the next step was fully his to make at last. He was no longer bound to another’s whims and designs, no longer pulled by strings that made him feel little more than a puppet torn by what he desired and what he was ordered to do. 

Calypso beside him offered a sadly hollow smile, taking her eldest’s hand with a gentle squeeze, and whether because of her supernatural nature, or simply because she was his mother, he could see that she understood. “You may move on at last, to the peace and rest that you have earned and to which you should have been welcomed long ago. Or, seeing as how Davy never fully let nature and time take their courses, and you are not completely dead, nor fully alive, you might also remain here with me on this island and in these waters surrounding it - a guide and caretaker of the sea, which you are already well adapted to with your part-nymph heritage.”

She paused there, resting a hand on the side of his face, her thumb lightly stroked his cheek, before she drew a deep breath and continued. “I won’t try to pretend I wouldn’t love for that to be your choice. I would like nothing more. However, I imagine you will choose the third option. You may return to mortal life with your brother and those who have become his family. Your natural life - and its fleeting span with all the mortal frailties - will be restored for you to live out as you would have done had your father not disrupted Fate’s course.”

Liam’s heart began to pound with excitement at her words, though he would have been happy simply to be free of the troubling limbo which had trapped him for so long, to feel the sun on his skin and the wind on his face as he sailed the waves once more, rather than merely looking up from his prison beneath them. He would not have thought returning to stand at his brother’s side - restored to life - could be an option.

Nodding kindly, even as she brushed away a single tear, Calypso sighed. “I thought as much,” she confirmed. “You took such good care of Killian. He looks up to you and still misses you so. It would have been quite a surprise had you chosen any other way.”

“I am sorry, Mother,” Liam began, floundering for a way to explain that he loved her too, but the pull back to the life which had been stolen was just too strong.

“No, my son,” she interrupted, stilling him with a light hand to his chest, “don’t apologize. This is as it should be.”

And so it was, that as the sun rose the next morning, spread across the sky in vibrant hues over Misthaven’s shores, a magnificent tall ship - proud, strong, and gleaming new - sailed into the royal port, one stunningly familiar form at the wheel, straining to see the dark-haired lieutenant who waited on the docks with the royals, waving to him frantically in welcome. The brothers Jones were reunited at last.

~~***~~

Four years (and nine months) later…

Once again, as was often the case on hazy summer evenings, the gathering twilight shadows and purpled hues of the darkening sky found two solitary figures strolling arm-in-arm along the sand on the shores of Ogygia. If one were to draw nearer still, they would see the dark head of tousled, windswept hair bend down to the glowing golden waves of the shorter figure, as Misthaven’s prince consort whispered in the ear of his princess wife, a secret for only the two of them which made her throw her head back in carefree laughter before she stood on tiptoe, clinging shamelessly to his arms for balance to kiss him him thoroughly and soundly.

Tired from sun and wind and salt water, dazed and deliriously happy as they were, both recognized it was a perfect day drawing to a close around them; one of the sort which were growing increasingly numbered as May dwindled toward June, and the two months  allotted them each year to steal for their own, away from royal duty, on the island belonging to his sea goddess mother came to an end once more.

They had married in the fall, not at all long after their return and the defeat of Davy Jones. It had seemed impossible and ridiculous to wait in drawn out courtship to be joined as man and wife; there would never be another for Killian but Emma, nor for Emma but him. Both had nearly given their lives to be sure they had a future together, and neither wished to wait for that hard won future to begin.

Of course, only a couple of weeks into married life, they had found out just how lucky it was they had not delayed. Emma was expecting their first child. Exactly nine months to the day from their first joining in the sand and surf of her kingdom’s shore, where they had first made love surrounded by the very ocean which always brought them back together, their twins were born. The palace officially announced the two baby boys as being early; common for twins and easily presented as fact, but princess and lieutenant-turned-prince knew the truth, and two living reminders of a moment they would never wish to forget were an unexpected blessing. Little David Liam Jones and Henry Leopold Jones had been their love and joy personified in living form before their eyes each day since then. Their sons, identical in looks, energy, enthusiasm and daring loved the water every bit as much as their parents, and had taken to the annual summer escape with only their parents and uncle to see their other grandma each May with dauntless excitement. What four-year-olds wouldn’t want to run wild as young colts all day in sun and surf until exhaustion felled them, only to rise again and do the same the following morn?

Emma, for her part, wanted Killian to be able to visit his mother; did not ever wish to see her taken from him again. Yet she also, much as she loved her people, her kingdom, and her parents, and though she accepted the rule she would one day take upon her own shoulders, found this summer retreat a paradise she would never wish to trade. Though Killian’s patriotism, loyalty to the crown, and place by her side as support and advisor was an immense comfort, Emma could not deny how freeing it was to be far from crowds of admirers, petticoats, policies, protocols, and packed agendas for a time. Only her husband, her babies, and sandy beach and windswept waves as far as the eye could see…

That evening, as they finished a supper of fish Killian had managed to catch for them despite the rather dubious help two exuberant four-year-olds proved to be, simple bread, and mangoes from further inland, both Henry and David had fallen over in weary contentment with full bellies and tired, sunkissed limbs. Chuckling together, Emma had cleared a path and opened doors in their small cottage as Killian carried each to their beds, tucking them in without causing either boy to wake.

For themselves, Emma and Killian left the cleanup for the next day and tiptoed quietly to their own bedroom for a moment alone, together in the whispers of moonlight that crept in through the open window with a gentle breeze.

Letting her fingers lazily twine with his as she led him forward easily, Emma found her breath stolen as Killian stopped near the foot of their bed, tugging her insistently back against his solid form. His arms came up to wrap around her in warm security, and she melted at her husband’s touch. His unshaven cheek prickled her skin when he kissed along her collarbone and up her neck, making her shiver despite the heat.

He had divested her of the light shift she wore almost before she realized it was gone, and his hands were questing boldly over her bared skin, causing a low, throaty moan to escape her lips, only barely managing to keep it soft enough not to wake their children from slumber. It took embarrassingly little time for him to have her thrumming with desire in every nerve ending, particularly with her hormones as wildly raging as they were.

As if he could read her thoughts’ direction, Killian paused his seductive teasing for his hands to rest protectively over her slightly rounded stomach, searching her gaze earnestly before murmuring, “Are you certain this is alright for the little one, Love?”

Emma met his eyes with exasperation; his worry sweet, but oft-repeated by this point. The last month when she had carried their twins had been miserable, and their delivery had been long, difficult, and turned more than a bit traumatic before it was through. Her recovery had been slow and painful, and they had seriously considered whether they wished to try for any more children. But Emma had found that she could not rid her mind of the image of her husband with a tiny baby girl cradled in his arms. Her heart had urged her to try once more, and now she hoped and prayed that a daughter might be safely on her way.

Nodding in answer to Killian’s question, she tried to pull him to her once more, and to smooth the worried creases from his brow.

“But,” he pulled back again, “are we positive? I never want to hurt you, or - “

Shaking her head, Emma could see that stronger measures were needed. Gripping the front of the loose linen shirt he wore barely buttoned, she pulled hard and threw her weight toward the bed, sending them both toppling onto the mattress with a gentle bounce. She rolled quickly to trap him with her body, and leaned in close to assure him, “You won’t hurt me, Killian. I know that as surely as I know anything.”

His whole face lit up with relief and love at her words, warming with one of the most stunning smiles she had ever seen. Satisfied that he was put at ease once more, she turned his face to her own with a finger at his chin and quirked her eyebrow in mischief as she teased, “Well, you won’t hurt me unless you leave me with this ache you’ve started…”

Rolling them once again in the tangled sheets to catch her between his arms as he hovered over her, diving down to steal her breath once more, he rasped, “Well then, Darling, if you insist.”

As the moon shone down on the island’s gleaming waters, they spoke without words, one in body and soul, perfectly happy in their cottage by the sea.

Tagging: @cssns @kmomof4 @searchingwardrobes​ @jennjenn615​  @whimsicallyenchantedrose @laschatzi @therooksshiningknight @spartanguard @optomisticgirl @tiganasummertree @gingerchangeling @thisonesatellite @shireness-says @stahlop @xsajx @lfh1226-linda @drowned-dreamer @thislassishooked @kday426 @ultraluckycatnd @tornadoamy @xhookswenchx @donteattheappleshook @elizabeethan @wefoundloveunderthelight @darkcolinodonorgasm @teamhook​ @revanmeetra87​ @scientificapricot​ @resident-of-storybrooke​ @ilovemesomekillianjones​ @vvbooklady1256​

[megamultifandomtrashposts]

Nora Dhark x Legend!Reader - Well, This Is Unexprcted

Requested by Anon - Hi! I was wondering if you write for Legends of Tommorow? Because I wanted to request one where the reader is a newbie to the Legends and the Dharks don't know about them yet so they were sent to go undercover and try find out more about the next plan of attack of the Dharks. But Nora develops a kind of a crush on them? And then they hit it off talking, the next time the Dharks and Legends meet on the battlefield Reader and Nora are like "Well, this is, unexpected."

Note - Sorry if this is so short

Requests are closed at the moment

You were one of the newer additions to the Legends. You lived in the late 1800s, and your unusual knowledge on infiltration tactics and martial arts swayed the team to allow you to join. You were in awe of the Waverider, the technology far more advanced than anything you had ever seen before. You revelled in the simple clothing you were allowed to wear, because clothes from your own time were far too bulky for even your liking. You had learned of the Dhark’s, the newest enemy that the crew were facing. “We need to know what they’re doing!” Sara stated, pacing the bridge. The rest of the team was spaced out around the main console, watching her walk back and forth.

“Gideon can't track their movements?” Amaya asked, leaning on the console.

“Unfortunately, I can only find one instance of both Damien and Nora Dhark being in the same place.” You still hadn’t gotten used to Gideon, and jumped every time her voice echoed through the ship. The images appeared above the console, glowing faintly. “Both Damien and Nora appear on August twenty-eight, nineteen-sixty-three, at the Martin Luthor King-”

“They’re at the MLK speech?” Nate interrupted standing. “We gotta stop them.”

“That’s not a smart play.” Ray said, wringing his hands. “That speech was crucial in the Anti-Racism movement at the time. If our entire team were to show up, we’d probably disrupt the entire thing.”

“So only one person needs to go?” Zari asked. She popped a piece of food in her mouth. “Not it.”

“Why don't we send (Y/N)?” Nate suggested. Everyone turned to you. 

“Are you sure?” You asked, nervously shifting in your seat. “I haven't been on a field mission with you guys before.”

“That's a great idea.” Sara said. “They don't know who you are, so you can infiltrate them.” You nodded reluctantly.

“Ok..ok...I can do this.”

Watching the speech, you decided that you, in fact, could not do this. Your palms were sweaty and you swore that the guy a few feet back was eying you. You concluded that being here with a strange man was not worth the risk. So you left. You wove through the crowd, trying to lose the man that was now clearly following you. You didn't see where you were going and bumped into someone. You glanced up and saw who it was, not trying to give away that you knew exactly who was in front of you. “Are you alright?” Damien asked.

“Oh, yes, I’m ok.” You said, glancing behind you. The man had broken through the crowd and was stalking up to you. Damien glanced up at the man. 

“Stay back, with my daughter.” Damien nudged you back, to where Nora was standing behind him. You shuffled backwards, standing next to Nora. You could feel Nora’s eyes on you as her father dealt with the man. 

“Thank you, kind sir, for finding my wife.” The man said. You cringed, the man was almost three times your age, and was starting to grey. 

“Ha, uh no.” Damien said, giving him a mocking laugh. “You see, here’s how it's going to go. You’re going to walk away and leave us alone.”

“I don't think so.” The man took a step forward, reaching toward you. Damian lifted his hand, and started to choke the man out. He lifted the man into the air. 

“Go away.” Damian ordered. He set the man down, and he scrambled away 

“Are you ok?” Nora asked, turning to you. You hadn’t seen a picture of Nora, and you wish you had. You were stunned into silence. She was gorgeous. Dark hair and brown eyes that seemingly bore into your soul. 

“Yeah...yeah, I’m fine…” You breathed. 

Getting in with the Dhark’s was a lot easier than you expected it to be. After saving you from that creep, Damian and Nora were kind enough to open their home to you, and soon enough, they felt comfortable to include you in their plans. To keep your guise of their ally, you told them the best ways to execute them. You and Nora got closer and closer. It was clear that something was there, even Damien could see it, he purposefully left you two alone a couple of times to see if anything would happen. Nothing ever did, but he was holding out hope. 

“They haven't been planning anything major.” You explained. “Just trying to gain investors so that their plan can work in the future. But they do have this warehouse that they’re keeping some valuable items, along with more of those Time Stones they use.”

“Then we get them.” Amaya said. “Break in, get the stones and get out of there, they can't have the ability to move through time as much as they have.”

“Everyone suit up.” Sara ordered. 

After everyone changed into their suits, you lead the team into the warehouse, sneaking in and dispatching of the security team quickly. You lead the group over to the crates in the back corner of the warehouse and pried one of the crates open. In it, was mounds of straw, and resting on top of that was the Time Stones. Everyone grabbed a couple, stuffing them into any available pockets you had. “Is that all of them?” Ray asked. You nodded. 

“Yeah, that's it, let's get out of here.” You stated.  You turned tail and hurried out of there. However, you were interuptde by a small platoon of the Dhark’s best soldiers. At their head, was Nora. You paled. You hadnt even told her you wernt gonna be at the base that day, and you didn't expect her to come for a simple break in. 

“Y/N?” Nora breathed. “You’re…”

“I’m sorry.” You said. “I…”

“How could you?” Nora demanded. “We trusted you!”

“I know!” You exclaimed. “I didn't want to hurt you, but these guys saved me from my horrid life, I lived in the eighteen-hundreds! Do you know how bad the hygiene was in that time? We washed ourselves with a sponge and crusty soap. I love you, Nora, but I can't betray them.” The Legends glanced at you, their eyes widening. A blast of energy shot from your left, as Ray sttacked, and all hell broke loose. The Legends and the platoon members were facing off. You didn't like violence if you could avoid it, so you wee mainly dodging attacks or directing them into the Legends’ path for them to deal with. You yelped when a hand caught your arm, and you appeared in a forest. You stumbled, falling backwards and gazing up at Nora. 

“Do you mean it?” She asked. “Do you…?”

“Yeah, I like you.” You muttered. You then looked around at the new world. 

“Where are we?”

“Two-Thousand and Nineteen.” You blinked as you slowly got to your feet. 

“Why?”

“So we can live together in relative peace? People are more tolerent of same-sex relationships, we can be happy here.”

“What about your father?” You asked. “The Legends?”

“They won't look for us here.” Nora stepped forward and took your hands. “I love you too, (Y/N), here we can be together, safe.”

“Yes.” You replied, gripping Nora’s hands tightly. The two of you smiled at each other. You admit, living with Nora will be hard, but you don't doubt that you could make it work.

Tags: @baked-bean-bekah​

[the-spindly-lady-faith]

Another Chance [Thranduil]

authors note: this was partially inspired by another fanfic i'd seen from @luna-xial where the reader is basically thranduil's wife reborn and i honestly fell in love with that idea

warnings: sorta smut

My life on Earth was nothing exciting but nothing boring unless you would like to count a neglectful mother. More times then I could count, people complemented me on my graceful features, my long, silky hair, sharp & high cheek bones. Some compared me to an elf more then once.

My last memory on Earth, or at least my Earth was slipping into the comfort of my bed after having said my goodnight quietly to my mother who paid no mind to me as she smoked her night away, again.

"Where am I?!" I shot up in alarm once I noticed my surrounding area was not my home. Wherever I was, it was a small little place as I sat up on the bed that I had been curled up in fetal position on. I glanced down towards my clothes & while they were quite beautiful, it confused me greatly. Where was I & who's clothes were these? I had to walk around slightly bent over until I slightly stumbled into what appeared to be a dining room.

Among the much smaller men was a man dressed in all grey, a bushy beard hung from his face. My eyes met theirs as I cleared my throat "If I may, where am I?" A bright looking one cleared his throat and came towards me "Firstly, I'm Sam & Hello. Secondly, you're on Middle-Earth of course!" He was cheery, his curly hair topped his head, some curls falling in his face.

"This isn't where I belong I'm afraid. I belong on my own Earth" They all shared confused looks before looking back to me "Do you remember your name ma'am?" One with black hair questioned me, leaning slightly over the table to look at me "I'm... My name is..." It was just like my memories of back home had been wiped clean from my mind, nothing but a blank slate was there.

The black hair man sighed and shuffled over to me, shaking my hand "We did find you in the middle of a potato field but you know not your name?" I shook my head, slightly disappointed in my lack of self-knowledge. "Well, think of this as a new start then. Choose your name" It took me a moment of thinking before I nodded a bit "Arwen"

Life in The Shire was something to get used to over months especially with the obvious lack of technology but it became peaceful & I came to love the life. I had just closed the door of Frodo's home when the group approached me. “Arwen! May we ask you a question?” I nodded as I balanced the clothing basket on my hip “We’re planning on traveling and since you haven’t left The Shire since you got here, would you want to come along with us? Maybe you have family in Mirkwood!” I smile at Sam’s enthusiasm, looking at the group as I glanced at Gandalf who just simply nodded.

“I must pack first but I don’t see why not” I slipped back into the hut and retrieved a decently sized handmade bag as I pack a few clothes and other various things in there before meeting with the group back outside and then our journey began.

“What did you mean by finding my family in Mirkwood, Sam?” He shrugs “You’re an elf Arwen. Just about every elf lives in Mirkwood so maybe but if not, that’s fine. You have us!” I nod as we trek through the lush forest, the sun peeking through the many and various openings.

It was an adventure, I’ll admit but I never expected to be running for my life and fighting creatures I did t even know the names of. We took a stop by a peaceful stream and I plopped on the soft grass with a heavy sigh, sliding my bag off my shoulders as I dipped my feet in the stream, the water quickly cooling them off.

“I don’t remember anywhere mentioned that I’d be fighting for my life while on this adventure” The Hobbits looked at me sheepishly with an apologetic shrug. The journey continued onward.

I stuck to the back of the group for a big majority of the walk and during those times, I thought back to my old life as best I could and the memories did not come to me well. They came with splitting headaches or severe nausea so eventually I gave up and whatever life I lived before, I’d never go back to it.

We approached Mirkwood as I gulped back a nervous feeling, my guard up high as I gripped the hilt of my short sword in hand. “Halt! You have been caught trespassing through elven terri-“ I looked up at the surrounding guardsmen who all carried unlimited grace “The king has requested your presence immediately” A brown haired elf shot a look of disgust towards Thorin before we followed, encircled by guards.

Beautiful, graceful white. Marble climbed high, vines accompanying the climb to the ceiling. The cuffs hugged our wrists as we all stood in front of an empty and intricately designed throne. It was a loud silence except the distant shuffle of feet, occasional sniffle and a small cough here-and-there.

Soon, a man of unexplainable beauty entered the room, his face looked so clean and porcelain as he eyed us all but my head kept its gaze more to my own feet as the man, who I best assumed to be the king approached us. Thorin & the king locked tightly in a heated glare “Are you trying to crash into my home once again? May I remind you filth of the last time you did”

He paced infront of us before standing back some “Young woman” he said, directed towards me “let me see if you too are a traitor I’ve yet to-“ I slowly raised my head and when our eyes locked, he grew shocked, nearly frozen in place “No... That can’t be possible....” I quickly looked to my friends who just shrugged.

“Take them to the dungeons. Leave the girl and unshackle her” The few guards did as told and soon, leaving only the two of us standing just a few small feet from the other. “My love is it really you?” He questioned, his eyes soft with hope “I’m sorry but who is it you speak of” Though his exterior was shut down and cold, he seemed open “I’m your love, Thranduil. As you are my love” I shook my head.

“I know not of who you speak. I’m Arwen though, your majesty” I did a small curtesy as he slowly approached me, his slender hand resting on my cheek “You don’t remember me?” It was silently as we stared at one another before my head pounded, my legs growing weak as I gripped at Thranduil’s forearms before meeting the blackness of sleep.

When I woke up, I was laying in a plush bed, various plants, vines, & branches expanded all around the room, keeping a consistent earthy theme. In a corner of the room, a warm fire quietly crackled as I slowly rose up from the bed, the sheets slipping back to the bed behind me.

The view from the window was amazing. The tree's danced gracefully & slowly in the light wind as I take a more careful look around the room, a fresh tray of tea lay on the bedside table as I sit back down, grabbing the tea cup & it smelt of warm, fresh vanilla as I took a careful sip, warmth spreading through my body.

The door quietly creaked open as I turned to meet the person who entered and it was Legolas who gave me a thin lipped smile. "Lady Arwen. It's nice to speak to you in a calmer environment" I nodded in agreement, standing up to fully look at him "Indeed it is.. May I help you with anything?" I tilted my head slightly in question as he cleared his throat, straightening out his back "My father wishes to speak with you in the throne room"

I think back to the gorgeous man, his eyes so bright blue they almost seemed white "Before that, where am I?" "My father's room" I slowly nodded. It would make sense as the room was quiet grand & the more I look, the more little details I came to notice, like the small splatters of gold, intricately carved wood & much more.

Within just a decent amount of time, I'd fallen for a stone cold man who gave of an angry aura & suffered the loss of his beloved. He still carried his usual stone cold facade unless it was only the two of us in private.

As of right now, I sit infront of my vanity, slowly & gently brushing my hair which I placed all onto my left shoulder, my silk robe hung just barely off my shoulders as the light of the sun cascaded in the room. Gentle hands rested upon my shoulders as I turned just a slight bit, to see the gentle smile rested on Thranduil's face "Come love. It's been a long day"

I carefully set the brush down, taking his hand as he leads me towards the bed as he slips his cloak off before turning to me & slowly letting our lips meet in a soft kiss full of passion. His hands gently held my cheeks, leaning foward slowly until my back met the mattress, his silky locks gently tickling my cheeks light.

He let one hand trail down to my neck slowly, his lips following shortly after, leaving a trail of slight warmth. My head lay gently on the plush mattress, Thranduil leaving sloppy kisses all over my neck until his teeth grazed my sweet spot, eliciting a soft, little moan as he groans lightly against my skin.

He attacked the same spot on my skin as he carefully undoes the little bow tie of my robe, sliding it further off my body as I shimmy a little to help. His hands venture my body before he broke the contact of his lips & my neck. He slipped his own clothes off smoothly before looking back to me.

"At any given point it hurts, or you don't want this anymore. Tell me quickly, okay my meleth nîn*" I nod, gently pulling him into a sweet kiss before pulling back, looking into his lust infested eyes

"Take me... My king"

(( meleth nîn* = my love ))

[xmxisxforxmaybe]

Hi! You're by far my favorite writer for the man himself so I wanted to ask you.. can we plleeasse get a super sweet and passionate morning sex smutty-fluffer with Mr. Washington? Maybe the two of them had a stressful week at work/school or something and they decided to drive up to the lodge to escape by themselves for a long weekend together?? I'm on a massive Josh kick right now, there isn't enough love for him 😫😫

13. sleepy sex 14. being ridden

Another perfect place to answer two requests—I’m feeling accomplished! I love you all so much 💋

Also, this sucker is almost 3,000 words. I SWEAR I try to answer your prompts quickly on days like this, but sometimes, a story happens. Well, if this can even be considered a “story” 😆

* * * * *

Every year, Josh Washington hosted one hell of a summer-kick-off party at his parents’ lodge. He watched the weather like he was auditioning for a job on the local news, carefully choosing the warmest, clearest day. Despite the label of “summer,” the temperature in the Rockies at the lodge only ever flirted with anything near 75°F (23°C) yet Josh insisted, every year, that it was a “pool party” and that guests shouldn’t wear much more than a swimsuit.

At least that’s what your mutual friend, Chris, had explained to you.

It had been a stressful final month of school—exams, moving out of your dorm and back home with your parents, finding a summer job—so when Josh finally chose a date for the party, you requested the weekend off and offered to help him get things set up.

Josh eyed you suspiciously, considering that you and he had been engaged in a sort of “will they, won’t they” dance for the past few months. You were locked in a battle wondering if he just wanted to check you off his list as another notch in his bedpost, and he was wondering if you even liked him as more than a flirting buddy, considering you seemed to have quite a lot of those.  

“You sure?”

“Totally!”

Josh took your phone and typed in the address for the lodge. “Can you come up Thursday? That way we have all day Friday to get ready.”

You nodded and plucked your phone out of his hand, but not before he tightened his grip, making you look up and smile at him as you tugged on it.

“Gimme. Or I won’t come up at all.”

Josh released his grip with his trademark grin before he schooled his features into a contortion of pain as he gripped his chest. “Call the medic! I’m wounded. My heart’s been plucked from my chest,” he exaggeratedly panted.

You tried to stifle your grin, knowing it only encouraged his antics, but how could you not smile at that adorable goof?

* * *

The drive up to the Washington Lodge was fantastic for your stress level—nothing but empty roads, gorgeous scenery, and all the cheesiest, upbeat pop music you could cram onto a playlist. When you finally parked your car behind Josh’s in the horseshoe driveway, you were humming the lyrics of the last song as you pulled your weekender bag from the backseat.

After you slammed the door shut and rounded the car, you looked up at the lodge and whistled.

“Jeee-sus.” You knew Josh’s folks were rich, but this was the kind of rich you had only ever seen on Instagram … or maybe on an episode of Keeping up with the Kardashians. It was so intimidating, it made you think twice about Josh.

He was just so … normal. Well, normal in a film-nerdy, goofball kinda way, but he never struck you as someone who grew up in a bubble of privilege.

It was close to 8:30 pm, but daylight still persisted and the pinkish sky lit up Josh’s face as he stepped onto the porch and looked down at you while you still stared open-mouthed at the lodge.

“Was the drive okay?”

“Uh, yeah. Yeah it was great,” you said as you shook your head and climbed the stairs. “Josh—this place is … insane.”

“You’ve never been here?”

You shook your head no.

Josh frowned and thought for a moment. “I guess I forgot we haven’t known each other that long. You sure feel like an old chum, lil buddy,” he said as he slung an arm around your shoulders and walked you into the house.

“Chum? ‘Lil’ buddy?” you said with amusement.

Josh cleared his throat and removed his arm, nervously running one hand through his freshly cut hair. “What else should I call you?”

You bit your lip and looked up at him, a small smile on your face. “Guess we’ll see, huh?”

Josh grinned, his face lighting up as his white teeth flashed, and butterflies unexpectedly danced in your stomach.

“Let me show you around.”

* * *

The house was just as impressive on the inside, and when Josh finally showed you his room, you flopped on his king-sized bed and begged him to never make you leave. He laughed and made you promise not to move a muscle as he dashed out of the room, returning in about 15 minutes with food, drinks, extra pillows, and a stack of DVDs tucked under his chin as he tried to balance it all. He kicked the door shut, nearly spilling a bowl of popcorn he had tucked under his arm.

“Now you’re my prisoner,” he attempted to declare, but given the comical way he was shuffling toward the bed, you could do nothing other than laugh.

As he deposited everything onto the comforter, you asked, “DVDs? Is there even a TV in here?”

“Au contraire, lil lady. Behold!”

Josh walked over to the wall and slid the wooden paneling open, revealing a huge flatscreen. “Ta-da!”

“I really could stay here forever,” you mumbled as you kicked off your shoes and scooted to the top of the bed.  

“But don’t you think you’d be more comfortable in your PJs? Unless, of course, you sleep in the buff? And in that case, you would absolutely be more comfortable in your PJs,” Josh finished as he settled onto the bed next you, his elbow propping him up as he laid on his side to face you.

“If I came out of your bathroom naked, you wouldn’t even know what to do with yourself, Joshua Washington.”

“You’re right. I’d die of happiness,” he confirmed with a smile.

The room felt a lot hotter than it did a moment ago, so you sat up and looked down at Josh, his big green eyes bursting with affection.

“Let’s see how the night goes,” you promised with a sweet kiss to the tip of his nose.

* * *

As it turned out, the night passed chastely. You were a lot more tired than you had thought, and halfway through the first movie, your hand still sitting in the bowl of popcorn, you fell asleep.

When your breathing deepened and it became clear you weren’t going to wake up, Josh chuckled as he removed your hand from the bowl. He cleared off the bed and turned off the TV before snuggling into your side and quickly falling asleep.

Sunlight streaming through a huge window woke you up with a start. For a moment, you forgot where you were until you shifted under the weight of Josh’s arm. You smiled as you felt him stir, the arm wrapped around your waist tightening as he burrowed between your shoulder blades, probably trying to unconsciously hide from the sun.

Squinting, you shuffled out of bed and fiddled with the blinds until you figured out how to draw them. The room darkened to a greyish hue and Josh rolled over, seemingly still asleep. Since you were up, you went in to use the bathroom, and as you washed your hands in the sink, you looked at your reflection.

A slight blush colored your cheeks as you thought about how much you wanted to wake up like this again, preferably after figuring out if the big dick jokes the boys directed at Josh were because he actually was well-endowed or if they were just being idiots.

You had left your bag in here after changing last night, so you dug around for your toiletry case to retrieve your toothbrush.

After adjusting your tank top and sleep shorts, you gave your just-brushed hair a sexy tousle and glanced longingly at your lip gloss container.

“Too much,” you said with a dismissive shake of your head. You piled everything back into your bag, and exited the bathroom, hoping Josh was still asleep.

As you rounded the corner the bathroom was tucked into, you felt that familiar hot flush creep over your cheeks as you took in Josh’s form.

In your absence, he had sprawled out in the middle of the bed. He was on his stomach, his hands tucked under his pillow as he faced away from the window. His chocolatey-colored curls had lost their definition in the night and stood out against his light-grey pillowcase in a wild puff. The blankets were pushed down to his waist and the plain white t-shirt he had worn to bed was pushed up to his midback, exposing an expanse of light brown skin. His legs were spread, one foot sticking out from under the messy pile of blankets and you had to tamp down the temptation to see if he was ticklish.

You slid back into bed and settled on your side so you could face him. Tentatively, you reached out with your finger and ran it gently down his spine. His skin was smooth and the depression of his spine contrasted so deliciously with the strong muscles of his lower back that you wanted nothing more than to trace that indentation with your tongue.

Still touching him lightly, Josh stirred, his arms flexing as he stretched them before lifting his head and turning to look at you.

“Hi,” he said, his grin half-hidden by his bicep.

“Good morning.”

“Sorry. Forgot to pull the blind.”

“So you were awake?”

“Just waiting to see how much of me you’d touch if you thought I was asleep. Pervert,” Josh teased.

You opened your mouth in mock-offense and smacked his shoulder. “Rude.”

He chuckled and stretched again before he wriggled out from the blankets and stood, offering a mumbled, “Be right back,” as he made his way to the bathroom.

Josh wasn’t gone long, but it was long enough for your eyes to slip shut, a smile still on your face as you thought about him.

When you felt the bed dip, your eyes popped open.

“Sleepy girl?” Josh asked, his hand crawling under your tank top to rest on your bare stomach.

The heat radiating from his palm scorched through your body, a pool of arousal settling between your thighs.

“Not anymore,” you whispered as you looked at him, your eyes locked on his as you slid your hand along his arm, resting it on top of his.

Josh pulled his hand from beneath yours, off of your stomach and up to the side of your face. He cupped your cheek and slid closer, his body warm and connected with yours.

“Can I kiss you?”

In answer, you pulled him to you by the front of his shirt, causing both of you to softly sigh as your lips connected and began to move. You both tasted like the spearmint of Josh’s toothpaste, and when his tongue licked along the seam of your lips, you opened for him, the tips of your tongues touching before he dove into your mouth.

You kissed and kissed and kissed until you were both a panting mess, the blankets twisted around your legs, your once-sexily tasseled hair once again a mess, and Josh’s poof of curls even more wild than they had been against his pillow from you running your fingers through them, scraping across his scalp and around the back of his head.

Reaching for the bottom of his t-shirt, you tugged until he detached himself from your mouth so he could pull it the rest of the way off. You seized the momentary lull to push him onto his back, and as you sat up, you pulled off your tank top, Josh’s pupils dilating as he watched your breasts bounce.

Immediately, his hands reached for them, but you pulled back as you wiggled out of your shorts. Josh licked his lips and followed suit, pulling off his sleep pants. You glanced at the outline of his cock beneath his boxer-briefs and smirked.

“They weren’t just jokes,” you mused as you reached out and gripped him, pulling a mix between a moan and a chuckle from his throat.

It was your turn to control the kissing, so you straddled his hips and lowered your body to rest on top of his, once again relishing in the warmth of him and the masculine scent that seemed to be a mixture of expensive cologne and something that was just … Josh.

His hands roamed over your back and your backside, kneading and massaging as you kissed him—lips, jaw, neck, and when you sat up to catch your breath, he begged, “Ride me. Please.”

Again, that electric heat shot through your body and you knew your pussy was a mess for him. He reached up, finally able to wrap his big hands over your breasts, and you leaned back, grinding on his cock as he worked your nipples gently pulling on them before he leaned up to capture one in his mouth.

You shuddered as he sucked, his green eyes looking up at you, full of unabashed want and affection. He moved his mouth to your other nipple and you thought you might spontaneously combust if you didn’t slide his dick inside of your body within the next three breaths.

“Do we need protection? I’m on the pill.”

“Are you asking me if I’m a slut?” Josh said as he nuzzled between your breasts.

“Yes,” you answered, not caring if it sounded callous.

“I’m clean—and you?” he queried, laying back onto his pillows.

“Me too,” you answered before pulling down his underwear and moaning as you palmed his dick.

“Such a big boy,” you praised before looking up at him. “Tell me why we waited this long?”

“How about after we fuck?” Josh suggested, leaning up to tug at your panties.

With a huff of laughter, you slid your underwear off and returned to straddle him, sliding your soaking pussy lips over his cock until it glistened.

A whiny moan slid out from Josh as he watched and his strong hands reached up to grasp your hips and tilt them, the tip of his cock finally sliding inside your body. You adjusted the top half of him, sliding up and down a few times before taking him in all the way, both of you letting out a whoosh of breath once he was fully sheathed.

“Oh my god,” you groaned as your eyes rolled back at the sensation of his big cock. “Wow!”

Josh snorted and gave your ass a light smack.

“See what you were missin’ out on?”  

“Mmm,” you hummed as you began to ride him, slowly and purposefully, not wanting your first time together to be over in a flash.

“You feel so fucking good,” Josh stated as his hands slid over your body. “So good.”

The rhythm you settled into was natural, even lazy, like you had been fucking for years. It felt so right, to be here with Josh, to feel him moving inside of you as you locked eyes, both of you shedding your protective layers and letting yourselves feel exposed, finally knowing that all each of you would see in return would be a sweet tenderness, the kind that could easily turn into love.

“Touch me,” you breathed, leaning back to rest your hands on his thighs so he could have full access to your clit.

Josh’s fingers immediately went to work, stimulating your swollen clit. The sweat blossoming across his brow in tandem with the flush of red settling over his chest told you he was trying his best not to come before you did.

“Come, Josh. Come for me,” you commanded as you clenched your inner walls around him and swirled your hips.

His thumb stuttered across your clit until he couldn’t do anything other than grasp your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh of your ass bruisingly as he cried out, his hot cum flooding your pussy while you rode him through his climax.

He looked beautiful as he came, his eyes widening before slamming shut as a series of gravelly groans fell from his parted lips.

Swallowing for breath and still hard inside of you, Josh flipped you onto your back and reached between your thighs, furiously working your clit until you came, clenching around his softening cock.

Josh said something to you, but you couldn’t hear him over the roar of blood in your ears. You shook your head and raised your hand, silently begging him to give you a minute.

Josh placed light kisses across the heated skin of your chest, before shifting slightly so his weight wasn’t crushing you.

“What was it you said?” you asked when you could finally form a sentence.  

Josh looked into your face, smiling. “That good, huh?”

You giggled and smacked his shoulder, again. “That was not what you said.”

His face turned serious as he nodded, clearly building his resolved to repeat his spontaneous emission.

“Will you be my girlfriend? I … I don’t want this to just be a one-time thing.”

You were speechless as your eyes roamed his face, your mind wondering how you got so lucky.

“Yeah. I wanna be your girl, Josh.”

“Fuck yeah!” he yelled, rolling over and pumping his fist into the air before he pulled you back on top of him, his hands tangling in your hair to pull you down for a kiss.

You pulled away after a minute to ask, “Can we cancel the party? Just do this instead?”

“And miss a chance to see you prancing around in a swimsuit for hours, knowing I get to tear it off of you at the end of the night?”

Your body flushed with a familiar warmth as you grinned. “Guess I didn’t think about it like that.”

“I can’t wait to show you off,” Josh whispered against your lips, both of you smiling as you exchanged sweet kisses.      

[fereldenturnip]

But Don’t You Ever Let Me Go

Primo Nizzuto/Majid Zamari Sugar Daddy Fic

Part 1 / ?

(Part 2)

Dedicated to @ournextdoorneighbor

Signor Don Primo Nizzuto is a man of great talent and grave importance. 

The man singlehandedly brought the entirety of Southern Italy under his thumb before the age of thirty. Towns simultaneously hail Primo a hero, then quake at his passing shadow. He has only known Primo for all of three days and here he is, under the warm Mediterranean sun, offering Majid his own vineyard with a bat of his eyes. As if he has several already and gifting them away to strangers is just another Tuesday. 

They loop around the hilly fields, dallying through rows of burgeoning grape plants. Primo, his personal tour guide, comes to a halt in front of one particular bush. In the shade, his fingers trail along gnarled branches and pluck a ripe, dark fruit off the vine. He presents it to Majid with a smile, and he feels a lot like Persephone eating the pomegranate. 

Twenty-four year old Majid Zamari is no man’s fool, and he knows power and danger when he sees it.

Majid has done this same song and dance before. It nearly got him killed. After a three-month stint rebuilding his broken body, Majid left the hospital and fled from the cold-grey gloom of the Netherlands. He made a new home in Rome, learned the language, got a real job, and swore to himself he’d never fall for the same tricks again.

Somewhere in his early to mid-fifties, Primo exudes a predatory aura that’s tempered with genuine interest. He tugs another fruit and gleefully tosses it in the air to catch in his mouth. Easy on the eyes, his floppy hair is streaked with grey, as is the manicured goatee on his square face. The colour of his eyes oscillate between green, blue, and grey depending on his mood. Green like a care-free spring day. Grey like hardened steel set to strike. Majid sees green directed at him more often than not. 

Coming under Primo’s radar was a fluke. Shaking the man’s hand and spending time with him was, honest-to-God, not Majid’s original intention. But Primo is no Hakan. He doesn't hide behind a fatherly veneer and withhold his affection when disappointed. Charming though he may be, Primo’s brand of violence is centre stage for all to see and Majid to marvel at. 

While Majid can appreciate that honest, no-strings-attached personality, he's weary nonetheless. One burn is more than enough to keep his hands from the flames.

They amble back up to the villa, the tall cypress trees casting long shadows--it’s getting late and there’s still the long drive back to Rome to look forward to. Majid digs his hands into his jean pockets, suddenly regretting not snagging his jacket on the way out. Primo leads them up the patio staircase with the terrace overlooking his domain. 

“I was serious,” Primo chuffs, “It’ll be easy transferring the deed into your name.”

Majid shrugs, scratching his head. He’s been thinking about growing his hair out again, really embracing the change. It’s so easy to imagine himself standing here, hair long and casual, barefooted and sipping coffee. Every morning a true treat, a real dream come true… 

…If he deserved it.  

"Thank you, Signor Nizzuto, but I'm afraid vineyards are rather useless to a Muslim." Liar, he thinks, you're a good Muslim like Primo Nizzuto is a good Catholic. Just two wolves in sheeps' clothing. All they’re good for is blood and violence.

Primo leans back on his elbows over the railing, the gorgeous Italian countryside a stunning backdrop. His salt-and-pepper hair is haloed by gold fields, green trees, and blue skies. The man squints, surely thinking something devious, then brooms it all away to smirk at Majid. 

"Alright, I understand," Primo says magnanimously. Majid doesn’t sigh in relief. "My driver can deliver you back to your flat, unless I can't... tempt you further?" A piercing, heated look. Although Majid is taller than him, he nevertheless feels small under the Don’s keen gaze. He braces himself and, oh Primo could certainly try, but at what cost? 

Majid shakes his head. The man stands and brushes his bespoke suit clean, spotless and breathtaking as the day he met him underneath the arches of the Basilica of Santa Maria in Trastevere. Fortuitous fortune or catastrophic calamity? The jury is still out on that one. Majid’s hesitancy is just due-diligence. 

"Until next time," Primo tips his head and saunters away, only to return with a lascivious quip, “and please, call me Primo.” 

Heels click, fading away on Tuscan marble. Majid’s lips thin. Of course there'll be a next time. Sharks can't stay away once they've sniffed blood in the water.

****

What Primo wants, Primo gets. 

Through any means necessary, even fire and blood. Satisfaction is not a delayed gratification when you own half a country. 

Thirty years. That’s how long it’s taken to build his mighty empire, and he sits high and mighty on his throne. Some would say it's assembled from the skulls of his enemies, innocent and evil. Primo scoffs at such triteness. He's earned his place at the top of the food chain, fair and square. 

So when a sweet thing like Majid comes along, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, Primo wants. He wants all of him, and not the ‘naïve foreigner’ façade Majid’s keen on exuding to the rest of the world.  

Those sombre eyes of his are exquisite, wrought with pain and suffering that peaks Primo’s insatiable curiosity. Just what exactly is the boy hiding behind those inky depths? Still waters run deep. The young man may have fooled everyone else (possibly even himself), but Primo’s been playing this game longer than Majid’s been alive. He can sense the violence, can feel the feral nature buzzing beneath that supple young skin of his (and what an attractive thing he is to behold). 

There lies an entirely different person and Primo chomps at the bit to meet him. Primo wants to electrify him, make the blood in his veins sing, wind him up and watch him go because he can already picture just how beautiful Majid would look bathed in sweat, come, and blood. 

So, when Majid denies him, Primo should feel frustrated. He should demand and take, break him over a hard surface until he's howling for release, as is his due as King Shit on the Mountain. 

He, in fact, does the opposite. He walks away. See? An old dog can learn new tricks. 

Majid is a welcome challenge. One Primo never knew he missed until he left him standing by his lonesome on an open terrace. For the first time in his long life, Primo thrills for The Hunt. He'll have Majid. One day. 

Patience is a virtue, Nizzuto. Majid will come begging, and then he'll beg to come.

[unmaskedagain]

Journal entries from a (Fashion) Princess

Journal entries from a (Fashion) Princess

           Marinette always knew she had two sisters. She also knew her a dad was a bit of slut, so she probably had more.

Phillipe, that was, her birthfather. Not Tom.

           She had an older sister name Mia, who was almost thirteen-years-older than her. And she had a little sister named Olivia, who was just two years younger, at just twelve-years-old.

           Each of the three girls had a different mother; born in different cities or countries, and had grown up mostly without each other. Mia and Oliva had met over a year ago, and immediately Olivia’s life had changed. She didn’t know if either knew about her but she was happy to know she had sisters.

           Something Marinette wasn’t sure she wanted or was even ready for.

           Her Papa, Phillipe, made it clear that whatever happened would be Marinette’s choice. There was no pressure.

           However, that turned out to all be for naught when King Phillipe of Genovia is doing a conference on his go-green plans. Marinette had just gotten ready to go a party, her best friends: Chloe, Aurore, and Kagami were taking her too. When she stopped to watch the televised coverage. Then someone asks him about his daughter.

           To which King Phillipe laughs, “Which one; I have three!”

           Dead silence from the reporters.

           It was a slip. Marinette knew it was a slip. But unfortunately, one little slip would have massive fallout.

           Then a brave reporter asks, “Did you just say three?”

           And was when Marinette knew her life was over.

“Yes,” The king nodded, his face a bit red, knowing all his daughters were planning regicide for different reasons. “I have three daughters. Mia, Oliva, and Marinette. Marinette is fourteen.  She is beautiful and has my blue eyes. She lives with her mother in France. And if she is watching this, she is not happy right now.”

           There were nervous laughs.

           Within an hour, her picture was on the news. Turns out, there weren’t many fourteen-year-olds with named Marinette. Why couldn’t her parents name her Sarah or something?

           And then it was official…

           Marinette Madaeline Mignonette Dupain-Cheng-Renaldo was a princess. And everyone knew it.

           Her parents assured her that everything would be fine. Marinette didn’t think so, not with the way her phone was blowing up. Most calls and texts were from people who hadn’t been her friends in over a year.

           Security showed up before the paparazzi could. Her Papa showed up not long after, followed by three irate look females.

           The oldest was a grey-haired, severe woman, Marinette knew from picture to be her Grandmere. A queen and a renowned snob.

           Mia, a pretty fair skinned woman with high cheek bones and a soft smile on her face when she looked at Marinette was the ideal of look of what celebrities everywhere deemed effortless high-fashion.

           Olivia, a brown-skinned girl with a lovely heart-shaped face and the same cheekbones of her sister, had the most beautiful hair Marinette had ever seen. It was all soft curls that seemed wild and tamed all at once. She wore a deep purple sundress and a hopeful expression on her face.

           They looked like true royalty. And Marinette…

           Marinette had never been so glad she forgot to take off her party clothes. She wore a silver, lacy dress that touched her knees and gave her an elegant look. Her hair, longer than it had been in quite some time, was fell across her shoulders in waves and the top of her dark hair was braided into a crown with little blue forget-me-nots in it. She had on the make-up Chloe recommend, black stockings, and black tie-up sandals.

           Marinette blushed lightly and glanced down. This was the wrong thing to do.”

“Princess keep their eyes up,” Queen Clarisse Renaldo immediately instructed. “They are not commoners. Look at me,” She ordered. Marinette did. “Straighten up your back. You have good posture but need more confidence. Pretty face, nicely done make-up, I assume you were leaving before the… incident.”

           Marinette nodded, “Yes, grandmère.” She kept her chin raised. “I was invited to a… social event,” She adlibbed. “When I was made aware of the… development.”

           Clarisse hummed, “Lovely dress; keen eye for fashion. Your older sister could’ve used your assistance when she was age. She dressed like a man and had the posture of a chimp. I will not even mention the catastrophe that had been her hair.”

           Mia took a deep breath, forced a smile on her face, “I’m Mia. I am so happy to meet you, Marinette. It seems like every year I find out I have new sister,” She shot the last part at her father, who had the good sense to blush in embarrassment. “You look lovely. I hope your plans for evening were not too important.”

“Nothing that I cannot afford to miss,” Marinette said politely. “I have already sent my regards to the host.”

           Clarisse eyed her newest granddaughter in approval, then cast a look of disdain at her son, “This one has manners and know proper etiquette. The first one didn’t have manners.” She tutted. “That is what happens when an artist raises a princess.”

           Both Phillipe and Mia sighed.

“The first one is standing right here,” Mia sniped.

“So the third one,” Oliva jumped in, no longer able to wait properly for her introduction. “I am Olivia. I have another sister. You so pretty. Did you always live in Paris? Do you like it? Where did you get you dress? It’s gorgeous! May I hug you?”

“One question at a time,” Clarisse chastised her youngest, and not-so secretly favorite, grandchild.

           Marinette laughed. “Yes, I was born in raised in Paris. I love it. I made the dress myself. Yes, you may hug me.”

That was all it took for Oliva to launch her at Marinette, “She smells like jasmine flowers” Oliva said excitedly. “And apples.”

“You design that dress?” Mia asked curiously looking her over. “It is quite beautiful.”

“Yes,” Queen Clarisse said. “It is.”

           Sabine stepped forward, “Marinette has loved designing since she was a child. It’s passion of hers. Like having a normal life,” She growled at Phillipe, who took a hasty step back, wondering why he was so attracted to clearly dangerous women.

“Oh please, she’s never been normal,” Clarisse huffed. “She was born a princess. She will die a princess. She will the rest of her days as a princess. Now, onto important, matters when will Marinette be moving to Genovia?”

           The fight that started between two over protective bakers over their daughter and a Dowager Queen, while a King was forced to mediate was legendary.

           It got to the point where Mia decided it was best to remove the children from the area, before someone found out Queen Clarisse had a mean right hook. Escorted by security, Mia led her sisters through the flashing lights of the paparazzi, to the limo and then onto get ice cream.

           The girls took their time as they slowly got to know each other better. The sisters laughed and joked. They learned about their lives before they knew they were princess. Mia and Oliva talked about life afterward.

“You still have to deal with mean girls?” Marinette asked exasperated.

“Bullies?” Olivia groaned. “I’ve had them all my life. I deal with a Luisa.”

“Lila,” Marinette rolled her eyes.

“Lana,” Mia added. “Girls with L names obviously just don’t like us.”

           They laughed. As they road back home in the limo. They each told how they dealt with their own bulling before and after princesshood.

           Mia befriended hers. Lana a ruthless bully at the start of high school became her best friend by the end it. While in the middle, her best friend Lily became her lead bully for a while until they worked things out. However before the peace, there was a lot of war. Marinette was honest as she relayed how she didn’t always handle it maturely.

           Olivia had had turned Luisa into a frenemy of sorts. They both liked and disliked each other. Luisa had a mean since of humor and was very bratty but could be intelligent at times. It was hard but Olivia had admitted she’d been peer pressured into far too many things to prove herself.

           Marinette quietly relayed how a Liar named Lila Rossi turned all her friends against her and left Marinette nearly friendless. How a boy named Adrien, left her to rot after promising to defend her. How her best friend Alya turned into a nasty, acid-spitting girl who had no problem ruining Marinette things or tripping her for her “bullying” Lila. Marinette said she just cut her losses. She found better friends who would remain loyal. How her once greatest bully Chloe, and her once rival in love, Kagami became her best friends. They, and Aurore helped her stop being everyone’s doormat, take time for herself, and start charging for commissions.

           By the end of the trip, Marinette decided it felt really good to have sister. She didn’t know why Alya complained so much.

           When Marinette got home, she learned that all her parents and her grandmother had come to an agreement. Marinette would finish out the school year, with a bodyguard, and spend the summer in Genovia. Then at the end of summer, Marinette would decide what she would like to do from there. No one looked happy about the arrangement.

           Marinette knew there weren’t many weeks of school left. She wondered how long it would take for her to die of embarrassment from having to be escorted by a bodyguard. Was this how Adrien felt? Or was he just used to it. All in all, she was dreading Monday.

           The weekend passed quicker than she would’ve liked. The paparazzi remained outside the bakery. Princess Marinette was all the news was talking about. Nadja had come over to beg for an exclusive only to be shown the door by Sabine. Marinette had only replied to her friend calls and texts; just to let them know she was alright and yes, she was in fact a princess. They’d talk on Monday.

           On Monday morning, Ophelia, a beautiful blond woman with grey eyes and a sharp chin, and Rosette, a lovely brunette with large doe-eyes and brown skinned, Marinette’s bodyguards, drove her to school, walked her through the crowd of people gathered to see a real Princess, through the school, and to class. Both women were prior Genovian military black ops. One woman would guard the hall, while the other stayed close to Marinette in class.

           Speaking of class, it was quiet when she entered. Most of the students were already there.  Chloe and Kagami, her only friends in class, were the only ones she cared about. Chloe was to greet her.

“Dupain-Cheng!” Chloe barked. “I knew there was something off about you. A princess, you’ve could told me.”

“Dupain-Cheng-Renaldo,” Marinette corrected. “And no I couldn’t.”

“Princess Marinette,” Kagami greeted with a head bow. “My mother, while honored, was quite frazzled to learn a princess visited our home without proper preparation.”

           Marinette winced. Kagami’s mom was intense to say the least. “Please call me Marinette, both of you.” She added to Chloe who realized she had made an error when greeting Marinette and had wide eyes. “This is my bodyguard, Ophelia,” She introduced the blond woman. “I have another, Rosette, outside the door. They will be with me for the rest of my education.”

           Chloe shrugged as the girls took their seats. Ophelia claimed an empty chair and a spot behind Marinette.

“Do you have a tiara?” Chloe asked. “Does it sparkle?”

           Marinette giggled. Yes, she did have tiara. It was the first thing her grandmere presented to her as a gift. “I do. And its shines like starlight.”

           Chloe squealed, “I have one too, with blue diamonds.”

           That didn’t surprise with of the other girls. They always knew Chloe thought of herself as a princess.  

           The three girls settled into pleasant conversation, ignoring the looks the other students were send them, as they waited for the bell to ring. This pleasantness of course was ruined when Alya and Lila walked into to class. Both immediately started drama.

           Alya glared at Marinette, “How could you not tell me? A princess, for real? I thought we were friends!”

“Since when?” Marinette retorted. “You ended our friendship remember?”

           Alya huffed, feeling a bit put out. She had hoped when she saw the news that Marinette would give her the exclusive because of their friendship. Then, she remembered that she wasn’t friends with the other girl anymore. Still, she remembered, Marinette was a forgiving person, she thought she could use that.  “I’m still your best friend.”

“No, you’re not,” Marinette sighed. “Kagami, Chloe, and Aurore are my best friends. Aurore will be getting a personal interview from me.”

           Then it was clear to everyone; forgiveness wasn’t coming. This caused Adrien to wince at his father had requested that he bring Marinette to visit and perhaps secure an endorsement deal. It was going to be hard to explain just why he couldn’t. Or why he sided with entire class and an obvious liar. Over an actual Marinette. But how was he supposed to know she was someone important, let alone a princess?

           Lila smiled prettily, jealously flashing in her eyes, “Princess Marinette; keeping such a secret must have been horrible. I couldn’t have kept it that long.”

“You couldn’t have kept it a minute,” Chloe retorted.

           Lila ignored the blond girl, “You know I have plenty of experience dealing with royalty. I could help you get used to it. My mother is an ambassador.”

           This time it was Ophelia who answered, she glared at the girl, “I’ve done extensive background on everyone in this school. Your mother was only recently named an ambassador, before that she was the assistant of the last one. You, however, stayed with your aunt during while your mother left on any business travels. There is no evidence of interaction with anyone of note. I do not make mistakes.”

“And Lila,” Marinette hummed. “I was born a princess. I’ll die a princess. I will always be a princess. I don’t need you.”

[mind-of-a-hardstan]

The Clock Strikes Twelve (Pt. 1)

Pairing: King!Namjoon x Detective!Reader, minor Seokjin x Jeongguk 

Genre: fantasy au, royalty au, detective au, demon au, magic au

Rating: M

Warnings: Descriptions of injury, demons, language, a bit of gore, smut in next chapter

Summary: When you and your partner are summoned to the Northern Kingdom, you don’t expect a case intriguing as you find. The king’s brothers face daily injuries and tiptoe the line of death, and the king would do anything to save them. Notorious for your success rate, you and Yoongi must find out what happens to the princes after midnight.

It goes less smoothly than you would want. 

Also on AO3

Word count: 11.9K

A/N: This is part of the “Twisted Fairytales: Members in Distress” project by @ksmutclub​. It’s based on “The Shoes that were danced to pieces” by Brothers Grimm. It’s the longest bitch I’ve ever written, and the second part will be up soon! Let me know what you think!! I worked very hard on this one. 

The sun hadn’t yet risen over the horizon when you and your partner had arrived at the palace gates. You were tired and sore and in desperate need of a bath, but the king had been anything but patient to meet you.

He’d greeted you personally at the gates, despite you and Yoongi being travel-weary and dusty. The sky had been slowly turning from grey to gold. The palace had been beautiful in this light – although it was beautiful in any light – and king Namjoon of the Northern Kingdom looked every bit as regal, beautiful and powerful as he had been described.

“Detectives,” he had a smooth voice, the type of voice that both calms and commands, “welcome to the North.”

The first time you’d met the king’s dark gaze didn’t feel like something you could forget.

His office was filled with this golden light now. It cast a strange glow over the heavy books filling the bookcases, the ebony furniture scattered around the room. A ray of sunlight caught the king’s eye. He looked serious, ready for business despite the early hour. But most of all, he looked tired.

His office smelled like paper and ink the first step you took into it. By the second step, you noticed the smell of leather, then the smell of dust, and then then the smell of autumn leaves.

There was another scent hanging in the air. It was something you couldn’t quite place, but it calmed your spirit immediately. You were almost inclined to follow it, to search for it, but your partner brought your attention back to the here and now.

“Your majesty,” Yoongi started when the king sat down on the ornate high-backed chair behind the enormous desk in the middle of the room. “Would you please explain the situation to us?”

The king looked at your partner with a raised brow. He sighed and rubbed over his neck. “As I’ve stated in my letter –”

“We don’t personally read the letters, your majesty,” you cut him off, realising how rude it might seem only after having done it. “We’re sent on the cases blindly.”

King Namjoon turned his questioning gaze to you, head cocked. “Why?” The question wasn’t unkind, but demanding. The man’s very being demanded respect, and it seemed like he knew it.

“We like to speak to people personally,” you replied professionally, “That way we have a better idea of what’s going on, if they’re lying.”

“Alright,” the king nodded. “I’ll relay the situation again. Two weeks ago, three of my brothers woke the whole palace with blood curdling screams an hour before dawn. When we got to them, they looked bad; they had wounds and they couldn’t speak. The injuries are… strange. My physicians have never seen anything like it. It’s happened every day since. Always exactly an hour before dawn, to the second.

They look worse every day. These… injuries take their toll and it seems like they don’t sleep at all, they’re constantly exhausted, they don’t eat, they barely drink. We don’t know what’s causing it and I don’t know how to help my brothers.”

King Namjoon was trying to relay the situation with professionalism; a straight face and a steady voice, but his words betrayed him. He was struggling.

The case itself was… intriguing. You felt sorry for the princes, but you couldn’t help giving in to the thrill of a good case. You glanced at your partner, who seemed equally as intrigued. Perhaps even delighted.  

One thing did catch your attention though. You opened your mouth to speak –

“Your majesty,” Yoongi beat you to it, “how many bothers do you have?”

You smiled inwardly, silently appreciating how you and your partner ticked the same.

The king hesitated before answering, and you expected him to lie. “Four,” he said. Truthful, to your surprise.

“I only recall three princes and a king?” your statement was uttered more as a question than anything else. King Namjoon fixed his eyes on you. You couldn’t read them.

By now the sun was fully over the line of the horizon. The light that filtered through the spotless window was now longer golden, but normal daylight. If the window was open, you might have heard a bird singing.

“I have four brothers, only three of them are recognised as princes, Hoseok, Jimin and Jeongguk,” the king explained, ”The fourth is my brother, but he is not a prince. He is an illegitimate child whom my mother kept a secret from the world. He was raised with us though, and he is still treated as royalty on these grounds.”

“I see,” Yoongi said and you could hear the cogs rattling in his head. “Your majesty, do you know what happens to the princes at night?”

The king fixed Yoongi with an irritated stare. “If I had, I wouldn’t have summoned you.”

“Why haven’t you posted a guard to watch them?” Yoongi challenged, not having it.

“Of course I have,” the king snapped. It was the most blatant display of emotion you’ve seen from him so far. “I’m not entirely useless, detective. Everyone inside the palace falls asleep by the time the clock strikes twelve. The whole palace shuts down.” Magic. This case was getting more intriguing by the second. You eyed your partner again, and he had a similar excited glint in his eye.

The king’s face, however, was dark with worry and a strange sort of fury.

“That’s… quite dangerous. Does it apply to the whole city or merely the palace?”

“Just the palace,” King Namjoon said, eyes back on you, “I’ve posted guards to keep watch outside of the palace walls, just in case. The moment they step foot onto the grounds, though, they just drop like they were shot, according to reports. They wake up in the morning unharmed and confused.”

“Your majesty, has the same happened this morning?”

The king looked back at you and this time his eyes were tired again. He absentmindedly rubbed over his throat. “Yes,” he said, “every day without fail.”

“May we see the princes? I would like to inspect their injuries.”

“Of course.” King Namjoon stood up and walked to the door, opening it for you. When you passed him, that scent passed your nose again and you could finally place it.

It was the king himself, and he smelled like open grassland right after a thunderstorm.

===

King Namjoon led you through the labyrinthine halls of the palace to a huge room with large windows letting in the morning light. The view was gorgeous, a beautiful scene of the palace garden and the river running its course behind the palace. You would have been inclined to approach the windows and admire the scenery, if your focus wasn’t one something else.

The room was stocked with beautiful cherry wood furniture and three big four-poster beds. On each bed lay a prince, each under a fluffy blanket and tucked in so carefully, hooked onto fluids. They all looked like they were on the brink of death.

Ghosts, shells… and nothing more.

All of them lay with their eyes open, barely blinking and staring into nothingness. If it hadn’t been for their shallow breathing, you might have thought they were dead.

A man sat on one of the beds, the one on the far side of the room. He was beautiful – truly beautiful – but his eyes were teary and he was stroking over one of the prince’s hair. He didn’t acknowledge you and Yoongi at all.

“My gods,” Yoongi whispered next to you, and you had to agree.

“They get worse every day. Jimin’s the worst off, we don’t know why.” Namjoon whispered, as if he didn’t dare to actually speak the words. He looked at the bed the stood roughly in the middle. Such sorrow in the King’s eyes. “His infections – well. It’s better when you see for yourselves.”

“What are you giving them?” Yoongi asked, pointing to the drips hanging next to their beds.

“Vitamins, electrolytes, a few painkillers. They don’t eat or drink, we had to come up with something.” Yoongi just hummed in response.

You looked at your partner. There was steel in his eyes, so little emotion. Just a front, you knew Yoongi too well. The victims and the crime scenes always stirred something in his soft heart. Yoongi locked eyes with you and understood your silent request. You’d tackle Jimin together, but first the other two.

The man in the room ran his knuckles over the prince’s cheek one last time before moving toward the door – toward you. He bowed to the king, who smiled at him, and then the man dipped his head in your direction, desperation in his eyes.

He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t need to. Please, that look said, save my love. And then he was gone.

“May I?” you gestured to a bed that the man didn’t sit on, like a coward.

“Of course. That would be prince Hoseok, the eldest of us all.”

You moved into prince Hoseok’s line of sight and smiled when those tired eyes followed your movements. The prince could still observe at least. Could he speak?

“Hello, your Highness” you said softly, not wanting to startle the man. “My name is Y/n and I’m a detective. I’m here to help you. Can you speak?”

You heard Yoongi’s soft voice murmur on the other side of the room. He was speaking to the last prince, where the man had sat. You ignored him for now, focusing on where you were.

The prince blinked and swallowed, movements slow. He tried to smile, but his mouth just twitched awkwardly as if the muscles were too tired to function. He took a deep breath and then; “Yes,” he finally croaked out, voice breathy and broken, “but it’s – tiring.”

“That’s okay, don’t tire yourself out more. May I examine you, your Highness?” you asked, glancing at the king too. King Namjoon stood by the door, watching and listening, but giving you the space to work. He gave a slight nod and you turned your gaze back to prince Hoseok.

“Only if you… call me Hoseok,” he answered, words so slow. There was a ghost of a smile on his lips while he watched you. You couldn’t decide if he was being friendly or if he was being a flirt. Perhaps both.

You smiled back, deciding that you liked him. “Alright, Hoseok. I’m going to take the blanket off of you and poke around for a bit. Let me know as soon as something hurts, alright?” A slight nod, and then he closed his eyes, letting you do with him as you pleased.

You spared another glance at Yoongi, who was sat down next to the young prince, holding his hand as he spoke. Slow words, you could tell. But you couldn’t hear what he was saying; he was speaking too soft and the room was too big. Yoongi was listening though, so gentle.

You put down your satchel and gently removed the blanket from Hoseok’s body. Even though his hollowed cheeks were indication enough, you couldn’t help but be surprised at how thin he really was. He was nothing more than a bag of bones. His skin was pale, but there were harsh purplish red marks around his wrists.

Yoongi gasped loudly from across the room, but you didn’t react. You had your own prince to worry about now, you’d ask Yoongi about his soon enough.

You poked and prodded Hoseok for a bit more, but you found nothing else out of the ordinary. Just those ugly bruises on his wrists.

Until you got to his feet. 

Every drop of air left your lungs when you uncovered the prince’s feet, along with a small little sound of surprise, horror, disgust.

“Heaven, save us.”

The soles of Hoseok’s feet were covered in angry blisters and nasty looking boils, everything red due to inflammation. There were ugly blue and purple bruises all over his feet and ankles. What stood out most, however, was that the liquid dripping out of the boils were an ugly, dark purple. It smelled like rotten meat.

You said a small prayer to the moon, and then went on in silence.

You produced a tiny little phial from your satchel and gently scraped a bit of the liquid into it. Hoseok let out a tiny moan of pain, and you murmured an apology. You and Yoongi would examine it in silence later, because this shit sure as hell wasn’t normal.

“Hoseok,” you said softly, “what happened to your feet?”

Hoseok opened his mouth, but shut it just as quickly, as if some invisible force physically shut him up. The prince swallowed, and then simply shook head. His eyes were big and filled with pure, unbridled fear.

“It’s okay,” you gently lay your knuckles on his cheek, “take a deep breath for me. You don’t have to say anything you don’t want to.”

Hoseok breathed deep before talking again, “I can’t.” You simply smiled at him, and then shuffled through your satchel. “Detective,” Hoseok mumbled after a few seconds, voice strained and scared.

“Yes?” you looked at him and gently lay a comforting hand in his.

“I want to… but…” another deep, tired breath, “we’re not… allowed.”

You smiled at him and nodded in understanding. “It’s okay. We’ll get to the bottom of this, yeah?”

Not allowed. You swallowed and pulled out another small phial from your satchel, this time filled with a shimmering white dust. You didn’t need to cast a detection spell, the use of magic was obvious. You just needed to be sure what kind of magic was used.

You sprinkled the dust over Hoseok’s head, expecting it to turn grey, expecting dark magic. You watched with a clenched jaw as it turned black instead.

Demonic power.

A demon was among these humans, however it got out. A lion among sheep.

“Don’t worry, Hoseok. We’ll figure it out,” you whispered again and lay a comforting hand on his hair. “Rest for a bit.” You covered Hoseok with the blanket and moved back to Yoongi, who seemed to be done with Jeongguk too.

The king motioned to step closer, to talk, but you help up a hand to stop him. You needed to speak to your partner first. He frowned, hand at his throat, but he stayed put.

“Heaven’s fucking mother, the godsforsaken feet?!” Yoongi whisper yelled. You nodded solemnly. “It looked like they walked over acid,” he went on, rubbing a hand over his face.

“’Godsforsaken might be right…” You bit your lip, “I checked the magic, Yoongi. The dust turned black.”

“Black,” Yoongi stated with a blank look. You nodded. “Fuck, are you telling me there’s a demon running around?”

“It seems like it,” you said, “the prince also said that he wasn’t allowed to say anything, I think this is more than just some sort of curse.”

“Yeah, no shit. The kid over there was crying when he tried to talk, but it was like his mouth was glued shut and fuck all came out. All I got out of him was something about punishment. He looked so tired, Y/n…”

“I know, I don’t think they’ll last much longer, with whatever’s going on. Did you take a sample of the purple stuff?”

“Yeah, I’ll set up the lab later today. Did yours have the fucked up wrists too?” You nodded again. “Fuck. It looks like they were tied up or something. I took a sample of the dead skin there, too. Maybe we could figure out what they were tied up with.”

“Good.” You gestured to the last bed, “Shall we?” Yoongi nodded.

Jimin did end up looking worse. He barely reacted to either of you. Along with the marks on his wrists, there was an angry looking purple ring around his neck, dotted with nasty blisters and missing skin. It looked like a bad burn. The soles of his feet barely had normal skin left, just purple pus leaking out.

“Heaven’s fucking mother,” Yoongi cursed when he tried to take a sample and Jimin nearly screamed. His mouth was open, eyes closed, and no sound came out. “This poor fucking soul, gods.”

You tested the magic again with the white powder. It had the same outcome as last time: the powder turned black.

You were about to move when Jimin grabbed your wrist with a weak hold. He tried to look at you, but his eyes wouldn’t focus and kept closing. You kneeled next to him, taking his hand in yours.

“I’m here,” you said softly, trying to soothe the broken kid. “I’m here, what do you need?”

“Tae…” the prince tried before his energy caved. He closed his eyes and a dry sob wracked his tired body. He kept his eyes closed but opened his mouth again, speaking in a wheeze. “Help… tae… huu –”

Tae. It was a name – partially at least. Was it a person or a creature? Were they the cause of this? Did they need help, or did Jimin need their help? You caught Yoongi’s eye, he heard it too. You filed the clue away for later.

When you were finally done, satchels packed up and prince neatly covered, you approached the impatient looking king. He was fiddling with his collar by now.

“Excuse the wait, your Majesty. You probably have a busy schedule,” you said with an apologetic smile.

“No need to apologise detective, I’ve cleared my morning for you.”

“How kind of you, your Majesty,” Yoongi said, sounding half sarcastic and half surprised. A ghost of a smile appeared on the king’s lips, like he wanted to supress it, but only half succeeded.

“Now, what can you tell me?”

“We’ve only just collected evidence ourselves,” you said, “We need to examine it before we can tell you anything for sure.” The king nodded, but his jaw was clenched. He seemed so desperate, so tired of not knowing, being helpless.

He looked like he was sleeping as much as his brothers, even though you knew that was untrue.

Before you could stop yourself, you laid a hand on the king’s shoulder. For a single moment you didn’t speak to Namjoon, King of the Northern Kingdom. For a moment, he wasn’t a simple client. You looked into those sharp and terrified eyes and you spoke to the man beneath.

“We’ll figure it out. We’ll save them.”

“I’d do anything…” The king closed his eyes for a second, a moment of vulnerability, before locking eyes with you again. This time they were serious again, focused and professional. “If you have any news,” he said on his way out of the room, “notify the closest servant immediately.”

===

You got to work as soon as the servants led you to your shared chamber. The room itself was beautiful and exactly how you requested; two big desks relatively close to each other, big walking space, two beds, en suite bathroom and big windows. The view was beautiful too, overlooking the yellowing garden and the city beyond.

You didn’t take the time to admire the scenery, though. Yoongi claimed one desk to himself, getting started on setting up his lab. You threw your suitcase next to the other, piling books, paper and pens onto it.

With the clinking of Yoongi’s equipment as background noise, you listed everything that you gathered so far, and started doing research, taking notes along the way.

You’d worked with demons before. They were night creatures, and they preferred the exact times that the king had mentioned. They couldn’t do anything on their own, they needed to possess a body and for that, they needed to be summoned.

Certain people, perfect blood, protection runes, summoning circles, magic, demon trials –

You were in the middle of tracing an intricate rune when Yoongi spoke up from the silence, “Y/n, come over here for a second.”

He was sat on a three legged stool, looking for all the world like a chemist. They’d be close in assuming that, but Yoongi would beat someone with a book if he heard them.

“That’s Master fucking Potioneer to you, asshole!” was a common line of his. “I didn’t study this shit for ten years for you to be ignorant.”

He had the phials containing the purple puss laying on the table, scribbles on a writing block, various strange things scattered about. You pretended not to notice the fairy dust. Those poor things…

“What?” you asked, leaning over the desk.

“Okay so we can both agree that this purple shit is something neither of us has seen before, right?” Yoongi started, pointing to the phials.

“Yeah,” you agreed, motioning for him to go on.

“See, there’s a reason for that,” Yoongi explained, completely in work mode, “I dissected the puss, and the usual stuff was in there. Yaknow, like normal pus, but then I got to the bottom of why it’s purple. It’s about their souls. You know what pus is, right? Dead white blood cells that rush to a wounded area, and then it also sort of drains it?” You nodded. “This is like that, except that the reason it’s purple is because there are flecks of their souls in there, trying to mend the damage and dying by it.”

“Hold on,” you interjected, holding up a hand, “they hurt their feet and now their souls are trying to heal it? Why?”  

“It’s the other way around. I think their souls were hurt and it projected onto their bodies. It gets worse.” Yoongi held up another phial with white flecks in it. “I took samples of the skin on their wrists and Jimin’s neck to see what they were tied with. What I thought were bruises turns out to be burns. It’s purplish for the same reason as the feet. They’re tied up with hot metal, something like handcuffs – perhaps chains. But… it’s definitely not their physical bodies.”

“Not their – so their souls. Their souls were chained up.”

“Not ‘were,’ they still are. I have a suspicion that that’s why they can’t talk. Someone has control over their souls.”

You took a microscope slide from off the table and looked at the tiny amount of blue flecks on it. It was a strange thought that you were holding tiny pieces of dead soul in your hand.

“So their souls are being held captive in hell, I assume, since demons don’t typically have access to other realms. They’re not allowed to say anything about it or they’re gonna be punished, according to the youngest. We’ve discovered that demonic powers have been used, so it’s safe to assume that they were kidnapped,” you summed up. Yoongi nodded. Well, fuck. This case was getting more interesting by the second. More dangerous too. This had to be one powerful demon, ripping their souls from their bodies like that.

“That about sums it up,” Yoongi said.

“According to the books,” you started relaying what you’ve learned, “demons can’t do any harm in the human realm on their own. Possession is some complicated procedure, and not everyone’s compatible. The demon has to be summoned first, but apparently they can still possess even years after they’re summoned. Until then they just… roam.”

“Yes, I remember,” Yoongi interjected, waving his hand, “the Western Witches summoning demons left, right and centre, some demons escaped, the witches were burned, all that jazz.”

“Right, so there’s no way to know if the demon is new or old. It doesn’t matter, anyway. A normal demon could possess anyone willing or scared enough to let them in, like the one we had to deal with last year, but I think it’s safe to assume that this one is a bit more powerful, which means they need a stronger host. These demons also have… a taste. A standard, if you will.”

You threw a book at Yoongi, and he caught it flawlessly.

“That book lists the specifications. I thought the demon was some kind of upper-class demon, like our version of a rich lord, or something. It did damage, but I didn’t realise how extraordinary the damage was. Hurting a human’s body sure takes something, but hurting a human’s soul like that… it takes a lot of power.” Yoongi nodded along with you while flipping through the book. “I think it’s safe to assume that it’s royalty.”

“Yeah,” Yoongi nodded again, still reading, “probably. So it’s only compatible with a human who also has royal blood. Bonus points if they had magical blood too.” He looked up, thinking. “Maybe an Eastern or Western royal witch?”

“Maybe. It’ll definitely make a good host. Another book said that royal demons also prefer tainted hosts.” Yoongi closed the book and looked back up with a frown. You elaborated. “I mean like, disgraced royals, bastard children, trauma victims. People who have some sort of… I don’t know, black dot on them, if that makes sense.”

“Yeah, yeah it does,” Yoongi nodded.

“I’m currently looking up different spells and runes. We’re gonna need to pull out all the stops with this one, I think. I found a few banishing runes, but I’m going to need a bit more time.”

“I don’t think banishing the demon is going to be the problem. If we figure out who it is, an exorcism is the least of our problems, we’ve done it before. But if those kids are in hell, how do we get them back?” Yoongi said in thought. You nodded with him.

“I thought the same. I’m researching that too, but I can’t find any cases like this.”

The room went silent for a moment. You breathed it in, held it in your lungs. You needed a moment. You were speaking about this like you would speak about a missing jewel, but the picture of Jimin’s bony hand grabbing yours, the man looking at you with desperation, the fear in Hoseok’s eyes, the wail in Jeongguk’s voice –

“We need to talk to the king,” Yoongi said, pulling you out of your head. Judging by the knowing look in his eyes, it was intentional. “We need to find out who or what ‘Tae’ is, too. Perhaps the king could tell us.”

“Yeah.” You shook your head and stood up. Yoongi followed suit.

===

A servant, clearly under strict orders, took you to the king immediately. The sun was slowly setting over the horizon, causing the golden glow from this morning to appear again, only more beautiful.

King Namjoon was in his office, where you had had your first conversation with him, hours ago. This time, however, he was not alone. There were two men inside, speaking with him. You recognised one of them, the one standing. He had been in the room with the youngest prince this morning, crying by his bed.

“Ah, detectives,” the king said. He had a welcoming smiled on his face, surprisingly warm. Was a king not supposed to be cold? To inspire fear? That was what you had been taught, wasn’t it? “You have news, I assume?”

The two other men eyed you and your partner with interest. Yoongi shuffled in slight discomfort under the scrutiny. He never liked nosy royals.

“Your majesty,” you said and dipped your head, “Excuse the disturbance, you seem to be in a meeting?”

“Please, don’t apologise. This is Seokjin, my most trusted advisor and friend,” he said, and gestured to the man you met earlier today. You offered him a smile, and he returned it with his whole heart, too honest for an aristocrat. You liked him. “And this is Taehyung, my brother. You may call me Namjoon among this crowd. We were discussing the death of my cousin, the letter had arrived today.”

Taehyung. Bells bells bells. Taehyung – Tae –

Tae, help, Tae, help, Tae, help –

“Tae…” Yoongi said out loud after a moment, like he wanted to test the word on his tongue. You eyed him, thoughts running just like his seemed to.  

So Jimin was talking about his brother. Did he want you to help Taehyung, or did he want Taehyung to help him? Was Taehyung the cause of this? Did Jimin beg for help against Taehyung?

“Only my closest call me that,” Taehyung said with a kind smile. He had a charm about him, childish but captivating. You couldn’t imagine him being the cause of this.

“Yes,” Yoongi finally spoke up with a low voice, “We know.” Taehyung looked at Yoongi strangely, but before he could say anything, you cut him off.

“I’m sorry for your loss, your majesty,” you said, offering the king a gentle smile. He waved his hand.

“Thank you, but I hardly knew him. It’s not a personal loss, as sad as that sounds.” You nodded in understanding, because you did understand. Politics weren’t exactly warm, and family gatherings weren’t exactly for fun.

Seokjin stepped forward before the conversation could continue. “It’s nice to finally meet you,” the man said, “I hope you’ll forgive my rudeness this morning, but Eastern courtesy forbids me from making new acquaintances where the sick must heal.”

“Of course, I understand,” you replied with a smile of your own. You never understood the Eastern uses, but you knew them all by heart anyway. Yoongi was still staring at Taehyung. He was trying to spot something, trying to explain something to himself, and Taehyung just looked on in confusion.

 “Are you close with the young prince?” you asked Seokjin, redirecting your attention back to him. You knew the answer, but you wanted to hear from him. Seokjin’s smile, however, changed to something bitter and sad. A sign of something out of place, something broken and aching inside him.

“Yes,” he said and then there was a beat of silence. “I, uh, our wedding was supposed to be a few days ago.” A joyless laugh bubbled up his throat. “I guess you can say he slept through the ceremony.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said. You had nothing to offer him but a hand on his shoulder and half a promise, so you gave him just that. “I promise, my lord, I will do my best to get your prince back to you.”  

“Both of us,” Yoongi chimed in gently. You glanced at him. He seemed to be done with sizing the non-prince up.

“You may call me Seokjin,” he directed the statement at both of you, “I never liked these fancy titles.” You smiled and nodded, and so did Yoongi. Yoongi even whipped out his wide, gummy smile. He liked Seokjin too.

You approached Taehyung, who had watched in silence, but before you could say anything, he spoke up, “If you call me ‘lord’ after you called me ‘Tae,’ I’ll tell them to chop off your head.”

It was such a playful tone that caught you so off guard that you giggled. You caught yourself and bowed your head. “Taehyung,” you said, “I’m Y/n.”

“Yes, I know. My brother has been raving about your arrival all week. It got worse after today, though.” Taehyung had a mischievous glint in his eye, and he laughed when a pencil hit his cheek. The king was pointing a threatening finger at him, eyes narrowed. You had to smile at the careless display of playfulness, of affection.

“That’s very good to know,” you mused, “I heard about you from your brother, Prince Jimin. I was rather curious about you.”

Taehyung’s face went from friendly and charming to serious and wide-eyed. “Jimin? What did he say?”

“I’m not sure yet,” you cocked your head, “I’ll tell you as soon as I am.” Taehyung frowned at this, but didn’t question you.

You expected Yoongi to introduce himself too, but he didn’t. He stayed near the door and kept his mouth shut. You nearly rolled your eyes, but left him be.  

“Detectives,” the king said after a moment of silence, rubbing at his neck with a hopeful look in his eye, “You have news?”

“It’s… rather sensitive,” you said and looked at the two men in the room. Seokjin sat back down and turned to you. Taehyung looked uncomfortable and unhappy.

“That’s alright, I trust them and so can you,” the king said with a smile. You nodded, not wanting to meddle. “Lay it on me, detectives.”

===

Dust and sweat from your travels still stuck to your skin uncomfortably, and you were in desperate need of a bath. By the time the servant showed you the towels, different soaps and how to adjust the temperature, the sun was gone.

The bathing room was huge. The tub was built into the floor, already filled with steaming water. The room itself was dark, made of bare stone and decorated with reds and oranges. Candlelight made the shadows in the room come alive. Steam curled to the ceiling, dancing with the fire in an almost hypnotising way.

It was the perfect place to think.

You melted when you stepped into the water. The temperature was perfect, the water smelled so good, the room was so quiet. You lay back, submerging your ears and closing your eyes.

You were in the king’s office when the servants had brought dinner. The food would have been amazing if it weren’t for the fact that you were too focussed on the discussion to even taste it.

King Namjoon had handled the information better than another person might have handled it. He’d dropped his head in his hands when Yoongi told him that his brothers’ souls were trapped in hell, and he stayed like that for a full minute, but he had no anger outburst, no denial, no screaming.

Seokjin had turned white as a sheet, but he didn’t move. His face had went slack, and it was like all feeling had seeped out of his body. You could tell, because you knew what that was like. Taehyung, on the other hand, had cried. He’d hid his face behind his hands and just cried. It was Yoongi who laid an arm around his shoulder.

“I need time,” the king had said, “to think. I’ll meet you tomorrow morning. We’ll figure out what to do then, but for now I need a moment.” 

You took a moment, too. A moment to breathe, to think without having to come up with a solution, to just let your mind process. You focused on washing yourself, focused on your own body, before laying back and shutting down.

You breathed deep, letting the scents in the room calm you. Thoughts flitted through your head in no order and with no rhyme or reason.

Help my brothers – souls were hurt – tae – I can’t – possession of a human body – royal blood – kidnapped – married – neck – purple – help – chained up – open grassland – home – scratch – last stroke of midnight –

Last stroke of midnight.

You were gone when the clock chimed twelve.

===

Waking up in this castle was the most unpleasant thing you’ve experienced in your life. At first you hadn’t realised what it was that woke you in the first place. The sun wasn’t up yet, but the birds were awake, singing their hearts out. It took you a second to process that it wasn’t the birds that woke you.

It was screaming.

It wasn’t coming from a specific place, though. It was like it was coming from inside of your head, even though it was unmistakeably the voices of the princes.

The second thing you couldn’t understand was why you were so cold. Your teeth started chattering the moment you registered, but you’d been shivering before you even woke up. There was a rather logical explanation for that as well: you were floating in freezing water. You’d passed out in the bathtub.

And well. There had been better mornings in your life.

By the time your feet were warm enough in your boots to walk to the source of the noise, Yoongi was already in front of the door and talking to Seokjin. Neither of them looked any better than you did – dark rings under their eyes, puffy cheeks, both holding coffee. Yoongi was also holding a suitcase with his travel-laboratory.

Seokjin looked haunted, though. Not just tired, but haunted. You couldn’t imagine what it must have been like to wake up to your lover’s screams every day.

He wore it surprisingly well, given the circumstances.

“Morning, sleeping beauty,” Yoongi said with a snicker. “You look like a sewer rat, princess.” You scowled at him, consciously touching your still damp hair.

“Fuck off,” you snarled, “you look like you’ve been eaten by sewer rats, so shut up.”

“Did you…” Seokjin stopped himself to reconsider his wording. “Why are you wet?”

“I fell asleep in the bathtub,” you said with a smile as sweet as arsenic and Yoongi cackled like the little bitch witch he was.

“Oh,” Seokjin said, surprised and barely supressing his own laugh, “did Namjoon not warn you about the… uh, the curfew?”

“He did, now can we please move on to more important things than my choice of bed?” Yoongi just snorted in agreement.

The princes looked worse than they had the previous day. Hoseok was squirming and crying and sobbing with a broken voice. His wrists were bleeding, and you immediately called for Yoongi, who knew more about the wounds. You refused to fuck this up yourself.

“Can’t,” he just growled out, frantically fussing with Jimin’s feet. He was still screaming, but his voice had given out. You’d dared to look, and you were glad you had a strong stomach.

You dealt with Hoseok’s wrists yourself as best as you knew how. You applied the balsam that Yoongi had handed you for his feet. You talked to him a bit, not needing him to answer, but just to let him know you were there.

There wasn’t much more that you could do right now, and it unsettled you.

Seokjin was taking care of Jeongguk on his request. Yoongi had just given him the balsam too and told him what to do. The youngest seemed to be the best off, though. He was crying and hurt, but his wrists weren’t bleeding and his feet looked better than the others.

“We – we dance…” Hoseok suddenly breathed out, breath heavy. You looked down in surprise, not expecting him to speak. He breathed deep and then pushed the next part out, “They make us… dan – nce.”

“Gods…” you whispered, and squeezed his hand in comfort.

When two physicians came in, you were already done and the princes were sleeping. Hoseok was clutching your hand desperately, so you let him hold on while you were reading and Yoongi was still fussing. He had taken down the IVs and dissected them, grumbling all the way. When he saw them, standing at the door with confused faces, Yoongi nearly threw a vase at them. He would have, if you hadn’t grabbed it with a “down boy!”

“I should curse you both. I should fucking murder you both.” He was seething. “The next time either of you put opium in an IV, I swear to every God that I will hunt you down and wrap your colon around your neck.”

They froze, eyes wide at the tiny man with wild eyes and needles in his hands.

“Just go.” It was Seokjin this time. He was still on Jeongguk’s bed, running his hands through his hair while the young prince slept. The men bowed without a word and then left, nearly tripping over their own feet. Silence followed. You stared after the men with amused eyes and shook your head, but went back to your research.

“I’m gonna need to figure out another concoction to give them,” Yoongi mumbled, lost in thought.

“Seokjin?” you said after another moment of Yoongi’s grumbling.

“Hmm?”

“Did anything weird happen to Jeongguk before this?” Hoseok was clutching your hand again, fingers flexing every now and then. You ran your other hand through his hair, too, trying to soothe what you could.

“Nothing that made me think that this would happen,” Seokjin said, looking at Jeongguk like he was fragile. Like he loved him, like he was hurting. “He started having nightmares, started having this rash on his wrists. We thought it was stress, you know? What with the wedding and all. Then he stopped sleeping altogether, said the nightmares were too bad. He was paranoid, wouldn’t let me touch him. His wrists stopped itching and started hurting, and the next thing I knew, he screamed his throat sore the next morning. All three brothers at the same time.”

“I’m so sorry,” you said, “This must have hit hard.” Seokjin smiled bitterly, eyes just a bit teary.

“Yeah,” he said, voice thick, “Tae didn’t stop crying for a whole hour after you left. I didn’t see Namjoon afterward, either.”

“And you?”

“I refused.” There was this look in his eye; stubborn and angry. He gripped the prince’s hair a little possessively. “I cried enough when I wasn’t allowed to have him. I gave up everything – my family and my titles, even my dignity – to be with Jeongguk. I won’t cry again until I lose him, and he’s still very fucking much here.” 

You wanted so say more, but you were interrupted with loud, steady footsteps and the smell of an open grassland wrapped around you like a blanket. You ignored the thought that it smelled like home.

“Detectives,” the king greeted upon entering the room. You noticed only then that the sun was rising over the horizon and that the king was bathed in gold. He had a questioning look in his eye, and a halfway amused smile on his face. “Does someone in here know why I found one of my best physicians crying in the hallway?”

Seokjin honest to god snickered and you had to suppress a smirk of your own.

“Yeah,” Yoongi said distractedly, still busy with his concoction. “Dickheads get thrown out. Wonder what happened to the other one.”

The king’s face morphed into a completely amused smile. “The other one is the reason why I’m here, the little tattletale.”

Despite yourself, you giggled, and it earned you a playful smile from the king. Seokjin looked him in the eye and pouted. “Are you going to scold us, oh high majesty king Namjoonie?”

King Namjoon snorted, collapsed onto a chair and rubbed his neck again. You were beginning to think that it was a nervous tick of his. “Please consider refraining from making my staff cry,” he joked, voice monotone and almost robot-like. You couldn’t help but be surprised at the easy-going display. “How are they?”

“Worse than yesterday,” Yoongi said, “but they’re surprisingly fucking persistent in surviving.”

“They’re taking good care of them,” Seokjin said with a sincere voice.

“Do you have a plan, detectives?” the king asked tentatively. “I think we need to discuss the course of action. This is nothing to be taken lightly.”

The sun was moving slowly over the horizon, bathing the whole room in golden light now. Yoongi put down what he was busy with, a bright red potion now, and turned to the king.

“For now, I’m making a potion to replace the IV that your incompetent doctors hooked them up to. It’ll give them more strength and help ease their pain. It’ll keep them alive until we save them.”

“I’m researching runes for that to happen, your majesty–”

“I thought we were past that,” the king interrupted. You blinked in confusion and disbelief.

“Excuse me?”

“I told you to call me Namjoon, when no one’s around, I don’t mind.” The king had a kind smile on his face, dimples on full display and the sight made you stop for just a moment, just a split second, to admire it, before your brain started up again.

“Right. Well, I’m going to need to construct a rune of my own to bring your brothers back. This isn’t the first time something like this has happened, but I can only find books on what the symptoms were. I don’t think a witch was ever present to help the victims. At least, it hasn’t been recorded,” you frowned at the books scattered next to Hoseok’s bed. It may have been recorded, but the Westerners destroyed all their witch’s journals during the trials. “Yoongi already made a potion that will force the demon out, and I have rune to banish it after, but we’re going to need to find the demon first. Or, the person it possessed.”

“Alright, and how do we find them?”

“We know that they roam the halls of the castle after midnight. They’d be the only one awake,” Yoongi answered, having moved away from his lab with the potion in hand, now a soft pink.

“Sure, but how do you plan to spot them if no one can stay awake?” Seokjin asked.

“We don’t plan to spot them,” you said with a smile, “We plan to catch them. Yoongi and will set up traps all over the palace in the hopes that it’ll hold the demon until morning.”

Namjoon shook his head solemnly. “We’ve tried traps, and we found them all piled on my throne, in pieces.”

“You haven’t tried runes and poisons. It’s worth a try, don’t you think?” you said, hands toying with the book still in your lap.

Yoongi was busy hooking the princes up to the new fluids. Hoseok swallowed and grimaced in discomfort when the needle pierced his skin. His eyes were open, he’d been listening the entire time. He looked at you, then to the other side of the room, then back to you. He seemed panicked.

“What do you need?” you asked. Hoseok just shook his head violently and then closed his eyes tightly.

“Can’t.”

You accepted it and let him hold your hand in an iron grip again. It was frustrating to have three people with the answers in their eyes, and they weren’t allowed to say a thing.

“The hardest part is going to be bringing your brothers back,” you said, “It’s easy to banish a soul. It’s hard as fuck to bring it back. Banishing the demon won’t bring them back, it’ll just prevent the whole ordeal from happening again.”

Namjoon looked at Hoseok with pursed lips and a clenched jaw. “Yeah.”

“Namjoon,” Yoongi said, “who was Taehyung’s mother?”

“The daughter of some lord with whom my father did business in the West,” Namjoon explained, “She was thrown out when she got pregnant, so my father took her home with him. My mother was less than impressed. The woman died during birth.”

“A royal bastard with Western blood,” Yoongi said and looked at you.

“It fits,” you agreed. He was the perfect recipe for disaster.

“I’ll ignore the slur,” Namjoon grit out, “but do tell me why my brother is suddenly a suspect.”

“Demons have standards, and Taehyung fits them perfectly,” Yoongi simply said, “There’s a good chance he’s the possessed one.”

“Taehyung is just as happy and easy-going as he always was, given the circumstances. I’d know if my brother was possessed,” Namjoon said, a bit sourly. You shook your head, and he fixed you with a challenging stare. “Do you disagree, detective?”

“Yes,” you said, “Demons hide during the day, you wouldn’t notice anything wrong with your brother before midnight.”

The king stood up, clearly done with the conversation. With neutral eyes, he said, “If you need anything, I’ll be in my office. I have a meeting soon.”

===

You hadn’t stayed next to Hoseok long after the king had left. You’d spent hours setting up as many traps as you could with Yoongi. It was a shot in the dark, and Yoongi was still working on a potion that would keep you awake.  

You’d spotted Taehyung too, but he was in a rush and just sent you a quick wave and a bright, toothy smile. You somehow couldn’t imagine a demon being inside the boy, but demons hid during the day, and there wouldn’t be a trace of it. Which meant that Taehyung was still a viable suspect.

The rest of the day was spent working on a rune to bring the princes back. You’d decided to try a summoning circle of sorts, but personalised to each prince to avoid summoning demons instead of princes. Perhaps if you enriched it with something they loved, something they were passionate about.

Namjoon would know.

Yoongi barely reacted when you left the room, wrapped up in his own research. You only realised that it was dark after you left your room. Torches were lit along the palace walls, flames dancing with the wind coming through the open windows. A guard pointed you in the direction of the king, and you quickly followed the long corridors, not wanting to waste time.

If it was already dark then midnight wasn’t far off.

The door you stopped at was big and heavy and… beautiful. There were flowers carved on the dark wood, and vines woven into themselves in a very familiar pattern.

You knocked.

“Who is it?” came Namjoon’s voice.

“Detective Y/n!” The door swung open and your breath caught in your throat.

You told yourself that it had nothing to do with the fact that Namjoon was shirtless, because he was. He was shirtless and the first thing you saw when that door opened was his broad chest, that golden skin, that gorgeous –

But no, that’s not why your breath caught in your throat. Even if you noticed the red ring around his neck seconds after your knees went weak.

“Oh, gods,” you breathed.

“It’s rude to stare, detective,” Namjoon said, clearly a bit smug. You would have laughed. You would have laughed and then came up with something to throw him off guard, like maybe I just don’t like depriving myself of beautiful things.

Instead, your blood started to boil under your skin. Because the reason for your staring wasn’t his physique, instead it was the reddish-purple ring winding around his neck, and you didn’t know what to do with the fear that crept into your bones.

“You idiot,” you growled, and the king’s smirk fell off his face. You pushed him into the room and slammed the door shut behind you.

“Fuck – what?” Namjoon stumbled, nearly fell on his ass, but caught himself.

“You absolute fucking idiot,” you pointed your finger at his neck, “Do you know what that is?! Of course you do, because we told you everything about it yesterday, so tell me, king, why you didn’t fucking tell me.”

Namjoon’s face went serious in a way that was almost severe. “You forget your place, detective, I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Don’t hit me with that bullshit,” you snarled, “You told me to drop honorifics, so I dropped honorifics. Now tell me about that wound or you can save your own goddamn brothers and yourself.”

The king raised his eyebrows and stayed quiet for a second. You stared him down, and after a second a ghost of a smile appeared on his face.

“I could go to war with the East for that tone, you know?” Namjoon said, voice now back to normal. He sat down on of the plush chairs scattered about the outrageously big room.

“Our company’s from the West.”

“Yes, but you aren’t, are you, Y/n?”

Your blood went cold. “Say what you want to say, king.”

“I’m not threatening you, I’m poking fun. But I know you’re the Eastern King’s niece. And with his son dead, you’re the next in line, aren’t you?” He leaned back on his palms, fully exposing his front and the stretch of that chest –

“I suggest you keep that information to yourself,” you said lowly, “because I know everything about this castle and runes are easy to rig.”

The king’s smile widened, he was enjoying this. “I told you, I wasn’t threatening you, so I beg the same courtesy. I just felt like I should be honest about the knowledge I possess.”

“Yes, yes, fine,” you waved your hand in an irritated way, “Can we get to the part you weren’t honest about?” You gestured to the inflamed skin around the base of his neck again.

Namjoon took a deep breath and you didn’t look at his chest. “I passed out at my desk the first night of the curfew. I woke up with the ring around my neck. It hasn’t changed since, doesn’t get worse or anything.”

“Where are you normally after twelve?”

“In here. I would have been in here the first night too, if I’d known. I make sure I’m in my room before twelve. I don’t want the wrong people to find me in the wrong places.

“Do you want to know the only goddamn reason you’re not writhing in agony the way your brothers are right now?” you said darkly. The king raised his eyebrow in question. “It’s two things. You know that door you hide behind? It’s got a protection rune on it, a pretty fucking good one too. But do you know how easy it is to break that rune? A sturdy knife should do the trick.”

You stepped closer, so that Namjoon had to crane his neck to be able to look at you. “Go on,” he said, and you hated that his voice got lower, hated that you noticed.

“The second is luck. Because your dumbass is lucky that I figured it out before the demon did.”

You turned away from the king and scanned the room for a piece of paper and a pencil. The room really was ridiculously big. A bed in the corner, a sofa with chairs, a large desk with a stool, side boards and wardrobes scattered about.

You bounded to the desk, and grabbed the pencil laying ready. You used the first piece of paper you could find and scrawled a rune, accurate to the last degree on pure muscle memory. You crumpled it up and held it out to a confused looking Namjoon.

“Make yourself at home?” the king said with an unsure smile. You rolled your eyes.

“Swallow.”

“What?”

“Take this piece of paper and swallow it. It’s ten minutes of unconditional protection. I’m going to leave this room, I’m going to gather my things, and then I’m going to come back, and I’m going to examine you so that I know what the fuck is going on.”

The king nodded and did as you told him.

You grumbled all the way to your room. Yoongi was at his desk, where you left him, and watched with a frown when you packed your things with a scowl.

“Who pissed in your teacup?” Yoongi asked.

“The king has a red ring around his neck,” you said, “So now I’m going over there to try and examine it. And protect him.”

“Should I come?”

“Tomorrow, I think. There’s not much time left. I know what to look out for.”

Yoongi nodded and let you go.

===

Having Namjoon lay shirtless and at your mercy was an experience. When you scraped a piece of dry skin off of the red area, he made a groan of discomfort that your dumb brain immediately associated with something else.

You were a professional, though, and you acted like it.

“Gods, you’re lucky,” you whispered when you packed up your tools. Namjoon sat up and ran a hand through his hair. He looked at you, fully focused. “Your soul is still with you, unlike your brothers. They chained you, though. One false move from you, one yank from them at the right time, and your soul’s ripped from your body.”

“I’m sorry,” Namjoon whispered.

“What for?” you sighed.

“Being dishonest. I didn’t want you to divide your attention between me and my brothers. I just wanted them safe.” Namjoon leaned his head against his headboard and stared out the window. You wished he’d lock eyes with you so you could see what he was thinking.

“It’s selfish,” you said, nearly scolded, “It’s selfish because the demons want you. It’s all about you. This kingdom is fucked without you, so you have to survive in order for your people to be okay. Putting your brothers before yourself is selfish.” Namjoon closed his eyes and pursed his lips.

“I know.”

“I get it, though,” you said, voice softer than you intended, more sincere, “I would have probably done the same.” There was a silence for a moment. Namjoon looked at you with a glint in his eye that you couldn’t quite place. “I can’t leave your side for a while now,” you eventually said, “I have a rune that can’t be broken as long as I’m close to you. It’ll keep your soul intact and your body healthy, as long as you stay by my side.”

Namjoon just nodded. You eyed the clock; twenty minutes. There was still time.

You grabbed a paintbrush and charcoal paint from your satchel and drew the same rune you had Namjoon swallow on his wrist, with only a few alterations.

“Smells good,” Namjoon said, voice low. You nodded.

“It’s the rosemary.”

Next, you lit a red candle. Namjoon examined it with curiosity. “It’s pretty,” he said and you smiled. You held out your hand and he gave you his own, palm up.

“This’ll sting.” You dripped the wax onto Namjoon’s skin, whispering the spell and consciously pouring magic into the drops. Namjoon hissed, but you were content. It was sealed in for now.

You finished the spell by drawing the same symbol on your own leg, only mirrored. Namjoon watched with interest, but stayed quiet.

“If you want to be comfortable,” Namjoon said when you were done, “I suggest you tuck yourself in. You have two minutes.”

“In your bed?” you asked in disbelief.

“We don’t have time to ready the couch, and the bed’s big enough.” Namjoon rolled over, facing you, and slapped his pillow, getting comfortable.

You kicked off your boots and hesitantly got into the other side. You turned your back to the king. There wasn’t much time to overthink it, anyway.

===

The next morning was a lot more pleasant than the previous one. You were warm and comfortable and very much not ready to wake up. The smell of rain and grass enveloped your dreamy being. You pressed your face into the pillow, wiggled back into the source of heat and tried to cancel out the ringing.

Not ringing. Your eyes shot open. Not ringing, but screaming.

The wall of warmth behind you groaned in displeasure and you nearly yelped with how fast you stumbled out of bed.

“Wha–?” Namjoon mumbled, eyes wide in attempt to see what’s going on. He looked so cute with his puffy cheeks and sleepy eyes that you damn near cooed at him, and you hated that with every fibre of your being.

“Can you not keep your hands to yourself?” you hissed, trying to push down the feeling to squish.

Namjoon looked around, really blinking the sleep out of his eyes, and a lazy smile spread on his face. He didn’t look cute anymore. He looked smug. And so sexy. And you hated that thought even more.

“You were on my side of the bed, princess,” he said and his morning voice made you want to throw yourself out of the window. He was right though. You’d migrated to him some time during your four hours of sleep. You were glad it was too dark for him to see you blush.

“Whatever, get up, I have princes to attend to.” You threw a pillow at him and he caught it, and fell back into bed.

“Then go, I get a few more minutes.”

“No, you don’t,” you said and threw him with another pillow. The king scowled at you. “I have to attend to the princes, and you have to stay close to me if you want to keep your soul.”

Namjoon sighed and stared at the ceiling for a moment, despair in his eyes, before he sighed again, this time in surrender. “Alright.” He got up and tiptoed to his wardrobe. “You can use the washroom first, if you want.” Namjoon gestured to a door you hadn’t noticed at first. You thanked him, and then went to see if you could salvage your appearance.

===

Yoongi was waiting for you in front of the closed door of the princes’ room. You walked quickly, trying to keep pace with Namjoon and his long legs. Yoongi cocked his head when he caught sight of you, amusement spreading in his eyes.

“Good morning,” Yoongi said.

“Oh, it was,” Namjoon purred and whipped your head around so fast you wouldn’t have been surprised if you heard your neck snap. You sent him a look that would have made a lesser man cower. Namjoon just smiled.

“Having your soul separated from your body is a terrible way to go, your majesty, but there are worse ways,” you gritted out. Yoongi snickered behind you. “We have work to do.”

The princes were in much the same condition as they were the day before. Hoseok smiled at you this morning, though. A tired, half smile, but you could only imagine how bright it could be. You treated his wounds the same as the previous day, and you were delighted to see that, even though there were new blisters, the old ones looked good. The balsam worked.

You treated Jeongguk too. Seokjin was nowhere to be found and Yoongi was struggling with Jimin, who looked very bad. Jeongguk was a lot more awake than the others had been. He spoke a bit too, asked your name and told you his favourite colour. You talked back, just to comfort him, to ground him.

“Jimin fights,” Jeongguk said after a long while of silence while you worked. You focused your attention back on him. The prince had spoken in a rush, like he wanted to get it out as fast as possible.

“Is that why he always looks so bad?” you asked. Jeongguk swallowed, but managed to nod. “Jeongguk, do you know who the demon is?”

The prince nodded again, and then immediately started crying. You tried to talk to him, to get a name out of him, but he became hysterical and then Namjoon took over, knowing how to comfort his brother. “I love him,” Jeongguk yelled, looking you straight in the eye.

You moved back, letting Namjoon take over. It bothered you, though, Jeongguk’s words. It felt like you missed something but you couldn’t place it.

Yoongi switched the drips and then approached you.

“Spill,” he demanded. You shook your head and pulled him away, out of the king’s earshot, and told him everything, starting with your encounter with Jeongguk and ending with your encounter with Namjoon.

“Mother, he’s lucky, holy fuck.”

“I told him that, but we don’t want to push it. Have you checked any traps?” you asked, wanting to change the topic.

“No, just the one on the way here and it was empty. C’mon then, we have work to do.”

“Namjoon,” you approached the king, now running his hands through Jeongguk’s hair, now sleeping. Namjoon looked up and you almost did a double take at his teary eyes. He was crying. The king was crying. You laid a hand on his shoulder and gave him a soft smile. “We have a demon to catch. He’ll be okay.”

Namjoon nodded, wiped his eyes, and followed you out.

You couldn’t push down the giddy feeling of going on a treasure hunt, no matter how many times you told yourself that it was a morbid thought.

===

The traps were empty, but you weren’t surprised. It was a game of luck and patience, like a man trying to catch a fish. You needed to wait.

At noon, Namjoon had a meeting with a few aristocrats that he couldn’t postpone or cancel, so you found yourself in a meeting room with your books scattered around you, not paying attention to any of the people in the room.

You caught a few nasty looks from a few of the old men, a few of them looked at you like prey, like they could eat you. It irritated you to no end.

“Your majesty,” a young man said, eyeing you like he wanted to use you and interrupting Namjoon mid-sentence. The king clenched his jaw, but looked at the man patiently, urging him to speak. “I don’t understand what this... girl is doing here, we’re discussing a sensitive things.”

“This has nothing to do with the topic at hand,” Namjoon stated, clearly irritated. “Her presence is not your concern, she is here for my protection.”

“Well,” the man said, “I believe we should vote on whether or not she gets to stay. Your majesty did say that all of our opinions matter and we should vote on all decisions, and I don’t think that someone from the West should listen in on something this sensitive. And you have guards to protect you.”

Two other men nodded their head and looked at the king expectantly, like they were challenging him. Namjoon smiled. It wasn’t a smile you knew. It was a threat more than anything else.

“Lord Lin,” he started, voice soft and pace slow, “if I let this council vote on all decisions, you would never be able to leave this boardroom. Instead, I let you go home to eat yourself to death. While you spend your nights with some poor woman who wishes she could make her living some other way, I stay in this room making decisions that I don’t want to waste either of our time on.” Namjoon’s smile was gone now. He seemed vicious. The man’s eye twitched, but he looked down anyway. “The decisions I let you vote on are the ones I think are appropriate, and even then your vote isn’t much more than a suggestion. Do you know why, Lord Lin?”

The man looked up and shook his head. There were a few people around the table who looked offended and angry, but the majority of the room hid their smiles behind their hands.  

“It’s because I am king, and you are not,” Namjoon said, head high. “So I suggest you don’t interrupt me again.”

The meeting went on after that, except that the young lord kept his poisonous gaze on you.

The rest of the day was less eventful. You dragged Namjoon to your and Yoongi’s room to work on your runes with Yoongi in your vicinity. The king went through documents of his own and eventually Taehyung knocked, asking to join because he felt scared.

You were surprised at the honesty, but you let him inside anyway, thinking that it couldn’t do much harm while the demon was dormant. He curled up on Yoongi’s bed with a book and didn’t say much else.

While Yoongi worked on his staying awake potion, you got further with your runes. Namjoon did give you things the princes loved. Dancing shoes, a ratty, used up paintbrush and a small, metal notebook with refillable pages.

Each of you were too caught up in your own things to really talk to the other.

You were nearly done, having had a major breakthrough in your research, when Namjoon interrupted you. You looked up, surprised at the existence of another human being besides yourself. You blinked yourself back into reality and found Namjoon holding out a hand toward you.

“Come,” he said, “you haven’t eaten all day and it’s dinner time.”

Against your better judgement, you packed everything you needed, including a toothbrush and your sleeping clothes, and followed the king to his room, wishing Yoongi and Taehyung a good night on your way out.

Taehyung responded with a smile, Yoongi didn’t hear you.

The food was amazing, brought to the king’s room by the servants, and you nearly made a noise when you bit into the tiramisu. You didn’t talk much during dinner, but neither did Namjoon. He seemed distracted.

“You’re not very nice to your lords,” you eventually teased after you licked your spoon clean. An embarrassed smile spread on his face.

“I’m not usually an asshole,” he defended, “I treat them pretty good, I think. That’s the most feedback I’ve gotten, at least. But Lin… god I can’t stand him. I miss his mother. She was an awesome woman, would have probably made a better monarch than I did. She died, though, and now I’m stuck with her spoiled little son.”

“He does seem spoiled,” you said absentmindedly.

“You know,” Namjoon said with a soft voice, more serious, “I’m really scared of losing them. It’s lonely without my brothers. Especially when Tae’s been so out of it lately. I miss having honest people around me. I miss talking.”

“You have me.” The words slipped out of your mouth before you could stop it, and you nearly slapped yourself. You were nothing to the king. Not family, not a friend, not a lover. “I mean, until you get them back you can talk to me.” God, that sounded worse. 

Namjoon smiled regardless. A genuine, grateful, albeit a little sad smile. “Yeah. I have you.”

You went back to work after eating, and Namjoon indulged in a novel. And then… a final line and you had a design in front of you that you couldn’t find a flaw with.

“I did it,” you said, more to yourself than anything else. Namjoon shot up and stood next to you in no time.

“You did?” he asked, sounding elated. You nodded frantically.

“Yeah, I think so. I can’t find a flaw. What time is it?” You frantically looked for the clock. Half past eleven. It could be enough time, but if something went wrong, you’d be stuck on demon grounds.

“Don’t risk it,” Namjoon said, reading your mind. “We have plenty of time tomorrow, and we’re no use to my brothers dead. Besides, you can have Yoongi look it over, just… just for another pair of eyes.”

“Yeah,” you said. He was right, of course.

“Let’s sleep,” the king suggested and it felt so intimate that you almost did a double take. “We could use an extra hour.”

You used the washroom to change into your sleepwear and nearly collapsed when you came back. Namjoon was shirtless again, wearing loose pants, ready for bed and it almost made you drool.

You hesitated for a moment, debating whether or not to ask for the sofa. But the king didn’t seem bothered and the bed was so much more comfortable and it really had nothing to do with Namjoon being shirtless again and it hand nothing to do with the fact that you wanted to wake up wrapped around him again and –

You got into bed and turned your back to the king.

“Thank you, Y/n,” Namjoon said, voice low, “For everything.”

“I meant it when I said it,” you whispered, nearly hoping he didn’t hear you, “you have me.”

The room went silent for a hot minute and you started to drift away. Somewhere between awake and asleep, you felt Namjoon move closer, just enough to feel the dip in the bed, to feel the residue of his warmth.

If you were more awake, you would have moved away, but it would have been the logical thing to do, and not that what you’d want. So you did what you wanted, and moved close enough that your back touched his chest.

Silence. And then.

“Good night, princess.” 

[lukneetoonz]

Little Goddess Part II

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Summary: As a newer goddess you think back on how you got to where you are; in the throne room sitting next to your husband, the god of the dead.

Pairing: Hades!Aizawa x fem!reader, DadNyx!Izuku x fem!reader platonic, MomSelene!Uraraka x reader platonic.

Warnings: Shameless flirting, cussing, bakubae threatening people like usual, aizawa being hot, both aizawa and reader talking down on themselves kinda, mean ex.

Word Count: 2,545

A/N: 2nd chapter!! Hope you guys like it! If you didn’t catch on, y/n gifted aizawa the cat version of Cerberus! He didn’t have a guard before and now he does! Also I really hope the tags work this time round!

NO ARTWORK POSTED IS MY OWN AND IS FOUND ON PINTEREST

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You never thought a place so hated and talked down on could be so- beautiful…. The skyscrapers all painted with glass walls it seemed. Even if it was in constant darkness, the moon- your mother’s moon glittered across the river Styx and reflected off windows. Turning to look at your father you smiled in disbelief, how could some place that was described as eternal damnation, be so- sleek? So aesthetically pleasing to one's eyes? “Are We at the checkpoint, or-” Your father laughed at your obvious amazement

“You hurt me, did you really think that the place me and your mother work constantly at could be horrible?” Izuku chuckled at your pouty face “Well I’m sorry that Everyone always makes a big deal about how scary it is here!” You would cross your arms but you still held the cat in your arms. You both arrived in front of the tallest building and you gulped as you stood in front of it “What if the king hates me?” You hear a small chuckle beside you only to be met with golden eyes

“Lemme guess, you’re a new egg?” Nodding your head, you stared at the winged man in front of you but your father was quick to jump in front of you “Keigo! I see you’re working today… this is my daughter, Y/N.” Your father had a nice smile on his face but his eyes were staring keigo down who had a lazy smirk on his face, golden eyes trained on you “Well, aren’t you a gorgeous little thing” The gods words made your father scowl and you blush

“Keigo, she’s young.” The winged god merely snickered “Relax Izuku! I just like to ruffle your feathers sometimes!” He laughed, a smile on his face as you looked at them curiously “You must be who the mortals call Hermes?” You spoke out, the attention on you now and Keigo nodded “That’s correct chickadee, but you can call me Keigo, or Kei for short” He took your hand and kissed your knuckles, winking at you with a small smile as you blushed and nodded, your father staring in disapproval.

“As much as I’d like to catch up keigo, We have a meeting with Aizawa. Y/N is going to be doing some work for him, today is her first meeting with him.” This peaked the blonde's interest as he raised his eyebrow “Ah, well good luck chickadee. Don’t be a stranger.” He smiled with a nod before flying off, your eyes following his movements “Are all gods that nice?” Your question made your father sigh “Be careful around the men… sometimes they get- power blind.”

His tone made you confused, but it made you remember stories of Zeus, or Enji, many affairs with mortals and nymphs, Queen Rei never once able to do anything about it. Nodding, you just walked in and followed your father, taking in the smoothly functioning atmosphere.

*•*

“Why can’t you just do your job quietly and not bother me katsuki?” Aizawa leaned back in his chair from behind his desk and sighed “You’re the God of Death. Your job is to bring the souls here, so what’s the problem?” The monotone voice spoke almost annoyed as red eyes glared, the younger God moving as his grey feathers ruffled in anger. “Because that shitty mail man thinks he’s better than me since you hired him!” Katsuki’s voice strained in anger as he clenched his jaw.

A cigar appeared in the King's hand and he took a couple puffs, before his dark eyes bore into the red ones. Calm anger stirring in them that made the younger God gulp but he still didn’t stand down. “Sit down Katsuki. Since you demand that your complaints are so worth my time, let’s go through this, shall we?” Aizawa’s voice was dripping with cold emotion and Katsuki tensed before sitting down, regretting his decision of coming in

“I hired that, what did you call him? ‘Mailman’, because I saw the population go up in the mortal world. When the population goes up, that means there will be more deaths, correct?” Katsuki moved to speak but Aizawa shook his head, his eyes glowing red in a threat. “I didn’t say you could talk- to be honest, your voice annoys me. So just nod or shake your head.” Huffing, Katsuki nodded as he looked away with a frustrated blush, trying to keep the cough down from the smoke that now filled the room.

“So I do something, nice, and you barge into my office, on MY company time, YELLING at me? I think I’m a pretty reasonable man, there’s never been riots here. No complaints, it runs smoothly, I think that I’ve proven myself to be reliable. Wouldn’t you agree?” The angry king seethed with smoke blowing through his nose, Katsuki only nodded slightly but Aizawa noticed. He always noticed everything. “So if you agree, why come and waste my time when you could've even scheduled a meeting?”

The red eyed man was stuttering, only to be interrupted by some laughing from beyond the office door and in came Hitsoshi, also known as Hecate, followed by Izuku and Y/N. You (e/c) eyes met dark ones that look in desperate need of sleep and a hug, taking a deep breathe you blinked away and tried to hide the blush on your face as you ignored the butterflies in your stomach

“Shouta- I didn’t realize Baku-please just fucking go already, was here” Shinso smirked, earning a glare from Bakugou as he clenched his fist. “You asshole, the next soul I bring will be yours I swear to god-” Before anything could happen, the cat in your arms jumped down and formed into a giant version of itself and hissed at both of them, keeping them apart. Everyone’s attention now on you as you smiled sheepishly.

“Ahem… hi, I’m Y/N, and I’m the Goddess of Monster, and I came to work here with my parents!” Aizawa felt his mouth go dry as he looked at you, eyes quickly skimming your figure and he flinched when he heard a glass picture frame crack on his desk… fucking power losing control. Izuku was by your side and smiling, but also making sure Katsuki and Shinso kept their distance.

“Oh c'mon Izuku, she’s not a child! Look at her-” Shinso smirked lazily as your face grew even redder as you whispered a small thank you. Katsuki tsked and rolled his eyes at you, looking at Izuku with a scowl. “Just because you think you’re some big, don’t expect people to treat her any differently. She’s just some newbie.” Katsuki was grumbling and Izuku huffed at his attitude, but it just made the cat hiss more at Katsuki and nudge Y/N in a comforting way and you finally found your will to speak

“Oh! Y-yes thank you cutie!” You quickly whispered to the cat, before making your way to the king himself and holding out your hand with a smile, “I wanted to thank you for giving me a job, and I heard from my father that you have to stay up guarding the gates to this place yourself, so I made you a little guardian…” Aizawa was stunned and he smiled softly, making every man in the room freeze in their spot as he took your hand gently and shook it. “Thank you… He looks like a Cerberus, doesn’t he?”

You laughed at the name, and oh god your laugh made his heart flutter in a way it hasn’t- well ever before. Looking at you even his eyes smiled slightly before he noticed you two were not alone and he coughed, fixing himself, putting the emotional guard back up and on duty. “But, you really shouldn’t have Y/N…. I hired you because of your abilities and plus every god and goddess that knew you spoke highly of you, so it was a good decision on my part.”

Eyes meeting the ground, you had to bite back the smile on your face as you took in deep breathes, “Well then take Cerberus as my act as your employee. No take backs, plus he really is a sweetheart and he deserves a good owner!” How could Aizawa argue with that? Simply he nodded before looking at the other men and raised his eyebrows, “Well? Don’t you all have jobs? I don’t bite. I just plan on taking her on a door, an orientation if you will.” Nodding, the men left but you father snuck a quick hug before he went. Feeling eyes on you, you looked up and smiled, “I can’t wait to see your kingdom, aizawa…”

*•*

You walked side by side with the king himself, a crown on his head as everyone he passed seemed to hold their breath and straighten up just a little bit more. The sight alone made you giggle, because all these people looked so afraid of a man who smiled so kindly at you, it confused you. “What has you giggling little goddess?” Aizawa’s voice snapped you out of your thoughts and you looked at him and smiled, looking at his raised eyebrows.

“Well… I just- you have the kindest smile I’ve ever seen yet everyone we’ve passed has held their breath and paled like you’re horribly mean. I don’t mean that as offense, I just find that your eyes are too kind to hold any type of evil.” A blush was prominent on your (S/C) cheeks as you finished talking, Aizawa himself seemed to be in a daze. “I’m sorry- that was weird! I didn’t mean to get too personal or weird!” The floor was now deemed more interesting as you started rambling, only stopping when a large hand was placed on your shoulder.

“Thank you… no one has ever said that about me or to me, for that matter, before. It means a great deal…” How he was even forming proper words was beyond him right now because even walking next to you in silence was hard since the smell of your perfume was overwhelming and making his senses go into overdrive, not to mention he can feel your body heat and he so badly wanted to maybe, just maybe, hold your hand. What was he thinking?! He just met you! Fuck fuck fuck- Izuku would kill him- hell he would kill himself for falling for such a young...beautiful… nice… goddess.

“Aizawa-” A hand- no YOUR hand waving in front of his face brought him out of his thoughts and he shook his head cursing under his breath “ ‘m sorry, just got lost in thought…” The soft smile on your face brought his nerves peace. “It’s okay.. we all have those moments! Anyway, you mentioned Tartarus before? Is that one of the places I have to work?” As soon as you mentioned that place, Aizawa’s face grew hard and his eyes were darker with an emotion you couldn’t place. “Promise me you’ll never go near that place little goddess. It’s a horrible place filled with true monsters. And since you’re similar to a fertility goddess, they’ll want to tear you apart.”

Nodding quickly you felt a shiver run down your spine at the demanding tone of his voice and the powerful stance he took. “I promise…” Your voice was a meek whisper and it made Aizawa feel horrible for being so hard on you. “I’m sorry Y/N, I didn’t mean to be so harsh, I just if something happened to you, your father would never forgive me…” and I wouldn’t forgive me, he wanted to scream… but he didn’t want to seem like a creepy old man. Of course it wasn’t weird for gods and goddesses to feel powerful emotions like this but- this was wrong… right?

You merely bit your lip and nodded, before walking forward, “It’s okay ‘zawa, sometimes you can’t turn off being king huh?” Your laughter filled the air and he just followed you as you both continued the tour. Everytime you could, you would sneak a look at the raven haired man, how could someone be so- beautiful? He took your breath away, really every detail was just so pretty, even the scar on his cheek bone, all you wanted to do was touch it and ask him about it then kiss it when he told you.

Sadly, like aizawa, you couldn’t help your thoughts and insecurities get to you as you kept thinking about maybe being flirty, see where it takes you… you were too young, plus you were here for a job! Strictly business! You’d be branded if you got with the king, your parents would be shamed! And if he turned you down what would he think of your parents? Would they lose their work here? Gods you couldn’t do that to them… hell, was he even single?

*•*

“Shoutaaa” A woman's voice made you both jump just as you were coming to the end of the tour, and Aizawa automatically grimace as he saw the green haired nymph. “What do you want Emi?” It was like you weren’t even there as the woman- now known as Emi walked up to Aizawa and flung her arms around his shoulders with a devious smile, “You know what I want…listen I’m sorry for not making it the other week, I was just tired…”

Aizawa pushed her off and scoffed, crossing his arms. “Yeah and I’m tired of you taking me as a joke. You have a job, and you’re lucky you still have that job. Get going” His jaw clenched as you merely looked at the situation, the woman looking taken back, her eyes finally settling on your form “Is it because of her? She doesn’t even look like she could handle you.” Her bluntly lewd statement made both you and aizawa blush before he spoke up in your defense, the lightest blush on his face.

“She’s the daughter of a friend Emi. Not that it’s your concern anyway, but this has nothing to do with her.” Emi rolled her eyes before trailing her fingers down Aizawa’s jaw and clicking her tongue, “You’ll be back.” Her voice was confident and sassy as she turned around and sauntered off, leaving you with a confused face and aizawa looking like he was about to blow. Well… I guess that answers your question. Mentally you just state his relationship status as: ‘It’s complicated’...

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