#she wouldn’t cause she’s modest and possessive but still

[flor4de4amor]

abby do a body shot off of me and bite into my neck challenge!

[crimson-kisses]

What about some yandere Germany AND Nyo Germany? Like how you did with the America headcannons? Sorry if its confusing (>-<‘)

I feel like Nyo Germany would more anxious and clingy towards the darling while Germany is more possessive and sexual-

A/N: It’s not confusing at all, I actually love putting and writing characters together. Warnings for yandere themes. Also I apologize for extremely late content, I promise that I will get to it eventually.

Germany & Nyo Germany sharing a darling.

Both are actually quite different in their character, as they were both brought up in different ways and their historical incidents would make them face even more differences due to their gender. Of course this doesn’t apply in the present, but the result is still noticeable [unhinged and twisted]

While Ludwig is more tensed and has quite a short temper; often demanding. Monika is more of a calmer person, less demanding and worries a lot. They both balance and look out for each other, with Ludwig making sure she doesn’t freak out much while Monika makes sure he doesn’t stresses out much; nonetheless they both end up doing so anyways. I suppose Monika would also be more modest in general but also embarrassed about her feminine tastes.

“Feliciano, if you don’t keep your mouth shut I will choke you with a grape-“, “Feliciano, please quite down”. Ludwig almost rolled his eyes towards his brain as Feliciano visually relaxed, probably because he wasn’t about to be strangled anytime soon, as long as Monika was there to handle the situation. The Italian man nonetheless started flirting again with Katyusha until he got smacked by a really annoyed Gilbert, which caused him to slightly smirk in pleasure.

It was probably Ludwig who first met you, whether it be for business purposes or simply being an assistant in his workplace. Obviously he wouldn’t pay much attention, being busy with his workload, it’s mostly Monika who noticed you. Whether it be your work ethic or your determined yet cheerful demeanor, depends on how you carry yourself which interests her. It’s easy for her to easily be smitten by a respectful hardworking, toned man or a classy woman who can carry herself well.

“Good morning, Frau Beilschmeidt- oh sorry I’m- is it okay if I refer to you as-“, Monika smiled lightly at your fumbling form and nodded. Watching you visibly relax putting her in a more calmer state, exhaustion from dealing with her fellow mates seeped out of her bones whenever she was with you. Always so polite, respectful hard-working and a relatable individual, you were simply so adorable to her. She waited for Ludwig as he talked with you, your instant alertness and intimidated form making her feel and perhaps Ludwig too, quite protective.

You might not notice their intentions to date you since they are quite terrible at flirting, they both would somehow eventually find out a way to lure you to them. Whether it be for help or simply out of interest, their siblings would help too of course. So it’s one person against four cunning, athletic siblings, in case their friends join in too- it won’t be long until you are officially theirs {forcefully or not}.

They both get along really well together, no arguments between them like Alice and Arthur might have, or Marianne and Francis, similar to Alfred and Alfred; the both Germans are close, working together to get you is simply natural to them and would happily share you with each other. No matter your sexuality.

Living with them is quite domestic. There’s no way you are working since there’s no need too, you are taken care of financially in an instant. Gilbert and Maria might live with you as well, probably for emotional support or emotional damage. All of them work, you live in a aesthetic mansion, they have military trained dogs, Monika chooses to work from home and take care of domestic chores that you will definitely be helping her with. Believe it or not, deep not she loves doing domestic stuff with you.

Monika is akin to a mother hen, yes she gets it from her elder sister; she usually fusses over your well-being. Making sure you are fed well and take care of yourself. She will lose her mind if you even have a scratch on yourself, smothering you over small things. It’s overwhelming dealing with a very observant woman who is also very anxious. Yet she is patient, calmer than Ludwig, she wont force you to do anything at first- knowing that you must be very unstable at the moment. Get ready for some delicious meals, soups and being coddled 24/7.

Ludwig is quite protective, over Monika and you as well, he knows that his female counterpart could take care of herself and you. The added security from Maria and Gilbert is a plus as well, but Monika has a tendency of being overly emotional and doing something tragic in the process, emotional meltdowns could occur and you could be trapped in the middle of it. There are strict rules he imposed on you, he is not going to take any chances with your misbehaviors. Provoking any of them is a bad idea and will end painfully.

“Where… where were you going? Schatz? It’s— its rather very- so so cold outside, you could catch a fever- close the door!!“,

Your hands stilled near the doorknob, shaking from build-up paranoia and pure fear coursing through your veins, slowly you turn around, your thoughts running wild and the urge to run away and scream stronger than ever.

There is a thunderstorm outside, with tremendous amount of rain and yet you would rather take your chances with it rather than your captors. Even though your cotton white dress would be spoiled and a hindrance, your open hair a tangled mess, Maria and Gilbert were in a meeting, Ludwig was visiting America and Monika—

You had forgotten, you don’t know how, she should have been sleeping but she must have woken up when she noticed you weren’t there.

And there she stood, her short hair falling into lovely curls near her ears, wide sea-green eyes staring at you with psychotic emotions brimming with tears, mouth parted and held in a grimace, fists clenched, her dress sways because of the storm outside and yours do too.

It was so uncharacteristic. But there she was, feminine, vintage and pretty as ever, as if she was hiding this side all along due to embarrassment, and she trusted you to understand her insecurities—

Her whole demeanor screamed betrayal and you couldn’t do anything about it. She’s alert, she would be ready to pounce at you at anytime, her appearance couldn’t hide and take away her absolute strength. her anger was emotional and not something you could reason with, you can see the gears in her mind turning, quickly trying to find an answer.

She knows but she hopes that it’s all wrong or just a nightmare, you understand don’t you?! You were supposed to understand. then why?!

Why would you hurt her this way?

Your breath quickens and a whimper almost comes out from your throat, you step back hesitantly and claps your hands together tightly against your chest. maybe you could come up with an excuse, maybe you could turn around and run since the door was still open, she would understand! Monika had always been so understanding and sisterly towards everyone. even though she had the upper hand and could catch you in mere minutes.

But something in you didn’t care about that. you wished to escape and run away. You notice the way her eyes narrow, lips set in a firm line and her posture straightening, it was too late. too late to explain and solve the situation, maybe you could cry and beg her to forgive you, show her your tears.

you would rather have her scream (Das ist mir scheißegal!) at you, her hands grasping your shoulders painfully, as she sobs pitifully, her tone dangerously acidic. as she calls you a dummes madchen, whispers curses (Verdammter Scheiß!). because in the end, she ends up never causing you any pain. at least it’s just a few minutes of yelling and mild pain across your body.

Monika would understand.

You catch her clenching her dress further up her thighs and about to march towards you, her face determined and basking in masked fury. instinctively you begin to step back.

She was still stronger, intimidating, faster, and so much more than you— there’s a halt in her movements, and soon yours too.

Monika was forgiving, not so easily but she wouldn’t be so cruel towards you.

Your back hits someone’s chest.

A shudder goes through you as utter fear once again blooms and grips your body in an unforgiving grasp. You feel his breath near your neck and shoulders in his deathly grip, heart beating rapidly and fear being obvious from your petrified expression.

Please no, please, it can’t be; why why why

Ludwig was not all that Monika was.

It can get very tiring with these two; even though the starting would be quite peaceful, they will eventually start to become more intense with their advances, living you very troubled and petrified. Their whole emotional baggage would be upon you and leave you very tired quickly.

Ludwig can be very protective over Monika as mentioned before, making her cry or so would end up with you being punished one way or another. he will not be taking any chances with you even thinking of escaping them, not when both of them are very much in love with you.

Monika would scold you as Ludwig drags you over to their room, then trying to rapidly converse with Ludwig; who is very much pissed, tired, stressed and his head is all over the place at the moment. her rambling about one thing or another is not going to help him go any easy on you, quite the opposite actually.

Monika would opt to watch from the sidelines, as Ludwig would punish you, which would simply be you being threatened or being roughly chained to the bed and sleeping on the floor for now. she would assist him in holding you down as she grumbled angrily at your behavior.

Ludwig would be silent, his anger evident from his bulging veins, eyes narrowed, muscles tensed, jaws clenched and his rough handling of your body, both of them would try to cool down. this was your first time anyways, right? You simply weren’t trained for him and for Monika, you simply felt so afraid and so alone.

Eventually, soft but focused hands would rest on your thighs as a strangled breath comes out of your mouth, tough hands grabbing you from the back and placing you on their lap, you can try to ignore them as much as you like, but it doesn’t work. you doubt it will.

You are shoved between them, your back turned to Ludwig and pressed against his strong muscles body, which fills you with dread and fear because he could easily snap you in half and it scares you so much. His face is buried in your hair, a hand near your stomach and another dangerously near your chest, his legs behind yours. You can feel his heartbeat and obvious restrained feelings down there.

Then Monika places her head near your chest, her hand wrapped tightly around your waist as she mumbled some incoherent bullshit, she presses tightly against your front, legs tangled with yours painfully, the warmth and squirming of her body making you so uncomfortable.

And then there’s only strangled gasps, feeble whimpers and hushed whispers. both of them restraining themselves but you know that it is only a matter of time before they unleash their fantasies upon you. one with Monika on her knees as she pleases you so well from the front and Ludwig making your body shake rhythmically from behind;— you try to close your eyes. and forget.

Both are personifications of a powerful country, very influential and considered to be resourceful members of Europe. escaping them would be very hard since they are mostly surrounded with their Allie’s and not to mention, they are skilled and very tactical people in their own right. stern and desperate lovers who would do anything to keep you with them.

They can be very stressful to deal with and most of the time you would find yourself dreading the worst because of their instabilities. which you often to deal with at the end of the day.

And there’s no fooling them, they are good at detecting lies and are hard people to gain trust of, that and their paranoia won’t allow anything to simply pass by. You will be kept in the middle of the woods in a pretty modern and pretty German cottage and wear traditional cultural clothes. Whether you like it or not.

hopefully this was okay!!! I personally feel as if it’s missing something….

[siriusmydeer]

sirus smut please !

something where they’re like in a secret relationship and nobody know so someone flirts with y/n and sirus gets jealous and possessive but y/n is bratty cos she want the relationship to be public so then he leaves her with a bunch of hickies to show everyone she’s his

or something along those lines 🙈😹😹

his girl

sirius black x fem!reader

summary: sirius gets jealous after evan rosier is caught flirting with you.

word count: 2.0k

warnings: possession kink, kissing, penetration, unprotected sex, breeding kink, dom!sirius, sub!reader, borderline humiliation kink, possessive marking, fingering, exhibitionism, borderline voyerism, mentions of sirius’ family, daddy kink, swearing, bratty!reader, mentions of relationship self doubt/insecurity, hair pulling, one degration, mentions of bad stereotypes.

the great hall was staggeringly boisterous, the teachers facepalming at the noise. every murmur from students flowing through your ear drums hastily, while your eyes glimpsed around the crevices of the great-hall for a certain vermillion-clad gryffindor.

you were well aware you wouldn’t have the gallantry to strike a conversation with him but his mere presence was comforting as you idly spoke to your friends. your irises effortlessly catching the shades of umber, navy, emerald and finally famous-scarlet red. 

but, sirius had yet to arrive to the great hall. you creased your brows in deliberation for a moment on where he could be rather than the great hall, the sly jab on your shoulder becoming known as you turned around the face... evan rosier? you had never had a prominent conversation with the boy, rather just a good morning or a subtle head nod.

it was a mere conversation really, just talk of potions and a bit of charms. but mid conversation, the eldest black brother happened to waltz into the deafening hall where everyone had been munching away, his pearly irises catching a glimpse of your standing figure along with a male one, a scene of what looking like some unkempt, filthy slytherin pushing a lock of hair out of his girlfriends face. 

it was a simple gesture really, to yourself at least; just something friendly from a house mate. but to sirius it was like the slytherin boy was almost aching to get into your knickers. to every schoolmates knowledge, you were single and so was sirius, the both of you not even being associated with each other.

the thought of someone even mentioning sirius with a slytherin would’ve been foolish and illiterate. so sirius as a bachelor was extremely alluring to the peering eyes of hogwarts who were almost desperate to even strike a conversation up with sirius before taking it farther. 

after the intentions were abundant in sirius’ mind he made the overused and reoccurring comment that he had to return to his mates. but even then, there weren't running suspicions that sirius black, true womanizer of hogwarts himself, had a girlfriend. 

he almost felt rageful that another male had been flirting with you, he wasn't shocked of course; you were elegant, the way your hair ravished in the wind, your prominent and opulent features of your face were striking. so he couldn't truly blame anyone for wanting to strike up a ‘conversation’ with you in final efforts to go on a date with them after your polite declines, but sirius could sure be bitter and resentful with anyone who tried.

the gryffindor strode over to the two slytherins, the apple in his eye and the filthy prick. his intentions clear in his mind without rationalizing what your unyielding mind might think of his dramatic reactions.

“oi, sorry to interrupt. just got to steal y/n away for a moment, just some questions on the transfiguration homework.” he tenaciously spoke in a quick pace with a grasp on your forearm, your brows wrinkled at the thought of any transfiguration homework you might've been assigned. 

but, in-fact, there was no transfiguration homework. 

“would you like to explain to me as to why you childishly pulled me away from my conversation, you know that's rude sirius” you puffed at his hast pace throughout the hallways until he had found an uncrowded and more private corridor. 

“would you like to explain to me why evan rosier is flirting with my girl?” he inquired back dramatically, you percerviered his behaviour with an eyeroll and a sigh emitting from your lips whilst you crossed your arms in irritation.

“ahh, that's just it. maybe its because he doesn't know i’m your girl , or anyone for that matter. because what,” you annoyingly jabbered in question, moving your hand to shell around your ear in his direction once you continued to speak, “sirius black doesn't want the school to know he’s in a relationship with.. a slytherin.” you spoke dramatically to prove your point further, removing your hand from your ear and back to be crossed with your other arm.

a scowl carved in his face at your insinuation that he was ashamed to be dating you, when rather that wasn’t the case at all. it was partially due to the fact that he didn't fancy for his family to pry in his private life as he was the only walking gryffindor in the noble house of black. he was privy to their obnoxious behaviour in sticking themselves in other peoples business, and rather minding their noses to themselves. 

but as time continued he was also becoming aware to your petty behaviours at the knowledge that he might've been reluctant and abashed to be with you; the colour you were addressed in the, hues of viridescent, something labeled in the eyes of the hogwarts as malicious and evil. rather than your personality that he had truly undressed as quick-witted, diligent and versatile. 

“alright then, i guess i’ll be showing those pricks who you belong too.” he murmured under his breath whilst shaking the nob of the sterling silver broom closet, your eyes narrowed why he was attempting to open a broom closet in the moment of your conversation.

your question throughly answered by the hostile grip he had on the crevice of your waist, your back almost instantaneously rubbed against the, now closed, oak wood door. the heavy breathing prominent in the small confined space at the touch of his lips on your jugular.

the suckle of his lips was enough for you to grasp onto his forearm that had been hanging in the air from his hand pressed against the door, your body slightly writhing against his chest at his sealed lips on the base of your jugular.

the recurrent bobbing in your throat was extrusive, your mouth emitting minuscule mewls from his extensive afflictions onto your flesh. the small bloom of scarlet now forming onto your skin from the modest graze of his pearled teeth.

“this is what you wanted, isn’t it?” he chided in remark lowly into the shell of your ear before grasping on the curvature of your jaw, his lips suctioning at the centre of your throat; prominent to anyone who would even glance in your direction and being able to glimpse and vermillion how imbedded into your skin.

his nimble fingers jerking onto the small lace against your hip, the glide of the flimsy material of your underwear now clutched against your thighs. his palm remainingly clutched onto the nape of your neck to anchor you against the wall, his opposite fingers dancing north onto the planes of your thighs.

his lips still suctioning across the dermis of your flesh, the pad of his middle finger now pressed onto your swollen clit. the swirl of his fingers emitting a gasp from your throat, his very touch having your hips bucking into the smoothness of his palm.

the graze of his teeth against your pulse point causing you to whimper into the poorly ventilated air of the closet. the pads of his finger sultry dragging down to the folds of your cunt, throughly encasing your cunt around his fingers inside of your walls whilst he was diligently turning your skin to the light hue of maroon from his lips.

“please, please daddy— need you, need you so bad.” you trembled through a jutted lip, your pleas for him extraordinarily clear but your words almost incoherent from the duration jumbled sentence.

“needy baby, you are.” he chastised, removing his hands from the warmth of your cunt; as the feeling of emptiness was abrupt it spewed a whine from your throat. in elation of your sexual yearning, the clutter of his belt hit the stone frigid tiling of the closet along with his ashen slacks; the feeling of his prick erected from the desperate mumbles you had spoken now free from his boxers.

the drag of his cock through your folds had enough effect onto your edged nervous system was tempting, the quiver in your legs and the tremble in your throat from the recurrent whines in anticipation was enticing to him.

the raise of your leg that was bound to his hip was so desirable he wished to see the scene in third person, he could bet billions of galleons on how desperate you looked for him just by the grasp of your fingers onto the dress shirt wrapped around his waist.

his prick was able to collect the dribbling arousal from your cunt, managing to push himself into the depths of your cunt with one roll of his hips. the exceeding breath you took at the collision between his cock and you g-spot was extraordinary.

the pacing moment he took for you to adjust was almost nothing when his hips succeed in a sultry recurrent grinding motion. you wailed at the stimulation of his palms kneading the flesh of your backside between his fingers whilst his hips without falter pulsed into the crevices of your clenched walls.

at his diligent and unwavering thrusts a low and interminable moan escaped the apex of your lips, your mind in a blear, unable to determine anything besides the male that had been promptly fucking your cunt with wavering students just outside.

the groan of pleasure purging from his mouth directly onto the swollen flesh of your neck, the vibrational signals scattering onto your nerves at his decree. his lips directly pressed onto the searing flesh of the side of your jugular whispering the fine words, “i’m going to breed you like my bitch, understand puppy?” sirius inquired.

you whimpered at his precise words onto your skin, the hast nod of your head almost pressing against his flushed cheek. your cunt ever so extremely sensitive you could feel every crawling vein on the thickness of his girth, the intensity of his thrusts only continuing when you were on the brink of your release.

“wanna cum daddy, please let me.” you whimpered into the carnal aroma that was scattered across every atom of air of the confined space, a growing plea for permission to finish going straight to his mind whilst he continued thrust inside of you.

“alright puppy, wanna cum with you. gonna fill you with m’babies, yeah?” he tantalizing questioned, apprehensive to the fact that you would blearily nod in submission to him, and him only.

which is exactly what you did.

the root of your hair nearly painful from his infliction at the grasp on your tresses, suddenly painting your walls with thick ribbons of his pallid, ivory seed. your over-broiled and spilt release occurring right before his own, at the churning meld of euphoric elation on every pending nerve into your blood stream.

his fervidly slipped out from your cunt, fleetly tucking himself away and grasping onto the black flimsy material of your knickers that had been sprawled against your left ankle, now promptly gliding them over your limbs and onto the waistline of your hips; your ashen coloured skirt covering your knickers but scarcely covering the swell of your bum, considering the hem work that had been done since the first semester of the school year.

his release promptly spilling out of your cunt and a small dribble subtle on your thighs, but exceedingly more prominent as it oozed from your lace knickers. you were utterly bewildered at the tap of his fingers against your bottom as he ushered you out of the closet you had spent your previous venereal moments in.

“you wanted everyone to know, hmm? this is what you asked for.” he stated with a smirk at the slight humiliation you were bound to endure at the glinting eyes of hogwarts viewing at the marks almost tattooed into your jugular.

as you wobbled over to the great hall not many people paid any mind to sirius’ hand beckoning you around, besides the same green clad slytherin that had been his trifling pursuits for you, his eyes enlarged at the marks ridden over your flesh.

“oh fuck me.” you muttered under your breath as more people started to glance around the great hall, at the never to be bound together couple standing together in the centre of the great hall.

“already did.”

taglist: @falling-loki @ronbrokemyheart @aricela @inglourious-imagines @kirascottage @five-cups-of-coffee @myloveforluna @abbott27 @hufflepuffsfordraco @slytherclawbitch

[bananaofswifts]

Taylor Swift Turns on a Facsimile Machine for the Ingenious Recreations of ‘Fearless (Taylor’s Version)’: Album Review

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

By Chris Willman

Swift recreates her entire 2008 album literally down to the last note, then gives herself room for stylistic latitude on six never-before-recorded "vault" tracks.

There is no “best actress” award at the Grammys, perhaps for obvious reasons, but maybe there should be this coming year. And the Grammy would go to… Taylor Swift, for so persuasively playing her 18-year-old self in “Fearless (Taylor’s Version),” her beyond-meticulous recreation of the 2008 recording that did win her her first album of the year trophy back in the day. It’s impossible to overstate just how thoroughly the new version is intended as an exact replica of the old — all the way down to her startling ability to recapture an untrained teen singing voice she’s long matured and moved on from. It’s a stunt, to be sure, but a stunt for the ages — mastering the guile it takes to go back to sounding this guileless.

There are two different, very solid reasons to pick up or stream “Taylor’s Version,” regardless of whether you share her ire for the Big Machine label, whose loose ways with her nine-figure catalog precipitated this, the first in a six-album series of remakes where she’ll be turning on the facsimile machine. One is to marvel at her gift for self-mimicry on the album’s original tracks, where she sounds as possessed by her younger self as Regan ever was by Pazuzu. The other reason is, of course, to check out the six “vault” numbers that Swift wrote during that time frame but has never released before in any form, which dispenses with stylistic fealty to the late 2000s and frames her “Fearless”-era discards in production and arrangements closer to “Folklore.” Those half-dozen (kind of) new tracks really do sound like modern Taylor Swift covering her old stuff.

But those original lucky 13? It’s the same damn record… which is kind of hilarious and marvelous and the kind of meta-ness that will inspire a thousand more think-pieces than it already has, along with possibly efforts at forensic analysis to figure out how she did it.

It would not be surprising if, as we speak, Big Machine was putting a combined team of scientists and lawyers on the case of the new album’s waveform readouts, to make sure it’s not just the original album, remixed. Honestly, it’s that close. The timings of the songs are all within a few seconds of the original tracks, if not coming in at exactly the same length. The duplication effort doesn’t allow any detours. If “Forever and Always” had a cold open then, it’s going to have a cold open now. If the 2008 “That’s the Way I Love You” had slamming rock guitars with an almost subliminal banjo being plucked beneath the racket, so will the 2021 “That’s the Way I Loved You.” A drum roll to end the old “Change”? A drum roll to end its body-snatcher doppelganger. And if she chuckled before the final chorus of “Hey Stephen” 13 years ago, so will that moment be cause for a delighted giggle now.

Of course, much analysis will be put into whether the new laugh is a more knowing-sounding laugh. And that will be part of the fun for a certain segment of audiophile Swifties who will go looking for the slightest change as evidence of something meaningful. When “Love Story (Taylor’s Version)” first came out weeks back to preview the album, there were reviews written that swore she’d subtly changed up her phrasing to put a contemporary spin on the song. And maybe they were right, but, having done a fair amount of A/B testing of the two versions of the album, I found myself feeling like I do when vinyl buffs insist there are significant sonic differences between the first stamper version of an LP and one that was pressed a year later. If you can spot those very, very, very modest tweaks, go for it.

But my suspicion is that if Swift has decided to turn a phrase a little differently here or there on this album, or done anything too differently aside from brighten the sound, she’s doing it more as an Easter egg, for the people who are on that kind of hunt, than anything really designed as reinterpretation. Because the last thing Swift wants most of her fans doing is A/B-ing the two versions, the way I did. The whole point is to have folks retire the OG “Fearless” from their Spotify playlists, right? The Swift faithful were already threatening to rain down damnation on anyone caught sneaking an audio peek at the old version after midnight. What she intended was to come up with a rendering so faithful that you would never have a need to spin the vintage album again. In that, she has succeeded beyond what could have been imagined even in the dreams of the few self-forgers who’ve tried this before, like a Jeff Lynne.

Is there any reason to find value in the new versions if you couldn’t care less about the issues of masters and contracts and respect in business deals that made all this strangely possible? Yes, with the first one being that the new album just sounds like a terrific remastering of the old — the same notes, and you’d swear the same performances, but sounding brighter and punchier just on a surface level. But on a more philosophical one, it’s not just a case of Swift playing with her back catalog like Andy Warhol played with his soup can. It’s really a triumph of self-knowledge and self-awareness, in the way that Swift is so hyper-conscious of the ways she’s matured that she has the ability to un-mature before our very ears. With her vocals, it’s virtuosic, in a way, how she’s made herself return to her unvirtuosic upstart self.

On Swift’s earliest albums and in those seminal live shows — at the time when she was famously being told she “can’t sing,” to quote a song from the follow-up album — there was a slight shrillness around the edges of her voice that, if you lacked faith, you might’ve imaged would be there forever. It wasn’t. That was partly youth, and partly just the sheer earnestness with which she wanted to convey the honesty of the songs. She’s advanced so much since then — into one of pop’s most gifted modern singers, really — that the woman of “Folklore” and “Evermore” seems like a completely different human being than the one who made the self-titled debut and “Fearless,” never mind just a woman versus girl. It wouldn’t have seemed possible that she could go back to her old way of singing at the accomplished age of 31, but she found and recreated that nervous, sincere, pleading voice of yesteryear. And maybe it was just a technical feat, of temporarily unlearning what she’s learned since then, but you can sense that maybe she had to go there internally, too, to the place where she was counseling other girls to guard their sexual virtue in “Fifteen,” or wondering whether to believe the fairy tale of “Love Story” or the wakeup call of “White Horse,” or proving with “Forever & Always” that writing a song telling off Joe Jonas for his 27-second breakup call was better than revenge.

If at first you’re not inclined to notice that Swift has re-adopted a completely different singing voice for the “Fearless” remakes, the realization may kick in when those “vault” tracks start appearing in the later stretch of this hour-and-50-minute album. The writing on the six songs that have been pulled up from the 2008 cutting room floor seems primitive, even a little bit by the standards of the “Fearless” album; there are great lines and couplets throughout the rescued tracks, but you can see why she left them as works-in-progress. But she doesn’t use her youthful voice on these resurrections, nor does she employ the actual style of “Fearless” very strictly. Of course, she feels more freedom on these, because there are no predecessors in the Big Machine catalog she’s asking you to leave behind. Her current collaborators of choice, Jack Antonoff and Aaron Dessner, divided the co-producing work on these fresher songs, as they did for the two all-new albums she released in the last year. (The “Fearless” recreations are co-produced by Swift with Christopher Rowe, someone who worked on remixes for Swift back in that era.) They co-produce the vault songs in a style that sounds somewhere between “Fearless” and Folklore”… a more spectral brand of country-pop, with flutes and synths and ringing 12-string guitars and a modicum of drum programming replacing some (but not all) of the acoustic stringed instruments you’d expect to be carried over from “Fearless” proper.

Of the previously unheard tracks, Swift was right — she’s always been her own best self-editor — in putting out “You All Over Me” first, in advance of the album. With its imagery of half-muddy stones being upturned on the road, this song has advanced lyrical conceits more of a piece with the level of writing she’s doing now than some of the slightly less precocious songs that follow. Still, there’s something to be said for the sheer zippiness with which Swift conveys teen heartbreak in “Mr. Perfectly Fine,” which has a lyric that shows Swift had long since absorbed the lessons Nashville had to offer about how to come up with a high-concept song — the concept, in this case, being just to stick the word “mister” in front of a lot of phrases relating to her shallow ex, as if they were honorary titles to be conferred for being a shit, while she employs the “miss” for herself more sparingly.

Some of the remaining outtake songs go back more toward the sedate side of “Fearless”-style material; she didn’t leave any real bangers in the can. “We Were Happy,” the first of two successive tracks to bring in Keith Urban (but only for backgrounds on this one), employs fake strings and real cello as Swift waxes nostalgic for a time when “you threw your arms around my neck, back when I deserved it.” It’s funny, in a good way, to hear Swift at 31 recreating a song she wrote at 17 or 18 that pined for long-past better times. The next song, “That’s When,” brings Urban in for a proper duet where he gets a whole second verse and featured status on half a chorus, and it’s lovely to hear them together. But, as a make-up song, it doesn’t feel as real or lived-in as the more personal things she was writing at the time — and the fact that its chords are pretty close to a slightly more balladic version of the superior “You Belong With Me” was probably a pretty good reason for dropping it at the time.

the 18-year-old Taylor Swift is a great place to visit, but “Folklore” and “Evermore” are the place you’ll want to return to and live, unless you have an especially strong sentimental attachment to “Fearless”… which, sure, half of young America does. It’s not irreconcilable to say that the two albums she issued in the last year represent a daring pinnacle of her career, but that “Fearless” deserved to win album of the year in 2008. Has there been a greater pop single in the 20th century than “You Belong With Me”? Probably not. Did the album also have lesser moments you probably haven’t thought about in a while, like the just-okay “Breathe”? Yes. (I looked up to see whether Swift had ever played that little remarked upon number in concert, and according to setlists.fm, she did, exactly once… in 2018. Because she’s Taylor Swift, and of course she did.) It’s not certain that her duet with Colbie Caillat really needed to be resurrected, except it’s fun, because hey, she even roped former duet partners back into her time warp. But there are so many number that have stood the test of time, like “The Way I Love You,” an early song that really got at the complicated feelings about passion and fidelity that she would come to explore more as she grew into her 20s… and just kind of a headbanger, too, on an album that does love its fiddles and mandolins.

It doesn’t take much to wonder why Swift put up “Fearless” first in this six-album exercise; it’s one of her two biggest albums, along with “1989,” and it’s 13 years old, which does mean something superstitious in the Taylor-verse. In a way, it’ll be more interesting to see what happens when she gets to more complicated productions, like “1989” or “Reputation.” But maybe “Fearless” did present the opportunity for the grandest experiment out of the gate: to recreate something that pure and heartfelt, with all the meticulousness a studio master like Swift can put to that process now, without having it seem like she’s faking sincerity. Let the think-pieces proceed — because this is about six hundred different shades of meta. But, all craftiness and calculation aside, there’s a sweetness to the regression that’s not inconsequential. It harks back to a time when she only wondered if she could be fearless, before she learned it the harder way for sure. What they say about actors “disappearing into the role”? That really applies to Taylor Swift, playing herself.

[thelastdrop]

Personal

The cameras snapped wildly as the celebrities came down the red carpet dressed in some of their finest clothes. This is your first major premier you’re attending as a lead journalist for your small entertainment news outlet. To say you were a little intimidated by the whole thing was a bit of an understatement. You’d always dreamed of being here, but with every reporter looking out for themselves it left little room to admire your surroundings. 

So far many of the stars have arrived and you’d yet to get even a quote from any of them. Just some second hand notes you were able to take while overhearing them talk to other reporters. You know that going back without a single quote to bring to your editor would earn you an earful and probably put you at the back of the rotation for the next event.

Honestly though the best thing about this premier in particular is that one of the hottest up-and-coming actresses is in the supporting role for this film. Your first time seeing her on the big screen took your breath away. She possessed such natural beauty and had a smile that could light up a room. Not only that, but the range of emotions she was able to portray with such control astonished you. All you wanted was to have her wave in your direction and personally you could call it a successful day.

Just as the cameras died down the next car pulled up to the edge of the red carpet. The black limousine’s door is opened from the outside. Through the various heads of different people standing around you, a single long tan leg steps out from behind the door and onto the carpet below it. Almost as if you were in a movie yourself at this moment you see her head pop out giving everyone their first look at-

“IT’S YOO JEONGYEON!” you hear a female voice cry out from the collection of fans lining either side of the red carpet.

A gust of wind blows from behind you, feeling everyone’s attention be drawn to the stunning woman taking her first steps down the red carpet. A roar from the fans quickly erupts as they scream and yell things at the actress. 

While every other actress you’d seen before her tonight was wearing a very gaudy and outlandish dress, Jeongyeon was wearing a very modest outfit compared to them. A white long sleeve button up shirt with a long black collar and black bow with two long ribbons rounded out the top of her outfit. Her bottoms were simply some high waisted shorts with six gold buttons on the front of them.

Smiling that bright smile you vividly remember seeing on the big screen she waves and greets fans, signing whatever they put in front of her. It is difficult to not want to sit there and admire her as she patiently and deliberately takes her time with the fans in attendance. All you could do was hope you’d get the same kind of attention when she finally reached the reports area right outside of the theater.

“Ah looks like we aren’t going to get a statement from her again this time.” you hear a male voice from behind you say.

“Fuck! I really wanted to get something from her I could bring back with me.” another male voice says in response to him.

You turn and face the two men behind you.

“What do you guys mean?”

“What is this your first premier with Jeongyeon?” the taller one on the right asks.

You nod your head in response.

“She barely has any time to talk with reporters because of all the time she takes mingling with her fans,” the other man says in an annoyed tone.

Damn. Looks like you aren’t getting that quote. You turn back and watch as Jeongyeon continues to make her way towards your group at a slow pace. While you’re sad you still find it incredibly endearing to watch her interacting with as many people as she can. If you’re going to write about anything tonight, it’s going to be that. 

Finally Jeongyeon makes her way in front of the photographers and has her picture taken what seems like almost a million times in a few seconds. She then turns and walks in the direction of the reporters, looking down for a moment to recover from the barrage of flashes she just looked at. As she looks up, your eyes meet.

You’re positive she’s staring right at you and not someone around you. Those gorgeous dark brown eyes were locked onto you and your eyes were locked onto her. Just like they had been for the past 15 minutes. A small smirk creeps over her face and she pulls her straight brown hair behind her ear and turns to look forward, making her way past you all and into the theater. 

Jeongyeon whispers something in the man’s ear that is walking beside her. With a quick nod he heads in a straight line towards our group and stops in the middle of everyone, so they can all hear him.

“Miss Yoo would like to say she thoroughly enjoyed working on the film. She was honored when she was chosen for the role and hoped she portrayed her character to the best of her abilities.” 

Groans and moans of disappointment fill the gathering as they seem to once again have been shafted out of another chance to hear from Jeongyeon herself.

“I know, I know. I’ll be sure to tell her she should make more of an effort to come and see you all more often,” he jokes with all of us treating us like we’re some family member that doesn’t get enough attention.

The mood of the crowd lightens up quickly as the next limousine pulls up. Since you know Jeongyeon was your last real shot at getting a quote, you flip your notepad shut and begin to put it in your bag when you notice the same man walking in your direction now.

“Excuse me. Sir!” ye calls out in your direction.

You look around you and then point to yourself while looking at him.

“Yes you,” he says, stepping closer to you so you are next to one another. “Miss Yoo would like for you to have a one on one interview with her.”

“A-A what now?” you ask dumbfounded.

“A personal interview,” he says with a bit of a chuckle. “You know the thing where you ask her some questions and write down her response on your notepad. Don’t you do this for a living?”

“A what now?” you repeat yourself still in a daze at what he’s telling you.

“Listen, just go to this room,” he grabs your hand, puts a piece of paper in it, then closes it, “at the Steel Circle Hotel after the movie is over and knock. Tell her you’re the reporter she asked to do the one on one interview with.”

You look down at the papers crumpled up in your hand then back at him without making a sound.

“Well if you don’t have any questions for me I should really catch back up with Miss Yoo inside. Good luck later.” he says with a slight bow before turning and briskly walking into the theater.

You open your hand and see 3 numbers “829.”

A WHAT NOW?

---

825. 827. 829 here it is. You stand in front of the egg shell colored door and stand there for a moment. Your hands get a little clammy as you look at the looming door in front of you. Could this be some sick prank that Jeongyeon’s assistant is pulling on you? After all that was your first major red carpet event and you aren't sure if this is something that was normal.

Suddenly you hear the elevator doors ding down the hall. The noise causes you to reflexively reach out your hand and knock on the door. Fear washes over your entire body. Your heart starts to race as you wonder if you just made a grave mistake.

“Who is it?” you hear a gentle, feminine voice call out from behind the door.

You stand there and start almost running in place. You throw your hands over your face and drag them down, continuing to wonder if you’re making a huge mistake right now.

“Hello?” the voice calls out again.

“Duhh. Sorry. Hi, I’m the reporter Jeongyeon asked to have a one on one interview with.” you spurt out closing your eyes as you say the words.

You hear the lock on the door flip and the handle move. One eye peaks open and sees the stunning Jeongyeon standing in front of you. Both of your eyes slowly open as you fully take her and all of her beauty in from this short distance.

“You sure got here fast. I just got back myself.” she says with a smile while taking one of her earrings out. “Well don’t just stand there, come on in.”

Jeongyeon holds the door open with her body leaving you a space to slide by her and into the hotel room.

“Ugh, yeah sure. Excuse me.” you mumble as you sneak by her.

Once you’re in the hotel room, you look around and see some personal belongings strewn about the room.

“I’m gonna get a little more comfortable if you don’t mind waiting out here for a couple minutes,” Jeonyeon says as she reaches for her other earring and moves into the doorway of the bathroom.

“No not at all.” you say after clearing your throat.

Jeongyeon smiles and ducks into the bathroom. You hear the sound of the sink running and look for somewhere to sit down. With her clothes and luggage taking up most of the normal seats, you take a seat on the edge of her bed and pull out your notepad and a pen.

“If you wanted to ask me a few questions while I’m in here that’s fine. Just nothing too deep,” Jeongyeon calls out in a semi-seductive tone from inside the bathroom.

“Ugh okay then. Well first off you were great in the movie. I’d heard mention from a few people saying you have a shot at winning best actress in a supporting role this year as they were leaving.”

“Oh that’s such an honor to hear. I really thought the director made it so easy to understand my character and play her role out, so most of the credit goes to him.”

“Personally I wouldn’t be as humble as you. You seem to know just how good you are, but you always pass the spotlight off to someone else. Why is that?”

“Hmmm I’m not sure. I really don’t notice myself doing things like that so often.”

You hear the water stop and sit up straight in your seat.

“I was wondering if you’d like to change up the interview a little bit. I like being more personal in my interviews. It helps me get to know the reports I work with.” Jeongyeon says as she exits the bathroom and comes into your view.

Your jaw nearly hits the floor as you look at her. Jeongyeon stands before you in a set of green lace lingerie. She places a hand on her hip and lets you soak her in for a moment before walking over to you on her bed. Throwing one of her long toned legs over you, she straddles you while lightly placing her arms around your neck.

You can’t say anything as you look the breathtaking woman up and down while she grinds against your lap.  

“Well it looks like somebody wants to have my type of interview.” Jeongyeon coos feeling your cock harding in your pants and pressing against her pussy.

You can’t control yourself any longer. Dropping your pen and notepad you dive into her cleavage, kissing and licking her soft, smooth skin. Jeongyeon lets out a fit of giggles as you wrap your arms around her torso and pull her body further against your own. 

While you love how the lingerie looks on her, you need it off now. You pull yourself out of her heavenly cleavage and hook your fingers under her bra, lifting it over her head and tossing it to the ground. 

Placing your hands under her thighs you lift her before spinning and dropping her onto the bed. Looking down at Jeongyeon hungrily, you make quick work of your already loose tie and shirt. Undoing your belt and dropping your pants you watch Jeongyeon run her hands up the curves of her body before grabbing her tits and arching her back off the bed.

“Hurry up slowpoke. I want to see what you’re hiding from me.”

“Take those panties off and I’ll do a lot more than show you.”

With a satisfied smirk removes her panties as you pull your remaining clothes off. Jeongyeon hums in satisfaction as she sees your cock standing tall. She opens her legs and holds them open, inviting you to enter her.

Crawling over top of Jeongyeon you capture her lips for the first time. Jeongyeon kisses you back and brings her hands to your head, running them through your hair and pulling you deeper in. 

Guiding your dick into Jeongyeon’s wet cavern, the hopeless woman lets out a long, muffled moan as your cock stretches her out.

“Oh fuck baby…” Jeongyeon moans as you slowly slide in and out of her, reaching deeper into her with every thrust.

Her tits begin to bounce erotically in front of your face as your thrusts start to intensify. Wrapping a hand around one, you flick your tongue against her hardened nipple. Soon you feel Jeongyeon wrap her legs around your waist as she holds her body tightly against yours.

You release her nipple and hook your arms under her legs. Placing her ankles on your shoulders, you lean further into Jeongyeon to give yourself a better angle.

“What’s this big boy? You going to go deeper now?” she teasingly asks.

“You ready?” you say while smirking at the sexy woman.

“Fuck yes I’m ready, don’t hold back baby.”

With that said, you start rapidly pounding into her. Jeongyeon's moans get louder and she begins shuddering a bit as she nears her own peak. The sound of your hips hitting hers is music to your ears as you give one almighty thrust and bury yourself to the hilt, feeling her velvet walls tighten around your cock.

"Oh fuck!" she cries out.

With that, hot liquid rushes over your cock coating it in her love as she begins quivering.

You slowly roll your hips in and out of her while she rides out her orgasm. Once her high has subsided, you go back to pounding into her with the same vigor as before. It doesn't take long before the walls of her cunt recoats your dick with another fresh layer of love juice.

"Your pussy feels so fucking good Jeongyeon. It feels like you're milking me for all I've got."

"Don't stop, harder, faster, please. Don't stop."

Your cock grows even harder inside of her as you give her exactly what she desires. She begins clawing at your back and shoulders as you push yourself closer and closer to the edge. With a few more slams, you feel yourself reach your limit as you cum hard within her. Jeongyeon pants as you continue your relentless assault, not allowing yourself to stop until the last waves of orgasm leave you.

The two of you rest there for a moment, basking in the glow of your combined fluids before you slowly slide out.

“I hope you got some material to use.”

A/N - Sorry this one is a little later than the other 2, but it took me a while today to think of a good scenario. But I’m very happy with what I was able to come up with so I hope you all are too. I also once again may have gone a taaaaaad bit over the 2k mark lol. I also wanted to make sure I did Jeongyeon justice for locke since I promised him god knows how long ago I’d do a Jeongyeon piece. 3 down, 6 more to go. Hope you all enjoy reading it~

[candy-and-writing]

Loose Ankles

This is my entry for @darkficsyouneveraskedfor Pre-Code Writing Challenge. I chose the movie Loose Ankles, where a young woman discovers she has inherited her grandmother’s fortune, but only if she can find and marry a man.

Summary: The night of Harlan’s birthday party, Harlan tells Ransom he’s cutting his family out of his will. No one will get a single red dime. But, still seeing potential in his grandson, Harlan offers Ransom a deal.

Warnings: smut, 18+, oral sex, tipsy sex, fingering, unprotected sex, choking, low-key Dom Ransom, fluff, Ransom discovering love and not knowing what to do

I am NOT responsible for your media content consumption. This work is not intended for those under the age of 18 due to explicit sexual content and/or dark themes. By reading this work you agree that you are at least 18 years of age. I do not consent to have my work posted on any third party app or website; if you are seeing this work anywhere other than tumblr and archiveofourown, it has been reposted without my permission.

Unbelievable. Un-fucking-believable. 

Ransom sped down the road, rage seething inside him as he gripped the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles were white. Harlan fucking Thrombey just kicked his family to the curb, his eldest grandson included.

Marta fucking Cabrera was inheriting his fortune. Harlan’s Brazilian nurse. Jesus, this all felt like a bad joke.

But, of course, Harlan wouldn’t just stop there. No, he wanted to make Ransom suffer.

If he could settle down and establish himself, ‘find a nice girl’ as Harlan so blatantly described it, he would give Ransom back his cut of the inheritance. It made Ransom’s blood boil just thinking about it. Ransom Drysdale didn’t date. He didn’t do domesticity. The old man knew that. 

But if it meant he could get his stupid money back, he would do whatever it took. As he pulled into the bar, taking a deep breath, he took his keys out the ignition. He needed a drink if he was going to do this. 

Ransom sat at the bar, nursing his fourth whiskey. There were a couple different girls who looked appealing, all of which Harlan would never approve of. He fished the cherry out of his now-empty glass, waving at the bartender for another drink.

Drumming his fingers on the wood top bar, Ransom caught eyes with a young woman in a booth across the room. You were young, with red painted lips that contrasted beautifully to the black dress you wore. It was modest, the neckline tickling your collarbone and the hem of the dress reaching your knees. A pair of flats donned your feet. You quickly looked away, cheeks flushed and Ransom smiled. You were perfect. Three other people sat in the booth with you, another girl and two guys. You sipped on a glass of rose-tinted wine, your eyes dodging back to Ransom every so often, darting away as soon as you saw he was already looking at you.

Ransom waited almost three hours. The other girl had left with one of the guys, leaving you with the second guy. You didn’t look like you were enjoying yourself—you were fiddling with your thumbs under the table and tapping your foot, smiling awkwardly as the guy laughed at something he said. Something about his dad’s boat. He not-so-subtly kept looking at girls’ asses as they pasted your table, ignoring whatever you were trying to say.

Ransom heard the guy say he was going to the bathroom. Five minutes later Ransom saw him leaving with his arm wrapped around some girl’s waist. You saw it, too. Your face fell. You got up and put a few bills on the table, walking up to the bar. You sat a few seats from him, waving down the bartender.

“Can I get an Amaretto Sour?” you asked, your voice soft and quiet. The bartender nodded as he walked away, grabbing a bottle of Amaretto. You sighed, resting your hand on your chin. Ransom got up, moving to sit in the chair next to you.

“Hey.” He smirked, earning himself a pair of wide eyes and flustered cheeks.

“Um—hi.” You gave him a tentative smile. You thanked the bartender as he handed you your drink, taking a quick sip.

“I saw what happened,” Ransom said. “That guy’s a dick.”

You let out a breathless chuckle. “Yeah, he was. That’s what I get for trusting my best friend’s boyfriend, though.”

Ransom smiled, downing the last of his whiskey. He let out a breath, setting his glass down. He watched as you played with the string of pearls hanging around your neck.

“I’m Ransom Drysdale,” he smirked. You told him your name, a sheepish smile spreading over your lips. He repeated your name, testing the way it felt on his tongue. “Can I buy you another drink?”

“Yeah,” you smiled. “I’d like that.”

You were drunk by the time the bartender kicked you two out. Ransom invited you home with him, his hand resting on your thigh. Your cheeks flushed a bright red, the blush trailing down your neck and to your ears. Ransom smirked at how cute you were, innocent in the way that had his cock throbbing.

“Yeah,” you said. “Sure.”

–

Ransom pushed you up against the door of his house, his lips moving against yours possessively. You whimpered as his hips rutted up against yours, Ransom thrusting his tongue into your mouth. He struggled to fit his key into the lock, turning the doorknob and roughly shoving you two through the door, kicking it shut with his foot.

Ransom grabbed your ass and squeezed, moaning into your mouth. You jumped, wrapping your legs around his waist, your flats falling off your feet. He carried you up a flight of stairs, his lips working over yours. He stepped into his bedroom and dropped you on his bed, watching you bounce before he pulled his sweater over his head.

He leaned over you, kissing you as he threaded his fingers through yours, pushing them into the mattress on either side of your head. He kissed down your jaw, sucking a dark mark into your neck. He grinded his hips against your center, a gasp leaving your mouth. 

Ransom pushed the skirt of your dress up past your hips, revealing your lacy underwear. Ransom groaned, leaning down to kiss your center through your panties as he massaged your thighs. You sighed, your skin tingling. He swiftly tore the lace down your legs, his mouth latching onto your clit. You squeaked, hips jerking off the bed. He licked a long stripe up your intimate flesh, focusing the tip of his tongue on your bud, earning himself a strangled whine from you.

He devastated you with his mouth, lips latching onto your little bundle of nerves as he pressed his index finger to your entrance. He pushed inside just a little and you gasped. Ransom began to pump his finger in and out of you slowly, his tongue working your clit. 

“R—Ransom!" 

Ransom moaned against your flesh, sending vibrations up through your clit. He pushed another finger into you, your thighs clenching around his shoulders as you cried out. The pads of his fingers pushed up against your walls, pressing against a certain spot inside of you that had you choking on a moan.

You were burning up, sweat coating your forehead. The coil in your belly was curling impossibly tight, your body on fire as Ransom teased your bundle of nerves. You began to babble, endless pleas of begging until your voice cracked. Ransom smirked against you, the tip of his tongue teasing your clit and that was all it took. The coil in your stomach snapped and you screamed, your thighs trembling as your back arched off the bed. 

Ransom rode you from your high until it was just too much. You tried to pull away from him, overstimulated. You whined, your voice cracking, and Ransom finally seemed to get the message. He pulled away, his chin slick with your juices as he hooked his finger under your chin, bringing you in for a sloppy kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, overtly earthy in a way that had you moaning into his mouth.

Ransom pulled away from you, placing a quick peck on your lips. "God, you’re so fucking sexy.”

Still blissed-out, you sighed in response, letting Ransom unzip the side of your dress and pull it over your head. He quickly discarded your bra, marveling in your body. He unbuttoned his trousers, shucking them off his legs along with his boxers.

Your breath stuttered in your lungs as Ransom’s length bobbed against his stomach. His tip was painfully red, leaking precum down his shaft. You swallowed, watching as he wrapped his fingers around his cock and pumping his fist up and down his length. He let out a shaky breath, bending down to kiss the valley of your breasts. 

The head of his cock poked at your entrance. He sucked a nipple into his mouth, pushing himself into you slowly. Even after an orgasm, you were still unbelievably tight, clutching Ransom like a vice.

“Fuck, sweetheart, you’re so fucking tight.”

You preened as he bottomed out. Ransom grunted, wrapping your legs around his hips and hugging you close to his chest, carefully rocking his hips up. His thrusts started slow and deep, keeping his pace steady until you’re writhing and mewling for more. His hand reached up and squeezed your breast, rolling his thumb between his thumb and forefinger as he sped up his pace, pounding into you in the most delicious way.

“Fuck!” you cried when Ransom hit a spot deep inside of you, his girth brushing against your walls. “Oh, God! Ransom!”

His hot breath hit your jaw as he moaned into your ear. “You feel so good, babygirl. So fucking good for me.”

His hand wrapped around your throat, pressing down slightly just below your jaw. You gasped, feeling your airway restricted. Your walls fluttered against Ransom’s cock, causing him to groan and tighten his grip on your throat. He cursed into your ear, hips bucking into you. 

You couldn’t breathe. You squirmed violently underneath his grip, whining pathetically as Ransom slammed into you punishingly. The little tears in your eyes and the little noises you make brought something out of him—he squeezed your throat tighter, watching as you writhed beneath him. 

You came with a strangled shout, seizing up and convulsing around Ransom’s length. Ransom dug his fingers into the divots of your hips so hard you were sure they were going to leave bruises. With a growl, Ransom pulled out of your slick heat, hot cum coating your stomach.

Ransom released your throat, crashing down on the bed beside you. You wheezed almost painfully, turning on your side as you caught your breath. With a huff of breath, Ransom pushed himself up, opening a door that was adjacent to the bed. You closed your eyes, still coming down from your high. Ransom came back into the room a moment later with a damp rag in hand, pressing it lightly against your stomach.

You hummed. “What’re you doin’?”

“Cleaning you up, baby, just relax." 

You rested your head back against the pillow, letting him wipe you clean. You were half asleep by the time Ransom laid down next to you, pulling the covers over the two of you. When his arm wrapped around your torso, his heat drawing you closer to sleep. 

Ransom listened to your soft and even breaths, something tingling in his chest. He knew he wasn’t going to kick you out in the morning. Something about you was different. He hadn’t had sex that good in a long time—the way you let him take control and do whatever he wanted. Most girls he brought him were needy and loud, but your cute little noises went straight to his cock. Just thinking about it made his dick twitch.

You snuggled up against him, flipping over and burying your face in his chest. 

Ransom was fucked.

–

"Are you sure this is a good idea?” you asked, fiddling with your thumbs in the passenger seat of Ransom’s Beemer. “What if they don’t like me?”

Ransom sighed out your name. “Will you stop worrying? They’ll love you. And if they don’t, they can fuck off. The only thing that matters is that I love you.”

You and Ransom had been dating for almost a year. He hadn’t talked to Harlan since the night of his birthday. It turned out you were an assistant at a publishing firm in Boston and with a little pushing from you, he published a best-selling novel. He had done everything his granddad had wanted: he established himself without the help of his family’s money and he’d found a girl. A girl he isn’t planning on letting go. Maybe that was why he hadn’t told Harlan about you—he was worried that you’d think you were disposable, that you were just a means to an end.

It was Harlan’s birthday, exactly a year since Harlan had given Ransom the ultimatum. He was surprised how excited his family was to meet you, certain they had an ulterior motive. 

He pulled into his grandad’s driveway, killing the engine. He sighed, leaning back into his seat.

“Listen,” he said. You turned to look at him, concern flashing behind your eyes. “My family is… a lot. Just don’t let them get to you, okay? They’re assholes.”

You smiled. “I know, Ran. Just calm down, everything will be okay.”

Ransom leaned over and cupped your cheek, bringing you in for a kiss. “You’re amazing.”

“Let’s go inside, okay?” You grabbed the pan of lemon bars you made and waited for Ransom to get out of the car and let him open your door for you. 

Ransom opened the front door for you and you were immediately met with shouting. Ransom helped you out of your coat and hung it up on the coat rack by the door, rolling his eyes as Linda’s shrill voice echoed through the house.

“C'mon, I’ll show you to the kitchen.”

You set your pan on a beautiful granite countertop as Ransom opened a cupboard. He fished out some expensive brand of cookies just as someone stomped into the kitchen.

“Ransom?” It was Richard. “Hey, when did you get here?”

“Two minutes ago, you’d know that if you weren’t all busy screaming at each other,” Ransom retorted, popping a cookie into his mouth. Richard frowned, about to open his mouth when he noticed you hiding behind Ransom.

“Hello, you must be Ransom’s girlfriend?” You nodded, smiling at him. You told him your name, stepping around the countertop to shake his hand. “Well, why don’t you come into the living area and meet the family, we’ve all been dying to meet you.”

–

Dinner was loud. You were sitting between Ransom and Ransom’s cousin—Meg. Meg kept picking fights with her other cousin, Jacob, who was always on his phone. Linda was yelling at Joni, Meg’s mother, who was going on about her Instagram.

Ransom kept mostly quiet, laughing when he found something amusing. His hand had taken place on your thigh, complimenting you on your lemon bars. You smiled at him, nibbling on a carrot. 

After Linda served Harlan’s birthday cake, everyone moved to the living area. You took the chance to refill your wine glass, quickly disappearing to the kitchen. You found an expensive red wine and filled your glass halfway, taking a small sip. 

“Hello, my dear.” You jumped, turning around quickly. Harlan Thrombey stood a few feet away from you, holding a piece of cake in his hand. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s alright,” you smiled. “I just needed a refill. I’m not hiding in here, or anything.”

“I’d understand if you were.” Harlan chuckled. “I love my family, but they are… a lot. Ransom seems to be doing well, uncharacteristically so.”

“Yeah,” you laughed breathlessly. “He… he was really worried about bringing me here. He doesn’t talk about his family a lot, and when he does, it’s you—I think he was worried about his parents being judgemental.”

Harlan nodded. “Ransom has done well for himself. I hear he’s writing a second book?”

“He is, started working on it a couple weeks ago.”

“And he has a beautiful young woman. I’m glad he finally managed to get his life straightened out.”

You smiled. “Me too.”

“Hey.” Ransom entered the kitchen, carefully walking past Harlan. “You disappeared, I got worried. Everything okay?”

You nodded. “I just needed a refill.”

Linda started shouting for Harlan from the living room. Harlan rolled his eyes, excusing himself before he left the kitchen. Ransom looked down at you, raising an eyebrow.

“What was he talking to you about?”

“Relax, Ransom. He was just telling me how proud he was of you.”

You watched as Ransom let out a breath of relief. You two left the kitchen and sat on a couch in the living area, listening in shock as Richard and Joni discussed politics. At some point during the night, Harlan called Ransom into his study. He kissed your cheek before he got up, closing the door to the study behind him.

–

“What did Harlan want to talk to you about?” you asked Ransom, pulling on Ransom’s old sweater. It had shrunk in the wash and you stole it before Ransom could throw it out.

“He just talked about you, mostly,” Ransom told you. “Said he was proud of me for growing up, for finding someone like you, etcetera. Just stuff like that.”

You smiled, crawling onto the bed to kiss his cheek. “I really like your family. They’re… eccentric.”

Ransom laughed. “Babe, they’re a bunch of dicks. Don’t try to sugarcoat it.”

You sighed. “I like Harlan. He doesn’t deal with anyone’s bullshit.”

“That he does not. Now, come here.” Ransom grabbed your waist and pulled you onto his lap, kissing you. You threaded your fingers through his short hair, moaning into his mouth. He quickly flipped you onto your back and straddled your hips, pressing your hands to the mattress. You laughed, Ransom leaning down to kiss you again. “I love you.”

“I love you, too.”

[the8gates]

Come As You Are: Part Three

Word Count: 3.2k (on the shorter side but I LOVE a cliffhanger)

Warning(s): None.

Atsuko Kamiyama is 20 years old with no clear direction in life. For now, she spends her days working part-time at her father’s comic shop while her live-in boyfriend, Kakashi, works at a local bar, the Deerhead. It wasn’t the life she imagined herself leading, but she thought that she could at least be content. That is until her ex-fling, Obito, tells her that he has decided on the course his life is going to take. Now, she wonders if any of the decisions she made in the past are the ones that are going to lead her to fulfilment. Torn between emotions so conflicting she struggles to understand them, Atsuko will be forced to take control of her life. And her future.

This story is Part Two of Burnouts

Previous Chapters:

Prologue - Chapter One - Chapter Two - AO3

“What do you mean he wants you to stop talking to me?”

Obito asked, his brows furrowed in confusion and mouth slightly agape. Atsuko sighed, shrugging her shoulders as she stacked manga’s on one of the shelves in the shop. Jiraiya had made the decision to start carrying more of those in recent months because the sales on them far outshined their sales in table top figurines. They still sold some figures, but a couple of their display cases had been replaced with shelves for the books and other anime related merchandise.

“I mean exactly what I said. That’s what he wants. He said it makes him uncomfortable because you’ve ‘seen me naked’.”

Atsuko answered, throwing up air quotes after she settled the last book in its rightful place. Then, she was bending over to open another box, holding the box cutter between her teeth after slicing the tape before rising back up to continue stocking. Obito let out a scoff beside her, turning to lean against the book shelf with his arms folded over his chest. 

“Yeah, well, to be fair, a lot of people have seen you naked.”

He sighed, causing Atsuko to whip her head in his direction, snatching the box cutter from her mouth and pointing it in his direction mild threat. Obito’s eyes widened and he raised his hands in surrender. 

“I just mean. Well, you’re not exactly modest. Which isn’t a bad thing! I don’t care ya know. Your body, your choice! I mean, you remember that time you accidentally sent a tit pic to the group chat instead of me? And we did use to play some strip poker back in the day… So like, the whole group as seen you and like… Ya know what, I’ll shut up now.”

Obito trailed off, starting off strong and panicked, but eventually ending with his head dropped forward in embarrassment. He wasn’t wrong. They were all adults in her eyes and she wouldn’t bat an eye at seeing some of her friends naked, so why would she care if people she knew had seen her bare? Though Kakashi didn’t know that, and if she had it her way, he would never know. It’s not that Kakashi was a prude. He was just a tad bit possessive and insecure. Atsuko hummed in agreement, turning to continue stocking. 

“I get it. But I think his main concern, although he would never admit it, is that you have been inside me, Obito. I don’t really think it’s about the whole seeing me naked thing.”

Atsuko returned, keeping her voice hushed as they had this candid conversation. Despite their falling out, there was no need to be bashful at this point. They knew each other intimately and a fight didn’t erase all of that.

“I mean. You’ve been inside me too.”

Obito quipped, shrugging his shoulders as he fixed her with an innocent expression. Atsuko dropped her head back with a laugh, unable to stop the sound from bubbling up and out of her chest. Still, she shook her head. 

“While it was fun, that’s irrelevant. I don’t know… I kinda get his point. Like if he was still hanging out with Rin, I would be on edge too.”

Atsuko said, the laugh fading away into a bit of discontent. Obito shrugged again, his head dropping back against the book case to stare at the ceiling tiles. 

“Yeah, but you and Rin… there’s history there. Like. Legit beef. So, of course it would make you angry if he was friends with her.”

Obito posed, carefully skirting around the reason for their ‘beef’. 

“So do you and Kakashi.”

Atsuko replied, quick on the heels of his excuse. Obito was good at that. Worming his way out of responsibility by making himself the victim or pulling a never ending list of excuses from his back pocket. It was impressive at times, but Atsuko knew better than to get sucked into that cycle. She was just as responsible for making her relationship with Kakashi work as he was. If he did his part, she should do hers. Obito jerked up and away from the bookshelf suddenly, staring down at her in anger and shock. 

“Wait, you’re not seriously considering this, right? I mean, we’ve had our issues but… Atsuko we’ve been friends since high school. You’re not going to drop me after everything just because Kakashi doesn’t like me, right?” 

Obito questioned, hissing the words out through his teeth as he tried to keep his voice down while also getting his point across. Atsuko sighed, her hand stilling as she slid a paperback into place on the bookshelf. To be fair, their friendship could have ended a year ago. For most people, the incident involving Rin would have been the straw that broke the camels back. Kakashi probably thought that he wouldn’t have to worry about Obito anymore after their friendship had ended in such a shit show. But Atsuko didn’t want to hold a grudge. And she certainly didn’t want to deny herself of one of the only genuine connections she’d had in her life. 

“I… Well, no I’m not. I just understand his perspective, even if he’s wrong and has nothing to worry about. Because there is nothing happening here. And nothing is going to happen. Right?”

Atsuko confirmed, resuming her work and peaking over her raised arm to make eye contact with the Uchiha. That question was more so for Obito’s sake. A subtle reminder that they were just friends and that they could never return to what they had before the falling out. She was solid in her relationship with Kakashi, so her only concern was Obito approaching her out of left field and making things awkward. His dark eyes were wide for a moment, like he was shocked that she put him on the spot. Then, he nodded, furrowing his brow to appear serious as he turned to look at the bookcase behind her. 

“Right. Of course not. He’s just paranoid. We’re just friends who went through a really confusing, fucked up, phase.”

Obito agreed, nodding to himself with that stern look on his face. Atsuko watched him from the corner of her eye, briefly wondering if he was agreeing with her or trying to convince himself. Maybe it was both. She slid the last book into place, running her finger down the length of the shelf to insure that all of the spines were even, before moving away completely to gather the empty boxes from the floor. 

“Exactly… but maybe it’s for the best if we just keep this-“

Atsuko stopped briefly to look up at Obito, gesturing between them. 

“Between us. Or at least… we could stop texting? Kakashi likes to pretend he doesn’t care, but I know he looks sometimes. Not at my messages or anything, but he sees my notifications.”

Atsuko said, gathering the cardboard into her arms before exiting the small aisle. Obito was quick on her heels, scoffing as he snatched one of the remaining boxes from the floor. They turned to walk down to the hallway towards the back of the shop. 

“That’s a fucking invasion of your privacy. Why don’t you just change my contact name? That way he doesn’t know it’s me.”

Obito suggested as Atsuko pushed the back door open and crossed the alley. It was her turn to scoff, tossing the boxes into the dumpster behind the shop, she dusted her hands off before turning to fix Obito with an exasperated expression. 

“Yeah, that’s exactly what I need. If he were to find out about that, not only am I lying to him but I’m actively covering my tracks. Nothing screams ‘I’m innocent’ more than falsifying records. Plus, that would mean we have something to hide. And we don’t. I won’t lie to him if he asks. We’ll just… down play the amount of time we spend together. That’s all.”

Atsuko returned, producing a pack of cigarettes from her pants pocket and a lighter from her bra. She offered Obito one as she lit her own, but he shook his head, his nose wrinkling up at the smell. 

“You okay?”

He asked, changing the conversation entirely. Atsuko furrowed her brow, looking up at him in confusion. But Obito simply gestured to the lit cigarette teetering between her lips, so Atsuko shrugged, waving her hand to dismiss his concerns. 

“Alright… but seriously, Atsuko. This is so fucked. Why not just talk to him and explain that nothings going on? Stand up for yourself.”

Obito said, moving his hands in time with his words so she understood that he was passionate about the topic. Atsuko sighed, releasing a puff of smoke. 

“I have to pick my battles, Obito. A relationship only works if we compromise and work together.”

“When was the last time he compromised?”

Obito spat, and Atsuko felt the anger flare in her chest immediately. Her head whipped in Obito’s direction, but she had enough sense to measure her response. 

“He compromises plenty, Obito. Despite what you may think, we both try our hardest to make our relationship work.”

Atsuko said, careful to not bite his head off completely. Though, the only thing stopping her from tearing into him was the fear of coming across as too defensive. Despite her restrained response, Obito found a hole anyway. 

“It’s just… and don’t take this the wrong way. But shouldn’t a relationship be easy? Like. You shouldn’t have to work that hard.”

Obito questioned, clearly not catching the bite lingering in Atsuko’s tone. The question stunned her in place for a moment, her face screwing up in thought. Eventually though, she shook her head, taking another drag from the cigarette between her fingers. 

“No relationship is easy. Maybe in romance novels and fantasy movies, sure. But not in the real world.”

Atsuko returned, content in her answer. It was one she’d heard her entire life. Movies, books, songs… none of those things showed the hard parts of loving someone. Real love required work and communication and compromise. Even if it hurt at times. There was a silence after Atsuko spoke and she finished her cigarette while staring across the alley at the back door of the shop. As she tamped the butt out against the side of the dumpster and tossed in the trash, Obito spoke up again. 

“Ours was.”

He said, barely above a whisper, and Atsuko was eternally grateful that her back was to him in this moment. She felt her eyes widen and her heart trip over itself as it kicked into hyperdrive. This was exactly what Kakashi had been referring to. It’s not that he didn’t trust her, he just didn’t trust Obito, and now Obito was proving that assessment right. That small comment was an admittance, even if he didn’t know it. Still, Atsuko tried to convince herself otherwise. In the time it took for her to turn back around and face him, Atsuko had moved from angry, to panicked, to amused, and had found herself landing square in the denial phase. 

“That’s because we weren’t in a relationship, dummy. Friends having sex is way different from an actual relationship. You should know that.”

Atsuko returned, chuckling a bit at the beginning of her sentence to tamp down her earlier worries. If she laughed it off, like what he’d said had no deeper meaning, then they could move past it. Just pretend he hadn’t said anything at all. Obito seemed pensive for a moment, his eyebrows knitted together as he refused to look anywhere but the tips of his shoes. Then, he scoffed and shrugged, eyes widening as he nodded in agreement. Atsuko nearly let out a sigh of relief as the energy around them softened. 

“Come on, let’s go back inside. Hidan and the others will be here soon to plan your party and I need you to give me some ideas.”

She added, giving his shoulder a light shove before leading them back into the shop. 

—————————

Atsuko sighed as she kicked her feet up on the worn coffee table in front of her. Already her head was beginning to throb and she brought her fingers up to her temples, rubbing soothing circles to alleviate the building pressure. 

“I really don’t think that Obito wants a bouncy castle at his going away party. So this conversation is pointless.”

She interjected, cutting Hidan off mid-sentence. Konan hummed in agreement beside her, draped in Kisame’s entirely too large jacket as she stretched out on the dingy couch, her legs laid across Atsuko’s lap. 

“But the party isn’t just for him! We’re gonna be there too! And I think hiring a few strippers to wrestle in an oil drenched bouncy house-!”

Hidan started to defend, leaning forward in his chair with his hands on his knees as he raved. Atsuko rolled her eyes, moving to snatch her laptop from the table at the center of their group. The sounds of cheering and whopping poured from the speakers as a video of two naked women mud wrestling played on the screen. She hit pause, closed the tab, and spoke over Hidan in the same motion. 

“This party is not about you and your perverted fantasies Hidan. Get a fucking grip and suggest something realistic, please.”

She huffed, positioning the laptop to rest on Konan’s legging clad shins in her lap. Hidan scoffed and sat back in his chair with a dejected look, but she didn’t pay him much mind as she clicked around on a site offering catering from a local bakery. Obito’s going away party needed to be perfect and these idiots were just making her job as party planner more difficult. 

“Why are you so uptight about this, huh?”

Hidan suddenly questioned, pulling Atsuko’s attention away from the screen yet again. 

“I am not uptight, Hidan. I just want this to be a good party.”

Atsuko defended, and she knew Kisame was going to speak before he even said a word. He titled his head back and forth in her peripheral, sucking in a breath through his teeth. 

“I don’t like saying this, but Hidan is right. The bouncy house idea is ridiculous, but you are being a bit…”

Kisame began, trailing off as he failed to find the word to describe her behavior. But Deidara was quick to fill in the gap, his voice coming from the speaker of Sasori’s cell phone. 

“Bridezilla!”

He shouted and Atsuko felt the heat rise in her cheeks totally unprovoked. The term stunned her in place for a moment, but then she was looking around her friend group to gauge their reactions. Konan tried to stifle a smile where her head laid in Yahiko’s lap, her orange haired boyfriend wearing a similar expression. Sasori and Kakazu were stoic as ever, but they did share a knowing glance. Kisame was blushing slightly, avoiding eye contact with Atsuko as she did her scan. Then, Hidan broke the awkward silence with a bellowing laugh, reaching over to smack Kisame on his massive shoulder. 

“See! Dei’s right. Bridezilla is the perfect word. If everything went the way you wanted, the only people having fun would be you and Obito. And that would only be because you guys would be two busy making heart eyes at each other from across the room to realize how fucking boring the party is!”

Hidan finished, slumping back in his chair with his arms folded over his chest. He grinned like he’d just cracked the code on this whole ordeal, teasing her with sharp canines and a challenging spark in his eye. Making heart eyes at each other? Where the fuck had he gotten that idea? Did they really stare at each other an unnecessary amount? No. Hidan was just trying to get a rise out of her. Atsuko scoffed, slamming her laptop shut and standing in one fluid motion, dumping Konan’s legs into the floor in the process. 

“If you all aren’t going to take this seriously then fuck it. I’ll handle it myself.”

Atsuko said, packing her laptop into her bag as the group let out an array of groans and pleading words. 

“Oh, come on, Atsuko. Hidan’s just being an asshole.”

Yahiko tried to defend, but she was already shaking her head, lifting it to make eye contact with the silver haired bastard in question. 

“I really don’t like what you’re implying by saying something like that. Obito and I are just friends. I am dating Kakashi. There is nothing more going on there.”

Atsuko stated, crossing her arms over her chest as she addressed the group. This drew a collective sigh from her friends. Hidan, however, rolled his eyes and dropped his head back with a groan. 

“Fuck’s sake, you’re so boring now. ‘I really don’t like what you’re implying’. Atsuko from a year ago wouldn’t say that kind of shit. She’d laugh. Ya know, like you’re supposed to do when someone tells a fucking joke.”

Hidan ranted, falling surprisingly somber and defeated by the end. He sagged back in his chair, arms hanging limp from his shoulder sockets as his eyes screwed shut. Suddenly, the bag draped over Atsuko’s shoulder felt awkward. As his words sank in, she realized that all of her friends eyes were on her, crawling over her body and making her skin feel slimy. Had she really changed that much? Become some horrible bitch over the course of her relationship with Kakashi? 

No. They just hadn’t matured at all. She’d grown up. Moved out of her fathers house and committed herself to a serious relationship. Hidan hadn’t done anything with his life in the last year! He was just angry that she was growing without them. Though, was that true for every person here? Every single one of her friends were fixing her with nearly embarrassed expressions. As if Hidan had finally voiced something they’d all had conversations about in private. Just as Atsuko was about to retort and start a fight she wouldn’t be able to finish, her phone lit up on the small coffee table everyone was seated around. A soft chime rang out and everyone turned their gaze to the offending object. 

Atsuko glanced down just in time to see an Instagram notification flash across her lock screen. She was going to ignore it, but a second one came quick on the heels of the first. Then a third. Grabbing the phone from the table, she pulled it up to her face to unlock it and glance at the notifications. As soon as she read the first sentence, her stomach churned violently. 

jxlia_21: Hey! I know you don’t know me, but I wanted to reach out because I’ve been talking to a guy recently and I think it might be your boyf-

Atsuko jerked away from the screen, her eyes wide as she regarded the group. They all returned her wide eyed distress with curiosity, heads tilted as they awaited an announcement she couldn’t make. With her tongue swelling in her throat and her nerves jittering, Atsuko shook her head and tugged the strap of her bag tighter against her shoulder. 

“I-uh… I have to go. I’ll talk to you guys later.”

She said, drawing the sounds of parting lips as several people attempted to speak to her. However, before a single word could be uttered, Atsuko was turning tail and exiting the comic shop at a breakneck speed. 

[liddolwhynot2000]

Falling

____________________________________

Summary: Cause Levi can't help falling in love with you.

____________________________________

Pairing: Levi Ackerman X Reader

____________________________________

Levi sat on a log, elbows on his knees and hands clasped together, staring at nothing in particular. The sun was setting, but he hardly cared to watch it, too lost in thought.

When Kenny had taken him under his wing all those years ago, he had taught Levi plenty of things. How to use a knife, how to make ‘friends’. Some lessons he preferred to forget, while others he latched on to as a way of life. There was one lesson in particular that he would spend the rest of his life following, almost religiously.

Violence is always the answer.

Hungry? Threaten someone into giving you food. Being held at gun point? Kick the crap out of them. Not getting the answers you want? Torture. Rip out their nails. Break their back.

That was the guideline for surviving in the underground. Dominate everyone using brute force. Make a reputation so fierce that only senseless morons would challenge you. Admittedly, it had worked well for him. He had become the top dog in that dreary, dark hell. Able to eat three times a day, wear decent clothes. He, Farlan and Isabel had survived well for a good amount of time. That is, until they had their first taste of sunlight.

In hindsight, taking that mission had been a foolish mistake. He had lost his cherished friends, and while he now got along with his cormades, it just wasn’t the same. Other parts of his life, however, continued to remain as before.

The surface may have lacked the unhinged lawlessness of the underground, but Levi still utilized his usual methods of living, albeit more legally.

In his years in the military, he had used his superior physical strength to instill fear and discipline. Cadets, high ranking members of the military, even the Queen often cowered before him in fear. Any other man would enjoy the thrill of it, reducing the most powerful people in his country into meek versions of themselves, unable to properly look him in the eye.

And he did. A part of him would always be smug about it, solely because underground filth like him, who had been expected to waste away his life, had managed to climb to a position at the top that no else held.

But it was tiring now. He had become so.. lonely. Everyone he had let into his heart left him. His sweet mother, crazy Kenny, his siblings in all but blood, Farlan and Isabel. Here he was, surprisingly wealthy and popular, but missing his precious people.

Alas, he would never let someone in like that again. The rest of his life was destined to be spent alone, threatening everyone in hearing range and dying on the battlefield. And, with a sigh, he accepted this miserable fate.

What he didn’t know was that meeting you would lead to him burning down his self established fate to ashes and dust, with his very own hands.

____________________________________

Why you had even thought about approaching him was incredulous, Levi mused to himself. An exhausted soldier sitting in the dark of a room, staring mindlessly at the table. He had showed no expression on his face but still, normal people would have been scared off just at the sight of him. You weren’t, and that’s how the two of you met.

You had made him some nice herbal tea and brought it to him. Giving him some plain biscuits along with the beverage. He had eyed you suspiciously, not willing to entertain you with even a thank you. Your intentions had been unclear to him at the time.

What was a beautiful woman like you, even Levi privately admitted to double taking at the sight of you, doing offering tea to him of all people. Kindness didn’t exist in people, he had never seen it in anyone besides his mother and Isabel. So you probably had a hidden motive. Maybe you needed a favour? Or were trying to integrate yourself in with the higher ups for better pay? Or maybe one of those dumb admirers that thought they could change him?

Once you left, after giving him another smile and telling him you hoped he would enjoy the tea, he decided to dismiss all thoughts of you. He wouldn’t help you with shit.

He did enjoy the tea though.

____________________________________

For the next two months, he began seeing you everyday. Not by choice, he told himself. He had accidentally made it a habit to sit in that room, all by himself, everyday, at the exact same time.

And everyday, without fail, you would bring him tea and biscuits. Sometimes there was a cake slice, or cookies, or even a nice meal, like rice with boiled vegetables.

He learned about you in that time. Your name, for one, which sounded oddly pleasing on his tongue. You were a garrison cook, tasked with making meals for the garrison engineers, whose office had been established right next to the Survey Corps headquarters. It explained why he kept seeing you everyday. A part of him had been strangley thrilled to hear that, as if the idea of seeing you everyday was something he actually wanted.

You never flinched around him or stuck around to talk to him for too long. Bringing him his tea with that sweet smile, asking about his day, wishing him well. You never made a face or took his obvious reluctance to talk to heart. His short answers and grunts, his crass language, they all had no effect on you. It was clear you really wanted nothing from him. No favours, no urge to get close. You were just being… kind.

And as someone who had hardly experienced genuine kindness in his life, he would let you continue. Besides, it was the first time someone was behaving around him without Levi having to force them. It was too refreshing for him to stop.

____________________________________

Levi eyed the tray in front of him warily. There was a cup of steaming tea, some sugar cubes he could add, a few biscuits and two sandwiches. He hadn’t touched it yet, even though he knew it would taste amazing, much like everything else you made. But he was rather preoccupied, unable to make sense of what he was feeling.

You hadn’t showed up today. He had waited, expecting that knock on the door, your light footsteps as you entered the room, your cheery voice to greet him. Instead, it had been another cook. Levi had scowled as the girl had blushed and stuttered around him, putting the tray on the table, not quite able to talk to him, or look him in the eye.

‘C-captain I was told to give this to you-’

His irritation had shot up through the roof and with his usual impatience, he snarled at the girl, asking for your whereabouts. Initially, he got no solid response out of her, because she didn’t know. But in the end, as she made to leave, terrified beyond belief of him, she said something that had his heart inexplicably stopping.

‘Sh-she might be o-on a date. That’s why- why she didn’t bring it today. I think’

Now here he was, eyeing the delicious spread infront of him. Except he didn’t have much of an appetite. His mind was jumbled up, unable to comprehend why he felt so.. Hurt?

Were you actually out on a date right now? Allowing some shitty lowlife to woe you? He felt resentful, unsure of himself. It shouldn’t matter to him. It wouldn’t matter to him. He refused to allow it to.

With a grimace, he put his feelings aside and began eating. He knew better then to waste good food.

____________________________________

The next day, when you came with the tray, you told him you had gone to visit your cousin who had given birth to a baby girl. The relief he had felt, knowing that you hadn’t been making goofing off with some hormonal piece of shit, had stunned him. He continued to suprise himself, by behaving like he had been possessed. As evidenced by how before you could leave, his hand shot out to grab your wrist and the words escaped his mouth before he could stop them.

‘Oi, stay. Let’s…eat together. ’

Your eyes had widened, no doubt shocked that he actually wanted you around. With a tentative smile, you nodded in agreement, taking the seat next to him. You carried the conversation, with him silently listening and interjecting his own opinion. Somehow, he had even managed to make you giggle, causing a warmth to spread in his chest. Before the two of you knew it, the tray had been emptied of its contents, yet neither of you made to leave for at least an hour more.

Later, while sitting in his chair, preparing to sleep, Levi thought back to when he had held your wrist. He marvelled at how soft and delicate you had felt in his grasp, wondering what it would feel like to have those arms hold him. Would you feel just as soft, pressed up against him? He could tell you would be gentle, he knew you possessed no mean or rough bone in your body.

Fantasising about you, and yearning to feel more of you, he drifted off to sleep.

____________________________________

He hated being on sick leave. Abhorred it. He felt useless, couldn’t do shit. Yet here he was, on a one month leave and it was all becuase of his dumbass titan brat.

Eren had been practicing hardening in his titan form, but had positioned himself wrong. He had gotten out of the crystal carcass too soon, and the damn thing had toppled over the entire crowd of soldiers standing near by. Which included him. Most had made a get away with their gear, but Erwin, having only one arm, hadn’t been fast enough. Leading to Levi having to save him in the nick of time. And fracturing his left arm and spraining his right leg.

The doctor had banned him from strenuous activity and had made it clear that he would have to spend at least a month taking it extremely easy. His Ackerman bloodline meant that, unlike other normal people, he would be completely okay within a month.

That hadn’t been enough to stop Levi from grumbing or threatening Erwin or calling the doctor an old hag. Once his fury had partially subsdided, he grudgingly accepted that he needed the rest.

He had thought of going to live at the modest house he owned, which was near headquarters. It had been a gift from the Queen, for his part in taking down Zeke Yeager. The new beast titan shifter had gained all his memories and had been instrumental in them winning the war against Marley. Last he checked, Connie had been appointed to the Northern branch, his power better utilised there in case of attacks from behind.

Erwin hadn’t allowed him to leave, insisting he had no one to take care of him and that he would probably start doing push ups after resting for a day. Which was true. Damn that bastard for knowing him so well.

So here he was, stuck in his room, waiting on the annoying brats to give him food three times a day. There was a knock on the door, probably a soldier with his breakfast, having no idea they were about to be on the recieving end of his ire. And God help Eren if he was dumb enough to be standing out that door. He called them in, only to freeze at the sight.

There you stood, that precious smile on your face, holding a tray of food in one hand and a basket. He couldn’t care less about anything else, all he could focus on was the fact that you were standing infront of him. He felt enchanted, he hadn’t seen you the entire week he had been forced to spend at the hospital.

I missed her, Levi realized.

‘Good Morning Levi!…’

You began chattering, asking for his well being, handing him the tray of food. You had brought him a care package full of goodies, which included lemon cookies, his favorite flavour.

‘Why are you here?’

The question had been asked with his usual bland tone, but there was an emotion behind it only he could identify. There was an excitement welling up in him, as though he knew the answer already.

When you told him you had heard about his injury and had wanted to visit him, he had felt pleased and touched. When you continued on and told him that you had offered Erwin to personally take care of him with your usual duties, so that all the other soldiers wouldn’t have to divide the work between them, Levi was stunned.

’.. Since we’re friends, I figured this way I could help you out and.. ’

Levi took a sip of his broth, which tasted far better then the stale soup the kitchen usually served, watching you move around his room. Anyone else would have been physically hauled and thrown out the window by now, doctors orders be damned. Yet he felt okay with you neatly folding his blanket, straightening out things that he hadn’t been able to because of his injury, comfortably taking charge of his room.

For a brief moment, he saw a vision of you taking care of him like this in his house, as his wife.

As you sat before him, drawing him into conversation, Levi decided that having the month off wasn’t going to be as miserable as thought it would be.

And he was right.

Seeing you three times a day, enjoying meals with you, you fussing over him because you caught him doing pull ups, your bell like laughter that rang in his ears long after you went back to work, it all made him feel more then he could ever define.

Remembering you bandaging his arms everyday, your hands gentle, expression sympathetic as you shyly avoided staring at his bare, muscular chest, Levi decided he would have to acknowledge what he was feeling after all.

____________________________________

Love.

He was in love with you.

Levi leaned into his chair, setting down the pen had had been writing with. The realization had struck him suddenly and he needed to process it. He had never felt so alive, so amazed.

It had been a year of knowing you, and without even trying, you had made him fall in love with your very existence.

He cherished any moment of time he could spend with you, and you often haunted his thoughts when he couldn’t see you. You were the one he wanted to see first after getting back from a mission, becuase he knew if anyone gave a fuck about him being alive, it was you.

Closing his eyes, he allowed himself to smile, remembering how you had hugged him that one time. He had seen you straight after a deadly battle, covered in blood and small wounds. You had been so concerned, grabbing him by the hand, dragging him to his room.

He recalled how you had been applying alcohol on the injury at the corner of his mouth, causing him to hiss in pain. Frowning, you had applied it more carefully, then brought your mouth closer and lightly blowed air on the wound to reduce the sting. You had either been too caught up in worrying about him or had pretended not to notice, but his eyes had defintiely darkened at having you in such close proximity. Your lips only inches away from his, a hand resting on his shoulder, it had been an effort to not tug on your wrist and seat you in his lap and starting something he had been craving to. Once you had finished helping him and had decided he was in better condition, you had hugged him, a moment he could never forget.

You were shorter then him, so your head rested on his chest as your arms wrapped wrapped around his back. His arms had a mind of their own, immediately taking the oppurtunity to rest on the small of your waist.

Breathing in your scent, burying his nose in your hair, he had savoured the moment. When you pulled away from him, he had frowned, not liking the tears welling up in your eyes.

‘N-never be so reckless again! I got so worried and..’

You had buried yourself in his arms again, silently crying, berating him for being so careless. Your soft form had been pressed against his rough stature, he had never had someone be so gentle with him, care about him this much.

Back in the underground, doctors often had to be threatened into treating him. He had always used force, but there was no need to use any on you. There never had been. And hopefully, there never would be.

Knock knock

Startled, he snapped out of his day dreaming, chuckling to himself. To think he had gotten so lost in his memories with you..you really had become his everything

Expression neutral, he regained himself and called the soldier in.

Now, if only he could somehow tell you.

____________________________________

A/N: I hope y’all enjoyed this! Maybe I should do a part 2? For the confession? Does anyone want that? Constructive criticism is always welcome. My asks are open so pls send requests. Till next time!

[calaofnoldor]

Fake It ‘Til You Make It

Characters: Sam x Reader (gender neutral), Dean

Words: 3,295

Summary: Dean and his lady of the night are being obnoxiously loud, so you and Sam devise a plan of retaliation.

Warnings: fluff, implied smut, wee bit o’ language, mutual pining and other fun tropes

A/N: thank you for all the love and support on “Dean, Don’t” (there will be a sequel due to positive feedback!) tbh, i’m not sure how i feel about this one, but every single like, comment, and reblog is always super-duper appreciated!

MASTERLIST

Another hunt for the books, another bar tab for your fake credit card. Another leggy blonde for Dean, and another evening spent harboring your secret yet ever-growing crush for Sam Winchester. This was becoming a pattern lately.

You'd decided to join the brothers on their last several hunts after bumping into (and nearly decapitating) Dean in a vamp-infested warehouse in Colorado. That night, you bought him a beer to recompense, but he was rather swiftly distracted by the busty barmaid, and you ended up talking to Sam all night instead.

There was an instant chemistry between the two of you, what with your shared passion for monster lore and college dropout histories, conversation always flowed easily and often without end.

Tonight had been no different, from the moment you walked into the rundown bar in Iowa, and immediately placed a bet on the fate of Dean's evening entertainment.

"Twenty bucks says he goes home with that blonde in the red dress over there," you jerked your head towards the woman in question.

"Oh, you're so on L/N. She's way too classy for him. My money's on that short one over there with the space buns."

"Deal," you shook on it, while struggling to ignore the spark his touch ignited.

Three beers in and you had almost completely forgot about your bet, until Dean swaggered over with one arm draped casually around the shoulders of his blonde conquest. "We're gonna head out for the night, see you guys later."

You waited until the front door closed behind them before turning to Sam with a triumphant grin. "Pay up, Winchester," you held your hand out expectantly.

“How are you so good at that? I’m the one who’s been watching him my whole life.” He shook his head with amiable amusement while digging out a twenty-dollar bill from his pocket.

You shrugged a little, “You learn to read people fairly quickly on the job.”

“Y/N, we have the same job.”

You pretended to ponder this fact for a moment, your brows furrowing, “I guess I’m just a better hunter then?” It was an obvious jest, and you both knew it, as evidenced by the wide, matching smiles that broke out across both your faces.

God, how you loved his smile, especially the genuine ones that brought out his dimples and lit up his eyes, but even more so, you adored any smile behind which you were the cause. Those you stored amidst your most cherished memories and replayed in your mind a hundred times over on nights when the insomnia hit… Oh no, had you been staring for too long?

Abruptly, you turned towards the bartender, waving the newly acquired bill in your hand, and proceeded to order the next round.

Fortunately, the night carried on with its jovial tone, and you were almost able to disregard the desire to touch Sam’s veiny forearms when he rolled up the sleeves of his plaid, or the need to run your hands through his luscious locks whenever a wayward strand fell before his glimmering eyes.

“I guess we should head out soon. Dean’s probably gonna want to leave early tomorrow morning.”

“Right, yeah.” At this point, you were feeling a little woozy from the alcohol, and Sam’s hands were suddenly grasping your biceps as you rose unsteadily from the barstool.

“I’m OK,” you laughed it off, but instantly missed the warmth of his palms that seemed to seep through your clothes and set your skin alight. Sam simply smiled at you, yet something in his eyes was so resplendent you felt goosebumps replace the fire along your arms. You must have been staring again, for Sam looked away somewhat embarrassedly and asked if there was something on his face.

Ugh, why did he have such an effect on you? You’d been around plenty of male hunters in the past, some nearly just as attractive, but you’d always managed to keep your wits about you. Indeed, your unrelenting rationality was usually a subject of pride for you, yet here you were, a blubbering mess after a mere touch on the arm and that stupid smile.

Looking down, you grumbled a quick apology and a senseless explanation that involved blaming the booze before you took off.

Sam followed after you, but not before double checking that you had grabbed all your belongings. There was a strong and instinctive urge to look after and protect that stirred within him whenever you were around, and he couldn’t neglect it if he tried.

It wasn’t that you were weak and needed someone to look out for you. Sam knew you’d been more or less hunting on your own for years now, and could certainly roll with the best of them, himself and Dean included. No, Sam knew you were more than capable of taking care of yourself, yet he still could not brush the nagging need to keep you safe and by his side whenever possible.

At times, he felt as if a spell had overcome him and he was no longer in control of his senses when it came to you. It was annoying, really.

Tonight, for instance, Sam could have sworn he spent the better part of your time at the bar glaring down any man who came within three feet of you, foolishly daring to try their chances with you. He was sure you’d notice his strange behavior at some point, but you simply talked the night away with him, smiling that stupendous smile, the one that made him lose his breath.

Everything about you enchanted him, and Sam often found himself wishing he could just dive in and kiss you, hold you in his arms and never let you go. He was sure you could read it all in his eyes by now.

To his disappointment, however, you never gave any indication of reciprocation, always treating him in a strictly platonic manner, whether intentionally or out of ignorance, Sam didn’t know. But he never dared make a move, and he convinced himself that he felt fortunate enough to have you as a friend.

The walk back to the motel wasn’t long, although Sam took deliberately small steps to prolong your time together. When you reached the brothers’ room, your eyes fell upon a grey sock dangling unceremoniously from the doorknob. So Dean had taken Blondie to his motel room.

“How’s that for classy?” you looked up at Sam with a small smirk.

He let out a huff of a laugh and shook his head while staring at the sock. Well, it wouldn’t be the first time he spent a night in the Impala.

“Hey, why don’t you just come over to my room,” you suggested as you motioned next door, “We can chill in there for a bit, wait it out?”

Sam’s eyes shot up to your face. All he had to hear was “come over to my room,” and his brain immediately began imagining all the potential scenarios those five little words could lead to… if you felt even an inkling of what he felt for you. He gulped and tried to reel his thoughts in, meeting your gaze with a dreamy look.

“Um… yeah, OK, sure, yeah. That sounds good. I mean, you sure you don’t mind?” he stumbled out.

You laughed that brilliant laugh, “No, I should probably sober up a little before I sleep anyway.”

Sam nodded, afraid of what words might escape if he opened his mouth again, and the two of you made your way towards the adjacent motel room. He watched as your delicate hands worked the key and instantly took note of the angry red scrapes and cuts along your palm when you turned your wrist to unlock the door.

Brows knit with concern, Sam silently berated himself for failing to take better care of you. He remembered you took a nasty fall when the ghost had thrown you aside to get to the brothers as they burned the necklace that tethered it to this realm. You must have landed on the concrete and braced yourself with your hands.

As you both stepped into the dim and modest room, Sam was about to ask for your first aid kit when you suddenly brought your arms overhead and stretched out your lithe body with a soft, satisfactory grunt. When the hem of your shirt rode up, Sam had to look away to stop himself from staring at the anti-possession tattoo that peeked out above your hip bone. Just that sliver of skin was so alluring to him; he really was in deep.

When you lowered your arms back down, you sent him a small, apologetic smile, “Sorry, it just always feels good to do that after a hunt and a night out in town.”

Sam nodded again, still finding it difficult to come up with the right words, but then he remembered his previous mission. “Give me your hand.”

“W-what?” you stuttered, dumbfoundedly. It was your turn to wonder if you’d heard right.

“Your hand, let me see it.” He repeated, and this time he simply caught your wrist and took your hand gingerly in his, turning it such that your palm faced up, so he could examine the extent of the damage.

“Oh,” you breathed out, slightly relieved, “It’s fine, it’s just a scratch.” You tried to pull your hand out of his intoxicating grip, but he held on quite firmly.

“Y/N, we need to clean these and bandage them so they don’t get infected.”

He had pulled you rather close to him, to the point where you could feel his body heat emanating towards you, and you hated to admit the proximity was really messing with your mind. All you could think about was the deliciously muscled torso that surely lay beneath those layers of cotton, and what it would feel like to run your hands across it.

Sam took advantage of your lack of response and led you to sit on the edge of the bed. As he went to look for the first aid kit, you couldn’t help but admire his backside, especially when he bent over to rummage through your duffle bag in the corner.

When he returned to your side, you quickly closed your jaw and reached over for the cleaning supplies, but he held it out of your reach and grasped your hand again instead. Your eyes met for moment, and almost as if on cue, a loud, lascivious moan came through the room’s thin walls.

Sam felt his cheeks heat up, and hastily averted his gaze. He mentally cursed his brother’s wanton ways, but when he heard your giggling, all was forgiven.

“I guess someone’s having a good time.”

“Yeah, but I don’t think this’ll be quite as enjoyable for you.” He motioned to the alcohol in his other hand with a sheepish smile, “I probably don’t need to tell you this is gonna hurt.”

You shook your head slightly, but still winced a little when he poured the disinfectant over your wounds.

“Sorry, I’m so sorry.” Sam sounded truly remorseful and you chuckled.

“What are you sorry for? It’s not like you threw me to the ground, and besides, you’re helping me now,” you murmured softly.

“Well you did get in it’s way to protect m- us. And I don’t like to see you in pain.”

He meant ‘people’ of course, you told yourself in vain. He’s obviously a nice guy and he doesn’t like to see anyone in pain. That’s why he’s a hunter. Duh.

You were trying, unsuccessfully, to slow your heart rate when another emphatic cry came from the direction of the older Winchester’s room.

“Oh! Oh my god!” The high pitch had your eyes widening.

“You can call me Dean, sweetheart,” came the muted reply.

You and Sam both rolled your eyes before he continued to treat and bandage your hand. His fingers, though rough, were improbably gentle against your skin and frequently sent shivers down your spine. It was all making you quite jittery and you really weren’t sure you could take it much longer. To exacerbate things, Dean and Blondie managed to vocalize their passions on at least five more occasions by the time Sam completed his work.

It was becoming rather aggravating, particularly because you found it extraordinarily hard to look Sam in the eyes or maintain a normal conversation with him when you were constantly getting bombarded by the sounds of his brother and his lady of the night copulating next door.

You stood as soon as Sam let go of your hand, needing to release some energy. “You know what, we can’t just let them dick us around like this all night!”

Sam laughed at your word choice and looked up at you, a fond curiosity shining through his eyes, “OK, but what could we possibly do to get back at them?”

You paused your pacing for a minute, racking your brain for an answer to their impudence. Sam watched as a gleam appeared in your eyes and a mischievous smile took over your features.

“I’ve got it! My friend and I used to do this back in college when our roommate brought dates home and they got a little too carried away. It’s basically a game of chicken.”

Sam raised his brow in question so you continued, “If they’re gonna be obnoxiously loud with their fornication rituals, then we can go at it too.”

“I-I’m sorry, what?”

“It’s simple. An eye for an eye. We don’t even have to make it sound real, just as long as it’s equally loud and disturbing.”

“Y/N, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting? That we pretend to have s-sex?” Sam was feeling considerably dubious about your plan, as he couldn’t imagine himself holding back if you were to act in any way sensual around him, even if it was all make believe.

Just then, another resounding squeal of pleasure travelled to your ears and before Sam could stop you, you took the opportunity to show him what you were talking about.

“Oh! Yes!” You exclaimed salaciously in return.

Sam’s eyes grew as he stared at you in disbelief. Your own eyes were closed and your face contorted to an expression of intense pleasure that Sam had only dreamed about. He couldn’t stop fidgeting in his place on the bed, thankful that the first aid kit still sat on his lap as he adjusted his trousers a bit.

“Y/N, I don’t-“

“Come on, Sammy, join me! Trust me, it works every time.”

Sam didn’t have time to contemplate how much he loved the sound of his childhood nickname rolling off your tongue because a second howl came from the next room, this time lower in pitch, though you were there to answer regardless. “Oh my gosh, yes! Right there!”

If Sam thought the effect that you had on him normally was overwhelming, he was undoubtedly unprepared for the way his body responded to you making ludicrously pornographic sounds not two feet from him. Everything seemed to disappear around him until only you remained and held the entirety of his focus.

“Ooh, faster! Harder, Sam!”

Fuck. You said his name. And you said it with lust in your voice. It was as if all his fantasies had come to life before him in some twisted and desperately maddening form. Something in him snapped, and before he knew it, he was standing across from you, staring fixedly at your face, as you shouted in unison.

“Ungh! Oh god, Y/N!”

“Yes, that’s it! Don’t stop!”

Sam’s deep voice compelled your eyes to snap open. He was already looking straight at you, and you could almost taste the tension.

“Oh, baby! You feel so good!”

You didn’t join him this time. You couldn’t. He had you in a trance, his lips, jaw, neck, shoulders, the way his chest moved towards you when he inhaled, the sheer size of him. It was all too much. So you simply stared, feeling your breath come and go faster than you were used to.

There was a split second, or perhaps it was a lifetime, in which the two of you stood still, eyes locked in a fiery exchange, but in the next instant you both lunged forward, lips and teeth and noses and bodies clashing in a passionate, long-awaited display of carnal thirst.

But the kiss ended far too soon for your liking. “Wait, wait, Y/N. I really want this, but you’re probably still drunk, and I don’t wanna take advantage of you or the situation.” Sam panted hurriedly.

You smiled at his chivalry yet shook your head in disagreement, “Sam, don’t be an idjit. I don’t think I’ve ever been more sober, and I definitely haven’t wanted anything more than this, right now.” Your voice was just as breathy.

Sam moved his hands back to your face and that glorious, dimpled smile returned, “Baby, are you sure?”

The nickname brought a flutter to your heart, “Yes, I swear to heaven and hell, if you don’t kiss me again, Sam Winchester-“

His lips cut yours off in another bruising yet completely satisfying declaration of need. Your back arched and he brought one hand down to pull your waist flush against his solid form.

“Mmph,” you moaned against his mouth.

God, Sam couldn’t handle the sounds you made. A man could only hold back for so long. His enormous moose hands frantically grabbed at your ass, hoisting you into his arms in no time and carrying you back towards the bed.

Let’s just say Dean and Blondie truly had no idea of the spectacular and thunderous show they were in for.

The next morning, Sam awoke with a warm weight on his chest. He looked down to find your slumbering form nuzzled against him, head tucked beneath his chin and legs messily intertwined. A fond smile crossed his face as he subconsciously tightened his hold on you and pressed a loving kiss to your forehead. The feeling of elation didn't fade as he closed his eyes to rest again, but it did recede ever so slightly to the backburner when the door clicked and his brother came barging in. “Alright, rise and shine, lovebirds! That was quite the show you guys put on last night, hope it didn't-“ “Shhh! Dean, shut up!” Sam shushed his brother with a stage whisper whilst scrambling to cover your bare back with the disheveled sheets surrounding you, but Dean had already glimpsed the evidence. “Sammy, you sly dog!” He wiggled his brows, grinning proudly at his little brother, "And here I thought I was the only one who got laid last night." “Dean, get out.” "Yeah ok, I'm gone," he raised his hands in assent. "But tell your sweetheart we're leaving in twenty," Dean added before he finally let the door shut behind him.

His sweetheart. Sam sure liked the sound of that. The corners of his lips struggled not to raise with glee. "Mm, was that Dean?" you mumbled against Sam's chest, fingers tracing the ink of his anti-possession tattoo with half-lidded eyes. "Yeah, just came to tell us we're leaving in twenty." He gave your hip a gentle squeeze "He knows, doesn’t he?" You rubbed your eyes with a yawn. Sam chuckled at your adorably sleepy state. “Yeah, sorry…” he trailed off, unsure of how you would respond to the news.

“Well, don’t be. That just means I get to do this whenever I want.” You lifted your head to kiss him hard, and his hands instinctively cradled your face, pulling you closer until you were straddling his lap and completely awake.

“You know, I think we still have about 15 minutes.”

“I like the way you think, Winchester.”

A/N #2: thank you so much for reading! i’d now like to apologize for this obligatory self plug, but there’s new stuff available at lexicolor.redbubble.com, just fyi :)

[kjack89]

An Agreement Between Gentlemen (Chapter 5/?)

Continuation of the E/R Bridgerton AU, regency-era fake-marriage shenanigan-fest, and we’ve actually gotten to the marriage part! Or, at least, the wedding.  (Chapter 1 tumblr | AO3, chapter 2 tumblr | AO3, chapter 3 tumblr | AO3, chapter 4 tumblr | AO3)

As much as this Author positively loathes to gloat, there comes a time when even the most modest among us must utter those four words everyone hates to hear: I told you so.

Both the Marquess of Enjolras and Mr. Grantaire emerged from their duel with not a scratch upon them and with the Marquess sworn to uphold the honor of Mr. Grantaire’s sister and rectify the situation he caused by joining her in matrimony. As befits the magnitude of the scandal, a special license has been purchased – for who knows what sum – so that the whole affair can be concluded before the Dowager Marchioness even has a chance to book a carriage out to the country to meet her soon-to-be daughter-in-law.

Much to the relief of both the Marquess and his fiancée, this Author presumes. 

Still, a wedding may signal an end to impropriety, but scandals are wont to continue of their own accord, especially when one can hardly imagine the Marquess settling quickly or quietly into married life. A storm is brewing, one way or another, but rest assured, Dear Reader – this Author will be here to cover whatever may come next. LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS, 6 MAY 1831

Enjolras hated to admit it, but he was nervous.

He really hadn’t thought he was going to be, but as he stood at the front of the small, unassuming chapel dressed in the best clothes he could purchase on a moment’s notice from the village, his stomach felt like it was doing somersaults somewhere around his knees, and his palms were sweating so much that he was tempted to wipe them on his trousers.

Perhaps nerves were to be expected. After all, it wasn’t everyday that he got married.

Granted, the wedding itself was going to be a simple affair, just Enjolras with Madame Hucheloup in front of the vicar, whom Enjolras had met once, briefly, the prior day and who had been as drunk as Grantaire had promised, so much so that when Grantaire told him that Enjolras would be marrying his sister, the man did not even hesitate, despite presiding over her burial some two decades prior. He seemed equally drunk that morning, swaying slightly as he hummed off-key, waiting for the ceremony to start.

Joining Enjolras and his not-so-blushing fake bride would be Grantaire and Le Cabuc as witnesses, with only the four of them any wiser to the fact that the entire thing was a farce. Then the only final piece of the puzzle was getting a suitable dowry from Grantaire to give to his mother, and then, finally, Enjolras would be free.

Well, free until such a time came as when he would need to ‘bury’ his fake wife, but that was a future problem, and one he was not inclined to think too closely about at the moment.

Especially when he had much bigger concerns: particularly, the fact that Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup were running late.

He glanced over at Le Cabuc, who looked almost bored, and chanced a look back at the vicar, who didn’t seem at all concerned with the fact that time was stretching on and there was no sight of either of them. Enjolras was just about to excuse himself to go track down Grantaire and Madame Hucheloup himself when the woman in question appeared in the back of the parish, out of breath and – far more concerning – dressed in her usual clothes and not the wedding dress that Enjolras had dutifully purchased to continue the façade, clutching a valise assumedly containing other clothes.

Enjolras frowned and hurried to intercept her. “Beg pardon,” she said breathlessly, her face flushed red as if she had run the entire way from the house. “But there’s been a change.”

“A change?” Enjolras repeated, stupidly. “What kind of change?”

She waved a dismissive hand. “Himself is on his way, he’ll explain everything.”

Enjolras would have much preferred that she explain, but given that she looked like she was about to topple over at any given moment, he supposed the polite thing to do was to walk her to a seat before heading to the back of the chapel to await Grantaire and whatever explanation he brought.

So he did just that, depositing her in a chair before hurrying to the chapel door to intercept Grantaire and find out just what explanation he could possibly—

He stopped in his tracks at the sight of Grantaire hurrying towards him, dressed not in his Sunday best as was anticipated but rather wearing, of all the garments in the world, the wedding dress.

Enjolras was certain his mouth fell open as he stared at Grantaire, temporarily unable to speak. There was a very small, distracted part of his brain that noticed that despite the dress not having been tailored for him by any stretch, it somehow fit Grantaire rather pleasingly.

He shook his head to clear it of that thought and wrenched his mouth open. “What in the bloody hell—”

“Language,” Grantaire chided, sounding stressed as he finally arrived at the door. “We are on consecrated ground, after all.”

It was a patently absurd thing to say, and accounted for Enjolras spluttering in response, “Yes, we are, so perhaps you can explain what in God’s name you’re wearing?!”

Grantaire drew himself up to his full height and scowled at Enjolras. “I’m wearing a wedding dress,” he said. “As for the reason I am wearing said wedding dress, which I believe is more to the point of what you’re asking, you should know. You’re the one who helped pass the damned thing.” Enjolras stared blankly and Grantaire elaborated, “The law was updated recently, requiring one male and one female witness for any nuptial ceremony.”

Enjolras had a sudden, horrible memory of celebrating a law passed through the House of Lords that was meant to help keep young women from being forced into marriage with their father and brother as the sole witnesses, an all-too-common occurrence. Granted, the efficacy of the law remained to be seen, since too many mothers were frequently willing to go along with such plans, but it was a start, and—

He shook his head to clear it. “And so Madame Hucheloup needs to be one of the witnesses,” he said instead, finally putting together the pieces to which Grantaire had been alluding in his usual, maddening way.

“Well, I thought about simply making up a woman’s name and forging the signature on the certificate,” Grantaire said, “but seeing as how I rather suspect that this particular marriage certificate will face more scrutiny than most, it didn’t seem a particularly wise course of action.”

Grantaire was almost certainly correct about that, but still Enjolras felt something like despair. “Was there no other woman that you could get to be a witness?” he asked, a bit desperately.

“Another woman whom I trust with my reputation, and far more importantly, with yours?” Grantaire asked, arching an eyebrow. “At this late of date?”

“Then someone who would pretend to be a bride for the day?”

Enjolras knew it was an idiotic question the moment he blurted it, and the look Grantaire gave him reinforced as such. “If I would not trust them to be a witness, what makes you think I would trust them to exchange marriage vows with you? Even if using a false name, I know not the legal ramifications and I would not have someone trying to take you for all your worth.” Enjolras blinked, fleetingly touched by the lengths to which Grantaire seemed determine to go to protect him – or at the very least, to protect his estate. “No, that was not an option. Meaning the only option available to us—”

“—Is you wearing the dress and pretending to be the bride.”

Grantaire grinned at him. “Personally, I think it looks quite fetching on me.”

As if to illustrate his point, he ran a hand down the bodice of the gown, a hand that Enjolras could not help but follow with his eyes as it skimmed the creamy fabric that dipped and clung in all the right places— “That is hardly the point,” he snapped, tearing his eyes away.

“No, the point is that the vicar, drunk though he inevitably is, will start asking questions soon, so it’s best we get this over with as soon as possible,” Grantaire said bluntly, his smile disappearing.

When he later thought about it, Enjolras could come up with no rational explanation for what possessed him to say it, but somehow, he found himself scoffing, “Quite the romantic, aren’t you?”

Grantaire rolled his eyes. “Romance?” he repeated, exasperated. “Is now really—” He broke off without warning, and Enjolras was surprised to see his expression soften as he looked up at Enjolras. “Enjolras,” Grantaire said quietly, the exasperation gone from his voice and replaced by something gentle, something entirely unfamiliar that Enjolras could not quite put a name to. “What there is between us is the stuff of fairytales, of legend. What Helen felt for Paris, or Samson for Delilah, pales in comparison to the depths of my feelings for you, and were I to search every corner of this world I know that there is no one with whom I would rather share the remainder of my days. Will you do me the honor of joining me at the altar and becoming my husband?”

Enjolras couldn’t help himself – he snorted a laugh. “Very well, I suppose I deserved that,” he said briskly. “But I do hope you manage to find some actual sincerity when saying your vows, or even the vicar might realize this is a farce.”

He offered his arm to Grantaire, who took it after settling his veil over his face so that not even Enjolras could read his expression. “I’m beginning to think you wouldn’t know sincerity if it were to bite you in the—”

“Shh,” Enjolras hissed, and for once in his life, Grantaire fell silent as the two of them traversed the short aisle to take their place at the front of the chapel.

“Ah,” the vicar said, smiling at them both. “Welcome, welcome. We are gathered here today, in the sight of God and—” The vicar let out a loud hiccup and Enjolras bit his lip hard enough to almost draw blood to keep from laughing. He glanced sideways at Grantaire, but couldn’t tell if the man was as amused as he. “—and the witnesses gathered here,” the vicar continued, “to watch as the Marquess of Enjolras and the, er, the…”

He trailed off, clearly casting about for the proper title for Grantaire’s sister, and even though he could not see Grantaire’s face, Enjolras could clearly tell that he was rolling his eyes. “Mistress,” Enjolras supplied helpfully, as it seemed the most appropriate title.

“Yes, that,” the vicar said, nodding at him, continuing without pause, “and Grantaire join together in the bonds of Holy Matrimony. You may face each other and recite your vows.”

Enjolras obediently turned to face Grantaire, hesitating before reaching forward to lift the veil from Grantaire’s face as was tradition. After all, with the vicar no longer facing him head on, it seemed doubtful he would notice that the features underneath were decidedly male.

Grantaire arched an eyebrow as Enjolras lifted his veil, but luckily, made no comment, simply reaching out with his lace gloved hands to take Enjolras’s in his own.

The detour from traditional vows had been Enjolras’s only insistence when planning the ceremony, and he was doubly glad he had insisted on it now, since he was not certain that he would make it through if he had to make the usual promises of honoring and cherishing to Grantaire, especially with Grantaire looking at him like that. Instead, he had opted for seven simple words borrowed from the rather utilitarian vows made by some medieval French men upon joining their households in common purpose with each other.

“Un pain, un vin, et une bourse,” Enjolras said, the meaning as simple as the words themselves: one bread, one wine, and one purse, the three things he and Grantaire would now share, bonded as they were by this ceremony.

Grantaire tilted his head slightly, a soft smile lifting the corners of his mouth. He had told the vicar that his sister would opt for equally simple vows, and had assured Enjolras that Madame Hucheloup would not surprise him. But Madame Hucheloup did not stand across from him now, and Enjolras knew without any doubt that Grantaire was going to say something else entirely, and he half-dreaded what words would possibly come out of Grantaire’s mouth. “Une vie et un amour,” Grantaire pronounced, and Enjolras was surprised that the breath seemed to catch in his throat at the simple words, an answer and a challenge to his own.

One life and one love.

Well, he had been the idiot who had asked for some semblance of romance.

The vicar was saying something else, but Enjolras seemed to have temporarily lost his ability to hear, staring still at Grantaire, at that small smile still on his face, trying to figure out why or how he suddenly had the urge to lean in and kiss that smile off of his face.

Without warning, the vicar cleared his throat loudly and Enjolras jumped before glancing almost guiltily back at him, but if the vicar noticed, he gave no indication of it, simply intoning, “What the Lord has brought together, let no man tear asunder. By the power vested in me by the King and by the Lord our God, I now pronounce you married. You may kiss—” 

The words weren’t even out of his mouth before Enjolras had leaned in to press his lips against Grantaire’s.

It was over almost as quickly as it had happened, Enjolras pulling away before his brain had time to process what had just happened, or what he had just done, and he felt stricken as he scanned Grantaire’s face, looking for some reassurance that he had not made a grave error.

But Grantaire’s face was entirely unreadable as he reached up to again cover his face with his veil before turning back to the vicar, who was smiling at them both in a sort of genial, patronizing way that for some inexplicable reason infuriated Enjolras. Or perhaps it was just that Grantaire had dropped his hands and turned away.

Either way, as the vicar completed his benediction, Grantaire finally turned back to Enjolras, leaning in to tell him in an undertone, “Madame Hucheloup brought some clothes for me. I’m going to change and then we can return home.”

Enjolras nodded dumbly, tempted to ask how they would explain the sudden disappearance of Enjolras’s bride to any onlookers or the vicar himself, but decided it was not worth it. Especially since the vicar took his leave immediately upon the conclusion of the ceremony, mumbling something about being thirsty as he staggered past Enjolras and Grantaire, assumedly heading back to the rectory.

 As Grantaire disappeared somewhere to assumedly change, Enjolras felt slightly aimless, milling about the chapel with nothing really to do besides sign the paperwork, which took about twenty seconds. Without any better option, he approached Madame Hucheloup, whom he reasoned had undoubtedly seen her share of weddings. “I beg your pardon for not asking sooner,” he started, “but is there something I’m meant to be doing for this?”

“Other than standing up at the altar as you just did?” she asked with a smile. “No, m’lord. Ordinarily you’d be greeting guests and such, and overseeing – which is to say, and begging your pardon for wording it such, paying for – the wedding feast, but seeing as how you’ll not be having any festivities…” She trailed off and shrugged. “Other than that, you’d be planning the honeymoon trip, I suppose, but again, I’m not sure what you and Himself have got planned there.”

She gave Enjolras a look that he couldn’t quite interpret and he shrugged as well. “Nor do I, I suppose,” he told her with a tight smile. “Very well. Thank you for your help. You and Le Cabuc can return to the manor if you’d like – Grantaire and I will be along soon enough.”

Enjolras wasn’t entirely sure he had any real authority to give orders to Grantaire’s household staff, but neither Madame Hucheloup nor Le Cabuc complained at the dismissal, simply taking their leave – and leaving Enjolras by himself and feeling, quite possibly, more aimless than before.

While his nerves earlier had been expected, this inexplicable feeling of being unmoored was not. Frankly, as the marriage and the wedding to precede it were both shams, he hadn’t expected to feel anything more than slightly embarrassed at the whole process. But embarrassment was really the furthest thing from his mind as he thought about how he had felt standing in front of the vicar with Grantaire.

It should have felt even more of a farce than just the fake wedding itself, exchanging wedding vows with a man. At the very least, he was fairly certain it was a sacrilege, or making a mockery of the sacrament itself.

And yet, it hadn’t felt that way.

Enjolras had never pondered his nuptials save as a thing to be dreaded, had never pictured himself facing some faceless woman and binding himself to her, so he had no frame of reference for how others might have anticipated feeling, but he wondered if others also discovered upon their wedding day that it just felt...right. Like something he was meant to do.

Were he more inclined toward the philosophical, he might’ve wondered if there was a deeper meaning he should be reading into that, or if this should inspire some deeper questions about fate or predestination, but Enjolras had never been one for such discussions, preferring to focus on the here and now, the tangible ways in which he could affect change. And he did not dwell on them now, instead shaking his head once more to clear it of errant thoughts before going to find Grantaire to see what could possibly be taking him so long to get changed.

He did not find him at all in the chapel and was about to give up and head back to the house alone when he caught sight of a lone figure standing out in the small cemetery next to the chapel. Even without being able to make out any of his features, he could tell it was Grantaire, and he frowned slightly before heading over to join him.

“Grantaire?” he called when he finally drew close, and Grantaire looked up, startled.

“My apologies,” he said, something like guilt flashing across his face. “I completely forgot I had offered to walk back up with you.”

Enjolras’s frown deepened, because something about Grantaire seemed off. Not just that he was back in his usual clothes, though that was certainly a brief disappointment to Enjolras, but something about the set of his shoulders and the tired look on his face. He glanced at the small, unadorned stone Grantaire stood in front of, sudden realization hitting as he read the name: Adélaïde Grantaire.

“My sister,” Grantaire said, unnecessarily. “I just wanted a moment with her. She—” His voice broke and he coughed, once, as if to try to hide it. “She would have been greatly amused by today, I think.”

“The idea of you in a wedding dress?” Enjolras guessed, aiming for levity.

But Grantaire shook his head. “The idea of me getting married at all, really,” he said with a short, dry laugh. “We used to joke about it, her and I, when we were small. She told me that a handsome prince would come along and save her from her suffering, and I would tease that I would marry a handsome prince, too, and we would be princesses together.” He shook his head again, but fondly this time. “Hence why she would get great amusement at my marrying a Marquess in her name.” His smile faded. “Sadly, there was no prince in this or any land who could have saved her, no matter how many stars she wished upon.”

Enjolras bowed his head in understanding. “May I ask how she died?” he asked quietly, hoping Grantaire would not think he was intruding. He had refused to talk about his sister earlier, but Enjolras felt like something had changed between them and he might be willing to say a bit more.

Grantaire just shrugged. “She was very ill for much of our childhood,” he said matter-of-factly. “She and my mother were stricken with fever at her birth – my mother succumbed to it. Adélaïde got better, so to speak, but she was never truly healthy. Then when she was nine…” He trailed off before taking a deep, shuddering breath. “It was quick, at least, in the end. Which was a comfort in its own way.”

Enjolras wished he had some eloquent words of comfort to offer, but he felt tongue-tied instead. So in lieu of words, he reached out and gently rested his hand on Grantaire’s shoulder, squeezing it once before letting it fall back to his side. Then he cleared his throat. “So she wanted to be saved from illness...what did you hope your handsome prince would save you from?”

“My father.” Grantaire flinched, whether from the words or from the memories they stirred. “He...he did not like me much. He was mostly indifferent to Adélaïde, but he seemed to find fault with everything I did.”

“He beat you.”

Enjolras said the words evenly, but his vision seemed to flash red in front of his eyes at the thought. Any parent hitting their child was a heinous thought, but for some reason, the idea of Grantaire as a child making desperate wishes to escape with his ill sister made his blood boil.

“Well, he rarely carried it out himself, but yes,” Grantaire said, his tone turning matter-of-fact again “And after she died, it got worse. Thankfully, when I went off to school, he was stationed abroad, and has never returned.” He snorted a humorless laugh. “God only knows how disappointed he would be if he could see me today, but I think he and I are both content to pretend the other does not exist.”

Enjolras was not so content, knowing that there was a man out there somewhere with such little regard for his own son, and it took him a moment before he could manage a response. “If he ever comes back, I’ll kill him.”

Grantaire looked sharply at him, searching his expression for a moment before his own softened. “A noble offer, but I don’t think we’re in much danger of that happening.” He nudged Enjolras lightly with his elbow. “Thank you, though.”

“It is the least I can do...as your husband.” Grantaire laughed and Enjolras hesitated before adding, “I promise this arrangement involving your sister, and now you, I suppose, will be only temporary. As soon as everything is handled with my mother, I will find us both a way out of this so that you can return to your memories of her in peace.”

Grantaire shook his head. “I rather wish you wouldn’t,” he said, as if confessing a secret. “It’s been surprisingly pleasant, sharing a devious plot with you. And...sharing this part of myself with someone as well.” He gestured towards his sister’s grave before giving Enjolras a hesitant smile. “Besides, I’m certain our friends would hate for us to return to our usual animosity.”

“Our friends can adjust,” Enjolras muttered.

Grantaire laughed again. “Even so,” he said, before adding, with a beatific smile and a fluttering of his eyelashes in what he clearly deemed an alluring way, “Besides, you can’t be rid of me so quickly. After all, we haven’t even had a chance to have our wedding night yet.” Enjolras blanched and Grantaire laughed once more. “Now come, it’s time we returned to the house before Madame Hucheloup sends a search party after us.”

They started off together, silence stretching between them for a few minutes before Enjolras remarked, off-handedly, “Do you know, I believe that was the first time you’ve called me by my name.”

Grantaire frowned. “When?”

“When you were doing your little mocking proposal.” Enjolras gave him a look. “Normally you call me ‘my lord’ or ‘Apollo’ or some other asinine nickname.”

“I’m sure I have called you by your name before,” Grantaire scoffed, but he didn’t quite meet Enjolras’s eyes when he said it.

Enjolras wanted to counter that, and drag the matter into their usual bickering as a way to pass the time, but something caused him to hold his tongue. And as they made their way back up to the manor, he could not help but notice that the time passed just as easily in companionable silence, and that their hands kept brushing against each other as they walked.

[azulirawrites]

Favors of A. Blight Ch. 1

Rating: High T/Low M Word Count: 2,821 Contains: Mentions of Drug Use and Abuse, Mentions of Child Neglect, Domestic Abuse, Heavily Implied Character Death by Suffocation (You don’t see the death, but you do see the actions leading up to it) Nobody went outside when it rained on the Boiling Isles. To do so was extremely dangerous, even if one had the proper protections. Needless to say, the residents of the Owl House were surprised when Hooty swung open, announcing, “Luz, that mean friend of yours is here! And she brought friends for me!” On the other side of the threshold, only barely inside the barrier Lilith had managed to conjure that afternoon, were the Blight siblings, huddled together, underneath a massive Abomination.

“Amity!” Luz shouted, vaulting off the couch to latch onto her friend, “Are you ok? It’s raining!” She quickly pulled Amity inside, with Amity’s grip on her elder siblings dragging them in after her.

“Baby Blights?” Eda questioned, “What's going on? Did Odalia see sending your kids out to get mauled by the weather becoming the latest fashion in that busted crystal ball of hers?" When there was no response, beyond Luz shooting her a glare, Eda prodded more, "Seriously kids. What possessed you to come here in this weather? This place isn't exactly 'Blight Appropriate'." As Eda made air quotes, Amity practically collapsed into Luz on the sofa, and so did her Abomination, loosing three bags just inside the doorway as it collapsed into a puddle of goop and boiling water. "Ah, crap. Bug out bags."

"Bug out bags?" Luz questioned, worry creasing her brow as she laid Amity safely on the couch. 

"I guess," Edric mumbles, his eyes focused on Amity as he and Emira huddled together tightly. 

"How long have you had them?" Eda asks, watching the twins. 

"Father packed them," it was Emira who answered, perhaps slightly too loudly, as she quieted her next words, "he gave them to us today. Before he sent us out in the rain."

"Hooty, wake Lily," Eda commanded.

"One Lulu, coming up!" Hooty agreed, almost gleeful as he shut himself.

"Luz, go pour three glasses of apple blood." 

"But-" Luz tried to argue

"Now," Eda didn't leave room for argument, and Luz reluctantly got up, casting a look at the gently displaced form of Amity, and then the twins, before making her way to the kitchen.

"We don't drink apple blood," Emira said, before quietly adding, "Mother doesn't allow it."

"Hypocrite," Eda muttered, before saying, "it's not for you. It's gonna keep me up, wake up Lily, and hopefully keep the kid from the worst of the burnout." Neither of them argued against her, though Emira cast a worried look at Amity. "What's going on?"

"I don't know," Edric mumbled, reaching into his pocket, “but father gave me a letter, for you.” He pulled out a plain white envelope with ‘Edalyn’ written on it, in handwriting that almost rivalled chicken scratch in decipherability, extending it to the Owl Lady.

“And I have one for Lilith,” Emira said, producing a similar envelope, with Lilith’s name on it, as Eda unceremoniously ripped open hers with her nail. The room went silent for several moments, as Eda quickly scanned her letter.

The silence was only interrupted by Luz’s entry, carrying three mugs, “I got the apple blood,” she announced, placing the mugs on the coffee table. Eda’s hand quickly shot down, grasping the “30 and flirty” mug and bringing it to her mouth, taking a long, slow drink. Then, she pulled a straw out of her hair, placing it in one of the mugs, a plain black one.

“Give this one to the kid,” Eda told Luz, adding “It’s just to give her bile sac a little boost,” when she saw Luz’s hesitant look. 

Luz grabbed the mug,moving to sit beside Amity, who hadn’t moved since Luz had left. “Amity,” Luz said, gently shaking the witch with her free hand, “You need to drink this.” 

“I don’t wanna.” Amity mumbled, barely audible, “it smells bad.” She almost burrowed deeper into the couch, as much as she could in her exhausted state.

“Eda said it would help,” Luz promised. 

“Medicine?” Amity questioned, her eyes squinting open to look at Luz before shutting quickly

“Yeah, medicine,” Luz agreed, pushing it yet closer to Amity. Amity, seemingly reluctantly, took the straw. 

“Disgusting,” Amity commented as her face seemed to pale from the taste, before drinking again as Luz held the mug.

“I paid for that,” Eda grumbled, before gesturing to Edric and Emira. “You two, take a seat. We need to have a serious talk when Lily gets down here.”

“A serious talk about what?” Lilith asked from the hall door as the twins sat down beside their sister. “Why are the Blight children here?” She yawned, leaning against the doorway. 

“I have a letter for you,” Emira answered, extending the letter over the coffee table, though careful as to not extend so far as to lose contact with her twin.

“A letter is hardly a good reason to be out at this hour, in this weather,” Lilith said, taking the letter. She looked at the letter, adding, “And I doubt Alador would send all three of his children if it were just to send me a letter.”

“Read the letter Lily,” Eda said, notably somber. Lilith gently opened her letter, pulling out the pages within. The next few moments were silent, broken only when Lilith shifted the papers in her hands. Then again, she shifted the papers, almost frantically seeming to double check something.

“What’s going on?” Luz asked, watching Lilith flip between the pages.

Eda looked at her own letter, then back up to Luz. "I'm not gonna say it twice," she nodded towards Amity, who seemed only present enough to slowly sip the apple blood Luz held for her, "and I think everyone would prefer to be rested to hear it. The baby Blights are gonna be rooming with you tonight."

"Like a sleep over," Luz tried to be cheerful, smiling at the twins, both of whom returned the smile. 

"Right, one of those," Eda agreed, "now take them up there." Luz nodded, putting Amity's mug of apple blood in Edric's hands before scooping the exhausted girl into her arms.

"Come on," Luz said, "you can help me make an Amity burrito."

"I don't know what a burrito is," Edric said, following Luz and dragging Emira with him, "but it sounds like it will inconvenience Mittens." 

"Shit," Eda said, once the coast was clear.

"That is putting it lightly," Lilith agreed, taking a seat on the now free couch. A moment later, after grabbing her mug of apple blood "What are we going to tell them?"

"Hey kids, we got some good news and some bad news. Good news is Odalia's getting the stick up her ass removed, bad news is Alador's the surgeon?"

"Edalyn!" Lilith nearly spat out her drink as she quietly yelled her admonishment.

"What? We're going to have to rip the bandage off somehow!” “No! Not like that! This needs a delicate touch!”

“That was delicate,” Eda answered, to a shocked look from Lilith, “I’m not telling you the not delicate option because you’ll get judgy.” There was a brief pause, before Eda amended, “Judgier.”

“Take this seriously!”

“Take what seriously?” King asked as he made his way into the living room from the hallway, “Also I’m sleeping in your nest tonight. Luz invited over the cupcake smasher and two new minions and the room is small as is.”

“Crap. That’s right. We’re gonna need a lot more room,” Eda realized, with some frustration.

“For what?” King asked, before noting the three bags just inside the doorway, “Ooh, bug out bags. Did one of your exes figure out how easy Hooty is to bribe again and we’re gonna leave Lilith to deal with them?”

“He can be bribed?” Lilith questioned.

“No, I fixed that when I told him he could take the bribe and still have his fun,” Eda answered, “The bags are-”

“Wait, no, I got it,” King interrupted, “tax collectors found us and we’re gonna leave Lilith to deal with them?”

“Why am I the one getting left behind”

“No, King,” Eda said, “These aren’t our bags.”

“Then whose,” King began to question, before looking at the bags, and then to the hallway, and finally back to Eda, “No. No? You can’t be serious.”

“Afraid so King,” Eda confirmed

“But I don’t want the cupcake smasher here! The two big minions we can put in a shed, but the little one needs to go. I mean, think about how Hooty feels, she beats him up every chance she gets!”

“Yeah, think about how I feel,” Hooty agreed.

“Shut up Hooty,” Eda and King said in unison, causing the tube to grumble. Eda added, “And while you’re here, grab those bags and take them upstairs.” She signalled the bags on the ground, which Hooty began to devour, causing everyone to look away. “Besides, we can’t send them away. Lily’s their legal guardian now.”

“Well then kick out Lilith,” King suggested.

“Hey! I’m right here!” Eda reminded the demon

“I’m not kicking out my sister,” Eda said, “and I’m not kicking out the kids either. Or putting them in the shed.”

“Why not?” King demanded

“Because I said so,” Eda responded, making King grumble and stare at her. Eda returned the stare, and eventually King looked away, making his way back to the hallway.

“As much as I hate to admit it,” Lilith sighed, “the little demon does have a point. There’s not very much room as is.”

“I’m not gonna make you move out Lily,” Eda said, before looking up at the ceiling.

“Alador left more than enough money for a modest home,” Lilith protested.

“Which is more than enough to get the Construction Coven to do some off-the-books work for a lot more space.” Eda suggested, “And I’m sure Hooty wouldn’t mind the expansion.”

“So you want to keep them here so you get a bigger house?” 

“Of course not Lily! It’s just… I know what it’s like to have your whole world shaken apart,” Lilith looked down and away from her sister at the comment, “and the last thing you need at a time like that is to have your world shaken more.”

“Edalyn, I-” Lilith tried to apologize. 

“Not what we’re talking about right now,” Eda said, finishing off her apple blood and setting her mug on the coffee table, “I’m too sober for more than one serious conversation tonight.” Eda paused for a moment, eyeing the empty mug. “I would have done anything for the kind of stability they can have here. I’m not gonna rip it away from them.”

“Thank you,” Lilith said, adding, after a moment, “I’m sorry for snapping at you. All of this happening at once is… Overwhelming. I would never imagine Alador to do what he says he’s going to. He’s always been more gentle.”

“Withdrawal can do a lot,” Eda commented, “Add in the guilt and all the other emotions he’s got to be feeling. It’s not so unimaginable.”

“Withdrawal? Withdrawal from what?” Lilith questioned, turning to her sister.

“Did your letter,” Eda asked slowly, “not mention anything about it?”

“Obviously not,” Lilith focused on her sister.

“Distraction spell!” Eda yelled, pulling a bag of Hex Mix out of her hair to throw at her sister, and jumped up, only to  be caught at the last moment by Lilith. 

“Edalyn, that hasn’t worked since I was eight,” Lilith complained, “Now what do you mean by withdrawal?”

“You know how Oracle magic can really start to screw with your head if you’re good at it?” Eda asked

“Yes?”

“And you know how memory wiping potions can help?”

“Edalyn!” Lilith was scandalized, “Those are highly illegal!”

“So is everything else I do!” Eda answered, “and he’s hardly the only person who bought them. I thought he was doing it because Odalia was too uptight to get it herself. I didn’t think he was taking it! Let alone mixing it with alcohol.”

“He was mixing an illegal memory potion with alcohol?” Lilith looked like she was ready to feint from shock.

“Should we just trade letters and see what he didn’t tell both of us?” Eda suggested

“No!” Lilith snapped, “He obviously intended us to keep the letters private. Otherwise he'd have sent only one, addressed to both of us."

"Who cares what he intended? It's your letter now," Edalyn reasoned, "Besides shouldn't we both know everything we can about what we're getting into? I thought you'd agree with the smart thing to do."

"I don't think it is the smart thing to do," Lilith answered simply. 

"Why not?" Eda demanded, watching her sister.

"I just don't," Lilith stood her ground.

"You're hiding something," Eda stated.

"That's ridiculous."

"Oh yeah? Then why won't you tell me why sharing our letters is a bad idea?" 

"Because it's personal, Edalyn!" Lilith snapped. 

"Who cares? Do you think I'm gonna judge you for whatever Alador told you about looking after his kids?"

"Yes!" Lilith said, to which Eda responded with a curious, almost scheming, look. "Edalyn, no!" It was too late. Eda pounced, grabbing at the letter with one hand and using her other to hold Lilith down by her face. Holding the letter out of Lilith's flailing reach, Eda began to read. 

(Line break)

"Alador," Odalia called into her husband's workshop, "where are the children?" When no answer came, she proceeded down the stairs, into the workshop proper. "Alador, answer me," Odalia commanded, approaching her husband, hunched over the work bench against the far wall, placing her hand on it's shoulder

"I'm tired, Odalia," Alador's voice called from beside the stairs. Odalia turned to look, seeing Alador step forward from behind one of the workshop's numerous tarps. Odalia took a step towards Alador, but was stopped when her hand refused to move, beginning to sink into the form slumped over the workbench. 

"What is the meaning of this?" Odalia asked, struggling to remove her hand from the Abomination as Alador's features melted away from it. 

"I told you, Odalia," Alador's voice was steady, "I'm tired." He grabbed her free hand, pulling it away from her trapped appendage. "I'm tired of this life," he told her, forcing the hand deep into the Abomination. 

"Where's your coven mark?" Odalia whispered, her eyes fixed on her husband's bare forearm. 

"I left the coven, Odalia," he answered simply, "Didn't you already know?"

"What are you talking about?" Odalia's voice grew more frightened, as she failed to recall any such memory.

"We were going to discuss it, this morning," he crouched down, beginning to move Odalia's legs into the Abomination, "And then I gave you your coffee, and you seemed to just… forget."

"Alador, what did you do?'

"What I had to, Odalia!" He shouted, breaking his calm facade, angry tears beginning to well up as he knelt before his wife. "I've spent the last ten years of our marriage forgetting every moment we spent in the same room. I can't stand you, Odalia."

"Alador!"

"SHUT UP!" he roared, "I'm so tired of hearing your Titan damned voice!" He stood up and turned away from her, "I used almost the last bit of my memory potion in your coffee. To get you to shut up and just leave!"

He took a deep, shuddering breath, before he continued, more steadily, "And you left. And I was alone with my thoughts. About you. About us. Our children."

"Alador," Odalia said meekly, "where are the children?"

"Don't pretend to care now," Alador's voice rumbled.

"I'm not pretending!"

"YES YOU ARE! NEITHER OF US CARE FOR OUR CHILDREN!" Before Odalia could respond to the accusation, Alador started a barrage of questions, "What kind of glasses does Edric need? Who's Emira's favorite bard? What is Amity's favorite book series?" When Odalia failed to answer after one second, Alador shouted, "I didn't know either! I spent hours learning about our children by snooping around their rooms to get them what they need! What kind of father does that make me? And what kind of mother, that you've never even wanted to learn."

"I am not a terrible parent," Odalia defended.

"Do you remember our children ever smiling in front of us? At us? I don't, but I can blame that on the memory potion. You can't."

"A Blight doesn't-" 

"WHY DO YOU CARE SO MUCH FOR A DAMN NAME THAT DOESN'T EVEN BELONG TO YOU?" The tears of anger rained freely as he shouted at her, "OUR CHILDREN SHOULD MEAN MORE TO US THAN THEM BEING SOME STUPID LEGACY!" It was a moment before he added, "That's why I sent them to the Owl House. I trust Edalyn Clawthorne to look after our children better than us. And Lily."

"I thought you agreed to stop calling her that."

"I lied. She's the only bright spot I have in these last ten years. I'm not giving that up. Not for you."

"Alador!"

"I'm done," he began to walk away, before adding, "Abomination, suffocate."

[beyond-the-mirror]

Music of the Night (V x Reader)

Chapter 7 is finally here! As I have mentioned a couple posts ago I am going to focus solely on this story for the time being. I will try my best to update at least once per week so stay tuned.

Warnings: A little angst in a few parts.

Tagging: @thedyingmoon​ @minteyeddemon​ @vampiregirl1797​

If you wish to be tagged in this story let me know in the comments.

………………….

Chapter 7: Nightingale in the Cage

“So Bishop, would you mind explaining to us the reason you decided to become a patron for the Opera house?”

“Oh not at all.” Sanctus took a deep breath before speaking again. “As you may have heard in the local news, an estranged brother of mine passed away some time ago, may his soul rest in peace. Days later I received a visit from his lawyer, apparently he had accumulated quite the fortune and his testament determined that I would be the sole heir of all his possessions and shares.” The Bishop made a brief pause, the death of his brother still weighing down his heart. “I actually have no need for such a large sum of money, which is why I only kept a modest enough amount for me and decided to donate the rest in favor of the conservation of the arts.”

“A rather noble cause indeed Bishop, our sincerest apologies for your loss.” Monsieur Andre added.

“Thank you for your condolences. All my life I’ve considered myself to be an admirer of the fine arts. There’s nothing I wouldn’t love more than to finance Fortuna’s famous Opera House and support the careers of its many skilled artists.”

“And we shall be forever grateful for your patronage bishop.” Monsieur Firmin mentioned before lifting his champagne glass. “Let’s have a toast for the future of Fortuna’s Opera House.”

“For the future of this new society.” Raoul finished before the men raised their glasses together in glee. The vicomte, however, seemed to have a sense of sadness in his eyes that he hid all too well from everybody. How he wished to spend more time with you, but didn’t find you at the party.

Maybe you were too exhausted to attend and went home instead? Whatever it was, he wished you were okay.

………………….

‘The newest play from Fortuna’s Theatre Company, Hannibal, has been critically acclaimed by specialized press, scoring an impressive average of 4.6 out of 5 stars’

‘The exquisite acting and choreography are to be praised. However, its most prominent figure is the miraculous voice of the main singer, who has replaced iconic soprano Carlotta Guidicelli as the protagonist.’

‘Step down Carlotta! A new queen has arrived and the spotlight is all hers!’

‘In a shocking turn of events, Signora Carlotta Guidicelli, believed to be the company's successor to legendary soprano Kyrie Eleison, has been overshadowed by a new rising talent. A humble fortunian songstress by the name of (Y/N) (Y/L/N).’

‘(Y/N) (Y/L/N). The break-through songstress that has captivated the audience’s hearts. Is this the birth of a brand new star?’

Reviews, articles and blog posts about the company’s new soprano spread around the internet like wildfire, every single one focusing on the same subject: The mysterious soprano that took Fortuna by surprise and dethroned 'La Carlota’ herself.

The girl had become the theatre’s own Venus and Aphrodite, a muse that inspired all the souls touched by her melodious voice. A nightingale turned human, an angel descended to Earth.

But as her performances continued and her fame grew, a few observant enough would take notice of certain… details regarding her.

The truth behind this? A sinister shadow was tormenting the theatre’s beloved angel, one that threatened to consume not only her, but everything around.

………………….

“I refuse to accept this!” Carlotta stomped her heel on the marbled floor of her lavish bedroom, taking a sip from the almost full glass of wine in her hand.

Ever since that fiasco when she stormed out of the theatre during the rehearsals for ‘Hannibal’, the soprano’s life seemingly started turning for the worse, all because of that girl that once dared to collide with her during rehearsal. She had insisted the dancer had done so on purpose, envious of her great talent.

And now it turns out that dancer is the same one that took her role as the main protagonist! Carlotta felt offended by such a decision, she was a professional while that girl was just a simple amateur

Still, she had to admit this (Y/N) had a gifted voice. What she could not explain is how she managed to perfect her skill to such a high level if she claimed to be an inexperienced singer? As talented as one could be, it takes years of work and practice to master one’s craft, the only explanation she could come up with was that the girl had to have a special tutor, and an exceptional one at that.

But who?

Realizing her glass was already empty, Carlotta hurried to refill it again. She had believed that with Kyrie gone to Broadway, she now had the stage clear for herself to finally shine above everyone else, after all, the only voice above Signora Carlotta could only be that of Fortuna’s legendary songstress herself.

Such hopes were now broken. She had a new competitor, one that was already stealing the spotlights.

As she turned to the broadcast of the company’s most recent play, she huffed when the camera focused on the new main singer. The audience had fallen right into her trap, and now she had them all wrapped around her lithe finger.

“I don’t know what they see in her, she’s nothing special and she’s not that pretty. Especially with those dark circles under her eyes, does she even sleep? Careful girl, you are already losing your youth.” Carlotta snorted before downing her glass of wine.

………………….

“Vicomte Raoul! Bishop Sanctus! We weren’t quite expecting your visit to our Opera House. What can we do for you, gentlemen?”

Messieurs Andre and Firmin almost tripped over their own feet as they hurried to attend the Opera House’s important benefactors. Raoul managed to hide his laughter at their eagerness, while Sanctus simply offered the two a gentle smile.

“Do not worry for us, messieurs. This fine theatre holds so many precious memories of my youth, so I thought it appropriate to drop by and watch the rehearsals take place if you don’t mind us.”

“Oh, not at all Bishop! This way please.”

As the four men approached the hall, a melodious voice resonated through the walls.

“Ah! You are in luck. Our lead singer seems to be on stage right now practicing one of her numbers.” Firmin noted just as he opened the door to the main hall.

Madame Trish was supervising as usual, you stood at the stage performing an aria while Monsieur Reyer directed your voice through the song’s notes. As he took a seat near the stage next to Sanctus, Raoul was mesmerized by your singing figure, the passion and dedication you imprinted on your work palpable and strong enough to touch the hearts of others.

“An utter beauty, isn’t she?” The elder’s voice snapped him out of his trance. As he turned to face Sanctus, he noticed the soft smile and knowing look in his eyes. He gulped, were his feelings that obvious? Then again, Sanctus has seen and learned a lot during the many years of his long life, wisdom comes with age after all.

“Ah! Young love! Perhaps the purest and most innocent of them all.” The bishop gave a hearty chuckle. “Miss (Y/N) is definitely special. Her voice alone holds so much power, enough to make the entire audience bow to her, and yet she still remains humble and authentic.”

Raoul turned his attention back to the stage where you were now conversing with Trish and Reyer about your routine during the number. The vicomte could see what Sanctus meant, you weren’t arrogant or prideful like Carlotta, but rather attentive and open to the feedback and mentoring offered to you.

A smile grazed his lips. He had just met you and already you were taking over his heart and mind.

Still as he observed you going through the song one more time, there was something off that caught his eye. It was subtle, almost imperceptible, but it was there. The heave of your chest whenever you ended a verse, the slight trembles of your feet whenever they moved along the lines marked on the stage by Trish. 

You looked… tired? Exhausted, perhaps? No... more like detached.

But you continued the rehearsal with no trouble. Maybe your sudden growing popularity was already taking its toll on you, as well as all the performances you had to do at the theatre. For anyone without experience, such exhaustion is understandable.

In the seat next to him, Bishop Sanctus was also studying you. However, his expression seemed more preoccupied than that of the vicomte. He too had noticed some kind of dark aura looming around you, and he pondered what this could mean for the Opera House’s future, and for his plans too.

………………….

petite.aerette  I can’t believe I finally got to watch #Hannibal. So happy to know the Opera House is on the rise once again. #FortunaOperaHouse #theatre #musical

alya_hyacinth  You saw it live? Girl, I’m jealous!

dramaqueen101  Aaah I was there too! I wish you told me you were going, we could have gone together and have our seats next to each other.

petite.aerette  Sorry! Mom surprised me with our tickets that same morning. Did you see that new singer everyone is talking about? She is awesome! I already love her voice and acting!

dramaqueen101  I know right?! In fact I caught a glimpse of her after the play when she retired to her dressing room. I wanted to go talk to her but it was too crowded and she seemed to be in a rush. However I noticed she looked a bit tired? As if she hadn’t been getting enough sleep.

………………….

Free time had become a luxury for Nico. There was always something to fix, something to supervise, something to check. Whatever breaks she would get, she welcomed them with open arms and relaxed as much as she could before it was back to work again.

It was in one of these breaks when she ran into you, what better way to enjoy some free time than with a dear friend?

But as she approached your figure, Nico took notice of your appearance. Your skin was now as pale as a ghost, your eyes were heavy with sleepiness and dark circles framing them. You looked as if you were about to collapse at any given moment.

“Hey, you alright sugarcube?” Nico’s hands went to your arms by instinct, just in case you were feeling sick and you needed to be rushed to the infirmary. But with a small smile, you tried to ease her worries.

“Couldn’t get much sleep last night, that’s all.”

“Uh huh…” Nico was many things, highly perceptive was one of those. Many have found out the hard way that she was not an easy one to fool. Of course, it was no surprise that she could see right through your words. “Come. Let’s get you some warm tea.”

Stern and maybe a bit harsh, but caring when the situation called for it. That was Nicoletta Goldstein for you. One of the most surprising things about her is that she made the best tea in the world according to the people working at the theatre. 

“This should ease you a bit, honey. Careful, it’s still hot.” As she handed you the small cup, she looked at you with worry in her eyes but didn’t say anything. Instead she waited for you to open up and tell her what was wrong.

You could already picture the almost dead look you must have had. With slightly shaky hands you held onto the porcelain cup, raising it to your lips and gently blowing the steam to cool it down a bit. As a warm earthy flavor filled your taste buds, your body could finally ease up and relax even if just for a little while, granting you a moment of much needed peace.

Still, you didn’t find it in yourself to tell her.

Luckily for you, Nico knew better than to keep insisting. She figured that whatever was worrying you, you weren’t ready to talk about it yet. Nonetheless, she stayed right by your side in a comfortable silence with a cup of tea of her own.

It was a nice and peaceful moment, at least until she was called to check on one of the moving stage props.

And so she excused herself, but not before reminding you that you could always count on her for anything.

What Nico didn’t know, however, was the reason for your silence.

You didn’t tell her because something was forcing you to. 

………………….

Days became weeks. Weeks became months. And soon enough, time itself began to blur.

Ever since that night at his sanctuary, everything felt… off.

You had woken up in your bed, feeling dazed and lightheaded, perhaps the effects of the turmoil from the previous night.

V. The first thing on your mind as soon as you recovered your consciousness was him.

You wanted, no, needed to find him and get some answers. Why did he disappear so many years ago? Why was he hiding his true identity from you?

… What were those black markings scarring his face?

There was just one problem, you didn’t know where exactly was his sanctuary located. The secret passage behind the mirror in your dressing room came to mind, but in order to navigate the underground canals you needed a boat, not to mention that it was easy to get lost in there. Maybe you could ask the authorities for help, but how could you explain your story and make them believe you?

You made your decision on the way to the Opera House. You would start by telling Nico for the moment, you trusted her enough and she often gave the best advice on any matter.

But the moment you spotted her in the distance and tried to approach her, something strange happened.

An unseen force lodged itself in your chest, holding your voice and your heart in a vice grip that burned through your entire body. All the air in your lungs escaped you, and the feeling of daze you felt that morning returned in full force. You tried to scream, call for help, but no sound would come out of your lips. All words died as soon as they left your vocal chords.

You watched Nico leaving after someone required her assistance, and as soon as she disappeared from your line of sight, the pain stopped. As sudden as it had arrived.

You remained frozen in your place, goosebumps raised on your flesh. The moment some sensation came back to your legs, you ran away.

The day continued with relative normalcy, but your mind remained perturbed. And hours later, just as all the scheduled performances had ended for the day, you headed for your dressing room.

Once inside, the mirror opened, and everything went black.

When you opened your eyes, it was already morning the next day. Once again you woke in your bed, feeling as dazed and lightheaded as the day before. But the feeling didn’t go away, and with everyday that passed, it only became worse.

Strangely enough, your performances never faltered once despite the unknown illness weighing you down, almost as if you were doing everything automatically, like a machine following its program. You were thankful for this apparent ability to keep it together, but soon you started feeling detached. It reached a point when you could no longer feel your own body, or the melodic notes leaving your lips. You were no longer living, but rather watching your life unfold itself without any input of your own.

Many times you made an attempt to tell someone, anyone, about this; but you found that every single time you were about to do so, that terrible pain would return until you desisted. Soon, you were conditioned to stay quiet.

One day Nico began noticing your predicament, but by then that obscure force had you under its control already. She was right there, concerned and willing to help. And yet you didn’t dare to speak up.

Panic often filled your mind, hopelessness flooded your soul. You prayed and prayed for this nightmare to stop.

After another successful performance, the last one for the day, you found yourself inside the main dressing room as usual.

And as usual, the mirror opened, letting out the hidden darkness that haunted the Opera House behind everyone’s backs.

………………….

Poor unfortunate Joseph Buquet. 

Ever since that incident with the falling curtain, Nico had him double checking pretty much everything. Every rope, pulley and mechanism had to be meticulously examined in order to prevent another incident like that from happening again. Now he understood why it was such an important and critical matter, the least he wanted was for anybody to be harmed due to a malfunction after all, but his own anxiety over making a mistake and causing another accident was already getting him. The poor man would triple- no, cuadruple check every single detail in an almost paranoid way. Not a single nook or cranny would be left unattended by this dedicated worker.

So it was no surprise that today was especially bad for the nervous Mr. Buquet, for his trusty utility belt had been misplaced, making him search the whole building for his precious tools.

Only after finding his utility belt did Buquet allow himself to feel relieved, a heavy burden lifting off his tired shoulders. He was making his way back to the fly floor when the sound of hurried steps nearby reached his ears, as he turned at a corner he caught a glimpse of you closing the door to your dressing room shut. Noticing the way you entered the room in such a haste, he worried something might have happened to you. Maybe you were feeling sick and needed to rest? These days you had been looking paler than usual, and the man had to admit that seeing you in your current lamentable state tugged at his heartstrings.

Walking to your door, Buquet politely knocked at the wooden surface “Miss (Y/N), is everything alright?” But no answer came back.

He knocked again, this time a bit louder. “Miss (Y/N), are you there?” Again, no answer.

Now he was getting genuinely concerned. He even pressed his ear to the door in an attempt to hear whatever was happening inside, but he found only silence.

“Miss (Y/N) I’m opening the door right now!” Buquet immediately took hold of the knob and slowly cracked it open, merely peeking inside just in case you needed some privacy after all.

The sight that greeted him sent chills to his very bones.

A tall shadowy figure towered at the back of the room, its arms wrapped around your unconscious body in a seemingly possessive manner. Like a ghost, it moved towards the mirror and disappeared with you in its arms.

Buquet stood frozen as his mind tried to process what just happened before him.

He had heard the stories, rumors about an entity that haunted the Opera House. Some workers would mention seeing shadows through the corners of their eyes, others would claim that low growling noises could be heard at the hallways when they were empty enough, and a few would tell how they found strange iridescent blue feathers in the most bizarre locations inside the premises.

His mind pictured the heavy curtain that mysteriously fell on Carlotta. Then, the strange Box Four that always remained unoccupied despite the concierge’s claims about hearing a voice coming from inside.

They called it different names. A poltergeist, a monster, a demon… a Phantom…

But this time they hadn’t moved a prop or taken a simple object with them.

This time, they had taken a person.

………………….

Locked inside one of the restrooms designated for the staff, Mr. Buquet did his best to calm himself down. He had just witnessed the kidnapping of a promising young woman by the hands of an… an entity.

His hands flew to his hair in panic. What could he do? Nobody would believe a phantom had spirited away the company’s Prima Donna!

He… he had to have been hallucinating! Yes, that had to be it. For years the staff has accused the Phantom for all the minor inconveniences that often sabotaged rehearsals and productions, but this was an entirely different story, a songstress was just kidnapped for Lord Sparda’s sake! Urban legends or not, the supposed Phantom had never gone to these extremes before.

Splashing some cold water on his tired face one last time, Buquet finally exited the restroom and made his way back home, all the while reassuring himself that what he had witnessed couldn’t have been real.

‘Tomorrow Miss (Y/N) is gonna come to work as always. Nothing bad happened to her. Right now she is at home, resting on her bed.’ He would repeat himself over and over.

And the next day, Buquet got his much needed relief when he saw you rehearsing at the stage as if nothing had transcurred the night before. He almost let out an euphoric laugh when he saw you safe and sound and that he had been anxious for nothing.

Concluding that the constant burnout was the cause of his hallucinations, Mr. Buquet requested for a few days off to recover, a request that Monsieur Andre approved without thinking twice. 

Everything was going to be okay… or so thought Joseph Buquet.

Castings for a new production called ‘Il Muto’ were about to start in a few weeks, and everyone was about to witness how a single wrong decision could unleash the most gruesome of horrors.

[nalgenewhore]

masterlist - ao3 - last chapter - next chapter 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“Lorcan,” snapped a sharp voice. He groaned into his pillow, screwing his eyes shut at the threat of sunlight. 

“What do you want, Maeve,” Lorcan bit out, not in the mood for his aunt’s conniving bullshit this early in the morning. He was here as a favour to his father and nothing, nothing more. “I’m sleeping.” 

“It’s almost eleven o’clock and Miss DuBois will be here at noon,” she hissed, trying to rip his duvet away. Lorcan swore and pulled it back, just remembering that Maeve was forcing him to take Remelle DuBois of all people as his date. He turned onto his back and sighed through his nose. 

“So? The fucking thing doesn’t even start till one, let me sleep,” he protested, flinging his arm over his eyes. “You lost, Maeve. The title is Elide’s.” Neither missed the fact that he said ‘you’, further confirming that his stake was not as… passionate in his aunt’s cause. 

Maeve scoffed dismissively, glaring out the windows into the gardens where workers were setting up for the garden party. The guest list was filled with Terrasen’s elite, all joining to celebrate Elide and Fenrys’ upcoming nuptials. “It’s not over until she puts that damned ring on his finger, the little sneaky bitch.” 

“Don’t call her that.” The words escaped him before Lorcan’s brain could catch up with what Maeve was saying. She paused, looking at him curiously. Lorcan rolled his eyes and got out of bed, “I’m going to change now so do you think you could possibly fuck off?” There was no lost love between nephew and aunt. 

“We are not finished here.” 

“Get out of my room.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Fenrys kicked his feet as Elide sat patiently. Lysandra chastised the man, who was already dressed in a grey suit. His tie and pocket square matched her sage green tea dress. It had flutter sleeves and a modest v-neckline. The dress cinched at the waist before the chiffon skirts fell elegantly to just beneath her knees. 

Philippa pinned Elide’s old school, Hollywood curls so they tumbled down one shoulder. She stepped back after applying a light layer of hairspray to ensure it would stay in place during the afternoon. “Now, you’re all ready for the party.”

Elide chuckled. She stood, slipping her hand into Fenrys’ elbow, “You’re a true artist, Philippa.” 

“Oh,” the older woman waved her hands, “nonsense. I had a beautiful subject to work with.” Philippa handed her a lace fan, a sage ribbon hanging from it.

“That you did,” Fenrys said, dipping his head to kiss his fiancée’s cheek. He grinned at Elide’s blush when she pushed him away. 

“Stop flirting with me.” 

“Ugh, I love it when you tell me I’m not allowed to flirt with my betrothed.” 

Elide rolled her eyes and turned on her white and strappy heels. She tugged Fenrys along, shouting a ‘thank you’ over her shoulder to Philippa. Fenrys kept her laughing the entire way to the garden with witty jokes and snarky comments. Elide snorted, trying to keep her composure when they turned the corner and ran into her uncle. 

“Your Grace,” Fenrys said, bowing. Elide curtsied a bit, murmuring his name. 

“Lord Marama, I see you’re still here.” 

“Well, yes, sir. I wouldn’t abandon my fiancée three weeks before the wedding,” he answered smoothly, slipping his arm around Elide’s waist and resting a somewhat possessive hand on her hip. She suppressed the shiver, shuddering for all the wrong reasons, even though Elide knew it was all for show.

“Of course you wouldn’t.” 

Elide nodded, nudging Fenrys towards the doors, “We’re leaving now, uncle. I hope you enjoy the party.” She grabbed the hand Fenrys had on her hip and pulled him away. 

“I doubt it,” Vernon called after the pair as Elide pushed the door open. 

Feeling Fenrys stiffen, Elide dug her white painted nails into his hand, “Leave it. He’s a senile old man.” She glanced back at him, staring him down until he nodded, the muscle in his jaw clenching. “Hey.” Elide stopped short, gripping his chin, “Fenrys, I have lived with him my entire life. You have known him for a week and a half. Don’t, for a single second, think you know what is best for me and how I should handle my abuser.” His eyes broke and she softened, “Fen, I know you have a good heart and that you want to protect me and I-I love that. Really. But, please, don’t try to do what only I can do for me.”  

He nodded, his full lips quirking up at the corners, “Yes, ma’am.” 

Elide clicked her tongue, “Come on, we have a garden party to host.” They walked powerfully to the entrance of the gardens. Before they turned the hedge that would put them in full view of the guests they could hear chatting lively, Elide paused. 

“Hey,” Fenrys said, his brows - lightened to match his hair - furrowed, “are you alright?” 

“Mm-hmm,” she replied, closing her eyes for a second. “Just need a second. I’m fine.” 

The blonde man nodded and slid his hands into his pockets, rocking back and forth on his heels as he waited. A few silent moments later, Elide plastered on a cheery smile that he cringed at, “For fuck’s sake, that’s so scary.” He closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, pasting on an equally jarring grin, “Ready, honeybunch?” 

“Let’s knock ‘em dead, sweetie-pie,” Elide chirped, giggling like she had gone mad. Fenrys held out his elbow again, graciously leading her around the bend. 

Someone announced them and they spent what seemed like an eternity smiling, waving, and thanking people for coming. Elide’s cheeks were burning from the strain of her beam when they had finally wrapped up the greetings. 

“Drink?” 

Turning to the bright voice, Elide sighed in relief to see Lysandra there. Aelin and Rowan were standing a few metres off, speaking to some elderly couple - no doubt royals of some kind. “Yes, gods, please,” she said, taking the champagne from Lysandra's hand. She had the grace to not chug it like she wanted to and sipped politely. 

A server passed by with a tray of smoked salmon and cream cheese cracker bites. Elide took one, about to pop it in her mouth when Aelin and Rowan walked over. A flurry of something caught her eye and she peeked around Fenrys and Rowan to see who it was. “Oh, he did not just do that,” Elide cursed, narrowing her slender eyes. 

“Who,” Aelin said, turning to track her cousin’s gaze. When she saw Lorcan standing at the entrance, she figured that was the only thing to set her off. But then a pale skinned, pale haired, and pale eyed woman stepped out from the shadow of his broad frame and Aelin went red in the face. “Remelle? He brought Remelle?”

The boys coughed, quick to turn and stare. Lorcan caught their gazes and sent them a pained look, subtly indicating Maeve, who was standing at a table with a smug look on her face. “Oh, well, that makes more sense,” Fenrys muttered, nudging Rowan, who nodded in agreement. 

Lysandra frowned, scrolling through her iPad. The woman never went anywhere without it, “Maeve… did not tell me who Lorcan’s date was. And I made sure everyone knew who was not permitted and Miss DuBois is–” 

“Lys, please, don’t worry about it,” Aelin assured her dear friend. “It’s not your fault, you’ve done an exceptional job, as usual. It’s just… Maeve being Maeve.” Lysandra nodded, but quickly excused herself. As she left, they all heard her speaking tersely into her earpiece, wanting to know who exactly had been at the entrance when they arrived. All security details were required to know the guestlist. 

When Remelle looked their way, Rowan quickly turned away, his skin crawling as he felt her predatory stare burn into the back of his neck. The king consort twined his fingers through the queen’s, tilting his head to the side, “I’m sure there are more stuffy lords we haven’t said hello to yet. Let’s go do that now.” 

Aelin nodded, flashing him her signature golden smile, “Of course.” She looked at Elide, who was still glaring at Lorcan, who was smiling back at her. To the untrained eye, it would look like a smirk, but Aelin knew Lorcan a bit better than that. His eyes sparkled with delight and affection. 

She glanced at Fenrys, sharing a look with him. Have fun with… that. 

He rolled his eyes, shooing her away, “Go, enjoy yourselves, kiss a bunch of old white guy ass for me.” 

“Oh, I will, I know it’s your favourite, Fenny,” Aelin quipped. With a flourish, she marched off, pulling a somewhat reluctant Rowan behind her. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Hellas, she looks amazing. 

“There’s the little cripple girl,” Remelle said, waving her fingers vaguely. 

Lorcan rounded on her, pulling his attention away from Elide, “Excuse me? Don’t say shit like that, what is wrong with you?”

“Oh, testy, aren’t we,” she purred, reaching a slender hand up to tweak something about his hair. He moved, his reaction swifter than her motion. Remelle rolled her icy blue eyes, huffing slightly and looking down at her sharp nails, “Are you still anal about your hair? It’s just hair.” 

He didn’t even deign to respond to her, knowing she would never get it through her dense skull. Must be all the bleach damage, Lorcan thought to himself. There was no way someone’s hair could be that white, naturally, at her age. “I need a fucking drink,” he muttered, not bothering to see if Remelle wanted anything before stalking off to the bar. 

His aunt was waiting for him there and Lorcan pointedly ignored her as he ordered a whiskey sour. “Lorcan,” she hissed, his name sounding like a curse on her tongue, “why aren’t you with your date?” 

“Because she’s an unbearable cunt of a human being,” he grumbled, thanking the bartender and digging out a green twenty for the tip. He had worked shit jobs like serving and knew how stingy the one percent was. “Thanks, man.” 

“You’re welcome, sir,” the bartender said, smoothly putting the tip in his pocket and turning to the next guest. 

Lorcan took his drink, taking a long sip before addressing his aunt, “Maeve, what do you want?” 

Her dark, creepily dark, eyes flashed dangerously, “Boy, get yourself in line. She came here as a favour, got it?” 

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorcan saluted her sarcastically, his gaze jumping over her head when a vision dressed in gentle green caught it. Elide glared at him, pointing with her closed fan to a path in the hedges. This would be fun. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have more pressing matters at hand, auntie.” 

He stepped around her, striding through the partygoers to Elide. “And to what do I owe the pleasure for this?”

Elide glared up at him, actually having to tilt her head back to even look him in the eye. It was cute, even if the glare was murderous. Elide turned neatly, walking angrily into the path. Lorcan followed, biting back his smile. “Are you going to murder me, sweetheart?” 

No answer. They came to a fork in the road and Elide turned left, leading him to an opening with a bubbling fountain. There, she whirled, “You brought Remelle as your date?!” 

“Why, yes. She’s a fine young lady,” he said, delighting in the way he was able to provoke her so easily. 

“She’s a heinous bitch,” Elide spat, beginning to pace back and forth. 

“Why do you care who I bring as my date?” 

She paused, deciding to step onto the stone lip of the fountain. There, now she was almost eye-level with him, “I don’t.” 

Lorcan raised his brows, looking at her in disbelief, “Seems that way.” 

“Well, you seem to care a lot about my relationship, it’s only fair that I care that much about yours.” 

He scoffed, draining his drink and putting the empty glass down on the edge of a bird bath. “Your relationship with Fenrys is no more real than mine with Remelle.” 

The fan caught between her hands was gripped so tightly Elide’s knuckles were white. Still, her voice was calm, collected, “Fen told me you were friends. I was surprised.” 

He looked at her suspiciously, willing himself not to look at her lips and hold her gaze, “Is there a reason for your surprise?” 

“Well, it seems to me that if he were your friend, you would support it. You know,” she shrugged, her smile saccharine sweet, “for his happiness.” 

Cool anger flowed through his veins and he didn’t bother thinking before he spat words he might’ve come to regret, “You couldn’t make Fenrys happy if you were married to him for a hundred years. I told you already, he will never love you.” Elide would never love Fenrys either, but Lorcan didn’t bother telling her what she no doubt already knew. 

In her eyes shone hurt that was quickly replaced with heated rage. Elide hit his shoulder with her fan, “I loathe you.” Her face was centimetres from his, he could smell the intoxicating scent of her elderberry and cinnamon perfume. The delicate and spiced fragrance had haunted him for weeks now. 

“Well, I loathe you,” Lorcan murmured, the tone too low and too enticing for it to be anything but a bedroom voice, "sweetheart."

Elide’s breath hitched and in that moment, Lorcan would’ve done anything she commanded of him to make her do it again and again and again. Her eyes flicked to his lips before dancing back up to his. Neither knew who moved first and neither cared as Elide’s arms slid around his neck and Lorcan’s slipped around her waist. 

The kiss was hungry and biting, but a perfect harmony anyways. She tasted like champagne. Lorcan swore he could get drunk off her embrace as Elide nipped his lip, her tongue flicking over the small sting to soothe it. 

Lorcan pulled her closer, craving the feelings of her feminine curves and softness against his harsh contours and planes. She sighed delicately, melting into his hold before she realised what they were doing and tried to push herself away. 

Only, on the ledge, Elide didn’t have anywhere to go and she fell backwards, not relinquishing her hold on his charcoal suit. Lorcan was pulled into the fountain with her, their clothes and hair instantly sopping wet. 

“You kissed me! You- you can’t go around kissing engaged people, Lorcan. Do you have any sense at all,” Elide whispered harshly at him, quickly standing to climb out. He went to stand up, but Elide pushed him back down again, her hands on his chest. “You’re just trying to make me like you so that I won’t marry Fen and you’ll get the throne! You- oh, you’re evil.”

With an indignant huff, Elide Lochan marched off, throwing him one last glare as she turned the corner and disappeared from his sight. 

Lorcan was so, so, so fucked. 

+*+*+*+*+*+* 

Elide kept her head high as she walked back to the palace. She managed to avoid the garden party, but caught Rowan slinking around the bushes, no doubt trying to avoid a certain someone.

“Elide?” 

The delicate fabric of her dress clung to her skin and she shivered despite the warm sun. Elide nodded, waving vaguely as she passed him. He scrambled after her. “Ellie, do I want to know what happened?” 

“He happened,” she snapped, picking up her pace. A quick glance down told her that her dress was indeed rather transparent. Elide swore, crossing her arms over her chest. Rowan quickly shucked off his suit jacket, draping the large garment over her tiny frame. 

“That doesn’t sound good.” 

“Well, it’s not.” Elide closed her eyes, trying to calm herself. All she could think about was the kiss and how she had never felt anything like it. An unwarranted thought of if and when he would kiss her again popped up in her mind. Elide shook her head, desperate to forget about it. “It’s nothing. We just fought again and ended up in the fountain.” 

He held in his snort and they arrived at the side doors. Rowan opened it for the woman, letting her pass before he shot a suspicious glance around them and closed it. They didn’t need any more media attention and certainly not with Remelle in the vicinity. “Good thing that Aelin is wrapping the party up now. You can go warm up and hide out in your room.” 

Elide flashed him a grateful smile and slinked off to a hidden stairwell. It used to be used solely by servants and the staff, but now it was used by anyone who wanted a discreet escape to the private wings. 

Rowan smiled at her as well, keeping the pleasant look on his face until she had disappeared from view. Then, he let it fall, gritting his teeth as he seethed. It seemed that he needed to have another little chat with Lorcan. 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

“El?” The door of her bedroom burst open and Fenrys appeared, looking concerned. It didn’t fade when his eyes fell on her curled up in a nest of blankets. A cup of tea sat on her nightstand, steam wafting from it. “I just saw Lorcan, are you ok?” 

“‘m fine,” she muttered, turning her eyes back to the show she was watching. “Just cold.” 

Fenrys smiled, “Mind if I join you?” Elide grinned, scooching over slightly. The dark skinned man made quick work of divesting himself of his shoes, jacket, and tie. He popped a couple buttons open, sighing as he flopped down next to her. “What, I don’t get any blanket?” 

Elide rolled her eyes and flipped a few of them back so he could cuddle under them. Fenrys wrapped his arms around her, “You’re freezing, El.” 

“I know,” she chattered, her teeth still clicking together. “The chef said she’d make me something warm to eat.” Elide leeched Fenrys’ body heat away, burrowing herself deeper into the mattress. After a few minutes, the warmth made her drowsy and Elide slowly drifted off. 

 +*+*+*+*+*+*

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” 

“Hello, Rowan. Lovely party that was,” Lorcan replied evenly. He glanced in the mirror. Rowan was standing in the doorway of the bathroom, his jaw set and ticking. “Can I help you with something?” 

“What are you doing to her?” 

There was no reason for him to say who he was talking about, they were both well aware. “I’m not doing anything to her.” 

“You drive her fucking crazy, Lorcan,” Rowan said, moving out of the way when Lorcan stalked out of the toilet. 

“And?” 

Rowan sighed, shaking his head. “Lorcan. Just- fuck. What is going on with you two?” 

“Nothing is going on with me and Elide,” Lorcan answered, pulling on a hoodie. It might’ve even been one of Rowan’s, he wasn’t sure. 

“You told me you would never lie to me. Don’t you dare start now.” 

Sitting down on the edge of his bed, Lorcan looked up at Rowan, but all he could see was Elide’s face the second before they kissed. “Ro…” He gestured vaguely with his hands, unable to articulate his swirling thoughts. “It’s just what it is. I can’t explain. We’re just- someone is pushing us together, I can’t stop it.” I don’t want to stop it.

“Oh,” Rowan breathed, his stark green eyes wide like saucers. His mouth dropped open and he gaped at Lorcan, blinking once in shock. “Oh. Oh.” 

“What,” Lorcan snapped, his hackles rising. He had a premonition that he knew what Rowan was going to say. “Spit it out, bastard.” 

“You’re falling for her.” 

“No, I am not.” 

“Yes, you are.” 

Lorcan just fell back on the mattress, looking up at the ceiling. He sighed, his voice completely unconvincing, a little dreamy, even, “No, I am not.” 

+*+*+*+*+*+*

Elide slinked into the kitchens, smiling thankfully at the chef who passed her a bowl of xaimoko, a Blackbeak rabbit stew. It was her favourite comfort food. She remembered once, when she was young, after being disciplined by her uncle, the old cook, a kind woman, had found her hiding in a corner. She had spoken in Blackbeak to Elide, coaxing her to the kitchen for a nice dinner. Vernon had ordered that she wasn’t to have dinner, but the cook had served her a bowl of rabbit stew and fried cornbread anyway.

Ever since then, the cook, who had retired a couple years after, had made sure every chef in the castle knew how to make it. 

Elide ate as slowly as possible. Lysandra had texted her, telling Elide that Aelin wanted to see her after she had eaten dinner. After her nap, Elide had spent her time avoiding Aelin but it had seemed like her luck had run out. 

She washed her own dishes, stowing them away in the cupboards. Gaze downcast, Elide made her way to Aelin’s temporary office, just set up for her time in Perranth before she and Rowan returned to Orynth. 

Elide knocked reluctantly on the door, wishing Rowan or at least Fenrys were with her. The meeting was only to be with Aelin, though, so she wasn’t hopeful. 

“Come in,” the queen called, her voice muffled through the heavy doors. 

Elide pushed the door open, softly closing it behind her. Aelin’s face was set, her lips tightening as she folded her hands atop her desk. “Elide. Sit, please.” She glanced at Lysandra who was sitting in the other chair. 

She felt like a schoolgirl in trouble with the principal. Elide sunk down in a chair, keeping her gaze down. 

“Elide,” Aelin sighed, clearly not happy with her cousin. “What is happening with you?” 

Elide shook her head, looking down at her hands, “Nothing.” 

“That’s not true.” 

She nodded, “Yes it is. Nothing is happening with me.” Elide finally dragged her eyes up to Aelin’s. “I’m fine.” 

The blonde sighed, drumming her fingers on the desk, “Elide. I know we aren’t the most traditional country and you have more liberties than most, but you can’t do stuff like this.” 

“Stuff like what?” Her voice cracked and her bottom lip trembled. “I’m not doing anything.” 

“Elide, you are engaged. You can’t hide in closets with people who are not your betrothed and you cannot climb out of a fountain, dripping wet, with the same person who is not your betrothed!” 

“Aelin, why don’t we–” 

“No, Lysandra. Elide is not some high school girl, who gets to run around doing whatever she wishes! She is a royal and is expected to act like one.” 

Elide flinched, shrinking back at the volume and sharpness, “I’m sorry.” If Aelin had noticed how Elide reacted, she would’ve stopped immediately, but the stress of battling parliament and the media were wearing on her. “I didn’t mean–”

“Yeah, I know, you didn’t mean to.” Aelin’s hands dove into her hair, gripping the strands on either side of her head. She laughed humorlessly, the sound icy and hollow. “I am trying to save your crown, do you get that, Elide?” 

Elide stayed silent, willing her body to keep her tears to herself. Unconsciously, she started scratching a nail up and down her forearm, over and over and over until blood was drawn. It was a habit she had picked up as a child and years of therapy hadn’t undone it. 

However, Lysandra noticed and she reached over to take Elide’s hand subtly enough so that Aelin didn’t see.

“I’m sorry.”

Aelin looked at her for a moment and glanced away, “Just tighten up, Elide. You can’t afford to be doing things you don’t mean and if you think you can… you might as well give Lorcan the crown already.” 

“Can I go now?” Elide asked, her voice trembling. In shock, Aelin’s eyes snapped back to her, as if realising the memories she had resurfaced for Elide. Lysandra held a hand out to Elide, but Elide moved so Lysandra’s touch fell short.

“Ellie–” 

Elide stood up abruptly, “If there isn’t anything else you have to say, can I go, your Majesty?” 

Aelin nodded meekly and Elide left. The halls were empty and because of it, Elide ran back to her rooms, locking the doors behind her. She managed to keep from letting the tears fall until she was in her bedroom. 

Bear looked up at her from her bed as Elide crawled into hers. The dog stared at her for a moment, laying unmoving. Elide wiped her cheeks, chuckling tearfully, “Oh, are you mad at me too?” 

Bear just turned her head, tucking her nose beneath her tail.

Elide felt her heart crack in two and cried harder, hiccuping as she buried her face into her pillow. In the darkness of her room, Elide slowly cried until she had exhausted herself into a deep sleep.

+*+*+*+*+*+*

an: omg !! royal scandal sksksks !! 

@mythicaitt @tinywolfofeyllwe @schmlip-scribble @the-regal-warrior @empire-of-wildfire @ladyverena @ttakeitbacknoww @shyvioletcat @alifletcher2012 @tswaney17 @ourbooksuniverse  @flora-and-fae @thesirenwashere @queenofxhearts @maastrash @mynewdreamwasyou @cursebreaker29 @empress-ofbloodshed​ @b00kworm @hizqueen4life @silversprings98 @amren-courtofdreams @minaidss @superspiritfestival @sanakapoor @ireallyshouldsleeprn @spyofthenightcourt @januarystears @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @magicalunicorngypsy @elriel4life @sensitiveillyrian

[adelheidvonschicksal]

Until Next Time | Todoroki x F!Reader

Despite being married, he can’t bear to stay away from you.

Content warning: smut/nsfw, cheating, angst, fantasy!au

Word count: 2151

Todoroki loved you.

You were his everything. The source of heat on snowy days. The sunshine that helped him cast aside the shadows that plagued him. The soft touch that smoothed out his roughest edges, crafting them into something unfamiliar yet beautiful.

Still, he married someone else. 

Given the choice, he wouldn’t have. He was never in a rush to be married, longing after those youthful adventures like most men his age, but he had always envisioned you’d be the one with him when the time came. It only took an arranged marriage to make him realize that it was nothing but forlorn hope to think such a thing would be possible. 

He didn’t complain though. Maybe he should have; but with you being a commoner and he a prince, it was inevitable that this would be the conclusion either way. Even now, he could recall his father saying: this is for the good of the country.

You weren’t invited that day. Todoroki knew you wouldn’t have shown up either way. 

He thought it was for the best. Being married meant he should distance himself from you. It was easy to resist at first since he couldn’t talk to you even if he wanted. You were obviously upset and refused to see him. After all, you had loved him too and being together would only cause you pain.

There’s a funny thing about love though. It makes it hard for two people to stay apart even after the vow he was forced to make to some princess who had the misfortune of being betrothed to him. Upon seeing you again, his resolve slowly crumbled for star-crossed lovers couldn’t be separated forever. Even Romeo and Juliet found a way; and like Romeo, he couldn’t stay away despite the consequences and the shame. 

Todoroki often found himself seeking you out, because despite his wife’s beauty, her intelligence, all the fabulous silk and pearls, she didn’t make him feel the same way as your smile did when you greeted him. Her voice calling out to him didn’t quite compare to yours when you whispered his name. Neither did her body fit so perfectly against his like yours did when your lips finally met.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were coming today,” you whispered happily against his lips, drawing your arms around him. Your head went to his shoulder, and his hand faithfully cupped the back of your head, petting. You shared a modest embrace that left him fulfilled in a way he hasn’t been in what felt like ages. He never realized how he could so desperately long for something as simple as a hug from the right person. 

“We had an assembly canceled, so I thought why not come see you.” 

“Canceled? Hm…are you sure you’re not calling in sick again, Prince Shouto?” you giggled, and the teasing laughter brings him back to fond memories. He had often slacked off in preference of visiting you when he was younger.

“There’s only so many I can attend before I’m completely drained,” he reasoned, the exhaustion of his royal duties accumulating over the days. When he finally reached a deserved break, it was never you he went to sleep with, garnering more stress.

Pulling away, you offered, “Would you like me to make you something then? I can have something on the stove in a few minutes.”

“That isn’t necessary. I can’t stay too long I’m afraid. I have to get back before—”

“Before someone notices I know,” you finished, repeating what he’s told you too many times to count. You wished it didn’t have to be this way. It wasn’t entirely his fault. You saw that, but you hated having to sneak around this way, being unable to indulge in simple things like going out together. But it would be a bigger embarrassment for him if the truth about a mistress got out.

“I’m sorry. I wanted to come sooner.”

You shook your heads. The thoughts on things you couldn’t change would not make anything better. Not for you or him. “Well, all that matters is you’re here now.”

Smiling, he leaned in, kissing your cheek. Lifting his arms, his hands molded to the shape of your waist. Calloused fingertips meticulously followed your form from the curve of your hips to the slope of your velvety thighs. 

“Beautiful, let’s go to your room.”

“After you,” you said, following him to the location. There was no time to play coy. No need to hide your eagerness. You only had so much time together, and you refused to waste it playing hard to get when he so obviously already had you. 

You sat on the edge of your bed, lips still locked with his and moving vigorously to gather as much of his taste as possible. You would need the memory again to sustain you until he would visit again. His top lip brushed over your bottom one, sucking and pulling on the supple flesh. 

Todoroki began to remove his vest, besting his own record to relieve the many buttons and shrug the shirt off before pressing you flat against the bed. Like glue, your hands attached to his chest, palms skimming over alabaster skin and the subtle bulges of toned muscles. Moving to his back, you massaged his shoulders before tracing the smooth grooves of his shoulder blades. 

Todoroki sighed at your touch, the low drawl echoing and fading in your open mouth as your tongues swirled. You didn’t get a moment to breathe until he decided your neck was more worthy of the attention from his mouth. Brazenly, he trailed hungry kisses down your neck, smirking when you responded with an adorably amatory moan and tilted your head to allow him more silky flesh to place possessive marks on. Your hair tickled his face, flooding him with the sweet smell coming from it. You held such a lovely scent. The milky aroma of cream and freshly baked goods It sunk into your skin from your career. No matter how much you washed the scent never seemed to leave you. No other smell was nearly as alluring, and his efforts to have you grew tenfold. It was as if you were all he could think about.

Todoroki wrapped his arms around you, expertly pulling at the strings that held together your corsage until your breasts were free from the tight confines of your dress. His gaze fell on your, watching the gentle heaving of your chest as you heavily inhaled. You whimpered when he pushed a pert nipple with an affectionate touch. The mewling only grew when he circled along the ring of color enclosing the sensitive peak in the center, occasionally dragging his thumb over that fragile crux. 

He followed along your collar bone, leaving a trail of wet bites to the valley between your breasts. He squeezed one gentle, making you moan from tender touches over delicate convexes. He blew air on one puffed nipple before warmly wrapping it in his mouth. 

“Shouto.” You moaned as he hungrily sucked, your body lifting and plopping back onto the bed as your core ached. It felt like you were on fire as his teeth raked your untouched skin. 

When his mouth fully preoccupied your upper body that’s when his hand glided down to your hip, pushing your dress further down, and you shimmied it off with urgency. He released your nipple with a wet pop, his saliva coating over you. “Someone’s needy today. Have you been a good girl, not touching like I said?”

“Y-Yes,” you admitted, and he smirked. 

“Let’s see, shall we?” he said, sliding his hand between your legs.

He coaxed a finger into you, lightly pumping and extracting out a small release of your cum. Todoroki's heart jumped when your cunt squeezed around him with the addition of a second finger. His thumb followed your part, glossing against your inner lips to the covered bundle of nerves they led to. 

You mewled, your back-arching as you squirmed to get tighter to his hand. You ground against him, and he licked his lips when your sweet cum coated his open palm. Watching your radiant face, he smiled. “You’re so beautiful, love,” he whispered and slammed his lips against yours again.

You moaned in unison, swallowing down the sultry taste of each other. He kept stroking your plump underside, his fingers sinking deeper and deeper into you with each scissoring motion. 

You gasped loud, haziness growing in your mind as arousal pulled in your stomach more and more. “I n-need you now.”

“Need how?”

“I want you to make love to me,” you answered, making him flush a pale shade of pink. It was only on these rare occasions with you he could possibly call sex that. It didn’t seem right to call it lovemaking when it was with someone he didn’t love. 

“As you wish,” he said, kicking off his boots and shuffling down his jodhpurs. He lined his tip against your lips until they yielded and parted with his guidance. You suck him in, hugging his pulsing cock. “You feel incredible,” he remarked, his shoulders relaxing and eyes fluttering closed as he pumped into your orgasmic chamber.

“Ah, Sh-Shouto!”

You gripped onto his shoulders, holding onto him and never letting go. He stretched you so wonderfully. Each nerve being massaged by hot flesh throbbing against your inner walls. 

Todoroki grasped onto your hips, holding you in place as the force of his hips increased. The light slapping of your hips echoed, only covered by your ever-increasing groans. Your breasts jiggled like pudding cups pushing against his chest. Chanting his name, you bucked back up into him. Your head lolled back as you caused him to hit deep inside of you. Each time your arousal was ticked up another notch, and you came with the intense constricting inside of you. 

Todoroki moaned, riding through your orgasm as you clenched around him. Your slick cunt left him dowsed in your cum, and he rocked into you clumsily, desperately seeking more pleasure as he raced to catch up to you. He knew he was close when his body tensed before he burst in release.

You were filled with a sudden heat, the culmination of which leaked out of your tight slit with the slowing buck of his hips. You milked him completely. 

You buckled into each other; bodies sweaty but relaxed in a cool afterglow. He wrapped his arms around your waist and released a heavy breath. Your hand went up to comb through red and white as he rested his head on the side of yours for the wee few minutes the two of you had left together.

He felt entirely at peace at that time, almost normal. Sex with you always felt cathartic before the inevitable disappointment that he would have to part with you soon or else raise suspicion. Reluctantly, Shouto pulled away from your embrace and began to dress.

“A little longer, just a few minutes longer, please five more, then you can go...” you begged, tugging him back. You raised your head, trying to kiss him again. He only briefly let the moment last, gently returning your affection before holding you back.        

“Sorry. I have to get back on the road before it gets too dark to travel,” he explained, knowing if he was caught being away too long it would only make it more difficult for the two of you to see each other. 

You sighed loudly, this time being the one to pull away from him. His lips curled into a frown and his heart tugged as he saw your head droop. “I’ll try to come sooner next time so we can lie together longer.”

“Sure.” You turned away from him, hiding your face. Your arm swiftly came across your face, and he didn’t have to guess that you were trying not to let him see your tear up. 

“I mean it,” he said, touching your shoulders. You shifted away.

“You should get going before your wife misses you,” you returned, your voice trembling with frustration. The kind he wasn’t sure what to do about. He hated to see you upset. It was his fault for being unable to break it off, but he didn’t want to give you up again either.

“…Can I still get a goodbye kiss?” he asked hopefully as a sign that you weren’t too angry with him. But you didn’t bother to answer. Weakly, he leaned in and pressed another gentle kiss to your cheek, the only good sign was that you allowed him to do so. That too might have been wishful thinking. ”Until next time, (Name). I love you,” he said; except when you didn’t say it back, he wasn’t sure if there would ever be a next time anymore.

[imagine-that-one-thing]

Her Majesty. || 7

If You’re A Bird, I’m a Bird.

♔♔♔

I’ve been in and out of sleep for a few hours, my mind is unable to cease thinking about what my mother has said, and I’m still under the weather. I thought I was doing fine but this summer cold is proving to be a pain in my ass. 

I feel Anna’s body move between the sheets and I feel her begin to move with more energy. 

“Anna?” My voice is hoarse while I cock my head to the side to gaze at her. 

She’s still asleep. 

I watch her settle in her sleep and I adjust the sheet over her shoulders before I get comfortable and fall back to dozing in and out of sleep. 

It’s an unexpected gasp, and shift in the bed that alerts me immediately. I open my eyes and notice Anna breathing heavily with her hand gripping the covers. “Hey,” I softly whisper, moving closer as she sits up. “Bad dream?” I question the only logical explanation for her sudden lack of breath and sudden jolts. 

Anastasia nods her head. I caress my hand to her back and rub soothing circles. I’m not quite sure what to do. I’ve never been with her when she has had any sort of bad dream. Whenever I have a bad dream, I usually roll back over and go to sleep, but I can see that she’s quite startled by her dream. “Harry…” Anna begins with a heavy breath, “Where’s Henry?” 

“I don’t know… Would you like me to get you some water?” 

“No… I want you to find Henry.” 

”I can’t, I’m a bodyguard, not a detective. Matthew is handling it. Has he gotten you all worked up again? He won’t find you. He’s harmless.” 

Anastasia shakes her head, “I don’t know about that.” Anastasia grimaces while she sits up a little further and takes in a deep breath. 

I lean over and turn my lamp on, the dim glow illuminating the room immediately and causing Anastasia to groan. “Here we go,” Anna mutters unhappily. I know this isn’t going to end pleasantly. She hates when I do this, but I can’t help it… I can’t act like I don’t care. 

“You’re in pain.” 

“And you’re under the weather. We are both avoiding the obvious.” 

“Christ sake,” I shake my head, tired and irritated with her. 

I know she hates when people fret over her, but it’s my job to do so, literally. Her life is in my hands at the moment, whether she likes it or not, I can’t just turn a blind eye. And as her boyfriend, I can’t go back to sleep knowing that she’s worried over a piece of shit Prince and hurting because she fell off a horse and doesn’t want to have doctors up her ass. “It’s either you tell me or I have to call your doctor. You parents were strict on this rule, and right now, I don’t want to piss the King off. He’s already pissed, and I don’t want to make it worse.” 

“Why is he pissed with you?” Anastasia questions, somewhat shifting the subject. 

The king is pissed off with everybody, he is taking his frustration out on all the staff, right now, he’s having his best go at the security team. Right now, Matthew and I are on the firing line. The king wants Henry’s location, but I’m here; I can’t do much. Matthew can only do so much in a few hours while also being in charge of other security staff. The king is taking his wrath out on everybody— yesterday it was the maids and housekeepers— today it is myself and Matthew— tomorrow it’ll probably be Anastasia again. 

I contemplate telling Anna the truth, I have to draw a line between work and our relationship.

There are some things I keep from her for her own sanity. “Your Dad is mad at the world, I’m trying to defuse situations. So, what’s the matter?” 

“I’m sorry… This whole Henry thing was my fault. It’s all escalating and snowballing.” 

“Anna, stop deflecting.” 

“My side hurts, nothing new.” 

“Can I take a look?” I softly challenge, wanting her permission. 

I know she despises when I have to do this, but right now I’m attempting to be her boyfriend. I genuinely care. It’s just a plus that my job has me trained for taking care of her. Anastasia rolls her eyes and lifts her pyjama top up, revealing the side of her body when she took the hardest hit. 

“Doctor wasn’t joking when she said you’d have bruising. Looks like you definitely have bruised ribs. Why must you be so stubborn?” 

“Same reason why you keep trying to cover the fact you’re unwell and still more worried about me. Please, don’t make a big deal of this.” 

“Anna—“ I begin but I stop myself, “Okay,” I sigh, “But if it gets worse, you’ll tell me?” 

“This isn’t a life or death situation. Let’s go back to sleep.” 

“If you insist.” 

“Can you really not find Henry? I feel uneasy about him.” 

“It’s not my field of work. Matthew is working on it. I know a PI and I’ll call him in the morning.” 

“Aren’t they expensive?” Anna questions and I can’t help but chuckle to myself. 

The woman who literally has no reason to worry about money or the cost of things is concerned a PI expensive but doesn’t seem to take into consideration that half the jewellery in her possession is worth thousands of dollars. 

“I’ll handle it and pay for it, stop worrying about things you don’t need to fret over. It’s my job to worry.” I respond. 

I kiss her cheek and move away from her, dismissing the conversation and settling back down into the bed. Anna doesn’t hesitate, instead, she shuffles closer and rests her hand on my chest as she gets comfortable. I stare up at the ceiling, listening to her breaths while I allow my mind to wander. 

I won’t hesitate to find everything I can about Henry. We should have done an intense search on him when he first came into the picture, but the King was adamant that he knew better and knew the family. Sometimes, the king isn’t always right. I should have listened to my gut instinct. Now, all I can do is keep an eye on Henry and keep Anastasia safe and sound. I don’t want her to worry about anything, and as much as I hate to admit things, Henry makes me uneasy as well. I don’t like how he seems to have gone off the deep end over something as small as losing a bet on a horse. It’s almost as though losing a bet and money triggered him to lose the plot. Perhaps, I’m overthinking things, but from the way Anastasia is acting and reacting, I think she feels the same way. 

For now, it’s my job to worry, not hers. I won’t hesitate to take her worries and pain, and I’ll do everything to keep her settled through chaotic storms. I can’t help but feel like the storm is just starting to brew and it’s about to get worse. 

♔♔♔

I find Anastasia relaxing in my mother’s garden, enclosed by the summer flowers that flaunt their beautiful colours even in the moonlight. 

I wander closer to her sitting figure, offering her a modest smile when she stares up at me. Unfortunately, she doesn’t give me her usual grin, instead, she offers me a fake smile that indicates she’s hiding something. 

“Been looking for you for a minute,” I begin, wanting her absolute attention. 

“Sorry,” Anastasia gazes away from my gaze, “Jus’ needed a minute.” 

“What’s wrong?” 

Anastasia grows withdrawn for a moment and I grasp the silence as a time to step closer and sit beside her. I caress a kiss to her cheek before I arrange my arm around her, “You know, whatever has you down won’t last forever. Things will be okay.” I decide to go with words of encouragement, mainly because I know that she is more than likely stressed over more things than I’m even aware of. I know she was working on a few royal duties this afternoon while it rained, I assumed she was responding to letters or keeping up to date on public, political, and cultural affairs. Her job never truly stops. 

Anastasia heavily laments before resting her head on my shoulder, “My father is losing the plot, Harry.” 

“How so?” I challenge. 

I have to admit, I’m not wholly surprised. He seems to have been on a steady decline since last year when word got around that he needed to pass down the crown. 

I have yet to figure out why he is determined to pass the crown down to Anastasia this year or early next year, nobody has heard of a thorough reason. The house staff have their own conspiracy theories, one being that he wants to leave the crown to Anna so that he doesn’t have to handle royal duties anymore. I don’t think that’s the case. I believe there would have to be a solid foundation for what he’s doing. After all, only one British monarch has ever willingly abdicated the throne, and the King wouldn’t make the second unless it were for a better reason than simply not wanting to do royal engagements. He won’t abdicate. He will likely give Anna the title of Princess Regent, putting her in charge of his official duties while he’d get to keep his title as His Majesty the King— of course, that’s if he wants his title. 

“My Dad is being a prick.” 

I chuckle modestly, “Sweetheart, that’s because he’s the King.” 

“That’s no excuse. Are you saying he has always been a prick?” 

I become withdrawn for a minute, debating my answer. “Well… kind of…” I nod my head, “It depends on the day. There’s a reason why the Palace staff don’t enjoy being on his service.” 

“Is that why you’re never on his service?” 

I don’t know how to answer Anna. It isn’t that I’m never on his service because he’s a prick, it’s more that I just don’t savour being on his service. He can be a very arduous man to keep a watch over. He tends to go against the books and plans on purpose. He doesn’t desire any of the staff listening to too many conversations and will deliberately strive to throw me off his whereabouts. I wouldn’t necessarily say he has secrets, but he definitely likes his privacy and isn’t a fan of me doing my job. “Matthew and I just agree not to have me with your Dad unless he requests me, which is rare.” 

“So, the staff don’t like him?” 

“I don’t think we should discuss this. He does have a say in my wage.” 

“I’ll ask my lady’s maid then,” Anastasia mumbles, “That’s of course if I haven’t been abolished from the monarchy by the time I get home.” 

“What? What happened?” I immediately challenge, uncertain of how she can be abolished from the monarchy. Although, it could work in our favour if it occurred. 

“The King has threatened to take away my title and to make sure I don’t become Queen.” 

As much as I desire to relish in the thought of Anastasia being stripped of her title and not under the thumb of the royal family and monarch, I know that she’s probably upset to hear her father threaten such things. 

“And I know I shouldn’t care and that I don’t really want to go through all this but at the same time… He is being an outright prick for no reason. This Henry situation isn’t my fault.” 

“First of all, sweetheart, the King has no legal authority to alter the succession to the throne. That would require an Act of Parliament,” I inform Anastasia, reminding her of what she already knows. 

“I told him that, he responded with ‘we will see about that.’” … “Henry seems to have my father in a rage.” 

“Is he threatening this because you won’t date Henry or just because he can’t fire palace staff?” I curiously ask, unaware of whether he’s serious or just taking his anger out on Anna since there’s nobody else. I haven’t heard anything from Matthew but I’m also somewhat off the clock, so Matthew won’t bother me unless it’s urgent. 

“I don’t know.” 

“And unless there’s a secret love child, you’re the only one who is eligible for the crown. He can’t do anything,” I continue to explain. 

As bitter as it is, no matter what, Anastasia has no choice but to take the crown. There’s no other heir, she’s the only child of the King and Queen. 

Even if she did want to abdicate for us to be together, where would that leave the monarchy? 

In the hands of a distant cousin or relative? 

Almost every living English citizen is somehow a descendant of an early monarch. 

“I don’t know, Harry. I think Parliament would decide to whom to offer the crown. But surely there has to be someone else in line, I don’t think I can do this. This is becoming a mind game, it’s driving my father insane and it’s stressing me out.” … “I wanted a nice weekend away from it all and it followed me. Are you sure you don’t want to run away together?” Anastasia asks me and for a brief moment, my mind wanders to the ring in my pocket that wants to make an appearance, but a proposal right now isn’t the right time. 

How can I ask her to marry me when she’s gradually going down the rabbit hole of self-destruction because of a monarch who relies on her when she isn’t even Queen. 

“Where would we run off to, my dear?” 

Anastasia lifts her head off my shoulder and stares at me with glossy eyes, “I’d go anywhere with you. Just say the word.” 

She is on the verge of tears and it breaks my heart.

“Well, you said after this Henry charade is over you wanted to come forward with the relationship…” 

“I’d rather run away. We could go to Greece?” Anastasia continues to look at me, wanting an answer. I can’t tell if she’s half-serious or not. “Let’s go to Skopelos.” 

“Anna, I don’t even know where that is.” 

“The small Greek island of Skopelos. Nobody would find us.” 

“You just want to run away without even being married? What would I do for a job? What will you do? The monarch won’t pay for us.” I’m trying to logically process what she’s saying. There’s a small part of me that wants to bring that ring out and propose but logically how could we pull this off? 

We can’t just run off together and fall off the grid. Her father would have everyone looking for her and would presumably kill me with his bare hands. 

“I’m sure there’s a small church somewhere. We could make it all work.”

“We’d need residency permits and a Greek tax-file number, running off to Greece is going to be just as hard.” I think my girlfriend has lost her marbles. 

Anastasia shakes her head, “Never mind,” Anna whispers, a tear managing to fall down her cheek.

“Hey,” I breathe out, pressing the pad of my thumb to the warmth of her cheek, “Don’t  cry, we will work it out, I promise.” 

“How can you promise me that?” 

If only she knew about the damn ring. Things would be different. 

“I just can,” I respond. Every part of me wants to propose right here, right now. But she deserves something better than a proposal while she is upset. She deserves something nicer than this. “I promise that things will be okay. You and I will work it out.” 

“What about the monarchy?” 

“All due respects, but fuck the monarchy. Right now, you are my priority, not everyone else. Darling, I will make things right, have faith in me.” I wipe a few more tears away from her cheeks and she grants me a small smile. “How about we go inside? Play some Scrabble? Watch a movie? Something?” I offer, gesturing towards the house. 

Anastasia nods, standing to her feet, waiting for me. I stand up and I take her hand before I gently lead her inside the house. 

It’s when I step inside my mother’s house and let go of Anna’s hand so she can make her way towards my mother, that I realise, there is a chance Anastaisa and I may not get the chance to have a small, ordinary house together. If we get married and she is the Queen, we would be living the high lifestyle, living in the Palaces. There would be no ordinary home that could use with some fixing up. We wouldn’t do mundane things. Life would be different, that’s for sure. 

Would we manage to live life together by the rules of the monarch? 

Would she manage to have the best of both worlds and balance a sense of normalcy?

♔♔♔

Anastasia’s POV.

The cool breeze from the ceiling fan taps against my skin and I nestle further into the delicate covers of the bed. I leisurely open my eyes, a dull ray of sunshine peeking through the curtains. I tilt my head to the side, Harry’s still fast asleep. It’s rare that I’m ever awake before him. He’s usually out of my bed by five in the morning when we are at the Palace, for obvious reasons. And even when he has no reason to hurry away, he still tends to be the first one awake. 

I know he’s exhausted, dealing with the palace isn’t the easiest of tasks and having to look after myself and anyone else isn’t easy. He’s constantly working without much of a break. He’s still under the weather, as much as he hates to admit it. It’s nothing major, but it is still enough for him to need the extra sleep. I’m not quite sure what time he came to bed last night. After a quick game of scrabble, we started a movie, unfortunately, after twenty minutes, his phone went off with a call and he excused himself. I can only assume Matthew was the one calling. Matthew has a knack for calling at the most inconvenient of times. I tried to wait up for him but by the time he got off the phone, I was already in bed. I’m not sure what happened after his quick kiss goodnight. 

The man that lies beside me, peacefully sleeping, is wholeheartedly the best thing to have walked into my life. I’m not sure where I went right to deserve him. To be honest, sometimes I don’t think I deserve him. Somehow, he never takes the easy way out, he stays. He has seen me at my best, he has seen me at my worst, and has yet to run for the hills. Most men by now would have thrown in the towel and found someone else. By the grace of God, Harry stays. 

I spend the early morning helping Harry’s Mum with the animals, giving them their morning feeds and making sure everybody has water before the day gets too hot. I don’t assume I was much help, but I did try. 

I wander into the bedroom just as Harry is placing the last pillow on the bed, he turns to glance at me and raises a brow, “What happened to you?” He gestures up and down, taking note of my mud-covered jeans and grass-stained t-shirt. “Please tell me you didn’t take a fall.” 

I shake my head, “Did you know horses like to nibble on clothes? I didn’t…. Also, the goats… uh… they’re not charming at their morning feeds.” 

“Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, just a bit of mud. The princess is fine, relax.” I inform him, with a nod. I understand he just cares, but he needs to relax, a little mud never hurt anyone. “I was wondering if we could leave the house? See where you’re from?” 

“I assume my mother put you up to this?” 

“She may have mentioned some nice places.” 

“Hmmmm, I don’t know, Anna.” Harry responds with uncertainty to his voice, “I just don’t know if it’s a good idea.” 

“We are in the middle of nowhere; what could possibly happen?” 

I am aware that anything could quite literally happen, it is me we are talking about, I do not have the best of luck with things. It would be my luck something out of the blue happens and pushes me into some sort of lockdown.

Harry rubs his temples and looks at me before dropping his hands to his side, “Let me have my coffee first and then we can figure something out, okay?” 

“You said we could be normal.” I remind him of the fact he specifically said I could be normal out here. I had it in my mind that we would be able to be more free, we could walk in and out of stores, go to parks, the beach or really anything.

Harry nods his head, “I know, let me have coffee and then we can decide on where to go, okay?” Harry presses a kiss to my forehead, “I love you.” 

“Do I get a say in this or are we still doing the whole Princess act thing?” I question with furrowed brows, irritated that the normal weekend I have been promised is consisting of my father pulling strings from the palace and Harry acting as though he’s still on duty and my bodyguard. 

Harry sighs. “Darling, please, just let me get some coffee… I promise we will leave the property today.” … “I am not trying to be a prick, I am not trying to be your security guard. I just… I just need coffee.” Harry continues to emphasize his need for coffee. 

I nod my head, dropping the subject as I turn on my heel and walk out of his bedroom. I decide to get a head start on getting him his coffee, it is the least I can do for him. I know he was up for most of the night working, and I know it probably isn’t easy being all the way up here while his security team is back home. I know there are a lot of things that could happen that probably runs through his head. I also know I am not always easy to deal with. 

I stand in front of his mother’s coffee machine, bewildered on how the contraption works. I tilt my head to the side, suddenly feeling like a privileged idiot; I have never had to make my own coffee before, nor do I even know how to. It is always poured for me or made for me. I place a cup under where I assume the coffee pours from and I hold my breath as I press one of the button in hopes that it brews coffee. I am out of my element. 

I hear chuckles from behind me and I turn around to see Harry smirking as he sits upon the stool at the counter. “Don’t mind me, just sitting, love,” Harry informs me, trying to hold back his chuckles. 

I bite my lip and heavily sigh, watching as the brewed coffee fills the coffee cup, but I don’t think he wants straight coffee. 

“At the risk of sounding like a privileged princess, Harry, I have never made coffee,” I begin with a soft voice, embarrassed as I look at him. 

He holds back his chuckles and nods his head, promptly removing himself from his position at the counter and walking around to me. “Sweetheart,” Harry begins, pressing a kiss to my forehead, “What are you trying to make?” 

“You a coffee… I just… Where does the milk go? What do all these buttons do? What happened to just having tea? Do people not just make a pot of coffee?” 

“Some of us need a little kick of caffeine in the morning. Some, not all. Here, to make a cappuccino you froth the milk like this,” Harry takes the stainless steel container holding the milk, showing me how to froth the milk like they do in coffee stores. 

“Why is this contraption a thing? Is this a normal thing?” 

Harry laughs, “For some, it is normal. The palace has one, your mother loves it. Convinced me to buy this one for my Mum.” Harry gestures towards the expresso machine as Harry works his magic. “Glad that you still live in the old times of no expresso machines.” 

“I thought they were only in coffee shops.” 

“You need to leave the palace more,” Harry comments, placing the stainless-steel container on the counter. “Here, you can pour the milk into the cop. Gonna have to teach you how I like my coffee,” Harry winks playfully, “Or, perhaps, we will leave it to me to make morning coffees,” Harry gently pokes fun at me. 

I roll my eyes at him and I pour the milk into his cup, quite proud of myself for not managing to make a mess of things.   

♔♔♔

The warm breeze whistles through my hair and the sound of the ocean crashing against the shore becomes music to my ears. It has been a while since I have had the opportunity to stand on the beach without a care in the world, and without having to look over my shoulder to make sure nobody is taking pictures. For the first time in quite a long time, I have a sense of being normal. The sand nestles between my toes, I take a deep breath of the salty air as I tilt my head to the side and glance over at Harry. 

A smile spreads across his pink lips and he stares at me with awe in his eyes. Lord, I’m one lucky girl to get to stare back at the man I’m entirely in love with. We may have our ups and downs, we might not have a conventional relationship, but there’s no other man I’d want to be with, there’s nobody else I’d want to be standing on a beach with. 

Harry takes my hand and we wander closer to the water’s edge until the tip of my toes finally hit the tepid water. I let out a heavy breath, more so relieved and belatedly, happy. “I’d give anything to be able to feel like this more.” 

“Feel like what?” Harry questions, guiding us to stroll along the water's edge. 

I grin to myself, taking note of the birds soaring high over the ocean, “Like a bird,” I chuckle to myself, well aware my description is not ordinary, then again, I’m not ordinary either, “Free and happy,” I respond. “There’s no restraints, no duties, no photographers, I could run into the ocean with my clothes on and nobody would give a damn,” I gladly smile. 

Harry smirks and lets go of my hand, “Well, go on.” Harry gestures towards the water, “By all means, darling, enter the water with your clothes on, be a bird.” 

I shake my head and gesture for him to join me as I step into the water, loving the way it feels to have the sand move under my feet and the water dance around my calves, “Harry, join me.” 

Harry shakes his head, “Not a chance in hell, love.” Harry chuckles, his hands in his pockets as he stands at the edge, the water barely missing his toes. 

“Do you think I could've been a bird?” 

“Oh, god. No. Don’t—“ 

“Say it! Say I'm a bird,” I insist, well aware of what I’m doing. 

Harry brings his bottom lip between his teeth and he glances around. 

“Anastasia, you, my darling, are bonkers.” 

“Say I’m a bird!” 

“That would mean admitting I’ve watched a romantic movie.” Harry shakes his head, watching me as I shrug my shoulders and walk further to the sandbar the tide has exposed. 

I spin around, allowing my dress to dance around me. I glance over my shoulder and see Harry shuffling closer, his hands still in his pockets. 

My feet dance at the edge of the sand bar, thoroughly relishing the freedom, “Tell me.” 

“Tell you, what?” Harry questions, stepping closer to me. 

“Quote my favourite movie.” 

Harry rolls his eyes playfully, “I’d never do such thing.” 

I gasp, stepping away from him with a laugh escaping my lips, “Darling,” Harry laughs, reaching out and wrapping his hand around my wrist, causing me to laugh louder as I playfully attempt to pull away from him. Harry tenderly tugs on me and forces me to face him, “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird,” Harry recites the line and I draw my hair away from my face, still giggling like a schoolgirl. I beam at Harry and he smiles back at me, his eyes bright and full of more love than I could ever imagine. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird. Anastasia, I’ll be anything you need me to be, and I’ll go anywhere I need to go. I’d walk to the end of the earth if it meant being with you; I’ll do everything that it takes, I’ll fight any battle thrown at me, I’ll fight for you and for us. I’ll protect you, at all costs. Darling, I love you, and I honestly couldn’t imagine this life without you.” Harry’s sweet words take me by surprise. 

Harry clears his throat and bites his lip as he gets down on one knee. 

I stare at him, stunned. Is this— is this happening? 

“It won’t be easy, but I promise to love you through everything. Princess Anastasia Annette Leanor, Duchess of Edinburgh, will you do me the honour of becoming my wife?” 

As the man I’m madly in love with opens the ring box, I can’t help but think about the fact that it would be MY honour to marry him. He is my knight in shining armour, in more ways than one. He’s everything to me. Perhaps, I haven’t always been gracious to him, nor have I always made things easy. The monarch doesn’t make things easy, but this isn’t the monarch's decision. This is mine. For the first time in a long time, I feel free, and for the first time in a long time, I’m going against all traditions and rules; I’m going against the monarch. 

“Yes… Of course. Yes. Harry.” I can’t contain my excitement; how could I ever say no to a proper proposal? 

Harry slides the ring on my finger and for the first time in forever, everything is perfectly right in the world. Before I can blink, I’m wrapped in his arms and he’s spinning me around, “I love you,” he whispers, bringing me to a stop and placing me down. 

“I love you,” I whisper, gazing at him like he has hung the stars in the sky and moved all the oceans just for me. I lean up and kiss him, slowly and sweetly— nothing else in the world matters. 

[octania]

Icy summer explosion (part 3)

Bakugo x Reader

Shoto x Reader  

Genre: Romance, Drama, Comedy, Smut

Warning: Smut, Cursing

Type: Series

Words: 2666

Characters in this part: Bakugo, Shoto, Deku, Kaminari, Kirishima.

Short description: A tense summer love drama between you, Bakugo and Shoto. It all starts in summer paradise, but where will it end and how?

_____________________________________________________

The coast was clear. Y/N could finally catch her breath.

„That was one hell of a show..you are not so bad after all, mermaid.“- the first that came out of the darkness was Kirishima. He smiled at her with gratitude. The others came out as well, with an expression of relief on their faces. Only one of them did not share their momentary joy.

“What were you thinking? You literally could’ve killed yourself! What if you have landed on your head, breaking your neck?!”- Bakugo was now in her face. He gritted his teeth in anger.

“Ease up buddy, she is fine, she saved our asses, be grateful.”- Kirishima approched Bakugo, calmly putting his hand on his shoulder, but Bakugo wouldn’t have that. He shook him off.

“That was not the point asshole! She literally jumped down the rocks! It was reckless and stupid!”- he continued, pointing his finger on her legs.

“Look at her legs! I am surprised how you are able to stand!”- all of them now lowered their gaze on her thighs and knees. It was true, they looked pretty bad and painful. From all that adrenaline Y/N forgot about the pain for a moment. They skin was all starched and bleeding and bruises were already visible. She tried to move one leg, pretend that everything is fine, but the sharp pain prevented her from moving the foot more than a few centimeters. Her expression gave her state away, and it angered Bakugo even more.

“Damn it!”- Before she or anyone else could say something, he knelt in front of her. Having him this close once again and now staring at her legs on his knees, made her heart race and cheeks fire up. She thanked the Gods they were all in the dark, and could not see the  treacherous colors of her cheeks. His fingertips started to touch her skin, checking the damage carefully. She could hear him cursing under his breath.

 “It’s not too deep, but still is not good. We have to clean it before it infects.” – suddenly, she felt a grip on her writs. He pulled her hand slowly to his lips. He bit the end of her sleeve. Like and animal, with one pull , he tore the material with ease. He grabbed one part with his hand, pulling it all the way to her elbow, then again grabbed it between his teeth and pulled once more, until it didn’t break fully, leaving a long piece of fabric in his hand. They guys stared in shock.

 “What are you doing?”- Shoto asked with a husky voice that hid disapproval.

“What are you all staring at?! What?! What does it look like I am doing?! We don’t have nothing else here but this.”- and it was true, they were all in their bathing suits and flip flops. She nodded, looking away. His face remained furious, as he started to cover up the deepest cut she had, gentile as possible. She let out a quiet sound from pain, that almost made his hands shake.

 “Did he hurt you?”- Shotos voice was deep, filled with concern.   She shook her head.

“I am fine.”- she replied. Once he was done, he stood up. Turning to the guys.

“There you useless shits, I did what I could. And you call your selves heroees. We need to reach the apartment, and mend that wounds properly.” – once again, his words sounded like commands, but no one wanted to disagree. Except…

“Our room. Yes, five guys, one fucked up naked girl, with even torn clothes. Sure, does not look at all wrong. Not to say, nooottt at all suspicious.”- Kaminari said irritated.  The others wanted to slap him on the head as usual, but they didn’t, because as hard it was for them to admit, he was right.

“We can’t just walk around with her like this, if he get spotted, her effort to hide us was all in vain.”- said Deku.

 “Guys, its ok! I don’t need to come with you! I will go to my apartment and mend myself. Really, you have done enough!”- she said. She didn’t want to cause them no more trouble.

 “Do you have anyone at home who can help you? Come here to get you? Because Im not…”- he coughed, correcting his sentence quickly. “…we are not leaving you here alone or letting you go alone.”- Shoto stared in her eyes, making her realize he will not discuss this any further. 

“No..but..”-she started, but stopped when he turned his back to her, facing the guys.

“We are doing this, we will find a way. And I have a slight idea how.”- he started walking to the exit of the stone labyrinth.

“But first, I need to get my jacket. I left it on the one of the beach bars that we almost burned.”- he went out of the cave before anyone could disagree, but he can still hear Bakugos swears and nagging, but he didn’t care for that. He had other problems now. He slowly went to the surface, looking around carefully. No one was there. The teens were gone, and he could even see their footsteps in the send. He hurried, trying to stay in the shadows to reach the place they were at. He managed to miss the spot because how deep in  his thoughts he was. He didn’t understand why, but he was worried…too worried. It was normal to them as heroes to do everything in their power to protect people, but this didn’t feel like that. He knew she was never in some real danger, and even the thing that did happen to her could be easily resolved by just taking her to the hospital. Even now. But he didn’t want that, he didn’t want her to leave. Furthermore, he did not trust others when it comes to helping her.

“What the fuck..”- he said to himself. He only just met her. He literally knows her for about one hour. But…she impressed him more than any other woman ever had. Her modest behavior, her courage and intellect when she was trying to keep them hidden…her endurance when she was clearly in pain…how her hand fit perfectly in his when they were running on the beach. He didn’t even realize it, he was smiling. Warm feeling consumed him, and it was not from his fiery side. Once more he gave himself permission to think about her face. How the fire light played a game of dancing shadows on her cheeks, how the glow in her eyes were almost magical. And he possesses fire…that means he can recreate that enchanting moment once more.

“Y/H…”- he tasted your name on his lips once more. To see how it fits in his mouth, how it sounds in his ears. He was even a bit surprised to realize…it was a perfect match. 

                                        *                *             *

They were running now. The streets were empty but they didn’t want to risk it. They were fast, moving like cats, unseen. Y/N was so impressed she had a filing she was floating. Just 20 minutes earlier, Shoto managed to collect his jacket. They covered her with it, hiding the torn sleeve. It was long, looking like a dress on her, but still she was half naked. She didn’t have time to think about that, she had so much on her plate already. They agreed to reach the apartment with her, disguise her as one of them and walk in the apartment like nothing is wrong. They would put her in the middle, cover her head with the hood of the hoodie, to fool the cameras, and one of them will have to climb up to the apartment through the window. She wanted to disagree, but Shoto didn’t want to hear about it. He was determent they do this. The only one who was not happy about this plan was Bakugo, but he didn’t directly disagree.

“Fucking idiots..”-that was the only thing he said before they moved on.  Bakugo. She slowly turned her head to look at him with the corner of her eyes. Deku was carrying her on his back, and Bakugo was right next to them, just a few meters away. The anger on his face was gone, but the serious look remained. She questioned herself why he would want to risk so much just to help her. Was it because of  what happened in the water? Did he feel guilty? The look on his face all along was nothing even close to guilt. She could not reach a normal conclusion. Her thoughts were disrupted by a voice.

“You ok back there?”-Deku asked softly, with a friendly smile. He reminded her on her brother, his foolish face. It made her feel a bit more relaxed when she remembered her brother.

 “Um..yeah.Sure.”-she smiled, hiding her concern and fear of what might happen next.  They have reached the building where their apartment was. It the building was tall and lavish, very different from the old style of this island. It was obvious that this was intended for the upper class. The guys stopped just on the corner before the main entrance, as Deku slowly let Y/N go. Just when the pain was getting better, her standing made it all come back in a flash. She bit her lip, giving her best to hide it.

“Are you ok?”- that voice, again, sharp and direct, wrapped in concern. Shoto.

“Yes, I can do this.”- she said with determination . If they could this for her, at least she could walk for them.  Her answer didn’t satisfy Shoto, but he knew there is not much he could do before they reach the apartment.

 “Ok, we shall do this quickly as we agreed. No quirks, we don’t want to draw attention, so we need to do this the old fashioned way once more. Just one more thing needs to be decided.”-he looked up to the balcony on the third floor.

 “Who will play the role of the Spiderman?”- once more, Kaminari could not hold in his bitch side. Seeing that the climb would be more then dangerous, Y/N turned pale, being certain she does not want to go on with this.

 “No, no way! This is enough! I am fine God damn it! And I am going home now!”- she said, not even looking at them anymore. She didn’t want to risk this, it was more than foolish. For one moment, she thought her legs were pain free, like nothing happened at all. But soon enough she realized, she was not even walking. Once more the feeling of being in the air. She turned furious, facing Kirishimas silly face.

“Excuse me Y/N, but I think it is better if he stick to the plan.”- his smile was filled with unbelievable warmth. Smile that exuded good intentions and friendship. The kind that is usually built over the years, but he was showing it to the complete stranger. She could not help but the melt and get sad in the same time. How the people were looking at them as meat, good for nothing but saving others or making a fool of themselves on the shows. She barely kept the tear in her eye, and smiled back nodding. 

“Thank you!”- he said with joy, turning back to face the guys, letting her go.

 “Move aside retards,like any of you can do shit without your quirks. Better yet, like any of you can do shit even with them.” – Bakugo pushed Shoto and Kaminari aside and started to walk to the wall.

“I hope you will make this as painless as it can be..Meet you up there.”- Shoto said in a low voice, ignoring Bakugos insults.  Bakugo said nothing, disappearing in the dark corner of the building.  They entered the hallways. Considering it was almost 2 a.m., guests were asleep or at least in their rooms. The plan sounded simple. Put her in the middle, surround her, make her unnoticeable as possible, just nod at the lady at the front desk, keep her head under the hoodie and dodge the cameras, enter the elevator and then straight to the room. But everything sounds easy in theory, because the little cracks in the plan are becoming more visible only when the plan is set in motion. They were half naked, she was much smaller than them, security in this place was high obviously because the guests were important people… But the guys looked like they were ready. It made Y/N wonder how many times they had to act just to get a little privacy. She was lost in her deep thoughts for a moment, trying to walk as fast as they were. To help her, Kirishima was right behind her, holding her elbow, giving her support. Shoto was in charge to get everyone to do their part correctly. As the tallest, he was in the front, covering her as much as possible. Soon enough , they were few meters away from the elevator. The only thing that was left was to fool the old lady in the front desk. She gazed at them with a smile. They smiled back, trying to continue without a word

.“Did you have a nice time?”- she said suddenly. Damn it…Shoto cursed in his mind. Without stopping, he replied.

“Yes, this island is beautiful.”- short and respectful. Just when he thought that was it, the lady said in a panic.

“Oh my God, is that blood on you?”- they froze. She saw her, it is over.

 “Izuku what happened?”- she pointed on his ribs. Little blood stains were on him, but the blood was not his. When he carried Y/N, her legs left bloody marks. Shoto exhaled with ease.

“He is fine, he scratched himself on a rock as we swam.”- Shoto replied as Deku nodded with a smile.

“I am fine really, just want to take a shower and rest.”- Shoto said and started walking, as the others followed. They said goodnight to the lady, entering the elevator fast. They all exhaled with ease. It was almost over, they just needed to reach the room. And they did, without any more distractions. When they entered and turned on the lights, Y/N had a feeling she entered a dream house. A huge white room with modern stuff, classy and clean. But the thing that occupied all of her attention and made her mouth open was the glass wall and the view it provided. She almost lost herself in that hypnotic view of a dark see in motion, but the unsettling thought crossed her mind and made her shiver.

“Where is Bakugo?”- she said, turning. The guys started checking the rooms and calling his name, but no one was there. The panic was slowly throwing its strings around them. Their hearts almost stopped as the sudden sound of thunder pierced the sky, making a blinding flash. The dark water reflected the light, crashing its waves in the same moment.

 “Bakugo..”- the sound escaped Y/N shivering lips as she saw his silhouette on the other side of a glass wall. He was holding himself on the edge of fence, with the rest of his body still hanging on the other side. The guys didn’t even manage to move, he twisted his whole body, jumping over the fence and landing on his feet. She watched him in shock. He stood there in the dark, as the rain started pouring. She could see his deep breaths, chest moving, making every muscle alive and visible. The water fallowed the shape of his tight jaw. He licked his lips to gather the water from the rain, exhaling once more, before he looked up straight at them. He ran his hand through his blonde hair, making the biceps twitch. His face held no emotion , it was cold as a stone. His eyes were barely visible, but the expression he had was anything but soft.