#so the fact that he seemingly never purrs like. fits into that image.

[sunnibits]

the way that my cat’s purr is so incredibly quiet that it’s literally silent 99% of the time so the only way you can tell if he’s purring is by feeling the vibrations in his throat…. things that make me go insane

[honeylikewords]

uneasy lies the head (poe dameron)

In the wake of her passing, the official, if somewhat symbolic, royal title of Alderaan has passed to from Leia Organa to her chosen heir, Poe Dameron. Along with his elected position as the Galactic Senate Represenative for his home planet, Yavin V, Poe is now burdened with the responsibility of a political office he never imagined holding, and is called to attend a summit of the galaxy’s leaders that will be held aboard the Starcruiser Halcyon. 

This piece is based on a few things: one, me liking the idea of Prince of Alderaan Poe, two, my interest in Begrudging Politician Poe, and three, the new details that have come out about the real-life Halcyon experience that will be opening up at Disney World in Florida, which you can read more about here! I’ve been really excited about it for a long time, and just thought it’d be fun to tie one of my favorite characters in to this amazing new experience that will be coming soon! 

(Content Warnings: mentions of Leia’s de@th, some slightly risque flirting between Poe and his wife, and a little bit of making out, but that’s about it! Word count is 5k.)

Poe stands in front of the mirror, anxiously adjusting the epaulets of his tunic. They don’t seem to sit right on his shoulders, he thinks, passing a hand through their silvery fringe and watching them brush the snow-white fabric of his sleeves. This isn’t his kind of uniform, and when he looks at himself, he sees more a child wearing the spoils of a raid on their parent’s closet than the Senate representative he was meant to be. He tries tightening the high, pale collar of his tunic against his throat, swallowing thickly and watching his Adam’s apple bob beneath the colorless fabric. That didn’t help much dignify the image, he thinks, eyeing himself morosely.

He looks older. His beard is fuller, having let it grow out to appear more… wise, he supposes, and the grey streaks running through it match the ones appearing more and more every day at his temples. His tan fingers tease lightly at the end of his beard, trying to stroke it like he’d seen other, more senior politicians do when lost in thought (or at least trying to come across like they were). It makes him look pretentious.

Sighing loudly, he slumps his taut shoulders and rolls them a few times to loosen the aching muscles. He turns away from the mirror and steps out of the dressing room, entering the stateroom and collapsing onto the edge of the bed, his face in his hands. He hears a door hiss open and looks between his fingers at the emerging figure.

She’s still fidgeting with her hair, which is now lifted from its former looseness into a series of intricate looping braids. Letting out a huff, she takes her hands away, seemingly having resigned herself to leaving the hair as it was. Poe lifts his head a little, resting his chin on his palm as he watches her pat her dress and check the mirror in the dressing room, just as he’d been doing mere moments before.

She looks much, much better than he does. It’s an objective fact. Her air is stately and refined, with her gown framing her regally. The fabric is a delicate, pale blue, trimmed with fine threads of gold that interweave and flow, like braided ivies, trailing up her waist in a way that guides Poe’s wandering eyes to the loveliness of her figure. She seems to belong better to this world, with its mannerisms and socialites, its political politenesses. He never had the patience to be so diplomatic, even though that is his job, now.

He watches her pull a face at herself in the mirror, frowning at some flaw he’s oblivious to, and he stands up, coming to her side and placing his hands on the small of her waist, leaning his head on her shoulder and kissing her cheek amiably.

“You look like a princess,” he purrs, hoping his flattery will encourage her confidence. He hates seeing her unhappy with herself.

“I wish,” she responds, voice tinged with something wan and far away. “I… I really do wish.”

He knows what she’s thinking about: he’d been thinking about it, too. Dropping the air of adulation, Poe reaches for her hand and gently knits their fingers together, pressing their locked hands softly against her belly for reassurance. He meets her eyes in the mirror, and the two share expressions of loss.

“I miss her, too,” he murmurs. “I don’t feel like… like I can do what she did. What she left for me to do.”

He feels his wife squeeze his hand intently, causing him to lift his head up and meet her gaze as she turns to look at him, unfiltered by the mirror. Her eyes, clear and sharp, stare at him as she nods, then kisses his forehead warmly, taking her free hand and brushing it softly across his cheek.

“She chose you for a reason,” she whispers, soft and sincere, just like she always does. “Leia left you her seat and title because you’re the only person fit for the job. She trusted you.”

Her hand dips to his jaw and she lifts his head up from its morose slump. He cannot look away from her, even if he wanted to.

“I trust you, too.”

Poe takes in all the angles of his wife’s face, knowing that no single word of what she said was untrue, but searching for the possibility of a lie anyway in some small giveaway of her expression; after all, how could he be the one fit to carry on in the shadow of his predecessor? How could his shoulders carry the burden of her greatness, much less improve upon it? But there, in her eyes, Poe sees the truth, reflected over and over again: he was chosen for this job, chosen to carry on a legacy he had no option but to strengthen. He is the only one who could, whether he believes it or not.

He straightens his back a little, standing up taller,  and squeezes his wife’s hand in silent thanks, taking a moment to press their foreheads together and breathe in the scent of her. She is wearing perfume-- something they’d never had access to during the scarcity of the war-- and he marvels at how something so small changes the entire atmosphere of her presence. She truly embodies the grace and elegance of the woman who came before both of them, looking every inch the part of an Alderaanian royal.

Glancing back at himself in the mirror, Poe huffs; while she may look, indeed, just the way Leia would want the nation to be represented, Poe does not. He looks stuffy in his garb, at times like an old man in the too-tight clothes of his youth, and, at others, like a scrawny teenager in the baggy trappings of someone he was only pretending to be. She seems to sense his dismay, as she takes the initiative to comfort him, this time.

“You look dashing,” she smiles, adjusting his lapels and the ribbons of decoration on his chest. “Prince Poe Dameron, Senate Representative of Alderaan and Yavin IV. You’ll knock ‘em dead.”

At that, Poe lets out a playful, exasperated huff, rolling his eyes.

“Yeah, I’ll be great,” he grimaces, eyeing his form in the mirror. He raises his voice into a mocking lilt, swaying his head from side to side in an intentionally cartoonish parody of a stuffy bureaucrat. “Oh, Senator Y’Barra, your engagement commission is most dreadful! Shall we discuss its heinousness over tea and crescent crumpets? Garcon, we need more gold-dusted butter for our scones if we are ever to pass this bill!”

She covers her mouth to hide the beginnings of a smile and tries to reprimand Poe, affectionately slapping his chest.

“It’s nice that we’ve been asked to attend the summit, Poe. At least try to make some--”

“Don’t say friends,” he groans. “I don’t want to make friends with these people. They’re politicians; they don’t want to do anything other than profit, and post-war reconstruction is a hell of a time to make money for slime bags like these people.”

That seems to take her back for a moment, and Poe watches her expression shift as she sorts through her thoughts, her lips pursed, eyebrows arched. She then shrugs and nods, acquiescing.

“Probably. But there are probably also people like you: people whose service in the war and dedication to their people, all across this galaxy, led them to this job. People who just want to rebuild. Do better. You’ll find them, dear: you’re an excellent judge of character.”

She taps her fingers against his nose playfully.

“After all, you picked me, didn’t you?”

“If I remember correctly,” Poe teases, lowering his eyes to her lips and smirking, “You were the one to get a crush on me first. All butterflies and nerves anytime I so much as passed you in the halls. More like you picked me, huh?”

Poe catches her face take on the familiar cues of embarrassment and flustering; he can just tell he’s got her all a-twitter, and she pouts her lips, looking down at her shoes shyly as he starts to chuckle. It’s adorable to remember how flighty and skittish she was in those early days, and how enamored of her he himself was, and remains. Getting her all shy like this is a sweet harkening back to that early, giddy tension, and he dips his face down, hovering his lips just above hers, feeling her draw in a breath of neediness and--

“Senator Dameron,” a robotic voice announces through the commlink in the stateroom, freezing Poe in place. “The ferry is beginning docking procedures with the Halcyon. Please proceed to the boarding area. A droid will be sent to collect your luggage as you leave.”

“Ah, shit,” he growls. He’d completely lost track of time.

Dodging back out into the stateroom, Poe glances out the window and sees the looming mass of a gigantic starcruiser, a sharp body of glimmering steel and inky black portholes contrasted against the star field behind it. It is massive-- far larger than any ship Poe had personally piloted in the past-- and spans more than the distance his window could afford a view of. They are extremely close, and within minutes will be aboard the behemoth, where Poe will have to eat, sleep, and breathe senatorial and princely dignity.

He turns away from the window to see his wife making sure everything was packed and prepared for departure, checking the bathroom and dressing room before giving him a confirming nod: everything is where it needs to be. They are ready to go.

They walk towards each other and Poe places his hands on his wife’s arms, stroking up and down the bareness of her shoulders to steady himself. As he feels the warmth of her skin beneath his rough palms, Poe blinks with awareness and gives her a quick squeeze, darting off to the dressing room. He opens a trunk and lifts up the topmost layer of fabric, running back into the stateroom with it carefully laid across both his forearms, then turns his wife to face him and gently lays the upper corners of the fabric on each of her shoulders.

“The cloak,” he mumbles as he fastens the pale silver silk around her neck, “Don’t wanna forget that. A princess is set apart by garments like that.”

“Right,” she hums, admiring his hands as he fusses with her collar. “Sometimes it’s hard to remember that since you’re the prince, now, and I married you, I’m the--”

“Princess, yep,” grins Poe. “Princess Dameron.”

“By marriage only,” she teases.

“And I’m only the prince because she left an essentially honorary title to me,” Poe wits back. “But it suits you, at least.”

“You think?”

“Mm. Now, I think the prince owes his princess one of the tenets of royal responsibility: unadulterated affection towards one’s spouse.”

“Is that a tenet of your responsibilities?,” she smiles, brow cocked.

“I just made it up, but I like to think so.”

Once again, Poe presses his palms against the soft curves of her upper arms, squeezing in the grounding manner he knows she likes, tracing his thumbs along the creamily-smooth fabric now covering her, and he leans in close, admiring how the light shifts against her skin as his shadow draws nearer. He parts his lips, ready to feel the gentle swell of her soft ones against his, when, as if by divine interruption, the hydraulic hiss of the stateroom’s door fills the room and a silver-plated protocol droid peers at him through the now-open door. He grits his teeth to resist letting out a completely undignified expletive aimed at the droid and stares at it pointedly, trying to silently communicate that it had interrupted a private moment.

“It is time to board the Halcyon, Senator,” it chimes in the lilting manner all protocol droids seem to have, seemingly blissfully unaware of his frustration. “Please, come with me to the boarding area.”

Behind the protocol droid, a cargo lifter droid rolls by, seemingly waiting until Poe and his wife leave the cabin to enter. Poe sighs, but can’t resist letting a small chuckle out: both droids, despite their different purposes, both seem polite, in their own sorts of ways, and he always finds that endearing.

Looking to his wife, Poe gives a little bemused half-smile and shrugs his shoulders, as if apologetic but resigned. She takes his hand and turns, nodding to both droids with an impassive but gracious expression, one that Poe notes is more than befitting of an official such as herself. Distanced, but not dour, regal, but not recalcitrant. He loves it.

“Thank you,” she says, coolly polite. “Please, lead the way.”

The protocol droid begins its stiff-jointed hobble towards the boarding area and Poe and his wife trail behind, arms linked at the elbow as Poe fidgets with her fingers. He twiddles her marriage band as they walk, always comforted by the feel of it on her hand. He admires it as they silently proceed; it’s somewhat rough-hewn, made from hammered durasteel, a little uneven and dented in some places from the haste in which it was made, and Poe loves it.

He loves how it contrasts the delicate, fragile jewelry common amongst royals, how it’s not meant to glitter and shine and grab attention, how it ties her to him and he to her, with no regard for image or pomp. It is heavy and solid and made purely for the sake of love and belonging, and she wears it everywhere she goes with pride, as if it was the finest-cut Oshiran sapphire, or the most carefully sculpted gold. It is one of the crown jewels of Alderaan, now, and the thought of it-- of his parent’s simple, quickly-made wedding ring, forged in a time of war, without promise of any moment past the one they were in, now being a royal regalia-- makes his heart ache to bursting with unadulterated love.

Poe tugs her hand up and kisses her knuckles as they finally round the corner into the boarding area; somewhere in the back of his mind, he registers the droid saying something about how their luggage will be sent directly to their stateroom aboard the Halcyon, but he’s hardly listening. He’s looking at his wife, his rock, his tether, as they begin their socialite dance, seeking steadfast comfort in her as he prepares to have to play his part in a world he was never born to be in.

The droid gestures to a corridor formed between the two ships: passengers traipse from the shuttle onto the boarding area of the Halcyon, representatives from a myriad of species in a breadth of costumes and liveries. Poe and his wife exchange glances, knowing that these people will have some hand in forming what comes next in the political landscape of the galaxy, and that they, too, will be instrumental in forging the new governments of the rising Republic.

“Come on,” she smiles, trying to coax him along, tugging his hand and taking a step forward, “It’s gonna be fine. It’s not like my flyboy to get cold feet, hm?”

Poe chuckles and shakes his head, trying to dislodge his clouding worries, and walks in time with his wife, joining the throngs of senators and royals and presidents and diplomats making their way aboard the Halcyon. Some of them exchange pleasantries, others are locked in conversations: some even look at Poe and his wife and nod in acknowledgement, or turn to their compatriots and whisper.

Poe feels an embarrassed heat creep up the base of his neck; he knows rumors have circulated about his particularly unusual position as a representative for a dead planet and a living one, and about how he’d been named the next in line for a royal title he was not born into. He tries not to let it get to him-- let people think that they think, and do your job, Leia had always told him-- but the feeling of alienation and disbelonging hangs over him, shaming him into silence. He tenses, and keeps his eyes fixed forward, which grants him an ever-nearing view of the grand foyer of the massive starcruiser.

The Halcyon is unlike any other ship Poe has ever been on. He’d heard about starcruisers like this, meant to be enormous cruise ships travelling in luxury and style from one planet to another, filled with sprawling cabins and indulgent amenities, and had never even pictured himself aboard one. The thought hardly appealed to him: days, weeks, even, of doing nothing? Just wandering aimlessly around, decadent and opulent in one’s revelry? The mere idea disgusts him. Still, as he steps into the expansive entry for the Halcyon, he finds himself feeling something other than disgust: he feels strangely at home.

The area is bustling as ship workers and bellhops collect luggage and transfer it to droids, as greeters guide guests to check in areas and hand them keycards, as officers check passports and documentation against databases, all lit under the glow of thousands of lights, which reflect off polished durasteel and marble surfaces. Holo projections provide information about travel destinations and the cruise itself in hundreds of different tongues, while a massive projection of the captain glows a familiar blue and greets the boarding politicians.

Poe turns in awe, gazing at the dozens of porthole windows affording views of distant and nearby star clusters, at the navigational crew high above, checking maps and charting courses, and takes a deep, steadying breath in through his nose, squeezing his wife’s hand tight. The hum and thrall of the ship, with its thousands of moving parts and requisite workers, feels exactly like all the ships he’d served on during the Rebellion. He half-believes that if he closes his eyes and turns around, he’ll open them and see Leia there, giving orders and directing the workflow.

The memory sits on his heart, but instead of a heavy, lingering pain, it kindles a warm, growing fire: she lives on in him. She would be proud to see him carrying on the mantle, working to do what no one else has the skill, speech, or stones to do. She is never really gone. Never can be.

Instilled with strength and purpose, Poe looks to his wife, who is staring at the gargantuan hub of activity before her, almost taken aback by how bustling it is. He leans down and gently pecks her cheek, tugging her along and breaking her out of her trance. They’ve got places to be, things to do, royal engagements to avoid, after all. As they begin to move closer to what Poe believes is the reception desk, a Twi’lek in a sleek, almost military-looking white uniform steps in front of Poe and his wife, grinning from green ear to ear.

“Senator Dameron, Princess Dameron,” she greets, bowing at the waist respectfully, “I am Lyna’ame, and I’ll be directing you regarding your stay on the Halcyon. Thank you for honoring us with your patronage.”

“Uh, thank you for having us,” Poe stammers, unsure of how to conduct himself in such a position.

Lyna’ame looks up at him with a quizzical eye, but seems too well-trained to respond with anything more than a polite smile and a nod. She produces from the pocket of her grey-trimmed suit a pair of infochips, extending them towards Poe and his wife.

“You will be staying in the royal suite on Deck B, unit number eighteen,” Lyna’ame smiles. “These chips will act as your keys to the room and to any amenities you should wish to access, and will remind you of upcoming engagements or conferences you should be in attendance of.”

As if on cue, the small screens on the infochips light up and read “19:00: Senatorial Dinner In Ballroom One!” Poe blinks at it, then flashes Twi’lek a cordial but slightly cold smile, taking the chips from her hand and tucking them unceremoniously into his breast pocket.

“Alright, thanks. I think we can get it from here.”

She seems not to register his attempt to tie off the loop of the conversation, continuing anyway.

“You will also have access to all the facilities of the ship, including the swimming areas, dining areas, lounges, bars, activity centres, spas and--”

“I’ll check the brochure in the room,” Poe smiles, searching for an exit. “I appreciate it, but, uh, my wife is very tired--” --Poe nudges her with an elbow and she balks, then understands his intention and mimes a yawn, nodding sympathetically-- “--And I’d love to get her some rest before any hobnobbing, y’know?”

“Of course, your highness,” Lyna’ame says, again accompanied by a civil bow. “The elevators are to the left. Press your infochip to the pad and it will take you to your floor. Your luggage should already be in your room, and please,” she smiles. “Enjoy your cruise.”

Poe bows back, then leads his wife by the elbow to the elevators, where they tap their key card and the doors hiss open. As they board, just the two of them, Poe’s wife turns to face him and raises one eyebrow, haughty.

“Really threw me under the bus there, Poe,” she smirks. “‘Oh, my wife wants to leave this conversation because my wife is awkward and doesn’t know how to handle subordinate behavior from service workers’. Real nice.”

Rolling his eyes, Poe can’t help but smile, and instead of replying, drops his hand to the small of his wife’s back, grazing his fingers there for a moment before dipping slightly lower and--

She jumps, then giggles, hitting him with a shocked but not at all displeased expression.

“Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Maybe,” he smiles. “Why?”

“You just seemed so…” She touches his arm, searching for the right word, chewing her lip thoughtfully. “Severe, before. Lost.”

“Feeling better. Feeling… like I can do this, maybe. Or at least do what I need to do, even if it doesn’t look exactly like how everybody else might expect me to.”

At that she purses her lips and nods, and he can tell she’s happy for him: he’s not entirely out of the woods about this whole ‘galactic representative’ thing, and certainly not used to all the expectations that come with being the heavy head that wears the crown, but he’s going to be alright. At least, he feels like he is, at this moment, and that’s all that matters.

Poe finds himself allowing his smile to grow wider as he dips down and nuzzles her temple, teasing his lips over her ear, tempting and toying.

“I still hate the suit,” he whispers, sending her shivering, “And I don’t want to talk to these people like we’re all buddy-buddy--”

“--Acknowledged, Senator,” she teases, rubbing his arm in the way that lets him know she’s itching to get more handsy.

“But we’re gonna have a private room,” he continues, “And a lock on the door, and at least--” --He checks the infocard, which reads “17:05”-- “--About two hours before anybody’s gonna need us, so I say we shimmy out of these nice duds…”

Poe’s finger trails down the silky rivulets of her collarbones; he has to admit, he does find her massively attractive in this royal robing, but he figures it’ll be less hassle for both of them to assure he doesn’t get too rowdy while they’re wearing some of the best (and irreplaceably expensive) fineries in the galaxy, so he’ll have to bid her pretty little dress and luxurious cape adieu for their stateroom rendezvous. Not that he minds: the dress might be pretty, but the woman underneath is ten times more so. Besides, she can always put it back on again for the dinner, anyway.

“We go see what kind of minibar we’re looking at,” Poe teases, watching her roll her eyes, “Hop in the bath, and see where those two hours take us.”

“Mm, we’ll see,” she demures, patting his chest. He knows she likes to dance around it, never say anything too scandalous where someone else can hear, and he loves that; she extends the tension, making him wait for what he wants. He may not ever have been a patient man before, but she forces him to slow down, savor it, work for it. And that’s delicious.

The elevator doors slide open as Poe leads his wife out into the hall, kissing her jaw as he checks the suite numbers. They shuffle along, exchanging little pecks and touches in the graciously empty hallway (what would the other representatives think, she reminds him in a hushed tone as they pass rooms, if they saw the new prince of Alderaan and Senator for Yavin V hanging off his wife like a pubescent teen?) before arriving at suite eighteen. Poe fumbles in his breast pocket, keeping his lips planted on his wife’s neck, then slaps the infochip haphazardly against the door. It clicks open, and Poe doesn’t even bother to look inside: he just coaxes his wife in, and tumbles in after her.

The lights in the room slowly turn on automatically, rising from a low dim to a sunny brightness, illuminating white-panelled walls and a lush, wide bed, all the furniture sharply clean and sleekly modern, trimmed in shades of black and silver. A massive window shows the endless expanse of space beyond the double-layered transparisteel, and while Poe would normally be more inquisitive and peek around the room to admire it, he’s more than occupied as he pushes his face deeper in the warm, scented crook of his wife’s neck.

“Careful,” she warns as his hand starts to pet at the base of her head, eking dangerously close to the beginnings of her hair roots, “These braids took me hours. I don’t want to have to re-do them, Dameron”

“I get that,” he breathes heavily, “But you look really hot with messy hair and--”

“If we’re going to go to that dinner, I’m not going to go with my hair flying everywhere! I’ll look like a… well, you know!”

“Like a woman well-loved by her husband,” Poe teases, nipping at her jaw. “But, fine, we’ll skip the dinner, and I’ll just keep you all to myself. Nobody else has to see. In fact, I’d prefer they didn’t.”

His eyes glimmer with wolfish promise as he sets his wife down on the edge of the white-blanketed bed, staring at her as her skirts form pools of silver and blue. He’s serious: the summit dinner all but disappears from his mind as he looks at her; how beautiful she is. How elegant. So poised and pretty and his, all his, to love until all the suns swallow themselves and burn out. All these representatives won’t miss him at one measly, lousy dinner, right? Not when he has the love of his life to attend to, surely.

“What’s gotten into you?,” she giggles, kicking off one of her sophisticated shoes as she sits on the bed. “You’re acting like we’re on our honeymoon!”

Poe leans in and places his hands on either side of her hips, bumping his forehead to hers as he takes long, weighty breaths, feeling the heat radiate off of her.

“I just… This is a lot, right?”

“Mm,” she acquiesces.

“And you’re kind of… what I go back to when I’m in too deep. So, right now, all this summit stuff and the Senate and the council? I need that to take a backseat to me being with you. The person I love. And letting that be what guides me in what I need to do for… everybody else.”

She lets out a soft, appreciative “aw”, her eyes softening as she cups his cheek, and Poe leans into her hand, allowing a little lasciviousness to leak into his smile as he stares down at her.

“Plus, it’s kinda… you know, a little sexy, being somewhere so new and ritzy. I’m not used to this kind of stuff. That, and we barely got a honeymoon, if you remember--”

“Yeah,” she recalls, sighing and pinching the bridge of her nose, clearly vexed by the memory, “I remember. The day after we got married, that First Order outpost tried to open fire and you were up and out of bed and back in deployment after less than twenty four hours of being a married man.”

“Duty never sleeps,” he shrugs. “But… We can make up for lost time here, on this big, shiny, fancy-ass ship, huh?”

Poe wiggles his eyebrows with playfully rapacious intent, sending his wife into a fit of good-natured laughs. He adores when she laughs; it sends his heart racing, every inch of him alight with the joy of knowing that her smiles are because of him, the sound of her voice bouncing up and down with glee all caused by some silly little thing he’s said or done. Unable to contain himself, Poe leans down and kisses her, cutting off the sounds of her laughter, a deep, satisfied groan emanating from his chest.

“God,” he rumbles as they part for a quick breath, “I haven’t gotten to do that all damn day.”

“It did feel really good,” she sighs, clasping her arms around his neck. She seems to take pause, etching his face into her memory with her eyes, then comes to a decision: Poe would recognize that resolute gleam in her expression anywhere. “Alright, we’re staying.”

“...You mean it?,” he chirps.

“Yep. You tell them your poor, defenseless wife is laid up ill and needs your constant and most doting attention,” she smiles, kissing the tip of his nose. “Then when you’re done calling the front desk, you come over here and you help me get out of this dress and into that bath you promised.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he chuckles, then catches himself. “I mean, yes, Princess.”

“Mm,” she beams, teasing him with a pinch on the thigh. “Much better.”

They share another deep, drawn-out kiss before Poe manages to wrest himself away from her and off to the side of the room with the comm built into the wall, but glances over at her as he taps at the screen to connect with the front desk. She grins coyly from the bed, kicking one leg out in a pseudo-sultry, semi-silly way from beneath her sumptuous gown. Poe can’t help but feel a swell of endearment.

As the call connects, Poe sighs dreamily to himself; if all else failed, at least he had her, and with her by his side, he was definitely going to enjoy a very, very pleasurable cruise.

[revasserium]

運命なんて

commission for @mika-ze; thank you so much for commissioning darling, i hope you like it u__u 

things like ‘fate’  hirugami sachirou; 3,016 words of fluffy fluff fluff

one. he remembers it like recalling a dream just dreamt, the image so clear a moment ago and yet fading by the second -- he watches as if through a running stream, the water crystalline in the way it distorts the memory. he doesn’t think so much as he knows that the two of you will be friends, or perhaps more, for a very long time. 

he’s all of six years old. 

“what’s your cat’s name?” 

you look up with eyes the color of molten chocolate, the spark in them just as sweet, just as shy and curious and perhaps, a little apprehensive. your glasses are a bit too big for your face, but you push them up with a finger as you frown up at him, the sketchpad splayed in your lap, charcoal dust smeared across your hands. 

“tiger.” 

“huh?” 

“her name is tiger.” 

he blinks. 

“why?” he asks. 

you shrug, glancing over at the large tabby cat in a walking vest, tethered to a long leash, currently pawing her slow way around the base of a rather ginormous tree. at least, compared to the both of you -- most things are ginormous compared to the both of you. 

you frown even harder, and he plops down on the bench next to you; the dog park is filled with, well, dogs -- and one leashed cat. yours. 

“because that’s what she’ll grow up to be.” 

hirugami squints at you, unsure if he should be the one to break it to you that your cat, large and orange though she is, will not grow up to be a tiger. 

he decides that he’ll leave that daunting task to someone else, so he just shrugs and looks back at his own puppy, yipping as he chases a stray tennis ball down the length of the park. neither of you mentions the large sign by the door that says only dogs allowed. 

two. middle school is a mess, as middle school is wont to be. but hirugami thinks that if he does what he’s supposed to, practices all the right things, studies hard enough, that everything will be fine. everything should go just the way it was meant to go all along. 

he’s almost right. almost. 

“everyone say hi to mika, she’s transferring in as of today.” 

hirugami blinks, because he needs to (basic bodily function -- he learned that in science the other day, something called biology; he’ll have to ask his parents about it when he gets home), but also because he’s surprised. 

it’s you. 

“mika,” he says to himself, frowning slightly to himself as he familiarizes himself with the shape of your name in his mouth -- he thinks it’s a nice name. cute. sweet. with a little kick. 

he spares a moment wondering why he’d never asked for your name all those times he saw you at the dog park with your cat, tiger. then he spares moment musing upon the fact that he knew your cat’s name before yours but you hadn’t seemed to mind. 

“hirugami-kun? do you mind showing mika-chan around school during break today?” 

he gets to his feet, his back straight as straight can be, shoulders back, chin up -- posture perfect. he bows and says yes, sensei, of course. when he gets back up, it’s the find you standing by his desk, staring at him with your eyes (your glasses are still a bit big for your face; he spares a moment to wonder if they can grow with you before ridding himself of so ridiculous a sentiment). 

“didn’t know your name was... that,” you say, sitting down in the desk next to his. 

he looks over, slightly distracted by the charms on your backpack (are those even allowed in school?). 

“didn’t know your name was that either,” he says back, because he’s feeling a little childish today. one of the very few days in a week, if he may say so himself (he says so). 

break comes as it always comes, and he pushes out of his seat, waiting for you to follow. instead, you give him a brief bow before scurrying off out the door, faster than he can stop you. 

“hey -- !” he chases after you, because the teacher had put you under his care, at least for the duration of break, and he’s not about to slack on such a show of trust. you’re surprisingly fast, he thinks as he follows you up four flights of stairs, at the end of which he finds a door clearly labeled do not enter, swinging. he pants as he pushes through it with cautious hands. 

“hello? are you up here?” 

you turn on him with a scowl on your face. 

“shh!” 

he’s about to frown at you, about to tell you that it’s not okay to just race off like that and it’s also not okay to go through doors labeled do not enter but he’s halted in his tracks. 

hirugami blinks. 

clutched in your arms is a very, very large tiger. 

no, not an actual tiger -- your cat tiger. but he does have to admit that tiger is starting to look very much like an actual tiger. a small one perhaps, but for a cat, she is very large indeed. her vest looks just as fitted as it did before, and he wonders if things really can grow with the people (or cats) who wear them. 

“wh -- you --” for the first time in a very long while, he finds himself at a loss for words. 

nothing he’s ever read or practiced or learned or studied or accidentally overheard his parents talking about has prepared him for this. 

after a moment, you grin, swinging tiger slightly in your arms. she meows, licking lazily at her own mouth, seemingly unfazed by the way you’re holding her, her legs hanging straight down, almost skimming the ground of the rooftop the both of you are currently on. 

the wind picks up and you walk towards him. 

“wanna pet her?” 

“uh...” hirugami stares as you bring your cat towards him, holding her out with both arms. tiger regards him with an languid sort of look before yawning. 

he doesn’t have time to answer before you’re dumping tiger into his arms, almost knocking him off balance because wow he didn’t know a cat could be quite so heavy. 

“she’s cute, right?” you grin as you pat tiger’s head now that she’s firmly curled against hirugami’s chest, purring loudly. he gulps, looking down at the large cat. and he can admit that with her round face and her orange fur and her big, green eyes, she could indeed be considered cute. so, he nods. 

you laugh, a delighted sort of noise, which startles him, because he’d never really heard you laugh before either. 

(at the dog park, he mostly sits next to you while u scribble or sketch, him occasionally peering over and pointing at a random blob with a that’s nice and you answering with a grunt of something that sounds vaguely like thanks.) 

“i think she likes you,” you say, scritching tiger behind an ear. tiger mewls, apparently pleased and closes her eyes, folding herself into hirugami’s arms. 

he thinks it’s weird, the feeling of feeling a cat’s purr rumble through him. like a tiny little furry motor running, running, running. it makes him shiver and he finds himself smiling. 

he forgets to tell you that it’s against the rules to bring pets to school. 

three. you go to a game of his, and you don’t really cheer, because you don’t really like places with a lot of people, but you go. and he thinks that it means a lot that you did. you find him after with your smile (that he’s now familiar with) and your glasses (which are still a bit too big) and a milk flavored popsicle (which he’s actually never had before but always wanted to try). 

“here,” you say. 

“thanks,” he says. 

he takes it, studies it for a second before taking a bite. it’s cold against his teeth, but it feels good sliding down his throat; he’s still sweating from the match after all, but they won, so it’s all good. 

“my mom’s making okonomiyaki for dinner tonight, wanna come?” you ask. 

he takes another bite of icecream. 

“didn’t she make that last week?” he asks, frowning when he realizes that it’s a terrible question because he was there last week, and he remembers. and it was delicious. 

you nod anyway, because you don’t seem to mind stupid questions. 

“yep! and you had a lot, so she’s asking if you wanna eat some more.” 

he looks down at the now half-finished popsicle. 

“sure, if your family doesn’t mind.” 

you laugh, a sound he’s also now familiar with. a sound that he thinks he likes. 

“of course not -- we wouldn’t invite you if they did.” 

he nods. right. stupid question. he seems to do that a lot with you -- he wonders why. but he finds that he doesn’t mind. because after all, you don’t mind. 

and he likes -- 

“sachirou!” 

he turns to find his sister smirking at him. he tries not to scowl, not because he doesn’t like her, but he really doesn’t like her boyfriend -- and she’s always got a boyfriend. 

“oh, is this the famous mika-chan? hi there, i’m shokou, sacchi’s older sister,” she grins, offering you a hand. 

hirugami feels a wave of heat wash into his cheeks and he’s not entirely sure why. probably because she’d just called him sacchi, a nickname that he really doesn’t like because one of shokou’s boyfriends gave it to him and it stuck. shokou thinks its funny. hirugami, decidedly, does not. 

“hi. yes, i’m mika. nice to meet you. are you the one with the boyfriends?” you ask. 

hirugami’s eyes go wide as he whirls back around to look at you. 

you’re blinking up at his sister like it’s a perfectly normal question to ask someone upon first meeting them (it’s not, but he probably won’t tell you that later either). 

shokou laughs, ruffling hirugami’s hair. he shakes it out after, huffing slightly. 

“yep, that’s me. so he’s told you about me, hm?” 

you shrug, apparently losing interest in her, “just in passing. anyway, i was inviting him over for dinner. mom’s making okonomiyaki and he had a lot last time, so she’s inviting him over for more.” 

“yeah, i’ll come,” he says, blurts out, more like, his cheeks feeling hotter than ever. he refuses to look at his sister as he grabs his sports bag and heaves it over his torso. 

“i won’t be home too late,” he says, waving over his shoulder as he brushes by shokou, his eyes trained somewhere on the floor in front of him. to your credit, you fling yourself into a hurried bow before dashing off to catch up to hirugami. he’s a fast walker when he wants to be, and right now, apparently, he wants to be. 

four. high school is an even more of a mess, as it is wont to be. but he finds that it’s not so bad with you. 

he still goes to the dog park with you, and tiger. although tiger seems to be getting on in years. she doesn’t move so nearly as much as she used to, and the hairs around her face are turning a distinctly whitish-grayish color. 

“that’s nice,” he says, pointing at your sketchbook. your drawing has gotten much better, and you’re thinking of going to design school. he thinks you should; he doesn’t tell you that it makes him feel a little queasy to know you won’t be in the same school as him anymore. 

you smile up at him (some time ago, that smile had started to look like home). 

“thanks.” you reach up to tuck a hair behind your ear, your glasses no longer too big for your face because he’d insisted on getting you a new pair last year for your birthday. 

you go back to your sketch of a boy -- they never have faces, the people you draw. and when once, he’d asked who they are, you’d gone a strange shade of red and shook your head -- 

“no one -- th-they’re no one! just... just random people.” 

he’d wanted to ask why they looked like him sometimes, but he figures that artists, you know? (he doesn’t know, really. but he pretends he does because it makes you happy.) 

he doesn’t know how it became like this, with you -- comfortable, he thinks. and in all honesty, it’d never been uncomfortable, so he supposes that by that logic, it’s always been comfortable. but still, it’s a thing more than mere comfort -- a thing that’s like... settling into a warm bath, or taking the tape from his fingers after a whole day’s practice (sometimes, you come to his practices, and you still don’t cheer, but he thinks that it means a lot you’re there). 

“i think tiger’s gonna die soon.” 

he blinks, because he needs to. 

he blinks again, because he’s surprised you’d said it so plainly, without even looking up from your sketch. 

he doesn’t know what to say (and that’s okay, he’s learned), so he keeps quiet instead. 

your fingers pause; you turn to look at him, there’s something in your expression he doesn’t quite recognize. maybe... fear, or perhaps sadness of a kind that he’s never come into contact with. a kind of sadness that sinks its claws into your very soul and squeezes till every drop of blood is gone -- you purse your lips and swallow. 

you look back down at your sketchbook, but you make no move to start sketching again. 

hirugami hesitates for a moment before putting his arm around you. it’s the first time he’s done anything like this, but it feels like the right time to do it, his body tells him, before his mind can quite catch up -- 

you lean into him, and you sniffle. he pats your arm before sliding his large palm along your back. 

“i’m just... scared,” you say, still not looking up. 

“what’s there to be scared of? death isn’t that scary, y’know -- its supposed to be just like falling asleep,” he says, looking down at the top of your head. he can smell your shampoo -- sweet, vanilla. you used to use green apple, and then you used lemon-orange for a while. but he likes the vanilla too. he likes it because it’s you. 

“no -- it’s not that...” you shake your head. 

he waits. 

“i -- i’m scared cause... tiger’s always loved me, y’know? we grew up together... and she’s always been there for me. when i was happy, when i was sad... and...” you hiccup and he pats you on the back, “and if she dies then... who’s gonna love me that much?” 

hirugami lets out a small laugh, and finally, finally, you look up at him. 

he meets your watery eyes with a steady gaze of his own. 

he smiles. 

“i will.” 

you blink up at him. probably because you need to. but also probably (he’s a actually very, very sure) because you’re surprised. 

he cocks his head, “objections?” 

you blink again. 

he hums happily as he tucks you into his side again, a large, floaty feeling filling his chest (he thinks he knows what it is, but he’s in no hurry to give it a name). 

“good. now let’s go get some dim-sum. the place you like is doing a promotion.” 

he gets up, reaching down to take your hand. you let him. and he thinks that that must mean something. 

(it does.)

five. “i’m going out!” 

shokou peers at him from over her sunday morning coffee. 

“going to see your girlfriend again?” she teases. 

hirugami hasn’t told her yet, because there isn’t much to tell, really. 

so he smiles, and instead of his usual answer of not answering at all, he gives his head a firm nod. 

“yep.” 

he steps into his shoes as his sister nearly chokes in the kitchen, the sounds of her coughing echoing down the hall. 

“wait -- what? you actually asked her out?” 

he turns and fixes shokou with a smug look, “what do you mean? i hang out with her every sunday.” 

shokou sputters, and the sight of it brings him more joy than it rightly should. 

“y-yeah, but you never admitted that she was your girlfriend before!” 

he cocks his head at her. 

“what difference does it make? not everyone feels the need to announce their relationships like you do.” 

shokou scowls even as he sends her a cheery wave over his shoulder, opening the door and stepping out into the mid-september chill. 

you’re waiting for him outside the gate, like you always are. you open your hand and he takes it, the pair of you setting off down the street. 

you peer up at him and grin.

“did you tell shokou?” 

“not in so many words.” 

you laugh, nudging him slightly. 

he laughs too, swinging your hands between you. 

the pair of you pause outside the gates to the dog park, looking over at the ginormous tree under which the pair of you first met, under which tiger is now buried, safe and sound, with her favorite vest and leash and your solemn promise to love her forever. 

and hirugami’s equally solemn promise to love you forever (for her, but for himself too. mostly, he thinks, for himself). 

after a moment, you set off towards the dim-sum place. 

“i think i’m gonna become a vet,” he says. 

you nod, “good. just make sure to pick a school close to mine, okay?” 

hirugami laughs again, letting the sound breeze through him like the autumn wind (the best wind, you say). 

“i don’t like the thought of not going to school close to you,” you say. 

he nods, firmly. certainly. 

“yep. me too.” 

[wakaoujisenhime]

Hello! This one is gonna be so cute! Another one for Kiri and Tetsu again. This time separate. What if they had a crush on a girl in their class who has a cat quirk. The class decides to have a movie night. And about half way through their crush falls asleep on them. And they discover something. She quietly purrs when she sleeps. After the movie they wake her so everyone can go to bed. She’s in their lap by then, carefully moved. And they finally confess to her. She happily accepts of course. 😍

A/N: Can you guys imagine just how hard it is to find cute Tetsu fanart xD ...this boy has almost no fanart whatsoever (or maybe it’s just me who doesn’t know where to search xD). ANYWAY I hope you enjoy this piece of fluff for our two boys!  

Tags: Kirishima x reader ✅  Tetsutetsu x reader ✅  SFW ✅  fluff ✅  confession ✅

image/art source: Kirishima -> Twitter ; Tetsutetsu -> Pixiv (art by kongxwall)

━━━━☆ ━━━━☆ ━━━━☆

Let’s rewind it - Kirishima x reader

“How can (Y/N) be so cute...?“

“Hm? Did you say something?“

Kaminari looked at his red-haired friend who seemingly just noticed that he had spoken his thoughts aloud. Instead of answering him, Kirishima just shook his head and tried to hide his blushing cheeks from his friends’ curious gazes.

No matter how much he tried to twist and turn his words, it was very obvious that he had feelings for you.

Kirishima always fought with himself when it came to the question of whether he’d confess. For him the thought of a boy being honest about his feelings was the manliest thing there ever was, but the possibility of you rejecting and avoiding him in the process was a much greater risk he wasn’t ready to take.

But what he didn’t know was that you actually felt the same way about him. Sadly you were stuck with the thought that he only saw you as a friend and nothing more.

Having Kirishima on one side who was too afraid of losing you and having you on the other side who constantly labeled herself as nothing more but a friend was at first quite the amusing sight for your classmates, but now it was just sad seeing such bubbly personalities beat themselves up over nothing.

And that’s why they came up with the movie night.

Your friends forced you to sit next to your crush which made you more anxious than embarrassed. The reason behind your anxiety was your quirk which resembled Tsuyu’s in a way – to put it bluntly, she was a frog and you were a cat.

The sole problem with your quirk was that whenever you got too excited you’d slightly lose control over it which resulted in happy tail wiggling. So all in all you were afraid that you (or better said your tail) would end up showing and disturbing Kirishima.

You wanted to escape, but thanks to your classmates who were pretty much pushing you further towards your crush there was no escape...

——

“Yes punch him that’s what he deserves!“

The moment you put on the movie it was as if your worries never existed in the first place. Your whole class was watching an action movie, ate some snacks and overall had a good time.

But soon your enthusiasm started to take a toll on your body. Your eyelids grew heavy, the times you yawned increased and before you even started to nod off a few times.

Of course the people who sat beside you noticed and Mina (as the good friend she was) gently pushed you towards Kirishima so that you could fall asleep on his shoulder and not hers.

The moment your head touched his shoulder he almost had a heart attack. At first he thought that you were still awake, but hearing your deep breaths proved him otherwise.

Kirishima’s concentration was now fully on you. He figured that this would be a one time chance so not savoring it would be his biggest mistake.

The boy began noticing small things about you which he would never have outside of this situation. The length and form of your lashes fitted you just right, the perfectly formed nose, the beautiful lips ...

Every single facial feature of yours was perfect in his eyes, but there was one unexpected thing that made him blush the moment he had heard it.

She’s...purring in her sleep...?

Considering your quirk it shouldn’t have been such a big surprise, but the fact that you (his crush) were so comfortable in his presence that you’d even purr was the happiest moment in his entire life.

That was at least until you almost fell off his shoulder. Luckily Kirishima caught you before your sleeping form even had the chance to collide with his muscular thighs and wake you up in the process. He ended up gently laying your head down on his lap instead, earning himself a silent whistle from Kaminari.

He enjoyed the situation he was in of course, but the fact that the movie was slowly coming to an end made him so unbelievably sad. Waking you up and explaining the situation was something he wasn’t looking forward to, Kirishima wanted to stay like that instead.

“Kirishima, we’re leaving (Y/N)-chan in your hands!”

“What..? B-But wait I-“

“Ha, that’s on you shitty hair!”

As soon as the credits started rolling the whole class got up and abandoned Kirishima, hoping that at least now one of you would finally make the first step.

He was finally alone with you and thinking that he’d have to wake you from your peaceful nap hurt him more than the thought of having to explain the situation to you. Having your head resting on his thighs while you purred softly with each breath, had his heart beating hard against his chest.

Kirishima needed a while until he decided upon a method to wake you up.

He placed his big hand on top of your head and gently began caressing it while whispering out your name as soft as he possibly could.

“Hey (Y/N)...wake up...please”

After a few gentle strokes you were awake and terribly confused. The movie’s credits were rolling from the right to the left, your head was resting on something firm but soft at the same time while a big hand was resting on your head.

It took you some seconds to realize what was going on and when you did, you almost head-butted him.

“K-Kirishima! I’m so s-sorry for falling asleep on your lap, i-it must’ve been quite uncomfortable, right..?”

The boy looked at you but didn’t listen to any of your apologies, instead he just took your hands in his own and looked deep into your eyes.

Not confessing to you out of embarrassment and slight fear was one thing, but watching you degrade yourself thinking so negatively was another thing. He decided that hating him would be better than you hating yourself.

“(Y/N), stop it. Don’t you dare apologize for something like that. I didn’t mind it at all and if you ask me...I have never been more comfortable in my entire life. In fact...I wouldn’t mind if things like that started happening more often.”

The moment he said that it took you some time to comprehend what was hidden behind those words.

“K-Kirishima...do you li-“

“I have a crush on you (Y/N)! I’ve always had one, but..I was too afraid to tell you. Too afraid of my feelings ruining our friendship.”

The silence that followed was torture for him and it sadly made his fears multiply by each passing second. You on the other hand were simply in disbelief that the person whom you’ve had a crush on for so long felt the same way about you.

“I’m sorry, maybe this wasn’t the right time and judging by your reaction...I-I shouldn’t be expecting an answer.”

Kirishima slowly got up and began walking away in shame while you started panicking internally. There was no way in hell you’d let him walk away after finding out that he felt the same way about you, but how could you stop him..?

The red haired boy had almost reached the staircase when he suddenly heard the iconic starting sequence of the movie you had just watched.

He slowly turned his head and now it was you who looked into his eyes.

You were holding the remote control so tight that your knuckles were slowly turning white, the blush on your face had almost become as red as his hair, the TV behind you was now replaying the movie and you would’ve never expected yourself to say the next thing you just said.

“Since both of us apparently would like moments like these to appear more often...let’s rewind it.“

I like you too - Tetsutetsu x reader

Being the class after the famous class 1-A was hard. You guys were constantly standing in their shadow so of course the urge to compete was greater than anything else.

Some of your classmates attempted to surpass a certain person and some attempted to even take on the whole class, but you were neither.

Your focus was lying somewhere else entirely.

Since some months ago you actually fell in love with your classmate Tetsutetsu. The reason behind your crush was actually quite the simple one.

Your homeroom teacher Vlad King had asked you to bring him some documents after class had ended.

In your enthusiasm, you completely overestimated yourself and went ahead carrying the heavy stacks of paper on your own, soon enough though your body began signalizing you that it had reached its limit. Stubborn little you on the other hand just continued moving on until your legs gave out beneath you and you almost fell face flat on the floor...almost.

“Hey (Y/N), you ok?”

You immediately recognized the deep voice that was calling out to you, so you looked up to confirm your suspicions...and they were right.

The person who had caught you and shielded you from a nasty fall was none other than Tetsutetsu.

Embarrassed by the whole situation you began stuttering countless ‘thank you’s and ‘sorry’s to the silver-haired boy who awkwardly nodded a few times.

When you attempted to resume your walk to the teachers’ lounge though that’s when he blocked your path.

“Don’t tell me you intend to continue carrying these papers on your own...”  

Before you could even protest or ask what he meant by that, Tetsu just went ahead and took almost all of them as he started to walk towards the teachers’ lounge.

Since then whenever you needed help with something he’d be the first one to help you out or ask if you were going to be alright on your own.

And that’s basically the backstory to it...

——

“Come on (Y/N) are you even listening to me?”, Kendo asked you silently as she gently nudged your side, her action causing you to jump a little in the process.

“S-Sorry I got distracted for a second, could you perhaps run this by my one more time..?”, you asked with the sweetest tone you could muster.

She let out a tired sigh and pointed towards the TV.

“I asked which team you think is going to win the fight.”

What team..? And what fight?

You were completely overwhelmed by her simple question so you tried to access the situation you were in right now as calmly and undetected as you possibly could.

When you saw your precious classmates all chilling and eating different snacks while all of their gazes rested on your shared dorm TV it immediately clicked for you.

Class 1-B had finally surpassed class 1-A and even if it was a simple maths test, your whole class had celebrated it as if it was some kind of festive holiday. After countless votings you guys decided to organize a movie night.  

Upon directing your whole attention to the TV once more, you finally realized that you’ve already seen that movie.

No wonder I was daydreaming…

With a barely audible sigh, you leaned back on the couch and relaxed.

——

Tetsutetsu was so engrossed with the movie that the moment something plopped down on his shoulder he almost threw the bowl of popcorn he was holding on to.

That sudden scare immediately pissed him off.

“Ok, so what the hell do yo-”

His words got stuck in his throat the instant he saw who actually scared him that badly.

Right now he was facing your peacefully sleeping face, but that wasn’t all.

“A-Are you...purring?”, he whispered as silently as he possibly could - afraid that he’d wake you and expose that cute fact he had just found out about you.

Much to his dismay your friend Kendo had also noticed that you were sleeping and had glared at him while whispering the words ‘if you wake her, I’ll kill you’.

After that threat, he made sure that whatever he did, it would be as if he was walking on eggshells.

At first, Tetsu wanted to move you aside, but the sight of you just sleeping and cutely purring away was tearing at his heartstrings.

Thanks to you he just couldn’t concentrate on the last quarter of the movie, the boy was glancing back and forth between your sleeping form and the TV.

And then finally..

The credits!

The silver-haired boy was so excited about the end of the movie that he forgot about you for a moment and let his shoulder slip. Luckily his reflexes were quick enough and he caught you just before your head hit his firm thighs. Moving you back up would be too risky for him so the only way right now, was to let your head rest on his legs.

When all of his classmates began standing up and leaving, he began panicking.

“Hey! Why are you guys leaving me alone? Won’t anyone help me move her, or at least wake her up?!”

His question wasn’t as loud as he’d intended it to be (thanks to Kendo’s warning from before), but even she was as uncooperative as all the others despite being your friend and that surprised him.

In a matter of seconds the two of you were left behind.

Alone…..finally.

You see, Tetsutetsu wasn’t the type of guy who’d show his feelings, especially when he was uncertain if the person opposite of him shared them as well.

That’s how he was with you.

He may be a slight tsundere, but he wasn’t stupid. Tetsutetsu had noticed the slight change in behavior every time he offered you his help or even went up to talk to you. That boy knew that you at least felt something when you were around him and even if he was too embarrassed to say it out loud, Tetsu still couldn’t betray his heart.

“Y’know (Y/N)...that day I helped you with the books wasn’t a coincidence.”

His words were silent. A barely audible whisper. Meant just for your ears and your ears only.

“It may sound funny to you, but...the way you stubbornly challenged your body to keep on moving made me realize, just how strong you actually are.”  

His big hand ran through your hair. The touch of his fingers, gentle.

“I’ve noticed the small glances you give me when we’re in class and you just don’t know how many times I’ve actually wanted to return them. Return them with the same affectionate but gentle demeanor as yours.”

One of his fingers brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“Hey…(Y/N)...?”

He remains motionless, making sure that you’re still asleep as Tetsu then slowly bends down.

“...I like you”

The boy straightens himself back up slowly in order to make sure that there was nobody in the vicinity that could’ve heard or seen that. Unfortunately, he completely missed the small smile on your lips.

“I like you too.”

[maladaptive-ninja-returns]

Tonight

Bucky x fem!Reader

Content: SMUT. Pure, smutty smut. Do not read if you are below 18. Please.

A/N: Happy birthday @tarithenurse !!!

I know this isn’t even half as decent as what you write but I wanted to do something special (and hopefully naughty) for you. hehehe.

Masterlist and Taglist in bio, doll

"Aw! Fuck me!" Awkward silence. "Fuck Thor!" "...I don't think he has anything to do with this." You look at Bucky with a glare of disapproval.

"The God of Thunder is out there having fun with the Llamas at Macchu Pichu while you and I are stuck here in the Facility, not able to step outside because of this fucking thunderstorm. Right when I finally make plans with you to go out for drinks! I can curse whoever I want!" Bucky parts his lips to say something sensible but finds nothing. "I really was looking forward to going out," you nearly cry. "Oh!" Bucky's beard hides the smile when he bubbles with joy at the thought that you were looking forward to the night out with him. Just him and no one else. You barely would join other Avengers on their nights out, choosing to sit in the lounge and binge watch whatever stirred your fancy at that particular moment. Last week had been a Hannibal marathon and this poor soldier thought to join you because it sounded like a detective series with a new-age love. It had taken you a few minutes to realise he was talking about the tinge of romance between the protagonist and antagonist before bursting out into controllable laughter fits every time that poor sod found out what the show was actually about. So much for trying to find your taste, he thought, feeling it was better to just ask you out to a nice place for drinks and a game of pool. Half of his existence had been anxious at the thought of being rejected. The other half was already planning the menu as per your liking, your favourite karaoke songs and stop for dessert on your way back. But this cursed downpour had literally soiled all his plans. "Your expression just changed," your voice brings him out of his personal internal rant. "I...uh..." Bucky tries to make it sound as non-creepy as possible, "I was also looking forward to the drinks. They had a special discount on beer tonight." He watches your eyes flicker wide for a seconds before melting into a smile and moving away from the window. Special discount?!! he shouts at himself, nice one Buck. "We can drink here." Bucky turns to find you already out of your heels, your perfect legs hanging as you sit down on the sofa's headrest. Bucky questions his eyes as he notices the flowing blue dress rest over your knees, spread about the side of your thighs like wings resting. Your shoulders rise up a little, suggesting a shrug, and he feels his lungs pause for a moment. What? is all his brain can come up with. "Y-Yeah, we can drink here," he manages to respond. You feel a flutter inside your stomach. Observant as you are, Bucky's usually wavering gaze coming to rest on you at times he thinks you aren't looking has become your subject of adoration and his undoing lately. From the time he watches you change your expressions during meetings to when he is completely lost in thought of what's going on in your mind when you don't cry during a Disney movie. So much entertaining is his gaping blue glistening in the mystery that is you that you often try to act as if he's invisible to you, going about the things you usually do with just a dash of some sensual suggestiveness, though it just didn't work when Bucky choked on the water he was drinking and Steve and Sam had to come to his rescue to get this man to breathe. Tonight, with all the Avengers out of your way, searching for some new trouble to throw hands at, your mind was already working on how to bring this flustered cinnamon roll out of his twisted shell, laughing ominously at the thought of the things brewing up at that very instant. Thunderstorms might be good sometimes. "We're playing what?" Pressing away the smirk and trying to ignore the heat building up in your ears, you poured out the cola in the two tall glasses of a classic Long Island Iced Tea. "Never have I ever," you repeat before taking the glasses and strutting towards the break room on the floor above that is lit up only by the lights outside. Bucky follows you with bowls of nachos and garlic chips in either hand. "Never have you ever what?" he questions your seemingly incomplete sentence, making you laugh. "No, you goose, never have I ever is the name of the game." Setting the glasses down on the coffee table you push out the makeshift sofa to turn it into a comfy settee for two. "But considering it's just the two of us, I've customised it." Bucky sets down the bowls, mimicking your movement before sitting down next to you under the skylight pattering with raindrops over it, sliding down the glass to one side, making his skin look like he is standing under a waterfall, waiting to be devoured by the subtle waves. How openly bold you are with your mind, while Bucky is struggling not to let such thoughts infiltrate his conscience and do something stupid. The thing is, stupid was what you were craving tonight. "So," you begin, bringing one leg up to sit comfortably while facing Bucky, "here are the rules. I will tell you something about myself that may or may not be true. You have to figure out what it is. If you guess it correctly, you win, if you don't, I do." Bucky's brows crinkle a bit as he tries to understand the walkthrough. "For example," you continue, trying to make things easier for him, "I say 'never have I ever eaten Sam's doughnuts behind his back'." "That's false," Bucky blurts out immediately, "I saw you having death by chocolate just this morning," before realising what he's done. "I ...uh-" "Perfect!" You cannot help but smirk at the colour in his cheeks. "Now as you won, I will," you bring your fingers to lightly rest on your lips in some thought before you eyes catch his, "take a piece of my clothing off." For the second time this month, you're glad Bucky was not drinking anything when you laid down your carefully designed words for him. He forgets how to breathe, the air around him turning heavy as he feels his ears heat up while his belly does a little flip. Your eyes do not miss the tongue that darts out to lick his lips as you bring your glass forward to hide a miniature sense of victory bursting inside you. Bucky runs his hand through his hair in some nervous thought. "Not comfy playing?" The purr in your voice tickles his core and he knows now that he has walked into a brilliantly woven threadwork of your liking. Natasha did warn him about how people who are publicly shy are the boldest in person. He just didn't realise this was the bold she'd meant. Not that he was complaining. "Shall we?" Clinking glasses, both of you take one good swig of the cold brew for reasons known only to your bodies before letting the game begin. "Let's start simple," you go off, smacking your lips and tasting the mint you had added for your own liking in there, "never have I ever lied to Nat." Bucky cocks a brow at you. "You call that simple?" You nod matter of factly before shrugging your shoulders. "Okay. Um...true. Nat is very good at catching liars." You tilted your head in wonderment before tucking your hair back, watching Bucky's eyes run over your neck, his Adam's apple feeling a jerk as he gulped in the sight of you. "Am I making you nervous, Sargeant?" Bucky blinks, buying himself time to gather his thoughts. "N-ahem-no." "Hm-" you nod before tilting head up in a little nod, "time to take off your jacket." "What?" "I said 'never have I ever lied to Nat'. That was false. Just because Nat is good at catching lies doesn't imply it stopped me from lying to her." A smirk plays on your lips as you watch his surprised features take in a cold hard fact before his arms slide off his jacket, revealing a black henley, exposing his chest under that red muffler just enough to make you shift where you sit. "Your turn," you state, taking a tortilla chip topped with all the spicey cheesiness before putting the whole thing inside your mouth, letting the sauces drip a little over your lips, allowing yourself lick it all off without breaking eye contact with the man who was slowly getting a hang of your play. Bucky faced you this time, looking down at his metal hand before his eyes landed back on you. "Never have I ever kissed a woman." You cannot help but chuckle, impressed at how fast he catches on to you, forcing your core to twitch in anticipation as you two start to play the game. "False," you speak softly, your index pressed tightly under your teeth, anchoring your already swirling mind in between your jaw, wondering what would it be like to kiss those red lips. "Steve has told everyone stories about you, Sarge. Quite the player you have been in the old days." Bucky smirks just enough to let you know you're not wrong. He groans a little before removing the muffler around his neck. You hear your insides growl at that red piece of fabric. Good. Get off that perfect chest. About time it was exposed for some blissful sins. "My turn," you snap at your own thoughts as the ache between your legs begins to take control of you. "Hmm...never have I ever kissed a girl," you state, biting your lips before allowing the smirk to escape not only your lips but your eyes too. Bucky shifts this time, the heat coursing through him being felt where you sit. "False." Nothing but the sound of raindrops. A heavy inhale follows as you remove your jacket, revealing the peeking shoulders and the plunging neckline reaching down further than either of you anticipate at that moment. Bucky wonders if you had planned to kill him with just that tonight. Only if he knew. "Never have I ever made out in someone's workplace." You almost snort out your drink. "Did it involve belts and ties?" The question throws Bucky off, making him struggle for words. "No? How about rulers?" And the image that crosses his mind creates a prick inside him. A delicious thirst-filled prick. "False," you say confidently, "you seem the type who knows how to use them all. Especially the ruler." The lick of his lips followed by the strong dig his teeth take on them makes you want to do the same to them. You watch him sit back as he casually rests his arm over the back of the sofa. Oops. "Now what would you like to take off?" You narrow your eyes at him before throwing your head back in defeat. "Guess I deserve that," you mumble before getting up. Bucky's eyes follow your movements as your hands reach under your dress, lifting it up further above your thighs, making his lips part, his heart beat fasten, his eyes blink at the scene where his imagination runs to before averting his gaze. Oh, my sweet Brooklyn boy. "These stockings weren't letting me breathe anyways." He comes back to look at the pair of stretched fabric you hold in your hand before throwing over to the lone chair sitting at the opposite end. "My turn," you announce before sitting back down, this time a bit closer to him. "Never have I ever... slapped the person I was making out with." You can almost feel the devil cackling over your shoulder as you hear the tempting whir of his metal arm, clearly gripping at the words being so flawlessly painted in his imagination. The heat building inside him was working as a perfect catalyst to vaporise his sensual thoughts in the air around, making you inhale the burning aroma plum and woody spice lingering all around him, making your belly ache. "That's um..." "Take your time," you assure him, resting your head on the settee's headrest, watching the liquid ceiling over you run over his features like a visual note. Bucky looks at you with careful consideration. At least that's what you think till his glittering oceans seem more like they are playing with your most innate strings without your knowledge. "False," he finally speaks. Finally. Taking your drink in your hand, you bring your other leg over the settee as well, watching him suggestively. "Really?" "Guess we both don't know about each other as much. There really is a need to...explore more." The breath he draws in creates a spark in the air that travels down your limbs. "If you're not comfortable, we can stop," you assure him on the outside but deep down your ovaries are smacking you hard at even suggesting such an outrageous thing. "The only one getting uncomfortable tonight is whoever watches the facility footage," he speculated before his arms to grab the shirt on his back, causing you to bite down on your thumb a little too hard as you watched his muscles flex as the curtains drew up from the poetry that was his exposed skin feeling the goosebumps by just your mere stare. The threads holding the animal inside you start to feel the stretch; one even snaps. His chest glistens with a blue hue from the lights outside before he settles back into the seat, pushing his back with both his hands. The metal lets the lights dance upon it before reflecting it on your skin, touching you without touching you, leaving you breathless for one torturous moment. Not wasting time now, are we? "Never have I ever-" the husk in Bucky's voice brings your attention back to his blue eyes, dilated to let the wolf inside glare its teeth at you- "dreamed about kissing the woman sitting in front of me." Every breath you take in now aches, your chest wanting to explode. "False," you say without breaking eye contact, "now get out of those pants." Throats run dry. Breaths hitch. Lips get wet. Legs shift to hide the arousal even in the heated darkness. Seconds later the pants are gone and he stands in front of you in just his boxers. "My turn," you declare as you stand up, trying your best not to tremble now. "Never have I ever wanted to know what it would be like to be loved by you," you speak softly, close to him, "hard." You raise your hand to touch his bare skin, feel it under your fingers and stop as soon as the word leaves him. "False." Lightning lights up the room for a second, breathing in the intensity of the room before thunder follows. His fingers run up your hand, creating a storm as the hot flesh and cold metal create a vacuum inside you, wandering up your arm till they find the slim strings holding the fabric up, skillfully moving them down your shoulders and leaving them halfway for gravity to do the rest. "Let's find out," he whispers before his lips find yours. You smell the saltiness over his lips, increasing your hunger more while his beard lights up the neurons inside you with the faintest touch. Your already pooling core feels the heat radiating off him as his metal wraps around your waist to bring you closer to his body. Your lips take a taste of his lips, giving him an open invitation to let his tongue run inside your mouth, gulping in the moan that pulsates inside you. Your hands find their own path on his skin, travelling down his front and back before finding a path down the lone fabric wrapped around him. A breathless moan escapes him as your hands wrap around his manhood, causing his fingers to dig into your ass. His hands leave your skin, producing a growl in your throat at the loss of his touch before they remove yours from his and gently push you back into the seat near the window. Your chuckle echoes through the glass walls around you. "What?" Bucky's confusion is visibly carved by the shades coming from outside. "You should've asked me out sooner," you purr as you watch him get down on his knees. "You should've played the game sooner," he throws back before grabbing your thighs and pulling you towards him with a jerk, forcing your upper body to fall back into the soft cushions. "You should've shown interest in psychological thrillers sooner," you chortle before gasping as you feel his hands yank away your pantyhose, almost ripping them apart, feeling him growl between your legs as he puts them over his shoulders. "You should've forced Thor to make it rain sooner." Your brows crinkle for a second at his words. "Wait wha-hol-" The words break into a breathless gasp as you feel his tongue find its way through your soaking folds. Every perfect stroke makes a ruthless moan escape through you, every skilful caress of the bundle of nerves forcing you to arch into him again and again till has to hold you in place with his flesh hand. His name escapes in a hurried whisper from your lips, making his length twitch, wanting to feel your heat all around it. He comes back up from the delicious pool, glistening in your liquor as he licks his lips. "Never have I ever craved for something so devastatingly beautiful," he whispers less and roars more as his metal digit enters you, the coldness creating a sensational storm inside your trembling walls. The cold digits move in out of you, caressing your walls right at the spots where Bucky feels you squirm before his tongue plays your nerves like a personal favourite string. Your hands go into his hair trying to find an anchor to the mini fireworks that his beard is creating on scratching in your slickness. The tides from the tsunami initiated inside you go back from the shore before beginning to rise up. Bucky can sense that from the gradual shudder his shoulders feel vibrating from your legs, working his fingers inside your most sensitive spots to let the waves crash and crumble everything that comes in the way. And oh, what a chaos it is! Breathless and smeared with sweat, he lets you take a breath before gently displacing your legs. Your arms almost feel numb as you get up to face him, watching the blue dilated to the maximum with the hunger watching right from the edges. "That was-" He doesn't let you complete your mushed up thoughts as his finger lands on your lips while his own shush you. Not what I was expecting, you hear your brain call out from somewhere before lighting up with the fury of a thousand suns as his tongue finds it way up your neck to the back of your ear, pushing you back down as he weight lands over you along with the bulge working its way to your core. Satisfying as the high was, you feel your restless core grinding against his erection as soon as his thighs part your legs. He plays with you first, never entering you, drinking in every grunt and agitated moan leaving your lungs until your fingers dig into the skin on his back, forcing his beast to lurch forward and allow you to resonate with the sparkles dancing inside him. Both of you shudder audibly on feeling each other. Your walls flutter in his presence while he soaks in the heat you are radiating in its prime. Moving his hips away, he comes back hard, his tongue already inside you, ready to swallow every vibration leaving you that was the result of his movements. Second thrust, you feel your teeth bite his lips and your fingers drag down to the small over his back before generously feeling his buttcheeks in your hands. Another thrust comes harder than before, the cry escaping your lungs in the air while he sucks and nibs your shoulders, accelerating the high. Your hips rise up further into his, creating a rhythm of their own, allowing Bucky to increase his pace, drawing clandestine groans from you. The tides rise again this time further as you heard him grunt and call out your name in unadulterated pleasure. "Yes, doll," his panting voice urges you further to the cliff where the rocks wait for the foaming waters to wash over them, rocking his hips into your without any restraints. Your walls begin to clench around him, feeling yourself close to the edge with every ferocious stroke. Your breaths become shallow, your grip hard. Your cries become fervent driving Bucky further inside you till you feel yourself crumble once again under him. He doesn't slow down as your legs shudder under him, elongating the already fueled up orgasm. His own groans turn shallow as he feels his high coming up, making his movements sloppier, faster, dirtier. You feel his length swell up inside you, driving you down into the depths of the storm before filling you up inside with final thrusts eroding under his own high. Neither of you moves in the movements that watch you catch your breaths and let the pleasure work through every part of your body. Bucky carefully pulls out of you and lies down beside you. You raise your head to bring his cold, soothing metal under your overheated neck. "People usually kiss on first dates," you wondered out loud before turning to look at his amused blues and bursting into light laughter that Bucky joined in. "I don't think those people strip on their first date," he chimes in. "Touché." His metal folds around your shoulder to bring you closer for him to plant one long, soft kiss on your forehead. "By the way," he whispers right into your ear, "happy birthday." Your grin knows no boundaries as the happiness flows out of your stretched lips even as you rest your head on his chest and try to hide under his hair. "I guess thunderstorms are not that bad after all."

TAGLIST

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[in-the-grip-of-depression]

In The Grip Of Depression Chapter 21: Memories Best Left Forgotten

Chapter 1|Previous Chapter|Next Chapter Trigger Warnings: Mentions of blood, violence, manipulation, torture, implied rape, physical abuse, mental abuse, nausea 

Logan jumped at the loud noise of something shattering and quickly decided he needed to restore the memories. He pushed himself to his feet, picked up the box and made his way to the memory library.

He quickly located the memory books he needed and started the process of sorting out where each memory belonged. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Patton was jolted awake by a loud noise and noticed he was alone in his room. He shook off his exhaustion and ran out of his room, calling for Logan.

He turned a corner and was suddenly hit by a large amount of horrific memories. Every single one involved Preston and a terrifying amount of blood.

Patton realised that he was suddenly gaining back all the memories Logan must have destroyed and he was engulfed by dread as he remembered what kind of situation was required for the memories to suddenly return.

He vaguely perceived his legs folding beneath him and his back thumping against the wall as his mind struggled to deal with the knowledge Logan could be dead.

Everything suddenly seemed to drop in temperature until Patton felt like he was being buffeted by a glacial wind and his chest ached dreadfully. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Roman sat dejected on his bed, trying to think of a way out. The way Virgil had hung up had freaked him out and he was convinced something was going to go wrong.

His instincts had rarely been wrong so he had tried to call both Logan and Patton to warn them and try and see if they could help with his predicament but neither had picked up.

He suddenly got an idea and closed his eyes, focusing as hard as he could.

After a while the object he'd been focusing on appeared out of midair and fell to the floor with a loud bang.

Romans eyes shot open but grabbed his head with a groan. There was a reason he never tried to create huge stuff away from the imagination forest and even then he usually got pretty tired and bleh feeling.

After fighting off the dizzy sick feeling Roman got off his bed and picked up the heavy sledge hammer he'd brought into existence.

His logic was that he was in his room still, so though the door had seemingly disappeared or turned to stone, it was still in the same place so all he had to do was get rid of the wall.

He turned to face the place where his door used to be and swung the hammer back, ready to start breaking down the wall but suddenly everything blurred and images began flashing before his eyes making him drop the hammer.

Flashes of Preston laughing, Logan chanting apologies as he hovered above him and in one instance Logan shouting and swearing at him.

Roman clutched his head and fell to his knees at the sudden influx of information and memories. ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Logan gulped as he put back the last page and suddenly the whole room shook and the books went flying back to their places.

Logan sank to the floor shaking as the gravity of what he'd just done hit him.

Now Patton and Roman would remember everything both he and Preston had done.

He shuddered as one of his worst memories came to mind. He'd tried to remove it from his memory book as well but Preston had made it clear he couldn't so it haunted him every single day.

*flashback*

Logan was sitting on his bed with tears running down his face as he began to slowly heal the enormous bruise around his neck from where Preston had strangled him.

He knew it was his own fault for denying Preston when he wanted to 'have fun' so he shouldn't be feeling so sorry for himself but he couldn't help it.

He'd just managed to make the bruise look like it had happened a few days prior rather than the couple of hours it had really been when suddenly his door burst open.

Logan flinched violently and let out a small cry of fear as he cowered, expecting some kind of physical blow but nothing came.

He risked a glance at the door and saw Roman staring at him in astonishment.

He felt the familiar feeling of shame creeping up and his face began to heat up. "What did you want?" he asked in a croaky voice that all but screamed that he'd been crying.

Roman opened and shut his mouth for a few seconds before blurting out "I came to see if you'd finished writing up tomorrow's plans."

Logan managed to compose himself slightly and leant over to his bedside table where a notebook sat.

"It's in here." Logan stated, unable to hold back a wince of pain as he handed the book to Roman.

Roman took the book but lingered in the door, his eyes drifting over the bruising around Logans throat and the hand like marks on his arm. "What happened to you?" he asked, unable to conceal his curiosity.

Logan glared and muttered "That's none of your business." in his head he could almost hear Preston laughing at Romans poor attempt at prying information from him. He wasn't stupid, there was no way he'd share something like that with a person who liked to throw everything back in his face like he was worthless.

Roman didn't seem to get the hint because he said "well it kind of is my business if you look like you've been attacked."

Logan grit his teeth and growled out "Just take the damn book and go back to what ever stupid activity you were doing."

Romans infamous temper flared up at that and he replied "Alright fine I'll just go now so you can get back to whatever kinky sex you were up to. That's probably why you don't want to tell me why you're all bruised, you don't want people knowing you like being treated like some kind of cheap whore."

Logans jaw dropped at that and suddenly a white hot anger filled his veins. He let out a primal scream and tackled Roman to the floor, effing and blinding the whole time.

He started landing punch after punch on Roman, barely noticing when Preston walked in.

"Fucking hell Logan, you could give me a run for my money." Preston said in a low voice, his eyes glinting with lust.

Logan stopped punching Roman and stood up, panting but still enraged. He looked down at Roman, who's face was swollen and bloody, and felt a sick sense of satisfaction.

"next time I tell you to piss off you better fucking do it! " Logan snarled, feeling Preston standing beside him now.

Roman looked between the two of them with what could have been fear on his face but it was difficult to tell due to the swelling.

"I enjoyed watching you beat his face in but you're going to have to clean up after yourself. Can't have papa bear finding out now can we?" Preston said running a finger down Logans jaw line.

Logan scowled at that and Preston laughed "if it pisses you off that much you could always take it out on him before you have to clean up."

Prestons voice was so convincing as he egged him on and Logan couldn't help but remember all the things Roman had said about him.

In the end Logan caved in and took a step back towards Roman.

Preston smirked and fished in his pocket before pulling out his knife. "You can use this as long as you make it messy." he said in almost a purr as he imagined all the different ways Logan could inflict pain with it.

Logan hesitated slightly before grabbing the knife, his eyes flicking from Preston to Roman and back again.

He was still so angry about what Roman had said that he wanted to do it but another part of him was disgusted at how he was acting. The fact that Preston approved was a pro and a con.

On one hand Preston was pleased with him, meaning less chance of being hurt but on the other Preston was pleased with him for acting like Preston himself would. He didn't want to get hurt but he didn't want to stoop to that level.

In the end self preservation won and he dug the blade into Romans shoulder, cringing slightly at the scream while Preston cackled with glee.

*end of flashback*

Logan could never rid himself of the absolute disgust and hatred he felt towards himself for doing something like that.

He wished many times that he could go back and stop himself from doing it but that wasn't possible so he had to live with the guilt and self-loathing.

The worst part about that moment was that as soon as Roman had passed out, Preston had shoved him against the wall and accused him of being a tease who needed to follow through.

Logan remembered how he tried to argue that Roman was in the room so it was a bad idea but Preston had waved that off by saying Roman was in no fit state to run away or do anything.

Logan trembled as he thought of how he had to pull out a memory from Romans book that showed he had woken up partway through and now he would remember.

He felt his stomach lurch at that and he closed his eyes, trying to push away all the things he was sure Roman would say to him.

[dreadhaus-literature]

{February Collection} #1

“You really thought I would just forget about you? It’s not that easy.”

Monica fidgeted at the deep, incredulous tone that seemed almost sentient all on it’s own, drifting between the two occupants of the room like smoke. Milano Dastarden was always so composed, so put together, it was...startling to hear him sound so affected and to know she was the cause.

“I-I didn’t...m-mean it like that,” Monica stammered, ducking her head as Milano turned toward her. The sliver of the new moon did nothing to bring him out of the shadows but she could still see him clearly--that towering height, the ancient physique hardened by war, the sharp point of his ears splitting the length of black hair that trailed down his broad back. Milano’s eyes were black chasms where light went to die but she could see them still, the way they glittered like obsidian as he looked at her.

“Then how did you mean it, little sister?”

For some reason, Milano calling attention to the fact that she, like he, was a vampire made her want to blush; she was grateful she couldn’t, but she felt the nervousness all the same. Butterflies were trapped in her ribcage, had been frantic since she’d entered this seemingly unoccupied wing of the Haus--except, it wasn’t unoccupied at all. There were special creations here, those brought to life by Dot’s own hand, and Monica knew immediately she was in dangerous territory. If Dot created them, then they had one purpose, one focus, one obsessive fixation--

Her.

Milano took Monica’s silence to mean she was lost in thought; he touched her mind and found it frantic and those archaic features pulled slightly upward in a smirk. She had no inkling how much she resembled the bunny she was so often called, likened to--it was a good fit, the old vampire agreed. He turned from the window, his shoulders broader than the panes at his back, and he continued to stare at Monica. He was curious what her answer would be, what she had to say; he knew how she felt, that she thought he and the rest of his kin (not just the Dastarden’s but any that came from Dot) should belong to others. Outsiders, those who read Dot’s written words. That was how Monica felt, but that was not how any of them felt--hell, that wasn’t how Dot felt. Milano’s lip curled into a sneer, revealing a prominent fang inches long and laced with distaste at the very idea that he would ever want to belong to someone else. That he would ever covet someone else in the same way he coveted her. How could she even think such a thing?

It had been a comment made to him without thinking; Monica blurted it out when she saw him, reeled back in surprise as if she hadn’t anticipated he’d be here--where else would he be? When he’d asked, found it strange she hadn’t expected he would be here with the rest of the Family that loved and cherished her, she’d tried to ward him off by saying something akin to that he should have forgotten about her. The comment had stunned Milano to silence, giving Monica time to put distance between them--but when she’d went to leave the room he’d waved a hand and slammed the door shut, preventing her escape. It wouldn’t do to have Monica believing that any time that passed between them meant she faded from his mind. She never had the chance to be a memory, she was ever present, day in and day out, for all of them. She was their reason for being, for existing, that their likeness may grace written pages but never do they ever leave the Haus. Never would they ever leave her.

“I-I...d-don’t know what you w-want me to say?” Monica finally gave up trying to find the right words to say; she shook her head quickly, her fingers twisting nervously against her middle. Milano’s presence was stifling; he was across the room from her but she could feel him in every inch of the room, filling it with an aura too ancient, too intimidating to try to hide.

“Do you want me to forget you?”

Monica’s head lifted, and she reacted before she could think to stop herself. “W-Well, n-no--”

“Then why would you presume I had?” Milano took a single step forward, but the action was solely a precursor to the preternatural speed gifted to their kind. In an instant he was directly in front of Monica, reminding her that she barely came up to his elbow. The bunny, laid bare before the Predator, and he lifted one clawed hand, the sharp tips of his nails catching the silken strands of her hair. “Do you think so little of me?”

“I-I think too much of you! I don’t deserve--”

“I will not have you utter such a lie.” Milano cut her sentence off with finality in his baritone; he never raised his voice, kept the same even, commanding tone but there was no room for argument. “I have had quite enough of you lowering yourself before the rest of us.”

Monica couldn’t meet his gaze, couldn’t look up at his face. There was so much power and raw emotion behind his voice, as if this was something that had been bothering him for years. Monica knew...he wasn’t alone. It bothered everyone when she said it.

“Because it is not true,” Milano made no move to hide he was a shadow in her mind, his long fingers moving from her hair to her cheek, forcing her gaze to his. “If you wish to submit to us, to me, then do so. Fall to your knees and give yourself to me, never to be without me again.”

Monica felt her toes curl at the images that flooded her mind; she could see Milano was feeding them, adding his own--he’d dreamt of her submission to him so often it was second nature. He craved it, craved her, so that even though she couldn’t blush she wanted to hide her face. There was need in every fantasy, in every image of him laying her bare only to be claimed, bitten, bruised, filled with him until she had to beg him to stop. Milano’s strong fingers caught her chin when she would turn away from him.

“You have always had the choice to submit to this Family, but you instead choose to tell yourself you’re unworthy of it. Of us. Of me,” Milano raked his gaze over Monica’s beautiful, upturned face and his voice deepened into a roughened purr. “Allow yourself to see, touch your mind to mine and for once allow yourself to know what it is you mean to this Family. To us. To me, Monica.”

It was a dangerous, albeit tempting offer. Monica knew she would be opening Pandora’s box but like those graphic, gory scenes in movies, when she was instructed to cover her eyes, to look away...she found she couldn’t. Her mind touch was tentative, a brush of butterfly wings, the caress of a flower petal, but Milano’s mind was open to her in it’s entirety...and what she saw within it would have stolen the breath from her lungs. Milano had adored her, loved her, for years, and he was not the only one. His demented sister, his broken brother, the beast in wolf’s clothing, the silver-haired partner-in-crime--all of them. It had been years but for them, the passing of time only deepened their love, only strengthened the bond they shared with her. Monica could see herself through Milano’s eyes; saw how often he was around, how often he watched her over the years. He seemed to always be around, a protective shadow that curled around her when she was asleep, that watched over her when she felt she was alone but he couldn’t leave her alone. Monica felt that resolve, that burning, yearning need to always be with her and they all shared it. Tears burned the back of her eyes as she was exposed to such unconditional love, to know that so many felt this way about her was a little more than she was willing to accept but when she went to pull away, to slip from his mind he caught and held her, his will like iron and resolved through centuries--he would not be denied.

“I do not know why you choose to believe you are something less to those of us who walk these halls, my love, but I will stand for it no longer.” Milano cupped her cheek, his other hand moving to her throat with a grip of possession when he felt her fingers curl around his own against her cheek. She was trying to resist what he was saying, trying not to know what he meant but Milano was not a man to be denied. “If you won’t listen when we tell you these truths then I will begin to show you. To flood your mind with the thoughts of love, devotion and need you pretend you cannot hear. I will never allow you to think I would forget you, that I could possibly forget you.”

“M-Milano, I’m s-sorry, I didn’t--”

“You didn’t mean it?” Milano finished for her, his fangs sliding against her lips as he bent his proud spine to be near her tempting mouth. “Prove it to me.”

Monica didn’t know...how, she didn’t know how to think with him so close, surrounding her with oppressive heat and darkness, his mind so firmly holding hers it was every inch as intimate as the way he cradled her physically. It hadn’t hurt him, what she’d said, but he was stunned, she could tell, because he loved her so much it hurt him and she thought as time passed that would wane. She could tell now it had only grown stronger, could tell because he wouldn’t let her see anything other than the truth--as the years passed he clung to the thought of her, kept her pictures upon the velvet interior of his coffin so that she was the first thing he saw when he rose and the last thing he saw before he closed his eyes. Milano had fallen in love with her the moment he met her and he’d never looked back, never allowed another so close to him; he had never and would never. It was only Monica for him--for all of them.

“I’m waiting, little sister,” Milano spoke against her mouth, his fingers warm against her throat as his tongue sampled the seal of her lips. “Have you something to say to me?”

Monica stretched up on the tips of her toes, pressing her lips to Milano’s in a kiss that was nervous, uncertain, but full of emotion she didn’t think she’d be able to say. Milano returned it immediately, his lips moving over hers insistently, dominating in their need of true love’s kiss delayed for too long. Monica was a woman in high demand, with so many who loved her, coveted her time, Milano found too often he was left jealous and wanting but right here, right in this moment, she was his and his alone.

“Little sister, do you know how I burn for you?” Milano breathed into the kiss, heard her answering whine and swallowed it greedily. “I watch you for hours each day and I am inflamed with need to have you. I know you cannot possibly know how great my need of you is, but tonight, tonight I will prove it to you. I will show you, that you will never, ever again think I could forget you, my love.”

Monica’s fingers trembled against Milano’s and he took his hand from her cheek, lacing his long fingers through hers to give her an anchor to cling to as he drank from her lips. There was dark promise in his words; Monica may be with another’s child, her middle may be swollen with promises to others but tonight, she and all she was belonged to Milano Dastarden. He would pound that memory into the very marrow of her bones if that was what she needed to never again forget how beloved she truly was. He would start, however, with confining her to his wing of the Haus, where others lie in wait for their chance to prove their love and devotion to the one so convinced she was forgettable.

It would be a hard lesson, a firm, stern reminder to the contrary from many willing participants, the many lovers of the Beloved, but it was one she would never, ever forget.

[swishandflickwit]

Captain Swan Fics Masterlist

For the OUAT Fandom Crescendo ;)

hindenburg

Because in an explosion of clarity, she realizes that without even looking, she’s built a home here – has planted her feet and grown some roots, roots that have only strengthened with every connection she makes with her family, with every relationship she builds in this town and isn’t that something?

The lost girl isn’t so lost after all.

darling you got to let me know (should i stay or should i go?)

A snippet of a pretty woman au that no one asked for.

feeling like a house but not a home (i want you to know)

“Home,“ she echoes, recalling the words from the video, recalling the article that details how she was left, abandoned on the side of the freeway with nothing but a blanket, the name ‘Emma’ stitched onto it, the first and last things her parents ever gave her, remembering the Swans who had promised her the same thing only to return her when they had a child of their own cause it was just that easy for them to let her go, all the foster families that took her only to discard her when things got rough, and she wonders what that is.

Casting On, Casting Off

“You got a secret knitting talent or,” and at this she shuddered, “ugh, knitting fetish I should know about?”

She’s all for sexual experimentation and fetishes but, seriously? Did it have to be knits?

North

“I once told your mother she was my happy ending, you know, but I was wrong.”

To Find Rest in Each Other’s Arms

They can’t seem to find a comfortable way to fit, no matter how they position themselves. Amidst adjusting once more, Emma ends up kneeing him in the groin and Killian falls flat to his back as he groans.

“Oh!”

Killian’s hand is down there to ease the ache and instinctually, (despite never reaching that level, never having the time), Emma’s hand makes it there as well. But when her hand touches his over, well, him, she realises what she’s doing and snatches her offending limb right back.

“Oh.”

And then she’s laughing - she’s laughing at the situation because it’s… it’s awkward but it’s pretty damn perfect too.

what is it about you? (that i can’t get enough of)

He sighs, winding his arms around her and bringing her to him so closely till her every line and curve is matched to his.

A perfect fit.

all I ever knew (only you)

The band starts a new tune then, something sharp and electric that has Emma turning to her father with a huge smile on her face and jumping in delight. And gods above but she is beautiful, always, but never more when she smiles like that - innocent and pure and light - so light, after the trying ordeal that was getting him back from the Underworld.

Everything about her draws him in, and he is powerless to resist the pull between them.

So he doesn’t.

piece by piece (he collected me)

He wants to be his usual calm and cocky self, but his voice is equally anguished when he answers, “You brought Henry.”

Emma’s face falls, like she isn’t too ecstatic about it either and he thinks, good.

“Regina and I agreed that this place was too dangerous and that he shouldn’t come. But, he wouldn’t let up, said he had to be with us otherwise he’d find a way to follow and, well, he’s a resourceful kid.” She lets out a breath that is both exasperated and fond. “We figured it best he came with us where we could keep an eye on him rather than be separated and constantly be worrying about him.”

“Stubborn like his mum, eh?” he says, trying for light and teasing but falling a little short, a little desperate.

She rolls her eyes, though her entire demeanor is tinged with trepidation. “Stubborn like all his family.”

WIP - Blanket

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

(“You’re so anal,” she’d mock.

“You say that now,” he returns, “but we’ll see who’s laughing when you go looking for fleece blankets in the dead, cold winter but find none because someone likes to use all her blankets at the same time.”

She says nothing, only throws whatever snack she’s eating at him because she knows he won’t be able to resist cleaning it up.

Also taking advantage of the fact that he’ll take note of that same snack and go out to restock on it just cause he doesn’t like when the pantry has gaps where the food should be.)

(He wishes for even just half the levity of that moment then, to give him strength now.)

you never weigh me down

“Is it so wrong for me to give my beautifully deserving wife a gift a few days after our nuptials?”

Her jaw drops in disbelief. “You got me a wedding present?”

“Don’t sound too excited, now.”

you say you want passion (i think you have it)

She has always been a woman of action

(And apparently, this Woman of Action has to add something new to the List of Things Emma Fails At: Suppressing Her Attraction to Killian Jones.)

so will you be, my life support?

He brings her back to the light.

all of you (is my favourite sweet spot)

He’s far from a disturbance, see.

The Royal Gardens

They like to pretend, see.

Here, beneath the warmth of the sun and engulfed by the sweet-smelling perfume of the flowers that surround them, there is no one named Captain Hook and no one that goes by the Dark One. There is just she, the girl in the pretty, white dress and he, the boy in the long leather coat.

you take me all the way

“So this is your world’s version of a tavern.”

She chuckles anyway and adds, to further annoy him, “We’ve upgraded a bit.”

Tonight is the night they’re about to finish what they started all those 30 years ago.

if it’s broken, it means it still works

(Fuck, who was she kidding? She’s disappointed with herself, for thinking she was equipped enough to handle this… to help him)

(Can broken pieces really mend other broken pieces?)

(Who was she kidding? Just… fuck)

In which Killian suffers from post-traumatic stress disorder following the events of the Alternative Universe and Emma helps him.

Chasing the Darkness

“Come now, Captain.” She purrs, trailing a hand down his left arm. “You didn’t actually think she’d want you like this, did you? Not when you’re so… broken.”

He’s so glad he’s had 300 years of experience going after the Dark One.

Ice Melts 2/2

Chapter 1 Chapter 2

His eyes turn from a calm cerulean to a literal icy blue, nearly gray, color before they close altogether and just like that, he fades away.

But her mother emerges to her line of sight, like the sun after an especially rainy day.

“You know what to do, honey.”

She does but when it doesn’t work, she feels like she could fade away too.

The Spaces in Between

He shifts so that their legs entwine, they are hip to hip, chest to chest and he just presses closer to her till there is absolutely no space between them and she is forced to wind her arms around his neck. She should feel suffocated; in fact, a year ago she would have bolted at such intimacy. But this is Killian and he is different and so much like her and he is trembling and she just wants him to feel safe. Like the rug isn’t about to be pulled from him any time soon or the world isn’t out to screw with him.

there’s no end, there is no goodbye

But that’s the thing, he lived nigh three centuries without her. He’d lived in the shadows for so long he’d forgotten what it was like to truly bask in the light and to remain there.

heart still beating, but it’s not working

He tries and he tries to get the words out but he’s long learned that it is an attempt at futility. While his feelings have not completely gone, it has become increasingly difficult to convey his emotions when they are but a dull roar in his chest, akin to a faded photograph in his memory.

But it doesn’t stop him from trying anyway.

21st Century Man

“You seem to be doing quite well here, 21st Century Man. Care to tell me what you’re whipping up?”

He chuckles, albeit nervously. “It’s funny you mentioned it, lass, I ah…” It’s then that he steps back and raises his hook except it’s not a hook that’s usually sitting on his brace but a-

“Is that… is that a whisk?”

The Couch

Tomorrow will surely be another hectic day and the day after that and the day after that… but still, they can these moments where they can just be and after being along for so long she likes the option of not necessarily having to be on her own and it’s a beautiful thing, to be able to choose.

wouldn’t you like to know? (perhaps i would)

And he wants to say that he does know her, because when he looks at her it is like looking at a reflection; except Emma is clear and sharp whereas he is nothing but a distorted image in a cracked mirror.

Bubbles

“Who needs eternal youth?” He pushes a strand of her hair away from her face and tucks it behind her ear so he can see the entirety of her face, absolutely nothing obscuring him from her beauty. “I’ve got my Neverland right here. I’ve got you.”

Day Off

He doesn’t get to finish (some part of him grateful she stopped his ramblings) because then she is laughing and straddling him and hitting him with the pillow and shaking the bed and-

“Nothing. No obligations, no reports, no work… nothing. Killian,” she sighs his name, breathless with what, he can now tell, is excitement and decidedly not dread.

“It’s both our day off.”

Shower

He kisses her and feels her magic engulf them, pouring over them in waves of light until they are both glowing. It is chasing away the seemingly deep-set freeze into their bones and Emma is shining, shining, resplendent and beautiful and radiant and his true love…

Snow Day

It started out as a snow day, but she feels her magic - fuelled by the emotion she holds for this man (she will not call it love, not yet, but she senses herself getting there) - take root as warmth trickles from her and into the space surrounding them. They are consumed by hear and light.

The Morning After

Even in sleep the light is lulled to her and once again, as he is more recently inclined to think, he believes there is a god out there that sent him this angel to save him from his own demons. But he knows better, it is just Emma and her light drawing him in and making him want to be a better man, no longer a shadow of himself but someone more concrete, worthy to stand beside her.

Mr. Brightside

“I’m sorry to interrupt you Swan, but could you turn up the… radio please?”

“What? Why?” She glanced up at him and saw him bouncing in his seat…his prosthetic hand tapping excitedly against his lap. What the hell?“

“Because I love this song.”

…Her jaw dropped when she recognized the song, then it literally hit the ground when Hook started singing along.

[worryinglyinnocent]

Fic: Playtime - Straw

To the casual observer, Mr and Mrs Gold are a perfectly sedate couple. No-one would ever guess just how much they enjoy their little roleplay sessions… Non-Magic AU, pure PWP, just a series of sexy roleplay scenarios that Belle and Gold enjoy

[Read previous Playtime chapters here on AO3.]

Rated: NC-17

=====

Part Twenty-Five - Straw (stableboy/princess - Belle’s pick)

This is an amalgamation of three different prompts from @anneelliotscat, @ripperblackstaff and @anonymousnerdgirl​, which were, respectively, contessa/stableboy, spinner/princess and virgin milkmaid/well-hung stableboy which I think was a joke. Enjoy!

=====

Straw

If Gold is alarmed when Belle bursts into a fit of giggles for seemingly no reason, then he tries not to show it. He’s just entered the living room having put Gideon down for the night and found Belle curled up in her favourite chair with a paperback open on her knees, bent double with laughter.

“I’m going to assume that there’s a reason for the hilarity,” he says, settling himself on the sofa with an amused expression, and it takes Belle several moments to compose herself enough to reply beyond an enthusiastic nod.

“It’s this book,” she says at last, holding it up so that Gold can see the cover, depicting a typical romance novel image of a shirtless man and a woman in a white nightie that can almost be described as covering her, locked in a passionate embrace. He reads the title -The Virgin Milkmaid and the Well-Hung Stableboy – and raises an eyebrow. It’s not exactly Belle’s usual fare.

“Right.” He pauses, still a little perplexed. “I don’t think it’s meant to be a comedy.”

Belle shakes her head. “No, it’s not. It’s just the quality of the writing. I’ve been so tired with Gideon lately that this is about all I can cope with on an intellectually challenging level, but I’m beginning to think that perhaps it’s time for me to move on to something new. Listen to this.”

She clears her throat and begins to read from the page in front of her.

“Anna felt a warmth rising in her most secret parts as her eyes roamed hungrily over George’s body, lingering on the thick stick of flesh that dangled between his legs like a lovely cucumber.”

Gold snorts at the innovative euphemism. “Really?”

Belle nods. “That’s not even the best part. How about this? Anna felt his love wand impale her hot core, filling her with his manliness.”

“That just sounds painful.” Gold winces at the thought.

“Especially when you consider that Anna’s the virgin milkmaid and George has what appears to be a sixteen-inch penis from various descriptions.” She flicks back through the book. “Yes, it says here that his dick is longer than some of the horses. Poor Anna. She won’t be able to sit down for a week after that. Oh, here’s a good bit: Anna blushed furiously as she lifted her skirt and petticoats to reveal that she was not wearing anything beneath except a tuft of dark blonde hair that George wanted to brush and plait like the horses’ tails. I know I haven’t trimmed down there for a whole but I don’t think it’s long enough to style.”

Belle closes the book and Gold notices the little wriggle she gives in the chair, a wiggle of a body a little bit aroused by what she’s been reading despite how poor the writing is. He raises an eyebrow, a smirk spreading over his face.

“You know, for all its strange word choice, there’s something a bit inspiring about it,” he says as nonchalantly as he can.

“Yes.” Belle puts the book on the side. “I do know what you mean. A bed of straw, the sound and smell of the horses tramping in their stalls. Petticoats bunched up and heaving bosoms in corsetry with nipples just peeping out. Leather trousers that leave nothing to the imagination.”

“Whilst I make no claims about the size of my penis, I think you’ll be disappointed if you’re expecting a well-hung stableboy. I don’t think a sixteen-inch cock is physically possible.”

“You’d certainly get dizzy every time you got an erection,” Belle agrees, matter of fact. “Also, if you’re expecting a virgin milkmaid with… hang on…” She flicks through the book. “Breasts like melons, but softer, squishier. Melons that were past their best, not hard.” They break off to laugh at the description. “I think that ship has sailed,” Belle says eventually. “But there might be something to be salvaged from it after all. Sixteen inches might not be possible but I’d never deny that you were certainly well-hung.”

Gold snorts. “Well, your breasts might not be mouldy melons but I think that’s a good thing, all things considered.” He pauses. “A rebellious contessa and a stableboy with slightly more believable groinial dimensions?” he suggests. Belle nods and comes over to the sofa, perching beside him and leaning in, pushing him back so he’s almost flat on the cushions.

“Or perhaps,” she purrs, “the very naughty princess and the stableboy with a secret.”

“What kind of secret?” Gold asks, his voice throaty.

“He’s a master spinner by night,” Belle purrs, and Gold gulps, thinking of his wheel in the basement, untouched in a long time. “And he knows the secret of spinning straw into gold.”

“If that’s the case, what’s he doing being a stableboy in the princess’s castle?” Gold asks, although his pulse is already quickening at the thought of a delicious new playtime scenario for them to try out.

“Well, he’s in love with the very naughty princess, you see,” Belle continues, dancing her fingers up his chest and neck to brush a stray strand of hair out of his face. “And he’s trying to spin enough gold to go away and restyle himself as a prince so that he can return and marry the princess.”

“And what does the princess have to say about that?” Gold replies, his voice a whisper. Belle grins and leans in to breathe in his ear.

“Why don’t you meet me downstairs in ten minutes and find out for yourself?”

Gold nods eagerly and makes his way down to the basement as Belle goes upstairs to get ready. He puts the baby monitor down on the side and rubs his hands together. It’s cooler down here, and goose pimples break out on his skin as he rolls his sleeves up and sets about making the place look slightly more thematic.

The wheel is the main feature of the dimly lit room, the rest being given over to storage, but he’s in luck; some of the old packing crates that his antiques are shipped to and from auction in contain clean packing straw and he dumps some of that onto the floor. It’s about as close to a stable as they’re going to get but they’ve both got good imaginations, and he sits down at the wheel, giving it a pull. Spinning is something that’s always been a constant for him, a link back to his childhood. He grabs a handful of spare roving and begins to spin as he waits for Belle, losing himself in the motion of the wheel.

“I love watching you spin.”

He turns to see Belle on the basement steps, dressed in a long white nightgown with a shawl around her shoulders. He can see that she too is affected by the dropped temperature in the room, her nipples proud points against the thin fabric. As she takes the final couple of steps down into the basement, one of the straps comes loose, falling off her shoulder and almost exposing her breast.

“Your highness,” Gold says, and he doesn’t even try to hide the desire in his voice or the bulge beginning to stir in his trousers. “You shouldn’t be wandering around the stables in the middle of the night. Anything might happen.”

“Hmm. That’s what I’m counting on,” she says. “A little bit of excitement and adventure.” She picks up a piece of straw from the heap on the floor and twirls it between her fingers as she comes over to him. “It gets so boring in the castle, you know. I wish something would happen.” She brushes the straw gently over her bare décolletage and Gold swallows hard at the sight. “I wish you’d take me away from here.” She sits on the spinning wheel bench beside him and touches the straw to his nose. “You must have spun enough gold by now, my Rumpelstiltskin. We could ride away into the sunrise and live happily ever after.”

“We could. But you’re a princess, and I’m no prince.”

“Who needs princes?” Belle asks airily. The shawl slides down her shoulders and slithers onto the floor, and her other nightgown strap falls. She’s so very nearly exposed, just a breath would be enough to send the garment tumbling. “All I need is you.”

There’s a long pause, full of promise and screaming of sex, and Belle traces the straw over her skin again, dancing it across her bare shoulders and throat. “You spend so much time in here spinning by yourself,” she purrs. “Don’t you ever get lonely without the friendly touch of another human being?”

“Sometimes,” Gold admits. “The nights are very long and the horses don’t talk much.”

Belle turns the straw to his skin, starting at his nose and running it down his cheek and neck, to the open collar of his shirt. She undoes a couple more buttons and continues her teasing journey.

“At least you’re always guaranteed plenty of straw for your spinning and other… distractions.”

“There are softer things than straw to distract me, your highness,” Gold replies, and he takes a wisp of roving between his fingers, using it to map over her skin and mimicking the patterns she used on him. Belle gives a low hum of appreciation, leaning into his touch, revelling in the different textures of his fingers and the wool sweeping over her shoulders and chest, and her eyes flutter closed as he works his way lower towards the edge of her nightdress where it hangs precariously over her breasts. For a moment he considers twitching it to make it fall, but he refrains.  It’s been a while since they had such a slow, drawn-out and sensuous encounter. By necessity due to Gideon they’re usually quick, if they play at all. Gold doesn’t mind the reduction in their playtime. It makes the moments like these when they can indulge all the sweeter. Belle stays his hand, plucking the roving from his fingers and repeating his ministrations on his own skin, opening another couple of shirt buttons as she goes. Soon the thing is undone to his navel and he wastes no time in divesting himself of it fully. The cool air in the basement pricks his skin and chills him, and Belle smiles, touching the wool over the newly-exposed skin and rubbing gently over his nipples as they tighten.

“Do you love me, my Rumpelstiltskin?” she asks, voice low and husky.

“I love you with all my heart, your highness.”

“Will you kiss me, then?”

“With pleasure.”

She slides closer on the bench and presses her lips to his, and in the next few minutes, Gold forgets his role and the spinning wheel and the ridiculous Harlequin novel that led to this wonderful encounter, just kissing his wife until he’s senseless, enjoying every moment of it. Her arms come around him, hands splaying over his bare back and nails scraping at his skin. When she finally breaks away there’s a little smile on her face, one that would have been shy and innocent if not for the lusty look in her eyes.

Belle bends to retrieve the shawl and her nightdress continues its descent, her full breasts coming free, dusky nipples standing proud of the soft mounds and begging to be touched and kissed. Belle follows his gaze and bites her lower lip, gathering the shawl to her chest and covering herself again. “Oops.”

The silence in the room is heavy, tense, and Gold’s trousers are becoming painful as Belle carefully lets some of the folds of the shawl drop down in front of her before she slips her arms out of the fallen straps and lets the dress slide down to her ankles. The shawl is still covering her, a scrap of fine wool clutched to her chest and hanging between her legs, and she cups her sex through the cloth, pressing her naked thighs together in a show of faux chastity.

“Do you want me, my Rumpelstiltskin?” she asks. “Do you… desire me, like this?”

“Oh, very much so, your highness,” Gold breathes, and he can feel his cock throbbing painfully in his trousers with the want of her, straining against the zipper. He presses a palm against his crotch, trying to alleviate some of the pressure and draw out their playtime for as long as he can whilst they have the opportunity to do so. He glances over at the baby monitor on the side but for the moment it is blessedly quiet, and Belle worries her bottom lip between her teeth.

“I desire you,” she says. “But I will admit to being somewhat nervous. You see, I’ve never been with a man before. My mother always told me to keep myself pure for my wedding night and the prince who would take my maidenhood, but I don’t think that I want to have it taken. I think I would rather give it freely. To you.”

She lets the shawl drop from her breasts as she straddles the spinning wheel bench, scooting a little bit closer so that she’s almost pressed up against him, and Gold reaches out to cup her breasts, massaging them gently and reverently, rubbing his thumbs over her nipples and making her moan with arousal as they pebble under his touch. He bends to kiss them and the hand not protecting her modesty down below cards into his hair, keeping his tongue flickering over her pert little buds.

“I’m honoured to be given such a wonderful gift,” he murmurs from her décolletage as he trails his lips along the path that the straw and the wool had taken before, tasting every inch of her.

“You deserve it, my Rumpel,” Belle breathes. “But I’ve heard these tales of your manhood and… prowess.”

“Well-hung stableboy,” Gold mumbles in her ear and she gives a giggling snort before biting down on her finger to compose herself.

“Maybe I could see the size of your…”

“If you say cucumber I will not be responsible for my actions.”

“Would you prefer love wand?” Belle raises a cheeky eyebrow, challenging him, and for a moment they just stare each other out, grinning and each daring the other to break away and laugh first. Belle loses the battle, hiding her silent giggles in her hand.

“Just let me see your manhood for myself,” she says eventually, and Gold acquiesces, shimmying out of his trousers and underwear. His aching cock is grateful for the freedom and as he turns back to face Belle, it bobs eagerly in front of him, waiting for attention. Belle reaches out and touches his tip where it’s red and ready, a bead of pearly precum already forming at the slit.

“You’re very impressive,” she says, with genuine wonder in her voice. “Not too intimidating, but you’re definitely… endowed.”

There’s another round of snorts and laughter for a moment, and Belle curls her fingers around his shaft, stroking up and down and running her fingertips over the silky head of him. Gold reaches out and closes his hand over the one still holding the shawl against her sex.

“May I see your own secret place now?” he asks, his voice throaty and growling, and Belle nods, spreading her legs wider and letting the shawl drop. Her nether lips are plump and pink and already shining with arousal, and she’s left a wet patch on the delicate wool. Even though he’s seen Belle naked so many times before, her beauty never fails to make his jaw drop and his entire body thrum with need for her, as if it’s the first time he’s seeing her stripped to skin all over again.

Gold combs his fingers through her fluffy curls and slides the middle digit into her cleft, seeking out her clit and enjoying the heady groan she gives when he finds it, the hard pearl swelling under his touch and peeping out from its hiding place. He rubs along her folds, coating her with her juices until his fingers glide so easily across her slippery, sensitive skin and she’s wriggling on the bench, desperate for more.

“Yes,” she moans. “Yes, yes. Take me, my Rumpel.”

Gold hitches her up so that she’s sitting on his lap and she curls her arms around his neck and her legs around his back, going in for a long, deep, sensual kiss, her tongue exploring his mouth anew. Gold snakes one hand down between their bodies as the other grabs the bench behind him for support and leverage, and he finds her clit again, circling his fingers around it.

“Take me,” Belle breathes in his ear, her voice needy. “I want to feel you inside me.”

They don’t have an awful lot of manoeuvrability, sitting on the bench as they are, and Gold scoots back on the bench as far as he can and lays her back against it, gathering up their discarded clothes for a pillow. They could just move to the floor, but it would be hard and cold and uncomfortable, and at least the wooden bench is warm from their bodies. Belle keeps her legs crossed around his hips, and her hot, silky channel is tight around him as he sinks into her, his hands on her hips to anchor him as he begins to move, hips snapping forward to bury his cock deep inside her. Belle moans, her own pelvis rolling and wriggling to meet his thrusts, her inner walls squeezing experimentally.

“Pelvis floor exercises,” she mutters. “Good for some things after all.”

Gold throws his head back, continuing to move in her erratically as he nears his climax, and he reaches down into her slit to rub her above where they’re joined, determined for her to reach that peak with him. She gives a long, low cry of joy as she does come, her inner walls snug around him and wringing his own orgasm hot on the trail of her own, and he gives a yelp of her name. It’s good to be vocal with no chance of waking Gideon.

They come back down from the high in stillness and quiet, just the sounds of their panting and the creaking of the spinning wheel beside them, and Belle pulls herself upright, clamping her arms and legs back around Gold and not letting go, even as he begins to soften and shrink inside her, and she buries her face in his neck.

“Perfect,” she mumbles. “Far better than any romance novel.”

“I think you ought to write your own,” Gold says, punctuating his words with little kisses across her shoulders. “It would be a bestseller. Who knows how many people you could inspire in their own bedrooms?”

Belle smiles against his skin, her eyes closed, and Gold is so content just to hold her close like this. Eventually though the cool air in the basement gets the better of them and they break apart, getting dressed and moving back up through the house towards their bedroom. Gideon is beginning to stir, they can hear him snuffing and squeaking in the nursery as they pass, and Belle goes in to feed him. Gold hovers in the doorway, watching Gideon suckle greedily, Belle sitting in the rocking chair cooing to him gently. She catches his eye and smiles, and Gold smiles back. So their encounters are fewer now, but even though Belle is no virginial milkmaid and he is no well-hung stableboy, they can still spin their own kind of very enjoyable magic.

As he wanders back to their bedroom, he seriously considers raiding the rest of Belle’s romance collection for ideas…