#social climbing protestants and all of that

[haveihitanerve]

Had an idea but I forgor it so here's a different one

Bruce Wayne, concussed and on several strong painkillers, socializing with socialites from outside Gotham. They ask him about his kids and joke about how they all look so similar to him.

His brain, moving at about 3mph, does not register that his kids were ADOPTED (safe for one) and answers their questions as if he gave birth to them, forgetting he also doesn't have the facilities for that (unless you want him to- we love old trans people)

"Master Bruce I really must insist-" Alfred tried for the fourth time in seven minutes, Bruce had counted, reaching to push him back to bed and pull off the suit jacket he had only moments before helped Bruce put on.

"'M going Alf." Bruce grumbled back, rubbing a bleary hand over his eyes. "There's no use in putting it off. Don't have a good excuse and.." He grimaced. "They need to see me. It's been a while."

Alfred opened his mouth to protest again, even going so far as to move in front of the door to block his exit. "You are on far too many medications Mr. Wayne, not to mention a concussion! You simply cannot."

Bruce's lips twitched it amusement. It was a rare day when Alfred's composure was rattled to the point of calling him Mr. Wayne, and while Alfred was admittedly very strong, there was no way his physical blockation of Bruce's path would actually stop him.

"Alf." Bruce began gently, and the butler scoffed, rolling his eyes as he moved out of the way, striding down the long hallway. "Well. I see my advice isn't heeded. As always."

Bruce threw him an apologetic smile, heading for the main door. "Love ya Alfie!!" The butler snorted, but Bruce could tell he was softening.

"Call if you need boy." Alfred murmured. Bruce grinned, offering a wink as he pulled the door open. "I will." He promised, sliding into the backseat of his limousine, heading to the Gala.

He hissed as the needle broke his skin, biting his lip to prevent any further sounds as the anti-biotic worked its way into his system. Alfred would most definitely have protested its use, especially as Bruce tossed back a handful of other added painkillers, but if he was being honest, he needed them to get through the night.

"Thanks Hank. Tell your wife I said hi and grab her a bouquet on your way home. On me." He patted his driver's shoulder as he climbed out. Hank grinned, tipping his black cap.

"You always make me seem like such a good husband Mr. Wayne, I appreciate it. Have a good night." Bruce grinned back, stumbling slightly as he moved towards the doors, using the car to stabilize himself.

"You give me too much credit, send your boys some love and you have tomorrow off, try to actually use that baseball glove I gifted you." Hank chortled, setting the car into drive. "Will do sir. Good night." Bruce nodded the same back, watching until the car pulled away fully to stumble up the steps.

"Maybe those pills weren't such a good idea." He mumbled to himself as he made it to the doors, pulling them open to walk inside, heading straight for the table laid out with food. Of course, one couldn't enter a Gala without greeting the hosts, and he barely made it two steps before he was intercepted.

"Mrs. and Mr. Ketch. How lovely to see you." Bruce offered a bow, bending too low before rocking back upwards. Mrs. Ketch was smiling at him, a lovely, true smile that Bruce noticed tended to happen whenever he greeted the woman first instead of the man. Mr. Ketch was frowning, but more at Bruce's bizarre drunken act than any offense towards being placed after his wife.

"Are you alright, Wayne?" He asked, and Bruce hated that he actually liked the Ketch's, because there was genuine concern in the mans voice. Another reason why he had come.

The Ketch's were new money, self made, and trying to blend in with the old elites, though Bruce had to admit they never would, they were just too good, too kind, too sincere.

He wondered, dimly, in the back of his foggy, drug addled mind, if perhaps they'd finally tire of all the snide comments, rude looks, sneers, and give up on their well meaning charity that they had chosen Gotham for. He hoped they wouldn't. He liked having actual good conversation at these dull events.

"M fine, truly." Bruce answered, a few seconds too late, smiling lazily. "Might've had a few." He tried his best imitation at a drunken smile, wincing as he realized it was dangerously close to how he really felt.. tipsy. Off balance.

Robert, because that was his name, he had told Bruce his first name instead of demanding he call him Mr., frowned a little in concern, and before he knew it they had herded him to one of the seating places, settling down by him.

"How're the kids?" Mrs. Ketch asked, handing him a glass of water that Bruce gratefully accepted. "Amazing." He answered. "Splendid. They're always doing so well. They don't see it though." He frowned at his glass, wondering why that was.

"They're so amazing though. It just doesn't make any sense," He sat up, leaning forward to look at the couple in front of him intensely. They both had their eyebrows raised in surprise, but leaned forward in tandem, intruiged.

"Because see, they're so brilliant, and lovely, and smart, really I think they're the smartest people in the world- like ever. And Dickie, he's so kind and sweet and nice, and he's got a few problems and I'm sorry about it but he's really just amazing and an all around good person, I really oughtta try and be more like him, and oh he's got my eyes, im so glad he got my eyes, but i love his nose too, its nothing like mine- anyway Jason too- whoo he got my height im so happy for him- he also has my eyes! they all have my eyes actually, except cass, and damian, but like he's so brilliant and smart and he was such a good kid, he is now too- oh he doesn't like me calling him kid, but he'll always be my baby, and oh i cried so much when he died, but he better now, oh and Timmy, oh timmy is so smart. Soooo smart like genuis level, and he's wayy smarter than me, wayyyy smarter, and alfie says he has my hair, but i dont see it- i think he got my jaw though- and then Cass oh Cassandra My baby girl she's lovely and sweet and a charmer, beautiful girl, so is Barbara, but she won't let me say that to her, no no, but she is, she's so pretty and smart and quick, she scares me sometimes but I love her, such a good girl yknow? And Stephanie? Oh she and Tim need to make it official so shes mine. mine mine mine. I need another daughter you know? Too many boys. Equality of men and women at home. I need them home. And then Duke. hes so lovely too. Oh and Damian. Damian took some adjusting but they're all so lovely yknow? I remember the day they were born so vividly. I was so happy. I love them so much. It hurt, of course, but what is that to the joy they bring now yknow?"

Bruce took a sip of his drink, nodding thoughtfully as he leaned back. Mrs. and Mr. Ketch blinked a few times, opened their mouths, closed them again, and leaned back as well, exchanging glances.

"Yes. Well. Quite." Mr. Ketch cleared his throat. "Bruce, perhaps we should call you someone? To take you home?" Mrs. Ketch nodded her agreement.

"Come on sweetheart, let's get you home. You need to go to bed and.. and sleep this off." Bruce nodded, letting them help him stand and guide him to the door as Mr. Ketch called someone.

"Yeah. I like bed. And sleep. Oh- but I can't. Uh-uh, I promised Dickie I'd call him." Bruce nodded, turning to head back inside as though that would help his quest.

Mrs. Ketch grabbed his arm and gently, but firmly, led him back outside. "Rob just called him sweetheart, he's on his way."

"Oh." Bruce nodded. "Oh. Thas good." Mrs. Ketch nodded her agreement, rubbing his back soothingly. "I like that." Bruce hummed, letting his eyes close. "Its like what my mother used to do." Mrs. Ketch looked at him in surprise, hand stilling for a second before resuming.

"Really?" She asked gently. Bruce hummed in confirmation. "Oh yes. Yeah she did. You do it well. You'd make a good mom. Just like me. Well, I don't make a good mom." At that he frowned at the ground, biting his lip. "But I try."

Mrs. Ketch smiled, turning them as a car pulled up. "Yes. You do. And you do it marvelously Bruce, truly. That's all we can ever do. Try." Bruce nodded his agreement as the door opened and his eldest emerged, rushing to his side.

"Bruce!" Dick looked genuinely worried, grabbing his shoulder. "You alright?" His son's eyes were searching, scanning his body.

"Oh hes fine." Mrs. Ketch waved with a smile. "Just a few drinks. I think it'd be best he go home though, sleep it off." Dick nodded his agreement, smiling at her. "Yes. I think thats best. Thank you." She shrugged, waving it off.

"Of course. It's what he would have done for me." Dick lowered Bruce into the passenger seat, heading for the drivers. "Bruce." Ketch tapped the window, leaning down. "Hm?" Bruce tilted his head, rolling it down.

"I'm pregnant." Bruce waited, jaw dropping slowly as the words connected in his brain. "You are?" She nodded, a small smile crossing her face.

"Yes. You're the first person I've told." She glanced nervously over her shoulder, to where her husband was waiting on the steps. Bruce reached for her hand, clasping it in his own.

"You'll make an excellent mother. And he will make an amazing father." He promised. She smiled, biting her lip anxiously. "You think?" Bruce nodded. "I know." At that her smile softened, and she patted his cheek.

"Thank you. And, for what it's worth Bruce," She glanced past him to Dick, who was kindly pretending not to listen. "I think you make an excellent mother."

[barnbridges]

you did NOT ask but i think to the core, part of the dislike between marion and good old francis IS her job. he's seen this bitch a thousand times at the blank institutes for fucking up children. he's naturally distrustful of her. especially seeing her do his own... friend in like he's a child. it makes him question if the straights are ok, but like, unironically.

[ronanlynchdefender]

The political stances of The Raven Cycle characters are so fascinating to me. You got Blue over here who is very much a progressive activist in the making. She recognizes things like misogyny and is not afraid to call those things out even when it concerns her closest friends. Because of that, I definitely see her as the type of activist who would be in the front lines at protests whether that be at the Capitol, college campuses, at the border, or as is the case in the dreamer trilogy, tied to a tree. She is the type of person who demands change in our current system and would demand it loudly and through acts of protest or civil disobedience.

Then you have Adam who displays no strong desire to change the system and whose only desire is to rise up in that system. He wants to climb the social ladder and assimilate to those of higher social status which is partially why he envies Gansey so much in the beginning because Gansey was born into it. Adam still tries to do this in the dreamer trilogy by essentially pretending to be a Gansey-like figure while at Harvard despite hating it. Eventually, Adam gives up on trying to belong within this higher social class and "climbing the ladder" but then strangely enough becomes a fed, which means just integrating into another form of hierarchy and power structure. And I feel like a more interesting arc would've been rejecting being a part of these societal systems altogether.

Which I suppose now leads us to Ronan who is a literal anarchist. He actually rejects all societal systems and rules and it permeates every aspect of his life. But actually, I shouldn't say all because there is one societal institution which he does enjoy partaking in: religion. With the exception of his catholicism, he does not engage in any other societal institution: education, law, politics. He hates it, in fact, It is antithetical to his being which is what makes his characterization so perfect because of course a gay farmer god would hate oppressive rules and structures (except for religion). That's not even mentioning that he is a canonical ecoterrorist that cost the US government a billion dollars. But what is really interesting about his character (and where his and Blue's political stances differ) is that because he rejects these systems he has no interest or stake in changing them. He'd sooner tear down the system than try to reform it.

And then there’s Gansey who doesn't seem to engage in politics and would rather spend his days reading his little Welsh books and going on his fun adventures. Of course, he is able to do this largely because he has the privilege to not worry about politics or social class. It seems that Blue's influence changes this as they are both chaining themselves to trees in protest during the dreamer trilogy. Other than that, I don't really have a lot to say about Gansey and his politics. But I find it very interesting that Maggie has created this close-knit group of characters with such varying relationships to how they view politics and social structures. I tried to draw out a 2-axis grid to show their differences, but I don't know if it really works because I feel like Gansey kinda screws it up but nevertheless I like how they each represent different ends of a spectrum sort of.

[thedarkestrivernymph]

Power

Yandere!Noble x Gn!Servant!Reader

warnings: power imbalance, death of animals, implied noncon, murder, gore, blood

©Copyright -2024-thedarkestrivernymph - All Rights Reserved

You were convinced you were born unlucky.

Crawling up the social ladder, working day-in day-out for a speck of the luxury the wealthy had—you were still nothing but an insect that could be crushed under a noble’s shoe.

You were slaving your life away as a measly servant—head hung low when someone of higher ranked passed by, always rushing, scurrying to another back-breaking task whether it was scrubbing the mansion's floors or something as emotionally taunting as having to rinse the young master’s soapy bundle of raven locks.

It was exhausting, to say the least. So it wasn't unsurprising that when the demands for you overtook the physical labour and turned into emotional terrorising, you couldn't uphold the quality of your work any longer.

The young master, you had known him all his life, was one of peculiar taste and character, to say the least.

You still vividly remembered when you both were eight, you were awed by the size of your mother's new workplace, duckling behind her, fighting the urge to clutch onto her skirt because of how the nobles regarded you with nothing but indifference or revulsion.

That's when you were first introduced to, or rather you met him in the garden on accident. He had sneaked out between his endless tutoring lessons, climbing down from his room to sit in the grass.

You blinked once then twice at the sight of him, feeling somewhat a flutter of your heart—which wasn't strange considered he was living the life your mother had always wished for you.

However as much as you felt intrigued and eager to approach him, the only other child in this whole mansion, you hesitated, opting to watch him from behind a tree as you discovered the ball of white fluff in his lap. You felt giddy, seeing the kitten rub all against him, as he regarded her with something akin to a gentle smile.

Your eight year old self was almost tempted to reveal itself, step closer and admire the little fangs of the creature from close-up, yet you didn't and you were glad so, because what you saw next was chilling to the bone.

With the same smile on his face, large pools of brown staring down at the fluff in his lap, he slowly crept his hands up and up the kittens body, gently rubbing and scratching behind its ears, before suddenly clasping his fingers around its neck and snapping.

It was an ugly, screeching sound that left the animal as it immediately fell limp, died without much protest.

And perhaps, if you had just being able to stay quiet, keep the startled squeal in, bite down onto your lip and hadn't stepped onto that twig that snatched beneath your foot—perhaps he wouldn't have seen you.

Perhaps he wouldn't have lifted his head, gaze snapping to your direction, focusing on you and smiled.

Sometimes you wonder if he smiled because he knew that the dead kitten in his lap would someday be you.

You shook your head, you never liked to dwell in the past, why start now? Enduring the torturous labour wasn't so hard when you just turned your brain off, really, it was quite simple actually.

If it wasn't for the young master's constant presence, breathing down your neck, that is. As if he was hoarding you, lingering glances causing chills to climb up your spine, and that awful unsettling little lift in the corners of his mouth everytime he saw you.

You couldn't bend over, get on your knees nor simply stretch to dust the headboards without feeling like having to protect your dignity—that’s how horribly bad his staring was, it was unrelenting and uncomfortable.

It had always been like that, it was as if he was taunting you for ever daring to have witnessed him commit such a brutality as a child and then many more—you found dead birds on the foot of your bed, their bellies ripped open to allow everything that should be kept inside to spill, mice and rats smashed into a puddle of blood on the floor of your room, yet the most vile trinket still remainded the mangled-up body of a dog placed onto you.

You knew who it was—and the culprit knew too, but no one else did, and even if the head of the house, the young Master's Grandpa, found out, he would rather act upon the same violence to keep the family secret sealed—that the handsome young man graced with equal intelligence as looks was sick in the head.

Your ability to endure it was strong, you were resilient, you were given a roof over your head and a job for life and sometimes once in a blue moon you were granted as something sacred as a hairpin albeit not out of jade, but it did it, the bribery worked and you kept scrubbing out all mistakes the young master did.

That was until that fateful day.

You were used to all his mistakes by then, but this was probably his most grave one out of them all.

“Young Master? Young Master!” you cried out, raw unfiltered fear in your shriek screams, trying to wriggle out of his grasp—moments prior you had just been scrubbing his back, working in the rich soaps and oils into his skin and now you laid on his bed pinned beneath his naked figure.

“What is it? What is it that I can't have? You're so far away—I can't reach you.” his voice was unusually erratic, that kind of tone that declared of the impending meltdown that followed.

“Young Master—” you squeaked trying to put on your bravest front, swallowing your fear, you just had to stay calm, just stay calm—

“Why can't you be mine?” he slapped you right across the face, causing tears to prick your eyes. “You're so shameless! You flirt with that foreign guard—you bat your eyelashes at him, but you never even thanked me for the gifts I left you! How could you be so cruel?” he screamed in your face, his own flush with anger, panting and heaving rapidly, his chest pressed into yours, with the thing between his thighs pressing into your abdomen stiffly.

“Please young Master—” he didn't allow any more protests, wrapping his hands around your neck, planning to wring it like he did to that innocent kitten, but you didn't let him.

Gasping for air, you struggled against his strength, hands kicking and punching, clawing at whatever you could as the panic put you in a frenzy. It was as if your brain split from your body and gained its own heartbeat that sent currents through your entire being, down to your fingertips.

It wasn't until you clutched onto one of his candle holders and dragged it over his head, did he release you with a hiss, stumbling back, touching the dent on his head only to feel blood while you rolled off already scrambling to run away.

However the sight of blood only turned him more into revealing his true face, an unruly monster.

So he lunged.

Tackling you to the ground like a wild beast, keeping your hands pinned above your head, having learned that much from the bleeding spot on his head, this time he didn't let go until he was satisfied that evening.

You weren't the same after that—and who would blame you for that?

The very next day you tried to quit and got refused. It didn't work, they didn't let you, because no one wanted to gain the wrath of the young Master and his elders especially cared for him, which is why they allowed his childish fixation with you.

That's why you escaped, you couldn't continue this, you refused to be a toy for some noble that had plagued you for most of your life already.

Your escape was the trigger.

Dragged back by your hair, fingers trying to hold onto the wet earth, you were promptly shoved inside the manor, thrown in front of the young Master standing amidst a bloodbath so gruesome you wished you he taken your eyes with the countless lives.

“There you are!” he exclaimed pulling you into a bone crushing hug, as his breathing finally fell into an even rhythm, relaxing with you in his arms. “Why—why—” you were choking out but he just hushed you, making you stare long and heavy at all the familiar faces—the servants that were your friends, the guards ordered to keep you inside the manor and lastly a white kitten that resembled the first one of his many kills, like some sort of anniversary present for you.

“Just don't go—this is all your fault—don’t leave me again.” he didn't allow you to breathe, crimson soaked fingers digging into your back almost bruising.

You remained an insect, now caged in gold, a toy to be played with, used and abused that could only dream about fleeing and regaining some resemblance of normality.

Because born unlucky stays unlucky.

[cressidagrey]

Tear the World Apart

For Eris Week 2024- Day 7 - Free Day

@erisweekofficial

Summary:

Eris’ mate decides to get rid of her father-in-law. Also known as: If Eris Vanserra married a very bloodthirsty Margaery Tyrell.

Warning:

Plotting of Murder, Poisoning, Mention of domestic violence and parental abuse, Beron ends up dead?

(Lovely dividers thanks to @tsunami-of-tears!)

The moment Wisteria Abinac met her future husband…her future father-in-law was a dead male. 

Beron Vanserra should have simply known better than to ever have laid a single finger on her mate. 

It was an open secret in the Autumn Court, after all, what exactly he did to his lovely wife and his sons. The High Lord was known for his cruelty.

So really…she was doing everybody a favour if she killed him.

Wisteria decided two things during that Masquerade Ball where she first danced with Eris Vanserra and the Mating Bond decided to snap for her: Beron Vanserra was a dead male and Wisteria Abinac was going to marry her mate. 

That marrying her mate was going to make her the next Lady of Autumn…well, that was just a happy coincidence. (Her grandmother would be very pleased indeed. This was what Begonia Abinac had always strived for, after all.) 

Wisteria wasn’t going to protest that particular title in any way. She had not been named Wisteria for nothing. Wisteria was named after that sweet-smelling vigorously climbing plant: She was rather good at climbing, especially the social kind. 

That was what she had been raised to do, hadn’t she? If the bumbling male idiots in her family couldn’t manage it, the females did.

So at that Masquerade ball…it had been the touch of a hand, calloused from sword fighting and one look into a pair of amber eyes and the Mating Bond had decided to snap for her. 

It hadn’t snapped for him. 

At least, Wisteria didn’t think so, because he spent the rest of that Masquerade Ball utterly ignoring her. 

Oh well. That only managed to light a fire under. 

Wisteria was going to procure herself the Heir to the Autumn Court as her husband. Even when it was the last thing she did. Thankfully, the situation didn’t turn out to be quite as dire. 

Actually…it was laughably easy. Wisteria had expected it to be more difficult.

A few words to her father at dinner one evening of how her older brother should really marry and finally procure an heir to their duchy…Thanks to the cauldron, her father had the High Lord’s Ear. (The fact that her family kept most of the Autumn Court provided with grain, was useful for once.) She knew that he would mention something to the High Lord about finding his eldest son a wife….and once he did…the seeds were sown. 

Then, a few words to her grandmother of how cunning and handsome the eldest son of the High Lord was…Wisteria didn’t need to say more to make her intentions clear. Begonia Abinac just patted her hand and congratulated her for setting her sights on such an ambitious target…

And once Wisteria had these two in her corner…well, then she only needed a few other well-placed words to a few other well-placed people and the next letter that fluttered into the Abinac family manor… that was all about how High Lord of Autumn had decided that his eldest son should also really get on with that heir business and that the daughter of one of his most needed allies was going to be just a good pick as any... 

The next court occasion brought with it a lovely new dark green dress that fitted beautifully with her dark hair and eyes, a gold tiara woven in her hair that looked like gold encrusted leaves and fat emeralds dripping down her throat…She already looked like the Lady of this Court, even when she wasn’t. Not yet, at least

And once Wisteria had her in…it was even easier. 

She knew what the High Lord liked. Wisteria had perfected the mask of a simpering, submissive girl. Nothing that Beron would find threatening in any way. Just about magically powerful enough that he thought she was worth it to give birth to his heir’s heir, but weak enough that he wasn’t worried that she would start a rebellion or anything like that…

A fun plaything. Nothing more. Nothing less. 

She did make sure at that ball that she caught the eyes of every available male. Waving a bright red flag in front of them that she was available, from good breeding stock and clearly knew how to behave.  She knew that she was playing with fire. 

Oh well. Wisteria had always adored flames. 

She was counting on the Mating bond-induced jealousy. Expected it in fact. 

No other male would be stupid enough to get in the way of a Prince if he did make his interest clear...and it seemed to work. After about an hour of simpering conversation and wrapping a curl of dark hair around her finger…, there he was...the Autumn Prince himself. 

He came to stand next to her, a glass of wine in one hand as he leaned casually against the wall. Wisteria took a moment to study him closer. Gods, he was certainly easy enough on the eyes. "Enjoying yourself, Lady Wisteria?" he asked a moment later, his voice casually polite, a hint of a smirk on his lips.

She turned her head to look at him fully, a polite smile on her own lips in return as she met his gaze. "Of course, milord," she said back, her own tone just as polite, even as her own eyes slid down over his body as she spoke. "I always did enjoy a good dance."

Eris chuckled and took a drink of his wine, his eyes watching her with an expression of interest. "You certainly seem used to them," he said, his tone still casual, but there was a slight hint of a question to his words. "You've already shared a dance with half of the available males within the room."

She giggled back, lifting a hand and toying with a strand of her hair. "You exaggerate, Milord," she said back, her voice still casual, keeping her mask of polite innocence on. "I think it's only been one-quarter of the available males in the room."

"Searching for your long-suffering future husband?" he asked her. There was something sharp in these words, but she didn’t let that stop her. 

"Oh, I already found him," she gave back drily.

That got him to pause, and she silently noted how his golden eyes flashed with something like surprise at her words. There was a hint of a frown on his lips for just a moment before he smoothed it back out, but he was clearly thinking furiously. "You have?" he asked his tone back to being casually polite. "Who is the lucky male, then?"

She lifted her head a little more and tilted her head to the side with a smile of innocent satisfaction on her lips. "Why, you, of course, milord," she said like it was just the most obvious thing in the world.

There it was again...that flash of surprise in his gaze, his eyes sharpening just a fraction. She wondered if he was going to brush her off as some silly, foolish, simpering female...or if he was going to take the bait...

It...it took all her willpower and hard-won experience to keep that polite, innocent smile on her lips and not smirk in victory as she watched him consider his words, his golden gaze on her face never wavering for a moment...

"...Is that so?" he eventually said, his tone still casual and polite, as if he was discussing the current weather and not her stating that he was already her future husband. "And why, exactly, am I your chosen future husband, Miss Abinac? You don't even know me."

The corner of her lips tugged up, just a fraction, at the question, the first crack in her mask, but he was sharp, his eyes noticing that, of course. "That may be true, Milord," she gave him a smile back. "But I could say the same the other way, too. You know nothing about me either...and yet, you approached me all the same."

"I do know that you are a very good dancer," he said calmly, offering her his hand.

Once more, Wisteria hid a victorious smirk, her own hand placing itself in his, her fingers curling through his. "I do like dancing, Milord," she replied calmly. "And I do pride myself on not trampling on my partner’s toes."

Her mask didn't even slip once as he led her out to the dance floor, the two of them began to dance, and it took every ounce of control in her body not to smile in sheer satisfaction at the feel of the Mating Bond in her chest burning brilliantly, as if to mark the moment as something...momentous.

He proposed 3 days later.

She knew that Eris didn't propose to her because he wanted to. His father ordered him.

A fact that Wisteria knew and thoroughly loathed and which gave her all the more motivation to make sure that she would be the one truly pulling the strings come the day she married him.

Eris may not want to marry her, but he was her mate. 

And Wisteria had secured that ruby ring set into gold...well, she could have laughed at how easy it was to get what she wanted. Her entire engagement to the High Lord's son had been as simple as a flutter of her eyelashes and a few choice words.

Actually marrying Eris...well that was another thing entirely.

He seemed utterly uninterested in her. Which stung and made her seethe more than a little if she was being honest with herself.  After all, he was her mate...and yet, he gave her nothing. Not a hint of the bond between them...not an inch past polite courtesy and duty. 

Granted, he didn’t treat her badly. Wisteria just was certain that there were inanimate objects that got more of his attention than her. Not even to speak of his whole horde of dogs. 

Well, at least the dogs liked her, she supposed. Probably helped by the fact that she was not above some well-intentioned bribery and fed them bits of her breakfast. 

(Though if she had hoped that maybe once the dogs liked her, Eris would warm up to her…well, that did not come to pass. He was more likely to glare at the dogs than he was to look at her when they played with her.) 

It had been nearly three months. And her husband had not given her a single damn thing to work with…

In fact, he hadn't touched her at all. Other than that one kiss at the altar to seal their marriage, that was. 

Eris had not shared her bed once. Had never even tried to touch her at all. 

How exactly was Wisteria supposed to give him an heir, if he didn’t lay with her? 

Her mate was infuriating. 

Eris was her mate for Cauldron’s sake...he should want her, should seek her out...so why wasn't he doing that?  It was making her furious. 

And when Wisteria was furious…she did one thing and one thing only: She plotted. 

In this particular case, Wisteria plotted the downfall of her father-in-law. 

Beron Vanserra was a brute of a male...and yet, it was laughably easy to figure out how to manipulate and play him. After all, he wanted the same thing all males like him wanted. 

He wanted to be flattered and praised, to be told that everything he said was correct and he was doing the right thing. It was all just a matter of careful flattery, of sweet words said at the right moment, and it was all too easy to gain his ear and attention...

Beron Vanserra was not only a dead male, but a stupid one, as well.

And that…that suited Wisteria’s plan just so well. 

Just as she had plotted to marry Eris…she plotted to make Eris High Lord. 

After all, Beron was doing nothing more than slowly destroying the strength and power of Autumn. He was destroying the lands...he was wasting all the resources that the court had...and he was doing all of it as he drank himself into oblivion on a nightly basis. The whole thing was an excellent opportunity for her to carefully slip a few words into the right ears, to whisper about better ways of doing things...to suggest Eris as a better leader...

And well, if she joined her parents-in-law at their nightly dinner, with a bottle of Apple Cider in tow...a wedding gift from the ancient Duke Hector who sadly died just days after their wedding...that was simply what a good daughter-in-law did, right?!

(And if that meant that she gave the long-suffering Lady of the Court a break from having to soothe some of Beron's...tempers...well, even better. Amara had always been lovely to her after all. And Eris did adore his mother, seemingly the only person who managed to make him show any feelings at all.)

Amara, in turn, had seemed to grow quite fond of Wisteria, taking it upon herself to teach her the way of the court, who to turn to for what…for a girl that hadn’t had a mother since her own had succumbed to illness when she had just been a toddler…it was foreign to have that again. Wisteria’s grandmother had never been particularly maternal. But Amara was. 

And just because of that, Wisteria wanted to shield her from Beron’s outbursts and his tempers. 

It was a good thing for the Lady of the Autumn Court to catch a break from Beron on some level, and if it helped to strengthen Wisteria's bond with Amara and Eris, well, all the better.

(Or at least, Wisteria told herself that that was the only reason why she enjoyed spending time with Amara.)

Wisteria knew two things: One, in a match of magic, she would utterly lose against any High Lord. And two...Beron was stupid to actually drink that damn apple cider every night.

(Thank god, the late Duke Hector had been gracious enough to give them three whole boxes of it to their wedding…nobody would notice if she started…adding something to the last batch of it…)

Wisteria hadn't been born an Abinac for nothing. Her knowledge of botany was...extensive. Extensive and well-known. 

Well known that she tended to the Palace Gardens and even planted medicinal herbs to stock up the infirmary of the Forest House guards…

The knowledge of herbs, plants, and nature in general had certainly helped Wisteria a great deal, in all sorts of different ways. The knowledge of some particularly useful plants and herbs...well, the knowledge had certainly come to good use. After all, it was only sensible to try and learn how to better aid her people...

And it made for some rather handy tools to have at her disposal...should the need for them ever arise.

And if she snipped off a few sprigs of hemlock every day...oh well. Nobody needed to know. 

She wasn't stupid enough to only poison the High Lord‘s glass. She would be found out in a heartbeat.

Wisteria poisoned that whole box of Apple Cider.

She was also very careful to build up an immunity to Hemlock for both her and Amara over three months. There was no antidote for Hemlock after all…

Like any good planner, Wisteria played the waiting game, playing the dutiful new wife and daughter-in-law by day, planning and plotting for her husband's coronation by night.

Safety first. Making sure to cover her tracks. 

She wasn't stupid enough to take the risk of being found out. The poisoning of the High Lord needed to be done, but her own safety and the safety of Amara needed to be considered first.

And when Eris told her that he would be away for a week or so, tending to Autumn’s army...well...

Wisteria decided that Beron's time had come.

She behaved just like she had done for three months. Following the routine she had established.

Wisteria played her part as perfectly as always, her routine just as precise and on point as it had always been. Just that the drink she poured her father-in-law that night…it was lethal. (For him.) 

It was so easy to keep the mask of the dutiful daughter-in-law on as she made sure that Beron's meal for that evening was prepared on time, and she even kept it in place as she followed the long-established ritual of handing Beron his nightly drink afterwards, a kind smile on her lips.

Granted, her own drink was just as hemlock-infused. As was Amara's.

There was to hope that she didn't absolutely fuck this up.

Wisteria was careful, after all. She wasn't taking any chances, not by a long shot. Beron, for a High Lord, was surprisingly stupid in so many ways...

As he took his first drink, she brought her own glass to her lips, not drinking a single drop. 

The sudden gasping after breath...the fact that his whole face turned purple...The panicked scrabbling at this face and neck as he tried in vain to get anything, any air at all, into his body...Beron Vanserra...he didn't even manage to take a single step in her direction, or to even reach for the magic...he fell dead before he could even make a move to reach her.

He just fell to the floor, dead before her eyes as his own wife watched on in shocked horror as the life left her husband's eyes, but Wisteria didn't allow herself to look at Amara, keeping her eyes fixed steadily on her father-in-law as his final breath left his body.

And then she started screaming for the guards.

(Really, her acting performance was on par with the Royal Theatre, if she said so herself!)

Her performance was perfect, her screams and sobs of horror were enough to draw a great many guards, several of them coming running into the room quickly, clearly alarmed at the loud sounds, their eyes turning to look at the scene in the room in front of them.

They froze in place for a moment as they took in the sight of the late High Lord on the floor, his face a purplish shade of colour and his dead, unblinking eyes staring up at them, but their attention then turned to the sobbing, hysterical Wisteria, who was in the middle of sobbing and crying as her trembling hands clutched at the fabric of her dress...

And Amara, who just stared, shocked into silence.

Wisteria did feel horrible for traumatising her like that. But it was the best way to make sure that the Lady of Autumn would be seen as innocent.

Amara’s usual gentle and kind demeanour was nowhere to be seen at this moment, her face utterly pale and her dark eyes as wide open as they could go, her hand clutched tight against her chest as she stared down at her dead husband, her mouth moving as she tried to speak, tried to say something, anything...and yet, she was still too shocked to make a single sound beyond a strangled gasp.

The guards that answered Wisteria's screams and came rushing into the room stood there for a moment in shocked and horrified silence, their eyes frozen on the body and the sight of the High Lord dead on the floor, dead by...he was poisoned.

And then, as if on cue, they all as one seemed to realize that Wisteria and Amara were still alive and standing in the middle of the room, and their gazes moved to look at the two females, their eyes taking them in and trying to assess the situation.

She had counted on them thinking that females were weak.

She had been right to count on that. The moment she started stuttering about the apple cider that had been a wedding gift from a dead male...they had found their culprit.

Too bad for the late Duke Hector...but then, the male had hated Beron with a passion, so Wisteria thought that he probably wouldn't feel too bad that she used him as her scapegoat.

Her stuttering and sobbing were enough to confirm the guard's belief that the late High Lord had been poisoned by the apple cider...and not a single one of them thought of any other culprit than the late Duke Hector. After all, he had given the gift, and he was dead.

The perfect crime.

Wisteria was sobbing loudly the entire time the guards were in the room, her expression one of perfect distress and shock as they all discussed the 'crime', and it was only after the guards had picked up Beron's body to take it away and prepare it for the funeral rites, that Amara finally seemed to regain herself.

She turned her head to look at Wisteria, her face still deathly pale and one hand moving to clutch tightly at the younger female's arm. "You're unharmed...?” she whispered, her voice trembling from the shock.

"I'm alright," Wisteria replied shakily, her own voice trembling just as much as she turned her head to look back at her mother-in-law, her eyes red from the sobbing, a very convincing picture. "I'm alright...thank the Mother," she whispered, her voice still shaky as she took a few steps closer to the Lady of Autumn Court and gripped the older woman's hand in hers.

"I am so sorry," Wisteria apologised. She wasn't. Not really.

"It's alright," Amara whispered, her hand squeezing Wisteria's own hand so tightly they felt as if they were crushing her fingers. "You're...you're alright," she repeated again, as if the words were a mantra to comfort herself. Wisteria squeezed Amara's own hand back, her other hand moving up and wrapping around the older female's shoulders, hugging her.’

Poison was found in the glasses of all three and in the bottle. Clearly Duke Hector had wanted them all dead.

The guards had bought it, hook line and sinker. After all, the duke was dead...there was no need for further investigation beyond that, and the belief that the Duke had wanted to poison everyone present during the meal was more than enough for them. They were just so sure of themselves after all, and the case was wrapped up neatly, and nobody was going to bother to investigate further beyond what appeared to be the obvious conclusion.

Her plan…it had gone off without a hitch.

Now to deal with the fallout.

"Let's go sit down," Wisteria told her mother-in-law softly. "Why don't you come stay in Eris and I's rooms tonight?"

Amara shook her head faintly, but it was more of an instinctive, thoughtless action rather than an answer to the suggestion, and after a moment she whispered out a weak, "Please." It was the most vulnerable that Wisteria had ever seen the older female act as they began making their way towards the Heir's room.

She kept an arm around Amara at all times, murmuring gentle reassurances as she led her towards her and Eris' room, doing her best to reassure her mother-in-law as best she could. Amara was in shock, that much was obvious. 

She helped Amara sit down on an armchair once they reached the room, one of her own hands moving to take the older female's hand again and holding hers in hers, gently rubbing her thumb across Amara's knuckles in what she hoped was a comforting gesture.

"Just try and take a few deep breaths," she spoke in a gentle, soft murmur, her eyes watching the older woman closely as Amara sat there, all too aware of the fact that it could very easily go downhill if Amara didn't get herself back in control soon. "I'm right here," she reassured. "You're not alone. You'll be alright. Just try and breathe."

Amara obeyed, or at least, she tried, taking in a few shaky, gulping breaths that shook her body as Wisteria continued to speak in a soft, gentle voice, the young, inexperienced Lady of Autumn Court doing her best to help her in-law and maintain her own mask of concern and distress, all too aware that if her mask slipped even a little...if Amara so much as suspected something, her meticulously planned charade could come tumbling down around her.

It took a few minutes, but eventually, Amara finally managed to get herself a bit more together, her own grip on Wisteria's hand loosening and her breathing becoming less shaky and ragged as Wisteria continued to hold the older female's hand and murmur soft assurances to her, taking her time and letting Amara calm down at her own pace.

"I never thought..." Amara said, shaking her head.

"Nobody could have predicted this," Wisteria murmured back, squeezing Amara's hand gently. "It can't have been easy for you," Wisteria told the older woman gently. "Dealing with him, I mean. You're a much better wife than he ever deserved," she continued, squeezing Amara's hand in her own. "You're strong...and good," she continued, her voice soft and gentle, her expression one of sympathy and concern over what she was saying. It was the complete and total truth, after all, which made it all the easier to act like she was feeling bad for the older woman's plight.

Beron had been a brute and an ass...and it had made it so much easier to poison his drink. "All he ever did was hurt and belittle you," Wisteria continued softly. "Nobody deserves to be treated that way, certainly not by one's own husband...especially not one as gentle and kind as you," she said, one of her thumbs rubbing slowly over the top of Amara's knuckles. "All he ever did was hurt and belittle you," Wisteria continued softly. "Nobody deserves to be treated that way, certainly not by one's own husband...especially not one as gentle and kind as you," she said, one of her thumbs rubbing slowly over Amara's knuckles.

She was supposed to be naïve, inexperienced, clueless...yet it seemed she had outplayed them all...and she had won. With her mask in place and Amara starting to pull herself together more with each passing moment, it was starting to look like she had gotten away with her planned crime...

Now...the only thing she needed to do was wait until Eris came home so she could start the second phase of her plans.

"What did you use?" Amara asked her, her voice even.

Wisteria blinked a couple of times, surprised by the blunt question. From her experience, Amara had never asked a question so bluntly before...or a question with such a dark and difficult topic. "Pardon?" she asked, her head tilting to one side as her own fingers continued to gently rub at the top of Amara's knuckles.

"To poison him," Amara clarified, looking directly into Wisteria's own eyes as she squeezed back the younger female's hand in hers. "What did you use?"

Wisteria's eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, she didn't know what to say, her hand tightening around Amara's own as her mind worked desperately to find a believable answer, a lie that sounded plausible. And then, her eyes dropped down to stare at Amara's own hands, and a thought came to her mind.

“I have no idea, what you could possibly mean,” she said carefully. “But it did look like Hemlock poisoning to me.”

Wisteria felt her heart rate quicken in her chest, but she forced herself to remain outwardly calm, her eyes lifting up so she could look at Amara again. Amara was looking straight back at her, her own eyes sharp and perceptive, the older female's expression carefully neutral. She could see that she had caught on to something...had perhaps even caught on to the truth. But Wisteria could deny that, she could deny it, and she could play it off.

Amara just huffed.

“Why?” Amara asked her. “Why take that risk?”

Wisteria swallowed hard, her heart racing even faster in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her face calm and neutral, her eyes still fixed on Amara's own.

She couldn't falter, or make any kind of mistake. If Amara decided to pursue this, if she continued to pry...her entire plan could be destroyed, all of her work and planning for nothing.

There was no mistaking the question. Despite her mask, and her neutral expression, there was something in Amara's eyes, something in her tone that made it clear to Wisteria that she knew. Amara had guessed what she had done - and she most likely suspected even more besides.

And now, Wisteria needed to answer her, and she needed to answer in such a way that would make the Lady of Autumn Court stop asking further questions about what had truly happened in the dining room tonight.

“Nobody lays a finger on my family without answering to me,” Wisteria said simply.

***

“Are you sure?” Villard, one of his commanders, asked him quietly.

Eris was standing by the tent doors, one hand bracing himself as he silently stared out over the field in front of him.

Was he sure? No. He was not sure...but he was very much afraid.

But fear, just like any other emotion, was useless to him. He clenched his fingers briefly before he spoke, his voice quiet and controlled. "I have to be sure," he said to the General.He could be afraid. He could be full of dread...but there was no turning back now.

His men, along with the men of the Autumn Court army, were waiting at camp for orders. They were waiting for him to give the orders to march. The entire army was relying on him.

He could not show them any fear. He could not show them any doubt.

And so, he took in a slow, deep breath and tried to force himself to appear as if he was completely confident in what he was about to do...even if he was far from confident. It was a risk. A gamble. He knew that.

But he needed to make it.

He needed to. The clock was ticking.

Ever since three months ago.

Since he had stood in that temple and married his mate and had pretended that she wasn’t that. He pretended that she was the wife his father had forced onto him, that he wasn’t interested in the slightest. Which was a lie. It was the biggest lie of his whole existence.

Pretending that he wasn't interested, pretending he didn't care for her...every day had been getting harder and harder.

These dark brown eyes looked at him, belying shrewd intelligence and he often wondered if she didn’t know much more than she let on.

He closed his eyes briefly and clenched his jaw, a sharp pang of pain shooting through his chest at the memories...but he could not think of that now. He had more important things to focus on.

“Yes,” he answered, grounding out the words. “I am sure.”

Sure to carry out the plan they had made…sure in the military coup he had planned. Sure to show up at the forest house gates with an army in tow and kill his father, take that crown that was his by right through blood.

“But it feels like a mistake.” He admitted, his voice just loud enough for the commander to hear his words. “That I'm leading us all to our deaths.”

His head turned slightly, enough so he caught a glimpse of the expression on Villard’s face while still staring out over the field.

He saw worry, and concern...but he also saw loyalty and determination. Loyalty to him.

"You're overthinking this, General," Villard said, and the firm, quiet tone in his voice caused Eris to turn his head fully and look at him. "You're leading your men into a battle. You're preparing yourself for a war. Any General in your position would feel the same as you do. This is how it's supposed to be. But this coup is our best, our only option. And you've never gone into a fight scared before-" because he had never had anything to fear at all before, "...and you're not going to start now. 

"But I-" Eris tried to speak, but his protestation was cut off by Villard’s next words, as blunt and serious as always.

Villard didn't bother to mince his words. Never had. "If you continue to doubt yourself and hesitate, then you're going to get your men killed, General," he said bluntly. "Your army is waiting for you to lead them. You are one of the best Males I have ever served under, and I have faith in you...and they do, too. Do not make me doubt my faith in you."

Villard was right.

"Tomorrow," Eris finally said. "Tomorrow at dawn."

Villard nodded his head once in agreement.

Tomorrow at dawn. Tomorrow, they would be marching. Tomorrow, they would be riding to the Forest House...to confront Beron.

Eris took in a deep, shuddering breath as if he was trying to convince himself that he was really going through with it. He could not back down now. He couldn't second-guess himself anymore. They were doing this, they were actually doing this.

And then...then he felt it.

Felt the whole foundation of Prythian shudder and shake...could feel the magic in the air.

The High Lord's Magic fell onto his shoulders like a ton of bricks.

The reality of what had happened, of what this meant hit him, and for a moment, he didn't breathe.

His father was dead. The power and the magic that came with that fact were now his. That crown that he had dreamed about for so long, that crown that had eluded him for centuries was now sitting on his head.

Eris Vanserra was the High Lord of the Autumn Court.

He tried to breathe, tried to make himself feel steady again. He couldn't falter. Not now.

He clenched his hands briefly, his shoulders rolling back as he tried to adjust to the new, sudden power that he could feel thrumming inside him, the magic flowing through him in a way he hadn't known was possible.

It was both thrilling and terrifying. Thrilling in the power itself...and terrifying for what it now meant.

He had no time to adjust, though, and no time to marvel. They had to ride. They had to get to the forest house and get there now.

"You felt that," Villard spoke beside him, a near imperceptive shake in his voice "Didn't you?"

The question caused Eris to snap back to the situation.

His eyes met Villard’s own for a brief moment, his head moving down in a short, nearly imperceptible nod. “I did,” he spoke, his voice just loud enough for the man next to him to hear.

There was little point in trying to hide the fact that he had just felt the power that came with becoming High Lord. There was little doubt that the whole army had...that the entire forest had just felt that sudden change.

A murmur ran through the army behind them, an ever growing, steady hum of voices and whispers, a murmur that had started the moment the shockwave of magic had raced through the camp.

There could have been no doubt who that earthquake of magic had been. Nor who had just become High Lord as a result of it.

"High Lord," Villard murmured, dropping to his knees before him.

All around them, the entire army was dropping to their knees, the soldiers in the army lowering themselves onto the ground as the murmur of voices became a steady, quiet chant of the title.

High Lord. High Lord. High Lord…

Eris stared out over the camp as his men, his soldiers, knelt before him.

High Lord. High Lord. His mind repeated the words as he swallowed hard.

He felt a little like he was floating. A little like this was all a bad dream, and that any moment he was going to wake up and find it all a lie.

High Lord of the Autumn Court. This was the dream that he had longed for. This was what he had been working for, planning for...and it was here, now.

It was time now. Now. They wouldn't wait until Dawn.

That first action of that High Lord's magic thrumming underneath his skin was to winnow a whole legion of warriors straight to the doorstep of The Forest House. It was a drop in the sudden ocean of power at his disposal…to winnow a group of his most trusted soldiers.

The Wards bend for him with nary a thought.

They and Eris himself appeared at the entryway of the Forest House, standing in front of the imposing building as his eyes immediately shot to the top of the building as if trying to spot a light in a window, or a silhouette behind the window panes of the second floor.

He wondered if she could feel it if she was watching from a window.

He turned and looked at Villard - his General now - and gave a short, sharp nod. The first step in this coup was to secure the Forest House. And then, the rest could happen.

There was no time to linger. No time to look over the house or let the enormity of the situation hit him. They had to move now. Every second counted.

The army rushed forward, the legion splitting up through the doors of the house. They needed to secure every room in the house. Every hallway, every room, every possible place his brothers could be hiding in, preparing for a fight.

Eris stayed behind in the main hallway, staring up at the grand staircase in front of him as his magic thrummed in his veins, waiting for one of his brothers to try and do something stupid.

None did.

It was actually...surprisingly easy.

Servants and staff fell down to their knees as they passed him, as he made his way upstairs...

Hemlock poisoning, one servant had blurted out. The healer are already seeing to…the body. The poison was in the Apple Cider you received as a wedding gift from Duke Hector, High Lord… 

Eris tried not to let the easy way in which everything was working out bother him, tried not to let the calm and quiet of the house make him more suspicious...and tried to not think about the easy death his father had ended up having.

Hemlock poisoning.

He clenched his hand into a fist at his side, the only outward sign he let himself show as he headed up the stairs to the second level of the house.

His wife and his mother were sitting in their living room. Having tea. Like they hadn't just witnessed the death of his father not even an hour earlier.

Eris paused in the doorway, a frown on his normally impassive face as he took in his mate and his mother - sitting on opposite couches in the living room with tea between them.

There was a calm air about both of them as if they hadn’t just felt the house shudder from the death of his father, as if they hadn’t sensed the change of High Lord. 

A faint sense of bemusement filled him as he watched her move, as Wysteris' dark red dress swished around her legs as it nearly skimmed the floor.

Wisteria's head snapped towards him and she gained her feed. Long brown hair fell down her back, pins straight as usual, a golden crown weaved during the chocolate tresses. Dark brown eyes were mustering him, the dark red velvet gown she wore contrasting sharply with her ivory skin.

And then his wife, his mate, sunk into a picture-perfect curtsy. "High Lord."

She had been beautiful the very first time he had seen her, at that Masquerade Ball. One dance… one dance and he had felt the Mating Bond rippling through him. And at that moment the only thing on his mind had been that he needed to protect her. 

He had utterly failed at that. 

Because Wisteria Abinac, his mate, had been offered to him by his father on a silver platter as his future wife. 

He had tried everything to get out of marrying her. Everything to keep her as far removed from himself as he could. And he had failed. Failed, because fundamentally, Eris was a selfish male. He had told himself that disagreeing too much was just going to result in people giving Wisteria a second look, and so had only groused and complained enough not to have it be completely out of character. 

And then he had married her. 

Eris had married her. And he had known that if anybody found out that Wisteria was his mate…she was the easiest way straight to him. The easiest pressure point to exploit. 

Eris couldn't have that. Not right now. So instead of actually being a proper husband to his mate…he had just started plotting right then and there to finally get rid of his father. 

Wisteria didn't look surprised to see him here or to see the army of soldiers that filled the halls behind him. No, when she had turned to look upon him, all he had seen in her eyes was knowledge. She knew exactly why he was here.

"Wife," he answered her, a quiet acknowledgement of her words and her curtsy, his own eyes sweeping over her form. "Are you...well?" he asked her. It wasn’t everything he wanted to ask her. It was so far from what he wanted to do. 

What he wanted was to sweep her up in his arms and whisper apologies against her skin, admit everything to her and… He couldn’t do this right now. 

"I didn't drink any of the Apple Cider," she answered. "It was a wedding gift from Duke Hector...apparently seasoned with Hemlock. Thank the cauldron that neither Amara nor I drank any of it."

Hearing that his mate and his mother hadn't drunk any of the Cider was pure relief. His shoulders relaxed ever so slightly, and the tension that had been wound tightly in him began to loosen just a little.

"Thank the Cauldron," he murmured quietly, taking a few steps into the room. Behind him, the army was still swarming into the second level of the house.  As he moved further into the room, his eyes swept over to his mother, taking in the picture of calm she presented as she sat sipping her tea from the couch.

"Mother," he greeted her, a slight incline of his head to the female. "Are you unharmed?"

The older female nodded at his question, sipping her tea again before she spoke in a calm, measured tone. "I didn't drink any of the Cider either," she told him, and the knowledge that she hadn't had a sip of the Hemlock-spiked drink helped set his mind at ease, at least somewhat. Even when she seemed nearly…absent. At least she was alive. At least she was safe.

Everything else…they could deal with everything else. 

It was probably the shock, he reasoned. It was probably…

Eris inhaled a breath, trying to take a moment to steady himself. He needed to be calm, he needed to be emotionless. Which was seemingly impossible, because Wisteria grasped his hand in hers.

"You will need to appear in the Throne Room," she said calmly. "For the proclamation. Let me find you something to wear."

He paused when she grasped his hand, his eyes flickering to her face with a bewildered expression for a moment before he managed to shove that expression away behind his mask again. Wisteria seemed all too calm for the circumstances as if everything going on was a minor event instead of what it really was.

"Throne Room," he confirmed, squeezing his wife's hand back once before releasing it. "Yes, I need clothes."

Wisteria let go of his hand, and he mourned the loss of her touch, as she headed towards the bedrooms, probably to rummage through the clothes in there.

Meanwhile, his mother continued to sit there, sipping her tea like nothing was happening at all.

Eris paused, standing in the middle of the room and staring at her for a few seconds. Something was off...there was something odd about how she was sitting there like she wasn't the least bit bothered by the fact that there was an army in her house and her husband had just died. Did she...did she know what was happening?

His mother raised her eyes up to meet his gaze, a hint of sadness in her eyes to tell him that she did, in fact, know what was happening. Of course, she was sad...and yet, there was a slight sense of understanding as well.

"Go," his mother said, resting her cup on the saucer as she spoke. "Let Wisteria get you ready. Your brothers will soon realise what is going on. You don’t have time to linger here."

Eris’ eyes flickered back to where his mate had disappeared. Wisteria reappeared moments later. She moved efficiently, seemingly uncaring about the fact that an army was in the house, or that her father-in-law was dead. That she had watched him die. 

His mother didn't move, didn't even rise from her spot by the couch, continuing to sip her tea as if it was a normal afternoon. 

Eris forced himself to turn, his teeth clenching together tightly.

His wife held out the jacket for him to slip into. She had chosen a deep red brocade jacket for him to wear, one edged with golden thread at the wrists and the collars. He was quite certain that he had never seen it before. 

Wysteria slipped the coat around his shoulders, pulling the jacket around his form and buttoning it closed. Her touch was grounding, even as he needed to hold himself back. It was the most intimacy he had ever allowed himself to have with his mate. 

The brocade was heavy, the cut of the material clearly made for a High Lord. His wife fussed with the jacket for a few moments as he stood and watched her, before she stepped back with a small nod, looking him up and down.

"How do I look?" he asked her, a note of dry humour in his voice even as he spoke the question, even as he allowed a small, sardonic smirk.

He was to go and make his formal proclamation as High Lord, and here he was with his wife fussing over him, straightening his collar, adjusting the way his jacket sat on his shoulders, pulling at the end of his sleeves to adjust the fit. He could almost say the situation was bizarre if it wasn't so damn serious.

Wisteria tilted her head to the side lightly, her lips tilting up in a small smile that damn near took his breath away as she took him in from head to toe, looking him over.

"Like a High Lord," she finally spoke. Wisteria took a step in closer to him, reaching up and tucking a loose piece of hair back into his hairstyle. "Like you were always meant to be."

She took his arm before he could offer it, the perfect Lady at his side.

She was the picture of a perfect wife as she moved to stand at his side, and as he looked down at her, he knew that they would look every bit the High Lord and Lady as they strode through the hallways.

This was where they were both meant to be. This was who they both were, down to their bones.

That proclamation went painlessly.

He had expected something....but nothing happened. Absolutely nothing.

Even his brothers behaved. Though that may was thanks to Wisteria’s eyes that were keeping them pinned in place as she sat on the throne beside him. He glanced at her out of the corner of his eyes, at his wife, his mate, at the long, pin-straight hair, her spine held straighter than a rod of iron, the elegant arch of her neck and cheekbones. She looked so regal, so composed...She was beautiful.

The dark red velvet sharply contrasted with her skin, with the flowers that grew up in gold thread over her skirt and sleeves...

Flowers. Flowers. Flowers for a female who had been born into the Abinac Family. Known as the Grain Keepers of Autumn. Known as...known for their keen interest in botany.  The garden that Wisteria kept...the garden she kept to have medicinal herbs grow, all tucked away in the little glasshouse that had been his wedding present for her…

The one thing he could give her that...that was just a hint of his feelings for her. For this beautiful being that had come into his life when he had least expected it.

But the herbs…the…

She wouldn't have done this…Right?

She wouldn't have. There was no...Just because his father had been poisoned by Hemlock...that wouldn't...

A frown pulled at his lips as he took in the serene expression on his wife's face, the soft smile that was there as she sipped on her drink.

She was calm, composed, and perfect. Just like the Lady of the Court was supposed to be.

Hemlock Poisoning…Hemlock Poisoning in the Apple Cider that had been a wedding present to them…From the Ancient Duke Hector that had ended up succumbing to his fever weeks after their wedding…

That…

Duke Hector had disagreed with his father politically on numerous occasions. But he had been a good male. Too good a male for the treacherous Autumn Court…He wouldn’t have….Eris could simply not imagine that he would attempt an assassination. 

But apparently he had. 

His mother. His mother knew.  She was too calm. Too collected. Too…

His wife was too relaxed. She was too at ease. She had seen his father die in front of her, yet there was barely a flicker of emotions on her face.

But why. Why would...

But that was the question, wasn't it? Why would his wife conspire to kill his father, the High Lord?  Only to put him on the throne?

And it had been stupidly dangerous what she had done. Hemlock was fatal. There was no antidote. If she or his mother had drunken even a drop of that Apple Cider…they would have both died. 

Why take such a risk?!

That was the question, wasn't it? That was the question that was running through his mind, over and over again.

Why?

Why had Wisteria done this? Why had she poisoned the Apple Cider, knowing that all of them would be drinking it? That she herself had almost drunk from it?

Why.

There was no clear reason, no possible answer that came to mind...unless...

It made him want to get up from her throne, scoop her in his arms, and get her as far away as he could.

Unless this wasn't because of a clear-cut desire for power. Unless this was something more personal, more...driven. Unless there was a deeper motive behind this.

He kept his mouth shut. 

Eris waited until the night wore on until the night was late when they retired to their room for the night. They had always slept in separate rooms, a custom that they had followed even when they had shared a bed the night of their wedding.

Tonight, however, he had no intention of following that custom. He was going to find out why his wife had poisoned the cider, why his mother seemed so unsurprised at his father's death, and why everything had been so damn easy for him to become High Lord.

He followed her to her room, and if she was surprised by his act...she didn't show it.

They had never shared a bed. He had never laid a finger on her. There were some lines that even Eris wasn’t willing to cross. Not when she didn't even know that they were mates. Not when...

He threw up a shield, encompassing just the two of them and then grasped her hand tightly, pulling her to him so that she needed to face him.

Her dark eyes widened, the first sign of surprise he had seen on her face in hours. The look of surprise didn't linger for long as a mask of composure slipped back into place, and the calm gaze was back on her features, watching him emotionlessly.

Still, he had to give her credit for managing to school her expression so quickly.

"You killed him."

He wasn’t quite sure what he had expected. Wisteria to stare at him wide-eyed, for her to become hysterical, for her to assure him that she hadn’t…

But he hadn’t expected the confirmation. “Yes,” Wisteria said, meeting his eyes, her chin held high. There wasn't even the slightest hint of remorse on her face, not a sliver of guilt anywhere in her features as she confirmed his accusation. “And I would do it again.”

"You poisoned the Apple Cider," he half-snarled at her, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "You poisoned it with Hemlock."

She shrugged her shoulders lightly, almost like this was a normal conversation to her. 

"I did," she answered his accusation. No excuses, no explanations, just flat confirmation.

Eris gritted his teeth together, his muscles tensing with barely concealed anger as he listened to his wife speak with such a calm tone. 

"Why," he bit out in a low, strangled voice. He needed an explanation, a reason, anything that might give him some idea as to why his wife had murdered his father.

She looked him in his eyes again, her gaze unwavering as she stared at him unblinkingly. For a moment, he thought that she wouldn't give him an answer, that she would simply stand there, staring him down in her usual, calm manner.

But she spoke, her voice as emotionless as her expression.

"Because you were too sentimental," she said. "He was bleeding our court dry. He was hurting your mother. He was hurting you."

A shocked breath left him. His hands relaxed slightly, the muscles in his shoulders loosening a little as the rage within him simmered. "What if my mother had drunk that apple cider?" he hissed at Wisteria. “What if you did? You could have killed both of you! There is no antidote to Hemlock.”

"There isn't," Wisteria agreed. "But you can grow an immunity to it."

"Are you telling me that you have been slowly poisoning yourself and my mother for the last 3 months?!?!" He asked incredulously, disbelief and horror colouring his wife. She had knowingly poisoned herself?! 

She had...she had slowly been building an immunity to Hemlock. 

"You were poisoning yourself" he managed to croak out, disbelief and anger mixed in his tone. "You were poisoning both of you!”

Her lips tugged into the hint of a smirk at his words, a reaction she never showed usually.

"Yes." Her voice was as emotionless as ever as she spoke. She could've been talking about the weather, it was almost eerie. There was no hint of regret for poisoning her and his mother, not a hint of remorse for the way she had planned his father's death. "I fed your mother and me tea spiked with a tiny amount of Hemlock so if we ingested a bigger amount, nothing would happen.” 

"Why, in the Mother's name, why would you do that," he managed to half-yell out, his hands clenching into fists again.

"Well, only like that I could fault Duke Hector for it," his wife answered, like the answer was obvious. "He's dead, so nobody will get his head cut off for treason.” She said that, like clearly that was the perfect, reasonable answer. 

Eris stared at her, dumbfounded, trying to string together everything she had just told him, trying to make sense in his head.

She had poisoned his father, using a method that only she could survive, and then left a paper trail to frame Duke Hector for the murder. It was...it was brilliantly done.

The level of planning, of patience, it had to have taken her months to plot all this out.

And she had been quicker than him. He wasn't sure if he should be furious at her, or impressed.

It was a perfectly executed, perfectly planned scheme. She had poisoned his father, knowing that she and his mother were the only ones who could drink the poisoned Apple Cider and survive it, and had set up the path so that it ended in Duke Hector being framed.

"Why," he asked her in a strangled tone, his tone strangled with conflicting emotions as he desperately tried to make sense of what had happened. "Why go through all this trouble? Why, in the Mother's name, why go through all this? Why kill my father?"

She just looked at him for a moment. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, mate."

His breath stopped in his throat as he stared at his mate in shock, his eyes widening as she spoke.

"What did you just say?" He asked her, half-expecting her to change her answer, to give him a different response.

Her lips tugged up in a slight, crooked smirk as she looked back at him, her eyes flickering with a hint of...something that he couldn't put his finger on. "You heard me, mate." She stepped in, moving closer towards him, her footsteps silent against the carpet. "There is nothing I wouldn't do for you, even if it meant killing your father."

"You knew," he croaked out.

Wisteria knew. She had known...since gods only knew when. When he had tried to keep away from her...when he had tried to get out of that arranged marriage…

His back tensed and his muscles clenched as he stared at his wife, every single moment he remembered of the two of them from the last three months running through his mind as he listened to her words.

Wisteria had known. The whole time, she had known that they were mates.

"Since that Masquerade Ball, actually," Wisteria admitted brightly. "I decided that I was going to marry you then."

The words stunned him, the statement stealing the breath from his lungs and causing his muscles to tense with surprise.

She had known.

Since the moment they met…it was…She had planned and plotted out everything since then. And he had had no idea.

"You knew." Eris could only stare at her in wonder.

"I knew I was going to marry you and that I would kill your father," she said with a shrug. "He deserved worse."

"Why," he asked again in a strangled tone, his mind still reeling, trying to process the information that she had given him. "Why, in the cauldron’s name, would you go through all this trouble, all this damn planning, simply because you knew that we were mates?"

***

It had been a long time since she had seen him look so...baffled. She always enjoyed it when she managed to get a reaction out of him, and this was the best one to date.

Wisteria reached forward, resting her hand on his chest, feeling the hard muscle under his shirt, feeling the steady thump of his heart. She could feel the tension in him, the way his muscles were tensed as he stared down at her with an expression that was so deliciously lost.

"I told you, there is nothing that I wouldn't do for you."

Her fingers curled slightly against his shirt, resting atop his beating heart, feeling the steady thumping of his heart against her palm.

"You were too sentimental." She reminded him, staring up into his eyes, into his beautiful, green orbs. "You wanted to spare your father, despite all the suffering he put you through. You wanted to let him live, despite how he had made your and your family's lives a living Hel."

"You were being too damn soft, too nice." She told him with a slight, crooked smirk, pressing her body closer to his, closing the gap between them until their bodies were pressed together. She could feel the heat of his body against hers, feel the way his muscles tensed as he stared back at her. "That is what made me decide to murder that worthless bastard."

"I was going to slice his throat tomorrow," Eris said suddenly, catching the back of her head, making it impossible for her to get out of his grasp. "I was planning a military coup. It would have been perfect. If somebody didn't decided to ruin it for me."

Her lips twisted into a smirk at his words, her dark eyes flashing with a hint of challenge as she looked up at him. She didn't try to struggle or break free, enjoying the feel of his fingers digging into the back of her hair, the warmth of his body as he kept her from escaping.

"Like I said, too sentimental," she drawled at him, her smirk widening when she saw his expression flicker.

"Says the female that said she would do everything for me," Eris disagreed. "Who killed my father because she didn't like the way he talked to me in public."

She arched her eyebrow at his words, her smirk widening yet again when she saw him grit his teeth together in irritation. She leaned in, her body flush with his chest, her nose almost touching his chin as she looked up at him.

"That's because you're mine," she told him fiercely. "You don't think I would kill him for insulting you? For the way he abused both you and your mother?"

Her breath brushed against his chin, her body pressed tight against his, feeling his fingers dig into her scalp as he held her tight.

"What, do you think I'm just going to sit there and let somebody insult my mate?" She asked him in a tone that was barely above a hiss, her eyes narrowing slightly in irritation.

He growled, the low sound echoing through his chest, and she couldn't help but shiver involuntarily in response. The sound he made was deep, primal, possessive, and it made her shiver all the way down to her core.

"I'll kill anybody that ever insults you," she told him in a low tone, the words almost a promise, and she felt his body tense even more in response to her vow.

It was a true statement too. She fully intended to kill anybody that insulted him. Her mate. She would tear apart anybody that put even a single, verbal finger on him.

His fingers tightened yet again against the back of her head, his hold on her almost painful. She didn't try and loosen his grip, but instead, her lips tugged up in a crooked smirk as she angled her chin up to look into his eyes. Her whole body was pressed against his, her skin burning wherever his hard chest pressed against her.

Their faces were only mere inches apart, her breath brushing against his chin, her mouth a hair's breadth away from his. Her heart was pounding in her chest, her body tingling wherever he touched her, wherever his body was pressed against hers.

It was a wonder that her legs didn't give out under her. She was burning, her body practically buzzing with heat, her blood singing with something primal, something almost feral. Everything about him in this moment seemed to overwhelm her, seemed to consume her.

"If you ever, ever do anything as idiotic as dosing yourself and my mother with Hemlock again, I'll kill you," he breathed.

Her breath caught in her throat at the low threat in his voice, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked up into his eyes. There was a dark, almost dangerous look in his eyes as he stared down at her, the threat in his voice sending a shiver down her spine, making her breath catch yet again in her throat. It was enough to make it feel as though she were drowning in something almost primal, something that she had never felt before. Her whole body was thrumming, her muscles tense, her blood singing.

"You are my mate." And finally he said the words she had longed to hear from him for months. "You are my mate. The next time you plot to kill anybody, you'll come to me so I can help you hide the body."

Her heart thundered in her chest at his words, the possessiveness in his tone making her head swim, making her body burn as a shiver ran down her spine for a completely different reason.

And for the first time in her life, she actually felt like the world paused for a moment, like time itself had froze around her, as she looked up at her mate and her mind struggled to process the fact.

She had, actually managed to make her mate declare her as his.

Her plan had worked. "Do you understand me, Wisteria Vanserra? You are my wife, my mate, the Lady of this Court. You'll come to your High Lord and you'll tell him all about your homicidal plans."

Her mind was still reeling from his words, her eyes wide as she looked up at him, but she managed to nod in response to his order. Her muscles trembled slightly, her heart practically hammering in her chest. 

"Good."

The praise made her breath catch in her throat, her body trembling slightly as she stared up into those beautiful, green eyes of his. Her blood was singing, her body practically trembling with the need to get closer to him, to feel his hands, his body against her own. 

And then he kissed her. There was nothing sweet about the way he kissed her. It was teeth and tongue and heat and...

Yes. This was what she wanted, what she had been aching for months to feel. His mouth on hers was like fire, his tongue hot and desperate against hers as they kissed each other. It was like a dam had broken, like all the tension, all the frustration was finally being released through this kiss. 

The world melted around them, the world faded into nothing, all her senses, all her focus zeroing in on the feel of him, of the hard planes of his chest against hers, of her own body feeling like it was vibrating, like she was burning up from the inside out. Everything faded away into this burning, beautiful, heat with his hands on her, with his mouth against her's, nothing mattering but the two of them. 

The world melted around them, the world faded into nothing, all her senses, all her focus zeroing in on the feel of him, of the hard planes of his chest against hers, of her own body feeling like it was vibrating, like she was burning up from the inside out. Everything faded away into this burning, beautiful, heat with his hands on her, with his mouth against her's, nothing mattering but the two of them. 

A gasp escaped her as she felt his mouth on her throat, his tongue tracing over her, burning a trail down her skin as he spoke against her. She arched her neck instinctively, letting him have better access to her neck, her breath catching as he spoke.

Her fingers reached out, desperate, her hands grabbing at his shoulders, his back, her fingers digging in and curling, grasping at him, trying to pull him even closer to her, trying to feel more of him, more of his hard, muscled chest, more of his hot skin against her's. 

She was drowning in him, in the heat that was burning them both, in the fact that he was actually holding her, actually holding her like this, that he was actually her's just as much as she was his. Her mind was practically incoherent, her whole body burning, her blood singing in her veins with a primal, possessive need. 

And the look in his eyes as he looked at her...he was beautiful, he was wild, and he was hers. And she would slaughter anybody that got in their way. 

She'd tear the world apart for him and with him. 

[mypoisonedvine]

𝓹𝓪𝓽𝓲𝓮𝓷𝓬𝓮 | laszlo kreizler x reader

𝓼𝓾𝓶𝓶𝓪𝓻𝔂 | being a traditional, well-behaved woman, you saved yourself for marriage. but the things your new husband has planned for you are... less than traditional, and might just show how poorly behaved you can be.

𝔀𝓸𝓻𝓭 𝓬𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓽 | over 9k

𝔀𝓪𝓻𝓷𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼 | SMUT (18+ only!!), virginity loss, age gap (unspecific; laszlo is in his 40s, reader is probably 20-25), multiple orgasms/overstimulation, fingering, oral f receiving, squirting, shy/innocent reader, religious reader (but nothing tooo shame-y or anything), some innocence kink, a hint of medical kink?, slightly pervy laszlo?!?! (moreso he's just a wee bit of a weirdo and says some cringe stuff but like. that's just his vibe sorry)

Laszlo was such an impossible paradox of a man.  Especially compared to the sort of man you always thought you’d marry— what you’d been raised for, even.

An accomplished doctor, a successful and wealthy man of high social standing— a kind, sensitive, intelligent, and patient partner who made you feel beautiful and special and, for lack of a better word, fancy.  That part was exactly as you’d always imagined for yourself, though you had never really believed you could find someone so wonderful.

And then there was the other half of him, the pieces that even in your wildest dreams you would’ve never thought would make up your future husband.  First of all, he was quite a bit older than you.  Even your parents, who had always preferred for you to marry someone already established (as they put it) rather than your own age, were a little concerned that he was in his mid-forties, and only a year younger than your father.  Of course, that was nothing compared to their offense at his profession, and the subsequent open-mindedness he had towards people your parents would rather pretend didn’t exist.  Then again, Laszlo himself having his disability made him the sort of person they would rather pretend didn’t exist, though he’d managed to hide it relatively well.

Maybe they could’ve forgiven any of that.  It was the atheism that put the final nail in the coffin, unfortunately… and someone as brash and unapologetic as Laszlo had no interest in hiding his beliefs to appease your parents.  He hadn’t brought it up, of course, or protested to the crucifixes and cross-stitched scriptures on the walls; but when they’d asked if he was Catholic or Protestant, he told them directly that he was a man of science and didn’t entertain any metaphysical notions or, as he’d so thoughtfully put it, fantasies.

They instantly forbade the courtship and warned you never to see him again.  And maybe that was when he surprised you most— he was so romantic, so… dashing.  He took a carriage to your home and literally threw pebbles at your window, daring you to climb down the lattice and join him for a midnight adventure.  It was then he suggested that you marry him anyways— he had more than enough to take care of you after a disownment from your parents.  He promised to give you anything you wanted, to treat you perfectly, to spend every day trying to keep you as happy as you made him without even trying.

There it was again, the contradictory enigma of Laszlo Kreizler.  A serious, even stern man, proposing to you like a lovestruck teenager.  He had eschewed fantasies a few evenings ago only to turn around and ask you to jump headfirst into a fairytale.

You said yes, though.  You really didn’t think twice about it— you knew he would be good to you.  And you knew you’d never loved someone like you’d loved him before.

You wanted to run away right then and there, but he told you to go home for a few more days, to gather your things— he would send for them while your parents were out, and you could move in with him as soon as you were ready.

When you did move in, though, he seemed a little surprised that you asked for your things to be moved to a spare bedroom.

“Is everything alright?” he asked you softly, stepping closer to you as you crossed your arms over yourself nervously; you waited until you were sure Cyrus was out of earshot, carrying your bags away, before you answered.

“Yes,” you replied quietly, “everything’s fine.”

“It’s understandable if you’re feeling conflicted now,” Laszlo assured.�� “Having just left your parents, and not knowing if you’ll see them again—”

“It’s not that,” you promised.  “Well— of course, I feel something about that, but I’m happy to be here with you.  That’s not my issue at all.”

“Then what is?” he pressed.  “I hope you feel that you can tell me.”

You sighed as he reached up to brush your cheek; his touch always soothed you, though it felt a bit different here, in his home.  Your new home.  “I just… wouldn’t feel right about being in your room, until we’re married.”

He nodded.  “Of course.  I shouldn’t have presumed.”

You smiled a little, though it was more out of nervousness than anything.  “I… I wondered if you thought my parents were the only reason that we never— that nothing had—”

“Shh,” he soothed, pushing your hair back from your face until you looked up at him.  “I don’t expect anything from you now.  Well, only that you do whatever you like to make yourself feel at home here.”

“And what… what will you expect from me once I am your wife, Dr. Kreizler?” 

Though you were a little afraid to, you met his gaze; his brown eyes seemed deeper than ever, and you were powerless to look away from them.  “What do you think is right to give me, when you are my wife?”

You sighed a little, feeling his hand on your cheek move carefully down to your neck, his gentle fingers brushing along the smallest part of your collarbone exposed by your dress.  Words escaped you; you wanted him to know that just because you wanted to wait for him didn’t mean you didn’t want him.  Even before, even when you first met him, your mind had supplied you with thoughts that sent you straight to the confession booth.

You wanted to be one with him in every way you could think of… you just needed some to come before others, to feel right with your own beliefs.  Even if you loved an atheist, and felt surprisingly little guilt for it, you were still religious yourself and wanted to honor God’s intention for marriage.  

Didn’t mean you couldn’t yearn for your soon-to-be husband, right?  It certainly didn’t mean you couldn’t enjoy the full benefits of physical intimacy when the time came.

But obviously, you were far from brave enough to say all that.  Instead, you found your hands wandering to his chest, following the pattern of his suit coat up to his shoulders, biting your lip without even realizing it.  He simply continued to watch you, and you got the feeling that he understood you better than you could explain it yourself.  One of the bonuses of being loved by an expert on the human mind, perhaps.

You were almost in a trance, not noticing how long you were spending just gently touching and holding him in this simple way— until you looked up and met his gaze again, and felt a little weak.  “Can we marry soon?” you asked softly, almost under your breath.  You hoped he wouldn’t tease you, you weren’t secure enough for him to mock your obvious eagerness, to call attention to your desire for him.  Thankfully, he stayed perfectly serious, because he was just as affected as you were.

“As soon as you like,” he replied earnestly.

It was probably for the best that Cyrus walked in to the parlor at that moment, and you instinctively pulled back from Laszlo, crossing your arms again.  “Your bags are in the downstairs bedroom, madam,” he informed you, “down the hallway under the stairs.”

You nodded at him as Laszlo responded, “Thank you, Cyrus.  That will be all.”

He left, and you looked at your fiance again, feeling a bit silly for what he’d seen in you a moment before.  But he smiled at you, and you figured he’d be the last person to judge you for any of that.  “I’ll give you a little time to unpack and freshen up, if you like,” he offered.  “I hope you’ll join me for dinner at seven this evening.  I believe we’ll be having quail.”

“Of course— thank you,” you smiled, watching him begin to turn to depart.  But for a second, he hesitated— like he didn’t want to leave you— and you prayed he wouldn’t kiss you.  It’s not that you didn’t want him to… you wanted him to more than anything.  He’d only kissed you once before, at the end of a particularly exhilarating night out together, and you hadn’t stopped thinking about it for a moment since.

So no, it wasn’t that you didn’t want him to kiss you.  It was only that, if he did, you knew you’d have trouble letting it be just a kiss.

Therefore, you were just as relieved as you were disappointed when he departed without incident.

///

A few days later, you eloped.  You hadn’t felt much urge to have a ‘proper’ wedding when no one you knew approved of the marriage anyway— they were all too deep in your parents’ pocket, unfortunately.  And even if anyone cared enough to come, Laszlo refused to be wed in a church (you thought maybe he would bend on it if you really begged, he was overall quite accommodating to you, but it wasn’t worth your trouble) and so it would’ve just been another scandal.  

Truly, you were just as happy this way— it was the happiest day of your life, really.  You left the courthouse as Mrs. Kreizler, wearing a stunning silver band he’d had engraved with your new initials and flowering vines all around in a swirling, whimsical pattern.  His band was simpler, but you loved it even more— just because it was his, and seeing him wearing it made your heart skip all day.

Anticipation for your wedding night only grew with every passing moment.  Laszlo himself was in the bathroom with the door shut— you heard the sink running, the various sounds of him preparing for bed.  You were just trying to get your heart to slow down, trying not to have any specific goals or expectations for the evening.  Today had already been perfect.

But, of course, it was hard not to imagine what was next for the two of you— your things had already been moved into his room.  A vanity had been placed in it as well, a wedding gift from Sara Howard (a friend of Laszlo’s you had become acquainted with during this whirlwind romance), and you were using it now as you prepared yourself for bed.  You were already in your nightgown, having changed after Laszlo left the room (not that you had to, but it felt more natural that way), and you were carefully unpinning your hair from its meticulous style.

As you concluded the final steps of your evening routine, you saw the bathroom door open behind you in your reflection; your husband emerged, wearing an embroidered silk robe that offered a view of a sliver of his chest— not very much, but more than you’d ever seen.  You didn’t notice the way your thighs pressed against each other more tightly; he approached you slowly, and you eventually turned to look at him directly.  With you still sitting on the vanity’s padded stool, he towered over you when he stood close… and as you lifted your head to look up at him, his hand brushed softly along your jaw.  You tilted into his touch just a bit, smiling at him while your heart fluttered.

“You’re so beautiful, mein Schatz,” he whispered, and you felt a little giddy when he talked like that— he’d only ever indulged you in his German after having a few drinks, so this instance caught you off-guard in the best way.  Not to mention he’d called you Schatz before— treasure, apparently, and a common term of endearment— but he’d never tagged it with mein before.  And you were his, truly.  You were glad he’d waited to say it until it was actually true (even if, in a certain sense, it was already true before).

He motioned, rather subtly, for you to stand up.  It seemed simple enough, but you felt a little shaky as you did it— a nervous excitement, like the kind you would feel before a piano recital or debutante ball.  Except those were all public engagements, and this was as private as anything could be.

Touching your face again, he wove his fingers back around your neck, his thumb cradling your jaw right in front of your ear.  And he kissed you— just like that, quick at first but then slowing down as you both sighed a bit.

You admired how easily he’d done it, and thank god for it, because you would’ve spent quite a while working up the courage.  This was different from the night you’d kissed him after a few weeks of seeing each other— it was very different from the kiss you’d shared at the courthouse earlier that day.  It would’ve made sense if there was a sense of neediness to it, as if he were making up for lost time or relieving all the anticipation for this night.  But really, it was all rather relaxed, at least on his part.  Like he had all the time in the world: which, you know, he did.

You, on the other hand… you were feeling a bit more out of your element.  Not that you weren’t enjoying this new one so far, it was just a little unfamiliar.

His hand floated lower and traced down your back— delicately, with the tips of his fingers brushing your skin through the thin fabric until chills started to run over you.  You gasped a little into the kiss, and put your hands on the patterned lapels of his robe; you didn’t actually push him away, but he pulled back as if you had, examining your face carefully for a moment.

You hadn’t needed him to stop, but you were a little glad he did: just a moment’s break from it all before it became overwhelming.  His fingers still traced gentle shapes on your lower back through the nightgown, and you found your gaze drifting to his chest, to your hands resting on it— and your own fingertips ventured into the exposed piece of his chest.  His skin was paler here, with a reddish-blondish patch of hair just starting to be visible.  You touched it, taking a quick and shaky breath, and wondered why something inside you tightened as you pet him here.  He was so… masculine.  His looks weren’t sweet and boyish, no: he was broad and strong (he would deny that one if you said it, but to you he was) and sharp around the edges, and it was something you never expected to excite you so much.

But you loved that you could still feel a bit of friction from his beard after he’d kissed you.  You loved the subtle scent of his cologne, how sturdy he felt under your touch.

Your hands drifted up to his face, fingers brushing through his hair slowly, and he smiled at you.  His hair was just a bit long for what was typical of men these days, and you enjoyed combing through the dark brown locks and noticing the little golden highlights in the dimmed light of the room.

The hand on your hip pulled you closer, pressing your body against his, and you tried your best to relax into the warm strength of his form while your heart kept racing.

When he kissed you again, he moved in slowly, watching your face before his own eventually met with it, and you fluttered your eyes shut as his lips gently pressed to yours.  This time, you found yourself leaning in for more, kissing him back with more passion; you let out a little dampened moan when his tongue brushed against your bottom lip, taking the next opportunity to gently move further into your mouth.  

He broke away all too soon, embracing you even tighter, pressing his cheek to yours.  And when you, in turn, wrapped your arms around him and pressed yourself against him everywhere you could… you felt it.

Even if you had very little knowledge about this sort of thing, you understood what that hard, curved shape was, pressed just above where your hip met your stomach.  You knew what it was, and your body did too— heat pooled at your core, every touch awakening you even more.

“Oh,” you sighed shakily, holding tighter onto him to just have something to hold onto.

“It's alright,” he whispered, soft words floating on his breath which tickled under your ear.  “It's alright, my darling, I won't hurt you.”

You hummed softly in return, nodding as his lips brushed over your cheek, then moved to your neck.  “I know,” you replied.  “I trust you, Laszlo.”

But you couldn't help but gasp when his tongue teased your pulse, his teeth gently grazing the most delicate places they could find.  His grip at your waist tightened when you whimpered.  “Is this pleasurable to you?” he asked softly; even such a formal statement made you shudder when he said it in that low, buttery voice…

You nodded, your back arching slightly to press yourself against him, but you felt him smile against you suddenly.

“I'd like for you to say it,” he explained, an unfamiliar darkness to his voice.

“It's… pleasurable,” you panted.  “When you kiss me there… it's like I feel every touch s-somewhere else—”

“Where, my love?”

“Here,” you sighed, grabbing his hand from your back and moving it between your legs.  He instantly cupped and rubbed your mound, and your knees nearly buckled from the pleasure.

“Mein Gott, you're so sensitive,” he observed, his own voice sounding a little strained, “I've hardly touched you.”

“L-Laszlo, just touch me more,” you pleaded.

Though he’d been so careful until that moment, he suddenly started to pull up the skirt of your nightgown rather hastily, nostrils flaring as he bent down slightly and worked to hoist the fabric up.  Finally, he got under it, but teased you by rubbing and groping at your thighs instead; under his breath, you just barely heard a growl before he began to kiss your neck again.

“Even if both my hands were strong, I'd wish for more to touch you with,” he mumbled against your skin.  “I'd still want to cover you entirely, reach every part of you at once.”

Well, you liked the sound of that, but one hand was doing you plenty of good already— especially when it slid back up to cup you again, making you sigh and moan as his fingers slipped through your folds, spreading your abundant wetness all around.

Desperate to return even a portion of the sensation he was giving to you, you placed your hand against the bulge in his trousers.  Though the shape and firmness of him made you gasp excitedly, he only let you rub it for a few moments before sighing and moving your hand away.  “Not yet, my darling,” he instructed.  “It's best if we take this one step at a time, for now.”

You felt a little silly, having to be held back like that, but you nodded.  He obviously knew better than you about all this.

It was almost too much, the way he was touching you: you had your arms wrapped tight around his shoulders to try to keep yourself upright, frankly.  And yet, for how overwhelming it was, you heard yourself saying—

“More, please,” you begged, “I-I need you, just give me more, please—”

“I will,” he promised roughly, “but not here.  I think it’s only right that I take you to bed, hm?”

If you weren’t all worked up, you might’ve made some witty comment about how at least the bed’s not too far or whatever— but no, you just let him guide you the few steps to the mattress, and you sat on it as you simply awaited further orders.  So little that he’d done to you, and you’d already do whatever he asked in exchange for continued attention.

You watched him roll up his sleeve— it took him a little while with the weaker hand, but you didn’t mind letting this moment last— and didn’t even notice the way your mouth had gone slack, you were nearly salivating.  “Lay back, darling,” he instructed simply, still looking at his sleeve as he finally folded it up to his elbow, “and open your legs.”

You obeyed, of course, and bit absent-mindedly on your lip as you slowly lifted your knees and parted your thighs.  There was no point being shy now, of course— and you were more than eager for him to get back to doing what he had been before— but you still felt a nervous hesitance that made your hands (and heart) shake slightly.  Something about stopping to get in the bed had brought a bit of sobriety to the moment, and you realized in retrospect how desperate you must have looked.  Surely he wouldn’t hold that against you…

He lifted your skirt again, up to your hips, and hummed lowly at the sight of your sex.  Your face burned hotter; you liked the way he touched it, but you didn’t feel entirely comfortable with him… staring at it.

Still, it was the sort of slight discomfort that felt oddly… good?  Yes, you were a bit embarrassed and exposed at the moment, but it felt wrong in that fun, naughty sort of way; it made your hips shift a little, presumably in hopes of some friction.  Thankfully, their wish was answered: his hand was on you again, pulling your lips apart, slowly exploring you until your eyes fluttered shut.

“May I touch you inside as well?” he asked— as if there was any risk of you turning that offer down.

“Y-yes, Laszlo, please,” you whispered, whimpering as you felt the tip of his pointer finger— suddenly it seemed a little thicker than you remembered— press up to your entrance and ever so gently slide inside.

“Just one to start,” he narrated softly as that one finger made your toes curl, only one finger making your hips twist and your back arch.  How could he do that to you so easily?  “And my thumb can help with this lovely little organ you have…”

His thumb circled your bud, and you shuddered all over— even inside— and instantly struggled to catch your breath.  “Laszlo, what… what is that…” you breathed, whimpering when he rubbed it again.

“Your clitoris, my love— you’ve never touched here before?”

He should’ve known you hadn’t— even if you had… explored yourself out of childish curiosity probably a decade ago, you would’ve remembered if it felt like this.  Shaking your head, you were surprised by his little growl.

“Your poor girl,” he cooed, something a little attractive about the slight condescension of it.  “You have so much to learn.  I can’t even imagine the things you’ve never felt before…”

He slowly moved the pad of his thumb up and down over the flesh, which only grew firmer as he continued.  “Oh!” you whimpered, hips rocking back against his touch— it was so wild of you, you thought, but you couldn’t really stop yourself.  He pressed harder and your whole body jumped.  “Fuck!”

He laughed a little, and your face got warmer.  “I’ve never heard you use language like that, Schatz, but it sounds impossibly adorable when you say it.”

“I-I’m sorry,” you began, “I couldn’t help it—”

“No, don’t apologize,” he insisted, “I’d rather you said it again.  Whenever you can’t help it, of course.”

You knew that Laszlo knew more than you about many topics, being a highly-educated man of great intellect, but you hadn’t expected him to introduce you to an entirely new body part that you’d been carrying with you this whole time.  If you’d figured out how to do anything like this to yourself, you might have spent your entire adolescence trapped in your room, so maybe it was for the best that you never put it together.

You weren't sure how any woman was meant to learn these things— you figured she wasn't meant to, unfortunately— but if she had a choice, you'd certainly recommend this method, provided she could find her own husband to try it with rather than borrowing yours.  What a visceral and beautiful way to learn how much that little organ could really do: Laszlo rubbing it with his thumb, with just the right amount of pressure to make a loud moan crawl out of you.

“The noises you make are just delightful, my darling,” he praised.  “Keep going, so I know what I should do.”

“Just do that,” you begged, “just keep doing that.”

“Only this?” he pressed.  “I shouldn't even add another finger?”

Of course, that was when he did— gently pressing his middle finger to your opening until it accommodated it, and you heard your own high-pitched whine in disbelief that you'd made the sound.  “F-fuck, that feels… Laszlo, you're so—”

But you interrupted yourself, because he did something so diabolical with his fingers just then.  He'd only twisted and scissored them inside you for a moment before curling them up, rubbing the most delicate place you never knew you had— just as he pushed down harder on your poor clit.  You felt ravenous all of a sudden, terribly overwhelmed but greedy for more.

“Please, oh god, please—” you started to beg before you even knew what you wanted.  He knew what you wanted, and he gave it to you: more.  It wasn't even very significant of a movement, and yet it turned your whole body into his plaything as you started to shake all over.

“You react more than I ever expected, my darling,” he cooed.  “I never dreamed how well you would respond to my touch.  I've only just begun and I think you're already nearly there.”

Before you could wonder where he was talking about, he pulled his fingers out of you carefully.  You heard yourself whimper a little, opening your eyes and looking at him worriedly.  He smiled, seeming to enjoy how much his interruption seemed to bother you; “Take off your nightgown, my love,” he requested plainly.  “I think I’d like to get a good look at you before I go on.”

Sitting up (and finding your head a bit more dizzy than you expected), you started by unbuttoning from your neck halfway down to your chest, before lifting the thin garment up over your head slowly.  You felt so strange doing this— undressing in front of a man— but your heart pounded with hope that he would enjoy what he saw.  Tossing the dress aside, you sheepishly bit your lip and waited for his assessment as his dark brown eyes grazed over your nude form.

He moved a little closer, his hand running up your leg and then around your side, reaching up to carefully cup one of your breasts.  You breathed deeply but unevenly, your chest rising and falling against his touch.  You were almost nervous that he hadn’t said anything yet, but the look in his eyes just became more and more clear; you whimpered under your breath when his fingers brushed over your hardened nipple, ever-so-delicately pinching it until your hips shifted a bit in response.  “How beautiful you are, my love,” he whispered, making you squirm again with just his words.  “Is it true you’re really my wife?  This lovely, delicate body that only I can touch and caress, laying next to me every night… I don’t know when I’ll really believe it.”

You had to shut your eyes for a second— you might be too brash if he kept on like that, praising you so tenderly.  “You could’ve been a poet,” you told him with a little smirk, blinking open your eyes again as he guided you to lay back once more, “if medicine didn’t suit you.”

“Oh, I’m no poet, Schatz,” he smiled in return, taking one more careful squeeze of your other breast before moving down to pet inside your legs again.  “All I am is painfully honest.”

His fingers slid inside you again, and you could’ve sworn he was rubbing inside you a bit more firmly than he had been before— thrusting a little faster, pushing a little deeper.  And all the while he was staring down at you, back and forth between your face and your hole, with a delicious darkness in his eyes.

It was still a patient endeavor, so much so that you never really noticed that he was getting a little quicker and rougher with it.  You really didn’t figure it out until you heard yourself choking out his name, groaning and gasping louder than you meant to— but you couldn’t suppress it very well, either.

You soon began to realize what he meant before with that nearly there comment, without even having any prior knowledge of what it could be… there was something instinctive about it, something totally natural.  You didn’t know what was coming, but you understood it; you knew you were on the edge of something and that if you could just get there it would be perfect.

Still, you couldn’t have known how much you would enjoy it.

You couldn’t stop moaning— it was this all-surrounding, ecstatic feeling, like… sinking into something.  Relaxing into something… something warm and soft and good.  Even a lifetime of religious repression couldn’t convince you this was anything but perfect.  Actually, nothing had ever felt right quite the way this did.

Your back arched rather dramatically, until you had a good view of the headboard upside-down; and he gave you few more fast, rough pumps of his fingers into your shaking body before slowing down to a stop and letting you rest.

Suddenly drained, you melted back down onto the bed with a long whine.  “How did that feel?” he asked, sounding a little formal about it, and you only could muster a little, exhausted laugh because what did he think you were going to say?  ‘It was alright, tickled a little bit, but I didn’t mind it.’

“That was… you… you’re so—” you began a few times, giving up to open your eyes wide when his fingers pet up and down over the seam of your lips, gently exploring you, making you quiver from how sensitive you’d become.  You weren’t even done recovering from the stimulation and he was giving you more; he seemed sort of absent-minded about it, the way he gently and repetitively slid up and down and up and down through your slick and swollen folds… but it was deliberate, you knew it was, because he smiled when you moaned weakly.

One finger pressed inside you again, and he watched your face closely and you shuddered.  You were just the slightest bit sore, and it felt like that one finger was more of a stretch than before… which seemed impossible, but with the erratic pulsing of your walls, it was a little hard to keep track.

You gasped sharply when he put the second finger in you once more, almost snarling a bit as he watched you react so strongly.  “Laszlo, I— I don't think I can do that again—”

“You can, I'm sure of it,” he encouraged, curling his fingers inside of you, which required a bit more force with your channel bearing down against him in response.  “It might even come faster this time, that little spot is all swollen now—”

Before he could finish that sentence, he proved it by circling the place, making your hips jump up as another whine eked out of you.  “O-oh, I— fuck…”

He smirked a bit, a delicious smugness to his expression, and the emotion looked much too good on him.  “See?  Just let me take control, my love.  I think you'll like what I do, if you simply let me do what I like with you.”

Fuck, that had to be the most beautiful thing you'd ever heard.  You were biting your lip to try to keep back the flood of terribly embarrassing things your pleasure wanted to say for you: you can do whatever you like with me; I'm yours; I'd do anything for you; don't ever stop, but also if you don't fuck me soon I might lose my mind, you know, things of that nature.  Instead you let out a muffled moan, and nodded to make sure he knew that he had your permission for whatever he thought was best.

And, of course, he’d been right about you: that you’d be even more sensitive after coming, and would be able to go through it all over again.  It only took probably a minute or two of dedicated, precise stimulation for the feeling to grow again… except it felt a little stronger this time, like it was building past the point that it had broken at before.  Maybe your tolerance was higher, or something?  You really weren’t qualified to say— all you could think about was this sensation, this tension, and the way he looked at you as you started to shake all over.

Your eyes fell shut instinctively, your shaking hands clutching at the bed under you; you felt sort of numb all over, except instead of everything being dulled and distant, it was only heightened.

“O-oh, oh, Laszlo, I—” you tried to warn him, words escaping you as the heavy, almost sharp feeling gathered tighter and tighter…

“Give into it,” he insisted, “it’s alright— I want to see it.  I want to hear you, I want to feel you when you come—”

His voice was getting darker, rougher, more demanding as he went on; and in the same way, his fingers’ thrusts into you became more aggressive.  “Fuck, I— I think I’ll— oh god!” you yelped.

“Yes,” he encouraged, “let go, darling!”

Your arms flailed around for a second before finding a lump in the sheets to grab onto tightly, your hips rocking against his hand, your head falling back in a scream; it was so intense, and so sudden, and you felt like the pressure that had been building broke so violently that it would’ve been painful without all the ecstasy running through your veins, numbing you inside and out.

You could tell that this one was different— hotter, warmer, wetter— but you had no idea what you’d done until the high had started to fade just a bit.

His hand slowed down to a stop, you heard him quietly catching his breath, and you blinked your eyes open… that’s when you noticed small wet stains on his rolled-up sleeve, and shiny fluid along his forearm— and a very proud grin on his face.

You felt your eyes go wide and your cheeks start baking.  He spoke up before you could even try to process what to say: “That was excellent, my love— I don’t think I’ve ever seen anything so magnificent,” he praised.  “You’re incredible.”

You wanted to believe him, but it didn’t really offer much explanation.  “Laszlo, I… did I—?”

“No, darling, don’t worry,” he cooed, scooting a little closer on the bed as he pet the inside of your thigh.  “It’s natural— one of the… rarer ways that a woman’s body can respond to stimulation.  I’ve always found the concept fascinating, but until now, my knowledge was… purely theoretical.  Actually, I’d love to gather your perspective on the experience, possibly for a future research paper on the topic— but that’s an issue for another time.  There’s a more pressing matter I need to discuss with you.”

You raised an eyebrow, curious what matter could be discussed in a time like this.

“I… I'd like to try something else,” he announced, and you dropped your head back on the bed in a sort of defeat.

“Something else?!” you whimpered, still catching your breath from the last thing he had “tried”.  “What else could there be but making love?”

“That will be soon, I promise, I just… I can't resist such an opportunity,” he explained.  “Your scent is so erotic, and it's only grown stronger now that you’ve so generously covered my arm in your ecstasy.  And with anything that smells so delectable, one can't help but crave to taste it.”

You'd only heard about this before— sort of a dirty schoolyard secret, almost an urban legend.  The whole thing had always sounded odd to you, if maybe not as icky as you thought it was when you first had the concept whispered to you as a child.  You didn't realize it was actually something you might experience someday, assuming it was a practice reserved to the especially perverted.  Now that he was offering it, you found yourself biting your lip as you tried to imagine what it would be like.

“I'd like to pleasure you with my mouth,” he concluded, really spelling it out for you.  “Would that be alright?”

You weren't sure what to think of that, and yet you were already nodding yes.  This was your husband, after all— who else could you trust to do something like this?  Most of all, you did it because you wanted to please him.  Because he'd asked you for it.

He smiled a little when you agreed, and began to lean down between your legs.  Those deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle more than ever when he looked up at you, but his gaze couldn't stay with yours for long before he had to give a closer look to your cunt.  He carefully spread the lips with his fingers, humming at the sight.  “I wonder if it's even possible for you to be as delicious as you look,” he spoke quietly, and a needy whine caught in your throat.

It was just a gentle kiss to your clit first… then another, with his lips parted.  Then he started to ever-so-gently suckle at it, tongue softly petting it; he wasn't doing too much, physically, but you never could catch your breath while he was doing it.

You whined a bit when he broke away, looking down at him in search of an explanation but finding instead him looking back up at you with an indescribable look in his eye.

“How does that feel?” he asked, his voice rougher and darker than you'd ever heard it before, making you shiver gleefully.

“Wet,” you blurted out, making him smile a little, a small laugh on an exhale through his nose that made you feel a bit foolish in an unexpectedly pleasurable way.  “A-and warm… please don't stop, Laszlo, it felt so nice…”

He got back to it, a little more intensely than before, and your eyes rolled back when he really started to lap at you with his tongue— harder and wider each time, making you writhe from the intensity of it.

You couldn't even describe the sound you made when he pushed his tongue inside you.  He moaned against you in response to it, though, and thank God, he kept going.

He kept petting your thighs, even encouraging you when your legs clamped down around his head unintentionally; presumably that was his way of saying it wasn’t giving him any pain, which you were a bit concerned about, even if you couldn’t really stop yourself.  Sometimes you had the strength to meet his gaze, but most of the time you felt like you’d melt if you looked back at him— the way he was staring up at you was just too fiery, too intense, too beautiful.  

Just when you thought you were getting used to the pattern of his tongue’s movements on your clit, he gently pushed his two fingers back into your pulsing channel.  You were all tingly and sore inside, but a long, deep moan fell from your mouth as your back arched.

“Beautiful,” he praised, the word muffled by what he was doing— which he got back to more urgently than ever, twisting and thrusting his fingers inside you carefully at first.

“J-just like that,” you pleaded.  “Oh, Laszlo, I— I didn't know anything could… feel like this…”

You could feel the smallest smirk on his lips as he continued; even just being able to feel his smug smile there was such a lovely, erotic, totally novel concept to you.  

When he really buried his face in your legs, you could feel the roughness of his beard against the sensitive skin of your inner thighs and buttocks, and god was it the most beautifully filthy feeling.  It was really an excellent metaphor for the whole thing: the symbol of his maturity, the well-kempt facial hair itself a balance between his wildness and his meticulous self-control, rubbing raw your delicate and untouched skin in such an intimate place.  If you weren’t too busy shaking and crying and seeing stars on this bed, you might have appreciated the beauty in those parallels, but clearly you weren’t capable of thinking about it to that level of depth.

The stream of helpless praises you'd been trying to hold back earlier?  There was absolutely nothing stopping it from spilling forward now.  “You're incredible,” you blurted out, your hand holding tighter to the sheets beneath you.  “Laszlo— my husband— you… you must be the devil, o-or an angel or prophet— or something. You make me feel things, such incredible things, that I didn't even know—”

He opened his mouth wide around you, breaking the seal of his lips so he could speak against your skin.  “I'm just a man,” he promised, “I'm just a husband becoming addicted to his new wife's pleasure, that's all, my dear.”

As he started to do it again so suddenly, you reacted suddenly as well: your hand found his hair and grabbed it, and your mind was too far gone to worry about it being too aggressive.  Not that he gave any signs of annoyance— if anything it was the opposite, as he lapped at you harder in response.  

This, of course made your hips jump up— until his hand slipped out of you, grabbing them and pulling them down, keeping you still as he continued.  The simple show of dominance affected you greatly, another heavy pulse of pleasure hitting you suddenly.

“I-I'm close,” you whispered.  “Laszlo, I'm so close— and it feels so different than before— I swear, nothing's ever felt so— fuck!”

He hummed encouragingly, and your whole body rocked in time with the growing pressure.  His fingers sliding back inside you, seeming to curl even more than before, certainly added to the sensation.

Just as you were teetering on the edge, his teeth grazed impossibly-carefully over you, a sharp and raw sort of pleasure jolting your entire body.  Of course, you couldn't fight against that, and the feeling inside you snapped as yet another flood of pleasure ripped through your body.  Your ears were ringing but you still heard how loud you must have been, how totally wrecked and helpless your moans had become.  

It wasn’t as… aggressive of a feeling as the one that had made you… you know… but it was probably the most powerful in its own way.  The highest, the heaviest, the most whole.  You couldn't hear him moaning against you through all that, but you could feel it: a deep and bassy vibration that only heightened the feeling even more.  Your moans turned to cries and then sobs; it was too much, the feeling was spilling over inside you— you weren't sure how much longer you could take it all before you broke.

It seemed, however, that he broke first; he pulled away and sat up, leaving you both panting, sweaty messes.  

“God, you're so beautiful,” he sighed, grabbing you by the neck to pull you up into a filthy, heated kiss.  You surrendered instantly, grabbing into his shoulders with hands that were still pricked with pins and needles as your high dissipated slowly.  “I can't wait anymore,” he mumbled against your lips, “I need to be inside you.”

“Please,” you gasped softly— you'd been waiting for this all night, at least.  You'd never imagined yourself so eager, so desperate for it, though…

He made quick work untying his robe, leaning over you as he held tightly onto his cock and guided the swollen, leaking head between your lips.  Yes, even with desire coursing through your veins, a touch of anxiety was still present.  You just couldn’t imagine what this was going to be like, you could still hardly believe it was happening to you— and, though it was a bit crass to think, you were a bit surprised by the brief glance of his cock that you’d gotten.  You wouldn’t really know what was big or small or normal or abnormal when it came to that… you had nothing to compare it to.  What you did know was that it seemed much… thicker, than seemed appropriate to go inside you.  Of course you knew that a young woman’s first experience could be painful, you’d heard that bleeding was normal (if not expected, but that seemed a bit barbaric and certainly not what a progressive man like Laszlo was after) — yet, you still weren’t properly scared.  It was just the sort of anticipation that made you shiver and let out a long breath to compose yourself.

He groaned a little as he continued to rub against you, and you noticed the arm that held him up over you was shaking.  You could only imagine how frustrating it must have been to be giving you all that attention and not getting any in return for so long, and you could only hope he might take a little of that frustration out on you…

“Please,” you said again, quieter, as you looked up at him.  Thankfully, that was enough to make him press forward and slide into you all at once.

While his fingers had stretched you in such strange, sometimes overwhelming ways, his cock… it just fit.  It filled you exactly the way you needed— not too wide or too deep… though you suspected it would've been had he not prepared you so incredibly thoroughly.  And while his tongue has made you feel such unimaginable things, though his lips had effortlessly sucked ecstasy from your shaking body, having him inside you felt so simple and natural and easy.  

He hissed in his breaths as he moved— slow at first, but each one just a bit faster than the last.  Every movement stimulated all the places he'd already awoken inside you, and your legs moved on their own to latch around his hips while your head fell back with a satisfied sigh.

“My angel,” he groaned, staring down at you as each of his thrusts rocked you under him.  “I knew I— fuck, darling— I knew I'd have trouble keeping myself together when I was finally inside you.  Yet you're… you're even more perfect than I imagined.”

You smiled proudly, reaching up to hold his shoulders; he seemed encouraged by that, becoming just a bit rougher in his movements until your nails accidentally dug into his skin just a bit.

“I won't be able to last much longer,” he grunted, “but I-I can't stop.  I can't even slow down, I never… I've never lost control like this before.”

A shiver ran up your whole body, even seeming to make you clench inside— and he moaned in return, a beautifully pitiful sound.  

“I'm sorry,” he offered between panting breaths, and you barely mustered the energy to laugh. 

“Beloved, what do you have to apologize for?” you teased through a grin.  “Surely you're not worried that I will be left unsatisfied.”

“I would rather bring you to orgasm again,” he explained, “but I'm so desperate for you, I'm afraid I lack the patience for it.”

“I would rather pleasure my husband, for once,” you replied, “but you couldn't possibly feel what I felt, I don't think I'll ever be able to really return the favor—”

“It's no favor,” he insisted.  “Your pleasure is what I desire.  And a good wife gives her husband what he desires, no?”

You whimpered desperately, pathetically even.  “I'll be good for you, Laszlo,” you promised weakly, “I want to be a good wife to you…”

“You're a very good wife, my dear,” he assured.  “Look how much pleasure you've let me take from you, look how you've soaked our bed with your lovely nectar…”

You weren't sure which part of that aroused you the most… but our bed was a serious contender.

“And you taste absolutely divine,” he added, before kissing you again to let you taste it, too.  It was a sloppy and needy kiss, not precise and careful like basically everything else he'd done to you so far, but you loved it.  You loved any sign that he might be just as desperate as you.

Once again his speed and intensity picked up, until you could hear his skin hitting against yours loudly, and your back arched a bit at how perfectly dirty it felt.  His cock hit a spot deep inside you, and you sucked in a sharp breath.  “Laszlo,” you blurted out, and he groaned as he moved his kiss to your neck.  

“Keep saying my name,” he demanded.  “Tell me who your husband is— who makes you feel this way you've never felt before.”

“Laszlo,” you said again, “I'm yours.  Anything you want from me, it's yours.”

“Yes,” he agreed with a heavy sigh.

“Your wife, always,” you continued, and it made your own heart swell along with encouraging him: he moved faster, rocked deeper into you, and breathed heavy against your ear as your back arched from the erotic perfection of the moment.

“My wife,” he repeated, making you whine and nod and bear down on him with your walls.

“Yes,” you gasped, “yes— yours, I’m yours—”

“I-I can't hold back anymore,” he moaned, “I don't… I don't even know if I can bring myself to pull out before—”

“Don't,” you begged.  “I want it inside, Laszlo.  I want all of you inside me.”

“Oh, darling, mein Schatz, I—” he choked, but he never finished his sentence.  He just moaned louder and louder and fucked you faster and faster— until you were nearly screaming from how hard he hammered into you.

It stopped all at once; he pressed himself as deep inside you as he could, so deep you felt like you were struggling to breathe, and hid his face in the curve of your neck as he came inside you.

And for a long, beautiful moment, you just laid together; you were sort of halfway between awake and asleep, your whole body thrummed with emotions and sensations you never thought you could fit within yourself.  Time passed, surely, but you wouldn’t have known the difference.  His weight on top of you wasn’t too heavy, though it did keep you pressed into the mattress and sheets— not that you were going anywhere anyways.

You only really came back to reality when you felt small kisses trailing your neck; you hummed and squirmed a little beneath him, making you both groan as it stirred where you were connected.  He must have been a bit sore, too, though you felt like you’d been through quite a lot more and had a better excuse.

He moved again, just barely, and you winced as you held onto his back.  “Don’t go,” you whispered, afraid of the pain if he didn’t just stay still inside you.

“I have to, sometime,” he breathed in return.

“But—”

“I know, my love,” he cooed, “I’d stay inside you forever if I could.  But I’ll hurt you more if I don’t give you time to rest.”

Resigning yourself with a sigh, you nodded a little and scrunched up your face as he pulled his hips back.  It did sting, but it faded quickly once he was out— and the feeling was replaced with a warm, wet feeling that you realized must have been his seed leaking out of you.  It made you feel a bit dirty, but wonderful, too.

He laid beside you with a deep breath, his hand coming up to your face and turning it so you would look back at him.  You had to blink a few times to really see clearly, and even still, everything seemed a bit blurry around the edges.  The whole world seemed a bit softer, really.  “I love you, darling wife,” he told you simply, his voice soft but no longer a whisper, and he pet your cheek as he leaned in to kiss the bridge of your nose.

“I love you too, husband,” you cooed in reply.  “You’re so wonderful— a-and you’re nothing like I imagined, sometimes.”

“Perhaps I should have been more careful,” he offered nervously.

“No— that was perfect,” you promised.

“I meant the very end, there,” he clarified, his hand running down over your body and resting on your stomach.  “You might have wanted to wait longer… if you had a child so soon, you might wish we had more time just the two of us.”

Your heart skipped a beat as you realized what he meant.  “Oh, that…” you mumbled, smiling a bit to yourself.

“I fully intended to have my finish elsewhere, to lower the chances— I didn’t think I would become so… impulsive,” he sighed.  “I hoped to still control myself, but I’m afraid I wasn’t quite able to, once I was within you.  But I couldn’t help it, with the way you feel…”

“It’s alright,” you laughed weakly, “it’s not as if I were acting rationally.  I never… I didn’t think I could be so… so—”

A thousand words came to mind.  Unladylike.  Animalistic.  Desperate.  Insatiable.

“I didn’t think I’d ever act like that,” you said instead, voice getting a little softer as you felt a bit shy again.

“I knew you would,” he responded, making you look at him with wide eyes and warming cheeks.

“You— but I— I was always—!”

“Yes, you behaved very well each time I met you” he recalled with a proud smile, “always so sweet and well-mannered.  But I knew you had so much need within you, so much hunger… a being of pure instinct just waiting to take over when the time was right.”

Your heart skipped a beat— you felt a bit… accused by that statement, yet you couldn’t really deny it.  Even if you hadn’t known it before, it was clearly true now.  “How… how could you have sensed that?” you wondered.

He raised an eyebrow as he looked at you again; you loved the way he looked in that moment.  His expression was familiar, but the total lack of composure— flushed cheeks, sweat on his brow, messed hair— was totally new and quite pleasant.  “If you didn’t have any desire to misbehave, my darling, you wouldn’t have been going out with me.”

[cupidzgf]

CHRISTMAS MORNING | SATORU GOJO

☁︎‎‎‧₊˚ summary: satoru wakes you up on christmas morning to open presents. its 7 am and you want to sleep.

cw: mentions of sexual activity, non sorcerer au, rich!gojo, no pronouns, no smut, fluff, all of it is fluff. w/c: 1.8k a/n: my first post in a long time. ahh kinda nervous I hope you like it! merry christmas eve!

christmas was an occasion that satoru always went above and beyond to make special.

whether it was for his sake or yours, he made sure there was no way to get out of decorating his place, baking cookies, or matching christmas pajamas. not that you mind. you savored the time away from work to bask in each other's presence uninterrupted and entirely devoted to the holiday, but what perhaps made it even more so was the slow wake of your lover beside you.

his hands, warm from where they were pressed against your midsection during slumber, trace the curve of your spine. his fingers dip between the knobs of your vertebrae gently as if trying to rouse you as well. it works because your mind slips from your unconscious state into consciousness with the kisses he presses at the juncture of your neck and shoulder. sensing the shift in your stirring frame, his kisses grow in numbers as they rise up the column of your throat, lips brushing and pressing with varying pressure on previous faded marks.

you lay on your side, facing away from him, and satoru practically climbs on top of you just as your eyes flutter open to get your attention to fall solely on him.

in the blink of an eye, you're met with an infinite void of vivid, azure irises peering at you with an expression you can only describe as childlike.

"it's christmas." a dimpled grin beams from his too-wide smile, devouring your lips in one fell swoop before you can protest. satoru vibrates with excitement, and he pours every ounce into the kiss, holding your face with a giddy glee. "merry christmas."

a sleepy grin of your own curls at your lips as you try to regain your breath from the overwhelmingly passionate kiss you just received before speaking softly in an admiration-filled voice. "merry christmas, toru."

you lay there, admiring your boyfriend, as he practically jumps off the bed and pulls your arm. "c'mon, we have to open presents! pleaseeee," he whines impatiently, tugging at your hand like a small child. you groan, still exhausted from the long night at suguru's house, and attempt to roll over.

suguru's christmas eve party the night before had left both of you exhausted, though the way satoru acts, you would never have guessed. your friend was never one to skimp out on these rare get-togethers with your friend group, formed from years enrolled at the same college. the holiday atmosphere and the rich decor lulled you into christmas cheer, which always made for great nights of booze, food, and rekindling. dripping in wealth satoru insists on buying for you, the two of you made it back in the early hours of the morning, drunk and worn out from socializing.

this, however, did not stop satoru from fucking you into the bed like he had been deprived of your touch (he had clung to you the entire night), where you both passed out after a single round.

now you're paying the price for the long night as his eyes widen comically when you avoid him. he rushes to stop you by throwing himself over you and, despite your protesting, makes you face him.

"nah, uh, where do you think you're going? it's christmas! we have presents from santa–"

"--he's not real, baby. let me sleep a couple more minutes." you chime back, and his expression drops with a huff.

"you don't know that! and we only will when we look under the tree," he states jokingly, refocusing his abundance of energy on getting you up.

you scoff, raising an incredulous eyebrow. "yeah, like you would be on the nice list."

satoru gasps, loud and dramatic, falling to his knees in front of your bed with a cry.

"how could you say such a thing? i'm the kindest, nicest person you know!" he exclaims, a hand hovering over his heart to further the theatrics, and you can't help but roll your eyes at his exaggeration.

"you weren't very nice last night."

his eyes shift, darkening by a shadow passing over his irises as they gain a mischievous gleam. satoru leans over you despite kneeling on the floor. "oh yeah? well, you didn't seem to mind when i fucked your pretty pussy so hard she was crying and screaming my name–"

"ok, time to get up!" you interrupt, mortified by the vivid personification he used to describe last night, your cheeks set aflame by his teasing. you hide from his cocky chuckle and self-satisfied smirk, embarrassment churning in your gut as he presses a kiss to your forehead.

"that's what i thought, sweetheart." cocky bastard.

you rummage the floor for a shirt, the blanket covering your lower half as you throw his santa hat off the first one you can find, which coincidentally is his.

satoru whines sadly when his shirt covers your bare breasts, a frown pulling his lips down as your once naked body, decorated in hickeys, is covered. "what's the point of my hard work if you're just going to cover it?" he gestures to the bruises, pouting with the familiar solum look he uses when he wants something.

"i'm not going out there naked, toru." slipping on slippers, you stand, craning your neck to look him in the eye. your exasperation does not go unnoticed by the white-haired male.

"there's no reason you can't," he suggests, tugging you in front of him and letting his hands settle on your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. "it could be like a christmas present…to me!"

you raise an eyebrow. "i thought you wanted to open gifts?"

his face brightens as he remembers his original goal, his one-track mind making his hand tug you to the door without a second thought and newfound eagerness.

your living room is the same as you left it last night, with your cocktail dress strewn across the back of the sofa and satoru's shoes scattered across the hardwood, but what's different is the snow swirling in slow flakes outside the massive windows. it lands on the window sill, and the rest slowly descends to the world outside satoru gojo's penthouse. the bleak grey does nothing to discourage the sight of the luminescent christmas tree taking up your living room and glittering with a rainbow of lights against the grey sky in the ray of morning light.

a christmas morning crafted from a hallmark movie.

an array of presents ranging in various sizes and shapes overflows from under the tree you decorated weeks ago, and before you know it, you throw yourself into your lover's arms. a teasing remark sits at the tip of his tongue, maybe to poke fun at your elation, but he hesitates, fingers twitching at his side. in a moment so delicate it could be shattered like glass, he frames every second of the scene into memory, holding the warm and achy feeling in his chest close.

arms circle your body pressed tightly into satoru's, butterflies erupting from your stomach when you glance upwards and find him already staring.

"thank you," you muster every ounce of sincerity into your voice, swallowing the lump forming in your throat when he returns your gentle smile with his own.

"don't thank me yet. you haven't even seen what i got you!" effortlessly, he turns your attention away from the raw and achy emotions being pulled to the surface and onto you, where your eyes sparkle with eagerness.

the both of you find a seat on the floor and begin the seemingly endless presents and discarded wrapping paper; the laughter and joy that can only come from christmas morning echo off the walls you call home. and when the gifts are opened, and the faint tune of falling snow is all that's left, you are sure it can't get any better.

even as satoru nuzzles his face in the crook of your neck, his lips parting to whisper the words on your skin that have never been uttered in a moment of complete clarity. "i love you."

it somehow becomes perfect.

bonus:

staring at your mountain of gifts, ranging from designer to everything under the sun you mentioned wanting during the year, piles around you, and the thrill of being spoiled by your filthy rich boyfriend quickly wears off into guilt.

was his presents thoughtful? yes. overwhelming? also yes. especially since neither the price nor the quantity of gifts you'd given him come close to what you have. so the shame of being spoiled and unable to provide the same, in turn, quiets you into an insecure ball of nerves.

"do you like it?" your heavy gaze lifts to find him, and he squirms where he sits, uncharacteristically nervous. he waits for your reaction with uncertain eyes, wringing his hands together to calm his apprehension. "i tried to get everything you wanted, but i know how you feel when i overdo things…"

"satoru," you breathe, looking over the gifts once more. the following words come in a gentle coo he's come to recognize are used to let him down easily. "i do love everything, but it is a lot. you didn't have to spend so much."

frowning, your gaze flickers to him, and his eyes dip, avoiding yours. "ah, okay. i didn't mean to upset you," he murmurs in a quiet, saddened voice, and you quickly shake your head, realizing he took it the wrong way. shuffling on your knees to where he sits, you fall into his chest. solid and well-defined arms circle your body without a word, and you hear the distinct sound of his breath hitching at the contact.

"never. you're too good to me and treat me so well, baby, but you don't have to spend all your money on me."

"trust me, i didn't," he teases, attempting to regain the lighthearted atmosphere, before adding in a more hopeful tone, "but i'm glad you like your gifts."

"oh yes, the lingerie set was especially thoughtful," you joke, and he cracks a smile at that. only your expression falls a moment later when you clear your throat. "i just hope what i got is okay. i know you've been asking for a new watch and those glasses, but it's hard to find gifts for someone who has everything. i'm sorry i didn't get you more."

the sad murmur and downcast expression made satoru's heart crack, remorse twisting his stomach into knots. "no, no, no baby, i love what you got me. i couldn't be happier with all of your thoughtful gifts." he kisses the top of your head, resting his head on yours for a quiet moment of admittance that makes you fall in love with him all over again. "but everything i want is right here with you, sweet thing."

[matthewfuckinggraygubler]

Could you do Spencer x reader where he’s holding a cast party and reader goes to his home to help get the party ready and confesses that she is attracted to him and he likes her back (Smut/ cute Fluff if possible)

Or could you do where the reader is starting to show her baby bump/ tell Spencer she’s pregnant? Thank uuu

Party with a surprise | Spencer Reid +18

· Pairing: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader · Category: fluff, smut-fluff, Angst · Warning: Sex, pregnancy, body-shaming · Words: 4854 · Summary: You and Spencer are really close, and lately, you've been hanging out a lot. You're excited to help him set up his party, hoping to spend more time with him. You had no idea things would change so quickly between you two.

· Spanish on Wattpad. English isn't my first language, be kind!

· Masterlist

"Hey, have you sent animated invitations to everyone for Saturday’s party?"

You heard a voice complaining behind you as a coffee flew through the air and landed in your hands.

"Yes, don’t you like it? They turned out pretty good, didn’t they?"

"Big social event at Spencer Reid's house. Please be on time, if you've been invited it's because you're a very special person… The time, the day... the address... a heart, another one... moving animals... very creative, yes." He complained, barely holding back a laugh.

"I think it was successful… everyone liked it, they all confirmed their attendance, by the way. You’re welcome for the help," you responded sarcastically.

He hadn’t asked for help with the party, but you wanted to do it. It wasn’t something he would normally do, though you thought it was great, and it was as good an excuse as any to spend time together. You’d been friends for a long time, but lately, you’d been feeling more attracted to him than usual, something you tried to deny to yourself.

"I didn’t ask for it, no need, really, just you coming is enough." You knew he didn’t mean to bother you, which only made him more adorable.

"I’ll be there early on Saturday to help with everything. And don’t try to argue! I know you." You said with a cheeky smile but a certain authoritative tone, and he couldn’t help but smile too.

On Saturday, you arrived at his house at four sharp, loaded with bags full of decorations, food, and drinks. You climbed the stairs, feeling sweat trickling down your back and your heart racing. You wanted to look perfect for him. Once at the top, you dropped everything with a sigh. Your hair was a bit tousled, and your cheeks were flushed. Just as you were about to fix yourself up, the door opened.

"Hey… What are you doing…?" A shy smile appeared on his lips.

"N-nothing... I was… resting. I carried all these things up." You were still panting.

"You should’ve called me! You’re so stubborn... You’re early." He protested as he helped you bring in the bags.

"There’s a lot of decorating to do... Why are you throwing a party if you're going to complain so much?"

"Okay, okay, sorry. I’m just nervous. You... You look really pretty, by the way."

Your eyes widened, and you fought to keep your cheeks from turning red.

"Oh… Thanks…" You turned away, trying to hide the fact that the comment affected you, and started taking things out of the bag. "Come on… Help me..."

Before you could finish your sentence, Spencer was beside you, helping you take out the decorations and placing them on the table. His arm brushed against yours, and it was affecting you more than you'd like to admit.

"Hey, look." Spencer wrapped your head with a garland. "It really suits you," he said with a laugh. You were standing quite close, and your heart raced at his adorable gesture.

"Oh, so funny." You put a bow on his head. "Now you’re a gift."

He smiled when you didn’t pull away. He looked at you intently and, with a moment of bravery, said, "I don’t mind if I’m a gift for you."

Your cheeks flushed, and you lowered your gaze, feeling your heart pound. You didn’t expect such a direct declaration. Was he openly flirting with you? Was Spencer Reid flirting? He was, and you liked it, but the idea of crossing that line with your best friend terrified you.

As you both decorated the living room, the tension between you increased with every accidental touch and prolonged glance. Your body responded instinctively to his closeness, but a part of you fought to maintain distance. When you finished, you both sat on the couch.

"Have you thought about the music? Parties have music, Spence..." You grabbed your phone and searched for a lively playlist.

"Good thing you’re here, or else…" Suddenly, you felt his hand gently stroke your arm, casually, as if it were something he did all the time. You glanced at his hand out of the corner of your eye but tried to ignore it, focusing on your phone, but your body betrayed you, and your skin tingled at his touch. You looked up and realized he was much closer than you thought. The tension was palpable, like that typical movie moment where the protagonists kiss. You felt it, you wanted it, and you could tell he did too. But oh, right... just as you were about to get closer, the doorbell rang—a timely yet inconvenient coincidence. You both cursed internally; it was clear on your faces.

"I’ll get it..." Spencer said as he stroked your arm once more, pressing gently. You didn’t know what they had done to your friend and colleague. He was so bold, so confident, you couldn’t believe it, though you loved it.

When he opened the door, Penelope burst in, with Derek and JJ following behind.

"Heyyy!" The blonde greeted cheerfully.

"How’s it going, lovebirds? I brought this," Derek placed something to drink on the table.

JJ entered and sat in the living room, looking at you curiously when she saw your frown. She smiled.

Soon, the others arrived, and honestly, you were all having a great time. You kept handling the music for everyone's sake, and watching Morgan and Garcia break into dance quickly got the party going. Rossi pulled you out to dance, Emily and JJ made amusing comments, and Hotch stayed off to the side, sipping his drink and "smiling" at the spectacle. But noticing how Spencer never took his eyes off you for a second made your heart race non-stop. If there hadn’t been music, everyone could have probably heard your heartbeat.

You spent the whole night flirting, glances here and there, a touch now and then, a subtle comment whenever one of you got close to the other… Tonight you felt like you were on cloud nine. You went to Spencer’s room, where you had all left your personal things, to grab some lip balm from your purse. As you were about to leave, you bumped into him.

"Oh..! You scared me... Sorry."

"Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you." Spencer had a relaxed smile on his face. He had followed you, clearly wanting to be alone with you, and at that point, you had no control over your nerves.

"N-no, it’s fine..."

"You still… still haven’t danced with me," he said, raising his eyebrows, giving you those puppy-dog eyes that made you melt. You hadn’t really been aware of it until now. And suddenly, you realized you were in his room, in the dark, with only the light from outside and the sound of the music from the living room and your friends having fun.

"No, you don’t dance..." You said with a nervous giggle.

"I would dance with you," he replied, stepping closer.

The shy laugh that escaped you as you lowered your head, embarrassed, seemed like more than enough of a sign for him to approach, with a soft but determined touch on your waist. His touch was slow, cautious, waiting for any sign of doubt or rejection, but that never came. Instead, your hands slowly moved up his arms, tracing the path to his shoulders, and you were completely pressed together as you started a slow, swaying dance.

Your gazes locked, trapping you in the warmth of his brown eyes that seemed to speak without words. Slowly, he leaned his face toward yours until your foreheads touched. He smiled—a smile full of tenderness you could see even with the dim light that entered, making you shiver.

With a slight movement of his foot, he closed the door, isolating the two of you from the rest of the world. The darkness surrounding you seemed to intensify your heartbeat. His hands, which had rested on your waist, began to slowly slide down, while yours, almost without realizing it, moved up to his neck, seeking more closeness.

Your noses brushed in a sweet, innocent gesture, but it was loaded with restrained desire. Your bodies, once swaying in sync, now moved erratically, but in that lack of coordination, there was something deliberate, as if every small accidental touch was a game you both wanted to keep playing. You could feel it—his body reacting, and yours responding to his touch.

Almost at the same time, you both leaned in, meeting in a kiss that, though passionate, was slow, delicate. With each touch, each caress of his lips on yours, you felt your mind fog, and time seemed to stop, letting only your deepest instincts guide the moment. Your tongues tangled together, while Spencer’s hands tenderly caressed the rest of your body, pulling it as close to his as he could, wanting to treat it with all the care in the world, and that’s when he seemed to realize he wanted to kiss every part of you. There was nothing innocent about the way your tongues intertwined, exploring each other with a sweetness that made you feel like you were floating. Spencer’s hands were careful, starting to explore your body with the same tenderness with which he kissed your lips.

He pushed you gently against the door, his ragged breath hitting your skin as he began a trail of kisses down your neck, slowly descending to your collarbone. Each kiss ignited a spark, making your thoughts completely vanish. The softness with which he treated you was a delicious contradiction; his kisses were soft, but the desire only made you burn more.

In the background, you barely heard the music and distant voices. Laughter, conversations, even Derek’s booming laughter or Garcia’s loud voice faded away. All that mattered was him and how his hands drew you closer to his body, as

In the background, you could barely hear the music and distant voices. Laughter, conversations, even Derek's loud laughter or García's booming voice faded away. All that mattered was him, and the way his hands pulled you closer to his body, as if he never wanted to let you go.

With a gentle movement, you pulled Spencer, and the two of you fell onto the bed. You on your back and him on top of you, his lips never stopped moving across your skin. A mixture of desire and tenderness filled every second. His body against yours enveloped you, not just physically, but emotionally, as you felt the intensity that only kept growing. And there, while Spencer's hands continued to explore your body with that infinite devotion, you knew that moment was just yours, perfect in its mix of passion and love.

His lips didn’t stop exploring every part of you they could reach, while his ragged breathing brushed your skin with an intoxicating warmth, the way his mouth lingered on your skin was slow, but filled with an intensity that made you shiver. Your hands weren’t still. They slid to his hair, tangling in it, tugging slightly, trying to feel him even closer. You could feel how every one of his movements seemed intentional, designed to make you feel loved and desired at the same time. He paused occasionally, breathing deeply. The silence in the room, broken only by whispers, shallow breaths, and the music in the background, became even more palpable when his lips finally met yours again in a deeper, more desperate kiss.

His hands rested on your face, caressing your cheek with an overwhelming softness. He looked into your eyes as his breathing steadied slightly, and then, in a low and husky voice, he said, "You can’t imagine how much I love you." His confession hung in the air, filling it with a warmth that pierced your heart.

You shivered, your body trembled, and your mind went blank. In that moment, it felt like you were floating away, all the feelings you'd been ignoring, and there he was, confessing that he loved you and making you feel like the most desired person in the sweetest way.

As his lips met yours again, Spencer couldn’t help but smile against your mouth. There was something mischievous in that gesture, something that seemed to remind you both that you'd been away from the party for too long. Your stomach fluttered, and you said, "I love you too, Spencer." The urgency started to grow more palpable. His body on top of yours pressed slightly, as if time itself was conspiring to make sure nothing and no one interrupted that moment.

Between kisses, soft laughter, and ragged breaths, he whispered in your ear, with a warm and conspiratorial tone: "They're going to look for us... they must be wondering where we are by now."

"Let them wonder," you replied with a half-smile, almost panting, as you pulled him closer, making your bodies fit together even more. You felt the heat on your skin, the fast beat of his heart, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. There were no longer just brushes of skin, his hands sought your breasts, caressing them beneath your clothes as he kissed your neck.

The hand that had been exploring your torso moved down to your abdomen, unbuttoning your pants. His hands began to slide more firmly over your waist, moving down, pulling off your pants and underwear. Despite the urgency you both felt, there was a softness in his touch that countered the fast pace of his kisses. It seemed like every gesture, every caress, was filled with love and devotion.

Between kisses, Spencer paused his mouth near your ear. "Tell me if you want me to stop..." His voice was a deep whisper, filled with that perfect mix of desire and respect, his words echoed in your mind as you bit your lip.

"No… Don't stop," you responded quickly, your fingers tangling even tighter in his hair, pulling him closer to you. You got rid of his belt, and his hands moved even faster, exploring every part of you, while his mouth reclaimed yours in a deeper kiss, full of that urgent desire. You knew that at any moment someone could knock on the door or ask about you two, but that only seemed to speed things up. You shivered when, in one swift movement, you felt him make you completely his.

Spencer breathed against your neck, his lips moving up and down, leaving a trail of kisses that made your skin burn with each touch. Between whispered moans of pleasure, you felt how his movements became faster, more intense, but never lost the sweetness that had characterized every touch, every kiss.

"You're perfect," he whispered against your lips, his voice ragged from the intensity of the moment. His hot breath brushed your skin as he kissed you over and over, his hands gripping you as if he didn’t want that moment to slip away.

You felt it too; that delicious mix of urgency and emotional connection that made you wish time would stop. As your bodies moved in unison, Spencer kept his eyes closed, as if that allowed him to thrust with more force, as if he wanted to savor every second. But when he opened them, he looked at you with such intensity that it almost took your breath away.

Words were replaced by unintelligible whispers, small confessions of love and desire that escaped between quick breaths. The urgency that had started when you fell on the bed now reached its peak, but even in those most intense moments, Spencer never stopped being tender. His hands, which gripped you more tightly, still kept that softness that made you feel protected and loved.

Finally, the moment culminated in an explosion of sensations, and he had to cover your mouth with his hand between laughs to keep quiet, though luckily the music was loud. The two of you clung to each other, breathing together, sharing the heat and the rapid beat of your hearts. Spencer buried his face in your neck, breathing deeply as he tried to calm down, letting his hand that had been over your lips fall.

After a few moments, both of you started laughing softly, your bodies still close. Spencer sat up just enough to look into your eyes.

"They definitely suspect something," he said, but his tone was light, playful. He didn’t seem too worried.

"I don’t care," you replied, laughing, as you caressed his neck.

That night meant something new for both of you. Monday morning when you arrived, he was there, and you looked at each other nervously, unsure of what to say. You had confessed your love to each other in the middle of the frenzy and hadn’t talked about it afterward. For the rest of the party, you were affectionate, more than usual, and of course, your friends noticed your absence and the playful flirting afterward. You didn’t escape the teasing comments either.

“Hey, lovebirds, here,” Derek handed each of you a drink. “You need to replenish your fluids.” My face turned as red as a tomato, and Spencer laughed, lowering his gaze.

“Morgan... leave them alone, don’t be cruel,” JJ was at least on our side, thankfully.

“I love it when there are new couples! The beginnings are so beautiful!!” García is undoubtedly the team’s biggest blabbermouth. I didn’t know where to hide, and I couldn’t understand why Spencer wasn’t feeling awkward about the situation.

“Alright, alright... Guys, stop, y/n’s going to bolt,” Rossi gestured with his hands as if calming everyone down. “So, where were we? Can someone turn up the music and bring me another drink?” Emily had definitely taken over a couch and was in her happy place.

After the party, I went home. JJ, Emily, and I took an Uber. Spencer and I said goodbye normally; I think we were embarrassed, with everyone there, we didn’t know how to behave. And for the rest of the weekend, we didn’t talk again.

When we saw each other again on Monday, it was a bit awkward. He greeted me when he saw me, and I didn’t know how to react.

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“How are you...?” He seemed like he wanted to say something more, but I think he was feeling the same as me.

“Uh, uh... I’m fine, and you...?”

“I... Well, I’m fine...” There was a pause. “Actually, no, I’m not.”

“You’re not? Okay, why not?” You thought this was the stupidest conversation you’d ever had.

Even with the silly conversation you were having, you cursed when you were interrupted.

“Hey, Reid, I need you to come with me to a crime scene.” Damn Morgan, he’s always so freaking inconvenient.

You spent the whole day at the office nervously trying to do the profile, but you didn’t make much progress. You kept glancing at the door. “Where had they gone?” you wondered.

It wasn’t until the middle of the afternoon that Reid appeared, exhausted from running all over the city, collapsing into his chair. When you saw him, you moved closer, sitting in the chair next to him.

“Hey... how did it go? You took a while.” You were worried when you saw his tired face, and you had the urge to hug him.

He slouched further in the chair. “It went well, it was just a long investigation. I’m tired,” his eyes locked on yours. “I... wanted to see you.”

You tried to contain a smile that was fighting to come out, but you lost the battle. Spencer gave you one in return, sincere, kind. And you saw him extend a hand, inviting you to take it. You didn’t think much about it; you wanted to feel his electrifying, warm, and comforting skin against yours again.

“The day felt so long without you.” You were starting to lose filters; you didn’t want them with him.

“It’s been endless. The thing is, I’ve had something on my mind all day, and I need to ask you.”

“Oh, okay... Go ahead, ask.” You were a nervous wreck, but you acted normal.

“Um... You and I... ? Are we... are we boyfriend and girlfriend...?”

Your smile grew wider without meaning to; you found it so adorable how he was asking to be your boyfriend, how he wasn’t sure if he already was after what had happened. He was sweet even for this. Though to be honest, you didn’t really know either.

“Hm... I’d like that... Do you... do you want to be my boyfriend...?” You asked with a bit of hesitation.

He gently pulled on the hand you had grabbed a few minutes ago, and with the other, he cupped your face and kissed you with a softness and tenderness that made you melt. Yes, he definitely wanted to be your boyfriend.

You spent a few dreamlike months together. You were in love, enjoying your time like any newly-started couple: many hours in bed, just as many out walking, countless more on the couch reading and eating chocolate ice cream like you loved so much, enduring the comments and teasing from your friends... You had been together for a month and a half, and for the last few days, you hadn't been feeling well. Some dizziness and more exhaustion than usual, though you didn’t think much of it.

A week later, and suddenly, the foods you once loved were making you feel sick. Everything disgusted you. By the time two months had passed, the lack of sleep and food, along with body aches, was getting to you.

"Hey, you've not been feeling well lately, babe. We’re going to the doctor," he insisted, kind but firm.

"Seriously, just leave it, these past few weeks have been stressful. I just need to finish this case."

"Stress? You can’t stop moving at night, your back hurts, you're irritable, you're not eating... It’s like…" His face changed completely, becoming sad.

"Like what…?"

"We started dating, and now you… Is this all because you don’t want us to be together? Do you want to go back?"

"W-what?" My eyes were wide. Had I made him think that? I had been so focused on myself that I hadn’t noticed how he was feeling. "NO! I love you! Do you hear me?" I grabbed his face, forcing him to look at me.

Spencer nodded slowly and rested his forehead against mine. "I love you too. I’m just worried you’re not okay."

"You’re so adorable I could die right now, you know that?" His laugh, with his forehead still pressed against mine, made him even more adorable. He didn’t know.

A couple more weeks passed, maybe three, you weren’t sure. There was so much chaos in your life—working at the BAU had its downsides: traveling, long hours, constant outings... You hadn’t noticed a pattern until today. You had spent the last five mornings throwing up your coffee. “Sht…” you thought. Suddenly, you became aware of everything else: you were wearing leggings because your jeans were too tight, the aches, the fatigue, the chest pain, the nausea... “Fck… This can’t be, this can’t be…”

You panicked and got dressed quickly, trying not to think about it anymore. When you arrived at the bullpen, JJ showed up with some donuts and offered you one, but you refused as soon as the smell hit your nose.

“Ugh… no thanks, JJ…”

“Oh, alright… I’ll save one for later.” JJ looked at you closely.

“Hey, for how little you’re eating, you’re looking extra huggable. Love looks good on you,” Morgan joked about the obvious change in your body, and it crushed you. It was an innocent comment, seemingly positive, but you couldn’t take it.

“S-sorry, I need to go to the bathroom, guys.” You rushed off, the door closed behind you, and you started crying uncontrollably.

A few seconds later, someone came in. “Hello…? Hey…” JJ was fully aware of what was happening to you. She had been watching for a while—she had gone through the same thing. “Wanna tell me what’s going on?”

“I screwed up, JJ…”

“Well… It’s not exactly that, right?”

“How could I not use…? Damn it, I should’ve known better. I forget to take the pill sometimes. I’m so scatterbrained, and with the time changes, the trips… What do I do?!”

“Hm, I think you two need to talk, honestly. You love each other, don’t you? It’ll be okay.” JJ seemed so calm, and it was actually helping you, but all you wanted to do was scream.

The rest of the day, you were a bit distant with everyone, even with Spencer, who seemed worried about you. He tried to take care of you without overwhelming you too much, always attentive to your needs. He always did that, but now he wanted to make sure you felt better; leaving water on your desk, lollipops you liked next to your monitor, hand cream… At the end of the day, he approached you.

"Hey, um, would you… do you want to come over to my place today?" You could see his concerned, almost pleading expression.

That automatically brought a small smile to your face. "Of course, I want to. Let’s go."

When you arrived, you were determined to talk to him, no matter how hard it might be.

"Um, Spence, can we talk? I need to tell you something." Your face was full of complete and utter distress.

Spencer let out a deep sigh, took your hand, and gently led you to the couch, inviting you to sit beside him. His attitude struck you as odd, though he was always tender with you.

"Alright, uh… I have something important to tell you," you said firmly. You wanted to be direct, not knowing any other way to do it.

"I know what's going on." His face, though serious, radiated affection, empathy, and kindness.

"Oh. Uh… How do you… know?"

"If there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s recognizing patterns. And for the past three months, you’ve had some pretty obvious symptoms: nausea, vomiting, aches, fatigue, gaining a bit of volume…" He squeezed your hand, and a small smile appeared on his face.

You felt like you were breaking slowly. "Why… didn’t you say anything?" Your voice sounded high-pitched, on the verge of tears.

"I was giving you space, I thought you needed it. At first, I thought you were sick, and then I realized that wasn’t it. I just wanted you to come to me when you were ready…" Your face was a mix between a pout and a smile.

"It’s just… I didn’t notice, it’s not that I didn’t want to tell you, I just wasn’t aware. My god, what a stupid thing… Not even with my body, my clothes don’t even fit."

"Your body is perfect, I love it, no matter what it is now or what it will be, I’ll love it always. I love you in all your forms." He lifted your hands and kissed them with his eyes closed, showing all the devotion he felt for you. Your heart felt like it was going to burst out of your chest, and a huge smile spread across your face.

"Look, I haven’t actually taken a test yet, so I don’t know if I really am or not… I also don’t know if… I mean, what now? If it’s real, what are we going to do? I can’t think of anything else right now; it’s like everything is foggy—my work, the future, us…"

"Okay, okay, okay… Stop. Listen. Tomorrow we’ll go to the doctor, and this time you can’t say no. Once we know more, you can decide what you want. I want you to know that I love you and I want to share my life with you. The idea of starting a family together makes me really happy, but what matters most is that we’re okay together." Tears streamed down your cheeks, maybe because of the hormone cocktail, or the mix of happiness, love, fear, uncertainty… and he wiped them away with his fingers, placing a gentle kiss on your lips.

"Everything is going to be okay." His words soothed your hyperactive mind. "I love you."

"I know." You said, gently holding his wrists, wanting to keep him close.

· Requests via DM ·

[icallhimjoey]

i need to be put to sleep by soft!joey's slow scratchy hands pls

little short one? yeaaaaaa little short one Wordcount: 1.1K

---

Sweet Dreams

You heard footsteps getting closer and froze, phone in hand still, even though two hours ago you'd said you were going to bed because you were so tired.

Not your fault scrolling social media was so easy to do whilst lying on your side, all tucked in and cosy, duvet tight in a fist under your chin.

The footsteps stilled in the doorway and a small huff of laughter followed.

"Why am I not surprised?"

You immediately groaned in protest, discarded the phone and whined "Couldn't sleep," in a small voice as you rolled onto your back.

Joe grinned at the mess of your hair, the crease of the pillow that painted your cheek, one of his own T-shirts twisted around your torso.

Soft and sleepy, but not asleep like you should've been.

"No? Phone keeping you up?" Joe asked, moving around the bed whilst undoing his jeans.

Your eyes followed him until you were completely turned onto your other side, facing him on his side of the bed.

"Did you know that white sharks all have a big meeting once a year?" you'd been watching weird videos.

Joe raised an eyebrow, couldn't help the smile tugging on the corners of his mouth as he undressed. His girl had been learning.

"All of them just go to the same place, meet up in the middle of the ocean every year, and no one really knows why,"

Joe kept silent, pulling his T-shirt over his head and sitting down to take his socks off.

"Maybe it's for Christmas," you whispered, wondering, and got a hearty laugh out of Joe.

"You're ridiculous." you heard him mumble under his breath.

"Big family get together."

"All right," he said, turning, voice strained as he started moving covers around. "On your front."

You looked at Joe a second, not moving, as he waited, one knee already pressing into the mattress.

"Come on."

You didn't know if he was being serious or not.

"Come on, turn over."

Suppressing a grin, trying to bite it away, to hide it into your cheeks, didn't work at all. It made Joe smile too, knowing that you knew what he was doing and the fact that you were already smiling before he'd even done anything.

When you just laid there, smiling at him, Joe grew impatient and laughed as he got a hand on your shoulder, pushed you and said, "Turn over," more pressingly.

You obliged, finally. Rolled onto your stomach and felt how Joe climbed and settled over the backs of your thighs. He pushed covers down and then used both hands on your sides to push your (his) T-shirt up, revealing your bare back.

"Okay, I'm keeping score this time."

"No," you moaned into the pillow. "No score keeping, just..." you just wanted stroking fingers. Just Joe's soft touches.

"Winner gets to pick what we have for dinner tomorrow," Joe said, voice much softer, slowly swirling into whispers. There'd be no significant impact, win or lose, Joe knew. He loved the same places you loved, but that little squirm you just did where you wiggled your bum was worth the initial comment.

You felt him bend down, weight shifting, before a small kiss got planted to the center of your back and you relaxed under him.

"Okay, first one,"

Joe sat back up, glanced up at what he could see of your face, eyes closed, pressed into the pillow, and started writing.

He used a lone finger to trail across your back, shaped out letter after letter, going all the way up, dipping just underneath where the T-shirt sat bunched up at your shoulders and then all the way down where it touched the hem of your underwear.

Then, he stilled.

"Shark," you had to work hard to voice the answer, voice soft and sleepy. You knew you'd fall asleep in no time.

"Good," Joe hummed, then used both hands, all fingers, to trail from the tops of your shoulder blades all the way down to the dimples in your lower back to 'reset' you.

Next one.

Joe touched warm soft skin, used the most delicate of touches and when you hummed after he stopped, he whispered, "Didn't catch it?" and did it again.

You melted under his touch. Would pretend you didn't catch anything at all if it meant he'd just keep going.

All you could hear was his breath and the low sound of fingers trailing across your skin.

"Merry Christmas," you guessed after a while and Joe hummed, grinning wide. "So smart," he cooed, leaning down to press another kiss into warm skin.

Teasingly, his fingers trailed down to your sides where they squeezed you a second, said, "These are my favourite bits," making a small noise escape your throat.

"Sorry," Joe whispered, chuckling lightly to himself. "But they are." Then he used both hands again to trail straight lines, up and down.

"Difficult one next," Joe whispered, and you knew it meant he was going to do a full sentence.

You were never going to guess it. You'd be asleep by the time he'd get to the end.

Joe knew it too.

Was exactly why he was doing this.

Light, barely there touches traced along your back once more, and they were letters, sure, but there were so many of them. You lost track after making out maybe three words. After that, everything sort of started jumbling together and it was no longer a game you were playing, but just a feeling that relaxed you.

After a while, Joe whispered, "You're falling asleep." and used both hands again, not bothering with an answer from you. It made you open an eye and strain your neck a little to try to catch a glance of him.

"Go to sleep, I'll keep writing. Close your eyes."

And so you did. Felt Joe's fingers trail and felt sleep slowly take over. Then, you caught the word love from his fingers.

"Love," you whispered.

"Stop fucking guessing," Joe replied fondly, voice even softer than yours. "Go to sleep."

And fine.

Last thing you felt was Joe swirling shapes, long soft strokes, the letters no longer really there, just fingers on skin that relaxed you more than a massage would've done.

Joe'd never admit it to you, but the act was hypnotising enough to lul himself to sleep as well.

Last thing Joe wrote was sweet dreams after he knew for sure you'd dozed off, breath steady and eyes no longer fluttering. He carefully leant down, lips hungry to touch the skin his fingertips got to experience and then slowly lowered your top again. Climbed off of you and swung the duvet back to cover you both.

You hummed into the pillow as Joe snuggled up next to you, all warm and soft.

"Sweet dreams, baby." Joe whispered, drifting off to join you there.

---

The Taglisted

@adoreyouusugar, @alana4610, @ali-in-w0nderland, @alwayslindie, @babybluebex, @barfightzanddiscolightz, @bettyfrommars, @cancankiki, @capricornrisingsstuff, @chaoticgood-munson, @chrissymjstan, @choke-me-eddie, @demonsanddemogorgons, @did-it-work, @dirtyeddietini, @dylanmunson, @eddies-puppet, @electricmunson, @emma77645, @emmamooney, @everythinghasafacee, @figmentofquinn, @frootvelvet, @ghost-proofbaby, @ghostinthebackofyourhead, @harringtonfan4, @haylaansmi, @jasminearondottir, @jewellethief, @joesquinns, @kellyxo1, @kennedy-brooke, @lovelyblueness, @manda-panda-monium, @miserybeans, @nadixq, @notverywise, @pepperstories, @phyllosilicate-s, @roosterisdaddy36, @sherrylyn628, @sidthedollface2, @thebellenouvelle, @thewondernanazombie, @tlclick73, @werepartnersnow, @winterwakesthewolf, @witchwolflea, @yelyahcardella, @yunirgo

taglist currently full, sorry

[backtothefanfiction]

20 Minutes | dad!peter imagine

A/N: just a quick one before I sleep. I saw a gif from we live in time and just suddenly became very needy for some dad Peter again. It’s been a little while, hope you enjoy. If you know the Bluey episode that inspired, you are a real one and I have love for you. Also MJ stands for May Junior

Warnings: this is just some dad!peter fluff, everyday domestic parent stuff even though your hubby is the local superhero

The moment he climbs through the window, he’s already wishing he was back in the other side of it.

“Ahhh good, you’re home.” You say cheerfully as you enter the room. “Here, hold this.” You say, holding out your two and a half month old to him, just as a cry of “Muuuuuuuuumm!” called out to down the hall.

“What? The? Huh? What?” Peter frowns at you confused as he stands in the middle of the room in his spider suite, toddler in his outstretched hands as you’re already beginning to leave the room, another call of “muuuuuuuuummm!” echoing down the hall.

“I just need 20 minutes.” You tell him.

“But I just got in.” He protests.

“20 minutes.” You reason cheerfully, like it’s no time at all and he will be fine.

“Maaaaaaaahhhhmmm!” The voice down the hall comes again and he can see the way your shoulders rise and the corners of your lip twitch at your 4 year olds whine of your household moniker.

“Daddy’s coming in just a minute!” You call back to the young girl out in the living room.

“Can I at least take the suit off?” Peter tries to reason as the toddler in his hand starts to pull at the stretchy material.

“Just 20 minutes.” You repeat to him again as you begin to back away. “20 minutes.” You say. You can hear his small frustrated huff that no doubt was paired with the famous Parker eye roll, but you didn’t care. If you didn’t get 20 minutes to yourself and a moment to go to the bathroom in peace, you were probably going to throw yourself out of the window your husband just climbed through.

Okay maybe that was a little dramatic, but in your defence he had been out longer than he said he would on patrol and MJ has regressed back into her clingy phase. As you locked the bathroom door and pulled out your phone in order to have a quick scroll through social media and a catch up whilst you sat on the loo, the reason for your husbands tardiness quickly became apparent.

There was video after video popping up of footage from peoples phones of Spider-Man saving a family from a car wreck. As you watched the masked figure swing into action again and again from different angles, watched him pull the two kids from the back of the burning car, your irritation before quickly subsided, instead making way for pride; for your husband, his family values, his care for the people of your community. Memory after memory of him sharing both special and also mundane moments with your two children flooded your mind, making your heart glow and your tummy all fuzzy and warm.

When you eventually emerged from the bathroom 20 minutes later and made your way back down the hall, that fuzzy feeling only grew as you saw him sat on the sofa with your two children tucked in tightly to either side of him. He had put on your fluffy robe over the top of his suit, the legs and sleeves poking out beneath the pink fabric comically, as he read a book to them.

As he turned the last page, MJ cried, “Again, again, read it again daddy.”

“But May, I’ve already read it to you three times. Maybe we should give another book a go.” He tried to sway her.

“Again!” She insisted and you loved the way he laughed with her as she giggled at her own cheekiness.

He looked up to you then as you leant against the door frame, hopefully. “Or maybe Mommy can read it.” He stated.

“Orrr,” you began to counter as you saw May’s eyes light up at the sight of you and the prospect of you reading her, her favourite book of the moment for the umpteenth time that day, “we could go out for ice cream.” You suggested.

There was a piercing shriek as May got up from the sofa at the sound of the trigger word. “IIICCCEEEECREEEEAAMM!” She screeched before running off to find her shoes.

“Ice cream?” Peter asks with raised brow as he stands to hand off your youngest back to you.

“Yeah,” you say with a coy smile, “I think we’ve all earned it.”

“Well, if that’s the case, I best go get out of this suit then.” He muses.

“Oh really?” You whine. “But this is such a good look on you.” You joke.

“It’s a good thing I love you Mrs Parker.” He grins, a leaning forward to kiss your lips.

“I love you too.” You smile.

“IIIICCEEEEE CRRREEEAAAMMM!” May bellowed excitedly as she came back in the room, her shoes on the wrong feet and her jacket inside out. Both of you couldn’t help but laugh.

“You get changed, I’ll help her out.” You smile.

“I love you.” He says again as he begins to back away. “You’re my hero!” He shouted across the room to you, reminding you your just as resilient and heroic as he was- and sure, you couldn’t swing from buildings or save kids from the back of burning cars, but you could look after both your kids alone for 6-8 hours of the day and live to tell the tail; and that in itself was a heroic act too.

[cuubism]

"Ooh, Kinky"

Hob enjoys doing small, nice things for Dream. Dream... really likes it. A lot. Explicit. Acts of service Hob. Horny-for-kindness Dream. Smut, light angst, fluff, and simple pleasures.

Dream is about to reach his fucking limit with this social event. Hob knows, because he's seen it happen more than a few times before. It doesn't help that Dream's limit is... easily reached.

Unfortunately, this is a political event critical to the peaceful relations of the Dreaming, so they can't just fuck off whenever they like. Well, Hob could, probably, but he won't leave Dream stranded surrounded by his greatest enemies. Those enemies being small talk and attempting to smile, of course.

Dream is perfectly savage in a conversation when he’s allowed to use words as clever and cutting as he likes, but this event has been mostly petty, mundane topics and people trying to see just how rude they can get away with being before Dream breaks his composure. He never does, because he’s trying to reaffirm the strength of the Dreaming after his long absence, but his glares are icy and his annoyance visible in the patina of stardust dancing over his skin. Hob’s never seen someone say Your company has been a pleasure with quite so much venom, and he spent a not-insignificant amount of time as a knight in the Queen’s court.

He watches Dream grit his teeth and visibly restrain himself from dissolving into sand at the end of yet another mundane conversation, his fingers clenching at nothing. Once the person’s retreated, Hob leans against his side, murmuring in his ear, “Just a little while longer, hm?” and rubs a hand up and down Dream’s back. “Then I’ll take you home, run you a bath, get you those biscuits you like. Sound good?”

All Hob is expecting to get is a hum of acknowledgment, maybe a smile if he’s really lucky. Instead, Dream stares at him, eyes wide.

“What?” Hob says. He hadn’t even said anything bad. He’d been trying to offer a little encouragement, not make Dream more frustrated, after all.

“I—” Dream says, and swallows hard. Hob watches his throat bob. “That. Would be nice. Thank you.”

Odd.

Hob offers him a small smile, but doesn’t get to ask about it further as somebody else comes up looking for the Dream Lord’s attention. Hob leaves him to it for now, mulling on that reaction as he wanders in search of another conversation partner. He’ll just have to ask about it later.

****

Hob does not get to ask about it later. Nor does he get to run Dream a bath, or even get the biscuits out of the cabinet, because the moment they return to the Waking, Dream is climbing on top of him in bed and pulling down his pajama pants.

Hob just watches him do it for several long moments, half of his brain still asleep and the other half not comprehending things much better. “That all got you really pent up, huh?”

Instead of answering, Dream licks a stripe up Hob’s cock.

Hob yelps. “Jesus fuck!”

Dream merely hums, already hyper-focused on his self-appointed task of driving Hob round the bend. He leans in low, takes Hob’s dick in his mouth, sucks on it like it’s the only thing he’s been thinking of for the past eight hours, or whatever amount of time in the Dreaming, and, well, if Hob wasn’t hard when he woke up, he will be in about three seconds.

What a wakeup call.

“Dream—” Hob flails in his general direction and manages to find his hair, tangles his fingers in it. He has no idea what in the bloody fuck is going on, though it’s hardly a situation he’ll protest. “What—?”

“I appreciated,” Dream says, pulling off Hob’s rapidly hardening cock, “your company at that wretched event.”

Hob pets his hair, cradles his cheek. "My love, you don't have to pay me back for these things. You know I would do anything for you."

"You misunderstand." Dream leans his forehead into Hob's hip, breathing hard. Breathing. He really is worked up. "It is not. Obligation. I simply. Was thinking of you. All night."

"Oh. Alright then. Really?"

"There was nothing that could hold my thoughts more than you, my lover."

Hob sighs. "You say such pretty things."

"As do you."

The sight of Dream looking up at him with his face still pressed to Hob’s pelvis is not sanity-inspiring, but Hob still manages to ask, “What did I say, exactly?”

Dream hums as he presses his closed lips to Hob’s dick again, and the vibration travels all the way through Hob’s body. “Taking me home. Baths.” He kisses the head of Hob’s cock, tongue darting out just briefly to wet it. “Biscuits.”

It takes Hob so long to comprehend this he wonders if he’s actually still been asleep this whole time. “That’s what got you worked up?”

“It was sweet.” His long fingers sneak up to Hob’s hips. “Alluring.”

Hob is going to have to unpack this at a later time. “You sure you don’t just want the bath and biscuits?” he asks, and then immediately wants to hit himself.

“Later,” says Dream, and returns to his task of waking Hob up in the most startling way possible.

Later, they do indeed have that bath, which Dream takes as another opportunity to show his apparent appreciation, then rests, purring, against Hob’s chest as the water cools. Hob still has no bloody idea exactly what he’s done to inspire this, but he’s definitely going to have to do it again.

****

Apparently, he does it again not a week later.

Hob’s finally managed to get Dream in the habit of taking the occasional, proper night off from his work in the Dreaming, and so tonight Hob’s made them dinner (more for the familiar experience of sharing a meal than with the expectation that Dream will actually eat), with plans to have a relaxing night in watching a movie afterwards, and then even later, as they usually do, winding up in bed for something even more ‘relaxing’.

It doesn’t go that way. Or rather, it does go that way, but a hell of a lot faster than Hob had intended, and a lot weirder, too.

It starts with dinner, although ‘dinner’ is a bit of an optimistic way to speak of it—it’s actually ice cream, because if there’s one thing Dream will sometimes eat, it’s sweets. There’s never a bad time to eat ice cream, though, in Hob’s opinion. If you have regular access to ice, and freezers, why the hell wouldn’t you make use of it?

And Dream likes sweets. And florals. Hob has attempted to combine these into lavender-flavored ice cream—not something he’d been certain would work, when he started it, but he thinks it’s turned out pretty well.

He places a dish of it on the coffee table in front of Dream, a tiny spoon already stuck into the ice cream. Dream touches the condensation on the cold dish. “Did you make this?”

“Yup.” Hob takes a tiny spoonful of his own, and, yes, it is good, thank God. “It’s actually not as hard as I might have thought.”

Instead of using his spoon, Dream just dips a delicate fingertip in and brings a tiny smear of ice cream to his mouth. Licks his finger clean. Does he actually, truly, have to do those kinds of things to Hob’s sanity? “Lavender?”

“Mmhmm. Was going to try for dandelion, actually? I remember how much you liked the wine the other day. But I wasn’t sure the flavor would come through.”

“Because I liked it?” Dream says, looking down at the dish again. He sounds lost in thought.

“Yeah, of course I made it because you liked it.” Frankly, a large, and continually growing, percentage of Hob’s behavior is driven by what Dream might like.

“You do not have to go through such effort,” Dream says.

“Don’t have to,” Hob agrees. “I want to. Go on. Eat it.” He taps at Dream’s bowl with his spoon. Dream takes another tentative spoonful—actually using the spoon this time—and hums in appreciation.

“It is… very good,” he admits, and Hob can’t help his smile. He sits beside Dream on the couch, tucks into his own bowl—but quickly becomes aware that Dream is more so watching him than he is eating his ice cream, though he does occasionally lift some to his mouth and take a slow bite, lips lingering on the spoon.

“Have I got it on my face?” Hob asks, but instead of responding, as soon as he turns Dream leans in to kiss him.

Hob lets out an involuntary startled sound, but quickly gets with the program, putting down his bowl and taking Dream’s face between his hands instead. Dream tastes, of course, of lavender, with the static charge that sometimes jumps to his lips when he’s worked up. He licks into Hob’s mouth, pushing closer, leaving aside his bowl and spoon to half-crawl into Hob’s lap, whines when Hob runs his hands through his hair.

Hob chuckles as Dream starts tugging at his shirt. “Easy, love. No rush.”

“Is that truly what you wish?” Dream asks, pulling away just far enough to speak against Hob’s lips. His voice is heavy with want. “For me to go… slower?”

Deep down, Hob is really not a very strong man.

So he lets Dream push him down onto the couch, pulls him in with a smile as Dream kisses him hungrily. Hob’s back will regret this later, but for now he just spins into this moment with Dream, forgets about the subtle strangeness of Dream’s pivot to sex because Dream seems so happy and that’s all Hob wants, for him to be happy.

Dream undresses them both and straddles his lap and rides him like he lives to do it, and that successfully wipes any lingering thoughts from Hob’s head. All he knows is the blessed touch of Dream’s skin and the euphoria of having him. And knowing that, some way or another, he did make Dream happy.

****

Every once in a while, Dream brings his work to the Waking world so he can sit beside Hob while he grades without falling behind on his duties in the Dreaming. Hob’s not sure… exactly how he does that. He can’t properly create dreams in the Waking world, of course, but he seems to be able to… sketch. Drawing patterns in his sand on the tabletop, or molding it in the air before him, then whisking the designs back to the Dreaming for later fulfillment. It’s fascinating and highly distracting when Hob is trying to grade, but he certainly won’t tell Dream to stop.

Now, Dream has been spinning the same amorphous shape before him for nearly an hour, frowning. Stuck. His shoulders are tight, arms held aloft in the same position for far longer than a human would be able to manage.

Hob nudges his calf with his toes from where they’re sitting across from each other on the couch, legs outstretched. “You want to take a break, love?”

“A break,” Dream mutters, greatly affronted. “I think not.”

Oh, Hob can play this game. “What if I make it worth your while? Little massage, maybe? You must be sore after sculpting for that long.”

“I don’t get sore,” Dream, the proud idiot, says instantly — before pausing and taking in the rest of Hob’s statement. He finally meets Hob’s eyes, the swirling sand collapsing back into a cube in his palms. “You would… do that?”

“What, a massage? Yeah, I mean, it’s nice, isn’t it?”

“It is,” Dream agrees, staring off into the distance over Hob’s shoulder. “Nice.”

Hob scoots over on the couch to push up next to him, takes Dream’s hand between both of his own and starts rubbing at the meat of his palm. “Yeah, isn’t it? Something the matter?”

“Not as such.” Dream contemplates for a long moment; Hob waits patiently. “I suppose I am not used to it. It affects me, when you say such things.”

The fact that a simple offer of a massage to make him feel better is confusing to Dream hurts Hob’s heart, but fortunately it’s a problem he can fix. Or at least, something he can make Dream get used to. Eventually.

He kisses Dream’s palm. “Well? How about it, then? Let me make you feel good?”

“You make me feel good,” Dream says, with a little smirk that suggests exactly what he means. “Often.”

“Not what I meant, but we can do that, too.”

“Very well, Hob,” Dream concedes, with a heaving sigh, as if this is quite a concession indeed. “Do your worst.”

****

Hob does not get very far into “his worst.”

He supposes it was only inevitable. Straddling Dream’s thighs, rubbing warm oil in soothing patterns over his lithe back and upper arms, is not really a position conducive to reason. Hob didn’t start it, though. He was determined to show Dream an actual, nice, mostly innocent massage.

Then he’d pressed his thumbs into Dream’s neck, rubbing out the undeniable knots that were there despite Dream’s insistence that he did not have a physical body, and Dream had let out a very not innocent moan. And had pushed his ass up against Hob’s clothed dick.

“Stay still,” Hob had said, and Dream had subsided immediately, but not in true understanding or acquiescence. No, it was the quick obedience he played at because he knew obeying Hob’s commands like that turned Hob on.

Hob had recognized the ploy, but that did not change that fact that his self-control in the face of an obedient, wanting, moaning Dream was exactly zero.

That’s how they’ve ended up here. With Hob pressing Dream into the sheets, fucking him hard and fast, hands still slick with massage oil.

“You are incapable of just having a good fucking time,” he complains, not slowing in the slightest.

When Dream replies, Hob can hear his smirk even through the muffling of the pillow. “I am having a good time now.”

“There’s more than one type of a good time,” Hob says, and bites the back of Dream’s neck.

Dream shudders. “Why change a good thing?”

“More than one type of good thing,” Hob repeats. He doesn’t really know why he’s attempting to convince Dream not to have sex. How incredibly self-sabotaging. Only it feels important that Dream gets to experience simple nice things as well. Not only sex.

Though of course, Hob is always in favor of sex.

He tables that conversation for later. “Hush, now,” he says, and mouths over the bite mark he’d made on the back of Dream’s neck, deepening the bruise. “We’ll talk about that later, after I make you come.”

“Oh, we will?” Dream says, petulantly, and Hob leans back, pulling Dream with him by the hips so he’s balanced precariously on his elbows and knees, spine arched, as Hob keeps fucking into him. Which, admittedly, is probably exactly the kind of reaction Dream wanted to get out of him.

Dream lets out a pleased groan at the new angle, confirming Hob’s suspicions. Hob loves to get those sounds out of him, though, even if by Dream’s design. His own breath is loud in the quiet bedroom, the quick slap of their bodies together too, but Dream’s moan as Hob takes him in hand is louder.

His hand is slick with oil still, and Dream slides easily through his grip, pushed by the force of Hob’s movement. Each thrust punches a broken ha-h! sound from him, and his hands are fisted in the sheets, and Hob knows from experience his eyes are squeezed shut tight. Braced against overwhelm.

Lord does Hob love to overwhelm him.

“Do you think you’ll be sore tomorrow?” he asks, false casual. “More than when you were working? Do you think you’ll still feel me in you?”

“Yes,” Dream pants. “Yes.”

“Will you keep it, even if it hurts?” Dream could easily wash these small human remnants from his form, but sometimes he doesn’t. Sometimes he comes back to Hob joints still aching from being fucked. God it makes Hob sick with want.

“Pain is good,” Dream says. “I will take it.” He clenches around Hob as if to emphasize the point, body spasming. Held open and full.

‘Pain is good’ is not exactly what Hob meant, but Dream is overdramatic like that and he does like a little pain, sometimes.

In the morning Hob will take him in his mouth, bring him off with easy heat and agonizing slow pleasure. Then he’ll roll on top of him, fuck him through the afterglow, erase that soreness with a slow, easy stretch that melds right into him. Kiss him and move in him until Dream comes twice, at least.

Now, he twists his grip around Dream and thumbs over his slit in the way he knows will make him come, and grips his hip hard enough to leave bruises, and Dream cries out at the force, spilling over his hand.

Hob doesn’t slow. He takes Dream’s hips in both hands again, holds him there as he fucks into his tight, oversensitive body. So tight after, always, as if whatever arousal unlocked gets timid again in the aftermath. Hob would feel like more of a dick for loving it if Dream didn’t seem to get off on it, too.

“So fucking tense, baby,” he says, pressing Dream to the sheets again, mouthing at the back of his neck. His skin tastes like oil. Dream trembles under him. “Should I stay in you longer? Maybe I should make you wait. Keep you on my cock until you get used to it.”

“Yes,” Dream says. “Mold me to you.”

Hob fucks him harder, down into the bed, and Dream gasps at each stretch. Hob won’t last much longer like this. He’s surprised he lasted this long.

“Come back to me in the morning,” he says, “and we’ll keep practicing.”

And Dream moans, and that’s enough for Hob. With several quick stutters of his hips, he spills in him, Dream’s muscles going all tense under him at the feeling. Then he falls boneless over Dream’s back, and stays like that, in him, keeping a promise, or perhaps a threat, for a time.

“I love when you get like that,” Dream murmurs, eyes heavy-lidded. Shifting against where Hob is going soft inside him.

“How?”

“Wanting me,” Dream says.

“I always want you,” Hob says.

“You know what I mean.”

Yeah, Hob does, and it’s not really what he intended for an easy, relaxing evening, though Dream has relaxed under him. But this intensity, this roughness, no matter how much they both love it, hadn’t been what he had been aiming for at the start. He hadn’t even been angling for sex at all at the start.

And now Hob is picking up on the pattern that he’s been pushing aside each time it comes up. The way Hob will try to do something nice for him and Dream will spin it around into sex. After that event in the Dreaming. After Hob had fed him. He had been attributing it just to passion, but… maybe that’s not the whole truth.

He finally pulls out, trying not to relish too much in Dream’s groan at the feeling, and goes to clean him up with quick, practiced motions. Dream just hums, still sprawled out, loose and spoiled. Hob cuddles back up to him, turning him on his side and pulling Dream flush to his body, Dream’s back to his chest. He knows from experience that it’s the best position if he wants to get real, personal answers out of him, because Dream won’t have to look him in the eye as he says them.

“Do you not like,” he starts, thinking it through as he speaks, lips to the back of Dream’s neck, “when we do just… simple things other than sex?”

Dream stiffens immediately, which perhaps was inevitable. Hob holds him tight so he won’t slip away. “If you are dissatisfied with our lovemaking—”

“Not what I said.” He kisses under Dream’s ear. “Don’t jump to conclusions, eh?”

But jumping is how Dream’s mind works, Hob knows. It’s not for dreams to be linear, but to create zigzag webs of meaning, clouds of abstraction. Feelings layered and refracted.

“Are—” he starts, a thought occurring. “Are you unsatisfied?”

“No,” says Dream, but Hob isn’t convinced by it. He doubts Dream would let him do something he didn’t like—Hob hadn’t even gotten away with calling him a friend the first time without getting a reaction—but that doesn’t mean he would speak up about what he does want.

“I do enjoy such things you speak of,” Dream says before Hob can push. “‘Simple things.’ Nice… things.”

“Well. I’m glad, then. Only you… do turn it into sex. A lot. And I’m not doing ‘nice things’ just to get you into bed, you know.”

“Such temptations are not necessary for that, historically,” Dream says, with some of his rare humor. Hob can imagine the tiny smirk on his lips, and leans over to kiss the corner of his mouth.

“Temptations, huh?” he says, still close to Dream’s cheek, and Dream blushes. Just the barest amount, but any flush is easily visible on his pale skin. “My attempts at strange ice cream flavors really did it for you?”

“You made it for me,” Dream says. His voice is quiet like the hush of light rain.

Hob squeezes him to his chest. “You talk like no one’s ever done something just nice for you in a relationship.”

“Do not jump to conclusions,” Dream says, echoing him with a twitch of the lips. “But such small signs of care… it is a human thing. I am unused to that. I am… a medium through which fantasies are spun. Not a creature to be made tea and ice cream.”

“What if my fantasy is making you tea and ice cream?” Hob says. His heart hurts at the thought of it being foreign to Dream, even if he knows some of it is just his nature as an Endless, that Dream has had some good relationships, at least for the time that they lasted, and that supernatural creatures can have different ways of showing care—hell, he’s seen it with Dream himself—but still—

“You are turning my words upon themselves,” Dream says, but seems to find it humorous. “I suppose that because I am unused to it, such things unduly affect me. Is it a surprise, then, that I should want you so when you do them?”

“Are you saying those things make you horny?” Hob’s voice pitches up several notches. Dream actually squirms in his arms, as if to wiggle away back into stardust.

“I do not care for that word to be applied to me,” he says.

“You are, though,” Hob says. God, the fact that he seems to get turned on by simple care and kindness in a relationship is both sweet, hot, and terribly sad all at once. But with Dream naked in his arms he’s leaning more towards hot.

Dream doesn’t answer, and Hob leans over to catch his eye. “Hey, Dream. Look at me?” Dream still doesn’t, so Hob takes his chin and tugs until Dream finally turns his gaze to him. He looks almost… ashamed.

“Hey.” Hob lets his hand fall to a gentler hold, cradling Dream’s cheek. “None of that. Would think you were talking about tentacle porn, the way you look.”

Hob does not actually think Dream would be ashamed of tentacle porn. No, it’s only this.

“Humans only see tentacle sex as ‘kinky’ because you do not know any sentient beings with tentacles,” Dream says.

Hob stares at him for several long moments. Has to shake himself hard to reset. “That’s another conversation,” he says, and Dream gives half a smile, enough that it breaks that look on his face. Laughing at Hob’s meager human experience. He’ll take it.

“What I’m saying is,” he continues, “you don’t have to be ashamed. It’s sweet, really.”

Dream finally turns over properly on his back so Hob no longer has to lean over his shoulder. Hob takes advantage of it to lean in and kiss him, slow and lingering, and when he pulls away Dream is looking at him with his pupils wide and his mouth wet and parted, a look that begs another kiss and another of anything Hob’s willing to give him. Which is much.

“You can have whatever you want,” Hob murmurs. “Any other desires you’ve been keeping close to the chest?”

Dream shakes his head. “It is not about elaborate fantasy. I can make any sexual fantasy a reality in the Dreaming. But.” His gaze slants down. “I cannot make someone love me.”

“Oh, darling.” Hob kisses him again, soft and sweet this time. “I want to give that to you, don’t you know? All the time.”

“I am coming to that awareness,” says Dream, softly. “And perhaps we might… do more. Of these ‘simple nice things’ that you speak of.”

“Because it turns you on?” Hob says, but it’s just teasing now.

“Among other reasons,” murmurs Dream, and leans his head against Hob’s.

There’s nothing Hob wants more than to give him those things. The chance to see Dream happy is the sweetest gift he can imagine. His own ‘nice thing,’ perhaps, though nothing about it feels simple.

For now, he cuddles Dream close, rubbing his hand up and down his spine. Dream makes a rumbling, purring sound of pleasure, and presses into him, nose tucked against Hob’s throat. Hob loves him so much it makes his chest hurt, a sweeter version of the wound he’d felt during all of Dream’s long absence.

I’ll make you so used to nice mundane things you’ll get fucking bored, Hob thinks. Though there are a lot of nice, ordinary things—life’s made up of them—so it might take a long time.

Fortunately, Hob has a long time.

****

The next time Hob makes Dream dinner—actual dinner this time, not just ice cream, partly because he’s too weak to handle the image of Dream licking ice cream off his fingertips again—he just pulls Dream to the bedroom afterwards to cuddle. He wants to show Dream a quiet evening, to let him feel good without plan or expectation. And by the way Dream slides into bed beside him, presses up against Hob’s body, skin to skin, just his underwear on, and then rests there like it’s where he belongs, Hob thinks he gets the message.

Dream’s form is warm and alluring against him, but Hob doesn’t feel the need to push it further towards sex. The contented hum of Dream’s body at his side is its own form of satisfaction. The pleasure he can draw in him just by holding him close. Dream is calm and pleased and happy, and while they’ll surely slide into sex later, or maybe just tomorrow morning, if Dream stays that long, for now this is more than enough.

The slow build of pleasure as he strokes his hand through Dream’s hair and down over his back. The brush of Dream’s feathery hair against his jaw as he tucks his head further into Hob’s throat with a sigh. Dream is clearly pleased, Hob can feel that he’s hard against his thigh, but he seems content to just let it be for now, to relish in those early, warm moments of arousal. He really just wanted to be petted and spoiled and adored all along, Hob thinks with a smile. And how long has Hob wanted to spoil and adore him?

Hob’s just about to fall asleep, still lightly stroking Dream’s hair, when Dream’s head snaps up in the direction of the hallway, like a cat that’s spotted a fly buzzing around in the dark. “Sibling,” he calls, “I can sense your irritating presence. Reveal yourself, or suffer the consequences.”

“Ooh, consequences. I’m just shaking in my Louboutins,” says Desire, swanning out of the shadows, eyes glinting. Hob, properly awake now, gets the sense that they’re about to have a very odd conversation, here in his bedroom, in the middle of the night. Never a normal fucking tea in this family.

“What are you doing here,” Dream says flatly. “You aren’t welcome.”

He hasn’t moved from where he’s still curled against Hob, Hob notes with a little thrill.

“The level of horny wafting off this flat is revolting, I simply had to come see what you were getting up to.” Desire leans in the doorway, head in their hand, and looks the two of them up and down, face falling in what looks like genuine disappointment. “Are you fucking… cuddling? Are you— are you petting his disgusting hair?”

“Fuck off, Desire,” Hob says mildly, and Dream smiles smugly.

"Unbelievable," complains Desire. "The utter disrespect upon my realm."

"You are simply jealous that my lover is the most alluring in all the land," says Dream, and kisses Hob on the nose, then on his closed eye, then on the cheek. "Isn't he a sweetheart?”

Desire blinks at them several times in disbelief. Rubs their eyes. Looks again. "Nope, turns out I really did just witness that."

They manifest a cigarette, and take a long pull, leaning their forehead against the doorframe like the weight of the world is upon their shoulders. Then they straighten up, shaking it off.

“Well, I see you've done a swan dive off the deep end. I'll leave you to your demise. Don't call me unless you've decided to try some pet play or something else even marginally respectable."

"I shan't be inviting you to that," says Dream.

"Didn't invite you this time," mutters Hob.

"Lies. Foul lies. I know all. I see—” they point at them ominously— “all. Even though I'm wishing more and more that I did not. Sayonara, you puritan fucks."

And they disappear.

Hob breaks down laughing, tucking his face into Dream's shoulder.

Dream caresses his cheek. “What is it?”

"Oh, just. Kink-shamed by the embodiment of Desire itself. That's all."

Dream pouts. “It is not like Desire to kink shame. I assure you, I could have taken the form of a human and engaged in some real human fucking and they would still have taken issue because it was me.”

“Is that— uh,” Hob frowns. “Is that considered— kinky?”

Dream looks at him seriously. “Very.”

“Huh.” Hob ponders this strange little tidbit about immortal creatures’ lives. “Oh, is that right?”

Dream casts him a warning glance. “Do not do anything untoward with that knowledge.”

“Oh, I’m definitely going to do something untoward with that. You kinky bastard, you.”

Dream sighs as if exhausted, yet unsurprised by Hob’s antics. “Many do seem to think so,” he admits.

“This is the best information I have ever learned,” Hob decides. “You know, darling, if you wanted to have terribly spicy human sex, you only had to ask.”

“You may come to regret that offer,” Dream warns, but he settles back against Hob’s side with a satisfied hum.

“Nah.” Hob already has far too many ideas for that. Many more things to add to the list of human experiences he can show Dream. Not all of them quite so wholesome as dinner and cuddling. Indeed, there are many different types of ‘nice things’ to be had, and more than one fun way to spoil him. “I don’t think so.”

And while he’s at it… maybe he’ll ask Dream about that whole tentacles thing, too. If they’re in the process of exchanging kinks, and all.

[fantasyescapes17]

Candle (Part 1)

You have always received the best of everything life has to offer: be it education, family, fortune or happiness. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan- one of the ton's renowned villains- cannot possibly bring you happiness of any kind, never mind wedded bliss. But can you evade Jeonghan's charms? Or will you find yourself falling victim to this clever rogue?

Genre: Yoon Jeonghan x female!reader. Regency!AU (It's sort of Bridgerton-esque in the sense that I give zero attention to historical accuracy and prioritize aesthetics lmao) You are Wonwoo's sister so your last name is Jeon, but the reader has no other specific characteristics, physical or otherwise.

Word Count: 4.8k+

Part 2 Part 3

Series Masterlist [I would recommend reading the first story in this series, Patience, before this one but it's not strictly necessary.]

“It is not that I do not wish to marry,” you explained to the maid that was dealing with your hair. The fine silver comb tugged painfully on your scalp, but you had learned to ignore it through continued practice. “I do like the thought of being the lady of my own estate, and having children and a husband who loves me.” 

The maid hummed as she dragged the comb through your hair. “Of course, miss.” 

“But why must all the eligible bachelors of the ton be so dreadfully boring? Every conversation feels the same. If you’ve spoken to one of them, you may as well have spoken to them all,” you complained. “They constantly talk about the same subjects and offer the same compliments.” 

“What would you like them to say instead, miss?” the maid asked lightly. 

“Well, anything that I have not already heard a hundred times before!” you exclaimed as the maid fixed the last pin in your hair and released you. You turned to appraise yourself in the mirror carefully before pouting at your maid. “Daisy, I am not foolish enough to entertain expectations of true love. But is it too much to ask for a husband who will not drive me mad out of boredom? A husband for whom at least a small candle lights up in my heart- never mind a wild and burning flame?” 

Daisy smiled. “You will be late, miss. Your family is waiting downstairs.” 

“But you offer me no reassurances,” you noted with a frown. 

“Do not worry yourself too much, miss. There are plenty of men in London this season that you are  yet to meet. I am certain one of them will light your heart’s candle.” 

You thanked her and then stood up to appraise yourself in the mirror. You had chosen one of your prettiest gowns for the first ball of the season and were pleased with the way the soft pastel colours accentuated your figure and skin. You were not the belle of the ball- you would leave titles like that to more perfect women than you- but you were certainly striking enough to never be left wanting for a dance partner or company. 

God. All this effort to spend your evening listening to men offer you recycled compliments or boast about their fortunes. 

"So her highness finally arrives. I thought perhaps you were waiting for the ball to end," your brother Wonwoo remarked as you walked down to the foyer of your large London home. 

You paid him little mind. Wonwoo was not truly angry about the delay. He had no great love for social engagements or balls and suffered through them in the same way you did, albeit with fewer complaints. 

"Beauty takes time," you replied simply.

"As does the journey to the Hessington's manor. Mother and Father are waiting for us outside."

"It would not be fashionable to arrive too early," you protested. 

Wonwoo simply offered you his arm in silence and you joined your brother in stepping out of your large home and climbing into the lavish carriage that waited on the street outside. Your parents were already seated and your mother smiled when she saw you. 

"Oh darling! You look quite lovely in that dress," she told you happily as the carriage slowly began to take your family to your destination. "I should not be surprised if your  father has a queue of men outside his door to offer for your hand this season."

You smiled. "Thank you, mother. I am sure Father knows best."

Your father raised an eyebrow. He appeared bored. "I know nothing. You are perfectly capable of choosing your own husband. Unless you wish to marry a stable boy, you shall hear no sound from me."

Your mother swatted his arm. "Dearest! How can you say such a thing! It is of utmost importance that our dear daughter is married well and happy- and you must do everything you can to ensure this!"

Mr. Jeon chuckled. "I believe these matters require far more womanly expertise than I possess."

Your mother disregarded him and turned back to you. "Now darling, remember. We are in no hurry. This is only your first season and time and money are on our side. Unlike some of the other foolish mothers of the ton, I know that marrying well is far more important than marrying quickly."

You smiled. "Yes, mother."

"There is no need to accept any offers immediately. Do not court anyone straight away. Wait and watch and analyse. You deserve the very best."

You bit your lip and nodded. You had to admit that your mother's confidence in you made you feel better about your prospects. She was right. There was plenty of time. You were not in any rush and you would wait patiently until the right man for you appeared. 

Hopefully he would. 

"As for you, Wonwoo-" your mother continued, turning to your brother who had been staring out of the window absently. "Although your sister's marriage prospects occupy more of my time and attention than yours, it would be helpful if you at least indulged in a few dances and did not offend all the young ladies that crossed your path by ignoring them or pretending to be absorbed in a book."

Wonwoo flushed. He had been known to hide behind a book in order to avoid the attention of some of the more determined young ladies. Women frequently left your brother's company feeling snubbed. 

"Yes, mother," he replied with a sigh. 

"I want to see you up on the dance floor for at least two dances," she pressed. 

"One," Wonwoo pushed back. 

"Two, this is not a discussion."

Wonwoo decided against arguing with his mother and turned his attention back to the window of the carriage as it clattered noisily along the path to the ball. You chuckled- you could not wait to meet a woman who could put a genuine smile on Jeon Wonwoo's face. A difficult task indeed, but certainly not impossible. 

The carriage stopped once your family arrived at the Hessington's ball. It was an incredibly grand affair. Being the first ball of the season, it would set the standard for all social events during the upcoming months. You could tell that this would be a glamorous season indeed. 

You almost felt nervous. 

"Isn't that your friend?" Wonwoo mumbled to you as your family entered the enormous bustling ballroom full of immaculately dressed men and women. 

"Miss Jeon!" 

You laughed in delight as a young woman in a bright purple dress came over to you and embraced you warmly. It had been many months since you had seen your dear friend Ella Williams.  You wrote to her often but you were no great writer, and letters were not nearly enough to say all that you wished to share. 

“Miss Williams! Oh, I am so delighted to see you here! How have you been?” you demanded of your friend. 

Ella smiled. “I have been wonderful, as always. It is a pleasure to see you as well, Mr. Jeon!” Ella greeted your brother with a bright smile and a polite curtsey. Wonwoo acknowledged her with a small tilt of his head. Ella was no stranger to your brother’s quiet and unenthusiastic manner- so she merely giggled at him and did not take offence. 

“He is upset because he is required to dance twice tonight,” you explained to Ella. “Wonwoo, you might as well ask Ella to dance with you so that half of your promise to mother is fulfilled. Then you need only find one more partner over the course of the evening.” 

Ella batted her eyelashes at your brother. “I would not object to a dance with Mr. Jeon.” 

You waited patiently while Wonwoo signed Ella’s dance card and then wordlessly disappeared further into the room in order to speak to some of his acquaintances. Ella beamed and turned back to you. 

“Well. I shall be the target of much envy when I stand up for a dance with the elusive Mr. Jeon. Oh! But I have so much to tell you, my friend, come with me to the refreshments table and I will show you what I have prepared for us!” 

You allowed Ella to take your arm and pull you towards the refreshments. You both found seats on a bench and she pulled a small black diary out of her pocket that she showed you cheerfully. 

“Guess what this is?” she asked eagerly, but did not allow you time to formulate a response. “I spent the entire summer doing research and have prepared elaborate notes on every single marriage-minded bachelor that will be in attendance this season. I believe the usual clumsy method of turning up to as many social events as we can and simpering at random men only to be disappointed once we learn more about them cannot go on. We are clever women. We must employ the scientific method.” 

You giggled at your friend. “The scientific method? To find a husband?” 

“It is almost perfect! And it took me months to compile- I keep adding to it every time I learn more about any of them."

You looked at her book with a laugh. It really was packed full of notes. This was no small feat that Ella had achieved. 

"How does this help us?" you asked, confused. 

Ella sighed. "My dear friend. Every time a man introduces himself or asks you for a dance, you need only look him up in my little book to know everything about him! Well; perhaps not everything, it is still a work in progress but I am constantly adding to it!"

You looked down at her little book curiously. 

"Ella… you may have created something very valuable," you admitted to her slowly. "I am sure many of the young women in the room would love to have a peek at that little book."

Ella beamed. "Yes, but I shall not share it with anyone but you."

"You really are a wonderful friend."

"Of course I am. Now- have you found any dance partners yet for the evening? I am lucky to have started the evening off strong by securing a dance with your brother- it is my turn to find you an equally excellent partner."

You smiled. "I would be very grateful."

But Ella's efforts were not necessary. As you stood, you were approached by your brother and another handsome young man with a very charming smile.  

"I believe the dancing is about to begin," Wonwoo said simply as he offered his arm to Ella. He paused to look at you. "Sister, allow me to introduce you to my friend Mr. Kim Mingyu."

Mr. Kim Mingyu took your gloved hand into his own and pressed his lips to your knuckles in a suave manner. 

"Miss Jeon. I have heard many wonderful things about you; would you do me the honour of joining me for the next dance?" Mingyu asked. 

You smiled. "It would be my pleasure, Mr. Kim."

"Excellent. This way."

Mingyu was a very good dancer and an adequate conversationalist. He did offer you some textbook insincere compliments about your dancing skill and your dress, but since he was good friends with your brother, any lulls in the conversation were filled with stories from the time he and Wonwoo spent together at Oxford. There was something very lighthearted about his words and manner. It left you with the impression that Mr. Kim Mingyu did not take anything very seriously-including his own marriage prospects. 

"Thank you very much for the dance, Mr. Kim,” you bowed to him politely as the music came to an end. Mingyu smiled and offered you his arm to lead you away from the dance floor. 

“It was a pleasure, Miss Jeon. May I help you find your next partner?” he offered generously. "I know multiple young men who would be delighted to be introduced to you.” 

"I would be very grateful, Mr. Kim. But I have already promised Miss Ella Williams that she may be the one to find my next partner and I could not bear to  disappoint her."

Mingyu nodded. "Very well. Your brother is probably seeking a corner to hide himself in for the rest of the evening, so if you find yourself requiring a dance partner at any moment please do not hesitate to send for me."

You laughed. "Indeed. I shall summon you as soon as your services become necessary."

Mingyu left you just as Ella came over to join you on your bench.

"Well, well," your friend teased. "Mr. Kim is certainly very handsome. And he appears to be an excellent dancer."

"Will you tell me what you have written about him in your little book?" you asked. 

Ella withdrew the book from the folds of her skirts and took a moment to flip the pages. "Let us see here…. K for Kim… Mingyu…. ah! Here he is! 

"Goodness, the page is full!" you laughed as you saw the page crammed to the brim with notes. There was barely any space left. "Is that a list of women he is rumoured to  be courting? Heavens. You shall need to prepare a summary for this man."

"I have one," she replied, her fingers pointing to two underlined words on the top right corner. Notorious rake. 

You both exchanged looks and laughed. 

"That sounds about right," you giggled before taking her arm. "Now hurry! You promised to find me another dance partner! If we sit on the bench for too long then we might be approached by someone particularly odious."

"Of course!" 

Ella grabbed your arm and guided you across the room to a group of men who stood conversing near the balcony. One of them turned and smiled when he saw Ella. 

"Ella! I did not know you would be here tonight," he greeted her fondly. He had gentle eyes and a soft smile that put you instantly at ease. 

"How could I miss the first ball of the season?" Ella asked. "Joshua, you must allow me to introduce you to my dear friend Miss Jeon. I insist that you dance the next dance with her, for she is so much in demand that you may not have another chance all season! Miss Jeon, this is my cousin Viscount Joshua Hong."

Joshua greeted you warmly. Unlike Mingyu, he made no excessively charming moves to kiss your hand but his impeccable manners put you at ease. 

"Of course. It would be an honour to dance with Miss Jeon," he promised you. "But first allow me to make introductions of my own. I am accompanied by my dear friends Mr. Choi Seungcheol and Mr. Yoon Jeonghan."

You curtsied politely to the two men. Mr. Choi was handsome, certainly, but you were struck immediately by how unnaturally perfect Mr. Yoon Jeonghan was. His features were sharp, angular, and he looked like a marble statue sculpted by a skilled artist. Jeonghan had an almost ethereal beauty to him. 

And he turned immediately to your friend. 

"Miss Williams, may I request your hand for the next dance, if you have not already promised it to another?" Jeonghan asked, as he offered her his hand. 

Ella took it without hesitation. "Of course!"

It was no punishment to dance with Viscount Joshua Hong. The man was possibly the most eligible bachelor in the room considering his title, vast fortune and gentlemanly reputation so Ella had done you a great favour. Joshua made light and pleasant conversation as you danced. He was not entirely boring, but also failed to be particularly interesting. You found yourself casting glances across the room at Ella's dance partner. 

When your dance with Joshua came to an end, you approached Ella and Jeonghan with the faint hope that you might be chosen as Mr. Yoon Jeonghan's next partner- only to find that the man in question had already left the area. 

"What happened to Mr. Yoon?" you asked your friend casually. 

"He apologised and had to leave early. Something about his sister- perhaps you know her? Miss Yoon? Fairly pretty woman who is rather well-known for strangely not receiving any offers of marriage since the last many seasons?"

It sounded familiar. "Was he a good dancer?"

"Excellent- but I was terribly nervous throughout the dance, after all, you know what everyone says about him!" Ella said with a shaky laugh. 

You did not know. "What does everyone say about him-"

Your question was cut off by the appearance of your mother, who took your arm with a bright smile. “My dear! I can see that you have been quite successful with your dance partners tonight. Not only Mr Kim Mingyu but Viscount Hong as well! Everyone is quite taken with you.” 

You smiled at your mother. “Thank you, mother-” 

“Come along now. I have many others to introduce you to, we should take advantage of this momentum. You should come as well, Ella. A certain Mr. Lee has been asking about you and you will need someone to make the necessary introductions!” 

Ella smiled and took your hand as the two of you followed your mother.

—--------------------------------------------------------------

The Hessington’s ball was, in your mother’s expert opinion, a grand success. You had danced almost every dance with an eligible young man and the general consensus among the ton was that you were a delightful young woman who would likely receive her fair share of attention and gentleman callers. 

It was difficult to not want to bask in all the attention. 

“Mother! May I go to the assembly rooms with Ella and Mrs. Williams this evening? I believe we have no other engagements,” you reminded her eagerly as she attended to her knitting in the drawing room. Your mother looked up at you. 

“Will Mrs. Williams chaperone?” 

“Of course.” 

Upon receiving her permission you hurried upstairs to dress for an evening at the assembly rooms. You had heard from Ella that Viscount Hong would be in attendance. While you had no specific interest in Joshua  himself, you could not deny that the Viscount was well-connected and always ready and able to make introductions with other eligible young men. 

Daisy helped you into a pretty dress. Since an evening at the assembly rooms was not nearly as glamorous as a ball, you kept your attire simple but could not resist finishing off your look with a string of pearls around your neck. 

“You look lovely, miss,” Daisy complimented you kindly. “The pearls suit you very well.” 

You smiled. “Thank you, Daisy.” 

The Williams’ carriage arrived promptly to pick you up, and you travelled to the assembly rooms with Ella and her mother. You were delighted when Mrs. Williams promptly sat down at one of the many card tables and announced her intention to play whist all evening. The older woman appeared to have no plans of following you or Ella about the room, or being an overbearing chaperone. 

"I have decided to cast my net upon Mr. Xu Minghao tonight," Ella whispered to you, gesturing to a handsome young man in the corner of the room. "I shall ask Joshua to introduce me. Would you like to come?"

You tilted your head thoughtfully. "I might play some cards first. I have been looking forward to it for a while. Do you think it would be impolite for me to sit down at any of these tables?"

"I see Mrs. Patty there. She will surely welcome you at her card table; although I would be careful. I hear her gambling habit can be… excessive. And she gossips even more than she gambles."

You giggled. "I shall be fine with Mrs. Patty. She likes me. Go on and demonstrate your charms to Mr. Xu."

You were welcomed warmly at the card tables by Mrs. Patty and the other ladies, all of whom complimented your success at the Hessington's ball the previous evening while dealing you into their game. You were not a very experienced card player, but it did not signify. The bets were small at the ladies’ table. On the other hand, the table of gentlemen across from you were clearly playing for much higher stakes. 

You had a clear view of the men's card table. A few familiar faces were seated there- including Mr. Kim  Mingyu and Mr. Kwon Soonyoung. The occupant that was of particular interest to you, however, was Mr. Yoon Jeonghan. Jeonghan had leaned back in his seat in a relaxed and careless manner, a handsome smirk on his face as he observed his cards. 

Really, he was unfairly attractive. How were you supposed to focus on your cards when a man as perfect as Yoon Jeonghan sat directly in your line of view? It was hardly surprising that you lost the first round of the game with the ladies. 

Jeonghan looked up suddenly and his intense gaze met yours. You were a little flustered at having been caught staring, but the corner of his lips curved up in a hint of a smile. Jeonghan acknowledged you with a simple tilt of his head. You forced a polite smile back and quickly turned away. 

When you dared to lift your eyes in his direction once more, he had already turned his attention away from you. 

“Really Mr. Yoon? Will you continue to win until you bleed us all dry?” you heard Mr. Kim Mingyu demand from the other table. The other men nodded in agreement; it appeared that Mr. Yoon had won almost every hand this evening. 

“You are bleeding yourself dry, Mr. Kim. Perhaps you may wish to study the rules of the game before you hand your money to me?” Jeonghan suggested lightly. 

“If I play another round with you I shall be in danger of losing my estate.” 

There appeared to be a general consensus among the men at table that they had lost enough money to Mr. Yoon for one evening. You watched with interest as they all left the table in search of refreshments and other entertainment. Mr. Yoon lingered at the table a few moments longer to collect his belongings.

It was a rare opening- you waited until your current round ended and took the chance to excuse yourself from the ladies table. 

“Pardon me, Mrs. Patty but I think I have had my fill of cards. I will take your leave now,” you said to the older woman who dismissed you easily. 

You took a deep breath. Perhaps it was an… audacious move (if not an entirely improper one) for you to approach Mr. Yoon while there was nobody else in your company. But you were quite determined to learn more about this man with the angelic features and confident gaze. You could not simply wait until Jeonghan decided to take note of you- you would bring the conversation to him. 

“Mr. Yoon,” you greeted him politely. 

Jeonghan turned to you with mild surprise. This was a crowded room, yes, but it was still bold of you to approach him without a female chaperone.  

Although to be fair, Yoon Jeonghan had never been one to put too fine a point on the rules of propriety.

“Miss Jeon, if I am not mistaken,” he greeted calmly. He gave no indication that he found you approaching him to be improper. “We were introduced at the Hessington’s ball last evening. I heard from my stepmother that you had excellent success and danced every single dance.” 

“I do not know if I was particularly successful at anything; to dance every dance at a ball is not unheard of. But to win almost every hand of cards while playing a game of chance… that is what I would consider success,” you teased him.

It was a bold attempt at flirtation- you could only wait and see what move Jeonghan would make. 

Jeonghan folded his arms across his chest. You could tell that he was biting back a smile. “Perhaps my opponents were simply too drunk to remember the rules of the game,” he suggested.  

“Or perhaps you have devised a way to eliminate the influence of chance on the game’s outcome entirely.” 

Jeonghan could not resist a chuckle. “Miss Jeon. I must protest this line of questioning. It seems to be in danger of impinging upon my honour as a gentleman. I hope you don’t mean to accuse me of cheating at cards?”

“Res ipsa loquitor, as they say in Latin, or- the thing speaks for itself,” you continued to tease him. “Do you deny it?” 

“I shall not deny it. Instead, I shall generously grant you the opportunity to withdraw this dangerous allegation you have chosen to make,” he continued, “for I am confident that you possess no evidence to support your claim. Please- have a seat. It would not do for you to remain standing while we debate my alleged crimes.” 

You allowed Jeonghan to pull out a chair for you and he expertly moved behind you to push it back in before taking his own seat. You folded your hands in your lap and smiled at him. You were enjoying this conversation. 

“Your words are clever Mr. Yoon, but they do not cry innocence,” you insisted. 

“I am not claiming to be innocent.” 

“Then you admit you are guilty?” 

“I shall not answer your allegation either way,” Jeonghan replied with a chuckle. “But I am concerned for the impact your allegations shall have on your honour when you find yourself unable to justify them with sufficient evidence.” 

You laughed. “So you are greatly concerned for my honour, are you, Mr. Yoon?” 

“I would be concerned for the honour of any young lady in your position.” 

“Then how do you suggest we resolve this? For I find it impossible to believe that you should have been able to win so many rounds of a game of chance without having found some manner of tilting the scales of luck in your favour,” you insisted. 

Jeonghan leaned closer to you suddenly. His dark eyes boldly met yours and your senses were instantly overwhelmed by him. His clean scent, the sound of his soft breathing and his handsome face hovering a few inches from your own. Jeonghan’s voice (suddenly low) sent a pleasurable shiver down your spine. 

“If you do not withdraw your allegation,” he whispered. “I shall have no choice but to demand satisfaction.” 

Oh. This man was dangerous. 

He pulled back and you felt a rush of adrenaline. Noone had ever flirted with you quite like this before- and it was, clearly and undoubtedly a delightfully dangerous flirtation, for what man would innocently lean so close and whisper such words in the presence of a lady unless he meant to be unequivocal about his nefarious intention? 

It appeared you had walked into the lion’s den of your own free will. 

“Satisfaction?” you asked him, trying not to reveal how flustered you were.  “I hope you do not intend to challenge a lady to a duel, Mr. Yoon.” 

“A duel? No, not at all. I can think of better ways for you to restore my honour.” 

“I have no intention of restoring your honour,” you replied boldly. 

“Perhaps I shall be able to persuade you otherwise. Tell me Miss Yoon- have you recently lost anything? Perhaps a valuable item that you carry upon your person?” Jeonghan asked in a knowing tone. 

Your eyebrows furrowed in confusion. You had not carried much with you and you quickly checked that you still possessed your handkerchief and reticule. As you turned your head, however, you realised that there was a strange lightness around your neck. 

Your hand flew up to your bare neck. 

“My pearls!” 

Jeonghan smirked. His arm moved subtly across the table and you caught a glimpse of something white and shiny clasped in his hand just before he tucked it into the breast pocket of his coat. You stared at him in shock and disbelief. 

“Mr. Yoon- have you just stolen my pearls?” you demanded in a hushed tone. 

Jeonghan looked pleased with himself. 

“Not to worry, my lady. I have every intention of returning them to you tomorrow, at the Hongs’ ball- where you shall do me the honour of dancing the final dance of the evening with me. An act which will, I believe, be adequate recompense for the baseless accusations you have brought upon my honour.” 

You looked up at him with a smile.

So it was to be a game.  

“You don’t play fair, Mr. Yoon,” you remarked. 

“Remind me to further discuss the merits of fairness during our dance at tomorrow’s ball,” Jeonghan suggested as he stood from his seat and reached for your hand. He pressed his lips against your knuckles- softly, tantalisingly, and perhaps lingering for half a second longer than appropriate before giving you a roguish smile. “Have a pleasant evening, Miss Jeon.” 

You watched as he walked away to join his companions at the refreshment tables. Your heartbeat thumped with excitement while the adrenaline from your unbelievably shocking encounter with Mr. Yoon Jeonghan slowly ebbed. 

Well, you thought to yourself. Mr. Yoon Jeonghan had certainly lit your heart’s candle. 

Indeed, he seemed quite in danger of tipping it over and setting the entire bloody place on fire.

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

A/N: Thanks to everyone who showed so much love for my first fic Patience, and also thank you for reading Candle! Jeonghan was such a crucial character in Patience that it was always my intention to write a companion fic for him.

I should be able to upload the next part of Candle in a few days, if all goes well. I'm also in the process of plotting for Wonwoo, Mingyu and Hoshi, in no particular order.

Any feedback is welcome! I'm not sensitive lol.

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

hey! hows secret!reader doing??

"I thought," your uncle said, proffering an envelope from a jacket pocket, "that you might want some of these."

"Ooo," Jason said, taking it before you could protest. "Blackmail pictures? Awkward kid pictures?"

"Not really," He said, chortling. "But she always was a cute little shit. And magazines and certain conservation and special interest groups liked an occasional kid picture- especially if that kid was beaming like she won the lottery because she got to feed fruit to a creature of some sort. Or play with a baby elephant."

"She still likes creatures. You should see how good she tamed my youngest brother," Jason said.

"Obviously," he said, proffering chicken to Elmer as a bribe. "I still want to know where you found this cat. I've met tigers that have better manners."

"A shelter," you snort. "Jason thought I needed socializing."

"You did," he protested, thumbing through the pictues. All are meticulously labeled and dated. Your sister conspicuously absent. Like you were absent from so many pictures in your parent's house. It was clear that while she built business connections, you hobnobbed with any critter you were allowed to pet or feed. Traipsing along with your father's brothers- the other spare.

You had been a cute little shit as a little girl. You'd been a pretty young lady. But now, even with your scars you were a beautiful woman. It was hard to even notice them.

"You always do better with a little friend," your uncle pointed out, his face warming as he watched Elmer make himself comfortable on your lap. Insolently demanding your attention back. "Remember Roscoe?"

"Aww he was sweet. Such a good boy-"

"Roscoe?" Jason asked interested.

"A white rat," you explain. "He was blind but. He liked to play fetch with jingle bells and would climb my hair like a rope."

"He had to live at my house," your uncle explained. "Laurel said he gave her nightmares. But- he knew who his buddy was. He always did a little dance in his cage as soon as he heard her come up the steps."

"Rats, Ugly cats, anything else?" Jason asked, curious.

"A goat," you add, "and a couple geckos."

[whencyclopedia]

Child Labour in the British Industrial Revolution

Children were widely used as labour in factories, mines, and agriculture during the British Industrial Revolution (1760-1840). Very often working the same 12-hour shifts that adults did, children as young as five years old were paid a pittance to climb under dangerous weaving machines, move coal through narrow mine shafts, and work in agricultural gangs.

It was very often the case that children's jobs were well-defined and specific to them, in other words, child labour was not merely an extra help for the adult workforce. The education of many children was replaced by a working day, a choice often made by parents to supplement a meagre family income. It was not until the 1820s that governments began to pass laws that restricted working hours and business owners were compelled to provide safer working conditions for everyone, men, women, and children. Even then a lack of inspectors meant many abuses still went on, a situation noted and publicised by charities, philanthropists, and authors with a social conscience like Charles Dickens (1812-1870).

A Lack of Education

As sending a child to school involved paying a fee – even the cheapest asked for a penny a day – most parents did not bother. Villages often had a small school, where each pupil's parents paid the teacher, but attendance was sometimes erratic and more often than not the education rudimentary in hopelessly overcrowded classes. There were some free schools run by charities, and churches often offered Sunday school. Not until 1844 were there more free schools available, such as the Ragged schools established by Anthony Ashley-Cooper, 7th Earl of Shaftesbury (1801-1885). These schools concentrated on the basics, what became known as the 3 Rs of Reading, Writing, and Arithmetic. Compulsory education for 5 to 12-year-olds, and the institutions necessary to provide it, would not come along until the 1870s. Consequently, "at least half of nominally school-age children worked full-time during the industrial revolution" (Horn, 57).

Some factory owners were more generous than others to the children in their employ. An example is the Quarry Bank Mill in Styal in the county of Cheshire. Here the owner provided schooling after the long working day was over for 100 of its child workers in a dedicated building, the Apprentice House.

An indicator of better education, despite all the difficulties, is literacy rates, rather imperfectly measured by historians by recording the ability of a person to sign one's name on official documents such as marriage certificates. There was a great improvement in literacy, but by 1800, still only half of the adult population could sign their name to such documents.

For those children who could find work in the Industrial Revolution, and there were employers queueing up to offer it, there were no trade unions to protect them. For the vast majority of children, working life started at an early age – on average at 8 years old – but as nobody really cared about age, this could vary wildly. Working involved at best tedium and at worst an endless round of threats, fines, corporal punishment, and instant dismissal at any protest to such treatment. In one survey taken in 1833, it was found that the tactics used with child labourers were 95% negative. Instant dismissal accounted for 58%. In only 4% of cases was a reward given for good work, and a mere 1% of the strategies used involved a promotion or pay rise.

Continue reading...

[witch-hazels-musings]

Chivalry

warning: princess!reader, knight!character (slight AU* Prince and Princess) | sfw | slight hurt (due to different social statuses, arranged engagements,etc), comfort* (happy ending yayayay) | forbidden love | pre-relationship | character perspective 

citation: *song lyrics - Just for Now, Michael Crean

Knight!Diluc x fm reader | anthology (Albedo, Kaeya, Jean - coming soon)

Diluc

He knew every assignment wouldn’t be enjoyable. As much as he’d prefer to be wandering the plains of Teyvat searching for those who would do his Kingdom harm, it wasn’t possible. Still, out of all the knights, out of all the assignments, why did it have to be this one? 

Diluc sighed and did his best not to roll his eyes as he watched the Princess he was sworn to serve finish her discussion with a foreign dignitary. As the eldest of daughters, she was tasked to handle foreign affairs as well as the kingdoms resources while her younger sister and brother were able to be more free in their day to day. The older brother, the Prince in line for the throne was not well liked which made Diluc assume his sister would be the same. She wasn’t. 

Still, Diluc found most of his time was standing off in the corner while meeting after boring meeting was held in the castle. He’d once climbed the coldest mountain in the land and, honestly, that sounded far more enjoyable than listening to another Fontainian talk down to the person whose patience knew no bottom. 

“I understand you are frustrated by the swiftness of our response,” you said, hand moving to rest against the ambassadors arm. Diluc noted how his face flushed at the contact. “I cannot guarantee we will solve each problem, but rest assured I will not let a day go by without checking in and assessing how we can continue our support.” you bowed slightly and smiled. 

ugh, the tediousness of talking to diplomats, Diluc frowned at it all. 

Once the ambassador left, you wandered back to your seat to gather the notes, forms, and other documents you’d ultimately review until passing out in your room. Dark circles were starting to appear under your eyes from all the sleepless nights. He made his way to you, picking up the stack of books before you could. 

“Is your schedule free?” He asked, twisting slightly away from as you tried to grab the items he picked up. You were stubborn, but so was he. 

“Yes,” you said and sighed, “but not for long. The Favonius knights have requested more arms, and the masons require stone for the eastern wall. I didn’t get to these yesterday, so I’d like to attend to them before dinner.” Settling the items in your arms, you did your best to push the hair that continued to brush against your cheek away with puffs of air. It wasn’t working. 

“Do you not think it is better to rest?” If his superiors were around, they would shame him for speaking so directly. ‘Royalty is to be tended to like a fragile flower, otherwise they will be tarnished,’ he could hear his mentor recite all the while forcing the knights in training to hold 40 lbs barrels over their head. 

You looked into his eyes before moving on to appease him. “You always look after me, Sir Ragnvindr. I’m alright,” you smiled but he could see the exhaustion in your expression. A fragile flower, yeah right. “Anyway, I’m sure you’d much rather be beyond the castle walls.” You reached for the books he was holding, “I know being my guard isn’t very exciting, so please don’t let yourself be trapped for my sake. I can manage to make it back to my room without incident.” 

Your hand touched his on accident. Quickly, you pulled back, apologized, then tried again. With a roll of his eyes, he scooped the items in your arms, adding them to his. 

“S-Sir Ragnvindr!” You protested as he made his way to the door. He was much faster due to his long legs. Diluc couldn’t hide his smirk as he heard you rushing after him. It must have been hard to keep up in a dress as decorated as yours. “Please, it’s too much --” he stopped in front of the door only to feel you bump into him. When he twisted to look, he noticed you cupping your mouth and nose. He swore he saw a dab of color on your cheeks. “Sir, I cannot ask you to --” 

“And yet I can ask you to carry all of this?” He cut you off and watched the implication of his words settle in your mind. Diluc wondered if you disliked the rules and expectations of royalty as much as he did. After all, before he was a knight he was a nobleman - he understood the pressure of this world better than most. 

Deflated, defeated, you backed down. “If you insist.” He could tell you hated being doted on. In every interaction he’d seen between you and an attendant, you were always respectful, helpful, and often insisted upon doing the task yourself. At the end of the day, who could deny the eldest princess her request? Well, other than him --- “But as soon as we get back I can --” 

You were cut off by a voice down the hall. If it was possible for the walls to have ears in this castle. 

Diluc watched as you prepared yourself, stepped into the hallway and greeted the stranger. They were one of the Prince’s scribes, and a rather annoying one to boot. Diluc had a bitter taste in his mouth every time he showed his face. There was just something about the way he looked at you ... 

“I was informed you were free,” he said with his head lifted as if to look down on you. 

“That is the case, but ...” 

“Do come with me then. I have work for you to attend to since it seems you cannot get them done without a watchful eye,” he reached for your wrist and Diluc moved before realizing it. With one step, he was in between the both of you but his cold gaze was seen only by one. The man’s hand retreated so quickly it was like Diluc’s proximity had burned him. 

“The Princess has other priorities at this moment.” 

“How dare --” 

“As the Princess’s guard, I am to ensure she can fulfil her duty to the kingdom.  Do you not think the Ambassador of Fontaine would be surprised to find his request delayed yet again because the Princess was pulled to another task?” Diluc stared the man down, commitment unwavering. He heard you start to say something so he stepped further in front of you. 

“How da- I -- I’ll be speaking to your superior,” the man spat before turning on his heels and loudly walked back the way he came. Diluc didn’t move until he was out of sight. 

“Sir Ragnvindr, you didn’t have to go that far,” you expressed as he turned to face you. Your head had dropped, your eyes looked to the floor while your fingers pinched their neighbors. “I will write a letter to Mrs. Gunnhildr explaining the situation.” 

Diluc wasn’t sure why you were looking after him, he was capable of standing up for himself and dealing with whatever punishment might come his way. Besides, it was bound to be far less painful than watching you spend any amount of time with that man. 

Wait ... what?

“Don’t fret over it. Let’s go,” Diluc quickly passed by you, his head shaking to remove his strange thoughts. He heard you catch up to him. From the corner of his eyes he could see you were still unsettled by what had happened. 

“I um - I do want to thank you.” 

“For?” 

“For standing up for me. I - um - As you know it’s hard for me to say no,” you sent him an appeasing, sad smile. “Though I do feel guilty. Perhaps if I -- ah! Sir--” 

Diluc put his hand against your back and pushed you forward just enough so you couldn’t turn around. “Don’t make me carry you too -” The words fell from his mouth so fast he had to snap his lips closed to not say anymore. 

What in Teyvat was coming over him. You riled him up so much-

You let out a hearty laugh and his heart skipped a beat. “Haha! That would be a sight to see,” you covered your mouth but he wished you wouldn’t. “Sir Ragnvindr carrying the Princess through the halls of the castle. Can you imagine?” 

He could imagine. Though the sight wouldn’t be pretty, nor proper, since the only way he’d see that happening is if he tossed you over his shoulder. Nevertheless, he was glad you were laughing at the idea rather than being appalled. Diluc put his hand back on the items he was carrying now that he knew you weren’t going to rush back down the hall. 

For a moment he listened to the sound of your footsteps, to the soft giggles echoing in the hall. Why was the weight of his armor suddenly so noticeable? 

“You can refer to me by my first name,” Diluc said as your laughter started to fade. 

“Oh, but Sir Ragnvindr is so natural to me.” You tapped your chin before turning to look at him as you walked, “Sir Diluc --” 

“Just Diluc is fine,” 

You paused, unsure of what to say. Eventually, you turned to look down the hall, hands returning to hold onto each other. He wasn’t sure what was going on in your mind but, honestly, he wouldn’t have been prepared even if he did.

“Diluc ...” the sound of his name on your tongue nearly made him fall over. Instinctually, he clenched his jaw over and over again. “Um, actually, if it’s alright with you, I think I’ll stick with Sir. Ragnvindr for now ...” you explained in a panic.

Diluc didn’t dare look at you. What expression would he have it he met your gaze? So, he gave a curt nod and a quick, “Alright,” and the two of you made your way down the hall in silence. 

-- 

Every once in a while you’d try to push him away. Though he wasn’t sure if it was because you needed a moment alone or if his wistful gaze toward the window drew too much attention. Out of the two, he’d much prefer you the latter, especially since his other stare was directed at you.

Weeks went by and he settled into a nice routine. It was difficult when he first arrived, but you asked him on several occasions if there was anything you could do to make his stay more comfortable. Even the smallest things; you did your best to get him what he asked.

Diluc didn’t want for much, so your offers were often left unanswered; however, he did notice a steady supply of grape juice in the kitchen when he was sure there hadn’t been before. He only mentioned it once.

At times he'd forget himself. Forget that he needed to hold an expression of disinterest. Forget to pull himself back when he was starting to soften each time his eyes landed on you, each time you stood close by, each time you turned to search for him.

You found him and he could breathe again. 

He was forgetting how very high the wall was between the two of you and every day he spent in your shadow, it became blurrier and blurrier. 

--

“I’m going to win!” You shouted, hair wiping around your face as you pushed forward. The horse you were riding picked up its pace with a flick of the reigns, pushing you past Diluc. How did he end up racing you again? 

You cackled as you passed by and he couldn’t help but be swept up by the noise. With a deep, “hya!” he squeezed his thighs and tapped his horses belly, urging it to increase its speed. It did, and soon he was rushing past you and laughing at the sound of your fading protests. 

When the path began to taper out, Diluc slowed his horse bit by bit until it was at a standstill. He patted its neck and praised it for its hard work while it raised and lowered its head, breathing heavily. Twisting so he could see behind him, he found you making your way toward him and your voice began to cut through the thicket of trees. 

“---er! --eater!!” You reigned your horse in, coming to a soft canter until stopping beside him. Panting, you repeated yourself, “cheater.” 

“I did no such thing,” 

“You did!” Patting the neck of your horse, you moved up beside him, punching him in the leg when you were close enough. 

“Hey-” 

“Cheater--” You pointed at him, making him laugh. Carefully, he took your hand his his and moved it back toward you. 

“Did you forget I’m also a Calvary Captain?” You scrunched your face in protest but quickly relaxed into realization, “Hah, you did!” 

“Shut up--” Diluc laughed, louder than he had in so long. His hand pressed into his stomach and his eyes began to water. “Stop it --” you pleaded, the notes of laughter laced in your request. “You hardly ever talk about yourself. Sorry for not remembering something you told me almost a year ago.” You turned your head away from him, moved your hands to fix the hair that had fallen free from its holding. He found himself looking a little too long at the back of your neck. 

“I don’t mean poke fun,” there was a stick in your hair but you didn’t seem to notice it. “Here,” with expert skill, he dismounted his horse. In a matter of seconds he had the reigns looped around a low hanging branch and had made his way over to you, his hand resting against the horses neck to let it know he was there. The horse bumped his head and he smiled. “Allow me to help,” he said, offering you his hand. 

“Don’t need it,” you replied, fixing your clothes. You were wearing a pair of form fitting pants and a dark green top that pressing against you underneath a warm, cream vest. It was one of the only times he’d seen you not dolled up in what your maids forced you to wear every morning. He liked it. 

Ignoring his hand, you began to dismount but, as he had expected, it’d been a while since you last rode so you weren’t as graceful as he was. Your hand on the saddle slipped but he was there to catch you. 

“Got you,” he reassured you with an arm wrapped around your back, a hand gripping the waist of your pants before pulling you toward him. Your body collided into his chest. The heat of contact, the wave of your perfume, shampoo, crashed into him causing him to stumble backward. He’d caught whiffs before, hints and hypothesized about what it would be like. He never anticipated becoming overcome by it so intensely.  Diluc held you while your toes scraped the ground, arms coiled around his neck for support. 

Let her go -- he told himself but couldn’t do it. 

“S-Sir Ragnvindr ...” your voice was shaky. He set you down and took several steps back, bowing. 

“Are you alright?” he asked, tone even, professional. 

“Mmhm,” he glanced at you. His jaw clenched at the sight of your discomfort. You wouldn’t make eye contact with him, began to wring your hands like you did when you were uneasy. He wondered if his teeth would break by how hard he bit down. Without saying anything, Diluc grabbed the reigns of your horse and brought it over to his. “Um, that ride made me hungry,” you began so he looked back to you, “those trees provide good shade, if you’d like to eat with me? I brought enough for the both of us.” 

“Alright,” he agreed without protest, grabbing the pack off his horse and brining it to the place you pointed to. You quickly laid out the blanket, taking up space near the tree. He was glad you did, it would be much harder for anything to attack you with it at your back. Diluc offered the basket to you which you took and began to put several items on a plate. Soon, you offered one to him.

“I tried to bring things you’d like,” Diluc looked at the plate. He wasn’t planning on eating anything but when he saw several of his favorite items, he changed his mind. 

“I thought you didn’t remember things about me?” He teased, a rare occurrence.

You pursed your lips into a pout before answering, “I can remember some things.” 

“I see.” He popped one of the finger foods into his mouth. The taste wasn’t exactly the way he imagined but it was still good. “Thank you for requesting these, Princess.” 

“Y-You’re welcome,” you replied, making your own plate. “but - um - I made them. So, if they aren’t very good you don’t have to eat them.” 

Diluc looked at you with awe, “you made these?” you nodded, “when did you find the time?” 

Shrugging, you took a bite of your own food. “I had a spare moment. Though it was hard to keep it a surprise when you’re always around.” You stole a peek at him, “Are they good?” 

Diluc felt his lips curl into a smile as he looked at the food on his plate. Now that he gave them a careful eye, he could see they were done by novice hands, “Very,” he told you and ate another. 

The two of you enjoyed the rest of the picnic in quiet peace. Diluc leaned back against another tree, let his body stretch out on the blanket while you maintained your trained posture. Legs bent to your side, back straight. The wind tussled your hair, making it difficult for you to review the paperwork you brought. Of course you’d still be working, even outside of the confines of the castle.

Soon, a soft hum drifted on the breeze. Peeking through half-closed eyes, he watched you sing to yourself. He’d seen you do it times before but, just as you did then, you stopped. “Sorry,” you appologized. 

It was so comfortable, so relaxed that he couldn’t help but close his eyes. The horses were close by that if they sensed anything he could hear their agitation. The woods had been cleared prior to this excursion anyway, he made sure of that - perhaps that’s when you found the time to make him lunch.

Funny, while he was scouting thinking of you, you were thinking of him. The thought made his chest tight. 

“I don’t mind.” 

“It’s not proper.” 

Who told you that? He wondered. “I’m the only one here.” 

“Somehow that doesn’t help,” you chuckled and he swore your cheeks changed color but maybe that was the light passing through the shifting leaves above, “um, do you have any requests?” 

You’d never asked him before. He wasn’t sure what to say. “Your favorite one then?” 

“Okay.” The world grew quiet. As if it were settling to listen to your song. When you began he lifted his arms, folding them behind his head like a pillow, eyes closing again. 

Take me And I will fix you for the night Hold those breaking lights Dreaming past those eyes

feel me  breathe me to the sky ... 

The song was gentle, sad. He’d never heard it before so he paid careful attention to the words.

So scream Your voice it can't be heard To no one else but you So sing as loud as rain And run until you break

Diluc’s brow furrowed at the sound of your trembling voice, at the motion of your hand as it brushed over your eyes. You tried to keep it in but didn't make it. Your hands covered your face as you cried; cried in the wind, cried under the sunshine sky, cried in front of the man who realized, in this moment, he never wanted to see you this way. 

And yes Just for now Just for these small hours You can fall beneath the ground You can break...

...without the pain

You cried, bent over in the shade of the tree and all Diluc could do was watch and wonder why.

--

A few days later he learned the truth. Your brother had convinced the king to accept a proposal for your hand without consulting you. Somehow this was still endorsed, still expected. You were forced to accept it but Diluc couldn’t. 

He rushed through the halls practically burning the tapestries that lined them. He didn’t even wait to knock on the door to your inner chamber, he just opened it, freezing when he found you sitting on the couch as if this were any other day. 

It wasn’t any other day to him. 

He wanted to fight, wanted to yell, wanted to free you from your station. He swore to protect you, to shield you. So how could he let this happen? Diluc was in turmoil - every inch of him was struggling; strangled by the expectations of his duty and his devoted heart. 

When you heard him enter, you looked up from the paperwork on the coffee table, eyes puffy, swollen - how much had you cried today? 

“I wasn’t expecting you, Sir Ragnvindr,” you explained, but the tightness in your throat told him you were suffering. How terrible was this suitor? What archaic laws shackled you to him and not ... 

Diluc made his way toward you. 

“I’m sorry but I’d like some time a-alone,” your voice cracked. He didn’t listen. With ease, he knelt on one knee before you. His eyes searched your face until your red-tinted eyes landed on him. “P-please,” you tried to smile, tried to pretend but he was okay if you didn't. He rested his arm on his knee and touched your fingers. Biting your lip, you looked at him and shook your head. Your breathing became unsteady, tears pooled in your eyes. “I’m alright,” you lied. With every tear-drop you lied. A quite sob escaped your throat so you covered your face with your hands and said the one thing you shouldn’t have, “Diluc --” 

Diluc, going against everything he was taught, everything he swore to uphold, to commit to, opened himself and took you against him. His arms wrapped delicately around you, his hand found the back of your head, fingers weaving in between the strands of your perfectly brushed hair. 

“I’ll fix it,” he vowed, knowing he couldn’t. 

-- 

The following weeks dragged by. Preparations for your engagement were planned. Even though you were in the room when the decisions were made, you gave no opinion on them. Not the flowers, not the dress, not the food which you had little interest in lately. It seemed all you could do was devote yourself to your work and nothing else. 

Diluc lay awake at night thinking about how to solve this problem. What could he do to break off the engagement. Surely he could take drastic actions - what was a life of imprisonment if you could be free? His step-brother told him to be patient, be rational, but his heart refused to let him. He was spiraling, and jealousy was right in the middle of it all. 

Agitated, he lifted himself from his bed and made his way to the door that led to your chambers. On the other side you were sleeping, safe, untouched by anyone. He pressed his forehead against the harsh wood, gripped the doorknob with so much strength he worried it would bend to his will. He wanted to see you, wanted to hold you - to keep you - but you weren’t his. Would never be his. 

Shaking, he pried himself away, threw on a shirt, and made his way down the hall to cool off. 

On the other side of the door, you sat with your knees to your chest, head resting against the wood with eyes flooded in tears as you silently cried in the color of the rising sun. 

--

The day of your suitor arrival had finally come. You did your best to smile, to hold yourself high. You’d practice these skills for so many years but Diluc could tell you were struggling. As you rose from your chair to greet the man who’d soon be your husband, Diluc took a step closer to you hoping to ease your anxiety.

“Your majesty,” he bowed, low and proper. His smile was unsettling, his eyes darted around the room until they landed on you and the flash of excitement Diluc saw in them made him drive his claymore deeper into the ground. “Ah, and my beautiful fiancé,” he took several steps toward you so you extended your hand as far as it could go to create space. Diluc was enraged at how familiar he was; grabbing your hand and pressing his lips to it. Rubbing your arm without a care. The man flashed his eyes to Diluc but Diluc didn’t turn away. 

“Welcome to the Royal Capital, Prince Calmin Velena. I’m sure you are tired from your journey. Please do take --” 

“I am eager to hear of the wedding plans and celebrations, your majesty,” the man interrupted you, his hand still holding yours as he pulled you toward him and the king. Diluc had to restrain himself from cutting that hand off. “Am I to be boarded next to my sweet Princess? I do wish to spend as much time with her as possible,” he glanced back at you and, instinctually, you tried to retreat toward Diluc. 

“Prince Calmin, do understand that while you are in our kingdom, there are certain, etiquettes, that must be followed. You will have your own room in our guest quarters. They are lavishly furnished as you will find.” The King gestured to an attendant who appeared suddenly before the group. With a scoff, the prince released you allowing you to go back to your original spot. Diluc watched how your hand shook as you hid it behind your back.

You can’t protect her if you kill a prince, he reminded himself. 

“Yes of course, then I will retire for now. Until then,” he turned and blew you a kiss before following the attendant out of the grand hall. At which time you collapsed into your chair. 

“Daughter --” The King rose from his seat, moving toward you but before he could continue, your brother got in the way. 

“Father, don’t mind her, we have much to discuss.” The King looked at you and you shot him a desperate look. A pleading, ‘please’ to which he closed his eyes and followed after your brothers persistent pushing. 

When they left, you tried to stand but found your legs unsteady. Diluc noticed, offering you his hand, never taking it away. 

“I feel unwell,” you whispered while other attendants moved about the room. 

“Let’s away for now,” with ease, he pulled his cape around you, blocking you from the eyes of the would-be onlookers. You tucked yourself under his arm, brushing against his hips every once in a while. 

Would this be all he ever had? Fleeting, accidental touches while that rat had the rest of you. The thought made his chest burn, blood boil.

Diluc looked at you, vowing to ensure nothing but his presence could get close. 

--

Every interaction he saw the two of you have made him furious. Prince Calmin was disrespectful to you. He flirted with others in front of you, talked down to you as if you were nothing, second guessed your decisions and even tried to take over your duties. The amount of times you had to quell the fires of the ambassadors because of his stupidity -- it was giving Diluc a headache. 

Complaints were passed to the King but your brother always managed to stop them. Somewhere in the back of Diluc’s mind he suspected foul-play. Why was this man being pushed so hard when - even if he hated to admit it - there were other, better suitors out there. Just what was your brother playing at? 

Diluc did his best to investigate, asked his most trusted to assist him when he couldn’t. The day’s to your wedding were drawing closer so he didn’t dare leave your side. Not while that snake continued to slither his way into places he wasn’t wanted. 

Several nights before the wedding, Diluc heard your voice on the other side of the shared door. You sounded upset. When he went to investigate, he found Prince Calmin pushing his way inside your room. It took all of his strength not to break every bone in his body but - luckily - the prince backed down, running away as fast as he could, and you were able to quell the rage in him by reassuring him you weren't hurt. 

Even still, Diluc spent the rest of that night in front of your door. 

What nightmares would await him in the next few days. What nightmares would befall you that he couldn’t stop. He needed a solution, fast. 

-- 

The day before the wedding came, and while others were celebrating in high spirits, you did your best to keep your mask up. Even though you smiled and acted pleasant, people were noticing that you didn’t stand in the middle of the room like brides often do, didn’t raise your glass to the toasts wishing you well, didn’t react when your fiancé touched you. 

You were like a statue. A commodity. And your faithful knight was forced to watch. 

“Hey there,” a familiar voice broke his concentration. His brother, Kaeya, had slipped into the festivities without an invitation, as customary. 

Diluc stood with his arms crossed in the dark shadows of the grand hall. Eyes locked on your ‘would be husband’ - searching for the slightest movement that would allow him to end his life.

If he hurt you, would the king pardon the knight sworn to protect the princess? He clenched his jaw. 

“Did you find anything?” Diluc asked, desperate. Kaeya could sense it too and let out a sigh. 

“Just tell her you love her.” 

“Kaeya -” 

“Perhaps a kings heart can be swayed by the profession of true lov-” 

“Did you find anything?” Diluc barked, causing Kaeya to throw his hands up. 

“Alright, here,” Kaeya offered a roll of papers to Diluc who snatched them faster than lightning. “You’re senses are always spot on ya know - well, except for where it counts.” 

Diluc read the papers over and over again. When he was done, he looked at Kaeya.

“I’m good, what can I say?” Kaeya shrugged but Diluc was already gone, “I’ll take my thank you in a bottle of wine. Do you hear me??” Kaeya shouted, throwing his hands in the air when he got no reply.

Diluc’s heart pounded as he pushed through the crowd. Nothing was set in stone yet, this was it. The chance to save the love of his life. 

“My king!” He shouted over the crowd, through the music bouncing around the room. He picked up the pace, running. “King!” 

The royal family and its intruder looked toward him. You sat up in your chair - the first sign of life you’d had all evening. The crown on your head slipped but you didn’t fix it. 

“What is the meaning of this?” Your brother stood, the scraping of his chair putting a stall on the noise in the chamber. “How dare you interrupt us!” 

“I apologize king,” Diluc knelt, bowed his head and lifted himself up again before extending the rolled up parchment toward the King. “I will take whatever punishment you decide fitting for my interruption, but first, read this.” Diluc held out the documents but when the Prince tried to snatch them away, Diluc grabbed his wrist and shoved him back. 

“Sir Ragnvindr!” The King stood and the knights in his charge moved out from the shadows. 

“Wait!” You shouted while your brother tried to scramble for the document. Unfortunately, you had a hard time getting any closer as your fiancé yanked you back toward him. 

The parties’ attention turned to the commotion at the royal table. Diluc held his ground even as the threat of drawn weapons drew closer. “I have entrusted you with the safety of my daughter and yet you slander this celebration?” 

“Her safety is my highest priority which is why you must read this!” The prince grabbed the documents before the King could and Diluc felt his heart drop in his chest. 

“What rubbish. Have I not tried to warn you father, this knight has means to harm my precious sister. He must be dealt with -- away with him!” Diluc refrained from drawing his sword, if he did he would look even more like the enemy. 

“Your majesty, please,” Diluc bowed to hide the fear in his eyes but also show he meant no harm. Please -- please hear him -- Hands touched Diluc’s shoulders and began to pull him back. He could hear your shouts and the quieting demands of your soon to be husband. 

I failed 

“Is this true?” 

“Be still.” The King demanded and the room stilled. Diluc’s head shot up, his heart flipping as the king reached for the parchment. The prince did his best to plead, to explain that it was nothing but when the King didn't back down, he reluctantly handed it over. Diluc’s heart pounded, he felt his hands burn as he looked on only to find you still bound by the hands of that man. 

Read faster, be begged.

“Yes, Majesty,” Diluc confirmed. “Take notice of the seal on the last page.” The King flipped to the last page, grimacing at what he saw. When he snapped his head to Prince Calmin the fear in the man’s eyes was clear. 

“Unhand my daughter. Seize him!” 

“W-What?” the prince stuttered, backing up with you in his grip.

Your brother reached for the king's arm but was shoved off. “Father what are you doing!?” 

“Be silent, child.” The King moved toward Prince Calmin who grabbed a knife hidden in his clothes and held it out, while his other hand held tightly onto your hair.

“Back away! G-Got it?? I-I was promised -- you promised me!” Calmin screamed at the prince who was cowering in his chair. The commotion grew as the kings guard closed in but all Diluc saw was the fear in your eyes, and how your trembling hand extend to him. 

“Let her go,” Diluc reached for the table and tossed it out of the way. The thick wood and metal bindings kept it in place as it slid down the steps narrowly avoiding several patrons as it went. He didn’t care about them, he didn’t care about anyone, he only cared about - “I won’t say it again.” 

Diluc’s claymore appeared in his hand, ablaze. The Prince forcefully moved you in between him and the fire but Diluc knew enough about his vision to control every microscopic flame. 

“Get off her!” In an instant, the room was filled with a flash of light. You covered your face as blue and green flames whipped past you, smacking directly into your captor. He screamed, releasing you, shoving you. As you stumbled forward Diluc caught you so you wouldn't fall. 

“What have you done?! You’ll pa-pay for this ---” Calmin screamed, toppling over in pain as flames clung to his skin. Diluc held you against him so you couldn’t see and hoped the sound of his cries wouldn’t linger in your memory forever. 

The king's guard shackled and carried Calmin away. They hauled off the prince as well, who in a state of bumbling cries revealed he had plotted against the kingdom for riches, and a power greater than visions. As long as he got the princess to marry this 'prince'.  It was through this plot the king learned of an uprising to the east, spurred on the by hands of the northern archon. If they had been successful, the kingdoms resources would have been wiped out.

You slid your arms around Diluc, unwilling to let go and placed his hand on your back. he’d thank Kaeya profusely for saving more than he could ever imagine. 

--

As the party goers were escorted out of the hall, and the energy in the room died down, Diluc stewarded you to the balcony for air.  

“You’re shaking,” he commented, removing his cape and draping it over your shoulders. 

“How could he do this ...” you mumbled, “my own brother.” 

“But, y-you saved me --” 

“Power and corruption are one of many slivers of the darkness that plagues this world. I never wished for you to be exposed to them.” Diluc rubbed your arms, called on his vision to warm you as best as he could. He might have saved you from a sham of a marriage but he failed everywhere else. “I am beside myself for what has happened to you,” he lifted your chin, looked at you but wished he could do more. 

This proposal was one of many you'd get. How was he going to survive the next one?

“Did I?” 

You began to speak but the sound of footsteps interrupted you. Diluc took several steps back and bowed. 

“My daughter, how are you?” 

“I’m alright,” you extended your hand toward the King and he pulled you close. Diluc kept his gaze to the ground. 

“You are unharmed?” 

“Yes,” the King breathed a sigh of relief. He took note of the color wrapped around you, turning his attention to the knight at your side. 

“And you, Sir Ragnvindr?” 

“I am fine, King,” he bowed again, missing the expression you sent to him. 

“Good. Then, if you can spare us a moment I’d like to converse with my daughter in private.” 

“Of course,” Diluc excused himself through the balcony door but made sure to keep you in his line of sight.

--

For several days after, Diluc couldn’t get close to you. He was frustrated, annoyed that his duties kept pulling him away. He rarely fought assignments, but this constant distance was making him insubordinate. 

Finally, he was allowed to return to the castle but no matter where he looked he couldn’t find you. Every room he searched was empty, even your chambers had looked unused for days. The pain in his chest began to burn his throat. 

Where were you - what happened to you - why couldn’t he find you

A figure moved in his peripherals, he spun toward it -- 

“Ah, there you are.” The Kings voice shattered his focus. Within seconds, Diluc was kneeling. “Oh, well. Always do dutiful. Please rise, my boy,” the King chuckled and Diluc did as told. 

“Your majesty. How can I be of service?” 

The King made his way to Diluc who’s head had stayed lowered since the King called on him. There was an uncomfortable silence blanketing the scene, he did his best not to fidget. 

“Diluc Ragnvindr,” hearing his full name, Diluc lifted his eyes but kept his head lowered, “You have sworn to protect my eldest daughter, is that true?” 

“Y-Yes your majesty.” 

“Does that also include her heart?” 

Diluc was hesitant, but he straightened to his full height, coming into direct eye contact with the King. “Sir?” 

“I have watched you care for her, help her, protect her, and though there are suitors who do the same there are none whom she looks at the way she does you.” 

Diluc could hardly breathe. 

“Would you protect my daughters heart the same way you have protected her life?” 

“Yes.” Diluc spoke with conviction. Unsure if what he was vowing too was the one thing his heart yearned for. As stupid he was to believe it, he let himself. 

“Then,” the King took Diluc’s hand in his, one resting on the top and the other cupping the bottom, “You have my blessing. Though I should hardly have the authority to give it.” 

“... I ...” 

“Go. She’s waiting on the balcony.” 

Diluc looked toward the doorway. He swallowed, swore his heart was going to break out of his chest and kill him. He loved you. He wasn’t supposed to - told himself he wouldn’t and yet 

he loved you 

“E-Excuse me,” Diluc bowed, slipped free of the Kings embrace and moved toward the one thing he had wanted but was never allowed. 

There you were, standing with your hands on the marble railing. Your back too him, hair fluttering in the wind. The gown you wore was beautiful. Long trains of white with thick red fabric billowing out behind you. 

Diluc called out your name and, slowly, you turned toward him. He didn’t move, you didn’t move. 

“Did you see the king?” You asked and when he nodded you smiled with tears rolling down your cheeks. Diluc walked toward you as if he were in a dream. “What’s your decision? Could you ever love the princess you swore fealty to--” 

Suddenly, he moved faster than he ever had. His hands cupped your face as he kissed you. He’d never known such a feeling as your lips. Never thought warm tears would feel so invigorating against his hands. 

He had you 

He finally had you 

“Marry me,” he professed above your lips. 

“Tomorrow?” You teased but he didn’t protest. If he were allowed, he’d marry you this instant if it meant you could spend one second more as his wife. 

Laughing, with love rushing through his veins, he hoisted you into the air and let you fall against him as you cupped his face and kissed him in the mid-day sun.

“Wherever you go, whatever you do,” he said in between kisses, “I will follow you. I am yours --” 

“And you are mine,” you vowed. 

@sarahslolitaportfolio​ (these are gonna be long soooo i’m making it a series lol) 

[woso-fan13]

Sicktember 2023: 3

"What Happened To Your Phenomenal Immune System, Huh?"

Not for the first time, your overconfidence had come back to bite you. You had been psyched to find out you were rooming with Kristie, but you quickly became less psyched when she stumbled in the door. You could tell instantly that she was sick. 

She had apologized profusely, offering to rent herself a hotel room so that she wouldn’t get you sick. You had instantly protested, insisting that you would be totally fine- you had an immune system that others could only dream about. 

—-

Apparently, that dream is a nightmare, because you can barely open your eyes a few days later. Your entire body aches and you’re simultaneously freezing and sweating. You’re exhausted, too, only managing to turn over slightly, curl into a ball, and fall back into a restless sleep. 

Not long after, Kristie knocks briefly on the door before opening it. She had just gotten back from her combination morning walk and breakfast, and was somewhat confused when she didn’t see you downstairs. Assuming that you had simply wanted to sleep in, she grabbed you a bagel and an apple, bringing it back with her. 

“Rise and shine, Y/N/N,” she singsongs, “I know it’s our day off, but you-” 

She’s cut off abruptly when she sees you lying in bed. She sighs lightly, taking out her phone and texting the others that the two of you would not be joining everyone for whatever team bonding activity they had planned. 

She strides over to the bed, resting the back of her hand against your forehead before sliding it down to your cheek. Even before she makes contact with your skin, she can feel the fever radiating off of you. She uses her fingers to gently push the hair out of your face, frowning when you mumble slightly. 

The only positive was that Kristie was fully equipped for a sick person- not even needing to leave the room for any of the necessities. She pulls the shades, leaving the room light off. Grabbing an electrolyte drink out of the fridge, she settles it down on the nightstand next to some medicine. Moving into the bathroom, she soaks a washcloth in cool water, grabs a dry towel and the bag-lined garbage bin. She leaves the bathroom light on, pulling the door shut just enough to allow the dim light into the room. 

She lays the towel on the floor, placing the bin on top. ‘Just in case’ she silently reminds herself, hoping that you can sleep this off and not need it. 

She makes sure she has her phone in her pocket before climbing into bed next to you. She settles the washcloth on your forehead, smiling softly at you when you whine and blink awake at the cool sensation. 

Once you see Kristie, you sit up just enough to allow your body to crash on top of hers, your head resting on her stomach. You can feel her readjusting the washcloth with one hand as the other arm wraps around you. 

Kristie looks down at you as you quickly fall asleep, your fever exhausting you. 

“Oh, bubs,” she says softly, “what happened to your phenomenal immune system?”

There’s no response, not that she expected one. You were already quickly on your way to a fever-fueled dreamland. 

—-

Kristie spends the morning with you snuggled into her, catching up on social media and then mindlessly scrolling through TikTok. Around lunchtime, she could no longer sit still, slipping out from under you. 

She rewets the now warm washcloth, placing it back on your forehead and pulling the covers up to your chin. After making sure that the bin and a drink are within easy reach, she heads downstairs to eat lunch with the other girls. 

The door to your room is propped open, a silent parade of eyes peeking in at you. You sleep somewhat soundly, blissfully unaware of all of the attention. In fact, you don’t fully regain consciousness until sometime after dinner. 

Kristie has settled into the room for the night, already dawning her pajamas and climbing into her bed. It’s not really late enough for that, but the seating options are limited and she will not be having her outside clothes in her bed. 

She’s sitting propped against the headboard, video chatting with Sam. It’s Sam who notices you first, alerting Kristie to your rapidly approaching, blanket-wrapped frame. She barely has time to look before you’re plopping yourself down on her bed, cuddling into her. Your half-open, fever-dazed eyes are looking at her phone where Sam is trying to hold your attention. 

“Hey Ankle Biter!” she greets cheerfully in her Australian accent. 

You can’t find the energy to verbally reply, but you manage to weakly wave a hand while blinking sleepily and yawning. 

“Kris was just telling me that she had gotten you sick, which is such a Kris thing to do.” 

You look up at Kristie when she says this, noticing the blush that appears on her face at her girlfriend’s teasing. She quickly plays it off with a small laugh. 

“Do me a favor, yeah? When you’re feeling better, you do something to get back at her. Karma, and all that.”

Sam’s request gets the first genuine smile out of you all day. Kristie quickly spoils the fun, pulling you closer. 

“No way, Y/N would never. She’s my little buddy, right?” 

You simply shrug innocently at Kristie, watching as Sam laughs on the screen. 

“You just remember who had to clean your puke bucket today, missy. I think that’s more than enough karma.” 

You nod at Kristie’s remark. The two women continue their conversation, watching as your head slowly tips to rest fully on Kristie, your body relaxing into her. 

Sam watches with a fond smile on her face as Kristie gently strokes your cheek with the back of a finger, lulling you into a hazy state. The two women whisper quiet good nights to you just as your eyes slip shut for the rest of the night. 

On the other side of the world, Sam watches Kristie gently guide you into a restful sleep. Her face is wiped clean for the night, her hair pulled back messily and her pajamas are on. And Sam only has one thought, all consuming- she loves this woman so much that it hurts.