#storybook: three eyes open

[rinnstars]

third’s times the charm!

in which you try to confess three times before rin finally understands your feelings

itoshi rin x reader : mainly just fluff, a bit of angst of readers part, no proofreading + likes n reblogs r rlly appreciate ily <3

rin has always been an enigma, as if hes from another world - an alien like figure on your life yet a constant, like an orbit from another galaxy orbiting around you. slowly, youve grown fond of him and suddenly, its no longer just a friendahip - your heart is pumping weirdly, your palms are sweaty, your throat goes dry the second youre beside him (which is most of the time but hey!) maybe its part of growing up, you tell yourself, but deep down this is the “love” you’ve seen in storybooks, manga, movies. denial is always the first thing, avoiding rin during break times, opting to go with your other class friends. eventually, you fall back to the same routine, beside him for lunch in class, stealing the candies he brought (specially for you, he wants to confess but he doesnt.) and of course with love, the next step should be confession as all fourteen year olds rationalise, and thus began your attempt at rizzing confessing to itoshi rin who has become your star.

#1 —VALENTINE CHOCOLATE?!

as all mangas and love story dictates: a gift during valentine practically screams a love confession, if not already hinted by the hearts clumsily pasted onto the heart-shaped box containing your own hand-made chocolates. of course, it comes with a sort of insecurity - what if he doesnt like it? what if he doesnt see me that way? what if our friendship forever changes? what ifs? yet, you held on tightly to the chocolate, walking into class to rin. until you see your own desk beside his flooded with valentine chocolates addressed to rin himself where all of the sudden, you wished to run away far away, you wished to live just in solitude by the ocean, you wish to pretend to be sick and go back home and cry again and again. its stupid, you think, youre just another person in love, youre nothing special. yet, when rin looks at you with sparkling eyes at your chocolates unlike anyone else, you feel as though youre at the top of the war, youre like diamond amongst the rest, that maybe rin sees you differently.

“is that for me?” if he didnt looked so expectant, so hopeful, you might have just not given it to him, simply from the pile of chocolates (that you hope hell pass to you after valentines, and he does.) on the desks. you nodded, passing it to him with a awkward smile. he doesnt get the hint you think, as he opens it without hesitation to eat one - his usual grimace that melted into a small smile changed into a grin, chewing happily onto the overly sweet chocolate you made. you want to be mad, that youll always be in competition with everyone, but when he smiles like that, youve got no choice but to look at him like hes built the very world for you, like hes your star in the dark, like hes your own galaxy.

its now or never. whats the worst that can happen? - that your friendship is forever broken, that your heart is shattered by his own hands, that youll never ever see him the same way again And he’ll never see you again?! “i.. i like you..!” courage, right, thats what those mangas would call it, but deep down it was just an impulse, as if you were born to say it to him, born to love him, like you were soulmates. he doesnt even blink, replying back with about the worst thing someone can hear when they confess : “i hope so? we’re friends.” with the most deadpan voice that had you question everything. nothing like this happens in those romance mangas - he should have either said yes or no! not an in-between?! this doesnt match up to any calculations, not by your friends, not by romance mangas, not by any youtube videos could have prepared you for that response.

nonetheless, you went home with a plastic bag with all of itoshi’s confession chocolates. thats a win? sort of. but its clear that you need a more straightforward approach to get your romantic intention, NOT platonic intention across.

#2 — CONGRATULATIONAL FLOWERS?!

after long months of cringing at the first failure attempt at confessing, and long days of rereading cheesy love mangas to gather ideas, it was finally time for round 2. this time not because of simply encouragement, but from the bursting butterflies in your heart. ever since that, your lovesickness have only gotten worst - if hanahaki was real, no doubt flowers would be pouring out of your lungs from the amount of love that has grown roots into your heart. every moment felt like straight from a k-drama through rose tinted lenses, every action of his felt like a confession, every second with him felt like heaven. and enough was this barrier called embarrassment, fear, cowardice to stop you from pursuing. another year had passed and now each second is like diamond - counting down every second to when lunch starts, to a free period, to after school, to after club - anytime where you can maybe, just maybe spot rin even if he ocassionally runs off for football training that had only lasted longer until the sun sets after the argument with his brother.

deep down, even though youve never met sae, you wished you did just to punch him - for now rin has only grown more distant, whilst your feelings had grown more deeper. like oil and water, you no longer merge together as one, and perhaps this is the last chance to confess before he eventually disappears. growing up is hard, but maybe losing him would be the scariest and hardest part. yet, here you are, still attending all his football matches, waiting for him in the air-conditioned library until the clock ticks to when the school gates closes to find him, waiting for him to come back to you.

flowers. longing and yearning - cameilia and carnation replied back all those cliche love mangas. and so, you saved up for weeks just to buy an overly expensive bouquet - one that seemed out of place with your bags or rin’s everexpanding confession gifts. would it be a rejection, a success? a repeat of the previous year, another retry of last year’s failed confession, just that this time he might just get the idea? hiding the flowers in a separate bag, because certainly this could count as romantic, and youd rather do away with gossips or talks. yet of course, fate strikes again.

“thanks..? its alright to not get gifts for my football matches win though, its nothing major anyways.” and suddenly you take it back. you rather he just thanked you for it platonically. in what world do friends get romantic flowers with ribbons and all sort of decorations for a simple congratulations for a no-name match?! perhaps you two were never meant to be, and this had to be a sign from the gods or something, you concluded. you blinked and laughed it off, your mind spinning with all sort of thoughts - was this his way of rejecting you?! was he truly this clueless or is he trying to let me down?! suddenly all the fantasies and daydreams had fallen flat - this is real life. there is no true school romance, that rhese are feelings left better unsaid as your parents and adults in your life say. teenage love never last, they say - but in this case, they dont work, or at least for you. maybe, your teenage life would be the same mundane, boring ones - filled with just waiting for rin, doing homework, talking with friends, one that is filled with love and normalacy but never the exciting and romantic films you see on tv.

and maybe, just maybe, youve given up on pursuing itoshi rin romantically for the time being. but thats alright, as long as you were friends, youd stay together forever right?

#3 — CONFESSION FOR YOU UNSAID?!

youve lived the rest of your mundane life, completing routines after routines as if its a time loop. maybe, that failure had affected you, brushing off datdreams quickly. growing up meant to be logical, to not blush like a teenage kid, to not linger on hopeless love and dreams - you tell yourself. and rin is still here, like the sun to the earth, always orbiting around you. as long as the world continues to hold you two together as though connected by red strings, itd be alright.

yet, it stings when he tells you about blue lock. its evil, its bitter, its jealousy, its anger that pumps through your very veins. just as rin and you were falling back to back then, where you guys were connected by the hips, to when you had first been enchanted by his star-like eyes. you want to blame the world, the universe for being so cruel. you want to lock yourself, trap yourself in your room, throwing away the key. yet, theres only limited days with itoshi rin, and youd rather die than not be with him until the very end. even if its to the end of your friendship, your dream, your life with you and him together. whether that is to bring him to old arcades where tou two once played, bring him to the old now run-down convenience store where you and him went after school to get lunch, bring him to the mall to take your final photos and lucky charms with him. each moment now even more precipus than previous ones - and suddenly you understand the saying ‘distance makes the heart grow fonder’. its love. you know its love, you knew since you were 14 when you gave him the chocolates, you knew since you were 15 when yoi presented him a bouquet, and you know now that youre 16 about to send him off to another world you can never reach.

its selfish when you blurt it out as he was half-way out of your door after your last sleepover. its out of desperation, out of feelings youve kept hidden in an bottle that is now exploding. its impulsive, its unconscious - the way youve just confessed to him that you loved him. “i love you” theres no way to misinterpret that. maybe he’ll tell you theres bo need to be sentimental, that hell be back (you were convinced he wouldnt.), that its cringe. yet, its silence that fills the room and all you wished to do was to run back to your room, to cry into the pillows, to read all those hopeful love mangas.

“.. i hope you meant it.. i love you too.” its anticlimatic, theres no dramatic scene of profession of love the way mangas portray it, yet you think that theres nothing more than you need. its the most itoshi rin (though youve never thought hed ever say love in a context outside of horror movies and games) and yet, its the words that you longed and yearned for for years by now, its the dream youve been daydreaming in class and in bed, its the life yoive envisioned as you look at him from the stands. and perhaps the world has finally answered your prayers, your musings, your complaints.

third’s the charm they say - and you for once agree with those stupid sayings because on your third attempt of confession did you finally get to be with itoshi rin.

[amethystarachnid]

Hey! I wanted to request Loki x reader fanfic. Can it be arranged marriage with slow burn au where the reader is a princess of a small kingdom who never thought she'd be marrying into a higher kingdom let alone Asgard. So is surprised when is betrothed to loki. She tried to give him benifit of doubt but we'll he acts like an ass and she decides to give it to him back equally. They both banter and throw sarcastic jibes during the courting period and after the marriage but over time they become friends and then lovers. Maybe She calls odin out on his bullshit and bias towards thor, and all the fun family dynamics with frigga and thor.

Thank you! And wishing you a happy new year!✨🍀

THE ROYAL LOVERS

⤷ LOKY LAUFEYSON

ᯓ★ Pairing: Loki Laufeyson x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance, some angst and some fluff

ᯓ★ Requests status: open (only by asks)

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 11k (I dont think I can make it more slow burn than this lol)

ᯓ★ Summary: just what the ask said

ᯓ★ TW(s): nothing I think

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Holiday Special

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You sit in the grand hall of your father’s castle, the sunlight streaming through the stained glass windows, casting kaleidoscopic patterns on the cold marble floors. The room feels heavier than usual, the weight of your father’s words pressing down on your chest. Betrothed. You turn the word over in your mind, trying to make sense of it, trying to figure out how this has become your reality.

“To one of Asgard’s princes?” you repeat, unable to mask the disbelief in your tone.

Your father nods, his expression grave yet tinged with pride. “Yes, daughter. This alliance is a great honor for our kingdom. A union with Asgard strengthens our position, ensures our prosperity, and secures peace for generations to come.”

Peace. Prosperity. You’ve heard these words countless times before, always in speeches or during court gatherings when foreign diplomats visit. Now they’re being used as the justification for altering the course of your entire life.

You swallow hard. “And which prince?”

A pause stretches between you, long enough for your heart to skip several anxious beats. Your father finally answers, his voice calm, though his eyes betray some unease. “Prince Loki.”

The name settles over you like a shadow. You’ve heard stories of Asgard, of its golden spires and indomitable warriors. Tales of its princes, too—Thor, the golden-haired god of thunder, beloved by all, and Loki, the sharp-tongued trickster whose reputation is far more ambiguous.

You straighten in your chair, forcing yourself to remain composed despite the storm building inside you. “I see. And when am I to meet this... prince?”

“Soon,” your father says. “King Odin and Queen Frigga have agreed to host a meeting at their palace. You will accompany me to Asgard in three days' time.”

Three days. That’s all the time you have to prepare yourself for the encounter that will determine your future. You nod stiffly and rise from your seat, excusing yourself from the conversation.

Once you’re alone in your chambers, the weight of it all crashes down on you. You pace the room, the rich fabrics of your dress swishing around your legs, your mind racing. Betrothed to a prince of Asgard. It sounds like something out of a storybook, but you’re no naïve dreamer. You know enough to understand the realities of political alliances.

Still, you can’t help but wonder: why would Asgard—a kingdom so vast and powerful it dwarfs your own—be interested in such a union?

Three days later, you stand before the shimmering Bifrost Bridge, its prismatic light almost blinding. The sight of it steals your breath, though you quickly compose yourself as the Asgardian guards usher you and your father toward the grand palace that looms in the distance.

The palace is even more magnificent than the stories described, its golden towers piercing the sky, its halls adorned with treasures from realms beyond your imagination.

You feel small here, insignificant. But you refuse to let it show.

In the throne room, King Odin sits atop his gilded seat, his presence commanding, even intimidating. Beside him stands Queen Frigga, her beauty and poise as striking as the rumors claimed. The sight of her eases your nerves slightly; she seems kind, her gentle smile a stark contrast to the stern expressions of her husband and the guards flanking the room.

And then you see him.

Prince Loki.

He stands a step behind his parents, dressed in sleek black and green, the golden accents of his attire catching the light. His dark hair is neatly combed back, his pale features sharp and angular. There’s an air of arrogance about him, a cool detachment that only adds to his enigmatic aura.

Your father bows, and you quickly follow suit, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor.

“Your Majesties,” your father begins, his voice steady. “It is an honor to stand before you. I thank you for welcoming us into your home.”

Odin nods curtly, his single eye fixed on your father. “We are pleased to have you here. This alliance is of great importance to both our realms.”

Frigga steps forward, her smile warm. “And you must be the princess,” she says, addressing you directly.

You lift your head, meeting her gaze. “Yes, Your Majesty. It is a privilege to be here.”

Frigga’s smile widens, and for a moment, you feel at ease. But the feeling is short-lived as you catch Loki’s gaze. He’s watching you, his expression unreadable.

“Loki,” Odin says, gesturing toward you. “This is the princess, your betrothed.”

The words hang in the air like a thunderclap. Loki’s lips curl into a faint, almost dismissive smirk. He inclines his head slightly but says nothing.

You suppress the urge to bristle. Fine, you think. If he’s going to be curt, so be it.

Frigga notices the tension and steps in, her voice soothing. “Why don’t the two of you take a moment to speak privately? Get to know one another.”

Your father nods in agreement. “An excellent idea.”

Before you can protest, you’re being led to a nearby chamber, Loki following behind you at a leisurely pace. Once the door closes, you turn to face him, your hands clasped tightly in front of you.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The silence is thick, uncomfortable.

“So,” you begin, forcing yourself to sound calm. “It seems we are to be married.”

Loki leans against the nearest wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “Indeed. Though I must admit, I find the arrangement rather curious.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Curious? In what way?”

He shrugs, his tone casual but laced with condescension. “Our kingdoms are not exactly equals. One might wonder what my father hopes to gain from such a union.”

The words sting, but you refuse to let him see it. Instead, you smile sweetly, matching his tone. “Perhaps he hopes I’ll teach you some manners.”

Loki’s eyes narrow slightly, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before he regains his composure. “Manners? How quaint. I wasn’t aware my betrothed was a tutor.”

You take a step closer, meeting his gaze head-on. “And I wasn’t aware mine was a child.”

His smirk falters, and for a moment, you think you’ve won. But then he chuckles, low and amused. “You have spirit, I’ll give you that. It’s almost endearing.”

“Almost?” you echo, tilting your head. “I’ll take that as a compliment, though I doubt you intended it as one.”

Loki studies you for a moment, his green eyes piercing. “You’re not what I expected.”

“And neither are you,” you reply, refusing to look away.

The tension in the room is palpable, an unspoken challenge hanging between you. Finally, Loki straightens, his expression unreadable once more.

“This should be interesting,” he says, his voice quiet but carrying an edge.

You don’t respond, watching as he strides toward the door and leaves without another word.

When you return to the throne room, Frigga gives you a knowing look, as if she can sense the clash of wills that just occurred.

“I trust you had a productive conversation,” she says gently.

You offer her a polite smile. “It was... enlightening.”

Loki says nothing, his expression calm but his eyes glinting with something you can’t quite place.

As the meeting concludes and you prepare to return to your chambers at Asgard for now, you can’t shake the feeling that this is only the beginning of a battle of wits and wills. And for the first time since hearing of the betrothal, you find yourself almost looking forward to the challenge.

The news spreads faster than you’d expect. Within days of the announcement, the realms are abuzz with the most unlikely engagement of the century: Loki, the so-called “trickster prince” of Asgard, and you, the princess of a modest but proud kingdom.

You learn of the reactions secondhand—your father shares reports from neighboring realms, some of which range from incredulous laughter to outright disbelief. Even within Asgard, whispers fill the air. Servants, courtiers, even the warriors of the great halls exchange furtive glances as you pass, clearly wondering how and why such a union has come to be.

You, however, have no answers for them.

Forced to stay in Asgard for the duration of your courtship, you find yourself in a whirlwind of carefully orchestrated meetings, formal dinners, and—most excruciating of all—dates.

The first one is planned with all the subtlety of a lightning bolt. Frigga herself announces it over breakfast, her tone pleasant but brooking no argument.

“The two of you will take a walk through the gardens this afternoon,” she says, her serene expression giving no indication that this is a royal decree rather than a suggestion. “It’s a lovely day, and I’m sure you’ll find the fresh air invigorating.”

Loki, seated across from you at the lavish dining table, barely looks up from his plate. “Invigorating,” he echoes dryly, his tone implying that being dragged into the sunlight is the last thing he finds appealing.

You sip your tea, determined not to let him ruin your mood. “It sounds delightful,” you say, forcing a bright smile.

When the time comes, the “walk” is as awkward as you anticipated. The gardens of Asgard are, of course, stunning, with vibrant flowers and towering trees that look as though they were sculpted by the gods themselves. But the beauty of your surroundings does little to ease the tension between you and your betrothed.

“You seem thrilled to be here,” you remark as you stroll along a cobblestone path, glancing at Loki. He walks a step ahead of you, his hands clasped behind his back and his expression neutral.

“I’m beside myself with joy,” he replies without missing a beat.

You roll your eyes. “If you hate this so much, why not just tell your parents you’re not interested? I’m sure they’ll understand.”

Loki stops, turning to face you with an arched brow. “You think I haven’t tried? My father, as you may have noticed, is not particularly accommodating when it comes to matters of ‘duty.’”

You shrug. “Neither is mine. But at least I’m trying to make the best of it.”

“Ah, yes,” Loki says, his lips curling into a smirk. “You’re positively brimming with enthusiasm. Tell me, is sarcasm a custom in your kingdom, or is it just your natural talent?”

“It’s a survival skill,” you shoot back, crossing your arms. “Particularly useful when dealing with insufferable princes.”

Loki laughs—a genuine laugh, though he quickly masks it with a cough. “Touché.”

The rest of the walk is less tense, though the banter continues. By the time you return to the palace, you’re both mildly annoyed but also—if you’re honest with yourself—mildly entertained.

The dates that follow are no less eventful.

One afternoon, you’re coerced into accompanying Loki to the library, which he claims is his “sanctuary.” You quickly learn that by “sanctuary,” he means a place where he can hide from people and indulge in his penchant for mocking their intellectual inadequacies.

“You know,” you say, trailing your fingers along the spines of ancient tomes as Loki lounges in a nearby chair, “if you put half as much effort into being pleasant as you do into being smug, you might actually be tolerable.”

“Why would I aim for tolerable when I can achieve perfection?” he counters, not looking up from his book.

You grab the nearest volume and plop it unceremoniously onto the table in front of him. “Here. Enlighten me, oh wise one.”

Loki picks up the book, glances at the title, and smirks. “A Beginner’s Guide to Asgardian History? How quaint.”

You grin, leaning on the table. “Well, I wouldn’t want to overwhelm you with anything too advanced.”

For a moment, his eyes meet yours, and you swear you see a flicker of amusement there. Then he closes the book with a theatrical sigh. “Very well. Sit, and I’ll educate you—though I can’t promise you’ll retain anything.”

By the end of the afternoon, you’ve learned more about Asgardian history than you ever thought you’d care to know. And, despite his constant teasing, Loki is an excellent teacher.

Another date—a “ride” across the Bifrost on enchanted steeds—proves to be even more chaotic.

“Have you ever ridden a horse before?” Loki asks as you mount your steed, his tone suggesting he already knows the answer.

“Of course,” you reply confidently, though your grip on the reins betrays your nerves.

As the horses take off, galloping across the shimmering bridge, you quickly realize that Asgardian steeds are not like those of your kingdom. They’re faster, stronger, and seemingly unbothered by the laws of gravity.

You let out an involuntary squeal as your horse leaps into the air, soaring above the bridge for a heart-stopping moment before landing gracefully.

Behind you, Loki laughs—an infuriating, delighted sound. “Having fun, princess?”

“Shut up!” you shout, gripping the reins tighter.

By the time the ride is over, your hair is a mess, your heart is pounding, and you’re thoroughly mortified. Loki, of course, looks as composed as ever.

“Well,” he says as you dismount, his smirk firmly in place, “that was exhilarating. Shall we go again?”

You glare at him, brushing strands of hair from your face. “Don’t push your luck.”

Despite the constant banter, you find yourself… not hating his company as much as you expected. Loki, for all his arrogance, is undeniably clever, and his sharp wit keeps you on your toes. He’s also surprisingly observant, occasionally making remarks that reveal a deeper understanding of you than you’re comfortable admitting.

For his part, Loki seems to enjoy sparring with you, though he never lets on too much. There are moments when his smirk softens, when his eyes linger on yours a little longer than necessary. But just as quickly, he retreats behind his usual façade of indifference.

The days pass, and the courtship continues, much to the amusement of the palace staff and the frustration of your parents.

“They’re impossible,” Odin mutters one evening after dinner, watching as you and Loki exchange yet another round of playful insults.

“They’re perfect for each other,” Frigga replies with a smile, her gaze warm as she watches the two of you.

Perfect. You wouldn’t go that far. But as you lie awake in your chambers that night, replaying the day’s events in your mind, you can’t deny that something about Loki intrigues you.

And though you’d never admit it, you’re starting to think that this arrangement might not be so terrible after all.

The day of your wedding looms ever closer, and Asgard hums with preparations. The golden halls are adorned with garlands of flowers, banners bearing the crests of your kingdom and Asgard hang side by side, and the palace is abuzz with activity. Servants scurry to and fro, courtiers gossip behind jeweled fans, and Frigga oversees every detail with her characteristic grace.

You, meanwhile, feel like a tightly coiled spring, caught between nervous anticipation and the persistent irritation that comes from dealing with Loki.

If the prince’s attitude was difficult before, it’s positively maddening now. You’re not sure what changed, but he’s been colder, more distant, his biting remarks sharper than usual.

One day, as you’re walking through the palace gardens, you decide to confront him.

“Alright, what’s your problem?” you demand, stepping in front of him and blocking his path.

Loki arches a brow, clearly unimpressed by your attempt to corner him. “You’ll have to be more specific, princess. I have so many.”

You cross your arms. “Don’t play coy. You’ve been acting like an even bigger ass than usual lately, and I want to know why.”

His lips curl into a smirk, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “You flatter me with your concern.”

“I’m serious, Loki.” Your voice softens, though your gaze remains firm. “If I’ve done something to upset you, just tell me.”

For a moment, his expression falters, and you think he might actually answer you. But then his smirk returns, colder than before.

“Perhaps I’m simply preparing you for the reality of being married to me,” he says, his tone light but laced with something darker.

Your stomach twists, but you refuse to let him see how much his words sting. “Fine,” you snap. “Be an ass. See if I care.”

You storm off, leaving him standing in the garden, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

The tension between you only worsens with the arrival of Thor.

The golden-haired prince returns from a long mission, his presence immediately commanding attention wherever he goes. Thor is everything Loki is not—open, friendly, and effortlessly charming. He greets you with a beaming smile, his blue eyes sparkling with genuine warmth.

“You must be the princess,” he says, clasping your hand in his large, calloused one. “I’ve heard so much about you.”

“Good things, I hope,” you reply, returning his smile.

“Of course!” Thor’s laughter booms through the hall, drawing the attention of everyone nearby. “I can see now why my brother is so reluctant to share his time with you. He must be afraid I’ll steal you away!”

You laugh politely, though the comment catches you off guard. Before you can respond, Loki appears at Thor’s side, his expression carefully neutral.

“Thor,” he says smoothly, his tone deceptively light. “How delightful of you to join us. I see you’ve already met my betrothed.”

“Indeed, I have!” Thor claps a hand on Loki’s shoulder, grinning. “She’s delightful. You’re a lucky man, brother.”

Loki’s smile tightens, and you swear you see his jaw clench. “Yes,” he says, his voice a touch colder. “Lucky indeed.”

From that moment on, Loki’s demeanor shifts even further. He grows colder, more distant, and his once playful banter becomes outright cutting.

During a dinner with Thor and the royal family, you find yourself on the receiving end of one of his more caustic remarks.

“Tell me, princess,” Loki drawls, leaning back in his chair. “Have you been enjoying your time here in Asgard? Or is it too overwhelming for someone from such... modest origins?”

The table falls silent, all eyes turning to you. Thor frowns, clearly disapproving of his brother’s behavior, while Frigga gives Loki a sharp look.

You take a deep breath, forcing a smile. “Oh, it’s been lovely,” you reply sweetly. “Though I must admit, the company has been a bit... mixed.”

Thor bursts out laughing, while Loki’s eyes narrow dangerously.

“Well played, princess,” he says, his voice low and icy.

The tension between you only seems to escalate as the days pass, culminating in a heated argument the night before the wedding.

“You know,” you say, standing in the middle of the grand hall where the ceremony will take place, “if you’re so miserable about this marriage, why don’t you just call it off?”

“And bring shame to both our kingdoms?” Loki replies, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I think not.”

“Shame?” You scoff. “Oh, please. Everyone knows you don’t want this any more than I do.”

“And yet here we are,” he snaps, his eyes flashing with anger.

The argument spirals, both of you hurling insults and accusations until you’re both breathing heavily, standing far too close to each other.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. The air crackles with tension, and you half-expect Loki to say something cruel, something to end the conversation once and for all.

But he doesn’t. Instead, he steps back, his expression unreadable. “Goodnight, princess,” he says quietly, before turning on his heel and walking away.

You’re left standing alone in the empty hall, your chest tight and your mind racing.

The day of the wedding arrives, and you wake with a mixture of dread and resignation. You’re dressed in an elaborate gown, the finest your kingdom has ever produced, and escorted to the ceremony by your father and a contingent of Asgardian guards.

The hall is packed with dignitaries and guests from across the realms, their eyes fixed on you as you make your way down the aisle. At the end of it stands Loki, dressed in black and gold, his expression a perfect mask of calm.

As you approach, you search his face for any sign of emotion, any hint of the man you’ve gotten to know over the past weeks. But he gives nothing away.

The ceremony proceeds smoothly, the vows exchanged without incident. But as you stand before the gathered crowd, your hand resting in Loki’s, you can’t shake the feeling that something has shifted between you.

When the officiant finally declares you husband and wife, Loki leans in, his lips brushing your ear as he murmurs, “The games begin, princess.”

You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze with a mixture of exasperation and amusement. “Bring it on, prince.”

The crowd erupts in applause, oblivious to the battle of wills raging between the two of you.

And as Loki leads you down the aisle, his hand resting lightly on yours, you can’t help but wonder what the future holds for this strange, tempestuous union. One thing is certain: life with Loki will never be dull.

The wedding feast is a blur of golden light, laughter, and endless toasts. Your smile is painted on, your cheeks aching as guests from every realm offer their congratulations. Loki plays his part impeccably, charming the crowd with his wit and occasional glances in your direction that are just shy of affectionate.

Inside, you feel like a tightly coiled spring, wound tighter with every passing moment. You know what comes after the feast. The thought sits heavy in your chest, making it hard to breathe.

The hour grows late, and when the last of the guests have finally departed, you’re escorted to the chambers that have been prepared for you and Loki. The halls seem longer than usual, the distance to your destination stretching endlessly as your nerves build.

When you reach the door, the servants offer you both polite bows before disappearing down the corridor, leaving you and Loki alone.

He opens the door, gesturing for you to step inside. His expression is unreadable, though his usual smirk is noticeably absent.

The chambers are stunning, of course—richly furnished and illuminated by soft, flickering candlelight. But all you can focus on is the massive bed at the center of the room, its silken sheets and embroidered pillows looking more like a throne than a place to rest.

Loki closes the door behind you, and you hear the faint click of the lock.

You stand frozen in the middle of the room, your hands clasped tightly in front of you as you stare at the bed.

“Well,” Loki says after a moment, his voice breaking the tense silence. “I suppose this is the part where we consummate the marriage.”

Your stomach flips, and you force yourself to turn and look at him. “I... I know,” you manage, your voice barely above a whisper.

Loki studies you, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly. Then, to your surprise, he sighs and moves to the nearest chair, sinking into it with an almost theatrical air of exasperation.

“Let’s make one thing perfectly clear,” he says, resting his elbow on the armrest and propping his chin on his hand. “I have no intention of forcing you—or myself, for that matter—into anything tonight.”

You blink, taken aback. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he replies, his tone dry, “that we don’t actually have to do anything. All anyone needs to know is that we sayit happened. As long as we both stick to the story, no one will be the wiser.”

Relief floods through you, so sudden and intense that your knees nearly buckle. “You’re serious?”

“Deadly,” he says, his lips twitching into a faint smirk. “I find the idea of spending the night in awkward silence far more appealing than the alternative.”

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, nodding quickly. “Alright. I... I agree.”

“Good.” He stands and moves to the other side of the room, unfastening his cloak and draping it over a chair. “We’ll sleep in the same bed—appearances and all that—but I promise to stay on my side. You won’t even know I’m there.”

You hesitate, glancing at the bed again. “Alright,” you say softly, your voice steadier now.

Loki changes into a loose tunic and trousers while you slip behind a screen to remove your elaborate gown and don a simple nightdress. When you emerge, he’s already lying on one side of the bed, his back to you.

You climb in cautiously, keeping to the very edge of your side. The mattress dips slightly under your weight, and you can feel the faint warmth of Loki’s presence, though you’re careful not to look at him.

The silence stretches between you, heavy but not entirely uncomfortable.

“Goodnight, princess,” Loki says after a while, his voice quiet but laced with his usual sarcasm.

“Goodnight, Loki,” you reply, your lips curving into a faint smile despite yourself.

The next morning, you’re awoken by a knock at the door. Loki groans softly, rolling onto his back but making no move to get up.

“Come in,” he calls lazily.

The door opens, and a group of servants enters, carrying trays of breakfast and fresh clothing. They’re followed by Frigga, who takes one look at the rumpled bed and your mussed hair and smiles knowingly.

“I trust you both slept well,” she says, her tone light but her eyes sharp with curiosity.

Loki sits up, running a hand through his disheveled hair and flashing her a lazy grin. “Like babes in a cradle, Mother.”

You flush, quickly busying yourself with the tea that one of the servants has placed on the bedside table.

Frigga’s gaze lingers on the two of you for a moment longer before she nods, clearly satisfied. “Good. The court will be eager to hear that the union has been properly sealed.”

You nearly choke on your tea, but Loki remains perfectly composed, raising an eyebrow at his mother. “Of course,” he says smoothly. “They needn’t worry about that.”

Frigga gives him a pointed look, then turns to leave, her skirts sweeping gracefully behind her.

When the door closes, you let out a shaky breath, your cheeks still burning.

“Well,” Loki says, leaning back against the headboard with a smirk. “That was convincing enough, wouldn’t you say?”

You glare at him, though there’s no real heat in it. “You could have warned me she’d ask.”

“And deprive myself of the pleasure of seeing you flustered?” He grins, clearly enjoying himself.

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile that tugs at your lips.

The rest of the day is a whirlwind of public appearances and well-wishes from guests and courtiers. You and Loki play your roles to perfection, standing side by side and accepting congratulations with polite smiles.

But every so often, you catch Loki’s eye, and there’s a flicker of something there—something you can’t quite define.

As the sun sets and the festivities wind down, you find yourself wondering if this strange, tentative partnership might become something more.

The passing weeks blur in a mix of royal duties, public appearances, and private moments that seem far too fleeting. You and Loki settle into an unexpected, but not unwelcome, routine. It’s not one born out of affection, nor of any deep romantic feeling—at least not on your part—but something else entirely.

It’s friendship, of sorts, though it has an edge of guardedness on both sides.

Loki is still as sarcastic as ever, his barbed words often making you want to throw a pillow at him, but there’s a subtle shift in his attitude. He doesn’t try to make you uncomfortable, nor does he push you into situations that force your discomfort. Instead, he lets the two of you share moments of quiet companionship, moments that pass without him demanding anything more than just… being together.

At times, you even catch him offering a rare, genuine smile when the two of you exchange witty banter, the edge of coldness in his eyes softening for just a moment before it’s hidden away again.

It’s those moments—small, fleeting—that make you begin to wonder if there’s more to Loki than meets the eye.

But then, every time Thor is around, Loki retreats into himself. His demeanor hardens, his eyes become colder, and the playful teasing he once directed at you disappears, replaced by something almost resembling disdain.

It’s frustrating. You had grown used to Loki’s sharp wit and dry humor, but around Thor, he becomes a stranger. It’s as though he’s a different person entirely.

It’s in those moments that you realize just how much Thor’s presence affects Loki. The way his brother’s easy charm and warmth seem to have earned him the favor of everyone around them, especially their father, Odin.

The stark contrast between the two brothers becomes painfully obvious during family dinners.

On this particular evening, you’re seated at the grand table in the palace hall, flanked by Frigga on one side and Thor on the other. Loki sits at the far end, his posture rigid and his eyes fixed on his plate. The tension between the two brothers is palpable, though it’s subtle, buried beneath layers of carefully crafted politeness.

Frigga chats lightly with Thor about his latest battle, her soft voice carrying through the room. You listen attentively, though a part of you can’t help but glance over at Loki.

You can feel the weight of his silence, the way he seems to withdraw into himself whenever Thor speaks. Loki only offers the occasional half-hearted comment, his tone distant, as if he’s not really a part of the conversation.

Frigga, ever perceptive, seems to notice as well. She glances between Loki and Thor, her expression one of quiet concern.

“Loki,” she says gently, her voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding, “is there something you wish to add?”

Loki straightens slightly but doesn’t look up from his plate. “No, Mother. I’m simply… observing.”

You can’t help but notice the way his jaw clenches, his gaze still fixed on his food as though he’s avoiding looking anyone in the eye.

Thor, ever the optimist, tries to break the tension. “Come now, brother. Surely you have a better tale to tell than mine. You’ve always been the more… creative one when it comes to storytelling.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward Thor, but the look he gives his brother is colder than you’ve ever seen it. There’s something there, something unspoken that hangs heavy in the air between them.

“I have no tales to tell,” Loki replies coolly, his voice flat. “Not tonight.”

The silence that follows is thick, awkward. You shift in your seat, unsure of what to say, and Frigga clears her throat, clearly attempting to shift the atmosphere.

“I’m sure Loki has many stories to share when he’s in the mood, Thor,” she says, giving her son a kind smile. “But for now, perhaps we should allow him the peace to enjoy his meal in silence.”

Thor seems to take the hint, though there’s a flicker of confusion in his eyes as he nods. “Of course, Mother.”

But you notice the way he glances at Loki one last time before he turns his attention to you. He smiles, his usual warmth returning.

“It’s good to see you again, Princess,” Thor says, his voice easy and kind. “I trust you’ve settled in well?”

You smile back, grateful for the change of subject. “Yes, thank you, Thor. Asgard has been… more than welcoming.”

Loki stays silent, his fork moving absently as he pushes food around on his plate. You try not to let your gaze linger too long on him, but it’s difficult to ignore the way he seems to withdraw further with each passing moment.

Later, after the dinner has ended and the courtiers have dispersed, you find yourself walking the halls of the palace, your thoughts a tangled mess.

Loki’s behavior continues to trouble you. It’s clear that there’s something between him and Thor, something deep and unresolved. You can sense it in the way Loki acts when his brother is near, the way he retreats inward, shutting everyone else out.

And then there’s Odin. You’ve seen it too—the way the Allfather seems to favor Thor in ways that Loki could never seem to earn. The way Odin’s praise comes effortlessly to Thor, while Loki is left in the shadows, forced to fight for every scrap of recognition.

You’ve begun to notice the small things—the way Loki’s expression shifts when Odin speaks to Thor, or how he watches them both with an almost painful intensity when they stand together.

It’s hard to ignore the dynamic between them. Loki’s desire to prove himself to his father, to gain his approval in a way that seems perpetually out of reach, is something you can’t help but empathize with.

But you don’t know how to talk about it, how to approach him without making things worse.

That night, after the dinner, you retreat to your chambers, the silence of the room settling around you like a weight. Loki is already there, seated on the edge of the bed, his back to you as he stares out the window.

The flickering light from the torch on the wall casts shadows across his face, making his expression seem distant and closed off.

You hesitate in the doorway, unsure of what to say. But the longer you stand there, the more the words seem to push their way out.

“Loki,” you begin, your voice tentative, “I know things have been… difficult lately.”

Loki doesn’t turn around, but his shoulders tense at the sound of your voice. “Difficult? You mean the constant parade of Thor’s victories and Father’s adoration?” His words are sharp, laced with bitterness.

You step further into the room, your heart aching at the venom in his tone. “I didn’t mean it like that,” you say quietly. “But I can see it, Loki. I can see how much it hurts you.”

For a long moment, there’s nothing but silence. Then, Loki sighs deeply, rubbing his temples as if trying to stave off a headache.

“I don’t need your pity,” he mutters. “I don’t need anyone’s pity.”

You take a careful step closer, your voice soft. “I’m not pitying you, Loki. I’m just… I just don’t want you to feel alone in this.”

He laughs bitterly, his shoulders shaking as he turns to face you. “You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t understand what it’s like to be cast aside, to never be good enough no matter how hard you try?”

You swallow hard, your throat tight as you look at him. “I don’t know what that’s like,” you admit, “but I know what it’s like to feel like you’re constantly trying to prove yourself to someone who doesn’t even notice.”

Loki’s gaze flickers briefly to yours, and for a moment, there’s a crack in his armor. But it’s gone almost instantly, replaced by that familiar coldness.

“I don’t need your sympathy,” he repeats, though there’s less conviction in his voice.

“I’m not offering you sympathy,” you reply firmly. “I’m just saying… if you ever want to talk about it—about anything—I’m here, Loki.”

He stares at you for a long while, his eyes unreadable. And then, with a quiet sigh, he nods once, his voice barely above a whisper. “Thank you, princess. But I’m not ready to talk about it yet.”

You nod, though your heart aches at the weight of his words.

“I’ll be here when you are,” you say softly.

Loki doesn’t answer, but the silence that falls between you is… less heavy somehow. Less lonely.

You’re not sure what the future holds for the two of you, but in that moment, you both find a small measure of peace.

And for now, that’s enough.

The days following your conversation with Loki are a strange blend of light and shadow. The weight of your words lingers in the air between you two, but there’s an undeniable shift. It’s subtle, at first—a slight softening in the way he looks at you, a rare but meaningful smile that occasionally plays at the corners of his lips.

But it’s clear, too, that there are walls around him, walls that are not easily torn down. You don’t press him further, content to let him open up in his own time, if at all.

Then, one evening, when the palace is quiet and the rest of the court is engaged in a distant gathering, Loki surprises you.

You’re walking down one of the many hallways, heading back to your chambers after a rather dull meeting with various nobles, when you hear his voice.

“Princess,” he calls softly, his voice carrying through the silence of the corridor.

You turn to find him standing a little ways down the hall, leaning against the stone wall with his arms crossed. There’s something different in his stance—less guarded, more… open, though he still holds that impenetrable air around him.

You raise an eyebrow. “Loki? What’s the matter?”

He shifts, a subtle but noticeable tension in his posture as if he's deliberating whether or not to speak. Finally, after a beat of silence, he steps toward you, his footsteps soft on the stone floor.

“I… I’ve been thinking about our conversation,” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You give him a careful look. “What about it?”

Loki glances down, avoiding your eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze. “About my father.” His voice tightens slightly, but it’s not the usual bitterness. It’s something more raw. “You were right. I… I’ve been carrying a lot of things for a long time.”

You wait, not wanting to interrupt, giving him space to speak.

“I don’t know if I’ve ever told anyone this, but…” Loki exhales slowly, his breath shaking as if he's letting something go for the first time. “I’ve never felt like I was enough for Odin. For my father. Not in the way Thor is. Not in the way that he needs me to be.”

You step closer, drawn in by the vulnerability in his voice. “Loki…”

He shakes his head, as if frustrated with himself. “I’ve always tried to do everything he wanted. Prove myself, be the son he wanted. But it’s never been enough. Every time I think I’m close to earning his favor, Thor does something. It doesn’t even matter what. Odin just… adores him.” Loki’s words come out with a sharpness, like they’ve been pent up for years, and yet there’s an unmistakable sadness there.

You want to reach out, to comfort him, but you don’t. Not yet.

“Thor…” Loki scoffs, though it’s not with malice—more a mixture of frustration and helplessness. “He doesn’t try. He just is. And Odin… he praises him for every little thing. Meanwhile, I’m left to pick up the pieces, to try to carve out a place for myself. But nothing ever works.”

A knot forms in your chest as you listen to him. It’s impossible to ignore how deeply Loki’s words cut, how much he craves the recognition and love he feels he’ll never receive.

“I know it’s not Thor’s fault,” Loki adds, almost as an afterthought, as if the words pain him. “But sometimes, I just… I can’t help but resent him.”

There’s an ache in his voice that hits you like a physical blow, and without thinking, you step forward and place a hand on his arm.

“You don’t have to explain yourself, Loki,” you say quietly. “I can see how much this hurts you.”

His eyes soften for just a moment, a flicker of something—something like gratitude—before the walls go back up. But it’s a start.

“I know you understand,” he mutters, his gaze dropping. “It’s just… hard to admit, even to myself.”

The silence between you two stretches, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels like a shared understanding, an unspoken bond that has formed between you.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” you say softly, stepping back a little but keeping your eyes on him.

Loki looks at you, his expression unreadable. Then, with a small, almost imperceptible nod, he gives you a faint smile. “Thank you.”

It’s more than he’s ever said to you in any of your interactions, and it makes your heart flutter, though you don’t show it.

“Anytime, Loki,” you reply, your voice steady, though your hands are trembling ever so slightly.

The next day, Odin makes his usual rounds through the court, his presence like a weight hanging over everyone. He speaks with courtiers, listens to reports from the generals, and gives out orders. But as usual, his praise for Thor is effusive, his voice rich with admiration.

It’s when you’re walking through the hall toward the council room that you catch the conversation between Odin and Thor. They’re speaking loudly enough for you to overhear, and you can’t help but wince as Odin lauds Thor’s latest achievement.

“Thor,” Odin says, his voice full of pride, “you’ve done the kingdom proud. Truly, your battle strategies are unmatched. I’m so glad to see you take your place as the leader Asgard needs.”

Thor laughs, clearly pleased, though there’s no sign of arrogance in him. “Thank you, Father. But I couldn’t have done it without the support of my allies.”

Odin waves off the sentiment with a chuckle, his voice warm. “Your humility is one of your finest qualities, my son.”

And that’s when it hits you—how blatant the favoritism is. How obvious it is that Odin is always quick to praise Thor, but Loki, despite his brilliance, is always left in the shadows.

Your chest tightens with the unfairness of it all. You’ve heard whispers before—how Odin has always placed Thor on a pedestal, how his approval has always been out of reach for Loki.

You’ve seen it yourself, in the way Odin looks at his sons. Thor, with his easy smiles and loud boisterousness, is clearly the favored one. Loki’s quieter, more calculating nature doesn’t seem to earn him that same adoration.

And something inside you snaps.

You’ve had enough of watching Loki suffer in silence. Enough of the obvious bias that Odin so openly displays.

With a deep breath, you step forward, deliberately interrupting the conversation between father and son.

“Lord Odin,” you say, your voice steady and louder than you expect. Both Odin and Thor turn toward you, surprised by your sudden interruption.

Odin’s eyes flicker over you, but his expression remains neutral. “Princess,” he greets, his tone polite but distant. “What is it you need?”

You take a step closer, finding the courage you’ve never had before to speak your mind. “I think it’s time someone pointed out something that’s been bothering me for some time,” you say, meeting Odin’s eyes with unwavering resolve.

Thor looks at you, clearly surprised, but Odin’s expression doesn’t change.

“I’ve noticed,” you continue, “that you never seem to acknowledge your sons equally. You give Thor praise, constantly sing his virtues, while Loki…” You glance over at him, who stands with his arms crossed, looking more uncomfortable than usual. “Loki deserves the same recognition, and it’s time someone said it.”

Thor’s eyes widen at your words, and Odin’s gaze sharpens, though he doesn’t immediately respond.

“Princess, this is a matter between my sons and I,” Odin says, his tone calm but with an edge that warns you to back down.

But you don’t. “It’s a matter of fairness,” you say, your voice unshaken. “Loki is just as capable, just as brilliant, and he deserves the same respect as Thor.”

For a long moment, there’s silence, a heavy, thick silence that seems to hang in the air. Odin’s eyes study you carefully, as if deciding whether or not to chastise you.

But then, to your surprise, he lets out a slow breath. “Perhaps you are right,” he says, his voice thoughtful, though still carrying the weight of authority. “I will consider your words, Princess.”

You nod, your heart pounding in your chest as you turn to leave. You know you’ve probably made a powerful enemy, but for once, it feels worth it.

As you walk away, you can’t help but glance back at Loki, who is now watching you with a look of surprise—and something else, something softer.

Later that night, you’re in your chambers, lost in your thoughts when a quiet knock at the door pulls you from your reverie.

You open it to find Loki standing there, his usual composed demeanor in place, though there’s something different in his expression.

“Loki,” you say, surprised to see him. “What’s wrong?”

“I wanted to thank you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “You didn’t have to do that. But you did.”

You shrug, trying to appear casual despite the flutter in your chest. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I know,” he replies, his tone soft. “But that doesn’t make it any less… meaningful.” He hesitates, then takes a step closer, his eyes meeting yours. “You’ve… you’ve done more for me today than anyone has in a long time.”

The words settle between you, and for a moment, everything is quiet.

You don’t know what to say. But somehow, it doesn’t matter. The air between you is charged, but calm, like a storm that’s waiting to break.

And then, without thinking, you step forward, closing the distance between you.

Loki’s breath catches slightly, but he doesn’t pull away. His hand brushes yours, tentative but warm, and that’s when you both understand.

You look into each other’s eyes for a moment, the words unsaid but understood, and then you kiss—softly, tenderly, as if this moment, this connection, is something you both desperately need but never quite expected.

It’s gentle, quiet, and everything in between, and for the first time in a long time, you feel as though the walls between you are starting to fall.

The day after you stood up to Odin, something subtle but undeniable changes between you and Loki. The lingering tension that had once surrounded him, the cold barrier he had erected between himself and everyone, especially you, seems to soften just slightly. He still wears that aloof mask he’s perfected over years of deflecting people’s attention, but there are moments when he looks at you differently—like he sees you, really sees you, as something more than just the princess he was supposed to marry.

But of course, Loki is Loki, and despite the small shifts, he’s still a master of maintaining distance. He keeps his emotions locked away as tightly as his wit, but you’ve begun to notice the cracks. Maybe it’s in the way he lingers a little longer when you’re together, or how he catches your gaze in passing, holding it just a little longer than necessary.

Despite the changes between you two, the world around you continues to spin, and your role as the Princess of Asgard, as Loki’s wife, only grows more public.

The next day, after an awkward breakfast with Frigga, where she kept giving you knowing looks and you were pretty sure you heard her suppressing a sigh, you find yourself walking through the gardens, trying to escape the subtle whispers of court life.

As you stroll among the flowers, you hear footsteps behind you. A familiar, booming voice calls your name.

“Princess Y/N,” Thor’s deep voice rings out, and you stop, turning to face him.

Thor looks even more like the golden child of Asgard today, his wide smile blinding and a glimmer of guilt in his eyes. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, for what you did yesterday. Defending Loki like that.”

You tilt your head, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

“I never saw it, you know?” He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly. “The way Father favors me and how much it’s hurt Loki. I’ve always thought he was… I don’t know, distant, difficult. I didn’t realize I was a part of the problem.”

You blink, a little surprised by his sincerity. You’ve never seen Thor look so humble, so… vulnerable. It’s a stark contrast to the loud, boisterous warrior he usually presents to the world. “You didn’t know?” you ask softly.

He shakes his head, his broad shoulders slumping a little. “No, not really. And I’m ashamed to admit it. But I never thought about how he might feel when all the praise I get… it takes away from what he deserves. Loki’s clever, more than anyone gives him credit for. I see it now. I see how I’ve made him feel… less.”

Your heart aches a little. There’s so much more to Thor than the world gives him credit for, and perhaps there’s more to Loki’s pain than you even realized.

“Thor,” you start, your voice a little unsure but kind. “I think you need to tell him that. He needs to hear it from you.”

Thor gives a tight nod, the look in his eyes both heavy and sincere. “I will. But… I wanted to talk to you first, because I didn’t want you to think that I… I didn’t care.” He pauses, as if weighing his next words carefully. “I know you’re in a difficult position, Y/N, especially with Loki…”

You shrug lightly. “It’s not difficult. He’s my husband, Thor. I have a duty to him, yes, but I also want to see him happy. I don’t want him to feel this way anymore, either.”

“I understand,” Thor says with a soft smile. “And I promise you, I’ll try to make things right between me and Loki. But thank you. Truly.”

He offers a warm, brotherly smile and pats you on the shoulder, making you smile back, a little touched by the earnestness in his voice. It’s rare to see Thor so serious, but in moments like this, you realize just how much he cares about his family—even if it’s a little too late.

As the conversation dies down, Thor bids you farewell, walking off in the opposite direction to presumably find his brother. You remain in the gardens for a few more minutes, deep in thought. There’s a strange, almost bittersweet tension in the air now, an unspoken understanding of the dynamic between the brothers.

The next day, you find yourself walking the palace halls when you catch sight of Loki. He’s talking to a group of Asgardian nobles, but the moment he notices you, his demeanor shifts instantly. His sharp, emerald eyes cut toward you, his mouth forming a thin line. He says something to the nobles, and they scatter quickly, leaving him alone in the corridor.

You pause for a moment, unsure of how to approach him. But before you can decide, Loki walks toward you, his footsteps purposeful. You can feel the chill of his presence before he even speaks.

“What was that, then?” Loki’s voice is cool, his usual aloofness cloaking his words.

You raise an eyebrow. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes narrow. “You and Thor,” he sneers slightly, as though saying his brother’s name leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. “You two spent an awfully long time together yesterday, didn’t you? Talking about me, no doubt. What was it this time? His concern for my well-being?”

You bite your lip, taking in the sharp edge of jealousy in his voice. You feel a slight pang of guilt, but you stand your ground. “We talked about you, yes. But it wasn’t to criticize you, Loki. It was about… understanding.”

Loki scoffs, crossing his arms tightly over his chest, and his gaze shifts toward the floor. “I see. Understanding.”

“You don’t have to do this,” you say, your voice softer now. “You don’t have to push everyone away. Not me. Not him.”

Loki’s head jerks up, and his eyes flash with something unreadable. “I push people away because I know how this ends, Y/N. Thor always takes what he wants. He took Father’s love, and now he wants to take you, too.”

The words hit you harder than you expect, the raw, vulnerable emotion in his voice twisting something deep inside you. You take a step toward him, but he recoils slightly, his posture rigid.

“You don’t have to be afraid of that,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, but there’s certainty in it. “Thor won’t take me from you. I won’t let him.”

Loki’s eyes flicker toward you, the flickering of something darker in his gaze before he presses his lips together in frustration. “How can you be so sure?” His voice cracks slightly, and you don’t know how to respond, except to step even closer to him.

His face softens for a fraction of a second—just long enough for you to see how fragile he really is, how deeply the idea of losing you, losing anything, is etched in him. You place a hand gently on his arm, your voice even softer now.

“I know because we talked. Thor and I. He knows the way you feel, Loki. He’s going to make things right between you two. You don’t have to push him away.”

Loki’s jaw tightens, and you can see the battle within him, the struggle to trust his brother again. But then, something shifts in him, and his gaze softens, if only for a moment.

“I don’t want to lose you,” Loki admits in a low voice, the words barely audible, as though he’s afraid of speaking them too loud, afraid of what they might mean.

You reach up, gently cupping his cheek, your thumb brushing lightly over his skin, and he leans into your touch. “You won’t lose me, Loki. I’m not going anywhere.” Your voice is steady, and you see his breath hitch slightly as his emotions threaten to overwhelm him.

He looks away quickly, his throat tightening, but the tremor in his shoulders betrays him. “I don’t deserve you,” he mutters, barely holding it together.

“Don’t say that,” you reply firmly. “You’re not perfect. None of us are. But you deserve all the love and respect in the world. And I’m here, Loki. Always.”

He looks at you then, his expression softening with that familiar vulnerability you’ve seen fleetingly in the past few days, but it’s stronger now, more present than ever before. Without thinking, you pull him into an embrace, wrapping your arms around him tightly. For a long moment, he doesn’t respond, his body stiff in your arms, but then he exhales slowly, his breath shaky, and finally, he holds you back.

The weight of everything between you two finally lifts, and the walls crumble a little more. The steady rhythm of his breathing in your arms is all you need to know that he feels safe.

Later that night, when you retire to your chambers, Loki follows you, a quiet presence in the doorway.

You look at him, feeling something deep inside you—a need for closeness, for reassurance that everything will be okay. “Stay with me?” you ask softly, and for the first time in what feels like forever, you see something like relief wash over his face.

“I don’t think I can ever go back,” he says quietly, his voice laced with exhaustion, vulnerability.

You reach for him, and without another word, Loki walks into your arms, settling beside you on the bed. You pull the blankets up around both of you, and without a word, you curl up against him.

His arm drapes around you naturally, and you breathe in the warmth of his presence, the security of knowing that, no matter what happens, you

’ve found something real between you two.

“Thank you,” Loki murmurs softly, as if you’ve given him everything he’s ever wanted, even when you haven’t fully realized it yourself.

You smile, tracing circles on his chest with your fingers, whispering back, “No need for thanks. Just stay here, with me.”

The night deepens, and the world outside your chambers is cloaked in quiet, but inside, there’s an unmistakable warmth that envelopes both of you. Loki’s arm around you feels like the most natural thing in the world. As the minutes pass, you rest your head against his chest, listening to the rhythmic thrum of his heartbeat beneath your ear. There’s a comfort in the silence, in just being close to him. You feel safe here, as if this moment is yours and yours alone, something you both can keep in the quiet intimacy of the night.

Loki doesn’t speak, but the occasional brush of his lips against your temple is all the words you need. Each kiss is a small promise, gentle and soft, as though he’s trying to tell you everything his voice cannot. The warmth of his lips against your skin lingers long after he pulls back, and the weight of the past few months—the distance, the uncertainty, the doubts—slowly begins to dissolve. You realize now that it was never about the marriage contract, nor the obligations that bound you together; it was about this—this connection between the two of you that had always been there, waiting for the right moment to surface.

You kiss him back, tentatively at first, but as you feel him pull you closer, your kisses deepen. They’re slow and deliberate, as though you both want to savor this, to make sure it isn’t just a fleeting moment but a beginning. His lips are warm and soft, and every time they meet yours, there’s a spark—a connection that has been years in the making, one that now feels as though it’s blooming into something beautiful, fragile, and new.

The kisses grow longer, more meaningful, as if both of you are learning how to express the things you’ve kept hidden for so long. Loki’s hand gently cradles your face, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw, as if memorizing the feel of your skin. He deepens the kiss slightly, and you meet him with equal fervor, the world outside fading away until there’s nothing left but the two of you, tangled in the quiet intimacy of shared tenderness.

When the kiss finally breaks, neither of you moves, just breathing in the same air. Loki’s forehead rests gently against yours, and you can feel the warmth of his breath, still heavy with emotion.

“Stay here,” he murmurs, his voice low and filled with something you can’t quite put into words. It’s a question, but more than that, it’s a plea—a quiet request for this peace to last.

“I will,” you reply softly, your hand resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart under your palm. And you mean it, more than anything. You know that, in this moment, everything between you has changed.

The night goes on quietly, both of you finding comfort in each other’s presence, the soft and tender kisses gradually fading into the warmth of shared silence. It’s a perfect peace, a moment of vulnerability and connection that neither of you had ever expected but now can’t imagine living without.

As the days pass, the dynamic between you and Loki shifts. What once seemed like a forced relationship, something borne out of duty and circumstance, is now something more. The distance that once existed between you two has shrunk, replaced by an ease that only comes when two people begin to trust each other in ways neither expected. Your interactions are now filled with light touches, shared glances, and quiet smiles. There’s a softness in Loki’s demeanor that wasn’t there before—a gentleness that’s slowly replacing the walls he’s built around himself.

You see it in the way he looks at you, the way he seeks out your presence even when there’s no need for it. There’s an undeniable shift in his behavior, one that others notice, too.

Frigga, ever observant, notices the change in the air the moment she steps into the palace halls. She smiles knowingly when she sees the way Loki watches you during breakfast, his eyes soft and full of affection. It’s the first time she’s seen him like this in a long while—less guarded, more present. She watches you both from across the room, her heart swelling with a mix of pride and relief. For all the missteps and misunderstandings, she’s always known that the two of you could find something real.

Thor, too, sees the change, though he’s not as subtle in his observations. He slaps Loki on the back one afternoon, his booming laugh echoing through the palace halls. “Well, well! Looks like someone’s finally figured it out,” he teases, a wide grin plastered on his face.

Loki stiffens at first, but then the corner of his lips quirks up, a smirk that’s less mocking and more content than it’s ever been. “What do you mean?” Loki asks, raising an eyebrow.

“Don’t play coy,” Thor says, his tone playful. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. It’s about time, brother.”

Loki sighs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “I’m not in the mood for your commentary, Thor.”

But even as he says this, there’s a subtle flush to his cheeks, a fleeting moment of embarrassment that makes you chuckle softly. Loki’s pride may be as sharp as ever, but there’s a vulnerability there too, one that he tries to hide behind his biting sarcasm and quick wit.

As the days go by, your connection to Loki only deepens. The two of you spend more time together, finding moments of quiet solace amid the chaos of palace life. You talk—about everything and nothing at all. You learn more about each other in those quiet, unspoken moments than you ever did in the months before. It’s in the way he brushes your hair out of your face when it falls in your eyes or how he looks at you when you laugh at something absurd he says. It’s in the way he remembers small details about you, like the way you take your tea or how you always tie your shoes in the same knot.

The change doesn’t go unnoticed by the people around you. The courtiers whisper about it, the nobles gossip behind their fans. They notice the way Loki looks at you when you enter the room, how his eyes soften when you speak. They notice how the two of you sit together at dinner, heads close, sharing small private jokes no one else seems to understand. The shift in the way he treats you is almost palpable, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of the palace to catch on.

But the real surprise comes from the children.

It starts innocently enough. One evening, as you walk through the palace gardens with Loki, you hear giggling in the distance. When you look around, you see a group of young children playing near the fountain. They stop as soon as they notice you, eyes widening before they run over to you, their faces alight with excitement.

“Princess Y/N!” one of them exclaims, a little girl with bright red hair. “Is it true that you and Prince Loki are really married now?”

You raise an eyebrow, surprised by the question, but before you can answer, another child chimes in.

“Yes! I heard you two are so in love!” The child’s voice is full of awe, as though this is the most magical thing they’ve ever heard.

Loki scoffs, but there’s a teasing glint in his eyes. “I assure you, we’re simply fulfilling our duties. Nothing more.”

But the children aren’t convinced. They gather around you, bombarding you with questions. “When will you have babies?” one of them asks innocently.

You blush deeply, not quite sure how to handle the question. Loki looks absolutely mortified, but there’s an amused edge to his expression.

“Well,” you start, unsure of what to say, “we haven’t really discussed that yet. But we’re very happy.”

“Oh, I bet you are!” another child giggles, clearly not taking you seriously. “You two are always together now. You must be so in love!”

Loki looks at you in mild horror. “What have we gotten ourselves into?”

You laugh, feeling the warmth in your chest spread. “I think we’ve just become a fairytale, Loki.”

The children’s excitement doesn’t end there. The next day, they’re playing again, this time reenacting your supposed “love story” with elaborate costumes. They insist on calling you and Loki the “Royal Lovers of Asgard,” and you can’t help but smile at their innocent enthusiasm. It’s impossible not to see the joy they find in the idea of your relationship, an idea that, in their eyes, is full of magic and wonder. The way they view you both—so wrapped up in this imagined romance—is innocent and sweet, and it makes you realize how far you and Loki have come.

As the days go by, the children’s stories spread throughout the palace. The courtiers begin whispering more frequently about the Royal Lovers, and soon enough, even the servants are in on the tale. You and Loki have become the subject of countless stories, both real and imagined. The court’s expectations of your relationship have shifted, but for the first time, it feels like you’re not just playing a part anymore. You’re both actively shaping this life, together.

And for all the teasing from Thor and the gossips from the children, there’s a part of you that feels proud of what you’ve built. It may have started as a duty, a contract forged by fate, but now it feels like something more. You and Loki are no longer bound by obligation alone. There’s affection, there’s trust, and there’s something deeper—something far more real.

It’s not the fairytale the kingdom expected, but it’s yours. And somehow, that feels perfect.

part 2 with royal kids? ;)

[jellofish-plant]

A Different Kind of Love

Pairing: Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Reader

Summary: Life as parents in Gotham isn’t easy, especially when one of you is the infamous Red Hood and the other is trying to keep things together at home. But when it’s just the three of you—your partner, your child, and yourself—the chaos of Gotham can feel a little less daunting. Jason Todd never thought he’d be a father, but with you by his side, he’s learning what it means to love unconditionally.

Warnings:

Parenthood and family fluff

Mild violence (Gotham-style crime-fighting, no explicit content)

Emotional moments

Mentions of Gotham’s dangerous environment

Gotham had a way of testing you, and Jason Todd knew that better than anyone. He’d faced the city’s worst criminals, had lived through death and resurrection, and still nothing had ever made him feel as vulnerable as the day he held his child for the first time.

It had been months since your daughter was born, and in that time, Jason had learned how to protect her just as fiercely as he protected you. But there was something else something softer and more terrifying than any criminal he’d faced: the overwhelming love he felt every time he saw her smile, every time she reached for him with her tiny hands.

He had never been good at emotions. His childhood was a wreck, and he’d never had the luxury of being part of a “normal” family. But with you, everything had changed. The little moments he shared with you and your daughter those were the things that made him believe there could be more to life than just surviving.

The sound of soft giggles drifted from the nursery, and Jason’s lips twitched upward as he adjusted his helmet, finishing up the last of his nightly routine. He knew he should’ve been out on patrol, but tonight, he had made a promise to stay home. Gotham would survive for a few hours without Red Hood especially when it meant he could be with you and the little one.

The door to the nursery creaked open, and there you were, standing in the doorway with your daughter in your arms. Her big eyes shone in the dim light, and when she saw Jason, her little face lit up in a grin.

"Hey, kiddo," Jason said, his voice unusually soft as he knelt down in front of her crib, taking in the sight of her tiny hands reaching toward him.

You watched from the doorway, smiling at the scene. Jason, the fierce vigilante who struck fear into the hearts of Gotham’s criminals, was completely undone by his little girl.

"I think she’s ready for her bedtime story," you said, a playful hint in your voice. "But maybe she wants her dad to read it tonight."

Jason raised an eyebrow, glancing up at you. "She’ll probably fall asleep halfway through, but you know what? I’ll take that as a challenge."

You laughed, and Jason gave you one of those rare, genuine smiles—one that he reserved only for you. He reached out for your daughter, taking her gently from your arms. His protective instincts kicked in as he cradled her against his chest, his strong arms instinctively holding her close, his fingers brushing over her tiny head with the utmost care.

"Alright, little one," Jason murmured, kissing the top of her head. "Let’s see if your old man can do this."

You leaned against the doorframe, watching as Jason settled down in the rocking chair, his daughter resting comfortably against his chest. For all the chaos in his life, for all the times he’d been pushed to the edge of his humanity, moments like these made him feel like he finally had something to fight for something to protect.

Jason cleared his throat, grabbing the book from the small shelf beside the chair. You’d been reading bedtime stories to your daughter for months, but tonight, Jason was in charge.

"So, uh… This one’s called The Brave Little Knight," Jason began, glancing at you for reassurance. "Don’t expect too much, kid. I’m not exactly a storybook kind of guy."

You smiled softly at his self-deprecating tone. Jason had never been good at this type of thing being soft, being gentle but for you and your daughter, he was trying. And that made your heart swell more than you could put into words.

As Jason read, his voice growing more confident with each sentence, your daughter’s eyes fluttered as she fought to stay awake. She was still young enough that the world was mostly about the comfort of your voices, the softness of your touch. But even now, Jason could see the spark of her growing personality in the way she tilted her head toward him, her tiny hands gripping his shirt like she was already trying to keep him close.

"You know," Jason said, his voice quieter now, his gaze softening as he looked down at the baby in his arms, "I never thought I’d be here, doing this."

You leaned against the doorframe, heart in your throat. "What do you mean?"

He hesitated for a moment, his fingers gently brushing your daughter’s cheek as he kept reading. "I wasn’t supposed to be anyone’s father. After everything… after the way I grew up… I never thought I’d be able to be the kind of dad she needs."

You stepped closer, resting a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t look at you, but you could feel the weight of his words.

"You’re exactly the kind of dad she needs, Jason," you said softly. "You might not have had the best role models, but you’re doing everything you can to be better for her. And that’s all she needs. All we need."

Jason swallowed hard, looking down at your daughter as she began to drift off in his arms. "I just… I don’t want to screw this up. I don’t want her to go through the same things I did."

"You won’t," you assured him, your voice steady. "We’re in this together. And no matter what happens, she’ll always know she’s loved. That’s more than we had, right?"

Jason finally looked up at you, his eyes filled with a tenderness that was so raw it took your breath away. "Yeah," he whispered. "You’re right."

He shifted in the chair, adjusting your daughter in his arms as she began to fall into a peaceful sleep. He kissed the top of her head and then looked back at you, his gaze softer than you’d ever seen it.

"Thank you," he murmured. "For giving me this. For giving us this."

You smiled and moved closer, brushing a hand through his hair. "I didn’t do it alone, Jason. You’re a great father. And she’s lucky to have you."

Jason nodded, his lips quirking into a small, almost hesitant smile. "I’m lucky to have you."

And in that moment, with the quiet hum of the night surrounding you, the chaos of Gotham seemed miles away. In that small, safe space, everything felt right. Just the three of you, holding onto each other as a family.

Jason Todd, Red Hood and protector of Gotham, was learning that love had a way of healing even the deepest wounds. And for him, that love was right here small, fragile, but unbreakable.

[kayhi808]

First Crush-Uncle Steve

A few of you have brought to my attention how mean I've made Abby to poor Steve. 😂

Never did you think you'd go through so much work just to get laid. "Baby? If Mama has to go to a work meeting, do you think you can stay with Mr. Captain for a little while?"

Placing her little hand on her chest, she looks up at you, "I's can stay with Bucky."

Uncomfortably, "Um, Bucky will be at the meeting, too." Lying to your baby again. Ugh. "So, do you think you could stay with Mr. Captain for a little bit? Will you be okay?"

"Mr. Captain comes to my house?"

"He could come here. Would that make you feel better?"

Shrugging her little shoulder with a frown, "I guess he can comes here. I has plenty toys."

You give her a little smile. She was so disappointed with Bucky's place because he didn't have a single toy to play with. "Thank you, baby. I'll see if he can watch you over here."

Your big night out with Bucky arrives and you thought Abby would put up a fuss for not being able to leave with you and Bucky, but she doesn't.

The doorbell rings and Abby runs to the door "I gets it!" Before opening it she yells, "Who is it?"

"Abby, it's Bucky."

"Bucky, who?"

"Bucky Barnes."

"Bucky Barnes, who?" Steve and Bucky look at each other confused.

"Abby, can you get your Mama?"

"Ok!"

After a minute, you open the door with Abby propped on your hip. "Sorry about that. She can't reach the locks." Abby laughs and reaches for Bucky so he can carry her. "Come on in. Thanks so much for watching her tonight, Steve."

"Yea, of course. Not a problem."

"I have all the contact numbers on the fridge. Her pediatrician. My neighbor, Candice, if you need help."

"Doll, it's for a few hours. They'll be fine. Won't you Abby?" Jostling her in his arms, making her laugh.

"I know. I'm just...letting him know where I keep the numbers. And if he needs help, in case of an emergency."

"He's Captain America. He'll figure it out. Abby is completely safe."

"I don't doubt her safety."

Steve just laughs, "Get out of here and enjoy your..."

"Meeting! We're going to a meeting." Steve rolls his eyes as you say your good-byes to Abby. She gave you kisses and waved you off.

******

Steve and Abby are left standing by the door staring at each other. As a welcome, "This is mines house," Abby tells Steve looking around the living room.

Steve walk over and takes a seat on the couch, "It's a very nice home."

"I knows. My Mama made it like this." She leans her elbows on his lap looking up at him. "My Mama said we gets pizza for dinner. She put dollars on the counter for yous," pointing at the kitchen.

"Great! I love pizza. So...what's the plan Abby? How does Mama let you spend your day?"

"Mama lets me play until dinner. Then after dinner we has dance party time." She jumps up & down.

"Dance party?"

"Mmmhmmm. Then baths, but she already scrubbed me. I had tubs early so you don't had to do it."

"Ok, great."

"And then I get 3," holding up 3 fingers, "storybooks before sleeps." She smiles sweetly up at him.

"Three stories, got it!" Claps his hands together, "Great! We can do this." Abby cackles. "What do you want to do now until dinner?"

"Want to color? Or draw letters?"

"Draw letters? Ok, I guess we can do that."

Abby runs to her bedroom and returns with her bag of papers and crayons. She puts everything out on the coffee table in front of Steve. She places clean paper in front of him. "Dis yours." Once she's sure he's set up, she sits on the floor by him to start her drawing. "We's can draw to N'asha." Steve frowns at the top of her head.

Abby starts her drawing and ,Steve, starts to sketch Abby. Steve's always had a natural gift of drawing. Before the War, he enrolled in Art School and even today, he finds comfort in the arts. He catches the soft texture of Abby's hair & the roundness of her cheeks. Even the little frown of concentration, as she works on drawing for Natasha.

After a while, Abby checks on Steve's progress, "Mr. Captain! Dat's me!!" She takes his picture and stands beside him, mesmerized. She keeps looking between him and his drawing."

"Abby, you don't have to call me Mr. Captain. You can call me Uncle Steve."

She climbs up onto his lap, "You's my Uncle? I don't has an Uncle."

"Well, now you do."

"Uncle is family? My family is Mama and me."

"And now you have a new Uncle." Abby pops her thumb in her mouth, staring at Steve for a while, mulling over what he said. She leans back against his chest staring at his drawing. After a few minutes, she leans to the side so she can look back at him, "Yous do very good work, Uncle Steve." She pats his arm, with a little drool from her thumb. "I so proud of yous." Again repeating words from her Mama. A little spark of warmth blossoms in Steve's chest. "Thank you, Abby."

"You melcome."

Next chapter

@waywardhunter95 @rebeccapineapple @ordelixx @onceithough @crazyunsexycool @thezombieprostitute @ilovetaquitosmmmm @julvrs @unaxv @s-a-v-a-n-a-34 @winterslove1917 @ozwriterchick @mrs-bucky-barnes-73 @mrsnikstan @hisredheadedgoddess28 @itsteambarnes @otterlycanadian @purplecolordeer @samsgirl93 @buckitostan @blackbirdwitch22 @littleredwolf @mcucatlady @silas-aeiou @hzdhrtss @florie1 @thecubanator2 @enchantedbarnes @selella @fireeyes-on-teller-dixon-grimes @cjand10 @pancake-05

[fairyysoup]

it will come back

part two

a.k.a. sever the blight (eddie's version)

pairing(s): werewolf!eddie munson x fem!milkmaid!reader

summary: As May Day approaches, you find yourself running into Eddie, and succumbing to his charms, more and more.

cw: smut, heavy petting, fingering, frottage, denied orgasm, public sex, getting caught, alcohol consumption (both eddie and reader), a bit of humiliation, teasing, tons of flirting, eddie munson's Big Meaty Claws, jealousy (by reader), eddie being a flirtatious shit all around, slight enemies to lovers beat here, some kind of historical fantasy period, fairytale au, descriptions of scars, mentions of abuse, reader is a servant to an abusive master

a/n: Happy May! I wrote this in a complete stupor and woke up and it was almost 8.0k words, so there will be a part three. I also wanted to get this done yesterday, but that's not how the cookie crumbles. Alas.

The lyrics that Eddie sings in this are from a traditional English folk song, commonly called "As I Walked Through the Meadow." There are variations on the lyrics, but this is the version I used here.

MY WORKS ARE ALL 18+ MINORS DNI

The man from the creek is being thrown out of the tavern in the center of town.

You know because you’ve been watching since he went inside. Except, if anyone were to ask, you’d say you’re simply watching the ripples on the mud puddles on the dirt road in front of the building. They’re fascinating, you’d insist. They say you can see your future in them.

You’d noticed him going in as you were stepping out of the haberdashers. You knew it was him from the wine red of his blouse– it’s a rich color, like you’ve never seen on a garment worn by anyone in town, and certainly not by someone claiming to come from the woods. The last time you saw him, nearly a month ago now, you forgot to ask him where he got something so richly woven and colored, in such seemingly good repair. You contented yourself with a single lie: you didn’t want to know. 

You also figured that you would likely never see him again. That this so-called Eddie Munson was probably better off disappearing back into the woods and staying there. You’d never seen him in town before, and you certainly didn’t expect to see him there any time soon. He doesn’t exactly fit in with the rest of the townsfolk; people who work the land, who own it, who sow it. His rich red wine doesn’t fit into the bland suedes and dull grays of your neighbors. 

No– no, with his wild, curly hair and bright, rosy cheeks, he definitely doesn’t look like anyone who belongs in Havensfield. He belongs in a storybook. He belongs in a fairytale you tell to little children, to send them to sleep with something larger than life in their minds. Just like you haven’t been able to sleep a wink without thinking about him and his troublesome smile and sparkling eyes first. 

It’s as if he has you under some sort of spell, unable to move on but remaining steadfastly in place with your mind only revolving around him. You figured it was probably best to spend the coin he gave you and get it out of your system, so maybe you can get rid of the one physical thing that reminded you of his existence.

But here he is, in the flesh and very alive, and being tossed into the mud puddle you had been gazing into, spraying droplets of dirty water off in every direction. A cacophony of laughter rings out from the open door of the tavern– a barkeep angrily wipes his hands on his apron, snarls something at Eddie, and disappears back into the building, the door slamming shut behind him.

The town has erected a maypole in the square for the May Day celebration in just a few days. The marketplace is normally hectic during the festival. Shopkeepers will set up their stalls, the place will be decorated with garlands of flowers, and for days at a stretch one can hardly get their errands done for the amount of chaos going on in the place. That’s why you did your shopping today, rather than waiting for the festivities to begin.

You didn’t expect this.

You haven’t moved from your spot in front of the haberdasher’s. You don’t know if you should– you look this way and that, wondering if anyone is going to approach him, or if everyone else instinctively gives him a wide berth. The people on the street continue about their business like they haven’t seen him, like he isn’t there. You wonder if it’s some unseen force of nature that keeps them away. Does some magic spell exist to make him undetectable to anyone but you? Or are you just the only one stupid enough to get close?

He just sort of lays there in the mud, staring up at the sky. You assume he’s drunk. Why else would he have been thrown out of the tavern? Drinking them dry, getting unruly, starting fights… Yes, you should go on about your business. 

Your hand fists in your skirt, the color of barleycorn. Such a drab color when compared to his deep red, like the flow of blood from a wound. Just as you had feared, it draws you in like a moth to a flame. You lift your skirts and step carefully across the muddy town square, until your feet toe the edge of the puddle he lays in. 

“Do you… need help?” you ask when you peer down at him. From this angle, his eyelashes fan across his cheekbones in long arches, fluttering like fairy wings. 

“My Lovely Lady of the Creek!” He croons wistfully up at you when you pass into his field of vision. “We must stop meeting this way.” 

“Which way is that?”

“With me on my back in a bunch of water.” He smiles at you treacherously, in that way he does. Like he’s privy to a joke that you’re completely unaware of.

“Well, are you just going to lay there like a dead man in the road? Or would you like help?” Your hands are on your hips, the small basket for your purchases wiggling precariously on your wrist. 

“You really should be more discerning about who you offer to help,” he lectures as he heaves himself up to sit. Muddy water sloshes up towards your shoes, and you scamper back before they can get wet. “Lest I begin to get the wrong impression.” 

“I don’t recall ever offering you help before,” you point out. 

“Right,” Eddie says after a moment, his eyes sweeping along the road. He looks unsure, as if he doesn’t know what to ask for, if he wants anything at all. “You… could help me over to the well?” 

Your eyes follow his to the well in the center of the square. You shrug, and then brandish your hand at him. 

Eddie looks at it thoughtfully for a moment before placing his hand into yours. His hand engulfs yours in warmth, his long fingers stretching up and around your wrist. A flush bursts beneath your skin from where his touch hits, spreading up your arm and into your chest.

You’re going to catch fire, you’re sure of it.

Instead, you just help him to his feet, trying not to slip in the mud, yourself. Eddie staggers, sways back towards the porch of the tavern. You lunge forward to catch him before he can fall over again, and you snatch him around the waist without much thought. His arm plops down onto your shoulder, and your basket bats against his hip, the contents shifting inside.

You’re so close now. He smells like pine and whiskey, and his body is warm. So warm that you’re surprised he isn’t sick in bed. 

“How much did you drink?” you ask him, your voice choked as you heave him towards the well. You don’t want to think about his body pressed against yours, his arm hot around your shoulders. He’s looking down at you with an impassioned gaze that you don’t want to match. You fear that if you look up into his face, you will. 

“No more than usual,” he murmurs. His hand reaches out and grabs the stone ring of the well once you get him to it. He kneels on the step of it, starting to look a little green in the face. 

“You smell like the tavern floor,” you tell him frankly, raising your hand to push his hair away from his face. 

“Well, I was just laying in a bunch of piss and shit, so.” Eddie raises his head and gazes up at you, wide-eyed, when you press your hand to his forehead. 

“And you’re much too hot,” you assess, watching his eyes flutter at your appraisal. “Don’t you dare get sick in the well. I have to drink out of that.”

“I need water,” he grumbles, and pulls away from your hand. He tries to stand, and fails.

“Stay,” you tell him firmly, planting a hand on his shoulder. Eddie pouts, watching as you place your basket beside him and step up to the well to fetch him the bucket yourself. 

Like a child who’s just been given a present, Eddie’s eyes fall to your basket. “What’s this?”

“My shopping,” you grunt with the effort of cranking the wheel to lift the bucket from the well. 

“Ooh– stockings?” 

You turn to glance at him, and see that he’s lifted the cloth from the basket to peek at the contents inside. He’s pinching your new stockings between his two fingers, pulling them out with a gleeful expression on his face.

You could kill him. “Put those back,” you hiss, letting go of the handle of the wheel. The crank spins backward, and down in the well, the bucket hits the water again with a loud, wet splash.

“Silk stockings, no less,” Eddie continues, ducking away from your swiping hand as he begins running the smooth hosiery over his knuckles. He seems to have gotten his second wind– no longer staggering, nor looking green in the face, he scampers around the well while you chase him. “Now how could a milkmaid afford such finery? It couldn’t be… no, I shant say–” 

“Give it to me now,” you snarl at him, rounding the well after him. You hadn’t wanted him to see them– hadn’t wanted anyone to see them. It’s not something that you could have gotten yourself, on your own pay. The Master or Mistress would assume that you’d stolen the money, and punish you for it. Obviously, any stranger seeing them would be improper.

And Eddie… Well, he knows exactly how you got your hands on them.

“Could it be… a silver coin?” He giggles like an impish little sprite, his feet working faster than his mind. “Given to you by a handsome, charming, mysterious stranger?” 

Eddie turns to look at you, holding the silken fabric up to his cheek to feel its softness. The sight of the gesture, him pressing his cheek against your undergarment, makes you see red. 

“You little demon–” You lunge for him, but he jerks away, barrel rolling across the opening of the well somehow without managing to fall in. He lands on the other side with a noisy plop, laughing hysterically, and you continue rounding the well to get to him. “Your hair is unsightly and you smell like dirt and you’re as vain as you are vexing and I would rather try to climb the maypole than call you charming!” 

“Well, you’re correct on most accounts,” he tells you, still trying to slow his laughter. Eddie lifts the cloth on your basket, still containing a bread roll and a new wooden comb, and begins carefully folding the silk stockings into a neat bundle. He tucks them back into the basket primly, while continuing, “But I would love to see you try to climb a maypole. Mine has been known to be good for such uses–”

“You’re despicable.” You snatch the basket away from him and step away from the well, turning your back to him without a goodbye. 

“Maybe so,” Eddie replies from behind you. “But you’re still curious, aren’t you?”

You stop. You shouldn’t, but you do, and you know it’s a mistake the minute you turn and see him already standing, not swaying in the slightest, and beginning to crank the wheel of the well to fetch his own water. 

With a scowl, you watch his arm work the wheel until the bucket rears up over the lip of the well, and he lifts it onto the edge. He glances at you out of the corner of his eye, like he expected you to have walked away, and he smirks. “Ohhhh, she’s curious. You know what they say about curiosity.” 

Your skin prickles as you’re uncomfortably reminded of your last meeting with Eddie. “You’re much too fond of your idioms.”

“They’re idioms for a reason,” he replies frankly. With the water bucket steady on the edge of the well, he pinchest the front of his blouse and begins untucking the tails from his trousers. 

“What are you doing?” you snap, appalled, as he lifts the hem of his blouse to expose his belly.

He pauses, looking at you dubiously. “I have to wash my shirt.”

You bluster, “In front of the whole town?”

“Who’s looking?”

Who, indeed? You finally think to take in your surroundings, and you notice that the town square has cleared since Eddie was thrown out of the tavern. Aside from the occasional passerby, no one is lingering, and certainly no one is watching Eddie as he peels the muddy fabric from his skin. 

“You’re the only person in this town who deigns to speak to me. I thank you for that,” Eddie says, not unkindly. “But you should know that it makes you a rose among thorns. That isn’t necessarily a good thing.”

“How is that not a good thing?” you ask, feeling his eyes rake over you just before he pulls his shirt over his head. You see a flash of pale skin, and avert your eyes so swiftly it nearly makes you dizzy.

“Roses tend to be picked,” he tells you simply, as if it’s obvious. “Careful who you show your colors to.”

Your face heats against your will, while your eyes remain locked on the building across the way and not on him. At least, not until your curiosity wins out, and you steal a glance at him. 

Eddie dunks his dirty blouse in the bucket, splashing water down onto the stone step at the base of the well. The muscles of his arms flex with the work, and his hair spills over pale shoulders, rosy at the collarbones. He has pictures drawn on his skin with black ink– mythical creatures you learned about as a child, which denote power and magic. Surrounding the images on his skin are scars, old enough that they’ve gone pale, but their raised appearance indicates that he’s seen his fair share of danger. Hair trails down his chest and to  the curve of his stomach, then disappears beneath the line of his trousers. Your eyes trace the trail of it, lingering on his waistband as you wonder how far down it goes. 

He must feel your eyes on him, because he glances up at you. You immediately rip your eyes away, but it’s too late. He’s already seen you looking– seen you staring. 

Eddie grins, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “If it pleases you to look, then look.”

“I wasn’t… I wasn’t looking,” you say, with more than a hint of pride, turning your nose up a bit for good measure. 

“Of course,” Eddie muses, a wicked smirk still on his face. “And neither was I.” 

He meets your eye with a heated gaze that makes goosebumps break out across your skin. His eyes are two black coals, burning at you from just a few feet away. They slowly move up and down your body, until he sets his jaw and turns back to the bucket. He lifts the red blouse from the water and wrings it out, casting droplets of water down his forearms.

You watch them travel along his pale skin, your eyes tracing the blue veins and sinewy muscles of his arms. And that’s when you notice it– the cloth tied around his wrist.

It’s pale pink. It has a slight brocade pattern to the weave. It’s one that your Mistress had no use of, and when she decided she didn’t want the cloth for anything, you took and dyed it yourself with rose petals, and turned it into a blanket for your bed.

It’s the same cloth that you tied to the injured leg of the wolf in your dream, all those weeks ago. But it wasn’t a dream, or it couldn’t have been– the end of that very same pink blanket is still frayed from the tear of the fabric.

“Where did you get that?” you ask him sharply, marching forward. He startles, drawing back just a bit, his eyes glancing you up and down in alarm.

“Get what?” he says coolly, though his manner doesn’t reflect his tone. He’s backing away from you, holding up his hands like you mean to attack.

“This.” Far too bold for your own good, you snatch his wrist in your hand. Eddie gazes down his nose at you as you yank his wrist up near your face, twisting until the pink brocade glints in the overcast light of late April. “Where did you get this cloth?” 

“In the woods,” he says simply. 

“This is from my bed,” you hiss at him, your eyes narrowing as your hand tightens on his arm. Beneath his overheated skin, his pulse pounds against your fingers. You feel it like the beating of a thousand drums. “I don’t believe you. Where did you get it?” 

“I told you,” Eddie repeats slowly. “I found it hanging from a tree. Thought it was pretty, so I kept it.” His face betrays no emotion now, almost strategically so. Where alarm once was, there is nothing. No hint of hesitance, or mischief, or cunning. Just a blank slate that you have no way of reading. 

Your eyes flick between his face and his arm, trying to connect the dots. That’s when you notice the mark as well– among the otherwise pale, older scars that riddle his torso and arms is a long, jagged gash on his bicep. It arcs across his skin and appears to have been from a deep wound. It’s raised over and scarred, but still bright in color. New.

You’re wondering if your mind is playing tricks on you. It’s improbable that the scar on his arm is the one you patched on the wolf a month ago. You refuse to believe such things; you don’t believe in wolf-men, in fairytales, in silly superstitions.

You release his arm. You still don’t believe him– not when he so quickly went from being startled, to suddenly showing no emotion at all. You don’t trust him in the slightest. It seems to you like he’s hiding something, but you don’t know what. You don’t believe he’s anything other than a man. You can’t honestly say that you believe he’s evil, or that he means you harm, but you still wouldn’t lay your life down to fend for his honor.

And that cloth. You would bet your life that the fabric wrapped around his wrist came from your bed, dyed by your own hand, tied around the wounded leg of a wolf on the last full moon. But you can’t dispute that what he says is true. So you step back, and you fix him with a steely-eyed gaze that you know would make even the roughest of men shake in their boots.

“Good day, Mr. Munson,” you say, and he looks surprised that you even remembered his name. “I hope that I never see you again.”

“Making a wish like that is unwise,” he replies mildly, turning back to the bucket that he has perched on the rim of the well. “Unless you have a coin to toss in the well for it. Silver, maybe?” 

Your cheeks burn hot, and you turn away from him. He infuriates you so much. You can’t recall a time when a man affected you so badly. 

“Right. Because you spent it,” he observes, taking your silence as a quiet relent. “I’ll sleep well knowing that my coin was spent on a pair of beautiful stockings. Excellent craftsmanship, by the way. The weave is immaculate. Feels like spun gold.”

“Go to Hell,” you mutter, finally turning away from him, for good this time. 

“As long as I know you’ll think of me when you wear them,” he tells you as you walk away, “I’ll die a happy man.”

You pause. For a moment, you think of turning back to him, telling him to shove that exact thought down his stupidly pretty gullet. But you don’t. Thankfully, you have the reserve and the self respect to set your shoulders and leave him there, rinsing his soiled blouse there on the edge of the well.

You still didn’t ask him how he got a blouse so fine. You doubt that he would tell you the truth even if you did. All you know is that he stays with you, haunting you, rolling through your mind the way he rolled across the mouth of the well, until your hand lands on the gate to your Master’s property.

You can’t afford to have him occupying your thoughts. You can’t afford to be so distracted– you don’t even want to think about what may happen if the Master learns that you’re on your way to being smitten with someone. Someone young and beautiful and, from what you can tell, not running a farm with indentured servants on it.

And when exactly did you go from wanting him to disappear into the woods, to being smitten with him?

On May Eve, you get just enough of your chores done for the Mistress to not find any excuse for you not to attend the festivities. With your hands tight on a woven basket, you set off with a group of young milkmaids from down the lane, bearing torches, to collect flowers from the meadows and woods. 

Bringing in the May is one of your favorite customs, mostly because it’s practiced by the young people of the town. You don’t have to worry about being watched by the town elders. There’s an air of being chosen by someone; the more popular girls in town get flowers laid on their doorsteps in abundance. You’ve never been left flowers, but each year you hold out hope that someone, anyone, will leave them for you. A gesture– you’re wanted. 

There’s music in the air. Groups of young men and women laugh and dance, and the meadows are dotted with the little blooms of fire at the ends of torches as flowers are gathered. You’ve already indulged in a certain amount of floral spring wine and honey cakes, lulling you into a sweetly tipsy, giggly mood. There’s magic in the air– you can taste it in the humidity, the moonshine, the salt of sweat and earth.

“There aren’t enough flowers in the meadow this year,” one of the girls in your group complains, tromping through the high grass. 

“This isn’t the only meadow in Havensfield, Victoria,” says another. 

“I’ve seen more growing by the trees,” you offer, holding out your basket for one girl to toss a few measly primrose blooms in.

The other girls stop. You look around in the low torchlight at the appalled expressions on their faces. 

“You can’t just… go into the woods,” the one named Victoria objects. “There’s… there’s fairies. And wolf-men.” 

“Oh, please.” You roll your eyes while the other girls balk. “You can’t honestly tell me that you believe those old wive’s tales. You know the elders only tell those stories to keep us from going into the woods to fuck.” 

A few snickers rise up with the smoke from the torch. “It’s true, I saw Katherine Plack sneaking through the woods with Scotty Raker two nights ago,” says a short girl beside Victoria, nodding sagely.

“And what were you doing in the woods, Hyacinth?” the girl holding the torch says, slugging Hyacinth on the shoulder. 

The girls dissolve into laughter, while you suck on your lower lip and gaze toward the trees. It can’t be that dangerous, if Eddie claims to come from in there… somewhere. You imagine a cozy little cottage in the woods with a well beside it, tucked away, hidden from town. You imagine him chopping the wood to make it, himself. You imagine his lean frame and strong hands holding an ax, the drawings on his skin highlighted in the filtered sun through the trees as he swings the blade–

“I’m going to go see,” you announce abruptly, your voice nearly cracking. You’re nodding to yourself, looking like an idiot while you fumble to pick the basket up and set it on your hip. “Yep. That’s what I'm going to do. You all can stay here if you want.” 

“But, there’s no light,” Victoria insists, pulling her hair back away from her face with a condescending expression.

“Moon’s almost full, I can see just fine,” you snap back. Honestly, what does it matter to her if you go into the woods? “I’ll be back.”

Hyacinth calls something about “girding your loins” after you, but you’re too far away to really pay it any mind. The grass grows taller by the trees, and you hop over the creek into a wide bed of bright yellow marigolds. They wiggle in the slight spring breeze, lit with just enough moonshine for their color to show even in the dark.

“Beat that, Victoria,” you mumble as you set the basket on the ground. Methodically, you begin picking them, choosing the biggest blooms, the ones with the most immaculate petals. You’ll decorate your small cabin with them, and fashion garlands for the town square with the rest. 

As you wander over to another bed to collect some more blooms, you hear singing, following the tune being played by the pan flute across the meadow. It’s an old folk song that most of the people in town would know, and you hum along mindlessly as you pick the flowers at your knees. 

“As I was a-walking to take the fresh air, The flowers all blooming and gay, I heard a young damsel so sweetly a-singing, Her cheeks like the flowers in May.” 

It’s a young man’s voice, coming from somewhere in the trees, low and rich, and quiet enough that you don’t think it’s meant to be heard by anyone else across the meadow. Tipsy, you smile to yourself, not thinking to look for the source of the voice, but just appreciating the sound as it travels on the breeze.

“Said I, ‘Pretty maiden, and how came you here, In the meadows this morning, so soon?’ The maid she replied, ‘Why, to gather some May, For the trees they are all in full bloom.’”

As your fingers stroke along soft flower petals, humming along under your breath, you glance over your shoulder towards the meadow, where flaming torches dance like woodland spirits in the night. Laughter follows the music and the raucous cheering of the other groups of May-goers, dancing and collecting their own greenery and flowers.

The rich, velvety voice filters through the trees, ever quieter, but even closer than before. You look up just in time to see the source of the voice move just beyond the treeline, and then he appears, leaning against the trunk of a great pine, close enough that you can see the deep wine red of his blouse, and the wicked smirk on his lips.

“I said, ‘Pretty maiden, shall I go with you Through the meadows to gather some May?’ ‘Oh no, sir,’ she said, ‘I would rather refuse, For I fear you would lead me astray.’”

You could swear that Eddie’s eyes glow nearly red at you in the moonlight, his teeth sharper than you’ve ever seen them as he grins at you. The lace at his collar is untied, disheveled, falling open to reveal one of the inked pictures on his skin and his dark chest hair. 

“Climb any maypoles today, princess?” he asks you after a moment of your staring at him, like you’ve seen a ghost.

The question sets your skin aflame. You sit back on your heels, giving him a caustic expression, despite the way your heart flutters at the sight of him. It’s the eve of May, your lurid mind thinks, tracing his outline among the trees. Anything could happen. 

“I thought I told you I never wanted to see you again, Mr. Munson,” you retort, imagining that he won’t be affected by your words in the slightest.

He isn’t. “Ah-ah, you said you hoped that you wouldn’t. But you didn’t toss a coin in the well, therefore, your wish was never going to be granted. Rules of nature, sweetheart.” He wags a finger at you. “And enough with that ‘Mr. Munson’ business. You remember my name, don’t you?” 

“Eddie,” you say quietly, not sure why you feel so shy when you do. Probably because, up until now, you’ve been firm in your false belief that you’d never give him the time of day. It seems it all depends on whether or not you’ve seen him shirtless, first.

“Good girl. I knew you were paying attention.” Eddie smirks at you then, sowing the seeds of your detriment right there. He stands poised, and then bows low as he says, “So, pretty maiden, shall I go with you through the meadows to gather some May?”

You consider quoting the song right back to him, but you figure that it’s probably what he expects you to do. So instead, you sigh and shrug your shoulder at him. “As long as you promise not to crush them in your big meaty hands.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open in shock, an impressed smile curling his mouth up at the corners. He barks a laugh. “That’s not how the song goes.” 

“Well, the song ends with them kissing and then getting married in the morning,” you point out, with a roll of your eyes. “So, forgive me for not adhering to the lyrics.”

“Also, my hands are not meaty.” He smirks at you ruefully, his face half bathed in moonlight. He leans towards you, “I’ll tell you what is, though–”

“If you’re about to mention your maypole again, I’m leaving,” you snap, glaring at him in the dark. He snickers, but says nothing, instead preferring to start gathering marigolds. “Just how did you manage to find me again, anyways? There are hundreds of people wandering the meadows tonight. How is it that you keep managing to run into me and no one else?”

“Oh, I can sniff you out in a heartbeat, princess. It’s one of my many talents.” The flowers are dwarfed by his hands– his long fingers pinch the stems delicately, offset by the size of the silver rings he wears on them. You admire them, watching them glint in the moonlight, the tendons in his wrist flexing and his skin pulling tight over veins and knuckles. The heavy metal clicks as he works. You’re about to comment on them, when you watch what said fingers are doing with the flowers.

He takes one, and loops the stem around another, creating a loose knot that lets the tails sit alongside each other. He repeats the process slowly, building a chain of bright marigold blooms, while he hums idly and shoots you a heavy look from beneath his lashes. “Ah. So you’re not afraid to look, now. That’s good to know.” 

You tear your eyes away. The tips of your ears burn with embarrassment at having been caught staring, yet again. “Have you any shame?” 

“Not a hair of it.” 

Eddie holds up a finished crown of flowers, grinning at you. He places the circlet of blooms on your head, and as he draws back, tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. 

“And I crowned her my Queen of sweet May,” he sings at you, more of a coo than truly carrying a tune. “The most beautiful one in all the land, of course.”

“From princess to queen,” you muse, trying not to show how quickly your heart is melting. “I’m sure you must think that endears you to me.”

“I’d like to think so,” Eddie admits, leaning ever closer to you. You can see the reflection of the moon in his eyes, glinting vaguely red– you can smell honeyed wine on his breath. His voice drops even lower in register, until it’s just barely above a whisper. “I hope so. Tell me I’m wrong, sweetheart.” 

“I think,” you murmur just as quietly, letting your eyes drop indulgently to his parted lips. They’re so plush and inviting, they’re right there. You need only let yourself bend an inch and you could kiss him. You breathe in, “I think…”

Your hand falls softly to the basket of flowers beside you.

“I think your hands are egregiously meaty.”

You lift a handful of marigolds and smash them into his mouth, making him splutter and fall backwards. You cackle, flinging yourself in the opposite direction, scrambling up to run away. You swear you got some of them in his mouth; you can hear him coughing and spitting them at the same time as he laughs.

“I’ll get you for that!” You can hear him leaping up to chase you, and the prospect makes your heart pound in your chest, your blood rushing hot beneath your skin. You’re sure that it will be easy for him to catch you– you’re hoping for it, really.

You duck between the pines and into the trees. “Come sniff me out then, if you must!” 

You hear his laugh from behind you, almost sounding dark and menacing. Your hair stands on end, but your feet carry you through the trees, running even though you feel as though you’ve been struck by lightning. 

His feet pound the earth behind you, his laughter dancing on the breeze and combining with the music from the meadow. Beyond the trees, your contemporaries dance and make merry with the coming of summer. Here, in the woods, you run from some indeterminate end– one that you have an inkling of, like the barest traces of a memory, but you can’t quite make it out yet. 

Eddie’s hands snatch you by the waist, and you yelp. Heat bursts beneath your skin where he touches you through your bodice, whirling you around until your back hits the trunk of a tree. 

Your breath catches in your throat, heart pounding, chest heaving. Eddie is so close, and the air around you buzzes with energy and magic, as if the very trees themselves were singing. 

“You little minx,” Eddie muses, his voice rumbling low like thunder. “Just need me to chase you, is that it?” His eyes truly do shine red, you don’t think you’re imagining it– each time they catch the light of the moon, or a torch burning far off in the meadow, you see a glimpse of that subtle iridescent red of a forest creature in the dark glinting back at you. 

“I think you’re a spirit,” you whisper, the words light and airy in your throat as you try to regain your breath. “I think you’re one of the Fey. You can’t be real.”

Eddie has you caged in against the tree– one hand on the trunk beside your head, one on your hip. You don’t want to be anywhere else. “Oh, I’m very real, sweetheart. Shall I show you how much?”

His forefinger traces the line of your cheekbone, down the side of your face, to your jaw. You want it bad. You want him and anything he’ll give you– throw you to the ground, take you as prey, the lot of it. You won’t be married in the morning, but tonight all things are possible. 

You turn your face and drag your lips across his knuckles, half-gone in your desire. You barely even register the look on his face; eyes wide, lips parted in awe, like he’s never seen anything like you before. Like you confound him as much as he confounds you. A match made in heaven. 

Eddie catches your jaw in his fingertips, holding you like you’re made of glass, and he crashes down into you. He tastes of cherry wine, as rich and deep as the color of his blouse, which you fist in your hand to tug him closer. 

“Please,” you whisper against his lips. It falls like a sigh into his mouth, and his hand tightens on your hip momentarily before gathering your skirts. The fabric flutters as he pulls at them, tugging them up just enough to disappear beneath the hem. 

Your breath quickens. His hand makes contact with your thigh and you think, Oh fuck, this is really happening. 

Eddie’s finger’s pause on the breadth of your thigh, just above your knee. His forefinger strokes downward, passing over your garter strip and feeling the weave of the silk before he cracks a self-satisfied smirk at you. 

“Nice stockings. Get them recently?”

Your eyes narrow with false gravity, your nose scrunching. “I’ll kill you.”

His smirk stretches into a grin, and he scoffs a little laugh that flutters across your lips. It feels like a kiss. “Dying between the legs of my beautiful Queen of May sounds like a good way to go, actually.”

His hand drags hotly up your outer thigh, and the touch nearly burns you to your core. Eddie’s thumb presses against the skin just at the juncture of your leg, and you press your lips together to bite back a moan from coming out. Everything between your legs is tense, and pulsing, and turning feverish the longer he just pets at your skin and tugs your leg up to rest against his hip. 

His fingertips dig into the curve of your ass and the moan escapes you; high pitched, needy, embarrassing. You’re hot all over and you feel like you might die if he doesn’t touch you– you have a mind to tell him so, too, when Eddie dips his head and bites at your earlobe. 

He dips his finger between your folds, tracing one forefinger up the seam of your cunt, and you swear you could nearly scream. Flesh that is too hot and too sensitive bursts alive with feeling. His finger is drenched, your legs shake just from one touch. Is this what it always feels like?

“Oh, baby,” he coos as you whimper into his neck. His lips move slowly along your skin. Each move of his finger, just teasing you gently, dragging so slowly over your clit that your back arches and you keen long and high. “That’s it. This is what you needed, isn’t it?” 

You let out a pitiful squeak, nodding your head like you may explode rather than answer. He strokes you firmly and then gently, watching your face, studying your expressions. It’s so much and it’s not enough, not nearly enough to settle the throbbing in your core. 

“Please…” It’s the only thing you can come up with, the word bubbling up out of your throat before you can make it make sense. “Please.”

“‘Please’ what?” Eddie tilts his head. His pale skin nearly glows in the moonlight, the red in his eyes shining for a split second. “Please… here?”

His finger circles your entrance, prodding but never quite dipping in all the way. It’s just enough to make you see stars, just enough to turn you nearly insane. 

“Oh my God,” you cry out, fingers digging into his shoulders and gripping at his neck. 

Eddie hums, letting you feel the gentle touch for a few more seconds before it’s gone. You could cry. There are tears in your eyes– you could sob, throw a tantrum. You don’t think it would make him change his mind either way.

“My hands are too big, though, aren’t they?” Eddie shakes his head, mirroring your pout in a condescending manner that makes you want to smack him. Then he cracks a smirk, and you know he’s just being mean. “Mhm. Big and meaty. Too much for a sweet little thing like you. I wouldn’t want to break–”

You snatch his wrist through your skirts and bring his hand back between your legs. No preamble, no begging– this time he hisses, and you sigh with relief as you grind down onto not just his fingers, but his entire hand. 

“You’re not disappearing on me this time, Munson,” you nearly growl at him. Your tongue lavishes his skin, his long neck providing just the right amount of area for you to indulge in. 

“I would have stayed,” he gasps out when your teeth find a particularly tender spot under his jaw. “I’d have stayed if I knew you wanted me to.”

“I want you to,” you say, and you wonder if you’ll regret it in the morning. But the morning seems so far away right now, and his hand feels so good between your legs, and you don’t quite understand how you could regret anything that makes him look at you like that.

“Don’t– You can’t talk to me like that,” he whispers, and his eyes shine like rubies in the night as he gazes at you in awe. “You should know better than that.”

You do know better. But still, you tell him, “Stay,” and it’s like a dam has been broken. You know that you’ll never get rid of him now, and you don’t really want to. You want him to make a home in your chest, right against your heart. You want him to always touch you like this. You want him to always look at you with that same reverent gaze, like he’s just looked upon divinity.

Eddie crowds between your legs and his hand leaves you, but his thigh remains in its place. His leg presses tight to your core, the rough fabric of his trousers not nearly as warm as the touch of his hand, but just as erotic. You rock forward mindlessly against his thigh as he takes your face in his hands– one wet with your arousal– and kisses you breathless. His lips move over yours softly, and then passionately, until you take all that passion and feed it back into him twice over.

You lose track of time. The stroke of his tongue against yours, your hands in his hair, his firm thigh between your legs, all brings you to the edge of oblivion. You squirm against him and he chuckles against your lips. He knows what you want. He’ll give it to you, you know it, you know that he will–

And then a twig snaps. Someone calls your name just through the trees, and then, fucking Victoria breaks through the bushes just in time to see you jump and squeal, having to clutch at Eddie’s shoulders to keep from falling over when he spins around to see who intruded on your precious moment.

“OH! I’m so sorry– I thought–” Victoria fiddles with a long lock of her hair, twisting it idly before tossing it over her shoulder. You’re sure you look disheveled, with Eddie’s crown of marigolds slowly unweaving itself in your hair. It’s obvious to her what you’d been doing– Her eyes rake up and down Eddie’s frame, standing halfway in front of you like a shield, his chest heaving, a dark spot on his trousers where his thigh had been pressed between your legs. “Well, you said you were going to be back, and we thought you’d gone missing…”

“I was in the middle of doing something,” you tell her bluntly.

“Understatement,” Eddie mutters under his breath, and you knock your elbow against his back.

You ignore him. “I thought you didn’t want to go into the woods?”

“Well, that was before we thought you… disappeared.” Victoria looks from you to Eddie. “Who’s this?”

“Something.” Eddie grins at her, sharp teeth glinting in the moonlight breaking through the trees. “Sorry I stole her away from you. We were actually just having a fascinating conversation about when it’s appropriate to disappear– you could join us if you want?” 

Eddie glances over his shoulder at you, and smirks a bit at the expression of complete and utter envy on your face. You don’t want anyone to join. You don’t want to share him. You want him all to yourself. You want to grow on him like ivy until no one can see him but you. You want to hold him close to your chest and keep him there for eternity, and then some. 

“Oh, no, I–” Victoria blushes. She half-turns, like she wants to run away from the conversation entirely. “I just wanted to let you know that we’ve collected all the flowers we need, so… we’re going back to town. You can stay… if you want.”

You want to throw a fit.

She ducks back into the bushes quickly. Eddie is quiet for a moment, listening to her footsteps through the grass, before he turns to you. 

“You were jealous,” he teases, leaning towards you with that stupid self-aggrandizing grin.

Your face grows hot with anger and embarrassment. “You did that on purpose.” You shove him bodily, so that he stumbles a bit to the side, and he snickers. “I can’t believe you. She could have said yes to that.”

“Nah, she was too bashful. I knew she wasn’t gonna take me up on the offer. She wandered into something she wasn’t ready for.” Eddie leans up against a tree, smiling at you with a more resigned expression now. He looks you over, like he wants to burn the image of your kiss-bitten lips and rumpled dress into his memory. After a moment, he meets your eye again. “You should go. Get some sleep before the festival tomorrow.”

“But I–” You flounder. You just made so much progress, and now you’re just back where you began. You shouldn’t be proud about it now– not after he nearly took you to pieces with a single touch. Not when you can still feel the sharp edge of an orgasm pressing at your core, wanting to force its way out but with no way to get there now, and every look at him makes it press that much harder. “You know what– I don’t even know what I expected.” 

You march off towards the tree line. You have to find your fucking flower basket. You have to go and make garlands and slap together some bouquets for the festival tomorrow. You have to pretend like you aren’t dying inside from the disappointment.

“Princess.” You turn to him. He isn’t smiling anymore, he just looks disappointed as well. He glances up at the moon, and then back to you. “It’s a full moon tomorrow. Best not to go near the woods, okay?”

“Don’t tell me you believe in those stupid wolf-man stories, too,” you snap, beyond aggravated.

“Just promise me,” Eddie bites back, his eyes shining dangerously in the moonlight. “Promise me that you’ll stay in town. Don’t come near the woods. Drink, be merry, have a good time.”

“And you?” You feel a bit humiliated and desperate, vying for his time and attention– but you want it. You want it, you want him, more than anything, but you have a feeling you won’t be getting what you want, yet again. “What about you?” 

“I’ll find you,” he says firmly, and then lowers his eyes. Softly, he amends, “I’ll always come back to you.”

[luvzshy]

billie x reader halloween fic with their baby girl! maybe reader and billie go in mike wazowski/ sully onesies and their baby going as boo🥹

Monstrous Love

Summary: Billie, the reader, and their daughter Lily, dressed as Mike, Sully, and Boo, go trick-or-treating on Halloween night. Lily charms everyone with her costume, and Billie and the reader cherish the sweet moments together as a family.

Warnings: None, just pure fluff!

Word Count: ~500 words

Halloween night had arrived, and the living room was filled with excited giggles as you slipped into your big, plush Sully onesie. The material was soft and cozy, and as you pulled the hood over your head, you could see Billie fumbling with her own costume in the mirror across the room. She wore a bright green Mike Wazowski onesie, complete with a giant single eye on the hood and tiny horns at the top. It suited her in the most hilariously adorable way, and you couldn’t help but laugh as she struggled to get the eye to sit just right.

“Stop laughing, you blue furball,” Billie muttered, sticking her tongue out playfully. She turned to you with a mock glare but couldn’t keep a straight face. You pulled her into a hug, and she leaned into you with a contented sigh, her arms wrapping around your waist.

“Alright, where’s our Boo?” you whispered, glancing around the room.

At that moment, Lily toddled in, clutching her favorite stuffed animal. Dressed in a little pink T-shirt and purple leggings, with her hair tied in two tiny pigtails with matching pink bows, she was the spitting image of Boo. Her chubby cheeks were rosy with excitement, and her big eyes lit up as she saw the two of you in your costumes.

“Baba! Mama!” she squealed, clapping her hands. She toddled over as fast as her little legs could carry her, reaching up for Billie, who instantly scooped her up.

“Are you ready to go trick-or-treating, Boo?” Billie cooed, kissing her forehead. Lily nodded enthusiastically, patting Billie’s face as if to make sure her mama was real.

You chuckled, reaching out to gently tug on one of Lily’s pigtails. “Come on, monster fam. Let’s go show the world the cutest Boo there ever was.”

Walking through the neighborhood was like stepping into a storybook. Pumpkins glowed on every porch, skeletons hung from trees, and children in costumes of all kinds dashed from house to house. You held Billie’s hand tightly, while Billie cradled Lily against her hip, the three of you drawing attention wherever you went.

Each time you approached a door, Billie would make a goofy monster face at Lily, who would squeal and bury her face in her mama’s shoulder, only to peek out with a giggle as soon as someone opened the door. The neighbors cooed over Lily, offering her tiny candies that she clutched with all her might, her little fingers sticky as she tried to hold them all.

“Mommy! Mommy!” she babbled, her eyes wide with wonder as a group of kids in spooky costumes ran by. She pointed excitedly, her gaze shifting between you and Billie as if to share every little thing she saw.

Halfway down the block, Billie gave you a playful nudge. “Can you believe how obsessed everyone is with her?” she whispered, grinning. “I mean, I knew she was cute, but…”

You laughed, squeezing her hand. “She takes after you,” you teased, making Billie roll her eyes.

By the time you finished making rounds, Lily was starting to nod off, her little head resting on Billie’s shoulder. She clutched a lollipop in one sticky hand, refusing to let it go even as her eyes began to droop. You reached out, gently brushing a strand of hair away from her face, your heart swelling at the sight.

When you finally arrived back home, Billie carefully laid Lily down on the couch, covering her with a soft blanket. She gazed at your sleeping daughter with a soft smile, brushing a hand over her tiny fingers.

“She was perfect tonight,” Billie whispered, looking up at you with a mixture of exhaustion and pure joy.

You nodded, wrapping an arm around Billie’s shoulders and pulling her close. “Couldn’t have asked for a better Halloween,” you murmured, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Our little Boo stole the show.”

With one last glance at your sleeping Lily, you and Billie snuggled up on the couch together, still dressed in your onesies, hearts full and grateful for the perfectly imperfect family you’d built.

[no-road-home]

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern on Backerkit now!

Stewpot: Tales from a Fantasy Tavern is a GMless one-to-three shot TTRPG based on games like MF0: Firebrands and The Sundered Land. It's a collection of 20 mini-games where former adventurers open a tavern together and reintegrate into society after a life on the road.

What happens after the adventure? What does daily life in a fantasy world look like? Stewpot draws inspiration from stories like Dungeon Meshi, Redwall, Frieren, and Bartender, as well as various aspects of D&D. It's a great way to wrap up a long-running fantasy TTRPG campaign.

Start a garden, cook monsters, run a festival booth, reforge old weapons, flirt with mysterious strangers, and more in a new version of the game with tons of art and new storybook-style layout!

(more info and full description of the mini-games in the read more!)

The structure of the game is based on characters having an Adventurer Job, with Adventurer Experiences that represent their abilities and powers, and a Town Job with Town Experiences. You can make new characters just for the game, or bring in old characters and recreate them with the existing Experiences or write your own.

As you play the game, you'll cross off Adventurer Experiences as you let go of them or let them fade into the background, and gain new Town Experiences that take their place. Along the way you'll upgrade your Tavern and give each other Keepsakes!

Games from the old Itch.io PDF version (0.41):

The First Step: Before you decided to put down roots here, before you found this group of friends, what were you doing? What was the first thing you learned about how to live in town?

NPC Sidequest: Your adventuring days may be over, but there are plenty of people in town that could use your help.

Wear and Tear: There’s always something to fix, or clean, or pay off.

Market Day: You never would have guessed how many things you need just to keep a tavern running. 

Homegrown: There’s something special about using ingredients grown nearby. Why not give growing your own a try?

Sliced: Sometimes supply routes get disrupted. Or maybe you just want to stand out from the rest of the taverns. Whatever the reason, you’re playing this game because you want or need to do one thing: cook with monster parts.

Romancing a Stranger: Someone in the tavern makes eye contact with you, and their gaze lingers a little longer than you’d expect. Your co-workers urge you on, and make every excuse they can to send you over to talk to the lovely Stranger.

Off the Clock: Where do you go after the tables are wiped down? Who’s heard every story you have about the worst people who have walked in?

A Friendly Tavern Brawl: Every tavern has its rowdy patrons. You know they’re good at heart, but sometimes when the ale is flowing and spirits are high, things get a little out of hand. How do you handle the situation?

Festival Day: Your town has a few festival days a year, and they’re some of your busiest. How do you prepare? How do you handle the influx of people?

A Bard's Tale: During your time as an adventurer, you accomplished many daring deeds. In fact, some of those deeds are retold to this day by travelling bards.

A Glass of the Gods: Sometimes a troubled adventurer will come in, looking for answers, and letting them drink themselves into oblivion is the wrong answer. It's up to you  to  mix the perfect drink, something perfect for the situation that can push the adventurer to look inside and find the answer on their own.

A Distinguished Guest: Someone important is in town, and they’re already almost here. The tavern has to be at its best for this guest. After all, they might leave a generous tip.

In the Rhythm of Things: Time passes. Rough edges are sanded down. Before you know it, life in town has become like breathing. You gather in your favorite part of the tavern and wonder where the time has gone.

New games for this crowdfunding campaign:

Shields and Skillets: Enchantments are volatile things, especially when they sit unused for long periods of time. You have to let go of your old equipment before it’s too late.

Shelter from the Storm: Early one morning, you feel it. A familiar ache in your bones. Something is coming.

A Funeral: As an adventurer, you said farewell many times. Sometimes it was only temporary. Most of the time, it wasn't. 

Retracing: You've left town for something: an errand, a vacation, an old favor. Suddenly, you recognize the route you're traveling. You've been this way before, during your adventuring days.

A Fleeting Memory: Something about the way the fire flickers lingers in your mind. The smell of hay and clover brings a tear to your eye. A fading memory resurfaces.

A Familiar Face: An old friend you haven't seen in a while has stopped by. Why not show them around the town and the tavern?

[cjlouwho]

Good Day for a Breakdown

(This fic features Juniper from my Uncle Eddie series. You can still read this without ever reading those stories. Juniper is Buck and Tommy's daughter.)

By the time Tommy and Juniper started their day, Evan had been at work for a couple of hours. He wasn't supposed to be working today. They were all supposed to be heading to the zoo together.

But the opportunity for overtime came up, and they'd been saving for a trip in the summer.

So, Papa and Juniper day it was!

Tommy had the whole day planned and everything seemed to be right on schedule for a full half hour... then it all fell apart.

First, Juniper's toast wasn't buttery enough. Then there was too much butter. Then she didn't want toast at all, and wanted cereal instead.

After cleaning up half the cereal that ended up on the floor, Tommy and Juniper headed to her bedroom to get dressed.

That's when the screaming started.

She wanted her white shirt, but not that white shirt. She wanted the specific white shirt that was in the laundry room soaking in stain remover after an applesauce incident the night before.

The pants Tommy tried to put on her were too tight around her tummy, then the next pair were too loose and “wiggly.”

Also, she hated every single pair of shoes she owned.

When Tommy looked at the clock and saw it wasn't even ten yet, he decided right then and there that the zoo was no longer in question.

Cue the next round of screams.

When Juniper turned two, everyone joked that they better get ready. The terrible two's would come, and they'd come with a vengeance.

Except they didn't.

And that made Buck and Tommy feel exceptionally lucky.

Until Juniper reached three. That's when her terrible two's started.

Things had calmed down recently. Her outbursts were less frequent and were usually over within a few minutes.

Not today though. Today was nonstop, and Tommy felt every bit of it.

There was no nap for Juniper today. The mere mention of it had her throwing her books to the ground in the living room, even taking a couple and ripping out the pages before Tommy could get to them.

Playing outside was a disaster, because she wanted to put her hands in the dirt and when Tommy finally said okay and she did it, she hated the feeling of it on her hands and was immediately yelling for him to get it off.

Later on, when he grabbed her up to stop her from slamming head first into their back door, she bit down on his shoulder so hard he yelped and nearly dropped her.

Tommy remembered watching videos when the temper tantrums first began. The gentle parenting ones where the moms tried to reason with their hyperventilating children.

He hated those videos.

There was no reasoning with this child. Not on one of these days.

He gave up on cleaning the individual messes. They could stay right where they were until she went to sleep.

If she ever went to sleep.

He had to get through bath time first. Where the water wasn't the right temperature, and the bubbles were too bubbly, and she threw every bath toy over Tommy's head and against the bathroom wall.

Tommy looked at his watch, 7:00 staring back at him. Evan should have been home an hour ago.

They didn't let themselves worry if the other was late, not until three hours had passed without a text or call. Otherwise, they were to assume the other was simply running late and would be home as soon as possible.

With a sigh, Tommy pulled the plug in the tub to let the water drain. Which was apparently an act of war in Juniper's eyes.

When he finally got her into bed, she denied every bedtime storybook he offered her. She ended up falling asleep while sobbing into his chest.

After gently getting her settled into bed, Tommy headed out into the living room to clean up. That's when the front door slowly opened and Buck walked in.

“Hey,” he greeted quietly with a smile, knowing Juniper would be out by now.

“Hey,” Tommy replied, leaning in as Buck walked over for a kiss. “Get a last minute call?”

“Sort of,” he answered, glancing around at the disaster that was their living room. “Wow. Busy day, huh?”

“Yeah, um.” Tommy turned, bending to grab some of Junie's toys. “What do you mean, sort of?”

“Got a call at like five after six. Didn't expect it to take so long to get wrapped up.”

“C shift wasn't in yet?” Tommy asked.

“They were there. Just getting in. It seemed like it would be a quick call.” Buck shrugged. “It had been an easy shift, so I figured I'd help out.”

Tommy stood there in the dead center of their living room, Juniper's toys tossed all around, with two of her teddy bears in his hand. He nodded, tightening his lips together until they were nearly white. Once he found his voice again, he cleared his throat. “Well, at least it was an easy shift, right?”

“Yeah, it really was.” Without asking any questions, Buck picked up a couple of broken crayons from the floor and headed into the kitchen to throw them away. He acted so nonchalant about it that, had Tommy had any crayons in his own hand, they would have crumbled into little dust with how hard he was clenching his fists.

“Did you cook that chicken tonight?” Buck called out.

Tommy sighed. “Uh, no. No, I never had a chance.”

“Mm,” Buck hummed, disappointed. “Can't refreeze it. We'll have to throw it out tomorrow.”

Tommy tossed a blanket from the floor onto the couch. “I will take it out when I leave for work in the morning.”

“I hate to waste it,” Buck said, opening the fridge and pulling it out. “Maybe I'll make something with it really quick. That way you'll have something for lunch tomorrow too.”

It wasn't a slight against him, Tommy knew that. But it felt like it. It felt like Evan was telling him, “You're basically throwing money away, Tommy. You really couldn't shove some chicken in a pan and throw it in the oven? I guess I could do it after working twelve hours of overtime. Oh, and I'll also be making you lunch for tomorrow, which you didn't bother to do for me today.”

He was usually on the other side of this. Usually the one reminding Evan what he actually said instead of what Evan heard.

But today sucked, and everyone and everything was against him.

“Is there anything you're craving?” Buck asked, heading back to the fridge for more ingredients. “Nothing fancy though. It's gotta be a one pot meal and-”

“So you could have come home?” Tommy questioned, abandoning the mess in the living room to come talk to Buck. “But you went on a call instead?”

Slowly, Buck closed the fridge door and turned to Tommy, staring at him for a moment before asking, “A- Are you mad at me right now?”

“Why would I be mad at you?”

“I think that's a question for me to ask, because I have no idea.”

“Evan, I-” Tommy huffed out a breath, motioning back toward the living room. “Do you not see the disaster back there?”

“Yeah, I mentioned it when I came in.”

Beginning to get a little pissed off at Evan's obliviousness, Tommy walked back over to the living room, grabbing two books off the floor and bringing them to Buck. “She destroyed these before I could stop her. Tore the pages right out. One's the mind-numbingly boring My Two Daddies book you got her-”

“Hey!”

“And the other was the one my mom gave me when I was little. They're trash now.” He dramatically dropped the books into the trash can to further prove his point... whatever his point actually was.

“Tommy-”

“That was right after the second time I had to blow in her face to get her to stop holding her breath.”

That's when the full realization finally hit Buck. “She had one of her breakdown days, didn't she?”

“Ya think?”

“It's been a while. I thought those were over.”

“Oh, no. She just laid dormant until she got me alone. Which I shouldn't have been, because you weren't even supposed to work today.”

Buck paused. “Wait a minute,” he said, glaring over at Tommy. “Are you mad because I took overtime? Overtime that we both agreed I'd take to help pay for our trip this summer?”

“We agreed to taking some overtime,” Tommy replied, “but you didn't tell me you'd taken overtime for today until after you said yes.”

Buck cocked his head to the side. “I didn't know I needed your permission to work.”

“That's not what I-”

“Do I need to ask for your permission on a daily basis? My regular shift starts back in two days, should I ask if it's okay to go now, or wait until the day of? I think Bobby would prefer to have a little extra time to find someone to fill in should it not please you.”

“Evan.”

“Maybe I should have Carla come over on the days you're alone with Juniper if you can't handle her.” Buck knew that wasn't fair before the words left his mouth. He'd been alone with Juniper on one of her breakdown days. It was like endless torture.

The worst part was Tommy stopped fighting back right then and there. He stared at Buck, lips pursed. After a few seconds, he nodded, eyes now wet and red-rimmed. “I'm gonna go for a run,” he said softly, defeated.

He turned for the door, grabbing his shoes on the way out.

“Wait, Tom-” By the time Buck had found his voice again, it was too late. Tommy was out the door, closing it quietly behind him.

*****

When Tommy walked back into the house nearly two hours later, it was dimly lit. He could hear soft jazz playing in the living room. As he stepped in further, he saw that the house had been picked up, all of Juniper's toys put away. The little disasters from the day were gone, just a memory now.

He could hear Evan in the kitchen, could smell something cooking. Tommy's stomach growled, a reminder that he'd never been able to sit for lunch.

When he reached the kitchen, Evan was next to the stove, freshly showered and changed into sweats and one of Tommy's t-shirts. He wasn't messing with the food. Instead, he was working on something beside it. As Tommy got a better look, he could see that it was the book his mom had given him when he was young. Buck was concentrating hard as he taped the pages back together.

Tommy's chest ached. He knew it should make him feel better. Should make him feel relieved, happy, thankful. Anything other than a complete and total failure.

Buck turned then, jumping slightly when he saw Tommy. “I didn't hear you come in,” he said, a cautious smile on his face. “I think we should put your book up until Junie's a little older. I kept the other one in the trash,” he continued with a nervous laugh. “You were right, it sucked.”

And that's when Tommy broke. His face crumpled and his shoulders fell and within a matter of seconds Buck had his arms around Tommy, holding him tight.

Tommy accepted the hug, tucking his head into Buck's neck and wrapping his own arms around Buck's waist.

“I'm so sorry,” Buck whispered into the space between them. “I didn't mean what I said. I'm sorry.”

“I'm not-” Tommy sucked in a shaky breath. “It's not because of you.”

Buck turned his head, leaving a gentle kiss on Tommy's temple. “I'm still sorry.”

“S'okay.”

They stood there for a while in silence, Buck running his fingers through Tommy's hair.

“All I kept thinking,” Tommy said after a few minutes, sniffling as he continued to cling to Buck, “was that my drill sergeants never made me cry. One day alone with a three year old broke me.”

Even as he let out a laugh, Buck rubbed at Tommy's back soothingly. “The army should rethink bootcamp. Let angry toddlers train the soldiers.”

“Graduation rate would go way down.”

Tommy's stomach growled again, and Buck leaned back so he could look at him. “You hungry?” he asked, wiping a tear from Tommy's cheek.

Tommy nodded. “Sorry you had to cook after working all day.”

“I didn't mind,” Buck assured him, taking his hand and leading him to the table. “I told you, it was an easy day, plus I don't have work tomorrow.”

He pulled out Tommy's chair, not letting go of his hand until he was fully seated. He kissed the top of Tommy's head before going into the kitchen to fix them each a bowl of soup.

“Did you wanna get a shower before you eat?” Buck asked.

He shook his head, wiping at his eyes. “I didn't really run,” Tommy admitted. “I walked to the end of the block and sat on the curb for an hour and a half.”

“Did it help at all?”

“Not a bit. God, Evan, it was such a bad day,” he said, resting his head in his hands. “I didn't mean to take it out on you.”

Buck walked over, sliding Tommy's bowl over to him before sitting down beside him. “It's not like I made it any easier. I wasn't even really paying attention.”

“I just... I had the whole day planned. We were gonna go to the zoo, have lunch out, be back home for nap time. Then I was gonna take her with me to the gym so she could go to that kids class she loves, make dinner, have her fed and bathed. We'd clean the house up together, and I'd get to read her a story or two, then she'd be fast asleep by the time you got home. And then we'd have dinner together and, well,” he shrugged, “you know.”

Buck tried to hide a grin, reaching out and taking Tommy's hand. “Honey, she's asleep, I think you can say you'd like to fuck me.”

Tommy groaned, hanging his head down dramatically. “I would. I really would.”

Buck laughed. “Well, some of those things were accomplished.”

“No, she's only asleep because she screamed herself to sleep. I had nothing to do with it.”

“We're also having dinner together,” Buck pointed out. “And I'd be more than happy for you know,” he added with a wink, “after dinner.”

Tommy gave Buck's hand a squeeze.

“This is really good,” he said, taking another bite of the soup. “Thanks for cooking.”

“Thanks for eating with me.”

“Thanks for fixing my book.”

Buck smiled. “Thanks for being such a good Papa that our kid isn't afraid to have a bad day.”

Tommy smiled back at him, even as tears filled his eyes again. “Thanks for being the best partner I could ever ask for.”

“Thanks for loving me.”

Tommy lifted Buck's hand, pressing a kiss to his knuckles. “Always.”

[starryevermore]

you said you were gonna come find me ✧ cardan greenbriar

angst city™ library | send in a request (consult request faqs first)

pairing: cardan greenbriar x fae!fem!reader

request: part 2 of the cardan fic?? - anon

summary: and you didn't wanna hang around. she said it was just goodbye for now. he said he was gonna grow up, then he would come find you.

word count: 1,728

warnings?: dual povs, a little angst with a happy ending, not proofread

PART ONE | PART THREE

The local children were convinced you were a witch. Part of you wanted to tell them that you were worse than a witch—that you could turn them into animal of your choosing, that you could make them do things and think they liked it, that you could ruin their lives by virtue of existing. Perhaps that was the heartache talking, so you instead shouted “boo!” when you caught them staring for too long. You supposed, though, you fed into the rumors of your being a witch. You came into this town out of nowhere, lived far away from the rest of its people, and only interacted with them when you went into town for food or a new library book. No one knew who you were or where you came from. At first, you reveled in the solace.

Now, you were only painfully are of how lonely you were.  

When you left Faerie, you went as far as you could from your former home. Traveled up to the mountains, found an abandoned cabin you could hole up in. There were few faeries in this area, mostly solitary fae that you would encounter while on walks in the woods, which had been the draw. Months later, you found yourself wishing you had set yourself up in one of the communities of fae who lived in the mortal lands. Would you be admitting defeat to leave the cabin now and join them? 

It wasn’t all horrible in your little cabin. Being away from court and all of its expectations was nice. You didn’t have to worry about carefully mincing your words so as not to offend anyone. You weren’t dragged into dances you would rather avoid. And you certainly did have to let your heart break over and over again as Jude at Cardan’s side. No, instead, you could read and write poetry and tend to the little garden you had started. You could find your happiness, even if it was without the one person you truly wanted by your side. 

You wondered how Cardan was doing. Had he even noticed you were gone? Did he care? He had seemed to miss seeing you when you danced with him on your last night in Faerie. But he had also not made any prior efforts to seek you out. Fae couldn’t lie, but they could manipulate. They could twist the truth to serve their interests. Few were better at doing so than Cardan. 

“When I learned you left Faerie, this was not the sort of place I expected you to be.”

You stiffened as you rounded the corner. The basket you’d been using to carry the herbs you foraged nearly fell from your grip. You squared your shoulders, looked down your nose at the woman seated at your dining room table. “I did not come here under the expectation to be found.”

Jude considered the room. The dirty dishes in the sink, the wilted flowers in the center of the table, the open storybook at the chair askew in front of her. “So it seems. It was not easy to find you.”

“You should have taken that as a sign to leave me be,” you said. You crossed the dining room and went into the kitchen. Jude’s chair scratched against the floor as she followed you. You ignored her as you began to unload the herbs from your basket. “I left Faerie for a reason.”

Though you were avoiding looking at her, you knew Jude’s eyes did not leave you. If you didn’t know better, you might have thought Jude was fae herself. The predatory glint in her eyes, the way her fingers itched to grab at her sword. She was not still like fae, nor was she unnaturally beautiful like fae, but she carried herself in such a way that you could be convinced otherwise. By human standards, she would have been the most beautiful of all. It was easy to understand why Cardan would choose her. Gorgeous but lethal—the exact sort of woman he would pursue. First Nicasia, now Jude. It was just as easy to see that you did not fit into the picture. 

“You ran in the middle of the night,” Jude said. You looked over your shoulder. Her brows were pinched together as she scrutinized you. 

“Have you come here to chastise me for leaving without a goodbye?”

She shook her head. “I have come because you were invited to breakfast.”

It was hard not to laugh. Was that why she came all the way to mountains to find you? Because you didn’t come to breakfast? It was so ridiculous. Of all the reasons to seek you out, it was the silliest of them all. Your heart ached all the same, though. No one came because you were a friend. No one came because you were missed. Would Cardan have even known you were gone if he hadn’t extended the invitation the very evening you fled? 

“If I have offended the King, then I extend my apologies.”

Jude lifted her chin. “Tell him yourself.”

Your jaw clenched and unclenched. No. You would not go to him. You would not drag yourself back to that palace and let yourself be reminded why you had to go. You refused to break your heart all over again. “I have no desire to return to Faerie.”

“You don’t have to.”

Cardan stood in your bedroom. It was different than your one in Faerie. The one there had been full of extravagant things—the finest things he could gift you. It was full of gold and pearl and opal, glittering as if it all needed to be housed in a vault. But this bedroom, it had been stitched together out of nothing. Threadbare blankets, smooshed pillows, books that looked like they would fall apart with one wrong look. Cardan listened to your conversation as your voice floated down the hall. Would you really choose all of this over being with him? Was he truly so terrible?

The floor creaked under his feet as he stepped out and walked down the hall. Cardan could only see the back of your head, but you still looked just as beautiful as he remembered. His fingers twitched at his side as he fought the urge to run up behind you, take you in his arms, and whisk you away to Faerie. When had you taken so much control over him? When had he given it to you so willingly? When had you decided you didn’t want it anymore? 

“I believe I am owed an apology?”

You turned slowly on your heel. Your eyes narrowed, but Cardan did not miss the flash of surprise. Your tongue swiped over your teeth. Would it be wrong to take that tongue in his mouth? Did it matter if it was? “I apologize.”

“My, that was heartfelt.”

Your eyes fell to the tail that swished around Cardan’s legs. It was still unfamiliar for him to have it out, still hard to control it from revealing his base emotions. He tried to will it to stop, but it continued to wave around as his excitement of seeing you bubbled in his chest. “Would you prefer I fall to my knees and weep for your forgiveness? Kiss your feet until you are pleased?”

“Oh, there are few things that would please me more than you on your knees for me, but I would prefer to not have an audience for that.”

Your gaze flitted from Cardan to Jude, who was inspecting your collection of kitchen knives. Were you debating sending her away? He would enjoy that. He would like to get on his own knees and remind you why he cared for you so. He misliked the distance you were putting between him. Maybe if he begged prettily enough, you would forgive him for whatever cruel thing he did that sent you running. 

“What are you doing here?”

“I don’t appreciate learning that you fled in the middle of the night after inviting you to breakfast. Is my company so awful that you would rather leave your home than spend a moment with me?”

A scoff escaped your lips. “I didn’t expect you to care.”

Cardan stared. Didn’t care…? He was so sure he had been clear with his intentions. He sent you gifts—he sent you a ring! The ring…Cardan reached over to his littlest finger and slipped it off. Ignoring your noise of protest, he closed the distance, grabbed your hand, and slipped the ring back on the finger it belonged. His heart slowed to a normal beat.

“Why would I give you this ring if I didn’t care?”

You stared at the ring. “You have gifted me many things.”

Jude stepped toward you. Your head snapped over to look at her, as if you had forgotten she was there. She tapped on the glittering gem on the ring’s center. “Allow me—Cardan is not good at professions of love, it seems. I told him of how humans would gift a ring as a promise of love. He wished to do that for you. Usually, there are confessions of how one wants to stay with their partner for all of their lives, but it seems he forgot that part.”

Cardan’s face burned as you looked back to him. “Is that true?” you asked. 

“Do I need to get on my knees for you to believe it?” He ignored Jude’s remark that that, too, was part of the human tradition.

You straightened your spine. “I will not be a lover to the king.”

Of course you wouldn’t be. You deserved more than that. Cardan was willing to offer you more than that. All you had to do was give him the word. Without a thought, Cardan sank to his knees, captured your hands in his. “Then be my Queen.”

Your breath hitched. 

“Come back to Faerie and rule by my side. Allow me to love you as I have tried for all these years. I missed you.” He lifted one of your hands to lips, then the other. “I begged Jude to help me find you and bring you home. I begged her to help me come here. Please, don’t let it all be for not.”

All you could manage was a single nod, and that was enough. 

PART THREE

[woso-dreamzzz]

Gone III

Hardersson x Child!Reader

Part of The Big Adventures Universe

Summary: Your Morsa is gone

Your little crinkle appears and Magda has to suppress her laughter.

Sometimes, you're too cute for your own good.

You're staring at her half-packed suitcase, lying on top of the Big Bed. You look back to Morsa, for a moment, before looking back at the suitcase.

You clamber onto the Big Bed and sit in the space of the bag that's still empty.

Morsa looks at you fondly as she folds clothes. You're making yourself comfortable in the empty side of her suitcase, folding your little body into the gap like a very determined cat.

"What are you doing, princesse?" She asks.

"Where are we going, Morsa?" You ask back.

She shakes her head at you fondly, pressing a little kiss to your forehead. "I'm going to camp."

Your frown deepens. "Me and Momma come too?"

"Sorry, princesse," She says," It's just me this time."

Your bottom lip pokes out in a pout. "I come."

Morsa picks you up, moving you to sit by the pillows. She places her clothes in the empty spot you used to occupy. "Sorry, princesse," She says again," But you're going to stay here this time, with Momma."

"But...Want to come with you..."

Morsa zips up her suitcase and sits by you, opening her arms for you to crawl into. "I'm sorry," She says," You know I love it when you come visit camp with me but not this time, princesse. It's going to be quick, I promise. Just a couple of days, a quick friendly against Switzerland and then I'll be right back here with you and Momma."

"No," You say stubbornly," I come."

Morsa puts you on her hip as she drags her suitcase behind her, placing it by the front door before sitting on the sofa and manoeuvring you into her lap.

She holds your hands. "I have to go, princesse," She says," That's non-negotiable. But you also can't come with me. It's going to be very quick and not very fun either. It won't be good for a little girl like you."

It takes much more reassurance on Magda's part to get you to settle. It takes eating in her lap at dinner and having a special bubble bath and three stories and two lullabies for you to even accept that she was leaving tomorrow without you.

But still, the morning she leaves is a tearful one.

You only cry a little bit as she presses kisses to your cheeks but you do remain sitting at the door when she leaves, like you're hoping that she'll walk back in and bring you with her.

(Nothing of the sort happens).

You're moody and whiny all day and the day after and, when you appear at Pernille's bedside at three in the morning, she lets you curl up on Magda's side of the Big Bed.

The pattern continues for the whole week.

It's made infinitely worse when, with Morsa's packed schedule, she can only facetime every so often and so quickly that it was stupid to even bother in the first place. Even when you were in Germany, she would facetime more often but it's like she's dropped off the face of the earth.

You don't really know how to feel without Morsa at home. In the before, you could go long stretches without her but now, you can't. You don't like the fact that she isn't the one to brush your hair in the morning or that she can't sing you lullabies and read you your storybooks at bedtime.

Momma can do little to console you as you wrap yourself up in a blanket that smells like Morsa and wait by the door. You're still young but you know how to count. You know Morsa comes home today and you'll be damned if you don't greet her at the door.

"Looking cosy there, princesse," Momma says. She sits next to you on the floor.

"Morsa back yet?"

Momma doesn't respond, just pulls you into her lap. She doesn't speak at all and you feel the tears well in your eyes.

Your voice quivers as you ask again. "Morsa back yet?"

She tucks you into her neck. "You're tired, princesse. You need a little nap."

The words make the tears appear in full force. Your whole face scrunches up as you try to keep them in. You don't want a nap. Morsa might come home while you're sleeping. You don't want to miss her.

"No, no nap," You say.

"I'm sorry, princesse." Momma tightens Morsa's blanket around you and hoists you into her. She paces the length of the house, cooing at you in Danish. With her rhythmic movement and the smell of Morsa around you, your eyes slide closed against your will.

You don't know how long you've been sleeping. You just know that Momma is jostling you awake.

You're groggy and still thick with sleep but your eyes squint open. Momma's peering down at you. "Look who's home."

You turn your head and spot Morsa, sitting by the front door taking off her shoes. Momma places you on your feet and you half-run, half-stumble to Morsa, her blanket like a cape over your shoulders.

You don't say anything, you just move into her embrace. You plant your face in her neck and breathe in her soothing scent.

"Hi, princesse," Her voice is pitched low and sweet and it wraps around you like a warm blanket," Don't you look all cuddly and sweet?"

"She missed you," Pernille says," She was very upset when you didn't call these last few days."

"I'm sorry, princesse," Magda says," I was very busy and I didn't always have a signal. I'm so sorry. But I'm here now."

"Here now," You echo but being so close to her, with Momma at your back makes you feel so safe and warm that you let your eyes drop again, almost against your will.

"I think the princesse needs to finish her nap," Pernille says as you slump dead asleep against Magda.

"I could use a nap too," Magda says," I think a nap in our bed sounds great."

[sinnabarmoth]

Trusting You

Pairing: Rafayel x fem|Reader

Summary: Reader is bisexual but hasn't come out to anyone before. She decides that she's going to tell her boyfriend Rafayel first.

Content warnings: None

Length: 1k

~~~

You felt like throwing up. Which probably wasn’t a good sign. Then again, you had felt nauseous the other times you tried to do this. This would make your third attempt at coming out to your boyfriend.

You knew from an early age that you liked boys and a little later on you started to figure out girls were pretty too. Was your first crush on that mermaid princess in your one storybook? Yes. Was there a girl in your primary school that you had developed a crush on and didn’t know how to deal with it so you avoided her at all costs instead? Yes. Have you told anyone that you are bisexual? No.

It wasn’t that you were ashamed of who you were or anything, and you really had nothing to fear living in Linkon and being queer. But the fact remained that you were scared that coming out would change things between you and the people you cared about. You didn’t want things to change. Life was going pretty well. You were doing well at work, you had great friends, and your boyfriend Rafayel was the literal sweetest.

But as time stretched on you felt the weight of your hidden sexuality bearing down on you. So, you had decided that you had enough of living in the closet. You were going to come out and be proud of who you were and to hell with anyone that treated you differently because of it. Out of everyone you thought of telling you decided that you wanted to tell Rafayel first.

It wasn’t because you had found some hot new girlfriend to run off with but you trusted him. Rafayel had never shied away from being supportive of the queer community and had even done a charity auction of some of his exclusive pieces to raise money for trans youth. So you knew you had nothing to fear, but getting the actual words out was proving harder than expected.

You had tried once while over dinner and chickened out. You tried again at the charity auction but again couldn’t say it. Now you were at home with Rafayel, the two of you watching a movie. You weren’t sure why you decided this was when you wanted to try telling him again. Maybe because it was so normal. There was no pressure in this instant.

You kept glancing at him, unable to focus on the screen. It’s was just three little words. “I am bisexual.” That’s all you had to say and it would finally be out there and you wouldn’t have to carry around this secret anymore. At least not around Raf.

Your head was on his shoulder, a blanket draped across your laps. His arm around you was tracing soothing circles across your skin. You focused on the motion, taking even slow breaths to calm yourself.

In and out. In…and out… You could do this. Three little words.

“Raf,” you forced the words out, “Can I tell you something?”

“You know you can tell me anything.” he turned his attention away from the tv. “What is it?”

“I just…I um…” and there your tongue went to lead again.

His brow furrowed as he saw the sentence stuck in your throat. He quickly paused the movie and pulled you closer. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“Yeah. I’m fine, I just…” you took a deep breath and screwed your eyes shut. “I’m bisexual.”

There was silence. Followed by a soft. “Oh.”

“And I’m not saying this for any particular reason! I promise.” your hands fisted the blanket, your eyes still shut tight. “I really do love you and only you but I’ve been wanting to tell you for a long time now but every time I tried I kept getting nervous and not doing it. And I don’t want this to change anything with us. Really I don’t. And if you need a minute to think about this--”

“Hey! Hey! Hey!” Rafayel put a finger to your lips, “Calm down. You’re gonna run out of air talking that fast.”

You peeked your eyes open. “Sorry.”

“No. You don’t need to apologize. I have no problem with you being bisexual, I’m happy that you told me.” he said giving you a reassuring smile. “And I’m sorry if I made you think that you couldn’t come out to me sooner.”

“It isn’t you. I know you wouldn’t have cared it’s just…” you took another breath and gathered your thoughts, “I haven’t told anyone about it. Ever. Not any of my friends or family. I’ve known for years but I always felt weird when I thought of bringing it up.”

“Cause you didn’t want things to change.” He said.

You nodded. “But I’ve been in the closet for so long and I was getting sick of it. And I knew I could trust you to not freak out about it.”

“I get it. I’m proud of you though. And I love you, exactly as you are.” he pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “And whether you want to tell others in the future or if this is just between us right now that is fine. We’re gonna go at your pace, but I know everyone else will still love and cherish you no matter who you are capable of falling in love with.”

You melted against him, endorphins rushing through your blood and filling your mind with warmth as you finally truly relaxed for the first time in years. That weight that had been dragging you down for years finally being lifted to let you have this moment of acceptance and peace.

“Thanks.” you whispered. “I really needed to hear that.”

There was a moment of silence as you let yourself calm back down. Then Rafayel chuckled. You looked up at him. “What?”

“I can’t lie, my first reaction when you came out was, ‘Hi bisexual. I’m Rafayel.’” he said with a teasing smile.

You grabbed the pillow and whacked him with a laugh and roll of your eyes. “You are so lucky I love you, you dork.”

[cookiesandbiscuits]

Hi, there! :D

I saw the new event and it want to participate, If it is not too much trouble, I would like to request:

Type: One Shot Prompt: FRIENDS TO LOVERS: "But [Silver]… we are friends." "…Yes, but–" "But I would very much like to be more than friends." Character: Silver (Twst) x Fem Prefect

Idea: I was thinking of a scenario where Silver and the prefect become increasingly closer by spending time together in the forest behind the campus (where the ancient tree is)

It's just an idea, if my order doesn't convince you, you can discard it, but if not, take your time and don't pressured. Thanks. Bye! <3

Inexplicably Drawn to You

In which your unexpected friendship with the man you met in the forest turns into something more.

Pairing: Silver x Fem!Reader

Prompt: "But [Character Name]... we are friends." "...Yes, but–" "But I would very much like to be more than friends."

A/N: Hello! Thank you for sending your request! Writing stories is one of the main reasons why I made this blog three years ago, so I appreciate every request I receive in my inbox ^^

I apologize for posting this late. The editing part took a while since this became quite long. I hope you enjoy this story!

Other notes: Reader is Yuu/prefect; uses Y/N in place of a name

» 300 Follower Milestone Event

» MASTERLIST

It was purely a coincidence meeting him that day.

You have always been drawn to the forest—its lush canopy and the whispers of its inhabitants always leaving you in awe. So when you discovered the forest behind Night Raven's campus, you were so eager to free your schedule for a visit.

And when the time finally came, it was everything you've ever imagined. The forest was peaceful and quiet; a perfect place to take a break from the usual chaos surrounding you.

You were so busy admiring the place that you didn't notice what was in front of you and you tripped.

Something, or rather, someone, was lying on the ground where you were walking.

You wanted to say something to the stranger who made you trip, but the serene look on his face made you think otherwise.

Looking closely, the man, who was sleeping as you noticed, was quite handsome. Him, adding the tranquil backdrop the forest provided, made for a spectacular sight. Just like—

"Like a prince from a storybook..." you murmured.

Just then, the stranger opened his eyes and met yours, making you jump.

"...Um, hi?" you waved awkwardly as the man continued to stare at you.

He blinked for a few moments before sitting upright.

In a groggy voice, he asked, "What time is it?"

"Time? Well..." you paused for a moment to think. "I've been here for about 30 minutes now, and I came here at around 4 PM, so I'm guessing it's already 4:30 PM."

The man widened his eyes and stood up.

"I slept on for too long. I must hurry, or I'll be late. Thank you for your assistance."

He bowed, and before you could even say anything, he had already left.

You could only blink at how quickly everything had happened.

"What'cha up to, Prefect?"

You flinched when two hands suddenly grabbed you by the shoulders.

"Ace! You almost gave me a heart attack!" you shrilled.

"Haha, you shoulda seen the look on your face— ow! What the hell, dude! What was that for?"

Ace frowned at Deuce, who only sighed at his classmate's behavior.

"You shouldn't scare people like that, Ace." He then turned to look at you. "Anyways, what are you doing, Prefect?"

"Nothing much. I'm just drawing," you smiled, showing your sketchpad to the two.

"Woah, you're pretty damn good at this," Ace marveled as he looked through the pages.

"I didn't know you can draw," said Deuce.

You shrugged. "It's just one of my pastime hobbies."

"Ooh, who's this guy?" Ace pointed the latest illustration in your sketchpad.

It was the sleeping man you met in the forest.

"I don't know," you answered, taking your sketchpad back from Ace's hands.

"What do you mean "you don't know"?"

"I just told you. I don't know." You started to put away your stuff in your bag. "I never asked his name."

Ace raised a brow on your statement. "So you drew a guy you don't know? Like what, you got a crush on him or something?"

"Wha-?! No!" you sputtered. "I just thought he's pretty, okay? And I like drawing pretty things."

"Riiiight..." The ginger-haired teen smirked.

"I told you, that's not it!" you screeched, your cheeks slowly reddening at Ace's teasing.

But the boy only laughed at your reaction. Even Deuce couldn't help but laugh too.

You can only sigh in frustration. "Ugh, you guys are terrible!"

"I swear, those two..." you grumbled as you drew the wild anemone you found.

"Oh, it's you..."

"Huh?"

You whipped your head towards the voice. It was the man your friends were teasing you with earlier.

"Oh, hello..." you greeted.

"What are you doing?" he tilted his head as he asked.

"I'm just— drawing! Yes, just drawing this this flower here," you said, opting not to voice out the reason of your grumbling.

"I see..." the man replied.

The silence that followed was long. You thought the man had already left, but to your surprise, he crouched down beside you.

Unable to take it any longer, you spoke. "So, did you get there on time?"

"Hm? Oh, you mean the last time we met. Yes, I did. And it's all thanks to you."

You waved your hand. "There's no need to thank me. Besides, you've already thanked me before."

"But still... if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't have woken up in time for my club activity."

"Ah." You recalled tripping over him the first time you met. "Sorry for tripping over you, by the way."

"It's alright," he replied.

".........."

".........."

Another moment of silence.

"Say," you started. "Do you come here often?"

The man nodded. "I find the forest calming."

You looked down at the wild anemone in front of you. "I see... I hope I'm not causing too much trouble for you."

"Not at all. How about you? Do you visit here often too?"

"When the time allows me to," you responded. "Though I try my best to visit as much as I can."

You turned to look at him.

"Since it's most likely that we'll run into each other a lot here, it's probably best to know each other's names, right?"

Reaching out a hand, you smiled. "I'm Y/N, and you are...?"

"Silver. My name is Silver."

"It's very nice to meet you, Silver."

From that day on, spending your time in the forest with Silver became a common occurrence.

True to his appearance, he was nothing short of a gentleman to you, always making sure you were doing fine during your visits.

You learned that he was a second-year student from Diasomnia and that he was part of the Equestrian Club with Riddle, and along with a first-year named Sebek, he is training to become a retainer for Malleus Draconia, the heir apparent of Briar Valley.

You felt at ease with him, grateful that you found a person aside from your first-year friends to open up to.

And he would always lend an ear to listen to your stories.

You found his presence comforting, just like the forest that has now become a special place for the two of you.

It didn't take long before the feelings of friendship you felt for him had developed into something more.

"Alright, I'm gonna do it."

You announced, clenching your hands with determination.

"Huh? What are you talking about?" Ace asked.

"I'm gonna tell him I like him."

"Finally!" the gingerhead cheered. "I was getting sick of hearing you pine for him every day, to be honest— ack! Dude, you've gotta stop hitting me at the back of my head!"

"I'll stop once you stop being so rude," Deuce replied. "I'll be rooting for you, Prefect!"

You smiled. "Thanks, Deuce. I'll be off then!"

Giving them a small wave, you rushed to the second-years' classrooms, your heart pounding with hope and excitement.

However, that feeling will soon be crushed as soon as you reached your destination.

"This is it, right?"

You panted as you read the sign above the doorframe: "2-A"

You were about to knock when you heard people talking inside, making you pause.

"...Are you two dating?"

"...No, we're not."

You blinked, hearing Silver among the voices you heard.

"The Prefect and I are only good friends, nothing more."

Oh.

Your gaze fell on the floor.

Of course, what were you thinking? It's not like he was doing all those things when you were together because he sees you as more than a friend. It was you who gave those gestures a different meaning.

Laughing bitterly to yourself, you made the walk back to Ramshackle.

"So, how did it go?"

Along with Deuce and Grim, Ace greeted you with his signature grin the moment you walked in Ramshackle's common room.

You could only give them a bittersweet smile in return.

"What, don't tell me you got— mmph!"

Covering Grim's mouth with his free hand, Ace threw a bag of chips in your direction. "You know what? Screw that guy. He doesn't even know what he's missing out on."

"Y-yeah, Ace is right," Deuce chimed in. "Don't worry, Prefect. We're here for you."

After a moment, you sighed, feeling an immense gratefulness for your two friends.

"Thanks, you guys."

"Y-yeah, sure..."

"Pwah! Alright, that's enough! Are we gonna eat these snacks or what?" Grim exclaimed, having wriggled out of Ace's grip.

"Oi, Grim! Don't you dare eat all of the snacks this time, you hear me?" Ace turned to look at your furry roommate, who was already stuffing his mouth full.

Letting out a small laugh, you sat beside Deuce who only shook his head as the other two in the room continued bickering.

You really are lucky to have them as friends.

"Oh..."

You softly gasped as you bumped into the person you have been avoiding all week: Silver.

"Ah... hello, Prefect. You must be here for Professor Crewel's class."

"Y-yes, I am..." you replied awkwardly. "And you? What are you doing here in the lab?"

"Oh, you haven't heard yet? The first-years and second-years will be having a joint class today."

"Really...?" You felt your stomach drop. "I see..."

In that moment, Professor Crewel entered the room. "Alright, puppies, take your seats."

"As I have explained yesterday, we will be making Morpheus's Elixir for today's class. However, as this is a fairly complicated potion, I have assigned to your group a second-year who will guide you in making the potion. Failure to make the potion will cause you to take a remedial class, understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then I will assign your guides now. Group 1..."

"For Y/N's group, Silver here will be your guide."

"What?!" you exclaimed.

Professor Crewel narrowed his eyes at your sudden outburst. "Do you have any problem with the assignment, Miss Y/N?"

"Ah— no, sir. I apologize."

After Crewel left your table, you sighed. Just your rotten luck, you thought.

"Are you alright, Prefect?" Silver asked.

"Huh? Oh, yes, I'm fine! Never been better!"

"Are you sure—?"

"Yep! We should probably start making the potion now. Let's see..." you cut him off, changing the topic to your current activity.

"We need one teaspoon of stardust powder, three dried lavender spikes, five drops of midnight blue extract, one moondrop piece, and one cup of milk."

Before you could put the ingredients in the cauldron, someone grabbed your hands to stop you.

"Wait! Don't dump them in the cauldron all at once."

"Huh?"

It was Silver. You immediately moved your hands away from his, as if you'd be burned if you don't.

"Ah, sorry. The instruction said to boil them together," you said sheepishly.

"You're right. But the ingredients won't mix together properly if you just put them together."

Pouring the cup of milk in the cauldron, Silver continued to explain.

"You have to heat up the milk in low heat first. Once it starts to steam, put the stardust and ground moondrop piece gradually."

He then gave the moondrop to your group mate. "Ground this and the lavender, if you please."

"Wow... you're really good at this," you marveled, watching the purplish blue potion sparkle as you gently stirred it.

Silver smiled. "Not really... I just happened to be familiar with this potion since I used to make them whenever my father gets his bouts of nightmares."

"I see..."

After a moment, Silver spoke once again.

"I haven't seen you visit the forest for a while now..."

"Oh..." you paused. "I was just...busy, y'know... between doing the headmage's biddings, schoolwork, and keeping an eye on Grim, I haven't found the time to visit."

That was a lie, of course.

You just simply haven't had the strength to face him yet after overhearing the conversation he had with his classmate.

You wouldn't admit that to him, though.

"Then... will you be visiting today?"

"I'm... not sure."

"Oh..."

"......."

The space between the two of you were filled with thick silence which lasted until the end of the class.

Silver sighed as he put the cauldron away in the cabinet.

For some reason, you've been avoiding him for several days now.

Did he do something to offend you?

Mulling over the possible reasons of your avoidance, he left the lab and found you talking to one of your classmates.

He was about to say goodbye when he heard the boy shout.

"Prefect! I-I... I like you! Please go out with me!"

Silver remained quiet as he saw the scene unfold before him. It made his stomach churn, much to his confusion.

His eyes then shifted to you.

"Oh— um... thank you, but I can't," you replied.

He released a breath he didn't know he was keeping. How odd...

Suddenly, the boy grabbed your arm, making you wince.

"C-can't you give me just one chance? I promise I'll be good to you!"

"Wait, stop—"

"Hey."

Before he could think, Silver found yanking your classmate's hand from your arm, inserting himself between you and him.

"I believe the Prefect had already given her answer."

"Silver..."

"Tch, fine..." the boy said, irritated as he raised his hands in defeat and walked away.

After making sure he was out of sight, Silver turned to you. "Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah... I was just a little surprised, is all," you replied, rubbing the arm your classmate grabbed earlier.

He frowned. Your classmate must've gripped too hard that it even left a mark.

"Has this been happening to you regularly?"

"No, this is the first time this happened, actually."

He paused, eyeing your arm before speaking again. "Do you have somewhere else to be today?"

"No, I don't. Why?

"Then let me escort you back to Ramshackle Dorm."

"Huh?! You don't need to do that!"

However, he only shook his head. "I can't let you walk alone after that. Please, I insist."

After a few more convincing, Silver finally persuaded you into letting him walk you back home.

He sighed in relief as the two of you managed to reach Ramshackle without incident.

"Thank you for walking me back," you said as you opened the front door.

"Of course."

Suddenly, the familiar gingerhead appeared.

"Hey, Prefect!" Ace greeted. "...And Silver?!"

"Wait, Silver's here?"

Another familiar face appeared. This time, it was Deuce.

"Hey guys."

"Hello."

The two Heartslabyul students exchanged looks before looking at the prefect, who sighed.

"He insisted on walking me back."

"Okay..." Ace narrowed his eyes in suspicion.

"Trappola, Spade." Silver turned to the two card soldiers. "Can I speak with you two? Please."

The gingerhead raised a brow before looking at the prefect.

"Do what you want. I'll be going inside and sleep." You waved your hand and went inside.

"Sure..."

"Say what?!"

The two blurted after Silver told them what happened earlier.

"I can't believe he did that..." Ace sighed.

"Yeah, that guy's gonna pay for that... No man should force a woman to do what he wants," Deuce cracked his knuckles as he spoke.

"Please, calm down, there's no need to retaliate. I will speak to the teachers regarding this. I only ask you to keep the Prefect company, in case something like this happens again."

"Say..." Ace suddenly turned to Silver, his eyes serious. "Why are you doing this?"

Silver's brow furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"I'm asking why are you doing all this effort for the Prefect? Don't get me wrong, we're still gonna do what you asked us to, I just don't get why you asked us for help too? Most people in this school would just tell the teachers what happened and go their merry way at best, but you even walked her home to make sure she arrived safely. What does the Prefect truly mean to you?"

He was taken aback at the first-year's question. "The Prefect is a precious friend of mine and—"

Ace scoffed, cutting him off mid-sentence. "Yeah, right."

"Ace! Don't be rude!" Deuce scolded. "I'm so sorry for my dorm mate's actions. He's only worried for our friend. Don't worry, we'll make sure the Prefect is safe."

Silver stared at Ace, who was scowling, for a moment before turning to Deuce.

"Thank you. And Ace?"

"What?"

"I know you're worried for the Prefect, but I promise you, I would never do anything to hurt her."

He then slightly bowed and left.

"Oh, Silver. Welcome back."

"Hello. What are you guys doing?"

Silver eyed his two dorm mates curiously.

"Oh, I'm just helping this guy write a love letter for his crush, the Ramshackle prefect," the first student replied.

"Hey! Don't tell him that!" the second student shrieked.

"...You like the Prefect?" Silver asked.

"Oh, he's absolutely smitten. Wouldn't stop talking about how cute and nice she is. I got sick of it so I told him to write a letter instead."

"I told you, stop! I don't need everybody to know my business!"

"Hey, speaking of which, you're a friend of the Prefect, right?" Student No. 1 smiled. "Mind helping this guy to ask his crush out?"

Ask the Prefect out...?

Silver felt his his chest twinge with unease.

As much as he'd like to help his dorm mates out, the Prefect is his friend. And she just experienced something terrible with love confessions earlier. If he helped them out, that might make her uncomfortable, and—

"O-on second thought..."

Student No. 1's voice broke him out of his stupor.

The man, who was looking paler by the minute, continued. "You must be busy with other things. Please, forget we asked!"

Grabbing his friend's arm, he rushed out of the room, leaving the unfinished love letter on the table.

Silver could only stare at the doorway in confusion.

"My, no wonder those two look like they saw a ghost. Why the frown?"

He turned to look at the new arrival.

"Father..."

Lilia smiled, before noticing the unattended letter on the table.

"What's this? A love letter?"

Silver nodded. "Those two left it behind."

"Young love... How nice." The older fae giggled. "Who's the recipient?"

"...The Ramshackle prefect."

"Oh... You mean your friend whom you met in the woods?"

"Yes."

Silver frowned at the letter in his adoptive father's hand.

"Are you upset that she's receiving a lot of attention from her admirers?"

Lilia waved the paper in his hand. "You've been staring at this like it's your greatest enemy."

"Oh..."

He let out a sigh. "I'm just worried about her."

Lilia raised a brow, urging him to continue.

"One of her admirers physically harassed her earlier. Who knows what might've happened if I wasn't there to intervene."

"Oh my..." Lilia scowled. "How distasteful. Is she alright?"

"Yes. I escorted her home to make sure she's safe."

The bat fae nodded. "That's good."

"And then there's that..."

Silver paused, unsure of what to say next.

"What do you mean?" Lilia asked.

"For some reason, I feel... restless." Silver ran a hand through his hair. "Like I want to hide her away from the others. Especially when I heard that student talk about her like that."

"Hoh..." Lilia hummed, his eyes filled with intrigue. "...Are you sure what you feel for her is only friendship?"

"What?" Silver furrowed his brows. "What is it then if not friendship?"

Lilia only shrugged at his question. "That's for you to find out! It would be less fun if I told you right away."

Grabbing his shoulder, Lilia ushered him to his room. "Now then, it's time for you to think long and hard for the answer, okay?"

"The answer, huh..."

Silver closed his eyes and opened them again, his line of sight never leaving your table in the cafeteria.

A few days had passed since the incident with your classmate happened. The teachers swiftly made an action with his report, sending the culprit into a two-week suspension and transferring him to a different section, making sure that the two of you never crossed paths during classes.

Your two friends from Heartslabyul also kept their promise, making sure you were never alone.

It's also been days since Lilia told him to go find the answer to his own question. Unfortunately, he still hasn't found the right answer to that.

He brought his attention back to your table.

You were laughing at something Ace had said.

Seeing you smile like that, unburdened with the troubles your life here had brought you, made him smile too.

He'd do anything to keep that smile of yours on your face.

And with that, realization slowly found its way to him.

Why he became downhearted when you said you were too busy to visit the forest.

Why he was so upset about the attention from your admirers.

Why he wanted to protect that precious smile of yours.

Ace and Lilia's questions came to Silver's mind.

"What does the Prefect truly mean to you?"

"...Are you sure what you feel for her is only friendship?"

The answer to those is...

"That's what you get for being overzealous," you said, still laughing at Ace's story.

The gingerhead only pouted at your reaction. "It's not funny! Don't you know how hard it is to catch those little guys?"

"At least that'll teach you not to use the school's resources to make a quick cash."

"Yeah, yeah. I get it, so stop laughing!"

"...Prefect."

You tensed as you heard that all too familiar voice. Taking a deep breath, you turned to look at him and smiled.

"Hi, Silver. Can I help you with something?"

"Are you free after class today?"

You eyed him curiously. "Yes. Why do you ask?"

"Then, can we meet in the forest today? I need to tell you something important."

You looked at your two friends and Grim, who gave you worried looks. You gave them a reassuring smile in return.

"Sure, I'll be there."

"I wonder what it is he wanted to talk about?" you said to yourself as you treaded the familiar path of the forest.

This is the first time you've visited this place since... that happened.

You shook your head and continued to walk.

Your feelings are still all over the place, although not as much as before. You've been trying your best to move on, but you are missing the time you've spent with Silver in this forest.

Speak of the devil, you thought, as you spotted the familiar figure lying on the forest floor.

"Seriously, it's a wonder how you can sleep in the cold hard ground so soundly," you chuckled, crouching beside him and brushing off the strands of hair blocking his face.

He must've felt your touch, as he stirred awake from his slumber after brushing off his hair.

"Morning, sleepyhead."

"Mm... Y/N..? Did I make you wait?"

You shook your head. "I just got here. I should be asking you that. Sorry I'm late."

Silver sat up from his sleeping spot. "It's alright."

He patted the space beside him, and you complied, sitting beside him on the ground.

The setting sun painted the sky in an array of colors, making you sigh in awe.

"Y/N."

"Yes?" you replied, taking off your gaze from the sky to him.

"I've been thinking a lot to answer a question I asked myself. And after a few days, I've finally found the answer to that question."

You remained quiet, letting him continue speaking.

"I am ashamed to admit that it took me to realize it after that incident, but I cannot bear to see you be with another man."

Silver looked at you with all seriousness.

You blinked. No way. Is he...?

"Y/N, I am deeply in love with you. And I promise to treasure you every day as long as I live, if you'll have me."

You gasped.

You thought there would be no chance, when you heard him that day. But here he is, laying his feelings out in the open.

Tears began to prickle your eyes.

"But Silver... we are friends."

"...Yes, but–"

"But I would very much like to be more than friends."

You laughed, your tears now flowing freely on your cheeks.

Silver stared at you in disbelief before pulling you in for a hug.

"You have no idea how much I've been wanting you to say that," you said between sobs.

Pressing your foreheads together, he began to wipe your tears with his thumb. "I'm sorry, and thank you."

Once again, you let out a shaky laugh before kissing him.

And as your lips met his, you found yourself grateful to whatever divinity watching you above in this world for letting you meet and love the man who was sleeping on the ground that day.

Tag list: @officialdaydreamer00 @cloudcountry @identity-theft-101 @the-clockwork-fiend @twst-beam @oya-oya-okay @savanaclaw1996 (tell me if you wanna be added/removed from the list!)

[uhhlifeig]

Moving Staircase - Nov. 12 - word count: 484 - @wolfstarmicrofic

The date at Hogsmeade had been everything Remus Lupin could have hoped for and everything he feared. 

The laughter shared over butterbeers, the way Sirius had shared food with him, the casual brush of their hands- it was too perfect. It felt like a storybook moment that had somehow stumbled into his life, something he had no right to hold on to.

However, as they left the Three Broomsticks and made their way back to the castle, the reality of it all pressed down on him like an iron weight. 

The carefree way his best friend tossed his head back to laugh, the confident stride that turned heads, the easy charm that lit up any room- Sirius Black was everything Remus was not. 

As they walked, the werewolf felt doubt tighten around his heart.

He glanced at the noiret who was talking animatedly, eyes glittering. 

Sirius deserved someone who matched that light, who could offer him a future free of shadows and scars. Not someone like Remus, who had to calculate every penny and carried the guilt of the wolf.

They reached the moving staircase, and as it creaked beneath their feet, Remus knew he couldn’t keep pretending. The weight of pretending he was worthy of this- of Sirius- was too heavy to bear.

“Sirius,” he said, his voice quieter than he intended.

The boy stopped mid-sentence, looking at him with a lopsided grin. “What’s up, Moony?”

“We need to talk.”

Sirius’s grin faltered. “Talk about what?” he asked, his voice suddenly cautious.

The dirty blonde swallowed, the lump in his throat making it hard to breathe. “About us. I... I don’t think we should do this.”

The older boy stared at him. “What are you talking about?” he said, voice cracking at the edges.

Remus looked away, the guilt coiling tighter. “This. Us. You deserve better, Sirius. You deserve someone who doesn’t come with... all of this,” he said, gesturing to himself, to the invisible scars and the stigma that clung to him like a curse. “Someone who can give you a life that doesn’t feel like a risk.”

Sirius took a step forward, eyes wide with disbelief. “Remus, don’t do this. Don’t tell me what I deserve.”

Remus shook his head. “You shouldn’t have to choose someone like me. Someone who’s poor, who’s-” He faltered. “Someone who can’t even promise you safety.”

The noiret’s hands clenched at his sides, the disbelief giving way to anger tinged with desperation. “Do you really think so little of me? Of us?”

The taller boy’s heart ached, but he forced himself to stay firm. “I think too much of you, Sirius. That’s why.”

Sirius looked at him, the hurt radiating off him in waves. He opened his mouth as if to argue but then closed it, his jaw tightening. 

With a final glance that seared into Remus’ memory, Sirius turned and walked away, leaving him behind.

@estellethewriter

pt 2, pt 3

[vulturv0lans]

you asked for neuvillette smut ideas and you shall receive. you've perhaps seen this prompt already and that's because i am ✨unwell✨ about it.

he should have a forked tongue, he would look so good with one🫠🫠🫠 and it should have interesting uses~

OH GOD I JUST READ THAT LAST NIGHT!! let me just say i love this idea so much that i have to post it NOW when i should be asleep 🫠 i’ll add my theme & formatting later <3

i like to think that you find out about his special abilities after a night out, because there’s no way you haven’t discovered this a good few months into a relationship :) like you’d meet him at a party or at a bar, and before you know it you’re pressed up against the wall in some dimly lit back room and this man is all. over. you. in a manner that even the chief justice in him cannot control. if anyone who frequents the opera epiclese finds him like this, they’d probably question that he’d been possessed by a completely different man - so impulsive, so needy, acting out his heart’s every desire.

with the way he’s kissing you so fervently, it doesn’t take long for you to notice something different about his kisses. when he swipes his tongue across your bottom lip, your eyes shoot open and you pull back a little, earning a dissatisfied grunt from neuvillette as he chases after you.

“come back here-”

you reject his advances, holding him at an arm’s length and studying his features intently. he mumbles his disapproval and tries to tighten his grip on your waist, but you dodge his kiss, choosing to find out the reason behind the completely new sensation on your lips.

“open your mouth.”

you’re not sure what you sound like at this point. an impatient dentist, maybe, or a person so desperate for something more…primal. you feel like the latter is the more correct answer.

the frown on his face soon turns into a smirk, and it bothers you on a fundamental, cellular level to see him so smug, as if he knows something you don’t-

large hands encircle yours as he brings your arm up to his lips, before licking a sensual, bold stripe up the inner side of your wrists.

and you just about melt right there when you finally notice. the tip of his tongue is forked in a manner so perfect, that you can only compare it to something straight out of the legends and storybooks.

you gasp, the wet patch on your skin now feeling cool in the exposed air and the wet patch elsewhere is now feeling…wetter.

“seeing that you enjoyed it, i can think of several ways to put that to good use, hm?”

and the rest is history. you don’t remember how you got to his apartment, nor how you ended up half naked on his couch, with the chief justice of fontaine between your legs.

you start to question if his tongue has a mind of its own, which soon turns into alarmed curiosity about where exactly he learned these maneuvers. it’s not like he has loads of free time to just experiment, right?

but when your clit is caught between the split ends of his tongue, your brain ceases to be able to function overtime and all you can think about is that you need him to eat you out at least three times a day, if not more.

the tips are nestled so perfectly against your dripping pussy, spreading you open just enough for the occasional dips inside and the expert swirls of your clit. your back arches off the sofa as your legs close around his head, earning a moan that sends vibrations into the deepest parts of your body. you reach down to pull on his hair, the white strands matted against his forehead and your inner thighs from sweat and your juices.

“i’m gonna have to punish you if you keep doing this,” he warns, and for a moment you almost believe he’ll bring down the wrath of the oratrice mecanique on you. but he wastes no time in diving right back to his feast, dipping his tongue into your throbbing hole. your insides feel like they are on fire as he tickles nerve endings you didn’t even know you had, reaching so deep into your pussy that you cum right there and then with a loud cry of his name.

neuvillette doesn’t stop. instead, he only pumps in and out of you faster, the slurping noises now too lewd for even the wildest imaginations, mixed with praise mumbled directly into your pussy. even in your dazed and fucked out state, the only remaining piece of your conscience questions if you’ll ever come down from this high as he eats you out like a man starved, large hands firmly keeping your legs spread for easy access and your juices dripping down his chin. and still he doesn’t stop, not until you’ve cummed two, three, or four more times, until you’ve squirted all over his face, until there’s nothing else in your mind except for him.

you know there’s no getting out of it until he’s satisfied, but for this time you’ll happily oblige.

—

i want him so bad wtf

neuvillette m.list | m.list | rules | inbox

© vulturv0lans 2023, do not copy, repost, or translate without permission

[fleckcmscott]

Take a Step

Summary: Arthur and Y/N put away the mundane to create a memorable Valentine's Day.

Words: 4,785

Warnings: Smut, Swearing

A/N: A Valentine's story? In September? It's either really late or really early. ⏰ @jokerownsmysoul made this request over three years ago, the longest it has taken me to fulfill one. 🤯 That puts it in the really, really late category. 😂 Thank you so much for your patience! I hope you all like it!

If you have any thoughts or questions, please comment, feel free to message me, or send me an ask. Requests for Arthur and WWH are open!

Mint and sulfur straggled through the sterile air, an unpleasant mixture that tautened his thighs to tight ropes. Breath rushed through flared nostrils, like a bear wanting to be left the hell alone so he could go hibernate. Skip the dreary dread of winter right to spring. He pressed the crown of his head to the wall behind him.

How had she talked him into this. How had he let her talk him into this?

Arthur and the dental profession had never been friends. The last seven years had gone by without just fine, thank you very much. Gotham Dental School's discounted amalgam fillings remained intact. The hole left by his missing pre-molar was convenient, really. A good place to stick a straw.

This would be more of the same old, same old advice, all of which he'd ignore. Start flossing. Use alcohol free mouthwash for dry mouth. Chew sugar free gum after smoking - or better yet, quit that entirely. Now go pay the receptionist and pick a prize out of the treasure chest.

He supposed he should be happy to have a wife who took care of his appointments, who pushed him to take care of himself. Mostly he was. But Y/N had shoved him into this office with an appointment card and a kiss on the cheek. "Dr. Miles does good work," she'd said. "He'll keep that sunny smile sexy."

Compliments were a surefire way to talk him into this.

The memory was enough of a trapdoor to step through, a cubbyhole of comfort that slowed his pulse. In an attempt to ignore the whirr of the drill in the next room, he studied the blotted watercolor of a beach on the opposite wall. The pile of yellowed "What Does God Require of You?" tracts by the overgrown philodendron on the bookcase. Anything but the giant tooth model showing the stages of periodontal disease.

He rubbed the top of his legs to loosen them, crossed them at the knee. His foot bumped the round ottoman that doubled as a newspaper holder. A headline below the fold caught his eye: "Valentine's spending set to shatter records."

A sunny, sexy smile spread across his face.

As a child, the day had meant a break from schoolwork for cupcakes with pink frosting and valentines slipped into a decorated shoebox on each student's desk. Sure, he'd only received a handful. But that'd been enough. A nice change from the usual teasing. When puberty had possessed him, hair and sweat glands sprouting in new places, Valentine's Day had been his personal pining hell. Dates didn't happen. He'd misread basic politeness as flirting. No one invited him anywhere.

Adulthood had been more of the same.

Television was a reminder of what he couldn't have. Advertisements for housewares, for cars, for grape juice all featured couples. They all had an us. One had a pair playing tennis, scoring 40-Love and discussing Speed Stick for Him and Her. A man ran a palm along a woman's leg in another, a commercial for No Nonsense pantyhose.

When would he get to fondle a woman's leg, he'd wondered? When would he get to score Love?

Way back when, Arthur had imagined an imperfect but wonderful evening. An amalgamation of simple yearnings and being green. A homecooked meal with his beloved, a slow dance in the kitchen. The softness of her, the kindness of her. Beauty buttressed by kisses and the kind of infatuation found in storybooks. A break from the bitterness that lurked a heartbeat away.

Now that he had his special person to cook and dance with, it was a holiday to relish. On which to buy a gift for his one and only. To show her off and show off how much he loved her.

There were a million ways to say I love you. Perhaps he'd get her one of those cards edged in lace or a sateen box of gourmet chocolates. Not the Brach's brand from the drug store - those were dry and sour - but from Cane's Chocolatiers, filled with mousse.

He could write a bit for her, perform a private set over coffee and cake. They could stroll along the docklands and listen to the ocean. Watch the moon shine on the incoming tide and their wedding rings. He'd take her hand, lead her out onto the pier, where they'd dance, and her dress would billow in waves. Where he'd twirl her until fell into his arms. Where he'd slip eager fingertips through the slit at her-

"Mr. Fleck," called the dental hygienist from the doorway. Toothbrushes dotted her purple scrubs. "We're ready for your x-rays."

Blinking, he rose and straightened his cardigan. Once the hygienist rounded the corner, he snatched the paper, folded it into thirds, and stuck it in his jacket pocket.

~~~~~

Meanwhile, Y/N waited at Gotham Savings Bank, paycheck and checkbook in hand. With the line a twelve-person-deep swarm, it was doubtful her errands would fit into her lunch hour. She adjusted her purse. Bounced between toes and heels. She'd have to steal bits of an Italian Style Swanson over her typewriter.

As she advanced through waves of mumbling and murmurs, a buoyant post came into view. Pink as an orchid, covered in enough silver glitter to give the janitor a headache, it advertised the Valentine's Club, a special savings account just for the holiday. Perfect for a cruise on the Finger River, starting with a candlelight dinner and ending with an engagement ring. A flash of a smile ruffled the corner of her mouth.

Though a decade had passed since she'd last celebrated, the day was nothing new. In elementary school, the teachers had passed out candy and cards. "I think you're sharp," they'd said, or "You pass the test!" Beyond the chance to eat sweets and the peril of cooties, none of the six-year-olds had really understood what it'd meant.

Despite being serious and stuffy, not one for grand romantic gestures, her ex-husband Jeff had been good at Valentine's Day. He'd eschewed Boonville's diner, pharmacy soda fountain, and immortal dive bar Fogey's in favor of a reservation out of town. Pulled her chair out for her, placed a respectable kiss on the cheek. At the end of the night, he'd given her carnations in the privacy of their living room, even when they'd been too distant to share the depths of their hearts.

One year, he'd whisked her away for an overnight at the Windsor Hotel, a three-story joint on the outskirts of St. Louis that featured coin-operated vibrating beds and a heated pool. They'd been stuck in a single directly under the hotel bar, a place filled with lonely hearts on the hunt for Cupid. Every laugh and every sob had penetrated the popcorn ceiling. Each footstep a bass drum threatening to crash through.

They'd tried to distract themselves with a quickie, but the bed's whirring motor had added to the racket rather than drowned it out. A bath in the jacuzzi was the next attempt to salvage the evening. But when she'd turned on the jets, the pipes squeaked and squealed as if mice ran through them, sprinting towards an entire wheel of cheese. She and Jeff had barely gotten dressed before racing home.

Last year, Valentine's wasn't a priority. She and Arthur were so busy with his move, it hadn't been a blip on her radar. He hadn't exactly been comfortable living together. Not yet. Akin to an anxious guest, he'd hesitated to touch anything. To affect the space that was now his. And he hadn't had access to all of his medications, refusing to elaborate on the cost besides a discouraged, dismissive "expensive."

Arthur's face had been a mask of embarrassment when he'd apologized over evening dishes. "For once in my life, I have someone who needs me. And I- I didn't do anything."

"Did you sample my Stevie Wonder record?" she'd asked. An inner joy had sprung at the progress that represented.

Arthur had dried his three-tone brown mug, set it next to hers on a one shoulder shrug. "Yeah."

"We took a big step in our relationship." She'd scrubbed the frying pan with firm, circular motions. "We stepped towards each other. What could be more of a celebration than that?"

"Okay, but-"

She'd pressed a sudsy hand to his sternum. "I know you love me. I love you, too." She sought to brighten him, to lighten him, and settled on another track he might have heard. "Either way, Arthur, signed, sealed, delivered, I'm yours."

The sigh of his entire frame as he'd dropped the dish towel and gathered her to his chest had made her love him all the more.

A middle-aged man in a threadbare beret shuffled forward, making Y/N next in line. The teal and peach lovebirds riding his shoulders pooped streaks of white and brown down the back of his suede jacket. She stayed in her spot and stayed silent. Nothing in this city surprised her anymore. At least he sounded polite.

She eyed the poster anew. This being the first Valentine's Day since marrying Arthur gave it an air of distinction, of specialness she was happy to embrace. Especially for him, her romantic at heart. Maybe they could go ice skating in the park, or take a carriage ride through Gotham, replete with flannel blankets and hot chocolate.

She smiled at the way he conjured such images, how he'd taught her to enjoy the special gestures she hadn't thought necessary.

"Next, please!" From the teller on the right.

Y/N scanned the floor for white and brown splats. At the window, she straightened and said, "Hi, I'd like to deposit this into my checking account." She pushed her paycheck under the glass. But her current preoccupation with Arthur stalled her hand. "Actually, I have to correct the cash back form. I'll need an extra fifty."

~~~~~

A blizzard had rolled in Saturday, bringing Gotham to a standstill under twenty-six inches of snow. Most trains were back on schedule by Sunday evening, but on Monday all city parks remained closed. Waltzes on the pier and carriage rides would have to wait.

What they settled on was closer to Arthur's humble fantasies of yore. He was fine with that - it'd be easier to make reality match the movie in his mind. Gifts after breakfast that her office's delayed opening had turned into brunch and catching Singing in the Rain at the Monarch that night. A flick that guaranteed they'd wear themselves out laughing (or fooling around in the back row if the mood struck).

And an afternoon delivery, a cliché and a classic he prayed would work despite the frost.

Their home was tranquil, serene, the only sounds their hushed voices and gentle conversation. Court for the next three days was sure to be cancelled, so Y/N planned to review older cases, ensure their documents were in order. Arthur would head to the children's clinic with heart-shaped lollipops tomorrow. He'd salted the building's entranceway while she'd showered. ("I got out your boots," he told her. "It's slippery out there." "You take such good care of me," she said.)

The familiarity of their everyday discussions was a comfort, as cozy as a well-tended hearth. Yet, lovely though it was, he wanted less everyday, more play. Less work and chores, more Us.

He eyed the fruit plate. Fresh pears were new to him, and a lifelong dislike of canned made him skeptical. He went for the cantaloupe. "What was the first thing you noticed about me? When we met?"

Y/N munched at her cinnamon oatmeal. "Your hair."

"My hair?" People tended to comment on his laugh or skinniness, if they noticed him at all.

"There's a confidence to keeping it long. And it was obvious you used conditioner. That told me the rest of you was well kept, too." She wet her lips between each spoonful. "How about you? What did you notice about me?"

"That you blushed." He took a cautious nibble and frowned, a taste he could only describe as sweet garbage swamping his mouth. He laid the slice politely in his bowl. Cleared his throat, chugged the rest of his coffee. "Other woman don't do that around me."

"Well, they must be blind, Mr. Fleck, because you're gorgeous. That's the second thing I noticed."

Ducking his chin, he thumbed the handle of his mug. Fitting that she'd see beauty in him he hadn't realized existed.

A sudden anticipation seized him, the urge to shove his gift at her mid-bite. He excused himself, hurried to his desk. Retrieved the key from under the desk lamp. Pulled open the bottom drawer.

The bundle covered in red tissue paper dared him to do it.

He held it with both hands. Reverently, as if it could singe. He wasn't certain what had loaned him the panache to buy this. Maybe being a husband had made him a new and improved Arthur. This felt more daring than marrying her. Than sleeping with her. Solicitation shielded in scarlet.

She was scooping the last morsel of oatmeal in her mouth when he set it beside the fruit plate. Perched on the chair diagonal from her, he rubbed sweaty palms under the table.

Frantic tearing at the paper, her smile rounding to a pleased O. "Oh, Arthur…" She hooked her fingers through the babydoll's straps. A laugh bubbled up, fresh color flooding her cheeks. "I have to admit I'm surprised you got me something like this. But I'm happy you did. Come here." She leaned forward and grabbed his chin.

Deep satisfaction eased his nerves, while her firm, wet kiss sparked others anew. He held her forearm. Parted her lips with his own.

Quick as a flash, she broke away. "I'm gonna try it on," she said, and sprinted in the direction of the bedroom.

His gaze followed her until she was out of sight. A pleasing lightness coursed through him. Lifted him from his chair. Drove him to move, turn on one foot from the table to the sink to rinse their bowls.

Less than a minute later, she'd returned. "What do you think?"

He glanced towards the kitchen entrance, over his shoulder. Registered what he'd seen and glanced again. A knot rose in throat, that glance becoming a full-on stare.

Powder blue chiffon draped over her form, the hem floating below her hips in a soft sway. Dainty white flowers trimmed the v-neck, starting at her breasts, climbing along the halter straps that disappeared beneath her tresses and were tied in a bow at the nape of her neck. Brown aerolas were brazen pendants beneath the lingerie. The strip of mesh that ran under her bust drew his stare downward, to the outline of her comma shaped navel.

"You…" He gulped. Below was a silhouette of dusky hair, a demure triangle at the apex of her thighs. The nightie was more diaphanous than the sales catalog had led him to believe. He lowered the bowl like a man hypnotized. It met the bottom of the sink with a soft clink. "You're beautiful."

A giggle as she covered her face. "You make me feel beautiful."

She went to him, the air around her electrified, sparking with each footfall. She pulled a red envelope from behind her. "Happy Valentine's Day."

With the care of a curator of rare antiquities, he slid his fingertip under the flap. The lilac greeting card had a tic-tac-toe game in which the Xs had lost, and the Os were a horizontal line of three hearts. "You won my heart," it said. Y/N had added a short note in her rounded script: "(You made it a very easy game.)" He traced the letters, his chest swelling with pride. Inside, he found a perforated certificate, akin to an old movie ticket, where a couple tangoed across a black background and gold cursive declared, "Good for three lessons at Arthur Murray Dance Studios."

His fantasy of them on the pier flashed behind his eyes. Had she misread is mind? "But I don't need lessons."

"No," she said, and closed the gap between them. "But I do."

Tender adoration flooded his frame, a gooeyness starting in his scalp and ending in his toes. She was timid about dancing, insecure in the way he was about too many things. And here she stood, willing to take part in one of his passions. To be the center of attention. To get out there in front of everyone to learn to dance. With him. Simply because she loved him.

With a woman like her in his life, it was easy to be a new and improved Arthur.

Relaxing into a grin, he grabbed her hand and snatched her about the waist. She yelped, her palm flying to his bicep. A step forward with his left foot, a slide to the right with his right. He led her through the passthrough galley in a sort of jogging quickstep. His uneven shoulders shimmed, a happy tune behind his teeth.

"What are you humming?" Y/N asked.

"'You Were Meant for Me.'" A number from the flick they'd catch tonight. He lifted their arms above their heads, tried to ease her into a natural spin turn.

Her toes collided with his, her weight off balance as she floundered. She laughed a nervous laugh. "Even though I don't have your grace?"

"But you're the prettiest," he said, and bent to kiss her. His fingers splayed on the elegant curve of her back. "The sweetest." Her form pressed closer, soft curves on hard angles.

He traced a path down her arm, gaze falling to the slopes of her breasts. Fabric obscured the faint stretchmarks, her puffy aerolas now tight dots. Their steps slowed, their dance burgeoning to a dire need for friction. He guided her jaw upwards, his voice velvet edged. "The sexiest."

Her eyes softened, gleaming garnets worthy of song and Solomon. "I love you."

"Shameless," he rasped, thin lips claiming hers.

Her arms flew about his middle, mouths meeting and parting with languorous urgency. Stirring below his waistband swelled to an assertive ache in his abdomen. Heavy and full, he strained against the seam of his pajamas.

She writhed against it, ground her hips into his. Wanton fingers cupped him through the thin cotton. Squeezing, scorching, a fervent up and down. Clasping her upper arms, he walked her backwards, erection bobbing with each step.

When he lifted her onto the counter, lusty laughter filled her throat. Sultry, silky, a sound he longed to wrap himself in. To draw from her tongue. Her knees fell open at his hips. She scooted forward, away from the microwave and upper cabinets. Her breasts jostled with each movement. He cupped one, jiggled it until she snorted and dug her toes into his leg.

Gauzy fabric caught on her nipples. He drew one downward with his thumb, watched it spring back. Gently, he rolled it between his fingers. Pinched and groaned as it grew harder. On a choked cry, she arched into his touch. Reached to tug at the strap by her neck.

He caught her wrist. "Leave it on." Touching her directly was intoxicating, a liquor he preferred to wine. But something about her nightie separating them gave the encounter an illicit air, like he was privy to a secret. A green light of want that flashed only for him.

She leaned back a bit, just enough to loosen the tie of his pajama bottoms. Slide them past his pelvis. The thin cotton pooled at his skinny ankles. She whispered caresses along his ribs, teased the hollows of his hips. The hem of her nightie crept to her waist. He was fully aware of his cock brushing her inner thigh.

She grasped his shaft, ran the tip in a line along her slit. Smeared his arousal from her clit to her plump lips. Pleasure spiked through him. A flinch and a gasp as he sprang to his toes.

Her bedroom eyes met his. "Make love to me."

He breathed a shivering breath. This was more than he'd imagined, yet exactly what he'd yearned for.

He slid into her deliciously. She was fiery, like a furnace, heat radiating from each cell. From this angle, he could see every detail of her sex. The pretty pink, the glistening want of him, her creases and fleshy folds. It was incredible, exciting, and with a hungry grunt he filled her anew.

Peeking out from its hood, her bundle of nerves begged for his touch. He dragged the pad of his thumb across it. Did so once more. Nails biting his shoulders, she jolted, cried out. Another sweep and a canyon formed between her brows. She tossed back her head without a care-

Bang!

A yelp cut off her mewling. Arthur halted mid-thrust, hands hovering by her ears. "Are you okay?"

Laughter cracked out of her. She grabbed the crown of her head. "The cabinet is more dangerous than it looks."

He chuckled along with her and pecked her hair. Scooped her up by the waist and spun them around. The pajamas at his ankles forced his walk to a scuffing. He set her on the dinette table, on the side free from coffee mugs and sickly sweet melon.

Laying down, she stretched her arms out behind her, grasped the edge of the table. Diaphanous blue rode further upward. Gravity flattened her stomach. Her legs dangled over the side.

He rocked into her again, and she smiled his favorite kind of smile. Wide and open, built from love and delight. One hand ran from her shoulder, over her breast, to her hip. Then lower and lower still. Her fingertips quivered at her clit, short strokes that made her thighs twitch. "Just like that," she said, ending on a whine.

He plunged faster, her quickening fingers a guide. Strained to bring her to completion. She bucked lightly, a subtle circling that struck a vibrant chord within him. He bent forward, pressed a palm to her sternum. Urged her to take all that she needed. All that she wanted. All of him.

Ruddy patches bloomed across her chest, crept up her neck, tinged the shells of her ears. A heady moan slipped from her. The rise and fall of her ribs went herky-jerky, her head craned back. Her walls spasmed, clutching and groping him in a rhythm that doubled him over. Warm and nimble, the kind of dance she excelled at. The dance for which she'd taught him all the steps.

"You're so good at this," she purred once her shakes had abated.

A smug smile spreading wide. "Am I?" He flexed the muscles of his pubis, watched her eyes widen with delight.

Her hand went from her center to trail tickling fingers up his spine. "You fuck me like you mean it."

Bottomless contentment unfurled in him, enveloped the peaks and valleys of his soul. "I do mean it," he said, and rotated his pelvis into hers.

Arching to meet him, she tugged at his tousled curls. "Like I was meant for you."

Delving deeper and deeper with each push. "You were."

Managing to be tender and firm at the same time, he cupped her face with both hands. Today was a day for romance, and he wanted to kiss her when he came. The touch of her lips was a thousand-volt shock. His tempo quickened, breath emerging in short, desperate pants. A sudden burst within him, his whole being flooded with besotted bliss. His hips stuttered, every pulse a pierce of pleasure. Eyes screwing shut, he whimpered into her mouth.

Peaceful, warm, and tired, he slumped on top of her. Basked in her smooth skin. Her fingers in his hair, his arm pillowing her head, the sweaty press of their stomachs. He could've stayed in that naked reality forever, signed a lease and moved right in.

But Y/N kissed his shoulder and said, "I should get ready before Phil has to ask why I'm late to work." Her free hand felt around for the fruit plate.

Arthur groaned and propped himself on an elbow. Fumbled with a flower on her neckline. "Well, what would you have said?"

She took a bite of pear, munched thoughtfully before replying. "That my husband had me in flagrante delicto." She pressed the rest of the pear to his mouth. He closed his lips around her fingertips, took the juicy morsel with tongue and teeth. "That you caught me in the act," she said, brows arching twice. His belly tightened on a breathy laugh.

Combing through her bedhead, she scooted to stand. Pulled the nightie down to her hips. Arthur bunched up his pajamas and briefs, held them in front of his thighs. Just as she was about to exit the kitchen, she stopped and turned back. "You make me so happy, Arthur. There's no one else I'd rather have been meant for." A peck to his cheek and she left.

Say something, he thought. Say anything! But his mouth was a stubborn seam, and it was only after the bathroom door had shut that he could even move. That he could even breathe. He fell back against the counter, grasped the edge for purchase. Dropped his clothing and rubbed his hand over his heart.

This damned life had brought so much pain, but then it'd brought her. It was almost enough to forgive and forget all those wasted Valentines.

The rush of the faucet brought him back to the present. He marched to the phone and dialed. Even if he couldn't find the words, this was something he could do.

"Hi, this is Arthur. Arthur Fleck. Is it too late to change the delivery for Y/N Fleck? At Dube and Ellis?" The phone cord curled around fidgeting knuckles. "Okay, good. Can I make it two dozen?"

~~~~~

"Could you fax that attention Y/N Fleck, please?" Y/N said into the phone. She hadn't gotten a chance to shower after this morning's impromptu rendezvous, but she'd run a washcloth over the vital parts and didn't seem to smell of sex. A pity, really. She wouldn't have minded a hint of her husband's piney scent as a private perfume. She'd nuzzle him tonight at the movies to make up for it.

Y/N, you're at work. Stop it.

She crossed her legs and ran a finger along her collar. "No, not Flick. Fleck. F-L-E-C-K."

Terry swaggered through the firm's door and in her direction, carrying a looming bouquet of roses and baby's breath in a fluted vase. Had he forgotten today? Was he on his way over to celebrate a last-minute victory?

"Yes." Again into the receiver. "Thanks a lot. You, too." Once she'd hung up, she relaxed into her chair and crossed her arms over her chest. "You made it just under the wire," she told Terry. "I'm surprised there were any flowers left in the city. Your wife'll love them."

"Are you kidding? And risk my hide like that?" He stopped in front of her desk. "I made a reservation months ago. These are for you."

She squinted in confusion. "What?"

"At least, that's what I assume." He made an exaggerated show of reading the floral card. "'To my saucy and sweet Y/N.'"

"Oh my god." She shot upright, her head a fireball.

He surveyed the office. "I don't see any other Y/Ns around here."

"Give me that." She snatched the card from him.

A goofy snicker left Terry, a barrel of ha-has. "Now I know your secret." He squeezed the vase between her typewriter and coffee mug. "Remember that during fundraising season."

When he took off towards his desk, she called after him. "Bribery is illegal." He waved her off with a So Sue Me gesture.

Spicy floral caught her nose, not on par with Arthur's scent but lovely all the same. She traced a bloom, cupped one in her palm. After ensuring the coast was clear, she pulled the card away from her chest. She read the courier font, her smile soaring to an all-out beam:

To my saucy and sweet Y/N, Everyone should know we make a great pear. Your valentine, Arthur.

She made a soft sound, ran her thumb over his name. The salutation was corny and charming and embodied everything she'd come to appreciate about him. To love about him. A declaration as proud and plain as their wedding bands, the last name on her name plate, the photo on her desk.

One more example wouldn't hurt.

Careful not to a disturb a petal, Y/N stuck the card back in its holder. Stood and slid the vase to the outer corner of her L-shaped desk, a vibrant and happy display.

~~~~~

Tag list (Let me know if you want to be added!): @harmonioussolve​​​​​ @ithinkimaperson​​​​​ @sweet-nothings04​​​​​ @stephieraptorr​​​​ @rommies​​​​​ @fallenstarsabyss @gruffle1​​​​​ @another-day-in-chuckletown​ @hhandley80​​​​​ @jokerownsmysoul​​​​​ @rafaelbottom @ralugraphics​​​​​ @iartsometimes​​​​​ @fleckficgirl

[llumimoon]

making an AU based off a show based off a doll line means I go WAY TOO HARD on trying to figure out the fits.

here are the designs for the Ever After High AU !!! :D the story this time around is like. WAY too complicated to explain in one post but like the super duper summarized version is this:

For generations the citizens of Ever After have been following the tradition of signing a magical contract in the Storybook of Legends promising to relive their parents' fairytales to keep the stories alive. But there's a bit of an uproar when the newest Evil Queen in ages refuses to follow her destiny and things start to get a little complicated as the students at Ever After High realize that maybe not everything has been played by the book in the past. When Normal breaks a magic mirror he REALLY wasn't supposed to find, his life and story are thrown into chaos. Add in some wildcard Wonderlandians and now nothing's going according to the script. Is a happily ever after really possible?

The AU doesn't follow the show to an exact T, we mostly borrowed some elements and the initial Raven and Apple conflict so there's quite a lot of surprises in store :3c

(EAH AU made by @rindomness, @kaseyskat, and I!! <3 :])

Edit: more designs

image description under the cut

[ID: Four Images of dndads season 2 characters in an Ever After High AU, the first two images being design pages and the last two being doodle pages.

Image 1: A character line up of three designs, from left to right Scary Marlowe, Normal Oak, and Hermie Unworthy. They are each labeled with the fairytale characters they represent, from left to right Evil Queen, Snow White, and Mad Hatter. Hermie has a speech bubble that says "Hello ~ Audience! (yes you looking here)". On the far left Scary stands with her left hand on her hip and her right hand resting palm up with swirlfs of magenta and purple magic coming up from it. She has a serious look on her face and is wearing black mascara and purple eyeshadow. Her hair is various shades of purple to pink and is put up in a side ponytail with a spiky silver hair accessory along with a silver chain around her forehead. She is wearing a black cape with a magenta underside and a sleeveless ankle length dress and long fishnet gloves. The dress has a fishnet neckline and a purple jewel with silver wings on her chest that connects to the hood of her cape. There are chains that connect on he bottom of the jewl to loop around her back. She is wearing a black corset with silver lacing and the bottom of the corset is embellished with silver feathers and a stylized silver crow head. The skirt has a slit down the right leg that is connected with a silver chain and has a dark purple mesh layer on the top half of it. She is wearing black leggings underneath and platform ankle boots that are also decorated with mesh, chains, and lace. She has spiky silver bracelets and fingerless gloves on the back of her hand that connect to a silver ring with a purple gem on her middle finger. To her right stands Normal who is at shoulder length height to Scary and stands up to Hermie's eyes on his left. Normal stands with his right hand up holding a red apple and his left hand playfully posed out by his side. He is smiling cheerfully with an open mouth and has one green and one brown eye. He is wearinf a small tilted red and gold heart shaped crown with a teal bow on the bottom. He has short curly brown hair. He is wearing a white high collared shirt with long sleeves, lace details, and puffy teal shoulders. He has a short red cape attached to a big red bow with gold trip on his chest and a gold apple brooch in the center. He has a brown belt with a gold buckle and gold chains connected to the belt loops. He has puffy teal shorts with three red slits on each side and a white lace trim. He has sheer white tights with white vertical strips and red and white boots with gold detailing and a brown heel. To his left stands Hermie who has his right hand holding a teacup filled with tea at his stomach and his right hand is up to wave at the viewer. He is smirking and has teal hair with various turquoise and pink highlights. He is wearing a purple and magenta striped hat wirh a teal polkadot bow. He also is wearing teal glasses with a circle and square frame with purple and pink lenses and a rose gold glasses chain. He has a striped teal vest that has a long coat tail with pink and purple detailing on the underside. He has a rose gold pocket watch in his vest pocket and a purple and magenta bow on his chest. The collared shirt underneath is a light striped pink and lavender with puffy sleeves that turn into big circle sleeves with a lace trim. He has pink and purple gloves with a magenta ribbon around his wrists. His skirt is mid thigh length and has three layers, the top layer is magenta and has teal and purple polkadots, the second layer is vertically striped with pink and lavender, and the bottom layer is lavender lace, and the whole skirt has rose gold detailing. He has thigh high horizontally striped socks with lace trim and teal, pink, and purple heel boots with purple bows and laces.

Image 2: A character lineup of two designs, zoomed in so that the lower legs are cut off. Link is on the left labeled Prince Charming while Taylor is on the right labeled Queen of Hearts. Taylor has a mischievous smile on his face and his fist in the air as he shouts "Off with their heads!" while Link has one hand up to stifle a laugh and a fond expression and the other hand rests on the hilt of his sword on his belt. Link is dressed in white and gold princely attire that matches Normal's color scheme and a similar but longer red cape and a teal belt sash. He has gold shoulder tassels and a simple golden crown. Taylor has red streaks in his hair and two heart shaped space buns. He also has a golden crown with red heart shaped gems on them, a heart card earring, and a red collar with a heart lock charm. His dress has a high white neck collar that goes around the back of his head and connects to a short jacket with puffy red and black striped sleeves and a white lace trim and golden heart lapel pins connected by a chain. The dress has a sweetheart neckline and is split down to his waist in a V shape in order to mimics the appearance of a white heart on his top. The dress then flares out into a big poofy skirt that has frills at the bottom and has big red and black stripes on it. A sheer top skirt has a white and gold checkered diamond pattern on it. He also has white and red striped tights and black mary janes with a red heel and a golden heart clasp. He's also holding a golden staff with a red heart jewl at the top.

Image 3: A dark grey doodle page on a light grey background. Normal is standing with an exasperated expression on his face and is squatting with his arms out shouting "Am I the only one who cares about following our destinies!?". In the bottom left corner Link os holding Taylor in a princess carry, the both of them grinning with their eyes closed. An arrow is pointing at Link that is labeled 'was supposed to be Norm's prince'. Scary is in the bottom right turned toward Normal with her tongue sticking out and her middle finger up. Her bangs obscure her face. Hermie is in the top right looking at the viewer with his hand cupped toward his face saying "Don't worry, he'll figure it out" with a knowing smile. His eyes are obscured by his glasses.

Image 4: A dark grey doodle page on a light grey background with a sequence of events that go from left to right down the page. Normal is looking desperately up at Scary and clutching an injured arm while Scary looks concernedly down at Normal with her hands hovering. Behind her stands Hermie who's in a intense thinking pose with a hand on his chin. Scary says "Norm what-" and is interrupted by Normal saying "I need your help. I didn't know where else to go." Hermie has a thought bubble above his head that says "Is this im the script?" The next section has Hermie snapping with his eyes closed saying "I'll make it a comedy then, that'll fix it." The next section shows a loud bang on the door behind Normal who looks surprised and the section after has someone outside the door say "Oh thank GOD," while Normal sighs in relief. The last section has Scary with a frustrated look on her face and her hands up with magic energy coming up saying in all caps "Ok what the fuck is going on." /end ID]