#verna x you

[ozarkthedog]

𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐋𝐒 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇 𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐖𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐋𝐃𝐍'𝐓 𝐊𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐒𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

summary: while working as a bartender at Prospero's Orgy, a masked woman follows you into a storage room.

warnings: 18+ only -> mdni. verna x fem!reader. f/f. smut. fingering. slight dom/sub vibes. no spoilers (that i know of). no beta.

word count: 1.3k

author’s note: tbh, I’ve only watched 2 eps so far but I had to write something with her. I don’t know anything about the series so forgive me if there are inaccuracies.

𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐋𝐢𝐬𝐭 ⋅ 𝐋𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲

Booming music shakes the walls of the old, brick building as you make your way to the storage room. You’ll be amazed if the orgy goers don’t drink their way through all the liquor before the night even properly begins. You heard someone mention something about midnight and rain. You pray your boss will let you go home before all hell breaks loose.   

You unlock and shove open the storage room door with a sigh. This was not really your kind of scene. You could handle yourself in a bar and catered events, you’d worked plenty of them before but an orgy? You don’t know why you signed yourself up for this. Sure, the money was good but the moment you stepped foot into the abandoned facility, the hair on the back of your neck stood up.

The room was dank and barely lit as you graze the various shelves for a case of Glenfiddich. You find the last case on the floor near the back of the room when the storage room door creaks and then shuts with a bang.

Fear prickles your skin.

It’s probably some horny couple looking for a secret place to get off. Still, you clear your throat before nervously calling out, “Hello?”

You scream when a masked skull turns the corner of one of the shelves. You walk backward until a coarse brick wall catches your clothing and halts your retreat. 

“Oh, I’m sorry.” A gentle voice says from beneath the mask. The woman is draped in a hooded, sparkly red cape that barely covers her body. The black lingerie she’s wearing underneath leaves little to the imagination.

You clutch your chest as you’re taken aback by the stunning blonde when she unties her mask and reveals herself.

“I couldn’t help myself.” She admits, stepping closer before setting down her mask on one of the shelves. “I saw you from across the room and I…” she trails off looking at you as if she’s seeing the sky for the first time.  

“Oh my. Aren’t you precious?” She coos, stepping closer. Blonde hair frames her face like a halo although something in your gut told you she wasn’t an angel.

Your breath catches in your throat. You’ve never seen such a beautiful woman so up close before.

“What are you doing in such a place?” She ponders with curious eyes. They travel the length of your body and back again. Something wicked and dark encases those hazel orbs making you swallow down the lump in your throat.

Your cheeks burn as you stumble over your words. “Bartender- I’m a bartender.” You catch your bottom lip with your teeth and tug unconsciously on it. Your flight response kicks into high gear as the lady in red seals the gap between your bodies.

You whimper as she presses her barely clothed frame against yours. The brick wall behind you leaves no chance of escape as your heart bangs steadily against your ribs.

“Shh. There’s no need to be nervous.” She states softly while cupping your chin in her palm. She drags a perfectly manicured thumb across your bottom lip and tenderly releases it from your teeth. “You’re something I rarely encounter.”

You’re frozen in place, like a deer in headlights, waiting for the inevitable when she leans in and time stops. She brushes her lips over yours, so tender and soft, you try to keep the whimper that bubbles up at bay but to your embarrassment, it escapes.

She pulls away with a grin. “You really are precious.” The apple of your cheek is warm under her thumb as she rubs the soft patch of skin. “So sweet. I’d love to hear you sing.”

Your brow quirks until you feel her hand sliding down your belly. She catches your wild eyes in a firm stare. “Tell me to leave and I will.” She states while lifting the hem of your skirt and snaking her hand beneath the material. “Or will you allow me to experience your seraphic nature?”

Your core clenches as she palms your mound when you don’t send her away. Her nails drag playfully over the thin cotton of your panties before she tugs them to the side and finds your molten heat. An illicit sob tears from your lips as she teases your dipping folds with deft fingers. 

She strums your core with expertise leaving you a wanton mess in her grasp. Her thumb circles your clit with tight movements, drawing your bliss out and into the open. Your mouth drops in an ethereal sound as she takes you apart with ease.

She smothers her body over yours, her lingerie covered breasts close to spilling as she secures you against the brick wall even harder. “Such pretty sounds from such a pretty girl.”

She laves at the softness of your neck, feeling the pulsating beat beneath the thin flesh as she drowns you in pleasure. Her tongue leaves a hot, wet trail over your neck and down your clavicle as you shake under her lewd touch. 

Two deft fingers curl their way into your soaked channel, spreading and molding your warmth to her liking. She rubs along your velvet walls, finding which spots make you shiver and which make you sing the loudest for her.  

“It’s fun tasting the other side, isn’t it?” She asks despite your impending rapture. Her hazel eyes glimmer with wickedness. “The grime. The debauchery.”

Wet, sticky thwaps fill the room as she spreads you open. She drinks down every moan and gasp that tumbles from your lips as she fucks with her fingers you into abandon. She tips your head to her chest as she pulls one of her breasts free from a lacy lingerie cup.

“But you’re one of the good ones, aren’t you?” She claims as she feeds you a firm breast. You groan into her flesh and suckle the nipple she offers. You twirl your tongue around the pert bud and relish the soft gasp that she lets loose.

“That’s a good girl.” She praises while stroking the base of your skull and scissoring her fingers against your slick walls. Your essence drips down your thighs, staining and marking your skin but you could care less as this strange woman makes you feel things you never have before. 

She hooks her fingers and grazes that spongy spot behind your clit and your body goes ridged. Every nerve in your body sings, wanting to cry out and praise her for choosing you. Your hands lock onto her shoulders, too afraid to let go, worried that if you move she’ll disappear and it’ll all have been a dream.

“It’s alright.” She coos, her eyes growing soft as your core quivers around her digits. “Let go, my precious girl. I’ve got you.”

The knot buried deep in your belly snaps. You come with a raspy wail against her chest, riding out your bliss on her fingers while she holds you in her arms. 

She sucks her two cream coated fingers into her mouth and cleans them with a moan. Your mind goes numb at the image and you do your best to not crumble to her high-heeled feet.

“I must return to the party now.” She says, fixing the skull mask back over her face. She stares at you from behind the mask for a silent moment before weaving an arm around your back and tugging you with her toward the door. 

“You’re not supposed to be here. This isn’t the place for someone like you. Leave while you can.” Her tone left no room for argument even though you knew you were still on the clock. 

You catch yourself on the door frame and spin on your heel, catching her otherworldly gaze. “Will I see you again?”

The lady in red smiles under her mask. “One day.”

feel free to scream at me -> 💌

follow @ozzieslibrary for fic notifs!

[denaliwrites]

Tomorrow I Shall Be Fetterless

Verna x Fem!Usher!Reader

Catch & Release Prompt: "Poison"

Summary: (18+) You always were the smartest of the Usher children. Perhaps, just this once, you were a little too smart, yet not smart enough.

Requests: Open!

Warnings: Implied / Referenced Stalking. Depression. Hints of Neglect & Resentment. Oral (F Receiving). Vaginal Fingering. Overstimulation. Vomitting. Unwitting / Unintentional Suicide. Character Death.

You had seen the pattern. The writing on the wall. The dark looming shadow of death swallowing each of you up, one by one. It drove you crazy, how none of the others seemed to get it. Why didn't they get it?

If there was an answer for you somewhere out there, you knew it lay beyond the veil. And you only knew this because, soon, inevitably, your time would be up, and there just simply wasn't enough time left for you to figure out why all your siblings were fucking idiots.

And maybe you were too, to some extent. You knew Death was coming for you, yet you were surprised when it arrived to take you.

--- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- --- ---

You'd been struggling lately.

Long before your siblings started dropping like flies, an existential sadness had been gnawing away at your mental reserves. It drained you, exhausted you, made it nearly impossible for you to do... anything.

Your father tried to understand, and for that you supposed you owed him some credit. But trying wasn't the same thing as doing, and eventually he, as well as everyone else in your family, got tired of trying.

He even said as much, in the text he sent you.

And then your brothers and sisters started dying in horrific ways, seemingly by accident but uncoincidentally one after the other. Your father increased your security, knowing nothing about your struggles but for the fact you were a danger to yourself, but otherwise did nothing to try to help you.

You couldn't even call yourself the disappointment (Perry) or the black sheep (Leo) of the family. You were simply forgotten.

No one thought to call you to check up on you. The only person who'd bothered to text you out of any sense of concern was Leo. Camille had texted, too -- but it was only to prep you for the oncoming PR storm.

Now both of them were dead, and no one at all bothered to check in, not even a basic, minimal effort "u ok?" text.

So when there was a knock at your door, and you opened it to see a delivery girl holding a gorgeous (and huge) bouquet of assorted white flowers, you were pleasantly surprised.

The girl -- well, woman, and definitely a mature one -- wanted to chat, but when you gently explained that you weren't in the mood she seemed understanding, and it struck you how this random stranger you'd talked to for all of a minute was able to show you more compassion than your own family.

Speaking of, when you withdrew the card from the bouquet, you expected the Usher name, or the Fortunato logo at least, to be present somewhere. Instead, in beautiful calligraphy, you read From Your Biggest Fan.

You were quick to realize the implications, but too tired and overwhelmed to really care. If you had a stalker, dealing with it would have to wait -- you had infinitely bigger problems at the moment.

It helped a little, though, receiving that one small gesture of kindness, even if it was from someone with an unhealthy obsession with you.

You woke the next morning to the sounds of cooking emanating from your kitchen.

You were so tired that it didn't strike you as odd at first. Forgetting the past week, you thought maybe Leo had come by for a visit and decided to make breakfast while he waited for you to wake up.

When you finally stepped into the room, though, you weren't greeted by Leo, and just the sight of someone else reminded you that Leo -- your only ally in the family -- was dead.

In your kitchen, at your stove, with your spatula and your eggs, stood the delivery woman from the day before.

"I wasn't sure how you take your eggs," she said, tossing her head in your direction to offer you a smile. "I figured scrambled was a safe bet."

You looked at the array of foods laid out over your kitchen island, all surrounding that bouquet, now placed in a vase with water.

"You're my biggest fan?" And though you had asked, you knew that she was. You didn't need her confirmation, but she gave it anyway in the form of a pleased hum.

You weren't sure how to handle this situation.

Calling the cops could be dangerous, set the woman off and get you killed. But then, not calling them could get you killed, too. Contacting your family was almost certainly out of the question -- if Leo were still alive, you'd maybe have a chance. But with him gone... your only real hope was Tammy, and she... the kindest way to put it was "didn't care for you."

The woman was watching you, still smiling, when you looked up from your phone. The look she gave you was kind, sympathetic. Loving, almost, if not for the fact that she was a crazed stalker.

"It's okay," she said soothingly. "Please. Eat."

You had to admit, the food looked incredible. You didn't even remember having this much stuff in your house. Had she brought things to make for you?

She continued to watch you as you poured yourself coffee, handed you the creamer when you reached for it but couldn't quite get your hands on it, piled your plate high with pancakes and bacon and hashbrowns and eggs and seemingly a million other things.

She continued to watch you as you ate and drank it all up.

It was the most satisfying meal you'd ever had, and as an Usher that was saying something. Your life had been full of rich and lavish meals.

As your stomach filled and your eating slowed and eventually came to a stop, your eyes drifted to the bouquet in front of you. "Why white?" you asked, dropping your chin to rest on your hand.

"Isn't it lovely?" she returned your question with her own.

"Yes," you answered simply, admiring the flowers.

"You're quite lonely, aren't you?" she asked, gently.

"Yes," you answered again, this time with a sigh. "My family, they..."

"Don't understand?"

"No." You sighed again.

"I do."

The woman rounded the island, coming to stand before you. Her hands were on you near instantly -- nothing too risqué, one was on your shoulder and one was on your neck -- but it was the most you'd been touched in at least a year, maybe even more. You melted into it, releasing another sigh as those hands squeezed you comfortingly.

This stranger -- this woman who'd brought you beautiful flowers and then broken into your home and made you the most luxurious meal you'd ever had...

Just with one electric touch, you wanted her. No. Needed her. You felt it -- knew it -- all the way down into your soul.

You were suddenly standing, and you weren't sure if you had moved on your own or if she had moved you, but ultimately it didn't matter. Her lips were on yours, fevered and desperate. Her hands were winding in your hair, guiding you nearer. Everything she did to you was so tender, so caring and loving. Even just her kiss was unlike anything you'd ever experienced before.

She pulled you into the bedroom, pushed you onto your bed, and rid you of your clothes. It had to have taken time -- at least a minute, surely, but it felt like only a moment passed.

And then she was kneeling at the side of the bed, delicately lifting your legs and guiding them to rest over her shoulders. "Be a good girl for me, will you?" she teased, her breath dancing over your slit and sending a spark of pleasure into your gut.

You weren't sure if she could see you nod, but you did it anyway.

"Good girls speak up," she admonished gently, and you realized that she'd pulled away.

"Y-yes," you whimpered, desperate for her.

You heard her chuckle from between your legs and felt an immediate sense of relief.

"What do you want, little lamb?" she asked, and her breath on your cunt made you squirm in need.

"Y-you," you answered, honestly. "I d-don't care how."

Another chuckle, this one strikingly darker than the last, emanated from between your legs and seemed to echo around the room. A mere moment later and you felt a hot, wet tongue tease at your folds. You cried out, hips rolling in a desperate bid for more. Forcefully, a hand came to rest over your belly, pressing you down into the bed with surprising strength. Just as you gasped from the shock of it, her tongue dipped into your cunt.

"Oh, God," you keened, hips twitching under her hand. "Please..."

"Little lamb, are you already close?" Her voice was teasing, and chased by a sweet kiss to your clit.

"N-no," you whined. You could feel her lips pulling up in a smirk. "... Maybe," you confessed, worried she'd stop.

"Good girl," she praised you, and it took all your willpower not to drop over the edge right then and there. "You're being so good for me. Would you like to cum?"

"Yes... please..."

"Such a good girl."

She buried her face in your pussy, then, tongue playing at your entrance and lapping across your clit in random intervals that had you writhing desperately for release. Each tiny tidbit of attention pushed you closer, and at some point she gave up on keeping you still, as her hands had moved from pinning your hips to the bed to wrapping amorously around your thighs. While her tongue did wonders with your pussy, her hands massaged gentle patterns into the thin and tender flesh of your inner thighs.

"Cum for me, little lamb," she whispered, but somehow you heard her.

Her hands trailed from your thighs and up your belly until they found your own. She twined her fingers with your own, giving them a squeeze in a silent offer of support as your orgasm built and built.

You took the offer, your hands all but clinging as your climax tore through you. Your back arched dramatically as a scream pealed from your throat. Your legs quaked and tensed around her head, and for a brief moment you were worried you might crush her skull with your thighs before the thought was chased away by her lips and tongue sucking at your clit.

"F-fuck... fuck!" you cried, sobbed even, unbelievable pleasure coursing through you in waves.

It took what felt like ages for you to come down.

She didn't pull away until your last weak twitches came to a stuttering halt. The only thing moving your body after a few minutes was the heavy panting breaths heaving your chest heavenward.

The woman crawled up on the bed with you, her body hovering over yours. With the light spilling over her back and casting the rest of her in shadow, she looked almost demonic... but you didn't mind.

The slight glint to her eyes, however, sent a terrified thrill right through you -- and straight down into your core.

She seemed to recognize the spark of arousal in your eyes, as her expression shifted from one of relaxed ardor to one of wicked understanding.

"Already up for round two?" she asked before planting a biting kiss to your cheek.

Your hips involuntarily bucked as a moan escaped your hoarse throat. "Y-yes," you responded through it.

"What an eager little lamb," she teased, the hand not supporting her body grazing over your skin lightly. It ran over your breast, sending another shock of pleasure down into the growing well in your core. Over your belly, causing the tender flesh there to ripple. Over your pubic bone. And, finally, her hand found its way to your already soaked cunt. Fingers teased your folds, gliding smoothly along the slit before they were plunged inside.

You were so wet that you easily took her first two fingers and could've taken a third if she'd so chosen to grace you with it. She must've figured, and you agreed, that the two were enough.

The pads pressed at your G-spot exploratorily. When you wailed in ecstasy and gave a sharp buck of your hips, the woman chuckled and drove her fingers back into that spot, harder. And as she did so, her thumb circled your clit.

It was a merciless tirade of stimulation. Already sensitive from the previous orgasm, it didn't take nearly as much to send you back over the edge -- but she didn't relent upon your second release.

"You're being such a good girl," she murmured into your lips as her fingers hammered your G-spot, over and over again. "Such a good girl. You've got one more for me, don't you?"

You were sobbing, aching from the overstimulation and her battering your cunt to heavenly oblivion.

"Y-yes," you wailed anyway.

She drove her fingers home once again, and your slick-drenched walls clenched weakly around her until you were in the throes of another orgasm.

You barely heard her praise as she pulled her hand out of your cunt.

Your arms were around her, desperately clinging, body shaking with sobs and residual twitches from the orgasmic flood she'd unleashed on you.

Gently, she shushed you, her arms soft and firm around you. It took a lot of coaxing, but eventually she managed to untangle you from her body and lay you to rest on your bed.

"Sleep now, little lamb."

And you did.

You woke to sharp pains roiling in your gut, and a pounding heart.

The woman seemed to know something was wrong. She didn't seem concerned, but she was at your side all the same, stroking your hair.

"It's all right," she was saying, but you could only just hear her over the sound of your heart beating with worrying, dizzying power in your chest. It was almost enough to drive you mad, if not for the stomach pains warring for your attention.

"It's all right," she repeated.

You were going to be sick.

You managed to sit up before the feeling overwhelmed you. The woman pulled you to her chest, and didn't seem at all bothered when you released a torrent of half-digested breakfast foods all over her back.

"That's it," she cooed, stroking your back comfortingly.

You were not comforted.

"Wh-what--" You couldn't even finish your thought as another wave of intense nausea swamped your senses, driving you to heave yet more of the contents of your stomach over her shoulder.

"Don't worry," she said with a sigh. "It'll be over soon."

You weren't sure which part of this she meant. It certainly didn't feel like the vomiting would be over soon -- if anything, it felt like maybe that would go on forever. It was nonstop, even after you were sure there was nothing left for you to expel.

And your heart -- it continued to hammer away, showing no signs of settling. In fact, you were pretty sure that it was getting worse.

"I-I need--" You whimpered, pulling out of her embrace. Wobbly legs struggled to support you, but you somehow managed to stand and, using the walls for support, you made your way to the kitchen where you'd left your phone.

You heard the woman's padding footsteps behind you, following dutifully -- or, maybe more accurately, curiously.

You just made it to the island when your legs gave out, and she was right there to catch you, to keep you standing.

"It's okay," she said again.

"Wh-what did you d-do?" you barely managed before a wave of nausea sent you into a fit of dry heaves. She held you through it, keeping you afloat both physically and mentally.

"Only what you wanted. What you needed."

It was then, as your eyes glanced up, that you saw the bare stems laying on the counter, the handful of delicate white flowers littered around them -- the suspicious gaps in the bouquet where the flowers should've been.

"Amazing, isn't it?" she asked. You couldn't answer. Your heart -- you swore it was only seconds away from breaking out of your ribcage -- or bursting. "That such a pretty little flower could be so devastatingly lethal."

You whimpered, hands grasping at her arms as the realization of your impending death struck you.

"It's okay," she repeated again, stroking your hair lovingly. "Isn't this what you wanted?" There was no judgement in her voice, no cruelty and no pity. All along, she really had understood. "You've always craved freedom -- from your family, from the torment of your own existence." Your legs finally lost all use, and even she couldn't keep you standing anymore. You were lowered gently to the floor, held so tenderly in her arms. "Today you wear these chains, but tomorrow? You shall be fetterless."

"Tomorrow I shall be fetterless," you repeated, relief flooding your voice as the edges of unconsciousness closed in on your vision. The last thing you saw was her, and the last thing you heard was the stilling of your heart.

[mads-schubert]

I would've liked to see these two be a little toxic and morally ambiguous together ngl

[chiaramiko]

the way it immediately pans to verna when she says she "need to do somethings" 🤨🏳️‍🌈

[fischerfrey]

hphm au; life is strange

verna malinda is a 19-year-old student attending the prestigious hogwarts academy in scotland. she discovers she has to ability to rewind time when she accidentally saves her old school rival merula snyde from being shot. together the girls must solve a mystery and avoid destroying the space-time-continuum in the quaint seaside town of hogsmeade.

[callahanisms]

a fair trade

pairing: miguel o’hara x gender neutral! reader

word count: 1,010 words

ao3 link: 🕷️🕷️🕷️

summary: your help is needed to defeat a multiversal entity, one that you’ve defeated before. but what can miguel offer in return for your service?

notes: kind of mishmashing the movies and comics together. do not fret if you haven’t read any of them! it’s mostly just referenced (much like how it was referenced in the last post). the fic on ao3 is also locked to registered ao3 users only. it’s a precaution i’m taking in response to ai using ao3 fics to be trained.

“(Y/N), we need your help.”

“Miguel, I’m in the middle of eating lunch. Because, you know, I didn’t have breakfast.”

“That’s on you.”

“Some of us don’t like breakfast.”

“Okay that’s not the point! The point is that we need your help!”

You were just sitting at your table, peacefully. After a mission earlier today, you thought you enjoyed a nice break. All you’ve been doing is going on missions across the multiverse, at the expense of your personal life back home. Your friends missed you and were constantly wondering why you would dip all of a sudden. After all, it wasn’t like you to just...cancel last minute. You loved your friends. You always made sure to be there. What you didn’t expect when accepting Miguel’s invitation was to be worked constantly. There was always a multiversal threat at stake, even for something small.

You were literally the local expert on the multiverse. Small things wouldn’t cause catastrophe. But Miguel believed they would. He believed in a domino effect. You believed that it was necessary to stay vigilant but not every small thing required attention. Sometimes the multiverse acted weird. It was a multiverse. It acted on its own accords.

“Miguel, is it actually something to worry about? Or is it something like the Vulture ended up in the wrong reality which can be cleaned up without my help?” You took a sip of your drink.

“It’s someone by the name of Verna. And she’s brought with her an army.”

“Verna? Never heard of her.” You shake your head.

“Really? She claims she’s fought you before.”

“If I saw a picture, then maybe I would recognize her.”

Miguel doesn’t hesitate. “Lyla.”

Part of you wondered what it would be like if your name was always on the tip of his tongue, ready to speak on a moment’s notice. You always wanted someone who could say your name with such ease, who thought of you constantly.

“Already on it.” Lyla pulls up a video. “This is live footage of the whole thing. We’re lucky she hasn’t spread her destruction further.”

As you were taking a sip of your drink, you choked on the liquid. Thankfully, you did not die. “We need you alive (Y/N).” Miguel says.

“I thought I banished her to the ends of the Multiverse!” You exclaimed.

“So you have fought her?” Lyla questions. “Was this the multiversal being you battled before?”

“She’s the reason I have no magic!” You crush the metal cup in your hand. “It took everything for me to banish her! And she just comes...comes back like nothing happened?” You squint a little. “She also looks a lot different than I remember. You said her name was Verna?” Lyla and Miguel look at each other before nodding. “She went by a different name. Called herself the Matriarch of...something. I don’t remember.”

“All the more reason for you to finish up and join us.” He crosses his arms over his chest.

“I lost my appetite.” You picked up the dishes and cleaned out the plates, dropping them off with the conveyor belt of dirty dishes. “You owe me Miguel.”

“Owe you what?”

“A break. Like a real break. My body needs to properly recuperate, you know.”

He inputs the numbers and opens the portal. “I can do that. You’ve done good work so far.”

“Exactly. Not getting paid here.”

“None of us get paid.”

“It was a joke. You know, Peter was right. You’re like the only one of us that isn’t funny.”

“That’s hilarious.” His voice did not change in tone and his facial expressions did not give away that he was humored.

“Lighten up a little. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re extra stoic because you want to kiss me.”

“I do not want to kiss you.”

“Everyone wants to kiss me.”

He looks at you, eyebrow slightly raised. “You should pay me in kisses actually. Think that’d be a fair deal. I help you guys stop Verna, again, and I get a kiss. It’d be the perfect reward.”

You feel his gaze on you. “It’s a joke, I promise. You don’t have to actually.” Even if you did want to kiss him.

He takes a step towards you, much to your surprise. His hand reaches up, fingers curled slightly, and his knuckles graze the skin of your cheeks. It’s reassuring in a way and his touch is gentle. It reminds you of when you first joined, how his fingers gently wiped away the crumbs at your face. His hand uncurls and cups your face. “How badly do you want a kiss?” He asks.

His voice made your legs shake. “If I answered that I think you’d make fun of me.”

“I mean...it’s a simple yes or no question.”

“Yes?”

You weren’t expecting his lips to crash against yours. The sheer force almost causes you to fall over and your hands fumble to grip onto his body. You could feel his muscles flex beneath his suit. You kiss him back, but most certainly not with the same amount of force he does. Miguel even goes as far to nip your bottom lip, causing a small gasp to emerge from your throat. It was a little embarrassing and your cheeks grew warm. He pulls away, satisfied and with that cocky smirk on his face.

“Make it back alive and I’ll give you another.” He puts his mask on. “Maybe even more.”

“You...have a lot of confidence that I will.” You were out of breath. Very much out of breath.

“You’ve beaten the odds before. It’s part of who we are.”

Miguel walks through the portal and you clench your hands for a few seconds. You were nervous. It wasn’t just the kiss that made you nervous (though your heart certainly was pumping for that reason primarily). Lyla looked at you with a smile. “You better come back. Or else I’ll lose the primary thing I make fun of him for.”

“I’ll try Lyla. For you.”

“Sure, sure. Now get going before people die.”

[hellfirecvnt]

Hard to Get

Prewar!Cooper Howard x Fem!Reader

Warnings: ****This is a COMPLETE fic. This post is LONG!! Unprotected sex, oral, lying, slight fluff ending, Idk what else.

Summary: It's been a new experience being cast in the lead of the latest Hollywood movie. What's even more nerve-wracking is your far-more-famous-than-you co-star. After you can't seem to sell the chemistry between you to the director, you're pushed to spend more quality time with your cohort.

Notes: Barb doesn't exist. Cooper has never been married. I know she's the "bad guy" but I love and support Barb just bc she's a beautiful woman. Thank you.

"Quiet on the set!" A stout, demanding man's voice cuts through the dull rumble of idle conversation across the set of the movie you're starring in. It's your first lead role in a Hollywood blockbuster. You're nearly a month into filming, much more comfortable than you were in those early days. The veteran actors used to give you the hardest time. Some in jest, others in spite or envy. That's just showbiz.

Not a day goes by that nearly every man on the set makes at least two inappropriate remarks to a woman co-star or doe-eyed extra. Nearly, because one man, the other lead, has yet to make your stomach churn with unsafe discomfort. Cooper Howard. He's a world-renowned actor, known best for his westerns, but just as popular in other genres. Of course, he did ask you out for drinks in your first two weeks on set. He said it was to get to know each other, seeing as the two of you will be spending so much time together while filming, but your 10-foot-high walls wouldn't waver. You turned him down. Since then, he's been nothing but a gentleman.

The movie you're making is about a burnt-out detective on his last case. Cooper plays Detective John Silvers and you play the villainous minx, Monae Lark. The plot is that Monae will give John the run around of his life, accumulating mutual respect for each other's skills and eventually, accumulating romantic tension. The only issue with that storyline is... You are seemingly terrible at faking chemistry. SO much so, in fact, that they canceled all your scenes for the day and sent you back to your trailer. You are horrified as you step through the door, having held a perfectly calm face until then.

"Whoa, what's wrong with you?" Your agent, a short, frail, older woman with silver hair and a smoker's voice perks up on your couch when she sees your distressed face. Her name is Verna, and she's represented you throughout your entire career.

"They've canceled my scenes for today..." You slump in the seat nearest to you.

"What? Why?"

"Apparently, Cooper Howard and I don't have any chemistry." You make a mocking gesture with your hands. "The director is pissed."

"Well, duh. That's people's livelihoods we're wasting with every reshoot." Her bluntness hits you like a kick in the gut. "How do you two not have chemistry? You've been spending time together, right?"

"Of course! We read lines for almost two hours every day!"

"No, honey. That's working. Do you two spend time together? Like, get dinner and get to know each other?" The nonchalant nature of your agent's question perplexes you.

"Well, no," you admit.

"So you've just been coming in here and greeting him like a fuckin' grocery clerk before barking prewritten lines at him for a few hours?"

"I- Well... Yeah. He asked to get drinks back when filming first started, but I didn't want to look like the woman who got one big break and started fucking any man in Hollywood I could get my hands on!" The desperation in your voice is becoming more and more apparent.

"Relax, babe. The PR training we're gonna put you through to promote this film is gonna kill you if you can't have a little dinner and survive a few baseless rumors. I'm about to call his agent right now." The silver-haired woman reaches for the mint telephone and dials a number into the rotary.

"He still has scenes to shoot today, he's gonna be busy-" Your sentence is cut off when Verna holds a finger up, signaling you to give her a moment of silence. As she chats away on the phone, talking as if she's known the guy for years, you step over to the window of your trailer. Hesitantly, you peek outside, and there he is. Your intimidatingly famous and peculiarly handsome co-star.

"Fabulous! Talk soon, darling," your agent chimes from across the trailer. Just then, you see a man in a suit approach Cooper and tell him something. Context clues tell you all you need to know about their conversation. He's merely alerting his client of a scheduled meeting with his horrifically embarrassed cohort. You nearly squeeze your eyes shut to avoid the humiliation of any sigh or eye-roll he expresses in response, but that's not the case. You can hear him through the thin walls of your tin sanctuary.

"Tonight? Perfect. Send her something nice from me." He gives his agent a friendly pat on the back, sending him off. You can't help but notice Cooper's lingering smile, a new pep in his step. You can't help but chuckle at the display, it's monumentally relieving.

Filming wraps up for the day and even though your workday was cut short, you remained on set for various screen tests and voice-over work. A sudden knock on your trailer door causes you to jump. You pull your robe over your silk slip dress and open the door to an intern holding a luxurious flower arrangement in a crystal vase. Coincidentally, your favorite flowers.

"Oh! Thank you." You take the gift with a smile and the young man announces that it's from Cooper Howard, though you'd already gathered that much. "I'll be sure to thank him properly, then." You smile as the intern nods and takes off to his next task. You can't help but grin as you proudly place your new bouquet front and center on the counter. The large studio lights finally cut on and you step onto the large, open floor. It's much busier and louder now that the director has left.

"Glad to hear you changed your mind," a smooth, deep voice captures your attention. You turn to see Cooper approaching you, adjusting the buttons of his sleeves.

"You must forgive my ignorance, Mr. Howard. I'm a Broadway girl. I didn't realize how different our worlds are until I got here," you laugh. "Being seen out with a costar on that side of the circuit will get you dubbed something tasteless if you're not careful."

"Ah, well. Seems like the tabloids should spend less time worrying about what women do with their free time. I promise not to give them anything to talk about." He smiles a bright, friendly smile, winking.

"I appreciate that," you say, walking beside him as you head toward the exit. If you were leaving the theatre with your co-star in this way, all eyes would be prying into you with jealousy and hoping for the opportunity to knock you off your pedestal once and for all.

"You do have to do me one little favor though." He stops walking as if his request will be heavy. A lump grows in your chest as you assume this is it, this is where he proves he's just like the others.

"You've gotta knock that 'Mr. Howard' shit out," he chuckles. "Cooper." He extends a hand as if to redo your meeting all those weeks ago.

"Y/N," you grin, shaking his hand firmly. He repeats you as if your name tastes sweet on his tongue. With that, the two of you make your way to his car. He opens the door for you and you can't help but chuckle at his chivalrous actions. Cooper takes you to the nicest restaurant in town. Pricey, even for your recently fattened wallet.

"So, what should I know about classy, mysterious Y/N?" The refined, older man grins at you from across the fine wood table.

"Classy and mysterious? You give me far too much credit." You make a dismissive motion with your hand. "I'm an open book once you get to know me."

"And how easy of a feat is that, exactly?" He intentionally tilts his chin up, looking down at you through his eyelashes. You're taken aback by the effect it has on you. Unwilling to be an easily swooned newbie on the scene, you regain control of your train of thought.

"Not at all." You smile wickedly. "I hope you're patient."

"Of course I am, I've hardly noticed it's taken 20 minutes for our wine to get here." The two of you share a quiet laugh in the dimly lit restaurant.

"What about you, Cooper Howard? What should I know about you that the tabloids haven't already covered?"

"I'm an open book, no effort necessary." He shrugs. You burst into a hard-to-stifle laugh.

"I hardly believe that. What do you do in your free time?" You ask, staring off small.

"I drink inside a big, empty home and I reminisce." He sighs.

"What on Earth are you on about?"

"Before I was The Cooper Howard, I was just a man with a farm in the middle of sunshine and fresh air: nowhere."

"I never would've guessed," you shrug, taking in the new information. The waiter continuously fills your glasses and you take small sips as you listen.

"What about you, Broadway? What were your early days like?"

"I've been training and performing since I can remember. But I know I used to love drawing when I was a kid. I still do it sometimes, when I have time."

"Are you any good?" He asks bluntly.

"I'll have you know I was better than kids three and four grades above me in the arts program," you brag unseriously.

"You'll have to draw me something someday."

"I'd love to," you grin. The two of you continue talking, sharing funny stories from your childhoods and early days in your careers. After a while, this man whose status and essence alone used to intimidate you somehow feels like a peer.

"What brings a star of the stage over here to the film industry?" Cooper asks smoothly.

"They sought me out, actually. Must've been my look or the way I sound like honey with a transatlantic accent," you wink. Cooper chuckles, enchanted by you. He reaches a sly hand across the table and watches you notice it. You glance at his awaiting palm, but you don't meet his touch. He raises an eyebrow as he slowly closes his hand, drawing his arm back in.

"This place is nice, but-"

"I'm not going to your place, Mr. Howard."

"I was going to say we should order another bottle of this wine." He laughs, drawing you in with his brilliant smile.

"Forgive me, Cooper. One of these days I'll let my guard down," you jest. The evening rolls on smoothly. Your table is a quiet haven of laughter and camaraderie. For the first time in your career, onstage or in front of the camera, you feel a genuine sense of friendship with your co-star. When you performed Chicago as Roxy Hart, your male cohorts made the air thick with discomfort, while the women did everything in their power to drag you down. It's not their fault, of course. The industry forced them to be that way.

As the hours pass like minutes, the night comes to an end. Cooper pays the bill and tips the waiter a generous amount, not unnoticed by you. He walks you to the car, opening the door for you to slip inside.

"And they say 'Chivalry is dead,'" you wink as Cooper closes the door. In the few seconds it takes for him to round the vehicle and open the driver's door, he lowers his guard. Truly taken aback by your suave nature compared to the nervous mess he's known you as. It must be the wine, though neither of you is drunk.

Undecided whether or not he's met his match, Cooper finally opens his door and takes his position in the driver's seat. He seems almost nervous, not moving as gracefully or speaking as cool as he's known for.

"Just right around this corner, here," you say, pointing to the turn that leads to the road you live on. Cooper can't help but steal curious glances at the enigma next to him. What was meant to be a business dinner/ PR move has turned into a challenge to him, and doesn't every cowboy love a challenge? Of course, he had no plans of overstepping any of your many firm boundaries, but he planned to melt you the same way he melts for you right now.

You arrive at your home and he unfastens his buckle as well, leaving the car on. You glance at him, assessing his intentions. He's quick to notice your ocular pat-down and volunteers to put your mind at ease.

"I'm walking you to your door, sweetheart."

"That's very kind of you, Cooper. Thank you," you smirk, entertained by his ability to read you so keenly. He escorts you safely to the large oak door of your humble, yet still high-end abode. The two of you stand in silence for a moment until you speak. "If you try to come inside, I'll have to sic my very large dog on you."

"A very large dog?" Cooper asks, feigning mild fear.

"She doesn't like men," you smile warmly, bantering playfully.

"Maybe one day, she can try warming up to me."

"Until then, Cooper Howard," you nod, disappearing inside your house. He's nearly shocked, but mostly he's giddy.

What a woman, he internally monologues. His walk back to the car packs that same pep as when he found out about their dinner in the first place. Maybe even more.

After just a couple weeks of running lines together and the occasional after-work bar hop, your days on set become a comfortable routine, rather than a journey into the lion's den. You can't help but feel like you have Cooper to thank for that. The scenes between you two are now known to make the interns blush.

"Action!" The director's firm voice slices through the air. You and Cooper are positioned at opposite sides of the "room," a set made to look like Detective Silvers's office. It's dark, and a dim street lamp's glow reaches through the barely opened blinds. You run a delicate finger along the windowpane before speaking your first line.

"You've impressed me, Detective Silvers. That's not an easy feat." You take two steps to the left, placing your foot perfectly on your mark.

"You're not so easy to fool, Ms. Lark. Not like they said, anyway." The tone in Cooper's voice when he plays this character sends a wave of involuntary goosebumps down your flesh.

"You can call me Monae, honey. Don't we know each other well enough by now?" You strut gracefully across the room, leaning teasingly over his desk, where he sits. "They always say I'm a fool, because I play it so well, don't I?" Slowly, Cooper straightens up in his seat, bringing his face closer to yours as you drape across the desk.

"You keep a hell of a poker face, darling," he whispers. Something in his eyes tells you it's Cooper speaking, not Detective Silvers.

"Cut! That's a wrap!" The director dismisses the crew. Everyone's shoulders relax in unison. It's undoubtedly been smooth sailing ever since you and Cooper started spending more time together.

"Hey, Y/N," Cooper calls out to you as you head back to wardrobe. You turn and meet his gaze with a smile. "You're not busy tonight, are you?"

"Of course not. I'm waiting for my coworker to tell me what our plans are," you chuckle.

"Coworker? Ice cold. We're friends." His grin is diabolically attractive. You thank the stars above for the layers and layers of makeup concealing the darkening blush on your cheeks.

"Of course we're friends, Cooper. What are we getting into tonight?" You ask with an excited grin.

"There's a new lounge opening downtown. I know the owner pretty well. And not to brag or anything, but it's a pretty nice place to get a table on opening night." He smiles, holding his arms out as if he's waiting for a yes or no from you.

"Your friend's club is opening?"

"Well, don't make it sound too exciting now," his sarcastic tone draws a laugh from your lips.

"I'm pulling your leg, Cooper. I'd love to go." The two of you split off to get out of costume and makeup. Once you're back in your own attire, you begin to feel a sense of panic.

"You gotta stop making that face, babe. You're gonna get a worry line." Verna appears in the common area of your dressing room.

"Verna, what do you know about the new lounge opening downtown?" You turn to her with narrow eyes.

"It's a pretty big deal. Bonnie Lewis was complaining about not getting a table until next weekend," Verna laughs. You begin to wonder what kind of strings Cooper had to pull or if his story about knowing the owner was true. Not that you think him a liar, it just seemed like banter at the time.

"I need to go home." You snatch your keys from the hook next to the trailer door and bolt to your car. Verna stands in confusion, hair blowing in the breeze of your speedy exit.

"No, no, no!" You groan as you tear through your closet. Nothing seems to fit the idea you've made up in your head of what a woman should wear to something like this. You can't decide which would be more horrifying, being overdressed or underdressed. You start thinking up excuses to give Cooper why you can't come out tonight when suddenly, there's a knock at the door.

"Delivery for a Ms. Y/L/N?" The bright-eyed delivery girl hands you a large, flatter box. You thank her and nod goodbye, taking the package inside to your room. You scan the outside for any indication of what it could be or who it's from. You get fan mail all the time, so it's nothing new.

You take a blade to the taped seams and uncover a note atop a few layers of tissue paper.

"For tonight, if you want. -C.H."

You furrow your brow as you reread the note a few more times. Curiously, you place the note aside and reach for the tissue paper, unfolding it to reveal a stunning mass of glistening fabric. With widened eyes, you reach into the box and lift the garment to see it's a long, crystal-stoned dress with a high slit up the side. It reminds you of something your character, Monae Lark, would wear. It's gorgeous and looks like it costs as much as your Hollywood home.

You hold the dress up to your body in the mirror next to your bed and it's perfect. You certainly didn't own anything of this caliber until now. You get dressed and ready, hoping your finest jewelry does the dress its due justice. For just a moment, you stare at yourself in the mirror. You take in this heavenly view, you can hardly believe it's you staring back at all.

A ring of the doorbell snaps you from your thoughts and you make your way to the door. Standing on the other side is Cooper. The moment his eyes meet yours, his face becomes illuminated with a big, marveling smile. He glances at you, up and down, taking in the way the dress drapes over you like water down a stream.

"You look magnificent," he speaks in awe.

"Thank you for the dress, Cooper. It's beautiful." Your eyes sparkle as you thank him for your gift.

"You're discrediting yourself. It just looked like a sparkly piece of fabric before I saw it like-" he places his hands daringly on your hips. "This." You gasp at his invasive action, taken aback by his boldness.

"Shall we get going, then?" You smirk, undeniably excited by his touch. He leads you to the car and opens the door for you like a gentleman. His chivalrous displays only make you yearn more and more. He's always like that, even on set. He prioritizes your comfort, especially in the sex scenes, which you've been reshooting a lot lately.

Cooper escorts you inside the lounge. They don't even check the list, everyone knows who you two are. Eyes and camera flashes all focus on you as any and every media outlet tries to get their hands on the latest spot to be seen in downtown Hollywood. You feel glamorous on his arm as he leads you to the table. Cocktails are promptly ordered and arrive at your table in impressive time.

You take in your foreign surroundings. It all looks so high above you, yet you're here. It's humbling. The ceilings are tall and dark while the rest of the room is dimly lit. A band plays smooth music to a crowd busy with multiple conversations. You're both sat in a large booth with seating that wraps all the way around. The low light bouncing off the crystals on your dress draws any and all attention to your table. To you. To Cooper sitting with you.

The night is fun and exciting, you nearly lose track of your drinks, but as always, you manage to remain only slightly buzzed. Careful not to sully your own name with drunken hijinks. And while you're not drunk per se, you are feeling much bolder than usual. You can't seem to pry your eyes off of your arm candy. Cooper is quick to notice, playing into your flirtatious behavior.

"Do I have something on my face?" He chuckles, brushing his hand against his cheek, tracing his jawline. You know right then that you've been caught gawking and your face turns bright red, hidden thankfully under the dim lighting.

"No, Cooper. I just happen to like what I'm looking at, is all." You bite your lip, surprised by your own words. You even think you can see him blushing.

"If I'm being honest, I really like what I'm lookin' at as well." His eyes burn into yours.

"Everyone's looking at us," you whisper, drawing closer and closer to him in the round booth.

"Let them watch," he mumbles, closing the gap between you two and drawing you into a passionate kiss. Your heart begins to race as his hands roughly grip onto you, pulling you closer to him in the booth. "Can we get out of here, darlin'?"

"Take me home, Cooper," you sigh as your eyes travel back and forth between his eyes and his lips. You don't know if it's the drinks or the rush of being the main attraction in this swanky club, but it's taking you over and you have no objections.

"Whatever you say," Cooper says with a sly smile, extending a hand to you to guide you out of the booth. The walk to the door seems endless, as you find yourself ravenous to get him alone again. It's no secret for either of you that tensions have only been growing ever since your first dinner together. He clings to you, not so much possessively, but protectively. Almost as if he doesn't keep you latched to his side as you make your exit, you might fall away and break like the delicate crystals adorning your flowing dress.

The brisk night air coats your flesh in a cloak of goosebumps. Anticipation accelerates your pulse to an unknowable pace. When you reach his car, you pull his collar to your chest, cueing him to pin your hips against his vehicle and kiss you deeply, ignoring the paparazzi flash. But only for a second, as the second blazing flash snaps you back into reality and you hastily make your way into the car, giggling. Cooper shoots a knowing look at the flashing cameras, smirking with pride as he struts to the driver-side door.

When he gets inside the car, you're both laughing at the prying cameras. A part of you feels worried about how the tabloids will make you look, and Cooper can see that fear on your face. He furrows his brow.

"Hey, you know it's all..." He trails off, staring at you intently. You can nearly see his gears turning behind his eyes.

"Are you okay?" You ask, confused by his mid-sentence shutdown.

"Forget about it, I gotta get you somewhere a little more private." He winks, pulling out of the lot and past the ever-flashing journalists. You've fantasized plenty of time about this moment, how it'd play out. It's your current favorite dream to have, no doubt. His hand on your thigh lightly digs his fingers into your flesh, growing more and more desperate the closer you two get to your home in the hills.

You emerge from the car after he parks haphazardly in your driveway. The two of you are apart for mere seconds before he's upon you, locking your lips with his, wrapping the full lengths of his arms around you. You're nearly, quite literally swept off your feet. You lead him to the door and he follows your every step, beguiled. You open the door and spring inside.

"Surely I get to come inside just this once?" Cooper leans in your doorway as the distance between you grows. You stare at him, scanning your eyes up and down teasingly. He looks like he's ready to fall on his knees and beg.

"You're quite the gentleman, Cooper Howard." You shift your weight to your hip.

"My mama didn't raise me to barge into a lady's home uninvited."

"What part of our trip to the door makes you think you're uninvited?" You tilt your head. The conversation seems almost reminiscent of the characters you both play.

"The part where you didn't invite me in," he grins.

"My God, are you a Vampire?" You jest. "Please come inside. Make yourself at home," you say sarcastically. "Do I need to tell you what I expect you to do next?" Your words are rushed, as he speeds toward you once he's received his invite. He wraps you in another firm embrace and plants kisses and light bites along the slope of your neck.

"I think I can take it from here, darlin'." He plants another kiss. "Unless you're feeling like bossing someone around." He winks, allowing his hands to wander freely up and down your body, grasping at your breasts and thighs.

"Keep kissing me," you demand, to your own surprise more than his. He does as he's told, only hesitant for a second to register what you said. You break the kiss momentarily to make another demand. "Take my dress off, carefully." You instruct. Cooper happily obliges, doing exactly as you ask, carefully. Once your dress is carefully placed aside, he takes in the breathtaking sight of you, nearly bare before him, just a room's length away.

Your undergarments suggest you had this plan in mind long before getting in the car this evening. Lace and silk with garters and corsetry. You're unreal, even to a Hollywood Star like Cooper. His mouth hangs agape as he drinks in the image laid out in front of him.

"Well?" He awaits his next instruction.

"Oh, please," you scoff. "Lose the jacket, loosen the tie." He does as he's told, taking your commands and unfastening a few of the top buttons of his shirt. As he draws closer to you, crossing the room from where he'd sat your dress out of harm's way, he rolls his unbuttoned sleeves up his arms. There's something primal and animalistic about him as he towers over you where you lie on the bed.

"Now, you tell me what to do." Your voice is almost shaking as you say this, excited and anxious to shift the power dynamic. Cooper's face spreads into a soft smile. It's almost eerie.

"Come here." He snaps his fingers softly, pointing to the edge of the bed in front of him. You giddily comply, taking your seat with a pretty posture. You're perfectly positioned at his waist. "Belt."

You waste no time, wrapping your hands delicately around the buckle of his belt, unfastening it and moving on to the button and zipper. Cooper's erection strains against his underwear, hard and throbbing against your palm. He sighs at your touch, eyes rolling back in his head as you toy with him through his boxers.

"Touch yourself," he commands with a quiet rumble of a voice. You do as you're told, locking eyes with him as you slip a hand past your panties. You moan under your own knowing hand, pouting your lips in an 'o' shape. Truly putting on a show for someone so deadset on maintaining a "pure" reputation.

"Cooper," you moan his name, earning a surprised smirk from him. He shakes his head in disbelief.

"So careful, so reserved, so... Mysterious," he chuckles, caressing your cheek in his palm as you continue to play with yourself. "I knew you must've had secrets, but my God, you filthy little thing." His words are like sugar and honey as he showers you with praise. "I'm going to make you feel so good, babydoll."

Cooper gently tugs your arm away from your drenched panties and replaces your hand with his own. He carefully pumps his middle finger in and out of you, earning sensual moans from deep in your chest.

"Oh, my God!" You chant to the heavens, riding an indescribable high. Cooper is far more skilled with his hands than you could've anticipated. After a few moments, you realize he was paying attention to the way you touch yourself, and is now attempting to mirror that. And he's doing well. The attention to detail is enough to bring you ecstasy all on its own.

He tugs his undergarments down, freeing his tumescent cock from its restraints, still fingering you all the while. His large size is jarring, but you've never been the type to turn away from a challenge. You take his shaft in your hand and pump up and down as you wrap your lips around his tip. His hand is quick to find the back of your head, carefully working you further and further down his length with each bob of your head.

"Jesus Christ, baby. Look at you," he groans, tugging your hair to make you go faster. You keep at it as long as possible, long after your neck is good and sore. Finally, he takes a sharp inhale and pulls your face away from his waist.

"Lay back on the bed, darlin'. I can't wait for this anymore." Cooper withdraws his hand and slides your panties down your legs, careful to leave the rest of your scandalous outfit in place. You're certain he's going to place himself in front of you and fuck the daylights out of you, but instead, he lowers his head to your dripping cunt and begins licking broad stripes up and down your slit.

You melt into his technique as his tongue explores every corner of you. The knot in your stomach tightens as you arch your back, desperate for more contact. A daring hand makes its way to his pushed-back hair, encouraging him. You can feel his lips curl into a grin against your delicate skin. In your pleasure-induced haze, you begin to wonder how you found yourself in your own bed, getting eaten out by Cooper Howard.

Suddenly, he pulls away. His actions are rushed now, almost desperate as he reaches for his waist, taking the base of his cock in his hand and positioning himself over you. You're anxious but excited. There's a fire in your blood as he slips inside of you. Both of you emit guttural moans, filling the room with the vulgar sounds of huffing breaths and wetness as he thrusts in and out.

"You look so pretty when you're getting fucked," he whispers in your ear before jerking you up from where you lie. He positions you on your hands and knees and you take it upon yourself to arch your back like a cat, dipping as far down as you can. The sight of it is enough to make Cooper faint. You're the prettiest putty he's ever had in his hands. He trails his soft, open palms down your sides, resting his hands on your ass.

Cooper gropes and smacks the supple flesh, earning coos of approval from you with each strike. He basks in your beauty for a while, taking the moment in. He bites down on his index knuckle, looking away from you for a moment. You glance over your shoulder to investigate the sudden hold-up, and he looks preoccupied.

"Cooper," you gain his attention back to you. "Now is a terrible time to have second thoughts..."

"I'm afraid all I'm thinking about right this second is this." Abruptly, you feel him slip back into you. A gasp invades your lungs as you push yourself backward, allowing him deeper inside. His pace is quick and steady, guiding you like an expert to your orgasm. He's at it for so long, your arms threaten to buckle. When he notices the slightest waver in your elbows, he shoves your face into the mattress. Your arms are instantly relieved and he picks up his vigorous pace.

"Oh, god!" Your wails echo off the walls of your large bedroom, stroking his ego with every moan.

"Come on, baby... Cum for me..." He huffs, talking you through the growing knot in your stomach. He withdraws for mere seconds to shift your positions. He plants his feet on the floor and returns you to your back, tossing one of your legs over his shoulder as he picks up where he left off. His thrusts become sloppy, though they still maintain that toe-curling speed.

"Oh, wait!" You cry out, but his hips refuse to relent. He shushes you sweetly, fucking you until your climax renders you breathless. You moan loudly and sensually, it's like music to Cooper's ears. You're well and fucked out as he continues chasing his own high. After only a few more moments of overstimulation, he pulls out and pumps his cock until he finishes on your lace-clad chest. You watch him through fluttering eyelashes as he throws his head back in ecstasy.

"You're... Something else," he huffs between heavy breaths. You create room for him to collapse next to you on the bed and he happily obliges. The two of you, sweaty and breathless, lie in comfortable silence for a short while. "Hey, when do I get to meet your big, dangerous dog? She's awfully quiet."

"I don't have a dog." You state flatly, admitting your lie.

"I had a feeling that threat wasn't so serious."

"Oh, it's plenty serious. It's just not true. You can stay the night if you want," you offer with a smile as you rise from the bed and make your way to the bathroom to shower.

"Stay the night, huh?" He repeats you.

"Yes. I'd like it if you did," you wink, disappearing to clean yourself up before bed. Just as you're about to reach for the handle to turn the water off, you're joined in the shower.

Cooper buries his face in the crook of your neck, holding you close to his naked body from behind. You share a passionate kiss under the warm running water before you step out and let him take over. The two of you sleep in each other's arms, completely naked, bundled in your expensive bedclothes.

In the following days, news breaks of your visit to the lounge with Cooper. The photo of the kiss by the car is plastered on every magazine faster than you can blink. At first, you're terrified of what this could mean for your stage career, should you never get another role in film, but Cooper continuously reassures you. Weeks go by and you can't remember the last time you left the set without him by your side. He makes you feel safe and beautiful. You trust him in ways you didn't think you could trust men in the industry. You don't care if the two of you never label what you have, you're just happy to have it.

It all seems to be a little too perfect until the day the film debuts. You and Cooper are a sight to behold on the red carpet at the premiere. The cameras can't seem to keep their blinding flashes off the two of you. Cooper seems in high spirits, wrapping you in tight hugs and kissing your forehead sweetly. You're a sap for his PDA ways.

The movie receives a standing ovation and you've never felt more pride in your life. For yourself, your co-stars, and the crew. Riding a high so strong it feels like glitter in your blood, you can't wait to get your man back home and show him how proud you really are.

"Cooper, hey!" You call out to him at the exclusive after-party. When he turns to face you, he smiles wide, pulling you in for a kiss while damn near dipping you like a dance partner. "Whoa, I need to call your name more often."

"Screaming it works for me too," he winks, eliciting a red-faced chuckle from you.

"Are you coming back to my place, or do I have to beg?" You ask, staring up at him with large, sparkling eyes.

"Well," he looks at you and then glances around the room, seemingly lost in thought for only a moment once again. "Of course, darlin'."

After arriving at your home and promptly tearing each other's clothes off, you lie leisurely on the bed next to Cooper. All of a sudden, he's sitting up and getting out of your bed. You're hardly aware of what he's doing until you realize he's getting dressed.

"Where are you off to?" You sit up, perplexed by his out-of-character quickness to leave.

"Unfortunately, I'm a busy man after a film premieres." He's staring at his cuffs, fastening the button as he talks to you.

"Of course, of course. It's just... So late."

"You're telling me, honey," he quips, planting a quick kiss on your lips and disappearing out the door. You hear him exit out the front and start up his car, pulling off into the night. You sit in silent shock. Surely that didn't just happen. Cooper Howard didn't just come over, fuck you, and leave after your film premiere after weeks and weeks of an ongoing intensely sexual relationship.

You decide to remain calm, after all, what else can you do? He's not yours to worry about, but worry, you do. You climb out of bed and shower as usual after a night with the beautiful man you thought you trusted until moments ago. What reason did he have to lie to you? To leave? You're a white-hot ball of smoke and fire when you emerge from the bathroom.

A lot of things can be used to describe you, most of them, very good. One thing, for you, stands out. Anger. You're slow to anger in nearly any situation, but when it happens, it happens. You're someone else entirely when you're angry. You get dressed, somewhat casual, somewhat flashy. Something to blend in wherever you may find him because that's where you're going.

After perfecting your hair and makeup- not one to get caught slacking- you slip into your car and make your way to the first few places you can assume he'd be. You check the restaurant where you had your first outing, in case he'd already romanced another co-star on another set. Not there. You check the lounge his friend owns. Not there.

"Hey there, handsome. The owner in?" You ask the bouncer.

"He's in the back, you're welcome to come in, Ms. Y/L/N."

"Thank you, darling. You're my favorite part of this place, you know that?" Your praise causes him to blush slightly and you make your way to the back office.

"Whoa! You can't just waltz in here!" A man wails angrily behind a shabby desk.

"I can. I definitely can. Where is Cooper tonight?" You tilt your head, scanning the man's face for any inconsistencies in his expression.

"Oh, shit! Y/N, we don't really get a lot of customers before we open," the man jokes, hoping to avoid the question. Not because he knows anything, but simply because he's not a snitch. You respect him for it... or not.

"Where is Cooper?" You repeat.

"I don't know. Wouldn't tell ya if I did." The man shrugs shamelessly.

"I'll be seeing you, Vince." You smile warmly and depart. From behind you, you can hear him yelling after you, asking how you know his real name. You're a different person when you're angry, an observant person.

You leave the lounge and check a few more places with no success. Finally, you drive toward his house. The car is completely silent save for the sound of your angry, shuddered breaths. What it all comes down to is you never expected Cooper to owe you anything, but he was going to call it quits to your face like a man or you'll do it for him. When you pull down the long, private driveway, you're shocked and appalled by what you see.

There's a party going on. A real classy rager, it would seem. Your perfectly lined and lipsticked upper lip is pulled into a disgusted sneer as you exit the vehicle and calmly strut toward the door. You don't bother knocking, who'd hear it? You walk right in the door and resume the endless search for Cooper. You circle like a vulture to a carrion, eyes narrow with anticipation.

"My God, Y/N, is that you?" A familiar voice booms behind you. Sebastian. He plays a part in the movie that just dropped.

"Sebastian, you look stunning in yellow," you gush, latching onto his arm. This outgoing, charismatic behavior is foreign on you, but he's too drunk to notice your near-blind rage.

"Does Cooper know you're here? Come with me, darling." Sebastian guides you to the backdoor down several sets of porch and deck stairs. You can already see Cooper before he sees you. He looks drained.

"Sebastian, is he okay?"

"You ought to know, shouldn't you?" He winks, nudging you with the arm you're clinging to.

"What does that-" your question is cut off.

"Cooper! You won't believe who I've found," Sebastian announces, stepping out of the way to reveal you. Cooper's eyes widen.

"Ohh... Sea Bass, you gotta get out of here..." Cooper whispers, not breaking eye contact with you.

"What? Why? I thought you-"

"Go inside, Sebastian." You intrude, staring tangible daggers into Cooper. Sebastian finally vacates the premises and you wait for Cooper to start talking. The two of you share a long moment of staring before he finally stands from the patio chair.

"Y/N, I can-"

"Explain? You can explain. This is incredibly hurtful and confusing, but thank God you can explain." You hiss. He's taken aback by your venomous tone, but he knows he has it coming. "You don't owe me anything, I get that. But I was so clear that I didn't want to be treated like this." Your words sound heartbroken, but your tone is steady and harsh.

"I would've told you- I wanted to tell you, but your agent-"

"About the party? I don't care about the party, Cooper! I'm talking about all this fucking time we've spent together. You really put on a show for those paps, I remember that. Why go public when we won't even put a name on it?"

"Y/N, are you talking about the PR stunt? By the car? I thought that you..." He motions vaguely with his hands to symbolize his confusion.

"A- A PR stunt?" You repeat, mouth hanging open.

"Wasn't that why you kissed me?" Cooper asks, clearly as confused as you are.

"No, Cooper." You nearly laugh in disbelief. "That's not why. Why did you come to my house and do all that in front of no cameras? Huh? Was that a PR stunt? Did that feel like I knew it was a PR stunt?"

"I hesitated! I was wondering the same when you-"

"Well, thank God you hesitated. Hallelujah, amen, I'm going home. Sorry if I messed up your ruse. I hope I didn't ruin the illusion of nothing." You grit your teeth to stop you from speaking anymore. The walk back up all those steps and past everyone inside feels a thousand miles long. Cooper just stands there, silent, watching you walk away. Your emphasis on your last word holds all the hurt you were trying to hold back.

"What just happened?" Sebastian appears behind you like the busybody he is.

"Exactly what everyone thought: nothing." Your words are meant to sound hateful and angry, but they just sound sad now. You speed out the front door, away from the party and everything it entails. Once you're in the car, tears pour down your face. Your worst fear comes true. Humiliation, heartbreak, hubris. You begin to understand what they mean when they say "too good to be true."

At your agent's request, you're staying at home for now. Minimizing going out unless it's for press. And God, there is so much press. So many large rooms that feel hopelessly cramped as you find yourself shoved into Cooper at every turn. You maintain perfect composure for the cameras, even Verna is impressed as she watches from the sidelines. She's heard your woes time and time again, but even she sympathizes with you this time. You worked so hard to avoid this situation for so long in your career.

"Do you think we could talk later?" He mumbles in your ear with a big, fake smile and you giggle as if he's whispered sweet nothings.

"Fuck you." You reply with a playful faux grin. He sighs, but neither of you let up from the act.

"You really are Monae Lark, huh?" Cooper chuckles nervously.

"Please let me just get through this in peace." Your voice carries hurt. So much so, that he can feel it in his chest when you speak.

"Alright, I'm sorry." It's the last words shared between you two for the entire rest of the evening. You're ice cold, surrounding yourself with walls much, much higher than before. Cooper notices, but no one else, save for Verna and maybe even Sebastian, can tell a difference. Your ability to mask this pain only adds to his endless guilt.

You're being interviewed with another actress, finally tied up in a conversation you want to be in. You're glowing in comparison to your moments next to Cooper. Meanwhile, he and Sebastian sit off to the side, having just finished their interview with the same host.

"I think you should just accept your loss. Maybe you two can rekindle something in ten years," Sebastian shrugs. Cooper looks at him in disbelief of what he's just suggested.

"I don't want to 'rekindle something in ten years,' I want her now. I want her back." He pinches the bridge of his nose between his thumb and index finger, stressed.

"I thought you weren't putting a label on it," Sebastian chuckles.

"That was before I found out that she had no idea we were doing PR, fucker."

"Oh, calm down. It was a misunderstanding," he looks at Cooper. "So make it understood."

In the days following that event, Cooper tries his hardest to take Sebastian's advice, but you won't let him speak when you answer your house phone and realize it's him. Weeks go by and you demand Verna find a way to schedule you and Cooper at opposing time windows for every press event here on out. You appease the crowd with a lot of "We just missed each other, but I'll see him at home," with a stupid wink. Everything feels so fake. It feels like you're constantly acting now, it's exhausting.

"Look doll, I can't help you out of seeing him at the award show in a few weeks," Verna warns. It's now been a month since you and Cooper last saw each other, longer than that since you've spoken. You're both so busy, your minds haven't had time to ruminate on each other like when you had to see each other all the time. The pain has softened and even the paps stopped asking about where the other one is when you go out.

"It's fine, Verna. But I want you to hire the stylist from my press tour in Italy last year. When I was in Aida."

"On it, boss," she salutes, already holding a phone to her ear.

Verna gets you some face time with the stylist and you discuss what you're looking for in the look. You describe something sparkling and demanding attention, something Monae Lark would wear. As you watch the designer sketch, you realize you've described the dress Cooper gifted you. You're just now piecing together that it was meant to look like your character, it wasn't meant to be a sentimental gesture. You become furious all over again, demanding that the woman scrap that sketch.

"I want it form-fitting, black, silk." You begin listing adjectives that feel right.

"Tulle gloves? Fingerless?" The designer introjects.

"Yes, I love it. Not fingerless. Past the elbow. I want villainess, I want revenge."

"A revenge dress on the red carpet? I love my job." The artist begins sketching like mad and you watch your vision come to life on paper. It's perfect.

"You have two and a half weeks to get me fitted for this dress, is that okay? I'm sorry for the short notice." Your kindness goes a long way with this woman. She ensures you'll see your dress long before the deadline and you do, having a fitting only a few days over one and a half weeks later. The dress is everything you could've hoped for and after the alterations you're dressed to kill.

The night of the award show, your dress is perfectly fitted and your hair is styled intricately to match. A makeup artist finishes off your look and you stand to check yourself in the mirror. You look like your character stepped right out of the screen. A cold, heartless, murderous vixen, scorned too many times.

"Have you decided who you're walking with?" Your agent asks, concerned.

"I can't show up alone?"

"I'm afraid only the men can get away with that one unless you want prying eyes," she shrugs. You opt for calling Sebastian. You don't want to look like you're attempting to make Cooper jealous or hurt his feelings and you know all your actress co-stars already have dates and escorts. He graciously agrees, happy to know his two pals have opted for the high road.

"Well, let's get you on that carpet," Verna escorts you to your limo where Sebastian waits. The ride to the event makes you nauseous with anxiety, but you're not sure why. It's not like this is new to you anymore.

You make a grand entrance, on your co-star's arm, causing you to be bombarded with inaudible questions and blinding camera flashes. Sebastian separates from you for his own photo op. You give them various sultry poses, looking over your shoulder, and placing your hands on your hips. Your face remains stone, emotionless. Your sharp makeup and flat expression make you look like a piece of art. You're melting into your character for the cameras when you hear someone yell that Cooper Howard just walked in.

A decent amount of the cameras that were shoved in your face migrate over to him. Time seems to slow down for one whole minute as the two of you lock eyes. Every emotion neither of you had any time to feel has come rushing back. You reach out to Sebastian for some sort of grounding. Cooper notices that you're on his best friend's arm and he knows it's to show no malice. He sees it for what it is, an olive branch.

"Wow, you really mastered that empty, yearning, hopeless, doomed-love expression!" A man behind a camera shouts at you. You'd thank him, only you weren't trying to make that expression, regardless of how on theme it is for Monae.

"Let's see Cooper and Y/N together again!" Another pap yells, prompting Cooper to join you where you stand against the backdrop. Sebastian reminds you that the show must go on, leaving your side so your ex-fling can replace him. Cooper pulls you into his embrace, keeping his eyes on the audience. After several flashes, they demand to "see the love." You pull Cooper into a tight hug, smooching him on the cheek, leaving a large lipstick mark. He's smart enough to know that while you didn't show up with intentional arm candy, this isn't his real welcome. It's all for the cameras.

Without much thought, Cooper, to keep up the charade, catches you off guard by planting an unsuspecting kiss on your lips. It shouldn't have affected you the way it did, but the moment he pulls away, you two finally get a look at each other. Sebastian and Verna seem to be locked into the slow motion of the moment as well as their eyes bulge out of their heads while they watch your face shift through emotions.

"You're the meanest man I know," you whisper, heartbroken, before running off the red carpet and into the nearest empty area. You do your best to find privacy before you let your tears ruin your makeup.

Back in the carpet, Cooper and Sebastian stare at each other in horror before Sebas finally speaks up.

"Oh, no! A wardrobe malfunction at an event like this is dreadful. I'm glad she was able to catch that," he announces, patting Cooper on the back. That story seems to sell just fine as the cameras move on to the next arriving star.

"What the fuck were you thinking, kid?" Verna appears before Cooper the second he gets inside the building.

"I wasn't! I thought a kiss would shut them up, I was trying to speed this whole thing up for her," he sighs.

"Where did she go?" Sebastian asks the raspy old woman.

"We don't know. She took off so quickly, I couldn't see where she went." The old woman mumbles something angry under her breath and returns to looking for you.

You're in a room not intended to be accessed during this event, but it wasn't locked, so who cares? You find the nearest seat and allow yourself to cry quietly into your gloves.

"What did I do to deserve this? My career is so fucked when this gets out, and what is he?" You rant aloud to no one.

"He's looking for you," Cooper answers your rhetorical question.

"No, he's fine. His career is fine. Everything for him is fine."

"What makes you think that? That I'm fine?" He sounds offended, frustrated.

"Well it was all just an act to you, wasn't it? I fell hard and it was just overtime for you."

"You have no idea what you're talking about," he makes a sharp motion with his hand, angry and precise.

"I thought you felt the same and I'm utterly embarrassed now. I'm so embarrassed, I can only be angry. And I'm so heartbroken, I can only cry. It's unproductive." You pull a compact mirror from your clutch purse and begin fixing your makeup to the best of your ability. "I didn't want to be your on-set floozy."

"I didn't mean to embarrass you, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I didn't communicate what that night at the lounge was. I'm sorry I let you invite me inside your house. I swear, I thought you knew what we were doing. I thought the self-preservation thing was a shtick you were just really good at." Cooper takes a few steps closer to you. "I thought it was just fooling around, so I didn't want to get attached, but-"

"But what? Because this is all just kind of hurting my feelings again."

"But I did get attached. I did catch feelings. The night of that party, I was outside spilling my guts to Sebastian because he was the only person who would hear it."

"Cooper..."

"I'm not done." He puts a hand up. "I miss you. I've been pissed off every single day just because I can't talk to you. The minute I forget about you, it's like the wind blows a different way and I'm reminded of the way your hair catches in the breeze when you're in my car with the windows down."

"Cooper."

"I think about you every single day and I'm fucking livid with you for making me wait this long to get to say this to you." He inhales deeply. "I think I- I'm in love with you."

"That's... A little sappy, Cooper."

"Oh, come on." He drops his shoulders, defeated until he hears you start to chuckle.

"I guess I'm in love with you too," you admit.

"You guess?" He raises a brow, feigning offense.

"Would it have hurt this bad if I wasn't?" By now, Cooper's crossed the room. He answers your question by closing the gap between you and locking his lips with yours. It feels like breathing for the first time in months. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him in closer. You both missed this.

When you both finally rejoin the party, you're inseparable. Nothing in the world can knock the cheesy grins off your faces. Sebastian looks on proudly, standing next to Verna.

"Well, looks like I've lost my date," Sebastian laughs. "Shall we?" He offers Verna his arm and she laughs loudly before accepting.

You and Cooper quickly find yourselves in the position of Hollywood's favorite couple. It not only skyrockets your career, but his as well, seeing as your fan base from the theatre followed you over to film, and eventually, they found and adored Cooper. The next time either of you comes to a misunderstanding, you take Sebastian's advice. Make it understood.

[colormepurplex2]

Beneath The Boughs | Dare To Dream

↳ Namjoon x f.Reader ⤜ Robinhood Retelling, Strangers to Lovers/Soulmates, Ruined Arranged Marriage AU ⤜ Rating: MA🔞 ⤜ WC: 6,740 ⚠️violence, crass language, mentions of parental illness, melancholy feelings

Next Chapter⇾ ◅ Back to story masterlist

“My Lady,” Ms. Duckett calls from beyond the doors of the balcony terrace. “My Lady, it is time. If we do not leave now, we will not make it through this side of Sherwood before nightfall.”

You sigh with one last look out over the rolling expanse of bleak countryside. You push to your feet and smooth your gloved hands over the back of your gown, brushing away any detritus that might have attached to the fabric from the bench you were seated on. The heavy silk skirts swish over the layers of your thick wool petticoats as you turn to make your way back inside.

The first flurries of winter have begun, and unless you wish to spend the season shivering in the northern reaches of Yorkshire, you best get on with it. The window to return to the city of Nottingham is closing swiftly. It was a fool's move to leave it until the last moment anyway. But you couldn’t bring yourself to rejoin society sooner than absolutely necessary.

“Apologies, Duckie,” you offer her, the childhood nickname you gave her rolling off your tongue with affection despite your surly mood.

Verna Duckett has been your attending maid ever since your mother fell ill some twenty years prior and found herself with more need for a nursemaid than a lady’s maid. Duckie’s age is a mystery to you, but considering the silver knot tucked under her bonnet, you’d guess she was far older than her spry body and fiery attitude suggest.

Thinking of your mother’s continued ailing constitution only sours your demeanor further. After all, it is why you’ve found yourself in the predicament you are currently trying to avoid. So, to keep from dawdling further with those dark thoughts, you focus on gathering the fox-fur-lined cloak you left draped over the end of your bed and securing its thick golden clasp at your throat.

Duckie titters under her breath, reminding you of a flittering songbird as she encourages you from the room. “The sheriff is waiting with the carriages.”

That news pulls you up short at the top of the grand staircase. “The sheriff?”

“Indeed so, My Lady. He has come up from Nottingham to be your escort at the request of Prince Seokjin.”

Bile threatens to rise from the churning pit of your stomach. The Prince. “Must it be so?” you mutter to yourself. “Right,” you try to clear the disappointment from your voice as you begin the descent down the stairs. “Let us not keep him waiting long, then.”

The bite from the snowy northern winds does little to soothe the blazing tempest in your chest as you breeze through the open doors of the home you’ve kept for the summer in Yorkshire. It was once your father’s estate, passed down to you when you came of age. You prefer it to the oppressive halls of the inner city home you keep in Nottingham—the one your parents choose to reside in year-round.

“My Lady.” The sheriff greets you by way of an oily smile and a tip of his chin. “Trying to catch a cold before your big day?”

A snide remark forms on the tip of your tongue but you bite the offending appendage before it can garner you trouble over the next two days of travel. The absolute last thing you wish for right now is to land on Yoongi’s—the sheriff’s—bad side.

It’s possible you might have once considered him a friend. He has all the charm and grace of a pleasant gentleman. But, when he started to bow and scrape, doing the Prince’s bidding in forcing your hand, you lost all respect and good will towards him.

You’re aware that’s not exactly fair, considering Yoongi is merely a sheriff, and the prince is, well, a prince. But it simply is not fair, and you are more than aware of the other dealings the prince and Yoongi have gotten up to in the recent years since King Seokjoong went on his crusades.

Mirth twinkles in Yoongi’s eyes; clearly, he can see the restraint painted all over your face. “Of course not, My Lord—I mean, Sheriff,” you reply, your words dripping with saccharinity. His lips flatten at your intentional misuse of the title.

Yoongi is as much a Lord as you are a pigeon. And you know that rankles him far more than any snide remark you might have bestowed upon him. Being the Sheriff of Nottingham brings Yoongi power, but not nearly enough to satiate his growing greed. That much is evident in how he swindles and ousts any and all meager bits of coinage from the pockets of those he is sworn to protect. No, Yoongi protects only himself…and occasionally you, per the prince’s request.

The ride to Nottingham starts slow and ponderous, the snow turning to sleet with each creeping mile south, causing the dirt under hoof and wheel to quickly form ruts and mud pits that suck and pull, sapping any haste from the procession.

Duckie was being generous in her assessment of time, as by the time the sun drops below the horizon, your caravan escort has barely hit the outskirts of Sherwood. You know it was unwise to have spent so long avoiding the ride; this is your own doing.

It’s not that you mind the forest at night; it’s just that the swaying oil lamps and guttering torches do little to diminish the darkness. Every creak of the carriage and distant animal chitter have you quite literally on the edge of your seat, the velvet cushion firmly crushed under your hands where they fist the lip of the bench.

The sudden, jarring stop of the carriage nearly unseats you. Muffled shouts sound from beyond the drawn curtains. Duckie frowns, absently pulling a handkerchief from her apron pocket and fanning her ample bosom with it.

“Dreadful luck stopping in these cursed woods,” she mutters nervously before flicking back the edge of one of the curtains and peeking out the window. “What in heavens is going on out there?”

She jumps back, her alarmed yelp echoing through the carriage as Yoongi jerks open the door. “My Lady, I apologize for the delay. There is some debris across the roadway. It should only take a moment for it to be moved, and then we shall be on our way once more. I think it best we continue through the night,” he says with a grimace as his focus is pulled somewhere back beyond the carriage.

Without another word, he disappears, shutting you and Duckie in the carriage once more. The silence is only broken by the soft swishing of Duckie’s handkerchief as she goes back to fanning herself.

“Not to worry, dearie. I’m sure the Sheriff will have us back on the move in no time.”

Adrenaline courses through your veins when muffled shouts and screams rend through the air, breaking the tense silence. You catch the faintest bellow from the head of the caravan.

“Brigands! Brigands in the trees! To arms!”

Duckie shrieks, her handkerchief fluttering in the air as she lurches toward you. The air wooshes from your lungs as she drags you bodily into the bottom of the carriage and throws herself on top of you. 

One of her elbows catches you in the chin as you try to turn over, your skirts tangling around your ankles with each struggling movement.

“Duckie!” you croak, sucking in pitiful gasps of air. The corset stays pinching at your ribs, combined with the full weight of your maid laid across your back, are making it hard to gain the breath that was shoved from your lungs when you hit the carriage floor. “I cannot breathe!”

She wails something unintelligible and pushes up onto her knees. You flop over onto your back and suck in a sweet lungful of air. Your exhale is an aching sputter that turns into a fit of coughing. Suddenly, the air inside the carriage is too hot and thick.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s bark of protest follows you out of the carriage. You couldn’t reach your feet fast enough, scrambling up from your knees and shoving open the carriage door, stumbling out several steps. You stand there, plunged into the cacophony around you, trying valiantly to suck in fresh air.

The night is alive with pain and shrieks of madness. Chaos engulfs your small caravan, and there are scattered pockets of struggle everywhere you look. Figures dressed in various shades of dark green and brown are engaged with the bright reds and golds of the Prince’s colors.

As if wanting to bear witness to the violence, the moon has worked its way through the gloomy cloud cover overhead and lends its light to the smoking oil lanterns and torches to illuminate the mud-churned—now striped with blood—road.

A sneering face comes into focus, startling you back a step. “Are you mad, woman!? Get back in the carriage!” Yoongi roars before taking off back into the fray.

He meets the swing of a brigand's sword with his own; the clash of steel against steel rings through the air, further jolting you from your frozen state. Panic harries you as you retreat further, your eyes on a constant swivel for danger.

A gout of flame flares to life near the head of the line of carriages, and the screams of horses pierce the din. “Fire! The horses!” thunders a voice that is soon swallowed by the frenzy of other sounds.

You watch in horror as a carriage engulfed in flame careens off the road, being dragged through the sticky muck by out-of-control horses. Their fear is palpable, the flames devouring the front coach seat and licking so close to their tails.

The painful whickering of the beautiful draft horses draws you like a moth being led directly to the inferno. You’re heedless of the danger around you. One sole focus consumes you; no one is available to free those horses…if you don’t do it, they’ll surely die.

Once again, your feet move before you can do more than register Duckie’s protesting cries from behind you. You fist the billows of your skirt in your hands, hiking up the thick material, making your reckless sprint a little easier, though the churned mud still sucks at the soles of your slippers, which are soon filled with icy water and slimy muck.

“My Lady!” Duckie’s cry follows you, closer than before. “Please, My Lady, no!”

“The horses, Duckie! We have to help them!” you beg, skittering to a stop in the muck, arms windmilling to keep yourself upright.

Whether or not she heard your desperate plea or simply followed you out of an attempt to get you to turn back toward the carriage, she stumbles to a stop beside you as you take in the carnage.

The carriage that caught fire was one of the ones lit with the hanging lanterns. Arrows dot the wooden side, which is now facing the sky. The entire thing has turned over in the muck from the mad dash of the horses combined with the sticky mud. It’s evident an arrow hit one of the lanterns and caused the fire. Whether by accident or intentional, the damage is done, and your time is running out as the flames lick across the carriage and shoot toward the sky.

A massive tangle of leather hitching straps and splintered wood connects the two draft horses to the wreckage. They rear and scream, massive hooves raking the sky as they thrash and pull in vain at their harnesses.

Ignoring the sapping cold of the mud seeping through the skirts of your gown, you throw yourself on the ground where the straps attach to the overturned carriage. Duckie lands in the muck beside you a second later, her hands moving as frantically as your own as you wrestle with the buckles and bolts. The entire wreck shudders every time the horses stomp and attempt to free themselves, but you don’t dare abandon the buckles to try and calm them. You’d likely catch an errant hoof to your person for the efforts.

Heat beats down on you, and the faint stench of burnt hair and singed fabric mixes with the acrid stink of smoke filling the air around you. The flames are growing closer, but you ignore the discomfort, pouring all your focus into freeing the horses.

“To your right!” a voice calls out over the din of battle a second before something thunks heavily into the ground beside you.

You spare a glance up, and your eyes catch on a hooded figure. Time suspends in a moment of what you can only describe as magick. Something flickers in your chest as your eyes meet the ones staring out from the cowl, like a blossoming flower opening under the warm spring sun for the first time.

It��s captivating, soul-capturing, and utterly unexplainable. Dark, seemingly endless eyes, inky hair, and a face you’re sure you’ve never seen in full before…yet know more intimately than even your own—a man of your dreams. Dreams you’ve had since you were a young teenager of a man with eyes like endless pools of night sky and a heart that beats in kind with your own.

A frantic cry from Duckie breaks the spell, the carriage shifting so violently it rocks you backward onto your bottom. You tear your eyes away from the mysterious man. Focusing back on the task at hand, you grasp the hilt of the forearm-length blade you know he’s responsible for tossing to you. It is embedded point-down in the ground by your side, still vibrating from the force.

Ripping the blade from the mud, you make quick work of slicing through the harness straps. The horses burst free from their restraints and take off at a panicked gallop away from the fire raging behind you.

Quiet sobs are hiccuping from Duckie. She grabs a fistful of the back of your gown and jerks. “Go!” But instead of directing you back toward your carriage, her momentum sends you sprawling in the direction of the closest darkened clutch of trees. “We need to hide! Hurry, to the trees!”

Digging for purchase in the icy muck, you lurch to your feet and stumble until the forest's darkness gobbles you up. Duckie is only a pace or two behind you, her mud-covered bosom heaving as she slumps down behind a knotted and gnarled tree.

Wordlessly, she beckons for you to join her, and you both sit there, peering around the side of the tree and back at the chaos still engulfing your caravan. The fighting has died down. A few green and brown-clad bodies writhe on the ground, making your stomach protest the senseless violence.

Broken crates and boxes lie scattered about, their insides spilled and pilfered through by the brigands—clearly a band of no-good highwaymen. It’s one of the main reasons the Sherwood Forest should be avoided after dark. Bands of rogues and disgraced knights have taken to prowling the thick woods.

As sour as your thoughts are, you can’t help searching the fray for a particular hooded figure. You feel like if you could get one more glimpse of him, you might be able to decipher what happened when your eyes met his. At the moment, you could have sworn he was the man of your dreams, but now, you’re not so sure. There is far too much adrenaline coursing through your system for you to make heads from tails of it.

You watch as one of the brigands uses the pommel of their sword to clock one of your escorts across the temple, crumpling him into a heap of red and gold. Focusing on each pitched cluster of violence, you realize the red and gold figures are the only ones trying to deal lethal blows. You’ve watched enough tournaments of combat to know the basics of battle.

“They’re not trying to kill them,” you mutter under your breath.

“What, My Lady?”

Sparing a glance at Duckie, you nod back toward the road. “The brigands. They’re not using lethal moves. It is as if they are intentionally avoiding critical damage. Like they…” you trail off, catching sight of a familiar hooded figure, glinting eyes shadowed in the cowl latching on yours.

“You cannot possibly be suggesting—”

“Behind you!” you scream, lurching from your hiding spot and sprinting back toward the road where you saw Yoongi creeping up behind the hooded figure as he was distracted, staring at you.

Branches scratch and rip at your gown and the exposed skin of your throat and hands. But the stinging lashes are second to the intense panic slicing through your chest as Yoongi’s bloodied sword arcs through the air.

By the time you spill from the cover of the trees, the cloaked man is springing up from a roll where he must have dodged Yoongi’s blade. You watch as he spins to face Yoongi. He brings a hand up, and an ear-splitting whistle pierces the air.

As if the sound has broken a dam, the dozen remaining hooded figures, including the one with those molten eyes locked on you, disengage and retreat. They dissolve into the surrounding trees like fog baked away by a noonday sun; there one moment and gone the next.

Yoongi barks an order to pursue, and half the remaining gold and red soldiers peel off to follow. They look like a ragtag bunch, their armor speckled with dark mud and blood. But, you know they have received extensive training under the tutelage of Yoongi and the Prince’s court mage and will try to track down as many of the brigands as they can like the good hunting dogs they are.

“Yoongi, please, call them back!” you plead. “The wood is dark. It is not worth it! Please, I beg you, let us hurry—”

The narrowing of Yoongi’s eyes causes your words to catch in your throat. You’ve never seen such a venomous glare. It pierces right through your heart, spearing you in place. You think he is about to lay into you, lashing at you with that curdling tongue. Yet, he just nods, turning away and stalking from you before whistling a sharp cadence that you recognize is used to call the guards back.

“My Lady,” Duckie sniffles. “Oh, your gown. This simply won’t do. Come, come, back to the carriage.”

She ushers you quickly back toward the open door of your carriage, the horses tethered to the front, finally calming their stamping hooves and wild eyes.

“Move out!” Yoongi shouts. The guards who had peeled off to follow the brigands emerge back into the clearing, and in a few short minutes, the caravan moves once again—albeit a few carriages short, the carnage left behind like a pock on the King’s Road.

🍂🍂🍂

Namjoon

There were too many.

Too many uniforms of red and gold and sharpened swords.

It was a bad call.

No amount of coin is worth the bodies that were left behind in the mud. Namjoon knows he shouldn’t have encouraged the men. He should have put his foot down and been firm in his insistence that they hold back.

But, there’s naught to do for it now except lick their wounds and hope the amount of coins and jewels they got off with can fill their larders against the coming winter. The bags seemed heavy enough, but one can never be too sure until they actually begin to count and weigh it out.

The men seem happy enough. Their jovial shouts and laughter carry through the woods, adrenaline adding to the thrill of it as they all easily lope along under the darkening boughs.

The dense foliage overhead absorbs their merriment, and Namjoon doesn’t wish to take it away from them by asking them to quiet down. He realized that the Sheriff called off his dogs shortly after anyway—a surprise for sure and a welcomed one at that.

“How many did we lose?”  Hoseok asks, pitching his voice low so others don’t hear. His long legs trot along, keeping pace with ease beside Namjoon.

Namjoon frowns, huffing a breath as they jog in silence for a few moments. “Five.” He rattles off their names, hating how each one coats his tongue with a bitterness that nothing but the most potent fyre ale will be able to staunch.

“We will honor them and ensure their families are taken care of,” Hoseok offers, his voice hollow but firm. He’s always been a softer guy, something Namjoon has cherished in all their years of friendship. Hoseok has helped to temper Namjoon’s anger and quell his intensity at dire times of need; he is an empath through and through.

Not trusting himself to say more, Namjoon just nods as they continue through the woods until they reach their destination.

It’s a hidden city—a village, really. But everyone likens it to a city, considering it stretches across nearly an entire league of forest, tucked into the upper branches of the trees. It’s a proverbial city of wooden treehouses and rope bridges spanning between platforms. They have nearly everything a city does, even a bakery and a small darning shop.

The only thing not within the hidden city in the tops of the trees is the smithy—too much of a fire hazard, of course. So, Jungkook has his forge and the bellows tucked away into the crumbling remains of an ancient fortress long forgotten in the woods.

As an exiled knight of the crown, Jungkook knows his way around weaponry. It wasn’t that far of a leap to smithing once he got the hang of it. Namjoon can just see the glow of the forge fire as his band approaches, the approaching call having been whistled just a moment before.

It’s safer like that, using mimicry of bird calls as signals. He learned early on that you can never be too careful. The last thing Namjoon wants is for someone to come across his home…his people, the outcasts and the damned.

“I’m going to check in with Jungkook. Be up shortly,” Namjoon tells Hoseok before veering off towards the old ruins.

Hoseok disappears into the foliage, rallying the band up the rope ladders to the hidden homes above, where most of their families wait. Despite how ramshackle and hodgepodge his little city is, there is beauty in it, too. Beauty in the families, the small children that have spent more of their lives living among the leaves of trees than on the ground. But at least they’re safe; that’s what matters most.

That and the food from the coin they managed to loot tonight will garner.

That’s the primary reason he needs to speak with Jungkook. Being an exiled knight, the man not only knows his way around weaponry, but he has a knack for trading and brokering deals as well.

Despite his exile, Jungkook is still respected among many of the Prince’s men. With a well-placed word and an extra coin or two, Jungkook can get just about anything Namjoon needs.

There is a chill in the air, but the forge is blistering hot, the heat reflecting off the stone ruins' few remaining walls. Namjoon thinks this particular nook of rubble was once a stable—the rusted iron hitching posts lining the lower wall leads him to that conclusion.

Jungkook seems to be getting ready to shut the forge down for the night. He’s shirtless and dripping sweat with an assortment of new blades, which are laid out on the makeshift table off to the side.

“Oh! You startled me,” Jungkook huffs, a soot-covered hand slapping over his heart as he turns and spots Namjoon.

Namjoon smiles apologetically. “Sorry, brother. I was just about to announce myself.”

“It’s no matter,” Jungkook says, brushing it off. He swings around further, depositing the leather roll of tools cradled in his other arm on the table beside the new blades.

“What brings you here? I thought surely you’d be up with everyone else, filling your belly with some ale. There are still a few casks left.”

“In due time.” Namjoon shrugs, looking for something to distract from the real reason he’s come to talk to Jungkook. “Do you mind if I have one of these?” he asks, gesturing to the pile of fresh blades.

Jungkook’s eyes sweep over Namjoon, landing on the empty dagger sheath at his hip. “That’s, what, the third blade you’ve managed to lose in as many months?”

Namjoon scrubs a hand through his hair, sighing. “Yeah…there was some trouble on the road.”

Those eyes that were resting on his empty sheath now narrow into a calculating query as they rise to Namjoon’s. “How did it go?”

The tense silence lasts just a spell before Namjoon clears his throat and breaks it. “We came away with a few hefty bags.”

“But? There’s a but there, I can tell. Go on, tell me, how many did we lose?” Jungkook leans a hip against the table. He pulls out the rough-spun towel tucked into the top of his leather apron and begins to absently brush and wipe the soot and grime from his hands.

As much as Namjoon would rather talk about the trade and bartering that would come from the coin, he knew Jungkook would ask after the loss. After all, it was Jungkook’s suggestion that took Namjoon and his band of men to the edge of the forest tonight. He had heard that the Sheriff would be moving precious cargo. It turns out the precious cargo was in the form of a woman.

A fierce and brilliant woman who came rocketing into Namjoon’s life like a shooting star blazing through the night as she streaked across the impromptu battlefield to free those terrified horses. It was an accident, the errant arrow catching one of the hanging lanterns. He heard the man who loosed the arrow curse and lament over it and they both got caught up defending their backs against the Guards before they could act.

“We lost five,” Namjoon says to pull his mind out of that rabbit hole. The last thing he needs to be thinking about is the odd, visceral connection and pull he felt with that mystery woman.

Jungkook nods, his lips thinning into a straight line. “They’ll be honored by all,” he says, mirroring Hoseok’s words from earlier. “Tell me what else went on? What was so precious Yoongi disregarded all safety guards and ventured into the Wood so late?”

The words get caught in Namjoon’s throat. In part, he doesn’t want to tell Jungkook because he somehow feels possessive of the woman. It’s absurd. Forcing that notion aside, Namjoon forges on, recounting everything that transpired for Jungkook. By the time he’s done, Jungkook nods with a faint look of knowing on his face.

“For some reason, the Sheriff signaled a pullback a few minutes after the order to follow. He’s never done that before.”

“That,” Jungkook says, tucking the now-soiled rag back into the top of his apron, “would be The Fair Maiden of York’s doing.”

“Wait. The who?” Namjoon has heard of The Yorkshire Maiden. She’s renowned throughout the parts, even for someone as hidden and removed from society as Namjoon. In fact, he knows that she’s— “The Prince’s betrothed? You mean to tell me we attacked her caravan?” He mutters your name, the sweet sound of it coating his tongue like honey. “That’s who that was?” Each new line of thinking has Namjoon’s alarm rising.

“I had thought she had already ventured south. It didn’t even cross my mind that the precious cargo could have been her. In truth, I should have considered it. I’m sorry, my friend. I’ll try to get better information next time.”

Namjoon barely registers Jungkook’s words, giving him a jerky nod and a half-muttered excuse of needing to go. Jungkook waves him off, saying he’ll be up shortly.

But he won’t find Namjoon when he does.

No, because Namjoon is now on a different trail, having passed off a curt message to a sentry about returning in a few days' time that he was going to speak to a contact. Which isn’t entirely a lie. He needs answers and fast. There is only one place he can think of that he might be able to find them. A place he hasn’t visited in far too long—months at this point.

The feeling in his chest…the name still echoing in his mind. There is an explanation. But he needs to be sure, confirm it, and see it once again with his own eyes. Because surely it’s impossible… fairytales are just that, fairytales.

It’s not like he didn’t already know your name. But the combination of your name and the feelings that assaulted him…Namjoon’s thoughts trail off as he focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, keeping to the shadows.

He cuts around the tree-top encampment, skirting the ruins until he hits a very seldomly trailed path. It spears right into the heart of Sherwood, leading Namjoon directly to the outskirts of Nottingham.

Namjoon has to journey through the night, taking a brief reprieve under the drooping boughs of a pine. Thready light filters through the trees, guiding Namjoon. Despite the infrequent use of this particular trail, he knows it perhaps more intimately than any other. It was the path of his childhood, where he found salvation and freedom.

The spire of the old church comes into view, breaking through the canopy before it gives way entirely to the thick stone wall encasing the city proper. It was the wish of the church to remain outside the city so its doors could remain open to any and all manner of wanderers, even those who may have found themselves on the wrong end of the Kingdom’s sword.

“Friar Gill! Friar Gill, are you within?” Namjoon whisper-yells, peeking over the sill of one of the rear windows of the sprawling sect house that connects to the church proper. It’s early enough in the dim morning hours that daily service and devotionals haven’t happened, but the brother within should be awake to prepare for them.

“Is that you, Namjoon?” comes a familiar voice, though one that does not belong to Friar Gill.

“Jimin? Er, Friar Park, yes, it’s me.”

“What brings you here at this hour?” Jimin asks, his tousled head of dark locks poking out the window a second later. His eyes are bright, the dark irises catching the first glimmers of morning light. A hefty tome is clutched to his robe-covered chest and there is a smudge of ink on the apple of his left cheek.

“Is Friar Gill here?”

“I’m afraid not. He left per request of the King, nearly a month gone now. He’s to bless the front lines and bestow his grace upon the King as he continues his crusade. It seems the Prince’s favored mage has not brought the King any luck,” he adds that last part with a healthy smirk, his cheeks instantly coloring as he clears his throat. “Forgive me for speaking ill of the Prince’s Mage.”

It’s an automatic response, Namjoon knows, for Jimin to feel contrite over his words immediately. Even if he knows Namjoon holds no warmth with the Prince nor his Mage. If anything, Namjoon harbors far more resentment and hatred towards the snake of a magick caster than most.

After all, it was The Mage who saw to Namjoon’s displacement and subsequent outlawish ways. It’s his fault that Namjoon has had to resort to pillaging city-bound caravans to get by.

He reminds Jimin as much, “You know there is no pleasantry lost between Taehyung and myself.”

Jimin nods, a frown pulling down his full mouth. “Yes. Yes, I don’t suppose so.” Straightening up, Jimin gives a quick shake of his head. “Friar Gill may be gone, but perhaps I can help you. What is it that you need?”

“There’s a book…a book that was shown to me when I was just a boy by Friar Gill. It has a green leather cover and gold etching along the edges. The title was something odd, a language I’m not familiar with. Do you know it?”

“‘Prophetia Somniorum’,” Jimin intones softly, his eyes widening with twinkling wonder. “A book about dreams. Prophetic dreams.”

“Yes. That’s the one. I think it has the answers that I seek.”

🍂🍂🍂

“Please, My Lady, come away from the window before you catch a chill. It’s the last thing you’d want on this day.”

You sigh, turning away from the open window of your tower room. The landscape beyond is bleak, the sky streaked through with heavy, grey rain clouds. There’s been a perpetual drizzle ever since you arrived in Nottingham.

Six days. It’s been six whole days since the incident in Sherwood Forest. Six days since you saw him…and you can’t stop thinking about those dark eyes. You’ve dreamed about them several times throughout your life, a few times a year at most. Now, though, it’s become a nightly occurrence.

There was a point in your life, in your early twenties, when you asked your mother about the dreams and whether or not she thought they held any meaning. You’ll never forget the faraway look she got in her eyes and the sad smile that curved her rouged lips.

It was like she was haunted by your question, or rather whatever your question made go through her mind. Memories, perhaps. Though, she never would tell you, no matter how much you asked. She simply told you that you should always dare to dream, whether your eyes are opened or closed.

You wish you could seek her guidance now, to ask her whether or not the man on the road could genuinely be the man you’ve been seeing in your dreams or if that kind of thing only belongs in storybooks.

It’s been months since you’ve seen either her or your father. Ever since your mother took ill and she and your father took up permanent residence in Nottingham, you’ve spent far more time alone in Yorkshire than in either of their companies.

As it is, you’ve not even seen either of them since you came into the city. Their estate is on the far side of Nottingham, in the garden district, and you’re restricted to the Palace. You had received a brief letter from them when you first arrived, a simple check-in via a cursore. You sent a response, but there hasn’t been word since, not a single knock at your chamber door aside from the occasional servant bringing your meals.

You wouldn’t be surprised if it’s still months before you see them again, given your mother’s health and your father’s demanding position within the governing body.

Duckie titters, her hands automatically moving to straighten your gown, even though not a stitch has moved since she trussed you into the stays an hour gone. The sun sits heavy and low on the horizon, its thready rays trying pitifully to eat away the thickness of night and perpetually grey cover.

You woke long before you should have, feeling restless with an itch beneath your skin. The fine hairs along your arms prickle under the long bells of your sleeves. You can’t shake the feeling that’s been gnawing at your gut since your eyes popped open, the dream of your highwayman sluicing away like a rush of icy water down your back.

“My gown is fine, Duckie,” you mutter. It takes every ounce of nerve you have to not jerk away from her prodding and fluffing.

Her wrinkled lips turn down in a frown. “One can never be too lax on a day such as this, My Lady. I just want to make sure you are pristine for Prince Seokjin.”

You might have once smiled at the thought of a prince. Part of the girlish charm of childhood, you’re sure. Pretty dresses, handsome princes, and a single care of naught else in the world. Only, you’re not a girl anymore. Not even close.

“I’m quite alright. Please. If the prince cannot accept me as I am right now, then perhaps he does not befit me after all.” You meant to say that to yourself, a mere utterance under your breath, but your frazzled nerves must be affecting your senses as a whole.

The gasp from Duckie is so dramatic it belongs in the theatre, center stage with an anticipation-gripped crowd holding their breaths to find out what happens next. In this case, it's a twitching of your eye as you suppress an eye roll and plaster on a tense smile instead.

Duckie swallows whatever response is on her tongue when a loud, sharp rapt sounds at the door. She schools her features and turns towards it, giving you a quick glance over her shoulder. You nod, letting her know it’s acceptable to open the door, even if you’d rather tell her to send whoever it could possibly be away. Nothing good can come of a knock on the door today, even if it could be a cursor from your parents.

Just as expected, the door opens, and you’re certain the temperature in the room drops several degrees. If you were facing the window, you’re sure you’d see the sun slink backward in the sky, choosing to hide from the figure on the other side of your threshold instead of continuing its journey to spread its meager warmth.

The prince’s mage sweeps into the room, his upper lip curled in mild disgust as his gaze sweeps over Duckie, quickly dismissing her, until they land on you. Those cold, calculating eyes have always unnerved you. What with their slender vertical pupils that slice through his golden brown irises, he looks every inch the venomous snake you know he is.

“My Lady,” he says, tilting his unruly head of midnight hair toward you. Even his voice has a hiss-like quality to it, the syllables drawn out just a breath too long.

“Taehyung.” You hope he can hear the apparent disinterest in the flat tone of your voice. “To what do I owe this pleasure?” Though it’s anything but, you mentally note.

“I came to escort you to the arena.”

Of course, he would be the one to come and escort you. You should have figured as much. Despite the threat of rain, today’s festivities are set to commence at high noon. In celebration of your betrothal to the prince, a tournament of varying specialties is being held. There will be horse jousting, stone lifting, archery, and a multitude of other events, along with a giant feast. The event is open to most of the public, one of the only times mere commoners may get the chance to mingle among the upper echelon.

You balked at the idea when it was presented to you by your father. But, he would hear nothing of it, nattering on about how this marriage will benefit not just the Kim crown but your father’s own standing with his home country as well. For lack of a better way to say it, you are simply a means to a political end. No better than a slab of meat being bartered for at market.

“There is no—”

“There have been more reports of attacks on the road, growing ever closer to the city. The prince worries for your safety. You can come with me, or I shall have to call for the sheriff. My Lady, there simply can be no other way.”

It’s tempting to make him call for Yoongi. However, you’re not sure who the lesser of two evils is. As much as you hold disdain for the sheriff, you know if he’s pulled away from his duties to escort you, his wrath will be great. While the prince’s mage unnerves you…best to get this over with.

“Very well.” You incline your head and clench your jaw in preparation for the feel of his skin against yours as you stiffly rest your hand over the top of his when he offers it to you.

Ignoring the foreboding feeling growing in the pit of your stomach, you allow Taehyung to guide you out your door, Duckie shuffling close behind. The soft whisper of your slippers over the cold stones in the corridor might as well be the toll of a bell, telling of your impending doom and the future you want no part of.

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[simpcityy]

Location Status: In Danger (Miguel O'Hara x Spider-Person!Reader) *Platonic*

Summary: Father figure Miguel left you alone in your dimension after taking your watch to get it fixed. You assure him everything was going to be okay without a watch but now he wishes he didn't listen to you.

Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters. This is part 2 for Location Status: Unknown (Link Below Warnings)

Word Count: 1.2k

Warnings: Use of (Y/N), Father Figure Miguel, father and daughter fluff?, Miguel cursing in Spanish, Angst, blood. violence, comic villain reference, meltdown...ughhh I think that is all.

Pt.1 Pt.2. Pt.3

┍━━━━━━⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━━┑

You woke up with your body feeling all sore. You let out a groan as you tried to get up on your knees only to fall on your back in pain. Breathing heavily, you glanced at your right side of your rib only to see your suit stained in red. Taking in deep breaths, you tried to remember what happened. You were fighting an anomaly in your dimension; things weren’t looking too good, and you got knocked out. Pulling your mask over your nose to breathe in more heavily. The pain was unbearable and not having a way to contact for backup, you had to do this on your own. “Why did the watch malfunction today?” You mutter before crying out in pain as you get up slowly leaning against the wall. Holding your side, you walked around the warehouse, wondering where this villain of another dimension took you. You dragged yourself out into a bigger room before looking around in panic as your spider senses went off.

“Looks like the spider finally woke up” A female voice calls out around the big room.  

You tried to locate the voice but it only echos around the empty warehouse, making it hard to pinpoint it. “Show yourself!” You yelled being aware of your surroundings. Finally, you spotted a figure walking out of the shadow. Taking in her appearance, you froze. You quickly composed yourself and scoffed. “Look at that, an inheritor here in my dimension.” Standing up tall, ignoring the fire in your ribs from the wound, “Which one are you? Bora? Verna?” You listed the names before letting out a grunt as she gripped your throat, pushing you up against the wall. The woman chuckles, “I am Verna, and I will make you wish you weren’t my prey” She smirks. “Preying on the young has always been my favorite.” She whispers in your ear as her grip slowly increases, making you gasp for air. 

Miguel was in his “cave” monitoring one of the missions he sent Gwen to do with the rest of the group that gave him headaches. He frowns watching them do it recklessly, he glances back at your watch as he was fixing. It’s been a week and he hasn’t gone over to check on you. “Lyla, bring up the cameras of (Y/N) Dimension.” He commands the AI as he keeps working on the watch. Lyla appears on his shoulder “Somethings wrong” She spoke, pulling up the screen. Miguel stops what he was doing and looks at the monitor, but it was pitch black. “Why is it not working?” He frowns, he may not have spider senses, but his father's senses were ringing in his head. “Lyla? Where is my kid?” He looks at the AI. “Hold on, I'm trying to fix this, someone or something did this.” She tries to make it work again. Miguel having no patience asked again “Dónde está mi hijo(a)? Answer me!” He yelled. “Something isn’t right!” Lyla, for once being an AI, had no clue on how to fix this, panicking as well for your well-being. Miguel yells out curses in Spanish before going through the portal to your dimension. He lands inside your place. “Kid?!” He yells going around each room finding it empty. “Esto no es gracioso! Sal ahora” He was hoping you were playing around, ready to see you smile and hear your fits of laughter, but he was met with silence. He runs up to the roof ready to see you there watching the city but is met with an empty roof. His heart started pounding, he pulled at his hair as memories of Gabriella started playing in his mind. He lost her and now you. He yells out to the city, “(Y/N)!”

Verna laughs as she watches you struggle getting up on your knees. She walks over to you as you take deep breaths. Everything hurts, even breathing in and out. You yelled out in pain as Verna’s hand went through your stomach. You whimper in pain; how can she be this strong? How can her hand go through your body with such ease? There were so many questions running through your mind, but one brought you to tears. ‘Is this the end?’ You think to yourself and glare at Verna. “I was hoping for a great battle” She tuts as her hand leaves your stomach. She smirks, as she cleans her hand watching you cry out in pain. “I can’t wait to have your head on my wall like the rest of the spiders.” She walks to you smirking, enjoying the sight of you. You were hurt, bleeding out to death and overall, just broken. She lets out a sigh, “But it’s a shame I can’t yet till they start looking for you.” She sits on top of some boxes looking at you. “We have to gather the herd and then I can strike.” She smirks as your eyes widen hearing her plan. She was going to kill the rest of your spider family. You already lost so much in your life, the thought of losing Gwen, Jess, Hobie, Pav and Miguel. Miguel lost a kid and if anything were to happen to you…he would lose himself slowly. “No, I will not let you hurt them…I won’t let you kill my family!” You yelled. Verna smirks seeing you getting up ignoring the pain throughout your whole body. “My Little Spider, I was wrong about you…you will give me a great battle.” She laughs as you stand in a fighting stance “Come on now, I bet your siblings are much more powerful than you” You taunt watching her smirk turn into a frown. “Usually, I don’t get my hands dirty, but you asked for it!” Verna snapped and ran towards you.  

Miguel followed by Jess and Ben started looking around for you. “Lyla Anything?” Miguel looks around the city while the other two went on separate ways to cover more ground. He swings by before landing on the ground seeing a few broken boxes in an alleyway followed by an anomaly laying on the ground in pain. He glares before walking over to them, grabbing them by the collar he slammed them on the wall. “Start talking” he growls. “Give me a break man!” The villain groans and looks at him “first I was fighting this Spider Person and then suddenly another villain came in interrupting our fight. Just great!” They groan in frustration. “Otra persona? Who?!” He yells slamming them again to the wall. “I don’t know!? I think they went by the name Verna?” Miguel drops them down and sends Ben and Jess his location. “Lyla,” He calls out. “On it already! Verna…here it says…oh no…” Lyla stops before she appears in front of him “We need to find them now.” She whispers. Miguel watched in horror, knowing Lyla was not one to lose her cheerful spunk. “(Y/N) is fighting Verna from the inheritors” Miguel stands still, everything around him was toned out, even Lyla calling his name out for him. Inheritors…people who hunt them down. You’re with one of the members, alone and having no way to contact for back up. He starts to breath heavily, was he having a panic attack? “No…no …no!” He yells punching the wall. No, he was having a meltdown. He turns to the anomaly and walks to him, his talons out. The villain quickly backs up “H-hey listen, it wasn’t me okay. I didn’t get the chance to inflict harm on them!” “Miguel!” Lyla gets in front of him only for Miguel to walk past her. Grabbing the villain, he raised his fist only to stop. “I found their location!” She yells trying to get his attention.

”Dónde*?”

┕━━━━━━ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ━━━━━━┙

Authors note: Thank you guys so much! This series is popular among the rest I have written so far! Thank you so much! I have much more Father Figure Miguel ideas coming up soon on my blog! Change of plans, this series is going to be 3 parts instead of 2. It just means more for you to read! I love you guys for reblogging my works for others to be aware of my works! You are welcome to drop in request as well. Soon I'll be posting the rules for requesting. Thank you for the support! Sorry for any grammar errors. Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping! (Simp City Population: 53💕)

Spanish Translation: 1. Dónde está mi hijo(a): Where is my kid or where is my son, with the o being replaced with a it also means Where is my daughter? 2. Esto no es gracioso! Sal ahora: This isn't funny! Come out now! 3. Otra persona?: Another person? 4. Dónde?: Where

[sawyerconfort]

dancing with the devil | verna x reader

I'm back!!!

this one is just a spooky season special, as I've been away for all these days and haven't done one yet, I thought it would be cool to do it now!

this oneshot comes a lot from my obsession with Mike Flanagan's work, which even led me to watch The Fall of the House of Usher recently.

and, of course, it also comes from my obsession with Carla Gugino.

so, I hope you like it!

late requests coming out soon, so stay tuned!

enjoy!

requests open, but please be patient with me.

---------------------

PROMPT: It's New Year's Eve, and you find yourself in a bar, completely alone, with no one to give you the good luck's kiss. But a mysterious new barista catches your eye, and she could be your salvation, if only she didn't hide so many secrets.

***

You weren't one to complain, but it had been a pretty horrible year.

People generally await the New Year with a lot of ambition, full of resolutions, glamorous plans and self-centered achievements. But you do not.

You just wanted the next one to be better.

As if the miserable conditions you were experiencing at Fortunato were not enough, not being paid enough for the effort you made, sitting at the reception desk at the behest of the great Rufus Griswold - who did nothing except try to harass you in every way -, in a routine exhausting where you could never sleep properly, you still had your parents, and the terrible relationship you had with them.

So, when you sat at that bar, at the lonely counter, all you thought about was stuffing yourself until you pass out, hoping for a counting miracle. Some people were getting along well when you arrived, and others were giving you side-eye, but with the thought that you were less attractive to them, you decided that the counter would be the best option.

Suddenly, those eyes that looked yellow from afar fell on you, and the figure that carried them turned around, with a subtle smile.

"I see someone needs a drink, hm?"

You looked at her, and shrugged, before answering. "Just today. I can't drink, I still have work tomorrow."

She continued to smile, and you had the slight impression that her eyes had returned to their normal color. Clear, deep and very eye-catching. But it could just be the impression, because you were too exhausted to make sense.

"Ah, I understand. Just a minute, I'll prepare something relaxing for you, miss…"

"(Y\N)."

She nodded, turning away and concentrating on preparing whatever the drink was. Like I said before, you were too tired to care about what drink you were going to drink. If you could just get to New Year with something in your throat, that would be a good idea.

After minutes that felt like seconds of waiting, the barista turned to you, two shiny glass cups in her hands. She was still smiling subtly as she slid your glass and turned hers in her other hand.

She served you with the same smile, and then looked at you. "It's funny, I can see there's something wrong with you... Something that's stopping you from celebrating tonight."

You looked back at her, frowning, and sighing afterwards.

"It's true, it was... It wasn't a very good year", you commented, feeling terrible for venting to a stranger. "But the year ahead will be better, I know that."

"And why is that? Why was it so bad?"

"My boss, my work... everything makes me exhausted... and not having anyone to talk to is really bad at these moments...", You took a sip. "Um, that's great, is it Merlot?"

"It's Merlot, but it's not one of the best...", the barista said, tapping her glass still. "I've seen and experienced better, around the world."

"Have you been around the world?", you asked, unable to resist your curiosity. She smiled and nodded. "Where did you go? On that expedition?"

"I've been there too, but not just on this occasion", she said, and suddenly stopped, as if she were saying too much. "You know, it's interesting, being on the other side. Sometimes it's tiring, it breaks my heart, but... It's good, there are things there that are worth the effort."

You were more intrigued. She didn't look like the type of person who would travel around the world, wearing black clothes and a gothic look, as if she wanted to hide on purpose. Generally, these trips are made for people who want to be seen, above all else in the world.

"What are you talking about, exactly?"

"Have you ever had a dream... a desire... a deep, hidden desire that no one has ever fulfilled, and that you yourself didn't imagine you could achieve?", she looked at you with the same curiosity as you. "I'm like... A dream maker. I go on these trips just for that..."

You frowned, still not understanding, but took another sip to hide it, nodding.

"Are you the personification of the genie in the lamp?"

She laughed. "Ah, I would like to, but no. It would be a lot of ego on my part, but I would say that I'm better than him", she laughed. "Verna is my name, but the name never makes that much of a difference to me."

“Different name, never heard it before,” you said, drinking again. "Are you from here?"

"I'm from nowhere. I'm everywhere, at all times... it's strange, I know, but it makes sense to me."

You nodded, finding it strange. And then, he found it even stranger when she helped herself to the Merlot on the counter and drank some. She smiled at you, still tapping the glass.

"But what about you, (Y/N)? Do you have any desires that you thought would be unrealizable, unattainable? Please be honest with me."

You opened your mouth, and then thought a little. "No. I think I'm happy this way. Except for a few little things that I would change here and there..."

She softened her gaze and took a sip, her clear eyes suddenly yellowed again and wide, fixed on you. "What kind?"

“Like, my boss giving me the justice I deserve, and stop hitting on me,” you laughed, drinking the last sip and pouring yourself again. "Not much."

"Your boss is too terrible for you, (Y/N)," Verna replied, smiling. "Don't ask me how I know this, but I do. One day someone will show him what's really good, don't worry."

You frowned. "You seem so sure, are you some kind of psychic?"

She laughed. "No. I would like to be, but no. I... I see people's possibilities. And that's it. I help them based on the possibilities."

She stared at you again, and looked away at the TV, where the ball was falling on the screen in Times Square.

"Oh, it looks like it's almost time," she whispered, laughing. "Your year is going to be great, (Y/N), I'll make sure of that."

“You…” you started, but she shushed you, smiling.

"You just have to make a deal with me."

"What kind of deal?"

Verna thought for a while, and then smiled. "Wow, you seem so sure..."

She was mocking you, of course, you realized right away, and with a muffled laugh, you glanced back at the TV, hearing people echoing a countdown. The ball finally reached its destination, and you turned around, seeing Verna's yellow eyes glued to yours again. She suddenly leaned over and stole a peck from you, taking a little too long to pull away.

“Was that your deal?”, you whispered, smiling mischievously. Verna took a moment to open her eyes and then tilted her head, as if agreeing.

She thought for a while and then finally said, her voice low, slowly close to your ear, as if she wanted to seduce or bewitch you. She had one of the softest voices you'd ever heard, and apparently she knew how to use it.

"Actually, it was a plan to find out if you were trustworthy, if you were innocent enough to accept my deal…", she whispered. "And because I know, deep down, that what you wanted most was to be kissed on New Year's Eve, my sweet client."

You trailed off, looking at her, getting lost in the soft expression on her pale face. Suddenly, an impulsive idea occurred to you, and you leaned in again, kissing her, this time with more intensity. When you touched her hair, behind the back of her head, you had the impression that it melted at the touch, as if Verna were just an illusion, as if she were the literal cosmic dust from which human beings possibly emerged.

However, the kiss didn't last long. She pushed you away with her feather-light hands, and to the naked eye, it looked like it was just a breeze of wind stopping you both. She touched your face, running her fingers lightly across your cheek as she whispered:

"We can't do that right now, (Y\N). I'm afraid you're not sober enough, and it wouldn't be wise for me to take advantage of this."

You looked at it for a moment and realized it made sense. But she had kissed you first, so it was clearly just an excuse, as always happened. You started to wonder if your kiss was that bad.

"But, Verna…"

"Please, darling. I'm trying to be reasonable. Like I said, I work with possibilities, and the possibility of us working out is less than zero. Don't get me wrong, it's just in case…", she hesitated. "Condemning pure-souled humans to my cruel and inevitable fate wouldn't be extremely political of me."

You sighed, and gave her the space she needed, even though you couldn't take your eyes off her. Verna was the same, and you could feel that, despite what it seemed like, that moment you shared wasn't just fun, much less just a New Year's kiss.

Verna poured you the rest of the Merlot and, with the same soft expression, touched your face again. This time, her voice was clear, and in a moment of vulnerability, she made it more than explicit that she wasn't lying when she said:

"But we'll still meet, (Y\N)," she whispered, her fingers again like soft feathers touching his skin. "Our deal may not have been sealed, but you've proven enough innocence and courage to convince me that you're capable of this. You'll have a great new job, I promise, and your boss will never bother you again."

She nodded, and you allowed yourself to nod too, so confused that you definitely didn't know what to believe anymore. There was a little devil on your shoulder urging you to try again, and there was another devil, right in front of you, who would be harder to convince than you expected.

"And of course, you will have my full protection," Verna whispered, smiling. "I'm not going to promise you eternal life, because that would be impossible even for someone like me. But I promise, and I need you to believe me on this one, I promise that I will move mountains so no one will hurt you again."

You smiled, and drank the last sip. Suddenly, another impulse. This time, a question, instead of an action.

"What are you? An angel? A genie without a lamp? A tempting devil who seeks souls and deals?"

Verna smiled, and simply looked away at her glass again, magically empty. "I already told you. I'm nothing, I don't have a life. I'm just what your mind wants me to be."

You were confused, but suddenly, a memory hit you hard. When you looked at Verna, it was as if she already knew.

"I really need to go. My mom will be furious if I get home late, even on New Year's..."

She nodded. "Please don't take any chances. This part, I won't be able to protect you."

You laughed, stood up and slid out the only dollar bill you had. Verna looked at the ballot, he turned it around and handed it back to you, denying it.

"No need. The bill is already paid."

"What?"

"Please don't insist. I insist."

You looked at her, shrugged, and frowned, suddenly realizing that maybe it was for the best. She kept watching you, until you left, and as soon as you turned outside, on the street, you noticed who had just walked through a solid wall.

The bar was gone.

And she was gone too.

Even more confused - and blaming the drink -, you put your hands in your pockets to protect yourself, and walked back home, into the daylight. As soon as you crossed the street, however, another very curious thing caught your attention.

There was a raven, standing still, resting on a post. It was just any raven, but it was a raven, and it looked down at you. Suddenly, you had the impression that he had winked at you.

"What nonsense. Ravens don't blink," you whispered to yourself, looking at the raven again. He remained there, standing still, as if he hadn't even noticed you. Deciding to ignore that crazy night, you turned around.

As you disappeared down the street, you whispered to yourself once again.

"Ravens don't blink."

Oh, but if you only knew that they do more than blink... If you only knew...

[saturniasxenos]

Nature / Flora ID Pack

Inside this pack, you will find: Pronouns, Titles, Names, and Genders that relate to Nature, Flora, Flowers, Trees, and anything alike!

This is my 3rd NPT pack! 💜 I hope you find what you are looking for. I try to add as MUCH content as possible, so even if you don't find it, you can have an idea! (I'm still not the best at titles...)

🍀 Pronouns:

Flo/Florae/Flora/Floras/Floraself

Flo/Flora/Floral/Florals/Floralself

Flo/Flow/Flower/Flowers/Flowerself

Le/Lea/Leaf/Leafs/Leafself

Tre/Tree/Trees/Trees/Treeself

Wo/Woo/Wood/Woods/Woodself

For/Fores/Forest/Forests/Forestself

Na/Natu/Nature/Natures/Natureself

Clo/Clove/Clover/Clovers/Cloverself

Pla/Plan/Plant/Plants/Plantself

Bi/Bio/Bios/Bios/Bioself

Mo/Moss/Mossy/Mosses/Mossself

Gra/Grass/Grassy/Grasses/Grassself

Ec/Eco/Ecos/Ecos/Ecoself

Fun/Fung/Fungi/Fungus/Fungiself

Mush/Mushro/Mushroom/Mushrooms/Mushroomself

Al/Alga/Algae/Algaes/Algaeself

Ea/Ear/Earth/Earths/Earthself

Ju/Jung/Jungle/Jungles/Jungleself

Pi/Pin/Pine/Pines/Pineself

Ta/Tai/Taiga/Taigas/Taigaself

So/Soi/Soil/Soils/Soilself

Gre/Gree/Green/Greens/Greenself

Dru/Drui/Druid/Druids/Druidself

Fai/Fair/Fairy/Fairys/Fairyself

Ge/Geo/Geos/Geos/Geoself

Ro/Rock/Rocks/Rocks/Rockself

Spri/Sprin/Spring/Springs/Springself

Su/Sum/Summer/Summers/Summerself

Tro/Trop/Tropical/Tropics/Tropicalself

Wi/Wil/Wild/Wilds/Wildself

Wil/Wilde/Wilderness/Wilderness/Wildernessself

Gar/Gard/Garden/Gardens/Gardenself

Bir/Birc/Birch/Birchs/Birchself

Oa/Oak/Oaks/Oaks/Oakself

Spru/Spruc/Spruce/Spruces/Spruceself

Oa/Oas/Oasis/Oasis/Oasisself

Ri/Riv/River/Rivers/Riverself

La/Lak/Lake/Lakes/Lakeself

Ra/Rai/Rain/Rains/Rainself

Wi/Wint/Winter/Winters/Winterself

Fro/Fros/Frost/Frosts/Frostself

Fa/Fall/Falls/Falls/Fallself

Au/Autu/Autumn/Autumns/Autumnself

🌲/🌲's

🍀/🍀's

🌸/🌸's

🌿/🌿's

🌱/🌱's

🌳/🌳's

🌵/🌵's

🍃/🍃's

🌻/🌻's

🌹/🌹's

🌧/🌧's

☀/☀'s

❄/❄'s

💨/💨's

💧/💧's

🌸 Titles:

Preserver of The Forest

(X) Who Nurtures

Born From The Forest

Guardian of The Forest

Dancer of The Desert

(X) Who Guards The Oasis

Child of The Trees

Floral Founder

Seeker of The Leaves

(X) Who Dances With The Petals

Druid of The Land

Wings of The Forest

Nurturing The Land

Nurturer of The Forest

Nature's Guardian

Child of Mother Nature

Guardian of Mother Nature

Raindrop on The Leaf

Dancing in The Wind

Guardian of The Crops

Child of The Nymph

The Water Dancer

The River Traveler

🍃 Names:

Fem: Azalea, Aurora, Aster, Bellatrix, Belladonna, Blossom, Coral, Calla, Camellia, Dahlia, Daisy, Dawn, Dove, Dandelion, Ember, Flora, Floria, Giselle, Heather, Holly, Ivy, Jade, Juliet, Jasmine, Luna, Lunar, Lotus, Lily, Lilac, Lavender, Magnolia, Marigold, Meadow, Moon, Maple, Nova, Opal, Petunia, Poppy, Plum, Primrose, Paisley, Rosamund, Rose, Rosa, Rainy, Raine, Stella, Summer, Thea, Violet, Verna, Vine, Willow, Zinna,

Masc: Acacius, August, Arthur, Acorn, Arno, Aire, Beckett, Bear, Birch, Cedar, Cliff, Clay, Corvus, Clayton, Cove, Canyon, Callum, Caspian, Dune, Dylan, Elwood, Finn, Fielder, Falcon, Fox, Forest, Florian, Flint, Griffin, Hunter, Jasper, Jonah, Kai, Leo, Luan, Lennox, Micah, Oliver, Quill, Oscar, Orson, Roscoe, Rainier, Rhodes, Reed, Ronan, Rowan, Spruce, Sol, Thorne, Thorn, Wilder, Winter, Weston,

Neu: Arbor, Ashton, Ash, Agate, Autumn, Aspen, Bay, Berry, Barley, Brae, Bryony, Basil, Brooks, Bourne, Cereus, Clover, Crow, Cypress, Chamomile, Everest, Eden, Fawn, Farley, Finley, Frost, Fern, Foxley, Hazel, Harper, Hyacinth, Iris, Juniper, Jay, Jett, Koa, Krow, Lake, Leaf, Lynx, Oakley, Nightshade, Onyx, Orion, Olive, Pike, Pepper, Prairie, Phoenix, Robin, River, Raven, Rye, Scout, Sage, Stone, Sable, Snowden, Storm, Thistle, Wolf, Wolfe, Wulfwynn, Wren, Zen, Zev, Zephyr,

🌲 Genders:

Natureserenic - a gender related to spending your days in the middle of nowhere inside your cottage overgrown with nature, cats, dogs, and peacefulness.

Rotgrowth - A gender that has a deep connection to the idea of new plant life growing out of dead, rotting, decaying bodies such as animals and humans.

Vancouldian - a gender related to tall evergreen trees blowing in the wind against a cloudy sky

Regenderation - A gender connected to all things related to regeneration and growth. Medicine, nature, the life aspect, shades of pinks and greens, etc.

Mouanipre - a gender connected to baby animals, daisies, wildflowers, flower crowns, soft grass, meadows, fawns, bunnies, lambs, soft fur, sleepy baby animals, pastel colors, and cute baby animals resting in soft meadows.

Heliangender - a gender related to, affected by, or connected to sunflowers.

Convolvulaceaeic - A gender that has a deep connection to the Convolvulaceae Family of flowers.

Naturegender - Gender relating to nature/plants

Asteraceaeica - gender that has a deep connection to the Asteraceae Family of flowers.

[msfarahdowling]

Thanks to all those writing Madeline x Verna fic out there, you’re doing the devil’s work and we thank you.

[the-fandom-abyss]

Inevitable

Verna x Reader

Genre: Angst ❀

Word Count: 647 words

Gif: here

A/N: I do apologise if this is not up to standard. I was inspired by the gif and wrote this in under 20 minutes so please forgive me

1k Follower Celebration

Verna sought comfort in the space next to you, anchoring her to the moment to come. She had wrestled with herself, weighing the choices that were locked in place. For once, there was a consequence of a deal that she didn’t approve. If she could have foreseen what was to come, who you would become, she would have never made the deal. Never sealed the Usher name in blood. She took a deep, staggered breath before her eyes poured into yours. “There is a lot about my job I love. But there are moments like these that bring me no joy, I hope you know that” The tone of her voice was enough to communicate it was final. It created a wave of mixed emotions, on one hand you were relieved the time had finally come after the horrors you have faced. On the other hand, you were terrified of what lies on the other side, what would be greeting you as your eyes closed.

“So it’s time?” Verna soaked in the worry that was laced in your words, offering a comforting hand on top of yours.

“I fear that it is”

“Then so be it” Her hand squeezed yours in understanding. She admired the calm that came with the acceptance, there was no bargaining or anger. She was met with a quiet nod and a squeeze of her hand in return.

“I left you till last darling, I was selfish in my work but a deal is a deal. I can’t honour that until you have been put to rest”

“I understand, we knew this was inevitable” with your eyes cast down, you tried your best to hide the tears that flowed down your cheeks. It was a sign of weakness that did not need to be shared in the final hour.

Verna raised her hand and placed it under your chin, gently tilting your head back to eye level.“And yet I couldn’t help but fall for a beauty that I can’t have” the words were softly spoken, filled with all the emotion she could manage.

“You will always have all of me Verna. I don’t regret a single moment and if I had the choice to do it all over, I would choose you in a heartbeat”

A gravelly chuckle escaped Verna’s lips with a small shake of her head. “Always the romantic, my love” She was amused by your statement, knowing that you were sincere from start to finish.

“Even faced with death”

“I will cherish this time with you and know that decades will pass but you will always be with me” a single tear fell down the apple of her cheek, for death it weeps in the face of love.

“I love you Verna” the world stood still, if only for a moment. The whistle of the wind outside was enough of an indication that the would hadn’t stopped. Verna leant forward, slowing closing the gap between you.

“I love you” the last thought was of the woman that had changed your life. The last vision was of pure love with a glint of sadness hidden behind orbs of green, sealed in a soft kiss to your temple. Her hand gently held the back of your head as she lowered you down on to the bed. In the time after, she tucked you in, like she had many nights before your final slumber. She surrounded you in items that you adored, knowing that it would bring you comfort. Even if an item or two was missing as a token of the time you spent together. She was sentimental in that way, searching for trinkets from tragedies she had caused. This time was different, she had taken a life that she had wished she hadn’t. Death will always be for many more to come but none will be as important as you.

[fischerfrey]

A Valentine’s Day Drabble: Do you got room for one more troubled soul?

Fandom: HPHM

Word Count: 800

Ship: Verula (Verna x Merula)

Characers: Verna Malinda, Merula Snyde, Charlie Weasley

Warnings: Underage drinking & smoking, allusions to a character death

Notes: Title from Alone Together by Fall Out Boy

All things considered; it had been a fun night. Verna felt giddy and a little tipsy after downing a few glasses of the punch Jae had spiked. Despite all the bumps in the road with the arrangements, everything had gone without a hitch. Andre seemed happy too, laughing and dancing with Penny.

“Verna?” Charlie called her name, pulling her out of her thoughts. She turned to look at him.

“Yeah?”

“My feet are killing me, mind if I take a break?” Charlie asked.

“Oh, yeah, no,” Verna said. “I think I'm going to go get some air.”

“Want me to come with?”

Verna shook her head. “I think I need a minute, you know?”

Charlie weighed her words for a minute and then squeezed her hand. “Okay, I get it.”

Verna gave him a smile and headed out. She couldn’t help but think back to a year ago, when she, Charlie, Ben, and Rowan had all been to the dance together. How much she missed Rowan, and how drastically things could change in just a year.

~

Verna thought of heading to the main courtyard, but on second thought, it would probably be too crowded for her purposes. She took a turn to the right instead and headed out from one of the side doors. It was dark outside, and the lanterns were lit. At first glance, it seemed like she was alone, but in the dim light, Verna quickly noticed a figure, smoking, and dressed in a shimmering black dress sat on one of the benches. She had an unmistakable orange streak in her hair. Verna wasn’t in the mood for this, so she resolved to turn and head back inside, when she accidentally kicked a rock, sending it flying across the yard. Of course the noise caught Merula’s attention. Because nothing ever seemed to go Verna’s way.

“Malinda?”

Reluctantly, Verna turned back around, to face her fully. “Merula.”

“What are you doing here?” Merula asked. She’d taken off her mask, and some of her mascara had smudged around her eyes. She looked pretty.

“I got tired of dancing,” Verna replied. Merula raised her eyebrow and patted the bench next to her.

Verna eyed her, suspiciously. “I was sort of hoping to be alone.”

“Well, I’m not leaving until I’ve finished smoking, so you better find another place to sulk, then.”

Verna rolled her eyes. She didn’t feel like finding another place, so she took a seat next to Merula.

“Why are you out here?” she asked.

“I wanted a smoke.”

“Obviously.”

“And I wanted to be alone, too,” Merula added and exhaled smoke.

“So why’d you ask me to stay?”

“Figured we could be alone together.”

Verna chuckled. She couldn’t help it. “Alright.”

They fell silent for a while. Verna thought of how Merula had kissed her not two weeks ago in a corridor in the dungeons, and how neither one of them had talked about it since. After a while, Merula stumped out her cigarette with her boot. Of course she was wearing boots with her dress.

“Do you want to dance?” she asked. Verna stared at her.

Merula waved a hand in front of her face. “Hello?”

Verna cleared her throat. “Dance? Here?”

“Why not?”

“There’s no music.”

“Lucky for you, I can fix that,” said Merula, and started to hum a slow melody.

“Merlin,” Verna said.

“Hey, you’re the one who helped me into the frog choir.”

“Alright, fine, let’s dance,” Verna agreed. “But no Celestina Warbeck.”

Merula laughed and got up. She extended a hand and Verna took it, following her.

~

Merula pulled her along to the center of the small courtyard.

“You look pretty,” Verna said.

“Shut up.”

“I’m serious.”

Merula looked up at her and sighed. “Thank you, so do you.”

Verna smiled and Merula pulled her close. They looked at each other and Verna’s stomach kept doing somersaults. Slowly, they started to dance. It was something like a waltz but neither one of them cared much for the technicalities of getting it right. Merula started to hum the melody again. After a while, they were mostly just swaying, with Merula’s head against Verna’s shoulder.

“Hey,” she said and Merula looked up, falling silent. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

“I hate this holiday.”

“Clearly.”

“You know what, Malinda? You’re such a twit.”

Now it was Verna’s turn to laugh. “You’re dancing with a twit.”

Merula stopped in her tracks.

“Oh, come on,” Verna continued.

Merula glared at her. Verna assumed she was trying to come up with something witty to say, but instead, she grabbed her face and pulled her down into a kiss. Verna kissed her back, after all, it was what had been going through her mind on a loop ever since the Slytherin common room party a couple of weeks ago.

Merula pulled back slightly to look at her. Her expression had softened. “Happy Valentine's Day, Malinda,” she said, and kissed her again.

fin.

[freuleinanna]

The Warrior and her Death

here's my little Poe-inspired contribution to the verna x madeline fandom because i'm feeling poetic and because i'm a bitch for metaphorizing everything i see through epic AUs. and if you like it, it's also on ao3

So then, in ruins of the world, a ruthless warrior comes forth: an ancient sword is tame and quiet, well-fed on what was once desired, but useless now.

No shame or crown. The golden helmet's flying down, revealing hair, an ashen mane, that winds are tangling with rain.

'You win,' she says. Her bitter voice is all like cracking on the walls. 'I'm old, and grey, and soon to die; you win. From you, I shall not hide.'

A joyous laughter springs with flowers that only bloom in deathly hours.

'I didn't know we were at war,' says she, whomafter, there's no' more, and gently strokes the ashen hair away from eyes, touch light as air.

'Old! what a courage there must be to call you old in front of me. As new as stars. I watched you burning the brightest gold - with pain, with yearning - and here you are at last, my love.

Be not afraid, but look above: between the dying and the falling the stars live but a single moment, but how you lived!

I've missed you, child, as beautiful, and strong, and wild as I remember you. Come near. Where there is love, there's never fear.'

A touch again, of gentle passion, warmth on a cheek, as though confession, a breath as sweet as songs of larks, and in-between, it all grows dark.

And so, among the paling flowers, the warrior remains for hours, for days and decades neverending; her sword and helmet rusting, fainting,

yet nothing touches withered lips blessed with a smile, and deathly kiss.

[royalsunshinehotel]

*slides onto your table once again*

I’m an angst girly, can you PLEASE write a fanfic where the reader and Leo are arguing? Man’s rich and all his exes before were scared to leave him because he’s a powerful man with money. Imagine if the reader is as power and as rich. The type to mot take bs (hehe)

His Mother's Son (Leo Usher x gn!reader)

A/N: I want you all to know that I listened to Whispers by Halsey at least 12 times to write the angst. The ending is a banger though, I'm really proud of it.

It’s hard to remember how good things were on nights like these. Especially when nights like these go south so quickly. You didn’t even make it in the front doors of the event, when your partner had decided to run his mouth off about your past. 

So what if you lied at the beginning of your career, you built your life by yourself, for yourself. Rage cuts through your skull, but you tamped it down, as always. 

“Why did you do that?” You kept your lips firmly pressed together, using both hands to hold your sparkly purse. 

“I just-” He tried. 

“Don’t fucking . . . why did you say that on the red carpet, about my parents?” First he almost made you late to your own party, and now the two of you were here, doomed. 

“It was just a joke.” He’d spoken with his father earlier that day, even at 6’4, Leo always seemed shorter after talking with that man. 

“I’m not laughing.” Leo runs a large hand over his face, to hide him rolling his eyes. “See, when you say things like that, it feels like you’re punishing me.” 

“And why would I do that?” Asked your beau, finally matching your stance and staying still. If this was any other night, jackets would be thrown off, clothing would be optional, but not now. 

“I made it out. I left what I had and I made something new. Something mine.” 

“No, cut deeper.” commands Verna, hiding in the wallpaper, staring out at the tragedy unfolding. 

“You’re a grown man. You should have something of your own by now. That is not, and has never been my fault.” 

“So what are you saying?” His voice came out as something of a wheeze. 

“I think we’re done.” 

“What’s this really about? Has the check from the film not come through yet? Do you need an allowance?” The whiney edge in his voice used to hide someone else entirely, someone with a big heart, who’d bend to your every whim, and now you’re wondering if he was even there at all. 

You stared at him for a moment, as if he’d just slapped you in the face. When you first took up with him, you declared money a taboo topic, and he’d just … 

You’re you. Leo thought for a moment about the day you asked him out. He should have said no. You didn’t need him like the others, you wanted him. And that was fucking terrifying. 

He’d said yes, like a fool, and here he was, exactly where he deserved to be.

“We’re done.” You stated, firmly, calmly, as Leo watched the elevator door closed. In a way, it the door closed on what he thought was the rest of his life. “Apparently not,” he thinks. 

In the elevator, you fall to your knees, staring at yourself in the golden reflection. It’s agony. It always is with him. But at the same time, there’s an unbearable lightness. 

You’d ended it. 

Anything he might have held over you…it didn’t matter now. You’re on your way down, and you’ll get an Uber home, and you’ll figure out what your life looks like without this…overgrown boy taking up all of your energy. 

It’s agony, but it won’t be forever. You’ll live. He won’t. 

With a shuddering breath, Leo’s heart drops. He knew how long it would take you to walk from the elevator, out onto the street. He should yell from the window, he should chase you and let you know that you were right, that he’ll fold, he’ll do whatever you want to keep you. He can’t be without you, he’s known that since he met you. 

But he can’t. 

Maybe it was too many upper, maybe it was too many downers, but he’s been paralyzed before, but he’s never been sober enough to remember it. 

Maybe you were right about the drugs too. 

And now you’re gone. You would be on the front sidewalk by now, he wonders if you’ve thrown a rock through the windshield of his Ferrari. He hoped you did, so he had something to remember you by. 

Leo runs a hand over his face, knees buckling, before he lands on his hardwood floor with a loud ‘thud’. He’s fallen, like a glass of spilled milk. 

“I'm the one who leaves. Ushers do the leaving.” As soon as the words fall out of his mouth he wishes against all odds his mother would appear out of the mist, and slap him upside the head. 

For a minute, Leo commits to the floor, breathing as evenly as possible, and failing. Tears follow soon after, and he doesn’t shy away from them for once. 

You’ve gone. You’ve left him. This is why he was the one who left. 

Leo’s heart pounds in his ears, and he still can’t quite get his breath to even out. It’s almost getting worse. 

Fuck. 

Verna waits in the corner of Leo’s apartment, in the shadows of course.

Oh, how tragic.

In another life, Leo has the nerve to tell Rodrick “no”. In another life, he’s his mother’s son. 

Within him, laid a great capacity for kindness that would have echoed for years after a premature passing. 

As a PE teacher, the kids adore him, of course, and he loves them completely. He still wouldn’t have gotten to grow old with you, but he let you love him that time. 

But it’s not to be. 

At this moment, in this place, he’s an asshole, an addict, and an absurdly rich man who thought his being right mattered above all else. What a shame he’d let the door shut on the one person who’d told him otherwise. 

This time, Verna makes a change. She should tell him about your life, she should tell him that she knows you’ll be alright. And she knows she doesn’t have to. He knows you’re better off without him. 

A tap to the forehead, and he’s gone. 

Mercy. 

Maybe,  this once, he deserves it.