#you know the desserts they make called cup of dirt

[microwavepopcorn]

[lilacmingi]

ALICE IN WONDERLAND AU ♤ PART 4: TAEHYUNG

My works are 14+ ONLY. If you’re under 14 DO NOT interact with me or any of my works

Pairing: Mad Hatter!Taehyung x fem reader

Word count: 2,432

Your journey led you to a small, broken gate that had an old sign hanging from it reading: Tea party this way! Both you and Yoongi came to a stop as you read the sign.

Yoongi kicked the gate open abruptly and walked through, all the while keeping an indifferent expression. Making your way down a small, sloping hill you were able to get a look at your new surroundings. The area looked abandoned, a rotting windmill being the only thing left standing.

There was a small, dirt path that you followed Yoongi down. From that point, you could see a huge table sitting out in the middle of nowhere, the windmill standing just beyond the setup. Tea cups, broken glass, and an assortment of small desserts littered the tabletop. Mismatched chairs were set around it, every single one unoccupied.

Seated at the head of the table was a man dressed in a fancy, vivid purple robe made of silk. Underneath was an equally as vibrant hot pink shirt which was unbuttoned to show off the many gold necklaces adorning his neck. Sitting atop his head was a crazy-looking top hat that was wider at the crown and slanted ever so slightly. Wrapped around the band of the hat was a silky ribbon of the same hot pink as his shirt, a slip of paper tucked into it with the number 10/6 on it. He was laughing joyously, clinking his teacup with what appeared to be a dormouse in a red coat.

This must be the Hatter. You mused.

He was handsome. So handsome, in fact, that he didn't seem real. Though everyone you had met so far was like that.

Yoongi cleared his throat to announce your presence, the man looking up from his spot at the table, his eyes widening in recognition.

"Y/n." He whispered to himself. He jumped up from his seat and hurried straight across the table, knocking everything over as he did so.

"Y/n! It's you!" He exclaimed cheerfully.

Leaping off the table, he eagerly approached, grabbing the sides of your face and planting a firm kiss to your lips, pulling away with a loud smooch sound.

His bizarre and very abrupt display of affection caught you off guard. The Hatter grinned widely, not phased at all by what he had just done. It seemed as if he wasn't even aware that his actions were anything but normal.

Your eyes were blown wide in shock. Being kissed right on the mouth was not what you expected when you envisioned your meeting with the Hatter.

"It is you, isn't it?" He asked squishing your cheeks between his lace glove-clad hands.

"Yes." You had said, but it came out as "Yesh."

"I knew it!" He grinned showing off a unique boxy smile before wrapping his arms around you in a tight hug.

Just as you were about to ask him to loosen his grip (because he was squeezing the life out of you), he let go and moved to hug Yoongi.

"Oh, Yoongi!" He gushed enthusiastically. "Thank you so much for bringing her to me! Though I sent Jungkook to bring her so I must say I'm a little surprised." He murmured. "Oh well. Y/n is back and that's all that matters!"

"She doesn't remember." Yoongi spoke flatly, breaking the news right away.

The crazy man's cheerful attitude disappeared immediately, his face going somber.

"She doesn't?" He asked, his chipper tone now disheartened.

Yoongi shook his head.

"You don't remember who I am?" The man turned to you, his brown irises searching your face desperately.

"Jungkook said people call you Hatter, but that's all I know."

He frowned when you said that. You didn't know his name.

"I'm sorry." You apologized. "I wish I could remember."

Hatter's bottom lip jutted out in disappointment. "Well, never mind that. There's no time to be sad, we have a tea party to attend!" His cheerful attitude was back in the blink of an eye. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Taehyung." He took a bow, removing his hat.

You took notice of his uniquely-colored hair which sported a pale pink color that resembled cotton candy.

"Nice to meet you... again."

"Turn that frown upside down, dear Y/n! Your memories are sure to return at some point. In the meantime, why don't you rest your weary bones? I'm sure you're tired from your journey. Have a seat." He took hold of your hand and pulled you towards the table, guiding you to the chair situated to the left of his.

"Yoongi, my friend. Join us!" Taehyung waved him over.

"I don't know. I'm pretty tired."

"Don't be a party pooper. C'mon! We've got all kinds of tea. I also picked some mandarins earlier today." Taehyung gestured to a 3-tier cupcake stand which had the citrus fruit displayed on it instead of sweet treats.

Yoongi's ears perked up at the mention of mandarin oranges, his eyes brightening.

"I suppose it wouldn't kill me to stay for a little while."

"That's the spirit!" Taehyung clasped his hands together.

Yoongi flopped down in a nearby chair and kicked his legs up on the table. Taehyung was quick to pour him up a hot cup of tea and serve it along with an orange. Yoongi wasted no time snatching up the citrus and peeling it.

"Y/n, would you like some tea?" Taehyung offered.

"Sure. I'll have a cup."

Taehyung grabbed a chipped teacup off the table and poured some steaming tea into it, offering it to you with a smile. You thanked him, your eyes momentarily scanning the cluttered tabletop. The sound of something lightly scooting along the wood of the table grabbed your attention. The dormouse you saw earlier was pushing a glass container with sugar cubes inside towards you.

"Oh! Um. Thank you."

Lifting the lid, you plucked a couple cubes from the container and dropped them into your tea, stirring them around with a small spoon. The dormouse then scampered off, scrambling into an empty overturned teapot.

Lifting the cup to your lips, you took a sip. The tea was warm and tasted wonderful.

You hummed softly at the flavor, not bothering to question how it was brewed in the middle of nowhere. With everything you'd experienced this far, you wouldn't question anything about this place.

"Where is Jungkook?" Taehyung asked. "I sent him to bring you here."

"Oh." A frown etched into your features. "The bandersnatch attacked us. Jungkook and Jimin stayed behind to fight it."

"Jimin too? Are they alright?"

"I don't know."

"I told her they're strong and don't back down easily." Yoongi mentioned.

"That's true." Nodded Taehyung.

"If that's the case, then I hope I see them again." You murmured, going to take a sip of tea.

"Oh my!"

Taehyung's sudden exclamation had you lowering your cup. "What?"

"If the bandersnatch was after you, then that means..." His sentence went unfinished as a horrified look flashed across his features, his eyes glazed over and distant. "That means..."

Leaning forward, you waited for him to finish what he was saying, but he only stopped and reached into his pocket, pulling out a watch.

"It's time for tea!" He announced cheerily.

"What?"

He didn't even finish what he was saying.

"Here have some more!" Taehyung insisted, pouring more of the warm beverage into both yours and Yoongi's cups.

"He gets like this." Yoongi informed you from across the table, pointing to his head and doing a twisting gesture. "I told you he's off his rocker."

"Off my rocker?" Taehyung echoed Yoongi's words, seeming to tune into what was being said about him. "Are you saying I'm mad?"

"Of course you are."

"I'm just eccentric and have odd habits is all." Taehyung huffed, crossing his arms over his chest.

"I'll say." Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"And what's so wrong about being eccentric? Hm? There's nothing wrong with it. Not at all."

"What were you saying, Taehyung?" You inquired, cutting his tangent short.

"Oh yes! If the bandersnatch was after you then that means the Red King wants you."

"Me?"

"That's what I just said, silly goose." Taehyung tittered, ruffling your hair.

Using your fingers to comb through your hair, you attempted to smooth out the strands wether they were messed up or not.

"Anyway, a while back the Red King sent some of his goons to spy on you and see how you grew up. He wanted to kidnap you and keep you for himself. Luckily, I caught wind of the plan and decided to send Jungkook to get you and bring you to me. That way you'd be safe." He puffed out his chest proudly.

"Yeah she'll be safe alright." Yoongi rolled his eyes.

"She will! I'm totally capable of it! I'll keep my Y/n safe." He turned to you with a smile.

"Your Y/n?" Yoongi's questioned, sitting up.

"Yeah."

"She's not yours."

"She's not yours either."

"I kissed her." Yoongi grinned smugly.

"So did I."

"Mine was a real kiss. Go on, ask her."

Taehyung turned to you, raising his brows in silent question, waiting for you to respond.

Yoongi stared, prompting you to respond.

"It happened so suddenly and it was over before I knew what he had done."

That was a tiny lie. The kiss was sudden and short, but once your brain caught up with what had happened, you did let yourself enjoy the moment, albeit short-lived.

"But you liked it." Yoongi smirked resting his elbows on the table while leaning towards you.

Thankfully, you weren't given the opportunity to respond as Taehyung cut in.

"Well, I kissed you too."

"You bombarded her." Yoongi responded for you. "At least there was some buildup for mine. You just ran up and slammed your lips to hers. She didn't even know it was coming."

He was right. Though it wasn't totally unpleasant it was unorthodox.

"Oh." It's as if Taehyung realized for the first time that what he had done wasn't considered normal. "I guess I got ahead of myself."

"Well, it doesn't matter because I kissed her first."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means she's mine." Yoongi hissed.

"What if she doesn't want to be yours?"

"What if she doesn't want to be yours?" Yoongi turned the question on Taehyung.

"I want her though."

"Everyone wants her!" Yoongi raised his voice. "Why do you think The Red King is after her? He likes her! So does The White King! Jungkook, Jimin, Namjoon, you, me! We all want her!"

You sat frozen in shock as Yoongi and Taehyung bickered and shouted at each other, arguing over... you.

This is madness.

"Hey. Guys, please stop. I'm feeling really overwhelmed."

They didn't hear you, too engrossed in their own petty argument. Standing up from your chair, you cleared your throat.

"Guys." You raised your voice a little in hopes to gain their attention.

They continued to argue.

This has to be a dream because this? This is absolutely ridiculous. The way these two were fighting over you of all people was so not realistic. Forget what Jungkook and Jimin said. This isn't real. It can't be.

"Guys!" You exploded, yelling at the top of your lungs. "Cut it out already!"

They both froze right where they were. Taehyung had gotten up from his seat and was gripping the collar of Yoongi's shirt while the cat hybrid had one of his hands clenched in a fist, ready to strike the Hatter in the jaw.

"Please just stop." You begged through an exasperated sigh. "I'm overwhelmed by all of this already and the arguing isn't helping. So please quit fighting."

"Sorry Y/n." They mumbled collectively.

You dropped back down into your chair, reaching forward to take a sip of tea, letting the warm liquid calm you a bit.

Taehyung was the first to speak. "We shouldn't have gotten so heated, especially over you."

"He's right." Yoongi agreed.

"Thanks you two." Your finger traced absentmindedly over the swirls on the teacup in your hands.

Silence hung in the air for a few moments before you broke it by speaking.

"Tae?"

The Hatter's eyes widened, even Yoongi had a surprised expression on his face.

"You called me Tae."

"I... did." Your brows furrowed.

Where did that come from? How odd. The nickname slipped out like it was second nature, as if that was something you referred to him as all the time.

The expression on Taehyung's face melted into one of nostalgia. "That's what you called me when you came to Wonderland all those years ago."

"I did?"

"Yes." He nodded vigorously. "If you remember the nickname you gave me, then you must remember everything else, right?"

"That would make sense. Yes." You nodded.

"Maybe you'll get your memory back after all." Yoongi cracked a small smile.

For the first time since stepping foot in this place called Wonderland, you felt hope that your memories would return.

The sound of marching feet echoed in the distance, the disturbance causing you to scan the area for the source of the noise. Yoongi and Taehyung both looked alert.

"Oh no." Yoongi mumbled.

"What? Who is that?"

"It's The Red King's knights. I'd guess they somehow found out you're here in Wonderland." Taehyung's face paled. "Y/n, you need make yourself scarce right away."

"Where do I go?"

"I don't know. Away from here."

"What about you?"

"Someone's gotta distract them." He winked. "Don't you worry. Tae has got this all under control." He tipped his hat.

"I wish you luck. You too, Yoongi."

"Oh, I'll be fine. I can disappear whenever I want. It's him you should be worried about." He gestured to Taehyung.

"Go somewhere safe, Y/n. I'll look for you." Taehyung assured, ignoring Yoongi's slight jab at him.

With a single nod, you took off, darting away from the tea party set up in the middle of nowhere. As you ran, you heard faint voices behind you in the distance.

"So, Taehyung. It's been a while, hasn't it? We heard Y/n is back." A man's voice spoke, his tone obnoxiously arrogant.

"She is? Since when? I'm actually kind of offended no one thought to inform me." He sighed dramatically. "I'm always out of the loop."

You let out a light chuckle and shook shook your head as you fled. That Taehyung sure is something. Even in the face of danger he managed to put on a completely clueless demeanor. He may be mad, but he's clever.

➯ Part 5: Namjoon

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[talkfastromance4]

Bradley’s Butterfly–Bradley Bradshaw oneshot

Warnings: panic/anxiety attack

Word count: 2.3k

Reblogs, comments, asks, mean the world! I love to hear your thoughts💕

Enjoy!

Bradley’s always been known for being observant, even at a young age he liked to watch those around him. His ears would perk up on conversations from couples fighting over what to have for dinner or a heated phone call from a man in a sleek suit. He liked to watch people in their natural form, study them, and be aware of his surroundings.

Everyone knew it, too. He’d pick up on subtle things that no one else seemed to really notice. Like how Bob mentioned his great Aunt Sylvie who he called ‘Aunt Sissy’ because he couldn’t quite say her name when he was younger. Bradley was the first to ask how his Aunt Sissy was after Bob had to rush home quickly for a family emergency.

He knows Hangman checks his gear three times before entering his cockpit and that Phoenix whispers a prayer her grandma would always sing to her before a mission. He notices small things that have a huge impact on those he cares about.

Being as observant as he is, Bradley was the first one to notice you as the new bartender Penny hired. He noticed right away how cute you were but also how meticulous you were when making a drink or pouring a shot. You had a good eye for precision and always picked up a crumpled napkin or one of the many discarded toothpicks Hangman left throughout the bar.

He noticed how your eyes would always meet his whenever he entered The Hard Deck. He noticed you noticing him and it always left a little flutter of warmth in his chest. You had all of the Dagger Squad’s drink orders memorized, you even played along with Hangman’s folly when he tried to trick you on his drink order.

One Tuesday after a grueling training session and 400 push-ups in the hot sun, Bradley really needed a drink so he headed to the bar. On top of the beating sun there was a dry wind that blew sand and dirt all over the place. Everything was dry and desolate because it’s been nearly a month without rain.

He fell onto the barstool heavily, his head pounding, muscles in his neck and shoulders screamed whenever he moved.

“Rough day?” you ask, voice soft as you set a glass of Blue Moon in front of him with an orange slice.

“Oh yeah,” he huffs. He winces when he leans forward on the bar to place his hand around the glass, it’s ice cold and feels refreshing when he takes a drink. He sighs wiping the foam from his mustache then tips the glass in your direction. “Thanks for this, it was very needed.”

“You’re welcome,” you smile sweetly and plop a white bowl full of orange slices next to his glass. The backs of your knuckles barely graze his fingertips but he feels an electric spark. “I’ll make sure to keep the oranges coming.”

You stayed true to your word. Bradley ate the slices you provided and had a few more Blue Moon’s just as the dinner rush was starting. He took that time to watch the way you were with other customers. You called them all by name, asked about their day and always had a smile on your face.

Bradley ordered some food as well and just as he finished up his loaded BLT, the rest of the squad strutted in laughing and smiling to a joke Fanboy probably made. They made a beeline for Bradley, he saw your eyes glide over the grown group and it tickled him pink when you grabbed him a fresh glass and orange before working on their drinks.

She remembered Bob’s cup of trail mix and handed Hangman a toothpick.

“Thanks darlin’,” Hangman grins. Instead of using his fingers to grab the toothpick, he closed his mouth around it then winked at you.

Bradley’s tickled pink trickled into a sea of red anger but you only laughed and rolled your eyes before turning your attention back on Bradley.

“I made some brownies, would you like one for dessert? Free of charge,” your smile was dazzling.

“A brownie sounds so good right now,” Bradley nods, watching you duck under the bar and skip to the back room where the office area is.

You come back with the square treat on a napkin, powdered sugar is sprinkled on top.

“Bradshaw!” Phoenix shouts from the billiards. She waves him over when he looks over his shoulder.

“Duty calls,” he sighs and rises from his stool.

“Kick Hangman’s ass,” you laugh. You clean up his plate of food.

“Will do. Thanks for the brownie,” he lifts it in appreciation. He’s glad he’s turned away when he takes the first bite because his face melts and a groan slips out. This is the best brownie he’s ever had. It’s the perfect amount of gooey with the ends a little hard.

With more beer and food in his system, Bradley’s body relaxes as the night lingers on. He’s just finished taking a celebratory shot with Phoenix after winning their pool game when an obnoxious group of Marines enter in with the saloon doors banging against the walls.

They stumble against the bar shouting for attention from any of the bartenders and Bradley is watching silently from his corner. You’re on the opposite side of the bar helping and chatting with a pair of girls but they’re shouting your name. Bradley watches as you turn upon hearing your name and hold up your hand motioning you’ll be right with them.

When one of them whistles at you that’s when Bradley starts to move.

Being 6’ 1” has its advantages because his height makes it easy to walk through people, they step out of his way easily. He’s at the bar next to the group of Marines as one of them whistles again, his brown eyes slide to you. He sees the way your shoulders tense up, how your hand perches perfectly on your waist when you turn around.

“Excuse me, I am not a dog you can whistle at,” you defend, your voice bristling as you approach the unruly group.

“It got you over here, baby,” one of them jeers.

Bradley notices how your eyes flick to the bell Penny has behind the bar and he hopes you ring it. He’d love nothing more than to toss these imbeciles out of the bar and away from you.

“I’ll get your pitchers of beer and you can go sit somewhere else. I have other customers,” you shake your head.

Bradley stays near you for the rest of the night, keeping a watchful eye on the Marines who were causing a ruckus by the gaming area. Bradley’s skin prickled when one of them slung an arm around Bob but Hangman intervened quickly with a hard shove and an even harder look. Javy joined him looking equally as intense and they backed off.

“What jerks,” you mutter behind him.

He turns his attention back to you, you’re glaring at the group as you wipe down glasses.

“Yeah, they’re full of shit,” Bradley agrees. “I was hoping you’d ring the bell so I could toss ‘em out for ya.”

“I definitely thought about it,” your eyes are still glued on them. “If they whistle at me again you have my full permission to dump ‘em in the sand. Thanks for standing by while they were here.”

“Of course. Gotta watch out for my favorite bartender,” he grins.

One of the Marines wouldn’t let up and tried to get you to play pool with them but you kept shaking your head. Slowly, the patrons began to leave and the Daggers bid farewell to Bradley and you in pairs.

The alcohol was starting to wear off in Bradley, his bones were starting to ache again and his bed was calling his name. He’d just finished signing his tab and pocketed his card when you approached with a bag over your shoulder.

“Hey Bradley? Would you mind walking me to my car?” you ask shyly, eyes shifting to the group of Marines that are still there. “That one has been trying to get me over there all night.”

“I don’t mind at all,” he shakes his head. “I was going to offer anyway since it’s so late. You got everything you need?”

“Yeah,” you nod clutching your bag tight to your chest.

He motions you ahead of him, his hand hovering over the middle of your back and he tosses a look over his shoulder. The one that called you ‘baby’ was watching in disdain and Bradley nodded at him with a slight smirk before leading you out the bar.

The heat is still in the air outside, sweat appearing instantly on both of your skin. Bradley follows you towards your car which is parked right next to his–not that he planned that or anything.

“Thanks for walking me,” you sigh. “Most of the time I love this gig but guys like that make my blood boil.”

“You and me both,” he nods. You unlock your door and open it. “Have a good night, drive safe.”

“You too. I should have given you more water.”

“I’ll be fine,” he waves it off, “not too far to go.”

He watches you buckle and settle before peeling out of the parking lot and he’s walking on air.

***

It’s three weeks later when Bradley comes to your rescue again. It’s Live Mic Friday where a local cover band is performing and it’s packed. The group of Marines are also in attendance and Bradley makes sure they keep their berth from you.

The music is good and the energy from the crowd is catching, he’s buzzing from having a good time with his friends but then the music stops suddenly and the house lights turn on. There’s some sort of tousle happening near the bar and Bradley rushes as quickly as he can through the sardined crowd.

You’re safe by the high top tables but the tray of glasses you were holding have slipped onto the floor in a million little pieces. Your eyes are wide as you stare at the Marines swearing and shouting in fits of rage. Your hand is shaking as you bring it to your chest, mouth open gasping for air.

Bradley is by your side, your quick gasps pierce his heart as you try to settle your breathing but it’s not working. Your eyes are wide and panicked and he knows exactly what’s going on.

“Let’s get outside,” he ducks his head to yours and ushers you out.

You’re still gasping, hands shaking even more as you try to touch each finger to your thumbs.

“Here, c’mere and sit,” he says pulling up one of the patio chairs but you shake your head. “It doesn’t help?”

“N-n-n–”

“Okay, no sitting. Place your hands like this–” he lifts your trembling hands to your chest, thumbs overlapping so they’re like a butterfly. “Good. Now, watch me, y/n.”

He mirrors his hands like yours waiting until your tear rimmed eyes focus on his hands. Bradley starts to alternately tap his fingers on his shoulders. It takes you a moment but you start to tap your shoulders as well, still gasping for air.

“Good, that’s so good, honey,” he encourages. “Keep doing that in time with me.”

There’s a loud noise from inside and it makes you flinch.

“Keep tapping. Did you know there’s a huge burn mark in the ceiling of the office? Yeah, I did that on my twenty-first birthday. I somehow created an alcoholic bomb of vodka, lighter fluid and a lighter. Hangman didn’t believe I could do it. I still don’t know how I did it, I failed Chemistry when I took it.”

Your lips trembled as your breath started to steady, your fingers kept tapping in time with his. Each tap helped you focus on the things around you and not the heavy weight on your chest or the panic in your mind that the world was going to crumble around you.

Bradley kept telling stories of his youth, how he got into a terrible accident and he now has scars from it. When your breathing is back to normal, the whole ordeal left you exhausted and you collapsed into the chair Bradley first offered you. He pulls one up in front of you, his warm brown eyes studying you and he places a gentle but firm hand on your knee.

“Okay?” he asks.

“Getting there,” you nod and wipe the tears from your eyes. “That helped a lot…thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I don’t know why it even started. I heard the shouting and it–it just hit me,” you shake your head.

“Your body’s way of preventing something bad from happening,” he shrugs, “panic attacks just appear sometimes and it’s okay.”

“How’d you know I was having one? And to do that tapping thing?”

“I had a lot of panic attacks after my dad died. I tried all of the centering techniques…box breathing, counting backwards, pointing out things I see and feel. This was what really worked, it’s called butterfly tapping,” he explains.

“Oh,” you exhale and close your eyes.

“How’s your heart?”

“Still racing,” you whisper. He starts to tap your knee with his thumb and you focus on the weight of his hand on you.

You sit out there for fifteen minutes as he helps center you.

“There, that’s better,” he smiles. You exhale deeply.

“Much better. Thank you, Bradley.”

“Let’s get out of here. I know a diner that has the best sundaes.”

“I need to finish working–”

“Does Penny know you get panic attacks?” he asks and you nod. “I’ll text her that I’m taking care of you. C’mon, we’ll go around.”

He holds out his hand. You slip yours in his, noting how rough and smooth they are at the same time. He’s also warm and you have butterflies the whole time he holds your hand to his Bronco and on the drive to the diner. You’ll have to remember Bradley’s butterfly the next time a panic attack appears.

[walkingdaryls]

domestic life with loki

i hope you enjoy this, it’s super fluffy (but it has some minor nsfw at towards the end!). enjoy :)

while loki is the god of mischief, and brings a little too much chaos with him practically everywhere he goes...

you and loki’s settled life together was anything but chaotic. it was pure tranquility in everyway possible

you were convinced this is what heaven was like

you and loki, once you two decided to settle down together, decided to leave the states

and so the two of you found the nicest place to live in ireland

with loki’s magic and what not, you two built a cottage in the middle of a beautiful, endless forest on a large hill

it was the kind where if you followed the path down the hill, it’d lead you to a lovely stream

sometimes you two would spot harmless wild animals pass through the area

there was not another home in sight, but if you walked a couple minutes up and over the other side of the hill, you’d find yourself amidst a gorgeous tiny town

full of locals, cute shops, bookstores, and more

every single morning, without fail, you’d wake up with the rising sun in your face coming in through the windows, before loki pressed a soft, warm kiss on your forehead

he’d make his way out (and you’d admire his shirtless back as he walked away) and into the kitchen, where he’d be awaiting you with a cup of tea or coffee

“good morning, darling” and he’d wait for a passionate kiss first before giving you your drink

every. single. morning.

your day to day routines would vary a little bit each day

sometimes you two would hop on your bikes, or walk into town hand-in-hand

you’d stop at a farmer’s market, as loki chose all of his favorite fruits

he’d pull you into the bookstore and would have you close your eyes as he gently dragged your pointer finger along the shelves until you said “stop”

he’d stop, pull out the book, and try to read to you the most romantic passage he could find in it

you blushed every single time.

little shit had such a way with words

you’d stop for some lunch or dessert at a local bakery nearby

if you were feeling really up to it, you and loki would catch a train and visit dublin, or perhaps go all the way to england for a weekend trip

your cottage had a long, winding garden out in the back, so some days you’d tend to it as loki was reading inside, or on the swinging bench

you had music playing while you worked out in the dirt, so you wouldn’t hear loki as he’d come behind you, grab you gently by the waist and kiss you so passionately, you’d drop your gardening tool on the grass

he’d chuckle at your funny gardening hat, kiss you once on the nose, and say “c’mon inside, love. i made tea. you deserve a break”

when it was rainy (which was more often than not), you two would sit outside on your swinging bench under a covered area, and just listen to the sweet sounds of nature

you’d lay your head in loki’s lap as he ran his cool fingers through your hair tenderly

“is this what true peace is?” you’d whisper, just barely over the pouring rain

loki would sigh contently, remembering all of the chaos, violence, and stress from his past. he’d take one loving glance at you, run his fingers over your cheek and say,

“i’ve never known peace until you.”

you smiled shyly, “i love you.”

“and i, you, darling. until the end of our days, and so on.”

“and so on...” you closed your eyes, soaking in the feel of his touch

your absolute favorite pastime with loki, though: baths.

you two were very much fans of skin on skin, not even in a sexual way

loki would magic away the lights, leaving only the soft dim of candles lighting up the bathroom

he’d take you gently by the hand, discard you of the thin robe you were wearing, and carry you into the tub

you two would take turns shampooing and lathering one another. it was so quiet, so peaceful...it was almost meditative

the only sounds you’d let out were soft moans when his fingers would scratch just the right spot on your scalp. he’d laugh softly at that.

there was nothing more tranquil to him than the sounds you made

you’d lay on his chest until the water got cold, then he’d help dry you off and get into bed

but not before another long kiss

(a little nsfw) with you and loki’s home being in such a quiet, secluded place, you two ravished each other and made love almost any place you possibly could

he’d take you on the bed. in the bathtub. on the kitchen table after a candlelit dinner on your anniversary. in the living room while some old movie kept playing.

one time, you and loki had a romantic picnic out in your garden

and he ended up making love to you right there and then on the ground

every moment intimately spent together was nothing short of sweet whispers of affirmations, pleasureable moans, and pure passion

you and loki would also take advantage of the view, and you’d make your way down the hill, and sit by the stream late at night to star-gaze or watch the full moon

loki would point out the stars and tell you the history about them. and if he didn’t know it, you two would name it together

“you see those two stars over there? the ones that look almost...attached by the hip? we can call those after us.”

“you mean our names?”

“yes.”

“you fucking sap.” but you devoured him in a kiss anyways.

sometimes you and loki would turn on soft, intrumental music, and blast it in your living room

you’d walk in wearing a nice, long sundress that drove loki mad, holding two glasses of wine

and he’d pull you in close to him, and you two would sway in each other’s arms for what seemed like hours

when you two were tired, and ready for the day to be over, he’d pull you into him in bed, wrapping his arms around you

you’d press a warm kiss to his neck, and he’d leave one on your forehead. then you two would meet in the middle with a kiss on the lips.

you guys sleep with a window open, letting the sounds of nature filter through

as your eyes began to droop, loki whispers softly by your ear, sending light shivers through your body

“my little dove, i am yours forever.”

pure tranquility. and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

[fridayisbestday]

"Esther Maisel! What do you think you're doing?"

Lenny caught his step daughter hovering over her couch napping father's figure, marker in hand with a 'shit, I've been caught' face.

"Sorry!Ijustthoughtitwouldbefunny." She apologised in a panic as he walked closer to her.

He sighs, "Gimme" He came down to her level and held out his hand, she snapped the cap back on and places the marker into his hand.

"You shouldn't draw a moustache on his face," He said firmly pointing at her with the capped marker as she looked down at her shoes shamefully, her hands playing with the hem of her dress, "and not draw panda eyes," he baffled, "at least give him a monocle."

Her eyes lit up after realising what he said, then turned back to her napping canvas with the brightest, cheekiest smile he's ever seen, he wondered for a moment if her cheeks hurt.

Esther cupped her hand to his ear and whispered, "What about a unibrow?"

Lenny returned the gesture and replied, "I like the way you think Trouble 1." He whispers into her ear as he handed the marker back to Miss Picasso with his other hand.

3 minutes later...

"He's beautiful!" Esther shouted a whisper and smiled brightly as she stood back with hands on her hips, gazing down proudly at her creation.

"A masterpiece." He whispered proudly, "Now let's bolt before sleeping beauty wakes up."

"Aurora." She corrected as they tip toed away from the scene of the crime.

30ish minutes later...

They're sat on the grass in front of the house making daisy chains, "Princess Lenny." His fellow princess called, holding out a crown made of daisies and presenting it to him with both her hands.

As Lenny (who's completely decked out in daisy made necklaces, rings and bracelets) reaches out to graciously receive his daisy crown, a shout rips from the house.

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

They turned to see Joel angrily storming out onto the porch with scribbles all over his damp red face, looking as though he just came out of the shower with steam coming out of his ears.

The two troublemakers looked at each other, smiles slowly etched across both their faces before finally falling over laughing.

Lenny notices Joel coming over towards them, shit, but before he could say anything, the 7 year old grabs him by the hand and tries to yank him up with all her might, her flats digging into the dirt as she pulled, "We gotta go!"

"Yep." He's then pulled up onto his feet and dragged away hurriedly.

Neither the Maisel's nor the Weissman's could find them all afternoon, but when they arrived for dinner, they found the two sitting on the naughty step with their hands pinching their ears as Midge scolded them.

"But Mama, you laughed!"

"Didn't you like the daisies?"

"That's it! No dessert for the both of you!"

'"No fair!"' They shouted in unison.

"One more word and I'll make it a week!"

They gazed up at their common enemy with daggers in their eyes, then turned to each other and nodded concededly, knowing that she would go through with her threat mercilessly.

""Fine."" They pouted.

[luci-in-trenchcoats]

First Date

Summary: The reader accidentally sends an angry email off to a co-worker but winds up with a date instead...

Pairing: Landscaper!Dean x reader

Square: First Date

Word Count: 1,900ish

Warnings: language, fluff

A/N: Written for @spndeanbingo​​​​ . Enjoy!

_______

You yawned as you trotted out of the kitchen with a cup of coffee in hand down to your home office. You plopped down in your chair and got on your computer, checking your email with a tired hum. You saw an email from the facilities manager and sighed.

“Oh come on,” you said, rolling your eyes. “I’m work from home now, jackass. Refund my parking pass. That was like five hundred bucks.”

You growled and typed out an angry email in response, getting so fed up when you finished you knocked your coffee all over your computer.

“Shit!” you said, grabbing some tissues and moping it up.

You saw a sent message appear on screen and you shook your head.

“No. No. No, I didn’t send that. Recall, recall,” you said, shoving the tissues aside. It’d already been opened though and the recall failed, your jaw dropping. “No! I just moved into this house! I can’t afford to get fired.”

You grabbed your phone and decided to bite the bullet, trying to dial the guy when you got an email back.

As highlighted in my original message below, your refund will show up next month along with all other refunds to staff now working from home.

You hit reply and started writing an apology, praying he didn’t report you to HR.

I’m so sorry. It was an accident. I wrote it to express my frustrations and had no intentions of ever sending it. I’m deeply embarrassed, Mr. Winchester, and apologize once again.

You bit your bottom lip and waited a minute, getting a response back.

Thank you for your apology, Ms. Y/L/N. Seeing as today is my last day and it was a mistake, I see no reason to pursue this further.

“Ah, thank you, thank you,” you said. “Now let’s deal with this coffee.”

Two Weeks Later

“So what’s the damage?” you asked. The man in the flannel and baseball cap wrote up a tally on his clipboard before looking back at the house and yard again.

“Normally, for total lawn maintenance, that includes your weeding, trimming, spring and fall clean up, etc. for a lawn this large, you’re looking at around eighty a week,” he said. “But we’re trying to break into this neighborhood so let’s call it fifty a week. We get ten yards around here, we’ll knock it down to forty. How’s that sound?”

“Fifty for everything?” you asked. “Including the snow removal?”

“We’ll negotiate a separate contract for that but I’d call that about 350 for that season,” he said. “So. We have a deal?”

“For fifty bucks, you got a deal,” you said, shaking his hand.

“Perfect. I will have a contract written up and sent over to you this evening,” he said. He dug around into his back pocket and pulled out a business card.

“Super Natural Lawn Services,” you said. “Winchester.”

“Hm?” he said, writing something down on his clipboard.

“Name sounds familiar is all,” you said.

“Used to be in charge of managing the grounds at a local place until they decided to have their staff work from home. Ms. Y/L/N,” he said with a smirk. 

“Oh my…” you said, Dean chuckling. “I am so-”

“I like running my own business a lot better,” he said. “Besides, you apologized. We’re all good. We’ll get that contract straightened out and I’ll get a team over Friday morning to start on your landscape design.”

“I really am sorry, Mr. Winchester. I-”

“Y/N. It’s good. I promise. I’ll see you around, okay?”

You nodded and he headed back to his car, giving you a wave as he drove off.

Two Weeks Later

“Hey, Dean?” you called from your front porch. He poked his head up from where he was head first in a notebook, staring at the dirt edge around your house. “You want a drink? It’s really hot out.”

“I’m okay,” he said, sweating pouring off of him.

“You want to come into the air conditioning for a minute?” you asked. He was about to say no when he took off his hat and his hair was soaked with sweat. “Come on.”

“Alright. Just for a minute,” he said. He hopped up onto the porch and stepped into your foyer, letting out a sigh. “Okay, that’s nice.”

“You like lemonade?”

“Sure,” he said. He took off his boots and followed you to your kitchen, taking a seat at the table when you waved him down. You brought over a large glass, Dean gulping it down. “Do you have a minute? Now that your lawn is in good shape, I have a few ideas for landscaping near the house if I could pick your brain.”

“Sure,” you said. He flipped open his notebook and showed you a drawing, your eyes wide. “You drew that? It’s great.”

“Do you like that kind of style? It’s minimal upkeep but it’s not barren out there this way,” he said.

“I love it. How much does that cost?” you asked.

“It’s part of your weekly bill. I have a few other ideas in here you can take a look at and tell me which you like best,” he said. You flipped through the notebook with him, still liking the first one the most. “Alright. We’ll get that going for you then.”

“My neighbor was asking about you the other day. I gave her your name,” you said.

“Fingers crossed we get a bit more business around here then,” he said as he stood up. “I’ll get out of your hair now. Thanks for the drink, Y/N.”

One Month Later

You hummed as you sat on your front porch with your morning coffee, watching Dean across the street and walk around a yard with his team. They’d already done your yard for the week and you knew Dean was up to about six or so houses in the development. With a big stretch you glanced over to your car and saw something on the windshield. You got up and walked over, plucking off a note.

Found a problem with one of your plants. Rabbits were eating it. I’ll replace it later today.

You looked across the street just as he looked over. You gave a wave and he returned it before you headed back inside.

Four hours later you were getting home from the store to find another note stuck up against your front door.

Plant should be all good now. Enjoy your weekend.

“Hey,” you heard behind you and you nearly jumped out of your skin. “Sorry.”

“Hi, Dean,” you said. “S’alright. I got your note.”

“It was a simple fix,” he said. “I actually am looking for my work gloves. I either left them at your place or the Jones’ but I didn’t find them over there.”

“Are they black?” you asked.

“Yeah. You find them?” he asked. 

“Maybe they’re near my new plant,” you said, nodding your head. He looked over and they were on the grass beside it.

“Ah. That’s what I get for taking calls while working,” he said. He grabbed them and started to leave, pausing at the driveway. “Hey, Y/N.”

“Yeah?”

“You single?”

“Why?”

“Cause if you’re dating someone, I don’t think my odds of getting a date will go very far,” he said as he spun around. You smiled and leaned against the porch post. “Single?”

“Why would you want to date me? I was very rude to you once.”

“You were pissed about throwing money away for no good reason. Trust me, I got plenty of emails that day. You’re the only one that apologized. Plus you may have once told the grumpy guy in the cafeteria to go do a job that makes him happy.”

“You knew who I was when I emailed you, didn’t you.”

“Yeah. I looked you up at work. You were nice back then. You always offer my crew cold water if you’re home. I just like you,” he said.

“Pick me up at seven,” you said as you spun around. “You decide what we’re doing.”

“Alright,” he said. “I wouldn’t advise a dress and heels.”

“Now I’m intrigued. I’ll see you later then, Dean.”

“Yes you will, sweetheart.”

“Hi,” said Dean when you opened your front door just before seven. You laughed when he held out a packet of flower seeds. “They’ll go great in a planter on the porch.”

“Thanks,” you said. You put the packet inside and locked up, following him to his car. “So what are we doing?”

“I figured we could do something and grab a bite after if that’s okay?” he asked.

“Sure,” you said. “Were you thinking of a movie?”

“Hopefully it’s more fun than a movie,” he said. “Trust me.”

“Okay, that is the most fun I’ve ever had on a first date,” you said, Dean chuckling as you both turned in your helmets. “I did not even know there was go-karting in this town. Like really nice go-karting too.”

“We could come back sometime,” he said. “I don’t know about you but I’m starving.”

“Same,” you said. 

“Well follow me then,” he said, walking past his car in the parking lot and headed for the street. He took your hand and you walked across over to a diner, Dean walking the two of you inside and to a booth by the corner.

Twelve minutes later you had a double bacon cheeseburger with jalapenos in front of you along with a basket of fries and onion rings. You dug in, Dean smiling to himself as he enjoyed his own burger.

“Too much?” you said.

“Save room for dessert. They have out of this world sundaes,” he said.

“If it’s as good as this burger, I’m sold,” you said. “So what made you want to have a landscaping business?”

“I get to be outside, do some hard work but some mental work too. We’re doing pretty good for our first year,” he said. “I didn’t like my old job very much.”

“It sounds like this one is working out for you.”

“It is. Probably would have taken me longer to ask you out if I hadn’t sort of known you already but I don’t mind,” he said, taking one of your fries.

“You flirt with all your customers or just me?”

“Just you,” he said. “How’s it working out so far?”

“Pretty good. Want to go catch the music fest downtown after our meal? Main act comes on at nine,” you said. “Unless you’re not into rock.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You and me are gonna get along just fine.”

_____

[damselofblueroses]

Bambi, Prologue

You are my Bambi, girl, I am your candy, tell me what are you waiting for?

Summary: As an archaeologist who works on the Ancient Greece, you were on the verge of excavations' session. While you have been preparing your team, you learned that your institute decided on your team has to work with another team as they wanted the outcome as a collaboration. The head of other team was your biggest rival, a scumbag in your eyes: Byun Baekhyun.

You two were supposed to work together for three months, in a Greek Island, Chios.

Could you manage to not kill Byun Baekhyun for three months?

Content: AU, heavily Greek mythology, enemies to friends.

Warnings: Well, the story contains NSFW/Smut, please minors do not continue.

Note: This story will be four or five chapters if I will not change my mind in the meantime. It is inspired by my major; however, I do not have a complete knowledge on archaeology, I am a historian. If I will make a technical mistake, please let me know. I am willing to receive any kind of feedback; you are more than welcomed to drop a message.

Prologue

The Mid of April, Sejong Institute, the Department of Archaeology

“Could you give me Bulfinch?” you asked to your teammate. “I have to check the layers of the Underworld.”

“Here you go.” Junmyeon gave the thick book to you. While you were searching for the details in your mind, Junmyeon was dealing with the plan of construction.

You have been knowing each other since the last 10 years, working together was nothing but natural as breathing for both of you. Junmyeon was older than you and supposed to be superior to you, however he decided to pursue a career not in the field, but in the library, you became the leader of the archaeological team of Sejong Institute.

“Indy,” Junmyeon called you by your nickname. You automatically lifted your head, your nickname became your Pavlovian weakness, sometimes you forgot your real name. “Be a good girl and pass me the cookie jar.”

You wholeheartedly laughed at his face expression and threw him his favourite chocolate cookie.

“Do you want a cup of coffee?” you asked, stretching your body. “My battery is literally going down; let’s grab an americano.”

“Only if you buy me a carrot cake.”

Junmyeon had a sweet tooth, as he opened the package and swallowed the cookie just without even chewing.

“Okey, big boy.” you smacked his shoulder, standing up. “You are goddamn lucky for having that fast metabolism, you know.”

“My darling girl, I work out in a fucking routine.” he grinned like a 5-year-old boy. You really loved to see his cockiness. “My body ratio is not a heavenly gift; I gain every muscle with tears and blood.”

“What kind of god can reward you, shitty dandy?” you chuckled. “You are a walking blasphemy.”

“Still better than you.” Junmyeon pulled your hair by laughing.

“You are definitely right.” you lolled your tongue out of your mouth. “Come on, move your bloody but peachy butt!”

Actually, you were shy, quiet but quick to make sharp remarks. However, Junmyeon was more than a teammate; he was the closest one to a brother for you, you have been always so relaxed when you were with him. The outcome of your friendship was the freedom of speech, you could be vocal as much as you wanted. Junmyeon was never offended by anything you would say, the same applied also to you. You were his dear sister, your families became friends because of you.

You could not imagine your life without Junmyeon.

“What do you think about the digging session?” you asked to him when you were waiting in the line. Junmyeon was trying to select his dessert, carrot cake was already forgotten.

“Well, you will be the team leader, that is sure thing.” he huffed. “Most probably they will ask you who do you want in your team, and you will not name me if you want to live.”

“You are the last one who I am going to choose when it comes to work in the trenches.” you smirked. “Who wants a cry baby in the field?”

“Oh.” Junmyeon turned you, shooting a dirty look, which only led you to bite your upper lip in order to prevent bursting into laughs. “You need a brain; those muscular tough babies cannot figure even how to use tools out.

“But they do not run away when they see a bug.” you could not help but start to laugh. “Do you r-

“Shut the fuck up.” Junmyeon covered your mouth with his hand. “You are banned to talk about that incident from now on. Ever.”

“But,” you took his hands off you, tears forming in the edges of your eyes due to the memory you remembered. Junmyeon gave you a deadly stare, but you could not help. “You were running over the hill because you came across to a spider in your trench. Didn’t you give up on becoming Indiana in our first digging session?”

“No, I preferred to protect my own dignity.” he shook his head, then he also burst into laughs. “Jesus, I hate spiders and one Indy is enough for the family.”

“At least you learned that X never marks the spot before quitting.” you murmured, then pointed what you want to him. “Blueberry muffin, Jun. It looks yummy.”

“At least you learned that rolling in the dirt is not for the people who has a class.” Junmyeon ordered two americanos, one blueberry muffin and one red velvet cake. “Jokes aside, there are some gossips. Did you hear any of them?”

“Damnit, yes.” you exhaled and pinched the bridge of your nose. “The Executive Board is thinking to build a collaboration between us and Sunkyungwan people.”

“Yeah.” Junmyeon sat down on a chair, helped you to settle yourself. “And if they do, you know who is going to be the other team leader, right?”

“Do not tell me.” you covered your ears with your hands. You knew, you already heard the possible name, however even the possibility was giving you nothing but headache. “That’s why I asked your opinion. If that bastard will be my fucking colleague for Chios, I think I will pass this session”

“Hell, over my dead body.” Junmyeon aggressively grasped his little fork. “I know how much you guys despise each other, but this is your fucking career. Do not even dare to think you can turn your back to an opportunity.”

“But, Ju-

“No.” he was firm as fuck. “If they will give you the excavation of Chios, you will be fucking happy and you will accept their fucking propose. Chios will be the icing of the cake for you, you always want to lead an excavation in the Aegean.”

“You are right.” you knew when the occasion called to not push Junmyeon’s limits. Career came first, the rest is not important was his mentality. “You are right, but I really do not draw myself working with him.”

“Ignore him. You do not have to see him every day, ditch him in the field, goddamn.” Jun chewed a mouthful bite of his cake. “I do not want you to be facing with the Board, standing for no ground. If they will manage to build the connection, Sunkyungwan will appoint Byun Baekhyun as the leader for sure.”

You did not answer his god-fucking-damn-it prediction, but even thinking about it made you want to puke.

You vividly remember Byun Baekhyun, a fucking tease, and a smartass, from your bachelor years. You were not the type of people who could easily hate someone, but you hated Byun Baekhyun since the first day you met. He was a cockhead and dandy, he was a real scumbag, always so full of himself, underestimating everyone and their abilities, thinking he was the star of the universe. To your dismay, both of you were accepted from same university for your master and you had to endure his presence till he accepted the offer of Sunkyungwan.

You never tell this to Junmyeon, hell, he would not spend even a second to kill you if he would learn this, but you turned the offer of Sunkyungwan just because of Byun Baekhyun’s acceptance.

You hated him to the bits.

And you really did not know what the heck you were going to do if Sejong’s Executive Board was going to approve the collaboration. You looked at Junmyeon, he certainly was not going to let you to turn the offer down, and this time you could not hide the fact from him.

You grunted inside of your brain.

The Beginning of May, Sunkyungwan, the Department of Archaeology

Byun Baekhyun was happy.

More than happy till now.

He just stormed into his room, trying to register the news.

You? Were you really going to be his fucking colleague for fucking three months?!

He remembered you very well, and he was %100 sure of there was no person in this universe, he despised more than you. He even could not endure to share same atmosphere with you. He always wanted to fuck your attitudes out of you since he met you.

And was he really going to see your fucking face for three months, in an island?!

It had to be a bloody joke. A bloody plot on Baekhyun.

“I said,” he screamed when he heard his door was opened. “I do not want to see anyone!”

“Even an old friend?” a kind voice asked, Baekhyun immediately turned to the door.

Junmyeon was there, smiling to him. Baekhyun was startled, he was definitely caught off guard.

“Hyung?” he murmured. “Junmyeon Hyung?”

“Yeah.” Junmyeon’s smile widened. “May I come or not?”

“JUNMYEON HYUNG!” Baekhyun forgot you for a second and threw himself onto Junmyeon. He loved Junmyeon very much, enough to forgive his close relationship with you. “Welcome!”

Junmyeon smiled and hugged to Baekhyun but averted his eyes from him.

There was a plan in Junmyeon’s mind since years, and he had the chance of making it true after the news of collaboration. He averted his eyes also from you because he did not want anyone to understand his real intentions about you and Baekhyun.

Junmyeon smiled to Baekhyun.

[leatafandom]

"Wow, it smells great in here," Dean called, sticking his head into the kitchen where Gabriel was in the process of making caramel on the bunker’s stove. Dean cast a glance at his brother as Sam held a cup of warmed cider in his hands, leaning against the stainless steel work table. "I'm hittin' the shower and then I'll be back for pie," Dean said, poking a dirt-covered finger at the oven and Gabriel. He’d had enough of Gabriel’s cooking to know the archangel’s food was always good, especially his desserts. Gabriel didn't look away from the bubbling pot as he smiled. "It'll be a while, anywho Dean-a-roo." Gabriel's wrist didn't stop feeling his brother pause beside Dean in the doorway. "And you're trying an apple, Cassie. You and the kid." Castiel huffed, rolling his eyes even though he nodded at his brother's insistence on teaching him how to enjoy human food. Dean chuckled, patting Castiel on the arm. Sam smirked behind his mug, chuckling into his warmed drink. "Sorry, he won't be budged, Cas," Sam said over the rim of his mug with a less than apologetic shrug. "You'll like them, and Jack has to try both kinds of the apples." Dean agreed, looking from his partner to Gabriel. "Candied and caramel, right?" Dean asked, looking at Gabriel's back. Gabriel nodded, smirking over his shoulder. "Like I could just make one kind of apple on a stick," Gabriel scoffed with a raised eyebrow. Dean raised his hands in defense. "My apologies, great archangel of baking." Gabriel chuckled at Dean's words, turning back to the stove as Dean turned to Castiel.  "Shower?" Castiel glanced down at his dirt and blood-covered clothing and hands. "What do you think, Dean?" Castiel questioned with a raised brow. Dean rolled his eyes with a smirk. "Come on, cranky," Dean said, shaking his head as he led Castiel to their room. "How can you be unhappy when we come home from a good ol' fashioned ghoul hunt to pie and caramel apples the day before Halloween?" Castiel sighed with a slight roll of his eyes, following Dean down the hall. "I'm very happy with our Halloween Eve desserts and my brother’s unexpected visit, Dean. Why would you think I wouldn't enjoy chasing dead things and you around a graveyard instead of going to an orchard?" Dean's groan echoed down the hallway making the couple in the kitchen laugh. Sam chuckled at the two as they continued down the hall, listening to Dean dig himself deeper. Gabriel smirked, tilting his head towards Sam.

Preview from Part Three of Seasonal Healing: Baking in the Bunker, coming Thursday to my Ao3.  

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

In pais

This is dark!prince!Loki x reader and explicit. 18+ only. It include noncon and other dark elements. Curate your consumption accordingly.

Summary: A prince visits your father’s inn.

Note: first of all, let’s make it clear that @lokislastlove​ is always responsible for Loki drivel. Secondly, I am here and there with writing, I’ve pretty much decided to write when I want to and what I want to. I’m going to stop holding myself to ridiculous schedules and deadlines that aren’t real. My anxiety is wild y’all.

Also, unofficially in my head and heart, considering this like a sister fic to  Droit du seigneur.

I hope y’all enjoy!

Let me know what you think! (Like, reblog, reply, leave some words, a gif, nonsensical emojis)

You shouldered your way out of the small barn. You were careful not to slosh the milk over the side of the bucket as you rounded the inn. The top would be skimmed and cream could be served for dessert, although your father’s tavern was not very busy that day. It was never bustling, merely a stop for most on a much longer road. Few stayed the night, usually opting for an ale and a meal before leaving.

Hooves pounded the dust and you stopped to watch the party of men on their galloping horses. You feared they would trample the fence as they neared and you backed up against the front of the inn, just feet away from the front door. Dirt powdered the air and the horse slowed before the fence that closed in the livestock.

A lithe man swung off a dark stallion, his own hair a similar shade of black that hung down his shoulders. His green cape swished around him and the other men dismounted with less grace. One of them approached; noblemen by the velvet of their capes and the silver on their belts.

“Rooms for the night,” He jangled a purse as his wavy orange hair fell forward over his brow. “And as much wine as you have.”

“We’ve more ale than wine,” You returned as you shifted the weight of the pail.

“Either will do,” The taller man with the black hair strode forward and slapped his gloves against his palm. His lip curled as he peered up at the inn. “I suppose we’ll have to take what we can get here.”

You looked between them and the other men traipsed behind as they chattered noisily. The black-haired noble looked down at you sharply.

“Well, little mouse, take your milk and prepare our quarters,” He nodded to the other man who waved the purse in your direction. “Or do you only tend to the animals?”

“My lord,” You cradled the bucket with one arm and snatched the purse. “All will be arranged. I will inform the inkeep of your arrival.”

“I suppose venison would be out of the question,” He ventured.

“Rabbit or hen.” You countered. “My lord.”

“Your highness, actually,” He corrected. “Prince, if you must.”

You squeezed the purse and nodded as your brows twitched. “Your highness.” You repeated and bowed as well as you could with your armful. “If you follow me, might take a left after we enter and seat yourself in the common room.”

You spun on your heel and continued your path to the front door. You pushed through with your hip and called to Celeste. “Party of five. Is there any wine left?”

“We’ve a cask from Mirraine,” She said. “Bitter red.”

“Fetch that and a barrel of ale,” You passed the front counter where she sat and wove thread around a frame. “And show these lords to the tables. I’ll tell Giles to hurry.”

“And your father?” She asked.

“He’s your husband.” You shrugged. “I thought he was still abed.”

“I wouldn’t blame him for hiding there for your nagging,” She stood. “He is in the kitchen.”

You stopped as she neared the end of the counter and lowered your voice. “Save that sharp tongue for me, stepmother. A prince will not be so tolerant.”

“Prince?” Her lashes fluttered and she smoothed her apron. “Perhaps you should bide your own warning.”

She brushed past you and you continued down the hallway between the counter and the stairs that led to the mostly vacant rooms. You swung the door open with your foot and passed through to plop the pail on the table within. Giles yawned as he sat on a stool and stared at the fire stove. Your father swirled a stein and watched the foam thin.

“We’ve customers. Rooms and dinner, expected.” You announced. “Noblemen… and a prince.”

Your father’s stein slammed on the table. He blanched and Giles gave another disinterested yawn.

“What’s on the spit today?” Your father hissed at the cook.

“Rabbit?” Giles frowned. “I think.”

“Aye, you fool,” Your father smacked the back of his head. “A prince you said?”

“Yes. Black hair. I suppose it is the younger.” You answered.

“Loki,” Your father coughed. “Shit.”

“You know a prince, father?” You challenged.

“Know of him,” Your father said. “Don’t be a mare, daughter.”

“There should be enough cream for a dessert.” You offered. “We’ve flour. A pastry could be devised.”

“Where is your mother?”

“Your wife? Why she’s entertaining the prince and his men.” You scoffed. “Think I saw her pinch her cheeks to try to get some colour back in her jowls.”

“Don’t be so crass. Go, send her to bake the dessert then and take some cups for our guests.” Your father spat. “And smile. You look at the prince like that and he might march us all to the scaffold.”

“Don’t be so ridiculous,” You grabbed a tray and loaded it with empty steins and a few goblets. “If anything, it will be Celeste who has us whipped.”

Your father snorted darkly and you turned with your fare. You pushed through the door once more and made your way to the front room where the men sat around one of the round tables. You neared as your stepmother giggled, a piglike noise, and you stopped beside her.

“Father would have you prepare dessert,” You said to Celeste as you neared. “Did you send for the kegs?”

“The stable boy had run to fetch them,” She sneered. “You might have rolled the dough yourself.”

“I might have,” You tilted your head. “But I do as my father bids me. As you vowed to do, did you not?”

She huffed and left you. Godwin appeared with a dark cask in hand and lugged it to a table. He wiped his forehead, his lanky arms trembling. “I’ll have the ale shortly, miss,” He panted. “And a tap.”

“Thank you, Godwin,” You said and you didn’t miss his lingering gaze. 

He’d been sweet on you for years, even after you’d rebuffed him at the harvest feast last season. You placed your tray behind the cask and waited. Godwin returned, breathless and beet red as he dragged the barrel. You helped him lift it beside the cask and took the tap from him.

“Go see to the horses.” You said. “Find a brush if you can.”

You watched him go and crossed back to the table of nobles. “I’ve enough wine for you each to have at least a cup and more than enough ale to go around. So what shall I fetch you, my lords? And your highness?” You bowed your head at Prince Loki.

“Wine,” The prince spoke first.

Only one other requested wine and you went about your duty. You served Loki first and then his men. They grew louder as you left them to their drinking and you went through to the kitchen to check in on your measly staff.

“Don’t serve them the heels, you dolt,” Your father snarled at Giles. “And trim the mold off the cheese.”

“Ah, I see, only the finest for the royal prince.” You mused.

“Don’t,” Your father rounded the table. “Help your mother.”

“Your wife,” You insisted once more as you watched Celeste beat the dough.

The door swung behind you as your father left and you neared your stepmother. She seemed as angry at the dough as she usually was at you.

“Don’t you dare touch it,” She warned. “You’ll ruin it.”

“I’ll ruin it,” You rolled your eyes. “Sure.”

“A prince. Imagine it.” She went on as she folded the dough. “Here, of all places. Just hope your father doesn’t join them for a pint.”

“Ha, as if they’d have him.” You shook your head.

“You’re one to talk about being had,” Celeste hissed. “If we don’t find you a husband soon, I don’t even think the convent will take you.”

“You think my father is a prize, do you?”

The door swung and you turned as you father stomped through. “Aye, what they say has to be true. Sly little bugger. Tongue on him.” He adjusted his belt below his stomach. “Daughter.” He waved to the door. “Go keep the drink flowing. That prince did not think the wine so sweet from my hand.”

“The dessert--”

“Don’t be wise with me,” He warned. “The prince wants you serving his meal this evening. He paid me good coin for it, so go out and see if you can’t get more.”

You hid a scowl and sidled past your father. You wiped the irritation from your brow and returned to the common room. You neared the table and folded your hands over your apron.

“Your highness, my lords? Do you require another round?”

“Do you have water without scum?” The prince asked. “If not, I’ll take some of that milk you dragged in.”

“I’ll fetch you some milk, your highness,” You returned. “And you, sirs?”

“We can work a tap,” The one with orange hair said. “Or figure it out. Thank you, lady.”

“She sweeps the hay, Hugh, she’s not a lady.” The prince snickered. “Milkmaid, I await my second round.”

You did your best to smile, not your best skill, but you tried for fear you might growl. You returned to the kitchen and filled a cup with milk. You skimmed the top and swept back out before your stepmother could notice you. You went back to the prince’s table and set down the cup lightly.

“Your highness.” Another man had risen and bent at the barrel to fill his stein. “Your dinner will be out, shortly.”

“Mmm, I’ve not tasted rabbit since before Easter.” He said. “Always rather unappetizing but you peasants are resourceful.”

“Your highness.” 

You dipped your head and backed away. You stood by the wall and stared at the one opposite as the men’s voices garbled in your ears. You waited until you smelled the roasting meat and you marched to the kitchen. Giles divided the meat onto plates with sliced bread, chunks of cheese and slightly singed potatoes.

You took two and went to the front room to serve. You placed one before the prince first, he watched you with a smirk as he leaned back in his chair and you set the other down carefully. You made another two trips until the table was full and the men were chewing between their bawdy words.

Your father appeared shortly after and asked how the men liked the food. All but the prince kept chewing and grunted in delight. Loki however made a comment about the chewiness of the meat. He was likely right but this wasn’t exactly a royal castle. It was a roadside inn where most of the patrons patched their clothing and would settle for a stick of salted meat and moldy bread.

When their plates were empty, you cleared them and dumped them in the basin in the kitchen. Celeste fretted over whipping the cream as her pastries cooled. She dolloped the cream onto them and acknowledged you with a snort.

“That prince is handsome but a right arse.” She muttered. “Your father said he didn’t like the rabbit. I mixed the seasoning myself.”

“Mm,” You took two plates and turned away. “Well you don’t have to tend to him.”

“If I was your age, he might just like that,” She snipped. “If you didn’t look like you were chewing on salt, he might give you a second glance.”

You didn’t respond and carried on. You delivered the six dishes in several trips and refilled a few steins as the men dug in. The barrel was close to empty, the cask too. They’d made quick work of your father’s meagre fare.

The prince beckoned you over, as he had many times, two fingers flicking you over as your father hovered in the next room by the counter. You went to him and lowered your chin as you recited a “your highness.”

“I would hope to retire soon. A bath should be drawn as well.” He bid.

“Certainly, I’ll have Godwin--”

“You,” He pointed at you with a long finger. “You’re a strong girl, you can handle it yourself.”

“With all due respect, your highness, I think it more appropriate--”

“I think I gave you an order,” He stood and reached to his belt and dug around in his purse. “And it would not go unrewarded. Good service never does.” He flipped the coin then held it out to you. You glared at it.

“Your highness,” Your father approached. “Is there an issue?”

“Not at all, I was only requesting that your daughter draw my bath for the evening.” He smirked. “I did offer her compensation for the task.”

“And she will tend to that immediately,” You father took the coin and your hand and pressed them together. “Right, daughter? You might get the water boiling.”

“Yes, father.” You bit down. “Your highness.”

You drew your hand away and bowed your head. You backed away and quickly skirted off to the kitchen. You snapped at Giles to grab the big pot and send Godwin for water. Celeste grinned up at you as she bit into one of the pastries.

“He is demanding, isn’t he? I’m almost ready to see my own bed for the night since my duties are all done.” She taunted.

“You might do better there. Out of the way of those who actually work.” You jibed.

She flinched and blew cream at you angrily. You kept clear of the mess and Godwin returned with the big pot of water. It was hung in the large fireplace and you waited listlessly for it to boil.

You lugged the first pot up and dumped it into the long tub in the chambers set out for the prince. You descended and repeated the process; another pot up the stairs, steaming up your arms. 

The door was closed that time and you knocked with your toe. The prince opened it, his leather vest half unbuttoned.

“Ah, I did think there would be more to it,” He sneered.

“Your highness.” You said.

He backed up to let you through and you poured the pot into the tub, careful not to splash yourself with the water. He let you back out and your third pot was soon shaking over the flames. When you returned to him again, his vest was gone and his tunic hung low on his chest.

The fourth, and his belt was gone, his tunic too, and his undershirt was all that covered his torso. The fifth, his boots gone, socks too. The sixth, leggings slung over the single chair and he stood in only his undershirt. It hung to his thigh and you feared it might shift a little too much.

“Would you like some cold water to ease the heat, your highness?” You asked as you turned back to the door. 

He was quick, his long legs carried him to the door before you could reach it. He caught the wood and blocked you from the hall.

“I like it hot.” He said. “You can set the pot down and tend to my bath.”

“I have, your highness.” You insisted.

“You’ve filled it, yes,” His brow slanted. “But since I’ve traveled without my attendant, I haven’t anyone to scrub me clean and your inn has done little to cleanse me of the filth of the road.”

“You paid me to bring you water--”

“I paid you a pretty coin for that then,” He interjected, “And I paid your father enough that he told me you are free of your other tasks for the night. You will see to me.” He pushed the door closed. “I know you’ve likely never met a prince before, most certainly haven’t. There’s only two of us.” He loomed over you. “But I trust you know a prince’s word is as good as law.”

He pushed himself away and spun away from you. Your eyes flew up as he grabbed his undershirt and ripped it up over his head. The fabric fluttered to the floor and you clutched the handle of the pot. Your father would sell you like some cattle; you were only surprised he’d waited for a prince to do so.

“Well, put that pot down and grab a sponge. I will soak a while first but I expect you to be prepared. Diligent.” He hummed as he leaned back in the hot water. “I know you are only used to common merchants.”

You were silent. You placed the pot on the floor but stayed by the door. You slowly moved along the wall and went to the pail in the corner of the room next to the low table. You bent and took the sponge from within and the spouted wooden cup. You lingered in the corner and dreaded the moment he would call to you.

“I must admit, I know little of your...bearing. I do tend to avoid the unwashed masses.” The water moved as he spoke. “I mean, your ilk don’t bathe very much, do they?”

“Every Sunday after chapel.” You said evenly. “We gather at the river.”

“We? All of you? Like beasts.” He laughed.

“The women. Children, too. The men bathe during the week.” You explained. “But I suppose a prince might wash more often.”

“I do find the hot water as calming as it is cleansing,” He replied. “Why, it is Thursday. You worked hard today. Another few days is long to wait.”

You squeezed the sponge and pressed it to the cup.

“A prince must be generous,” He began slyly. “So for this day my act of royal charity is to share with you, a common girl, my bath.”

“Your highness, I don’t think--”

“I did not ask and it is unseemly to deny a prince his favour.” He rebuked. “So you get over here and you wash yourself.” He looked over his shoulder dangerously. “I would rather you clean.”

You crossed the room and kept your back to the prince as you passed and stood at the other end of the tub. You placed the cup by the tub and tucked the sponge inside. You straightened and untied your apron. You moved to put it on the seat of the chair. Then you unlaced the collar of your dress and paused. You took a breath before you pulled it over your head.

You bent to loosen your boots. Your stockings were as reluctantly shed. You rose, left with only your shift. The water swirled noisily. Your father had never been much of one. He worked you morning to night, he never thanked you for a deed you did, and he barely noticed your presence unless it served his needs. You weren’t surprised, nor disappointed, you were only annoyed at the circumstance.

You drew your shift up your legs and bunched it in your hands. You tore it off in a final swoop of resignation. You stood, your chest rising and falling, as you stared at the far wall. You gritted your teeth and forced down the nerves.

“Well, that was… dramatic,” He remarked. “But really, the water is bound to cool before you touch it.”

You spun around and marched to the tub. You reached to the brim but refused to look at the water or him. You lifted a leg over the edge and he let out a hum. You lowered your other leg into the steaming water as he sat up.

“Go on,” He said. “Clean yourself. I can smell the sty on you.”

You bent over the side and grabbed the sponge from cup. You focused on wetting it and scrubbing at your skin. You stretched out your arms, lifted one leg then the other, and rubbed your chest raw. Your eyes clung to the ceiling. The water shifted and the shadows around you did too.

He stood and grabbed your hand. He guided it to his chest and kept the sponge moving in circles. You looked at his face as he smirked at you. His other hand tickled your side. He let go of you and you kept going; across his shoulders, his neck, his arms, his chest, his stomach. 

He caught your wrist and squeezed until you dropped the sponge. He pushed your palm to his member; it was hard as he slid his hand around yours and bent your fingers. His touch danced up your back and settled behind your neck as he pulled you close.

“I know you’ve never touched a prince like this before,” He said. “But what about another man? Hmm?”

You gulped as you looked him in the eyes. You shook your head defiantly. He moved your hand up then back down. His cheek twitched and he let out a thick breath. He kept your hand moving along his member as his grip tightened on your neck. He leaned in until his lips almost met yours.

“I’ve never had a woman, princesses, duchesses, ladies, queens, even, look at my the way you do,” He snarled. “And it has me mad.”

“I don’t know what you mean--”

“You despise me. You don’t even know me,” His lips brushed yours. “But you know I am a prince, I am your superior, and you curl your lip at me.”

“I don’t--”

He pressed his lips to yours and kissed you hungrily as the steam floated around your bodies. He kept your grasp firm on him as he carried the motion steadily. He groaned into your mouth and suddenly let go. He held your head with both hands as if to devour you. You stumbled in the tub, held up only by his unbreakable grip.

He parted as his long fingers framed your jaw. His green eyes burned into yours as you gaped at him. He kissed you again, this time nibbling your lip as he drew away. He snarled as he did and his hand slipped down your shoulders and lingered on your chest. He pinched one nipple then the other and his fingers crawled lower.

His other hand settled on your throat as his finger poked between your legs. You squeezed your thighs together and he gave a growl. It was a warning. He slid along your folds and teased your sensitive bud. You gasped as he was close to choking you entirely.

He prodded along your entrance and delved inside. You nearly bit your tongue as you closed your mouth and grabbed his arm to keep from slipping. Your eyes rounded as he grinned. He moved his hand slowly as you felt a ripple along your thighs.

“Inexperienced but not innocent,” He purred. “Darling, you feel wonderful.”

You clawed at his bicep as he rocked his hand against you, your body shaking in tandem. You wanted to hate it. You had to hate it and yet it felt so good.

“Turn around,” He commanded as he ripped his hand from between your legs. “Now.”

He released you entirely and you stumbled back and caught yourself on the side of the sub. He stroked himself as he watched you and spun his finger in the air. You turned, slowly. You leaned heavily on the side of the tub as your legs felt likely jelly and your core pulsed hungrily. You wanted more and yet you wanted to run away.

He slapped your ass. Hard. Your knees buckled. He gripped your hips and steadied you. He stepped closer and rubbed his member against your ass. His hand ran along your flesh and he guided his tip down. He reached your entrance and inhaled suddenly. He held himself there, barely touching you as his fingers curled into your hip.

“It’ll hurt. At first.” He rasped. “But that only makes the pleasure…” He slid past your entrance slowly and you stretched around him. You squeaked in shock. “...greater.”

The deeper he got, the harder it was to measure your voice. He was right about the pain. More, more, more; you feared it wouldn’t stop. When he did, when he reached his limit, you were bent over, hands on the side of the tub, bracing yourself as you were afraid your legs would collapse.

He pulled back and slammed into you again. You cried out, loudly, and clapped your hand over your mouth. He chuckled and did it again. His wet flesh reverberated against yours. He did it, again, again, again. Each time he paused and basked in the sound; basked in your murmurs as you struggled not to scream.

“You are tight, darling,” He groaned. 

You quivered and held onto the tub as your body was jolted by his. He rutted into you quicker and quicker. He was insatiable and each time he thrust, his hunger seemed to deepen. His voice turned animalistic and his fingers got firmer around your hips. The water splashed around your legs and added to the medley of lurid sounds.

You arched your back as the waves swelled within you and you felt them cresting, ready to crash. You hissed through gritted teeth and your voice cracked as you exclaimed. The feeling was overwhelming, the sensation stifling as it filled your veins. Your eyes rolled back and you hung your head as your walls pulsed around his member.

“Ah, darling, I feel you,” His hands slipped up to your waist and he pulled you back against you as he rammed into even harder. “That’s it… bend for your prince.”

He grunted as he bent over you and hooked his arm around your stomach. He stood and drew you up with him. You were on your toes as he jerked into you violently, his other hand on your chest as he pressed his cheek to yours. His voice swirled in your head and added to the heat in your core.

“That’s it, that’s it…” He chanted as his flesh slapped against yours.

You clawed at his thigh as he hammered into you and finally he slowed with a surprised cry. His hips spasmed and you felt a sudden swell of warmth inside of you. You trembled as he slowed and stilled your body. You were breathless but buoyant. You’d never felt so light yet heavy at the same time. He was the only strength left to you as he held you up.

“Well, look at you,” He tickled your stomach with his fingers. “Dirty, all over again.”

[pixxiesdust]

Favored by Fate • Dabi

Summary • Your boss has a business meeting at the annual fall festival, and you’re lucky that he’s given you the night off to explore on your own. Running into a masked stranger was not part of your plans for the evening, but it turns out the two of you share a common goal, and you can work together to reach it. Maybe fate is on your side.

Pairing • Dragon!Dabi (Todoroki Touya) x Water Sprite!Reader

Word Count • 8.7k

Tags and Warnings • Suggestive situations and dialogue, modern fantasy au, talk about murder, kissing, swearing, Dabi is Todoroki Touya, Todoroki Enji is not a good person in this fic.

Note • This is my part of the Attack on Academia’s Fall Festival collab! I had a lot of fun writing this, especially during sprints with wonderful friends haha. If you like this fic, please consider checking out the other Fall Festival fics written by members of AoA! If you’d like to join our server, feel free to join through the invite link on this post. New members are always welcome! Finally, I’d like to thank the wonderful @wakaoujisenhime and @prismaroyal​ for betaing this fic for me!

–

This annual fall festival is the largest one on the continent, so it’s no wonder that thousands of creatures congregate under the light of the full moon to celebrate the peak of the fall season.

High elves peruse the high-end stalls with ridiculously priced wares that suit their more expensive tastes. They try out weapons embedded with precious stones, made of the strongest metal alloys. Some buy the purest potion ingredients, sliding gold coins over the stall counter to the merchants, or swiping black credit cards across card readers.

A coven of witches stop by a candy stall on your right, pulling out their phones to record as the merchant—a fire wielder whose hands are glowing with red—drizzles melted caramel in elaborate swirls onto wooden skewers. As soon as the caramel leaves the metal bowl he cups his heated hands around, it starts to harden, turning from a light yellow to a darkened gold. The witches buy out the caramel swirl lollipops and continue on as they lick and crunch on the candy.

Elemental sprites try their hand at the game booths. Even though large signs are tacked to the booths that say “No Magic Allowed” in big, bold letters, you see an air sprite change the course of a ball as his friend throws it, so the ball hits the target. Then a crystal lights up red, and the centaur that runs the booth crosses his arms over his broad chest, large hooves stamping into the dirt. The air sprite sighs and lifts his palms up, before walking away and disappearing into the crowd.

The corners of your lips twitch, but you hold back the smile. You don’t want your boss to think that he’s the subject of your amusement—not when he’s Lord Todoroki Enji, the most powerful fire dragon in centuries, and you’re just you, a water sprite.

One fiery breath from him, and most water sprites will evaporate on the spot.

But you’re not like most water sprites.

“The stones,” Enji says, voice a demanding rumble. He towers over you. His human form towers over everyone, even the centaur by the game booths, and you have to crane your neck to look past the flaming red mask on his face to catch sight of his piercing blue eyes.

“Yes, sir.” You nod and open up the flask of water by your hip. With a wave of your hand, three glittering red stones are pushed to the surface of the water. You close your hand around them, a tingle running through you at the magical energy contained in these rubies.

Enji holds out a small pouch made of velvety black cloth, his large hands making the pouch seem even smaller. You drop the stones into the pouch, and he lights a flame on the tip of his finger and runs it across the wax on the inside of the opening. The wax melts, the flame dissipates, and he presses the opening of the pouch closed for the wax to harden on its own.

The pouch disappears, hidden somewhere on his red and black armor-clad body. He, like you and all the other creatures attending the festival, are dressed in the traditional attire of their own species.

“I have business to attend to. Do whatever you want, and meet me back at the entrance when the sun rises. But keep an ear open.”

He doesn’t have to finish his statement. You know he wants you to pay attention to any rumors, any unrest—anything that could disrupt his position of power.

So you nod again. “Understood, sir. I hope the deal will be made.”

The flames that burn at the edges of his mask flare, the only visible sign of his temper. “No need to hope. It will be made.”

As Enji strides away, the throng of people parting around him, a sympathetic expression slides onto your face. “Poor Yagi Toshinori,” you murmur into the air. “It’s not going to be pleasant for him when Enji is walking into this deal with some type of grudge.”

But you shrug and close the flask of water and let it hang from the belt around your waist. “At least I get the night off from being Enji’s assistant.” These types of days—or nights—are few and far between.

With the pleasant thought of getting to enjoy the festival all on your own, you smile to yourself and start walking, slipping into the crowd, your water sprite clothing a speck of bright blue among the rainbow of colors of the fall festival.

–

Your first stop is to one of the rows of food stalls. The air is filled with distinct scents; some sweet, others savory, but all make your mouth water and your stomach grumble.

You decide on something savory, first, so it’ll take the edge off your hunger so you can explore the rest of the festival. A stall that sells steamed buns catches your eye—and the scent that wafts from it entices your stomach. The two dwarves that run the stall are sisters, from the look of it, both with round cheeks and full lips, each wearing masks with vines embroidered on them. They bicker quietly among themselves until they see you approach.

“Here for the best meat buns in the festival?” asks the one on the right, dressed in soft browns.

“Or are you here for the best vegetable buns in the festival?” This comes from the one on the left, her traditional clothes in earthy greens. She shoots her sister a glare while waiting for your answer.

You look from one to the other, then purse your lips as you look at the wooden baskets that contain the steamed buns. It smells heavenly, and the buns aren’t too large, so you say, “I’ll have one of each, please. Who wouldn’t say no to trying the best meat and vegetable buns in the whole festival?”

That makes them smile, each pleased. As the sister in brown takes one of each bun out from the woven baskets, the other takes the two coins you hand her.

“Good choice, cunning fox,” the dwarf in green says.

You blink at her once, twice, until realization dawns. She means your mask. Although the designs are blue painted on white ceramic to match your traditional water sprite clothing, the opening for your eyes are distinctly fox-shaped, slanted and sharply cut at the corners. There are ears at the top of the mask, and a little snout over your nose, leaving your mouth uncovered.

“Ah,” you say lamely. Then add, “How am I able to choose when all of it smells so delectable?”

The dwarf grins, and her sister hands you your order wrapped with thin, brown paper. The heat from the buns sink into your hands immediately. It’s chilly out, and even though your traditional clothes are rather warm, your fingers still are cold.

“Thank you.” You dip your head to them before turning your back on the stall.

As you merge back into the crowd, the sisters wave at you and shout in unison, “Thank you for your patronage!”

–

The buns are long gone, devoured quickly as you wandered the food stalls. After getting a couple of other small snacks to eat, you leave this part of the festivals behind to explore the rest. Right now, you’re in a stall owned by a minotaur. One of your hands is wrapped around a cone of pixie sugar, a dessert made of thousands of spun sugar threads, wrapped like a fluffy cloud around a paper cone.

The other? It’s wrapped around the handle of a simple, streamlined dagger.

You stretch your arm out in a slow, smooth movement, testing the weight and feel of the blade. The minotaur, who is a blacksmith and made the dagger himself, watches on. A smirk graces his lips at the unexpected skill and familiarity you display.

“You like it?” he asks, his voice a deep rumble.

You nod. “The craftsmanship is wonderful; it’s very easy to handle. Sharp, too.”

“Can’t call it a dagger if it isn’t sharp.”

“How fire resistant, or, uh, heat resistant is it?”

This question makes the minotaur raise an eyebrow, but he answers it anyway. “Very. Fire sprites won’t be able to melt it with their flames. Even more powerful creatures can’t do it. The designs in the handles are runes, and they’ll keep the blade clean, sharp, and strong.”

“I see,” you say, pleased with his response.

“You plan on buying it?”

“Yes, but not right now. Will you hold on to it so I can purchase it later tonight?”

The minotaur eyes you for a moment, probably wondering if you’d stick to your word and return to buy the weapon. Then he nods, and you seem to pass his inspection. “Very well. I will keep this off the table so you can return to buy it.”

You smile at him in thanks and set the dagger back down on the table. “I’ll be back later, then.”

He waves a hand as he picks up the dagger, but you don’t see it as you’re already gone, pushing past the curtains that drape across the entrance to the stall.

The curtains fall behind you, and you step into the crowd, immediately slamming into a warm, hard body that makes you stumble back and trip over your own feet. Your arms flail out, trying to cushion your fall, but a hand reaches out to your own–

–and misses, closing around the cone of pixie sugar.

The sugar is crushed by the hand, compacted into nearly nothing. A tearing sound fills the air as the paper cone rips before your eyes, and you keep falling.

You hit the ground, hard. Your elbows smack against the packed dirt, pain shooting up to your shoulders, followed by numb tingling. At least your head didn’t make contact with the ground. Otherwise, you’ll probably spend the rest of the festival with a pulsing bump on the back of your head, and your hair would be coated with dust.

A groan escapes your lips as you sit up to shake out your arms. It doesn’t feel pleasant to have hit the nerves.

“Damn,” a rough, masculine voice says from above. “Took quite a hard spill there. Not as quick on your feet as an actual fox, huh?”

“Shut up,” you snap. “No one asked you. What the hell were you doing there, anyway?” You don’t look up, focusing on brushing the dirt off your blue sleeves.

There’s a hint of amusement in the voice as it responds. “I was walking, just like everyone else. You were the one who ran into me. I even tried to help you.”

“Yeah, and you missed, crushing my cone of pixie sugar instead!”

“I tried to help, and got thanked with a hand sticky because of sugar. Who’s worse off out of the two of us? Clearly, it’s me.”

Your mouth opens and shuts until your mind formulates the words you need to retort with. Pushing yourself to your feet indignantly, you brush off your pants too. “Clearly it’s you?” you mock, trying to imitate the way he delivered the sentence. “Listen here, you–”

You finally look at whoever you had the misfortune of running in to, and your mind stops working as you take him in.

His clothes are cut in the same way as traditional elemental sprite clothing is normally made, but the colors—black cloth that gives off a dark blue sheen under the light of hundreds of lanterns, and accented with bits of cyan—doesn’t match any of the four elements that normal sprites wear. They hang off his frame in such a way that his vest-like shirt shows off quite a bit of chest and arms. You notice scarred patches of skin, and staples that seem to hold the scars onto unblemished skin, but your eyes are more drawn to the dips and curves of his muscles.

You swallow, feeling a little warm despite the autumn chill.

Then your eyes move up his body until you see his dragon mask, and your breath catches in your throat.

His eyes.

They’re a beautiful, piercing blue, carrying the heat of the hottest flames as he stares at you. A shiver runs down your spine. Why do they somehow seem familiar? If you met someone like him before, you’d most certainly remember him, especially with the way he carries himself and the way his voice sounds when he speaks. He’s not one who can easily be forgotten.

“Listen here, what?” he asks, a smirk curling at his lips when your eyes flicker away, realizing that you’ve been caught staring. “C’mon, foxes aren’t known to be shy. What were you gonna say, doll?”

You have no response to give, so you just pout, drawing his attention to your lips—the only feature of your face that isn’t hidden by your fox mask. “Goodbye,” you say shortly. Then you cross your arms over your chest and turn your back to him, striding away to merge into the flow of the crowd.

Dabi stares after you for a moment, snickering. His eyes widen the slightest bit at the realization that you, a snarky, cross, quick-witted, pretty water sprite amuse him.

There are few things that amuse Dabi in life. If you’re one of them, he’s not letting you go that easily. So he hurries after you, quickly spotting you by the bright blue of your clothes. He has a mission tonight, a reason for being at the festival, but a bit of a detour won’t hurt.

He can always leave once you stop interesting him.

–

You thought walking away would be the end of that conversation, but a figure dressed in black falls in step beside you. You stop short, ignoring the grumbles of creatures that are disgruntled from your abrupt change in motion.

“What do you want?” you ask him.

Blue eyes gleam as he stretches out his right hand.

You look at it, then at him. “Congratulations, you have a hand. So?”

“A dirty hand,” he says, drawing out the words. “A dirty, sticky hand, thanks to your cone of sugar.”

“Ah yes, the pixie sugar that you destroyed!”

“Only to save you, doll.”

“To try and save me,” you correct. “What do you want me to do about it, hm?” You cross your arms over your chest and stand straight, staring him in the eyes. You seem to be doing that a lot around him, but something about his eyes just seems familiar–

“Clean it. What else? You’re a water sprite, aren’t you?”

“Yes, and you most definitely are not an elemental sprite.” You ignore the way his shoulders stiffen the slightest bit before he forces them to relax. “If I clean your hand, will you leave me alone so I can explore the festival?”

He only hums in response, but you open up your flask of water anyway. Even though he didn’t actually prevent you from hitting the ground, he at least tried, and it wouldn’t hurt to get the sugar off him.

You move your hand in an upward motion along the side of the flask, and water leaves the opening and gathers in a sphere in midair. Grabbing his dirty hand, you maneuver the water so it envelops the length of his hand, from the tips of his fingers to the base of his palm. He’s very warm, you notice absently. But you focus on swirling the water around his skin, picking up crystals of sugar until his hand is clean.

When that’s done, you withdraw the water, not leaving a single droplet behind. With another flick of your wrist, the water shoots through the air to an empty patch of dirt and sinks into the ground.

Dabi looks at his hand, swiveling his wrist. You must possess incredible skill to keep the water together, swirl it around him, and not leave any of it behind. His lips twitch. You only seem to get more and more interesting.

“Goodbye, then,” you say, and turn your back to him like you did the last time.

But as you take a step forward, his figure enters your peripheral vision. Another step, then two, three, and he’s still there.

You try to pretend that he doesn’t exist and look around at the stalls to see if there’s one you want to stop at, but his presence is impossible to ignore. Not when his body gives off a heat that you can feel through your clothes, not when his clothes are all black except for the cyan accents that only heighten the glow of his eyes.

Stopping at a stall that displays hundreds of beautifully packaged candies and small treats, you pick up a small, tin box of sweets that interest you. Pretending to look at the packaging, your eyes flicker to the side to catch him blatantly observing you with some sort of fascination.

“Okay,” you say, putting the tin back. “What do you want from me now? I thought you promised to leave me alone after I cleaned your hand.”

Dabi smirks at you and shakes his head. “I made no such promise. You really should pay more attention, little fox.”

You scowl at the nickname but focus on the more important topic. “You literally hummed when I asked if you’d be gone when I cleaned you up.”

“A hum, yes, but who said it was one of agreement?” He pauses, before adding, “It was one of contemplation—and then I decided to turn your offer down.”

You glare at him. With nothing more to say, you turn your back and leave again. This time, you don’t see him in your field of view.

Forcing a smile to your face, you look intently at the nearby stalls.

Somehow, it feels colder.

–

Dabi watches you go, noting the direction that you head in. He turns back around to the stall and picks up the tin of sweets you had looked at. He eyes the brightly colored label on the tin, then digs into a pocket to fish out a few coins. Sliding them across the counter to the witch that runs the stall, he steps back into the flow of people with the candy tin in his hand.

His long strides makes him easily catch up to you, staying back a bit to watch you look at a couple of stalls. When you pick one to stop at—a stall that sells spelled items, he notes—Dabi steps up and leans his weight against the counter, appearing in your field of view once again.

The figure dressed in blacks comes out of nowhere, but you’re not startled. Your eyes slide across to him, and you scoff to hide the flicker of happiness at the sight of him. “Miss me so soon?”

He snickers. “I should be the one to ask you that, doll. Hope being away from me didn’t hurt too much. I got held up by something I needed to get.” Without a warning, he tosses something at you.

You move quickly, hands flying up to your face, and you clap your palms together around the object. Glaring at him, you lower your hands, before focusing your attention on the metal tin in your palms. The label is bright and eye-catching, and you can’t stop your lips from curving up when you realize that it’s the tin of candies you were looking at before.

“See?” he says, pleased. “I’m not all bad.”

“No, you’re not,” you say softly. You look up at him, and the smile on your face combined with the softness of your eyes is nearly too much for Dabi to take.

You turn away from the stall and take a few steps forward. Then you look over your shoulder, at the not-an-elemental-sprite that leans against the stall. “Well?” you ask. “You coming or not?”

Dabi huffs out a quiet laugh, shaking his head slightly. You still somehow managed to surprise him. He pushes off the stall, tucking his hands into his pockets as he falls in step besides you. “Why the invite? Thought you were sick of me.”

You don’t answer his question, asking your own instead. “Why do you keep sticking around? Got nothing better to do?”

“I do have some business to do here,” he says, “but you interest me, little fox.” He reaches a hand toward you to flick at the ceramic fox ears of your mask. “And these days, very few things interest me.”

You don’t know how to respond, but finally settle with an awkward, “I see.”

The two of you walk on in silence for a bit, until he breaks it. “Are you gonna tell me why I get to accompany you? I would’ve thought that you’d walk away and never look back.”

“I just wouldn’t mind the company. It’s my first time being able to actually enjoy the fall festival. Usually my boss has a business meeting that I have to attend, but his meeting is actually at the festival this year. So I get to explore the festival, but it’s nice to do it with someone else too.” You pause, lips curling into a sly smile that tells Dabi you’re about to poke fun at him. “Even if it’s with a stranger who is dressed in elemental sprite clothing yet isn’t an elemental sprite at all.”

“Damn, you caught me,” he says, delivering the words in a flat drawl that makes you snicker. “What the hell am I supposed to do now?”

“I don’t know, scream? Run away in terror?”

He leans in toward you, lips by your ear. “Let me tell you a secret, doll. I don’t scream.” His breaths brush over your skin, making a shiver run up your spine. “But you certainly could.”

Your body suddenly feels a bit too warm, and you quickly turn to look at Dabi, putting his lips very close to your own face. “In your dreams,” you shoot back. You’re surprised that your voice comes out so steadily, when in reality, your skin buzzes and your stomach flips.

“Maybe,” he says, and straightens so there’s a bit of distance between the two of you once more. He moves on to a different topic. “What kind of a boss makes you work on the night of the fall festival? Who the hell has meetings at the fall festival?”

You snort. “Todoroki Enji, that’s who.”

If Dabi were anyone else, he might have flinched or his steps might have faltered. But he continues walking in time with you, and his voice is absent of the hate that runs through his veins when he asks, “You work for Endeavor?”

“Unfortunately.” Your voice is dry, and there’s no sign of affection for your boss.

Dabi feels a little relieved. Yet again, you’ve said something that surprises him, making his interest in you even stronger. “From all the things I know about the fucker, I’m not surprised you’re not the biggest fan of him. Why the hell do you work for him then?”

Your response is quick, even as your mind races and as pieces fall into place. “Money. He’s a dragon, so he’s had centuries to gather wealth. He pays well.”

Dabi definitely understands that. But that can’t be all. Not when it comes to you. “And?”

You look at him and hold his gaze, taking in his blue eyes as another piece falls into place. You sigh. “And there’s also a... personal reason.”

“Hm,” is all he says in response.

The conversation moves on to a different topic as you walk around this section of the festival, taking a closer look at stalls that catch your attention. You stop at a food stall and buy Dabi a skewer of juicy, fragrant grilled meat, glazed with a sweet and spicy sauce.

“For the candy tin,” you say, as you hold the skewer out to him.

His warm fingers brush against yours as he accepts it, letting out a “Not bad,” after he takes a bite.

You buy a little container of mochi for yourself to eat. Each one is made of sticky rice paste that envelopes various sweet fillings; red bean, strawberry, black sesame, and so on, the flavors a surprise until you bite through the flour-dusted outside.

Dabi finishes off his skewer of grilled meat and swipes a mochi from your container. He ignores your protest at his theft, and your following whine at the flour that falls off the mochi and dusts your sleeve. A snicker leaves him as he eats the mochi in two bites.

You look at him, glaring, and he pointedly keeps eye contact with you as he licks off the flour that dusts his lips. You quickly look away, and Dabi can’t help but feel a little pleased at the way your eyes had followed his tongue.

He pushes the feeling down, though. There’s now something that he wants from you, and he needs to get it from you.

No matter what.

–

Having finished your snacks, you lead the way to a trash bin at the edge of the festival. It’s a little dark, as the festival lanterns don’t stretch all the way out here, and the bin is nearly in the forest—nearby trees stretching up toward the moon.

Your mochi container clatters against the other pieces of trash in the bin as it hits the bottom. Dabi tosses his skewer in after.

You turn to look at him, tilting your head. He’s been a bit quiet over the past few minutes, not as much of a reaction to your teasing. There’s tension in the air that doesn’t sit quite right with you, but you keep your voice light as you push on. “Where shall we go next?”

Dabi’s arms hang loosely by his sides. He feels a finger twitch.

“Sorry, doll,” he starts off, voice equally light as yours. You think he’s going to say something along the lines of him not having a preference as to where you should go, but his next words come out dark, harsh, and angry. “You aren’t going to go anywhere. Tell me where the fuck Endeavor is.”

“W- wait, wha–”

His hands reach for you, clasping tightly around your wrists. They’re hot, but not painful, as he shoves you backward, making you stumble over your feet as he pushes you toward a tree. Two more steps, and you’ll be-

You regain your footing, and shove your shoulder into his chest, using his momentum against him.

In a mere second, you’ve reversed your positions. Though Dabi still holds onto your wrists, you’re the one moving him, pushing against him with all the force you have to slam him into the tree.

Rough bark digs into his back through the fabric of his clothes, and his head hits the trunk so hard that a steady throbbing starts up immediately. He groans and starts to move his head, but something cold pricks at his throat and he goes still.

One of your legs is pushed between his, your knee dangerously close to a vulnerable part of his anatomy. Though his hands are around your wrists, you have one arm pushing against his body to keep him against the tree. The other hand holds a lethal blade of ice—made from water that you pulled right out of the air.

“What the hell do you want with Todoroki Enji?” Your voice is flat. Cold, like the ice you hold to Dabi’s throat.

He lets go of your wrists and raises his hands slowly, showing you that he’s not moving to harm you. If it were any other person pinning him to a tree—which he’s still surprised as hell about—they’d be ashes a while ago, but Dabi is fond of you, he realizes. He enjoys your company, your quick retorts, the way he can make you flustered, and he knows that you aren’t completely enamored with Endeavor.

So his hands reach up to the dragon mask that covers his face. Before he moves any further, though, he speaks, answering your question in a confident drawl, voice deep and raspy with hate burning in his words. “I will fucking destroy Enji Todoroki.”

Your eyes grow wide, and the blade in your hand wavers, but Dabi doesn’t take advantage of the opportunity to break free. He has no reason to run from you.

Instead, he lifts off the black mask, pulling it off his head and letting his hands move back down to his sides. His eyes glow in the darkness, heated by inner flames. A smirk spreads across his lips, and he cocks his head to the side; you shift your ice blade to avoid cutting him.

“I’m the most wanted criminal, doll, the deadliest dragon. You must know me. I’m–”

“Todoroki Touya,” you breathe, at the same time that he finishes speaking.

“–Dabi.”

The words, the name that comes out of your mouth registers in Dabi’s mind. He jolts against you, and you push him back into the tree.

“You said Todoroki Touya,” Dabi growls, the words familiar but unused on his tongue. “How the fuck do you know that name?”

You scowl at him. “I’m the one with the knife here–” you pause to press the ice back against his throat, “–so I’m the one asking the questions. You just get to answer them.”

Dabi clicks his tongue, and sighs. “Should have known you wouldn’t make things easy, little fox. You’re quite cunning.”

The temperature rises around you, and the ice in your hand turns to water. You don’t have enough time to reform it into a blade before Dabi sweeps one leg at your own, knocking your feet out from under you.

For the second time at this festival, you find yourself hitting the ground, breath knocked out of your lungs—this time with a powerful fire dragon pinning you down.

Dabi has his hands around your wrists again, pushing them on the ground on either side of your head. His knees are by your hips, shins pressing down on your legs, caging you in and keeping you in place. You struggle against his grip, trying to wrench your arms free, but his hold is secure.

Realizing you’re not going to go anywhere, you finally still. “What the hell do you want?” you spit out, glaring into his eyes.

He tilts his head and a smirk spreads across his face as he uses your words from earlier against you. “I’m the one pinning you down, doll, so I get to ask the questions. You just worry about answering them, yeah?”

Dabi ignores your glare and your struggle against his grip on your wrists. “So tell me,” he says, voice turning from teasing to menacing, “what the hell do you know about Todoroki Touya?”

You hold his gaze for a long moment before huffing out a breath. If he really is who you think he is, he must only be asking this because he never expected anyone to make the connection. “I always thought it was strange, you know, that such a powerful dragon like Endeavor could have his son just disappear on him. The more I thought about it, the more it didn’t sit right with me. So I did some digging, asked questions, looked at old news articles from that time when you, Touya,” you say pointedly, “went missing.”

Dabi doesn’t confirm nor deny your accusation that he’s Touya, but his silence is confirmation enough.

You press on. “I read about the burns that Touya had. There were rumors that they’re caused by the strength of his flames—that his fire is too hot for his human body to contain. Even Endeavor’s flames never did that to him, so it isn’t a large stretch to think that Touya is more powerful than Endeavor is, even as a child.

“We all know if Endeavor feels that his power is threatened… he’ll eliminate the threat. Even if that threat is his son.”

Pausing, your eyes scan over Dabi’s face to try and read his emotions. His face just seems cold, hard, as if this is not news to him. But his eyes burn brightly under the shadows of the forest, heated from the fire he carries within.

“Go on,” he says, voice just as threatening as before. “If you know Endeavor is capable of such things, why the fuck do you work for him? No money can be enough to win you over after that realization, not unless you’re just a liar and don’t actually give a shit.”

“I did need a job at the time Endeavor was looking for a new secretary. But it’s more than that,” you add on hastily, when the hands around your wrists grow hot. “It’s not right that Endeavor gets to be this high and mighty Dragon Lord over so many of us creatures when he’s done such terrible things to his own son. But if everyone learns about it and tries to overthrow him, he’ll find a way to kill the protestors and seize their properties, only making him wealthier than before.”

You breathe deeply. “I won’t let that happen, not as long as I live. So I took the job, and have worked to gain more and more of Endeavor’s trust.”

Dabi’s lips curl into a sneer of disgust. “And do what with that trust? You’re just trying to play hero.”

Your voice is even as you reply, “Nothing is heroic about murder. And that’s exactly what I plan on doing to Endeavor.”

“You, little fox? Murder? You’re a water sprite. You do know what fire can do to water, yeah?”

You smirk at him. “You do know what water can do to fire, yeah? Besides, I’m no ordinary water sprite.”

And then Dabi no longer holds your wrists in his hands, nor do his shins press down on your legs. In a second, your arms turn to liquid under his grip, seeping out between his fingers and reforming outside of his grasp. Your legs, too, turn to water, only to become skin and flesh when you have them wrapped around his waist.

Then you grip his shirt in your fists, and heave him sideways, using your legs to force the lower half of his body to flip over.

You’re distinctly aware of the position that this leaves you in; hands gripping his shoulders, staring into his still-wide eyes, legs on either side of his waist as your weight rests on his abdomen. You feel warm, and it’s not solely because of Dabi’s higher than normal body temperature.

“You really think I can’t hold my own against Endeavor?” Your voice is smug, pleased at the shock that had flashed across his face when you liquified your limbs.

Dabi swallows, liking the way your mouth curls, completing the sly look with the fox mask over the top half of your face. He’s still reeling over the fact that you were able to do what you did—it takes immense power and control to have your skills, and you’re young, too. But his eyes move up to meet your own, and he is serious when he says, “You’re strong as hell, doll.”

Your lips part slightly at the raw honesty of his words.

He continues, and you listen attentively to him, letting the low, rough sounds of his voice wash over you. “What you can do is fucking astounding, and almost unheard of. But it’s not enough. Even in water form, if he breathes his flames as a dragon, you’ll turn to vapor. At best, you’ll be injured. At worst, you’ll be dead.

“Don’t risk your life for a boy who is long gone.”

You blink, and your vision blurs, holding unshed tears for the lost boy, Touya, and the man, Dabi, he had to become.

“But,” you say, and your words stick to your throat, so you have to swallow before trying again. “But he can’t just get away with it. I won’t let him. I’ll stop him.”

Dabi can’t extinguish the warmth that blooms behind his chest. It’s a warmth not of the flames within him, but from the care and passion you show about Todoroki Touya, a boy you’ve only heard and read about, a boy who has no connection with you. Yet you care.

“No worries, doll. He won’t get away with it.” Dabi pauses, and something settles in his chest as he makes up his mind. “We won’t let him.”

Your eyes widen, and you sit a little straighter on his stomach. “‘We?’ What are you–”

“C’mon, little fox,” he purrs, “you’re smart. We both want the same thing: to see Endeavor dead and gone. It certainly would be easier if the two of us were to work together, yeah?”

It doesn’t take much thought for you to reach your decision. You like Dabi, you’ve enjoyed his company all night. Even though he does tease and fluster the hell out of you, you can give it back just as well. And to learn that he’s the person you were doing all this for?

Your voice is confident as you agree with a simple “Yes.”

Dabi huffs out a quiet chuckle, before raising his right hand up between the two of you. “Glad to have you on board, doll.”

You take it, feeling the calluses on his fingers brush over your skin. “I’m glad, too.”

You shake your hands up and down once, then let go, but he pointedly drags his fingers over your palm before completely releasing you. A tingle runs up your arm.

“So what next?” you ask.

“First of all,” Dabi says, “I’d really like to get off the ground.”

You look down at Dabi. It takes you a second to realize that your whole conversation has happened while one of you is on top of or under one another. An embarrassed squeak leaves your mouth, then heat rushes to your head as you scramble off of Dabi and get to your feet.

Once you’re up, you offer a hand to help him up. He wraps his hand around yours and you pull, getting him to stand in one fluid movement. But you pull a little hard, and he ends up with his chest pressed against your own, with your arm sandwiched awkwardly between.

Dabi guides your arm down to your side before letting go of your hand. He doesn’t step away though. Instead, he slides his arm around you, pressing his hand gently against your back to prevent you from making some space between you.

“Second of all,” he says, the vibrations from his chest buzzing against your own skin, “I’d like to see who I’m working with. You did see me without my mask, little fox, so it’s only fair if I get to see you without yours.”

You swallow nervously. After a moment of silence, you nod. “Okay.”

His eyes light up, but he maintains a neutral expression as he reaches up for your mask with his free hand. Slowly, slowly, he lifts the painted ceramic off your face, sliding it up and over your head. He doesn’t toss it to the ground because it might break, so he presses the mask into your hand.

When your fingers curl around the mask, Dabi moves his hand back up again, snapping his fingers to create a flickering blue flame.

His breath catches in his throat as the light dances across the curves of your face. With his flame tinting your features blue, Dabi thinks you’re the most beautiful sight he’s ever laid eyes on. He’s seen a lot of horror in the past, but one look at you washes the dark images away.

“Fuck,” he breathes, the lightest breath brushing across your face. “You’re pretty as hell.”

The honesty in his voice makes you happy, yet also serves to fluster you. “You’re not too bad yourself,” you manage to respond. Your eyes travel over his face as he does the same to you. You take in his sharp nose, chiseled jawline, the scars up to his mouth and under his eyes. His eyes glow brightly, a blue as pretty as the flames he holds in his hand to cast light onto both of you.

He’s beautiful. Not despite his scars, but in light of them.

A smirk turns up his lips, making him look even more devastatingly handsome. “I think I’m going to like this partnership very, very much.”

You return the smile. Dabi thinks you look ethereal.

“Me too.”

–

You tell him that you have to meet back up with Enji at the festival entrance when the sun rises. Dabi nods while he slips your mask back over your face, fingers brushing against your cheeks as he gently pulls away.

Though he had intended to learn more about Enji and his business dealings at the festival today, Dabi doesn’t need to go after the dragon lord. Not when you are Enji’s assistant, someone who can spill his secrets. He says as much, and your voice is light and teasing as you respond. “And I thought you stuck with me because you liked my company.”

He rolls his eyes as he puts his dragon mask back on. “That means we get until sunrise to finish looking around the festival. You can’t get away from me that quickly.”

You smile at him as both of you walk past the trash can and join the crowds again. “As if I’d want to.”

Dabi’s mouth turns up in the smallest smile, and he moves a hand to rest on your lower back to keep you close. “Where to, doll?”

You hum for a moment in thought. “I need to stop by a stall and pick something up. The owner agreed to hold it for me.”

“Are you gonna tell me what you’re picking up?” When you shake your head, Dabi chuckles and gestures at the crowded path with his free hand. “Lead the way then, doll.”

–

You arrive at your destination and push through the curtains covering the stall entrance. Dabi follows suit. As soon as he steps into the stall and the curtains fall shut behind him, his eyes widen and he whistles at the variety of weapons displayed on the walls and on tables.

“Damn,” he says, eyes taking in a display of silver pistols. “What the hell are you buying?”

The minotaur approaches you with the dagger you had asked him to set aside. The blade is in its sheath, and together the weapon looks beautiful, almost decorative. But when you take it from him with a grateful smile, and unsheathe it, the blade is clearly sharp and shines brightly under the light of small lanterns in the stall.

“Thank you for holding on to this for me,” you tell the minotaur. You slide the dagger into its sheath and reach into one of the deep pockets of your flowy traditional water sprite pants. As you pull out your wallet, your hand bumps into the tin of candy from Dabi, which makes your eyes soften.

Following the minotaur to his counter, you slide your credit card through the card reader to pay for the dagger. It’s expensive, yes, but it has the exact qualities you’ve been looking for. Besides, Todoroki Enji does pay you a pretty nice salary, allowing you to have a decent amount of spending money in addition to your savings.

With a farewell to the minotaur, you nudge Dabi out the stall. You start to wander down the row of stalls as you adjust your belt, slipping the dagger on it to rest beside your flask of water.

“So?” Dabi asks as you peer into a spacious cage with a couple of brightly colored birds in it. “Why do you need a dagger for? From what I’ve seen, you’re more than capable of protecting yourself.”

“I can make my daggers out of ice, but they’re unreliable depending on the magic that my attacker can use.” You catch the smirk that starts to spread on his face, so you quickly speak again. “I thought of this way before I ran into you, got it? Don’t let it get to your head.”

Dabi brings a hand up to his heart, clutching his shirt as if your comment hurts him. He lets out a groan of mock pain.

You snicker at his theatrics and punch his arm; not too hard to seriously hurt him, but enough to sting the slightest bit. “Be quiet,” you order, then tug on his arm to look at another stall that catches your eye.

–

You spend the rest of the night this way, teasing and getting to know each other as you explore a good chunk of the festival.

Dabi buys you a new cone of pixie sugar. It’s at your insistence, but he gives in with relatively few snarky comments. You happily pull tufts of spun sugar from the fluffy cloud and place it on your tongue, the treat dissolving immediately in your mouth. When you lick at the sticky residue left behind on your fingers, Dabi can’t take his eyes off you until he runs into the corner of a table, the sting of pain bringing his attention back to the crowded paths.

You hide your snicker by pushing another mouthful of pixie sugar past your lips.

–

As the stars start to fade away, being washed out by the brightening sky, the two of you make your way toward the main entrance of the festival. You stand off the main path, more hidden in the woods than out in the open.

First you exchange numbers, smiling when you see the contact name he sets for you; the little fox emoji. You set his contact with the flame emoji in return, although Dabi complains that there isn’t a blue one.

Then you pull out your dagger, explaining to him about the runes in the handle that should make it basically fire-proof.

“Can I see it?” Dabi asks.

You wordlessly hand it over, careful not to get either of you hurt by the sharp edges.

“Huh,” he muses, feeling the weight of it. Then without any warning, he lets blue fire blaze from the palm of his free hand, and lets it envelop the length of the blade.

You cry out in surprise. “Dabi!”

A few seconds later, he extinguishes his flames and examines the blade. It’s exactly the same as it used to be, and it’s any warmer than before he let his fire loose. “You got the real deal, then,” he says, handing the dagger back to you.

You sniff and say, “Of course,” as you slide it into your sheath.

“If it withstands my fire, it can definitely withstand Endeavor’s. In our human forms, at least. But that’s good enough, because the fucker is weaker than me, and he’s old as hell.”

“Older and has more experience,” you remind Dabi.

“Yeah,” he admits. “But he doesn’t have you on his side.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you look at Dabi in surprise. He gives you an actual smile, slightly crooked and closed-mouth, but a genuine one.

Warmth wells inside you, and you smile back.

Dabi steps closer and closer to you until he can slide one arm around your waist, the other moving up to lift his mask off his face. He walks you backward until your back bumps against a tree. You look into his brilliant blue eyes, and he holds your gaze.

“Can I kiss you, doll?”

Your eyes shine happily, and you breathe out a “Yes.”

He leans in toward you, closing the distance between his face and yours, until your lips are nearly touching. Then he pauses, and asks, “Are you sure?” His voice is filled with amusement, and your eyebrows draw together in frustration.

“Stop teasing and kiss me, Dabi!”

And he does just that.

His lips meld against yours, a scorching heat that warms you from the outside in. He presses you harder against the tree as he deepens the kiss, the scars that reach up to his lower lip just a bit rough against your own. But he kisses so masterfully, stealing your breath with every brush of his mouth on yours, and though your chest starts to ache for air, you don’t want to pull away.

You finally draw back from him with one final pass of your lips over his, then take a deep inhale of the crisp autumn air.

Dabi looks at you, taking in the way your chest heaves for breath, the slightly dazed look in your eyes. He smirks, blue eyes burning with an intense heat.

Then a deep, rumbling voice can be heard over the sounds of the festival. Both you and Dabi stiffen, and he slips his mask back on his face.

“That’s my cue to exit, doll. I’ll keep in touch, yeah?”

You nod and step away from the tree. “You better,” you say, “or else you’ll have an angry water sprite hunting you down.”

“Scary.” He fakes a shudder. “I know just how terrifying water sprites can get. No worries then, I’ll text you sooner rather than later.” Dabi walks deeper into the forest and is enveloped by the shadows.

A smile lingers on your face as you stare after him. But as a towering figure steps into your field of vision, you school your expression into something more neutral. “Hello, sir. How was the meeting?”

“Good.” That means it was more than successful. “Your boyfriend?” Enji asks after a moment of silence.

Your eyebrow arches in surprise. You didn’t think he’d be interested if you ever were to get into a relationship—not with Enji’s strict rules on being professional. You don’t know how else to explain Dabi’s presence, so you settle with, “Ah, y-yes, sir.”

“You never mentioned him.” He turns his back to you and starts walking toward the main path, and you follow suit.

“It’s a bit of a, um, recent development.” Recent as in you just met the guy a couple hours ago and he isn’t actually your boyfriend.

“I see.”

That’s the extent of your conversation as you get into the car Enji has waiting for both of you at the entrance. As the driver starts the engine and pulls onto the street, your phone buzzes in your pocket.

You pull it out and enter the passcode, opening up the messaging app. There’s a message from a contact with a flame for its name, and your lips curl upward as you open up the message.

So I’m your boyfriend now?

You guess that means Dabi didn’t go too deep into the forest, but stayed close by to make sure you were safe. Warmth settles in your chest at the thought.

You open up his contact information and edit his contact name, biting your lip to stop the smile from spreading across your face. Taking a screenshot of it, you attach the image to a message that you type out. You send it, then shut off your phone, looking out the window of the car to see the rays of the morning sun stretch across the sky.

The soft light bathes everything in a gentle glow.

You smile, content.

–

Dabi’s phone buzzes not long after he sends the message to you. His fingers move quickly as he opens up the messaging app, pulling up the conversation with you. He reads your text.

We’re partners now, aren’t we? It’s only fitting.

He opens up the image you sent, and takes in the screenshot of his contact profile on your phone. There’s nothing there except for his phone number, but then his eyes move up to the contact name.

“Boyfriend,” he muses, “with a black heart next to it.”

Shutting off his phone and slipping it into his pocket, Dabi can’t help but shake his head and let out a quiet chuckle. He hasn’t felt this way in a very, very long time.

He looks up at the sky, where the first rays of sun are casting golden streaks against paleing pinks and blues.

And Dabi smiles, content.

–

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[ffangirlingsince2001]

Nothing Alike: V

Description: Geralt of Rivia has been tasked with taking out a fellow Witcher who has decided to settle down in a town. She has no intention of leaving and Geralt is forced to take matters into his own hands.

Geralt x Reader

Warnings: almost fluff but the reader hates it, language, angst (This chapter might make you uncomfortable and a little called out if you have intimacy issues, it definitely called me out, so beware)

MASTERLIST

He had gotten himself into trouble. That’s what he had gotten himself into when he ignored instinct and allowed a mind lower than his head make decisions.

She was beautiful of course, dangerous but beautiful, nonetheless. Not that he had ever doubted either, if he had, he might not have been stupid enough to take her with him.

They couldn’t stay in towns for long, she would anger the town people. She held raging parties in her own honor, keeping their cups filled until she could slip gold from their pockets without batting an eye. It wasn’t until the next morning when they tried to pay for the drinks, she failed to provide, that they realized they were poorer than the day they were born.

He tried to make her give it back. He ordered, and threatened, and seduced, and turned her upside down to shake out the coins, but they were never there. She always seemed poorer than the men she robbed.

That didn’t stop them from being angry.

And that didn’t stop her from being a right pain in his arse, always starting fights and taunting the innocent when he simply wanted peace. When they spent time in town it no longer than fifteen minutes for a man to be drawing his sword and Y/N to return the favor. And then they were being kicked out by the sore loser who had dared to challenge her. Finally, he gave up comforter for peace and they remained in the forest, beneath the trees and the stars.

That’s how they sat now, beneath the galaxy as it spun around them. A warm fire crackled between them as some poor animal she had caught cooked over its scorch. She was lying on her back, staring up at the diamond filled sky, or at least he assumed that’s what she was staring at. The lace of her shirt was undone, the soft linen draped over and leaving no room for the imagination. Not that he needed imagination to know what was beneath her clothing. He had witnessed the harshness firsthand.

She was a bitter dessert he could hardly bare to devour, and yet he wanted to taste her over and over again.

Despite such desire, he hadn’t touched her since that morning months ago. He wanted to, god he wanted to, but she wasn’t keen on letting him. Every time the though conjured in his mind she would slither away from him, a devilish twinkle in her eye. She never admitted to her little game, and he never asked her about it; but it seemed that not everything was for the taking as she had once promised.

“Is the food almost ready?” she asked suddenly, the harshness of her voice against the silence startling him. Geralt shrugged, stabbing at the meat with a stick. The fat sizzled as it fell into the fire, filling the air around them with the smell of tender meat and a dinner that would soon fill their bellies. He pulled it off the fire, carving out a hunk of flesh and passing it to her, before filling his own mouth.

She ate like a man, the juices running down her chin and catching on the slopes of her chest, staining the linen of her shirt. She chewed with her mouth open, and he could hear every noise of tongue, the gnash of her teeth, the smack of her lips with each bite. It was positively revolting, and he was sure she did every bit of it for him. To disgust him, to keep him far away from what he knew was sweet lips and words that could make even the harshest man melt.

“It’s delicious,” she moaned with delight, taunting him from across the fire. Her golden eyes were molten as they stared at him like a cat caught stealing from the bins. “You’re so boring,” she groaned, flopping back into the dirt, wiping away the last of her meal onto her sleeve.

“And what should I do about that?”

“Go into town, make a riot somewhere.”

“Is that all that excites you, chaos where peace should reside?”

“No. Sex excites me too.”

“And yet you choose chaos.”

“Much easier to come by these days when you won’t allow me in a town long enough to find some fool who finds me meek and malleable.”

“Is that who you want to be? Meek and malleable?”

“No, but it’s dreadfully fun to surprise them when they’re sure they’ve finally cornered me.” Geralt laughed beneath his breath. A man would have to be a fool to ever think they had cornered her. The pair settled into silence once more before a question that had been floating around his mind for days finally escaped his lips.

“Have you ever killed any monsters?”

“It depends. What is your definition of a monster? To you I am a monster, so you must explain what you mean.”

“You are not a monster?”

“Is that so?” she snarled as she sat up again, crawling forward, the fire raging in her eyes. “Is that why you look at me with such disgust? Is that why you keep me out of every town we near? Is that why you hold my leash so short I am sure I will choke on my own indignation?”

“It is a leash of your own making,” he replied, voice low as he struggled against his instinct to fight. She was so close now, resting on her knees, the rivulets of grease that ran down her chest glistening in the orange light.

“God, the sacrifices I make,” she spat, rising to her feet before marching away from him, but he would not let her claim victim, not tonight.

“What sacrifices have you made? I would be willing to bet all I have earned this year that you have never made a sacrifice in your entire life. You are selfish and coarse and without feeling. They ruined you in that school. You claim to have survived their tests, but you died the moment your mother abandoned you.” She roared, drawing her sword as she faced him, fury twisting the softness of her features.

“You will not speak to me like that,” she screamed, her sword shaking in front of her.

“Do you not like the truth, Y/N? Does it upset you? Does it remind you of what you have failed to become?” he roared back, blocking the strike of her sword with ease. She was good, there was not debate about her skill, but she was nothing more than a wildfire of emotion. There was no control, no patience, just fury that could be easily parried.

“I will kill you.”

“You have tried before, and you will fail just as you did then.” She screamed again charging forward, but he slammed the flat edge of his sword against the fingers closed around the handle of her sword. She screeched in pain, dropping her sword to the ground, backing away as she flexed her fingers. Without flinching she lunged forward, abandoning her sword for her bare hands.

He caught her with just as much ease as he had disarmed her.

“Let me go, let me go,” she repeated, struggling against his arms. One of his arms slid to her throat, ending the scream in moments. Her hands found his arm, fingers tense against muscle as she struggled to remove him.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked, and she nodded angrily. “You said it yourself, no one tells you what to do. You are here on your own accord, so do not preach to me about sacrifices you have not had to make. You survived on my mercy alone, and if I truly desired it, I could snap you in half before feeding you the real monsters that wander these woods.”

“Then do it,” she choked out, self-loathing threaded through every syllable, but instead he dropped her to the ground. She didn’t move as she lay among the leaves that had begun to fall as summer ended its stay. She could have been dead; save the angry noises she was trying to contain. “You fucking coward.”

He kicked her in the side, sending her across the campsite. He hadn’t wanted to, he never would have before, but she made him so angry it was all he could do not to kill her. She was gasping for air as she glanced at him, laughing through hungry breaths.

“We’re so alike, and you hate it. You can’t stand to look at me because I am everything you wish you were. Free and arrogant and terrifying, all that you are and wish the world would know.” Now it was his turn to scream.

“We are nothing alike.” She only laughed at him, holding her side as she struggled to stand. She stumbled forward and like the fool he is, he caught her. His hands instinctively avoided the ribs he had broken moments before, tightening against her waist to steady her. “Like I said, nothing alike,” he murmured.

“You don’t think I would catch you?” she coughed.

“I know you wouldn’t.” She smiled at him with a sad laugh and looked up at him with wide, expectant eyes.

This was the first time he had touched her in so long, he wasn’t sure he could let go. Almost delicately, he lowered both of them to their knees, brushing a strand of hair from her face. In moments like this, he could imagine what she looked like before the world hardened her features. He could picture garlands of flowers strewn through her hair and the blush of a virgin on her cheeks. He could imagine a girl who would lead the boys who longed to woo her around like puppy dogs, dashing away every time they got to close. Somehow, he knew, even back then she was a coy little thing. She even dared to mock him now, batting her eyelashes towards the soil beneath them like a doe seducing its way out of the hunt.

He caught the nape of her neck as tenderly as he could bare, tilting her head up until their eyes met once more. She was beautifully exposed to him, the slow heartbeat thrumming against her throat in unspoken anticipation. He pressed his lips to the frantic pulse, teeth breaking through tenderness until she gasped in pain. When he pulled away a drop of blood joined the trail of grease.

A bruise in the shape of his bite was already forming.

“What do you want from me?” she asked breathlessly, squirming as he rubbed his finger against the wound.

“I want to hurt you,” he growled, so low he wasn’t sure she had heard it. He knew she had when she began to laugh despite the pain. He pressed harder and the laughter subsided to a whimper. She may be a Witcher, but pain still existed even if she wanted to pretend she didn’t feel it.

“Is that all?”

“I want you to cry, and I want to know that every tear is of my making.”

“Anything else?”

“I want to make you wish you were dead. I want you to beg for me to end your life. And I want to refuse.” A small emotion he could not detect flitted across her face before the smirk returned.

“Such requests, but I’m sure we can do our best.” With a quick hand, she pulled his knife from its sheath. He jumped away, prepared to defend himself but she only offered the handle to him, still smiling like only the devil herself could. He batted it out of her hands and grabbed her wrist, yanking her closer.

“You misinterpret me.”

“Oh?”

“You do not make the devil wish they were dead with violence; you show them heaven.” With a gentle but commanding force he wrapped her legs around his waist, and when he kissed her neck there was no ferocity only tenderness. He ran his tongue over the wound, tasting iron, sucking ever so softly until she was moaning into the crisp night air.

When she was sufficiently worked up, squirming for relief from Geralt and his tender lips he pulled away and kissed her softly, like no one ever had before. There was no malice, no lust, nothing that she was familiar with. It was like he was mocking her, teasing her with the possibilities that came before the mutation.

“Geralt,” she growled, slamming her knee into his side but he only persisted. His hands did not stray from her hips, they remained firm and respectful.

She didn’t want respectful, she wanted anger. She wanted him to kick her again, to pick up the knife she had offered him and use it the way he knew how. She wanted him to choke the life from her body like he had so many weeks ago. She had made him wait weeks for this, for the ability to touch her, taunting him until she was sure he could take no more. He should want to ravish her, to enter raw and without warning, but instead he was kissing her like a lover would.

“Geralt,” she managed to say again, slamming her fist into his back but he only hushed her tenderly.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, one of his hands leaving her waist and settling on her hair, softly running his fingers through the curls. When they caught on snarls, she thought he would pull, hoped he would pull, but he only unknotted them with delicate ease.

She was terrified, shaking uncontrollably like she never had before. He had wanted her to fear him, and he had succeeded. The fire was hot, his touch was warm, even his lips were a taste of excruciating fire, but she was still so very cold. Every touch ran across her skin like a feather, leaving a trail of goosebumps in his wake. Butterflies were flittered around her rip cage, while her heart hammered with excitement. There was a time when this was all she wanted, when there was no greater desire, but not now, not ever again. There was nothing like this in the whole world, not her world anyway. Tears slipped down her cheeks, salty against her lips as she pushed against his chest.

“Geralt stop,” she managed to cry out through the dreams of yesterday, “Please, I’m begging you stop.”

Instantly, he did so. He released her and she scrambled away breathing heavily.

“All you had to do was ask,” he replied, watching her as she panted. Her fingers dug into the soft soil, a desperate attempt to ground herself after his attack. He didn’t seem phased by it at all, in fact he seemed proud of himself.

But why shouldn’t he?

He had wanted to make her cry, to hurt, to wish for death above all else, and he had succeeded. While there were no wounds on her skin, her heart seemed to have wilted, aching with every moment she looked at him. She could still feel the softness of his touch, ghosting over her like a dream. She wished she were numb, that nothing could penetrate her body and soul ever again. An emotional death she was all too greedy to obtain.

He was right, heaven did hurt.

“I hate you,” she finally managed and he laughed, leaning against a tree, hands providing a layer between his head and the rough bark.

“I’m sure you do.”

“I’m going to kill you in your sleep.”

“Try and I might have to hold you again.” She spat on the ground in between them, and now it was his turn to smirk. “You’re so pliable that way, I might have to do it more often.”

She said nothing, because nothing she had to say would do anything to tear him down after his success. She jumped off the ground and stalked to her own corner of the campsite. She slammed herself against the ground, still shivering from the encounter, and some foreign thought wished he would hold her, if only to keep her warm. She banished it in an instant, cutting any possibility of it down with malice. She wrapped her arms around her chest, turned away from the fire as she stared into impossibly dark forest.

“Get some sleep, we ride for the coast in the morning,” he said, and had she not been so exhausted she would have stayed awake just to spite him.

She wished she had, because the next morning it was not Geralt who kicked her awake, nor was it his voice that greeted her ears.

“Well, well, well, it seems to be our lucky day.”

 Taglist: @stuckupstucky​ @aurora-sweet​ @holyhumorliteraturelight​ @dreams-of-sunlight-and-starfire @auds24

[plazmafields]

“You asked to see me?”

Cullen lifted his head from his work to lock eyes with the mage in his doorway. He sighed as he gestured for Dorian to sit.

“Yes. I have a…problem, of my own creation, that I could use some advice on.”

Dorian lowered slowly into the seat across the desk from Cullen, curiously raising an eyebrow. “I’ll see how I can help.”

“Thank you,” Cullen smiled softly before clearing his throat to continue, “There’s…a person who I continue to find catching my eye, and I don’t know how to deal with it. I’d really like them to know how I feel, but I don’t think I have the confidence to tell them with words.”

Dorian blinked several times, a bit taken aback that Cullen was so upfront with his ask for romantic help.

“Well,” he began, shifting forward in his seat, crossing one leg over the other, “I am certainly no expert in women—"

“I never said they were a woman.”

Dorian’s mouth still hung open from his comment. He shut it quickly and nodded, silently asking Cullen to continue.

The Commander sighed, running a hand through his groomed curls. “I’ll be honest: I’ve never really…courted anyone before, so we’re essentially starting from scratch here.”

Dorian gave a comforting smile, “That’s perfectly alright. Perhaps a blank slate is best.”

The mage pulled his chair up, resting his elbows on the desk. “Now, you don’t want to come off too strong too soon. So let’s start very basic: what is something almost anyone would like to receive?”

Cullen looked down at his hands, clasped and nervously twiddling. After a moment of thinking he replied tentatively, “Praise?”

Dorian chuckled, “Yes, that’s true, but let’s think most simply. Something superficial, to start. Something physical…?” he guided.

Cullen’s eyes bounced around Dorian’s features for clues. “Gifts?”

Dorian nodded encouragingly, making a rolling motion with his hand to encourage something specific.

“Such as…flowers?” Cullen said it like a question.

“Perfect!” Dorian Tossed his hands up. “Now the next step is easy, what flowers do they like?”

Cullen sighed, rubbing at his scruff, “No idea. And I’m not sure I have the nerve to ask them.”

“Well you wouldn’t want to do that anyway, you want to bring it up casually. Otherwise, they might catch on to what you’re planning.”

Cullen was still looking away, distracted with his own anxiety. Dorian offered a gentle smile and a friendly suggestion. “Why not get a bouquet? A little mix of everything? That way there’s bound to be something they like in there. After all, it’s the thought, not the gift, that matters here.”

Cullen nodded continuously, deep in thought of what to get for his muse. “Yes…a little of everything. That’s…that’s an excellent idea! I’ll go to Orlais, to a florist, pick out the most exotic things they have, the most colorful, most pungent. It’s perfect!”

Dorian couldn’t help the grin that stretched across his lips at Cullen’s excitement.

“Thank you, Dorian. You’ve no idea how much this helps me.”

“Glad to be of service, my friend.” Dorian rose from his seat, gave a friendly bow, and left Cullen to his plans.

__________

As Dorian sat in his little alcove, reading over a new study, the sound of quick and precise footsteps drew closer. Soon, the Inquisitor, ever nimble on her feet, ran into his nook, a massive smile on her face.

“Have you been out today?”

Dorian glanced over the edge of his book. “Not yet, no.”

She bounced on her toes, “So you haven’t seen the garden?”

The mage raised a brow, closing his book with one hand. “Should I?”

The rouge practically squealed as she gestured for Dorian to follow her.

They were in the main hall in no time, Vivienne calling down from her balcony, “It's simply exquisite, darling! Who knew our Commander had such taste?” Varric shrugging as if to say Not me.

Once outside, Dorian had to push through a wall of onlookers, all gawking at the sight before them. The Inquisitor slipped through almost effortlessly, turning to check for Dorian every few seconds.

Finally, they broke through the crowd and Dorian’s jaw nearly dropped. There were flowers everywhere; no patch of dirt in sight. Flowering ivy spiraled up and around the pillars and railings, columns tangled in vines. Each plain tree had been replaced with a flowering fruit tree; one apple, one cherry, one pear, and one orange.

The Inquisitor squeezed his hand to bring him back, saying in a sigh, “Isn’t it beautiful? Like a magic forest!”

Before he could turn to acknowledge her, the red head was already frolicking like a school girl, skipping and bounding through the garden, hoping to find every flower she could. Dorian watched her with a smile, shaking his head at how adorable she could be.

A sudden realization washed over him as he watched the young woman stand on her toes to reach an apple: she must be Cullen’s secret muse. Watching her enjoy every last bit of the garden, even the new insects that had been attracted by the plants, cemented this truth in his mind. Cullen was head over heels for Lyann Trevelyan.

After spending time with his friend amongst the flowers, admiring every scent, Dorian slipped away to consult Cullen on his next move. As he poked his head into the Commander's office, he saw Cullen excitedly pacing, grinning to himself.

“Do you know what a bouquet is, my friend? Perhaps something was lost in translation last we spoke.” Dorian teased, grabbing Cullen’s attention.

Cullen’s head shot up and he smiled widely, rushing over to Dorian to get his reaction. “Well? What do you think?”

Dorian chuckled at Cullen’ childlike glee. “I think you did an excellent job. Maybe a bit over the top, but I can certainly say it made an impression.”

Cullen nearly melted, “Oh, Dorian, I am so glad to hear it. Your advice was invaluable!”

Dorian grinned as he said lowly, “The Inquisitor especially liked it, might I add.”

Cullen’s eyes went wide as he blushed, straightening his back, “O-oh! Well, I suppose I should have run it past her first, but it’s a bit embarrassing to tell her my intentions. Josephine was good about keeping it confidential.” He rubbed at the back of his neck, glancing to the floor.

Dorian gave a hardy chuckle, “Oh I understand. Now, what did you have planned for the next step?”

Cullen froze. “Next…step? How many steps are there?”

Shaking his head, Dorian grabbed the blond by the shoulders and lead him to his desk.

“May I?” Dorian snatched a quill and paper.

“Step one: a sweet but generic gift to show your interest. Something to casually say ‘I might like you'. You already did that one. Following?”

Cullen nodded, leaning his elbows on the desk as he watched Dorian write.

“Alright. Step two: a more personal gift. Something you know they like. This shows them not only are you interested in them, but you’re interested in their interests as well.”

“Right…” Cullen chewed his lip.

“What is it?” Dorian sighed.

“I don’t know much about their likes. They aren’t very…direct. Ever.”

Well that doesn’t sound like Lyann… Dorian thought to himself.

Dorian had to restrain from rolling his eyes. “Well, in that case, an easy thing to get for someone indecisive is sweets. Candy, chocolate, biscuits, pastries. Things like that. Just get them sweets that remind you of them.”

Cullen looked utterly concerned. “Am I supposed to…guess what they…taste like?”

Dorian stared at him with a blank look, completely astounded. “No. What does that even��no, never mind, please don’t attempt to explain.”

After drumming his fingers on the desk for a moment, Dorian tried to be more clear—though he thought he had been plenty clear before. “Think of how they act, yes? Are they kind and sweet? Flowery and fun? Warm like spice?”

Cullen nodded along, seemly understanding this time.

Dorian smiled, placing a tender hand on the blonds arm. “I’ll leave you to it then."

__________

Several days later and not a word from Cullen, Dorian felt a bit anxious. Had he not been clear enough still? Did Cullen get too nervous to continue? Oh no, did he have a falling out with Lyann; she didn’t return his feelings?

Just as he began to lose himself in his nerves, despite having research to focus on, Dorian caught a subtle whiff of something delicious. It was warm and baked, but chocolatey and rich, and somehow tart all at once. Cullen must have asked the cooks to do their damnedest.

After a while the scent became too much, it was too intriguing, Dorian had to go to the kitchens and see for himself what was being baked. As he descended the stairs to Solas's area, the elf came from the main hall with a plate of goodies. Tarts and cookies and all sorts, laid out decoratively on a porcelain dish.

“My my,” Dorian quirked a brow, “Someone has a sweet tooth it seems.”

Solas didn’t look at him as he replied, “There is a spred out there. I would be a fool to turn down free food. Especially Orlaisian pastries.” He popped a fruit tart into his mouth.

Dorian exited to the main hall and was greeted by long dining tables over flowing with every dessert imaginable. Full cakes, cup cakes, full pies, hand pies, everything he loved and things he hadn’t tried before, but was more than eager to.

Everyone in Skyhold, and a few visiting nobles, huddled around the tables making sure to heap their plates, and at the front of the room, with a towering plate nearly spilling down her shirt, was the ever graceful Inquisitor, shoving candied dates into her gob.

“Well aren’t you looking marvelous today,” Dorian laughed as he approached.

“Hm? Oh, Dorun!” Lyann mumbled through half chewed food.

She took a second to chew and swallow before nearly shouting, “Isn’t this amazing?! Cullen and Josephine planned this in only a few days! I don’t know how they got it all here and kept it so fresh! It taste like it just came from the ovens, or maybe the Maker's own kitchen.” She swooned as she crammed another treat into her mouth.

Dorian chuckled, picking up a plate to load up himself. “Cullen planned this, did he? Any idea why?” He feigned curiosity.

“No idea,” Lyann shrugged, nearly dropping a pudding, “He usually doesn’t care about impressing nobles, so I don’t know who he’s trying to impress. Maybe he just felt like the troops deserved it!”

“Oh, I’d bet he’s trying to catch someone’s attention...” Dorian hinted, but the Inquisitor was already going in for seconds. Well, more like fourths.

Dorian shook his head with a smile as she walked off to her chambers with a mountain of sweets. Just as he began picking out his favorite treats, a soft voice spoke up behind him.

“Have you tried the jam biscuits yet? They’re heavenly. I might actually die if someone doesn’t stop me.”

Dorian turned around just in time to see Cullen with a jam cookie half way to his lips. Just as it was about to touch his tongue, Dorian snatched it away, downing it in one bite.

Cullen looked at him in shock, mouth still open to receive the sweet. They laughed together as Dorian tried to chew the mouthful.

“So? What do you think? Did I hit all the right flavors?”

Dorian chuckled, “If everything under the sun reminds you of them, then yes.”

Cullen sighed dreamily, “Everything…”

Dorian had only seen that look a handful of times, but by the Maker, it was his favorite expression on the blond. That look of complete adoration, losing himself to a daydream. It looked beautiful. He looked beautiful…

Dorian shook his head, reminding himself he was helping the man court someone else. The Inquisitor, of all people. But they seemed like a good match, both very…Ferelden.

When he looked back, Cullen was staring at him with bright eyes, an innocent smirk lopsided on his lips. Dorian smiled back.

“Is everything alright?” Cullen asked so gently.

Dorian swallowed hard before clearing his throat, “Yes, of course. Just thinking about your next step.”

“What’s that?”

Dorian led Cullen to a less crowded area of the hall. “Well, everything you’ve done so far has been very…grand. You may want to think about doing something one-on-one with them, personally.”

Cullen sighed, rubbing his neck. “Right, one-on-one…If you couldn’t tell, I’ve been trying to take an indirect approach.”

Dorian rolled his eyes, “But how are they ever supposed to know it’s you?”

“Well, I thought it would be rather obvious.” Cullen gave him a very confused stare.

“Listen,” Dorian sighed and shifted his weight, “they know it’s you, but you have to show that it’s for them.”

Cullen’s eyes lit up, “Oh! Oh, of course, I should have—I’m sorry Dorian I didn’t understand—”

“That’s alright, I just hope you’ve planned for something one-on-one, because I can’t help you with this next bit.”

“What?” Cullen’s eyes seems almost terrified, losing his only advisor.

Dorian wraps his fingers around the back of Cullen’s neck, pulling him closer so he could hear the whisper, “You must make this personal. I’m always willing to help, but I can’t tell you everything they like and how to fit it all together. That’s up to you, my friend.”

Cullen sighed and let his head fall forward, forehead almost leaning against Dorian’s. “Alright. I’ll try to do you proud.”

The mage smiled reassuringly, “You will, Cullen. Don’t worry.”

__________

After nearly a week without any word, Dorian received a surprise visit just as noon struck.

“Glad to see you haven’t given up. I was starting to wonder if you had gotten cold feet.” Dorian teased, slapping Cullen’s arm playfully.

Cullen grinned wide and chuckled, “Well, I’m not actually here for advice this time. I was wondering if you might come with me. I think I’ve found the perfect place for a date!”

“Oh?” Dorian was shocked by the confidence in the Commander’s voice. “What are we waiting for then? Need I pack a bag?”

“No, it’s not too far.” Cullen eyed him up and down, considering his outfit. “Though I might wear something more casual, were I you.”

Dorian looked down at his attire, about to ask why, when Cullen called back to him, already on his way, “I’ll meet you at the gates in an hour. Don’t be late.”

So he dressed down and packed a bottle of wine to sip at on the ride there. Where ever “there” was; Cullen was being awfully secretive about their destination, only repeating that it was the perfect spot for a date.

Just as the two had run out of things to banter about on the ride, Cullen stopped his horse by a gap in some trees.

“Through here. We’ll have to tie up the horses, I don’t think they’ll make it through the foliage.”

Dorian sighed an exasperate sigh, “Are we in for much of a hike? You know I get more exercise than I truly want while adventuring with the Inquisitor.”

Cullen chuckled and held some leaves out of the way for Dorian to duck under. After a short walk, Cullen looked back and smiled, “I think it’s beautiful out here. Tell me what you think.”

Dorian stepped forward through the last bit of trees to be greeted by the most sparkling, clearest, gentlest lake he’d ever laid eyes on. The water rippled steadily with the slight breeze, waves barely formed yet still enough to rock the lily pads and fallen leaves. The sun was just visible through the trees, but not enough to blind them, slowly lowering in the sky, ready shine orange and pink light across the water when dusk came.

“I…” Dorian couldn’t find his words, “Cullen, this is gorgeous…”

He looked back to Cullen who leaned confidently against a tree, pleased with the mage's reaction.

But as he turned back, Dorian remembered who all this was for, and it put a heaviness in his heart. His eyes dropped as he said “She’ll love this, Cullen. I know she will.”

Long moments went by with no response before Dorian felt a gentle hand on the small of his back.

“Who?” Cullen asked softly, seeing Dorian was upset.

“Lyann, silly. She’ll find this all so lovely, I’m sure.” He had a hard time keeping eye contact with the Commander, curious eyes meaning no ill intent.

“Lyann?” Cullen pulled back slightly. “Why would I bring her—”

Cullen’s eyes went wide as he muttered, “oh no…”

He stepped away to pace, continuing his “no”s under gus breath, thinking of something to say or do to make it right.

“Cullen? I don’t understand, what’s wrong?” Dorian followed his pacing, trying to grab his arm.

“I’ve screwed this up royally, that what’s wrong! Lyann?! You thought this was all for the Inquisitor?”

Dorian stopped in his tracks. “Yes? I saw how much she enjoyed everything you did, so I assumed…”

It struck him like a charging druffalo. “No.” He whispered. “For…for me?”

Cullen looked over his shoulder sheepishly, waiting for a better idea of Dorian’s reaction.

“All of it?” Dorian’s words were hardly voiced, sliding out along a whisper of disbelief.

Cullen turned around fully and began taking cautious steps toward Dorian, trying to gage if his surprise was good or bad.

As Dorian continued to stare forward, slack jawed, Cullen placed a warm hand on his neck, the other finding the mage’s chin and tilting his gaze up to lock eyes.

“Everything. Every flower, every tart, everything. I wanted to give you the world, but I didn’t know how to start. I wanted you to see I would do anything for you, Dorian. You want flower, I’ll plant you a garden. You want sweets, I��ll bring the world’s best bakers to you.”

Dorian’s eyes only showed more confusion. Cullen leaned forward, stopping just before their lips touched to whisper, “I love you.”

“You—” But the words were stolen from his lips as Cullen pulled him in, chest to chest, arms around his waist, surprisingly deft lips making him melt into the blond.

He lost track of time. It could have been seconds, minutes, maybe an hour, before they pulled away, each out of breath and shaking from a single shared shiver down their spines.

“That was…electrifying.” Cullen sighed, hugging the mage close.

Dorian could hardly think straight, just hugging Cullen back as he gathered his thoughts.

After a moment of silence, Dorian finally relaxed against Cullen and said, “I…didn’t think I could be so dense.”

They laughed together, Cullen pulling back to plant a gentle kiss to the mage’s nose.

“But in my defense,” Dorian began, returning to his regular self, “who asks the person they plan on courting for advice on how to court them?”

“Well, you liked everything, didn’t you?” Cullen teased back.

Dorian shook his head, still feeling like this couldn’t be real. But those eyes, those golden eyes…

“I…feel strongly about you, Cullen. I’d dare say I’m smitten.”

Cullen smiled even wider before placing a quick kiss to Dorian lips, stripping off his shoes and tunic with impressive speed, and jumping like a cannonball into the lake. Dorian put his hands up to shield his face from the splash, but his casual clothes soaked up the water on contact.

“Looks like you’ll have to let those clothes dry. What should we do in the meantime?” Cullen called over smugly.

“You little southern…” Dorian shook his head before stripping down and diving in himself, making sure to get Cullen in the face.

They laughed together as they splashed the other back and forth, stopping only to share a passionate kiss.

[shi-chimera]

Balan Wonderworld headcanons have been rattling around in my head for a while now so I'm just gonna plop them here. Enjoy, don't enjoy, whatever.

◇General◇

-The Balan Theater is MASSIVE and works much like the door in Howl's Moving Castle. Anyone can access it from a number of dilapidated old buildings if they know which ones to look for.

-The theater has at least two dozen rooms, a large restaurant style kitchen, a full bar, and a massive library with window seats, a day bed, and roughly five thousand books at any given time. The books change out at random because the library has a mind of its own.

-Other rooms include Balan and Lance's bedrooms (they live in the theater), Balan's office, and some guest rooms and lounge/living room type spaces. Some of the rooms have flippable floors and sliding walls to convert them into smaller or different rooms.

-The building also has a small rear courtyard with a single, ENORMOUS tree in it. There are also some small flowerbeds and in one corner by the building is a dumpster.

-The theater's porch lights indicate if an exterior door (i.e. an entrance) is active or not. If the lights are on, the doors are open!

♡Balan♡

-Balan feeds off positive emotions and energy. It's part of why he entertains people. Smiling people are happy and happy people keep him going.

-The most extra person you can find, and has a fixation with his appearance. The smallest stain or speck of dirt, loose thread, etc. and he LOSES HIS MIND. He WILL throw an absolute drama queen level spectacle. Everything he does is over the top.

-High energy, so much so that he tends to fidget, pace, or other wise be in constant motion to burn it all off. He's also ambidexterous, but favors his left so you're likely to see him writing paperwork or lifting things with his left hand more often.

-Is an excellent chef and will cook you the most delicious meal you've ever eaten.

-Balan enjoys tea (in a traditional cup and saucer, Earl Grey in particular), but enjoys it more with cookies. If you bring him tea, make yourself a cup too because he will insist you also have one. He will also probably share a cookie with you. Save yourself a headache and just take it. He considers anything he gives you a gift and if you decline or throw it away he will be very upset and assume you don't like him anymore. You can, however, throw away napkins and the like, of course.

-NEVER drops the smile if he can at all help it. He can and will be in emotional distress and you'd never know unless you knew what to look for. Subtle eye movements and shifts in his posture reveal his mood. Will drum his fingers in specific patterns to calm himself down depending on how he's feeling, though you'll almost never see them.

-He only takes off his hat around people he trusts wholely with every fiber of his being. Lance is one of the few. He's quite pretty underneath, with finely swirling gold patterns all over him similar to Lance and a golden heart shape on his forehead (also like Lance).

-He likes wine, especially red wine. He has a high alcohol tolerance. Can and WILL drink you under the table. He gets extra flirty when he's properly drunk, and if you can get him talking he'll definitely lose track of how much he's had. He can phase objects through one another, so you'll frequently see him fill his glass by tipping it against a bottle.

-Likes to play around with a vaudeville hook and will hook Lance out of the ether if they try to phase out of a conversation or if he expressly needs something from them.

-He's HUGE and all the furniture in the theater is sized for humans, and I do mean ALL OF IT, so his lanky ass looks ridiculous sitting on any kind of furniture. There is one exception to this and that is his bed.

-Speaking of, his room is huge and decked out in a red/white/gold/navy color scheme (hmm, I wonder why?). It has wall panels. He has a walk in closet filled to the brim and a large vanity with a mirror edged in lights. It's also MESSY. Piles of clothes, random objects, makeup all over the vanity. The bed is a 3/4 circle, and it wasn't his idea. Lance actually had it put in while Balan was distracted.

-Why did Lance get Balan a new bed? Well, Balan USED TO sleep in a human sized bed, and he sleeps like he's dead. As such, he can and did fall out of bed every night without fail, usually taking a nightstand or other large object out on the way down and not waking up at all. The crashing sounds kept waking Lance up and they had enough of that.

-Threw a hissyfit when Lance got him the new bed without permission. Sleeps splayed out in the "starfish" position, usually tangled up in the sheets like they came alive and tried to strangle him. One or more limbs will usually be hanging over the side, including his head. Doesn't fall out of the new bed NEARLY as often.

-If you fall asleep in the theater, expect to wake up in that bed. He will insist you sleep in comfort, and the bed is big enough for five people so you aren't inconveniencing him in any way by laying in it. He can sleep across from you on the other side, and will sleep still as a statue if you're there.

-Has little to no concept of gender as a whole. He has no biological gender and can be whatever he wants as he feels fit. Accepts any and all pronouns. As such, he doesn't assign gender stereotypes to ANYTHING (clothes, people, objects of any kind) and doesn't understand most human created gender related norms.

-Will frequently call people Darling. If he likes you, will sometimes call you Dear. I.e. "Lance, darling, why are you always like this? Just SMILE!" and "Look at that smile, dear girl! Positively RADIANT!"

-For the LOVE OF GOD, PLEASE LOVE HIM. There is NEVER such a thing as too much affection as far as Balan is concerned. He will PINE for it. Hug him, lean on him, ask him to hold your hand or carry you around. Something, anything! He WANTS as much attention as possible and will come at you like he's more touch starved than Lance. He has ZERO concept of personal space. He will toss you in the air (he will also always catch you, calm down), hold your face, pat you on the head, flat out glomp you, the whole shebang. Unless you clearly state otherwise, he will be all over you ALL THE TIME.

-Rarely if ever gets TRULY upset, and if he does the cracks will start to show. He will pace and rapidly teleport when stressed out, and will sometimes summon doubles without realizing. The doubles can't talk, and mainly just act as stand-ins in shows.

-Always puts the visitors first and will cancel a show if he feels someone is in danger, emotional distress, etc.

-His eyes glow in the dark, and the pupils get narrower instead of smaller (kinda like a cat). His dreads are also prehensile (they can be moved at will) and he has a set of four back tendrils like Lance. He never shows them unless absolutely neccessary or for intimidation. They're curled up like little nubbins on his back, under his clothes. They're extremely sensitive and are actually feelers that let him read the energy in a room so he can react accordingly.

-He DOES have casual clothes, usually semiformal (button up shirts, suit vests, etc.) and will pull his dreads back out of his face when his hat is off.

-He enjoys witty banter, and will have a "banter battle" with anyone willing, Lance unwillingly included. Annoying Lance is actually one of his favorite pasttimes. He's kinda a lil shit sometimes.

-Is literally millenia old and has been hanging around doing this showbiz thing for ages, just in different ways. Picked up the theater thing when it was immensely popular around Shakespeare's time. He's actually older than Lance, and despite his largely immature attitude, he's actually more emotionally stable.

☆Lance☆

-Angsty lil cinnamon bun.

-Absolutely starved for affection of any kind (Balan doesn't count), and very lonely. Will immediately doubt you/deny/contradict you if you compliment them. Will squirm and make desperation "THEY'RE TOUCHING ME. WHAT DO I DO? I DON'T KNOW WHAT TO DO. BALAN HALP." noises if you show them physical affection. Will also blush profousely.

-Plays the villain role in all the shows, and as a result almost no one likes or acknowledges them. As a whole they tend to be antisocial with very clear touch boundaries (Balan does NOT CARE). Very quiet and serious, and only speaks when absolutely necessary.

-Will NOT sugarcoat things (unless they like you, then expect sugarcoating of unimportant/trivial things). Less than stellar at the whole "emotional comfort" thing. If they like you, will hold you if you ask (especially if you're visibly upset).

-Feeds on negative emotions, meaning they have a more constant energy supply than Balan (though Balan is physically and power-wise stronger). Tends to be emotionally unstable and will get easily fed up/throw a small tantrum when they've had enough. Generally low energy and sleeps/naps often.

-Strictly They/Them pronouns. Also lacks a biological gender like Balan and can be anything they feel like being. Understands human created gender stereotypes and social norms.

-Prefers more feminine clothing. You're more likely to see casual clothes with Lance. They rarely care about other people's opinions on the matter. They prefer comfy, truly casual clothing made of soft cloth. Will always be wearing heels of some kind, though, and usually a scarf. Hair will be pulled back, typically in a messy bun or something similar.

-Does all the repairs and maintinence for the theater, including costume repair (especially if Balan's costume needs it, he will weep LOUDLY until Lance fixes the issue). Not uncommon to see them with their head in a ceiling fixing wiring, etc.

-Will absolutely melt if you stroke/run your fingers through their hair. They find it soothing, and if you pull them to you they'll fall asleep on your lap, against your shoulder, etc.

-Back tendrils are PAINFULLY sensitive, please don't touch without permission.

-Is a terrible cook in all things except desserts and sweets. They excell at all sugary treat making. Also an excellent bartender with a wide knowledge of cocktails.

-Absolute lightweight. Will get drunk off two shots, and is a weepy drunk. Tends to steer clear of drinking alcohol as a result. Enjoys Shirley Temple drinks, and can tie cherry stems into shapes with their tongue. Will cut you off if they think you've had enough booze.

-Impeccable and neat room filled with crystals, candles, incense, and lots of glow in the dark things. Their room has a purple and dark theme with small gold accents and is in general a small room with one window on the left side. Modestly sized canopy bed with plain bedding. Expect to never see this room unless they really adore you. They will know if you've so much as touched the doorknob and they WILL show up immediately to shoo you away.

-Tends to phase through the floor in a puddle of shadows, especially when trying to avoid a conversation. Will flail desperately if Balan pulls them back with his vaudeville hook.

-Lance is a light sleeper and any small sound will usually wake them up. Balan leaves them constantly sleep deprived. Sleeps curled up in a ball with their face snuggled into the comforter.

-If they find you asleep in the theater, they won't move you, but you're likely to wake up with pillows under your head and hips and a blanket tucked over you. They will also fall asleep anywhere and everywhere so if you're drowsy they'll steer you to the best napping spots (the daybed in the library is one of their favorites).

-Will throw stuff at Balan, watch your head.

-Has two sets of upper fangs, one right after the other and the second set is smaller than the first set, and one set of bottom fangs. Will rarely if ever smile, and is hesitant to be happy around you if they like you. NO ONE likes them, and if YOU like them you're the only one so they don't want to scare you off.

-They are remarkably gentle (despite being constantly cast as the villain), and tend to move more gracefully than Balan. Excellent at the Waltz and Tango, though they don't dance often.

-Eyes ALSO glow in the dark, and the pupils are slitted like a cat. They get huge and round if something catches Lance's attention.

[fandom-imagination-ss]

Clark Kent imagine

Author note: I cannot remeber writing this..and since i haven’t wrote anything for a while. I figure hey why not!!!!! So Sorry if it doesn’t make sense LOL 😂😂 I will be posting more soon promise.!!

Did i proof read: .... I honestly dont remember writing this soo.. you BET your tooth i didn’t proof read

Rating: fluffy!

Fandom: DC

God your such a big Dork!”

Laughing loudly your sides hurt , Clark just tripped and slide right into a lamp and somehow managed for the shade too be on. His head. You reached over helping him chuckling softly tracing your hands over his broad shoulders making sure he wasn’t hurt. Those Hurting Clark was physically impossible. You still worry.

He chuckled softly saying sorry, you just laughed giving him a quick kiss on the shoulder as you shifted too move too your sofa.

Loving Superman had it’s perks and downsides, the biggest one was that Loris Lane was Furious that you “stole” her profit. Clark always said that Louis never abused their relationship too get articles or too gain more popularity. But she was literally the Only reporter in the entire City that Had Full access too the most talked about man in the entire world.Getting raises left and right when She got a “in-depth “ conversation with Superman and ally he deets on a attack. Whatever way Clark spelt it out. You hated that she abused her relationship for gain at work. It felt wrong. She was literally Sleepign with the subject too information.

It didn’t help that your relationship with her was tense even before you knew she knew about Clarks double life. You were one of the few humans too know about Clarks ability before he became Superman. You grew up right down the road from Clark, same grade, best friends all thru school. Clark would show off his powers too you when you were younger and you were the only one outside he’s family too know. After he left and ran off too find himself you stayed and helped his mom and then Superman arrived and you reconnected with your oldest friend and you moved toot he city after a awful breakup and you just always were around. And Louis hated it. You tried too be friendly towards her. But once Clark discovered she was In bed with lex Luther. (Right in the middle of the Act.) he was furious And heartbroken and he broke up with her and you were secretly glade you didn’t have too pretend too be friends with her anymore.

Dating the man of steel happened so naturally you can’t even remember when it started or how it started who made the first move it just felt Right. Clark was smiling cupping your face looking at you “what you thinking about?”

Poking his stoumch you look up at him grinning, “how I’m so lucky too have my Dork.” He chuckled reaching over kissing your head. “I have too go surveillance with Bruce you be alright tonight?”

Nodding your head weakly. You were use too having too share Clark with the world. Honestly how can you complain when he’s Saving the literally world?

“Oh Ask Bruce How The Hell do you connect the light too the speakers? Too do that flashy thing.he’s instructions Suck!”

He chuckled saying okay.

He walked off. As you grinned excited too have the apartment too yourself. You walked over too your room getting out of your Jeans and into Shorts and a shirt of clarks you always steal it had he’s favourite football team. Making dinner for you, and a dessert. You grabbed your Tablet (making sure too put sticky tack on both lenses after reading how easily the cameras’ are hacked you always put Sticky tack on it if your gonna watch something in the tub.

Getting the Tub ready you started binge watching a the musketeers. When you finished having a relaxing bath you got into your cloths again and watched it on the tv. The actors were Hot as Hell. And the voices. Melting! Clark had that affect on you. He’s voice was smooth and deep and Hot. Those every aspect of your boyfriend is Hot.

You looked around realizing the place was empty as you went too the freezer as you pulled out your container of Icing. Before retuning too the sofa and warming it up as you had your spoon from your ice cream and mixed it as you watched tv. An hour passed when jumped gasping at some scenes. Then you heard the deep chuckle of your boyfriend.

“what are you doing?” You turned looking at Clark seeing him in his uniform as you had a spoon sticking out of your mouth as you spoke, “I’m- what are you doing here? I thought you were going too be late?”

“I came too check on you- what are you watching?” Getting up as you grabbed the icing container as you spoke, “Mustkeers.- what- aren’t you suppose too be hanging with a bat?” He chuckled walking over pulling you into a deep kiss it was unexpected as he pulled back as he spoke, “good icing.” You laughed hitting his softly as he grinned holding your head. “You smell nice.”

“had a bath with my good stuff.” He chuckled softly rubbing your cheek with his thumb.

“thank you.”

“For. Bathing?”

Clark chuckled kissing your forehead as he spoke, “No for being you.”

“thank you?”

He kissed you again before dashing off as you got ready for bed.

Standing in the shower in the morning getting cleaned you turned seeing Clark standing in the bathroom smiling as you spoke ‘what?”

Seeing him pulling off his Shirt, which even after a year of dating. Still left you breathless seeing him shirtless. He was curved and caved from the Gods! It still took you back that he was yours. That this guy. Who looks like a god, has powers As if he was one. Was your you giggled seeing him quickly undress and Joining you in the shower. Quickly pulling you into a deep Kiss,

Perfection can only last for so Long.

It was wrong place at the wrong time. You were In a Church helping your friend choose a location for her wedding when a machine came Crashing into the Chapel destroying it. And the impact flung you backwards and you were pierced thru the stoumch by a pipe it slipped thru you like butter. You were pinned too the wall as you looked up seeing Lex Luther appear from the robotic machine he laughed loudly seeing you.

Superman arrived instantly you saw him just in time too loose vision from loosing so much blood. You heard him screaming No! As you drift.

Clark Dashed over too you seeing you impaled and pinned too the wall. He’s screams broke windows of the church as he fell down onto his knees realizing that you were gone. The girl who Never treated him like anything then a boy. The boy she has known her whole life. Who once learning about everything about him. Simply asked if she kissed him could she get the ability too be super strong. The girl who use too help him practice how too control who would sneak over too play with him. Who was his first kiss. The women who idea of a fun night in is. Watching a fantasy show and be bare legged and as comfy as possible. Clark felt his soul breaking seeing you. The Girl he was going too marry.have a family with.

“Opps.”

Luther said giddy seeing Clark in so much pain. Before Clark could find the strength too move. Luther dissapeared.

Clark screamed NO. You were gone..

Weeks passed with No sighting of Luther, Bruce ended up going toot he funeral, so did Diana , and Berry who you once meeting the flash instantly wanted too bet that Clark was faster. And you and him would have in debut conversations about Harry Potter. Wonder women was close with you also. You worked in a museum , and she would telly you stories a bout the greek gods. And the Amazon women. Cyborg was amazed a girl of this time. Couldn’t figure out how too do anything technical. You were as clueless as a 80 year old man trying too make a call on a smart phone.

Arther arrived toot he funeral with the others as he stood up too talk.the funeral was beauitful, and the wake was Sad. Clark’s Mom invited all the justice league too her house. Where Clark was staying since Luther has been MIA.

“when I first met that feisty women. She asked if I could really talk too whales and asked what they liked talking about. Then she told me I this insane theory of whales being fictional. Apparently that girl lived on the coast for two years. And Never saw a whale.Clark took her too my dads lighthouse and I got a few too pop up too show them off. I never seen a happier person in my life. She acted like a kid on Christmas Day .she was- something special.”

They all chuckled as Clark was silent holding his hands tightly as Diana stood up. “When I first met Y/N. she was covered head too toe in dirt and Mud. She was playing football with Clark.- She looked like the happiest girl in the world. I knew excatly at that moment she was madly in love. I remember looking like that at Steve. She asked me too help scare Clark it was- apparently her mission in life too scare him Once.-“ Diana went quite Seeing Clark was stiff. She knew excatly how he felt. Hallow inside with going thru the motion.

Bruce was about too speak when the front door opened. Seeing Y/N covered in dirt. You stood in the front entrance covered in dirt wearing the dress you were buried in. You coughed loudly as Clark Rushed over too you griping your face tightly, “how- How is this possible?”

“what the hell happened?”

Everyone looked at each other stunned as Diana heard a fast beating sound.

“Y/N? Is that you?” Clark was crying too hard too hear anything as Diana stepped over as she kneeled down pressing her ear too your stomach.

“it’s a heartbeat.”

“WHAT?” Gasping loudly as Clark was too stunned too take any of that information in. But your ears were working. “Shut up no it’s not! I- I was. In the church wasn’t I when that bastered- how- I woke up in the graveyard what the fuck! Is going on?!”

“how did you get out of the grave.. you were just Barried this morning.”

Rolling your shoulders you shook your head, “I woke up up above ground.. I wans’t- you buried me? What the Hell why!” You hit Clark as he gripped your face tightly as he spoke, “you scared the Shit outta me! How- I don’t understand you were died.”

You rolled your shoulders, “Don’t look at me! The last thing I remember was being in the church.. what- what happened?”

“you died..But I think your baby protected you.”

That’s when Clarks ears started working as he turned too wonderwomen. “Excuse me? Baby?”

“Oh Boy..’

[i-am-a-closet-fanfic-fiend]

The Art of Love (Part 7) ~ Steve Rogers x Reader College!AU

A/N: Happy Valentine’s Day Weekend my loves! I’m finally getting back into this story. Hopefully I’ll be able to finish it up soon, but no promises. lol but I hope you enjoy. I wanted to get this out because this year the dates actually line up lol so here we are. 

Summary: You and Steve host his mom and Bucky for dinner. 

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x Reader (Eventual), Bucky Barnes, Sarah Rogers 

Rating: K+

Warnings: None. Fluff . Idiots 

Word Count: 1968

Divider by: @whimsicalrogers​

Main Masterlist | The Art of Love Masterlist | Broken Hearts and Robot Parts Masterlist (Companion Fic) ​

You were unable to tear your eyes away from Steve as he tugged his shirt off and tossed it in the hamper, though you rolled your eyes when he laughed at you. It wasn’t until you heard him singing Sexyback that you huffed and turned back to the dresses.

You stared at your remaining options. You couldn’t help but smile when you came to a decision. If you were right, you knew exactly why it was his favorite. After you packed away the rest of the dresses you flopped down on the bed scrolling through your notifications.

“Did you make a decision?” Steve asked as he exited the bathroom, dressed in his jeans and white tank top but barefoot.

You gestured to the closet where the blue wrap dress hung next to his shirt.

Steve looked at it and grinned.

“My favorite.” Steve laid on his side next to you, propping his head in his hand. “We really should go back to California soon.”

You rolled on your side to mimic his position.

“I’d love that. Ooh maybe in the winter though because it’ll be nice and warm,” you giggled.

“That’s a great idea.”

You dropped your gaze from his and started tracing the pattern of his bedspread.

“What’s going through your head, sweetheart?” Steve asked as he covered your hand with his own.

“Just going over what’s left to do for tonight.”

“Everything is all set. There’s nothing left for you to do except to get ready.”

“How long do I have?”

Steve glanced at his phone.

“About an hour.”

“Okay, that’s probably enough time to make myself presentable,” you fretted.  

He cupped your cheek, focusing your attention on him.

“Sweetheart, please stop worrying. You are always beautiful.”

“You’re just saying that.”

“Nope. It’s my professional opinion. Are you doubting someone who almost has a bachelor’s in fine arts?” he demanded haughtily.

You giggled and rolled your eyes, shoving at his chest.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love me for it,” he beamed.

“That I do.”

“Why don’t you go take a shower. Take your time and relax. I even bought the candle you like.”

“Summer storm?”

“Yup.”

“You’re the best.”

You kissed him on the cheek as you climbed over him to go shower.

The shower helped calm your nerves and when the water ran cold you wrapped yourself in the fluffy towel Steve had bought just for you and padded back into the bedroom.

You kept the music on low as you got ready, fixing your hair and doing some light make up. When you were satisfied with your appearance you tugged on the dress and slid your feet into the low heels. The final touch was the silver necklace of a dancer that Steve had bought you for your first showcase.

“So how do I look?” you asked as you stood beside the TV.

“Beautiful.”

He patted the spot beside him on the couch and you happily joined him. He immediately twined his fingers through yours.

“I’m really glad that you’re here with me tonight. I love you, y/n.”

“I love you too, Steve.”

He brought your hands up so he could kiss your knuckles you couldn’t help the fond smile that tugged at your lips. Your shower and primping had taken less time than you expected so you and Steve passed the time watching the Good Place.

You were tucked neatly into Steve’s side as you waited for his mom and Bucky to arrive. As his nerves mounted yours seemed to recede and you rubbed soothing circles over his knuckles.

“Relax, Steve. It’s your mom and Bucky. There’s nothing to worry about.”

“There’s a lot to worry about. The three people I love the most are all going to be in the same place.”

“I thought you weren’t worried about me meeting your mom.”

“I’m not worried about you. I’m worried about me. The three people who have the most dirt on me in the same room. Yikes.”

You rolled your eyes.

“You know I live to lift you up. But I hope she brought baby pictures.”

“You’re awful.”

“You love me.”

“You sure about that?”

“Not a doubt in my mind.”

He pulled you closer and kissed the crown of your head.

“Good because I do. Mmm. You smell good.”

“I smell like you.” you giggled. “I forgot my shower gel.”

“Yeah but it’s your shampoo. It’s the perfect combination.”

You were interrupted by keys jangling and the door swinging open.

“Honey, I’m home.”

“Hey, Buck.”

“Hey, Smudge. Hey, Stevie.”

Neither of you moved from the couch as he hung his jacket up and walked into the kitchen.

“God it smells great in here.”

“Bucky Barnes, don’t you dare eat anything to spoil your appetite.”

“But I’m starving,” he whined.

“We’re having appetizers as soon as Steve’s mom gets here. Just wait.”

Bucky pouted into his beer as he sank into the opposite end of the couch.

“I promise it’s worth it.”

“I’m sure it is, doll”

“You’re too sweet, Buck. What did you do today?”

“I spent most of it at the hospital. A spot on their Saturday shift opened up so I took it.”

“Aw that’s great. You didn’t think you’d be able to this semester.”

“I know. I’m really glad. There’s this really sweet girl who just is amazing.”

You and Steve shared a smile at the excitement and fondness in his voice.

The three of you chatted, until your nerves got the best of you and you moved into the kitchen to triple check everything for dinner. The boys trailed behind you, but stayed out of your way.

Your eyes snapped to the door when it buzzed and you tracked Steve as he went to greet his mom. Bucky used your distraction to swipe a grape earning him a rap on the knuckles with a cheese knife.

“Hands off, Buck.”

“Aw come on, doll.”

“No more.”

Bucky pouted but kept his hands to himself as you retrieved the glasses from the cabinet.

Steve was laughing when he opened the door with the one and only Sarah Rogers trailing behind him. She smiled brightly when she spotted you and Bucky. You quickly wiped your hands on the dish towel and hurried to greet her.

“Hi, Mrs. Rogers, it’s nice to see you again.”

“It’s lovely to see you, darling. Please call me, Sarah.”

Once Steve took her coat she leaned forward to kiss you on each cheek.

“Hello, James.”

“Hey, Aunt Sarah,” he grinned around a mouthful of cheese.

“Buck!”

“Sorry, Smudge!”

Rolling your eyes you headed back into the kitchen.

“Can I get you something to drink, Ma?���

“I’ll just have some water.”

“Regular water or seltzer water.”

“Regular please, dear.”

“Sweetheart do you want anything.”

“Water please.”

You retrieved the charcuterie board fiddling slightly trying to disguise the gap Bucky’s munchies had left. He had the good grace to look apologetic when you glared in his direction.

Sarah had made herself comfortable in the arm chair and Bucky took the chair and a half across from her leaving you to sit beside Steve on the couch. He patted your knee before taking your hand as he had earlier.

“How was your Saturday? Did you work today?” Steve asked.

“No, I’m off this weekend. I went grocery shopping. Needed to stock up on a few items. It was a mad house though.”

“Really? It was quiet when we were there,” Steve hummed.

“We were there at like 6:30,” you pointed out.

“True. And it was getting crowded when we were finishing up.”

“I wonder why.”

Bucky and Sarah gaped at the two of you.

“You two really do live under a rock in that arts building don’t you?”

Sarah laughed at Bucky’s observation.

“Why? What are we missing?”

“There’s a blizzard coming tomorrow. Everyone was stocking up before the storm.”

“Wait, seriously?”

“Uh huh. It’s been on every news station for a week. What have you been doing?”

“Avoiding my phone at all costs,” you admitted.

Steve shrugged his agreement. “I’ve been distracted.”

“Well, I hope you got more than just food for tonight.”

“Yeah, we’re all set,” Steve assured his mom. “We’ll just hunker down here for the next few days.”

“Absolutely. It’s not like we were planning to leave for the next couple of days anyways,” you agreed.

“Oh did you two have plans for the holiday?”

You squirmed under Sarah’s amused but expectant gaze, not wanting to give her the wrong impression.

“Tomorrow is our annual Lord of the Rings Marathon. We do it every year,” Steve explained with a grin.

“How did that come about?”

“During Freshman year, I got really sick right around Valentine’s Day. And my roommate, and pretty much everyone else I knew had gone on this ski trip that whole week. Steve was worried about me so he brought me pancakes from the dining hall and chicken noodle soup and stayed with me the whole weekend. We watched a ton of movies, but somehow Lord of the Rings became a tradition.”  

“That’s so sweet.”

“Yeah it is.”

You squeezed as his hand as he looked over at you with that soft smile you loved so much.

Steve patted his stomach and hummed as he sat back in his chair, nudging your knee with his. Bucky was wiping his bowl with the last of the rolls, and Sarah demurely wiped at her mouth.

“Dinner was absolutely delicious. I’ve got to say, Y/n, I’m impressed you’ve taught my son to cook.”

“I wouldn’t say I taught him. We more figured it out together. Poor Bucky had to taste test a lot of nearly inedible things.”

“Except her baking. That’s always been amazing,” Bucky piped up as he shoved the last roll into his mouth.  

“Speaking of, I should get the pie in the oven to warm up or we won’t have dessert until midnight,” you fretted.  

“I’ve got it, sweetheart. Just relax.”

“I’m sure the boys won’t mind cleaning up.”

You glance at Steve who nods encouragingly before hopping to his feet, squeezing your shoulders as he kissed the top of your head as he passed by. Bucky finished chewing and began to clear the dishes.

“Why don’t we move over to the couch?” she suggested.

You nodded and grabbed your glass and followed her, sitting next to the older woman.

“I’m so glad that we’re finally getting to spend some time together. Steve never stops talking about you. You’re clearly very special to him.”

You couldn’t help but look over at him, smiling as he elbowed Bucky out of the way at the sink.

“He’s very special to me too.”

“Thank you for taking care of him. I know he can get lost in his work.”

“He does the same for me.”

“I also have to say, you’re a beautiful dancer. I’m looking forward to your performance at the Showcase. It’s always been a highlight in the past.”

“Oh, thank you. I’m flattered.”

“I also saw that you and Steve were celebrating a new job last night?”

“Yes, I just joined the Howling Commando Stage Troupe as a dancer and assistant choreographer.”

“Oh that’s so exciting. Congratulations. Are you looking forward to it?”

“Yes, absolutely. They’ll send me the info for the summer series in a few weeks.”

“And how does one manage being a dancer and a choreographer at the same time.”

“The Howlies always mount two shows simultaneously, so I’ll be dancing in one show while I help choreograph the other.”

“Ah, I see. Well that is quite the undertaking, but I’m sure it will all be beautiful. You’ll have to let me know when opening night is. I would love to come and see you.”

Her earnest support caught you off guard.

“Of course,” you finally managed. “Thank you.”  

A/N: Thank you so much for reading. I hope you enjoyed ! 

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[widowsofchaos]

Hey boo. I see your requests are open and I would love another medieval Bucky if you're vibing. Maybe something simple like Bucky cornering our reader in the corridor during a banquet and taking advantage of the distraction of the celebrations? Anyways, love you and your wonderful work.

❝ Forbidden Fruit

summary: as you mourn for the love of your life, unbeknownst to you, you catch the king’s eye.

pairings: dark king!Bucky x black!reader / former village witch!Wanda Maximoff x black!reader

Warnings: dub non-con, murder, choking, breeding .. ya know the whore vibes.

A/N: Requested by Roo, aka my wife — historical smut is our mutual kink. <3 another medieval Bucky?! Fuck yes. I’m drooling right now. And dark medieval Bucky?! A fucking wet dream. I hope you enjoy this, Roo. I wrote it with love. <3

p.s. I was listening to this medieval cover of Creep, and it just fit the mood for me. Medieval covers of modern songs is my JAM. P.s.s. I haven’t written in over two years so sorry if I’m rustyyyy <33

(Creep medieval cover)

Do Not Repost My Works!

Grief is a strange state of mind. You are alone -- loneliness constricts your soul -- in this world -- a blight of death lingers upon your days.

The stench of a decaying heart oozes from your pores, zombified mulling has become your stature -- living has now become a chore you could no longer bear.

Attempts to find solace in your small garden, or seek tedious conversations with your close confidantes -- Natasha, and Sharon -- in search of comfort -- but it was fruitless. Your soulmate was gone, burned into crisp.

Her brown auburn hair frayed in flames, her blood-curdling screams deafened your ears -- you can still hear her cries at night.

Hog-tied, and bound for a false crime -- the cheers and chants of kill the witch, kill the witch, kill the witch ring like crackling metal cowbells battering your eardrums.

The ashes of a smolder cadaver salvaged into an urn, tucked under your arm, scurrying in the dead of the night to bury her.

Dug a hole deep enough of a familiar grave -- tears watered the disturbed soil, as dirt and grit littered nimble fingers gingerly laid the urn to rest upon the coffin.

Here lies the brave warrior, Pietro Maximoff, a Slovakian immigrant, who died in battle in honor of King Barnes, now reunited in the afterlife with his other-half -- Wanda.

A brother and sister now soaring high among the clouds, two pure souls now cradled in the hands of the almighty Lord -- the heavens have gained another angel.

Putrefying flesh forced to be paraded in stitched elegant cloth crafted by your hands, forced to attend a banquet -- not just a regular fest -- no -- the young princess of the royal Barnes family has been wedded off, Princess Rebecca of Brooklynite now bares the noble title, Queen Rumlow.

The palace erupted in splendor, overwhelming in joyous celebration. The wind band at full swing -- drunk royal allies merrily wailing, and dancing upon the banquet floor.

By default of your entrusted role of handmaiden, and personal dressmaker of the youthful highness -- you were expected to make an appearance.

The atmosphere was flooded by a mouth-watering aroma, platters of cooked meals -- pig head, wild game, smoked fish, roasted peacock, cut steamed vegetables, sweetened desserts, and dried fruit coated in dribbled honey.

The Great Hall is decorated in silk curtains draping on the high windows, never-ending refills of ale, lively minstrels, and troubadours of noble high-regards. King Barnes will go above and beyond of excellent splendor for his sister.

The royal family is seated at the stretched mahogany table at the center of the corridor: King Barnes, his mother Queen Barnes on his right, his sister on his left. Beyond seated next to the aging monarch was the curia regis, himself -- Steven Rogers.

Swathed combed blonde-hair, piercing blues, sharp mighty jaw, magenta and navy color patterns resemble him to be a pampered aristocrat, but he holds himself to be a knight -- ready for the fight of honor.

A bitter taste lingers in your mouth, as you witness Steve shamelessly flirt with Sharon. It hasn’t been nearly a year since his “betrowed” Dutchess Peggy Carter has passed, and now he mingles with her youngest niece.

You often ponder if he used Peggy’s status to gain more of popularity favor, and her wealth? He does prance in fancier clothing -- besides the ones Bucky spoils him with.

You never brought the conversation to Sharon, fearing to offend her, and provoke her mourning of her great aunt. But the tasteless courtship nerves you.

King Barnes cheekily pecks his sweet little sister on the cheek as she sits by his side with a pure grin clasping onto her new husband’s hand -- as you sulk in the farthest corner, distancing yourself from the lively crowds.

If it was left to your decision, you would be isolated in your chambers -- drowning in your tears, and mead. It’s been three full moons since the passing of your lover, and the wound of mourning is still fresh.

You stole a glance at Rebecca, envy’s hideous head rearing -- why couldn’t you be in love? Why has fate -- the heavens -- have forgotten you so? The creamy white fabric sewn, and gracefully stitched draped her magnificently, her natural beauty gleams.

Skin as fresh milk luster within opulent cloth, satin silk embroidered with lace under the cuff. A lace trimming that separates the top of the sleeve from the bottom cuff which is adorned with silver and pearl brooches — as if you captured the twinkling night stars, shooting moonbeams and soft haunting orbs sunlight to fabric.

A sense of pride hummed over you.

At last, you buried the jealousy deep in your shattered cavity, genuinely happy that at least love still prevails.

Mindlessly plucking ripped pieces of fessant off your plate, popping it into your mouth, as the heel of your other palm propped you up by your chin -- hazily staring at the drunken fools berating themselves.

Your other hand flickering with your long braids -- fingers twirling, the curled ends grazing against your chavile.

Your brown orbs scan the room, hazily observing the charade, till you reach back to a giggling Rebecca -- your breath hitched.

Cerulean pools pierce through you, sternly unwavering. Five seats away from you is his Majesty himself, Barnes. Gawking at you intensely, like a wolf sniffing out his prey.

Your eyes widened, frozen in your seat. He lifted his chin up, his hues looking you up and down -- as if he was inspecting you. It made your skin crawl, immediately pulling your gaze from his.

Luckily everyone was drunkenly distracted, unable to see the king making daggers at you -- through your peripheral vision, he’s still staring at you.

Drinking from his goblet, above the rim was his pools peering at you. He finally tore away from you, at the very moment his sister, Rebecca tugged on his arm; hugging him. He caressed her cheek tenderly.

You nervously stand up, your shaky hands rubbing against your gown, drying your clammy sweat into the fabric.

Dashing feet snuck you out of your seat, quiet footfalls snuffed by uproarious chatter, and music. In a flash, you bolted out of the grand hall, exiting through a barren entryway; heading straight for your chambers.

Entirely missing Barnes’ amused grin, and arched brow. - Silence. The corridors were deafening, the only cadence is your nimble feet clicking against the pavement.

Splotches of ignited dimmed carnelian glow against your flesh gleaming a haunting sepia. Fingertips grazing against the stone walls to maintain balance from your tipsy stupor.

Confusion over-rides in your mind, why did King Barnes stare at me? So … intensely? Never has the king been so vehement before -- especially with me. Of all maidens, his attention falls upon me. Why?

Unanswered questions swirl in your head like furious wasps, stinging nerves throb painfully, soothing your temples by your tips, glossy quartz blankly glimpt at the lit torches nailed to the wall -- there she is. A small dark figure dances in the flames, thriving limbs swirl around; she’s in pain.

If you could just grab her, and keep her -- maybe she can sleep on a flower-bed, your own Thumbelina. Your heart aches, desperate fingers slowly try to touch the fire, but blazing heat torment you.

At last, just like before -- you couldn’t save her from her fate. The smoky figure stills, it waves solemnly, and simmers in ashes.

“Do you often stare at fire, my lady?” A husky timbre pulled you out of your trance, flinching at the sudden intrusion. Hot tears slip down your cheeks, quickly wiping it away.

Through blurry vision, shrouded in darkness, is Barnes. “No, your Highness. My apologies, I’ll take my leave now.” Fidgety fingers, and averted eyes, you turn to move away but he caught your elbow.

“Do not apologize, I’m sorry if I offended you.” Barnes pulled your body closer to him, offering a small smile. Both gigantic paws grip your elbows, “No, your Highness. You haven’t offended me.” You meekly spoke, a timid smile, shallow breathing.

“Bucky.” You snapped your head upwards, “Beg your pardon?” You quizzically question him, “I bessek you to call me, Bucky.” You gasped at him, soft shake of the head in refusal. His voice was kind, but it came off as more of a demand.

“Your Hig--” He glared at you, cowering underneath his intense stare, “Bucky, that would be inappropriate of me. It’s not my place.” He shushed you, his knuckles nuzzling your cheek.

“Tis only fair, we’ve known each other for a few years.” The spot where his fingers touched heated, tingling. Traveling the terrain of your face, fingers find refuge in your hair, toying with the silk ribbons woven within the braiding, intently inspecting.

“Rebecca’s gown is magnificent. Your touch is impeccable.” Twirling curled ends pinched between his fingers tips.

“I thank you.” You awkwardly lower your eyes away from him, his finger lifting your chin, “You’ve been crying.” His brows furrow, inspecting your sheen eyes. “Why ales you?” His palm cups your face, lowering his face closer to you, low pants of fear, you tilted your head away from him, a cough to cover the awkwardness.

“Nothing, Bucky.” You finally free yourself from his grasp, the brisk air from the open windows cooling your skin.

Walking towards the stone window, staring at the village located in the distance -- a burnt wooden pillar stood mockingly in the village square. Your facial lines morphed in discomfort, sobs wrecked your chest.

Bucky’s warm palms contrasted your icy skin, twisting you around to face him, “Please do not cry, such a beauty shouldn’t be pained with sorrow.” Bucky’s nose flared, his eyebrows twisted sympathetically. Cupping your cheeks, his thumbs swiping away tears.

Bucky slipped into a trance of adoration. You weren’t like the other noble women who would bleed themselves to achieve pale skin.

He can inquire of a memory of his former flame, Dutchess Dorothy -- who he fondly donned Dot -- who would walk weakly due to losing some blood. When he asked her why would she harm herself, she would tenderly reply, “Beauty is pain, my King.”

But you didn’t have to reach extreme techniques. No, you were a specimen of worldly beauty. “Bucky?” you tried to coax him out of his trance; his dilated eyes, and curled smile sent a shiver down your spine. Your dainty palms hold onto his hands, weak tugs to free your face -- but it is fruitless.

“Your Highness, please release me.” Your timid voice broke his haze, he growled lowly, “I thought I told you to call me, Bucky?” A grin, all teeth.

“My apologies.” Your watery eyes instinctively travel to your right, eyeing the burnt log standing proudly beyond the distance, hiding among the wild trees of the royal acres -- you sniveled a bit. A snort stralted you.

“A fitting punishment for such sorcery.” Bucky sneered, a smug smile as he stared out in the distance. Your eyes snapped back at him. Your nose flared, rage, and grief murking deep in your gut, strangling your spirit.

“I disagree.” Stern, and hardened. “Disagree?” Bucky glared at you, “A witch was among my circle, and you disagree?” Bucky’s hands left your cheeks, gripping your shoulders harshly.

“She wasn’t a witch, but a healing doctor.” You winced, earning a hiss, “You’re hurting me.” You cried, as Bucky towered over you.

His snarling face hairs away from yours, “Hurting you? Not as much as you have hurt me over the few years.” He angrily pleaded, pushing you against a nearby stone wall, his weight pinning you.

“How have I hurt you?” Your confusion befuddles you. Limbs wiggling under his clutch, like a hungry wolf, Bucky’s nose nuzzling your scalp, inhaling his sweet aroma of rosewater, and a twinge of spikenard. He grunted from the deep inhale, you stiffened -- truly terrified.

“Two years of desiring you.” His nose trailing from your hair, to the terrain of your forehead to your nose, heavy breath against your cupid-bow.

“Watching you being tainted by that sinful wench.” His hushed roar makes you whine, shutting your eyes as hot tears trail down your cheeks.

Bucky’s lips hairs-away from yours, “I remember when I first met you, when you were engaged to that local blacksmith, I felt immense rage.” He mumbled against your mouth, “How can a peasant have your hand in promise?”

You trembled in his touch, “--but I broke it off with him--” Bucky cut you off, “Yes! To be with that foul woman!” He nibbled on your chin, “I later saw the signs. I watched you glance at her. Lovingly. Remember the walls see all.” Bucky exhaled as he hovered his mouth over yours, the tip of his tongue tantalizing outward.

“Sneaky fingers reaching for each other. I am your shadow. I see what you do, even when I wasn’t around -- I have even watched you slumber a few times, I touched myself as you slept.”

He inhaled once again deeply with gravel. “I loathed her whenever she slept by you.” You were taken-back at his confession, Bucky leaned into your ear, “I have even witnessed you touch yourself in the dead of the night; you coming undone is such a sight.”

His husky timbre sent shivers down your spine, “I had to be rid of her.” That was the hay that broke the camel back.

Impulsively you bite at his shoulder, your teeth sinking into his flesh, he groaned but not in pain. He growled, “That’s what I love about you, my dove. That fiery bite.” You unlatched your teeth, you squirmed beneath him; he tightened his grip on you.

“You killed her! Why?!” you cried, babbling at your words, “Why Bucky?” Clinging onto the fabric of his silk robe. Tears flood your cheeks, dripping down your chin, Bucky’s unrelenting hands cupped your face once again.

Menacing oceanic meets fearsome brown orbs, brows furrowed -- the glow of fire above ignites upon him, illuminating a crown of malice -- the face of the Devil himself.

“I had too, my dove. At first, I was just going to make her spend her days in the dungeon. But then, those -- love letters, promises of running away. It gave me more reason to discard her!” Bucky smashed his lips against yours, all teeth and tongue. Gripping your jaw tightly, forcing you to open wide for his intrusion.

“That whoring wench was going to take you from me!” Bucky’s tongue dove inside your mouth, you gurgled in disgust as his tongue toyed with yours.

“I will burn down the whole kingdom in search of you.” Bucky declared. A wicked kiss of sin. Furious fingers tug at the hem of your dress, nails scrap your flesh as Bucky rips your bodice at the seams; your chest, and belly now exposed to the elements.

Your breasts heave free, and he licks his lips like a rabid dog. “Beautiful.” He mutters as you stand frozen in fear as if roots from the soles of your feet grew within the flooring. Bucky’s hands find your breasts, rubs his thumbs over the nipples, mixing with the cool air bellowing from outside -- your nipples erect.

Your heartbeat thrumming rapidly in your chest, a harsh rhyme matching the muffled cadence from the grand hall. Nibbling your neck, tasting the salt of your skin. Sneaky hands rummage through layers of fabric of your dress; Bucky knelt a bit to bunch your dress upward.

“Please --” You begged, more fresh tears brimming your eyes. “Silence, my love.” Bucky shushed you tenderly. He yanks your hosens, tearing the linen to pieces, exposing your mound. His knuckles glide within your velvet folds, his fingers soaking in your juices. Popping his fingers in his mouth, moaning at yout taste.

“Delicious.” He grumbled. You gain some ounce of confidence, moving your feet to dash out of his grasp, but you fail. You stumble on your feet, as Bucky man-handles you against the wall.

“Stop it!” He barked. Twisting you in his arms, maneuvering you around as your cheek squash against the stone wall. Pinning you with his weight, his chest against your back; his hand wedges between the wall pavement and your stomach.

You try to scream, but he quickly slaps his palm against your lips.

“I shall give you my seed. Let it bloom inside your womb.” Bucky rubbing your exposed belly, his warm breath fanning in your ear, “You will give me an heir.” You whined against his thick fingers squishing your lips shut, hot tears squeeze out shut eyes.

“You should be so grateful.” He hissed, slightly shaking your head by his grip, “Many women have tried to bed me, to gain the gift of carrying my legacy. But they weren’t you -- it’s only been you.” Sloppy kiss on your cheek, a string saliva trailing from his lips. Tiny sobs pull out of you.

With the same palm that was touching your stomach now slithers its way to his undergarments, detaching his robe, so he can have more of a spacious reign. “I can’t wait to feel you, my love. Feel your wetness soak me.” He hissed.

Harshly arching your back towards him with the guide of his hand from your mouth traveling to your pelvis, separating your feet by his. Both his palms cup your ass cheeks, separating to reveal the valley of your gaping asshole to your slit.

Clutching his cock with his thick fingers, stroking it a bit as he hedged the swollen tip against your slick folds. Leaning against you, securing you, Bucky thrusts himself deep.

No hesitation nor preparation for you to adjust to his size. You shrill at his fullness -- thick with girth, and mighty long.

“What a sight you will be swollen with my child. Your breasts --” Quickly groping your tits, “Will carry the nectar of life. Not only will my child fest from you, but so will I.”

You babble incoherently as he plunges. Sobbing at the stretch, hissing as warm liquid slowly trickles down your thighs dripping on the cold floor.

He can’t stop -- but it’s too impulsive, too thrilling. Your face is forced to tilt, facing him, sticky kisses, and moans. Your folds were fluttering, red wine stains his tongue as it plays with yours, husky gruff grunts against your gaped mouth between his fingers.

Moist slick gushing a bit from your pussy, coating his balls that slap against your swollen clit, you involuntarily clench onto him.

“Peach-sweet.” Bucky drinks, slurps your spit. A surge of euphoria surges throughout your body, shame floods you as your subconscious tries to float away to a lighter space.

Limbs go lax as you await the inevitable. An empty stare into his blue daggers, as if he wasn’t even there. Your nails digging into the gravel, futile escape. A sharp thrust against your g-spot made you cry out, breaking the daze of compliance “Don’t. Never try to escape me. You will feel everything I give you.”

A creek of a door halts Bucky’s actions, you try to scream, but Bucky shoves his fingers between your lips. A familiar drunken cackle looms at the end of the hall, “Your Highness --” slurred, and taunting. “--Finally claiming your queen.” Bucky snorts, your eyes close in shame, your immodesty exposed to another gentleman -- but it wasn’t just any gentleman, it was Steve.

Bucky tugs your mouth by his fingers, moving your face to peer in the other direction. You screamed, despite it being muted by Bucky’s digits. Your teary eyes pleading with Steve, but he all but ignores you.

“You couldn’t wait till you got to your chambers.” Steve teased, a grin on his flushed face. A feminine chuckle approach behind Steve, a twirling stumbling body leans on his bicep, “Stevieee…” Appears is Sharon, her face is flushed pink.

“Oh --” She covers her mouth with her dainty fingers, “Well, what an interesting sight.” A knowing smirk on her face, she turns to Steve, “Darling, I feel like --” She stutters, “What’s that Greek chubby winged baby again?” Steve turns to her with an adoring smile.

“The one with the bow and arrow?” She wobbles a bit, fingers sloppily mimicking a shooting arrow; your brows dented in frustration, and confusion at her ignorance of your defilement.

“Cupid, love.” Steve steadies her, she squeals, “Cupid!” Sharon grabs both of Steve’s hands, pulling him along down the hall, she tsks at your fuming eyes. “Y/n, you should be glad. If I haven’t told Bucky about the letters, you would’ve left.”

Your eyes widened at her words, your own friend betrays you. “Alright, Sharon, time to leave the love-birds be. I must take you to my chambers.” Steve guides Sharon by the elbows, wiggling his eyebrows at her.

“Enjoy, punk.” A friendly jeer.

“As always, jerk.” Steve winks at you, as he pats Bucky on the back.

You dry-heave a bit, Bucky removes himself from your lips, shushing you, “Shh. Just enjoy it. Look at them.” Bucky points to the couple fading down the hall. “Steve did everything in his power to be with Sharon. You honestly believe he loved Peggy?”

Your shoulders firm, stiffening by the truth -- “A drop of Hemlock. A little favor from Dr. Banner. To everyone it was a weak-heart, to us” A flair of his wrist, “-- a mercy killing. She was old, and tiring.” Bucky gave you a small kiss on the cheek, stunned as you witness the confession of murder.

“Murderer.” You hiss. Bucky’s eyes hardened, “It’s not my only slaying.” He simpered, he snapped his hips against yours. You wail, bearing his teeth, “How you warm my cock. Soon my bed.”

Furious pasts, your body jolting against him, resuming his torment. As if your body wasn’t on display to his confidante, and your former friend.

A coil is slowly burning, and rolling inside the pit of your belly, no longer to hold back your cries. Teasing, stroking you to a dizzying climax.

Loose hands roaming your body, Bucky’s smug smile at your compliance, a delicious push. Heat blossoms in his eyes, “I love you.” It was breathy, and soft.

Erratic sloppy thrusts, your hips matching his -- reaching for that high, months of no touch. You should be repulsed by his, but just for this moment in time, you can pretend.

“I --” Pretend it's not his hands, a blurry vision of familiar brown locks, a strong Slovakian timbre of sweet whispers, “--I--”. Bucky urges you to say it, “Say it.”His voice hoarse, raw. Sweat beads at his brows.

You don’t hear him -- a kinder voice flows from him, morphing into the woman you mourn, and probably mourn for the rest of your life.

“Let go, moja láska.” Hot tears fall down your face, colliding down your chest. “I love you.” You shrill, you cum violently upon him, spraying the floor and his clothes, your thighs shaking and covered in slick. Bucky roars into his orgasm, painting your walls white.

Kisses on the nape of your neck, scarred, broken. “By fall, you will rule by me. Hopefully by then, you will be carrying my babe.” Bucky hummed, kissing you non-stop. But, you don’t hear him. You just keep hearing the ringing in your ears, the distant fog of Wanda’s voice fading into the darkness.

Gone.

Forever.