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2319 Chapter 2: Hungry Eyes || Young!StephenStrange x F!Reader

Word count: 7.3K Genre: Innocent Love, Diary Entries, Fluff. Special mentions: Donna Strange, Victor Strange A/N: This story is inspired by the Korean Drama called "2521." I have included one of my favorite scenes from the drama in this chapter. Anyone who has seen it will know which one xD ***Strictly to not post, translate or copy my works to other websites!!***

Cold Open — June 6 1999, 6PM

You rushed back to your room after spending a few hours over at the Strange’s, you mainly planned the next couple of days hanging out with Donna and showing her around town. Just like you she’s very artistic, the main difference between you was she loved sculpting, while you loved to paint. She plans on taking creative arts in university just like you.

The whole time you hung out with her though, you couldn’t help but think about her brother and how you’ll be seeing more of him. You can’t deny the fact that you did like his teasing, mainly because most of the boys who you’ve seen in the past have always treated you nicely. You squealed to yourself, could Stephen be a potential new crush? It has been a while since you’ve taken interest in somebody.

You turned the radio on while you pulled one of your journals to write an entry. Britney Spears’ new song, Baby One More Time started playing and you gasped, reaching over the radio to turn up the volume, bopping your head to the beat as you wrote furiously in your journal.

As the verse transitions to the chorus, you paused and grabbed your hairbrush to sing along with the singer, “Show me how you want it to be—tell me, baby, 'cause I need to know now, oh because, My loneliness is killing me (and I)—I must confess I still believe (still believe),”

Directly across your window was Stephen’s room. He flicked his lights on and as he entered the half organised bedroom, the first thing he laid eyes upon was you dancing in your room, holding a brush, listening to Britney Spears. He snickers to himself tilting his head and keeps watching you in amusement. He sat down on the left side of his bed closest to the window to wait how long it would take you to notice him, watching you.

“When I'm not with you I lose my mind~Give me a siiiiiign! Hit me, baby, one more time!”

Stephen was laughing at how you’re so immersed in your fake concert that you couldn’t even feel his gaze on you the whole time.

“(Y/N)!!” Stephen heard your mother call you out from downstairs.

You paused and threw your brush on your bed, “Yes Mom!?”

“Dinner time!!”

“Okay!! I’ll be right down!” You shouted back and placed a bookmark in your diary before leaving your room.

Two days later

You and Donna were in the kitchen showing each other your portfolios in highschool when Stephen came down to grab a snack. He slowed down his tracks when he saw your presence while you avoided eye contact with him.

“Oh wow! You won first prize for this one?” You pointed at the photo of Donna’s renaissance inspired sculpture.

Stephen takes three and four glances towards you as he opened the cupboards to grab peanut butter for his bread, “My loneliness is killing me (and I)~” He starts singing while spreading the peanut butter on his bread, “I must confess, I still believe (still believe)~”

You stopped breathing when you heard him singing that song. Oh God. . . did he see me dancing to Britney at some point?! You thought to yourself—while you looked traumatised, Donna stared at her brother judgingly, not knowing what had gotten into him and why he was so chirpy.

“Lunatic.” Donna mumbled under her breath as she watched Stephen copy the moves you did in your room, with a bit more exaggeration.

“When I'm not with you I lose my mind~Give me a siiiiiign! Hit me, baby, one more time!” Stephen folds the piece of bread and chucks the spoon in the sink, looking at you dead-straight in the eye with a massive smirk on his face, “Nice moves, neighbour.” He says as he leaves you alone with Donna once again.

Donna turned to look at you and witnessed your face grow crimson, “Am I missing something?”

Your face was hardened with mortification and you hid your face from your friend and groaned into your elbow, “Donna please strangle me, or else I’ll dig a hole to the middle of the earth and live there forever—”

“Why? What even is happening?” Donna shakes you, "A-Are you crying?!"

“I think your brother saw me dancing to Britney Spears in my room,” You wailed and raised your head showing Donna that you were crying out of pure embarrassment, “This is so embarrassing, my dignity has been stripped off!”

“Oh my god! That asshole!” Donna turned her head to look for Stephen who was already upstairs, probably laughing his ass off, “Don’t worry, I’ll deal with him later. He was thrown across the room when he was born, that's why he’s a jerk.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Vanessa and Sasha were in the kitchen making chocolate chip cookies just as the girl requested. The older woman chuckles to herself, remembering the time you also asked her to teach you how to make cookies.

“I remember the day your mother asked me to teach her my recipe for these cookies,” Vanessa began whilst she, together with Sasha, rolled the dough before putting it on the trays.

“Really? When was that?” Sasha asked curiously.

“Long time ago we had new neighbours move in, I think it was summer around that time. After that she began baking more frequently—I think their kid next door loved it.” She chuckled.

Victor? Sasha thought to herself and only nodded in response, “I noticed Mom had all these medals and trophies in her room—I didn’t know she was a professional Ice Skater. . . for the thirteen whole years I’ve been alive on earth she never mentioned it once—it feels like I don’t know my mom at all.”

Vanessa chuckled, “Well, she didn’t like Ice Skating anymore, she changed her mind, just like you.”

“Oh. . . so she told you?”

“Yep.”

“Hmm. . . that’s probably why she didn’t get upset with me when I walked out of my audition.”

“She doesn’t want you to put a limit on yourself or what you want to do—I wish we could have done the same for her.”

After all the cookies have been put into the oven, Sasha heads back upstairs to search you up and watch your competition on youtube. She clicked the title, 'Swan on Ice performs one last time at winter olympics 2002.'

And now for the performance everyone is waiting for—There were rumours that she wasn’t competing this year due to personal reasons. We are lucky to witness her compete again but unfortunately this will be the last time we will see our beloved Swan—competing one last time at the age of twenty-two, nicknamed the Swan on Ice, (Y/N, L/N), ladies and gentlemen.

Swan on Ice final performance at Winter Olympics 2002

(Actual Ice Skater is Yuna Kim. Her performance is just one that fit in my imagination. She is not the Faceclaim of Reader)

"Wow." Sasha was bewitched by your performance all those years ago, you were so graceful and filled with emotion during your performance. You clearly performed with passion and it left her bewildered why you chose to go with a different path.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

June 15 1999

The money I received for my gold medal in the olympics last year was not enough to pay for my college tuition and I’m pretty sure mom and dad would oppose me using that because they want me to continue on competing on ice. Yes, I do love ice skating but training for it nearly most of my life is starting to wear me down— I think they’re expecting me to compete again in three years time. I just received a letter in the mail from my coach stating that my training will commence in autumn. Looks like I’ll end up taking student loans while juggling training, studying and working at the same time.

The problem is, I haven’t started my portfolio yet, I really need to start painting but I don’t have inspiration. . . .

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You threw out yet another sketch in your overflowing trash can, “UGH!” You pulled your hair back before laying your cheek on the table, staring at the blank piece of hard paper, defeated. Your tuxedo cat, Figaro, jumped onto top of your desk and bumped his head onto yours.

“You always come at the right time, Figaro, you’re such a good boy.” You lifted your hand and stroked the feline’s spine before scratching his chin. The feline purrs loudly and lies down on its side, showing you its belly.

“(Y/N)! Donna’s on the phone for you!” Vanessa yelled from the living room and you bolted out of your chair and ran downstairs like your life depended on it. You snatched the corded phone from your mother and unmounted the phone on the wall to go farther away from your mother.

“Hey Donna!”

“Hi! Are you free right now? Want to grab some ice cream?”

“Sure! I have to go home early though, some of my high school friends want to catch up tonight.”

“No problem! We’re at Gelato Messina, we’ll wait for you before ordering.”

“We?”

“Me and Victor—Scaredy-cat doesn’t want to be left at home”

“I’m not a scaredy cat!” You heard Victor say in the background.

“Oh. Alright! I’ll be there. Bye.”

“Byeeee.”

You hung up the phone and mounted it back on the wall, “Mom, I’m going to meet Donna at the ice cream parlour.”

“Okay, be careful.” Vanessa replied as she rearranged the plates in the kitchen.

Before heading out you ran back upstairs to grab your denim jacket and put on your high cut converse. Luckily the ice cream parlour was only ten minutes away by bicycle and when you arrived you found Donna and Victor sitting opposite each other by the window arguing until they saw you heading inside.

“(Y/N)! (Y/N)! Over here!” Victor got on his knees on the couch and waved at you.

“Oh my gosh! Just sit down, she’s not blind you know.” Donna rolled her eyes.

“She’s not blind you know.” Victor mocked Donna and stuck his tongue out as he sat back down on the couch. You chuckled and took the seat beside Victor who happily made room for you.

“Mock me again and I won’t buy you ice cream.” Donna threatened Victor who narrowed his eyes, “What do you want?”

“I want salty caramel and cookies and cream.” Donna raised her brows and Victor sighed, “Please!”

“What about you (Y/N)?” Donna turned her attention to you.

“Oh no that’s okay, I can pay for myself.”

“Oh please—just pay for me next time—what do you want?” She waved her hands dismissively and pushed the menu towards you.

“Deal. I’ll get two scoops of Jamaican coffee gelato.” You pointed.

“Cool beans, I’ll be back—behave yourself gremlin.” Donna stood up to get in line, leaving you alone with Victor

“Have you made friends yet Victor?” You turned your body towards him and the boy shook his head, “Why not?”

“Hm, well I tried playing with the kids in the neighbourhood but they didn’t seem too interested in hanging out with a kid who grew up in the city.”

“Oh I’m sorry, I’m sure you'll find your friends when school starts again. Don’t pay them any attention.” You reassured him and ruffled his black hair, “So. . .where’s your brother?”

Victor shrugs, “Probably with his friends who are in town. . .Why?” The little boy narrows his brows.

“What do you mean why? Can’t I ask?” You narrowed your eyes back at him.

“Hmmm, do you have a crush on Stephen?” Victor narrowed his eyes further at you, causing you to chuckle nervously.

“Pft. No—I’m asking because I want to avoid him as much as possible.”

“Because you have a crush on him?”

“No! I don’t have a crush on him, ew.” You grimaced but Victor wasn’t buying it, “Why are you pushing this anyway?”

“I like you, not like the other girls he’s been with.” Victor answers casually with a shrug, “And you are very pretty, if Stephen doesn’t take a chance on you then, I suggest you choose the next best option, and that is me. I guarantee you that I will be much more handsome and cooler than Stephen when I grow up.”

You burst out laughing just as Donna headed back with a tray of desserts for each one of you.

“I think you broke her Victor, what did you do now?” Donna sets Victor’s ice cream cup in front of him and the kid excited digs in.

“She’s just extremely happy to know that I am her next best option after Stephen.”

Donna facepalms herself, “You are a kid Victor, you’re making (Y/N) a criminal—Ignore him, he’s an odd kid. Obviously thrown across the room like Stephen.”

You calmed down from laughter and shook your head, “It’s fine, Donna. Thank you for the ice cream. “

“So. . . how's your new job going?” She asked, taking a spoonful of her mango gelator.

“It’s great! I love working as a florist assistant, I get to learn about different types of flowers, it’s pretty interesting—they’re looking for another clerk though, If you want I can refer you?”

Donna shook her head, “Thank you but it’s all good, I got a job at the bookstore, over there.” She pointed with her spoon and you and Victor turned around to see the building.

“Oh my goodness, so lucky! I’ll come and visit you often! What’s your favourite flower?”

“Roses, what’s your favourite book?”

“Frankenstein by Mary Shelley.”

“I like Daffodils and The BFG by Roald Dahl.” Victor butted in with an innocent smile on his face. You and Donna focused your gaze on the boy, “What?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You left your house in a long coat to hide your true outfit from your mother and father. Your friends from highschool waited for you in their car, the loud music emitted clearer when you opened the door and jumped in.

“So what’s our plan for tonight?” You asked as you buckled yourself up in the backseat.

“Katie met some college boys in town and we’re all going to hang out at Latrobe for some drinks.” Maddison finally revealed the plan with you.

“What?! You girls know we can’t drink for another two years right?” You say, panic loud and clear in your voice.

“This is why we didn’t initially tell you about the plan because your goody-goody ass will back out—come on (Y/N), have you ever lived if you don’t break the rules for once?” Janice nudged your side.

“What if they ask for our IDs?” You asked.

Janice turned her body towards you, “Come here.” She motioned you to come closer to her and held your jaw while she put lipstick on you then removed your hair tie, messing your hair up a bit, “There, now you look twenty-one.”

Sasha furrowed her brows as she read further in this entry, “What the heck?! They’re the bad influence not Stephen—you need to just stick with Donna, Mom. Quality over quantity!”

After half an hour of Janice fixing you up at the backseat a bit more—you now wore a black buttoned crop top, matched with a plaid skirt, black opaque stockings and a high cut converse. What was even more surprising to you was that there wasn’t even a security guard manning the entrance. All of you walts inside the bar filled with people close to your age, without a problem. You tried your best not to grimace at your surroundings, not to mention the very loud music from the speakers—it was so loud you could feel the vibrations in your chest. The smell of smoke filled the air, making it quite hard for you to breathe.

Katie panned her eyes around the bar, “Ethan said they’re inside booth nine.” She told you and the girls and the rest of you just followed her towards where the booths were located up at the loft of the bar. Her head turned from side to side, inspecting the numbers.

Katie opened the door and the guys inside cheered. She then gestured to the rest of you to hurry up and get inside. Janice and Maddy jogged in while you timidly followed. The smell of cigarette smoke was so strong in that room that you instantly had to cover your mouth and nose—but you’ve already got a waft and you began coughing. As you fan over your face violently, you studied everyone’s faces until you landed on Stephen who was about to take a sip of his gin.

As soon as he realised it was you, he quickly averted his gaze and set his beverage down on the table. You could not tell if he was uncomfortable or a little embarrassed to see you there since his expression was difficult to decipher.

“Aren’t you going to sit?” Gareth, one of the guys chuckled, “Come sit beside me.” He patted the space between him and Stephen, who seems to still be refusing to look at you. Gareth moved aside as he gave you space to squeeze yourself in.

You cleared your throat as you sat closely beside Stephen.

Ethan eyes you closely and tilts his head, “Your last friend over here looks younger than twenty-one,” he paused before addressing you, “Hey, be honest, how old are you?”

You opened your mouth to say something but Gareth who was beside you cut you off, “Why does that matter? She wants to learn the ways of the world early, nothing wrong in teaching her right?”

Stephen took a deep breath, his jaw clenching slightly, grip tightening around his glass.

“First lesson, always have men pour the drinks for you.” Gareth grabbed the bottle of whiskey and grabbed the clean glass for you, pouring you a drink, “Alright, bottoms up.” Gareth passed you the glass but before you could grab it, Stephen yanked it out of his friend’s hand and sculled it down in one go, setting the glass down on the table with a loud thump.

Your friends and Stephen’s friends stared at each other in awkward silence.

“Dude, what’s gotten into you? Do you have a problem?” Gareth scoffs.

“Don’t kill the mood, let’s just send her out, she’s obviously not in the right drinking age—it’s a waste of alcohol.” Stephen’s cold voice sent chills down your spine. You look down, slightly feeling upset at what he said when you knew you weren’t even supposed to feel upset.

“Are you hearing yourself right now Stephen? Stop nagging, I’ll get the tab— I won’t make someone who got fired from his job pay for the bill,” Gareth pauses before trying to piss Stephen a bit more, “Aren’t you here to ask me for a favour? Like get you in my workplace? You can’t, can you? Because you can’t swallow your pride.”

“Excuse me, that is not a nice thing to say!” You snapped at Gareth who gave you a demeaning look in return.

“Shut up and drink.” Gareth quickly pours you a glass and slams it in front of you. You sighed and grabbed the glass but Stephen stood up and yanked the glass away from you, the alcohol slightly spilling on the floor, also slamming it on the table.

“Get up.” Stephen told you firmly, raging fire burning behind his eyes. You could tell he didn’t want you to make him say it twice but you can’t just leave since your friends are here.

“You go first. I can’t leave my friends.” You whispered to Stephen who scoffs and didn’t take no for an answer.

He wraps his hands fully around your wrist and attempts to pull you up, “Get. Up.”

Gareth narrows his eyes, noticing the way Stephen was being so protective over you—so he purposely puts his legs on the table to block the way and presents an arrogant smile, “Where are you going? Sit down.”

Stephen bites his bottom lip as if it was the only thing that’s giving him the patience not to throw a punch towards his friend, "Move it."

"Go by yourself, she said she wants to stay, didn't she?"

“Give it a rest, Gareth. Why are you being such an ass?” Jake butts in to defend Stephen.

Stephen chuckles and kicks Gareth's leg off while still holding onto you, causing the latter to grimace in pain and rub the side of his leg. Stephen dragged you along with him but before you could head out the door Gareth leaned over to grab his phone, "Ah—shit. That's it, I'm going to call the cops."

You casually spun around, “Do it, call the cops.” You urged him, causing you to get a concerned look from Stephen.

What the hell? Is she trying to get us all arrested?! He thought, “What are you doing?” Stephen whispered at you.

“It’s okay, I have a plan.” You whispered back to him.

Gareth chuckles and smirks at Stephen, “What do you say Steve? She wants me to call the cops.”

Stephen says nothing and just glowers at Gareth as the latter stands up to go face to face with him. Stephen lets go of your wrist and allows you to step aside, “You know her don’t you? That’s why you’re getting all worked up.”

“Whether I know her or not is none of your business.”

“Well I better report this then, she can watch you get arrested or you can go by yourself but she stays.” Gareth taunts, “Decide Stephen, you can’t step out of here until you make one.”

Your eyes widen when you noticed Stephen removing his watch, “Stephen—”

“Okay, we can all leave together then.” Stephen seethes, his fist forming into a ball. As looked away when he raised his fist, thinking he was going to punch his friend, only for him to smash the fire alarm.

“This asshole really has changed ever since he started studying Medicine.” Gareth scoffs, remaining fierce eye contact with Stephen.

“I think you should call that growing up, Gareth. I guess the good thing about it is you get to know who’s worth keeping—Why don't you give growing up a try aye?” Stephen stared down on Gareth just as hard before shifting his attention back to you, “Let’s go.”

Stephen’s strides were much bigger than yours and you tried your best to keep up and not trip over your own feet. Staff were leading people towards the emergency exits while Stephen led you to a secluded alley where he had left his motorcycle.

“You need to go home before the buses stop running.”

“What? By myself?! Katie is my ride home! And now I don’t know where she is.”

“What is wrong with you huh? What are you even doing here?”

“What about you?! You can’t just press fire alarms like that!”

“Go paint your portfolio at home or something. You’re not even at the right age to drink and you urge him to call the cops on us?!”

“Do you think I said that just because?! You don’t even know the true reason why I said that! You just ruined one of the important plans I had for myself!”

“What kind of plan involves your underage ass meeting guys and drinking at a club? Are you trying to get arrested?!”

“YES! I am trying to get arrested! Are you happy now? My parents don’t want me to pursue creative arts and I think they’re trying to bombard me with training so that I wouldn’t have time to make art for college. I want to get arrested so that the winter olympic committee will kick me out!”

Stephen’s brows creased further, “Wait—you want to get kicked out of the Winter Olympics?”

“YES! I do! I realise that there’s more to life than just ice skating. I want to make a portfolio, trust me but I’ve just been so stressed that I can’t find inspiration to draw!”

Stephen stressfully combs his hair back and sighs heavily, “You planned this to get kicked out of the olympics?” He asked once more, closing off the far distance between the both of you.

“Yes! Is that so. . .wrong?” Your voice became softer as he got closer.

“Do you know why the law sets twenty-one as the age for drinking? Because your imaginations are limited. What did you imagine would happen here? Do you think things would've unfolded the way you imagined?” Stephen paused, cornering you against the wall of the building, his gaze piercing through your eyes and shook his head “Not a chance. If you come to places like this, you open yourself up to things you don't need to experience—shouldn't experience or that you're better off not experiencing, happen.”

You felt your hands tighten into fists as you stared directly at him as he towered over you. Although you didn't want to, you could feel yourself melting under his gaze despite the fact that he was scolding you at the time, “Then what would you have me do then? No matter how much I tell my parents, they don’t listen to me.”

“Stand firm and put your foot down. I can’t tell you how, you need to figure that one out yourself.” Stephen steps back a bit and fishes his wrist watch out of his pocket to check the time, “Do you need a ride home?”

You dropped your gaze and swayed your body gently, “. . .yes.”

Stephen clicked his tongue and sighed, “You owe me twice now.”

“Are you going to drive? B-but You just had a drink!”

“I have high tolerance, I’m not even tipsy right now.” Stephen argued and threw his arms into the air.

“Prove it.” You challenged him—for your safety.

Stephen laughed in disbelief, his hands resting on either side of his hips. He shook his head at you as he once again found himself trying to prove himself to you, “Alright. Fine. How would you like me to prove it to you this time?”

“Follow the line with one foot with your arms crossed and holding onto the lobes of your ears.” You nodded your head towards the road line.

“Isn’t that a bit extreme?” Stephen casts you a judging look. You narrowed your eyes at him and he replied with another frustrated sigh before doing as you requested. He did it perfectly, “Happy?”

“I don’t know.”

“What do you mean you don’t know?!” Stephen snapped and exhaled, “You just saw me do your extreme sobriety test perfectly.”

“Stand on one foot for thirty seconds,” You insisted once again.

“Okay but this is the last, I will really leave you behind if you make me do one more.” Stephen threatened and lifted his left foot up into the air and counted thirty seconds in his mind, “Alright time’s up.”

“I was actually happy the first time, I just wanted to see how far you’d go.” You stated and shrugged seeing that he passed his balancing test.

Stephen chuckles, poking his tongue on the inside of his cheeks. He watched as a deceivingly innocent grin formed on your lips, “You mischievous scamp.”

Sasha laughed out loud, “That’s right mom, show him who’s the boss.” She flicked to the next page, the more she read your diaries the more she felt connected with you the people in it—which was weird because what she was reading isn't even fictional.

You firmly held onto Stephen’s shoulders while you rode in his motorcycle—again, without any helmet on but at least he allowed you to wear his black leather jacket to protect you from the chilly breeze of the night. Your nose catches his woody scent from his jacket and it curls around you like a python. Why does everything about him draw you in? His face, his scent, his attitude.

To make it up to him from last time, you asked him to stop by a Vinyl Record store and pick any record he wanted to get. Not that you were spying in his room, it’s just his curtains were open most of the time, you could see the record covers that were tacked up on his walls.

"I'll choose a song for you and you choose a song for me," Stephen suggested as both of you walked through the aisles side by side, "If I just choose what I like, that's boring."

"Are you sure? You look like you only listen to rock and metal." You grimaced at the thought of him listening to your music taste which in contrast to him, is all pop and ballads.

"I listen to any kind of music. . ." He paused and glanced at you and chuckled defensively when he saw the doubt on your face, "I'm not uncultured."

"I didn't say anything."

"You're probably more uncultured than me—Ms. I like to dance in my room to Britney Spears."

"Meet me when you find me a song." You shot him a glare and shoved your hand to his face before you walked away to find him a song.

The long fluorescent lights on the ceiling flickered while you made your separate ways to find each other a song. There was a large selection of vinyls to choose from, so you chose to look for a well known band. You flicked through the vinyl and chose a song that you thought would be funny for him to listen to.

Stephen could see you smile from where he was, considering the fact that he was taller than the shelves. He also wanted to keep an eye on you since there weren't many people in the store at this time of night apart from the both of you. When you pulled out a vinyl from the shelf, he abruptly turned around and continued searching for a song for you.

"I got one for you! It's from the 80s though." You waved the vinyl and handed it to him.

Stephen took it and flashed a short smile when reading the song title, "Strangelove by Depeche Mode. . . Really?"

"What? It's funny! Stephen Strange listening to Strangelove~"

Stephen stares at you with a neutral face.

"You. . . can laugh any time now?" You tilted your head innocently, matched with a smile but Stephen just shook his head.

"I'll laugh tomorrow. Come on, let's give this a listen." Stephen led you to the players where a few people were listening to their songs as well.

Stephen lifted the cover of the device and gently placed the record on the player. He attached the headphone provided before leaning down side ways so you both can share the one pair of headphones. He placed the needle on the record and music began playing.

The whole time you found yourself staring at your friend's older brother, anxious to see a reaction which he was keeping to himself perfectly. At least he was slightly nodding his head to the beat. When he feels your eyes on him, he looks and you abruptly flick your gaze away, you pressed your lips together to stop a smile from coming on for getting caught for a second.

You slowly rolled your eyes back towards him a few moments later and found that he held his own gaze, causing you to panic and look away again. This time feeling blood rushing up your head.

🎶Stranglove, that's how my love goes. Strangelove, will you give it to me?🎶

The song finishes and Stephen nods, "Not bad. . . I can listen to that again." He removes the needle from the record and returns it in its case.

"Should I get this one for you then?"

"Yeah. Why not? It's a cool red coloured record." He shrugs and keeps the record in his hands, "All of mine are basic."

"Okie dokie. What have you chosen for me?"

"Well I had two choices but I didn't think you'd like the other one so. . ." Stephen walks towards his song choice for you and pulls it out of the shelf, "We'll listen to this one."

You take the record from his hands but this time, you're the one who sets it up in the player before Stephen did—leaving the lad impressed. Clearly you were just showing off.

"Wow, not many people your age know how to use that, I'm impressed." Stephen admits and nodded in approval.

"Who did you say was uncultured again?" You look up at him.

"Alright, alright. Show off." Stephen nudged you to the side, you nudged him back but unlike you, he didn’t budge. He laughed.

🎶I've been meaning to tell you, I've got this feelin' that won't subside. I look at you and I fantasize—You're mine tonight—Now, I've got you in my sights🎶

While you were leaning down and holding the headphone driver on your right ear, Stephen was holding the second headphone driver on his left ear. You could feel the heat from his cheeks against yours again and with the song being about having attraction towards someone, you couldn’t help the butterflies in your stomach intensifying.

His fingers traced the outline of your jaw, beckoning you to meet his stare, as he leans down, his mouth inches away from yours, your stares lock, "Do you like the song?" He whispers, his breath skating over your lips.

"Hello? Earth to (Y/N)!" Stephen waved his hands over your face to get you out of your trance, you shook your head and looked up at him, swallowing the saliva pooling in your mouth, "Glad to have you back, Jesus, where did you go just now?"

Sasha buried her head into the pillow and screamed out of second hand cringe, "You're too obvious Mom! Ugh. Stoooop!"

"Oh er—I was just listening intently to the song. . ."

"The song finished at least a minute ago."

"Oh. . .really?"

Stephen chuckled, "Weirdo," he then hung the headphones in its hook, "So are you going to tell me your thoughts?"

You blinked fast, eyes lingering on his lips after you daydreamed about it just now, "Of course I think the song is good—It’s from Dirty Dancing for crying out loud."

"You like dirty dancing?" Stephen asked casually, his tone conversational.

You flick your attention to him, pulse thrumming, "Um. . . I don't know. I'm too shy to do that sort of thing." You look away.

Stephen knitted his brow; it was obvious that he had not anticipated that you would take his question in the wrong context. Because it was so out of the blue, he was unable to hold back his laughter, his head falling backwards.

“What? You obviously know I don't go to clubs! You probably have a lot of experience if you find my experience laughable." You furrowed your eyebrows in his direction, but Stephen paid you no mind as he continued to laugh, at this point holding one arm over his upper abdomen, "What is so funny?!"

"I–I was talking about the. . .the m-movie—" Stephen managed to say in between his laughter.

For the love of Christ. You bit your bottom lip and frowned, "You should’ve been more specific then! Ugh!" you turned on your heels and whirled around, yanking his record out of his hands to pay for it, "Just this one, thank you." You said to the cashier as you slid a solid dirty-dollar note on the counter.

After getting the change, you turned to Stephen who now stood behind you with a lop-sided smile on his face, you growled softly and shoved the record to his chest, “Now we’re even.” You walked out ahead of him and he followed you.

“You owe me one more.” Stephen stated from behind you as he followed you closely.

“I think embarrassing myself in front of you multiple times should cover that?”

Stephen’s smile slowly faded when he realised that you weren’t in a joking mood anymore, he took a few more steps toward you and whirls you around after gripping your wrist, “Oh C’mon, (Y/N). I was just kidding, I don’t really don’t care whether you have experience or not. Why are you getting so upset?”

Flustered by the way he twirled you around, you refused eye-contact. Because I have a crush on you dammit! “Nothing, will you just take me home? Please?”

You turned your head to look at him and saw that he was analysing something on your face for a few minutes before he finally said, "Okay" and released your wrist. He then proceeded past you in the direction of his motorcycle.

You timidly follow him as he kickstarts his ignitions, Stephen revs the engine and impatiently addresses you whilst you stand there waiting for permission to get on, “Well? Are you getting on or are you going to wait for hell to freeze?”

You huffed quietly and carefully mounted yourself behind him.

“Here, put it on.” He passes you the leather jacket and urges you to take it when you don't.

“I don’t need it.”

“I said, put it on.” He demanded, this time sounding slightly irritated. Feeling intimidated at the shift of his mood you took the jacket and wore it.

“You’re going to catch a cold.” You quietly replied, now slightly feeling bad for snapping at him when he’s the one doing you a favour.

“Worry about yourself first.” Stephen’s icy reply could penetrate the leather jacket you were now wearing, “Are you all set? It might be a longer drive than last time.”

You slid closer to him and put your delicate hands over his broad shoulders, but something caught your wrist and wrapped it around his waist instead. You didn’t bother trying to reposition yourself when it was him who placed your arms there. You swallowed hard and focused instead on the warmth in front of you. The solid frame. It almost deleted your sense of embarrassment earlier on.

To make the most of the almost empty road, Stephen cranked up the throttle, and the two of you took off. Stephen must’ve sensed your mood shifted once again when you rested your cheek on his back. He began to talk but you were too distracted by too many sensations. His voice, the slightly cold breeze, his scent and the friction of his large frame as you held onto him to keep yourself in place. Your thoughts were attempting to centre themselves on the content of his words rather than the mental picture of his lips that kept popping up.

“Are you asleep?” He asked when you didn’t answer his question.

“No.” You answered plainly.

“Then why aren’t you answering?”

“Because along with the wind, your motorcycle is very loud.” You told him part of the truth whilst talking loudly to beat the sound of the wind and the engine.

“I was asking whether you want to get inspiration, I know a place, me and Donna found it when we went hiking in St. Clair Mountain.” He repeats himself, “I assume you’ve been there?”

“Uhhh. . . not really.”

“What?!” Stephen almost pressed the brakes after hearing you haven’t been to St. Clair Mountain, “You’re a local here and you haven’t been there?”

“My dad doesn’t want me going hiking—it took me one week to convince him to allow me to join my friends on that camping trip.”

“Wow. . . I am so sorry that you’re being forced to live with a dictator dad.” Stephen replied nonchalantly. He didn’t like your dad, not after meeting him the first time—and he was sure Arthur didn’t like him either.

“Hey, that’s my dad you’re talking about.”

“Right, right. Sorry.” He shrugs but you could tell by this tone that he didn’t mean it, “So what do you say? You in or you out?”

“I’ll think about it.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You told Stephen to drop you off a couple of blocks away and you’d just walk the rest so as to not get caught by the prying eyes of Darla and your father. Fortunately for you, both your parents were already asleep by the time you arrived but you still tip-toed your way to your room to not wake them up and question you about your night.

You entered your room, your curtains were closed and it has been for a couple of days now—especially after Stephen caught you dancing in your room. You freshened yourself up and changed into your pyjamas. Of course, before going to bed you pulled your diary and wrote about your day.

Ten minutes later, you hear a tap on your window. You cautiously made your way towards it and peaked through the cracks to find Stephen sitting on his alcove, throwing corn kernels at your window; you pushed your curtains aside and his face lit up when he found you still awake. He wore an oversized t-shirt and black sweatpants, his hair damp as if he just got out of the shower. He motioned for you to open your window as well so you could talk to him.

“Have you made up your mind yet?” He asked as he munched on popcorn in a glass bowl.

“No. I don’t know—it depends on who’s coming.” you replied and reluctantly sat on your alcove as well.

“Depends on who’s coming? So you want it to be just you and me?” Stephen asks confidently and tilts his head. There he goes again with that annoying smile.

“Please, don’t get ahead of yourself. If Donna’s coming then I’ll one hundred percent go.”

Stephen nodded, “I see. But what if Donna doesn’t want to go?”

“Then I’ll keep thinking about it.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Out of the blue, Sasha’s phone begins to ring and finds that it was you who was calling. She gives herself a few seconds before answering your call.

“Hi Mom.” “Hey ladybug, how are you doing?”

“I’m doing alright, how are you?”

Paris

“I’m doing fine. . . It’s five in the evening here right now. Are you behaving yourself?” You asked as you sat along in your balcony that had a full view of the Eiffel Tower.

“Yeah, Grandma taught me her choc chip cookie recipe.” Sasha said over the phone. You smiled to hear that she took interest in baking, “It was alright for my first try, maybe I’ll just add extra butter next time, I like my cookies gooey.”

“Gooey.” you both said at the same time, “You remind me of someone who always requested gooey cookies from me.”

“Really? Who?”

“A kid who used to live next door when I was a teenager. He loved your Grandma’s cookie recipe, I actually asked mom to teach me how to bake because of him.”

“Victor Strange?” Sasha’s mouth slipped and she covered her mouth.

“Y-Yes. How did you know that?” You almost sat up from your chair when you heard the name.

“Er. . . Grandma! She talked about it. While we were. . .making. . .cookies.”

“Oh. . . alright. Well, you better get some practice, I want to try your cookies.” You relaxed back to your chair.

“Mhm, mhm.”

“I miss you, ladybug.”

“I miss you too,” There was a long pause between you, “Hey Mom?”

“Yes sweetheart?”

“Don’t get mad but I saw your trophies and gold medals from Ice Skating. . . how come you never told me about it?” Sasha eased into the question, fingers crossed so hard as she wished for you not to get angry.

You were rendered speechless for a second, “I didn’t think it was important.”

“Are you serious? My mom was an olympian when she was my age and got gold medals all throughout. How is that not important?” Sasha beamed through the phone, “You were a legend! You should’ve continued—”

“Honey, just like you, I lost interest okay? Can we not talk about this right now? I’ll tell you all about my competition when I get back okay? I. . I gotta go. I love you.” You spoke quickly and hung up the phone before your daughter could even say I love you back.

The line began beeping and Sasha looked at her phone puzzled, “She hung up on me.”

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strangeions · 2 years

Text

Strawberries and a Horror Tale

Fluffy/Comfort

Pairing: Defender!Strange x Fem!Reader (Established Relationship)

Synopsis: After work the reader finds comfort in the arms of Defender Strange.

Word Count: 2,2k

Warnings: Implied smut, basically just fluffy

A/N: I was having a bad day so I wrote a fluffy Defender. Hope it comforts you as much as it comforts me ;)

"The number of unidentified magical events has become alarming in the last weeks" reported Luke Cage.

"And we still need to worry about the rampant violence that has hit our city" Completed Hawkeye.

Wong shook his head worriedly "I was talking to some masters at Kamar Taj and they all claimed to have been harassed within their dreams. Clearly this whole mess is the work of Nightmare, he was not happy with your latest meddling in his business."

"Without my meddling Nightmare would have waged a war against all other realms of the dream dimension which would seriously affect our reality" Defender Strange stated with a sigh leaning his elbow on the table in the Sanctum Sanctorum meeting room and pinching the bridge of his nose.

It was Saturday morning and all he didn't want to do was deal with it. "It's not yet clear whether all these things are linked or not. I need you to keep surveillance on the main streets of the city where the violence rates have increased" Luke Cage nodded. "What are we looking for?" asked Barton.

"Anything that is not up to normal standards. All information must be reported to me immediately."

"What about nightmare?" Wong asked and Stephen sighed "Apparently I'll have to summon and interrogate him."

When the meeting was over and the Defenders were leaving, Luke Cage and Barton still standing in the doorway receiving the final instructions from the Sorcerer Supreme, you descended the stairs ready for work and carrying your 5 year old daughter Kate's bags and belongings. She ran past you to her father and wrapped her arms around his waist in a tight hug.

"Dad is Saturday, you shouldn't be working." Cage and Barton laughed and Stephen picked her up "Did your mother tell you to say that?" She shook her head no, but a mischievous smile on her lips said otherwise.

"Guilty" You said approaching "Good morning guys"

"Good morning" Cage and Barton replied.

"We'll keep in touch during the day, I want to know every step you take." Stephen said authoritative. They nodded and left. Stephen sighed heavily.

"Daddy why are you angry?" He smiled, pinching Kate's cheek "I'm not angry, just a little worried because I heard I'll have to spend the whole weekend without my little sorceress"

She smiles broadly "I'm going to Disneyland, but mommy will take care of you" Stephen smirked looking at you “I’m sure she will”

You smiled innocently "It's already late, grandpa and grandma are waiting, let's go" Stephen kissed his daughter's forehead and set her on the floor "Have fun baby"

You arranged the backpack on her back and gave Stephen a quick kiss on the lips "Is everything alright?" He nodded "Nothing I can't fix before you come home" You nodded "Be careful. I love you"

"I love you too"

"Bye Daddy"

“Bye Baby”

Stephen watched you leave and headed for the main hall where Wong was waiting for him for the summoning ritual. In all the ways Saturday could start... talking to Nightmare wasn't in his plans.

...

You came home right after lunch and were surprised by the delicious smell of strawberry. You followed the scent into the kitchen and found Stephen distracted chopping strawberries for some recipe.

You approached hugging him from behind "I swear I thought today would be one of those days where I would barely see you" He nodded "Me too, but I managed to get everything sorted out in the morning." He dropped the strawberries and turned to you pulling you into his arms "Unfortunately the main hall didn't make it, but I promise I'll restore everything"

You feigned surprise "Really? This has never happened before!" He smiled and you noticed a nasty cut on his cheekbone "You're hurt" He shook his head "It's not like this has never happened before" He replied trying to reassure you. You sighed “The problem is that it happens too often, Stephen." He nodded cupping your face in his big and scarred hands, they were steady and you know he was using magic to work "I'm fine"

You nodded. You would never get used to seeing him hurt, it always broke your heart, but you had to accept that. "So, what are strawberries for?" He grinned "For your favorite dessert. I saw them at the market and couldn't help but buy them, they were so big and red." You stood on tiptoe to kiss him. It was supposed to be just a touch of lips but he ran his tongue over your lips forcing them to part and deepening the kiss with wonderful strawberry flavor

"They're sweet too apparently" You said on his lips and he nodded "Very sweet. I could not resist." You smirked "Can I taste one?" He took one from the bowl "Of course" but instead of putting it in your mouth he put it in his mouth and held the back of your neck pulling you into a hungry and messy strawberry kiss. You hummed wrapping your arms around his neck, melting into his lips, sweet strawberry taste on your tongue.

Your lips parted for you to breathe, you ran your index finger on the corner of his lips and brought it to your mouth, he licked his lower lip devouring you with his eyes.

"Well, I don't want to be in the way, so I'm going upstairs to take a shower and maybe read a little." He pulled you back pinning you to his chest, purposefully rubbing his hips against you so you could feel his arousal.

"You never get in the way, baby. By the way, did you realize we have the house to ourselves today?" He smirked.

"Oh this will help a lot in my reading" You said feigning innocence. He took your hand and directed it to his bulge, he was very hard and twitching and you tightened your hand around him over the fabric, he rested his forehead on yours and moaned softly. "May I know what book is so interesting to be better company than your husband?"

You smirked, stroking him lightly over his pants "It's a book by HP Lovecraft. Very interesting actually..." You replied but were interrupted by another passionate kiss, his tongue invading your mouth, touching, caressing, battling yours for a dominance he knew very well he was always lose.

You broke the kiss gasping "I really want to eat my dessert" You said chuckling "I better go upstairs and stop distracting my favorite cook"

You kissed his lips lightly distracting him enough to take a strawberry from the bowl. He groaned complaining as you walked away "Don't think you'll get away so easily" He said with a smirk.

You smiled victorious biting the strawberry "I already did. Hmm it's so sweet"

He smiled that beautiful sideways smile that melts your heart and was reserved just for you. "You'd better go upstairs before I decide to take that strawberry out of your hand" You stuffed the whole strawberry in your mouth smiling mischievously and walked out of the kitchen.

Stephen refrained from abandoning his task and going after you. He chuckled to himself going back to chopping the strawberries slowly. He was still amazed at how you could mess with him. No matter how much time had passed, his love for you seemed to grow more each day. Everything he did was for you, whether it was his duties as Sorcerer Supreme or the simpler household chore like making dessert, it was all for you. He needed to keep the universe safe for you, he needed to please you, pamper you, to worship you because you were what gave his life meaning.

By the time he finished making the dessert he was already too eager to get back into your arms so he cheated by using magic to clean everything up.

He knew he should take care of the damage to the main hall caused by the stupid fight with Nightmare, but the desire to be with you made him leave that for another time.

When he walked into the bedroom he found you lying lazily on the bed in your comfy knit pajamas, your wet hair splayed across his pillow, your legs crossed, your nose buried in the book you were reading.

"Baby you're wetting my pillow again" You put the book down staring at him with puppy eyes "I am sorry"

He sighed. He didn't really care. "How's the reading?"

You cleared your throat dramatically and started reading aloud "St. John is a mangled corpse; I alone know why, and such is my knowledge that I am about to blow out my brains for fear I shall be mangled in the same way. Down unlit and illimitable corridors of eldritch phantasy sweeps the black, shapeless Nemesis that drives me to self-annihilation."

He raised an eyebrow "Sounds interesting"

You agreed "I just started, want to read with me?" He made a motion with his hands, exchanging the black and red robe he was wearing for comfortable pajama bottoms. You didn't let that go unnoticed, your eyes devoured him and a smile played on your lips. He sat beside you on the bed. "Reading with you, or reading to you?" You grinned handing the book into his hands "Read to me."

He positioned the bookmark and placed the book on the bedside table "First let me take care of this wet hair" He said and you stood up. He moved his fingers in a simple gesture and an instant later your hair was dry. He did the same with his pillow and then lay down crossing his legs "Come here"

You cuddled with him, your head on his chest. He picked up the book again and started reading from the beginning with that baritone voice that made you shiver. "In my tortured ears there sounds unceasingly a nightmare whirring and flapping, and a faint, distant baying as of some gigantic hound. It is not dream—it is not, I fear, even madness—for too much has already happened to give me these merciful doubts. "

You sighed contentedly, letting yourself be carried away by the sound of his voice, the sound of his heart beating in your ear and the terrifying story he was telling. You wondered if there was a better way to spend your Saturday afternoon, you were sure there wasn't. Not when you had your man safe at home with you reading a tale from your favorite fantasy writer to you.

You could tell he was enjoying the story by the tone of his voice. Stephen was an extraordinary reader, he didn't even realize he was doing that, but he always created a different tonality of voice for each character in the story, or in the case of the tale he was reading to you now where everything was narrated through the protagonist's vision, the tonality of his voice changed according to the character's emotion making the reading incredibly immersive.

"Madness rides the star-wind . . . claws and teeth sharpened on centuries of corpses . . . dripping death astride a Bacchanale of bats from night-black ruins of buried temples of Belial. . . . Now, as the baying of that dead, fleshless monstrosity grows louder and louder, and the stealthy whirring and flapping of those accursed web-wings circles closer and closer, I shall seek with my revolver the oblivion which is my only refuge from the unnamed and unnamable."

He closed the book and kissed your forehead.

"I think they got what they deserved" You said still gaping at the story. He chuckled "So you liked it?" You shook your head excitedly "They should make a movie with this story. Something dark and gothic"

He denied putting the book on the bedside table "Every time they make a movie based on a book the result is disappointing. Besides, how are they going to show the unimaginable?"

You sighed "You're so annoying sometimes." He brought his hands up to your hair slowly stroking "I know"

You smirked "You read so well, you could work recording audiobooks." He chuckled "Baby, how would I make time for this?" You agreed snuggling closer to him "You're right, besides I wouldn't like to know that other people could hear your beautiful voice. I'd rather it be mine alone" He lifted your chin to kiss you "My voice is yours, as well as everything else" He ran his hand down your waist, tucking it inside your pajama top and up to your breasts.

"No bra?" You bit your bottom lip when he circled a nipple with his thumb "The idea is to get comfortable" He nodded in agreement "You're right, comfortable is good..." He kissed your lips softly and bit your bottom lip "You know I live to make you feel good."

He cupped your breast, squeezing it gently in his rough hand and returning to kiss you now with passion, his tongue penetrating your mouth and dominating yours demandingly. You moaned into his lips "Looks like I'll have to pay for your reading services after all" He hummed lowering his lips to your chin "What's fair is fair"

You hummed excited.

"But today baby, I am in control" He whispered in your ear

You grinned "We'll see."

Leave a comment if you liked it. Interact! I will love to read all of your comments and opinions. It inspires me to keep writing ;)

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strangeions · 2 years

Text

Chapter 5 (PT 1): Turning Page || Royalty!S.S. x Royalty!Reader x Royalty!T.H.

Words: 12.2K (HEHE) Genre: Period Drama, Love Triangle, Royalty AU, Jealousy. Pairings: Stephen Strange x Reader, Tom Hiddleston x Reader. Warning: Sugguestive scenes A/N: Story has no set/final plot, just going with the flow. Thank you to all the read my stories. I love reading your thoughts so let me know what you want to see next. This is Part 1 of Chapter Five :D I just hit 1K followers a day ago but I was travelling! vhbjlkdfb Thank you guys so for reading the fanfics on here! I would just like to say that I value each and everyone of you eventhough I forget to reply to all of the comments. I love you guys. Thank You!

Darkness, dense and oppressive—that was the captivity in which the Daevas had been imprisoned for such a long time. Nothing but darkness, which should be enough to lull them into an everlasting slumber, should be their fate. Nothing should ever wake them, and their Dark God, Chthon, who was placed to sleep along with them and is bound in a single location, which is Mount Wundagore.

While Baron swept his palm around in a circular motion, he flashed a sly grin that just reached the corner of his mouth. Foolish people. He thought by himself with a chuckle escaping from his mouth. In the pitch blackness, crimson eyes that were only dimly lit watched Baron's every move. They served as the Daevas' eyes and senses. Hisses of an eerie intensity reverberated, and then another. They appeared from everywhere and out of nowhere at the same time. When Baron heard the hissing coming from the shadowy beings who dwelt in the darkness, he pounded his staff on the ground to get their attention.

Baron spoke in a calm voice, "Great things, take time—do not be impatient," and the red eyes moved all at once to gaze at him, even though they couldn't actually see anything and depended on the vibrations of movements, “Do you agree that we should begin this path to salvation slowly?”

He inspected his surroundings as he made his way towards the throne that had been vacant for thousands of years. These demons of the night are more than capable of tearing him to pieces if they so choose—however, he was the chosen one. The time for exacting vengeance on those who were responsible for what had been done to his God would arrive at the appropriate moment in due time. Never would he forget the pain and dishonour of driving away magic. As for those who came against him, he would make certain that each and every one of them pay at his mercy.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

After being introduced to you and Stephen, Tom and Andrew returned to their barracks before being taken for a quick orientation around the palace. Andrew made sure no one was within earshot before addressing his older brother.

"Would you be so kind as to tell me about what that was?" Andrew blocked his brother’s path and narrowed his eyes. He was referring to the way Tom looked at you the moment his eyes landed on you.

"What are you talking about?" Tom scrunched his brows and stepped aside to keep moving forward towards their allocated barracks. Andrew pivoted and blocked his path again. Tom halted again, his lips thinning.

"Oh I don't know—I can start with the starry-eyed looking glazed zombie you were when you laid eyes on the Princess?" Andrew tapped his chin while sarcastically reminding his brother about it, "I don't know if you noticed—probably not—but the Prince looked like he wanted to devour you ALIVE." Andrew whisper-shouted.

Tom sighed in defeat and looked around before making his reply, "It was her—" Andrew gave him a confused look and Tom clicked his tongue, "you know? The beautiful woman I came across in the forest that one time."

Andrew closed his eyes and groaned. Great, just great. He thought. Tom hasn't shut up about that beautiful woman he met at the forest, the only time he probably stopped mentioning it was probably during his sleep or when he's too focused on his tasks—heck, Andrew wouldn't even be surprised if Tom even spoke about you in his dreams. You've got him hooked like a fish out of water.

"I told you she was beautiful," Tom shrugged.

"Yes. She very much is—I could feel my eyes dilated when I saw her as well. . . but she isn’t the reason why we're here." Andrew was so passionate about reminding his brother to get his head back in the game that he placed his balled fist in front of his own lips, "You're going to be spending a lot of time with her so please, brother, please, keep it professional. She's betrothed, she's off limits."

Tom studied the desperate look on Andrew's face. Ah, that's right, you were betrothed—he forgot about that though it was the first thing that they mentioned. However, Tom couldn't just shrug off what you said to him in the forest.

'They treat me as well as they're able.'

He remembers the solemn look on your face and in the way your voice spoke when you said those words. You didn't specifically mention who you referred to but he could guess that you referred to Stephen. The indifference between you as you both sat in front of the King was something that was so obvious. Stephen seems like a man who doesn’t know what he wants and the problem is Tom now wants what he has.

“You’re jumping into conclusions, brother—I’m nothing but an admirer, is it wrong to admire the Princess?” Tom asked in his defence.

“I’ve seen that look of yours before, Tom. You might be a tough warrior, a great leader—but I know one thing for sure. When it comes to love, you’re easy to fall and easy to break.”

Tom squinted as he peered over Andrew’s shoulder’s, “Hey look over there.” he pointed.

Andrew furrowed his brow and looked over his shoulder and that’s when Tom made a run for it to go to his barracks without his brother. Andrew turns back around and finds Tom missing. He sighed and looked up into the sky, “Hecate help us.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen sat in the infirmary while the scratches and wounds he received from the hands of your brother were treated by you. The frown that he'd been wearing ever since the Lieutenants had been introduced didn't disappear from his face at any point. When you delicately wiped on his lower lip with a white towel, he hissed, the skin that was around it felt tender.

"Oh, don’t be such a baby. You wouldn't be sitting in front of me right now if you hadn't gotten into a fight with my brother." After he wrenched his head back away from you, you responded harshly and sighed at him. You could see that he was thinking about something else, almost as if he was drowning in something that he couldn't easily put to rest. "What are you thinking about?"

Stephen assumed an upright posture and shrugged,"Nothing," he said after an extended pause before continuing, "You appear to be familiar with your Lieutenant."

Stephen looked at you intently, as if waiting for you to make a mistake; nevertheless, you kept your composure and shook your head while saying, "I'm not familiar with him." Whichever way the truth, the fact remains that he was a stranger to you.

Stephen's eyes remained narrowed as he continued to stare at you, and he eventually said, "Well, if he's going to be stuck with you the majority of the time. Now you will. He was smiling at you like you were something special.” He scoffed.

"Was he? I didn't notice," You aren't sure what he's trying to prove, but the way he was behaving got you a little bit irritated, and you accidently pressed the towel down rather firmly on his lips. If he was trying to make you feel less offended by his behaviour towards you by using some kind of reverse psychology tactic, it wasn't working.

“Ow!”

“Sorry,” You removed the towel from the wound and cleansed it in a basin filled with warm water while saying, "Never pick a fight with my brother again unless you want to be a cripple for the rest of your life." You circled back around to the topic of him and your brother.

“I did not start that fight.” He spoke out in his own defence.

"No, but you made a contribution," you say, removing the water from the cloth by squeezing it and then folding it twice before going back to Stephen and moving his hair away from his forehead in order to wipe the dried blood from that area.

He maintained his silence and gave you permission to carry on attending to his wounds. The void that had been in his heart was slowly being filled. However, he was unaware of it, or his subconscious refuses to acknowledge that it is true. He couldn't help but fixate his gaze on the young beauty standing in front of him. His first thought—what felt like his first thought about you in a while, formed so slowly in his brain—was that you looked like a goddess. Your eyes were big and piercing and feline; your hair was jet black, combed to a glossy sheen, parted sharply, and flowing all the way down to your thighs; your lips were cupid's-bow charming; and your head was leaned to one side. You had skin that had gently seen sunlight, and wore no expression at all. You had no boundaries, all you knew was to shine, and live without any walls around you on every page.

You noticed the deceiving lustre in his eyes that you had to look away, and when you looked back at him, his gaze hadn’t moved and was still focused on your face, as if to say: So you looked away and you’ve come back, will you be looking away again soon?—which was why you had to look away once more.

Everytime he looked at you, you felt brighter inside, and you yearned to keep his attention, to hold his gaze. You sensed his gaze falling upon you time and time again. Though your heart still breaks at the knowledge that he can’t reciprocate your love for him, your heart pounded more than it should and your cheeks picked up a seemingly perennial red tint. You wondered whether he thought of you as a mere wife to produce his heirs or there was something special to that look he shackled you with.

“Don’t you know it’s rude to stare, Prince Stephen?” You finally called him out before your nervousness began to eat you up.

“I was not staring at you,” Stephen denied in a hard tone and averted his gaze elsewhere, “Where else am I supposed to look?”

“I’m almost done, just hold still,” You held his shoulders and brought him closer to you, your pregnant stomach brushing the side of his arm. You felt his hand press against the lower part of your abdomen that stuck out. The gentle touch of his palm on your stomach caught you off guard and you lightly jumped back.

Stephen took his hands away and lowered his head, “I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t think that all is well between us just because I am tending to your wounds, Your Highness. I’m only doing this as a gesture of penitence on behalf of my brother.” You informed Stephen who only clenched his jaw.

“Is it not enough?” Stephen asked, “I sent you the finest flowers, presents, gave you the space you needed to get away from me, everything and everyone—including my father seems to be against me—It is for certain that me and Christine aren’t meant to be. And now you won’t allow me to feel my child who sleeps in the comfort of you? What more could you possibly take away from me?! What do you want?!”

“I want it to stop hurting!” You snapped, “No amount of flowers or objects will ever take away the sorrow you’ve given me. You told me no more secrets, no more lies! You said you wanted this to work but you came running back to her? You want to know where it hurts? Right here,” You seethed, harshly pointing towards your heart.

“Right there is where it hurts. All the time, day in, day out, every night. Even in my dreams. There’s no escaping it. It hurts because I gave my heart to you and you successfully deceived me into thinking I finally had yours, but no, you’ve left me hollow.”

"If you really think I had no ounce of love for you then that child wouldn't exist."

"Please—as much as I love this child, it wasn't conceived out of love. It's because their father can't live another day without fucking." You threw the towel on the table beside you and shot him a furious glare before storming out of the healer’s room, slamming the door behind you. Your fingernails dug into your palms but didn’t notice as you marched through the empty halls to go to the courtyard from some fresh air. You felt glad that your anxiousness wore off now that you’re out of his sight.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Engagement Ball – 1 year ago

You took a look around, searching for a stealthy way to enter the hall. You and your Fiance were being honoured at a ball, but you had no clue how you could possibly maintain your discretion, particularly in a Xarean style dress as outrageously revealing as the one you were wearing. You silently muttered an expletive as you saw that every eye was focused on you as you passed. Your sinful figure didn’t help matters. The antechamber was just as dark and gloomy as the façade of the building, and it was filled with opulently dressed aristocracy milling around. Like a prison. A jail that has wreaths of evergreen and holly hanging over the entrances and candles burning in gold candelabras throughout the institution. You are quite sure that you saw some mistletoe as well.

Peter craned his neck to find the herald. “There he is.” He pointed to a short, squat man with a wig and scroll who stood beside a large archway. Music and laughter poured from the room beyond. Another servant appeared to take your cloaks. Though you held on to yours for a second too long, the servant succeeded in tugging it from your hands. Feeling naked, you watched it disappear with a sense of helplessness.

When Peter pulled you toward the herald, however, you dug in your heels. “I’m not being announced.”

“But the footman said—”

You jerked out of his grasp. “I don’t care what the footman said!”

“Princess, the King insisted—”

“Darlings.” Lady Lazarescu spotted you and smiled wide, looping her arms through yours and Peter’s, “Let’s not make a scene, hmm?” Taking a deep breath, you forced yourself to smile and nod at the eavesdropping aristocrats.

You tried to get away but the herald had already spotted you as well and urged you, along with Lady Lazarescu, to come forward and be announced. The trumpets played and the herald stomped his staff twice on the marbled flooring, “Ladies and Lords, with great privilege, I announce the arrival of Princess (Y/N) of the Xarean Empire, future Queen to our Crown Prince Stephen of Eltham.”

Before the curtains were drawn, Lady Lazarescu stepped aside and gestured for you to put on a smile. You sighed out of frustration and pulled a small smile as they drew the curtains open, revealing you beside Peter who assisted you in going down the stairs. The sea of people bowed before you, your eyes searching for Stephen.

The white marbled floor shone brightly in the candlelight, and iron chandeliers were suspended from the ceiling that had beams in it. A merry melody was being performed by musicians in the corner of the room close to a very tall pine tree. There was already dancing going on, but the majority of the visitors chose to socialise with the royal family while sipping champagne and milling around the room's periphery. You can tell that the aristocrats who are standing next to you have been drinking for quite some time since their speech is slurred and quite loud.

Scoffing, you marched past them through the room. You scanned the sea of black coats and sparkling gowns for Stephen, spotting his black hair at the far end of the ballroom. A group of admirers surrounded him, though the young woman clinging to his arm drew your particular attention. Your heart plummeted. Anxiously awaiting my ass. Even from a distance, you could tell the woman was beautiful: delicate and feminine; her porcelain skin and brown hair shone in the candlelight. She shook with genuine laughter at something Stpehen had just said. Uneasiness flitted through you.

This could only be one person. One boring, docile, wretchedly inconvenient pipe dream. Peter followed your gaze, wrinkling his nose in distaste when he too spotted Stpehen and the chestnut-haired beauty.

“Please tell me that’s not who I think it is.”

“I’ll come find you later.” Your eyes never left Stephen’s face. Peter knew better than to follow this time. You’d just descended into the ballroom when another man stepped in your path. Though you’d never encountered him this close, you recognized his flawless complexion and hooded eyes at once. White silver hair styled to perfection, he wore more diamonds on his crown than were in looked like your entire vault. King Pietro Maximoff. Damn it. You didn’t have time for this shit.

Even now, that stupid cow was probably sinking her claws deeper into your fiance—reminding him of her beautiful lips, and smile, and eyes, and laugh—

“That is quite the dress.” His gaze swept up your body lazily, and he smirked, arching a brow. His thick accent surprisingly adding to his appeal.

“Your Highness.” You dropped into a curtsy, clamping down on a slew of more appropriate honorifics. He eyed your breasts appreciatively as you leaned down, and you straightened at once. Bloody pervert.

“Your name.” It wasn’t a question. Was he not paying attention?

“Princess (Y/N) of the Xarean Empire, Your Highness.”

His grin widened in delight. “You're The Xarean Princess? My apologies, I didn’t expect our barbaric King to have such a stunning daughter.” He actually threw his head back and laughed. The aristocrats nearest you paused, eyeing you with renewed interest.

“Oh, I’ve heard all about you.” His golden eyes sparkled with glee. “Tell me, how exactly did you trick our little Eltham Prince into marrying you? I’ve heard the rumours, of course, but everyone has their own theories.”

You would’ve gladly broken a finger to break one of his other appendages. “No tricks, Your Highness,” You said sweetly. “We’re in love.”

His grin faded, and his lip curled slightly. “How wretched.” At that moment, the crowd shifted, revealing Stephen and his many admirers. The chestnut-haired cow reached up to brush something from Stephen’s hair. Your blood boiled.

The King’s brows rose as he followed your gaze. “Love, huh?” He leaned closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Should we make him jealous?”

“No, thank you,” you snapped. “Your Highness.”

“Call me Pietro.” As he moved aside, his smile changed into a vicious one. You raced right past him, but at the very last second, he grabbed your wrist and planted a quick kiss on the back of your hand. You were fighting off the impulse to crack his fingers, “Come find me if you change your mind. We would have fun together, you and I.”

With one last, lingering look, he sauntered off, winking at one of the women who hovered nearby. You scowled after him for a moment before turning back to Stephen. But he and Christine were gone.

Because Stephen was so much taller than everyone else in the crowd, it didn't take you long to find them at all. Christine, being the Leetch that she was, continued to grip tightly onto his arm as they approached a door that was partly obscured by two evergreens. You followed in their footsteps as best you could. To your dismay, and maybe to your trepidation, they continued to be entirely absorbed in one other as they walked out the door without looking back. You made to slip through after them, but a hand caught your arm. You whirled around to face the Duke, Christine’s father.

You stood motionless, rooted to the spot like the evergreens beside you, as he began to pace. “Where do you think you’re going? Let our Prince enjoy this small pleasure away from your corruption.”

At the words, your confusion morphed into something sparkling and icy, and became more intense. As though you were the one who was responsible for setting up this premarital arrangement. As if you were the one who ought to feel embarrassed about yourself. You protruded your chin and moved forwards until you were in an inappropriately close proximity to his gaunt face. "I have no idea what the hell you're talking about, but you need to take a good look at yourself in the mirror. When you go to Hell, Lord Palmer, you'll find that liars and hypocrites have their own designated area. Perhaps I’ll see you there.”

He stared at you with wide eyes, but as you moved away from him, he didn't make any attempt to follow you. As soon as you entered what could only be a kitchen, the savage delight that had been pulsing through your veins abruptly disappeared. It was empty. However, you soon found that a cold air was biting at your flesh, and you realised that the door on the other side had been left ajar. The thin space allowed the wind to whistle through it. You inched it open a little farther, seeing Stephen and Christine standing in a barren herb garden. The dark fragments of sage and rosemary were covered with snow. You moved in closer, but the wind was so loud that it was difficult to make out their words.

“I’m sorry, Christine.” Stephen cradled the woman’s hands on his own. She held her shoulders stiff—angry.

You shouldn’t be here, the small, disapproving voice at the back of your head warned. This is wrong. Private. You’re breaking trust. He’s the one breaking trust.

“There has to be something we can do,” Christine said bitterly. “It isn’t right. Maybe we can make a petition,ask your father for an annulment after. Surely the King wouldn’t keep you trapped in a loveless marriage.”

Your stomach dropped to somewhere below your ankles.

Stpehen stroked her fingers with his thumb. “Once my father’s decision is set it’s hard to change it.”

“No. . .I’m sure I could arrange a meeting—”

“Christine,” he said softly.

She sniffled, and you knew instinctively it wasn’t because of the cold. “I hate her.”

“Christine, you . . . you didn’t want me.” Your chest constricted to the emotion in his voice. At the pain.

“I always wanted you,” she said fiercely. “This wasn’t supposed to happen. I was angry, heartbroken, and I just—I needed time.” She wrapped her arms around his neck, and you saw her face clearly for the first time. She had gorgeous high cheekbones, big eyes that resembled doe's eyes, and luscious lips, “But I don’t care anymore, Stephen. I don’t care if it’s selfish. I want to be with you.”

You watched her press those lips to Stephen’s cheek and felt sick. Suddenly, you didn’t find their love letters funny anymore. He pulled away before she could move to his mouth.

“Christine, don’t. Please. Don’t make this any harder.” She paused, lower lip trembling. Her next words were a direct blow to your chest.

“I love you, Stephen.” She clung to him, pleading. “I’m so sorry I pushed you away, but we can still be together. We can fix this. You’re just engaged. Speak to your father again. He’ll send that whore to her Kingdom where she belongs, and—”

“She isn’t a whore.”

You leaned forward as Christine pulled back, frowning at something she saw in his face. “She’s a delinquent of a Princess, Stephen, she framed you. She—she doesn’t deserve you.”

Stephen gently disentangled himself from her arms. “Christine, this can’t continue.” His voice was low, resigned. “Whether or not you like her, you told me that my duty was for this Kingdom. I will honour it.”

“Do you like her?” Christine changed the subject, eyes narrowing.

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It matters to me!”

“What do you want me to say, Christine? She’s my future bride. Of course I like her.” Christine rocked back as if he’d slapped her.

“What’s happened to you, Stephen?”

“Nothing—”

“The Stephen I know would abhor that woman. She embodies everything you oppose—”

“You don’t know her.”

“I obviously don’t know you either!”

“Christine, please—”

“Do you love her?” You held your breath, fingers biting into the doorjamb. There was a heavy pause. Then—

“No, I don’t love her.” He exhaled heavily, looking down. “But I think—I think maybe I could—”

“But you said you loved me.” She withdrew her distance from him gently, her eyes widened in shock and pain. Tears streamed down her cheeks, “You asked to marry me! Me—not her!”

“I— Christine, I do love you. But (Y/N) . . .” He sighed and shook his head. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“You won’t hurt her?” At this point, her sobs were more heartfelt, and streaks of colour began to appear on her formerly white cheeks, “What about me, Stephen? We’ve known each other since we were children!” Her tears soaked her bodice, ruining the black silk.

Stephen’s hands hung limp at his sides. “I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“I’m sorry too, Stephen,” she sobbed. “I’m sorry I ever met you.”

You slowly backed away from the door as numbness spread over your body. You have no right to be in this place. This moment hadn’t been meant for your eyes. Back in the ballroom, you stood apart from the crowd, your mind still reeling. Stephen loves her. Disgusted with your own behaviour, you shook your head. Of course he had. He’d said as much in his stupid journal—which you never should’ve read—and even if he hadn’t, he was a young, attractive man. He would’ve had his choice amongst any number of women. The thought rankled more than it should’ve. The image of Christine's lips, or any lips, pushed to his face, performed the same thing.

Christine reappeared a few seconds later, cleaning her face in the most stealthy manner imaginable. Before anybody could question her, she quickly bowed her head and made her way to the antechamber of the hall. When Stephen emerged again, you forced the knot in your throat back down and swallowed. As you watched him look everywhere for you, you considered going after Christine.

After hearing what you had, how could you possibly face him? After discovering what it was that he'd given up? Do you love her? No, I don’t love her. But I think—I think maybe I could— Could what? Love me? As soon as you heard the phrase, panic began to grip your throat. Stephen was able to pick you out of the crowd just as you were raising your skirts in an effort to depart the ballroom and go towards the exit.

As his blue eyes met yours and expanded, you fumbled through an uncomfortable wave while regretting your newfound insecurity. He began moving on while simultaneously avoiding the numerous nobles who sought to stop him and congratulate him along the route. He did this by gently excusing himself from the situation. When he finally got close enough to you, you adjusted your feet while being vividly and cruelly aware of your heart's pounding rhythm, your tingling limbs, and your heated skin. His hands clamped securely around your wrist.

“You look beautiful.” Your blush deepened as he looked at you. Stephen's admiration was almost, in contrast to King Pietro's haughty appreciation. . . respectful. A person has never looked at you like that before.

“Thank you.” you breath caught, and he tilted his head, eyes searching yours in silent question. You looked away, embarrassed, but then Princess Wanda, King Pietro’s twin, chose that moment to swoop down on both of you. She didn’t bother with pleasantries. You’d met her a couple of times during special events, she was a bit reserved at first, but after she warmed up to you, she was a bit more chatty and open. She knows you and Stephen’s brief history since that’s usually the subject during your high-teas.

“Tell me, who was that lovely woman you were with earlier? Your sister, perhaps?” You glared at her pointedly, but she ignored you. Subtlety had never been Wanda’s forte.

“Oh—er, no,” Stephen said. “That was the Duke’s daughter, Lady Palmer.”

“Close personal friend?” Wanda pressed, narrowing her eyes.

“You could say that,” Stephen answered woodenly. But Wanda didn’t bat an eye.

“Hm.”

“Wanda.” you forced a smile and reached for her hand, squeezing it mercilessly. “I think I’d like a little time alone with the Prince. Have you seen Lieutenant Isaac?”

She waved her other hand behind you dispassionately. “Probably beating his chest and challenging that other soldier to a duel.”

You looked back to where she waved. “What other soldier?”

“The pompous one.” She pursed her lips in concentration, but she needn’t have bothered. You knew exactly to whom she referred.

“What happened?”

“Oh, the usual male condition. Lieutenant didn’t want the other playing with his new toy.” She rolled her eyes. “I swear, my female lovers never get into such a jam.”

Your grin was genuine now, “Perhaps you should go referee.”

Wanda studied your hand clasped around Stephen’s, and the feverish complexion of your cheeks. The way he stood close. Much too close. Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps I should.”

She stepped forward to embrace you, but Stephen wouldn’t let go of your hand. Shooting him a glare, she hugged you regardless—awkward, but fierce. “I’ll see you later,” she murmured in your ear, “Let me know if I need to castrate him.”

Stephen watched her leave with an inscrutable expression. “We need to talk,” he said finally, “Somewhere private.”

You followed him silently and fearfully to the same herb garden where Christine had her heart broken. You made certain to lock the kitchen door behind you this time. You didn't need an audience for whatever it was that he wanted to say, even if you had a sneaking suspicion that it would hurt like a bitch. He dragged a hand through his raven hair in agitation. “(Y/N), the woman you and Princess Wanda saw me with, that was—”

“Don’t.” As a precaution against shivers, you coiled your arms about your waist. Your tolerance has reached an all-time low. You would never have to go through that horrible conversation again. Only once hearing it was sufficient, “You don’t have to explain anything. I understand.”

“I do need to explain,” he disagreed. “Look, I know we were engaged under less than ideal circumstances. But, (Y/N), I—I want this to work. I want to be your husband. I know I can’t force you to want the same, but—”

“I do want the same,” you whispered.

His eyes widened, and he took a tentative step closer. “You do?”

“Yes.” He smiled at your answer, then—truly smiled—before faltering slightly.

“Then there can’t be any secrets between us.” He hesitated, as if searching for the right words. “The woman you saw was Christine. You read my letters, so you know I love her. But—but nothing happened. I promise. When I came with my father, she immediately found me and. . . She insisted on being right by my side the whole time. Just now, I took her out here to discuss the shift in our relationship's limits. I told her I didn’t—”

“I know.” You inhaled deeply as you braced yourself for the coming conflict.

He frowned. “How can you know that?” Because I’m a shit person. Because I didn’t trust you. Because she is everything you deserve, and I am your enemy.

“I followed the two of you out here,” you admitted quietly. “I . . . I heard everything.”

“You spied on us?” Disbelief colored this voice. Feelings of fear ran through you. Whether you were shaking from the cold or your own shame, you had no idea.

“Old habits die hard.”

His brows pinched together, and he drew back slightly. “That’s not how I would’ve chosen for you to find out.”

You shrugged, attempting a bit of your old swagger, but it fell flat, “Easier this way though.”

He looked at you for what seemed like an eternity; you began to wonder whether he would ever break his silence. You shrank back from his scrutiny, “No more secrets, (Y/N),” he said finally, “No more lies.”

“I . . . I’ll try,” You whispered. It was the best you could give him.

He nodded, slow and understanding. “Let’s go back inside. You’re shivering.”

“Wait.” You grabbed his hand before he could turn, your heart lodged firmly in your throat. “I—I want to—” Make a complete and total fool of myself, “I want to say sorry—for everything.” You squeezed his fingers, your own stiff and aching from the cold.

“Christine was right. I don’t deserve you. I made a real mess of your life when I came into it.” His other hand came down on top of yours. Warm and steady. You were probably taken aback when he cracked a grin.

“I’m glad you did.” Your blood warmed your freezing cheeks and you found it difficult to look at him.

“Right," you cleared your throat, "well, then . . . let’s go back inside before I pass out from hypothermia.”

When you went back into the ballroom, the party was in full swing. You snatched a champagne glass from a passing servant and chugged it down in one go.

Stephen eyed you incredulously. “You drink like a man.”

“Maybe men can learn a thing or two from women.” you waved the servant back and grabbed two more flutes, passing one to Stephen. He didn’t take it. “Relax, Prince. Enjoy yourself. This is the best champagne money can buy. It’s an insult to your father not to drink it.” you scanned the crowd with feigned boredom.

After a few periods of time, a scrumptious warmth crept over your whole body. The music, which had been a dull and uninteresting waltz before, was sounding much better now. Livelier. You just drank the third glass in one go.

“Dance with me,” Stephen said abruptly.

You looked at him in bewilderment, “What?”

“Dance with me.” He stood on his feet and threw your arms around his neck. You tensed, glancing around, but he tugged you down determinedly. You complied. Stephen stooped slightly, and wrapped his arms around your waist. You laughed. You both looked foolish as you bent and strained to fit together, but he would not let either of you go even though it was obvious you were uncomfortable.

“This—this isn’t the proper way to dance.” You said and lifted your chin to look him directly in the eyes.

“Of course it is. This is our party. We can dance anyway we want.” Stephen shrugs. You chuckle inwardly.

“I—I don’t usually do this—”

“(Y/N), if you don’t dance with me, I’ll go and find someone who will.” His grip tightened on your hips.

“No, you won’t.”

“Then the way forward is clear. We dance.”

You blew out a breath and closed your eyes. “Fine.”

As nervous as you’d been to dance, you proved yourself capable within moments, moving with unnatural grace for someone who hasn’t gotten much dancing lessons her entire life. Stephen had a few missteps of his own. He would have said it was because of your dress, but it was just him being clumsy. Focusing was impossible for him. His hands were strong on your waist, and he couldn’t help but imagine them . . . elsewhere. His blood heated at the thought.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

That night, the tension in our room was so intense that it was physically painful. In preparation for your upcoming wedding, which would take place in one year, the King had ordered the two of you to spend more time alone together at Autumn shore. You were lying in his bed, and Stephen could hear you shifting about in the darkness. Your breathing was first loud, but gradually it became more quiet. You made another change. Effortlessly rolled over onto your side then your back. Then to the other side, then your back, and finally your side again. Attempting to maintain silence at the moment. But you were none of those things, and Stephen was listening to you. In a never-ending loop of repetitions. You were starting to send him over the edge. You had finally made up your mind to bend over the edge of the bed, your blue-green eyes finding him in the shadows. Your tresses are now scraping all over the floor.

When Stephen tried to sit up on his elbows too soon, your eyes immediately went to the spot on his chest where his nightshirt was hanging open. The fire erupted in his gut as he questioned, “What is it?”

“This is stupid.” You scowled, but Stephen was at a loss for why you were so irritated, “You know you don’t have to sleep on the floor?”

Stephen eyed you suspiciously, “Are you sure?”

“First things first, I need you to quit staring at me like that. Yes I am sure, its not a huge thing, really.” You rolled your eyes before scooting to make room for him, “Besides, it’s freezing in here. I need your big-ass body heat to keep warm.”

When Stephen was still unwilling to move, you coaxed him by patting the place next you, “Oh, c’mon, Stephen. I don’t bite . . . much.”

Stephen swallowed hard, violently blocking out the image of your mouth on his skin. He got onto the bed in a careful and unhurried manner, giving you plenty of opportunities to change your mind along the way. There was an unpleasant pause of quiet that lasted for many seconds.

“Relax,” you finally whispered, though you too, laid stiff as a board, “Quit being so awkward.”

Stephen almost laughed. Almost. As if he could’ve possibly relaxed with you so . . . so close to him. The bed, which usually was King sized, has been replaced to a smaller one. Half of Stephen’s body jutted out into empty space. The other half pressed into you but he didn’t complain. After suffering through yet another agonising minute of silence, you eventually turned towards Stephen with your breasts brushing against his arm. His heart rate soared, and he clenched his teeth in an effort to bring his intrusive thoughts under control.

“Tell me about your parents.” You asked, and just like that, all his thoughts of intimacy fled.

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“There’s always something to tell.” Stephen maintained his firm fixation on the ceiling. Even though there was once again complete silence, you never stopped watching him. He couldn't help but cast a glance in your direction—at the enthusiastic, wide-eyed look you have on your eyes. Stephen groaned and shook his head in frustration.

“My Father and I don’t get along well, ever since I was a child. He’s always been too hard on me, probably because that’s how his father was to him. Mother wanted to have more children but Father said one son to inherit the throne is enough—if I had been a daughter, then my father would keep trying for a son but that wasn’t the case.”

You stared at him, horrified. “Marshall Wong was more of a father to me, he taught me plenty of things, first magic—as you already found out—but then I hit a growth spurt.” The side of his mouth quirked up of its own volition. “He began training me as a Sorcerer knight not long after. I claimed my spot when I was fifteen. It’s all I’ve ever known.”

You rested your head on Stephen’s shoulder, “Claimed your spot?”

Closing his eyes, he rested his chin on top of your head and inhaled. Deeply. “There are only two hundred mythical Eltham rings. It limits the positions available. Most serve for life. When a Sorcerer Knight retires or dies, an underground tournament is held. Only the winner may join our secret ranks.”

“Wait.” When you stood up, Stephen's eyes immediately blinked awake. You looked down at him with a smile, your hair playing lightly across his torso, “Are you telling me Peter beat out all the other contenders?”

“Peter isn’t a Sorcerer Knight.” Your grin faltered at Stephen’s reply.

“He’s not?”

“No. He’s training to be, though. He’ll compete in the next tournament, along with the other initiates.”

“Oh.” You frowned now, twirling a lock of hair around your finger. “Well, that explains a lot.”

“It does?” You nestled back into him with a sigh.

“Peter is different from everyone else here. He’s . . . easy-going. Open-minded.”

Stephen bristled at the insinuation, “It’s not a crime to have principles.”

You ignored him. You made a path down the collar of his shirt with your fingertips. Stephen coughed and cleared his throat, doing his best to ignore the little movement. However, your fingertips had a really warm feeling to them. In addition to this, his shirt was paper thin.

You didn’t speak again for several moments. When you finally did, he wished you hadn’t.

“And . . . and Christine? Do you continue seeing her up until now?” All remnants of humour withered and died on his tongue. Stephen continued to fix his attention on the ceiling. In spite of the fact that you said nothing, your fingers continued to trace his collar. Coaxing. Waiting. He let out another sigh.

“You saw the letters. We . . . tried maintaining our courtship.”

“Why?” You asked and felt Stephen stiffened, immediately wary.

“What do you mean why?”

“Nothing. . .” You murmured. Stephen would’ve given up his Sorcerer’s ring to end this conversation.

You sat up, fixing Stephen with those unnerving eyes. “You were going to marry Christine.”

“Yes.” Stephen tore his gaze away from you and back toward the ceiling. A snowflake drifted in from the window, “Growing up . . . Christine and I were sweethearts. Her kindness appealed to me. I was an angry child. She tempered me. Begged me not to throw rocks at the constabulary. Forced me to confess when I stole the communion wine.” A grin tugged at his lips at the memory. Your eyes narrowed at his words, but you wisely said nothing. You sank down until you were pressing against his chest, and as you did, you lightly touched his exposed collarbone with your finger. In its aftermath, heat exploded all over his flesh in addition to everywhere else. Stephen repositioned his hips such that he was facing away from you while muttering a profanity.

You burrowed deeper in the blankets as the wind picked up outside.

“Are you cold?” Stephen asked.

“A little.” You reply and Stephen inched closer, lifting his arm.

“Will you accept an olive branch?” He asked and you swallowed hard, nodding. He pressed you up against his chest and clamped his hands around the small of your back. You were transformed back into a piece of wood in an instant. Small. Tense. Unyielding. Stripped of your prying questions, it was almost as if you were . . . nervous.

“Relax,” Stephen murmured in his low baritone voice against your hair, “I don’t bite . . . much.”

Quiet laughter rumbled through his chest. You hardened your body as much as was humanly feasible. You have no reason to be concerned. You undoubtedly heard the tumultuous beating of his heart, and you quickly realised your advantage.

“Was that a joke?” You teased and Stephen’s arms tightened around you.

“Maybe.” When you said nothing in return, Stephen pulled back to look at you. Another smile tugged at his lips. And, suddenly, he recalled your first night together.

“You don’t have to be nervous, (Y/N),” Stephen stroked your back, forcing yourself to remain still as you wriggled against him, “I’m not going to try anything.”

A noise of protest escaped you, “Why not?”

“I seem to remember you threatening to cut me open if I touched you without permission.” When your eyelids began to close, Stephen cocked your head forwards, cursing inwardly while simultaneously praising himself. When he felt a little catch in your breath, Stephen leaned in closer, his lips coming dangerously close to yours. "If you don't ask me to touch you, I won't."

Your eyes flew open, and you pushed him away with a snarl, “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, I am.” Stephen smirked again and settled back against the pillow, “It’s late. We should sleep.”

You looked at him with a fiery glare in your eyes. With understanding. With a degree of resentful adoration. Stephen, feeling victorious, watched you sort through your thoughts and saw how each feeling manifested itself on your beautiful face.

You scowled at Stephen and smiled sarcastically, “It appears I underestimated you.”

Stephen raised his brows, “Just say the magic words. Ask me.”

“You’re an ass.”

Stephen shrugged and sat up, “Have it your way.” In one fluid motion, Stephen lifted the hem of his shirt up and over his head.

Your eyes flew open incredulously, trying not to lower your gaze, “What are you doing?” You grabbed his shirt and threw it back at him—which he caught and tossed it all the way across the room.

“I’m feeling hot, aren’t you?”

“You—you— Get out of my bed! Get out!” You shoved Stephen, probably with all your strength, but he didn’t budge. He only grinned teasingly.

“This is our bed.”

“No, this is where I sleep. You sleep on the—”

“Bed.” Stephen brought his hands up to his head and clasped them together. You stared at him in disbelief, your gaze darting between his arms and his chest. Stephen's smile became wider as he fought the impulse to flex his muscles. He also recalled the day he saw you watching him through your telescope and said, "I've got a knot in my back from training for the last two weeks. I've had enough of lying on the ground. This is our bed, and from now on I'm going to sleep in it. If you'd want to join me, you're more than welcome to do so; if not, the bathtub is still available.”

You opened your mouth angrily and closed it again. “I— This is— I am not sleeping in the—”

Your eyes darted around the bed, clearly searching for something to impale him with but your eyes only landed on a pillow. Whack. You raised your hand for another one but Stephen caught it before you could hit him again, trapping it against his chest. Clamping his lips together to keep from laughing, “(Y/N)—lie down. Go to sleep. Nothing has changed. Unless you want to ask me something?”

“You better sleep with one eye open.” You yanked the pillow from him.

Stephen chuckled before turning away. “Good night, (Y/N).”

“Shut up.” You fell asleep long before Stephen did.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

"There you are," Tom's smooth silky voice interrupted your thoughts, "May I? Princess?" He looked pointedly at the space beside you on the marbled bench.

"Mister Tom," you referred to what you called him when you first met him, "You may."

"I was expecting I'd see you again but I didn't expect to meet you again in this way," He chuckles softly and takes the seat beside you.

"So did I," you lightly nodded, "I thought you were being taught your father's trade? Why is it that you're now a soldier?"

"Well," Tom clasps his hands together, "The Kingdom I lived in has been invaded and I've come here to seek refuge."

As you were informed of the devastating information, you let out a muffled gasp, and the emotions on your face became more serious. Since you haven't received any information of an invasion, you are now curious about the location of his previous home. If the Kings were aware, then they have done an excellent job of keeping the population in the dark about it.

"I-I'm so sorry to hear that," You paused, "May I ask which Kingdom?"

"Eivengard."

Your eyes widen. Eivengard? The mysterious land, a place where the trees come to life and magical animals lurk, is home to people who are said to use magic even today, despite the fact that no one has ever provided definitive evidence to support this claim.

"Eivengard? The mysterious Kingdom? You lived there?" You asked Tom fascinated, "Can you tell me more about your home? What was it like?"

Tom smiles at the way your eyes sparkled with curiosity as you turned your body to face him, "I don't mean to brag but It’s going to take more than words to describe its beauty, I would have to take you there."

A small smile stayed on your face, "Really? Is it true that the trees there are alive? Can you describe the Enchanted forest to me?"

Tom nodded, "The age of the magical woodland is incalculable. It reeked of age.Its earthy scent was caused by the centuries-long process of branches breaking off in the forest, falling to the ground, and decaying in silence. The composting, organic smell rose up in waves like a mist. Every towering tree that I had walked underneath brought to mind a vigilant watchman or a stoic guardian watching over the groves. If you decided to venture deeper into the tangled heart of this primaeval forest, you'd hoped that it would reveal its dark secrets.

The more you ventured into it, the more mysterious and bewitching it came out to be. Huge roots sprawled out over the ground and twisted in a manner reminiscent of the broad backs of aquatic monsters. The vegetation grew dense and lush, creating an arch of enchanted-looking greenery over your heads as it spread out. The arthritic and twisted branches of the tree were dropping its abundance of nuts onto the walkway below. Briars, brambles and berry trees flanked the trail, making it impenetrable on either side.

There is a wide glade, where the trees fell away, revealing the bespeckled sky. During the evening the last of the morning’s stars glinted like silver pin pricks, luminous and bright. The ore gold moon would hang quietly in the distance, casting a honeyed sheen over the trees.When I was younger, I used to sit with my back against the trunk of a tree that had been struck by lightning and watched it fade away. And as if on cue, an avian aria would erupt from the knot of trees. The solitary songbird was soon joined by his beaked companions, creating a symphony of song.The song has a wistful quality to it, as if it were an elixir for the spirit. The woods' honeyed aroma would wash over me, and I'd let myself be lulled to sleep by the reassuring warmth of it."

You sat there with your mouth gaping as Tom's words painted vivid pictures in your mind of the amazing things he saw in the enchanted forest, "Wow. I, too, want to experience that.”

"Well you're going to have to come to Eivengard with me—when it's safe, of course." Tom's grin grew wider as he saw the expression of amazement on your face; it was unlike anything he'd seen before, "I forgot to say this when we met; You are breathtakingly beautiful, Princess."

You elicit a shy laugh and look away slightly, "How many girls have had the privilege to hear that come out of your mouth?"

"Only yours."

Stephen, who was in the corridor on the upper level, discovered you and Tom engaging in a conversation in the courtyard. The man's jaw clenched and his blood began to boil as he heard the sound of your gentle laughter rebounding from what Tom was saying to you,"Unfamiliar, my ass. Is this how one acts when you're unfamiliar with someone?"

"There you are Sire!" Luke, Stephen’s appointed stylist for the wedding, ran to him and bowed, "You are to be fitted with a uniform for your wedding next week, please come with me."

Stephen switched his attention back to the courtyard, which is where he had last seen you and Tom before you disappeared. His chest tightened up at the idea that the other man had whisked you away to a place where you would be alone yourselves. He couldn't shake the notion that he should go seek for you, but he knew that coming with Luke was his only option at this point.

"Your Highness?" Luke glanced at the direction Stephen was facing.

"Yes, yes. Lead the way."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Stephen stands at a platform with his arms stretched wide as the tailor measures his body. Andrew and Ben sat on the sofa in his room while Stephen complains about how it was stupid for you to have a male ward when, clearly, they now decided to also train women, “I know that look from a mile away, he’s definitely have feelings for her.”

“I don’t understand why you’re getting upset, your highness. Isn’t she getting married to you?” Andrew asked politely, causing Ben to chuckle at his question.

“They’re engaged and that didn’t stop him from running back to his ex-girlfriend when he realised the weight of his responsibility,” Ben answered and received a death stare from his cousin, “What? I’m just stating the truth. You don’t know what you want—You should’ve just been honest with her and told her you were confused instead of telling her what you told her.”

“Wait. . . can we just rewind because I am confused. So he told her that he felt the same and then he changed his mind and chased after someone else?” Andrew furrowed his brows while trying to understand the whole ordeal between you and the Prince.

“Correct.” Ben replied.

“Wow, that's cold.”

“Both of you do know that I am right in front of you?”

“Yes, we do.” Ben smiled, “And we don’t care—Now I’m actually curious on how you’re going to write your vows for her.”

Andrew’s gaze flicked towards Stephen who was thinking rather deeply, he needed to make it sound convincing not only for you but to all the people who will be invited. Stephen sighed heavily and caught Andrew’s gaze.

“I honestly don’t know, I can give it a try after this, but I can’t guarantee how convincing it’ll be.”

“Just write something from the bottom of your heart,” Andrew shrugs.

“Why don’t you grab a servant nearby to scribe, let’s get this over and done with.” Stephen adjusted his posture, trying to stay still to not get pricked by the needle. Andrew went out to find a servant and called in the first one he saw.

“Your highness,” The servant girl lowered herself to a curtsy.

“Yes, yes—grab a pen and paper and write down the things that I’m about to say.”

“Yes, Your highness,” She immediately grabbed a pen and paper on one of the desks and anticipated for the Prince to open his mouth and say something.

A few minutes pass by and Stephen still hasn’t said a word, “That’s a real tear jerker, cousin.” Ben slowly clapped his hands and shook his head. Andrew on the other hand pressed his lips together to prevent a laugh from escaping his lips.

“I’m thinking alright?” Stephen snapped at Ben, “Okay. . . (Y/N), of all the people you've met and places you've visited you ended up here—with me. It is a very powerful and humbling fact.”

“Are you serious? That sounds like a eulogy,” Ben grimaced as he interrupted Stephen’s train of thought.

“You will be the clouds and I will be the sky. You will be the ocean and I will be the shore. You will be the trees and I will be the wind.”

“For the love of God, I almost threw up—Are you writing her a song or what?”

“Why don’t you write it then!?”

“It is kind of hard to write a vow when your heart isn’t fully set on her.” Andrew shrugs.

“And is yours set on someone?” Stephen asked the younger man, who nodded without hesitation, “Good, write one for me then.”

“You can’t be serious right?” Andrew chuckles. His smile faded when Stephen only gave him an expectant look, “With all due respect, Your Highness, that is your vows to her, it has to mean something to you.”

“I’m sure whatever you write will be the exact same as how I feel.”

“No it's not.” Ben opposed.

“Well it’s either write me something or both of you will have to listen to the pathetic lines I could think of.”

Andrew and Ben looked at each other, “How long does it have to be?” Andrew asks.

“Make it straightforward and concise. I don’t want anything long.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The last time you saw Stephen was during your argument—both of you have been preoccupied with preparing for your wedding and the only time you’d see each other was during breakfast, but even then, you didn’t speak with one another.

Today was the day that Alcina arranged for you to try on wedding dresses, shoes and jewellery—of course, Tom was there with you. Each time you came out from the dividers wearing a white dress, he always had this wide-eyed, slack jawed expression. Air whooshed from your lungs, and the entire Hall seemed to fade away, going silent as you stared at one another. Your heart thumped heavily as your hands spasmed open and then closed. He was staring at you, but so were the Ladies-in-waiting. Asha, particularly, noticed how Tom looked at you with heavy admiration.

As you turned around to face the mirror and admire the dress, Tom came closer after noticing the healing scar on your arm, his eyes lingering on the corner of your mouth, “You were hurt,” It wasn’t a question but a statement uttered in a hard-as-granite tone. “You can be assured that will never happen again.”

You became rigid as Tom's gaze collided with yours through the mirror and remained fixed on you. Even though you knew that he couldn't see your eyes through your veil, it still seemed like he could since his gaze was penetrating, as if he could see not only through you but also into you.

You made an effort to shrug off the emotion, but the more he maintained your sight, the stronger the sensation became. You attempted to ignore it. It had to be his eyes, specifically the colour of them. Indigo has such an unusual and beautiful shade. While gazing into their eyes, one's mind may wander to many other places and times.

“Alright, Lieutenant, allow our bride to admire her beauty not her scars,” Alcina gently pushed between you and Tom and he broke eye contact and pivoted toward the entryway. Your breath left you in a ragged exhale, your heart hammering as if you were running across the hills.

“That was…intense,” Asha murmured.

You blinked, giving a shake of your head as you turned to her. “What?”

“That.” Her brows were lifted, “You and Sir Thomas staring one another down. You two were engaged in a rather heated one on one just now.”

You could feel warmth creep into your cheeks. “He’s just doing his job. . .”

Asha lifted her brow, “Oh really?”

“Yeah, of course.” You smoothed your hands over the lap of your dress.

“So, he was just making sure you’re still alive and—”

“Breathing?” Both of you were surprised by Tom's suggestion. He had moved with the stealth of a trained guard and the silence of a ghost, and now he was standing a scant foot from from where you were standing, “Since I am responsible for keeping her alive, making sure she’s breathing would be a priority.” Your shoulders stiffened. How much had he overheard?

Asha made a poor attempt to smother her giggle with the back of her hand. “I’m relieved to hear that.”

“If not, I’d be remiss in my duty, would I not?”

“Ah, yes, your duty.” Asha nodded in scepticism, “I’m sure you can accomplish your duty over at the couch there Lieutenant, let us help the Princess choose a wedding dress. . . you know, for her wedding?”

Tom chuckled at the lady emphasising the word ‘wedding’ twice, “Of course.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“I would like to spend the rest of my afternoon in the garden, call for my mother also, please.” You told Asha, “Prepare some tea for me at the gazebo—I’m craving scones and jam, so please give me a fair amount.” You kindly requested from Asha who nodded.

“Right away, Princess. I’ll tell the chef.”

“Care to join me, Lieutenant Hiddleston?” you asked, even though he would be joining you regardless.

You left the room to head over the garden to have some tea. You glanced over at him as the marble staircase curved. He had one hand rested on the hilt of the sword at his waist.

He looked over at you then—more like he looked down at you, even though you were a step higher than he was. He was still taller, which seemed unfair. One dark brow rose, his gaze questioning.

“What?” You asked, heart seizing as you lifted your foot but not high enough. You tripped. Tom reacted fast, curving his hand above your elbow, steadying you. Embarrassment flooded your system as you muttered, “Thank you.”

“No insincere thanks are required or needed. It is my duty to keep you safe.” He paused, “Even from treacherous staircases.”

You took a deep, even breath. “My gratitude are never insincere.”

“My apologies then.” It wasn't necessary to see his face to know he was grinning, and you could guarantee the world was better for his smile. Silence reigned after you reached the second-floor landing, and he had become silent. You went downstairs, through the hall, and out the stairs to the gardens by turning to the left. Tom walked all the way to the end of the hall and opened the large oak doors, touching your shoulder with his arm. Before proceeding up the tight spiral staircase, he waited for you to arrive. The space was drenched in natural light thanks to the ovular windows.

“Watch your step. You trip and fall here, you’re likely to take me out on your way down.”

You huffed, “I won’t trip.”

“But you just did.”

“That was a rarity.”

“Well, then, I feel honoured that I bore witness to it.” He retorted back and a giggle elicited from your lips. He was speaking to you in a way no other person did— besides Asha. Not even Stephen had been so…familiar. It was as if you had known each other for years instead of hours…or days. The comfortable way he was talking to you was disconcerting.

You take your time admiring the newly watered plants under the sun that often shines warmly. You wander down the perfectly laid cobblestone paths that lead between the brightly colored plants with Tom patiently following behind you.

“What’s your favourite flower?” Tom asks, noticing how you’d stop from time to time to admire each time as you walk by.

“Snowdrops.” You answered easily.

“Why’s that?”

You slowed your pace so that you’d walk side by side with your Lieutenant, “Because it’s the first flower to bloom at the end of winter—it also symbolises hope.”

“Do you want to know a story about the Snowdrop then?” Tom asks and you look up to him with the same curiosity, “Legends has it that the snowdrop flower was born out of an angel who fell in love with a human girl, seeing her heart broken and shedding tears—he wanted something to comfort her in her despair, the angel picked up a snowflake, throwing it up on the Earth to cheer her up. As the snowflake shattered, it became a symbol of new beginnings and of hope. And everywhere the snow landed, snowdrops grew.”

“Wow, he must’ve loved her so much. That’s quite a short love story.”

“Thank you, I just made it up.” He said proudly.

“Well aren’t you quite a story teller? Have you ever thought about becoming a writer?” You tilted your head and he offered his hand for you to hold as you approached the small staircase of the gazebo.

“No but now that you’ve suggested it, I just might.” He chuckled while pulling the chair out for you, “Are you aware that you will be heading to Autumn shores tomorrow?”

“Yes, I am aware—I also heard that there won’t be any carriages?”

“Unfortunately, no. The King doesn’t want to catch any unwanted attention, therefore you will be riding with me. But rest assured that I will be riding gently, so as to not hurt the child you're carrying.” Tom left a fleeting glance on the stomach you didn’t bother to hide.

“Who else will be travelling with us?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The fact that you were expecting meant that travelling would take at least one day longer than usual. You embarked on your journey surrounded by Stephen, Andrew, Ben, Oscar, James, and Asha, in addition to eight other Royal Knights.

After travelling for a few hours to Autumn shore, you no longer need to depend on your imagination to understand what Tom had meant when he stated that you would be riding with him.

There wasn't much room to move between the two of you. Although you sat up straight and tried your best to ignore the sensation of Tom's arm being wrapped around your waist, the pace was challenging. Even though it wasn't a full gallop, the rigid stance rapidly became difficult and painful since you weren't accustomed to the way a horse moved this slow. With each passing hour, you inched closer to Tom until eventually, your back was plastered against his chest, and your hips were cradled by his thighs. At some point, the hood of your cloak had slipped off your head, and you chose to go about without it, in part because you were curious to feel the breeze on your face.

And in part due to the fact that each time Tom bent down to talk to you, you were able to feel the warmth of his breath on your cheek. You'd be correct. This was completely unsuitable for a woman who was engaged to be married. Or, at least the way it felt to be held by him felt inappropriate for you.

Stephen, in the meanwhile, was overcome with an overwhelming sense of wrath, which he characterised as a burning sensation in his gut and a sensation that he swore made him feel his temperature increasing. Despite the fact that it seemed like a living, breathing entity was attempting to claw its way out of him, he became entirely indifferent to the experience. He merely galloped out on his horse, glaring viciously at the man who was behind you while simultaneously observing how at ease you seemed to be in his arms.

Stephen squeezed so hard on the reins of his horse that his knuckles became white, yet he was oblivious to the fact that he was doing it. It disturbed him that you were so familiar, and he felt a wave of envy coming on that threatened to sweep him away. Growling possessively, he was already having a hard time restraining himself from acting on the notion of shoving the guy back and stealing you away from him.

Ben's eyes darted between you and Stephen, and he took the executive decision to block his cousin's vision in order to prevent himself from becoming more agitated. "Stare much harder and you could just wind up murdering someone," Ben warned his cousin.

Stephen overcame his reluctance to turn away and once again resisted the desire to declare out that you were his and to voice his ownership of you. He was well aware that Tom's clear sentiments for you would not be altered in the least by this fact.

An ugly, insidious feeling crept into him and he couldn’t stop himself from saying, “If I do, I order you not to stop me.”

Tom should hear the conversation and discreetly chuckled to himself. It was not hard to notice the way Stephen looked at him, he'd been at it for hours—he was just acting as if he didn't see anything.

When Ben found a suitable spot to spend the night to rest, he made a gesture with his fist for everyone to stop “We camp here, the sun is setting.” The commander dismounted his horse and the rest followed. Before Tom could have the chance to carry you down, Stephen made his way towards you and pushed himself in front of the other without being discreet about it.

Stephen assisted you off the horse with so much care before turning towards Tom who simply backed away, looking unbothered. You felt worn off and Asha came to your assistance, leading you to a tree stump to sit down on.

“She’s carrying my child, I hope you understand.” Stephen addressed Tom quite arrogantly.

“I understand fully my Prince,” Tom replied but shakes his head, “I’m just a bit wary that you might hurt her, and I can’t allow that.” Tom uttered without thought and by hurt, he meant emotionally.

“Hurt her? I'm not going to harm her. You, on the other hand, I'm going to destroy—if you don’t back off.” Stephen seethed closed in on Tom who stood his ground unfazed, both men sizing each other up, faces inches away from each other.

James who smirked at what was unfolding blocked your line of sight. You were already stressed enough, he thought that you didn’t need to see that.

“How are you feeling?” James asked, fixing away your stray hair that fell on the side of your face and removed his jacket, draping it over your shoulders.

“I’m just tired.” You weakly sighed and smiled at your brother. Your back was slightly hurting but you didn’t want him to worry. James glanced and noticed that Andrew and Ben had pulled Tom and Stephen away from each other. He then squatted down in front of you.

“Can I?” He asked to touch your stomach.

You nodded with a tired smile, “Of course.”

“Have you decided on any names yet?” James asked and gently placed his palms on your lower abdomen.

“Stefan for a boy and Sersei for a girl.”

“Does it have to start with an S?” James creased his brows, “Stefan sounds awfully like Stephen—I like Sersei though, it’s a beautiful name.”

“Stefan means victorious and that’s what I want him to be.” You told James as-a-matter-of-factly.

“And what about Sersei?”

“Sersei means bird, I want her to have as much freedom and have high ambitions.”

James casts you a proud gaze, “Well then, I can’t wait to meet my future niece or nephew,” James leaned closer to your stomach and whispered, “Make sure you take after your mother okay?”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

Deep in the night, Stephen struggled to sleep—mainly because of the little ordeal he had with Tom. During dinner, they didn’t stop glaring at each other, their negative energy and tension so strong that it became awkward every time someone made conversation. He tossed and turned in his make-shift tent. Unlike everyone else, you got to sleep in a proper tent with your brother keeoing an eye on you.

The fact that he could hear Ben and Asha, probably making out, thinking that everyone was asleep was beginning to drive him insane. Tom who was trying hard to ignore them as well, placed his satchel over his ears in an attempt to block out the noise.

Behind Ben and Asha, Stephen sighed softly in his pretend sleep.

“We can’t do this here.” Ben’s strained whisper echoed too loud in the silence. Despite his words, Asha grinned and pressed closer—everywhere—until his own hips rolled in response, grinding her against him. Slowly at first, then faster. Ben lay back on the icy ground, his head drooping as his eyes remained tightly closed and his breath came in short gasps. His throat started to groan, “Someone might see us.”

Asha responded by tugging at his belt. Ben's eyes widened in anticipation as he stretched into her touch and savoured it. “Let them,” she said, each breathing a pant. Stephen wanted to throw up having no choice but to listen to this so he sounded another loud cough.

“Ashana—”

“Do you want me to stop?”

“No.” Ben's fingers curled tighter around her hips as he sat quickly forwards, pressing her lips to his.

Stephen coughed again, much, much louder this time. Ben didn’t register it. With Asha’s hand slipping into his undone trousers—her tongue hot against his—he couldn’t have stopped if he tried.

With an aggrieved sigh, Stephen pitched upright and interrupted loudly, “Hello?! Yes, pardon! As it seems to have escaped your notice, there are other people here, trying to SLEEP!” In a low grumble, he added, “Though clearly those other people will soon shrivel up and die from abstinence.”

Tom, who had his back turned toward the other three, had to make himself laugh silently as his shoulders jerked up and down and his stomach ached, tears leaving his eyes; the fact that he had to keep himself quiet made the scenario much funnier than it already was.

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A Hard Lesson (Professor!Benedict Cumberbatch x Reader)

Chapter 41/? (Previous Chapter) (Chapter 1) (Chapter Masterlist)

Summary: mean history professor, horny student that wants to please him at all costs.

Tags: Smut, 18+, MINORS DNI, praise, authority, degradation kink, daddy kink, oral sex, fingering, voyeurism, orgasm denial, threesome, breeding kink, fake dating, Professor!Tom Hiddleston x Reader.

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— Story Playlist (open for everyone to add songs 👀)

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please take the time to reblog the chapter ♥️♥️

“Please…” you whispered, gasping for air. Benedict’s body pinned you against the wall as his lips searched for that spot that would have you moaning for him. A moan escaped your lips as you pulled on Benedict’s hair.

“Right there,” he smiled against your neck, his left hand moved from your hip to the front of your panties, moving under them. “May I?”

You nodded, swallowing harshly, eyes closed as the heat in your body overwhelmed you.

“Sofia? May I?” He cleared his throat, standing back straight and looking down at you.

“Yes, please, now,” your voice sounded strained, almost as if you were in pain. You kind of were, everything hurt, your entire body screamed for his touch, burning in its absence. Benedict’s fingers finally moved on, and you exhaled in relief as he came in contact with your folds. A moan, a plea, something left your mouth. You were wet, soaked, it had all been so fast, but your body had not wasted a moment, knowing exactly what was coming when he had stood up from the couch.

His fingers moved through your folds, and you gasped as he brushed against your clit. Benedict studied each one of your expressions, you were his favourite book, after all, and he had been kept from your pages for too long. It was a shame that your eyes were closed, that your lips were parted, and your heartbeat filled your ears because you missed the complete look of adoration with which your professor studied each one of your features, almost as if he was truly seeing you for the first time in months, almost as if he was scared he would need to recount you from memory at some point.

He moved his fingers inside of you and watched as your left hand pulled on his shirt, holding it tightly. He noticed how you lifted on your tiptoes, involuntarily trying to escape the pleasure. He could barely hear your whispers, too focused on you, on your eyelashes, your knitted eyebrows, your plump lips and the way a stray strand of hair covered your cheek. Then he moved his thumb, circling your clit, and you melted under his touch. Your head fell back, and moans and whines substituted your pleads as you turned into liquid just for him.

“Don’t stop,” you finally spoke again, pulling on the nape of his neck towards you. He complied right away, his lips moving to yours and kissing you. A sweet kiss, inconsistent with the lurid moans interrupting it every couple of seconds. His lips kissing you with all the love and his fingers fucking you with all the need.

You couldn’t keep up with the kiss, so he pulled away, hand cupping the back of your neck and jaw, letting you lay on it as you mindlessly chased your pleasure. He looked at you again as you leaned on his hand, his just his; he couldn’t believe he had gotten to make you his again.

All of the sudden, you moved again, biting tightly on your lip as you screwed your eyes tighter. You scratched his neck, but he didn’t mind. He hoped it had left a mark. He increased the pace. He wanted to feel you coming. He wanted to make you come all night. He wanted to make sure you could see just how much he had missed you.

Your legs started shaking, so he moved his free hand to your hip, keeping you still. You were there, right there, and then you opened your eyes, and it hit you all at once. The blue of his eyes echoed the wave of pleasure that tackled your body, almost dropping you to your knees, both of your hands reaching for his shoulders to keep yourself steady as you watched him watch you, sharing a new unbreakable bond. His, you were his.

Benedict broke the tension with a smile as he slipped his fingers out of you, bringing them to his lips and cleaning them up. You stood there frozen, watching in awe the scene. “I love you,” you finally whispered, as his smile grew wider.

“You have no idea how much I love you,” he whispered back, lowering himself to kiss you again. Both of your hands reached in between your bodies to pull on his shirt, feverishly trying to get the buttons to open.

His hands came to hold yours, stopping you in your movement, “I have a call tomorrow early in the morning….” He pulled his body away from your grip, giving you a tight lip disappointed smile. Your eyes fell to his watch as you realised how late it had gotten.

“It won’t take long….” you whispered, pouting your lip and sliding your hands from under his shirt, feeling that body you had missed so much.

“I want it to take long, Sof. I want to give you the attention you deserve but also need at least some sleep.” He had to keep himself together, trying to hold his ground. He wanted you so badly but knew the importance of tomorrow’s meeting.

“What’s the call for?” You took your hands from under his shirt, hugging his torso instead, snuggling your cheek against his chest.

“I have a job interview,” you felt him stiffen under your touch. He didn’t want to explain any further.

“Where?” You bit your lip, instantly regretting the question.

Benedict pulled you away from his body, cupping your cheek and lifting your gaze to his. “I’m not taking the job…” he sighed, trying to convey the truthfulness of his words, “I just need the leverage.”

You wanted to believe him but his hesitation in answering the question formed a knot in your stomach, making your lip shake just so slightly. He saw the sadness in your eyes and held onto you tighter.

“I promise, Sof. I want to be chair here.” He doubled down, explaining what he meant with leverage.

“Where would the other job be?” You asked again, needy to know where he would be, even if it were the slightest chance.

“Australia… that is why I have to wake up extra early tomorrow,” he explained himself, his eyes scrutinising every single part of your face.

“Australia…” you whispered back, lowering your gaze, thinking about it… “too many spiders, right?”

“Yes, my love.” Benedict gave you one of those rare big crooked smiles as both of his hands had reached your face before pressing you against his chest and wrapping his arms around you, hugging you tightly, “way too many spiders and too little you.”

…

You woke up to an empty bed, swallowed by Benedict’s soft duvet, stretching and smiling, taking in the moment. The light in his bedroom was so beautiful. It was so welcoming. You wondered if his parents’ house was as lovely if you’d be able to love it as much as you love this one.

You could only wonder how the rooms looked, how many books Benedict would have allowed you to buy, and how much bigger the following Christmas tree would have been. Your thoughts moved to his family, how excited you were to meet them eventually, once this confusing mix-up was over. You wondered if his parents would like you, what they would think about your age. Whether his sister would like you, you had always wanted a big family, a sister, and they seemed to be very close to each other. Even the thought made you extremely happy.

After a few restful silent minutes, you left the room to look for the professor, hoping his interview/meeting was done. The house, however, was utterly silent, every room emptier than the last. You found comfort in the couch, turning on the TV for background noise and checking your phone.

“Dress shopping today? ;)” Tom’s message read and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling excitement pool in your chest.

“Yes, sir. What time is best for you?” You replied quickly, noticing he had texted you at 5 a.m.

“Whenever you and Benedict are done making up, I am free.” He replied quicker than expected.

“HOW?” you typed confused, wondering if Benedict had told him.

“I know it all, my love. There is nothing you can keep from me ;)” you chuckled at his message, noticing how much these two were no different than Year 7 best friends, gossiping about their relationships all day long.

The door of the apartment opened and you stood up excitedly, ready to see the man of your dreams again and hopeful he had brought breakfast. You ran to the corridor ready to swing your arms around Benedict when you were stopped in your tracks, your eyes meeting with a familiar face.

“Sofia?” The woman looked at you as you pulled down Benedict’s shirt, trying to cover your legs.

Liv's note

sorryyy for the short chapter and for another of my famous cliffhangers! I started my internship yesterday and I have been incredibly busy! I am hoping to have enough time to post maybe a short chapter during the week, but we will have to see!

I hope you liked the chapter! Thank you so much for all the love on the last one. I love love love reading your opinions and comments so thank you so much for sharing them with me. As always please reblog to help a tired tired intern and support my writing ♥️

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strangeions · 2 years

Text

Sentiment.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Fem! Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Requested? Yes! And it was by @gaitwae (i hope you like it <3)

Summary: Sherlock finds himself entranced by Lestrade's best friend and co-worker.

Warnings: kinda office romance, fluff

Masterlist

Sherlock Holmes was a man of pragmatism and cold truth. He could answer to any question, he could find a resolve in everything (science always played a part in this sense), but when his dear roommate and companion, John Watson, suggested that maybe the suspect was in love with the victim's wife, he felt repulsed by the idea.

"Absolutely not, John! Have you paid attention to the details, to the facts?"

John's eyebrows shot to the top of his head. "Have you?"

Scoffing, Sherlock put his hands in the coat's pockets. "Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side. No, we're dealing with a cold murderer this time, not some love sick puppy. If he were in love, his eyes pupils would have dilated when we asked about her, but they did not. And I-'' he trailed off when he saw a familiar mop of hair appearing behind John and talking to Lestrade, a notebook in her arms.

John turned around, eyebrows still raised and he crossed his arms, a smirk finding its way on his lips. His eyes met Sherlock's again. "You were saying?"

Sherlock licked his suddenly dry lips and blinked. "I, uh-"

"Cat got your tongue, Sherlock?"

It was as if Sherlock's brain short circuited, cutting all the ties to reality. He blinked and gulped thickly. ''When in love and looking at the object of all your desires and affection, your pupils get dilated. The pulse gets increased and you feel your breath leaving you. But that's not true, that's just an illusion, it's your body reacting to hormones. It's just pure science, really.'' he said, whispering the last part and never taking his eyes off of Y/N.

She was laughing now, touching Lestrade's arm and shaking her head in amusement. And Sherlock felt his stomach twisting into something he couldn't name. He tilted his head. ''I'm right, aren't I, John?''

''I don't know, Sherlock, but it doesn't seem so to me.''

Sherlock's gaze slowly left Y/N's figure and met John's eyes. His eyebrows pinched together. ''Why do you say that?''

John's smirk never left his lips. ''Your pupils dilated.''

Sherlock nodded, a realization dawning on him. And his eyes were again on her, just drinking her in. ''They did, didn't they?''

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Y/N L/N was a woman of soft love and indulging daydreams. A pure romantic at heart, she could find meaning in every glance and smile (she did learn best from Jane Austen). But when her best friend and co-worker, Greg Lestrade, inquired about her new crush, she mumbled an excuse, blushing furiously and averting his gaze.

"Oh come on! I know you, Y/N! Been knowing you for years now. So, who is it?"

Shaking her head, Y/N replied. "No one."

Lestrade furrowed. "Then why are you blushing?"

''Why are we talking about this now? We're at a crime scene.'' she almost snapped.

Lestrade pursed lips, nodding and putting his hands in his pockets, his gaze looking in the distance at nothing particularly. And for awhile, neither of them said anything, the bustling of the forensic pathologists filling the air. Y/N fumbled with the notebook in her arms, her gaze sliding towards a certain curly haired man. They rarely talked about anything other than work, but she always found herself enticed by what he was saying. His mind worked in mysterious and interesting ways and she only wished to understand it more, to be the one overtaking his thoughts. Just like he did hers.

He met her eyes across the room and she felt her face flush. He acknowledged her with a nod of his head and she smiled his way.

''It's Sherlock, isn't it?'' voiced Lestrade besides her.

She snapped her head towards him, almost getting a whiplash. ''What?''

He just laughed. ''I'll be sending you over to him with work more often, then.''

Her laugh matched his and she smacked his arm, while shaking her head. ''You're impossible.''

''But the best!''

''At annoying me, maybe.''

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sherlock kept coming to crime scenes with John as he usually did. And things just went as they usually did. Anderson and Donovan were insufferable as ever, making wrong assumptions and awful comments. Graham (or was it Greg?) was useless as ever and John muttered praises under his breath, as always (''That's brilliant, Sherlock!'').

Except this time he was suddenly hyperaware of her presence. She always seemed to be there, in the corner of the room silently watching him work through the mystery and fog. It clouded his mind. He blinked, trying to get rid of the incorrigible thoughts and the tightness in his chest. He cleared his throat and risked a glance at John, who had his eyebrows raised. ''Right, well, uh, I have to think about this one, really mull it over.''

He straightened his back, popping the collar of his coat. But then, he looked at her and paused in his tracks. ''Unless, Y/N has anything to add to the case.''

She seemed lost in thought because once her name was spoken, by Sherlock no less, she snapped out of it, a blush adorning her cheeks. She visibly gulped and took a step forward, hugging her notebook closer to her chest. Her eyes met his and she had to inhale just so she could breath again. He was looking at her so intensely that she felt like she was being analyzed under the microscope, as if he could read through her. As if he could take her apart, soul by soul, layer by layer.

Y/N tore her eyes away from his and flipped through her notebook, only stopping when the date of today caught her attention. ''Well, uh, I believe the victim's wedding ring is missing.''

''There wasn't any wedding ring.'' interrupted Lestrade, frowning.

She nodded. ''Exactly. If you look at her left hand, you'd find the shadow of a wedding ring. She's very tanned, she must've returned from a vacation. Somewhere warm, as there isn't any sun in London. But she never did take off her wedding ring, the white line around her finger is the proof of that.''

''She could've just lost it.'' added John thoughtfully.

Sherlock remained quiet, his gaze pinned on Y/N, attention undivided by anything else but her. He was listening in, his mind screaming at the possibilities.

Y/N shook her head. ''No. The pictures of her husband in her wallet tell me otherwise. She cared. She wouldn't just let her ring get lost. There's something else there. Someone must've taken it. Maybe our killer.''

Sherlock's eyebrow arched and his eyes lit up. ''Impressive observation, darling.'' He started smiling and he grabbed her shoulders, leaning in to kiss her on both of her cheeks. ''Thank you!'' he said in a very excited voice, much like a kid would exclaim on a the Christmas morning at the sight of presents.

And he was off, the coat fluttering behind him in waves and leaving her flustered and red in the face. His kisses on her cheeks burned her like fireworks in the sky. She touched with shaking fingertips where his lips met her skin and she slightly smiled.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

221B was quiet, John gone God knew where. The rain was splattering against the windows in loud and almost thundering drops. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, deep in thought, his hands lanced in a prayer position. He sighed and closed his eyes, his mind going off the rails.

The squeak of the front door pulled him to the reality. His eyes snapped open and his ears perked up. Light footsteps. Not John, as he walked harshly, his feet dragging behind him (he never actually left the war behind). Probably a woman, then. But not mrs. Hudson, as she always wore heels.

Sherlock slowly got up, his eyes never wavering from the door. The creeks of the stairs. Not a client, as the footsteps didn't sound urgent.

He was now in front of the door, touching the door knob and opening it like a storm cleaning everything in its path and he was met with the surprised eyes of Y/N L/N. She was drenching and panting, the rain really wearing her down. Her hair was soaking, raindrops falling from it and down onto the carpet with splashing sounds and the clothes were sticking to her skin and hugging her curves. Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek to not glance down her figure out of respect and dignity.

She sneezed, eyes closing and eyelashes shining with raindrops.

''Looks like you're catching a cold.'' Sherlock said in greeting.

She nodded before sneezing again.

''Bless you.''

She shivered and her arms hugged her waist in an attempt to find some warmth. Sherlock's eyes softened, but his voice remained impassible. ''Do come in, you're soaking my carpet.''

Flustered, the words came out of her mouth in a mess, closing in on each other and flying from the tip of her tongue. ''Uh, I'm sorry, didn't mean to- I just-''

''Save your energy and stop explaining yourself, you're obviously shivering and in dire need of a hot bath. Go do that, you're my guest. I'll prepare tea and get you some clothes to change in. Then we can talk.''

He gestured her towards the bathroom, before turning his back and leaving her with a red nose and a freezing face.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

He was stirring the tea when he heard her small footsteps padding on the floor. ''Do you take your tea with milk?'' he asked without looking up. ''I usually do and-'' Sherlock lifted his head and his words died in his throat. He finally understood the concept of your breath leaving you at the sight of something beautiful. Because Y/N was beautiful, a rare landscape. An oil portrait that deserved to be admired in a museum. Almost Mona Lisa like. She was wearing one of his old sweaters, back from his university days, and some worn out pants he found in the back of the wardrobe. She was wearing his clothes. Alas they were a bit too big on her, the sleeves of the sweater falling down her hands and swallowing them whole.

''No milk for me.'' she replied in a meek and already raspy voice. The cold was catching up to her.

He blinked the awe from his eyes and handed her a cup of tea. ''Careful, it's hot. And you should take some meds.''

She thanked him by nodding her head. ''Where's John?''

''With his new girlfriend, I presume.'' Sherlock scoffed, turning around and searching through the kitchen drawers. ''He's never out his late usually. He always goes to sleep early.''

''And you don't?''

''I don't sleep when I'm on a case.''

''But you need the sleep.''

Sherlock met her gaze and flipped towards her a bottle of medicine. ''And you need to take these.'' he replied with a sarcastic smile etched on his face. But his eyes betrayed his whole cold demeanor. They were soft, almost warm. And Y/N was afraid to maintain the eye contact for too long. His eyes haunted her. She felt vulnerable under his gaze. Exposed.

She thickly gulped. "Can you start the fire? I'm still a little bit cold."

"If you take the meds."

"I will."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "I mean now."

She huffed, but complied anyways. The tea burned her throat, the aroma bursting in colors on her tongue and the sweet smell tickling her nostrils.

Sherlock nodded and then entered the living room, crouching down near the fireplace. "Why are you here?"

"Do you want me to leave?" she asked once she was seated in an armchair.

Sherlock glanced towards her. Y/N was sitting in his armchair, slowly sipping her tea and looking around curiously. No one actually sat on it, besides him. He never let anyone. He inhaled and tore his gaze from her and onto the split firewood in front of him. "Do you want to?"

"No." she replied, watching him.

He got up, the fire coming alive in reds and oranges, the wood cracking. "Then stay." His eyes didn't stray from her as he took a seat in John's chair. "Why are you really here, though? We're not actually friends, so you can't say you came to visit. You were panting, so you must have run all the way here. Unless, you missed the bus. But that can't be as you live on the other side of London. And you weren't planning it, either. If you did, you would have known they announced rain later today and you would have carried an umbrella. But you didn't, so I assume this was a spur of the moment idea. Am I correct so far?"

She blinked. "Yes, but-"

"And you didn't come on behalf of work, either. You would have carried some files and you would have been all business, no play, as you usually are." He leant forward on the seat, his arms coming to rest on his knees. "So, tell me, why are you here, Y/N?"

Her cheeks reddened and she shifted in her seat, her hands gripping the tea cup. "Did you just deduce me, mister Holmes?"

His eyebrow arched, hiding under a stray curl. "Why, was I wrong?"

Y/N shook her head. "Not a bit."

A smirk bloomed on his lips. "Of course I wasn't, darling. I never am."

"You're quite narcissistic." she replied, her eyes watching him over the rim of the cup.

"I believe the correct word would be modest."

She hummed, the corner of her eyes crickling in amusement. She gently put down her cup and looked him in the eye. The fire sprayed shadows on his face, the room in a low glow. "Did you solve the case, Sherlock?"

Confusion overtook his features. "Is this why you came all the way here?"

She shrugged inocently. "I was curious. Did you?"

He nodded, the fire reflecting in his eyes and ebony hair. "Yes. You helped me. When you told me about the wedding ring, a light went off in my head. I searched through her wallet. You were right, she cared too much to lose a wedding ring, it meant a lot to her. And I think someone got jealous."

Y/N arched an eyebrow. "An affair?"

"But not on her part, though. Love is a strong motive. It makes you do crazy things." Sherlock whispered.

His gaze burned her. He searched her eyes, as if he was hoping to find something in them, and then his gaze drifted off to her lips. "I know the signs." he said.

"What signs?" Y/N replied breathless.

"Your cheeks redden every time you look at me, your pupils dilate. You think I don't notice, but I do. Every time."

She swallowed. "Is that- Is that a bad thing?"

He got up to his feet and took slow steps, only stopping when he was close enough to take her wrist. A gentle touch. Her heart almost beat out of her chest and a lump formed in her throat when Sherlock leaned in to whisper into her ear, his breath warming her skin. "I took your pulse."

Y/N fluttered her eyes shut when she felt his lips skim over her jaw before he lightly kissed her cheek. "The feeling's mutual, by the way." he said in a low whisper, his lips caressing her afire skin.

And then he was up and away, smiling genuinely at her, a sparkle in his eyes. "You should get some rest. I'll be sleeping on the couch, you take the bed."

She opened her mouth to protest, but he beat her to it. "Please, you're my guest tonight. It would be my pleasure."

Y/N nodded, getting on her feet, her eyes meeting his chest. He was wearing the purple shirt he wore last week. His figure towered over her and he gently took her hand. "My room's that way. If you need anything, tell me. Good night, darling."

And he pressed a gentle kiss on her forehead.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

John found the atmosphere weird that morning. His eyebrows were scrunching and he looked at Sherlock. "You're awfully quiet." he said while he spread butter on toast.

"Am I, really?" replied Sherlock, not taking his eyes off of the newspaper he was reading.

"Yes, you are. Don't you, usually, ramble about some newfound case?"

"Usually."

"Then, what's different this time?" replied John before he bit into the toast.

The clicking of a door and the sight of a just waken up Y/N made him choke on the food. "Careful, John, you'll die if you do that again. Good morning, darling. Tea?" said Sherlock in a sweet voice.

Y/N simply smiled at him, averting her gaze from John.

"I'm sorry, I feel like I'm missing something." laughed John.

"No, John, you're just delusional." said Sherlock, while he poured tea in a cup for Y/N, who was blushing furiously under all the attention.

"Wait 'till Greg hears about this!" replied John, still smiling in awe.

Sherlock's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Who?"

"Lestrade." said Y/N from besides him.

"I thought his name was Gavin."

"It's Greg."

"When did this happen?" interrupted John, all sparkling eyes.

Sherlock rolled his eyes, picking up the newspaper once again. "Nothing happened, John."

"I'm not believing a word! This is too good-"

"Stick to blogging, John, gossiping doesn't suit you."

Offended, John gasped, turning to look at Y/N. She avoided his gaze, drinking her tea and looking at the walls around them. "Right... My bad, then." he said, sighing.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

Sherlock Holmes started smiling at crime scenes. It was almost off putting, the way a genuine smile would break through at any moment. In front of a corpse, no less.

Lestrade noticed it. He also noticed the oh-so-not-subtle glances. Sherlock's eyes would slip over to Y/N and she would meet his gaze, almost shyly but smiling.

Then, the detective started asking her opinion on the cases more often and Lestrade knew. How could he not when it was all so obvious?

"You know, Sherlock, one day you're gonna steal my co-worker." he said as he approached him.

Sherlock's face remained impassible like stone. "That won't ever happen. She'll come willingly if you keep boring her. Send her on real cases, she's smart enough to solve them on her own."

Lestrade opened his mouth to reply but he was left in the dust after Sherlock spotted Y/N. "Yeah, okay..." he trailed off as he watched Y/N greet Sherlock with a blush and a shy smile.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

"Let's have lunch." said Sherlock to Y/N, meeting her eyes and standing straight. He wore his blue navy coat and a white shirt this time.

"To talk about the case? I think I found a lead and-"

"No."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "No?"

He took a step closer to her. "No. Let's have lunch to talk about ourselves."

She felt her face flush. "Oh."

Sherlock's eyes held a look of amusement and adoration and he smiled. "I believe the correct word would be yes." He lightly took her hand, his thumb caressing her skin in slow circles. "Please, do me this honour and let me take you out on a date."

Y/N smiled up at him, before standing on her tip toes to kiss his cheek. "I'd love to."

Bonus:

"I kind of set them up." said Lestrade as he and John watched the interaction between Sherlock and Y/N from afar.

"How so?"

"I stole Y/N's umbrella and then set her off home, asking her to stop by 221B in order to ask Sherlock what progress he was making in solving that case."

"Oh, Greg! That was brilliant! She spent the night there."

"Did she?"

"Yeah."

"Interesting."

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅

A/N: oh wow this somehow turned to be a long one. It was supposed to be around 2k words, more or less but I kinda got carried away.

I hope you enjoyed it! Every feedback is appreciated! If you'd like to be added to the tag list, just comment under this post or send me an ask!

Have a great day xx

Tag list: @bohemianrhapsody86 @andreead

1K notes · View notes

strangeions · 2 years

Text

Between the Shelves - Part 3

IT’S FINALLY HERE!! I’m so sorry for the delay on this, I moved to a new city and had intense writer’s block. Thank you for all the encouragement!! It means so much to me as this was my first fanfic and first stab at writing in a long time. Also fair warning that in this chapter the vibe shifts from flirty romcom to straight up filth...

Stephen Strange x Bookstore Owner! Reader

Part 1 Part 2

Warnings: 18+, smutty smut smut, explicit language, unprotected sex, daddy kink, size kink sort of

Stephen POV

After the Avengers briefing, Stephen spent the entire night and the morning of your date making sure there would be no distractions or interruptions. He had checked in with Fury about potential threats being monitored, talked with each of the other Sanctum’s masters to ensure everything was in order, and triple checked the seals of his own sanctuary.

The two of you agreed to meet at an Italian restaurant nearby your apartment. You mentioned it was a favorite of yours, so he jumped at the suggestion.

With an hour to go before the dinner reservation, Stephen started getting dressed. It was a little early, but he had already ran through his to-do list. Being ready a bit early was better than being alone with his anxiety about tonight’s date. Flirting at your store fifteen minutes at a time, and even the oral sex yesterday, was one thing. Going on a proper date where the doctor would have to be charming for a few hours, charming enough to get another date…that was a different beast entirely. He worried the spark the two of you had would be extinguished outside the comfortable bubble of your store. On top of it all, it had just been so damn long since he’d done this.

Ignoring the nerves eating away at him, he dressed himself in a black suit jacket and pants with a white button down underneath, the top button undone in an attempt to be casual. He decided against a tie, not wanting to come off as stiff.

That’s too bad. She would look so good with a tie stuffed in her mouth, muffling those pretty moans—

Shoving those ideas aside as well, Stephen focused on fixing his hair. He was nervous…but also desperate to fuck you. He’d quite literally gotten a taste yesterday and was starving for more. His cock twitched in his dress pants at the memories of you on his tongue. You were so tight around just his fingers, he couldn’t wait to feel that around his dick.

He checked his reflection once more before heading out of his bedroom just ten minutes before your date was set to begin. Standing in the foyer of the Sanctum, Stephen was about to conjure a portal when he heard America’s voice coming closer. Too preoccupied with his thoughts about the impending date, he had not taken the time to check if the Sanctum was empty.

Oh shit.

America, Mordo, and Wong entered the room, inquisitive expressions on their faces as they took in Stephen’s attire.

“Where are you headed?”, Mordo questioned with amusement in his eyes.

“Out,” Stephen replied, hoping he sounded nonchalant.

“Out where?”, Wong implored.

“Why are you dressed so weird?”, America said at the same time.

“I’m going to…a play. And I’m dressed nice, not weird.” Stephen paused. “Do I look weird? The suit looks good? Right?”

“Yes…it looks fine, Strange,” Wong replied, confused as to why Stephen was asking him for fashion advice for the first time in their many years of friendship.

“Okay, thanks. I’ll see you all later,” the doctor mumbled in a huff before creating a portal and rushing out.

Reader POV

Despite buzzing with excitement, you did your best to focus at work. The hours until your date couldn’t pass fast enough. After closing, you hurried home to get ready. Luckily you had resolved the debate over what to wear last night after a thorough, hour long inspection of your closet.

Once you got home, you immediately went to take a shower to freshen up and, frankly, calm down. You were giddy, moderately nervous, and unbelievably horny all at the same time. Taking a few deep breaths under the stream of hot water, you promised yourself to stay composed the whole night.

Oh my god, I haven’t seen him completely naked yet.

Composure went out the shower door as your fingers found their way to your clit, lightly circling the pleasure point as you imagined the toned, bare form of your favorite Avenger. Memories of his lean, muscular body pressed tight against yours filled your brain. You moaned aloud recalling the feel of his strong thighs under your hands.

Ten minutes and an orgasm later, you were dried off and ready to start primping. You left your hair down in loose, wavy curls and lightly made up your face to give it a natural look. However, your favorite part was the dress. Despite rarely worn, it was one of your best purchases: a sexy red number with spaghetti straps and a high slit up the side. You worried it was too sultry for a first date…until you remembered that you had your date’s tongue in your pussy yesterday. Coming on too strong wasn’t really an issue here.

Plus, you knew the famous Doctor Strange would love seeing you in red.

After finishing off the look with black strappy heels and minimalist gold jewelry, you grabbed your purse and headed out.

Stephen POV

Quickly shutting the portal behind him, Stephen arrived in the alley next to the restaurant. The two of you had decided to be discreet to avoid unwanted attention, so opening a portal in the middle of the street wasn’t an option. Taking it a step further, Stephen applied a glamour charm on himself. Those who knew him well would see his true face, while strangers and fans would be tricked by the spell. The sorcerer wanted no interruptions tonight. Making his way to the front, he awaited your arrival.

“Stephen,” he heard, turning to the left to see you walking his way.

He’d never seen you dressed like this. Your usual outfits were soft, dainty little pieces featuring lots of florals. Granted, you still drove him crazy with ample cleavage and short hemlines, but he had never seen you in something this…provocative.

Fuck, just portal back to the Sanctum and tie her to the bed.

Stephen’s cock throbbed at the idea, but the rational parts of him decided against it. For now, at least.

“Hi sweetness, you look…gorgeous,” he remarked in awe, while gathering you in his arms for a hug. He felt the brush of your lips against his cheek before pulling away.

“Thank you,” you replied with a light blush. “You don’t look too bad either.”

“High praise,” Stephen noted with a sarcastic tone. He placed his hand on the small of your back and you leaned into his side. “Let’s head inside.”

Reader POV

The restaurant was adorned in romantic lighting set by warm bulbs, a number of candles across the tables, and the glass baubles hanging from the ceiling, casting reflections around the room. You and Stephen had been seated in a secluded corner of the restaurant, at a small round table decorated with a vase full of wildflowers.

The waiter had just finished taking your drink orders: white wine for yourself and a martini for him. Although, you were surprised you managed to even get the words out to order considering your mouth had gone dry at the sight of Stephen in a suit.

Oh fuck dinner, just climb into his lap and ride him until your legs give out.

You always had an active sexual imagination and a healthy libido, but since the doctor entered your life even you could be surprised at how horny your thoughts turned. Fighting against your carnal urges, you focused on the menu and engaged Stephen in conversation about the few times you had been here before. You were not just trying to get in bed with him and needed to convey that. This was more than just sex to you.

Within a few minutes of talking, you had already begun to relax in Stephen’s presence. Former worries about your compatibility subsided while he talked about his work. He had recounted anecdotes about his mystical and superhero duties during your conversations in the past, which you could tell were thinly veiled attempts to impress you. However, this was much more personal than stories of which monster he valiantly fought that week.

“She nearly blew a hole in the front doors of the Sanctum,” he said with a chuckle. “Wong would have been furious if it was anyone else but America.”

You laughed once more at the antics of his colleagues. So far you had learned about two of his close friends, Wong and Mordo, the latter of which you found out was the reason he originally entered your store.

Your heart was melting at the fondness and care in his voice when talking about his teenage apprentice. It was clear that the relationship was more than just mentor and mentee. He viewed her as family, just as he did his friends. You found yourself fantasizing about what a good father he would be.

Sweet Jesus, can my ovaries calm down?

Stephen asked about your work, prompting you to share stories of interesting customers and memories of the shop’s early days. Despite feeling insecure about how boring your life must seem compared to his, the Avenger seemed enraptured by the conversation and prodded you for details.

By the time the food came out, you were feeling completely at ease with him. By the time you were halfway done with your entree, the two of you had inched closer and closer until the distance was just shy of being indecent. By the time you finished, his hand had come to rest on your knee.

The combination of his touch, the two glasses of wine you had, and the ought to be illegal sight of Stephen in a suit was too much to take. You were only human, how long could you be expected to keep this level of arousal at bay? Besides, you had a surprise for him.

“You know, I took your advice,” you said casually.

“What advice,” he questioned, mirth in his pretty blue eyes.

You hand rested atop the one he had placed on your knee, and then began guiding it up your exposed leg through the slit of your dress. His eyes widened in surprise, but Stephen made no attempt to stop the dangerous game you were playing. As your joined hands moved higher up your leg, he understood what you were alluding to.

With his fingers on your bare hip, you remarked in an innocent tone, “You told me to go without. It was a good idea. Now I don’t have to worry about panty lines in this outfit.”

You brought his hand from out under your dress and placed it on his own knee. He was silent, his eyes dark and his face serious. After a few moments of silence, his arm came up to rest on the back of your chair. You nearly choked on your wine when you felt the zipper of your dress fall every so slightly. His calloused thumb gently stroked the newly exposed skin on your back, while his other fingers remained on the zipper.

“Stephen, we’re in public,” you warned in a hushed voice.

“Exactly. And there’s just a single zipper and two little straps keeping me from taking you right here…in public.”

You whimpered at the suggestion, your thighs clenching together under the tablecloth. The zipper fell lower.

“You wouldn’t even mind, would you? You want my cock so badly, you wouldn’t even care if I gave it to you right here. Your pretty body bent over the table, completely naked, while I slam into your tight cunt from behind. Everyone’s eyes on you, watching you turn into my wrecked little slut.”

“Stephen—”

“Who’s Stephen? You know my name, sweetness. Say it,” he whispered, hot breath fanning across your ear. He dragged the zipper down further, and the straps on your shoulders were beginning to fall. A little more and your breasts would be spilling out the top.

“Daddy,” you breathed as your eyes fluttered shut.

“Good girl.”

The zipper was pulled up and his hand came up to rest at the nape of your neck. Hearing footsteps approaching the nook you and Stephen were seated in, you opened your eyes and saw the waiter approach.

“Is there anything else I can get for you? A dessert menu?”, he probed with a friendly smile, unaware of the sexual charge in the atmosphere.

“No thank you, just the check please,” Stephen replied coolly, as if the previous filth he spewed in your ear about defiling you in front of an audience hadn’t been spoken.

A wave of defiance ran through you as the waiter walked away. You tugged Stephen closer by one of the lapels on his suit jacket and complained, “But Daddy, I wanted dessert.”

His free hand grasped your upper thigh and squeezed hard.

“Don’t worry sweetness. I’ll share mine when we get to your place.”

Stephen POV

After paying the bill, Stephen promptly grabbed you by the hand and exited the restaurant. Entering the alley, he pulled his sling ring out to conjure a portal to your apartment. You both stepped through and were led to the hallway just outside your door.

He could have had you two walk directly into the bedroom, but he enjoyed the sight of you scrambling to find the keys in your purse. The task would be probably be a lot easier if Stephen was not behind you, sucking a bruise onto the side of your neck. His hands grasped your sides, slender fingers spreading across your ribcage and inching dangerously close to the swell of your breasts. He pressed his erection against you and you abandoned the search in your purse to bend over slightly, grinding your ass on his cock.

Stephen bit down on your neck to stifle a groan. With a wave of his hand, your keys were levitating out of your purse and into the lock. While he did love to watch you squirm in his arms, he didn’t want one of your neighbors to come out and see the two of you dry humping in the hallway.

Once inside, he pressed you up against the door and slotted your legs together. He knew you were aching for some relief as you used this as an opportunity to shamelessly grind down on his thigh.

“Sweet girl, are you making a mess on Daddy’s suit?”, he questioned in between leaving sensual kisses on your neck.

“No,” you lied, your hips still rocking against him.

“Well if you need some assistance…” Stephen trailed off as he sank to his knees. The urgency from yesterday’s frisky encounter at your shop was gone. His hands trailed up your legs slowly, bringing the material of the dress up with them. He let out a heaving exhale breath right against your cunt once it was revealed to him, before dragging his goatee against the insides of your thighs.

“Please, please don’t tease,” you begged.

“You asked for it,” he rasped before raising one of your legs over his shoulder and pressing his face into your aching core. He went straight for your clit, alternating between tracing it with his tongue and flicking it. He looked up to see you writhing above him, your head falling back against the door with a thud. You hands fisted in his hair, making him groan into your cunt and sending vibrations throughout your middle.

“Fuck me! Please, please fuck me,” you moaned in desperation. Despite how achingly hard he was, he was not about to give into your pleas for more just yet.

“But sweetness, I’ve been waiting for so long. I want to take my time with you, I barely got a taste yesterday,” he replied, his fingers replacing his mouth while he talked.

“Barely? I came on your face!”

“Yes but only once. When I fantasized about finally taking you, my goal was to get you there three times.”

“You think you’re going to make me cum three times? Someone’s confident,” you teased. He quickly put an end to your backtalk with a smack to your cunt, making you cry out.

“I’m going to make you cum three times on my tongue tonight. We’ll find out how many times you can take it on my cock,” he rasped against your core before continuing his assault on your pussy. His hands kept you pressed against the door, unrelenting against your bucking hips. The doctor was drunk off the taste of you, lapping across the length of your slit and devouring all the arousal you leaked. Hearing you cry out from above only spurred him on further and soon he felt your thighs shaking next to his ears as you came on his face.

Reader POV

After the earth shattering orgasm you had against your front door, you had to hold onto Stephen’s form given how shaky your legs were. He smirked before picking you up bridal style. You yelped in surprise, but didn’t hate the feeling of being in his arms like this.

“Bedroom?”, the sorcerer asked.

“Door at the end of the hall,” you replied.

He carried you across your apartment and laid you down on the soft white sheets of your bed. You reached out for him, but he remained standing. His movements were slow and controlled as you watched him take his jacket off and lay it on the back of your vanity chair. His eyes never left yours as he undid the buttons on his shirt before removing his belt and shoes. Your mouth was agape and nearly drooling at the sight of his exposed torso.

“Are you alright to stand, sweetness? As much as I’ve enjoyed it tonight, I think we should get you out of that dress.”

You complied wordlessly, moving off the bed to stand before him. He turned you around to finally undo the zipper of your dress, removing the straps from your shoulders and revealing your body to him. He turned you again and let out a shuddering breath at the sight of you. Once more he dropped to his knees, but this time to tenderly undo the straps of your heels and lift you out of them. The intimacy of the action was too much and left your legs wobbly once more.

He rose to his full height, one hand on the small of your back pressing your body close to him and the other cupping your face to pull you into a deep kiss. You frantically started tearing at the remainder of his clothes, pushing his shirt off his broad shoulders and lowering the zipper on his pants. With one tug on the waistband of his boxers, you were finally treated to the sight of a completely naked Stephen Strange. You had broken the kiss to take a step back and admire his form, your eyes drinking him in. If you weren’t drooling before, you definitely were now.

“Enjoying the view?”, he said, breaking you out of your trance.

“Absolutely,” you replied, unashamed of having been caught ogling him.

“Ditto, gorgeous.”

He pulled you back to him, lifting you up and tossing you back onto your bed. Before you knew it, he was on top of you and kissing his way down your body. The sorcerer was thorough and left filthy kisses, bite marks, and hickeys all across your neck and chest.

The pleasure you felt only intensified as he wrapped his lips around one of your nipples, teasing the other with the rough skin of his fingertips. You cried out and clawed at his back when he bit down on your tit, soothing the skin with his tongue, before switching to the opposite nipple and giving it the same rough treatment.

“Daddy, please! Please fuck me, I can’t wait any more,” you begged.

“I don’t know, sweet girl. You have such a tight cunt, I doubt my big dick will even fit,” he noted in a smug tone.

Grasping at his hair, you pulled him up to your face and pleaded, “Make it fit!”

The two of you met in a brutal kiss as the head of his member brushed against your slit. You moaned at the feel of him dragging it along the length of your cunt, coating the tip in your arousal. Your back arched off the bed, pressing your chests even closer together, and you bit down on your date’s bottom lip. Stephen dragged one hand down along the side of your body and to the back of your knee, bringing it up around his hip. You felt his warm, wet cock teasingly start to enter your cunt, forcing you to moan into the kiss.

Slowly, he pushed himself into you. He was fucking huge and the stretch was delicious. With a grunt he bottomed out inside of you, leaving you breathless and choking. Your eyes squeezed shut and you felt tears escape the corners.

“Oh god, you’re splitting me in half,” you whispered. It wasn’t a complaint, not even close. Just a statement of fact.

“That shouldn’t sound so good,” he rasped against your lips.

Both of you stayed like this for a few moments, savoring the feel of each other. He was throbbing inside your walls and despite how full you felt, you pussy was clenching around his cock to draw him in even deeper. Your nails were digging into his shoulders as you opened your eyes to meet his.

“Fuck me, I can take it.”

Stephen responded immediately, pulling out until only the tip of him was inside before roughly thrusting into you. He hitched your leg up so now both were around his waist, your ankles locked against his back. His movements were unyielding, yet still left you moaning for more. Your cries, his grunts into the crook of your neck, and the lewd sounds of your skin hitting his were all bringing you nearer to release. His thrusts quickened, letting you know he was close too.

You felt his hand moving between your bodies and his fingers were on your clit, rubbing circles and flicking until it was all too much. One more thrust and you came apart, screaming out into the night and giving your neighbors another reason to hate you.

Stephen set a brutal pace, your limp form unable to do anything but take him into you again and again as he chased his own orgasm. His thrusts grew erratic until he came with a loud groan in your ear, his hot load shooting inside you.

He stayed buried in you, the weight of his body comforting as he lied on top of you. He nuzzled his nose against yours before kissing you slow and deep. He moved off of you and out of you to lie on his back, and his hands grasped your waist to drag you with him. Basking in the afterglow of your orgasms, you and Stephen cuddled with your head resting on his chest.

“Finally,” he breathed.

You huffed out a laugh with what little air was left in your body. “Been thinking about this a lot Doctor Strange?”

He chuckled, low and deep, before gently caressing your face to make you meet his gaze.

“You have been a constant in my mind since the moment we met. I have been thinking about you far too often and many times in the most inopportune situations, but I just can’t help it. And, if I have not made it clear already, I want much more than just tonight.”

Your heart swelled at his words and you brought your face to his, placing a chaste kiss on his lips.

“Me too,” you replied with your forehead pressed to his.

The two of you stayed in this perfect, silent moment a little longer before you made a move to get up. Stephen clearly saw this as a heinous crime as he grasped your wrists and pinned you to the bed.

“I want more than just tonight…but tonight is not even close to being done yet.”

Stephen POV

Several hours later, Stephen found out you could cum on his cock four times. That combined with the three on his face was all you could take before you were begging him to stop. But Stephen prided himself on his persistence and that’s how his fingers ended up where they were now: teasing your swollen clit with his fingers while your body twitched under his ministrations.

“No, can’t,” you whined at him. It was clear from the glassy look in your eyes that you were too far gone for more coherent sentences.

“But sweetness, you look so pretty when you cum. I just want to see it one more time. One more for Daddy,” he whispered into your ear, followed by his fingers entering you. Choked moans left your lips as he plunged his digits in and out of you, a task made easy by your previous releases and several loads of cum he left in you. It wasn’t long before he felt the tightening of your walls. Another push against that sweet spot inside you and he saw you fall off the edge, crying out into the night as your whole body shook from pleasure.

Finally satisfied, Stephen smirked at the sight of you: splayed out on the ruined sheets, cunt overflowing with his cum, trying to catch your breath. He pulled his fingers from your core to bring up to your lips. You opened your mouth and sucked without being told to.

“Good girl,” Stephen cooed, “See? I told you I’d share my dessert.”

You moaned around his fingers and sucked greedily at the fluids he provided. Stephen removed them and placed a gentle kiss on your lips, followed by even softer ones to your cheeks, forehead, and eyelids. You smiled dreamily underneath him. He used magic to freshen up your sheets and summon a towel from the bathroom. He wiped the now overstimulated bits between your legs and smiled when you murmured your thanks, exhaustion overtaking you.

Stephen gathered your spent body in his arms, spooning you from behind. You sighed happily as his strong arms encircled you and he placed a kiss to the top of your head.

“So…do I get a second date, sweetness?”

A/N: Thank you everyone for reading! This is technically the end of the series, but I have ideas for one shots about these two in a relationship so maybe look out for those

Taglist: @strangesweetheart @kentucky-criedfricken @kimxlysm @sherlocksgirl91 @ohchoices @thegardenerofedenn @ironstrange1991 @hunterofshadows04 @newavenger @marvelayya

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strangeions · 2 years

Note

i’m not having the best day i just feel sad for no reason and i need a hug from stephen :(

i’m so sorry :( i wrote a little stephen blurb to help cheer you up, and i really hope tomorrow will be better for you <3

stephen’s trusty cloak had been hovering all morning, not quite resting on his shoulders as if preparing for an incoming threat of some kind or sensing a danger in the quiet air within the sanctum.

while stephen silently rifled through his stack of ancient texts in the library, the sentient fabric suddenly jumped from his shoulders and flew past him in a flash of red up the staircase. stephen was tempted to just ignore the cloak’s unusual behavior, but he knew better: something was definitely wrong.

stephen decidedly rose from his armchair and followed quickly behind until the cloak slipped through a crack in the door that led to the rotunda of gateways.

he shouldered the door open to find you seated on the floor with your back to him—now securely wrapped in his cloak’s warmth—curled in toward yourself and clutching your knees to your chest as you gazed between the sights before you: from mountain ranges to green forests to crashing waves.

so this was where his cloak had dashed off to in such a hurry. indeed, there had been a concerning air about the sanctum that the fabric had detected: you.

stephen could immediately tell that you weren’t feeling well; not because you had hidden yourself away in the rotunda of gateways, as you oftentimes came inside to think or meditate, but because you hadn’t turned around to greet him or the cloak that softly leaned forward to brush against your cheek.

stephen called your name quietly, stepping further into the room until he stood directly behind you.

no response. no sign that you had even heard him.

taking another step forward, he settled down on the floor beside you and eyed your profile carefully. “sweetheart?” he asked quietly. “can you look at me, please?”

you managed to turn your face toward him enough for him to see the shimmer of tear tracks on your cheeks. his chest ached at the sullen expression that shadowed your usually bubbly and teasing nature.

he reached a scarred hand toward you to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, allowing his fingers to trace the line of your jaw and down the slope of your neck. he chose not to pester you with any questions, instead, offering his presence and gentle touches as a form of comfort to you, allowing you time and space if you decided to share what had upset you.

he continued brushing his fingers against your neck and along your shoulder, subtly coaxing you to lean into his side. you accepted his silent offer and curled up against him, wrapping your arms loosely around his waist as a sigh passed your parted lips and warmed the crook of his neck where you rested.

several moments of comfortable silence passed before stephen spoke again. “is there anything i can do?” he murmured in your ear.

he felt you shake your head against his chest. “this is exactly what i needed,” you replied.

he tightened his hold on you and rocked you gently as the sound of crashing waves and twittering birds from the gateways ahead eventually lulled you to sleep. stephen’s cloak shifted to envelope the two of you in its safety and warmth like a pair of quotation marks snuggled together at the end of a sentence.

“i’ve got you,” stephen whispered into the quiet room, hoping you could still feel him beside you while you dreamed.

tags: @singhfae @ironstrange1991 @slvtforstr4nge @strangeobsessed @lucywrites02 @strangeions @evelynrosestuff @nicoletk

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strangeions · 2 years

Text

2319: Chapter I — The Day We Met || Stephen Strange × F!Reader

Word count: 4.9K Genre: Innocent Love, Diary Entries, Fluff. Special mentions: Donna Strange, Victor Strange, Beverly Strange A/N: This story is inspired by the Korean Drama called "2521" Storyline is different but the concept is the same. This will be Stephen's past and Reader's past. ***Strictly to not post, translate or copy my works to other websites!!***

You and your daughter Sasha, who is now 13 years old, sat in the car together without speaking. Soon after Sasha left her audition for a musical, you were already on your way to the place where you spent your childhood. You cast a few fleeting looks in her direction and saw that she was facing away from you, with her arms crossed and a gloomy expression on her otherwise lovely face.

“What’s wrong Ladybug?” You broke the silence between you but your daughter only sighed, “You know I’m not mad at you for walking out on your audition right? Stage fright is normal—”

“It’s not stage fright!” she lost her cool, and in response to your raised eyebrows, she regained control of her emotions and apologised, saying, “Sorry. . .I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

“Then if it’s not stage fright, what is it?”

“I just don’t think I like acting anymore. . . I want to do something else.”

“Oh I see, then what do you want to do, if not acting?”

“Ugh. I don’t know. Can you stop asking so many questions?” She heaved a sigh and then turned her back on you once again. You pucker your lips since you have no idea what has gotten into her, but her new attitude was beginning to mildly wear on your nerves.

“I’m just trying to help you with whatever new interest you have.” You responded in a composed and level-headed fashion. You didn't want to get into an argument with her when you’re about to go away at your art exhibition in another country.

“I know. . .” She mumbled.

While you were making your way back to your old neighbourhood, you cast a sidelong look her way, “You know me and your Dad loves you, right?”

“If you guys do then maybe try working it out for my sake instead of getting a divorce?” Immediately as you drove into the driveway, Sasha sprang out of the vehicle, slamming the door and ran to sit on the porch of your childhood home.

There it was—the primary drivers of Sasha's emotional turmoil. You were aware that telling her the news the morning of her audition was probably going to be a mistake, but your husband is of the opinion that telling her as soon as possible is in her best interest. While your stepfather, Lindsey, approached your vehicle to get Sasha's possessions, Sasha sat on the porch, put her earbuds in, and listened to music on her phone.

You unlocked the car and rolled down the window, “Good Afternoon, Lindsey.”

“Good to see you, love. You’re quite early, I didn’t expect you to arrive before dinner.” He greeted you back, “Aren’t you going to come in and say hello to your mother?”

You looked at your watch and shook your head, “I can’t— I have a flight to catch. Tell her I said hi?”

“Sure thing,” He flashed a smile, then turned towards Sasha, “Come here kiddo, help me take your bags inside.” Lindsey waved her over and she lazily made her way towards the man who passed her, her backpack. You let out a sigh as Sasha walked away from you and inside their home without so much as a word or a glance in your direction.

Lindsey, who had Sasha’s suitcase stopped by the side of your car, “Are you okay?”

You pressed your lips together and nodded, “To be honest, Lindsey, yes. It’s just her I’m worried about. Please don’t spoil her too much while she’s here, don’t allow her to stay in her room all day.”

“Don’t worry, she just needs time. You only broke the news today anyway. You stay safe on your flight.”

“Thanks Lindsey—Alright I better get going. Tell mom I’ll stay longer when I come back!” You started your ignitions before setting your navigation towards the airport.

“Alright love. Stay safe and have fun at your exhibition.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

During the time that you were pulling out of the driveway, Sasha peered through the gap in the living room's drapes. She was feeling guilty about how she talked to you, but her pride got in the way — or her equal anger between you and your husband.

"There she is,” Your mother, Vanessa, approached Sasha who smiled back at her coming in for a hug, “Look at you all grown up. It's so lovely to have you here darling. How's your mother?"

The 13-year-old girl shrugged, her cheeks cupped in between her grandmother's palms, "Annoying but she seems to be doing well."

“Annoying? Well aren’t you lucky she’s off your tail for a few days?” Her grandmother smiled as she admired the carbon copy of her daughter when she was a child, "The similarity between you is so uncanny."

The young girl scowled at the older woman's comment, making her grandma laugh, "So where will I be sleeping?"

"Your Mother's old room. I've cleaned it but I left everything back to where it is—she doesn't like it when people touch her things."

"Huh." Sasha chuckled. How ironic. She thought.

“Goodness me, kiddo! What do you have in your bag?” Lindsey groaned as he pulled the bag inside the house.

“Er Nothing much, just a dead body.” Sasha nonchalantly shrugs and walks past Lindsey to go upstairs, “Thanks for helping out Lindsey! Grandma said I'll be sleeping in Mom’s room.”

Lindsey chuckles at the child’s dark humour and looks at Vanessa, “Don’t look at me, she probably got that from her father.”

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

This is the first time Sasha will be ever sleeping in your old room—it felt cosy and she could see all your memories stuck on its walls. She steps closer to see the lightly faded photographs of you and people she has never seen in her life. In the photographs, you can be seen smiling and possessing a sunny disposition, and you are dressed in vibrant colours, which makes you seem more feminine than you do today when you always wear dark colours for formal apparel.

"I see you’ve found your Mom’s most treasured memories?” Vanessa spoke behind her by the door with Lindey following just behind her.

Sasha turns around and points at one photo, “Who were these people Grandma?”

“Check the back of the photos and find out, but make sure to put them back.” Vanessa winked and steps aside to let Lindsey drag Sasha’s suitcase in.

“Whew! That’s my exercise for the day! Just call me and your grandma if you need equipment to bury the body.” Lindsey winked at the kid who chuckled at the older man’s lame attempt to get along with her.

“Make yourself feel at home, darling. I'll call you down when dinner’s ready." Her grandmother smiled and shut the door. Sasha plops her backpacks on the floor and allows herself to fall backwards on her mother's old bed.

This is going to be one boring summer. She sighed and rolled to her side, now facing a white wooden study desk with books neatly stacked on the side. Her eyes pan towards the shelving above, the stem of the A5 books had 365 written on it—all pastel colored. Journals.

She got up abruptly and swiped what she assumed was the first volume of her mother's diaries. The front had a warning—which was written in her mother's handwriting—it said: Private! DO NOT READ!

"Pft. What are you going to do Mom? Ground me?" She chuckled and proceeded to open the journal.

June 13 1999

I finally persuaded Mom and Dad that I will be studying art in college, however, they won't be paying for it since they don't consider it as a real career—It’s ironic since they love going to art museums? It just doesn't make sense! But whatever, I got a job at the local florist anyway. Either I'll save money or I would have to work hard on creating art and get a scholarship.

It's also been a week since the new neighbours moved in, a family of five, they call themselves Strange—no literally, that's their name. Eugene and Beverly, the parents and then there's Stephen, Donna and Victor. Donna's very lovely and the same age as me. We instantly clicked when we met, we shared the same interest and aspirations—maybe we could even go to college together.

Her older brother Stephen though, he's kind of intimidating, the third time Donna invited me for dinner. . . he kept staring at me—or maybe I'm just imagining it. According to Dad, he looks like trouble and though Dad thinks his parents are nice people, he's already given me a warning to steer clear from him. . . but we don't even talk. . .so. . . Yeah. . . But I won't judge a book by its cover. . . Okay, maybe I think he's a little, very attractive—but there's nothing wrong with admiring right?

Actually. . . I first met Stephen . . .

June 6, 1999

You were on your way back to town from a little camp getaway with your highschool friends—a getaway where your father wasn’t too keen on letting you join but thanks to your mother, you were able to—you were driving the Mercedes Benz your father gifted you on your nineteenth birthday and Fantasy by Mariah Carey was playing on the radio.

“Oh, when you walk by every night, talkin' sweet and lookin' fine I get kinda hectic inside~” You belted while being in the car by yourself, “Baby, I’m so into you—”

Your singing was quickly cut off by the unexpected jolting of the car, which was followed by the loud beeping that indicated you were out of petrol, “No, no, no! But I just filled the gas, what?” You panicked but was lucky enough to pull over to the side of the road before the car came to a full stop.

You pulled the handbrake to its highest position before getting out; warily looking around a desolate road that was bordered by pine trees as you stepped out of your vehicle. You quickly grabbed your knitted cardigan with the colour blocked pattern of pastel green and pink and put it over your sundress before going around to see what the problem was.

You could hear the revving of a motorbike from a distance, so you attempted to seem casual as you went around and around the Benz.

Stephen, who was recklessly riding his motorbike without a helmet on while listening to Green Day's "American Idiot" on his cassette tape using his headphones, discovered you looking troubled as you were circling your vehicle. It was quite evident to him that you had no idea what it was that you were even searching for. When he rode by you, he didn't originally have any intention of assisting you. However, when he glanced at you through the side mirror of his motorcycle, a voice within his brain urged him to turn around, and so he did.

You let out a sigh of exasperation while paying little attention to the motorbike that finally passed you by. You were trying to decide whether to contact your father for assistance or just trek your way back to your home. You’re aware that your father is going to be upset when he finds out what had happened to your car.

"I'm so dead. . ." You muttered something under your breath as you twisted around and looked in the passenger seat for your phone. When you realised no one was going to assist you, you stooped forwards, the length of your dress shortening at the back to display your thighs.

Stephen cleared his throat, “Do you need help, Miss?”

You were so startled that you leapt and struck the top of your head on the roof of your car. "Ow!" You rubbed the back of your head, eyes widening and immediately covered your backside.

Stephen smiled but tried to hide it by covering his lips with the back of his palm and looking away briefly before turning his attention back to you and asking, "Are you okay?"

“I’m fine, thank you!” You pulled down on the hem of your dress, your back bumping the side of the vehicle, and you felt the heat crawl up from the base of your neck as you realised that this attractive stranger may have seen your undergarments. How humiliating, you thought to yourself. "U-um, how can I help you?"

“I asked you first.”

“Me? Oh no, I don’t need help—I’m just uh. . . taking a break from driving—You can just move along.” You reasoned with a lie while waving him off, causing Stephen to cast a sceptical eye before his nostrils caught a whiff of petrol, “What are you doing?!”

You asked the handsome stranger and followed him to the back of your car where he got low on the ground to check under the vehicle, “Sorry to break it to you but you won’t be getting home with an empty tank and a dislodged fuel line—unless you’ve premeditated to burn down the forest?” He stood back up and clapped his hands together to shake off the dirt before wiping it off on the back of his black Wrangler pants.

You took a few steps back, completely forgetting how much taller he was than you; the top of your head didn't even come close to reaching his shoulders as you asked, “Do I look like someone who would commit arson?”

Before he let out a little chuckle and said, "It was only a joke," Stephen's blue eyes swept down from your head to your toes and then back up to your face, "Relax.”

You tried to pull your dress lower while his eyes attentively scrutinised you, giving the impression that he was evaluating you, all the while saying, “Jokes are meant to be funny.”

“Yeah—that also depends on your humour.” Stephen shrugged, “Anyway where are you headed? Do you need a ride?”

You cross your arms and you eyed him suspiciously, “How do I know you’re not some serial killer that targets vulnerable, alone women?”

While continuing to laugh, Stephen repeated the gesture of placing the back of his hand over his mouth. He is aware that you have every reason to be wary, particularly in light of the many reports of hitchhikers going missing in other states, and he respects your right to do so.

“If my intention was just that, then you wouldn’t be standing there talking to me right now—I mean this area is already deserted? Surrounded by woods—Heck, no car has even passed by for the last five minutes we’ve been talking—If I wanted to unalive you, I would’ve done it already.”

Your face hardens, “That doesn’t exactly make me feel better—and for your information, unalive is not a word.”

“It is now,” Stephen shrugs, “The sun will be setting before you know it, do you need a ride back to town or not?”

“No. I have a phone. I’m going to call my Dad to pick me up.”

“Alright, suit yourself,” Stephen turned around and you got back inside your car to grab your mobile phone. Stephen also checked his phone and exhaled through his nostrils when he saw that there was no signal; this was the reason why he was making his approach towards his motorbike extremely slowly, counting "5... 4...3...2...1..."

“Wait!” You made your way over to him and yelled out. Stephen pretended to be stunned that you had called him to wait for you and executed a 180-degree spin while using his heels. You then asked, "I need to go to Devonport—but how do I know I can trust you?"

As Stephen made his way back to you, he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out both his wallet and an item that was undoubtedly his driver's licence. He then brought the card in close enough for you to see the information on it, at which point you wrinkled your brows in confusion.

“How is that supposed to make me trust you?”

“I’ll leave my car license in your car, so if I suddenly have the urge to murder you, they’ll be able to solve the case,”—he snapped his fingers— “just like that. Happy?” He asked and placed his licence carefully on the sunshade.

“I-I guess. . .”

“Grab all the things you need, you can put it under my seat—You’re in luck because I’m headed for Devonport as well.”

“Oh. . .okay.”

"Wow Mom, so much for teaching me not to trust strangers no matter what they say." Sasha flips the next page and continues on reading the entry.

"You're going to have to sit facing one side since you're wearing a dress." Stephen said as he mounted his motorcycle and kickstarted it's engines once again. Since you are merely standing there, he gives you a look that conveys his impatience, "What are you waiting for? You waiting for pigs to fly?"

You glared at him, "No! I'm just wondering where your helmet is."

"Oh. . .I left it at home,” Stephen shrugs.

“Great, if not murdered, I’ll probably die from a crash.” You then hopped up behind him while mumbling something to yourself. Because you had never truly ridden a motorbike before, attempting to position yourself was quite awkward for you.

“Y’know for a nice looking girl, you’re rather pessimistic—”

“Y’know for a handsome guy, you look like a hazard to society.” you retorted back.

Stephen burst out laughing while simultaneously shaking his head in response to your comeback.

"Oh you find that one funny huh?"

"If you aren't so on edge, I'd probably think you're flirting with me right now." Stephen poked fun at you, forcing you to make an even more grumpy face. You are relieved to see that he is facing front since you were certain that blood was rushing to your cheeks.

"Is there anywhere I could hold onto?" You changed the subject.

"Me."

"Really?"

"Yeah—but if you want to go handsfree I'm cool with that.”

"You can’t be serious—AH!”

You were forced to grip onto Stephen's hips when he cranked the throttle, which caused the motorcycle to lurch forwards and cause you to lose your composure, “Wow, going straight for my hips? Aren’t you going to take me out on a date first?” He continued to tease and you just knew there was a massive mischievous smirk on his lips based on the sound of his voice.

“You did that on purpose—and in your dreams!”

Sasha snorted at the action Stephen took to get you to hold on, “What a sly dog—it’s so obvious that you're into him and he knows it.” Legs swinging back and forth into the air, she laid on her stomach—clearly she found your entries entertaining since you barely talked about this area of your life with her. You always found your way to sway the conversation out of it.

The journey to Devonport was fairly dull, and neither of you spoke a word to due to the fact that Stephen was listening to music on his tape player the whole time. However, it was beneficial for you since you dislike making idle chatter, particularly with unfamiliar people. You clung to his broad shoulfers because you didn't want to give him a reason to believe that you were taking chances due to the fact that you thought he was appealing.

You told him your address, assuming your father isn’t home from work yet—he usually comes home late in the night—but not today. As soon as you pulled up on Stephen's motorcycle in your front yard,Your father ran out of the house as quickly as he could, like he was out to kill. You muttered a profanity to yourself.

“(Y/N)?!”

“Dad? What are you doing home so early?”

“(Y/N), you better have a good explanation why you’ve come home with a boy and on a motorcycle.” Arthur chided you sternly as he moved closer to you and attempted to remove you off the motorcycle so that you could get away from Stephen.

“Dad, it's a long story, please let me explain when we go inside.” You urged him to go back inside with you but he and Stephen have already made eye-contact with each other.

“Who’s he?” He pointed at Stephen, “Is he the reason why you wanted to go on that camp trip so badly?”

Stephen chose to keep his lips shut for the time being since he was quite uneasy with the way in which your father could be so confrontational.

“What? No! It’s just us girls!” You replied the truth in your defence, “Can you please just let me explain?”

“I didn’t raise you to get yourself mixed up with the wrong people, (Y/N).”

“Woah, what’s that supposed to mean?” Stephen slipped up after feeling offended at your father’s remarks, “I think, I deserve a thank you for getting your daughter home safely, Sir.”

“A ticket is what you deserve for riding a motorcycle without protective gear on.” Arthur replies to Stephen who just scoffs and shakes his head.

“Dad! Please! Can we just go inside and let me explain?!” You snapped and your father glared at Stephen before turning back towards the house.

“I’m sorry—this is so embarrassing. . .I—Thank you for bringing me home.” You thanked Stephen, feeling flustered, “Your licence is still in my car, how do I give it back to you?”

“You don’t need to give it back—that’s an old expired licence,” Stephen chuckled your stunned facial expression, “But if you insist on giving it back, anytime is fine, neighbour.” Stephen’s smile broadens, not giving you a chance to speak, he rides towards his house where his family has already started moving things from the truck.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

You were surprised that your father took the whole car situation better than you expected; what he was more peeved about is the fact that you rode a stranger’s motorcycle without a helmet on—but you really had no choice—what if the next person to offer help was shady?

“Dad, will you stop spying on the new neighbours?” You demanded, pausing the movie playing on the VHS.

“Please, Darla at the front isn’t even discreet about it. She’s literally pretending to tend her garden,” Arthur stifled a chuckle as he thought of the lonely middle-aged woman whose favourite hobby was prying into other people's affairs. You and your dad refer to her as the neighbourhood's surveillance camera: Someone had a lover's quarrel? Simply ask her what took place, and she will be able to explain everything in great detail. Lost a cat? She will remember the location of the last time she saw it.

“Really?” You rose up and peeked under your father's elbow to inspect, and you burst out laughing when you saw the woman pretending to tend to her already well-shaped hedges.

“What are you two laughing at?” Vanessa, who came from the kitchen, holding a container of freshly baked cookies asked.

“Just Darla,” You answered and turned to face your mother, “Oooh cookies.”

You jogged towards your mother who slapped your hand to prevent you from taking one, “This isn’t for you, ladybug, this is for our new neighbours.”

“Oh, okay. Are you going over there?”

“No, you are. I already introduced myself earlier. They have a daughter called Donna, she’s the same age as you—go introduce yourself, maybe give her a tour around the neighbourhood.” Vanessa placed the container on your hand and ushered you out the front door, not giving you a chance to complain.

You puffed your cheeks and obediently made your way to your new neighbour’s house. You approached a woman who looks just slightly older than your mother, “H-hi, excuse me?”

She turns around and welcomes you with a warm smile. She had kind green eyes and salt-pepper hair and a tall lady, “Why hello there! You must be (Y/N) right?”

“How did you know?” You shyly ask though quite surprised she correctly guessed.

“You look a lot like your mother, darling.” She smiles, “I’m Berverly, very lovely to meet you.”

“Wonderful to meet you too, ma’am—oh this is for you and your family, it’s freshly baked cookies.” You lifted the container to show her its contents.

“Wow, they look great! I might take one later, I got dirty hands—can I kindly ask you to bring it inside? My kids are there, maybe give it to Donna, our youngest Victor might eat everything, he loves cookies.”

“Sure.” You nodded.

“Thanks, darling,” Beverley paused as you reluctantly followed the path towards their porch, “Don’t be shy, go on ahead~”

You entered through the front door, which was already open, and carefully navigate your way through the maze of boxes that were spread out across the floor. You then made your way towards the kitchen, where you heard voices and found Donna and Victor arguing over who would get the room that was the second largest.

“You don’t even need a room, you always sleep between mom and dad, you big baby!” Donna argued with her nine-year-old brother who wanted the room she also wanted.

“I’m not a big baby!!” Victor yelled at Donna and charged towards her, only for the older female to hold his head, his short arms unable to hit her.

“Okay, then you’re adopted!”

“Will you two shut up?! I’m taking that room, I’m the oldest.” You heard Stephen’s voice and you stopped your tracks.

“What?! You’re barely even home!” Donna told Stephen before doing a double-take when she saw you by the archway of the kitchen, “Oh hello—go away you gremlin, we have a visitor.”

Victor ceases trying to give Donna hits when he also notices you.

“Hi—um my mom baked you guys something.” You gave Donna a kind grin, and she motioned for you to join her and the others into the kitchen. You let out a long, slow breath since you weren't prepared to see your rescuer so quickly.

Donna peaked inside the container and her smile grew, “Wow thank you. . . What’s your name?”

You gave Stephen a brief glance, and he was already looking at you quite attentively. He was still dressed in the same way, with the simple white shirt and the black Wrangler jeans. Because you despise the way that he causes you to feel extremely nervous, you have resolved to ignore him completely. It was clear that he, like everyone else, was interested in learning your name.

“My name is er—(Y/N).”

“I’m Donna!” She beamed and grabbed one of the cookies in the container.

“Are those cookies?!” Victor butted in and tried to peek inside the container as well.

“Yes but you can’t have some until you choose to stay in the smallest room.” A shrug from Donna, and she takes the container away from you while also getting it away from Victor, who is glaring at his older sister.

“Ugh fine! Just give me some and I’ll take the smallest room.”

“The things you’ll do for a cookie—unbelievable. No taking that back!” Donna narrowed her eyes on the little boy and took one whole cookie for him.

“Just give him half, mom’s limiting his sugar intake remember?” Stephen intervenes before Donna hands Victor the cookie.

“But I haven’t had any sugar at all today, Stephen! Please, please, please, let me have a whole one.” Victor pleaded but Stephen firmly shook his head.

“It’s either half or no cookie at all, bud. You choose.” Stephen shrugs.

“Ugh—ever since you went to college you’ve become so boring!” Victor stomped his feet and turned towards Donna to beg, “Donna? Pleeeease.”

Donna looked at her older brother who shook his head then at the youngest who was giving her puppy eyes, “How about you eat one half today and one half tomorrow?”

“You guys would’ve eaten everything by then!”

“I can always make more if you want, but I’ll just have to put in way less sugar.” You reassured Victor whose frown grew into a smile.

“You’d do that?” Victor’s eyes sparkled.

You nodded, “Yeah, it’s really easy—”

“You’re the best! I’m Victor by the way!” Victor ran and gave you a hug, “Are you single by any chance? Stephen could use someone like you. He’s so miserable right now that’s why he’s taking a short break from college.”

Stephen started coughing severely after choking on the can of soda that he was drinking at the time. Donna, who was roaring with laughter, ran up to Stephen and gave him a few whacks on the back as she did so. You, on the other hand, were rendered speechless and your face became as red as a tomato as a reaction towards the child's unfiltered mouth.

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

“Sasha?" Vanessa opened the door after knocking a few times, prompting Sasha to quickly hide the journal under the pillows.

"Yes?" She smiled innocently at her grandmother.

"Dinner’s ready, come on down."

“Oh okay.” Sasha slides out of the bed and heads downstairs together with her grandmother, “What did you cook?”

“I heard from your mom that you love mushroom cream risotto so we made it for you.” Vanessa places her hands over the girl’s shoulders as they descend down the stairs towards the kitchen.

“Can you make me some chocolate chip cookies? Mom never has time to make homemade cookies for me. . .” Sasha glanced at her grandma who nodded.

“Of course I can, my love. We can make some together tomorrow, I’ll teach you my recipe.” Vanessa winked and Sasha smiles, feeling excited to try the cookies that you offered the Stranges all those years ago.

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