#airy structure

[georgeanntremblyblog]

[millersfinest]

untethered | e.w

00s!ellie williams & 00s!miller!reader

wc: 7.4k

series: chapter one (you’re here!), chapter two, chapter three, chapter four, chapter five

blurb: it’s been awhile since you’ve been back home; in upstate new york where you’ve spent most of your life waking up early and tending to the animals that moo’d and meh’d. after graduation high school, and then college, the city life has stolen most of your attention. enabling you to visit only a handful of times through the years. when your lovely adoptive parents (tommy and maria miller) invite you back for a thanksgiving dinner—a troubled old flame from your childhood manages to get your attention, despite its explosive ending.

cw: lmao flip phones, some vulgar language, ellie cheating on her gf (kind of), the millers, r is a writer, elements of longing, ellie is #1 lesbian yearner in the world, some early 2000s references, thanksgiving, some physical violence, adopted kid trauma (shoutout to all the adopted kids!!), hella angst, repressed emotions, a little bit of mature content, eventual smut.

note: i have too much confidence writing for ellie. but here’s another series im starting because i realized the plot is too much for a single work on here, hence the 7 thousand words ijbol. hope you guys enjoyyy.

It was quieter upstate. Breathable and airy—you missed it more than anything. As much as you loved living in Manhattan, there was nothing like the countryside. Waking up to the sound of birds chirping and roosters crowing. Hearing the excited neighing from the horses you birthed and took care of. It was refreshing to be home again.

And, of course, you missed your parents.

They adopted you as a troubled child, and you’ve considered yourself lucky ever since. Babies and younger children were often the ones to be pulled from inconsistent foster homes, but they chose you. A pierced, attitude-ridden, thirteen-year-old who liked smoking cigarettes because they made you look cooler than you felt. And it helped you cope with the lasting effects of neglectful parents.

That trauma didn’t just disappear once Tommy and Maria entered your life. It was something that grew from nothing, and they were adamant in making your transition as comfortable as possible. You never experienced anything like it before them. Their strictness and structure did the opposite of what most would think. You went from sneaking out and smoking cigarettes to staying up late studying and finishing your favorite novels—still smoking cigarettes, though, but out your window. It was hard habit to break.

Once you realized that they could be trusted and had your best interest at heart, you gave them the right to parent you. Sure, it wasn’t easy. The three of you argued many, many times—but you respected them more than you have anyone else. Really, just for tolerating you.

The Miller’s were always very family oriented and social. Sunday nights always managed to be a grand event—Tommy grilling in the acred backyard, Maria handling the food items that could be cooked inside, and you diligently decorating and setting the table. Football Sundays were always the worst, but they were great memories to think about. That was the first time you met, basically, the love of your life at the time. Ellie Williams.

It was 1995 when you had completely fallen in love with her—only knowing her for around three years. Joel Miller wasn’t really her father, or adoptive father, he was just somebody who took care of her. He owned a guitar shop that sold, obviously, guitars and other instruments alike; as well as holding lessons for those wanted to learn how to play.

The story goes: Joel was working the register on a very slow day when Ellie showed up. There was a shiner on her eye, but she insisted that she was fine—asking for lessons with crumbled cash and dirty coins. She couldn’t afford the lessons on her own, so he gave her a job and proceeded with teaching her how to play.

She grew up similar to you; hidden under the confines of foster care. The only difference was, she was never adopted. At least not until the age of seventeen, when she’d spent so much time with Joel that she had a decorated bedroom in his house. They both had commitment issues, but after Tommy convinced him to do the paperwork… He did. Surprising her on her seventeenth birthday. However, the outcome didn’t really go to plan. Not how anyone would have expected it.

It was 1997 when she completely broke your heart… Not to be cheesy or anything.

Her seventeenth birthday was hosted at your house, on the farm. You knew her the most out of everyone, so you made it your mission to make this the best birthday ever. Decorating had become a hobby of yours after so many Sunday dinners—you spent all day stringing up lights and colorful streamers. Maria helping you out with a homemade cake that said: Happy Birthday Els! You were too anxious to write the words yourself, so you let her do it instead. You were even sure to invite the friends you shared; demanding they each brought presents to show how much they cared about her.

Joel had showed up before she did; just in time so they could all hide and jump out with big smiles on your faces when Ellie arrived. You would always remember the feeling of hearing the rumbling of her truck coming to a stop. And the shy smile on her face when everyone jumped out from behind furniture—blowing birthday kazoo’s. It was picturesque!

Dina had trotted over to her, snapping a blue paper cone birthday hat over her head. While you walked over with her birthday cake in your hands, brightened with seventeen candles. “Happy seventeenth, Ellie.” You had spoken, warmly. A bashful grin spreading onto your lips. She looked at you with such awe in that moment. Blowing out her candles and kissing your cheek, muttering a blushing ‘I fuckin’ love you’.

You knew about her surprise adoption papers before the party had started, excitement running through your veins when Joel meandered toward her—handing her an envelope of hope. Ellie took it, eyeing him, skeptically. “Open it!” You urged—that was your mistake.

Chortling, she broke open the envelope, not caring if it tore. When she pulled out the certificate, reading the words on the page, her entire face dropped. “Adoption papers?” Her eyes squinted in disgust, glaring at Joel. The smile fell from your face, lips parting in slight shock. Her olive eyes glanced around the room, seeing the fallen expressions clouding everyone’s features. Landing on your fallen face, briefly—a look exclaiming, ‘how could you’. Freckled cheeks heating up in embarrassment and… Anger. “Joel, what the fuck?” She blinked at him, shoving the papers into his chest, then storming out of the house. Hands ripping the hat from the top of head, throwing it to the ground. The screen door creaking obnoxiously as she exited. It all happened so fast.

He quickly followed her out, calling for her, desperately.

Awkwardly, you turned to the frozen people around you. “Anybody want cake? It’s german c— chocolate.” You stammered, trying to keep your composure. Looking to Maria and Tommy for some sort of consolation, you frowned, placing the cake on the counter before fleeing to the bathroom.

You clenched at the roots of your hair, pacing around the bathroom. You could hear remnants of a solo screaming match from outside the bathroom window, causing you to grit your teeth. The papers were supposed to be a good thing! Ellie had always been a hothead—easily agitated like a stray kitten is distress. There were even moments where the two of you went at it. Until one of you caved, begging for affection as an apology. Your nerves burned at the idea of her not liking the surprise—was that selfish?

Instead of remaining in the bathroom, you swung open the door with your eyes fixed on the front door. Hands clenched at your sides, you walked through the kitchen, where Tommy tried to liven up the mood by handing out pieces of cake.

He tried calling your name, but you brushed him off, pushing open the screen door with an attitude that could be felt with every step you took. The brisk autumn air hit your exposed skin, the long-sleeve striped shirt not doing much to keep you warm.

Striding around the side of the house, you seen Joel and Ellie having a stern conversation. But by the time your eyes landed on them, they were in a beat of silence. Joel shaking his head with his fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. Ellie had her arms stubbornly crossed, frowning. When her eyes found yours, he turned around to leave. “She’s all yours…” He solemnly sighed, walking back into the house. The adoption papers crumbled up in his hands.

Biting your bottom lip, you approached her with your arms crossed for warmth. “What happened, Ellie?” Your voice dragged, tiredly. There was something always wrong with her. “We just wanted to do something nice for you… Why’d you have to go and ruin it—?”

“Oh, I’m the one who ruined it?” She scoffed, a sneer resting on her lips. “I’m not the one who brought the fucking adoption papers!” Ellie exclaimed, gesturing broadly with her hands. When she was up in arms, she always gesticulated more. “Did you have anything to do with this? Because if you did—“

You interrupted her with scrutinizing glare. “So, what if I did? I thought this would make you happy, Ellie… Don’t you understand?”

“You had me open that in front of everyone knowing what was inside— and you thought that’d make me happy?” Her lips arched in disgust. “Clearly, you don’t know me at all.” Her words were venomous, lips twitching in anger.

There was nobody who understood you more than Ellie, and vice versa. You just got each other because you came from similar backgrounds—that was your glue. You don’t know me at all. That was new.

With your eyes growing warm with tears, your tongue rolled in your mouth. “I spent all day setting this up… For you. Because I love you, Ellie. I don’t know you— that’s bullshit if I ever heard it.” Your voice cracked, but you refused to let a tear run down your cheek. This was no time for tears—if she could get angry, so could you.

“I’ve known you long enough to have some semblance of understanding on why you’re upset, right now— that’s for damn sure.” You paused, averting your eyes to concentrate on keeping your rising emotions at bay. She watched you, cheeks still red with anger. “I’m gonna give you ten minutes— ten, Ellie! If you don’t get your ass back in there in next ten fucking minutes…” You lick your lips, shaking your head. “We’re over. Done!”

Giving a final glare, you turned to head back inside. “I can’t keep dealing with this shit.” You mutter, under your breath.

“So that’s what it is… Dealing with me?” Ellie voiced, a sliver of disappointment slipping in her moment of anger.

Wiping your cheeks, you peered over your shoulder. “What?”

“You got this perfect little life… Huh?” She began, approaching you intimidatingly. “The loving parents, the farmhouse— you became the perfect daughter for them… Gets the grades, does everything she can to appease them. This fuckin’ fantasy world that you chose to live in all because you wanted someone to love you… Fuckin’ pathetic.”

“Ellie…” You warned.

“Well, newsflash, little-miss-perfect— not everybody wants that! Not everybody wants to play pretend for the rest of their fucking life just to be—“

It happened before you could stop it, fists clenching at your sides as she bad mouthed you till oblivion. Your soft spot—and she knew all about that. Both of you grew up as kids who got into fights and disputes more times than anyone could count; you just decided to clean up your act. However, that troubled twelve to thirteen-year-old still resided inside of you. And, in that moment, she wasn’t your doting girlfriend—she was someone punching down on you.

Your knuckles collided with the side of her face, knocking into her cheek bone. Features scowling as if she were a stranger. Ellie stumbled, holding onto her face with surprised eyes. For a second the version of her you loved came through, but she quickly recovered. Her lips curling at the ends, taunting you. “I knew you still had it in you… You’re no better than me.”

There it was.

Not only was it the straw that broke the camels back—it was the truth. The ultimate truth. Behind all of your petty little arguments. Behind all her wild bursts of anger. She was jealous of you. Grunting behind your teeth, you charged at her. Taking the collar of her jacket as her back hit the gravelly ground. Straddling her, you didn’t hear the rushing feet hitting the porch. You could feel her hands settling loosely on your calves, only angering you more. “I did the fucking work— nobody else but me!” Tears poured down your cheeks. “I am better than you. Because I fucking try—“

Arms pulled you off her body, wrapping around your abdomen. It was Tommy, questioning you in your ear, but you weren’t listening. “Everything went to shit because of you! Remember that!” Dina and Jesse rushed to her side, but she only sat up watching you get pulled back inside. They glared at your forced retreat—they were always more friends with her than they were with you.

Tommy released you, with a disappointed sigh. Maria walking inside, shutting the door behind her, frowning. You heaved, looking at all the decorations that mocked you. Sparkling and shining against the dim lights in the room. The barely eaten cake sat on the counter in the kitchen making fun of you—it was all too much.

“What the hell has gotten into you, y/n?!” Maria pointedly, asked. Not really wanting a response.

“What’s gotten into me?! What’s gotten into her—!” You pointed to the door as if she replaced it.

The blond man leaned his elbows on the kitchen counter, bending at his hips. “Well, I don’t think it matters what’s gotten into her if you put your hands on her, Bug.” Tommy spoke, evenly. He was always the calmer of the two. “Did you… Did you put your hands on her?”

Maria stood with her hands on her hips. “What did we say about fighting—? And you don’t hit your girlfriend— you don’t hit the people that you care about!” She scolded, pointing her finger. “We raised you better than that…”

Your lips quivered, guilt setting in. “I didn’t mean to hit her! She wanted— she wanted me to… I swear!”

He glanced at his wife. “She wanted you to hit her?” Tommy deadpanned, pressing his lips into a line.

They both looked at you with separate expressions. Maria clearly overwhelmed with disappointment and utter disbelief. The same look she gave you when she caught you smoking cigarettes at the barn when you were fourteen—when you told her you quit. Tommy had an expression of pity, like he often did. That same look he gave when you had a meltdown at school when you first moved in with them.

More tears began to roll down your cheeks. “Maria… Tommy… She pushed me. Why would she do that? Why would she—“ You began to ramble, knees growing weak. Your strict mother-figure rushed to your side, catching you before you fell. “I didn’t mean to… I didn’t want to— she was just being so mean.”

Sinking to the floor with you, her hands caressed your hair. Maria looked to Tommy, mouthing for him to go check on Ellie.

Outside, Ellie was dismissing the weary questions from her friends. She’d never seen you act in such an unruly way. Every time she came over, there wasn’t a hair that was out of place on your head. She was always the one acting out, swearing like a sailor. Sure, she knew about your smoking habit, but that was nothing.

Your girlfriend was envious of how everything was panning out for you—college was around the corner. You had an acceptance letter from your dream school, and without a doubt, you were leaving for the city. Leaving her behind to rot in the country. It wasn’t fair!

That adoption letter felt like pity. She wasn’t a fan of that feeling either.

As a bruise formed on her cheek, guilt settled into the pit of her stomach. Ellie had every intention on seeing the side of you that everyone talked about with a past tense that indicated warning. She needed to prove to herself that you weren’t the perfect person she saw you to be—but all that was left behind was remorse and a sore cheek.

She watched as Joel and Tommy stepped aside to talk. Their eyes glancing back and forth between the door and Ellie, as she leaned against her rusted red truck.

“I can’t believe she would do something like that… On your birthday?” Dina shook her head, with her arms crossed.

“It’s not like her…” Jesse narrowed his eyes at the auburn-haired girl. “What’d you do?”

Dina smacked his chest. “Jessie! She’s literally the victim here— domestic abuse!”

He sucked his teeth, rolling his eyes. “I’m not saying what she did was right.” Jessie began. “I’m saying that I know Ellie Williams, and I know how she is— she’s a pusher.”

The bruised seventeen-year-old scoffed.

“Yeah, I said it.” He stood tall, a small smirk playing on his lips. “You’re a pusher. Hell, you’re a professional pusher— you push people for a fucking living.” Dina glared at him, threatening to hit him again. “I mean, there was that one time… When we went into the city for that comic convention, and you completely obliterated Joel for worrying about you—“

The dark-haired, freckled teenager pushed her boyfriend out of the way taking his place. “We don’t have to relive that…”

Ellie rolled her tongue in her mouth. “Look, I know this is my fault…”

“Ellie… You’re the one with the bruise forming on your face.” She reached up, rubbing her cheek. Her wincing under her touch.

She sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose, squeezing her red eyes. “Yeah, and if it weren’t for me— for what I said… I wouldn’t have this fuckin’ bruise.” Ellie peered at where Joel and Tommy were speaking. They were wrapping up, giving brotherly hugs. “I am a pusher… And now my girlfriend hates me.” She pouted, tears welling up in her eyes. The blond Miller waved a hand at her, giving a tight-lipped smile that screamed I’m sorry. “I gotta go…” She pulled her keys from her pocket, getting into her truck.

That was the last full conversation the two of you had. Horrible, but the last. Everything in between then and the present was short and empty. Light conversations that only strangers and acquaintances shared. Letters here and there. It was a dispute that was so nuanced, for the first year after that, Joel barely said a word to you. Which bled into his relationship with Tommy. Maria tried to play middleman, but it didn’t work.

Perhaps, that was the reason you kept your distance. You didn’t want to continue to be the wedge that formed between two brothers. While you loved your parents, they were only a phone-call away. And, in the meantime, you could focus on growing in your career. Focusing on your book writing, instead.

You just wanted to forget about what happened when you were an emotionally undeveloped seventeen-year-old, but every time you seen her face—you remembered. So, avoiding Ellie Williams was a mission within itself.

A mission you were hoping you weren’t going to have to endure this year.

“You know,” Tommy began, sipping his fresh coffee. “Joel’s coming down from Jersey for the week.”

As you looked through the fridge, you snapped your head in his direction. “Is he now…?” You slowly question. Letting the fridge door shut on its own. The blonde woman to his right, sitting at the island counter, chuckled. Flipping through the interior design magazine you brought for her.

“And he’s picking up Ellie from the city.”

“What!” You exclaim, rushing to the opposite side of the counter. Pulling the mug from his lips, a surprised squeak left your throat. “Uh, dad… You forgot to mention on the several phone calls that we had in that last month that Ellie moved to the city.”

Maria perked up, pushing a piece of her hair behind her ear. “Yeah, she’s been there for about a year now… Brooklyn, is it?” She looked to her husband for clarification. He nodded, peering up at you with a plain expression.

“A year?! And none of you told me?”

“Bug, you did say that you didn’t want us to bring her up anymore unless you asked.” Maria stood to her feet, meandering to the stove and oven. “But that does remind me… They should be here in a few hours. Wanna help with the brownies?” She preheated the oven, walking around you casually.

Your mouth fell open, glancing between the two of them. “Okay, so they get brownies, and I get the worst news of my life…” An apron with your nickname embroidered on the front, Bug, hung in your mother's hand as an offering. “Yes, I’ll help with the brownies— this is very cruel to your very successful daughter.”

Tommy waved his hand, dismissively. “C’mon, that incident happened years ago now. You’re twenty-five, I’m sure she’s gotten over it.”

Tying the string around your neck and back, you pressed your lips into a line. It wasn’t really about her—you weren’t over it. You still harbored the same guilt you felt when you settled in your room that night. A crazy mixture of resentment and remorse all rolled up into one feeling; as you settled in your reading nook, with your hand out the window holding a burning cigarette with your index and middle finger. “I’m sure she has…”

Eventually, you switched the conversation around while baking. Falling into fits of laughter from mentioning past stories of your teenagehood. Teaming up with Maria to make fun of Tommy and his aging—all of a sudden, he was beginning to have a knack for playing a checkers. Only old people enjoyed playing checkers. Then, the waiting began.

To busy yourself, you pulled out your computer and brought it to the porch. Even though, you were taking some time off at your publishing job; when it came to your book writing, you had an agent to keep flooding your inbox with emails. Telling you to do this and do that—it was obnoxious. But you did as she asked anyway.

Typing away, a puff of nicotine fled from your lips. Murmuring under your breath, the words that were populating on the screen. On your hip, your phone rang, causing you to throw your head back in slight agony. Something always interrupted you when you were flowing. Flipping open your phone, the decorative chain swinging around as you placed it against your ear. “Hello,” You spoke, stubbing out your cigarette.

It was your roommate and closest friend, Sierra, complaining about the neighbors. Her strong long island accent echoing through the phone. “Oh, my God— they’re so loud! You’d think gettin’ an apartment in a nicer building would thicken the walls.” She groaned on the other end. “Please, come back. At least to tell them to shut up, and then you could go back upstate.”

“Why don’t you… I don’t know…” You shut your laptop, replacing your butt with the boxy electronic. Strolling to the far end of the porch, leaning your arms against the bannister. “Tell them yourself?” An amused smile spread on your lips.

Sierra paused. “Because that’s your job. I’m the nice one, remember?”

“Okay, well I can’t leave. I just got here, and I’m not spending another grand on taxi fare.”

“I’ll spot you.” You could hear her smile on the end.

“Sierra, I’m not coming back until Saturday. So, your only options are to either bang on their door— telling them to shut the hell up— or you suffer listening to their relentless daytime sex.” As you spoke, a truck began rolling up the driveway. Identities unclear due to the intense window tint, but you knew exactly who it was. However, there were three heads in that truck.

She groaned on the other end of the line. “Ugh! I hate you—“

“You love me!” You grinned, but it dropped right off your face when the people exited the vehicle. From the driver's seat, it was Ellie; then, it was Joel who exited, seemingly in conversation. And, finally, a girl stepped out of the vehicle. Joel noticed you leaning against the bannister on the porch, waving his hand with a smile.

Your muscles reacted, waving a fleeting hand. “Maria, Tommy! They’re here!” You yell loud enough to be heard through the screen door. You were always insecure about calling them by their parental titles in front of people—let alone new people.

“You’re yelling in my ear, hon. If you gotta go just tell me.” Sierra complained.

“I gotta go.”

Before she could say her goodbyes, you shut your phone, sliding it into your back pocket. Your parents came out of the house in high spirits; Maria clapping her hands, excitedly, embracing Ellie. Tommy giving a firm bear hug to Joel, laughing heartily—at what? You were unsure.

Awkwardly, you stood there. Smiling with your hands held in front of your body as if you were presenting a project.

Joel looked to you, approaching you with open arms. “Look at you,” He began, wrapping his arms around you, warmly. “All grown up.” He pulled back to get a better look at you, nodding proudly.

“Yeah…” You tapped his shoulder. “You, too.” A chuckle fell from your lips.

Then, you looked to your right at the freckled girl with her arm around a feminine stranger. However, you couldn’t indentify her before you did Ellie. Her auburn hair was pulled into a low bun, with pieces framing her gentle features. Her round evergreen, tinted with slivers of brown, eyes. Freckles decorating her cheeks, bridge of her nose; the beauty mark under left eye—

“Hey,” Ellie drawled out the greeting, awkwardly. Leaning in for a hug that teetered back and forth until you reciprocated.

You kept that same plastered smile on your lips, wrapping your arm under hers. “Hey, Ellie.” Pulling back, you finally looked at the girl beside her. She had tattoos and piercings and looked so much cooler than you. “Who’s this?”

Her earthy eyes widened. “Oh, this is, uhm, my girlfriend, Cat.”

The only response you could give was a nod and a half-hearted wave. It was like a dramatic record scratch in your head. But your parents took over with the rest. Guiding everyone inside to the warmth. Tommy remained outside, giving you skeptical eyes. “Help me with the bags…”

“Honey, don’t be weird about this.” He spoke, as you followed him to the truck.

“I’m not being weird.” You whined, gravel crunching under your feet. “Seriously, what’s to be weird about?” Reaching into the open trunk, you pulled out luggage’s and duffle bags. This was a lot of stuff for a week stay—they brought more than you did.

He gruffly breathed, pulling up the handle of one of the suitcases. “You’re my daughter, I know you— just sayin’…”

“Oh, my God— please!” You complained, hooking the duffle over your shoulder, pulling one of the luggage’s. Leaving him to follow you toward the porch.

Dinner had come quicker than you had hoped. If anything, if you could magically skip over the thing, and still eat, that would’ve been perfect.

All six of you sat at the dining table, forks and knives scratching at ceramic plates. Tommy and Joel had gathered in the back, last minute to cook up some steaks. And, to busy yourself, you helped Maria with the sides while Ellie and Cat got situated in the guest house.

“So, y/n, how’s the book comin’ along?” Joel wondered, putting a cut piece of steak into his mouth.

You made a surprised sound as you chewed your food, rushing to swallow. “Shit, you’re writing a book?” Ellie questioned, leaning her elbows on the table.

Taking a sip of water, you decided to respond. “Yeah, I’ve been working on it for a while.” Your eyes glanced at her, then moved on, quickly, to Joel’s. “It’s… Coming along.” A bashful laugh fell from your lips, as your hand reached for the glass of wine. It was barely touched, red hue swishing in the bulb of the glass as you took a sip. It’s fruity bitterness relishing over your tongue.

“What is it— like fiction or…?” Ellie pressed, genuinely.

“Non-fiction. A book of essay’s, really— written in different forms.” You nodded. “It sounds boring…”

Ellie shrugged, forking a piece of meat into her mouth. “Doesn’t sound boring to me.” She responded, with her mouth full.

“It’s the farthest from boring, honey.” Maria massaged your shoulder, sharing a small smile. You mirrored her in return, forking at the vegetables on your plate—perfectly steamed broccoli.

“How’s Brooklyn treating you?” You spoke up, raising your eyebrows.

Ellie lightly glared at Joel before answering, placing her utensils down. “It’s certainly treating me…” She muttered, rubbing her hands together, glancing at her girlfriend.

“It’s a great place for art, but just not Ellie’s art.” Cat chuckled, sipping from her wine glass.

“Oh, that’s what you’re doing.” You nod.

“I recall her using the words: too crowded.” Joel used air quotes to briefly describe the past conversation.

She rolled her eyes, shaking her head. “It makes me feel crowded— the city. When you say it like that, it makes me sound fucking stupid, Joel.”

“You did say crowded.”

“Well, I meant overwhelmed.”

You snickered at their bickering, leaning back in your chair. “Back to your art, I guess you’re experiencing the artistic equivalent to writers block?” Tommy inquired, still chewing on his steak, raising an eyebrow. The auburn-haired young woman nodded, chuckling to herself. “That’s why you’re stayin’ with us for a little while, huh?”

Another record scratch.

You blinked at you father, deepening your eyebrows. “Wait, what?”

Joel had set his beer on the table, leaning forward. “Yeah, Ellie’s stayin’ with your parents for a little while to get her juices flowing, again.” He explained, pressing his lips into a soft smile. Ellie cringed at his use of the words juices, taking a sip of her beer.

Tommy and Maria told you nothing unless you asked for it for almost everything now—you at least deserved to know that Ellie was staying on the farm indefinitely. After all, when they’re dead and gone, it’ll be yours; so, they could’ve at least told you without you having to ask—that’s big!

“And, I’ll help out so I won’t be sleeping the day away— because I know that I will without a proper schedule.”

“I thought you guys didn’t need a farmhand.” You glanced at your parents, with your eyebrows still deepened with confusion.

Maria chuckled, standing to her feet. “We don’t need anything, but who could say no to a helping hand?” She grabs the empty basket of biscuits from the center of the table. “Anybody want more biscuits?”

“I would love some!” Cat spoke up, holding up a tattooed finger.

“Me too, honey.” Tommy also spoke.

A dry chortle left your lips, leaning against the back of the chair. “Are you staying on the farm, too?” You peered over at the stranger—the girlfriend, with a slight accusatory tone.

Her lips parted a few times before she responded. “Oh, no, I’m going back to Brooklyn. Not much of a country girl.”

Pursing your lips, you nodded, downing the rest of your wine. This week was going to be a doozy. When Maria came back to the table, you snatched a biscuit from the basket, biting into it. There was a perfect crispy layer on the outside, mixed with the perfect gooey, soft innards of the biscuit. “These are so good.” You muttered with your mouth full with its buttery goodness.

On your hip, your phone buzzed. Cursing under your breath, you plucked the cellphone from your belt, flicking it open. It was your agent calling you at eight o’clock at night. “Excuse me, I gotta take this.” You scooted the chair back, pressing the green button. “It’s late, Isa.” You started the call, stalking out of the room like the corporate woman you are. Taking the route up the stairs to your old bedroom.

“I need that new chapter by tomorrow morning— as in, 8am.” She scolded on the other line. “I’m personally reminding you. Since you couldn’t respond to my emails.”

You sighed, shutting your bedroom door behind you. “Isa, I’ve been traveling all day on public transport, and I’ve been trying to have family time— is that not what Thanksgiving is about?”

“You’re writer, hon. You have little bit of family time, then you hermit to finish your work— now, stop giving me grief. Time is of the essence.” Her smooth voice told, chuckling after her words. “I’ll be anticipating you’re new chapter tomorrow at eight! Have a great night.”

“Have a great night…”

Slapping your phone shut, you sighed, running your other hand over your face. Being a writer was relentless—just as relentless as you and your roommate’s neighbors. But, instead of lingering in frustration, you grabbed your heavy laptop and propped yourself on the cushion beside your window—your reading nook. Not forgetting to put a Sade tape inside of your stereo for some background music, before you began to diligently work.

You typed at your computer, rapid clicking sounds filling your ears. Although, it was no surprise that you worked your hardest after the sun set—it was like you had one too many espresso shots.

Every word was coming from the heart, and coincidentally enough, the guests at your home made it easier. This chapter was definitely reflecting the feelings you felt the day of Ellie’s seventeenth birthday. You used imagery and metaphors to describe that feeling of attack—being backed into a corner, having the worst part of yourself brought into the light. And, like most of your pieces, it was dredging it all back up again; the emotions.

That feeling of losing the only person that truly understood you.

Of course, you had a few relationships since then—a few, trying to chase that same feeling you felt when your hands touched. But there wasn’t anyone who could compare to her. How pathetic was it to still be harping on a highschool sweetheart?

Hours passed under the radar. Your parents being the mile marker in your work, knocking on the door to let you know everyone was heading to bed. Too busy with outlining new ideas, you barely spared them a glance, muttering a smooth goodnight.

It was about one in the morning by the time you finished the chapter. Still, it needed some tweaking, but it was good enough to send to your agent for the editor to look at.

Shutting your laptop, you finally took in your old bedroom. Various music artists slapped against your soft pink walls, attached with tape—some corners hanging off. Catwoman figurines lining the back of your large, white, wooden dresser; with comics stacked alongside them. Stacks of old books in the corner of your room, stacked from the floor to the middle of her wall. If you were to stumble into them, they’d experience one hell of a fall.

Suddenly, curiosity struck.

Hopping from the cushioned seat under your paneled window, you looked under your bed. Reaching for an old shoebox that was filled with many, many interesting things. You slid it from under the dusty bed frame, taking it back to that plushy seat you appreciated so dearly. Plucking the top off, you released a sigh. Immediately being hit with polaroids of yourself as a teenager—mostly standing beside, laughing with, and cuddling Ellie.

They were the photos you snatched from your wall after that fight. Oh, she looked the same. Still had that uncertainty in her earthy, olive eyes. You didn’t understand it then, and you most definitely didn’t understand it now. Ellie didn’t have to feel the uncertainty she was used to in foster care. She had people who believed in her—who will always believe in her.

Sifting through, your hands hovered over a letter she wrote. It was an apology letter sent around the time of her eighteenth birthday—almost a full year since the situation. The envelope was ripped open from the day you received it; stained with salty, heartbroken tears.

If only that day never happened…

A startling knock sounded at your window. It was no more than a pebble, which was confirmed when another launched within your sights. Scrunching up your eyebrows, you unlocked it, pulling it upwards. Once you peaked your head outside into the brisk, cool weather, a small smile spread onto your lips.

“Workin’ hard or hardly workin’ up there?” Ellie called from below. “I brought a little somethin’… Thought you could use a break from writing.” She waved a tightly rolled joint in her hands—which could only be seen if you squinted.

The corners of your lips spread wider, feeling horribly nostalgic. “You’re actually a little too late on that front. I finished a few minutes ago,” You pressed your lips into a line, continuing. “But I could never turn down smoke break. I’ll be down in a second.”

Dropping the letter, you scooted off the seat to grab your jacket. Stuffing your feet into the semi-stained Uggs you wore into the ground, before fleeing your bedroom. You didn’t feel the need to sneak down the stairs, but a part of you wanted to—to relieve that feeling of adrenaline you felt in your youth.

Ellie met you at the back door, holding open the creaking screen door as you exited. “I honestly wasn’t sure you still did this.” She chuckled, looking at the ground as you both began to walk away from the house. Putting some distance so the smell wouldn’t upset the elders in the home.

“What? Smoke weed?” You perked an eyebrow. “You think because I went all corporate, I stopped being down?”

“Actually… Yeah.” She responded, nervously snickering.

The two ofyou settled in front of this white-lined shed that was illuminated by the two warm, orange-toned lights on either side of the door. “Well, you’re kind of right…” You admitted, squinting your eyes, embarrassed. It’s hard being known for your adaptability. “I try to keep the pot smoking to a minimum. In the corporate world they test you for it.”

Ellie pulled the joint from behind her ear, placing it between her lips. She shook her head in response to your words. “Says the cigarette smoker…” She joked, eyeing you, teasingly. While she flicked her lighter to burn the tip.

“Hey, they don’t give a rats ass about nicotine— I need to make up for that loss somehow. I’m a writer for christ’s sake.”

When she finally gets it to catch the fire, she took two puffs before passing it to you between her index and thumb. “Where’s Cat?” You innocently questioned, taking a hit of the joint, then looking at it, before taking another hit.

Ellie became rigid, releasing an exasperated sigh from her lips. “The guesthouse, watchin’ some movie.”

You handed her the joint. “What, is she not down?” Mocking your previous words, with amused eyes. However, her demeanor had quickly shifted.

“She gets easily frustrated after traveling all day…” She shook her head in a dismissive way, like she didn’t want any further questions to asked.

“Hm… That’s relatable.”

Silence engulfed the both of you as you passed the blunt back and forth until it was nothing more than a roach. Hearing nothing but the distant wind chimes sounding off on the porch.

Before speaking, Ellie took a deep breath, glancing over at you as if she were nervous to make eye contact. “I hope me stayin’ here for a little bit doesn’t bother you too much.”

Her words were double-take worthy, you looked over at her with expressive eyes—widening, in surprise. “Bother me? Why would it bother me?” You leaned your shoulder on the shed, kicking one leg over the other.

“You didn’t seem like the biggest fan—“

“Ellie, I was surprised. That’s all.” You waved your hand, shaking your head. “I feel like they don’t tell me shit anymore…” Shoulders shrugging, you glance toward the house standing tall in all its glory. “They didn’t tell me about you moving to Brooklyn, either. What does it look like when someone you’ve known your whole life moves to a city you’re actually familiar with and they’re not, and you don’t reach out to help them? I’m only a forty minute train ride away.” You rambled, deepening your eyebrows. “They basically made me look like an asshole.”

You weren’t entirely sure how you’d react if you knew about Ellie’s moving to the big city. Knowing your habits, you’d probably sit by the phone for hours before making the move to give her a call. But, it’s not like you were given the opportunity to figure it out for yourself. Now, it just appeared that you forgot about her—or could care less about her endeavors; which is farthest from the truth.

Her full lips cracked into a smile, chuckling. The auburn-haired woman, mirrored your position, leaning her shoulder against the wooden shed. “Always worried about what you look like…” She muttered, sucking her teeth. “If it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re an asshole— you just didn’t know.” Ellie shrugged. “It’s not like we talk as much as we used to…”

As much as we used to. That kind of stung.

Your eyes averted to the gravel under your boots. “Yeah…” There was an awkward beat that took its place between you. Swallowing, you shooed it away with speaking up. “What about your art? You’re living in one of the most creative cities in the world, and you can’t create?”

She puffed air from her lips, glancing in the direction of the guesthouse, priming her lips. “Okay… Confession— but only if what’s said here stays here.”

“What’s said at the shed, stays at the shed.” You affirm, holding a hand and crossing to fingers. The high from what you smoked clouding your mind, squinting your eyes and loosening your inhibitions.

“Cat and I moved in together pretty early— too early… I needed a roommate and she was the perfect option.” Ellie began, carefully. Olive eyes shifting under the dim light in thought. “I swear ever since I moved in with her… The inspiration to make anything new is fucking gone.” She ran her hand over her hair, which was actually loose without a hair tie. Dusting over her shoulders, pieces pushed behind her ears. “She, you know, hovers a lot— in a sweet way, it’s just irritating because not even her pushing me can be inspiring.”

Your heart skipped a beat; it was hopeful—you really are an asshole! “Damn… So, it’s not the city that makes you feel crowded. It’s Cat.” You hum, nodding your head, taking in your assumption. “And… You think staying here will help? Doing boring farm work?” A chuckle falls from your lips, borderline nervous, borderline humored.

She pursed her lips, raising her eyebrows. “I mean, I spent a lot of time here growin’ up…” Ellie looked at you, knowingly. “It was never boring when we did it together.”

“That’s because we were doing it together. I’m not gonna be here while you’re shoveling horse shit.” You chortled, peering at her through hazy eyes. She giggled and it sounded like music to your ears. It’s been awhile since you heard her laugh from something you said. Weed always did have a way of bringing people together.

“Well, maybe before you go, you could help me out. Jog my memory.” Ellie offered, raising her eyebrows. “It’s either you or suffering through Tommy’s jokes for hours—“

“I don’t mind, but we might have to jog each others memory.”

“Hey, you can take the girl out the country, but not the country out the girl.” She shrugged. “I have faith in you.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, a smile spread on your lips. “You’re still so corny.” Shaking your head, a laugh slips. Wrapping your arms around your body, you acknowledge the cool weather. It pricked at your exposed skin, and even through your jacket. “It’s getting late…”

She scratched the back of her neck. “Yeah, sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. I appreciate the joint— I needed it.” You pushed off the shed wall, licking your lips. In preparation to meander back toward the house, you rocked on your feet. “There’s some left over biscuits on the counter…” You drawled, but it was all right because Ellie had filled in for you.

“I’m fucking starving.”

Then, the two of you walked shoulder to shoulder back inside. Giggling at stupid jokes, surfing over any of the past debacles you had. Turns out reconvening with your childhood lover wasn’t so bad after all. For now, anyway.

[mariasont]

friendly fire

when you get tipsy, hotch struggles with an overwhelming need to protect you

pairing: aaron hotchner x sweetheart!reader warnings: fem!reader, tipsy reader, alc consumption, reader saying she likes hotch's nose prompt: here wc: 0.9k

Hotch’s mid-conversation with Rossi — something about fishing, or wine, or God knows what — when he catches himself looking past his friend, scanning the patio for what feels like the twentieth time.

He locates you instantly, smiling barefoot, your dress catching the fading sunlight as Garcia and Emily enthusiastically coax another drink into your hand.

He immediately reprimands himself internally for this constant vigilance, this needless protectiveness, but it’s too late to pretend otherwise. It’s already embedded deep within him, the subconscious urge to keep tabs on your every move. 

Here, removed from the structured predictability of life back in Virginia, that same urge feels amplified, somehow justified by unfamiliar surroundings — but that rationale doesn’t completely ease his embarrassment over how closely he’s monitoring you.

You catch him looking — of course you do — and Aaron feels a quick heat rise along his collar. He suppresses the urge to look away, instead opting to awkwardly clear his throat. 

He considers, briefly, returning to Rossi’s neglected conversation, except Rossi, it seems, had already given up on him, vanishing inside without Aaron even noticing.

Before he can feel truly guilty for his shitty conversational skills, you’re already padding toward him, swaying a little, a sweet, confused smile on your face.

“Hotch,” you say softly, and maybe a little sleepy. “Do you know what happened to my sandals?”

Aaron frowns slightly, genuinely perplexed.

“Your sandals?” He shakes his head. “No, I haven’t seen them.” But the look on your face — a little dazed, a little dreamy — has him cocking his head to the side, concern filtering through his confusion. “Are you alright without them? Should we find them?”

A laugh bubbles up as you shake your head emphatically.

“No,” you manage between airy giggles. “It just felt important to ask.”

Aaron ducks his head, hiding a reluctant smile behind a casual nod.

“Alright,” he says. “I’ll keep an eye out for them.” He pauses, taking in your bright, glassy eyes. “In the meantime, do you think you might want some water?”

“I’m okay. But thank you very much for asking.” Even drunk, your manners remain perfectly intact. “Can I maybe just stay here with you? We don’t usually get to spend much time together like this, you know — as friends.”

Your softly slurred request strikes a delicate nerve inside Aaron.

Had he truly seemed so inaccessible — someone you could only approach when your inhibitions were lowered by alcohol? Rationally, he knows it’s a product of rank, professionalism, and perhaps his naturally reserved demeanor — barriers he unintentionally reinforces every day.

Still, knowing you’d felt the need to overcome them through a few spritzers leaves him oddly unsettled.

Maybe he needs to ease back a bit. Maybe he’s doing more harm than good.

Aaron swallows quietly, calming the rising fluster. His immediate concern, though, is your clearly unstable footing.

“Sure,” he replies warmly, adding quickly, “though maybe sitting would be better?”

He eases you toward the outdoor couch, silently determined not to smother you, even though every wobble in your step makes him tense slightly.

You settle beside him, closer than expected. So close, in fact, that he feels a subtle heat rise in his cheeks. You’re sitting cross-legged, facing him fully.

“Do you think we would’ve been friends if we met somewhere else — without all the FBI stuff?”

He knows the answer. No. Of course not. With the age difference alone, he doubts your paths would’ve crossed naturally, let alone sparked a friendship.

Beyond that, the awareness that your father had once been his roommate hangs uncomfortably in the back of his mind, despite the clear reality that he’d never even met you until your first day on his team. The ghost of misplaced guilt still persists.

For what? He’s not sure.

But right now, with your hopeful, slightly blurry-eyed gaze fixed expectantly on him, Aaron opts for gentle misdirection instead of complicated truths.

“I think we would,” he replies. “Though I imagine you probably would’ve found me unbearably dull.”

“That’s not true at all.” You shake your head at him. “I find you highly fascinating.”

“Highly fascinating,” he murmurs, clearly entertained by your choice of words. “I didn’t realize I was so interesting.”

You don’t seem to register the gentle teasing in his voice, leaning closer instead, fingers curling around his arm. 

“You are!” you insist, nodding eagerly. “You’re smart, and you always know what to say, and the whole team respects you, and,” you tap the bridge of his nose as if to illustrate, “and you have a really great nose by the way.”

Of all the things he’s anticipated hearing from you — or anyone, really — a compliment about his nose wasn’t exactly on his list.

“Thank you.” He clears his throat. “Though, I think water might be more helpful for you than discussing my nose.”

“I disagree,” you protest stubbornly, but your voice fades into a sigh, your head drifting until it settles comfortably against his shoulder. “But… you’re the boss…”

Aaron stays perfectly still, breathing shallow. He tells himself he’s merely being considerate, letting you sleep off the alcohol, but he knows it’s more than that. He stays long past the point of necessity. 

When the team finally migrates to where you were, chatting softly, Aaron fixes them with a pointed look that clearly states to let you be. Garcia bites back a grin, Emily arches a brow, but not a single one dares disturb your peace or his.

Maybe tomorrow he’ll retreat behind professionalism again. Right now, Aaron lets his guard down just a fraction, accepting this temporary closeness as something that’s allowed, at least for tonight.

join me at the beach for my 1 year/4k event!

day 3 extras

💌 click here to check in → confirm your room (and crush)

maria's spring break getaway masterlist

[hometoursandotherstuff]

I don't know what's going on with this house. Artist, Malcolm McCleod Brown (1925-2003), started building it in 1980 in Taos, NM. His family finished it. The 8bd, 5ba, 3,210sqft home has been on the market for 575 days. Maybe it's b/c the price the current owner's asking, $1.110m, is not based on square footage. If a new buyer wants to know the exact footage, they will have to hire a licensed appraiser.

This is the main house, and there are 4 long term rental casitas on the property, as well.

This is cozy.

Cute. It's bright and airy, but the small kitchen is basic.

Very nice bedroom.

Up in the loft the current owner has a drum set in the corner.

Cute loft bedroom.

Outside, there're vegetable gardens, a workshop, chicken coop, and meditation trails to the river.

Nice picnic table under the trees.

This casita's very nice.

This one looks like it has a face.

All of the rentals are occupied.

This one has a pretty garden.

Beautiful sink and tiled shower.

This one is set up like a studio apt.

It has a cute bath.

Water running thru the property.

It's an interesting property.

On top of the main house there's an observatory tower.

Plus a rooftop deck with structures on it.

The land is 3 acres. Nice mountain view.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/627-Boyer-Ln-Taos-NM-87571/102030922_zpid/

[invenusworld]

saturn nakshatras and the classical arts

@venussaidso recently shared a post about a group of saturn nakshatra actors who were called "untalented and only famous because of pretty privilege" as saturn is perceived as limiting, stiff and restrictive through its natives

actors are generally expected to he highly expressive, dynamic and fluid — spirited, emotionally charged performances are often celebrated and given acclaim

saturn nakshatras natives often thrive in the classical arts, such as ballet and the classical music sphere, as here a certain element of saturnian control, austerity, reduction & adhereing to strict guidelines is needed to be successful. here, uninhibited, uncontrolled expression (such as the improvisational nature of jazz or the fiery dramatics of theatre) is not the norm

grammy winning violinist, hillary hahn, uttara bhadrapada moon

she was even given the moniker 'ice-queen' which ties into the frigid nature of saturn - an energy when applied in other genres or art forms where fluidity and brazen expression is the norm may be deemed 'boring' 'cold" 'non expressive' - but in the sphere of classical music a certain element of controlled 'perfection' is highly revered and respected

classical musicians are notoriously known to struggle with improvisation, as their main emphasis lies in performing works exactly as they were written hundreds of years ago, with high pressure on the performer and meticulous repetition necessary to perfect the art — conducive to saturnian energies

as with classical ballet, improvisation can even result in injury and there is an emphasis on control, structure, order and seamlessly becoming one part of a whole

despite constantly repeating steps that are incredibly difficult, require inordinate amounts of strength and flexibility while constantly pushing the limits of what the human body is capable of & comfortable with executing, it is imperative for ballerinas to display an aura of grace and effortlessness

in other sports, it is acceptable for an athlete to show signs of stress, fatigue or strain on their faces but a ballerina must always display a façade of serenity, grace and delicacy - traits associated with the cold, airy, meticulous saturn

ballerina and social media influencer, lori hernandez, uttara bhadrapada moon

from a list of 'the 10 most influential ballerinas of all time'

anna pavlova - pushya moon

yuanyuan tan - pushya moon & saturn

diana vishneva - pushya venus & saturn

margot fonteyn - anuradha rahu

virginia johnson - uttara bhadrapada rahu

pushya moon, anna pavlova in the garden of her home “ivy house” outside london with her pet swan jack

saturn nakshatras are prominent among acclaimed classical concert pianists

glenn gould - pushya moon & mars

dinu lipatti - pushya moon, u. bhadrapada venus & mars

carl maria von weber (composer, conductor, virtuoso pianist, critic) - anuradha sun

anton rubinstein (founder of st. petersburg conservatory) - anuradha sun & jupiter

arthur rubinstein - uttara bhadrapada moon

martha argerich - uttara bhadrapada ketu

vladimir horowitz - uttara bhadrapada ketu

glenn gould, pushya moon, was a canadian classical pianist. he was among the most famous and celebrated pianists of the 20th century

[elodieunderglass]

We often joke that my son is actually, somehow, my brother's kid because their personalities are so similar. Does Charlie ever look at one of his 1-15(?) kids and go "Yeah, that one's Killie's. Got the ol' genetic switcheroo."

Or maybe he looks at one kid, squints, and thinks "...COLM??? CIARA???"

(Charlie and Killie the original characters) A fascinating thing about identical twins is that they are each others' clones; if you don't mind slicing the meaning of words in a weird way, Charlie's children are genetically Killie's. As brothers with virtually-identical genomes, they couldn't be separated by paternity tests, because there's nothing to separate. A 2024 legal case in the UK trying to assign paternity of identical twin brothers had to, essentially, give up. Charlie sees glimpses of Killie a lot in the kids he's personally sired, and ghosts of him in the ones he hasn't.

The kid of Charlie's that worries him the most is Miles, who is somehow a full clone of his grandfather Bill. He has the same facial bones and cheek dimples and his face falls into the same lines and his hair falls in the same way.

But it isn't just in face and bone structure; it's his presence.

Bill's scowling stubbornness and sheer magnetism and great strength of character went straight down to Killie, and his charm and airy chatter and ruthlessness and rage went to Charlie. And everything was fair.

But they fused back together in Miles.

That's quite hard for Charlie to deal with. REALLY quite hard.

But Miles is sunny, and Bill is bitter, and it's only a haunting, passing ghost. One's someone you haven't seen for 15 years and one's a child you see every day. the kid paints his nails purple for chrissake. it's just imagining things really, "family resemblance" and all that - it's just storybook rubbish.

[cryptotheism]

Another question, how did the tria prima relate to the human body/human experience? Any relation to homonculi? Homonculus? I dont know how to spell it im lazy lmaooooooo

Practical Hermetica conceptualized the body as earthen, the spirit as fiery, and the mind as both airy and watery, which acted as an insulator between the body and spirit. Can't have the spirit burning your body, or your body staunching your spirit.

Skip ahead about 900 years and Arabic alchemists developed the sulphur-mercury theory of matter. The idea being that all metals were fundamentally some combination of a Sophic Mercury (thing that is changed) and a Sophic Sulphur (thing that changes).

Skip ahead about 500 more years are you get to Paracelsus, who also adds Salt, which is the dross given off by the process of change, and the material that structures it. (Think wood burning to ash).

Skip ahead about 100 more years to Basil Valentine and the rosicrucisns, who thought this all would make a good metaphor for the soul. (Paracelsus also thought that, but in a more biological way and the rosicrucian literature was highly Swagful)

[ieatpussyfromtheback]

blair waldorf x stoner fem reader x nate archibald 🩷

Blair Waldorf, ever the picture of poise and elegance, watches you with a smirk, her eyes narrowing slightly as you lean back into the plush chair, the haze of your high still settling around you. You and Nate Archibald, standing nearby, share a knowing glance. Nate’s charm is usually smooth and easy, but right now, his attention is drawn to you as your fingers idly play with a strand of your hair.

“Are you… actually high?” Blair asks, a hint of disbelief laced in her voice. “On a school night?”

You lazily blink up at her, then glance at Nate for reassurance. He gives a slight shrug, a knowing look that suggests he’s been around you long enough to not be shocked by this.

“Maybe,” you answer slowly, as if weighing the word. “But… everything just feels better, y’know?”

Nate chuckles, stepping closer to you. “I told you she’d be like this, Blair.” He ruffles your hair affectionately, though his touch is gentle, like he’s trying to keep things light.

Blair, however, isn’t amused. “I’m sure it feels better, but that doesn’t make it any less reckless.” She crosses her arms, clearly not happy with the idea of anyone, especially you, acting so carefree with things that she holds so tightly to—control, structure, perfection.

But you, always the contradiction, lean back further into Nate’s side, letting the warmth of his presence settle you. “It’s all good,” you say, your voice airy. “Everything’s good when you’re with Nate.”

Nate looks at you fondly, half-smiling, though there’s a playful challenge in his eyes. “What about when you’re with Blair, huh? Shouldn’t that be enough to make you feel good, too?”

Blair shakes her head, but there’s an undeniable flicker of affection in her eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters, half-smiling despite herself.

You glance between them, your smile wide and content, knowing you’ve somehow brought them both to a point of agreement—at least for now.

[speaknow-sw]

«𝓢𝓾𝓰𝓪𝓻, 𝓘 𝓮𝓷𝓳𝓸𝔂 𝓵𝓲𝓯𝓮»

Summary : When you question Don’s abilities to loosen himself a bit, he decide to show you how precisely he meant when he said he’s enjoying life.

Word Count : 2.9k

Ｃｏｎｔｅｎｔ: mdni, age gap (Don is 38, Reader 20), pastor kink, God complex, pussy eating, nipple playing, vaginal fingering, PiV, rough sex, daddy kink if you squint, mustache kink, seashell position, degradation if you squint, huge breeding kink, mention of sequestration, faith kink, innocence kink, corruption kink, pet names, dumbification, choking, orgasm denying, cockwarming.

AN : this is the nastiest piece of shit I’ve ever written and the main idea comes from the lovely @mathesonlvr who I share my passion for Don mustache with. (I think). Anyway that’s like hella dirty so enjoy !

The large, old house stood as a symbol of everything he believed in—solid, immovable, a structure built on faith and discipline. Pastor Don Piper, a man well into his thirties, was known for his devotion to the church and his deep convictions. Every sermon he delivered was woven with scripture and firm, unyielding guidance. And then, there was you—his much younger wife, with a heart full of kindness but a spirit still uncertain of the boundaries that came with marriage to a man like him.

Don sat at his desk, reading scripture with the same unwavering focus he gave to all things. His life was built around discipline, faith, and order—he had lived every moment according to the rules of his belief, and it had brought him peace. But now, sitting in the silence, there was a tension he couldn’t quite name. It came from you, his much younger wife. You had been married to him for only a year, and while your sweetness and enthusiasm had drawn him to you, there were times when your innocence, your naivety, seemed to test the very boundaries of his patience.

You were in the other room, humming softly to yourself as you tidied up the living room. He could hear the occasional clatter as you absentmindedly dropped a vase or bumped into a piece of furniture. It was something you did often—your clumsiness was just another piece of the puzzle he had come to accept about you. But tonight, after a long day of counseling and sermons, the sound grated on his nerves more than usual. "Careful with that," he called out, trying to keep his voice calm but feeling the edge creeping in. "Oh! Sorry!" you replied, your voice light and airy, as if nothing in the world could ever bother you. It was part of what he loved about you—your innocence. But that same innocence sometimes left him feeling like you didn’t truly grasp the gravity of the life you had stepped into.

A few moments later, you appeared in the doorway, smiling brightly, holding a plate of cookies you had made earlier. "I thought you might want something sweet while you work." He glanced up from his Bible, taking in your wide-eyed expression, your gentle smile. There was no malice in you, no understanding of the inner conflict that simmered beneath his composed surface. "Thank you," he said, trying to soften his tone. He reached for a cookie, but the tension in his chest didn’t ease. You set the plate down on his desk, hovering awkwardly beside him. "You’ve been working a lot lately," you said, your voice filled with concern. "I worry that maybe you're too hard on yourself. You always seem so… serious."

He paused, looking up at you fully now. Serious. It was a word you often used to describe him, but he couldn’t understand why you found it strange. "My work is serious," he said slowly, carefully choosing his words. "The church, faith… these are not things to take lightly." You nodded quickly, but the way your fingers fidgeted with the hem of your blouse told him you didn’t entirely understand. "I know," you said, "but I thought maybe… sometimes it’s okay to not think so much about all the rules. To just… you know, enjoy life a little." He stiffened at that, the tension rising. This wasn’t the first time you had said something like this, and each time it struck a nerve deep within him. He had spent his life devoted to his faith, to guiding others on the path of righteousness. And here you were, with your innocent and almost childlike outlook, suggesting that perhaps it wasn’t all that important.

This innocent and naive look sent him into arousal right away. How should he took you ? On the desk, soft and sweet or in the bed, your beautiful and supple body laid bare for him as you whimper breathlessly under him. Oh, how he wanted to see your belly swell with his love for you. His pretty little housewife round with child. Your naive nature would be perfect to keep you locked in the house, nursing child after child. Looking pretty at his arms was your only duty right now but he could promote you to being the pretty mother of his children. His mind went wild and he imagined what it would be like. « Donnie ? » You squealed innocently seeing him dozing off. Don's eyes snapped open, a brief flash of panic crossing his features before he saw it was you, his beautiful, innocent wife. He smiled then, the tension from earlier dissipating as he looked at you, his heart swelling with love and desire. "Yes, love?" he asked, his voice a gentle rumble.

You walked closer to him, your hair cascading over your shoulders as you stood beside his desk. "It's late, shouldn't we go to bed?" He nodded, his hands moving to the back of your neck, his fingers tracing the curve of your jawline. "Yes, my love. Let's go to bed." As you walked with him, your hand resting in his, he couldn't help but imagine the delightful sin he'd commit with you tonight. As you climbed into bed, he followed, his eyes never leaving your body. He watched the way your nightgown hugged your curves, the way your full breasts peeked out from the top.

He pushed you gently onto the bed, his hands skimming over your body, teasing your nipples through the thin fabric. "Sugar," he whispered, his voice thick and low, "I’m going to take your advice to enjoy life." You bit your lip, your eyes wide and innocent. "Really, Don?" He smiled, his lips brushing against your ear. "Yes, my precious little lamb. Tonight, I'm going to show you that I really enjoy you." And with that, he began to unbutton your nightgown, revealing your soft, supple skin. 

His fingers traced over your body, making you shiver in anticipation. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your neck. "Tonight, you're going to feel the glory of God," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin, "through me." His hands moved lower, sliding under your panties, his fingers finding your wetness. You gasped, your body arching into his touch. "Donnie," you moaned, your voice a sweet, innocent plea. He chuckled softly, his voice full of adoration, "Just wait, darling. Just wait."

You whimpered « Don… please… » Your nails dig in his shoulders as you threw your head backwards. Suddenly Don's fingers danced over your aching clit, sending shivers of pleasure through your body. He watched you, the sight of your sweet, innocent face filled with pleasure driving him wild. "Do you like that, sugar ?" he purred, his voice low and seductive. Your hips bucked against his hand, your back arching as you cried out, "Yes, please…"

He smirked, his fingers delving deeper, finding the sensitive spot that made you gasp and moan. "You're such a good girl, aren't you?" he cooed, his voice a soft rumble against your skin. "Such a sweet, innocent thing." Your body quivered, the pleasure building within you, threatening to spill over. "Don…" you whimpered, your nails digging into his shoulders, leaving tiny crescents of red. He grinned, his fingers slowing as he felt you on the brink. "Not yet, my love," he said, his voice firm but gentle. "Not until I'm buried deep inside you." Suddenly he leaned down between your thighs. You whimpered just from the sight. « Don …what are you doin—… » You moaned loudly when his lips kissed your cunt.

Don's lips brushed against your swollen folds, sending shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body. He inhaled deeply, his senses flooding with your scent—sweet and pure, like you. He flicked his tongue against your clit, making you buck and moan. "Daddy," you breathed, your body trembling.

He chuckled against your flesh, his tongue dancing and teasing, making you squirm beneath him. "Such a naughty little thing," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "But I bet you'd be even naughtier if you were mine completely." The thought sent shivers down your spine, your body quivering as you felt the edge of your climax growing nearer. You couldn't help but whimper, your hips thrusting up to meet his mouth.

« Don…please…your mustache is scratching so good » You whimpered loudly. Don grinned, his mustache brushing against your sensitive skin as he continued his assault on your body. "Is that so, my love?" he purred, the sound low and deep. "I must remember that." He increased the pressure of his lips and tongue, his fingers still teasing your wetness. You cried out, your body arching off the bed as the pleasure mounted. "Donnie…" He smirked, his eyes never leaving yours. "Do you want to cum for me, sweet girl ?" he asked, his voice a low, husky rumble. "Do you want to feel the love of God through me?"

Your body shook, the words sending you hurtling over the edge. "Yes, unh," you cried out, your orgasm washing over you in waves, your body shuddering and trembling. He continued to tease you, his tongue flicking against your clit as you came down from your climax. When you were finally still, he pulled back, his lips trailing kisses along your inner thigh. "Now," he said, cooing, "let's go to Heaven." He positioned himself between your legs, his thick, uncut cock pressing against your wet entrance. He looked down at you, his eyes filled with love and desire. "Are you ready, sweetheart ?" he asked, his voice a deep, seductive rumble. Your body tingled with anticipation, the thought of having him inside you making you tremble. "Donnie," you breathed, your voice soft and sweet. "Please, I'm ready."

You looked at him through half-lidded eyes, his mustache dripping from your cum, pearls of it coating the once silky hair. Don's stared down at you for a moment, his eyes filled with desire, before he pushed into you slowly. The sensation of his thick shaft filling you caused you to gasp, your eyes widening as you adjusted to the feeling. "Oh, God," you whispered, your voice a soft, sweet moan. He paused, his hands gripping your hips as he looked into your eyes. "I'm going to take you to Heaven, little lamb," he growled, his voice low and full of promise. "And I'm not going to let you come down for a very long time." The words echoed in your mind as your body responded to his, the pleasure building within you, threatening to consume you. All you could do was cling to him, your body arching, your nails digging into his shoulders as you cried out his name.

Soon enough you were reduced to a babbling mess who couldn’t form a word as he pounded into you, his heavy sack slapping against your ass. Don took your desire as a challenge, his hips thrusting into you with a force that left you breathless. His hand slid down your body, his fingers digging into your hip as he pulled you closer, his thrusts growing more and more brutal. "Take it, you little slut," he growled, his voice a low, rumbling purr. "Take it from your husband, your God." He felt your body trembling beneath him, the wet sound of his cock slapping against your ass a symphony to his ears. Without warning, his hand left your hip, snaking around your throat, his fingers tightening as he fucked you harder. 

« Uh, uh, uh » You couldn’t talk, you couldn’t breathe… you couldn’t even think as Don fucked you dumb. His left hand squeezed your throat and some of his thick right digits flickered on your clit making you moan loudly. Don's fingers worked your clit with precise, lewd motions, causing your body to shudder and buck under the dual onslaught. "Such a good, dirty little girl," he murmured, his voice a low, seductive growl. "You love it, don't you?" Your body responded without the need for words, your moans filling the room as you clung to him, the pleasure building within you. "Do you want to cum for me again, sugar ?" he asked, his voice a deep, rumbling purr. "Do you want to feel your God's thick cock pumping inside you as you explode?" Your moans grew louder, your body shaking as you felt the edge of another climax drawing near. "Ungh, ungh…" you whimpered, your voice a sweet, innocent whine.

Don's thrusts grew rougher, more primal as he leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear. "You're mine, you know that, little lamb?" he growled, his voice thick with lust. "You're going to feel this cock, this seed, this miracle, pumping into you again and again." His fingers worked your clit with a frenzied intensity, his other hand tightening around your throat as he fucked you, driving you closer to the edge. "I'm going to fill you up, sweetheart," he whispered, his breath hot against your skin. "I'm going to impregnate you, make you full and round with my babies, over and over." His eyes looked crazy, like a wild animal under attack. 

Don's thrusts grew wilder, his face contorting with the pleasure of claiming his wife, his sweet, innocent little lamb. "You're going to be my personal breeding machine," he growled in a guttural moan. "You’re my wife, my church, my everything." His fingers pinched and pulled at your nipples, his other hand squeezing your throat, his cock pumping into you with a fervor that bordered on animalistic. "You're going to be nothing but a vessel for my seed, a temple for my cock," he said, his voice a grinding, lewd purr. "And I'm going to use you, over and over, until you're nothing but a broken, satisfied, and pregnant shell." 

You drooled, your head falling backwards as you let out raw screams of pleasure. Tears flowed down your cheeks. Don's thrusts grew even more brutal, the rhythm of his cock slamming into your tight, perfect pussy echoing through the room. You could feel the shadows of his manhood disappearing deep within your core, the connection between your bodies visceral and primal. With a grunt, he took your legs, hooking your ankles around his neck, nearly folding you in two as he took control. "Such a tight little pussy," he growled, his voice thick with lust. The sight of you drooling, crying, and whimpering, your body trembling beneath him, sent a surge of carnal pleasure coursing through him. "Makes me think that maybe I married you just for her," he whispered, his voice a low, guttural rumble. "A tiny, young cunt to snuggle my cock perfectly while I decompress." 

He pressed into you, his hands gripping your hips, his thrusts fierce and unrelenting. "You're my little plaything, my doll," he breathed, his voice a mix of dirty possessiveness and love. "You're my wife, my bitch, my love." Don's hips continued to thrust, his grip on your legs tight as he folded you into an obscene position. The sight of his thick cock disappearing deep into your body, the outlines of it, showing on your stomach, elicited a groan from his lips.

The sight of your pleasure, the way you drooled and screamed, drove Don wild, his hips slamming into you with a brutal force. "That's it, sweet girl," he groaned, the primal need to claim you, to bury himself in your body, overwhelming. "Daddy wants you to come." He felt your body tense beneath him, your screams growing louder as you reached the peak of your climax. You clung to him, your nails digging into his shoulders as he pounded into you, your body tensing, the edge of your climax drawing near. And as your release crashed over you, you cried out his name, your body convulsing around his cock. "Yes," he roared, his own release surging through him, his cock throbbing inside you. "Cum for me, my love, cum for your God." 

Don felt your body tighten around him, your walls milking his cock as he let out a guttural groan. "Lord, darling," he breathed, his own release surging through him, his cock throbbing inside you. "Such a good little cunt for your husband." He collapsed onto you, his face buried in the crook of your neck, his breathing ragged as he came down from his high. The sounds of your pleasure, the feel of your body still quivering beneath him, left him feeling both satiated and insatiable. His fingers slowly released their hold on your hips, his cock still buried deep inside you. "We're in Heaven, my love," he whispered, his voice thick with love and desire. "Let's stay here for a while, don’t move. » He kissed your cheek with his wet mustache as you laid, broken, on the folded position he put you through it all. 

« Gotta make sure it takes… » He patted gently your belly and his hand caressed the swell of your breasts, occasionally playing with a nipple. You whimpered helplessly from your position, feeling his thick cock in your guts every single time he moved. Finally he pulled away and a big pool of sperm squirted out of you in the most obscene way Don ever saw. He patted your left butt cheek. « You did good, baby. » He cooed softly and pushed back the cum in your fluttering hole. You whined from exhaustion « Donnie ? » You called meekly. « I’m right there, sweetheart » He said reassuringly kissing your forehead.

Nine months later, Don introduced your child to his community with a big smile, pride in you fluttering in his chest for giving him a little miracle.

[emmiesoverthemoon]

AISLE BE DAMNED

one: this could've been an email

wc: 3.1k ss count: 6 < previous | navigation | next >

tuesday, 10:10am

you arrive five minutes before your agreed time and glowing, the sun warming the backs of your legs as you slide into the booth opposite your cousin. she’s already halfway through an iced oat latte and a cinnamon pastry the size of her head.

“oh my goodness, hey gorgeous,” she greets, mouth full, rising to hug you. “that skirt is everything!”

you smile, returning her embrace. “i do it all for you. brunch is sacred.”

the café is airy and tiled in dusty hues, the smell of espresso tangled with vanilla and morning heat. it’s the kind of place that makes you believe in new beginnings, in soft restarts, in easy joy.

after classical so-how’s-life small talk, your cousin leans across the table, eyes bright. “so, i have a proposition for you.”

you sip your chai. “hit me.”

“you plan my wedding.”

you blink. “like… help you plan it?”

“like… plan it. fully.” she shrugs, hopeful. she’s a little anxious, you can tell by the waver in her voice. “start to finish. i trust you. you’re good at this stuff, and you have taste, and good planning skills, and the magic brain. and i’m overwhelmed and incapable of choosing between chairs without crying.”

your first instinct is to laugh. the second is to say yes, of course.

because you love her. because weddings are your favourite genre of event, because planning and decorating are your thing. because she looks like she might dissolve if you don’t.

“i’ll do it,” you agree, instantly, reaching for your phone. “we’ll build you a pinterest board first. there’ll be light installations and garden paths and—”

“okay, yes, love all of that,” she cuts in, voice suddenly small. “but… there’s a catch.”

you pause, suspiciously raising an eyebrow. “what kind of catch?”

she winces and takes a slow sips her drink. her eyes dart to anywhere but your form, refusing to make eye contact.

“i already kind of… have someone helping me.”

your smile begins to wilt. “oh?”

“he’s just a friend of ours, well. more so the fiance’s friend than mine,” she rushes, waving her hands haphazardly. “he offered when we were freaking out last month about things, and i didn’t know if you’d be available, and he’s… helpful. intense. but helpful.”

you narrow your eyes, unsure of the whole ordeal. you just wish you could have done it alone is all! “what’s his name?”

a beat passes, her hesitance unsettles you.

“minho,” she names. “lee minho.”

your stomach drops a little. the name tastes like paper cuts and perfectly aligned spreadsheets.

or is it just the bitter aftertaste of unexpected collaboration?

“he’s really not that bad,” she attempts to comfort quickly, “he’s just… very structured. very type-a kind of guy.”

“you’re saying i have to co-plan this wedding?”

“i’m saying it’ll be amazing. you’re the heart. he’s the brains. together you’ll be unstoppable.”

you stare at her. she stares back with the slightly manic optimism of someone who is very much not going to be part of the actual disaster.

“he can be sweet,” she adds, like a peace offering. “i swear. deep, deep down. you’re amazing, i’m sure you’ll crack through his shell quickly.”

you exhale slowly, reaching for your croissant. “fine. i’m all yours.”

she lights up, and immediately retrieves her phone from her purse to send you his number.

and just like that, the sun over brunch feels a little too bright.

tuesday, 1:53pm

you get home still smelling faintly of syrup and vanilla, the warm rush of brunch already fading into something more sour.

you throw your phone on the couch. it bounces once, screen-down, like even it is ashamed of what comes next.

you take a moment to kick off your shoes and toss your keys to the designated tray. you fill the silence of your home with a slow, theatrical sigh. then: you sit, unlock your phone, and start drafting a message.

polite. breezy. kind of professional, but not stiff. maybe a hint of charm, just enough to make this less painful. you reread it three times. edit an emoji. delete it. press send.

and then you wait.

two minutes later, your phone buzzes. his replies are short. clipped. vaguely insulting. you stare at your screen in disbelief.

who talks to someone new like that? and totally unprovoked?

lee minho, it seems, is all bones and no sugar.

you toss the phone down again and sink deeper into the couch, legs flopped dramatically over the armrest, sighing like a woman in a period film who’s just been informed her betrothed is “adequate.”

"this is going to be amazing," you mutter aloud, glaring at the ceiling.

then, lower, like it’s a confession: "i hate him already."

once you send your availability as requested, your phone buzzes again. it’s probably just a rude command, and you are yet to have the energy to read it.

you don’t respond immediately.

you’re too busy imagining all the ways this could go wrong. and, quietly, the strange, unwelcome twinge of curiosity blooming beneath your irritation.

thursday, 10:35am

you give yourself until the morning of the café meeting to spiral.

by the time sunlight spilt through your blinds, you had looked over your mood board six times, printed out a potential invitation design mock-up that absolutely no one asked for, and chosen your outfit with the intensity of a woman dressing for war.

soft but commanding. romantic but sharp. approachable but not easily walked over. there is blush on your cheeks and steel in your spine.

you talk to your reflection while curling your lashes.

“he’s just a guy. a type-a, emotionally constipated, spreadsheet guy. you’ve met worse. you’ve dated worse. you’re not going to let some polished little control freak ruin this for you.”

you nod and hold eye contact with yourself like it’s a trust exercise.

“you are composed. creative. you are unbothered. you are—”

you think of how he spoke to you in his messages. a hand runs itself over your forehead; the next long period of time spent with someone like this? really?

“you are… not... gonna kill him,” you mutter.

you decide you won't allow some man with a rude tone best you. this is your element! and you're doing your cousin a huge favour here.

because you’re nothing if not committed to a challenge.

and this?

this feels like the start of something awful. or brilliant. or both.

thursday, 11:15am

the café you both have arranged to meet in is pretty in a way that tries very hard not to be. pressed flower menus, exposed brick, a feature wall of trailing ivy that begs to be photographed. you pick a two-seater table in the corner—neutral territory—and set your materials out like armour ready to defend whatever attack is to come.

you spot someone enter the cafe, who your intuition told you was the person you're here to meet. he looks all clean lines, silver watch, zero visible humanity. it had to be him. you watch him scan the café like he’s assessing the structural integrity. he’s in a black button-up like he’s coming from a funeral or a business seminar (you're unable to tell). he approaches the service counter and orders something unintelligible from your distance.

once the order is ready, you see his sharp eyes rake over each patron. when he spots you, he approaches and gives a short nod, not a greeting. he sits without adjusting his expression.

you blink. nice to meet you too.

he lifts the cup, sips once, then sets it down. “you remembered to come. good start.”

you press your lips together, fighting the urge to roll your eyes to the back of your skull. does he think of you an idiot?

“like i would forget.”

you open up your planner. minho lays out his laptop. you bring up centrepiece colour palettes; he brings up guest list conflicts and structure. your visions have artful chaos and romance. his have rigid order and rules.

the next twenty minutes are mental gymnastics in practicing patience. you bring up florals— he talks about logistics. you float the idea of a champagne cart— he shuts it down before you finish the sentence. you suggest golden hour lighting— he reminds you sunset is unpredictable in late spring.

he doesn’t interrupt, not exactly— but his silences are so loud they feel like corrections.

and worst of all?

he’s good at what he's doing.

frustratingly, insufferably, disgustingly competent. you watch him reroute an entire potential reception layout because a hypothetical potential florist had an incompatible delivery method in no more than two minutes, and it was elegant. efficient. infuriating.

“you know,” you say eventually, reaching for your drink, “i think we have very different definitions of what a wedding should feel like.”

he doesn’t even look up. “it should feel seamless.”

you snort. “it should feel unforgettable.”

“seamless is unforgettable.”

“you sound like a walking brochure.”

he glances at you then, just briefly. “you sound like a pinterest board with a wifi connection.”

you stare at him, open-mouthed.

“you’re lucky i'm doing this for my cousin,” you mutter.

“and you’re lucky i like being prepared,” he replies, tapping his pen once against his page. “this would be chaos without me.”

“you think i bring chaos?”

he smiles. not sweetly. “i think you bring… flair.”

“you said that like it’s a disease.”

“i didn’t not mean it like that.”

after an hour that feels like five, you gather your things, already mentally rewriting everything he wrote down on his snobby little laptop.

“venue walkthrough’s next week,” he informs, “i’ll send over my availability.”

“don’t strain yourself.”

he raises an eyebrow. “i won’t.”

you offer him a perfect smile, all sugar and spite. he gives you nothing in return. just walks off, black coffee still in hand, like you were a task on a to-do list he couldn’t wait to tick off.

you watch him disappear around the corner, teeth clenched.

“this,” you say aloud to no one, pulling your phone out from your pocket, “is going to be so fun.”

once minho got in the car, he tossed his laptop onto the passenger seat, shut the door with a soft click, and sat there for a moment. hands still, eyes on the dashboard. the sunlight hit hard across the steering wheel. his jaw felt tight.

he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone, and opened messages. no notifications. he scrolled anyway. checked the time. turned on the engine.

a soft mechanical hum filled the space. he let it settle. then, finally, thumb hovering, he opened his chat.

he ran a hand through his hair.

he was here to help plan a wedding. not… deal with whatever that was.

he locked his phone and pulled out of the carpark.

he didn’t think about it again.

not really.

the next thursday, 8:55am

the forest opens slowly, like a held breath. sunlight drips through tall trees in long gold ribbons, dappling the moss-covered stone steps that lead toward the main clearing. the world smells like rain-soaked bark and white roses in bloom, the silence broken only by the crunch of gravel beneath your shoes and the occasional birdcall echoing somewhere deep above.

it is—if you’re being honest with yourself—stupidly beautiful.

the kind of place where people whisper even when they do not have to. the kind of place that looks like it came with its own filter. the kind of place that makes you believe in soft promises and forever.

you exhale through your nose and murmur, “okay. not bad.”

“just ‘not bad?’”

you don’t have to turn around. you’d recognise that voice anywhere now— clipped, smooth, with the exact tone of a man who does not believe in whimsy.

minho appears beside you, dressed like someone who doesn’t trust nature to behave itself. black again. always black. he holds a rolled-up blueprint under one arm and a coffee in his other hand, which feels offensive somehow.

you don’t dignify his sass with a response.

instead, you both drift toward the heart of the venue— the open-air clearing where the ceremony will take place. it’s framed by a white pergola, wrapped in fresh wisteria, with vintage chairs laid out in perfect rows that slope gently toward the altar.

“she's going to cry when she sees this,” you say, softer now.

“she’ll cry regardless,” minho says. “but yes. it’s nice.”

you glance at him.

he doesn’t look moved, exactly— but his eyes are locked on the treetops, the subtle shift of branches moving above the altar. for a second, he’s very still.

you look away before you can start projecting a personality onto him.

the venue coordinator joins you, clipboard in hand and smile too big for this quiet forest. she runs through the ceremony outline and power supply details, marking off lighting placements and “wet weather backup” logistics while you both follow, mostly silent.

except for minho. minho is never silent when he has an opinion.

“these cables will have to be repositioned,” he mutters, crouching to inspect the outer edge of the aisle. “if the musicians set up here, they’ll be blocking the view from the fourth row. not to mention the audio balance—”

“oh my god,” you sigh, crouching beside him. “can you give it five minutes before you start rearranging the trees?”

he doesn’t look at you. just gestures to the uneven slope of the ground. “do you want the bride to trip walking down the aisle? is that what your ideal “vibe” is?”

you lean in, dangerously close. “the vibe is a nice wedding. not a safety seminar.”

he glances sideways at you.

you glance back.

you’re close enough to feel his shoulder shift when he breathes. the forest is very quiet.

you both look away.

the coordinator leaves you to “walk the space” and finalise creative decisions. which, of course, means arguing.

“i still think the florals should be elevated,” you think aloud, gesturing toward the seating rows. “just on low plinths. it frames the aisle better in photos.”

“or it blocks the view for half the guests.”

“not if it’s arranged correctly.”

“which you think you’ll do personally?”

“i would if you’d let me within three feet of your spreadsheet.”

he exhales sharply— an almost laugh, except not nice.

“you’re not the first aesthetic genius i’ve worked with,” he quips, turning toward the altar.

“and you’re not the first control freak i’ve had to try to tolerate,” you shoot back.

the silence that follows is… heavier than it should be.

you step up beside him under the pergola, where sunlight pours like honey between the beams, spilling across your feet. minho glances at the lattice above.

“the light’s good here,” he murmurs, half to himself. “the bride’s dress will glow.”

you blink— it’s the first time you’ve heard him say anything that sounds like a feeling.

“see?” you say, a little too smug. “you can do romance.”

he turns to you, expression unreadable. “i never said i couldn’t. just that i prefer function over fantasy.”

“they’re not mutually exclusive,” you say, chin lifted, “not everything has to be entirely cold and practical.”

“and not everything has to be entirely whimsical and unrealistic.”

you face him fully. he’s standing closer than necessary. the air shifts, just slightly.

“i’m trying to make something beautiful,” you say.

he looks at you for a second too long.

“…so am i,” he replies quietly.

you both look away at the same time.

the final stop is the reception hall.

arched windows, soft chandeliers, walls the colour of antique lace. the breeze curls through the open doorways, catching stray petals off the tables left half-decorated for today’s walkthrough. the room smells like lemon cake and eucalyptus.

you walk in first. he follows.

“twenty tables,” he says, eyes scanning. “we’ll need to rotate two of them if we want to avoid congestion.”

“i already accounted for that,” you reply, pulling a mock layout from your folder.

he blinks at it. tilts his head.

“…this is good.”

you turn slowly, dramatically. “did you just compliment me?”

“don’t let it go to your head.”

“you just admitted i was right.”

“i said it was good. not perfect.”

“that's a compliment, coming from you.”

he exhales again. quieter this time.

you can’t help it— you smile. just a little.

you part ways in the gravel parking area with nothing more than a glance. the wind ruffles your papers. minho’s already opening his car door.

“i’ll send an updated schedule tonight,” he calls.

“make sure it includes time for feelings,” you call back.

he doesn’t reply. but you think—maybe—you hear the ghost of a laugh before the door shuts behind him.

you stare at the trees overhead. the branches sway like they know something you don’t.

you have no idea how this is going to work.

but, god help you, you are kind of looking forward to the next disaster.

kind of.

thursday, 7:32pm

later that night, your apartment is a mess of ribbon samples and open notebooks, your laptop glowing faintly beneath a half-eaten box of macarons. you sit cross-legged on the couch, phone in one hand, scribbling notes with the other, still high on adrenaline and candle-scented air.

you should be exhausted.

instead, your brain is running like it’s on stage, spotlight bright, full of centrepieces and dance floor placements and the exact shade of ivory the linens need to be.

you keep thinking about that moment beneath the pergola—how the sun lit the edges of his jaw. how he spoke softly like he meant it.

it’s infuriating.

you shake your head. type something aggressive in your planning document in attempt to alleviate some tension.

note to self: stop thinking about lee minho.

as if the man of the hour is listening to your thoughts, your phone buzzes.

you can almost hear the smugness through the screen.

across the city, minho sits in his dark kitchen, screen tilted back, a faint hum of lo-fi playing into the quiet. his notes are neatly filed, tasks ticked off. he stares at the seating chart for a second longer than necessary.

then opens your shared drive to scroll through the moodboard. he takes a moment to pause on a photo of candles in various antique candelabras, immersed in the decor, the light flickering like hushed giggles.

he tilts his head, feeling the corners of his lips curl slightly.

"hm."

and that’s all.

< previous | navigation | next >

here’s chapter one !!! ty for reading :)

stay tuned for chapter two and beyond <3

my other fics

taglists (ask in comments to be added)

aisle be damned taglist: @skzbyemmy @starlostjisung @hanjisrockstar @bahngarang @dostoevskydidion @mal-lunar-28 @kissesmellow21 @bestboileeknow @professionalcaratdeobi @madebybec @nightshadeblooming @roseanne-yoon @kuroosluthoe @skyearby @wormi @havennz @0x1lovesong1

permanent taglist: @burlesquerade @makeitworse @petersasteria @gdinthehouseee @aizshallnotbefound @floofeh-purpi @ldydeath @wcnderlnds @ttturnitup @breakmeoff @sherrayyyyy @ricecake9999 @leni111 @scream-queen-25 @spiritualgirly444 @fairyprincesslvr21 @loonybunny1 @uuchii @sherxoo @m-325 @slut4junho @galgal-egg @queenofdumbfuckery

[akiisp]

“Mixtape Love” D.M || One-shot

Draco x fem! reader

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ 　༻✦༺　༻✧༺

Summary: Draco Malfoy isn’t supposed to notice a half-blood — especially one who breaks curfew to sit alone in the Astronomy Tower, listening to strange Muggle music on a clunky cassette player. But when he hears the soft, haunting voice spilling from her speakers, he stays.

Draco doesn’t understand her world — sugar quills and mixtapes, tapes rewound by hand — but he keeps showing up. And slowly, through music and stillness and the simple act of being near her, something in him begins to shift.

A gentle, slow-burn romance about unexpected connection, soft soundscapes, and falling for someone one song at a time.

Warnings: Fluff, no specific house mentioned

༻✦༺ 　༻✧༺　༻✦༺ ༻✧༺ 　༻✦༺　༻✧༺

The Astronomy Tower was supposed to be off-limits after curfew. But tonight, that didn’t seem to stop her.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the stone floor, back against the cold wall, a blanket draped over her shoulders and a small cassette player beside her. A faint hum drifted into the air — low, airy music that didn’t quite match the chill of the night. It was the kind of sound that didn’t demand attention but still wrapped itself around you.

Draco Malfoy had only come up to get away.

The Slytherin common room had grown suffocating — too many expectations, too many whispers. He wasn’t meant to be here, repeating a year with kids who had watched him fall apart. He wasn’t meant to be anywhere, really.

And yet… here he was. Watching her from the doorway, unnoticed.

She looked calm. Not just quiet, but truly still — like nothing in the world could touch her in that moment. Her eyes were closed, and her fingers tapped softly on her knee in time with the music. The headphones lay unused beside her. The song poured softly through the cassette’s tiny speakers, fuzzy around the edges.

He didn’t recognize the music. It was slow, haunting. Dreamy. And entirely unlike anything he'd ever heard in the wizarding world.

“Now you’re above feeling it still..”

The voice floated up, full of longing.

He should’ve turned around. Should’ve scoffed or sneered or said something cruel to protect whatever pride he had left.

Instead, he stepped closer.

The stone creaked beneath his foot. Her eyes snapped open.

For a moment, they just stared at each other.

Then she blinked and said, without a hint of surprise, “Didn’t expect company.”

Draco tucked his hands into his coat pockets. “Didn’t expect someone using Muggle contraband as a lullaby.”

She gave a soft huff of laughter. “It’s not contraband. Just music.”

He glanced at the player. “Doesn’t look like music.”

“You’ve never heard a cassette before?”

“Obviously not.”

She considered him for a moment, then reached over and picked up the headphones. “Want to?”

Draco blinked. “What, now?”

“Well,” she said lightly, “you already broke curfew. Might as well commit.”

She held them out to him. The cord dangled between her fingers. The wind played with a few strands of her hair.

He hesitated — but only for a second.

Then he sat beside her, leaving a cautious bit of space between them. She placed one ear of the headphones over his right ear, keeping the other for herself. The tape clicked softly, and the song resumed.

“Tell me it’s love, tell me it’s real”

It was like falling into something — something slow and unfamiliar, a sound with no spells or structure, just… feeling. The lyrics were simple, but the voice was aching. And when he turned to look at her, she wasn’t watching him.

She was looking at the stars.

“I come here to listen sometimes,” she said quietly. “When the castle feels too loud.”

Draco’s throat felt tight for some reason. “Why this song?”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t ask for anything. It just… exists. Gently.”

That silence stretched between them again, but this time, it felt softer. The kind of silence you share, not the kind that pushes you away.

It was strange — no lyrics about magic or heroics, no grand crescendos. Just a slow, steady pulse and a dreamy voice that melted into the night air.

They didn’t speak again.

When the tape clicked to a stop, Draco stood, gave a nod, and walked off — coat trailing behind him like a shadow.

The next day, he found himself humming the tune under his breath.

He didn’t mean to find her again — not really.

But two evenings later, there she was, sitting by the Black Lake, shoes off, cassette player propped on a rock beside her. The water reflected a pale sunset. She was chewing on a piece of sugar quill and absently rewinding the tape.

Draco stopped walking.

She looked up. “You again.”

“Me again.”

She held his gaze for a beat. Then: “Curious, or lost?”

“Neither.” He nodded toward the player. “Do you mind if I…?”

She smiled, brighter this time, and handed him the headphone.

After that, it became a thing.

They didn’t talk about it. They just… met. By the lake. In a quiet hallway. Under a tree near the edge of the forest. Always late, always quiet.

And always with music.

Sometimes she brought a new tape. Sometimes he asked what the song was about. Most of the time, they just listened — leaning against stone, or grass, or each other.

Draco didn’t understand it — this calm, this warmth, this girl who didn’t flinch when he sat beside her.

But he kept showing up.

And she kept hitting “play.”

The grass was cold, but the blanket between them was warm.

Draco lay on his back, staring up at a navy sky scattered with early stars. Y/N lay beside him, one arm tucked behind her head, the other resting lightly on the cassette player as it played yet another dreamy Muggle song — this one slower, a little sadder, like the earth itself was starting to hum along with it.

Neither of them spoke.

They’d been out there for over an hour now. At some point, Draco had tugged his cloak off and thrown it over both of them. She hadn’t protested. She’d just shifted a little closer, shoulder brushing his.

The headphones were shared again — one each. The wire stretched between them like some delicate thread of connection they didn’t dare break.

“You've been locked in here forever & you just can’t say goodbye…”

“Kisses on the foreheads of the lovers wrapped in your arms”

Draco let out a quiet breath.

“This one’s different,” he murmured. “What is it?”

“Apocalypse,” she whispered. “Still Cigarettes After Sex. A little moodier.”

He turned his head slightly to look at her.

Her eyes were half-lidded, lashes dark against her cheek. Her face, soft in the low light, looked calmer than he'd ever seen it. Like her mind had already started drifting into a dream.

Draco blinked slowly.

She shifted again, sleepily, and her head ended up resting against his shoulder.

He froze.

And then, quietly, slowly… relaxed.

A breeze whispered through the trees. The music kept playing. Her breath warmed the side of his neck.

“Your lips,

My lips,

Apocalypse…”

The world softened around the edges.

He didn’t realize he was falling asleep until his fingers twitched and the warmth of her next to him stopped feeling like surprise and started feeling like home.

When he woke, the stars had shifted.

The cassette had clicked off, long finished. His arm had wrapped itself protectively around her waist sometime during the night, and her hand rested lightly over his heart.

For a moment, Draco just… stared.

He wasn’t used to peace. He wasn’t used to this.

And yet — with her still curled against him, music forgotten, the lake whispering at the edge of the world — he didn’t want to move.

Not yet.

Maybe not ever.

[simplyafountainpen]

Upside-Down Tea Parties

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Queen's Grandson!Reader x the Phantomhive Estate

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: Queen Victoria needed a place to send (Y/n) for safe keeping, and much to their chagrin, The Phantomhive Estate is chosen. Can they survive the child's shenanigan's?

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Found family, chaotic behavior, fluff, small amount of angst, self harm mentioned once(1), Child!Reader, Wonderland themed!Reader, Reader is impiled to be around Ciel's age

{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝I absolutely adore all of your writings!! They're just so immaculately written! Could you make a story where the reader is grandson of the Queen, and she sends him to the Phantomhive estate? And, so, Ciel (in addition to Sebastian, Mey-Rin, Finnie, and Baldroy with a part in there) has to look after him. Fluff, and a bit of chaos. X)❞ - Anon

"Dear Lord Phantomhive,

It has come to my attention that my Grandson, Prince (Y/n), is not safe within castle walls. Recently he has been subject to a plethora of attacks on his life, such as poisoning and false guards attempting assassination in the night. I believe it would be in my best interests to send him with a closely trusted confidant, which would be you. You're both rather close in age, you see, and he has long needed someone to confide in. I do hope you understand these circumstances, and I hope that I may ensure his safety with you. Oh what am I saying, naturally he'll be safe with you, my Guard Dog.

When you receive this letter, I expect you to hurry your way to the Royal Palace Immediately. I cannot send him, we have no lesser carriages on hand. So I send for you, Lord Phantomhive.

I am sure you will not let me down.

With much Sincerity and Haste,

Elizabeth R"

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

{𝓒𝓲𝓮𝓵 𝓟.𝓞.𝓥}

Ciel was more than pissed. He was a Noble! A detective if anything, and the Queen's GUARD DOG. He was not, in no way shape or form, a babysitter.

And yet, here he sat, in his now cramped-feeling carriage with Her Majesty’s grandson. Just great. Amazing, even.

He glared at the boy in question who leaned casually against the plush seats of the carriage. His stupid dazed and slight smile with painted lips. His clothes, much more expensive then the ones Ciel had on of course, with their many ruffles and lace trimmings and his idiotic, shiny, well kept hair. It was safe to say Ciel hated him.

What's more, he was suspicious of this "(Y/n)" character, especially the personal bag he held beside him. He simply insisted that the bag stayed by him, even nearly biting Sebastian’s wrist when he insisted he place it with the rest of his luggage.

‘How absurd.’ Thought Ciel. He could just barely see the similarities between this child and the Queen. The eye shape and overall disposition, but beyond those two things, nothing.

(Y/n) seemed nothing like his grandmother.

“Are you going to keep staring at me like that, my dear Alice?” Ciel flinched at his words, snapping out of his internal monologue of everything wrong with this (Y/n).

“… What did you just call me?” (Y/n) giggled slowly, lazily, showing off his long, white fangs and sharpened teeth. The back of his throat, when it opened so wide, had bits of gold leaf stuck to the back, perhaps from food or medication?

“Alice, my dear I of course called you Alice! The mousy structure and your curiosity towards my being speak it so, my darling Alice. Even through your one eye I sense an air of mystery surrounding thee, and as such you do not belong, my charming, darling Alice you.” He spoke in a sing-song manner, before leaning close, eyes covered in shadow and lips in a teasing smirk.

“No, you do not belong in this wonderland of ours, do you mine own Alice?” Ciel shivered at his tone, light and airy voice becoming dark and gravelly in a moment. Before he could refute, the carriage stopped and the sound of someone walking filled both boys ears and the door opened, revealing Sebastian.

“Your Majesty, Young Master.” He held a hand out, and (Y/n) gleefully took it, his bag in hand, hopping down the step of the steps while muttering ‘hop, hop’ under his breath, turning around and giving Ciel a large smile. Ciel groaned, ignoring Sebastian’s hand and climbing down himself, trekking up the stairs to his manor, you behind him and Sebastian quickly making his way beside him after retrieving your other, many bags.

Ciel, despite having a demon by his side, refused to believe in any kind of merciful God. But despite this, he found himself nearly praying that everything in the house was in order, having left Finnie, Mey-rin and Baldroy by themselves, against his will. Obviously.

Sebastian opened the door, letting both Ciel and the boy behind him in, said door shutting immediately behind them.

To Ciel’s shock and utter surprise, the floors were polished and everything dusted in the main hall, nothing out of place. No noticeable fires, no screaming, nothing broken on the ground… odd.

“Come, Your Majesty. First Sebastian will show you to your room, then we will meet back in study. Dinner will then be served not long after, around six. Does this please you?" Even if Ciel didn't much like this (Y/n), he had to show repect. He'd rather not the odd boy running home and complaining about Ciel to his grandmother. What a world of trouble that would create.

"Oh more than, dear Alice!" Sebastian looked between him and (Y/n) with a curious glance, "I suppose then I shall see you in but a moment! Come now, mine White Rabbit!" (Y/n) smiled at Sebastian who looked confused at the newfound nickname. Then, without knowing where he was headed, that child began to walk off, humming a song Ciel had never heard before, marching up the stairs and out of sight, Sebastian following close behind with bags in hand.

This was going to be a stressful while.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

{𝓡𝓮𝓰𝓾𝓵𝓪𝓻 𝓟.𝓞.𝓥}

You marched with a purpose now behind the White Rabbit, humming all the while. Your personal bag hung heavily on your shoulder but you didn't mind, swinging it merrily all the while. You didn't care to acknowledge the strange looks the White Rabbit gave you, only to continue humming. Eventually your humming turned to singing under your breath, which quickly turned to belting the lyrics and dancing, grabbing the White Rabbit by the arms, forcing him to drop you things, and you dropping your held bag, spinning the both of you around in the hall you both currently inhabited.

"Speak roughly to your little boy, and beat him when he sneezes;

He only does it to annoy,

Because he knows it teases! Wow, wow, wow!"

You spun the White Rabbit faster, your natural grin growing much wider than normal, heels clicking quickly across the floor. You could feel his gaze across your skin, confused and intrigued you supposed. Though again, you did not care, and only continued to sing.

"I speak severely to my boy,

I beat him when he sneezes;

For he can thoroughly enjoy

The pepper when he pleases! Wow wow wow!"

Once that last wow left your lips you let out loud, boisterous laughter, tripping over one of your many bags and falling on the floor, your head landing harshly on the wood. The White Rabbit rushed over but you didn't much care, only continuing to laugh. You hands shot to your face to wipe away the tears that had yet to spill down your cheeks.

"Your Majesty, are you alright?" You registered his voice but the hilarity of the situation was to much to bear, so you did not respond. Instead you though about how hilarious it was that someone such as yourself, would fall and bump your head. It was silly, almost mocking, as you knew you were not right in the noggin. The bump might've jostled things even further out of place you mused.

Finally you peeked at Mr. Rabbit through your fingers, lazed smile still perched on your lips. You simply reached a hand up, prompting him to pull you up. You quickly wretched you hand away and picked up your bag again, waiting on him to pick up the rest, ignoring his questions. Your heels tapped the floor as you fiddled with the hair on you head, pulling a few strands out from your scalp and staring at them. After a moment, he had finally grabbed all your items with a sigh, continuing to lead you both to what would be your current room.

No more did you hum or sing, taking more interest with the lace on your shirt and the buttons on your pants. Your eyes were dazed, as though you no longer there as you listened to the breathing in the hall. You knew your own breath, slow and calm no matter the situation, but the White Rabbit, your hard-working White Rabbit, no he did not breath. His chest was still, far too still of something that still acquired that thing dubbed "humanity". You began to snicker again, breaking the silence that had fallen over you two, the White Rabbit only glancing at you now.

You both made it to your room, you running over to your bed and flopping down across it, bag falling off your arm and finding it's place on the bed beside you. You rolled across the covers, laughing once more. The White Rabbit only stared as you stopped and sucked in a deep breath, sitting up suddenly and facing him, pointing a finger.

"Oh White Rabbit, how your nose twitches so, dost thou not need to return to your Alice? I am assured that I may be able to place all of mine own belongings in their preferred spots," a giggle erupted from your throat before you continued, "Clothes to the ceiling and shoes in the drawers, undergarments under the bed, makeup in the bath. They whisper to me so. Should you not go you will witness them dancing to made-up songs that only whisper in my head to the beat of the crickets outside and the ants that march through the walls. Again, I believe it in your best interests to return to that darling Alice, or I will take a letter opener to my eye and paint this bed spread red!" Your threat was well laced in cheer and joy, as though you had just said the most wonderous thing in the world.

The White Rabbit's eyes widened if only a fraction of an inch, though that same, laxed expression he had held the whole time remained. He silently nodded, something you giggled at again, then stiffly walked out the door, which he shut behind him. Once the White Rabbit left, your smile dropped as you immediately began to dig through the bag you had carried in yourself until you came across a small spherical container.

Opening the container you found your pills, rolled to perfection and doused in gold leaf. You sighed, seeing you had enough to last more than a few months. Your grandmo- The White Queen usually ordered them in mass so you wouldn't run out for a long while in case of emergency. You took a quick breath and put them back, right next to the caterpillar themed hookah with many different flavored tobaccos - called shisha you mused to yourself - and small water capsules you carried with you everywhere incase you truly felt you needed to relax.

"Hello mister Dormouse." You whispered as a rather large brown mouse creeped out of your bag, nose twitching and huffing at the new air around him, collar of lace with a blue ribbon with a sugar cube charm shaking slightly. You giggled, picking up the still small compared to you mouse and placed him into your pocket. "Tea time is later and naturally I need my Dormouse." He squeaked in agreement.

You closed that bag and hopped up to another, opening it to find the bottom covering in soft grasses, a brown hare staring back at you.

"And you, my March Hare, must also be with me for our future tea time." You grinned, and the March Hare chittered. His collar, which was lace with a yellow ribbon, golden pocket watch attached to the large bow tied in the front. You opened you coat to reveal a few pockets inside, one big enough for the rabbit, which is exactly where you placed him.

"Both of you, still and silent as the night now, understood?" Both seemingly nodded and you smiled, happy to feel both their warmth's against you.

You silently closed the March Hare's bag, wondering over to the bag that held your clothes. Now to find a way to reach the ceiling...

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

It was silent as you and the White Rabbit walked down the halls once more, no humming or singing from you. You knew your pupils were enlarged and you were swaying, however, your body ready for your needed drugs, to which one was slipped into the pocket opposite of the Dormouse. However, you eventually got tired of walking so you rushed up to the White Rabbit, pulling on his tail coat.

"Yes, Your Majesty?" He asked, turning to face you. You looked down, embarrassed, before lifting your arms and making a grabbing motion. "Would you like me too... pick you up?" He then questioned.

"...Piggy back ride please..." You muttered, still looking down. The White Rabbit stared for a moment, making your embarrassment grow, until he chuckled. Your head raced up, about to speak, before he pulled you up, grabbing under your thighs to make sure you were secure.

"Is this comfortable, Your Majesty?" You nodded, pushing your head into his shirt as the White Rabbit then took you to meet Alice in his study. Silence filled the hall again, minus the footsteps of the White Rabbit. You could get used to this. Usually the cards at your own home didn't like picking you up much, complaining that you were old enough to walk by yourself or that as the Prince you should be better and blah blah blah...

... You liked the White Rabbit. He was nice.

And you noted he said nothing when you nuzzled further into his neck.

The door to the study creaked open, Alice sitting behind his desk working on paperwork. You never much liked paperwork, preferring to read stories over it, making your usual butler mad. Alice looked up and promptly took note of you being on the White Rabbit's back.

You whined when he began to put you down but allowed him to anyway, rubbing at your eyes for but a moment before racing over to the front of Alice's desk.

"What are you working on, my dear Alice?" He grunted, making eye contact with you for only a moment before looking back down at the work, pen gliding gracefully across the papers.

"Simply looking over some reports, Your Majesty." He replied, now glaring at some of the work. "Reports for what?" You question, Alice sucked through his teeth, now looking annoyed, but he calmed himself before responding.

"My company." "And what would that be?" You could tell he was quickly losing his patience with you but continued to keep his cool, admirable in your eyes. You had overheard from staff that you could be quite annoying.

"The Fumtom Corporation. More specifically, these reports are from the toy branch and-" "YOU SELL TOYS!?!" Your absolute surprise and joy caught the two men off guard, especially when you slammed you hands down on Alice's desk and began to jump with palms still firmly placed on the mahogany surface of the desk, each leap going higher and higher into the air, until you were practically doing a handstand on Alice's desk. You steadied yourself on your hands, still looking on in wonder at Alice. The White Rabbit had appeared behind you - to catch you if you fell, you supposed - but you held steady, instead walking on your hands to Alice.

Once you were both practically face you face, your amazed face broke out into the widest grin seen yet, and you ensured all of your amazingly sharp teeth were on display.

"Oh tell me, dear Alice, yes please tell me: What amazingly wondrous toys does this Corporation of yours create? What wonders do you give the children on the streets to brighten up their days and mayhaps even brighten up their weeks? What joyous little bundles do you leave within their arms to warm up their tiny spirits and light up their eyes, to send them into the embrace of hope and lighten up their lives? Oh please my Alice, leave me not in suspense! Tell me now, oh tell me please!" As you spoke, you leaned and walked closer until both your noses were practically touching, eyes meeting his extremely confused and perhaps even frightened one with your own filled with nothing but joy and euphoria.

"We... make make stuffed animals, most notably a white rabbit named Bitter Rabbit," you giggled and the White Rabbit snuffed out a sigh, "toy trains, planes, various board games, card games, dolls and doll houses, and much more." Your smile somehow grew as your legs began to lean forward, Alice stifling a sound of fear and Mr. Rabbit rushing to the side of the desk to catch you, till your feet landed on the top of Alice's chair and you flipped up, now standing on edge of the back of chair.

You turned to face the same way Alice did and leaned plus crouched down till your head was next to Alice's.

"How joyous this is, my darling Alice. As I am here, may I ask for some toys? I quite enjoy them, as you may be able to see if one takes the venture to mine room within the White Castle and find my rather impressive collection. One made of many years simple loneliness. I would like you to be the first to see it, and it is quite extensive, I might add. More than anything though, I would adore adding your toys to my collection-" before you could continue on your sudden rant, the doors to the study opened up, revealing a smaller girl with red hair and some of the thickest-yet-most-flimsy looking glasses you have ever seen in your live.

"Five of spades..." You muttered, all of your attention off Alice now, though you did notice how tension seemed to leave his shoulders as you stood back up on the back of his chair.

"U-uhm... dinner is ready, Master Ciel. A-AND YOUR MAJESTY!!-" With a squeak, the card quickly exited the room, igniting yet another smile across your face.

"A hunt has begun! Let us make haste men, grab your guns and hounds and let us be off! Away with us, away!!" As you shouted, you leapt off the back of the chair, landing on an empty part of Alice's desk, then jumped off the desk and ran off into the hall, hollering and whooping all the while. You cared not to look back and see if Alice and the White Rabbit were following behind, rushing after the card who only seemed to squeak louder and run faster.

You dared not overrun her, for if you did the odds of you missing the dinning room were high, seeing as that was where she most likely would be running to, it was fresh on the mind after all. But run too slow and you would surely lose her in these winding halls. So you paced yourself, making sure you didn't employ the same tactics you may have used at home, such as leaping over other servants or furniture, or running and jumping across the walls.

You threw your hands in the air, whooping once more as you hurried, the card turned another corner and into a room, and upon entering this room, you came across a table with a beautiful spread, not caring if a few items were lightly burnt. You awed at the table, completely forgetting about the Five of Spades that ran into a door off of the room.

You were stagnate as Alice and the White Rabbit entered the room. Slowly you turned to them, sharp teeth fully on display. With another sharp turn, you skipped down to the head of the table, and took the seat that would usually be Alice's, or so you assumed anyway.

"Let us play a game. I will pretend to be Alice during this meal so graciously prepared in what I can only assume to be my name, and Alice pretend to be me!! My White Rabbit, come to me! Or should I call thee, Sebastian?" Your voice voice was condescending and patronizing, your grin turning more into a smirk as you crossed you legs. The duo looked at each other and you could tell Alice was getting tired of your games, but once more, due to your staggering lineage, he was forced to obey.

"Fine, Your Majesty-" Ah ah ah! I am no longer "Your Majesty"! I am Ciel Phantomhive, earl of the Phantomhive name, The Queen's Guard dog and master of the Funtom Corporation. YOU, are now "His Majesty”, dear (Y/n)." Your sudden slipping into the role genuinely impressed them, judging by their slightly widened eyes. You hand raised and you snapped, grin washing off your face as an expression far to similar to Alice's crossed over your eyes.

"Sebastian, did I not call for you?" You voice lowered, becoming more serious and bold. You pointed to you side and stiffly did the White Rabbit come. You coughed into your fist to get his attention, looking up at him with one of your eyes closed.

"Thank you, if you would begin serving us..?" The White Rabbit nodded and started piling plates, while you turned back to Alice. "And how has this day been so far, Your Majesty? I am assured that everything was too your liking?" You clasped your hands and leaned onto the table, not flinching at the plate set before you.

"It.. was fine... Alice?" He was confused, which was fair, but at the very least Alice was playing along, which was much better then what your were expecting of him. Though, you had to continue to play your part, and as such, you smirked.

"Wonderful to hear. Now, after dinner I've planned-" You were cut off by a scream, similar to that of the squeak the Five of Spades made as she ran. Glancing back at the door she entered, you made a noise of amazement as said Five of Spades ran out of the room, the bottom of her dress on fire. Following her was the Seven of Spades and the Two of Spades, the Seven holding a flamethrower and the Two holding a bucket of water.

The game was long forgotten in your mind as you jumped up and laughed at the scene, chair clattering behind you as you raised your hands to clap. Alice also stood, though an expression akin to rage crossed his face, but before he could call the White Rabbit, the Five of Spades tripped, and the Seven flew over her onto the table with the flamethrower igniting. The tablecloth caught fire and burst into flame. The Two of Spades dropped his bucket and grabbed the Seven with one hand, pulling him off. His other hand was occupied by his straw hat, fanning the flames and making them higher.

Instead of running or screaming or any other reaction you knew would've been natural, you screamed in glee at the chaos, closing your coat so the flames wouldn't lick your or the March Hare's skin and fur. You laughed gayly and loudly, your amusement overshadowing every other scream and shout through the room. That excitement was quickly snuffed, however, when the White Rabbit grabbed the bucket the Two of Spades had forgotten and threw it at the fire, calming the flames if only by a little. Though, he took that chance and lifted the large tablecloth with now charred food, rushing it behind that door they kept running behind. You rushed behind him, your own safety at the back of your mind, bursting through the half-closed door to watch him shove the cloth and food into a full sink, plates and utensils be dammed.

"MEY-RIN! BALDROY!! FINNIE!! WHAT WAS THAT?!?" It seemed that Alice had finally snapped. You glanced at the White Rabbit who stared back at you with a blank expression, until you giggled and skipped out the room.

Entering the room, the three cards were on their knees as Alice all but shouted at them, spewing insults and otherwise, emphasizing the fact that something of that caliber should not have happened in front of you. You chuckled, and Alice's head whipped back to you in shock. You continued to skip over, moving past Alice to the cards.

"Now now, don't listen to this mean old Alice, I personally think it was a whirlwind of fun!" Alice sputtered behind you but you shushed her quickly and continued. "He may wish for punishment but I say bring us more merriment! Which of you cooked that would-have-been wonderful feast?" The Seven of Spades meekly raised a hand, cigarette nearly falling from his trembling lips.

"Well, my fair fellow, how would you say you do in the world of sugary confectionaries?" He looked confused for a moment, until the Two of Spades nudged him, causing him to cough and respond quickly.

"I'd say fair, s-sir? YOUR MAJESTY- I mean-" You nodded and pushed a hand to your chin, smiling.

"Then, my fair Seven of Spades, how fast do you think you could get us a couple batches of cookies and tarts? Perhaps even some small cakes or cakes of the cup variety?" The blond nodded with a now thoughtful expression.

"We have some cookies and cakes in the back including of the... uhm... cup? Variety?? But in terms of tarts... that'd take at least an hour... unless I sped things up with my flamethrower!" As if timed, a piece of the card's hair set back alight, the cards beside him slapped their heads as Alice geared up to start screaming again, then you interrupted with even more joyous laughter.

"Good, good! Then be off, fair fellow! My fair Seven of Spades be off, I will come with you in this endeavor and we will create the best tarts this accursed world has ever seen! Let us make haste, my glorious card! Come, come!" You pulled on his sleeve and dragged him away leaving behind an incredulous looking Alice and two very confused cards.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

The others looked at you as if you were God. Not one thing on the trays were burnt, and neither were you nor the Seven of Spades. No one was able to ask any questions as you helped set the table back up, setting down treats, treats, and more treats. You then helped move tea pots and cups all across the table, though there were multiple sets placed down, each was of different color and some you could tell Alice began to realize he didn't own.

"Uhm... Y-Your Majesty? Not to be rude or speak out of turn or anything like that but uhm... why do you have so many tea sets?" You turned to look at the Five of Spades, who was sweating behind her glasses. You ginned, and chuckled, before pressing a hand to your chest.

"Why my dear, darling Five of Spades, it's to play my absolute favorite game of course! I'll explain the rules when all the cups have been filled!" You danced around the table, filling each cup with tea from different teapots, even if the cup didn't match the pot. You placed different sweets all around as well scattering them in a random pattern that made no sense to those next to you.

Finally you stopped, staring at your hard work. You were more than excited to finally start the game. Picking up a teacup, you swapped it for another, then another, then another and another and another. You switched tea cups around at a rapid pace, not one ending up in its previous position. You began to laugh once more, the laughter bubbling up through your throat and echoing through the hall as you ran around the table with tea cups balancing on you shoulders and head, placing them down. You began to hum again, the White Rabbit straitening up behind you with tension in his shoulders, Alice and the cards looking at him curiously. And just as in the hall with the White Rabbit, you began to sing.

"I sent a message to the fish: I told them "This is what I wish."

The little fishes of the sea They sent an answer back to me.

The little fishes' answer was "We cannot do it, sir, because—"

I sent to them again to say "It will be better to obey."

The fishes answered, with a grin, "Why, what a temper you are in!"

I told them once, I told them twice: They would not listen to advice.

I took a kettle large and new, Fit for the deed I had to do.

My heart went hop, my heart went thump; I filled the kettle at the pump.

Then some one came to me, and said, "The little fishes are in bed."

I said to him, I said it plain, "Then you must wake them up again."

I said it very loud and clear; I went and shouted in his ear.

But he was very stiff and proud; He said, "You needn't shout so loud!"

And he was very proud and stiff; He said, "I'd go and wake them, if—"

I took a corkscrew from the shelf: I went to wake them up myself.

And when I found the door was locked, I pulled and pushed, and kicked and knocked.

And when I found the door was shut, I tried to turn the handle, but—"

You abruptly stopped singing when you reached the head of the table once more, your eyes creased from the wide smile on your face. Your mirth even transferred to the cards. You yanked the chair from its spot, standing on it and pulling a teacup and spoon up with you, uncaring of anything that spilled over the rim.

"Here this, my loyal subjects, as I announce the game of the evening! We will be playing such a game that includes all of you! So, take a seat at this fine table, I implore you!" Your voice was strong and steady, everyone taking a seat as soon as you commanded it. Your grin grew wider, then you cleared your throat and continued. "We will partake in a game where each of you will have thirty seconds to drink from a tea cup and guess what kind of tea you have drank, each one you get correct, you receive a point! To whomever has the most points at the conclusion of this most esteemed game, will win! Any questions?" A hand was raised, that hand belonging to the blond Two of Spades.

"Err... how will we know who got a guess right?" You nodded at the question, it was fair, you supposed.

"Well, my dear Two of Spades, I know what tea is in each of these darling cups as I was the one to pour them! And what a horrid game master I would be if I should not remember?" You giggled gleefully while the group stared at the thirty-plus cups on the table and you with confusion. You sat back down and grabbed a strawberry tart, shoving a mouthful in and humming at the taste.

"Are we ready to begin?" You spoke through the mouthful, Alice cringing. You cleared your throat once more before gasping. "Oh I nearly forgot!" You cried as you reached into an outer pocket and an inner pocket on your coat, pulling the March Hare and Dormouse from their hiding spots.

Your playmates looked flabbergasted at the sudden appearance of your companions, both of which were already making their rounds, sampling some treats and teas. Before a single complaint could be made, you waved them off with that continuous smile of yours. You took another tart and scarfed it down in milliseconds, coughing a bit, then looking back up. With a happy grunt you lifted three fingers and silently started counting down. Once all three fingers were down, the game begun.

You watched with bated breath as everyone started aggressively sipping their teas and trying to throw out answers as quickly as possible, compared to your leisurely pace and slow stirring when it wasn't sweet enough. Moreover, you watched as they jumped when the March Hare started doing his job and swapped tea cups around and refilled them with tea. You noted every answer and every new batch of tea with keen eyes, humming to yourself as time passed. You didn't say a word either, when the March Hare pushed a tea cup to Alice and instead of tea, the boy found a sleeping Dormouse. Though, he didn't find him by looking into the cup, oh no. He found the poor thing when he went to take a sip, not paying attention because he was glaring at the White Rabbit. The Two of Spades was doing horribly, only guessing one right and you were one-hundred-percent sure it was by pure luck and chance, which made you snort tea out your nose and hacking up chocked laughs. The Five and Seven of Spades were doing alright over all, but that White Hare was getting all of them right. He tried to miss one on purpose but you heard him mutter the teas correct name under his breath. Why he'd want to lose was beyond you but it would be a good laugh.

But Alice... poor sweet Alice... no he was doing fine. You were winning for obvious reason, Alice and the White Hare tied hand-in-hand. And finally, the unofficial time you had placed came to an end.

Without warning, you threw your teacup into the air mid sip, watching as it came crashing down onto the floor. Everyone jumped - minus you, the March Hare, and the Dormouse - and quickly turned to you, who only stood.

"The game has finished my friends, and the ranking - that of which will be read from worst to best - is as follows: Two of Spades in sixth, Seven of Spades in fifth, Five of Spades in fourth, Alice in third, The White Rabbit in second, and, naturally, Your Royal Highness in first!" You - once more - didn't care to see their faces as you named the results, simply standing still with your wide grin on your face, till you felt a small nudge on your hand. The Dormouse lightly patted you hand and motioned to your pocket. You tilted your head, not paying attention to the others whom had began to speak.

"Do you wish to be in my pocket again?" You suddenly spoke out, heads turning back to you. The Dormouse shook his head, pawing at your pocket with more concern now, the March Hare joining him in pawing at your pocket. Curious now, you shoved a hand into the pocket, pulling a small pill, still covered in gold leaf, out.

Your eyes widened and you gasped, you had completely forgotten about your medication! Quickly searching the table, you grabbed a piece of chocolate cake and a random cup of tea - you didn't care any longer which teas were in which cups - and took a bite and long gulp, shoving the pill in with the mixture in your mouth.

You could feel their gazes burning into you as you swallowed the impromptu concoction. You looked back at your companions who now seemed even happier, the March Hare even beginning to preform binkies in the air. You giggled and clapped at the sight of the tricks, only coming back to reality when someone coughed. It had been Alice.

“Your Majesty, if I may be as so bold as to ask, what was that pill you just took for?” You could tell by his tone that he knew exactly what it was, but wanted you to confirm it. You hummed, sticking a hand out onto the table and allowing the Dormouse to clamber onto your shoulders, then picking up the March Hare and running fingers through his fur. After a moment of consideration, you sighed, all traces of merriment and happiness dropping from your face in an instant, everyone flinching at the sudden change.

“Well, my dear, questioning Alice, ‘tis a pill I am made to take with every meal I eat. A pill, my grandmother says, that will lessen these “wild thoughts” of mine that run rampant through the cage that is my mind. A pill that will turn my splendor and pleasure into harsh work ethic that I can use so I may one day hold title to the crown, a pill that takes that marvelous Wonderland that has so carved its way into my very being and crushes it till it’s nothing but the faintest voice at the back of my head, whispering sweet nothings or wildness and adventure. A pill that will make the cards of the White Castle stop laughing at me behind my back, a pill that will make the doctors quit telling her that I am no good, better off in the looney-bin.”

You paused to take a breath, letting go of the March Hare as you noted you were squeezing him rather than carding fingers through his hair. You barely noticed your breathing got heavy, acutely aware of the Dormouse on your shoulders, you shuddered. A tense smile over took your face, much more strained compared to every other smile of the night, your teeth, sharp and shark-like, were on full display.

“Do you know, my poor traumatized Alice,” you hear him scoff but quickly shushed him with a loud ‘shhh’, finger flying across your chapped lips in a shushing motion - when did your lips get chapped?, “Have you ever been to an asylum? Where they poke and prod at you like some kind of animal? Like something to study, to better understand? With their to-small-scalpels and to-large-stethoscopes. With drugs with names to long and complicated you could never hope to pronounce and those awful awful jackets of a tarp-like material, though much to stretchy-yet-scratchy to be tarp, with their terrible shiny buckles and fresh smelling leather straps? Or perhaps even those god forsaken bits that jam in your mouth, uncaring if your lips begin to bleed, to make sure you can’t scream or cry for help and plead for forgiveness. Forgiveness when they throw you to the floor or lock you in a room by yourself because you were moving to much or didn’t take your medication. Have you, my darling-yet-daring, calm-yet-wild, collected-yet-crazy, close yet oh so far Alice? Could you ever understand?!?”

You didn’t know when your voice raised an octave or when tears threatened your eyes but you quickly wiped them away, uncaring of the makeup now slathering your sleeve. Your teeth clenched as tears finally welled up in your eyes and began to flood your cheeks, breath growing harsher and harsher. The world seemed so far away, the table you were supposed to be standing at was so big, the chair behind you so small. Your sleeves fell over your hands as you hiccupped, rubbing aggressively at you eyes, irritating your skin until it became a bright red. Someone, you could not see who, gripped your arm to try and wretch it back, but you only screamed and scratched at the arm that grabbed at you, scooting away and curling in on yourself.

You hadn't meant to spill that much. You knew you were like that of a tea pot with a leak, constantly spilling parts of yourself to the world without meaning too. But to blow up like that was not on your agenda for the day, oh no it wasn't. And now you were paying the price for it, whining and whimpering into your knees as you sat on the floor. You rocked back and forth, sobbing silently as memories of your short time in "that place" flew to the backs of your eyelids, but before anymore could fill any space in your head, the softness of a duvet landed over your body. The Dormouse squeaked and you immediately reached back on your shoulders and took him into your palms. You pressed your face into his small body, letting arms wrap around you and lift you up bridal style, snuggling into the sudden warmth of the duvet combined with body heat. Next to the Dormouse, the March Hare appeared in you lap. You head lay on the persons chest as the light of the dining room faded into the distance, as did your consciousness.

Vaguely, you could hear voices of Alice and the White Rabbit mixing with spinning rooms and the small bugs swimming in your eyes. The softness of your bed met you back carefully and your just laid there, half there and not, medication flowing through your veins and “calming” your nerves.

"Master, what shall we do?" "I don't think there is much we can do. Neither of us have experience in calming down Royalty, after all." "Neither of us have tried." "Do you have any ideas, Sebastian?" "..." "As I thought. This is a delicate situation. I believe it best if we leave-"

Before he could say it, your arm shot out and grabbed Alice's sleeve, evidently startling the two.

"My bag, the one I carried in. Would you please grab it for me." You whispered, and the White Rabbit hummed, walking over to the chair you haphazardly threw it on. You sat up as he came back, Alice watching curiously. You snatched the bag from his grip and threw it on the bed, both the Dormouse and March Hare looking on in what you could assume to be animalistic worry. You gipped a small capsule of water and some mint flavored shisha in one hand, the actual hookah in the other.

Taking them out, you didn't look up at the two, beginning to set up for a very quick session. Though, before you could pour the water into it's chamber, someone lightly grabbed at your sleeve. Your lips were still pulled taught, no smile in sight as you looked up at Alice through sweat slicked hair, who was showing the most emotion you had seen on him all day. Concern. You would've chuckled at that, if not for your mood taking the dip it did.

"There's no need for that." He said faintly. You looked back down at the hookah and sighed, dropping the contraption and water and shisha back onto the bed, not bothering to clean it up. After which you looked back up at the duo, fake concern on the White Rabbit's face and real concern on Alice's.

"You are far to young to be engaging in smoking of any kind." You snorted and turned you head, snuggling deeper into the duvet still miraculously wrapped around your form. Alice's expression deepened. He seemed to hesitate, but eventually sat at the on the side of the bed beside you, albeit on the very edge but still, he sat next to you.

"Is there something you wish to talk about?" You shook your head no, taking the March Hare into your arms once more. Alice stared, before standing and walking to the door. He looked to the White Rabbit and gestured him to follow, both leaving the room soon there after. When they left you almost started crying again, softly sniffling to yourself. You tried to pick up the hookah again now that hey had abandoned you, but the Dormouse stopped you with a paw, shaking his head. And so, you wallowed, comparing Alice to all the other cards of the White Castle and how they'd barely give you a passing glance anymore, whispering their lies about your person and spreading those harsh rumors about your mental stability. You just wanted the damn floor to open up and swallow you whole.

Just as you were about to fall asleep the door opened again, revealing Alice, the White Rabbit, and the three cards. A tea cart was pushed in by the Seven of Spades with cakes and teas across it's silver surface, and the White Rabbit held his hands behind his back. Alice walked up to you and held a hand out, helping you to sit at the edge of your bed, the duvet still covering you. Each person in the room took a cup and one was handed to you, the White Rabbit clearing his throat. He then began to sing.

"A very merry unbirthday to me."

He stared at you and you sung back in a whisper, voice scrathcy.

"To who?"

and he responded in kind, both of you singing.

"To me!"

"Oh you!"

"A very merry unbirthday to you!"

"Who, me?"

"Yes, you!"

"Oh, me!"

"Let's all congratulate us

With another cup of tea

A very merry unbirthday to me!"

And you a clinked your cups together once the White Rabbit finished his verse. You giggled softly as you sipped the lukewarm tea and watched the facial expressions of the others as they took in the flavors of the tea they sipped, some liking theirs and some obviously not.

Finally, the White Rabbit and Alice walked up to you, hands shifting behind the taller's back, before something was handed to you. That something being a little white rabbit with a large green bow, a card and teacup charm attached, dressed in a wonderlandiful rendition of your current outfit. You stared at the small toy, and began to cry. You could clearly hear the cries of shock and worry as the fat drops of water left your eyes, but it was quickly silenced by the laughter bubbling in your throat. It grew in size, your shoulders shaking as you held the rabbit close to your chest, before you jumped up and grabbed the White Rabbit and Alice in your arms, all three of you falling to the floor. Your arms wrapped securely around their midsections.

"Thank you," you started, "Thank you so very much, my friends."

You continued to laugh, the laughter catching on with everyone else in the room, including your Alice, whose chuckles did not go unnoticed by you.

More laughter filled your room until everyone was laughing and halls of the Phantomhive manor, that of which is usually silent and cool, filled with a warm feeling of hope towards your uncertain future.

You could see this place becoming home.

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: This is a little longer than usual. I may have went a little insane with the “chaos” part of the ask. I hope it is to your liking.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @fountain-pen-anon. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

© fountain-pen-anon - all rights reserved

[mystic-rubysunflower]

Neptune In ♈: the 12 Houses

House 1: Self & Identity Neptune in Aries here casts an enchanting glow on your persona. With Neptune’s dreamy mystique fused with Aries' pioneering energy, you are an effortlessly magnetic, innovative soul. This placement invites you to embrace an evolving self-image, though it may sometimes be hard to pin down where your true boundaries lie. ✨🔥

House 2: Finances & Values In the 2nd house, Neptune in Aries brings an imaginative approach to money and self-worth. You might feel impulsively driven to invest in creative or spiritual pursuits, yet caution is needed to avoid chasing financial illusions. This transit encourages you to redefine value in terms of inner fulfillment, not just material wealth. 💸🌠

House 3: Communication & Learning With Neptune’s ethereal touch in the realm of your immediate environment, everyday communications and learning take on a creative, intuitive edge. Aries’ influence adds spontaneity and directness, making your conversations vibrant and full of inspired ideas. Just remember to ground your thoughts to avoid getting lost in airy distractions. 🗣️💭

House 4: Home & Foundations At home, Neptune in Aries blurs conventional boundaries, encouraging you to craft a domestic space that’s as fluid and unconventional as your inner world. Here, the impetus for change is strong, prompting you to reinvent what “home” means while being mindful not to lose sight of genuine emotional anchors amid fantastical visions. 🏡🌙

House 5: Creativity, Romance & Fun In the creative playground of the 5th house, Neptune in Aries ignites a burst of inventive energy. Whether it's your art, romance, or hobbies, expect a dash of magic and spontaneity. This mix can create dazzling, impulsive expressions—but balance is key so that the allure of the dream doesn’t outshine clarity in relationships or projects. 🎨💖

House 6: Work, Health & Daily Routines Neptune in Aries here makes your routine a vibrant, sometimes unpredictable arena. You’re drawn to innovative or alternative approaches to health and work, often feeling the call to break free from monotony. It’s crucial to structure these energies to prevent drifting into unproductive daydreams while enjoying bursts of inspiration. 🏋️‍♀️🌈

House 7: Relationships & Partnerships In the realm of close relationships, Neptune in Aries sparks passionate, if sometimes idealized, connections. You enter partnerships with a fiery desire for independence and transformative love. However, clear communication is vital to ensure that the luminous haze of Neptune doesn’t lead to unrealistic expectations or blurred boundaries with partners. 🤝💫

House 8: Transformation & Shared Resources This house deals with deep emotional processes, shared assets, and transformation. Neptune in Aries here can trigger bold, sometimes dramatic shifts. You may experience intense, almost mystical changes in intimate relationships and financial entanglements. Embrace these periods of transformation, but be careful not to let illusions dictate your trust and shared ventures. 🔮💥

House 9: Philosophy, Travel & Higher Learning The combination of Neptune’s visionary spirit and Aries’ adventurous spark in the 9th house inspires an unconventional journey through belief systems and global experiences. You’re likely to champion new, perhaps radical, philosophies and explore far-off lands with a thirst for insight. Keep an open mind while staying anchored in discernment to avoid spiritual overreach. ✈️📚

House 10: Career & Public Image Neptune in Aries energizes your public persona with creative ambition and visionary drive. Whether you’re drawn toward the arts, healing, or innovative entrepreneurship, this transit propels you to redefine success in pioneering ways. Ground your dreams in practical steps to sidestep the pitfalls of chasing illusions in the spotlight. 💼🔥

House 11: Community & Aspirations Here, Neptune inspires you to dream boldly about your future within social groups and networks. Aries infuses these dreams with the courage to challenge the status quo and pursue groundbreaking projects. While your friendships and community endeavors may brim with idealistic visions, clarity and realistic planning will help you build sustainable, transformative relationships. 🌐⭐

House 12: Spirituality & the Inner Realm Neptune naturally feels at home in the 12th house, and with the passionate push of Aries, you’re invited to embark on deep, fearless inner voyages. This placement can unlock profound intuitive insights and spiritual awakenings. Balance is crucial: use this energetic drive to explore your subconscious without slipping into escapism or unfounded fantasies. 🌌🔍

Neptune in Aries across the 12 houses creates an inspiring blend of dreamlike vision and assertive action. It beckons you to pursue your path with innovative flair while gently reminding you to maintain balance and clarity amid the cosmos. Whether it’s reinventing your self-image or daring to challenge established norms, this transit provides a space to transform, inspire, and dream with purpose.

[diejager]

Crow

Pairing: Monster TF 141 + Horangi & König x Eldritch horror!reader

Cw: blood, gore, canon-typical violence, injury, mutilation, tell me if I missed any. Wc: 1.9k

They hadn’t expected to have another specialist join them, none of them even knew what Price had in mind when he brought you in. You were normal in every way - as normal as a soldier could be - and unassuming under your dark clothes and gear. You smiled and waved when greeted, you took orders well and you spoke when spoken. You were like a ghost, there but also not there, invincible unless you made a sound or movement. Excluding all they saw in you, you were simply uncanny, with weird mannerisms and habits that made you seem inhuman - as inhuman as you could be to hybrids. 

The only words Price had given them before you landed were: “They’re good at what they do, just don’t cause any trouble, understood?”

They were vague and as unassuming as you first seemed, like any warning for any person that could easily become annoyed or mad. Ghost certainly hadn’t put much thought into it as he should. Gaz had elbowed Soap in an attempt at reminding the werewolf to heed their captain’s words. Rudy and Alejandro wouldn’t have to worry, they knew and learned the limits of any man’s patience, smart and intuitive. Horangi was as weary as he would with any new addition, eyes narrowed in annoyance and curiosity. Unlike any of them, König hid any emotions from his stoic face, shoulders broad and back ramrod that emphasised his height and broadness, he couldn’t be sure if you would be easy to ignore or irritable.

Granted, they all had expectations for you since Price seemed so proud and confident when you first joined them, acting like a child given his dream, famished to have you by his side as professionals as possible. Yet here you were, normal looking, of average height and average weight, and simply there. Although there wasn’t anything inherently abnormal to you, the simple presence of your being made their hair stand on end. There wasn’t any reason to be so frightened or chilled about you, you hadn’t done anything deserving of such fear and suspicion, and Price trusted you with his life. If he trusted you, then the rest could, no? After all, dragons are the most protective of monsters. 

As Price promised, you were good at what you did, never a flinch, never any hesitation, never a moment of weakness. You were too normal and good to be a human, especially not with the way corvids flocked to you. Ravens, crows, magpies and jackdaws followed you everywhere you went, simply standing or cawing around you as if you were a memener of their murder. Going to London would be dreadful with how many corvids called the British Isles their home, which - coincidentally - was where you lived. 

All but Price had a hard time forming a bond with you, your eerie presence made it difficult to relax, and apparently, you knew it as well, since they had an equally difficult time finding you on the base. If you weren’t beating a sand-filled punching bag, you would be at the shooting range, and if you weren’t there, then you’d be somewhere on the roof of a structure, taking in the cool, stormy air of the UK with your bird friends. 

You only smiled when they all blew up in cackles and jokes, never laughing with them or cracking your own jokes. Your voice never raised over a certain point, a murmur or a raspy growl. It was either human or inhuman to you. If Soap, Gaz and Rudy were having a hard time making you open up to them, then the rest would have an even harder time doing so. They were failing miserably. 

That was until Soap caught an airy chuckle from you when he passed Price’s office, the older man having probably said something amusing to you which had you laughing. And as loud and rowdy the werewolf was, he couldn’t stop himself from telling the others, his excitement and enthusiasm bleeding into the rest. It had somehow made them more determined to bond with you, you were, after months of work, a permanent member of Task Force 141. 

Unfortunately, the most they got were snorts and huffs, snorts from Ghost’s dark humour and huffs from Soap and Gaz’s poorly made-up jokes, theatrical performances of failures and defeat in the face of an unflinching and unusual being. Questions started piling up on Price’s desk, wanting to know if you were human, if you were a hybrid, if you were a monster, if you were even a living being seeing as you hadn’t taken a single breath or eaten (not that they’d seen you eat.). 

“That’s classified, ” Price stopped their musing with two simple words. “Unless they tell you themselves, I don’t think it’s any of my business divulging that to anyone.”

Price’s secrecy and respect for you only sowed the seeds of curiosity and intrigue deeper. What had you hidden from them that was so classified that Price couldn’t tell them? Even Alejandro didn’t have the clearance to dive into your files - not that there were any. The question lingered in their minds, unanswered and famished for one: What were you?

Somehow they’d gotten separated from you, being caught under heavy fire from Russian ultranationalists and backed into a building with most exits blocked or surrounded by the enemy. They worried about you, being left to yourself in a situation like this one was dangerous for even the most skilled and wary soldier. Whereas they all had their backs, one watching for the other, you were alone. And whereas you had the possibility of using your powers of shifting - if you were a hybrid or monster, they still hadn’t found the answer to that question - they were in the confines of a restricted building, letting loose would either damage the already-damaged-building or become a danger to their own teammates. 

Ghost’s fog was deadly. Soap could come under fire from them shooting. Gaz couldn’t fly freely in a tight place. Price’s fire could be devastating. Rudy couldn’t risk getting tired. Alejandro could be unknowingly shot by them. König was uncontrollable and unpredictable. Horangi was a danger to himself in the secret of darkness.  

They were fucked, caught in a dire situation that could mean the end of them, but regret and panic wouldn’t be of any use to them, they had to concentrate and wait for backup. 

“Backup from what, Price?!” 

What could possibly reach them in time to support them? They were too far in for any help to arrive quickly enough. The closest naval ship was thousands of miles away, the closest ocean was hundreds of miles away and any military support even farther. What would they even be waiting for?

“Cap! We can’t-”

A scream shattered the skies, howls of pain and panic filling the once booming sound of foreign guns. The sound of bodies being broken and bones cracking brought their attention elsewhere. The Russians weren’t aiming at them anymore, shooting at something bigger and more dangerous than any of them. They were looking at a creature that picked them off one by one, the shadow of a monster covering the white snow. The fear in their eyes tainted the sky as their blood sullied the fresh snow, turning white into red and pink.

Whatever that was was dangerous. The ability to rip men apart and incite terror into well-trained and hardened soldiers was anything but amiable, safe and good. Their bodies were tense, muscles contracted to move at the flicker of movement from the monster outside the building. Their weapons aimed towards the entrance, fingers laying restlessly on the trigger and shoulder screwed with suspense as the screams and cries slowly died down to howling winds in the night. 

Price raised a hand, holding them back from firing at the entity, they lowered their guns, following the captain as he walked towards the door. He hadn’t flinched or froze when clawed fingers gripped the wide opening, a giant, black hand cloaked with feathers. Another landed on the ground farther away, letting them see the blood staining the show, seeping from its fingers and dirty feathers. With a low rumble from the beast, it lowered its head to the doorway, where Price had stopped. 

He smiled at the gigantic head of a crown, its black beak sharpened with pointed teeth, as black as its skin and feathers. An oval eye blinked at them, white as the snow and piercing as the cold. It sent chills down their spines, ready to jump away if it attacked, but Price patted the skin under its eye.

“Thank you,” Price spoke your name so reverently, thanking it - you - with a grateful smile and proud eyes.

That monster - it - was you, the unassuming, perfect and eerie human. You, who was always around corvids, were one yourself, albeit a gigantic, crooked version of a crow. You crooned at Price’s touch, soft and loving like he was. You moved away from the entrance and they left. It was as if they walked into another world, blood, bones and guts littered the ground, as if a cat had had its fun with something breakable. Ghost and König thrived in this scene, the blood and gore feeding them. Unlike the rest that either recoiled or stared off, preferring to look at your bird-like form than the ground. 

In all your glory, you stood high and mightily, toppling over the trees by hundreds of metres. Covered head to toe in black skin and black, glistening feathers, you held your head high to look at the Russian field. Four horns curled over your head, sprouting from your crown and curling at the tip, they mimicked a crown of bone. Bones also grew from your back, the protrusion of your vertebrae growing along your back like a ridge, sharp and deadly, like the sharp-looking feathers that protected your back. If any of that were shocking then your second pair of wings would be frightening, an equally big pair of wings help support your weight on the ground, besides two legs, clawed perfectly to inflict lethal damage. And at the end of your back, a flared, serpentine tail with feathers curled upwards.

While Price acted with such ease and comfort around you, the rest simply couldn’t. If they were bothered by your presence before, now, after having shifted and showed your true skin, it grew tenfold, becoming unbearable and suffocating. You saw their discomfort, cooing at them before you shrunk, bone and feathers sinking back under your skin, your beak turning into the face they knew, but your white eyes remained. It was all knowing and powerful.

You were an Eldritch being, an all-knowing and powerful creature, perhaps one of the last horrors that lived. It made sense why Price was so trusting of you, believing you to be unable to betray them. Why he warned all of them to never stray into your hate and annoyance. Eldritch horrors, after all, were the strongest beings alive (if they could be called alive), old as aeons and unmoving by time. Dragons were second to them, the proud and respectable monsters knowing the worth of Eldritch creatures and respecting them. 

Everything fell into place. It clicked, why everything was simply so. Perhaps, after knowing your secret, you’d open up to them, let them in your colossal and dark and unbeating heart.

Taglist: @saelkie @yeoldedumbslut

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Dark Shelves 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, bullying, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes (archivist AU)

Summary: your new job is much of the same, with a hit of new misery.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging ❤️

You peer up at the romanesque pillars and the curved dome of the elaborate building. It’s a step up, a high one, and you’re proud of yourself for taking. After years in a basement, blowing dust off of rusted spoons that may as well be at the good-will, you’re finally exactly where you want to be.  

Not associate, not assistant, you are an archivist in your own right. You will not be pushed into the corner again. Though you aren’t too presumptive. You could get lost in any stacks. You like how your job affords you pockets of solitary, but you didn’t choose the career on that alone.  

You work to preserve and share the past. It sounds more noble in your head than out loud. It’s a good enough reason for you. 

You climb the stairs and pause before you pass through the double doors. Inside, the lobby is airy and polished to a shine. You try not to marvel too obviously. Too often you’ve been caught and ridiculed for the very act. Most people look at you and assume less than more of you. 

You walk up the front desk, a grand circular structure with shelves behind it. The man behind it has a metal nametag on his brown plaid shirt; Peter. You greet him stoically. You quit smiling to appease strange men a while ago. 

“Hi, I’m here to get my employee ID.” You take out your phone. “Then I’m supposed to meet someone named James.” 

“Right, I have your welcome packet,” he reaches under the desk. “It’s here.” 

“Great,” you accept the folder as he beams back at you. He’s young and fresh-faced. He must still be a student. “Thank you.” 

“Have you been her before?” He asks. 

“A couple times,” you answer. 

“Cool, cool,” he accepts, “there’s a map in there in case.” He points to the folder. “You’re going to second floor. East wing. The office number is in the email.” 

“Yes, I saw that. Thanks so much,” you nod. 

“Oh, your card’s activated. So any access thingies, just swipe,” he says. 

“Got it,” you cross your arm over the folder and continue around the desk to the double set of staircases that open behind it. 

You climb patiently. You’re early. You always are. A long academic career has drilled the habit into your very being. 

You check the email one last time and put your phone away. You’re not one for stereotypes but in your experience, the senior archivists tend to hate screens. You always resented their stubbornness. Digital backups are essential to the future of your profession. It could also just make their lives easier in general. 

As you count down the office numbers, you slow down. The short heels of your lace-up boots clack softly on the oaken floor tiles. The door you need is already open and there’s a man standing in it. He leans slightly on the frame as he faces inward. His deep voice carries behind him. 

You push your shoulders back as you approach. You don’t want to interrupt. You stop about a foot back, unsure how to go forward. You check your watch with a subtle tilt of your head. 

The man in the door is tall. He has one foot pointed to the floor, and arm bent back as he pushes back his brown corduroy jacket and grips his hip. He wears a dark blue turtleneck that meets the long tails of his outgrown hair. There’s never an in-between with archivists. They are either immaculately preened are shaggy and stuffy. 

“Right,” the man glances over his shoulder at you and his eyes squint, crinkly his nose, “I think I’m holding someone up.” He turns to face you, “hello, miss, do you need some help? Looking for the newspaper lab?” 

You’re not surprised that he assumes you to be a student. It’s a common presumption among his demographic. They are always the authority and everyone they don’t know must be ignorant. 

“No. Hello, I’m an archivist. Newly-hired. You wouldn’t happen to be James Barnes?” 

“James?” His mouth slants. “Only his mother calls him that. Bit of advice, it’s Bucky.” 

“Steve,” a voice drawls from within the open office. 

“Alright, alright,” the man shows his hands then extends one to you. “Steve Rogers. I’m the next door down. Fellow senior archivist, with James.” 

“Steve,” another snarl. 

You shake the man’s hand, “nice to meet you.” 

His cheek ticks, “you too. I like that vest. Very... quirky.” 

You don’t thank him. You merely retract your hand and adjust the scarf between the open front of your coat. He sidles out of the doorway as he wears a pompous smirk. 

“Come in,” the bodiless voice calls out to you. 

You step into the doorway. The man you’re looking for sits behind his desk. He uses an envelope open to pick at what appears to be a metal shell for a coil of parchment. He delicate traces the lines of the ornate metal cap on the end. 

“I’ll be a moment,” he says. 

“Alright,” you stand in the doorway. He doesn’t welcome you to sit. You introduce yourself in the stagnant lull. 

“I know who you are,” he grumbles as his brow wrinkles at his work. “After all, I sacrificed my day to training you.” 

You don’t appreciate the insinuation. You’re a task he doesn’t want to tend. A burden on what he really wants to do. You can find your way around just fine without him but the email said training was mandatory. You didn’t exactly have any say in who was handed that unlucky chore. 

“I have experience. Three years in the Heron’s Corner archives. And I’ve also done some volunteer work for museums. If you’d rather, I learn just as well from paper or email.” You suggest. 

He huffs, “typical.” 

You don’t reply. Whatever he assumes about you isn’t true but you’re not biting the hook. He grows exasperated and sets the container on its stands and stabs the envelope open into his pen cub. He slaps his hands on his desk and stands. 

“You young ones just want to sit at a computer all day,” he comes around and slides his hands into his pockets. “This job isn’t that.” 

“I’m aware of the job description,” you assure him. 

He stops before you and reaches to brush his fingertips along his thick beard. A thicket of hair falls forward he swoops it back just as swiftly. The cleft in his jaw deepens with his distaste. 

“That’s good. Less to explain, doll face,” he pulls his hand away to check his watch. 

“Fine, let’s get started.” He sniffs, “take notes.” 

He steps forward and you barely have a chance to get out of his way. His jacket flaps as he passes you and you stiffen as you grip the folder tightly. You reach to your coat pocket and take out your silver pen. 

It’s only the first day. Soon enough, you’ll be free to focus on your own work, and he his. 

[rosen-und-mondlicht]

first time posting hazbin lucifer x fem!reader

how about some sacrilegious sex after the Pope died?

The cathedral built in Lucifer's honor deep in the heart of Pentagram City was beautiful. the deep, red velvet curtains mixed with black granite stonework and pristine white marble made the tall structure like those in Europe, comparable, if not even more lavish than it's predecessors.

Pews made of dense wood stood empty before the pulpit where the altar of marble stood. The white marble was selected for its blank slate, to better contrast against the red of whatever sacrifice being offered.

normally it would be a beast, or a Sinner; scarlet running down the marble once the ceremonial dagger plunged into their flesh. The cries of celebration would fill the room, echoing into a roar of cheers before it morphed into songs of praise, the acoustics of the cathedral amplifying sound into angelic like songs.

Lucifer never cared for the affairs of the Church Of The Fallen, no. As king, he only attended at the behest of his Queen and even then, he didn't care for the subpar sacrifices they offered, after all, why would he be happy with the gifts that were only a spectacle for a blood hungry mob?

No, Lucifer never cared for anything offered on this tainted altar.

Until now.

Lucifer was dressed in a white cassock, decorated with golden stole over his shoulders, the ends decorated with golden upside down crosses. his cincture was gone, the white garment unbuttoned and open as he stood before the altar, facing the golden artifacts of his image and the colors of the stained glass overhead decorated his offering.

her hands were bound with the golden cincture, the soft material made sure not to chafe, but strong enough that she couldn't do anything but grab the edge of the altar. she was utterly bare before him, the lewd smacking of their skin and the muffled squeals from behind the rubber ducky gag he placed on her.

Yes, this “sacrifice” would do.

“I'm sorry, little dove. Did you say something?” he quipped, smug. The moan he got from another harsh thrust and the responding clench almost made him break character. He groans softly, reveling in the sound as it reverberates in the cathedral.

He snaps his fingers so he can hear her, the angelic voice to sing his praises and fill the space with her worship.

her song is one he could listen to for hours; her cadence and pitch manipulated by his own efforts.

He pulls back and she lays on the altar, her legs shaking under her as her hole twitches around nothing. He hums in content and smacks her rump, watching the fat jiggle deliciously for him.

“ Tired already? we're only just getting started,” he mocks and she whines uselessly. Lucifer manipulates her to on her back and spreads her thighs, probing fingers against the flushed mound and playing with the stickiness between plump lips. He tastes her, cleaning his fingers before leaning down to slurp her juices. plump thighs cover his head as he feasts.

her song changes to airy arias interspersed with praise and Lucifer has never felt more cherished and adored by a single being. he would gladly trade an entire population’s worth of devotees for even a glance from his beloved. he mouths his adoration and gratitude into her pussy, signing his name deep within with just his tongue.

he pulls away reluctantly, licking his face to clean himself.

“I need you,” he rasps before he nudges his neglected cock back inside.

she whines at the change and sighs softly when his hips meet hers. He holds her hips firmly, smirking down at her when he sees how her bound hands have her poised. hands clasped together as if in prayer.

“Look at you,” he rumbles. “praying I'll fill you up, little lamb? What do you desire? tell me, and I will do as you ask. a god loves to reward their devoted after all.” he brushes against her clit, making her twitch and clench.

“Please,” she wheezes through his petting. “make me yours. mark me as yours. fill me, my lord,” she cries when he takes his hand away. He gently shushes her and places a soft kiss to her sternum.

“I'll fill you up, don't you worry precious.” he looks up with crimson eyes glowing up at her. “all I ask is you say my name.”

she doesn't disappoint. his name falls from those sinful lips like a chant, a prayer to a corrupt god and he listens and he preens.

his six wings extend out and cover them, creating a screen of privacy for just him. This offering is for him and only him as he basks in her lewd expressions and the sight of their joining. He sighs and rolls back his head as he enjoys the feel of her tight walls and her squeals. her words going straight to his groin as she pleads to him.

his attention returns to her when she cries for his seed. He stops and she sobs at the cruel action.

he gently shushes her, petting her thighs, still deep inside as he throbs within.

“did I hear correctly, dove? Do you want my seed?”

“Please, my lord. please! I want it. I want your cum! please cum inside.” she cries, her hands white knuckled.

Lucifer laughs, the cathedral amplifying the quiet sound.

“Such a sweet little lamb.” he leans down to kiss her tears away. his claws cut the good cording and he feels hands over his skin, marveling and grasping for him. his wings shudder over them, the only subtle sign that he gives that he's putty in her hands.

“I'll give you all that you desire, and all I ask in return is your entire being. you belong to me, little one.” his red eyes glows and she sighs and leans up to kiss him

“I give myself to you,” she whispers, reciting it like a marriage vow. He growls, pleased.

she's startled when he shifts and begins anew, the pace continuing from before as he drives into her with precision and force and she falls back onto the altar. his wings flap excitedly while he loses himself until he feels himself come close to the edge.

“Almost, baby,” he pants, bringing a hand to rub circles into her clit. “cum with me, alright,” his character breaks as he ensures she's close before he gives her what she asked for. He groans when she squeezes him like the sweetest vice, recognizing that she's close. He leans down and kisses her neck sloppily before biting down.

she cries one last time, sustaining the note like an angel as he feels her cum around him. He groans and follows her off the precipice to cum inside.

when they come to, he feels fingers gently brush back his hair and he brings his wings around her to keep her warm and covered. He'd never let any undeserving sinner or demon get an eyeful of what's his.

“how are you feeling, sweetheart? Are you ok?” he asks softly, kissing the bite mark and soothing it with his power. she giggles and kisses his temple.

“I'm ok. could use a glass of water though,” she rasps. her hoarse voice makes him blush softly and he leans down to kiss her softly.

“of course.” he tries to move away and he feels her legs weakly hold him close.

“Not right now, just stay close.” she nuzzles into his neck and clings to him like a koala. Lucifer chuckles and pulls her close, opening a portal to their bedroom. he manages to keep her close and pour her a glass of water, and prepares a damp washcloth to help clean her down as she drinks her water.

Unlike in the cathedral, Lucifer kneels before her and wipes her down with reverence and care. he's slow and meticulous, gentle and loving as he wipes down the mess of their game from her skin. he kisses her wrists to make up for binding them and kisses the small bloat of her tummy from where his seed sits within. after she finishes her second glass of water, he gently lays her on their bed where he covers her with his wings, her favorite blanket.

she yawns and snuggles into his side. Lucifer brings her close and watches her as she snoozes contently at his side. he admires the woman in his arms, the soft goddess he's learned to worship and please. despite their little game, he's the one that would do anything to please and adore her as she desires.

He soaks in her warmth and absorbs her presence like she's the air in his lungs. He grows tired after just watching her sleep and he brings her close.

“my little goddess,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to her forehead before he closes his eyes to join her in dreams.

@heart-of-the-morningstar