#irene soft details

[soulsticie]

ꕤ'⠀ 𝗈𝗎𝗋⠀ 𝗀𝖺𝗋𝖽𝖾𝗇⠀ فلور ⠀ 𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐫𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐬.

𝟷𝟿𝟾𝟿.⠀ ♡⠀ 영화⠀ 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗂𝖽𝗌⠀ 𝗈𝖿⠀ 𝐲𝐨𝐮&𝐦𝐞.

𝗆𝖺⠀ 𝒄𝗁𝖾𝗋𝗂𝖾⠀ @ user⠀ 𝗉𝗂𝖾𝖼𝖾⠀ 𝓸𝓯⠀ 𝐩𝐞𝐚𝐜𝐞.

𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐬⠀ 𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞⠀ ❁⠀ غروب⠀ ֢ ⠀ 𝖨⠀ 𝗌𝖾𝖾⠀ 𝖿𝗈𝗋𝖾𝗏𝖾𝗋.

♡⠀ 𝖨'𝗆⠀ 𝖺⠀ 𝓢𝗎𝖼𝗄𝖾𝗋⠀별.⠀ 𝖿𝗈𝗋⠀ #idol.

[veluvberry]

࣪𖤐 ૮ ・ﻌ・ა  ─  so I'll run to you !⠀Ꜥ ☕📋﹆   

[aria0fgold]

Learning dynamic poses with Lady Irene, she's sooo pretty I gotta do her justice, I'm leveling up my drawing skills just for her, she needs dynamic poses so I can show how awesome she is with her weapon-- I mean umbrella.

[onsomenewsht]

now playing: What Can I Do

< track 4 || track 6 >

》 Alexia Putellas x Reader, Barcelona Femeni x Reader

》 words count: +2.8k

》 I don't know if you see us how I do in my head

Four years of studying all the finest details of the ways she acts and moves

“She does it on purpose”

Ingrid smiles at your whining, enjoying the easy banter growing day by day between you and her girlfriend. 

But yes, she’s doing it on purpose. All the girls know, and the ones currently in the parking lot with the three of you aren’t even trying to hide their laughs. You recognise Alexia’s soft one without taking your eyes off the defender.

María is going on a rant about all the places you need to see in Madrid since the team is going to play Atlético on the weekend. As if you’re not gonna be free there for a couple of hours and you still understand close to nothing of what she’s saying in the first place.

You have no doubt she insists on speaking exclusively in Spanish just to annoy you, she’s perfectly aware you can’t even order a coffee without the barista trying to hide a giggle at your scrambled words.

“You have to practise, she’s helping”, it’s cute she’s trying to defend her girlfriend.

“She’s a broken record”

As a matter of fact, or just to prove her point, the Spaniard’s voice is a constant background noise - from the walk toward the training centre, all the way through the changing room, and till the first stretching exercises.

You will never accept a ride from the couple, ever again.

“Mapi, give the girl a break! I’m exhausted and I’m not even listening”

You like Keira, Keira is funny in a comfortable way. Ingrid and her are the only ones able to buffer María’s enthusiasm when they notice you get overwhelmed by the language or you’re just too tired to deal with her energy.

“¡Y ni te entiende!” (And she doesn’t even understand you)

“Necesita practicar su Español” (She needs to practise her Spanish)

“She’s still here”, you try to calm your teammates’ excitement as soon as you notice more girls are gathering around you.

They planned a movie night at your place anyway, they will have time and space to bother you all they want later. 

You need to focus on your exercises right now, despite the elegant and defined movements that keep catching your attention on the small training area.

Alexia is stretching just a couple of metres away from you, talking with Marta and Irene while casually controlling a ball with her foot. Somehow, there’s always a football around her.

The punch Mapi directs at your ribcage - powerful, and quite frankly uncalled for - manages to knock the wind out of you, drawing attention and a laugh from your teammates, but a glare from Jonatan. 

The red all over your face is surely due to the blonde’s hit, nothing else.

“Just hit her back”

“And add fuel to the fire?”

“¿Qué?”, Alexia’s eyebrow rises. 

She’s closer to you now, you both like to be at your manager’s left side when he’s explaining the tactics he wants to review as his hands’ gestures are clearer.

You’re going to start the next game, he made an all scene the previous day to let you know that, so you should listen to what he’s saying.

“Nothing. I tried, she gets more annoying”

“María Leon masterclass”

She’s distracting, her smile is lighting up the whole training centre. You definitely have to listen to your manager.

You’re slowly but securely finding your place in this new club. The press is still talking about the fact you came out of nowhere, and the online comments are still questioning if you deserve to be here in the first place.

Your last season in Italy was fun to say the least, managing to stand up against the big ones and earning with your team a place for the Champions League group stage. You were a little disappointed when a loan was hanging over your head once again, but when Barcelona knocks at your door you open the windows too. 

Games spent warming the bench, minutes after minutes, your confidence grows. Your positioning around some of the best players in the world is getting better and easier, the balls you play moving faster and flawlessly. 

You’re finding your place, both on and off the field.

“¿Estás en la luna?”

“Eh?”

The Catalan has to fake a cough to hide her laugh at your confused face, immediately fixing her stoic one and nodding at what Jonatan is saying as if nothing happened.

No need to say you’re matching the red training top, her smile is contagious.

The rest of the session goes on without any more accidents, you need to avoid Mapi and pair with Ingrid or Irene to survive but you manage. Even if most of your passes somehow end up finding a certain blonde in the final scrimmage.

The field is now free of all equipment, your teammates heading toward the changing room. 

All but one.

Alexia’s hanging back, not leaving the training ground with the excuse to collect some of the balls left behind. She doesn’t need to do that, obviously. But she does. She takes the time with each ball, feeling it around her feet and controlling them as second nature. 

You know because you leave the balls around for her.

As the one and only newcomer, you take upon yourself the task of helping the trainers to put the equipment away after each session. You’re happy to do that, it’s a way to become familiar with the place and the people working here. 

You noticed her habit of looking around for some balls before leaving the field so you started to hide a few for her to find.

If she knows, she doesn’t say anything or care.

~

Three years of falling asleep with your hand on her chest, her heartbeat as the only lullaby that can make you rest

Your house is filled with loud Spanish girls, gathered around the living room and screaming at the TV like the people inside the box can actually hear their strong opinions.

This particular dating show is getting largely famous among your teammates, some of them organising watching parties to live comment together. 

It’s Alexia’s turn to host and, surprisingly to no one, she’s actually hosting at your house. 

You’re not even into this show in the first place, they talk too fast for you to understand and you don’t really get who is actually flirting with who. But the relationship with the Catalan is growing so naturally and strongly, also around funny misinterpretation in Spanish and tender touches that linger a bit too long and a bit too frequently to be just friendly, so it feels meant to be. 

“¡No me lo creo, cuando le dio un beso?!” (You’re kidding, when did they kiss?!)

You offered the place without really thinking about it, she’s supposed to spend the night here anyway. How bad could it be to have half a dozen of your friends around for a bit?

“¡Joder, qué cabrón!” (What a fucking asshole!)

“Tiene más cuernos que un rebaño”

“¡Llepaculs!”

Really bad, apparently. 

Jana and Ona are literally jumping on your sofa over something a broad guy just said, definitely the wrong thing given their reaction. Claudia is muttering under her breath all night, you have no idea what she’s actually on about but Patri, sitting on the floor next to her, sometimes bursts out laughing so you let them be. Mapi is on the far side of the sofa, a frown between her eyebrows when she’s not making her opinion loud and clear - Ingrid is out with Frido tonight, that must be it. Even Marta is getting more and more involved in the shenanigans. 

It must be a great episode.

Alexia, on the other hand, is paying no attention to the screen.

You try to let the girls be, entertaining yourself in the kitchen making snacks for them, but every time you excuse yourself the blonde is ready to drag you back, fitting your body between her legs. 

All things considerate, you’re enjoying the show your friends are putting on in your living room. They’re loud and funny and passionate, but they’re also loyal and warm.

Your girlfriend’s hands are warm too, finding their place under the royal blue hoodie you are wearing. Her fingers are drawing patterns on your ribcage, sometimes letters and sometimes abstract figures. She’s not even watching the TV, she’s smiling at the way you’re taking the scenes around you in, and how your body reacts when she’s caressing a particular spot.

Hosting this watching party was such a bad idea.

When another yawn catches you unprepared, you hide your face in the hollow of her neck, a grin spreading on Alexia’s face. You can feel her lighting up.

“Cansada?” (Tired?)

“Too late for Spanish”

“Nunca es un buen momento para ti” (It’s never a good time for you)

“Watch your silly little soap opera and let me sleep, Putellas”

Alexia has to suppress her laugh, catching on to the stress in the room since the episode is coming to an end and no one is happy with the outcome.

She turns your body closer against hers, your friends too distracted to realise you now take most of the couch and you’re practically lying on top of her. The blonde doesn’t mind though, holding you firmly.

When she feels your hand grips her shirt’s front, she knows you’re gone for tonight.

You don’t hear your teammates leaving your house, their disappointment about the episode is easily replaced by teasing of the lovely scene. The Catalan doesn’t need words to scold them, not moving from her position but promising revenge in the next training session. 

Mapi is the last one to leave, taking her time to tease her friend and silently admire how happy and comfortable the two of you look.

“¡Vete María!” (Leave!)

“Estás actuando como el dueño de la casa, ¿lo sabes?” (You’re acting a lot like the owner of the house, you know?)

The red on Alexia’s face is starting to spread and her friend needs to leave before she says something that’s gonna be stuck in the captain’s head.

“Un mal dueño también, no acompañar tu invitados a la puerta” (A bad host too, not even walking your guests out)

It’s a pillow that escorts the defender out, hitting the closing door all the way through your living room.

~

Two years of heading to a future that appallingly looks a lot like the same for the both of you

“¿Quieres un bebé?” (Do you want a kid?)

At Alexia’s question, you almost choke on the glass of wine you’re drinking. 

It’s the off-season, it’s such a beautiful sunny day, it’s a dreamy vacation you gifted each other with. Why is she trying to kill you?

“Right now?”, you manage to find your words, red wine now spread all over your linen shirt. 

She better buy you a new one.

“No, mi amor, not right now”, she hands you her jacket, failing to hide her amusement and her blush.

Her smile is soft and full of affection, and you never loved someone like you love her - even if she almost killed you.

“¿Sólo por curiosidad?” (Are you asking just out of curiosity?)

“You were cute with those girls at the beach”

“I’m always cute with kids”

“Sí, tienes razón” (Yeah, you’re right)

“But?”, you’re getting nervous about where this conversation’s heading.

You just wanted to enjoy a nice date out with your beautiful girlfriend in a fancy restaurant on the other side of the world.

You both deserve some time for each other, last season was exhausting and you both played more minutes than you were supposed to due to her bothering knee and your extra hours both for club and country.

You didn’t see such a conversation coming, you still feel sand on your skin and the sun sparkling in Alexia’s eyes.

“I’m not asking to make a kid tonight”

“We could definitely try though”

“I’m asking if you want kids in the future”, she smiles and she’s playing with her hands like she just confessed stealing candies from said kids.

“Quiero un bebé un día, ya lo sabes” (You know I want a kid one day)

“¿Conmigo?” (With me?)

You reach for her across the table, holding her hand between yours like your entire existence depends on it, on letting her understand how important she is in your life and how much your life together meant for you. 

Alexia looks so insecure you’re almost scared of what’s happening in her mind, she knows you want kids once your career comes to an end and she knows you are in for the long run with her.

“Mírame, mi corazón” (Look at me)

“Mamá y Alba made jokes y noー”

“Quiero un bebé contigo, Alexia” (I want a kid with you)

“Sì?”

“To be honest, I dreamed about a little you running around and kicking a ball barefoot, but then the ball was your Ballon d’Or, and turned into a rocket destroying the entire house, so I didn’t feel like mentioning it”

The waitress interrupting you must sense there’s an important conversation happening, the blonde is giggling with tears in her eyes and you are barely sitting on your chair. He clears the table and nicely suggests the house’s dessert, you nod but ask for a couple of minutes.

“We can start trying tonight”

You love her open laugh.

~

One year of trying to tell yourself that nothing changed about the way you feel of your life here, of your life here with her

Every time you close your eyes you see the ring Alexia’s hiding in a fucking shoe box. 

One time, when she’s away for a photoshoot with a magazine you don’t even remember the name of, you find yourself digging into the closet for the velvet box, unsure of everything.

It fits perfectly, it’s the perfect ring.

You take it off so fast you’re scared you ripped your own finger too.

It’s getting all too much.

You’re sleeping less and when you do, you’re restless and anxious. It doesn’t matter what you cook, it all tastes wrong in your mouth. You’re ignoring your friends and finding lame excuses to avoid nights out that don’t involve all the team.

The only thing you’re able to focus on is football. 

You’re training harder, playing faster and decisively, spending more and more time on the pitch and in the gym, picking up extra training sessions.

You can ignore your mind if your body is louder.

But you love Alexia too much to ignore her.

When she speaks about a contract extension, about how happy she’s to captain the team for another three years and to be recognized for her pivotal role, you listen and match her enthusiasm. You’re so proud of her. You’re proud of what she achieved in Barcelona, what she means for the club and for the city and for the future of the game. 

Even if you’re thinking your time wearing the Blaugrana colours is fading, seeking a new challenge elsewhere to prove you learned from the best ones and you can now play against them.

You’re extending your stay in Barcelona just to be close to Alexia.

When she points out you need to start practising your Catalan too, because she wants your kids to speak her first language and understand her culture, you think it is admirable how strong she feels about her home and her roots. You want that for your kids too.

Even if you miss your home country and sometimes you have to remember you have your own roots and culture and memories, ending up speaking to yourself in the bathroom mirror just to make sure you didn’t forget your own language.

You’re ignoring your homesickness just to be where Alexia’s heart is.

When she shows you how much she loves you and the life you’re living and the future you’re building together, you take all the affection and support and care because you’re so happy you’re still able to give her it all.

Even if you know you’re loving her more than you’re loving your life.

You’re hating yourself just to be in love with Alexia.

There’s not a single doubt about your love for Alexia. You love her the way writers seek the right words for their poems, and sailors fight the worst storms just to get back home, and kids pick the brightest colours for their drawings.

You love her so much that there’s no way you can leave her. 

However, you can’t pretend anymore that Barcelona is your future, this city is not your home and this culture is not yours to feel.

That’s how you find yourself with a one-way flight ticket, running away from the only place you can leave without guilt.

You leave Barcelona because that’s how you’ll find yourself again - how you’ll love yourself again.

You don’t regret leaving Barcelona, you regret losing Alexia in the process.

[jadeysjasmine]

YOU HAVE TO POST NEGLECTED PART II RIGHT NOW. JUST THAT ONE PLEASE 🙏🙏🙏🙏

Neglected part 2 - Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Reader

A/N: this is a repost! 2473 words

Tags: angst, hurt/comfort

Summary: it all gets too much and you break, spilling all the details to alexia who is furious and defends your honour.

Waking up the following morning having gotten barely any sleep, head pounding and an overwhelming feeling of heartbreak. Your head is plagued by two things people, Maria and Ingrid.

You begrudgingly dragged yourself out of bed and into your bathroom, looking in the mirror you get a sense of deja vu to a couple of week ago when you were in the exact same position, eyes just as red and swollen and tear stained cheeks, If you could feel anything you might even find this kind of amusing.

You're now fully dressed for training, standing in your bathroom mirror applying concealer to try hide the bags under your eyes, as you grab your things and leave your apartment, dreading going to training.

You're not even sure how you got to training, mind switched off, but pulling up to the training centre you become more aware, anxiety spiking as you begin to get very nervous.

Parking your car in your usual spot and turning off the engine you take a few moments to breathe and compose yourself.

Head down and trudging into the training centre, so in your own head you don't hear Alexia's voice greeting your when you walk past, nor do you see the worried glances shared between her and Irene.

Training was awful and to top it off you hit your head and got a concussion so now you are alone in the medics room with an ice pack, waiting on the Medic and Alexia to come back into the room, you are on concussion watch and need supervision so Alexia volunteered and now they are discussing what to do over the next 24 hours.

You are staring out the window at a now empty training pitch, mind constantly wandering to Maria and Ingrid, so many questions flooded your mind, wondering if they ever truly loved or if maybe there was a reason for them abandoning you for your anniversary.

You couldn't bare to look at them so you avoided doing so the whole training session, avoiding looking at them or even any of your teammates unless mandatory.

Luckily or unluckily alexia sensed something was wrong so Jonatan went easy on you and alexia partnered up with you for all drills.

You didn't hear the door opening or the footsteps approaching, only breaking out of your trance when you felt the soft touch of alexia's hand on your shoulder, slightly jumping at the scare you turned to face her, worried gaze on you as she softly spoke, "Ready to go carino, you can stay at mine for the night so I can monitor the concussion."

Nodding wordlessly you got off the bed in the medic room, trudging behind alexia you follow her out to her car, leaving your car behind in the parking lot.

The drive home was silent but you knew your captain better than that to assume she would not ask you what is up so you were mentally preparing yourself the best you could for the confrontation that was about to ensue.

Arriving at alexia's apartment you followed behind her in, taking your shoes off and leaving them at the door along with you training bag, alexia disappearing off somewhere.

Her dog, Nala, came barrelling at you, jumping up and licking you cause you to finally smile.

Your moment was broken when alexia appeared holding spare clothes, a glass of water and some pain killers.

She spoke up, "I'll make dinner, how about you take these and change so you can a nap?"

You nodded, taking the stuff off her and wandering to the guest bedroom, making quick work of changing and taking the pain killers.

Crawling into bed, suddenly hit with exhaustion you fall asleep almost immediately.

Your awoken which feels like minutes later, but realistically its been a few hours, by alexia softly shaking you.

"Dinner is ready Chiqui." She softly spoke.

You groaned, causing alexia to laugh softly before pulling the covers down.

"Vamos, dinner will be getting cold."

You threw the covers off dramatically before making your way to the kitchen.

If you were being completely honest it smelled amazing, you kissed alexia on the cheek and mumbled a thank you before sitting down.

Dinner was silent, your eyes glued to your plates, you knew alexia wanted to give you space but from your peripheral vision you saw alexia deep in thought and occasionally glancing your way, probably contemplating the best way to bring something up.

Once you were finished you finally looked up, meeting alexia's worried eyes, this must have given her the confidence to finally speak up and see if she can find out what has been bothering you.

"I've noticed that you have not been yourself in training, I do not want to push you carino but I just want you to know you can speak to me whenever"

You do not know if it was her words or the tone of voice that she used than was like you were a piece of glass and she was scared to shatter you but whatever it was had the flood gates opening.

Through sobs you told alexia about your relationship with maria and ingrid, telling her about the time when they ignored you over a joke made by patri, how you never felt like a girlfriend and more of a burden and how you made up but then they ditched you on your anniversary and it has been complete radio silence since.

You were struggling to breath so alexia sat next to you and held you, whispering reassurances and coaching your breathing.

Unsure how long you actually cried in alexia's arm but you woke up the next morning in the guest bedroom with a pounding headache, you turned to the bedside table to see a glass of water, some pain killers and a note.

You took the pain killers before downing the water, having not drank much and also cried a lot you were thirsty to say the least. You picked up the note next,

"Good morning Cari,

There is breakfast on the table and I will bring lunch home from training, please get some rest and If you don't feel like talking more we can have a move night.

Te Amo

Ale"

You smiled at the note, eyes welling with fresh tears, you knew alexia was kind and caring but this just emphasise it and you couldn't be more grateful to call her your teammate, captain and most importantly friend.

You got out of bed and went to the kitchen to eat breakfast, again you could've cried when you saw what it was, alexia made blueberry pancakes, sausage, scrambled eggs and there's a glass of fresh orange with a empty coffee mug and fresh coffee brewing on the coffee machine. You sat and ate, grateful for your friend.

Meanwhile at training alexia was on a warpath, sure Maria and Ingrid were her friends but they also seriously hurt one of her friends, anytime they tried to speak with her, her gaze hardened and she was short and blunt, if you had not begged her to not mention it she would have done it as soon as she saw them.

She was out for revenge and unfortunately the other member of the team were caught in the cross fire. alexia requesting Jonatan repeat drill multiple times, claiming they were not done good enough.

By the end of training everyone was exhausted and moody but alexia didn't care, she wanted Maria and Ingrid to feel even part of the hurt they had caused you.

Maria and Ingrid noticed the hostility heavily directed them so thought confronting their captain to see what the issue is was the best idea.

They are in the changing room, the last 2 people there as they wait for alexia to be finished her captain duties and return to get her stuff and go home. Eventually alexia returns and her features turn stone like and she heads straight for her cubby to pack her things and leave as quickly as possible.

Maria was the first to confront alexia, at first alexia ignored her but when Ingrid joined in she saw red and snapped. She was berating and shouting about how they were not who she though they were, asking how the could treat you like this and just how hurt you truly were.

Alexia grabbed her stuff and stormed out, cussing them out under her breath in Spanish, Maria and Ingrid were stunned to silence, just looking at each other in complete shock.

They had not realised the extent in which their words effected you, they had been plagued with guilt over missing your anniversary and even seeing you the next morning in training, how awful you looked, they assumed you wanted space so they left you alone but they realised what has to be done.

It's grovelling time.

Meanwhile back at alexia's apartment you were cuddled up on the couch with Nala, scrolling on tik tok with some reality tv mindlessly playing in the background.

Your interrupted when you hear the door open then a bang and an annoyed "Joder," you giggled and went to go investigate, Nala closely behind, reaching the door you see alexia looking ready to explode and a smoothie spilled all over the entrance.

Alexia's annoyed expression didn't last when she noticed you smiling and soon couldn't hide a grin of her own.

Once the mess had been cleaned you both ate the remainder of the lunch she brought on the couch, watching the show you had on as you both occasionally made little comments that had you both laughing.

She soon looked at you, guilt plastered all over her face as she spoke up, "I am so sorry carino but I could not hold my temper and i shouted at them"

She let out a gasp of shock when she felt your arm wrap around her shoulders in a hug, when she realised what was happening she wrapped her arms around your torso, sighing in relief when she realised you weren't mad.

"It's ok ale, thank you for having my back. I really do appreciate you."

You stayed like that for a while longer, enjoying the warmth and comfort your friend brings you.

You two don't do much else, just order Chinese food and watch comedy movies all night on the couch while enjoying each others company.

Meanwhile the air at Maria and Ingrid apartment is tense, barely 2 words spoken as they are both lost in thought about ways to get your forgiveness, they know it is not going to be an easy task and even though they haven't showed it, they feel a piece of them is missing when you are not around.

They are plagued with emotions ranging from guilt from how the have been treating you, anger at themselves for letting insecurities get in the way on your relationship and determination to prove to you just how much they love you.

——————————————————————————

You woke up the next morning on the couch to the buzzing of an alarm, you felt a body wrapped around you and you could hear light snores falling from alexia's parted mouth.

You both had spend all night watching movies and snacking, honestly you could not appreciate your captain more for helping take your mind off recent event and instead helping you focus on other stuff.

You both had a travel day today, it was the upcoming copa de la Reina final against Real Madrid and even though you couldn't play due to your concussion, you were tagging along with all the other injured players to support the team and hopefully win another trophy.

Your mind started to drift off to your girlfriends (ex?) but before your mind could truly spiral you heard a groan and felt alexia's arm move to shut off her alarm.

"Good morning Chiqui, how did you sleep?" She said, voice rough as she had just woken up.

"Morning Ale, I slept well. How did you sleep?" You questioned, rolling over to face the Spaniard.

"I slept well too minus your snoring next to me" she grinned cheekily, your face heating up with embarrassment.

You both got up, got dressed and had breakfast before setting off to the bus that would take you to your hotel for tonight before tomorrows final.

The closer you got the more alexia could tell your were anxious about seeing Maria and Ingrid, your leg was bouncing and you were biting your nails. She placed a hand on your leg causing you to turn and face her, "You know you do not have to speak to them if you do not want to, I will make sure of it." She assured you and you felt your nerves relax slightly.

You pulled into the meeting spot where the bus was, noticing you were one of the first to arrive, feeling relieved that you and alexia could sit together.

Finding a seat in the middle of the bus, you sat near the window while alexia took the aisle, you both started chatting about the upcoming final and how you both with you could play the derby.

You were so engrossed in your conversation with alexia you missed most of the team entering the bus, only looking up when you heard Patri and Pina being loud, as usual.

It was like some weird coincidence as when you looked up you locked eyes with Ingrid, she looked awful, like she had barely slept and you hated how even after all the pain she caused you that you wanted nothing more than to make sure she was ok.

Alexia noticed your sudden tense posture, her eyes followed yours, gaze hardening when she realised who you were looking at.

She places an arm protectively around your shoulder which causes Ingrid to look away and find her seat a few rows in front next to Maria.

The coach trip was uneventful, you slept most of way and the rest you played games on your phone or watched movies with alexia.

You got to the hotel at around 8:30pm after driving for hours so the whole team was sleepy and hungry. You got to the hotel and were kind of relieved that everyone got their own room so you grabbed your key and took the elevator up to your room, not really hungry so deciding to skip dinner. Quickly showering, you brushed your teeth and changed for bed.

You abruptly woke up to loud banging at your door, heart racing as you questioned who was at the door.

All questions were answered when you heard alexia, "Sorry to wake you carino, I was going to breakfast and wanted to know if you would like to join me?"

You didn't want to keep her waiting so you advised you would meet her there in 10 minutes, with an ok you heard her walk away.

You were showered, dressed and on your way to breakfast in record time, you had just made your way into the elevator and the door were just about to close when a hand stopped it and your heart stopped when you saw the two people you had been purposely avoiding enter.

Maria and Ingrid.  

[narutosfrog]

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐍𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡 — Reader x Strawhats ! Reader x Luffy — FINAL PART

cw: fem!reader, some body description, violence, mentions of death, sexual content, angst, fluff, smut, mentions of survivor's guilt, fear of commitment, mdni

NSFW cw: rough!luffy, needy!luffy, praising, dirty talk, hair pulling, head pushing, deep throat, choking, overstimulation, implications of Luffy using his power during sex, mating press, multiple orgasms, a tiny bit of a size kink probably, mdni

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Not me screaming and crying thinking about how "Turning Page" by Sleeping at Last perfectly resembles the way Willow feels about Luffy. Not me being inspired to write heart-wrenching fluff and angst for this final chapter.

PSA before i finish this — I'm kinda drunk bc I partied with my teachers. I told EVERYTHING about my romantic life to my 24 yo math teacher and I wanna hide under a rock. Sooo, if the way I write it's a bit strange, yk why.

Luffy's room smelled just like him. Salty sea breeze, lemongrass and wood.

That was the only detail Y/n was able to register as he pushed her up on the wall, kissing her hungrily. He was breathless, his kisses almost getting messy — he felt like he was going insane, getting drunk on her lips and soft skin. He wanted her. He wanted her to be his and his alone. Luffy gripped on her thighs at the thought and she pulled his hair, a whimper escaping her mouth.

That sweet, filthy, sound was music to his ears. And he wanted more of it.

"You're killing me," he groaned, just before sitting her on the bed. He ran his thumb on her lips, eating her up with his eyes. "I want to know how you taste."

Her hand, still tangled in his hair, gently guided his head down, until he kneeled in front of her. Her heart was beating impossibly fast — she couldn't think straight, not with him. Her instincts had taken over and Luffy was the object of her desires. Y/n put one of her legs on his shoulder and bit her lip, staring into his eyes. "Please," she murmured, in a tone so sweet it made Luffy's cock twitch in his pants.

He started leaving wet kisses on her inner thigh, his hand caressing her other leg, bringing it on his spare shoulder. Y/n's breath itched in her throat. She couldn't remember the last time someone touched her like that. She jolted when Luffy left a kiss on her throbbing heat, right through the fabric of her short pants.

"And you're calling me sensitive?" he uttered, looking up at her and smirking.

Y/n didn't have the time to answer. Luffy effortlessly took her pants off, only leaving her in her top, that left very little to the imagination. When Luffy's eyes met her cunt, they widened. And his attitude changed completely. He clenched his jaw and he smiled, his eyes darker than ever. He brought two fingers to her opening and brushed them between her folds.

"Fuck," he breathed, "You're soaking."

The nymph bit her lip, forcing herself to keep her eyes on him. It was only when his thumb found her clit that he remembered what he had said.

"Don't tease me, Y/n" he had warned her, "Or I'll have those pretty eyes of yours roll to the back of your head."

She didn't think he would have kept that promise.

"You're so fucking pretty, like that," he uttered, "You're going to make me so happy tonight."

Then his mouth made contact with her throbbing heat, his tongue lapping up and down her clit as his fingers made their way inside her, pumping at a steady pace. The nymph let out a high-pitched moan against her palm and she pulled Luffy's hair, bucking her hips from the sudden pleasure.

Luffy groaned against her core, grabbing harder on her thighs to keep her still. He looked up for a moment, smiling at her flushed face — glossy eyes, lips parted, reddened cheeks —, and then he substituted his fingers with his tongue, as he stimulated her clit with his thumb. He moaned at the taste, pushing his face against her dripping cunt. He bucked his hips against the air, desperately needing friction. He couldn't help himself, not when the way she tasted turned him on so fucking much.

"Luffy —," she whimpered, her back arching as she pushed his head, "I'm — I'm close."

Following those words as they were godsent, he kept going exactly the same way, pushing his tongue towards that spongy spot and working over her pulsing clit. He couldn't stop whimpering and groaning against her pussy, the vibrations only adding up to her pleasure. Y/n bit her lip, the mess between her legs — the lewd sounds, the drool and arousal leaking from her cunt to her inner thighs — only driving her more towards the edge, the knot in her lower belly becoming tighter and tighter and snapping after a few seconds with a loud moan.

"Fuck —," she gasped, trying to relax her curled toes and her hand, still gripping on Luffy's hair.

Luffy unwillingly separated from her heat, cum dripping down his chin. He was catching his breath, lust radiating from his eyes. He got up from the floor and cleaned his chin with his thumb, before pushing it through Y/n's lips.

"Here" he said, in a tone that seemed to be demanding, "Taste yourself."

Y/n sucked on his thumb, so obedient and good for the strawhat captain. He indulged in feeling her warm mouth wrapped around his finger and clenched his jaw, taking his thumb out. Everything to keep himself from throwing her on her back and fucking her right then and there. He kissed her slowly, their tongues meeting halfway in a messy exchange.

"I want that pretty mouth wrapped around my cock" he spoke against her mouth, "Can I?"

The nymph couldn't help but let out a low moan against his lips — his thoughts, so loud and filthy, were enough for her to lose her sanity. "Please," she breathed, "I want all of you."

Luffy had to put an unimaginable effort not to cum untouched. Pleasing her had already done the most to him — but the way she spoke, too... The way she was completely giving herself to him. He was getting addicted. He decided not to speak until he was sure he was going to make it and he let his pants fall off along with his tunic, which was tied around his hips.

The nymph ran her golden eyes all over his body, inch by inch. His skin, his scars, his marks, the outline of his muscles... When her gaze met his dick, she bit her lip. She didn't imagine he would've been that big.

She got up from the bed and slowly took off her top, remaining completely naked. He devoured her with his eyes, in silence, as his hands immediately met her waist and breasts, travelling all along her body. She covered in shivers, his heavenly touch only making her want more of him. She ran her hands on his naked body, down his chest to his groin. "See?" she murmured, leaving a kiss under his ear, "We're even."

When she took his cock in her hand, Luffy almost hissed. His dick was already throbbing, rock hard and pre-cum leaking from the tip — the anticipation was what had made that moment incredible and yet such a painful wait. When she started pumping her fist, Luffy shut his eyes closed, trying his best not cum immediately and commanding through gritted teeth to fucking suck it.

Y/n smiled, staring at him through her lashes as she slowly kneeled in front of him. "Won't you even say please?" she murmured, her thumb running in circles on his reddened tip, "You know I can be a lot nicer than this."

Luffy bit his lip, his fingers immediately tangling in her hair. "Please," he obliged.

She chuckled, her little laugh darkening as she pumped his shaft at a slower pace. "That's better."

When she ran her tongue through the tip of his dick, Luffy held his breath as he instinctively pulled her hair. She looked up at him, a devilish smile flashing on her face. His red cheeks, his chest heaving up, his abdomen tensing up whenever she touched him — everything about him made the nymph lose her mind.

"You look so pretty," she murmured. And, as his gaze met hers, she took him in her mouth. Her lips surrounded him inch by inch and the wetness and warmth of her mouth made Luffy's eyes roll to the back of his head. He let out a low moan, his hand tugging on her hair as he searched for something — anything — to hold on to.

"Oh, — fuck," he breathed, his voice breaking as she started bobbing her head, "Your mouth feels so... oh, so good."

The praise made the blood rush to her lower belly and she started to ache again, craving his touch like no other. She swirled her tongue, her vision becoming blurry as she pushed his cock down her throat. He was so big she already found it hard to fit him in her mouth.

Luffy knew she was struggling because of that. And it turned him on even more. He groaned, not being able to contain himself any longer. "Take it all" he spat, barely holding in a moan, "Or is it too much for you?" As those words left his mouth, he thrust his hips, his cock twitching when the tip touched the back of her throat.

She whimpered, the vibrations running along Luffy's shaft. It was too much. And, yet, it was so fucking good. Boiling tears fell down her cheeks, as she struggled to take all of him in her mouth. Luffy's merciless thrusts were getting sloppy, as he pushed her head against the base of his dick. She knew what it meant — one of her hands reached his balls, slowly massaging them as she took him deep down her throat once again.

"Fuck —," he moaned, "I'm close."

She looked up at him, searching for his eyes through the tears. She found them. She saw the lust, his face — a mixture of bliss and damnation, as if he were almost in pain. Then Luffy finished with a moan, cumming down her throat.

Y/n swallowed with no hesitation, the taste only making her want more. She slowly separated from his dick, milking it of every drop of cum. As she got up from the floor, Luffy wasted no time pulling her in from her waist. He kissed her with passion and yet softly.

"Thank you," he murmured breathlessly on her lips, as he kissed her again.

"Don't thank me yet" she uttered, gently grabbing his neck and pulling him on the bed, "I said I wanted all of you, didn't I?"

Luffy didn't need anything else to get fully hard again. The way she took control made him lightheaded, drunk on the way she could make him feel. "Yes," he mindlessly mumbled, incapable of forming a decent thought, "You said that."

As Luffy sat on the bed, Y/n straddled his lap and started running her fingers on the side of his neck, down to his waist. "And don't you want me to take care of you?"

Her voice, so sweet in expressing such dirty thoughts, was honey to Luffy's ears. He was hers — she could've done anything to him and he would've been happy with it. "Please" he breathed, his hips bucking in search of friction, "I need you."

"You need me?" she repeated, as she ran her lips along his neck and clavicles, leaving wet kisses all over his skin, "And what do you need me to do, pretty?"

As Luffy was about to answer, the nymph started grinding against his cock, the wet and warm feeling making his eyes shut closed while his mouth hung slightly open in a silent moan. Y/n bit her lip, trying to keep herself from making a sound. The stimulation was already too much to bear, the effects of their previous orgasms not yet vanished.

Luffy's hands instinctively grabbed her ass and his mouth flew to one of her tits. Y/n arched her back with a whimper, from the sensation of Luffy's tongue against her nipple, as he sucked it quite harshly.

"Please" he begged against her skin, his breath itching in his throat as she wouldn't stop grinding, "I want to be inside you."

When he started guiding her movements, the nymph's brain shut down. She needed him so badly she couldn't keep herself from granting him whatever he wished for. "Take me" she murmured, one hand tangled in his hair, "I'm yours."

Luffy's lips crashed against hers, as he whimpered from her words alone. Between open mouth kisses, all Y/n heard were his thoughts, as what she said replayed in his head.

I'm yours. I'm yours. I'm yours.

He got on top of her in a sudden movement, pressing her thighs on her chest. He kept kissing her as he brushed the tip of his cock between her folds.

Luffy bucked his hips, making his way inside her. Halfway in, they gasped in each other's mouth. Y/n pulled his hair, whimpering in his mouth from the stretch. "Keep going," she begged.

Luffy clenched his teeth, unable to say anything. And, once he was deep inside her, the pleasure was so intense his vision went white. He let out animalistic sounds, blinded by the bliss of feeling her clench around him.

His voice broke, as he started rutting his hips against her, going impossibly deeper. "So tight — so fucking tight."

The nymph let out a loud moan, Luffy's thrusts hitting that spot just right. "There" she stammered, breathless, "Just — just like that."

Luffy kept fucking her at an unforgiving pace, not having enough of that sensation, of her cunt squeezing his cock so good and warm and tight. "Fuck," he breathed, as the feeling was about to become unbearable. The overstimulation provided such a beautiful kind of pain that got him whining, whimpers and moans leaving his mouth endlessly.

As she was about to come undone, panting and exhaling such sweet sounds, Luffy's thrusts became sloppier.

"I'm about to cum —," he groaned, with a filthy roll of his hips.

Her walls clenched around him impossibly tight as she reached her high. She cried his name, her legs shaking under his grip, and he came inside her with a low growl, the spasms of his orgasm making him collapse on top of her. He filled her to the brim, stuffing her full of his cum to the point it leaked out, running down her inner thighs.

They tried to catch their breath, still shaken by their orgasms.

Delicately, she kissed him. It was a soft kiss, their noses touching and their sweaty skin making contact in a delicate brush. Luffy opened his eyes to look at her, then closed them and opened them again. A smile slowly formed on his face and he kissed her once more.

"You're beautiful," he said, with such simplicity it made Y/n's heart flutter.

She couldn't help but beam at him, as her cheeks lightly blushed. "You are beautiful too, Luffy."

He giggled, moving on his side and leaning on his elbow. "You're all red."

"Oh, shut up. As if you aren't."

"Of course I'm red, we just had sex."

Y/n blushed again, this time trying to hold in a laugh of embarrassment. "Luffy!"

"What? It's true" he retorted, still cackling with excitement, "I would be up for another round, actually."

"Okay, Captain" she murmured, laughing through her nose, "As much as I'd like that, we wouldn't last five seconds."

Luffy grinned, suddenly smacking a kiss on her lips. "You said you'd like that!" he exclaimed, "That's enough of a win, for me."

The nymph openly laughed, as she rolled on her side as well. "Are you seriously surprised?"

He giggled, nuzzling his face into the pillow. "Not really but I couldn't be sure, could I?"

"Oh, don't worry. I liked that — pretty sure you saw that."

"I liked it more — pretty sure you saw that. Bet you were checking my thoughts."

Y/n smiled with guilt. "Only a little. I was... concentrating on other things."

"My cock."

"Luffy!"

And he laughed again, before pulling her in. They silently smiled, embracing each other, tangled in a mess of sheets that they didn't even use.

Luffy had buried her face in her neck and she was stroking his hair, a look of full peace painted on her face. Then something hit her, in the depths of her mind.

"I can't believe..." she suddenly whispered, "I can't believe how natural this feels."

Luffy raised his head and stared into her eyes for a moment. His gaze was soft, though. Then, he blurted out an innocent admission. "I think it's because we're meant to be."

The nymph fell into a deep silence, his words resonating through her head and chest.

He stroked her cheek and left a delicate peck on her lips. "I'm going to grab something for you in the kitchen" he murmured. Then he got up and wore a silk robe on his naked body. "I'll be right back." Finally, he got out of the room.

She wasn't able to read his thoughts from the shock but, really, she was fairly convinced he was just trying to give her a moment alone.

Meant to be.

Such a strange concept.

She was, in fact, naked in Luffy's bed after she tried everything in her power to keep him at a distance — and yet she couldn't bring herself to. She had decided she couldn't trust him — and yet there wasn't a feeling more natural than being with him. She had claimed she would've never followed him — and yet there was nothing more heartbreaking than the thought of never seeing him again.

She cursed herself in a whisper, as tears rushed down her cheeks. "What the hell did I do?"

Meanwhile, Luffy walked to the kitchen, hoping he would find some food. Instead, he found Sanji. Sanji, who was looking at him in utter shock.

"Oh" Luffy said, "Hi, Sanji."

"You're naked."

Luffy looked down at his silk robe. A gift from Zoro. "Uh, no. I'm wearing this."

Sanji swallowed. "No. Under it. You're. Naked."

Luffy blinked. "Yes. Do you have any food? I think Willow is hungry."

Sanji's face went white, then full red. Luffy thought his nose was about to bleed. Then, Sanji started screaming.

"You had sex?!" he yelled, "Right now? With her?!"

Luffy shrugged with a smile. "Yeah. Best night of my life" he confirmed, then peeked at the fridge, "So? The food?"

Sanji held on to the counter to avoid passing out. "Why not me —," he stammered, "How the fuck did you conquer the gentle heart of a beautiful nymph and I didn't?"

Luffy bumped his fist on Sanji's head. "Sanji, I'm in a hurry! The. Food."

And Sanji, probably as envious as he ever was in his life, gave him the juiciest tray of snacks, adding two sweet drinks that smelled like fresh fruit. "Just for the lady" he clarified, quite offended, "I didn't do it for you."

"Okay" said Luffy with a smile, as he walked back towards his bedroom, "Thanks."

When Luffy came back, Y/n had already brushed the tears away from her face and she was waiting for him, trying to look as relaxed as possible. He smiled at her and her heart softened. Less and less hard to pretend.

"I grabbed some things for us," he announced, putting down the tray and a small pile of clothes, then getting closer to her. He was holding a wet cloth, his face as hopeful as it could get. "Can I clean you up?"

She saw in his mind that he had stolen some of Nami's clothes for her. She would've normally scolded him for not asking her permission but she couldn't — not when he looked at her like that. So, she nodded with the tiniest smile ever.

When Luffy was done cleaning her up, stealing a few kisses in the process, he let her wear Nami's clothes. He giggled. "You look beautiful. Comfortable?"

Y/n smiled more openly. When Luffy called her beautiful she lost all of her self control. "Yep. I will thank Nami, tomorrow."

"She steals so many clothes from shops that she won't even notice these were gone in the first place."

"She already set up the whole crew for a lifetime of debt" she giggled, "I don't think you want to make your situation worse."

Luffy laughed. "My situation? I'm not the one wearing her clothes."

"I'm not the one who stole them, though."

Luffy looked at her as he cackled, in pure awe. It was amazing to him, how much she already knew them all. He was restraining himself from asking whether she was finally going to join him — he wanted to enjoy that night without making her uneasy.

"C'mon," he said, as he stood up to wear a pair of cotton shorts. Then, he grabbed the tray and laid back next to her. "Let's eat."

She wanted to bring up the fact that he had just put shorts on without underwear but the smell of the food was just too delicious not to eat it right away. "Fuck" she groaned, right after taking a sip of the drink, "This is amazing."

"Right?" he gushed, biting on another snack.

They ate in silence for a while, too concentrated on the amazing taste to say anything else.

Then, after the tray was empty, Luffy yawned. At that point, Y/n just couldn't help herself. She grabbed his squishy cheeks and planted two big kisses on each one of them. Luffy blushed, giggling, and she just froze, realising what she had done.

"Uh, sorry," she apologized with a smile.

Luffy pulled her closer. "Shut up. Do it again."

And they went on like that, until they fell asleep in each other's arms.

The morning came pretty fast.

Luffy woke up first. When he opened his eyes, his heart skipped a beat. She was still asleep. The rays of sun that had made it through the curtains were shining on her relaxed face, her eyelashes forming curious shadows on her cheeks. He brushed his fingers on her horns, tracing their outline, then he caressed her hair. He felt his stomach ache terribly and his throat closed in panic.

"I'm having a heart attack," he thought, as his trembling hand gently stroked her cheek.

Suddenly, she scrunched her nose. Her eyelashes fluttered and she finally opened her eyes. When her gaze met Luffy's, she lightly smiled. "What 're you doin'?" she slurred, her voice still sleepy.

In case Luffy's thoughts weren't explanatory enough, his face definitely did the trick — widened soft eyes, red cheeks, parted lips. But he stammered out the answer anyway, accompanied by a little giggle. "You're gorgeous and you don't even realise, do you?"

She blushed and hid her face in the pillow, trying to stop a huge smile from forming on her face. "Come here, sweetcheeks."

Luffy laughed, even as he pulled her into his arms. "Did you just give me a nickname?" he taunted her, "Not that I mind that."

She curled her lips and left a small peck on his left cheek. "You heard me."

Luffy's heart softened again and he kissed her slowly, enjoying her warm lips to the fullest. "Never stop calling me that" he ordered, as a huge grin appeared on his face, "Let's go to breakfast, mh?"

Y/n's eyes filled with worry. "Are you sure? I feel like I'm intruding."

"Ridiculous. Let's go."

"Luffy —."

His stubborn eyes were making a convincing argument, already. "I'm not going anywhere without you and you're not intruding" he retorted, "They like you, if there's gonna be any issue at all it's going to be about them being way too familiar."

The nymph sighed and closed her eyes. She knew her next goodbyes were going to hurt like hell.

But she couldn't say no to Luffy, could she?

So, they got up from the bed and reached the kitchen. Y/n had to fight the impulse to hide when Luffy grabbed her hand.

The crew was already there, chatting at the table. As soon as the two stepped in, Franky and Nami pointed at a chair — right next to Luffy's seat.

"Y/n!" Nami exclaimed, "We added a chair for you."

Meanwhile, Usopp and Brooke stared in shock — even though the skeleton made it a point that he doesn't have eyes.

Franky, hoping the nymph wouldn't notice, gave Luffy a high five as he walked past and Zoro smirked.

Chopper and Robin giggled. Sanji, who was placing food on the table, was still incredibly envious but was still a gentleman to Y/n.

When Y/n took a seat, between Nami and Luffy, she shyly smiled. "I wanted to thank you — Luffy stole clothes from you last night for me to wear" she confessed, "I'll give them back."

Nami shrugged and cackled. The nymph was giving her so much information with so little conversation. "Oh, no worries" she said, "You can keep them — Luffy owes me 100 Berries, though."

Luffy scowled. "You didn't even pay for those!"

"They're still worth 100 Berries."

Y/n exchanged looks with Luffy. "Don't say you told me so," he thought. She smiled to herself.

"So, Y/n" whispered Franky with a knowing look, "Was the bed I made for our captain comfortable enough for you?"

The nymph blushed and cleared her throat. "I'm sorry?"

Franky just laughed and then turned to Sanji, complaining about how much he had to wait for a restocking of Cola.

"Oh, Y/n!" exclaimed Chopper suddenly, his eyes widened with worry, "Do you need medical attention?"

The nymph raised her eyebrows. "Why would I need medical attention?"

Chopper pointed at her cleavage, still worried. "A purple spot, there! Is that a bruise?"

Sixteen eyes and two empty orbs suddenly stared at the nymph's cleavage but, more specifically, at the obvious hickey Luffy had left right above her boob the previous night.

There was a moment of deafening silence before half of the crew spat their drinks and food out. Only Zoro, Franky, and the girls were left smiling and giggling — Chopper was just plainly confused.

"Yeah, okay, everything is pretty obvious — we get it" said Luffy at one point with a little laugh, as he took Y/n's hand under the table, "Let's just have breakfast."

The nymph thanked him silently with a light squeeze of her hand and quickly took a sip of whatever was in her cup, hoping her cheeks weren't too red. Then her eyes widened. "Woah — this is... What is this?"

"It's latte, my beautiful lady" immediately said Sanji, "With vanilla scented foam."

Luffy rolled his eyes. The nymph was almost too shocked by the culinary experience to notice the jealousy in his thoughts.

"I didn't understand a word you said" she chuckled, after taking another sip, "It's delicious, though."

"You never had anything like it?" asked Nami, as she placed three chocolate sweets on her plate.

Y/n smiled at the gesture. "Thank you — and no. We didn't eat elaborated stuff. The most complicated thing I've ever eaten in my years was the stew the caretakers used to cook for newborn nymphs and a mixture of honey and berries as a treat."

"Newborn nymphs?" asked Robin.

Y/n bit the inside of her cheek. She was telling the crew a bit too much — but she had caught their interest and there were no secrets to keep anymore. So she took a deep breath and started explaining.

"Yes. There were four clans of nymphs. The forest clan, the river clan, the wind clan and the fire clan."

The silence was deafening. Everyone was listening.

"Each nymph had a role in the community. There were warriors, providers, caretakers, sentries and the council."

"You were a warrior, right?" asked Chopper.

Y/n lowered her gaze. "Correct."

"What about the council?" questioned Zoro.

"Each category could choose a representative for them to enter the council. When a representative is chosen, the deal is done."

"So the representative can't say no?" murmured Luffy.

"No, they can't. I was the representative of the warriors for over two hundred and sixty years."

"If they kept you as representative for that much time, you must've been good," said Franky.

A little smile appeared on the nymph's lips. But it was sad and plastered. "I've never lost a battle... except for one."

Luffy squeezed her hand again, in utter silence. And Y/n forced herself to get back to her senses.

"Then, there's the Eldest," she continued, clearing her throat, "The Eldest is the head of the community."

"You said you were the Eldest, yesterday," said Sanji.

A dark laugh made its way through her lips and she didn't comment further.

"How does a nymph become the Eldest?" asked Usopp.

"Again, the Eldest is suggested by the community in a sort of secret ballot and then chosen by the council — usually, it's a member of the council that is chosen but, this time, they can refuse."

"Why?" asked Brook, "What is the difference between the members of the council and the Eldest?"

"I said we are immortal but we could choose to age, didn't I?" she murmured, "If a nymph becomes the Eldest, they have to give up their immortality."

"Why?" asked Luffy, "Isn't that unfair?"

"I wouldn't know how to answer that, I think it depends on your perspective. When the Eldest is chosen, they rule on a whole community that has existed until the beginning of time. It's expected of them to give everything for the other nymphs and to make the right decisions — giving up our immortality is seen as a way to show loyalty and dedication. To show that you truly want it."

"The Eldest rules until they die, is it?" asked Nami.

"Yes, normally. But they could also choose they've had enough. They wouldn't gain their immortality back, though. Once you give that up, it's done forever."

There was silence after a few seconds.

"Earlier, when you talked about newborn nymphs..."

"It was the fire clan's job to take care of that" Y/n explained, "They had the special ability to give life — they were the guardians of the hearth."

"The hearth?" asked Luffy.

"I don't exactly know what that is, it was special knowledge of the fire clan. What I know is that they were the only ones who could give life to newborn nymphs — every year, three nymphs were born from each clan, from trees, bodies of water, clouds and the hearth itself. That was how we kept the community alive."

Robin's eyes widened with sadness. "So, that means..."

Y/n lowered her gaze. "That means I am the last nymph."

Luffy's heart ached with pain and anger. "That's the reason why you're the Eldest, even with your immortality."

"I have to be, I imagine. There's no one else."

"Did the nymphs ever ask you to be the Eldest?" asked Zoro in a low tone. He didn't like the nymph at first, but knowing the whole story he couldn't help but feel some degree of respect for her.

The nymph clenched her fists, in an attempt to control the piercing agony that was crushing her heart. "Yes" she answered, "The day they all died."

Luffy furrowed his eyebrows, as the crew held their breaths in shock.

"I said no. I didn't want to give up my immortality because I felt my time hadn't come yet" she muttered, "They insisted and I left — I climbed up the mountain and stayed in the forbidden bit of the island for hours, just to get away from that. I was too far to even hear the thoughts. When I came back..."

Luffy interrupted her, the pain in her voice already being too much to bear for him — let alone the one she was actually enduring. "You don't have to keep going if it's too much."

The nymph shook her head, as if she were trying to send the memories away. "Yeah, uh — you're right." Then she got up, her hands shaking a little. "I need to go now, thank you for yesterday and... uh, breakfast."

"What?" said Luffy, getting up from his seat as well, "Where are you going?"

She shook her head again, panic building up in her chest as she freed her hand from his. "I need to go," she repeated, going towards the door.

"Wait —."

"Luffy" Nami warned him, grabbing him by his wrist, "Let her go."

And, just like that, she disappeared.

"What the fuck —," he lashed out, freeing himself from Nami's grip, "Why would you stop me?"

"She needs time, Luffy. She's panicking!"

"No, she needs me to be there for her. She's afraid of letting me in and if I give up now she will never come with us!"

"I'm afraid this isn't about you or us, Luffy," said Usopp.

"It's really not," agreed Nami.

"You're right, it's about her. But it's also about me, now, because I —." Luffy stumbled into his words and fell into silence. "I care about her" he finally uttered, "I need to check on her."

"And what if what she needs isn't you?" retorted Sanji.

Luffy glared at him like he never did since he met him. "And what the fuck do you know about that? I'm there for her, that's what matters — if she doesn't want me at her side, she will let me know, I assure you."

"I think she wants him there," uttered Zoro, "I just don't know if it'll be enough."

"What do you mean?"

"Think about it. You know what she's feeling — you know that guilt."

Luffy stayed silent. Zoro didn't express his thoughts a lot but, when he did, his words were gold to him. "Yes," he simply said. The mere thought of not being able to save Ace two years prior was heart-wrenching. Every single time.

"But you had us, still," Zoro continued. "She was left completely alone, she lost everything. Don't you think that she's too afraid of losing someone else? So afraid that she won't even let herself think about the chance of being happy again?"

"Or maybe she doesn't think she deserves happiness" said Robin, in a low tone, "I know a thing or two about survivor's guilt."

"And how do I convince her otherwise?" asked Luffy, softly.

"I don't know if you can."

"Look, we're on your side" said Usopp, "We're just saying to have a little caution."

"We want her in the crew, too" murmured Nami with a little smile, "We never saw you act the way you do with her."

Luffy sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. "I want to check on her."

"Wait just a little" Nami tried to convince him, "Sort your thoughts out and then go — you're too shaken up and she needs you to be there, she doesn't need to be comforting you as well."

Luffy nodded and sat back down. "Thank you, all of you" he muttered, "Sorry I lashed out."

"Stop worrying. Calm down and get her to join us once and for all."

Luffy sat for forty four minutes. Then he got too restless to even think of staying still and he ran up to Zoro, who was training.

"Oi," he said.

Zoro turned around and raised an eyebrow, completely stopping his training. His way to show he was listening.

"Am I doing the right thing?"

Zoro shrugged. "Does it feel right to do anything else other than this?"

Luffy thought about it for a moment and shook his head.

"Then you're doing the right thing" answered Zoro, "It might not work but... you know, at least you're making a choice you can live with. It's like having the chance to try a mysterious sake you've been curious about — the taste might suck but at least you won't regret not trying it."

Luffy smiled. He felt lucky to have Zoro as a friend. "Thank you, Zoro."

"Oh, shut up. Go get your nymph."

Luffy looked for her in the forest for at least an hour. He used haki to find her and he perceived her in such a faint way there was only one place she could be. Luffy ran to the mountain and looked up. He couldn't see the top — but he knew she was there. So he climbed. He climbed up until his limbs were sore and his bones were hurting. When he reached the top, there she was.

She was lying on the cold stone, silent tears streaming down her temples. "What are you doing?" she murmured.

Luffy caught his breath, sitting next to her. "I was looking for you."

"Why?"

"You know why."

She sighed, other tears falling from her eyes.

Luffy brushed them away with his thumbs, in silence. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Y/n opened her eyes, staring into his. "Sorry for what?"

"I'm sorry you had to go through that" he muttered, "It's not your fault."

"It might not be my fault but I could've changed the outcome. And that means I'm still partly responsible."

"There's a chance you could've changed the outcome, yes. But you can't control life. I was there to save my brother and I still failed. Terrible things happen to a lot of people, everyday."

"How is that a comfort?"

"There's no comfort. Except for the fact we can stop him from doing this to other people."

The nymph furrowed her eyebrows and sat straight. "You're talking about Blackbeard?"

"Yes. We can stop him. Together."

"He's an emperor."

Luffy held her hand. "We'll stop him anyway," he insisted.

She shook her head and got up. "You wasted your time, climbing all the way up here," she murmured.

He stood up as well, anger radiating from his voice. "Don't do that. Don't be cold to me as if nothing ever happened between us."

The nymph avoided his eyes and clenched her jaw, trying to keep herself from breaking. "I'm not cold."

"You try to be," he retorted, "You're trying to push me away and it won't work."

"Don't make this harder" she seethed, her golden glare appearing again as if the prior day had never passed, "This can only go one way."

"Yes" he uttered, his eyes as stubborn as ever, "My way."

"Don't be a fool!"

"Don't be condescending, I am not a child."

"Then respect my decision," she spat.

"I'll do it once you'll allow yourself to even think about the chance of being happy with me" he yelled, "You won't even let yourself think about that, will you?!"

Y/n froze. She shook her head again. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"No, I know. You saw my thoughts and you know I get it. But I can't let you do this to yourself. I had someone who grabbed me by the neck and told me to think about all I had left and all that future had to offer me — I will be that someone for you if I have to."

"Jinbe could comfort you just because you still had your crew" she screamed, pushing her palms against his chest, "I have nothing!"

"You have me!" he screamed back, "You. Have. Me."

Tears started to swell up in her eyes again and she turned around, ready to jump into the forbidden bit. "Leave me be," she begged in a whisper, "It's easier this way."

She didn't let him answer. She jumped into the waterfall and closed her eyes, waiting to land in the fresh water. She craved the feeling of noiseless emptiness that being underwater could provide and the loneliness of a forbidden forest that was only populated by raging, unreasonable beasts, just like herself.

But, just as she was about to touch the water, an arm surrounded her and she landed on the grass, Luffy holding her close to her body. The nymph furrowed her eyebrows, in pain.

"Why can't you give up on me?"

Luffy stared into her eyes, his gaze being the depiction of torment. "Because we are meant to be together."

"How do you know that?" she insisted.

"All I ever dreamed about was becoming King of the pirates" he answered, his voice low, "But, for some reason, I can't fathom the idea of doing this without you — from the moment I met you."

Her eyes softened and yet the agony was still glaring. "Why are you wired this way?"

"Come with me and I'll have plenty of time to find an answer to this question."

"I can't come with you."

Luffy pulled her closer, the frustration radiating from his voice. "Why not? I thought you trusted me by now — after tonight!"

"It's not that" she whispered, "I do trust you — more than anyone."

"Then why?" he insisted.

"I can't come because I'll fall in love with you."

The nymph hadn't planned on saying those words. She didn't want to let them out of her mouth. And yet nothing could stop them. Not even her will, not even her determination.

Luffy's heart had skipped several beats. He blinked, staring into her eyes. The silence was deafening, as the muscle between his lungs struggled to keep pace with the way he felt, with the physiological need for oxygen and circulation and with how much he wanted to kiss her. He took a deep breath. One. He took another. One, two. He took the last one. One, two, three. Then, he talked.

"Fall. I will catch you."

And their lips crashed into a breathless kiss. A kiss that tasted like pain and regret, like trust and open wounds, like new love and uncertain promises. A kiss where they felt home and yet still with a foot outside the door.

Until she heard a sound. A strong, sudden wind through the branches of trees and a strange warmth that came with it.

Y/n broke the kiss and looked around, weapons in hand, ready to fight a predator. And, when she met its eyes, her knives fell on the ground.

The phoenix flew towards her, drawing majestic patterns in the air. It left her breathless, as Luffy gazed up at it in awe. She had never seen one before — but she knew what it meant. And she needed it. She had been needing it so desperately.

"What is it?" he murmured.

The phoenix flew in circles around them and then in front of the nymph again, looking into her eyes. In the creature's eyes she could see all the answers she had been longing for. Tears ran down her cheeks and she brought a hand to her chest, as her heart felt like it was about to burst. "It's a blessing" she whispered, "A message from Mother Nature."

The phoenix flew in circles once again and then disappeared in a wind turbine, leaving the air to smell like infinite fire and endless silence. A final decision.

"What message?" asked Luffy, delicately, as if he were trying not to bother what was left of the appearance.

The nymph turned to him, burning tears streaming down her cheeks and lighting up the gold in her eyes. "Rebirth" she said, breathless, "Catch me."

EPILOGUE:

The legend says there was a specific moment when the King of pirates stopped losing his battles. No one knows for certain but some say that it involved a power, a power beheld by a mystical woman who could see and hear everything — a power she would use for love, some would argue. Other smart tongues would rather chat about convenience, since the matter is about the king of damned pirates. But, in the depths of the New World, as he explores the greatest peaks of freedom, there are his companions who know the truth. The truth about a nymph, met long ago on a deserted island, who gave up his immortality to age with him. A woman that, in his presence, is called the Queen.

HI GUYS!!! WE REACHED THE END OF THIS SHORT FANFIC. I'M GONNA CRYYYY. I just wanted to thank you for all the love🤍 All your comments and compliments meant the world to me. I just want you to know, I'll keep using this tag list even as I publish my next works. So, if you want to be in it please tell me and I'll add you immediately 🤍

I want to remind you that you can leave all sorts of requests and I'll happily write for you! Have a good night babies🤍

[existslikepristin]

Been holding on to this one in a finished/unedited state for a few months now because I wasn't too happy with it. @worldsover did some editing for me. It still feels like something's missing (I'm not going to try to make Levi literally rewrite the whole thing), so feel free to give me critiques and suggestions, even if it's "yeah, I see what you mean and it is a little odd". I don't want to avoid posting it for forever, so let's call it a learning experience.

Regardless, I hope you enjoy! This is my first explicitly stated female reader insert, so that's yet another fun step.

(Also, I know I promised that the next story would be "normal" but you know what? Anything is normal compared to my last fic, so the only critique I will not be accepting is "Waaah, this isn't 'normal!'")

Tags: NSFW, TheLounge, Red Velvet, Irene, Female reader insert, anal, rimming, not a single line of dialogue, canonical silence, ass worship, massage oils, hand holding, yeah you’re deeefinitely the dominant one here

Open and Shut Up

~~~~~

No talking.

You can get behind that. That’s totally sexy. What’s less sexy… is a flowchart.

Obviously, you printed it out. Irene is going to be paying you for thi—It’s not payment, you remind yourself. It’s a mutual favor between acquaintances which may or may not involve money or goods/services which require it.

You scowl retroactively at Yeri’s so-called humorous insistence that you are, effectively, a prostitute. Performing sex acts in exchange, one time, for smoked salmon bagels is most definitely not prostitution, as you have reminded her many times.

Trying very hard to put that train of thought behind you, you glance around at the room. Low light, vanilla lavender sandalwood candles, obscenely soft towels, lube options, massage oils, and the stupid fucking laminated flowchart. You sigh—

NO! You don’t sigh, actually! Because the no talking rule was emphasized in great detail during negotiations, and included moans, groans, hums, whispers, grunts, and unnecessarily heavy breathing. And since a sigh is a heavy breath, you fucking hold that shit in tight!

But why do you need to hold in your sighs? Well, because of the final feature of the room that wasn’t mentioned two paragraphs ago: Irene, lying entirely nude on her stomach, on a bed of silk sheets, implying that your job—NOT your job, excuse you—has already begun. You entered the room mere seconds ago, so this should be extremely obvious to you, but you had to take care of a bit of exposition before you could really admire her body or get into the action. Perhaps you should do one of those two things now.

You can hardly believe what you’re seeing. Her slim legs and waist, the expanse of her back easily defeating the silkiness of the sheets she’s on, her elegant neck, her luxurious pitch black hair twirled into a loose bun, and the mild plumpness of her ass, peeking out from above the creases where her thighs meet it. Now, you’ve seen plenty of naked idols, but it’s the prestige that comes with this idol in particular that may have you so excited. Or it’s what she wants you to do to her. It’s hard to say. Point is, you’re wet, and you’re probably going to have to lay down a towel of your own.

On that note, you forgot an important aspect of the exposition: You’re not allowed to touch yourself.

That’s right. You’re in a room with a naked Irene, perhaps the most desired (per capita by fans and/or marketing departments) idol in history, preparing to gape her asshole in exchange for goods and/or services and/or currency totalling in value no less than the approximate equivalent worth of this spa treatment, and you aren’t supposed to get yourself off. But you are supposed to be naked, so you remove your shirt and bra, making just enough noise for her to hear you undressing, since that’s supposed to be how you let her know you’re about to start—

Oh, yes. Did you forget the most, actually, critically important part of your exposition? Oh, you think you caught on to it moments ago? Why, yes. You’re here, specifically, to gape her asshole. No more, except any action that will lead toward said gaping, and definitely no less. You are to take the role of dominant, while she takes the role of submissive. Never mind the fact that, per her instructions, you can’t speak, or make any noise, or touch yourself, or use her body to get yourself off, or choose your own state of undress, or touch any part of her not shown in the diagram on the flowchart, or do anything that isn’t explicitly spelled out on the flowchart… But you are required to spank her if she makes any noises. So yeah, you’re totally the dominant one here. (And, to be more specific, you are to keep track of which buttcheek you last spanked so that you can make sure to spread the ass-slapping evenly between cheeks and preserve symmetry, followed by immediate continuation of whatever action you were in the midst of prior to said spank.)

… Yes, that is the last of the exposition. What? You want to have a flashback to when the verbal negotiations were happening? Absolutely not. That’s dialogue, which is technically against the rules. It’s time to do things to Irene’s butthole. Stop stalling.

Once you remove your skirt, slippers, and underwear, you get onto your knees, noting that the floor seems slightly spongy and wondering what that’s about. Irene’s legs are closed. The crevasse of her ass on its own makes you want to scream, but the centerpoint of the cross formed by that crevasse and her thigh crease . There is the slightest gap at that point which reveals the tiniest sneak peak of what hides between. You bite down on your lips to suppress your instinctual lewd moan. Okay, you’re just getting started. Calm down, or this is going to be impossibly difficult.

You straddle Irene’s calves (without touching them!), take a deep and silent breath, and lean forward, placing your palms first on the flawless globes of her ass, then letting your fingers come to rest as well. They’re such a perfect combination of firm, soft, and smooth that it brings tears to your eyes. The inability to comment on them out loud brings you near-physical pain and certainly-mental anguish. If Irene cares, she’s not making it known. She’s deathly silent, and you only know she’s alive because of the way her back rises and falls with her breath.

Contact achieved. Looking at the flowchart isn’t necessary for now. You had a pretty easy time memorizing steps one through five since they don’t have any branching-off points. Step two is to inspect. You look away and take a couple more deep (and silent!) breaths, then increase the pressure of your hands on Irene’s butt and ever so slowly pull apart.

Within the realm of your imagination, you can see yourself comically hyperventilating. In the real world, you see a hole that you could only ever describe as manicured. Not a hair in sight, and some shade of pink so unrealistically perfect that it probably has a Pantone color named after it (Irene’s Butthole Pink? Pick a hex code). The miniscule folds of flesh are already very slightly gaped, giving you a near-imperceptible view into her interior, as if she’d had someone else very recently do what you’re about to, or as if she’d prepared herself with a butt plug. You wonder if Irene even owns a butt plug though, considering she can probably convince any person on the planet to open up her ass any time she would even want to use one. Or maybe she does have one. The Alexander III Commemorative Fabergé egg is still missing, after all…

You pull a little further, and can’t contain your shudder as not only her asshole opens by another couple millimeters, but her pussy lips spread and eventually split apart when the pressure barely overcomes the moisture holding them together. Your eyes and heart flutter, and you think you might faint. The vagina is one of many areas which is not indicated as touchable on the diagram, which hurts your soul because it’s the perfect number of shades darker than the surrounding skin and—

It’s time to focus! Asshole only! Get your mind out of the gutter!

Keeping one hand in place so she stays half-open, you get a handful of one of the massage oils. It feels room temperature, but you're supposed to hold it until it's warmer, so you stare at Irene's back as you try not to let too much drip away. The movement of her breathing is steady and subtle. In. Out. You try to match her pace. In. Out. In. Out.

When it's ready, you let the oil flow off your hand into the cleft of Irene's ass. She doesn't so much as flinch, which you obviously credit more to your excellent reading of body temperature and less to her ass-trance. But back to the butt in hand.

The oil travels leisurely down her crack, speeding up ever so slightly as the path becomes more vertical, and stopping to pool on top of her hole. You place your oily hand on its designated cheek again and repeat the process on the other side.

It’s time to really get started now… with step three-dash-C.

The tips of your thumbs meet just over her hole and press down flatly so that they do not enter her. You slowly shift them around each other and back, massaging with just the right pressure to stay on the rim. The rest of your hands are for massaging the rest of her derriere. It’s not necessary, but you want to show off your manual dexterity, and you want to make sure she’s as relaxed as can—She’s effectively already achieved Nirvana down there, from the looks of things, actually. The relaxation is for you. You’re the one who’s Nirvous about this anal—Is this a joke to you? It’s time for another spread test. You need to make sure Irene’s ready, because maybe somewhere between steps four-dash-E and four-dash-K you’ll forget to off yourself for that pun… Thank fuck you didn’t say that one out loud.

Step four is the first insertion.

Every ounce of fortitude you have is tested. You hold back your shaking. It’s just a finger. It is just a finger, right? You’ve done this plenty of times, to plenty of idols, no less. Well, not a silent butt-fingering, per se, but you’ve been knuckle deep in other idols before, and often more than one idol and often more than one knuckle! Irene just has a gravitas that makes yo—Don’t you dare say she has a gravitass. Stay. Quiet! And keep her ass spread with your free hand.

You watch the carefully trimmed, polished nail of your forefinger leisurely slip into her asshole. Then you pass your first knuckle. You stop on the second and quietly release your held breath. You don’t recall making an analogy about the feeling of her ass cheeks, but you’ll sure as hell compare the interior of her butt to cashmere. The minor gape you’d noticed previously has no effect on how tightly the hole hugs your digit.

Irene’s back rises a centimeter higher, and falls more slowly. Her pattern is broken. You catch your breath again. Did you do something wrong? Is the massage oil adequate? No, it’s only meant to be the starter. This was the whole intention. Right? You glance at the flowchart. Yes, step three, massage oil only, no additional lubrication. You do your best to relax and drag your finger back.

The way her asshole holds on to your finger is its own story of seduction, affair, and dramatic departure. She (her hole is a she) clearly doesn’t want her (so is your finger) to go, but she has to, lest her family shun her. But she cannot resist returning, leaving again despite all the kissing and languid hugging, and returning once more. One last time, she escapes completely, but after telling the story to a saucy friend, introduces Irene’s butt to them, and suddenly the sordid romance becomes a menage a trois.

Two fingers, two knuckles deep in Irene’s ass, you note your own wetness beginning to trail down your inner thigh. You aren’t sure exactly why the thought crosses your mind that you hope that it will somehow evaporate against your ragingly hot and bothered leg.

Now, out, and back in, out, and back in. With your breath. You match Irene’s. Out, and back in.

You gulp. You’re halfway through step four’s substeps. Next is the addition of another finger and more thrusting at a torturously slow pace for an actually timed five minutes. You find yourself hypnotized by it. The five minutes pass by in something more like twelve seconds, and the clock on the wall gently changes color to let you know it’s time to make the final preparations for step five. It’s not magical. It’s just connected by bluetooth to the phone to your left.

But what is magical? You’ve come this far, so you should know by now. It’s Irene’s asshole. You remove two of three fingers, then reinsert one more from the opposite hand, and as cautiously as you can, pull apart. There’s the magic.

Irene’s butt is open, and not just immediately around your fingers, but in a whole oval shape. It’s not enormously wide, but it’s enough that you could reasonably, without discomfort, insert the tip of your tongue.

… Hey. Wouldn’t you know it? That’s step five.

Rimming is always a questionable thing to do to your nose, ranging from the worst to a merely neutral idea. When you draw in close to Irene’s open ass, however, it’s the massage oil that overpowers your trepidatious olfactory sense. You’d noticed earlier that it was labeled as Fresh Linen, a scent that certainly makes sense given Irene’s reputation for laundry-doing, but it triggers a seemingly unrelated and entirely Loony memory of the smell of coffee. How the smells of linen and coffee are linked in your mind, you may never know. Perhaps you should see a professional about that.

But how’s the taste? Well, bland with the slight bitter spike of chemicals that improve viscosity but shouldn’t be ingested in large quantities. The risk of health complications is extremely low though, and you’d risk significantly more for this specific opportunity.

Irene’s butt cheeks and your face cheeks are still separated by your hands, but as of step five-dash-B that will no longer be the case. For now, your lips and tongue are in full contact, and that would be more than enough. To be licking around and inside the asshole of Irene, the rarely disputed queen of idols, you have to be infinitely lucky. You thank heaven you are.

Your focus is drawn in further and further. No more jokes. No more references to other stories. Even the most obvious pun/reference slips from your mind as you try your best to keep your tongue soft for Irene’s pleasure.

Your complete and total compliance doesn’t go unnoticed by Irene, somehow. The tiniest roll of her hips, that barest indication of her appreciation, kicks your core into overdrive. The trail down your thigh widens and it’s all you can do to beg the universe that you won’t drip on her calves.

It takes more strength than you knew you had not to squeal your desperation into her ass. Your thighs and your lungs and your everything else burn with desire. You know it’s not for want of air since your nose is still free, so it has to be your overwhelming need for Irene’s attention. You’d do anything. You are doing anything. A friendly agreement to gape her hole? No, this is a test, a labor, a trial. You’re proving your devotion.

You’re not licking a queen’s ass. 

You’re worshipping a goddess. 

It’s not a flowchart. 

It’s a divine ritual.

The shifting color on the clock only mostly guides you out of your trance. You pull away with a heavy heart, staring half lidded at the strings of saliva still connecting you with what you now live for. There’s no difference in size, but you much prefer the sheen you left on her rim to that of the oil. Step five isn’t over yet.

Do rituals have steps? You try to think back to any hieroglyphics you’ve seen in old textbooks. There were no numbers… Obviously there were no numbers. They were hieroglyphics. You can’t read that shit—

Stop.

You remove your fingers, allowing Irene’s ass to close once more. It happens slowly. You nearly choke, watching her hole return to its previous shape with your breath held so tightly in your chest that it feels like something is going to burst. Hey, maybe it will, but that can’t happen yet. That would be too loud, and your goddess demands silence, so you open your mouth to simply allow the breath to drift out along with any comments you had on the subject.

You close back in once again, this time letting your face settle against Irene’s cheeks and gently nudge them apart, reattaching your tongue to her rim. You want to dive in, to feel her squeeze you, maybe even cum around you, but that’s not part of the ritual. You need to give her rest. The best is yet to cum—no. Come. You give her the lightest rimming you can, holding your tongue back to merely caress her asshole while you silently revel in the light press of her glutes on your cheeks.

Another slight roll of her hips sends you reeling. Your vision fades and Irene is all that’s left. You can see the movement. It’s not just her breath, but her oh-so-gentle rocking back and forth that makes the light and shadows play across her back like the grains of the Elysian fields waving in the breeze. It doesn’t seem right for you to be allowed to experience this, to taste this, to be treated to a view of paradise, to understand the touch of divinity.

The gently shifting color of the clock, magenta to yellow, broadens your vision again. You back away, taking a deep breath that you only now realize you desperately needed.

Without thinking, finally, you do as Irene has commanded. You place your palms on her ass: your altar. You slide your thumbs into her glorious hole, and you pull apart softly. Her muscles have relaxed so thoroughly that you meet no resistance. She is simply open, as if this is just how she was always meant to be, told in myths that cannot be written. Her soft ass doesn’t try to clench down. It remains a portal that entices you, begs you to enter.

And you could. Certainly, as is the case with other gods, Irene could forgive you for showing her your specialty. You, the heroic champion, could show her an unexpected pleasure. Touch her clit, lap at her juices, grind yourself on the back of her thigh. Her instruction indicated that you’re the dominant one here. Make it so.

You hook the first knuckle of each of your pointer fingers, as directed, inside.

No. You can’t get greedy now. You’re not that kind of hero.

Irene opens further around your digits with no effort. Now you see the depth of her abyss, and it does not try to close. Irene wants you to see into her. Even the beautiful spheres of her ass to either side, her graceful back, her soft legs, her captivating hair… It all fades away. You know what the next step is. You don't need the clock to intuit the moment she's ready. Your higher thoughts and your lust blend together.

Slowly, you pull further apart. Not much. It may not seem like it's so small, but this immortal gateway still needs to be treated with reverence. For every millimeter you actually widen her, though, you see miles more. It makes you feel light-headed, even a little dizzy. And when you slide your fingers out, those feelings become far more distinct. Irene remains open.

Gaping may have been an appropriate word for her to have described what she wanted from you, but it was far too crude to represent what you see now. Then again, you’re not sure what else to call it. It’s been a while since the thesaurus failed you.

Irene's muscles are relaxed. Serene, even. Like this is where they should naturally be. You simply guided them.

You lean back in and gently kiss her rim. It's dangerous, running your tongue around the defined edge of the mortal and everlasting, but exhilarating. The slight rolling of her hips is your indication that Irene is feeling the same passion, for all the hubris it takes to assume such a thing about your goddess. As far as you know, she could just be moving because your tongue and lips aren't in the right places and making up for your inadequacies.

Still, every slight, slow shade of her ass against your cheek is a divine caress, urging you further along the journey. Your kisses are as insistent as you can get them without making the grave error of smacking your lips.

In the foggiest reaches of your vision, a hand reaches out to you along the floor. Irene grasps at the air like she wants something. That’s not part of the ritual. You can only think of one thing in the moment, and you take her hand in yours.

Irene’s fingers close around yours and curl into your palm. They flutter every time you swirl your tongue across her rim, and, after a moment, they squeeze.

It’s terrifying, at first, when Irene trembles underneath you. It evokes thoughts of earthquakes, brought upon by the wrath of the gods. But no, it’s orgasm. Her asshole contracts slightly, but otherwise just quivers against your mouth. It ends almost as soon as it begins.

Irene takes her hand away, and a bit of your soul with it. She lightly presses on the clock, and it shifts to white. You don’t have to be reminded of what that means. Steeling your heart, you back off of Irene’s ass and carefully push yourself up to your feet. Even at your full height, you can see into Irene’s hole. Taking it in with the full picture of the rest of her body is an incredible sight to behold. Knowing that you contributed to it makes it even more beautiful.

As you look over her, your eyes go wide and you have to contain a gasp. Irene’s calves are covered in little wet streaks, right where you had been hovering over her. Embarrassment washes over you. It's hard to imagine being so turned on as to not have felt yourself dripping on her, especially after having worried about that very thing mere minutes ago. You want to reach for a towel to correct your mistake, but you know you're not supposed to touch her. You're supposed to be dressing yourself and leaving, so you step away, and reach down for your clothes.

Your arms feel heavy as you pull your underwear up, only getting more embarrassed about how soaked they immediately become.

As you put on your shirt though, Irene moves again. You can't help but stand perfectly still, mesmerized by the smooth motion of Irene getting up onto her knees and sitting back on her heels. Now upright, she's even more statuesque, back curved inward from her generous bottom up to her gentle shoulders. One hand releases her hair from its bun, and the night sky falls past her neck, simultaneously obscuring and enhancing that gorgeous expanse.

Irene’s torso twists a quarter in your direction. It's hard to think that for however long you've been here, this is the first you've seen her face and it's merely a silhouette, not even far enough around that she could look at you out of the corner of her eye. All you can see is her eyelashes, pointed down, to indicate that her eyes are closed. The movement also coyly presents you with the side of her breast, yet another of the endless curves of her body that you have had no opportunity to worship.

One graceful arm comes back. Her fingers find their way to the cleft of her ass and sensually feel their way down. You don't even think to wipe away your drool as you watch those fingers dip inward. They move in and out, unhurried and exquisite.

Your mind reels. Were you not enough? Is she just basking in the remnants of her pleasure? Is she doing this for you to watch? Should you even still be here?

Irene continues to toy lightly with her asshole while at the same time her other hand shakes out her hair from below. 

Your legs twitch. You can't stay here anymore. You practically jump into your skirt, grab your shoes, and you're out the door. You keep the doorknob turned in your hand even as you whip yourself outside so the latch won't click when you close it.

In the hallway, you slump back against the wall. Your body is on fire. You need to be touched. You don’t live very far away. You can get home fast, and if you can’t grab someone on the way, idol or otherwise, you’ll be sitting on a vibrator all night—

The door you just came through opens again. Irene walks out in a shoulderless sweater, just long enough to cover her shorts, and sneakers. How she can look so casual, you’re sure you’ll never comprehend.

She doesn’t turn to leave, though. She steps closer to you, and closer, and closer. The hallway isn’t that wide. Are her steps inches long or is space expanding? Either way, she crosses and stands over you. It doesn’t matter what your height was. Your knees will only hold you against the wall at a height that makes it look like Irene is miles taller.

You open your mouth. You want to ask her to make good on her end of your bargain right now. Or maybe not. It doesn’t really matter. You just want to say something. But before you can, you feel the shock of physical connection. Irene strokes your cheek with the back of her fingers. Her eyes capture yours, holding you steady.

The distance becomes inches, and you’re paralyzed. She doesn’t blink as she gets even closer, but closes her eyes just in time to remove the final gap and touch her lips to yours. She kisses you so softly that you can barely feel it. In fact, the whole of your body seems suddenly light and cloudish, like a breeze could send you away. You even feel a drop of rain leave your eye.

When she retreats, she gives you the coyest smile to ever coy, and as she approaches her full height again, her fingers leave your jawline and the lightness you felt reverses. Gravity crashes your ass into the floor.

Then Irene turns to leave, breaking the line of sight to her eyes, freeing your own to wander. The last thing you see before she turns the corner is that she is not, in fact, wearing shorts under her sweater. You get one last glimpse of your handiwork. Though you can’t see very well and can’t imagine her ass is still gaped now that she’s back on her feet, it is still visibly wet, as are the backs of her thighs and calves.

[biscuitblinkeu]

Kiss and Make-up [8]

Park Chaeyoung x Fem!reader

Word Count: 2940

…………………………………………………………………………

You’re in a club, drinking alone. This was a different place than the one you went to with the girls. You heard about it courtesy of your bartender friend you exchanged numbers with before. It wasn’t as big as the hotel one, but still filled with people. You could hear the music, feel the bass reverberating in your bones. Your hand fidgets in your lap while you sip on your drink, watching the way people danced, jumping and laughing.

It was an impulse decision of yours, coming here. It was a Monday night and you needed to blow off some steam, get your mind off things. Get your mind off a certain blonde. The alcohol helped with this. Helped a little — because as much as you were trying to forget about Rosé, every time you closed your eyes you saw her; reminded of what she said. Daggers to the heart.

“Did the drink insult you or something?” A sudden silvery voice makes you jump out of your skin, a chuckle following after.

“I’m so sorry about that,” you turn to the culprit, who has taken the seat next to you. “I’m Irene.” Well, this Irene woman was beautiful. She has refined and soft features— like a work of art with a lot of detail.

“It’s okay,” you reassure with a laugh, shaking your head, “(Y/n).” You offer your hand to shake hers. She accepts easily, warmly smiling and giving your hand a soft squeeze.

Oh?

Her smile sends warmth through your body and you lower your gaze shyly. “You were glaring at your drink, what’s on your mind? If you don’t mind me asking.” Irene asks softly, leaning over to you slightly, resting her chin in her hand.

“Was I?” You muse, turning to her fully. You contemplate if you should tell her, and she picks up on this. “I’m just a stranger you met in a bar, so you don’t have to tell me. Just try talking to someone about it sometime. You’re too pretty to be thinking that hard.”

“You sound like a therapist.” You tease, making her scoff playfully, her lips pull into a smile.

“I would be a terrible therapist, I’d want to know all the details and it wouldn’t even be a therapy session anymore. More like gossip between friends.”

You giggle at her words, “You’ve already thought about it, huh?”

Irene shrugs nonchalantly, “Well yeah, I’m nosy.” She smiles cheekily at you. “But seriously, it's not good to bottle up things.”

You hum, finishing off your drink— your liquid courage. “Okay, I won’t. Let’s dance?”

…

You and Irene had returned to the bar after spending an hour dancing together on the dance floor when you felt your phone vibrating against your thigh.You curse quietly, answering it without glancing at the caller ID. A familiar voice comes through the speaker, “(Y/n)?”

“Jennie?”

“Yeah it’s me, you’re somewhere safe right? Weird question but it’s hard to hear you because of the background music.”

“Yes I am, just…”

“Don’t, I have an idea what you’re doing,” Jennie laughs, then nervously she gets out, “so, Rosie…she—”

“I really don’t wanna hear about her right now, Jennie. I’m sorry.”

Jennie looks at Lisa who sits across from her for some help, her wife just shrugs. They all got word of you and Rosé’s situation when they met up in her office. She was acting off so they forced it out of her. Made her realize things.

“Alright, for what it’s worth, Rosie can be an idiot sometimes— but enough of that, I hope you have fun tonight, don’t get in strangers' cars!” Jennie whispers her next words, like she’s telling you something top secret. “And, for the sake of our ship, kiss and makeup for me. Okay bye!”

“Of course, and thank you?”

Kiss and makeup?

You go back to chatting with Irene after you hang up. You can’t help but wonder what Jennie was trying to tell you though.

Twenty minutes later, she gets out of her car, decked in Saint Laurent; a wool blend jacket, silk shirt that’s unbuttoned and tucked into high waist leather shorts, and over-the-knee ivory leather boots. She advances to the entrance and walks in.

She’ll have to thank Jisoo and Jennie; the only ones you follow on social media who have access to your location. They make everyone share their location with them in case of emergencies. It’s no surprise you’d ignore her calls after what she said. So when she tortured the info out of Jennie, she had to see you.

It doesn’t take her long to find you, smiling and laughing with a dark-haired woman. It was like that moment in movies, like the people in the room were positioned in a way she could only see you.

Rosé was on a mission. She wanted you away from that woman. She wanted you away from this club & bar, where anyone wouldn’t hesitate to take a chance on you, as proved by the woman next to you. She wanted that woman to see that you were hers and nobody else’s, to realize you’re taken by her. And if not now, soon.

Rosé strides across the floor to the two of you, the sound of her boots attracting your attention just as she makes it there. The look on your face is pure confusion and hurt when you meet her eyes. Something Irene picks up on. “Rosé? What…what are you doing here?”

“It’s not important. But I have to talk to you about earlier.”

Rosé watches the way your eyebrows knit together and your lips pull into a frown, fury returning in your eyes and she feels her nerves starting to grow. She’d let you yell at her as long as you want, as long as the outcome is you letting her plead her case.

The woman you were talking to places a hand on your knee and you scoot a little closer to her, attention turning back to the woman— Look at me, she thinks— and opting to ignore Rosé. She doesn’t like this, and she has a feeling you know it too.

“Who’s this?” Rosé asks casually, moving to your side. The jealousy on her face is poorly masked but she stays civil. (For now.)

Irene was about to answer for you when you spoke up first. “None of your business.” You quip and Rosé narrows her eyes in suspicion. Narrows her eyes at the hands snaked around your waist. Her fingers drum against the countertop and she purses her lips, not quite knowing how to defuse the bomb that is you. The expression on your face makes it clear you don’t want to talk to her. Understandable.

“I know you’re upset, but can we please just talk it out?” She pleads.

“There’s nothing to talk about right now.”

“Yes there is. I need to apologize, I shouldn’t have said what I said. I need you to know none of it was true-”

“Then why did you say it?”

Rosé begins to respond, and you shake your head. “Actually, don’t explain.” You didn’t want to find out it was an ego or pride thing of hers. That would hurt more. “Please just leave me alone, why don’t you find someone nice to talk with?”

Someone that’s not you. Surely she gets that you need some time?

“(Y/n), I can’t do that. I want to talk with you. I was so wrong and—” She’s cut off by a hand being placed on her chest, firmly pushing hers back a couple steps. Irene stands in front of you, a little to the side. She’s been watching the whole argument unfold.

Rosé is in shock, it’s written all over her face. But she’s also about to explode. It’s building up, the rage, the regret, the mess of her feelings and this situation, and she thinks she might just—

“Why don’t you back off? She’s been telling you to leave her alone.” The short woman speaks up, and she’s met with Rosé’s glare. Irene holds her ground.

“Who the fuck are you?” Rosé almost sneers. She stands tall, stepping closer to the woman with no shame in the slightest. “I don’t know who you think you are, but—”

“Rosé!” You hiss, ripping her attention away from the woman. You were sparing Irene from the words that would come out her mouth. “You need to go cool off, away from me.”

“But…” She begins, only to be met with your glare and she retreats without another word, giving you her signature curt nod before disappearing in the sea of bodies. Rosé takes a seat at one of the tables across the room, you're still in sight though.

She was determined to apologize to you. To make things right.

Despite the lingering looks she’s getting, no one dares to approach her with the sour look on her face. And if they did, she’d tell them to get lost.

But apparently someone didn’t get the memo. A body blocks her vision.

“Hi, my name is…” Rosé didn’t care, “I find you extremely attractive and couldn’t help coming over here and…”

Get lost. All it takes is one look.

The woman trails off, her voice getting smaller until she excuses herself. When she gets rid of her you’re gone, you and that woman. Frantically, she looks around and is eventually able to spot the two of you heading out the building. She practically sprints to you, standing in front of the two of you.

“What are you doing? Where are you going?” If a kicked puppy could talk, this would be the example. Worry and jealousy were evident in her tone.

You rolled your eyes, “Clearly, I’m going home with her.” The confidence in your voice makes Rosé think you’re out to get on her nerves. If you are, it’s working.

“Don’t, please. Let me take you home.” Her eyes dropped to your hand, intertwined with the other woman’s unrelentingly. She narrows her eyes at them.

“Rosé—”

You’re immediately cut off by her soft lips being pushed against your own. You feel a hand slither around your waist, pulling you closer to her and away from Irene. As she continues to kiss you, her hand slides down your arm and rips Irene’s hand out of your grasp, replacing it with her’s.

You don’t know why you kissed back, why you responded back just as eager despite how she hurt you— yet that didn’t stop your heart from beating out your chest. Irene fled the scene, feeling out of place. But you did catch her smirk and give you a thumbs up. Then you thought about how she reminded you of Jennie.

Kiss and makeup..

You didn’t know anything, didn’t really have control until you were at the parking lot of the building where her high rise apartment was.

“Don’t move.” You heard. You sat there confused but complied. Rosé hopped out the car and jogged to your side, opening the door for you. You shook your head in disbelief, amusement, and let her take your hand.

…

“Uhm…you can use my shower, I’ll get you something from my closet, if that’s okay?”

“That’s fine…”

She gave you a clean towel and wash rag, and when you turned the fancy looking shower on you came back out to ask Rosé if you could use her toiletries but she was already gone.

So you just helped yourself. She won’t mind.

When you're out, an oversized hoodie and some black sweats are laid out for you along with some (new and clean) undergarments. The sweats pool at your ankles and the hoodie sleeves are slightly longer than your arm span. The clothes smell like her, and like a weirdo, you find yourself smelling them.

You fold your previous clothes up and put them in the hamper she has in the bathroom before grabbing your towels and walking out. Freezing upon Rosé crouched on the ground interacting with a dog. You wondered why the dog wasn’t here before and if it was her’s.

“Hankie,” she cooed, in the high-pitched voice people use only to talk to animals or babies. She scratches him behind the ear. “Good boy.” She grabs a dog brush and brushes his shiny fur. Rosé looked up to meet the dog’s eyes but found him looking behind her.

Confused, Rosé looked back and found her answer. You were fresh out of the shower, a towel folded over your arms as you leaned against the wall with an indescribable look. Rosé sat up, holding Hank in her arms before addressing you. “Why do you look like I’ve grown another head?”

“It’s nothing, just weird seeing you so domestic…I mean, soft. It’s adorable, I didn’t think you were a pet person.”

“Really? Well, you're going to learn a lot of things about me.” Rosé studies you with a soft look, making you fidget and pull at your(her) hoodie sleeves. You weren’t used to this side of her.

Rosé smiled, “I love you in my clothes, but I’d also love if you’d follow me to the kitchen. I’m going to make us chicken stir fry.”

Your neck heats up and a grin threatens to appear on your face. Rosé and you go into the kitchen and she pulls ingredients out of her fridge. She doesn’t mind it when you hop on the counter to watch her cook, your legs dangling and swinging. She doesn’t know it’s so you could stare at her side profile more.

“When did you get a dog?” You ask, staring at the brown and white dog in his dog bed. Occasionally he’ll run over to you and you’ll hop off the counter to pet him.

“I’ve had Hank for two years and I found him when I clicked on an adoption advocate where a nice lady was posting about dogs that need to be adopted, and then I saw hank. Hank was abandoned by his previous owner and he had severe conditions… When I brought him home he was scared and jumpy, but he’s got used to me now. I just fell in love with him and he’s so adorable.” She finished as she smiled at the dog who sat by your feet.

“That's so sweet of you, Rosé. He’s lucky to have met you.” You lean forward, resting your head on your forearms as you watch her work. A comfortable silence lulls in the air, you content just watching her focus on not burning things.

She deserves a second chance…

You’re immediately cut off by her soft lips being pushed against your own and you feel a hand slither around your waist, pulling you closer to her and away from Irene. As she continues to kiss you, her hand slides down your arm and she rips Irene’s hand out of your grasp, replacing it with her’s.

Her hand was warm, her lips even warmer— but then she pulled away, looking you in the eyes. You could feel the nerves radiating off her.

So, breathlessly, she pleads once more. “Please, and I know it’s cliche, but hear me out. I’m not asking you to forgive me because what I said was terrible, but—”

“Okay. Okay…fine.” You agree, finally. Rosé squeezes your hand before leading you out of that noisy bar & club.

Now in her Mercedes, Rosé fidgets around thinking of how to start her apology. She knows starting off with “I’m sorry” is not gonna cut it.

“I was scared.” She begins before pausing. You go to ask her “of what” but she starts talking again. “I was scared that if we started a relationship I would fuck everything up— which I already have in a way— but I was scared of causing you problems, pain, I was trying to protect your heart,” she sighs, “It’s just, most of my life I’ve been told I’m hard to love and it kind of just stuck to me like a bad omen. And I want you to know I said all those things so you would keep your distance.”

You’re stuck, appalled; you don’t know how to respond other than a stuttered “Oh” and a nod. It seems to be enough for Rosé though. “I want you to know it wasn’t a mistake, and it meant so much to me. I’ll do anything I can to make up for it if you’ll let me. I’m sorry.”

She definitely has a way with her words.

And the way she looked at you when she finished? — like heaven on earth.

You might as well be six feet under.

How are you not supposed to fall for her? And right now, in the middle of the night, surrounded by the vibrant buzz of energy from the city, everything her, you can't help but look at her lips that she bites in concentration.

You were biting those just a few days ago yourself.

You know what she tastes like. And you really, really want strawberries right now. Her lips are so soft, so plump, and the way she kissed you? You think you might be ruined for anyone else.

Kiss me again, you think.

Rosé’s brows pull together and she stops chopping the vegetables. "(Y/n), I think you might still have some alcohol in your system."

"What?" You’re on the verge of getting mad because you know you're sober.

"You just said… I might not be hearing right.” She shook her head, dismissing it.

"What did I say?" You pry, curious yourself. Rosé glances at you, heat blooming on her cheeks.

“You said…kiss me again.”

A/n: KISS AND MAKEUPPP KISS KISS AND MAKEUP 💃🏾

Would you like to continue?

[vickyvicarious]

It was not that he felt any emotion akin to love for Irene Adler. All emotions, and that one particularly, were abhorrent to his cold, precise but admirably balanced mind. He was, I take it, the most perfect reasoning and observing machine that the world has seen, but as a lover he would have placed himself in a false position. He never spoke of the softer passions, save with a gibe and a sneer. They were admirable things for the observer—excellent for drawing the veil from men's motives and actions. But for the trained reasoner to admit such intrusions into his own delicate and finely adjusted temperament was to introduce a distracting factor which might throw a doubt upon all his mental results. Grit in a sensitive instrument, or a crack in one of his own high-power lenses, would not be more disturbing than a strong emotion in a nature such as his.

I had seen little of Holmes lately. My marriage had drifted us away from each other. [...] Beyond these signs of his activity, however, which I merely shared with all the readers of the daily press, I knew little of my former friend and companion.

I am not, repeat, not saying that Watson is wrong and Holmes was ever in love with Irene Adler. (People making that claim is consistently annoying to me, in fact.) However, I do find it interesting that he claims Holmes is bothered by pretty much all strong emotions, then immediately follows it up by saying they haven't seen one another in a while. In fact, the "he scoffs at romance" and the "since my marriage we've grown apart" seem to line up well also.

It kind of gives me the impression that they had a fight about Watson's marriage and him leaving the apartment (perhaps Holmes feared losing his friend, or was a little resentful of the change, and Watson felt hurt at the lack of support/lashed out in turn). Because, sure, Holmes is not about romance but he isn't thrown off by all emotion, he isn't an unfeeling machine. He and Watson have fun together! Watson has chronicled him laughing and enjoying himself as well as in complete despondence... he knows very well Holmes isn't a machine.

But if part of the argument involved Holmes insulting Watson being driven by "soft emotions" too much, maybe Watson reporting back "better that than being so unfeeling as not to care", etc.... or even if the same ideas were there despite nothing ever erupting into a proper fight. It fits that Watson would be bringing this up. It's him continuing to be grumpy/hurt about their relationship being strained, and calling Holmes a "former friend" only solidifies the distance implied. (He also speaks pretty disapprovingly of Holmes' drug habits in this entry, which could be another part of the argument or at least a way of him maintaining his frustration when it flags, by reminding himself of a legit bad habit.)

I'm not saying all of the above is necessarily true, just one interpretation of a few small details... but if it is - or frankly, even if it isn't and they did simply drift apart without any drama - I think it's really sweet that they resume their cordiality right away. Holmes is genuinely excited to see Watson again, and compliments him on his marriage treating him well (which in this take could be trying to make up for former comments disparaging it). He then launches right into a deduction which makes Watson laugh with delight (and impresses him in the same way they first got along) and then invites him to join in on deducing the letter/tagging along for a new case. In fact, he calls Watson his friend, says he's lost without him, and insists that he be allowed to stay. Watson for his part initially submits to the impulse to visit, and then gets caught up in deducing and slips back into assisting Holmes with ease (once it's made clear that he's still welcome) and obvious pleasure.

Regardless of exactly what caused the distance, it's clear that they still care a lot about each other and have missed one another as well.

[obriengf]

how about mitch with WEARY 🤍

send me a character and a prompt for a scene blurb ~ (2/10)

WEARY : for one muse to wake up after falling asleep on the other.

You hadn’t been rocked to sleep since you were a child; back when innocence was a given and your life didn’t revolve around righting the wrongs of others for the central intelligence agency. Exhaustion was securing around your body like a weighted blanket, and you were craving the comfortability of your single bedroom apartment. You didn’t want to think about travelling abroad for at least a month after your most recent mission, it’s tediousness still digging its claws in your emotional and physical wellbeing. It was oddly consoling, however, to find yourself in deep slumber on the company’s private jet as your cool down from Spain was lulling you to sleep.

You were so spent that you didn’t realise that you lent into the side of your partner, Mitch too tired himself to push you aside - not that he had the heart to do so, anyway, surprised at himself for allowing a soft spot for you to settle quite wholefully in his chest. From day one, the man was strongly opposed to having a field partner; he was convinced that they would get in his way and disagree on tactics and ideas. Mitch Rapp didn’t want to be responsible for anyone else, just to get in and get the job done. He was a closed off individual who only wanted to keep to himself - but it was all thrown into the wind when Irene Kennedy forced your hand into his, and declared you official consorts. 

Not that he minded too much now after having you get under his skin, worming your way into his life to the point where he just gave in and let you. Mitch would never admit it aloud, but he was glad that he had you by his side. That you were there for him. That he could be there for you, too.

Mitch was never able to sleep on airplanes, but it didn’t stop him from making sure that you did as he pulled your cardigan just that little bit tighter around your frame when the air-con kicked in, or how he would move his arm behind your body that you could be tucked in further to his side and nuzzle your weary head into the worn leather of his bomber jacket. It brought the man a sense of accomplishment when a delicate sigh left your parted lips, so he squeezed you, only slightly; not too much to make a difference in your sleepy status, but enough for you to release that gentle sigh once more.

“You’re digging y’self into a hole, Rapp.” A rough voice drifted his way, a magnetised force for his gaze as it landed on Stan Hurley across the aisle. Your handler was hardly looking back, his nose buried in some true crime novel about missing kids turned murderers - or whatever, you were always too turned off to allow him to get further into the details. 

“Dunno what you’re talking about.” Was all that Mitch could reply with, his hand absentmindedly ceasing its little dance between your waist and hip.

Stan chuckled, only loud enough to keep the conversation between himself and Mitch and he shook his greying head, “The more you care, the less control you have. It’ll eat at you. Make you scared. Make you weak.”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, sir.” Mitch tried to keep his voice levelled; he didn’t want his pitch to jump at any accusations, to give himself away. He did care, a hell of a lot, but he knew that he shouldn’t. And that’s what made it forbidden fruit - and boy, was Mitch tempted to try some.

Stan tutted, his tongue clicking against his teeth, lips rolling before they pursed outward. He wanted to reprimand Mitch for becoming involved, and surely if it were you in his place then Stran would be giving the same speech, but he knew the trials you’d both been through. He could see the connection, the natural pull between two lost souls becoming one. Maybe it was Stan Hurley who was the weak one in this scenario.

“You know as well as me what distactions do in the field. As soon as your pea brain wanders away from the target, then mistakes are made. People get hurt. The last thing you want is her getting hurt, ammiright?” Stan spoke almost sympathetically, and Mitch could see the sadness in the older man’s eyes.

Before he could reply, with something surely curt and sarcastic, the jet hit turbulence and the cabin shook. It prompted an overhead announcement about securing seatbelts as other agents and faculty held on out of impulse. It made you jolt awake, your body flying to an upright position, and before you could register where you were, Mitch was already securing your belt over your torso.

“How long was I out?” You asked him, knuckles rubbing at your eyes, and he found it strangely endearing to see you in such a state.

“Two, three hours. We’re still over the ocean.” Mitch gestured out the window that was shielded by a blind, one that he dragged down not too long after you dozed off. He watched as you peered out it, humming in acknowledgement before turning back to him with a lazy smile.

You peered to his jacket, a small dribble shining from the cabin’s lights catching your eye, “Shit, I slept with my mouth open.” You grumbled, pulling the sleeve of your shirt down as you dabbed at the material, before sighing in content when it was all fixed up. “I don’t usually drool in my sleep, sorry Mitch...”

He cleared his throat, his focus breaking from gazing over you with the type of heart eyes that he hadn’t experienced in five years. He shook his head, “Don’t worry ‘bout it.”

Maybe Stan was right, he was caring for you. A little too much.

[sakuplumeria]

Give me my feral Albert

Going back through the anime, sub and then dub, while rereading the manga, led me to see a contrast between Albert’s characteristic displayed in both media. I just finished watching the dub and I get the feeling that Albert is very, or actually, too soft and mild. He’s not like the fierce Albert I feel he is? So, I decided to really look through the manga and yep, now I know why. The anime butchered the feral sides of Albert. So let me just, get myself those fierce side of him.

I’ll start with episode 12 and chapter 17, because I just finished rewatching it.

I won’t go down with Albert’s status in this post yet, but I probably will, because eliminating Albert as the head of MI6 in anime is just too cruel, but let’s save that for later. Episode 12 and Chapter 17 were the start of A Scandal in British Empire arc. It began with Mycroft asking Albert to eliminate Irene Adler for stealing some highly classified documents.

In the anime, Mycroft met Albert for the first time here, and Albert saw Mycroft as a superior. He sensed something from the task given, and as usual, he consulted with William in the Moriarty house meeting of a sort, I mean, even Moran and Fred were there too. Albert was reporting things as they were, he didn't ask for a solution or offer his opinion, only answering things. It was Louis who asked for William's thought upon the case.

Now let's see the manga. Albert was already the head of MI6 here, whom Mycroft deemed most suitable to carry out this high priority and classified case. They were already on a more equal standing, but the more important detail I wanna highlight in this post is, after Mycroft left, the first thing Albert did was giving Fred an order to track down Irene.

Did he tell things and ask for advice from William or the others? No. He deduced just from the brief conversation that the contents of the document Irene was holding had the utmost value and he decided on his own what should be done next, ordered Fred just right after.

We don't see the calm Albert, waiting until the meeting—although it was probable he was the one who initiate it—to just tell what happened and then waiting for others' opinions and orders. Albert was quick in his judgements. He's hungry for even more authority to help smoothen out the Moriarty plan, as he was when he pursued the position in MI6. He was bold and sharp in his every actions and words, just like William.

Just take a better look of him weighing the task given to him :>

[inside-black-moon]

Irene Wolf in touch.

Someone knows me from my publications in the Warframe and SWPT discord community, someone knows me from the times when I had an Instagram account with photos from GTA, cyberpunk, RDR, etc. And Someone knows me as an artist and mod creator. It’s hard to catch me in one place/social network - I’ve been doing game photography for more than 8 years (plus I did real-life photography before and in parallel with this), I’m self-taught in drawing and experience in this is half of my life, and some people know what I make soft toys, repaint dinosaurs and draw porny-horny coloring postcards. All my activities do not fit into one account.

I came to Warframe a long time ago, but I went into other games many times to gain creative experience there. For the last two and a half years I've been completely stuck in Warframe. The fact is that my personal projects are unimaginably intertwined with the plot and even small details of the game, which at first really scared me, because my projects appeared earlier.

Now my creativity is aimed at realizing my ideas and connecting these ideas with Warframe. I want to talk about this in more detail further.

I have an idea to gradually create a Warframe coloring book. I decided to conduct an experiment and the first developments are already available for download - these are different variations of the Lotus helmet.

I have been struggling with depression for over a year now. And it is these phrases that sometimes help me get back on the right path of normal life. I created these posters for those who are also depressed and maybe this can help someone like me. In the link these posters are in very high resolution, they can be printed and hung on the wall.

Since I have a lot of experience in game photography, I am creating a large manual about the photo mode in the game for those who want to delve deeper into this creativity and change their thinking and perception of screenshots.

PDF:

And my favorite Kavat-blank, for those who have ideas for new color patterns

That's all for now, time to make tea and go farm plastids 😀

🖤 thanks for attention 🖤

[fancifulpurposelesslovely]

Tease Tidbit Tuesday

Tagged by: @spaceprincessem (thanks!!!)

Okay so i have never been tagged in a fic writing thing before and I’m excited so I’m not stressing too much about what the actual expectations are! Also it looks like this one mostly belongs to the 911 fandom? whatever! Y’all are just gonna get snippets of Summer Sons stuff I’m writing

As yet unpublished chapter of One of Mine (Summer Sons - Sam POV):

He hadn’t handed Irene any of the private details of Blur’s life, just running his mouth about the other man’s refusal to take care of himself, how he reminded Sam of a younger and dumber version of himself, how he was worried Riley would fall into some of his bad habits. On his second or third pass through “—and he’s clearly not fucking eating or sleeping enough” Irene finally broke and started laughing at him outright.

“Samuel Aaron Halse,” she started, knowing it would put his back up and that she was one of three people who had known him long enough to get away with it. “You have an honest to god crush on this man, don’t you?” Sam blinked at her for a moment, caught between flabbergasted, insulted, and defensive.

Summer Sons fic, after, Sam x Andrew

What he loved most were nights like this one, the moments at the end of a long party while the festivities wound down and people stumbled out of the house. Sam sprawled, a king on his throne, arms and legs set wide to claim half the couch. Andrew was collapsed across his lap, floating, unselfconscious. He turned his head toward Sam’s stomach and used just his face to nose Sam’s shirt out of the way, removing the barrier to the skin-to-skin contact he craved. He hummed appreciatively as he was finally able to nuzzle against the soft layer of fat over unsurprising muscle mass. As happened some nights, the full body sense memory tried to tip him into the past, and his mind played Eddie’s voice, livid and drunk, say it again you think I’m like that. Andrew frowned and pulled away from the memory, beginning to roll away from Sam out of a misplaced feeling of danger. Without a change in posture or gaze, Sam noticed and wrapped his big hand around the back of Andrew’s neck to pull him back in.

Summer Sons fic, Eddie x Andrew, where Andrew comes down to Nashville early, and some other shenanigans (mark’s fault)

The drive had been excruciatingly long, but it had also disappeared under him faster than he would have liked. Six hours was nothing and everything when he was so ready to see Eddie again and so afraid of how mad Eddie would be. Eddie had finally given an order that Andrew couldn’t follow. An avid student of folklore, Andrew was well-versed in the Irish concept of a geas. His life was, of course, a southern gothic ghost story, but it felt like a geas had been laid on him in the cavern so many years ago, to follow Eddie, to stay with Eddie, no matter what, to the ends of the earth or the edge of the grave. His second geas, never at odds with the first before now, was to obey. To follow Eddie in action as well as proximity.

But now Eddie had given him an order that set his geasa in opposition, and it was tearing him apart. Eddie said “stay away from me. Stay where I left you. Stop begging to be at my side.” Andrew could not follow both the ties on his heart as they pulled him in separate directions, not in the full spirit of them, but perhaps he could follow them both to the letter. Maybe, if he got close enough to Eddie, he would let Andrew in. He would stop shoving Andrew away and pull him close again. Surely, finally, Eddie would relent and let Andrew come home, and the world would be right again, and he wouldn’t be torn to shreds from his conflicting needs.

Not tagging anyone myself because again, very unfamiliar with the general etiquette and purpose, but hey this was fun!

[scribbleseas]

The Indignant Pawn, Chapter XVIII: The Eternal Promise

Description: You are Y/n Y/l/n- formerly known as Princess Helena, the runaway princess.

You're an assassin for hire who only agrees to find the worst of London's criminals at the business end of your knife; until a mysterious woman hires you to end the likes of Ciel Phantomhive, the King of the Underworld. You find yourself trading your weapons for your abandoned family crest in order to infiltrate his home as none other than Princess Marie-Louise, your twin sister. What's to happen when you find that the young Earl is more than a callous businessman?

OVERALL STORY WARNINGS: sexual assault (once in the prologue), objectification, misogyny, death, detailed description of blood/gore, detailed description of murder, lying, impersonation, theft, weapons, detailed panic attacks, symptoms of post-traumatic stress disorder, kissing

Author’s Note: Hi everyone! This is the last chapter of The Indignant Pawn! Thank you so much for reading and following along on this story! It means the world to me and I’m so happy that I was able to complete this for you, and so soon. I ended up having more time than I thought, and I was so inspired. I couldn’t start to study for finals without completing this, unfortunately. Please let me know how you feel about the ending. It’s been years in the making. 

One more thing, I opened commissions! If you're remotely interested, please check out this post!

Happy Reading!

- Dan

⇠ PREVIOUS CHAPTER

MASTERLIST  

. . .

MAY 12TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

It was early noon and you were already exhausted. 

Last night, the Glücksburg Castle staff separated you and Ciel the moment your steamship docked at the port. They pulled you apart before you could share much of a goodbye; taking you to the castle in different carriages and in separate routes before showing you to separate quarters. In accordance with common wedding superstition, you weren’t to see Ciel until the wedding ceremony, the next day. 

Instead, your company was the bridal party, handpicked by Queen Victoria. The Hesse sisters occupied the full length of the brunch table’s left side, talking amongst themselves.  

Despite being married across the continent, they still came in a set of four, the beautiful and elegant daughters of your late Aunt Alice. The eldest, Victoria, was about ten years your senior, married to Louis of Battenberg, the adventurous one. She was engaged in some emphatic discussion with her sister, Elisabeth, one of the most beautiful women in Europe, the papers liked to say.

Elisabeth turned down numerous dukes and princes before Grand Duke Sergei Alexandrovich captured her heart. 

The other two sisters were Irene and Alix, both were shy and withdrawn, at least by comparison to their siblings. Irene was content to let her elder sisters engage the European press, enjoying her serene marriage with Prussian Prince Henry. Meanwhile, Alix was still engaged to Nicholas II of Russia. She was unpopular with the Russian public, but a noted beauty.

“I believe our gowns are soft blue or some shade of periwinkle, are they not?” Victoria of Hesse said ponderously, adding a half-spoonful of sugar into her tea. She had your deceased aunt’s pleasant smile and joking eyes-- at least from what you remembered of Aunt Alice.

“I’m sure I don’t know,” Elisabeth replied, “Gangan had our modiste send over my measurements and that was all. Do you know, Marie?” she asked, turning the table’s attention back to you. 

“No; Gangan handled all of the wedding planning,” you hoped your tone was light enough to portray amusement. “I haven’t so much as seen my gown, much less yours.” It was true. Nina merely sent your measurements to your Matron of Honor, Aunt Beatrice, and that was all. You were even unsure if the wedding was going to take place at the castle or a traditional church. 

“We should hope it is a more vibrant color than blue, no?” Grand Duchess Maria chimed in, seated at the right of the table by Lizzie. You managed to convince your grandmother to allow the Midfords to attend the wedding, so long as you strictly referred to their familial relationship, rather than past engagement. Not to mention, Ciel needed stand-ins in the wedding procession for his parents.

She seemed well-suited to the royal table, easily carrying conversations with the Hesse sisters, and winning over the Grand Duchess. Maria was advertising her and your Uncle Alfred’s son, Alfred II, for Lizzie to consider marrying. They were the Duke and Duchess of Saxe-Coburg and Gotha, and they were looking for a bride for their second son. Lizzie would make a better duchess than you did a princess.

“If it’s a baby blue, I think it could look quite elegant,” Irene said. “Especially if the gentlemen wear deep navy and with chartreuse accents.”

“That’s exactly what I thought!” Lizzie smiled. “That color scheme is perfect for the spring.” Her word of agreement seemed to encourage shy Irene. Lizzie navigated these situations flawlessly, engaging the outspoken, and encouraging the quiet. You respected her ability to infuse cheerful care into every conversation she was a part of, even if it was these sort of superfluous topics.

After all, this was the sort of aimless conversation you had been entertaining all morning. It was endless torture with a side of tea and miniature pastries and finger sandwiches that the other women hardly touched. You would’ve taken the pain that came after Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet over entertaining this group of frivolous women. 

“Good morning, everyone!” Princess Beatrice of the United Kingdom entered, carrying a wooden box with both hands. By the tension in her shoulders, it seemed heavy.

Beatrice was your youngest aunt; Queen Victoria’s youngest child. She was Victoria’s known confidante; living with her for years as her secretary. Beatrice and her husband, Henry of Battenberg, made home with Victoria since their early marriage.

And for the next several days, she was to serve as your Matron of Honor.

You were satisfied with that choice, as well. Out of all your grandmother’s daughters, Aunt Beatrice was the most motherly. Marie was fond of her — she was a bridesmaid at her wedding in 1885. You were always most partial to your Aunt Louise, the Duchess of Argyll, but much to your silent chagrin, she was not a part of the wedding party. 

The table rose, everyone dropping into a shallow curtsey, though Duchess Maria’s was too quick to be genuinely respectful. Your aunt was too humble to comment on it and make an unnecessary scene. Instead, Beatrice took measured strides towards you, exchanging knowing smiles with the rest of the table.

“Good morning, Aunt Beatrice,” you greeted, swiftly kissing one another on the cheek. “Thank you for being here,” you said, though you doubted the queen gave her the option.

“Of course,” she smiled fondly, setting the heavy box on the table. 

“Marie, Aunt Beatrice had to secure your ‘something borrowed’ as it were,,” Victoria of Hesse explained. She gestured to the guard behind Beatrice with the slightest chin tilt. Of course, all traveling jewels from the royal vault needed to be accompanied by a guard and a gun.

“Go on, Marie,” your aunt encouraged, setting the thick wooden box down. “We all spent ages in the vault picking the right one for you.” 

You smiled. You hoped it looked more grateful than nauseous as you unclasped the box. Crimson velvet insulated the box’s interior, cushioning the imposing tiara that sat inside. The diamonds sparkled, cut into long, pointed off spikes. Small circle-cut diamonds lined each spike.

This tiara was a piece your grandmother obtained as a gift at the beginning of her reign in 1837, originally commissioned by her uncle, King William IV for his wife. 

“Queen Adelaide’s Diamond Fringe,” Aunt Beatrice said, though you knew the name. It was one of the oldest installments in the Royal Collection. Likely sensing your surprise, your aunt chuckled, “it did not take much convincing on the Queen’s part. Not after I insisted it would look best with your wedding gown.”

Reluctantly, you used the cloth included in the box to pick up the tiara, inspecting it more closely. The diamonds sat on the heads of two generations of royal women: Queen Adelaide, Queen Victoria…and now, you. An imposter. Royalty by blood, but of course, not by private association.  

“It’s lovely—” you began to say, until your cousin interrupted you.

Elisabeth of Hesse gasped, “Aunt Bea! You’ve seen her dress!” The rest of the table expressed their overlapping speculations, was it lace or tulle? Was the neckline straight across or Queen Anne?

“Elisabeth, Victoria, she would never hint at such a secret, there’s no point in accosting the woman,” Grand Duchess Maria scoffed, taking a cavalier sip out of her tea. She was jealous. 

“You will see it tomorrow!” Beatrice replied, laughing. The reminder of tomorrow forced another jolt of anxiety down your spine, but you used the energy to laugh as well. “In the meantime, I was also tasked with escorting you to your fitting, Marie. I do apologize for cutting your breakfast short, ladies.”

“That’s all right,” you smiled, carefully putting the priceless tiara back into its box. The moment you clasped the box, Beatrice’s guard took hold of it. After a reverent bow to the room, he took his leave, likely going to put the tiara into Glücksburg vault.

 At least you could escape this useless chatter. 

. . .

Given that your day was nothing short of exhausting, you should have had an easier time falling asleep. Yet, you paced Marie’s quarters, restless. It was unsettling to be around all of her recent belongings; letters, left behind clothing, books, her violin. It was as if she was truly on a short vacation in England.

A new lump of guilt rose in your throat.

But more importantly, you wanted to see Ciel. Strangely, after only a day of separation, you missed him.

Having lived together for the past several months, you were accustomed to being around him. Even if some of the time you spent together was quiet, and you only felt his presence at your side.

“I was sent to escort you to my Lord’s room, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian’s voice came from behind you. 

Instinctively, you turned on your heel and reached for the closest weapon possible, a small pair of scissors off your vanity. They were hardly big enough to cut thread with. You brandished the scissors in Sebastian’s general direction, but failed to find the voice’s source at first glance. The butler blended with the shadows, wearing nearly all black. He chuckled mirthlessly.

His red eyes were certainly glowing in the dark. 

“Yes, Sebastian?” You asked impatiently, putting the scissors back on the table. They wouldn’t be of much help to you, anyway. Nothing would be— not against some… being… that caught bullets. 

“My Lord requests your presence in his quarters. Unfortunately, you’ve made him care for you. Considerably,” he said. You hated his smile, the light tone his voice took. You would prefer he yell, or scowl, or frown. Anything to replace the patrronizing look that you knew so well. 

“Made him?” You questioned. Your eyebrows knitted together indignantly as you crossed your arms. What was he insinuating?

“Yes,” the butler said bluntly. “You’ve become an unfortunate distraction. A scourge to his soul.” His… soul?

“Thankfully, that is not for you to decide. Any opinion you have is irrelevant to us, Sebastian.” You said, turning your back to him to find flats to slip on. You never knew Sebastian to lie; he certainly wasn’t holding back at that moment.

“I simply want you to be aware that my loyalties will always fall with my master,” Sebastian replied, the undertones in his voice clear enough. If there is a life and death situation tomorrow, I will let you die, if I can.

“Well, you’ve been such an obedient servant, thus far,” you mirrored his obsequious tone, pairing it with your own reprimanding smile. “You ought to keep your Lord’s best interests in mind. Not to worry, Sebastian, I can handle myself.”

“Happy to hear it, Miss Y/n,” Sebastian replied, bowing with a hand over his heart. The gesture was as genuine as Duchess Maria’s greeting to your aunt had been.  

“My Lord ordered me to escort you. There are guards in the hallway,” the butler explained. His eyes brightened, daring you to decline him. 

You scoffered in disbelief, shaking your head. It was precaution from Diego’s warning, you assumed. “Fine.”

You left the room first, surprised that there was no guard fixed outside your door. Though you knew where you were going, Sebastian led you to the guest wing. Instinctively, you remembered where to step so as not to cause the wooden floor to complain.

Every few paces, Sebastian would have you pause to let a guard pass. Apparently, he sensed them much sooner than you did. 

Do some reading about the supernatural after all of this is over with, you reminded yourself. The thought was ridiculous, but there was no harm in investigating. Besides, Sebastian was becoming too unmistakable to continue ignoring. 

The moment you knocked on Ciel’s door, Sebastian disappeared. Your fiancé opened the door. Before he could speak, you hugged him tightly, hiding your face in his nightshirt. You breathed in his familiar scent, letting your eyes flutter closed. Your fingers grabbed fistfulls of his shirt, bunching the material around his back. Ciel hardly managed to close the door behind you, locking it to be safe.

“I waited to see you all day,” Ciel said simply, brushing strands of your hair behind your ear when you looked up at him. He pressed a greeting kiss on your cheek. “My groomsmen insisted we explore the city. It was quite a hindrance.”

“Well, I was stuck in a flock of blushing bridesmaids,” you laughed humorlessly. “If I so much as started saying your name, they would throw some fit— something about bad luck.”

“If simply saying my name is bad luck, seeing me must be absolutely damning,” Ciel quipped smugly. He guided you to sit on the edge of his bed, shamelessly regarding you. You returned the favor, your gaze catching on the way his collar bones protruded under his loose nightshirt.

You thought about the last time he sat on the edge of his bed with you present, climbing into his lap, pleasuring yourself against the hardness in his trousers. Technically, you wore more that evening than in this current moment. All you wore was a white nightgown. Nothing under it, nothing over it. It was made of satin, as sheer as a curtain.

Ciel made a respectable effort to look at your face only. 

“Tomorrow night, we will be wed,” you said meaningfully, feeling your face flush. 

“Yes,” Ciel’s response was impatient, “we will be.” He hated to wait, but he was never one to do something so significant haphazardly. If you were to consummate, you had to be married. But this time tomorrow, you would be. 

An amused smile tugged at your lips, “my Aunt Beatrice was giving me…anecdotes about her wedding night.” The interaction had been excruciating during your gown fitting, but now you thought it was rather humorous. Beatrice was a few years past 30— she had three children, another on the way, so it was rumored.

Ciel cringed at the thought of your relative telling you about what takes place behind a couple’s locked door. As if he had no clue, and didn’t want to know. You knew he knew. “And I thought nothing could be worse than my own cousin.”

While your eyebrows knit, initially figuring he was referring to Lizzie, but you took a sigh of relief upon realizing that he was speaking of Edward Midford, her brother. He was Ciel’s best man.

“Better than Sebastian,” you quipped. However, your smile faltered at the thought of the butler. Marrying Ciel meant you were resigning yourself to a life with a powerful, supernatural servant who wanted you dead. If given the chance, he would kill you. 

“Y/n?” Ciel frowned, mirroring your disheartened expression. 

“It’s nothing. I just…I suppose I’m tired,” you said unconvincingly. 

You rested your head on the side of his arm. “Being here…seeing my aunt and cousins. Living in my sister’s room....” It wasn’t the full truth, but certainly wasn’t a lie. There was an unwavering pit in your stomach. A premonition that something was about to go terribly amiss. 

“We’re taking the first steamship tomorrow night,” Ciel replied, running his thumb over your knuckles. It was a habit he picked up from you, the way you liked to ground yourself through small, repetitive motions. “I assumed being here would be difficult for you.”

“Where are we going?” The destination of your honeymoon was supposed to be a surprise, one left to Ciel’s careful planning. However, you were never one for surprises, and you would be away for about a month. You deserved to know where you were going to be for such a long span of time.

Ciel replied in French, “Quelque part où il y a du vin, des champs de lavande et une grande tour, ma chère.” He rarely used his second language, considering you couldn’t understand it and he was in the midst of perfecting his German, but it was attractive. You flushed at his graceful accent, the way the complex language suited his voice. 

“Ciel…” you started, chuckling fondly. 

“Et quand nous y serons, nous ferons des choses innommables les uns avec les autres,” Ciel continued, gauging your reaction. He kissed your cheek and slightly below your jaw before moving your hair out of the way to press a peck on the nape of your neck. The more you were intimate, the more you noticed his fixation with your neck. 

As Ciel turned to face you completely, his hand released yours to settle on your bare thigh. You moved further up the bed to make space.

His voice dropped to a whisper, “nous avons tous deux attendu si longtemps.” Your arms erupted with goosebumps as you pulled him closer, his lips centimeters from your own. 

For all you knew, he could be stringing nonsense into sentences, but it didn’t matter. It sounded perfect, his tender touch giving way for a new warmth to spread in your stomach.

Your fingers tangled into his hair as you pulled him down against the bedspread with you. The kiss was breathless and all-consuming. It ignited every nerve— down to your toes. You could feel Ciel’s warmth through his shirt, and you were consciously aware of everywhere your skin touched his. His legs bracketed yours. 

Giving you a moment to catch your breath, he kissed the center of your throat, your drumming pulse point. He paused, an amused grin playing at his lips. 

“What is it?” You managed. 

“Do you recall the last time we were in a position like this?”

After a beat of silence, you laughed. “Our dispute! When I nearly broke your nose and ran away.” Even when you hated Ciel, you couldn’t bring yourself to meaningfully injure him. 

Ciel hummed in confirmation, though his dubious look suggested he thought your recollection of the altercation was self-serving. “And you still looked like you wanted to kiss me. Even when I held a knife right here,” his fingers grazed over the scar on your throat— a superficial wound above your left carotid. 

“Yes… just like this,” you smarted, pulling him close to steal an innocent peck from his lips.

“Yes, I suppose just like that,” Ciel conceded, rolling his eye. 

“What’s more, you couldn’t bring yourself to press harder,” you added teasingly, pulling him back in for a long kiss, treating this opportunity to be intimate with your fiancé as if it was your last.

. . .

MAY 13TH, 1892

SCHLESWIG-HOLSTEIN, GERMANY

You didn’t recognize yourself in the mirror. 

Mey-Rin and Nina made elegant work with your makeup; darkening your eyebrows, painting on a blush that made your cheeks look flushed, a lipstick that made your lips appear bitten. After all, obvious makeup was considered fraudulent and deceptive; the work of women who worked street corners, Queen Victoria would say. 

Nina twisted your hair into a French twist updo, leaving curled strands out in the front. Queen Adelaide’s Fringe Tiara felt heavy on your head, fastened to your hair with pins. It dug into your scalp, the pain made it impossible for you to forget that it sat there.

Your gown was surprisingly simplistic; it was whiter than snow, free of any lace or bead detailing. Instead of was a sheen of satin, the lustrous fabric beautiful without being flamboyant. Your sleeves, controversially, were off the shoulder, meeting in a seam in the middle of your chest. 

To hide the gruesome scar on your arm, you wore matching white gloves that reached your elbows. They were out of season, but there was no way for you to hide the old wound otherwise. 

Under such a heavy dress and tiara, you were ready to collapse. Your preparation team had you awake before the sun rose, giving you a small breakfast before stuffing you into a carriage and taking you to the church to get dressed. It was a prayer room made into a makeshift dressing areafor your purposes; security did not want to risk the wedding party arriving at the ceremony in carriages, per tradition.  Instead, everyone in the wedding had to get to the church at inane hours to let the guards watch every doorway and window for intruders, once again taking separate carriages in different routes.  

You took a deep breath in, trying to settle your nerves. You were marrying the man you loved, someone who understood you in a way that no one since Baxter did. Only…now your life was to belong to the monarchy once more. This wedding ceremony was more symbolic and full of circumstance than romance. It wasn’t yours and Ciel’s. It was Europe’s. 

Not to mention, Diego warned you that Mariana had a plan. Mariana…it was still strange to have a real name for the woman. A reason why she was determined to kill you both, but more importantly, Ciel. You couldn’t allow that, even if he did kill her husband.

No matter how security prepared, she was still a threat. She would try to kill the both of you until either she succeeded, or you killed her first. Still, you knew that every possible measure was made. Sebastian would protect Ciel to the bitter end, regardless. That was what mattered. 

There was nothing more for you to do besides having the wedding. You laughed at your reflection. You looked like a princess, but what raced through your mind — murder, death threats, the leader of a foreign drug empire — were not regal bride concerns in the least. 

And you looked much more calm than you felt. At least you could contain your inner turmoil; stuff it down, sort your worries into neat categories. Impending doom, a death threat, a potentially supernatural butler. Hide it all behind the image of a jubilant princess who balanced the weight of a diamond tiara and a dagger all the same. 

Besides, there was no other option. Ciel had an earldom to run, a business to support, an Underworld to terrorize. He was too proud to live in middle class America. He would detest waking up every morning, and that would soon become a hatred for waking up with you. All you could do was marry, and support each other in your new royal family role. Dispel evil together. Dispel Mariana if she attempted to challenge you. Maybe even have a child or two. 

You squeezed your eyes closed, thinking about last night. All you needed to do was complete the day, and you would be together. In every way a couple could be together.

There was a stiff knock at the door, forcing you to open your eyes and paint a pleasant expression on your face. “Come in.”

“Marie,” Christian, your eldest brother, entered. You figured he would be walking you down the aisle — giving you away — instead of your father. No one told you, but you had the good sense to expect it. It was well-known that Queen Victoria disliked your father. She didn’t care for Prince Christian I, matching your mother, Princess Helena, with him because she couldn’t find a proper European house to marry her middle child into. 

Meanwhile, it was no secret that Victoria favored your brother. The Queen adored him for studying at Wellington College as she wanted, and she found nothing more befitting of a prince than serving in the military. Christian recently returned from an expedition in Isazi as an officer in the British Army. His skin was still lightly tanned from being in South Africa for so long. He wore his uniform and full officer decorations. Other men in the service were likely doing the same; Edward Midford and his father, Lord Scotany.

“Christian,” you were unsure how Marie greeted him, and your hesitance showed. There was a beat of silence as he regarded you.

Christian raised his eyebrow, “why did you do away with Christle?” He was referring to that puerile nickname you both used for him as children. 

Marie still referred to him as Christle at this age? He was a military official!

“You’ve been acting differently lately, Marie. Are you sure you love Phantomhive? Is this what you want to do?” Christian asked, worry furrowing his eyebrows. He looked like you when you were apprehensive, the same level stare, pursed lips. 

“How am I different?” You asked. It was easy to act around Queen Victoria and your mother— anyone who spent more time worrying about themselves or their positions to really understand the difference between you and your sister. But Christian was more complicated. He was your authority figure while your mother was opening hospitals abroad and your father worked. Christian spent plenty of time playing with Marie, admonishing you for being lax in your duties as a child. As the eldest, he was 16 the second time you ran away, 15 the first. 

You felt like you were nine years old again, getting admonished for refusing to ride a horse side saddle, or for getting mud all over your dress before the family portrait. 

“You’re…acting quite like Thora,” Christian said, his militant eyes practically staring into your soul. You tried not to grimace at your old nickname. 

He wasn’t accusing you; his voice was thoughtful or concerned, if anything. “Aunt Beatrice was worried, too. I only…” he paused. “I only want to ensure that this marriage is what you want. You will always be my younger sister, even if I’m supposed to be giving you away.”

The honorable Prince Christian never changed.

“If I’ve been somber…I don’t mean to be,” you replied. “I…the past few months of my life have been terrifying. I know you were away in Africa but there was a death threat sent to court. On my life. The Phantomhive manor was even attacked, months ago,” you rolled down your glove to show him the injury. If you could persuade your brother, no one would question you. 

Christian sighed, his face unchanging. The military seemed to desensitize him to these sorts of wounds. He inspected the healed scar, and nodded once. “It healed well. Phantomhive’s medic is rather talented,” he admitted gruffly. The irony being, that the medic was Sebastian, a monster who wanted you dead. 

You pulled the glove back over your forearm. Christian didn’t argue with you, but you knew he was unconvinced. Before he could speak, the quick notes of Mendelsson’s Wedding March reverberated throughout the church, preceded by soul-shattering chords. That was your cue to join the procession. 

Christian glanced at the clock to confirm the time was right. “We have to join the others,” he offered his arm. You laced yours with his, and two servants you didn’t know picked up your gown’s long train. 

When you joined the procession from behind, the first of the wedding party was already walking down the aisle. First was Queen Victoria, accompanied by her secretary and two guards; the Officiant; Lord and Lady Scotany as they filled in for Ciel’s deceased parents; your parents; Ciel and his groomsmen. You and Christian joined from the hall behind the doors to the Sanctuary, so you didn’t see any of them before they walked. 

Instead, you saw the middle of the procession: your bridesmaids, the Hesse sisters, Cornelia, and Aunt Beatrice. Cornelia was one of your bridesmaids because her husband, Edward, was Ciel’s best man. It was more of a formality, than a show of closeness between you. 

After them was the ring bearer and the flower girl, respectively. While you expected Victoria to insist the roles be fulfilled by your younger cousins, she allowed Ciel to fill those positions from his own friends and family. He asked little Beatrice Moore and her betrothed, Theodore Ambrose, the next Earl of Granard. Beatrice was still giggling at the fact that she shared a name with a real princess, your Aunt Beatrice.

You settled behind the children. Little Beatrice nearly missed her cue because her eyes were locked on your tiara and seemingly endless gown. Beatrice waved at you vigorously, causing you to smile. “Marie! You look so beautiful!” She exclaimed, shooting Theodore an irritated look when he tapped her shoulder and reminded her to walk with him. 

One of the servants handed you a bouquet of flowers, alstroemerias with white roses, and baby's breath incorporated. It was your turn to walk down the aisle with your brother, but you couldn’t help but wish it was Baxter at your side. That this wedding had less people, a tiara that didn’t weigh more than your brain…

Smile. You urged yourself not to buckle under the weight of everyone’s states. Everyone stood for the entire wedding procession, given that Queen Victoria was standing as well. No one sat while the highest-ranking royal stood. 

First, you passed the servants and guards in the furthest pews from the altar. Mey-Rin dabbed at her tears from under her glasses, Finny waved, Baldroy nodded once. Nina smiled at you, gesturing for you to keep walking in time with the music. You had paused for a half second, attempting to find Sebastian. The awkward timing forced Christian to stop his stride to let you catch up. 

You didn’t see Sebastian, and you were unsure if that caused you more anxiety, or alleviated it.

Strictly-screened journalists and press members were in the pews in front of the servants. Their cameras clicked, lenses immortalizing the moment. You smiled for them, struggling to find a place to look.

The music echoed throughout the Sanctuary, overly cheerful. It was the same chords repeating on the grand organ behind the altar. 

Closer to the altar were the aristocratic and the royal guests. Several faces stuck out to you— your Aunt Victoria, the Queen’s eldest child; brother, Albert; Aunt Louise; Mateo and Valentina Bianchi ; the heirs to the English throne, Uncle Edward and Alexandra of Denmark. 

You caught Lizzie’s emerald gaze; she was in the front row, to the side. She looked at you before pointedly looking ahead of her. Look at the man you love. The rest of the world will simply fall away. She was too empathetic for her own good, sometimes. 

As you took your concluding steps towards the altar, you finally looked at Ciel. She was right. Your heart flipped immediately, taking in his deep navy suit. He had a white rose tucked pinned over his chest, his signature flower. The tie tucked into his jacket was a soft pink; pale enough that you thought it was white at first glance. The rest of the wedding party coordinated with him, the bridesmaids wearing the same pink, and the groomsmen the same blue.

Ciel didn’t smile broadly, but you knew better than to fixate on that. Instead, the corners of his lips turned upwards. He took in your appearance slowly, as if he were fixating on a painting. Inspecting every detail with the intensity of someone trying to commit each brush stroke to memory.

At the altar, you took your place across from Ciel. Christian stood behind you, to the officiant’s side. Aunt Beatrice took your bouquet for you.

All you needed to do was finish the ceremony, and you would have the man across from you all to yourself for the next month. Just you, him, Carl, and the servants abroad in some beautiful place. There was no royal tour— all you needed to do was attend Alix of Hesse and Nicholas II’s wedding in Russia as guests.

The thought of such solitude was elating. It helped your smile widen naturally, though your cheeks were beginning to sting.

The music quieted into a small, soothing tune that the officiant could speak over. 

“Welcome, everyone,” the officiant said. He was an agind man with kind blue eyes and a thoughtful smile. There was a gold wedding band on his left ring finger, matching his red and gold robes. “Please be seated. Thank you all for joining us on this joyous day and cloudless afternoon.” 

“Every one of you today has been invited today because you, in one way or another, shaped the lives of these lovely individuals standing before me, Her Highness Princess Marie Louise of Schleswig-Holstein and Lord Ciel Phantomhive.”

Not hearing your name hurt you more than you thought it would have. 

“For those of you I have not had the chance to meet, my name is Reverend Arthur Green. I have officiated the past…six… royal weddings,” he said with a flourish, making a show of counting. There were scattered laughs in the audience in response. Green was close with the Queen, who sat in a distinguished throne to the side of the author with her Munshi, Abdul Karim. Notably, not all of her children were present— likely for security reasons. 

Reverend Green continued, “we were all taken by surprise by this sweeping love connection, but seeing the way these two beautiful souls regard one another, their love is strong and true.” 

You felt your face redden, matching the new flush over Ciel’s cheeks. 

“I have vows prepared for both the bride and groom,” Green announced. Neither of you expressed a desire to write your own vows, and you doubted the Queen would have let you. She was reluctant with royalty expressing such passionate feelings in public, preferring to preserve the dignified appearance her Royal Mob upheld. 

“Please repeat my words, Your Highness,” he requested, forcing you to refocus. 

You repeated. “I, Marie, take thee, Ciel Phantomhive, to have and to hold from this day forward, for better or for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish; and I promise to be faithful to you until death parts us.”

Ciel repeated the same vow, having the same reluctance with saying your name. No, Marie’s name. 

This is just the beginning, Y/n.

Ciel broke into a broader smile, yours matching his. His blue eye seemed even darker in the sunset. When you looked at him, you saw your honeymoon, your future, your husband. Your closest friend and confidante. Your heart fluttered, your mouth was dry. More than anything, you wanted to kiss him.

When you looked at him, you forgot about the weight of the tiara on your head.

“Your Highness, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Lord Phantomhive, forsaking all others, and holding only unto him forever?” Reverend Green asked.

“Yes!” You said more enthusiastically than you meant to. The guests laughed, and out of the corner of your eye, you caught Lizzie’s amused grin. You cleared your throat, “yes, I do.”

“And Lord Phantomhive, do you promise to love, honor, cherish, and protect Her Highness, forsaking all others, and holding only unto her forever?”

“Indeed, I do,” Ciel’s reply was much calmer than yours, but his face was full of love. It made your eyes sting, as if you could cry. You tried to blink the forming tears away. You thought about what his lips feel like, how his arms feel when they wrapped around you to combat your surfacing feelings.

The both of you already loved, honored, cherished, and protected each other. You’d do it forever, if that’s what the Fates had in store for you.

Reverend Green nodded at Theodore, preparing the child to get ready for his cue to bring your wedding rings up to the altar. 

Theodore nodded aggressively in response, tightening his grip on the small cushion with your rings. The audience laughed, but you couldn’t make yourself look away from Ciel to survey their responses any longer.

Green grinned, his eyes brimming with tears as well. At least you weren’t alone in your tragically sentimental feelings. “Now, if there is anyone present, who can show just cause why these two persons may not be joined in matrimony, speak now, or forever hold your peace,” he declared, naturally assuming that no one in the audience would protest. 

The gasps and screams forced you to look away from Ciel and into the audience as it rippled, devolving into chaos. They dove away from a singular woman who stood, aiming a small purse gun at the altar. 

Guards sprang into action, their guns unlocking, but they couldn’t shoot with terrified guests fleeing and hiding. Mey-Rin argued with a soldier, likely in an effort to take his weapon and fire. She was the best shot there, but you assumed the guards refused to let her bring a weapon in.

You didn’t need to look longer to know what was about to happen. You refused to let it. 

Before you knew what you were doing, you moved. You pulled yourself out of Christian’s restrictive grip, and pushed Ciel to the ground, just as the woman shot. The shot sounded throughout the Sanctuary, amongst the course of screaming guests, shouting guards and crying guests. 

You remained standing, merely feeling a searing warmth rip through your left chest. It was nothing like Mey-Rin’s grazing bullet. In fact, it hurt less. It was hot like nothing you’ve ever touched, but it didn’t hurt. Not even the hot stove you touched by accident as a child compared to the sensation in your chest. 

Ciel managed to pull himself off the ground, startled by your hard shove. He’d tripped down the short steps and hit his head, but otherwise, he seemed unharmed. You would have been relieved, had he not been staring at you in panic.

“Y/n,” he managed, horrified. 

But you name was lost amid the chaos. Before you dared look down, you took a quick survey of the rest of the Sanctuary. Queen Victoria and most of the guests fled or hid, guards shielding their escape. Edward sprung in front of Cornelia, the Reverend, Theodore, and Beatrice. The children cried for their parents, who were likely forced to leave with the guards. 

Reverend Green trembled behind the altar, bear hugging young Beatrice and Theodore, the Hesse sisters and Aunt Beatrice fell to the floor, covering their heads. Your brother stood before them, gun drawn. Royalty received crisis training for situations like this. 

Mariana was gone, having used the chaos to make her escape.

“Edward, take the kids!” Cornelia demanded, “get them to their parents.”

“I will not leave you,” Edward Midford insisted, his voice trained to be steady in the face of danger. He was a soldier, like Christian. 

“I-I can,” Reverend Green said, trembling. “Come on, children. We must— we must, go.” He tried to let go of them, but Beatrice held on, hiding her face in the man’s robes. 

“I’ll make sure nothing happens to them,” Green assured Cornelia, but neither child seemed interested in leaving.

“Y/n!” Ciel shouted, his face red as if he’s been trying to capture your attention. He put his hand on your shoulder, but he was trembling. His gaze alternated between your chest and your face, and you made the mistake of looking down at your fresh wound. At the fresh crimson blood that blossomed on the left side of your dress’s bodice. It was in the middle of your left breast— the third or fourth rib you assumed. 

“Oh,” you managed. Your legs buckled, but Ciel caught you and carefully helped you to the floor. He tore his jacket off and pressed it against the wound, hard enough for you to cry out in pain. The ease that he pressed indicated that the bullet fractured your ribs. Ciel sensed that the wound gave way too easily and paled. 

You took a difficult breath in, shivering despite the warm bullet in your chest. Your teeth chattered.

Pain, tenderness, difficulty breathing, you told yourself. Baxter always said that self-assessment came first. It was a small gun. The best you could hope for was a fractured rib, but the way your chest gave way to Ciel’s pressure suggested it was shattered. 

“Why can a shattered rib be dangerous, Y/n?” Baxter asked.

Massive bleeding from ruptured blood vessels, bone fragments from the rib can puncture a lung… or my heart.

Air could build around the lung and cause a tension pneumothorax… assuming the bullet didn’t puncture the lung and do that already.

“Ciel, keep the pressure steady,” Cornelia said. You forgot she was a nurse. Maybe you had a chance, if it wasn't a tension pneumothorax. But you never had that kind of luck. “Help me check for an exit wound,” she said to someone on your right side. The three of them lifted your torso up, and confirmed that you were also bleeding out from the back. They ripped the satin from your gown and used another man’s jacket to slow that bleeding while Ciel held pressure on your front. 

“We need a carriage to get her to a hospital,” Cornelia declared, checking your pulse.

“I-I think the guests took them all,” Lady Scotany said, “Alexis— go check. For a guard, a doctor, a commoner with a carriage, anyone.” With a grim nod, Alexis Midford ran with Baldroy and Mey-Rin. 

“Marie, I know it hurts but I need you to do your best to breathe. And wiggle your fingers,” Cornelia said, but you were more concerned with Ciel. His hands were soaked with your blood, despite Aunt Beatrice continuously giving him new material to help stop the bleeding with. 

“Marie!” Cornelia repeated. When you didn’t respond, she turned to Ciel. “Ciel, you need to tell her to breathe,” she said, “she will listen to you.”

You were Marie, even when you had a bullet in your chest. It was a cruel joke.

Were you not breathing? Was that why your lungs were aflame? Was that why your throat was constricting? Was that why your vision coated in white, and your ears rang like church bells?

Ciel trembled, but he nodded. “Look at me,” he ordered, “breathe. You need to breathe.” Breathing hurt. It hurt more than any pain you ever experienced in your life. It hurt more than your arm. Inhaling hurt more than the bullet itself hurt. 

“T-trying…” you managed.

“You’re doing well, Marie, it’s okay,” Lizzie said, sniffling. Your head was in her lap, though you were unsure when she showed up. “J-just focus on breathing.”

My ribs are broken. I probably have a tension pneumothorax, you wanted to cry out. But your voice wasn’t cooperating. You could feel your rationality slipping out with the same urgency blood bubbled from your wound.

Cornelia cut your bodice open, cutting through the dress and corset. Finny gave his jacket to Lady Scotany to drape over the right side of your chest, for your modesty. As if that was the most concerning part of the situation. 

“Take a deep breath in,” Ciel said, repeating Cornelia’s words. You shivered, struggling to do as told. Your lungs were already full— as if you took an inhale prior, held it, and tried to inhale again, all without exhaling. 

“Abnormal lung sounds,” Cornelia drew back to watch your chest as you struggled to breathe. “Asymmetrical expansion of the chest,” she mumbled gravely.

The problem with being right all the time, meant that you had also diagnosed yourself correctly. And this diagnosis was fatal without near-immediate treatment.

“What does that mean?” Ciel insisted. “Cornelia!” He shouted, but the nurse didn’t meet his gaze. 

“It probably means it’s a…tension pneumothorax,” Cornelia admitted.

“She got away,” you heard Baldroy say from a distance, returning with Lord Scotany. He shouldered his coat off to let Lady Scotany put it beneath the exit wound on your back. “Guards were too concerned with gettin’ the royals to safety. Took all the carriages, too.”

“What does that mean, Cornelia?” Ciel shouted.

“Where is Sebastian?” Lizzie asked, trying to keep her voice level. She removed the heavy tiara from your head and gently smoothed her fingers over your hair.

“Sebastian?” Lady Scotany asked. “He’s getting another carriage. We need to get her to the hospital.” 

You wanted to laugh. With Sebastian getting the carriage, you were surely going to bleed out— or die of hypoxia— whichever came first. You were going to die in front of an altar. In a church. At your own wedding.

“Cornelia!” Ciel yelled. 

“Ciel, shut up and let me work!” Cornelia put her ear to your chest again. 

“Air is building around the outside of her lungs, rather than inside because the bullet— or a bone fragment punctured it,” Christian said, pitying your…husband? Fiancé? 

“The air puts pressure around the punctured lung, and that strains that lung and her heart. Since the lung is punctured, air keeps getting stuck when she inhales, so there is no room for it to expand when she breathes,” your brother explained.

Your lung definitely collapsed. The well-meaning pressure Ciel put on the wound couldn’t be helping, either.

“Hyperresonant chest percussion,” Cornelia noted under her breath. Her concerned frown deepened.

“Cornelia, her neck,” Christian added calmly. He kneeled at your other side, across from Ciel, light fingers touching your throat, feeling for your trachea. “Tracheal deviation to the right and distended neck veins.”

“Tension pneumothorax,” they said in synchrony, sharing a look. 

“So what can we do?” Lizzie cried out. 

“Dying,” you mumbled, fully believing that these were your final moments. The procedure you needed was impossible on the floor of the church. If Sebastian was tasked with the carriage, you weren’t going to get there in time. And he was why you were shot, in the first place. 

He caught bullets. He wanted you dead…it was simple. Bloody demon.

That’s what he was, wasn't he?

“We need a large bore needle!” Christian exclaimed.

“A needle? Whatever for?” Lizzie cried out.

“To evacuate the air,” Cornelia said, “but we don’t have the right kind here.”

“So what do we do?”

“You are not dying, you utter imbecile,” Ciel insisted, steady tears streaming down his face. You weren’t sure if he noticed that his forehead was bleeding, much less the salty tears streaming down his cheeks. “She was bloody aiming at me.” 

You wanted to reach out and wipe the tears off of his face, but your arm was limp at your side, refusing to obey. You could wiggle your fingers, but you couldn’t quite muster the strength to lift the limb. You tried again, but your arm fell to your side uselessly.

You could hear your heartbeat in your ears, pounding in your brain. It was a welcome change from the terrible ringing.

“I’m s-..sorry,” you managed, but it was a lie. If you hadn’t pushed Ciel, it might have hit him. If the man you loved died from your inaction, you wouldn’t be able to forgive yourself for it.

You felt there was a constrictive corset around your brain, tightening and tightening. Your breathing was rapid, in out, in out, in out. You could feel your head throb in time with your heart. With every inhale you managed, you got less air. 

But even so, you would do it again. 

“They’re not going to have the right needle here, we have to burp the wound.” Cornelia said. “Otherwise, she’ll suffocate before the carriage gets here.”

“Burp the wound?” Ciel asked incredulously. 

“The air caught in the pleural space won’t come out safely and she’ll suffocate if we don’t let air escape the opening that’s already there. Ciel, you need to step aside for a moment,” Cornelia explained.

“But— but, she’s still bleeding! I’m…stopping the bleeding! She will bleed out if I stop!” Ciel argued, looking from his bloody hands on the wound to your paling face. Back and forth once more.

“She’s going to die of hypoxia if you don’t let the air out of the lung cavity, Ciel.” Christian said. “You need to move, or I will move you.” Christian was much taller than Ciel. It would’ve been as simple as moving a chess piece.

Ciel moved reluctantly, and switched spots at your side with Christian. 

Cornelia moved the blood-soaked dressing from the wound, and you caught a quiet rush of air before she put fresh dress fabric over it once more. It was only a little easier for you to breathe before it grew difficult again. However, she quickly  removed the dressing when she noticed you beginning to strain. The nurse repeated the process in tandem with your discomfort. 

You shivered, watching the world above you— Ciel’s face, Lizzie’s, your brother’s. The world was brighter, it was blurry. And then it was refined. It was vibrant, and then it wasn’t. Vibrant, clear, blurry, bright…

Was this what Baxter saw? you wondered.

“No, Y/n. It’s not your time, yet.” Baxter said. “You need to wait. You need to try to live. The doc’s comin’ in a carriage with his supplies. He will be there. Just hold on. We’re all here for you every step of the way. You will not die.”

Earnest Baxter.

You refocused on Ciel. His face was clear, and vibrant. And then it was blurry. It was bright. He was still bleeding. He was still handsome.

You put all of your focus into your next words. “I love you,” you managed. Your eyes fluttered closed, it was getting too hard to concentrate and keep them open. 

“No, don’t you dare say that!” Ciel demanded. “You will not die. I don’t know what I’d do without you,” his fingers felt warm on your face, they smelled like blood. Your eyes fluttered open again. You smiled weakly. 

You weren’t sure what you would do without Ciel, either. 

“It’s…not my intent to but…” that might be out of my hands.

This was supposed to be the day you eternally promised yourselves to one another, but apparently, plans sometimes went awry. Sometimes, the determined widow got her happy ending.

But you won too. All because the last face you were going to see was the face of the man you loved.

“Surgeon’s here! He’s got supplies!” 

Hold on, Y/n.

. . .

Acknowledgements:

First of all, I want to thank everyone on Amino (who I unfortunately, didn’t keep in contact with) for telling me that the first 2 chapters of this fic were worthwhile. Without motivation from them, I never would have felt inspired enough to keep developing this idea. 

I also want to thank my best friend for listening to me rant about this piece. About the hours and hours of research about historical figures, laundry in the 1890s, makeup in the 1890s, speech, Victorian slang terms, hair, names, German breakfast food, types of tea, Victorian wedding traditions, serial killers, post-traumatic stress disorder, bilingualism, travel, everything. Even anatomy, dangerous chemicals, ages of me studying self-defense, waltz, and harp tutorials on YouTube. I even did the math-- Cornelia really is an 8th-generation New Yorker! I sat down and put a half hour into making a very preliminary family tree for her. Don’t even get me started on how many times I watched the anime and took notes on the cast’s speech and mannerisms. I even scoured Pinterest for reference pictures, outfit inspiration…everything you could ever want. It all amounted to 300+ pins to my TIP board, and exactly 127,411 words.

I digress. My best friend is so motivating, and without her telling me not to force myself to write when I don’t feel it, you guys wouldn’t have gotten anything close to this quality of work. In fact, she’s also a bit responsible for a scene in this chapter.

I also want to thank Sweet Anon, mylostleftfootsock, katherine101, for consistently reaching out to me in asks, DMs, and commenting. You all motivate me so much, and there’s nothing quite like knowing that the story I write touches you. Without knowing people were really engaging with what I put out, writing would have taken a lot longer, if it happened at all. 

Thank you all, so much. I’m so grateful for every single read.

I can't wait to share my next projects with you. I'll even give you a few hints to make up for this ending: Ciel Phantomhive, ballerina!reader, fake courtship, serial killer. Do with this what you will <3

Love, Dan

[itsytinyspiders]

(Part 15)

I’ve said it many, many times, but I’m always pleasantly surprised when the sets move around during a scene. Unlike in other mediums, we are forced to watch the story unfold from one perspective, so the production needs to account.

Also, Albert and Irene’s voice echoes since they are in a church – love that attention to detail!

And again!

We first saw the scene from Albert’s perspective, which is why Irene was hidden behind the screen. Once Irene became the active party, the screen shifted and we can see both Irene and Albert, since Irene knows who Albert is. And Sherlock has no idea who the Lord of Crime is, so we only see Albert’s back when Sherlock is the active party of the scene.

Furthermore, moving the table with the screen around to account for these shifts in perspectives also means that the scene is made more chaotic. What will happen next? Who will get the upper hand?

See?

Albert is now hidden behind the scene, to allow Sherlock more freedom of movement on the stage.

And now Sherlock has given the power over to the Lord of Crime, because he’s the only one who can protect Irene.

The screen has shifted again. While Albert is the one driving this scene, it is Irene who will be writing down the “true name” of the Lord of Crime. Notice how Albert is visible, but still close to the screen, and how Sherlock is turned to the audience, not even looking towards Albert.

And when Sherlock does turn towards Irene, the spotlight on Albert fades, leaving him in shadows.

The screen shifts again, as Irene writes down Albert’s name. It is now up to Sherlock to uphold his part of the deal.

Another slight shift, as Albert receives the document.

A final shift, to allow Albert to leave the stage unseen by Sherlock.

One thing I haven’t mentioned thus far, is that the music in this scene does not seem to be a new rendition of the main theme. Rather, it is soft and melancholic harp music, which is quite fitting for a farewell.

Love seeing Sherlock fall to the ground in shock from being tricked by Irene Adler, once again!

That said, I would be afraid to let myself fall on that platform. There’s isn’t a lot of space.

Their farewell is as emotional as expected. Where the ACD Sherlock felt admiration for Irene, Yuumori’s Sherlock and Irene have developed a friendship during their short time together. This, and the circumstances behind their farewell, makes this farewell feel more like saying goodbye at graduation than a permanent goodbye.

I always felt it odd that Irene would kneel to William (and his brothers) like this right after she becomes part of the group. Is it performance to get into their good graces? But wouldn’t simply bowing with her hand on her heart be sufficient then? Kneeling like that is a sign of submission or devotion, and I guess that she might think it important to convey both, now that she’s on this bandwagon.

With just about any other of William’s subordinates, I would take it as sincerity, but Irene is an actress, so I’m always second-guessing how much of her attitude is genuine. Of course, being an actress might also give her a penchant for the melodramatic, so I’m constantly seesawing.

(...and march towards the light)

I know that this is the infamous “I have only one demand… Your silence” scene, but Albert is taller than Mycroft in the stage play canon and I am in stitches!

Canonically, their height is about the same, but fandom has made me believe that Mycroft is taller. And now, to see this??

Mycroft: In other words, you’re going to do a remake of the French Revolution?

William: No. We have a plan.

Love how everyone needs to fall dead to highlight that William intends to cause a massacre.

William reiterates his words to Albert in the cathedral, but seems to be speaking to the audience instead this time.

And flashback time!

Albert makes his offer to William and Louis, unafraid of the knife in front of him. Maybe because William is the one recalling this memory, but he seems more like a background object than an active participant.

This scene is quickly followed by the burning Moriarty estate - the moment where the three truly become brothers as Albert has promised.

And back in present day, Mycroft gives his approval for the Moriarty Plan.

Finally, the Moriarthree’s motivations have come full circle.

Unfortunately, Irene’s actress didn’t get time to change wigs… let’s suspend our disbelief.

I often don’t pay much attention to John. I’m not familiar with the ACD canon and John is a supporting character who mostly helps keep Sherlock in line. I will say, however, that John’s compassion and honest emotions are a breath of fresh air in a series of mysteries and untruths.

I’m not sure if I mentioned this previously, but having William’s invisible presence around Sherlock, especially at important moments, really highlights how deeply tangled Sherlock was in William’s web.

Irene Adler is dead. James Bond is now the newest member of the MI6, marking the end of the play.

And that’s it for case 1 of the Yuumori stageplay!

[kibbekpopcompendium]

Red Velvet Kibbe Typing!

Irene

kibbe type: theatrical romantic

essence: classic-ingenue

notes: Irene looks the best when embracing her soft, romantic qualities, while taking into account the pared-back/moderation of classic essence.

~~~

Seulgi

kibbe type: flamboyant gamine

essence: gamine-dramatic

notes: a sign that seulgi is a FG is that no matter her weight, her torso shape is the same (gaining weight on the bottom half is a sign of yang-types)

~~~

Wendy

kibbe type: theatrical romantic

essence: romantic

notes: red velvet's early style is more gamine/natural recs, but over the years wendy seems to be dressed in more TR-friendly clothing. more than Irene, she looks the best when she's wearing lavish, slightly extravagant outfits that accentuate her romantic qualities.

~~~

Joy

kibbe type: flamboyant natural

essence: romantic-ingenue

notes: Joy is an interesting case because her essence is pretty at-odds with the common conceptions of the 'fierce, earthy FN'. she suits long, interrupted clothing with heavier details, that also has a youthful, girlish aura to it. the top row-right outfit and the bottom row-second outfit do this very well.

~~~

Yeri

kibbe type: soft natural

essence: gamine-natural-ingenue

notes: yeri's essence was hard to determine because she pulls off a lot of different styles so well! her best outfits are relaxed and not tight/overly 'cramped' to her body.