#it was like that really deep navy blue shade - looked like a really light and soft cotton too

[clanoffelidae]

There’s a muslim girl who rides the same bus as me after work and I fear her power bc she’s out here in these triple digit temperatures in pants, a hoodie, and headscarf meanwhile I’m on the verge of passing away in a t-shirt and jeans.

[historiaxvanserra]

These Violent Delights | Chapter Three

Summary: The day has come for you to forsake the safety of Velaris and make your solemn oaths to Beron Vanserra; the cruel and tyrannical High Lord of the Autumn Court and his son Eris Vanserra. Your mate. Cruel and beautiful and yours.

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!Reader

Word Count: 8k

Main Masterlist

Waking from the ether feels like being torn from your old life again. You need a few moments to shed the fleeting remnants of your mortal life; the winter cold as it permeates the thin walls of the cabin, the warmths of the sister nestled at your side,  that feeling of hunger like a devouring cavity that lives within you even now and that dresser-- adorned in painted flame, flowers, eternal night and the murky depths of the sea. That dresser haunts your memories almost as often as that infernal Cauldron. 

In these moments when sleep still shrouds your conscious mind, you give leave to your anger; it runs like water into old wounds and it festers there. The saltwater purifies in ways that fire cannot. In a few moments, when the visions abate you, then you will be able to face the fire. To watch as the hues of your bedroom move from murky green and chalk blue into pearl and burning gold. For now, let the morning come in with the subtleness of the tide.

You're still cocooned between silken sheets, allowing the sunlight to thaw out the morning chill from your bones, when you notice the wraiths as they work. Nuala and Cerridrwen are the personification of shadow and smoke as they glide through your rooms, drawing the curtains with a flourish as golden light seems to pour into the room. Nuala tends to your laundry while her sister begins to draw your bath. The smell of steam and wildflowers from the meadow fill the air; juniper berries and chamomile soap that seems to cling to you. 

The sound of the water lulls you into a misty wakefulness which is sullied by the opening of the apartment doors again. This time three sisters spill into the room, each dressed in varying shades of night; black, navy and indigo, accented with jewels strung tight against the hollows of their throats and the morning light catches in the crystals and casts the room in speckled light.

With as much grace as she can muster this early in the morning, Elain unceremoniously slumps down on your unmade bed and crawls to sit beside you as you once had when you were girls. 

“Get up!” Nesta commands briskly leaning against your vanity. 

“Morning, love,” Elain says, her voice airy on the morning breeze. She looks particularly wraith-like this morning, her eyes are ringed purple and her rich sienna irises are glazed over, glassy and veiled with a milky film that speaks to an oncoming vision.

Your bed shifts under the weight of movement again as Feyre places Nyx, swaddled in his favorite blanket, into the space beside you. He moves against the confines of his wrappings, coiling and loosening and he is half-free before you pull him into your embrace. His smile and quiet babbling tugs on your emotions in a way that almost feels like a carefully crafted ruse. 

“Using the baby against me is cruel.” You chastise, pulling yourself to sit against the headboard as you take Nyx in your arms so that he is resting on your knees. 

“I know but you really do need to get up.” Feyre says, still half-wrapped in the arms of sleep herself. Feyre is the night; dark, and vast, strangely comforting. 

“The High Lord has asked to see you before the ceremony,” Nesta says. Her voice is filled with something sharp and wicked. They’re all looking at you now; each saturated in her own shade of sympathy as you resign yourself to action. Rising from the bed in feigned indifference, you wordlessly hand Nyx off to his mother, before walking over to the copper tub in front of the dying fire. The cold copper draws the heat from your skin and in its wake leaves an icy metallic sting that cuts bone deep. 

“Very well then,” You say with a heavy sigh, “I best not keep him waiting.” 

You look to your sisters then, once they had been three girls; mortal and each afraid and now they stand before you half-divine and formidable. And where did you stand amongst them? You don’t feel particularly formidable.

You feel fractured, all adrift in a violent sea.  

So today you will wear your sisters virtues like armor. Until you have sworn yourself to him. 

“We’ll not keep you,” Nesta says, cutting through the poignant silence as you rise on uncertain feet towards the tub nodding curtly at them as they disperse.  

The swathes of your ivory nightgown pool like water at your feet as you wade into the tub before sinking low into its comforting warmth. The water is white-hot, burns in the most sadistic way, and when the burning subsides it gives way to a misty wakefulness saturated by the aromatic smell of juniper and jasmine. You recline your head against the lip of the tub and cast your gaze to your sisters again. . 

In this light Nesta looks like a vision; draped in black and silver, her hair braided like a crown atop her head and her face has an austere beauty that could bring a King to his knees. Nesta is a silver flame; wrathful and vengeful, and should she let it, her fire would ravage worlds until all that stood between her and total destruction was herself.

Eris is flame too; terrible and red. Slow-burning, all-consuming and utterly devastating.

Like calls to Like.

Once your sisters have left you let yourself sink into the scalding waters, sinking lower and lower until you are submerged entirely; the water becomes you and you it. Nesta always said that you were water; calm and clear with a dangerous anger that swells like a storm under the skin's surface, violent like the sea. And should you let it, the tempest will tear you apart, and perhaps the world with it. Looking up from underneath the fractured rays of sunlight spill into the room and pierce through the dark waters– there is something sacred in that sinking feeling. Then visions come to you in flashes of black, red and–

“I dreamt of you last night,” It’s Elain’s voice that lingers on the edges of your room. It’s airy and haunting and her eyes are wide and glassy as she exhales. Elain is flowers; painted in the pastels of Springs early blooms and her hair shines like shadowed sunlight in the pale morning.

“I dreamt of you and him.”

“A dream or a vision?” You ask, your voice wavering and curious. 

Elain takes a tentative step into the room, her fingers buried into the skirts of her dress and she broaches the subject again, “I hadn’t had a vision in months”.

“But last night I saw you.” 

Elain’s soft hands brush over your own, the tips of your fingers tangling together and your draw in a sharp breath as something in you calls to her and all the breath is taken from you when she reaches out a pale hand to your cheek. 

It burns through you like fire and Elain begins to speak.

'These violent delights have violent ends

And in their triumph die, like fire and water,

Which as they kiss consume.’

Elain falls through the ether with a deep inhale as the trance falls away from her and she scrambles to find something to ground herself in those moments.You brace yourself against the lip of the tub as Elain falls to the floor in tears, hands desperately grasping for anything to hold onto. Soaked to the bone and bare to the world you take your trembling sister in your arms and hold her there until the ragged breaths soothe and settle to a steady inhale-exhale. You run a confronting hand through Elain’s unbound hair, pressing a chaste kiss against her hairline repeating the words to her. It’s okay. I’m here. Elain looks up at you through dark lashes, wet with unshed tears when she whispers hoarsely.

“Please don’t marry Eris Vanserra.”

---

The cloister in the royal temple on the outskirts of Verona is steeped in near darkness save for the jade light from the stained glass windows that pierces the veil of the dark, like sunlight as it cascades down into the murky green depths of the river that flanks the Autumn’s capital city. There is a solemn silence that hangs in the air and for a moment this room feels more like a watery grave than a quiet reprieve from the ceremony below. The orchestral music plays and you pick out the sounds of lyres and harps as their music washes over you. You suck in a sharp breath and all at once you feel panic hit you like a raging tempest, wild and raging as it drags you into its merciless depths--

The sharp knock on the screen door reverberates through the silence of the cloister.

“Come in.” You say, your voice hoarse and shaky as clutch at the tight lacing of your corset, trying to catch your breath again. Light spills into the room like the tide and you turn, half-expecting to see one of your sisters standing there, her face painted in sympathy as she takes you in her arms and whispers a few comforting words to you. 

The man that stands before you is a much more volatile prospect indeed. 

“My Lord.” You greet him coldly. 

“High Lord now, isn’t it?” Beron Vanserra offers you a saccharine smile as he crosses the threshold of the makeshift bridal apartments. He’s dressed in a deep crimson tunic, embroidered with threads of gold; It is wholly perverse for a man so cruel to look so poised and striking. You notice the way his shoulder length hair looks like polished bronze and his eyes shine like onyx in the morning light as he regards you.

“Don’t you make a beautiful bride,” Beron’s voice is laden with false flattery, undercut with an air of threat, “you’re going to make my son a very happy male.” 

Beron all but leers at you. His eyes trail lazily over the curves and divots of your body in the obscenely intricate dress he had chosen for you. It is adorned in rubies and pearls that catch in the light like drops of blood. You feel your skin begin to crawl when he presses a chaste kiss to your outstretched hand.

“It is a shame about Eris though.” Beron says dangerously low, as if daring you to ask what it is he means. 

“The flowers look very beautiful” you muse absently, it is all you can offer him-- some small, non-committal response to placate him.

Beron pays you no heed. 

“I’m assured no expense has been spared with the ceremony.” Beron continues, picking at some stray threads on the sleeve of his tunic. His lips are set in a straight line and you notice the grimace that graces his features as he takes in the decor from your spot in the cloister overlooking the antechamber of the temple. 

The walls are carved into ivory marble and sandstone, and the high, Gothic archways are adorned with carvings of mythological heroes and Princes from songs. The large circular window behind the altar is decorated with stained glass that casts a myriad of dappled light onto the marble tiles. You swallow thickly thinking of the obscenely large sum of money being spent on your mating ceremony to the Autumn heir. 

“So I’ve heard, High Lord.” Beron nods at that, the use of his title softening him to you again and you dip your head in a show of false deference.

“Yes, well,” Beron says, his lips twitching lightly as he traces the swell of your breasts and the slope of your neck, “I have reason to believe you will be worth every penny.” 

Beron takes a step towards you and you loose a breath as he draws nearer still. His frail, aged hand reaches out to touch you. From your position in the cloister Beron Vanserra towers over you. His presence is a looming reminder of your position in this world. His slender fingers feel warm and smooth against the skin of your throat as he tilts your chin so that you are looking in his eyes. You wonder if Eris’ touch feels as perverse. 

It wasn't that night in Hewn City, you remember. That night he had touched you with such careful reverence. 

Like you were a Goddess worth kneeling too.

“You should be warned,” Beron says to you, his eyes bore into yours and in them you see something akin to devilment cross them. Beron’s voice is soft and pensive in a way that seems rehearsed “The Autumn Court is an inhospitable place for outsiders.”

“Rhysand might be content for you to play at war and politics but you will find that in Autumn it is not becoming of a Lady of your position.” 

“Yes, My Lord” you say, your voice equally as soft, with an almost breathless quality to it as the realization of his words takes root in your chest. Your heart is thunderous in your chest-- it beats so loud you’re sure The High Lord of Autumn is privy to it. 

Beron hums thoughtfully as he lets go of your chin once more.

“Eris has a dangerous temper -- the fire runs hot in his veins” Beron’s words are chosen carefully, crafted to intimidate. “I can assure you he will not abide these foolish notions any more than I will.” 

You nod meekly, recalling the words of Elain’s vision. These violent delights will have violent ends. 

“He might be blinded by the thought of a pretty face and a tight cunt for now but it won’t last.” He muses to himself and again you see that light fade from his eyes and morph into a sadistic joy as his words spark outrage on your face. 

You don’t dare look at him again lest he see the tears that have gathered at your waterline. Beron considers you for a moment, sweeping you up in his hold so that your arm is wrapped around his bicep loosely and he begins to lead you from the darkness of the cloister and into the light. 

“And what will my position be at court?” You ask carefully, observing the harsh set of Beron’s jaw as you talk. 

“As Eris’ mate you will be a Lady of the Autumn court -- you’ll take tea and play cards, attend balls -- bear him sons.” Beron laughs, casting a glance to you as you continue your descent down the temple stairs before he takes his leave. Then he is gone with the wave of a hand and he leaves the charred scent of wyrmwood and valerian root in his wake. You lose a shaky breath and try ceaselessly to wipe the unshed tears from your eyes before continuing your descent into the heart of the temple. 

Your storm rages violent and cold then; You were born from the depths of the sea. To be cruel and beautiful. You are not some docile little girl or a brood mare destined to bear sons and obey. 

You are a storm incarnate and by the time you are done, the whole world will know it. 

The temple in Verona is carved deep into the natural sandstone of a cliff face, its sharp peak cleaving it from the valley and river beyond. The grand temple overlooks the river and on days such as this, the smell of seafoam and salt, stains the air. The stained glass windows line the junction between the walls and ceilings, and illustrated in them, is the story of birth, creation and rebirth. It breeds a strange sense of reverence in you. As the sun filters through the windows in beams of shadowed light, the aisle is dappled in a technicolor glow. The air is thick and heady with the smell of wine and smoke and from your spot at the end of the aisle, you can see The High Priestess intoning her mass. The Priestess is obscured by plumes of incense smoke and the flicker of candle flame illuminates her face. She is a vision in the lonine orange light; she is heavily veiled, runes adorn her arms and face, and her eyes shine with a cerulean clarity as she chants her blessings to the Fae in attendance. Her altar is littered with offerings to the mated pair, amphora’s of fae-wine, bouquets of lilac and patchouli, small trinkets and garlands of laurel and pomegranate. The temple is alive with ceremony; a possession of veiled priestesses, anointed with incense, leave a trail of petals in their wake, as they kneel at the foot of the altar before filing into the pews. 

“Last chance to run!” It’s Cassian’s voice that jolts you from thought. 

He laughs as you clutch at your chest as you reel from his intrusion. He’s dressed in his ceremonial uniform; it’s much prettier than the frayed training leathers you’re used to seeing him in. His broad shoulders seem to strain against the navy fabric that is decorated with embroidered silver brocade. His hair is pushed back behind his ears neatly, a few errant strands catch on the breeze and he looks more like the Cassian you had grown to care for. 

“I think it’s a little late for that now.” Rhysand says pointedly to Cassian as he retreats into the aisle to find his seat at the front of the temple with the rest of your family and friends.

On the opposite side of the aisle Beron Vanserra stands near the altar along with Eris and his favorite courtiers and trusted soldiers that gather behind him to bear witness to the hastily brokered mating ceremony his father had managed to coerce you into. And there’s a woman. She’s tall and beautiful with hair the color of sand and a face that is bright and warm. She looks out into the aisle with contempt and then back again to Eris and from here, on the outside looking in, you can see it. Not quite love but fire; consuming and searing through her and the heat seems to seep into his bones as he turns around to meet her eyes and you can swear you see the ghost of regret grace his face. 

You will make him kneel to you, you think. As you had done that night in Hewn City. He had called you Goddess then. 

A storm incarnate, you remind yourself as you approach the aisle hesitantly. Violent, merciless, and beautiful. With all the force of a raging tempest. 

As the orchestral music begins to sweep through the temple you feel Rhysand clear his throat and come to stand at your side, his eyes burning holes into the side of your face. Rhysand is dressed all in black. In his High Lord robes he cuts an intimidating figure. In this holy light he looks quite beautiful, in a boyish sort of way, never really having shed that youthful magnetism that seemed to enamour everyone so. On any other day, you wouldn’t have looked twice at Rhysand but as your freedom hangs precariously in the balance you want to cling to something you know-- something warm and familiar and safe. So you take his arm as he guides you out into the aisle. 

Your vision is partially obscured by the light mesh veil that adorns your face. It’s honey coloured and decorated with tiny ruby crystals that fall like tears. The dress itself looks like wine red; satin and chiffon that clings to you like water as it marks the contours and caverns of your body in a way that makes you feel laid bare. The fabric is gathered about your bust delicately and accentuates the slope of your shoulders. Rhysand’s cool fingers rub comforting circles into the flesh of your arm where he holds it tight. He feels your tense involuntarily as the harps swell to a stop when you step up to the heart of the temple. 

Then you see him; it’s hypnotic and slightly aggravating as he examines you, his eyes trailing over your body and coming to land on your face. He looks at you and you feel as though light goes all through you. He’s steeped in jewel tones that saturate him in autumnal light as he stands against the cool marble and stone of the temple. His hair is tousled and rust coloured in the half-extinguished candle flame and his eyes shine like amber, incandescent and devastating. His tunic is jade coloured and embellished with gold thread along the cuffs and collar. 

“Come forward, child,” the Priestess gestures to you as you take a step towards the altar, bowing your head in a show of devotion. She takes your hand in hers and kisses it chastely, murmuring a blessing against your skin. She repeats the action for Eris before gesturing to you to face him. When you turn to face him he takes a step forward on certain feet and takes hold of the sheer fabric that veils you, briefly admiring the feel of it between his fingers before bringing it over your head in one fluid movement so that your face is entirely unobstructed from view. Eris burns bright; a slow-burning flame. It’s warm and all-consuming but no less volatile, no less devastating. As the priestess continues to intone her blessings, you and Eris stand, looking at each other in the light searching for something to cling to in each other’s eyes in those sinking moments. In a flurry of movement the priestess takes your hand again before pressing the ceremonial blade to your palm, the metal glints in the dappled light and a slicing burn gives way to blood that pools like rubies at Eris’s feet. 

Stepping to the altar he grasps your hand in his as a pained hiss escapes you. His hands are broad and warm and his fingers are long and graceful as they ghost over your cold skin. Your fist clenches in his unrelenting grip and when he feels it, he yields to you, his hand going slack as your fingers curl around his. He had the strange tenderness of someone who has never been loved, it seems almost rehearsed. His palms and the pads of his fingers are rough and mottled with fire and the way he holds your hand in his is possessive. 

Sacred and perverse. 

His hand pulls away from you now and in turn he offers it up to the priestess, she turns it over in her grasp and slices into his palm as she had done to you. He places his hand in yours again. Palm to bloody palm as he sinks to his knees before you. He kneels to you in his own show of reverence; you, the visage of some ancient deity and he, the last devotee. 

Eris Vanserra works diligently, threading the ribbon through your joined hands, binding your bloody hand to his. The crimson ribbon that joins you, a representation of the oaths by which you are bound together. 

Your shared sin.

The words come next; spoke in unison and recited like a prayer:

Ode to my love; 

Blood of my blood, bone of my bone;

Here, I surrender myself unto you;

In sight of The Mother; 

I give that which is only mine to give;

My word, my bond, my fealty,

I pledge to shield your back, and keep your counsel,

I pledge that yours will be the name I cry aloud in the night,

And yours the arms in which i wake

I pledge to you my living and dying;

I am yours and you are mine,

From this day until our last day.

The next few hours seem to pass in a perpetual state of anxiety induced haze and you bear witness to it all from somewhere outside of yourself; a ghost or spectator to the tragedy that had become your union to The Autumn Prince. 

Your beautiful mate. 

This should have been a happy occasion; the union of two souls, bound together by the Gods themselves. Born from the same star. But Beron Vanserra had robbed you of any romantic notions that today is anything but a warning fire. 

You are a vulnerability. His mate. And whether Eris Vanserra loves you or not Beron intends to exploit that vulnerability; a pretty ornament to bring Eris to heel. 

The ballroom is a show of opulence; soaked in the amethyst fae-light and chandeliers glitter like moonglow on open water. The paintings hang on the wall, rich oil on canvas, framed in gilded gold and the high table is decorated with fine ivory place settings and delicate china adorned with painted autumn leaves. The retinue of Beron’s courtiers look like a jewel-toned fire; flames of amber, topaz, and ruby that burn through the cool light of the ballroom as they take to their seats. It’s a great farce. The way that the colours of night and autumn come together in a crude harmony. You wonder if Eris sees it too. 

The music is soft and loud and mixed with the laughter and idle chatter the hall is a cacophony of sound, no longer ceremonial and orchestral but rather, jovial and light-hearted with an undercurrent of anticipation. From your position at the heart of the high table, you can see the courtiers of Night and Autumn mingling on the lower tables, and as the fourth course is served, it seems inebriation is beginning to set in. Their faces in the crowd are exaggerated and expressive, the distinct wine-blush staining the room a specific shade of hedonism. The air is thick with it, wine and body heat. It’s almost tangible. 

The sound of Cassian’s voice echoes along the high table as he and Nesta seem to be in the midst of a heated debate. Feyre and Mor are quietly discussing court gossip with animated gasps and hand gestures that you only catch from the corner of your eye. All of that is drowned out by the conversation between Rhysand, Beron and Eris. 

You only stare on, watching and waiting as the evening begins to unfold before you. 

You cast your eyes along the table to see that it is laden with food; roasted meats, and seasonal vegetables, garnished with fragrant spices and herbs that taint the air with their aroma. It’s pure gluttony. More food than you have ever seen, piled high and largely untouched. It seems cruel to you. To be confronted with such abundance now, when once, hunger was all you knew. It should feel like heaven to live in the knowledge that you will never know poverty again but sometimes it feels like condemnation. To live knowing that your life, meagre as it was, had been stolen from you and in its place, this. 

The stiffening of the body next to you brings you back from the precipice. Eris is a vision in the sapphire light; his face is beautiful in the most conflicting ways. He’s all delicate and angular; soft slopes and harsh lines that come together in opposing harmony. His face is a perfect juxtaposition. He’s a slow-burning fire tangled in the amethyst moonglow. 

“You should eat something,” His voice is tense and low and he doesn’t deign to look at you when he speaks. Even his presence is contradictory in nature; the way his face is set in a neutral expression that arches on contemptuous, and yet, his hand, still bound to yours, is warm and tender, as the calloused pad of his thumb strokes slow tortuous circles into the skin of your hand. 

“I’m not hungry,” it is a lie, an obvious one at that, as at that moment your stomach seems to betray you. He laughs then. Much to the ire of Beron who sends one measured glance to his heir, never quite looking away from Rhysand as he talks about some foreign policy or the other.

The laugh itself is not wholly cruel but teasing, meant to make you feel small as he finally turns his gaze on you. It’s fierce and piercing, warm and you think that when he is looking at you the whole world melts away for a few moments. Eris is handsome; of that there had never been any doubt. Especially in this light he almost takes your breath away. 

“Please eat something, little fox.” is all he says finally, cutting through the tension that had settled over the two of you. 

You laugh back at him now as he watches you carefully, his stare is unyielding and burns into the side of your face. Yet you refuse him the satisfaction of looking back at him. It is Beron’s stare that has you shrinking in place, searing and critical as it bores into the side of your face. It is then you notice the woman he had brought with him looks at you both with a peculiar mixture of envy and scorn that makes heat coil in your stomach, it creeps up on you, kissing its way up your throat and ghosting over your cheeks, leaving blush stains in its wake. 

You look at him once more, forlorn and dejected when he won’t meet your gaze. You look down to the space between you to the place where your hands are bound to his. Your hands are clasped together and come to rest on your thigh innocently as his thumb continues to rub small circles into the skin of your hand. It’s absent-minded and self-soothing on his part. You doubt he realizes or cares about the comfort it has been bringing you in these moments when you feel like you are drowning. So you surrender yourself to the tide.

You are the sea; wild and untamed, sacred like salt. A force to be reckoned with. And try as he might, he will not burn you. 

When your stomach elicits another growl you relent to him and decide to eat something after all even if the satisfaction on his face is enough to awaken the storm brewing inside of you. It’s not quite anger but either way, it washes over you and awakens you with a jolt. 

With your free hand you grab the first thing in front of you; pomegranate, ripe and sweet-smelling and red. Red like the thread that binds you to him. You spend a few moments contemplating it before letting your free hand fall to your thigh, to the place where his body joins with yours. You begin tugging at the binding in an attempt to free yourself from his tender grip. 

“No!” His voice is louder and sterner than he meant for it to sound as he pushes you away with his unbound hand.

“Why not?” you ask, narrowing your eyes at the harsh tone in his voice, “it’s just a stupid ribbon.” 

You attempt to free yourself again, only this time his grip is rough and unrelenting.

“That stupid ribbon is thousands of years of tradition, girl.” It is Beron’s voice, cruel and malignant that chastises you. 

“My apologies.” you say dumbly in response, looking down to where your hands are joined in shame, “forgive me High Lord.” You’re not sure if it's Beron of Eris you are apologizing to. But it is Beron’s words that play on your mind. 

Eris bids you to look at him when his father is once again taken into conversation with Rhysand and you notice then how Eris’ amber gaze softens with his grip as he lets go of your free hand and he waves you off as you look on apologetically. These are the traditions of his people. And foreign as they are to you, they are his; yours now too you suppose.

“The ribbon signifies the sacred vows we have made to each other.” Eris explains carefully and those amber eyes never once leave yours. Even as he brings his free hand to cradle your face in one hand, or as he runs a tender thumb over the the smooth flesh of your cheek. 

“I’m sor-” you move to apologize again though the words are cut short when Eris squeezes your hand comfortingly beneath the table and offers you a secret smile. A secret courtesy to be kept between you and him.

“Think nothing of it, wife.” There’s a little bite to the words that speak to his jest and you feel once again that you are talking to the man that had enamored you so that night in Hewn City. 

He clears his throat again to speak. 

His voice is measured and calm this time as he says “It can’t be removed until the wedding night.”

“The wedding night?” you ask, looking up at him as he turns away again.

“Until the marriage has been consummated.” Eris clarifies, not daring to look at you he shifts a little in his seat, crossing his boot-clad leg over his knee.

“Ahah! The bedding!” Beron leers at you and you notice the twitch in Eris’ jaw but his face remains set in a perfectly neutral expression before morphing into his own rehearsed smirk. He mutters something to his father that you can’t quite catch but whatever it is, it is enough that Beron hums in satisfaction and turns back to The Night Lord of Night with a dangerous smile on his lips. 

You swallow hard. 

Your throat goes dry and makes it harder to swallow your dread. Silence settles over you both again, you’re not sure that he notices or pays much mind to you in those moments but drowning in the silence, you feel his hand squeeze yours with a fond pressure that makes your heart swell with something close to affection. 

After a few more moments of that awkward silence and his hand squeezing yours, you dare to look along the table again. Beside you Rhys is sat in a grand chair that marks him as a High Lord, next is Feyre who cradles Nyx in her arms as he sleeps soundly despite the music and chatter of the courtiers. Nesta and Cassian seem wholly immersed in each other, each drinking deeply from their cups as their conversation becomes louder. At some point, she catches your eye and quirks a brow at you in question. You can’t think of what to do so you only shake your head a little in response, hardly enough for anyone else to notice. 

Moving on you find Azriel in the crowd, he’s pressed against the wall, drink in hand, spectating from the sidelines as he does, lying in wait for something to catch his attention. Something does catch his attention though; it’s you. He sees the way you watch him carefully. There was something dark and reassuring in his eyes, a wordless conversation contained between you and him in that moment. He’s been a friend to you this whole time, and his distrust of Eris meant he was the only one openly vocal about his reservations regarding your marriage to the Autumn prince. Apart from you of course. Azriel slinks off into the shadows and not long after you notice that Elain has also managed to escape. There is some amusement in how obvious they are in their affections for each other and yet, not one person is observant enough to take notice of it. 

“Your sister, Elain,” he starts, there is a menace in his voice and a thread of amusement as he cocks a brow to Lucien who is dancing with Feyre now,  “She’s my brother's mate, yes?”

“She is, My Lord.” You nod, your eyes fixed on Lucien, who had been begrudgingly invited and you find yourself enamored by his graceful movements as he sweeps Feyre up in one fluid motion, turning with her in his arms before placing her on the ground again. Lucien is beautiful you think; not in the same way as Eris perhaps, Lucien is sunlight where Eris is fire-- but beautiful still. 

“Have you noticed the way she always seems to disappear in a room full of people and no one seems to notice,” It’s not meant to be a jape or a taunt just simple observation on his part as his eyes scan the room and Elain is nowhere to be found amongst the masses of bodies. 

“The spymaster, too.” he adds, his tone is careful and bereft of emotion. 

“How strange,” you say, offering him a weak smile in response. Any smart retort lives and dies on the tip of your tongue at that moment and you’re left trying to scrape some dismissal together but no matter how hard you try, nothing will come forth.  

“Perhaps they have retired to their beds for the night.” he offers, a sly smile on his beautiful lips.

Clearly, someone else is taking note. 

He turns to you then and you can see the wicked smile that takes over his features but it is gone just as quickly as he looks down at you clumsily holding your knife in hand in an attempt to tear open the fruit in front of you so that you may finally eat. 

“Here,” he says softly, reaching over you with his free hand to take the pomegranate from your hands, “give me the knife”.

“Don’t trouble yourself, My Lord,” you say quickly, your hand covering his to stop him in his tracks.

“No you don’t” he says simply waving your hand away again. Eris holds out his large hand to you, his palm open and expectant as his eyes find yours. Gods, he is devastating, you think. And intimidating. You see a flash of fire cross his eyes and Beron’s words play in your mind once more. 

You twirl the cheese knife in your hand once more before handing it to Eris with a trembling touch. Eris is skilled with a knife. His fingers are elegant and deft with a blade like he knows it innately. It is malleable under his touch and glides through the air as he carves into the pomegranate. Fruit flesh relents to the sting of his blade; sweet liquid spills onto his fingers like blood and the seeds shine like rubies in the candlelight. Eris takes a seed between his thumb and forefinger, holding it to the light before holding it to the sulk on your lips. Fruit flesh is cool and wet against your lips, the juice is tart and sweet and red. 

Almost metallic.

Almost like blood. 

It takes you a few moments to relent to him but when you do, you obediently open your mouth to him; all pretty pink lips and canines. It’s feral the way he watches you. The way you watch him. Like two predators circling their prey. There’s the ghost of a dare glinting in his eyes when you lean into him and wrap your lips around his fingers. It’s metallic and sweet, a heady mixture of skin and seed. You moan gospel around his deft fingers and when you are done he looks as though he is ready to devour you. 

The little peace that you had found in those moments seems to subside with the abrupt ending to the music as Rhysand stands beside you raising a glass to the room, with others following one by one to also raise their glasses.

“As the night draws to its close, let me be the first to wish you both well; my greatest wish is to see your bond grow strong, and with it the pledges we have borne witness to today. Your union is tangible proof of the alliance between our two courts and with your love, let those allegiances too grow strong so that we may all know peace and abundance in equal measure.”

As Rhysand’s speech draws to its close you feel Eris’s hand again squeezing at yours as if in warning for what will come next. Rhysand’s words didn’t surprise you as you thought they might, they lacked any brotherly sincerity and in its place was the proof that you had been sold to Eris so that Rhysand may profit off your sacrifice.

“As is tradition, the bride and groom will now retire to their bed.” As those words leave Beron’s lips you feel yourself pale in a mixture of embarrassment and dread. It’s Cassian who draws your attention as in his drunken stupor he hollers at the mere mention of the bedding. Nesta is quick to silence him with a jab to the ribs and she sends you an apologetic half-smile. Not that it appeases you any. This is the fate they have designed for you. It is easier to resign yourself to it, and relinquish control instead of having it taken from you. Breaking is easier than being broken. 

As the music begins again Eris seems to don a mask; his smile is saccharine as he rises to his feet in one fluid motion and you follow shortly after. He leads you to the middle of the ballroom and looks again at where your bodies are joined together. He places his free hand on the small of your back and in turn, you wrap your arm around his shoulder. He leads you effortlessly into a slow, sultry walk as you and he slink from the opulent ballroom and into the long, narrow corridors of The Forest House. 

“Are you afraid?” Eris asks gently as he examines you carefully and you don’t miss the way his eyes linger at the swell of your breasts or the way his fingers dig into the soft flesh of your hip as he leads you up the grand staircase.

“Should I be afraid, My Lord?” you ask incredulously, offering him a sweet, amenable smile. That is what they want you to be, isn’t it? Agreeable, obedient, docile. A pretty thing to warm his bed and keep his counsel until his father is dead and buried.

He looks down at where your hands are bound together and you swallow hard.

You have already been bought and sold and with every passing second you can’t help but think your fate is to be a broodmare to birth sons and live in quiet isolation. 

As Eris’s own mother has. 

That behind Eris’s scheming and his initial hesitancy to claim you, there is still a lingering sense of ownership. That he felt entitled to you, to your body and your life should it come to that. All because The Mother deemed him worthy of you. For all his solemn promises he still bought you for a price.

“I won’t touch you,” there is sincerity in his voice that warms you, nerves set alight as his broad hand ghosts your uncovered shoulder.

“Not until you ask me to, anyway,” he adds, there is an air of playfulness in his voice but there is something else. At that moment you are assured that if you would have him, Eris would ravage you. He might be a cruel prince with a wicked temper, but there is an irresistible and undeniable tension between you. Something that calls your body to his. Perhaps it is the wine, or the gravity of the vows you have sworn to one another but either way, this man before you is lust incarnate. 

“What if I never want you to touch me?” you retort, there is something unserious about the way you say it. Both of you know that it is only a matter of time before you permit him into your bed.

“I can’t say I’ve ever dreamed of the priesthood.” He laughs a little. It is sweet and careless as his hand dips a little lower on your hips.

“I’m sure you’ll find some pretty little nymph to devote yourself to,” you say, thinking of the sandy-haired woman who had been watching you all night. Eris’ face twists into a fox-like grin. Like he has finally got you right where he wants you. 

“Who was the woman here today, the one with the golden hair?” you ask, your gaze wavering under the heat of Eris’ stare. 

“Her name is Chryseis, but you needn’t pay her any mind” he reassures you, forcing you to look at him. And only him. He’s right. She isn’t important, not truly. What’s more pressing is the way her eyes trailed you contemptuously and the feeling of volatile jealousy that toot root in your body. It is unnatural and selfish. Whatever Eris and that woman share predates you, and any vows he made to you. 

“She is very beautiful” You don’t quite know where the words come from but it tastes like saltwater on your tongue, “Is she what you gave up to have me?”

“She is nothing to me,” he says honestly. You think it is nice to see him like that, in those small moments where he is unencumbered by all that plagues him.

In that moment, you stand there, your hand still bound to Eris and again you allow the world to dissolve like sugar on your tongue when he is looking at you like that. His fire is gentle and slow-burning now, it comes off him in hot plumes of smoke.

“Do you always ask so many questions?” he quips as he tries to catch his breath, painfully aware of how your hearts beat in tandem, “Or only when you’re jealous?” 

He’s toying with you now and humiliation coils tight in your chest.

“Why would I be jealous of your lover?” you say, all bared teeth and venom as the tension between you cools to anger. It’s unnerving, and your hairs stand on end in morbid anticipation. As he closes the gap between you so that you are chest to chest. So close that his lips ghost over your own as he comes to whisper in your ear. 

“I never said she was my lover” Eris jibes, only half-amused as he takes in the way you shrink before him as his fathers words ring in your ears once again each time you bring yourself to fan the flames of his anger. 

“If you want me to forsake all other women, all you have to do is ask.” his breath is hot on your neck and he stares down at you, hypnotized by the rise and fall of your chest. “I offered as much that first night in Hewn City, don’t you remember?”

“Let it be my first act as your husband.” The way he says it is full of ardour and taunt. You’ve no doubt that he would too. But you are the sea; violent and willful and you will not surrender to him yet. 

You don’t say anything then only press your bound palm to his before leaning into him. His eyes pierce your soul and warmth pools in the pit of your stomach as his hot breath fans your face, lips coming to meet yours in a tender kiss. Only before you can heed the call of your soul to his, you pull away from him.

Eris hisses at the sudden loss of touch and he drops his free hand and begins to untether your hand from his. He turns his back to you, readjusting his posture to a cool, calculated slouch that exudes an aura of arrogance that he wears so well. The sounds of his riding boots against the tile cut through you like a knife. He tosses his head to the side, long russet strands framing his profile as he speaks again.

“You called me a Goddess once, do you remember?” Your eyes search his and in that strange amber gaze you see the man you saw that night is Hewn City. Wicked and vulnerable and good, despite it all. Eris nods and you watch the long column of his throat as he swallows thickly.

“Tonight I will let you kneel at my altar.” Eris Vanserra moves like a man starved; all teeth and tongue and ardent hands as he pushes you up against the wall outside of him apartments. His kiss is all consuming and devouring as he claims you with reckless abandon. His hands are warm and sure against you; one that holds your jaw gently and the other holds your hip in a bruising grip. 

“You are going to be my ruin, wife.” His echoing whisper answers as his figure retreats into the darkness with the promise of what is to come.

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

CAKE FOR A DEAD MAN (I)

NAVIGATION || RAVISHING ALLURE MASTERLIST || NEXT: CHAPTER II

PAIRING: Nikto x F!Reader (Soulmate AU)

WORDCOUNT: 4.6k

WARNINGS: Angst, problems with food & image, mentions of stalking, unwanted gifts, death, violence, gore, blood, etc. (Series 18+)

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

Color, as most would say, is one of the best aspects of sight. It allows such a myriad of emotions to be expressed—even felt. Red reminds us of passion; navy for elegance and a certain mystique. Not only seen but processed on such a deeper level. Refractions of light that explode into the retina, rod and cone cells that send signals to the brain to help detect that phenomenon like a gift of evolution. 

But when you can’t see any of that—color—who’s to explain what the red of the roses actually looks like above a deep shade of gray? That navy blue looks even darker, too. Closer to black. Light purple becomes the same hue as the curtains your mother hangs on the windows, but you can’t tell if that’s really purple or not. How can it be anything other than slate? People tell you it is…at least, those who’ve already met their partners. Their soulmates. 

But there’s little hope for you on that front, really.

You wave to the photographer, calling out a broken Russian goodbye as he smiles warmly at you, nodding his head in your direction before watching you walk out of the studio room’s doors. A large gaggle of other finely-clad women surrounds you on the way to the changing rooms. 

Even with three-and-a-half years of living in this northern country, your mastery of the native language starts and ends with simple pleasantries.

The modeling agency was packed today and you still had so much to do. You stuff down your internal list of scheduled fittings, meetings, and more booked photoshoots that extend into the chilled evening of Yekaterinburg, Russia. There was just so little time. 

Gray hallways and white overhead lights meet your eyes between blinks, potted plants boring and drab. If you could see the shades in between the leaves you’d know you would find them beautiful, but like this…well, they’re just sad.

You shake your head and shuffle to the back of the group, throwing tiny smiles to the kind, and stunning, women who you’ve had little real conversation with. One kisses you on the cheek and pats your shoulder, and you laugh brightly before pulling to the rear, face heating.

“The bastard is finally dead!” The familiar voice causes you to freeze with one heeled foot in the air—fingers picking at the strap of your silk dress absentmindedly before it, too, stills. They were always forcing you into silk with feathered accent pieces of intricate detail. Like a bird, or, Seraph, more precisely. 

Blinking in surprise, you turn around just in time to lock onto the drained shades that make up Alyona Arkadyevna Solovyova before she grips your shoulders harshly. 

Her collarbone-length hair swishes heavily, but it’s not as violent as the smile on her sharp face. 

“Finally, little Солнышко! This is perfect news. The bastard is dead!” Alyona’s English is very good, and of course, it would be—when she was younger she dreamed of being an English teacher. That was before she realized she was just about the most attractive woman of her generation. The harsh Russian accent still bleeds through.

You laugh and grip her long, pale, arms; seeing her in a blouse and pencil skirt as you tilt your head, asking, “Christ, Alyona, give me a warning next time. If I rip anything I’m in deep shit.” 

“Gah,” Your friend waves a hand and releases you, tiny eyes creasing, “forget about that—did you not hear me the first time? My father, Seraph, listen to me! He is finally dead! It happened just this morning but I only got word ten minutes ago.” She laughs, throwing her hands up, and you hide your amused exasperation, limbs tired but it won’t stop you from appreciating your friend’s enthusiasm. Alyona squeals, “A train hit him!”

You cringe internally, face pulling taunt. “Oh,” your chest sputters as you clear your throat, “that’s, uh, that’s…great?”

“Of course it is!” Hands capture your cheeks, squishing as you worry about the state of your makeup. Alyona speaks brightly, “We need to celebrate, Солнышко. Come.”

Before you can protest she’s dragging you away from the other women and the direction of the changing rooms, all had stopped and were listening intently from behind; nosey. Everyone in the Allurement Modeling Agency building, AMA for short, just had that way about them—your business was their business and vice versa. 

And Alyona had no problem airing out her grievances with her estranged father to the choir. She lived for drama.

“Aly,” You huff a soft breath at her and her bobbing hair. She said it was blonde and you had no other option but to believe her. Not yellow-blonde, she had specified. Ice-blonde. “I can’t go out in company property. Plus, I have a photoshoot for Chanel in under an hour. The photographer needs me to be ready.”

But it seems your concerns fall on deaf ears and you can’t help but chuckle and grin at your friend's lack of care about work. She herself was a model, but the entire company halted when she said it should. 

You were truly surprised they hadn’t fired her yet. 

“And I’m sure Chanel has an absolutely hideous dress for you, my Seraph.” Ashen eyes turn back to stare at you, and once she realizes you wouldn’t fight her, her grip releases. “Some Медовик will do you good before the vultures close in, yes? Let us hope they don’t shackle you to those damning lace lingerie sets over cake.” 

Your head tilts with a short sigh, and you walk beside the woman in your clacking heels. The sound of the authentic honey cake seemed to itself to coat your insides with a lust for it—dripping layers of plush gray sponge with pale cream. Your mouth waters. 

“I’m only eating half a piece.” You settle slowly, though you hate your own words as your stomach rolls with hunger. Some time outside will do you good, anyway. Perhaps you’ll learn to photosynthesize like a plant. “I still have to be able to fit into those fabric contraptions, you know.”

Alyona squeals and loops her arm in yours easily, bright teeth in a grin like a cat. Ever one to run into objects and lacking a general ability to walk in a straight line, the support from Alyona was much appreciated. Her help with lending an arm went far, especially for you. 

Your heart warms with soft care.

“I’ll take it! We can split one.” When you both make it to the front of the building, having grabbed your jackets and purses on the way there, you come to three familiar faces while chatting with Alyona about both of your upcoming bookings. 

“I was under the impression you had the day filled,” Petya speaks, heavy accent like stone. The clean-shaven man in his late thirties was built and wearing a dark suit, the tallest out of the other two—Aleksandr and Yefim—who both wear similar outfits. They were resting in the front seating area of AMA as they’d been doing for weeks already, waiting for you to come and go like escorts.

Well, bodyguards, to be more precise. Yours.

You smile politely to them while Yefim sends one back with his boyish charm and dimples. “On break. We’re off to get some Medovik down the street. I can pay for you if you’d want a piece.” 

“Of course, the three will have to tag along, hm?” Alyona huffs, staring blandly as you both slow to a stop near the large white entrance, colored as if it was Heaven’s gates. Your friend had said coloring around this building was rare. Whites and grays. Green chairs, apparently. “I’m just ecstatic.” 

Petya didn’t like you, and, you assumed, Aleksandr didn’t either. With the ladder, his sharp face was always too blank to tell; body tight and unwelcoming with weasel-like eyes. Petya was simpler, blatantly more outward with his distaste.

“Not a smart idea. This isn’t a game to play, девушка.” Alyona’s face tightens, and you swiftly placate her with a squeeze to her bicep. You level Petya with a tilt of your head and a calm look. 

“What harm could a bite to eat do? It won’t cost you your life.” You chuckle smoothly. “Let me get you all something—it’s nearly noon, I’m sure you’re all hungry.”

“I could eat,” Yefim eases in, hands resting in his pockets as he stares at you. His accent was calmer than the others, and his face softer. Out of all of them, you liked him best. 

Your eyes rest on Yefim with a thankful expression. He smirks and nods. Aleksandr, as always, says nothing beyond a small scoff and a look around the room with shifting feet. 

When the tallest of the group does nothing to push back his sneer and heavy glare, you hum under your breath as you expect the words before they rush from his sharp mouth.

“I will have to speak to your mother about this.” The accent makes him sound so stiff—like a statue. A man built up of gravel and snow; concrete in his veins instead of blood. 

“Oh, yes,” Alyona mutters, “the Consul herself.” 

Your nose moves in a sigh, but you ease the situation with a simple, “Do whatever you need to, Petya. I know it’s your job and I’m thankful regardless, but we’ll be back in less than an hour. It’s no big deal.” You pause, plastering on an innocent look. “We’re hungry.”

 For whatever reason you always envisioned Petya with dark eyes—blacks more deep than the clothes they put Alyona in to off-set your given whites when you two are fitted together. But the man’s eyes were so painfully light it made you not want to stare into them. 

Petya grunts and continues to glare, working his jaw. After a moment he lets off a large huff and shakes his head in disapproval.

“Half-an-hour. No more.” 

Alyona manhandles you out the door quickly, growling, “I do not know how you can stand this, Seraph. Bullshit, all of it.” 

“It’s only until everything goes back to normal,” you reason, hearing three sets of footsteps behind you as the guards follow into the chilled air of Yekaterinburg. There was no reason to take a car, everything was within walking distance of one another in this dense city populated by over one million people. “My mother’s worried is all. I’m not going to make their lives harder while they’re only doing what they’re told to do.” 

Light eyes dart to your face, your friend’s hand guiding you along the concrete with a dim concern. “I do not like all of this, Солнышко. It’s been months…Are the gifts still coming?”

Your expression tightens, lips going stiff. Alyona notices and changes the subject for now.

“Ah, but what am I doing—I’m ruining the celebration! Come, come, we will talk about my engagement to Nikifor while we eat.” 

Nikifor, her soulmate. The one who brought her color and music with his performance at a nightclub two years ago; the only thing standing in the way of their marriage was Alyona’s strict father. Something about the man wanting someone with higher standing than a musician for his famous daughter. 

“How is he?” You ask, blinking away the thought of finally being able to see color for the first time and how that must feel. A piece of you would always be envious of that. 

Alyona must have blushed because she always tilts her nose lower when she does. You smile and chuckle under your breath. 

“Wonderful,” is all she offers, but the giddy grin on her lips is knowledge enough. 

You both make it to the small bakery at the end of the long street, heels clicking and cheeks chilled. People had turned to look at you, gaping at the two models still in their expensive clothes and attempting to take pictures on their phones. All were strong-armed by the three men close behind you who bark things in Russian. 

Alyona opens the door of the bakery for you and you accidentally knock your shoulder into the frame, giving a sheepish smile before carefully walking to your regular corner table. Your tall friend goes to order while you take your seat with a sigh, Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim all shuffling in and sending glances to you; looking over the interior with sharp and calculating eyes. 

It’s like they think the sky’s going to fall, you surmise, twitching your lips their way. They’ve been here before with me, do they still not trust it?

Back when things had been less serious they’d allowed you to go where you wished with them—parks, for walks, stores—now it was only work and home. As if you didn’t already feel so trapped. 

“You boys can pick what you want,” you call to them softly. “My treat.”

“On the job,” is all Petya grunts before he takes his normal seat at the table closest to the door; everything in his bright sight. Your hand lightly tightens on the table, but you keep your expression placid. 

You’d tried to get him to lighten up, Aleksandr too, but the two weren’t as open to you as Yefim. There was a blatant distrust of Westerners here, even if you had given up your citizenship to move where your mother works in the Consulate building of this very city. 

While she was still employed by the American government, that didn’t stand in any sense with you. But on top of you being a famous model, your mother was well-known, regardless, and that ultimately fell back on you. 

Yefim’s gray eyes flickered to a case of Bird Milk Cake with a hidden longing as he grasped the back of his chair and slid into it—floorboards creaking loudly. You notice and chuckle under your breath, cheeks heating at the sight as the man’s gaze moves to you and blinks in surprise. He quickly averts his gaze and clears his throat, fixing the collar of his dress shirt.

You’d buy him a piece before you left; maybe kiss his cheek just to see him go all blurry-eyed. He certainly was adorable.

“The baker’s boy is staring again,” Alyona’s voice snaps into your head, and you peer at your friend’s face, startled. 

“What?” You ask as a plate is set in the middle of the table holding a single piece of Medovik. Your mouth fills with saliva, fingers immediately moving like a starved dog to grab a fork and cut into the layers; you shovel it into your mouth before you hiss to pace yourself. 

You chew slowly, swallow, and give Alyona a confused look.

She slides you an unimpressed frown. “The boy. At the front.”

“He’s probably gaping at you,” you take another bite, rubbing at your cheek with your free hand as people walking by the front window peek in with wide eyes; your men glare and move their chairs as the ground squeaks again. 

Your friend scoffs and mutters in Russian, shaking her head. Her hand waves quickly, barking, “Look!” 

Rolling your eyes with a small smile, you look over and dab your face with a napkin before you get locked into a staring match with the dark eyes of the man up-front. 

He wears an apron, head a mess of curls, and his upper arms stained with flour. You blink and pause, wondering if…perhaps…A pause, a sickly hope in your chest…but nothing happens and the contact is broken when he ducks his head before looking at the counter. 

Gritting your teeth, you focus back on your cake and shove aside the sinking feeling in your chest. 

Idiot, you criticize yourself. Now why would you think that would work?

“Nothing, then?” Alyona clicks her tongue and takes up her own fork. “Do not fret, we will find him eventually, Seraph.”

“It’s not like I would know.” The air goes a temperature warmer—bodies stilling. 

While soulmate colorblindness was simply the reality of life, diagnosed colorblindness was still a curse that couldn’t be solved. If you ever saw your soulmate…you wouldn’t even know it. 

All because of that stupid accident. 

You act unbothered by the shift in the conversation and sigh. “You said you wanted to talk about your engagement,” your words remind the woman and she sets off into a tangent about the dress and the location after a moment of quiet concern. A church, she explained, the big one down the road where they’ll be a few days after the civil ceremony and the outer city venue. 

Alyona is only twenty, but you know that it’s incredibly common here to get married this early. Listening, you offer input here and there, but as it always does, the topic falls back to you as you eat the slice of cake dedicated to a dead man. 

Your knife-driven problem. 

The gifts. 

Already, you begin feeling uncomfortable.

“Aly,” you try to grumble, resisting the urge to eat the entire piece of Медовик as you put your utensil down. Your hand jerks over the table and you glare down at it in annoyance, ignoring the tensed nerves. “It’s not important—”

“How many more pieces of jewelry has he sent, hm? Letters?” The woman shivers and rubs at her arms. “It is horrendous behavior. Total fuck-up. And the fact that no one has caught him? Gah!”  

Your spine straightens itself, eyes sliding to the people gawking outside the window and seeing the multiple faces, shuffling bodies that pile next to each other like sardines in a can. 

“I just don’t want to think about it, okay?” You shake your head, turning away as a pit forms in your gut; realizing the fragility of your psyche when you think about the fact that anyone outside could be the source of your problem. The stalker. “If it’s just the gifts I can deal with them—the letters I never even read. If I ignore it they’ll stop eventually. All of this can be one big bad dream.” 

Your hand continues to shake on the table, not exactly in your realm of control just as the inability to walk in a straight line is. It was no wonder why they never let you do runway shows, you think sarcastically. You’d be stuck in a photographer’s room for the rest of your career.

Alyona pushes a strand of her hair out of her face. 

“Seraph…you know it does not work like that.” Of course you did, but asking for help was never your strong suit. And your mother had already given you three well-trained bodyguards to escort you to and from work—that was more than enough protection. 

When you think of the expensive parcels that had been dropped at AMA’s front desk you had to restrain the honey cake coming back up your gullet. All of them had been expensive; pieces you could afford on a model's pension but still wildly elegant to even touch much less own in multitude. Gold bracelets inlay with black opal and sapphire, necklaces with Tanzanite, and rings of ruby, your mother had told you this when you had brought them to her off of only seeing washed-out tones on your part. 

You never showed anyone the letters; they lived in a lockbox under the bed in your apartment. Concerningly, lately the ‘presents’ had been losing the plot. Random bits of glass and shiny items—a slow deterioration but somehow even more scary. 

Even the older women at the front desk were softening the usual sneers they wore when you walked in every day, no longer chiding you in Russian they know you can’t understand. The way they seemed pitiful rubbed you the wrong way.

You pull your jacket closer to you and rub a hand slowly along your thigh in a soothing gesture. Aly pulls her brows in. 

“I want to help you, little Солнышко, but I don’t think this is something I can fix with my womanly charms.” Your lips release a snort, tiny chuckles hitting the air. 

Alyona joins you before silence once again lapses. 

“...Do you feel alright?” Your friend asks honestly. Worry was plain on her face. 

You smile, but your lungs tighten in your chest while your heart acts like a dancer and lightly skips beats. “By next month,” your hand shakes over your thigh, “all of this will be in the past. No one could keep this up forever. I just have to…wait it out. It’s only the gifts, I can live with that—jewelry isn’t hurting anybody except his wallet.” 

The woman narrows her eyes at you and frowns, but it’s not long before she goes back to her half of the Медовик and takes a bite with a moan of enjoyment. You rarely lied, so you supposed she had no trouble believing you.

If only you could fraud yourself like that.

“Quite a wealthy bastard, though, no?” Alyona slyly pokes fun and you blink quickly. 

“Aly!” 

“I am just saying!” 

You press your hand to your lips to hide your loud laugh, Yefim looking over with a certain airiness to his expression before Aleksandr jerks his shoulder to face him back forward. The two glare at each other as Petya stares violently at the front door—daring those outside to try and come in and ask for a picture. 

While you hadn’t come back to this bakery in a while, the three men always seemed to pick the exact same table; the one with the perfect view of everything going on near the door. While it was a small distance away, it allowed for quick action in any direction. 

You blink away as the wooden boards under the bodyguards’ table creak again, loud enough to cause Alyona to frown in that direction. Petya sends an annoyed look down and scowls. 

“How do you know he’s not just stealing them,” you bring back the conversation, smirking. “You know? Maybe he’s a,” your voice lowers an octave in fake secrecy and Aly’s eyes roll, amused, “jewel thief.”

“God above,” the woman huffs. “That would be the twist.”

The both of you joked and picked fun, but that half an hour went past quickly, and soon it was time to get back to the agency so you could change again. The photographer couldn’t take pictures of air and play it off as you with a smile and a nervous stutter. 

As you stand you stare long at the cases of baked goods, licking the remnants of cream off your lips 

“We can buy another, Seraph,” Aly suggests, fixing her coat. You shake your head immediately. 

“No, no, I’ve already had enough sugar. I had two muffins for breakfast. Chocolate.” Your face pulls into a cringe at the words. “Cheat day.” 

Alyona’s lips go tighter, but she says nothing as her hair is puffed out of her face. She out of everyone knows how demanding modeling can be—your entire life is dictated by two things: calories, and appointments. 

You turn to Yefim with his wavy hair and his soft, dimpled, smile; casual eyes. Not your soulmate, based on his lack of reaction the first time you had met, but in that time you’d grown a tiny crush on the man, admittingly. He was kind and treated you with respect. Capable and reliable—how could you ask for more than that? 

“Yefim?” Your voice calls out, a smile on your lips. The man looks over and blinks in surprise. He clears his throat, stuttering as he shifts in his seat. The wood tilts slightly under him and he steadies himself on the edge of the table.

“Да, Ma’am?” 

Restraining a giggle, you cock your head as Alyona snorts.

“Do you want a slice of Bird Milk Cake?” Petya slides you a blank look and Aleksandr taps his fingers to the table. You poke fun, “For when you’re on break, of course.” 

Yefim’s eyes sparkle in their colorless state, a handsome smile taking his lips back along his face. He makes a move to stand up, floorboards squealing loudly as weight is lessened. 

“I would be in your debt—”

The world explodes into a slate-gray blaze of heat and hellfire. 

Your body is thrown back before you can even begin to understand that you’re in danger, panic completely bypassed for a total blank sensation of confusion. Spine slapping into the glass of the window, your form is hurled by a vast boom out of the bakery entirely before it slams to the concrete multiple feet away. 

You slide, rolling in a mess of limbs and ripped silk. For a good moment, you have no idea what just transpired, confusedly lifting your head from the ground and blinking below you as everything rings. Your hand grips the side of your head, the thick liquid seeping in between your fingers as you peel it back and look with shaky vision. 

Blackened blood is coated along your palm, slipping along your wrist as you tilt your hand up in horrified uncertainty. 

Everything comes back in a millisecond of screaming and running feet; like a switch being flipped. You snap your head back to what remains of the bakery as blood slides down your temple. 

“A-Alyona?!” Heels sliding, you stand but stumble back down just as quickly, hands slapping against the ground as you raggedly cough more, chest burning from the force at which you’d been thrown. 

What the hell had just happened? An explosion? 

There was little left of the bakery beside the front door, smoke billowing out of the broken windows as gray flames spark with the familiar sound of burning material—a sharp burn is taken into your nostrils. 

Dragging an arm forward, you grasp something warm and wet in an attempt to get up again. You look to the side and immediately scream at what you see.

Yefim’s upper body was completely fine besides the burns and the lack of his hair, the peeling flesh…it was the absence of the entire lower body that struck you with waves of horror. You slam a hand to your lips and wail, slipping back on kicking legs as tears well in your tear ducts.

Guts were leaking over the concrete, and the dark, gaping, wound spread a fast puddle out around the sputtering that made his chest look like it was moving. Eyes flutter, lashes flapping quickly. 

He looked confused, and that was perhaps the worst part of it. 

Yefim died only half a man, his entrails pooling out of his ribcage, only twenty seconds after you’d asked him if he wanted a piece of cake. Your fingers hide the loud sobs as you stare into this blank expression, hand shaking so bad that it hits your nose. 

“I…I,” you stutter, shapes and flashes rushing back and forth at the sides of your vision. Pressure holds at your left shoulder. 

“Seraph!” The sentence falls off into feminine Russian cursing and screaming, a grip shaking you back and forth, urging you to listen. 

There are wails and the roar of cars, but you don’t have to be given a speech to know the truth about the toll as the fire burns hotter and the blood runs faster. Petya, Aleksandr, and Yefim are dead. They had been sitting on top of something that had triggered when Yefim had released weight from it. 

The creaky floorboards. 

“Seraph!” Alyona tries again, grabbing you under the shoulders and dragging you away from the corpse as bystanders’ phones flash with pictures being taken. There’s just so much screaming. “Seraph, please, we need to move! The fire is spreading!”

They had been sitting right on top of it. But…but they always sat there…they…they were always…

In the corner of your eye, a dark phantom looms across the street as the first sirens of the police cars race down the road; a burning silhouette of black mist and ashen smoke.

As the bakery burns and the corpse of Yefim grows cold, it slips away into the forming crowd.

TAGS:

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[nekrosdolly]

everything is blue

you're vergil's "something blue."

cw; lingerie mention, established relationship, canon compliant, vergil is a cat, somewhat needy vergil, this is not a full fic just something i thought of earlier, powder blue is such a good color, sex mentioned but not described, i love 40 year olds (vergil is 43)

a/n; dear god the dmc brain rot has started... fear not! i will still be a resident evil account, just with some... extras here and there. btw i finished 3 & 1 in two days... tryhard who? i might make a dante version of this too! this will officially be my vergil divider i think!

blue. that's what reminds you of vergil- blue. deep, navy blue. sometimes a shade of indigo. if you asked him, he'd tell you that associating someone with a color is odd and something he would never do. it's silly, he'd insist, and not something he really cares for.

or so he says.

unbeknownst to you, he's decided that you are light blue. specifically powder blue, not quite baby blue, and not exactly periwinkle- powder blue.

whenever he buys you something, it's always that exact shade. you don't notice until lady points it out to you one day, after you've told her about something vergil has, once again, bought for you (an irresponsible spender, it seems, but he'd give the world for you.)

"that sounds cute," she says, leaning into the old couch cushions behind her back. the entire damned piece of furniture is old, so it's no surprise that she inadvertently sinks into your side.

"yeah, it is." you nod, leaning into her, too.

"what color?"

"blue. like a baby blue, sort of." you say and she hums.

"weird," she comments.

"why is that weird?"

"he always buys you blue stuff. like he's claiming you with a color or something." she shrugs, which moves your shoulder, too.

"huh…" everything vergil has ever gotten you- lingerie, skirts, shirts, little charms for your lanyard, the lanyard itself, bracelets with aquamarine, even some earrings with the same stone. when you ask him what color to get on your nails, he always says the same color- powder blue. you wonder if it's his way of staking a claim. he's never been outright possessive, never told you to your face that you belong to him or that you're his in every single way, inside and out.

truthfully, you'd never thought he was wired that way. maybe it's a demon thing, and part of you wants to assume it is, but it's not like you're dumb. you've dated other men before vergil, much to his dismay, and you know how they can be. maybe, when indulging in sins of the flesh, he's not so different. his touches are never less than gentle, especially when it came to the early stages of your relationship. they were very chaste, then, never below the belt until you told him you were ready. he was gentle, then, too.

he's extra affectionate when you're actually wearing the blue things he gave you- maybe one of the skirts he bought you, or the thigh-highs he nervously gave you to wear, too. even the jewelry has him touchy. like a cat, he'd press himself against your side, one hand on your thigh, thumbing the hem of your skirt somewhat obsessively as you pay attention to your phone instead of him, still holding his arm. his stormy grey eyes would be a little more blue, his pupils dilated some. pouty lips would find your cheek, your temple, your hair, anything to get you to pay attention to him without him needing to ask. maybe your theory was right.

not to mention the one day you wore red to work, he looked like somebody stomped on his heart. to anyone else, the crease between his brows was the same, the pout his lips were always in didn't change, but to you, he was sulking majorly. realistically, he knew he didn't control you, but some darker, inner parts

it's not his fault. ever since you two began dating, he'd had this obsession with seeing you decked out in his color, even though he knew it was silly.

[withlove-amber]

Sunsets and Secret Hopes

gibbs x reader

(Y/N)’s day had been no picnic, no walk in the park. First, her power went out on her block while she was asleep, which means her alarm didn’t go off. So when she checked the time on her phone, she bolted out of bed and rushed to get ready. She needed to be at work in 25 minutes, and in DC traffic, she should’ve already left. Second, when she got into work, Gibbs didn’t even acknowledge her. For the rest of the day, he treated her like she was a probie, not a full-time NCIS agent. Lastly, DiNozzo was being extra annoying, asking personal questions all day long. 

When it was time to go home, everyone said their goodbyes and went their separate ways for the night. The only 2 people left in the bullpen were (Y/N) and Gibbs. She checked the time, it was nearly 6 pm. She made her over to Gibbs’ desk, dropped off the completed paperwork, said goodnight, and walked to the elevator. Gibbs felt slightly guilty about treating her like a probie again, especially after he saw the despairing look in her eyes as she said goodnight. He decided to catch up with her before she left the Navy Yard.

‘Wow’, she thought, ‘The sunset is absolutely beautiful.’ Instead of driving home quickly to beat the sunset, she just stood there in the parking garage. Just being. And that’s how he found her. Standing by her car, staring off into the distance at the sky. The bottom of the sky was still a comforting blue shade of baby blue. The soft blue shade was blended into a stunning shade of lilac. The clouds tied the whole thing together, with their shades of deep peach expertly fading out into shades of baby pink. The sky looked like it should be hanging in an art museum, surrounded by a solid gold frame.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it? The sky.” (Y/N) asked Gibbs. “Yeah, it’s really something…” He replied. “I love sunsets. They make me feel peaceful. Especially after a hard day. All it takes is one look, and I start to forget what’s been troubling me.” (Y/N) said, her gaze fixed onto the masterpiece of a sunset before her. Gibbs wasn’t sure what to say next. Should he apologize for how he treated her earlier in the day? Should he leave it be? Luckily he didn’t have to, as (Y/N) decided it was then or never, and asked him, “Can you stay with me, Gibbs, until the sunset fades?” “Sure.” He replied. He looked down at the agent standing next to him, and took in the sight before him. 

(Y/N) looked so peaceful. So much more peaceful than he’d ever seen her. He secretly hoped that he would get the chance to see her this peaceful again. ‘Oh,’ he thought, ‘Am I falling for her?’ Nah, there’s no way. Well… her smile does light up any room she’s in, she’s always kind to everyone she meets, and her eyes are so warm and inviting. Oh, I’m falling for her. And I kinda like it.’ If he only realized her true feelings about him, that she feels the exact same way. Why else would she ask him to stay until the sunset faded away into a deep shade of navy, now host to countless stars, dreams, and secret hopes.

[writindom]

Rivalry.

< Jaehyun x female reader >

Never say never, because limits, like fears, are often just an illusion and so was your dislike towards him.

Part I - Espresso Martini

Hello there, this is my first time ever writing...anything, I really hope you enjoy it (if someone out there ever reads it) and may consider posting a second part as I already have it. Thank you again for taking the time to read this.

Word count: 4 k.

—

You sat at your desk, staring at the computer screen in front of you. You had been working on a new project for weeks, pouring all of your energy into making it a success. As Vice President of Starlight Entertainment, one of the most prestigious K-pop companies in the industry, you knew that your success was not only important for your career but also for the company's reputation.

As you typed away, your phone rang, interrupting you concentration. It was your assistant, informing you of a major K-pop industry event that was taking place the following week. The event would be attended by all of the top executives from K-pop companies around the world, and it was a chance for you to showcase your company's latest achievements and innovations.

You were thrilled at the opportunity to present your ideas and impress the attendees, including your CEO. You knew that this event could be a game-changer for your career and for Starlight Entertainment as a whole

—

The day of the event arrived, and you walked into the conference room with confidence. You were dressed in a sleek black suit, tailored to fit your slim and toned figure. Your long, dark brown hair was styled in loose waves that cascaded down your back, highlighting your sun-kissed skin that glowed under the fluorescent lights and drawing attention to the delicate curve of your neck. Your oval-shaped face was framed by subtle makeup that accentuated your full lips and striking dark brown eyes, which seemed to sparkle with determination and intelligence.

Your petite frame at 5 foot 2 inches was perfectly balanced, with delicate curves that hinted at femininity without being exaggerated. Your physique was symmetrically proportioned, with toned arms and legs that hinted at your dedication to fitness. You commanded attention with your presence and poise, exuded an air of confidence and elegance, without the need for the exaggerated curves that some other women in the industry were known for.

As you looked around the room, you noticed Jaehyun, the Vice President of Moonlight Entertainment, Starlight's sister company and close partner in the entertainment industry.

Jaehyun commanded attention with his tall and imposing presence, standing at 6 foot with a muscular build that hinted at his dedication to fitness. His chiseled jawline and sharp cheekbones were accentuated by a hint of stubble, and his dark and intense eyes had a piercing gaze that seemed to penetrate through anyone he looked at. His light brown hair was styled in a sleek and modern way, framing his angular face perfectly. He was dressed in a deep shade of navy blue suit complementing his pale skin tone that fit him like a glove, highlighting his broad shoulders and tapered waist. Despite his commanding presence and piercing gaze, there was a hint of approachability in his warm smile and friendly demeanor, making him a natural at building relationships in the industry. Jaehyun was equally confident, exuding a sense of self-assuredness that made it clear he was a force to be reckoned with.

You couldn't help but feel a twinge of jealousy as you took in his polished appearance, despite the animosity between their companies. The two of you locked eyes and exchanged curt nods, the tension between you palpable.

The event began, and each company's representatives took turns presenting their latest achievements and innovations. You were nervous but determined to make a lasting impression. As you stepped up to the podium, you took a deep breath and began your presentation.

You spoke with passion and conviction, your words flowing smoothly as you explained your company's latest project. The audience was captivated by your ideas, and received thunderous applause at the end of your speech. Jaehyun stepped up to the podium next, and you couldn't help but feel a twinge of envy at his commanding presence. He spoke with a confidence that was hard to match, his voice deep and smooth as he explained Moonlight Entertainment's latest achievements. His ideas were just as innovative as yours, but somehow he managed to make them sound even more impressive.

As the event came to a close, you were approached by Levi Ackerman, the CEO of Starlight, standing tall at 6'3" with broad shoulders and a chiseled physique. His dark hair was cropped short and styled in a slicked-back fashion, accentuating his sharp jawline and angular features. The black tailored suit he wore seemed to have been made specifically for him, emphasizing every curve and line of his muscular frame with expert precision. He offered his congratulations on a job well done. You felt a sense of relief wash over you, knowing that your hard work had paid off.

Levi is a man of few words but immense power. He is known for his strictness, attention to detail, and unwavering dedication to excellence. His piercing gray eyes seem to see through people and his unwavering posture commands respect from everyone around him. Levi has a no-nonsense attitude when it comes to business and expects nothing but the best from his employees.

He is an imposing figure. Despite his intimidating demeanor, those who work closely with him know that he can be surprisingly kind and understanding when the situation calls for it. However, crossing him or not meeting his expectations is not an option if you want to keep your job.

Meanwhile, Jaehyun was approached by his CEO, who seemed less than impressed with his performance. You watched from a distance, a small smile playing at the corners of your lips. You couldn't help but feel a sense of satisfaction at your rival's failure.

As the attendees began to filter out of the conference room, you made your way over to Jaehyun. You couldn't resist the opportunity to gloat. "Looks like my company's still one step ahead," you said, a smug smile on your face.

Jaehyun scowled. "Don't get too ahead of yourself," he retorted. "Moonlight Entertainment will always come out on top."

You rolled your eyes. "We'll see about that," you replied before walking away, feeling a sense of victory. But little did you know, their rivalry was far from over.

After the event, you felt like the winner and celebrated with your coworkers. The weekend had finally arrived, and you were looking forward to a three-day break as Monday was a national holiday in South Korea, commemorating the founding of the country. You didn't have any plans to travel or spend time with friends or family, as they were not particularly close. Instead, you looked forward to a quiet weekend at home, relaxing and recharging your batteries.

As you walked out of the office building, you took a deep breath of the cool autumn air and smiled. You felt proud of yourself for a job well done and grateful for the upcoming break. You knew that you would return to work feeling refreshed and ready to tackle any challenges that came your way.

—

You had always known that your penthouse was the best one in the apartment complex. It had a breathtaking view of the city, luxurious amenities, and a pool and jacuzzi that only the penthouse owners were allowed to use. It was on one of those holiday seasons that you decided to take a dip in the jacuzzi after a long day of work.

To your dismay, when you arrived at the pool area, you found that someone was already there, and it was none other than Jaehyun. You had seen him around the complex before, but you had never spoken. You couldn't deny that he was attractive, but his aloof and cold demeanor always put you off.

"Oh great, you're here," you muttered sarcastically. “I was hoping to have some alone time here.”

Jaehyun smirked, "I could say the same about you. What brings you here, Y/N? Need to cool off from your 'high-stress job'?"

You rolled your eyes. "Actually, I live here, just like you. And I don't need to justify my presence to you."

Jaehyun chuckled, "Okay, okay. But you're right, we are neighbors after all. Can't avoid each other forever."

You let out a sigh. "I guess not. Nonetheless, I should try to make the most of it. Would you like to share a drink?"

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow in surprise. "Are you offering me a drink? You must really be desperate for some company."

You bristled at his insinuation. "Desperate? No. I simply thought it would be nice to share a drink with someone who isn't as insufferable as you usually are. But if you're not interested, I can always find someone else."

Jaehyun chuckled. "Touché. I'll take you up on your offer. But only if you promise to be on your best behavior."

You rolled your eyes. "I make no promises."

You and Jaehyun were interrupted by a worker from the jacuzzi area. "Excuse me," the worker said, "would you like something to drink? We have water, juice, and some cocktails available."

Jaehyun turned to you. "What's your drink of choice?"

"I'm into coffee-based cocktails," you replied. "Maybe an Espresso Martini?"

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow in surprise. "I didn't take you for the martini type."

You smirked. "I have a lot of sides you don't know about. I'll have an Espresso Martini," you said.

"Very well, ma'am. And for you, sir?" he asked.

Jaehyun hesitated for a moment, looking at you. "I'll have the same," he finally said.

The waiter nodded and took note of their order. "Right away, sirs and madam."

As the waiter walked away, you looked over at Jaehyun. "I take it you've never had an Espresso Martini before?" you asked, a hint of amusement in your tone.

Jaehyun chuckled sheepishly. "No, I haven't. I usually stick to beer or whiskey."

You smiled, secretly pleased that Jaehyun had taken your suggestion. You could tell that he was the type who stuck to his usual drinks, so this was a small victory for you.

As you both relaxed in the jacuzzi, the waiter approached you with your cocktails. "Here are your drinks. Anything else you need, just let me know," he said with a smile before walking away.

You took a sip of your martini and savored the rich and bittersweet taste. "This is delicious," you said.

Jaehyun took a sip of his own martini and nodded in agreement. "I have to admit, this is pretty good," he said with a hint of surprise in his voice.

You chuckled. "See, finally not being so cheap as usual," you teased. "Who needs beer or whiskey when you can have something like this?"

Jaehyun rolled his eyes playfully. "You and your fancy coffee-based cocktails," he said with a grin. "But I have to admit, you might be onto something here. Though I suppose that's the only thing you have going for you. In the rest, you may be helpless."

You raised an eyebrow and took another sip of your martini. You weren't sure what to make of Jaehyun's backhanded compliment, but you weren't going to let it get to you. You had worked too hard to get where you were and wasn't going to let anyone belittle your accomplishments. Instead, you simply smiled and said, "Well, I'll take what I can get."

After a moment, you and Jaehyun continued to sip on your drinks in comfortable silence. The warm water of the jacuzzi and the cool night breeze were the perfect combination for relaxation. You both closed your eyes and let out a contented sigh, enjoying the moment of peace and quiet.

You felt a sense of calm wash over you, and for the first time in a long while, you were able to let go of all your worries and stress.

The two of you continued to sip your drinks in comfortable silence for a moment before Jaehyun spoke up again. "Well, I can tell you're a hard worker," he said, studying you from across the water. "And surprisingly, not as stuck up as I thought you were."

You raise an eyebrow and set down your glass on the edge of the tub. "Excuse me?" you say, crossing your arms over your chest.

Jaehyun chuckles. "Come on, you have to admit you give off a bit of an ice queen vibe."

You smirk and shake your head. "I suppose I can see why you might think that," you say. "But I'm not really like that."

Jaehyun smiles and holds up his hands in mock surrender. "Okay, okay. Fair enough," he says. "But you have to admit, you do have a certain air of... elegance about you."

You chuckle and pick up your glass again. "I'll take that as a compliment," you say. "And you, Mr. Jeong, give off a bit of a player vibe."

Jaehyun's smile grows wider. "Guilty as charged," he says, winking at you. "But you know what they say, it takes one to know one."

You roll your eyes, but you can't help but laugh. "You're impossible," you say.

Jaehyun just grins and takes another sip of his martini. The two of you settle back into a comfortable silence, enjoying the warmth of the water and the soft glow of the moon overhead.

As the night goes on, you both continue to sip on your drinks and engage in conversation. The dim lighting of the pool and jacuzzi area creates a cozy and intimate atmosphere, and before you know it, several hours have passed. Eventually, Jaehyun gets out of the jacuzzi and reaches for something near his towel. He returns with a pack of cigars and a lighter, surprising you. You look at him hesitantly, but he simply shrugs and lights one up, offering you one as well. You both take a drag and exhale the smoke into the cool night air, feeling a sense of relaxation wash over you. For a moment, you simply sit in comfortable silence, enjoying the quiet moments of the night.

You raise an eyebrow as you look over at Jaehyun. "Well, I'll give you credit for being polite for once," you say, sipping your coffee cocktail.

Jaehyun chuckles. "I can be polite when I want to be," he replies, taking a drag of his cigarette.

You doubt that. "You're usually too busy trying to one-up me in everything," you shoot back.

"I'm just doing my job," Jaehyun says defensively.

"Your job is to be a pain in my ass?" you ask, rolling your eyes.

Jaehyun shrugs. "My job is to make sure my company is successful, just like you."

You scoff. "And yet you always seem to have a personal vendetta against me."

Jaehyun grins wryly. "Maybe I just like to see you squirm."

You glare at him. "You're impossible."

Jaehyun laughs. "You're not so easy to work with yourself, you know."

You raise an eyebrow. "Is that supposed to be a compliment?"

Jaehyun shrugs. "Take it however you want."

There is a moment of silence as you both sip your drinks, studying each other.

"You know, we don't have to hate each other," Jaehyun says suddenly.

You raise an eyebrow. "Oh really? And why is that?"

"Because outside of work, I don't think I actually hate you," Jaehyun says with a small smile.

You frown in confusion. "What does that even mean?"

Jaehyun sighs. "Look, I know we've had our differences in the past, but I think we could actually get along if we tried. Plus, it's the holidays, we should try to be civil, at least for tonight."

You study him for a moment before nodding slowly. "Okay, I'll give you that."

As you finish your cigars and the night grows even later, Jaehyun looks at you and says, "You know, it's getting pretty late and we're both off the clock. Why don't you come back to my place? I've got a bottle of scotch that's been calling my name all night." You hesitate for a moment, but ultimately agree, feeling a sense of excitement at the prospect of spending more time with Jaehyun outside of work. You both get dressed and head out, making your way to Jaehyun's penthouse as the city sleeps around you.

—

As you watched Jaehyun expertly prepare your favorite scotch cocktail, you couldn't help but admire the way he moved around his kitchen with ease. Pouring and mixing the ingredients with practiced hands, he created a drink that you couldn't resist savoring every sip of.

"You're quite the mixologist," you said with a smile. "I had no idea you were such a master of the bar."

Jaehyun chuckled. "I've picked up a few tricks over the years," he said. "Spending as much time in bars as I do, you tend to learn a thing or two."

You were impressed by his skill. "Well, it certainly shows. This is delicious."

Jaehyun took a sip of his own cocktail, savoring the taste. "Really? What can I say, I have refined tastes."

You chuckled. "Ha! You wish. You're just trying to impress me with your fancy drinks."

"Maybe I am," Jaehyun admitted, a mischievous glint in his eye. "Or maybe I just want to get you drunk and take advantage of you."

You raised an eyebrow. "Wow, that's really charming. Is that how you usually win people over?"

"No," Jaehyun replied with a grin. "I usually just rely on my good looks and irresistible charm."

Rolling your eyes, you said, "Oh, please. Don't tell me you're one of those guys who thinks he can get anything he wants just by being good-looking."

Jaehyun shook his head. "No, of course not. I also have a great personality."

"Hmm," you said, pretending to consider. "That's debatable."

As the night wore on, you found yourself sitting in the living room of Jaehyun's penthouse, sipping your drinks and enjoying the conversation. It was strange to be there with him, considering your fierce rivalry at work.

"I never thought I'd be sitting here in your penthouse, having a drink with you. We've always been such fierce rivals," you said.

Jaehyun nodded. "Yeah, I know what you mean. I never thought I'd be here with you either. But you have to admit, there's always been some kind of tension between us."

You laughed. "That's an understatement. But seriously, I'm surprised we're getting along so well."

Jaehyun leaned back in his chair. "Why's that?"

"Well, we've always been professional rivals, and we don't exactly see eye to eye on everything. But here we are, having a civil conversation," you said.

Jaehyun nodded in agreement. "It's like we're two different people at work and outside of it. Maybe it's because we don't have to be in competition with each other all the time here."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's because we're both a little... tense. I know I am, with all the pressure at work," you said, taking a sip of your drink.

Jaehyun raised an eyebrow. "Yeah, I feel it too. Maybe if you relaxed a bit more, you'd be able to focus better."

You looked at him, surprised. "What do you mean?"

Jaehyun chuckled. "I mean... maybe if you got laid more often, you wouldn't be so wound up all the time."

Your eyes widened in shock. "Excuse me?"

Jaehyun held up his hands in mock surrender. "I'm just teasing you. But on a serious note, I think it's good that we can have conversations like this, even if we don't always agree on everything."

You nod, still a bit flustered. "Yeah, you're right. It's nice to have someone to talk to who understands the pressures of this industry."

As you both continue to talk, the hours seem to slip away, and before you know it, it's well past midnight. You've both had a bit too much to drink, enough to feel the effects but not enough to be completely drunk. Jaehyun finds himself staring at you, and he can't help but give you a compliment.

"You know, Y/N, I have to admit, I'm a little jealous of how great you are at what you do," he says.

You chuckle. "I know, I know. I'll always be the one you're living in the shadow of," you say teasingly.

Jaehyun playfully rolls his eyes. "Hey, don't give yourself too much credit," he says, throwing a bit of playful shade your way.

You just laugh and shake your head. "Oh, Jaehyun," you say, before trailing off.

Jaehyun finds himself getting lost in your smile, and before he knows it, he leans in to kiss you. You initially freeze in surprise. But as your lips meet, you feel a jolt of electricity shoot through your body. Jaehyun's lips are soft yet firm, and his kiss is filled with a raw passion that you've never experienced before. You're lost in the moment, the heat between you intensifying with each passing second. The taste of scotch lingers on your tongues as you kiss passionately. For a moment, you forget about everything else—their rivalry, your work, your responsibilities. All that matters is the here and now, the two of you together, caught up in the heat of the moment.

As you continued to kiss, Jaehyun lifted you off your seat and put you on top of him on the couch. Your passion grew even more intense as you straddled him, your hands roaming over his chest and shoulders. Jaehyun's hands slipped beneath your blouse, his touch igniting a fire within you that you couldn't control. You moaned into his mouth, unable to resist him any longer.

Your hands roamed up and down Jaehyun's back, pulling him closer to you. Jaehyun's hands found their way to your waist, pulling your body tightly against his. Then, your hands worked their way to Jaehyun's shirt, fumbling with the buttons as you tried to remove it. Jaehyun pulled back, his eyes dark with desire as he helped you with the buttons. Soon, you were both topless, your bare skin pressed together as you explored each other with abandon.

Your bodies pressed together, the heat between you becoming almost unbearable. Your fingers tangled in Jaehyun's hair, pulling him closer as you lost yourself in the moment. You moved together in a dance of desire, your bodies pressed together, the heat between you almost unbearable.

For a moment, you forgot about everything else—the worries, the fears, the inhibitions. All that mattered was the here and now, the two of you together, caught up in the throes of passion.

As you lay on the couch, lost in passion, Jaehyun realizes that he can't hold back any longer. He needs you, and he needs you now. Without breaking your kiss, he stands up, lifting you effortlessly in his arms, and carries you to his bedroom.

Once inside, he gently places you on the bed, his eyes searching yours for any sign that you want him to stop. But all he sees is desire, burning hot and bright in your gaze. He can't hold back any longer.

Your clothes are quickly discarded, the sound of buttons popping and fabric rustling filling the room. As you come together, your bodies move as one, lost in a sea of sensation and pleasure.

Your moans fill the room, the sound driving Jaehyun to new heights of passion. He can't get enough of you, can't stop touching you, tasting you, feeling you against him.

As you both lay entwined, your bodies slick with sweat, Jaehyun knows that he has never felt this way before. He looks at your face, searching for any sign that he has gone too far, but all he sees is raw desire and lust burning in your eyes. You want him as much as he wants you, and nothing will ever change that.

With a final thrust, you both reach the pinnacle of pleasure, your bodies shuddering with ecstasy. As you both lay there, spent and sated, Jaehyun knows that he has found a powerful attraction to you, something that he can't ignore or resist. With his arms wrapped around you, holding you close, you both drift off to sleep, your bodies still humming with the memory of your passionate night together. Jaehyun knows that he has found a powerful attraction to you, something that he can't ignore or resist.

—

You stirred and slowly opened your eyes, feeling the warmth of Jaehyun's body next to yours. As you tried to adjust to the dimly lit room, you realized with a jolt that it wasn't a dream. It had actually happened. Your heart raced as you sat up, trying to process the events of the night before.

"I can't believe this crap," you muttered to yourself, your mind racing with thoughts of how this could have happened. You knew you had had too much to drink, and the combination of that and the intense chemistry between you had led to a night of reckless abandon.

As you looked at the clock on your phone, you saw that it was only 4am. Your alarm would go off soon, and you needed to get home and start your day. You slowly slipped out of bed, trying not to disturb Jaehyun as you gathered your clothes and quickly got dressed.

As you made your way to the door, you couldn't help but feel a sense of shame and regret. This wasn't like you. You had always been so focused on your work, and you prided yourself on being a responsible and level-headed professional. But last night had been different.

As you stepped out of Jaehyun's penthouse and into the hallway, you realized with a sinking feeling that you were neighbors. You both lived in the same building, just different penthouses. The thought of seeing him again, of facing the awkwardness and tension between you, made your stomach churn.

But you knew you had to push those feelings aside and focus on work. You were a professional, and you would not let a moment of weakness ruin your career or your reputation. You headed to your own penthouse, determined to start your day as if nothing had happened.

[spacesurfing]

Hi!! I saw that ur requests were opened and I love your fics! I was wondering if you could write a smut with Anakin where reader is really insecure over having small boobs and a small butt. And well... Anakin makes her feel better. 🤗 thank you sooooo much!!!

Thank you so much, it makes me so very happy knowing people enjoy my writing!! Of course!!! (Sorry about the color, I just realized you're allowed funny colors on desktop).

•--•

The Light Casting Beauty

Anakin Skywalker x Reader Smut

Summary: Anakin loves his girl beyond what a Jedi's love should reach. She doesn't love herself though. Sounds like it's time to show her how much he really does love her.

Warnings: porn without plot, established relationship, oral (f!recieving), mmm hand kink, insecure reader

GIF NOT MINE!!

•--•

He drank in your features, the blinds shedding the sunset onto your face. Your eyebrows relaxed as light beads of sweat clung to them, hair disheveled, laying against the navy blue blankets in messy swirls. A strip of light cast across your eyes, highlighting thick eyelashes and the deep color of your eyes, crystalizing right in front of him. Your nose, shading the left side of your face as the contour of it was revealed by the breaching of orange light. Your lips, glistening with saliva after he had kissed you endlessly moments before. Your face looked much younger now in the moment, glowing like a lantern through the night.

And your body, your skin glistening as his eyes scanned over you. You were perfect, a model in his eyes, sculpted to perfection. Light shed over your collarbone, highlighting the dip in your skin as you inhaled, then exhaled. Your boobs, the trim of the blinds just missing your nipples, hardened and perky. He touched you, making sure you were real again. His eyes scanned over your stomach, trailing his fingertips over the skin. He saw your skin in an orange hue, half of your belly button and the one side of your waist. Another, highlighting your pelvis, where your thighs barely began.

Then your mound, the slit of it hardly visible as your spread thigh took all the glory in the light. His hand squeeze the inner skin. The blinds stopped highlighting any more of your body as the lines of light ceased. His hands carried back up to your breasts, squeezing them in his hands softly.

"Ani," you breathed as he kneaded them like a lothcat. You had felt embarrassed at the moment - not that he was touching you, but that you were so exposed after feeling so insecure.

He leaned down, lips touching the skin between your boobs. You watched him with wonder. Pulling back, he did it again, laying a trail of kisses on the valley before pulling back and looking at you.

"You're so perfect, Y/n, your face, your body, your boobs, your ass, your everything. There is no one in this galaxy that could compete with you and your beauty. Inside and out."

You blushed at his words. Even as you were both fully naked, clothes discarded to the sides of the beds, you felt so flustered at his words. You'd been under him multiple times, some of them so shameless you didn't even believe any of it was real, but it all was, and it all was by the same man that you still seemed to crush over while dating.

You arched your back into him as his rough palms caused friction at your nipples as he squeezed them. Anakin leaned down for his lips to meet yours in something that had stopped being desperate long before this night began. Nothing was desperate tonight, you felt comfortable with slow. Nothing was teasing, nothing was quick, and it all amounted to everything. You needed this, your heart aching to be under him and be loved, for yourself, for your body, for your heart. And Anakin would always do that, cause he always did love you for everything you offered. Your flaws became only pebbles compared to the stones of what they once were because he loved you whether you fixed them or not. All he wanted was for you to be comfortable being you.

You breathed softly against his mouth when he pulled away to take in air before melding his lips to your once again. His hair tickled your face, forehead glossed over with sweat. And pulling away, his eyes opened and they glowed. Blue orbs in the darkening room, so beautiful and full of love.

Anakin let his hands slip down to hold your waist, keeping eye contact with you, "Every day you continue to breathe, I will love you with all of my heart. Y/n, you are something special. Your body deserves to be worshipped. Nobody's perfect, but if anybody could defy that saying, it would be you, my love."

His hands trailed slowly down to your hips, reaching under to squeeze the flesh of your ass. It certainly was hot, but it didn't feel rough, it felt like love. His thumbs dug into the plush sides of you, kissing up your nose and onto your forehead before trailing his soft lips back down and kissing you sweetly on your lips. A spark emitted when you two connected, igniting a string of fireworks inside of your belly.

Running his hands over your hipbone and letting his right hand cup your mound, he ran his middle finger through your folds. He collected slick onto it, pulling from you and putting it to his mouth, licking up your juices.

Anakin let his body snake down the bed till his face was level with your crotch. His arms grappled around your legs, keeping you locked to him. His arms were hard, muscles leading up to his shoulders, showing you just how toned he was as he held onto you. His hands dug into the meat of your thighs, flesh hand sporting veins that made you wanna squirm.

He flattened his tongue again against your slit before licking from your hole up. You were wet, you had to admit it, the way he was looking at your like you were fucking dessert made you feel hot all over. You let out a quiet moan when he flicked his tongue like a snake, hitting the wet muscle on your clit in the process.

"Sweetest thing in this universe, could eat you all night," he groaned, moving up so he could sit and get comfortable, "Think I might."

With your lower back raised off the bed, you felt like you looked stupid but Anakin obviously didn't agree with that as he devoured you. His lips attacked you folds with a hunger of a thousand womp rats. His fingers held your hips tight, like if he let loose any you'd fall off the edge of Coruscant.

"Ani, fuck, feels really good," you purred, hands scrambling to hold his wrists. The way his hair fell in his face, strands sticking to his forehead with sweat, made you breathless. His blue eyes were shielded by closed eyelids that sported gorgeous thick eyelashes. He was a sight, the image of pure sex appeal.

Your praise only spurred him on with his motions, practically making out with your folds. You let out a particularly loud moan when his lips wrapped around your pearl, sucking softly. His eyes opened, half lidded and dark irises. He looked absolutely pussy-drunk, sipping you like his favorite drink.

He licked at you in an excruciatingly painful speed, making you whine and buck your hips up at him. He only chuckled, "So needy, angel. You want more?"

"Yes, yes Ani please. Please Anakin, I need more."

He pressed a kiss to the top of your slit, "Louder, c'mon pretty thing, I know you can be loud for me."

"Please!" you moaned, holding a tight grip around his wrists.

He glared at you, "Please what? You're only making this harder for yourself."

You were close to tears at this point, feeling his breath fan over your wetness every time he spoke to you or teased you. Anakin's ways of teasing were horrible and you hated them. But it made him so happy, you couldn't just refuse to obey.

"Please Anakin!"

He smirked, looking like he was high off of death sticks for how groggy his eyes were, mouth finding you again and eating you out like you were a juicy jogan fruit on Tatooine.

The moan you let out was strangled, something between a sigh of relief and pure bliss. You'd forgot the embarrassing position, forgot the insecurities, forgot that you were even home. Every feeling that surround you was surreal. All you could remember was the fact that Anakin was between your legs, prettier than you'd ever seen him and he was intoxicated from your juices.

Your thoughts came and went like a breeze, trying to think straight but giving up the second you felt the overwhelming sensation of him.

You were close, almost at your brink of release. But, Anakin had a new trick up his sleeve that he so badly wanted to try out. And it was mind-breaking. Breaching your opening with the tips of his middle and index finger, he opened up room in your clenching walls and stuck his fucking tongue in you.

You damn-near screamed, clamping a hand over your own mouth as you came on his lips and tongue. He licked you through it, tongue no longer able to dip in with how tight he'd wound you.

The moment you relaxed, you heard his laughter which set your face ablaze. He set you down, crawling over you with the goofiest smile you'd ever seen. He licked around his lips, wiping off his chin with the back of his flesh hand.

"I wanna try that again. You should've seen how hot you looked. Those pretty little eyes rolling into the back of your head," Anakin got really close up with you, thighs resting around his hips while he leaned towards your face, "I think I'll die if I don't fuck that pretty pussy, would you care to save a man's life angel?"

"An-Anything for you Ani."

He wasted no time with showing you how much his hard on also loved you.

•--•

Masterlist

[historia-vitae-magistras]

Character Profile - America

Character Name: USA, Murica, Alfred, Alfie-come-lately, Al. 1585-1775 - Alfred F Kirkland. 1775-???? - Alfred F Jones.

Age: 16 as of 1775, 18 in 1789, 21 mid 19th century. 25 by WW2 and still generally in that range.

Height: 6'0/183cm in 1775, 6'2/189cm after 1850ish.

Physical Description: This child was born a tungsten cube and grew into an adamantium adult. He's tall, broad-shouldered and strong. USDA Grade-A corn-fed BEEF right here. He's muscle as fuck with a good inch of fat on him every which way. Really putting the dough in doughboy. He's athletic, with the shoulders of a linebacker but is shockingly graceful and easy in his body. Arthur loved him enough that the confidence and good nature he exuded in his posture and looks are 100% genuine 80% of the time. He was an absolute cherub of a baby and grew into the kind of good looking that would really be described as more beautiful than handsome if he wasn't as broad as the baptist definition of sin.

Eye colour: Pacific, deep water navy, NASA mission blue. Dark, dark blue. Almost black, if not in good light.

Hair colour/style: Amber waves of grain. Two or three shades darker than Matt's and less red than Matt's or Jack's. Imagine all the wheatfields of America at the reaping, find the average tone, and that's Alfred's hair colour. Rich, harvest grain gold. It has a good amount of wave to it that shows even with its being short. He's generally worn it short and to one side to show off the wave he can get. Had some wicked curtain bangs in the 90s tho.

Other distinguishing physical traits: He has never worn a beard in his life, but it tends to come in redder than his hair. Aunt Bridgie's genes really start flexing there. He's got a mostly faded scar over his heart from Matt's pyromaniac-ass burning down DC. And probably more I'll have to add here later.

Personal Appearance/Style: Alfred loves looking good. The first thing Francis taught him was how good he could look and he's been following it ever since. He prefers blue suits, but he'll wear warm greys and black. He knows he looks like a ten-course meal in just grey joggers and a NASA t-shirt against those golden guns of his though. Also, the uniforms he picks are the ones that look good on him. Does he look like shit in one shade of olive drab? He's swapping it out. He showed up in Japan on the Black Ships in the most flattering cut of the Navy officer's uniform there was and it looked fucking good on him, all that dark blue with gold accents. He likes brown leather over black because the warmer colour looks better with his golden boy looks, and he knows it.

Verbal Style: He uses a neutral American or a less broad New England accent when overseas but slides in and out of any possible American accent at home. He got shot at during the Civil War because even in blue the whole goddamn time, he would slide into his original Virginia accent and have to duck rifle fire. Fucker probably sounded slightly transatlantic for a while in the 20th century. He doesn't purposefully code-switch from culture to culture; it's just automatic. He speaks several languages fluently and without an accent if he wants to, but he uses a southern accent speaking Japanese or a Kennedy Accent when speaking German. He knows it's not a jelly doughnut, Deutschland, promise! The more Arthur annoys him, the thicker his American accent gets.

Level of Education: Arthur educated him at home, got him, tutors on literally anything that Alfred fancied, apprenticed him out to any trade that interested him; printing and gunsmithing were the big ones, and then sent him to Harvard when he got bored with that. He graduated from West Point just before the Civil War and personally shot a few of his classmates who sided with the south :) but turned more to engineering, commerce and math after the war. He didn't reappear in the east until the 1880s, so he did a lot of mail-order books and self-study during that period. He also got another degree from The University of the Pacific in that period out west.

Occupation: The government is always trying to rope him into shit, but the boy's heart is in the stars, and something the government did has to be a big deal before he gives a flying fuck. His main squeeze is NASA, but he occasionally shows up to DC to steamroll some favours out of congress, especially when he has the urge to fly something experimental or a particular issue has been bothering him.

Past Occupations: Soldier, sailor, airman, astronaut, gunsmith, printing press operator, mechanical engineer, heiress, physicist, chemist, biologist, anthropologist, archaeologist, mechanic, railroad engineer, cowboy, blacksmith, cook, construction worker, gamekeeper, welder, a gold miner. The boy has some restlessness, okay? He's had many jobs.

Skills, Abilities or Talents: Alfred, even amongst nations, is quite freaky. Super strength, damage resistance, resurrection power that's faster than almost anyone. He can fly, drive, handle or otherwise operate any vehicle without training. He knows how they all work. He's also highly gifted in math and physics. He has been known to make California tremble a wee bit when he's genuinely well and fucking pissed. He'll get his ass lost on a boat or on foot, but in the air, he's possibly the best navigator on the face of the earth. But literally, he can do almost anything he sets his mind to. It's unnatural.

Admirable Personality Traits: Optimistic, idealistic, brilliant, generous, confident, fair.

Negative Personality Traits: Self-righteousness, recklessness, thoughtlessness, arrogance,

Sense of Humor: Silly, slapstick, observational.

Physical/Mental illness or affliction: He's sometimes just shy of narcissistic but usually pulls himself off the brim. Arthur's sons might be eligible for an ADHD diagnosis, but I did that on accident before I got diagnosed rifp. He's not the anxious or depressed type. He has had periods of pretty acute PTSD.

Hobbies/Interests: Computers and tech, filmmaking, archaeology, camping, hiking, adventure sports, surfing, paleontology, working out, protein foot products, star gazing, listening to audiobooks and podcasts. But, like, literally everything interests this kid.

Favourite Foods: BBQ; he can't pick a favourite style tho. Burgers, cheese fries, pizza, strangely flavoured novelty chips. Apple pie with ice cream and blueberry maple ice cream is his and Matt's favourite. Paw-paws are a very rare treat. Huckleberry-flavoured anything will make him absolutely grin.

Most important personal item: He expected to inherit Arthur's pocket watch like other sons did their fathers in the 18th century, so in 1976, when Arthur did give him the pocket watch and a very expensive wristwatch because the pocket watches had gone out of style, he has worn it everywhere since. To Mars and the Mojave, he'll wear that thing everywhere and get it repaired if it takes any damage.

Person/friend close to character: Matt's his best friend. He and Maria are also close but belligerent. Arthur is also in his top 5. Kiku, Ludwig, Tolys, Romano, Mai, etc, are all on his very close friend list. Of older nations, he and Brighid are very close, if complex.

Brief family history: He was born in 1585 or so in Virginia. Arthur said, "finders keepers," From that moment, he was the man's firstborn child. In his childhood, he mainly had Arthur and Rhys, and Alasdair and Brighid, somewhat less until later. He's never met his grandmother or her ghost. He was an only child for about 20-30 years and spent a lot of his childhood functionally an only child with Matt in Francois' care. The two youngest 'siblings' he's got he's not quite sure what to do with them. The relationship isn't precisely sibling-like, but he's pretty fond of them, and he has some trauma from being ditched in New England during the British Civil War, so he saved their asses in 1941.

Most painful experiences in the character’s past: I don't think anything can top the Civil War because he represented the Union, i.e. the United States. It took him years and years to recover, especially because he was living a rough out west lot of the post-war. He got consumption while personally marching to the sea to burn the fucking shit out of the Confederacy. :)

Their Song: Babylon by Barnes Courtney.

[erin-bo-berin]

can you do a steve harrington smut where it’s the night of him and the readers honeymoon?

Ask and you shall receive! 🥰

California Dreamin’

Steve Harrington x Reader

Warnings: Smut (I may have gotten carried away cause I feel like it got pretty heated)

It had been a whirlwind of happiness, lots of love and smiling faces, but you and Steve had made it to California.

After months of planning—even though it was a smaller ceremony with just your close group of family and friends—you and Steve’s wedding had gone off without a hitch and it had been absolutely perfect.

Now, you sat on the bed of your stunning hotel room with an amazing view of the beach, where you’d decided to honeymoon.

Some of your friends had briefly moved away from Hawkins the year before and when you’d visited them, you’d instantly fell in love with the beaches and sunny California itself. Steve being the absolute best had surprised you with the idea of honeymooning here and the day had finally come.

You looked at Steve, who was leaning against the railing of the balcony, staring at the view. It was late evening, the sun slowly slipping behind the horizon in glorious shades of pink, purple and orange. The ocean provided a splash of blue against the array of colors, although it too was deepening into more of a navy blue due to the darkening sky and approaching night.

Your husband.

Steve was now your husband. You couldn’t help but smile at the thought. It still made you giddy with happiness. You couldn’t imagine a better person to spend the rest of your life with.

“You’ve got to see this view. It’s amazing!” he said, over his shoulder.

“I’m sure it is. But I quite like this view too,” you replied.

Your eyes roamed over his back, the muscles rippling through his shirt as he moved from leaning to standing again. Then, of course, your eyes dropped further south to his ass. You always teased him that he got the better ass in this relationship, but it was true. There was not a pair of pants that his ass didn’t look good in and these jeans were further proof of that.

He turned towards you, now leaning his weight against the railing, crossing his arms with a smirk.

“Why, Mrs. Harrington. Are you checking me out?”

The name made you shiver a bit. You still couldn’t quite believe it. You were lucky to have found him, that’s for sure.

“And what if I was?” you smiled, teasing him back.

You knew honeymoons were for fun. Fun adventures, making memories and sex. Lots and lots of sex.

But why were you so apprehensive?

You and Steve had been together before, sure. It wasn’t something that happened all the time as sex hadn’t been a huge part of your relationship, but it had happened plenty before.

Perhaps it was the intimacy of tonight. The way the air between you two was thick with longing and desire, more intensely than it had ever been before. Emotions were high and the love you both shared ran so deep, it was bound to make tonight different than any other time.

“Then maybe I should have the honor of gazing at my gorgeous wife.”

He smiled, launching himself off the railing as he made his way over to you. The butterflies in your stomach came to life as you watched him.

He’d thrown on a polo at the last minute before your travels, forgoing the white t-shirt he sometimes wore underneath. It was unbuttoned enough that you could see a peek of the chest hair you loved so much. His tanned skin somehow looked even darker under the low lights of your hotel room and his jeans, like you’d noticed from the backside, fit him perfectly in all the right places. If he thought you were gorgeous, he should really look in a mirror. He absolutely took your breath away.

“I don’t know about you,” he whispered, coming to a stop at the end of the bed where you were sitting.

He was tall already, but in this position, you laid back on your elbows to peer up at him as he finished his thought.

“But I think this is a wonderful time for me to explore every inch of your body. To kiss it and lick it and worship it like it damn well deserves to be.”

You swallowed thickly, his words causing a stir within you. You knew good and well it wasn’t the cool air conditioning of the room that made your nipples peak, either.

“I…I would not be opposed to that,” you responded, your voice coming out a bit broken.

Hell, he hadn’t even touched you yet and you were sounding broken already as if he’d spent hours inside you, making you cry out over and over. Although, you were sure that was to come.

His smirk was your only answer as he bent down to kiss you, but just before his lips met yours, his breath fanned against your face, his answer ready.

“I didn’t think you would be.”

His mouth met yours. It was a gentle, tender kiss to begin with. His hand smoothed across your cheek, pushing into your hair as your mouths moved lazily against one another.

It was amazing what the human body knew how to do on its own, when its owner seemed to be on autopilot. In the midst of your kissing, you’d scrambled up to the pillows at the top of the bed, Steve following you, hovering over you as each kiss grew in heat and intensity. Your lips didn’t part once, until you absolutely had to for breath.

You were a little short of breath unsure if it was from the act of kissing or just Steve in general, but you watched as he studied you, those brown eyes scanning your face with such scrutiny, it made you blush.

“What?” you breathed, curious.

“You’re beautiful, Y/N Harrington.”

His words left your heart pounding and you smiled up at him. He left no time for you to respond as he kissed you again, hands wandering now. They ghosted down your sides and over your hips, giving a loving squeeze before gliding under your shirt. His touch was warm against your skin and you welcomed it, subconsciously arching your torso into his touch as his fingers splayed over your stomach.

He chuckled, loving the small ways your body reacted to him. You took the opportunity of the broken kiss to do some exploring of your own with your lips.

You left kisses in the vicinity of the small freckles that dusted his cheeks, across his jaw and down his neck. His body was absolutely covered with them and if you could, you would absolutely spend the time it took to place a kiss on each one. There were so many though, it would take a long time.

“Why are you so fascinated with them?” he asked, rubbing his hands over your bare sides, genuinely curious.

“I don’t know. They make you, you. It’s like you were created with a constellation of stars on your body. Which is pretty perfect I think, cause you’re my star, Steve Harrington.”

He groaned playfully at your cheesy remark, causing you to chuckle appreciatively. You knew it sounded cheesy, but it was true. You shone brighter when he was in your universe.

His hands moved higher, just under the swell of your breast. Your breathing hitched in anticipation of his touch, but then it was gone, leaving you frowning. You were in one of Steve’s shirts to travel and since it was big enough on you to conceal it, you’d skipped the bra. You were glad you had, now. One less item of clothing to remove.

His hands had moved to remove your shirt, your arms lifting so he could pull it off. When he noticed the lack of bra, he groaned lowly.

“Y/N, you minx,” he teased, but you heard the growl deep in his words.

He shifted, to begin his exploration of the newly exposed skin when you stopped him.

“Nuh uh. Not until this comes off,” you said, trying to push his shirt up over his stomach.

“As you wish.”

He reached behind him, pulling the shirt up over his head and tossing it who knows where. It was the least of your concern as you took in his bare upper half. Your jaw had slackened a bit. You swore, you never got tired of this view.

“Now, if I may?” he chuckled, bending down for another kiss.

Your chest pressed against his and you shuddered when your already sensitive, hardened nipples brushed against his chest hair. You were more than ready for his hands and mouth on you.

One hand caressed a breast as your tongues moved against one another and you moaned softly when the pad of his thumb brushed your nipple.

When he broke away to kiss down your throat, he murmured against your skin.

“I love your moans. They’re like music to my ears.”

He left a kiss at the hollow of your throat, before continuing in a low rumble.

“I can’t wait to make you a moaning mess.”

Your body heated at his words, his actions a close second. He’d barely done anything and you were already throbbing. One slight shift of your body and you knew he’d be able to tell just how wet you were.

His tongue circle your nipple, not yet touching it. The movement was so sensual and satisfying, yet unsatisfying at the same time when all you wanted was more.

His lips closed around it, sucking lightly, tongue flicking it gently. Your breathy moan was much more eager than you’d hoped to sound, but at this point your pride could take a backseat. You were completely wrapped up in Steve and that’s where you wanted to stay.

Your hand tangled in his hair, surely beginning what was for sure going to end up completely making a mess of it by the end of this escapade. When he switched sides, making sure the other breast got just as equal attention, you ground your hips into his, groaning at the friction. You’d hoped to tease him back, but your plan backfired when you felt his bulge rub against your heated core, even through the fabric of both of your pants. All you could think about was having that hard, delicious length inside you.

“Not so fast there,” he smirked, kissing a trail down your stomach.

He licked across your skin, just above the waistband of your pants, just to further tease you.

“Steve, please. I want you so bad,” you whined.

“I know, darling. But I’m just getting started.”

He pulled your pants down, your hips raising to help him get them off. Now, you were down to one piece of clothing left and you knew Steve would use that to your full advantage.

“I told you, I want to take my time,” Steve said, fingers drumming against the tops of your thighs.

You had no time to protest when the next thing you knew was feeling his touch against you through the thin material of your underwear. Somewhere in the back of your mind you were thankful you decided to at least slip on a sexy pair. You thought they were a deep blue and lacy but you couldn’t be bothered to remember if that was true when he was touching you like that.

“Jesus,” he breathed, “You’re already so wet.”

“Yeah, I know,” you groaned, giving him a pointed look.

His ego definitely grew in that moment, another smirking passing over his face.

“This all for me?” he asked, faux innocently, pressing a finger against the wet spot that now soaked your underwear, eliciting another moan from you.

His touch was so close to your throbbing clit, your wet entrance, but still so, so far from where you wanted it to be.

“Damnit Steve if you don’t shut up and touch me, I might actually combust,” you gritted out.

“We can’t have that now can we?”

His fingers deftly pulled the ruined fabric from your body, disposing of it. A groan left his throat, seeing his beautiful wife laid bare before him. Your chest was heaving in desire making your breasts with their hard and aching nipples more prominent. Your legs had naturally spread apart without even needing any instruction from him and your pussy gleamed with your arousal, awaiting either his mouth, fingers or cock. You’d take anything at this point.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured reverently, situating himself between your thighs.

Even through your arousal, you felt your heart stutter, the butterflies returning. Only Steve, in the midst of sex could make you feel like a lovesick teenager because in that moment it felt like your body wouldn’t be able to contain the love you felt for him.

A finger brushed against you and your hips raised off the bed, looking for more friction. He pushed them back down with his free hand, giving you a stern and very sexy look, enough to send another wave of heat to your core.

One finger teased your clit, similar to what he’d done with your nipples earlier, touching you everywhere but where you needed him the most. Then, without warning, his thumb rubbed circles on you. The outlandish moan that came from you was dirty enough to belong in one of the adult movies at Family Video.

But he was not close to through with his teasing because as soon as you were relishing in finally being touched, his hand was gone. One finger slipped into you and while it was nice, it wasn’t nearly enough.

“What does my baby want?” he cooed up at you, desire blowing his pupils wide, “My fingers? My mouth?”

You’re sure he didn’t even realize he did it, but his tongue came out over his bottom lip, moistening it before his teeth sunk into it. A lip bit should not look as sensual as it did in that moment. In fact, just the image of him between your thighs, hair already mussed—a piece falling onto his forehead—love and arousal etched on his face, pink lips a slight red shade from all the kissing and sucking was a pure orgasmic sight.

“Both,” you panted.

“Whatever my baby wants, my baby gets,” he smiled devilishly, positioning himself properly.

The next thing you knew, you were overcome with the sensation of both his mouth and his fingers. Now two digits teasing you, he pumped them lazily in and out of you, tongue lapping at your clit just as cruelly.

Probably because he knew your body as well as you knew his that he could sense your next complaint—your body rising against his touch to feel it even more. His ministrations picked up pace, now fully intent on wrecking you. He alternated between sucks and licks, fingers twisting and bending just enough to hit where he knew would unravel you.

You were shamelessly grinding against his mouth by now, so fucking close to the fire in your stomach becoming a wildfire through your veins and you were almost scared he’d stop before you could reach it. But he didn’t. He could feel your thighs tensing, your walls clenching around his fingers, your moans becoming more desperate and depraved as you neared your orgasm.

Steve’s own arousal stirred uncomfortably in his jeans, your moans and whimpers of his name making even more painfully hard than he thought he could be. He knew he just had to wait a little longer before he could give in and enjoy you all he wanted, but he wanted to make this special for you. Tonight, especially. He wanted to take care of you first, as always.

The building tension snapped as hard as a breaking rubber band and ecstasy flooded your body like warm honey, leaving you feeling breathless as you gripped the sheets while Steve made sure you rode out every last afterwave of it before pulling away.

His lips were slick against yours when he returned to your head, bending down to kiss you, but you didn’t mind in the least. In fact, you had every intention of spoiling him next as your hands unfastened the button of his jeans as you kissed him. Abandoning the task for the moment, you pressed the heel of your hand against the bulge in his pants, rubbing with just enough pressure to make him moan into the kiss.

He might like hearing your moans, but you equally loved hearing his. Especially when they got more needy, more lengthy, more high pitched as he came close to his release.

You hadn’t been fooled to think you’d been satiated just from your previous orgasm as you still wanted more, but here you were again, your thoughts and his noises working up even more than before you’d started.

Removing the pesky pants, you reached into his boxers, gripping his hardened cock in your hand, teasingly stroking him.

“Y/N,” your name was broken and mangled in his moan, his hand coming to encircle your wrist.

“I want to spoil you though,” you pouted, nipping at his bottom lip, kissing him again.

You loved a lot about Steve, but his kisses were kind of like that Lays Potato Chips slogan—you couldn’t have just one.

“As much as I’d love that, I mean really love to have your gorgeous mouth wrapped around my cock,” he groaned, as if using all his willpower not to cum at just the thought, “I will not last through that. There’ll be plenty time for that later.”

Your touch left him and aided in removing the last piece of clothing left between the two of you.

“Besides, there’s more important things to do right now,” Steve whispered, raining light kisses over your face, “Like making love to my wife.”

You nodded, looking up at him. He didn’t tear his gaze from yours as he pushed into you. Your eyes inadvertently fell shut in pleasure at the mouth watering feeling of his girth stretching you and filling you.

“Eyes on me, sweetheart,” he whispered, “I want to see you.”

Your eyes fluttered open, his gaze wandering over your face, from your lips to your eyes and all around. It was so much more passionate and intense feeling him move within you when your gazes were locked on one another. It truly was like the joining of two souls and briefly you understood why sex was considered as a consummation of marriage.

But your brain was filled with Steve. At this point there wasn’t a part of you that wasn’t filled with Steve. Your hands roamed his back, legs tangled with his as your bodies moved together in an exquisite dance.

You weren’t sure what was considered normal during intimacy, but with you and Steve, you were comfortable enough talking back and forth effortlessly during the act until it came to the point that words couldn’t be formed.

Your lips traced his jaw, close to his ear.

“You like it?” you purred, hips arching up to meet his, his answering moan making you smile.

“I love it,” he answered, smiling briefly as your hand caressed his cheek lovingly.

He told you how good you felt, how much he loved you and you reciprocated, telling him he was amazing and you loved him more.

He gripped your hips, helping you thrust harder against him as he moved back and forth in you. He pulled you up into him as he sat back on his heels, pulling you into his lap, never once breaking where you were joined. His arms wrapped around your back pulling you closer, tilting his head back to kiss you where you hovered above him. You moved on him, feeling him deeper than ever and your moans mixed with his.

His head tilted all the way back, a deep groan rumbling from this throat as you clenched around him. His exposed neck and bobbing Adam’s apple made you groan yourself at the sight.

“Y/N, Y/N,” he moaned desperately, his fingers digging into your hips with a roughness you knew was coming from his reaction of the intense pleasure.

“Fuck, I love hearing you,” you complimented him as your bodies moved even quicker, chasing the releases that were on the brink of exploding.

“All for you, baby,” Steve mumbled, lips occupying themselves on sucking a bruise on your collarbone, then at the top of one of your breasts, “I’m all yours.”

You were so close to ecstasy and one of your hands, tangled in his hair, gripped it hard, the other gripping his shoulder. His fingers found your swollen clit, rubbing it erratically so you could reach your peak as well.

His face was buried into the crook of your neck, but you could still hear the words he spoke next. It was broken by moans and whines, his own volume increasing the closer he got.

“I love you, Mrs. Harrington.”

Your breath may have actually left you as your orgasm hit you, your breathy moan following just as quickly behind it as your body trembled in his arms, within them you knew you were safe.

When you found your voice, it was just as broken as his words earlier, but you returned his sentiment.

“I love you too, Steve.”

He came as hard as you did, the guttural groan drowned by your neck, where he had yet to move from. The warmth that he spilled into you was soon dripping back down your thighs, but you couldn’t be happier in the moment.

You stayed that way for a moment, running your fingers through his hair as he left soft kisses along your shoulder.

“You. Are. Amazing,” he punctuated each word with another kiss to your skin.

You smiled, pulling back so you could see his face.

“You know, if we keep having amazing sex like that, we’ll never get to the beach,” you teased.

“We’re here for a week. We’ve got plenty of time,” he grinned.

But after that, it would be a miracle if either of you left the bed the entire week.

Not that you were complaining.

[artykeldeo]

how i do my (coloring) shit

ok so literally nobody's gonna see this im just doing a tumblr post so i can compile as many fuckin images as i want

first step: do ya line art. bf from friday night funkin is gonna be our subject fo today note: put the white highlights on a separate layer

aight you followin? step two. ya phlat colors

set your lineart layer's blending mode to multiply (shown in the flat lineart color as well) while my lineart color is usually a very deep navy blue, this can also work with black

step three: make a clipping layer/lock the transparency over your line art and then color that shit to make it pop

i unhid the clipping to give you a general idea of what i did to help with my color picking. i hueshift depending on what i want it to look like and go from there. if i dont like the color, i adjust the saturation and/or the value to help with that there's no method to my madness, i just kinda do what i think looks good LOL

step four: shading time! use dark saturated tones to help with making it pop.

here's what the layer blending looks like at normal with 100% opacity

note how i'm mixing in multiple different colors that seem to mirror the tones in the lineart! not required, but helps keep a piece cohesive. mix in different values to really help with this!

step four addendum: this is not required at all but i definitely like the look of it. take your shading layer and duplicate it. take both shading layers to 100% opacity

now gaussian blur the duplicated layer to however you want the thing to look!

and then adjust accordingly!

there's nothing i do this for other than to give a softer look to my shading without wasting my time blending it lol

step 5: highlights :3 this is what REALLY makes the colors go off

do the same thing you did with your shading to add some more interest in the highlights! you can see this particularly where i did the hat highlights

you're basically done here LOL! buuuuut... if you're feeling quirky, you can read below for some extra stuff to make this boy pop!

have fun colorin shit!

EXTRA STEPS!

extra step one: ok so bear with me. y'all remember that fuckin pizza trend? u know this one

ok well do that and blur the hell outta it

also not required but might help: duplicate the pizza layer and use your different blending modes

lineart layer uses the pin light blending option at 100% opacity, the color layer uses overlay blending option at 70% opacity

extra step two: use highlights like you're using a white gel pen on a traditional piece

bada bing bada boom. there he is. the beeper!

hopefully this was coherent enough! if y'all have any questions, rb this post and ask in the tabs OR ask in my ask box! thank you guys so much!

[snortlaughs]

trial paperwork

fandom: ace attorney

pairing: narumitsu/wrightworth

characters included: lee!wright, ler!edgeworth

word count: 1.3k

genre: fluff. SO MUCH FLUFF.

warnings: none

author’s note: YIPPEEEEE FIRST ACE ATTORNEY FIC! ALSO I HAVEN’T POSTED A FIC IN SO LONG HIIIIII i hope that you all enjoy~

Phoenix laid down on the couch in Edgeworth’s office, looking at his navy-blue coat that snugly hung on the back of the heavy mahogany door. It was quite an eyesore relative to the rest of the room, which was covered in various shades of maroon.

He listened intently to the noises of pen on paper that came from the desk behind him. It was a Tuesday evening, and Miles was filling out paperwork for the trial that was scheduled for the upcoming Friday.

Wright knew this.

However, he still asked…

“What are you working on over there?”

Edgeworth rolled his eyes with a light groan before he placed his pen onto his nicely-polished desk, finally allowing Nick his full attention.

“Wright, this is the third time that you’ve asked me that question, and it’s going to be the third time that I’ve answered that question.” The man growled. “Does nothing get through your thick skull?”

Phoenix shifted his torso with a grunt, now laying on the sofa tummy-down and meeting Edgeworth’s disgruntled gaze.

The defense attorney rested his chin in his hand and grinned his signature, shit-eating grin, which only annoyed Edgeworth even more.

“Alright, don’t lie to me, Edgey.” He hummed, swaying his legs in the air rhythmically. “You didn’t really answer the first two times that I asked. You just shushed me or told me to leave. Very rudely, might I add.”

“Okay, well,” Edgeworth uttered after he took a deep breath. “Listen closely, because I am not answering any more of your brainless questions after this.”

Wright cupped his left ear with his hand to indicate that he was, indeed, listening.

“I am working on documentation for our upcoming trial — getting everything sorted.” Edgeworth said, grateful for the fact that no noise was coming out of Phoenix’s mouth. For once. “Shouldn’t you be doing the same thing? Why are you here bothering me when you could be doing something productive?”

“Well, since you asked oh-so nicely,” Wright purred, earning a huff from the silver-haired man, “I already got all of my paperwork finished, so I don’t have anything to worry about. Also, I like bothering you. You get worked up so easily — it’s fun to watch.”

Edgeworth, at this point, had had enough.

Not only was Phoenix Wright, his rival, invading his space and filling his mind with useless thoughts — now he was just humiliating him!

Not to mention, the warm blush that was building up in his cheeks as a result of Nick’s comment certainly wasn’t helping.

“Oh, it’s fun to watch, is it?” Miles scoffed, standing up from his desk. He shrugged his jacket off of his shoulders and haphazardly tossed it onto his chair.

Wright, satisfied with his pestering, flopped onto his back again and stared up at the ceiling. He crossed his arms over his head, each hand holding the opposite elbow. “Why, yes! Very much so.”

Before Nick knew it, Miles was standing next to the couch and then clumsily climbing onto his lap, straddling him. He used his left hand to grasp the defense attorney’s forearms and hold them firmly against the sofa.

Phoenix, after his initial surprise wore off, began squirming underneath Edgeworth’s weight with a goofy grin.

It was almost as if he knew what was coming.

“M—Miles!” The pointy-haired man stuttered, his eyes darting between the prosecutor’s free hand and his face, which was painted with a playful, happy smirk — an expression that Wright had never seen from Miles before.

Edgeworth was pretty much always frowning. To be honest, this was almost a nice change of pace. Almost.

“I’ll show you what’s fun to watch, Mr. Wright.”

This being said, he started teasingly wiggling his fingers in the air and hovering his hand over various areas of Wright’s torso, causing the man to let out a startled squeak.

“Quihit doing that!” He whined, kicking his feet petulantly against the rose-colored cushions.

“Aww, Phoenix…” Miles said, raising his eyebrows. “I haven’t even touched you yet. I wonder if you’re still just as ticklish as you were when we were kids… I think I may just have to test that out.”

That being said, Edgeworth began lightly clawing at Wright’s sides through the fabric of his collared shirt.

A shrill squeal rang through the spacious room. Phoenix instinctively sucked his tummy in to avoid the tingly sensations that danced across his skin.

“Edgewohohorth! I—I’m stihihihill just as tihihicklish as I was when we were kihihids! You don’t have to tehehest it! Reheheheheally!” The man babbled, his cheeks already covered in a blotchy, red flush.

Edgeworth shook his head with a scoff, unable to wipe his smile off of his face. “So endearing…” he thought.

“Hmmm,” Miles hummed teasingly. “Yeah, I don’t have to test it… you’re right about that. Your sensitivity is obvious.”

“…But I’m still going to tickle you to pieces.”

Phoenix barely had the time to pout before Edgeworth stealthily untucked his top and started poking sporadically at his bare ribs.

“Mihihihiles!” Nick howled, pushing his blushy face into his bicep in order to avoid his assailant’s teasing gaze.

He attempted to free his arms from Edgeworth’s hold, but the prosecutor was surprisingly strong. Instead, he did what seemed to be the next best thing — he breathlessly wriggled under the man’s weight in an attempt to dodge his pokes.

“What, Wright?” Edgeworth said, cocking his head innocently and ceasing his teasy touches for a moment. “This is what you get for bothering me! Maybe you’ll be a bit more mindful next time.”

“B—buhuhut it’s so fuhuhun to annohohoy youuuu! Yohou’re so cu—!”

Before Wright could finish his sentence and fluster Miles even more than he already had, the attacker shot his hand under Phoenix’s left arm and began moving his nimble fingers as quickly as they could go.

“EHEHEHEDGEWOHORTH!” the attorney shrieked, thrashing his torso back and forth in a feeble attempt to break free from the prosecutor. 

Miles’ face, at this point, could have been compared to that of a freshly-boiled lobster — bright red. This was possibly the reddest that he’d ever been, and he was eternally grateful that Wright was too out of sorts to notice. Hopefully.

“W—What is it, Nick?” Edgeworth said falteringly, trying hard to regain his composure after having thought about the fact that he was definitely noticeably flustered.

He switched his hand to the defense attorney’s right underarm and continued his attack, which earned him an adorably shrill yelp. 

“Can’t take it?” 

“NOHOHOHO! Plehehehehease have mehehehercy!” 

“Fine, fine.” Edgeworth said, admittedly quite bummed that his tickly onslaught had finished. He let go of Phoenix’s arms, which he immediately slammed down on either side of his torso as giggles continued to pour past his lips. 

Edgeworth rested his hands on Wright’s chest and looked down at the man laying under him, almost as if he was admiring the mess that he had made. 

Phoenix was quivering, and tears of mirth were being wiped from his deep blue eyes. 

Miles scoffed with a grin. “You’re still such a child, Wright.” 

Phoenix, after a few more moments, had mostly calmed down. However, his voice was still shaky and he was still unable to wipe his dorky smile off of his lips. 

He looked up at Miles, who turned his face away in faux nonchalance.

“M—Maybe that’s true, Edgey,” he said, as solidly as he could. “But you know what?” 

Edgeworth slowly turned his face back towards Wright’s, taking fistfuls of the spiky-haired defense attorney’s button-up shirt into his palms.

“...What?” 

Phoenix grinned.

“I think that you’re a bit of a child, too. I mean, after all these years, you remembered how ticklish I was — you even went out of your way to check and see if I still am,” he stated matter-of-factly. “This must have been taking up a lot of your mental real estate, huh, Miles? Thinking about how ticklish I am, I mean.”

Edgeworth’s eyes widened as he immediately turned away from Wright.

His face was beet-red, and his blush was quickly trailing down his neck. He silently swore at himself, irritated by the fact that he got flustered so easily.

“Seems like I got it right,” Phoenix purred, poking playfully at Edgeworth’s sides and taking note of how he flinched.

[thegigilwriter]

09 | “Danger & Star, Rooster & Angel” — Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw x Female Mitchell OC

Summary: 26-year-old Lucy Asa Mitchell did not know what was in store for her when she first bumped into Bradley “Rooster” Bradshaw. After an instant mutual connection followed by a sweet whirlwind romance that swept both their feet, Lucy found herself being immersed deeper into Bradley’s world of the Navy, F-14s, and deployments. What she didn’t expect was finding was the answer to an elusive part of her past — the identity of her long-lost father.

Masterlist

Keywords/Warnings: Romance, Drama, slight Angst, mention of broken family

09 | First of Many ⚓️

Wednesday June 27, 2023

Jake “Hangmanˮ Seresin was due for deployment. Some thoughts scattered his mind as he parked by the dock. His house was locked, his dog Riley had been put in good hands, and he didnʼt recall leaving the stove or any lights on. He got his keys, secured his phone, and retrieved his duffle bag from the trunk. Just as he was about to shut the hood, Bradleyʼs blue Bronco caught his eye as it pulled into the parking space. It wasnʼt anything unusual of course... save for a womanly figure that seemed to occupy the front seat.

Jake watched as Bradley helped her down all gentleman-like and grabbed his own bag from the backseat. She was small, clad in a deep purple sundress with sandals and a white sunhat. If Jake wasnʼt mistaken — she looked a lot younger than the type he knew Bradley went for. So naturally, he was intrigued (and not at all looked like a creep) as he witnessed Bradley bend down to kiss her, running his fingers through her mahogany-colored, soft waves with one hand settled on her hip. He saw her dainty hands caress his face as they appeared to exchange sentiments. Then, Bradley kissed her fingers — lingering as he finally mustered the will to part from her and head towards the carrier.

Jake followed them, making it seem he had just emerged from the lot. He saw Bradley wave from afar to her and she returned it. Then he finally disappeared from sight. She stood still in the crowd of people beginning to form, and Jake approached steadily. He came up beside her, her face concealed by the shade of her white sunhat. She must have felt him near her for she glanced up at him momentarily before hastily wiping her cheek and facing him.

“Oh,ˮ she remarked. “Hello.ˮ

“Hey,ˮ Jake replied, finally seeing her face — soft and round with stunning doe eyes, shiny lips, and olive skin.

“It only hurts the first few couple of times, timeʼll show ya.ˮ Jake assured her.

“Does it?ˮ she said, sniffing lightly. “Because I bet your significant other would beg to differ.ˮ

“Boyfriend?ˮ Jake handed her his handkerchief. She nodded as she took it.

“Thank you,ˮ she told him. “Iʼm Lucy.ˮ

“Jake, but my callsignʼs Hangman.ˮ

“Do you know, Rooster?ˮ Lucy asked him.

“Mightʼve heard of him,ˮ Jake smiled. “Heʼs a decent pilot — heʼll come home, youʼll see.ˮ

“Thank you,ˮ Lucy replied briefly looking around. “Did you come with anyone to send you off?ˮ

Jake paused, momentarily staring down at her quietly.

“Nah,ˮ Jake breathed, looking among his fellow navy men, engulfed in embraces and lip-locked in goodbye kisses.

“Thatʼs okay, Iʼll be your proxy sendoff.ˮ Lucy smiled kindly.

Jake was taken aback, chuckling as he grinned at her.

“Thanks Lucy,ˮ Jake nodded, gripping the strap of his bag. “Iʼll see you around.ˮ

Jake found it endearing as Lucy also waved to him as he was nearing the carrier, and waiting until he was out of her sight. He watched as she went into the parking lot, surprised, as she boarded Bradley Bradshawʼs precious Bronco and drove off in it.

“Damn,ˮ Jake shook his head as he headed in. “Damn.ˮ

“Hold on,ˮ Lucy chuckled, pouring another round of wine into two of their glass. “Iʼve got some really good dark chocolate to pair with this.ˮ

“Hmm,ˮ Nat hummed as Lucy headed towards the kitchen.

It was 9 pm, and Nat had popped by Lucyʼs apartment per Bradleyʼs request and ended up having a pleasant, extemporaneous nightcap. She leaned her head against the sofa back and reached for a homemade pillow to cuddle. Nat stared at the fish-bowl on Lucyʼs living room table, looking for the cherry-red shrimp she spotted earlier and her attention slowly drifted towards Lucyʼs generous preparations: cut-up fruit, various chips and crackers, and some cheeses. Nat liked how cozy her apartment was and how everything exuded her gentle and homely personality.

“You really do have a nice place Luce,ˮ Nat mused. “You gotta teach me sometime how to keep plants alive.ˮ

“Is that an invitation to yours?ˮ Lucy chuckled.

“Hell yeah,ˮ Nat replied. “You can also be my interior designer— you know, guide my vision.ˮ

“Youʼre very kind,ˮ Lucy blushed.

“Iʼm merely making good decisions,ˮ Nat grinned, raising a glass to Lucy. “Speaking of...Bradleyʼs one lucky guy.ˮ

Their glasses clinked.

“Hey Nat,ˮ Lucy traced the rim of her glass. “Yeah?ˮ

“Can I ask you something?ˮ

“Fire away.ˮ

“Were you and Bradley—“

“Ever romantically involved in anyway?ˮ Nat smirked. “I donʼt mean to be rud—“ Lucy rushed.

“Luce— itʼs fine,ˮ Nat sighed, taking a sip of her wine. “I kinda expected you to bring something like this up. Rooster and I get along and weʼve been friends for more than a decade. Youʼre not irrational for asking that.ˮ

Nat set her glass down on her designated coaster.

“Were we ever romantically involved with one another? No. At some point did we ever think about it? Yes...ˮ

Lucy swallowed nervously, allowing Nat to proceed.

“Some years ago, we talked about how we were getting a little past the usual marker when some of our acquaintances started settling down. So one night, Rooster and I started discussing hypotheticals of marriage and whether or not it involved us both.ˮ

“We were just trying to be realistic adults and it kinda made sense ya know?ˮ Nat explained. “We both have similar lifestyles and experiences being in the Navy. But Lucy, thatʼs pretty all much to it. When it comes down to it, Bradley and I donʼt have the same values.ˮ

“He believes in marrying for love and Iʼm more practical about that. He wants to retire someday, and I plan on getting the highest rank I can before my body gives out. He likes kids, and I think theyʼre crotch devil spawns. You see what Iʼm saying?ˮ

Lucy nodded.

“Crotch devil spawns?ˮ She laughed. “Have you never even tried holding a baby?ˮ

“No thank you,ˮ Nat whistled as Lucy giggled. “Do you like kids?ˮ

“I used to babysit them for extra money,ˮ Lucy replied. “And Iʼve always wanted a little sibling to take care of. So I guess so...ˮ

“Do you wanna have... like a family someday?ˮ

“Sure,ˮ Lucy shrugged.

“But —real talk— donʼt you think that’ll get in the way of your career at Umi?ˮ Nat asked her.

Lucy took a long and generous sip from her glass.

“I came from a broken family,ˮ Lucy whispered. “Bradley doesnʼt know this, but... I never knew my dad. He left before I was born and he was never married to my mom. She was estranged to her family for a while because of that. She raised us on her own here as an immigrant. I watched her become both the mother and the father — and it was hard. So I figured when I was young, if I was going to have kids of my own someday it would be with a mom and a dad yʼknow? So they wouldnʼt have to grow up a little faster or feel like theyʼve been missing something their whole life,ˮ Lucy smiled sadly.

“Donʼt get me wrong I love marine biology. I love the sea. I love my job. But — being in the field for a while and working with all these esteemed people? I noticed that at the end of the day, after all their accolades and ground-breaking research — they donʼt really come home to anyone, just like how I am now to be honest. Family really... is still what makes life so invaluable.ˮ

Phoenix sniffed lightly, Lucy quickly averting her attention.

“God I sound like a bit of a jackass,ˮ Nat remarked. “And Bradleyʼs got one thing right — you are an actual Angel.ˮ

“No—“ Lucy tried to intervene.

“I grew up with two parents who are still happily married and Iʼm a single child with no expectations placed on me.ˮ Nat breathed. “So I guess... I never really held that view of family because... Iʼve had it pretty good...ˮ

“And Iʼm glad that thatʼs the case,ˮ Lucy smiled. They held a brief, meaningful silence.

“Can I ask you something this time?ˮ Nat said.

“Fire away,ˮ Lucy echoed with a smile.

“Are you scared... that if you tell Bradley about... your family that heʼll leave?ˮ

Lucy casted her gaze downwards.

“Sometimes... I feel like Bradleyʼs one of those things in my life that are simply too good to be true.ˮ

Nat placed her hand atop hers, with her eyes meeting Lucyʼs sympathetically. “And you think that he doesnʼt feel the same way?ˮ Nat sighed. “Honey, the man is absolutely smitten with you!ˮ

Lucy chuckled.

“This is the stuff is from that fancy place you went to with Rooster, right?ˮ Phoenix raised the wine bottle from the table. “My guess is that he bought it for you because you liked it. The Bradley I know would never spend this much for wine. And donʼt think that I didnʼt notice the bottles in the pantry!ˮ

“Also, last Sunday, after he made it official between you two? He called me at 2 AM in the morning like a schoolgirl just to tell me!ˮ

A grin began to emerge from Lucyʼs lips again.

“And did you know?ˮ Phoenix was clasping both of Lucyʼs hands now was they faced cross-seated across from each other. “That I canʼt drive his Bronco?ˮ

“But youʼve been friends for more than 15 years,ˮ Lucy remarked.

Nat nodded.

“And you can drive a multimillion, government-owned vehicle and weapons system.ˮ

Not nodded profusely once more.

“I only got my driverʼs license three years ago and I can barely parallel park.ˮ

“On the day we met you, the only reason why Bradley was with me to get Sam, was because he would rather chauffeur me on his day off than lend me his Bronco because my car was in the shop,ˮ Nat told her.

“And if Bradley didnʼt do that, we wouldnʼt have met at all.ˮ Lucy mused.

“Iʼm telling you Luce,ˮ Nat sighed. “I usually donʼt believe in shit like this... but you and Bradley? Youʼre set in stone, my friend.ˮ

Lucy was watching another episode of one of her most favorite shows of all time, Downton Abbey, when Bradleyʼs caller ID lit up her phone. Setting her dinner down, she enthusiastically accepted his call and grinned as his face filled her screen.

“Hey Angel,ˮ he rasped.

“Hello love,ˮ Lucy smiled so excited by the sound of his voice. “Have you eaten, yet?ˮ

“Yeah,ˮ Bradley replied. “Just had dinner some hours ago. Whatʼre you having?ˮ

“Sweet potato gnocchi,ˮ she hummed.

“That sounds so good, I canʼt wait to come home and have your food again.ˮ

“You shall have everything to your stomachʼs desire— or craving more like.ˮ Lucy chuckled.

“Iʼd rather you surprise me, actually if you donʼt mind,ˮ Bradley answered shyly.

“Of course I donʼt,ˮ she smiled.

A beat.

“Where are you?ˮ Lucy asked.

“Iʼm in Souda Bay in Crete,ˮ he breathed.

“Greece?ˮ Lucy sighed. “Oh how I envy you — itʼs the one place Iʼd die to visit.ˮ

“Really?ˮ Bradley whispered. “Maybe we should think of a trip here someday... together.ˮ

Another beat.

“Iʼd like that,ˮ Lucy smiled, biting her lip. Bradley blushed. She stared at his handsome face, his messy curls, the lips, and his hooded eyes.

“Wonʼt you sleep, yet? You look tired...ˮ She asked. The concern in her voice endeared him so, his heart skipped a beat.

“I would, but my mindʼs a bit occupied at the moment,ˮ Bradley replied.

“With what?ˮ

“With you.ˮ

A scant pink dusted Lucyʼs cheeks.

“Do you want me to stay with you?ˮ She offered. “Just until you fall asleep?ˮ

“Iʼd like that, Angel.ˮ

Lucy’s sad that Bradley’s gone, but glad that she’s made some new friends :)) I promise, the next chapter is pure fluff. Read it here! 9.5 | Home

[bonesofapoet]

monster hunting would suck without you

[ eddie munson x you ]

author's note: canon officially has no home here! aka the one where Eddie is fine 💘 injury, language, nightmares and vol 2 spoilers

word count: 1418

The thing about real monster hunting, was it scared the shit out of you.

Fear, adrenaline, blood, sweat and tears. Expectations paled in comparison when you were thrown in the thick of a fight, thrown into new realms and realities crawling with creatures of the night. Imaginations were a good start, of course, but there was nothing about novels or daydreams or Eddie's beloved campaigns that would have prepared you - any of you - for this.

Even so -

You made it. All of you did. Everyone held their life near and dear, though the journey was documented on flesh and bone, well enough. No one made it out unscathed, but then again - what did you expect?

Bruises bloomed up your arms and along your ribs, painting your skin all the colors of a night blooming garden. They were deep, the various shades of violets and navy that appeared on your skin, and, over the last day or so, the cool colors had given way to deep greens and yellows that Eddie really fucking hated to look at.

Naturally, he couldn't take his eyes off them. Couldn't stop tracing outlines around the scrapes that decorated your cheekbone, your jaw - feather light shapes that tickled while you were awake. Gentle fingertips that glided those same patterns while you were asleep, always at his bedside.

(You curled up next to him in the hospital bed, when the nurse wasn't looking, and the doctor was off duty.)

A day or so had passed now - you weren't entirely sure, to be honest - since your grand return from the Upside Down. Sleep was beginning to leave you now; the fuzziness of a heavy dream began to recede, replaced instead with the feel of chilled metal kissing your hip, and slowly dragging up your spine. You shifted, the distraction an unwelcome thing, even though the dream would pull you right back to that eerie world with the royal blue air.

That coldness again - it threatened to pull you away from the Demobats. Oh, how they circled a whirlwind fury around a body unmoving at your feet, with wrists bound while Eddie -

Eddie -

He was. . .

He was dying, and -

You wake up with a start. Consciousness seemed to hold you close this time. There were arms around you - familiar, warm, covered in tattoos - and ringed hands, black polished fingertips soothed circles into your back, gently cupping your jaw - the one unscathed - to bring it towards the man that was supposed to be dead.

(He's so mindful of your injuries, you almost forget you have them.)

"God." you exhale harshly, when Eddie's eyes meet your own. "Sleeping is gonna fucking suck now, isn't it?"

A half assed smile graces his lips, yet worry had made a home in his expression again. This wasn't the first time he had to wake you up from a nightmare in the making. It certainly wasn't the first time you had dreamt of Eddie dying either.

"Well, you do insist on sleeping in a hospital bed, babe. Fucking no one sleeps on these. Like. Ever."

He coaxes a smile out of you, as always - this time it's hesitant, but genuine - and that fear you felt, back in the Upside Down. . .it dissipates, slowly, with the remnants of the dream. But Eddie -

Eddie's eyes are still on yours, wide and soft and that beautiful deep brown - and you both melt just a little when this moment settles around two sets of shoulders, crammed side by side on a shitty Hawkins General mattress only meant for one.

It's intense, his gaze. You have to break it. You have to look away from him, you have to look out the window overlooking swaying trees and darkened skies and stale yellow headlights as they drive by in the night. You ground yourself by his touch, the feel of his chest under shaking hands. The warmth he radiates that glides through your fingers, that presses through entangled legs and settles quickly in the depths of your chest.

He gives you time to breathe. Always, the patient lover.

"I suppose it could be the bed," you begin, eyes still searching, searching, searching through the dark. Eddie's cradling your neck now, thumb brushing mindlessly across your skin. The other hand slides up your spine. Then down. Rinse and repeat. "And not the scary monster dreams."

"Nah. We kicked their asses, babe. They probably have nightmares of you slicing off their wings while looking like a smokin' hot badass-"

The laugh that spills through your lips is unexpected. Effortless, even now.

Tension breaks with every breath you take, with every laugh that leaves your lips. You double over onto Eddie's chest, whose hands slide carefully around your waist to hold you as tight as he dares.

(You're careful to skirt the bandages under his gown, when you curl your fingers into him.)

He wears the smugest fucking smile, and you can't even see the satisfaction steal away the worry and replace it with adoration.

"Shut the fuck up, Munson."

It's mumbled into his chest, the smile oh, so audible in your voice. He presses a kiss to your crown, feels you cling tighter to that damned hospital gown - it's fucking blue, and not even a decent blue - when his lips linger, linger, linger.

It's a knife to his chest, honestly.

"Talk to me, sweetheart."

And you -

You simply sigh. Untangle yourself from Eddie, covered in gauze and IV drips and metal kissed bruises from when his wrist was handcuffed to the goddamn bed. He lets you go, watches as you settle on the edge of the bed, angled with a knee draped across his thigh. Bruised hands crawl into calloused ones. He squeezes. You sniffle.

Eddie's heart fucking cracks.

He hears the fissures expand. Feels the hairlines begin to splinter. You're staring at him like he's the curator of the whole fucking cosmos and he doesn't think he can take it.

His voice is raw, when he speaks. "Babe, just fucking say som-"

Yours is incredulous, when you answer.

"You almost died.*

A beat of silence. Now it's he, that can't look at you.

"I had to watch, Eddie -"

"I'm sorry."

Your name falls through his lips, tender and warm and sweet, just like him. His voice bled solace, his heart dripped divinity, and his soul radiated something like home, but -

"Just - just don't do anything stupid like that again. Please."

He doesn't waste a beat, before he promises his life away to you, and you alone. Its annoying, almost, how effortlessly he can drag joy up from the depths of your despair to punch back the shadows to the city limits where they belongs.

" - and never, to the end of my days, shall I breach this oath you have struck with Eddie the Banished -

" - technically you're not banished anymore -" you remind him, breath catching in your laughter.

" - with Eddie the Praised -"

" Oh Jesus fucking Christ -"

" - and if I disappoint my beloved again, then I grant them the privilege of - "

(He continues on in dramatic Eddie fashion, until a nurse stops in to warn him for disturbing the other patients, Mr. Munson, please quiet down -)

You cradle his jaw between gentle fingertips, and interrupt him with a soft kiss.

He only breaks it, to smile against your lips and pull you closer. "I take it you accept?"

A starkissed grin lights up your eyes. "Always, Eddie."

"Because - really? Just like that?"

You kiss him again, soft and slow and tangle fingers through tangled hair. His heart stutters, those cracks slowly mending with each gentle tug of your fingers.

"You did almost die for everyone, so, yeah, Eddie. Just like that."

He beams, kissing you with all the things he doesn't quite know how to say. The chill the nightmare left behind - it stirs. Warms. Disappears completely, when Eddie pulls away. The way he's looking at you -

"Can I tell you something, Munson?" your voice is just as captivated with him, as Eddie is with you.

You saw it in his eyes, how he would ditch his promise in a heartbeat, if it meant keeping you safe, one last time.

"Tell me everything, beautiful." he's breathless, so enamored with you, so close, still so high off adrenaline and whatever the fuck is in that IV snaked into his arm.

"You really don't know how hot it was when you hotwired that shitty RV, do you?"

It takes a second to register, before he throws his head back and cackles.

It's that very moment, when the doctor comes in for Eddie's nightly check in and promptly asks you to leave.

[hopelesslygaysstuff]

pairing: wanda maximoff x fem!reader

summary: Wanda and y/n discuss the interview process and eat breakfast. y/n being a gay mess ◡̈

content warnings: none

word count: 1.3k

Series Masterlist

Y/n awoke at six in the morning, like she always did at the Avengers compound. For a second she panicked, not remembering where she was before catching a glimpse at the city view outside her window. As her heart rate settled, she slowly got out from under the navy blue comforter and grabbed a hoodie to wear as she crossed over to the window. She sat atop the desk just under the window sill, and watched as the city came to life with the sun rising behind the multitude of skyscrapers. 

She noticed the difference between the sunrise here and the one she watched every morning back home. The sun stayed the same, the sun never changed. Y/n watched as the same shades of orange and pink turned into yellow and shifted just as they had every morning. She took in the colors once more before dropping her gaze to the skyline and city below. 

The sounds of the city and the flurry of activity as people started with their day was a new change of scene. Y/n was used to seeing the large lawn of the compound and the track where Natasha would run every morning, dust picking up under her feet. Beyond that was a small forest with the sun rising behind it and occasionally she would watch Sam flying around in the air as Clint shot trick arrows towards him. 

Instead, this morning she watched the lights of the windows of the skyscrapers slowly turn on in a mismatched grid as the day started. She could hear the sound of cars more clearly now, as people turned into the city from the highway to get started with their early day. She was starting to count how many windows had lit up on the nearest skyscraper when she smelled the scent of cheese and eggs coming from the kitchen.

Suddenly remembering that Wanda owned the house she was currently staying in and was making breakfast in the next room over, y/n rushed to throw on her clothes from where she had laid them out the night before, suddenly wide awake. She brushed her teeth hurriedly before glancing in the mirror and giving her reflection the widest smile she could before flicking the switch off in the bathroom and making her way to the kitchen.

“I’ve been summoned by the smell of cheese.” Y/n announced as she entered the kitchen, wincing slightly at her choice of words.

‘Really, the first thing you say to her is a joke about cheese?’

Wanda looked up with a smile as y/n slid into the same seat she had occupied the night before, and she flipped the omelet she was currently making as she remarked, “I’m glad I’ve figured out a way to summon you quickly then.” Wanda nudged a glass of water over to y/n, before turning her attention to the second omelet in her frying pan.

‘There’s multiple other ways you could summon me that don’t involve food’

Y/n quickly drank a gulp of water as she shoved that thought back deep into the backrooms of her mind, she really needed to get control over her brain and its very unhelpful thought process. She risked a glance at the redhead across from her, praying that she hadn’t noticed the small blush rising to her cheeks before letting out a breath at the sight of Wanda focused solely on the food in front of her. 

Wanda flipped the second omelet a final time before sliding it onto her plate and handing the other plate to y/n. The clink of silverware as they ate was the only sound in the empty space. Y/n kept sneaking glances at Wanda and changed her posture once she saw how Wanda held herself. Honestly, it's like the woman was meant to be dining with kings and queens y/n thought as she watched Wanda use a small portion of her napkin to wipe her mouth after a sip of water.

Realizing that she had spent more time watching Wanda than she had been eating, y/n shoveled the last few bites of her omelet into her mouth. The woman across from her raised a brow at the sudden change of pace, and y/n rushed to explain.

“I’m just so excited for the interviews! And to see your office and stuff.” Y/n said with just enough excitement in her voice to let Wanda know she was being sincere, before wanting to slam her head against the counter.  

‘What was this, bring your kid to work day? Real mature and grown up you sound y/n, great job.’

She really had to take lessons in professionalism, and she suddenly regretted not taking Steve up on his offer to the team about table manners. Wanda didn’t seem to mind though, she just smiled as she rose to put her dishes away in the sink, leaving y/n to sit at the counter and stare at what was left of her omelet. 

“I’m happy that you’re excited.” Wanda said, rinsing off her plate. “And I’m also very excited to show you my office and stuff.” She said the last part playfully, looking over her shoulder at y/n, who just smiled sheepishly as she ate the last piece of her omelet. 

Wanda accepted the plate and glass from y/n when she was finished, and started the dishwasher before turning around and observing the girl as she hovered around the counter.

“It’s alright to be a little nervous, I’m sure this whole experience will be a bit bizarre for you.” Wanda said gently, and y/n met her gaze. 

“I am a little nervous.” Y/n admitted as Wanda walked towards her. The woman stopped directly in front of her and paused, searching y/n’s eyes. 

“I need you to promise that you’ll talk to me if any part of this interview process makes you uncomfortable, or if you start to get overwhelmed. I can’t help you find the right host if you don’t communicate exactly what you feel or need. Do you understand?” 

Y/n took a shaky breath as her mind caught up to the words that Wanda had spoken. She was standing right there, her body only a few inches from y/n’s own. Her eyes were so green, and they seemed to stare directly into y/n’s soul as she waited for a response.

Right.

A response.

A response to what she had just asked y/n, something about communication and finding a good host. No, now she remembered that Wanda had basically asked her to promise she would talk to her about her feelings throughout the whole interview process.  

‘So we’re already talking about feelings? That's easy, I can do that.’

All y/n had to do was trust that Wanda would take her feelings and thoughts into consideration. While searching the green eyes across from her own, she found herself surprised that she already did trust Wanda.

“Yes, I promise.” Y/n said, relieved when her voice didn’t tremble. Wanda accepted the answer and stepped away, reaching for the computer bag on the counter. Y/n immediately missed the close proximity of the other woman, and mentally shook herself to get rid of the image of Wanda’s eyes focused on her own. 

As Wanda slipped easily into a pair of heeled boots that made her unfairly tall, y/n quickly tied the laces of her converse before following the woman to the garage and into the passenger seat of her car.

“Just remember,” Wanda started as she pulled out of the driveway, glancing over at y/n with a smirk. “Nobody can be worse than Mary.” 

Y/n let a quick laugh escape her as Wanda turned her eyes back to the road with satisfaction written across her face. 

“I need you to promise me something as well” Y/n said, meeting Wanda’s questioning glance with a smirk of her own. 

“Please never speak about Mary, I’d like to never think about her again.” Y/n’s smirk only grew wider as Wanda let out a surprised laugh, her hands gripping the steering wheel in an attempt to not drive off the road. She looked back over to y/n before turning her face into a mock look of seriousness. 

“I promise.”

Next Chapter

[a-gal-with-taste]

The Exception

Something powerful, mysterious and dangerous resides in the woods outside the village.

Few go into the woods; none have been recorded coming out.

You, and your peculiar daughter, are the sole-exceptions for visitors.

Medieval Fantasty | Silco X F!Reader | 3.9K | AO3

Tags: Witch!Jinx, Sorcerer!Silco, fluff, found-family, domestic, suggestive, early-relationship, some angst, medieval-fantasy elements, protectiveness, implied possessiveness, happy-ending

A/N: Vague-Dreams can be one hell of an inspiration for a Halloween Fic! Didn’t really have a plan, don't really have an explanation for this, just enjoy the ride and happy Halloween! 🎃

There is something powerful, mysterious, and dangerous in the southern woods surrounding the village. Some claim it protector; others, demon. The woods are the home of whatever lies within, and what resides there, evidently, wants no other in its territory.

Lumberers have got missing too often, axes left at the treesedge with not even a scratch on the rough barks of the dark trees.

Developers, scoffing at superstition, go in with lanterns, guards and sometimes, swords of their own in the effort to expand the village and all its resources. Lanterns, dark and with no hint that light ever resided inside, are left just-out of the reach of the trees.

No one, with ill-intentions - no matter the power or determination, coin or status, age, temperament or bravery - walks into those woods and finds their way out.

It’s the only assurance you have, as you and your daughter trek though with a basket between you, and smiles on your faces.

The southern-woods are the one-place you are both safest. 

“He’ll like it?” She asks, gazing up at you with blue eyes, the color of the deep-blue sky that’s cloaked from view by thick, dark branches and leaves above. Her hair is a similar shade, the occasional navy-streak making her hair appear dark in the shadows. “Really, truly, honest?”

“You know he adores all you make, sweetie,” You reminded her, reaching down to brush away errant-strands that look almost black. Your touch lingers, yet you manage to keep the smile on your face. “He’ll love this too.”

“He better, I worked all night on it!”

“I’m aware,” You say, a fond smile melting into a grin that’s a bit more chastising. “I’m also aware that you continued your efforts, even after I informed you it was well-past bedtime...”

“Instructions told me I had to work until moon-fall!”

“Jinx, darling, when have you ever followed instructions?”

A pout, one that scrunches her nose and puffs out her cheeks is quick to build... and when the winds suddenly slip through the smallest of gaps between the leaves, filling the trees with whispers that would raise goosebumps on even the bravest of humanity, the pout is equally quick to drop.

“Can I?”

Smiling, you nod with a faint chuckle as Jinx meets your expectations thoroughly, and disappears before your chin makes its downward-motion in your nodding.

No, she doesn’t run from view, nor does she step or skip away.

With a laugh that’s a bit too high-pitched, a spark in her eyes a bit bluer than usual, it only takes a single blink, and upon reopening half a heartbeat later, your daughter disappears like a whisper in the wind. 

You let out a small sigh, tinged in a mirthful chuckle of affection, as a breeze ruffles at your hair, before it traverses deeper and deeper into the woods so-many-fear, and you are now alone.

Never alone, truly. But alone as you can be, among these shadowy trees.

Pondering the many who have come to this strange otherworld - and never left - you gaze around this dark-place with all the indifference of someone taking a leisurely stroll through an old-neighborhood, with little care, and even fewer worries as you gently sway the basket at your hip.

Even as the trees seem to shift, with sunlight a passing-trend in the occasional dots and gaps in the thick fronds above, or even as the path before-you remains impossibly dark and unclear, you find it as easy as breathing to take one step, then another, forward.

You pause as the wind whispers around you again, and pull your shawl tighter around your shoulders when it brushes at the back of your neck.

Not from fear - the wind is simply very, very cold.

“You mock me?” You murmur into the trees, feeling your beating heart when you touch your chest with your fingertips, the very image of an affronted traveler. “A poor, weary single-mother, all alone and lost in these terrible, horrible woods, and you mock her fears?”

It wouldn’t be the first time.

This present-day occurrence, however, the cold-fingers of a chilly breeze ghost around you not in a lingering ridicule of your misguided bravery, but with a touch meant to raise goosebumps of a different breed entirely. 

And when it reaches the shell of your ear, in its purpose of brushing away locks of hair left untied with the rest of your braid, chilling the body to its very marrow with your shivers, it most certainly succeeded in raising every follicle on your body, in a way that can only be described as delightful.

Captivated, the sensations around you morph into something far-more tangible, physical, as shock jolts through your system as the cold-breeze turns into a touch far warmer, nearly searing as the palm solidifies on the nape of your neck.

It’s a guiding force, the heated-palm and the stroking thumb on your racing-pulsepoint, that drives you gently towards a hollowed-tree before you.

One that you know damn-well didn’t exist seconds ago.

“Jinx...?”

“On her way,” The purr against your spine reverberates through your entire body, perhaps down to your very soul, as uneven lips press against the back of your collar, and sear at your chilled-skin when they move with his speech. “She paused at the pond. I do believe she had the impulse to go frog-hunting on her journey. We have time-yet.”

You sigh, and feel the smile on your skin when it’s heard to quiver. “I told her...”

“Ah, but did you ever have faith she would listen?”

No. The child seemed determined and committed to disobedience and personal-rebellion at every turn, following her own path, rarely listening and even more infrequently with the aspect of properness, and convention...

The little girl, wild and free, was the best thing you had in your life.

The second-best thing smiles again against your spine, as if sharing the sentiment. 

“She’ll be fine, though, I am more-so curious than fretful on exactly why she needs to procure so many toads all at once...” It fades off into an unspoken question, as casual and as unassuming as the quiet removal of his palm around your neck, ghosting up your tied-hair in time with the other moving down your waist, your hip.

“She... already made something. For y-you,” The lips are back at your neck, and this time, there’s a scraping of chipped-teeth that comes with them. A distraction, no doubt, as fingers press delicately, but purposefully, into the tie holding your hair together in structured interlaces.

As usual, it all comes apart at the softest of his touches.

“Tell me.”

“Jinx worked very hard on the surprise.”

The air is heavy with patience, and you sigh, half blissful as his short-nails scratch at your scalp in his work to undo your hair, letting it fall wild as free along your shoulders.

“She called them firelights... not the bug, obviously, but little bursts of lights trapped within a jar, colors of all sorts. She was ecstatic to make the spell, but I had to put my foot down when she started begging to do it inside the house.”

A snort along your skin, slowly breaking into a soft, deep baritone-sound that is unheard of by all mortal-ears. This is a sound solely for you, and you cannot resist smiling at the chuckle. “The boundaries of reality, once again under-strain by Jinx’s hand,” He muses, a stray-pinkie halting to wrap around a lock of hair, earning a hitch in your breath when he faintly tugs. “You’re proud of her.”

“Of course I am,” You sigh, though it is nearly not quite as blissful, even as his fingers reach the front of your waist, tugging patiently at the ties of your bodice. “The... villagers, they grow more suspicious day by day, more weary year by year.”

Hands still upon you, but you take no notice.

A single mother in a village bordering an unforgiving forest, surrounded by even less-forgiving neighbors, you have only the occasional opportunity to vent, and even rarer, do you have the ability to air your worries and fears on being a single-mother of a child whose eyes gleam too brightly, whose laugh rings too highly, and who can do far, far too much to be entirely mortal.

“Suspicions are growing, I very nearly had the constable barging through our door the night when the sparks became too great, too bright... t-the boys, have begun to whisper lower, but teenage-jeers are quick to reach the ears of disturbed adults-”

“What do they say?” Hands curl tighter around you, in the way of protection, of possession, and you lean back into the grip, your own curling into the rough-wood to hide the shaking. “Have they-”

“The garden was trampled,” You admit softly. “I also caught sight of them aiming stones, though none have dared to throw.” Yet, though judging by the twitch of the hand in your hair and on your waist, the unspoken-word is heard loud and clear. “Jinx was distraught, but the seeds can be replanted, windows can always be replaced, and words are ignored with ease but, I... I'm frightened, Silco.”

You didn’t know what your daughter was. You had thought her to be nothing but entirely human, and entirely helpless when you came across her wailing sorrowfully from where she had been abandoned, surely a babe only days, maybe weeks old during your travels. Finding a new home became your second-priority, for she instantly became your first the very-second you tucked her into your arms.

Mortal in the most tragic of ways, you had believed - until the instant her eyes opened, and you beheld a shade too bright, too blue to be anything resembling humanity.

Then, the magic started. 

Simple things in the beginning. Howling winds turning into playful breeze, downpours transforming into mere dewdrops. 

It wasn’t until she toddled after you, shortly before you arrived in the village, that you thought anything was truly amiss with the child you had taken as your own.

Then your lantern went out, and the two of you were plunged into the darkness of midnight.

And Jinx, a proud toothy smile and eyes far too bright, simply held up her hand to you, and offered the burning-flame - blue, of course - in the palm of her hand like it was a treat.

Witch, fae, mage or god... you did not know, and had no idea for who you could ask to even begin the mental journey to find out. 

The physical journey - for a home, not for an explanation - ended upon your arrival to the tiny village only days after, something which allowed you to breathe a single sigh of relief.

Before you could take another, Jinx heard tales of the southern-woods where no-one returns from, and promptly walked into them.

It was luck, and perhaps a bit of fate, that whatever divinity resided within such woods was only amused by the youngling’s attempt to fraternize, befriend a being others so-feared.

It was entirely luck, on your part, that the being was so amused by your daughter, that he allowed her mother through his woods unharmed.

And from there, it was only fate that Jinx would be drawn to return, and you, destined to follow your daughter into the unknowns of a world only she, and whomever resided there, could ever fully-know. The knowledge you gained was every-brief, not nearly enough to understand, only accept - which you did, wholeheartedly.

And, in time with your own acceptance, there came the acceptance from that being which resided deep in the woods. Acceptance for your daughter had come naturally, instantaneously, for alliance between such kindred-beings of other, was nothing if not expected, but time and habit had made your welcome to the woods a bit more chilly, if not entirely frosted.

It thawed, over time. Acceptance had been long-strived for, hard-earned, yet given warmly when it was finally received from the elusive and all-powerful being of the woods.

Certainly warmer than the growing-chill in the eyes of your mortal neighbors of the village, and as warm as the hands that turn you now, bringing you out of thoughts and memories, to face duo-shaded eyes are just too bright.

In every other aspect, Silco is human. But the eyes, sea and fire itself, are simply too bright to resemble anything mortal, and they gaze upon you with a fierce determination, a stubborn resolve, that reflects in the low tone of his voice, “You should stay.”

“Silco, I-”

“You don’t belong there. You know it as well as I, Jinx...” Closing the eye that reflects the green of a sunlit-sea, the other blazes as he pauses, before speaking in a tone that’s nothing short of revenant. “She’s greater than I have ever imagined. Ever could have hoped for... such potential is wasted among those fools. She sinks in their depths, and she could very-well drown if she were to stay.”

You flinch, and the eye reopens. Hooded, but peering at you intently, and with great sympathy.

“You did the best you could. You did what you thought was best... but that home is not what she needs. Not a home amongst them.”

So-like what he told you, in howling whispers among the trees when you first stumbled into the woods. Jeering almost, certainly dark and judgmental, at the thought you could raise one of his own amongst the masses of your kind.

His whisper now, is far kinder, though the thick lump in your throat is the same. 

“I... I know. They don’t understand... I had hopes. Foolish, I know, but I once thought that maybe they could learn to, if s-she grew amongst them, became one of them.”

“But she’s not. And she never can be.”

“I know.” Closing your eyes, you take the moments’ reprieve from bright eyes of hell and ocean to swallow slowly, freeing your throat and letting the deep-weight sink into your heart in order to whisper. “That’s why I brought her here. I need you to take her.”

Exactly what he desired in the first-place, for who wouldn’t host the desire to covet another so-close to their own kind? The invitation had always been open, but the call of home, of you, had been enough for Jinx to decline him then, and over time, his faith in you building at the effort and acceptance you showed towards your child, gradually made those spoken-invitations rarer and rarer, until it became an unspoken offer.

One you’d never thought you would have the strength to take, but times have now changed.

“She can’t remain among our kind - perhaps she was never meant to.” A sharp-intake, but you still feel as though you cannot breath. “Jinx... is happy with you. And will be. You must take her.”

It’s exactly what he wanted in the first-place.

That’s why you feel confusion amongst the pain when you open your eyes, and find him staring blankly at you. Panicked - because he can’t refuse you, he cannot! - you reach out to grab rich, dark leathers in an effort to make your request into an undeniable plea, but the reaching-fingers are quickly captured with his own, all the while, Silco just stares at you.

Then, slowly, “You love her. And yet you would give her to me.” You cannot understand him - fundamentally, as well as in this moment, for why is he questioning this...

“What choice do I have left?” You hiss, blinking rapidly, and feeling heat behind your eyes; the farthest from the pleasant-warmth that had been offered moments ago, one you leaned into happily, for, in truth, a part of you thought your request would confirm it to be the last of the pleasantries Silco would freely-offer. “The village is suspicious, and... you were right. I cannot bring her up in a place such as that-”

“And you?”

“What about me?”

“You,” His hand, squeezing around yours; tight, warm, and everything pleasant that you crave for in the time of such turmoil as he steps closer, once more bringing you close against the hollow of the tree. “... you should stay.”

Ducking your chin, avoiding those bright eyes for a moment, you close your eyes and manage an easier breath. “This is not my world. You said so yourself.”

“And yet you have made it so,” He points out, one hand being released in order to take your chin, though Silco does not-yet raise it to face him once again. Instead, the man of the woods strokes your chin with the pad of his thumb, in slow, roving circles as he speaks lowly. “Despite it all, despite the tales and the horror-stories, you walked into the den of the beast again and again... you’ve gotten closer to the beast than ever before you,” He adds in an even lower, sensual tone that brings back the goosebumps, leaving you to quiver as you open his eyes.

Silco takes this as an invitation to pinch your chin an increment tighter, enough that it’s made impossible to pull away as he raises your face to meet his, though it’s a touch made softer by the deep, transfixed expression he gives you as he searches your eyes.

It reminds you of the night he brought his lips to yours, the deep, searching look he gave to the mortal woman who was the mother of the child he had also come to see as his own. Wholly a surprise, entirely unexpected, and sincerely welcomed, the kiss was something you melted into when you caught sight of such an expression, and now, you struggle to hold yourself together.

“Do you think yourself unwelcomed? Unwanted, after everything?” He asks, a bit disbelieving.

“Before everything, that is what was implied,” You murmured, heart-quickening when his fingers squeeze a bit tighter, he presses you closer against the tree, and something powerful, ancient and dark ignites in his two-toned gaze. 

“Allow me to be unquestionably direct, then.” Now you are pinned, not merely pressed against the tree, with Silco’s body being an unmovable mountain, now a being more steel and iron than flesh and bone - there is no doubt of his inhumanity, particularly when he gazes at you with fires burning in his eyes of sea and the underworld.

“All that enters these woods belong to me. I possess the ability, and the unquestionable right, to take and retain all that dares to traverse here, and only I hold the power to release any that wish you leave,” His hand travels now, your heart pounding in your chest from all too much, from everything, as it wounds around the back of your neck, not an ounce of pressure to choke you, but it feels suffocating nonetheless.

It sears, but it is his eyes that truly burn you now.

“Do you wish to leave?”

How simple a question. How impossible an answer, and so you ask one of your own.

“Do you wish for me to stay?”

“With all my heart.”

Intensity, a sensation that encapsulates the very core-element of the man, the mage, fae, witch or god that stands before you. It takes you whole, leaving you breathless as you gaze upon his fervent gaze, entirely enraptured and fixated... impassioned, wanting, and daresay, pleading.

He wants you, wants you to stay, this being who once wanted nothing more, than for you to leave.

“And if I am unsuited for this world?” You whisper, doubting despite it all, despite the wanting you-yourself now ache for. “What then? I was not of your world, and what if I never can learn to be?”

Silco smiles; the intensity everlasting, but the curl of his lips faint and true all the same as he gazes at you.

In the reflection of his gaze, you see yourself. Hair wild and freer than whatever would be considered appropriate back in the village, even for a youth such as your daughter. Despite its proximity to the wild, such visions of freedom were frowned upon, even more frequently with the appearance of your daughter’s wilder-tendencies, which now earned more scowls than frowns.

A girl made for the woods, some would hiss.

And you, a woman in the arms of the being who lays claims over the woods, most-certainly looks the part, as one who can stay there.

“I would say you are well on your way, dear,” He murmurs, growing even closer until his forehead rests with yours, and every breath you take is shared with his own, and you have never felt warmer under his gaze. “Stay.”

His hand tightens around yours, and around the back of your neck, the wind picking up enough to lift your untied hair, and allow you to breathe with air unrestrained, even as you feel you are choking, drowning in the eyes of the woodland being. 

It’s never made you feel more alive.

“Stay.”

It’s a plea, now, so unlike the command he first gave upon the first time you entered these woods.

Perhaps it’s fitting, in a way, that he speaks the opposite of the words he spoke when you first entered.

This is your last opportunity to leave, you realize. This being indeed holds the power to possess, take and keep, and you see in his eyes that once you make your choice, it will take the power of someone greater, more powerful than himself to allow you to leave.

Escape, however, is the farthest thing from your mind.

His lips brushing against yours, hypnotic eyes swirling in time with the wind around you, and whatever he is, pleads again for you, and asks for one, single time, in exchange for his eternal devotion.

“Stay.”

“...Always.”

There is something powerful, mysterious and dangerous in the southern woods surrounding the village. Some claim it protector; others, demon. The woods are the home of whatever lies within, and what resides there, evidently, wants no other in its territory.

This is proven, when travelers long-since thought missing and gone, stumble out of the woods one windy-day, looking identical as they did on the moment they-first entered the woods, though they make a vow opposite to the one they uttered upon their entry to such a place; that they will never enter the woods again.

And so, they don’t.

Those still possessing the courage, or foolishness, find the winds and breezes that dart and push between the trees too troublesome to even attempt going-forth - the laughter mixed among the dark leaves also doesn’t help their courage, and even the fools know better.

The world forgets the strange, unwelcoming woods. Even its outlying villages, towns and stations, begin to take it as a simple fact, that it is too great an effort to attempt to conquer the dense forest.

There’s a certain village, proud, traditional and a bit stuck-up, that sneers claims of a witchling and its mother, being the last victims of the woods. 

Always strange, crafting oddities and too at-home in an unwelcome wood... they weren’t surprised when the two disappeared in a single-day after a walk into the neighboring woods.

The only surprise they had, really, in regards to those odd, dark woods, was the occurrences one could deduce, if they cared to listen.

Laughter on breezes.

Humming amongst the leaves.

Whispers in the wind.

Sometimes, if one dared to squint, if one dared to venture as close to the treeline as the woods would allow, flash of blue, green and red, too bright to be anything truly human.

And finally, the occasional bursts of light, in all colors, lighting up the sky above the dense woods that no one dares to go.

So fantastical, and so exceptional, one could be forgiven to desire a trek into the untouchable world themselves, to be a visitor to such a strange place.

But there is, was, and only will ever be, one exception for visitors.

[callsign-magnolia]

I Hope You Dance// Prologue

MATURE CONTENT (18+)

A/N: This is cross posted to my Wattpad account, so if this seems familiar that is why.

TW: Mental abuse, emotional abuse, slight physical abuse, death and loss.

Description: When Caila meets Rooster, sparks fly. But, she's already married, to a man who she thought loved her, and won't let her go. Rooster will fight for her, he just has to convince Caila to fight for herself.

Word Count: 3.2k

Masterlist

When a marriage ends, it's heartbreaking in a lot of ways. Either you're crying over a lost love, crying for the time you wasted, or even crying for the change that comes with a divorce. It's an adjustment, one that people either handle well, or not at all. You could spend years thinking of a way to get that person back, or immediately try to move onto bigger and better things.

I met the man I was going to marry when I was seventeen, at our small town Georgia high school. Buckhead to be exact, the place that my parents settled when my mom stopped touring as much and my father was able to spend more time at home since he moved up in the Navy. It was a normal school day towards the end of our junior year when a boy stopped by my locker. "Hey beautiful." My eyes widened at his voice. Boys never really took an interest in me, at first I thought it was because of who my father was, seeing as the six foot two man who was built like a mack truck was intimidating. Until the fateful day when I had asked out the guy I had been crushing on, and he made it clear I was 'too big' and 'not pretty enough' to even talk to him.

Yeah, that'll kill a girls confidence. So when this boy leaned up by my locker, looking at me with his blue eyes, brown hair and dazzling smile, I was a little confused. "H-hi?" I asked and he chuckled at me. "Why say it like a question? I was talking to you." My face turned red at his comment. "Sorry, um, guys don't usually call me beautiful. It caught me off guard." He chuckled as I closed my locker. "So you're Caila Motley, right?" I nodded and leaned my shoulder onto my locker. "I am, but I don't believe I know you just yet." I said and he flashed me another bright smile. "Aaron. Aaron Wilder. Just moved here after Christmas, and might I say you captured my attention right away." I couldn't help but smile at his words. "Say, are you busy on Friday?" I shook my head quickly, desperately.

"Would you wanna go out with me? To that diner out by Brookhaven?" I nodded. "I live in Brookhaven, so that'll work out great." He nodded and scribbled something on a piece of paper and handed it to me. "Six, okay?" I nodded as he walked away. "See you tomorrow, beautiful. Call me tonight?" My heart swelled and I nodded at his words. This boy flirted with me, called me beautiful, and gave me his number? He's actually interested in me!

I rushed home in my little 2007 BMW 7 Series, rushing in through the garage. I went through the kitchen and rushed upstairs to my room, throwing my bag in the floor and yanking up the landline before stopping myself. Don't seem desperate, give it a few hours. Suddenly my door flew open. "What's the hurry? It sounded like a stampede rushing up those stairs." My mom said picking my backpack up and hanging it up on the back of my bedroom door. "Sorry mama, I just got excited." She raised her eyebrows, "Oh, what for?" I held up the paper. "This boy at school gave me his number." I squealed and she smiled before sitting next to me on my bed. "Is he cute?" I chuckled. "Uh duh! He has the softest looking brown hair and his eyes are this gorgeous light shade of blue." She smiled at me.

"Seems like he's got you all smitten." I smiled. "Honestly, I didn't know who he was until he approached me today. Mama he called me beautiful and everything." She ran her hands through my hair. "Just don't get in too deep too quick sweetie, it's not always a fairy tail ending." Boy, I wouldn't know till years later how right she would be.

Our date went well, especially since I told him who my parents were. You'd think telling a date your father is Admiral David 'Bobcat' Motley would scare him away, or that telling him your mother is famous country singer Regina Motley would be intimidating but no. He accepted it with a smile on his face and that's when I truly thought I found a good one, if my parents or large older brother Jameson didn't scare him off, then surely he'd be perfect. We had two weeks until graduation when I got the call, I knew it would be coming today and I've been crawling out of my skin since then. "Yes sir, thank you for your time sir." I hung up and turned to everybody. "So?" My father asked. "I GOT ACCEPTED INTO THE NAVAL ACADEMY!" Screams erupted everywhere as my father squeezed me into a tight hug. "I have never been more proud of you!" I squeezed his neck at his words. "Oh darlin', I am so proud of you!" My grandmother said, yanking me from my dad into a bone crushing hug. "Thank you Mamaw." I said before noticing Aaron outside on the deck. I hugged everyone else before walking outside. "Hey." I said quietly and he didn't even turn to look at me. "Did you hear?" He huffed and hung his head. "Of course I did." He said as I moved to stand next to him. "You knew this was my plan ever since our first date." I said and he turned to face me, placing a hand on my cheek as I nuzzled into it. "I know. I knew no matter what I said you were gonna join the navy, and you've worked so hard over the last year to prepare for it." It was true, I've lost weight and become so much stronger physically. "I leave out for the boot camp the Monday after graduation, and then I start my plebe summer at the academy." He chuckled at the word. "What am I gonna do without you?" He said leaning in. "You're going to Duke in the fall to study Pre-Law. We'd be separated either way." He smirked at me, tilting my chin up. "Yeah, but at least then I'd get the summer with you." He said kissing me sweetly.

Being separated from Aaron and my family while in the naval academy wasn't easy. I always had them to lean on, and now I was alone. The phone calls and few visits a year was not enough, especially for Aaron and I.

"Tell me who he is Caila!" I groaned throwing myself onto the bed across from Natasha. "There is nobody else Aaron! I told you! I was walking down the hall when one of the guys yelled!" I said as tears started falling down my face. "Bullshit!" I rubbed the space between my brows. "Aaron please-" "No, if you want to cheat on me go ahead! We're done!" The call dropped after that and the sobs hit. "What am I gonna do Nat?" She came over, brushing my hair out of my eyes. "I've never been without him!" I cried harder as she lifted my head and set it in her lap. "Maybe this time apart as a couple will do you some good, Caila. He'd be an idiot to let you go for good." I sniffled, trying to stop my tears. "You mean it?" I felt her chuckle lightly. "Of course I mean it, you are a beautiful, strong woman and if he decides to leave for good, well then good riddance." I sniffled and looked up at her.

"Did you really mean it when you said I was beautiful?" Hearing Natasha say it made me realize, no one other than my family or Aaron had ever told me that. "What is it your mom says? Pretty as a Magnolia in bloom." I nodded and hugged her. "Thank you, Natasha." She hugged me back tightly. "Any time Caila, whenever you need."

Aaron and I of course got back together after that, we got back together many times over my time at the naval academy. Many cheating accusations and fights caused us to break up and get back together, I just thought he couldn't handle the distance, couldn't handle being away from me. But it was the control that he missed, even though I didn't know it at the time. At my graduation I spotted him in the crowd and rushed over as soon as we were released. I saw my dad first, his six foot two frame towering over many people but he was red in the face, looking angry in his own dress whites uniform. I was worried until I saw Aaron in the crowd, on one knee with a ring box in his hand.

My heart hit my stomach at the sight, I was nervous for some reason and looking back now. I should've listened to me gut and said no. "Caila, I have spent the majority of these last four years without you and even though we had our ups and downs we're here baby. I couldn't see you today without asking you this. Caila Amelia Motley, will you marry me?" I froze for a second before nodding and rushing over. "Yes, yes. God yes!" I said as my excitement took over and tears started flowing, I wiped my eyes and stepped back as he slid the ring on my finger. Many of my classmates cheering for me as he did so. I looked at the ring seeing it was a white gold band, with a large emerald cut diamond and many smaller diamonds around it.

"Aaron, how much did you give for this ring?" He just shook his head. "Don't worry about it baby, now come here. I haven't gotten to kiss you yet." He said grabbing me by my chin and pulling me into a searing kiss. I quickly pushed him away, "I'm in uniform, I can't." He rolled his eyes. "We just got engaged, I think the Navy can get over it." He said before grabbing me again, but before he could kiss me again a large hand landed on the shoulder of the five foot nine man before me. "They won't get over it." That's how I found out why my father was angry, Aaron never asked his permission. Something I asked him to do when we first started talking about getting married.

"Let me see!" Natasha said rushing over and I lifted my left hand for her to see. "Holy shit! That is a big ass rock!" I nodded. "It even feels heavy, I certainly couldn't take this with me on deployment, it would probably slide right off." She glanced up at me. "For a girl who just got engaged to the man she says is the love of her life, you don't seem so happy." I shrugged. "I am it's just, this isn't what I was expecting. You know me, I'm not a fan of silver and white gold. I'd rather have a gold band and something smaller, it doesn't have to be flashy. I would've been fine with a twenty dollar gold ring from Walmart with fake diamonds." She stared at me for a moment. "You feel like he doesn't really know you." I shrugged. "We did just spend the majority of four years apart. I think we just have to learn each other again, people can change a lot in that time span. Hell we went from eighteen to twenty-two." She nodded again. "Or maybe he never knew you at all?" I furrowed my brows.

"Come on Caila, look," She motioned over to Aaron who has busy chatting with some guys from our class. "He's more focused on chatting with them than he is his own fiancé." I lowered my head. "It's okay Natasha, he's always been like that. I just have to let him have his time and come to me or-" She crossed her arms over her chest. "Or what?" I fiddled with the ring on my finger. "He gets distant. He says I can be suffocating, so I just give him his space and let him do what he wants." She rolled her eyes. "We may be friends but you don't get to sit here and judge my relationship Nat." She nodded. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't judge. If he makes you happy then I'm happy for you." I nodded. "Thank you." I guess that's when the question started, even through flight school I pondered on it and threw around the same question. Did he really make me happy?

~~~

I thought he did, I really did. Especially when I came home from my first deployment, there he was leaning against my Jeep in Jacksonville. Waiting for me as we docked, This was the one time we could show affection in uniform so I rushed over and hugged him and pulled him into a kiss. "Oh god, I missed you!" I said as he squeezed my waist, kissing me back. "Oh babe, you have no idea how much I've missed you."

"Get a room!" I heard a voice behind me yell, I turned to find Fanboy and Payback smirking at me. "No! I like the view!" I said smiling at Aaron, I heard someone gag as they walked by and rolled my eyes seeing none other than Hangman. "Keep walking Hangman, no one wants your nasty attitude around here." He turned to us, walking backwards. "I can think of many ladies who would." He turned back around and kept walking as Fanboy and Payback walked over. "Fanboy, Payback this is my fiancé Aaron Wilder." I said introducing them and they shook hands. "Ah, the lawyer." He nodded. "Sure am, and you guys are?" He asked pointing between them. "Pilots, like me."

"Yeah well, we gotta go. See you around Magnolia, keep in touch!" They said before walking away. "Magnolia?" Aaron asked and I smiled and pulled my helmet out, showing him the tiffany blue helmet with white stripes, the word Magnolia across the top with two flowers on either side. "It's my call sign. This was my first time working with a squadron so we were assigned our callsigns." He furrowed his brow. "Callsign?" I could've rolled my eyes. "It's basically a nickname, one that's used over the radio and in person. So that way should our comms get intercepted no personal information is going out over the airwaves." He nodded. "Well I'm exhausted and ready to get home. Load up." He said tossing me the keys and walking around to the passenger seat and got in, looking at me like I grew two heads when I didn't move. "Could've at least taken my bag." I grumbled as I got into the drivers side and cranked the jeep.

He slept that entire drive home, snoring like a baby as I drove us through nine hours of traffic to get back to our house in Buckhead. It should've been five hours but Atlanta traffic is my own personal purgatory. As we arrived home I saw my parents car in the driveway and got excited. I got out of the drivers seat as my dad opened the door and greeted me with a bear hug. "Oh, my little girl home from her first deployment. Are you okay? Everything go smoothly?" I nodded. "Had to set my wingman straight once but other than that it was good. Hard and busy but good."

"Now, why were you driving? Is that fiancé of yours too lazy to do it?" Dad said stomping towards the jeep. "Dad he's exhausted." I said and he turned to me. "I don't know how, he went down to Jacksonville two days ago. He had plenty of time to sleep in that nice plush hotel of his." I furrowed my brow, I thought in his email he said he would come down this morning. Nevertheless my dad opened the passenger door and woke him up, I couldn't quite hear what he said but I did hear, 'Man up, and get her bags.'

Needless to say he grumbled the entire time he had my bag, groaning about how heavy it was. "If it's that heavy then why don't you hit the gym with me?" I asked and he groaned. "This again? Babe, like I told you I have no interest in going to the gym with you." I shrugged. "It was just a suggestion." I said and he all but threw my bag on the dining room floor. "What? You think I'm weak or something? Is that why you keep asking me to go to the gym with you? After being around all those Navy guys, you're not proud that I'm your fiancé?" He yelled out, getting in my face. My dad and brother stood from the couch, and I held out my hand to stop them. "Oh yeah, let daddy fight your battles."

"Don't you ever, bring my father into another argument again. It was a simple suggestion and if you want to take offense to it, then be my guest but you know that was not what I meant by that." We stared at each other for a moment before he stormed past me and up the stairs. I leaned against the counter as my mother came over, taking me into her arms and squeezing me. "No one ever said this would be easy sweetie." I nodded. "I know, I just don't know where he gets these ideas." I heard my dad inhale to say something when my mother whipped around. "David. Now is not the time." We both knew what he wanted to say. 'Leave him. Give the ring back. We'll help you kick him out.'

Instead he said something else. "Did you get your call sign?" I smiled at his question, him knowing it would make me feel better. "Sure did." I said going over and pulling out my helmet. "Magnolia?" Mom asked and I nodded. "Just like you and Mamaw always told me, 'Beautiful as a Magnolia in bloom.' I was deployed with a girl I shared a room with back at the academy before Natasha and when I couldn't figure out a call sign then she suggested it and it stuck." Mom kissed my forehead as my dad pulled me closer. "We're so proud of you." Mom said as Jameson took my helmet to look at it. "Should've called you rattlesnake." I punched his arm. "OW! See, meaner than a damn rattlesnake!" I chuckled before hugging him. "So we have a new naval aviator in the family and I hear country music's biggest rising star Mr. Jameson Motley!" I said in my best announcer voice. "Damn right, mom and I are gonna dominate the award shows this year!" I chuckled. "We also released those songs you gave us, they're a hit!" Mom said and my jaw dropped.

"No way!" She nodded. "People and producers love it, I recieved so many offers for you. But of course I turned them down." I chuckled. "Thank you, I'll keep writing as long as no one expects me to record more music because I won't, my career with the navy is my main focus. Music is now a hobby." She nodded before hugging me again. "I'm so glad you're home." I nodded. "Me too, mama." Little did I know that things were never going to get better for Aaron and I.