#tuck everlasting x reader

[scapingthebottomofthebarrel]

Hello there! I’m revamping this account to add a few more fandoms I’ve been working on fics for

***VERY IMPORTANT NOTE***

While I do write for Harry Potter characters I DO NOT support that author in any capacity!!!!!

That being said here’s who I write for

-Dear Evan Hansen characters

-Newsies characters

-Be More Chill characters

-Tuck Everlasting characters

-Avengers characters

-Spider-Man

-Marauders Era characters

-Golden Trio Era characters

Wish me luck!!!!

[susheval]

There isn’t enough Tuck Everlasting X reader fanfics

LOOK AT THIS 😭😭😭

There I’ve said it. I need more Jesse tuck x Reader shit or I will commit arson. I’m tired of rereading the same two ffs 😭

And there only two fics on tumblr or am I not looking hard enough?????

[amoreva]

CAN’T CATCH A BREAK

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pairing: luke castellan x daughter of demeter!reader

summary: in which you and luke leave camp for a date night, unfortunately interrupted due to some monsters

warnings: pet names “babe”, mentions of fighting/attacking, blood, mentions of clarisse and chris

a/n: yeah…thought of this rn and i couldn’t stop writing.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

“Don’t you think Mr. D and Chiron will know and be absolutely pissed with us?” You adjusted the cherry red dress Clarisse had lent you, pulling the sweetheart neckline up. Luke had his arm wrapped around your waist as your heels clicked on the sidewalk of New York.

The son of Hermes looked absolutely dashing in a black button up tucked into black slacks and black dress shoes. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

You couldn’t lie (would not) lie to say this man had you weak with an outfit like that.

“It’s one night, babe.” Luke reassured as the evening seeped into the orange, pink and yellow hues of the sky. “I think us year-rounders deserve one night to ourselves.”

“We’re getting weird looks.” You mumbled as the two of you passed a group of students. There was lanyards around their necks as they whispered about Luke and you traveling down Main Street in such formal outfits.

“They’re just jealous I have the most beautiful girlfriend in all of Olympus.” Luke grinned cheekily.

You hadn’t know what his exact plan was for this date night. This morning, a letter was placed on your bunk. Luke’s recognizable handwriting detailed of you and him going out and to dress fancy.

The two of you walk into a building with dimmed lights. The ambience was oddly cozy paired the soothing jazz music from the live band and the conversations of other patrons.

“Luke…” You gave a warning sign to him. You never expected to be taken out to a place that looked as fancy as this.

“Don’t worry. I got it.” Luke reassured with one of those charming grins. His hand slipped from your waist to grab your hand. The curly-haired half-blood guided you to velvet waiting booths. He kissed your knuckles sweetly before going to talk to the host.

You crossed your legs before looking through your white shoulder bag. You still had your lipgloss in there as well as some other makeup, US currency and drachmas (saved from previous quests).

It wasn’t long before Luke and you sat down at a table with a white table cloth draped on it. It was nothing like camp.

“Wait here.” Luke grinned like an excited little boy. He pressed a cheek to your cheek before running out of the restaurant.

He came back with a bouquet of flowers. A beautiful array of flowers all with different meanings. Baby’s breath, everlasting love, sprinkled with gardenias, telling you “you’re lovely”, and the simplicity of red roses, “I love you” in the language of flowers.

Your vast knowledge and interest of the language of flowers was what probably made your mother claim you in the first place.

“I….I—uh…hope I got the flowers all right.” Luke blushed sheepishly and you smiled. Your chest all fuzzy and warm that he made the effort do that.

You stood up from the chair and kiss his cheek, simultaneously taking the flowers from his arms. “You did.” You reassured.

The dinner ran smoothly for the rest of the evening. Luke and you enjoyed your night out with one another. The food was absolutely delicious compared to the camp food. He paid for the food using his saved up quest money (and a drachma for a tip, far as mortals know it was pure silver)

You were giggling, walking out of the restaurant and holding Luke’s arm. Luke was holding the flowers. “You did not!” You exclaimed.

“I did!” Luke retaliated. “I’m good with the sword not with crafts like flower crown making.”

“I taught you!”

“Before you arrived! 10 times I failed to make one.”

“Oh gods—”

You and Luke continued to walk through New York. The light pollution covered the stars, but the city was still beautiful. Yet, the two demigods got this uneasy feeling. The looked at the crowd in front of them.

Three women were staring directly at them, an unwavering smile on their face. Triplets. Same gray hair, same reddish pink scarf. Same handbags.

As each person passed the women turned into horrid creatures. The servants of Hades revealed their leathery wings and yellow claws. The handbags turned into whips as they stalked towards you and Luke

Furies; Alecto, Megaera and Tisiphone.

You fished your lip gloss out of your white shoulder bag, quite disappointed that date night couldn’t end on a good note. You took the lid of the lipgloss off and out revealed a celestial bronze sword, blessed with your mother’s plants wrapped along the handle.

Demeter’s kids were never much of fighters, but when they do fight they used their plant manipulation. You decided against it due to being in the city. Causing a commotion when you’re technically supposed to be at camp will get you and Luke bathroom duty.

Luke unsheathed his own sword and place his hand on your lower back. “On my mark.” Luke spoke against your ear which sent shivers down your spine. The bouquet of flowers were discarded on the floor.

The Mist would cover you two.

You glanced at your heels and then Clarisse’s dress that she had lent you. You’d feel terrible if you ruined your friend’s dress. “We were so close. One night in the city, no monsters.”

“Half-bloods can’t catch a break, babe.” Luke kissed the crown of your forehead. Maybe it was a little cocky for you two to look so nonchalant as the furies crept closer.

Suddenly, Megaera flew towards the two of you in heartbeat. She separated the two of you, beastly claws trying (and failing) to wrap around yours and Luke’s throats. A screech tore from her lungs as she changed course to attack Luke.

In the midst of that, Tisiphone swatted you with his wings, evidently throwing you off balance. You almost rolled an ankle because of those stupid heels.

Her claws reached out to maul you, but you held her back with your sword. You glanced at Alecto as if she was surveying the situation. You pushed Tisiphone back and swiped your sword in front of you; as if you were flicking the blood off your sword.

Tisiphone snarled and lunged at you again. Her claws wrapping around your left arm while the other was pulled back ready to strike. The momentum of her charge caused you to fly. Her wings keeping the two of you from touching ground.

Before she could even try and harm you, you thrusted the celestial bronze sword into Tisiphone’s abdomen. She dissolved like sand in the wind which ultimately led you to hit the pavement. Scratches and cuts now decorating your arms and legs. Clarisse’s dress tore and ripped.

You didn’t have anytime to worry about that when Alecto was on top of you pinning you to the floor. Your sword a little ways from you. You let go of it when you collided with the sidewalk.

Alecto screeched into your face, baring her yellow teeth. She was quite pissed you killed her sister. You flinched, but a sword went through her skull. The tip of the celestial bronze penetrated Alecto’s forehead.

She reduced to ashes and you were greeted with your boyfriend’s dashing looks. There was a claw mark on the space between his neck and shoulder. “Are you okay?” Luke helped you up and surveyed your mild injuries.

“Yeah. Clarisse’s dress is ruined is all.” You mumbled and glanced at the dress. “She was going to wear it to her date with Chris!”

“Hey, we’ll fix it. I can use up my favor Hera’s son owes me.” Luke reassured and picked up your weapon. He capped it for you and grabbed your bag and flowers.

“Are you okay?” You asked Luke.

“Fine.” He smiled and nodded.

Luke and you quickly made it back to camp. You had the take off your heels because your feet were killing you. It had to be later in the evening 10pm or 11pm when you and Luke arrived at camp again.

Mr. D’s voice boomed in your minds, calling your names angrily. You looked at Luke with a glare. You were right! You were going to get in trouble.

Luke just smiled mischievously and kissed your lips as you two walked to the Big House near the lake. “Worth it.” He uttered against your lips.

“You look absolutely gorgeous in that dress and I got to see you fight in it.” Luke complimented and wrapped his arm around your waist again. “That’s worth years of bathroom duty.”

Your glare broke and you smiled as him with a shake of your head. “He’s going to tear us a new one.”

“I know.”

“You scared?”

“Just a tad.”

Luke and you entered the Big House that overlooked the lake. Chiron had his arms crossed while Mr. D didn’t have his legs propped up on the table as per usual. The look of anger spoke a thousand words. They couldn’t catch a break even at Camp.

—– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —–

[circeyoru]

Unwanted Soul _ Part 5 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

The Request

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 (here)

How you had such a depressing life was beyond Alastor. He didn’t understand it. Can’t comprehend it! But he pushed these questions back to tend to your sadden mood, tucking you in and lulling you to sleep

Alastor sat next to your sleeping form, the room pitch black save for his glowing red eyes that pierced through the darkness. His staff played soft music to calm you down and fill the silence of the room. The only tears you should be shredding are ones of joy and happiness 

The people you’ve mentioned, surely they were in Hell as well. They can’t be in Heaven for causing you such torment. He can’t let you see them, any of them. He needs to get to them first. However, for now, he can’t leave you alone in such a state

His eyes closed as he thought out how he’d torture them. Perhaps skinning them till they beg for mercy and your forgiveness? Pulling out their limbs and draining their blood? Letting the cannibals partake in a feast? No, no, he had to enjoy this. They were your tormentors when you were alive, he’ll show you that he can and will be your protector, even a guarddog if he must

But his heinous thoughts were put to a hold when you shifted in your sleep. He pushed away his thoughts while he watched your serene form rest. He put away his monocle, laying beside you and gently pull you closer to him so he was hugging you to his chest. His eyes drooped close. Perhaps he should let those unfortunate souls enjoy Hell a bit longer. If they crossed his path or yours, their voice will be on his everlasting broadcast

When things got slow for you, you found yourself hanging out with the hotel residents at times. They were an interesting bunch to say the least

Charlie was always happy to see you and would invite you on her little activities and exercises to redeem sinners. Though you’d mostly decline unless it catches your interest in some way. On the rare chance you join, she was very appreciative of your presence and wasn’t shy to thank you for joining in front of everyone. Her cheerful attitude was a bit of a hit and miss for you

There was one exercise that got you sharing something you’ve almost forgot

“Okay! Last two to share! Who’s going first?” Charlie beamed

“I’ll go first, My Darling needs all the time to recall!” Alastor directed the attention to him. “My joy in my hay day is my murders. Oh how I felt the rush when chasing my victims, hunting them like prey in the woods. The warmth of their body fading the moment I repeated stabbed my trusty blade into their weak bodies. The—”

“Okay, okay, you can shut it with the creepy killing. Sheesh.” Vaggie interrupted with a groan. She turned to you who was still in a daze, completely unfazed with what Alastor said. “You ready to go?”

“Huh? Oh, okay.” You snapped out of your daydream, unconsciously, your hand patted on your book that was strapped to your hip. “My joy when I was alive… I barely remember it, but I loved going to the library and read all the books I can.”

“That’s surprisingly cute considering you’re with that freaky smil—” Angel’s mouth was immediately shut with the slap of Alastor’s staff

You continued without flinching, this was all a normal banter between the two already now that you were hanging out with the crew more. “I frequent the library, borrowing and finishing a stack of books everyday. The librarian would recommend me new books or save me my favourite corner. I can even eat and drink in the library just because.”

Charlie’s head tilted, “So you love reading.”

“Not just reading. I love books of all kinds. Sometimes I rad that book just cause I liked the texture or the shape of it. I collect books and keep it like treasures. I hate lending books to other because they don’t care for it like I do.” You fondly smiled at the memory, “Then I got a bunch of notebooks too, because I love the design or the cover.”

Lucifer leaned back into his chair, “No wonder your powers are centered around books.”

“Better call you bookworm now! Hahahaa—” Angel was hit by two cranes, one from Alastor and another from Lucifer. Charlie, Vaggie, and Husk flinched with a face twisted to pain as if they felt that. Niffty was living in the moment, wanting one too

Husk gulped some alcohol, “You better shut that loud mouth of yours if you know what’s good for you.”

Everyone laughed and chuckled, Charlie concluding that it was a good exercise and bonding time since everyone was in attendance. Alastor got up and offered you his hand, bringing you two back to your room. You stayed out of it, being in a daze again

When Alastor asked if you were fine, you smiled and said you were fine, if you needed anything, he would be the first you’d call for. So he left you alone

You didn’t tell them. You were that absorbed into reading that you didn’t realize you were being bullied, you were used. You shared your dream of wanting to be a writer that people would love to read what you wrote and share it with friends, to entertain others. You shared your ideas with your friend but your ideas were stolen from you

The moment you handed in your writing, the publishing company said they had one already and that yours was not up-to-date. They rejected your writing. Days later, you saw the newest novel on sell. The title was so similar to yours that you checked the summary at the back. That was your story idea. But your work was rejected so how was it published?

Your nightmare came to life. A betrayal so painful and chilling. Your friend’s name was on the cover. You remember your hands shaking. It wasn’t rage you felt, it was disbelief and sadness. The trust you gave, the care you gave, and the attention you gave. It was all to stab you in the back

You watched from behind the screens at the achievement and success that should have been yours. All of it, it should have been yours to smile upon. But then you were crying and shutting yourself behind the world of fantasy, an escape from reality

Why? Why? Why!

Closing your eyes for a moment, you locked up those memories. They don’t mean much to you now. Not when you had Alastor with you and an unlikely friendship with Lucifer the King of Hell himself, then there was the silly demons of this hotel. Ironic how you found true friends in demons

That’s why when you saw Mimzy again in the hotel, you were skeptical and burning with rage. She had someone as amazing and caring as Alastor to call as a friend, but she’s abusing it without a care. How she has the guts to come back and ask for Alastor, you have no idea, though you’ve seen her kind when you were alive

“You’re a new soul!” Mimzy’s voice made you want to throw glass or grip something until it broke. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”

“What do you want?” You eyed down at Mimzy with a bored expression

She let out a sound akin to ‘uww’ with a face of disgust. “You’re never gonna get your lucky someone with that attitude.”

Your eye twitched, “I never said I was.”

Mimzy gave you a fake shocked look, “Really? I thought you were going for Alastor!”

You groaned, heading over to the bar to ask Husk for something to drink (not alcohol) because you didn’t want this annoyance to follow you to your room

“Hey,” Mimzy sat next to you without asking, “You know what Alastor’s like when he’s upstairs?”

You ignored her, but your face of silent rage was enough to get her to continue

“You don’t know. He’s a realy lady’s killer! Not literally, but you get what I mean. Girls and ladies throw themselves at him and he doesn’t even bat them an eye. A nice wave and a dashing smile, then he leaves them high and dry! Oh, the broken hearts he had was definitely more than his body count and that’s something!” Mimzy laughed at the end

What’s that got to do with you? You thought to yourself as you aggressive sipped on your drink. Husk eyed you two while cleaning some glass to appear like he was busy. You’ll maybe admit, you were a bit envious of Mimzy that she got to see Alastor when he was alive, you wonder how he looked. Not like you were going to ask

Mimzy endlessly talked bad about Alastor behind his back. What happened to trying to apologise and wanting to make up? No idea, down the drain at this point. As the others around you wonder why you were still humouring the chatty demon, you were wondering the same. Why are you just sitting here and listening to all this?

“You should shut it, can’t you see you’re the only one talking here?” Husk spoke up, indirectly telling Mimzy to just leave you alone

“Aww, and you should do your job, bar cat.” Mimzy teased back. “I’m given this poor soul some attention cause Alastor’s too high of a standard to give some.”

“Ha! Jokes on you. This hot stu— I mean, cutie here’s always got smile’s attention.” Angel inserted himself into the conversation, climbing over the bar to stand next to Husk

You got up, “This is a waste of time.”

Mimzy faked another gasp, “No way. You poor poor thing. You actually fell for him of all people of this hellhole?” She got so close in your face and not to mention your personal space, “I understand why, but! Ha! That’s just bad luck! You’re bound to get your heart broken like all those poor ladies before you.”

Before you said anything, Husk’s wing separated Mimzy from you, “You really need to shut the hell up before you regret it.”

“You shut it fur ball! I ain’t talkin’ to you.” Mimzy snapped at Husk

Deciding that it was not worth your time, you started walking away. This was drama you didn’t want to be involved in and you didn’t want Alastor catching this happening since he sees Mimzy as a friend still

“The hotel won’t allow this.” Charlie tried to establish order and break things off

“Alastor will leave you in the dirt worse than whatever you were before once he’s had his fun with you! You might think you’re on cloud 9 now, but you’re going to be in a world of pain and hurt soon enough.” Mimzy continued, completely ignoring Charlie and Husk’s words

With each step you took, she continued as if singing a song, “Alastor only like things that entertains him. He never commits. He never cares. He doesn’t even have a heart to care! He’s so powerful because he has no room for ridicious things like love. The love he has is only for himself. Alastor is just a selfish heartless motherf—”

“Shut up!” You turned to her, a deep scowl on your face

“This is gonna be good.” Lucifer whispered to the others watching, “But bad for her. Yeah.”

“Shut you annoying f- mouth.” You snapped, unaware that your hair leviated a bit from your rage. “You don’t know how lucky you are to have a friend like Alastor. Alive and dead. But what do you do? You use Alastor’s name just for the fun of it and for your benefit. You just use it! How can you use your friendship with him like this! What’s wrong with your stupid tiny head?! In Hell, you’re supposed to treasure what you have. Not abuse it.”

Mimzy scoffed, “You think you’re so good? So righteous. Well, you would have been up there, now wouldn’t you. Don’t think you’re any better.” She smirked, “In Hell, we use everything and anything to our advantage.” Another gasp came and she covered her mouth, “Oh wait, could it be?” She got close to you, “Haha, you being so defensive and triggered by all this. You really actually did fall for him.”

“I love him.”

“Wait? Couldn’t hear you, sugar—”

“I love Alastor.” You repeated firmly and loudly

“What was that?”

Getting annoyed, you turned to the direction where the question came from. Perhaps it was all this anger in your system that made you slow to realize, “I said,” That you were now face to face with Alastor. “I love you!”

Note: This part's major focus has been mentioned in an ask already. And since it's confirmed that you and Alastor are dating in the latest asks and requests, I'm putting this scene in more detail since asks are trivia for the story

P.S. There's something new planned for future chapters~ Remember that lover and friend mentioned? OCs might be appearing cause I can't do rando short forms. Still thinking... You're thoughts? Or should I just end this series?

Circe Y.

Other Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist:

@aconfusedwonderland

@crowleysthings

@donustellaron

@mistpurpl3

@nevermore-ramblings 

@justboredforreal 

@youroneandonlysimp 

@falsemain

@scenteddelusion5

@anni1600

@readergirlstuff

@salutations-demonsanddappers

@mistpurpl3

@haruskrd

@biadoll21

@speedycoffeedelight

@wendds

@paninibit

[harpsinfinity]

Thought about husband!Simon

This was just me emptying my head before I went to sleep

Simon Riley X gn!reader

Warnings: none ! Just fluff :)

Husband!Simon who is naturally warm while your naturally cold, he'd take your hands in his and rub them to warm them up(this man's a natural heater I KNOW it.) Even keeping some extra gloves on him so you don't freeze :((

Husband!Simon who cuddles you next to the fireplace, burrowing in your nest of blankets. Just basking in eachothers embrace, wearing one of his shirts of course.

Husband!Simon who pressed everlasting kisses to your lips, the cool metal of this wedding band cooling against your cheek as you melt into his ever so gentle touch

Husband!Simon who soon enough falls asleep with you, the soft cracking of the fire lulling both of you to sleep. Your head tucked under his chin as you lay on him like a weighted blanket, his arms securely around you

Husband!Simon who never thought he could love someone as much as you, he finally knows what love is like, his love

Harpsinfinity 2023©

[simpforboys]

always been you

ghostface!rafe cameron x fem!reader

summary: being a famous news reporter, your coverage quickly began to focus directly on the Ghostface killings. little did you know the masked killer was closer to you than you thought.

warnings: dark/canon!rafe, dark!reader, sociopathic tendencies, rough smut, choking, dirty talk, creampie, sexual sadism (both parties consent), knife kink, mask kink, swearing, mentions of stalking, toxic (?) relationship, blood, murder, drug use, smoking cigs

not proof read, please don’t read if cannot handle the warnings. this is something not usually like my writing and i wanted to test it out, so let me know what you guys think !

happy october my loves :3

the blood that splattered against Rafe’s mask was euphoric to him, the stress and anger taken from his body.

the light that left his victim’s eyes as they slipped into their everlasting slumber sent shivers down his cold spine as he dropped the body on the tiled floor.

“you’ll never be around my girl ever again.”

Michael, a 22 year old frat boy who suddenly became obsessed with you during a party, was one that frightened you more than your boyfriend.

Michael was stalker-ish, following you to every class in hopes to get a glance of you between hours. he would show up to every single place you were, and after expressing to Rafe how eery he made you, Rafe just told you, “i’ll take care of it.”

you didn’t exactly know what he meant by that, not that you really cared.

it was a common occurrence. a person would piss you off or annoy you and Rafe would simply “take care of it”.

you believed something was suspicious when the people began to go missing and a reappearance of a masked killer was in the news every week, and deep in the pit of your stomach was excitement.

a mystery as to whom the killer was, a mystery as to what they wanted in the Outer Banks. it didn’t help that you were constantly surrounded the media, as you were the leading reporter around the town.

“Welcome back to channel 10 news, i’m Y/n L/n and today we’re at the crime scene of the masked killer who goes by the name of Ghostface…”

a chill went down Rafe’s spine as he sat on your shared bed, twirling the handle of the knife against his thigh as he watched the news intently.

you, his gorgeous girlfriend, reporting on the crime he committed last night while you slept softly.

were you as sinister, too? the gorgeous and twisted smile on your face as you reported the case made Rafe wonder.

he took the large kitchen knife and wiped the blood onto his jeans, the substance staining his clothes as he watched intently.

“and be careful, citizens of Outer Banks. Ghostface is still out there…”

your words rung in Rafe’s ears as the channel cut back to the people sitting in the station. Rafe grabbed his bag of cocaine that was left on the wood coffee table, putting the powder on his finger as he snorted it.

a few hours later, Rafe was sprawled out on your shared couch. one arm tucked behind his head, the other laying lazily on his side.

your keys rattled as you entered your shared home, letting out a yawn as you put your coat on the coatrack.

kicking off your heels, you approached Rafe, who was dead asleep. you threw your purse on the arm chair, kissing your boyfriend’s forehead.

he stirred in his sleep as you lit a cigarette, inhaling the smoke before blowing it out gently. you stood in the kitchen, wanting to feel your boyfriend hold you, but not wanting to wake him up.

walking into your shared bedroom, you opened the closet door. shuffling through the walk-in, your eyes scanned the clothes in search for a comfier outfit.

but when your eyes landed on a mask, a Ghostface mask, you could feel your heart stammer in your chest.

“y/n?”

Rafe’s voice scared you, making you jump slightly. the cigarette hung low on your nude-stained lips as you picked up the mask.

“what’s this, Rafe?”

Rafe eyed you, not knowing what to say. his pulse began to rise, his heart thumping nervously against his chest.

“i got it at the halloween store. guess they’re tryna have everyone be Ghostface.”

Rafe answered, leaning against the doorframe with his arm raised above his head. you cocked your eyebrow at him, but a naughty idea twisted into your mind.

you walked over to your boyfriend, putting the mask on over his head. you bit your lip, feeling your pussy tingle from the fantasy.

with Rafe’s flexing biceps as he leaned his head to the side, staring at you curiously, he watched as you subconsciously rubbed your legs together.

“is my naughty girl getting turned on?”

Rafe questioned you, his large hands trailing slowly down to your ass before squeezing it in his palms.

you nod, biting your bottom lip as Rafe suddenly walks you backwards onto your shared bed. a small noise escapes your desperate lips as you fall onto the plush bedding.

Rafe’s hand trails painfully slow down your face, dragging down to your neck, his cock swelling at the thought of how easy it would be to kill you.

your pretty neck so perfect for his hand, his knife, his pleasure.

as your eyes fluttered shut, all you could hear was Rafe’s staggered breathing behind the mask. within moments, a sharp, cold object was placed against your neck.

Rafe was beyond happy you couldn’t see his face, because the growing lust and feverish tendencies were driving him insane.

using his mask, his knife, his girl the way he pleased. and you never suspected a god damn thing, never suspected he was the ravenous murderer of the Outer Banks.

a gentle sigh escaped from your throat, realizing how Rafe was toying with your life for the sake of his pleasure.

the sharp edge of the knife gradually popped off each button of your blouse, your chest slowly rising and falling as your pupils were blown out wide.

you watched the murderous object trail down your clothes, so desperate to dig into your skin.

“Rafe-“ you panted out, the knife completely tearing your skirt apart.

but Rafe didn’t respond, too lost in the way your body was so reactive to him. so reactive to someone who could kill you easily.

your black panties were quickly shred with the skirt and Rafe felt himself pulling his pants down just enough for his throbbing cock to spring out.

he wasted no time in shoving his cock deeply into you, his knife angled directly where your vaginal walls swallowed his cock.

he gently pressed the knife harder into your skin, making you flinch from the stinging. your blood began to slowly trickle down your pelvis, and the sight made Rafe go feral.

his hips moved quickly against yours, his hand placed directly on your wound. moans escaped your mouth as you played with your breasts.

“does that hurt?”

Rafe asked you quietly, his eyes still fixated on your wound as his hips relentlessly pounded into you.

when you didn’t respond, Rafe took the knife and cut a little more onto your skin.

“fuck, Rafe! yes it hurts,” you choked out. tears built in your eyes, your pussy throbbing.

“good. i want it to fucking hurt.”

Rafe’s voice was rough and coarse, way too lost in his fantasy. his other hand rubbed your clit harshly, his eyes fixated on the way your bodies met.

Rafe snapped out of his gaze when your hand gripped his wrist tightly, his eyes going up to your face.

you took Rafe’s wrist and brought it up to your neck, his fingers closing on your throat.

“yeah? my dirty girl wants me to choke her while i fuck her dumb in my mask?”

your pussy clenched around his throbbing cock at his dirty talk. your eyes squeezed shut as you let out a breathy whine, the pain from your cut adding to your pleasure.

your legs began to shake as you came, your juices soaking his cock as he shot his cum into your womb.

“fucking take that cum.”

Rafe cooed, slapping your ass harshly, a red hand print tattooing onto your skin.

your chest was rising and falling as your boyfriend slid his cock out of you, your skin stinging as Rafe took the mask off.

his hair was matted onto his forehead, sweat dripping down onto his neck. in one swift motion, Rafe leaned down and licked the blood from your wound. he then walked to the bathroom, shoving his cock back into his pants.

you laid on the bed still, tired eyes as Rafe reentered the bedroom. he had a damp washcloth and bandage, his eyes trailing at your other scarred skin as he cleaned up your wound.

once he was finished with aftercare, he stroked your cheek gently. “my good girl.”

———————————————————————

the next morning came too quick. you woke tiredly, snoozing your alarm clock as you fought the strong urge to go back to sleep.

but when you didn’t feel Rafe’s arm around you, or his warmth, or his presence, you sat up in the dark room.

you turned on your bedside lamp, your phone reading four am. you rubbed the sleep from your eyes as you stood up, your legs sore, along with the new scar.

your feet padded quietly against the wooden floor as the light was on in the kitchen. your heart began to pound against your chest as the figure was standing next to the sink, the sound of the water pouring from the spout the only noise in the whole apartment.

“Rafe?”

you asked softly, the tall figure turning around. there stood a man in all black, a bloodied knife in his hands with blood splattered on his tanned skin.

in the Ghostface mask, in the kitchen, stood the killer. but when Rafe saw how you didn’t seem frightened, but yawned at the sight, he cocked his head to the side.

“if you’re going to be cleaning your murder weapons in the night can you at least make me a cup of coffee?”

your words seemed to hit him like a truck, as you approached the tall figure and took the mask off his head. Rafe’s jaw was gaped slightly open as he stared at you in shock.

“what…”

“of course i know you’re Ghostface, Rafe. i’m not a fucking idiot. you’re getting really sloppy with your kills lately. especially when i told you about that one guy stalking me and he randomly got murdered days later? i would’ve at least waited a month.”

you said nonchalantly, grabbing a mug as you poured water in your keurig. Rafe was in disbelief. he felt stupid for not expecting you to suspect him, let alone know.

“you- you don’t care?” Rafe asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he stared at you.

“why would i? you would’ve killed me by now if you really wanted to. plus i get something out of it, i get annoying people out of the way and get news to cover.”

the whole situation was shocking Rafe. he couldn’t believe you just didn’t care.

“i mean i’ve thought about killing people before but never acted on it. but when you first started murdering people, i didn’t know until the first few months. but with news coverage comes investigating, and i’ve known you were the famous masked killer for months.”

you didn’t say another word, just stirring your coffee as you left the kitchen and walked back into your bedroom.

“try to get some sleep, yeah?” you called out.

and Rafe stood still in the kitchen, his mind racing a million thoughts, but one that wouldn’t escape his mind.

you were crazy too.

[hobiebrownbrowser]

Date Night

Hobie Brown x FEM!Reader 💜

Summary: Hobie takes you out on a date, A small skating ring tucked away in the crevice of a tall building inside a pub.

It was late at night. The bright lights of the city shining through your window. It was around 11PM. The sound of cars driving past your window as you play some soothing music, Scrolling through your phone to spot something that would clear your everlasting boredom.

You eventually gave up, Letting out a sigh and tossing your phone on the bed. It was a quiet foggy night. Cold air seeping through the crack in your window. You poked your head out, memorized by the stars that lit up the night sky.

You couldn't help but close your eyes, Listening to the music that played from your speaker that was tucked away on your desk, Tapping your finger against the cold window headboard. Not having to deal with any kind of problems tonight.

"Pretty lil thang aren't ya?" You look up a bit startled. A smile soon beaming on your face as a certain punk spider makes his way down towards you. It was Hobie, Hobie Brown that is. The famous punk who happened to also be your boyfriend.

"Only for you Hobs~" Hobie took off his mask, placing his scarred calloused lips on your soft ones, His lip piercing clinging against your teeth. You pulled him closer, a chuckle leaving his throat as he slowly pulled away.

"Seem' like someone's been missin me." You smiled, Opening your window wider for him, Letting the tall 6ft man climb through. You took time staring at his gorgeous eyes. The same smug smirk still plastered on his lips.

You couldn't help but return the look, Placing a peck on his chin. Hobie wrapped his arms around your waist, turning you around until you were face to face with a wide opened window.

You looked up at him a bit confused. A cheeky grin on his face as he tells you to get ready for a special night. You wanted to know where he was taking you but he kept quiet, Teasing out a few hints but you were still stomped. You eventually gave up trying to get it out of him, Looking through your closet to see what you had.

You ended up just picking out something random. Hobie putting a thumbs up even if he wasn't looking directly at you. You rolled your eyes, a chuckle coming out after. You got dressed, Hobie making a few quick glances before you'd caught him staring.

"Like what you see baby?" Hobie raised his brow, grabbing your hand and twirling you around so he could get a good look at you. You could hear him agreeing before a gasp left your lips. The palm of his hand making contact with your ass.

"Yea I do actually luv~" You playfully punched him in the arm, getting the rest of your things and letting Hobie take the lead out the window, Taking your hand in his as he waits for you to get a firm grasp onto his vest, Intertwining your legs with his.

"Ready beautiful?" You nodded, a gust of wind hitting your face as he swings above the alarming city. You leaned in on his shoulder, clinging onto him until his feet had hit the ground. You slowly peeked around, A purple neon sign catching your eyes as Hobie leads you down a small stairway tucked in a back alley.

He swings the door open and steps aside, Dozens of people skating with loved-ones. Genuinely having a good time. You gave Hobie a questioning look that was replaced with laughter, Letting him lead you inside and towards a small bar in the corner.

"Ayo, what up young chap!" The bartender greeted Hobie with a handshake. Hobie returning the favor by giving him a high five.

"This my gal I've been talkin' bout. She the sweetest person I've eva met." You shyly wave, the bartender greeting you with a salute before handing Hobie a few drinks he ordered. You take a small sip, your mouth curling as he'd ordered tequila.

"Too strong luv? I can get sum' else for ya." You shook your head, swallowing the tequila like it was nothing. He praised you for your brave actions, Placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You couldn't help but feel flustered.

He smirked, placing a finger under your chin and pulling you closer to him. You hummed as you can taste the bourbon on his tongue. Wrapping your arms around his neck, trying to get as close as possible to him. You whined once he pulled away, chugging the rest of his drink down before leading you to the skating course.

Hobie helped you put on your skates, slowly leading you to the ring. He immediately wraps his arms around you, Matching his rhythm was easy, placing your head against his chest as you both let the music tingle your ears.

You could feel the alcohol starting to kick in, Closing your eyes and letting the man you love lead you anywhere. Shivers sent down your spine as he praised you every now and then.

You could feel your body temperature rising, The feeling of his hands touching your body going straight to your arousal. You intertwined your fingers, looking in his eyes. You were practically pleading for him to touch you. His hands wondering towards your hips, caressing them.

He could feel how desperate you were, Your back arching away from his chest as you purposely grind your hips. One of his hands in your back pocket while the other rested on your abdomen.

"You alr' luv?" He whispers softly. Occasionally biting the top of your earlobe to bring you back from euphoria. Your body burning as his hand glides down towards your thighs.

You wanted him, Watching as he squeezed your thigh in his large palm, The clothes blocking him from touching your skin fully. You gasped as he slid his hand across your chest, Teasing the sensitive buds under your shirt.

"Hobie..." You could feel his chest heaving, The song slowly coming to an end. Hobie leading you off the skate ring and towards a door that was tucked behind the bar, The music being cut off once you both were inside, Hobie locking it behind himself.

Moans escaping your lips as he pressed you up against the wall, Showering your neck in kisses. Your lips quivering as he gently pulls on them. You plead out his name again, His hands roaming under your shirt until his palms made contact with your breasts.

Your body trembling under his touch once he pinched your nipples between his fingers. You wrapped your legs around his waist, Feeling his cock twitch underneath you. You clasped your finger on the rim of his belt, wanting him to desperately take them off.

You wanted nothing else but his cock buried inside of you, Shimmering out of your undergarments until they rested on your ankle. A shaky sigh leaving you once he trails his fingers inside your mouth. You cry out as he spreads your folds, Pushing a finger inside of you before adding another.

Incoherent mumbles falling from your lips as he teased your clit with his thumb. You buried your face into his neck, the scent of charred wood and bourbon coming into contact with your nostrils, Your arousal seeping down your thighs.

You whined from loss, Hobie pulling his fingers out and hosting your body up. His cock catching your eyes before he pushed himself inside of you.

You cry out in pleasure, Wrapping your arms around his neck. He whispered how good you were for him, your legs trembling as he devours your body.

Your cried drowning out the muffled music from outside, Every thrust making your body grow weaker. You begged Hobie to go deeper. His chest putting pressure onto yours. Your arousal coating his cock, Your mind in a complete daze, His groans getting louder every second that's passed.

You tightened your grip, Your moans turning into high pitched squeals as you cum all over his cock, so fucked out of it until you were seeing stars. Hobie's orgasm sending you over the edge as you scream out his name.

Hobie gently placed you down, Making sure you don't slip or fall. He kissed your temple, Showering your face in kisses. He waited for you to calm down, Cooing you out of your fucked state before picking you up bridal style and leaving out of the bathroom.

Your sweaty body shivering as the cold air pierces your skin. You slowly come back from your senses, Still a bit cock drunk from what just happened. You watched as Hobie took off your skates, To worked up to say anything.

You both finally looked at each other. Lovable smiles on both of your faces as he takes you home for tonight. Hand in hand as you both decided to walk.

"So how was it?" You looked at him, narrowing your eyes with gleaming eyes. You rolled your eyes, not wanting to reward him with such praise.

"I had fun tonight.." You look away clearly flustered, Hobie placing a kiss on your cheek before hosting you back up towards your apartment room. You bit your lip, not wanting to leave his side just yet.

"Please stay with me Hobie.." All he had to do was say yes, His brow arching slightly before climbing in the window and closing it behind him. He laid down on your soft comforter, Patting his lap for you to come closer.

You happily obliged, Sitting between his legs. His eyes softened once he got a closer look at you, Pulling you closer by your hand until you sat on top of him. You placed a kiss on the tip of his nose, His hands caressing your hips as he closed his eyes.

You placed a hand on his chest, Gliding your finger across the scars that were on his stomach, Placing one last kiss on his lips for a good night's sleep before putting on some pajamas and climbing by to his side.

"Goodnight Honeybun~" You placed a kiss on his forehead before following suit. Closing your eyes as you lay down on his bare chest.

Damn I write a lot. Hope y'all enjoyed lol

[mydearlybeloathed]

𝐀 𝐂𝐀𝐌𝐏 𝐇𝐀𝐋𝐅𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐎𝐃 𝐂𝐇𝐑𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐒

𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: you decided to create a real life frosty the snowman for estelle blofis, a regular camp visitor. it goes... unexpectedly.

𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jason grace x fem!boreas!reader

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 6k (wow)

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: child of boreas reader, female reader, snowmen, ethically ambiguous magic, more plot than fluff im sorry, tooth rotting fluff towards the end, daddy issues i think maybe, serious angst ngl, i will never be normal about jason grace, canon who?

𝐚/𝐧: this had no reason to be so emotionally taxing but here we are

Being the boyfriend of a Boreas kid meant two things happened every night: one, sneaking you in from your lonely cabin to his lonely cabin, and two, sleeping with nearly a hundred different blankets. 

Normally, he fell asleep easy despite the chill, but there was a lot of work waiting for him back New Rome. Jason knew this holiday at Camp Halfblood was only making that work pile up, but he tired, so he didn't care just yet. He could let the anxiety catch him after Christmas. Plus, the longer he was away from work the longer he was with you.

Jason had been away doing Roman things for at least two months, and Iris Messages and the occasional phone call weren’t cutting in anymore; despite your cold shouldered father, you were as clingy as all get out. Not that Jason minded (he was clingy too).

The next fall of New Rome University couldn't seem to get there any slower. You were both going to be there, thank the gods.

Jason started to grin at just the thought, his eyes skimming all over your peaceful face as you breathed in and out slowly. The two of you were practically buried under all the blankets, and he would have been miserably hot if it weren’t for his amazing cooler system of a girlfriend.

“You’re staring,” you suddenly sang out softly, a mischievous smirk taking your face.

Jason’s heart sped up. “I thought you were asleep.”

“Creep,” you mumbled.

He reached over to caress your cheek, tucking some stray hairs behind your ear. You leaned into his touch and twisted in the blankets, wrapping your arms around his middle and nuzzling into his chest.

He pressed a light kiss to your hairline and rested his arm on your waist. “What’s up?”

“Just thinking.”

“About?”

You blinked blearily up at him. “Christmas. I’ve been working on something.”

“Care to share?” Jason had known you long enough to know you were serious about Christmas surprises. This time of year your powers were strongest, and you always took advantage of that.

You lightly patted his chest and snuggled deeper into bed. “Mhmm. When it’s ready. Can’t let anything get out or else Mr. D will so shut it down.”

Jason was officially intrigued. “What exactly… never mind. I'd rather sleep easy.”

You leaned up to kiss his jaw. “Good choice.”

He caught your lips before you could get back to sleep, cupping you cheek in his hand and drawing you close for an everlasting moment. The thundering mosaic on the ceiling was as annoying as ever, and he swore he could feel the statue of his dad staring holes into him. 

So Jason pulled the pile of covers up to hide the two of you away, thriving off your little giggle as he pulled you in once more.

જ⁀➴

A week till Christmas, and you finally felt ready to cast the enchantment. Giddiness ran through your whole body all morning, along with some nerves, of course.

It all began when you heard Chiron reading a story to some of the littler campers. They were year rounders and were feeling homesick, whining and crying so much their counselors couldn't get anything done. So, he read to them, taking some Christmas storybook from Athena Cabin and frantically narrating the tale of Frosty the Snowman.

You’d been coming by to drop off some paperwork from your well-enough paying job in the Big House, lamenting being unable to find a suitable gift for Percy's little sister Estelle. She'd be coming to camp for the Christmas Day bonfires with her mother and father, and you had yet to find something she would like.

As you dropped off your papers you heard the older of the littles cry out that she wished it would snow in camp. Another then exclaimed he wished they had their own magic snowman.

Mr. D was in the next room over, promptly laughing and popping the kids dream bubble. You weren’t having that, not one bit. And suddenly, you had your perfect gift.

The only reasonable solution was to learn how to create a magic snowman.

(Jason would later call you crazy, which is basically a declaration of love, you think.)

You sat alone in the dim lighting of your cabin, which you shared with no one but the dust bunnies. Boreas didn’t really hoe around much, which you supposed was nice, aside from the fact that it left you no roommates. Nights used to get lonely before you and Jason started saying fuck to the rules.

Little snowflakes danced around your palms before they went spiraling into the air and exploded into dozens of flurries. Slowly, bit by bit, the snow started to pile up all around you, creating a blanket of white across the floor. You had the snow down, now, you just had to trust you had your sorcery skills down.

A knock on the cabin’s skylight startled you. 

You smiled, calling up, “What’s the password?”

“Jason has the coolest girlfriend ever.”

“Not quite.”

There was a sigh. “Shiver me timbers.”

“Access granted,” you sang in reply, an all too satisfied smirk planted on your face.

The skylight creaked open, letting in the moonlight as well as your boyfriend. He shivered instantly. No matter how high you set the thermostat, the Boreas cabin was always freezing. Not that it ever bothered you, anyway.

A snow flurry landed on his nose, sending Jason into a sneezing fit. “Still working?”

“Mhmm.” He watched as you tried and failed to hide a yawn.

A little smile sprouted on his face as he rolled his eyes. “All right. Bed time.”

You shot him a glare. “Don’t baby me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, but I’m afraid I can’t sleep without you,” he said softly, holding out a hand with such a pretty look in his eyes. If he kept on looking at you like that, you might as well fall in love with him already.

“Fine,” you sighed, plopping your hand into his and letting him haul you to your feet. “Only because you can’t function without me.”

You wrung your arms around his neck and flushed yourself against him, his arms tight around you and a cute blush in his cheeks. 

A light breeze kissed your cheek as he rose off the floor, keeping one arm around your waist while the other pushed open the skylight. 

“Air Jason, taking off,” you said, doing your best to mimic a pilot’s microphone and failing miserably. Jason loved it though, an airy laugh bubbling from his lips as the night air met the pair of you with no regret.

“You’re such a dork,” he muttered into your ear, eliciting a poke to the ribs from you. Jason dropped a few feet in the air and nearly sent you into cardiac arrest, a scream leaving you as your legs clambered to wrap around his waist. 

Jason was laughing for gods’ sake, shushing you as he picked up speed to reach Cabin One before the harpies caught you. “Sorry, sorry.”

In through the open window and down to the floor, the wind carried you all the way, a soft caress on your skin as if the air meant to comfort the two of you. You were going to ask him if he felt it too when a wave of exhaustion found you, and you started to lean into Jason, not letting him go even when your feet touched the ground.

He rubbed gently circles into your back, his chin coming to rest on your head, eyes closing. You were cold to touch, as always, but Jason would gladly get frostbite just to hold you forever. 

Eyes soft, you caught corners of glittery lights in your peripheral, turning to find a Christmas tree that had definitely not been there a few hours ago. A smile split onto your face as you rushed up to it, admiring the rainbow lights and mismatched ornaments. 

Jason must’ve gone through the Big House attic to find all these. You picked off an ornament of Olympus, a selfie of a smiling Apollo and a less than pleased Dionysus staring out from the little city of the gods. 

“It’s perfect,” you said, spinning back around to find Jason there. 

He had that look in his eyes. You know, the one that takes all the air out of you and leaves you craving nothing more than his very presence. “One more thing.”

You followed his gaze to the ceiling, lip slipping between your teeth to contain your smile. “Mistletoe?”

His hand came to cup your cheek, eyes dipping low. “Hey, I don’t make the rules.”

How could you argue with that? Without warning you lurched forward and sent Jason stumbling back, lips meeting his in a feverish moment.

જ⁀➴

Dawn was encroaching on the camp. 

There was barely a noise all across the Long Island Sound, aside from the sea meeting land, the ruffling of the harpies’ feathers, and the contented snores coming from each cabin. In the stables the pegasi huffed and dealt with the faux antlers stuck to their heads. Mr. D sat snoring in a rocking chair on the Big House deck. 

The tall and proud Christmas tree at the center of camp stood looming over Hestia’s fire. Her warm face could be spied through the flickering flames, if one looked close enough. Beneath the tree’s branches were boxed gifts, some from attentive godly parents, but most placed there by Chiron (he never bothered correcting the campers when they assumed Santa Claus came in the night).

Garlands and wreaths hung from every doorway. Mistletoe was easy to find from the awnings of the Aphrodite Cabin. Poinsettias bloomed over the rooftop of Demeter’s Cabin. The smell of cookies and candy canes wafted out from the camp kitchens, the dryads tossing bits of flour and sugar at each other as they prepared something special.

It was a Camp Halfblood Christmas if you’d ever seen one.

The only thing missing was snow. 

You stood on the hilltop overlooking the center of camp, embracing the December chill. The magical borders prevented outside weather from affecting the camp, but they did nothing to stop weather coming from the inside. 

Flexing your palms and shaking them out, you let out a breath that crystallized in the frigid air. The water in the air bended to your will, the clouds gathered at you command. You didn’t pretend to understand weather and the science of it all, you just knew that when the water in the clouds got cold enough…

Your concentration was unrelenting even as the first few snowflakes drifted down from above, following the current of air down the valley of camp. You would need a lot more than that. Glancing at the sun peeking up over the horizon, you pushed past your growing fatigue.

There would be snow that Christmas Day if you had anything to do about it.

જ⁀➴

Jason noticed right away that the familiar warmth of your freezing body was missing from his side. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes he rolled over and noticed that your shoes weren’t at the foot of the bed. 

The whole cabin was freezing, but without you, it was just getting on his nerves. He was ready to get up, throw on a coat, and maybe just start yelling your name to find you wherever you’d run off to.

That was when he looked out the window. Jason’s jaw slacked, his eyes pleasantly wide and bright as a laugh tore out of him. He jumped up and didn’t bother with shoes as he flung open the cabin’s door and ran into the snow.

Everywhere a white layer of snow sat heavy on benches, picnic tables, the cabins—nothing was safe from this Christmas Day miracle.

He laughed again and raked his hands through his hair. So this is what you’d been working so secretively on. Jason really should have guessed sooner. 

The sound of boots in the snow caught his attention and he glanced over to see Piper hurling a snowball at Leo’s head. Leo sputtered when the snow hit his face, a sly grin all over his face.

Piper laughed behind her hand and noticed Jason struggling to pull on sneakers in his doorway. She dodged a melty snowball from Leo’s warm hands and jogged toward him. Her voice was tangled with a smile. “Did you know she was planning this?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the p. All around camp kids were racing outside, slipping on the icy snow and tossing on any warm clothes they could find. You were still nowhere to be seen. “Have you seen her?”

Piper shook her head and made to say something when a handful of snow was dumped down the back of her shirt. She gasped and whirled around, shivering despite the hot anger in her eyes, and took off after a cackling Leo without another word. 

Snickering, Jason took another look around, sighing when he couldn’t see you in the midst of excited campers. 

He turned around to go grab a jacket when a soft noise caught his attention. Some kind of grunting, followed by a startled yelp. Jason started to smile. He’d know that sound anywhere. He followed the noise around the side of his cabin, tilting his head at the sight.

You were red in the face, using all your might to roll a giant ball of snow, struggling to say the least. Estelle was standing by with rapt attention, excitement written all over her face. 

Jason went to stand beside Estelle, kneeling to be at her height. He leaned in to stage-whisper, “Do you think she needs some help?”

You looked up, stopping in the process of pushing your back against the snow, huffing and puffing through your glare. Estelle giggled. “Probably.”

He saw it in your face; you wanted to flip him off, only refraining given the current company. Estelle’s eyes gleamed up at him along with a bucktooth smile. “We’re building a snowman!”

“We?” you huffed, tucking your hair out of your face and behind your ears. “I didn’t know we were pronouncing my name as we now.”

Estelle rolled her eyes. “I’m supervising.”

“Honestly, I think ‘Stelle’s doing the heavy lifting,” Jason teased.

You sighed and turned to face your work. “That’s one layer. Jason, you do the middle.”

Still grinning, he was going to protest before doing exactly as you said, when a voice echoed across the lawn. One of the Stolls (Jason knew they were a few years apart but he still could never remember which was which) was approaching, a snowball in hand.

“Yo, Y/N!” he called. “It’s getting a little soggy over here!”

You smiled like this wasn’t the first time someone had had this complaint, wasting no time in cracking your neck and splaying out your hands.  A cold rush of wind enveloped you, a firm crease in your brows, before the another wave of snow rained down from the clouds.

The Stoll brother shouted his thanks, and you meant to offer a smile when suddenly the world got tipsy, everything going black for a split second as you teetered off balance. Jason’s heart dropped and he rushed to your side, steadying you against him.

“Hey, hey, you with me?” 

You blinked blankly, though you nodded despite the greenish tint in your cheeks that was quickly fading. Still, Jason wanted nothing more than to sit you down and cast lighting upon anyone who tried to use you like a snow machine again. 

“I’m fine,” you assured him, gaining your color back. “Just a bit tired keeping all of this up.”

Estelle was attempting to finish the snowman on her own, promptly falling face first into the snow and sputtering to her feet. You giggled at her expense, not realizing you were still leaning mostly on Jason.

He wasn’t done questioning. “How long did it take to cover the whole camp?”

“Oh, uhm.” Your brows drew together, lips pursed. “A few hours. No big deal.”

You broke away from Jason and went to help Estelle roll along another giant snowball, casting Jason a reassuring smile. He let out a sigh and tried to let it go, going to help with the snowman construction.

The three of you finished the three layers of the snowman’s body, and Estelle ran off to collect the decorations and came back with a box, her brother, and her brother’s girlfriend.

Percy held Estelle on his shoulders, the box of supplies in Annabeth’s arms. You wiped your brow and smiled so brightly upon spying them, that Jason nearly forgot you’d been focusing on continuing the snowfall all along, slowly draining yourself. 

Before he could call you out you sprang to your feet and went to pick the carrot out of the box. Annabeth chuckled and said, “I had to fight Blackjack for that.”

“Aww,” you hummed through a giggle. “Poor guy.”

Percy scoffed. “Please, he gets enough carrots. He could spare us at least five.”

Before you even had the chance to reply Estelle had jumped up to swipe the carrot from your hand. A response was barely on you lips when she nearly toppled the whole snowman over trying to stick the nose on its blank face.

You sighed and went to help her, scooping your hands under her arms and lifting her so she could reach its face. 

The morning went by as Piper and Leo approached the finished snowman with hot cocoa in hand. Piper sported a grin as she looked at you and said, “Mr. D is furious.”

“I hoped so,” you said. 

As Piper knelt to talk to Estelle you once again chose to ignore the weightiness in your shoulders, swallowing thickly to deal with your drying throat, and walked to the near empty box. Inside was a top hat you’d been saving for last. This was what the practice was leading up to.

“Hey, Stelle,” you called. Jason came to your shoulder, brows drawn, and you shot him a smirk. “Have Percy help you put the hat on top.”

She needed no more asking, taking her brother’s hand and dragging him to the snowman. Percy lifted her just as you had, and as Estelle rested the silk top hat on the snowman’s head, you held out a hand, worked some Boreas kid magic, and sent up a prayer to your dear old dad. A flurry of snowflakes shot out from your palm and right to the heart of the snowman.

You waited on bated breath as Estelle’s boot crunched back to the snowy ground, your gaze locked on the unmoving creature of snow. One second, then two, then three, until a minute passed. Estelle ran back to Annabeth and started ranting about something, Percy right behind her as he slung an arm around Annabeth’s shoulders. Piper and Leo engaged in another snowball fight, hot cocoa discarded on the ground.

And the snowman stood still. Your lips pursed with confusion and frustration. Jason appeared beside you again, looking from you to the snowman. “What’re we glaring at Frosty for?”

“Nothing,” you dismissed with a forced grin. You let out a sigh and intertwined your fingers with his, pressing a swift kiss to the back of his hand. “Wanna head inside? You’re shivering.”

He shook his head and slipped an arm around your waist. He was warm and soft and despite how much you loved the cold, you’d never get tired of it. But you couldn’t focus on that right now; you were too disappointed. 

That was until he tried to lead Jason back to his cabin anyway, and your boyfriend had a full stop, his eyes slightly horrified while also mystified. Brows pinched, you were on the verge of asking what was wrong when his hand gripped your chin. You flushed deep red at the action, another rush of warmth hitting you, but then Jason was turning your head to follow his line of sight.

A bright laugh escaped you. There, made of snow, two button eyes, and a carrot nose, was Estelle’s snowman. But now, he was living and breathing, the little twig eyebrows on him drawn taut as he examined himself, looking at himself tree branch arms. 

The lot around you stood in shock, looking from you to your creation. You laughed again quite like a mad scientist, and dropped Jason’s hand to slowly approach the snowman.

“Hello,” you said, and he considered you with a blank button stare, the line of chocolate chips making his mouth curved down into a frown.

“What am I?” he asked you, dropping his arms to his sides. He looked very contemplative for a snowman.

“A snowman,” you answered brightly. 

The snowman hummed. His voice was soft, reminding you of the sound of crackling fire. Ironic. “I don’t think I’m meant to be alive. I feel… odd.”

Your smile started to fade, and you glanced back at your friends for help. Estelle stood awestruck, slowly stomping through the snow to stand at your side. She took your hand and looked up at the snowman with shining eyes. 

The snowman looked back at her, going quiet. “Hello.”

Estelle started to smile. “Hi. My name’s Estelle, and this is Y/N. Those are our friends.” She jabbed a thumb back at the others. “Oh, do you have a name?”

He seemed to turn thoughtful, nodding. “I believe it was Perseus.”

Estelle let out a tiny gasp. “That’s what I called you! In my head!” She turned to you in complete and utter amazement. “How did he know that?”

You could only shake you head with a smile, squeezing her hand. “I dunno. Magic?” You couldn’t help but laugh once more, casting a glance up at the sky. The wind brushed through your hair, feeling oddly like a father’s hand ruffling a daughter’s hair.

You’d never met your father, but you doubted he was a cold as the weather.

Percy, Annabeth, Leo, and Piper came to admire the snowman, introducing themselves as he assessed them one by one. Jason hooked an arm around your waist, pulling you side against his, and you practically melted onto him. Your legs felt a tad bit weak.

He pressed a lingering kiss to your temple, whispering in your ear. “You astonish me.”

A smile split onto your face as you turned to kiss his cheek. Percy started to laugh as he looked upon the snowman. “Perseus the Snowman, huh?”

Perseus was holding Estelle’s hand as she rattled on about camp and how cool her big brother was and all about the Greek gods. Perseus listened with unabashed attention, the crease in his twig brows alluding to his curiosity. 

Annabeth sidled up to you, unsure how to phrase her question. “Do you… Well, was this smart?”

You gave her an odd look. “What do you mean?”

The wise daughter of Athena settled you with her seriousness. “He’s snow… you can’t keep him that way forever.”

Her words rattled you to your core, and for once, you felt the chill of December.

Morning passed to evening, and you stayed stuck to Jason’s side more by exhaustion than by choice. Not that you minded, but the jelly feeling in your legs was less than pleasant. It took some work to ward off the curious campers from bombarding Perseus, who proved to be a rather anxious snowman. 

Christmas Day passed by answering the endless questions of a snowman, explaining everything he could ever want to know. 

Piper and Leo had gone off to lead ornament making with their respective cabins, being head counselors and all, and Percy and Annabeth went to make an obligatory holiday call to the latter’s father. Leaving only you, Jason, Estelle, and Perseus. 

The four of you were at a picnic table close to the woods, the demigods sat atop the table and the snowman rolled up to the side. 

Your energy was slowly but surely coming back to you. With the sun crossing the sky and starting to descend, the need for snow was waning. You hadn’t had a demand for a few hours, and to be honest, you were grateful. Your eyes felt droopy and your shoulders ached. You wanted to sleep, but you had one more thing to keep focused on: Perseus the Snowman. 

Jason drew gentle shapes on your hand, letting you lay your head on his lap as Estelle told the harrowing tale of how Percy defeated Clarisse La Rue in his very first game of capture the flag.

You were having trouble looking at your snowman. From what he said when Estelle let out a yawn, he knew exactly why.

“Look at that,” he said, drawing everyone’s attention. His button eyes swept across the lawn of camp, where the snow was melting into the grass under the heat of the setting sun. His eyes turned to you, then. “You’re letting it all melt.”

You sat up and crossed your legs, resting your hands in your lap. You blinked at him, a tug on your heart. “Yes.”

He could only stare back at you. “You’re keeping me, though.”

Perseus was very perceptive for a snowman. You smiled at him. “We’re not done talking to you.”

He smiled back. “That’s true. And when we’re done talking?”

Estelle was looking between all of you, a confused purse in her lips. Jason cleared his throat and asked her to get him earmuffs from his cabin. She nodded and ran off, nearly tripping over herself. You sent him a look. “You don’t own earmuffs.”

“Oops,” he murmured through a grin. Perseus was watching the pair of you almost fondly.

You turned back to him and searched for the words to say, but it was all lost on you. Jason continued to rub soothing circles into your skin. All the words you knew suddenly boiled over. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think what would happen when… You know.”

Perseus shifted around, a gentle chocolate chip smile on his face as he took in the scenery. “Don’t be sorry. I’m happy to have lived.”

“But… you’re going to die,” you couldn’t help but say, as if he needed reminding.

He didn’t. That much was clear by his smile. “Don’t be sorry,” he echoed. “I’ll be happy to die. Snowmen aren’t meant for longevity.” 

Your throat constricted. “It’s all my fault. I wasn’t thinking.” 

“You were thinking of Estelle,” he said. “I’ve made her happy. I’m perfectly fine with melting.”

You cupped a hand over your mouth and averted your eyes just as Estelle came sprinting back, chest heaving as she lamented being unable to find any earmuffs.

“It’s cool, Stelle,” Jason said, forcing a smile. 

She plopped back down and huffed, looking to Perseus, then the sunset. Perseus glittered in the light, and it took you far too long to realize it wasn’t glitter, but dew. 

Estelle, angel she is, noticed it too. “Perseus, are you melting?” Before he could even think to answer she was turning on you, a fire in her gaze. “Make him better.”

You would—gods, all of Olympus knew you would, if only you weren’t exhausted. You gaped like a fish, squeezing Jason’s hand. Perseus the Snowman shook his head. “No, there’s no need.”

He reached out a wooden arm and she gently wrapped her little fingers around the splintered edges of his crooked hand. “I don’t fear death.”

Estelle’s jaw hung slack for an everlasting moment. “Well, I do! Y/N, do it.”

Jason tensed and snapped, “Stelle, that’s not fair.”

She didn’t seem to care in the slightest. 

“Estelle,” Perseus drew her attention back to him. “You’ll make more snowmen.”

She shook her head hopelessly, eyes going glassy. “No, I won’t. I won’t ever make another snowman.”

“How sad,” said Perseus. “Never?”

Estelle wiped her nose on her sleeve and looked at the ground. “Maybe, not never.”

The snowman started to smile again. His button eyes roamed over them all, stopping on the sky, and he sighed. “What a wonderful day to be alive.”

You turned your face so no one would see you crying. Jason's hold on your hand was the only thing sobering you up enough to remain on the picnic table, watching the sunset with your snowman.

The god Astraeus painted the sky with vibrant yellows, pinks, and oranges in a sunset to rival all others. It was too beautiful. Perseus kept his blank gaze settled on it alone, his hand still in Estelle’s. You and Jason sat rigid behind them as time ticked away. 

The moon rose expectantly to take its place as the sun started to hide under the horizon. The yellows and pinks made way for the dark blue of night creeping in. Only then did Perseus shift his gaze back to Estelle. “I’m ready now.”

A crease grew in your brow when Estelle nodded, understanding what you did not, and she stood up on the table to reach over Perseus’ head. With shaky hands she reached for his hat, glancing down at him, worrying her lip between her teeth.

All Perseus did was smile. “Merry Christmas.”

The little girl took in a wavering breath. “Merry Christmas.” And she removed the hat, lifting it off his head, and in an instant all hints of emotion left the snowman. Nothing changed at all, but each of you could see it; those buttons held life behind them no longer. 

You bit down hard on your lip. “How did you know that would work?”

She shrugged, setting the hat down on the snow. “I didn’t.”

The sound of footfalls on the snow had you turning around. Chiron approached, a sorry look in his eyes, and he stopped a few feet off. “Everyone has gathered around the tree.”

You took Estelle’s hand in yours, steeling yourself and offered her a smile that she slowly returned. Jason moved to walk at your side as you followed Chiron to the center of camp. The tree lit up most of camp, stretching high and out.

Campers were singing off key here and there. A pair of girls was caught under the mistletoe, one laughing awkwardly before the moon eyed one swooped in for a gentle peck on her lips. Gifts were being exchanged. Snow balls were thrown. A snowman was being built by some younger Hermes kids too.

“Hey!” Percy called out, cheeks flushed as he sipped on his apple cider. One arm was slung around his girlfriend who was talking in low voices with Thalia. The lot of your friends were gathered around one of the many little fires scattered around the lawn.

He offered you and Jason each a blue gingerbread man, grinning ear to ear. “Mom made ‘em.”

You looked around for Mrs. Blofis and found her at a nearby table, handing out marshmallows for roasting with Mr. Blofis at her side. Mr. Blofis wasn’t doing much handing out, instead in what seemed to be a deep conversation with Mr. D. The god of wine was gesturing wildly as he regaled some kind of story.

All was well. All was calm. You found it in yourself to actually smile. 

Guilt wasn’t very far, wondering truly what you had been thinking bringing a snowman to life, when a particularly harsh bout of wind blew all your hair into your face. You sputtered through a giggle and swiped your hair to the side, your voice faltering when you caught sight of a man standing on the outskirts of the bonfires and chatter.

It couldn’t be. You stepped away from Jason and the rest, approaching the stranger. He stood tall, with a suit that glittered like snow. Two purple wings arched from his shoulder blades. What could your father want with you on Christmas?

“Hi,” you said, not sure where to start.

He stirred like he was uncomfortable. “Yes, hello, daughter.”

You had the heart to grin. “Merry Christmas.”

Boreas nearly scoffed before he corrected himself with a nod. “You as well.”

The silence to follow was tense. You motioned with your hand vaguely. “Is there a reason you’re here?”

You weren’t sure how to feel about meeting your father. You’d imagined this moment countless times, but it all led up to this anticlimactic reveal that was more amusing than aweing. 

“There is,” he huffed. “I thought I would let you know your little magic act didn’t harm anything.”

“What do you mean?” you asked, heart dropping.

“I mean that the snowman is not dead,” Boreas informed you. “The snowman itself was never alive, I suppose. I’m impressed, I should say. You managed to catch a snow spirit and wrangle it into that snowman. Normally, snow spirits don’t get lives… You did a good thing, I suppose, giving that spirit one. He remembers it all. Perseus, as you called him, is living free and wild, as a snow spirit should be.”

You hadn’t realized your eyes were watering, relief coursing through you. “Oh, thanks gods. I’m not murderer.”

Boreas chuckled softly. “You’re not.” He averted his eyes, raising a hand and pausing, unsure, before he settled it on your shoulder and met your eyes. “I’m… proud of you. I don’t have many children. You’re certainly one I don’t regret.”

You blinked up at him, reaching to awkwardly pat his forearm. “Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded stiffly, backed away, and with a last Merry Christmas, he vanished in a flurry of snowflakes. One landed on your nose and gave you an ever rare shiver.

Jason’s arm wrapped around you, his warmth enveloping you like a nice blanket. “You good?”

Nodding, you leaned your head on his shoulder. “Very.”

Curfew was extended that night, much to the herpes disappointment. Treats and drinks were devoured by greedy children and finally, at the end of the night, Chiron gave the word and a stampede of kids ran to tear open the gifts they’d been eyeing for weeks. 

After the younger kids had grabbed theirs and the crowd died down, your group moved in to find the gifts with your names on them. Your dad gifted you a snowglobe of camp. You shook it up with a smile, not noticing your sweating boyfriend approach you from behind.

“Y/N?” You turned, smile widening. Jason only got more nervous. “Uhm… I…”

You set the snowglobe back in its box on the ground and stepped closer to him, taking his hands in your freezing ones. “Yeah?”

“I love you,” he blurted. “So much.”

Your grin grew painful with how big it was. “And I love you.”

Jason blushed and took a deep breath. “You’ve been with me through… everything. When I wasn’t sure who I was, when Hera manipulated me and Piper, through the war.” He was out of breath, only one thought on his mind: no words would ever be enough. “I’m so in love with you. I can’t explain how much. Just when I think about it I can’t breathe.” 

Your face had fallen into admiration. Jason’s thumb rubbed anxious lines on your knuckles. “I never want to spend a day without you. You deserve everything, I want to give it to you.”

“Jason…” Your voice was shaky, tapering off.

“Don’t worry,” he nearly whispered, moving to cup your cheek. “I’m not asking you to marry me. Not yet.” You giggled and he swore it was better than ambrosia. “I will though. I promise I will.”

You were too busy reaching to take his face in your hands to notice when he pulled something out of his pocket. You leaned forward to kiss the very life out of him, and he would very much have let you, but he drew you back with his hold on your jaw, chuckling when you frowned.

He held up a little velvet box between your bodies. Suddenly you weren’t so interested in kissing him, swiping the box from him with greedy hands and gleaming eyes. You popped the box open, admiring the pretty silver chain laid within. “Oh, it’s beautiful.”

“Here.” Jason turned you around and offered to clip it around your neck. He didn’t waste the opportunity, peppering kisses from the skin behind your ear down to your shoulder, relishing in the little quiver you gave in response. “Merry Christmas.”

Whirling back around, you jumped him, arms flinging around his neck as you crushed your lips to his. You pulled back for barely a second to mumble, “Merry Christmas” before your tongue pushed past his lips, your teeth catching his bottom lip.

“Woah! Woah! No PDA in my camp!” You groaned and ripped away from Jason, rolling your eyes as you cast Mr. D a glare over your shoulder. 

Jason wasn’t so cocky anymore, red from neck to nose. “Sorry!”

“I don’t get paid enough…”

You and your boyfriend locked eyes, breaking down into a round of laughter as the grumpy god stomped away. 

“Hey!” Piper jumped out of nowhere, Leo hot on her tail. Both were totally buzzed, and all you could do was laugh and wonder how on earth they’d snuck in alcohol. “Come sing carols, lovebirds!”

The pair of you followed the pair of them back to the little bonfire your friends had claimed. Fiddling with your necklace, you eyes scanned across them all to land on Jason, and a rush of adoration hit you like a freight train. You pecked his cheek and watched him stumble over a chuckle, returning a kiss to your hairline. 

Then, as you leaned your head on his shoulder, a snowflake crossed your eye. 

One by one, the sky became littered with flurries. Annabeth held up a hand as if to catch some. “Y/N, you’ve got to be tired by now. Take a rest.”

You shook you head slowly, confused. “This isn’t me.”

The winter wind kissed your cheek, and you were left at a loss. But Estelle—sweet Estelle, who sat between her brother and Annabeth—she knew. A little grin appeared on her face. “Goodbye, Perseus.”

[beanlot]

MISTRESS

sevika x maid!reader

at first, you were her maid. but master liked you just enough to make you her mistress.

word count: 4.0k

genre: smut

warnings: amab!sevika, age gap, sevika cheats on her wife, slight spanking, spit, vibrator use, master/servant relationship, breeding kink

────────────────

“what a gorgeous colour.” her fingers ironing the corners of her lips, mahogany lipstick cleansing from the cedar skin in superlative fashion. she was objectively sumptuous, a classy woman surrounded by old money and platinum basin sinks; an easy life enough that she didn’t even have to raise a finger to apply honeydew exfoliation masks to her glistening skin. “don’t you think?” she stares at you through the mirror, umber eyes fanned by silky lashes - lids glossed with everlasting lustre of golden butterscotch, tempted to believe you could see your reflection if stood close enough.

“yes, madam.” you nod, fingers clasped onto a hanger, vintage dress glittered with merlot gemstones fluorescent against the sapphire tiles of the floor. you weren’t lying, it was a gorgeous colour. and madam wasn’t particularly sinister against you, or even sinister at all..

“you filthy pig.”

“don’t you dare touch my antiques.”

“look at you, fix this messy hair. i will not have guests over whilst you look like a disgusting hooker.”

mostly.

“vika loves this colour.” she sighs, french-tipped nails tapping against the argyle jewellery around her neck. her scent of prevailing pumpkin spice suffocating you momentarily when she turns around, taking the hanger from your grip; you’ll watch as she lays the dress against her body, feminine curves of her hips accentuated through the garnet jewels as she subtly twirls around. she hum, lashes batting through the scrutiny before she shoves the hanger into your chest hurriedly. “be a dear for me and tighten the waist.”

and sure, you don’t expect the best of treatment regardless. you were on the back burner, disposable in every aspect with your dull shirt collar; onyx skirt tucking in your buttons and the driest of hands from the constant polishing. “yes ma-“ a shrill bark interrupts you, and it’s when you turn around that you see a woolly poodle, pastel frilly dress, wiggling through the door.

“ugh, pinkiebear! what are you doing, my baby snuffles?” and just like that, as madam scoops the pup into her arms, you’re left alone in the bathroom. moroccan rose handwash beside her gold-plaited cosmetics, pomegranate face serums and emerald earrings; you’d wondered what the oils would feel like on your fingertips, the creaminess against your skin soaking with pulchritude. it feels like bait when you see that one tub is already open, pale watermelon serum calling your fucking name - she won’t notice, there’s no way.

so you tenderly swab at the surface, the velvety touch on your skin.. it already makes you feel pretty, glammed up, like her. and the dysphoria only amplifies ironically when you massage the pearly ointment into your cheek, the winsome highlight when you turn your head not going unnoticed.

wine glass and plate in hand as you approach sevika’s master’s study, nudging the door with your shoulder. it was smoked salmon and caviar, and if you weren’t so fond of her, it would be rational to believe she was intentionally inflicting the purgatory of starvation onto you. but she was not resentful, her muffled tone of come in prompting you to amble inside; the air murky from her cigar smoke, illuminated by dim apricot from the scattered lamps. and she’s there, with every inhale, you can decipher the ocherous flame between her lips - her fingers clearing her desk when she sees the wine bottle tucked under your arm.

“thank you, darling.” she murmurs within the fever dream, fumes seeping through her lips to which she fans out when you’re beside her desk. it’s elixir to taste, and although it’s toxin on your tongue, it’s contradicting - plate and wine glass settled against the oak, careful to avoid her disarray of books and orderly inklings when you pour the currant. she examines this, raising an eyebrow before tapping the tobacco against an ashtray. “are you hungry?”

fuck, you have no idea.

“no, master.” you shake your head, because even though you could feel your organs internally booing inside from the withering, you were under an obligation of being polite. and hell, it was reasonable for her to concern herself with your wellbeing per se: she was older, much older; yet you merely took it as manners, sympathy that you weren’t born into such opulence. so when you finish pouring, tenderly placing the bottle beside master’s glass - it’s paralysis when her coercive words refrain you from leaving the room as you intended. “come here.” she instructs, virescent globes eclipsed with hues of oxblood when you maintain eye contact from your awkward distance. she’s manspreading, white button-up loose against her chest, and the uncertainty only amplifies when master’s tone becomes demanding. “come.. here.”

so you shuffle towards her, and you’re not sure if it’s the nicotine or the peril brunt of her influential stare, but your blood pressure raises when you stop - that maybe you’d said something wrong, gotten a wine she didn’t like, or you were vicariously responsible for the chef’s error. but the neurotic thoughts plummet when you see her slice an intricate cube of the salmon, fork held out to you with sincerity.

“try it, it’s good for you.” she advises, and you’re under automatism to obey - her fingers scraping against yours when you take the fork, examining the glassy block. you’re not sure what it’s seasoned with, only able to distinguish the honey glaze and sprinkle of pepper; you couldn’t even fucking describe what salmon tasted like, a luxury that your flimsy uniform never got to see up close. and you feel emotional when it finds itself between your teeth, erupting with foreign rich oils and glacé syrup.

you want to appreciate it, had you not interpreted the investigative glances she’s giving you. skeptical eyebrows dipping in, defining the droopiness of her lids and the eclipse of gunmetal in her narrowed pupils - they search your face, because there’s something about you that master just can’t pinpoint. “you’re glowing.” she mumbles, fingers branching out toward you and framing your jaw ever so tenderly; thumb stroking along the curves of your cheekbone, the familiar and velvety texture of your skin no stranger to master. “you’ve been using my wife’s stuff, haven’t you?”

great.

of course, how could you have been so recklessly fucking dense? you’d just swabbed a few thousands onto your face and expected that nobody would’ve been able to put two and two together, and now you’re stood here like a fucking embarrassment whilst her conquering globes assess you. master was going to obliterate you for even contemplating putting your filthy wilted fingers on her wife’s belongings, and you’re just waiting for her to call the chef over to slice you into little pepperonis and use your torso as a fucking piñata for her fancydancy din-

“looks good on you.” she mumbles, and the harmonising words nosedive into your stomach with more adamantine force than waiting for her to beat you to a pulp. her fingers streamlining down your jaw before she picks up her plate, ludic smirk concealing the mulberry on her lips as she offers her plate towards you. “don’t tell.”

you look back and forth, and it’s only when she nudges the porcelain into your stomach that you realise what she meant. she was only really interested in the wine, and within her hospitality, gave you something to eat for the night.

───────────

“your muscles are all contracting, just relax.”

“i’m trying..”

“you should really look into tai-chi, saves me hours of making these for you.

i’ll be back tomorrow,

ice or magnesium for any muscle pain,

is that a chip in the wall?

anyway, i’ll see you tomorrow, my lovely~.”

you’d been waiting outside her room for about forty minutes, folded blouse and dress shirts in hand; although you liked to consider yourself respectful of master’s private conversations, not even the bricky walls and thick interior of the hallways could muffle the massage therapist’s jarringly piercing voice - one that only amplifies when master’s door opens, a tiny woman pootling herself down the hall with a bowl of water, peppermint leaves floating within the misty pool.

it’s rosemary and eucalyptus when you inhale, frissons of sweltering air blossoming your way as the door closes over only slightly. but you’re prudent, you’re conditioned to be, waiting outside her door for her to have her few minutes of privacy - but she calls you in when she identifies your shadow against her marble tiles, eyes absentmindedly tracing the silhouette of your hips.

and when you walk in, nudging the door ever so slightly, she’s face-down on the master bed; surrounded by canary silk pillows and lime basil candles, her wine cellar visible from where you stand. you approach the palladium drawers, and whilst your job was plainsailing, the difficulty of having to avert your eyes from her bare back did it’s due diligence to make it just a little harder for you. but you stay silent nonetheless, the palatable glimmering against her burly shoulders, one that made you envy a massage therapist’s expertise as you organise her shirts.

“you have pain, master?” you mumble, clearing your throat when it starts to disintegrate at the mercy of her tensing shoulders, glorious muscle twitching. “my shoulders, darling. it’s not so bad.” she doesn’t move, and although you seem satisfied with the composed silence, the thought of leaving in it made your stomach sour.

“is there anything i can do?” you offer, graphite eyes piercing into your body when she turns her head against the pillow - you can tell she’s engrossed in those retrospective thoughts of hers by the way she’s zoning out, clouding globes that flutter over you before she pats the mattress.

“lay with me..” she mutters, black pepper fragrant when she inches away, leaving you a temptingly delectable space beside her. it feels wrong, and your ears can already feel the wrath of madam’s scream when she finds out you dared even the slightest courage to lay in her bed, beside her wife.

but master was at the top of the food chain.

so you reluctantly obey, not oblivious to the raw sensation of eagerness when her bare abdomen raises slightly from the mattress - she’s toned, noir curves that only excite the vim when you’re slithering into the space she’d left you. but it’s not enough to dilute your inhibitions, your body rigid when her fingers flutter against your waist; she notices this, intoxication when her whisper caresses against your ear. “relax, relax.” she whispers, the suggestive timbre diminishing you - she waits until you slump into the satin, plumose textures under your fingertips, before her arm cases over your waist and trails you against her bare chest. it’s morally profane, warmth from her breasts contagious on your spine, skin sweltering idyllically - kittenish and lewd and wow you’re getting horny.

it’s silent for a few minutes. but you feel dirty, her vanilla comfort something you ruined.

“you remind me of my wife when we first met.” the vanilla wisps against your jaw curdling into vulgarity when her fingers tenderly clutch at the hem of your skirt, and although one part of you feels like nothing more than a doll for her to use the one night her wife is out attending a dinner, another is relieved when the wintry air strikes your thighs.

“young,” her fingers lifting the skirt enough that her perverted eyes can search your hips, the way they embrace the black straps of your underwear.

“pretty,” her nails glissading against your inner thighs, forefinger sinking between them enough that they’re under automatism to separate. you try to convince yourself that it’s because you don’t want to get into trouble, disappoint that streak of high expectations you managed to leap over the past few weeks - but by the vim in your clit, it was disgustingly undeniable it was because fantasy was becoming reality.

“fertile.” she delicately taps your clothed clit, subtle sensitivity that already gets your hips rolling into her crude touch. her engagement ring flaring in your peripheral when her left hand slinks around your body, black opal glinting as her palm rests against your breasts. “look at me.” her lips tickling against your cheek as you turn to her, hues of predatory oxblood glossing over her lead pupils. she likes that she owns you, conditioned you to be her little pet, dominated your identity to nothing more than her servant.

so the overly obscene taste on her lips when she’d pressed her forehead against yours, skin searing with wealthy indecency was no shock. she was impulsive, lips against yours, unseemly sounds of anticipated smooches as you drink up the taste of peppermint. she wants to be delicate for you, but the instinct outlasting the grace when she hears you hum. you’re heedless of your sloppy grinding, shaky exhales which only worsen when she pulls away; her thumb draping your bottom lip down only slightly. jewels of her spit streamlining into your mouth, your tongue absorbing the droplets filthily. “pretty girl.” she swallows, eyes darting along your jaw, her spit slowly drizzling down your neck.

you want to tell her that this is wrong, that she’s a married woman, but the night already feels drilled into stone when her fingers manipulate the buttons on your chest, cleavage satisfying her sadistic eyes with every one coming undone. your shirt loosens, sinking down your back and accentuating the feminine enticement master was under whilst her fingers revel in the linen cotton of your bra, the straps cunningly draping off your shoulders. “aren’t you gorgeous, look at you.” she whispers, your breasts tingling when there’s nothing there to cover them anymore, her fingers folding your bra down to your stomach.

admiring the way your nipples harden under her fingertips, delicately pinching the responsive buds. you nod, because you expect her to want you to, flinching when you roll your hips against her sturdy thigh; thick imprint of her veiny cock paralysing you momentarily.

“lean over in that drawer.” she gestures to the bedside cabinet, and you’re sceptical when you lean over, your skirt hitching up ever so slightly. and if the humiliation of having your ass presented to her like a fucking showpiece wasn’t degrading enough, the barbaric strike of her palm against it was. you squeak, flinching necessarily - her palm easing the inflamed area intricately, before walloping back down onto your skin. you want to fucking weep, blinking through the blur of your tormented tears, opening the drawer to which a plaited vibrator lays.

“that’s the one.” she confirms, taking it from your fingers as you lay back into the mattress, ass ignited with scorching goosebumps from the brutish force behind her arms. you go to defend yourself, because honestly, you feel lower than the bottom of the food chain - you were no blossoming mighty oak, but rather a withering sunflower under her assertion.. but she knows what you’re about to say. “master, i haven’t do-“

“you’ll be fine, you’ll be fine. i’ll make you feel good.” she sits up, and although she intends to comfort you, it only intimidates you further when her tongue wets her lips; fingers slewing the fabric of your underwear to the side and leaving your slit prey to her predacious stare, only amplifying when she unveils how truly drenched your folds are. but she doesn’t say anything, only leaning over whilst a bullet of her spit seeps between her lips and missiles itself against your clit.

you already feel numb, the heavenly pressure of seventh heaven when you hear the whirring of her vibrator, your thighs quivering with the company of your stimulated whines when the tip purrs against your clitoral hood. “that’s it, atta girl.” she praises, her breasts pressing themselves against your bare spine when she situated herself beside you again. it’s nirvana, humping against the vibrator so primitively, erogenous arcady to hear your incessant whimpers echo throughout the room. you’re sweating by now, at peace with the fire and brimstone breeding on your skin - but you want more, your fingers grazing over the stiff imprint of her desperate cock.

her breath is jagged, submerging the vibrator harder onto your clit, your ankles starting to twitch at the susceptibility. you’re not sure if it’s enough to make you come just yet, but that thought deteriorates when her finger glissades down your slit and streams itself inside of your hole. “fuck.. you’ve made my cock all hard.” she sighs against your cheek, your walls greeting her indiscriminately; spasming with every hum against your clit. she’s testing the waters, fingertips taking a liking to the spongy textures when she tenderly twines it upwards, the pornographic desire in your clit to orgasm more reckless than ever. but you’re not the only one suffering, because sevika is finding that her cock is actually starting to fucking hurt from the distress of not being able to just have her way with you again and again and again.

but she’s patient, finger gliding itself in and out of you; assaulting that carnal pit in your walls as your thighs tremble as she fucks you with them. instinctive sobs leaving your throat unmonitored, and honestly, you wouldn’t be able to describe it even if given a fucking thesaurus - sneezelike corkscrew ballooning itself inside your hips when she hooks another finger inside, arousing squelching with every hammer against your folds. “please..” you whisper, unbeknownst to the soreness in your fingers as they lock, clenching tightly on her belt.

and when she’s satisfied with how vulnerable you are under her, the sensitivity just right, she’ll admire the quavering of your hips and the tightening of your thighs before dragging the vibrator away from your clit. “huh?” you squeak, cunt clenching around her fingers at the sudden loss of her manipulation. you’re about to complain, wail about how much of a fucking tease she is, but she relieves the anguish by leaning over your thighs; her tongue replacing the device and doing its dirty work when it swipes over your hood, delving between your folds and schemingly flicking over your erect bud.

just like that, you’re shaking again, thigh hoisting itself up and planting itself on her bare, burly shoulder. your mewls of master twirling repeatedly in a rabbit hole of ecstasy when her damp lips envelop your clit and suck with cruelty, fingers maintaining their agonising operation; battering into you with precision and artsy discipline, like she’s done this too many times before.

but it’s dispiriting for her, because she wants to be a lovemaker for you, wants to appreciate you for the fine young woman you are - yet the throbbing in her cock conquers that yearning, and it’s then that she pulls away with such self-hatred. “are you gonna let me put my cock inside your cunt, darling?” she exhales, fingers slewing out of your brimming hole, selfishly drizzling your discharge over the mattress and coating over the sable leather of her belt when she goes to unbuckle it.

“yes. yes, master.” you comply, ultramarine daze when you blink; pixels of orchid blooming in your vision when you even did as much as look down to her belt. fingers tackling the every latch, submerging as they frame her veiny shaft - cock springing out and admittedly, inciting nothing more than disruptive thoughts of am i going to fucking live to see tomorrow after this.

she’s thick, and monumental.. fucking handcrafted by gods with such clarity. enough that all of that internal envy becomes more.. not envy, because you know this is gonna really fucking hurt, and you’re not liking how much she exceeds your expectations at the expense of what’s gonna happen to your poor fucking vagina. “do you still want this?” she murmurs when she notices the hues of uncertainty in your eyes, superficial doubt that she interprets easily - it’s an ego boost, artificial concern to conceal her everlasting inclination to ruin you. but you blink at her, flickering between her eyes and the slightly palatable mulberry tip of her cock, before you nod.

it would be cruel for her to nosedive straight into you, and even she knows this, her tip glissading through your folds and lubricated with your slick. she’s slightly sensitive, the warmth of your cunt only amplifying the immense throbbing, but she’s consistent this time - your clit rubbing against her head only instantaneously as she accustoms herself with your textures.

“this might hurt, my love, just a little.” she whispers against your jaw, fingers grappling at your hips as her own angles forward, tip insidious as it skims into your walls; your body merely a betrayal of your conscience when your walls welcome her. but it’s smooth, as she pushes herself in with such fucking entitlement, your insipid moisture coating her cock.

because she owned you, every little fragment.

her mindless breaths against your bare shoulder, the subtle rocks in her hips purely intuition. she hasn’t felt this in years, the vehemence of her girth wrapped around such a fine woman, and it motivates the urge for her to start thrusting your hips back into her. your whimpering sobs with every cudgel of her skin against yours, the indignity of her abdomen pounding against your spine and the raunchy heat of her cock assaulting your cunt.

influx of adrenaline when she hears you mewl, her sloppy kisses on your nape sultry and blistering. “i know, i know it feels good..” she sighs, both hands clenching at your thighs, your hips, your waist- anything to feel herself become adaptable inside of you, anything to get a taste of the rapture inside of herself.

“pretty.. pretty girl..” her muffled groan echoing in your ears as she gets herself off into you. she was dictating your self-worth, dictating your fucking life.. and although some of it felt as if it was just pulling the pieces together, another felt it all shatter into irreversible ruins as her left hand compressed itself onto your clit; engagement ring ever so slightly abrading itself against your wet folds.

and that’s when you feel it.

the sheer pinnacles of rhapsody so distinct as her fingers roll your clit in circular motions superlatively, cock swollen and erect. “please.. please..” you sigh, the jagged timbre exposing how receptive your bundles of nerves were; fingertips touching the very eminent icicles of orgasm when she speaks her foul language in your ears.

“i’m gonna come inside you, do you want that?”

“uh huh.”

“gonna make you the mother of my kids..”

“mhm-hm, master please..”

and then it erupts inside, whirlwind of frenzy that you could only compare to what felt like being edged for hours. your clit numb and jaded, the overstimulation aggravating as your walls pulse around her cock so tightly that she doesn’t even need to continue pummelling into you. conclusively, you were a mess - her palm sealing itself over your lips to repress the uncontrollable cry, tone it down ever so slightly, arms that confine your body as you tremble and do your upmost fucking best to recover.

and after a few minutes of her rocking a few inches back and forth into you, the dishevelled grunt and adhesion of her bangs against your cheek; quivering fingers against your lips and hips that airbrush themselves to divinity let you know that she’s just came.

and something feels off, seriously off. so full and saturated, and it’s when her cock slews itself out of you that you know there’s no way you’re the only one behind all the mess; looking between your legs and flinching at the pearly cream drizzling out of your hole, thick and balmy. your juices meshing together in such harmony that you feel disgust, and yet hypnosis. because she never wanted a maid,

she wanted a mistress.

[agirlcandream84]

Back to You | Frank Castle One Shot

Summary: I just had this moment in my head of Frank being hit with the realization that he has to have you and it all happening in a burst of energy and passion. And then it... went places.

Frank Castle x Reader (you)

Word Count: 1845

Warnings: 18+ only, Minors DNI. Smut, mention of blood, P in V

Frank enters the diner, his nostrils flare as he swipes a hand down his face in agitation.

"F-frank...? You ok?" you stammer perplexedly, concern furrowing your brow. You glance sideways out the window, certain Frank had spotted something sinister.

"Yeah. Yeah I'm alright sweetheart," he said, the words coming out in a huff as his body is propelled forward by rage. No, not rage. Not anger. Not agitation. Fervor? Ardor? Vehemence? Some unidentifiable intensity that was hurdling toward you.

He swipes a chair out of the way, its legs knocked from beneath it as it clatters to the floor. Your eyes flick to the spot as you gasp, your hand landing on your heart in a surprise.

"Frank what's--" you start but you're stopped by Frank's lips crashing into yours. His hand snakes behind your back and his powerful thigh wedges between your legs as you stumble back four steps, held upright by Frank, as you feel your body melt into his strength. His other hand cradles your head, your hair cascading over his scarred knuckles as his tongue plunders your mouth, his nose taking big hulking breaths as if he's been starved for air.

Your shock gives way to euphoria. You had yearned for Frank's affections since you were introduced to Frank's existence-- his bulky form stuffed in a cracking vinyl booth nearly six months ago, gruffly ordering a black coffee. It was his eyes, of course. Their molten intensity had you terrified and intrigued, like two magnetic poles inside your brain screaming at you to run for life and cling to him all at once. You had clung to him.

Your affections were unrequited, namely because you didn't express them, until you expressed them so throughly one drunken night after the diner had closed that Frank had no choice but to gently deny your sloppy advance at a kiss. He had done the gentlemanly thing and walked you home, your steps uneven and his arm woven behind you to keep you upright, even going so far as to tuck you into bed and leave a glass of water and two aspirin on your bedside table. You weren't sure which was worse, your shame the next morning or your hangover.

You were certain you felt something with Frank but after the disastrous confession, you had convinced yourself you were imagining his affection-- or misreading and conflating his kindness for something more. Maybe the way he put his hand on the small of your back and asked in hushed tones "you alright?" after a rude customer laid into you was just who he was and had nothing to do with what you meant to him. Maybe the way he stayed til closing and waited until you locked up to walk you home has just the way he was raised. Maybe the way he jumped to block you from a fight in the early morning hours at the diner had nothing to do with you at all.

Mercifully, Frank had been distant since then to spare your feelings. Your shifts had become dull and devoid. You imagined you saw him through the filmy window of the diner, peering in from across the street. A figment of your mind to make his distance more palatable. Every night you imagined him as your fingers attempted to pleasure you in the way you wished Frank would. It was for the best, at least that's what you told yourself. Despite six months of talking, you seemed to still know little about him. You didn't need to be tangled up with mysterious men.

Until three nights ago. Frank had limped into the diner after you had flicked off the "Open" sign and started running the hot water to mop. You had heard shuffling and shouted "We're closed!" over your shoulder as you scrubbed the everlasting grime off the formica.

"S'me sweetheart," he mumbled and you spun on your heel to find him hunched and bloody. All at once it had occurred to you how little you know about his private life. You had a thousand questions but the only one that mattered was "are you ok?' and the answer was yes, eventually. You had tended to his wounds and chosen not to ask what happened, trusting the explanation would come later if he wanted it to.

You asked him if he needed a place to stay and while you suspected the answer was yes, the answer answer you got was "Nah. S'alright. Won't let you get you mixed up in this," the last sentence more of a mumble to himself than a statement to you. And that was the last you saw him until the moment he knocked a chair to the floor just to get his hands on you.

His steps keep barreling forward until your back slams into the wall with the corkboard, papers flying off as Frank lifts your legs to wrap around his waist and pins you to the wall with the weight of himself. The air is squeezed from your lungs until all you're consuming is Frank.

"Frank," you huff, your hands landing either side of his gruff face. For a moment, he doesn't stop his consumption until you manage to mumble his name again, "Frank please," as your chest heaves and you feel your nipples begin to pebble.

"I'm sorry sweetheart. So sorry," he says between kisses, now trailing down your neck to the swell of your breasts. " I'm fuckin' idiot, " he mumbles to himself, his hand taking a generous handful of your breast as your head falls back against the corkboard.

"Frank," you huff out, growing more distracted by the moment, "about what? sorry about what?" you ask, redirecting his face to meet yours, eye to eye. His eyes are frantic and blown with lust, scanning your face.

"Not doing this a long time ago honey," he replies, "I'm so fucking sorry. Fuck, I want you. Every part of you," he finishes before locking you in another kiss, this one igniting you with an electricity you'd never felt before. This was a dream, you were certain of it, and so you behave as if you'll wake at any moment. Your arms wrap around Frank's neck in a vice grip and your ankles lock behind his back so Frank's hands are free to explore your body as you remain pressed to the wall.

At the first sound of your whimper Frank swiftly tears your shirt over your head, muttering "fuck" at the site of you in a bra, before pulling the straps off your shoulders and scooping your breasts out of their confines. He wastes no time latching his mouth to your hardened nipple and you nearly sob at the sensation.

You run your hands through his mess of hair and manage to whimper, "Frank, fuck me. Please Frank," the words nearly mortifying in their bald, desperate desire.

At your words Frank pauses to meet your eyes again, desire and gratitude painted on his face. "You're gonna tell me if I'm hurtin' you sweetheart," a command and a question at once. You nod, your brain screaming for him to continue.

"I need to hear it honey," he says, his hands landing on either side of your face.

You nod again, adding "Yes Frank. You won't hurt me. Please," you assure him, hungry to be full of him. At your permission, his hands land on your thighs and he guides your skirt up to sit at your waist. With your form pinned to the wall, he reaches below you to unzip his pants and free his shaft, the tip of it nudging your clothed entrance. Frank reaches between your thighs to your wet heat and tenderly guides your panties aside to allow his fingers to glide through your soaked petals.

You whimper at the sensation, feeling your nub throbbing as you bury your head in the crook of his neck.

"Look at me honey," he gently commands and you obey, lifting your head to find his eyes. "I wanna see that gorgeous face. Let me see you feel good," he coos.

You blush at his request, heat rushing to your cheeks. You feel him guide his cock to your entrance, sensing his size without even seeing it. He pushes into you slowly, the sting of him immediate. You hiss at the stretch and clamp your eyes shut.

"You tell me if I need to stop baby," he mutters quietly, his restraint evident. You shake your head no-- don't stop, not now, not ever. Keep me this way for life.

He continues, the length and girth of him applying immense pressure to your core. Without realizing, you've begun taking slow deep breaths, accommodating to the size of him.

"That's it honey. Almost there, you're takin' me so well," he grunts, assuring you. You finally feel him seat the base of his cock firmly against your entrance before he begins slow, measured thrusts into you. With every pump you're driven up the wall, your breasts bouncing gently and your hair splayed against the wall.

"Jesus fucking Christ honey," he mumbles at the sight of you and the grip of your walls. Your hands land on his broad shoulders, your nails digging into his back. You keep this pace for another minute before the coil starts to wind in your belly. The steely length of his shaft drags against the swollen pinkness of your nub with every thrust, drawing you closer to explosive bliss every second.

"F-frank I'm gonna cum," you manage to sputter, the sensation nearly unbearable.

"Fuck honey, I got you," he says tenderly, one arm looping under your ass to carry the weight of you as collapse the whole weight of your form onto him, shuddering as you're washed with a fiery bliss that renders you weak and trembling. As the aftershocks grip your body, Franks smooths his calloused hand over your hair, murmuring "Shhh, shhh, that's it sweetheart."

Frank feels your exhausted weakness and makes long slow thrusts, nearly existing your core before driving back in. Your whines marry with his grunts as he meets his own completion, his sticky pleasure coating your walls. You both pant at the effort, your foreheads pressed together while Frank's girth is still buried inside you.

He gingerly lifts you from the wall and places you on the nearest table, slowly pulling his length from you and and hissing at the site of his seed at your entrance. He fixes your panties and puts his hands in the pit of your arms to lift you to stand from the table.

His hands land on your hips and you lace your arms around his torso to settle into a quiet, comfortable embrace. He places his chin on the top of your head and talks into the quiet diner, "Sweetheart I... turning you down that day, I... " he stumbles.

"Just promise to stay," you ask, leaving the past for another time.

"I promise. I promise sweetheart," he assures you with conviction.

And despite a thousand reasons not to, you believe him.

[sin-djarin]

not in rivers, but in drops

Pairing: Joel Miller x gn!reader

Rating: M. MDNI. This blog and its contents are 18+.

Word Count: 1.1k

Summary: Joel comes home.

Warnings: Post outbreak, established relationship, mentions of canon typical violence and experiences, mentions of anxiety, no physical description of reader, no dialogue, no use of y/n.

A/N: I don't know what to tell you, apparently I wrote this in May and have no recollection of it! Enjoy!

The rain pelts against the panes of glass, washing the day’s dust that had settled away. The full moon that beams into your bedroom is the only light source. You hadn’t bothered to close the curtains. Instead, you chose to curl up into the fetal position under the blanket to stare at the droplets making their way down to the window. It’s grounding - a reminder that the earth was still spinning on its axis even with runners and clickers feasting on its crust. And its inhabitants.

You’re not sure how long you watch for, but it’s long enough that the moon has moved from one side of the pane to the other. A key turns in the lock and the heavy front door opens and slams shut. It’s soon followed by the twisting of the multiple locks on the inside. You hear the familiar noise of a backpack being shrugged off and placed by the stairs. A heavy jacket bound to be made heavier by the rain that battered it gets hung at the bottom of the banister and the bang of boots hitting the skirting come after. One. And then the other.

You know what stage of his journey he’s on as he makes his way up the carpeted stairs by the difference in the pitch of the creak each wooden step makes under his footing. All of them stop screeching when he reaches the top and heads for the bathroom.

The hinge of the bedroom door screams for oil as it opens and closes behind him. Still tucked up into yourself looking at the rain, you’ve come to know his routine so well that you don’t need to watch to know exactly what he’s doing and a smile creeps across your lips.

The click of the light in the bathroom is next, followed by the first splash of water from the faucet hitting the white ceramic sink. Joel never allows himself to cross the threshold of the bedroom covered in the day’s grit, refuses to taint a sacred space you've created.

A wall divides you both, but you know he’ll drench his cold, scarred hands in warm water and soap, scrubbing off the dirt, grease, and gunpowder. The patter of the running water stops and the tap squeaks as it’s turned to close. A moment passes before the light switch clicks again in the opposite direction.

Feet pad towards the bed you’re in and then stop. One by one, thick fingers push the plastic buttons of his shirt through the holes and the worn material drops to the floor. He grunts at the everlasting ache that plagues his shoulders as they squeeze together for him to pull his undershirt over his head. There had been some nights that if you listened close enough, you could hear the fibres of it snapping from the strength in his arms. But tonight he's gentle with it as he removes it from his torso.

He continues his undressing, tugging at the end of his leather belt, popping open the clasp and snaking it from around his hips, over the curling waistband of his dark jeans that will get swept down his weary legs next. The tarnished metal buckle clinks when it hits the ground, accompanying the rest of his clothes.

The edge of the mattress dips under his weight when he finally sits on the edge. A heavy sigh leaves his lungs and escapes through cold, puffed out cheeks. His fingernails scratch his scalp and the bones in his neck crack as he rotates his head to try and shirk off the day.

Eventually he falls backwards to lay beside you with a groan as individual vertebrae adjusts themselves to being horizontal for the first time since early morning.

The tension he’s carried around in his muscles begins to leave, though the movements he makes in an effort to get comfortable reverberate from the pillow underneath his head over to yours and into your ears. He never expects you to be awake. He never wants you to be awake. Some evenings you stay in whatever position you were lying in in an attempt to fool him that you don’t worry yourself until he comes home.

There are nights when he’s not here that you’re held captive by your mind and memories, when it’s hard to remember when it wasn’t so dark. Having been in constant fear of what might lie around the next corner for so long, they’re feelings that you can’t just abandon. Things you thought beautiful are now ripe with decay and desolation. The sun you once basked under is now covered by a shade. One wrong move and you could find yourself beneath the mire of fields that were green and golden.

When his breathing evens out, you unravel yourself from the sheets he lays on top of to look at him and his brown eyes meet yours. They’re tired but warm despite the chill outside. Neither of you were sure how you this began. Two lonely people in a lonely place. Two unexpecting people that now, always had to expect the unexpected. But he was the one that put a hand over yours in a time when you had no one else left to ask.

You prop yourself up on an elbow to get a better view because one day can change everything - one day had changed everything.

His curls are still damp from the rain he walked home in, and moonlight bounces off the silver that streaks through them. His eyelids are heavy and begging for rest. Droplets of water still cling to his neck from the washcloth he ran over it after washing his hands.

Your other hand reaches up to touch his stubbled cheek that was still warming up from the elements. A sigh leaves his nose and his brow relaxes under your touch. It continues to travel down over his neck, wiping away the last of the water, to brush over the small patches of hair then over the skin that bore the scars, scrapes and scratches of all of this.

He brings his hand up that had rested on his stomach up and it finds the nape of your neck to cradle. His thumb traces over your jawline. Its skin is rough and calloused but welcome. His eyes soften but you know he’s battling between being thrilled you’re awake and being furious you’re not on your second dream.

Regardless, he mirrors back the smile that's widening across your face from his return home. His hand on your neck coaxes you down to him for a kiss on his bitten lips while your palm remains on his chest absorbing the rhythm of his slowing heartbeat.

For all the nights you both endured, shivering and lost, alone and terrified, it’s a small miracle to be granted these tiny moments of salvation together. And they come not in rivers, but in drops.

[scapingthebottomofthebarrel]

Everlasting

“Well I’ll be damned! Are those the Tucks?” You call out. Jesse is the first to react and immediately perks up and whips around to find you.

“Y/N!” He excitedly runs to you quickly picking you up and spinning you around as the rest of the Tucks make their way over more calmly. “What are you doing here?”

“I just settled in a few blocks away” his smile grows even more. “No way!” You gasp and he nods.

“Yup! I just signed the papers for my house a few blocks away.” You’re overwhelmed with joy as it sinks in that you’ll be living in the same town as your best friend again for the first time in at least a century. You had met the Tucks when they first moved out east as your family had been living in Treegap for a while. You were wondering through the woods when you ran into them and ended up spending the whole day with them immediately becoming attached at the hip with Jesse. You also drank from the stream with them and lived with them for a bit after you all realized you weren’t aging and your family threw you out.

“How are you dear?” Mae asks once Jesse releases you.

“Well now that I know I’ll be living in the same town as my best friend I’m fantastic!” You answer enthusiastically. You hug Angus and Mae and wave awkwardly at Miles. You had become very close with him for a few decades after his wife left and took their son with her, but then one day he got very cold towards you and that was the end of that.

“Address?” Jesse suddenly

“Oh god I should really know this off the top of my head. Uh...oh! The street is called Messinger. I’m like the third house down on the right.”

“Well hello there neighbor” He smirks.

“So you guys are coming over for dinner right? How long are you all gonna be in town?”

“We’re staying for about three weeks.” Mae says after counting on her fingers for a moment. You all talk a bit more before you continue on your way to the grocery store and they head back to their cars that are jam packed with Jesse's things.

~

You just about jump out of your skin when you enter your kitchen after going to get some flowers for your garden a few days later and see Jesse eating some grapes from your fruit bowl. “You know y/n, this isn’t the 1800’s anymore. You can’t just leave your door unlocked.” You roll your eyes at him.

“You guys still coming to dinner tonight?” You ask as you set down the flowers on the island where Jesse sits and wash the dirt off your hands.

“That’s exactly why I’m here” You nod prompting him to continue. “Miles is refusing to come” You’d be lying if you said that didn’t hurt. A lot.

“Oh.” You pause for a moment unsure if you should ask, but ultimately decide you need to know if you’re going to be living next to Jesse for the foreseeable future and spending time with his family again. “I know you guys are close…” You say slowly and it’s Jesse’s turn to nod. “So you have to know what I did. Why does he hate me?” Jesse frowns.

“He doesn’t hate you.” You give him a disbelieving look. “He’s just dumb” You can’t help but laugh at this.

“Then what is it?”

“Wow guess you’re not the brightest either.”

“Jesse!” You swat him with a dish towel.

“Sorry sorry” He chuckles trying to shield himself with his arms. “Look I’ll try and send him over and you guys can talk yeah?” You nod nervously. Jesse hugs you before making his way back to his house.

~

You’re nearly scared to death again two hours later while trying to put a cake in the oven when someone clears their throat causing you to burn your hand. You let loose a string of obscenities as you turn around. Miles rushes over to you and carefully takes your hand in his and looks at it

“Jesse’s right I need to start locking my door” You mutter once it’s decided you won’t lose your hand. Miles barley cracks a smile.

“How are you?” He asks. You shrug and shut the oven door once the cake’s safely in there.

“Jesse told me you’re not coming to dinner”

“Oh, yeah. I just-I know it’s been a while but seeing you again made it awkward all over again.” You look at him confused and move to sit at the kitchen table motioning for him to sit also.

“What are you talking about?”

“Come on y/n” He sighs dragging a hand down his face.

“What? You’re the one being cryptic.” A few moments pass before he realizes that you’re being serious.

“I can’t believe you.”

“Miles” You sigh starting to get frustrated.

“I told you I love you and you didn’t even acknowledge it!” He finally shouts. “I was heartbroken and you pieced me back together and I fell in love with you. Then, when I finally built up the courage to tell you, you didn’t even react!” You hadn’t seen him this torn up since his wife left with Thomas. “I’m so stupidly in love with you and I thought things would be okay again. That since we’re in the same boat maybe it would work out this time. I spent days on that letter only to never get a response.” You try to find something to say, but it’s suddenly as if you’ve forgotten every word you know.

“I don’t remember getting a letter” is what finally gets out and you mentally slap yourself. ‘I mean I uh-what? When did this happen? Because I think I would remember the guy I’m stupidly in love with telling me that. You were always saying you never wanted a relationship again”

“It’s not my fault you’re perfect.” He mutters.

“Miles…” You trail off moving to kneel beside him. It silent for a bit before you speak again. “What happened was an awful misunderstanding that has wasted enough of our time together. I hate that there was a time where you thought I didn’t love you back, but that doesn’t have to matter now” He looks at you like he doesn’t want to believe you. You simply smile encouragingly. “I mean we are in the same boat after all and forever can get awfully lonely” He slowly starts to smile and lean in.

“My babies are in love!” Jesse sobs happily effectively ruining the moment.

“Jesse!” Miles says causing Jesse to do the smart thing and book it. “I’m going to go kill him” He says while shaking his head before jumping up from his seat and turning to chase after Jesse.

Before he can take off you grab his hand pulling him back to you and kiss him savoring the feeling that you know you’ll never get tired of. “Go easy on him” you sigh when you pull away. Miles pulls you back in for another kiss before rolling up his sleeves as he makes his way over to the door.

“No promises” He chuckles before sprinting down your front steps yelling after Jesse.

[sprout-fics]

@sliverwolf20 who requested: Aftermath, "I belong to you. Only you... I'll always be yours. No matter what.", Price or Alejandro x reader

The soft, dove gray light of morning filters through the tall windows of your chambers, carrying with it the promise of hours ticking down until your inevitable fate.

The maids around you busy themselves quietly, silent just as you are standing before the ornate silver mirror in the corner of your room. You can hear them talking quietly as they busy themselves fetching pins, jewelry, offering woeful, hushed remarks to each other. You stand still as a statue, observing yourself in the mirror, taking in the red rimmed eyes and dark bags that speak of a night spent restlessly weeping into your pillow.

The wedding dress is a beautiful thing.

You’ve dreamt of this day for so long, told yourself that the day would ring with church bells and heavenly choirs, flowers thrown upon you and your beloved with well wishes meant for eternity. It should be a time of joy and peace, but now the solemn gray sky seems to mirror the interior of your heart.

The war is over, you’ve been told. This marriage to a man you don’t know, kind though he may be, will guarantee peace for a generation. You’ve known since long ago it was your destiny to be used as this- an instrument of alliances and trust, even though your heart will forever remain elsewhere. 

With the final battle, you’d waited by the castle gates for days, hoping and praying that each knight that rode home would be your beloved. Yet as the days passed, and the riders trickled down to few, your hope began to wane with the slow dawning of grief. The man you loved, the man who had kissed you gently and spoken utter adorations, had tucked your handkerchief against his breastplate and told you he’d return victoriously, had yet to return. Now, you realize he never will. Instead, you will be wed to a stranger for the promise of everlasting peace, and in the shadow of his memory you will forever grieve the beloved you have lost.

The veil settles ethereal over your face, and it manages to at least hide the brimming tears in your eyes. The maids say nothing, for they too know of your loss. You hear them sniffle and hide their swimming gazes away from you, but they can offer no words of comfort- for they know just how much you and the man who has been taken from you were meant to be. 

The church bells ring solemnly on the other side of the castle, signaling the hour. 

“It’s time, my lady.” One of your handmaidens whispers to you, and you nod mutely, tearing your eyes from your reflection. 

“Just a few moments.” You whisper to her, gently squeezing her hand when she offers it. “I wish to be alone.”

She nods, eyes downcast, and withdraws with the other maids. You’re left alone, staring at your beautiful reflection, and wishing it was any other day than this. 

You dreamed of wearing this dress for him, of taking his hand at the altar and for him to lift the veil from your face to kiss you softly. You dreamed last night, in your fitful slumber, of his wolf-ish smile and sparkling gaze. Even now, you think about his calloused hands and daring gaze that has forsaken death many times over. Your thoughts whisper his name for you- mi vida, corazón, cariño, amor, and you try to remember his breath on your skin as you lay bare against him in your bed.

The door opens.

“Please.” You whisper, voice raw. “Just a little longer.”

A pause.

“I thought perhaps you’d be pleased to see me, mi reina.”

When you turn, the tears are already streaming down your cheeks.

“Ale.” You whisper, scarcely breathing.

Your beloved knight smiles at you, weary but adoring, and wastes no time in crossing the room in several broad strides before lifting your veil and taking you to his lips. You taste your own tears there, a sobbing, almost hysterical sound bubbling up your throat as his lips find yours, your cheeks, your brimming eyes, peppering you in blessings as he coos adorations against your skin. 

“I thought-” You hiccup, clutching at his stained armor, caring not for the way the blood that isn’t his drips onto your pale dress. “I thought-”

He hushes you with another kiss, tucks you to his chest as you cry, rocking back and forth on his feet as he presses his nose into your hair. You whisper his name in a litany, breathing in the scent of leftover blood from his enemies and the sweat and grime of battle. 

“You really think I’d leave you so soon?” He asks, pulling back to wipe a gloved thumb across your cheek, and despite his grin you see his eyes are swimming with emotion. “Especially when some other man is here to take you from me?”

You sniffle, draw in a trembling breath, lean your face into his palm where it rests against your skin. "I belong to you. Only you... I'll always be yours. No matter what." You tell him in a gasp, words tumbling forth, gripping at him so severely you wonder if it would almost wound him. 

“I never thought for a moment otherwise, mi vida.” He rasps in Spanish, kissing you with such passion it steals the air from your lungs. “Peace or war, I will always come home to you.”

When the church bells toll once more, and you fall into his embrace, it feels like a vow.

[star-girl69]

Everlasting

Natalie Scatorccio x Fem!Reader

—-

sypnosis: It all feels like it will never end in the wilderness. The cold, the hunger, the pain, the longing. Natalie spends every night dreaming of you, waiting for you, even though she knows you won’t come back. She almost kills herself to bring you back. Doomcoming took you from her, took everything from her. And when you do appear in the doorway, brown blanket over your shoulders, dress ripped, there is something else that will never end. Her guilt.

a/n: ending SUCKS, this is so omg, i hope you all enjoy!!

warnings: mentions of starvation, cannibalism and hypothermia, mentions of injury, swearing, off-canon, tell me if i missed anything!!

—-

Natalie had new routines. She used to fall asleep in the corner of the cabin, her arm around you, the rhythmic fall and rise of your breath against her.

Now, the flickering fire burns into her vision, blinding her, because anything is better than remembering you’re not there.

The other day she heard one of the other girls recounting how much fun getting dressed up for Doomcoming was. She felt sick to her stomach, because before darkness fell- it was fun. She had fun with you, and then as soon as darkness fell, you slipped from her fingertips like water.

And no matter how long and hard she searched for you, killing herself to be with you again, she never saw you again.

And at night, she dreamt of you, still in your pretty dress, your skin bright and clear, and you were wearing a halo like an angel. And she knew what it meant, she knew, and every night you would ask her if the two of you were out of the woods yet. And every night she couldn’t answer.

She knew what her dreams meant, she knew what the empty forests meant, she knew what her empty, cold hands meant- she knew it all and she didn’t want to believe it. But the colder it got, the more she couldn’t force herself to not believe.

She had always been practical. She had always resisted Lottie and her supernatural thoughts. But if she had just one glimmer of something real and tangible, a piece of your clothes, a speck of your dark eyeshadow from that night, the imprint of your lipstick on some dark tree, she would throw everything away for one chance.

So, she sits in front of the fire each night, tells herself it’s too late to go outside right now, that it would be useless, and she sits and she waits and she knows it will never come. You will never come.

She hears the rushed footsteps on the porch, like a flurry of snow, too many, too much, but she’s so tired she can’t care. Who even went out? Taissa, she thinks? Van too?

She’s selfish and horrible, but it’s hard to care about anyone else other than you.

The door slams open and shut quickly, and she faintly figures that another storm must have started and whoever it is ran in quick.

Someone breathes out your name.

She tears her eyes away from the fire, towards Melissa and Gen, almost angry that someone would say your name knowing that she lost you, you’re lost, and she misses you so much it makes her feel like she’s going to throw up.

But they are staring straight past her and towards the door. And she hears breaths, breaths she knows from nights spent with you tucked into her.

And she gets her hopes up.

She turns her head, grateful for her headband, because she doesn’t want to spend more time not looking at you when she could be staring at you.

Cold and half-blue, staring around at everyone like a tiny deer or some shit, scared, looking for something, someone-

“Y/N.”

And Natalie’s voice doesn’t feel like her own, and she curses the tears in her eyes making her vision blurry, and she doesn’t know who moves first, but you push away from Van and Tai and she stands up and practically trips over the small metal cups someone left over the floor.

But she doesn’t feel anything, her heart doesn’t even beat, not until she can wrap her arms around you and feel the rise and fall of your chest against her, feel your tears run down her neck, that she realizes her heart hasn’t even beaten since she lost you.

“I’m sorry,” she gasps, running her hand over your knotted hair, “Oh, God, I’m so sorry, I’m so…”

And it’s the first thing she really says to you after all this time.

—-

Eventually, someone had enough common sense to put a scratchy brown blanket over your shoulders, and Natalie spent every second adjusting it. After your tears had dried, after she had let herself truly believe that you were here, that’s when it had sunk in.

A different kind of cold in her, not like the placebo shivers she got whenever she looked at your tinged-blue skin, something like a straight drop of ice. Starting in her heart and spiraling outward like weeds growing in between her organs. She had felt guilt all her life, and she was no stranger to it, but she didn’t know she could feel this much all at once.

Even in here, in front of the fire with her, you still shivered every few seconds. And like her, you stared into it, let it blind you, and she let your beauty blind her. Even like this, starving and half-frozen, a shallow part of her still noticed that you were like the fire you looked into. There was still something in your eyes, some small ember, and she would hold onto that and urge it up into a wildfire for the rest of her life.

She has long since pressed her hands to your cold face and almost cried, quickly burying her face into your neck before she pulled back, asking one of the girls, no one in particular, to help start a bath for you.

Van crouches down in front of you.

“Y/N? Where were you? Did you find somewhere?”

And a part of her is curious too, so she just sits by. You’re facing the fire, in between her legs, and she sits awkwardly to the side of you- your legs strung over one of hers. She runs her hands over you, fixes the blanket, tries to softly detangle the knots in your hair. You barely move, you don’t speak, and it almost feels like she’s playing with a doll.

But she sees your chest and stomach rise and fall, and in this moment that movement just feels so everlasting. She’s hyper aware of this entire moment. She feels everything. She feels it so much.

You don’t even acknowledge Van, and she bites her lip, looking around. She sighs softly.

“Y/N, c’mon, just tell us. Did you find another cabin? Uh… a-a cave, or something?”

You still don’t answer. You still don’t even notice she’s there, but you shuffle closer to Natalie, a slight movement- only one she can feel.

She runs her thumb along your jawline.

“That’s enough,” she whispers. “She’s tired. No… no questions, nothing.”

She can feel everyone’s harsh glare on her, but she doesn’t care. Their curiosity, the idea of tomorrow, it doesn’t compare to you right now. It doesn’t matter, not after whatever you went through.

“Nat,” someone scoffs in disbelief.

“If she found something, we need to know,” Taissa pushes, and Nat tears her eyes away from you to watch Tai gesture towards Shauna and her round belly.

“C’mon,” she whispers to you, ignoring everyone who isn’t you. “Let’s go see if the bath is ready.” Maybe you nod. Maybe she imagines it. Slowly, she drags you up, and you’re so weak and tired it makes her tear up just a little more.

—-

After helping you slip off your dirty, ripped and ragged dress, Natalie realizes you have no big scars or marks. Besides for some scratches- like you had been running through the wilderness- and some bruises- like you had taken a few sharp falls- you were fine.

She helps you sit, watches as your teeth clench together and you adjust to the hot water, before she drags over the small stool and sits beside you.

She gently traces her finger around a half-faded bruise on your upper arm.

“Do any of them hurt?” she asks as softly as she can.

And it takes a second, but after a moment, you shake your head, staring in front of you at the water lapping against the metal tub.

Natalie breathes in deep and let’s it out slowly.

“It’s okay,” she whispers, her hand falling into yours, squeezing once. “It’s okay,” and she doesn’t know who she’s saying it to.

Finally, you look up at her and lock eyes with her. And it’s been so long since she looked anyone in the eyes like this, let alone you, that she freezes under the intimacy and watches as tears fill your eyes.

You screw your eyes shut, looking away from her, and all she can do is sit there and know that you suffered for so long without her, because of her.

“If I… I had just kept looking… then maybe- I-I don’t know.”

You shake your head ever so slightly.

She sighs and squeezes your hand again, trying to pull away from you. She reaches for the cloth she left hanging on the rim of the tub, white and browning with use and age.

“Nat,” you say, so softly, your voice scratchy and odd and it’s been so long she realizes she forgot what your voice sounded like.

“What?” she asks, frowning, but maybe a little too eager, because she wants to hear your voice again and again and feel you forever and ingrain it all into her brain. “What’s wrong?”

You pull at her hand with yours. And she looks into your eyes and softly let’s her hand drop from yours, standing up. And you watch as she slips off her jacket and her shirt, her pants and everything else, and soon she’s hissing as she steps into the burning hot water behind you.

And after a short moment that feels like it will never end, she gets used to the water and you slide up right in front of her, and she tries to stifle her soft tears.

“I missed you,” you say suddenly. “I… I love you.” And she knows she’ll remember your voice forever.

You take a few deep breaths, and she can feel it, and she’s knows you’re really there. You’re with her. You’re safe.

“I love you too,” is all she has the strength to whisper.

And she knows that this guilt will never end, but she also knows that what she feels for you will never end. This moment will be everlasting.

—-

everything taglist:

@emilynissangtr

[beananacake]

My Crown Upon Your Head

Ch. 1

Prince!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Synopsis: When an arranged engagement between Prince James of Brookland and Princess Natasha ushers the discovery of the existence of a marriage contract between you and said prince, you readily agree to a divorce for the sake of the kingdom. At first, you had been willing to be separated from Prince James but as you spend more time with your husband, you begin to feel things that are forbidden. It does not help your case when James shares the same sentiments. As you combat the emotions that excite and scare you, the discoveries you make of the people that surround you make you suspect there is something else at play...

WC: 3.9k

Warnings: period-typical misogyny, 18+ for delicate issues, typos, not beta'd

A/N: Hi! Welcome to my first Bucky fic! If you think you've read this before... uh, no you didn't ;) Likes, comments, and reblogs makes beananacake a happy writer lol

Once upon a time, there was a girl who accidentally married the prince.

That would have been a story to be told for ages, you thought ironically to yourself. It would have made for an everlasting tale by the Brothers Grimm; storytellers whom you had met during one of your travels to the distant land of Prussia with your diplomat father. They were an odd sort; old men whom you would never have thought to have been the authors to the short tales you loved reading as a child. Their stories were rather macabre despite the hopeful beginnings. After all, not every Once Upon A Time ended with a happy ever after.

I wonder how they would have written my story, you mused rather distractedly as you stood before the King of Brookland.

You had been summoned to the palace the moment your ship had docked into the kingdom’s port. There was no preamble as to why you were wanted; they had only loaded you unto the carriage and had been presented to the monarch without so much as a change of clothing. You were not vain but it would have been more preferable to be wearing the proper attire when meeting with the king. Instead, you met him in your leather breeches, a silk dress shirt, and a waistcoat that you had fashioned from your father’s old vest—all of these articles of clothing were scandalous by themselves, but not as scandalous as knowing the reason why you had been summoned.

“You see, my son is set to marry the Grand Duke’s niece but we find ourselves in an unusual predicament,” said King George II of Brookland as he stood from his throne.

You had no voluminous skirt to tuck your hands into when you were nervous. Instead, you only clenched them at your sides, clutched into fists to calm the nervous quake about you.

“My secretary has found a marriage certificate binding you and my son in matrimony.” The king said disdainfully as he looked down on you. He was a classically handsome man if a bit gaunt and pale. His blue eyes were kind yet piercing. His jaw was strong and covered with a beard that was white as it was thick. His voice rasped with every words as though he labored them out. He was an old man, stooping because of his many years but it did not dampen the regal, commanding aura he had about him.

“You had been married to my son for two decades.”

Twenty years? You would have been but six years! Surely, there must have been a mistake.

You took a discreet step back, afraid of the silent fury in his voice. You had no idea of this marriage to the prince but your lapse in memory only seemed to make the blaze of anger in the king's eyes grow.

“Forgive me, Your Majesty, but I have no idea of this certificate of which you speak.”

A harsh scoff sounded from the man who stood beside the throne. Your eyes flitted to the Grand Duke and the cruel severity from him made you step further back. His features told you he did not belong to Brookland; rather than possessing the strong jaws and high cheekbones of the Brooks, he appeared more foreign. The Grand Duke—an honorable title reserved only for the king’s advisers—had his lips drawn tight, his brown eyes beady as he regarded you.

“His Majesty will not tolerate insolence, child. I suggest you answer in truth.” His words, while spoken calmly and simply, chilled you. His eyes betrayed nothing nefarious but there was an air about him, of something that made him unfriendly to you. Then again, it was his niece the prince was promised to and you had unknowingly married said prince.

“My apologies, Grand Duke,” you bowed your head as you lowered into a curtsy. You could not bear to look him in the eye for one more time.

“Tell me your name again,” commanded King George.

You kept your head low as you said your name.

“If you are who you say you are, then it must be you who signed this contract.” The soft unraveling of the scroll drew your attention and you looked up as the king thrust it before you.

There it was. Your name, written by the hand of a six-year-old child. It was a mess of letters but it was discernible enough for anyone to read your name. Beside it was Prince James’s inscription, no better than yours but still enough to be recognized as the name of the kingdom’s future monarch.

The royal seal of the Barnes of Brookland—a crowned lion standing atop a shield that bore the coat of arms of the family—brought about a memory that had long been buried until that moment.

You watched closely as your father, a scholar and one of Brookland’s diplomats, poured hot wax on the space between where he and another had signed. It was a rich blue with gold flecks, the colors and symbol of your country’s opulence. You were always curious as to why he did the ritual of laying his ring on top of the molten wax after signing the papers. You asked him.

“It is a promise, Y/N,” your father had replied as he took of his signet ring and placed it sigil-down on the paper.

“Like friendship, papa?” you had asked in your small, excitable voice.

He chuckled fondly, caressing your cheek as he watched you in the candlelight. “Of a sort. This paper is a memory of that friendship with our country and this country’s king.”

“Can I do it with my friends?” You watched with curious eyes, taking note of where he had written his name and the fact that it must be sealed with wax and his ring.

“Of course, little one. I shall have to teach you how to write your name so you can sign your promise.”

You beamed, eager to employ this newfound knowledge and practice of sealing your promises of friendship.

You were unable to read as well but it was no matter, your papa will teach you. It was your memory that was prodigious and you remembered his process. First, he took parchment from his sheaf of papers. He signed his name on the first empty space, then the other man did as your father had. They shook hands. Your father poured hot wax and placed the sigil on the promise and placed it on different sheaf of papers.

It was simple enough for you to do.

You recalled that moment you had done it. You had visited the palace with your father and he had let you play around the grounds while he conducted business with the other diplomats of the kingdom. Prince James had been but a boy then, a little older than you were but not old enough to talk affairs of the kingdom. He had been in the garden alone and you approached him with the idea of trying your newfound way of sealing friendships. You had not realized that you had plucked a marriage certificate from the Great Study because, truly, all of your father’s contracts appeared one and the same to you and you had assumed as much for all the papers. You innocently scrawled your name, taking good care in spelling it right as your father had told you. The prince had done the same and with your father’s ring, you sealed your—and the prince’s—fate.

“You recognize it then,” asked the king as he snatched the offending paper away.

“Your Majesty—” The apology did not slip past your lips.

“You may look innocent but I sense ambition in you, girl,” remarked the adviser. There was a hint of malice in his words and you flinched.

“Grand Duke.” There was a warning edge to King George’s tone. He turned to you once more. “You recognize this certificate?”

You steeled yourself, standing erect as you drawled out slowly. “It was not my intention to bind myself in marriage to the prince, Sir.” You swallowed. “My father introduced contracts to me as a way of keeping friendships. As a child of six, I did not know of diplomacy or the legitimacies of binding contracts nor the numerous different kinds of it. I only took the paper as I had assumed all were one and the same. I signed my name and had the prince sign his and stamped it the ring my father had me hold for safekeeping. I did not know that any agreement signed by the prince and sealed with the royal stamp would be legally binding even at so young an age.”

The silence that followed echoed in the throne room. Your boots scraped against the marble floor and you were once again reminded that you were unfit to be meeting with the king in such a state. Women, even common folk, were expected to be in dresses and long skirts. You shunned those articles of clothing whenever you were traveling the waters, finding breeches, shirts, and practical boots better than the full hoops of the skirt that often got in the way whenever you walked about the ship. The sailors were used to seeing you in this garb and did not find it offending at all that you were not dressed like a lady but to the eyes of the king and the Grand Duke and perhaps the many a footman you had passed before entering the throne room, you looked downright scandalous.

“We will keep you in the palace, Y/N.” proclaimed the king, which made you turn to him once more.

Evidently, the news shocked the Grand Duke as well because he turned to the monarch with his question plain on his face. King George held up a hand to his adviser and sat on his throne before answering.

“We will keep you in the palace until we find a solution to this impasse.”

“Of course, Sir,” you replied because what else was there to say?

“Surely, you understand the delicacy of this matter. I would not have you proclaiming to the people that you are the new princess—or rather, had been their princess for near two decades already.”

You were offended at his insinuation but did not show it. You had no right to show indignation towards the king.

“In here, you are contained. You shall still be free to roam the palace grounds as you please but we will not have you out of it. If so, you shall have a chaperone and we would be informed of your itinerary.”

You only nodded. You were a creature of adventure; the very notion of being confined within the palace grounds was comparable to have your wings clipped. But I had started this problem and I must pay for my childish ignorance, you thought to yourself.

You were set to sail with your father once again to the return to the distant land of Wakanda. It had been your life; traveling from one kingdom to another. You had learned of cultures and languages, of food and dance, and everything it was that you could ever beheld. Your home kingdom might be tiny and beautiful but the world beyond held more possibilities that you never once thought was within your grasp.

Oh, how you would have wanted to walk your father’s footsteps as Brookland’s new diplomat. You learned from all the travels you have done; your father had made you his apprentice and had taught you everything he knew of his trade. People still underestimated you. It was unheard of for someone of the fairer sex to be an ambassador, so you had never tried. You only acted as an adviser to your father within the confines of his office walls, honing your innate talent of persuasion and diplomacy.

Sadly, your dreams were once again stalled.

“Your Majesty, since I am common folk, my presence in the palace will arouse suspicion.”

The king nodded. “It is all being taken care of. My son's cousin will be arriving soon and you shall pose as a guest with him. You are merely early in your arrival.”

“Of course, Sir.” You paused and looked down to your clothes before turning back to the monarch “There is also a matter of my trunks, Your Majesty. I have arrived empty-handed.”

King George looked at you from your head to your boots. “Are all your clothes thus?”

You shook your head. “No, Sir. This is what I wear when I am traveling the seas. I do not find it practical to wear a skirt whilst I am on deck and the tides are high.”

“Ah, yes. You travel with your father.”

“Yes, Sir.”

He nodded. “I cannot allow you to leave the palace so soon after we have talked. Write him a missive for your trunks but do not mention your business here.”

“Yes, Your Majesty.”

“You may go.”

“My King,” you genuflected at the monarch before doing the same to the Grand Duke. “Your Grace.”

You stepped backwards, keeping the front of your body towards the king as you slowly went out of the throne room. Once the doors had closed, you heaved a great sigh and straightened, only to knock against someone behind you. You turned and gasped, rooted in place, at the sight of the man before you.

It was the prince. Prince James Buchanan Barnes. Prince James with his dark hair and fiercely blue eyes and features that told you he truly was the son of Brookland. He had grown handsome over the years, which shouldn’t come as a surprise as his father was a handsome man as well. James—were you allowed to address him as James?—had a firm look on his face, a bit reminiscent of his father’s gaze as he watched you. Broad of the shoulders and fit of the body, his muscled legs were encased in tight white breeches and his coat brought out the color of his eyes. They were as blue as the sea and as clear as the sky.

Your husband. What an absurd notion!

“Careful,” he said as he held you by your arms. His voice was deep and smooth and it caressed you in places that you never thought were possible.

You ogled at the prince. As much as you wanted to  look away, you cannot. His gaze held you, searching your eyes and quite frankly, perhaps even your soul. Even if you had nothing to hide, you were scared of the things he would find there. Like the matter of your being bound to him in marriage.

Your heart skipped a beat. It had nothing to do with your being nervous of him finding out about your accidental ploy of being married to him but more of the fact that you had never been looked at like how he was looking at you. Your appearance was unkempt and you had not been able to properly tie your hair but something about his stare made you feel like you were much more beautiful than you truly look. He made you feel emotions not even the best of the world could offer and for the life of you, you had no idea why.

Your knees buckled and you bent down in an ungraceful curtsy. It did not escape your notice that your arms were still caged by his fingers. The heat from his hands seeped through the soft cotton of your shirt into your skin and you gave a shaky breath. “Your Highness, my apologies. I did not see you—”

“James. I thought the hunt would have run you ragged.” You heard the king say as the doors open behind you.

Princes James gave you curious smile and you realized he had no idea of who you were or why you were there. Would it change if he knew? You wondered absently. Your eyes still lingered on his lips.

“It is all right. No need to apologize.” he said.

You turned to his eyes as you rose to your full height. His hands left your arms and the imprints that he left warmed you as you were ushered away.

…

…

…

Prince James Buchanan Barnes was, for all intents and purposes, an apprentice. His whole life he was schooled to be the next king of Brookland. He was taught to be a soldier to know of battle strategies. He had masters who taught him philosophies and history. He was knowledgeable in three languages because his parents had insisted he learn two more so he can converse with more people. He was, essentially, an apprentice monarch. And a king, even one still learning the trade, needed a queen.

Which brought him to the matter at hand. His father had promised his hand to the Grand Duke Zemo’s niece. He had never set eyes on her before and was only sent a portrait that he and his father had looked at and had deemed her beautiful. Her country was powerful and Brookland—albeit teeming with natural and mineral resources—needed to ally with a kingdom for its protection. Marrying a princess from a rich and powerful country was the correct step in ensuring the best for the kingdom. It was what his father had done with his mother. It was fortunate that his parents had fallen in love despite the circumstances.

“I was not aware Princess Natasha was arriving today,” James said as he pried his eyes away from your retreating figure.  

It was unusual for him to see a princess not in their finest clothes, either, especially one from a country that was advertised to him as bountiful and rich. He had no qualms, however, about seeing you in such a state. Clad in what was commonly considered as undergarments, you were a small person than what the portrait had let on. You came only until his chin and even then, you still seemed tinier. Your legs were enclosed in buckskin leather, much like his own when he went hunting, and it made him wonder if maybe you hunted as well. You wore a dress shirt beneath a curious piece of waistcoat that you had tucked in the waistband of your breeches and it accentuated your rounded hips and ample bottom. You wore none of those heeled shoes he knew ladies favored. Instead, your feet were clad in flat boots that went up to your knees and showcased your perfect calves. Albeit you were dressed inappropriately, it did not escape him that you were dressed practically. And sensually, he thought to himself.

You were beautiful in the portrait but in person, you were exquisite. The painter failed to capture the smattering of freckles across your nose or the hint of lightness on your hair. There was a small scar on the side of your cheek that he did not notice when he beheld your picture; perhaps the painter found it wise to not include the blemish lest it deterred him from making an offer of marriage to you, even if it was not his idea to be wed to you. Be that as it may, the scar endeared him to you. It made you appear more tangible, more… real, and nothing like the uptight version your uncle had painted you to be.

“Heavens, no. I would never associate myself with that—that thing.” Zemo said, looking at your back in what could only be termed as disgust.

James raised a brow. So you were not the princess. “I would assume that thing has a name and a purpose?” When his question was met with silence, he turned to the king. “Father?”

“Walk with me, boy.” was all the king said. He waved his hand away to his adviser. “Thank you, Grand Duke. We do not need you in this talk.”

“Your Majesty. Your Highness.” Zemo bowed as King George led James away.

He followed his father down the Hall of Portraits. He remembered his lessons of his family’s history, of the important people who had changed the laws and the lives of many. King Alphonse. Queen Mariam. Queen Winnifred, his mother. He knew it best not to dwell on his mother’s untimely death around his father, whom he knew was still mourning her. She had left them so suddenly and they both had not been the same ever since. It did, however, brought them even closer.

“James,” his father started as they arrived in the garden. “There is a matter I wish for you to know.”

Rarely did his father venture this far into the gardens. Queen Winnifred had kept a small alcove for her personal use, locked away but still kept clean by the royal gardener. James often went there when he needed time for himself. His father did not.

“Yes, father?” James asked, watching his father closely as he sat.

Since his wife’s death, the king’s health had deteriorated rapidly. The doctors had deemed it a great depression, one the king will brave in a few months’ time, but James knew his father would never recover from the death of his beloved. Every day he feared his father would leave him so soon after his mother had. The mere idea frightened him.

“You are promised to Princess Natasha,” King George said, to which James nodded. “But there is a small matter we must address before you wed her.”

He raised an inquiring brow. “Does she not want to be wed?”

“She wishes to be wed to you, James. However, we find ourselves at a loss for something you have done some twenty years ago.” He patted the space beside him on the bench and the prince sat.

Twenty years ago? What could he have done at eight years old for his father to remark on now?

“Are we bringing up old sins, father? Because if we are, I do not remember what I had done at eight years old that would bear remembering.”

“My boy,” the king clasped his son on the shoulder. It was a fatherly touch but also that of a king, a touch that brooked no argument.

“You are already married.”

James frowned. Married? Surely, he would have remembered the festivities that came with the union.

“Married? I don’t remember meeting my bride or signing a marriage contract.” He turned to his father. “Are you well, father? Perhaps we should return inside. The sun—” The sun had killed his mother. He did not wish the same for his father.

The king waved his hand away. “I am well, son. Do not worry about my health.” He looked sternly at the young prince. “You are not married to the Princess Natasha but you have been married for two decades now.”

“Father, I must ask you to speak plainly. I had been married for two decades? And not to the princess I was promised? Then who am I married to?”

“Do you know anyone by the name of Y/N Y/L/N?”

James’s frown deepened. He readily denied but stopped short.

Y/N. The name sounded familiar to him. And then he knew. He remembered; the girl he had invited inside is mother’s secret garden and had played with under his favorite tree. Familiar eyes that lit up as they smiled at him, the same ones who had looked upon him just a few moments before. You had brought a paper to him—a promise of friendship, you had said—and he signed it with no hesitation.

“She is that girl you thought was the Princess Natasha, my boy.”

James looked back to the door they had came through, as though he would see you appear if he called your name out loud.

“She is your wife.”

[bunihyo]

OMG U WRITE MIKO….*heart eyes*

can you write reader visiting miko late a night because of a nightmare? maybe about a past partner (if your comfy!) <3

absolutely!! and thank u sm for giving me an excuse to write hurt/comfort miko!! i love my girlllll. also, i interpreted the reader as an adventure, maybe their partner got killed on a commission (because yknow abuse is something im not crazy about writing) and that's what the recurring nightmare is!

my first genshin fic on tumblrrrr <3

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ By your side

yae miko x GN! reader, hurt/comfort

cw: mentioned death!

While Inazuma was known for a plethora of things, your favorite had always been its nights. When the wind was at the perfect balance of humidity, and it blew past the cracks under the seal of your window. Allowing a gentle breeze that kept your room scented like the sakura mochi often sold by vendors in the streets of Inazuma City. The comfortability of these nights put you at ease, reeling you away from your thoughts as you succumbed to peace.

However tonight you were plagued with the unrelenting thoughts about your past. Specifically, your old partner. You were with them for about two years, always going out on adventures with one another for the guild..until you accepted the commission that would ultimately result in the biggest loss you'd ever experienced. You and your partner had been overwhelmed by a large enemy, and you watched as the person you loved most was abruptly ripped out of your life. Shortly after, you moved to Inazuma, for peace.

This was how you came across Yae Miko. The Lady Guuji of the Grand Narukami Shrine, which sat pointedly atop a large mountain that towered over the city. But you had met her at the Yae Publishing house, scouring the horror/thriller section while distancing yourself from the rest of the shop attendees. The Guuji had approached you, and from here a sort of friendship was born. Miko often helped you with your recurring thoughts regarding your partner, and in return you'd try to assist her at the Shrine and the shop as much as possible.

On a night like tonight, Miko would typically be the first person you ran to after such a violent nightmare as the one you'd just had. But, it was late, and you knew she'd probably be far too booked and busy as the Shrine Guuji, to be dealing with the post-traumatic nightmares of someone she'd only met a few months ago. However, as your chest slammed up and down repeatedly with the flashes of their face fading out of view, you found yourself immediately on your way to the Grand Narukami Shrine, with your hands tucked into your chest.

Whispering words of encouragement to yourself as you ascended up the long and everlasting staircase to the Shrine, you quickly find that due to the nightmare, even the slightest rustle of a bush or dancing of a Tanuki, sends you spiraling while clutching yourself closely. The nightmare had been one of the more violent ones, stretching across the events of the adventure happily- so happily it appeared as a dream, until the abrupt end where your partner's death replayed repeatedly over and over until you had pushed yourself up gasping for air and dripping in your own sweat.

You frown gently to yourself, thinking of how embarrassing you must look climbing up the stairs to the shrine while muttering and clearly being out of breath. Luckily due to it being nearly three in the morning, the only people you passed (which were very few) were the other Shrine Maidens, who didn't spare you a glance. It wasn't new for the Guuji's most frequent 'helper' to be rearing up to the shrine so late.

It was a slightly long hike up said stairs, but you quickly emerged at the top, nodding to Inagi Hotomi who greeted visitors. She allowed you to pass into the Shrine without question or hesitation, and as your feet padded up the slightly creaky wooden stairs of the building, you shuddered to think of just what Miko would say. Peaking around the corner you were greeted with the sandy sight of the kitsune with her back turned to you. She was near the large Sacred Sakura tree, one hand pressed against its bark.

You took a deep breath and stepped forward, calling out softly to her. "Miko..?"

She had turned around instantly, a flash of a smile that quickly faded when she caught sight of your frazzled frame. A light snap of her fingers was enough to garner the attention of one of the lingering Shrine Maidens, Miko barely uttering to her. "leave."

The Maiden was quick to flee, as you bit the inside of your cheek. Miko beckoned you closer with one finger, and willingly you shuffled infront of her. "What happened to my little one?" She whispered, her hand coming up before you could stop it, gently holding your jaw with the upmost sincerity.

"I, uh," You find yourself sighing. "I had a nightmare."

Miko raises a brow, frowning. "Did you now?"

You force a nod, clearing your throat and looking to the ground. "Yes," You confirm. "It was..bad."

You hear her sigh, and her hands come down to your own, cupping them gently. Looking up you watch as she scans your features softly, noting the tears sitting teasingly in your glossed over eyes. "You don't need to tell me what happened," she says, slighting hesitating before adding, "But..stay, let me help you."

"You don't have to." You mumbled, avoiding her eyes. "I..I honestly don't even know why I came here. You're probably too busy to deal with something as stupid as nightmares."

Miko tuts. "I want to help you," She grips your hands slightly. "I'm never too busy for you, little one. I'll always be here to help."

You know there's no point in arguing with her. You lower your head, coming forward to lean against her shoulder as a shaky breath leaves your throat, shoulders falling. You think back on the memory of your past, finding those tears quickly falling from your eyes. Miko's hands move to hold on tightly to your waist, one coming up to rest on your back.

"It's alright now, my love," She whispers, feeling your gentle sobs forcing shakes through your body. "It'll all be okay. I've got you, I promise I won't leave."

You rub your eyes into her outfit, tears bubbling up and crashing down. "Thank you, Miko."

She doesn't respond, instead holds you. Because she knows that that's what you really need right now.