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biteofcherry · 6 months

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To find the light, we must first touch the darkness

Please also check out @bluepinkangel’s amazing hot moodboard for this universe 🖤

dark mafia!Steve Rogers x female reader

summary: When you unexpectedly are appointed to run a health center, you foresee many struggles along the way, but not one in the form of a merciless mob boss. Steve Rogers’ core aim is to own and he won’t take no for an answer. To any of his demands.

warnings for this chapter: dark!Steve Rogers; manipulation; power imbalance; forced marriage; D/s undertones; ex-pli-cit; knife kink; choking; choking kink; praise;

word count: 7k

Touch the Darkness Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 6. Downpour

~ * ~

Victims often described the events of their traumatic experience as a blur. Or a film montage of chopped scenes, often black and white, or with one color prevailing. Sometimes their minds protected themselves so strongly they dissociated, their consciousness floating away into a safe space.

Nothing of the sort happened to you on your dreaded wedding day.

If anything, you felt more present in the moment than in the days leading to it.

Colors were vibrant, sounds clear, your feelings vivid.

You felt the constriction of the built-in corset of your wedding dress, the soft swish of the embroidered, shiny tulle in the chalice of the wide skirt; as well the warm amazement at how beautiful you looked.

Even though your spite tempted you to pick a dress that would manifest how much you didn’t want to say your vows, you couldn’t help the flaming love you experienced at the sight of yourself in a stunning wedding dress.

A fucking princess style, out of all.

You wanted to hate it, to cross it out purely to not give Steve the extra satisfaction, but your parents teared up when they saw you in it. Maybe they had some qualms about the speedy wedding, but they sure got on board with it when they saw your face glowing.

You didn’t have the heart to tell them it was because you felt beautiful, not because you loved your future husband.

Whose handsome face you couldn’t look away from as your father walked you down the aisle.

Dressed in a sharp suit, steel gray a tone warmer than his cold heart, Steve watched you every step of your way to him. Others perhaps saw in his face awe, getting all mushy over how much he had to be in love with you, but you knew it was a glint of triumph.

You said your vows in the wide garden surrounding Steve’s property, under an arch of lush peonies and vines. You were sure it’s only thanks to the two glasses of Prosecco and Steve’s hand holding yours a tad too tightly, that you recited your promise to him without a hitch.

With how smooth and soft Steve’s voice was, how he held your gaze captive, you’d think he was expressing true, deep feelings when he said his vows.

True was his possessiveness.

Steve displayed it first in the way he kissed you - draping you over his arm, like in old Hollywood movies, and branding your lips with a breathstealing, passionate kiss. Unable to resist, your arm sneaked around his neck, fingers splaying on the back of his head, while your other hand gripped onto the lapel of his suit jacket.

Then by keeping you occupied each dance, allowing only your father to lead you through two songs.

To your further annoyance, Steve turned out to be a really good dancer. Or maybe he was simply good at holding you and controlling your body as he guided you across the wooden planks built into a dance floor specially for this occasion.

“You look beautiful, Princess.”

There was no breathtaking awe in Steve’s voice, like you used to imagine your true love would say those words one day. But it was no coy game, either. Steve meant them, it was an honest compliment.

It was also his pride in owning you.

“I’m already your wife, all is signed. No need for bullshit,” you stared over Steve’s shoulder, stubbornly refusing to meet his gaze and see what desires may shine in the ice cold blue irises.

He twirled you suddenly, then pulled you back to him. Kept you pressed against him tighter as he brushed his lips along your cheek.

“I’d think by now you know I don’t really bullshit anyone,” he whispered in your ear. “I do find you stunning. And I’ll repeat those words later, when I have you naked in our bedroom.”

Heat filled you faster than after that shot you sneaked right before soup was served, to calm your nerves and numb yourself further as the reality of being now Mrs Rogers started settling in. No, that fast dose of booze didn’t scorch your insides the way Steve’s promise of the wedding night did.

“Not gonna happen,” you tried sounding fierce, but your voice came much breathier than you’d like.

“We’ll see, won’t we?” Steve chuckled, tip of his tongue flicking the shell of your ear, eliciting goosebumps to appear all over your skin.

His hand on your back was placed low, but he dipped his fingers even further, toying with the ribbon of your corset right above the curve of your ass.

“We have a deal, after all.” He reminded you.

You wanted to argue with him, that technically you didn’t agree to it, but you knew it’s futile. You suffered some disturbing sexual deviancy and your pussy tingled at the mere thought of Steve touching it. So you planned on simply being sneaky and wiping yourself dry before entering the bedroom. And then staying resolved and unbothered, so that Steve’s dark touch didn’t force a single drop of slick out.

You considered stuffing your nose with something too, because the scent of Steve alone now that he was pressed to you so close, was enough to warm up your body.

To ignore your own responses - to his smell, to his touch, to the images of wicked acts he could do to you - you focused your gaze above Steve’s shoulder. Glancing at random guests, at the stunning flower arrangements, trying not to hurt from the fact your parents looked so joyous.

You frowned, noticing Natalie smirking around the rim of a champagne flute as she talked to a man whom you recognized as Steve’s most trusted right hand, Bucky. While flirting at a wedding wasn’t something unusual, alarm bells rang in your head at the prospect of Natalie endangering herself. She was already at risk, being associated with you, but to dance with a wolf was like playing with fire that was surely going to consume her whole.

You didn’t know much about Bucky, practically nothing, but if he was this close to Steve then there was no trace of innocence or clear conscience in him.

No one could stay pure, if they followed in Rogers’ murky wake. A realization which made you wonder, if your own core may rot and dissolve at his feet.

Your heart fluttered, as Steve twirled your body again. Chalice of your dress opened, shimmering in the sunlight as if encrusted in crushed diamonds. In reality it was a faint sparkle compared to the actual bling of the diamond ring on your finger.

You glared at it with disdain when Steve first put it on your finger, seeing nothing but a leash. A brand of ownership and reminder of torment. But the more glances you stole, the more irresistible it was to admire.

It was truly beautiful and you hated it for it.

Steve pulled you back to his body, pressing you even closer than before. Tip of his nose grazed along yours, the icy blue of his irises warming into the shade of pure sky. His breath tickled your mouth, mingling with yours as your lips parted on a gasp.

Then his lips were on you. Soft and coaxing, tempting you to respond in submission.

You told yourself it’s the surprise of it that made you give in, the spectacle you had to continue for the guests, but you couldn’t completely deny the jolt of excitement that spurred heat into every crevice of your body, then melted it into a pliant surrender.

You were vaguely aware of the camera flashes as pictures of you were taken. The sound of cheering and clapping barely registering through the haze of your heartbeat pounding in your head.

There was no triumphant smirk on Steve’s lips when he reluctantly pulled away, which would undoubtedly shake you out of daze. Instead, there was a dark hunger that clenched your heart in fear and your cunt in anticipation.

You found yourself surprisingly reluctant to step out of his embrace as the song ended and Steve took the opportunity to build the lie further by asking your mother to dance.

Trying to avoid dancing with Steve wasn’t as clever a solution as you first thought, because the bastard found other ways to instigate small gestures of intimacy that confused your brain and tickled your clit like a living tongue.

Like him smoothly commenting how delicious that seasoned rib was and how you should try it, then promptly feeding you a piece of it.

With his fingers.

Purposely slipping his fingertip between your lips along with the meat.

It was a split of a second, but enough to have a wave of heat wash over you and your thighs clench.

You thanked heaven that you picked a princess dress, because the layers of the skirt at least hid the movement that would otherwise betray you.

A gulp of wine couldn’t wash away the sensation, nor did it wipe the lewd image of Steve forcing his fingers into your mouth. Would they be salty? Would they feel heavy as he pressed them against your tongue? Would his rings feel cool?

Then you didn’t even have alcohol to numb yourself. Steve made sure your glass was filled with water only as the celebrations proceeded. When you glared at him, trying to yank your hand out of his grip, he said he won’t have you sloshed on your wedding night.

“Don’t want you to worry it was only the booze that got you wet,” he sucked on your earlobe.

But made it look so sweet, the way he pressed his cheek to yours and gently held your hand, that to the others it had to look as if he was whispering love admissions into your ear.

The bastard played supportive and soothing as he caressed your back when you were saying goodbye to the guests leaving the reception late in the evening. Your mom took your teary eyes as an overwhelming, but positive emotion that made her all mushy as well.

You couldn’t cling to her, or your dad, crying in despair that they were leaving you with a monster. Not when that monster was constantly by your side, being most respectful and charming towards them. Displaying a twisted care for you that eased your parents’ worries while irritating you.

There were fireworks bursting in the sky in abundant splashes of color as Steve led you to the master bedroom.

Everyone was gone, only the wedding planner’s team was rushing around like busy bees, cleaning up and packing leftovers. And they all pretended they didn’t see you. You thought some of Steve’s men were also circling around, but you didn’t know yet if it was to keep an eye on the workers, or if it was their routine to guard Steve’s mansion.

Once inside the bedroom, you blurted out your need to use the bathroom and promptly locked yourself inside. Only for a few moments you entertained the thought of staying in and sleeping on the tiled floor, but you knew Steve wouldn’t allow that. He’d sooner take the damn door down than give you reprieve.

He wanted to wreck your body too much.

And you feared how you may react to it.

As you pulled up layers and layers of tulle, to use the toilet and clean yourself from the already obvious reaction to Steve’s touch; you accepted that your anxiety wasn’t for debauchery, but for the inappropriate eagerness of your body.

For fuck’s sake, you were dripping and coming on command when he defiled you with a gun!

How much stronger was your reaction going to be when he caressed you with his hands and mouth?

After wiping yourself dry, you cleaned your hands and with your head held high stepped out into the bedroom. You still planned on fighting tooth and nail to not arouse from whatever he had planned.

Having taken off his suit jacket and rolling up his sleeves, Steve waited for you in the middle of the room. His eyes glinted with satisfaction when you stepped out. He crooked a finger at you, beckoning you to him.

“I knew you’d come out like a good girl, Princess,” he crooned, not at all bothered by your stomping and glaring daggers his way.

“Didn’t feel like watching a door being splintered into pieces,” you snapped, clenching your hands on the skirt of your dress as you stood right in front of Steve.

“Of course. That’s the only splintering you were concerned about,” he teased, running a single digit down the column of your neck. “But I know, Princess. I know there’s this curiosity that draws you to me. You may hate it, but your body is eager to learn what I’ll do to you.”

“It’s not. I’m not!” You protested, yet you didn’t flinch when his finger drew a scorching line from one collar bone to the other, then dipped lower to trace your cleavage.

“I want to believe your words, Princess,” Steve said in pretend seriousness, “but let’s check in with your body, too.”

As embarrassing the thought of him flipping your skirts up was, you inwardly prayed he’d do it quickly. If he touched your pussy now, he’d find you dry. But if he prolonged the whole thing, you had no certainty it would stay this way.

“I’m aware how fond of my gun you are,” his words startled you, stopping your heart for a split of a second then sending it into a fluttery beat. The memory of the warm muzzle dragging along your thigh and slipping under your panties spurred heat to pool low in your core.

Shit! No!

No, no, no. You couldn’t get wet!

“But I didn’t think it’s an accessory appropriate for the wedding,” Steve’s mouth curved into a lopsided smile that only added to his criminally hot look.

“So I had something special to be custom made for this occasion-” he touched your cheek in a sweet caress- “and for any future occasions… with my wife.”

Your breath hitched in your lungs when he called you his wife. He made it sound reverent, but at the same time his tone dripped with that dark triumph that reminded you there was no way out from his clutches.

You watched Steve dip his hand into his pocket and then a glint of steel flashed before your eyes.

A switchblade so sharp and polished so smooth that it seemed to be honed out of pure light. The handle was a shimmery white, with undertones of rainbow. Mother of pearl, you realized.

Steve had his fingers wrapped around it, but purposely flipped it out, pinching the hilt between two of his fingers so you could see the silver initials engraved on it. Your initials, but with your last name being Rogers.

Eyes widening, you went still as Steve brought the blade to your skin. Just the tip of it, you barely felt its touch, but your mind was already running with images of cuts and drawn blood. It should scare you, cause tears to fall out. Instead, you felt your pulse thundering in places that shouldn’t react to fear with excitement.

Steve drew a soft line over the curve of your breasts and dipped the steel into the valley between them.

He wrapped the fingers of his other hand around the front of your neck. His eyes heated up as your pupils widened in reaction, once again proving how weak you were for this single gesture. Keeping his hold firm enough you felt the silver of his rings pressing into your skin, Steve traced the blade along the trim of your wedding dress and then down your ribcage.

“Are you afraid I’m going to hurt you?” Steve’s voice was deceivingly soft, as if he really cared if you were scared.

You doubted he’d stop, even if you claimed that you are. You’d sooner expect him to mock you and then proceed to torment your body, proving to you how much you craved his depravity.

But it wasn’t the physical torture you wanted to avoid. For how bad Steve was, how he fucked up your life, somehow you knew he wouldn’t harm you physically. Well, perhaps if you betrayed him. He’d kill you then. But as long as you followed his plans, you were certain he wouldn’t raise his hand on you.

Steve’s thumb brushed along your jaw in a seemingly soothing caress. You turned your face to the side, but he forced you to look back at him when you admitted in a defeated whisper:

“I’m afraid you will make me like it.”

Fingers still curled around the front of your neck, Steve inched closer. Blue of his irises seemed to glitter an impossible hue up this close, mesmerizing you.

You were a prey fully ensnared.

“I will, Princess.” Steve’s lips teased yours. “I will give you pleasure that hurts so good.”

A tiny whimper escaped your mouth. You wished it was a sound of trepidation, but it held an unmistakable undertone of need. It was too late now, you felt a wet spot forming on your white undergarments.

Steve kissed you softly, reverently; like a husband in love might kiss his beloved wife on their wedding night. Combined with the pressure of a sharp blade at your side, it made your head spin.

“Stay still, please,” Steve squeezed your throat lightly, before releasing you and taking a step back.

He walked around you, slowly making a full circle as he admired you. Teasing you by making you wait for what he does next. When he stopped behind you and you felt the puff of his breath on your nape, your fingers trembled.

Then the cool blade pressed where Steve’s warm breath tickled you a second ago. He drew a sharper line down the middle of your back. You didn’t feel the sting of a cut, but he put enough pressure for you to feel a tingling scratch that dispersed into pleasant burning.

You gulped when you felt him hook the knife under the lacing of your dress.

“I can just take it off.” You grumbled, frowning. It was a stunning dress and even though you wouldn’t be wearing it ever again, you weren’t happy with the idea of it being cut to pieces.

“You could,” Steve chuckled, “but then I wouldn’t get to hear you-”

You gasped as he swiftly cut through the first string.

“-make that lovely sound.”

Steve relished in each cut, though you weren’t sure if he was more entranced with your little noises (which you tried to suppress, but failed at times), the act of cutting itself, or with your naked skin being revealed as the bodice of your dress parted.

When the corset opened fully, dropping and exposing your upper body, Steve smoothed his hand along your back. Which elicited another gasp from you.

You expected the blade to return, to draw dangerous patterns on your fragile skin. Steve’s warm, gentle caress sent a different kind of jolt down your spine, causing your tense muscles to relax in foolish trust. He pressed himself to your back, moving his hand around your front and boldly cupping your breast. A wave of heat seemed to scorch your face from the inside, but it also pooled between your thighs.

He peppered kisses along your neck as he played with your breast; sucked on your skin as he switched his attention to the other tit.

There was no logical thought in your head when he pinched your nipple hard and you arched; one of your arms flying up to grip the back of Steve’s head. It was an instinctive reaction of your body’s deepest need.

Suddenly, Steve’s touch left you. Only to pull impatiently at your dress, forcing the abundant skirt to fall down. Big hands - one still holding a knife - clenched around your hips. He picked you up so easily, as if you weighed close to nothing.

Then he was dropping you onto the grand bed. Before you even managed to push yourself up, he flipped you over onto your back. A split of a panicked thought almost had you inching away, reheating the idea to fight him. But one of Steve’s hands clenched on your ankle, while the other splayed on your belly - the one holding the knife.

“Lie back, Princess.” Steve’s tone wasn’t harsh, but it chimed with certain urgency.

You stilled. Though you preferred to think it was because of the blade he left on your belly in a warning, not because he asked you to.

Definitely not because you couldn’t look away from him as Steve undressed in a few quick, practiced moves.

The sight was so enticing you didn’t think of grabbing the knife and possibly changing the flow of the night to your advantage.

Without his shirt on, you saw the wide plains of Steve’s chest and chiseled abdomen; saw the tattoos entwining his arms and upper body. Dark patterns, with a few splashes of rich color, that only added to the dark, thrilling aura of Steve Rogers.

You swore that while Steve was a scary motherfucker in his usual wear, he’d appear an even more lethal demon if he approached his victims half-naked.

Your gaze shifted downward when he pushed his pants down, but you forced it back up to his face. Mostly because you feared the sound you may make, if you saw his cock. Partly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of you staring.

When Steve knelt on the mattress and then crawled forward, you dropped your head to the pillows and focused on the ceiling. A part of you craved to watch him, to await in trepidation, but you still held onto that sane part of your brain that told you it’s wrong to want it. Wrong to give in to him so easily.

“You’re beautiful, Princess.” He repeated the words, just like he promised.

Calloused fingers traced up your legs. The sensation this touch evoked made you want to clench your thighs, but Steve’s knee was wedged between your legs, preventing it.

Eyes focused on your face, Steve seemed to study and memorize every spark of reaction to his touch. He picked up the knife again. The grin that he flashed you as he brought the blade to your skin was all satisfaction and condescending praise. He didn’t say it, but you almost heard the Good girl. For doing as he told you. For waiting. For being so obviously responsive.

He knelt above you as he trailed the knife along your exposed body. His gaze shifted between the glint of the blade and your face. As his aim traveled south, Steve moved along with it.

Corner of his mouth tugged upward in a dangerous smirk when he slipped the tip of the blade under the white lace of your panties.

Your whole body went rigid. Your mouth opened, your breath becoming ragged.

And yet, when he slashed the fabric apart, you felt a new gush of slick.

Steve cut the other side of your panties as well, then pushed your thighs further apart. Exposing your shameful reaction.

“Princess,” he licked his lips, “it appears that you’re wet.”

He tapped the wide side of the blade against your clit, the jolt of it making you clench around nothing. Steve’s eyes darkened and a low, growling kind of sound rumbled in his chest as he used the knife to flick away the lace that was sticking to your drenched folds.

“You’re not wet. You’re dripping.” He seemed to be in awe of the discovery.

It was in a sense a comforting feeling, to see more than just a cocky triumph. To see Steve affected by the situation. Perhaps not as strongly as you were, but with enough force to make you think perhaps it was a novelty for him as well.

“Say it, Princess.” Steve’s gaze flicked back to your face; his own eyes full of dark hunger. “Say how wet you are, for me.”

Your lips clenched shut, a stubborn frown drawing your eyebrows together. It was humiliating enough that you were so lewdly on display for this bastard, that your body betrayed you and was ready to take him. Admitting it aloud would only strip you of all defenses.

When Steve slapped your inner thigh, the sting of it seemed to zing directly to your clit.

“Ohh!” You couldn’t suppress the gasp, but then managed to spat angrily - “Fuck, fine! I’m wet for you, you bastard.”

As much as you hated it, your anger was less about him demanding your admission and more about him not touching you where you most needed it.

“Your husband.” Steve reminded you, with sinister glee.

With his knee, he pressed your other leg down. Then dragged the knife along the skin of your inner thigh. This time you felt the prick of pain as he cut the tissue. You hissed, head lifting up to stare at the tiny, thin wound. A single drop of blood pearled at the end of it.

Then Steve’s mouth was on it. Warm and sucking, and drawing a surprised moan out of you.

He sucked and licked it clean, making you forget about everything else. His mouth moved up, closer and closer to your core. When he finally licked into your folds as if he was biting into a ripe fruit, you dropped down with a cry.

Fingers gripping the sheets tightly, you rode sensations unknown to you until then. Muscles strained in pain as you held yourself stiff, still sensing that blade pressed against your skin. Steve had his arms wrapped under and around your thighs, keeping you spread as he feasted on your pussy. One of his hands was holding the knife against your abdomen, the sharp tip right on your mound.

“Oh God, please!” Your eyes clenched shut. “Please, please, Steve. I-”

As he lapped at your clit, lashing it with rapid flicks then sucking on it so sweetly, you felt your orgasm building painfully high. You were heartbeats away from climaxing.

“Stop, please!” You begged. “The knife- I can’t- I need-”

Even if you were pleading for him to stop what he was doing all together, Steve wouldn’t listen. Not when he was so close to owning you completely. You needed something slightly different and you hoped Steve would recognize the urgency.

Mercifully, he paused. Though he held his lips close to your clit as he looked up at you from between your thighs - his eyes reminiscing of the stars frozen in dark waters of the northern lakes.

“What do you need from your knife, Princess?” He asked, tilting the blade an inch lower.

It almost touched your clit.

“Place it away, please,” you started explaining, sensing that he wouldn’t comply without a satisfying reason. “I- I’m about to come. And I will, um, move. I can’t stay still. I just, I never could. I can’t.”

“You’re afraid I’d cut you, if you get all squirmy and arching?” Twinkle of amusement lit up Steve’s eyes.

“Please, Steve.” You feared tearing up, if he refused you. You also feared he would make you cum and cut you, and that you weren’t ready for that combination of pain and pleasure.

He hummed, holding your gaze as he licked your clit again. Your muscles tensed anew, he had to feel them straining in your thighs where he held you. Then, very slowly, he untangled himself from you. Steve let your thighs drop to the mattress freely. He lifted the hand holding the knife and you sagged in relief.

Steve leaned over you, bracing his weight on one arm. His broad frame cast a shadow over you. He brought the blade up to your face, you could see a fragment of your reflection in it.

“Kiss it.” Steve ordered.

You stared at him, bewildered. He waited, surprisingly patiently, holding the blade inches from your mouth. He called this knife yours. Had it custom made for you. Used it on you in ways you never imagined in a sexual encounter. Teased what more he could do. What he probably would do to you in the future. And he wanted you to kiss it as if in gratitude for all the lewd things it would unleash on you.

Swallowing nervously, you lifted your head enough to press your lips against the steel.

“Good girl,” he praised.

Your gaze followed Steve’s arm as he reached toward the nightstand to place the knife on it. Then his hand swiped along your arm, caressing muscles that strained from still gripping the sheets.

He coaxed you back into the moment with a sensual kiss. The way his tongue dipped between your lips was soft and seductive. You’d never expect someone like Steve to be able to kiss like that.

Heat quickly returned in pulsing beats to your clit as Steve kissed down your body. He settled back between your thighs, with a moan tasting your pussy once more. Relentlessly, he licked and sucked you back to that edge. Then pushed you over it as he pushed a finger into you.

Steve kept that finger pumping steadily into your fluttering walls as he trailed wet bites up your body. He was hovering above you. Mouth, glistening with your arousal, was a lick away from you when he thrust a second digit inside. The stretch made you keen and Steve drank up every grimace you made.

“Touch me, Princess,” he tempted you, curling his fingers just right. “Come on. Touch. I know you want to.”

If your brain wasn’t a post-orgasmic mush, maybe you could muster some stubborn will to do the opposite. But he was right, you itched to touch him, to feel the ripple of his muscles beneath your fingertips, to see how hot he ran.

Hesitantly at first, you placed both of your hands on his shoulders. Your gaze found one of the intricate vines that weaved along his shoulder and up his neck, a branch sprouting from it curved down and over his pectoral. You traced it with one hand, your other instinctively moving to Steve’s back.

When you traced the contoured muscles of his abdomen, fingernails scratching lightly at the narrow path of coarse hair leading southwards, Steve increased the pace of his fingers. It stirred the fire in your core into a burst, evoking another moan.

“Lower.” Steve gritted out, putting more of his weight and heat onto you. “Wrap that small hand of yours around my cock, Princess.”

It was dirty - his words and the squelching sound of your pussy as he fingerfucked you.

But it also made you drop your gaze between your bodies, searching for a glimpse of that dick. It swayed heavy, half-hard, right above your hip. Your walls clenched unexpectedly as you watched it.

This wasn’t the first cock you saw in your life. You were far from a blushing virgin. There was something about Steve, however, that made you feel nervous and out of your depth. It appeared that sex with him was a whole new, scary discovery.

Steve urged you with another command and your hand slipped down instantly. Hot, pulsing flesh in your palm, twitching and hardening as you curled your fingers around the quite impressive girth.

It would stretch you so deliciously. Steve didn’t need to voice it for your imagination to ignite with the phantom sensation.

You tightened your hold, swiping your thumb over the widened, red head. At Steve’s deep moan, your eyes flew up to his face, watching his pleasure in wonder. He didn’t hide it from you, didn’t try to pretend he wasn’t affected. Still, you felt yourself more at his mercy than he was at yours. Especially when you sensed that small kick of elation at giving him pleasure with your touch.

You smeared the beads of precum down his shaft and started stroking. It was a mismatched rhythm, your focus faltering every time Steve drove his crooked fingers against that sensitive, spongy spot inside you.

When Steve sat back on his haunches, you stopped your movement. A rush of heat filled you with sudden shyness as his gaze roamed over your splayed body.

Skin dewy, breasts heaving with quickened breath, legs spread wide. Your hand was still around his cock, your ring and wedding band catching sparks of light. Steve’s own fingers were buried deep in your cunt, your slick glistened on his palm and wrist.

Steve moved his other hand up your body, marveling at your curves and softness. He gave your breast a playful squeeze before trading his fingers further up. Fingers encircled the front of your neck in a familiar way.

“You’re a fucking perfection, Princess.”

Then he was withdrawing his fingers from your heat; milky slick sticking in a web between his digits. He knocked your hand away and spread your wetness all over his cock.

He held your gaze as he dragged his dick between your puffed folds and into your hole. A pause for you to catch your breath, then he was thrusting in one fluid, firm stroke.

A curse bubbled on your lips, stretching into a moan as he split you. Unable to reach him at the moment, your hands fisted the shits, gripping and twisting the fabric. Nipples stiffened into hard peaks, your chest arched upward at the same time as your head bowed back.

There was no second to adjust, no mercy. Steve pounded into you roughly, setting a steady tempo. He watched your body move along the mattress, at least as much as his hold on your throat and your hip allowed. Your breasts swayed with each thrust, your thighs shook with each slap of his hips into you.

He watched your eyes glaze over as an orgasmic haze crept over you anew. Your pretty mouth stayed open, letting out all the sweet noises. It took barely a few of his thrusts and you were cumming again.

Everything was still spinning in your head when Steve yanked your hips more upwards. Your buttocks rested on his thighs, legs thrown over his hips as he fucked into you. Grip on your throat tightened more and more. Your eyes flew open, one of your hands grabbing onto Steve’s wrist. Unbothered, he kept choking you lightly. At the same time, his other hand sneaked across your abdomen.

With your airflow limited, every sensation seemed to heighten impossibly. The stretch of his cock, the pressure of his hand on your lower belly. The coil tightened and tightened, and when Steve swiped his thumb over your engorged clit, you shattered with a soundless scream.

Steve released your throat and the gulps of air you instinctively tok between raw cries seemed to prolong your orgasm. It twisted into a craze that felt agonizingly good.

So good it caused you to cry, salty streaks dripping out of the corners of your eyes and down your temples.

Through the thunderous buzz of blood pounding in your head, the muffled sound of Steve’s voice reached you. Your brain was unable to function enough to recognize it, but it sounded like your name. And something akin to ‘Atta girl.

When Steve shifted, you welcomed his warm heaviness like a comforting blanket, mapping his sweaty back with your hands. He was still moving, speeding up, as he braced both of his forearms on the mattress. His breath was hot against your skin, his lips starved as he kissed and nipped.

He rested his forehead against yours as he came with a loud moan. Warmth of his spend filled you and though you didn’t think of it now, later you would be thankful for the little contraceptive implant you had. As the fog of pleasure held you in its grip, you didn’t care for the consequences. Not when Steve was still rocking slightly into you, his cock twitching.

You sighed, scrunching up your nose, when Steve pulled out a while later. Your pussy throbbed in protest, or maybe it was from the ache that was starting to make itself known. You leaked, too, which would make you really embarrassed if you weren’t too boneless to care.

You managed to wipe at your temples and cheeks, where remnants of tears still wetted your skin, before Steve was touching you again. He flipped you onto your belly then licked a line up your spine with a broad stroke of his tongue.

“Aren’t you done?” You huffed, fearing you may not be able to survive more.

“Far from it,” Steve laughed and playfully slapped your ass.

You were thankful that he spent quite some time just kissing and touching your back, your ass and your thighs. Whether he was giving himself enough time to get hard again, or if he was this dedicated to learning your body.

When he sat on your thighs, his knees braced on the outside of your closed legs, and squeezed your asscheeks, you expected him to play there more. Instead, you felt him spread you enough to expose your pussy. He slid inside slowly, but it still took you by surprise.

Steve laid on top of you, balancing his weight on his arms as he pulled back and thrust back in. The angle unraveled a completely new type of sensation.

“Oh my- fuuuck!” You couldn’t help the unladylike, high pitched squeal.

Nails scratching at the sheets helplessly, you spluttered mewls as Steve purposely rocked his hips back and forth.

“Awww,” he cooed, “is that the spot, Princess?”

Then he pulled back and slammed back in. Each thrust grazed that ultrasensitive area; each time he sunk deeper and deeper, too.

If you were moaning and crying when he fucked you the first time, these sounds were a symphony of pitiful and needy that surpassed others. At one point your mouth just hung open, saliva seeping out of the corner and staining the mattress.

Your toes curled and you helplessly kicked your feet up and down, unable to shift in your position to ease the increasing, maddening pleasure. With your cheek pressed to the mattress, your gaze mindlessly focused on the ring on your finger where your hand rested beside your head.

Steve’s fingers entered your vision, brushing along your hand and intertwining with your fingers. A mockery of softness in the ruthless way he was fucking you.

Your cunt tightened around him, producing more slick the longer he railed that tormenting spot. The sound of him fucking you turned more and more squelching.

“I want you to soak the sheets,” Steve grunted. When you made a noise of protest, he paused to force your legs wide apart with his feet. “Come on, Princess. Make a mess.”

And you did.

Hiding your face in the bedding didn’t suppress the string of cries as you climaxed, squirting a small pool of release.

Steve fucked you through it. Each of his hard thrusts ripping your whimpers into a choked single vowel as you went lax beneath him.

“Fuck, Princess.” He groaned, feeling your wetness drip down his balls. “I would wife you up for that alone. You really-” his hips snapped harder and faster- “are. Fucking. Perfect.”

Your fingers remained intertwined, Steve’s face buried in the crook of your neck, as he came. Perhaps it was the angle at which he was buried inside of you, or maybe this time his orgasm was much stronger, but you felt every throb and every spurt more clearly than before. Felt yourself full with his cum and dripping excess of your combined spend.

Long, long minutes later, when Steve pulled out and dropped next to you onto the mattress, you didn’t even blame him for not having enough power (or decency) to get you a wet cloth.

Honestly, you didn’t have any strength to get up either.

It was later, as you resigned yourself to falling asleep in the mess that you made, that you heard the sound of a drawer being open. Then a soft, wet wipe was pressed to your inner thigh. It was a surprise. Felt a little weird, too. But you rested quietly as Steve wiped you and himself clean, tossing used tissues into the bin hidden behind the nightstand.

When he laid back down on the unsoiled side of the bed and reached for you, you glared at him.

Yes, he fucked your brains out. You seriously doubted there were any functioning brain cells left. Yes, you were officially married. Still, it didn’t mean you were going to play a docile wife in every aspect of this torment.

“You want to sleep on the stained sheets?” Steve arched a single eyebrow. “Swallow your stubbornness and scoot here, Princess.”

It was voiced as if he was giving you an option, but he didn’t wait for your decision. Astonishingly easily, he sneaked a hand under one of your thighs and simply lifted you enough to relocate you.

Nestled to Steve’s side, with one leg hiked over his thigh, you willed yourself to stay awake long enough to sneak out when Steve dozed off. Unfortunately for you, your will was too fucked out.

You fell asleep snuggled to the ruthless mafia monster.

#steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x female reader #steve rogers x you #steve rogers fic #steve rogers imagine #dark mafia!steve rogers #dark mafia!steve rogers x you #dark!steve rogers #dark!steve rogers x reader #dark!steve rogers x you #dark mafia!steve rogers x reader #touch the darkness #my writing

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nicofics · 5 months

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𝙟𝙤𝙩𝙖𝙧𝙤 𝙝𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙘𝙖𝙣𝙤𝙣𝙨

𝘨𝘦𝘯𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭 + 𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨

summary: hc of jotaro from each part! some general, some romantic

notes: i genuinely cannot stop thinking about jotaro kujo its kinda ruining my life rn (no its not) my requests are open!! feel free to send them in <3

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 3:

he adores playing cards with the crusaders

for no reason at all he just loves cards

if your with them, he’ll definitely underestimate you especially if you’re a woman its the 80s come on

the most romantic interaction with jotaro in part 3 is standing closer to you

he will NOT try initiate anything

he’s a 17 year old who has too high of a pride

hates pda with a passion

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 4:

this jotaro does not want to be in morioh for longer than he has to

hes trying to write a thesis and stop a serial killer he is not happy

he definitely goes to moriohs beach like every other day

part 4 jotaro is alot more affectionate

he still HATES pda with a passion though

i feel like he sleeps like a plank

hes definitely a very light sleeper as well

he adores when you cuddle up to him in bed for his warmth

loves the days where you two can just lounge about in the hotel room

since you’re his wife/husband, he’s super protective of you. making sure he can always see that you’re okay

he just loves you so much he can’t show you sometimes

𝘱𝘢𝘳𝘵 6:

you are worried SHITLESS about him the whole time hes unconscious if yous two are still married

being jolynes other parent, you obviously went to find her once you heard of her escape

meeting jotaro there was a plus

if he was protective before, it’s tripled now

he loves you and jolyne so much he’d die to keep you two safe

he’s also the stereotypical dad

listens to nickelback, watches the football when hes free

all that jazz

#fanfic #x reader #jjba fanfic #jjba #jojos bizarre adventure #jotaro kujo #jotaro #jjba jotaro x reader #jotaro headcanons #jotaro kujo x reader #jotaro x reader #jotaro fanfic #jjba jotaro #jotaro kujo my pookie forever

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howyouloveyourdragon · 3 months

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𝕬𝖑𝖑'𝖘 𝕱𝖆𝖎𝖗 𝕴𝖓 𝕷𝖔𝖛𝖊 𝖆𝖓𝖉 𝕰𝖓𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖓𝖙𝖒𝖊𝖓𝖙𝖘 (part i)

🇨🇭🇦🇵🇹🇪🇷 🇴🇳🇪⦂ 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇦🇹🇪🇷🇸 🇴🇫 🇹🇭🇪 🇼🇪🇸🇹

summary: After Jacaerys is sent crashing into the icy ocean that he had thought to have escaped once before and slowly feels himself drift away from this realm...he awakens to a charming woman ensuring his health. A witch. Inviting her home is easy but it begins to sour when he discovers this witch is not unknown to his mother and neither is her heart. pairing: slowburn jacaerys velaryon x witch!reader x (later) rhaenyra targaryen pronouns: she/her part: 1/8 dividers by: hitobaby wordcount: 4,108

A powerful wave passes over his head and forces a rough gasp to rip from Prince Jacaerys Velaryon’s throat. At two and twenty, he had not imagined that he would be escaping death a second time beneath the sea’s ferocious call…but the ache of his arms are growing and his eyelids are slackening. Even his heart shivers as the cold water washes over him. Jacaerys can feel his useless hands claw at the relentless waves to no avail but still, hope latches on as tight as a stiff padlock. As tight as a man still believing of the Gods and all to which they had promised him. Whispers hiss through his ears from the wind, false promises of safety and comfort if he would just…let…go. And yet he does not. Not at first. Not at second…and then…He cannot ignore the tempting exhaustion any longer…He cannot…He cannot…He takes one last breath and then his fluttering lashes tire as his heart begins to feel more like a brush than a beat. All’s fair in love and war, they had said, whispering it into the shell of his ear until gooseflesh had stained his shivers. The exhaustion of war was long-lasting, turning thick skin fragile and in this cursed, wretched case–a prince into a man as weak as a drained newt.

Salt rubs roughly against his scalp as his body wraps around a broken plank of dark wood. Somehow, he cannot find the strength to stay afloat however as his body begins to slowly sink away from it. The weight of his soaked fabrics clings tightly to him, suffocating. Jacaerys feels his eyes flicker but no longer with desperation to escape but instead desperation to release himself from the thoughts of his mother, of his brothers…of gentle Lucerys awaiting him in the realm he cannot yet reach. To finally escape the nobles that haunt him about the keep. The question bellows in his mind; why are you still fighting? The war has passed and yet still death entangles its cold fingers around you. Your betrothed has already wedded another, your trueborn brothers support your mother’s legacy, your mother has been named Queen–why are you still fighting thine own destiny? Thine own fate? Truly if he were fated to die, Jacaerys would consider such thoughts but surely the Gods would not punish him for mere errors of his heritage and if not for that then why else? To what does he owe his life? It is torturous that he still cannot grasp onto the wood as he slowly slips. It is infuriating how the clutches of Gods do not reach for him. Perhaps being devout is not quite enough to save him this time…Perhaps it never was. His lids turn limp, furiously pushing upward despite the pressure like a dismantled current. As the sea turns, the prince imagines his mother’s face at the news. Who would tell her? If anyone. He had not told anybody that he had planned to visit the Westerlands, he had not told anybody to expect him home at all and after so many trips north unnoticed…

He contemplates in the haze of disconnected presence whether it be best that she be informed or not. To which rumour would Mushroom continue to concoct should he pass? A faint smile twitches at his mouth. Perhaps he would continue to spout tales of the fictitious Stark girl, that he had run away with her in the throes of passion and heart-ache. He should like that tale, he thinks to himself. Jacaerys imagines it, of bards not singing of victory and accomplishment but love instead as he rots below the water. Never to be seen by the court’s scrutinising stare again. Perhaps Mushroom would envision him in a little cottage surrounded by greenery and lush forest. Making his way with pots, pans and crops of his own. It had been a long time since Vermax passed and yet Jacaerys feels his mind drift to him. To the sight of him resting curled beside that little cottage. Of this supposed ‘Sara’ outstretching her soft hand toward him and feeling the nuzzle of his rough snout. Would she want himself? Would she caress him and entangle her fingers in his hair and brush each strand away as if they were precious. As if he might be? He fools himself of the faraway dream as wind sweeps it now. He can feel it, he swears he does…If Jacaerys Velaryon should die a fool, it would still content him, he decides. His lids droop themselves gently. Content…such a simple word and yet one he had been chasing for what felt like centuries. And so he thanks the Gods for this gift as he lets go. For Mushroom’s frivolous stories, for his mother’s crown, for his brother’s timid bravery. For home. Even if it is not his own. He thanks them. And he lets go.

Which is why a jolt drops through him when he awakens with an unexpected, wet cloth on his head and a scratchy blanket cocooning him. He blinks once, twice and then thrice as a soft golden light floats like a mist beside him. A gasp jumps past his lips, his eyes just as wide as those belonging to a fearful stag. The shock freezes him. There is no candle in sight. He shifts for only but a moment before he jumps again at the sound of a creak beneath him. The bed, of course, he sighs. He must recall that these are not the luxurious quarters he is used to. Jacaerys looks around him as his breath quickens, it is certain by the wooden planks that this is not his home and nor does he expect to find a loved one nursing but then…who has been? The door squeaks its presence like a vengeful kitten before a gentle face pokes through the gap. Jacaerys feels his sights rest on…a woman. A young woman. A young woman who is…He blinks. Beautiful. The prince stiffens his posture immediately and clears his throat. And then just as quick as the door opened, she was suddenly at his side and her oddly gentle hands were now taking away a wetted cloth from his forehead. He flushes pink as he realises. She caresses his face gently. “Oh you poor thing,” She says, her words soft and cooing. Her lullaby lips soften him with the speed of clicking her fingers as they press to his temples. Jacaerys can feel his lashes flutter as the soothing strokes of her fingers gentle his mind, circling the skin below his eye. And then the sweetest words fall from her lips, foreign and yet ever so welcome to his wanton ears. A sweet song from lands of old, lands he had never been and yet they flow through him as easily as his blood through his own veins. As if they are part of him.

The woman looks commonborn by her dress and the flicker of dirt across her face but still, the prince is not certain. She handles him with the softness of a bird and the care of a devotee. He turns pink at the thought alone. At the image that flashes across his mind…The image of touching those pretty cheeks of hers and cupping them gently–of being close enough to do so...but that might be his delirium guiding those thoughts. He cannot find it in himself to care however when her lashes flutter over her eyes which shine like the reflection of an opal. When she leans forward and kisses either temple before pulling back again. The heat that radiates her flesh presses into him with homely warmth and the lingering scent of amber. It cloaks his nose and Jacaerys finds himself chastising his sights closed to intake every wave that graces him. When his eyes open again, he is greeted with an even more longing sight. There before him, this beautiful woman with her soft eyes and gentle appearance looks to him with concern and care. “How are you feeling, milord?” The title catches him off-guard but he does not let it cloud him. “Hm?” Too much… He blinks again to shake off his nerves. A smile twitches at her lips to his mild confusion, it can’t help but make him prideful. “How are you, milord?” She repeated, a twinkle in her eye. “Are you feeling any better?”

“It is not their fault that they have created such beauty before me that I am struck by her.” His words flutter through the air like a butterfly’s wings and she is taken aback. She pauses and he watches, mesmerised by her. For a moment, he wonders whether she will answer, whether his words have scared her and he is instantly grateful that she cannot hear his beating thoughts. The rush that braces against his head. He swallows them down. An invisible thread of string pulls from his centre toward her and he cannot help the way he listens to it. His gentle hand rises to cup the side of his face. “That I find myself shivering at your touch–not the cold.” A shudder runs down the woman’s spine and she melts before him. She whispers to him in one mere word. “Oh.” And like that, Jacaerys feels his most sacred organ squeeze. He feels that invisible thread multiply and wrap around his heart and clench it. “If you are to pray to the Gods for my well-being…” Het rails, seduction thick on his tongue. “Then pray for the desire of my heart to quench itself.” Her hair rustles through his fingers in curls. Odd little waves that call for his attention. He follows them as though they crave it themselves. But the woman’s breath hitches and she stands abruptly, pretending as though she is not silently pleading for breath as it heavies. She clears her throat as she walks backward toward the door. His sights remain only on her. His hand stays still, holding nothing more than cold nothing. The barest of a linger. “Then, please, make yourself at home and rest, I shall return later with…with food.” She is gone without a trace.

Without her, he had rested, but surely once she returned, the heat of embarrassment conquered his face and his body begged not to cringe away from her. Never had the case of flirtation struck his mind and yet once he is incapacitated, he does so. With false conviction. A sigh ripples past his lips and he stares down to the wooden floor while the woman hurries herself around the room with baskets of berries, fruits, herbs. Jacaerys cleared his throat and squeezed shut his eyes. “I apologise for my behaviour last eve.” He blurts before he can stop himself. Before the shame can grow any more great. He hears a distant hum, curious enough to call forth his sights. The woman looks entirely unbothered as she unloads the baskets. Her head tilts toward him, eyes catching his unsure stare. “I had not…I had not intended to cause discomfort or concern you.” He presses further, desperate to amend himself. But then her lips twitch upward and a chuckle escapes her. “You need not. It was quite amusing.” Her sweet voice echoes. He would be lying in untruth if he attempted to suede one into thinking his shoulders did not drop in relief. “I do not?” He breathes. Her smile grows and she shakes her head. Slowly his embarrassment softens. His own lips begin to quirk. “You do not even know my name–” “And you do not even know mine.” She returns, the quip light on her tongue.

Slowly, her steps track closer to him rather than into the short kitchen. The bags are dropped onto the floor with an odd gentleness. “Then what should I call you?” He queries, leaning up on his hands. At this, she hesitates, but still she sits at his side and smiles at him. Her smile is warm, he notes. It is kind. It is welcoming him to her mere presence. “Perhaps I will tell you once you are well.” An inch apart, Jacaerys chuckles. His head dips down as a low rumbling sound was pulled from him as easily as a branch from a tree. Tough at first but surely. “Why must I wait?” He inquires, biting down on his lip. As the mysterious woman looks down at him, Jacaerys’ eyes glimmer. He looks…He looks sweet…Gentle…It had been a long while since she had seen such a face, she was sure. Not that she could possibly remember such a thing…Her face felt as though its lowering was entirely of the fates. As though the Gods themselves were pushing her forth. Were curling their fingers in her hair and pressing her closer. She clears her throat and longs to remember. She snaps her head backward and lets Jacaerys’ hope fall flat. Unhomed. A now-familiar pink flush washes up his neck. She smiles back at him sympathetically. “I am afraid that some things are better kept to oneself until they are certain.” And Jacaerys sighs. He supposed that that was right but it did not ease him.

The woman then lifts herself from the bed and starts back toward the basket-cradled foods. Again, Jacaerys sighs but now tosses back his head in frustration. The last day that he had spent, before yesterday, without forcing a purpose had been far too long ago to comfort him. He tried to recall it now…Perhaps the day after teaching his brother Joffrey of The Seven. It had been dark and dreary that morn–so much so that he had taken ill. A smile pulls his lips at the memory of Lucerys tugging at his arm and pleading to finish a story from the night before. The boy had fallen asleep too early. His smile faded just as quickly. A grunt ripped from his mouth and his teeth clenched shut. Lucerys…Lucerys…Lucerys… Jacaerys’ breath hitches and his head whipped to the other side of his pillow. A wince overran his face as he fought away his brother’s face. His brother’s voice. His brother’s mere name. He tries desperately to push it out, out, out. Just as he is about to rip away his hair (fingers tight in his curls despite no memory of reaching there)–The soft murmurings that he could remember as a voice are lulling him back.

The voice is muffled but it was as clear to him as a siren and just as tempting. It sounds like a song…As if a sweet-voiced bard were calling for him. Still, his breath shrieks for release, still it sunk through his lungs and weighed hard but his body had calmed from its tension. Reluctantly, it pries open his eyes too. He peeks cautiously until only the mysterious woman’s face greets him. She says nothing as he softens. As he returns to the flesh of his body rather than the panic of his mind. She only smiles. She only welcomes him. A hand holds one of his own. “Would you like something to eat?” The woman asks, holding out a plate filled with bread. Jacaerys’ eyes flicker over the slices and try not to irritate his stomach at the sight of vibrant red, blue and purple spreads coating them. He licks his lips at the puffed oranges. He swallows in his dry mouth and nods. “Yes.” Jacaerys chokes out. She settles beside him once more and reaches for one of the thick-pasted breads. If she did indeed question why such a happening occurred, she did not bring it to his attention.

Silence erupted between them with ease. It was almost startling how quickly he grew to miss the warmth of her touch in only a few spared moments. The curl of her finger in his hair, the gentle circle of his neck. He swallowed down the affectionately crafted food but let the sweet taste linger on his tongue. Beside the treacle flavoured bread, she had arranged a thick broth to join their taste buds. It was warm and satisfying as it slid down to his stomach. He found it odd how well common food could please him after so long in a life of luxury. It was nothing like the food in the South nor the North but it was not quite akin to the foods in which he would devour against the cold brush of war. The meals he spent only among his harrowed comrades. He winced but not at her food. At what he had missed, what he had lost, as he stared down at the honey coloured broth. It glimmered in the light of the sun. “Was he your friend?” The woman asked suddenly. Jacaerys’ eyes snapped up to her. “What?” Ripped out of his mouth. Her face was soft and gentle, almost beckoning the words out of his mouth. “...Luke. You say his name in your sleep.” Again, Jacaerys swallowed but this time not for the crave of her food. Her hand reaches for his but Jacaerys feels himself flinch. The woman stills. “You need not tell me,” She continued, quietly. Her lashes fluttered with a slowness that if he focussed on it, it would soothe his inability to breathe. “But I have heard that speech is a human’s most comforting solace.” This time when she reaches for him, his fingers nudge between hers. They interweave like thread.

Jacaerys gives himself a breath. A crisp, cold breath and then…”My brother, actually.” He whispered just short of air. An exhale. His chest is tight, it squeezes and whimpers and wrenches. “He was my brother.” She only nods, unwrapping him of his nerves with a mere circle of her fingers along his hand. The encouragement threatens the water in his eyes but one more time he swallows it down. “I killed him.” Pressure heavies the air. It pushes down on them with the weight of a boar. Yet, she retreats not. Not even when the dam breaks and his tight throat releases a choked gasp. Tears push themselves from his eyes and the crushing wave of his own guilt grasps his tender brain with a roughness he hadn’t known possible. “I was the one who told her we should be messengers! That it was our duty to protect her! I should have been protecting him.” Shock rocks through him when a soft hand pulls his face to her chest. As she clambers onto the bed and she clutches him close. The warmth of her draws his every instinct. It cries for him, begs for a skim of his flesh. “I should have been protecting him and instead I killed him.” The lump in his throat thickens and his tears refuse to stop. No matter how hard he begs them. His hair tousles in the woman’s soothing hands as he sobs. Jacaerys almost hopes that once her breath draws to his ear, she will sing her song again and the internal harrow will soothe just as the external had before but she did not. Instead, she presses a calming kiss to his temple. She lets him wail with her arms cocooning him.

An hour wastes away in the sour afternoon but she does not leave him. She lets him lay and calm and finally when the tears stop, she strokes back his hair. Droplets of sweat pearl at his forehead like a circlet. A crown of purity and anguish. “I think you are beautiful and kind and you should understand how proud your brother would be of you for looking after your mother in his absence.” The woman whispers then presses another kiss to his face. “I will not be a moment.” She assures but a quiet whine breaks past Jacaerys’ lips and his hand paws at her like a frightened man of youth rather than a war-torn soldier. She supposes he is both as she slips away and descends back to the kitchen. The bowls and plates are scooped into her hands and sent to the thick bucket of now cold water. She glances behind herself to catch sight of Jacaerys. To her surprise, he is staring back at her softly; his face sits blank when their eyes lock but there is something gentle in his eyes. Something waiting for her call. “Can I help?” He asks quietly, akin to that of a wounded dog. Hesitation tenses her but surely, she nods. “Of course.” She answers. Her fingers dip into the cold water and flows them back and forth an invisible creek of her mind. The ridges of water rock over her hand before it finally warms. In time for Jacaerys to kneel at her the bucket’s side and take a plate from her. Their flesh brushes against one another and they still. They pause. They feel their breath hitch as one…before he rolls the plate into the water.

The woman’s eyes track down to the smooth, white bowl in her hands and she grasps a wet cloth. Cleaning had not been something she enjoyed but now with the curious man beside her, there was an odd domesticity she enjoyed. “My name is Y/n.” She finally tells him in a wisp and it is as if the air has cooled. As if clarity has finally bitten through a frost and gentled their minds. Jacaerys, himself, halts. His eyes track to her and follow the curves of her face. “My name is Jacaerys.” He returns, holding his breath. There was only one who could wield such a name without insulting all that house the heritage of Old Valyria. One who could bear such a sacred name. But if she understands his secret, she speaks not of it. She smiles. Soft and sweetening the salt of his nerves. She nods. “It is honourable to make your acquaintance.”

As Jacaerys nods and stirs lukewarm water atop porcelain (to which he does not have the curiosity to question from whence it originally came) to rid of it the jams and honeys this generously sweet woman had crafted for them to share, he lets her name sing in his mind. To rivet through the caverns and corners of his thoughts. All is still and all is gentle. All is kind. And all is their own. Two flesh familiar and yet such strangers. He decides then that he will not allow her to go unnoticed by his heart. That he will better his judgement until he can be worthy of her friend perhaps. Oh what a bittersweet title he desired as his own.

Perhaps Jacaerys would not allow them to remain strangers for long at all. In fact he is certain of it as the distant sound of waves crashing echo in his ears and hope floats in the air.

A/N: first of all, wtf my beloved @jacevelaryonswife??? this is a beautiful gif i adore it ♥♥♥ second of all thank you to all the lovely people that took the time to have a read through this and coached me through my concerning moodboard procrastination process ilysmm, @worms-on-a-single-string @pendragora @hopelesswritergall @officerbrowneyes thank you all for feeding my delusions. also, while reader's abilities are only hinted at for now, i swear they will become more relevant

General Taglist - @hopelesswritergall - @succnfuccubus - @madame-fear

HOTD Taglist; - @wrendermedone - @its-actually-minicika - @gettheetoanunneryimmediatly - @adelusionalwriter - @cookielovesbook-akie - @maximofftwinsbitch - @ughhthisbitch - @daenerysapologist - @savagemickey03

Jacaerys Taglist - @fairysluna - @jacevelaryonswife - @maximofftwinsbitch

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eddiesxangel · 7 days

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Take Me to the Lakes | E.M x reader part 5/6

Summary: This summer was supposed to be the summer to work at your favourite place in the world with your best friend. But things take a turn when it isn’t your best friend you end up working with.

Master list

cw: angst, dirty smut and more angst. 3.9k words

You’ve been grappling with yourself for days. The emotional turmoil is akin to a never-ending struggle. You are torn between two opposing forces—one driven by love, passion and desire to be with Eddie while the other grounded in reality. You know that leaving this idyllic bubble of happiness will mean facing the challenges and complexities of real life, which is causing you mental and emotional anguish.

You do, in fact, love Eddie. You have ever since you laid eyes on him. Even back then, pure infatuation turned into lust, which in turn made you fall in love with him all the same. This makes this decision that much more difficult to swallow. Your pride and reputation meant everything to you, but how could your two worlds coexist?

You played along, pretending to ignore your worries when you were around Eddie. You wanted to take advantage of all the time you had left before summer ended. Only a few more weeks, time was running out, yet it stood still when you were with Eddie. Eddie made you feel safe and wanted. Eddie makes you feel alive and free. You always felt a sense of calm whenever you were with Eddie. There was something about him that made you feel like you could be your true self around him without any fear of judgment. You never had to put on a façade or pretend to be someone you're not.

Eddie was your well-needed reminder that you don't have to be perfect to be loved and accepted. He appreciated you for who you were, flaws and all. Being with him was a source of comfort and reassurance you could always count on.

No matter how much you try to push it away, that little warning bell in your mind keeps ringing. It reminds you of all the things that could go wrong. It's like a constant companion that never leaves your side, always lurking in the back of your mind.

The fear of the unknown was overwhelming and paralyzing at times, especially at night when you were alone with your thoughts, making you feel helpless and trapped.

With Eddie, you felt like you could let your guard down and be yourself. Eddie was also judged and tried; he was nothing of the man everyone blamed him for being, but you were only you; you couldn’t make the town see him for who he truly was. Or maybe you could? But the burden would be too much, ruining the status you’ve built up your whole life. Was it worth the risk? You know Eddie would risk it all for you, but deep down, you wouldn’t be able to do it for him…

—

Today, you were on Field duty with Robin, Ashton and Eddie. Not much had happened besides the four of you supervising the soccer game between your groups. So when you and Eddie asked them to cover for you for about twenty minutes, they reluctantly agreed.

You and Eddie snuck off to the barn because you were running out of places to have sex. The cabin was mysteriously boarded up the last time you tried sneaking off, so you needed to get creative.

“You’re always so horny” You giggle as he grabs your ass.

“It’s not that I’m horny…you’re just that sexy, I can’t help myself.”

“Shut up and kiss me,” You giggle.

Eddie presses you up against the raw wooded planks of the barn wall. It was stuffy and hot in there, but you only cared about Eddie. Eddie made you feel alive, wanted, and protected. You wanted him to feel the same. All thoughts are thrown out the window. You don’t worry about getting caught; you don’t worry about life after camp; your entire being is absorbed by thoughts of Eddie.

“I want you in my mouth.” You moan as Eddie kisses you deeply. You’ve made it to the barn and pulled him into a dark corner.

“You wanna get on your knees for me, Princess?”

“Mmmmmmm,” you drop down, quickly taking off the tiny green gym shorts of the camp uniform.

You could smell Eddie when you pulled down his shorts; the pheromones made your head spin. Sure, it was hot and sticky, but you needed Eddie's sweaty balls in your face. The stench of the barn didn’t even phase you as your mouth watered for him.

“Sucha’ good girl, f’me,” He praised as you took his hard cock in your mouth. Slowly, you swirl your tongue around the deep pink head before taking more of him in your mouth.

You pine for his affection, his touch, but mostly his words.

You and Eddie discovered you were both pretty nasty when it came to fucking one another. Eddie loved that you could keep up with him and his dirty fantasies.

“You always wanna be a good girl for me, don’t ya, princess.”

“Yes, Daddy.” You say before going back onto his throbbing cock.

Eddie’s head falls back as your lips latch back onto his leaking cock.

“Fuck that’s good” Eddie slowly thrusts his hips into your mouth so his cock hits the back of your throat. “You’re perfect, Y/N.”

Hearing him say your name makes you pine even more; the butterflies it gives you only makes you want to be all that much better for him, to him.

“Thank you, Daddy,” You hum, pulling away to work his cock with your hand.

Eddie can’t hold off any longer. You didn’t have much time, and someone might walk in any second.

Without warning, Eddie quickly stands you up and walks you over to the back wall. You let out a small whimper because you aren’t done yet.

“You were being such a good girl, don’t make me punish you.” He growls low in your ear. “You want your little cunt fucked, or not? Want daddy to make you feel good?”

You nod your head silently.

“I know, baby girl, you just need your little pussy to be played with, huh. Is that it?” He caressed your cheek before manhandling you onto the hay bail in the corner of the barn.

You squeak when Eddie flips you and covers your mouth with his large hand to keep you quiet.

“Shhh, we can’t have anyone walking in now, can we?:

You silently shake your head no, and Eddie's hand falls from your mouth to grip the fat of your ass.

“I want to do bad things to you,” He growls.

“So do them” You push your ass into him.

“I’ve been waiting for this all day,” He tugs on your cotton shorts.

“You’re not wearing any underwear?”

“Better for you, no?” You smirk.

A low curse leaves Eddie's throat before his hands dip lower.

“You always get this wet from sucking my cock?”Eddie glides his hands along your wet folds. “Yes, Daddy,” you gasp as his fingers make contact.

A loud screech is heard in the distance, probably a camper playing tag, but you and Eddie freeze. You both are brought back to reality; you don’t have any more time to waste.

“I want your cock inside me, please” You reach as you look back over your shoulder to kiss him.

“We might get caught.”

“Good, then everyone will know I’m yours,” you smirk.

“You freaky little minx” Eddie slides his cock between your soaked folds before slowly pushing his way inside. Inch by inch, he stretches you out.

Even though you’ve been fucking like rabbits, your body still needs time to adjust to its size.

“You okay, baby?”

You bite back hiss; it burns so good.

“Yeah, just give me a minute.

“Don’t think we have a minute, Princess.”

“What? You going to blow your load already” You giggle, only making your already tight puss get tighter around eddies cock.

“No, we are running out of time; Birdie and Rooster will kill us if we don’t hurry.”

“Fine, then fuck me like you mean it.”

The brush of Eddie’s thick cock on your inner walls was something you would never get used to. He would make you forget about everything and everyone that wasn’t solely him. Not your life outside the camp, not the pressures you felt of being perfect, not the way you are made out to be the Princess of Hawkins and certainly not the weight you felt in your chest when you think of life with Eddie after summer is over.

All those hours you spent dreaming about being with Eddie, you never thought it would come to fruition, so you never thought about the consequences if it did happen. Now that you’ve claimed you both have claimed each other as their own, you’re struggling with what to do once you return to the real world.

Would your parents accept him? No. You knew for a fact that they worked hard to get you where you are today, and they would never understand how loving Eddie makes any sense.

But none of that mattered right now; none of that even crossed your mind because Eddie had a way of making you feel like you were floating on a cloud of euphoria.

“You still with me, Princess?”

“Mmmhhmm,” you bite down to keep from moaning.

“You know I love those sounds you make, baby, but we gotta stay quiet.

“I’m so close, baby, please.”

Eddie came to know your body almost as well as you did. He knew you needed extra attention to help you get over the edge, so he reached down to work your clit with his rough, calloused fingertips.

“Shit, baby, you’re so close. I can feel your pretty little pussy squeezing my cock so good.”

“Please,” You beg as you grab Eddie’s wrist to brace yourself for your orgasm.

“Come for Daddy.” His breath brushes past your ear, and you melt under his grasp. Your body quivers as your pussy clenches, and your brain spits out endorphins through your body.

Eddie’s not far behind; the grip in which you clamped down on him was so delicious he couldn’t help it. Without thinking, he came inside of you, making sure all of it was pushed up far inside.

“Did you just?” You ask breathlessly.

“Fucking take it” He thrust every last bit of his seed into your pussy.

“Eddie,” You whined.

“What baby girl?”

“I—I’m going to be all messy; I don’t even have panties…” you can already feel it dripping out of you.

“Good. I want you to be thinking about me for the rest of the day.”

You want to wipe that cocky smirk off his face. You would have to walk around with a puddle at the bottom of your shorts…

“There you guys are!” It’s been like thirty minutes, so let's go!” Robin scolded, and you hiked up your shorts around your ankles.

You hear a “gross” as she walks away, and you and Eddie can't help but laugh.

“I’m so done covering for you guys; this is getting way out of hand.” Robin said as Eddie rejoined his campers and Ashton by the creek.

“Birdie, I’m sorry, we got carried away.”

“You always get carried away.” She rolls her eyes.

She was right. Your relationship with Eddie was distracting you from your responsibilities.

“I’m sorry, I promise. We won’t sneak off again. I owe you so many times. Whatever you need, I got it.”

Her facial expressions soften. “Fine. Only if you really do promise me?”

“Cross my heart.”

“What about lover boy?”

“I also promise he won’t do anything to misbehave.” You smirk “during camp hours.”

“You think we have time to stop by the cabin quickly before dinner?” You mumble.

“Yeah why?” She glanced at her watch

“Uh… I need to change my shorts.

“Ugh gross, ”

—

As the weeks passed, your and Eddie’s relationship became more serious. He would like to take you on dates after hours. Even if nothing was around, he thought of ways to get creative. Much of it involved stealing from the kitchen and borrowing the projector from the supply cabinet for movie nights, but none of that mattered to you. What mattered was that he put in an effort you could only dream about.

Last night, you snuck off to his van. There was a mattress, blankets, and some pillows. Eddie insisted you sleep together all night and set an extra early alarm so no one would notice you’re not in the cabin.

It was risky, but you caved. How could you say no when he whispered sweet nothings into your ear while also telling you what exactly he would do to you in the privacy of his van? Eddie had a way of getting you to do anything, not that you minded. The last thing you wanted was to get into trouble, but you wanted to sleep next to him. To feel his body next to yours, to hold you.

As you awaken from a deep slumber, you feel surprisingly well-rested. You slowly open your eyes and squint as the sun's bright light peeks through the van's windows, illuminating the small space. You realize that you're tangled in the sheets with Eddie, and a wave of happiness washes over you. As you take in the sight of him sound asleep beside you, you can't help but smile.

However, your joy is quickly interrupted by the nagging thought of the alarm that was supposed to go off. You push it to the back of your mind and take a moment to appreciate this peaceful, intimate moment with Eddie. You know that time is running out, and you must make the most of the time you have left together before it inevitably comes to an end.

You've realized that this time together is incredibly precious and fleeting. The pressures of reality are beginning to weigh heavily on you, and you understand that things won't always be this easy once you return home. With only two weeks of summer left, it's important to treasure every moment together.

You hear your name being yelled out in the distance, and you panic. snap up quickly, reaching for Eddie's writs to see it is already 9:45 am. You’re supposed to be on the clock.

“Get up, oh my god.” You find your shirt and pants while Eddie stirs.

“Baby, get up! We are late!” You shake him some more, and Eddie snaps awake.

“What?? what?!”

"It’s almost ten we slept in!” You yell, throwing his shirt at him.

“Bambi?!” You hear your name yelled along with Eddies.

“Fuck” you’re freaking out as you scrambled out of the van, Eddie following close behind you.

When you stepped out, Billy was there.

“Well, well, well, what do we have here?” He smirks.

“Billy, please, don’t say anything.” You beg.

You knew Billy had not gotten over things. He would still comment when Eddie wasn’t around; he tried more than once to get you to come with him instead of Eddie.

“Oh, I don’t know. It’s already camp hours; everyone has been looking for the two of you, and it seems you’ve been fornicating on Camp Murdock’s dime.”

“Billy.” You warn.

“What’s happening?” Eddie joins you once he is fully dressed.

“You tell me? You and you’re little whore here—“

Billy didn’t get to finish before Eddie charged at him. He tackled him to the ground. You scream for him to stop, and you beg as you watch the two men roll around in the dirt, watching their fists make contact with one another’s faces.

Your screams must have been heard because Robin and Steve came rushing over, along with a few others, including Carol.

“Please stop! Eddie, baby, please, he isn’t worth it!” You cry.

You watch Steve and Ashton pull the two men apart, holding them back.

“What on earth is going on here!” Carol yells once the commotion stops.

“I don’t know, boss? You tell me,” Billy smirks. “Found these two playing hooky, and the next thing I know, I’m the one getting sucker punched.”

“You little—“

“Stop,” Carol cuts off Eddie before he can continue. “Is that true?” Carol turns to you with a look of disappointment in her eye.

“Not—No, not exactly… our alarm didn’t go off, and we accidentally slept in…” You look down ashamed.

“Our?” She raises a brow to you.

“Uh— mine and Eddie’s…”

“How exactly did that happen?

“We didn’t sleep in our cabins,” you mumble, embarrassed that you were dumb enough to risk this.

“I’m very disappointed in you Y/N.”

“I’m so sorry; it will never happen again,” You try to speak, holding back your tears.

“You’re right; it won’t happen again because you, gentleman…” you watch as she turns to Eddie and Billy, “Are you going home.”

“What?!” They say in unison.

“You can’t seem to be civil; we can make do with only a week and a half left.”

“But Carol—“

“That’s final!” She turns to you.

“As for you, young lady, I’ll give you a warning… I like you, Y/N, and seeing as your little boyfriend is leaving, I would like to think the tardiness will correct itself.”

“Yes, Ma’am.” You bow your head in shame.

This was not like you; you don’t break the rules, you don’t disappoint people, and you definitely do not get into trouble.

“I don’t want to waste any more time. Get back to work...and boys, pack your things. I want you out by lunch."

—

You rush over to Robin to return to your campers, whom Nancy and Cassie are looking after.

“Girl, what happened.” Robin looks at you worried.

“We slept in; Billy found us in the van and called me… it doesn’t matter— and Eddie attacked him.” You sniffle.

Robin hugged you and tried her best to comfort you, but it was useless. Everything was ruined.

You went through the motions the rest of the morning until lunch. You decided not to eat so you could say goodbye to Eddie.

Billy had already packed up and left while Eddie brought his stuff to the parking lot.

“Baby,” you whisper, trying not to startle him as you walk up to him from behind.

“Hey.” He sounded annoyed.

“I’m sorry, I tried to tell you we would get in trouble, but I—“

“I get it, it’s my fault, and now I’m being punished. It is what it is.” He flung the duffle into the mattress where he made love to you the night before.

“Eddie, listen to me,” you beg.

“What?” He snaps at you.

“Oh my god, this is exactly why we can’t be together when we go home. You’re too unpredictable, and your temper is too hot.” You snap back at him.

"What do you mean we can’t be together when we go home?” His face fell.

“I—I”

“You were planning on breaking up with me when summer was over?! Was that it? Perfect little Princess can’t be seen with the town freak! God forbid I taint your reputation.”

“Eddie—wait.”

“So what was your plan exactly? Make me fall for you just so you can rip my heart out? You’re sick, y/n.”

“No— please let me explain!”

“I care for you, don’t you get that!

“And I don’t!? God, Eddie, I’ve been in love with you since I was sixteen.”

"If you told me that yesterday, I would have believed you… but now…. I feel like I don't even know who you are."

"Believe me, please.” You beg, “I love you."

“Then act like it!”

“I can’t, don’t you get it? I can’t be me at home. Have you ever seen me like this in Hawkins?” You pause for his response, but he stays quiet.

“Exactly, no. and there is a reason for that!”

“This isn’t high school anymore; the world is much bigger than Hawkins. You can be whoever you want. You don't have to please mommy and daddy anymore.”

“I can’t”

“Why? Give me one good reason.”

“I—I—just…I can’t.” You really couldn’t. Eddie was right, but you were so scared. You were a coward.

“Fine, I’ll save you the trouble. We are done. That’s what you wanted. You’ll return to your perfect life and move on without me.”

“Eddie, please,” You cried. Tears were blurring your vision as you watched him get into the van.

None of this was supposed to happen this summer. You were supposed to be with Ashley, getting over Eddie Munson and not falling more and more deeply in love with him, only to break your own heart.

You made a terrible mistake.

“Where are you going?”

“Home. I have a long trip ahead of me.” he slams the door shut.

“Baby, please,” you grabbed his door handle to open it, but it was already locked.

“Let go.” He tells you when he rolls down the window.

“Can’t we talk about this? Please, you need to understand,” You begged.

“No, I understand it perfectly, baby; you don’t want me.”

“Baby, please, I am so sorry. I love you. I didn't mean it!” You cry.

You cry and cry, and Eddie can no longer watch. He is hurt, he is broken, and he can’t watch you sob any longer, so he puts the car in drive. He didn’t believe you when those three words fell from your lips.

You froze as Eddie drove off without so much as a goodbye. This was not how you wanted things to end. You didn’t want things to end. Eddie was the best thing to happen to you. You needed him in your life. You could not go through life without him now that you’ve had a little slice of heaven with him this summer. You fucked up; you fucked up badly and needed to fix things.

tags: @winchester-angel @josephquinnsfreckles @lemme-slytherin-that-dick @emma-munson @littlexdeaths @siriuslysmoking @peachysink @nailbatanddungeon @leelei1980 @daisy-munson @taintedcigs @take-everything-you-can @strangerstilinski @bl0ssomanddie @seb-buckybarnes @chickenandsheep-blog @lokis-army-77 @ali-r3n @erinekc @rowanswriting @snowflowersstars246 @micheledawn1975 @princesatracionera @bells-28 @kellsck @ezzynf @oneforthemunny @brxkenartt @ktiutsa @sofiaadela @guineveresghost @nabiiturner @eddiesguitarskills @comeonatmebruh @sky-full-0f-fl0wers

#eddie munson x reader #Eddie Munson x you #Eddie Munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson series #eddie munson au #eddie munson x fem!reader smut #eddie munson x female character #eddie munson x cheerleader!reader #eddie munson x popular!reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson fan fic #eddie munson fan fiction #take me to the lakes

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lowkeycasanova · 8 days

Text

Isn't that sweet

sanji x f!reader

loosely inspired by espresso by sabrina carpenter

wc: less than 700

As Sanji ascended the stairs of the Thousand Sunny to the deck in the morning, the wooden planks creaked underneath his footsteps. A pair of legs came into view as he walked up and there, leaning against the railing with a serene smile, stood his beloved.

Your frame with the backdrop of the vast ocean, along with your hair swaying in the breeze, was a sight to behold.

Sanji's heart skipped a beat as he approached. His footsteps softened, not wanting to disturb. He admired you from afar for a moment, taking in the way the sunlight kissed your skin.

"Good morning, my dear." he said softly. You turned around to him, meeting his gaze with a tenderness that melted his heart.

"Good morning, Sanji." you replied like a melody.

His hand, once tucked away in his pocket, found it's place on the small of your back.

With the waves being the only sound, it was easy to feel like it was only you two in the world. That is until Luffy's unmistakable enthusiam arrived.

A chuckled escaped your lips at the thought. You love that kid.

Looking up at boyfriend, you observed him with a smile, loving the way his hair matched the sun. A soft smile played on your lips while a subtle yawn escaped from his. He tried to conceal it by slightly turning his head and covering his mouth with his free hand.

Then he caught your eye, his own expression sheepish yet filled with affection.

"Sorry love." he murmured, his voice carrying a hint of exhaustion.

You look amused. "Tired?"

"A little. Didn't get much sleep."

"Why's that?"

"Just... thinking about you, is all."

It was true. You and your presence consumed his thoughts. And it'll be random too.

I wonder what she's doing right now.

I wonder if she's thinking about me.

I wish I was with her right now.

She looked so beautiful today.

I loved the way she hugged me the last time I saw her.

He thinks about you when you're with him and when you're not. On thought will lead to another and he'll lay in bed thinking about you all night if he could. And results in having dreams about you when he does sleep.

Your smile widened at his confession, a warmth spreading through your chest. "I know the feeling."

With tender fingers, you grabbed a hold his hand that was resting on your back and interlocked them.

He couldn't help but smile. Everything you so makes him smile.

Sex wasn't the passionate driving force of your relationship. Softly brushing against him made a shock go through his body, even if you did it by accident. Seeing you fight beside him filled him with pride. Tending to his wounds made his heart skip a beat.

He still gets nervous when he sees you. He gets butterflies in the pit on his stomach. He's giddy, happy, content, and distracted all at the same time.

Sanji brought your intertwined hands to his mouth and pressed a kiss to your knuckles. His warm breath fanned over your skin. It's Sanji, so he's done this before, but the kindness in the gesture will always make you swoon.

"Love you."

The words were unexpected and you thought that maybe you had imagined them. This wasn't new. Sanji was never the one to only say it sparingly. He was going to tell you as much as he could.

It made your heart swell. Aside from your parents, no one has ever loved you like this. And not only did he tell you, he showed you.

You pulled your hand from his, reaching to brush a strand of hair from his face, and wrapped both arms securely around his neck before he could whine about the loss of connection.

Your lips kissed his softly and a low moan was emitted from his throat. His lips parted and you knew there was more he wanted to say, but couldn't. Simply kissing him made his head spin.

"Love you too, Sanji."

#sanji x reader #sanji x y/n #one piece sanji #op sanji #sanji fluff #sanji fanfiction #sanji fanfic #one piece fluff #one piece fanfiction

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the-power-of-a-pen · 6 months

Text

Oh, How I Love Thee

Fandom: Spider-Man 2 (PS5)

Summary: A series of cute moments between Harry Osborn and reader based on Elizabeth Barrett Browning's poem How Do I Love Thee?

Word Count: 3061

Pairing: Harry Osborn x reader (romantic)

Trigger Warning(s): Cursing, 3rd to last scene is reader panicking

A/n: I don't remember the last time I wrote a fic, but I loved the new Spiderman 2 on ps5 and I'm obsessed with/gay for Harry Osborn. Also apologies: English isn't my first language. Also please give feedback -- I have quite a few more of these in my drafts that I'll only publish if these are well-received!

How do I love thee?

Planks, nails, screws, and metal bars were strewn haphazardly across the floor of the apartment you shared with Harry. His eyebrows were furrowed the way they always do when he's determined to solve something. You'd long ago surrendered the instructions to him after his persistent insistence that he could figure it out. Instead, you simply leaned against him as you began organized the mess of a dresser you had attempted to assemble.

"Okay, how the fuck am I supposed to know with one of these screws is the 40 millimeter one?" he complained.

You adjusted yourself so that you were lounging more comfortably next to him with your chin on his shoulder while he wrapped an arm around your waist. “If I had to guess,” you started, “I’d probably read what’s on the top of each screw.”

He scoffed playfully. “Thanks, Captain Obvious.”

You gestured for him to give you the instructions, which he reluctantly did. "It says we need to put the x12 screws into the L2 bar first. Then we- oh for fuck's sake, why does this manual have pictures only? We're trying to build a coffee table, not a fucking time machine."

"Let's just try using the power drill on these," Harry suggested. "There's probably tons of extra parts in here that we can use if we mess up."

"Okay, Brunel. I thought you were a biochem major."

"Hey," he laughed. "Let a man dream. Can you hold this piece up?"

You obliged, and Harry picked up the nearest 40 mm-looking screw and drove it into the wooden bar at an angle to connect it to the bottom of the coffee table. You gave each other a look. It didn't seem right, but it did what it was supposed to.

"Trust the process?" you suggested. "I'm not going to try and read that chicken scratch again."

Harry shrugged. "Fair enough. As long as it stands up, right?"

The two of you repeated the process for the other four legs and the rack under the table. Finally, you propped it up to stand. It was a horrible mess, slanted and barely standing up. Truly, it looked more like a modern sculpture than a piece of furniture.

After a moment of silence, Harry said, "I'm gonna order something pre-made and get us takeout."

"Yeah," you sighed. "That's probably for the best."

Let me count the ways.

"I claim Yoshi," Harry declared as he selected the character for the round.

"Basic," you jabbed back. "My main's Toad, anyway. Rainbow Road?"

"Obviously."

The rain pattered against the windows outside. It was a perfect night to stay in.

As soon as the countdown finished, Harry sent a green shell your way and curved around you.

"Cheater," you jabbed as you spammed your controller to get back up.

"Hate the game, not the player," he bantered. "Oh, fuck you, Peach."

"How funny would it be if the bots won over us?"

"Not gonna happen," Harry replied. He threw a banana at your mini-kart and, by pure luck, managed not to crash into you.

On Harry's side of the split screen, it showed that he was on his final lap, with you a decent distance behind him. With the finish line in sight, you pulled the last trick in your sleeve. You grabbed Harry's chin and pulled him in for a passionate kiss, making him entirely lose focus. By the time you two pulled away, you were out of breath, and your side of the TV read 1st Place.

"Now who's cheating?" Although he was trying to scold you, the way he was catching his breath took away from it.

"Oh, please," you remarked. "You didn't mind."

Harry dropped his controller and, cupping your face with one hand and pulling your waist towards him with the other, he mumbled before kissing you, "Damn right I didn't.

I love thee to the depth and breadth and height my soul can reach.

Your phone buzzed, stirring you from your sleep. Rubbing some sleep from your eyes, you fumbled around for it, barely reading 7:23AM off of it. You tossed it over your shoulder and rolled over, hardly getting anywhere before Harry pulled you back into him.

He pressed a soft kiss to your neck and nuzzled into you. "G'morning, babe."

"Morning," you yawned. Your eyes adjusted to the morning light and you tried to massage some warmth back into your hands. A flock of pigeons brushed by your window, tracking in a breeze that brought shivers to your spine. You stirred again, trying to get up this time.

Harry tried and failed to grab for your hand. "Where are you going?"

You smiled to yourself. Harry's morning voice never got old. "I'm just closing the window. It's freezing in here."

He propped himself up on his elbow and commented, "Well, word around town is that I make a pretty good personal heater."

You hummed. "I'll take that into consideration." You sat down on his side of the bed and brushed some wild stray hairs out of his face. "But seriously, just because we have the day off, that doesn't mean we should spend all day in bed. I can make us hot chocolate the way you like it, and we can sit out in the park, maybe try to find something good in Midtown?"

"That sounds great, baby." Harry leaned into your touch. "After a quick nap."

You scoffed as he grabbed your waist to pull you on top of him. "Nothing's quick with you," you remarked.

Your boyfriend just smirked at you. "Part of why you love me." You settled down onto him, resting your head on his chest and intertwining your legs. "Just... five more minutes, babe," he implored you.

"Five more minutes," you agreed, already drifting back off to sleep.

When feeling out of sight for the ends of being and ideal grace.

The movie you had been watching had run its course, and you were beyond tired. You resigned yourself to quickly run through your skincare routine and find Harry so that the two of you could go to sleep.

You finished rinsing the cleanser off of your face and stretched with such force that you got dizzy. Shaking this feeling off, you called for your boyfriend.

"In the kitchen!" he called back. And he was there, but sheltered behind the kitchen island on the floor with his laptop and countless papers strewn around him. The fans in his computer sounded like a helicopter about to take off. "I'm just finishing these last few emails," he yawned. "Then I've got to review the results of bee drones, verify the statistics Dr. Loughran gathered on the organ reproduction project, and then I gotta check if they repaired the particle accelerator yet and-"

You sat yourself down next to him and gently shut his laptop, kissing his temple. "Why don't we deal with this tomorrow?"

Harry sighed and leaned on your shoulder. "I've been putting this off for a while. I'm so close to finishing, just like 30 more minutes."

You ran your fingers through his hair and felt him fighting to stay conscious. "You and I both know that's a lie, babe. The weight of the world doesn't rest on your shoulders. Take a break. The work will be there tomorrow."

"But-"

"What did May always say?"

Harry sighed again, but relented and put his head in your lap. "You help someone, you help everyone."

You arranged the papers around you into a pile and grabbed a cushion from one of the kitchen island's stools to put behind your back. "Let the person you help today be you, okay?"

But Harry was already fast asleep.

I love thee to the level of every day's most quiet need.

"Do you ever wonder what would happen if you used conditioner before shampoo?"

"Not really," you conceded as you took another bite of your ice cream from your place on top of the dryer.

Harry sat on the floor organizing the dark, white, and delicate clothes into piles. "I mean, it's probably better for your hair, no? Like, the whole purpose of conditioner is to break down unwanted particles and moisturize your hair. If anything, it's probably better to do it that way."

"Maybe," you agreed as you hopped down and put the first load in the wash. "But wouldn't that be the same as using fabric softener before detergent?"

"Nope. Fabric softener just coats your clothes in microplastics. It's a long-term way of damaging the bonds between the atoms for temporary comfort. Technically, we should be using something like vinegar instead."

"I'm not putting vinegar on my clothes," you objected.

"Maybe you need to be more open-minded," he teased.

"Maybe you need to keep your head in the game," you teased back, throwing his dirty T-shirt at him. You yelped when he threw a sock your way. "Oh, I'll get you back for that."

"I'd like to see you try," Harry challenged.

By sun and candle-light.

Harry raced past you in the hallway, tugging on a shoe while awkwardly hopping. You sipped your tea from the kitchen island as you stared down the morning crossword.

"Running late?" you asked as he grabbed an apple and tossed it into his bag.

"Yeah," he replied, out of breath as he roughly kissed your cheek and gave you a squeeze before rushing towards the door. "Pete's gonna have to deal with the donors on his own if I don't get there on time. Wish me luck."

"Good luck." You filled out the five boxes for 23-across whose clue read 'Oscar-winner Streep.' "I love you."

"I love you, too," he called as he shut the door. Almost immediately, he opened the door again. "Forgot my keys!"

"They're on top of your nightstand," you called as you heard him tearing your room apart. The jingle of the keys confirmed that he got them, and he bounded over to you again.

"I love you," he breathed, kissing your cheek. "You're the best."

"I know," you chuckled. You leaned around the corner to watch him leave for the second time before returning to your morning routine. You had just finished eating your breakfast when Harry came running in again.

"Missed me already?" you joked.

"Forgot my phone," he explained, grabbing it from beside you. He kissed your cheek again. "But that, too."

"Love you!" you called as he fumbled with the doorknob and you walked to the living room. "Kick ass today."

He gave you a charming wink then slipped out the door.

You turned on the TV and let a talk show play in the background as you cursed at your crossword. This time, it took Harry about 6 more minutes to realize he had yet again forgotten something important. He barged in for the third and last time, profusely apologizing.

"You wouldn't happen to know a five-letter port city of Japan, would you?" you asked without looking up.

"Try Osaka?" Harry filtered through the pockets of his coats in the laundry room until he finally found his wallet.

"That fits."

Harry returned from the laundry room and leaned down, pressing three kisses to your lips. "Okay, I'm leaving for real now. I love you."

"I love you, too, babe. Show 'em how it's done."

I love thee freely, as men strive for right.

"Oh my God, you should've seen the look on Hasan's face when Vijay showed up. Like, I get it, you dated way back in the day, but showing up in all white? So then MJ went to go pull the wine trick on him while I tried to distract Hasan so that he wouldn't notice anything was going on, but of course the universe wasn't satisfied." You huffed and caught your breath in the middle of pacing back and forth in the living room. "You know what happened after that?"

Harry, from his comfortable corner in the couch covered his mouth to hide his amusement. "Jess said something?" he guessed.

"Jess opened her fucking mouth," you continued. "And she was drunk off her ass because she always is, and she comes up to Hasan on his fucking wedding day and starts shouting about Vijay coming over. So at this point, Song is already asking Hasan 'Have you been cheating on me? Is that what this is?' And obviously Hasan would never do that but now Song's upset so the two of them go to argue in the backroom while Keith escorts Vijay out and MJ and I have to babysit Jess for the rest of the evening." You paused and took a sip of your mocktail. "It was literal hell."

At this point, you realize the smile taking over Harry's face. "What?"

He shook his head as he surveyed you in admiration. "You're hot when you're angry."

I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.

"Do I look good?" Harry asked nervously as he adjusted his tie.

You brushed his mess of curls away from his forehead. "You look perfect. You are perfect."

"I really need this interview to go well," he said, biting his lips. "Whatever this guy publishes is gonna be severely edited by Jonah, and if even half of what MJ said was warning enough, we're screwed."

"You're going to be fine," you assured him. When that didn't seem to work, you grabbed him by his shoulders and said, "Your mom would be so proud of you. Don't worry about what you can't control."

Harry took in a deep breath, and, hugging you before going into the meeting room, whispered, "Let's heal the world."

I love thee with the passion put to use in my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.

"Good morning," chirped the barista as you walked in to the small café. "What can I get started for you?"

"Just a small pumpkin latte, please," you replied. You shivered and wrapped your scarf tighter around you.

"Anything else I can get for you? Maybe my number?"

"No, thanks -- that'll be all," you assured her, glancing behind you to look for Harry.

You jumped when he touched your arm. "I've got this one, baby," he winked and offered his card. The barista's eyes widened in realization, and she silently finished the transaction. One of her coworkers finished off the order and handed it to you on the other end of the kiosk.

You unlocked your car with your keys and laughed when Harry rushed to open the door for you.

"What's so funny?"

"You're jealous, aren't you," you jested.

Harry mocked offense as he got into the car on the other side. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're referring to, your majesty."

I love thee with a love I seemed to lose with my lost saints.

Harry crossed your arms on your chest and hugged you from behind to give you that comfort of pressure. "Breathe, babe. It's gonna be okay. This feeling will go away."

Your breathing was erratic, your face tingled, and you felt so dizzy you might pass out. "I could've lost you," you managed to get out between gasps. "So much could've gone wrong."

"I know," he said in a low voice. "I know. But everything's alright. Pete and Miles have a handle on things, they always do. That thing's gone. I'm okay. Everything's gonna be okay."

You rested your forehead on your knees, but Harry didn't let go of you. "I tried to get through to you but that thing just kept on speaking to me, and Dr. Connors said you were too far gone and then MJ told me what happened at the Foundation- fuck's sake you were in a coma for three weeks and you just show up-"

Harry crawled in front of you and gently took your face in his hands. "It was scary for me too, love. I thought it was going to hurt you and-" He took in a deep breath. "The worst is behind us, okay? Let's focus on that."

You nodded and tried to slow your breathing. After a moment: "None of that was your fault, you know? It wasn't you doing it."

"I know." He rested his forehead against yours and closed his eyes with a shaky breath. "I know."

I love thee with the breath, smiles, tears, of all my life;

"Okay, what do you think of this option?" You came out from the hallway with a new outfit and gave him a spin.

"Gorgeous," he breathed. "You look like an angel."

You sat down next to him on your bed. "Babe, I love you, but if all you do is flatter me, I'm not going to know what to wear to the gala."

Harry traced his fingers over the folds of your sides as you fiddled with the invitation in your hands. "Not my fault that my partner's hot."

"But it will be your fault if we're late," you retorted. "This one, the dark blue one, or the black one?"

He hummed. "This one," he replied with a wink. "It'll be easier to take off later."

He got up to leave the room, but you grabbed him by the tie, saying an inch away from his lips, "We'll see about that, handsome." And with that, you strutted away.

And, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

You moved the needle onto the vinyl, letting the smooth jazz of Thelonious Monk fill the room. You waltzed over to Harry, and, wrapping one arm around his waist and grabbing his other hand, you swayed to the beat.

"C'mon, loverboy," you taunted him. "Show me some rhythm."

"I'm trying," he laughed, shuffling his feet.

"Baby, a little less Electric Slide, a little more moving those hips."

"Why don't you lead me instead?"

You spun in his arms and put your dominant leg between his legs and hummed as you swayed in a circle. Harry put an arm over your shoulder and started singing along.

"Glee Club paying off," you joked.

He bumped your nose. "Very funny."

You spun Harry as the music signalled that it was near its end.

"Have I ever told you that I love you?" Harry asked as he caught his balance.

You dipped him with the flourish of the music. "More than I can count."

#spiderman 2 ps5 #harry osborn #harry osborn x reader #harry osborn ps5 x reader #rio's writing

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visit-new-york · 1 year

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Unveiling the Marvel: 10 Fascinating Facts About the Brooklyn Bridge

Step back in time to the bustling era of the late 19th century, where innovation and ambition converged in the heart of New York City. The Brooklyn Bridge, an iconic symbol of engineering prowess, stands as a testament to human ingenuity. As we embark on a journey to uncover its secrets, let's explore ten captivating facts that will transport you to the enchanting world of this architectural marvel.

When was the Brooklyn Bridge completed?

The Brooklyn Bridge, a testament to enduring craftsmanship, was completed on May 24, 1883. Imagine the excitement and awe that swept through the city as this colossal structure emerged, connecting the boroughs of Manhattan and Brooklyn.

Who was the chief engineer of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The visionary behind this grand undertaking was none other than John A. Roebling, an engineer with a relentless passion for suspension bridges. Tragically, Roebling succumbed to an injury during the early stages of construction, leaving his son, Washington Roebling, to carry on his legacy and oversee the completion of the bridge.

How long is the Brooklyn Bridge?

Stretching majestically across the East River, the Brooklyn Bridge spans a total length of 5,989 feet. Its dual towers loom high above the water, a testament to the bridge's grandeur and endurance.

What are the main materials used in the construction of the Brooklyn Bridge?

The bridge's construction harnessed the power of steel and stone. The towers were built using limestone, granite, and cement, while the span itself relied on a combination of steel cables and iron. This blend of materials ensured both strength and aesthetic appeal.

How many towers does the Brooklyn Bridge have?

The Brooklyn Bridge proudly boasts two towering sentinels, each standing as a majestic guardian at the entrance of their respective boroughs. These granite-clad towers not only serve as structural anchors but also as enduring symbols of the bridge's resilience.

Can pedestrians walk across the Brooklyn Bridge?

Absolutely! The Brooklyn Bridge welcomes pedestrians with open arms. Take a stroll across its wooden-planked walkway and revel in the breathtaking panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline, the Statue of Liberty, and the bustling river below.

Is there a fee to walk or drive across the Brooklyn Bridge?

Fear not, adventurers! Walking across this historic bridge comes with no price tag. However, if you plan to drive, be prepared to pay a toll. But trust us, the pedestrian experience is unparalleled.

What is the purpose of the Brooklyn Bridge?

Beyond its functional role as a vehicular and pedestrian thoroughfare, the Brooklyn Bridge stands as a symbol of unity, linking two boroughs and transcending the waters that once divided them. Its purpose goes beyond transportation – it's a living testament to human ambition and the relentless pursuit of connection.

How tall are the towers of the Brooklyn Bridge?

Stand in awe as you gaze up at the towering giants of the Brooklyn Bridge. Each tower rises to a majestic height of 276 feet, piercing the sky and leaving an indelible mark on the city's skyline.

How many cables support the Brooklyn Bridge?

The strength of the Brooklyn Bridge lies in its cables, and there are a staggering 14,680 of them! These cables, meticulously woven and anchored, provide the bridge with the support it needs to withstand the test of time.

Conclusion:

The Brooklyn Bridge, a marvel of engineering and a testament to human resilience, continues to captivate hearts and minds. Whether you traverse its walkway, gaze at its towers from afar, or simply revel in its historical significance, the bridge remains a living testament to the spirit of innovation that defines New York City. As you navigate its storied path, remember that you're walking not just across a river but through the pages of history itself.

#Brooklyn Bridge #at sunrise #sunrise #The Brooklyn Bridge #1 #New York City #new york #newyork #New-York #nyc #NY #manhattan #urban #city #USA #buildings #visit-new-york.tumblr.com #bridge

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calicovobo · 4 months

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Cat Chronicles

Summary: The snippets of life captured by a stray cat.

Word Count: 927

A/N: Hello! This is my first piece of writing on this page, I hope you enjoy! <3

Part Two

You loved looking at buildings. As a cat who barely reaches the bottom of a park bench, buildings were always so tall and intriguing. The buildings with the pretty string lights draped across to the classic solid concrete ones that parents warn their children not to get close to unless they wanted to get taken by some villain, you loved them all. They each had their own story, inside and out.

But, what you really loved about buildings was the amazing fight scenes you got to see with a front row view, watching as the heroes with their typical flashy quirks chase and take down villains. And while excited pedestrians had to stay back and cheer from a distance, you got to be right up close to the battle scene. You admit that you were quite a fan of these heroes, and in a classic cat feature, the bright lights never failed to catch your eye.

No one noticed you in your hiding spots next to dumpsters or in alleyways. It was perfect for your small and flexible body, and when the fight was as dramatic as they are, the attention is always pinpointed in a separate direction from you.

“Great capture tonight Eraserhead, you just gotta finish up signing some forms and we’ll take care of the clean-up.”

After a rather mediocre battle at 2AM, Aizawa couldn’t wait to go home and sleep. But as he was watching the clean-up crew start moving debris and damaged parts around the area, he saw in the corner of his eye a small figure trapped under a slanted plank of wood.

‘Aw great, how am I supposed to get out of this’ you thought as you watched this giant piece of wood encapsulate your hiding spot. You just wanted to watch the infamous Eraserhead take down a villain! But instead your excitement made you too greedy for action and you found yourself trapped when they were battling. The slanted plank fell low enough to the point that you couldn’t fit to escape.

‘Maybe I can slither into this tiny crack…yeah that may work- or or maybe when they do recycling tomorrow I can run out and leave!’ With your brain rushing to come up with ideas, you didn’t notice the slow but deliberate footsteps coming your way.

“Come here, sorry for getting you caught up in the fight.” Startled, you watched as he, with his big strong muscles hidden by his classic dark fabric, lifted the plank and set it aside roughly. Looking up at him with your big green eyes and tri-colored fur, he was enamored by just how cute you were. Your calico coat was just so pretty and with those kind eyes, he couldn’t help but wonder if you were someone's beloved pet they lost.

‘Big hero man is looking at me!’ You couldn’t believe that the hero of the night just became your personal hero! What a dream come true to be so close to one of your many idols! Your enthusiastic chirps and meows brought a soft smile to the tired hero’s face.

“I’m glad one of us has enough energy to last the night.” Though he adored your obvious passionate energy, he couldn’t help but worry if you really were someone’s pet with just how trusting you are. He gladly complied as your warm body curled around and rubbed against his legs, just begging for pets.

“Does this cat have an owner?” Aizawa asked as a member of the clean-up crew walked past with his big hands still giving you rubs.

The worker was surprised as Eraserhead was infamous for leaving right away after his duty was done. “H-huh? Um, no I don’t think I’ve ever seen that cat before. Maybe it belongs to one of the buildings nearby and just got lost? I can contact the shelter to get it out of your way.”

“No need. I can deal with it.” Aizawa said as he continued complying to your needy cravings of pets. The scene would make anyone freeze in their steps; a hero known for their deadpan and tired attitude petting a very happy and affectionate calico cat who was sticking to him like glue.

‘Oh my gosh I love him!. Right there right there! It feels so good.’ It was impossible not to hide your pleasure as Aizawa rubbed behind your ears. You were putty in his hands and didn’t want the night to ever end!

“Do you belong to anyone tiny? I have to go soon, got a class full of brats to teach tomorrow, tch.” He knew you couldn’t answer him but he didn’t want to leave you out here all alone. He was aware of the animal and cat haters who weren’t afraid to kick you aside, especially with how friendly you are towards humans. But, as the sky continued to get darker and as he remembered that he had an early class to attend to tomorrow, he knew he had to leave eventually.

Aizawa had thoughts of just taking you into his arms and bringing you home with him but, if you really did have a family looking for you, he didn’t want to take you from that spot just yet. You looked at him curiously as he spiraled into a mental debate with himself. And, just as he was about to make his decision, you gave him one last head bump to his leg and hurried away.

You loved humans but you were a cat meant to explore and venture, nothing could hold you back!

#bnha x reader #aizawa shouta #aizawa shouta x reader #bnha fluff #bnha x cat reader #aizawa shouta fluff #aizawa x reader #aizawa fluff #cat reader #mha x reader #mha x cat reader #mha fluff #bnha #mha

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fruitzbat · 11 months

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really the thing about kingsley becoming the plank king that's so funny to me is like. he has a totally respectable and secure job in a shipping company. his life of piracy is a passion project. he 100% does not need to turn to a life of crime.

imagine if your ups man went rogue, vanished to smuggle for the silk road, and then showed up two years later as the head of the gambino crime family. that is exactly what happens.

#this isn't even devilverse specific like this is just talking about what happens in canon #kingsley tealeaf #cr2 #critical role #new tea leafing

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eepyuii · 3 months

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frostbite — pt. 10

pairing ; childe x gender neutral!reader

content ; childhood friends to “rivals” to lovers, slowburn-ish

cw ; none. idiots in love

notes ; ITS YEARNING HOURS BAYBEE ‼️ for the first time ever, a bit of childe’s POV, wowie zowie!! also a bit of a cheesy chapter LMFAO, it’s just these two dinguses “reaching” the realization that they want each other so bad, it makes them look stupid.

also a smidgen hint at the end towards the next phase of this dumpster fire of a fic >:3

ok and finally- i know i already made a post abt it but like. would u guys still love me if i posted a luke castellan fic? it’s SO self indulgent bc i’m brain rotting from the percy jackson show so idk yet :>

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old wooden planks creak with each step childe takes.

he’d long lost the count of the days he’d spent in this peculiar inazuman domain— the mystic omnyou chamber, his companions called it. though what a fascinating domain it was, ever-changing and ever-puzzling but most of all, ever-deploying more enemies for him to fight his way through. he feels like only now he truly knows what teucer must’ve felt like in front of all those mr. cyclopses all those months ago.

he felt as though he was given a little too much breathing room by the motherland, still being stationed in liyue with you whoever knows how long his mission was finished, so it was no less than perfect to hear the news of scaramouche’s disappearance from inazuma after taking the gnosis for himself. as much as he disliked to have to leave you in northland bank with the promise of the two of returning together still at hand, he dully needed to take up on his responsibilities as one of her majesty’s harbingers.

still, he could fair by through the remembrance of you and his love for combat.

it’s amusing how freshly burned into his mind the memory of your time together at dottore’s lab was, even when he was half-conscious and at his physically weakest. how you soothed away his wounds with the cool breeze of your cryo powers, how you kept him company while he recovered, how you called him a pret-

“psst— you’re doing that thing again.”

“h-huh..?”

the harbinger is snapped from his daydreaming by paimon naggingly whispering to him. as childe finds himself back in reality, he registers the sight of the traveler, xinyan and shiki taishou walking ahead distractedly through the narrow dusty hallways of the domain, while paimon had fallen back alongside him.

“are you back now? ok good.” the travel guide snides, hands sassily placed at her hips.

childe chuckles sheepishly. “i-i’m sorry, paimon, but i’m not quite sure what you’re talking about.”

“oh, come on, it’s so obvious! the entire time we’ve been here, you’ve been doing this thing where you either doze off thinking about y/n! y’know as someone so passionate about fighting, you really need to get your head in the game right now.”

he feigns an offended scoff. “that is entirely untrue, comrade. my focus is solely on figuring out this domain’s mysteries and defeating its monsters.”

there’s a brief pause, where childe thoroughly reevaluates what paimon just said.

“wait, how did you know i was thinking about y/n? i-if i were dozing off and possibly thinking about them!”

she scoffs. “puh-lease, you’ve been babbling about them since we got here! almost everything you’ve said has somehow trailed off into y/n, so much so that even shiki taishou is caught up on what’s happened with you two!”

paimon was someone known to be a bit eccentric and overreactive at certain moments, but she also had her moments of being very bluntly honest in other situations. this was one of them. the harbinger deliberates for a moment, out of all the time he’s spent venturing this domain with the paper doll, just how much information had he unwillingly retained about you.

suddenly, a moment of clarity washes over childe and he vividly recalls all the moments during his venture in the domain where he’s talked about you. saying things such as ‘i wonder how y/n is doing right now…’, or ‘hah, y/n’s cryo attacks would demolish these enemies.’ or even ‘oh! that reminds of this one time, when y/n and i were kids…’. lest we mention the multiple times he’s said ‘i can’t wait to return to inazuma with y/n and show them this.’ whenever he’d been exploring the electro land’s scenic locations.

poor shiki taishou.

but then again, is it truly his fault that the mystic omnyou chamber had so many moments and details that were so clearly reminiscent of you? o-or maybe… maybe this was just a domain and everything reminded him of you regardless. but that’s the more unlikely possibility.

he curses scaramouche in his mind for a brief moment. it was all because he decided to go rogue that childe had to leave so abruptly— just when he’d made amends with you, just when the two of you were restoring your friendship. just when you’d started to flash him that devastating smile of yours again, instead of the standoffish snarl you’d presented during his mission in liyue. gods, he could feel his heart pang against his chest. surely it was just the adrenaline of battle, though. even if the group hadn’t faced enemies in more than ten minutes by now.

an even further tucked part of childe’s mind curses paimon next, for pointing out how much he speaks of you, because now he truly cannot stop. he looks ahead towards the end of the corridor and he can’t see what’s next, can’t see the next tatami matted arena where he’ll face a new wave of enemies, something he thinks he wants— no, all he sees is you.

it’s like your face is burned into his retinas, your fond laughter burned into brain and the warm feeling of when he slept against your shoulder burned into his skin.

childe doesn’t doesn’t fight as well as before in the next battle, he’s sloppy and distracted. after the arena is cleared, he’s left with a scratch across his bicep— which, thankfully, the domain grants a healing sigil to mend.

but it’ll never cure him like you do, never soothe the very core of his being like your powers do and it’ll never look at him the same way you did, caring and attentive.

he remembers how he felt lookup up at you then— like you were the stars in the night sky. he needed to get this mission over with as soon as possible.

—

you could almost hear your mother’s nagging tone telling you to not play with your food. as delicious as liyuean cuisine was, you’d lost your appetite halfway through your meal- as well as interest in the tale the restaurant’s storyteller was telling.

it’d been probably the dullest week you’ve had in a while, no new assignments from the motherland, no events happening in the city and… admittedly, no childe.

you can’t find the effort to lie to yourself and say it’s fine that he’s gone, that it’s for the tsaritsa’s noble cause— you don’t care about it. scaramouche could screw off with the gnosis and live his life, as far as you were concerned. in fact, you’d say he deserves it, given all he’s gone through with the doctor, even if he could be an astronomical asshole at times— well most of the times.

and now you can’t decide who to blame for childe’s absence, the balladeer or the tsaritsa. either way, it’s affected you more than you’d ever admit out loud. it’s been such a monotone week not just because of the distinct lack of anything to do in liyue lately, but also because of a distinct lack of… someone to worry about. yeah, that’s what it was, just an unusual sense of calm and nothing to stress over, that’s all—

“even in all my years, i’ve rarely seen someone stare at an unfinished bowl of dragon beard noodles with such intensity.”

a rumbling, baritone voice quips jokingly from across your small table and you’re startled away from your thoughts. looking up, the comment is revealed to come from mr. zhongli, the consultant from wanshe— oh, who were you kidding, the now former geo archon.

you hadn’t formerly spoken to him since the mission to take, well, his gnosis. after the situation with osial was diffusd, you beared witness to an unsettlingly diplomatic exchange between mr. zhongli and the fair lady, where he gave away the very culmination of his divinity like it was spare change. of course, you’ve spotted him countless times around the harbor— merely enjoy the little things the city had to offer. you can’t truly fault him for making the decision that he did, six thousand years is, unspokenly, too much time to not peruse the fruits of his labor from up close.

“a-ah, mr. zhongli! it’s been so long since we last spoke.” you scramble to politely greet zhongli and briefly wonder if you should stand up to bow to him, which he seems to notice.

“my apologies for startling you, doctor— may i?” he gestures to the seat in front of you and you nod.

“yes, it has been some time. i recall you being there for the completion of my contract with the fair lady, but the last time the two of us had the opportunity to meet casually was the very same night we first met.”

you nod curtly— you’re tense, you don’t know why. you know he’s not an archon anymore, you were there to see it, but perhaps the real weight of being in the presence of someone so powerful, not just an archon but the oldest of the original seven, seems to have only settled in now. you feel almost as choked as when in the presence of the tsaritsa, which you know all the same that you shouldn’t be. zhongli chuckles amusedly.

“i ask you to treat me as though you would’ve that night in liuli pavilion, like any other acquaintance. chatting with a mere consultant of a funeral parlor requires no formalities. now— have you been well, doctor?”

you can still only bring yourself to nod wordlessly in response, there’s no need for zhongli to know how royally miserable you’ve been lately.

“and.. may i ask why you held such a glare towards your meal? is it not your liking?”

“oh, no the noodles are just fine, amazing even! i was just… contemplating wether to finish it or not.”

great cover.

“hm,” zhongli hums with playful suspicion. “while a reasonable topic of contemplation, it did very much seem as though you were rather staring through the bowl, as though there is something on your mind. i would not mind hearing what is it that vexes you, doctor— if you’re comfortable to share, of course.”

yeah there was no fooling a, again, six thousand year old divine being with a half-assed excuse like yours. you sigh.

“well— yes, you caught me. the last few days have been, uh… less than peachy for me.”

“what exactly is it troubles you these days?”

“i wouldn’t say it’s trouble but, there hasn’t been much to do at northland bank lately. and childe has been out on a mission for some time now— b-but it’s mainly the lack of assignments!” you stammer.

“is that so? i did hear of childe’s sudden departure for inazuma but it is curious that you’re being kept stationed here with essentially nothing to do. but, if i may— has childe been absent for as long as you’ve felt dull at work or would you say there is no relation?”

already at so few words out of sheer nervousness, zhongli managed still to render you completely and utterly speechless. what are you even supposed to respond to this?

“i-i uhm, i… alright, i won’t even try.” you sigh in defeat and zhongli looks coyly pleased. he patiently awaits for you to gather your thoughts and actually say more than two stammered sentences.

“i truly can’t tell what it is. i feel like i’m supposed to be worrying for him— as if he’ll get injured again or injure someone else o-or even worse, do something stupid but there’s just.. nothing! it’s like i’m so used to being aware of his presence and now there’s nothing and it’s- it’s frustrating.”

“you miss him.”

you pause. do you miss him? no, it can’t be so simple— you have a medical degree, it is most certainly improbable that you’ve been trying your brain over just missing childe. well, sure it was great that the two of you were starting to make amends and stopped being so on-edge around each other but… there’s no objective reason for you to miss him.

right?

“i would not say i even near the level of an expert on matters concerning relationships between people, but i’ve seen a lot in my time. enough to tell you with confidence that it’s most likely you just.. miss him, doctor. and that it is okay to feel this way. the two of you do not stand at odds anymore, you never have— it is reasonable for you to be affected by his absence.”

you furrow your eyebrows. “how do you know if… childe and i stand at odds, mr. zhongli.”

“well, i have witnessed it. both directly and indirectly— the tension and misunderstanding between the two of you during our meeting at liuli pavilion was quite evident and i’ve heard of how you opposed him in battle at the golden house. but that is all it has ever been, misunderstandings and disagreements, but you’ve never truly disliked each other.”

“h-how do you know-“

“he speaks quite highly of you, doctor.”

“wh-what?”

“childe has only ever spoken highly of you— i recall mentioning that had been looking forward to meeting you in person during our dinner, it is all because of how grand his description of you was. plus, during our eventual meetups, you’re mentioned at least once every time. and you, as we’ve discussed, do seem to hold some care towards him, to the extent that you first concern is his health.”

your heart aches and you hate it. it’s a terrible, void sensation that frustrates you to no end. why? why did childe have to make it so difficult for you? why can’t you ever feel simple feelings when it came to him? why couldn’t you ever just feel one way towards him with no smaller part of your brain saying something else? even worse, why couldn’t your brain ever think about anything else— literally anything, instead of just constantly orbiting around the mixed emotions you felt when it came to childe?

you just constantly, restlessly and unendingly seem to care about him.

“you know what, mr. zhongli, i think y—“

“ah, there you are, sergeant!”

a less familiar voice calls out from behind you and you turn around with a bit of surprise— it’s a man clad in fatui uniform, who you recognize as mikhail, one of the officers stationed at northland bank. he’s not exactly someone you interact much with, just a mere coworker you greet every other morning, so you’re perplexed as to why he’s seeking you outside the bank.

“mikhail, what is the occasion?” you ask, briefly eyeing zhongli to find that he remains with a neutral expression awaiting the exchange.

“i am deeply sorry for interrupting your lunch, sergeant, but ekaterina urged for me to find you as soon as i could. a letter has come in from lord dottore for you specifically— she says it is of utmost importance.”

—

the wharf is unusually crowded today.

an untimely flux of either tourists or returning immigrant citizens, perhaps it is an important time of year in another nation— although, childe could truly care less at the moment. he’s doing his best to politely push his way through the sea of people leaving their respective ships while almost unconsciously seeking you out within it. he knows you wouldn’t be here, as his return to liyue was unannounced, but his eyes fly to latch onto your likeness anyway.

childe ends up finding you right in the center of the harbor’s main street, practically right below the catwalks that lead to the bank. you’re slowly pacing back and forth, a piece of paper clutched in your hands and a vacant expression on your face— childe can’t find himself to clutch to those details right now, he just needs to get to your side. he makes large, determined steps towards you, big grin invading his features, and while he’s still approaching you, you spot him and your eyes widen even more. once childe is a mere two steps away from you, he stops.

“y/n! oh, it’s so good to see you!” he heaves out gladly.

“ajax—“ you reply in a quiet voice and his heart swells at the use of his real name. he truly can’t contain himself anymore and tackles you into a tight hug, one so strong that stumble back a bit.

his arms snake tightly from under your arms to above your shoulders and his head lowers from being against your own to reaching your shoulder blade— it is as close as he physically get to you, while trying to be respectful of your space, of course. you’re still in shock for maybe five seconds of the hug, but eventually you just let yourself slowly wrap around him and squeeze ever so slightly. both of you have your eyes closed to sink into the moment.

the hug is long, maybe twenty seconds so, and as childe becomes satisfied with its duration and pulls away, he remains with his hands to your elbows in a gentle hold. he sighs with said satisfaction and beams towards you.

“i have so much to tell you about inazuma! unfortunately, i couldn’t find scaramouche there but i managed to see so many beautiful places, so many amazing experie- wait.. what’s wrong?”

the harbinger pauses mid sentence when he notices the numbness in your expression and his bright grin falls into a concerned frown— you feel like the most terrible person for making him lose such excitement. your mouth opens and closes as you find what to say, but you eventually whisper it out.

“ajax, i-i… i have to go to sumeru.”

taglist ; @kentply @osaemu @rain-and-a-nice-nap @koichirana

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marketfreshfics · 3 months

Text

Loving him: Sebastian

image: @starrysallow | More in this series: Ominis | Garreth (WIP) | Andrew (WIP) Includes mild nsfw content

Your love for Sebastian was always apparent; looking back now, it was abundant.

It’s a duel more of wits than spells, and he is the worthy opponent you’d craved crossing wands with. He’s a clever one, you realized, challenging your abilities with cunning finesse, goading you with a sharp tongue. Though you best him, he’s a good sport, even offering to accompany you to Hogsmeade for an errand or two.

It’s noticing how the afternoon sun brings out red tones to his hair, how he tries to keep up though he’s the escort, a playful tug on the hood of your robe to keep in-step.

It’s a midnight rendezvous in the library’s restricted section, sneaking close to him under a shroud of disillusionment, a hand on his back for guidance, warmth bleeding through his shirt. A close encounter is prevented with a firm tug of your sleeve, hiding face to face with bated breaths, with hearts hammering both for the fear of being discovered and for the sudden proximity.

It’s sitting across from him the morning after, his freckled cheeks a wash of pink, eyes warm and reminiscent of the coffee you sip. The clamour of breakfast time is rendered mundane din, the rest of the world vignetted around him. You’d never considered seeing the world through a gaze of affection like this, having scoffed at fairytales that depicted such folly, but now you’re not so sure.

It’s in the damp of a cave, the must of a tomb, eager to explore the unknown on a path towards a paradox of dark enlightenment. A moment of uncertainty brings you pause, a question of morals, of what is truly forgivable, but those eyes hold more knowledge than you suspect and he asks you to trust him. And in that moment, you oblige.

It’s evenings spent on his down comforter, books scattered about, dozing on his leg until he finds a passage that piques your interest. And his calloused fingers brush the hair wisps from your face, the earthy smell of ancient parchment clinging to the salt of his skin. Eyes meet, and an exchange of words is not necessary.

It’s what gives passion heat, and heat is all you understand in his embrace. It’s those exquisitely resourceful hands everywhere, gripping, tugging, attempting to caress though he cannot soften this all-consuming need. Its limbs that tangle of their own volition, a bed frame that creaks when he thrusts, and lovemaking so ardent it pulls the sheet up from the mattress. There are no hesitations here, only desperations. There is no doubt, only certainty. He’s a fierce friend, but as a lover, he’s never been more determined.

It’s following him with little regard for your safety, little regard for other obligations. Your heart is a foolish compass and he is magnetic north, though he guides you anywhere but home.

It’s watching him raise the dead from soil, all pulled up like roots, and caught somewhere in the fragile seam of fear and fascination, in awe of the downright awful. You wonder, as he stands surrounded by idle Inferi like some prodigal child of darkness, if you’ve underestimated him all this time.

It’s realizing then, when he felled his own guardian, that your underestimations knew no bounds. It’s running after him as he flees, frightened of the implications, of the circumstances, of the blood staining his hands. It’s not cowering in fear of him, but the sympathy you are quick to offer wholeheartedly, providing gravity when his world turned to hang in the balance. It’s reasoning his innocence to the law itself, seeing his guilt, the shame spreading.

It’s picking up the pieces after the fallout, reconnecting the bridges burned, plank by patient plank. It’s watching him grow, and with you he develops an understanding of the dark to counter it with light. He sees the errors of his ways, the forks of his path that led him astray, and you regret not having the foresight to divert him elsewhere.

But then, he shows you his love. Dedicated and devoted, the bond you’d forged unbreakable, built on trust. It was always there, waiting.

It reassures you. And it’s everything you want.

#sebastian sallow drabble #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #slytherin #hogwarts legacy drabble #sebastian #sebastian sallow fanfic #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian x mc #hogwarts legacy mc

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strixcattus · 1 month

Text

Chapter IV: Violence/Passion

He's going to die here.

History

The cabin comes into view blurrily, almost like they’re just waking up. They didn’t doze off in the cabin, did they? That wouldn’t make a very good first impression on the Princess.

Though, this cabin doesn’t look like that first one. Its walls are formed from pale, rough stone, with openings in the sides to serve as windows. The doors are more of the same, cutting quite an impressive figure. Instead of a plain wooden table, there’s a metal altar holding the blade, and a couple loose planks lie askew on the floor. The cabin normally wouldn’t look like this on the first go-around, would it?

So why doesn’t Smitten remember what they did last time?

It’s probably not all that important. Even if he doesn’t remember, surely someone must. He’ll just have to go along.

“Well, boys?” he asks. “Shall we go and see what form our beloved has taken this time?”

No one says anything. That’s rude of them.

No one does anything, either. That’s a bit far for a prank.

“Very funny of you,” he says, listening for any sign that someone else is here. “Yes, you’ve got me this time, good joke, now let’s be off to fulfill our… destiny…”

It’s completely silent. There’s no one else here.

His shoulders drop, and he turns around to face the door to the outside. His body obeys, allowing him to see that the cabin is entirely empty, except for him.

That probably isn’t good.

Maybe something happened to the others. Maybe they’re somewhere outside. Maybe they’ve been tossed about to different cabins like this one.

If they are, he’s sure it’ll all work out. They’re resourceful people. Everything’s going to be fine.

Still, he should try to find them. He’ll just pop down to the basement, free the Princess from her imprisonment, and then the two of them can meet up with everyone else who’s also made their way out. It’ll be easy.

He leaves the blade on its altar. Wouldn’t want to give the Princess the wrong impression, if she has as little memory as he does.

The doors are heavy, resisting his attempts to wrench them open no matter how much he strains. Eventually, one of them folds and scrapes slowly across the floor, and the other follows a little more easily. The stairs beyond are cramped, stone walls pressing in on him, but they don’t look as though they’ll pose any obstacle. If those doors were to decide to close again, though, he might be in trouble.

Oh well. He’s sure the Princess will be more than capable of getting the two of them out, if the doors even do shut on them. The Narrator, conniving scoundrel that he is, is blissfully absent, and he was always the one that tried to meddle.

“Is that a challenger?” the Princess calls from the basement. Her voice echoes off the stone walls. “Finally. I haven’t had a good fight in far too long.”

A fight? Why would she want to fight him? They have the same goal!

Maybe she just got the wrong impression in some time he doesn’t remember. He should say something to put her mind at ease. “Fear not, Princess!” he cries. “I have no ill intentions towards you!”

She laughs. “Is that so? Why don’t you come down so we can meet face-to-face, then?”

This is progress! Probably. She does sound like she’s willing to talk. And he was planning to finish climbing down the stairs anyway.

The basement is less like a room and more like a cave, not much wider than the stairs. The Princess stands at one end, taking up most of the wall, chain in place on her wrist.

A pair of horns rise from her forehead, framing a set of spikes that look almost like the crown she usually has. The skirt of her dress is translucent, with a slit in the side, and a long tail curls around her. Her feet look more like hooves.

She’s beautiful.

Her eyes narrow onto his hands. “No little knife, huh? Did you forget to bring it with you?”

Is she talking about the blade? She must be convinced there’s no way out unless she’s cut free from her chains. “Fret not, fair maiden. We won’t need the blade for this.”

“Is that so?” The Princess grins. “Good.”

Smitten steps closer, reaching for the shackle on her arm. This is going well. He’ll slip her hand from the chains with no problem at all, and they’ll leave the cabin and go see what else is out there… as long as that mirror doesn’t show up again.

It won’t. It can’t. He won’t stand for it.

He should probably ask her name once they’re out, too. But one thing at a time. He’ll slip her hand from the chains…

His back lands on the hard stone floor, sending shockwaves through his bones.

The events leading up to the landing piece themselves together backwards. He landed on the floor because he fell. Why? Because the Princess pushed him. No, pushed isn’t the right word—she grabbed his arm and threw him to the floor. Why? Heck if he knows. All he did was reach for the chain.

He looks back up at the Princess, vision swimming back into place. She’s frowning at him. Why is she frowning at him? She ought to know he has no intention of hurting her, right?

“Are you really going to give up this quickly?” she asks.

His brain hasn’t finished pulling itself back together, so all he can say is, “What?” And, if he were being honest, that’s probably what he would say if he were in peak condition.

“You hit the ground once and you’re down for the count?” The Princess leans over him. “Did you just come down here to toy with me or what?”

Toy with… her? But he had no such intentions… right? “I can assure you, my intentions have never been anything but pure.” He pulls himself to his feet as his vision finally snaps back into one piece. “If you’ll allow me to remove that shackle, the two of us can go at once.”

The Princess looks down at the chain. “What, worried it’ll slow me down? You must be confident.” Before Smitten can figure out what she means by that, she begins to strain against the chain, metal groaning before it finally snaps. She’s free! This is great! “You’d better live up to the figure you’re making yourself out to be.”

“Oh, I would never dare mislead y—” Smitten begins, cut off by a fist landing on his shoulder and throwing him across the room. His flight is cut short by the wall of the basement, head directly striking the stone. Some imperceptible noise echoes in his ears.

Didn’t he just say she could trust him? Why doesn’t she trust him?

The world is slowly beginning to decide it would rather not remain in one place. Smitten wobbles on his feet as he takes a few steps towards the Princess, nearly having to lean on one wall for support. “Why would you… do that… my love…” he wheezes, lungs refusing to cooperate with him.

“What do you mean, why would I do that?” The Princess stares at him, her arms folded. “Why wouldn’t I do that? You did come down here for a fight, didn’t you? Or are you less honest than you claim to be?”

A… fight? He never said anything about a fight or that sounded like it was about a fight or fight-related or anything of the sort… right?

“I’m afraid I… don’t have any idea… what you’re talking about.” He slumps against one wall, legs unwilling to do their job on their own. “All I want is… to set you free.”

“And what if I don’t want to be free?” The Princess takes a step towards him—he thinks. It’s all a little blurry. “What if I want something else?” Another. Probably. “What if what I want is for you to fetch your little knife and fight me?” She’s either right in front of him or still by the back wall. It’s still unclear.

Smitten wobbles backwards. He can’t tell if it’s on purpose or not. “Th—that can’t be right. Freeing Princesses is always the right thing to do.”

The Princess grits her teeth. “You are impossible! Why don’t you start thinking for once so that I don’t have to!” She reaches out with her hand, faster than Smitten can see—not that that necessarily means it’s fast, with the way he is right now—and grabs his throat. “Here’s what’s going to happen. I’m going to kill you, right now, so you can come back with a half-decent head on your shoulders. And when you do, you’re going to take your little knife, and you’re going to march right down to this basement and fight me.”

The pressure on Smitten’s neck tightens. He’s going to die. He should probably say something nice before he dies. A nice little pre-death one-liner while he’s still pre-death. A nice little… that shouldn’t be too hard…

His meandering is cut off with a pop, or maybe it’s a snap, or maybe it’s more of a squelch or even a crunch. It’s still a little hard to tell what’s going on around him, and more so to put words to it.

But words don’t matter in some cases. No matter what combination of letters accurately capture whatever sound he hears, soon after everything goes dark, and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. That part comes after. The walls are made from a pale, rough stone, with open holes for windows, and the doors to the basement are heavy and carved from the same material. The blade lies on a metal altar—

This is the same cabin.

The Princess’s final words to him dance just out of his grasp. He certainly wasn’t doing all right in the head by the time she killed him, was he? At least that’s over and he can approach her with a clear mind.

It must have been important, though, whatever she said. “I’m going to… you can come back… and when you do… right down to this basement.” There must have been something in between all that…

Oh! Of course! She must have seen how badly he was doing and killed him knowing he’d come back in one piece and be able to hold a proper conversation with her. How thoughtful of her!

He strides over to the doors with a bounce in his step. This time, he knows to brace himself in order to wrench them open.

The Princess is waiting at the bottom of the stairs, arms folded. Her face falls when she sees him. Why would she…?

“I thought I told you to bring your knife this time around,” she says. “Do you just not have it or what?”

Is she forgetting something? Is he forgetting something? “You must be mistaken. We don’t need to cut you free. If you’ll just allow me to—”

She growls. “Did everything that happened last time breeze through your empty head? If I wanted to be free, I would be.” She pulls against the chain, metal snapping and falling to the floor in pieces, leaving only the shackle around her wrist. “Now go and get that knife so we can fight.”

The memories that abandoned ship the moment Smitten hit his head start to drift back. “Going to… take… knife… right down to this basement… fight me.”

But that doesn’t make any sense. “Why would you want me to fight you?”

“Why wouldn’t I?” She narrows her eyes. “Why don’t you? It’s fun. And it feels right.”

Smitten laughs a little as he backs away. “I don’t know if I’d exactly describe it that way, though I suppose… if it would make you happy…” There’s something wrong with this Princess. Not that there could possibly be anything wrong with any Princess—they’re all perfect in their own way—but this one has something wrong with her.

He does a little hop back to the base of the stairs. The Princess continues to watch him. “I’ll, ah, be going to fetch that blade now,” he says. “I shall return posthaste.”

Then he turns and bolts up the stairs, not stopping to catch his breath until he’s well and fully in the upper part of the cabin.

She wants to fight him. But that’s not… that’s not how this works, right? She’s supposed to want to be free. Sure, there were a couple Princesses that had other intentions, but that was only after they’d been wronged and were out to take righteous revenge!

…Did something happen to her in the time Smitten hasn’t been allowed to see? Is she trying to take out her anger on him? But that doesn’t sound quite right.

She wants to fight him. Not to kill him, presumably. Just to fight him a little. She doesn’t look angry—at least she didn’t, not before they properly got to talking. Maybe a little spar could be fun, if it’ll make her happy. She said it would be, so he’ll believe her.

“I hope you aren’t trying to run away,” the Princess calls from below. “What’s taking so long?”

Smitten jumps and scoops the blade from the altar. “Don’t worry, fair maiden! I’m merely steeling my nerves for our battle.” He may as well play it up. If a fight’s what she wants, he’ll do his level best to make it as dramatic as possible.

He steps down the stairs, taking in deep breaths to steady himself. He can’t let the Princess down.

She is waiting for him in the basement, and her face breaks into a grin when he comes into view. “Finally. Let’s get started, shall we?”

“We shall.” Smitten raises the blade, pointing it at the Princess. “En garde!”

The Princess doesn’t waste any time in launching herself across the room, fist narrowly missing Smitten’s face. He ducks past her—she’s tall—and whirls around, catching her arm with the blade as she aims another punch. A few drops of blood fly away from the nick and splatter on the floor.

He didn’t mean to do that.

She seems to take notice, stepping back instead of continuing her attack and glancing at the cut in her arm. It’s shallow, at least so he hopes, but a drop of blood still traces down her wrist as he watches.

“I’m sorry—” he stammers. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No. You didn’t. That’s your problem.” The Princess wipes at her cut with one thumb. “All this and you still don’t get what this is about.” She thrusts her arms out to the sides. “I died and I’m still fine. I killed you and you’re still fine. There are no consequences for us here. We can kill each other all we want, and nothing is going to happen.”

No. No, he was right. This one does have something wrong with her, no matter how he wishes he could look past it.

His hand trembles just enough for the blade to slip from it and clatter on the floor. “But I don’t want to kill you,” he says meekly.

“Don’t think of it as killing me.” The Princess takes a couple steps forward, and Smitten scrambles a couple steps back. Their dance as such is cut short by Smitten hitting the back wall of the basement, allowing the Princess to catch up to him and pick up the blade. “It’s not like I’ll stay dead. Now get up.” She tosses the blade at his feet. It lodges, tip-first, in the stone floor.

He’s going to die here a second time. He’s going to die because he couldn’t bring himself to give the Princess what she wanted. That’s not right. He’s supposed to give the Princess what she wants, but what she wants is supposed to be freedom, and—

The Princess’s fist smashes into the wall where Smitten’s head would have been if he hadn’t thrown himself the rest of the way to the ground. As it is, some of his feathers float lazily through the air as a reminder of what might happen to the rest of him if he can’t keep this up.

He tugs the blade out of the ground as the Princess turns for another strike, and stands to face her. He’s going to die again. She’s going to kill him, and he’s going to deserve it. He’s supposed to be giving her what she wants, because she’s always right, but…

The Princess is always right. If she thinks they can’t die, if she thinks that him trying to kill her is fun, well, she probably knows better than him.

He lashes out with the blade, carving a stripe up the Princess’s arm. She swings at him, fist colliding with his shoulder. Something that probably isn’t supposed to go pop goes pop. He strikes back, this time burying his blade in the Princess’s chest, somewhere in the vicinity of her heart.

The Princess steps back, laughing, the sound wetter than it should be. She grasps the handle of the blade and tosses it back.

Smitten catches it. Then he drops it again as his injured arm decides it’s had enough of its current working conditions and falls limp. The Princess pretends not to notice as he reaches down to pick it back up.

“See? Isn’t this so much more fun than talking?” the Princess asks once they’re face-to-face again.

“I suppose,” Smitten says, unable to get another word out as the Princess launches herself towards him.

He lashes out with the blade again and again, barely deflecting each of her attacks with stripes of red carved across her arms. The Princess’s fists connect as often as not—there’s a crunch as she lands a blow on his ribcage, then a snap as his already-injured arm is well and fully put out of commission, then a squelch that was probably some crucial organ.

He’s going to die here. That’s fine. The Princess said it would be fine.

She steps back as though meaning for her next punch to be her last. “Are you sure you’re really trying to kill me?” she taunts. “You’re not just trying to postpone your own death?”

Smitten tries to answer, to say, No, of course not, I would never dare to imagine going against your wishes, but something is very, very broken in the parts of him in charge of speaking, and all he manages to do is inhale blood.

The Princess seems to notice. “I’d say you’ve only got a few seconds left this time around. Why don’t you make them count?” She holds out her arms. “Go on. Stab me—unless your heart isn’t in it.”

My heart… is always… in everything. Smitten raises the blade with his remaining arm, steadying it as much as he can. I hope this makes you happy. He brings it down with as much force as he can muster, right over her heart.

Then he falls, and none of his limbs opt to catch him.

The Princess continues to stand over him, unfazed even by the blade in her heart. Assuming it even made it to her heart.

Her sitting down beside him is the last thing he sees as his vision fades to a sort of reddish black. “Were you even trying to kill me?” she asks, followed by, “No. You were.” There’s a sound like she’s leaning back against the basement wall. “You’re no good at this. Even if you come back with the passion you had at the end, you still won’t be able to kill me.”

He says nothing, of course. He’s not sure he can even fully understand what she’s saying.

“You’re not meant to be here,” she continues. “If you were meant to be here, you’d be meant to fight me. And you’re obviously not meant to fight anyone.” Her hand lands on his neck, fingers pressing into his feathers as though searching for something. A pulse? Does he still have one of those? “Is there someone else out there who’s meant to be here? Is that what this is?”

If she keeps talking after that, Smitten doesn’t hear any of it. Everything goes dark—darker than it already is—and he dies.

He shoots to his feet before he can take stock of the cabin he’s in. Every piece of it lines up with how it looked the last time, anyway—same pale stone walls, same heavy double doors, same blade on the same metal altar. He grabs the blade without even thinking.

He needs to go back downstairs and apologize. He failed to live up to her wishes. Should he try to make it up to her? Give her the fight she deserves? He did make a promise to her. Or maybe he just thought it. Or thought he thought it. The latter half of the last go-around is a bit fuzzy again.

By the time he reaches the bottom of the stairs, he’s made up his mind. He raises the blade and charges towards the Princess—

—And she catches it before he can close the distance, tip of the blade sinking into the palm of her hand. She twists her wrist, and Smitten’s grip breaks before the blade can wrench free.

“Does your brain just stop working after you’ve been beat up enough?” she asks, tugging the blade out of her hand. There’s a visible hole in the back of it where the tip broke through the other side. “I told you, we’re done here. I’m going to find someone whose heart is actually in this.”

Smitten sputters, still in the process of grasping that the blade is no longer in his hand. “My heart is in this! It would be impossible for me to not put my entire heart into anything I endeavor to accomplish!”

“So I didn’t just disarm you before you could land a hit on me?” The Princess glances at the hole in her hand before tugging on the chains once more. They splinter just as easily this time as they did the previous two. “You’re not cut out for this, loverboy. Stick to writing poetry or whatever it is you’re supposed to do.”

“I can fight!” Smitten follows close behind the Princess as she strides up the stairs. She ducks a little to avoid hitting her horns on the doorway. “If you’ll allow me another chance, I can assure you I will not let you down a third time.”

The Princess glances over her shoulder. “You don’t actually want that.”

“I do! If a fight is what you want, I will gladly—”

She tosses the blade to him, and he fumbles the blood-slicked point of it, barely managing to keep his grip. “You’re just saying that because you think it’s what I want to hear. And it is. Just not from someone who’s lying.”

Smitten extracts his hands from the blade, looking around in vain for something to wipe his hands on that isn’t his own cape. He settles for smearing the excess blood across the cabin wall. “I would never lie to you.”

“Oh?” the Princess asks, eyes glinting. “If you’re so honest, then tell me: Was it fun?”

Of course it was fun. The Princess said it was, and it clearly was for her, and anything that makes the Princess happy is good enough for him. Right?

“I’ve… had more enjoyable experiences,” he finally admits.

She nods and turns her attention to wrenching the outer door open. It’s not as heavy-seeming as the ones to the basement, but maybe that’s just because she’s so much larger than him. It’s not as though he ever tried to open it himself. “There’s more of you, right?” she asks.

“Yes. Several.”

“Then there’s someone out there who doesn’t have to lie when he says he gets it.” The Princess steps back from the door. “Let’s go find him already.”

Smitten nods. “Certainly. Say, before we leave, you wouldn’t happen to have a name?”

She looks over her shoulder. “Adversary. You?”

“Smitten. It’s been a pleasure meeting you.”

The Adversary scoffs. “Suits you. Come on.”

They don’t get more than a step into the outside world before freezing again.

Everything is… meat. The cabin sits atop a hill of smooth skin that collapses into fleshy lumps of meat at its base, and the path, instead of packed dirt or smooth stones, looks more like the bones of a spine. In place of trees, clawed fingers reach from the ground, meat bared to the world and webs of translucent meat strung between their knobby bones. Smitten can’t resist glancing at his own hands and noting the similarity.

“So. Meat,” the Adversary begins. “Not normal.”

“No,” Smitten agrees. “Meat is most certainly not normal.”

The Adversary takes a few steps forward, hooves sinking into the meat with an array of smushes and slushes and squishes and sounds that can scarcely be put into writing. Smitten follows suit.

He can feel the meat between his toes. Also sticking to the bottoms of his feet, and wrapping above his feet. It’s very squishy.

There’s little reprieve from the meat. If he tries to pull his attention away from the sensations beneath his feet, there’s the sound to worry about. If he ignores the sound, there’s the smell of blood filling the air. And that’s to say nothing of the sight—the only place he can look without finding meat is the back of the Adversary’s head.

At least his focus on her means he notices when she suddenly stops walking, and he’s saved the embarrassment of crashing into her. He still almost does, losing his footing on the meat for a second before she catches him.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

She points across the meat. “That’s another one of you, right?”

Smitten follows her arm to the horizon. She’s right. Between a pair of meat hands is a figure wearing a long, black cloak, veil hiding his face at this distance. Next to him is a smaller figure, with a dress and a tail flicking behind her.

He can’t be sure about the second figure, but he certainly recognizes the first.

The two figures pause, clearly having noticed them at the same time. The shorter one turns to the taller as though saying something, but Smitten has no intention of giving them enough time for him to be the one to approach.

He strides across the meat, for once able to ignore every sensory detail of the stuff, and soon comes face-to-face with the worst one of the bunch.

Cold tilts his head to one side. “Oh. You’ve escaped. Good job.”

Leading with sarcasm, is he? Smitten has no intention of allowing him to have his way. He grips the front of Cold’s cloak and shoves him against the nearest meat hand. “I’m more surprised you didn’t leave your Princess rotting in the basement,” he growls. “Are you just toying with her? Does she know what sort of monster you really are?”

The Princess that was with Cold glances between him and Smitten, brow furrowed as though trying to figure out what to say.

“Ha! And here I thought you weren’t a fighter.” The Adversary seems to have no such issues. “Looks like there’s one person you’re supposed to fight.” She steps up behind him with a squelsh—she’s so tall she doesn’t have to strain to get a good look at Cold’s face. “Don’t know if it’s the same way for him, though.”

“Oh, I don’t know.” Cold levels his gaze with Smitten’s, still not bothering to struggle against him. “If he actually followed through on his promises, I might be interested in seeing them play out.”

Smitten tightens his grip. “I am no liar. You would do well to mark what I say—I will drag you into the depths of my misery and leave you there to drown.”

“Been there. Done that.”

The other Princess seems to have finally snapped. “Would one of you shut up and explain what you’re talking about?”

Cold shrugs. “It’s not that interesting.”

“Not that interesting?” Smitten shoves him further into the meat with a wet smeesh. “You murdered my true love in cold blood. And so I took my revenge.”

“Was that really intended to be revenge? I thought it was just an attempt at reuniting with your ‘true love.’ Did you think I would mind being stabbed?”

Has he no limit to his insults? “Perhaps I hoped it would snap you into something capable of sympathy.”

The Princess sighs. “We get it. His brain is broken. Can you cut it out now so we can go somewhere with less meat?”

Fine. In the interest of the Princess being allowed to go somewhere with less meat, Smitten releases his grip on Cold’s cloak. Cold remains suspended on the meat hand for a moment, making no move to extract himself, before he peels off its surface with a long, drawn out squueeemch and lands on his knees with a pair of squishes.

“Sticky,” he observes, then stands (with a pair of ssspops) and turns back to the meat hand. “I wonder—”

“Nope! Not going through this again!” The other Princess grabs Cold by the arms and yanks him away from the meat hand. “Let’s go! We’re leaving!”

The Princess leads the procession, dragging Cold behind her despite his weak protests (“One couldn’t kill me, could it?”). Smitten follows close behind.

“If I may, could you tell me your name?” he asks the Princess. “My own is Smitten, and this—” he indicates the Adversary, who is currently trailing at the back of the pack— “is the Adversary.”

“We’re doing names now?” The Princess wrinkles her nose. “Witch is fine.”

Is she… surprised he’s asking for her name? No, of course she is. Of course Cold would never extend such a courtesy. “I’m guessing he hasn’t bothered to make a proper introduction? Allow me to correct such a grave error. This is—”

“I’m Cold,” says Cold.

The Witch turns to stare at him. “Really? In that cloak?”

“He means it as his name,” Smitten explains. “Though I’m not surprised he didn’t bother to adequately clarify.”

Before any arguments can start up again, the Adversary cuts in. “Do you two know where we’re going?”

The Witch shrugs. “Not really. We were following a river, but then it started to look like blood and he—” she jerks her thumb in Cold’s direction— “started asking me how I thought it’d taste, so I dragged him away from it. Now we’re just heading anywhere that isn’t made of meat. Unless you have a better idea?”

“No. Anywhere that isn’t meat is fine. Besides, now we know there really are other people out there.” Smitten hazards a glance back to see that the Adversary’s face has split into a sharp-toothed grin. “Which means there’s someone out there I can fight.”

The Witch whirls around so sharply Smitten fears she may have given herself whiplash. “What? What’s that supposed to mean?”

Smitten tunes out the remainder of the discussion. He’s already heard it all. He doesn’t need a second reminder.

#slay the princess #outside context problem #voice of the smitten #the adversary #and surprise guests #stp fanfic

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