#who plays the self-centred younger sister

[anika-ann]

Back and Forth - part 3.2

Part 3 - Bounce Back - 2/2

Type: series; agent!reader, inhuman!reader

Pairing: Steve Rogers x reader    Word Count: 14000

Chapter summary:  In which you have to survive the charity auction and it's not easy... for several reasons.

Series masterlist

Warnings: overthinking, self-doubt and issues with self-image, A+ parenting and its consequences, mentions of (in)human experimentation, alcohol (briefly as a coping mechanism), SPOILER armed assault, language and charming Steve, because he is most definitely a warning

A/N: ALWAYS MIND THE WARNINGS; dividers by @firefly-graphics 💕; moodboard is for the vibes and does not necessarily reflect reader’s appearance

A/N2: Second 'half' of the 3rd chapter. As you might have noticed, this is a long one. But with hints of fluff. So…yay? 💕 If you wish/need to split the reading, I recommend to end a reading session at the second in-text divider 😊

Daisy Johnson, despite being the legendary Quake, did in fact have a moment – which was enough of a shock to stop your headache from getting worse, even if your hands seemed to get a little clammy as your phone lit up with her response.

You would have done just fine without anyone’s input, you considered yourself competent enough to choose an evening gown, thank you very much. But after the day you had had so far – you could hardly believe it wasn’t even noon yet – there was a small traitorous voice of hope in the back of your head. Despite the heavy feeling in your stomach weighing you down, a dull reminder of being alone in this world, it urged you to reach out to the one group of people that once made you believe that you could share more with someone than workload or more than lust that turned into ashes and smoke once the fire had been lit up too strong. Daisy had been in the centre of it – she and maybe Coulson.

It was a dangerous game you played, indulging in the one thing you knew would come back to slap you in the face; entertaining the idea that there was someone who genuinely cared for you regardless of your abilities was setting you up for disappointment. But there was something about Daisy, so honest and sincere, that had wormed its way through the walls you had sworn to keep up for support, several inches thick and vibranium-strong. And that didn’t change, even as you had been given, not for the first time, the evidence of how volatile a faith in friendship can turn just short of two hours ago.

Knowing that Daisy didn’t turn her back to people, not even to her father after all he had done wrong, knowing she chose to see the good in people and to put her heart into nurturing it in them despite the risk of getting hurt in more ways than one, left you defenceless against her powers that had nothing to do with her genetic code. She was, even if distantly, the closest thing to a sister to you, older, due to her experience with Inhuman powers and in Coulson’s team, and younger, due to her pure heart and excitement about new things; once she had managed her powers which she had got about a half a year before you did, she became your guide and confidant; though you hadn’t dared to taint her with the knowledge of your pain.

While you had started search for the dress without her, she texted you barely a half an hour in; fresh out of a meeting, apologizing she’d only have twenty minutes before they’d be in the drop-zone for their current mission. Twenty minutes. And yet, she had made the time for you. Somewhere, thousands of feet in the air, in between preparing her mission gear, she had decided to sneak in a few minutes for you.

The knowledge alone eased the pressure in your stomach and gave way to a wholly different feeling, equally dizzying. She cared. Yes, you could argue that since she had been tasked to lead the division of Inhuman agents of SHIELD, it was her duty to respond – and at times, you reminded yourself of that, that you really weren’t special – but the fact was that she was. And she truly did care. You hadn’t been wrong to call her a friend yesterday; and Daisy-the-teenager couldn’t have had picked a better role-model in life. For most part anyway.

It didn’t matter in the slightest that Daisy Johnson had barely squeezed you into her schedule; it still carried meaning. And it would be enough, because she could be very efficient, sorting through the dresses you had considered so far as easily as if she had been slicing through the security system of the Pentagon – for a person with her hacking experience anyway.

A set of easy questions you yourself had been asking was her effective tactics.

Mission or fun? she had asked first, no doubt already knowing the answer as she went through the early picks. There was a reason why no dress had bare back, while all of them had necklines designed high enough to hide at least a strapless bra.

Me: They call it a mission to have fun, but I’ll be damned if I go without being ready other kind of mission.

DJ: Fair

DJ: Charming or sexy?

Your lips twitched in a small smile, your mind conjuring the image of Daisy’s face when she was typing the question. She was one of very few people – probably the only one – who could make you feel the teenage-like excitement about challenging authority. There was always a reason to the madness of doing so, but there was something about her attitude that always whispered of poking the bear for the sake of fun only.

Charming, you replied, almost regretfully. As much fun as it would be to see brains of some of those pretentious jerks you were about to meet short-circuit just because they were seeing an extra silver of flesh on a young woman – a thing that would make for as much of an icky feeling as hilarity – your mission was to represent, not cause havoc or seduce.

Blah. Colour-coordinating with anyone? she asked then and you chuckled at her poorly hidden attempt to fish for gossip – and at the idea of actually trying to do what she was suggesting. No. You were not going to go and ask Rogers what colour he was about to wear. Less so since chances were high that he was about opt for a traditional black tuxedo suit with a white shirt.

Me: Nope.

DJ: Come on! At least tell me who you’re going with?!!

DJ: You know this is a much of a secure channel as it gets

DJ: And you said it wasn’t really a mission, so it can’t be classified

DJ: …and I can’t find it within the system.

I’ll tell you if we survive it, you replied simply, even as laughter already bubbled in your chest, cheeks beginning to hurt from disuse and the sudden exercise as to stop you from grinning.

You should have known that she’d hack the system and go straight for the mission database unless you told her the details. Tony, bless him, threw a tantrum whenever she did that – which wasn’t too often, but it had happened before. On days when you allowed yourself to ponder, you wondered why he never told anyone – as far as you knew, that was, because no one came down on you, raining holy fire of wrath, despite it being obvious you were the cause of Daisy’s hacks – and why he tolerated it. Some days, you thought he was amused by it and felt bad for you, seeing you missed your former team, granting you connection with Daisy even if the way she went about it drove him absolutely nuts. Other days, you were sure he simply enjoyed a challenge and this was as good one of those as any – and he’d be caught dead before he’d admit in front of anyone that someone was able to crack into his system. Most days, you were content not to look given horse in the mouth.

Like clockwork, FRIDAY’s mechanical voice interrupted your thoughts:

“Agent Spectre, Mr. Stark would like to know if, I quote, you know anything about some punk kid sneaking into the mission logs again, maybe Little Miss Richter Scale, end of quote,” she stated, causing a snort of laughter actually escape you at Tony’s new and dead-on nickname. You’d have to tell Daisy that later – she’d have a good laugh at that

Me: You’re getting better and better.

Me: He’s onto you now though.

DJ: He should, he’s slacking, took him forever to notice

Sometimes, you wondered what would happen if Tony Stark and Daisy Johnson found themselves in one room and she’d tell him that to his face; but that was a thought to entertain another day.

“Thanks, FRIDAY. Tell Mr. Stark to relax. We’re safe, it is just Daisy.”

“Very well. Apologies for interrupting your free time, Agent Spectre. However, I was also tasked to inform you that Sergeant Wilson prepared enough lunch for an army and extended the invitation to join him to everyone on the team. Even to those who are currently on a mission out of state, which I find odd and, frankly, despicable.”

Even though the corner of your lips twitched at FRIDAY’s comment, your heart skipped a startled beat, a fist of cold feeling squeezing your stomach. The invitation was a nice gesture, even if not meant for you. You could read between the lines: the family the Avengers team had built themselves into, even if the second strangest you had ever seen, did not involve you. You were barely a part of the team, a temporary loan, so to speak, even as you had signed a contract. Extending the invitation to the team meant extending it to friends, to that very family. As kind and welcoming as Sam seemed, you certainly did not belong to that category.

The vibration of your phone startled you; the message as amusing as bittersweet.

DJ: Fine, keep your secrets, Ms Avenger

Right. Ms. Avenger. Case on point. You might be one, technically, on paper, but in spirit… hardly. At best, you were determined to try and prove that the way you controlled your abilities could be at least Avengers-adjacent. The harsh truth however, was that if anyone from your old team would have had it in them to become a true Avenger, it was Daisy herself. Alas, she was too busy running and flying the world with another team, protecting, teaching, and recruiting Inhumans... and saving the world in the process.

DJ: Crap gotta run

DJ: Number four is the one I think

Whoever you’re going with is gonna lose their shit when they see you, she added, once again making you snort, this time without humour.

Yeah, right. Like that was going to happen. If chances of becoming a friend to an Avenger were astronomical, chances that Steve Rogers would be impressed by you dressing up to the nines were outside of all the realms known to Thor himself. But it was a nice sentiment, you supposed; the flicker of affection towards the optimist in Daisy was a testimony to that.

Me: Thank you for the help. Stay safe out there.

DJ: You too

DJ: But from what I saw about yesterday, you got it

DJ: …Ms Avenger

Shaking your head, this time unable to stop the smile taking over your lips, you set the phone down and ordered the dress to be delivered express, and moved onto shoes and a handbag; you ignored the growling of your hungry stomach and distantly couldn’t but wonder if maybe there’d be some leftovers of Sam’s pasta to have for lunch later.

Tony was not exaggerating when he was talking about the charity auction being a mission. A mission required preparation; having documents land in your inbox along with an alert of high-priority intel relevant to your mission lightning up your StarkWatch yesterday evening, you had never been more grateful for being obliged to read up on something.

As you were putting the last touches to your make-up in the quinjet bathroom, you sent another mental thank you to Tony, because the extensive files on all expected guests, besides having potential to be useful to you during the event, gave you the perfect excuse as to why leave last preparations to the flight.

Naturally, the intel itself was a message with a bitter aftertaste, because it highlighted your role and tasks. Represent. Make small-talk. Show interest. Compliment a healthy amount; meaning bootlick a bit, if necessary. You knew the dance and it had always made your head spin in the worst way. To show enough admiration and knowledge about the world’s finest to look professional and a bit of a fan, but not as a stalker, even as there were people among the attendees tonight who would have probably appreciated a stalker-level interest and considered it a compliment.

But despite the slight nausea hitting you when leafing through the files, you had appreciated the out Tony had given you, whether it was intentional or not; because with an excuse of mountains of intel to try to learn by heart, you didn’t have to sit opposite to Steve in the quinjet in awkward silence. Or worse, trying to make small talk with him, just as awkward. Or, in the worst-case scenario – which would be in the direct conflict with one of the mission’s laughable objectives, specifically trying not to kill each other – fight with him.

And you probably would have done exactly that because there was no way Captain America himself had been wrestled into this the same way you had. They might have had to twist his arm to make him go with you, but not to go. He had been given a choice and chose to attend, despite the concerns you had voiced. And you probably hadn’t been the only one, which meant Steve had to be hyperaware of the potential security issue and he deliberately ignored it. Of course. Why wouldn’t he? He was Mr. Captain America and nothing could ever happen to him; be it because he thought there was no danger and you were allegedly making it bigger deal than necessary or – which drove you all high up the wall and made you want to punch him into his damn perfect teeth or at least punch his stupidly firm pec – the threat was nothing he couldn’t handle.

Goddamn him.

You crumbled the fabric of your dress between your fingers in a firm grip as you breathed through the rush of pure indignation with him being a brave stubborn dismissive dumbass and breathed in slowly; you held your breath for a few seconds, and only then released it along with the grip on your dress. You blinked at yourself in the mirror and repeated the action, arranging your face into a neutral expression at least.

Tony might have as well come up with the idea to send the intel solely to prevent you from attempting to strangle Steven Grant Rogers before you even landed, so it would be polite to honour his efforts.

When you finally exited the bathroom and entered the main space, you found Steve in one of the seats with a tablet in his hand, the screen dimly illuminating his face. He looked up as you approached, rising to his feet almost as if on instinct, his lips slightly parted for a brief moment. His gaze glided over the dress from where it brushed your ankles, over the line of the skirt, the slit reaching mid-thigh opening and closing as you walked, revealing a silver of your leg tastefully and covering you again, then over the waist, V-shaped neckline ending mid-sternum, short sleeves with delicate frills. For a moment, the intensity of his gaze surprised you; but then you realized that he was committing the dress to memory to find you easily in the crowd in case any Avengers-related business came up.

Then, an obtrusively gentle thought nudged at your mind; he was an amateur artist. You had got a glimpse of him several times, a sketchbook and a pencil in his fingers, look distant or extremely focused on the paper in front of him. He could appreciate beauty – and the dress you chose was without doubt an embodiment of it. The glimmer of it was subtle and the sparkles sparce; in the rich dark blue blending into a purple just as dark, it resembled the sky just after dusk, with the first stars coming out. Whether he had a sense for fashion or not wouldn’t matter – the dress was, at least in your eyes, gorgeous. Not flashy, not too shiny to attract too much attention, but with an idea making up for the otherwise simple design.

When Steve met your eyes, the light of the quinjet made it appear as if there was a tinge of pink in his cheeks. And there actually might be, since his eyes lingered on the dress for a moment too long; which wouldn’t be a crime if you weren’t already wearing them, making it seem like he was staring.

“You look beautiful,” he said, the soft tone making it sound almost as if it escaped him unwittingly.

It was the most ordinary of compliments and yet, it surprised you that he had even paid it. Perhaps it shouldn’t have, as he was a product of his time – a time in which if men didn’t compliment a woman’s appearance, they were probably called louts. And yet. Even with that knowledge, something akin to warmth fluttered in your chest, a brief smile passing over your lips, the silent ‘thank you’ the least courtesy you could give in return.

If he had tried to commit your dress to memory, you’d allow yourself the same luxury. A quality black tuxedo with a faint navy-blue glint, pristine white shirt, a black bow-tie. His outfit would be but a drop in the sea, nothing that would stand out among those of other men; but you had the advantage of him being easily found in the crowd thanks to his physique alone. The broadness and strength he radiated could carry the weight of the world – and it felt like it did – narrowing beautifully into the trim waist in a ratio not even a loose jacket could hope to hide, let alone such well-fitting one which seemed to accentuate it a little more than was strictly necessary. With him towering over about ninety-five percent of people and having shoulders wider than about ninety-nine percent of the usual present company, he was truly hard to miss.

Unfortunately, it also made him an easy target who was truly hard to miss indeed.

And now you were staring and he was no doubt aware – it was impossible not to, less so with how much attention he paid to things. So you stood there in silence, awkward one, precisely the one you had wanted to avoid and yet managed to reach it in thirty seconds flat – but at least neither of you were yelling. Yet.

As glad as you were to see that Steve Rogers had clearly decided to leave whatever disagreements you had ever had back at the Tower for the sake of this mission, trying his best to be the exact opposite of antagonistic, you were not going to tell him he looked extremely good to make things even more awkward. You wouldn’t even think it, as right as the assessment was. It would be inappropriate, even as he had complimented you first.  You needed to be professional. There was a task at hand.

Right. The mission.

Steve was still watching you, something akin to curiosity in his gaze.

You cleared your throat, nodding towards the tablet in his hand.

“You were going through the files on the guests?”

Steve blinked, seemingly snapped from his thoughts.

“Yes. Have you?” he asked as he laid the tablet on the seat, straightening to his full height again; it was ridiculous how tall he seemed in the low-ceiling cabin of this type of quinjets. There was a faint smile on his lips, no tension in his jaw as he watched you; he already knew the answer and he wasn’t trying to provoke you.

Small talk it was.

“Yes, Captain,” you replied dutifully. You would swear a little twinkle of humour appeared in his eye – but it was probably just the lights reflecting in his cerulean blues. “Yesterday and today. Should be more than enough to represent properly.”

Alright, it must have been humour, because the corner of his lips twitched now at the lightest trace of defiance in your voice. Then he smiled fully, the spark burning brighter, your stomach somersaulting a bit.

Who were you kidding you had no idea; he looked more than just extremely good and handsome. In a different kind of suit than you were used to, bright eyes with their blue accentuated by the colour of his tuxedo, with uncharacteristically relaxed features and even a smile aimed at you, the beauty of him seemed so surreal you might have as well entered another dimension. Which, given your experience with Coulson’s team, was not unplausible. And yet, your heart fluttering had nothing to with fear as he went to sidestep you.

What was wrong with you today?

“Well… good. I’m sure you’ll have the two remaining objectives handled as well,” he said kindly.

You blinked, neurons firing in all directions, heart leaping to your throat. Surely, he didn’t just—the two remaining objectives. That wasn’t--- that didn’t mean anything. He probably didn’t receive the same documents, his mission package different from yours as he was one of the original Avengers, the strategist.

And yet, a worm of curiosity had already chewed its way through to your brain, an itch you needed to scratch otherwise you’d go crazy. Certainly, he couldn’t have implied-

He stepped out towards the bathroom, only to be stopped in his tracks by your impulsive words.

“Can I borrow your tablet for one more moment?” you blurted out, clearly taking him by surprise; but not unpleasantly. “I just… I just want to check on some of the guests again.”

“Sure.”

With the same faint smile adorning his absurdly handsome face, he took a few steps back to reach for the tablet, unlocking it for you and opening the file with individual documents for you to browse before taking his leave.

You weren’t sure why you needed to check – if you were a sucker for pain, needing to know your assumption he had only received three objectives was correct – but you opened the mission overview anyway.

A lump grew in your throat as you skimmed through the document, your stomach suddenly unbearably warm.

He didn’t mean it. He forgot there were four not three objectives, a sharp voice in your head argued, instantly opposed by another, even if less insistent, reminding you that Captain Rogers was believed to have eidetic memory and you had seen his impressive memory indeed in action before.

It didn’t matter. You were making a big deal out of nothing; and ocne you came back from this excuse of a mission, you needed to have your heart checked, because the irregularities in rhythm and the palpitations upon simply reading had to signal an underlying health issue.

But it was right there, in his device, in one of the documents he had just been reading through. The overview.

Location.

Time.

Two names.

Four objectives.

Four objectives which were no doubt written down by Tony, given the choice of words and their existence to begin with, because no one else would have treated an official document this way.

Make Avengers look good; Look good; Have fun (includes using Stark/Avengers card in the auction); Try not to kill each other.

You felt your cheeks heat up even though there was not a single reason to feel that way. You were a grown woman. You had been complimented countless times before, in much more flattering ways, though less playful ones. Steve was just being… polite. And a little teasing, trying to put you at ease, probably thinking you couldn’t handle yourself, having been informed about your… reluctance to attend the auction. His niceness was in overdrive since he had been literally given orders not to treat you as if he wanted to kill you. He didn’t mean it and even if he did, you had no business reacting this way.

But still. It seemed that Steve Rogers decided that for the sake of the mission, he would more than just leave your differences of opinions behind for the night; he decided to truly work hard on the one single objective that did not come easily to him. There was no other reason for that, but despite your better judgement, it brought a ghost of a smile to your face, one that felt a little stupid.

As you heard him open the door, you were quick to close the document and tap on a random one concerning the guests, just in case Steve would want to check. You pretended that you were too immersed in reading to address him as he walked to you, but there was no need.

The gentle swing of the quinjet slowing down made you forget about whatever he had been trying to imply alarmingly fast.

You were almost there; in the lion’s den. It was time to pull yourself together, be the picture perfect this mission required even if you were not. Just because your idea of a useful mission was different, you wouldn’t treat this one with any less focus or professionalism; even if you’d rather find yourself tied-up and gagged an abandoned warehouse in a middle of nowhere, with no back-up in sight, than kept a fake smile plastered to your face for hours.

Avenger or not, your task was to represent. And so you would, conveniently with the man who represented the goals and values of the team better than anyone else ever could. You’d do your best to support him in that, and you’d do so while fulfilling all the objectives of the mission indeed, even if you doubted that you’d be any better than an accessory the size of Steve’s cufflink. You doubted that Steve Rogers would need the slightest support in charming rich people and the staff alike.

Just for that, you mentally added a fifth objective, an objective anyone drawing up the document should have added themselves. For Steve, it would be not to be a dumbass and not to get himself hurt, hit by anti-serum, kidnapped or killed. For you, not to let any of these things happen to him.

It wouldn’t have been an issue in the first place if it was anyone else with you, but since Steve goddamn Rogers had decided to--- no. Not today. He truly was trying to be bearable. You’d meet him halfway; but you’d be damned if you didn’t keep your eyes open.

“I forgot to tell you earlier,” you murmured as the quinjet touched down on one of the rooftops on a nearby hotel, courtesy of Tony’s negotiating skills – his irresistible charm, as he would say – earning you Steve’s startled look. “You clean up well too.”

His shoulders sagged, eyebrow arching subtly, but his surprise melted into a slight smile again. “Thank you. Shall we?”

Like the gentleman he had been raised to be, he offered you an elbow as the ramp of the quinjet opened for you to step out. There was no need – you had walked on far worse surfaces than this in heels before, you had been forced to run and kick in them too – and you had to physically swallow the remark that would inform Steve about that. But you’d be an idiot to not see that he didn’t offer you an arm to be condescending; he did so to be nice. You could work with nice.

“Thanks.”

And with that, you stepped out, counting steps until you’d walk into the lion’s den indeed.

To say that functions, balls and auctions were not your scene would be a serious understatement. Not in the sense of you being unable to tackle them, no – you had plenty of experience – but in the sense of you absolutely despising them. Specifically, you couldn’t stand what people pretended to be when in that environment; and that included you.

It hadn’t always been like that; visiting events like this started off pleasant. People in luxury robes with wide smiles and subtle laughs echoing in glimmering halls were a thrilling environment before. Before you could fully understand what was happening, before you could read the room. It was only much later when you’d identify these events as necessary evil when working for SHIELD and the time between the two points was a long journey.

Your father would have sneaked into these, either in his own ways or through your mother’s alleged renown status; and you, naturally, went with them. She’d often leave you and your father to your own devices, charming guests into adoring her, speaking of her dedication to both her work and her family, particularly to her daughter, her tone speaking louder than her words in the case of the latter; contempt.

Meanwhile, your father was the complete opposite. He had you joined at his hip, a crutch for when his own tactics of pretending to be someone truly indispensable to SHIELD failed. If people roaming higher circles of society didn’t recognize him as the god’s gift to humanity he hoped to come across as, you’d come in; a charming young lady ready to take the world by storm, his beloved daughter, his pride and joy. Errors made that day, that week or past months didn’t matter – they didn’t exist at the moment, your performance always painted as perfect for the sake of the bragging.

It was a divine experience to receive so much praise, him sounding so earnest in front of all those people; it got sicker and more twisted the older you got, seeing the mask slipping on and off as it suited him, knowing that in the discomfort of home, you were none of what he described you as that to him. And yet. To be finally loved and seen as exceptional by your own father, the one person who had always believed in you and told you so; who wouldn’t want that? Just a taste; like melting hot chocolate on your tongue, thoroughly warming your very being, the softest of blankets that turned scratchy the moment you left the room, snatched away to leave you out in the cold reality of being born a hope and growing up a failure. But those moments, those moments you craved as much as you hated them. Because you knew they would never last.

It was one of the many contradictions of your childhood and adolescence, one of many topics of your therapy sessions that seemed to have no end. It reminded you of what Lincoln always said – that every Inhuman had a purpose and that every Inhuman’s power reflected, to a point, who they were. The way you felt you were often being pulled in two directions, loved and despised, dotted on and ignored, obedient and rebellious, to be exactly who your father had always intended for you to be and find your own path – or pretend you could, for a bit at least, to give him a glimpse of a real disappointment; all goals in direct opposition to each other. You were surprised your ability wasn’t the same as Alisha’s who could literally split herself into several images of herself. But you were hardly an overachiever, were you? You had learned long time ago that perfection was out of your reach, no matter how much you’d cry and bleed and clawed your way through to it, only to see the top of the mountain move when your fingers had almost touched it at last. And on top of that mountain; people like Steve Rogers. The man who could shove it into anyone’s face that it wasn’t that the summit was too high; it was just that they were too small of a person. That you weren’t enough.

It wasn’t fair to despise him for it. But it wasn’t fair that some of these people could insult you to your face and imply you were a lesser Avenger – while representing them nevertheless – and you had no chance to truly fight back without somewhat proving them right.

About a hundred and then some boring conversations later, encounters in which you felt your skin crawl because you hated rubbing elbows, facing fake smiles and carefully crafted politeness with veiled insults weaved between the words of those who could afford it, you were ready to take a break and you were afraid it was beginning to show too.

Captain Steve Rogers, of course, did not seem tired of pleasantries in the slightest; the golden boy still roamed among the crowds, more than willing to engage in any conversation, shaking hands and rubbing elbows indeed as if he had been born to do exactly that. Crowds loved him and that was a fact, whether what Tony had insinuated was correct or not and Steve couldn’t stand this kind environment either indeed.

You had to give it to Steve, however – and truly, you should have expected it, because this was Steve Rogers, originally a little man who could not stand people looking down at others, less so diminish someone’s worth, and he was the protector, the ultimate good guy, the perfection personified – the encounters you had handled side by side with him did not see you neglected. Quite the opposite. If someone didn’t recognize you, which applied to the majority, he was happy to introduce you, or, as it had been in most cases, he had you introduce yourself and only then he highlighted your importance to the team if anyone seemed less that impressed.

Contrary to what you would believe, his words and demeanour, however, pushed the icky sensation of the scene away rather than intensified it. Unlike your father, Steve didn’t have you trail after him. He didn’t belittle you to lift himself up. He didn’t boast about his brilliant decision to reassign you to the team since you were so useful When he spoke of you as the new addition to the team, he didn’t highlight your most recent accomplishment either, not with a condescending or patronizing tone or words that would make it sound as if he as saying oh she saved a few people just two days ago, including Natasha Romanoff, someone give her a candy.

Steve didn’t speak of you as if you were hisachievement, didn’t speak of letting you join the team, of the cooperation being his or their choice.

“We are honoured to have her join the team,” he’d say instead.

“With every mission she takes on, she proves how fortunate we are that she is one of us.”

“Her contributions to our common goal are invaluable.”

“She is an essential part of our team and we are thankful she continues to make this world a safer place with the rest of us.”

On one hand, it was almost sweet; on the other, it was irritating. You didn’t need him to earn you their respect and it should make you livid he was trying to do that, to play the hero who’d rush to your rescue. To a point, it did, because you could fight your own battles; but this battlefield tended to make you slip into a mindset you hated – made you slip into a skin you hated wearing. Still, Steve’s tendency to make it his personal mission that you were not overshadowed by him – a futile effort truly – should make your blood boil, because there he was, the world’s mightiest saviour in action again.

But the way his body language changed when someone eyed you as if you were an unwanted addition to the conversation seemed to whisper of other things than self-proclaimed white knight needing to sweep in; it expressed itself as a personal insult to him that your supposed brilliance was not acknowledged. It seemed almost as if he was gesturing to you wildly with his large palms, his voice as if demanding from the people he spoke to: do you really not see how amazing she is? Are you an idiot? Naturally, he was doing so in much distinguished manner, but that was how it felt.

You were certain someone must have got to you before Tony did back in the park, landing a hit to your head or two, causing a microtrauma that only now manifested in your entirely skewed perception and hallucinations. They must have, there was no other plausible explanation. Or maybe you had actually died; laying your life for Natasha’s would have certainly been a worthy cause. Or perhaps it wasn’t so dramatic and you had simply slipped into a coma and this was some weird manifestation of your brain recovering.

And yet, you had a feeling that if you pinched yourself, you would still feel as grounded in this strange reality as you did now, the intense surge of affection for the man still overwhelming, the satisfaction of seeing the swellheads meek and slightly embarrassed at Steve’s tone upon them dismissing you curling hot in your core. You needed to stop revel in it so much.

But be as it might, despite trying to carefully shield yourself from the effect of Steve’s very public words of appreciation due to knowing it wouldn’t last, you felt yourself grow taller than you ever had been in an event like this. You didn’t feel as obliged to smile politely just for the sake of pleasing others, even as you did smile. Despite the presence of Captain America, larger than life, you felt confident and powerful, even if this kind of feeling normally only came when you were on a mission with the target already in your pocket.

And yet, this surge of courage – and all the wondering about what an alternate reality you had entered – didn’t make the game of social chess less exhausting or brought it closer to your ideas of fun. After almost another hour of wandering on your own, tending to every conversation necessary and even those less necessary, you did find yourself in a need of a break and you liked to think you deserved one.

Naturally, fate – if there was such thing – did not grant you such courtesy.

When you finally did find yourself at the bar, it was one godawful encounter later – a single polite conversation that had sucked all life out of you, all of the little glow you felt you had gathered swept away with a single snap of fingers. It was unfair. It was unfair that your mother still had such hold on you after a lifetime of you being nothing but a bug on her windshield as she tried to drive into the sunset of her own glory, even months and months after her final abandonment.

The matter was only worse since it wasn’t even her. Just a distant colleague – her superior, no less. A few minutes, every second dragging since the moment Doctor Franklin had mentioned your mother, and you were ready to hit the bar for something far stronger than champagne.

“Ah, I knew I saw a resemblance. You must be so proud to wear your mother’s features and name. A strong woman, a survivor, truly dedicated to science, exploring the wonders of the nature of Inhuman transformation. Examining her own genetic code to be able to share fascinating facts of the uniqueness of her case. Even the draft of her study was most intriguing… pardon me, what was it that your abilities are after you, unlike her, simply acquired powers like everyone else?”

It shouldn’t have affected you; but it did. With what felt like chunks of metal in your stomach, the tickle of nausea in the back of your throat, you were almost proud you managed to hold somewhat of a smile, actually uncertain if the woman was clueless in the matter of politeness and tact or whether she was making a calculated insult.

“I’m afraid the exact nature of my abilities is classified, ma’am,” you replied. The words, even if they should feel full of vindication, tasted bitter on your tongue.

Trust your mother to finally find her exceptionality and built the pinnacle of her career on a flaw in her genetic code. Of fucking course. Making herself the centre of attention while being the primary source of that attention at the same time; what a brilliant move. Someone should give her a damn Nobel. You really were doing something wrong in your life.

So truly, you felt like were entitled to a breather as you walked away with a polite nod, trying not to throw up in your mouth as the world got slightly blurry at the edges for a moment, your heart pounding, knees feeling a little weak. You felt the sticky remnants of Doctor Franklin’s words linger on your skin, resisting the urge to rub it off.

You deserved a shot of something stronger. You weren’t sure anything weaker than absinth would do the trick and help you snap from the strange haze your body slipped into; but facing the man behind the improvised bar, you couldn’t make yourself ask for that however.

Well-aware that you needed to keep at least some face since the mission of the evening was to represent, you opted for vodka, small shot only. And despite the weary conversations, you didn’t forget: in addition to representing, you wanted to be ready to fight whoever could possibly go after Rogers. As much as you’d like to get wasted to feel actual nausea instead, something tangible and real like the burn of the strongest alcohol known to mankind, you couldn’t. Vodka it was.

You turned the shot bottoms-up, focusing fully on the hot trickle down your throat, the fire dampening all your other senses; and for a few second, it was bliss.

Until your nostrils were hit by an unfairly familiar cologne and aftershave, a deep timbre soaking into your bones whenever spoken despite how much you tried not to let it do exactly that.

“Having fun as we were ordered?”

You froze, shame, indignation and the alcohol lightning you up like a wildfire.

Great, Mr. Morality is here, you thought darkly, setting the glass down, turning to Steve with poorly masked annoyance. Annoyance which was quickly wiped out, the flames licking at your gut put out.

You expected his face to be full of judgement, anger and disappointment; but much like his voice had been, you realized, it was free of any bite or sting, simply showing light amusement and compassion, a slightly worried crinkle between his brows.

His voice had been quiet, purposely so, as not to attract lookers-on. It was a little naïve – to think he could walk in anywhere without at least ten pairs of eyes following him – but it was nice of him that he was trying not to embarrass you by publicly calling you an alcoholic.

But the gentle mix of emotion adorning his expression only made your stomach twist. It was a great paradox really; it would be so much easier to deal with tonight if he was being insufferable and judged you. But that bastard, the irritatingly handsome bastard, was being simply amazing. A much greater person you could ever be. And he didn’t mean to, probably – but he was just screaming exactly that to your face with every little action he had opted for tonight.

Not his fault, not his fault, you tried to remind yourself as he continued to watch you, curiosity sneaking into his gaze now.

Make Avengers look good.

Look good.

Have fun.

Do not kill each other.

Do not kill each other. Got it.

“Guilty as charged,” you said finally, the light tone you had hoped for not coming out quite right; but he didn’t hold it against you.

“Nothing to be guilty about,” he said, shrugging subtly. “I… might have gone for one of those myself had it had any effect on me.”

Right, you realized. Supersoldier. Accelerated healing, fast metabolism. You did happen to know he burned off most things even faster than other men built like mountains. Shorter and less broad mountains, that was.

You felt you head instinctively tilt to side a bit, contemplating what he said without spelling it out. He didn’t seemlike he needed a strong drink. In fact, he seemed perfectly like a fish in water among the sea of piranhas of people – and yes, you were aware that was a harsh judgement on some of them who were indeed rather pleasant to talk to – but Tony’s words echoed in your head.

He’s good at rubbing elbows, even if he hates it, he had said. Steve was exactly that; but apparently, he was also pretty great at hiding his distaste.

Of course that he was, you thought bitterly, even as a hint of compassion nudged at your mind; just because he was good at disguising it, it didn’t mean he didn’t feel just as sick filling the role of the most excellent companion.  

“You could do it just to feel the heat,” you suggested half-heartedly, regretting the words as soon as they left your mind.

You had to phrase it just like that, didn’t you.

Steve watched you with unnerving intensity for a moment, before he seemed to shake off whatever dark thought had occurred to him, a small smile appearing on his face.

“That is true, but somehow it’s even more disappointing if that’s the only consequence, you know?”

“…right.”

He cleared his throat, your gaze falling to his bowtie as he released you from the trap of his gaze.

“Either way. Would you like to dance?”

Your head snapped back up, shock no doubt painting your face, rendering you mute. He wasn’t--- oh he was.

Despite your expression – one painfully resembling of a deer in the headlights of an off-road SUV coming at it at hundred miles an hour – he seemed unfazed, a slight twinkle of amusement in his eye barely noticeable in the otherwise genuine demeanour. You frowned, suspicion dying out as fast as it had arisen.

Whatever motive he had to ask, it couldn’t hurt the mission, you supposed. And it would be impolite to decline. You had promised yourself to meet him halfway in his attempts to be civil; and he had gone far beyond that. For the past two weeks, not having confronted you about either the flash-drive situation nor the went-full-spectre-in-a-public-park incident, that had been him being civil. Tonight, he was courteous even. Pleasant. Kind. You had no idea why he hadn’t sought you out to get answers or scold you, nor why he went this far out of his way to treat you like this tonight, but you had enough common sense not to poke even as it had been eating away at the back of your mind.

You just needed to accept it and be thankful, and needed to aid the common goal; and maybe, just maybe, revel in it and store the memory for later, even if such luxuries only burned with emptiness once they were gone.

But how could you do any different?

“Sure,” you said simply. “Why not.”

How could you feel any different when his lips smiled half-heartedly, but his eyes showed true warmth? A startling warmth almost; but it was nothing in comparison to the heat of his body when he offered you his elbow and led you to the small dancefloor in the adjacent room with only a few high tables lining the walls; it was nothing in comparison to the soft jolt of electricity that ran through your nerves all the way down your spine when his hand took yours carefully, eyes fixed on your face, checking for any sign of discomfort when he pulled you close at the first notes of a waltz.

Up close, without either of you screaming into each other’s faces, he was painfully beautiful; you knew that. You knew that already, because you had played the forbidden game of imagining what it would be like to see his face from this distance; but the reality of it was startling, a tingle of a thrill and pain at once. Inches close and miles away from reach. To be at the receiving end of the look in his eyes, painted partly by delusion and the aforementioned hits in the head you had probably suffered, was the sweetest torture.

It was impossible to ignore his firm but gentle grip, his confident lead; a wall of perfectly controlled muscle, hard planes of his body and yet its surprising softness and warmth, leaving your head spinning and sending your thoughts to an indecent dangerous direction; what would it be to feel him even closer? What would it be like to—

You’d never know. For a large part, of your own doing; for another part, of his own, because you had never met a more irritating person in your life and you had met a quite a few. He was impossible in his very unique different way – even as you knew that was tainted by your own perception – he was impossible in a way you couldn’t but want anyway.

“You’re a wonderful dancer,” he whispered, just loud enough for you to hear, snapping you from your useless musings back to reality.

Yeah, thanks, I was signed up for ballet class about as soon as I could walk, because it should have helped my posture and body coordination in preparation for working for SHIELD before I could attend martial class lessons. Because a kid younger of six years getting punched would have been a bad image for my parents. Not that I knew any of that at that time. Anyway, I had to rediscover my love for dancing much later on-

You cut off your train of thought, swallowing the unnecessarily hostile and dark truth. Instead, you reciprocated his easy subtle smile, something inside your quivering at the casualness and sincerity of the compliment.

“Depends on the lead, right?” you murmured.

Mentally, you sighed, cursing yourself for your loose mouth.

You could have said something along the lines of you too, and it would be an understatement; Steve’s lead indeed was firm but not forceful, elegant ease without a shred of indecency, his sense of rhythm impeccable, which was much more than you could say about some of your companions on the dancefloor. But no; you chose to mention his leading skills, instantly circling back to what was bothering you – you having standing up to his lead as a Captain before and him not mentioning it. He had kept blissfully quiet and here you were, dangling the topic you should have been glad had been put to rest in front of him as if you wanted him to take the bait no matter the cost.

You really must have been hit in the head; or perhaps you were finally returning to normal yourself.

But Steve Rogers was a man of many faces and surprises up his sleeves, apparently. His smile only widened briefly at your note, eyes flashing with amusement, before a little frown creased his brow.

“Don’t sell yourself so short.”

You gulped. Again. He complimented you with such ease, as if it was the most natural thing in the world; and it seemed like he meant every bit. The way your heart fluttered at that ached pleasantly. Hadn’t it been for the sober voice in the back of your head, telling you were on a borrowed time of this kind of treatment, it wouldn’t ache at all. It almost, almost didn’t.

Because the one word you had left out when thinking about his lead on the dancefloor, having avoided it on purpose, was safe. You entered an uncharted territory tonight; you knew Captain America’s lead from your numerous missions you had been chosen for under his command. And even as you had challenged his leadership before, you trusted him on that front. But tonight was a very different thing; and still, he somehow emitted the same aura, in a considerably more intimate way.

It was terrifying.

But as much as you were taken aback, with no clue how to even respond to that, your instincts – probably all over the place, because had you been in sound mind, you would have run for the hills before accepting his offer in the first place – whispered you were safe indeed.

And if you’d turn it into a joke, you’d be even safer.

“If that was a reference to my height, I’d like to point out everyone is short compared to you. And that is with all the extra inches--- that my heels have.”

Oh for god’s-

Your fingers flexed reflexively on his arm; your hand in his would have twitched if he hadn’t held it so firmly. You did not just say that, did you? Closing your eyes briefly, you felt your face burn hot, the furnace of Steve’s body suddenly feeling like ice in comparison. Why on Earth did you talk about inches? First feeling the heat, then this, damn Freudian slips, damn his well-fitting suit and handsome face-

Bless him, his chuckle was good-natured and not in the slightest dirty – then again, you should have expected nothing less from the golden boy, shouldn’t you? He wouldn’t hold it against you and had it been anyone else, you would have been grateful, much like in any other situation. But this was him and tonight your mission was literally to avoid this kind of embarrassing phrasing.

“You know what I meant,” he said, not unkindly – much to your relief and irritation.

You hummed noncommittally, still processing this was somehow a reality you had found yourself in. A reality in which Steve Rogers was a pleasant company, kept you close and safe enough that you had spent several moments with your eyes closed while dancing without fearing you’d end up with a broken ankle, a reality where-

“I wanted to apologize.”

-he just said he was sorry.

Your eyes snapped open, your step, a second nature you barely needed to think about, faltering just a fraction. You found your footing with the very next step and perhaps not even Steve had noticed; but he for sure must have noticed the undiluted shock that overtook your features.

Yet, he held calm in the face of your awe and bewilderment, gaze fixed on yours whispering of nothing but sincerity and regret indeed.

He was apologizing.The sudden lump in your throat was the only thing in physical reality that felt real at all; the rest truly must have been but a fever dream. That and the frantic beats of your heart.

“For what?” you asked quietly.

You weren’t trying to be petty, if he truly was apologizing. You meant it.

Naturally, you had a good idea what he was referring to, but that was part of the reason why it was so puzzling; more so since he now knew what the intel was about, since he was aware who exactly you put in danger by failing. Then again, the fact you were both here despite it told you all over again that he didn’t let that bother him too much.

But even with him deliberately ignoring the threat…

Yes, he had not acted very thoughtfully, but whether you liked it or not, he wasyour superior, he had put together that mission and so you understood the frustration he had felt at the moment. Hell, you had felt it yourself – you would have yelled at yourself too. And looking back, you knew that some of your momentary view of his behaviour and attitude, of his actions, stemmed from the fact you had been disappointed in yourself too; and that most time, he did in fact realize he could do wrong and that he in fact did care for every single member of the team. He probably did give a damn about the fact that you – your spectre anyway – got shot. He probably cared about the fact that two days ago, you left a big damn opening when you projected in public without making sure you had someone in your corner.

You weren’t sure that there was any need to apologize, even with him yelling at you in front of everyone to the point where you hadn’t been able to stand it and a few tears had escaped you – because damn, did he touch a nerve – even if he had been a bit of an asshole.

Most people apologized because they felt the need to ease their conscience, to keep up appearances; but seeing Steve now, the soft and strict lines of his face, told you that he was apologizing for your benefit mainly. It would be sweet if it was so irritating.

Golden boy. Shoved straight to your face. You could never be as good as him, because he simply wasn’t human – and you were the Inhuman from the pair. God, he had his hands on you and he didn’t even try to cop a feel or anything for crying out loud. He was being kind and respectful and so damn beautiful and tall.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he said slowly, gaze intent as if he wanted to make sure you absorbed every word. “I shouldn’t have done that to begin with, but the witnesses made it even worse. And all you did was making a quick decision in a difficult situation, according to your best conscience no doubt. I might not have agreed with it, but you still didn’t deserve such treatment.”

“And you’d do the same,” you added.

You almost slapped your hand over your mouth as soon as the words were out.

This was what happened when you felt safe. You talked back. Dammit.

You could see – and feel, because his chest was practically brushing yours, something you were hyperaware of even as you tried your best not to be– him breathe in to retort.

You really needed to have your head checked out. You should have just taken the apology and cherish it, like any normal person, even if it irked you that Steve Rogers was capable of self-reflection and had enough strength to admit his shortcomings. He was simply better than everyone else. It was easy to see that with no emergency in sight, but that didn’t make it easier to accept that and act accordingly every second of the day.

Yet, you tried at least now.

“Sorry! Sorry. Don’t push it, Spectre. Got it,” you blurted out, fixing a quick smile and you would have sworn you had seen a sparkle on mischief in his blue irises under the indignation. You cleared your throat. “Apology accepted, Captain.”

His relaxed his tense jaw, gaze softening further; painfully so.

“Thank you. And I thought you knew you could call me Steve.”

Golden boy – case on point. You swallowed, unable to keep the swirl of warmth in your chest from creeping into your voice even as you knew you were diving into dangerous waters with reckless abandon by following his request.

“Apology accepted, Steve.”

If your voice was warm, his smile was half the power of the sun, heating your very bones, your heart stumbling in your chest. You should run; you should run because you were never going to receive a gift like that again and the longer you basked in it, the worse it would be when it was gone. But you had already established that sometimes, you couldn’t help but throw caution out of the window despite knowing how much it would hurt later when you’d have to go and scramble to gather it again, hadn’t you?

And so when the song blended into another, the smallest squeeze to your fingers a wordless question, you nodded against your better judgement.

Steve’s smile grew a fraction, feet quick to adjust to the new rhythm, the air around you warmer another few degrees. It was hard to let his apology and kindness linger in the air and not react to it; even as you needed to breathe in and out a few times, eyes examining his face carefully as to predict whether what you were about to say would come back stabbing you in the back.

“I’m sorry for my outburst too. I… acted emotional.” As you recalled the traitorous tears that had escaped you, you thought that to say that was an understatement, but Steve didn’t seem to hold it against you. Instead, he listened with unnerving intent to all you had to say. “Which isn’t an excuse, but I’m still sorry. I… didn’t exactly watched my tongue. I mean, I didn’t-“

­-I didn’t mean what I said, you wanted to say, your voice dying in your throat at the startingly gentle blue of Steve’s eyes, your breath hitching at the sudden vice squeezing your chest. This moment, whatever it was, was becoming overwhelming fast; and you found yourself unable to force the words out.

Because they weren’t true; you had definitely meant a few things, your anger with Steve snapping you back when you had been this close to gathering intel on something that threatened, without exaggeration, his life, just because he had been outraged at… whatever, that was very real. Much like him, you had had a reason for your outburst; and for that itself, you couldn’t apologize. Not when you wouldn’t mean it. Not when he was looking at you like he’d trust anything you said. You couldn’t but reciprocate his honesty even if it should earn you an official demerit from Captain America himself.

“…I didn’t mean at least half of the things I said.”

Steve’s welcoming expression shifted in an instant, your heart already startling in reaction to the change, muscles tensing in an instinctual fight-or-flight response.

And then your brain caught up.

Steve was grinning. He was grinning with mischief lightning up his face bright, humour dancing in his eyes – good-natured humour without a single trace of offense, but maybe with a little speckle of surprise; and if you looked close enough and entertained the thought, pride.

And by god he was breath-taking, leaving you feel like you had flown too close to the sun for a moment unaware that the inevitable fall would kill you.

“Well, as long as it was only a half,” he hummed, his amusement audible in his voice too. There was a strange but not unpleasant tilt to it; almost as if he knew that if he simply accepted your apology right away, the situation would have had you run for the hills indeed. “Apology accepted, Spectre.”

You gulped, taking a wavering breath, flying just a little higher. “You know you can call me by my first name too, right?”

That was only fair, no? That was what you told yourself until Steve smiled softly and repeated himself slowly, this time with your name indeed. That was when you realized you really had caught yourself in a foolish indulgence, because the feeling washing over you was… nice. Very, very nice. His tone, his words were both indescribably nice, and so was the way he held you to lead your through the room without an ounce of indecency, and so was his proximity and his warmth. It was dangerously nice and you felt your chest, having briefly be filled with that tender fragile feeling, tighten instead.

And then Steve spoke up again.

“…and you’re probably right.”

Your eyebrows shot up, gasping; and had you any different company than a room full of important or at least self-important people dressed in black-tie attire, you wouldn’t have stopped your jaw from falling.

Did he just-

Stop the presses! you wanted to shout.

Did he just admit he himself was a hothead?

What peculiar kind of an alternate reality had you entered indeed to see Steve Rogers admit he had been a hypocrite?

This was simply too satisfying to be true.

“But that doesn’t mean I’m the best example,” he added.

You found yourself chuckling through your shock, earning a glare that might have no anger in it, but certainly emitted indignation and gravity. Except the corners of Steve’s lips were twitching.

Damn him. Damn him and his charming side. Since when did he have a charming side and engaged in self-reflection so deep?

Since always, an annoying voice whispered in your head, reminding you that at certain times, you were, in fact, very well aware that Steve Rogers was just as golden as people claimed – even if in way they couldn’t hope to fathom and neither could, not fully.

“Nah, I think it’s one of the very rare traits of yours that should definitely be copied,” you retorted cheekily, never having time to wonder if you went too far since Steve simply kept him mouth shut.

It was a good thing he did, because if he didn’t, you might get tangled in your lie; and might have to admit that you believed that while there were a few of those that shouldn’t be copied in order for the world to maintain some shreds of sanity, there were many more of those which, should they be replicated, would make the world a better place. He probably knew that anyway; he strived to be the example to all. He didn’t need to hear it from you, didn’t need to know that despite your disagreements, you felt everything but contempt for him, with respect on top of the list. And then there was the fact that you were not blind to him being literally meant to be built like the peak of man and looked precisely like it.

And still, his silence surprised you. Despite what you thought of him on better days, it was still a wonder he didn’t try to disprove you; he was full of surprises tonight.

Then again, that was probably the point.

“You know, Tony and Pepper would probably have had no problem coming here tonight,” you spoke lowly into to the silence that settled between you. “They just pushed us together to do something like this.”

Steve’s eyebrows jumped a bit, a brief smirk passing his lips.

“Well-aware. Does that bother you?” he asked, head tilted to side slightly.

You pondered his question for a bit, not sure why. You could have easily said anything, the first or the second or third lie popping up in your mind. But his genuinely curious gaze observing you as he waited for your response, his demeanour the whole evening, and his surprisingly open expression made you want to tell the truth again.

“Not that much. You’re not a bad dancer yourself,” you teased him lightly, feeling your lips permanently stuck in a smile now.

His own smirk melted into a smile again as well, soft crinkle in the corner of his eye.

“Thank you. I know I said it before, but you do look beautiful.”

You blinked.

There he went again, driving his point across; he wanted you to think, to believe perhaps, that his compliments were genuine, not a turn of speech. Why? And what could you even say to that when he kept looking at you like he meant it, the world around you blurring a bit, falling into but a background noise, years of training and his confident hold on you leading you through the dancefloor with ease still, even as the song must have changed again. Had it?

You wished conversation would come just as easy, even when emotions swirled in your chest wilder than your skirts around your calves.

“…thanks. Uhm, Tony said to buy something nice-“

“Mission accomplished, it suits you-“

“-I think he was probably sick of us clashing a lot lately,” you added quickly, almost speaking over him.

He was a lot smarter than people gave him credit for – after all, he had brought up the topic of your fight in an environment where it would have been rude of you to flee just in case you wanted to and he wasn’t called a master strategist for nothing – so he caught your attempt to deflect. And he graced it with brief silence, not pushing, letting your words hang in the air for a moment. Golden boy. Perfect. Too good.

“I suppose that’s fair,” he hummed, one corner of his lips rising higher, his smile almost boyish now. “Did I mention I was sorry?”

“Yeah... did I?”

“You did.”

“Good,” you muttered, blissfully lost in his gentle gaze, even as you had to crane you neck a bit.

The moment was sweet. Slightly electric. Surprisingly comfortable. Peaceful.

Peace.

That was a specific word. With a pang in your chest, it occurred to you that was precisely what it was that Tony intended to achieve when he assigned you to this. To begin to renew the peace that had been within the Avengers family before your presence disrupted it. And Steve had accepted the invitation with you attached to it because he saw the importance of the team holding together from the strategic point of view.

Tonight was a mission. Necessary networking, even as Steve had tried to make it feel like anything but, and necessary attempt at smoothening the relationships within the team. Yes, it was beautiful, but Tony himself had called you a Cinderella. This was but a fairy-tale. An illusion. A projection.

The very spectre of you and Steve, of you being a full Avenger.

Once tonight was over, you’d have to snap back, like you always did. And like always, the pain of what you had lost as a spectre, be it blood or a warm embrace, would linger too. Back in your cold aching reality.

But not in Steve’s; Steve would remain who he was, to the world, to his team, to his friends. To you. It had been a sweet sentiment, a good-natured attempt; and for the night, it lasted. Once again, you felt played by your own naivety, already feeling your waxed wings melting and slowly prepared yourself for the brutal landing.

You kept up your smile, even as you felt the pleasant hum in your ribcage fall silent, your eyes not burning, because there was no reason for it, was there?

“You have good friends, Steve,” you whispered, the blue of his gaze warming up with fondness as he no doubt agreed. “They might be nosy, but they mean well.”

“And they are your friends too,” he replied softly, the pang in your ribcage stronger this time. He believed that, he genuinely did. Maybe that was why it hurt so much; he had seen the worst of the world and believed in the best still; you could read it in his actions, in his expression right now.

But you couldn’t bear it anymore, your gaze falling to the smooth fabric of his bowtie, contrasting with the pristinely white shirt indeed, just as you had known from the start he would wear. Pure. The symbol of all goodness in your culture. Just like him.

You heard what he was saying and yes, it was a tempting thought you had fallen for before. That you could be friends with the team, that the others cared – but you could count the number of people who cared for you on one hand and still had fingers left. People cared for your abilities, admired them maybe, sure. But you were a realist. Even before the Natasha incident – which truly was just her doing her job – you knew and you kept repeating it to yourself, because entertaining any other possibility was dangerous: your abilities, your results or the lack of them, those were what truly mattered. To everyone. To your father, eventually your mother too, to your SHIELD team, to your fellow Avengers. To Steve too. Had those powers come in a different meatsuit than yours, it wouldn’t change a thing. You were just a casing for what they needed.

It wasn’t okay, but it was alright.

The thing was, you couldn’t make Steve admit that – not him. He was a good man – infuriating one, yes, not without fault, yes, but incredibly undeniably good in his core. All the Avengers cared for people too, you would be an idiot not to see it, but if there was one person who would try to look the furthest beyond the abilities you carried, it would be him. Perhaps that was the scariest part of tonight – of him being not only civil, but perfectly pleasant and meaning it. Because he was just that perfect.

And perfect was never in your reach.

“Sure,” you replied absently as you looked up again.

You could tell his own gaze never left your face; and he no doubt noticed the change. His eyes were roaming your features, searching, wondering and seeing; you found yourself slipping into a neutral mask, your way too relaxed stance straightening, muscles tensing.

You only tensed further when you recognized softness and understanding creeping into his gaze, his voice quiet.

“You know-“

You thanked your lucky stars when the song ended and you were allowed to step back from him with an awkward smile.

“I’m going to find the restroom, excuse me.”

You swallowed heavily upon seeing something akin to disappointment and exasperation on his face; but when you pulled away, he didn’t stop you, didn’t use his strength to keep you in place, leaving the choice – as much as he clearly not approved of it – to you. You tried to force your smile further, grateful for that if not for nothing else.

“Thank you for the dance, stranger.”

And with that, you disappeared to the crowd, well-aware that if he wanted, he could have followed, because even in the sea of robes, his eidetic memory told him exactly what yours looked like.

Getting a fifteen-minute break from people, one in particular, was more than generous and yet you granted it to yourself; because putting yourself back together took time. Not for the first time, you sent a silent thank you to Agent May for having taught you her ways of accepting your emotions as they were, locking them away for later and channel them in the right direction when needed.

If you counted your dances with Steve – even as you tried very hard not to think about them – it added up for almost half an hour of the breather you had planned when getting the drink. You needed to go back to work, back to networking, because it was getting late; you had no doubt there were still people to talk to, no matter how efficient your colleague had been.

As you walked the halls with a smile arranged on your face, nodding politely at people admiring the various pieces of art of all forms, from drawings and paintings to sculptures and installations, your gaze fell on one of auctioned objects.

You smile slipped, your steps faltering along with the steady beat of your heart; and then you forced the corners of your lips back up, nails digging into the back of your hand as you folded them in front of your abdomen, to stop yourself from running to the glass stand where what seemed like a very old artifact was laid proudly on display.

And by old, you meant thousands of years old. And you really, really prayed that you were wrong, that your mind was simply playing tricks on you to avoid the emotional turmoil of today, to-

“Son of a-”

Three more steps closer and the curse was on your lips before you could swallow it completely, heart thundering in your chest against the sudden tightness. You didn’t like to be wrong; but in this particular case, you really wished you had been.

But apparently not.

See, this is why we can’t have nice things, you thought to yourself as you released a wavering breath and took off in the search of Steve, as if you hadn’t run from what seemed to be particularly nice things yourself only a little over ten minutes ago.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat as you caught a glimpse of him talking to an elderly couple, telling yourself that your discovery was the only reason for that. Because that would be plausible and completely valid; an appearance of what SHIELD called an 0-8-4, an object of unknown origin, was never good news.

Except you were rather certain of its origin and that only made it worse.

Steve spotted you now, a small smile lighting up his face as if you hadn’t just taken an escape from when he tried to convince you were a part of the team in the friendliest sense of the word, gesturing to you lightly so the couple turned to you as well.

You smiled wider, squeezed your hand stronger. Too bad – the Lewises – had seemed nice enough when you had read up on them, were one of the rare attendees who were here for their genuine interest in art.

“Good evening, I am so sorry to interrupt, Mrs. Lewis, Mr. Lewis,” you said sincerely, introducing yourself as the lady already extended her hand to you, followed by her husband’s. “It is a pleasure to meet you and I would be very happy to talk to you if you’d be willing, but I need to borrow Captain Rogers for a little bit-“  

“By all means, Agent, don’t let a couple of old folks keep you two,” Mrs. Lewis chuckled, gently touching Steve’s forearm as she smiled at him almost motherly. “Thank you, young man, it’s nice to see bright young minds interested in conversations about thought-provoking art. Do find us if you can spare another minute later.”

“I would personally use the words lovely couple, Mrs. Lewis,” you said warmly before turning to Mr. Lewis. “I promise to bring him back as soon as possible.”

“It’s been a pleasure,” Steve added as he covered her feebly hand on his, squeezing gently. “Agent?”

“Just a small issue, I’m sure it can be dealt with quickly,” you assured him in front of them, your face growing more serious the second you turned away, your voice falling so low only his enhanced hearing could hopefully catch it. “Thought-provoking art indeed. There’s an 0-8-4 on the items list.”

The way Steve’s back straightened, a sign of him turning mission-alert in an instant, would have been a treat to watch in any other circumstance, you supposed. But not in yours. And not in this case.

As you walked away, he followed your unhurried tempo, stopping by the displays briefly when you did, as if you were simply admiring the art. His face gave away nothing unusual happening beyond a minor inconvenience; you weren’t sure if he believed you were making a big deal out of nothing or if he was that good of an actor.

“Anything you encountered before? Potentially how dangerous are we talking?”

His voice had dropped too, but barely enough for you to hear. To an untrained eye, it probably looked like a normal hushed conversation, a couple – of friends – sharing opinions on the auction items indeed. Good. You didn’t need to spread panic on top of barely containing your own.

“Yes and no, I only recognize the symbols. And I can’t tell, but I wouldn’t underestimate it,” you uttered as you gradually moved closer, the artifact now in sight.

Steve stood diagonally beside you, barely a step behind your shoulder; he could keep his voice very low that way, practically whispering to your ear, while you could keep talking almost soundlessly.  

“Should I recognize this? I’m not familiar.”

You bit back a bitter smile, stepping in front of the display together at last. The item itself looked unassuming; a stabile built of plates of metal, interwoven and reaching out of the tangle like tentacles. Except the surface of the plates wasn’t smooth; an intricate pattern of lines and circles rose slightly above it, a geometrical masterpiece only a few people on Earth knew the meaning of. Outside of Earth, well; you wouldn’t dare to guess.

The good news, hopefully, was that the sculpture meant to be in one piece was broken into two; that meant that if the effect was, like with many others you had encountered, tied to breaking the casing of whatever weapon it could be hiding, it had been out for a while and thus might not pose danger anymore. But you weren’t willing to take that chance.

“I’m not sure,” you whispered, almost choking out the words, wary of one word in particular as not to alarm anyone in vicinity just in case. “It is mostly Coulson’s team that handles all the… Kree mess.”

Short silence followed, only for Steve to draw in a shaky breath.

“…are you positive?”

It probably wasn’t meant to be a challenge, but you took it as one anyway, a flare of anger rushing through your veins, because was he serious? That was genuinely insulting. You spent practically your whole post-academy service to SHIELD with Coulson’s team following the trail of artifacts left behind by the lovely alien race Kree were – in fact, artifacts uncomfortably resembling this one. So yes, you were pretty bloody positiveyou were right.

You turned to Steve and took a step back to throw to his face – in as calm manner as was socially acceptable despite wanting to just spit it out – that you were pretty damn certain, because one did simply not forget a single thing about the literally blue aliens that indirectly gave them powers. Except you never got to make a single sound, because Steve’s eyes widened all of sudden, gaze still fixed on the display you had just turned your back to and his fingers closed around your wrist and tugged you closer to him again with surprising force given how gentle he had held you when you-- so not the time.

“Alright, point proven,” he whispered hastily, stepping back and releasing you before you could question him just turning from a gentleman of the year to a lout who just… grabbed a woman and manhandled her.

Frowning, you glanced over your shoulder just in time to see a faint light of the symbols dying out, your panic skyrocketing and making you forget all about your exasperation.

Oh. Oh, that was not good at all.

It recognized you. It sensed the Inhuman in you as you had unwittingly moved closer to it. It was reacting even sooner than the Diviner had, the first Kree artifact your team had encountered, whose symbols only lit up upon being touched by an Inhuman, or a person carrying Inhuman markers in their DNA yet to be turned into one.

“Sorry for-“

“It’s fine,” you interrupted his apology, appreciating it nevertheless. Yet, your smile probably turned out to be more of a grimace, bitter sarcasm bleeding into your tone. “Well, Tony said we should bid on something anyway, right? I’ve got my pick”.

Steve’s eyebrow twitched without a hint of amusement, but he didn’t disprove you, moving to scan the room for any vendor to start bidding indeed; you automatically reached for your black-tie-attire-friendly StarkWatch, to alert the HQ.

You never got to finish the message.

Steve never got to even step out.

A tell-tale metallic sound, a clink of a grenade hitting the tiled floor had both of you snap your head to the source, losing two precious seconds by looking for where exactly it landed, startled intakes of breath taken before a scream could gather in your lungs to warn people to get down.

There was no time to react. The screams aligned with the eardrum-rupturing noise of an explosion, a blur of a movement to your right and a force to be reckon with slamming into you.

Even without his signature weapon, Steve automatically threw himself between you and the grenade, pushing you down and shielding you with his body at least. The heat licked at your skin just as the pressure wave slammed into you both, sending you flying and crashing hard into the glass cabinet, Steve’s arm taking large portion of the brunt of impact.

A jolt of electricity rushed through your nerves along with the pain, a dull crack in your head, the edges of your vision blurring. You barely registered the stream of agents in black gear cutting through the clouds of smoke and vapour tear gas. Smell of copper and iron hit your nostrils, strong enough to make you nauseous; blood and fire. Steve’s cologne; then more blood. Lights and shadows bleeding into one, the former too bright for your smoke-filled teary eyes. The noise was deafening too – shouts and shrieks of terror you knew you should respond to, because it was your duty as an agent and as a half-baked Avenger.

But you didn’t seem to control your body for long enough to as much as lift your hand to check if the sharp pain in the back of your head was an open wound or not, let alone to climb to your feet as Steve’s voice echoed in your ears, warm hands firm on your waist, prickling sensations like thousand needles piercing through your skin all over.

The pain tore through every single cell of your body without warning, but you didn’t have time to find the cause or wallow in it; darkness enveloped you completely and you sank into its thick waters without a chance to fight it, until it swallowed you whole.

Next chapter

Series masterlist // S.R. masterlist

Hope you don’t mind a little cliffhanger, hehe... as a treat for reading! I wanna say I was really excited about this chapter, sneaking in something soft and fluffy in between the angst, but I’m excited to share everything so... yeah.

I would like to take a moment or two to thank you, again, for your comments. They give me a rush of joy and I read every single one of them more than once; they give me strength to continue even when sudden feeling of ‘this is meh’ attacks me and the thoughts you share ground me back in the story when I feel like I’m slipping away from where I wanted to take it. I cherish your feedback, no matter the form, so much. Thank you 💕

[no1nuzifan]

Posting my headcanons bc I’m a silly billy ‼️‼️‼️

Lute Headcanons

Christian (duh)

She/Her

Bisexual with a preference for Adam (but she hasn’t admitted she’s bisexual yet)

Badass 🗣️🗣️

Hates most people except for Adam, Emily and Sera. Emily’s like a younger sister for her, Sera like a mother and Adam a role model, best friend & partner (in crime and in romance)

Trained herself in self defence as well as fighting (though it wasn’t necessary til the events of episode 8)

Loves horror movies

Doesn’t like musicals too much but actually got pretty into school of rock cuz of Adam

Loves fighting, would willingly kill anyone who fucks with her or the people she cares about

Easily jealous, especially when Adam’s literally flirting with others or calling other people hot (which is often)

Reserved in public, clingy in private (especially post episode 8 following the theory of Adam being down in hell now ‼️)

Scared of being abandoned

Has never cried around anyone nor will she ever cry around anyone (she’d only ever cry around Adam if she absolutely had to, for example episode 8, but that’s RARE.)

Autistic.

Adam Headcanons

Christian (DUH???)

He/Him

Pansexual (took forever to admit it, a combo of “$20 is $20” and “if there is a hole there is a goal” mentality)

Alex Brightman enthusiast

Loves rock (like he’ll only listen to rock or rock-like music)

School Of Rock fan (his favourite song is stick it to the man)

Egotistical, self-centred prick (but he still loves Lute)

Pro guitar player

Will only ever cry around Lute and it’s also very rare cuz it makes him feel weak

“All women belong in the kitchen (not Lute tho she belongs in my arms 🗣️🔥💕)” Adam, probably

Clingy both out in public and in private

Not easily jealous but if anyone tries ANYTHING he WILL get defensive asf like “mf that’s my woman” type shit

Terrified to love (bc of Lilith and Eve, though it was his fault he doesn’t think it’s his fault)

Gets terrified watching horror movies and spends majority of it not actually watching it

Scared of storms 😭

Joint (Guitarspear) Headcanons

Lute and Adam defo play instruments together (Adam plays guitar and Lute plays piano or sings)

They hang out and gossip about the other Exorcists or the fuckers in hell every night while sitting on a rooftop and drinking alcohol (they probably stargaze too if they can)

They have matching bracelets that say danger tits and dickmaster for sure (Adam rarely wears it when out with Lute since he doesn’t think men should wear jewellery but he still wears it whenever he can when he’s not out in public)

They’re that one duo that judges anyone and everyone, if you’re judgable you’re being judged by them

They hype each other up constantly (examples: Lute in Hell Is Forever, Adam in You Didn’t Know)

Adam probably tries to impress Lute with his amazing guitar solos

Adam fell first Lute fell harder

They count down to the extermination like it’s New Years 😭😭

Lute could NOT handle Adam’s death (very sad 😔)

(Post Episode 8)Lute defo goes down to hell just to make sure Adam’s okay even though that’s extremely risky for her (BC WE ALL KNOW ADAMS GONNA BE DOWN THERE)

They both love drama so they just cause chaos together

They refer to themselves as partners (but use the excuse of it being partners in crime)

Adam is extremely bad at giving or handling physical affection and Lute is extremely good at both most of the time (it depends when)

Adam randomly picks up Lute to piss her off (the height difference is laughable)

Lute has selfies they both took prior to each extermination stuck up on her wall

Adam can’t handle horror movies at all so during watching horror movies Adam would be terrified (though too egotistical to actually admit it) while Lute is just being critical about killers and enjoying the movie

Adam is usually the one to incite flirting, whenever Lute flirts she’s just taking advantage of the situation

Lute only calls Adam by his name if she’s pissed and usually calls him sir

They tell inappropriate jokes 24/7 for fun (half the time the jokes lead to flirting 😭)

Lute has a horrible sleep schedule and so just falls asleep randomly during the day if she’s not gotten enough sleep (averages like 2 or so hours max if she’s lucky) and usually either falls asleep on Adam or Adam has to catch her if she collapses

Pillow fights.

Adam has to take care of Lute’s wings bc she’s reckless and usually doesn’t give a shit about her wings but Adam cares and so usually is the one to preen them and make them look better

@gothlute i wanna tag you in this cuz you’re the reason i decided to post these so enjoy!!

[likeafairytale]

"... Did you have friends before? Outside of your siblings? Because you say we're best friends, but what we have is a typical princess-servant relationship. I don't mind at all. Actually I quite like it. You're better than what I'm used to. But I feel like I owe you the truth and what we have isn't friendship." - Yasmeen to Calypso

The least we could say is that Calypso was taken aback by Yasmeen's words. Frowning, the princess stopped walking and turned around to look at Yasmeen, and it was visible that she did not quite understand what she was saying. Not that the mermaid was dumb, but she genuinely thought she was right when she was calling her servant her “best friend”.

For a few minutes, Calypso was thinking hard to Yasmeen's questions. Did she have friends? Of course, she had! Well... not really. Outside of Nathaniel, and Malachai, she could not name any other child she was playing with when she was younger, or even now. When Nathaniel was training with Malachai, she was alone, or with Blossom, who was... a tropical fish. Her only friend growing up, outside of her brothers, was a tropical fish, and now she was thinking of it, it was quite embarrassing that she had no children friends, but just a fish one, and this thought was enough to make her blush. Even her own sisters weren't close to her, which explained probably why Calypso had such a hard time to connect with any woman here at the Seelie Court.

❛... What do you mean, we're not friends? I thought we were...❜

❛Maybe in your mind we are. But friends are equals. We can't be friends if you never listen and always bring the subject back to yourself.❜

❛I do not do that!❜ Calypso almost yelled, not realizing that she was literally cutting short Yasmeen and, therefore, proving her right. ❛You make me sound like a spoiled, selfish brat, which I'm not!!❜

❛It's okay, really. I know you're used to people giving you all their attention and energy, and I know you used to believed they did it because they care, not because they feared your father. But that's not true. That's what the reality check is so brutal since you came in here.❜

❛How could you say that?...❜

❛Like I said, I like our relationship a lot. But I can't let you fool yourself with illusions again and let you call yourself my friend.❜

The little mermaid was out of words. She felt sad and almost crushed by her maid's words, maybe because it was, once again, a new reality check. She had too much of them since she was there, and she hated that. Not only that, but she did not know why everyone wanted to show her how much she was wrong, but this habit of people here was annoying as hell to her.

❛But we are friends! You eat with my brothers and I, and you call me by my name, which I'll never let a regular person do.❜

❛Really? Let's see... I know pretty much all of your important childhood memories, including what places you liked to run away to the most. I could rightfully name at least 75% of all the human items that are hidden if your secret cave, since you talk about them all the time. I know your favorite game you used to play with Nate and how sad you were when he had to go train with Kai and you weren't invited. I know you held on to every bit of details you had of Ursula and had this image in your head of how you'd meet her, and she'd be your perfect sister, and I know you've been heartbroken ever since you actually met her. I know about your time in the aquarium and how you dislike and try to hide your feelings for Aeron. I know you miss Nessie and the Caribbean Sea the most. What do you know about my life?❜

Calypso took a deep breath and was ready to answer but, once again, nothing came to her mind. She could not answer to Yasmeen. She realized that she truly was self-centred, and barely knew about Yasmeen's life. She did know things, obviously, but things that, maybe, she wished she did not know, and Yasmeen did not have to live either. Calypso felt tears coming to her eyes –which was happening so much lately, she felt as if being out of the sea means her wants to cry was more apparent. Taking a deep breath again, she clenched her fists, and it was obvious she was more angry than sad now.

❛You did not have to humiliate me this way.❜

❛This wasn't my intention. I was just stating point. The fact that you're now angry shows that I am right.❜

❛Well, this isn't my fault if you do not talk about you. This isn't my fault if I have to fill the gap in our conversation, because you do not talk to me about you!❜

❛Your majesty is right. I forget myself.❜ Yasmeen said with the most honourable tone she could have before curtseyed.

❛Stop don't do that! You know what, perhaps you're right, maybe we're not friends after all. Maybe I have mistaken our relationship I gave you too many liberties, and maybe I should stop.❜

❛If this is what you're thinking, then it will be.❜

❛... Maybe I should have another maid, so you'll be my friend for real without feeling obligated to be. Perhaps that's the solution we need... I don't know which one it is, for now, I just want you to leave me alone!❜

On those last words, Calypso, who was frustrated, turned around and walked straight to the lake she was headed previously, hoping to clear her mind and that Yasmeen did follow her wish to stay alone.

[kyndaris]

The Ugly Duckling

I met bachelor number 4 at Broadway shopping centre at a small cafe. After getting dropped off by my mother at the train station later than I’d hoped, I was a few minutes late rocking up to the venue. That didn’t stop Prep Boy from sitting down and ordering a coffee and some banana bread for a late breakfast as he waited. A man who knew what he wanted and wasn’t going to allow propriety to get in his way. At least, that’s the assumption I got as he tried to hug me as if we were old friends when I finally arrived.

I quickly disabused him of that notion. The old friends bit. As I’ve mentioned before, I”m not a hugger. Physical touch is basically anathema to my very being. Keeping people at arm’s length means they are less likely to hurt me.

On that note, maybe I really ought to pick up Aikido or other forms of martial arts as a form of self-defence. I mean, yes, I did learn a bit of karate when I was younger but I’d dropped it when I was studying for the selective high school exams.

So, like the awkward Asians that we were (well, more me than him), I settled for a handshake. The best of both worlds, and something that was lacking during the heyday of COVID-19. Although, now that I think on it, I kind of miss doing friendly elbow bumps. So, if you want to boop funny bones, let me know!

After I’d ordered my own drink, hot chocolate (always!), we got to talking.

I learned he had a sister and a number of brothers, that he attended a fancy private school in his youth and that he had just enjoyed a work Halloween event where he went dressed as one of the faceless guards of Squid Game. Except, he didn’t have the proper PlayStation mask so, instead, he opted for one fashioned in the like of a kitsune.

And just like that, he dominated most of the conversation. Not that I minded, dear reader. It allowed me to sit back and listen and learn (and possibly judge). On the downside, he did try to explain where Waverley was (to which I replied most sarcastically) and seemed unsure if I knew the Overwatch characters. Mate, I might not have played the game because it’s an online team shooter but I’d have to be living under a rock not to who who Mercy, D.Va and the rest of all your mains were. 

After all, I live and breathe video game popular culture.

To my detriment.

But as they say: Heroes never die!

Besides, if I didn’t know something, I’d probably ask for clarification or just Google. I mean, I had a friend that never provided context to their wild ramblings. And if I could deduce what they were talking about from scraps of information, I’m sure I wouldn’t be struggling to understand your nostalgia for the ‘good ol’ uni days of 2016.’

That, perhaps more than anything else was an indication that a relationship between the two of us wouldn’t work.

Maybe I’m too cynical and jaded, but the sense I got was that Prep Boy wasn’t all that mature and that it would be an ongoing issue with regards to compatibility. In his desire to impress, he only proved to be somewhat belittling and condescending with his assumptions. In the words of Shania Twain: that don’t impress me much.

The other issue that I could not get past, and which I regaled to all my friends when pestered about my love life, were his teeth. Yellow and covered with plaque, the top row so crooked that it would scare even the hardiest criminals to get back on the straight and narrow.

Can you imagine kissing a mouth like that? No, thank you! 

Worse, he was a former Prep Boy. Private school born and bred, mingling with the rich elites of east coast Sydney. You would think someone with those means would have taken more care of his appearance. Or, at the very least, his dental health.

Maybe I was too quick to judge. But my overall experience conversing with Prep Boy was unfavourable at best. It was the first time after downloading Hinge that I knew in my bones that this person was not for me. There would be no humouring them with a second date.

Almost immediately after we had left the small cafe, as he was catching up with his family afterwards at 12 in Burwood, I hid our chat and there’s been no contact since!

Certainly, our text exchanges hadn’t been the most scintillating of conversations.

So, progress? Or have I gone two steps back?

I don’t know. Relationships are hard! And yes, I know it’s my fault for not trying to seek a partner in my younger years but I wasn’t interested.

Heck, even now, I don’t know how interested I am in finding a life companion beyond a body pillow.

But at least I’m trying?

For years, I’ve lived inured in my own fantasy worlds, never much venturing past my front door because I saw little need to. However, I’m learning, as I did back in 2016, that putting oneself out of one’s comfort zone can be truly eye-opening in learning who I am and what I want from life.

It’s easy to live a life without change but you don’t grow from those experiences. And perhaps, after spending a year somewhat working on myself, I can spread my wings and reveal to the world the swan that I actually am.

Still, is it weird that during this trek out to the city, I was more excited about learning that Fortress was coming to Sydney rather than the meet-up itself?

Anyways, Happy New Year! Let’s hope 2023 will be as interesting as year as 2022 - at least on  a personal scale. I don’t think I like all the shit that’s been happening around the world and I honestly fear where it might be heading to next.

And yet, despite all the misery and the bleakness of an unknown future, here I am just trying to find some love.

[msvorderofoperations]

Another dream to journal, but this one definitely ended up in nightmare territory. This one is also going to take some effort to try and make sense of it.

It started out reasonably. I was on an extended vacation with my girlfriend at a remote fishing village, sort of similar to one I would occasionally visit when I was a kid. While it was sparsely populated, we would still see people since there were shared amenities, and the lodgings weren't really private so people were constantly passing through our living space. To combat the fact that being around people this often would drain me emotionally, and the lack of privacy, I had access to an ultralight plane. I would use it to go somewhere me and my girlfriend could be alone, and also to just explore and see the incredible sights around us.

At one point, I was at a card game tournament at a convention. And it was an especially weird one at that, because the deck formats were Magic the Gathering based, but the cards were Pokemon and Digimon. And somehow, I ended up in the last round I was to play in with my sister. And we were not having a good time. We were both sniping at each other like we did when we were much younger and actively hated each other. Eventually I point out that she is very much acting like she did when she was a preteen. And then she fires back that she's only acting that way because I'm acting like a child. And then at that point, I forfeit the tournament because I want nothing to do with her anymore.

I then go back to where I have been living during this vacation, and find out that most everyone has ended up at a new (and hastily constructed) activity centre. Think Ninja Warrior, but shitty and you should be in the right ballpark. As I observe people trying to test themselves against the various obstacles, it starts falling apart. I go to help someone who has fallen a considerable distance, and been partially buried by the wreckage. I find out there that the whole thing is being run by a former employer of mine, and they take over rescue efforts. In doing so, it turns out that the paperwork for my quitting never got properly filed, and since I'm helping them with something they were already doing I might as well just come back to work.

I look down at myself and even see that I am even wearing the uniform, so I can't really protest the idea. To give some amount of context, this job was sales in the electronics department (among others, which is part of why I left IRL) of a department store. Nominally, I was supposed to handle customer service for a specific set of products, but the practicalities of every electronics store in the 21st century meant that actually I was meant to sell cell phones and contracts. And so I then find myself doing that, as I had in 2017 when I first had the job.

After a shift, I find that my girlfriend has taken to self soothing as the lack of privacy and now the time apart because of the job have been getting to her. She's doing one thing on her phone, and listening to music on mine. But owing to a number of circumstances, my phone is acting odd. I try and fix it, but realize that it has been partially disassembled. I emphasize that we both need to be careful with it as I can't afford a new one. When I get to the final steps of putting it back together, I see that the glass back has been shattered into pieces. Not just cracked, but fully pulverized into discreet, razor sharp chunks. And now, given that my phone no longer has a large part of its structure, and is no longer sealed from dust and the elements, my phone is effectively bricked.

I go back to work to see what temporary replacements are to be had, but find no one there. This is not that out there, as one of the many reasons I quit that job was because for long periods I was frequently the only person working in 4(!) different departments and had to cover all of them. As I'm looking to see if there is anybody minding the store, I see that in the A/V department, there is something else playing other than the usual sports replays or nature documentaries on the TVs. It's a deeply strange and surreal softcore porn that appears to be loosely based on a sketch from In Living Color. After that weirdness, since there is no one to activate a cheap phone for me I leave.

As I return back to my lodgings, I hear my girlfriends phone go off. Somehow my mom has gotten her number, and she is actually close enough that I can hear both sides of the conversation. For reasons I don't feel like getting into, I have been putting off my mom meeting my girlfriend for a long time. So the idea that this meeting is going to happen fills me with dread. After a brief initial contact, it is decided that we're going to meet up with some other people at a cafe nearby.

This is where things start to go from being deeply unpleasant to outright horrifying. We meet up, and I talk about the weirdness at my place of work as an anecdote. And then one of the people there not so subtly points out that he was an actor in that particular video, signalling that it was him that made the TVs all play it. I'm very angry at the fact that he hacked our TVs and did so to satisfy a exhibitionist kink that no one even had the chance to consent to, but there's nothing to be done about it so I try and change the subject. Another person present then decides to try and one-up the person who did the video, and does some ill considered acrobatics that go horribly awry. They slam the back of their head on the railing of the short fence around the outdoor part of the cafe, and do so so hard that it's now embedded partway into their skull. As they begin to bleed out, they shout in a final act of...something "This. Proves. NOTHING." before they die of massive brain trauma and hemorrhaging.

Instead of being horrified or trying to get help, everyone around me finds this absolutely hilarious. Everyone then takes turns trying to get the bar the no dead person hit their head on to fully come out the other side, bisecting their skull. I try talking to an old man outside the group of people I'm with. He nods silently, produces a shotgun, sticks it in his mouth and blows his brains out. As I turn back to see if *anybody* is reacting to all of this disturbing violence happening around me, I see one of the people I came with has gotten bored and is now playing Guitar Hero.

At this point I basically go catatonic. Nothing makes sense, nobody is acting sane, and I clearly cannot meaningfully change anything. Eventually after sitting in this abattoir of madness for a time, I finally wake up.

Really don't know what to make of any of this. But this does outline the kind of tone my dreams used to have before I changed my meds and started dreaming much more frequently. As I have said elsewhere, my subconscious is not a pleasant place.

[handfulxfhearts]

OC Bio: Web Knightly

TW: PTSD, s*xual abuse/assault, suicide mention, self h*rm, depression, alcohol/drug misuse.

Age: 32 years

DOB: 30th October 1990

Nationality: British (British father, Scandinavian mother)

Gender: cis-male (he/him)

Sexuality: bisexual, pan-romantic

FC: Tobias Forge

Web was born on Tuesday 30th October, 1990, in Kensington, London, as Damien Knightly, to parents Roger (a British national) and Anita (a Swedish artist). He had a little sister, Kara, who was three years younger than him. Web was extremely close with his little sister and very protective of her, taking on his role as older brother with pride.

On his seventh birthday, he lost his parents and his little sister in a car accident. He was moved into a residential care home, with the aim to have him fostered, however this never happened and he remained at the care home until he was 18. During his time there, Web endured SA by the home’s manager, Carl. This repeated abuse has led Web to believe that he is only good for one thing, which has affected many attempted relationships in his life. During his time at the home, Web was also bullied by three older boys in particular, who initially coined the nickname Web as an insult; they stopped using it as such when Web turned it on its head and started referring to himself as such. The three particular boys who bullied him had also been abused by Carl, before Web’s arrival, and they inflicted similar things onto Web. He began using self h*rm and alcohol as a coping mechanism during his early teens, which he still struggles with now, as an adult.

Despite his traumatic childhood and teenage years, Web excelled at school, particularly in the subject of Music. He learned to play guitar when he was quite young (Carl paid for private instrumental lessons on guitar and piano and bought Web his own guitar as a way of keeping Web quiet). Despite the reasons for being given these opportunities, Web found that he was a natural musician and gained very high grades at both GCSE and A Level, allowing him to enrol at Brighton Institute of Modern Music after finishing high school.

During his second year of university, he met Shay, a nonbinary bass player from the Midlands, who he became close friends with. The two even dated for a while, but Web struggled to maintain the relationship, eventually coming clean to Shay about his past, after a very drunken night out. Shay suggested they end it, but remained close friends. To this day, Shay is the only person who knows Web’s full history.

He currently maintains a permanent residence in a loft in Brighton, with his roommate Melody, who he and Shay met at a strip club. He likes to travel a lot, with his band, and as a solo act.

For a time, Web was admitted to Brighton’s Recovery Centre, after a largely alcohol induced su*cide attempt. He remained there for several months, but did not get completely clean due to some staff and other patients offering him alcohol in exchange for certain acts.

Personality Traits: comes off as initially hostile; very shy and anxious, very caring and kind but nervous. He is quite quiet but can become quite talkative and jovial when he starts to get used to you. He is very creative and artistic and is often strumming away on his guitar. He is fairly well-spoken (except when drunk) and polite. 

Appearance: Web is 5ft 10ins, slender and toned. He enjoys going to the gym sometimes. He has a multitude of self h*rm scars upon his forearms and upper arms, as well as the tops and insides of his thighs and is rarely seen without long sleeves. He has a single cobweb tattoo over his left shoulder, and has his nose, navel, ear lobes (x3), and tragus pierced. His nose is wonky from being broken in a fight when he was younger. He has long, just-past-shoulder-length dark brown hair, and piercing blue eyes. He has a very gothic/grungy fashion sense. He often goes commando.

Triggers: his birth name (no one has called him it since Carl), being told he’s a ‘good boy’, to ‘relax’ or to ‘lie back’ (even if these things are said in total innocence, he reacts very badly to them), driving at night, driving alone. He struggles with compliments as his past dictates that means someone’s after something.

Occupation: freelance musician, occasionally works in Shay’s record store when he needs some extra money, on a zero hour contract.

Mental/Physical Issues: lactose intolerant, PTSD, depression, anxiety, night terrors, sleep paralysis, until he was 15 he used to hallucinate his dead family (he sometimes still sees them during sleep paralysis), uses casual sex as a coping mechanism which has affected many attempted relationships. He’s supposed to wear glasses due to an astigmatism in both eyes but only wears them when driving. He sometimes wears contacts but he’s lazy. Broke his nose in a fight.

Other info: Web has a ‘hard to place’ accent, embodying both his father’s British accent and his mother’s Swedish. For the most part he could get away with it being considered British, but there is often a very obvious Swedish ‘twang’, especially if he’s been drinking.

[anxiousstark]

THE BANISHED KING | EDDIE MUNSON

Bastard King! Eddie x Princess!Reader

Word Count: 14K (worth it, I think).

Warnings: Mentions of sexism, homophobic comments/ideology, abuse from a parental figure, mentions of sexual abuse (not explicit and not regarding Eddie or the Reader), dirty talk, mention of objects being inserted in v, masturbation (mutual or solo), unprotected sex (this is a fic, be safe), blowj!ob, cum play, caught having s€x, breed!ng kink, filthy, public sex, Eddie is teasing and a kinky b!tch. This is filthy. DNI NEEDED. THOSE YOUNGER THAN 18, LEAVE!

Didn't finish proofreading it. I was exhausted.

A/N: Hi there, it's finally here! Enjoy it and please reblog or like if you enjoyed it. It means a lot to all of us who write here.

All Rights Reserved. The author, me, does not allow any type of copy or adaption.

BIG MASTERLIST

Words you must know for the fic:

Setsunai: something once bright, now faded. It is the painful twinge at the edge of a memory, the joy in the knowledge that everything is temporary.

"We made a pledge." Thomas' voice rang out, sharp and unconcerned. He appeared too calm for how fast your heart was racing at the time. How dare he make such promises?

"With all due respect," your father's piercing eyes shot in your direction, causing you to shudder as you strove not to meet his powerful gaze. "I did not promise such a thing." Your brother scoffed, appearing irritated by your remark.

You both used to be pretty close as children, but the power that had infiltrated his body as a result of your father reminding him that he would one day be king had utterly transformed him. Thomas was no longer the lovely young boy who used to defend his younger sister with all his might.

"They saved me." One of his responsibilities as a future King was to visit other places and assess the reality of how his people lived. However, you had learned a long time ago that they never did anything about the appalling conditions under which your people were forced to live.

During one of these trips, some anti-Crown individuals decided to assault him and his personnel, putting everyone's lives in peril and nearly murdering your brother if it hadn't been for King Fareq and King Munson. Your brother had pledged to thank them for saving his life by giving them a gift.

One of the most precious assets in your kingdom was one of the presents he offered. A chest that had belonged to your family for centuries and had remained untouched in the palace, guarded by hundreds of guards. You thought the chest would be fantastic to sell and utilise the proceeds to benefit your people. Elders and children were both dying before their time. It was a frightening situation. A situation that their King should have resolved long ago.

The other gift? Your brother had offered your hand in marriage.

You could marry King Fareq, a 63-year-old nobleman known for being involved in highly dark business. A man who was uninvolved with his Kingdom. A self-centred individual.

Aside from that, King Fareq was well-known for his 'adoration' for women. He'd been married seven times, and each of them had vanished without a trace. Nothing further was ever known about those women.

Then, King Munson, your second choice. There was so little known about him. Yet, you had heard so many different descriptions of him, making it impossible for you to imagine what he looked like.

It was unbelievable how many individuals feared him while not knowing anything about his character, whereas they feared fewer others whose dark secrets were always visible. It astonished you how much stronger the fear of the unknown was.

"They saved my life. We must be thankful and provide something of significant worth." When did you start being something rather than someone?

"You said it, brother." You didn't say anything else till you took a big breath, trying to stop your body from quivering. "It was your life that was saved, not mine."

He sneered once again, something he seemed to do quite a lot. "What exactly are you implying?" He sneered.

"They saved your life; marry them if you wish to repay them." Your mother exclaimed, bringing her hand to her chest. She despised every time you responded, fearful that your father's wrath would fall on you.

"You've got to be fucking kidding me." As he stood from his brown throne and marched towards you, your father's fury became too much to bear. "What did you say?" You had to look up. He'd always been a giant. Tall and broad. He became one of your worst nightmares  — particularly when he was enraged, which was most of the time.

Your first mistake was to glance to the side to escape his gaze, knowing how much he loathed not being looked at while being spoken to. But you had to peek in the direction of your mother to see her reaction, hoping that your brain and mouth would agree to remain silent.

They didn't, though.

Your eyes followed your head movement, eventually settling on the man standing too close to your face. "My life has not been threatened, and no one has come to my aid." How did your mum end up marrying such a man? He wasn't a decent one, and he wasn't handsome. His arched nose and dull dark eyes were both acute. His long brown beard nearly covered his entire face, making him even more frightening. Your mother was not at all like that. He was a beast, and she was soft and kind. "I'm not sure why I have to endure the repercussions of his conduct."

It occurred suddenly.

His palm struck your cheek, forcing your head to the side where your mother stood, breathless and unable to go to you. If she did, she'd suffer the same fate as you. "You will do as I say." He exploded. "You will also obey your future King." You blinked hastily, clenching your jaw, regretting your previous action as your cheek and mouth ached much more. "We fulfil our pledges."

"Where are the clean water and supplies that you promised your people?" You stood firm, staring at him, challenging his might. But, before he could strike you again, your mother screamed out his name.

She'd pay for it later.

"You're going to marry." Your fists clenched the skirts of your dress as you peered about, looking for a way out. So vain. No one has ever fled this prison, especially not you. "My son." Thomas sprang up, terrifyingly staring at your father. It made you want to laugh. He pretended to be powerful, but he was just as frail as your mother and you. Gerald Y/L/N was dreaded by everybody. "We shall inform King Fareq that he has a new wife. King Munson should be aware that a magnificent treasure is on its way to him."

"No." Once again, heads turned to you. Your mother begged with her face. You exhaled a sigh. "King Fareq gets the riches." You took a step forward, ignoring them as you approached one of the tall white doors, which opened for you as soon as you were near enough. "I'm marrying King Munson."

"It is preferable that you marry King Fareq. He is one of our loyalists and-." Your brother appeared to be anxious. "King Munson was kicked out of the Kings assembly. We do not make judgments based on his Kingdom. He is impractical. He is a-."

"A bastard?" You aided him.

Edward Munson Jr. ascended to the throne after his father murdered every single person in a nearby realm. He was perhaps the most dreaded man in the world. A position presently inhabited by your father.

Of course, when the previous King was assassinated for his crimes, only two individuals were granted access to the throne. The next one would have been Wayne, the King's brother. But he had done everything he could to avoid being in that predicament. He did everything he could to ensure that his nephew became King, knowing that his brother would be writhing in hell, driven by the wrath of watching his bastard son, whom he despised, govern.

"I'm marrying King Munson…The Banished."

As you stood in front of the castle, your jaw dropped open. It was a dark gothic fortress with towers that seemed to pierce the sky. Since the sky was grey, it appeared much more ominous and even eerie.

"Don't those look like bats?" A voice spoke alongside you. You nodded in response, not daring to turn away from the piece of architecture that had piqued your interest. "Gosh." Following your father and sibling into the castle, your mother shrieked. "Y/N!" You turned your gaze her way, recognising her distress. What you were most afraid of was not marrying King Munson but leaving your mother alone.

"King Munson will arrive shortly." You were still perplexed by the youngster guiding you into a massive and spacious room with a black medieval table in the centre covered with dinnerware. "Would you please have a seat?" Said youngster made a motion with his hand, directing you to the table. As usual, you attempted to sit near your mother. Yet, the boy, whose name you had discovered was Dustin, halted you. "King Munson wishes his future wife to sit by him. "

As your father growled, you had trouble swallowing. "Since when did a King seat beside his wife?" He attempted to occupy the seat next to the throne but was again stopped.

"My King certainly does." He looked to have a lot of courage for such a young child, speaking openly. "Please, allow me." He approached you, extending his arm for you to hold and escorting you to the chair just next to the throne.

Your father growled once more and slapped your mother's hand when she had attempted to calm him down. You were about to say something until you were startled by a horn. "King Munson has arrived!" A young girl declared. Because her hair was so short, you initially mistook her for a boy. Why were there so many children here? You'd also observed the redhead female dressed in what appeared to be an antique knight's armour.

Your mother gently patted your leg, urging you to rise and greet the King. You did it swiftly, your chest heaving with anxiety. "My King," Dustin said quietly, not looking your way. "Is a genuine King." You just disregarded his comments, returning your gaze to the entrance through which you had entered.

Gradually, a figure entered and it wasn't until he took a few steps that the darkness stopped swallowing him. He was clothed entirely in black, from head to toe, and was wrapped in thick, warm clothing. Your gaze travelled up quickly, but you were distracted by the bat resting on his shoulder. Except for you, everyone in your family gasped.

Then your gaze wandered over his face. His skin was fair. His eyes were dark and round, which appeared to defy each other. His nose was pretty, as were his full lips. A shadow adorned his jaw, indicating that he had most likely not shaven. Most notably, he had luscious chocolate brown hair. Curly and long…never seen on a King before.

"I've been expecting you." As he got closer, you realized his eyes weren't as dark. They appeared to have golden specks. "To be honest, I was quite thrilled to meet you." Your father took a step forward, ready to be presented. To your astonishment, King Munson was speaking to you, not him. He towered over you slightly, but his piercing look made you feel much shorter than him. For his eyes never left yours. "I've always longed to see your Kingdom's two outstanding beauties." He addressed you, but at the latter, his eyes shifted to your mother as he offered a smile and a light bow. "It gives me great joy to meet you, Princess." You shivered, mouth gaping as a breath left your body.

"Likewise, my King." One of his warm and rough hands took yours, bringing it to his lips, depositing a kiss on the back.

"New Kings must not be aware of the regulations." Your father spoke out, averting his gaze. "It is of crucial courtesy to address the King of another Kingdom first, followed by those who accompany him."

You flinched, and King Munson noticed, not pleased with your reaction. "If you honour your pledge, she will be the one sharing this castle, her life, and my bed." Your skin burned. "I do not really understand how addressing someone else when she is present is more important."

"It is significant because I am the King." Your brother attempted but failed to silence him. "As her father, it also is." Edward assisted you in sitting down by holding the chair for you and pushing it closer to the table. He then sat on his throne.

"As a man of my word, I am allowing you to marry my daughter in compensation for saving the man who will replace me on the throne when I die. This does not imply that I like you, King Munson." Your father eventually sat down. "I am not thrilled that my daughter will be sucking a bastard's dick." You exclaimed, your eyes wide with surprise.

"If she pleases," you were taken aback when the King spoke up, unfazed by your father's comments. "She'll be doing more than just a little sucking." He had stated it with such a solemn expression. "Plus, if she is to be my Queen. She does not follow your rules, but rather her own."

"She is not yours yet." Your brother spoke out, but he appeared to be afraid as King Munson glared at him.

"You would be rather ungrateful if you went back on your promises and did not provide me what you had promised me." He stated. "You would not only be untrustworthy but also a man who does not keep his promise." Eddie motioned for Dustin to cease serving him alcohol. "If you are concerned about your lovely sister marrying the banished King…" He paused in his speech to take a sip of his wine. "Then you should not have offered her hand so hastily as if you were trying to get rid of her." Your gaze had been resting on your lap, but as soon as you heard his words, you shifted it to him. He extended his cup when he noticed your staring.

You shook your head. "That is not acceptable to me, my King."

"How come, my Princess?" The pet name came out in a deep tone that caused you to shudder. You cast a peek at your father. "You are free to communicate with me, Princess Y/N. There is no need to get authorisation." He cleared his throat. "Your word is as important as mine from now on. That is how it is in my Kingdom. Do you understand?" His gaze never left yours as if you were the finest thing to look at.

In answer, you nodded your head. "We, women, must abstain from drinking since we risk doing dumb things that will tarnish our reputation." You'd grown up hearing those words. Words told to your mum by your father and later transmitted to you. "That's what we were taught, King Edward."

"Call me Eddie." He scoffed, shaking his head and casting a peek at your father. "She just said something ridiculous."

"My Kingdom, my rules, King Eddie."

"Do not address me as such. Except for her, I am King Munson to you and everyone else at this table." His gaze returned to you. "Do you want to try?" You gulped. You were intrigued, but drinking from it would get you in trouble. "You are now free to do anything you choose. You're marrying me, therefore you'll be staying in my castle, far away from them." Something told you he wasn't talking about your mother but about your father and brother, who were glaring at him.

"I'm curious."

He grinned, bringing the cup from which he had been sipping to your lips. "Don't take a huge sip; you'll regret it." You followed his instructions. Your hands brushed against his as he never released the grip on the cup, assisting you. "Good girl." You almost choked, withdrawing the cup from your lips and coughing loudly. He smirked. "How did you find it?"

"It's rather strong," You said, making him laugh as you scrunched your face. "I always imagined it would be sweeter."

"I have some that are sweeter. We'll give them a go the next time."

The remainder of the night progressed in silence, with everyone engrossed in their own dishes and hesitant to speak up. Normally, such a situation would make you exceedingly anxious but because you were seated next to King Munson, you didn't feel that way. He would sometimes ask whether you were enjoying your food, and he would take your honest responses into consideration, not wanting to offer you something you didn't like.

After supper, King Munson and you accompanied your family to the front door, where he only bowed to your father and brother but reassured your mother that she could visit anytime she wished. You'd miss her terribly.

"I'm sure you're fatigued, my Princess." You nodded shyly now that you were on your own. "This castle is large, but you will soon figure out where everything is. I'll give you a tour tomorrow after you've rested and eaten." You nodded your head again and accepted the arm he offered. You linked it with his as he led you to the second floor of his palace. A red rug adorned the stairs.

You two approached a black door, admiring its numerous intricacies. "I assume you like bats, my King." The one that had been perched on his shoulder had long since vanished.

He laughed. "I love them." He extended his free arm, opening the door and making you gasp. There was a large king-sized bed in the centre of the room, covered with black satin sheets that looked warm and inviting, as well as translucent drapes that gave the bed a more intimate appearance. Two massive wardrobes were situated on the right side of the room and were embellished with large tall mirrors that ran from top to bottom.

"That's the bathroom." He pointed to his left side. "If you need help bathing, I have female staff who will happily assist their future Queen."

"I usually bathe by myself." You valued your own space and intimacy.

"I hope our room meets your expectations. Notwithstanding, if you want to change any of the decorations...that is fine with me."

You had turned on your side to gaze at him, ignoring his last remarks. "Ours? I-I assumed we would…" You took a breather. "I thought we were supposed to sleep in separate chambers."

He rubbed his chin and shook his head. "Do your parents sleep in separate bedrooms?"

After nodding, you swallowed. "My parents' rooms are fairly apart from one another." He scowled as if he didn't like the idea. "My father believes that a wife should be in another chamber so that a husband may freely interact with other women."

King Munson sneered, disgusted by all he'd discovered about your father. "Well, Princess. Apart from you, I do not intend to sleep with anybody else. I will not share my bed or my body with a woman who is not you, and I hope you will desire to do the same." You simply nodded. "We'll be sharing a room and a bed, but I won't touch you without your permission." You breathed a sigh of relief. "My hands will only probe your body if you ask them to." His stare was usually so piercing that it made your legs shake and wonder if you were capable of standing. He must have noticed as he smirked and squeezed the flesh of your arm. "Come on, Princess. I'll let you change into your nightgown and then return to your bedside to sleep next to you." You lowered your head slightly as he did. His lips landed on your forehead, pressing a light and short kiss just beneath your hairline.

The night before had been pleasant. You had assumed that falling asleep in a strange place would be difficult. Nevertheless, you were totally wrong. As soon as your head struck the pillow, your eyes began to feel heavy, and your blinking became slower and lengthier.

King Munson was lying on his side of the bed, looking at you and speaking quietly to you about his Kingdom. He was undoubtedly attempting to lull you into absolute relaxation so that you could fall asleep. And you'd done it.

As a result, you awoke this morning well-rested and with a growling stomach.

Eddie had not been there in the morning, much to your dismay, but Nancy, one of his employees, had reassured you by explaining that King Munson had a meeting early in the morning and had decided not to wake you up. Then she gave you time to wash and dress before guiding you into the same dining room as last night. 

With a handful of sunshine streams coming in through the window, you were able to enjoy the palace's magnificence even more.

"Is it good?" Dustin inquired, nodding his head and smiling broadly.

You nodded rapidly, attempting to swallow your food as soon as possible. "Will King Munson join me?"

Dustin shook his head, a remorseful expression on his face. "I'm sorry to inform you that Edd-." He coughed to restrain himself. "As you are aware, King Munson is attending an important conference. He will be unable to meet you for breakfast today, but he wanted me to let you know that this is a one-time incident." That sentence brought you joy. If you were to marry someone you didn't know, you hoped that both of you could live comfortably and without tension. "You will be escorted back to your room after breakfast. Nancy has prepared three lovely and unique gowns for you." You nodded, checking to see whether Nancy was present to thank her. "You may pick the one you like most." His brightness was contagious. "You will then be escorted to the carriage that is waiting outside the palace. King Munson will be there to receive you." You nodded and sipped the tea that had been particularly made for you. "You will both have a short tour of the city. It is customary for our people to view their new Queen-to-be."

You swallowed, tentatively. "Is it…are the people alright with having a Queen…daughter of Gerald?"

He gave a strained smile. "Do you want total transparency, ma'am?" You nodded immediately. "They are afraid of Gerald of Y/L/N, but they are open-minded. I know terrible things have been said about my King, but I can promise you that no one is better than him." You paid great attention to what he was saying. "The people adore him, and he puts forth every effort to listen to them as frequently as possible."

"That's fantastic." It really was.

"Have you noticed, my lady, how many children live in this castle?" He laughed, as did you. "King Munson does not want upper-class individuals to work for him, believing that they do not need the money as much as others do. The majority of us were orphans, and King Munson permitted us to live and work here." Your heart began to beat rapidly. "We will be eternally thankful to him. Please forgive us if we ever refer to him as Eddie. We address him as King Munson in public, but he has allowed being addressed as Eddie when important figures are not around. Also, please let us know if our presence ever makes you uncomfortable." You grimaced. "As previously said, we reside in this castle. We have access to every room on floor three, so we may be noisy and act like kids from time to time." He sheepishly looked at the ground, as did the knight-dressed girl named Max and the boy who constantly followed her around; Lucas.

"I believe that will be fun" You responded truthfully, making him grin in response.

"Do you have any children in your castle?"

You tilted your head. "Just extremely elderly and wealthy people…quite frightening ones as well." You trembled as you remembered some of the people your father kept around the residence. There was a man whose name you couldn't recall but whose visage you would always remember. He had abused some of the castle's workers, both men and women, and your father had still allowed him to live and work there. It was frightening to think that he may have tried to do something to you if you hadn't been the princess…but something told you that it wouldn't deter him from trying.

"King Munson looks after everyone here." He may have noticed the difference in your expression. "In fact, we all look out for each other."

"It appears to be a large family."

"Very much like that."

After breakfast, you were given a quick tour of the palace by a girl named Robin, who appeared to be laid back and made you feel at ease. She had raised expectations for a few of the rooms by suggesting that King Munson was disappointed as he couldn't give you the tour himself.

The palace was stunning.

Without a question, your favourite room was the library. It was a huge chamber with white shelves that spanned the entire length of the walls. They had no vacant space since they were crammed with novels. Plus, there were scarlet chairs that looked ideal for a reading frenzy. You were eager to put them to use.

After the tour and changing into a delightful bluish gown, you were led by Nancy and Dustin to the palace's entrance, where a pumpkin-like black carriage with silver ornaments awaited you.

"King Munson is already there." Dustin approached the chariot, and when someone opened the door for you, the lad gave his hand, assisting you in climbing the steps while your other hand grasped your skirts, not wanting to tumble down.

You'd crept inside, disregarding the door closing behind you as you sat down, your gaze fixed on the man sitting next to you. He looked stunning in a dark suit. "My future Queen," He pulled your glove off one of your hands so he could kiss the back of it. His gaze roamed over your face and body, making you flush. "May I say that you look fantastic?" As you told him how nice he looked, a hesitant crooked grin on your face. "I apologise for not being present this morning. I am sure everyone helped you feel at ease." You nodded, allowing him to continue holding your hand on top of his lap. "This will never happen again."

"It is fine." You gave him one of your brightest grins. "They took excellent care of me. I felt quite protected and at ease." Your comments had brought him comfort. He had spent the whole conference hoping you would be well without his presence, and he was relieved to learn that the treatment you received was what he had expected. "I was concerned about this part." You took a look around the carriage. "I wasn't sure if your folks would welcome me, but Dustin reassured me right away."

Eddie made a mental point to thank a favourite. "Whatever people believe has no bearing on who will spend the rest of their life with me." His thumb brushed against the back of your hand. "I care what people think about how I treat them, how they live, and everything else…but, as I previously stated, not in terms of who will spend the rest of their life with me. So don't let such thoughts into your head." You simply nodded. "Nonetheless, I believe they will like you. The only thing we can do right now is; grin and wave out the window. They only want to glimpse the face of their new, upcoming Queen." You hadn't realised you were already in the city, and people were crowding around you. Eddie leaned in and slid the curtain open.

"Wow." You were shocked to see so many people of all ages, all happy and chanting for their new Queen as their eyes landed on you. They greeted you warmly as if they already knew you. "Wow." You waved at them again, a genuine and thankful grin on your face.

"I told you." His voice was quite close to your ear, caressing it with his breath. "My people trust who I choose." 

You did not look away from the gathering. "You saved my brother, and I was just a mere compensation."

"An immense compensation." He continued. "However, in some ways, I had chosen you." You frowned again, this time while looking at him. "I was already smitten by you."

"Until yesterday, we didn't know each other."

He grinned, his gaze moving from your eyes to your mouth. "We did." When you frowned, he chuckled. "You've formerly danced with me, my Princess." You struggled to recollect such an event, but you were certain you would remember if it had occurred. "On your 18th birthday. The palace was open to all Kings and Princes. Except for you, everyone had to wear a mask." You had despised the idea of not knowing who you were dancing with, whereas they knew who they were dancing with. "I danced with you twice and assisted you in leaving the ballroom before midnight." You exclaimed. He had been a pleasant individual with a gentle and polite grip. The one who had kept silent throughout the night. "Wearing the-."

"The raven's mask."

He nodded and smiled. "The one and only." Why hadn't he told you who he was that night? You had inquired, but he had merely bowed, feigning to kiss your hand, leaving you with wonder and a tingling body.

"I asked for your name that night, but you didn't reply." A sigh escaped from between your lips. That mystery man had had quite an influence on you that night. You couldn't help but wonder who he was.

Every other person who had danced with you had used the chance to touch you more than you had desired, making you extremely uncomfortable. He was the only one who hadn't done such a thing. Such a simple and expected thing. "The ball was intended for Kings and Princes." And he was one of them. "But…" He moved in closer. "Do you think The Banished King was invited?" You winced, shaking your head. Edward Munson Sr had been a cruel man, yet why should King Munson have to pay for his father's sins or be mistreated since the King's only son was a bastard? Why was it his fault rather than his father's? "I'm pleased you were as intrigued about me as I was about you."

You were hesitant. "I had been thinking about you that night." He smirked at your linked hands now on your lap instead of his. "I was quite interested in learning who you were."

"Oh, you thought about me?" As he talked, his big, innocent eyes appeared to narrow and darken. "What kind of thoughts?"

You tensed your body, attempting to keep it from twitching. "I was only wondering who was hiding behind the raven's mask." You coughed, trying not to keep your voice from cracking. "It was a magnificent one, and…you were the only one who displayed even the tiniest regard for me."

He paused for a moment. "I'm sorry you had to position yourself throughout that situation. It will never happen again to you."

Turning your head toward the window, you continued to smile and wave with your free hand, your cheeks flushed. "My entire body tingled." You soon regretted uttering such embarrassing things.

"Raise your voice, sweetheart." He squeezed your hand. "And be sure to look at me when you do." His statements made it plain that he had heard you and merely wanted you to repeat what he had said.

Your stare met his once again. Your heart seemed to be attempting to flee from your chest, thumping furiously. "That night, my body felt odd." He hummed as he transferred his sight from your eyes to your mouth. "It felt tingly."

"Does that happen frequently?" You shrugged, not knowing how to respond to his query, feeling very ashamed for having revealed such information. "Do you do anything when this happens?" He enquired about what you did to stop the sensation after you nodded your head.

"I take care of it."

He hummed again, a grin on his face and a curious sparkle in his eyes. "How do you look after it?"

You took a deep breath that made your chest tremble. "Hands." Eddie was able to hear a whisper.

"Hands?" You simply nodded. His hand dropped from yours, his finger gently touching your cheek. "Do you rub yourself?" You swallowed. "Does that ease the ache?"

"Sometimes." He cocked one of his brows. "Aside from that…" It was terrible for a woman to enjoy herself without a male; you had always been told. "Aside from that…" You shook your head, too ashamed to say anything else.

"Do you insert them in?" You gasped, staring deep into his eyes, only to see the amusement on his face.

"Do not make fun of me." You were nearly succeeded in returning your gaze to the window when King Munson's delicate touch under your chin stopped you.

"I'm not mocking you." He reassured. "I'm wondering if you did similar things when you were thinking about me. Women are entitled to more pleasure than men, I believe." Your pulse was descending to other regions of your body as you chewed your bottom lip.

"Yes, my King." He grumbled and closed his eyes for a few seconds.

"Please tell me, Y/N." His pause was brief. "May I touch you? This very moment."

You wanted that. For some reason, you wanted to feel his touch even more now that you knew he was the raven. You'd met the man the day before and were already interested in him, eager to get to know the person about whom others had spread rumours…and wanted to discover if his rugged hands would be soft when caressing you.

"People will notice."

His head jerked. "They are not going to. If I thought you would be seen in such a position, I would never have asked." Your heart was pounding furiously. "May I? You should not feel pressed. You certainly can-."

"I want to." You said. His lips twitched.

"Good." The way his voice darkened had your heart racing. "Look at your people. Smile and wave." His fingers left your cheeks and took off down the side of your neck, brushing up against the curvature of your chest. Your nipples stiffened instantaneously as they felt constrained by the clothing. "Show them how lovely their new Queen is." Your lips twitched, making it impossible for you to deliver a flawless grin. "Just like that." You heard him shift around and sensed movement close to you. King Munson had seized your skirts and lifted them to your lap, sliding his hands against your thighs.

"W-what." Your voice and body shook as a result of the predicament you were in. His fingertips massaged the inner of your thigh, causing goosebumps all over.

He hushed you softly, his finger moving farther and farther as the seconds flew, until it reached the place between your legs, causing you to yelp. One finger travelled up and down the centre of your underwear. "How did it get so wet?" He hummed in satisfaction, his finger again repeating the same motion.

His fingers performed the very same pattern numerous times, seeking to gently explore your body. As his fingers crept into your underpants, anxious to touch your flesh, King Munson caused you to gasp and close your eyes for a few seconds. "Oh, my gosh." Your voice was trembling, and you couldn't conceal it as the pads of two of his fingers parted your lips, trailing up and down and rising the temperature of your body.

"You are soft and warm." He muttered, and you fought the urge to turn around and examine what he looked like at this minute since he sounded to be having a great time. "Is this all for me?" You nodded briefly, still concerned the people of your soon-to-be Kingdom could perceive anything odd or unusual in your expressions. "Use your words, Princess."

"Yes, my King." He groaned, pleased with your response and how attentively you listened to him.

His fingers ascended after a few strokes, settling on your bundle of nerves. You shuddered with excitement, and he chuckled, appreciating every reaction your body could muster. "How adorable." His fingers massaged it in circles. The pressure was appropriate, and his motions were neither forceful nor mild. "I cannot wait to see how it looks." You gasped, leaning backwards as your back connected with his chest, unable to sit upright on your own. You simply wanted to open your legs and offer him the most access to your core. "I'm curious how big or small it is. My fingers are not enough to guess, but I'm confident I'll adore every part of you." His voice was closer than it had been, and his breath tickled your left ear. "I'm curious about how you taste." A moan from your lips as his fingers ran in circles at breakneck speed, causing your hips to buckle against his hand. "Are you trying to fuck my hand?" How could he speak such things freely while making you feel as if you were in heaven? "I can feel you getting closer and closer." Your hips began to move by themselves, attempting to meet his hand in sharper strokes. You had to use all of your strength to keep your lips from opening as your forced grin and wave faltered.

King Munson waved with the hand that wasn't between your legs before closing the curtains and leaning forward, giving you privacy and permission to recline backwards. Your eyes closed and your mouth opened, accompanied by your body arching. "Oh my god."

"Not your God, Princess." He began to place open kisses on your neck. "Your King." His fingers moved even quicker, allowing your hips to connect with the rest of his hand, providing you with even more pleasure. "Your fiance." Whimpers left your lips as your hand rested on his thigh, clutching his suit pants. Simultaneously, his free hand explored your chest. You nearly moaned, wanting to feel his skin against yours rather than simply his hands squeezing and pinching your breasts through your clothes. "Your future husband." His mouth went in closer, biting your elbow, while the hand on your breasts travelled to your neck, circling and clutching it like a necklace. "Give it to me, Princess. Wet my fingers and make a great deal of noise while doing so." He didn't need to ask for the remaining bit since your whimpers grew louder.

"My King," you wailed, as he pinched your clit. "Oh, my g-. Oh, my King." You groaned a few times.

"Y/N, let it go." You shuddered. "Do not be greedy," His fingers tightened around your neck. "Now it's my time to enjoy some of you." That was enough to make you moan loudly, cumming and coating his fingers with your juice. Your clit beat at the same rate as your chest strained.

You quivered as his fingers brushed you for the last time, and when you heard an unusual sound, you glanced up, twisting your head backwards, seeing King Munson licking his fingers, which were coated by your slick. "W-what."

"I'd like to claim this is the best meal I've ever had." His chin gleamed. "But it was just the appetiser." His hand reached into one of his coat pockets, pulling out a white silk handkerchief with his initials embroidered on it. He then lifted your skirts again, wiping your core. He folded the same item and placed it back in his pocket after delicately cleaning the dampness between your legs, much to your surprise. "Let's return home." Your chest expanded. "You must be hungry, and we have our wedding announcement dinner tonight." His lips found your brow and kissed it. Then he directed the carriage driver to return home. Eddie chuckled as your cheeks reddened, believing he must have listened to your moans. "Don't worry, he didn't."

The day had flown by in the company of King Munson. However, your gaze had remained fixed on him throughout the remainder of the day, while your thoughts seemed to be preoccupied with what had occurred in the carriage. You wished to feel his hands on you once more. You wanted his fingers to explore regions of your body that he hadn't had the opportunity to pursue, and…you wanted to explore his body as well and understand all he was hiding underneath his garments. Simultaneously, you were experiencing feelings of humiliation. You had already let him touch you shortly after meeting him. Did he believe you were easy?

A harsh grip on your forearm yanked you away from the evil notion that invaded your mind, causing you to yelp as a result of the unusually forceful grip.

"I need to speak with you." Your brother snarled, dragging you away from the centre of the room and concealing you both close to a wall where no one could see you.

The ceremony for your wedding announcement was underway, and your family, as well as several significant figures from neighbouring Kingdoms, had been invited. Everyone was eating and drinking and conversing at the same time.

"What exactly do you want?" You tried to wrest your arm from his grasp, but it simply tightened more.

"To speak with you." He looked around to make sure your fiance wasn't nearby. "I need you to cancel it all." His hand eventually left your arm as he signalled what was going on at the time. "You are not allowed to marry King Munson. I've been thinking about it, and it would be horrible for me as King if our people found out that I had permitted you to marry a bastard." He snapped, looking you in the eyes.

"You should have considered that before promising two unknown and random men that they could marry me in exchange for rescuing your ass." You cried. "I will not marry a man who is notorious for making his wives disappear." You shook your head and attempted to move away. He kept staring at you. "You're more concerned with what other people think of your decisions than with me. You are more concerned with what could happen to you than with what might happen to me." Your breathing was unsteady. "And recently, it's all been about you. Me listening to you. I'm weary of living for your benefit. I'm exhausted, and I'm going to marry King Munson." You attempted to reduce the loudness of your voice. "At the very least, he appears to care about me."

"Do you believe marrying this man will make others respect you?"

"You are not the person to speak, Thomas."

"I'll do all I can to shatter this." He spat on you unintentionally.

"Do it!" You retaliated with a spit. "I dare you, Thomas Y/L/N. I dare you to do anything about it, and I will tell everything." His brow creased. "If you do something about it…Father will find out about Steve." He flinched. You would never harm your brother or Steve, but you needed to intimidate him because you were afraid of being removed from Eddie and thrown into the hands of a disgusting old man. "I will tell father how much you have loved him since you were children, how you have promised him the best of lives, how you have told him that you would never touch the lady who will be chosen as your future bride." He exclaimed, his eyes welling up with tears. "I'll do it, Thomas. He'll be aware of every location Steve and you have-." His jaw tightened, as did his hold.

Someone coughed, drawing your attention in that direction. "Is there an issue here?" King Munson stood there with a stern expression on his face, looking between you two until his eyes settled on your brother's grip. "I'd prefer the only markings on your sister's body to be love marks done by me, therefore I'd really appreciate it if you could remove your hands off her." Your brother turned around and let you go, his sad eyes looking deep into yours, filling your own with tears. "Come on, princess."

You rushed to your fiance, who warmly wrapped his arm around you, attempting to soothe your trembling body while still staring deeply into your brother's eyes. "How did you find out?" Thomas' voice trembled.

"The walls can see and hear." You responded before turning around. Indeed, the walls did. And you did as well.

Perhaps they felt a love for each other that you had never known. One of those loves that will destroy you from within if you let it go. You had noticed their stares, the not-so-subtle touches, and you had seen them hide and try to consume their love.

You felt terrible for threatening him in such a way, not comprehending how difficult it must have been for him to know that he might someday marry a woman he did not love or even feel attracted to. Even if he had told Steve he would never touch her…he would have to give a new King to the Kingdom. What was he thinking at the time? Would he spend his entire life hiding, keeping Steve near and forcing him to hide with him?

"What was the meaning of that?" Eddie muttered as he led you to another part of the room. "Should I have someone evict him? I'll do it if he is bothering you. I do not care if he is the King of Setsunai." It made you pleased to know that he cared about you and did not like how your brother had treated you. It made you feel safe, which you had not felt in your house. Your mother had attempted to protect you as much as she could, but you both knew that there would come a moment when she would be unable to shelter you under her wing. Where your father will not hold back and will determine everything for you.

"It's fine." You took a deep breath and spun to stare into his eyes. "I was just taken aback." Your gaze darted across the room, surprising yourself when you noticed Steve in a corner, eyes wide open as he peered in your direction. Perhaps he had witnessed your interaction with your brother. That's what you thought until you realised he wasn't looking at you but at something happening behind you: your father was introducing your brother to Princess Everleigh, and Steve was staring at them with the greatest pain he'd ever felt.

"Are they together?" King Munson inquired, his voice just above a whisper so that only you could hear.

"I think so." He'd noticed the concern lines on your face as you continued to stare at Steve. "They're both future Kings; why cannot they do whatever they desire?"

Eddie gazed at you, eager to hear what you had to say. He admired the fact that your ideas were so different from your father's and that you felt everyone should be free to do anything they chose. "Unfortunately," he gripped your hand as it rested on his elbow. "Whether you are a King or not, you must constantly follow someone else's desire or you will be rejected by everyone else." He cast a glance towards Steve, who turned around and left the room. Your brother saw him leave, and although taking a step forward, he ended up shaking his head and remaining with princess Everleigh. "Some would rather live an endless life of pain and comfort than endure the repercussions of seeking to live the life they dream of with the one for whom they bleed."

As you looked at him, your eyes welled up with tears. "That's awful."

He nodded, dreading the tears welling up in your eyes. "Such is life."

You offered a teary chuckle. "Life is hell then."

He returned the chuckle. "I believe life is awful in and of itself, but it is up to you whether you want to look at it that way or not."

You scowled. "I do not really think it's that simple."

"Not always, but most of the time." He proceeded despite your perplexed look. "If you dwell on your flaws and the awful things that have occurred to you, you are just throwing yourself in the hands of similar things happening again. Of course, life has its ups and downs, but focusing solely on one would cause more harm than good." You took a big breath. "I can think of how horrific my life had been: my father was a murderer and I am a bastard, or I can think of me being a King today, even though it is a stressful task. My people trust me and approve of my judgments." His fingertips massaged your skin. "And I now have you."

You felt a tremor sweep through your body. "Is this going to last a long time? Crowds irritate me."

"Then we're two." His response made you smile. "However, I bet no one will notice if we leave. He'd leaned in closer, whispering in your ear.

"This is our wedding announcement." You giggled, covering your mouth with your hand, which he swiftly withdrew, yearning to see your smile. "I think they'll notice if the future husband and bride vanish."

He hummed. "I believe the food and beverages will keep them occupied. We've already spoken to everyone and made our presence known." He appeared to be looking for someone, and when he did, he raised his arm in the air. Dustin arrived not long after, dressed in a suit that appeared to be too large for him. He smiled in your direction, and you reciprocated. He was your personal favourite. "The future Queen is exhausted, as am I. Do you think you could make an excuse for us if someone asked about us?" Dustin gave a brief nod of his head. "Good. Tell Eleven and Mike to keep an eye out for anyone removing anything of value from the castle." Yet another nod. "And instruct Max and Lucas to make certain that no one goes anywhere they should not." You had discovered that several people had attempted to enter King Munson's castle without his consent.

"Good night." You spoke to the youngster, who grinned broadly. King Munson escorted you two out of the chamber, and your ears appeared to relax after not hearing hundreds of voices from every direction.

"He seems to like you a lot."

"I like him a lot as well." You replied with a smile on your face, but you suddenly hissed, preventing Eddie from guiding you upstairs. "May I remove my heels?" He frowned. "I'm not used to wearing such high heels…my feet hurt." He kneeled in front of you after your words, letting his fingertips brush your ankles and part of your legs as he removed your heels.

"Done." He grasped your heels in one of his hands, and before you could say thank you and proceed up the steps, your body floated as he scooped you, carrying you in bridal style. "Perfect." He grinned down at you, who was staring at him with amazement on your face. "I heard through Robin that you had never read The Lord of the Rings, and I was hoping that was not the case." You remembered when Robin showed you the library and you fell head over heels in love with it. She had inquired whether you had read TLOTR, only for you to respond that it was not the sort of book you preferred to read since you were drawn to romance. "So it must be true!" He exclaimed, a terrific expression on his face as if he had written TLOTR himself and been informed it was a terrible book. "I seriously can not believe my future bride and Queen has not yet read these amazing novels. That must be changed, my Princess." You laughed at his offended expression. He came to a halt and placed you on the ground in front of the bedroom you both shared. "This is the plan," he said, perplexing you. "We change into comfortable clothing and then head to the library to read The Lord of the Rings together." He grinned, and for some reason, spending that quality time with him made your pulse race wildly. "Is that okay with you?"

You nodded, trying to disguise your excitement as you swiftly unlocked the door, stepped into the room, and rushed to your bed, pulling your nightgown from beneath the pillow.

Eddie laughed as you walked into the bathroom to change clothes as he changed in the room.

Eddie and you were sitting across from one other, his gaze fixed on you.

He made you read the book aloud, and to be honest, you were nervous about it, afraid of tripping over the words since you were anxious and intimidated by his presence, but not in a bad way.

"On September 20th two covered carts went off laden to Buckland, conveying the furniture and goods that Frodo had not sold to his new home..."

Eddie rose up from his seat, his eyes fixated on you in a manner that prompted you to shudder. "Keep reading." When he realised your silence, he was ready to speak.

You nodded as you gulped. "...by way of the Brandywine Bridge." He was now quite close to your body, and you could feel the warmth emanating from his skin even though he wasn't touching you. As he kneeled on the ground in front of you, your voice trembled. "T-The next day," You coughed. "F-Frodo became really anxious, and kept a constant look-out for Gandalf."

His gaze shifted to your lap, and he gently parted your legs, exposing them. "Open them." Your pupils dilated.

"That's not very ladylike." You responded.

"What I want to do is also not very genteel." As your body trembled once again, he grinned. "Y/N, open your legs." You listened to him and opened them further for him. You were tiptoeing since the only portion of your feet that came into contact with the frigid ground were your toes. "And I said to keep reading."

His fingers gradually tugged your nightgown upwards, revealing most of your naked legs to him. His breathing was uneven, but he was fast to control it, which you did not appear to be capable of. His fingertips brushed over your flesh, causing goosebumps. "Thursday," you tried to continue, your gaze darting from between the pages to the man in front of you. "His birthday morning," Eddie's face moved closer to your legs, and you could feel his breath tenderly tickling your legs. "…dawned as fair and clear as it had long ago for Bilbo's great party. Still-." You shrieked. He was kissing your legs tenderly, around your ankles and calves. "Gandalf did not appear." You had to pause once more, your mouth opening as his kisses grew more intense, open kisses in which his mouth stroked and nibbled your skin. "I cannot think clearly." His fiery eyes just returned your gaze, pushing you to continue. "In the evening F-Frodo gave his farewell feast: i-it was-." As his lips brushed over your flesh and bit the inside of your thighs, a whimper escaped from between your lips.

"Go on." You shuddered as his lips slipped away from your body simply to utter such a thing.

You exhaled, straining to concentrate. "It was quite small, j-just a dinner for himself and his f-four helpers." His bites were drawing closer and closer, causing your body to respond by dampening your undies. You'd stopped again without realising it, prompting King Munson to slap the side of your right leg as a warning. "But he was t-t-troubled and felt in no m-mood for it." His hands moved higher, clutching your hips and dragging your body closer to the edge of the couch so he could get to the centre of your core effortlessly. He pressed his nose on your underpants, inhaling. Such dirty behaviour made you exclaim and become flustered. "The t-thought that he would so soon have to part with his y-young friends…" As he reached beneath your panties, his hands touched your lips. He growled, ripping your underwear, shocking you. "…w-w-weighed on his heart." The book then fell from your hands, bouncing on the couch before landing on the ground.

His mouth had begun to devour you. Not gently. Not slowly. He acted fast and hungrily as if he had been anticipating this moment his entire life. As though he'd been trying to restrain himself since the night you walked into his castle, or even since the night you both danced with each other.

"Oh my goodness," You sobbed, seizing his long curls as his hands penetrated the flesh of your thighs and his mouth and tongue fought with your core.

He didn't appear to require oxygen.

He continued to devour you in ways you never imagined conceivable. And when he paused, peering deep into your eyes with a glistening nose and chin covered in your slick, he made you whine. 

He brought his hand up to your face, displaying three of his fingers. "Suck them." Your eyes widened, and he had to tap your lips to shake you out of your reverie. "Go ahead, Y/N." You opened your mouth and let him shove his fingers inside it, sucking and twisting your tongue around the digits.

You almost closed your eyes. But before you could, his fingers left your mouth, slipping between your lower lips and quickly pushing themselves within you.

"Ahh." A gasp rang out once again in the room.

"You are trusting my fingers to enter you." The heat assaulting your body was unbearable. "I can feel you clamping around my fingers." He began thrusting gently, making you whimper and long for more. "You're very warm and inviting." His fingers and your fluids made a slapping sound as the action grew faster. "That sounds fantastic." As his thumb circled your clitoris, his movement grew frantic. You tightened your walls.

"Eddie." You whimpered, tears welling up in your eyes as a result of the incredible pleasure caused by his fingers inside you and his thumb still kneading your bud. "Oh, my gosh." His fingers curled. You shrieked. You'd never felt anything like what you were feeling at the time…he…his fingers were striking a certain part of your insides, causing you to feel some type of delightful pressure. "Oh, fuck." The big eyes of King Munson met yours. He was taken aback by the fact that you had cursed.

"Is that it, sweetheart?" You couldn't respond since you were too engrossed in the sensation. He didn't need to know the answer anyhow. He knew he was about to reach the area that had you screaming your lungs out. "Is it here?" He began to strike it harder.

"I am going to-." Your hands sought to grab the couch as if you needed to squeeze something.

"Come on. I can tell you're coming closer." He bit his bottom lip, repositioning himself to pound harder into you. Sweat beads poured down his brow. "Come on. I want to lick you clean." That made it for you as you groaned loudly, hips rising as you came. 

The waves in your body caused you to tumble off the sofa, and even if you had cum, King Munson continued to thrust his fingers. "I can't. I can't." You were being overstimulated by him. "Please stop. Something is going on." You swiftly grabbed his wrist, but he was stronger than you and kept going. "Please." You sobbed.

Something bizarre and awkward was going on with your body. It vibrated and twitched on its own, and you felt like you were about to wet yourself, which was quite humiliating.

"Fuck, that's tight."

"Oh, Eddie, please." Of course, he did not pay attention, continuing to twirl his fingers. Then you sensed it. Eddie's lap got moist from the satisfying dripping. You'd seen a flow emerge from your pussy. "W-what?" Eddie's motions had paused as he glanced at his soaking lap and arm. "I am so sorry. I am very sor-."

You were interrupted by the collision of lips. "Fuck, you squirted." Was that what happened? "If I couldn't imagine you being any more captivating…"

After those words, his mouth met yours again, and he kissed you fervently, permitting your tongues to dance seductively against each other. You could taste him as well as yourself.

Your hands were pushing against his chest. "That is not fair. You've already pleased me twice, yet I have not done anything for you."

"I am a giver, Princess." He said, biting your lower lip, drawing blood, and sucking it. "But if I had your hands wrapped around me or that lovely mouth of yours." He wiped more of the blood off your lip with his thumb. "I would not be able to stop myself."

"Then don't."

He groaned. "I want to truly commit to you when we marry." You tugged his bottom lip into your mouth, feeling more daring, causing him to groan. Eddie Munson kept his eyes open the entire time, desiring to see every emotion you could muster. "But tomorrow night…you are entirely mine, and I am entirely yours." His brow rested against yours. "I swear I'm doing everything I can not to get you naked right now and bury myself deep in you." You closed your eyes, envisioning it and longing for tomorrow night. "I realise it's far too soon, Princess." His hand ran over your hair. "But I've loved you ever since that night we danced." You gulped. "I will do all in my power to provide you a life you will adore because I love you." You hesitated before your mouth opened. "You do not have to respond if you do not really feel it." He chuckled. "I am confident that you will ultimately fall in love with me."

After a few more kisses and fondling, King Munson and you returned to your room at night, taking turns bathing and falling asleep with intertwined hands.

The same chamber as the day before was, again, filled with hundreds of people who had been invited to your wedding. Even if you wished for fewer guests, you understood that Eddie, as King, had to invite those with whom maintaining a connection would benefit his Kingdom and people. Of course, many of the guests you did not even know and others you had only met the previous night when you and Eddie had stunned everyone by announcing your wedding the day before your formal wedding.

A platinum ring with a ruby now encircled your finger. It was exceptionally lovely and classy. You could detect King Munson…your husband's taste just by looking at it.

"It's a lovely gown, my Queen." A woman, whose name you could not recall, congratulated you. You could not even tell if she was the wife of the older or younger politician. Although, what you grasped was the way her eyes were fixed all the time on another lady who flashed her winks from another part of the room. "Did you choose it yourself?"

You promptly nodded your head, a grin on your face, thanking her for her compliment. Then you excused yourself and went in search of your husband, who had gone in pursuit of one of your favourite cocktails. Your heart started racing as soon as you saw him, and it continued to do so as he steadily approached you. A grin, of course, adorned his face as his gaze wandered all over your body and appearance. His eyes usually spent more time on your face than any other area of your body.

"You look stunning." You cracked a grin. "I absolutely can not wait till tonight." His forehead leaned against yours as you grabbed the cup from him.

You were overjoyed to finally be able to be with him. While at the same time, you were nervous since you had no prior experience with another person. You were familiar with your own body, but you had never had someone else explore every curve and weak spot.

You brought the cup up to your lips. Edie moaned as he took a step closer to you, his protecting arm wrapped around your shoulders. "Here we go again."

"You look stunning." Your mother smiled at you, her sparkling eyes signalling she was crying. Your heart ached as you hugged her and smiled. She profited from the chance to whisper in your ear. "I'm delighted you disobeyed our rule."

It was customary in your Kingdom for the bride to wear all white, with globes and a veil concealing her face. It was a symbol that a lady was pure for her spouse. You've always despised it. The women had to be pure, and the men…it didn't matter what they were.

Eddie was aware of the custom and had expressed his displeasure with it, proposing to wear one of the colours that symbolised his Kingdom. So, you were dressed in a dark purple bridal gown that looked stunning on you. You had never felt this attractive or lovely in a dress before.

"Thank you, mom." You squeezed her one final time, your gaze meeting that of your father and brother, who were plainly dissatisfied with your colour choice.

"I must admit that I am perplexed by the need to demonstrate that you are not pure." Snorting, your father commented.

"As much as I don't see why others need to know if a lady is pure or not." King Munson responded by mimicking your father's snort. "As I do not see how you can openly speak or express your view about a Queen in a position higher than yours." My eyes, like my father's, expanded. But, although I was trying not to laugh, my father was visibly enraged. "The amount of people available for you to control is dwindling, and I will happily urge you to refrain from making comments about my wife and Queen." He moved his fingers around your cup as he gripped it. He sipped from the same place that had been smeared by your lipstick. "I don't take it lightly when people make disparaging remarks about my wife." He looked over at your brother. "Neither when they attempt to do something else." He was referring to the previous night when your brother had tightly grasped your wrist. "Whether she is pure or not is irrelevant to any of you." Your father said something. "Were you, Gerald, pure when you married?" He cocked his brow.

"A man needs experience."

Eddie scoffed, shaking his head. "For his wife's or his own pleasure?" 

"As I previously stated," Your father had a firm grasp on his drink. "A man needs experience."

"And, in most cases, a muzzle too."

"It is not wise of you to offend another King from another Kingdom, regardless of your position." Thomas stepped in, his jaw clenched.

"Please tell me, Y/N." You stared at your spouse, but he didn't look at you. "Do your Kingdom's men have every type of experience?" You wrinkled your brows, unable to grasp what he was saying. "Because I'm aware that certain ministers from your former Kingdom were banished for…interacting with other males." His gaze was fixed on Thomas, nearly searing him. "It's too bad people can't freely love or do whatever they want." You were now listening carefully to what he was saying. "But were those gents practising for their wives? I have no idea how fucking…" Your mother's eyes were wide open, and your father was visibly agitated. He'd be much furious if he knew about Thomas. "How can fucking another man be preparation for their future wife?" He sipped yet again. "It is broadly acknowledged that men and women have different s-."

"Father," your brother stepped in once again. "There is no benefit in remaining in his presence. Let's go engage with individuals who can benefit us." Your brother stared at him before shifting his focus to you. "Queen." He snarled and bowed.

"You're making a mistake, girl." Your father seized your mother's arm, yanking her away from you.

"I wish there was something I could do for her."

"You certainly can." Why did he constantly appear to stare deep into your eyes? "You are now a Queen. What I have is yours as well. Your mother is entitled to leave your father and migrate to our Kingdom." He looked up to find your mother standing next to your father, who didn't look her way. "My money is now yours. Your mother could rebuild her life." His gaze shifted elsewhere. "Who really can say? Maybe she'll meet someone else." You followed his eyes until you noticed a broad man with a beard. He was fixated on your mother.

"Who is he?"

He grinned, placing the cup on a nearby table. "Hopper, one of my most loyal guards." He twirled the rings that adorned his fingers. "If I may say so myself, he is my favourite."

You burst out laughing. "Everyone is your favourite."

"No." His voice had warmed. "They are favourites, but you prevail over all of them." He took a step closer, unconcerned that others might see both of you as he dropped his head, lips connecting with yours. And it wasn't an innocent one. His hand was wrapped around your throat as his mouth pushed wide, his tongue quickly entering your mouth.

"Stop." You licked your bottom lip, your hands on his chest. "Everyone is watching."

"If that's what they're interested in." He grinned as he attempted another kiss, but you were swift to step back.

Fuck. He stared you in the eyes with those huge, dazzling pupils. Eyes that made him appear innocent even though you knew he wasn't. His energy validated your ideas.

And how could he seem so intimidating and domineering yet his hands were always soft, seeking whatever portion of your unprotected flesh to caress?

"I love you." Before you could think about it, the words had left your mouth. You'd only known him for a few days, but you'd never felt this way before. This was not a crush. You've had a crush before. For a long time, Arthur was your biggest infatuation. He was the baker's son who provided for the castle. He used to accompany his father, and you had heart eyes for him since you were a teenager. But what you felt for him was curiosity, excitement, and lust. Those were sensations you had for Eddie as well, but they were far stronger and mixed with love.

"Fuck." Eddie moaned, capturing your hand and guiding you out of the room, taking full advantage of everyone else being preoccupied with dancing and conversing. You attempted to inquire as to where he was taking you, but he remained silent, wordlessly guiding you to a chamber. His office.

The door slammed shut behind you.

Before you could ask what was going on, his mouth was locked on yours. As he kissed you, his hands again encircled your throat.  Kisses that were too sloppy, revealing his desperation to feel you against his body and mouth.  His hips were constantly slamming into your lower abdomen, and you responded by awkwardly rotating yours against his.

Your hands, which had been resting on his chest, chose to explore, prompting you to drop them to his tummy. You were curious to see how he looked without those garments. If he looked like a God when dressed, imagine what he looked like nude. Perhaps Death himself. Your demise.

Eddie stopped, attempting to regain his breath so he could linger kissing you for a longer period. Nevertheless, you had spoken before he could do so, causing him to blink incredulously. "W-what exactly did you say?" He sought proof that he had correctly heard you.

"I'd want to suck you." Everything was said hurriedly. You needed to know as if it were a matter of life or death. You plainly couldn't wait for him to sober up as your hands slid down, pressing against his already firm member. Both of your eyes followed your hand as you stroked it, highlighting the shape through his suit pants with a finger. "Teach me."

"Oh my God, Jesus Christ H." Eddie exhaled. Was this real?

It was. Even though you appeared surreal lowering yourself to the ground and kneeling…everything was real.

Eddie looked at you, recognising a surprising glint in your eyes. The same one you got every time you were intrigued or thrilled about something. And this time, that something was him.

"Guide me." Your words made him throb, his cock pounding on his pants and hardening painfully. "Please, I really want to do it." Those remarks led him to drop his pantsuits as quickly as possible, practically tearing them and allowing his member to be free. He hadn't been wearing underwear so it slapped against his stomach as it stood tall and firm.

King Munson leaned against the office door, allowing you full access to his member, who was in your line of sight. Before he could speak, he had to clear his throat. "First, use your hands." His voice had broken with anticipation of what was to come. "Wrap your delicate fingers around my cock. Encircle it." He shuddered as your hands neared his member, and when he felt your fingers and palm around him, he nearly passed out. "Fuck." He closed his eyes for a few seconds and whispered,  "Up and down, move." Eddie felt his legs shake a little when you started doing so. "Sweetheart, twist your wrist. It will be more pleasurable." You nodded, your gaze fixed on his dick. You looked like you were ready to take him into your mouth, and he was as ready to be in there.

"Is this all right?" Alright? Eddie was fighting with every fibre of his being not to pass out or to fuck you like an eager rabbit.

"It's flawless. You are flawless." Your hand had come to a halt while you awaited his response. "Sweetheart, don't stop." You proceeded. "Use your other hand for my balls." You flushed, raising your eyebrows. "They should be stroked. They should be massaged."

"Like you did with my chest?" He muttered, tightening his jaw and allowing his hips to come into contact with your hand.

"Just like that."

"When am I supposed to put it in my mouth?"

Maybe he had a fever and you were some kind of demon convincing him to go to Hell. But if Hell felt this way, he didn't need convincing.

"Come closer." He made a hand motion, asking you to hurry, and as you got closer, his hands rested on your head, fingers intertwining with strands of your gorgeous and silky hair, bringing you farther closer. "Begin with the tip gently. Suck it, kiss it. Then try to take everything. No teeth, okay?" You licked your bottom lip as you nodded, your thighs twitching. You were ecstatic and drenched from just seeing and touching him.

You had paid close attention to him.  Eddie's palm tightened in your hair, your tongue probing his tip and encircling part of his head a couple of times. You licked strips along his dick, following one particular vein that appeared to pulse in your mouth, becoming more daring. Then you began to take him in, inadvertently grazing him with your teeth but rapidly using your lips and tongue.

His other hand brushed your cheek as he fixated to see his cock enter and exit your mouth. Even in that state, you were stunning. 

As your hand wrapped the bit of his member that you couldn't get in your mouth, your eyes squinted in delight. When you whimpered around him and Eddie noticed you rocking against your heel, he slapped your hand away. His hands, now, on the back of your head, thrusting his full member into your mouth and causing you to choke. Eddie began fucking your mouth. Teary eyes met his and nails piercing his thighs. You were no longer in command. He was. "Oh, heck yeah." He thrust aggressively, a handful of times scraping the back of your throat. Even though you were in astonishment, your hands stroked his balls. "You're taking me so well." You groaned again, choking around him. "Gagging around me…fuck, you look wonderful even like that." Your hair was stuck to your brow, and your cheeks were flushed. "Is this your drunk-cock face, sweetheart?" He went even deeper, grunting and moaning and not caring whether he was heard. "That's right. That look will haunt me for the rest of my life…divine." He shifted his posture, going deeper. His sack slapped against your chin, which had a trail of saliva running down. "Good, uh?" You whined, nodding. "Fuck, I'm going to cum." He, like you, was growing restless. "I'm coming in your mouth." You made him moan by hallowing your cheeks. You could taste hot sperm spurts on your tongue. "Swallow." He smacked your face lightly, dick still in. "Swallow it, don't waste it." He thrust three more times, following his high. Then your mouth was released from his cock, allowing you to swallow the rest of his cum, which was quite a load.

A smear of saliva connected the tip of his member and your mouth.

"Salty." Your words were opposed by your tongue, which came out of your mouth to lick the drop that tried to fall down your chin.

"Sweetheart, get up." You did as you were ordered, but Eddie had to grasp your elbows since your legs were wobbling. How would you feel after taking him nice and deep if you were only like that by sucking him? "Come on, let's go to our room." He'd barely gotten the door halfway open when your palm slammed against it, shutting it.

"No, I need you right now." He loved how you responded with words rather than just nods and smiles or soft eyes. Words. "I need you right now."

"I, too, need you." He pecked your lips, his hands grasping your thighs, and he despised the fact that you were covered. "But I want our first time to be memorable. I-."

"It's special because it's with you, Eddie." It may have sounded corny, but it was precisely how you felt. "And I don't believe I'll be able to wait till we get to our room. I desperately need you right now." Your chest was pumping and your body was beginning to burn from the heat. "Please. I'll beg."

Eddie could feel every muscle in his body quiver and twist. "Go to the desk." He smacked your buttocks again, angered by the garments you were wearing. "Quick." He trailed close behind.

You both rounded it, and Eddie plopped on his desk chair, which resembled a throne, reminding you that you were now a Queen, married to King Edward Munson.

You gulped, seeing his confident posture, hand resting under his chin as he stared at you, unconcerned with his dick still standing stiff and exposed. "What should I do?"

"You should go nude right now." He demanded, his voice hard and stern. He removed his jacket and tossed it to the ground, followed by his white shirt. Eddie wasn't extremely fit. Even so, there was a slight tightness of his arm muscles. His chest was covered in hair, and his belly did unusual things to your body. "Screw it." He grabbed your skirts, dragging you closer to him. "I can't handle it any longer." Your skirts were torn off your body in an instant, and you had no time to complain about how lovely your wedding gown was as you found yourself practically naked in front of your spouse. Only wearing a corset and undies. Eddie, on the other hand, was quick to stick his fingers inside your underwear. "Drenched, as expected," and ripped once again. "I don't believe I need to prepare you. You're wet enough to welcome me." He drew you onto his lap, kissed your lips, and let you sit on his dick. He felt firm against your sensitive core, yet you both shared the same fire.

"Oh gosh."

"Doesn't it feel amazing? Imagine when  I'm inside." He bit your lower lip. "Up." A slap on the side of your hip.  "My Queen, you're going to ride me." He grasped the base of his member and guided it towards your entrance, causing you to moan as the tip brushed against your lips. "It'll hurt a little bit at first, but it'll feel so much better after a couple of minutes, okay?" Your gleaming eyes locked on his. He really wanted to corrupt you. He was going to love and please you for the rest of his life.  His other hand assisted you in lowering yourself.

As the tip penetrated you, you exhaled a nervous breath and hissed. Eddie was long and quite thick. Besides that, he wasn't entirely groomed. Some black curls curled above his member.

"Stings." You huffed, hands on Eddie's shoulders. He kissed your forehead instantly, delivering soothing words and placing his hands on your hips to lower you fully on him.

As motions came to a halt, you both gasped, mouths wide and breaths mingling. While Eddie felt the constriction around his cock, you felt full in ways you had never felt before. He was on the edge of bursting if he didn't settle down.

King Munson's gaze dropped from your mouth to your bosom. Eddie found your breasts so appealing that he nibbled on the skin as the corset pushed them upwards. "You're a fucking goddess." Moving forward caused him to jerk within you. "You're taking me so well." He urged you to move, which you did, causing both of you to whimper. Eddie kept nipping your breasts, sick of the corset, forcing it down so he could attach his lips on your left nipple, paying it attention before letting it go and loving on the other. While doing so, his hips clashed with yours, luring you to move faster. "It's so fucking wonderful. I swear you were created for me." His lips were tickling your chin as he spoke, his face incredibly near to yours. "You tighten around me so well and take every inch like the good girl you are."

You groaned aloud. How could he make you feel this way? You didn't appear to mind that hundreds of people were gathered in the castle to celebrate the fact that you two were now married. You didn't care, so you let Eddie take you into his office, sucking him in and burying himself in you. "This is surreal." You bounced on him, your chest bobbing up and down, hypnotising him.

"I'll fuck you like this every day, sweetheart." You cried so loudly. "When you wake up every morning," Thrust. "This is how I'm going to put you to sleep every night." Hickey on the side of your neck. "I'm going to fill you up and keep you warm." Pecks to the collarbone. "Make your little bud tingle." He squeezed your hips. "I'm going to bury myself deep in you in every corner of this palace and on every surface." He came to a halt by kissing you. Because of all the groans coming out of it, your mouth was already open, making it easy for him to slip his tongue into it. Tongues dance seductively against each other once more. Trying each other out. "How many babies do you believe you can give me?" You shivered at the thought of a huge belly and Eddie repeatedly fucking you. "Will you be able to take everything I give you?"

"Fuck yes, I will." You were on fire.

King Munson reclined in his chair. "You look gorgeous, sweetheart." Hips began to move erratically. Eddie's finger caressed your clit.

"Is this a dream?  I'm on my throne, and my Queen is on hers." A pinch on your clit had you groaning, gasping, and clawing him until you came undone.

"I'm going to cum, Eddie."

"Go, my Queen." He massaged your clit vigorously. "Cum." And you certainly did. Soaking wet all over your body, cloudy eyesight, and every muscle spamming. "Was it good?"

You nodded, attempting to catch your breath. "Didn't you cum?"

His head shook. "Y/N, get up." You grimaced but swiftly followed his instructions. "Chest against the desk. I'm going to fuck you and fill you from behind." You didn't have enough time to drop entirely against it when you felt his cock penetrate you, leaving you no time to adjust as he began hammering you, being close due to the previous session. "I'm not going to make it." He smacked you in the ass, leaving a mark from how hard he whacked it. He grunted and nibbled your neck as his chest leaned against your back. "You want it?" You whimpered and immediately nodded. "I'm going to fill you, my Queen. I wish you could view yourself from this angle." He was smirking. "I slipped a ring on your finger, and you slipped a ring on my cock." The combination of your fluids created a ring around his manhood. "Fuck." His thrusts grew lengthier and harder as he pulled your hair, and you felt the warm spurts filling you and driving you to your high once again.

The office door clicked at the same time, and Eddie, mercifully, was quick enough to throw your shredded skirts over you, hiding your entire body and face from whoever was about to enter. You couldn't see anything and couldn't be seen, but it was clear what Eddie was doing and with whom (you both had left the party).

Steve and Thomas stood at the entrance, their eyes wide open as they assessed the situation. Eddie, on the other hand, didn't appear to mind as he resumed plunging into you.

Steve's shirt was unbuttoned, and Thomas' pants were drooping. "Sorry, gentlemen, filled room; please find another." Steve tried to yank your brother away, but he was stunned, staring at Eddie, who merely grinned. "Are you planning on staying? Maybe we'll have twins. One for our Kingdom, and the other for Setsunai."

"You are a fucking bastard." Yes, and?  "Fuck you."

"I'm more into your sister: my wife and Queen, and I'm not sure I'm your type."

Taglist: @og-baby-ob14 @seaweedthewhale @spookeybabey @yuninha2004 @munsonology @bluegalaxyprime @qardasngan @juny567 @apolixyan @1-fuzzy-squirrels @impliedpetewentz @theawkwardbutterfly @chrisevansmarvelmcu @bakugous-babie @mlktea13 @tlclick73 @mikiepeach @d64d-n0t-sl66p1ng @lady-jane3

Those in bold; I cannot tag you.

[thinkaboutnetwork-blog]

Exclusive: Saba Qamar Who Made Her Debut In ‘Hindi Medium’ Is Not Just A Pretty Face

Exclusive: Saba Qamar Who Made Her Debut In ‘Hindi Medium’ Is Not Just A Pretty Face

In the last few months, two Pakistani actresses made their Bollywood debut. The first one was Mahira Khan, who starred opposite Shah Rukh Khan in Raees. The other is Saba Qamar, who starred opposite Irrfan Khan in Hindi Medium, a film that is the toast of most circles today.

The best thing about Qamar’s assured debut is that she makes her presence felt in a film that stars gifted performers like…

[shadowsinger11]

Inspiration

Pairing: Fred Weasley x Reader

Requested by anon: Could you do a Fred Weasley imagine where he falls in love with Harry’s younger sister. (Maybe a after the war where he lives)

Word Count: 3.3k (my hand slipped oops)

Genre: Fluff, childhood friends to lovers, mutual pining etc.

Warnings: Slight innuendo, Fred being cute and hot simultaneously

Tags: @self-ship-love @susceptible-but-siriusexual @hufflexpuff @neovannii @jenniweasley @elf-punk @heart-of-tempered-steel @itseatyourdamnapples

Message me if you'd like to be added!

Masterlist

Ottery St Catchpole, Devon, England, July 16, 2000

It was a chilly Sunday evening. The summer air buzzed with excitement and the tender aroma of magnolia as tiny white and pink petals were gracefully falling from the huge cherry trees, carried by the light breeze. Twilight painted the horizon in liquid gold and fiery red, soon followed by mellow shades of dark blue that brought countless sparkling stars.

It was getting the slightest bit colder, but it did not matter; nothing else mattered but the loud cheers and cheerful music, celebrating the official bond between a Potter and a Weasley under the wide night sky.

You couldn't have been happier for your older brother, Harry, who was currently dancing with Ginny, his now wife - now and for the rest of his, hopefully, but not really likely, peaceful life. For the longest time you've been wondering how he'd always manage to get into trouble even as a small First year with no experience in the wizarding world whatsoever. Or, perhaps, that was the exact reason as to why evil-battling and rule-breaking were such common practices when hanging out with him.

However, there was no fighting that day. There was no room for worry and fear when the entire Weasley family and their loved ones were gathered on the clearing in front of the Burrow, chatting, laughing, dancing, singing, drinking, celebrating and living for what seemed to be the first time since Lord Voldemort's fall. Danger was practically nonexistent in that blissful moment which was frozen in time, once having looked agonizingly distant and impossible to hope for. But that dream was no longer just a foolish fantasy to heal wounded hearts. It was there, and it was happening in the most beautiful way imaginable.

And suddenly, all those clichés of a married life weren't even clichés. They were simply humble wishes of people who had witnessed far too many horrors in such a short period of time, and only craved stability among the massive chaos. So when you glanced at Ginny, a twirling blur of flaming red hair and a gorgeous wedding dress, you didn't feel the need to comment on how banal the color white was. You genuinely smiled, admiring the pure, exuberant joy, visible in her eyes and scarlet cheeks. Harry looked just as, if not even happier than his wife, dancing in the ridiculous but wholehearted way that only he could, and old memories of him winning the golden egg, training Dumbledore's Army and kissing Ginny in the common room for the very first time flooded into your mind.

It had truly been a long time since you had seen Harry careless and free like that.

You yourself had spent an ungodly amount of hours preparing the yard for the ceremony all day; rearranging chairs, decorating, making sure everything was going by schedule, only to then dance your tired feet off, and though you wanted to continue having fun with Hermione, Luna and the rest of the girls waiting for you, you really needed a break. And a drink.

Excusing yourself to leave the particularly interesting conversation you were having with distant Weasley relatives, you slipped off your black flats that, despite looking absolutely stunning, hurt your feet terribly after an entire day of fussing over the color of napkins and flower bouquets. Barefoot on the grass, you walked over to a chair next to a table which seemed to have been occupied, but judging by the mostly empty glasses and plates, the guests weren't coming back anytime soon.

You tossed your shoes aside with a sigh and rushed to rub your aching toes, hissing from how sore they were.

How has Ginny been dancing like that for hours?

"Enjoying the party, I see?" a familiar deep, slightly husky voice commented, causing you to look up.

It was none other than Fred Weasley, dear friend from childhood, staring down at you, his ever-present charming smirk resting on features and hands shoved into the pockets of his dragonskin suit. But it was his flaming red hair that made your eyes widen - it was carefully smoothed back, shining under the moonlight like liquid iron.

Fred's eyes still contained their famous, loveable mischief, except now slightly tamer and calmer. His firm biceps had visibly grown in size, stretching out the fabric of his coat just a bit to give you a prominent silhouette that caught you off guard.

It had been two years; he had changed so much.

And you were afraid to admit you had too.

You blinked in surprise, processing his uncharacteristically sophisticated appearance before realizing what he had asked you.

"Would've enjoyed it far more if my legs weren't killing me," you groaned half-heartedly and leaned back on your chair. "What's with your hair?"

"What's with your feet?"

"I asked you first," you cut him off. "I bet Ginny is responsible for this."

"Actually…" Fred trailed off, and, whether on purpose or not, ran a hand through the ginger locks to keep them in place, unaware of how you suddenly wished the hand doing the graceful motion wasn't his. "Mum insisted that I looked my best. What can I say, it's not like George and I usually listen to her, but we thought we'd make an exception this time; our sister doesn't get married every day. But honestly, Ginny couldn't care less about how we looked as long we showed up."

"So like usual, you mean?" you giggled. "Showing up is an achievement for you even if you're underdressed?"

Fred beamed, pearly white smile complementing his formal outfit. You wondered if he used that exact smile to effortlessly allure costumers and business partners at work.

He rested an elbow on the table as he leaned forward.

"Come on now, darling. I know you find my messy hair irresistible either way."

His cockiness only caused you to laugh, though Fred was quick to spot the flash of nervousness in your eyes; it brought him immense pride to know he was the one to turn you from confident to adorably bashful and flustered in the matter of seconds.

He was looking at you intensely, expectantly waiting for you to deny his flirty accusation despite your shyness.

"Nah, Weasley. It only reminds me that even at twenty-two you still do not know how to use a comb."

Fred's eyebrows shot straight up to his hairline, mouth agape. For the first time, he actually needed a second to form a reply.

"Didn't see that coming, I give you that. Courageous one, you are."

Your heart fluttered with joy and you openly grinned, shrugging in half-hearted humbleness.

"Perhaps I am."

Speaking to him felt unusually energizing, as though you had jumped headfirst into a chilly lake. It was unfamiliar and it set your nerves on fire, causing your stomach to twist and turn with sensations that left you dizzy, but unbelievably thrilled. And you wanted more of it, you wanted more of him.

"Fancy a drink?" Fred offered, already pouring champagne into a glass before handing it to you, and you keenly took it.

"Thanks, I've been thirsty with all the preparations I was doing."

"Is that why your legs are killing you?"

"Exactly, I've been running around all day, making sure everything was in order… you know, a lot of organizing and the like."

"It must hurt quite a bit then," Fred commented with a pained grimace. "But I absolutely get you, Georgie and I are just like that when it comes to the shop. It's a lot of accounting if I'm being honest, though I admit he's way better at it. We need to be completely precise; we can't allow any mistakes."

"Woah," you laughed. "Control freak much?"

He wettened his lips, never breaking eye contact.

"Perhaps I am."

You tilted your head to the side, gaze piercing into his in hopes of finding out what those gorgeous brown eyes were hiding. The tiny playful flames in them were eloquent.

Shifting slightly in your seat, you smoothed out your bridesmaid dress and raised your glass, the ghost of a smirk playing on your lips.

"Cheers to us control freaks then."

Fred mirrored your smug expression and your glasses met with a clink. The bubbly liquid tingled your throat, undoubtedly refreshing you and cooling you off. You glanced at the people dancing in the centre of the clearing and giggled - Ginny had apparently thrown away her white shoes long ago, bare feet stepping elegantly on the grass.

"You see, I'd like to chat a bit more with you, but I'm afraid it's a bit too loud here. What about we go to the pond across the field?" Fred suggested, pointing at the woods behind his back. You had visited them countless times when staying with Harry at the Burrow during holidays years ago; the tall trees and the glistening waters had never ceased to bring you comfort.

The noise started to become bothersome, and you felt it even more necessary to continue your conversation somewhere private, the unknown causing butterflies to erupt in your stomach. Fred's presence could only be compared to a shot of whiskey, or the sensation of anticipating a tidal wave to crash into you in less than a second. It was wild and the tiniest bit terrifying, but oh so tempting as it pulled you in.

"I'd love that, but… you know," you grinned and playfully swang your sore feet. "Can't really walk."

But this didn't at all seem like a problem to Fred Weasley who only shrugged and stood up, "You don't have to. I'll carry you."

"Merlin, no! Please, it's not necessary."

Fred frowned, but his confused expression was soon replaced by an amused one.

"You said it yourself that your feet hurt like hell. And even if carrying you around isn't necessary, it doesn't mean I don't want to."

You attempted to tame the butterflies.

"No, no! You seriously don't have to, I promise," you frantically protested as you held up your hands in front of you to reassure him, but he only gave you a weird look. "I can walk on my own. I'll be too heavy for you."

"There's only one way to find out."

Fred walked over to you and leaned down, one hand sneaking around your waist and the other slipping under your knees. You shrieked in terror, arms flying to clutch at his shoulders, and heat rose to your cheeks from the abrupt contact. Your chests were pressed together, and you were afraid he'd be able to feel your racing heart. His skin was warmer than you had thought, and it successfully fought off the night summer chill.

"Are we going?" Fred whispered down at you, lips so close to yours that you recognized the nuance of champagne in his breath, mixing unbelievably well with the scent of cinnamon and sandalwood of his cologne.

Not only is he sinfully attractive, but he smells heavenly too?

"Yes," you breathed and let Fred effortlessly walk across the meadow with you in his arms. They brought this new, odd, yet familiar sense of security, and you allowed your head to rest against his chest, nervous gaze wandering off into the distance in hopes of not meeting his. Nevertheless, curiosity eventually took the best of you, and your eyes would occasionally flicker to his, which were now completely black under the night sky. They could swallow you whole, you swore.

Minutes later, you found yourselves in the company of old, enormous willows which surrounded the pond you so vividly remembered from your teenage years. You thanked Fred as he carefully let you down, and took a few steps forward to look around and drench in the misty moonlight that enveloped the area. The waters were crystal clear and completely still, reflecting the moon and its majestic silver glow. The bushes had grown significantly over the time you were away, and you fondly looked back at the moments when you would pick up colorful wildflowers in the summer before your fourth year.

"Shall we sit?" Fred asked quietly from right behind your shoulder, and you followed him with a nod. You found a comfortable spot on the fresh grass to sit, a few feet away from where the water met the soil and moved back and forth ever so slightly.

"It's more beautiful than I remember," you noted, lips curled up in a barely visible smile. Fred hummed in agreement.

"That's why I always make sure to come here every chance I get when I return. But, unfortunately, that's very rare in my case."

For a moment, there was only the chirping of crickets and the soft bubbling of water.

Fred turned to you.

"Remember when mum used to call for us to de-gnome the garden and we'd hide here? We could stay in the bushes for hours before we eventually came back," he recalled, seeming deep in thought. It was an extraordinary sight; for once the playful spark in his eyes was more mellow, there was no cockiness seeping into the way he was holding himself. He was just Fred, the man who was currently thinking with so much adoration and love about his childhood, the most significant memories of it being marked by you.

You wondered, given you ever had the chance to spend with Fred as much time as your older brother did, if the charismatic prankster would have fallen for you like you had done. You wondered, given the chance you had let Fred get to know you better all those summers ago, if his heart would have belonged to you by now just like yours did to him.

Had you possibly missed your chance?

"Oh, I do," you sighed, the tension in your chest vanishing as warm nostalgia crept in like an old friend. "I also remember when I got this really bad nightmare that night. I was so terrified that you took me on a ride with your broom in the middle of the night to cheer me up."

"That's true! My parents don't know about it to this day," he replied smugly. "I can still hear you screaming like a lunatic."

You jokingly smacked his arm, "I was twelve!"

Fred's grin grew wider.

"Excuses…"

This only caused you to stare at him in disbelief and cross your arms, managing your most serious expression, but Fred was aware you were on the verge of failing to keep your stern facade. He squinted his eyes as a teasing attempt to provoke you, smile threatening to split his face in two.

"Alright then, that's enough about me," you announced, and Fred nodded in mock agreement as he studied your playful pretence. "If you're so much better than me, Mr Darcy, what else do you do aside from stealing ladies away?"

"Stealing their hearts," he said confidently, flashing you a seductive smirk, reserved only for special girls back in your Hogwarts days. You giggled, finding his antic utterly ridiculous, but you hated to admit that it still turned your blood into liquid fire. Fred apparently saw right through you, because when your eyes landed on his, they appeared completely dark once again, but, you suspected, for a reason other than the lack of light.

Your throat went dry, and you found it hard to swallow down the lump that cut your breath short.

He ran a hand through his ginger hair as he began to explain, "I'm kidding, you know. But to answer your question, George and I have been working on this potion that should be able to change the color of the eyes and hair. Fun for those who enjoy experimenting with their appearance, but it can also be useful to the Ministry. They're actually going to send a team of a couple of aurors to visit us next month so we can update them on our progress and negotiate the details."

"Wow! That's certainly exciting!"

"Is it? I mean, it probably is, but I've been having second thoughts lately if I'm being honest." He scratched the back of his neck, and you realised you had only witnessed him being anxious when it came to his greatest passion. "I'm afraid we might not be done on time, there's still plenty left to improve."

You put a hand on his shoulder to get his attention, and said, "I'm sure you'll figure it all out eventually. Keep working as you normally do, try not to stress too much over the deadline, and even if things go wrong at some point, don't go too hard on yourself. It wouldn't take away any progress you've made so far."

Fred's body relaxed just a bit and he looked down at you. He couldn't deny the sense of serenity that he felt only when he was with you. Even as a careless young boy, he was able to pinpoint the way his midriff would clench every time you'd laugh at his jokes or ask him to play with you, without knowing what it all meant.

But now, as a grown man, he had a word to describe the bittersweet fire within.

"You know what?" He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear. "I could really benefit from having someone like you around to give me motivation."

"Motivation, huh?" you raised an eyebrow, fighting back a smile. Fred sneaked a hand around your waist and pulled you closer.

"Yes, motivation."

"Motivation for what?"

"Marketing strategies, work projects…" he shrugged nonchalantly, "...among other things."

You quickly caught on, suddenly becoming way too self-aware of the way you were practically cuddled into Fred's side, hand resting on his shoulder while his were wrapped around your waist. But his shining confidence seemed to rub off on you, because you asked.

"What's with you offering me a job all of a sudden?"

His bottom lip was tucked between his teeth as he took his sweet time devouring you with his darkened gaze. You didn't know whether you wanted to hide from it, or expose yourself even further to the way it burned its way straight to your core.

"Well…" Fred dragged out in his low, hoarse voice, and caressed your cheek with his thumb before slipping it under your chin to guide it towards his face. You could nearly taste the remaining flavour of champagne on his lips. "I've certainly been feeling…"

Fred went quiet as he got lost in the way you fit so perfectly in his arms; you had always meant to be there, he realised. His mouth crashed into yours, hands tightly gripping your waist, and you let out a gasp. Fred's lips were soft, although slightly chapped, and they moved gently but firmly against yours, turning you into their slave. Your palms naturally slid up his chest and he closed any remaining distance between your bodies by placing you to straddle his lap. The kiss was a dance of pushing forward and pulling back, two lovers having finally found their rhythm after years of living in fearful desire. You were positively drunk on his taste, on him, and you wished to never become sober.

When your need for air overcame the one for physical contact, you pulled away. Your chests were heaving with rapid, shallow breaths, hearts beating in synch like they had always done. You let a finger tenderly trace his cheekbone down to his jawline, then it came back up to draw different affectionate patterns on his face.

"What were you saying?" you asked, clearly out of breath. "How were you feeling?"

He fondly took your hand that was caressing his skin, and lifted it up to press feather-light kisses on your knuckles. His lips retraced their path until they reached the tips of your fingers, and he kissed those with the gentlest of touch.

You heart ached pleasurably from the way he was handling you with such care, much more than you ever believed he was capable of.

After minutes of worshipping you by the moonlit lake, Fred looked back at you as though you were his entire world. And replied with a smile.

"Inspired."

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Masterlist

[oneoftheprettynerds]

Belle Of The Ball: Dark! King! Steve Rogers x Reader

A/N: So this my first ever proper dark fic and I’m so nervous. I finished it but my mind thinks it’s garbage. so I’m gonna post this now when I’m feeling a random spurt of courage and am confident in my work. So here’s my masterpiece, cookies.

This is for Dark!MCU  Festive Fic swap hosted by @darkficsyouneveraskedfor  and @darkmcuficswap

My giftee is @hermesmaximoff Hope you enjoy it love!

Thanking @firefly-graphics for the dividers: both personalised and general.

There is also an amateur somewhat okay shitty poster I decided to make which is included at the end.  

WARNING: THIS IS A DARK FIC CONTAINING DUBIOUS CONSENT BORDERING NON-CON AND EXPLICIT SMUT. YOUR MEDIA CONSUMPTION IS YOUR RESPONSIBILITY. LOSS OF VIRGINITY, ABUSE OF AUTHORITY, BREEDING KINK ALSO PRESENT.

Summary: Invited to the Royal ball by the benevolent monarch, you could barely control your excitement to visit the Capital. While you were busy admiring his prosperous reign, King Steve was quite occupied getting enamoured by you. As you try to fulfil the King’s demands, secrets find their way out.

CHARACTERS + GENRE: DARK!STEVE ROGERS X READER, SUPERNATURAL STEVE ROGERS X READER (read to find out what), ROYAL AU, HALLOWEEN THEME (I tried for the request, hope you do like it)

King Steve Rogers invites the princes and the princesses of all Kingdoms, near and afar,

To celebrate his several years of reign.

He requests thy kind and noble presence

At the joyous regale

of his auspicious ball

On the thirty first of October,

after sundown, in His Majesty’s finest castle.

Challenging thy with the unique theme of

A Halloween Masquerade Ball,

The King expects exceptional indulgence from all.

 The Most Grandiose Halloween Celebration is being organised with the spookiest of events within.

Come here if you dare.

“We have been invited to a royal party! My day couldn’t have been better!” Your elder sister exclaimed, jumping quite unladylike in your chambers, as you went through the details of the venue. You chuckled at her antics, knowing rather well that she would be scolded if someone else was present. 

“Emma, Mother has to approve first. As Lady Ava always says, don’t count your chickens before they hatch.”

“As if mother would really decline an invite from the King, dear sister.” She rolled her eyes at you, not letting her enthusiasm die as you pondered over her words.

Your sister had a point though, the King summoning your presence was not to be taken lightly. The invitation came up handwritten in a scroll with the King’s wax seal atop it. It was placed elegantly beside a golden mask in a rectangular black box, that bore the Majesty’s sigil on the front.  

The theme of the ball wasn’t that peculiar if you reflected over it, the renowned monarch was also recognised for his distinct interest in eerie, unearthly beings. He was known for adventuring into haunted lands, mysterious manors and sinister soils, meeting up with people rumoured to be sorcerers and occultists.

Of course, the reason for his encounters was sometimes rumoured to be because of his familial distress, how he couldn’t find a mate to procreate with and conceive his own heir no matter what. Three females, who were pregnant with a progeny of his blood, none his wife though, had died during the first two or tercet months, reason unspecified why.  

Coming to You, you and your sister weren’t actual princesses, rather the daughters of one of the esteemed Ministers in the King’s cabinet. The benevolent King, however referred to the daughters of the town, more exactly, the Kingdom, as noblewomen. He held high reverence for the females and was the sole creditor to the improved condition of the women in this era. No matter how troubled his own life was, the King was the most merciful royal to be crowned to date, his people prospering under him.

Your sister nodded eagerly to your mother, drinking in her words like the fine tea you all had in the afternoons, while you just smiled at her advice.

 When you both met your mother for dinner, you were surprised to find her already informed about the invitation. Her conformity to the celebration astonished you even more, but Emma’s zeal was starting to rub off on you too by the end of the meal. 

Your mother continued, “Your father mentioned The Majesty is looking for a wife, quite possibly. He has been insistent in trying to get a successor the correct way this time, by courting the lady who piques his interest. Even though this might be a rumour, or some gossip spun by the ladies of the Cabinet, you both should try your best to be graceful and presentable. Among the hundreds of guests, he’d be having over, on the off-chance, if Gods allow, that either of you manages to entice him, it will only promise you the most pleasant of all forthcomings. It would also do me and your father some good, if you managed to find some other suitable bachelor, from a nice background to engage with.”

Your sister had always been one with the more overactive imagination out of you two, while you had been the more serene and poised one. When she’d be out playing with the children in your town, you’d be talking to the younger toddlers, drawing with chalks on the side. For every kid she splashed with water in the nearby sapphire river, you made tots flower crowns. These were the values you both grew up with, and these will be the values you’d die with.

After days of shopping velvet fabrics and silk textiles, and bothering your seamster to make sophisticated and stylish dresses, you both neared your day of departure. After some instructions to you both to represent your father and town well, your mother bid you adieu. It was nerve wracking to not have your mother by your side, for an event as big as this was, but since you both had passed more than twenty name days, you were expected to be proper, independent ladies. 

With a heavy heart and some self, positive affirmations, you and your sister embarked on the voyage, which was filled with her chitchat.

You only hoped that the gala was as exciting as your family made it out to be. That it was just a King trying to celebrate his sovereign with some western festival integrated together. That the event would not be as unnerving and creepy as the last line of his invitation made it out to be. 

For some unknown cause, it did not sit well with you. Your apprehensive intuition made you wary of the invitation for some reason, but you let your sibling’s zest take you over. What benefit would fretting get you?

The ball was far more pompous than anything you’d have imagined in your little head. All the ideas that Emma had come up with during your journey, to anticipate the extent of extravagance for the ball, were all exceeded with tenfold finesse. You had travelled to faraway, distant lands with your parents, but the King’s mansion, with all the festivity happening, was truly a sight to behold.

Entering The Capital had been the highlight of your excursion, you were sure earlier, but well you were proved wrong. Your father greeted you both when you had arrived, eager to see his angels after almost six moons, and had ensured you both got the best of the accommodations in the well-built, enormous fort. He introduced you to several of his comrades as well as their brooding, young lads and then, left you both to rest for the main event next eve. With two maids at your every beck and call, courtesy of your father, your time went smoothly and now you found yourself at the said Halloween themed celebration, staring around in awe of every little detail that had been so meticulously handled to make the event as dazzling as it was.

The servants were dressed rather ridiculously as cats, wearing some bizarre structure resembling cat ears, horribly short black dresses barely past their thighs and some whiskers draw using either coal or makeup, you weren’t sure. It was a poor attempt to make them appear feline. However, the food was as immaculate as everything else, entirely themed like only blood red wine, candied apples, chicken pumpkins, cheesecake brain, mummy muffins, some appetizer with bell peppers as jack-o-lanterns; these were the few that met your sights.

The hall was so grand, almost the size of three jousting arenas and playing fields combined with pillars having detailed architecture supporting the place. The walls were covered in scarlet, golden and black velvet drapes, the royal colours, and beautiful masquerade masks were pinned atop them, along the walls. Almost hundred round, white clothed tables filled the ballroom, with gold plated candlesticks and utensils upon them. The entire place had entertainers progressing around, the essence of it being magicians, clowns, contortionists, palm and tarot card readers. 

In the centre of the hall, was an empty space, reserved for the soon to be ensuing dancing. An orchestra on the side had beautiful instruments, playing soft melodies for now, reserving the upscale beats for later.

You had only read a few books on Halloween to be prepared but nothing could have geared you up for this. Your small-town self was gaping at everything with a childlike wonder while somehow your sister was quite composed and calm, somehow your roles had been reversed. 

Emma was wearing a blue gown, having several layers of nets and cloth, each a different shade of azure. She tried to dress as the mythical creature called mermaid, with crystal heels and a beaded neckline. Her masquerade mask had scales like fish, made using shining sequins. She looked so gorgeous, truly managing to look captivating.

You on the other hand were dressed like an angel, which you were against, finding it too mainstream and typical and wanted to dress like an enchantress with violet and jade colours, which your mother immediately negated. On demand of your sister, she let you wear a fluffy white ball gown, and had you made wings with dove feathers, an apparatus which was astonishingly light to wear. Using her art and craft skills, Emma made you a headband with two wires attached to a metal ring, shaped like an angel’s halo. The loop at top made of some special metal that glowed golden in the dark, making it look like a real, floating halo. Your mask had a fur lining on it, and silver sparkles were sprinkled all over you, with pretty makeup on your face, courtesy of your sibling.

The change in music brought you out of your reverie, as trumpets and harps began to hum, signifying the arrival of the King on the grand staircase. He had a crimson red velvet cape descending his broad shoulders, his tuxedo underneath could hide neither his long legs nor his bulging, protruding biceps. His black, shining shoes cost more than your entire apparel, you were certain. 

As your gaze ascended his masculine form, you were mesmerised furthermore with his high cheekbones, full lips tainted cherry pink, a Grecian slanting nose, sleek eyebrows, luscious blonde hair, a thick beard and the best of all yet, cerulean blue eyes, the prettiest you’d ever seen in the entirety of your small life. The ladies beside you, Emma included, had the same reaction whether they had witnessed his Highness before or not. Every female’s gaze seemed to flicker between his azure eyes and the Golden crown resting atop his blonde locks, flooded with rubies and emeralds and gemstones you weren’t sure your books had.

For a moment you felt his eyes land on you, which surprised you even more so, that you questioned yourself about it, but his cheeky grin and wink confirmed it, make you shiver involuntarily as heat spread through your face while a titillating stir ran through you, a first for you. His impeccably white teeth were clearly visible now, showing two elongated canines, which finally gave you a sense of his attire, paired with his blush lips, A Vampire.

He spoke a few words, eyes unsteadily wavering, observing different members of the gathering. He let the dances commence, partnering with his most suitable match at the festivity, the daughter of the wealthiest lord. After the first song was over, other couples joined alongside him while you stood at the side, observing everything. Only mere moments ago had your sister been courted by a young man, the two of them shooting each other coy glances since they had entered. 

A tap on your shoulder had you puzzled, you turned around focus landing on warm, brown eyes. You recalled him to be Lord Stark’s son, Peter, having met him yesterday at dawn. His familiar brown eyes gave you sense of comfort, which you liked, not being alongside Emma now.

“Shall we?” He asked, his cheeks ruby like yours were, as he extended the palm of his hand towards you. You giggled, smiling like a little babe who got extra cookies for dessert, and accepted his hand. Sauntering to the dancing arena, you only prayed to The Heavens above that Lady Ava taught you enough to embarrass neither yourself nor your guild.

Tracing his steps and following his lead, you did manage to dance without falling, which was a surprise seeing how spread out your wings were. You and him made easy conversation, about your hometowns and interests.  You saw your Father proudly looking at you and Emma, dancing with lads, you guessed, he approved of.

As the song ended and the orchestra played a transitioning tune between the melodies, a cough sounded beside you as you and Peter stopped. Your eyes widened as you nervously curtsied beside Peter, A ‘Your Majesty” falling from both your lips.

“If it’s not too much trouble, may I share a dance with the most stunning dame here?” 

Peter politely stepped back, letting go of your waist, as The King’s wide stature more than filled his place. Your heart was beating rather loudly, blood pumping to your ears as you tried to make sense of what was happening. In your peripheral vision you could see the prying eyes of others looking at you both, ready to criticize you for one wrong move. Your father watched intently, a slight warning in his eyes to not mess this opportunity up while your sister comfortingly smiled at you. You tried to even your breaths and make sense of what he was saying, to not just stand and gape like a fool in court.

As the harmony played out, he swayed you around, lifting you up and twirling you around. Compliments spewed out from his lips, making you crimson like freshly ripened apples. You couldn’t keep up with your expression of gratitude through your words as he admired your eyes, your elegance and your ensemble which just couldn’t make him shift his eyes from you. 

After two songs had played out, he left as suddenly as he had come, with a promise to meet you later. You watched him dance with other maidens, who approached him when you were dancing together, entertaining every approaching lady like an excellent host.

You made your way to the side, hoping to get some liquor, or at least some fluid in your veins and not faint right there this moment. Emma came up beside you while you were having wine, and rubbed your back in a parental way. Her eyes communicated her understanding of how overwhelmed you felt at the instant. Her date and Peter soon came and kept you both company for the rest of the night. As duos danced and people got intoxicated, you had to call it a night on behalf of your sister, her incessant giggling make you worried for her inebriated self. 

You slipped her out before your father caught her and gave her a stern talking to and tucked her in her bed keeping a glass of water and some fresh fruits for her on the bedside wooden bench. You concluded retiring for the night yourself but only after assuring your father of your whereabouts and well beings. Before returning to the hall, you took off your wings and the halo, also opting to leave the mask behind as the fur tickled your skin. Your makeup hadn’t ruined in the heat of the hall, it was a miracle. You made your way to the Hall, hoping to find your father, assumingly drunk with all his entourage.

Two hallways before the decorated ballroom were you pinned to the wall, one hand of your attacker covering your parted lips while the other held your face delicately, with a lover’s touch. A split second was all it took for you to be immobilised by this man and another by your wavering form to recognise the cobalt blue eyes and blonde curls. When The King was certain you wouldn’t scream, his hand left your mouth slid upwards, mirroring his other hand, with thumbs in front of your ears and palms resting on your cheeks.

“Your Majesty?” You mumbled back, your voice somehow even lower, afraid for yourself and even more so terrified to offend him.

“Say, would you come for a while to my chambers, the view of the creek from my balcony is splendid.”

His choice of words gave you an option, but his eyes, almost hypnotically told you there was only one correct answer.

“You are the one, I can feel it.” He whispered lowly but your heightened senses gladly picked it up.

You meekly nodded, your inner self surprised at your body moving of its accord alongside him, as your mind started voiding of thoughts like reporting to your father, checking up on Emma. You felt like you were trapped in someone else’s form and fought with an invisible force to take over the reins of your own body.

You did not fail to notice the lack of guards outside the King’s chamber and how every entrance managed to open itself. The King wasn’t lying about the picturesque scene though, as you stood in the balcony, hair getting ruffled by the strong breeze that seemingly came from nowhere.

Your body stiffened as King Steve came uncharacteristically close to you and slid his hands around your middle, his nose nestled in your locks, inhaling deeply.

His lips descended your neck, laying feathery kisses on his path as you stood there, unable to even move your hands or turn around. This out of body sensation was broken when you felt intense pain on piercing of your skin where your head met your torso. You suddenly gained all wits and enough strength to flail your limbs around but all your might wasn’t enough to even stir the man from his task. Your throat couldn’t gather enough energy to scream, though you doubted anyone would come. You started getting light headed and only then did he stop, carrying you in his arms to his widespread four poster bed, mattress as soft as sponge and sheets as silky as butter. Too weak to fight him off, you harvested all your energy in staying conscious as your gaze danced around, trying to make sense of every object present but not awake enough to notice too many details. The wine you drank did not make it any better.

As you laid on the stranger’s bed, you felt his body sit beside you, holding your neck; leaning down, his lips meeting yours for the first time. You did not reciprocate, neither did you have the strength nor the will, while his tongue slipped inside your mouth, roaming around like a traveller in foreign land.

As the kiss drew on, you felt some energy sidle inside you, enough for your mind to function again but not ample enough to fight off the brawny thief who robbed you of your first kiss. King Steve broke off the kiss and connected your foreheads together, his indigo eyes turning black in want, leaving you a frightening and gasping mess.

He backed away, sitting more straighter now as his hand drew back from around your neck and slid along your stomach, nearing the most intimate part of your body, even though there were still layers of cloth present. His hands did not stop there, however, and made their way downwards only stopping at the hem of your gown and slipping inside.

You shrieked out suddenly, becoming aware of his intentions quite late and grasped his wrist that rested now on your knee. 

“Your Majesty, I……I can’t-”

“Do you wish to refuse your King?”

You looked down, caught in the dilemma of wanting your safety and offending him once again. Your virtue had to be preserved till marriage, your mother had taught you, but on the other hand, the King’s words were the law.

“Answer Me.” The King’s cold voice broke through your thoughts, not a shout but still scarier than a yell.“

Your Majesty, I’ve never engaged in s-” You started tearing up, lower lip wobbling and body shaking at the thought of the future. You did not see this ending beneficial in any scenario. If you lost your virtue, you would never get wed but if you refused the King and he felt insulted, your family and your connections would be in the ruins, he held that much power over you.

Cradling your face with his other hand, he began again, “You think I’m not already aware, pretty one?” The man who was reprimanding you only few moments ago upon not answering him, had a smile on his face this time: not assuring or comforting, but malicious and sinister to its very core. “I could smell your untainted scent from my room, before even descending the stairs.”

“Your e-eyes..” You gaped again as colours morphed in his eyes, red now swirling around in the pools of darkness, his words lost on you as you felt your fear rising due to the inhumane action.

“For an intellectual, bibliophilic girl, you sure are oblivious, sweetheart.” He scoffed, looking unimpressed at you, “Come on, prove to me you aren’t heedless like the rest, draw the conclusion." His eyes held yours, again altering into hues of different colours, seemingly mocking you now. 

You don’t know how the thought jumped into your head, maybe because the two holes on your neck stung suddenly or because the automatically opening doors entered your mind, the contemplation that his fangs appeared so realistic and authentic the more you stared at them paired with the blood on his collar, not just the fresh red stain of your plasma but also the burgundy stain present there, giving his lips the cherry red shade you admired hours ago on his arrival at the event.

“This is not a co-costume, no-” You inhaled a quick breath, “you are a vampire.” Your face paled in realisation while he smirked proudly, tapping your knee in a weird, twisted form of appreciation.

“Tremendous, my dear. But only half, you see. My mother was one, yes, but my father, he gave me an even better ability, he was an Incubus.” You shuddered as the words sunk in, your only worry being staying alive now, when your life was in the hands of this sex demon, having the greatest of powers and strength. Your mind did not spend any time mulling over the existence of supernatural beings, only dwelling on possible escapes now.

“That is why even your untouched body couldn’t help but react to my form and it is also the very reason, that I can read what goes on in your mind, all your memories, your hobbies, every book you’ve read, your precious sister, Emma isn’t it? So please, do not even think about fleeing if you don’t want your family to suffer.”

The threat loomed in the air, nasty sobs wracking your body as his thumb came to wipe the tears off. His hands started undoing the lace on the front of your bodice as you sniffled. Managing to quieten down just a bit, you begged, “Please don’t do this, I’ll have nowhere to go if my family found about me partaking in this unholy deed before marriage.” You had little hope about him seeing reason but there was optimism nonetheless. 

“Darling, do not fuss that I’ll leave you unhinged and deserted after finding pleasure in your body, you are to be mine now. Essentially, you already are.” His lips claimed yours again as the front of your dress slackened, bundling around your waist.

You pulled back, surprised at his promise, “You mean that?” He nodded, coming to kiss you again. You turned so that his lips met your neck, tongue licking the salt residue of tears there. “In what sense?”

“In every sense you could think of and more. I’ll give you everything, make you my queen, would you like that?” He mumbled in your neck, tongue now soothing the two punctured cavities residing there.

You could feel yourself crossing your legs involuntarily, trying to caress the abrupt yearning in your intimate part, your underclothes dousing with wetness somehow. Steve smirked in your neck, sitting upright and playing his trump card.

“I’ll marry you and we’ll rule together with the plenty of successors you’ll give me. Won’t that make your parents proud? Isn’t that what your parents taught you? Catch the King’s eye?” You meekly nodded, his charisma of an Incubus winning you over. “I’ll make your father The King’s Hand and send your mother the finest of jewels and gems, satins and silks.” He looked over at your submissive form, looking at him with the innocence of a toddler, swayed by his promises.

“I’ll let your sister have a grand wedding with the man she dears. All you have to do is surrender yourself to me and be my Queen, rule alongside me. So I ask, will you?” You cut him off, your lips pressing against his as you tried to mimic his earlier movements. He held your waist, surprised but pleasantly so, crushing the layers of the rolled top half of your dress underneath his hands. You had very little idea about what bedding someone meant but you had this primal urge to not have any skin of yours covered or untouched by him.

Steve shed his cape and threw every cloth on his torso away, almost as eager as you to get skin to skin contact. Your hands tangled in his hair as he lifted you up and sat you in his broad lap, not before sliding your dress all the way down. As he broke the kiss and took in your body, parts of you hidden under the smallclothes, he let out a growl that frightened yet excited you with another shiver down your spine. 

He made quick work of his bottoms, his cock standing and reaching his muscled chest almost and you gaped. Your sister, Emma had informed you of men’s parts being far much smaller than what you had just witnessed. His member stood erect and proud, glistening as he pumped it with his fist. His eyes drank in your surprise and trepidation, getting amused and turned on even more. 

You still laid stretched across the bed, legs straight ahead of you while your torso rested on your elbows, eyes wary of his every next movement.  He eyed your scantily clad body, gaze filled with lust and nothing more and climbed between your legs, one hand coming down on your waist while the other grabbed the back of your head and pulled you into a possessive kiss, robbing you of your breath. Your mind was slowly registering the reality of it all, this was going to happen no matter what. You were going to sin by engaging in fornication. But is it really wrong if your benevolent king demands that of you?

His hand sliding from your face to your bosom distracted you from your chain of thoughts. He slid the cups of your garment revealing your nipples and took one in his mouth, swirling his tongue around it while his other pinched the abandoned one. You didn’t know if you should be more surprised at his actions or the rush of the feelings that ran through you.

He slowly released your nipple and trailed soft kisses down your stomach to your most intimate part yet, kissing it through the cloth there. His delicate touch was abruptly contrasted with him grabbing the fabric, tearing it into two and revealing you bare. 

You closed your legs out of instinct but his heavily muscled hand took them apart in a single push. He eyed you with a warning, to not obstruct him anyhow anymore.

“Let me taste that sweet nectar of yours, sweetheart. I really want to find out if it is as addictive as my senses picked it up, as sweet as the aura that surrounds you.”

And with that he dove into your pussy, his tongue roaming your wet cavern. Neither did you understand what he spoke of nor had you sister told you about the activity happening right now. But all you could do was focus on the astonishingly pleasant shivers running through you as you had an out of the body, more accurately an out of the world experience. You had no sense of the time that passed and how long you laid there clutching the silk sheets letting out mewls. But out of nowhere, something in you snapped and all your energy left you. 

As your blurry vision cleared and your eyes found his face, he licked his still glistening lips, his beard moist and wet but erotically so. He dove right into kiss again and you tasted your own sweet nectar for the first time ever. His hand roamed your body, grabbing your curves and caressing your soft flesh. 

One of his hands made its way down furthermore and spread your fluids along your folds, and then lined up himself along your hole. With a sudden push, you felt yourself being full like never before, and a sudden pain hit you as your face visibly flinched. Steve swallowed your grunts of pain with his kisses and started rubbing your bud above your linked bodies. 

The shudder that ran through you once again made you incapable of thinking, the ache slowly subsiding behind the pleasure you felt. When your moans filled the air, Steve kissed your collarbones and sucked leaving bruises there, and started thrusting again. As his movements became faster and consistent, and his callused hands rubbed you and pinched your intimate flesh, you ascended to another world. Each action of his introduced you to a new star in the wide galaxy. The same unknown descended upon you again as something snapped in your abdomen and you experienced pure bliss. 

“Going to make you the mother of my children, you will carry my seed and bring the Kingdom several heirs. This time I’ll succeed, you will be mine, my Queen in every sense.” His words made you clench around him and that was all it took for him to achieve ecstasy as well.

Your head lolled and your eyes met his sweating frame lying across the silk sheets as a sinister grin adorned his face again, “I need to fuck a successor into you tonight, you ready?”  

[dwellordream]

“...If any precedent might have preoccupied Livia, especially in her early career, when she was attempting to mould an image fitting for the times, it would have been a negative one, provided by the most notorious woman of the late republic and, most important, a woman who clashed headlong with Octavian in the sensitive early stages of his career. Fulvia was the wife of Mark Antony, and his devoted supporter, no less loyal than Livia in support of her husband, although their styles were dramatically different.

Fulvia’s struggle on behalf of Antony, Octavian’s archenemy, has secured her an unenviable place in history as a power-crazed termagant. While her husband was occupied in the East in 41, Fulvia made an appearance, along with Antony’s children, before his old soldiers in Italy, urging them to remain true to their commander. When Antony’s brother Lucius gathered his troops at Praeneste to launch an attack on Rome, Fulvia joined him there, and the legend became firmly established that she put on a sword, issued the watchword, gave a rousing speech to the soldiers, and held councils of war with senators and knights. This was the ultimate sin in a woman, interfering in the loyalty of the troops. 

In the end Octavian prevailed and forced the surrender of Lucius and his armies at Perusia. The fall of the city led to a massive exodus of political refugees. Among them were two women, Livia and Fulvia. Livia joined her husband, Tiberius Claudius Nero, who escaped first to Praeneste and then to Naples. Fulvia fled with her children to join Antony and his mother in Athens. Like Octavia later, she found that her dedicated service was not enough to earn her husband’s gratitude. In fact, Antony blamed her for the setbacks in Italy.

A broken woman, she fell ill at Sicyon on the Gulf of Corinth, where she died in mid-40 bc. Antony in the meantime had left Italy without even troubling himself to visit her sickbed. Fulvia’s story contains many of the ingredients familiar in the profiles of ambitious women: avarice, cruelty, promiscuity, suborning of troops, and the ultimate ingratitude of the men for whom they made such sacrifices. She was at Perusia at the same time as Livia, and as wives of two of the triumvirs, they would almost certainly have met. In any case, Fulvia was at the height of her activities in the years immediately preceding Livia’s first meeting with Octavian, and at the very least would have been known to her by reputation. Livia would have seen in Fulvia an object lesson for what was to be avoided at all costs by any woman who hoped to survive and prosper amidst the complex machinations of Roman political life. 

In one respect Livia’s career did resemble Fulvia’s, in that it was shaped essentially by the needs of her husband, to fill a role that in a sense he created for her. To understand that role in Livia’s case, we need to understand one very powerful principle that motivated Augustus throughout his career. The importance that he placed in the calling that he inherited in 44 bc cannot be overstressed. The notion that he and the house he created were destined by fate to carry out Rome’s foreordained mission lay at the heart of his principate. Strictly speaking, the expression domus Augusta (house of Augustus) cannot be attested before Augustus’ death and the accession of Tiberius, but there can be little doubt that the concept of his domus occupying a special and indeed unique place within the state evolves much earlier.

Suetonius speaks of Augustus’ consciousness of the domus suae maiestas (the dignity of his house) in a context that suggests a fairly early stage of his reign, and Macrobius relates the anecdote of his claiming to have had two troublesome daughters, Julia and Rome. When Augustus received the title of Pater Patriae in 2 bc, Valerius Messala spoke on behalf of the Senate, declaring the hope that the occasion would bring good fortune and favour on ‘‘you and your house, Augustus Caesar’’ (quod bonum, inquit, faustum sit tibi domuique tuae, Caesar Auguste). 

The special place in the Augustan scheme enjoyed by the male members of this domus placed them in extremely sensitive positions. The position of the women in his house was even more challenging. In fashioning the image of the domus Augusta, the first princeps was anxious to project an image of modesty and simplicity, to stress that in spite of his extraordinary constitutional position, he and his family lived as ordinary Romans. Accordingly, his demeanour was deliberately self-effacing.

His dinner parties were hospitable but not lavish. The private quarters of his home, though not as modest as he liked to pretend, were provided with very simple furniture. His couches and tables were still on public display in the time of Suetonius, who commented that they were not fine enough even for an ordinary Roman, let alone an emperor. Augustus wore simple clothes in the home, which were supposedly made by Livia or other women of his household. He slept on a simply furnished bed. His own plain and unaffected lifestyle determined also how the imperial women should behave. 

His views on this subject were deeply conservative. He felt that it was the duty of the husband to ensure that his wife always conducted herself appropriately. He ended the custom of men and women sitting together at the games, requiring females (with the exception of the Vestals) to view from the upper seats only. His legates were expected to visit their wives only during the winter season. In his own domestic circle he insisted that the women should exhibit a traditional domesticity.

He had been devoted to his mother and his sister, Octavia, and when they died he allowed them special honours. But at least in the case of Octavia, he kept the honours limited and even blocked some of the distinctions voted her by the Senate. Nor did he limit himself to matters of ‘‘lifestyle.’’ He forbade the women of his family from saying anything that could not be said openly and recorded in the daybook of the imperial household. In the eyes of the world, Livia succeeded in carrying out her role of model wife to perfection. To some degree she owed her success to circumstances. It is instructive to compare her situation with that of other women of the imperial house. 

Julia (born 39 bc) summed up her own attitude perfectly when taken to task for her extravagant behaviour and told to conform more closely to Augustus’ simple tastes. She responded that he could forget that he was Augustus, but she could not forget that she was Augustus’ daughter. Julia’s daughter, the elder Agrippina (born 19 bc?), like her mother before her, saw for herself a key element in her grandfather’s dynastic scheme. She was married to the popular Germanicus and had no doubt that in the fullness of time she would provide a princeps of Augustan blood.

Not surprisingly, she became convinced that she had a fundamental role to play in Rome’s future, and she bitterly resented Tiberius’ elevation. Her daughter Agrippina the Younger (born ad 15?) was, as a child, indoctrinated by her mother to see herself as the destined transmitter of Augustus’ blood, and her whole adult life was devoted to fulfilling her mother’s frustrated mission. From birth these women would have known of no life other than one of dynastic entitlement. By contrast, Livia’s background, although far from humble, was not exceptional for a woman of her class, and she did not enter her novel situation with inherited baggage. 

As a Claudian she may no doubt have been brought up to display a certain hauteur, but she would not have anticipated a special role in the state. As a member of a distinguished republican family, she would have hoped at most for a ‘‘good’’ marriage to a man who could aspire to property and prestige, perhaps at best able to exercise a marginal influence on events through a husband in a high but temporary magistracy. Powerful women who served their apprenticeships during the republic reached their eminence by their own inclinations, energies, and ambitions, not because they felt they had fallen heir to it.

However lofty Livia’s station after 27 bc, her earlier life would have enabled her to maintain a proper perspective. She did not find herself in the position of an imperial wife who through her marriage finds herself overnight catapulted into an ambience of power and privilege. Whatever ambitions she may have entertained in her first husband, she was sadly disappointed. When she married for the second time, Octavian, for all his prominence, did not then occupy the undisputed place at the centre of the Roman world that was to come to him later. Livia thus had a decade or so of married life before she found herself married to a princeps, in a process that offered time for her to become acclimatised and to establish a style and timing appropriate to her situation. 

It must have helped that in their personal relations she and her husband seem to have been a devoted couple, whose marriage remained firm for more than half a century. For all his general cynicism, Suetonius concedes that after Augustus married Livia, he loved and esteemed her unice et perservanter (right to the end, with no rival). In his correspondence Augustus addressed his wife affectionately as mea Livia.

The one shadow on their happiness would have been that they had no children together. Livia did conceive, but the baby was stillborn. Augustus knew that he could produce children, as did she, and Pliny cites them as an example of a couple who are sterile together but had children from other unions. By the normal standards obtaining in Rome at the time they would have divorced—such a procedure would have involved no disgrace—and it is a testimony to the depth of their feelings that they stayed together. In a sense, then, Livia was lucky. 

That said, she did suffer one disadvantage, in that when the principate was established, she found herself, as did all Romans, in an unparalleled situation, with no precedent to guide her. She was the first ‘‘first lady’’—she had to establish the model to emulate, and later imperial wives would to no small degree be judged implicitly by comparison to her. Her success in masking her keen political instincts and subordinating them to an image of self-restraint and discretion was to a considerable degree her own achievement.

In a famous passage of Suetonius, we are told that Caligula’s favourite expression for his great-grandmother was Ulixes stolatus (Ulysses in a stola). The allusion appears in a section that supposedly illustrates Caligula’s disdain for his relatives. But his allusion to Livia is surely a witty and ironical expression of admiration. Ulysses is a familiar Homeric hero, who in the Iliad and Odyssey displays the usual heroic qualities of nerve and courage, but is above all polymetis: clever, crafty, ingenious, a man who will often sort his way through a crisis not by the usual heroic bravado but by outsmarting his opponents, whether the one-eyed giant Polyphemus, or the enchantress Circe, or the suitors for Penelope. 

Caligula implied that Livia had the clever, subtle kind of mind that one associates with Greeks rather than Romans, who were inclined to take a head-on approach to problems. But at the same time she manifested a particularly Roman quality. Rolfe, in the Loeb translation of Suetonius’ Life of Caligula, rendered the phrase as ‘‘Ulysses in petticoats’’ to suggest a female version of the Homeric character. But this is to rob Caligula’s sobriquet of much of its force.

The stola was essentially the female equivalent of the toga worn by Roman men. A long woollen sleeveless dress, of heavy fabric, it was normally worn over a tunic. In shape it could be likened to a modern slip, but of much heavier material, so that it could hang in deep folds. The mark of matronae married to Roman citizens, the stola is used by Cicero as a metaphor for a stable and respectable marriage. Along with the woollen bands that the matron wore in her hair to protect her from impurity, it was considered the insigne pudoris (the sign of purity) by Ovid, something, as he puts it, alien to the world of the philandering lover. 

Another contemporary of Livia’s, Valerius Maximus, notes that if a matrona was called into court, her accuser could not physically touch her, in order that the stola might remain inviolata manus alienae tactu (unviolated by the touch of another’s hand). Bartman may be right in suggesting that the existence of statues of Livia in a stola would have given Caligula’s quip a special resonance, but that alone would not have inspired his bon mot. To Caligula’s eyes, Livia was possessed of a sharp and clever mind.

But she did not allow this quality to obtrude because she recognised that many Romans would not find it appealing; she cloaked it with all the sober dignity and propriety, the gravitas, that the Romans admired in themselves and saw represented in the stola. Livia’s greatest skill perhaps lay in the recognition that the women of the imperial household were called to walk a fine line. She and other imperial women found themselves in a paradoxical position in that they were required to set an example of the traditional domestic woman yet were obliged by circumstances to play a public role outside the home—a reflection of the process by which the domestic and public domains of the domus Augusta were blurred.

Thus she was expected to display the grand dignity expected of a person very much in the public eye, combined with the old-fashioned modesty of a woman whose interests were confined to the domus. Paradoxically, she had less freedom of action than other upper-class women who had involved themselves in public life in support of their family and protégés. As wife of the princeps, Livia recognised that to enlist the support of her husband was in a sense to enlist the support of the state.

That she managed to gain a reputation as a generous patron and protector and, at the same time, a woman who kept within her proper bounds, is testimony to her keen sensitivity. In many ways she succeeds in moving silently though Rome’s history, and this is what she intended. Her general conduct gave reassurance to those who were distressed by the changing relationships that women like Fulvia had symbolised in the late republic. It is striking that court poets, who reflected the broad wishes of their patron, avoid reference to her. She is mentioned by the poet Horace, but only once, and even there she is not named directly but referred to allusively as unico gaudens mulier marito (a wife finding joy in her preeminent husband).

The single exception is Ovid, but most of his allusions come from his period of exile, when desperation may have got the better of discretion. The dignified behaviour of Livia’s distinguished entourage was contrasted with the wild conduct of Julia’s friends at public shows, which drove Augustus to remonstrate with his daughter (her response: when she was old, she too would have old friends). In a telling passage Seneca compares the conduct of Livia favourably with even the universally admired Octavia. After losing Marcellus, Octavia abandoned herself to her grief and became obsessed with the memory of her dead son. She would not permit anyone to mention his name in her presence and remained inconsolable, allowing herself to become totally secluded and maintaining the garb of mourning until her death.

By contrast, Livia, similarly devastated by the death of Drusus, did not offend others by grieving excessively once the body had been committed to the tomb. When the grief was at its worst, she turned to the philosopher Areus for help. Seneca re-creates Areus’ advice. Much of it, of course, may well have sprung from Seneca’s imagination, but it is still valuable in showing how Livia was seen by Romans of Seneca’s time. Areus says that Livia had been at great pains to ensure that no one would find anything in her to criticise, in major matters but also in the most insignificant trifles. He admired the fact that someone of her high station was often willing to bestow pardon on others but sought pardon for nothing in herself. 

…Perhaps most important, it was essential for Livia to present herself to the world as the model of chastity. Apart from the normal demands placed on the wife of a member of the Roman nobility, she faced a particular set of circumstances that were unique to her. One of the domestic priorities undertaken by Augustus was the enactment of a programme of social legislation. Parts of this may well have been begun before his eastern trip, perhaps as early as 28 bc, but the main body of the work was initiated in 18.

A proper understanding of the measures that he carried out under this general heading eludes us. The family name of Julius was attached to the laws, and thus they are difficult to distinguish from those enacted by Julius Caesar. But clearly in general terms the legislation was intended to restore traditional Roman gravitas, to stamp out corruption, to define the social orders, and to encourage the involvement of the upper classes in state affairs. The drop in the numbers of the upper classes was causing particular concern. The nobles were showing a general reluctance to marry and, when married, an unwillingness to have children. It was hoped that the new laws would to some degree counter this trend. 

The Lex Iulia de adulteriis coercendis, passed probably in 18 bc, made adultery a public crime and established a new criminal court for sexual offences. The Lex Iulia de maritandis ordinibus, passed about the same time, regulated the validity of marriages between social classes. The crucial factor here, of course, was not the regulation of morality but rather the legitimacy of children. Disabilities were imposed on the principle that it was the duty of men between twenty-five and sixty-five and women between twenty and fifty to marry. Those who refused to comply or who married and remained childless suffered penalties, the chief one being the right to inherit. The number of a man’s children gave him precedence when he stood for office.

Of particular relevance to Livia was the ius trium liberorum, under which a freeborn woman with three children was exempted from tutela (guardianship) and had a right of succession to the inheritance of her children. Livia was later granted this privilege despite having borne only two living children. This social legislation created considerable resentment—Suetonius says that the equestrians staged demonstrations at theatres and at the games. It was amended in ad 9 and supplemented by the Lex Papia Poppaea, which seems to have removed the unfair distinctions between the childless and the unmarried and allowed divorced or widowed women a longer period before they remarried. 

Dio, apparently without a trace of irony, reports that this last piece of legislation was introduced by two consuls who were not only childless but unmarried, thus proving the need for the legislation. Livia’s moral conduct would thus be dictated not only by the already unreal standards that were expected of a Roman matrona but also by the political imperative of her husband’s social legislation. Because Augustus saw himself as a man on a crusade to restore what he considered to be old-fashioned morality, it was clearly essential that he have a wife whose reputation for virtue was unsullied and who could provide an exemplar in her own married life.

In this Livia would not fail him. The skilful creation of an image of purity and marital fidelity was more than a vindication of her personal standards. It was very much a public statement of support for what her husband was trying to achieve. Tacitus, in his obituary notice that begins Book V of the Annals, observes that in the matter of the sanctitas domus, Livia’s conduct was of the ‘‘old school’’ ( priscum ad morem). This is a profoundly interesting statement at more than one level. It tells us something about the way the Romans idealised their past. But it also says much about the clever way that Livia fashioned her own image. 

Her inner private life is a secret that she has taken with her to the tomb. She may well have been as pure as people believed. But for a woman who occupied the centre of attention in imperial Rome for as long as she did, to keep her moral reputation intact required more than mere proper conduct. Rumours and innuendo attached themselves to the powerful and prominent almost of their own volition. An unsullied name required the positive creation of a public image. Livia was despised by Tacitus, who does not hesitate to insinuate the darkest interpretations that can be placed on her conduct.

Yet not even he hints at any kind of moral impropriety in the narrow sexual sense. Even though she abandoned her first husband, Tiberius Claudius, to begin an affair with her lover Octavian, she seems to have escaped any censure over her conduct. This is evidence not so much of moral probity as of political skill in managing an image skilfully and effectively. None of the ancient sources challenges the portrait of the moral paragon. Ovid extols her sexual purity in the most fulsome of terms. To him, Livia is the Vesta of chaste matrons, who has the morals of Juno and is an exemplar of pudicitia worthy of earlier and morally superior generations. Even after her husband is dead she keeps the marriage couch (pulvinar) pure. (She was, admittedly in her seventies.) 

Valerius Maximus, writing in the Tiberian period, can state that Pudicitia attends the couch of Livia. And the Consolatio ad Liviam, probably not a contemporary work but one at least that tries to reflect contemporary attitudes, speaks of her as worthy of those women who lived in a golden age, and as someone who kept her heart uncorrupted by the evil of her times. Horace’s description is particularly interesting. His phrase unico gaudens marito is nicely ambiguous, for it states that Livia’s husband was preeminent (unicus) but implies the other connotation of the word: that she had the moral superiority of an univira, a woman who has known only one husband, which in reality did not apply to Livia.

Such remarks might, of course, be put down to cringing flattery, but it is striking that not a single source contradicts them. On this one issue, Livia did not hesitate to blow her own trumpet, and she herself asserted that she was able to influence Augustus to some degree because she was scrupulously chaste. She could do so in a way that might even suggest a light touch of humour. Thus when she came across some naked men who stood to be punished for being exposed to the imperial eyes, she asserted that to a chaste woman a naked man was no more a sex object than was a statue. Most strikingly, Dio is able to recount this story with no consciousness of irony. 

Seneca called Livia a maxima femina. But did she hold any real power outside the home? According to Dio, Livia believed that she did not, and claimed that her influence over Augustus lay in her willingness to concede whatever he wished, not meddling in his business, and pretending not to be aware of any of his sexual affairs. Tacitus reflects this when he calls her an uxor facilis (accommodating wife). She clearly understood that to achieve any objective she had to avoid any overt conflict with her husband.

It would do a disservice to Livia, however, to create the impression that she was successful simply because she yielded. She was a skilful tactician who knew how to manipulate people, often by identifying their weaknesses or ambitions, and she knew how to conceal her own feelings when the occasion demanded: cum artibus mariti, simulatione filii bene composita (well suited to the craft of her husband and the insincerity of her son) is how Tacitus morosely characterises that talent. Augustus felt that he controlled her, and she doubtless was happy for him to think so. 

Dio has preserved an account of a telling exchange between Augustus and a group of senators. When they asked him to introduce legislation to control what was seen as the dissolute moral behaviour of Romans, he told them that there were aspects of human behaviour that could not be regulated. He advised them to do what he did, and have more control over their wives. When the senators heard this they were surprised, to say the least, and pressed Augustus with more questions to find out how he was able to control Livia. He confined himself to some general comments about dress and conduct in public, and seems to have been oblivious to his audience’s scepticism.

What is especially revealing about this incident is that the senators were fully aware of the power of Livia’s personality, but recognised that she conducted herself in such a way that Augustus obviously felt no threat whatsoever to his authority. Augustus would have been sensitive to the need to draw a line between Livia’s traditional and proper power within the domus and her role in matters of state. This would have been very difficult. Women in the past had sought to influence their husbands in family concerns. But with the emergence of the domus Augusta, family concerns and state concerns were now inextricably bound together. 

…Although Livia did not intrude in matters that were strictly within Augustus’ domain, her restraint naturally did not bar communication with her husband. Certainly, Augustus was prepared to listen to her. That their conversations were not casual matters and were taken seriously by him is demonstrated by the evidence of Suetonius that Augustus treated her just as he would an important official. When dealing with a significant item of business, he would write things out beforehand and read out to her from a notebook, because he could not be sure to get it just right if he spoke extemporaneously. Moreover, it says something about Livia that she filed all Augustus’ written communications with her.

After his death, during a dispute with her son, she angrily brought the letters from the shrine where they had been archived and read them out, complete with their criticisms of Tiberius’ arrogance. Despite Tacitus’ claim that Livia controlled her husband, Augustus was willing to state publicly that he had decided not to follow her advice, as when he declined special status to the people of Samos. Clearly, he would try to do so tactfully and diplomatically, expressing his regrets at having to refuse her request. On other issues he similarly reached his own decision but made sufficient concessions to Livia to satisfy her public dignity and perhaps Augustus’ domestic serenity. 

On one occasion Livia interceded on behalf of a Gaul, requesting that he be granted citizenship. To Augustus the Roman citizenship was something almost sacred, not to be granted on a whim. He declined to honour the request. But he did make a major and telling concession. One of the great advantages of citizenship was the exemption from the tax (tributum) that tributary provincials had to pay. Augustus granted the man this exemption. When Livia apparently sought the recall of Tiberius from Rhodes after the Julia scandal, Augustus refused, but did concede him the title of legatus to conceal any lingering sense of disgrace.

He was unwilling to promote Claudius to the degree that Livia wished, but he was willing to allow him some limited responsibilities. Thus he was clearly prepared to go out of his way to accede at least partially to his wife’s requests. But on the essential issues he remained very much his own man, and on one occasion he made it clear that as an advisor she did not occupy the top spot in the hierarchy. In ad 2 Tiberius made a second request to return from exile. His mother is said to have argued intensively on his behalf but did not persuade her husband. He did, however, say that he would be willing to be guided by the advice he received from his grandson, and adopted son, Gaius.”

- Anthony A. Barrett, “Wife of the Emperor.” in Livia: First Lady of Imperial Rome

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Cheryl//this is me trying

Request: Can I request a season 1 cheryl x reader. Cheryl always protects reader from people and r is shy but falls in love with the redhead and some who’s accidentally tells her while she’s having a bad day but cheryl is quick to reassure her then they cuddle after going to pops or something and it’s just fluffy.

hey! happy valentines day gays! and get you, two imagines in one day, it must be the day of love. i hope you all like this because it’s really fluffy and i enjoyed writing this a lot!

Overnight, Riverdale became a shell of its former self. Two months since Kevin Keller and Moose Mason stumbled upon the body of Jason Blossom, and nobody has been the same since. 

The town is riddled with secrets, they’re slowly destroying it like a disease. Nobody trusts anybody anymore, everyone is on high alert, and everyone is a suspect. 

Cheryl usually loves being the centre of attention, she has done ever she was a kid. It’s something that comes naturally with being a twin, you share everything and as much as she loves loved the shared birthdays and friends, she has always loved being the centre of attention.

Now however, she hates it. Her life is a true crime documentary at the minute, and all she wants is for the killer to be caught so the crew can pack up and leave and she no longer has to stare down at the blinding lights being cast over her and her family. 

The only thing that’s kept her sane over the past two months, is you. Despite everything happening, despite the murder and the secrets and the suspicion, you’ve stuck by her side. You were with her when they found the body, and you haven’t really left since. 

The two of you are unlikely friends, she’s Cheryl. Bright and bold and never one to back down from confrontation. But you’re Y/n, sweet and shy and always the first to shrink away from any sort of attention directed at you. 

She knows you hate the constant attention recently, it’s something you get used when you’re best friends with the victim’s sister, but not once have you complained. 

You’ve being questioned by police, journalists and strangers on the internet. You’ve had camera’s shoved in your face on your walk back from school and been asked countless questions about what you know about the Blossom’s. And you’ve also been offered ridiculous amounts of money in order to talk. But no matter what happens, you always just rush past them and join Cheryl, who’s always waiting for you with a sad smile and warm hand. 

Due to the constant hoard of vultures swarming Riverdale High, the two of you had to figure out somewhere else to meet after school so you could walk the long way home. It adds twenty minutes to your walk, but it’s not that well known around town, meaning people can’t bother you. 

Plus, the extra twenty minutes that you get to spend with Cheryl isn’t the worst thing. It’s the opposite in fact. It’s the thing you look forward to, even if you are looking over your shoulder every so often 

But today you’re not at your meeting spot. 

When Cheryl pushes her way through the stares of her fellow students with you and only you on her mind and makes her way through the school basement, back up the stairs and out of the fire exit, you’re not waiting for her with a smile that makes her feel warm and a cold slice of pizza you snuck out of the cafe earlier. 

The only thing waiting for her is a full bin and an empty field. 

“Y/n?” She calls out and looks around the corner. She’s met with three seniors, all of which are smoking with absolutely no care for being caught. 

“She’s not here.” One of them says, her blonde hair and large glasses cover half of her face and Cheryl forces a smile. 

“Hey, Blossom.” A boy says and Cheryl freezes. Who knows what they want, but whatever it is, it probably won’t be nice. It’ll probably be something along the lines of ‘hey, did you kill your brother’ and no matter how many times she’s asked that, it doesn’t get any easier. “Maybe try the bleachers.” He says, ending his sentence with a sympathetic smile and Cheryl nods slowly, not really sure what to say. 

“Thanks.” She forces and spins on her heel. 

“We’re sorry about your brother, Cheryl.” The blonde one says and she turns around again. Each of them look sad, with matching frowns and sorrow swimming in their eyes. 

Jason meant the world to Cheryl, but he also meant a hell of a lot to other people too. And that’s when it hits her. Of course you’re at the bleachers. 

For some bizarre reason, only known by your father. You and your family used to come along every other week to watch the Bulldogs play. For a while you thought it was because your dad was trying to get you and your brother into football and this was a lot cheaper than the actual game, but the older you got the more you figured it was because he was just trying to relive his youth. For 90 minutes he could pretend that he was quarterback again and for those 90 minutes your dad would be the happiest he’d been all week. 

Then one week, a redhead sat beside you. In clothes that were far too expensive to be worn to a high school football game. Her parents looked like they wanted to be there as much as she did, but then a boy with matching red hair ran out on to the pitch and you’d never seen a smile quite like it. 

After that, you made sure to sit beside her at every game. And then one day she sat opposite you at lunch. The first few times she was alone, but then soon she began to appear with a group of other girls, but you were the only one she’d talk to. 

Eventually lunch times and football games turned into group projects and sleepovers. You spend hours braiding her hair and listening to her tell you stories of other worlds and the creatures that live in them. You’d sneak down the dark and creepy halls of Thornhill in hopes of finding a midnight snack, and instead be met by Jason and your older brother in clown masks. 

Eventually, you found a different way to get to the kitchen, one that Jason didn’t know about. And when he’d come looking for you, both of you would jump out  and chase him around the house, much to the dismay of Penelope and Clifford. 

Those bleachers are what started a whole friendship, not only between you and her, but also you and Jason. When you’re brother eventually made the team, thanks to a good word put in my Jason, despite him being a year younger. Him and Jason became as inseparable as you and Cheryl and so it wasn’t an uncommon occurrence to see the four of you hanging out. It also meant that if Cheryl was busy, you and Jason would hang out until she finished whatever she was doing. 

Grief is a hell of a lonely thing, and sometimes Cheryl forgets that other people miss Jason too. With everything going on, she didn’t even think about how you were doing. With all the questions, accusations and crying that constantly fills Cheryl’s house. She never even asked how you were. 

And now her legs can’t carry her quick enough to were she hopes your sat. Because she’s already lost her brother, she can’t lose you too. She wobbles as her heels dig into the dirt, kicking up dust and mud as she runs across the field. Her hair swings behind her, and she can feel the red scrunchie loosen the quicker she runs. 

The bleachers have all sorts carved into them. Initials in hearts, some of them still there, some of them crossed out so aggressively that it’s a miracle they didn’t chop it in half. There’s inside jokes and ridiculous rumours. Codes and dates and everything in between. 

But something new has been added in the past few days. 

cheryl murdered jason

and y/n helped

The writing is small and barely legible, but it’s there and the more you run your fingers over it the more it carves itself into your heart. 

“Y/n?” Cheryl pants breathlessly and you quickly pull yourself away from it. Instead you stand up properly and pull the sleeves of your sweater down over your hands. The y/f/c scrunchie remains still in your hair and Cheryl has to stare at it for a few seconds to calm herself down. “You weren’t at our spot.” She says quietly and you close your eyes. 

You let her down. You let her down. You always let her down.  

“Sorry Cheryl.” You sigh and sit down in the dirt. Cheryl looks around before sitting beside you. “I just wanted some space.” You add and force yourself to look at her. 

The sun sits behind her, but even that doesn’t seem as bright as it used to be. Nothing is what it used to be. For the past two months, you’ve been told that thats a good thing. But what’s good about someone you loved being dead. What’s good about watching someone else you love go through life but not really live. 

Cheryl just exists. 

But she exists for you. 

Because as lost as she would be without you, she knows you would be just as lost without her. 

It’s an unspoken rule now, you always text each other when you wake up and before you go to sleep. It’s something you used to do anyway, but now you make a point not to forget. Because forgetting means that the worst could have happened, and that’s something neither of you can bare to deal with. 

“I get it.” She nods. “I was just worried that’s all.” She adds, trying to sound as casual as she can. But on the inside she’s screaming. Because she thought you had died, she thought whoever had killed Jason had gotten to you too, and the whole reason you’re both dead is because she wronged the wrong person. 

There’s a lot of people that don’t like Cheryl, being unliked comes naturally to her. But she doesn’t know how she’ll cope if she’s so unlikeable someone she loves died. 

She has no idea why your friends with her to be honest. She saw you staring at her at a football game once. But it wasn’t a stare she was used to. It wasn’t cold like her mothers or jealous like her friends. No, this was nice. You were staring at her like you wanted to know about her, like when you looked at her, you saw a friend not someone to be feared. 

And so Cheryl clung onto the tiny hint of friendship, the crack of a door into something that could happen, and she shoved herself through it. It worked, and now you’re the only person she’s nice to. She’s mean to everyone else, she calls them names and teases them, especially when they’re rude to you...but you stay. And she has no idea why, but she’s not going to wish it away. 

“Shit, sorry Cheryl.” You drop your head into your hands and Cheryl looks at you confused. She looks around, not really sure of what to do. “I didn’t think, God knows what you thought had happened.” You ramble and she realizes you’re crying. Her eyes widen and you look at her, your eyes red and puffed and your lips pulls into frown. 

“It’s okay.” She replies and wraps her arms around you. You bury your head into her neck, the smell of maple and cherries invade your senses and you let out a shaky breath. 

It smells like home and happier times, and you want to crawl into those happy memories and never come back out. “I was just being ridiculous.” She tries to play it off, to make it seem like she couldn’t feel her heartbeat in her throat and the ringing in her ears. Pretend like it didn’t feel like someone had pulled her heart out and stamped on it. 

“No, no you weren’t. I’m really sorry.” You sob and wrap your arms around her. She falls into your neck, surprised but not upset with how tight you’re holding her. She never wants you to let go. But of course she has to, and so however reluctant, she untangles herself from you and lets out a deep sigh. 

“I’m sorry.” You sniffle. She hands you a tissue and you wipe your eyes with it before scrunching it up in your hand. “I’ve just had a rubbish day. Somebody shoved this in my locker.” You frown and pull a balled up piece of paper out of your pocket. 

Cheryl’s eyebrows knit in confusion as she takes it from you, her fingers graze yours and you freeze for a few seconds. 

who do you think did it? 

cheryl __

y/n __

Jamie __

“Why is your brother on here?” Cheryl asks, her voice rising with each word and you rest your hand on top of hers to calm her down. 

“I dunno.” You shrug. “Your parents are on there too.” You add and point further down the page. 

“What a bunch of dicks.” She grumbles and crumples it up. “Do you know who it was?” You shrug and she sighs. 

“I’ve just gotten tired of the staring and the whispers. So I thought I’d just have five minutes peace before going home and having to listen to Jamie cry in his room but pretend he’s okay. Or for my parents to walk on eggshells around both of us. Neither of them know what to say, and because of that they keep saying the wrong thing.” You ramble and she listens intently, trying her best to find a resolution to all of your problems. 

Unfortunately, she doesn’t know the answer to everything, no matter what her mom says. 

“I just thought five minutes by myself can’t be terrible. But then I came down here and someone carve-well it doesn’t matter what they wrote. What matters is that I made you worry at the worst possible time in your life. I hurt you, and I’m really sorry. Believe me, hurting you is the last thing I want to do you. I feel sick even just thinking about it. I never, ever want to hurt you. I love you too much. I love you more that I’ve ever loved anything or anyone ever. I just love yo-” Your eyes widen when you realize what you’ve just admitted to. 

You don’t want to look at her, but she hasn’t said anything in a while and that’s strange for her. So you force yourself to look at her, expecting the worst. Expecting disgust, disappointment, betrayal. But it’s none of those. 

Instead she’s smiling. And she looks actually happy. Something you haven’t seen in so long, something you’re glad to see, despite the circumstances. 

Oh yeah, you’ve just told her you’re in love with her. What do you say after that? 

“I-er-”

“Y/n?” She cuts you off before you get the chance to ruin the moment. She’s known you for long enough to know that when you get nervous, you ramble and when you ramble you say weird things. 

You’re grateful for her cutting you off, usually if she talks over you, it annoys the hell out of you. But this time it’s welcomed and she stifles a small laugh and the sigh of relief you let out. 

But the next thing she says is something that you weren’t expecting, but you’re sure as hell grateful for. 

“Would you like to go on a date?” 

---

The red lights from outside, illuminate Cheryl’s pale face in the night, painting her in a reddish hue and you find yourself staring at her for far longer than would be considered normal. 

Lucky for you, she hasn’t noticed. She doesn’t seem to be paying attention to anything, not really anyway. Instead she stares down at her food, pushing a few fries around the plate and anxiety rises in your chest. 

She’s already regretting doing this. She’s made a mistake and now she doesn’t know how to let you down gently. 

She seems to sense you nerves because she’s looking at you quickly, a sad smile twitching at her lips.

“Sorry, I just. Jason always used to tease me about the two of us. It’s the only thing we’d take about sometimes. He’d constantly ask me if I’d asked you out yet. And every time I would say ‘no, we’re just friends’ but, well neither of us really believed that.” She says, a small laugh escapes her lips near the end, but she quickly shuts it off. It’s too soon for her to be laughing, too soon for her to be happy. 

“Yeah.” You nod and finish your drink. “He used to tease me too. ‘if you don’t tell her, I’ll do it myself’.” You mimic his voice and a ghost of a smile twitches at her lips as she forces herself to look at you. “I am really glad you did ask me though.” Your voice shakes a little with nerves and Cheryl stares at you confused. “I do really like you Cheryl.” 

“I really like you too.” She smiles softly and you stare at her lips. Sometimes you think the red lipstick has permanently stained her lips cherry red. Even when you guys are a sleepover, she still has bright red lips and the other part of you wonders if that’s just what they look like. 

“Hey.” You start and a sly smile twitches at your lips as you remember an old memory. She leans forward, excited to know what you’re smiling about. 

It could literally be anything, from a musty old book she let you borrow from the Thornhill archive, to a new tv show you started to watch. But whatever it is, she’s excited to hear you talk about it. 

“Can you remember last year. It was Jamie’s 16th birthday and you and Jason were invited over. Jason was there because him and Jamie were planning on sneaking out later that night, and you tagged along so you could keep me company.” You start and she smiles at the memory. 

The four of you sat in the living room, while your mom brought cake and your dad sang ‘happy birthday’. Cheryl remembers how happy she was, and she remembers talking to Jason afterwards, the two of them whispering and wondering if that was what a normal family was supposed to look like. 

You, Cheryl and Jason had each pitched in for the record player he wanted. And even though you all knew that just Cheryl alone could have been able to buy him it if she really wanted, you knew they split it for you. 

Jamie was ecstatic when he opened the box, and then all of the records you’d bought to go with it. He’d played it every single day since getting it, but now you haven’t heard it in months.

“Yeah.” She nods, a sad smiling taking over he face. “Can you remember when Jason pushed his face into the cake.” She adds making you snort a laugh. 

The bell above Pop’s rings and Betty and Archie walk in. They send you a sympathetic smile before sitting at their own booth, and you and Cheryl share a look. 

“Would you like another one?” You point at her milkshake and she nods, smiling shyly. 

---

The walk home is over far too soon, and it’s only when you’re standing on your porch do you realize you took the normal way home by accident. Either the media has gone to sleep, or people are starting to forget about Jason and Riverdale. 

That thought makes you frown and Cheryl watches your expression falter before you look back at her again. 

“Thank you for walking me home.” You smile shyly and a nervous laugh escapes her lips. 

“It’s no problem.” She shrugs and the two of you stare at each other for a few seconds longer than normal. She’s about to leave when you grab her hand and spin her around to face you. 

She’s surprised for a second, until suddenly she feels a pair of lips on hers, and then the only thing she can feel is them. Everything else disappears, and though the kiss is short and a little awkward, it’s still perfect. 

“Would you like to come in?” You ask and motion your head to large wooden door. The pain is chipped around the metal numbers, something your mom has nagged your dad about for the past 6 months. “We still have the rest of y/f/s to watch.” 

“I’d love to.” She nods and the two of you grin at each other. “But seriously, how many times have you seen that now?” 

“It doesn’t matter how many times I’ve seen it.” You unlock the front door, giving it a quick kick before you stumble through it. “What matters is that this is the first time you’re seeing it.” You add and she rolls her eyes but follows you up the stairs anyway. 

The sun sets over another day in Riverdale and darkness floods the town. The streets are cold and scary, but wrapped in your duvet and Cheryl’s arms, you’ve never felt warmer. 

[youalexturnermeon]

Chasing the Past Pt. 1(Johnny Lawrence x Reader)

Request by Anon: Could I please get a Johnny Lawrence imagine where he and the reader (who is daniels sister) are secretly dating. Maybe like an old flame back in the 80s and now they reconnected?

A/N: Soo, I decided to split this int two parts since I think nobody wants to read 56746 trillion words in one go on here. This is set about 7 years after Karate Kid and Y/N and Johnny hooked up again. Please let me know if you’re up to part 2

Warnings: swearing, mentions of alcohol, drugs and sex, reader is of age

Wordcount: 1709

It felt odd to be back again. After all it has been more than five years ago since you set foot onto the Los Angeles’ ground for more than just Christmas or a weekend since you moved to New York. Your mom and Daniel stayed in LA and it looked like a forever solution for them, but unlike your family you were never bound to California. And yet after going to college in New York City and working there for two years the tables have turned and you lost your job. And since New York was a pricy city you had no other way than moving back to your family for a few months before you found another job. You could either stay with your slightly neurotic mom or with your over-protective brother. And although the decision was tough at first because you love both of them as much as they went on your nerves, you decided to stay at Daniel’s last minute. After all, only two years separated you and you had a lot in common.

“What are you doing tonight, (Y/N)?” Daniel asked you as you unpacked the last bit of your suitcase “Because I thought, since it’s your first day back home, we could maybe go out for Sushi.”

“Oh Danny” you sighed and laughed “Are you still not over your Karate and Japan obsession?”

Even with you being the long grown-up younger sibling you still loved to mock your brother. He stuck his tongue out and gave you a light shove.

“Fuck you!”

You shoved him back and then he shoved you again, going back and forth like 10-year olds until eventually you both got tired of it and started laughing.

“No seriously, do you have any plans or – “

“Probably going to a party on the beach, like the old times, catch up with some old friends, Linda asked me. I’m actually leaving in about an hour. We can go tomorrow” you answered casually und started picking out a suitable outfit, you never knew who you could be running in from the past.

“I never understood what you all had with the parties on the beach. They’re lame” “Just because you got your ass kicked during a beach party ‘cause you just couldn’t stand not being the centre of attention for once and simply had to play a noble hero, doesn’t mean the parties are lame” “And just because you had the biggest crush on Lawrence since that day doesn’t mean I was wrong for protecting Ali”

Daniel tried to mock you; but you could hear how hurt he was still, thinking back of his teenage years filled with rivalry and heartbreak. You tried to hide a laugh, if he’d also knew that you and Johnny Lawrence hooked up a couple of weeks before you went to college, he’d probably just kill himself out of pity.

“Still hurts, huh, Danny?” you voiced immediately, and he just shrugged it off.

“Just be careful later, okay? I can also pick you up if you want to.” “I’m not 15 anymore, you don’t have to pick me up. You can also just come with me.” “Nah” Daniel shook his head, “I never liked your friends”

“Your loss, it’s never too late to deal with your past” you joked. When your brother left the room, you put on a tight crop top, slipped in your jean shorts and tied a sweater around your hips in case it got cold. You thought, you looked great – you were ready to go.

____

At first, it felt even weirder to be included in your old friend group that it was being back in L.A. But with the alcohol flowing and joints passing and dancing and talking and goofing around it became more and more natural. You weren’t teenagers anymore; you were all young adults and yet if felt like being 16 all over again. Reconnecting felt great. Maybe after all these years of you telling yourself that you didn’t need California and all the people belonging there, convincing yourself that not one cell in your body longed after the warm climate and carelessness, you finally understood that it was a big lie you told yourself. You missed Reseda and you missed all your friends. With all the sentiment finally catching up after five years of chasing you plus the booze and the exhaustion, you had to take a moment for yourself. You took a short walk along the beach and stood there with your feet being caressed by the waves. You drunkenly smiled to yourself, you could finally be happy again.

“(Y/N) fucking LaRusso!”, you suddenly heard a familiar voice behind you which immediately pulled you right out of your thoughts, “Am I dreaming or is that really the girl that broke my heart?”

You didn’t even have the chance to turn around, you were promptly spun around by strong muscular arms and landed in a tight and warm embrace. A natural laugh echoed through the night. You inhaled the familiar scent of the person with the even more familiar voice and when you looked up you saw this face that could’ve been an angel’s if it wasn’t for the bright blue eyes filled with all the mischief in the world. He looked older than the last time you have seen him, his face was more edged than five years ago; and you might’ve been imagining it; but he also got a little taller.

“Johnny!” you shrieked and wrapped your arms even tighter around him “What are you doing here?”

“A little birdie told me the better LaRusso in back in town and I decided to go and see for myself. Since I couldn’t get a hold of you in over five years. It seems like you have been avoiding me at all costs, no letters, no calls, no visits. And it was successful until now.”

He let go of you and stepped back to get a better look at you. You, too, have changed a lot but now you were the hottest girl in town for Johnny.

“Now you can’t escape me”

“To be honest, I have been avoiding everybody since I moved to New York. I didn’t think Johnny Lawrence had a heart in the first place and especially not one to break it” you said; and you bluntly took his hand and started dragging him back to the gathering where everybody still was drinking and dancing “Let’s go have a drink and catch up”

“What do you mean, you didn’t know if I had a heart and that you broke it” he laughed and devotedly let himself being hauled behind you. He would let you do anything to him, right now. He missed you and never wanted this moment to end.

“At first, the little LaRusso seduces me, gives me some kind of victory over the shit LaRusso, gifts me the best month of my life with the best sex of my life and without a word disappears to the other side of the country. This shattered my little heart into pieces”

“Fuck off, Johnny Lawrence” you grinned “As if this somehow tickled you in any sense. Let’s just get drunk and forget about it”

Johnny was hurt you didn’t believe him because for once he did not lie about this. You leaving, really left him all broken for a few weeks and he still loved to remember the time you spent together. But since this was ancient history now, he was okay with just getting drunk with you.

“Hey guys, look what the cat dragged in” you loudly exclaimed when you and Johnny, still holding your hand, arrived in midst of all the partying people “Johnny fucking Lawrence! Can you fucking believe this???”

“That Johnny Lawrence you were crushing on since you first saw him kicking your brother’s ass?” Linda, your oldest friend from high school, the one who took you to that party, asked sarcastically whilst handing you and Johnny red cups filled with booze. You excitedly nodded.

“Yeah, I was the one who told him that the less famous (Y/N) LaRusso is back”

“No way!” you shrieked and threw your lightly drunken self on Linda, hugging her “Thank you!”

“Jesus, I didn’t know, (Y/N) would be that happy to see me” Johnny whispered to Linda when you let go of her and shifted your attention to other friends wanting to know about you and the infamous Johnny Lawrence who still seemed to be a star amongst all although everyone finished high school years ago.

“To be honest, I thought she’d jump on my throat just like her big brother if she sees me here”

“Don’t worry, I got her drunk enough before you arrived” Linda said.

“Thank you!” Johnny mouthed; he was the happiest he had been in years. He took a deep breath and spun you around, so for the second time today you laded directly in his embrace which now turned into a dance. And to be fair, the night couldn’t get any better for you either. Johnny and you laughed and talked and drank and danced, getting closer and closer to each other with every song. And the rest of the night turned into a big wonderful blur.

___

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was your terribly aching head. You didn’t even open your eyes yet and you already knew how terrible of a hangover that would be. You tried not to move but even the slightest motion that involved nothing more than breathing shot a bullet of pain right to your brain. Finally, when you dared to slightly open your eyes you realized that your head was resting on a muscular chest, softly falling and rising. You were not alone and were not in your bed and especially not in Daniel’s apartment. Curiously you lifted the covers that were lazily thrown over two bodies and a silent “FUCK” escaped your lips. You were completely naked and the athletic man on whose chest you were resting was too bare ass naked.

“Fuck!” you whispered again; and you would’ve had laughed if you knew that it wouldn’t cause you any pain and blurry glimpses of the night came suddenly back to you.

Click for Part 2

[kagedaddy]

you hangout - haikyuu!

Warnings: none

boyfriend scenarios [3] [masterlist]

woo! i hit 200 followers, どうもありがとうございます (thank you so much)! shoot me an ask for any one shot requests for the 200 followers special!

oikawa tooru

Your phone buzzes in your pocket, you pull out your phone to read the notification.

It was Oikawa.

‘(last name)-chan where are you?’

Your cousin and you were running a little late to his volleyball lessons it had been because you stayed up late messaging a certain Seijoh boy.

‘we’re running late, nearly there’

You quickly replied as you both ran for the community centre,”(first name), I don’t wanna be late,”came the sad voice of your cousin, you mentally smack yourself for not waking up to your alarm.

That chocolate haired male is gonna get a scolding for keeping you up late.

You push the doors to the community centre and sigh in relief as the volleyball class of your cousin has not started. Your cousin runs to his class before quickly giving you a hug, you smile before heading to the benches where a certain someone was waiting for you.

“(last name)-chan finally!”he jumps up from his seat, chocolate locks bouncing with him, you feign anger towards the setter,”Oi Oikawa you made us late!”you cross your arms over yourself.

But you couldn’t maintain it, he was too cute. He looks at you with a pout on his lips and you failed to contain your smile. You take the seat beside him,”You kept me up late last night, I missed my alarm this morning.”It was your turn to pout, he pinches your cheek and they heat up from his contact, you lighty smack his hand away before covering your own cheeks.

“Aww I’m sorry (last name)-chan, I just like talking to you.”your cheeks flush even more and you had to look away so he wouldn’t notice.

”Its okay, I like talking to you too.”you muttered.

“Let me buy you ice-cream as an apology.”he clears his throat, at the mention of ice-cream your face lights up and you jump up from the seat,”really?”your eyes glimmering in excitement, he nods chuckling at your childish behaviour, before grabbing your arm and dragging you out the community centre.

You hum in satisfaction as you licked on the cold treat, the male setter before you stares with a huge smile plastered on his lips,”what?”you ask, now feeling a little bit self-conscious from his staring.

“Nothing, you’re just so cute.”

iwaizumi hajime

“(first name)-chan, Iwaizumi-san is at the door,”your younger sibling yells out from the front door,”okay, can you let him in. I’ll be down in a bit,”I finish up the last of my makeup before heading downstairs to meet Iwaizumi, you were nervous this was the first time you’ll be hanging out with him alone alone, he needed to pick up some groceries and you had been nice enough to help him out.

“Hi!”you say shyly, the male looks up to you and a smile plays on his lips,”you look nice.”he rubs the back of his neck and both of you flush, while your younger sibling snickers at the both of you.

“Oi (sibling name),”you smack your sibling lightly before fully turning your attention to the handsome man,”uh, let’s go?”you say and he nods his head as he leads you out of your house. “Don’t forget to do your homework (sibling name), dinner is in the fridge.”you remind your younger sibling before you and Iwaizumi exit your house gate.

“You’re such a nice older sister,”the tan male praises and you feel your cheeks heat up,”thanks! Do you have any siblings?”the male shakes his head,”but I feel like I have one cause of Shittykawa,”you raise an eyebrow in amusement.

“Is he that bad?”you giggle and Iwaizumi smiles, oh God was he attractive.

You both arrive at the supermarket and it was pretty packed, it was a Friday night. He pulls out his grocery list both of you scanning the list before on deciding to head to the personal care aisle. 

“Can you hand me the tsubaki shampoo?”you pick the red shampoo bottle and handle it over to Iwaizumi who drops it in his basket, you both go through the grocery list, passing each other items and getting lost in all the aisles.

You couldn’t help but blush at the moment, it seemed as though both of you were dating or married. Doing groceries together, you had to walk away for a moment to cooldown and get yourself together. 

“Are you okay?”Iwaizumi asks, concern written all over his face. His eyebrows furrowed as he puts the back of his hand on your forehead, “you seem fine,”he tilts his head in confusion. 

You assure him everything is alright and continue on your supermarket adventure.

Finally the last item on the list, the meat. The butcher section was empty except for the old man waiting for his cuts,”hi, what can I get you both?”the butcher asks. You both browse the meat selection, pointing out which meat would be the best to purchase but you both couldn’t agree on anything. 

“Are you two newly weds?”you both paused, cheeks burning red from the question,”No, we’re not!”you answered the butcher who just chuckled at you and Iwaizumi red faces. “Sorry, you both act like it,”the butcher apologises and bows.

//

heyya guys, my mental state right now isn’t the best. i’m still having a hard time coping with my break up. anyways i’m sorry, leave a like and comment if you enjoyed today’s post, i’ll try my best to update more frequently and send me asks. have a great day!

all the love xx

[bananaofswifts]

5 STARTS

While the rest of the world was busy baking banana bread and on endless Zoom quizzes, Swift was secretly working on the record, teaming up with The National‘s Aaron Dessner and Bon Iver‘s Justin Vernon, alongside long-time collaborator Jack Antonoff and boyfriend Joe Alwyn (under the pseudonym William Bowery). She cast aside her usual meticulously planned album campaigns and instead unceremoniously dropped the album with less than 24 hours’ notice.

With its follow-up, ‘Evermore’, also announced mere hours before its release, Swift has said that she “travels further into the forest” of the “folklorian woods”. While Swift albums of the past have largely existed as self-contained ‘eras’, the music and process of ‘Folklore’ inspired further songwriting.

This is a “sister record” to ‘Folklore’, and there are immediate similarities between the two. Once again, it’s largely produced by Aaron Dessner (he has a production credit on all but one song), who this time around wrangles his bandmates in The National (they are officially featured on ‘Coney Island’ and pop up with instrumental and arrangement credits throughout). Swift’s other ‘Folklore’ collaborators all appear too. While ‘Evermore’ also sees Swift continuing to write stories from a third-person perspective, these two records certainly aren’t twins.

If ‘Folklore’ is an introspective, romantic older sister, ‘Evermore’ is the freewheeling younger sibling. ‘Folklore’ was Swift’s masterful songwriting spun through a very specific sonic palette; ‘Evermore’ feels looser, with more experimentation, charm and musical shades at play. The new album reaps the rewards the stylistic leap of faith that ‘Folklore’ represented, pushing the boundaries of that sonic palette further still.

She plays more with genre here, too. ‘No Body, No Crime’, which features the Haim sisters, is a full-blown country revenge song that ends in the murder of a philandering husband, breezily cramming the sort of story you’d find in a David Fincher film into a matter of minutes.

Elsewhere, ‘Closure’ is filled with weird time signatures, taking Dessner’s distinctive production in a more experimental direction (as heard on The National’s 2017 album ‘Sleep Well Beast’). Then there’s ‘Cowboy like Me’, a rootsy blues-laced number that features backing vocals from Mumford & Sons‘ Marcus Mumford and wouldn’t feel out of place on Lana Del Rey’s ‘Norman Fucking Rockwell!’.

On ‘Dorothea’, dancing piano lines accompany the story of a lovelorn boy whose high-school sweetheart left to try and make it in Hollywood; the song boasts vocal melodies that could have appeared on her self-titled 2006 debut. The twinkling ‘Champagne Problems’, with its lyrics about a rejected marriage proposal’, comes off as a sibling to Swift’s 2008 mega-hit ‘Love Story’.

The most striking difference between ‘Folklore’ and ‘Evermore’, though, is that, occasionally, the new album sees her reaching for fizzing pop heights again. Both ‘Gold Rush’ (co-written with Antonoff) and ‘Long Story Short’ add a layer of ‘1989’-style gloss to the proceedings, imbuing Swift’s ‘folklorian’ sound with a dash of the ‘80s-inspired synth-pop that coursed through that 2014 album. Both tracks feel like they could explode into a banging, stadium-ready chorus if placed into the hands of pop master-producer Max Martin chorus, but instead pull it back at the last minute and favour subtlety.

Swift’s pithy turn of phrase and vibrant yarn spinning are still front-and-centre on ‘Evermore’. ‘Gold Rush’ uses typically Swiftian lyric techniques, with the words free-flowing like a waterfall, emphasising the heartbreaking details: “And the coastal town / We wandered round / Had never seen a love as pure as it / And then it fades into the grey of my day-old tea”). Meanwhile, ‘Ivy’ depicts somebody’s shame at falling in love with another despite being married, employing rich metaphors: “I can’t / Stop you putting roots in my dreamland / My house of stone / Your ivy grows / And now I’m covered in you”).

There are some personal moments, too – see ‘Marjorie’, a song about Swift’s opera singing grandmother Marjorie Finlay, which elegantly depicts the knotty guilt that’s so often tied up with grief (“And I complained the whole way there / The car ride back and up the stairs / I should’ve asked you questions / I should’ve asked you how to be”), accompanied by backing vocals courtesy of Justin Vernon and a recording of Finlay’s operatic vocals.

The album finishes with the title track, a beacon of hope in the shit-show that is 2020. Opening with a simple piano accompaniment courtesy of William Bowery/Joe Alwyn, Swift honestly reveals that she’s “been down since July”, later adding: “I had a feeling so peculiar / That this pain would be for / Evermore.”

Midway through, though, as Bon Iver’s Justin Vernon joins the fray with his devastating signature howl, the fog starts to lift. Euphoric instrumentals erupt as Swift finally concludes: “I had a feeling so peculiar… This pain wouldn’t be for / Evermore”. It’s a sentiment of hope for the future to finish a pair of albums created in the mess that has been this year.

[cheri-translates]

Headcanon - when he’s drunk

This work, 当他喝醉了, was originally written by 君兮耶君兮 on Weibo, and she has given me permission to translate it 🌸

[ VICTOR ]

When Goldman called you, you were a little surprised. From what you remember, you’ve only seen Victor drunk twice. 

Draping a jacket over your shoulders, you speed downstairs to collect him from Goldman. If it weren’t for Victor grabbing the hem of your clothes and refusing to let go, you’d have suspected that he wasn’t drunk at all.

Holding his head, you lead him into the house and onto the sofa. “Sit here. I’ll prepare some sobering-up tea.”

Victor remains silent, his head lowered as he continues playing with the corners of your clothes. With a sigh, you have no choice but to let him follow you into the kitchen.

After helping to wash his face and rinse his mouth, you direct him into the bedroom. “Victor, I’ll wash your clothes. You should go to bed first.”

“No.” 

His voice is so soft that you think you misheard.

His fuzzy hair nuzzles against the crook of your neck, and he leans on your shoulder as he says, “Don’t go. Don’t leave me alone.”

Tch, wash clothes? What clothes? I’ll smother him with affection first!

[ GAVIN ]

It’s evident on his face once he’s drunk. 

This is the first time he’s attending a get-together with you in the capacity of a family member. In response to coaxing headed by Minor, Gavin downed several drinks. Unable to ward off peer pressure, he got drunk fairly quickly.

After the gathering, you hold onto him as the two of you walk home slowly. 

When drunk, Gavin is very quiet, and doesn’t go into a drunken rampage.

When passing by the Ferris wheel in the park, Gavin suddenly pauses. Puzzled, you turn to him. “What’s wrong?”

Gavin meets your eyes seriously. “Ferris wheel. You like it.” 

A sweetness blooms in your heart and you smile. Even in a drunken state, he doesn’t forget what you like?

He pulls you towards the ticketing booth. Before you can react, you find yourself brought onto the Ferris wheel. Leaning against the window of the capsule overlooking the night scenery of Loveland City, you spot something and tug on his arm. “Gavin, it’s Loveland High!”

Gavin doesn’t respond. When you turn, you get lost in the depths of his eyes. The capsule sinks into silence.

As though something occurs to him, Gavin casts a glance outside the window, then pulls you by the waist and gives you a kiss. The faint scent of wine enters your nose. It’s different from his usual kisses, which are akin to dragonflies flitting across the surface of water. 

With a tinge of urgency, the tip of his tongue parts your teeth, engaging your tongue in a passionate dance. His actions plunder your breath. It is only when you’re just about to run out of air that he releases you.

With unsteady breaths, you lean against his chest. 

He scratches the tip of your nose affectionately. “Minor said that sharing a kiss when the Ferris wheel reaches its zenith means we’ll never be apart. I love you.”

Hearing what he said, you lift your head and plant a kiss on his Adam’s apple. “I love you too.”

-

After stepping off the Ferris wheel a little clumsily, Gavin stares at you again. “I love you.”

“Me too.”

“I love you.”

“All right.”

“I love you.”

“Mm.”

“I love you.”

“...” He’s really drunk.

[ LUCIEN ]

Professor Lucien rarely drinks. He says alcohol will affect his clear-headedness when doing experiments. 

After a successful experiment, the boys from the research centre organise a celebratory party, and offer you and Lucien a toast. Naturally, Lucien drinks on your behalf, and a Drunk Lucien appears...

“Wife, we’re home~” Lucien pulls on your sleeves as the two of you step through the doors. 

You poke the head that’s resting on your shoulder. “Are you drunk?”

“I'm not,” he answers quickly.

“Are you sure...”

“Is my wife going to continue staying by my side?” he asks, hugging you by the waist.

After receiving an affirmative response, he rubs his head against your cheek. “Will my wife agree to any requests I have?”

Smiling, you decide to go along with him. “That’s right, if Student Lucien has any requests, just let me know~”

There’s a change in the look in Lucien’s eyes, his fingers setting your body aflame. “In that case, I’ll have to trouble my wife to give me a child.”

“You aren’t drunk at all!”

“I already said that I’m not drunk, but my wife doesn’t believe me~”

[ KIRO ]

Seeing Kiro squatting in a corner of the room like a mushroom gives you a headache. It’s all your fault for not watching him when the director kept goading him to drink.

You reach out to pat him. “Kiro?”

“Miss Chips, don’t touch me. Your Kiro wants to be alone for a while QAQ” Kiro waves your hand away.

You were just cracking a joke earlier when you said you wouldn’t bring him back home if he refused to leave. He’s been huddling in a corner for almost an hour. 

Kiro suddenly stands up and whips out his phone. Perplexed, you’re about to ask who he’s calling when you hear Savin’s voice from the other end.

“Savin QAQ, I should make myself clear. If Miss Chips no longer wants me, I’ll definitely chase after her. When that happens, help me take care of the bag of chips behind the television, the jelly and yogurt in the garage cabinet, and the instant noodles in the guitar case QAQ. Remember to collect the parcel of snacks that hasn’t arrived yet. Miss Chip’s name should be on it. Don’t let them pile up QAQ.” Despondent, Kiro hands Savin... information that can be used against him.

You watch as he hangs up. You sigh, tousling his hair. “Don’t worry Kiro, I’ll never not want you~”

“Really?” His watery blue eyes stare at you as you nod. 

“Miss Chips QwQ” Kiro rushes to hug you tightly. You return the hug, and he eventually falls asleep in your arms.

[Message from Savin:] I took a recording of what you said... you and your snacks are done for 🙂

[ SHAW ]

You collect a drunken Shaw from Adam. 

A drunk Shaw is different from his typical arrogant and despotic self, and even carries a certain agreeability that comes with typical university students.

You pat his head. “Shaw, let’s go to sleep.”

With his eyes closed, he mutters, “I don’t want to. Sister, don’t look down on me.”

You freeze. Most of the time, the notion of looking down on each other is tossed around in a joking manner. “Do I look down on you?”

Hearing this, Shaw purses his lips. “You always call me ‘Little Brother”. Aren’t you looking down on me for being younger...”

“I’m not. I’m just teasing you.” You respond quickly.

“You also say that I’m childish.”

“...don’t I complement you?” 

“Wait till I’m of marriageable age, then I’ll marry you!”

You don’t respond.

He opens his eyes, looking at you both hazily and seriously. “Will you wait for me?” 

“I will.”

With your affirmative answer, Shaw hugs you, burying his head in the crook of your neck. “You’re mine for the rest of this lifetime!”

You lower your head, returning the hug. “All right.”

–

More translated and original works: here

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[ Permission to translate ]

君兮耶君兮: You can - just note the source of the author