#and my married brother told all us unmarried ones that he expects us to be engaged by next week

[speechlessxx]

my house of stone, your ivy grows & now i’m covered in you.

{King!Steve Rogers x noblewoman!Reader}

with a side of Prince/King!Peter Parker x Reader

ROYALTY/MEDIEVAL AU

summary -> engaged to the Prince of Arachnia, the young maiden finds her heart calling out the name of another. 

warnings-> infidelity. age gap! (reader’s age isn’t explicitly said but she’s younger than Steve). poorly & awkwardly written SMUT.  (includes: unprotected sex, brief fingering, slight breeding kink). rambles. angst. fluff. lots of tension. bittersweet ending :)  

A/N -> for smut part, please scroll if you are not 18+. MINORS DNI

word count -> 12k+ !!! this one’s a lengthy one & i had no intentions of turning it into a series. it just got long. 

Buy Me A Kofi

At the ripe age of five-years-old, you were plucked from your childhood, abandoning all the childish whims and adventures to be groomed to be the perfect wife. No more rolling in the dirt with your older brothers or mucking about the stables with the horses or fencing with sticks that substituted the steel bladed swords.

It all quickly became sewing needles and recipes, cleaning and books balanced on your crown.

You were taught it all.

How to behave. How to stand or sit. How to greet and host. How to exist in silence because “a lady is to be seen and never heard,” as your teacher, Madam Morris, would say. The many lessons were engraved into your mind while the meaningless tasks and skills became muscle memory.

Be pious. Be kind. Smile. Be what your husband wants. Laugh. (no, not like that). Do as your husband says. Be interesting but not too much. Never overshadow your husband. Don’t disappoint or you will bring shame upon your family.

What a burden to place on the shoulders of a young teen though it was expected of you. Coming from an aristocratic family, it was all you ever knew: “get a husband and make us proud”.

As the years droned on and you approached adulthood, the pressure to marry became more and more prominent. And when you shed past your teen years as an unmarried young adult, the disappointment and shame began to show. Your family throwing distaste your way with snide remarks and mocking smirks.

The embarrassment felt as if it had been painted across your cheeks and you grew restless, convincing yourself to accept any opportunities of marriage just to be rid of their cruelty.

So, when the Prince of Arachnia arrived at your father’s estate and asked for permission to court you, you had no choice but to accept.

Prince Peter Benjamin Parker was nothing short of the perfect gentleman. As you walked, he’d ensure that you were safely tucked into his side opposite of the streets. He’d hold your hand steady as you exited carriages. He’d leave chaste kisses on your forehead or knuckles – almost always on your left ring finger – even though your chaperone would throw a disapproving glance his way.

You thought of him as charming with his tousled, dark brown curls with matching eyes that squinted as he smiled or laughed harder than he intended.

“He would make a great king someday,” your father would sing his praises. “And you, my dove, will be his fine queen.”

You were never fond of these comments, never finding any appreciation or gratitude when they were uttered to you. Though the thought of being queen would make any young girl giddy with excitement, you found an odd sensation of dread within you.

You weren’t sure where the feelings had originated from. Were you nervous about being a queen? About the responsibility of running not only an estate but an entire country as well? Or was it the fact you would forever be labeled as his queen rather than the queen? Did you detest the idea of belonging to another person for the rest of your life?

“Are you alright?” His voice brought you back into the present. You swallowed as you turned away from the window facing the garden of roses that your mother was so proud of to face the prince. You curtseyed although he’s told you many times it was unnecessary.

“I’m grand,” you lied with a weary smile though he bought it all the same.

Peter grinned a toothy smile as he took your hand in his. It was then you felt the weight of the engagement ring on your finger. The sapphire blue was an oval shape, large enough to cover the skin of your knuckle. The center jewel adorned a halo of smaller diamonds. All this sitting on the delicate white gold band that wrapped around your finger like a shackle.

He brought your hand to his lips, placing a kiss upon the sapphire. “I shall be counting down the days,” he whispered in the quiet room. You forced another smile and nodded.

“As will I.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

Arachnia wasn’t a large country nor was it tiny either. It had eight main roads that extended into the towns with the capital and its palace in the center. It had been said that the main roads were all equal in length so that everyone was at an equal distance from the palace though you weren’t so sure that there was truth to this. Your father’s estate sat near the south of Arachnia, in one of the nicer towns. The ride to Peter’s real home felt like an eternity.

It had been his idea, of course, that you be brought to the palace months ahead of the wedding. “Life in the castle is different to life in the towns,” he told you before, weeks into your courtship, “Everyone’s always watching.” He reasoned that the prying eyes needed to get used to the presence of his future queen, but you understood it all the same – that although it was crucial that you adjust to court, it was equally, if not more so, important that the court adjust to you.

“I will give you the grand tour,” he said as you put your head on his shoulder. The journey, although short, had picked at your energy. All you wanted was to close your eyes and sleep, but his excited chatter kept pulling you back into consciousness. As much as you wanted to tell him to pipe down, you knew you couldn’t. Not only was he your husband to be, but he was also your soon to be king. “There’s fountains and gardens – I had them plant roses like the ones in your mother’s – “

The words became muddled nonsense as you slowly dozed off. The journey and your sleepless night, picking at the skin on your fingers, had finally caught up to you, making your eyelids heavy with sleep.

You jolted awake as the carriage hit a bump. You and Peter’s head slammed into each other, waking you both. You groaned, rubbing the spot as he mirrored you.

“You alright?” Peter asked you. You nodded, still rubbing the spot. Peter leaned over and kissed it and you gave him a tight-lipped smile. “You’ve been rather quiet. Is there something on your mind?”

You shook your head. “No, your highness,” you said. “I am just a bit nervous, is all.”

“Don’t be.” Peter chuckled. “The kingdom will fall in love with you just as I have.”

“And if they do not? Shall you find another bride?”

Peter’s smile faltered before shaking his head. “Those who do not immediately fall for my queen are mad and I shall find them the greatest court physician to treat their delusions.” He wrapped his arm around your shoulder. You placed your head against his and took in a shaky breath.

There it was again. My queen. Another reminder that you no longer belonged to yourself. That as soon as vows are exchanged and he places another band on top of the enormous ring you already wore, you were completely his to own.

And suddenly that sweet moment, wrapped in your fiancé’s arms, was cut short as that familiar feeling of dread washed over you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

After weeks following your arrival in the center of Arachnia, it still didn’t feel like your home, rather it was Peter’s. The maids didn’t follow your orders nor did the kitchen staff. Heavens knows that the knights and the other noblemen wouldn’t acknowledge you. It felt as if no one knew your name, save for Prince Peter and his aunt, Lady May Parker.

You were merely a stranger in their court, the soon to be king’s guest.

Although the preparations for Peter’s coronation should’ve been your duty, Lady Parker seized the job, citing that you weren’t the queen just yet. “Let me alleviate you of this, Lady (Y/N).” She told you with a smile. “After your marriage, I shall step aside and allow you all the duties as the lady of the castle.” And in many ways, you were grateful that this was not your responsibility for the coronation of Prince Peter Parker had been long awaited for.

After Peter’s uncle, King Benjamin, passed and with Peter’s father long gone before then, the young prince was suddenly eyed to be the king. However, the councilmen thought that the boy was too young – too green to be king. They waited years until Peter came of age and once he finally did, they refused a peaceful transition of power. Instead, there were harsh rumors that the kingdom would be handed to Brooklyn’s King.

This debacle led to rumors of unrest and threats of civil war. It felt as if the entire continent held its breath as it stared at Arachnia, waiting for the violence to begin.

If King Anthony of Starken and Lady Parker did not intervene, then there would’ve been lives lost and a country torn. An agreement was made between House Parker and their council: that before Peter may take the throne, he must either be married or engaged, so that the line of succession may be secured.

And with your presence and Peter’s sapphire ring, the crown became his in an instant.

Nearly three weeks before his coronation, lords and ladies along with royals from other countries flocked to Arachnia to celebrate its king.

Lady Parker and Prince Peter introduced you to so many people in the coming days that none of their names truly stuck. All except one.

King Steven Rogers of Brooklyn.

The tall, broad man strode through the castle halls. His royal blue clothes made his eyes pop in the daylight. You thought he was beautiful. His presence demanded attention and he walked with a knowing smirk. Cocky. Arrogant. You profiled as he stood in front of Peter, towering over him.

Peter, still a prince, bowed to him as you did. “You’re younger than I expected.” The King’s voice was contradicting to his loud presence. His tone was even and steady like soft currents of a river or the expert strokes of a painter upon a canvas. You didn’t realize he was speaking to you until Peter called your name.

“King Steven, allow me to introduce my bride to be, Lady (Y/N).” Peter’s brow glistened with sweat though he stood tall. He was nervous. You could tell by the way his pitch was higher than it usually was. Under the king’s eye, he felt inferior. Insecure, even. Because although Peter was charming and slender, King Steven was intimidatingly handsome and built. Peter looked like a prince whereas Steven exuded the confidence of the king and looked like it, too.

You knew of the history between Brooklyn and Arachnia. There had been rumors that if Prince Peter could not get the crown, that the entire country would become part of Brooklyn’s, part of this other king’s domain.

“It’s a pleasure, my lady,” the king smiled at you and your eyes rounded as butterflies erupted from your stomach. He took your hand in his and you felt goosebumps rise all over your skin. A nervous, ragged breath escaped you as he brought your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss upon your knuckles like Peter’s done a million times.

But your reaction was different. Your face went hot, and you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. You could feel it between your legs, a feeling you had never felt before. Pulsing. Throbbing.

King Steven’s hand lingered over yours for a few seconds more, thumb grazing your skin and over the sapphire. You suddenly felt embarrassed – as beautiful as the ring was, it was so large that it looked odd on your dainty hand.

“Beautiful ring,” he complimented with a nod to Peter. “Excellent taste.” It wasn’t clear if the king was complimenting the ring or the young woman who wore it and no one dared question such a distinguished man.

You pulled your hand away from his with a bow of your head. You couldn’t look him in the eye for a second more. “Thank you for joining us, your majesty.”

The king smiled at your fiancé before nodding. “I look forward to your coronation, Peter. I’m sure it’ll be a pleasant event.”

You forced a smile as you and your fiancé greeted the next guest. The pleasantries and introductions fell upon deaf ears because as you looked up, searching through the crowd, your eyes immediately found his already staring back at you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

It felt as if there was a party every single day. A festival in the courtyard. A feast every night. You began to wonder where was all this money coming from – were the people being taxed heavily for the enjoyment of the upper class? Lady Parker assured you that Arachnia was well funded and that where the expenses exceeded their budget, they were handled by King Anthony, who considered it an early marriage present.

You sat like a decorated ornament next to Peter, surrounded by the other royals at a round table. You felt out of place in a gown made from your town’s finest tailor whereas the queens and princesses around you wore one-of-a-kind pieces. You were reminded, again, that you were just an aristocrat’s daughter, the fiancé of a king sitting among the men and women that bards wrote songs about.

You felt as if you were set to be the butt of the joke in another round of ridicule as King Anthony drew his attention from teasing Peter to you.

“You,” he began, words a bit slurred due to the ale in his overflowing cup, “are very gorgeous. My love,” he directed to his wife, Queen Virginia, “don’t you agree?”

“Yes, you are a delight, Lady (Y/N).” The strawberry blonde smiled at you. You returned the smile, timidly.

“Likewise, your majesty,” you returned before nodding your head to the rest of the table. “All of you are wonderful.” Truthfully, many of their names went over your head and to save yourself the embarrassment, you refrained from calling any of them by name, only saying simple titles like your majesty and my lord or lady.

“Lady (Y/N),” the princess from the foreign land, Sokovia you think, called your attention. You believe her name was Wanda, or at least that was what the King of Hawksview called her. “Are you excited for whatever adventures marriage will bring you?” Her tone was drunk and teasing. It was clear what she was alluding to though you weren’t quite sure if you caught on.

“Oh, dear,” Peter chuckled, awkwardly, obviously understanding. His face a beet red as he patted your hand that sat on your lap. “Dove, you do not need to answer.”

“Dove?” King Steven, the one man you knew by name, questioned from across the round table. He sat directly in front of you and you swore he sat there deliberately.

“It’s what my father calls me,” you explained though your voice was a bit scratchy, your throat dry. You coughed before taking a sip from your barely touched ale, finding the taste quite revolting. You shifted uncomfortably in the seat as you felt the prying eyes of the Brooklyn King stare through you as if you were glass.

“Dove.” He repeated, trying the petname out. “Sweet. Innocent.”

“Oh, you stop teasing, Steve,” the woman with dark red hair rolled her eyes. You remembered her being called Nat though you did remember her from your history lessons. Queen Natalia Romanova of Widow’s Peak, the queen who paved the way for women on the battlefield. She was revered and you were in awe when you met her.

“If we’re teasing, shall we jest about how Steven has yet to marry?” The prince from Asgard laughed. He pushed his long black hair over his shoulder as his older brother, the blonde – the King – swatted at his forearm with the back of his hand as if to say be quiet.

Steven smirked, eyes shifting to his lap, before chuckling. “Laugh and tease all you want,” he said, grabbing his cup and bringing it to his lips.

“Why is it you haven’t married?” Queen Natasha’s husband, Bruce – you think – asked.

Attention shifted back to Brooklyn’s king as he shrugged, taking another swig from his cup. His eyes darted around the table as if gaging – studying – the group.

You found it odd. Many of the royals around you considered the others their closest friends, yet here he was, a mystery to them still. It was as if he was content with going unseen and unheard. You could understand.

“C’mon, Stevie,” King Anthony taunted with a pet name. The blonde’s jaw tensed for a moment but quickly released. You frowned at that – was there tension between the two kings? “Handsome, wealthy king with vast holdings and a powerful kingdom, yet no marriage? It’s like you’re not trying, Steven.”

The Brooklyn king chuckled again, brows lifting with an amused look. His eyes met yours and you felt your face go hot again. Your gown shifted underneath the table as your knee bumped Peter’s when you crossed your legs. He looked away.

“I would not get married simply because I need a crown,” his eyes shifted to Peter before shifting back to his cup, “or I need an alliance, or my country requires finances or resources. Brooklyn’s striving under my rule.” He said it so calmly and smugly as if he weren’t throwing condescending comments about his friends’ marriages right in front of them.

“If I were to get married,” Steven’s ocean eyes met yours again like the waves crashing into a shore, “it would be because I’m in love.”

You shifted in your seat, that pulsing, throbbing ache returning as you held his stare. You bit your lip before nervously breaking the eye contact to pick at the bread roll on your plate.

You suddenly jumped when Peter draped his arm around your shoulder, completely unaware that he was about to do so, too preoccupied to appear occupied. He shot you a worried glance, but you gave him a tight smile and a nod.

“Well, I, for one,” he smiled, “am marrying for love.” Peter pressed a kiss to your temple, and you felt your smile drop for a second. Just a mere second – maybe even less.

No one noticed, you assured yourself with a relieved exhale. You scanned the round table to find that everyone smiled at you and your fiancé with dopey grins, staring at the two children in love. However, Steven’s was different.

No… The king had a knowing smirk on his face as if to say, I saw.

»————-　⚜　————-«

With the coronation in a fortnight, you and Peter found yourselves on edge. Your shoulders always felt tense which left an ache in your neck, leaving you to rub out the knots but to no avail.

Peter’s nerves made him jittery. During meals, his leg bounced up and down with nerves. The sudden movement often shaking the table, leaving you in an annoyed silence. To cope with his pending coronation nerves, the young prince whisked himself into meaningless tasks and hobbies in hopes to distract himself.

Unfortunately, this meant that he often left you to yourself, leaving you to dwell in your unease on your own.

You confided in Lady Parker about your nerves though she returned your concern with a small frown. “You aren’t getting coronated, why are you nervous?” She chuckled dismissively. You nearly snapped then but was able to stop yourself before saying anything offensive to Lady Parker.

Deciding that your thoughts were better left unsaid, you isolated yourself in the stairwell on the south wing of the castle. In your time here at Arachnia, this quickly became your favorite spot. The south wing was nowhere near the bustling crowds of guests and their parties, making it the quietest place in the castle at times. There was a wide window that stood above the stairs; it brought in gorgeous sunlight and you often found yourself basking in its warmth.

However, with your troubled thoughts, the south wing stairwell’s window brought you no comfort at all as you gnawed on the bump on the inside of your cheek. It was a habit you picked up when you were being taught to be a lady – a lady is to be seen and never heard – so you opted to biting back your opinions and retorts, whether it be physical or metaphorical.

Though Lady Parker was right, the coronation was Peter’s worry alone, it would not only be Peter that would be judged and watched by the entire continent the moment that crown is on his head. Even now as a mere lady, the fiancé of their soon to be king, you were burdened with such scrutiny and you were sure that this would only increase three-fold once Peter was crowned king.

The pressures would only worsen once you were dubbed Peter’s queen.

So, you sat pensively in your thoughts near the top of the stairs as you enjoyed the last few months of peace you had left.

“For an engaged woman, I do find you alone too many times,” a voice took you from your thoughts as it carried through the empty stairwell. You looked up and met the amused smirk of King Steven Rogers.

You stood up from your spot and found your footing at the top of the staircase before you curtseyed. “Your majesty,” you greeted.

“Most brides tend to cling to their fiancé, fighting to be by their side every waking moment,” the king mused, quirking an eyebrow up, “but not you.”

“I suppose.”

“May I?” He gestured to the unoccupied seat next to you. You bit your lip before nodding, sitting down again, but this time with the king’s warmth next to you. “Is something on your mind, Lady (Y/N)?”

“No, your majesty,” you said a bit too quickly and he saw through you.

He tutted, knowingly. “I know a troubled lady when I see one,” he pressed. “Please, my lady, speak freely as if I am just a friend.”

“I hadn’t realized I was friends with a king,” you muttered. You felt his eyes on you as you tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear and stared at your lap.

The conversation stilled as the silence built, but you found comfort in the king’s presence. Although his eyes made you uneasy and nervous, he brought you a strange sense of peace.

His soft chuckle pulled you from your thoughts again. “Lady (Y/N).” He said your name and you glanced over at him with a brow cocked up. “I noticed that you don’t speak, not often, at least.”

“I was taught to never speak unless spoken to.”

He scoffed. “That’s a habit that you’ll grow out of.” He saw confusion flash through your expression and smiled, gently. “A strong, respected queen demands attention as she enters a room. Every step she takes must be a stride of confidence so that no one ever questions her status.”

“A status that my husband, the king, gives me. I cannot over-step. I would undermine him.”

“Peter’s a king,” Steven corrected. “I never said you would over-step, but a true king would ensure that he and his queen are in equal footing.” He cocked his head to the side as he noticed your grimace. “You don’t like that.”

“I beg your pardon?” You asked before quickly added, “your majesty.”

“Being called his queen,” he clarified with a smile.

Panicked, you began, “I am humbled to wear his ring on my finger – that he considered me for marriage and that – “

“You are not on trial,” he interrupted, quickly with a laugh. “It’s merely an observation.” You nodded, awkwardly. “In my opinion, I feel as if a marriage – any marriage, whether royal or otherwise – is a partnership, but unfortunately, many see it as an ownership.”

“That’s just not how our society sees it.” You muttered with a shake of your head.

“Where is your fiancé? It’s too often that I find you alone. I shall share a word with him about his manners.” He joked and you laughed lightly at his attempt to lighten the mood.

You sighed, fidgeting with the sapphire on your finger. “He’s … preoccupied.”

Steve frowned at that but abruptly stood, stretching his hand out to you. “Then, come, my lady, I shall escort you to the festival to enjoy this beautiful day.”

Your hands flew to your face as you shook your head, defiantly. “Oh, god no!” You groaned. He amusedly raised his eyebrows at you. “I hate leaving the castle to join the others… Everyone just stares at me. It’s unsettling!”

Steve laughed and leaned down to pull you to your feet. Although you stood at the top of the staircase and he a few steps beneath you, he was still taller than you.

“They’re admiring their future queen,” he tried. He took your hands in his and you felt a shiver run down your spine as the goosebumps rose. “And from where I stand, I must say, she is truly a vision… Even if she’s moping.”

The butterflies didn’t cease to exist as they fluttered excitedly under his stare. You bit your lip and avoided eye contact, staring at your hands clasped in his. His words lifted your confidence, but his presence made you nervous and you didn’t quite understand why.

He whispered your name; fingers reaching out beneath your chin and lifted your chin. Blue eyes staring deep into your wide ones and for a split second he glanced down at your lips.

“You can tell me to stop.”

He was so close to you. Your noses were nearly touching.

“What if I don’t want you to?” You whispered. You held your breath, but he gladly stole it as he pressed his soft, plump lips onto yours.

You swore it was almost instinct… It had to be. You moved in sync. With your lips pressed against his, you felt this feeling of belonging – something you hadn’t felt in all your time in the palace of Arachnia, in all your life. In all your time spent with Peter, it never felt like this.

Your hands fisted his dirty blonde hair as his hands cupped your face, holding you there… keeping you in the moment and you swore time stopped.

You were breathless when you finally pulled away. Eyes wide in realization.

You had just given your first kiss away to a man that wasn’t your fiancé and there was no ounce of regret in either of you.

»————-　⚜　————-«

Time passed so slowly when all you’d wish for was that it’d up – skipping to a time where you and Peter were already married and the royals have all vacated Arachnia and back to their own lands, where the king that occupied your mind was long gone.

In the days that followed, you avoided each like the plague. You’d turn the corner and see Peter then immediately turn the other way or you’d bow your head down so low so that you could avoid Steven’s fixated stare as you passed him in the corridors.

The only time you couldn’t escape the two was during meals. Although during breakfast and lunch you usually spent alone, it was during the feasts of dinner that you could not escape the lingering stare of King Steven nor the possessive arm of Prince Peter.

“You’re awfully quiet,” Peter whispered in your ear. You were guilt-ridden as you stared at the concern that filled his deep brown eyes. You muttered that you were alright just a bit tired although under the king’s eyes you have never felt more alive. But he accepted your answer nonetheless.

“Are we interrupting,” teased King Anthony with a playful grin. “Shall we order the absence of everyone in the room so that you two may have all the privacy in the world?” His wife slapped his shoulder with a chuckle as you and Peter bashfully apologized – Peter because he was truly embarrassed for being caught whispering in your ear and you because you felt Steven’s eyes staring through your soul. “Tell us, Lady (Y/N), how did such a lovely lady such as yourself end up with a brute of a prince like Peter?”

You swallowed as all their attention turned to you. You stared across the table at King Steven who eyed you with a smirk. His elbows rested on the table with his hands clasped together, head resting on top of his knuckles, as if taunting you, egging you on. You tore your eyes away as you focused on your lap.

“Well… uh – “

“We met at her brother’s party,” Peter announced, proudly. You took your cue and nodded with a small grin and kept silent. “My father and hers were friends before he passed, and so they invited my aunt and I. We had no choice but to accept, and thankfully, we did. She was truly a sight, this one.” You forced a laugh as the other chuckled. “I knew then she had to be mine, this little dove.”

You grimaced but quickly covered it up by grabbing your cup of untouched ale. Your eyes flicked over to Steven who was already staring at you. He cocked an eyebrow up at you as your eyes met. You brought the ale to your lips and he stared as your lips pressed against the rip of the chalice but never drank anything.

The conversation drifted to another topic, but you excused yourself, telling Peter you were exhausted. He nodded with a smile and leaned in to kiss you and your eyes widened, turning your head – had he wanted your first kiss to be in front of all these people? Marking you as his? His lips pressed against your cheek and you muttered goodbye to him and bid a goodnight to the others.

You wondered aimlessly throughout the corridors, lost in your thoughts. With everyone in the grand hall for dinner, the castle was felt empty, and your shoes clicked against the tiles and echoed through the halls. After minutes of silent walking, you felt the hairs at the back of your neck prick up and goosebumps run down your arms.

You turned to find the dark hallway staring back at you. You frowned before you turned and ran into a sturdy build of a man.

“I thought you retired for the night?” and you recognized the voice immediately.

“Your majesty,” you whispered, bowing awkwardly to King Steven.

He chuckled as you apologized frantically. He shushed you, seizing your hands but you snatched them away. Steven frowned. “You’re avoiding me.”

“What happened shouldn’t have happened,” you hissed.

A playful smirk replaced his scowl as he tilted his head, tauntingly. “But you could’ve stopped me. You could’ve said no.”

“Of course,” you chuckled dryly. “It’s always the woman’s fault. Men can never take responsibility for their misdoings and kings,” you spat out as if it were poison on your tongue. “are no better.”

“Was it your first kiss?”

Your tongue darted out and wet your bottom lip and you didn’t miss the way his eyes glanced down. Embarrassment washed over you like a wave as your shoulders slumped. Were you that bad?

“It was, wasn’t it?” He smiled. “I wouldn’t have known… but you were a natural – “

“Don’t flatter me.” You snapped and he laughed.

“So, I had the honor of being your first kiss…” He muttered. Steven’s hand grabbed your bicep, which was significantly smaller than his, and pulled you closer to him.

“Your majesty – “He shushed you as he kissed you again in that corridor, but you pulled away abruptly, not allowing yourself to melt into him. “We can’t. I am engaged to the prince.”

Steven rolled his eyes. “But you don’t want to be. Others may dismiss it as nerves, cold feet, even, but,” he tsked, “I know better.”

“You don’t know me. You know nothing about me.”

“I know enough.” He whispered. “Enough to know that I want you.”

“I have to be married to the prince. I wear his ring. I live in his castle.”

“And enjoy a loveless marriage? He can dote on you and you can learn to love him, yes… I’ve seen it in my parents’ union and in my friends’, but you’ll never truly be happy, no…” He told you, brows furrowed and shook his head.

“And I’d be happy as your mistress?” You scoffed, shaking your head, but you made no motions to step away. “A noblewoman reduced to nothing but a king’s play-thing? The dishonor, the shame – “

“I never said you’d be my mistress.” Steven shook his head as he cupped your jaw.

“And you intend to marry me?” You laughed as if he had said the funniest joke you’ve ever heard. And it was. It was hilarious to think that he was being anything but truthful. You were sure he was jesting with you. Empty words. Empty promises. But his stare was serious.

“I want you.”

“You want the idea of me,” you corrected. “The idea that you can take another king’s wife. Kings throughout history are all the same. Covet another man’s wife, his property, or his land. Just to prove you are better.” You shook your head. “It’s a pissing contest for you. It’s treason for me.”

“I am a king.” He told you and you rolled your eyes.

“Not mine.” You whispered. “Your teasing, your jokes. Your eyes… they linger in a way only Peter’s should, and it has to stop.”

“I want you.” He repeated. “And I know you want me, too.”

“I don’t – “

“Or else you would’ve walked away. You could’ve pulled your arm from me – I’m not holding onto you tightly. You could’ve run off to your little prince, but you’re avoiding him, too. Is it guilt, my lady?” He asked you, leaning down and whispering into your ear. Your breath hitched as his lips ghosted over the shell of your ear, kissing the skin beneath it. “Because you know you don’t want the boy… but you’re too kind to hurt him.”

“You’re trying to get me killed.” You stifled a moan as his lips left a trail of wet kisses down your neck. “Shunned and humiliated – “

“I want to be yours,” he confessed.

A sudden burst of laughter had you jump from each other. Your back pressed against the wall as he took a step back with a smirk. In the distance, you could hear drunken men and their courtesans stumble about the castle, doors slamming shut. The feast must’ve been over, and the halls were soon to be crowded again.

You two held each other’s stares as you exhaled a breath you didn’t know you were holding. The moonlight that slipped through the curtains of the windows had his deep blue eyes gleaming and he was marvelous view.

»————-　⚜　————-«

The room was stuffy and the jewelry that adorned your neck and wrists were heavy. They weighed you down as if to remind you of the pressures that your new life held – what lay ahead of you. The dress you wore was a combination of white and gold. You looked regal like the betrothed of a king should look like. You stood in the crowd next to King Anthony and his wife, behind you was King Steven and his piercing stare.

The feelings that you held for Steven were wrong and you knew that. You often wished that Peter had been flawed – an unfaithful man or a cruel one but he was the opposite. He was kind and gentle albeit a bit dismissive or not present at times. The guilt gnawed at you each time you and the Brooklyn king met behind closed doors, or in the secluded library, or in the depths of the rose garden, planted especially for you by Peter’s order, but you didn’t care.

It was innocent, really – at least that’s what you told yourself. The meetings always started the same. Bickering and joking. He had even taken an interest in tutoring you about chess – “a game for kings,” he would say. Although he had beat you every game, you never minded because all the meetings ended the same – with your lips pressed against his and you melting into his touch.

The crowds all stood as Peter entered the throne room. He was dressed as a king in his house colors – red, blue, gold. He was sweaty and his hands were clasped together nervously. He shot a glance your way as he walked by and you gave him a soft, encouraging nod. He returned it with a smile as he kneeled before the throne.

The priest slipped a ring on his finger and he was later handed the scepter and the orb. You caught the way the scepter slipped due to his clammy hands – not too much but just enough to have him fumble. Behind you, you heard Steven chuckle and you shot him a look as if to tell him to behave and he shook his head at you with a grin.

The crown was placed onto Peter’s head and he hesitantly stood. He was unbalanced, weighed down, but he took each step towards the throne with stride and a proud smile.

“Long live the king!” You and the entire crowd chanted in unison though you were almost certain that Steven didn’t say a word.

The party held afterwards was filled with dancing and music, but you were tied to Peter’s side the entire evening as he thanked his guests and accepted their congratulations, all eager to get in favor with their new king.

Instead of the usual round table, Peter and his family – Lady Parker and you – were seated in a long table at the front of the grand hall. The rest of the royals scattered in other tables near yours. You picked at your food, boredom sinking in as another nobleman approached.

You glanced up and met Steven’s eyes. He brought his chalice up as if to salute you and you softly laughed before turning your attention to the duke. The conversation was dull with fake pleasantries and complaints of lost land – Peter promised the duke that he would look into it. You remembered Steven tell you that kings should make no promises that he could not uphold. and you wondered if Peter had any intentions of honoring it.

“Do you want to dance?” Peter asked you after the man left, offering you his hand. You smiled and nodded, taking it.

He pulled you onto the dancefloor, joining the other couples. Peter’s hold on you was tight as if you would run away or disappear. The crown on his head was just a little big and would slip over his forehead. You’d giggle and push it back up.

He pulled you close to him and swayed to the music. “This is grand,” he told you. “The crown, a beautiful bride.” You hummed in agreement though you didn’t entirely adore the idea – not as much as you used to. You hated being compared to that awful crown as if you were just an accessory to him. “And … In a few days’ time, my dove, we are to be wed.”

“What?” You shook your head with a dry laugh, taking it as a joke. “Your high – majesty,” you corrected, and he beamed at the title, “we are set to be married in the late spring. Not in a few days.”

Peter frowned. “Had no told you?” You shook your head, no. He sighed. “I suppose I should’ve… The council believes that it’s best we get married immediately. Now, that I’ve got the crown, they say I need heirs,” you blanched at the idea, “and besides, the other royal families of Marvel are already here.” Your breath hitched as the realization set it. “Well, aside from King Steven, he’s one to never attend weddings.”

“Peter – “you shook your head. The panic beginning to rise. Despite being trained for this very day since you were young, you were convinced you weren’t ready. You told yourself the anxiety was from the idea of being queen, but the truth was – the anxiety was from the idea of being wed… to Peter.

“May I cut in?” You didn’t hear Peter’s response just that a pair of familiar hands seized yours and your waist, pulling you flush against his body. “Are you okay?”

You stared up at Steven’s worried eyes, brows lifted and lines of concern all over his forehead. You shook your head, tears brimming in your eyes. You hated the idea that you would be Peter’s completely, and that Steven would never be yours.

“Peter said we are to be wed in a few days,” you uttered. The words didn’t feel right. Your voice was shaking as you held back your tears. Steven’s jaw dropped before he nodded. “Steve,” his eyes stared into yours, “I don’t want this.”

“And what is it do you want?” Steven asked you. He was hopeful although naively so. And in many ways, you were as well to believe that your affections for Steven could extend to something more. But reality set in, you were engaged to a king – just not the king you wanted.

“I want to marry you,” you confessed though voice hushed, afraid that any ears would hear your treasonous words. You let out a shaky breath as you stared at him before shaking your head. The idea that you fell in love with a man after knowing him for only three weeks was preposterous. “Or at least… that I want to be with you.”

Steven smiled softly at your confession – words he had been hoping to hear ever since he cornered you in the empty hallway. He leaned in and your eyes widened, but he brought his lips to your ear and whispered, “keep your chamber doors unlocked tonight.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

One of the peculiar things about your move to Arachnia’s palace was your bedroom. It was rather enormous for the fiancé of the now king. When you first arrived, you expected a room modest in size though not as big as this – especially since you’d move into Peter’s chambers once you were married. The mattress was pressed against the back wall between two large windows that never opened. Bookshelves filled with novels though no work area – no desk or study. Instead, you were given a vanity. Besides those pieces, the room was pure empty space.

You used to joke to yourself that you were just a prisoner who adorned the prince’s, now king’s, jewels and a fine title.

You stood by the window, watching the fireworks that celebrated the coronation. You swore you could see the towns in the distance, all lit up with anticipation. Peter would soon be making his rounds throughout the country as its official king. Would it happen before you were married or after? Would you be asked to join him as his queen?

You stared down at your ring finger. The sapphire staring tauntingly back at you. It shackled you to a man you didn’t want. It reminded you of your family’s side eyes and low whispers when you didn’t immediately get married once you were of age, or the hushed voices and stares of the other nobles as they judged your every move calling you unworthy to marry a prince, let alone a king.

And all you could think was – to hell with it all.

A soft knock was heard from the wooden door of the chamber and you walked towards it. The stone tiles were cold against your bare feet and the doorknob even colder against your already freezing hand. With a twist of the doorknob, a smile formed on your lips as Steven came to view.

You hurriedly pulled him inside, eyes scanning the now empty hallway, before closing it.

He eyed you up and down and smiled, admiring you – hair undone and natural, face free of any makeup or colors staining your cheeks or lips, no gown with a corset that clung onto your body that left you with no room to breathe.

You were beautiful and oh, how he’d kill to see you like this every day.

“Did anyone see you?” You asked him, softly, though within the thick walls of the castles and in the privacy of your chambers no one would hear you.

Steven shook his head, one hand finding your waist and the other cupping the side of your face. “They never do, do they?” He whispered, leaning down to press a kiss to your lips.

You pulled away, leaning into his chest, settling into his warmth. You loved being in his embrace – it was safe and warm like a small cottage in the countryside with no judgmental stares or rumors whispered about.

You realize you could live like this until your last day – and with your intentions, that final day might be quickly approaching. “Why is it you asked to meet me here?”

Steven’s jaw ticked. Truthfully, he had no real answer. He could’ve asked to meet anywhere, and the risks were just the same. The mere act of meeting you in private was damning, no matter what he intended.

He thought that admiring you from across a crowded room, under the cover of hundreds all staring at you, too, would be enough. He thought his eyes would go unnoticed. He told himself that his attraction would be fleeting, but it wasn’t – and it became clear the moment he pressed his lips against yours at the top of the south stairwell.

“Steve?”

He sighed. “I… I’m not quite sure if I’m honest with you, Lady (Y/N).”

You smiled to yourself. In the time you’ve known King Steven, he had always been so smug, so confident. Every step had a direction and every word so sure, but you’ve reduced him to a man begging for the affection of a woman.

You pulled yourself from his chest and stared up at him before you stood on the tips of your toes to press a kiss onto his lips.

It was as if you two were molded together or made from the same cloth. Lips pressed together as if they had always belonged there.

His large hands found the backs of your thighs, hoisting you up, wrapping your legs around his tapered waist. You felt the heat rise to your face when that familiar throbbing feeling between your legs came back – and with your cunt pressed against the middle of his body, you were sure he could feel it, too.

Your back pressed against the soft, silk sheets of your bed. Steven draped over you like ivy covering the castle’s stone walls.

The framework creaked beneath your combined weight as he began to grind aimlessly against your center, eliciting a gasp from you as it helped the ache from deep within you.

He smirked into the kiss, but you caught him off guard yet again when you whispered, “I – I want you.” He pulled away, taken back. “I want all of you, Steve, please – “

“(Y/N) – “

He began to climb off you, but you sat up, hands cupping his face and staring deep into his eyes. You shook your head as you gave him a quick kiss.

Foreheads touching, you told him, “if I am to go marry and live in this hell, I might as well be granted a taste of heaven.”

“You will be ruined – “he whispered though the idea made his cock twitch in his trousers. You jumped as you felt it too.

You shook your head again, “how can you ruin anything, Steve?”

Steve licked his lips as he tried to fight off his morals. The devil and the angel on his shoulders disappeared and became one – the beautiful maiden beneath him, begging for him to take her.

“If we do this,” he whispered as he nudged your cheek, lips kissing your jaw, “there will be no going back, (Y/N).”

“I want to be yours, Steve,” you told him, honestly. “I – I love you.”

And that’s all it took to have his lips ravish yours, hands roaming, desperately grabbing on to what he could. He pulled away and grabbed your hand. He slid the ring off your finger, tossing it onto the table next to your bed before he pressed his lips to yours once again.

You heard a rip and you gasped as the cold air hit your bare skin. Steven’s hands pushed the torn fabric off away from your body, throwing the ruined white silk behind his shoulder.

He pulled away from you, admiring the view beneath him – the woman spread out before him like an offering, nipples perked in the cold winter air, mouth ajar as she panted, and the perfect, untouched pussy.

“I love you, too.”

He began to undress, and you couldn’t take your eyes off this Herculean being in front of you. He was thick and broad, the muscles that were arranged all over his body were hypnotizing as were the scars undoubtfully from all his training and his time spent in wars.

He was a god in the body of the king, and you wondered how you got so lucky.

Steven began to undo the strings that held his pants up and you watched with you lip between your teeth. The anticipation, alone, killed you. He pushed down his pants and your eyes widened at his massive cock – tanner than the rest of his skin, with a red angry tip, thick veins, and clear liquid coming from it.

He saw your uncertain expression and he raised his brows at you. “I – I –“you began to stammer.

“Don’t tell me you’re backing out now, little one,” Steven whispered. His hands reached out and cupped your cheek, hungry eyes scanned your body and your mouth went dry. The throbbing within you was relentless and made you clench your thighs together. “You’re beautiful.”

Your eyes looked away, bashfully, as his hands explored you – cupping your breasts and tracing the curves of your body. All Steven wanted was for all of you to be his.

“Look at me,” he whispered, and you hesitantly looked back at him. He had a soft smile and adoring eyes as his fingers slipped through your folds. You let out a soft gasp and your eyes fluttered closed as the ache was relieved by his touch. “Look at me,” Steven repeated, and you forced your eyes open to stare at him. Your lover smirked as he found your small bundle of nerves and rubbed tight circles around it.

It felt as if something within you had blossomed and you couldn’t help but grind into his touch, but he tutted at you, using his free hand to hold your hips down. “You’re soaked, my love,” Steven whispered, leaning down, and nipping at the base of your neck. Hard enough for you to gasp but not enough to leave marks. “Already so wet and I’ve yet to do anything.”

“It’s just my reaction to you,” you confessed, heat rising to your face.

You tried to avert your eyes away from his piercing stare, but he tsked and pinched your inner thigh. You hissed in return and brought your stare back to him. “Don’t make me tell you again, (Y/N),” Steven warned.

You nodded, speechless as his fingers wandered further down, ghosting over your untouched opening. You let out a shaky breath.

“Steven – “you moaned as he sunk one long, thick, skilled finger inside of you.

“You’re so tight,” the king noted with a smirk. He relished in the idea that he would be the first to have you and he wished that he’d be the only one to have you forever.

“Steven, I want you… Please – “

He tsked at you with a quick shake of his head. His lips pressed against yours again, silencing your soft whines and protests. “I need to open you up, my love,” he told you, lips still against yours, “or else you might get hurt.” He pressed another finger into you, and you pulled away from his lips.

The back of your head pressed against the mattress as another moan escaped you. The king began to scissor your opening. The stretch was tolerable though still uncomfortable and had your breath shuddering.

“You’re doing so well,” he praised you, nose tracing your jaw. His lips kissed the column of your throat.

You groaned when his fingers began to thrust, opening you up to him. You heard the faint sound of your arousal on his fingers, the wetness spilling onto your thighs, too. Your hands tangled up into the king’s long, dark blonde hair, pulling him into you as he added a third finger, effectively stretching you out.

“Are you alright?” He asked you, fingers thrusting into you in a rhythm of their own. You nodded, eyes staring at the top of the canopy over your bed and hands pushing the king flush against you’re the joint between your neck and shoulder. He kissed the skin there, trying not to suck on it to leave you with his marks – marks that young Peter would undoubtfully see on your wedding night.

You gasped as you felt this tightening knot in the depths of your stomach. “You almost there, my love?” Steven asked and you nodded though you weren’t sure where there was. Your thighs tightened around him. You whined when his fingers left your heated core right on the precipice of pleasure, leaving you with an emptiness. Steven chuckled.

“I was – “

“First time you get to cum will be around my cock,” he told you brazenly and it felt as if your entire body flushed at his words. He brought his fingers to his lips and your eyes widened when he began to suck on them, and he groaned. “You taste so sweet, my lady.” The king quirked up an eyebrow at your curious expression as he swiped his fingers against your lips. “Have a taste, my love.”

Your tongue reluctantly darted out over your lips, gathering the sweet yet musky taste of your essence. Your hand reached out, wrapping around his wrist and bringing his fingers to your mouth. Your lips wrapped around his index and middle finger and sucked carefully as he did, and you felt his cock twitch against your thigh at the sight.

He watched you intently as you cleaned off his fingers, his free hand stroking his throbbing dick. He swiped the tip against your slit, causing your body to shudder when he bumped your clit.

He took his fingers from your mouth and both hands held your waist. Instinctively, your pushed your knees further apart, opening up to him. Steven’s blue eyes flicked up to you as he pressed his tip against your heat.

“Are you sure?” He asked you.

You nodded. “I’ve never been more sure.”

You threw your head back as he began to press into you, the pressure unbearable and made your entire body tense. The king began to hush you, holding still. One of his hands caressed the side of your face, combing through your hair. “You need to relax, my love,” he cooed.

You muttered an incoherent agreement as you tried to will your muscles to loosen. You heard the squelching sound of your cunt engulfing the man, slowly. Your hand flew to his wrist and grabbed onto it, unsure of what to do.

He praised you as the tip slipped in along with an inch or two, but he was nowhere close to bottoming out. The king began to pull back, only leaving the tip in before pushing in more of him. You hissed again as he pressed past the thin veil of your innocence, being the first and only man to tear through it.

His cock was no match for his fingers, being much thicker and so much longer. You tried to even your breathing and he chuckled. “You’re doing so well, my love,” he whispered, leaning down to kiss your lips. “Taking me so well… Look…”

His nose nudged the side of your cheek and you slowly craned your neck to look down as he bottomed out completely – his public bone flush against your clit. Your mouth watered at the sight as he slowly pulled out an inch or two. You took a sharp breath when you saw the faint strips of red on his length.

The king began to rock into you slowly and you couldn’t take your eyes away from where you were connected. The pain, although still there from the burning stretch, was incomparable to the pleasure when his tip brushed against a certain part of your canal.

You moaned, loudly, head thrown back, exposing your throat to him. Steven kissed the hollowness before capturing your lips in his. “I love you,” he murmured into the kiss as his hips began to speed up. Your own matching his thrusts.

The sound of skin clapping against each other echoed throughout the enormous room and you felt yourself clench against him.

He groaned in return. In one quick motion, the king hoisted your knees over his shoulder, giving him a much deeper angle to take you from. He thrusted so hard and so deeply that you swore you felt him in your chest.

You moaned his name as your hands grabbed your breasts. He watched with a smirk as you fondled yourself and one of his hands began to rub tight circles around your swollen clit again. Your back arched at the sensation.

“I’m gonna fill you up, my love,” he told you. “Have you fall pregnant with my child. Watch you swell…” It was a fantasy, on Steven’s behalf. He’d always wanted a wife and children but never found the right partner until you. “Do you want that, little one? Do you want my children?”

“I want you, Steven,” you moaned. No coherent thoughts were forming as the familiar tight knot in your stomach suddenly snapped. Your hips ground up against his as your walls tightened around the king, milking him, and pushing him over the edge.

Steven thrusts faltered, leaving his rhythm, and pushed deeply into you one last time. You felt his cock twitch inside of you and you felt each spurt, covering your walls in his white.

You two laid on top each other, legs entangled, and bodies intertwined like lovers. He pressed a kiss to the top of your head, and you said, “I love you, Steven.”

And in that moment, all was right.

»————-　⚜　————-«

“What?”

The disbelief in each of their tones hung in the air. The councilmen shook their heads in shock as Peter stared at you from the throne with his brows furrowed, deep in thought.

“I beg your pardon, Lady (Y/N).” One of the men said.

“My lords, my king,” you addressed with a bow of your head. “I asked for this meeting to tell you that I am incredibly humbled to have been homed here in the palace of Arachnia and to be the betrothed of the prince – king – to have witnessed you be crowned, your majesty… But I,” you swallowed and took a deep breath. “I do not want to marry you.”

“What brought this on?” Peter asked you as he leaned into his throne. He eyed you, suspiciously, eyes glancing over your figure. Although the new king had been wrapped up in several meetings ever since his coronation, he noticed the change in you – the way your body filled out, hips wider and the glow in your complexion. You looked more radiant than you usually were and much happier. Though he wasn’t sure what was the cause, he was certain it had not been him but he refused to believe it was another.

“I cannot believe this!”

“We’ve wasted all this time preparing a marriage!”

“How dare she – “

“He needs a bride to keep his crown.”

“Silence,” Peter ordered the men and their murmurs quickly disappeared. Words and unfinished sentences hung in the air. “What brought this on, my lady?”

You cleared your throat as you took a step forward. “Your majesty, I … I am not meant to be your queen.”

Peter nodded in contemplation and you were hopeful. He had always been understanding. He would’ve surely granted you a swift exit from this engagement without another – “No.” And just like that your hopes were dashed. “You are to remain my betrothed as you have been for months.”

“But Pete – “

“Our wedding is in days!” Peter snapped and your eyes flicked to the floor. “And you want to end our engagement now? You had months to concede – “

“I was afraid!” You objected. The lords stared on as your voice rose higher than the king’s. The tone, the higher octave, may have been from a moment of frustration, but the men in the throne room saw it as one thing only: a lady undermining her king.  

“Afraid?” He scoffed. “Of what? Of me? My lady, I am not a cruel man – “

“Then grant me my wish. Release me from this engagement.” You begged.

“No.” Peter shook his head. “We are to be married in a few days’ time.” You saw how his kind eyes darkened as he frowned at you. “You do your best to rid of your cold feet now, my lady.”

Defeated, you rushed out of the throne room. Several servants and other nobles stared with confused expressions as you ran past with tears in your eyes – running to the only man that understood you, the only man that could help.

You banged against his chamber doors, desperate for him to whisk you away.

“Steven!” You called when the door suddenly opened to reveal a maid. Her arms were full of linens and you stared at her in confusion.

She quickly curtseyed to you and cocked her head to the side. “My lady, have you been crying?”

“No,” you shook your head, jaw clenched, though your sniffle gave you away. “Where’s King Steven?”

“He left this afternoon, my lady.” She told you.

“What?” You felt the color drain from your face. You shook your head at her as if she were wrong. He wouldn’t have left you – not like this. “No… There must be a mistake. Steven – King Steven – “

She frowned before shaking her head. “No, my lady… The Brooklyn King left hours ago. If you had wanted to know, I would’ve told you. I had no idea you two were so close.”

You bit your lip and closed your eyes. Though the maid had been kind in her intention, you heard the accusation loud and clear.

A shaky breath left you as you forced a smile. “No,” you said shaking your head again, “no… The king, our king, Peter and I were hoping he’d attend our… our marriage.” The word felt heavy on your tongue as the world around you began to crash down. “I suppose, we were too naïve to believe he’d stay.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

The barren winter trees passed by in blurs as Steven stared out the carriage window. The bickering of his two friends and advisors, Lord Samuel Wilson and James Barnes, became background noise to his pensive thoughts.

He wondered how you were – were you as devasted as he was? Would you understand if he told you the truth – that he, though desperately and completely in love with you, could not have you? That his overstep, his coveting of Peter Parker’s fiancé, may reignite a feud long buried between Arachnia and Brooklyn.

That as a king, it was his duty to put a stop to a potential war.

Though as a man, he knew his duty was to you and may always be.

“The girl,” Barnes’s mention of your name had him turning from the window and towards the two men, “she seems well. A great match for the young king.”

Steve scoffed. Although he knew his opinion was heavily biased, he knew that you were most certainly not a good match for the Parker boy. Peter would have you as a decorated figurehead – a pretty woman on his arm for the world to see – while Steven wanted so much more in your forbidden union.

“I see you disagree,” Samuel nodded to his king. Steven sat in silence and the two lords shot a knowing glance at the other. “They are to be wed in a few days.” Steven hummed though the two didn’t miss the way his hand formed a fist over his knee.

“The sooner the better, I suppose,” James nodded, eyeing Steven wearily. “Peter, being so young and the last of his line, he needs an heir quickly.” The king shifted in the carriage and they felt the entire cart jolt with his fury. “Steven, I address this as your friend, nothing more, but what is your issue?”

“Nothing.” Steven said quickly and he scolded himself. He felt like a young boy throwing a tantrum with his mother.

James raised an inquisitive eyebrow at his king and childhood friend. “The girl has piqued your interest, hasn’t she?” His friend’s silence was all the confirmation he needed. “Steve – “

“I know,” Steven snapped. “I know it is wrong to want another man – “he scoffed, “child’s bride…”

“And yet you still do?” Samuel asked. “Steve, the consequences of your feelings,” he shook his head, “it will incite an unnecessary war… and over what? A girl?”

“If she’s a war, then I will fight.”

“A love blind man’s word… Not a king’s.” Samuel rebutted.

“Why did you leave her, then? You could’ve stowed her away in this carriage with us. You could’ve stolen her from under Peter’s nose. Why didn’t you?” James quizzed.

With a defeated sigh, Steven said, “it’s for her own good. My affections for her, whatever my heart says or hers, it will get her killed. Arachnia will not take lightly to her betrayal of their king.”

James nodded in agreement. “You’re saving her. This is for the best, my friend. For if you listened to your heart instead of your head, she will be a casualty in a pointless war.”

“It’s difficult,” Steven confessed, “to have let her go. And it’s something I will regret for the rest of my life.”

»————-　⚜　————-«

ONE YEAR LATER…

Your entire family cooed at the fussing three-month-old in the king’s arms. The child continue to wail and thrash, finding discomfort in your husband. “Argh!” He glanced over to you as if asking for your help. You stifled a laugh as you walked over, seizing your baby from him. “She prefers her mother over me.” He joked as the babe almost instantly calmed in your arms.

“Have you chosen a godparent, yet, your majesty?” Your father asked you, subtly pushing your older brother forward as a silent suggestion. You rolled your eyes.

The king ran a hand over his brown curls and shook his head at your father. “No, my lord, we have yet to choose.” Peter nodded in your direction. “I thought since most of baby Fallon’s life will be decided by me, his mother should have a say in that.”

Your father chuckled with a shake of his head. He clasped a hand on your shoulder, and you fought the urge to shrug it off. “Indecisive, this one, isn’t she?”

Peter glanced your way, “you have no idea.” The two men laughed, and you gnawed at the knob in the inside of your cheek until you tasted blood. Fallon yawned and you gave Peter a look. “I suppose, we should all greet our guests.”

“Oh, yes,” you nodded, “the christening. You go ahead, Peter. Someone should stay with Fallon.”

“Oh, nonsense, girl,” your father told you. “The nanny will – “

“She is my child and I will care for her. I do not need a nanny.” You snapped, your bottled up frustrations slowly bursting.

Peter laughed awkwardly, hands finding your waist though you pulled away from him. He coughed. “It’s the separation anxiety,” he joked with your father.

“Well, I never had that,” your mother piped up.

Of course, you didn’t. You sent me away as soon as Peter asked. You bit back the response.

Your family began to vacate the nursery and you felt a bit of relief. You felt Peter’s hands on your hips. You tensed when you felt his lips ghost over your ear. “Why don’t you join me in greeting our guests?” He asked you.

You shrugged him off. “I want to be alone.”

The young king sighed before releasing his hold on you. With his hand on the doorknob, he turned to you again. “You do realize your duty is not only to Fallon? It is to me and my kingdom as well.”

“I understand that my duty was to give you an heir,” you deadpanned. “I have done just that.”

“You have given me a daughter. Not an heir.” You glared at him and he immediately silenced.

“A daughter is an heir. Do not dare discredit her birthright because of her sex!” The babe began to stir in your arms and let out a small cry. You immediately shushed her, coddling her in your arms and she began to quiet.

You heard him sigh, defeatedly, before the door slammed shut again.

You felt a wave of guilt wash over you as you stared at the child in your arms. Many times, you found peace in Fallon’s presence, but as time went on and as the child began to resemble her father, you began to worry. Though Fallon had adorable dark curls, she had striking blue eyes – ones that undoubtfully belonged to her father.

On the day you were to wed Peter, he had gotten caught up in the affairs of the state. The wedding was quickly rescheduled for two weeks after despite the protests of the nobles and royals who had all stayed extra days to witness your union. As you were doing the final adjustments to your gown, you realized you were due for a bleed that had yet to come and a sickening feeling of realization ran erupted through you. You did not consummate that night – your nerves and guilt making you sick to your stomach.

But you decided that you would survive – if not for yourself, then the life within you, the life in your arms now.

Moments later, the door creaked open and you let out a frustrated sigh. “Peter, I said I wanted to be alone – “in the silence, you felt the hairs on the back of your neck stand and a shiver run down your spine. A familiar feeling you wanted to forget. You turned around and your eyes widened. All the fury you felt, the regrets, the pain – all of it – melted in an instant.

“Steve.”

He stared at you with adoring eyes. You had grown more beautiful if that were even possible. Your glowed, motherhood becoming you. “(Y/N).”

“You shouldn’t be here.” You shook your head.

“You weren’t with Peter,” the Brooklyn king told you. “I thought you may have been with your child…” He chuckled. “Near the south wing, next to the staircase.”

“I love the sunlight it brings in.” You muttered. “Peter never lets Fallon out of the castle, so I suppose, it’s a substitute.” Steven nodded.

After beats of silence and longing stares, Steve finally said, “I’m sorry.”

“I understand.” You nodded. “At first I was angry. I cursed your name in the dead of night. I wished you were dead and I often pretended so.”

“I deserve worse.”

You laughed. “You do.”

“I did it because I was afraid if I took you from him, in a furious rage, he’d strike you down. You are not of Brooklyn. I could not protect you against your own king.” Steven explained.

You nodded. “I told you. I would marry into hell.”

“Has he been cruel?” Steven frowned, his fury slowly rising and hands forming fists.

You shook your head. “No, far from it, actually.” You chuckled humorlessly. “In fact, perhaps, I’ve been the cruel one. I push him away because I don’t want Falon to believe that he is her father – “

“What?”

You glanced down at the child in your arms and beckoned Steven with a cock of your head. The king slowly walked over to you and the babe. Steven’s eyes watered slightly as he stared at the small creation. “She’s … she’s mine?”

You nodded. “They pushed the wedding back two weeks and I didn’t… uh… I didn’t bleed… and I knew then. We didn’t consummate,” you saw how he frowned at that, “until a week or so after. I was with child not long after.”

“How do you know?” He asked you. “Not to be accusatory, but – “

“She has your eyes.” You smiled. “Every time she stares at me, it’s as if you are.”

“She looks like me,” Steven smiled, a gentle finger caressing the child’s plump cheeks. You nodded in agreement.

“Would you like to hold her?” You asked and he eagerly nodded. He took the child from you and you felt your heart swell when Fallon didn’t immediately begin to fuss like she would with Peter. “She likes you.”

“I hope so. I’m her father, after all.”

You laughed and rested your head on his shoulder, both admiring the life that you both created. You imagined that this was your life… just for a moment. That you weren’t in Arachnia but in Brooklyn, bearing Steven’s name rather than Peter’s… Married to the one who truly held your heart.

You sighed, finding the calm in your daughter and your lover.

And in that moment… all was right.

let me know what y’all think

#steve rogers x reader #king steve rogers x reaer #steve rogers #king steve rogers #steve rogers imagine #king steve rogers imagine #mcu au #royalty au #peter parker x reader #peter parker #peter parker imagine #but it's not REALLY a peter parker imagine #chris evans #chris evans x reader #chris evans imagine #captain america #captain america x reader #captain america imagine #ransom drysdale #ari levinson #andy barber

[helloalycia]

The Wrong Lifetime – Two // Wanda Maximoff

chapter one | story masterlist | main masterlist | wattpad | chapter three

author’s note: thank you so much for the feedback on chapter one, everyone! i really appreciate and I’m glad you’re excited for more. hope you enjoy :)

"What do you think of this one?"

I pulled a face, shaking my head. My brother sighed dramatically before moving along the display cabinet, searching for the perfect ring.

Just as he'd said at dinner the other night, we were browsing engagement rings for Wanda, and I was (obviously) hating every second of it. My parents thought it would be good to help Y/B/N whilst also getting me more involved in the whole wedding thing; and I couldn't exactly say no to them, so here I was, half interested in what we were doing.

"What if I can't find anything?" Y/B/N asked, chewing the inside of his cheek as he continued to look. "This is the third jewellers we've been to, Y/N."

Figuring it was time to actually make an effort and be a supportive sister, I rested a hand on his shoulder and gave it a squeeze. "You'll find something," I told him confidently. "It just needs to come to you, y'know? She'll love anything you pick."

He smiled at me. "Thanks. I just don't want to disappoint her. The last thing I want to worry about is her hating the ring."

I chuckled, rounding the cabinet to get a look at a different display. "I doubt she'll hate any of this. Girls love jewellery. This is pretty good jewellery."

"Y/N, you hate jewellery," he pointed out with amusement, and I rolled my eyes playfully.

"I don't hate it," I defended. "I'm just not a fan of shopping for it."

He snickered as he continued to peruse the cabinets. "Well, Wanda seems to love it. D'you see how many rings she was wearing that night?"

I breathed out through my nose, definitely remembering. It was hard to forget when her ring-adorned fingers were brushing the top of my hand every few minutes. But obviously I wasn't going to say that to Y/B/N, so I hummed in response.

It went quiet as I tried to find a ring that would suffice. Rings weren't my taste, personally. I was more of a necklace person, so this was just as difficult for me as it was for Y/B/N. They all looked similar to me though, upon closer inspection, had different engravings and patterns in the gold and silver bands.

"So, what did you think of Wanda's brother?" Y/B/N asked, earning my attention.

He was smiling cheekily as he awaited a response.

"Pietro?" I asked with creased brows. He nodded and I continued, "He was nice, I guess. Has a sense of humour."

My brother gave me a knowing look as he looked at the glass display once again. "He's unmarried you know."

"No, thank you," I answered instantly, not particularly fond of discussing my potential marital future with my brother.

"Oh, don't be like that, Y/N," he said with a laugh. "I'm just looking out for you!"

I drummed my fingers on the cabinet top. "Well, I didn't ask you to. I'm perfectly content as I am."

Y/B/N cocked his head to the side as he glanced at me. "You know you can't stay unmarried forever." I opened my mouth to say something, but he was quick to continue. "And no, not because a woman should marry no matter what. But rather because you will most definitely give mum a heart attack."

I closed my mouth, trying to come up with a response, but my shoulders sank at the truth to his words. He half-smiled when he knew I knew he was right.

"I don't want to think about this now," I decided, waving my hand. "Ring. Look. Now."

He laughed again but nodded and stayed quiet. We both continued to have a look around until I was surprisingly certain that I'd found the perfect ring. There was a case filled with rings holding precious gemstones and a particular one stood out to me.

"Hey, Y/B/N, come here," I called him over, eyes never leaving the ring as I moved closer to inspect it. "What about this one?"

Pointing to the glass case, I chose an elegant silver band with a small, non-dominating emerald gemstone sat on top. It wasn't too flashy nor too plain and something told me that it might just be Wanda's taste.

"It'll match her eyes," I said, watching him as he leaned forward to get a better look. "She'll love it."

My brother seemed confused as he straightened up. "I thought her eyes were brown."

I rolled my eyes, taking a step back. "Fine, get a brown ring."

He tried not to laugh as he raised his hands with defeat. "Okay, okay, I believe you, no need for the sarcasm!" He proceeded to call the shopkeeper over to get the ring and glanced at me once more. "You're one hundred percent sure she's got green eyes?"

"Well, they're hazel, but this will definitely compliment them," I assured him, making him shrug as he looked back to the shopkeeper.

To my own dismay, I was certain her eyes were hazel. They were very inviting and the dinner the other night was evidence of that, as I found myself unable to look away whenever she found my gaze. Hopefully she'd like the ring, I guess.

—

The bothersome thing about my brother's engagement was just how many celebrations that followed. A week after the dinner came the engagement party, a celebratory evening with all of our family and friends and my brother's many admirers. The Maximoffs invited their friends, too, sadly not having any extended family to invite as it was only them here in England.

It was an expensive affair, but so was everything when it came to my brother. There was food, drinks, dancing, gifts and much more for the newly-engaged couple, and I once again found myself dressed in an uncomfortable dress of my mother's choice.

If that wasn't enough of a punishment, I was also reunited with my extended family whom only showed their faces on glamorous occasions such as this one. It's not that I didn't like them, but I felt like I rarely knew them, especially when they shared stories from when they used to see me as a baby and expected me to remember the memory like it was yesterday.

I found myself victim to yet another relative at the start of the evening. This time, it was one of my aunties from my father's side whom I vaguely recognised from my childhood. She'd found me by the snacks table where I was recovering from a previous encounter with a cousin of mine, and immediately began pulling my cheeks and reminiscing on how chubby and cute they were when I was – you guessed it – a baby.

"Auntie, I think that–"

"So grown up, but still so cute!" she gushed, cutting me off and proceeding to yank my cheeks so hard that they began to hurt.

I winced, trying to back away, but she dragged me closer by the face, making me groan with displeasure. 

"Y/N, there you are!"

The only reason I knew it was Wanda who called for me was because of her Russian accent, otherwise I was still unable to turn and check because my auntie had me trapped. When Wanda came into sight, stopping by the two of us, my auntie finally let go, now distracted by the brunette. I exhaled gratefully, hands rubbing my cheeks to relieve the ache. I had no doubts they were red from the pinching. God, I hated family reunions.

"I'm very sorry to interrupt," Wanda apologised with an endearing smile as she looked to my auntie, "but please may I steal Y/N away from you for a moment?"

My auntie nodded enthusiastically. "Of course, dear! You're family now! Do whatever you like."

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes as she said that. Wanda flashed her a final smile before tugging me away, near some deserted high table.

"What did you need?" I asked, quirking a brow.

She was looking around the room when I asked her, before her eyes focused on me. Unlike me, she seemed very comfortable in this environment, and the dress she wore was perfect for her. A scarlet-coloured gown that put anybody else's clothes here to shame. Did she just look good in everything or something?

"I didn't actually need anything," she answered, licking her lips. "I just saw your auntie harassing you and figured you'd like the escape."

Surprised at her observant nature, I cleared my throat and relaxed my shoulders. "Oh, well thanks."

She smiled widely, teeth shining and eyes sparkling and I was now beginning to think she truly had no flaws.

"You look beautiful tonight by the way," she said, and there was nobody around to hear it which made me think she wasn't trying to kiss up like I'd assumed initially.

"Thanks," I returned with a small smile. "I– er– so do you. Is that your favourite colour?"

She was wearing a similar colour the first night we met, so I could only assume it was. Which was a good choice, since she looked good in it.

She glanced down at her dress and nodded. "Something like that."

I leaned on the table as I watched her curiously. "Shouldn't you be with Y/B/N?"

Looking back up, she grinned mischievously. "You trying to get rid of me already?"

Shaking my head, I tried to find the words to say that I wasn't and she'd misinterpreted, but she was doing that thing again where she wouldn't look away first, her eyes glowing with amusement. If I wasn't certain before today that her eyes were a bright hazel colour, I definitely was now.

"I'm kidding," she finally said, laughter spilling from her lips. It was a sweet sound and I suddenly envied my brother for being able to hear it whenever he pleased.

"I just thought that you would be together since it's your engagement party," I explained, a little more flustered than I'd wanted to be.

Her lips pressed together in a suppressed smile as she nodded behind me. I spun around, following her gaze, and spotted my brother across the room charming some guests with, no doubt, another epic tale of his career.

"He seems to be doing fine on his own, milaya," Wanda whispered into my ear, making me freeze at the warmth of her breath tickling my skin.

Shivers ran down my spine as she was close enough for her perfume to infiltrate my nose. Swallowing hard, trying not to be very much attracted to her accent when she spoke English but also Russian, I took a moment to breathe out and clear my head of thoughts containing the Maximoff woman. When I was sure I was okay, I craned my neck to speak to her, only to feel my mouth go dry.

She was stood very close to me still, a teasing smirk on her lips. Up close, her eyes were intoxicating, drawing me in and making me forget where we were and what we were talking about.

"Do I make you nervous, Y/N?" she asked quietly, feigning innocence, her accent thicker than usual.

My lips parted as I tried to say something, but her eyes were distracting and her lips were curved upwards perfectly and I suddenly forgot how to speak English.

She chuckled, stepping back slightly, and I wiped my sweaty palms on my dress as Wanda watched me with amusement.

"Your mother is calling you," she said, nodding behind me. And then I heard my mother indeed calling my name. "I'll leave you to it. Try not to fall victim to another family member."

I swallowed the lump in my throat, eyes falling to her mouth as she bit her lower lip to contain a smile. What was she getting out of this? Did she find joy in making me flustered or was she actually flirting right now? The latter couldn't be possible... she was going to marry my brother. This was her engagement party for crying out loud! She was definitely enjoying making me stumble over myself.

"Right," I spoke, finally finding my words.

With a quick nod, I looked away and followed the sound of my mother's voice. I was unsure why I felt the need to look over my shoulder, but when I did, I saw Wanda watching me still, eyes gleaming even with the distance. I looked away instantly, hoping this weird, flirtatious behaviour of hers would cease soon. I wasn't sure I could take anymore of it.

—

The evening was going well following Wanda's (what I was now calling) tormenting. I stuck to myself when my mother wasn't dragging me around, forcing me to mingle with family friends.

Tucked in the corner with a book I'd managed to sneak along was a good pastime, until halfway through the evening, everybody was brought to the front of the room for an announcement. I almost missed it if it weren't for Pietro finding me and trying not to laugh at my complete disconnect from the event around me.

"They're exchanging the rings," he told me, pulling me from my table and to the front. "Family's got to be there. Including you, Y/N."

I rushed to put my bookmark between my pages as he tugged me along, finally stopping by the front of the crowd alongside our mothers. Standing before everyone were our fathers and the engaged couple themselves, all smiling and putting on the perfect show.

"We are privileged to announce the engagement and union of my beloved daughter, Wanda Maximoff, and everybody's favourite author, Y/B/N Y/L/N," Oleg announced proudly, glass of champagne in his hand.

Both Y/B/N and Wanda exchanged smiles before looking out to everyone. When my brother's eyes met mine, I smiled encouragingly, and when Wanda's eyes met mine, my smile faded as she grinned my way, eyes saying a thousand things, none of which I could decipher.

"They will now present each other with the rings," my dad said, making the crowd chatter excitedly amongst themselves.

All eyes were on the couple as they presented their rings. Wanda had gotten Y/B/N a plain silver band, perfect for the guy who wasn't a fan of jewellery, and he wore it with pride. Then Y/B/N offered up the ring we'd picked in the store and Wanda's smile was as wide as ever when she saw it.

He placed it on her ring finger and she studied it once more, the emerald sparkling under the light and making all the women in the crowd jealous. She pulled him in for a grateful hug, pressing a kiss to his cheek, and I found myself looking away, not particularly a fan of them getting cosy.

"Gross, right?" Pietro asked, nudging me in the arm slightly. He was trying not to laugh as he avoided looking at the couple up front. "Like, we get it, you're engaged."

A smile appeared on my lips as I glanced at the silver-haired publisher, appreciating his attempt to make me laugh.

"Gross indeed," I agreed.

He rolled his eyes playfully before looking forward again, watching as my father continued to make a speech about how great it was to unify our families.

I listened in, though I'd heard the same spiel several times at home when they'd initiated the idea in the first place. Judging from the look on Pietro's face, he'd heard the same, and I was glad it wasn't just me who felt icky about this whole thing.

This evening couldn't end any sooner.

—

"I just don't understand why I need to go," I complained to my mother.

She was sat before her mirror, finishing applying her makeup and looking presentable for the girl's trip she'd planned for Iryna, Wanda, herself and I.

"Because you're going to become Wanda's sister-in-law and we are all going to become a family," she said like it was obvious, not bothering to look my way. "It'll be fun, Y/N."

I groaned quietly, leaning against the doorframe. A servant fussed around my mother's room, tidying up the mess of clothes she'd left in her wake from picking an outfit. I watched her with boredom, knowing I'd take that job over today's plans any day.

"You might make a new friend with Wanda," my mum continued delightfully. "Wouldn't that be nice?"

I tensed my jaw, eyes narrowing into the window ahead. "Yeah, really nice, mum."

"Good, now go and w–" she began, but was cut off when the doorbell rang from downstairs. Waving her hand, she said, "Go greet the Maximoffs whilst I finish up here, dear."

I sighed, straightening up. "Do I have a choice?"

"Don't forget to smile!" she called after me.

Making my way downstairs, I saw one of our servants opening the door and greeting the Maximoffs politely before letting them inside. Upon spotting me descending the staircase, Iryna smiled brightly.

"Y/N, dear, how lovely to see you!" she exclaimed, and when I got to the bottom, she pulled me in for a surprise hug. "How are you doing this morning, my dear?"

After recovering from the surprise hug, ignoring the way Wanda stifled laughter from behind her mother, I stepped back and gave the older woman a genuine smile.

"I'm doing good, Miss Maximoff," I said, and when she gave me a stern look, I backtracked, remembering her words from the engagement party a few nights ago. "Iryna– right, sorry. I'm doing good. And yourself?"

"Very good now that we're here," she said cheerfully, before nodding for Wanda to join her side. "Wan, what are you doing there? Come and give your sister-in-law a hug the right way!"

I gulped as Wanda did as her mother said, stepping forward without hesitation and pulling me in for a quick hug. Not wanting to look like an idiot, I wrapped my arms around her torso, hoping I wasn't as stiff as I felt. Once again, she smelt really good and I forgot how to breathe.

"Good morning, milaya," she muttered in my ear before pulling away with a harmless smile.

"Morning," I got out, being sure to avoid her gaze as I looked back to her mother. "Can I offer either of you a cup of tea? Or a drink? My mother is just finishing getting ready."

"No need, Y/N!" my mum called as she walked down the stairs behind me. Wearing an apologetic smile, she looked to Iryna and Wanda. "Sorry about that, ladies. I'm all ready to go if you are."

After sharing a greeting with them, my mum led us all outside to the carriage that was waiting to take us into town. We got in and were soon on our way to have the time of our life! (Cue the sarcasm).

"So, Y/N," Iryna said, and I looked up to see her sat beside Wanda who was sat opposite me. "What are your thoughts on this whole engagement? It was quite the affair the other night!"

I forced a smile as I nodded respectfully. "It was a great evening, Iryna. A great start to a successful marriage, I'm sure."

That seemed to start Iryna on a tangent about the engagement and how lovely the evening was and all of the new family members she met on our side. A sigh escaped my lips as I practically relived it with her retelling, making my mum nudge me in the arm gently but scoldingly.

"...and the ring!" Iryna enthused, not noticing my disinterest. "Don't get me started on the ring. Is there anything Y/B/N isn't good at?"

I could name a few things, yes.

With difficulty, I pressed my lips together to stop myself from cracking a knowing smile. Iryna told Wanda to hold out her hand so she could take another look, and as she did, it was the first time I'd seen the ring up close since she'd been given it. I glanced between the ring and her eyes and knew I'd made the right decision.

My mother began to shower Wanda in compliments – "Oh, it matches your eyes, dear! It's like it's meant to be!" – as I sat back and wished we'd arrive at the shops already.

"Between us ladies," my mum said playfully to Wanda, "is it good enough or did you expect something better?"

Wanda chuckled, shaking her head. "I didn't have any expectations, Y/M/N. I would have been happy with whatever Y/B/N picked. But this... this is absolutely stunning. He clearly put a lot of thought into it."

Yes, of course he did. So thoughtful, isn't he? Especially his attention to detail, like when he remembered the colour of your eyes.

Oh, wait.

After what felt like forever, we finally reached the shops and could escape that shrinking carriage for a few minutes before heading into a dress shop to suffocate yet again.

As usual, I followed my mother around like a lost puppy, letting her take the lead with picking some clothes. She was deep into conversation with Iryna, the two of them bonding instantly as they talked about their interests and marriage and their children's engagement.

At one point, I left them to it, resorting to browsing through a rack that had some pretty pastel dresses hanging from it. I didn't have plans to buy anything since I didn't need anything, but it didn't hurt to look.

"Hey," Wanda's voice echoed from behind me, and I glanced over my shoulder to see her joining my side.

"Hey," I replied, continuing to look through the dresses.

She browsed through the rack also, going through each dress slowly as she smiled to herself. "So, you don't like shopping I take it."

I hummed in agreement. "Not really."

She nodded, continuing her browsing. "You don't like parties either. Or dinners." I hummed again and she continued, "And you don't like it when your brother gets all the attention."

I hummed subconsciously, before realising what she said. Stopping my browsing, I looked to her with furrowed brows. "I never said that."

Mischief dancing in her eyes, she glanced me way and winked playfully. "You didn't need to."

Clenching my jaw slightly, I busied myself with going through the hangers, hoping the heat creeping up my neck would disperse. I wasn't going to let Wanda get to me yet again. It was like she had some kind of magic spell on me, making me unable to think straight whenever she was in my vicinity.

"I know you picked my ring by the way," she said after a moment of silence.

I licked my lips and played dumb, not looking her way. "What do you mean? Y/B/N chose it."

She snickered. "I know it was you, Y/N. No man in the world is that thoughtful."

I stayed quiet, figuring it was my best option. She seemed to find this entertaining as she turned to face me, leaning against the rack and watching me curiously.

"I must ask though. Why emerald?"

Fingers playing with the fabric of the dress before me, I shrugged nonchalantly. "Why not?"

She laughed, and it was the second time she'd done so so freely, making the pit of my stomach flip uncontrollably at the sound.

"You don't seem like the type to just do things," she observed. "There had to be a reason. Please enlighten me."

Once again, I shrugged as I made sure not to look her way. I wasn't planning to get sucked in by her killer eyes yet again.

"I'm not blind," I told her casually. "I saw it and remembered that you have hazel eyes that sometimes look green. I thought it would suit you. A mere artistic observation."

"Ah, I see," she said with a nod, playing along. "Well, you have good taste. Thank you. I adore it."

"It was nothing," I assured her, hoping she couldn't hear my heart beating ever-so-quickly in my chest. The longer she watched me, the more flustered I got.

Suddenly, she stepped forward, her hand resting on the small of my back. The simplest of touches had me paralysed, at a loss for words, frozen in place. Mentally I knew that it wasn't right that she made me react like this. But my body wouldn't listen to my brain and Wanda seemed to realise that, clearly revelling in my misery.

"So, you remembered my eye colour after just two meetings, huh?" she asked lightheartedly, leaning in, her hand still pressed to my back gently.

Finally finding the ability to stand my ground, I said, "I'm very observant," and I turned to look at her to show her that whatever game she was playing wasn't going to work anymore. Of course, that was a huge mistake, because as soon as my eyes locked with hers, I lost all resolve.

"That you are," she noted with a smirk, before her hand dropped to her side and she nodded to the long-forgotten dress in my hand. "You should get it. It suits you."

And with that comment, she left me alone to join our mothers yet again. I breathed out shakily, realising that Wanda Maximoff was becoming a bigger issue than I thought. 

After purchasing some new dresses from several stores (no, I didn't buy the dress Wanda wanted me to), the four of us stopped by a café for a spot of lunch. Despite the flustered mess I became whenever Wanda gave me more attention than we both know she should have, I was having an okay time.

Iryna was very sweet, wanting to get to know me since we would be family soon, and made me feel at ease whenever she could. My mother was too distracted by her and Wanda's presence to tell me off for complaining, and it was just genuinely kind of nice to get out.

I was drinking a cup of tea as we waited for our food order when my mum tried to get the details on Wanda's newly-planned date with my brother in a few days.

"You're going to the theatre, right?" she asked Wanda eagerly, as if she didn't already know everything anyway.

Y/B/N had talked about this literally last night at dinner. It was to be Wanda's and his first official date, and the first real opportunity away from family and prying eyes to get to know each other better.

"Yes, he got tickets to see a new play I've never heard of," she admitted with a chuckle. "It'll be a chance to get to know him better. The only things I know of him are what my family have told me and what I've learnt from everyone around us."

Iryna smiled as she watched her daughter, whilst my mother waved her hand optimistically.

"Oh, I'm sure the date will go splendidly," she assured Wanda. "It's no secret that you're both very attractive, young adults. If there are no sparks between you, then we're all done for."

At this comment, Iryna and my mother both erupted into laughter, like it was some kind of joke that only middle-aged women seemed to get. I raised my eyebrows and dropped them behind a cup of tea, figuring it was best to stay quiet.

"I'm sure it will," Wanda said in agreement, though her voice was quieter, unable to be heard behind their laughter.

Surprisingly, I found myself intrigued by this rarely seen version of Wanda. It was a similar version to the one I'd seen the night of the dinner, when I showed her around upstairs and the conversation of my brother crept in. It wasn't hard to forget her ability to dance around the question to whether she liked him or not.

And now, she seemed to wear a false smile as she mulled over their date. I guess it was strange to see since I naturally figured she'd want to marry him – pretty much any woman in the city did – but maybe that wasn't the case.

"...tell her what he's like," my mother insisted, pulling me away from my observation. "You're his sister. Who better than you to give her an idea?"

Realising what she was saying, I tried not to choke on my tea. I lowered the cup and shook my head calmly, though the intent was very much urgent.

"She should just see," I said uncertainly. "I mean, what better way to know than to just speak to him?"

One deathly glance from my mother and I straightened up, looking to the Maximoffs before me.

"But if I was to say something," I continued smoothly, making my mother relax at my words, "I'd say that my brother has always been a very respectful man. He's kind-hearted and he's caring."

Iryna was hanging onto my every word whilst Wanda stared at me but seemed elsewhere.

"And he's really excited to get to know you better, Wanda," I said truthfully, looking to the oddly-quiet brunette with a small reassuring smile. "He really likes you."

Iryna mentioned something about Y/B/N being just the man her Wanda deserves, but I was barely paying attention as I looked to the girl in question. She returned my smile, void of teasing or mischief like usual, and nodded quickly before looking down to her own cup of tea.

She was certainly a strange one.

#wanda maximoff au #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff imagine #elizabeth olsen #elizabeth olsen imagine #scarlet witch imagine #scarlet witch #marvel #marvel imagine

[robininthelabyrinth]

Could we have a fic of Jiāng Cheng naming a disciple as his heir, or if you think it wouldn’t work, would you mind just making a list of why, or of alternatives (because this is going with a aro/ace Jiāng Cheng)

Jiang Cheng was, in some ways, a terrible sect leader.

For once, it wasn’t just his insecurities talking; it was simply a fact of life.

He was skillful enough as a warrior to earn fame and fortune for his sect, a charismatic enough leader to gather cultivators beneath the Jiang sect banner for the war, a good enough general – or, well, maybe a lieutenant, since to his relief Nie Mingjue handled most of the overarching battle plans for all the sects, not merely his own – to keep most of them alive during the war. He was a miserable politician, but he was able to walk the tightrope between being too weak (and making his sect a target) and too arrogant (and making his sect a target), even if it cost him tears and blood and a brother.

His sect survived. More than survived, it thrived.

Jiang Cheng had not disappointed his ancestors, his parents. He had, for once, lived up to expectations.

But there was one thing he needed to do, but couldn’t bring himself to actually accomplish.

“Take it in steps,” Nie Mingjue advised him, when he forced himself to ask. The other man’s eyes were shadowed – empathetic rather than sympathetic, a sense of fellow feeling instead of pity – there was a reason he’d come to the Nie sect for this. “In my case, the line of inheritance was and is straightforward, if threatened by Huaisang’s weakness. In your case…”

Jiang Cheng swallowed.

That was the crux of it, really. That was the terrible thing that he needed to do, but couldn’t.

The Jiang sect needed an heir.

He didn’t want to give it to them.

“Start small,” Nie Mingjue said. His voice was not given to gentleness, but it was less harsh, perhaps, than it might have been. “Formally appoint your second-in-command.”

Jiang Cheng’s face burned. Even that small thing had not gone unnoticed, it seemed – it wasn’t that he didn’t have a second-in-command, if the role was defined in the sense of the person he leaned on for aid and advice, the person who he gave authority to when he was too busy, the person who he trusted to keep things running if he was asleep or unconscious…

It was just that – it was the wrong person.

(It should have been Wei Wuxian – but that had long ago become impossible, even before he’d died. It was only that it hurt him to remember it, to think of it, to put someone in his place –)

“Your staff is very competent,” Nie Mingjue said. “They will serve you well.”

The rush of pride helped ease the never-ending sting of Wei Wuxian’s absence.

“I’ll do that,” he promised, and Nie Mingjue nodded in satisfaction. “But there’s also – the long term.”

The Jin sect would like him not to appoint anyone, he knew. That would give Jin Ling a claim to the position, and his Jiang sect that he worked so hard to reestablish would be swallowed up in whole by Lanling Jin – impossible, unacceptable. He had cousins that he could name as heir, to pass the time until – until –

“You don’t have to marry,” Nie Mingjue told him, and Jiang Cheng started as if he’d been caught doing something wrong, suddenly naked beneath Nie Mingjue’s relentless gaze.

“What? I – no. I’ve gone to the matchmaker, it just hasn’t worked –”

“Jiang Wanyin. You don’t have to marry.”

“…now?”

“At all.”

Jiang Cheng had wanted to hear those words for so long that he was suspicious of hearing them now. “I don’t have an heir,” he pointed out. “I don’t – if I don’t have children, my parents’ bloodline will die with me. I don’t want –”

To disappoint them.

“Their inheritance to you is their sect, which you have preserved,” Nie Mingjue said. “If you had died in its defense, would they excoriate you? No.”

“But I’m not dead,” Jiang Cheng said. “And just because I find the idea of marriage to be – unattractive –”

He could say as much to Nie Mingjue, who was equally unmarried, equally resistant to the idea. It had been his father’s complaints about Nie Mingjue’s disinterest in men and women alike, a somewhat knotty political problem, that had first revealed to Jiang Cheng that such disinterest was even an option, that it wasn’t his own personal failing but a characteristic that other people shared with him.

“– doesn’t mean that I can’t do it. ‘Attempt the impossible’, remember?”

Nie Mingjue frowned at him. “Your sect’s motto does not overcome your duty as a cultivator or as a human being,” he said firmly. “Attempting the impossible does not mean that you should attempt to do evil, if evil is what is impossible.”

“Marriage isn’t evil.” Even if he sometimes thought of it as such.

“Not for others. But for you and I – it’s different for us. It’d be one thing if we could find someone to match us, someone who shared our disinterest or was willing to adapt to it...there are people like that out there, women and men alike, and if you want a partner with whom to share your life, I have no doubt that you can find one. But that’s not what’s being discussed.”

“It isn’t?”

“No. To marry someone blindly for the sake of marriage and children, to put politics over personal interest and wed someone who thought they would receive all the things that come with a marriage, all the things we do not wish to give? It would be an act of evil. An evil to whoever we wed, if we let them enter into marriage with us unknowing of what the future might hold – an evil to ourselves, if we tried to pretend, forcing ourselves into a life of bitterness, resentment, and misery. Worst of all, it would be an evil to our children, who would know.”

Jiang Cheng shuddered at that, revolted by the idea. It was true, too – he had always known that his parents’ marriage was unhappy, even back when he was younger and his mother still took pains to hide it from him, and then even more so later on. The bitterness of his mother’s unhappiness had eaten her alive, over time, and his father’s dissatisfaction had done the same for him…

Was that how he would be, if he forced himself to marry whatever girl agreed to take him, not telling her the truth? If he married just for the sake of the heirs they could have together, planning all the while to abandon her afterwards?

Yes.

After all, for better or worse, he was his parents’ son.

“Okay,” he said, and closed his eyes briefly as a great weight lifted from his shoulders. “You’re right.”

Nie Mingjue nodded in satisfaction. “Pick a nice cousin that you can bring to live with you, train them up early and make the reason clear,” he advised. “Establishing a line of succession early is the only way to avoid a giant clusterfuck.”

Jiang Cheng’s lips twitched. “Is that the technical term for it?”

“As far as I’m concerned it is.”

Jiang Cheng laughed.

#mdzs #jiang cheng #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #Anonymous

[nillegible]

(Part 4 of Stay, the MY time travel fic. Read Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 )

So much that Meng Yao has seen in his second life has been disturbingly accurate to the memories that he still has of his former life, but the brothel is different. It feels much smaller than it did to a child who grew up there. Appears more garish than he’d seen from afar, after ordering the place to be burned down. Or perhaps these decorations are so like the gilded decor Koi tower that he hadn’t noticed, back then.

Meng Yao walks inside now, for the first time since he fled after mother’s death, dressed in simple gray robes of good make, sword and tassel marking him as a cultivator. His hair is deliberately done up plainly, as different from his mother’s as he can manage it. He does not wish to be recognized here, as her son.

“Please, please stop,” someone is crying out, and a tall, well-built young man – not a cultivator though – is dragging a woman outside by the hair. As Meng Yao steps aside to make way, he recognizes her. Anxin. It’s a new way to remember her face, twisted in fear and desperation, instead of in cruel, mocking laughter.

He lets them pass, and walks into the establishment. Two young girls, maybe sixteen, direct him to a table in the main hall and prepare tea. He responds to their flirtation politely; they’re just doing their jobs, after all; and waits for the Madame to be free.

I bet Father, never had to wait, thinks Meng Yao, but it’s an idle thought. Even his mother had not wanted Meng Yao to be like him, only to gain his favour and the prestige that entailed.

For all that he’s a cultivator now, one of considerable renown even if it does not match that of a Sect Leader or heir of a major sect. He waits patiently for the madame’s attention.

The young women at his sides stiffen into perfect posture, alerting him to the imminent arrival of their boss. “How can I help the honoured young master?” the well dressed, elegant woman asks finally, coming over to sit gracefully at his table.

“This one greets Madame,” says Meng Yao simply. “I am merely here to observe, and perhaps make a purchase.” She’s so practiced that her reaction is nearly entirely subdued, only traces of her glee at finding a customer to buy one of her girls’ contract are visible. Meng Yao pretends not to notice, just smiles, serenely.

“The Young Master is seeking a wife, then? My girls are each very accomplished, and I’m sure he will find one eminently suitable to his tastes.”

Meng Yao just nods, as if disinterested. “If madame would show me the suitable candidates…” then hesitates, carefully. “I am not seeking a wife. My Uncle’s wife has taken ill, and I hoped that if I found him a suitable concubine, there would be less disharmony in my household. I am unmarried, and finding good servants is difficult enough without him scaring the help away with his ways.” He scrunches his nose in faint distaste, and watches the calculation in her eyes.

“This one understands, the Young Master will not be looking for their skills in managing a household, then. There are women to match this criterion as well. Some of my girls are great beauties and will certainly captivate any man.”

“He can find beauties on his own coin,” Meng Yao huffs. “As long as she can perform her duties, who cares what she looks like? Will Madame show me the women? I will decide when I see them.” With such crude, miserly words, Meng Yao has saved himself having to browse through most of the women here, as well as much of the haggling. The Madame would not dare to inflate her prices above that of the prostitute’s contract, for fear he’d leave and just bribe one of his female servants to quietly accept the abuse.

Sure enough, after Meng Yao is settled in a private room, the women suggested to him are significantly older than the young ones entertaining downstairs. The madame excuses herself; there’s nothing much for her to do here, but leaves two clerks to explain the costs of each contract.

Meng Yao reads through them dispassionately, even setting aside Sisi’s contract when he sees it the first time, though in the ‘look again,’ pile, not the ‘too expensive’ one. Finally, he narrows it down to three, and the women are requested to attend them, in the small parlor.

Meng Yao keeps his face averted when Sisi approaches. There’s a sharp inhale when she sees him, and he looks up to catch her eye and quickly shakes his head, asking her to not give it away. Seeming to understand, she falls into place beside her two sisters, and allows Meng Yao to… consider his options. He picks Sisi as if on a whim, and then finalizes the purchase.

*

“Meng Yao?” she asks, when they’re left alone, shortly after. There is paperwork to be completed, and they’re brought tea while they wait.

“Aunt Sisi,” Meng Yao says softly. “It is good to see you again.”

“I didn’t expect… do you really have an uncle in need of a concubine?”

“Jin Guangshan has three brothers,” he answers. “But as I have not acknowledged him as my father, I do not have uncles.”

“I see,” she says. That sharp gaze means, go on. Means, what do you want of me, and it is too suspicious, too disturbing to wait until they leave the brothel to explain.

“I would have bought Mother out, if I could. I dreamed of the day. But she died and… Aunt Sisi has ever been kind to her. You were her greatest comfort, in her final days.”

“Meng Shi was a good woman,” she says shortly. There’s no softness to the words.

“I remembered that Aunt Sisi was an excellent seamstress. There is a shop well known to me, in Yunmeng, and the proprietor is willing to take on a skilled helper. The money is a loan from my Sect Leader, but it will be paid back over a year from my allowance. Aunt Sisi may pay me back over a longer time, we can work out the specifics of that loan, after you’ve settled your living at the shop.”

Sisi is quiet for a long time. “There is a merchant,” she says, “Who offered to marry me.”

“The one with the jealous wife?” he asks. “Does Aunt Sisi believe her life would be peaceful, in her household?” Not that she would even get a chance to live there, but there’s no way that Aunt Sisi could know that.

She doesn’t say anything else, nor does he, while they finish their tea, and eat the snacks laid out. Unlooked for good fortune, at the whims of those more powerful than him had never made Meng Yao feel grateful. He’s not going to expect it in someone else.

“I suppose I should thank you,” she says, only after they’ve left the establishment. He’s leading her towards the docks, to rent a boat to Yunmeng. He has all of her luggage sealed away in a qiankun pouch, though her money is in a purse clutched tightly in her hands.

“Aunt Sisi does not have to,” he says. “This one did not consult you, before choosing this for you. I apologize, for that.”

“Don’t bother apologizing,” she says. “It’s just a lot, without a moment’s notice. But I am grateful.”

“You’ll like Madam Yan, the tailor,” says Meng Yao. “She’s kind.” Of course, Meng Yao can practically see her disbelief; of course the tailor was kind to Meng Yao, a paying customer! What would she be like to an underling, and one with an unpleasant background? But Meng Yao knew more of Madam Yan than just the previous day’s meeting with her, when he’d talked to her and asked her if she needed the help of a talented seamstress who needed somewhere to go. Meng Yao’s skilful enquiries and opinions on the robes that he was having commissioned definitely helped support his argument that he knew what he was talking about, and that if he said someone was skilled they must be, but Meng Yao also knew a little of Madam Yan’s history because her daughter would one day be a Jiang disciple, and Jin Ling would be fond of the Shijie with the lovely robes.

He’s certain that he’s making the right choice, to leave Sisi with her instead of at the brothel, where she’d only face injury, scarring, and heartache.

(And then turn desperate enough to be hired for the most suspect of jobs, of being used in a murder plot, and then locked away for years. Meng Yao had been careful to give her a comfortable life, but he doubts that it was any happier than the lives of the koi in his ponds. He owes her this, even if she does not know why.)

The awkward air between them doesn’t clear, even as they hire a boat to take them the half hour upstream to Yunmeng, nor while they stop at an inn for lunch. He asks her if she’d like to rent a room to freshen up in before she meets her future employer, and she agrees. Meng Yao waits downstairs after paying for the room, returning Sisi’s luggage to her.

While he waits, he wanders between the shops nearby. He doesn’t have much money to spend on frivolities, he’s carefully planned out his finances for the next year to allow him to repay the borrowed sum as soon as possible, but browsing has always been fun. His eyes catch on a hat, scholarly, a bit shorter than Meng Yao’s own preference, and he stares for a moment.

So much ribbing in his previous life, for his height, for his name, for how he was more of an administrator than a son to Jin Guangshan, even during all those years where he was the only acknowledged heir. ‘I’m doing it all for you, Mother,’ he’d told himself, through all of it. Setting his signature hat on his head every morning, like a piece of armor. That everything he did was for his mother… and yet he’d killed so many people in her name.

People like her.

Meng Yao remembers the burning fury of hating being called a whore’s son, of people washing their hands when they touched him, like he was tainted, like the filth was on him instead of their sick, twisted minds. Of being refused a chance to carry his own nephew, shooed away and made to stand apart from the golden heir of Lanling.

My mother is not like those whores, he’d thought to himself, she’s nothing like those filth, and never regretted or repented for his choices until he saw Sisi’s scarred, terrified face among the women he’d ordered to be killed.

The frightened, sobbing women who had been used to kill his own father.

Meng Yao thinks of Anxin’s terrified face as she was dragged out of the brothel this morning. He has no idea what it was about. He doesn’t think it matters. Perhaps they truly would all be better off dying in a cleansing fire than living their sad miserable lives, as he’d reasoned to himself before. That they were deserving of such a death, for how they treated Meng Shi.

All of that… any of that, was easier than the truth.

My mother was a prostitute, and I was ashamed.

Nothing, no temple, no prayers, no statues of guanyin with his mother’s face could ever erase his crimes.

“Meng Yao?” asks a hesitant voice, and he turns around to smile at Sisi. She’s wearing the same subdued outfit she’d worn to leave the brothel, but she’s washed away the sweat from travelling over water on a hot day, and her hair has been redone. She looks like any other woman in the marketplace, though the loveliness of her face is still admirable.

“The shop is not far,” he tells her. “Shall we go?”

[Read part 5 here!]

#meng yao #jgy time travel verse #sisi #meng yao thinking about his mistakes #and growing

[threadofdestiny]

Magnolia (Bakugou x f!reader)

Feudal Japan AU

Shogun!Bakugou x Midoriya’s sister!reader

Summery: Her mother, lady Midoriya Inko, had once told her that the gods had predestined a path for every single person. All she had to do was follow the path and trust that it would lead her to happiness. But how could (Y/N) find happiness in a political formed marriage with her brother’s rival, a man known for being brutal and cold hearted?

Warnings: sexual content in later chapters / period-typical-sexism / strong language / violence / Drama / Angst / Fluff / Slow Burn/ political marriage / Reader is Izuku's sister / period-typical-discriptions like vague mentions of longer hair to form typical hairstyles or specific wardrobe / Bakugou is not good at feelings / Bakugou is a mean, explosive boi / third-person perspektive

Wattpad

AO3

If someone wants to be tagged, just let me know ;)

Chapter 2

Chapter 1

The life of a lady

No matter what culture you were born into, the structures of the society of the noble born, were always one and the same in their most fundamental form. A life as a noble was blessed with wealth and influence, but intrigues and scandals enjoyed dominance over those who had enough money and power to be part of the emperor's curt.

Only the most important people were powerful enough to receive the honor to get a tailored role in such a glorious play, while the rest served only as cheap, unappreciated extras. However, it did not matter at all whether the nobility was absorbed in their role's descriptions or if they would have preferred to step off that pretential stage. Every single one of them was obliged to play their part. If they did not, they had to expect that it would not only be their own end, but often for their entire family and subordinates as well. In that case, all that could save them was the favor of the crown itself, which usually was as fickle and impressionable as the rough sea.

In a world like this, you didn't decide for yourself who you were...

No, not really...

It was the tongues of the others that had the power to deform the image of your identity. They decided who you were and what was best for you. They defined what was right and what was wrong and were able to destroy you at the slightest misstep. So, bearing a title was a privilege and a burden all at once.

As a noble it was not only important who you were and how well you fulfilled your own part in society, no, it was important who you knew and what contacts you had cultivated. Your connections were what made you powerful. So it was common that unions were closed around various families to secure better conditions for their offspring's or to form better alliances to gain power over the emperor's curt. In a society like this, everyone looked for their own benefits. Compassion was a rare treasure, which could only be found in the fewest individuals. Sons were raised to rule, while daughters were only used as bargaining chips. They must humbly serve their families by marrying powerful men, to obtain alliances. They had to bind themselves to those who were raised to rule over them, without ever getting a chance to decide for themselves.

So... how can anyone romanticize such a morbid spectacle? Why are there such big differences between the rights of various people? Why are the deeds of the powerful always glossed over, while the weaker were oppressed?

Noble warriors, who fought for glory and honor...

Fine diplomats, whose silver tongues could melt every single heart...

Mighty kings, who hold their hand protectively over their people...

Well-guarded ladies, whose beauty and elegance could made a whole hall shine...

Weren't these colorful descriptions only empty paraphrases, in order to be able to hide the cruel faces of reality?

But...

Who told of the blood of the innocent that dripped from the warrior's blade?

Who mentioned the lies the diplomat had spun to achieve his goals?

Who wrote about the wars the king instigated to expand his empire?

Who acknowledged that a lady's supposed beauty and family status was the only means to even have the prospect of a rosy future? And even this was not an indicator that her destiny would not be her downfall, because the rules were set by those who wielded the power and if she was unlucky, they were the ones who took advantage of it without thinking of her well-being.

Yes, even the carefully planned and detailed balls and parties, looked at first glance like dreamlike picture perfect background's. They blinded onlookers to what was behind the scenes, but those who lived in this world for long enough, knew that even these were literally only bloody battlefields disguised in beautiful shining robes. It's was a spectacle full of lies.

True love?

A spark of equality?

Boundless trust?

What most rare wonders they were in her hypocritical society and yet (Y/N), young and unreserved, hoped to find them in spite of everything. What a blessed life she had led until now. She was lucky to be born into a wonderful family. Despite her status, its members were warm-hearted and free-spirited. But she knew that this was not the norm and was wise enough not to take her privileges for granted.

With a wildly beating heart, she stood next to her mother and waited for her call to finally be presented before the Emperor and his guests as a marriageable debutante. Normally, the Empress would review the new young ladies year after year, but she had passed away in her own childbed some time ago, and so the Emperor, bless his suprisingly kind soul, took over this task, with a nostalgic smile on his fragile face.

In the midst of the whole crowd of young ladies and their mothers, (Y/N) stood and called herself to patience while she tried to fade out her competition as best she could. Some of her fellow competitors she knew personally, but only a few she had a closer, more sympathetic relationship with. Somewhere at the other end of the waiting area she had spotted Miss Uraraka with her mother. But unfortunately they had only been able to give each other a fleeting smile before she was already called. Ochako was one of her few childhood friends, but she too was unfortunately on the hunt for a good match and was now in some ways as much her competitor as all the rest of the unmarried girls. So all (Y/N) could do was to hope that this season wouldn't drive a wedge between them and at least one of them would get hitched safely.

However, no matter how much she would like to think about her friendships at this moment, the young girl had to use what little time she had left to mentally prepare herself for her own appearance. Breathing deeply through her chest, the budding debutante stretched her back while pulling her shoulders taut. The stiff, floral-embroidered obi was cinched very tightly around her waist, making breathing a little more difficult, but not as impossible as it seemed with some of the other ladies. Testing, (Y/N) tried to put on a charming smile as she interlaced her fingers in front of her body in a demure pose before turning her frame with trembling lips to her mother, who was already looking at her with affection. "I hope I can bring honor to our family today!" the young girl spoke softly as she gazed hopefully into the green eyes of her counterpart. Lady Midoriya regarded her daughter with a moved expression, raising her well-groomed hands to fix the blooming magnolia blossoms she had personally placed in the elaborate hairstyle that morning for one last time. Satisfied with her work, she let her fingers glide gently down over (Y/N)'s ears, only to finally cup the young girl's cheeks in a delicate manner. "You already do, my child! And I know you will continue to do so!" the older lady replied confidently, while placing her slightly wrinkled, yet still delicate fingers under (Y/N)'s chin to lift it decisively. "You are beautiful, intelligent and kind-hearted! You have inherited your father's strong will! He would be as proud as I am to see you like this. Just like your brother, you put all your passion into your tasks and diligently learn what is expected of you. You, my child, will be able to go your way and overcome any stumbling block. I am incredibly sure of that!" Lady Midoriya added emotionaly before she cleared her throat softly, hoping to catch herself again. Tears glistened in her eyes like raindrops on an evergreen branch. The words of her mother gave (Y/N) the necessary strength to suppress the slight trembling of her lips. Slowly but surely, the nervous lump that had spread in her throat dissolved and disappeared along with her fear.

Yes, her mother was right! (Y/N) had inherited the will of her father and had prepared herself in the best possible way for exactly this moment. She would face the emperor fearlessly and make her family proud. On this day and on each still coming!

"Lady Midoriya. It is now your and your daughter's turn!" the stiff voice of the herald's assistant rang out, snapping them out of their brief emotional moment. Nodding, (Y/N)'s mother started to move and placed herself with perfectly executed etiquette in front of the closed red and golden double doors that would lead them into the throne room. The remaining debutantes and their mothers, who were waiting for their momentto come, gave them appraising looks, but (Y/N) tried to ignore them as much as possible. Each of them knew how privileged the youngest Midoriya was, her own brother being one of the three former students of the current emperor. But she would shine today because of her own abilities. Today she would not stand in the shadow of her talented, kind-hearted brother. Taking a deep breath, the young girl followed her mother and positioned herself half a step in front of her while she waited with galloping heartbeat for the herald's introduction.

This was it...

This was the moment on which everything depended. All eyes would be on her to determine her own worth. As soon as those doors opened, she would take the first step to be able to grab a good match for herself. It would be one of the most important steps that would determine the rest of her life and she could not help but dare once again to let hope for a good future arise in her. Conscious of her duty, (Y/N) lowered herself onto the pillow and took in a bowing posture. With her head bowed and fingertips touching, which hovered in a rehearsed posture stretched out in front of her just a few millimeters above the ground, she took one last look at her beloved mother. Making the final decision to take Lady Midoriya as her role model, (Y/N) set herself for the very last time the goal not only to achieve an excellent match and honor for her family, but also to fight for the oh-so-rare love that only a few were truly allowed to experience. Even if her future could not be determined by herself, she did not want to leave her entire destiny solely in the hands of the gods, for only those who proved virtuous and courageous would be truly heard by those same deity's. She had prayed and pleaded that she would be able to feel for her future groom as her mother once did for her beloved husband, but to achieve this she would have to fight in her own way.

"Your Majesty, honored guests, we now present Miss Midoriya (Y/N), younger sister of the head of the family and distinguished samurai of Shizuoka Province, Lord Midoriya Izuku, one of the three former disciples of the Symbol of Peace. His Imperial Highness, Toshinori-sama. The young lady is accompanied by her mother, Lady Midoriya Inko," the clear voice of the herald echoed through the hall, while the richly decorated double doors were pushed open as if in slow motion. As she had been taught, the introduced debutante slowly counted to three before elegantly rising from her bowing position, only to just as slowly lift her eyelids to cast an innocent glance around the hall. In a culture like hers, aesthetics and elegance were invaluable. They were taught to one from childhood. Like a graceful mask, she wore the delicate, demure garb of etiquette expected of a young girl of her station.

'Do not speak unless you are addressed personally.'

'It is better to be seen than heard.'

'A young girl's weapon is not her voice, but her manners and countenance.'

'Be a work of art that all the world wants to admire.'

Even though (Y/N) wanted to be independent in her deepest heart. Even if she would have loved to use her own voice not only to be seen but also to be heard, she knew that for that she needed a man who was kind enough to give her that very chance. Her gently, encouraging brother would not always be her guardian. In a society like hers, a woman alone was worth nothing. Her status was measured by that of her husband and only that man would be able to shape her further life. He alone would have the right to decide whether to lock her in a golden cage and let her wither away or to give her the wings she would need to continue to develop freely. So she had no choice but to be exactly what was expected of her if she wanted to attract as much attention as possible. The family name she carried could not be her only trump card. She had to portray the perfect, well-mannered bride. A girl that was worth fighting over. Beautiful and quiet. Attentive and discreet. Talented and elegant. For this reason, she had poured her heart and soul and perfectionism into this very charlatanry. She wanted freedom! She wanted to be able to hope! Hope that the seed her family had planted in her would be able to blossom! Hope to be able to attract the attention of a man who would be her blessing and not her downfall.

Without losing her balance, the young girl stood up, while with purposeful flowing gestures, she placed her hands hovering over each other under her chest. When at last the seat cushion was discreetly moved aside, the debutante stepped into the packed hall with shining, soft eyes, closely followed by her venerable mother. A slight implied smile, meant to exude modesty and delicacy, played around her lips as she resisted the need to look around the room.

Look at me. I am everything you have ever dreamed of.

Her gaze rested on the hem of the emperor's multi-layered robe without once losing her focus as she strode past his wealthy guests, who were spread out on either side of the hall and focused their full attention on (Y/N). The young girl knew that somewhere in that crowd was her big brother, Midoriya Izuku, watching her intently just like all the others. By the gods, she hoped that he felt pure pride for his sister, just like their mother. He was probably even more nervous than she was at that moment. Perhaps he was even quietly whispering push prayers into his non-existent beard to give his sister all the blessings in the world. No matter. This thought alone warmed the debutante's heart as she took one step after another toward the emperor until she finally came to a stop in front of him. Without lifting her eyes, (Y/N) curtsied as deeply as her legs would allow and then waited with bated breath for the crown's reaction.

Silence reigned in the hall, so pervasive that one could have heard a pin drop on the floor. Like a mantra, the words, Look at me, I bring honor to my family, echoed in the mind of the youngest Midoriya. The sudden clap of the emperor, which echoed through the room like lashes of a whip, almost made (Y/N) wince, but she had managed to pull herself together. Calmly, the young girl waited while she made sure to take deep breaths through her chest so as not to fall prey to dizziness. Out of the corner of her eye, she could observe the emperor nodding warmly in the direction of his guests. "As one would expect, my student's little sister is shining brightly!", Toshinori's voice loudly and warmly pierced the silence of the room.

"This my honored guests, I call a truly sparkling diamond."

#buku no hero academia #bakugou x reader #Bakugou x female reader #bnha #mha #x Reader #bakugou x yn #freudal Japan #arranged marriage trope

[bellascarousel]

Jealous? Me? Never!

For Kate and Anthony 2021 Week, Day 1 Prompt: Jealousy and all its cousins

Colin was dancing with Kate Sheffield. Again. Logically, Anthony knew that his brother was just doing what the Bridgerton men were expected to do. He was making sure that every young lady got at least one turn on the dance floor. Granted, it wasn’t as if Kate lacked for dance partners. Men were falling all over themselves trying to curry favor with the elder Miss Sheffield as part of their pursuit of the younger.

Not that any of those men bothered Anthony, in the slightest. He was sure that Kate would call his confidence that Edwina would not turn him down when he proposed arrogance. Honestly, his mother and his sisters would probably agree with her. But, Daphne had already snatched up the only potential suitor that had been more sought after than Anthony was. Well, perhaps if another unmarried prince made an appearance, Anthony would have some serious competition. But, as it stood, he had no reason to worry about the scores of hopefuls who were trying to win Edwina’s hand through charming her sister.

Colin and Benedict were different, though. When they danced with Kate, it wasn’t out of interest in Edwina. And, when one or both of them would put themselves down for more than one dance with her in an evening, it likely wasn’t obligation, or to make their mother happy. It was likely because they genuinely wanted to dance with her. Though, why that should bother him so much, he had absolutely no idea. Nor could he explain the tightness in his chest as he watched how she laughed with genuine mirth at something his brother had said.

He closed his eyes, which turned out to be a mistake. Because without external stimuli, his fevered imagination took over. He found himself bombarded with the memory of Kate in his arms. The taste of her. The feel of her. How desperately he had wanted her. Okay, that was definitely a very dangerous turn for his thoughts to take. If he didn’t find something else to think about, and fast, it would become very obvious that he was imagining one of the young ladies here naked — and very much enjoying the mental image.

His eyes snapped open. This was seriously ridiculous. He should not be standing here, in a damn ballroom, thinking about making love to Kate Sheffield of all people.

“And just who are you staring at so intently?”

Anthony gave a sigh of relief. If anything could calm the storm Kate was creating in him, it was the sound of his mother’s voice. “Keep talking.”

“You haven’t answered my question. And what, exactly, am I supposed to be talking about? What I want to say is that you should ask whichever young lady has you looking like that to dance.” She lowered her voice then, making sure that only he could hear her. “Though, I’m willing to bet that that would only make your current predicament worse.”

“Excuse me?”

His mother had the nerve to laugh at him. “I have eight children, Anthony. Think about that for a minute. Now, consider that while I can’t quite make out who you are staring at — whoever it is, you are looking at her the way your father used to look at me. I do know that look, Anthony. A woman doesn’t conceive eight children and not come to recognize that look.”

That did it. Anthony turned to stare at his mother in horror. “Are we seriously having this conversation, right now?”

The woman actually smirked at him. “You’re welcome. Now, go splash cold water on your face or something. Don’t come back in here until you can be here without worrying about embarrassing yourself. And if that means you going home, I will make your apologies for you.”

Anthony shook his head, but did as he was told. He honestly wasn’t sure which was worse — the thoughts he was having about Kate, or his mother’s method of taking his mind off of those thoughts. Though, he didn’t go splash water on his face. Instead, he just took the out she gave him and headed home.

It didn’t really surprise him when he ended up dreaming of making love to Kate Sheffield that night. It was hardly the first time. And after their encounter in his study, those dreams had become distressingly common. But, at some point in the night, something else occurred to him. He was going to marry Edwina. And once she was off the market and he had provided Kate with a suitable dowry, some man was going to scoop her up. It was ludicrous to think that she would remain a spinster.

Kate would marry. Eventually there would be a man who would do more than dream of her. The tightness in his chest that had been there when watching her dancing and laughing with Colin came back stronger than ever at the thought of someone else being the one to share her bed, to see passion and desire in her eyes. And he was forced to admit to himself just what that tightness was.

Jealousy. God help him, he was jealous. Over Kate bloody Sheffield.

#kate x anthony #katexanthonyweek #katexanthonyweek21 #bridgerton #kathony #kanthony #KateandAnthonyWeek

[fericita-s]

The Princess and the Barbarian

A Helnik tale, rated T.  As Matthias recovers from a gunshot wound, Nina tells him the story of the Princess and the Barbarian. He interrupts a lot as his Fjerdan sensibilities are bothered and the Ravkan propaganda gets to be unbearable.  Thank you @theburnbarreljester​ for beta-ing and all the fantastic name suggestions.

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Her Imperial Highness the Princess Inessa was unmarried at twenty-five and no one was in a hurry to change that, least of all Inessa.  

She was pretty enough and powerful besides.  Her hair was wavy and brown, prone to knots rather than seemly curls, and though her skin was too freckled to earn the admiration of the ladies at court her stately height was a subject of envy.  Ravka was the light of the known world, the pinnacle of burgeoning industry and scientific advancements and artistic endeavours and any number of lesser nations were eager to ally themselves with the imperial family by way of marriage.  Kerch, Shu Han, and the Wandering Isle sent instructions to their ambassadors to seek a match but the imperial family remained silent on the matter.  Fjerda had not sent any such inquiries, but it was to be expected that a nation of barbarians wouldn’t know how to build alliances through anything as civilized as marriage. 

Her brother, the Heir Apparent, was married and the father of two healthy sons.  Her parents, the Emperor and Empress, looked so hale that the royal healer had taken up gardening because his services were so rarely needed.  Her grandmother, the Dowager Empress, liked to summon wind to blow out a candle or to catch the topsail of her schooner as she took in the sights along the Neva River.  She’d even been known to flick her hand, calling a breeze, to show her cape to great advantage upon entering the ballroom. When news of firepox in a distant land had brought fear to the Grand Palace her grandmother was unconcerned.  “We’ll stay healthy and strong.  It’s the Grisha blood, my dearest.  You have it too, I can tell.”

Inessa couldn’t summon wind or call fire or feel the beating of hearts but she had a way with needle and thread, and not just for the embroidery acceptable for princesses. She fashioned horse blankets that kept the emperor’s steeds comfortable during the bleakest Ravkan winters and wicked away their sweat during the summer months.  She made tablecloths that red wine and butter-soaked blinis wouldn’t stain and handkerchiefs that felt cool against a fevered or blushing cheek. She lined woolen cloaks with a warmth that rivaled Fjerdan furs and were lighter to carry, a boon to their troops guarding the northern border. She even fiddled with her nephews’ boots, adding to the soles so that they squeaked as they toddled around the castle, alerting their harried nannies to their escape attempts from the nursery. 

So, Ravka did not need her to make an advantageous marriage.  The line of succession was clear, the empire prospered, and Inessa was happy to experiment with the small science of making materials into more than their first purpose.

Until, one day, it did. 

The Shadow Fold had unfurled in a cut of darkness and death and betrayal and suddenly the empire was rent in half.  Attempts to cross it were terrifying.  There were tales of bloodthirsty beasts who skulked in the darkness, more terrifying than the barbarians in the north.  At least the Fjerdans looked human.  These shrieking, flying monsters devoured any who tried to pass with gnashing teeth and serrated claws.  They called them volcra.

Where there had just been Ravka, there was now East Ravka and West Ravka.  The palaces at Os Alta were far from the horror at Novo-Kribirsk and Tsemna and the few messengers who made it through the darkness and the volcra spoke of the need to separate into two nations.

Instead, the Emperor and Empress left their oldest son to govern Os Alta while they brought their only daughter as an offering to the Duke of Udova.  She would be a bride who would bind east and west and calm the fears of Ravkans.  

The imperial tailor had asked if she wanted to fabrikate part of her wedding gown, to make the lace shimmer or the beaded buttons glow, but she wasn’t interested in adorning herself for her husband-to-be.  She didn’t know him and didn’t particularly care to, though she did hope he would be satisfying in the way her lady’s maid told her the stablehand was, giggling and blushing and using hand motions that left Inessa mystified but curious.

All of Os Alta had been draped in bunting and garlands of white peonies even though the marriage was to take place at the edge of the Shadow Fold by the banks of the Sokol River. Every village on the journey had banners waving in honor of the upcoming wedding and the people lined the roads to cheer as the royal carriage passed. 

“To Ravka!” they cried.   “To Princess Inessa and the strength of our mighty land!”

#the princess and the barbarian #chapter 2 #Matthias lives! #and is a good listener #while Nina tells a tale #helnik #matthias helvar #nina zenik #Ravkan propaganda

[phoenixyfriend]

The IzuTobi Prequel

Prequel to this post, which I’ve taken to calling the “Red Eyes = Spouse Material” AU.

WARNING: contains a reference to worries/fears of sexual coercion.

Like, okay, they did not know that Tobirama had red eyes at first. They weren't close enough on the river for Izuna to see, since he didn't have Sharingan yet, while Tajima and Madara were looking at their respective opponents, not Tobirama.

Then, once they were in their early teens, and Izuna already had his Sharingan, they met on the battlefield for the first time, and Izuna saw Tobirama's eyes. Sure, Tobirama wouldn't meet his gaze, but Izuna could still see him.

And Izuna, as is only natural, went to Madara to ask 'hey uhhhhhhhhh one of our enemies is actually Amaterasu-blessed, what do.'

And Madara's just like '!!!!!' because hey actually this is great news everybody knows that the first step upon meeting an unmarried stranger with red eyes is to figure out who the best person to court them is, they can get a marriage alliance out of this to end the bloodshed and child death! Even the Elders can't argue against having a clan marriage to an Amaterasu-blessed indivi--

They object.

Well, Tajima objects.

Madara and Izuna bring the issue to him, both pretty excited about doing the whole "arranged engagement in the early teens, actual marriage at twenty or so" thing as a way to stop killing kids but Nope! For a variety of reasons, most of which boil down on Tajima's side to "the Senju have killed three of my children, I have no interest in taking in one of their own," the plan is shot down.

Madara and Izuna are naturally devastated but keep an eye out for like. A chance. To slip the info to Tobirama or Hashirama so they're at least aware of the possibility for when Tajima dies, in case Butsuma is more open to it?

I can't decide if they actually manage to set up a Secret Meeting prior to their dads' deaths, but I'm leaning towards 'no.'

(In this plot, Izuna is still wary of the Senju, but much more open to the idea of peace on account of Auspicious Omens Are Here.)

Anyway, Tajima dies first, I think, and Madara's first act as Clan Head is to send Hashirama a request by hawk for a private meeting. Hashirama is still only heir, not Clan Head, but Butsuma is ill (infected wound, I think), so Hashirama has the option of accepting this.

They meet, and Madara explains that he can sway most of the clan into an alliance--not just an armistice, but an actual alliance, possibly even establish that village they talked about as kids--if they can marry Tobirama into the Uchiha.

"Does it have to be Tobirama?" Hashirama asks, because he's not the best brother, but he's good enough to know that Tobirama hates the idea of getting married.

"Yes," Madara says, and then explains that it's all in the eyes, that this is a deeply spiritual thing to the clan and while some of the more militant elders may object, most of the clan will take the red eyes as a sign that this is intended to happen.

And Hashirama is quiet, and then asks if a marriage would require Tobirama to sire any children.

"We're not going to try to steal a kekkei genkai."

"That's not it."

"...wait, does he prefer men? We can--we can make that happen. If it's... hell, in that case it might work better, he could marry me or Izuna, direct connection to the main house, skip the issue of heirs and--"

"No, that's not... not it. But it makes me feel better to know that. I'll have to run it past him."

Tobirama is VERY ace and Hashirama had strict plans to respect that so he's trying to feel out if consummation would be required, or if a kiss for the wedding and then cohabitation would be enough.

Internal logic is "I want peace but not at the expense of handing my brother over for coerced marital rape where he thinks he can't say no without restarting the war."

He manages to get the agreement that the Uchiha weren't looking to pressure Tobirama into any sex-related things, though Madara still thinks it's a matter of Bloodline Protection and that Hashirama is worried about, like, someone trying to steal surplus semen or something.

Hashirama goes home and outlines it to Tobirama, who is very ??? about the whole thing but willing to at least consider it after Hashirama explains the basic requirements and how he confirmed that sexual relations aren't necessary. Hashirama floats it past Butsuma as a Theoretical Exercise, and is shot down.

So, Hashirama sends Madara a letter to the effect of "Our esteemed Clan Head says no, but we'll keep it in mind [insert veiled implication that Butsuma's dying anyway here]."

Madara and Hashirama have always kinda held back against each other, but now Tobirama and Izuna are also holding back the teensiest bit, just enough that nobody can be sure (and tell Butsuma or and Elder about it).

Well, Touka notices, but her first resort is "ask Tobirama to his face" and second resort is "bother Hashirama about it" so she gets the rundown on how Madara and Izuna are angling to get a political marriage with Tobirama since his eyes are Apparently a spiritual matter to the Uchiha as a whole.

Obviously, Butsuma dies, and Hashirama then immediately sends Madara a letter like "HEY so I'm Clan Head now, here's a nice inn located in neutral territory, bring your brother and an advisor, I'll do the same, let's hammer out a contract ASAP."

So it's Hashirama, Tobirama, and Touka on one side, Madara, Izuna, and Hikaku on the other.

Tobirama explains that he refuses to engage in sexual relations with anyone he marries (internally he's thinking that he might eventually take interest if he gets comfortable enough, but overall the entire concept is a little disgusting to him, and he doesn't want anyone to think they can convince him to do it, so he takes a hardline stance during the marriage contract negotiation process), but is open to his marriage partner engaging in an extramarital affair for a period of time in order to secure an heir.

"I promise we're not trying to steal your--" "Madara. Look at me. I do not like sex, and have never had any intention to engage in the activity with anyone, Uchiha or Senju or any clan at all. I had no plans for marriage, ever. The only reason I am opening myself to this one is because I value the opportunity for peace." "...oh."

So, you know, that's out in the open now, but it actually makes it easier to negotiate because they now know why he's uncomfortable with the idea of marriage, so other things (like the cohabitation and dowry and whatnot) can be discussed without people getting resentful about the other party not trusting them with genetic material. Hashirama and Madara get really excited about the whole village idea again, in part because Hashirama wants his brother to be able to visit Really Easily.

At one point they ask Tobirama who he wants to marry, if there's anyone he's interested in? Male or female? What ages is he comfortable with? Main line would be most politically expedient, but--

And he's just like "I know Izuna best, as my rival, and I've taken note of enough recently to know he's not a terrible person, at least as far as any shinobi can be 'good.' If Izuna is open to it, then I would like to discuss what cohabitation would look like between us. Should our expectations of daily life line up well enough, then I imagine that would be optimal."

Izuna's torn, because Amaterasu-blessed, but also he'd kind of been hoping for a Real Marriage with Affection and Children. Touka loudly suggests they take a recess and let Tobirama and Izuna talk in private for a bit.

Izuna manages to get across his personal worries, and Tobirama laughs and says that he actually loves children and was planning to take on plenty of students. "If you don't like the option of the extramarital affair for a child, we could always adopt. As for affection... I've been told I cling like an eel in my sleep, if that suggests anything."

"So if I grew enough feelings that I wanted, like... a good morning kiss or something..." "Quite frankly, my feelings on kissing in general are pretty neutral. It's a little strange, but I could engage with it, once a rapport is built. Heavy petting is distasteful, however, and anything past that..."

And Izuna listens to all that like "Oh. Okay, I will be able to Acquire Cuddles."

Then they discuss the whole 'what do we anticipate out of cohabitation' thing, like pets and cleanliness standards and what spare rooms are for and what goes on in the basement and allergies. It matches up... not perfectly, really, but close enough that they can make it work. They shake hands like the nerds they are and call their families back in and say they've decided it'll work so let's get that paperwork drawn up and start planning a wedding.

Aaaaaaaaaaand then Zetsu kills Izuna and convinces Madara that it was Tobirama's fault so he loses the plot (or, well, finds the canon plot, really).

I'm happy to imagine Tobirama and Izuna on a couch in their house, Izuna halfway asleep and leaning his head on Tobirama's shoulder, while Tobirama's got on a pair of glasses and is reading a book.

Just. Really domestic.

Cutesy.

IDK I feel like they just end up as pleasant roommates who don't necessarily ignore each other, but are well aware of the fact that they entered into this arrangement with non-romance expectations, and they're both okay with that.

They take dinner together, talk shop, try to engage with each other's hobbies, go to events as each other's default plus-one...

It’s Nice

#IzuTobi #Uchiha Izuna #Senju Tobirama #Izuna Uchiha #Tobirama Senju #Uchiha Madara #Senju Hashirama #Senju Touka #Naruto #Naruto Oldies #Founders Era #Phoenix Posts

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Quarantine: A Love Story {11}

Chris Evans x Reader Mini Series

Warning: Cursing, Plot, Angst, Scorching Slow Burn, Tease

Words: 6.2k

Note: Okay, so this ask/request came in and I was all prepped to write it as a one shot, but I had so many separate ideas that sprang to mind for it and from it. As of right now, I am going to play this one by ear. Hell, I might just keep writing it as long as we’re all in our quarantine/self-isolation. So, it might be one part every week, or I might change it. I honestly have no idea, so let’s start with calling it a mini-series and see where it goes. Thank you anon for the request, hope it’s cool I tweak, twist and stretch this out. 

I hope you guys enjoy this. Thank you for reading as always!!! ❤️❤️

***Loosely Edited/Proofread***

***Slightly Interactive***

**Images NOT My own. 2nd, 3rd, & 4th found Via Pinterest**

Previous Chapters:  Q1 |  Q2 |  Q3 |  Q4 |  Q5 |  Q6 |  Q7 |  Q8 |  Q9 | Q10 |

~~~~~~~~~~~

-Quarantine: Week Seven & A Half –

“I’m glad that you guys are doing okay, mom. Tell dad not to go on those walks with Mr. Beardsley. Tell him to stay his ass home,” you badgered.

 “You know that man does what he wants. The other day he was in the backyard building some abomination he calls a bird palace. Y/N, he made a three-story house for a bird,” your mother informed. You couldn’t help but laugh.

 “I sent you the picture. Look.”

 You put your cell on speaker and looked at the new message with the photo attached. The most hideous creation appeared on the screen. It was lopsided and looked like it had every board out of place.

“Oh, my goodness.”

 “Do you see? Then he had the nerve to ask me if he should paint it to make it more appealing.” You busted out laughing then. There was no way you could have held it in. All you could imagine was this atrocity painted yellow, blue, or even red.

 “I didn’t know what to tell him. He worked for hours on it,” your mother went on.

 “So, what did you go with?” The line was silent for a while before she sighed.

 “I told him to paint the damn thing rainbow colored. Told him it would attract more birds that way.”

 The two of you laughed together, not bothering to care how loud you were. After a few minutes, the two of you quieted down. You needed a good laugh.

 “How are you, darling?”

 “I’m fine, mom. Things are quiet as the world passes me by.”

 “So dramatic. Glad to see nothing has changed from when you were a child.”

 Rolling your eyes, you took a sip of your Arnold palmer and leaned back in the lounge beach chair. It was another beautiful day. Mother nature was laughing. While most of the world was locked away, unable to fully enjoy the great outdoors, she was serving Spring goals with upper seventy degree and sunny weather days. You were lucky to be near a beach and able to take advantage of it.

 “I’m not dramatic, I’m--,”

 “Just spirited, yeah, yeah yeah,” your mother filled in echoing the same words the same way you’d said them since you were six.

 “I don’t appreciate the shade, mom!”

 “Girl, watch your tone.” Pressing your lips together, you got your head on right. Your mother would slap you into next month if you played with her wrong.

 “What’s wrong? Is it Chris? Did he look at you and roll his eyes again?” She snickered, and you rolled your eyes again. She was always teasing you about the way you complained about Chris.

 “That boy is clearly head over heels in love with you. Anyone with one half good eye can see that.”

 “You don’t know what you’re talking about, mom.”

 “The hell I don’t. I am a woman too, Y/N. I know what a man looks like when he’s got it bad. I’ve been married to one for the last thirty-four years.”

 Taking another sip from your glass, you burrowed deeper into the chair and watched the waves roll onto the sand. The water was a lot calmer now in the afternoon than it had been earlier this morning, you thought.

 “All right, since you want to play dumb, and blind,” your mother sighed out.

 “Actually, mom, I have a question. Did you have Chris promise to stay away from me or something along those lines?���

 “Why would I do something like that?”

 “I don’t know, you tell me.”

 “I don’t know. Okay, wait—he has the reputation of being a ladies man.”

 “You mean a whore?”

 “Y/N!”

 “In twenty-twenty, we call people what they are. We don’t sugar coat. He has a reputation for being a whore.”

 “He’s a man, an unmarried one at that. He has no reason to be celibate. You also need to remember that just because someone appears to be living one way doesn’t mean that is really what it is,” your mother attempted to reason.

 “What does that mean?”

 “He could be sleeping around but doesn’t want to.”

 You snorted and shook your head. “So he’s being forced to sleep with every blonde, brunette, and occasional redhead he comes across?”

 You shook your head, realizing you were actually getting angry about it.

 “You sound jealous, babygirl. Jealous women aren’t attractive, plus your jealousy gives away how you really feel about him.”

 “Feel? Whatever mom. I don’t feel anything.”

 “Okay. Just remember the lies we tell will always be revealed.”

 You hated when she tapped into her ancestral priestess side and read you like a book. You knew you were lying. You knew you didn’t feel nothing. You felt something alright, but at the moment, you didn’t know just what it was.

 “To answer your question, no, I didn’t make him promise anything.”

 “Then who would?”

 “Maybe Scott. They’re brothers, and he knows Chris through and through. Maybe he was trying to protect you from becoming yet another notch.”

 You thought about her words. It was possible. Honestly, Scott was raising to the top of your list the more you thought about it. It felt like something he would do to protect you. The only thing you couldn’t understand was why he felt the need to make him promise. From the very beginning, everyone has always thought Chris just didn’t like you. The way he acted toward you and spoke about you did not scream that Scott had something to worry about. Since there was no evidence to how Chris felt, then why would Scott make him promise something like that, you wondered.

 “Can I take this conversation as you having ended things with that other one?”

 Groaning, your head went back to Charles. Things with him were still up in the air. When you made a break from someone, there was nothing left suspended. You made a quick, clean break, usually disappearing without a trace. Everything was just weird. Part of you felt as if you were being too cold with him and that you should give him a genuine chance. Then when you thought that, Chris’s face popped into your head as a reason not to. It was like there was this war inside of you between two guys.

 “The other one is—focusing on himself right now.”

 “Ah, you kept your wall up, and he got frostbite from being left out in the cold, and he gave you an ultimatum.”

 “I hate when you do that.”

 “Don’t hate the player, gate the game. Honey--,” your mother began before you cut her off.

 “I don’t want to hear it, mom. Not now.”

 “Okay. You’re an adult, old enough to make your own decisions and mistakes. You don’t need your mother’s wise years of experience and words to help guide your way so you don’t make as many mistakes as others would. I understand.”

 This was the guilt trip no one had mastered like your mother. She could guilt you with so little. Sighing loudly, you finished off the glass. “Fine, mom, go ahead. Priestess me.”

 “Maybe use this quarantine time to figure out why you’ve always cared so much what Chris Evans thought of you. Think about what it is you want from your life—for your life. What’s important, babygirl? Maybe the way you’ve lived these last years is not the most conducive to getting what you really want. Maybe you need to open up, lower those walls, give people a chance instead of expecting them to disappoint and hurt you, pull them closer instead of pushing them away. Take a chance on what you really want.”

 You sat there letting her words resonate. You knew she knew what she was talking about, and you knew it was all coming from a place of love, but it didn’t stop the feeling of being attacked. You hated when she was right.

 “You’ve always liked Chris. This is what this is about,” you accused.

 “That is not true. I don’t care that every time I’ve met him, he’s been respectful, kind, and sincere. I don’t care that every Christmas he sends us a gift, and every New Year a card. I don’t care that he also does the same for our birthdays and anniversaries. I don’t care that he’s shown to be a good man despite his philandering ways.”

 “Wait, wait, wait. He’s what?”

 “What?”

 “Mom. He’s sent you guys gifts and cards?”

 “Yeah, I thought you knew. He also comes by and checks on us from time to time when he’s in town and calls when he’s out of town sometimes,” your mother revealed.

 You were floored. You didn’t know any of this. Your head began to spin, making you feel like you’d put more than a few ounces of rum in the glass. The ringing in your ears did nothing to help matters. All you could hear was your mother’s confession echoing in your head.

 “Y/N! Are you okay? Can you hear me?”

 You took a few shaky breathes and did your best to calm down. “I’m fine. I just—I didn’t know any of that.”

 “Oh. So he’s been doing all this in secret and not to impress you?”

 You rubbed your forehead and pinched your nose bridge.

 “That means that Air B&B in Los Angeles your father and I stayed at when we went on vacation last year was probably not just a normal Air B&B.”

 “What?”

 “He set it up for us, said he got a great deal and took care of everything. It was beautiful. Do you think it was his house?”

 You remembered that trip. Your parents sent you picture after picture of the view and the interior of the house. You wanted to go back to them now and play detective.

 “Oh my god. I had no idea about any of this.”

 “Now that you know, what’re you going to do with it?”

 Again, your eyes went back to the water, and in seconds, you’d zoned out. “I’ll call you tomorrow, mom. Call me if anything. I love you.”

 You sat there for several long minutes just allowing the conversation to swirl in your head. When the words quieted, and your internal freak out settled you scrolled through your phone to the pictures you’d saved because you liked the décor. It took a few minutes, but when you found the set, you sat there zooming in to the max to analyze every inch of the picture. Nothing gave it away to be Chris’s house. Nothing pointed to it not being a run of the mill Air B&B. It was very nice, though. In the last picture, you zoomed in and saw something in the wall that could have been a picture of Chris and his siblings when they were younger, but from the picture, it was blurry, and you really couldn’t make it out. You could have latched on to that and deduced it was his house, but you were scared to face that fact.

 For the last three years, while he was being a world-class asshole to you, he was being a prince to your parents. You couldn’t wrap your head around his strategy. If he liked you the way he professed what in his mind said the way to get you was to be a dick to you but make your parents fall in love. It made no sense.

 When you finally got up from the chair, the sun was beginning to make its descent behind the horizon. You had maybe an hour before nightfall. You intended to go back to the guesthouse to shower and just mellow out, but your legs decided to walk. When you looked around, you were surrounded by trees and greenery. You had no idea where you were or how long you’d been walking or in what direction you walked. After spinning around a few times, you noticed the worn path before you.

 “Where the hell am I?”

 Continuing forward, you followed the path that looked like feet had traveled plenty of times. The further you walked, the less condensed the trees and bushes became, and the more your curiosity rose. After another ten or so minutes, you came to a thicket before you that looked to block your path, but upon more observation, you saw the worn path you’d been walking on continued underneath it. There was something behind it.

 You pushed at the bushes that were entwined within branches and were shocked when it gave way easier than you expected. They parted like a gate. It was a gate. Before your eyes was the quaintest structure you’d ever seen.

 “Holy shit!”

 You stood there, marveling at the tiny house in front of you. Tiny wasn’t even the right word for it. The tiny house trend applied to school buses or shipping containers, not this. This looked like an off the grid, half house, or treehouse. You didn’t know what the fuck you were looking at. You continued walking forward while spinning around to take in your surroundings. The entire area was quarantined off with tall, thick bushes, trees, branches, and vines. It was incredible.

 The more you looked around, the more you fell under its spell. It was beautiful and one with nature. When you got close enough to the house, you could see scratch marks on the deck. You knew they were from Dodger. This must have been where Chris disappeared to. Stepping onto the deck, you took notice of the two Adirondack chairs, one blue the other red. Trailing your fingertips across them, you continued walking around. Every detail and item you saw, you could picture him either using it or sitting on it.

When you got to the door, you contemplated if you should go inside. This was not your property. You were snooping. It wasn’t right, but your curiosity again won out. When you turned the knob, it moved. It wasn’t locked. You stepped over the threshold and gaped at the space. It wasn’t as big as the big house, but it was in no means cramped. The wooden floors and walls gave you a feeling of comfort. Everything laid around screamed down to earth. It was the vibe Chris always gave off when he wasn’t being a dick.

 You looked around what was the living room, and then made your way to a galley kitchen that screamed man. It had the necessities, a stovetop, fridge, dishwasher, a conventional oven, and a sink. The butcher’s block countertop gave you the idea it had been used often. As you made your way through the dwelling, you took notice of a small bathroom that had no luxury, a toilet, a tub, a sink, and an incredible view. When you made it to what you knew was the bedroom, his scent bombarded you. It was the same scent from his bedroom in the house, pine, fresh air, fragrant wood, chocolate, hops, and something that you still hadn’t been able to pinpoint in all the years you’d known him.

 You wandered around the room, looking at everything you saw. The things in here looked a lot more personal than of that was in his room before. You saw a signed baseball, family pictures, empty bottles of beer, toiletries, and papers that were strewn around. It took every ounce of strength to ignore the bed in the room no matter how loud it called your name. You wanted to roll around in his sheets and wrap yourself in them, but you knew if you did that, you’d probably never get out of the bed. Without being able to control yourself, you approached it, climbing the few steps to it and touched one of the plaid shirts that were resting at the foot of the bed.

 “Don’t do it, Y/N.” As soon as the words left your mouth, the head ignored them and did just what you’d said not to. You took in a deep whiff of his shirt and moaned. Fuck, it smelled so good that your mouth actually watered. Disgustedly you threw the shirt and stomped out of the room, cursing his name.

 The more you saw, the more you liked, and the more you liked, the more you wanted to see him in it. You wanted to watch as he cooked in the kitchen, watch as he sat in the Adirondack chair, wanted to watch as he drank bottle after bottle of beer while sitting in that leather chair with a book or his laptop. You wanted to watch how he fit in that tub; it seemed impossible. You wanted more than you’d wanted in months, years—ever.

 You opened the fridge and took out one of the many bottles of beer and hit it on the side of the butcher block countertop and took several healthy gulps. When you brought it back down, what you saw took your breath away. The view of the sun setting was breathtaking. You walked out to the front deck and sat in one of the chairs and just watched mother nature’s artwork across her natural canvas.

 Before you knew it, you’d watched the sky turn from beautiful hues of purple, orange, pink and red to a navy color with specks of white. You couldn’t get over how the stars were so bright here. You were so lost in the view that when you heard Chris’s voice, you actually jumped.

 “Shit!” Your scream was loud, and before you knew it, you’d flung the bottle at him.

 “Woah!” You heard it shatter, and Dodger burst into a flurry of howls. You clasped your hands over your mouth in shock.

 “Oh my god, I’m so sorry.”

 “Jesus, they should have signed you to the Dodgers, maybe we’d have won more,” Chris teased.

 “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated. Chris ticked his tongue, signaling Dodger to calm down. Like the good pup he was, he came to Chris’s side and sat then pranced over to you to lick across your cheek.

 “Hi, Dodger. How are you, boy? I’m sorry I scared you.” As if he was saying he accepted your apology, he continued licking at your face.

 “What’re you doing here? How’d you find this place?”

 His questions were serious ones. You avoided his eyes and focused on Dodger, hoping he wasn’t too angry at your trespassing.

 “Uh—well, see what had happened was—I was walking and not really paying attention, and I just—found it.”

 “Just found it? It’s a ways away from the main house. How’d you even know which direction to walk?”

 “I didn’t. I’m telling the truth, I didn’t make a plan to walk this way, I was wandering and came across it.”

 Chris didn’t speak again for a little while, but you could feel his eyes on you. Risking it, you glanced at him, and sure enough, his eyes were on you. “And you helped yourself to a beer.”

 “Yeah. I’m sorry. I know it was an invasion of your privacy and trespassing. I’m sorry.” He didn’t speak, but his eyes looked cold. He was angry.

 “Look, I’ll go. I shouldn’t have—I’m sorry to impose.” You stuttered as you got to your feet and began walking to the same thicket you’d walked through.

 After a few quick steps, he called your name.

 “It’s okay, Chris,” you answered without stopping or looking back.

 “Go get her, Dodge.” Dodger barked and tramped to you, blocking your path, hopping up on his hind legs to gently claw at your abdomen.

 “Down Dodger.”

 Ignoring you, Dodger kept clawing at you before he got hold of a piece of your shirt pulling you back toward the house. Your protests didn’t matter, and you were actually pretty surprised with how strong he was. He’d been taking it easy on you this whole time. When he was back beside Chris, he let you go and circled the two of you before he sat blocking your path to your escape.

 “Good boy,” Chris muttered, scratching behind his ear. “I’m sorry if I came off terse, I was just surprised. I wasn’t expecting to see you sitting on my deck.”

 “No, you have no reason to apologize. I understand. This is your place. I should have turned my ass around a long time ago. No wonder you’re mad.”

 “Y/N, shut up. I’m not mad. Surprised. Come on.” Chris walked ahead of you onto the deck and toward the door with Dodger on his heels. When he realized you weren’t following him and Dodger, he stopped and looked to you.

 “What’s the problem?”

 “Uh—nothing.”

 “Aren’t you coming?”

 “I wasn’t—planning to,” you responded.

 “Come on. It’s dinner time. Let me feed you.”

 That was all it took for your mind to go into the gutter and your eyes to drop to his crotch. He must have known too because his hips jutted forward. You had to bite your tongue extra hard, not to say what you really wanted to say.

“Jesus, you’re killing me,” Chris grunted before he walked inside, leaving the door open for you.

 Like an idiot, you stood there. You didn’t know what to do. If you went inside, you were worried you’d do something you couldn’t take back. He didn’t come back out or say anything else. After about ten minutes, you slowly walked inside and closed the door behind you. The coast was clear. You walked more in and around the corner and saw Chris in the kitchen with his back turned busy making whatever dinner was.

 “Took you long enough. That’s yours,” he said as he turned and slopped two rounded meat circles on the stovetop. It instantly sizzled and smoked. Beside the stovetop, you saw an opened bottle of beer. It was like he knew you’d come in.

 “If you took any longer, it would have gotten warm. There’s nothing worse than warm beer.”

 “Really? I could think of plenty of things,” you responded before you took a swig.

 “Like what?” Chris plopped two more meat circles on the stovetop to add to the sizzle.

 Monetarily lowering the bottle, you said the first thing that came to mind. “Blue Balls.”

 Once he heard it, he looked at you. There was amusement in his eyes, but his lips were not giving anything away.

“Oh, so you’ve had blue balls.”

 “What you think women can’t get blue balls? We can.”

 “And you’ve had it?”

 “Have you?” Your counter question had him scoffing before he took a long gulp from his beer.

 “I’m a man in his thirties, of course, I’ve had blue balls,” he admitted.

 You finished your beer, hoping it would stop you from asking a highly personal question.

 “How many burgers usually fill you up?”

 You hopped onto the island and crossed your legs. “How many fill you up?”

 “I’m a big boy,” Chris began.

 “I’ve heard.”

 His smile was an embarrassed one. He looked away from you and to the stovetop to focus on the burgers. You watched him add three more meat circles to it and watched on as he tended to them. When he sprinkled several seasonings on the patties, you smiled. There were plenty of people who didn’t season burger meat with anything but salt and pepper. He’d gone far beyond salt and pepper; you were relieved. In no time, the house filled up with the smell of juicy burgers. Your belly rumbled, bringing his attention back to you.

 “Hungry, huh.”

 “More than you’ll ever know.” The two of you stared for a few long moments before he looked away.

 “Since I know you don’t do a salad with your burgers, if you open the freezer drawer, you’ll find some onion rings. Think you can manage popping them in the oven?”

 Obliging him, you did as he asked. The two of you moved around the galley kitchen together. His body was tight, and it looked like he was taking extra care not to bounce you. Every time you got close to touching him, he slinked away from you, creating more space. The first and second time he did it, you found it interesting. By the ninth and tenth, you were amused and ready to tease the shit out of him.

 Noticing his bottle was empty, you bent inside the fridge and took two more out. When you handed him the opened bottle, you peered into his eyes flirtatiously. You didn’t know why but something about him brought out your flirtatious side. You wanted to tease him and make him beg for you. When he took the bottle, he took a sip while keeping his eyes on you. The only reason he looked away was the scent of the burgers charring too quickly.

 The sound of the conventional oven’s bell had you slinking past him grazing his body with your hip. You heard him hiss out felt his body tense. He was easy, you thought. Once you’d taken the onion rings out, you brought them to the back deck, ensuring to play up the sway of your hips. When you walked back, Chris looked to you.

 “These are practically done,” he informed.

 “Then you need a plate.” You walked behind him toward one of the cupboards. “Which one?”

 “The one on top,” Chris answered.

 You reached to the top but still couldn’t reach the platter that was there. After a few moments of struggle, you heard a scoff.

 “Too short?” You felt his presence before you felt him. The heat of his body was an unexpected but welcomed feeling. “Don’t worry, I got you,” Chris whispered before his body pressed against your back.

 A sigh escaped you that ended on a groan. Then you felt his crotch press against your ass. Your eyes closed, and you bent just a little, so your ass pressed more prominently against him. Chris’s groan was the clue you needed to know he liked what he felt. Neither of you moved. You both just froze and relished the feel of your bodies pressed together in this new way. You felt his beard tickle the exposed skin of the nape of your neck, and you’d never wanted someone to bite and mark you as much as you wanted it now. He didn’t bite you, though. You waited and waited, but still, the dull ache of his bite never came. He did press his lips to your ear. You heard him take a deep breath before he spoke.

 “You’re not the only one who can tease, Y/N.” It was a guttural whisper that lingered in the air as long as his body lingered against yours. You were sure your panties were flooded, and that was when he moved from you, leaving you with an ache between your legs you knew was going to bother you all night. You looked up, and the platter was gone.

 “Maybe you can grab the beers and meet on the deck,” Chris suggested as he walked away, leaving you in the kitchen with your desires.

 When you walked out back, you had two six-packs of beer in one hand and a bottle of whiskey you’d found on one of the shelves. Chris wasn’t there, and your grumpy ass didn’t care. Wasting no time, you popped the cork of the whiskey and poured yourself a glass full before you knocked it back. The burn was excruciating but wonderful. It distracted you from the ache in another place.

The two of you ate in mostly silence. Your thoughts were miles away, thinking of what happened in the kitchen and how easily he’d turned the tables on you. When your mind wandered to your conversation with your mother from earlier, you decided to bring it up.

 “Why didn’t you ever tell me you check in on my parents and send them gifts and cards?”

 Chris slowed his chew no doubt using the extra time to think of what he was going to say. After almost a minute, he swallowed.

 “It’s not a big deal. I was brought up to be respectful.”

 “Respectful is answering yes ma’am and no sir. What you’ve been doing goes above and beyond. Why do you do it?”

 “Why?”

 “Yeah. Everyone does everything for a reason. What was your angle?”

 Chris scoffed and shook his head, but he didn’t answer. Instead, he put onion ring after onion ring in his mouth as he stared at you. The fact that he wasn’t answering was getting to you, and he knew it. His smirk appeared.

 “Well?”

 “Who hurt you, Y/N?”

 Your jaw dropped. It was an unexpected question. “What?”

 “You heard me. Who hurt you? What was his name so I can find him and beat his ass.”

 “No one—no one hurt me.”

 “Bullshit. There is no way you’re like this for no reason,” Chris countered.

 “Like what?”

 “So distrustful, so skeptical or everyone.”

 “How do you know it’s of everyone and not just you?” Chris stopped mid-chew and stared at you.

 “Okay. Is it just me you’re like this with? Are you like this with him?”

 You knew he meant Charles. He always referred to Charles as “him.”

 “None of your business,” you retorted. Chris snorted.

 “Nah, you’re like this with him too. So, who hurt you?”

 Feeling naked and vulnerable, you poured another glass of the whiskey and gulped it. This was not a conversation you wanted to have.

 “Okay. I didn’t have an angle. I like your parents; I respect your parents. I wanted to do some nice things for them. I was able, so I did.”

 “Just like the Air B&B?”

 He nodded, confirming it. “Look, if I overstepped, tell me. I’ll stop.”

 You thought about it for a few moments and sighed. “It’s fine. I’m sorry for being a bitch. I just—I appreciate you looking out for them.”

 Chris studied you then nodded. The silence between you stretched for minutes.

 “So it wasn’t my parents who made you promise to stay away from me. That leaves Scott or someone else in your family.”

 Chris sighed and leaned back. “It doesn’t matter.”

 “It does,” you countered.

 “Why? What does it matter? You hate me, end of story. Me promising to stay away from you means nothing because staying away from you would have been inevitable,” Chris ranted.

 “I never said I hate you.”

 “You sure act like it.”

 That stung, but it was true. You did act like you hated him. In hindsight, you saw it was your defense mechanism. If he hated you, you’d hate him right back that way, it didn’t matter how he treated you; you wouldn’t feel any way about it. That was all biting you in the ass now.

 “Three years, huh,” you broke the silence with.

 “Three years,” Chris repeated.

 “This is bizarre.”

 “Why?”

 “All this time I’ve thought things were one way when they were the opposite,” you explained.

 “If you don’t hate me, what do you feel?”

 Staring at him, you swirled the glass and thought about just what it was you felt. You knew attraction and desire were in there, but you didn’t know what else. You gulped down the rest of the whiskey and chased it with your beer and groaned.

 “I don’t know what I feel, Chris. That’s a problem for me. I always know what I feel. I always know what I want. I have no clue right now. It’s like I’m out of control. I hate being out of control. I want all the control.”

 “What will make you feel like you have the control?”

 “The fuck if I know. I was doing fine thinking you were a dick, and now I don’t think you’re a dick. I don’t know what to think when I think of you anymore. This doesn’t even matter because you’re supposed to stay away from me anyway.” You stood and walked across the deck, facing your back to him while staring out to the darkness in the trees.

 “It’s the hardest promise to keep. You have no idea. For the last three years, I’ve wanted to do the opposite. I’ve wanted you in so many moments. I was at a premiere a few months ago, and I wanted you to be there with me. I’m lying in my bed, and I imagine what it would be like if you were laying next to me. I’m grocery shopping and think about you doing it with me. I see you in so many moments, and I want you in too many of them.”

 Holy shit, you thought. In less than two minutes, he’d managed to take your breath away. You turned, and there he was, less than two feet from you.

 “Holy shit, Chris,” you whispered.

 “I know, that was heavy, but it is just a fraction of what’s going on in my head, in my--.” Clenching his jaw, he looked away from you to the deck floor to shuffle his feet.

 “This is new for me, Y/N. It’s new, and it’s only with you.”

 As if someone was pulling at the invisible string between you, both of you drifted to each other, closing the space there. Your faces were now inches apart, and with every passing second, those inches disappeared until your foreheads were pressed together.

 “Fuck it, I’m going to break this promise,” Chris whispered before his lips crashed to yours.

 It was like an “aha” moment. As soon as your lips touched, the wind picked up and blew ferociously around you and through the trees. The kiss was an exploratory one, a timid one—one that reeked of apprehensiveness and fear. Both of you were reluctant to cross the line, but you both knew the line was going to be so far behind you in a matter of seconds. That was the definition of inevitable.

 The kiss intensified, and soon the fight was between your lips. You both were battling for control over the other, and neither of you was letting up and giving in. When you heard his deep moan, yours was unleashed seconds later. Chris’s hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him before his other hand clasped the base of your skull to kiss you more fervently.

 Before you knew it, you’d backed him to the picnic table you were just eating on and had pressed his back to it. When you climbed onto the table and straddled him, Chris groaned and pulled at your hair, making you moan louder and want more from him. The way he kissed you had you feeling as if you’d just woken up from a long sleep, a sleep that had held you captive for far too long. You were famished. As your hips began to grind on him, Chris groaned loudly, sat up, stood, and turned you to the table. With your legs wrapped around his back, Chris grabbed your exposed thigh and squeezed before he pulled you to the edge of the table. You now felt his need, and you were ready.

 When your hands dropped to his pants to undo them, he allowed you. Once you’d unbuttoned and unzipped his pants and was ready to dip your hand inside, Chris groaned and pulled away from you.

 “Mmm, no.”

 “What!”

 “Jesus fucking Christ.”

 “Come here,” you bartered.

 He looked like he was weak as he took a few steps to you, but before you could touch him, he pulled away again.

 “Wait, wait, wait.” You spread your legs wider, tired of waiting. Chris’s eyes dropped to your opened legs, and the clench of his jaw returned, only this time the context was different.

 “Y/N,” Chris whined, but he came closer until you laced your fingers behind his neck and plastered your lips to his. This time you took control of the kiss, you dictated how much he got and as you swirled your tongue around his then sucked it you felt his defiance give way until he was again kissing you with as much urgency as you kissed him.

 “Take off your pants,” you whispered against his lips. He groaned his response, but he didn’t move to obey.

 “Take—them—off—daddy.” Again, he groaned, and you felt him grip the back of your neck before his hand moved to your throat to gently hold you there.

 “Say it again.” His voice was gruff as your eyes locked.

 “Daddy.” Everything in his eyes spoke of a dangerous desire, one that you wanted all parts of.

 “Not like this, Y/N,” Chris whispered, pressing his forehead to yours.

 “What?”

 “You don’t want me like this. You don’t deserve this.”

 “This? Deserve?” Chris kissed you again and continued to suck the air from your lungs while replacing it with unadulterated desire.

 “You deserve better than this. Let me give it to you.”

 You looked at him, half confused as to what he was hinting at and even more confused why he was talking and not stripping.

 “Chris--,” you began before he pulled away yet again.

 “Let me be better for you—with you.”

 “How?”

 “A date,” Chris announced.

 “A date? In quarantine? What?”

 “Let me worry about it. Let me wine you and dine you and show you how you should feel about me,” Chris proposed. You sat there horny and unable to think past what you wanted between your thighs.

 “Fuck, Chris. Are you really saying no to this—to me?”

 “Trust me; I can’t believe I’m saying this or even doing this. I don’t know what the hell has gotten into me. I just know I don’t want to just—,” Chris said as he moved his hands around, hoping you got the gist. “Ya know, it feels wrong with you. I want to do this right; I want to do right by you.”

 “And a date is doing right?”

 “It’s a start,” Chris added.

 You were speechless. You were also out of your depth here with him. He was blowing your mind and going against every preconceived notion you’d had of him from rumors and internet sites and even stories from Scott and your friends. You didn’t know the man standing before you.

 “What do you say?”

 You covered your face with your hands and rubbed it hoping to clear away the haze that seemed reluctant to go away. “Fine.”

 “Okay, fine.” His smile was beautiful, so beautiful it did things to you that had your belly doing backflips.

 “Fuck,” you whispered.

 “Come on, let me walk you back.”

 You rolled your eyes half hating him, but you allowed him to walk you back.

 The entire walk you were miles away thinking about what almost happened and what you still wanted to happen. When Chris said good night at the door of the guesthouse, he lingered in the doorway, clearly questioning his resolve to leave. The way he looked at you made your skin tingle and your heart race. One man definitely shouldn’t have this much power over women. He was like pure sex on a walking stick. You wanted him more than you’d ever wanted anyone before him—including Charles. That thought was enough for you to run for the hills, but thanks to the wetness between your legs, you remained there and tempted him to give in. When he sighed and dipped his head, you knew he wasn’t going to.

 “Good night, Y/N.” Chris came closer and kissed your forehead before he walked off. Deep down you knew it was going to be a restless and painful night. When you closed the door, you pressed your back on it and groaned out.

 “Motherfucker! I want to fuck my best friend’s brother.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

***If you want to be tagged please SEND AN ASK SO IT WILL BE EASIER FOR ME TO KEEP TRACK OF. Thank you for reading!!!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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***There are a few that are bold that I tried to tag but your @ wasn’t coming up. I’m not sure why. I’m sorry.

#quarantine: a love story fic #Chris Evans #chris evans fanfiction #chris evans x reader #chris evans x you #chris evans x black reader #black fanfiction #angst fanfic #slow burn fanfic #quarantine fanfic #Q11

[carllisle]

imagine carlisle c.1920s (post-changing esme but neither of them are admitting their ✨feelings✨) overhearing his coworkers talking about how its weird he doesn't have a wife bc what is WITH that youngish handsome successful man being an eternal bachelor so then he panics and overcompensates like 'hello gentlemen lovely day isn't it you know who else likes lovely days? my WIFE that i definitely have at home who im married to' and then has to go home mortified and be like 'esme? can u do me a favour' and then BAM let the fake dating AU commence

this has been in my inbox for like. 2 weeks. and it lives in my mind rent-free. and i wanted to write a mini fic of this but make it ✨ angsty ✨ . thank U anon for my life!!! 

Esme looked up from the camera she had disassembled on the dining room table as she heard Carlisle’s car turn onto their mile-long drive. It was a complicated machine, the camera, and she was in the process of teaching herself how to take it apart and clean, and put it back together. Carlisle had bought it for her for no reason in particular and initially she had felt very guilty about the gift, but he had insisted that it brought him joy to be able to spend his money on her. He had too much of it, he said, to not spend it on something that made her happy. Shyly, she had accepted the gift. 

He was driving more quickly than usual. “Is he alright?” Esme asked aloud. Edward was practicing a complicated piece ni the next room and he would have heard her. 

“I’m not sure,” he answered quietly. “I think... something might be wrong.” But then he stopped playing and he laughed. 

“What is it?” she asked in surprise. 

“Oh, he'll tell you himself as soon as he gets in,” Edward chuckled, and he began playing again. 

Esme’s frowned and she stood up to greet Carlisle at the door. When he parked and came through the front door, she took his coat and hat from him as she always did. “Welcome home,” she said as she did every day, smiling warmly at him. 

“Hello Esme,” he replied, glancing at her and then looking away. He looked very nervous. “How was your day?”

“Very nice, thank you. I’m cleaning the camera and it’s taking quite a long time. I’m enjoying myself, though!”

“Good. That’s good.” He looked around as if searching for something, and then he stuck his head into the room where Edward was. “Hello. How was your day?” 

“Better than yours,” Edward answered, and Esme could hear the grin in his voice. “Why did you say that? Why on Earth did you say that?” 

“It just happened!”

“What happened?” Esme asked. She was surprised at the indignant tone Carlisle took with Edward. Carlisle glanced back at her and sighed. 

“Esme, I’m deeply sorry. I must ask a great favour of you.” 

“Anything,” she replied automatically. 

Edward appeared in the doorway, grinning. “I’ll leave you two to it.”

“You don’t have to leave, surely!” Esme said in surprise. “What’s going on?” 

“Nothing’s wrong, don’t worry,” he assured her. 

“Stay, please,” Carlisle said. 

Edward laughed again. “Oh, no, I’m headed out. You don’t need an audience for this.” 

Carlisle pursed his lips in disapproval but Edward’s mind was made up. He kissed Esme’s forehead before leaving. She watched him go in bewilderment. “Carlisle, what-?” 

“I-” He looked down at his feet. “I truly apologise for what I am about to ask of you. I spoke without thinking and have put us both in a difficult position.” 

There was a long pause before she spoke again. “Let’s... let’s go sit down, perhaps?” 

He nodded and she led the way into the lounge where Edward had been playing his piano. She took her place in the window seat as usual, and Carlisle sat in the leather chair closeby. He crossed his legs and sat unusually still. Out of the three of them, he was best at playing human, and so it unnerved Esme now that the mask had slipped ever so slightly. She clasped her hands together tightly in her lap. “Please,” she said quietly. “Tell me.” 

“I... I don’t know where to begin.” 

“Anywhere. The middle. The end. I don’t mind.” 

Carlisle took in a deep breath. “I have been invited to dinner by the chief of staff next week. It’s expected that I go.”

Esme was confused. “That... sounds promising.”

He couldn’t hold her gaze. “And it is expected that I will be accompanied by you.”

“By me?” As far as she was aware, no one knew she existed. Although they were relatively new to the city, she was still young and not ready to join human society again, and they had decided that Edward and Carlisle would present themselves as brothers, and Esme simply would not exist. No humans would need to come to the house, and she would not appear in public. It was perfect, for now. “Why?” 

“I... my colleagues are under the impression that I have a wife.”

Her eyes went wide. “Why?”

“Because I told them that I was married.” 

Esme felt herself turn to stone. She did not know if she was angry or upset or both, but whatever it was, was overwhelming. “Oh.” 

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what happened. I overheard two colleagues talking about how strange it was that I was unmarried, and then they made some ghastly comment about myself and one of the nurses and I couldn’t bear for them to talk like that and so when I spoke with them I- I said I was ready for the day because... because my wonderful wife had made the best pancakes I had ever had for breakfast and- and-! I don’t know what came over me. By lunchtime word had got around and the chief of staff invited me and my wife for dinner and I had to say yes because, well, he's the chief of staff! And I couldn’t say no!”

Esme missed weeping. Every word hurt more than the last. She loved him with all of her heart and she wanted more than anything to be his wife. But not like this. Not as a charade. To pose as Edward’s wife would make her laugh, it would be like playing dress-up as a child, entertaining and funny, but Carlisle’s? To act out a fantasy that she would never truly live? That was cruel. 

“-and I know that you do not have much experience around humans but I thought that perhaps we could go into the city for a walk around one of the parks and you could see how you feel, and we could go for drives in residential areas so you can grow accustomed to the sound and-! Esme?” 

She looked up at him, stricken. “Yes?” 

“Can you forgive me?” 

It felt far too soon for that when his words had not even begun to sink in yet, but she could not deny him anything. “There is nothing to forgive,” she lied. It didn’t feel like a lie, though. “You were preserving the dignity of a woman you work with. That’s admirable.” 

“I have wronged you. I have trapped you.” 

“Not at all. But I fear I will not be ready to face a room full of humans by next week. I’m sorry.”

He watched her, troubled by her expression. “I... of course.” 

“But,” she added, not meeting his gaze, “perhaps in the not so distant future I will be. Perhaps, in time, I can pretend to be your wife.” She didn’t know why she said it. Maybe it was that a fantasy was better than the reality of her never holding him as her husband. Maybe it was that she couldn’t bear to let him down. Whatever it was, it hurt. But she quickly realised, as she saw his frozen expression melt into a smile, that to please him felt better than anything else in the world. 

#carlesme #anon #ask #ANON UR MIND #IS SO BEAUTIFUL #i hope u dont mind i used ur idea for a touch of angst #teehee #ellie writes

[slipping-through-my-fingertips]

mirrorball

Summary: in every life, that they’ve ever lived, they’ve chosen to come back, and find each other, and fall in love with each other over and over again 

Notes: As promised, another part of my folklore series.  Enjoy!!

AO3

As much as Kurt loved going to the theater or eating dinner in dimly-lit restaurants around the city, his favorite dates were the ones spent at home. 

When he and Blaine danced around each other in the kitchen trying out a new recipe for dinner. When there’s cheesecake cooling in the fridge. With music flooding their ears. 

As they set the table, Kurt brings his arms around Blaine and pulls their bodies together. Their fronts pressed together and noses touching. 

“I’m so in love with you,” he tells him. 

The oven beeps so Kurt quickly moves away to get their dinner before it burns. 

I want you to know

I'm a mirrorball

I'll show you every version of yourself tonight

I'll get you out on the floor

Shimmering beautiful

And when I break it's in a million pieces

Later, when the dishes are on the drying rack and the pots and pans are soaking in the sink, Kurt and Blaine are curled up together on the couch. The playlist from earlier is starting over, the sun has set and the apartment grows darker. 

Blaine sits up to lit a candle but snuggles right back under the blanket with his boyfriend. 

“I love you too, you know?” 

Kurt kisses the top of his head. 

“What if we hadn’t met?” 

“If you didn’t come to Dalton?” Blaine asks. 

Kurt nods. 

“I’d find you,” Blaine says, “I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from being pulled towards you.” 

“You really believe that?” 

Blaine just kisses him. 

 Hush

When no one is around, my dear

You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes

Spinning in my highest heels, love

Shining just for you

 For the next week, Kurt comes up with plenty of scenarios for a different life for them. Each time, Blaine has their perfect meeting to go along with it. 

They’re getting ready together that morning. Standing in their small bathroom. Blaine applying gel and Kurt brushing his teeth. 

“If I were a Prince...” he mumbles around the toothbrush. 

“And I, a commoner living in a stone house outside the castle,” Blaine continued, “you’d come into town and bump into me while buying fabric. Our eyes met and boom: love at first sight.” 

Kurt rolled his eyes and rinsed his mouth. “Or maybe you sneak into a ball where I am supposed to find my future husband. We dance together and I just know it’s you. It’s always you.” 

Blaine had cupped his face and kissed him. 

“Minty,” he said with a laugh. 

 Hush

I know they said the end is near

But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes

Spinning in my highest heels, love

Shining just for you

I want you to know

I'm a mirrorball

This back and forth became a game of “What if…” with Kurt normally asking the questions and Blaine being quick to answer. 

“Okay, but what if…we didn’t live in Ohio. If I grew up here and you came from LA.”

“I’m not a Hollywood guy, Kurt, my acting would still take me to Broadway.”

“Maybe your career would take you to the West End in London.”

Blaine side-eyed Kurt for a moment. “Out of the two of us, I think you’re way more likely to go to the West End than me.” 

Kurt chuckled. “You’re right.” 

“And how come in all these situations, I have to come to you. How about you come to me?”

“Okay, you start then.” 

Blaine takes in a breath and decides on his scenario. 

 I can change everything about me to fit in

You are not like the regulars

The masquerade revelers

Drunk as they watch my shattered edges glisten

 At eighteen, Blaine Anderson was expected to be married. Soon, his older brother Prince Cooper would take the throne, and until he and his wife produced an heir Blaine would be second-in-line for the crown. 

The only problem with getting married was the lack of unmarried gay princes. As far as Blaine knew, he was the only one. Prince Sebastian had tried to court Blaine years ago but ultimately married Prince Hunter of the Southern Kingdom. Princes Nick and Jeff had been betrothed since birth in order to unite their respective kingdoms. 

Due to this issue, his father was hosting a ball. All major and minor kingdoms were invited, especially those farthest away. Even ones that they normally did not interact with because Blaine was in desperate need of a husband.  

Blaine’s only request for this ball was that it be a masquerade. His father, of course, thought this to be a bad idea but Blaine insisted. There was much less pressure on his shoulders if those he danced with and spoke to weren’t sure if he was the prince or not. 

 Hush

When no one is around, my dear

You'll find me on my tallest tiptoes

Spinning in my highest heels, love

Shining just for you

 Kurt’s voice broke the fantasy. “So, in this situation, am I also a prince? Just from a far away kingdom?” 

“If you’d let me finish,” Blaine said, “you’d know that information.” 

His boyfriend lightly slaps his shoulder. “Don’t be mean.”

“Be patient,” Blaine countered. 

“How about this instead?” Kurt inched closer to him on the couch. “We dance together at the ball and I pull you out of the ballroom, charm you, and we kiss just outside the party pressed together in the dark hallway.”

“Then what?” Blaine asked, their lips brushing together. 

“We live happily ever after, of course,” Kurt told him before pressing their mouths together. 

 Hush

I know they said the end is near

But I'm still on my tallest tiptoes

Spinning in my highest heels, love

Shining just for you

 When they wake up from their unprompted nap, the sun is just starting to set. Golden hour tanning Kurt’s pale skin and highlighting his messy hair. 

Blaine only gets a few moments to stare at his boyfriend. Watching his breathing, the small twitches his body makes, and his unconsciousness making him move closer to Blaine. Then, he stirred and lazily opened his eyes. 

“Hey you,” Blaine said. 

Kurt hummed but even in his sleepy state, he gave Blaine a toothy smile. 

“We should make dinner.” 

In reply, Kurt snuggled closer to Blaine. 

“Or we could order take-out.” 

Blaine felt Kurt nod. 

“Okay. Thai?”

Kurt shook his head. 

“No Thai. Italian? I could go for some fettuccine alfredo.” 

Another no. 

“Alright, what do you want?” 

“Greasy fries and a burger.” 

Blaine abruptly moved away to stare down at Kurt, who groaned clearly unhappy that his space heater was gone. Kurt made grabby hands for Blaine to come back. Unable to resist him or cuddling, Blaine readjusted himself next to Kurt. 

“Seriously, you want a burger?” Blaine asked. 

“Yes please.” 

With a short laugh, Blaine grabbed his phone from the nightstand and put in an order for delivery for burgers and fries. 

“Milkshakes?” he questioned. 

“Strawberry.”

And two strawberry shakes. 

 And they called off the circus

Burned the disco down

When they sent home the horses

And the rodeo clowns

 As they unwrapped their burgers, Blaine started another scenario. 

“Alright, this time I’m a famous sports player.”

Immediately, Kurt cut him off. “What sport?” 

“Doesn’t matter,” Blaine told him. “And you’re dragged to a game with your dad or Finn or someone.” 

“It matters to me.” Kurt sipped his shake. “If I’m to form a successful happy ending, I need all the information, Blaine. You know I’m a detail guy.” 

Blaine bites his tongue. As usual, Kurt’s stubbornness was shining through. Except this time, he was clearly joking if his smirk had anything to say about it. 

“Football.”

“You better get taller and put on some muscle mass first. You’ll get pummeled.” 

"Says the formed McKinley High kicker."

"And I would've been pummeled otherwise," Kurt tells him.

“Fine, not football. Um, how about hockey?” 

“You are an excellent skater.” 

“Thank you.” Blaine beamed. “Anyway, I’m a jock and you’re a non-fan.” 

“Professional jock,” Kurt corrected. 

“Eat your burger and listen.” 

 I'm still on that tightrope

I'm still trying everything to get you laughing at me

I'm still a believer but I don't know why

I've never been a natural

All I do is try, try, try

I'm still on that trapeze

I'm still trying everything

To keep you looking at me

 Kurt couldn’t believe he was letting his dad and Finn drag him to a hockey game. It’s freezing even if they’re not right up against the glass. Despite hot chocolate in his hands, Kurt’s shivering. 

“Tickets came with money on them. Go buy a sweatshirt,” Burt says. 

“You can take my coat,” Finn offers. “I want to show off my jersey anyway.” 

Kurt takes Finn’s coat but instantly hands it back because it’s way too long and he can’t sit comfortably with it on. 

“I’m going to the gift shop.” 

“Be back soon if you don’t wanna miss the puck drop,” Burt tells him.

It’s hard to get lost in a hockey stadium because it’s just a circle so long as Kurt has his ticket he can get back to the seats. He finds the gift shop to be mostly empty despite the insane amount of people here for the game.

He remembers the patriotic colors his dad and Finn were wearing and tried to find the least offensive sweatshirt that supports the Ohio team. 

“You don’t have to get Blue Jackets just cause you’re from Ohio,” a voice tells him. 

“I rather not get booed at,” Kurt replies, resisting the urge to say the booing would be by his own family. 

“Fair enough.” The man shrugs. “I’m partial to the black and silver of the Kings.” 

Kurt looks at the sweatshirt in question. It’s much less...loud than the Blue Jackets.

“Isn’t that the opposing team?” 

He smirks. It’s then that Kurt really gets a good look at the man. He’s not wearing either team’s colors. No nametag or uniform either. So, he probably doesn’t work for the stadium. 

“Who are you exactly?” 

“Blaine Anderson.”

Kurt shakes his hand. “Kurt Hummel.”

“Nice to meet you, Kurt.” 

“You too but that didn’t answer my question, who are you? You don’t work here and you don’t seem overly invested in the game since you couldn’t be bothered to wear either of their jerseys.” 

“Let’s just say, you’ll see me on the ice.” 

Then, Blaine handed Kurt a piece of paper with his number on it and walked off. 

 Because I'm a mirrorball

I'm a mirrorball

I'll show you every version of yourself

Tonight

By the time Blaine has finished his alternative meeting, Kurt has dragged him away from the kitchen into the living room. He moved their coffee table out of the way and pushed the sofas back. 

“So, I find out you’re a hockey player after the game,” Kurt said, “I text you on the way home asking if you were distracted because your team lost.” 

“And I say, I couldn’t keep my eyes on the puck because I was searching for you in the stands.” 

“Cheesy.” 

Blaine smiled. 

Kurt extended his right hand, “may I have this dance?” 

“There’s no music,” Blaine answered but placed his hand into Kurt’s regardless. 

Kurt pulled their bodies close so Blaine could rest his head against Kurt’s shoulder. Tucked together swaying in their living room. 

“You’re all the music I need.”

#klaine fanfic #klaine fanfiction #klaine #my fics #folklore series

[archadianskies]

croissant aux amandes

→ on Ao3

@dbhrarepairs​ Saturday Day 6: Meet the Family •  Reverse AU; Mob AU RK900/Simon

Ronan supposes he should be thankful his mother is keeping this particular meeting just between them. He’d rather be uncomfortable in private than openly humiliated though he thinks there’s a degree of humiliation regardless.

“We could do with a connection to the DPD,” Amanda swipes up on her tablet and the screen fills with a detailed profile. “Gavin Reed, former detective, freshly made Lieutenant as of two months ago. Negligible age gap, questionable morals but gets the job done. He likes cats, which is in your favour.”

“With all due respect, mother,” Ronan makes a face, “I’d rather be disowned.”

“Duly noted,” she nods, swiping a new profile onto the screen. “David Allen is your senior by thirteen years, Captain of SWAT Unit 32 and wields immense influence. His team is loyal to him, and he is known to be a kind, honorable man. He likes dogs which isn’t to your favour, though he is not against cats.”

Ronan studies the profile for a few moments- it wouldn’t be a bad match but it still didn’t feel right. “Perhaps in another life?”

“I will put Captain Allen as a ‘maybe’,” Amanda notes. “If not the DPD, then we could accept Carl Manfred’s offer.” The screen populates with a new profile, lengthier and more detailed. “Markus Manfred is an excellent candidate: no age gap, powerful family, powerful connections. Kind, thoughtful, charitable, and very well educated. Not sure where he stands about cats, but he’d be cordial about it I’m sure.”

“I find the older brother far more tolerable company,” Ronan scoffs, turning away.

“Leo?” Amanda says incredulously. “Leo Manfred has nothing to offer, that son squandered his inheritance and spent half a decade high on red ice, disgracing his family.”

“He’s gotten clean and is redeeming himself. He’d be a far better companion than his pretentious, insufferable -”

“Enough,” his mother commands, and Ronan cuts himself off. “There is of course Elijah Kamski, since he is unmarried and of similar age to his cousin Reed. We already have the Kamski connection through your brother, though.”

He tries again. “Are they the only options?”

“They are the best options we have researched,” Amanda turns the screen off. “There are female candidates as a backup but you said you prefer men so these are the male candidates. The gender is of course irrelevant; your fiance must be the one who brings the most to the table.”

“Mother,” Ronan sighs miserably, and Amanda sits beside him. She rests her hand over his, and knowing she is not an overly physically affectionate person only makes the gesture more meaningful. 

“You have submitted no candidates yourself, Ronan, these men are just the ones my team have found,” she reminds him carefully. “I want you to be happy with your choice, whether it be genuine affection, or an amicable arrangement like your brother.”

He knows it could be worse. He knows she could force an arrangement and there would be nothing he could do about it. The Stern family controls this city and it isn’t out of character for his mother to want an advantageous match now he’s turned thirty and declared no intentions to marry yet. It is a kindness, doing all this for him when he has been dragging his feet the past year, knowing this was to come. 

“I can postpone the luncheon, if you would like more time,” she says gently, squeezing his hand. 

“I’ll have an answer by then, I promise,” Ronan vows, because he does not want to disappoint her and delaying it will only prolong this particular brand of suffering. 

 *

Connor finds him under his favourite tree by the pond, and Ronan scoots over to make room on the blanket.

“That bad huh?” His older brother teases, though his smile is apologetic.

“It wasn’t...bad,” he concedes with a wince, “just awkward. And uncomfortable. She suggested Reed at the DPD.”

“Oh, yikes!” Connor laughs and Ronan manages a brief smile. His expression softens as he shifts to wrap an arm around Ronan’s shoulders. “Hey, it doesn’t have to be The One, you know? I don’t- I’m not... inclined romantically or sexually. Chloe is a wonderful friend, and I treasure her company. Our marriage provides her power and influence and security, and safety to nurture her relationship with North under the guise of a bodyguard.”

“You are...happy?” Ronan asks curiously, and Connor smiles.

“I’m very happy,” he nods. “It might not be romantic love, but there’s love in our friendship. You can have that too, brother, if you want.”

 *

It’s a lot to think about. It’s too much to think about, really, and so after too many hours of being stuck in his own head, Ronan escapes to his favourite spot in the whole city: Jericho. 

The cafe is somehow in the heart of town but so hidden it feels like stepping into an entirely different world, and he’s been escaping to its bare brick walls and cosy interior for years now. It’s owned by the Lambert twins, Daniel and Simon. Though the older twin is abrasive and curt, the younger is shy and gentle and always has time for Ronan.

“You look like you’ve had quite the day,” Simon laughs, already reaching for a mug and starting to make him coffee. “Take a seat, I saved an almond croissant for you.”

“You’re an angel, thank you,” Ronan takes the corner booth and watches as Simon goes through the familiar, well practiced motions. It’s close to closing and there’s only one other patron, so Simon decides to sit opposite him with his own mug of coffee.

“What’s got you looking like you’re carrying the whole world on your shoulders, hm?” The blond prods, and Ronan delays answering in favour of sipping the perfectly brewed mug of coffee in his hands. 

“My mother was being a little...overbearing this morning,” Ronan says hesitantly, leaving out the big details. “With the best of intentions, of course. She means well, but I still feel like I’m being slowly backed into a corner.” 

“I’m sorry to hear that, it must be difficult,” Simon frowns empathetically, earnestly, because he is a good and kind friend. Ronan thinks if he weren’t the son of a crime family, he would marry Simon. 

They would have a soft, quiet life full of love and be entirely uneventful and Ronan would manage the business side of things for the cafe so Simon would never have to worry. Maybe they could adopt a cat or two. He wouldn’t even mind a dog, honestly. He’s partial to german shepherds. 

But that’s never going to happen, and it’s with a sinking feeling Ronan realises once he marries he may have to cut ties with Simon completely as he takes on more and more of their family’s work in the criminal underworld. 

“I… am to be married,” he says no louder than a whisper but Simon hears it, Simon’s lovely blue eyes widen at those words. “Well, in the future I mean. My mother is trying to matchmake me with- with certain friends’ sons.”

“In 2038?” Simon asks in disbelief. “Your mother is trying to matchmake you in the year 2038?”

“She means well,” Ronan repeats, sighing tiredly. “She just wants me to marry ‘the one who brings the most to the table’.” He echoes her words with the same regal air and Simon laughs though not unkindly.

“Sounds intense.”

“I have a luncheon next weekend with all of our extended family and friends, and she expects me to announce an answer then.” He picks at the almond croissant, and it’s as perfect as always- buttery, flaky and fresh. The layers are light, the almond slivers paper thin, and the sweetness just right. It feels like a last supper, knowing he probably won’t be able to return. He’d never want to drag Simon into his world of blood. 

 *~*

Danny arrives in time to help him sweep and mop up. His brother is a warm, comforting presence in his peripheral, and Simon soaks it up like warmth from a blanket.

“Saw one of those supervillain black cars the Sterns use on the way here, was it Ronan again?” Danny asks as they’re putting the mops away. “You know he’s getting engaged next weekend, right?”

“How did you know that?” Simon blinks in surprise as he hangs up his apron.

“Leo told me,” Danny shrugs. “The old man said he’s pushing for Markus to marry him.”

“Oh,” Simon tries not to sound so disappointed, and he’s not even sure what for- that Markus is to be married, or that Ronan is the one marrying him. 

“Yeah, I know right? Ugh, gross,” his twin makes a disgusted face. “Poor Ronan, imagine having to marry Mr Perfect and run the criminal underworld.”

“They’re a respectable family!” Simon argues, feeling a twinge of indignant anger on Ronan’s behalf. “The Sterns have transformed the educational landscape of the city- Kara was able to open a kindergarten because of their philanthropy! Imagine having that influence- I’d- I’d completely revamp child services and open shelters and proper mental health centers for abused children and adolescents. I’d make sure no one ever had to go through what we went through.”

“You sweet sweet child,” Danny snorts back a laugh, though it isn’t mocking in the least. “They’re a necessary evil for this city because the senator is an incompetent but dangerous fuckwit. Don’t get me wrong, I like them- they get things done. It’s just the thought of the Manfreds joining that circle that gives me bad indigestion.”

“Markus Manfred is- he’s an amazing man, Danny. Ronan and he would be perfectly matched,” Simon chews his lip, feeling his chest ache. “He certainly would bring the most to the table.”

“What?”

“Oh, it’s just something Ronan said,” Simon flashes an apologetic smile. “He said he has to marry ‘the one who brings the most to the table’.”

“Brings the most to the table ,” Danny repeats, stressing the start and end of the sentence. Simon looks at him, eyes wide. “You don’t think-”

“Oh I do think,” his brother’s grin falters slightly, “But only if you want to, Simon. It’s a pretty crazy idea and uh, we might mysteriously disappear only for our bodies to be found in an underpass somewhere in a couple of weeks.”

It’s a ridiculously crazy idea, Simon knows this for a fact, but it’s so crazy it might just work.

* 

The Stern estate is beautiful, even from the other side of the huge wrought-iron gates. 

“You boys must be lost,” a guard drawls, sauntering over to the driver’s side. “Best you head back down the driveway and forget you ever came this way.”

“We're catering for the luncheon you dumbass,” Danny rolls his eyes. “So best you step aside and let us through so we can set up.”

The guard falters, frowning heavily. “There’s no mention of-” he looks at the side of the delivery van, “Jericho Cafe on the guest list.”

“Because we’re not guests,” Simon tries to mimic Danny’s impatient, snappy tone. “We’re catering for the guests.”

“Hey, listen, honest mistake,” Danny shakes his head. “No harm done. Let us in and we’ll do our job and you can do yours.”

“I-I’ll run it by the boss,” the guard fumbles for his phone.

“Ask Ronan,” Simon says firmly. “He’s the one who booked us, not- not the boss.”

The stretch of time as they wait for an answer feels like an eternity, like Simon is awaiting sentencing where the outcome could very well be execution. Is he signing his own hit? Is dragging his twin into this the worst mistake of his life?

“Alright, sorry about that,” the guard apologises, pocketing his phone and waving at someone up ahead. The gates part, and Simon doesn’t know whether to feel relieved or even more fear. “Go on through, the service entrance is on the right-hand side.”

“Thanks buddy,” Danny salutes lazily before driving through the now opened gates. He’s gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles are white.

“Danny-”

“No, shut up, we’re doing this. He ran it by Ronan and Ronan okayed us to come through,” Danny exhales slowly as he brings the van to the service entrance. A couple of confused kitchen staff come out to see them. 

“Alright,” Simon swallows thickly. “We’re doing this.”

* 

They unload and designate whole delivery trays laden with baked goods to be carried by the staff. Simon leads the way, trying to will his hands not to shake as he carries the feast he and Danny spent all yesterday prepping for, and all this morning from the crack of dawn baking so it would be as fresh as fresh can be for this very moment. 

He enters the dining room and there is Amanda Stern, matriarch of the Stern family. There is Ronan Stern, handsome as can be in a sharp tailored suit, and beside him are a couple- his brother Connor Stern, given the resemblance, and a lovely blonde lady in a periwinkle blue dress.

“Simon-”

“Madam, I have come to ask for your son’s hand in marriage,” Simon commends his voice for not trembling as he sets down the tray on the long dining table. Behind him, Daniel places his tray down and soon the staff follow, more and more until the table is absolutely brimming with food. “This is what I bring to the table.”

Amanda looks at him, expression unreadable and Simon thinks oh, he’s absolutely about to be executed. “You’re the Lambert boy,” she looks him over as if taking him apart atom by atom. “That cafe in Capitol Park.” “Yes ma’am,” Simon nods, clasping his hands behind his back so she won’t see how badly he’s shaking now he isn’t holding anything. She turns her eyes to the spread on the table.

“What is Ronan’s favourite?”

“The almond croissants,” Simon answers immediately, gesturing at them. Amanda nods and he picks one up using a pair of tongs, serving it to her on one of the bread plates. He risks a glance at Ronan who still seems frozen in shock, and it’s as if everyone is waiting with baited breath as Amanda bites into the croissant. Chewing thoughtfully, she sets the plate down and looks over at him. 

“I prefer blueberry danishes, but I can see why he likes these,” she’s smiling now, an amused matronly smile. “Is he your chosen fiance, Ronan?”

“If he would have me,” Ronan replies softly, reaching for Simon’s hands. “If a life with me is what he wants.”

“Yes,” Simon smiles, “I do.”

~*~*~

{ Inspired by [this tumblr post] about the intricacies and formalities of the 'Bride Price'.}

#rk900 #simon pl600 #daniel pl600 #detroit: become human #amanda stern #connor rk800 #dbhrarepairsweek #simon900 #annie writes: dbh

[ehenyeoongg]

KING OF WAR

Pairing: King Lucas Wong x reader Word count: 1.3k

Was it out of pity? Or did the cold-hearted King of War actually fall for you?

PRINCE / ROYALTY AU

You took careful steps, following the prince into The Circle. A ballroom only the Elites of the empire could enter. Only Nobles, Knights, the members of the Royal Family and their attendants were allowed to step foot in such place. 

If not for your title as the seventh prince’s wife-to-be, you wouldn’t be able to be here. However, this was the last place you wanted to be at. A ball with Elites who would only mock and degrade you. What you wore didn’t matter, but who you came with was the topic of discussion for many of them. 

Prince Leon. Correction, Prince-to-be. In the empire, the members of the royal family were only given the title of Prince once they were married. However, Leon has not achieved his prince title since the emperor, his grandfather, had not approved of the wedding yet. 

Your marriage was one-sided, and you had been elated when you heard that you would marry him. However, that was before you moved in to his palace. The harsh treatments he gave you came straight out of a nightmare. You didn’t do anything to deserve a beating, but his twisted and corrupt mind saw that you were unfit to be his wife, so he would use you to get the title of Prince, and figure out what to do with you later.  

“The emperor, he’s here.” Leon grabbed your wrist. He practically dragged you across the ballroom, but before he could reach the emperor, the emperor had left with some court officials to discuss an emergency political affair. 

He let go of your wrist. “If not for you taking your own sweet time to walk, we would’ve been able to reach Grandfather!” he yelled at you, and stormed off in a fit of anger. You could only stand there awkwardly, all alone as your fiance left, and everyone gave you looks.

“Pathetic, pitiful, worthless.” you could hear the whispers, and felt their gazes boring into the back of your head. 

You limped out into the garden and sat on a chair. The cold crisp air helped you clear your mind as you pulled the painful high heels off. Leaves rustled as someone approached you. You flinched and turned to look in the direction of the sound. 

“Y-Your Highness..” you stood up immediately, and your bare feet touched the freezing cold floor, but you could do nothing as you trembled in the presence of the King of War. Although unmarried, Lucas had already received the title of King for all the deeds he’d done in the name of the empire. If you married Leon, he would’ve been your uncle. 

His gaze sent a shiver down your spine, and you tried your best not to make it obvious that you were already shivering. It was your choice to wear revealing clothes, hoping you would gain Leon’s attention, but his hatred for you ran so deep he didn’t even glance at you, except when he yelled at you. 

You felt him drape a heavy, warm coat across your bare shoulders and looked up to see the young King. Although his face bore no expression, you could feel the sincerity and warmth radiating off him. 

“Sit.” his deep voice was not as stern or commanding as you had expected it to be. He was much more gentle than Leon. You did as he told and sat on he bench. He knelt in front of you and his gloved hands gently held your feet. 

“Blisters. I can’t really help much with this, but I can help you with another thing..” he gently placed your feet down.  

“What?” What is he talking about? What other thing?

“I saw you and Leon.” Ah.. that other thing.. “I know how he treats you.” you shook your head. 

“Ah, that’s beca-”

“Don’t try to make up excuses for the spoiled brat. My brother did a poor job in raising him.” you couldn’t help but nod, before you realized that he was speaking about your fiance. 

“I, that’s not wha-”

“Marry me.” he interrupted you again. 

“M-marry?”

“I won’t force you to do anything, you’ll only be my wife in name, and live a life of luxury, no one will touch you, or harm you." You opened your mouth to speak, when he suddenly pulled you away. He carried you in his arms as if you were a child, with one arm supporting you against his firm, toned body. His other hand was clamped tightly over your mouth as you stood in the shadows, watching the couple. 

That golden hair.. Leon?

“Your Highness, aren’t you worried your fiancee will see us?”

“What fiancee? Ah, you mean that small, ugly girl.. I brought her only because my father forced me to. Why don’t you marry me instead, sweetheart? I could give you the world.” You watched as they flirted out in the open, not afraid of anyone who could pass by and expose them. 

Lucas noticed that you were shaking in his arms and hugged you tighter, before quietly bringing you away from the garden.

You sat on the sofa, your mind replaying the scene from the garden. He didn't even hesitate to say that he was just using you. Your heart hurt, why did he have to be so cruel? 

“So? Do you agree to be my wife?” he had a hand outstretched to you, waiting for your answer. 

“I.. yes.” you nodded and he pulled you into his arms. He lifted you off the sofa and carried you out. 

“I.. I can walk, Your Hi-”

“ Don’t ever call me that again. Call me Lucas, Xuxi or Yukhei.” you nodded and he continued walking towards a room. 

Leon’s father was inside, and so were some of the court officials. 

“Ah, Lucas. Just in time. Oh, who do we have here?” The emperor spoke in a friendly tone with his son. 

“I want to marry her.” He was straight to the point, and didn’t bother beating around the bush. Everyone in the room knew that if the King of War wanted something, how he gets it doesn’t matter. It will be his in the end. 

“That’s my son’s-” Leon’s father pointed at you.

“Since you want to marry her, then go ahead.” Lucas stood there, waiting for the emperor. 

“Ah, right. I have to formally approve of it. Send the documentation to the royal palace tomorrow. We’ll make do with a formal announcement today, I have something to discuss with you.” he walked out and Lucas followed behind. You stood on the balcony, overlooking everyone and Lucas carefully placed you on the ground and stood behind you, protecting you from behind. 

“Attention all, as of today, my son, Lucas Wong, has taken..” 

‘I’m sorry, what was your name again, child?’ he whispered. 

“Y/N.”

“Y/N as his wife, and they shall be wed in a month’s time. Does anyone object?”

Which fool would object both the emperor and the king of war at the same time?

You looked down as Leon’s face turned red with rage. Yet, he couldn’t do anything. He couldn’t fight both his uncle and grandfather, and wouldn’t bother, for something as worthless as you. But, you had betrayed him. And he was still a half-prince. He would get his revenge someday.

The emperor walked back into the room, with Lucas following behind him. You stood at the balcony, watching as they walked. Lucas turned to you and held his hand out, waiting for you to walk into his arms, and you did. 

The whole night, you sat in Lucas’s lap while the emperor discussed plans to suppress the rebels from the south. As you fell asleep, the emperor caught Lucas smiling at your calm face. 

“I see you’ve grown fond of her..” Lucas simply nodded. 

“It’s only been a few hours since I first saw her, how did she manage to make me fall so deep for her?”

“That’s what you call love at first sight, son. Of course, you wouldn’t know that since you have a heart made of stone.” he mumbled, then glanced at Lucas who was captivated by you. He couldn’t take his eyes off you and silently swore to protect you with his life. 

#Lucas wong #nct u #wayv #nct lucas #nct u lucas #wayv lucas #nct imagines #wayv imagines #nct scenarios #wayv scenarios #wong yukhei #huang xuxi #lucas wong x reader #lucas #nct x reader #wayv x reader

[cozy-the-overlord]

Dances and Daggers

Summary:   The Summer Festival is upon Asgard, as is the tradition of the dagger ceremony, where each unmarried gentleman chooses a lady to bestow with the honor of carrying his dagger for the night. As Prince Thor’s betrothed, Teki’s only goal is to accept his dagger with grace and hope that her violent stepfather doesn’t find fault with her in the process. But Prince Thor is unpredictable, and when he ignores his engagement on a whim Teki finds herself in a desperate situation. Luckily, Thor isn’t the only prince in Asgard…

Pairing: Loki x Original Female Character

Chapter 3: The Wish

Previous Chapter   |  Next Chapter

Word Count: 3,726

Chapter Summary:  Dinner with the royal family is... about what Teki expected.

Thanks for reading! :)

TW: mentions of child abuse, cursing

Tags: @lucywrites02​ @gaitwae

Read it on Ao3!

Her first night as part of the royal family found Teki with trembling palms and a gurgling stomach, fighting to maintain the appearance of composure. Her family didn’t seem to notice her anxiety—in fact, her mother seemed to be having the time of her life before they even left for dinner.

“See?” she beamed at Osvald as she spun Teki around in her new red dress. “It’s finally happening! She’s finally getting the recognition she deserves!”

Osvald studied her with a glittering gaze. Teki was careful to keep her own eyes glued to the floorboards. At some point in the last week, although he hadn’t said when, her stepfather had finally caved to the pain and visited the healers. Her mother had sighed in relief at this news, but Teki had to clasp her hands behind her back to stop them from shaking.

“How wonderful,” he said, smiling. He reached out to stroke a bit of loose hair that her mother hadn’t braided into her bun. His hands were cold on her cheek. “Then I’m certain everyone will be on their best behavior tonight, won’t we?”

Teki nodded. “Yes, sir.”

She was still trembling as she made her way to the royal tables in the feast hall. Stepping on to the raised platform didn’t help. Sure, the feast hall wasn’t nearly as large as the Great Hall, which was used only for festivals and celebrations, but everything seems bigger when you’re standing above it. Hundreds of pairs of eyes held her in their scrutiny. Teki thought she would be sick.

Her seat was at Thor’s right. Unsurprising—he was her fiancé after all, and he always sat at King Odin’s right. But this arrangement also put her at the end of the table, so that her only possible partner for conversation was the Crown Prince. Was that intentional as well?

If it was a ploy to get Thor and her to talk more, it didn’t work. The prince spent most of the dinner in raucous discussion with his father, as if completely ignorant of Teki’s presence at his elbow. They were very loud. Thor’s shouts rumbled the table and pierced Teki’s skull in a way that made the nausea even worse. She spent dinner trying to choke down a slice of bread.

It was weird, thinking about how she was going to marry Thor someday. She knew he was her elder only by a few years but… he seemed so much older. He was so tall, so muscular, with a voice that carried across the hall even when he wasn’t yelling. Just sitting next to him made Teki feel unbearably small. Only a few years between them, but he was already a man, and she still felt like a little girl.

At first, when people started getting up to dance, she feared that Thor would ask her as his partner. There was no way Teki would be able to turn down an offer from the prince, but she was barely holding herself together as it was. However, it seemed her worries were unwarranted. Thor got up without so much as a word to her and nearly flew to Lady Sif’s table amongst the nobles. Had she been feeling a bit better, Teki would have been concerned that Osvald had seen it, but all she felt in the moment was relief.

I’m going to be such a horrible Queen.

It seemed that the night had gone on forever. Everyone was shouting, laughing, dancing, having the absolute time of their life, while Teki only sank lower into her chair. When she sat with her mother, they could leave any time they wanted to. Nobody paid her any mind—she could slip out easily and no one noticed the difference. But here, she was on display for everyone. Here, everyone saw everything she did. It wasn’t fair. Her eyes burned. She didn’t want this. She didn’t want any of this.

Teki jumped when someone plopped themselves down in Thor’s seat, but it wasn’t her fiancé. Loki grinned at her with his sparkling emerald eyes.

“So, Lady Teki, how do you like looking down upon the masses,” he smirked.

Teki forced a smile. “I-I think it’s something I’ll have to get used to, my prince.” Her voice was pathetically small, and she cursed herself.

But Loki was kind enough not comment on her pitifulness. “Oh, I understand,” he agreed. “I imagine this setup is quite jarring.” Leaning in, he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Don’t tell anyone, but I still get dizzy up here sometimes.”

Teki exhaled a quiet giggle. She was fairly certain he was only trying to cheer her up, but the thought that the prince got as sick to his stomach as she felt somehow made her feel like less of a failure. “Your secret is safe with me, my prince.”

“I knew I could trust you.” He laughed softly, motioning towards the tables below them. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but your brother has been trying to get your attention all night long.”

She frowned. “What?” Following his finger, her gaze landed on Brant, who was sitting the wrong way in his chair, frantically waving. When he saw her looking, he jumped and waved even harder. Teki laughed as she returned the wave.

“Has he really been doing that all night?” she asked. She couldn’t imagine that Osvald and her mother would be pleased with him making such a scene, but it seemed her mother was busy conversing with the ladies around her and Osvald was nowhere to be seen.

“I noticed him shortly after the meal began,” Loki chuckled. “He hasn’t stopped since then.”

“Oh Brant.” Teki wondered who cut his meat for him. She couldn’t imagine Osvald doing it. She couldn’t really imagine her mother doing it, either.

The two of them sat on the platform for a while, talking about nothing in particular. Loki carried most of the conversation, telling her the most hilarious stories about his classes—spells that ricocheted off the golden doorframe, potions that overflowed and contaminated the whole room, pranks that he played on the teachers to show off his talent. Some of them were so ridiculous that Teki found herself wondering if he was making them up to make her laugh, but she didn’t question him.

“There’s one woman, Lady Alda,” he was saying, gesturing animatedly as he told the story. “Horrible old hag—she’s the type who gets upset if you read ahead. She believes if she hasn’t taught it yet, then you’re not allowed to know it. I didn’t like that very much, so I read ahead to the transformation section. She had acted as if transformation is the most difficult skill you’ll ever learn, but it’s actually quite easy. So, I taught myself how to do it, and in the middle of class I turned her desk into a dead rat.”

“Loki!” Teki laughed incredulously.

“That’s not the best part! She turns to me and starts demanding that I undo it, shouting so loudly the walls shook The vein was popping out of her forehead, her hair was wild—I swear, she looked like a troll. And I looked her right in the eye and said ‘But Lady Alda, you haven’t taught us transformation yet!’”

Teki was somewhere between enthralled and horrified. “What did she do?”

Loki shrugged. “She told my father. That’s all they ever do. They’re afraid to try anything else.”

She pictured Odin, with his untamed beard and deafening shout. “What did your father do?”

“Oh, he got mad,” Loki said nonchalantly, flicking a crumb off his sleeve. “Yelled at me for my ‘unprincely conduct.’ Nothing serious.”

“Nothing serious,” Teki echoed softly. She wondered what Osvald would do if one of her teachers told him she had been acting out in class. The thought terrified her.

Loki had gone very quiet. Gently, he reached out to touch her wrist. “I—I meant to ask,” he cleared his throat. “Everything’s all right, right? I mean, with your family. Everything’s all right?”

Teki burned. “Yes, yes, of course,” she said quickly, her voice jumping an octave higher. “Everything’s fine. Nothing wrong at all.”

“That’s good.” His gaze had grown far more concerned, but there was relief mixed in with the green of his eyes. “That’s good. I’m glad to hear it. I just—I wanted to make sure—”

She nodded furiously. “I understand.”

Loki looked as if he was going to say something else, but Thor was rushing up the steps of the platform, shouting his name.

“Loki!” He grabbed at his brother’s shoulders, still seemingly oblivious to Teki’s presence. “Come! Volstagg and I are trying an experiment, we need your help—”

The younger prince squirmed out of Thor’s grasp. “Now?”

“Yes, now!” He tried pulling Loki to his feet. “We need an illusionist!”

“I—” he was able to shoot one apologetic glance to Teki before Thor had completely pulled him out of his seat. “Let go of me already! I’m coming.”

Teki studied her fingernails in her lap as the two princes clattered back down the steps. She suddenly felt very lonely.

…

“Can you read that one to me now?”

Brant cocked his head, brow furrowed at the line of writing. He and Teki were on her bedroom floor, pages spread around them covered in Teki’s careful lettering. They had been there all morning—Teki patiently helping him through longer words and sentences. Maybe it was just her, but she thought her little brother was making some definite improvement.

“Tah—Tah—”

Teki shook her head. “Remember what we said about the t and the h?” she asked, pointing at the paper. “What sound do they make when they’re together?”

Brant’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Thhh!” he hissed excitedly, spittle flying all over the page. Teki snickered.

“So what does it say?”

“Thhh—the. The!” he grinned. “The wi—the wis—”

The slamming of the door cut him off abruptly. Voices echoed from downstairs, ricocheting off the walls. They both tensed.

“You sit there and give me nothing and then you expect me to listen to you when you’re going on about your—”

“Oh, I don’t expect you to listen to me, Áslaug. You never fucking listen to me—”

“Stop yelling! You’re always fucking yelling!”

“You think this is yelling? I’ll show you yelling—”

Brant whimpered as the sound of something shattering against the wall rattled the air. Teki inhaled.

“Come, get your shoes on,” she whispered, slowly pulling him to his feet. If they were quiet enough, Osvald and her mother might not even realize they were home. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Teki had learned long ago to appreciate the ivy outside her bedroom window. Her mother would beat her herself if she knew how often her daughter climbed down the side of the apartment, dress fluttering above her ankles, but it was a risk worth taking. The vines were strong, and they led directly into the royal gardens—the perfect escape.

She went first, guiding Brant down behind her. He wasn’t nearly as agile as she was, but he knew where the right footholds were, and he knew better than to cry out if he slipped. They reached the ground in silence, the cacophony of battle still reverberating behind them.

It was a warm day. Teki pulled Brant through the grass and on to the garden paths. There were only a few hours until dinner—hopefully things would have calmed down by then. Her parents’ arguments usually flamed out fairly quickly. Osvald’s temper had a tendency to linger, however, and Teki knew better than to risk crossing his path while he was angry.

Maybe sitting with the royal family isn’t so bad after all.

Ahead of them, the courtyard was alive with shouts. There was a crowd gathered, chanting and cheering and jumping up and down.

“What’s going on over there?” Brant whispered.

Teki would have preferred to avoid the commotion, but she let her brother pull her towards the pack. They were watching a fight, it seemed—two figures were going at it in the middle of a hastily drawn ring, rushing at each other with giant sticks.

Oh. Teki winced. They must have been practicing for the Games. It was the only time she ever saw those kinds of weighted staffs in use. The Games were an end-of-summer tradition, where all the worthy men of the court would show off their prowess as a warrior and might as a man by jumping into an arena and defeating their opponent in a series of different duels. It wasn’t as much an exercise in strength as it was a display of brutality—usually, the loser was carried out of the arena a bloody mess. Teki spent those days with her head buried in her hands, only occasionally peeking through her fingers when it seemed safe to look.

It was a moment before she recognized Thor, shirtless as he wielded his staff, sparring with another blond she didn’t know. His partner was panting like a dog, but Thor looked as if he hadn’t broken a sweat. Blow by blow, he beat his opponent back in the ring, pushing, pummeling, dominating… until the boy fell backwards, holding his hands up in surrender.

Thor laughed, slamming his staff on the ground. “Is that truly your best effort, Fandral?” he asked as he extended a hand. “I’ve seen some of my mother’s ladies put up a better fight than that!” The crowd snickered with him.

Thor and Osvald would get along well.

She wasn’t sure where the thought came from, but it sunk in like a stone in her stomach. Teki swallowed the lump in her throat.

“Come on, Brant,” she mumbled, pulling at his arm. “Let’s—”

“Hah!”

Teki shrieked at the sudden presence behind her. She flipped around just in time to smack into Prince Loki’s leather chest. He laughed as he reached out to steady her.

For a moment, all she could hear was her pulse pounding in her eardrums. “My prince,” she said shakily, forgetting to curtsey. “You scared me!”

“Many apologies my lady,” Loki grinned, looking anything but apologetic. “I suppose you were too engrossed in your betrothed’s performance to notice me approaching.”

“No, I—” she stuttered. Why did that statement make her feel guilty? “I was just taking my brother out for a stroll, my prince.” She pulled at Brant’s shoulder, who upon Loki’s appearance had taken shelter behind her legs. For some reason, it was critically important that Loki know she hadn’t come here just to watch Thor.

“Ahh.” The prince kneeled to smile at her brother. “And how do you do today, Lord Brant?”

Brant shrank further back behind her legs. “Good,” he mumbled.

Teki flushed with embarrassment, but Loki only laughed. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. Behind them, Thor was challenging someone else to another sparring session.

“Don’t be a coward! What kind of warrior runs from a fight?”

Loki rolled his eyes. “Would you like to walk down to the lake?” he asked. “It’s much more peaceful there. Unless you’d prefer to stay for this madness.”

A crash shook the ground beneath their feet as Thor body slammed his next victim into the dirt. Teki cringed. “The lake sounds lovely, my prince.”

It was funny how easy it was to fall into conversation with Loki. They drifted from topic to topic almost lazily as they made their way across the grounds—how nice the weather had been, how strange it was that Teki was sitting with the royal family now, how overdramatic Thor could be about his training. When they reached their destination, Loki was telling her about his family’s upcoming trip to Alfheim.

“I’m really excited,” he said animatedly. “I’ve only gone once, and I was too young to properly remember much. Father usually takes only Thor when he travels.”

“That sounds wonderful,” Teki smiled. She smoothed out her skirt as they reclined on the grassy banks. There was the slightest breeze rippling through the water, sending tiny ripples to lap against the dirt. The effect was almost hypnotic. “Alfheim’s a beautiful planet.”

“Oh,” Loki looked up eagerly. “Have you been?”

“Oh, no—I—” Teki faltered. Not supposed to talk about this. “My father lived there for a while,” she finally said. “He used to tell me about it.”

She could almost hear him reminiscing in her head. Alfheim is where music lives, he used to say. It sleeps in the trees and dances through the air like a bird. Someday I’ll show you, Teki. Her eyes prickled with tears, but she blinked them away.

“That’s fascinating.” Loki leaned in closer, continuing hesitantly. “Was he—was your father Elvish?”

“Oh no, he was Asgardian. He just traveled around a lot.” She frowned, trying to retrieve the memory. “I think he lived in Vanaheim for a little bit too.”

Loki sighed. He dug his fingers into the grass, tearing at the delicate stalks. “I wish I lived in Vanaheim. That’s where all the most talented magicians study. My mother studied there, for a time.”

“Then why can’t you go?” she asked. She didn’t understand why he looked so forlorn—she couldn’t imagine any magic teacher would turn him down, considering how effortlessly he healed her rib during the Summer Festival.

“Father won’t let me!” he groaned, chucking his handful of grass into lake. “It’s beyond frustrating—I’m more than qualified, but he won’t have it. He says my place is on Asgard and that I shouldn’t be running across the Nine Realms just to chase a hobby.” With a huff, he leaned back against the embankment.

Teki didn’t know how to respond to that. “Well, maybe he’s just waiting until you’re older,” she supplied unhelpfully.

“Maybe.” But she could tell that he wasn’t convinced.

Brant, who had been silent up to this point, tugged on her sleeve.

“He can do magic?” he whispered in her ear. She giggled, squirming from his hot breath. Under any other circumstances, she’d be embarrassed by her brother’s lack of propriety, but for some reason, it didn’t feel out of line in this instance.

“Why don’t you ask him?” she whispered back.

Brant looked up at her with wide eyes, shrinking back behind her again. Teki nudged him gently towards Loki. He glanced back at her again before gulping in a deep breath.

“Can—can you do magic?” he asked, stumbling as he avoided eye contact with the prince.

Loki smiled. “I can, as a matter of fact. Would you like to see?”

Brant nodded shyly. Loki motioned him over, cupping her brother’s tiny hands together. “I want you to hold your hands like this very carefully,” he said, very seriously. “I’m going to give you the magic, but you can’t let go. Alright?” Brant nodded again, brow furrowed in concentration as he stared at his palms. Teki scooted over so she could have a better view of what was happening.

“Now, close your eyes and count to three,” he continued. Brant closed his eyes. “One, two, three!”

Teki gasped. Suddenly, her brother was holding what could only be described as liquid light. It gleamed in his palms, illuminating his face in a yellow glow and glistening in the reflection of his cornflower eyes. His face broke into a wide grin.

“Magic!” he breathed in awe.

Loki chuckled at their astonishment. “Blow on it,” he told Brant. “Go ahead.” Brant blew softly into his hands. The light rippled like water, lapping against his fingertips. He giggled.

“It tickles, Teki!” he whispered.

Teki was mesmerized. “What is that?”

“It’s just a light source. They use it a lot with younger students, because it’s not as difficult to control as fire.” Loki circled his hand once around Brant’s, a quick flick of the wrist. Slowly, the light drained into nothingness. “It was one of the first tricks my mother taught me.”

Brant was turning his hands over and over, as if he was surprised to find them unchanged. “Can you grant wishes?” he asked excitedly.

Both Loki and Teki snorted. “You mean like a Midgardian genie?” he laughed. “I suppose it depends. What wish would you like granted?”

“I wish I had wings!” he cried, leaning forward with a wide grin. “Can you give me wings?” Loki glanced at Teki quizzically. She frowned. Where was this coming from?

“What do you need wings for?” the prince asked.

“Because then I could fly, and sit really high up in the trees, and when I want to go somewhere I could just fly, and then when everything’s bad I can take Teki and fly away so we can live in the clouds until everything gets better again.” He inhaled. “So can you give me wings?”

Teki swallowed. She could feel Loki’s eyes on her, feel the pity in his gaze, and she couldn’t bring herself to meet it. “That wouldn’t work, Brant,” she said thickly. “Clouds are just mist. You can’t live on a cloud. You’d fall right through.”

“Oh.” Brant deflated, sitting back on his knees.

“I’ll look for a spell to give you wings, Brant,” Loki promised, voice soft. “And maybe I’ll find a cloud you can live on, too. There’s all sorts of strange things in the universe.”

Teki stood up. She couldn’t bear this anymore. “We should be getting back,” she said. “We need—we need to get ready for dinner.” Hopefully they’re not still throwing things. Brant stood up obediently, taking her hand.

Loki scrambled to his feet as well. “I can walk you back, if you like?”

“Oh, no—that’s—” Her heart ached at the way his face fell, but her blood ran cold at the idea of Osvald catching her running around with the wrong prince. “Thank you, my prince, but I don’t think that would be necessary.”

“Of course, of course.” Loki bowed slightly, his hands awkwardly fumbling with his sleeves. “Then… I’ll see you at dinner, I suppose?”

Teki forced a smile. “See you at dinner, my prince.”

They walked away, Brant still clutching her palm. Her brother had the right idea, she realized. She too wished they would grow wings and fly away to the clouds.

#dances and daggers #loki x ofc #loki marvel #loki fanfic #dances and daggers chapter 3 #the wish #cozy writes

[dresupi]

Rewrite the Stars - Sansberyn

for vampireacademy96 1,627 words Rated T Rewrite the Stars - Zendaya & Zac Efron

A/n: Canon era, but that’s the only thing that’s canon here

~~~~~~~~~~

Oberyn laughed and it tugged at Sansa’s heart.

She did what she’d promised herself she wouldn’t... she turned and caught his eye across the dining hall and she wished she could just hold his gaze for the rest of her life instead of what she knew she had to do.

Duty often got in the way of happiness. The only way to have both was to be happy in one’s duty. Sansa didn’t know if she had it in her.

She inhaled as his dark eyes bore into hers, and she was the first to look away. To excuse herself, nodding to her mother as she turned to leave.

Her betrothed would be here within the hour. She should go prepare herself to meet him.

Tears caught in her throat as she broke into a run the second she’d entered the corridor.

“Sansa!”

He called out her name and she knew she shouldn’t turn, but she didn’t care. She did anyway and waited for him.

Oberyn’s hands encircled her waist and he pulled her into an alcove, his lips on hers in an instant. Hot, wet, and never demanding, kissing Oberyn was heaven itself.

“Run away with me,” he murmured, pleaded. “Come with me to Dorne. They won’t find you. They won’t find us...”

“If I do, Stannis could assassinate my brother...”

“That’s your brother’s fault, not yours.”

“My mum would try to marry Arya off.”

“Why does this fall to you, darling?” he asked, kissing her again and making her want to press her skin against his skin. More than it already was. She wanted to strip off his tunic and run her hands over his chest. To find the source of his warmth and curl up there forever. To occupy the same space as he did.

“Because, I’m the oldest daughter,” she said sadly. “I will marry Stannis and bear his children...”

“No,” Oberyn murmured. “Marry me. Bear my children. We’d have a nice wedding in Dorne. I’d plant a godswood for you.”

“In Dorne?” she asked, smiling.

“I’d do anything to marry you, Sansa Stark.”

She knew he would. His desperation was sincere and matched only by her own. She wanted so badly to go with him, but duty eschewed all other in her life. She was a Stark. And she owed this to her brother. To her family.

“I’m sorry,” she said softly. “You know why I cannot, don’t you? If it was my choice, I’d be with you in Dorne...”

He looked pained and pressed his forehead to hers. “You’re too good for this world, Sansa.”

She sighed and kissed his lips again, tearing herself from his arms and trying not to cry as she left him there in the corridor on the way to her chambers.

When Stannis arrived, her mother came to fetch her, and Sansa didn’t meet her eye line as she was led into one of the solars.

“I know you’re upset...” Catelyn began.

“That doesn’t begin to explain my feelings,” Sansa replied coldly. “The only reason I do this is for Robb. I don’t do this for you or your happiness, or your peace of mind. I do this so my brother won’t be in danger. You are keeping me from my happiness.”

“Sansa. Find happiness in your duty, love.”

Her mother sounded as desperate as Oberyn had. In a different way, of course. And Sansa knew from where her desperation stemmed. But she still did not relish her status as a pawn.

“Only if you can truthfully tell me you find happiness in yours,” she replied, looking at her mother for the first time. Her father was dead. Her mother, a grieving widow and a frightened mother forced to trade one child’s happiness for another’s life. If she could find a glimmer of light in this darkness, Sansa would attempt to as well. But when she gazed into her mother’s eyes, she saw nothing but resignation.

And so she resigned herself as well.

“I’m sorry, Sansa... I truly am.”

“I believe you,” she whispered, placing her hand upon the door and pulling it open.

Stannis was standing by a window and he barely seemed to notice when she arrived.

Her handmaid remained as a chaperone, sewing something in the chair in the corner. Catelyn made her introductions and greetings, before leaving them.

Sansa forced herself to stand tall and meet Stannis’s face. It wasn’t such a horrible face. He was actually quite handsome. And Oberyn was quite a bit older than she was, so the age difference wasn’t what bothered her.

It was just...

He wasn’t Oberyn. And looking at him only solidified that fact.

But he was a good man. She’d be treated well.

It was the best she could hope for in this situation.

She smiled, and Stannis chuckled warmly, shaking his head and turning back to the window. “You really are one of the good ones, aren’t you, Sansa? You’re good at doing what you’re told without a thought for yourself.”

“I...” she trailed off, unsure what he was talking about. “Your Highness, I’m unsure what---“

“I don’t wish to marry you, Sansa Stark. Not for lack of desire or the fact that you’d not make me a proper wife. I whole-heartedly believe you’d be a lovely wife. You’d be a good mother to Shireen. You’d be good to me and any future children we have would be in line for the throne, but...” He shook his head. “I have no wish to marry for political reasons ever again. If I wed again, it would have to be a love match. And we wouldn’t be a love match. How could we be?”

Sansa felt like whatever was restricting her heart had loosened and she could finally breathe. “What do you...”

“You marry your Dornish Prince, my lady,” he said, bowing low. “Make your love match and don’t let your mother use you as a pawn.”

“You know about...”

“Oberyn Martell? The Red Viper? Indeed. My scouts told me to have him killed so he wouldn’t be tempted to kill for stealing his paramour directly from his arms.” He smiled. “Not to worry, I know you’ve not been ruined. I’ll pass along to your mother how beneficial a match between the throne and Dorne would be.”

“She won’t listen,” Sansa said. “She believes you will kill Robb if she doesn’t offer you...”

“Her oldest daughter?” he laughed. “I don’t want the throne. Not after everything that’s happened. It killed my idiot brother. It almost made me do the unthinkable... it’s better that it goes to a Northman. Perhaps your brother has the right head on his shoulders and the constitution for ruling from it.”

“He’s actually going to have it melted down and make his own...” Sansa said softly.

“Good man. That’s a good choice.” Stannis nodded. “Now go. I’ll tell your mother about my plans.”

“Thank you,” she said, bowing so low her knees ached before leaving and bidding her maid leave her side as she ran through the castle to the courtyard where she knew she’d find Oberyn.

It was dark, and he was kneeling in the circle of moonlight that was cast upon the centre of the grounds. And When he looked up to see her standing there, he swore softly, and she ran into his arms. “Stannis told me to marry you,” she said softly, leaning up. “And I don’t wish to wait. We should go now. And be married on the ship back to Dorne.”

“Darling,” he breathed, combing his fingers through her hair as he kissed her soundly. “What about your mother and your brother?”

“Stannis won’t try to take the throne. I’m not beholden to him or anyone... I want you, Oberyn.”

He kissed her again. “I will take you if that’s what you wish. Don’t you want to say goodbye to your family?”

“Robb... yes...” she said, pulling back, but keeping his hand in hers. “Come. Let’s go see him now.”

She needn’t have worried at all. When they arrived in the throne room, Robb seemed to be expecting them. He was smiling when she approached to inform him of her decision.

“I wish I had your propensity for knowing what you want and how to achieve it, Sansa. I see you’ve procured yourself not only a love match but a useful one as well?” he asked, taking one look at Oberyn and seeming to know all already.

Sansa frowned. Not that her brother wasn’t astute and intelligent, but generally speaking, he wasn’t.

He explained immediately. “Stannis already spoke with me and Mother, and I, for one, couldn’t be happier. You have my blessing. If you wish to marry here, you are of course allowed. I’ll bless your union and give you away if you choose to marry here..”

Sansa breathed easier, releasing Oberyn’s hand to throw her arms around her brother. “Oh, Robb... thank you,” she whispered. He squeezed her tightly before releasing her once more. He extended his hand to Oberyn, who shook it.

“I thank you, Your Majesty, for your blessing.”

“And I thank you, Your Highness. For being someone worthy of my sister’s affections.” He turned back to Sansa. “Now, when would you like the ceremony to occur?” Robb asked.

“As soon as one can be arranged,” Sansa said. “I don’t wish to remain unmarried for longer than I have to...”

Oberyn slipped his arm around her waist, pulling her close to his side. He could do so now that they were engaged.

Sansa brushed her fingertips over the back of his hand. It was almost surreal.

Oberyn would have his fiery princess.

And she’d have her prince.

Sansa’s duty was fulfilled. She was free to see to her happiness. And Oberyn’s.

#Sansberyn #Sansa Stark #Oberyn Martell #Sansa x Oberyn #Oberyn x Sansa #Sansa/Oberyn #Oberyn/Sansa #GoT #Game of Thrones #my writing #Song Prompts 2021 #orange #vampireacademy96

[dreamingofscully]

Grey Canyon 7/?

Rating: Current Chapter: PG, Series: up to Mature Categories: Western AU / MSR / WIP WC: 1450 / Total WC:  7.3k

Updated on Mondays and Fridays.

Thank you to @ceruleanmilieu​ for the beta ❤️ Tagging: @impulsive-astrophile​ @baronessblixen​ @suitablyaggrieved​ @gillywitch​ @today-in-fic​ (let me know if you want to be tagged when I post!)

all chapters in order: ao3 / tumblr

CH 1 / CH 2 / CH 3 / CH 4 / CH 5 / CH 6

CHAPTER 7: “New York”

Grey Canyon, Colorado 1885

Lunches in the dining room or kitchen, and dinners in her room had become customary. He brought her more journals, which she read into the night, staying up far too late and waking bleary-eyed and happy. It had been nearly a year since she’d been able to keep up on any new medical developments. Even though she knew she’d never get the chance to pursue a career in the field, reading about others’ work gave her a taste of her old life, reminding her of why she’d wanted to be a physician in the first place.

As happy as the articles made her, the darkness within her deepened by the same degree. That Mulder had known she’d want them made her pause and feel guilty. His friendship had been a comfort, something she didn’t know she needed. But how could friendship stay strong when it was one-sided? She tested him, poked fun at his stories, but walled herself off from anything deeper. Sooner, rather than later, she felt it would not be enough.

Would losing his friendship, an unbearable thought, be worse than sharing a part of herself that she’d buried so deeply, she felt belonged to a completely different person? Could she be the woman that she once was? The possibility of her former self re-emerging thrilled and terrified her.

It was dinner. He sat across from her, telling another story, trying to convince her of something mad. For once, she was only half-listening, lost in her thoughts of where this connection between them was going. She’d never been able to pretend very well, though, and Mulder noticed.

“You’re not listening, Dana,” he said. He wasn’t upset, even though she felt he had a right to be. “Story’s a bit too far-fetched, even for me I admit.”

“I’m… I’m sorry, Mulder, I was just distracted.”

“Anything you care to share?” He smiled at her, his eyes soft and gentle. He never pushed, never tried to force anything out of her. Sometimes she wished he would.

The same old conversation, she thought. ‘No, I’m fine’, is your next line, Dana.

She found herself, instead, telling a story of her own.

“My father, he… was a captain in the navy, during the war,” she started, not quite believing she was telling him this. If she went far back enough, things weren’t so bad. “He’d distinguished himself, made a name for himself, despite being an immigrant.”

She looked out the window, at her own warped reflection in the frosted glass. The lamp painted her face in grotesque shadows. Her hands found the edge of her napkin, fraying the edges.

Swallowing, she continued. “He was able to use his influence to help his children get into good schools. I excelled. We were very close. I think… he was proud of me,” she paused, blinking back the threat of tears. “He died, about a year ago.”

“I’m sorry,” Mulder said, his hand reaching across to cover hers, stilling their restless movements.

“I’d been accepted into medical school, a rare thing for a woman,” she looked back at him. “New York—it is the very best and the very worst, at the same time.”

Mulder nodded, squeezed her hand, his focus giving her courage. She trusted him, not knowing why she should. Her father told her she’d had good instincts about people, recognizing almost immediately who had integrity, and who did not. Looking at Mulder now, she knew him, almost as much as she knew herself.

“My brothers. They didn’t do so well in school. They… got involved with different sorts of people. It was a vicious circle—they could not please their father by being smart or hard-working, so they tried to win him over by bringing home money obtained from more dishonest means. My father was aware of how these… groups preyed on those who were less fortunate. Their relationship only got worse. When he died…”

Dana withdrew her hand, clenched them underneath the table. It hurt to say the words, to allow the reality of what had happened to enter the air of this room, to add to the weight on Mulder’s already heavy shoulders by sharing her burden with him.

“Because I was an unmarried woman, they took control. I had no other recourse. They would not allow me to go to school. Instead, they said I was to marry.”

“But you wouldn’t,” Mulder leaned forward.

“The person—” she stopped. “I do not like to speak harshly, to judge, but the man they wanted to give me to was just the sort of person you would expect, given their type of dealings. I suspect I was meant to be payment. Their younger sister in exchange for more power, more money.” She spat the words out like venom. The anger she’d felt when she’d first realized what her brothers intended came back with equal strength.

“I thought I could reason with them. Perhaps I could be a doctor for their ‘organization’. I would have done anything, except they would not listen. They use violence and intimidation to do what they want, I could do nothing. There was no one else after Papa...”

Dana breathed heavily and covered herself with her shawl, overcome with a sudden chill, though the room was not cold. There, she’d done it, for good or ill. She’d run from her family, abandoned her life while he had chased ghosts for ten years in hopes to bring his own back together.

“So you find yourself here, in hiding? Playing school marm and nursemaid to a bunch of —”

“Mulder.”

“I’m sorry, I just...”

When she looked up at him again, his face, normally filled with amusement and softness and passion, was now like a stormcloud, staring off into the darkness of her room. It reminded her of his outburst in her room late at night, what seemed like so long ago.

“Your mother?” he said.

“She… could do nothing. She felt my choice to be a doctor was a mistake, that I should accept my duty to the family, and be a wife. That I should accept it without complaint,” she said. Guilt rose up inside her, thinking about her mother: they would not hurt her, would they? “I don't have a family any more, Mulder.”

He rose from his chair and paced. She could feel his anger coming off of him in waves, while she shivered in place, unmoving.

“There must be something—”

“I have learned to live with my fate, Mulder.”

“I don’t accept that,” he said, waving his hands around her modest room. “You deserve so much better than this.”

“Please, sit.”

He looked at her, saw her.

“You’re cold.” He brought over a quilt from her bed and laid it across her shoulders, rubbing his warm hands along her arms before crouching beside her. She let out a shaky breath, imagined she could see the water vapor apparating between them.

“I can see your mind working. Trying to think of something to do. Please, Mulder. It is too risky.”

“Are these people really that dangerous?”

She nodded, silently pleading with him.

He looked at her, reluctant but steady, then cupped her face. “I do not agree. But I promise.”

She sighed and closed her eyes, leaning into his hand. Warmth spread through her chest at his touch. She was so tired, but the weight of her secrets had been somewhat lightened, and his promise lifted her spirits. She chanced a smile when she opened her eyes.

“If all of this hadn’t happened, we wouldn’t have met. Perhaps this was all meant to be, fate… destiny,” she pressed her lips into his palm, and brought his hand down to her lap. “I will not pretend though. It was terrible, and difficult, and I have not shared everything.”

But I will, was her unspoken promise.

Mulder caressed her hands with his own, remaining close. The warm lamplight enhanced his features: his stubbled jaw, full lips, strong nose. She couldn’t help it, her hand rose to his mouth, caressed his bottom lip with her thumb. He froze, searched her eyes, his anger disappearing under her touch, replaced with something else. Something she recognized, that he’d awakened within her these past weeks as well.

<i>Yes</i>, she thought, willing herself to speak the words aloud, for her thoughts to reach into his mind.

Suddenly, he blinked, and shook his head. She dropped her hand back to her lap as he stood up, taking his things and moving to leave.

He turned before opening the door. “Thank you, Dana,” he said, his voice like sandpaper. “For telling me.”

“Good night, Mulder.”

He smiled, meeting her eyes with a shy smile. “Good night.”

#grey canyon #my fic #xf fanfic #xfiles fanfic #xfiles #x-files #msr #mulder and scully #au #wip #historical au #western au #xfiles au #western