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msmorningstaarr · 4 months

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let me fill you up | Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

ao3 | masterlist

Pairing: Jaime Lannister x F!Targaryen reader

Summary: You, a Targaryen princess were married into the Lannister fold to ensure the alliance between the two houses, ensuring your eldest brother’s claim to the Iron Throne. Now, Lord Jaime makes your days filled with happiness and makes you eager to present him babies.

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: rhaegar wins AU, no targcest, smuff, fluff, breeding kink, praising kink, a lot of pet names (sweet girl, princess, love), reader has no physical description besides the silvery white targaryen hair, creampie, oral (f receiving), a very devoted husband commited to your pleasure, smut, sex;

a/n: Happy new year! I had posted I wanted to write something like that and it's been a while since I want to write something other than holy and heathen because I must admit I'm not very satisfied with what I've been writing lately. Some validation kudos, comments and reblogs would be very important to me, seriously :') I’ve been thinking in turning this into a small series but I’m not so sure. Could you give me your thoughts on this too? please, enjoy your reading!

Taglist: @princessanglophile @hiroikegawa @hiraethrhapsody

You are sitting surrounded by your maids and children on a breezy night, covered with a fur coat and a crimson silk dress under it. Attentively, you go stitch by stitch and slowly form a lion, sigil of your husband’s house. Ever since Robert’s Rebellion ended and your brother, King Rhaegar Targaryen won, you became promised to the former knight of the Kingsguard, now Lord Jaime Lannister. Life in the lion’s den was not difficult, once Lord Tywin treated her with the most kindness and Jaime was still coming out of his shell. At first, he was your sworn sword in King’s Landing and spent plenty of time together in an unbalanced relationship. Now, you two are sharing a bed after a tumultuous year of war and destruction, as equals. In the beginning, you were sceptical about marrying into the Lannister household, but as the months went by, you found yourself drowned at him. Jaime is careful, gentle and kind. He brings you a small dandelion every morning once he knows it reminds you of home.

His only quirk was the strange attachment to his sister, Lady Cersei. But after being sent to Dorne to marry Prince Oberyn of House Martell and getting distant from each other, your relationship with your husband seemed to finally thrive.

“It appears to be beautiful, my lady.” Said one of her maids, taking care of your youngest son, a small silvery blonde figure of two years of age.

“A bright lion handkerchief for Jaime to carry with him.” You reply, admiring your piece of work. “Do you believe your father will like it, sweetling?” You then ask your eldest daughter, an adorable child of four. Your daughter eagerly nods her head and wraps her hands around one of your fingers to pull the fabric closer to her eyes.

“Dada will love it, mama!” The little one exclaimed, spinning around with the kerchief on her tiny hands.

“What will I love, if I’m allowed to ask?” A tall, blonde figure shows up in your private bedchambers, wearing a classic Westerland attire with a crimson fabric and intricate strings of gold shaped into the sleeves and collar. You smile sweetly to Jaime as he approaches you and grabs your middle child to hold in his arms.

“Papa!” The blonde little girl runs towards her father to embrace his legs and your maids stand up to bow to their lord.

“Have you missed me, dear?” Jaime asked and the fussy children eagerly nodded at him, embracing their father even more. Sometimes, seeing Jaime being so loving and kind towards your children simply melted your heart. You felt the urgency to kiss him and dig your fingers onto his bright hair, begging him for another child. Your cunt ached in pleasure to the thought of Jaime pumping his seed inside of you. You were still young and could bear many more children.

“Mm-rrhm…” You scoffed. “I have missed you too, husband.”

The three children giggled and the child on his arms hid his face on the crook of Jaime’s neck. The eldest covered her laugh with her tiny hands and the youngest beamed along their siblings. Jaime came closer to you and caressed your cheeks with his free hand. Then, a single and gentle kiss he places over your forehead, making your heart flutters with love and passion.

“I have missed you too, my love.” Jaime said, passing his fingertips on your chin and smiling at you.

Your maids quickly stood up and bowed at their overlord as a sign of respect. “Excuse me, my lord, my lady,” Said the servant girl. “Let us take the children so you can rest.”

“But I want to stay with papa!” Said the elder daughter, pouting and crossing her arms. The other two children whined and complained along, but you lowered into their level whilst Jaime talked to the youngest on his arm.

“Sweetlings,” She said, caressing their cheeks. “Your father is rather tired after riding for so long. Go with her, I promise you, your siblings, me and your father will have plenty of time together on the morrow. Is that understood, my loves?”

“I can take you to ride a horse tomorrow and even let you eat lemon cakes before super. What do you think?” Jaime asked, delivering the fussy child from his arms to the other maid. In unison, the three infants agreed and left disappointed. Once you and your husband were alone in your bedchambers, Jaime smiled at you gallantly. You embrace him intimately and are finally able to feel the warmth of his muscular body and feel the softness of his golden hair. His lips reach yours and in a whirlwind of sensations, your cunt is already dripping in anticipation just by a simple touch coming from him. Once he breaks the kiss, he keeps holding you by your waist and gazing at you with admiration.

“You have been gone for too long, love.” You say, passing your fingertips on his lips. He smiles and gives you a peck on the lips before speaking.

“I had duties with your brother, Our Grace King Rhaegar, sweet girl.” Jaime replies, pulling her out gently and grabbing the fabric she embroidered for him.

“I hope you like it, I made it just for you.” You point out, joining your hands to follow him. He keeps smiling as he observes attentively the intricate work you did.

“I shall cherish it and take it wherever I go, dragon princess.” He replied, folding and putting the kerchief in one of his pockets. You giggle as you hear him calling you ‘dragon princess’, a custom he chose to never abandon as a form to remember the late days of their relationship “I wish I had more time to be around and play with the children, I have been missing them and you.”

“They made drawings every day and left it on your desk at your office.” You reply, walking to the window and being followed by him.

“I will make sure to have them guarded in our chambers. Safe as our gold.” He says, hugging you from behind and kissing your neck lightly. You beam in ecstasy feeling his body smother you into a comforting embrace and full missing him.

“Sometimes I still cannot believe we are wedded to each other. You were my sworn shield in King’s Landing!” You exclaim as his hand caresses your empty belly and it tingles by his touch. He grins at your words and says.

“Most people are not so lucky to know your spouse before the wedding day. I consider myself the most lucky man in the world because I could be in your acquaintance from so long ago.” He replies, falling his head on the crook of your neck.

You turn around to be face to face with Jaime, feeling the cold breeze of the rock hitting your back and giving you small shocks as Jaime caresses your back, making you experience a thermal shock and shudder to his touch.

“I feel very lucky to be your wife, Jaime. Most women are not so fortunate to have such a kind, loving and handsome husband.” You mutter as he strokes your hair, in awe with your beauty.

“I guess we are fortunate to be together after so many troubles in war. We even brought new lives into this world to paint a new, brightful history.” He replies, caressing your womb. You stare at his fingers passing up and down your belly and glances at him with a sweet smile.

“And we could have more, love. I must admit I feel empty for so long and I want to give you more children… I know I can give you an entire army of your own. Half lion, half dragon. Unstoppable creatures.”

“You feel empty, love?” He asks, smirking and you eagerly agree with him. “Then allow me to fill you up…” Jaime finished, slowly undoing the intricate laces of your dress to reveal your bare skin under the crimson fabric. In response, you open his attire slowly and little by little his white tunic appears to her eyes.

By this point, your cunt is already sore in anticipation for the moment about to happen and clenches around nothing once he pushes the last section of string holding your garment, releasing you from the pressure tightening your upper body. Jaime pushes down your dress and your underwear is now on display for him, which makes him bite his lip and eagerly take down your white camisole to show him your bare body. You moan as he squeezes your breast and pinches your nipples whilst kissing you. You quickly take off his own undershirt to show off his chest.

“So eager is my dragon princess.” He playfully says, leading you to bed and carefully laying you down. With devotion, he starts to kiss your feet, legs and knees, his hands roaming through your thighs and hips. “Spread your legs for me, little dragon.”

You part your legs, obeying his soft command. “So wet… I can see you truly missed me, my love.” He says, kissing your inner thighs as your body squirms in pleasure before he reaches your intimacy.

“Oh… I have missed you so much, my lion.” You moan your words as he kisses your groyne and passes his fingers lightly over your clit, making your womb tremble and convulse to his touch.

“I can see that, just as I missed you, my dragon princess. Do I have permission to give you a lord’s kiss?” He asks and you only nod in response, making Jaime wet his lips with his own saliva before diving into your dripping core and you to scream involuntarily as his tongue and lips eat you up with full desire. Jaime circles his tongue around your clit and roam around your entire intimacy, making your hips bounce onto his direction. It was his costume to make you come every time before he would be inside of you, now could not be different.

You feel your body explode as if someone threw you into dragon fire as Jaime relentlessly pleases you, making magic with his tongue. Skillfully, he explores your intimate area inch by inch with eagerness, making you dig your fingers on his golden curls, pulling him closer to your cunt and you contorses your body urging for more. Tears of pleasure fall off as you feel goosebumps once you realise you are close to your climax.

As the intensity builds, Jaime's movements become more deliberate, pushing you closer to the edge of bliss. Your breath hitches, and your fingers entwine in his golden locks, urging him on. The world narrows down to the pleasure he provides, the connection between you deepening with every passing moment.

When the climax finally crashes over you, Jaime doesn't relent. He continues to caress your sensitive core with his tongue, prolonging the sweet release. Your body shudders with pleasure, and you feel the bond between you and Jaime reaching new heights.

“Husband…” You try to stop him and give yourself some time to take a breath, but Jaime does not back off and part your legs once more, holding it as he keeps licking, kissing and sucking your pussy.

“No no, wife… let me please you and bring you to climax once more…” He cuts your words and gently goes back, but now he plays with his fingers on your clit, with far less pressure and slowly draws circles around it, taking soft moans from you. Jaime rises to hover over you, a wicked glint in his eyes. His fingers trace patterns on your flushed skin as he leans in for a heated kiss, allowing you to taste the remnants of your own pleasure on his lips. “Taste yourself, love.”

And not so long after, you scream his name as you feel waves of pleasure hitting your body as a lightning bolt hits the ground in a storm. Your body is trembling and your legs seem to be two wooden sticks, barely able to stand.

“Please… inside of me, Jaime… I need you…” You plead with him, pulling his body to be on top of yours.

“Your wish is my command, princess.” He replies, kissing you passionately once more and positioning between your legs. Jaime's eyes meet yours, filled with a mixture of desire and adoration. The anticipation was hanging heavy in the air, your bodies aligned perfectly, and as he slowly entered you, a shared moan escaped both of your lips.

The sensation is electrifying, the culmination of the pleasure he bestowed upon you and the intimate connection between your bodies. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deepening the bond that exists only between you two.

“My perfect princess takes me so well…” He grows as thrusts into you going back and forth nonstop. You lock him by involving your legs around his waist and feeling his hard cock entering your cunt in full force, reaching your cervix and making you beg for more in his ear.

The room echoes with the sounds of your shared ecstasy, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies, creating a tapestry of love and passion.

“Put another babe on my belly Ser, please…” You beg him as moans leave your mouth and the sound of crashing bodies fill the room quickly.

“With pleasure, love…” He says once more. Jaime moves with a rhythmic precision, each thrust deeper inside of your pussy in farfetched positions. He missed you too much after months away from you and it shows by the way he kisses you as he moves desperately to have more of mounting his dragon. The room echoes with the sounds of your shared passion, a symphony of pleasure that reverberates through the stone walls. The flickering candlelight casts shadows that dance across your entwined bodies. As Jaime's movements become faster, the pleasure intensifies, and you find yourself on the verge of another climax. The pleasure is overwhelming, and your bodies move in perfect harmony.

With a final, fervent thrust, Jaime succumbs to the ecstasy and releases his seed deep inside of your womb, growling and grunting with relief and utter bliss. You hit your own orgasm as you feel the warm jets of his seed invading your walls and your body squirm and you scream his name, crying out.

Your bodies tremble in the aftermath, and he collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. The room is filled with a comforting silence as you both catch your breath. Jaime's fingers gently trace patterns on your skin as you bask in the warmth of the afterglow. “Do you think we created one more life for our household, love?” You ask him, laying your head on his chest. The world outside your chambers seems distant, and for a moment, it's just the two of you, lost in the serenity of each other's embrace.

“Depending on your fertile womb, my love, I have no doubts you are.” He replies, caressing your silvery white hair. “But we must endure in our pursuit on a daily routine. Just to make sure our fourth babe is on the way.” He playfully replies, smirking at you, who mischievously smiles back at him and kisses his lips, wiping some strings of sweat from his face.

Jaime presses a tender kiss to your forehead, his voice a soothing murmur, "I love you, my dragon princess."

And you, wrapped in the arms of the man you love, whisper back, "And I love you, my lion shield."

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cevansbrat0007 · 5 months

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Disturbing the Peace

Summary: You're keeping a secret from Ari - one that you'll have to tell him about eventually. Right?

Warnings: Mature Themes, Ari Being A Menace, Mentions of Death, Pet Names, Corporate Intimidation, Anxious Reader, Cursing, Minors DNI.

A/N: Takes place earlier in my Sweet Renegades Series timeline. Semi-proofread, not beta'd. All mistakes are my own. Likes, comments, and reblogs are always appreciated. Thanks for reading!

You stare down at the notice in your hands, your mouth suddenly dry as your eyes proceed to scan the words on the page for the third time. You’d found it wedged between your doors only moments ago after closing down your shop for the night.

Which meant someone had been out there watching – waiting – for the right moment to strike. Without the benefit of an audience. Fucking coward.

Even still, that fact unnerved you to no end. Especially since the piece of paper you were holding seemed different from the others you’d received over the previous months. They’d been polite and professional, albeit a bit pushy.

But not this one.

This letter was short and to the point. Greystone & Reeves Real Estate Group was done beating around the bush. They were giving you one last chance to meet so that the two of you could finally begin discussing the terms of the sale of your beloved shop, Baubles & Quills.

The one thing you’d promised your late uncle, Lenny, you’d never do.

But unfortunately for you, that didn’t seem to matter overly much to the pushy group. They were clearly tired of being ignored - a tactic that you’d employed with them from the beginning.

When you’d first received a letter from them you’d laughed it off before crumbling it up and tossing it in the trash. You’d also done the same with the second. But by the time you’d received the third you’d been hoppin’ mad. So mad that you’d left a less than polite voicemail with their receptionist telling them that their entire company could “suck dirt and die”, because that’s exactly what you would do before you ever thought about signing away the deed to your shop.

After that, things were quiet for a time. So quiet that you forgot all about that stupid Greystone and his dimwitted lackey, Reeves. In fact, the last time you’d heard anything from them had been right after Ari had rolled into town.

Come to think of it, you’d actually lit that letter on fire while wishing you could do the same to their headquarters – wherever they seemed to be located. Oddly enough, you hadn’t actually been able to dig up much about them online. Just that they seemed to have set up shop in several different counties surrounding Bell’s Creek.

You couldn’t make heads nor tails of why they were so interested in your property or your land. But at the end of the day, their motivations didn’t really matter.

Because you weren’t fucking selling. Not now, not ever.

Baubles & Quills wasn’t just your place of business, but also your refuge. It was part of the legacy your uncle had left behind as a gift to the little girl who had spent so much of her childhood curled up in the overstuffed armchair in his office with her nose buried in a book.

Long story short, you’d made a promise to the man who’d loved you like a daughter. And you intended to keep it.

So, tomorrow you’d call Greystone & Reeves and threaten them with whatever your paralegal buddy, Erica, suggested. You’d been meaning to call her anyway so that you two could catch-up on life, as well as all things related to Mr. Ari “Beast” Levinson.

The sound of your phone ringing suddenly breaks the silence, giving you a mini-heart attack in the process. You can tell by the ringtone that it’s Ari on the other end, which has you answering without hesitation.

“Uh, hey.” You cough out, shaking your head as you try to clear your mind. “What’s up, Beast?” You do your best to keep your tone light and breezy, not wanting him to pick up on your distress.

Mostly because you’d never thought to mention any of the threatening letters you’d received over the last several months. Even when Ari had stopped by that one fine day to interrogate you about your relationship with Martin you’d chosen to keep that piece of information close to the vest.

After all, it wasn’t like your Bounty Hunter could do much about it anyway. Not to mention that you’d had no idea that your relationship would ultimately progress the way it did.

Bottom line: nobody needed to know, least of all your handsome Beast. Wait. Except for Erica. She could know. Because otherwise, how else would she be able to tell you what scary things to say?

It’s only then when you hear your name on the other line that you realize your thoughts must’ve wandered. “I’m sorry, babe. Can you please repeat that?” You mutter, scrubbing a tired hand over your face. “It’s been a long day and I’m afraid my mind is already worrying about tomorrow’s delivery.”

There was no delivery slated for tomorrow, but a little white lie never hurt anyone. Right?

“S’alright, little Bird. I know you’re tired but – wait. I thought you weren’t expecting any more deliveries for the rest of the month?” The sound of his deep, slightly roughened voice has your pulse quickening as a fresh wave of heat pools in your belly.

“I…” You trail off, your fingers coming to pinch the bridge of your nose. Serves you right for trying to lie to the one man who actually paid attention to 99.9% of the shit that you said on a daily fucking basis.

“Guess I forgot.” You finish lamely, tucking the phone between your shoulder and your ear so that you can get moving. “I’m about to leave Baubles, though. Am I still picking us up something from Holtman’s Diner or did you change your mind?"

“Holtman’s is fine, baby.” Ari responds after a couple of seconds. “But are you sure you’re okay?”

And there it was. Granted, it didn’t sound like suspicion so much as it did concern…

But still.

“I’m great, Beast. Pinky promise.”

Gritting your teeth you return your attention to the stupid piece of paper in front of you. But instead of balling it up and tossing it into the garbage, you decide to neatly fold it and tuck it into your purse.

Next you pull out your keys, followed by your handy dandy taser. And just to be safe, you decide to go ahead and swipe the nearby exacto knife sitting on an unopened box containing some random celebrity’s latest memoir.

“I still think you sound funny, Duchess.”

Fuck, this man – your man – was like a goddamned bloodhound. And once he caught a scent he didn’t give up until he had his prey cornered and ready to spill their guts.

“Augh!” You hiss as you sling your purse over one shoulder before collecting the rest of your things. “Sweetheart, I just told you I’m tired. That’s literally it. Hold on while I get the alarm.” Biting your lip you type in the passcode needed to arm your system before swiftly unlocking and exiting through the front.

“I’m all set now. About to jump into my ride and head to Holtman’s.” Of course, you’re quick to interrupt when he attempts to turn the focus back to you. “Tell me about your day, handsome.”

Ari did not need to know that you were hovering just outside of fight or flight mode, which is why you currently had your semi-legal taser at the ready. Plus the knife and the tiny container of pepper spray hooked on your keyring.

Now that had been a gift from Ari.

Keeping your head on a swivel, you make quick work of locking everything back up before making a mad dash to your vehicle. An uneasy feeling settles in the pit of your stomach as you continue to scan the empty lot, searching for any signs of life.

“Yeah?” You grunt as you throw yourself into your car before locking yourself in. “Well, maybe I can try working that knot out of your shoulder later.” With shaking hands you push the start button in your car and wait for your call to connect with your bluetooth. Thankfully it doesn’t take long. “And yes, please. You have my explicit permission to repay the favor, you ridiculous man.”

Oh goodness, I can’t breathe. Mary, Jesus, Joseph, help!

Body hunched, you Immediately you peel out of the lot and turn onto a main road. Now that you’re safe, you cast a glance in your rearview mirror, feeling grateful when you don’t see anything – save for a couple of raccoons hoping to get their hands on some garbage.

“Woo!” You shout, triumphantly punching the roof of your car. “Hell yeah!” You’d officially made it out, which meant that you would hopefully live to fight another day.

“Huh?” Ari growls into the receiver.

“Um, I just say two baby blue mini-coopers drive down the road. Must be good luck, ya know?”

“Right.” He doesn’t sound very convinced.

“And I just remembered that tonight’s special involves their homemade mashed potatoes and meatloaf. Still sound good?“ Without taking your eyes off the road, you drop the taser back into the center console of your car.

“Fine by me then.” Your Bounty Hunter replies, his response sounding just shy of frustrated. But I choose to ignore in favor of simply acting like tonight was okay, even when it wasn’t. “Be safe getting here. And if you change your mind about wanting to talk…”

“Nope.”

After that you hang up and head to the diner, snagging you both a couple pieces of homemade pie to go with your food. A bit to eat and naked cuddles with your man would make things better. At least for a little bit.

And quite honestly, you’d take what could get these days. The universe at least owed you that much.

END

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mysteriesmuse · 2 months

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MusicStudent Katsuki Bakugou who’s the same grade and is a member of the ensemble you’re in this semester. As a percussionist he has a lot of spare time in his hands in orchestra and even more at a fantastic vantage point. There’s the barrier of percussion instruments that separates them onto their own little world — the set up spanning across the entire back of the rehearsal room as they all fly back and forth past each other to get to their multiple part assignments. — he’s got a lot of accessory assignments for this semester; and the fact of holding claves, triangles, swiping chimes, and slamming car engines means he’s relatively on the move. However, it also means he’s not assigned to anything during part of rehearsal — that means he can leave early at times. Which coincidentally happens to align with some of the pieces that you’re not assigned on. Not that you couldn’t perform them, but rather there’s no need for you to be there since they cut down on parts for this one piece in particular. But when you are both playing Katsuki tends to rely on his sense of time as his gaze wanders from the conductor to your chair. As he sits in the throne behind the timpani he gets the perfect view of you and your side profile. The perfect spot to overhear your light chatter - to read your micro expressions - to see the way you’ve dressed and the way you slightly mark your music. Katsuki snickers at the way you make haste to make an accusing face at the trombone players for wrong notes or overblasting tone. Katsuki twitches when he hears you frack a note waiting for the flashes of second hand embarrassment to touch your ears, but you pout and sheepishly shrug it away the only tinges of red as tingly thing in his chest. Katsuki who watches you pout your lips and talk as you slather in chapstick during the break and crack open an electrolyte powder into your water bottle and shake it up as the start of every rehearsal.

And you cradle that water bottle with you out into the hallway when you’re not needed and the two of you stand outside in the hallway together — that’s where he learned what you like to eat and drink and how you liked your boba order. And it’s on one day where the schedule declares that you’re on duty for the entire rehearsal and he isn’t that he decides to talk a walk; opening his notes app to make sure he gets your order right, your favorite flavor. And he stops at the boba truck that’s permanently parked on the right side of campus every afternoon and orders you both one. Walking back with the spring sunshine on his face and a black baseball cap sporting the university logo on it with two bobas in hand. The sweet cool breeze mingle with the chill sugary boba on his lips. The jelly tapioca pearls a familiar serotonin inviting sensation in his mouth. The calloused skin on his fingertips getting damp with the condensation - except it’s all more than worth it when he greats you after rehearsal in the room. Katsuki catches you as your packing up a red eye watching your form as the everything gets packed away into the gig bag. He waits until you’re ready and have turned for the door that he calls for you, “Oi’ I got you something,” shaking the second boba in the air. The slow and steady tortoise like walk you has speeds up as you dodge the playful fleeting fist bumps and voices of your cello and trombone friends. You flutter to a halt in the middle of the hallway. “No way, thank you ‘tsuki!”

He grins with a shrug, “You were talking about it before rehearsal and I had some off-time today. S’ no biggy.” The grin you have and the contact of your grabby hands against his has him laughing as you place your lips around the straw like a toddler. “I know you’re a purest about the instrument food thing.” After your enthuastic sip he adds, “Wanna pack up and walk around campus for a while to enjoy these?” He notes you’re dressed for it. In your cute tank top and breezy collared crochet button shirt — you worked on it all last semester and have been loathe to be found without it now that the real nice spring weather has arrived. “Yeah totally, let me put this away first and we can go!” And Katsuki watches you disappear for a few minute before you reappear and playfully knock shoulders with him as he holds the door open for you on the way out into the glorious March sunshine.

#mysteriesmusing #bakugou katsuki #bakugou fluff #bakugou drabble #katsuki bakugo x reader #mha fanfiction #bakugou katsuki x reader #katsuki bakugou #bakugou x reader #I had so much fun just putting the words out there and creating my own little self serving fanfic moment!!#I hope some other get to enjoy this little daydream of mine!

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hannie-dul-set · 5 months

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PATIENCE, PATIENCE.

p — SIM JAEYUN x gn! reader. g — humor, fluff. w — swearing, making out, secondhand embarrassment aka the hannie-dul-set fic triumvirate + a good amount of public indecency. 1.5k words.

requested by — anon: cocky jock (who loses that cockiness around you) x reserved student librarian (who loses that cool because of him).

note — loosely inspired by a moment from the manhwa "unstoppable hayoung" ifykyk. in a prev fic i alluded beomgyu to a mosquito, in this one jake to a pest. i think i'm seeing a pattern here.

a pest has been following you for quite some time now.

“sim jaeyun.”

his name falls icy off your tongue, prefacing it with a sharp inhale yet the man in question is unfazed. he’s trespassing the barrier that’s preventing you from socking him in the face: the front desk of the library where he’s decided to prop his arms over, leaning into the surface, smiling oh-so-handsomely at you as if you aren’t politely telling him to fuck off with your eyes alone.

then again. you don’t really expect him to understand social cues.

“for the dozenth time, please leave me alone.”

so you verbalize your intent instead.

“i can’t do that, baby,” he replies. “not until you agree to go out with me.”

you suck in a deep huff of air, close your eyes, and dig your fingers into your thighs to ward away the distress.

“just one date. please?” he prods, nudging himself closer over the desk as if the scrawls of paper you’re trying to organize aren’t as important as his incessant badgering. “are you really going to keep saying no to this face?” the face in mention looks particularly punch-able right now. you’ve always taken pride in yourself for being a very patient, patient individual. jake sim from philosophy 102 is testing that patience.

“the library is for reading,” you say through gritted teeth. patience, patience, patience. you’re a daffodil on a breezy field, a piece of driftwood on a steady river. you will not fight a man in your workplace. you will keep your job and maintain inner peace.

“i am reading,” he argues. “i’m trying to read your mind because i don’t get why you don’t want to go out with me.”

holy crap. he’s insufferable.

“i’ve already told you dozens of times, jake.” now, you don’t know a thing or two about the ball sport he does, but that pink varsity jacket is starting to look abhorrent. it’s being shoved into your face the more he tries to throw himself over your desk. a bright jarring color, unsafe for the eyes. “i don’t want to go out with you. also, i’d appreciate if you stop ruining my work.”

one of the documents got wrinkled under his elbow. his mouth opens, “oh, sorry!” and he quickly backs off, ironing the sheet with his palms. “but at least tell me why you don’t want to go out with me. you keep rejecting me with a blank face but i don’t know why.”

your upper lip twitches.

because this is all because of a dare, that’s fucking why.

no, even that aside, the way he keeps arrogantly trying to hit on you, expecting you to just accept it and go is grinding your gears. you’re calm. you’re usually calm. but something about this guy just pushes all your buttons in one go, makes you spew out bullshit you’d never dare yourself to say to anyone else.

“hey,” your rouse. “can you kiss me right now?”

two can play at that game, bitch.

it works. it works really well because jake is suddenly as pink as his jacket. well, you don’t blame him. the library isn’t safe from gross, hormonal activities, but those are usually done in between the shelves— not at the front desk near the entrance.

you’re mimicking his stance, leaned forward, arms crossed over the desk and all. “like— like a peck on the cheek?” he stutters.

“no. like tongue in mouth kissing me like a starved man and it’s your last meal on death row,” you clarify. it’s funny how you can see his brain circuits crashing in real time. serves him right. you let out a breath and stand up, seeing the clock tick closer to your break. you quickly gather your things and circle out from behind the desk, now in cross-armed disappointment next to your persistent pest. “this is why i don’t want to go out with you, jake. you don’t even have feelings for me. you’re doing this because your friends told you to, and i don’t—”

suddenly, you feel something soft on your lips.

suddenly, your knees are weak, your mind is fuzzy, and you’re exchanging spit with jake sim in the library lobby.

wait, you gasp into his mouth and he responds with a grunt. wait, your eyelids flutter, air knocked out of your chest that’s somehow now pressed against his because wait— this wasn’t supposed to go this way.

how dare he actually do what you told him to? how dare he give you the best damn kiss you’ll ever have in your life?

“what the fuck?” you breathe out in intermittent huffs, hands on his chest as you pull yourself back. jake’s hazy eyes are looking at you in a way that makes your brain jump in circles, coupled by the arm that he has looped around your lower back. he’s crazy. he’s fucking crazy. “why— why would you do that?!”

“you told me to kiss you!”

“and you did?!”

your eyes widen at the volume of your own voice, quickly slapping a hand over your swollen lips, but making noise is at the bottom of your library sins today. you see your supervisor’s attention on you from the corner of your eye, and your face flushes. “why would you go this far for a dare?” you say in a quieter voice, still manic, still frantic, and jake flinches hard when you jab a finger to his chest. “you’re nuts, you’re actually nuts, oh my god—”

“wait, what do you mean dare?” your finger seems to be hurting him because he grabs your wrist and brings your hand down. “a dare? a dare to do what?”

you seethe. “don’t play dumb with me, jake. overheard you and your little soccer friends last time—”

“it’s football—”

“i don’t care.” your voice is getting louder again. jake flinches once more. “the problem here is you keep asking me out to date you because your soccer friends are betting on who can bed the quiet library assistant first and— and i’m not going to play dumb just because you’re a good kisser. i’m angry and disgusted and—”

“do you mind continuing your argument outside?”

your mouth is hanging open, paused mid-speech. when you peer to your left, you see that your supervisor has teleported right next to you. oh, god. there goes your job. jake apologizes for the both of you and skews your frozen figure out the door. you’re screwed. your patience could handle six months at starbucks and three months babysitting three toddlers, but i cannot handle one sim jaeyun.

“so,” the perpetrator’s voice snaps you back to reality. you’re both now outside the library, and he’s looking at you with a smugness that begs a kick to the balls. “you think i kiss good.”

your face bitters. “is that your only takeaway from all that?”

“no,” he shakes his head. “i also got that you’re rightfully mad at me for something i have to clear up.”

here we go. you’re curious to see what excuses he’ll make, how many sorry’s he’ll impart, and if he’ll get down on his knees. jake. but his starting words aren’t what you’re hoping for. “there isn’t a bet,” he starts. “my teammates were just trying to tease me because i didn’t have the balls to ask you out. dumb, i know, but they were dumber because they were all like, ‘if you don’t make a move soon, we will, blah, blah, blah’ to provoke me so—”

jake is matching his varsity jacket again.

“long story short, i made them run fifteen laps and decided to get it over with by asking you out on a date.”

you’re brought back to the first instance jake had asked you out— it was in the lecture hall, right after class, and he was wearing the same pink jacket that at this point seems like his second skin. the color isn’t as jarring as you initially thought.

“but rejection didn’t feel nice. so i thought i’d try again.”

you narrow your eyes. “again, as in like, eight times?”

“you counted?” he muses. you are unamused. he clears his throat and continues. “you’re always so calm and collected, but your eyebrows would furrow and your face would scrunch up whenever i threw you the question. it’s cute. i got addicted. you can’t pin all the blame on me.”

you let his words simmer, and with each passing second of silence jake grows more nervous, fidgeting in wait. you decide to spare him the agony, letting out a deep and heavy sigh. “okay. you’re forgiven.”

it’s instantaneous how his face lights up. now, you’re the one flinching.

“nice! does that mean we’re dating now? can i kiss you again?”

“now hold on,” you stop him, mildly appalled, mostly flustered. “i said i forgive you. i never said we can start making out in a public area again.”

he bats his eyes at you. “in private then?”

you want to hit him. you want to hit him so bad. sim jaeyun is the pest that has been following you for quite some time now. you fear that at this point, there’s no getting rid of him now.

PATIENCE, PATIENCE. © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

#enhypen x reader #enha x reader #enhypen jake x reader #sim jaeyun x reader #jake sim x reader #enhypen scenarios #enha scenarios #sim jaeyun scenarios #jake sim scenarios #enhypen imagines #enhypen x you #sim jaeyun x you #jake sim x you

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

This is a bit of a heavy request but could you do a blurb or drabble of Siriusx reader where they struggle with eating and food in general in recovery tho and still finds it difficult sometimes again this might be too much so I’m sorry if it is

Thanks for requesting!

cw: reader is struggling with eating disorder recovery, thoughts related to bullemia, please don't read if this will be triggering for you

Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 737 words

You can’t fathom how Sirius has managed to clean his plate, but you’re grateful that he has. It makes it easier to think of your portion, hardly more than half of his, as a reasonable amount.

Still, it sticks in your throat as it goes down.

“How was your day?” Sirius asks, waiting patiently in front of his empty plate as you take your tiny bites.

“Not bad.” Not great. Your boss had gotten irritated with you for asking too many questions about your new assignment, and you’d spend the rest of the day steeping in shame for your incompetence. “Yours?”

“It was good,” he replies, and his voice is breezy, but you can feel his eyes on you. There’s a few bites left on your plate, and if Sirius weren’t here you’d throw the rest of your dinner in the trash. You think he knows.

You can feel your meal pressing at the base of your throat. You want it out, up, whatever. It's one of your worse days, and the thoughts of how disgustingly full you are, how many calories you’ve eaten, how you didn’t work out that morning, are more difficult to repress. Nausea works at your gag reflex, and you keep swallowing as if that’s going to help.

“Do you want some water?” Sirius asks softly.

“No.” Anything more in you, and you’re sure you’ll be sick. But now irritation provides a distraction. Inexplicably and to your self-loathing, nothing sparks the flint of your anger quicker than the people you love being worried about you. It’s some petulant instinct: don’t tell me what to do. You know Sirius isn’t trying to be patronizing, that he’s not trying to take control of your meal away from you, and still. Resentment roils hot and bitter with the undigested food in your stomach.

“Just a few—”

“I know.” Your tone is so harsh you’re surprised the words don’t scrape and tear on their way out, and you backpedal immediately. “I’m sorry, Siri, I—”

“It’s okay,” he says quickly, with more sympathy than you deserve. “It’s okay, baby, I get it. You don’t wanna talk about it?”

“No, thank you.”

He nods, and there’s a brief silence.

“Hey, d’you wanna start that puzzle tonight?” he asks casually. “I know you’ve been wanting to work on it for awhile.”

Sirius doesn’t even like puzzles. “I thought you had work to do?”

He shrugs. “I can do it in the morning. It’s only five hundred pieces, right?”

“A thousand.”

He blanches, and you almost smile. You know what he’s doing, but you’re going to let him anyway. He composes himself quickly.

“Perfect. The more the better.”

You force yourself to take one bite, then another, swallowing before you can fixate on the feel of them in your mouth. It’s impossible not to think about them, but Sirius’ chatter makes things easier, beckoning you to engage with him as he asks silly questions about whether you start with the border or the picture, if you’re a purist or if you use the box for reference.

“It’s going to be hard,” you admit, and realize with the clink of your fork against the dish that the last bite is gone. Sirius takes your plate before you get the chance to think about it too hard, carrying it with his to the kitchen.

“Why’s that?” he prompts.

“Because…” It takes a moment to remember what you were talking about. You’re proud of yourself for finishing, but the insistent full feeling is still there. “Because the picture is watercolor. Things won’t be as distinct.”

Sirius seems to sense that you could still use a distraction, discarding the plates in the sink and leading the way to the living room. “This one, right?” He holds up a box for you to see, and you nod, sitting with your legs crossed under you on the floor by the coffee table. “Pfft, that’s easy money, dollface.”

“You’re going to eat those words,” you reply, doing your best to match his easygoing tone.

Sirius makes a disbelieving huffing sound as he spreads the pieces on the table, dropping a kiss on your head. “Proud of you,” he murmurs, and it’s like a blip, a break in character, before he settles down beside you on the rug and his voice resumes its normal volume. “With your skills, we’re gonna make this puzzle our bitch. Just you watch, sweetness.”

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puffein · 8 months

Text

EPILOGUE | late spring [xii.]

summary: all you have left is hope as you board a trip back to new jersey. pairings: wanda maximoff x fem!reader warnings: none word count: 2411 a/n: its finally the eeeeend!! i hope you enjoyed this series! thank you!!!

series masterlist playlist!

Edinburgh, Scotland

Late-May 2027

The sharp chilling air of the early mornings of Edinburgh rouses your sleepy form from its slumbers. The bright sun waking its warm light to cascade through the open gaps of the windows made you forget the fading breezy air you felt a minute ago. Blinking through the sudden illuminating light of the sun, you felt the moving car come to a complete stop.

Your eyes watch the forwarding move of each stranger, the crowds moving like waves crashing through their destination, their luggage trailing behind them with the sounds of its wheels gliding through the pavement.

You let out a breath, pushing the door open and taking the heavy suitcase out of the car. You heard a door closing in hard and a set of rush footsteps gliding towards you.

"Y/N, wait– this.." Kate's staggering timbre of voice made you whip your head towards her, an eyebrow raised at a box she was carrying. "This is for you." Pushing the box forward into your arms, you gave her a confused look.

"What is this? I told you I do not need a parting gift, I'll be coming back here." you huff.

Her dark hair moves swiftly as her head shakes, "No, no, I know you're coming back. It's, um, remember like years ago you told me about the letters, just the story behind that, um, well, you see– I didn't throw her letters away, I have kept them."

Your heart thumps, eyes flickering downwards– into the box your arms securely carried, "Kate, why.."

"I don't know, it's just, it felt weird to throw it away. If what you have said is the truth, that you are now okay and breathing then it wouldn't be so hard to read the letters she wrote years ago, right?"

Your heart wobbles lightly, a smile taking its place right at your place, "Alright, thank you for keeping this."

Kate beams, her body giddy at taking in your gratitude, her hands moving awkwardly as she points at you, "Can I hug you or is that too weird, I mean I know we are busi–"

You bark out a laugh, wrapping your hands in her wrist to pull her flush into your body, hugging her. "Be good here, Bishop."

"I will!" she chirps, leaning away to give you her wide smile.

You step back, the box in your arms suddenly heavy, you give Kate one last smile, and as soon as your back faces Kate, your smile falls. You feel the weight of the letters, clutching the box tightly, and your steps wobble as you try to navigate your way through the airport.

The distinct smell of the airport wraps you in quickly, with each stranger having its own destination, you have come into a thought of what stories each of them carries and then your story came in like a bucket of ice-cold water, splashing into you without a warning.

You have healed. But the heavy weight of the letters doesn't settle right into your being. You are afraid opening such things would make you backtrack all the progress you have gotten, but then again, healing is not linear, it never will be.

So, when you successfully seated yourself in the window seat of the plane, you took one letter out of the box. Eyeing the familiar handwriting plastered through the piece of paper, your breath catches in sharply as your eyes scan the contents of a piece of paper that holds such delicate words.

My dear Y/N,

How are you? I don't know what letter this is, this might be my 10th, I don't know. I just kept on writing and writing, it's the only thing that has brought me comfort. I hope you are doing well, I kept on thinking and thinking if I have made a different choice, a different action, would this be just another alternate version of our life?

I'm sorry, Y/N. For everything. I know the words I have said don't justify how wrong my actions were. It didn't dawn on me how my simple actions of ignoring you— the problems— my problem, would cause you such great pain. It didn't occur to me and I was being selfish and prideful. I was so blind, I was so scared of what I was feeling for you that I completely broke you. I didn't mean that, I was just scared and I wanted that feeling to vanish, so I did what I thought was the best plan. To be blind and avoid problems.

Sorry, I'm sorry.

I hope Edinburgh is treating you well. All I can do is hope, Y/N. I hope Edinburgh is fixing things for you that New Jersey never fixed. You don't need fixing, though, you have always been perfect and I never treasured that.

I love you, Y/N. I really do. I was just scared of many things, the thoughts were bad, and it did not help at all. I'm sorry. This doesn't make sense. Everything doesn't make sense. You are the only one grounding me, Y/N.

I hope when the time comes, you and I can talk. I will be hoping for that day.

Sincerely,

Wanda

You try to take in whatever words Wanda has written and along the lines of her painful words, your heart thumps lightly. This is a letter she wrote years ago and yet, it perfectly consummates the current emotions you are feeling. And without a single doubting thought, your heart blooms that one word she always wrote.

You will be hoping.

༻༺

"I can't believe I have to get married for you to finally come home." Natasha greets you with a teasing voice, the ends of her tone are tender and warm as she pulls you in quickly for a tight embrace.

You let out a surprised squeal at her tight grip, choking out a laugh, "Get off, please. I can't breathe."

"Oh shut up, you missed this."

You smiled against her body, pulling her closer and taking in the familiar scent of her perfume. Natasha's grin widens when a familiar hand pulls her away gently.

"Maria, finally nice to meet you." your hand reaches forward for the brunette to take. The woman with a posture so straight gave you a winning smile, pulling you in again into a tight hug.

"What is with you two and tight embraces, oh god, I feel like my lungs are crushed."

Maria chuckles, "Okay, you are dramatic."

Natasha swiftly moves beside you, hanging her arms around your shoulder, "So.. tell me about this Gray woman, does she make your life vibrant contrary to how monotone her name is?"

You let out a nervous laugh, "Nat, I told you we are just friends. I don't think it's a great idea for me to date, I don't want someone to get stuck up with someone like me."

Natasha completely stops, her face is ready to fight the words you just have stated, "Like you? What the hell are you talking about?"

"I just don't think I'm ready for anything," you stated, mouthing a small thank you to Maria as she easily carries your suitcase into the car. "I wanna focus on myself, that's literally it."

Nat leans her body on the car, her arms crossing right at her chest, "And we love you for that. Apologies for my remarks." she declares, the corners of her mouth twitching in a wide grin, proud of what she's hearing from her precious best friend. "Now get in. My fiancée and I will take you for a wild ride."

Your smile widens at her silly words, playfully slapping her arms as you duck down to sit in the back seat.

You watch them interact with each other, how Maria holds out her hand for Natasha to take, how your best friend can't seem to take her eyes off the brunette, how the brown-haired woman has a smile permanently plastered on her face. As you watch them carefully, something gnaws in the deeper ends of your chest, slowly clawing its way out to let you know that this feeling, the feeling of envy, the feeling of being wanted to be loved, is still present, alive, even after shoving in and crushing it to pieces.

It somehow mends itself and it's now clawing wildly out of your chest, making you look away and focus your sights on the moving scenery laid out of the clear window.

Westview is still the same as when you have left it, the tree-lined streets stand beautifully, the proud sun sets itself onto the blue sky, its rays peeking in between the leaves of the trees, making it look like a scene out of a postcard.

When the moving scenery finally comes to a stop in a very familiar neighborhood, Natasha quickly hops out of the car to open the door for you, her head tilting as she gives you a cheeky grin, opening her arms as she points at a house.

"What do you think?"

You gape at her, "You brought a house?"

"Me and Maria thought it would be nice to have a house before the wedding and this, woman right here," pulling Maria closer to her, Natasha kisses her cheeks loudly, "She surprised me with a house!"

Your eyes flicker at the brunette whose face is turning red, "That's great, Maria, wow. You are in deep."

"Oh, shut up. I'm saving you money here from checking in a hotel." Maria's stoned voice made you laugh loudly, shaking your head as you carried your suitcase with ease, letting out a silent huff at how heavy it is.

Letting yourself breathe in the sight before you, the couple's house screams cozy and homey. You can picture them starting a family with this house, little Natasha running around, Maria's stoic face as she scolds their child, and family pictures scattered all over their house. Their future unfolds before your eyes, and you badly want to see what the future holds for you.

Will it be just like them?

"Hey, Nat." your hand grips Natasha's wrist, "I wanna see something, is it okay if I meet you two at dinner?"

"Sure, want me to drive you? Where are you even going?" Natasha quips, arranging your suitcase in the corner of the room she had pointed out.

You shrug, "I just wanna walk around, it's been so long. I wanna see if something has changed."

"Call me if you need a drive back home, yeah?" The redhead's smile was contagious, making you give her a grateful smile.

That's how you found yourself walking aimlessly on the sidewalks of the neighborhood, each house feels familiar yet different and strange. It's like watching something out of a picture you have hidden in a box that has a label of 'memories'.

It doesn't feel real, how you are walking to the very place you have run away from. Nothing would have prepared you for what happened years ago, the final conversation you had with Wanda was eye-opening. It did help you get the closure you wanted but not the ending of what you had hoped. Despite that, you chose yourself, you chose what you needed instead of what you wanted.

It is hard, to choose between a want and a need but you knew what weighed more. Even if it left you on a lonely journey of self-healing, it was the very first time you have chosen an option that does not revolve around her.

Life shouldn't revolve around her and yet you had caught yourself standing outside the coffeehouse, eyes gazing at the empty building, despite the day not being done, the lights were off, and dust forming inside the clear window pane.

Thank you for your patronage. This coffeehouse has permanently closed.

You blinked away the sudden bitterness pooling at the tip of your tongue, gulping the remaining dejection crawling out of your throat over a closed coffeehouse, you looked away.

Westview did change, if it's the same as what you have left, the coffeehouse would still be here, not an abandoned building sitting with its bleakness seeping out of its clear windows.

The grimness you have felt for something that seems so insignificant to others made you feel petty, but maybe you were just holding on to something that needed to be let go of.

Hearing the sudden whipping of the wind and the yapping of a fast little dog running right at your ankle, you look down and instantly crouch to take the dog.

Brows furrowing, you tried to look for a collar.

"Sparky– I swear to god. I am so sorry—" a hoarse voice comes next.

Your head whips fast.

"...Y/N," she says breathlessly, her soft tunes sounding like she's running out of breath, catching it.

Wanda.

It shouldn't bother you.

If you had moved on, it really shouldn't.

But it did. The look on her face sits gorgeously, she gapes at you wild like a fish out of water, trying to make sense if you are real or just another delusion of hers. You blink, your heart is calm but your mind says otherwise.

"You–you're back?"

You nod. "Yes, I– uhm, just today."

The nibbling of her bottom lip made you turn your gaze away, softly setting down the dog on the ground, the cute pup instantly ran towards the frozen woman.

"They, they closed months ago." she suddenly declares, watching as your eyes linger on the building. A tense silence ensues, making you clench the quiver of your chest.

"It was nice to see you, Y/N. I hope you will enjoy your stay here," she mutters, you turn at her, watching as she struggles to clasp the collar back on the puppy, her hands are visibly trembling.

With one last final glance, she smiles at you, "Sorry again, he always likes to run away from me. Okay, I— I want to—" she struggles.

Then settle for a simple, "Goodbye, Y/N."

You let her walk away, her long chocolate brown hair sits beautifully at her shoulders, then it hits you. A memory replaying right in your eyes, watching her walk away, steps heavy on the pavement. This is so familiar.

"Wanda!"

The turning of her head was fast, the hope pooling in her green eyes made you waver.

"What time is it?" you asked.

Her shoulders fall, looking down at her watch, "Eight-forty-nine," she replies.

"Would you like a coffee at nine?"

fin.

general masterlist ◄

—୧ taglist: @esposadejoyhuerta @sokovianbaby @vivs46 @kyaraderuwez

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff fanfic #wanda maximoff fanfiction #wanda maximoff x fem!reader #wanda maximoff x female reader #wanda maximoff x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda x reader #wanda maximoff angst #wanda fanfic #wanda marvel #wanda #wanda maximoff mcu #wanda maximoff marvel

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leonstamatis · 5 months

Text

hey blaseball. how’s it hanging.

some of you expressed interest in a little wintertime exchange when i posted about it yesterday. well! let’s do it.

BUT FIRST: all important dates and such are below. go read those, put em in your calendar, et cetera.

then you can fill out this form if you’re interested.

guidelines and such:

open to fanfic, twines, visual art, playlists, and basically anything else you can think of.

limit of about 500-2.5k words for fic, or one to two art pieces depending on complexity. keep it breezy. (a little over is fine, but don’t go writing a whole novel. likewise, please try to at least hit the minimum.)

whatever you decide to do, please keep it safe for work.

deadline to submit your request form is december 8. (aka, don’t overthink it too much.) assignments will be out hopefully within a week, depending on how many people sign up. i’ll keep you posted.

reveals will be february 17. should be enough time, but you can always reach out if it isn’t.

track #winterblbswap for updates, probably.

lemme know if you have questions. this is meant to be a pretty lowkey thing for folks who miss the blaseball creative community and want to get back into it for a quick last hit, so i’m not structuring the rules as much as i have with previous exchanges. that being said, i’ll try to check in here and there to make sure everyone is on track and it’s all coming along.

i’ll probably set up an ao3 collection for this, but even if you’re not making fic, please hold off to publish until reveals. i’ll plan to email or dm everyone a copy of their gift the morning of reveals just to make sure it all gets delivered.

#blaseball #winterblbswap #<-lord help me i will remember that damn tag #tell your friends etc etc #if more than fifteen people sign up for this I’ll be FLABBERGASTED

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separatist-apologist · 4 months

Text

A Lost Princess of Sunlight

Summary: Lady Elain has spent her life in the idyllic countryside wanting for nothing, so when her adopted sister Vassa begs her to accompany her to court, how can Elain say no? The roguish prince is in need of a wife and Elain, certain she'd make a terrible princess, has no interest in such theatrics.

But something about the palace brings back memories lost to the sea ten years before. Memories Elain had been certain she'd never get back…memories that speak of a colder place, and sisters long forgotten. Amid the tumultuous politics and the looming war, Elain finds herself embroiled in a mystery to find out who she really is.

And where she really comes from.

My humble offering to @writtenonreceipts for the @acotargiftexchange. Am I releasing fewer chapters because I've realized I need more than 7? YesNO STOP ASKING

Thank you again to @velidewrites for the moodboard and making me seem more put together than I am.

Read On AO3 | Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Elain woke to the sound of something clattering against her bedroom window. Looking up from beneath her blanket, nothing seemed amiss. She was alone, the curtains flung open so the first rays of sunlight would wake her. That was better than servants flooding in, giggling amongst themselves and talking just a shade too loud for her to sleep through. Elain had learned the hard way that most of the working staff did not appreciate being ordered about by people they didn’t know and she hated upsetting people.

So she bathed and dressed herself before they ever arrived, perching herself in a chair by the window so when they arrived, they could set her breakfast down and fuss over her hair before swanning back out. It took all of thirty minutes.

It was silly to not want people she’d never see again to like her and yet Elain did.

Pressing her cheek back against the satin pillow, Elain was half asleep again when that clacking sound returned to her window. It was a rock, she realized. Someone was throwing rocks at her window. Or birds—that was possible, though it seemed unlikely.

Scrambling up, Elain wrapped a robe around her night dress and pulled open the balcony door to peer out into the silvery darkness. She ought to have known, because Prince Lucien was standing in the garden, grinning up when he saw her.

“I was starting to think I had the wrong room,” he whisper-shouted. “Come down.”

“I’m not dressed,” Elain complained, taking in his own casual demeanor. Gone were the jackets, the boots, the pants—replaced by a long piece of white fabric draped across his frame. There was a lot of skin on display, a warning Vassa had given her before they’d ever left.

That was the style in the capitol which made sense once she experienced the soupy heat.

So why was her heart racing? “I’m not dressed,” Elain heard herself saying.

Lucien’s grin was visible even in the dark. “So get dressed. I’ll wait.”

“Is that an order, your majesty?”

Lucien slapped a large hand over his chest, staggering backward as though she’d shot an arrow through him. “You wound me,” he cried dramatically. “It’s a request. I want to show you something.”

“So long as you swear to behave yourself.”

“I will be an absolute gentleman,” he swore, grinning once more. “Now come. Hurry.”

Elain turned, dressing quickly just like he’d asked in a breezy green gown. There was no one to help with her hair and cool enough she didn’t feel like she needed to pull the thick curls off her neck, besides. Lucien’s hair had been down, the wind blowing it against his cheek and she thought it might be nice for them both to just be as they were.

It was foolish, but Elain was growing to like the prince. It wasn’t romance—not entirely, anyway. But it was comfortable. Friendship, almost. She felt like she could tell him her thoughts without worrying he’d judge her for them. Besides, ever since Elain had told him about her desire to find out where she’d come from, Lucien had been right there with her. He knew Arina better than Elain did, teasing her for the slowness with which she worked.

Elain had always had Vassa—but no other friends. Acquaintances, certainly, whose company she enjoyed and who enjoyed hers, but not actual friends the way she wished. Now, though, she felt like maybe she could have friends. A whole life stretched before her if she wanted it.

Strange, to think that maybe she did.

Unlike Lucien, who was already outside, Elain had to sneak out the usual way. She was positive someone must have seen her, even if it was just an errant guard or a servant finishing up for the evening. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s fine, she chanted in her head, but embarrassment had wormed its way into her chest.

She didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea about her.

And she was going to meet the prince alone tonight. There was no one else with him when she found him in the garden, a little leather pouch held in one hand. “I won’t keep you,” he promised, eyes bright when he took her in. “You look…wow. Nice, I mean. Really nice.”

“Where are we going?” she whispered as he reached for her wrist and began tugging her further through the garden.

“Somewhere I hope impresses you,” Lucien admitted with a sly smile. “I promise I will be nothing but a gentleman. My mother would kill me to hear otherwise.”

“Some would argue waking a lady in the dead of night is ungentleman-like behavior.”

“You’ve got me there,” Lucien smiled wider. “I confess, I couldn’t stop thinking about you.”

Elain was suddenly grateful for the night sky overhead given it obscured the flush she knew was creeping over her cheeks.

“How will you manage to get anything done while I’m here?” she teased, bumping him gently with her shoulder.

“I have been asking myself the same question. Can I tell you a secret?”

“You may.”

Lucien ducked his head, clearly embarrassed by whatever was about to leave his lips. “When mother first told me of her plans, I insisted it was a bad idea. That there was no lady of interest to me. And I suppose this is the gods way of humbling me for my unchecked hubris.”

Elain’s heart thudded in her chest. “You sound awfully certain of yourself. You barely know me, not to mention the others who would love, I’m certain, a secret trip with you.”

He cleared his throat. “And ah…and if I said I didn’t want to get to know them…and only you? How ah…how would you react to that?”

Oh.

“You barely know me,” she whispered, her steps slowing. “You’ll change your mind when you realize how utterly dull I am.”

“I think you’re hoping I’ll change my mind,” Lucien replied, glancing down at her. “But I’m famously stubborn. Once I set my mind to something, there’s no changing it.”

“I would make an awful princess.”

“With that face? The whole kingdom will be in love with you the moment they set eyes on you,” Lucien replied easily, though there was a lingering hesitation to his words. As though he had swallowed some words he wanted to say and knew he shouldn’t.

“Lucien—”

“Just…allow me to court you, Lady Elain. All the things you imagine as inadequacies are quite charming, if you’ll allow me to say so.

You’ll change your mind. It was on the tip of her tongue and the only thing that kept her from saying so was the earnest way he’d caller in so-called inadequacies charming. He liked her. That was a revelation, though perhaps it shouldn’t have been. She just assumed he’d get bored and yet…and yet they continued to walk the neat, stone laid path through the neatly trimmed hedges of the garden. Honeysuckle filled the air, warm and comfortable now that the sun had finally set. Elain’s fingers brushed against tall stalks of lavender, her other wrist still held gently by Lucien’s callused fingers.

“Here,” he murmured, fingers lacing her own as though she needed the help stepping up onto the little dock overlooking a rather large pond. She’d seen it already, though never at night.

During the day there was nothing special about it. Merely crystalline water and bright fish zipping about which was hardly worth noting. Some ladies had sat on the granite benches, fanning themselves from the heat but no one paid any mind to the water.

And what a shame they didn’t. Elain gasped at the bioluminescent purples, blues, and greens now flitting beneath the water.

“Watch,” Lucien whispered, eyes darting from her to the fish pond. Reaching into his little satchel, he tossed bread into the water. It was a frenzy of rushing water, bubbles, and color all at once.

“Can I?” she asked when the chaos subsided just enough, though the majority of the fish now hovered toward the top like shooting stars, hoping to catch a little treat.

Lucien handed her the little pouch rather than making her reach over his body to get it. She would have…might have let her fingers brush his exposed chest just to see if it was as hard as it looked. She’d never been so close to a man before. They weren’t allowed near her or Vassa on the country estate and knew a stable hand had once been quite taken with Vassa, going so far as to sneak into the house to see her.

Elain never did find out what happened to him.

She squealed with delight when it was her turn to toss the crumbly bread only to re-begin the frenzied feeding. Lucien inched just a little closer and was he smelling her hair? When she looked up at him, he, in turn, was gazing upward at the stars though she swore there was color decorating his cheeks.

“What happened to you?” she asked, giving in to impulse, though only to touch his cheek. The trio of scars carved down the half of his face was brutal—she supposed he was lucky he hadn’t lost his eye, too.

“When I was a boy, my father invaded a kingdom and some of his men killed a princess,” Lucien began, reaching for her own face to hold it gently in his hand. “The other two lived here for a time. I wasn’t supposed to speak to them…but I did. And the youngest sister held me down while the older one tried to carve out my eye. Said it was only fair since my family was responsible for her death.”

“That’s horrible,” Elain whispered, unable to take her gaze off him.

Lucien shrugged. “They only damaged it a little—I’m half blind in this eye, though I suppose one day I might be fully blind. One day, though, when father dies, I hope to go back to the north bearing the scars and see if we can’t end what our families began.”

“It really doesn’t bother you?” Elain questioned. Lucien swept his thumb over her cheek.

“I suppose it wounds my vanity at times. I’m forever looking for a woman who doesn’t immediately stare at them with horror, trying to figure out if they’re something that can be genetically passed down to future children…or if she’d have to grit her teeth and bear the sight of me.”

“No one thinks that,” Elain insisted. Lucien was so beautiful that the scars hardly diminished it. If anything, they made him lovelier still, branding him a warrior even if the truth behind them was hardly heroic. Before knowing, Elain assumed it must have happened during battle which made him seem fearsome. Brave.

“I assure you they do,” he murmured, his voice strangely husky. “They lament the loss of my good looks and whisper to their friends about it as though the gossip never reaches my ears. I hear it, though.”

“I like it,” Elain declared truthfully. “It adds character.”

He smiled softly. “I believe that you do, Lady Elain.”

Lucien lowered his face, inching closer and closer until her hand flew to his chest, fingertips pressing into his skin and oh. He was warmer and softer than she’d imagined. “What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I’m going to kiss you,” Lucien replied, eyes searching her own. “Unless you’d prefer I didn’t?”

She’d always wondered what her first kiss would be like. Here, beneath a canopy of stars and illuminated by brightly colored fish you could only fully see at night, Elain thought this might be the most romantic evening of her life. She couldn’t speak, lifting her chin to nod just once.

Lucien’s relief was palpable. Had she said no, would he have left? Abandoned his pursuit of her entirely?

She’d never know. Lucien’s lips brushed her own tentatively, as though allowing her one final out. Elain didn’t move, still looking up at him while waiting to see what he’d do next. But she wanted this bad enough to set her teeth on edge.

Her eyes fluttered shut when his mouth pressed firm against her own. Elain couldn’t explain why, when looking at him was its own kind of pleasure. She needed to feel the moment and somehow that was better done with her eyes closed.

His mouth was soft—sweet, like amber and honey and something dark and well-spiced. It ought to have been one polite, chaste kiss. Elain suspected that had been Lucien’s original intention when he’d begun. Something sweet enough to convey his very serious interest without taking it too far.

She was the problem right then because it was her fingers that curled into his chest and her feet that stepped closer, surging upward on her tiptoes so she could kiss him again. And Lucien responded, his arm winding around her waist to hold her steady, his hand caressing her cheek. It was just, kissing him felt good, and Elain didn’t want to stop.

Now she understood how ladies were compromised. She’d always figured it was men taking advantage but if someone caught them, Elain wouldn’t be able to pretend she hadn’t wanted what Lucien was offering. And to be fair, all he was doing was kissing her. There was an edge to it—a want that was slowly starting to burn through her.

It would consume her if she didn’t stop. Elain didn’t want to stop and neither did Lucien, the two locked in their embrace, his lips all but frantic against her own. His tongue teased the seam of her lip and when she opened with a gasp, Lucien tasted her.

Elain nearly fell backward, her stomach exploding with frantic, excited butterflies. His tongue against her own felt good, surprising and overwhelming all at once. She wanted more, wanted to press herself against him and—

Lucien broke away, gasping for air as his fingers flew to his lips. “I—I shouldn’t…I’m sorry.”

Elain blinked. Did he regret it? “For what?” she replied, her voice equally breathless.

“For taking liberties, I…I swear my intentions are pure. I just…”

Lost control. So had she. Elain nodded, swallowing hard. The only disappointment she felt was that it was over and she didn’t know when they’d get another moment like this. “I understand.”

He dared a step closer. “Yes. Yes, I think you do. Come on…I’ll walk you back.”

And this time, when Lucien offered her his hand, Elain took it gladly.

Maybe his attention wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Eris paced back and forth as the sun rose, already dressed. A letter lay before him, half written to the princess of the north. Eris had begun with the usual pleasantries, the lies about her beauty and his obsession but even his poetry annoyed him. Nesta was lovely, sure, but when he’d begun penning those words, he found himself thinking about golden hair and emerald eyes and fuck Helion for employing a woman that looked like that.

A stupid woman who’d been willing to die over a book. Rising from his chair so quickly it toppled over, Eris wondered what was wrong with her? All the while ignoring that this was just a ruse to see her again rather than look for her around the palace. She was never around. Not at banquets or balls or even just walking through the halls.

Did she ever leave the library? Was she even allowed?

Why do you care?

He didn’t. She was obnoxious…and beautiful. And she wasn’t scared of him, which was a wholly new experience for Eris. All woman were a little scared and awed of him. Arina was merely annoyed. Why? Even here, the ladies regarded him with the same deference they paid his miserable half-brother. He supposed he was a decent consolation prize for any self-respecting woman.

Eris didn’t want a wife. Not from the south, or the north, or his own fucking kingdom. He just wanted vengeance, a thought so all-consuming that until recently, he’d never paid women much attention beyond a night in his bedroom. Eris hadn’t had to court someone—they made their intentions known and he merely barked out some orders.

Get on your knees was the usual, though he could be varied from time to time. No one had ever told him no and certainly never held a knife to his throat. He bet, beneath her flippant attitude, she was just as desperate to please as everyone else. And Eris knew the moment he walked back up there, she’d bow and scrape and all his interest would evaporate.

He could write that liars letter to Nesta Archeron.

So up Eris went, ignoring the soft clatter of dishes and the lilting chatter wafting up from the stairs just below. Fingers skimming the marble, his palms were sticky—from the heat.

And nothing else.

It occurred to him only when he reached the library that Arina was likely to still be in bed. She had that kind of look about her—the same one that he had, he thought ruefully. It was too late to turn back now—he’d already been spotted by two philosophers, arguing over something that had kept them up all night, if the dark circles were anything to go by.

If he turned back now, Arina would know what a coward he was. And Eris was hardly a coward. If she wasn’t there, he could insult her for her lazy ways. Women loved being insulted, right? He could practically feel his mothers displeasure which only soured Eris’s already bad mood. That mood was made worse when he opened the doors and found Arina sitting in a cushioned window seat with a frown on her face.

It wasn’t directed at him. In fact, Eris might have thought she hadn’t noticed him at all if he hadn’t turned to leave offended by the easy beauty radiating off her and she’d said, “Remind me, prince. A decade ago, what kingdom was invaded?”

“This is a strange insult, even for you,” he replied, gently closing the doors behind him, again, for reasons he couldn’t quite ascertain. “It was the Northern kingdom. Why?”

“No Southern? Not even little border villages?” she pressed, still staring down at a frayed piece of parchment in her hands.

“That does sound like the kind of barbarity your king would enjoy,” Eris said, if only to get her full attention. Arina really looked at him, then, as if she was seeing him for the first time and it annoyed her.

“You were privy to the peace talks, were you not?”

“Am I about to teach you about lying?” Eris replied dryly, not bothering to admit he’d been a child when those talks were going on. His father hadn’t allowed him in and everything Eris knew in the aftermath came from the mouths of tutors, and then diplomats. “Why do you care so much?”

“Because…” Arina bit her bottom lip, unaware of how Eris straightened his spine in response. “What are you doing up here?”

Eris blinked. “I came to demand you eat breakfast with me.”

You idiot.

Arina’s lips parted, mouth forming a soft oh. “If this about the other night—”

“It absolutely is about the other night,” Eris hissed, for all the good it did.

“We’re even,” she finished firmly, those eyes flashing. “You’ve done enough and I’m grateful for your intervention.”

“Have you ever killed a man, Arina?” he asked, daring a step toward her. She pulled her knees closer to her chin, still staring him dead in the eye.

“No,” she whispered, as if admitting some heinous sin.

“Could have fooled me,” Eris conceded, still thinking about her knife against his throat. Why did he like that memory? And why was he adding, “Now it’s my responsibility to correct your inadequacies.”

“Your—” she spluttered, setting the parchment to the side. “You have no responsibility to me, breakfast or otherwise!”

“So you won’t eat breakfast with me?” Eris asked, thinking that might be the easier sell. And maybe once he’d softened her up, he’d take her somewhere and—no, banish those thoughts before they unmake you.

Her eyes narrowed. “If I decline, are you going to threaten to tell the King what happened?”

“Yes.”

“You’re a bastard. You know that, right?” she asked through gritted teeth.

“You keep telling me so. It’s becoming humbling,” Eris admitted, his relief palpable. In truth, he had no intention of ever telling Helion anything, let alone about Arina. How the Southern King had found himself in possession of her was one thing. Potentially orchestrating her removal or worse was another.

“I don’t believe anything could humble the likes of you,” she declared, rising from her chair to let the verdant gown her wore tumble to her ankles. Golden chain straps criss-crossed against the golden brown of her skin while her hair remained utterly wild and yet somehow perfect—as if she’d woken up and carefully made curly waves of each individual strand. Maybe he was used to the glassy perfection of the women back home.

Or maybe deep down, Eris was jealous of how little she cared if he found anything desirable about her at all.

“You were going to let yourself die for a book,” he said once she’d set her parchment to her desk.

“He wouldn’t have killed—”

“Yes, Arina. He would have,” Eris replied, his voice colder than he’d intended. “What were you thinking?”

“Why do you care?” was her easy, measured response. Her expression was one of academic curiosity—as if she’d stumbled upon some tangled mystery she hoped to unravel. And that was dangerous given Eris couldn’t find an answer that was dishonest, let alone truthful.

“What a question,” he murmured instead, gesturing toward the door.

She followed without complaint, still looking up at him with interest. He wished she’d return to her open dislike.

“Why are you so interested in the end of the war?” he asked once they were out of her little sunlit office. She was a half-step ahead of him, unaware of how his fingers practically touched her bare spine.

“Just…an off-handed comment about a survivor from the end of the war,” Arina replied, eyes misting over again. “From some unknown border village close to your realm. I’m trying to determine which village was destroyed but there are no records from that time period.”

“As there wouldn’t be. Our territory had agreed to cover a hundred mile radius between Rhodes and the border,” Eris replied, genuinely curious. “It would have been war with Allsfeld.”

“Perhaps they were mistaken,” Arina murmured, though Eris could see there was no doubt on the mistake—she knew she had the location right, which meant whoever had said so was lying.

Or not who they said they were. Eris was curious enough not to press her further, nor did he take her into the banquet hall for everyone to witness. He had a suspicion she would hate being the subject of everyone's attention, especially if it was centered around him.

It was easy enough to arrange a little terrace table and have food brought to him, all with a snap of his fingers and a few harshly barked words. ‘

“You could be nicer,” Arina commented, as if there wasn’t fruit and bread and meat all situated before her.

“I could be a lot of things,” Eris replied without ire. “Tell me more about this mystery village.”

“Why would I bore you with the details?”

“I don’t mind a little boredom.”

Arina sighed, drizzling honey over a piece of bread. “The time must be wrong—perhaps in the chaos, everything has melded together. Or…”

Eris was half grinning. “Or someone is lying. That’s what you think, isn’t it?”

“I could be executed for telling you all this, you know,” she bit back, color warming her cheeks.

“I think I’ve established I have no intention of betraying you,” Eris replied, surprised by how truthful the words were.

Arina opened her mouth, likely moments from insulting him when her eyes snagged on something behind him. Turning, Eris caught a glimpse of Feyre Archeron rounding a corner, arm looped with some courtier he’d never seen before. Just behind the pair was his obnoxious brother and some guard whose name he didn’t know and didn’t care to know.

Eris shook his head. No, that wasn’t Feyre Archeron. Feyre Archeron was all sharp angles and scowls and this woman bore a strange sort of softness. She was far prettier than the younger Archeron and yet the resemblance…Eris couldn’t take his eyes off her. That was Nesta and Feyre’s hair, their features, their stature. He knew the shape of that face, the fairness, the shade of golden brown hair.

He blinked and they were gone, vanishing down the open hall before he could truly assess whether he was right. Shaking his head, Eris turned back to his meal to find Arina watching him with mild interest. “Have you spoken to him?” she asked, misunderstanding what had caught him off guard.

That was an Archeron—he was certain of it. An Archeron dressed in Southern fashion but an Archeron none the less. Eris wasn’t the sort to find his guilt manifesting as beautiful women—and he didn’t feel guilty for ignoring Nesta, either. He knew she was entertaining Rhysand as they spoke and if she found him more agreeable, she’d honor nothing for their handshake.

Eris was hardly a romantic.

“Is this the part where I bare my soul to you?” Eris asked, his temper rising to the surface. Did she truly think he was about to tell her anything about his family?

Arina shrugged, a gleam to her gaze he swore hadn’t been there before. Her lips curved with a triumphant smile he couldn’t make heads or tails of. What was she so pleased about?

“Did no one teach you how to woo a woman, Eris Vanserra?”

“Woo—” he spluttered, well aware his face was burning red.

“Isn’t that what you’re doing? Courting me?”

Was he? Eris hadn’t thought about it, but now that he sat there, staring at her, he let himself imagine another man chasing after her. Fury replaced embarrassment. Well. That was damning, he supposed.

So, like an absolute idiot, he heard himself ask, “What if I was?”

“You’re off to a bad start,” she said, ducking her head as she reached for a goblet of juice. “Though, I suppose the sunrise breakfast is a nice touch.”

As if he’d planned that out. What could it hurt, Eris reasoned as he stared her down. Inevitably, she’d do something that irritated him, thus severing the attraction he felt and he’d be free of her. And of everyone in this place, she was the most tolerable. The most knowledgeable, too. She could help him navigate the court of vipers that he found himself in, and if he was careful, might even divulge something she shouldn’t.

There were no downsides.

“Then yes. I suppose I am.”

There was that smile again. Eris couldn’t make sense of it, though he turned it over in his mind long after she’d departed with nothing more than a kiss he pressed to the back of her hand as he inhaled the sweet scent of vanilla and coconut. It was the look of a woman making a fool of a man.

It took Eris the entirety of his day, until he was practically undressing, for the realization to come crashing over him.

Clever woman.

He found her just outside the library, clearly about to turn in for the evening. She saw him coming, shirt unbuttoned at the collar and his hair a little wild. “You,” he hissed when he saw her.

Arina grinned. “Oh, prince. I missed you, too.”

“You’re playing games with me,” he accused, earning a pretty laugh. She came to him, ignoring his crossed arms and his scowl. And when she leaned up on tiptoes to press a kiss to his cheek, Eris turned his head impulsively, capturing her lips instead.

He’d meant to knock her off balance—to even the score between them. After all, she didn’t look as if she kissed very many men and Eris had it on good authority that he was very good at kissing. It hadn’t occurred to Eris, in the split second he decided, that he might like kissing her.

She didn’t do anything in half measures, he’d give her that. Rather than pulling away with a lady’s outrage—or slapping him, which aroused him more than he was willing to admit—Arina kissed him back.

Tentative, at first, eyes wide open to look at him. Is this what we’re doing? Those eyes of hers seemed to demand.

Eris yanked her closer.

Yes, he decided because gods above, she tasted sweet. Her lips parted, allowing him to indulge which was a mistake he couldn’t rectify. It was Eris who groaned, taking a step backward to try and push her against a wall. He wanted more of her, against reason or common sense. He barely knew her.

But he wanted her.

What would Helion trade, he wondered?

His court would assassinate him if he brought home a foreign wife.

He didn’t care. This wasn’t about marriage, besides.

It was Arina who pushed him back, lips swollen and out of breath. “What games am I playing?” she half whispered, looking as off-balanced as she had the night he’d rescued her from death.

Eris had forgotten why he’d come. “You…kiss me again,” he ordered, reaching for her face. Arina ducked deftly, just narrowly avoiding him. “What games am I playing, Eris?”

“The one where you refuse to kiss me again,” he snarled with frustration. “You know.”

“I know a lot of things. Be more specific and I’ll entertain the thought of kissing you again.”

Growling softly, he whispered. “About the princess.”

Arina’s eyes brightened. “I didn’t know. Not for sure—not until just now.”

“This could start a war if the North learned,” he breathed, advancing on her. Eris didn’t give a fuck about Nesta Archeron anymore—and he didn’t care about his own vengeance, either. He only cared about the woman in front of him and all the things he could do to her before the sun rose again. He’d worry about this revelation in the morning.

“They won’t,” she whispered, letting him wind an arm around her waist. “You’re going to keep this between the two of us for now.”

“Or what?”

She inclined her head. “No threats, Eris. You’ll keep this secret because I asked you to.”

And he knew, deep down, that she was right.

Another day without a letter from the unreliable bastard known as Eris Vanserra. Why had she thought seeking his aid was a good idea, anyway? He was likely too busy cavorting with Southern whores to be of any use to Nesta, who didn’t want such a well-used husband, besides. Not one who had that sort of reputation, at any rate.

Which made Rhysand a bad option, too. The problem with rejecting the King of Velaris was it left only one good, viable candidate— Graysen Nolan. And Nesta would be damned if she married a Nolan. Bigoted and frankly, a little stupid, Nolan was everyone’s choice for king except hers. This was supposed to be the only alternative path. Graysen was merely a nobleman’s son—Rhysand and Eris were kings, or they would be one day. They came with military might, with land, and all the richest their kingdoms commanded. Graysen could hardly compete.

Sighing, Nesta plopped onto a bench out in the courtyard, staring upward at a moody sky. Now Eris was gone and Rhysand wouldn’t stop staring at Feyre long enough to even pretend he had a passing interest in her.

Nesta could arrange Feyre’s marriage—if she hated her sister, which she didn’t—to Rhysand. And in turn, he’d get to whisk her away to the mountains, subjected to his whims which Nesta didn’t think would be cruel, but would certainly be perverted.

And having spent the last week getting to know him, she loathed the thought of making him happy.

Nesta was floundering, her whole life hinging on the decisions of men. It was unfair that she could be better than all of them, the first born of her family and heir apparent, and still be required to get married simply to access the inheritance the rest of them got merely by existing.

“I’m tired of men,” Nesta announced to the wet footsteps just behind her.

“All men? Or would you make an exception?” Cassian inquired, sitting on the bench so his back faced her and he faced the palace while she looked out at the courtyard.

“Especially you,” she lied. He was always looking at her, of course—but he mostly kept his distance.

He rose to his feet to leave, irritation rolling off him in rippling waves. She almost let him leave but at the last moment, Nesta swallowed her pride and whispered, “Wait.”

Cassian hesitated, the mist pasting the white shirt he wore to his bulky chest. She rather liked seeing him in something other than the menacing armor he wore—he looked like a real man and not a conquering god. She could see how careful he was being—like she was some kind of wild animal and any wrong move would send her fleeing.

He wasn’t totally wrong.

Though she resented that after a week, he’d figured that out. Stop watching me, she wanted to scream. Why was he the only one who seemed to notice her? “About the sword…”

He couldn’t suppress his smile. “You’re not planning to assassinate my king, are you?”

“I don’t think he’s in danger of marrying me,” he replied, catching the creasing frown on Cassian’s face. Was he blind, or just oblivious? Rhysand couldn’t drag his eyes off Feyre long enough to answer one of Nesta’s inane questions, let alone propose marriage. And Nesta couldn’t help but feel a little relief, though it was mingled with a hearty helping of dread. “Will you?”

Nesta didn’t have time to teach Cassian about Northern politics. If Eris wasn’t going to help then Nesta needed a new tactic—and it didn’t involve cutting Graysen’s throat in his sleep should a marriage contract be drafted between them.

She read. Men overthrew governments all the time. How hard could it possibly be? A good number of nobles liked her at court—if she could call more of the far flung families back, Nesta could spend the summer winning their approval and planting the seeds of dissent.

Though…she didn’t know if she could kill her father.

She’d figure it out as she went. For now, not dying in her sleep felt important and it had nothing to do with wanting to see more of Cassian. He was an unwanted, unneeded distraction, besides…and yet…

“Of course,” Cassian agreed, pulling her from her blood-tinged thoughts. “In the morning, just after breakfast.”

Nesta nodded, wondering where they’d even manage to do this. It wasn’t as if they could just train out in the open and she couldn’t—wouldn’t—fling open her bedroom door and let him stroll inside.

“I know a place,” Cassian continued, reading her like a book. Nesta glowered up at him, crossing her arms over her chest for all the good it did. The man killed people as an occupation and she imagined there was nothing about her that scared him.

Which was unfortunate, given how everything about him frightened her.

Why couldn’t he be the prince—stop it.

“Shall I meet you here, then?”

Cassian shrugged his broad shoulders, outlined beneath the shirt he wore. He hadn’t bothered to lace up the neck the way so many other nobles did, nor did he put a tunic over top of it which would have given him the appearance of a well-bred gentleman. No, Cassian seemed to have made peace with the fact that he was who he was and she liked that.

“Wherever you like, Nes,” he replied casually, unaware of how the nickname clanged through her. No one else would have dared. Cassian didn’t look as if he’d even noticed he did it. Did that make her like him more or less? “I’ll find you.”

“Just like that?”

Cassian’s hazel eyes gleamed, the brightest thing in the gloom. “I could find you anywhere, princess. Don’t concern yourself with me.”

“I never do, Cass,” she snapped back, catching that half feral smile spreading across his handsome features.

Cocking his head, head tilted toward the misty sky, Cassian murmured, “My name sounds good in your mouth. I’ll see you tomorrow, princess.”

He left her there wishing he’d called her Nes instead. Wishing he’d stayed. And Nesta knew no matter how she tried to distract herself, she would be counting the minutes until he did find her. Nesta decided to make it a game just so she could prove him wrong which might settle her racing heart down.

He was just a man, and men were always disappointing.

Nesta dragged herself out of bed early enough to avoid Cassian. She went directly to the kitchen for breakfast before marching across the palace to the room that had once belonged to her sister. Nesta liked to read in the window alcove overlooking the sea, which had once been one of Elain’s favorite places. The garden was nothing but bones, but Nesta had screamed and fought to keep Elain’s room intact rather than turned into another bland, uninspired room for the roaming nobility.

Elain wasn’t coming home but that didn’t mean she needed to be erased, either. Everyone wanted to pretend she’d never existed. Nesta wouldn’t let it go. Forgetting or forgiving had never been one of her virtues.

She’d leave that to Feyre.

She didn’t believe Cassian would find her here, and thought even if he did, he wouldn’t dare step inside. And yet…she heard the heavy steps on the stone before she saw him and swore his presence made the walls shake with anticipation.

Perhaps that was just her.

Cassian seemed wildly out of place among the cream and rose and tulle, though he managed not to seem too awkward about it. Looking around, she thought she saw the spark of recognition.

“How did you find me?” she asked, hating the weariness in her voice. Why had she allowed him to?

“You know how,” Cassian replied, his eyes settling on her. “Do you want to go? Or would you like to talk about it?”

Nesta had never spoken of Elain’s death. Feyre had internalized all of it, blaming herself and Nesta had been paralyzed with fear. What did she say? Their father had become a walking shell of his former self, grieving the daughter he’d loved best and the wife he’d genuinely loved. Someone had to take care of things and without Elain, the responsibility fell to Nesta and Feyre.

They’d swallowed their grief and held the court together lest someone try and overthrow their family. They’d become sharp—ruthless—in their pursuit of it. What would Nesta even say? That she missed her?

She didn’t think Elain would be very proud of what had happened in her absence.

“I have no interest in speaking to you,” she hissed, drawing those walls up high. This was her fault—she’d brought him here—and yet Cassian wasn’t supposed to comment on it, either. He was supposed to say nothing, to not care the way everyone else did. Nesta knew, as she stood, that she’d brought him here to prove he wasn’t any better than the rest of the men in her life. He was just as disinterested, just as scheming, just as power hungry as the rest of them.

She could have softened, just a little. Nesta felt the compulsion warring with the urge to hurt him the way she’d been hurt. Maybe Cassian felt it, too, because he waited until her back was facing him to speak.

“My mother was murdered when I was a boy,” he said, clearing his throat so the words were crisp. “I know how it feels to lose someone you love.”

“How?” Nesta heard herself asking, still refusing to look at him.

Cassian blew out a breath. “She had me out of wedlock. My father, he…well. He was a piece of shit, let's leave it at that. In some places in the Spine, that sort of thing still matters and the village she lived in decided it was better to rid themselves of her than to let other women think it was okay…” Cassian choked off, not out of misery, but rage. The sound was enough to turn her head, to look at his anger.

“How old were you?” she asked, hating how badly she wanted to touch his hand.

“Three. Old enough…old enough to remember just enough, but too young to really understand what I lost.”

“What happened to you?”

Cassian shrugged, his jaw clenched. “I grew up in training grounds and war rooms.”

He seemed born for it. It was impossible to imagine Cassian as anything but a warrior, but right then, Nesta wondered who else he could have been. A farmer, perhaps? A poet? A scholar? It seemed distinctly unfair that one person could make a decision and irrevocably alter whole lives without any thought or consideration.

She took a step toward him.

“I’m sorry,” she murmured.

Cassian’s expression softened. “Don’t be. I had my revenge.”

All the air in Nesta’s body left her lungs in a rough exhale. “How?”

“I went back as a man and rounded them all up. I spared the innocent, but everyone else…I let them meet the man they made.”

I let them meet the man they made.

“I’ll never get that,” Nesta said, her despair coloring her words. “He got to march an army into my home and kill my sister, my mother…and life just goes on.”

Cassian regarded her for a moment without words. “You’d need an army if you wanted vengeance, Nes.”

“The military answers to my father,” was her perfunctory response.

“Imagine if they didn’t,” Cassian replied, dropping his voice to the softest whisper.

“I imagine so all the time,” Nesta heard herself admit. Treason. This was treason and she was stupid to confess it to a foreign King's general. All Cassian had to do was turn around and tell Rhysand, who would have an absurd amount of leverage against her. It would have been Nesta’s word against Cassian’s, and if someone was feeling anxious about her rise to the throne, she’d be thrown into the tower until they decided what to do with her.

She could be executed for it.

“I’ve seen your men,” Cassian told her, his words careful. “They couldn’t take on the worst of the southern’s forces.”

She suspected this. Helion had decimated them a decade earlier and rebuilding took time and effort. Their navy was pitiful, their army small and their coffers all but depleted. Eris Vanserra had been her best option and he’d vanished and for all she knew, was having some beautiful, heartfelt reunion with the mother who’d abandoned him.

And Nesta hated Rhysand. Hated him more than was fair, partly because he was arrogant and smug and partly because she wished Rhysand was Cassian when she knew she shouldn’t. How was she supposed to marry a man all the while wishing she could have married his friend? And Nesta wasn’t naive—she didn’t expect love. But there was something particularly cruel about wanting someone you knew you could never have.

And Cassian was someone she could never have.

“Come on,” Cassian murmured, pulling her from her thoughts. “Let’s put a sword in your hand, at least.” And when he went to follow her, fingers brushing her back, Nesta didn’t pull away. Maybe it was foolish.

But she trusted him.

It ought to have been a quiet night, lounging in an uncomfortable bed while listening to the world rage just outside thin windows. Rhys had a book and a carafe of wine he intended to down until he forgot about blue eyes and freckles that looked more like a constellation of stars.

The muffled voices of Azriel and Cassian were immaterial to him—and deeply disinteresting until his bedroom door flung open and Cassian appeared, wet and mudstreaked.

And angry.

“What happened?” Rhys asked, only a little drunk.

“Are you planning to marry Nesta Archeron?” Cassian asked, crossing his arms over the leather armor he wore. Behind him, Azriel shook his head no in warning, eyes wide.

Be careful what you say.

In all the years Rhys had known Cassian, he’d seen him worked up a handful of times. They’d raged in the camp, at the people who’d killed his mother, and at Rhys’s father before they’d eventually overthrown him. And Cassian had taken lovers in between all those moments, declaring he would die a bachelor surrounded by…well. Perhaps it was better not to say.

Cassian looked like he wanted to get his knuckles bloody and if Rhys didn’t know any better, he would have said it was about a woman.

“You know I have no intention of marrying her,” Rhys replied evenly. Rhys was too fixated on her sister, for starters, to even give Nesta the time of day but the little he’d spoken to her reaffirmed that he and Nesta were more likely to kill each other before they enjoyed marital bliss. “Did something happen?”

Cassian clenched his jaw, eyes too dark to be rational. Oh.

“We should leave this place,” Cassian said, his words catching Rhys off guard. “They’re no threat to Helion. I nearly killed one of their boys masquerading as a warrior with a wooden sword today.”

“And if she married Vanserra?” Rhys asked, swinging his legs off the bed casually. How far could he take this before Cassian exploded? And what then? Even if Cassian had developed feelings for Nesta—which didn’t seem possible given what an Ice Queen she was—there was no possibility in which Rhys could put them together. No way he’d give up his general even if it meant Cassian’s happiness.

With Nesta Archeron? No. In Rhys’s mind, he took Feyre back with him, rescuing her from this powder keg masquerading as a kingdom and let Helion absorb all of it before Eris Vanserra could get his talons into it.

Cassian turned, slamming his fist into the door frame which did nothing to the structure but likely wrecked Cassian’s hand. There it was.

“You know better—”

“You don’t know what she’s like,” Cassian snapped, his voice dripping with anger. “You’ve already made up your mind about her.”

“So enlighten me,” Rhys replied, knowing this was folly. Cassian’s lips pressed into a bloodless line, daring Rhys to punish him for disobedience. Oh, they were so fucked. If Cassian did anything with a princess, they were likely to execute him and Rhys didn’t know if he’d be able to intervene.

If Helion called on them for help taking the North, it had always been Rhys’s intention of answering that call. Cassian would have to lead the charge. Would he? Would Cassian let his soldiers sweep into Ellesmere knowing they might accidentally kill Nesta Archeron? Would he take her prisoner, force her to live in Rhys’s court against her will?

Never once since he’d met Cassian had Rhys ever doubted his loyalty.

He did right then.

“Go cool off,” Rhys ordered when Cassian said nothing. He didn’t want to hear how sweet and soft Nesta Archeron could be. Not from Cassian, who ought to know better. Cassian did as he was told, shaking out his hand before storming out, leaving Azriel and Rhys staring at the other.

“Don’t,” Rhys warned.

“I didn’t say anything,” Azriel protested mildly.

“What the fuck am I going to do about this?” Rhys demanded, turning toward a window.

“We could leave,” Azriel suggested, again, without any emotion to his words. They could have been talking about the weather, could have been discussing a nice pair of wollen socks.

“Archeron isn’t going to hand you his youngest daughter.”

Never mind that Feyre hated him. Archeron had made it abundantly clear that Feyre wasn’t available, either hoping for a better alliance with his eldest daughter or some misguided attempt at protecting Feyre.

“And if we left?”

Azriel sighed. “Nolan intends to position his eldest son for the throne. He’s a viable candidate and preferable to Vanserra.” “And if she declines?”

Because she would. Nolan couldn’t give Nesta what she wanted, which was a standing army capable of devastating destruction. He’d table her obvious ambition and if he was smart, he’d make her a mother before the ink dried on their contract.

“A coup,” Azriel replied, plopping into a chair. “And Nolan will likely marry one of the Archeron’s anyway, if only for legitimacy. We should leave.”

But their presence was keeping everything calm for the moment. No one wanted to start a fight Cassian might be able to easily end, nor did they want Rhys to lay claim to their hard work. He couldn’t help but wonder if Nolan wouldn’t pick Feyre, too. Could he stand to see another man marry her?

No.

Rhys had to do something. Had to figure out his own careful alliances before the end of the summer.

Fuck.

He was just as stupid as Cassian.

“I want you to go see Helion. Get a read on what’s going on down there,” Rhys said, wondering if there was any way to salvage the impending storm. How many of his own soldiers could he march into Ellesmere before it began to feel like an invading force? And how did he tell Archeron his nobles might be revolting beneath his nose? Did he?

For now, the answer to that was no.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” Azriel promised. “You need to be careful, though.”

“They can’t hurt me,” Rhys replied with false bravado. Azriel caught him immediately.

“They could. And they would. Keep Cass close, alright? Don’t needle him too hard about Nesta…she’s not that bad, you know. She’s just sad.”

“Why would Cassian want to be around that?” Rhys scoffed, hating the look of sympathy in Azriel’s eyes.

“Two weeks enough?” Azriel questioned.

“Unless you think you need more.”

Azriel only nodded wordlessly, saying nothing as Rhys swept from the room. It was foolish to think Azriel didn’t know exactly who he was looking for or why marrying Nesta felt so offensive to him. Azriel knew everything—it was his job to know, though he liked to pretend he wasn’t a busybody, too.

She wasn’t even trying to hide from him. And this time, when Rhys found her at the top of that tower with the bow and quiver of arrows, he asked, “Can you use that thing?”

“Want to find out?”

She turned, her braid draped over her slim shoulder to look at him. “Yes.”

Maybe she heard the desperation in his voice. Or perhaps he was simply winning her over with his refusal to acknowledge the word no. Feyre swung her legs off the edge of that window and reached for her weapon, her face hidden in shadow. “Could you use it?”

“No,” he admitted. Rhys had never had that kind of aim or the patience required to sit and wait for someone to come within range. He liked to be in the middle of things, sword in hand but even that had been diminished since he’d become king. “You could teach me.”

Feyre considered this for a moment before jerking her thumb over her shoulder. “It’s too wet for today.”

She tried to push past him but Rhys’s body took up the majority of the doorway. Fingers catching around her wrist, he asked, “Who are you waiting for?”

Feyre tried to pull her hand away but Rhys wasn’t done touching her. Tell me you’re in love with another man so I can let you go.

“He’s not coming back…and if he did…” Feyre bit her bottom lip, her expression coming into view of the flickering candle nearby. “If he did, I think I’d kill him.”

Oh.

So this was the man she’d slept with—the man her father decided had irrevocably tainted her. Rhys wanted to see it.

“Call him back to court,” he murmured, catching her by surprise.

“Is this some kind of ego—”

“I would like to watch you kill a man. Is that so unbelievable?” he asked, keeping his usual amusement from his tone. It was too much to bare when she came closer, her free hand appearing just below his neck holding a lethally sharp blade.

“What if the man I kill is you?” she asked.

Rhys’s whole body went taut with excitement. Wrapping his fingers around her own, Rhys forced her to press the blade a little rougher against his skin—until it pierced the fine fabric of his black tunic and he could feel the point directly against his clavicle.

“I’d like that, too.”

“You’re sick. Do you know that?”

“Yes,” he breathed, unable to drag his eyes off her. “You’re the sickness, Feyre.”

“You should stay away from me,” she replied, not pulling away but not pushing any harder, either. Reckless, Rhys didn’t move either. It would have been so easy for her to kill him. They were alone and he was an outsider. If she killed him, she could say he tried to force himself on her.

Cassian and Azriel would have no choice but to flee rather than risk their own executions and without an heir or clear line of succession, his home would be thrown into turmoil while the warring members of his family vied for control.

“I don’t want to stay away from you,” Rhys told her, deciding at the last minute it was better not to add that he couldn’t. That if he couldn’t convince her to love him back, he’d merely steal her away in the middle of the night and insinuate he’d ruined her so she could never return.

Mor would kill him for it, of course, but what was the alternative? Never seeing her again?

Rhys would rather she kill him right then and there.

“That doesn’t sound very smart,” Feyre replied, pulling from his grasp and taking a step back. She sheathed her blade in her boot before elbowing him hard in the ribs to escape him. He didn’t bother with a response—let her have the last word. Rhys was too busy grinning.

Unwilling to admit that the only good idea he’d ever had was her.

#elucien #look whose back back again mbs back tell NO ONE this is a SECRET

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breezy-cheezy · 7 months

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Unfortunately that One Piece Ghibli post you reblogged is AI 😭 jsyk

THANKS FOR LETTING ME KNOW now that you pointed it out I can see it O.o Welp. That sucks. I deleted the post, wooooo

#anonymous #breezy replies #op #one piece #siiiiigh #can really see it in the words on the art....I thought it was the adhd I cannot read things rn #nnnnnope

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shirecorn · 1 year

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What’s your favourite mlp species? Have you got any thoughts on kirins/niriks?

Request ponies, species, etc I havent done here

I am both a creature and character designer, so I have a lot of thoughts about MLP world!

Paradoxically, the non-pony species interest me less than the actual ponies, because they are all really solid and well done designs. There's not a lot I would reinterpret tbh, and drawing them would just be taking what they have and making them realistic.

The non-pony creatures tend to be more detailed because they are generally cameos and don't need to be animated doing nearly as much as ponies do.

Compilations by AndoAnimalia on deviantart

The kirins are really lovely designs! I love the ankle tufts, and how the stripes on the horns glow when using magic. Really nice creature design here.

The Nirik part was a little boring, and the plot/conflict was not sophisticated enough for my tastes. But it is a show for young children, not biology majors. Lots of room for worldbuilding and headcannoning lore to flesh it out, but I prefer something I can completely rewrite. The kirin lore was fine and I'm fine leaving it as-is.

Another good one is breezies.

I love them they look so stupid. Their wings are over the top but perfectly designed to sell the "piece of lint in the wind" delicateness they have.

as for my favorite creature?

Bug momma

I really love changelings and love how edgy they are.

The reformed changelings are decent but I would have designed them differently. I may take a crack at them later on if I feel the need. I feel like they should either be pony-adjacent (with manes at the very least) or further removed from ponies. this middle ground is kind of like having a bug monster alien that just happens to be bipedal, with humanoid shoulders, arms, and hands for no evolutionary reason (the reason is practical effects and putting a dude in a costume but shhh)

all this is about creatures though, and its very important to talk about character design whenever we discuss creatures. A character's personality should be the quickest read about them, rather than their biology. If something is too complex, the personality gets lost because you have to spend your details adding ankle tufts and articulated fingers.

The mane six, and basically all other ponies, use the same base puppet, and each unique part needs its own turnaround. Every prop and hairdo and eye shape needs to be understood from every possible angle because these are main characters and they need to be be able to turn, spin, and do karate without the animators having to make up the back of applejack's hat every time she faces away from the camera.

Having the same body means animators know how to draw both rarity and rainbow dash from a back 3/4 view with one hoof raised. So from a technical standpoint, simple is best.

Even in big budget productions, where every character has a different body with different close and face shapes, main characters are simplified so that the audience can quickly read pose and expression without getting lost in complex clothing designs or face makeup. Reading poses and expressions quickly is very important to understand and empathize with the character before they've moved to the next pose. You need to understand the emotion the character is feeling and the action they are doing in a split second.

you start to get more complicated and an entity becomes less of a character and more of scenery because it has so much detail its harder to read the emotions from one frame to the next.

There's a reason he doesn't wear his funny hat for the duration of the movie! It's much easier to read his emotions without it. Adding lots of detail and weird props is something designers do a lot when introducing a character if they want to make that character feel mysterious or "other" because its harder to relate when your brain is stuck on the details. also masks just do that by nature of being masks.

where was I going with this

My little pony g4 has great creature and character design.

If it were high budget, major studio with All The Money, there might be more variety in character proportions, and more distinction between the different pony species. But its a puppet animated show that was always meant to make marketable designs to be turned into toys. We just get lucky when there's a good story to tell along the way

#ramble machine #ask #shire screams

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katherinezeetajones · 1 year

Text

Valley Debutante

Summary: you are a new kid in town, suddenly embroiled in the world of karate... Your better angels tell you to join miyagi do—knowing the devil rests in cobra kai.

But my oh my... In the devil's den sits Tory Nichols.

And you have never wanted to dance with the devil as badly as you do now.

part one of five

Tory Nichols x female reader, teen and up, swearing, angst, bits of fluff, slow burn

—

'why can't your parents just have you enroll after summer break?' the thought occur to you, sighing wearily as you stuff your books into your new locker. You've been trying—and failing to adjust to your life as a transfer student in San Fernando Valley this whole week—and your peers are surprisingly cliquey about martial arts, which is something you haven't encountered before.

A fist suddenly slams the locker door right next to yours, making you wince. You look to the one doing it...

And it's the most gorgeous girl you've ever laid your eyes on.

Tory Nichols, whom you've only ever seen wandering the hallways when class isn't in motion.

"hey princess, how are you liking it here?" She asks you, her face a teasing smirk as she looks you up and down, settling her gaze on your lips... Whether she realizes it or not, that's what she's doing.

You raise an eyebrow, an honor roll student in the masterclass of being bullied your whole life. So you try to take the high road this time. Juvie is only gonna be breezy once, not so good two time around, turns out shattering your bully's teeth doesn't count as self defense. "It's nice. I find calculus hard,"

Tory scoffs at your response, looking over to her entourage of irritating looking boys with a disbelieving smirk. She looks back at you with an irked expression. "Yeah? Heard you were cozying up to Robby Keene the other day during chemistry. What do you gotta say about that?"

'oh, you're straight,' you thought to yourself, slumping your shoulder ever so slightly, in unearned disappointment. "There was no cozying up," you explain, much to her disbelief.

"then what was that?" She asks, leaning closer against you, trying to intimidate you.

You shrug. "Look, I'll be frank with you. I'm sorry if he's your boyfriend or something, but there was nothing going on. He was being helpful, that's all,"

She doesn't seem to buy it. Her face leans in closer to yours in the packed hallway, to no one's care. "Am I just supposed to believe that?" She sneers, her canines glinting in attempt to appear menacing.

You sigh, the closeness between you two not helping your newly developed crush on this girl you don't even share any classes with up to this point. "He's not my type, I'm... I'm gay,"

'fuck it, right? Why beat around the bush?'

You expect two reactions. One is of disgust, where she will back away and leave you alone or two; she will not believe you at all, and you get pummeled by the local bully.

But you didn't expect reaction three.

She backs off you slowly, with a soft "oh," under her breath. "Sorry," she mutters quietly, almost begrudgingly... Yet with the tenderness you don't expect from a girl of her archetype.

"it's okay," you shrug it off, and you exchange a split second of a charged eye contact with her...

...but before she could say anything in response, the school bell rings.

She looks at you with a troubled expression, wordlessly walking away to class.

Her entourage follows her, but one of them hangs back, sizing you up without any malice. He fishes out a crumpled piece of paper from his bag, handing it to you. "Pick a side, new girl."

You take the paper, and he walks away after Tory. You unfurl the paper, and it reads;

"JOIN COBRA KAI"

"STRIKE FIRST, STRIKE HARD, NO MERCY."

You wordlessly pocket the flyer, making your way to class.

—

One week later...

It finally happened. You finally share a class with Tory Nichols—PE.

She's hanging out with the Cobra Kai kids in the bleachers of the gym, talking animatedly with them, like a leader of the pack.

Her eyes land on you after wandering around the gym, and you wave her a hello, with a small smile.

She ignores it, of course. But being observant as you are, you also notice the amusement on her face, only there for a split second.

Your classmate and new friend Sarah nudges you with a disbelieving laugh, as you both get settled on the other side of the gym. "What the hell are you doing?"

You shrug. "Waving hi,"

"to Tory?" Sarah mutters in dismay. "You know she's like, the bad bitch of the school, right?"

"bad bitch isn't a bad thing," you argue.

Sarah narrows her eyes, unconvinced. "Yeah, no, when I said bad bitch, I mean she's a bad bitch, literally—she bullied the LaRusso kid to the next eon or something!"

'what is this, elementary school gossip?'

You don't believe Sarah. The Tory you met last week was, yes, rough around the edges; but there's a tenderness to her countenance that you don't really believe could bully someone to that extent. "Isn't that, like, the Cobra Kai thing?"

"yeah, Cobra Kai is bad bad, but also, Tory is a big bully; so it's better to just stay away from her and Cobra Kai in general," Sarah explains. You want to believe her, you do.

But you flit your eyes to Tory and her entourage in the other side of the gym, and you lock eyes with Tory yet again...

...and you may be imagining things, but you could've sworn her gaze softens as she looks at you.

But then she looks away.

Your attention is grabbed by the coach's whistle, echoing its brittle note around the gym as he passes the dodgeball to the biggest, meanest looking kid of them all.

You sigh wearily, standing up on your feet.

'Let the game begin.'

—

You rub the back of your thighs, red and sore from getting hit by the dodgeball. The class ended ten minutes ago, yet your heart is still pounding out of your chest from all the dodging you have to do—and you got off slightly worse than the others.

Your knuckles are bleeding, your left cheek is bruised; and somehow your toes are also on fire?

You sigh wearily as you grab your change of clothes from the gym locker, searching for any kind of ointment in there.

You didn't notice, but Tory is next to you, apprehensively offering you a tube of ointment without saying a word.

"oh, thank you!" Your eyes widen as you thank her. You take the ointment from her hand... your fingers brushing with hers, making her pull away abruptly.

Tory looks at your genuine expression of gratitude, shrugging. "It's just my old one. Dodgeballs in this school is brutal, so you gotta be prepared, princess."

You don't hate that nickname.

"thank you," you smile at her, clutching the rolled up tube of ointment as if it's your panacea. "Don't suppose you have an ice pack, too?"

Tory scoffs, amused. "You're out of luck,"

"ah well," you sigh dramatically. "Guess this'll have to do," you brandish the ointment she gave you gratefully.

You squeeze the contents out of the tube, rubbing the gel all over your sore spots, making you sigh as the cold sensation momentarily relieves you from the soreness.

Tory is still standing next to you, her face troubled.

"...yeah?" You ask her overstay on your side, and she looks at you, lost.

"why'd you do it?" She finally asks.

"do what?" You ask back, confused.

Tory groans under her breath. "Used yourself as a human shield earlier. During dodgeball,"

You raised your eyebrows, still rubbing the ointment on the back of your thighs. "Well, the kid's just a freshman—he was like, what, 4'5?"

"you don't even know anyone here," Tory said in disbelief. "Yet you did that,"

You stand up to your full height, shrugging. "I mean, it's just... Right, I guess?"

Tory scoffs in amusement, crossing her arms. "So you're a goody two shoe,"

You smile at her, shaking your head. "You did call me princess. Gotta live up to the name,"

You close up the tube, giving it back to her. Tory takes it, and you nod gratefully. You're about to leave the now-empty locker room, turning on your heels—but she stops you, tugging at the hem of your shirt.

"wait," she mutters, almost too quiet to hear.

"yeah?"

"...Why did you tell me you're gay?" She asks, that seemingly being the thing that troubles her.

You smile at her with a shrug. "Honestly, I just didn't want to get beat up. You look like you could kill me,"

She looks at you, disbelieving. "So it's a lie,"

You shake your head. "No, I'm gay. I just don't want to beat around the bush, so I just told you,"

"even though I'm a complete stranger? What if I out you to the whole school?" She asks, astonished.

"but you didn't. Plus, I'm not really in the closet," you recount the facts, shrugging.

"I'm not your friend, princess. You can't go around telling strangers your identity,"

"we're friends now. You lent me your ointment," you decide, matter-of-factly.

She involuntarily let out a chortle, which she covers up with an almost bitchy flick of the fringe. "If you say so,"

You walk out of the locker room not long after, not realizing Tory is still watching you, with a newfound sense of amusement about you.

—

One week later...

Summer break is really, really near. You wish it would come sooner, as you get antsy about this whole turf war between Cobra Kai and Miyagi-do, like a volcano that's about to erupt without giving anyone within a 30 mile radius any warning.

You're doing your new part time job as a smoothie barista at the mall, and you don't hate it. Bored without anyone walking in, you decide to go to the backroom to sort out inventory, a task you've been putting off for a while.

"Suzy, you mind covering my part behind the counter? I'm gonna do the inventory," you tell your middle aged co-worker of your task, which she waves off without giving a care in the world.

Nodding, you get into the backroom to get sorting.

—

Not even twenty minutes in, you begin hearing ruckus outside. You have half the heart to just stay inside, let whatever's going on out there blow over and then go out...

...but your better angels tell you to go outside and check. You have a middle aged co-worker, for crying out loud! It could get dangerous for them!

So out you go...

...and not even to your surprise, your peers from the two dojos are having a near-brawl in the middle of the mall, the air charged with tension around them.

You sigh. "This again?" You address Suzy, busy blending a smoothie in the juicer.

She shrugs. "kids gotta have hobbies. I guess the valley just need to deal with it,"

You look over the brawl's direction, not even realizing that your eyes are scanning for Tory—but she's not there. Should you be relieved or disappointed?

"you look disappointed," Suzy points out the obvious.

"I was just looking for someone," you shrug, trying to get back to work, despite the brawl going to happen.

A stray empty can cup whizz past you, knocking down the cardboard standee of the place you work in.

"guessing it's too early to clock out?" You ask Suzy, who only gives you a shrug.

The brawl is happening, going all out. Your peers from both dojos are pummelling each other with kicks and punches—all impressive, really, if you don't have a part time job to do; and if they're not knocking down everything they see in their path with their roundhouse kicks.

"shouldn't we call security or something?" You ask Suzy again, who doesn't give you any answer other than incomprehensible grunting.

The brawl makes their way into the smoothie bar, where you try—and fail; to defend the juicers' honors.

Everything gets knocked down, torn to pieces, shattered, and you try to stay away, backing yourself into a corner where they can't possibly get you.

...until a stray fist connects with your jaw, making you stagger backwards... And falling down on the fake grass of the smoothie bar isn't fun.

"are you okay?" An outstretched hand appears in your vision, amidst the blurriness of everything else after being socked in the face.

You take the hand, gingerly getting up. "I think so... I'm a bit dizzy from getting decked in the face,"

The voice laughs. Everything comes into focus, and the one helping you stand is none other than Tory... In a Dim Sum Express uniform. Still gorgeous. "Tory," you mutter, still groggy.

She laughs, not letting go of your sides until you seem fully aware. "Not used to being punched?"

"this is my first time, actually,"

"welcome to San Fernando Valley, princess." Tory fixes you an amused look, a small smile on her lips. "Now you gotta pick a side."

Before you can answer, a flock of security guards and cops file into the mall, breaking the brawl apart.

'Saved by the bell.'

...until they decided to handcuff you and Tory, too.

—

To be continued

#cobra kai x you #cobra kai x reader #tory nichols #tory nichols x reader #tory nichols x you #wlw imagine #cobra kai

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wildbornsiren · 2 years

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Friday Night Pickup | Jake “Hangman” Seresin x F!Reader.

Friday Night Pickup. Synopsis: Girl’s night with work friends gets infinitely more interesting when you catch the attention of one Jake “Hangman” Seresin. One shot 2,940 words. AFAB/Female Civilian reader (some body insecurity) Warnings: Explicit. MINORS DNI. Vaginal sex, vaginal fingering, reader with body/image insecurity. Notes/Thanks: Special love to @evansrogerskitten @2fabul0us4 . Likes/comments/reblogs are very much appreciated. Thank you for reading, it really means the most.

The bar was packed, a sea of uniforms, flight suits and the occasional civilian in street clothes. The air is electric with conversation, snatches of classic rock songs being pumped through overhead speakers. You rise on your toes, trying to spot your coworkers. They had extended an invitation for a girls’ night when you were all chatting in the parking lot after work. You hadn’t been sure if the invitation was one out of obligation, pity, or if the burgeoning feelings of friendship were mutual. You’d like to believe the latter, but old habits died hard. You exhaled, trying to find some source of grounding, fingertips tugging at the hem of your sundress. It was a bit shorter than you liked, but it was one of the few pieces in your wardrobe that made you feel pretty. It hugged your curves just right, the fabric lightweight and breezy. You hear your name over the sounds of laughter and follow the shout to see Beth waving you over enthusiastically. She beams at you when you come closer, getting up off her stool, and hugging you. “You look -amazing-.” She holds you at arm’s length and winks. “I mean you’re gorgeous all buttoned up, but it’s nice to see some skin.” She’s in a cut off denim skirt and a tank top, “Come on, we’ve made some friends.” Somehow you weren’t surprised that she and the others had already made friends. Maggie, Caroline, Ruth and Beth were some of the sweetest women you’ve ever met. They were also drop dead gorgeous, looking like they stepped off the pages of the most recent fashion magazines. Beth’s arm was around your waist, and she leaned in to whisper softly, “You okay?” “This may have been a mistake,” You whisper back. “I’m a 3 in the middle of a 10 convention.” She squeezed your side tightly and shook her head. “One drink, and if you’re not having fun, I’ll help you escape.” Another squeeze, and she lets go only after you nod. “Boys!” Ruth sidles up to your other side. “That’s Payback, Fanboy, and Omaha.” She points at three men in khaki uniforms. “Rooster,” a tall man in a Hawaiian print shirt, aviators hanging from the neckline of his white tank top. He nodded at you, before leaning over the pool table to line up a shot. “That’s Bob.” Ruth points to a man with glasses on the opposite side of the pool table, cue in hand. “The stunning Phoenix who is going to give me her number by the time the night is over, she just doesn’t know it yet.” You bite back a smile at Ruth’s moxie. “You’re forgetting two of the most important things.” A new voice joined the conversation. “This little lady doesn’t have a drink, and she hasn’t been introduced to me.” A sixth man stepped into your line of sight. He smiled, and your heart stopped in your chest. It was a practiced gesture, slow and confident, finished with quick wink. He hands you a bottle of beer after twisting the cap off. “Name’s Hangman.” “He also answers to Bagman.” Phoenix says. “It’s Hangman.” He said again, a bit firmer. “You answered, didn’t you?” Bob said before his cue hit a ball into the corner pocket. “You’re losing by the way.” “Eh, let Bradshaw succeed at something. We’ll call it an early birthday present.” Another flashed grin, more a baring of teeth before his attention turns back to you. “I didn’t catch your name, sweetheart.” You tell him your name, and he raises his bottle in response. He repeats it, and the sound of your name passing those lips with a slight drawl sends shivers down your spine. You take a few swallows of the cold beer, as a distraction. His eyes are brilliantly green and pierce through you with intense focus. “What’s a nice boy like you doing in a place like this?” The words fall out of your mouth, beer marrying perfectly with your nerves. There’s a pause, and you almost believe he didn’t hear you. And then he laughs. It’s warm, rich and you could wrap yourself in it and roll around. He takes up a perch next to you, leaning against the support beam next to your barstool. “Well, I could tell you, but it’s classified.” “See, you were almost something special.” You say. “But you trotted out that line.” You chalked up your confidence from the innate knowledge that there was no way a man like this would take interest in you. He's fit, drop dead gorgeous, an aviator, masculinity oozing from every inch of his body. He leaned in as if you were co-conspirators. “A special-op detachment. I really can’t say anything more than that.” When he leaned in close to speak to you, you could feel the vibrations in his chest when he spoke. Your mouth was dry, the beer sliding down your throat, not sating the thirst that had come over you. You find yourself falling into conversation with him easily. He’s sharp, quick witted and keeps up with you—challenges you. When you talk about your interests, his eyes are fixed on you, drinking in every word. It strikes you that he’s actually listening and engaging, asking legitimate questions and offering up little trinkets and stories of his own life; but most of the conversation stays focused on you. Both of you have moved on from beer, he’s nursing a second old fashioned, and you’re drinking a gin and tonic. “I work with them.” You gesture towards the other women of your party with your glass when you’re asked how you know the other women. “Telecommunications I ah, work in billing with Beth and Ruth. Caroline and Maggie work in sales. “You follow his gaze to the blonde with a dazzling smile, slender build and soft curly hair that tumbled past her shoulders. “She’s single. Her boyfriend was cheating on her, so she dumped him.” Hangman lifted a shoulder in a half shrug. “What about you?” He says easily. “Billing. It’s kind of boring but I get to work with numbers all day.” You finish off the last few swallows of your drink swirling the ice in your glass. “I heard that, I didn’t hear if you’re single.” “I’m sorry?” “Are you single?” He steps closer, fingers raising your chin to look up at him. “I don’t normally care, but I have to behave, this detachment means to much to me to get washed out because I’m getting into fights with people who don’t matter.” His thumb brushes along your lower lip and he continues, “That dress was made to be shown off. Dance with me, and they’ll all see it.” Your body curves toward him magnetically. He’s so close, one leg between your knees, his free hand on the wall behind you. You can almost taste the bourbon on his lips, and when you manage to meet his eyes, there’s no teasing there. He’s earnest, and with your hesitation there’s a flicker of something you can tell he’s not quite used to experiencing. “I’m not a good dancer.” He’s stealing the air from your lungs, the words barely slipping past your lips. “I’m a very good teacher.” He murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “Dance with me ---” He nearly purred your name, “Please?” “Why?” Confusion was not a good look on him. You almost regretted the question, but before you could open your mouth to take it back, his hand is around your wrist, pulling you off the barstool in a smooth motion. Someone wolf whistles as he leads you through the crowd, out the side door that had been propped open by a brick and into the cool night air. It's no easier to breath out here, especially when his fingers slide from your wrist to interlock with your fingers. His hand dwarfs yours, slightly calloused, warm and it just feels right. There’s a moment where higher brain function ceases to exist, you find yourself eye level with his chest, his other hand resting at the small of your back. “Why wouldn’t I want to dance with you?” His lips brush your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “It’s the only way for me to get my hands on you that’s fit for public consumption.” Higher brain function had definitely ceased when those words clicked into place. “And, before you ask, yes, I want to get my hands on you. Well, hands to start.” His chuckle made your stomach flip-flop. “You can have your pick of anyone in that bar.” You can hear the music a bit better out here, and he’s pulled you closer, flush against him. You can feel every angle and hard plane of his body under his uniform. Despite your better judgement, you grip the back of his uniform, trying to ground yourself as he leads you in a slow circle in the back alley. “I have what I want. Right here.” His hand is splayed on your back, five points of heated contact. You’re almost convinced that he can feel the rapid tattoo of your heart against his chest. His lips brush your cheek, along your jaw, and you can feel yourself tipping your head to chase the kiss that didn’t come. “Trust me sugar, I save the world every day. It’s nice to have someone soft to hold onto.” His eyes are soft, not a trace of pity in them. “Tell me what you need to believe me.” “I don’t know if there’s anything you can do in one night. Words are pretty Hangman, and I’ve been humiliated more times than I can count.” You feel a flush as unwanted memories come flooding back. Too many times have you been the butt of jokes, the third wheel, or been ghosted. “I’m not them.” A group of sailors burst through the door, laughing and joking with each other. They migrated to the other end of the alley, a few of them lighting cigarettes. You paused to pull away, only to feel Hangman’s grip tighten, pulling you as close as physically possible.

“Kiss me.” You meet his gaze, jaw set in the challenge. He’d back off with witnesses. You were almost certain of it. You had not calculated the way he would tip your chin up, the feeling of his mouth against yours, and the sound that came from the back of the man’s throat as he kissed you. You could taste the smoky bourbon on his lips as he deepened the kiss. His hand slid to the back of your neck, gripping lightly. You felt that wall you’ve built up to protect yourself from men exactly like him weaken. Your arms slip over his shoulders, his hair surprisingly soft under your fingers. “Fuck.” He whispers against your mouth before he’s kissing you again, slower this time. Deep, claiming, and it’s all you can do to hold onto him. Your back hits the wall, feeling him melt against you. His hands trace over your body, the back of his fingertips brushing the curve of your breasts, down your sides to land on your hips. Your weight shifts as he pulls you flush against him, and he’s hard. He’s also looking at you as if he was starving and you’re his last meal. There’s a flush across those sharp cheekbones, his lips parted, breathing shallow. He dips his head, mouth landing on your neck, his hands sliding over your hips to your ass. You move against him on instinct alone, and the moan that slides against your skin makes your toes curl. Inhibitions loosened by earlier conversation, top shelf gin, and the searing heat from his mouth on your skin, you slide one hand between your bodies, cupping him through his pants. His hips roll, pressing against your hand, and you can feel his cock twitch under your ministrations. He's panting against your collarbone, your name whispered like a prayer. “I give as much as I get darlin.” His voice is heavy, raspy and its music to your ears. “Just remember that.” There’s a wolf whistle from the other end of the alley, and a masculine voice calls out “Get a room, Seresin.” Hangman’s grin is outright predatory when he lifts his head. He winks at you, hands shifting slightly, and he's lifted you, fingertips gripping your thighs as they’re wrapped around his waist. Protest dies on your lips when his hands brush along the inside of your thighs, stopping just short of where your body so desperately needs them. He’s holding you against the wall with just his body and fuck you can’t think anymore. “I need to hear a yes, or no darlin.” Featherlight, his touch strokes along your skin. You nod, licking your lips, throat dry, but manage to squeak out, “yes.” He swallows your moans with another kiss. His fingers slipping under the fabric of your panties, teasing slowly against the wet heat of your core. There’s a slight stretch as two fingers ease into you, any discomfort soothed by the easy glide of his thumb over your clit. There’s nothing in this world but him right now. The press of his body, how easily he holds you, the way his mouth burns against your neck, the soft puffs of breath against damp skin as absolute filth spills from kiss swollen lips. You can only hear his voice, and the way your body responds to his touch, and how desperately you need more than just those skilled hands. “You’re gripping me so tight baby.” His eyes are heavily lidded, his tongue darting out to lick his lips. “So fucking wet for me, you’re soaking my hand.” He nips at ear, the flash of pain making you arch against him. “Gonna cum like this for me? Or can I feel this sweet pussy drain my cock.” “More.” Your head hits the wall, and it’s all you can do to answer him. Pleasure is spiraling through you, moving ever closer to that edge of nothingness as this gorgeous man watches you with hazy eyes. “Say it.” His fingers curl just right, and your entire body tightens in response. “Tell me you want my cock.” You’re not too proud to give him what he wants. “Please, I want,” Your breath hitches as his thumb drags achingly slow circles on your clit. “I want your cock.” You can feel yourself clench around nothingness when his fingers slide from your body. He studies his hand, sucking your wetness from his fingers. “I knew I should have gotten my mouth on that pussy. But we can do that later.” He chuckles softly. There’s a moment of Hangman adjusting you against the wall, the rasp of his uniform’s zipper too loud in your ears. You watch transfixed at as his hand wraps around his cock, stroking a few times working the condom on. Cocks weren’t the most attractive part of anatomy, and it figures that someone who looked as good as him would have a pretty dick. “Thank you darlin.” He winks at you, realization that you said that last bit out loud. Your body had already accommodated his fingers which were thicker and longer than your own; but the press of his cock into you makes you ache in a way you hadn’t realized you had missed. His kiss was different this time, almost tender as he bottoms out, his hips flush against yours. Your fingers tangle in his hair mussing it, tasting yourself and his bourbon on his tongue. Hangman’s eyes flutter closed, a soft moan escaping past parted lips. You can feel his pulse against your lips, rapid and erratic as you kiss his neck, nipping at his collar bone. His hips snap harder into you, driving himself further into you. His touch is in stark contrast to how he’s fucking you, mapping your frame, as though he’s committing your body to memory. His fingers once more find your clit, working you in time with his thrusts, words ghosted against your shoulder as you roll your hips against him, meeting his pace. “Hangman…” every nerve in your body is on fire, sweat beading on your skin, and everything that you are is played so exquisitely by the man pounding into you. Pleasure spirals, nails finding purchase on his back, the guttural snarl against your collarbone nearly tipping you over the edge. “Jake.” You repeat what he said, and he trembles under your hands. He whimpers your name when you come, feeling yourself tightening around that thick cock. He fucks you through your orgasm, unrestrained, erratic before he’s coming and for a moment you see all that tension and arrogance melt away from his features and there’s nothing but soft pleasure. He slumps against you, breathing heavy, the collar of his uniform damp with sweat. “Jake, please…” you’re not sure what you’re asking for when he pulls out of you. His hands shake slightly as he adjusts the hem of your dress. A handful of napkins from the pocket his pants serves as clean up as he gently wipes between your thighs and cleaning himself up. The wall holds you up, your legs jelly, a pleasant ache in your muscles. He grins at you, and it’s a bit crooked, far less perfect than before and the real expression catches your breath. “Why don’t you text your girls, darlin. Let them know that you’re alright.” His thumb traces along your lower lip. “I can take you home, you can reapply that pretty red lipstick and we’ll see what it looks like smeared on my cock.”

#jake seresin x reader #Jake Hangman Seresin #Jake Hangman Seresin x reader #Jake Hangman Seresin x you #top gun maverick fanfiction #Top Gun: Maverick fanfiction #reader insert #reader imagines #shelly writes #Jake Hangman Seresin smut

1K notes · View notes

megamindsecretlair · 8 months

Text

It Started With a Whisper - Chapter 4

Chapter 3 Chapter 5

Pairing: Sam Wilson x Black!Fem!reader / Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+. Minors DNI. You are in charge of your own reading experience. Some sentences are intentional AAVE. Cursing, SMUT. Unprotected PIV (wrap it!), oral fem receiving, fingering fem receiving, dirty talk, pet names, possession kink. Mentions of emotionally abusive family, family trauma, and caregiving. I'm fudging the timeline a bit. Dom Sam, some fluff. Sorry if I missed some!

Summary: You are the front desk clerk who started a few months ago and you have a major crush on Sam Wilson, the handsome and sweet trauma counselor. Sam took you on another sweet date, but you had other plans.

Word Count: 4,029k

Masterlist

A/N: Yeah...just yeah. I don't understand it myself, but WHEW! I've never been to DC, so don't shoot me. Don't forget to take breaks and hydrate! Bit long again, forgive me! Likes are always awesome. Please consider commenting and reblogging to help support writers! If yall understand the gif system on here, please let me know LOL

Taglist: @multiversefanfics @wanniiieeee @hidden-treasures21 @targaryenvampireslayer @chaos-4baby @leahnicole1219

Sam invited you out for a picnic. You hadn’t thought he was serious. So far, he had taken you on a few more dates, each more romantic than the last. Every time you arrived home, you had to pinch yourself. You couldn’t help waiting for the other shoe to drop, but maybe there wasn’t a shoe.

Maybe that was just who Sam was. He was thoughtful, kind, hilarious as hell, and you wanted to be around him more and more. The coffee dates at work weren't enough. Staying up with him on the phone wasn’t enough. Falling asleep to the deep tenor of his voice wasn’t enough. You saw him all day at work, talked to him all night, and went on a handful of dates.

So, on a crisp Saturday afternoon, Sam took you on an honest to God picnic in Gravelly Point Park. It was a stretch of flat, grassy land with a spattering of trees in the distance. It overlooked the Potomac and on such a clear day, the Washington memorial was like a beacon.

Overhead, planes flew by intermittently as they landed. You had mentioned that you loved watching planes once. And here you were, watching planes with Sam. He had spread a large red and black plaid blanket on the ground and packed you a few sandwiches, juice, water, fruit, and chocolate.

“Who helped you plan this one?” You asked.

“Smart ass. I did this myself. I need some credit,” he said. He looked absolutely delicious in a crimson sweater with the sleeves rolled up, dark jeans, and boots. He braced his arm on his leg and faced towards you.

You wore short pants and a breezy top. The weather was exceptionally nice. You brought a jacket just in case, but you loved to feel the sun on your skin. You turned your face towards the sun a little, your sandwich abandoned for the time being.

“Do you always eat so slow?” Sam asked.

“Shut up!” You said and laughed. You picked a piece of bread off of your sandwich and threw it at him. He caught it and laughed, chucking it into his mouth. You watched him lick his lips.

You casted your eyes towards your sandwich while your mind went to all sorts of dirty places. “I got used to making sure my family ate before I did,” you said.

It still wasn’t easy talking about your family. You promised to do so, but you kept waiting for Sam to get frustrated like Ariel did. For him to cut you off or reprimand you for catering to them before you catered to yourself. You looked at him. He looked at you patiently, no hint of judgment or recrimination.

You sighed. Sam didn’t do anything to you. And in your mind, he was America’s most wanted. It soured the delicious taste of the sandwich on your tongue. Your emotions were all over the place. And it wasn’t fair to him.

“Somewhere, somehow, my mom just…stopped being my mom. The dynamics shifted. I became the parent and she became my child. By extension, so did my siblings. And it’s not their fault. It’s no one’s fault. But it’s not easy breaking those habits,” you explained.

“What have you tried to do to break it?” He asked.

You shrugged and ate a bite of the sandwich, letting the rich flavors give you an excuse not to answer right away. A plane flew overhead and you watched the underbelly, trying to guess which airline it was.

When you finished, you looked at him. “Little things. Making my siblings do more of their share. Not running like a hound whenever my mom needs something.”

Sam nodded. “People don’t always like to change when they’ve gotten used to someone taking care of them.”

“My mom is the worst. She expects it like…like I need to serve her before anyone else. And God forbid I make dinner and put my plate down first. You’d think I slapped her. So of course, I feel guilty and try to make it better. Then my food is cold and now I’m pissed.”

Sam nodded. “Have you talked to her about it?”

You chewed on another bite of sandwich, mulling your answer over. “How do you get a brick wall to understand that they’re hurting you? I tell her things, like hey, this is bothering me. She says sorry but keeps doing it.” You shrug. You avoided his gaze. You hated talking about your mom.

Somehow, it always made you feel crappy. As if you were a horrible person talking about the woman who birthed and raised you. Pathetically, you clung to the memories of when your mom was full of life. When she would swing you around and dance with you in the kitchen during Thanksgiving. It was hard to look at her now when she needed so much attention and care.

“Hey, tell me about what you would be doing if you weren’t at the VA,” he said with a smile. He was giving you an out. Try as you might, it was difficult to guard your heart against him.

You smiled. “I actually don’t know. I wanted to do a lot of things while I was in college. I studied a lot of different things. I thought I wanted to be a teacher, or psychologist, or criminologist. I volunteered once at a homeless shelter, got to talking to some of the vets. Reminded me of my dad, since he served. I switched to a social degree, so VA there I went,” you said.

Sam nodded. “I love that. You work really well with people.”

“You’re just trying to butter me up,” you said. You finished off your sandwich. Sam chuckled and took a sip of water. You watched him drink it, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down. You looked over the expanse of his neck, his wide shoulders, and the forearms visible because of his rolled sleeves.

Another plane flew overhead and you snapped out of it. You shouldn’t be openly ogling him. But how could you not? He was so damn hot.

“Come here,” Sam said.

You looked at him, confused, but scooted closer. You sat at an angle so that your shoulder was pressing into his chest. He ran his thumb over the corner of your mouth.

“You had some mustard there,” he said. He pushed his thumb into your mouth and you licked away the mustard. A tingle spread from your thighs outward. Sam pulled his thumb away, his brown eyes darkening as he looked at your mouth. You looked at his.

He kissed you slowly with all of the time in the world. He licked your lips and you made a noise in the back of your throat. You scooted closer to him, though there was nowhere to go. He sucked on your bottom lip, drawing it into his mouth like he wanted to devour you.

Sounds receded. There was only his breath fanning over your and the slide of his fingers around the back of your head, drawing you closer. Your hand was on his thigh, feeling the muscles bunch.

You could have sat there for a minute or an hour. It was you and him and the soft breeze. The tingle worked its way up one side of your body and down the other. Your panties grew damp as he kissed you. He nibbled on your bottom lip before swooping back in for another pass.

Painfully, he leaned back and you chased him before he pressed his forehead against yours. “Been hurtin’ for your kisses lately,” he whispered against your lips.

“It’s all I can think about,” you confessed. Whenever he spoke, whenever he laughed, you were drawn to the way his mouth moved. To his wide lips and the way he smiled. He either smiled like he knew a secret you didn’t or like the whole world was his for the taking.

“Come back to my place,” he said.

He hadn’t phrased it as a question, more of a quiet demand. Without hesitation, you smiled. “Race you to the car.”

He chuckled as you leaned away and started helping him pack away the picnic. A thrill raced through you. Anticipation made your movements jerky, out of control. Both of you were giggling and out of breath as you shoved the remaining food and fruit into the basket.

You stood up and Sam picked up the blanket and shook it out. He didn’t bother folding it neatly. He rolled it into a messy ball and grabbed your hand. He dragged you to the car and giggles escaped you.

At the car, he gave you a quick peck. He opened the door for you and took the basket out of your hands. He threw it into the backseat with the blanket. You got into the car, out of breath and a little sweaty. He closed the door behind you and jogged to his side of the car.

He got in and looked at you, reaching over and grabbing your chin to pull you in for another kiss. “Start the damn car, Sam,” you said. He chuckled.

You ran your hands over your thighs to dry them. You were wound tight, full of raw need. Desire pooled low in your belly.

Sam chuckled and started up the car, peeling out of the parking lot and headed towards his place. Once there, Sam let you out of the car but couldn’t resist pulling you close. You wrapped your arms around his waist as he kissed you again.

You both giggled as he pulled away. Barriers had fled out of the window. There was no time for thinking. You felt like a teenager again, making out for the first time. Everything was new and vibrant.

You wanted to keep touching him. To rub the soft fibers of his sweater in between your fingers. To feel the rough denim of his jeans. The smoothness of his skin. He nuzzled your temple and took a deep breath.

He grabbed the food and blanket from his car before taking your hand and walking up to his place. It was lovely on the outside. A small townhome suitable for a bachelor. He let you walk in first and you braced yourself for the worst.

There was no need. The place had an inviting, colorful feel to it. You immediately stepped into his living room, with a small couch and table. There were pictures and paintings on the wall. He had a lamp with a wooden base over by the window. His living room walls were green but it didn’t look like it carried all over the house.

He had a surprisingly large dinner table for just one man and you peeked at his small kitchen with oak cabinets. Sam dumped the blanket on his couch and the basket on his table. Then he grabbed your hand and tugged you upstairs to his room.

You didn’t notice a thing as he pulled you into his bedroom. The walls were a deep, deep ocean blue. His bed was neatly made, military corners.

Words were unnecessary. You undressed each other. You took off his sweater to reveal the black tank underneath. He lifted your shirt and his eyes narrowed at your dusty rose bra. He licked his lips as he stared at your chest.

He smiled as you reached for each other’s pants, unbuckling it. He wasn’t super tall, but you did have to look up at him. Into his beautiful eyes. He kissed you as you worked the jeans off of his hips. In your haste, you both forgot to kick off your shoes. You laughed as you undid your sandal straps and he kicked off his boots.

Then, the jeans blessedly came off. He wore black briefs and you stared openly at his strong, muscular body. Where the hell was he hiding all of that? You stared at his ass plenty of times over the months, but you had no idea he was packing all of that.

His dick tented his briefs and twitched the more you stared at it. “Pants,” he said, snapping you out of your trance.

You huffed playfully and finished removing your own jeans and showing off your matching underwear. He whistled, low, and his eyes roamed over your body. “You are so damn gorgeous,” he whispered. It was so quiet in the room, it was like he shouted it.

You grinned at him and he approached you. The feverish desperation you had at the park and car came back tenfold. You ripped at his shirt, shoving it over his head. Your hands roamed over his chest and stomach. He didn’t have a traditional six pack. He was packed with muscle but it was sturdier, healthier, with some weight to him. You salivated over his body.

He grabbed both of your wrists in one hand and used his other to snatch the thin cover off of his bed. He shoved it to the side and prodded you to get onto the bed. His bed didn’t sit that high off of the ground, it was the perfect height for his waist.

He followed after you, laying his weight on you and kissing you deeply and passionately. His hands wandered all over your body as if he didn’t know where to grab first. He squeezed your boobs, caressed your belly, and grabbed your fleshy thighs. He settled in between your legs and fit like a perfect puzzle piece.

You relaxed into him the more his hands moved. Your arousal leaked out of you. His dick rubbed against you over your panties and you gasped and sighed, needing more. You were so turned on, you grabbed at his bare back. You ran your nails over it and he trembled on top of you.

He broke the kiss and looked at you. “You’re so fucking sexy, my God,” he said. You laughed. “Me? You should have told me how fuckin’ hot you were under those old man clothes,” you said.

“Old man clothes?” He gasped. He started to tickle you and you squirmed. You pleaded with him to stop. He didn’t. He went for any available area of skin he could tickle and you scooted up the bed, trying to get away from you.

He made a disapproving noise and leaned back. He grabbed your ankles and pulled you back down the bed. Your mouth dropped in a perfect ‘O’ and he nodded. “Thought I was gonna let your sexy ass get away?”

Mistakes were made. You giggled nervously at the ravenous look in his eye. “I’ll never do anything you don’t want me to, okay? Just say stop, and I will,” he said.

You nodded. “I want this,” you told him. He grinned. That was all the invitation he needed. He grabbed your panties and pulled them slowly over your hips and thighs. He kissed the length of them as he dragged them off.

He tossed your panties to the floor and pried your legs open. He panted as he got his first look at the core of you. There was no way to mistake the glistening wet center of you. He took a few deep breaths and closed his eyes.

You worried something was wrong before he got off of the bed and yanked you closer. Your ass half hung off of the bed and he was the only reason your legs hadn’t hit the floor. He knelt, keeping his eyes on you.

He kept them trained on you until he couldn’t anymore. His tongue darted out, teasing your pussy lips before he truly dived in. Your back arched off of the bed as his warm tongue lapped up everything you had leaked out.

“Fuck,” he whispered against your pussy. He consumed you. His tongue played dirty, filthy tricks on your clit. His wet sucking and licking filled his bedroom and you held on to his arms.

Your thighs shook and the heels of your feet dug into his back. You moaned loudly and breathlessly. Desire gutted you and made you move and squirm. Sam held on to you tightly, not giving you much room to wriggle.

He looked up at you, pausing what he was doing. Your juices dripped down his chin and there was a long spit chain from his mouth to your pussy. He placed a sloppy kiss to your thigh and then bit it. You cried out.

“I’m gonna get you there,” he promised. He licked your clit once, twice, and then went back to sucking.

He sped up, as if he could feel your pussy convulsing around nothing. “Sam, Sam, Sam, Sam…” you chanted over and over, gripping his arms. He moved his hands up until he clasped yours, your hands gripping each other's’. You exploded all over his face. You wailed through your orgasm. And he kept sucking throughout it all.

You calmed down but your heart was beating a million miles a second. Sam stood up and wiped his mouth with his discarded shirt. He smirked at you. You were sure you were a mess.

“Got damn, woman. You’re gonna be the death of me,” he said. He swiped his fingers through your folds. You were still sensitive and jerked under his grasp. He helped you scoot up the bed. He grabbed your hands and pulled you into a sitting position so that he could free your titties.

He licked the remnants of your orgasm on his lips before climbing on top of you once more. He kissed you and you tasted yourself on his tongue. You crushed him into your body. He wasn’t nearly close enough.

He chuckled as he kissed down your jaw, to your neck, to your chest. He licked one titty while his hand toyed with the other one. His free hand went back to your slick folds. He rolled his finger around your clit until slipping a finger inside you.

“I need one more,” he said. He looked at you while he switched his attention on your titties. One hand held himself up in the bed while he suckled your other boob. His hand continued to pump in and out of you.

“Sam…” you said. You weren’t used to cumming that many times. Your max was about two. He lifted his head from your chest and smirked at you.

“Give me one more, little one,” he said.

You clenched around his fingers and he smirked. “Oh, you like when I call you ‘little one’.” You shamelessly clenched again. He grinned evilly and got a mischievous glint in his eye. You got the feeling that you just handed a lit match to a firestarter.

He leaned back onto his knees and pulled his finger out, licking his finger. He grabbed your hand and trailed it down his body until he made you cup him. He was big. Bigger than you had ever encountered and your eyes widened slightly.

“I want to give you all of this. But I also want you to be comfortable,” he said. You nodded.

“Words, little one,” he said.

“Yes, Sam,” you said and rolled your eyes.

He released your hand and sat back on his legs as he spread your legs wider. “You made such a mess for me,” he said as he surveyed your pussy. You giggled breathlessly. He returned his fingers to your pussy, moving it back and forth. You made little stuttering moans that made him grin wider.

He added a finger and then a third one. Then he rubbed his thumb along your clit. Soon, you were shaking and convulsing until you were slapping pathetically at his hand on your thigh.

He only chuckled and tilted his head at you. “Aww, you can’t handle it?” He asked.

You shook your head back and forth until he pressed his thumb harder and you came again. “Fuuuck,” you moaned.

You panted as Sam stood up and pulled down his briefs. His thick cock bobbled as he freed himself, precum already dripping out of him. He stroked himself and you licked your lips, watching every glide of his fingers on himself.

“I’m clean, I haven’t been with anyone in about a year. My last check up was last month,” he said.

“Pill,” you said absently, still watching. You came twice and still you wanted more. You wanted more from him. Sunlight poked through his blinds and slanted over his beautiful naked body. He was like some god, standing over you, ready to corrupt you.

He climbed back onto the bed, kissing the daylights out of you. Your tongues meshed together, sloppy, wet, and your harsh breaths mingled.

Sam slotted himself in between your thighs and rubbed his cock up and down your folds, collecting as much of your arousal as he could get. Then he entered you on a vicious growl. His forehead dropped to the crook of your neck.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groaned.

You gasped around the fullness of him inside of you and he wasn’t even fully seated. You bit at his shoulder and he twitched inside of you. He moved, nearly out of instinct. He felt too good. “Don’t stop, please,” you pleaded.

You wanted what he offered. You wanted him deep inside of you. You never felt more connected than you did right then and there. You never wanted him to leave this spot. This right here. Him above you, framed by the setting sun, licking your neck. In his eyes, you felt like the most beautiful person in the entire world.

Sam had a bubble and if you were lucky enough to get inside of it, he made you feel like you were soaring. Flying. He began to stroke and move his hips, speeding up with every slide. You held on to him desperately, communicating without words that you were there. You were there to greedily take everything.

Your hands cradled his head as pistoned inside of you, groaning. “So fucking good, so fucking good,” he murmured against your skin.

You were probably loud as hell in his ear but you didn’t care. You couldn’t contain this one. Your orgasm built and clawed its way to the surface. Your nails dug into Sam’s back and he nodded.

“Just like that, little one. Let it go for me, baby. You take me so well, little one. So fucking well,” he said.

“Sam…I’m so…cl-” You muttered in between strokes. Your voice was small, thin, and more like a tinny wail.

He sped up even more, driving into you and driving you into the bed. He lifted your legs some and drove in deeper. “Oh shit,” you squeaked before you were cumming on his dick.

“That’s my little one,” he praised. He moved his head and gave you a sharp kiss. He bit your lip and you continued to moan through your orgasm.

He came with a deeply satisfied moan. He pushed into you as far as he could go. Making sure that you took every last, single drop. You were both slick with sweat. You ran your hands up and down his back as he huffed.

He dropped on top of you, his full weight crushing you to the bed. You welcomed it all. He twitched inside of you and you squeezed his hips with your thighs. You didn’t want him to leave just yet.

You wanted to take a picture of him right here and now. Freeze this moment forever. There was no drama, no family, no worries. There was just you and him connected.

He kissed your cheek, jaw, and forehead. You both groaned. The mind was willing to keep going, to make this moment stretch for eternity. But the flesh was weak. You did not have a fourth one in you right now. There was no way.

Sam leaned up so he wasn’t still crushing you. You smiled at him. You were both a sweaty mess. And he never looked sexier.

“Can you stay with me?”

You caressed his face, his cheeks, and played with his short goatee. You nodded. “I’ll stay,” you said.

Masterlist | Chapter 3

#Megaminds Secret Files #The Secret Sam Wilson Files #marvel smut #Sam Wilson x Black!reader #Sam Wilson x Fem!reader #Sam Wilson x plus size reader #Sam Wilson x Black reader #Sam Wilson x fem reader #Sam Wilson x reader #Sam Wilson x you #Sam Wilson fics #Sam Wilson fan fic #Sam Wilson fanfics #Sam Wilson fanfic #Sam Wilson fan fiction #Sam Wilson fanfiction #Black writers #Black writer

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missstratford · 1 year

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Drabble 1

A/n: So we consider draco to be somewhere around his 3rd year for this

As I carried the assignment papers in my arms, my heels clicked on the stoned floor heavily. Madam Pompfry had asked me to place these on her bookshelf for grading later. As I entered the breezy classroom, I immediately saw a platinum wash. Having expected the classroom to be empty, I let out a surprised ‘oh’ leading to my eyes meeting his storm cast ones. Without saying much, I continued on my path to the shelves lining the back of the classroom. There were a handful of times when I had a conversation with Malfoy, all of those times included me standing up for the innocent first years that he so eagerly bullied. Since then I’ve hated his prejudice and narcissistic mannerism and personality. Me being a Ravenclaw meant I didn’t often cross his path but was close enough to observe him from afar. Last week, I had come to a blatant conclusion that Malfoy had dimmed her terrible attitude to somewhat manageable. Now I seldom caught him bullying anyone but Potter and his friends from Gryffindor.

I lightly shook my head, ridding myself of thoughts of Malfoy. Shutting the shelf door, I tried to quickly leave but stopped short when I caught sight of Malfoy’s notebook. His shoulders visibly stiffened after becoming aware of my presence near him. I glanced at his textbook, Astronomy by Lyle Soros, no wonder his constellation chart is so very wrong. “you’ve drawn Antares in the wrong position.” I blurted out, not being able to contain myself. Malfoy’s head snaps at me with an alarmed expression. “what? Where?” he asks searching his parchment helplessly. I stop his movements by lifting his parchment and placing it on the desk in front of him. “Here”, I say, drawing my quill out to point at his mistake. Mumbling a quick spell, I erase the error. “Antares star is supposed to be closer to the Lupus constellation, not this far away,” I mumbled as I corrected the drawing. Soft wisps of his breath fell onto my cheek as he leaned to inspect my work. “But I drew exactly the way it’s mentioned in the book.” he tried arguing, his brows furrowing. “That’s because the author never bothered to update their thesis. What you are reading is a two-decade older version.” I offered a sympathetic smile. I half expected him to start chiding me the way he used to, but his answer seemed to startle me. “oh,” he quietly said, “I will have to buy another book I suppose, thank you for your help though. You have no idea how long I’ve been struggling with this.” He offers me a small smile. “Well you can refer to the books by Cleo Hemphill, her books are quite accurate compared to others,” I spoke quickly, my eyes not meeting his, I turned around and left before the conversation could continue.

I definitely blame Draco Malfoy for the sleepless nights spent after that encounter for an entire week. His smile seemed to have ensnared me. It felt as though that smile of his was a secret he kept hidden from the world but had chosen to show me. I kept stealing glances at the platinum-haired boy whenever we shared classes, which led me to conclude that Draco had changed through some miracle, and an even bigger miracle had led me to develop an infatuation with the said boy. I tried to forget about him thinking that he might just be a heartless person on the inside and didn’t deserve my attention until the next week approached.

The now almost filled herbology classroom was brimming with sounds of students, as I hurriedly sat next to my friend, she slid a piece of parchment my way, mentioning that she had found it on my desk. Her eager expression and my curiosity forced me to open the parchment. Heat flooded my cheeks as I read the contents

The book you recommended was truly helpful. I also owe you my O in astronomy. I would like to express my gratitude by offering to take you to flourish and bott if you agree.

~D.M

I craned my head around trying to find the writer of the note, as a quiet voice whispered in my ear, “Well what’s your answer Miss Y/l?” I looked back to meet Draco’s eyes with a lilting smile and whispered back. “You’ve got yourself a date, Mr. Malfoy.”

#draco #draco x reader #draco fic #draco malfoy #x reader #draco malfoy x female reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco malfoy fl #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy fluff #draco lucius malfoy #harry potter #fluff #drabble #draco fluff #draco malfoy x ravenclaw!reader

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ficsilike-reblogged · 1 year

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Down the Rabbit Hole at the El Royale

A/N: Have I had this plot line rolling around in my head since I saw Bad Times in theaters years ago? Yes. Do I know this will get like twelve notes? Also yes. But I liked writing it. So, maybe you guys will enjoy reading it. Pairing: Miles Miller/F!Reader Word Count: 5.4k

Trigger Warnings: violence, organized crime, drug-use, war, murder—please do not read if any of this will upset you!

Summary: Five times Miles is excited to see you and the one time he wished he never met you OR a mysterious woman walks into the El Royale.

The first time Miles saw you, he had thought you were some sort of silver screen starlet, lost on her way to California. You walked in and pulled the silk scarf from around your hair before shoving it into the pocket of your coat. After filling a cup of coffee and grabbing one of the small packets of sugar and creamer, you walked to the front desk with a breezy smile that waned the smallest bit when you spotted him behind the desk.

“You’re new,” you said. It wasn’t a question. Your (pretty) eyes tracked to the nametag on his chest and nodded, as if his name suited him. Before he could say anything else, you placed a crisp ten dollar bill beneath the coffee and slid it toward him. “You look like you could use it.”

Heat tracked up Miles’ cheeks as he shyly took the cup and set it beneath the counter. He’d happily drink it later. “Let me get you your change,” he said, looking away, sure he could start a fire with the warmth burning on his face.

“Oh, get yourself a piece of pie with it. You look like a cherry guy. Am I right?” Leaning over the counter with another smile, Miles could smell your expensive perfume. Light and floral.

“Y-yes, ma’am. I do like it.”

That earned him a laugh as you leaned back. “Good. The guy before you liked pecan and only pecan. No taste whatsoever.”

You were distracting and beautiful and around his age, if he was willing to bet. And a repeat customer, apparently. He didn’t even need to tell you to sign the ledger before you asked for Room 3 in Nevada. You had the cash ready and you waved to him as you left, your high heels tapping lightly on the well-worn carpet before you disappeared. Miles waited for just a moment before grabbing at the ledger just to see your name. And there it was, just beneath the couple who had checked in two days ago.

Carole Lewis. He didn’t think the name suited you.

And then the phone in the back office rang. Miles was quick to answer it, already knowing what the low voice on the other end was going to ask. “Room 3. Nevada.” The line went dead before he could say anything. It always did. But just this once, Miles wanted to ask what you could possibly be doing to warrant being recorded. Maybe you actually were a starlet. Either way, Miles dragged his feet down the dark hallway and toward Room 3 and set a new reel in the camera pointed at your room. As the camera started to whirl, Miles let himself one moment of selfishness.

Just this once, just for a little, he wanted to look, too.

You opened your pristine suitcase and took out a small briefcase and set it on the small nightstand. You frowned, perfect lips pulling down at the corners before you glanced at the mirror as if feeling Miles’ stare. Then you moved the small bag on the nightstand just a fraction; making sure the broad side of it was tilted. As your fingers drifted across the case’s locks, your mouth twisted to the side and Miles would swear he saw tears in your eyes.

You were gone in the morning. The only trace of you was the faintest trace of your perfume in the air of your untouched room. The key to room 3 was tucked neatly back into the cupboard behind the desk as if you had never checked in at all.

The second time Miles saw you came a handful of weeks later. He had been expecting literally anyone else when he heard the front desk bell ding. But there you stood, just as beautiful as last time, with dangling diamond earrings and that same floral perfume. You also had a cup of coffee and a slice of pie from the machine for him. “I see you’re keeping the old place in good shape,” you said, with a smile. There was another ten dollar bill under the coffee. “I was a little worried they’d run you off.”

“Not yet,” he said, voice softer than he intended.

“Good. I’m selfishly happy I get to see a familiar face.” Your smile widened just a fraction and you once again asked for Room 3 in Nevada, handing over more cash for your stay. And he was once again tasked with setting up the camera outside your room. Again, you set a small briefcase on the nightstand and angled it strangely before taking a seat on the edge of the bed. The tiny skirt of your dress rode up the slightest bit and Miles had to pull his eyes away from the long expanse of skin just on the other side of the glass.

That night, when he checked in a man and woman who were definitely married and not to each other, he checked the ledger. You had signed Dr. Mouse. He barely had the other couple out of the lobby before he saw your car, a powder blue Mercedes, roll out of the parking lot. When he went, selfishly–again, to check the camera pointed at your room, the small briefcase had been left behind. When he went to “clean” your room the next day, it was gone.

You had your secrets, too.

The third time Miles saw you came during the last snowfall of the season. It had been a few months since you had vanished from your room again and it seemed the months had brought you trouble. The familiar silk scarf and oversized sunglasses did little to disguise the swelling of your cheek and the cut he saw arcing over your brow. Your knuckles were wrapped beneath your gloves that you tucked into your thick coat’s pockets so you could hand over the money for the room.

“Still want Room 3?”

You smiled; it wasn’t as wide. Probably to avoid opening up the split on your lip. “You’re so good to me, Miles.”

He blushed and turned to grab the key, trying to ignore how his heart was inching its way up his throat. “Are you okay?” He asked quietly, the points of the Nevada keyring digging into his palm. “Is there anything I can-”

“You wanna know what happened?” You asked, looking at him over the edge of your sunglasses as he gave a jerky nod. Humming, you took the key from him and stood straight. “I hit something stupid.”

Yes. You had secrets. Miles was abundantly aware of that when he watched you sign “J. Abberwock.” He watched you walk away, another question on his tongue but he held back. He’d already overstepped. And he was sure he was going to be asked to spy on you again. He knew it. But when you paused at the door and turned back to him, he still hoped that you would say something. Anything.

“I may need a bit of cherry pie tonight. Want to join me?”

The phone rang in the back office but for the first time, Miles let it get to the second ring. “I-I’d like that.”

“Good. See you in an hour.” And, as promised, you appeared an hour later and bought several slices of cherry pie and a cup of coffee of Miles.

“None for you?” He asked as you pushed the cup toward him.

“I can’t stand the taste of it. But I’m sure you have a long night ahead of you.” You had taken off the scarf and sunglasses and the dim light of the hotel’s empty lounge only served to exacerbate your injuries to Miles’ eye. But, as you steered the conversation toward television shows and then toward music and the other guests you had encountered at the rundown hotel, Miles couldn’t bring himself to ask again. He understood needing an escape.

You were funny. And smart. And kind. And had the terrible and wonderful habit of touching the back of Miles’ hand whenever he made you laugh. His poor heart nearly hopped out of his chest when you reached up to push an errant strand of his hair off his forehead when he was telling you a story of a drunk groom who had run away from his wedding a few counties over. The words stalled on his tongue for a moment as your gentle fingers swept across his skin before you tilted your head to the side, wordlessly allowing him to continue with his story.

“You ever think about it?” You asked as he finished.

“What?”

“Getting married. With a face like that, I’d be surprised if you don’t have a string of broken hearts in your wake.” You giggled at the blush you coaxed out of him.

“N-no. I mean, one day. Maybe.” He wanted that. He wanted a different life outside the hotel. He wanted someone to tell his secrets and sins to and hear theirs in return. He wanted to love and be loved. And your pretty eyes always seemed to take center stage in those fantasies.

You hummed around your next bite of cherry pie, licking your lips free of the sticky red sweet. “I could see it. You’d make a handsome groom—a better husband than most have these days.”

“And you?” He asked quietly, half hoping half dreading your answer. “Do you want to get married?”

You sighed. “Maybe. One day. Hard to do in my line of work.”

And before he could stop himself, Miles asked, “what do you do?”

Your smile was all teeth. It reminded Miles of one of the coyotes that had stepped into a trap on his family’s farm back in Indiana. “I’m a transport specialist, of sorts.”

Miles didn’t think transporting anything was supposed to be dangerous. But then again, hotel desk clerks usually didn’t have to send reels of film off to a post office box for things he wasn’t allowed to ask about—so, maybe you had another thing in common. And, when Miles felt sleep finally start to wash over him as the needle rolled out of his grip, he could only think of how soft your touch had been.

The fourth time Miles saw you was over a year later. He had nearly given up on seeing you again after that late night talk. He knew it was ridiculous. He hardly knew you. He didn’t even know your real name and he hated how long it took him to realize you’d always signed in with some sort of Alice in Wonderland pseudonym. But that did not stop his mind from conjuring your face, both bruised and unblemished, when it hazed with drug-induced sleep.

You had made a mark on him, for better or for worse.

And when you walked in on a cool Spring evening, Miles couldn’t hold it against you. You were wearing another short dress; your boots, shiny and probably expensive, made little noise as you crossed the lobby to lean across the desk again, and your smile was just as bright as he remembered. “Hey, stranger.”

And that was it. Miles found himself sitting across from you at the same booth you’d occupied last time, sharing a rhubarb pie because the machine was out of cherry. Neither of you seemed to mind. And it was you who brought up your absence. “Had to take a few jobs on the east coast for a bit.”

“Was there less stupid for you to hit out there?”

You snorted and halfheartedly whacked his arm. “Plenty of stupid on the east coast. Just a different kind. But there were no Miles Millers on the east coast so it was decidedly less fun.”

A familiar warmth bloomed in Miles’ cheeks as he stabbed at the remnants of the pie with his fork. “You’re makin’ fun of me.”

“I’m not,” you said, earnest and honest as your hand settled over his on the table. “I missed you. I’m sorry I was gone for so long.”

Miles looked up at you again. The low light was making your eyes sparkle and he could still smell your perfume. And maybe Miles could be brave again. “I missed you, too.”

Your answering smile was dazzling. And you just kept smiling at him as you continued to trade stories of your lives. Yours seemed decidedly more exciting, even if he would wager that you were only telling him half of it, but you were just as interested in what he told you, too. The stories about rowdy guests, of the food delivery men being caught eating half his promised delivery, all of it. Any of it. Just to keep that smile on your face. But the third time he yawned just before midnight, you were the one to suggest him going to bed.

“Will you be here in the morning?” He just wanted to see you in the light of the morning. Just once. Just to know you were near for the night. Another bit of selfishness.

You gave him another smile. “Maybe, Miles. Maybe.”

He thought about your smile as he watched you walk away. He thought about your smile as he shucked his ill-fitting blazer and grabbed the familiar bag and needles rattled in his drawer. He thought about it as his body sagged, veins thrumming. It was the last thought he had before sleep finally claimed him. You and your pretty smile.

“You are a good man, Miles Miller,” a voice whispered to him. A warm hand pressed against his cheek as his eyes fluttered open. This was a nice dream. It was you, sitting on the edge of his makeshift bed, so close he could smell your perfume. Yes, this was a nice dream. Your skillful fingers carefully took the needle from his arm and undid the tourniquet before pressing your fine silk scarf to the crux of his elbow.

“Pretty…” He murmured, the syllables slow like molasses on his tongue.

You pulled the threadbare blanket over him and smoothed his hair away from his forehead. “You deserve more than this. Good, sweet man.” Then, with a press of your beautiful lips against his temple, you were gone.

Miles woke the next morning and felt his eyes sting with tears as he saw the blood speckled bit of silk crumpled beneath his arm. It hadn’t been a dream. He walked on unsteady feet down the dark, familiar hallway to Nevada 3 and his entire body sagged when he saw the familiar sight of your still-neatly made bed. You were gone. Again. A flash of pink caught his eye and Miles turned, heart in his throat.

See you soon!

You’d written it backward, in your lipstick, just out of frame of the camera in the corner of the mirror. This was for Miles. Just for Miles. You knew about the cameras and you didn’t care. And you said you would see him again soon. Miles let himself smile as he loaded up the film. You’d see him soon. He glanced at the ledger and saw you had signed in as Kat Cheshire.

Miles wished the leap of his heart was out of joy when he saw you for the fifth time. But it wasn’t. You stumbled in, hand pressed to your stomach but Miles could still see the blooming crimson on your pretty white blouse. He threw the desk open and grabbed at your sides, ignoring your pained hiss as he dragged you back into the maintenance closet and let you crumple onto his unmade bed before grabbing at towels and a bottle of antiseptic. You were quiet as he set to work, barely a grunt of pain as he started to stem the bleeding before dumping half the bottle of antiseptic on the wound.

“Bullet or knife?” He asked.

“Knife.” A grimace marred your features as your head tipped back. “Lousy aim. Doesn’t feel like they hit anything important.”

“This happen often enough for you to know that?” He asked. But he could already see the scars twisting up and down your torso.

“Something like that,” you said from between gritted teeth. “And what about you, huh? Where’d you learn to do this?” Your pretty eyes were unfocused but still trained on him.

“The war,” he whispered after a long stretch.

And you only hummed. “Bet it taught you a lot of things you shouldn’t’ve had to learn.”

Miles couldn’t look at you, only peeling the towel back for a moment to make sure the bleeding had at least slowed to a trickle. “Do you know how to sew this shut?”

You nodded as your hand covered his on the towel. “My Grammy would whoop me for the shit knots, but I know how to make sure it’s closed.” The following laugh had an extra bit of blood pooling in the towel.

Someone hit the bell out on the desk but Miles didn’t budge from your side. At least, not until the toe of your expensive shoe nudged against his knee. “Go. I got this.”

“Not gonna disappear on me this time?”

And you fucking smiled. “Not this time.”

The entire time Miles gave his speech to a man who looked suspiciously like a congressman and two women who weren’t his wife, his mind was on you. You in his room with a needle and floss digging into your skin. You in his room and surrounded by a few of his deepest shames. You in his room.

Your smile seemed a little less strained when he finally handed over the key to the honeymoon suite and hurried back to you. He knew the phone would ring in a moment, it always did with guests like that. And you were here, too. It would be a two camera night. But that didn’t matter right now.

You did.

And he couldn’t take his eyes off you as you stood near his rumpled bed. Your blood stained blouse was open now; he could see the twisted loops of the stitches you had sewn and how blood had soaked into the band of your pretty pink bra. “Can I have Room 3, again, please?”

The phone rang.

An hour later, you were back in the lobby in a new shirt and a familiar sparkle in your eye as you leaned against the front desk. Two slices of cherry pie were pushed in his direction. “I think I owe you a bit of an explanation.” For the first time, your smile was timid. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours?”

The pair of you spoke for hours. Hours. He told you everything he could. Everything he had buried. Everything he carried. And you told him just the same. It had been a pair of cruel twists of fate for both of you to fall into your lines of work. Miles had needed a job, something quiet and stable after the war had ripped him apart. Management had preyed on that, knowing he needed this job. And you had come from the wrong side of the tracks and witnessed something you shouldn’t have. You cut a deal, work for them and make more money than you could have ever dreamed of or take a short trip in the back of a van. It was an easy decision. And you were good at it: making sure people paid what they ‘promised’ and delivering it to places like the El Royale where it could be given to the people who were expecting it. Sometimes people needed to be convinced to hand over what they had been told to pay. It wasn’t always money. And you hated knowing that the weight of folded bills differed greatly from…well, other things. The cameras pointed at your room were supposed to be a precaution, to make sure you didn’t take anything from the case and the right person picked it up. Apparently the people Miles worked for knew the people you worked for and had an agreement. Or they were the same people. Neither of you were entirely sure.

“Meeting you has been a silver lining,” you murmured. “You’ve been my bright spot.”

And that was probably one of the saddest and kindest things Miles had ever heard. He had never been anyone’s bright spot. Not since his number was called and he was shipped out. But here you were, in the dim light of the El Royale, holding your secrets up to his like some sort of burnt offering. The song you had picked on the jukebox was coming to a close and Miles almost smiled when you had first picked it, Jefferson Airplane’s “White Rabbit.” It seemed to suit you. But as the final notes rang out through the lobby, you were quick to skitter back toward the jukebox, steps a little stilted but still graceful. The next song started and you made your way back to him, slowing to a stop in front of him.

You stretched out a hand to him with a growing smile. “Dance with me?”

And Miles couldn’t tell you no. He stood and let your smooth hand slide into his as the other rested against his shoulder. His fingers twitched as he grasped at your waist and started to lead you in a muted type of waltz, still mindful of your injuries.

Then he listened to the lyrics.

And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much… Are you still mine? I need your love…

This was a love song.

Lonely rivers sigh, ‘wait for me, wait for me…’ I’ll be coming home, wait for me…

“This song makes me think of you,” you murmured, face turned away, but he could feel each syllable of it with your cheek pressed against his shoulder. “Is that weird?”

“No. No, it isn’t strange.” It was heaven in a sentence. Having you in his arms, surrounded by your perfume and feeling the warmth of you so close…it was heaven.

But the song was short, too short for what Miles wanted. He could have held you forever and the sad look in your eyes as you pulled back made him think you wanted that, too. He could have asked you to stay. Could have asked you to finally finally finally tell him your real name. Could have asked you to dinner. A real dinner—not just pie from the machine. But when your soft lips brushed against the corner of his mouth, all of those questions fizzled to stardust.

“I have to go, Miles. Stay safe for me.”

And then you were gone.

It wasn’t until he was checking out the congressman the next morning that he looked at the ledger. There, in your familiar handwriting, was W. Rabbit.

He would never get to learn your name, would he? He would never get to look at you in the morning light. He would never get to smell your perfume again. He would never get to tell you that he couldn’t listen to that song without thinking of you. He would never learn your name. And with the revelation that Father Flynn wasn’t actually a priest, it seemed that Miles wouldn’t be able to do anything he had hoped to do before he died.

Unforgiven and unfulfilled.

But at least you weren’t here. You were safe. Right?

“Found another one!” One of the hippies shouted as the front doors chimed. And there you were, being dragged in, blood and rain soaking you down to the bone. “This one killed-”

“The lady killed someone?” Billy Lee laughed. Laughed. “Are you sure?”

The other hippie nodded and threw you down to the ground beside the unmoving body of Emily Summerspring. “Beat them to death with my tire iron.”

Billy Lee walked over to you and shoved his foot beneath your ribs, turning you over with another laugh. “Aren’t you something else?”

“I’m something else,” you said, words bloated and slow. “And they were lazy. Easy to kill.” That all but smacked the smile off the hippie’s face.

“Tie her up. Put her with the others.”

You were unceremoniously dragged to your feet again and tied to a chair beside Darlene. Your pretty eyes widened as you finally took in Miles’ appearance. “Miles…”

No.

You weren’t supposed to be here. You were supposed to be safe. You were supposed to be okay. Miles shook his head, feeling his chin quake with another sting of tears. He didn’t want to see you. Not now. If all your late night talks and pretty smiles meant that you ended up here, now, he wished he had never met you.

“Oh, are we on a first name basis with the bellboy?” Billy Lee asked as he draped himself over your shoulders once the ropes were sufficiently tight. “What’s the story there?”

“Leave her alone.”

“I wasn’t asking you, altar boy.”

You winced as the other man tugged at the dangling diamonds in your ear. “He’s my friend. And he isn’t a fucking bellboy.”

Billy Lee hummed and tugged at your earring again until your ear bled. “No. No, I think there’s something more. Friends don’t look at friends like that, do they, Boots?”

“Nah, I think he’s in love with her. But they haven’t fucked yet,” the youngest of the bunch answered, a southern twang almost softening the crassness of her words. Miles vaguely remembered her name was Rose.

It made Billy Lee laugh. “I think you’re right! There’s so much tension!”

All it did was make Miles’ stomach sink. Was this going to be another game to them? One woman was dead and the hippies seemed intent on having another round. He had already survived one round—would he survive another? Would you?

The room suddenly fell into darkness, the hum of the hotel’s power cutting out on the whim of the raging storm to pitch the group into an unsteady quiet. But as the hippies argued over what to do next and the fake priest and sweet Darlene were roped into the labyrinthine conversation about where the mess of money came from, Miles looked at you. There was a nasty gash at your hairline and the rain water had swept a bit of the blood down your face to stain the collar of your dress. But your eyes were bright and focused on him, too. Despite the absolute bloodbath that was sure to come, you smiled.

Wouldn’t that be the best thing for him to see before he died? Just your pretty smile. He may not get the opportunity to confess, but he got to see you one last time. And hopefully you would be able to walk away from all of this. That was what Miles wanted for you. He wanted you to see the morning light for him.

And Darlene started to sing, “Oh, my love, my darling, I’ve hungered for your touch; a long, lonely time…”

Your eyes found Miles’ again and your smile was small this time, a quiet nudge that you remembered the dance you had shared with him to this song. This was your song. And that was all the time he would get to spend with you.

“And time goes by so slowly, and time can do so much…”

But he wanted more. He wanted to leave this behind. He wanted to know how it truly felt to be yours, and you could be his. He wanted to know your name.

“Are you still mine-”

Darlene’s beautiful voice halted as Billy Lee spun the roulette table again. “I’ve heard better.”

The game had begun again.

Then everything happened at once. Father Flynn stood and slammed his head into Billy Lee’s face. Two shots were fired, missing their targets, as Flynn and Billy Lee tumbled through one of the fire pits. Darlene shoved herself back, toppling her chair and taking one of the other hippies down, too. Miles flung himself down, managing to crawl toward the safety of the lounge’s wrap around railing.

But where were you?

Miles turned his head and saw the toppled roulette table, the scattered cash, and the gun. And he froze. He couldn’t do it. 123 people already hung on his soul, he couldn’t do it again. He couldn’t. He didn’t even realize he was saying it over and over again, out loud, until Darlene called out to him, kind eyes pleading.

“Miles, help us!”

Fire spilled out from the destroyed fire pits. The hotel was going to burn down.

“I can’t kill no more people,” he muttered, heart in his throat, angry flashes of dead men cycling through his mind.

“How many people have you killed, Miles?”

His next breath stuttered in his throat. “123.”

There was a long stretch of silence before Darlene managed to smile. “It’s all right. You don’t have to kill more people.”

Something settled in his bones with that simple set of sentences. He didn’t have to. There was no superior officer barking orders at him. There was no threat of a court martial. There were no empty promises of bullshit patriotic duty. He had no obligation.

But then you screamed. And Miles moved.

The gun was a familiar weight in his hand as his fingers curled around it and he pulled back the hammer. He watched the man drag you by the hair to stand near Flynn as Billy Lee pointed a shotgun at you both. Aiming was easy. And so was pulling the trigger.

Rose screamed and dove for Billy Lee’s unmoving form, hands framing his face as she sobbed. But Miles hardly heard it as he moved to shoot the other man, and then the woman who had tried to hide behind a lounge couch, before handing the pistol off to Flynn and hurrying to your side. A new bruise was starting to swell on your cheek but you barely acknowledged it as you started to tug at the rope still tying his hands together. He could smell your perfume, tinged with rainwater and blood.

“Are you okay, sweetheart?”

Your deft fingers faltered and your pretty eyes shot to his. “Sweetheart. That’s new.”

A familiar heat crawled up his cheeks. “Y-you never told me your name.”

“Will you still call me sweetheart if I tell you?” The ropes around his wrists fell to heap around your feet. He was free.

“‘Course I will.”

Another one of your smiles lit up your face before it quickly dropped as your hands slammed into Miles’ chest as you shoved him to the side. Before he could ask what you were doing, Rose had leapt at you, knife in hand. You managed to keep the blade from sliding into your stomach as the younger girl seethed. Your arms shook with the effort but you still managed to force her backward, boots sliding across the carpet, until her back hit the dividing wall. Miles didn’t see you move. Didn’t see your hands turn the knife around. Didn’t see you shove one last time. But Rose fell anyway. And didn’t move again.

Everything after that was a blur. Miles hardly remembered you gently pushing him into the passenger side of your car before peeling out of the parking lot as rain continued to lash against the windshield. He hardly remembered the mumbled goodbyes he gave to Flynn and Darlene before they went their separate ways. He hardly remembered how you promised to ‘handle’ management when they were bound to have questions. “They aren’t a fan of hippies either, you know. We’re going to be just fine.”

But Miles remembered the skies clearing and the dark of the night giving way to a lilac dawn just as you slowed to a stop in front of a small church a few hours later. St. Joseph’s Catholic Church — it was written in faded blue paint just above the door.

“I’ll wait out here, okay? Then we can go see this girl I know; she’ll make sure we get all that buckshot out of you.”

An hour later, Miles walked out of the church, soul a little lighter. And there you stood, leaning against your car in the morning light.

Miles stepped to your side and let his hands settle over your hips. Quiet as the wind, you whispered your name. Miles inched his way closer, shoes knocking into yours and making your smile widen the slightest bit. He reached up and gently cupped your face, mindful of your bruising, and was nearly giddy as you pressed further into his grasp. Then slowly, happily, he leaned in. He whispered your name against your lips and kissed you. It sounded right. You felt right. At that moment, Miles knew he’d follow you anywhere. Down any path, any rabbit hole, as long as you were at his side.

A/N: Please let me know what you think! Thanks for reading!

#miles miller x reader #miles miller x you #miles miller #bad times at the el royale #female reader

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