#i am under your bed forcing you to read this masterpiece

[mushroomminded]

two mushy things, one that just came to me now and one i just feel like saying;

1) the most recent comic is one of those pieces of art so good it makes me go 'god i wish i did that', peak integration of lyric and visual storytelling, absolute masterpiece, 12/10

2) for the last however long we've known one another at this point (sox years I think?), you're one of the key creators who's work- particularly in the narrative space- has pushed me to want to compete and stand on the same level. all of my usual self loathing aside, on a common sense level, i know i've worked hard to hone a writing talent for literally over a decade and that i am, at least, Relatively Decent at writing and have been for a while- even back when we first met. however, i also know that I can always improve- because we never stop improving and growing as creators the more we create, it's inherent to the process- and seeing how well plotted your work is, how your dialogue flows, lit that spark under me of 'i know i'm doing this stuff well already, but i know i can do it better- i myself want to feel like i can match this, what i'm reading'. of course you're not the only creative friend of mine who's had that impact on me, but that doesn't change that you have- and your impact has been quite big in places (you, alongside my partner, are literally one of the driving forces that made me finally pull my finger out and actually work towards 'completing' Barnbellow's Estate, from a mixture of both seeing what you were doing with Micoverse and wanting to match it in the mediums i best could but also, crucially, for your enthusiasm for it). I am very, very lucky to know and have befriended people who are extremely talented in innumerous fields, all of whom are constant inspirations to me, and I just wanted to let you know that you are among that crowd of Artist Friends What Make Me Also Want To Make Things Good Like (and also subsequently why I shove the things I make in your face like 'HEY YO CHECK THIS OUT DO YA LIKE IT DID I DO GOOD', which i can only apologise for but also reassure you you are not the only person that knows me who has to endure it 😅). So, y'know. Keep on doing that, ay.

SEND THIS WHILE IM IN BED AND CANT DRAW MYSELF CRYIN OK.... ITS NOT LIKE THAT MEANS A LOT....

#8 colas

[cheyconicbookreviews]

Loathe to Love You by Ali Hazelwood

Loathe to Love You

Ali Hazelwood is one of the authors who turned me into a romance lover. I love the absolute wittiness and comedy that is her writing style. As far as romance goes, I truly think she is a Jane Austen of our time.

Under One Roof

Man, even just with the prologue I RESONATED with Mara. I had developed a huge crush on my (now husband) when we were “just friends”. Her internal struggle and frustration with her heart hit a little (very) close to home.

When I look at him, all I can see are the creamer-less cups of coffee I’ve had every day since the day I moved in.

Enemies to lovers is obviously the superior romance trope, second solely to only one bed. Liam and Mara start chipping away at the metaphorical barrier between them, my heart started warming, slowly, gently, magically.

And when he spins me around the room, one single, perfect whirl of pure happiness, that’s when I realize it. How incredibly, utterly gone for this man I am. It’s been there for weeks. Months. Whispering in my ear, creeping at me, hitting me in the face like a train on an iron track.

Once again, Mara’s internal struggles are relatable af. Our girl is out here, living her best life, and suddenly realizes that this person is really truly important to her. Jane Austen would be proud. And the smut my GOD the smut in this book is *chef’s kiss*. Ali’s books do a fantastic job of quality over quantity. This is what smut should read like– earth shattering. Not distract from the story. Overall this story had me grinning from ear to ear. I did expect us to find a long lost note from Helena saying she set them up, but it was still perfect without it.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Stuck with You

 It’s 10:45 on a Friday night. And for the third time in less than ten minutes, my world crashes to an end.

forcedproximityforcedproximityforcedproximity This novella bounces back and forth between the past, the brooding awkward budding relationship between Corporate Thor Erik Nowak and Sadie, superduperstitious Italian green engineer, and the present, where the aforementioned two are trapped on an elevator in a building wide power outage. I do, truly, earnestly love forced proximity problem solving. And for the sake of forced proximity problem solving, I will allow the miscommunication trope to slide this one, single time.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Below Zero

 Caring what others think is a lot of work, and – with a handful of exceptions– I’m not a fan of work.

I ardently love Hannah so much. As a fellow RBF queen, I feel this. I’m also in love with the angst set up we have right from the get go– being trapped and your brooding rival comes to save you? ✨bless ✨. Watching Hannah flirt with the ever clueless Ian is magical. The aftermath is even more so.

Okay. This is no first kiss. This is a fucking masterpiece.

I live for angst. It is my absolute favorite. And this book has it in aces. I loved the mutual infatuation, and the absolute heroism in this book. The epilogue is my favorite of the three.

The following day, our kiss is on the front of the New York Times.

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Bonus Chapter I absolutely adored this little bonus chapter insight to the boys :™:. It includes all of my favorite things in romance stories and I’m obsessed. ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

#ali hazelwood #loathe to love you #ian and hannah #erik and sadie #Mara and Liam #steminist #under one roof #stuck with you #below zero

[clarkesyd]

fia's fic recs: marvel's thirteen by @agentxthirteen

Sharon Carter is a fugitive. She passes her time by tracking down SHIELD agents who still haven't been found after the infodump. One of those cases dredges up the past in unexpected and terrible ways. On top of that, Sharon uncovers a Hydra cell only to discover that they have a plan to either rule the world or destroy it in the attempt. Just in case that isn't difficult enough, the US government has figured out her connection to the fugitive Avengers, and someone has stolen her aunt's files - files that might hold the key to saving the world.

With something even larger on the way drawing away her potential resources, Sharon is forced to call on people she hasn't spoken to in years and rely on new allies to take on an ever-growing number of enemies drawn in by Hydra's message of hatred and power.

#marvel #sharon carter #marvel's thirteen #fia's fic recs #i am under your bed forcing you to read this masterpiece #mine

[matryosika]

in control

pairing – chan x reader

word count – 2.2 k

warnings – softdom!chan, sub!reader, mentions of safe word, maturbation (f), slight sadism, mentions of blood (very subtle, reader just bites her lower lip too harsh), edging, praising, bondage (position described: frogtie), use of toys, squirting, dacryphilia.

note – i haven't read this so i apologize for any grammar mistakes in advance, please keep in mind that english is not my first language. have you all missed me? i kind of missed writing as well!

if you want and can, please support me by buying me a ko-fi!

"do you remember your safe word?" chan inquired, tightening the ropes that were gripping both of your wrists against your back.

"mhm", you hummed, your face buried on the mattress while chan finished his little masterpiece. your arse was completely arched for him while your legs were fully bent on your knees and your ankles were tied up against your thighs.

the position itself looked uncomfortable but, as the seconds passed by, you found yourself getting used to it maybe a little bit took quick. the embarrassment of being completely naked and tied up with your cunt exposed while he was still fully clothed only made your core ache, the visible throbs making chan's cock twitch under his pants.

how you ended up in the bed of your attentive, sweet, caring and thoughtful roommate wasn't really a mystery. what was a mystery was how things escalated so quickly, from an innocent chat about your daily struggles up until being tied up and at his mercy.

"i feel like i am losing control over my life" you had confided chan with tears streaming down your cheeks, the uncontrollable sobs and cries making chan's worriness a bit too obvious.

after giving you some solace, he told you that he wanted to make you feel good and help you deal with control, but you never thought he would mean something like this.

but now, you were too deep into it to back down.

"remember the rules," chan's raspy voiced mumbled, one of his digits caressing your slit without a previous warning causing your whole body to shake under the ropes, "you can't cum unless i give you permission to".

"yes chan", you replied your gaze focused on the wall right next to his bed. chan grabbed a fistful of your hair and forced you to face his way, giving you a reasurring smile as soon as he spotted your nervous countenance.

"i will take care of you, yeah?" he whispered, pushing the hair covering your face back and swiping away the small droplets of sweat that were starting to show on your forehead, "don't be scared, i'm right here".

you swallowed hard at his words and nodded as much as you could, feeling his fingers once again prudding in your wet hole.

"good girl" he whispered, noticing his glistening fingers against the dim light that emanated from the window, "getting all worked up for being tied up?"

your cheeks turned bright red at his comment, feeling the embarrassment of getting turned on by so little. "have you ever done this before?"

"no" you replied, repressing the little whimpers that threatened to escape your lips every time chan traced your wetted slit.

"so i'm your first?" he questioned with a smirk, admiring the way your body got covered in goosebumps everytime his digits brushed against your bundle of nerves. cute.

you nodded again, whining once you stopped feeling any kind of stimulation against your core. your eyes drifted on chan's figure that walked all the way to a drawer in his nightstand, one of his hands opening it and taking out what looked like a wand vibrator.

even though you had been living with him for over a year now, your relationship with him wasn't precisely close. you didn't really knew much about him and this was definitely a surprise.

"why do you have that?" you questioned, your hitching breath increasing as you heard the odd sound coming out of the toy.

"let's just say," he replied, putting one hand over the rope tying your wrists while the other maneuvered the wand, "that i enjoy this kind of stuff".

and, although the answer didn't satisfied your curiosity, your whole mind shutted down as you felt a slight pressure of the toy against your exposed clit.

"fuck" you whispered, the ropes on your thighs and ankles imprinting into your skin while you tried your best to stay still.

"does it feels good?" he questioned, his gaze focused on how your weak body fought the restraints.

"yes" you whispered, getting used to the new sensations that chan was providing to your body.

"you are dripping wet," he mumbled, paying close attention to the grimaces of pleasure in your face, "when was the last time you touched yourself?"

"a while ago" you shyly admitted, buring your face deep into the mattress while you tried to repress your whines.

"i don't think you are going to last long," he mumbled, one of his knees getting on top of the bed while applying more pressure to the vibrator against your bundle of nerves, "and i need you to".

"i will," you moaned, your hips pathetically humping the air while your cunt throbbed at the vibrations of the toy, "i will try to control myself".

he gave you a soft smile as he pressed the vibrator even harder against your dripping cunt, making your whole body squirm.

"can you please look at me?" his soft voice queried, him not being too fond of you having your eyes closed. you followed his sweet request, fixing your gaze on him. "why don't you start counting for me out loud?"

"wh-why?" your broken voice questioned.

"i want you to focus on something else" he explained, caressing your arse and back, "that way you will be able to control your orgasm longer".

you looked at him with hesitation, not sure if his tip would work on you. even so, you did as you were told.

starting from 1, you started counting the numbers out loud. as you did, the whines and moans became harder to repress, slipping out of your lips every time you said a number.

"you are doing so good, y/n" he praised, pushing the hair on your face back, "keep on counting for me".

"i can't" you cried, the veins in your forehead popping out with a higher intensity, "chan i can't hold it".

"yes you can and you will," he mumbled, his thumb caressing your lower lips, "aren't you in control?"

you let out another painful cry, your vision getting clouded with the tears that threatened to come out at any second.

"you better not cum yet, y/n" chan whispered his eyes drifting from your face to your cunt. the image of it throbbing almost aggressively was everything he needed to fuck himself inside your pussy until you both came.

but, if he was teaching you about self-control, he needed to show it too.

"keep on counting, i didn't tell you to stop".

"eighty-three" you cried, both of your legs attempting to close together but failing due to the ropes tying you up, "g-god, eighty-four".

"good girl" chan praised, drying out the tears in your eyes, "it's not that hard, is it?"

"chan, it hurts" you mumbled, feeling the overwhelming sensation of having to hold your orgasm longer than usual. even though the feeling was rather new to you, you couldn't deny it felt good.

"i know, princess" he softly cooed, his available hand caressing your hair, "hold it a little longer".

your whole body moved agressively against the ropes, chan's warm touch reassuring you that you were okay and that, as long as you were with him, you were going to be alright.

"eighty-five" you groaned, your painfully hardened nipples brushing against the fabric of the bedsheets and providing you even more estimulation for the promising orgasm, "fuck- i"

"you can't cum" he interrupted with a much more serious tone, "if you want to stop just say your safe word, if you don't then keep on holding your orgasm".

you closed your eyes shut while you pathetically squirmed under him, your hips bucking against the toy while your whole body got covered in your own sweat.

"chan-" you gasped, "i need to-"

"look at me" he demanded, lowering the vibrations on the toy as he looked down on you with empathy, "hold it".

"it hurts so bad, channie" you cried, the drops of sweat decorating your forehead while tears streamed down your cheeks.

chan's cock twitched inside his sweatpants once again as soon as he saw your teary eyes. there was something about this specific sight that had him on edge, knowing that -in that moment- you were nothing but a mindless cockslut made him harder than ever.

you carried yourself around your daily life with so much pride and dominance that seeing you completely submitted to him while you cried and beg for your release did something to him that he hadn't felt before.

"my poor princess can't take it any longer?" he queried with a soft whine, his lips slightly pouting while his hand removed the sweat from off your skin, "it's just a litte bit of pain, i am sure you can handle it, y/n".

you arched your arse even more for him, burying your head further down the mattress and drowning all of your pleas and cries. you couldn't doubt for a second that he could take you both to heaven and hell in a matter of seconds.

"i wish you could see how pretty your body looks tied up like this" he praised, the tip of his digits tracing the sides of your body and touring along the ropes restraining your wrists on your lower back, "you have no idea how bad i am controling myself to not fuck that needy hole of yours right now".

"please-" you panted without breath, moving your hips against the toy once again, "i don't- not the toy- i want you".

"awwww-" chan cooed with endearment, looking at your fucked out face that was struggling to even face him, "look at you, you are not making any sense princess".

"chan-" you cried again, feeling how he pressed down the wand against your core as soon as you tried to speak up, "ple- god".

"use your words" he demanded, "and do it loud so i can hear you properly, can you do that for me?".

"chan-" you whined, the ropes imprinting on your skin and leaving a red-ish tone on it, "please let me cum".

"stay still" chan ordered as soon as he caught you fighting the restraints, "you are going to get your pretty body marked if you keep on moving, princess".

"just please let me cum, please" you cried, biting your lips and moving your hips in circular motions. the undeniable knot on your lower abdomen was too strong to be held and chan knew that.

it didn't took him long to realize that you were at your limit. toes curling up, your cunt visibly throbbing and dripping on the bedsheets, a small cut on your lower lip from how hard you were biting on it and your painfully hardened nipples sold you out this time.

"on the count of three, you are going to let go," he mumbled while sweeping away the small drop of blood forming on your lower lips, "understood?"

"yes, yes" you tried to nod in despair, the neediness and relief of your cries sounding like heavenly music to his ears.

"good girl" he praised, caressing your hair, "one..."

you furrowed your eyebrows while closing your eyes shut, feeling the overwhelming sensations on your bundle of nerves as soon as you felt the vibrations of the wand increasing once again.

"two..."

the sweet release was closer than you imagined and all your body wanted to do was to behave well for him. you wanted to follow his orders around, do as he pleased. for that one second, there was nothing in this world you desired more than being submitted to him every single day of the week, waiting for him to come home while being tied up to his bed with both of your legs spreaded and your cunt exposed.

you wanted to be his personal little fucktoy and you were determined to behave well for him.

"three". he spoke and, just as if your body followed only his words, your hips bucked aggressively against the wand while you came undone on top of it.

you felt your juices dripping out of you and making a mess on the toy an his bed sheets, feeling both aroused and humiliated.

"that's a good fucking girl" he groaned, his eyes lost in the way your arousal leaked out of your core, "cum for me, show me how well behaved you are".

moaning his name over and over, you cried and whine as you felt the nerve-wrecking orgasm washing up on your whole body. chan's hand slowly started to withdrew the toy away from you, admiring how your body twitched and trembled every few seconds as you tried to overcome your high.

"thank you" you panted without breath, feeling the skin on your cheeks getting hotter by the minute, "thank you, thank you, thank you-"

like a mindless slut, all you were able to do was chanting those two words for him over and over again. the buzzing soud of the wand stopped as he placed it over his nightstand and the next sensation you felt was his digits tracing your wetted slit while getting coated with your own orgasm.

"you did good" he praised, approaching both of his fingers to your helpless mouth. he didn't had to gave you any instruction for you to suck on them eagerly, drooling all over them while tears kept on streaming down your cheeks, "how does it taste to feel in control, y/n?"

#skz smut #stray kids smut #bang chan smut #chan smut #bangchan smut #stray kids imagines #stray kids oneshots #skz imagines #skz fluff #kpop smut

[xjoonchildx]

y'all it's about time i put this doctorate in minism to good use, right?

these are all amazing yoongi fics by amazing authors. as with any list i put together, there's no way it's comprehensive and i'm sure i left someone out, but i'll do my best to keep it updated as stories come in!

please note that all fics listed below are 18+/mature unless otherwise indicated.

bound by obiwrites (AO3 only)

current obsession. i don't know how obi manages to write such compelling characters and relationships. i would literally read a fic that was just outtakes from fights between yoongi and OC because their dynamic is that addictive. this is a continuation of the arranged series which you guys know i'm nuts for. so, so good.

strike a chord by @snackhobi

i am weak for a delicious build-up. joy absolutely delivers that in this fic. the slow simmer of the attraction between OC and piano player yoongi (bonus app is so damned satisfying. and just wait till you get to the smut.

i'll float away by @ppersonna

a masterpiece. this fic ripped my damned heart out but in the end it was worth it. a gripping story about addiction and heartbreak and making it through to the other side. wonderful.

take one by @untaemedqueen

one of the wildest and most interesting plots i've read in a damned long time. d's idea was so damned original. a fic within a fic. i loved the way this unfolded and of course, the smut was fuego.

the mark of yun-ki by @ladyartemesia

viola is one of the most creative writers on this site. she weaves a hypnotic tale of birthright and claim in this story that makes you not want to put it down until the very last word.

dig deep by @johobi

this characterization of yoongi absolutely makes my knees weak. the tsundere vibes but at the same time hiding the softness beneath. this story is so creative and wild but then it gets so incredibly hot. truly a fantastic read.

please be naked by @floralseokjin

i said it when i reblogged it, i'll say it again. one of the best yoongi fics i've ever read. i loved the angst and the complicated feelings in this fic. i love love love pining. this was incredibly well done and the smut was absolutely scorching.

birthday girl by @btsarmy9593

one of the most original stories on this site right now. an OC with an unusual situation, a chance encounter, and the relationship that unfolds is so different and fantastic. i love this quiet, confident yoongi and this OC who is slowly coming into her own. one of e's best stories.

want a taste? by @suga-kookiemonster

i believed every single word that came out of yoongi's mouth in this fic. ashley's characterization was perfect, the OC was smart and funny and capable. i'll never look at those massage chairs at the mall the same way again.

moonlit throne by @hobidreams

this is lush and sweeping, truly engrossing. you can absolutely tell the amount of care and detail rain put into this series with the historical backdrop. it is also just a pleasure to read, so wonderfully written and so easy to get lost in each drabble.

backstage by @wwilloww

this fic was so hot it bent my mind. just idol AU yoongi blowing off a little *ahem* steam backstage. willow's writing will forever be some of my favorite and it doesn't matter if she's doing drama or smut or angst, she always delivers.

back to bed by @hesperantha

lil sold this as a sleepy smut and honestly that's the best thing about it. a soft, simmering, believable slice of heaven in between the sheets with min yoongi. sounds great, right? great.

fortuitous by @underthejoon

if you've been following me for .05 seconds you know my ultimate weakness is an arranged marriage fic. this is so wonderfully done, the way these two characters accidentally come together before being put together.

not your fairytale by @yeojaa

i will forever ever ever simp for erin's writing. the flow and the cadence are spectacular. i love how she describes the quiet moments between two people sniffing around one another and as usual, she does that beautifully in this fic. childhood friends to lovers which is a bonus, because as i've mentioned we love a delicious build-up.

a scam marriage by @xotoosweet (SFW)

again, y'a strangers being forced to marry under less than desirable circumstances, right? great. because this fic was great. OC and yoongi cook up a plan to get through a financial tough spot and as with all well-laid plans. well. you know.

blood bounty by @lemonjoonah

lemon's MIND, you guys. one of the most creative writers on this site. this retelling of anastasia is so damned captivating and interesting. i loved this yoongi, afraid of himself and afraid of missing out on something he wants so badly. beautiful.

the dinner party by @lamourche

one of the first BTS fics i ever read and it stands the test of time. i love how real these two are, how evie makes them believably flawed and damaged but still at their essence, good.

miss dial by @versigny and @cyphertrip

okay, this is just a lot of fun. an errant text, a sexy yoongi, a miscommunication and what follows is just hot and satisfying. i love yoongi's characterization in this fic.

#yoongi smut #fic recs #min yoongi

[babyitsfallin]

i'm setting off, but not without my muse | chan

pairing: bang chan/reader

word count: 1.4k

genre: romance, fluff

warnings: none! just some nice cuddling and words of reassurance

summary: chan works too much, you think he should take some time for himself.

Chan is a workaholic.

It’s not a quality that particularly goes under the radar by really anyone; not his groupmates, not his fellow staff, his family, him, but more importantly: you. There are at least four different cans of Monster littered across his desk, the lights dim in the small, confined space. His monitor hangs above him while he works, eyes darting from screen to screen while he clicks into different sections of the song he’s working on. A lazy bass pours out of the speakers as he clicks and drags it, pulling a distorted cymbal sound on top of it until he’s satisfied.

You like watching him work. He’s intent and focused, quite frankly it’s a little sexy, but mostly it’s relaxing. You get to sit and lounge, reading or playing on your phone or working on your own stuff while he does his. It’s a type of togetherness and closeness that’s comfortable, you don’t feel the need to talk or really say much of anything; just being in one another’s presence is enough. Plus, it’s pretty fascinating in the times you do pay attention to what he’s doing. He tends to do things without realizing, muttering under his breath, a mix between Korean and his thick Australian accent, for example. Sometimes he groans, pouting at himself for not getting the result he wants until he sighs and gets back to it. You usually don’t interfere, it’s part of his process. It’s not until he’s doing it in a timespan you deem a little too short for him to be doing it that often that you suggest a break, and he’s forced to sigh and agree with you.

“What do you think of this?” he asks, breaking you out of your thoughts. Your Twitter feed shines on your laptop next to you on the couch, long forgotten in favor of admiring your talented boyfriend. He clicks play, and the instrumental he’s been working on practically bounces off of the walls. It’s slower than the usual song the boys use, something more adjacent to the song he and Hyunjin worked on, but not quite as sexy. A cool electric guitar curls in a few seconds into the intro and you smile, nodding along with the beat. It’s good, no it’s better than good.

“I think it sounds like a new single,” you praise, letting yourself fall into the sound as it envelops you. “What’s the topic for the song, anyways?”

“Dunno, Felix is actually supposed to be set to write this time, they really liked some of what he did on Surfin’,” he replies, and he dons that sweet, adoring smile whenever he talks about Felix, warm and caring. “But he wanted me to produce the instrumental for it, we’re supposed to discuss how it’ll all sound with the lyrics sometime this week.”

“Wow, you sound so professional,” you tease, and Chan rolls his eyes playfully as he turns the track down, swiveling his chair to look at you. “I’m excited to hear it, though. I can’t believe he gets to write his first full, real song.”

“I know right?” Chan smiles. “I’m so proud of him. Hey, maybe you can be in when he records it, give some thoughts, yeah?”

“Wow, what an honor,” you intertwine your fingers together, and place your chin on top of them. “Of course I can.”

“Ah, perfect,” Chan stretches his arms above his head, the edges of his cut shirt revealing his sides as a yawn finally escapes him while the track runs to the end. It isn’t until then that you realize it’s well past any decent time to sleep, flicking your eyes to your laptop to see the clear 5:38 AM right in the corner. Oops.

“We should get some sleep,” you suggest, and you catch Chan closing his eyes for a second, narrowing your own at him.

“Mmm, soon, I just need to –”

“Babe,” you put a touch of an edge in your voice, more of a warning than anything, and he purses his lips at you. “It’s almost six in the morning. The track can wait for finishing touches, it’s not going to run away,” you tease.

“But –”

“C’mere,” you close your laptop, placing it onto the floor as you scoot over, patting the spot next to you on the couch as he eyes it. He stands up, and you hear a light pop in his knees as he makes his way to you. He settles in next to you, wrapping his arms around your middle, as he buries his face into your neck.

He’ll never admit it, you think, but he needs the break. He’s always doing something, writing or producing or giving an interview or learning choreography or taking care of the other members. He doesn’t mind, you know that, but Chan’s always been one to overextend himself. He always gives so much of himself to others, you included, and has a tendency to forget himself. You catch a glimpse of his eyebags, deep and heavy from the corner of your eye and it has you bringing a hand to curl in his hair as he properly relaxes into you.

“You shouldn’t work yourself so hard,” you mumble, letting your nails scratch lightly at his scalp. He gives a sound of appreciation and squeezes you tighter.

“I know,” he whispers into your neck, and it tickles just a touch.

“I’m serious,” you keep your voice low. You don’t want to yell at him, but more so…to remind him. Chan’s always taking care of others, watching over them and making sure they’re taken care of. You think it’s time someone was there to take care of him for once. “You shouldn’t worry about being up into the morning hours to just work on something. It’s not good for you.”

He stays silent, his hand rubbing circles into your shirt, like he’s contemplating your words, actually taking them to heart. His breath is soft and warm against your skin, and despite the conversation, it’s a comforting feeling to be surrounded by him, held by him.

“Okay,” he says, and he shifts, resting his chin against your shoulder to look at you. “…I’ll ask for some time off. It’s been a while, anyway. We could all use it.”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, really,” he smiles, and he presses a kiss against your shoulder. “Let’s take a trip somewhere, just the two of us.”

“…Really?” you ask again, and he laughs, bright and like honey, your favorite sound in the world.

“Yes, really,” he grins, teasing tone in his voice, a light giggle mixed in. “Feels like the only time alone we get is in here, you deserve romance! A picnic and a night sky!”

“I like watching you work,” you insist. “It’s nice, and relaxing.”

“Did you not just tell me I work too much?” he grins, and you narrow your eyes at him good naturedly.

“You do,” you say, and move to kiss the tip of his nose, earning a sound that crosses between a giggle and fake disgust. “I’m just saying don’t feel bad that this it the time we have to spend together. It’s not a punishment to watch you create masterpieces.”

“I’m so glad you think Cheese is a masterpiece.”

“It is, you helped make it,” you grin, and he returns it, letting his eyes slide shut. “It doesn’t matter where we are, or what we’re doing, I’m just glad I get to be with you doing it. But,” you pause, and he lifts his brows in wait, keeping his eyes shut. “ I do want us to feed each other and be totally gross while you point out constellations.”

“Then I guess I’ll just have to give you exactly what you want, huh?” he hums.

“I guess you will.”

He smiles in response, and you start to feel the evening out of his breath, a whispered, groggy “I love you,” before sleep finally pulls him in, rested against you, his arms loose around your waist now as he leans into you. You rest your cheek onto the top of his head, letting your own lids slide shut, cuddling in next to him.

It’s not the most ideal sleeping arrangement, you know you’d both be more comfortable sleeping laying down, even in the tiny bed back at his dorm, but having him draped all over you, finally getting the rest that’d been pulling at him for ages, well, the ideals could always be saved for later. Right now you had your boy, and a sweet promise of something even more exciting later; what more could you ask for.

#stray kids fanfiction #bang chan fanfic #bangchan fanfiction #bang chan x reader #bang chan x y/n #bang chan fluff #hello..... #this is my first time doing readerfic #chan overworks himself and it stresses me out so i needed. to write something #i made this as...gender neutral as possible hopefully that comes across #anyways just nice cuddles and side felix appreciation. thats yalls son/baby brother now. #fics

[chanluster]

the duke and i | {m} ; {f}

teaser | bridgerton! au | f2l! au | approx. 25k words

“The Duke of Hastings can show you much more than what you write of.”

s u m m a r y >> wishing to be a successful writer in the regency period seemed next to impossible for the sole daughter of a dead earl. with arising pressures from your mother to tie the knot, you turn to your dearest friend, hwang hyunjin, duke of hastings and the most eligible, scandalous bachelor of the season, for assistance. when he suggests the insane of idea of marrying each other to help each other, you agree to the proposal, unaware of just how much the duke can teach you of the wonders of matrimony.

w a r n i n g s >> noble! reader, duke! hyunjin, hyunjin is a fucking rake, reader is a fucking nerd, also really really innocent, hyunjin is sosososo hot, a lot of teasing, endearments, sexual tension, kissing, making out, corruption kink!!!!! corruption! fucking! kink! oral (f. receiving) fingering, unprotected sex (stay safe hoemies!!) orgasming on multiple occasions, (kind of) hate sex, there is fluff i promise, tiny bit of angst

p l a y l i s t >> here!

t a g l i s t >> @fivefootfuryanon @h0eforhyunjin16 @seoulicitae @linoscult @aliceu @hwangi @shipsaremything98 @babyyynatty @kabira @danyxthirstae01 @sunseokkies @lunefilm @severetimetravelnerd @minaamhh @starry--koo @ninjaleeknow @hyunjeonnies @inlovewithasa @titleisyettobemade @maedesculpaeusoubi​@healinghyunjin @fleeingreality (send an ask if u wish to be added!!)

a u t h o r ’ s  n o t e >> hello hi i am finally writing this fic!! bridgerton may be problematic but simon basset was still the sexiest man i’ve ever seen in period dramas so here is hyunjin being that exact sex god in this teaser i hope you enjoy <3

back to masterlist

“____, YOU HAVE WRITTEN A BLOODY MASTERPIECE!”

Your entire body stilled.

“I...I did what?”

“Wrote a masterpiece!” He swiped through the pages, lighting up at each word that passed his gaze. “A bestseller! An award winning novel!” 

A smile worked its way onto your lips. “You...you really think so?”

Sighing out in exasperation, he set the papers upon the desk as he began to lose his initial anger. “How could you be embarrassed about something so beautiful?” He put his hand on the gold chair, leaning onto its head. “Your descriptions were lovely, the characters are perfectly imperfect. You have really outdone a lot of the writers in circulation.”

Your shoulders sagged a little — almost as if you had been carrying a heavy burden, and this man had taken it off of you.

You made sure he saw your joy when you said, “Thank you, blondie.”

Seeing the pure contentment upon your face had your friend looking away, eyes narrowing to the plans once again.

“There was, however, one thing which needed improvement.”

The setback had you straightening once again, eager to hear. At least he was not sweetening it fully. “Go on.”

“As I was reading through, right till the end, I noticed a lack of very important details.” 

That was quite strange. “A lack of?” you asked, when you were so sure that you had added too much of everything.

“Yes.”

His fingers drummed against the velvet of the chair.

“I noticed that there was a deep lack of...passion.”

An incredulous look was your reply. “Passion?”

“Yes, passion. Desire.” He jerked his head towards the papers. “I hardly saw any of those emotions in the book.”

This new information was certainly quite worrying. “But I do not understand,” you started. “My whole novel is based on this relationship, of the love that blossoms and grows—”

“I understand that, darling, I really do,” he said. “I know what you are going to say.” 

The drumming continued. “But where is that residing in the chapters? Where is that physical lust implied in the characters?”

Lust. 

You had heard of the word before. Heard of its implications, yet never grasped the weight of its meaning. Was it just another form of longing? 

If only your mother had given you an education on this side of love.

“What do you mean...lust?”

Hyunjin raised a groomed brow. “What else could I mean, angel?”

The way he voiced that question, that endearment had you parting your mouth, unable to say anything. You tried to speak, to say something to ease the tension which came slithering back into the bedroom.

“I...what were you expecting? From the relationship.”

Curling his locks behind his ear, his gaze became obscure. “You spoke of forbidden love, of...of a coupling which should not be occurring but happened through the fate of the universe. Is that right?”

When you nodded, he carried on. “See, I did not sense that from their exchanges. Their emotions are tame, chaste. An innocence which cannot be tainted.

“Now where is the fun in that?”

You dared not break his gaze. “What is that ‘fun’?”

His eyes seemed to darken. “That ‘fun’ in the relationship is physicality. Where is that in your novel?” 

He took a step towards you. “Where are the unbreaking stares? The curious hands, aching to caress another’s? Where are the trembling breaths, the lust-stained sighs that fan lovers’ lips?”

The duke had you craning your neck back as he looked down at you. “Where are the kisses, my darling?”

You gulped. “K-kisses?”

“Yes, kisses,” he repeated softly. “Lips enveloping lips, tasting your inner workings? Travelling to your neck, your collarbone...places which cannot even be whispered in polite society?”

Each part he mentioned had its goosebumps pricking.

The bastard still did not stop. “Where is that passion, ____? Where is that forbidden love, which makes the heart burn wilder?”

And as he descended before you on his knees, hands settling on your lap, you had a feeling swirl up your sides which had never struck you before.

“If I were the man in your book, I would not be tame with you.” 

His eyes offered a new, intimidating darkness. “Because if you were my woman, then I do not think I’d control myself. The moment I’d catch the innocence dancing in your eyes, I’d have waltzed it away into my shadows.

“Only God could save you from my hunger, then.”

Silence descended upon the two of you.

One waiting for the other to speak, and the other unable to form the words to do so.

The moon had illuminated your husband, one side of his face glowing like a celestial being, the other side basked in darkness. How strange, when he had compared himself to it just a few moments before.

You seemed unable to look away from him. His gaze, always intense, now became so penetrating you wondered whether he could glance at your soul, quivering from his feedback. 

Improvements which you still did not quite comprehend, despite the implications.

Somehow, he could see it on your face. “I have a feeling you still do not grasp the idea. Is that correct?”

A half nod. “I…” God, speak! “I just...I have never understood it, Hyunjin.”

Your head dipped down, darting at the plains of your hands. “You asked me about lust, and I simply cannot answer because I do not know. I have never experienced such emotion.

“Hell, I have not witnessed a single action that you spoke of. How could you expect me to write of desires I have never even felt?”

This.

This was unchartered territory. This was a terrain you had not explored with him.

Yes, he was your best friend. But one does not talk of such...dangerous conservation when your best friend happens to be a man — a complete rake, at that.

It seemed as if the rake, too, was thinking the same. 

His legs, a force which had never let him down, threatened to buckle under him. His mouth opened, only for silence to answer you. 

Lord and all His subjects help him. He did not think he could contain it any longer.

And as his eyes exposed you, vulnerable before him, he only knew of one thing — one fact within this ocean of uncertainty you swam in.

He would jump into the waters for you. But not in the notion to haul you out to safety.

No, the duke would drag you down further, with him as your sole saviour.

Or even your destroyer. Your fated undoing.

For the Duke of Hastings will absolutely ruin you, body and soul.

“Hyunjin?”

A blink.

A singular action, dragging him back to dark, dark reality — sweeter than his fantasies as it sat before him, shy and wide-eyed.

An innocent reality all for him to defile.

“Yes, angel?”

You tried not to shudder at his lilting whisper. “How am I to be helped?”

The man did not even think of the possibilities, to your surprise.

If only you knew, how long he had kept them hidden for.

“How about...how about I assist you?”

Confusion washed over your features. “And how would you assist me, Hyunjin? You have never written a novel.”

His answer was a chuckle, revealing slight glimpses of his teeth as he stood.

“That is true, yes.”

Sitting down beside you, he planted his hands behind him on the bed, leaning into the position. 

“But what I can provide aid for is the one feature you lack in your writing.”

His voice right behind gave you a fright.

“Pure, raw lust.”

Looking over yourself, you watched him reclined in ease. Your speech was uneven as you said, “And...and how will you help me with that?”

“Simple, my darling.” A pause, looking you over. “I shall provide you with examples. Show you what truly happens between a man and woman when all they yearn for is each other.”

He saw the further questions in your gaze. The questions you dared not voice out loud, perhaps dared not understand. 

Smirking, he sat himself up, eyes never leaving yours as his hands encircled your own, bunched up in your dress. As his fingers brushed against your linen he felt his skin go aflame. 

“If, of course, you would let me.”

Tilting your head slightly upwards, you sensed a foreign warmth envelop your face, burning at the sight of your friend studying you like an empty canvas, begging to be filled.

Maybe you were an empty sheet of paper, waiting to be painted with guidance by the master. Maybe that master was beside you all along.

“What will you do to me, Hyunjin?”

There it was. The question which may have been his drug — his purest form of opium. 

Because when his hands travelled upwards, sliding to your face and imprisoning you with his stare, he knew he would become addicted.

A shame he did not care for his well-being when you were so fucking tempting.

“Show you what real passion tastes like.”

#stray kids smut #stray kids imagines #hwang hyunjin smut #hyunjin smut #hwang hyunjin imagines #hyunjin imagines #hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin fluff #hwang hyunjin oneshot #hyunjin oneshot #hwang hyunjin #hyunjin x reader #hwang hyunjin x reader #hyunjin

[op-imaginesandmore]

Well howdy again! I was wondering if you could do a scenario with Law sitting with his s/o while they are getting their first tattoo? And a scenario of Zoro training with s/o and it turns into cuteness :3

I know it’s been *checks notes* actual years since I have touched this blog, but I kinda wanted to try my hand at a few of the asks I have in my inbox. Because these are both characters I am comfortable writing for, I shall do two scenarios *jazz hands*. I know it won’t be worth the wait, because nothing is worth over two years of waiting, but I hope it is enjoyable nonetheless! And for those of you who enjoy this and my writing, thank you! My inbox will not be re-opening for the foreseeable future though, I don’t want to get anymore people’s hopes up.

Pairings: Law x GN!reader in the first, Zoro x GN!reader in the second

Warnings: Fluff, mild smut (a little bit of spice, then the teasing of spice), tattoos, tickling, non-beta’d (if that counts as a warning)

***

Law:

The gentle buzzing of the tattoo gun had become almost cathartic in the years Law had been doing the art on the side. His crew had thought it ridiculously cool that he did most of his own tattoos, and had insisted he do theirs too. Bepo was heartbroken over the fact that no matter how much he shaved, the pirate insignia permanently on his neck never seemed to be completely visible because of his thick fur.

He had shrugged nonchalantly at all of his crew’s requests, a small hint of a smile upon his easy going face as he went to collect his gun, ink, and needles.

Then you asked him, a smile on your soft lips as you kissed him down his bare chest, blankets tangled between your legs.

“Wanna pop my tattoo cherry?” You had teased, biting him playfully on the shoulder and eliciting an almost purr from the feared surgeon “I’ve always wanted to see how those hands feel” a kiss to his neck “making a masterpiece on virgin skin” a bite to the shell of his ear, and he growled, flipping you onto onto your back. A giggle escaped you, and then a pleasured moan as his skilled, slender hands played along down your body and teased at your most intimate parts.

“Where and when, but I get to pick the masterpiece and where I put it”

A soft sigh had escaped from you as he bit down on your collar and sucked. All you could do was give a flustered nod, face hot against his cheek as he kissed higher and higher before claiming your lips with his own, a smirk playing on his features.

And now, here you were, eyes watching the concentrated look of his clenched jaw as he tattooed your shoulder. You were laying on your belly on his bed, shirtless and hiding your winces in your forearms.

He had insisted it be a surprise, an uncharacteristic excitement alighting in his eyes as he teased you about it. You were excited too, trusting him to give you something you’re sure will be perfect.

The buzzing of the tattoo gun stopped, and he seemed to pause a moment after giving it a gentle swipe to rid it of the excess ink. You watched as he worried at his thumb, biting it between his teeth in thought before taking a deep breath.

“Okay, let’s get you a mirror.”

He actually sounded a little nervous. You smiled encouragingly at him, taking his offered hand and walking to the full length mirror he kept in his room on the ship. He handed you a smaller mirror to get a better angle of it, and you got your first glimpse.

An awe filled smile spread like softened butter over your face.

It was the landscape of a familiar beach, far away on your home island, a sunset shining orange and pink over crystalline waters and Law’s ship haloed in the distance.

“Where we first met” Law rumbled behind you, watching closely at your reaction “I thought that you’d want a piece of home with you, always” he paused, a hand going to the dip of your hip, finger going into one of your belt loops and fidgeting with the fabric “do you like it?”

You breathed in, hand going to the tattoo and softly caressing the scene. A smile, soft and warm, threatened to split your face clean in two.

“I love it” you smiled, and put the mirror down and turned to face your lover, pressing your bare chest to his “almost as much as I love you”

They kissed, both smiling into each others mouths and you pounced, forcing Law to catch your legs as they wrapped around his waist. He chuckled into the kiss.

“Let’s wrap that up before we get carried away”

“But we are going to get carried away, yes?” You gasped as he nipped at your neck, his strong hold on your ass tightening.

“Oh kitten” he purred, his warm breath tickling your ear “I’m gonna have you begging for more when I’m done with you”

Zoro:

“What page are you on?”

You glanced briefly at the bottom corner of the page you were currently reading.

“765”

“Okay, cool”

And he continued the push-ups.

It had become somewhat of a routine for the two of you. Once you had already finished with your own training, excersized to the point of exhaustion, you would climb up to the library, grab a new book, and Zoro would do his cool down push-ups with you criss-cross on his back, reading your book to the point where your partner was satisfied, and you’d usually go down for dinner with him.

Today, though, you were feeling mischievous.

Marking the page you were on (869), you shifted slightly, fingers running softly through Zoro’s short locks.

The swordsman stopped as he came up from the push-up, head tilting slightly to pin you with a curious look. You gave him a teasing smile as you slid off his back and then slid under him. The look went from curious to unamused rather quickly as a blush creeped up his chest from the look you were giving him.

“What?” You asked innocently, teasing smile threatening to give away your intentions “training doesn’t have to be all push-ups and weight lifting” you looked up at him with a smirk “we can work on stamina, or if you insist, I can be your weights today.” Your fingers were roaming over the peaks and plateaus of his hardened muscles, the valley between each of his abs dripping with a hard-earned sweat from the thousands of push-ups he’d been doing. His face had softened from the unamused look he had been giving you, now he closed his eyes with a shuddering breath as your hands dipped low enough to graze the hem of his black pants.

He was right where you wanted him.

Quicker than Luffy’s fists, you tickled him - tickled him — just under his armpits where you knew he was sensitive. The great and powerful pirate hunter yelped, dropping on top of you in his surprise and eliciting a maniacal laugh of your own as he tried, and failed, to escape your ministrations, straddled on top of him now. The involuntary giggles you got out of him made you give a victorious laugh of your own, before your arrogance became your downfall. Quick as a whip, the swordsman flipped you onto your back, one of his large hands gripping both of yours in a vise like grip and the other one twitching in time with the vein in his forehead.

“You’re gonna pay for that” he seethed, an evil grin and a glint in his eye promising retribution.

Jokes on him cause you weren’t ticklish, which he found so frustrating he growled, only making you snicker and attempt to tickle him back when you freed yourself from his grasp. He dodged, smacking your hands away and attempting to leap up only for you to be on him like a damn spider monkey, wrapping yourself around him like gift wrap on a present.

You nuzzled into his neck, not sorry in the slightest, but wanting to be sweet now. He harrumphed like the grump he was, the image of the two of you, him sitting cross legged on the floor with his arms crossed over his chest and you wrapped around him a funny sight to behold. You bite at his ear and his lips twitched ever so slightly.

“If I say I’m sorry, will you still wanna have some fun?” You purred, a grin playing upon your lips. Zoro scoffed, the blush on his face deepening with every kiss and nip you laid upon his neck and you could feel him turning to putty in your arms.

But just as you thought you’d get your way, Zoro grinned conspirationally.

Before you knew what was happening, he had maneuvered his way out of your grasp and was walking towards the door, picking up his discarded shirt from the floor. He gave you a sidelong look, giving you an almost predatory smirk.

“If you’re good, maybe we can have some fun later when everyone else is asleep” he shrugged “I have first watch”

And then the bastard winked before opening the hatch and descending the ladder.

You blinked a few times, scoffed at the hilarity of being one upped for the first time in your long standing relationship with the Marimo, and scrambled after him down the ladder.

#Zoro #trafalgar law #One Piece #zoro x reader #Law x Reader #one piece imagine #scenario #one piece scenario

[plussizeappreciationfics]

Series: Just the assistant..?

Pairing: Tom Hiddleston x Plus sized reader

Summary: [Y/N], Tom's personal assistant knows that she shouldn't have fallen in love with her employer but she just couldn't help herself. When she thinks that her biggest wish is about to come true, a third party arrives and makes her question whether she'd ever have a chance to escape her situation and simply be loved back by the person she loves the most...

Warning(s): adult language

Word count: 2,3k 

Picture(s) found on: Pinterest/Google

CHAPTER TWO: The boundaries have been overstepped

“I’m fine, just make sure that the stylist closes the door behind her once you’re gone” [Y/N] spoke into her phone before letting out a soft cough, her throat sore and itchy. She heard a long sigh from the other end of the line and rolled her eyes.

“Tom, this isn’t the first time I’m sick. So what, I caught a cold a three days ago, it’s not the end of the world” she couldn’t see the actor’s frown increasing on his face as he listened to her weak voice explaining her situation. 

Hours before, the assistant had been tossing and turning in her bed for quite a while, her body not being at peace because it longed to be held again by Tom. She couldn’t stop thinking about the dinner, how intense his stares has been and how he suddenly seemed so interested in her. [Y/N] was staring at the dark ceiling of her room and shook her head in contentment, having a feeling that something special would happen to her very soon.

He felt bad because he technically had been the reason his assistant had gotten sick in the first place; After their celebration dinner, Tom had ended up not being able to fall asleep, so he had called [Y/N] over and they ended up stargazing in his backyard, barely speaking a word with each other. They just sat next to each other, shoulders and arms touching and looked up the beautiful sky with a faint smile ghosting on their lips.

By the time [Y/N] had returned home, she was a coughing and sneezing mess and thus resulted in her having to take a week off because she had caught a nasty cold. She was on her 4th day off and pretty much enjoyed not having to do much physical activity besides feeding herself and taking her medication on time.

“Tom? Are you still there?” the assistant asked, wondering why he was being so silent. The actor cleared his throat and felt his stomach churn in discomfort, the intense need to take care of [Y/N] making it hard for him to focus on anything else. He couldn’t have a good day while knowing that she was in poor health and discomfort, he wished that he could heal her with a simple hug but that was obviously impossible.

Her thoughts had been interrupted by Tom calling her, nervously asking her if his call wasn’t a disturbance because the world was fast asleep. [Y/N] gently told him that she hadn’t been able to sleep either before happily accepting his invitation to stargaze in his backyard as he had one of the best views.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m still here…Just let me know if there’s anything I can do for you. Anything. I-need you-I mean we need you strong and healthy again” Tom added a quick fake cough at the end as he had realized that he was starting to slip, he had been thinking about his assistant a lot the past few days and had found himself calling and texting her more than usual, she reciprocated to his mood and energy though. So he knew that he wasn’t bothering her at all.

Her stomach was fluttering in delight and she couldn’t help but smile and stare into space. Something is happening, Tom has been very attentive and kinda needy of my presence the last few days…Maybe he’s starting to feel the same way…Or maybe he’s going through something and is gathering the courage to finally share it with me…

“I’ll be fineeeeee, just don’t forget to tell me who your costars will be on the play. Bye” and with that, [Y/N] quickly hung up the phone before releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding in. She had heard the slip up and forced herself to not read too much in between the lines. 

“Anyhow” [Y/N] muttered to herself while getting comfortable under the warm sheets of her bed. She still had three days of peace and quiet and was enjoying them by getting as much sleep as possible and catching up with her reading list. Today she would’ve had a busy day ahead; Tom had 2 talk shows appearances. 

She thankfully already had helped him arrange his wardrobe for the appearances through her phone and laptop, the stylist only had to come by and deliver the suits, which would be in an hour, but [Y/N] already had strictly (but kindly) instructed her to do her job and make sure that everything was alright with the clothes.

Tom had gotten a fresh trim the morning and had decided to let his long curls stay the way they were (because [Y/N] had voiced a nice compliment about the way it looked so the actor silently decided to grow it out a little more).

His driver was also on his way as he preferred to be driven to public events. Tom’s fans were known for blocking entries and streets once they’d know he’d be present somewhere. He loved his fans to death, but he knew that driving himself through a sea of frantic people (with his already bad eyesight) could cause a serious accident. 

Everything that had to be done, was done. So, [Y/N] was able to relax and focus on getting her health back on track.

She took one final glance at her phone before locking the screen and placing it on her nightstand, feeling tired and sore. It didn’t take her long to fall asleep, with her special someone lingering in her mind…

“What are you doing here?” [Y/N] wondered in confusion upon seeing Tom welcome himself into her home, his jacket already removed along with the shoes. He then made his way over to the couch where she comfortably seated, her phone in her hand and looking through her mails. She silently was thankfully for the shower she had taken thirty minutes ago because she looked like her normal self and also smelled good.

“I am here to keep you company on your final days off as I know that you have missed my presence oh so much” the actor added a dramatic sigh while sitting next to his assistant and appreciating her beauty from up close. “Of course did I miss you, I can’t stand to be parted from you for so long, oh my dear Thomas” she reciprocated his dramatic and sarcastic tone, although she was being completely honest.

Three days later

“Then we shall enjoy each other’s company before the hectic and busy world seeks our attention again, M’lady” the actor spoke with a chuckle, the bright smile on his face still very much present. He was wearing a simple pair of blue pants and his famous dark blue sweater, he looked as scrumptious as always. 

[Y/N] had to swallow hard as she forced her eyes to not scan him from head to toe, it would make it obvious that she was attracted to him, emotionally and physically. These next few hours certainly would be trick and tempting…

“Do you want to watch a movie?” Tom suggested, placed his arm around her shoulder and gave her a gentle squeeze for no reason at all (Well…we all know the reason, don’t we?). “Sure, you can pick one out!” [Y/N] spoke with excitement, euphoria pumping through her blood as she now knew that she was addicted to his touch. No one had ever made her feel so comfortable. She was a confident woman but to feel this extra layer of security and comfort just soothed her soul on the daily.

“We can watch whatever you want, darling” Tom mumbled, feeling a rush of contentment himself from purely having her this close to him. [Y/N] took the remote in her hand and opened the Netflix app, she looked through her daily suggestions and the top ten of most popular movies that were currently trending. Tom’s soft fingers were playing with the material of her shirt, reaching the hem of her sleeve and then smoothly drawing random patterns on her soft skin.

“How about Spirited Away? It’s been years since I’ve seen that masterpiece!” [Y/N] happily suggested, “Plus the movie also shows how love can be so strong, even when the two people barely acknowledge or talk about it. It’s all about the actions”. Hearing the short description had the actor instantly curious and so he agreed to watch it, despite never having seen it himself.

Both relaxed against the couch (yes, Tom’s arm still around [Y/N]’s shoulder, now having moved even closer so that their bodies were in constant contact), before the movie was playing on the screen. [Y/N] randomly explained certain scenes that had the actor a little bit confused and once he’d understand the reference or meaning behind it, he couldn’t help but lean in and whisper his thanks into her ear. To say that the tension was thick, sizzling yet light and delicate was an understatement.

__

[Y/N] slowly opened her eyes, letting out a tired sigh while slowly acknowledging the conscious world again. “Mhm” she mumbled, realizing that she had fallen asleep sometime during the movie. She was about to sit up straight when a strong, but gentle grip around her thick waist pulled her back.

Fuck.

She turned her head to look behind her and saw Tom sleeping peacefully, having lied down behind her at some point. He grumbled softly in his slumber before pulling her warm body closer to him again. [Y/N] felt like she was about to have a heart attack. But she still slowly repositioned herself in her previous position and stared at the TV screen.

She knew that they had overstepped a heavy boundary of their professional relationship. But did she feel bad? Nope. She felt so at ease, it was like his arms were made just for her. The current moment was one she had often dreamed about and to actually have the privilege to experience it was just indescribable.

“[Y/N]….” Tom whispered in his sleep, his voice low and rich with smoothness. He was literally trying to pull her into his body, his hands gently squeezing one of her stomach rolls. She felt his toned chest against her back along with the body heat he was radiating onto her, his head now nuzzling in the crook of her neck. When his soft breaths tickled her sensitive skin, [Y/N] thought that she was about to burst into flames. The acts were so intimate yet tender, everything she had always assumed about him now being true.

Tom Hiddleston was a clingy sleep cuddler.

“Fuck” she whispered again when he let out a content sigh, already having tears brim her eyes as this all felt like dream. The man she had been loving for three years now was finally reciprocating her love. 

[Y/N] closed her eyes and enjoyed the amazing feeling of pure love and joy, she even reached her arm out and gently ran her hand through Tom’s soft curls and sighed in pure delight herself. She wished that she could stay like this forever, just the two of them. 

__

“[Y/N]?”

Her eyes fluttered open and she (again) took acknowledgment of her surroundings. She still was lying on her couch, But Tom was now sitting next to her, along with two bags of takeout resting on her coffee table.

“Mhm? I’m awake” [Y/N] mumbled once her brain recognized the sound of Tom’s soft voice calling out for her.

“Are you hungry? I ordered Thai as it’s almost six in the evening and you haven’t eaten anything yet” his gaze was soft and kind. The assistant nodded her head and slowly sat up, silently comprehending that Tom had woken up after she had fallen back asleep again. She felt a pang of disappointment churn in her stomach once she also realized that he was pretending like nothing had happened.

“Thanks Tom, I must have fallen asleep. My bad”

But she also understood and accepted why.

“Nothing to be sorry about, I fell asleep myself and actually had a great rest. The past few days had been very stressful, and I had really needed an afternoon of peace and quiet. So thanks again, [Y/N], for letting me enjoy your company”.

Tom’s appreciation speech actually mended the disappointment she felt, she hadn’t known about the few sorrows and stressed he had had because he hadn’t voiced them to her at all, despite having texted and called her plenty of times throughout the day.

Wow…

“You’re welcome, Tom” was all she was able to respond before reaching for the takeout bags and looking at what deliciousness were awaiting her. She ignored his piercing stare, not knowing why she suddenly was the sole focus of his attention. It was hard doing so because she felt like his eyes were burning holes on the side of her face.

“You’re very beautiful, [Y/N].

She turned to him, a bright smile creeping upon her face as her heart skipped a beat. “Thank you Tom, you are handsome yourself”. He chuckled and finally looked down at his lap, a slight crimson shade appearing on his cheeks as he felt flustered and appreciated.

[Y/N] handed him the second bag of food before removing the items in her own bag. 

“That’s amazing! Do you want me to book a table at your usual restaurant?” [Y/N] asked while feeling happy for Tom’s friends, she knew that he’d have a blast with the play and that sole thought left her smiling to herself while the actor continued to share the details of the upcoming play to her, still sitting very close to her and barely being able to keep her eyes off her beautiful face.

“By the way, I have great news”, [Y/N] hummed as in indication that she was listening while continuing to unpack her food. “Charlie and Zawe have been casted as the other two main characters in the play! We’ll be all going to dinner tomorrow!”

Tag list: @jamesbarnesappreciationclubub  l @pleasantdreamqueen l @disneymarina l l @harleycativy  l @sparklemichele l @melaninmarvel l @amethyst09 l @the-force-of-imagines l @bossyboyd03 l @pebblesz892 l @stars8melanin l @brittyevans l @toc1985 l @janeyboo l @badassbaker l @winters-beauty l @cannonindeez  l @ilovefanfic86  l @adorablespecialsnowflakes l @brittanyovens l @kanupps06 l @jazmynejack l @thebookwormslytherin l @theunsweetenedtruth l @talannalew l @littlexmissxfandomxlover l @amethyst-dreams-and-candy-canes l @crimsonash330 l @booklover2929 l @aranelgrey l @panda-duuu l @thisismysecrethappyplace  l @titty-teetee l @honey-anon l @princess-evans-addict l @hp-hogwartsexpress l @malindacath  l @letsdisneythings l @scorpionchild81 l @shado-raven l @alisoncdariel l @plutoneu l  @queenoftheworldisdead l @briannab1234l @miyaeadys-blog l @thenamelesscorpse2185 l @hihellogoodbyebruh l @nackrosor l @nerdgurl1985 l @2darkskinbeauty l @bugngiz l @african-melanin-goddess l @barnes-wilson-love l @ktiz90 l @let-the-love-in l @forlornfortitude l @robinredboob l @hopefuloperaangelnerd l @kola95 l @partypoison00 l @alwaysadreamingoptimist l @reniescarlett l @g0thicdream l @mayasopinions l @captaintightpants58 l @leillee​ l @kayleighsimone​ 

-Emmanuelle 💋❤️

#tom hiddleston #tom hiddleston x reader #tom hiddelston imagine #tom hiddleston x plus size reader #plus size reader

[fangirlshrewt97]

Underneath Your Clothes

Fandom: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)

Pairing: Joe x Nicky

Read on AO3

                                                        ///

You're a song Written by the hands of God Don't get me wrong 'Cause this might sound to you a bit odd But you own the place Where all my thoughts go hiding And right under your clothes Is where I find them Underneath your clothes There's an endless story There's the man I chose There's my territory And all the things I deserve For being such a good girl honey

- “Underneath Your Clothes” by Shakira

Nicky hummed mindlessly to the Italian song that was floating in through the open window. The singer was barely sixteen, but his voice was reminiscent of the great crooners. He always left with a tidy haul at the end of the day whenever he stopped by their corner. Nicky made a mental note to give him one of his pastries if he caught him before he left for the day.

The timer went off as the kid finished off his song. Nicky removed the baking tray into the oven, closing the door behind him with his hip. He placed the tray on the counter before turning off the timer. He smirked at it, a novelty “Italian Chef” timer Nile had gotten him for Christmas a few years ago. That had been a fun one.

He transferred the baked goods into a couple of large boxes once they had cooled and set the tray in the sink to soak. Once that was done, he cleaned the rest of the kitchen, satisfied only when the counters gleamed and the rest of the dishes were either put away or drying on the rack. Wiping his hands on the kitchen towel, he stepped away from the room. Rolling his neck, Nicky massaged one of his wrists, relieving the tension built up from a day spent rolling and preparing dough.

Glancing at the clock showed that it was 3 in the afternoon. Not bad for a day’s work. Checking the doors and windows were properly closed, Nicky made his way further into the house. Some of their down times were spent just catching their breath from a rough mission. Others, like this one, were to ground themselves back into the world, to remind themselves that their lives did not have to just be blood, vengeance, and seeking to bring justice to the evils of the world.

The breeze that drifted through the bedroom was tinged with the warm sunshine of the Mediterranean sun and the salty tinge of the sea. He leaned against the doorway, smiling softly at the sight that greeted him. Joe, sitting up with his back to the door, both hands in the air, fingers interwoven as he grunted from the stretching exercise. Once he finished, releasing a heavy breath, he placed his hands at the small of his back, curving backwards as far as he could go. The next exercise was placing his hands firmly by his hips and twisting his body until the cracks rang out. Nicky winced at their volume. Unfortunately muscle tension was not something that their healing cured.

Joe had decided to volunteer himself to help out with the renovations happening at the orphanage down the street because his husband had the largest heart that Nicky knew of. For the past three weeks they had been here, Joe would wake up without complaint when Nicky woke him at sunrise and leave for work. He would usually return after sunset, having stayed behind to wrangle the kids for dinner, hair covered in dust, plaster, paint, or on one memorable occasion, all three. Nicky occasionally dropped by to help with the kids, otherwise he occupied himself with cooking food for the crews and for the children.

But today was Sunday, so Joe had spent his day off sleeping most of the morning and afternoon away except for the meals Nicky had forced into him.

“Need help?” Nicky said softly as Joe grunted for the third time trying to stretch his arms all the way up.

Joe turned his head to see him quickly, shooting him one of his signature smiles. His shoulders betrayed his tiredness though. “I would never say no to your hands on me, ya amar.”

Snorting, Nicky made his way over to Joe, going around the bed to stand between his open legs. Gently, Nicky cupped the back of Joe’s neck with both hands and dug his thumbs into the space between his jaw and ears. Joe groaned, tipping forward until his forehead rested on Nicky’s stomach.

“Don’t stop.” Joe whined as Nicky moved to massage the back of Joe’s neck.

Nicky dipped down to press a kiss to the top of Joe’s head, the root of his palms  skating their way down his back in a firm press. Joe’s spine seemed to melt beneath his hands as his husband went floppy in his arms. He repeated the motion twice more, switching to a faster pace, and then to using folded fingers.

“Maybe you should take a break Joe, just because our bodies don’t stay hurt or ache doesn’t mean we cannot be sore if we push ourselves hard enough.” Nicky said while bringing his hands back up until they rested on Joe’s broad shoulders.

Joe let his head fall back, eyes half closed as he peered up at Nicky. “We are so close though Nicky. Just one more week.”

Nicky sighed. “Alright my love.”

Joe smiled at him and fully closed his eyes, nudging his head back into Nicky’s hands.

“Si, si, I am getting to it.” Nicky said fondly, bringing his fingers up to bury themselves in Joe’s curls. Systematically, he gathered the hair into two fists, squeezed, and then relaxed, moving to cover all of Joe’s scalp. He moved down to squeeze intermittently at his forehead, then to his ears, tugging and rubbing at them. He pressed his thumbs to Joe’s temple, the hum from his husband’s throat vibrating through his hands. A firm swipe down his proud nose, another two across the faint field of freckles spotted near the bridge of his nose. Strong hold of the jaw, fingers curling through the beard.

When Joe was halfway to sleep, Nicky leaned down to press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. And then another two over his closed eyelids.

Joe’s eyes fluttered open. “Hayati, I love you more than anything in this world, and will give it to you if you ask me.”

Nicky raised an eyebrow when Joe paused.  “But?”

“But I will fall asleep on you if you try to have sex with me right now.” Joe said sincerely, and with regret in his eyes.

Nicky laughed, fondness overflowing from his heart at his ridiculous fool.

“I will do my best not to have sex with you now then.”

Joe let out a mournful whine which just made Nicky laugh harder. It seemed to increase in volume when he stepped away from the reach of Joe’s outstretched hands.

“Oh you will survive Joe.” Nicky said as he walked over to their dresser. He hummed as he sorted through the contents of the drawer until he found the bottle he was looking for.

Opening it, he inhaled deeply, a content smile forming as the soothing scent of sandalwood and rose oil rose to greet him. Turning around, Nicky snorted at the sight. Joe was leaning back on the bed, body weight resting on his elbows as his head tipped back. The line of this throat called to Nicky.  

Moving towards him, Nicky placed the oil on the bedside table. He then gently pushed at Joe’s shoulders, the gentle shove enough to send Joe falling fully against the mattress. Carefully, Nicky threw a leg across Joe’s lap, hands running over his chest before they paused at the topmost button of his shirt.

“I thought you said we weren’t having sex.” Joe pouted at him, hands coming up instinctively to rest at Nicky’s hips, their warmth seeping through the thin cotton t-shirt Nicky had on.  He sometimes wondered if it would be possible for skin to indent from the constant press of something against it, like water cutting its way through a rock, or a leaf falling in wet cement. Wondered if at a microscopic level, his skin would be marked by the whorls of Joe’s fingertips.

“We aren’t.” Nicky said as he unbuttoned Joe’s shirt. He paused when it was fully open, lightly running his fingers across the length of the toned chest he could recall from memory.

In the later afternoon light, Joe was painted golden, and Nicky went dizzy with the wave of want that suddenly washed over him. So long together, and yet Joe made him burn hotter than anything else he had ever known.

Joe was his miracle, more than his immortality, a miracle in the shape of a man who had found it in him to not only forgive a man who had committed unspeakable atrocities against his people, but to love him so deeply, Nicky could feel it in his bones. The sun rose from the east, the Mediterranean was home, Joe loved him.

Joe let out a little giggle when Nicky’s fingers caressed his sides, a ticklish spot Nicky was not afraid to exploit when he needed it. That wasn’t what this was about though. Joe did not need a tease. He deserved a reward.

Humming in apology, Nicky set about stripping Joe down and manipulating him until he was laying at the center of the bed on his stomach, naked. Joe for his part let Nicky shift him to his heart’s content, settling heavily into the mattress.

After arranging him comfortably, Nicky straddled the back of Joe’s thighs, armed with the bottle of massage oil. Pouring a handful out, he closed it tightly before wringing his hands, making sure to oil them thoroughly. He placed his hands on Joe’s shoulders, thumbs settling near the start of Joe’s spine while his other fingers curled around the meat of Joe’s shoulders. He squeezed tightly, pushing his weight into it as he worked to relieve the knots he could feel underneath his hands.

Joe started moaning, a deep and heavy sound that Nicky tried to tune out lest they distract him.

Here were Joe’s shoulders, that had once slung an injured soldier across them, a child who had come to frontlines in the name of patriotism. He had trekked through the trenches till he’d delivered him to a field hospital.

Here were his arms, corded with muscles honed through fighting with scimitar and broadsword and gun, but also honed with the manual labor of tilling fields and repairing houses.

And here, his forearms, his wrists, his hands. Long fingers capable of creating masterpieces that could rival the artistic geniuses of the past centuries.

His strong back, his spine, which bent but never broke, that never stayed down for long. That did not bow in the face of injustice, and willingly took punishment to spare an innocent the scars that would not mar his skin for long.

His hips, which had seated countless kids when they had downtime during rescue missions, a throne and a safety cushion from which they could learn the old names of the constellations, and about seeing the beauty even in the war-torn landscape.

His ass, which Nicky would truly never get enough of.

Further down, his thighs, his calves, hard from decades of walking, running, marching, criss-crossing Earth. Nile had attempted to do the math once, to see how many miles they had walked in their long lives, how many times had they theoretically circumnavigated the globe. The average person from the 21st century would walk 110,000 miles in a lifetime. She had despaired trying to figure out if she should combined Nicky and Joe’s steps or count them individually, and then given up entirely when faced with Andy’s history.

His feet, soft only because of their healing powers, feet that had carried him barefoot over every terrain, through grass and sand and snow and sea.

When Nicky reached back up to place a kiss on Joe’s neck, he heard Joe’s soft snores.

Smiling softly, he pressed another kiss to Joe’s cheek and got out of bed.

He returned to the kitchen, scrubbing the baking tray clean and leaving it to dry. He grabbed one of their disposable boxes and placed two pastries into it. Checking to make sure he was dressed decently, Nicky jogged down the steps of the house just as the busker was placing his guitar back in his case.

“Lorenzo!” Nicky called, signalling for him to wait up. Lorenzo blushed, and huh, maybe Joe wasn’t so far off with his theory the kid had a crush on Nicky. He gave him the box, Lorenzo accepting it with wide eyes.

Nicky shrugged and looked at his sweetly. “You should eat enough to have the strength to keep singing.”

Lorenzo grinned and nodded before waving bye to him. Nicky watched until the kid had boarded the bus before making his way back home. Just before entering, he purchased a handful of dahlias from the flower vendor.  

Joe had shifted to his back when Nicky re-entered their bedroom, his arm slung over his stomach, fingers twitching as though they were searching for something. Nicky placed the flowers with the vase by the bedside table so Joe would see them when he woke up.

Walking one last time around the house to make sure everything was locked up, Nicky removed his own t-shirt and pants so he was in just his underwear. He folded the clothes neatly and placed them on top of the laundry hamper before he crawled into bed. Gently lifting Joe’s arm, Nicky settled on top of Joe’s chest, ears filling with the sound of Joe’s heartbeat.

A subtle hitch in Joe’s breath and the tightening of the arm around him alerted Nicky to his husband’s wakeful status.

“Thank you for the wonderful massage, cuore mio.” Joe breathed softly.

Nicky turned and nuzzled into his side, making him let out a laughing gasp. “Anytime, vita mia.”

Joe drifted back to sleep within a few breaths. Nicky laid awake for some more time.

Nearly a thousand years he had been by Joe’s side, had had the permission to touch him like lovers do. And yet the thrill of it was always present, the gift never unappreciated.

He did not know whether or not he would ever atone for all the sins he committed over his long life, and at this point he did not much care.  The only person who’s opinion mattered to him was right here.

Joe, who had seen first hand what Nicky had done. Joe, who had been killed by his hands. Who had killed him his fair share of times. Who had allowed him to stumble his way but never left him. Who had heard every secret fantasy and dream and fear Nicky had thought of, and promised to guard them. Joe who had been with him for every adventure and story this crazy life threw their way.

Joe who spent their vacation helping with renovations at an orphanage.

And here, bare between them, this was Nicky’s reward. Call him selfish, Nicky would share a lot with the world, but this was his. This love, this trust. This life.

Joe was his. His love. His territory. His sanctuary. His to keep.

#my fic #my writing #the old guard #tog #the old guard fic #tog fic #yusuf al kaysani #nicolo di genova #joe x nicky #nicky x joe #kaysanova #let me know what you think!

[ad1thi]

If your still doing fic recs, could u rec any soft stevetony ones?

absolutely!! this got pretty long so ive hidden most of it under a read-more so i don’t annoy people. a couple of authors feature more than once. ive tried to avoid that as much as possible, but if an author features more than once - take that as a sign that they have rly good stuff for soft stevetony

disclaimer: don’t forget to leave kudos and comments for every author!! (a disclaimer i regrettably forgot to add to previous fic rec lists but will be adding from now on)

soda pops: @starklysteve

If anybody asks, Steve would smile and say it was very romantic. Very Tony. Because if he went into any further detail, nobody would quite believe him.

Tony, on the other hand, would laugh and say that Steve’s in love with a man in a can. So, really, it wasn’t outside the natural progression of things.

me voy pa’l pueblo: @firebrands

two times steve walks away, and one time that tony walks with him.

/ or, my very fluffy take on my bingo card prompt "farewells." steve is on vacation when he meets tony.

fill for my stony bingo prompt: farewells; also for bookworminaslump on tumblr who asked for a tourist/knowledgeable local au!

Tumblr Ficlets:  @omg-just-peachy (this is 115 chapters of stevetony being soft!!)

A collection of enough tooth-rotting fluff to last a year, all in one place.

tender offerings: @omg-just-peachy

Five times Steve carried Tony to bed.

the best thing (is that it’s happening to you and me):  @captainstarkreportingforduty

Or, five times the team saw Steve Rogers and Tony Stark in love.

Sweet On You: @miniblackraven

It’s the 1940’s and Tony is working as a Donut Doll for the Red Cross. His job is to go around to various military bases and offer comfort food and conversation to homesick soldiers. He’s come to expect a lot of things in this job, but he doesn’t expect to fall in love with Captain America, the hottest most awkward soldier Tony has ever met.

Bespectacled Avengers Society (Membership of One):  @baffledkingcomposinghallelujah

Tony gets glasses. Glasses get a Tony. Steve loses his mind and walks into walls.

a flower crown for your love: @anthonyed

"There, there," Pepper cooed. "Tony likes flowers?" she said with a shred of doubt in her tone. But when Steve peered up, she's smiling her bright toothy smile. He squinted and she sighed, dropping her hand from his shoulder. "He does." she insisted. "Even more so than me."

if this was a movie: @omg-just-peachy

“One of our seniors is being generous with his time this year—by force of his own actions, but generous none the less—and he’d be happy to help you, I’m sure. Tony Stark? I’ll set something up for later this week. I think between the two of you you’ll be able to pull your average up enough to make it through to playoffs,” Coulson said, with that ever-hopeful lilt in his voice.

Or, Steve needs a calculus tutor, Tony is available, but how is Steve ever supposed to focus when he's been in love with Tony for ... his entire school life?

you take me higher than the rest (everybody else is second best): @firebrands

tumblr fill for adi & anthonydarling, who asked for "'Prank' war, but the kind to see who can make the other blush the most in public" from this prompt list

amore mio:  @brucewaynery

Tony has had it with Steve being dumb and reckless out in the field, he has a family to think about now, Steve promises him that he'll be with him, kingdom come.

(initially based on that one headcanon about Italian Tony yelling and gesticulating at Steve but Peter thinks he's doing some weird dance and tries to copy him, but it got very fluffy very quickly)

Lost My Mind in a Coffee Shop: @betheflame

“Boyo,” Bucky muttered to his best friend. “I swear to God that if you don’t ask that man for his number soon, I will create a Grindr profile for you and you will not like it.”

Steve rolled his eyes. “I am here to finish grading, not hit on men.”

“Can you not do both?” Natasha smirked. “Nearly tenured, historical genius, feels like something you should be able to multitask.”

&&&

In which Steve is a history professor and Tony's an engineering one and Bucky owns the joint where they have their meet cute.

AU-gust Chapter 7: @iam93percentstardust 

stevetony, childhood friends AU

Right Up The Road: @gottalovev

The day at the senate committee in Washington DC wasn't supposed to end with Tony and Steve transformed into animals by a baby witch. That said, the 350 miles trek back to the compound to get help promises to be quite an adventure too!

(or the adventures of Cat!Tony and Wolf!Steve - and how to readjust when you're back to human!)

i’ll take care of you: @elcorhamletlive

“Hi.”

Steve blinks. The sound of loud thunder roars outside, but he doesn’t jolt, too focused on the image in front of him to be startled by the noise.

He has no idea what to say, and he isn’t sure if the shock is because of Tony’s absolutely sodden state – his hair glued to his forehead, his clothes dripping with water, forming a small puddle in front of Steve’s door – or because he wasn’t expecting to see Tony for at least three more days.

“Hi?” he says, a little tentative, before his brain catches up to reality. In his defense, he was getting ready to sleep when Tony knocked. He looks at what Tony is holding – a wet mess that seems to have been a flower bouquet at some point. “What are you doing here?”

The Tally System:  @betheflame

Everyone on the team knew about the tally system.

Whenever Steve would save Tony - whether from a monster or from his own stupidity - he’d say, “tag”. Whenever Tony do the same, he’d say, “your turn”. Thor thought it was adorable, Clint thought it was ridiculous, Bruce refused to register an opinion.

Natasha thought it was something she could work with.

what’s mine is yours: @robertdowneyjjr

5 times Tony stole Steve’s clothes, and 1 time Steve returned the favor.

or

For a billionaire, Tony Stark really doesn't pay for a lot of what he wears.

I like Shiny Things But I’d Marry You With Paper Rings: @betheflame

Rhodey: I just confirmed with Sam that he’s going to make sure he cooks tonight and that his entire team is briefed. I’m heading over now to strategically arrange a fuck ton of ficus trees to block them from gen pop.

Pepper: They’re not getting engaged in a prison, Jimmy.

Rhodey: Tony Stark and Steve Rogers show up to Circe on a Saturday night in May and you watch every person in that restaurant turn into someone I’d rather arrest than eat with.

****

In which Tony and Steve get engaged, but they're kind of extra about it, because they are always themselves

the road to the stars: @shell-heads

Tony is seven years old when he sees the ballet for the first time and meets his future pas de deux partner.

His father is invited to sweet-talk politicians into a new weapons deal and explain his latest idea for their program, and his mom goes to catch up with old friends she hasn't seen in years, but Tony goes because his mom had smiled down at him and told him he would love it.

His mom's never wrong.

-

In which boy genius Tony Stark meets girl wonder Natasha Romanoff at the ballet, and they fit their broken little pieces together to make something beautiful on the dance floor.

Steve? He's just a dumb, awful, chaotic, extremely supportive older brother that really should just shut up and admit he likes Tony a lot more than he pretends, because Natasha only has five people in the world she likes; it only makes sense her two favorites would fall in love with one another.

They always were a little slow, though.

A Second Chance To Take it Slow: @omg-just-peachy

Tony loves his adopted son, Peter, but that doesn't stop him from wishing he had someone to do this whole parenting thing with. After a failed one night stand, Tony's parent-teacher conference with Mr. Rogers comes with quite the surprise.

Wake Up!: @randomstufffromotherblogs

Tony came home from a business trip and is woken up by his husband and their three-year old.

pull me closer to love:  @captainstakreportingforduty (part of a series)

“A Mother’s Day card? For... Tony?” Steve clarifies, and can’t help the smile on his face as six familiar little heads nod in response.

“But... guys, Tony’s not—“ he pauses and takes a breath, any explanation dying in his throat against the excited gleam in everyone’s eyes. “Why do you guys want to do that, hmm?"

compromises:  @robertpattisons (when i looked up OP on tumblr, this is the blog i was directed to - but i sincerely apologise if ive gotten it wrong)

Steve should have expected it, he really should have.

There were regulations that came with dating Tony Stark. Things that were clear and things that they needed to work through.

Things like how Steve always got strawberry ice cream, while Tony got rocky road. Or when Steve needed to get his homework done before he was down to make out - even though Tony always got his way.

Things like that were clear

all that you are is all that i’ll ever need: @natasharxmanov

Tony Stark and Steve Rogers announced their engagement on Good Morning America through Tony Stark’s previous secretary now CEO, Pepper Potts. And over this past weekend, I got the chance to sit down with them both, to visit their home and attend their gala, all to write this article about the most powerful couple in the world.

(Or, the fic in which Tony and Steve get married.)

(i won’t ever) trade my mistakes: @brucewaynery

Toddler Peter, painting a masterpiece with his dad.

aka: a dumb amount of family fluff to help you power through the week

#adi's rec list #stevetony #superhusbands #steve rogers/tony stark #steve rogers x tony stark #steve x tony #i did this instead of my exam #so i rly hope you enjoy it anon!! #there's a healthy amount of superfamily thrown in here #so apologies if that isn't your thing #anon ask #adi answers asks

[softlighter]

Blake feels haggard, and world-weary, but a passing painter asks her to pose for her a few times and the resulting painting is a masterpiece. Blake doesn't understand how Yang sees her as anything but weather-beaten, while Yang doesn't understand Blake's inability to see her own beauty or self-worth.

I hope you know how much I adored this prompt, nonny friend!  I hope it was worth the wait.  Also posted as “sketch of hope” on Ao3!

~~~

Blake takes a drink of her tea.  It’s over-seeped and bitter, something no amount of milk or honey will fix, but it’s tea, and it’s warm going down.  Still, she squeezes more honey into the chipped ceramic mug and stirs it in.  Her eyes feel heavy, but she flips open her book once more and begins reading where she left off.  It’s something she’s read before but it’s as worn and familiar as her sweater; just what she needs right now.

Another sip of tea, her nose crinkling as she’s hit with the sour and sweet syrupy taste, but she still downs half the cup.  She would normally go to her favorite cafe, a ten minute’s walk away from her apartment, but it’s too much effort to exert right now.  Everything is too much effort right now, hell, she’s just happy she managed to leave the apartment today.   It’s something, it’s an improvement, even if this tea is awful and she wants to crawl back to her bed.

She puts her book down and sighs, rubbing her forehead.  It’s a beautiful day.  The sky is a crisp blue with fluffy clouds like cotton candy, and the spring wind is sweet with florals.  Blake is at an outdoor cafe, and it’s a beautiful day.  It’s a beautiful day, and she should be grateful.  

But she’s not, and she’s tired.  

Blake leans back in her chair, picking apart her croissant with her fingers and popping a bite in her mouth.  At least their croissants are decent.  She takes another bite, directly from the pastry this time, and casually brushes the crumbs off her sweater.  Blake scans her surroundings and the few other occupied tables at the cafe.  It’s still relatively cold, and not many are apparently wanting to brave the sharp nip of the rickety metal table and chairs.

But there’s a couple speaking in hushed tones and giggling every few minutes, even if their noses and cheeks are pink.  There’s a group of boys across the patio playing some kind of game with dice and they shout loudly every once in a while, even with the couple sending them dirty looks.  There’s another woman across from her, also sitting alone, but she is scribbling in a notebook.  

She drifts back to her tea and croissant, but the back of her neck prickles, and her ears instinctively stiffen.  Blake looks up once more, and she meets eyes of bright lilac.  Her cheeks feel hot, but she doesn’t look away, despite herself.  The other woman is blushing too, though, and she smiles sheepishly at Blake.  “Guess I should’ve known better,” the woman says.

Blake’s brow furrows.  “Pardon?” she says, more on instinct than anything else.  

The woman’s face turns a deeper red, and she gestures toward her notebook.  “I know I should’ve asked permission, but-”

“Were you drawing me?”  

The woman nods sheepishly.  “Sorry.  It’s a bad habit.  One of my old art teachers always encouraged it, said we got more natural looking sketches that way, but people don’t exactly like it.  But, well, I couldn’t help myself.  Hard habit to break, and you’re a perfect study.”

“I am?”  Blake snorts.  “Hardly.”

The woman frowns, her pink mouth curling downward.  “Well, I say you are.”  The woman hesitates before scooting closer to Blake’s chair.  “You’re not upset?”

Blake shrugs.  She doesn’t feel much beyond the heat in her cheeks and curling in her stomach, doesn’t feel much at all these days.  Her eyes drop down to the notebook before looking back up at the woman.  “I feel like there’s a compliment in there.  Somewhere.”

The woman smiles, and she looks over her shoulder before getting up and taking the seat across from Blake at her table.  Blake raises her brows, but she says nothing as the woman slides  her notebook to her.  “What do you think?” she asks.

Blake studies the dark lines, the way they curve and dance across the page in sketches and hatches.  It’s obviously just a sketch, but the word just demeans the art before her, ignores the simplistic beauty of something in progres.  The woman is talented, obviously so, but Blake still frowns.  “That’s not what I look like,” she says finally, even though it, obviously, her.  

“Maybe it’s not how you see you, but it’s how I see you,” the woman says.

Blake scoffs, but her eyes linger over the page before she forces herself to slide the notebook back.  “You don’t know me.”

“I’m a good sense of character.”  The woman closes the notebook and smiles at her, tucking a long blonde strand of her back behind her ear and underneath a purple hat the same color as her eyes, but even the electric lilac of the wool dulls in comparison to her eyes.  “Can I ask a favor?”

“You can ask whatever you want, doesn’t mean I have to answer.”

“Would you consider posing for me?”

Blake blinks.  “What?”

The woman nods brightly.  “Come to my studio, with proper lighting and stuff like that.”

“Again, what?”  Her brows knit together, and she’s not sure if she’s amused or concerned.  “I don’t know you.”  And you’re not going to want to know me.

The woman shrugs.  “Are you a serial killer?”

“No, but-”

“We can stay here if you’re more comfortable with that,” the woman presses.  “You’re just- well, you’re exactly who I’ve been looking for.”  Blake’s stomach turns, but the woman quickly adds, “I mean, just, wow, that sounds so creepy, but seriously.  You’re a delight to draw.”  The woman laughs.  “That’s not much better, is it?”

Despite herself, she smiles.  “No,” she agrees.  “It’s not.”  She considers and tilts her head, her fingers tapping against the cool metal of the table.  “If you want to, I’ll be here for a bit longer.  So do whatever you like.”

The woman’s face breaks out into a bright grin.  “Thanks!”  She laughs, scratching the back of her neck.  “I’m Yang, by the way.”  

“Blake.”  Yang extends her hand, and Blake nearly gasps when she sees Yang’s arm.  Yang’s smile fades.  Blake stumbles for her words, her tongue feeling thick and clumsy.  “That’s beautiful,” Blake says finally, taking her hand in her own.  The metal is cold in her hands, but smooth.  “I take it you designed it?”  

That warm smile returns.  “Yeah, I did,” Yang admits, and she rolls her sleeve up to her elbow.  The prosthetic is sleek, but there’s a thousand images all painted onto the metal.  Sunflowers, roses, and lilacs all creep up and over her fingers to her palms, bright and abundant, before the blooms swirl into gleaming golden scales and, finally, crackling flames.  She’s never seen anything like it, and she can’t help but stare.  “Painting with my left hand is hell, though.”

“Well, you did an amazing job,” Blake says, forcing herself to wrench her eyes away from the breathing art to meet Yang’s eyes.

“I mean, if I’m gonna be wearing it all the time, it better be, you know?”  Yang shrugs, but she opens the notebook once more.  Her pencil appears from nowhere, and Yang starts sketching, her eyes on the page.  She looks up at Blake and smiles.  “You can keep reading, if you’d like.”

And she would’ve, but instead she says, “I thought you wanted me to pose for you.”  Yang’s jaw slackens, and Blake smiles to herself.  “Tell me what to do, artiste.”  

Yang laughs.  “Pick something comfortable for you,” Yang says.  “This can be my proper warm up.”  

Blake straightens her shoulders and leans her elbow onto the table before resting her chin on her hand.  She’s staring at Yang in this position, she realizes, but Yang just smiles again and resumes sketching.  Her pencil flies across the paper, sure and steady but light, and Yang looks up at her, but it’s different.  Her eyes are appraising now, still warm, but studying her.  Studying her like she’s a piece of art, like she’s something beautiful.

“I thought you said this was your warm up,” Blake says a few minutes later.  “This looks pretty intense to me.”

Yang shrugs, still looking down at her paper.  “You speak to me,” Yang says simply.  Blake’s stomach clenches.  “Maybe I’ve found my muse in you.”

“I’ve never believed in muses.”

The corner of Yang’s lip quirks up.  She’s so quick to smile.  “Well, I do,” Yang says.  Yang checks her watch, frowns, and looks up at her, and her eyes are soft.  “I gotta go, but if you’re ever around Sixth Street, I work on thirty-eighth.  You’ll know it when you see it.  Feel free to drop by to see the finished product.”

“Alright.”  She doesn’t address the offer, just lets it sit between them as Yang packs up.  “Have a nice day, Yang.”

But Yang rips out the first drawing and hands it to her with that bright smile.  “Just so you remember how I see you, Blake.”  Yang winks, and then she’s gone.  Blake swallows hard, her eyes unexpectedly hot, and she stares at the sketch.

When she gets home, she tapes it to the wall next to her bed before burrowing back under the covers and letting oblivion take her.

~~~

Blake tells herself that the bakery on Sixth is why she’s there, that she’s had a craving for their challah bread and the bakery’s bread closer to her apartment isn’t what she’s craving.  She tells herself that, but she still takes the long way to Sixth and walks around so she’s on the higher end of stress addresses.  The apartments here are nice and made of bricks, colorful and inviting.  Perfect for Yang.

But thirty-eight takes the cake.  There’s a mural on the bricks, and it’s a collision of paint and color and wonder.  Even in the overcast day, Blake’s eyes can’t get enough of it.  She instinctively knows Yang did it, and a smile tugs at her lips before she can stop it.  

She bites her lip, but she can’t stop herself from walking up the stairs to the door.  Blake knocks, and she hears a voice within call, “One sec!”  Her heart skips a beat, and her hands bunch into fists.  This was a bad idea.  This was a very, very bad idea.

But the door opens, and Yang is there.  She’s in a tank top and paint-speckled jeans and her long blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail.  Blake weakly waves, and Yang just grins at her.  “I’m happy you’re here,” Yang says, holding the door open.  “Wanna come in?”

“I was in the neighborhood,” she says, trailing off, but she still steps through the door.  “Should I take my shoes off?”

“Whatever you’re more comfortable with.”

Blake looks down to Yang’s bare feet and slips out of her shoes, all too aware of her pastel lemon-patterned socks.  But Yang doesn’t even give her or her feet a second glance before ducking deeper into the apartment, and Blake’s stomach clenches.  

This is a bad idea.  This is a very, very bad idea.

But she follows Yang deeper into the house, and with every step she has to stop and stare.  Art is everywhere, but she can tell it’s not just Yang’s.  There’s monochrome paintings and stunning glossy photographs and sketches done in smeared charcoal over every square inch, and Blake wonders what it must be like in Yang’s mind, what it’s like to see beauty everywhere she looks.  

Yang leads her through a small kitchenette and into the real show.  There’s canvases everywhere, leaning against the walls and blank and ready to be painted, in all sizes.  The easel is already set up with wet paint.  “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt,” Blake says, biting her lip.

Yang waves her off and tosses her a bottle of water, which Blake manages to catch somehow.  “You’re not, trust me,” Yang says.  “This can wait.”  Yang takes the canvas off the easel and smiles at her.  “So, you here to pose or to see what I did with the sketches?”

“Both, I guess.”

Yang laughs and grabs a smaller canvas, carefully handing it over to her.  “Take a look.”

It’s of Blake’s hands, the paint thick and chunky but somehow creates an incredibly smooth picture despite the obvious physical texture.  Her hands seem delicate but sturdy, like Yang had snapped a photo of her in movement, acting with purpose and surety and certainty.  Her hands have been painted with light haloing around them, a soft buttery gold that warms the icy blue background.  Like she’s a saint.  Like she’s capable of being a blessing, of blessing someone.  Like she’s good.  

Her fingers hover over the smooth whirls of paint that seem to arch off the canvas and beg her to touch them, to feel what she imagines is silky soft.  But she pulls her hand back, even if she doesn’t dare wrench her gaze away.  “Beautiful,” she whispers, her throat thick.  Yang even noticed the small scar on her right ring finger from a papercut that somehow left a pale scar and the freckle on the inside of her left index finger.  

“Thank you,” Yang says, and when Blake looks up, Yang is smiling.  “But this is just the start.”  Yang takes the painting from her hands and sets it back down before gesturing Blake over to a chair by the window.  “Here, just sit down here and look up or down, your choice!”  

Blake gives her a quizzical look, but she still sits down.  Yang’s hands hover around her but don’t ever touch her, something she appreciates.  The stool isn’t the most comfortable, but she quickly settles in a position.  “Is this what you’re looking for?” she asks as Yang settles behind her canvas.  She’s looking at the feet of the easel, but when she raises her eyes she can make eye contact with Yang.  

“You’re perfect.”  

~~~

Blake comes back the next day.  And the next day.  And the next day, and the next day, until she’s been by Yang’s every day for two weeks.

“You know, I need to pay you,” Yang says suddenly one afternoon.

“What?  Why?”

“I mean, you’re spending hours sitting in the same position.  You’re providing a service, the least I can do is pay you for it.”  

Blake shakes her head, her mouth dry.  “No,” she says.  “Please, don’t.”

“Are you sure?” Yang asks, her brow furrowing.  “I mean, like, I’m pretty sure it’s unethical to not compensate you for doing this.”

Blake doesn’t say that she doesn’t have anything else to do, doesn’t say that she enjoys Yang’s quiet and loud company, doesn’t say that this is better than laying in bed and gives her a reason to shower.  Instead, she says, “I don’t need the money.”  It’s true, she doesn’t.  When she sold the publishing house, she knew she would never have to work again, but, until a few months ago, she had still worked as an editor.  Coco sometimes still texted her asking if she wanted to read manuscripts, but Blake usually gave her a noncommittal response.  “And you buy me lunch, so call it even.”

Yang snorts.  “Lunch is the least I can do,” she says, but she’s picked up her paintbrush once more and resumed.  “Let me make you dinner one night.”  Blake opens her mouth to respond, but Yang keeps going before she can.  “I make a mean lasagna, and I always make too much, so you’d be doing me the favor.”

“Are you sure?” Blake asks.  She’s barely eaten anything besides pastries and readied meals for months, and the sound of a home-cooked meal makes her stomach rumble.  

“Yeah,” Yang says.  “Least I can do.”

“It’s really not,” Blake says.  Yang raises a brow, but she keeps painting, so Blake continues.  “You’re just nice, Yang.  Not everyone is as nice as you.”

“Well, I just want to treat you the way you deserve to be treated.”  Yang shrugs.  “And maybe a little better than that if I can, but seriously, Blake.  I don’t know who you hang out with, but you deserve nice things, and, dare I say, good things?”  Yang winks at her.  “You’re my muse.  I think I’m allowed to give you as much as you give me.”

“I just sit here,” Blake says, but Yang is already shaking her head.

“No, Blake.  You do so much more than that.”

~~~

Yang doesn’t show her any of the finished paintings after she sees the hands, but Blake knows she’s made several.  She doesn’t mind not knowing, even if it makes her stomach twist.  She wants to know what Yang sees, even if she doesn’t understand her perspective.  How Yang can see her as anything good.

“So, uh, I have to tell you something,” Yang says one night after dinner, scratching the back of her neck.

Blake freezes up, but she nods.  “Shoot.”  She’s sick of you, she doesn’t want you, she’s done with you.

“Well, um, tomorrow is my mom’s birthday, and I won’t be around until after lunch.”

“Yeah, of course,” Blake says, her shoulders sagging.  She’s washing the dishes, which Yang always protests her doing, but she still manages to get in there before Yang can.  It’s the least she can do.  “Is your family doing anything?”

“Not really.  My, well, my mom died a couple years ago.”  Blake stills, but Yang keeps talking.  “And my sister is with my dad, but I got class in the morning, and I didn’t want to cancel.”

Blake pauses, setting the dish down on the drying rack.  “Do you want to do something?” she asks.  “Something for her?”

“Well, I usually get dinner at her old favorite restaurant here with my family or some friends, but I was thinking we can meet here and-”

“You should do that.  Go out to dinner, I mean.  Don’t- don’t feel obligated to hang out with me.”

“Obligated?” Yang repeats.  “Blake, I do this because I want to.  I want to be around you.”  Yang’s voice wavers.  “Do you not want to be around me?”

“No, I do, I just-”  Blake sighs, rubbing her forehead.  “I don’t want to be a burden for you on a day like that.  And you should see your friends.”

Yang is quiet for a moment.  “Well, maybe I am,” she says carefully.

Blake turns around.  “We’re friends?” she asks.

“Well, yeah.”  Yang shrugs.  “Unless you don’t wanna be friends, I mean.”

“No, I do!  I really do, Yang.”  She clears her throat and averts her gaze.  “How about we go out to dinner?  Celebrate her life and her wonderful daughter.”

Yang laughs, but the sound cracks briefly.  “I’d like that.”

“Then tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”

~~~

“No painting today?” Blake asks, slipping off her shoes as she enters Yang’s.  Yang is wearing a jumpsuit the same color as her eyes, and there’s golden earrings cascading down onto her shoulders.  She looks fancy.  She looks good, and Blake can’t take her eyes off of her.

“Nope,” Yang says, smiling.  “I wanna show you something.”

“Alright?”

Yang leads her to the upstairs with the actual kitchen and living room, spaces she’s practically lived in for the past few months.  There’s a laptop open, which Yang silently slides to her.  Blake raises her brows, but she reads the article title, and her heart stops.

“It’s not published yet,” Yang says, the words distant.  “I wanted to surprise you but show you first.”

XIAO LONG’S ANGEL the title reads, and Blake silently scrolls through the unpublished article.  There’s pictures of paintings, and she instantly knows they’re the paintings Yang did of her.  

There’s none of her face.  Nothing that could identify her.  But there’s more of her hands, reaching and praying and receiving.  There’s her silhouette in golden light, and she seems to be breathing and moving.  There’s her bare shoulders and back, and there’s sharp golden shards of wings growing from her body.  There’s her mouth curled in a smile and soft and shining, pink and rosy.  There’s her dark hair cascading down her back as she reaches for something out of frame.

Pieces of her, and not.  This isn’t her.  She’s too broken to be this beautiful.

“Blake?” Yang asks, and that bright smile fades.  

Blake wrenches her gaze from the laptop and stares down at her hands, her eyes hot.  She’s not that, she can never be that.  “That’s not me,” she says hoarsely, her voice shaking.  “That’s not me, Yang.”

“It’s how I see you,” Yang says, her words a burning balm.  “It’s you, Blake.”

Her throat closes up.  “I’m not-”

“You are beautiful,” Yang says firmly.  “You are beautiful and kind and amazing.  And this is how I see you.”  Yang hesitates, but she hands Blake a wrapped box.  Her stomach turns, but she can’t stop herself from opening it with shaking hands.

A broken sob leaves her mouth.  It’s her eyes.  

Blake sets the canvas on the counter and closes her eyes, trying to breathe.  “You don’t know me,” she says, and her voice cracks.  “I’m not this person you see.”

Yang cups her face and leans down to look her in the eyes.  “You are,” she says.  “You are.”  Her eyes dart to her lips, and Blake’s face flushes.  “You are beautiful, and kind, and amazing,” Yang repeats.  Her mouth parts.  “And you are worthy, Blake.”  Yang thumbs away a tear on her face and smiles sadly.  “I just want you to see yourself the way I see you.”

“Yang-”  She cuts herself off with a shaky breath.  Instead of speaking, she leans into Yang’s touch.  Her hands are soft but calloused with her work, but, most importantly, they’re Yang’s hands.  “I don’t deserve you,” she whispers, but she still reaches back for Yang.

Yang smiles, and there’s tears in her lilac eyes too.  “Yes, you do.”

She isn’t sure which one of them leans forward, if one or both of them do, but Yang’s mouth is on hers, and she can’t think.  She doesn’t want to think beyond Yang.  So Blake keeps her eyes closed and kisses her back, her hands grabbing onto Yang and not letting go.

Blake doesn’t deserve Yang.  But Yang thinks she does, and maybe that can be enough.  Maybe that will be enough, and Blake can love her.  She doesn’t know, and there’s no way to know.  But for the first time in months, in almost a year, she feels hope being sketched into her chest.  

#rwby #bumbleby #my writing #answered prompt

[writinglionqueen]

My King Tribute Fic | The Boar’s Den

A very considerate follower made me a fantastic fanfic that coincides with my My King universe!!! @tinkerbell-has-chlamydia​ dedicated her time to create this masterpiece of a story and asked me to post it here to share with you all. Please give her some love and read this story. You won’t regret it. All credit goes to her. The only thing I can take credit for is beta reading this masterpiece. 

You considered your life to be very blessed, even by the standards of a Queen. You enjoyed the privileges that belonged to a lady of your status, but suffered very few of the entrapments that often followed it. The food you ate was always fresh and well prepared, but you were never forced to eat what was laid out for you, or forbidden from eating what you wanted out of fear that it would ruin your figure. The clothes you wore were tailored from the highest quality fabrics in the world, for you alone, and yet you always took charge in how you dressed, and by extension, what your day would consist of. You lived in the very castle that young girls dreamt of when they heard tales of brave knights and beautiful princesses, but you were never restricted as to where you were permitted to go. You could roam freely and enjoy your home and all that came with it, especially the training grounds which you happily frequented. 

 Above all, it was your husband that you were most grateful for. It was he that granted you all of these liberties. He gave them to you freely, and without hesitation. He took on your discomforts, your burdens and your displeasures as if they were his own and always made it his personal task to help you in any way possible. You admired his tireless efforts to give you everything you desired, both as a queen and as a wife, and you always made sure he knew you appreciated those efforts. There were times where you were even convinced that you lived the perfect life.

 This was not one of those times.

 You had been standing in a single room, that you could not leave, for hours on end dressed in quite possibly the most frivolous (and hottest) garments known to womankind, all while your hunger grew to almost unbearable proportions. However, what you hungered for was not food. It was the man sitting on the oaken throne before you, draped in furs and skins of wild beasts, with his copper and onyx circlet set firmly above his brow, listening to a tailor from a nearby village drone on about the prices of cloth compared to the price of thread.

 Drew had been on campaign for the past month, leading his men in battle against a rebel, who was calling himself the True King. He did call himself that. Now he would find it difficult to call himself anything with his head no longer belonging to his neck. Drew had also captured the rebel’s two generals. His sons, the traitor’s only living heirs, and he had imprisoned them; fully intending on executing them once the two revealed any and all plans for further rebellions.

 Nevertheless, the King’s long absence did have an effect on the realm’s day to day operations, and although you pride yourself on how you maintained your keep, the villages surrounding your castle needed their King. It had been mere minutes between Drew coming home bloodied and bruised, dragging the traitor’s two gigantic sons by their chains, throwing them in the castle’s dungeon, trading in his armour for regal clothing, and taking his place on his throne to hold court. The only interaction between your husband and yourself was when Drew presented you with the sword of his fallen enemy, and placed a chaste kiss to your lips as you welcomed his return in the courtyard with the other nobles of the castle. But even then, you were in such a... dizzied state for seeing your husband again that you allowed that sword (which looked rusted and dull) to cut your thumb ever so slightly. But above all, even though it was short and mostly for the sake of appearances, that kiss he gave you was all you were able to think about as you stood on the balcony of the great hall with the high ranking ladies of the court gazing at your husband’s profile as he tried desperately not to fall asleep.

 All you could think about was how much Drew must have been holding back when he kissed you in front of all those people. How much he wished he could just rip your clothes off, taking you then and there. You knew that when you embraced him after he dismounted his horse and proclaimed to the people that their King had returned a hero, he was desperately wishing that your hands were scratching down his back as you heralded him in a more excited and primal manner. You knew that when the people around you cheered, he imagined the clapping of their hands to be the pounding of your bed-frame against the stone wall. 

 You knew he was imagining it all, because you were imagining the same exact things. Though there were many, many great privileges to being Queen, being made love to by the King was by far the greatest. You were unsure of other wives, but when Drew let you know that you were to be bedded that night, you felt nothing but pure lust until he fulfilled his promise. Even when he was injured (which was often) he still managed to please you, powering through his pain to give you pleasure… and he always seemed to find his as well. 

 It was odd, though. No matter how much you desired your husband, no matter how much your body screamed for him to be inside you, no matter how much you wanted to make him feel the same way he made you feel, you always reverted back to a shy, tentative young girl when you were in his arms, just like you were on your wedding night. Drew had some other worldly effect on you that prevented you from initiating intimacy. Not fear. You had never felt afraid of him, but there always was this… hesitation. This expectation for him to take control, as if there were no other option. It never really bothered you, however. With the way that Drew took control over you, there never needed to be an alternative.

 As you stood there, suffocating in your ridiculous dress, watching the dust float through the sunbeams penetrating the glass of the windows inside this dry, wooden hall, you nearly hallucinated the scenes of what awaited you that night. You discretely swept your tongue across your bottom lip to only find it as dry as the air around you. The only source of moisture that you could sense in the entire room was pooling itself between your thighs. Every time you shifted your stance in a futile attempt to give your feet more comfort, you were sure that everyone in the hall could hear the sopping noise that it made. Your... wetness had trickled itself almost to your knee at this point, and it was completely unbearable.

 Then, if by some miracle, the tailor stopped droning on long enough for Drew to interject that something or other was to be done about his issue and that he could leave the court knowing that he had been heard. Then, the tailor bowed and left. He left. The demon that had been preventing you from heaven has been vanquished. 

 “One petitioner more. After him, this forum will be continued tomorrow.” Drew’s booming voice echoed across the hall. You swore that you heard everyone give a sigh of relief. As a page left to usher in the final person, Drew turned his head so that his eyes met yours. His devilish smirk met your beaming smile as he slowly nodded to you as if to say, “I know, my Queen. I know how you’ve missed me, and very soon, I’m going to show you how much I’ve missed you.”

 Then, Drew draped his arm over the side of his seat, and grazed his fingers over the engravings of it, in perfect view of you. His hand danced a bit more until it landed on a tiny gemstone, no larger than the bud of a flower. He then slowly swirled his fingers around the nub before shifting his muscles and pressing in on it for just a moment, before circling it again.

 You sucked in a breath and held your stomach where you felt heat bubbling inside you. You bit the inside of your cheek and suppressed a moan. It just wasn’t fair. Queen’s shouldn’t be teased. Not like this. Your face hardened as you tried to stay expressionless. Drew smiled and turned his head forward again, still working his hand. He knew the hold he had on you. To everyone else, it looked like the King was absentmindedly fiddling with the etchings in his throne. But you knew better. You knew much, much better.

 Then there was a bang that grabbed you out of your painfully bliss-filled trance. You turned your head and put your hand over your mouth. Not out of fear. Quite the opposite, actually. It was to keep from laughing. The man who had just burst through the door without waiting to be properly announced was shorter than yourself, and wearing a brightly colored… outfit, that no true Scot would ever don. You found the garment very hard to make sense of, so you didn’t bother to try. He wasn’t forced to wear it either, like a fool would be. By the way he took strides that his little legs shouldn’t have been able to take, he was very proud of his appearance. 

 You looked at Drew, whose mouth was slightly open as he stared at the little man who was barreling toward him. For the first time in hours, the King was sitting up at full attention. The walking curiosity stopped a few feet from the throne, dramatically bent his knee and gestured broadly with his hand.

 “Your Majesty. Before I begin, I beg of you to allow me time to praise your grand victory over the vile pretender-”

 “I am grateful for your praise, friend, and I’m sure that your words would move the ladies of the court to tears if they were to be spoken,” Drew quickly said. There were scattered laughs throughout the crowd. The little man just smiled and nodded. “But I must say that you entered this hall with such... urgency that I can say in full honesty... I would like to know your cause here today.”

 At this point, Drew was leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands under his chin. Not quite in a mocking manner, but in a manner of one who was asked an impossible riddle. The little man, however, was elated with the attention shown to him by the King. He stood up tall and proud with his bird-like chest puffed out. 

 “I am Slibhin Mac a’ Ghobhainn, and I am here to petition His Majesty for a company of royal warriors to assist me in retaking my home. My home... that was stolen from me... by my very kin.” Drew glanced at you, asking with his eyes if you and he were just sharing a dream one would have whilst they weathered a fever. You just shrugged your shoulders. Drew turned back to your guest.

 “I must say, your request has been the most... ambitious one that I’ve heard today. But, I have to ask you how I can give you my men to reclaim your home when they have just returned from defending their’s.” Drew raised his eyebrow. The man called Slibhin stood back a bit, comically intimidated by your husband’s small gesture. Nevertheless, he persisted.

 “I must confess, Your Majesty. This endeavor is not as… dramatic as I may have relayed.” He bowed his head in faux humility. “My father is… was... the blacksmith of your keep’s village, and with his passing, I should have inherited his estate and all intended incomes. However, my birthright has been… usurped by my… cursed sister. While I had been away on business these past few weeks, she has been, without my knowledge or consent, conducting transactions with the people of the town and has been calling my enterprise her own. Not only has she taken my means of income, but has destroyed my home and has turned it into a… boar’s den of the most unappealing state.”

 Your ears perked up at the word “sister.” You had always had a great admiration for smithing, and had always fantasized about creating something yourself, though you kept this secret. Not even your husband knew... yet. When the image flashed in your mind that a woman was in charge of a smithy, it brought a bright smile to your face that you didn’t even attempt to hide. Drew, however, let out a breath.

 “So, you are asking for the arrest of your sister?” You immediately frowned at that. You knew that Drew was compelled by his office to uphold the laws of the land, but… you both knew...  just by looking, that the man before you had no right (other than virtue of his sex) running a smithy. Slibhin showed his smile again. The smile that had amused you at first now was the cause for your most sincere disdain.

 “No, Your Majesty, that is not what I am asking for. You see, if my sister were to be arrested, then I would be without the means to make my fortune.” His smile deepened. Drew rolled his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. It was clear that as much as the funny dressed man was enjoying his showmanship, Drew was becoming agitated by it.

 “My late father was very keen on having his skills transferred through his children. When I didn’t immediately become a prodigy under his impossible training regime, he turned to my sister who, in an overwhelming need to be praised by him, showed something resembling skill in the field. As much as it pains me to say this, I need her to perform her duties. I  just need them done under my jurisdiction.”

 “Well, if your father raised your sister to take over his business, what right have I to disrespect a dead man’s wishes?'' the King asked, crossing his arms over his chest. You smirked in a slight satisfaction over that. Even though you knew this had nothing to do with you, it somehow felt like Drew was defending you. Though you couldn’t explain it, you considered Slibhin, the petitioner, as an invader. As a threat. Not a physical threat, not at all. You were certain that even in your present state you could make him bleed. Heavily. It was his mind that you felt put off by. He wasn’t clever, not by any means, but his way of thinking (if you could call it thinking) somehow disturbed you. He just felt so… entitled. Though he hadn’t done anything outrageous, there was something about him you just couldn’t trust. You had hoped that Drew’s questioning would have somehow disheartened the small man, but he just kept…  on…  smiling.

 “Your Majesty, like yourself, I am fortunate enough to have been wed this year...” He smiled and nodded to the space next to your husband. You gasped loudly. There stood your King’s cupbearer. A little girl with soft skin and wide eyes, no older than ten. It was a subtle nod, one that the vast majority court hadn’t seemed to notice, thank the Gods. But you had known what you saw, but you refused to believe it. Yes, she was the closest person to Drew and she was very well dressed, but surely no one could have possibly thought that she was their Queen, or that Drew would ever dare wed or… lay with a... child. Who looked at a child so young and innocent and thought: “wife”? Tears welled in your eyes. Drew leaned forward and inhaled to repute the gesture, obviously aware of what was implied, but Slibhin persisted.

 “But I haven’t married just any woman. I have married the daughter of a Laird.” He said the last word as if he were sampling a rare vintage. “Through this union, I have acquired a status that supersedes that of any blacksmith, alive or dead. By both my birth and my diplomacy, I have the right to that smithy. Now all I need is... well, physical support to take what is mine.”

 You could feel the veins in your forehead bulging as your eyes stung. You hated this man. Everything he said. Everything he thought. Everything about him filled you with a rage. He had insulted you and your husband. He believed his Queen was a child and his King was a senseless monster. More than that, he was stealing a woman’s right to work. Her livelihood. Just because he could. There was no way he could do this. 

 “Very well.” Your head snapped to your husband. Drew rubbed his temples under his circlet. “You’ll have some men to help you restore peace to your home, but that’s all. You cannot-”

 “WAIT!”

 Time stopped. Silence covered the room like a woolen blanket. Even the little gnats that were fluttering about seemed to be suspended in the thick, heated air. Every living thing in the world had turned into a statue, all with their heads turned to you, including Drew’s. Your face felt hot. Hotter than before, if that were even possible. You noticed that your hands were gripping the railing before you. So tightly, in fact, that your knuckles were the color of milk. You looked down at Slibhin. His smile was still plastered on his face, but his eyes were small and full of malice. You took some comfort in that you broke, if just for a moment, that boy’s jovial mask. It gave you the courage to speak.

 “If I may speak on this-”

 “Your King has already made his decree, my sweet girl.” said Slibhin quickly, hoping to put you down as swiftly and as kindly as possible. “I don’t believe he-”

 Drew quickly stood to his feet, causing the floor to quake in the process. 

 “Your Queen has chosen to honor you with her words. I suggest you listen. Kneel, boy.” As if his legs were cut at the knees, Slibhin fell back down with his head bowed once more. You could see that the little man was sweating… heavily, and not because of the blistering heat. Drew looked back at you, his eyes filled with admiration and encouragement. You felt some kind of power in the bottom of your feet, anchoring you to your castle. Your home. Your seat of power. Air gracefully filled your lungs and you spoke.

 “Perhaps it is just my female sensibility, or the fragile constitution that poisons my sex,” you said with an overly-sweet tone, so much so, that the ladies of the court tried to suppress their giggles, leaving the men confused, “but it seems to me that sending military force to settle such a small domestic dispute, even without violence, is very... uncivilized.” 

 You looked at Drew for support. He nodded slightly. “Well said, my Queen. What do you suggest instead?” You hesitated, but only for a moment. 

 “Send an ambassador. Someone to settle the matter diplomatically. I believe it would spare exhausted men more work, and inspire less resistance from the blacksmith.”

 The court murmured in support of your idea, but you couldn’t help but feel disheartened. You didn’t want to send an envoy to solve the matter. You didn’t think there was a matter to be solved. Let the damn girl smith in peace. However, you knew that couldn’t be. The small, hateful man that knelt before you had a right to his father’s business... and his sister’s life if she were not yet married. You just couldn’t bear seeing a young woman dragged out by soldiers to be humbled before her brother; a brother that clearly bore her no love.

 “It shall be done, my Queen. I can think of no better alternative.” Drew proclaimed, just happy that the matter was finally done with. “The crown will send the Laird of Commerce to settle-”

 “I will go,” you said. “Today.”

 Drew’s eyes widened. He turned to you and raised his brow. You did your best to not look directly at him, but instead kept your chin raised and your eyes on the frivolously dressed man. You knew what you had done. The place of the Queen was inside her castle, not in politics. Drew had allowed you some leniency just then, by giving you leave to speak, but that was just because he was so utterly exhausted. The repercussions that may fall on Drew for your actions were not lost on you. He could be seen as weak or incompetent. Your outburst could be seen as him allowing a woman, even if it was his wife, control him. You knew all of this.

 But you couldn’t let this happen. Even though you had never met this smith before, you felt a kind of womanly bond with her. You didn’t have a plan for when you met her, or how you could save her, but you also had no plan to speak out a few moments ago. Slibhin looked back and forth between the two of you, hoping that the King would somehow intervene. Though you had never declared your intention to have the girl keep her forge, he could sense your motives... and he didn’t like them. You could tell that he was just waiting for Drew to silence or perhaps admonish you in front of the court… all with that damned smile on his face.

 “I suppose you will be in need of an escort…” Your head snapped to your husband. He had a smile of his own. Sincere and cocky. “My Queen. I’d like to offer you my services.”

 Your heart fluttered and you nodded. A collective giggle escaped from the crowd. Him doing this not only showed that he approved of your plan, but if anyone dared to oppose you, they would have to go through him first. On top of all that, his attitude was a playful one, showing he wasn’t bothered by your actions at all. You let out a breath that you didn’t know you were holding.

 “The court is dismissed. Those in attendance will retire and I will go to fulfill my duties.” Drew’s voice boomed through the hall as the nobles and commoners alike scrambled toward the exit. The room emptied uncommonly fast either out of fear of their King, or because they wanted the ordeal to just be over already. It was most likely the latter. In a moment the only living souls left behind were yourself and Drew. Even the sniveling Slibhin was taken out and told to make his smithy ready for the royals’ arrival. 

 You walked down to the lower level to meet with Drew. The smile on his face hadn’t lessened, but it did change somehow. As soon as you were within reach your husband grabbed you and held you close. It wasn’t in a romantic way; it was in a very lustful way. Your face was forced into his chest. One hand gripped your hair while the other was pressed into your backside. Drew squeezed his hand and forced you to roll into his thigh. You tried to gasp, but found breathing impossible. The King lowered his mouth to your ear.

 “I know what you’re trying to do, little one,” he growled. “You’re trying to torture me. Trying to make me wait. Get back at me for teasing you. But let me tell you something, my Queen.” He let go of your hair and tilted your chin to look up at him. Your eyes were glazed over and your mouth hung open at the sheer sensation you were experiencing. Drew continued, “I may be beaten down, but I still have the strength to take you. I still have the power to ravage you. I still have the endurance to turn you into a whimpering mess. The only thing I don’t have is patience to visit that little idiot’s house and watch you comfort some crying welp.” 

 Drew lifted you and placed you roughly on his throne. He leaned over you and put his arms on either side of your head, caging you. Your chest heaved as your breathing became erratic. Your husband captured your gasping mouth in a fiery kiss and you moaned unabashedly. After a few moments of bliss, you felt a rough, dirty hand slide up the side of your leg. It reminded you that just a few minutes ago, you could feel yourself dripping as you dreamed of this exact scene. But something felt wrong. Your head was swimming and your thoughts were scattered, but you knew that you had forgotten something. Something important. 

 “Welcome me home, my Queen. Not like that little farce this morning. Give me a real welcome.” Drew growled and bit your neck, making you hold in a scream of pleasure... and a small amount of pain… just the right amount. “Come on my love. I want to hear you.” By now his fingers were pushing into your core, threatening to enter you. “Tell me what you want. Tell me what you want and I’ll give it to you.” He was whispering now. In the midst of his beast-like state, he still found softness to give to you. 

 You felt guilty for what you were about to say. You loved your husband more than anything in this world and you wanted to give him what he wanted. What he craved, but…

 “No, Drew. I have to go to that man’s house. I have to see that smithing girl. Today. I really truly have to...  Please, let me go.”

 Your husband froze. He didn’t even seem to be breathing. You swallowed and started to get up from the throne. Only then did Drew back off from you and in doing so, you felt his fingers leave your core. It was devastating. Drew stood to his full height and stared at you. His face was confusion incarnate. You got to your feet only to stumble forward and be caught by your King. Your legs were still shaking from what he had just done.

 “Thank you.” You were barely able to speak let alone look at him.

 “Are you serious? You actually want to go?” His voice didn’t have a hint of malice. But it seemed... small. Tears welled in your eyes as you nodded. The guilt you felt was immeasurable.

 “I’m sorry. I just… I-I… yes. Yes I want to go… and I need to go now. If-If we, um… share each other now, I w-wont be able t-to think of anything else.” You shook, hugging your husband’s chest. “I’m so sorry. I want to give myself to you. I want everything to be perfect when we…” You couldn’t finish your thought. You looked up at Drew’s face, expecting him to be angry, sad, frustrated, anything like that. But the corner of his mouth was turned upwards and his eyes were sparkling. You went to speak before he rolled his eyes and let out a breath of a laugh.

 “On we go then…” The King turned and lumbered away from you, shaking his head dramatically. “The things a man must do to bed a woman.” He spoke over his shoulder. “You’d think a King would at least have an easier time.” He stopped and turned to you. “Well? Are you coming?” 

 A broad smile covered your face as you ran to catch up with your teasing husband.

 The first word that came to mind when you walked through your keep’s village was “quaint.” Compared to the village surrounding your father’s keep, this was a bustling metropolis, but that wasn’t saying much. Every building looked the same, some just slightly bigger than others. The people also looked the same… some were just slightly bigger than others. Everything was a different shade of greyish brown. With a few splashes of specific colors to indicate different shops. You could tell that these people were poor, but none seemed like they were “in-need.” They had dirt on their faces, but they also seemed to have food in their stomachs. The noises that you heard were dull but plentiful. Men grumbling about prices, old women sharing rumors with one another, big wooden wheels of food carts crawling along on the soft peat roads.

 Luckily, your feet and the hem of your dress were safe from the filth. You rode on your horse a few meters behind your escort, your husband. Though he no longer wore his royal circlet, it was obvious to the village folk around you that he was their King. Everyone got out of his path. From the littlest children play-fighting with sticks to the largest men pulling wagons along because they couldn’t afford a mule, all stopped what they were doing and stared at Drew… from a safe distance, of course. You couldn’t help but feel prideful. You saw how the townswomen stared at your husband. How they lusted after him. They also must resent you for keeping him from them, as if they ever had a chance. You suppressed a giggle. All women wanted him, but he was yours by right. And you were going to lay claim to what was rightfully yours… very soon.

 “Well, would you look at that,” you could hear Drew proclaim. You craned your neck as the King slowed up to leisurely ride beside you. This time, you couldn’t contain the laughter that burst out of you at the sight of the little Slibhin sitting in the dirt, dizzy with pain as blood steadily dripped from his nose. It was a lovely sight. Drew looked at you and raised an eyebrow. Your laughter subsided a bit as a hint of shame plucked at you. That was very unladylike. Even Drew, who resented the little man almost as much as you did was able to maintain his composure. Still… it was funny. You didn’t think much of it.

 Drew dismounted and helped you off your mare. You looked at your surroundings. It consisted of hundreds of grey eyes fixed upon you. Some were trying to figure out who you were. Others were judging you for your outburst. Others still were looking on and wondering how a woman so small could lay beneath a man so large and not be flattened. You began to feel self-conscious and fiddled with your sleeve. You took in a breath to address the crowd before you felt the large torso of your King block out the sun as he stepped between you and the masses.

 “Royal business. On with your day.” Drew grunted. Like ants after you pick up the slab they were hiding under, the people disbursed. You reached out and squeezed his hand in thanks before you turned to the building behind you. 

 Under a shoddy overhang, there stood a gigantic forge with multiple anvils, crafting tables, whetstones, and pieces of different metals and ores grouped together by size and type. Your first thought was that no one man could work this forge alone, let alone one girl. On the wall hung more smithing tools than you knew existed. Each one grimy and well-used. Even the wooden handles of the hammers seemed to be rotting, but you couldn’t help but admire how well organized everything was. As Queen, you were in charge of keeping the largest estate in the country in the best shape it can be, and even you could never be this organized.

 You swallowed hard and looked at your husband. By now he had taken the reins of your horses and led them to a water trough. You watched as he sat on a nearby overturned barrel and looked at you. You gave him a weak smile, pleading for some gesture of encouragement. Drew smirked and replied by spreading his legs. Under his kilt, you saw his already glistening cock jutting straight out of a roost of thick, black curls. Slightly less noticeable were the black and purple bruises that seemed like knolls in the tree trunks that were his thighs. They had to be extremely painful, but he didn’t seem to care.  Drew gave you a look. “Don’t take too long,” it said.

 You turned and knocked on the wooden door in front of you. Slibhin gave a groan of pain and mumbled something incoherent. You just rolled your eyes. The big door creaked open a sliver and you saw two pale blue eyes meekly peer out. You blinked a few times in surprise before crouching to be level with them.

 “Umm… may I come in? I believe you’ve been expecting me.”

 The two beautiful eyes nodded before retreating behind the door to heave it open with both hands. This was not how you expected the visit to start, but now you were more curious than ever. You hiked up your dress, stepped over the threshold and entered the house.

This was a home. You could tell that these people were richer than most, but they put nothing they owned to waste. The chairs were cushioned, but with makeshift pillows that seemed to be sewn from very fine, but very torn silks. Suspended from the ceiling beams were little figurines of colored glass that others would put in a cabinet and never dare breathe on for fear of shattering it. They gave the house a comforting glow when the light hit them the right way. In the wooden support beams and rafters were etched runes that you didn’t understand, but liked to look at. They had little statues and figures carved from wood that must have been imported from somewhere far away, but they weren’t for decoration. They either had overcoats draped over them or cooking utensils in their hands. Expensive looking urns and pitchers had been stuffed with soil and sprouted mixed clumps of different wildflowers, giving the house a sweet, clean air. Everything had a purpose, and even fluffy, expensive furs that even the highest of  nobles would keep locked away safe, were used as carpets and doormats. 

 You couldn’t quite explain it, but you felt… safe here. It was like a child’s nursery in a way. While you admired the house you were in, the door closed, and your ear twitched at dainty little ghosts of footsteps. You turned.

 Standing there was a woman that was somehow even smaller than yourself. Her half-braided hair was so light that it appeared silver in the few beams of sunlight that filtered through the shuttered windows. Somehow, her skin was even more fair, with a sweet but extremely shy look on her face. If you were a child, you would have believed her to be a fae. She wore an extremely well made and expensive looking dress... that appeared to have the sleeves, collar, hem, (and practically all areas that caused discomfort in a woman) torn or cut and resewn. It didn’t restrict her in any way. You would be lying if you said you didn’t envy her. You silently cursed yourself for not changing out of your ridiculous gown before making the journey into the village.

 It was only then that you remembered that you had come here to speak with a smith. You quickly glanced at the girl’s arms, noting them to be as weak and as elegant as a willow’s branch. Her fingers were small and lithe, like strands from a spider’s web. Her back and neck … unbent as if it were an icicle, not at all like the hunched over men you had seen working your keep’s smithy. 

 “My Majesty. I am having a great honor, now, to be receiving your person at my little homestead.” 

 You were taken aback by her broken speech, but her voice was absolutely beautiful... like the ringing of a bell. She got on her hands and her knees before you, a bit excessive, but you understood her intent. You began to question if you should reciprocate her absurd amount of formality.

 “Arise, my good hostess. A woman should never have to kneel in her own home.” You gave her a warm smile, and after a pause she rose to her feet but kept her head down.

 “Please have forgiveness for me, Highness. I am stupid to your traditions of the South.” 

 “You’ve done nothing wrong, sweet girl,” you were quick to reply. “I’ve come here as a friend. Please, don’t feel that you’ve insulted me.” The silver girl nodded understandingly, but her shoulders were still tense. You had never met this woman before in your life, but you desperately wanted to reach out and embrace her. To stroke her hair and whisper comforting words to her, like you would a frightened child during a storm.

 “I believe you know why I’ve come here,” you gently pressed. The woman nodded.

 “Yes, to discuss the business of this family. I am begging you, now, to possess a chair of mine.” You smiled at that. The way she spoke was adorable to you. You grabbed a seat and almost gasped as you sank into the cushion. It was just so comfortable. The girl moved to the chair opposite you as if she were gliding on a frozen pond, and nervously sat. A long unnerving silence blanketed the room until you were finally able to find your words. You deeply wanted to just get it all over with.

 “I would just like to tell you that I do wish I could support your claim to your father’s forge. In fact, I- I admire you. Ladies are often not as… bold as you are about your talent.” You spoke about her “boldness” with great hesitation. You have never seen a more meek person in your life, but she must have some bravery in her. If you had learned anything from being the wife of the King, it was that people are not often as they appear.

 The young woman tilted her head and furrowed her brow in confusion. You were afraid that she didn’t understand you and were prepared to repeat yourself in simpler terms, when you noticed her eyes widening. She flung her hand over her mouth to hide a gigantic smile as her shoulders bounced in an attempt to suppress giggles. While it was comforting to see your hostess joyful, you were the tiniest bit offended that her newfound laughter was directed at you. 

 “I am sorry. I am sorry, Queen. Do you… Do you believe that I am the smith?” Her eyes were playful and innocent. A wave of embarrassment flooded over you as all the color was drained from your face. Of course she wasn’t a smith. Any idiot could see that. Just lifting a hammer would exhaust her. The girl gestured to herself. “I am the wife.”

 That sentence caught you by surprise and you looked up at her. Then you remembered that Slibhin had bragged about marrying the daughter of a Laird. She did carry herself like a noble, but… the way she spoke showed that she was certainly not a native of Scotland.

 “Of course. Forgive me, but your accent…” you tentatively asked. The girl nodded.

 “My mother was Norse. She raised me in the old language, being very prideful of her people and of her land.” Your eyes followed her right hand as it played with her left wrist. It was adorned with a pale silver bracelet. Obviously, it had a connection to her mother. “Yrsa,” you heard her whisper to herself, sadly. She took a moment before seemingly returning to the present. The girl continued. “She was for my Scottish father, a reward. A chained bride from conquest. His only desire was to breed savage boys with cold blood. And she did give to him two sons who were strong and brave and warlike... however  he was plainly not content with my birth.” She kept looking at the bracelet, speaking as if you weren’t there. “It was his demand for her to swaddle me by the sea and have the waves take me… he sent my brothers along to witness my death, and to force my mother if she were unable to do it… but she did not do it… and my brothers did not force her. She hid me and when I was able, I played the role of a servant-girl. My brothers aided my farce.” She gave a weak smile. “I will now have been dead by his own hand if he had known of my living. By the time he was made aware of me, I was too old to kill quietly and I proved useful for marriages... in exchange for weapons and armour.” 

 She looked directly at you. Both pride and pain shined in her eyes.

 “I am Sigrdrífa, my Queen. The fruit of a mother’s defiance and two boys’ mercy.”

 At first, you didn’t know what to say. It was good that you finally knew her name, but you were at a loss for words. You only wanted to hear more of her story. Who was her mother? Was she still alive? Did she know that her husband was lying three feet from the door, knocked silly?

 “Sigrdrífa... are you-”

 Just then, outside, you heard a loud thump followed by a comical wail of pain. Slibhin must have been struck by something.

 “This is the smith, my Grace.” Sigrdrífa muttered, almost amusedly. You were suddenly filled with an excited nervousness. This is why you were here after all. To talk with the smith. If she was anything like this little Sigrdrífa, this would be more interesting than you imagined it to be this morning, and you were imagining quite a bit. At least you would have an easier time understanding her.

 The door was busted open with a kick.

 “Oi, te’ foockin’ cunt’s still bleedin’ by te’ nose! Ah dun’t even use me good han’! Ah shoulda done tha’ years ‘go! ”

 She was massive. Her body nearly filled the door frame, blocking out all the light. Her broad shoulders and arms that were left exposed by her leather jerkin were wonderful advertisements for her trade. Her head was shaved, and you couldn’t tell if the brown that sat on her head was stubble, or layers of ash and dirt that seemed ingrained in other parts of her skin. You suspected it was both. She had no indication of a womanly figure. Her clothes were clearly meant for a grown man, and they fit her perfectly. In one fist, she held the necks of several ducks.

 She opened her mouth to speak again and froze. Her eyes were the color of newly unearthed ore with clumps of dirt still clinging to it, begging it to return to the ground. Rough and unrefined, but strong. You felt that her gaze alone was strong enough to knock you down, and it was fixed on you. 

 You smiled and stood, intending to walk towards her, curious, and only the slightest bit intimidated. That all changed when her once toothy smile was swallowed by her tightening lips. Her nose crinkled and you saw her jaw tighten. You swore you could hear her teeth grinding. She took her tree-trunk of a leg and kicked the door closed. You stopped before you could even take one step. 

 You suddenly felt yourself suffocating. Not like you were in the morning, with boredom and stillness, but you couldn’t find your air out of fear for the giant before you. You felt like a caged animal, not a dangerous animal that could fight back, you were something small like a hare or a field mouse. There was just no way you could do anything physical to her. The smith tilted her chin up to as if to speak over  you. The veins in her neck were bulging, but she still stared at you.

 “Te’ son ofa whore wun’t bluffin’. ‘E got te’ bleedin’ Queen… Ya let ‘er in?” Her voice was surprisingly soft. There wasn’t much anger in it, more like she had been slapped in the face… by someone who could actually reach. You looked back at the meek little girl you had just met. She stood up straight with her eyes locked on the smith, not showing one bit of fear. If anything, she seemed annoyed.

 “She is here to be settling your business.” Sigrdrífa spoke slowly, as if explaining to a child. Patronizing. The big woman sneered and stared you down.

 “She dun’t look li’e she’s ready to settle anythin’ wit me.” Your eyes moved to her free hand, where she used her thumb to crack each of her knuckles. Loudly. You gasped when you felt Sigrdrífa’s tiny hand grab your arm. She spoke to you.

 “I give you apologies, my Queen. She speaks harshly for she fears losing her-”

 “Ah’m naw ‘fraid. Notin’ ta be ‘fraid of. Et’s naw gonnae ‘appen.” The large woman continued to stare at you and raised her eyebrows, as if daring you to challenge what she had just stated. You heard forceful, purposeful footsteps come from behind you. You watched as your tiny protector marched up and met toe-to-toe with the mountain at the door.

 “You are behaving as a boar does.”

 “Ye’ eva jump inta a boar’s den? Tear ye’ foockin’ guts out, they will. Rightf’lly so.”

 “You will lose your neck for speaking so.”

 “They’re welcome te’ try ‘n take et.” She still looked directly at you, never breaking eye contact. A ghost of a smile played with the corners of her mouth. She was cocky. She knew that she could do whatever she damn well pleased to you. This was her den, and you had just stumbled blindly into it.

 “Yer naw takin’ me forge. Et’s mine.” The smith just would not stop staring at you.  Sigrdrífa pushed against the smith’s chest. Her porcelain skin seemingly red with anger. 

 “She has been sent here to keep the peace.”

 “She’s been sent ‘ere ‘cos they don’ t’ink ah’d lay a hand on te’ Queen... Bu’ ah can, an’ ah will.” You felt faint. Your head swam in a freezing kind of heat. You wanted Drew here. You wanted him to barge through that door and rescue you. But you knew he wouldn’t. He only escorted you to keep up appearances as King. He let you walk into this house alone. He must have seen the gigantic girl walk in and kick the door shut behind her. He trusted you to settle things here. He wasn’t coming. If you screamed his name, the smith would still get to you first. It was up to you to save yourself, and you were too terrified of the scene before you to conjure anything that could remotely resemble a rational thought. 

 The smith saw this, and was loving every second of your horror and fear. She opened her mouth to say something else when the woman in front of her began to sob. For the first time since she saw you, the giant took her eyes off of you and looked down at Sigrdrífa, her face now immense with concern. She dropped the ducks in her hand and shot her arms up to hold the trembling woman. Sigrdrífa swatted her hands away and punched at her vest.

 “You are not made of metal! You think that you are, but you are not!” The smith went to hold her again, but again she beat away her hands and continued to wail on the giant’s chest. “You will fight the whole of the King’s army? Yes? You will fight every soldier of this Scotland? You will kill every soldier of this Scotland? You will fight the King? You will kill the King?” The smith took in a breath to respond, but was cut off. “You will be KILLED! You will be dead, and I will wish to be dead!” 

 Sigrdrífa’s strength seemed to fall away instantly. Her hands stopped their pounding and fell to her side. She fell forward, directly into the chest of the monster, who immediately wrapped her arms around her, giving her the support that her wobbling legs failed to provide. Sigrdrífa’s shoulders heaved as she wept, and the giant just... held her. You couldn’t believe the scene that was unfolding before you. You didn’t know what to think. Sigrdrífa spoke again, her voice barely above a whisper. You strained to hear. 

 “You are selfish. You are selfish to try and fight the world. When you are dead, I will have lost all of me. When you are dead, there will be nothing to stop him-”

 “No.” The smith spoke with a stern and clear voice. “‘E won’t touch ye again. Even if ah lose ev’rythin’ else, ‘e will never touch ye again. Ah promise, little one.” 

 Little one.

 Your heart skipped a beat.

 You immediately looked up at the big woman. Her eyes were fixed firmly on Sigrdrífa in a state that you instantly recognized. Her eyes were focused, but so soft. Her mouth ever so slightly curled in a contemplative smile, despite the dire circumstances. Her head was tilted to the side. Her breath was slow and even. She looked at Sigrdrífa the same way Drew often looked at you. Just after you caught him staring, and just before he averted his eyes, pretending he didn’t even see you. It was a look of utter adoration. Pure love. 

 Your eyes darted down to Sigrdrífa. Her posture was different than it was a few moments ago. Though she was still distraught, she sought refuge in the person she had just been fighting, as if she had nowhere else to go. She nuzzled her head into the smith’s chest, as if she was trying to disappear into it. 

 Everything clicked into place. Your heart sank. Sigrdrífa was married to Slibhin, the smith’s brother. A brother that she clearly had no affection for... and a man that clearly had no respect for his wife or his sister. They had found refuge in one another. The smith was unapologetic about her brutish nature in front of the dainty girl, and she in turn felt safe to scold this monstrosity of a human without any fear or hesitation. You quickly looked around the room again to recognize the oddity of it all. The unorthodox nature of it. They had taken useless, idle things that Slibhin had most likely purchased using the money that his sister made, and had used them to serve their own comfort, something that Sigrdrífa desperately needed. These two had made a home together. 

 And you were about to take it all away. You couldn’t do that to them. Even if one of them had just threatened your life. You understood why she did so. Drew would have done the very same thing if someone had threatened to hurt you. Actually, he wouldn’t even utter a word of a threat. He would just kill them then and there. You gasped and held your heart. If Drew knew that this girl had threatened you, she would be killed. You had to do something.

 “I support your claim to your forge.” You felt your throat resonate with sound even though you didn’t even feel your lips move. You didn’t feel yourself rise to your feet and take several steps toward the pair, but that’s exactly what you did. Though the smith’s attention was still on Sigrdrífa, you saw her eyes rise up to meet yours. They were red and threatening tears. Somehow, this gave you confidence.  You had to take advantage of it.

 “Also... no one sent me here. I demanded to come here and settle this matter myself.” The smith stood to her full height once again, but still held the girl. Sigrdrífa turned around in her embrace, wiping her eyes in shame of her outburst. Both of them, waiting for what you were going to say. For the first time since entering the house, you felt like the Queen.

 “I may be willing to forgive you for your childish threats if you sit down and let me speak.” Your back straightened and you lifted your chin. In a way, you were trying to emulate Drew when he spoke to his undisciplined recruits. Sigrdrífa gently pushed the smith’s arms away from her, as if they weighed nothing, bent over and gathered the ducks off of the floor, holding them in her arms like a newborn. She took small, slow steps towards you.

 “My Queen, may I ask you to pardon me? I must be preparing these for supper.” Her voice quaked. She was completely embarrassed. You felt pity for her. She was most likely the most gentle woman you have ever met, and she was thrown into the middle of all... this.

 You nodded and gave a ghost of a smile. She bowed her head and retreated to the fireplace. She sat in a rocking chair and began plucking the feathers from the ducks. The chair and fireplace were extremely close to the table. She was well within earshot and could easily talk business with you, but you understood that she just wanted to disappear. You at least could give her that courtesy. 

 You looked back at the smith at the door. She was walking toward you, but stopped in her tracks.

 “Ah was just gonnae sit down. Ah wun’t gonnae do nothin’ else.” She put her hand up, as if swearing an oath. You had to suppress a smile, keeping your regal composition. Even though you were touched at the big woman’s devotion to the smaller one, and even though you desperately wanted them to live happily with one another, free from the little monster that plagued them both, you still were the Queen, and you had been not only insulted, but threatened by your subject. It was your turn to be intimidating, even if your target was just a stubborn, rough, protective giant. Just like Drew.

 “Sit down.” She almost lunged to the seat opposite you. The ground shook with her every step. Even when she was seated, she towered over you. Frankly, you still had trouble believing that she was really that big. You took your own seat. She folded her hands together and hunched forward, clearly trying to show that she was listening. However, in doing so, she took up most of the table. To answer this, you leaned forward yourself and watched in glee as she retreated into the back of her chair. This time, you did smile. Proudly.

 “Tell me why you should keep your forge.” 

 “Ye said ye s’pport me claim.” The big woman was tensing up again. She knew she was being toyed with, but she could do nothing about it. 

 “I do, but I only support your claim because I don’t want to support your brother’s.”

 The smith smiled at that. A broad, toothy smile like the one she wore when she first entered the house. Her teeth were square, and she had a small gap between the front most two. Just like Drew. She was delighted that someone hated her brother. She looked into your eyes, hoping that you would return her smile, and lighten the mood somewhat. You didn’t return anything. Defeated, the smith cleared her throat and spoke.

 “Ah’m te’ furst born. Ah’m from me da’s furst wife. ‘E said I’d ‘ave te’ forge when ‘e died… ‘E died. ”

 “When did your father die?” You tried to formulate some sort of timeline. You didn’t know what for. You knew you shouldn’t get involved too much in their family affairs, but curiosity got the better of you.  The large woman hitched her thumb back at Sigrdrífa..

 “Same day Slibhin brought ‘er ‘ere. Died in ‘is sleep,” she huffed and rolled her eyes, clearly insinuating that that was not, in fact, the way her father truly died. But surely there was no way to prove any foul play. When a dying old man finally passes, nobody really questions why, or how. You got your thoughts together. So Slibhin brought back his wife and then his father ‘died in his sleep,’ meaning that she never truly had power over the forge. It had just passed from her father to her brother. But something wasn’t lining up.

 “Then… when did you... take control of the smithy? I mean, why is your brother begging for help now?

 “Te, King an’ soldiers wen’ off te’ war. Nob’dy te’ enforce it.” She looked at you like you were stupid. You weren’t sure if she realized what her facial expression was offensive or not, but you didn’t like it. Your cheeks grew hot at that insult, but you didn’t pursue it and further.

 “So you’ve been in the head of the house for about… one month?”

 She nodded her head. You opened your mouth to ask another question about the previous whereabouts of her now unconscious brother, but the smith cut you off, already knowing.

 “E’s been livin’ in a whorehouse fer te’ past month. Anythin’ else? Can ah keep goin’?” Her patience was wearing thin, and even though she didn’t intend to scare you, you felt fear creep back up into your chest. But before you were able to even inhale to steady yourself, you heard the faintest sound of someone clearing their throat. You looked back up at the giant woman, who looked confused in turn. You saw her turn in her chair to meet Sigrdrífa’s gaze. 

 The smaller woman didn’t say a word, just narrowed her eyes, pursed her lips, scrunched her nose and gave the smith a curt nod. The universal way a wife signaled to her husband that he was being inappropriate. The smith’s head lowered and she let out a big sigh, causing her shoulders to loosen and drop. Her hand went to rub the back of her neck in embarrassment as she slowly turned back to you, not daring to make eye contact.

 “Ah’m sorry, my Queen,” was all she said. You immediately stopped yourself from forgiving her… and calling her ‘Drew.’ In that moment, you saw your husband in that smithing girl. Utterly and completely. That was the way Drew always apologized to you. From the body language to the facial expression down to the cadence of her words; it was an exact match.

 “Continue,” was all you said. The smith nodded and did just that.

 “Ah’m te’ one tha’ smiths. Ah’m te’ one tha’ earns te’ gold. Me brothe’ dunt kno’ an’thin’ ‘bout makin’ deals wit’ nob’dy. ‘E’s a cunt. Nob’dy want’s te’ work wit’ ‘em. Townsfolk don’ li’e me much, buh… ah’m sure tha’ ah’ve dun be’er than ‘im.. makin’ deals, ah mean...”

 You genuinely nodded along with each point that the smith made… well, the ones you were able to understand. With every breath she took, you wanted more and more to give her the rights to her forge, and it pained you knowing that you couldn’t do so. Even though you didn’t like the girl, you knew that she cared about what was hers, and she was willing to fight for it. Just like Drew.

 “-Wit’out ‘im, ah’ve made more gold ‘n ah’ve eve-”

 “What’s your name?”

 That caused the smith to freeze, mid sentence. She looked at you as if you’ve just grown three heads. You didn’t think what you had asked was difficult… Perhaps she didn’t understand the question? The woman opposite you rubbed her knuckles across the palm of her other hand and bit her cheek.

 “Brynhildr... Ye’ Grace.” 

 “Brynhildr…” you repeated. The guttural pronunciation forced the name to get caught in your throat, causing you to cough a bit. You composed yourself and smiled politely. “That’s an interesting name.”

 “Et’s a’ ugly name,” she corrected you, looking almost apologetic. “If et’s easier, ye’ can call me ‘Breun.’ Most evr’yone else does.”

 Breun, you knew that word. It was Gaelic for something. You took it upon yourself to learn the language, but your teacher became very… excited in hearing you speak the ancient tongue and often cut lessons short to… reward you for being so studious. You had heard the word before. You just couldn’t remember what it was.

 The smith read your mind. “Et means ‘filthy… stinkin’... beastly...  t’ings li’e tha’...” she rolled her eyes and smiled sadly as she told you. Her voice was much softer than when she first walked in, as if she were trying not to upset you. Her eyes were somehow less harsh-looking than before, but just as strong. You felt like they could hold you up and support you, reliably, just by virtue of them looking at you. You stammered for something to say. Something that would give her comfort. 

 “Why- why would they call you that?” Stupid question. Anyone could see that breun was a perfect description of her, and she knew that perfectly well. She gave you a small smile and turned her hands over on the table, palms up, presenting herself as evidence. You quickly shook your head, trying to spare her feelings. “I will not call you that. That’s cruel.” She shook her head.

 “Et’s true. Well... et wa’ true a month ‘go. Now ah git scrubbed bloody e’ry foockin’ sundown.” The smith tilted her head back when saying that, clearly not talking to you.

 “It would not be necessary if  you did not insist on ending every day by wearing a coat of ash,” a soft voice chimed in. You leaned to the side to look at Sigrdrífa, who had not taken her eyes off of her work, but was sporting a shining smile and a deep blush on her cheeks. You chuckled as you imagined the scene of this colossus sitting in a tub too small for her, with a sour expression on her face as the tiny, dainty, soft spoken girl scrubbed her back with a horse brush and reprimanded her for being too dirty… while blacksmithing.

 “Tha’s naw all et means.” Your attention returned to the smith’s face. “Breun also means bold, loud, an’ unladylike.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Dun’t soun’ too ‘orrible te me.” Her eyes sparkled with pride. “Ah won’ be ‘ffended ef ye call me ‘Breun’, Ye’ Grace.” She offered you a smile once more, and this time you returned it sincerely. It must be a family trait, smiling. Her brother Slibhin, you remembered, often sported a smile when speaking to others, but his was snide and arrogant while her’s was humble and giving. 

 “Breun, it is,” you conceded with a nod. “It actually is a fairly handsome name, in my opinion.”

 Breun’s chest swelled as she took a deep breath, trying not to shed a tear. It dawned on you that you may have been the first person to say something truly kind to her. Well, one of the first people at least. She leaned forward to say something, but froze as she just began to open her mouth. A flush of confusion and a tiny bit of fear washed over you.

 You started to speak. “Excuse-”

 “SHHH” Breun scrunched her face up and held a finger uncomfortably close to your mouth. Your heart began to race once more. Sigrdrífa stood up and moved to stand by Breun, putting her hand on her shoulder. The smith seemed completely statuesque. The only part of her that moved was… her ears. They seemed to twitch. You closed your eyes and tried to focus your hearing. 

 At first, you could hear nothing, just stillness. Then, the lightest, faintest dinging sound. It was constant and even, purposeful. Like a musician beating a drum. It was clearly coming from the outside. Drew would be able to see what was happening.

 Breun slammed her hand on the table and pushed herself up, leaving cracks and splinters where her palm hit. She almost sprinted over to the door and flung it open, shouting incoherent curses. You looked over to Sigrdrífa for answers. She just closed her eyes and shook her head.

 “What man would be foolish enough?” What was she talking about? What was foolish and who was doing it?

 “Ah don’ gev a SHITE if yer te’ Fookin’ King o’ Scotlan’! Tha’s MY fookin’ ‘ammer!”

 Oh no.

By the time you were able to hike up your ridiculous dress and run outside, Breun had already tackled your husband to the ground and was in the process of wrestling a hammer out of his hands. Both yours and Drew’s faces were full of surprise and confusion. No one had done this to him before. Many have attempted. Mostly it was just  soldiers who wanted to earn the respect of their King, but they had fallen from him like raindrops against a stone wall.

 At the realization that he had a real challenge before him, Drew’s face quickly turned from shock to savagery. Your husband pushed Breun back and kicked her in the chest, nearly launching her ten feet across the dry, dusty ground straight into the side of an anvil. The girl let out a loud grunt and doubled over. Drew then got back to his feet and looked at you.

 “I thought you said that you could resolve this matter quietly!” The King was about to yell some more when he was knocked into the dirt again. Breun had already gotten back up and charged him, this time focusing on his right shoulder, the arm of which was holding her hammer. Surely enough, he dropped it, and like an attacking hound that had just been called back to her master, she pushed herself off of Drew, grabbed her tool from the dust, and pointed it at him.

 “Right... now fuck off.” 

 That was the clearest you had ever heard her speak. Probably because that was the calmest she had ever looked, satisfied with her performance. Drew, on the other hand, was furious. Even though he had sustained injuries that would render a normal man bedridden for weeks, the mere fact that he had been knocked over was enough to make his blood boil. As Breun stepped over your husband to put her hammer away, he grabbed her ankle and tripped her. She fell flat on her chest, causing the ground to shake and a cloud of dust to explode around her.

 Breun scrambled back to her feet and threw the hammer on a nearby workbench. Drew got up as well, slower than he should have. You called out to him, but he couldn’t hear you. The two stared at one another, and though you couldn’t tell who initiated it, the two locked up as if they were two bulls. You noticed that Breun was about one head shorter than your husband. Drew started pushing forward, causing the stubborn smith’s feet to skid backwards in the dust until her back hit the stone wall of her house. Her eyes went wide as she realized that she couldn’t best your husband in strength. Drew wore a smirk on his face. He knew he had won. The King raised his eyebrows, taunting his opponent. Breun’s face became flushed with fury and embarrassment. 

 You didn’t know if it was out of defiance or desperation, but you watched on in horror as Breun cleared her throat and spat in Drew’s face. You heard gasps behind you. You spun around to see that a gigantic crowd had formed to see their King. Maybe it wasn’t a terrific idea to not have any guards accompany you and your husband to the town. Just then, you saw a woman cover her mouth to silence a scream. You turned back around to see Drew with his arm raised and the hammer in his fist. You bolted forward, trying to intervene, when you saw a flash of silver. The next thing you saw was Sigrdrífa hanging about Drew’s neck, trying to stop his movement somehow, but only having the same effect as a silk scarf would. 

 Although the girl was light, her screams and pleas alerted Drew to her presence. Annoyed, more than anything, he dropped the hammer, shook Sigrdrífa off, and forced Breun to her knees before giving her a swift knee in the gut for good measure. He then marched over to you, wiping off his face.

 “I’m sending the soldiers to settle this mess. They’ll humble that little bitch and we’ll be done with the matter. She had her chance to submit peacefully and she wasted it.” Drew looked at you, waiting for your response. You couldn’t think of anything, except...

 “Why did you take her hammer?”

 That stopped your husband in his tracks. He twisted his face in confusion, and then shook his head. “I figured I could make a full set of armour for every man in Scotland before you finished talking in there.” His answer was mean-spirited and sarcastic. You knew that he was feeling aggressive and embarrassed at the moment, but it still hurt you that he would speak to you like that. You took a step back from him. Drew sighed and rubbed a hand down across his face. 

 “Let’s go.” Drew grabbed your arm, being purposefully gentle, and screamed for the crowd to disperse once more as he led you over to your horses. He untied your mare and lifted you onto her saddle. You saw him grimace in pain at performing the action, but decided that you could say nothing. You had failed. The forge would fall back into the hands of Slibhin (who was still unconscious at his own doorstep) and the two girls you had just met would go back to their miserable lives that they fought so hard to escape. You went to wipe a tear that was forming in your eye when you saw Drew looking at you. He gave you a small smile in an attempt to comfort you, but you turned your head from him. For the first time since your wedding day, you didn’t want to look at your husband. Drew just sighed and started untying his own horse from the wooden beam, only to be stopped by a small hand grasping the hem of his bearskin cape.

 “My Majesty. I beg you to have forgiveness.” Drew turned around and looked down to where the small voice was coming from. Sigrdrífa looked into his eyes and grabbed his hand with both of hers. “The smith... she thinks with her strength, and not her head. She fights before she knows what else to do.” Drew’s eyes softened just a tiny bit. He looked back at Breun, who was staring down at her feet. She nodded in agreement. Sigrdrífa spoke again. 

 “Your rage for her is within me countless times over. I begged her to be quiet... to be calm... and yet she could not do that. But, you cannot ask the waves of the sea not to crash. It is willed to happen by nature. She has no choice. She did not mean to disrespect her King.”

 Drew took a deep breath and rubbed his neck with his free hand. You couldn’t believe what you were seeing. This fragile little thing... speaking to the King of Scotland with such grace and calmness after everything that had just happened. And he seemed to be receptive to it all, as well. You couldn’t help but be the tiniest bit jealous of how... regally she was handling everything. The people around you all seemed to be holding their breath, waiting for him to say something, anything. But before he could, Sigrdrífa let go of Drew and reached up to a rip in his shirt that must have been made during the wrestling match a few moments ago and opened it up with her fingers, revealing a deep purple, almost black bruise that was trickling with blood. In a small voice, you heard her almost whisper.

 “She did not mean to hurt you.”

 In an instant, Drew’s eyes were filled with fury once again. Though she didn’t know it, Sigrdrífa had just insulted the King in the worst way imaginable. She suggested that he was hurt. Your husband refused to ever acknowledge pain around other people, especially those who hurt him. No one had ever heard him even grunt in pain when soldiers sparred with him and landed what would be a devastating hit for any other man. Even you didn’t feel comfortable enough yet to ask to clean his wounds when he came back from battle. He did so himself when he believed you to be asleep. When he bedded you during those times, he would behave much more aggressively, often causing you some pain without realizing he did so. It was an attempt to show you that he was just as much of a man as ever, even when in dire need of rest and healing. 

 It was the worst possible thing the girl could have said to Drew.

 He slapped Sigrdrífa’s hand away... hard. You could hear a multitude of gasps join your own as you tried to process what you had just seen. Sigrdrífa didn’t make a sound. She didn’t even seem to flinch. You figured that she must be used to suffering that sort of pain in silence. Breun was ready to lunge at your husband when Sigrdrífa yelled something in her language, and that prevented the smith from taking a single step. You couldn’t help but marvel at the control the tiny girl had over the beast. Drew hesitated for a moment, clearly regretting what he had done, but knowing that if he were to do anything to apologize, he would appear to be weak. Drew looked at Breun.

 “This time tomorrow, members of the royal guard will have come by to inspect the forge. If they find that you are still defiant in obeying your brother, they will do all that is necessary to restore order.” Drew pushed the girl away, and she fell into the dust. Breun ran to her and wrapped her arms around her, almost completely shielding her from the world. Not even paying any mind to Drew. “Does anyone else have any objections?” the King roared. Everyone in the crowd looked at their feet. No one in their right mind would even look into the King’s eyes after everything that had just occurred. Though, you did notice when you scanned your eyes across the masses, that many of the people looked somber. You remembered the smith mentioning in passing that the townsfolk preferred dealing with her over her brother. Through your husband’s decree, not only was Breun losing something, but the village was as well. But you doubted that anyone was going to bring that to his attention.

 Drew untied his horse and put his foot in the stirrup. His steed jumped, as if he didn’t recognize his master. Drew grabbed the reins and jerked the animal’s head to keep it obedient. You couldn’t quite tell why, but a wave of terror spread over you. 

 Watching your husband climb laboriously into his saddle was almost torturous. You saw him bite the inside of his cheek and hold back grunts of pain as he hoisted himself up. When he sat straight, his gaze fixed itself upon you. For a moment you considered turning your head away from Drew, but found it impossible. Be it out of pity, fear, or a mix of both, you were unable to look away from your husband as he stared at you, accusatory.

 “You shouldn’t have gotten their hopes up.”

 You inhaled sharply, intending to speak in your defense, but after a second, you just bowed your head in defeat. You didn’t want to fight. You didn’t have the strength to say a single word of disagreement. “Yes, my King,” was all you could say.

 Drew nodded and moved his horse forward. You followed suit. The sun had just reached its noontime peak. Lunch would do your husband some good, you decided. You were unsure if you would be able to eat anything. Your stomach felt knotted and tight. At least it was all over now.

 “Ye cheated.”

 Drew’s shoulders tensed. He cracked his neck and turned his horse around, as did you. There, a few yards away, holding the frail silver woman was that stubborn smith who just didn’t know when to quit. 

 “Say that again.” Drew’s teeth were clenched. Tight.

 Breun grunted as she rose, holding the silver girl like a bride. She set Sigrdrífa on her feet, and duster her off, subtly tucking a stray hair behind her ear in the process. You heard a quiet “thank you” from the girl. Breun then smiled and gently pushed her off to the side, to relative safety.

 “Ye cheated. Ye were gonnae bash me ‘ead in wit me ‘ammer.”

 “You spat in your King’s face.”

 “Yer naw te’ King when ye fight!” Breun sounded appalled. “A fist cannae tell te’ diff’rence ‘tween comm’ners ‘n nobil’ty. Yer jus’ a man when ye fight... An’ ye cheated.” 

 Of all the things to be concerned with at the moment, you couldn’t believe that the smith was attempting to rationalize and delegitimize her loss to Drew. You didn’t believe that Breun had much wits about her, and clearly it had hurt her pride, but standing back up after she had been humbled and challenging him again wasn’t just stupid, it was suicide. You looked to Drew, but surprisingly, his face was stoic and unreadable. 

 “‘You’re just a man when you fight,’” Drew spoke very slowly, as if contemplating each word’s meaning. There was something in his voice that unnerved you. It seemed... cunning and dripping with malicious intent, like Slibhin had sounded when he was petitioning for some soldiers. Leaning forward in his saddle, the corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly and he raised his eyebrows.

 “Is that how you feel when you fight? Like a man?” Drew let out a small chuckle. The crowd around him burst with loud, deep laughter that shook the air itself. The smith had told you that the townsfolk didn’t like her, but you didn’t expect this level of animosity. Breun herself didn’t move a muscle. Whether she was petrified by the comment or it had passed her by, unimpactful, you couldn’t tell. She seemed to be waiting for the laughter to die down so she could speak. She seemed very unamused. 

 When the thunderous laughter fell into a dull roar of mocking quips and insults from the crowd, Breun walked toward her forge and picked up the blade of an axe that hadn’t been fitted to a handle yet. The crowd went dead silent. You even saw a few men break out into a sprint away from the scene. That would have made you smile and maybe giggle, but you were too preoccupied with all the stupid things that Breun might do with that blade. However, she just looked it over.

 “T’is wha’ ye’ were werkin’ on?” She didn’t take her eyes off the axe-head, purposefully avoiding looking at Drew, as if to insult him. The King’s grip on his reins tightened and he gave a curt nod.

 “Aye.”

 “Aye? Et’s’ done.”

 “It’s hideous.” You couldn’t disagree with your husband there. The blade was a dark grey color, not at all like the glimmering pieces that your husband would present to you. It seemed warped and strange, like it was rotting. In short, it was hideous. It didn’t even look sharp. But Breun just sighed and shook her head, as if she was humor in the matter. 

 She rolled her shoulders back, and took a deep breath, closing her eyes. Sigrdrífa took a small step back and covered her ears. You wondered what was going to happen when you saw Breun open her eyes and let out a monsterous yell. As she did so, she swung her arm around and smashed the blade into the corner of her house. Sparks flew and you heard the most ear-piercing, shrill shriek that you ever thought possible as the stone was hit. Your horse bucked, and it took everything in you to not fall to the dirt. You shushed and calmed her as you stroke her side. You looked to Drew, but his unfriendly gaze was still fixed on the smith. You doubted that he even noticed that you nearly fell from your horse.

 Breun looked at your husband and smiled. The then let her fingers uncurl themselves from the blunt side of the blade and dropped her hand to her side, leaving the axe embedded in the stone. She raised her chin and called out.

 “Calhoun!” 

 You heard an elderly man’s voice ring out through the crowd. “Aye!”

 “Ye’ got any logs stronger ‘n stone?”

 “Nae!”

 “T’is’ll do fine then! Et’s gonnae be ready t’morrow!” Breun then promptly ripped the blade out of the stone and tossed it back onto the side of the forge, never breaking eye contact with the King. She smiled. 

 “Ah’m better ‘n a man. Ah’m a better smith ‘n tha’ fookin’ King.”

 You lowered your head. You truly felt pity for Breun. This was all she could do. Trying to show her strength as a last ditch effort to save something that she had already lost. Like a bear cub would roar in an attempt to terrify the hunter who had already stuck it with a spear. She had nothing left, all that she could do was put on her little show and try not to make a fool of herself any further.

 “No you’re not.”

 Your neck nearly snapped itself as you whipped your head to look at your husband. Being this close to him, you were able to see the features of his face that you couldn’t before. The corners of his eyes were red from lack of sleep. Directly under his nose was a fair amount of blood that had dried and clung itself to his dark facial hair, effectively hiding it from view. His chest was moving, as if just breathing was a great challenge for him. He clearly wasn’t in his right mind, or else he would have dismissed the insult as a fruitless attempt to provoke him. 

 But she was getting to him, and she knew it. Breun’s eyes lit up when Drew took the bait. She walked over to the wall where her tools hung and grabbed two identical hammers. Your eyes widened. She was going to challenge him. For the rights to her forge. Either she knew that something was wrong with your husband or she felt confident that she could out-smith the King. You looked to where Sigrdrífa was standing in the doorframe of her house. Her eyes were closed and her head was turned to the ground, she knew what was happening, but didn’t seem optimistic about it. 

 “Prove et.” Breun stood in the dirt road a few yards away from you, her arm outstretched with a hammer, the handle pointed at Drew. “Prove tha’ yer a better smith ‘n me.”

 This couldn’t go on any further.

 “Stop!” you heard yourself shout from atop your horse. All heads, including the one of your husband, turned to you. You swallowed hard. You despised yourself for what you were going to say… but it had to be said. “The King and I have both indulged in your childish games for long enough! You work at your brother’s forge, under his authority. Whatever chance you believed you had at persuading myself to pity you has been killed by your idiocy and your lack of respect for your King. It is over, smith. You’ve lost.” Breun still didn’t budge. Out of desperation, you added, “ Just today my husband has killed a man far more powerful than you believe you are. Trust me, I am protecting you. To protest any further would be suicide.”

 You raised your chin and gave a definitive nod. Turning to your husband, you saw the smile of satisfaction that you prayed he would have after you had spoken. You looked back at Breun, whose face was unreadable, though she no longer held out her arm. You dared not look at Sigrdrífa. You knew that what you had just said had broken that girl’s heart, betrayed her trust, and damned her to a husband that… you didn’t even want to think about it. You wish you had never learned her story. You wish that you never grew to care about the two women whose lives you were destroying. You wish that you had never seen the home they made together. You wish that you had just kept your mouth shut at Court, and ran to your bedroom to have Drew fuck you until you couldn’t see straight, leaving you in ignorant bliss.

 But you had made a choice, and now you were paying for it. The shame that you felt was masked by the inviting grin that you gave Drew, hoping that he would forget about all this and rush you both back to the keep. Just to be safe, you leaned toward him and whispered.

 “I would like to give you your apology for this mess… along with your welcoming, as soon as we arrive home.”

 A cruel giggle bubbled inside of you. It was extremely ironic. This was the very first time you spoke, or even acted provocatively toward Drew. The first time you initiated intimacy… and it was insincere. But Drew didn’t seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn’t mind. He gave one last look at Breun, who appeared to have taken a few steps toward you and your husband. He didn’t say a word, but simply nodded his head and pulled the reins of his horse, showing his back to the smith. You followed suit, not daring to look the woman in the eye as you turned, knowing that if you did, you would run back to her side and beg the King on her behalf, and the whole Hell you had just endured would start all over again. This was all your fault. Your need to interfere in these women’s lives was the cause of all this suffering. You knew you had to leave before you caused any more harm. You urged your horse forward.

 “Good on ye’, Yer Grace. Ah nev’r took ye’ fer a man tha’ listen’d te ‘is wife. Et’s a rare virtue.” 

 You did your best to keep moving forward. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Drew’s jaw tighten. He was angry, but at least he was still ignoring her. Everything could still work out.

 “Ye’ must love yer Queen. Well… ah least more ‘n yer first one.”

 All the blood drained from your face as your entire body went cold. You closed your eyes and let your head fall into your hands. You heard Drew rear his horse around to face the smith, but it sounded like there was a barrier between you and the rest of the world. As if you were in a bubble. As if you were drowning. 

 “You speak of my wife again, you’ll wish you were never born..”

 “Ah men’ no ‘ffence, Ye’ Grace. Ah jus’ tha’ well… y’know…”

 “WHAT!” Drew screeched, uncharacteristically.

 Even though your eyes were closed tight, the vision of the smith standing there and Drew’s enraged face was burned behind your eyes. You could still see what was happening, and you just knew that Breun was smiling. She thought she was playing your husband perfectly. Riling him up, making him question himself. She thought she knew what she was doing. She thought she was going to get him to fall for her trap, but there was no way she knew how close to terrible, horrific pain and suffering she was, even if she would be spared from death. That was probably for the best. No other man would ever face Drew if he knew what The King was capable of.

 “Et’s jus’ tha’... we,” Breun took a pause, most likely gesturing to the crowd around her, “found et… odd tha’ when sh’ died… ye’ wed ‘gain awful quick-”

 “WHAT ARE YOU SAYING!” Drew screamed. You almost lifted your head and attempted to calm him, but you found yourself unable to move.

 Breun’s voice dropped all of the mock friendliness that it held moments ago.

 “Riches’ woman en te’ world. Lives in te’ world’s bes’ castle. Owns te’ world’s bes’ furs. Et’s te’ world’s bes’ food... Dies of a... chill?” 

 Your hands gripped at your hair as you shook your head. You felt your heart beating faster than it ever had before. Your breaths became shorter and shorter. You felt like you had been poisoned.

 “We jus’ wonder wha’ kinda man ye’ are.” You heard the smith take another step toward him. “Wha’d she do? Got too loud? Too ‘pinionated? Not as pretty as she was when ye’ furst saw ‘er? Squirmed too much when ye’d try te’ force a son in ‘er?”

 You heard Drew hop off of his horse and land on his feet with a pain-filled grunt. You breathed in the dust he had just kicked up, making it harder for you to get any air into your already strained lungs.

 “I’ll show you what kind of man I a-” Drew stopped mid-sentence as you heard a whirring sound of something being thrown and the soft pat of him catching something. It had to be the spare hammer Breun had been holding. You wanted to look, but you were... paralyzed by some invisible force. You felt a cold sweat on your forehead and under-arms. You wanted someone to hold you. Drew. But at the same time, you wanted to run from him. You urged your arms to at least cover your ears so you wouldn’t have to listen, but you couldn’t even do that.

 “Tha’ ye’ will. Ye’ Grace. Tha’ ye’ will.”

 You could hear Breun pacing in the gravel, like an actor on a stage.

 “Now, ye’ can thrash me wit’ tha’ ‘ammer. Beat me ‘till ah’m bleedin’ tru’ me arse, if ye like. Ah’ll recover in a few days... But, if ye’ can win a smithin’ contest ‘gainst me? Ah’ll never wannae show me face ‘gain. Ah’d be broken. Me life’d mean not’in’. Smithin’s all ah am. ‘T’s all ah’ll ev’r be. If ye’ beat me... ye’d kill me.” You heard her footsteps grow louder as Breun took slow steps toward Drew. “And ah t’ink ye’ really wannae kill me.”

 A heavy, sharp silence rained down upon the crowd. You felt dizzy. It’s as if you were frozen solid, but constantly being urged to move, as if lightning strikes flowed through your veins. You closed your eyes tighter, hoping that someone would come and take you away from all this, but praying that no one even noticed you. 

 “We’ll both make pieces. Doesn’t matter what. Better smith wins.” You heard Drew growl. 

 “An’ te’ judge?”

 “The Queen.”

 You tried to react, but there was nothing else your body could do. Nothing else you could possibly feel.

 “Te’ fookin’ Queen? Naw.”

 “The Queen. No one else.”

 “Naw.” Breun seemed unbothered, her demeanor was of someone who was trying to figure out what to wear for the day. “She’d choose ye…” You could hear her stance shift. Her voice became gruff and accusatory.

 “Ah kno’ wha’ ‘appens t’ girls who defy thei’ belov’d ‘usbands.”

 Drew inhaled sharply. More murmurs rippled throughout the crowd. Through it all, you heard footsteps that were heading towards you at an alarmingly fast pace. You gasped as you felt a hand touch your thigh and, as if by some invisible force, you opened your eyes.

 Standing there, looking up at you, was a delirious and bloody Slibhin.

 “My Lady, what have you done?”

 And with that, the world went black around you.

Your fingertips twitched and your eyelids fluttered as you slowly began to regain consciousness. Underneath your fingers, you could feel soft, clean linens covering a mattress. On top of you, you felt the gentle weight of a blanket. You gently moved your head and felt the lenient, forgiving pillow cradle your neck. Your eyes fluttered open, and though your vision was blurred, you could tell instantly, that you were in your room. A contented sigh left you as you turned your head once more to look out of your balcony window, as you did every morning. 

 However, something was different about the sky. You squinted and tried to make sense of what you were seeing. Instead of it’s usual rosy, periwinkle coloring, this morning boasted a sky of bright amber and indigo. You turned over to ask your husband about this, when you found his side of the bed empty. There was not even an imprint left behind by his massive body, as there usually was on the embarrassingly common occasion that he woke before you.

 You made a confused face and sat up in your bed. When the blanket fell from your chest, you saw that you weren’t dressed in your nightgown. Instead you were wearing that damned dress. The tight, itchy, uncomfortable thing that now seemed stuck to your skin by your sweat. You rubbed your forehead and saw dried dirt flake from your skin. You gasped as everything came back to you. The petitioner, the smith, the fight, the shame. Everything. You began to cough uncontrollably as the dried dirt entered your lungs. 

 Enraged, and with tears in your eyes, you fell out of your bed and ran to your bedroom door. You were sure that the sound you made while kicking the door open would be heard clear across the sea. Servants and guards ran to you as you marched down the hallway, unyielding, as if you were made of metal. 

 “Your Majesty! Your Majesty please return to your bed!” you heard one woman yell. “We’ll draw you a bath and bring you some food, my Queen.” you heard another shout. The torches and tapestries all seemed to blur together as you rushed past them. By now, two guards had positioned themselves at the end of the hallway, waiting for you to meet them so they could stop you.

 “Saddle my horse!” your voice boomed throughout the keep. You came up to the two guards.

 “I’m sorry, Your Majesty, but we can’t do that. The King gave us direct orders to-”

 “Where is the King? Where is my husband?” you asked with fire in your eyes. You were trying to hide the fact that you were panting, exhausted. A strand of hair fell into your eyes and you violently pushed it back.

 “The King is dealing with official business. He will be back shortly. Please let us escort you back to-”

 “Where is he? I must speak with him. Now.”

 “As I said, My Queen, the King is dealing with-”

 “Where.”

 There were no mirrors about, but you could tell from the look in the guards’ eyes, that you resembled a madwoman. You decided to use this to your advantage. 

 “His Royal Highness is not the only monarch here who knows what it is like to brutalize her enemies. Do not give me a reason to doubt you.” The two guards stood frozen. Now, you knew very well that you couldn’t defeat these two in combat, at least in your present condition, but they recognized your power, and recognized that antagonizing you, in your present condition, would be a very stupid thing to do.

 “His Majesty is dealing with the smith,” one guard whimpered. 

 “They have been… negotiating since yesterday and all of today,” said the other, meekly.

 A million different things rushed into your mind. First, the smith was still alive, at least for now, and had a chance of keeping her forge. That means that Drew must have accepted her challenge and the two had found another judge. Secondly, you had been unconscious for an entire day and a half, and your husband didn’t stay by your side. Thirdly, and arguably most importantly, you knew that you had to be at the scene. You didn’t care about how you looked. You didn’t care that you had disgraced yourself in front of your entire village. All you knew was that you were heavily involved in creating this mess, and you had to be very heavily involved in stopping it.

 “Saddle my horse.” you repeated, gravely. This time, you were greeted with nods and servants rushing about, trying to appease their Queen, or at the very least, avoid her wrath.

As the sun set, you rode fast and hard back to that damned smithy. As you approached, you saw that the entire village had gathered to watch this apparent contest. People had set up tents, and vendors weaved in and out of the crowd, trying to sell their wares. Children sat atop their father’s shoulders. Torches littered the streets, lighting up the town as if it were a festival. Even royal guards were mingling with the common folk. Your brow furrowed as this somehow enraged you.

 “Move!” you yelled, hoping to clear a path for yourself. However, your voice was so small compared to the cacophony that was the crowd, that you yourself could barely hear it. Luckily, if the villagers couldn’t hear the weak plea of an angered Queen, they would still run from a charging mare.

 You ignored the hundreds of eyes that followed you as you rode by, and finally came across the smith’s house. There, you saw everything. 

 First, your eyes went to your husband. Drew was shirtless, hammering away at an anvil. His face was almost unrecognizable as it was completely covered in ash and soot. His eyes were a deep red with irritation caused by the forge’s fumes. His hair had become undone and draped along his shoulders. His shoulders. You could see his muscles spasming with every movement. His body was shutting down, you could see it. And yet, these people cheered him on.

 Your eyes switched over to Breun, who stood beside Drew at another anvil. She had shed her leather jerkin and now only wore a shirt that she had obviously ripped the sleeves ripped off when she bought it. Curiously, the cambric clothing that she wore revealed that she did have a surprisingly female figure. Her breasts were large… well an average size if not a bit smaller than what was proportionate for her. Her waist was by no means slender, but did appear so due to her wide hips. And yet it seemed like there was no place on her body that was not insanely muscular. Not muscles like Drew had, where he took care in making sure he kept in shape for battle (and for you). You could tell she gained her strength from working. She didn’t meticulously sculpt her strength, but she had it all the same. In an odd way, it seemed completely reasonable for men and women alike to be both repulsed by and lust after her form. You knew that if she were able, she would shed the undershirt altogether. Her neck craned and was clearly cramped. She was clearly in pain as well. However, you noticed that her hammering was just a touch faster and harder than Drew’s.

 Suddenly, you saw Breun drop her hammer on the table, grab what appeared to be tongs, pick a small piece of metal and rush to the other side of the area. She dropped it into a barrel where a man made a tally mark onto parchment, before rushing back to her station and taking up the hammer once more. You blinked, and Drew copied her exactly. Then, another man made a tally mark on another piece of parchment.

 You looked around, as if searching for someone to explain to you what was happening. You called out for Drew, but he didn’t hear you. You shouted for a guard, but your voice drowned in the sea of shouts and cheers made by the townspeople. An old man came up to you and tried to sell you some small bird he insisted was pheasant. You shooed him away only to realize the pangs in your stomach. You knew that you hadn’t eaten since this morning, but it shouldn’t be this bad. You felt lightheaded and practically fell off your horse, somehow landing on your feet. The world spun around you as the blood pumped in your ears.

 “My Majesty?”

 That voice. That beautiful little ringing bell of a voice. You gave a sigh of relief and turned to face the sound. But when you turned and saw Sigrdrífa, you were not put at ease. In fact, the exact opposite happened. You saw her there, still as clean and healthy as she was when you left, but dressed in a new gown, one that looked more expensive and more uncomfortable than anything you cared to own. Her hair was fashioned in a gaudy kind of bun, stuck with pins and ribbons. She stood next to an ornate and ridiculously expensive looking canopied seat where her now cleaned off and re-dressed husband, Slibhin was reclined and sipping what appeared to be wine from a goblet (that was also ornate and ridiculously expensive looking.) Soldiers stood beside the two, obviously appearing to guard the two from any unruly peasants or troublemakers, but you knew they were put there by Slibhin to make sure his little wife stood by his side.

 Sigrdrífa took in another breath to speak to you once more when her husband gave an annoying “Ahh!” after finishing his drink and, without looking at her, practically threw the goblet into the silver girl’s hands. This caused her to stop in her tracks and look at the ground, obediently. Like she was a beaten dog. 

 In an instant, you had forgotten your hunger and weakness as you marched straight toward that gaudy throne. One guard looked at the other and nodded toward you. They both pointed their pikes toward you.

 “Careful, witch,” one guard warned.

 “Stay back now, we don’t want trouble,” tried the other.

 You looked at the two guards incredulously. They stared back at you, confused. Slibhin, without looking at you, rolled his eyes and tossed a bronze coin in your general direction. It fell into the dust a few feet away from you.

 “There, now get out of my sight… begging whore,” he spoke under his breath. Sigrdrífa’s eyes widened and she covered her mouth. Again, your anger made you forget your appearance and you practically growled through your clenched teeth.

 “Is that how you treat your Queen?”

 You had never seen someone’s eyes widen so quickly. Slibhin flopped from his chair and into the dirt, groveling and weeping. You saw Sigrdrífa smile ever so slightly at that. The two guards began to walk toward you with immense concern in their eyes.

 “My Queen, let us escort you back to-” You put your hand up to stop them and beckoned for Sigrdrífa to follow you. She went to you immediately, but the guards were not yet done. “Please, the King has ordered all of his guards to keep you-”

 “Fuck the King’s orders!” you screamed with impunity. “If my husband demands something of me, he will tell me to my face. You-” you pointed at Sigrdrífa again. “You’re coming with me.” You grabbed the girl’s hand and walked toward the front door of her house. You paused as she opened the door for you and you looked back at Drew. He had just finished another piece of… something, and he was running to drop it in his barrel, which made him run directly toward you. 

 His eyes were upright and you could have thought they were staring at you, but you knew deep down, that he was staring through you. It’s not that he didn’t recognize you. He didn’t know you. You had seen that look in his eyes before, when he was training in the yard. His intensity and focus always inspired the new recruits, but he always snapped out of it when he saw you. But this time it was different. You had seen him prepare for battles before, but right now… he was in battle. And he was terrifying. Donning only a kilt and boots, your King was fighting for his life.

 You came to when Sigrdrífa took your arm and attempted to lead you into her house. You ripped your arm away from her and looked back at Slibhin who was attempting to follow you in. “No.” was all you had to say before he fell down once more and crawled back to his guards and his ridiculous chair. You turned once more to Sigrdrífa and nodded curtly before walking into the house before her.

With your head turned down, you marched toward the table and chairs that you remembered from your first visit nearly two days ago. You needed something, some kind of base to hold you up. Some sort of comfort. You plopped down into what you remembered to be a blissful, makeshift pillow, and yowled in pain as your backside fell into flat, hard wood. Your body wanted to hop back up to a standing position, but your legs wouldn’t let you. You stayed seated on the most uncomfortable seat imaginable. 

 You opened your eyes wide and were greeted by a pristine, beautiful home that held you in like a prison. All of the… personality you saw two days ago was ripped away, crumpled up, and thrown into a far corner to be thrown out later. Replaced by sterile and beautiful… things. The only sign of life you could detect was a hint of embers burning beneath a simmering pot. You opened your mouth to comment on the change when you heard a little grunt and the closing of the front door. Sigrdrífa turned to you and curtsied. 

 “Hello again, my Queen. Are you well?” She smiled. Like a little doll, she was. Her back straight, her hands holding each other in front of her. Just like your servant girls did when they were awaiting an order. Her smile was perfect. It made her ears perk up and showed a small, charming crinkle in the corners of her eyes. Her eyes, oddly enough, were the ones that betrayed her. They were full of fear. She didn’t feel safe. Her husband had control over her once more, and her only friend in the world was practically killing herself, unable to keep the promise she made of him never touching her again. She wasn’t sure if she could even trust you. She was all alone. This was her only form of protection now. Her beautiful, dutiful doll-like demeanor was all she had for armour. 

 You stared at her for a moment. She stayed perfectly still, as if she were made of marble. A wave of sadness washed over you and for a moment, all of your anger and confusion subsided. You opened your arms out toward her. It only took a moment before her mask cracked, and she ran to you, falling to her knees and sobbing into your lap. You just held her and stroked her long, silver hair, gently shushing her. 

 Her shoulders heaved with each gasping breath she took. Her heart beat as quickly as a mouse’s, almost like it was humming. You wanted to let her cry. Let her expel all the fear, sadness, and hatred that was festering inside of her little glass heart. But you knew you couldn’t do that. You needed to act. And in order to do that, you needed answers. You took your hand and gently lifted the girl’s chin so that her red, swollen eyes met yours.

 “Sigrdrífa,” you gently tried, “What is happening here?”

 She just closed her eyes tightly and shook her head before seeking refuge again in the folds of your dress. You took a sharp breath before taking her chin once again and forcing her to look at you. This scared her, but you held firm.

 “Tell me. I need to know.” 

 She looked at you for a moment, not saying anything. You silently kicked yourself for your aggression. 

No matter what urgency you felt, it would be cruel of you to take advantage of this disadvantaged girl. You smoothed your thumb over her cheek, wiping away a tear.

 “Please. I don’t know what’s happening.”

 The girl nodded her head. She slowly stood up and sat in the chair opposite of you, bracing herself against the hard, unforgiving wood. She took a deep breath and rubbed her eyes. Her voice shook.

 “The smith and the King are in contest, My Queen.” She sniffled and cleared her throat. “They have been smithing to see who can first make one thousand…” she trailed off, her mouth slightly open and her brow furrowed as she tried to think of the correct word. You leaned forward to try to encourage her. She sighed. 

 “Nagl.” She said, and made a hammering motion.

 “Nails? The first to make one thousand nails?” you gently pressed. Her eyes lit up.

 “Yes. One thousand nails. It is claimed that in order to be known as a true smith, a man must first make one thousand nails. The greatest of these smiths can forge a single nail in less than one minute, I have heard.”

 You immediately tried to calculate in your head how far along those two must be if they had been smithing for almost two days, and if what Sigrdrífa said was true. But your head was too cloudy to come to any kind of answer. You closed your eyes and pressed your palms into your temples. You could feel the world spinning around you. 

 “My Queen? What is wrong? Are you to become sick?”

 You absolutely felt that way, but somehow, you were able to look the silver girl in her concerned eyes and compose yourself.

 “I’m fine… I just…” You had to think of something to say. Anything. “How did they get all that metal?” Sigrdrífa looked down. You figured she didn’t understand the question. “For the nails? I don’t remember seeing enough metal to make one thousand nails in the smithy.” The little woman shuffled her feet for a moment before speaking to you deliberately and slowly, as if careful not to offend you.

 “The metal was taken from the royal forge. The King ordered it to be brought here after you… were taken back to the castle.” 

 You nodded your head, accepting the answer. Everything started to make slightly more sense. Forging one thousand nails would eliminate the need for a judge. Also, you supposed that the nails could be used to rebuild houses in the countryside that had been destroyed by the recently ended war. You sighed. Everything seemed more reasonable than it did a few moments ago. It felt like a small victory in a way, understanding what was happening around you when it felt like the world was trying it’s very best to confuse and scare you. You wanted to know more, as if it gave you more power over your situation.

 “So, what happened while Drew and I went back to the keep? Did the entire village swarm the house and set up this… festival?” You asked in a lighthearted manner. This caused Sigrdrífa to pause and hold her hands to her chest. She murmured. 

 “The King did not follow you…  He stayed and arranged the terms of the contest with the smith.”

 Your heart sank. Drew, your beloved husband, hadn’t even followed you back to the keep? How did he know you were safe? How did he know you were even alive? Did he not expect you to wake up before he had won? And if you did wake up (which you did), did he not expect you to come back to him? The one thing that you had always believed to be true about your husband was that Drew protected what was his. No matter what. And all of a sudden this truth was no longer true. You felt your eyes sting once again, but you held those damned tears back. You had cried enough.

 Sigrdrífa leaned forward and gently took your hand, cradling it as if the bone were broken. She took a few breaths before looking you in your eyes.

 “My Majesty, is the King… good to you?” she whispered, as if she were telling you a secret while sat in a crowded room. 

 But, you had been asked this question before. For the first few weeks you were married to Drew, you had received dozens of  letters from your parents asking about how your new husband treated you. You assured them in many, many responses that you were being treated well, and that Drew showed you nothing but respect and adoration. However, this time the question put you off, quite a bit actually. You understood her concerns, considering the fact that she had only ever seen Drew as this seemingly aggressive tyrant. But he had only ever acted that way because he was being provoked. Sure, you didn’t appreciate how he was behaving, but you at least understood why he was behaving that way. Breun hadn’t even tried to come to an agreement in a civil manner. She had never even spoken a civil word to Drew after their first interaction... which was her tackling him. Hell, the only reason she had even listened to a word you said was because Sigrdrífa forced her to.

 You wondered to yourself how this little thing could control a giant. You looked back at the silver girl sitting opposite of you. Her face was leaned in and attentive. Her eyes were wide with curiosity and care. 

 “Yes, sweet girl. The King is very good to me. He is just very…” You searched for the right word. “Frustrated.” You paused and raised your eyebrow. “And... I’m positive that the… boarish actions of a certain smith haven’t helped him very much.”

 You were wondering what reaction you would get out of her. You suspected she would be embarrassed or ashamed of her sister-in-law, eager to apologize for her actions. Instead, she wore a smirk on her face and let out a small huff. 

 “I am afraid that the smith’s behavior is my doing,” Sigrdrífa murmured. “When I was newly brought to the village, she never even spoke. She only ate when the food was tossed to her. At night she would lie on straw and rotting furs on the outside of the house, but never close her eyes. Flugur would buzz by her; crawl on her skin, bite her, and she would allow them.”

 That was a shock to you. You wracked your brain, trying to imagine Breun as docile. How could someone so hardheaded be so passive? Sigrdrífa said herself that it was in Breun’s nature to be confrontational. 

 “When did she become so… protective?” you asked her, trying to sound nice. Sigrdrífa’s face turned red and her eyes refused to meet yours.

 “Because… I needed to be protected, my Queen.”

 There was shame in her voice. Guilt, even. A tear fell from her eye as she shook her head, as if trying to bring herself back to reality. A million things flew through your mind; mostly images. Images of Sigrdrífa cowering in fear. Slibhin with that damned smile on his face, touching her. Breun finally taking action against him for the first time in her life. The look Breun gave Sigrdrífa, letting her know she was safe. Sigrdrífa showing Breun the first kindness the smith had ever known. The most fragile beginnings of trust connecting the two as they both tried to navigate how to live with happiness. 

 Your thoughts were interrupted by the ringing of a bell and the raucous cheering of the crowd outside.

 “Only a few nails left,” Sigrdrífa murmured to you. 

 You turned back to her. “Who has only a few nails left?”

 “The King, of course. Why else would the people cheer?” Sigrdrífa crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. She let her head hang low. “It’s almost over.” You saw a few tears splash down onto her lap. You didn’t reach for her though. Instead, you were confused.

 “You don’t think Breun will win?”

 Sigrdrífa shook her head. “Her body is too worn.”

 You opened your mouth to ask why she was worn, but your hostess guessed your question before you asked it.

 “She has been forging my mundr… my bride-price. I was traded to Slibhin for weapons and armor; the smith had to make these to pay for me. She had been working for months to complete things for my father, my brothers, and their favorites. She pushed herself so far... if she did not complete them in time, I would have been taken back by my father. AND... after she had finished those, she still did not rest. No, she worked twice as hard to finish her work for the villagers that she had missed during that time! Only a few days ago could I convince her to sleep the whole night, and eat all of her food! Now she challenges the King to-”

 Sigrdrífa cut herself off with a huff, clearly frustrated. You had to suppress a giggle at how flustered the girl was, but you understood the fear and anxiety she felt. She believed that Breun had no chance against your husband. However, you knew that not to be true.

 “Sigrdrífa, the King may not have as much of an advantage as you might believe,” you confessed. “He has been battling a rebellion for the past month, don’t you forget. And he hasn’t rested since returning.

Sigrdrífa, his body is worn as well. I don’t even know how he’s able to stand upright.” You shifted in the uncomfortable seat and cringed at the dry creaking sound it made. Sigrdrífa placed her hand on the side of her head, embarrassed that she hadn’t remembered the rebellion. To be fair, it was a smaller army that took up arms. You weren’t even sure of the name of the traitor, yourself.  Sigrdrífa bit the inside of her cheek to suppress a smile, but you saw hope return to her eyes. There was a change Breun could be the victor.

 “Who do you think will win?” She asked the question rather quickly. 

 “I don’t know.” It was a diplomatic answer, but to be fair, you truly didn’t know. At first, you believed Breun would win only because of your husband’s injuries. But now, you sincerely weren’t sure. However, you knew that that answer wouldn’t satisfy the girl across from you.

 “Who do you want to win?” The question stung, as if it were accusatory, even though the tone in which it was asked was innocent. It was a test. An evil test. Of course you wanted Breun to keep her forge and live happily ever after, that went without thought; but you didn’t think your heart could take seeing Drew be defeated after everything you had put him through. Yes, you were angry with him for not staying by your side when you were unconscious, but he only because Breun had insulted you… and Drew’s first wife. You didn’t like his rage but you understood it. You did want Breun to win, but you didn’t want Drew to lose. You looked back up at Sigrdrífa who held your gaze firmly, and answered.

 “I want the man I love to win, as any wife would.”

 The silver girl nodded. “I would expect nothing else.” Her eyes were sad, but intelligent. Your words had caused her pain, but she understood that you didn’t mean them to. You expected her to read between the lines, but what you didn’t expect was a small breath of a giggle escaping her throat.

 “It is strange then. That we are the same, but… enemies. Sitting here speaking as if friends.” You gave her a smile, showing her you understood, but the girl continued. “Two small women with the same, but opposite hope; for their lover to defeat-”

 Your smile disappeared. Not because you were unhappy, but because you saw Sigrdrífa’s face somehow turn even whiter than it already was. It took you only a moment to realize what she had said.

 She had called Breun, her sister in law, her lover. 

 You hadn’t been Queen for very long, but you were well aware of what would happen if the town learned of what she had just said. There would be no saving either of them. The two would be hunted down to the corners of the kingdom. The common folk would torture them, treat them like demons; like animals. What would happen to the two girls, you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. If someone knew about this, it would be well within the law, and the interest of your simple-minded subjects, to have both women put to death.

 But someone did know about it. You knew about it. And you certainly had the power to enforce the law, and swore to have the interests of your simple-minded subjects at heart. You looked at the frozen girl across from you, her eyes desperately trying to read yours. Trying to figure out what you were about to say... or do. 

 It took you less than a second to come to your conclusion.

 “You misspoke, Sigrdrífa. I know this isn’t your best language. You used the word ‘lover.’ You meant to say ‘family.’”

 You couldn’t help but smile on the inside as Sigrdr��fa sucked in three lungs’ worth of air and let out a long sigh of relief. The rosy color returned to her cheeks. She gave the quiet laugh of an exhausted woman and placed her hand over yours.

 “We both love our family.”

 You reached forward with your other hand and covered hers in turn. You felt something scratch against your skin and looked down. Around her wrist, the girl had tight sleeves embroidered with prickly threads. They were very beautiful.

 You grasped the fabric with both hands and tore it apart. Underneath, you saw her irritated skin finally touch the air. You looked at her and raised your brow. She gave you a toothy smile and immediately presented her other sleeve to you, and you ripped that as well. After that, she grabbed at the fabric wrapped around her neck and tore that collar away as well. Beads and other small gemstones flung themselves from her throat and skittered across the table. You reached out and undid the ribbons in her hair, letting it fall loosely around her waist. Sigrdrífa kicked off her shoes and freed her legs from her stockings and underskirts. She stood up, knocking her chair to the ground, and took fistfuls of lacing that tied the back of her dress, yanking it loose. 

 You let your laughter ring throughout the house. The sight of Sigrdrífa dressed in the most expensive of rags…

 “That cannot be very comfortable.” The silver girl pointed at you.

 She was right, of course; but you could never destroy your dress. You already looked unpresentable as Queen; covered in filth and hair strewn about. The heat of the last two days left you drenched in sweat. You were certain that if you wrung your sleeves a steady stream of the putrid liquid would spill out. The accumulation of dirt and filth that clung to your body itched to no end. That sweat caused the heavy fabric to cling itself to your skin and that dirt made you feel every wrinkle and crease as if they were gashes and gouges of your very own flesh. You had been through so much already, ripping up your dress would just be… be… 

 You balled up the fabric of your underarm and yanked as hard as you could. A small ripping noise came from your dress, but not much else. You heard light footsteps come towards you and two white hangs join your fist. The next thing you knew, your arm was completely free from it’s silky prison. You waved it around in nonsensical patterns, just wanting to feel the air brush past your skin.

 You didn’t even consider the state of your dress as you relished your newfound partial freedom. Sigrdrífa’s giggle resounded throughout the house as she held your sleeve in her arms. Bunching up the fabric of the inside of your other arm, you let out a yelp as you ripped it open. A few more tugs, and your forearm was completely naked, with it’s coverings hanging by a thread by your elbow. 

 “How do you feel now, My Majesty?” There was a kidding nature to her words. You took in a breath to laugh and became very aware of the restrictive waistline that held your stomach in. You clawed at your back trying to get a grip on any seam or hem that you could use to tear it apart.

 “Help me undo this damned sewing and I’ll finally have enough breath to tell you.” 

 She hadn’t even taken one step toward you when you heard the roar of the crowd outside once again. You looked at Sigrdrífa, your eyes asking what that noise meant. The only thing you saw was a flash of her hair as she raced toward the front door. 

You tripped over the threshold and stumbled out of the house, crashing into the dirt. Luckily, no one seemed to notice. It seemed that every head in Scotland was turned toward The King and The Smith. 

 “My Queen!”

 All except for two. The guards that had greeted you when you confronted Slibhin rushed toward you, grabbing you and helping you stand upright.

 “My Queen, allow us to escort you back to the castle.”

 “Your Grace, please come with us.”

 You pushed them off of you. Though there was no strength left in your arms, the soldiers heeded your warning, standing at attention from a very respectable distance  (probably doing everything they could not to upset you considering their introductions to you.) That was when your eyes locked onto Slibhin, who stood at the edge of the crowd, wringing his hands in desperation. He was planning something. You just knew it. Those hands were the hands of a schemer. You almost laughed at how different they were compared to his sister’s. His hands were spotless, well groomed, but weak and feeble, and he used them to plot. To gesture and accentuate his honeyed words as he tried to ruin lives for his own benefit. In contrast, Breun’s hands were scarred, rough, and ugly, but strong and efficient. They were used to make useful things, powerful things. Her hands were like the weapons that she made: grotesque, but practical. 

 Just like that unfinished axe she had forced into the stone wall of her house. It didn’t look like much, but if you weren’t careful, it could hurt y-

 Slowly, you lifted your hand to your eye, gazing in wonder at your thumb. The nick from two days earlier had almost healed. 

 “My Queen? Are… you alright?” The two guards looked at you with apprehension. You turned your body fully to them, and they snapped back at attention.

 “Go and get me the sword of the rebel. The one Drew gave me two days ago.”

 The two men didn’t move. Perhaps they were uncomfortable with the idea of a less than stable monarch wielding a deadly weapon in a heavily populated area, but you soon put those worries to rest.

 “If you don’t, I may mention to my husband that a certain pair of his soldiers believe that his wife is a witch.”

 The two men raced off as if their lives depended on their task at hand… which was probably the case… You truly did hope that there would be no need for what they were fetching. You truly hoped that the contest would end in a clear way, or that Slibhin didn’t dare to protest the eventual outcome, whatever it may be. You prayed that you would be able to look the two guards in their terrified eyes and order them to take it back to the castle before the King learned that it had been “stolen”. But you needed the traitor’s sword just in case. Just in case.

 At last, you turned your attention back to the task at hand.

 The blurred faces of the spectators didn’t hold the fascination and awe that they did when you first rode into town. You dragged your feet through the crowd, absently pushing through the field of brown and grey, searching for silver. As your vision slowly began to uncloud itself, you looked at the scores; there was nothing there. The two men who were making the tally marks just sat and stared with eyes wide as the moon.

 Of course this was the last nail. Of course the two were tied at the last nail. Of course. 

 You couldn’t will yourself to care who won. You just wanted it to be over. Still shuffling forward, you somehow managed to reach the very front of the gathering, all but coming face to face with Drew. 

 He was turned to the side, hammering away at the anvil. Each hit triggered sparks which illuminated his features. He was tired. His skin seemed to be slipping off of his face. The amber coloring against his black, soot covered body was terrifying. He looked like death.

 “Drew.” It was less than a whisper. You didn’t even feel air pass your lips, but you called for your husband. He heard you. Though he didn’t look at you, you saw his jaw clench and a tear fall roll down his cheek, leaving a trail of clean skin in its wake. When it fell, it landed on the piece of metal he was hammering away at, causing a sinister hissing noise. Your eyes fell to the anvil where Drew was banging his tool on a rod of metal, trying to break a piece off; for the final length of the nail, no doubt.

 Though you didn’t tell your eyes to move, they did anyway. You looked past Drew to see the smithing woman shaping the head of an already broken off, and squared length of metal. Her nail was almost finished. She was about 30 seconds ahead of him. Just then, another set of tears fell, but this time it came from Sigrdrífa, who was standing opposite Breun; across the anvil. Tears of joy.

 You returned your attention to your husband, whose breath was ragged and uneven. He was crying like a child. A child who had lost a game. There was no higher form of sadness and despair. 

 “It’s alright. It’s almost over.”

 Drew shook his head violently. 

 “It’s alright. We can go home soon.”

 You didn’t even know where you found the energy to speak. There was nothing left inside of you. You couldn’t even feel happy for Breun, even though your compassion for her was what started this in the first place. You just wanted all this to end. You wanted to watch it all end. And it was going to end with Breun.

 Looking up at the smith again, you were able to see that the nail was done and her hand was reaching for her tongs so that she could carry it to her barrel. You felt an air brush past you as your eyes caught a glimpse of something… fashionable. A dainty hand from an ornate sleeve snatched the tongs from off the anvil. You turned your head to see Slibhin, eyes wide, holding the tongs against his chest.

 You knew what was going to happen next, but what you didn’t expect was the sound. Not only did Breun lunge at her brother, but she tipped over the anvil in the process, sending it crashing to the ground with her.

 Slibhin shrieked like a woman as he was beaten. Half of the crowd cheered at the sniveling coward being taught a lesson, while the other half gasped in horror, believing that the sounds he made were actually coming from the frail, silver girl they had seen rush past them a moment ago. 

 As for you, you couldn’t deny that watching the boy whipped gave you a great satisfaction, but your heart sunk upon closer inspection of the actual brawl. 

 Breun wasn’t actually trying to strike her brother, but instead was trying to recover the tongs from his grasp. But considering that she spent two days exhausting herself, and that the boy was squirming like the worm he was, that task appeared to be impossible. 

 All this while, you saw fire return to your husband’s eyes. He let out a yell as he slammed his hammer down, separating the piece of metal from the rod. He didn’t even try to shape the metal into an actual nail. He just threw his hammer down and reached for his own tongs.

 “NO!”

 Your neck snapped to Breun, who (while still struggling with her brother) looked at your husband with fear and loathing in her eyes. He was cheating again. He wasn’t honoring the rules of a fight, like he did when the two first locked up. Her eyes were bright red with tears. With her attention diverted, Slibhin was able to squirm out of her grasp and run off, tongs in hand. 

 Out of the corner of your eye, you swore you saw Drew smirk. He used his tongs to grab the metal, and turned away from her. You wanted to say something, but you knew that nothing you could say would change Drew’s mind about the forge, about Slibhin, about Sigrdrífa and Breun, about anything.  To be honest, you were a bit relieved that you had no control over the situation. It was as if no one could blame you anymore. You were surprised as something resembling peace slowly washed over you. You let your eyes flutter to a close and sighed in relief.

 That small sanctuary of stillness was shattered like glass when you heard this noise. It was a wail, a shriek, a scream of pain, a howl of  desperation, a squeal of something small trying to defeat something big. You opened your eyes and saw Breun, sprinting like she was being hunted; smoke emanating from her closed fist. 

 You would swear until your final day that you could see the orange glow of the nail burning through her palm, the blaze visible through the back of her hand.

 Drew didn’t even have time to look over at her. The smith lunged herself toward her barrel, her arm just reaching over it, and dropped her finished nail on top of the 999 others she had forged.

 Clink.

 The crowd erupted. In cheers, nonetheless. Whether the smith won their support by her performance, or they were all so happy the damned contest was over, you couldn’t tell. Breun let herself fall to the ground, not even clutching at her still burning hand. The dead skin and blisters of her palm had a few little embers burning at the edges, making it look like she was holding stars.

 Everything else seemed to fall into place after that. Drew’s body gave out and he fell into the dirt. Sigrdrífa ran and threw herself onto her lover, holding her face and placing thousands of kisses on her forehead and cheeks, all the while sputtering out Norse gibberish... and crying, for what you hoped would be the last time this century. Breun was whispering things as well.

 “Safe… yer safe now… safe… little one… safe… safe...”

 You had hoped for a moment that this would be the image their story ended on.

 The beautiful hope was dashed once the previously disappeared Slibhin fell in front of Drew, shaking his shoulders and screaming fruitlessly into his face. 

 “You can’t do this! I’m the only one who can run the smithy! Without me, there would be no smithy! Every single thing that… beast has forged was because I made her! Your Majesty, if I’m not in charge of my sister… this town will collapse! Your kingdom-”

 That was when Drew pushed Slibhin away, letting out a growl of agony while doing so. You rushed to Drew, trying to find some way of comforting your husband, but then the boy switched targets, clinging to your skirt and groveling at your feet.

 “My Queen. My beautiful, fair, flawless Queen. You now realize that you have made a grave mistake. And I know that you will do what’s right in fixing it. I know that you let your emotions control you when it came to my sister. You were entranced by a woman being able to perform a man’s task, but you must understand: the only reason she ever smithed anything in the first place was because I allowed it! I ordered it! I have made deals regarding everything she has ever forged! Before this month, my sister never even picked up a hammer without me saying so! She’s obeyed me all her life! I’m the reason for her success! Please, I beg of you; allow me to serve the realm through my forge!”

 Your patience was at its absolute limit with this one. You glanced back at the crowd. Most of them had turned and left for their homes now, knowing that as soon as their head hit the pillow, it would not be coming back up in at least two days. There were a few stragglers, who had stayed behind to ogle at the exhausted competitors. Luckily, castle guards who had been standing watch over the crowd herded the onlookers away. Good. No one would be around to witness their Queen beat the ever-loving shit out of one of her subjects.

 Both fortunately and unfortunately, before you were even able to clench your fist, you heard two voices calling out to you between their panting and coughing. 

 “Your… Majesty… we… we were able to locate the… the sword,” sputtered one.

 “My… My Queen… the… the traitor’s... sword,” tried the other. He fell to one knee and presented the sheathed blade to you. With a swift kick, you rid your hem of the sniveling boy and walked over to the exhausted and terrified guards. 

 The original sheathe had been lost on the battlefield. This one clearly was taken from the armory by the two guards, just needing something to transport the weapon. The exposed hilt was made from a pitch black metal, but despite the low visibility, it was extremely well sculpted with images. The pommel was a single eye, with a pale blue gem as the iris. It looked hauntingly beautiful. Like the sky on a bright winter’s day, when the frost is hard on the ground. The length of the hit was engraved on both sides with the image of a running horse that had 8 legs. The crossguard was two ravens spreading their wings and cawing. 

 The guard clearly expected you to grab the entire sword, sheathe and all, but you wrapped your hands around the hilt and pulled the weapon free. Where the blade and hilt met, were the heads of two wolves, each with their mouths wide, as if swallowing the blade.

 The look of fear in the eyes of everyone around you made you feel all that much more powerful. You wanted so very badly to use the sword for its intended purpose, on anyone really, but you had a burning suspicion that you desperately wanted confirmed, more than anything else.

 You walked over to the side of the forge where Breun had tossed the head of an axe after embedding it in stone. With an aching arm, you raised the sword so it lay side by side with the axe. 

 It was a perfect match.

 Both the blade of the traitor and the axe that split stone were unsightly; grisly to behold. The ripples that seemed to swim within the metals itself were identical. These pieces were unlike anything you had ever seen before. 

 There was no doubt in your mind that they were made by the same woman.

 You marched yourself over to where Breun and Sigrdrífa lay. The smaller of the two was busy trying to heave the larger one into the house. No doubt to tend to her. The smith looked horrible, but not just because she was tired and dirty. Her breathing was labored and heavy. Her chest was expanding and contracting rapidly. You could hear her struggle to inhale. Her arms and legs were shaking uncontrollably, with the tremors kicking up dirt around her. Sweat poured from every part of her skin and her face was beet red, no doubt with fever. 

 Ignoring the smith’s state, you stood over her, the sword in your clenched fist. You didn’t care about the look of terror on Sigrdrífa’s face. If she wanted to believe that you were about to hurt Breun, then that was her own foolishness. You held the blade across your body, letting the smith see the entirety of it; all of its details.

 “You made this.” It wasn’t a question. Breun’s eyes took a second to focus on you, then the blade, then back to you. You could tell she was holding onto consciousness by a thread.

 “Aye.”

 You were satisfied. Taking a step back and turning on your heel, your eyes fell once again on Slibhin. He was looking at his sister with his jaw so agape that you thought it was going to fall off. His eyes were as wide as an owl’s. It took everything in your power not to cut him down right then and there as he opened his mouth to lie to you once more.

 “She admits it. In it’s feverish state the brute lets the truth come to light. She has committed treason, but knows not the severity of her confession. Your Majesty, please find it in your heart to spare my feebleminded sister her life. Yes, her crime is very worthy of a long and painful death, but you must remember that without her, there would be no smith in your village… an essential part of any local economy. Please allow her to continue her practice… under my strict supervision. I promise you that I will do the thinking for her.” Slibhin started to snicker. “You… you clearly see that she has no judgement… she has even brought herself nearly to the brink of death by challenging her King!”

 You wanted to plunge the sword through his neck when he threw his head back in laughter. But instead, you joined him in his mocking. You glanced back at Sigrdrífa, whose face was painted with confusion; but not fear. She knew you were up to something, and she knew that you were on her side, but she didn’t know what you were planning.

 “It is true,” you said, turning back to the boy. “that your sister is very dull-witted.” Slibhin’s eyes showed a sense of relief that you hated for him to have, but were delighted to know you were about to take it all away. “I would guess… that your sister forged enough weapons and armor for the traitor and his generals… and didn’t even know what it was for!” He laughed even harder at that, assured that you suspected nothing of him, that you finally came around to hating his sister as much as he did.

 “But you, on the other hand, are well aware of every deal you make. And you’re very smart about it too, I’ll bet.” Slibhin bowed in mock humility, still bursting with chuckles. He gave you a beaming smile. He felt comfortable. Good.

 “And you were well aware of the deal you made with the traitor. You were well aware of what you were making, who would use them, and what they would be used for.”

 Slibhin’s facial expression didn’t change one bit. The phony smile stayed plastered onto his face, but you were able to notice the light leave his eyes. You knew that given enough time, he would conjure some words that would allow him to weasel his way free, escape the situation unscathed, mold his circumstances to his liking and find a way to enrich himself while dragging those around him down. You were not going to give him that time. 

 “Guards. Arrest this boy for acting as a conspirator and as a traitor.”

 During the time you were talking with Slibhin, several royal guards and servants from your keep had come down to try and wrangle their monarchs back into the keep, so there were more than enough people more than willing to take care of whatever needed to be taken care of. A plethora of men, and a few scullery maids and stable boys as well, descended upon him. He barely tried to fight them off, only flinging his arms in a weak, sluggish manner. His eyes stayed wide, but now his smile was now gone. Instead, his mouth opened and closed like a fish out of water. After he was forced to his knees by two rather large washerwomen and his hands were bound, he finally found his voice.

 “M-My… my... my sister-”

 “-smithed under the direction of you and your father for her entire life, and if you somehow believe that you can convince me that she was the one responsible for all this I will save myself some time and cut your head off right here.” 

 You brandished the traitor’s sword and held it above the boy’s head. He shivered and shook and in that moment, you knew what Drew felt like when he passed judgement on criminals and lowlifes. It made you feel too powerful. Slibhin reeked of fear and you inhaled the stench like it was a gift from the Gods. As if it made you stronger. You looked over to where your husband lay, scanning his broken body until you met his eyes. He was looking at you as if you were a storm. Powerful, terrible, beautiful, and part of him wanted to run into you just to feel your chaos for himself. But you also noticed the tiniest glint of fear as well. You had never acted like this. He didn’t know you could act like this. You didn’t even know you could act like this. But you could; and you were. 

 Just then, you felt the beginnings of hunger swirl around in your stomach. Not for food, but for him. It reminded you of when your King teased you in the great hall as he held court. When you longed for his hands on you. When you longed for him to take you. To fuck you.

 But this time, it was different. You weren’t fantasizing about his power. You weren’t thinking about the things he decided he would do to you. Instead you were lusting after the power that you felt inside yourself. You weren’t feeling gracious for any affection the King showed you. You felt entitled to pleasure. You deserved it. You were the Queen of Scotland, and you wanted to make sure he knew it. 

 A knowing smirk formed from the corner of your mouth and you winked at Drew. His mouth fell open slightly and his eyes flashed with an emotion that you didn’t recognize.

 “B-b-but why? Why would I betray my King and Queen? I-I need you to maintain my status.” 

 You clenched your jaw so tightly you thought your teeth were going to crack. Your head swiveled back to the kneeling boy who took a small victory in making you turn around to pay attention to him once more. His ears perked up and he straightened his back a bit. He reiterated his point.

 “Why would I choose to make so many weapons, to start a war, when I had already achieved everything I wanted?” 

 You didn’t want to answer him. You didn’t care enough to answer him. You knew he was wrong. You knew he was guilty. You knew he was… 

 But…

 A shadow of doubt crept up from your stomach through your throat. From the bottom of your heart, you felt that the boy was evil, but you had no evidence. No proof that he was a slimy, conniving, untrustworthy, unfaithful, traitorous- 

 “Because you did not have a choice…”

 Sigrdrífa stood timidly by the incoherent, mumbling smith. A few fingers from her hand covering her mouth. Her eyes stared off into nothing, but you saw her mind working something out. A scornful, mocking laugh was heard, and Slibhin forced a look of amusement on his face.

 “No choice? I alone was in charge of-”

 “You were forced to make weapons and armor…to pay for… me…”

 Time stopped. Fire and ice chased one another up and down your spine. You felt everything and nothing all at once. Your knees felt so stiff that they would snap if you attempted to move. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Breun vomit out some burgundy, watery liquid into the dirt by her head. It went unnoticed by everyone else, who was busy staring at the silver girl. Sigrdrífa looked at you. You must have had a stupid look on your face, as she turned and kept talking to Slibhin, as if trying to indirectly explain everything to you.

 “If you did not… my father would have taken me back… and… without me… you would not be the son of a noble...and you would have no right to the forge. You had no choice.”

 A small giggle left her. You looked at her incredulously. She moved over to her husband. Breun let out a weak whine and reached out, as if trying to stop her from getting any closer to him, but the girl knelt down, putting her face inches away from his.

 “You had no choice.” she repeated, savoring the words. Slibhin’s head fell limp. His shoulders shook as he heaved sporadic breaths. His once captive wife had just proved his guilt. She had just sentenced him to death.

 You couldn’t help but smile when you saw him weeping. It felt like this was your reward for enduring his utter bullshit for as long as you had. You could only imagine how Sigrdrífa felt. She was the one who had lived with him… or rather lived under him for so long. 

 Her beaming smile was bright enough to guide ships to shore in the dead of night… at first. You saw her eyes study him, probably mining for more of that satisfaction of seeing the boy defeated. But as the tears ran from his eyes, the snot ran from his nose, and the dribble ran from his lip, the silver girl’s expression started to change. Her eyes began to dart back and forth, trying to absorb all of the pain and anguish her husband was displaying right in front of her eyes. You could tell she was beginning to get unnerved; nervous and unsure. Then Slibhin lifted his face to meet his wife. 

 His eyes bright red, he opened his mouth to let out some kind of silent cry. You watched as he sniveled and pleaded with his body for… mercy, forgiveness, any ounce of her conscience she was willing to spare him. 

 For a moment, you let yourself believe that she would show him mercy. Instead, she turned away from him. Without a moment's hesitation. He had already used up every ounce of her kindness, her patience, and her sympathy. Her eyes instead met with the smith’s. That was where her kindness, her patience, and her sympathy lay. That was where her heart lay. In the dirt, and the dust, and the ashes.

 So, naturally, Slibhin had no other choice. 

 With his wrists still bound, he rushed forward and threw his hands over her head and yanked her close to him, effectively trapping her by her neck and pinned her on the ground. He looked Drew in the eye and he began to scream.

 “MY KING! MY KING! I GIVE YOU THE DAUGHTER OF THE TRAITOR! TAKE HER! TAKE HER AND KILL HER! CUT HER FUCKING HEAD OFF! ENSLAVE HER! RAPE HER, EVEN! DO WHAT YOU WISH! I AM YOUR LOYAL SERVANT! JUST TAKE THE BITCH AND LET ME LIVE! I LOVE SCOTLAND! I LOVE MY KING! PLEASE-”

 Breun lunged herself across the ground and struck Slibhin. You knew he would never speak again. His jaw went sideways and blood poured out of his mouth. His teeth fell and skittered across the soot. The noise he made was primeval. If an animal had made that same sound, even the cruelest of men would concede and put it out of its misery. His body squirmed and twitched. Sigrdrífa was finally able to break free of his hold, though she was covered in his blood and scratched by his flailing. Breun was hurt in her own right, obviously.

 It was funny. At the very beginning of this entire ordeal, the very sight of what was in front of you would have left you petrified.

 Instead, you snapped your fingers and motioned for the boy to be restrained. And restrained he was. Though the shrieking and gurgling didn’t stop. Slibhin looked at you and tried to speak, but that was quite impossible. You looked down at Sigrdrífa. She had crawled her way over to Breun, draping herself over the bigger woman with her mouth to her ear, whispering something that didn’t concern you.

 “Guards!” At least a dozen men in armor presented themselves before you. “Take this boy to the dungeons. Put him with our other prisoners… and make sure that they know everything that he has said about their little sister.”

 Your men smiled at you, showing that they would be happy to carry out your order. They marched the prisoner off as he shrieked and wailed indistinct sounds of agony, defeat, and fear of what was still to come. You were done with him.

 Turning now to Breun and Sigrdrífa, you saw the smaller one look up at you. Just as you went to take a breath to speak, she spoke your previous words back to  you.

 “‘Make sure that they know everything he has said about… their little sister?’”

 That struck you. All this time, she probably didn’t know if her brothers were alive. If her father was killed in battle, it would be logical to assume that her brothers did as well. Her brothers to whom she owed her life. You smiled and nodded your head.

 Sigrdrífa’s voice was barely above a whisper, but you clearly made out the names of her two brothers.

 “Erik... Ivar…”

 The peace was interrupted by Breun’s grumbling. She lifted her head from the dirt to look at you, but her eyes couldn’t focus. Her face was bright red and beads of sweat littered her face. You turned to your soldiers and opened your mouth to issue the command...

 “FOR PITY’S SAKE SOMEONE TAKE THE GIRL INSIDE! AND FETCH A HEALER DAMMIT!”

 Your jaw stayed wide as you turned your head to your husband, who was still lying in the dirt, but whose voice still commanded respect. His eyes were fixated on the smith. Men scrambled to pick up a nearly incapacitated Breun, which proved to be quite the challenge as the smith seemed to think that everyone that was trying to move her was, in fact, challenging her to a fistfight. A servant ran down the road to find a healer that could not only treat the girl, but possibly survive her left hook as well.

 Luckily for every man in Scotland, Sigrdrífa was able to calm the rowdy young lady enough so that she could be moved into the house. As she herself was about to walk through the front door, she stopped and looked back at you. Though she still had blood stained in her hair and on her clothing, and the exhaustion in her eyes matched the shaking of her legs, she looked more calm and content than ten thousand queens. She nodded to you, a gesture of comradery and of finality before shutting the door, not even giving you a chance to respond.

Drew had been much more lucid than his female counterpart and was rushed back to the keep quickly and quietly. He wouldn't look anyone in the eye and said nothing to anybody. The servants had the sense to go about their duties and disregarded their King. By now you had reached your shared chambers. The guards gently set Drew in your bed as you stood by the fireplace, next to a tub of water that you had requested be filled. You needed a bath. Drew grumbled and winced, ashamed that you could see him like this. One man even attempted to cover the King in a blanket, but was stopped when Drew looked at him with a scowl so deep, you were certain his face would stay like that forever. Drew wasn’t one to be coddled.

 The servants bowed their heads to you as they backed out of the room. You heard one mutter to you, “Let us know if you need us,” before he shut the door behind him, leaving you alone with your husband.

 Drew didn’t say anything to you, nor you to him. He looked straight up at the canopy of your bed, as if seeing through it to the ceiling. You let yourself sigh. Your husband’s eyes flickered at the sound, but he did not look at you. You couldn’t blame him, but it still angered you. You had just spent the past two days dealing with an immature brute, and you didn’t know if you could handle another one.

 First thing was first, you were going to get into that tub. Instinctively, you opened your mouth to call for your husband, asking him to help you with the laces of your dress. No sound escaped your throat, but you felt stupid all the same. Reaching behind you, you were thankful that you had torn a fair amount of the garment, but you still struggled to get a feel for what you were supposed to do. You let out a grunt of frustration as your fingers frantically picked at the back of your dress, not making any progress. Drew looked at you, and your eyes met his. He was trying not to betray his feelings through any facial expression, but you could tell that he was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he could not help you with something that he did every night. 

 You felt embarrassed too. Embarrassed that you were unable to do such a simple task by yourself. Though you always loved it when Drew undressed you before, now you resented your helplessness and cursed all the times you didn’t just undress yourself, like an actual self-sufficient person.

 Rage bubbled inside you at the thought of your dependence on Drew. Out of nowhere, you screeched like a banshee and tore your dress clean from your skin. Standing there, completely naked in front of your husband, and not feeling shy or giddy was a new experience for you. You took the rags left of the dress and threw it into the fireplace. The heavy cloth covered the flames and greatly dimmed the room, but you could still see your husband’s eyes fixed on you. 

 Half wanting to cover yourself for modesty, half wanting to punish Drew by not having him see you, you quickly hopped into the tub. The servants had left a scrubbing brush and some soap for you, but you didn’t even think about using them. You just wanted to sit and brood. You were so exhausted that you were certain the warm water would lull you to sleep before you even attempted to clean yourself. If you did fall asleep in the tub, and your head went underwater, you guessed that Drew wouldn’t even be able to save you in time.

 “My Queen.” 

 You had no desire to look at him, but your head turned toward him nonetheless. You couldn’t will your lips to curl into a smile, which you usually did when you looked at your husband. His body was so bruised and battered that you couldn’t look anywhere but his eyes, but that was no better as they were red and tired, threatening tears. His Adam’s apple was quivering. His lips were slightly parted. His voice barely a whisper.

 “Forgive me.”

 And you forgave him.

 Right then and there, you forgave him. Every single sin he had committed in your eyes: the arguing, the fighting, the brutishness, leaving you behind, failing to win. Everything was absolved. You kicked yourself mentally for not being able to hold a grudge, even for just one evening. However, you were saved by the fact that your face was too exhausted to change from the mask of apathy and disregard that you wore. To Drew, you were still his scowling, disappointed Queen.

 Some Queen I am. Sitting hunched naked in a tub, covered in filth. Bitter and defeated. I’ve never felt LESS like a Queen. I don’t feel like the wife of a King. I don’t even feel like a wife. I don’t even feel like a woman…

 You looked down. Through the muddy water you were able to see your body. Bruises and scratches and scrapes covered it. Your skin was pasty and shriveled.  In certain areas, it was rubbed raw from friction with the tighter parts of your dress. Any little touch on any little bit of your body would only hurt you. But you wanted to be touched. You didn’t care how much it would bring you pain. You wanted to be touched by Drew. To be held by Drew. To be loved by Drew. To be fucked-

 The fireplace roared back to life as the flames finally caught hold of your discarded dress, engulfing it. The room brightened as if it were almost day. You looked at Drew. His eyes were squinted, as he couldn’t even lift his hands up to shield his eyes.

 So you did it for him.

 You rose from the tub, your shadow completely covering Drew. His eyes popped open and he looked at you. You swore you could almost feel the air move as he gasped, taking in your form.

 “You told me… that despite how beaten down you were… you still had the strength to take me… to ravage me… You told me you still had the endurance to turn me into a… a whimpering mess.”

 You tried to keep your voice even and cold. Drew held you with his eyes and for a moment you were excited. You saw his muscles tense up as he attempted to lean forward. Your body shivered from the night air and from anticipation. You closed your eyes and bit your lip, your body’s memory reliving all the times Drew would pick you up and throw you on your shared bed, giving you the love from a wounded warrior, whose heart still beat with hot blood.

 “My Queen…” You opened your eyes again to see Drew with his head back on the pillows, his muscles shaking, his chest heaving from his panting. He ever so slowly was able to bring his head back up enough to look at you. “I… I can’t.” His lip was quivering and his eyelids were fluttering. The fireplace dimmed once more as the flames had eaten up the rest of your dress, leaving a small glow of singed fabric behind. Your body stopped shivering in the cold air. It stopped feeling cold. It stopped feeling anything. You stood there in the tub with your mouth slightly open and your eyebrows raised in confusion and sadness. 

 Of course he wouldn’t be able to take you. You were stupid to even think that he could. You were cruel to ask him to try. And he did try. After everything he had gone through, he still wanted to try and please you. You mentally kicked yourself for trying to get him to exhaust himself further. 

 Then, you heard… breathing. You couldn’t really describe it. It wasn’t whimpering, and it wasn’t sobbing. Just a strange kind of breathing. You turned again to Drew who had his jaw and his eyes clenched tight. He looked so helpless. 

 You moved to him. You couldn't even feel yourself walking. You were gliding. Before you knew it you were crawling over the sheets of your bed, staining them with the grime that rubbed off your body. 

 When you were next to him on the bed, he tried to turn his neck and look at you, but he winced. You kissed cheek and whispered to him. “Just lay with me, my love.”

 You lay your head on his heart, mindful of his wincing as you brushed by the bruises on his chest. Your eyelids grew heavy as you listened to the rhythm of Drew’s heartbeat. Through your lashes you saw your husband fight to keep his eyes open, just to look at you. You turned and wrapped your two small arms around one of his massive ones and heaved it so it lay over you. So he was holding you. Drew sighed contently. The very next sounds that came from him soft snores as you yourself felt all the pain of the last three days melt away. 

 Then you slept.

I am so very honored and so awed that someone dedicated their time to create a fanfic for my fanfic universe....that’s.....that’s so beyond incredible and I haven’t been able to wrap my mind around it. This tribute fic was absolutely amazing. I legit read this fic until 3 am when I was given it. I couldn’t stop reading it and I loved every small detail and the story telling. Thank you again, @tinkerbell-has-chlamydia​​ for this fic. Truly. Thank you so much. I’m so honored you adored my fics enough to write this. From the bottom of my heart; THANK YOU. ~Bri 💛🖤 (Again this fic is NOT MINE. I was given permission to post it here and place it on my masterlist)

Tag: @adriennegabriella @amandalynngraves @amariemoore @andie01 @annoyingasian @ar3le @artemisapalla316 @ashkrystal @astolenheartnkiss @axelwolf8109 @baemcintyre @balorstrowmanblackmurphy @beckyann6879 @bigbabyscottishpsychopath @brownskinafro @calicina @calwitch @claymoreme @commando-claymore @crossfitjesusinblackskinnyjeans @curlyafrogirl @daddyslittlevillain @dalia-corven @darlingambrose @dcnmarvelgamergeek @demonqueen29 @drew-is-boo @drewshoneybadger @fabulousrockstar @fireyegale @fivefootxo @flawlessglamazon @fullofmelaninsarcasmandepression @gold--gucciempress @hardcoresweet45 @heel-rollins @homeorbust @ihavenowilltolivelol @i-have-saracasm @itsicantbelievethis666 @jazzy-tzw @jeffhardyenigmawwefan @junglecassidy @kalliravenne @lilred91 @littlesuperstar @madebypointlesswerewolves @malethirsty @meishaabae @melblacc @meremaidqueen @midnight--luna @monocromaticstaircase @morenokatt @moxleysbaby @moxley-unhinged @mox-made-me-do-it @moxnmurphy @moxtiel @neversatisfiedgirl @nevertoofarfromivar @new-zealand-chic @nicolewoo @nothinginlifebutgreif @number1120 @ofbeornandbjorn @pandaluver96 @queenofthearchitect @saiyandude @sassymox @savemeroman @scuzmunkie @sebstanismylife @shieldgirl18 @shortyiceheart @slytherinyourrpants @softmoxymuffin @superrezzy00 @taryn-dibiase @thatnerdwriter @thatpanpal @the-beastslayers-queen @thehoundsofjustice @thepalaceofmelanie @theworldofotps @thewrestlingwarehouse @trashofambrolleigns @twistedbeautifully @unabashedwrestlefics @undiscovereddisneyroyalty @undisputedmorgs @unprettypeony @voidstrugh @waywardwrestlewritingwaif​ @welcome-to-lovecraft-country​ @xbreezymeadowsx​ @yaint-me​ @youcantreignonmyparade​

#drew mcintyre #drew mcintyre x reader #my king #my king series #my king series tribute #fanfic for my fanfic #WOW!!!! #not my work #not my writing #not my fic #i do not claim ownership #tinkerbell-has-chlamydia

[cheri-translates]

Lighthouse (A translated one-shot)

I translated this masterpiece originally written by 白飞飞是我宝贝 on Weibo (with permission)

It’s rare to find a piece of writing that is so immersive and makes the deepest parts of your soul ache. I knew it’d be a tragedy if it isn’t accessible to anyone who doesn’t read Chinese T^T

I’ll be keeping the original writer updated on comments left on this work because she’s the one who deserves all the credit 💕

[1]

Morning sunlight filters in through the curtains and fall on my eyelids, leaving a reddish shadow. I frown slightly, struggling to open my eyes. 

Before me are grey curtains and white walls. The familiar yet foreign decor leave me unable to react. I turn over. 

My head feels like it's filled with water, and the pain sobers me up a little. 

I look at the grey-blue quilt, the grey-blue pillows, and the clean outershirt and T-shirt in the closet...

I shoot up from the bed, ignoring my severe headache. After a quick glance around my surroundings, I finally look down at myself - I’m still in the same outfit as yesterday. Other than it being slightly wrinkled from sleep, not a single button is loose.  

Even so... why am I in Gavin’s house?

I get up with some effort, pressing a hand to my head while the other is against the wall, supporting me as I walk out of the room. On the table sits a glass of soy milk, a glass of fresh milk, steam buns, but no Gavin. 

Sitting at the dining table, I stare dazedly at the warm milk in front of me.

Maybe my body isn’t fully conscious yet, or maybe yesterday’s hangover has left me a little numb. Today, I don’t feel the irritability and gloom that has been torturing me for almost half a month. 

--

Half a month ago, I broke up with Gavin. I initiated it. To my utmost surprise, he didn't refuse. He simply hesitated for a while, and said “okay” in a hoarse voice.

I take a sip of the milk, suddenly recalling the way a coquettish smile had hung on my lips when I was still with him. 

“Gavin, I want to drink the milk you’re holding. Is that okay?”

“It’s not that I dislike soy milk. I like both, so I want to drink it too.”

“But I can’t finish two cups by myself, and I simply enjoy... snatching. Food. From. The. Wolf.”

The tips of Gavin’s ears turn red. With one hand, he grabs me off his body and wraps my entire self into a hug. 

Since then, we would always have a cup of soy milk and a cup of milk for breakfast, with both cups placed in front of me.

He would always wait for me to finish my meal before helping himself to the “leftovers”. I would blush and watch as his thin lips casually stick to the cup where my traces still remain. An inexplicable sweetness would fill me, occupying the entire atrium of my heart. 

The sudden memories are overwhelming. The knuckles gripping the cup have gone white. After taking a deep breath, I feel the first sting in my heart. I resign myself to my fate, forcing my eyes shut, and let the delayed pain and torment swallow me up whole.

[2]

The phone rings, and I pick it up without checking who the caller is.

"This is Gavin."

In my trance, his classic greeting makes me think we are still together.

“Are you awake? If... you are, there’s breakfast on the table.”

"Why am I in your house?" 

My voice sounds strangely hoarse and terrible, like a broken bellow.

"You drank too much yesterday. Minor called me. Your doors and windows were shut, ahem, so...”

"Oh,” my voice is a little dry. “I see, thank you.”

We’re already adults, and even used to be lovers who were attached at the hip. Simply spending a night at his house doesn't warrant me to cause a scene.

What’s more, he is Gavin - the Gavin who has never made things difficult for others.

After finishing breakfast hastily, I tidy the table. I pretend not to see the matching teacups on cabinet. My eyes tremble slightly when they sweep past by the photos we took together. 

Before leaving, I walk to the shelf behind the door to retrieve the key out of sheer habit. When my finger touches the ginkgo leaf pendant, I shirk backwards. 

When I spot the two pairs of cotton slippers - one large and one small - in the shoe cabinet, I feel my heartstring finally snap, and I collapse against the wall. 

The memories in these details are truly terrifying. Donning a harmless appearance, they slowly tear down the defences I had constructed with great difficulty.

These two pairs of cotton slippers were purchased during our early days as a couple. I still remember that it was the first time I saw a sick Gavin. He was leaning against the wall of the hallway - just as I am doing now - his soft bangs covering his tired eyes. 

Trying a new menu in the kitchen, I suddenly feel a searing chest pressed against my back. His chin rests lazily in the crook of my neck, and the warm breath exhaled from his nose reddens my cheeks. 

"Gavin? Why are you back so early today?" I try to ignore my rapid heartbeat, and my speed of cutting the vegetables slows down significantly.

He rubs his head against my shoulder and responds in a muffled voice:

“Dizzy.”

Only then do I notice his abnormally high body temperature. After hastily washing my hands and wiping my apron twice, I place my hand on his forehead.  

He lowers his head obediently and lifts up his bangs, revealing delicate eyebrows. The amber eyes underneath are unnaturally moist, and remind me of a deer in a forest - pure and gentle.

“What happened? Why are you burning up so badly?”

I frown and pull him out of the kitchen, then press him onto the bed without giving him a chance to refuse. 

When I was sick as a child, my dad would always tuck me in tightly. Although it was very hot, I would feel much better after sweating it out. So I also tuck the white quilt around Gavin’s neck. He is very cooperative, but his bright eyes remain wide open and he stares at me without blinking.

"What are you looking at? Close your eyes and go to sleep!" I pretend to be angry. However, upon seeing the abnormal flush on his face and the obvious tiredness between his eyebrows, my heart softens. "Well, you should have a good rest if you’re sick. I'll cook some porridge for you. Take your medicine after eating it, okay?" 

My tone sounds as though I’m pacifying a child. After hearing this, a bright smile appears in his eyes. After a long time, he responds lazily with an “okay”.

But his actions are not as obedient as his words. While I’m busy cooking porridge, he walks out of the bedroom again and hugs me from behind without saying a word, like a huge koala.  

Clearly, a sick Gavin and a normal Gavin are two completely different people. For the first time, I realise that this man, who is unafraid of dying in a shower of bullets, can actually be coquettish to such a degree.

I shake his hand away angrily, but he responds by lifting me up and striding over to the sofa.  

"Gavin! What are you doing!" I instinctively want to pound on his shoulder, but when I think about how he’s still sick, I stop myself. The only thing I can do is raise my voice to sound agitated. 

He places me on the sofa, then leans against me lazily, his strong arms wrapping around my waist, breathing in the scent of my hair.  

"Can you keep me company?" The cold has made his voice deeper, as if a handful of sand has been sprinkled into his voice. "I feel terrible.”

With these few words, the anger that was about to flare vanishes. My heart softens and feels numb, as though there are ants crawling through it. 

“...okay, I'll stay with you." 

He falls asleep on my shoulder in under five minutes. He must have been really tired. I lay him down carefully on the sofa and pull a blanket over him.

At this moment, Gavin, who is more than 1.8 meters tall, is curled up on the sofa looking aggrieved and haggard. The blanket isn’t large enough to cover his feet, and I realise that he has been walking around barefoot.

Although the weather has begun to warm up during this time of year, it’s easy to fall sick between spring and summer. He once dragged me home because I didn’t wear a jacket. But when it comes to himself, he isn’t as meticulous. 

Treading quietly, I leave the house to buy food items from the supermarket downstairs. I also stop by the living area to pick out two pairs of slippers - one big and one small, one blue and one pink, with a wolf and a bunny printed on them. 

They feel soft and warm, and are very comfortable.  

When I reach home, I’m wrapped in a familiar embrace as soon as I open the door. I hear a voice filled with grievances from above my head.

“Where did you go? Why didn't you tell me?"

I break free from his embrace. Lowering my head, I see that he’s still barefoot.

"I went out to get groceries. I’ll make you porridge with preserved eggs and lean meat tonight." 

I kneel down, retrieve the newly bought slippers from the bag. Without looking up, I command:

“Lift your feet.”

Gavin puts them on obediently. I stand up and look at him. “How are they? Do they fit?”

His ears are ridiculously red. He blinks gently. 

“Are these for me?”

"Yes, my Mr Wolf." 

I reply casually, carrying the ingredients into the kitchen.  

Gavin finally settles down peacefully, sitting on the sofa obediently and waiting for my food. Most of the porridge that day ends up in his stomach. After taking the anti-fever medicine, he encases me in his arms and turns the lights off early.

His breathing is especially clear in the dark, and is tainted with scorching heat, ironing the back of my neck in a regular pattern. I can’t bear the numbness and move slightly, but the man behind me holds me even more tightly. I can’t fathom where this sick person derives his strength from. I can't break away at all.  

"Thank you for today," I hear him say suddenly, with a slightly hoarse voice that sounds particularly sultry in the quiet night. "I liked the preserved egg and lean meat porridge you made, I liked the slippers you gave me, and... ahem, anyway, thank you."

I chuckle, rolling over in his arms. I raise my head to meet his crystal-clear eyes in the dim night.

"No need to thank me, Mr Gavin. Because I like you the most."

[3]

When I awake from the memory, I hear the rattle of a key coming from outside the door. Feeling flustered, I have no idea where to put my hands and feet. In the next second, I meet the bright amber eyes from my memory once again.  

Holding a bag of vegetables in his hand, he stands quietly at the door, looking at me silently. When his eyes trail to the high heels on my feet, his brows furrow slightly. 

I bite my lip and break the awkward silence. "Thank you for yesterday. I won’t bother you further. Goodbye.”

I give him a nod. Before I can step outside, he blocks the way. 

Lifting my head, I look at him with a puzzled expression. His neck muscles are tense, and his lips are pressed into a line. The morning light falls on his handsome side profile, softening his sharp features.

"Your complexion looks bad. Rest for a while, and don't force yourself.”

Perhaps I have yet to sober up completely, because I find myself agreeing awkwardly. I change my shoes again and sit down on the sofa. Taking a deep breath, I try to ignore the faint pain from my temples.  

Gavin pours me a cup of hot water. I hold it in my palm and say mindlessly, "I didn't expect that I would be a guest here one day." 

Gavin pauses, and he says nothing.

After retrieving two tomatoes and a piece of tofu from the bag, he walks into the kitchen, which is pretty much a decorative piece to him. 

I arch my eyebrows in surprise. When I hear the stove turning on, I walk over with curiosity.

Gavin has his back towards me, surrounded by sliced ​​tomatoes and tofu, and a bowl of beaten eggs. At a glance, there are no eggshells in it. He flips through a booklet and follows the steps in it meticulously.

I probably guessed what he wanted to do. When he finally stretches out his hand to take the sugar, I stop him in the nick of time. "Gavin, that’s white sugar. The salt is over there. 

His stiffens, the tips of his ears turning redder than the tomatoes in the pot.

Once the soup is prepared, he ladles it into a bowl and brings it to me. 

"Drink a bowl. It’d help you sober up.” His voice is a little soft and obviously lacking in confidence. "I tried it just now... ahem, it's not bad...” 

I smile and take the egg drop soup from his hand. Stirring the soup with a spoon causes bright red tomatoes to bob around. The aroma of green onions instantly dispels the smell of alcohol stuffing my nose.

I take a sip. It really doesn’t taste bad. 

But I can’t understand why such a delicious soup makes me feel as though I’m drinking something bitter.

I stand at the door of the kitchen, taking slow sips. When I can almost see the bottom of the bowl, I force myself to laugh.

"Is this the former police officer who only knew takeaway food and instant noodles? This cooking is a great leap forward." 

The brightness in his eyes dims for a moment, and he responds with a hint of self-mockery. "I’m used to your cooking, so I can no longer eat takeaway food or instant noodles. The only thing I can do now is learn to make it myself.”

I’m left stunned, not expecting that he would say this. He turns back to the kitchen to wash the pots and bowls. I watch his tall figure in a daze, and am suddenly swept up into a whirlpool of memories. 

While heading to the supermarket, I turn my head to Gavin and ask him a question.

“Gavin, what do you like to eat?”

He responds with a faint smile. “Anything. As long as you make it, I will love it.”

I know Gavin always puts me first, and that I would get nowhere if I continued down this line of questioning. I simply change my approach.

“What do you usually eat then?”

After thinking about it carefully, he says, “STF doesn’t have a canteen. I usually eat at a restaurant outside, or have instant noodles. I'm not a picky eater, so it’s fine as long as I can fill my stomach.”

I know that he works hard, but I’m still a little angry at his living habits.

“Without me around, would you be eating instant noodles your entire life?”

When he sees me suddenly frowning, his tone gets slightly flustered.

“I...”

“Hmph, in order to punish you, I’ve decided that..." I reach out angrily and pick out a Chinese cabbage from the freezer. "You have to clear the entire plate tonight, and my boxed lunches in future! Eat well, sleep well, and take care of yourself. Do you understand!”

There is a smile in his amber eyes, and the corners of his mouth rise a little. In the end, he rubs my hair with some helplessness, and obediently says, "okay.” 

Bang.

The sound of the cabinet door closing shut pulls me back to reality. When I meet his eyes, I hurriedly conceal my dazed expression.

“Thank you. I just remembered that I still have things to do at the company, so I’ll make a move.”

I walk towards the entrance, slightly embarrassed. 

When I hear him call my name, I stop.

"Can we talk?”

I stand frozen in place, all the blood draining away the warmth from my heart. It isn’t until I’m surrounded by a broad embrace that I can eventually hear my heart beating again.

Gavin always liked hugging me from behind the most, hanging his head by the side of my ears, his soft sideburns on my face. I would hear his unhurried, gentle breathing.

Just like right now. My back leans against his hard chest, his body temperature wrapping me in a thin cloak. The arms on my waist are strong, and there’s a new scar on it.

The familiar heartache sweeps across me again, unbridled. Before I can react, I hear a breath near my ears.

"If Minor didn’t call me, would I have had no chance to see you again?"

[4] 

I ruminated over why Gavin and I broke up. It always came back to a cliche term - unsuitable.

I’m the boss of a small company, living a standard 9 to 5 life. Although I sometimes work overtime, my life has a fairly regular pattern.

Gavin is a special officer who has no fixed working hours. He runs off whenever there’s danger, and we often lose contact. The longest time we’ve been apart was for nearly a month, and the only communication we had spanned only ten minutes. Most of the time, I was asking, “Is there a signal? Can you hear me?”

But I never felt that our professional life was an obstacle in our love. On the contrary, it was precisely because of our intersecting schedules that I cherished the time with him even more. 

It's just...

When I learned that he had a vacation on the 520 during our early days together as a couple, I excitedly made a travel plan for an overnight stay at the beach.

There was a filming site of a movie that I particularly liked. I lay in his arms enthusiastically and described the reeds, the lighthouse, and the ocean where the first light of day could be seen. Gavin had smiled and listened to me, then dropped a kiss on my forehead.  

But when the time came, I went there alone. 

He had received an urgent task suddenly. After hesitating for a while, he wanted to call and decline. However, I held his phone and shook my head at him. "It's okay, go.”

Then, it was the first Qixi Festival we celebrated together. Gavin had specially adjusted his schedule to keep me company. That day, we walked through the ancient streets lined with lanterns while holding hands. We released a small paper boat by the river together. We also watched a sweet and romantic movie. He watched me smile, our fingers clasped together, warm and powerful.

But when I got up in the morning the very next day, I saw Gavin seated on the sofa with his head down. I whispered his name, and he raised his head to look at me. His eyes were moist and red, and his usually clear voice was hoarse. 

"The teammate who swapped shifts with me yesterday met with an accident during the mission... if it weren’t for me, he would have been fine now...”

I held his hand distressedly and comforted him. It wasn’t his fault. But when I saw the pain in his eyes, I knew that he would shoulder everything himself, and that he would carry on with this self-blame and guilt. 

After that, Gavin became more frequently tasked with missions, and became more frequently injured. In addition to distress, I also felt helpless.  

Then came the Spring Festival. He had accompanied me to my aunt’s house. He wasn’t very good with talking, and his body had unconcealed wounds. My aunt’s expression gradually morphed from enthusiasm to politeness. 

My aunt dragged me to the kitchen and asked me solemnly, in a low voice.

"What does he do? Special police? You know this kind of work is dangerous! Should you marry him in the future, what if... and I’m saying ‘what if’... what if something goes wrong? What would you do?”

I tightened my cuffs, took a deep breath, and said, "Aunt, no matter how dangerous his work is, or how dissatisfied you are with him, he is the person I’ve decided on, and I love him very much.”

My aunt frowned and looked at me. She sighed slowly. "Silly child, you’ll understand later on that the most important thing in marriage is not love, but suitability. Love is just one condiment in life, and life is a big dish. It needs the right dishes to match, supplemented by condiments, in order to have an excellent and delicious presentation."

“I’m not trying to nag at you. I just want you to think this through carefully. I know that Gavin is a good boy, and I can see how much he cares for you. But I can also see that you don’t look as happy as before. I just hope you young ones can live happily.”

After returning home that day, my aunt’s words continued echoing in my ears. I didn’t want to accept my somewhat shaky reality.

In countless nights without Gavin, I lay in bed and stared at the ceiling in a daze. What flashed before my eyes were Gavin’s scars. He never took the initiative to tell me about his injuries, and never mentioned the danger of his missions. 

His solemn and stern eyes told me that every “I’m fine” from his lips had no credibility.

With time after time of heartaches and disappointments, I seemed to suddenly understand what my aunt said.

When he flips through the medicine cabinet in the living room again in the middle of the night, I walk out of the bedroom and turn the lights on with a “click”. 

At first, he’s surprised. Then, he starts panicking as he tries to hide the scar on his left shoulder. Without a word, I take out the hard iodine and gauze from the medicine box, carefully remove the his bloodstained clothes, and gently clean up the wound little by little. 

This time, the wound isn’t deep, but there is a lot of bleeding. I squat down in front of him, the hand holding the tweezers trembling slightly. In contrast, my words are calm. 

"Gavin. Do you know that if I were your teammate, I definitely wouldn't want to see you in this sorry state? It’s only when you take care of yourself that you can protect even more people.”

I throw the napkin away and wrap the gauze around his arm. His muscles are smooth and tight. Even though I’ve seen it so many times, it still gives me heart palpitations. 

"In the future, you have to protect yourself well, understand? Don't let the people who love you feel scared all day. This kind of torture is even more unbearable than physical injuries.”

I tie a neat knot, then sit beside him, hugging him gently. His amber eyes flicker, and within them are waves of pain and struggle.

"Gavin.”

I lean my head on his shoulder, closing my eyes and memorising the warmth of his body.

"Let’s break up.”

[5]

I break free from Gavin’s embrace and leave his house in a hurry after leaving him with a sentence:

“Don't follow me.”

I run in a hurry, because I know that if I hesitate for a second longer, I will fall into his arms completely and become unable to extricate myself.

It's ridiculous.

Even though I keep reminding myself that we have already broken up, I still love his warmth.

The drinks were really worthless. If it weren't for this hangover, I wouldn’t have been so embarrassed, and I wouldn’t have been so easily defeated by mere memories and a hug.

I take a taxi and return home.

The moment I close the door, I finally remove all my forbearances. I throw myself onto the sofa and raise an arm to cover my eyes. Tears trickle down the corners of my eyes, silent and endless. 

[6] 

I must have been crazy to agree to Minor’s invitation to attend the high school reunion. When I see the tall figure walking into the banquet hall, my instinctive reaction is to flee. 

But standing next to me is an old friend. He’s chatting about the past enthusiastically, and I have no choice but to remain still and nod along in agreement.

Gavin’s appearance is akin to throwing a boulder on calm water, and the ripples caused by the waves spread through the entire banquet hall, including my heart.

Although he should have already spotted me, he doesn't talk to me. Instead, he sits two spaces away. His expression is cold and fierce, as though he has come to participate in a serious operation.

No one dared to approach him in high school, and this has remained true even now. To outsiders, he is a lone wolf - indifferent and arrogant, causing everyone to retreat from him. 

I used to see him in the same light, but everything that occurred later overthrew these myopic impressions. I discovered the softness and delicateness hiding under his hard shell.

“Hey, what's the matter with you? Why are you distracted all the time?" 

My old friend waves his hand in front of me, and I apologise with a bit of embarrassment.

After saying a few more words, he suddenly asks, "Do you have a boyfriend now?" 

Hearing this, I choke on my red wine. In the corner, Gavin seems to be frowning at me, his amber eyes bright and scorching, making me subconsciously want to escape.

I avert my eyes and shake my head. "No." 

He becomes a little more interested then, changing the topic from high school to the present.

"Let me tell you - I’m working at LFG now and have bought a car and paid the down payment for a house. Also, my parents don’t live with me, so if you’re...”

"Are you done?” A cold voice interrupts him. My heart trembles and I raise my head, only to see Gavin's cold glare. 

At this moment, nearly half of the eyes in the hall are focused on our conversation. Looking like he doesn’t care about anything, Gavin grabs my arm and pulls me out of the room. I can’t escape from his grasp, and feel frustrated by his inexplicable behaviour. 

He takes me to a small balcony outside the hall, then imprisons me between the wall and his chest. He looks down at me, brows furrowed deeply. There’s an unconcealed anger in his eyes. 

"What are you doing?” I question, unwilling to look at him directly.

The reply I get is a kiss that plunders everything.

His lips press against mine roughly, and his unique scent overwhelms me. There is a collision and friction between our lips and teeth, and there is pain. 

It’s an uncontrolled plunder and invasion. 

He doesn’t let me go until my last breath is violently swept away. I pant heavily, but he embraces me in the next second. 

This time, his embrace is gentle. 

It’s careful, as if he’s protecting a fragile glass flower. His heavy breath brushes my neck, mingling with his low and trembling voice.

"I'm sorry."

[7] 

I don’t deny that I lived a terrible life in the half month after separating from him.

I worked overtime every day, letting work fill all the gaps in my life. I didn’t give myself a chance to relax at all, because it only takes a second for pain and regret to gnaw away at me. 

Minor has been secretly reporting my life to Gavin. I knew that. But I never thought of stopping him, and a ridiculous expectation even started brimming in my heart. 

I wondered if there would be a night, when the lights of the city begin to fade, when he would appear in front of me as he used to. He would wrinkle his beautiful eyebrows and gently bring me into his arms. With a slight touch of reproach, he would ask resignedly, “Why are you working overtime again?”

I also wondered if he would push the office door open anxiously when I’m stricken with another stomach ailment, picking me up sideways without a word. The expression on his face back then was full of anger, but the stream of light in his eyes magnified his distress and tenderness infinitely.

I also wondered, when I have finished my work for the day and am leaning against the wall of the elevator and staring at the changing floors, whether I’d see him as soon as I open the door.

If he did show up, I would put everything down and leap into his arms, and tell him over and over again that I love him. 

But in the half month since our break up, he never appeared once. 

This city is so large that even if two people were once intimate, they may miss each other for a lifetime if they don’t stay in touch. 

So I started to waver again. Why did I live even more unhappily after listening to what my aunt said? 

Why is it that once the seasoning of love is no longer part of this big dish of life, the entire thing tastes like wax?

I don't understand - would I be happier finding someone I’m suitable with but do not love, or consume each other’s love and embrace the friction?

Deep down, I know that if I could abandon everything and make a choice, I would choose the latter without hesitation.  

At least, my life as of now tells me very clearly that the decision I made was wrong.

And this mistake has tortured the both of us beyond recognition.  

[8]

My back is extremely tense and feels like a fully stretched bow. 

The hands around my waist move slightly, and Gavin’s voice falls on my ears, drawing intense pain from my heart. 

With every breath, I can only smell the scent of his body and the sweet aroma of red wine from just now. 

Over his shoulders, I see the bright, brilliant, erosive, and prosperous city. Trapped inside are people all sentenced to life.  

I know that I’m one of them.

Without warning, tears trickle from the corners of my eyes, leaving streaks of cold water on my face.

In my increasingly fuzzy and hot vision, I see Gavin’s somewhat flustered expression. He gently wipes away my tears with his rough finger pads. 

Those eyes, full of anxiety, become the only lighthouse within reach.  

It seems that as long as I look at him, I will never lose my way.  

After a few small sobs, I rush into his arms without a care. I pull at the corners of his clothes and cry until his white T-shirt becomes damp.

He comforts me clumsily, his hands caressing my hair in exchange for the string of muffled "sorry"s flowing from my mouth.

[9] 

I called my aunt.

"Aunt, is suitability really that important in life?" 

"Silly child, suitability is very important. But more importantly, are you happy?"  

“What if I’m with someone who I’m not suitable with, but I feel happy?”

"Then he might be the most suitable person for you.”

[10] 

I stand at the door of the STF office, holding a boxed lunch and looking outside. 

An officer who recognises me greets me with a smile. "Is sister-in-law giving Gavin food again? Just go in and wait. The team is already on their way back. 

I smile and nod. “It doesn't matter. Waiting over here is the same thing.”

Another colleague pats him on the shoulder, as if laughing at his stupidity. "What would you know, you single loner? Sister-in-law wants to see Gavin sooner!" 

I blush, and suddenly see a familiar profile coming in through the door. 

The faint light of dusk outlines his wide shoulders and narrow waist, depicting his side profile clearly. Seeing me, the solemnity and coldness on his face melts into a pool of spring water.

"What are you doing here? Didn't I say you should wait for me at home?" 

He walks up to me and takes what’s in my hand, his tone brisk and clear. 

I crinkle my eyes and smile, saying, "I’m off work early today, and came over since I have nothing to do.” 

We walk all the way to his office. Opening the boxed lunch, he sees that it contains his favourite dishes. 

Gavin takes a whiff in a slightly exaggerated manner, then smiles. "Mm, smells good.”

I quickly hand him the chopsticks. He picks up a piece of beef and brings it into his mouth. After swallowing it, he lowers his eyes and smiles. "I get to eat the food you cook after my mission. I suddenly don't feel tired at all.”

I feel a twinge in my heart. I huff nonchalantly and respond. "If you like it, I’ll prepare and bring you boxed lunches in the future.” 

"No need." He reaches out and tousles my hair. "Be good and wait for me at home. Just knowing that you’re at home makes me feel very contented.”

After work, we walk home together hand in hand. The setting sun filters through the uneven skyline of the city, elongating our shadows.

The summer evening breeze carries the scent of camphor trees across my face, and the temperature of the day finally reveals a tired and lazy side. Dim light reaches the world through the clouds drifting in the sky, bringing a certain tenderness to this steely city.

"Gavin?" I turn my head to look at the man wearing a smile on his mouth, and happen to meet his clear eyes. 

"What's the matter?"

"Your birthday is coming soon. Are there any gifts you want?”

"Anyth-"

“You’re not allowed to say ‘anything’!" I interrupt him with a glare, giving his palm a forceful squeeze.

He smiles compromisingly, and his eyes seem to be filled with scattered gold. 

"Then teach me how to cook a meal. I hope one day in the future, you can return home from work and eat a meal I’ve prepared.”

I’m momentarily startled, and suddenly remember what my aunt said - 

"Then he might be the most suitable person for you.”

I have thought about this question of suitability many, many times. Just like the “unity of opposites” in philosophy, I simply can’t make sense of it. But no one has ever told me that this question doesn’t require thinking. The answer has always been in my heart, and the clues to finding the answer have been scattered throughout my life.

Even the most trivial things in life carries memories belonging only to us. And these small and plain memories will gather into a surging tide when you least expect it, washing away the dust covering the answer in one’s heart. 

Perhaps there has never been such a thing as “unsuitable” to begin with. This so-called “unsuitable” is just used by people looking for an excuse to part ways.

A breeze blows past, and ripples appear on the lake in my heart. When I look at him again, I suddenly feel light and happy both physically and mentally, and that nothing could come between the both of us.

With a big smile, I say, "Okay! I’ll leave the birthday party to you then, Mr Gavin.”

He chuckles softly, his bangs a little messy from the evening breeze. "I will learn properly, and won’t disappoint you.”  

The sunset finally sinks behind the tall buildings. Neon lights and vehicle headlights begin to flicker, and the dim yellow streetlights on the side of the road replace the sunset, continuing to illuminate the long road.

I know that he will hold my hand as we walk, step by step, slowly and steadily, along this path home. 

#mlqc #mlqc gavin

[mrsluttystark]

Repeat After Me Part 2

Part 1 

You guys have no idea how much it meant to me that part 1 was so well received. Thank you from the bottom of my little starker heart! 

Tags: nff, age difference, former teacher/student, mention of daddy kink, mention of choking

Word count: 3.1k

Read below the cut

Peter wakes up five minutes before his alarm, like he always does.  He absolutely hates the shrill screech of it.  His bed creaks and groans as he sits up and swings his legs over the side.  Suddenly, the springs that had previously been holding him up collapse under him, making him yelp in surprise.  Peter made a mental note that maybe it was time for a new bed, he’d been holding on to the rickety twin mattress he had all his childhood since it was the only thing he had left from May’s.

He usually went into the lab on Saturdays, even though he was supposed to be off during the weekend.  It’s not like he has plans or anything, but he guesses he could shift his schedule around a little to go mattress shopping.

His arm darts out like clockwork and taps his screen to turn the alarm off before his phone could utter the first mind melting ring. Peter runs a hand through his hair to brush some stray curls out of his face and stretches before getting out of bed to do his morning routine.

It’s not until Peter sits down at his two-seater dining table with a bowl of captain crunch berries, two pieces of toast, and a cup of earl gray tea, does he finally check his phone.  

The spoon is barely out of his mouth when he sees the notifications.  Eyes wide, he chokes on the cereal trying to force its half chewed self down his throat.  He can taste the oat milk is his nose and it is not good. 

Mr. Stark accepted his friend request and messaged him?  Peter looked around his apartment, skeptical.  Was he dreaming? Was this one of those life-like dreams where he gets ready for the day then wakes up and has to do it all over again?  He looked down at his arm, should he pinch himself? No, Peter, that’s stupid.

He shook his head and looked at his phone again, opening the Messenger app.

Hey, Kid.

Shit, he was toast.  Collecting himself, Peter took a deep breath to prepare himself for a conversation with his former high school teacher (that he may or may not want to fuck him senseless and cuddle afterward). He racked his brain thinking about how to approach this.  Should he be bold? 

Hi, Daddy. Please cum down my throat? Yeah...that might be too bold.

Hello, Mr. Stark.  I humbly thank you for accepting my friend request.  Ugh, too weird.

He’s overthinking it, he knows. Peter types out and deletes maybe five more messages before he finally settles on:

09:10 am 

Hi, Mr. Stark.  It’s Peter.

09:11 am

Parker.

Peter threw his phone down on the table and put his head in his hands, bowl of cereal soggy and forgotten. He made a face at it and pushed the bowl away, pulling his toast closer.  He took bites of a slice distractedly and washed it down with some tea.  He’d regret not eating a proper breakfast later, but right now his appetite was replaced with a turning feeling that he couldn’t quite place.  His phone vibrates on the table, startling him from his thoughts.

From Tony Stark 09:22 am

Yeah, Peter.  I did read your name on your profile.

09:23 am

Right. Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:23 am

Don’t worry about it, Kid. Just pokin’ fun.

09:24 am

(sweating emoji)

Thanks for accepting my friend request btw, Mr. Stark.

From Tony Stark 09:26 am

No big deal, thanks for the request, it’s been a while.

And Tony is fine, you’re not my student anymore, Pete.

09:26 am

Yeah, okay. Tony. I can do that

So you remember me?

From Tony Stark 09:27 am

I remember all my students

09:27 am

Really???

From Tony Stark 09:28 am

No, not really lol

But I do remember you, you were a lot skinnier back then.

09:30 am

(eye roll emoji) And you were a lot younger 

From Tony Stark 09:31 am

Ouch, that was uncalled for

09:32 am

You asked for it

So what have you been up to?

From Tony Stark 09:34 am

I’m a mechanical engineer now, quit teaching a few years ago. What about you?

09:35 am

That’s awesome! You were way too smart to be a teacher.

I’m a research chemist

From Tony Stark 09:38 am

Thanks, kid.

That’s about where I’d thought you’d end up, as smart as you are.

09:40 am

Flattery will get you everywhere, Mr. Stark

Tony*

Sorry.

From Tony Stark 09:40 am

Everywhere?

09:41 am

Everywhere.

From Tony Stark 09:50 am

Say, Pete. I don’t actually have a habit of checking this app and I’m about to head out of the house for the day.  I’d like to continue this conversation, so here’s my number if you wanna text me [hidden contact information].

No pressure of course.

From Tony Stark 09:53 am

Peter?

New Message

To: Tony

You know who I am.

From: Tony

Had me there for a second kid. 

I’m about to drive, I’ll text you in a bit.

Peter put his phone down for the first time in almost an hour, eyes straining to refocus after staring at his screen intensely for so long.  His heart was pounding in his chest and his cheeks were starting to ache from smiling.  Had that really happened? Peter brought a hand up to rub at his jaw, still in a daze.  He was finding it very hard to believe that this wasn’t some elaborate dream because there is absolutely no way that this could’ve happened in real life.  Talk about a glitch in the simulation.

He really got Tony Stark’s phone number, and he didn’t even have to ask for it!

Peter scoffed in disbelief, no fucking way! He opened the Facebook app again and went to Tony’s profile.  Turns out there wasn’t much else on it, he had a total of 3 profile pictures and less than 100 friends, none of which were other students and only a few midtown teachers.  So, he either was a very private person or he didn’t use Facebook at all.  And if it was the latter (or both for that matter), why did he accept Peter’s friend request in the first place?

Peter decided not to think about it right now.

He went to his profile pictures and glanced at the current one he already studied last night.  The previous one was just the Guns N’ Roses album cover for Appetite for Destruction.  Classic Rock fan, noted.  His first profile picture, though, was an absolute masterpiece.  Tony looked to be on a beach somewhere, his hair was wet and messy from the clear blue salt water.  Peter wanted to run his tongue over every inch of the olive toned skin exposed to the sun.  His smile was radiant, framed by neatly trimmed facial hair, with thick, dark eyebrows peeking over his sunglasses.  Swung low on his hips right below a toned stomach were hot rod red swim shorts that stopped in the middle of his thigh, showing off his tan legs dusted with dark hair.

Peter tried not to look, he really did, but he could not stop his eyes from landing on the older man’s crotch.  And he was not disappointed.  There, curving onto his thigh, was a long, thick unmistakable dick print.  Peter’s mouth watered at the sight as his own cock stirred with interest.

Fuck. He wondered how big he really was in person.  How far he could take it down his throat.  He wanted to know how it would feel to be stretched and filled by Tony’s cock.

Scooting his chair back abruptly, Peter shot up off of it.  His hard-on tenting almost painfully in his pajama pants and it was starting to create a wet spot.  Mattress shopping can wait, Peter needed to cum, like, yesterday.

He rushes to his room and yanks the drawer of his night stand open, revealing a wooden box.  Peter unlatches the box and grabs a bottle of lube and his veiny lifelike vibrating dildo with a suction cup right behind the silicone balls from his small collection.  This one was by far his favorite, it’s eight inches long and he loved feeling the veins and the girth of it filling him up. 

Peter lays a towel down on his bed and climbs to the middle, carefully avoiding the new dent in the mattress. He bunches up the pillows behind his back so he’s laying at an incline, then starts rubbing himself over his pajama pants while he uncaps the lube and squeezes some onto his fingertips. Clumsily, he pulls and shimmies his pants down his hips with his left hand, breath hitching when his heated erection makes contact with the cool air in his apartment.  It lands with a light smack against his abs and Peter tugs his shirt up and under his chin.  Kicking his pants off his bed, Peter spreads his legs.  He can feel his hole puckering in anticipation of being used.

His left hand begins lightly skimming his torso, feeling his abs contract under his finger tips.  Bringing them higher, he rubs across his chest, pinching his nipples softly.  Peter rubs the lube between his thumb and forefinger to warm it up, then starts rubbing the tight ring of muscle in circles, making his cock jump.

Once he’s coated, he sinks a finger in slowly to coax himself open.  His left hand continues caressing his body, skirting across the area right above his cock.  Peter lets out a plethora of whines and pants, eyes screwed shut at the feeling.  The image of Tony’s face urging him to take another finger.

He knows Tony’s fingers would be thicker, stretching him wider than Peter ever could with his own.  The younger man hoped his former teacher would be able to handle him the way he wanted.  Peter imagined large, strong hands encircling his throat while the other gripped hard on his hips while he took him.

Three of his fingers are buried deep in himself before he even touches his neglected, leaking cock.  His left hand comes to collect the precum pooling at the head and dribbling down his shaft, allowing his hand to glide along his hot skin. He strokes himself lazily as he pulls his fingers out and reaches for the dildo.  Uncapping the lube again he slicks up the silicone and brings it to his open, waiting hole. 

Pulling his left hand off of his cock, Peter grabs one of the pillows and stuffs it under the small of his back.

He imagines Tony looking down at him with dark, analytical eyes, watching Peters every movement.  The rise and fall of his chest, his heaving breaths.  The way Peter keens when he’s stretched like he longs for the sting of it.  Would he fuck into him slowly or would he seath himself in one smooth, quick stroke?

Peter chooses the latter.

He cries out as he pushes the dildo balls deep into his ass without pause.  The pain from the stretch mixes deliciously with pleasure.  Sweat beading on his forehead has Peter’s curls sticking wetly to his skin.  His entire body is covered in a thin sheen of it.

The young man turns onto his left side, dildo still deep inside him.  Peter reaches around his back with his right hand and grips the bottom of the suction cup.  He sighs, easing the dildo out slowly before pressing the button at the base of the shaft to turn on the vibration and ramming it into himself once more.

Tony would be taking him from behind, a long arm encircling Peter’s body, hand coming to grip him at the base of his neck, right above his collarbone so that he could pull the younger man down and onto his thick cock while he fucks up into him.  

Peter continued to fuck himself roughly with the dildo while he thought of Tony’s hard body doing it to him instead.  He’d whisper dirty things in Peter’s ear while he fucked him.  Tell him that he’s such a good little slut for his teacher.  Peter whined at the thought, he’d love it if Tony let him call him Mr. Stark in bed.

He starts stroking his cock faster, feeling his orgasm build in the pit of his stomach.  His right arm is starting to get tired from fucking the dildo into his ass for so long, he’s gotta cum soon.

Peter’s eyes fly open when he hears his phone vibrate through the thrumming in his ears.  It’s a text from Tony.

How’s my favorite student? Miss me?

That does it.  Peter’s entire body jolts as he cums all over his hand and the towel he laid on the bed, a high whine caught in his throat. 

He’s still trying to catch his breath a few minutes later, after he eases the dildo out and places it on the towel.  He wipes his hand off on it as well before he grabs his phone.  He definitely needs a shower now. Then he’ll go to the mall.

To: Tony

Don’t flatter yourself

To: Tony

Maybe a little

-

Tony can’t help but smile at his phone, he might have been a little too eager with the message, typing it up as soon as he put his car in park.  The easy banter going on between him and Peter was refreshing.  Tony couldn’t remember the last time he felt genuinely excited to talk to someone, let alone text.

As the conversation kept flowing while Tony picked up his dry cleaning, he could only deduce that it was because they were nearly equal on an intellectual level.  It may have helped that Peter was easy on the eyes as well.

They talked about their projects at work and the research behind it, what it was like at Columbia for Peter, and how MIT had been to Tony.  The older man made a mental note to ask where Peter worked at a later date, maybe he could recruit him.  He learned that Peter’s favorite colors were blue and red.  That he hated horror movies but watched them anyway just to spite himself.  He loved rom-coms and (surprise, surprise) sci-fi movies.  He couldn’t cook to save his life, Tony assured him he could give him lessons if he wanted, he could make a mean Chicken Piccata.

Tony couldn’t even bring himself to feel guilty about it at all.  The conversation was innocent and Tony was a flirt by nature, Pepper never had a problem with it.  If anything, this thing with Peter was just a budding friendship.  The universe knows Tony needed someone to talk to.

Around noon, Tony’s stomach started to grumble, not surprising considering the hearty breakfast of black coffee he had this morning.  Peter mentioned earlier that he’d been craving Gyros, and that didn’t sound half bad right about now.  He was a few blocks away from the mall anyway.

From: Peter

Here’s a contact picture, in case you needed one...

[see attachment]

The picture Peter sent was absolutely adorable.  His bangs fell over his forehead, slightly parted to the side so it wasn’t completely covered.  Tony felt utterly entranced by the younger man’s smile and the way his left eyebrow looked like he’d slept with his face buried in a pillow.  He was wearing a T-Shirt with a science pun on it, as if the kid couldn’t be any dorkier.  Tony loved it.

To: Peter

Is that a sly way of getting me to send you a selfie back?

Cute shirt by the way, where ya headed?

From: Peter

Maybe...did it work?

I’m going shopping for a new mattress, old one crapped out on me.

To: Peter

Here, since you asked so nicely

[see attachment]

From: Peter

Oof, you can just delete mine.  You just made me go from a solid 6 to like a 2

To: Peter

Hey, give yourself some credit, you’re definitely at least a 5

KIDDING, I’d rate you a solid 9, kid. Just because there’s always room for improvement

From Peter:

I would just like to know who gave you the right to be so sassy and RUDE

To: Peter

Definitely my narcissistic ego

No, but seriously Pete, you’re stunning.  Don’t listen to the old guy

From: Peter

Pls you’re not that old, Tony.

To: Peter

A man after my own heart.  Thanks, kid.

From: Peter

Anytime :-)

You’re more like my friend’s hot dad if anything

To: Peter

Little shit.

From Peter:

;-)

Tony shook his head fondly and stuffed his phone in his pocket as he entered the mall, looking around for something indicating what direction the food court was in.  He hadn’t been to this mall in a while, he admits since he’s been making more money it’s kept him from coming and eating the fast food they had here.  So he followed the signs until he got to the food court, and noticed there were still quite a few tables open for him to sit and eat at.  He made a point to stay as far away from the family with three screaming children as possible.

He scanned the choices until he found somewhere that had gyros and went to go stand in line.  The menu wasn’t too extensive, he could either get a gyro platter or a falafel platter, and he already knew what he was here for.  His eyes fell from the menu to the person in front of him.  Not to be a creep, he’s only human, but he had a fantastic ass.  A perfect little bubble butt.

The man was a little shorter than him, he had a trim waist that opened up to broad shoulders not bigger than Tony’s.  Incredible figure.  He’s probably a dancer or a marathon runner.  He also noticed this man had brown curls.  That made him snort softly to himself, he either had a type or Peter just invaded his mind in a short amount of time.  It could be either, honestly.

His eyes dropped to the phrase printed on the back of his shirt.

Never trust an atom, they make up everything

Ha.  Peter would love that shirt.

Wait.

Peter has that shirt.  It’s the one he was wearing in his selfie.

“Peter?”

The man in front of him whirled around to look at him with a puzzled expression.  Tony suddenly found himself unable to move or say another word.  He was instantly captivated by doe eyes and one of the prettiest faces he’d seen in a long time.

He watched his confusion turn into realization and then disbelief and dare he say: panic.

“Tony?”

@sweetqueen449, @slut-for-starker, @dim-ships-johnlock, @starkerhowlter, @sthefystarkersworld, @crazycocococonut, @bris-sins, @delicateavenuenacho, @ironspiderstarker, @katzenbaby1, @spider-iron-man, @rebel13lion39, @twokinkybeans, @frenchfrostpudding, @cherrygoldlove, @silkystarkk, @icandoakickflip, @irondaddio, @briesb1tch

creds to @problemchildnoonewanted for some of the messages in the beginning

#starker #sluttystark stuff #starker fic #starker au #ironspider #tony stark x peter parker #tony stark/peter parker #peter parker x tony stark #Peter Parker/Tony Stark

[daydream-believin]

Sure Took You Long Enough, Babe

Summary: (wlw) Reader pulls an all-nighter with coworker Zoe

Warnings: swearing, alcohol, uh i think i remember mentioning people doing drugs, that trademark wlw obliviousness

Word Count: 4374

a/n: g-g-gorlfren... *slaps roof of fic* this baby can fit so many gay fantasy tropes in it. yes, the bars in cali stay open till 4am idk

Your alarm blared it’s cheery tune, startling you awake. Strangely enough, the happy melody never inspired happiness, just rage. Yet, ever the eager beaver, you shot right up and slammed the button as you slid out of bed, not allowing yourself to dilly-dally. As much as you’d like to stay asleep for three more hours at the least, you forced yourself into a good start for the day. Today was the first day of your new part-time job at Hextech, and lucky you, you got the morning shift. Curse of being fresh meat, you supposed. As long as you could make it through the day without getting too terribly hazed, you’d be fine.

Back home in Arcadia Oaks for the summer, you’d needed a new job or you’d go crazy. What were you supposed to do? Relax? Nah. You’d start taking double shifts as soon as you could. It was a bit tricky finding somewhere that would be a good fit for you. Okay, that was a lie. It was a bit tricky finding somewhere that would even be willing to hire you, apparently. Really knocked your pride down a few pegs.

By a strike of fortune, you had been catching up with one of your old high school buddies over coffee yesterday. You know, the one you used to hang out in the graveyard and practice tarot reading with? Yeah, Evan. It was nice to be able to talk to someone who was just as excited as you were that My Chemical Romance was back. When you two ordered, he pulled out that old joke about taking his coffee black like his soul and it still made you laugh as much as it did in high school. Evan was doing good, new boyfriend, new job, new band. You felt happy for your friend. You were happy that he was happy. He deserved it.

After you’d lamented that you couldn’t find work, he told you about how lately he’d been working for that electronic store Hextech. Not subtly named, was it? He’d told you about how it was run by hedgewizards like you two. They only hired through connections, since they were a magical company run by magical people. You, thankfully, had one of those connections. Your buddy put in a good word for you and, just like that, you were in. They put you on the schedule crazy fast. Like, the first shift of the very next day fast. Good. You were going out of your mind having so much free time. Your relatives were starting to ask you *shutter* questions about your personal life.

You looked in the mirror, slicked back your hair into a neat style, and admired how you looked in your new work shirt. Of course, it would eventually join the trophy quilt of old work shirts you were making, but for now it was nice and new. A pretty baby blue, it will go well sewed next to the royal blue Domino’s shirt from last semester. You added about a dozen earrings to your ears as a finishing touch and headed downstairs. After downing your coffee and hastily scarfing down a still-warm blueberry muffin, you kissed your grandmother’s cheek goodbye as you headed out the door. You tossed a crumpled muffin to the crows waiting by the front door. The greedy bastards inhaled every crumb. As much as you loved having a job again, the sun was still asleep when you started your walk to work. Fuck that.

As you walked through the door at Hextech, you were astonished to see the absolute angel who was waiting there for you. An absolute angel who looked kinda hungover, actually. Well, it was 6 AM on a Sunday. The doors didn’t actually open to customers until seven, but you were here at the ass-crack of dawn so she could train you some before throwing you to the customer wolves. Said pink-haired angel introduced herself as Zoe. What a fitting name for someone as cute and feisty as her. You had to catch yourself from staring too much into her striking blue eyes, that reminded you of lightning, pure electricity, before she caught you. And really, they were distracting. It was hard to focus on what she was telling you, which was a bad thing since she was giving you vital information. You forced yourself to focus. As much as you could.

After going over the ropes of working the wizard-bar, she took you through a cool hidden door to show you around the back. The back had such wonderful rooms as the kitchen that someone microwaved fish in yesterday, workrooms, one of which had a poor guy who looked like her never left last night, tinkering away at some techy-thing, the room Zoe introduced as the room she went to scream in, and a common-room type thing with a sick floor to ceiling screen (or was it a window?), depicting a soothing nature scene. She told you that after you had been working in the front for a while and proved yourself, your bosses would move you up to the repairs and phone troubleshooting. Maybe even invention if you were talented enough. That filled you with dread, despite the inspiration it was supposed to be. You had to admit, you knew almost nothing about the technical/repairs side of electronics and you did not belong here. You were more of a coding/hacking type of hedgewizard. You’d have to fake it till you make it. You were sure Zoe could tell you were bullshitting through this, but thankfully she was gracious enough not to call you out on it. Although, you didn’t mind that impish grin that found it’s place on her face.

Damn. You did not need to get involved with a coworker. No matter how enchanting she was. Or how pretty. This was just a summer job. You would be moving back across California for school soon enough and you were not going to do long-distance again. Although, is a few hours really that long? Definitely not as long as your last relationship. Shut up shut up shut up. No. You don’t even know if this chick is into girls, don’t get ahead of yourself. Mmm, she is very pretty though. You can admire from afar. What’s the harm in that?

There was much, much harm. Stars, you had it bad. You had only been at Hextech for a month now and it felt like hell. Perhaps it was hell. Maybe you were dead, and this was your eternal punishment. Damned to forever pine after the loveliest wizard you had ever met. She took a liking to you instantly too, inviting you out for drinks that first night, and every weekend after that. And she’d invited you over to her place for movie nights and to hang out with her friends. Some nights she’d take you to go dancing with her. She’d taken to calling you Baby. Perfectly normal things for gals being pals right. You guessed this is what girl besties do. You wouldn’t know, you’d only ever really hung with guys. Really feminine goth guys, sure, but guys nonetheless. She seemed hellbent on spending time with you. Not that you were complaining, but it just made your emotions stronger. And harder to shove back into the abyss.

~ ~ ~

One Friday night, you two were just chilling up in your bedroom. A rest before one of coworker’s birthday party tomorrow night. Zoe was telling you that she really wanted to try out a new makeup technique. And you told her she could try it out on you. The joy that painted itself across her features is something that will be burned into your memory forever. But not as high a degree of burn as what came next. Zoe straddled your waist, eyeliner pen in hand, and pushed you back against the headboard so she could better reach your eyes. Your breath caught in your throat. You were helpless to do anything but stare at her face that was in super close proximity to yours. You were caught in a trance as you obeyed when she told you to do this or that so she could properly apply the makeup. Her pink lips were pursed in concentration, and her pink banged strayed into her face. Her signature pink style matched the pink of your cheeks. You were sure she could feel your heart pounding, her elbows were on your chest, basically. She moved on to eyeshadow. Weird, you were always an eyeshadow first kinda person but who were you to critique this goddess’s methods. As she rolled on the perfectly matching lipstick onto your lips, you couldn’t help but think about this being an indirect kiss. This lipstick has been all over her lips and now it’s on yours? Stars.

Once she was finished with her masterpiece, she leaned back to take a good look at it. You felt the heat blaze under your skin as her blue eyes scanned your face. Finally, she seemed satisfied and nodded. Zoe helped you up and you went to go check it out in the mirror hanging on your wall. It was brightly colored, garish even, yet perfect, in your opinion. Like Zoe’s personality distilled into something you could wear. She crept up behind you and put her hands on your shoulders as you both admired her skills.

“My best work yet if I do say so, Y/n,” She grinned like a Cheshire cat, “Hmm, I know it’s already like, 3 in the morning and we’re supposed to be relaxing, but we should go and show this off.”

You both had a shift in four hours but you didn’t know how to say no to those eyes. “Alright, Zo,”

You grabbed your jackets on the way out, careful not to wake any of the other inhabitants of the house, but unable to keep the giggles in. Zoe had thought it would be fun to swap jackets, and you weren’t going to say no to that. Her jacket was cozy, black leather, and smelled of her rosy perfume. You never wanted to take it off. When you put it on, her eyes lingered on your form, commenting how good it made you look. You were very thankful for the cover of darkness that hid your flush, rosy like her perfume. You thought she looked marvelous in yours too, but you weren’t as brave in order to say that out loud.

Suddenly you were in some club across town, being introduced to Zoe’s friend Mimi who was working the bar that night. Mimi looked you up and down, then cocked her brows and clicked her tongue, while nodded to Zoe? Who turned pink and angrily said something under her breath to her friend. You couldn’t make out what she said over the music, you were too busy trying not to put too much weight on this interaction. Telling your heart to stop jumping. Jumping just gets you hurt. Mimi snickered as she scurried off to the other side of the bar to fix up your drinks after Zoe finished her rant. She turned back to you and laughed nervously, leaning on the bar.

“That Mimi. What a card.” You nodded in response, not sure what to say.

You three chatted while you sipped at your drinks. Zoe had ordered you something fruity, sweet, and vibrantly colored. It was very tasty, whatever it was. Must have had a high percentage because your head was already fuzzy with just this one. You stopped after finishing it, not fancying being drunk at work, but Zoe got another. Her alcohol tolerance was way stronger than yours. You fucking lightweight. Mimi had started cleaning up since the bar closed soon. Zoe grabbed your hand unexpectedly.

“How about we dance until we get kicked out, Babe?” She said with a sparkle in her eye.

“Uh- y- yeah,” was all you managed to get out before she pulled you over to the dance floor. It was almost vacant, since it was nearing 4am and most people had either moved on for the night, passed out on one of the club’s couches, or were getting their fix in the bathroom. Nice. It was like the floor was just for you two. Zoe was really jazzed, spinning you around to whatever trashy party song was playing. It was infectious. Her energy, not the song. You were having a lot of fun with the pink girl dancing with you. She tossed her hair back laughing at one point. Right then and there, you decided to throw all those things stopping you out the window. If you missed her come fall, you’d just drive the trip to see her. It would be worth it.

The other trio of people who had been dancing left, and now it really was just you two. It would have felt like just you two even if the floor was full. As the current song ended, the DJ looked at you in sympathy. “Alright guys, this is the last song okay, we close in ten.” He switched it to a Viper song.

“OH! I love this song!” Zoe’s smile got even bigger. You didn’t know that was possible. Somehow, she got an energy boost too. You had completely no idea how the firecracker you were with could stay lit well into the morning. If it wasn’t for your manic pixie dream girl here, you’d be groggy by now. She flittered around you, having a blast. It was adorable. She mouthed the words of the song to you, which would have been rather cute if they hadn’t been considerably sexual lyrics. You felt that blush come back for the umpteenth time that night. And she had that impish grin plastered across her face again, like she knew what she was doing. Zoe had gotten closer to you as the song winded down, you hadn’t noticed until it faded out altogether. Your eyes were wide. She booped your nose, giggling. You blinked, surprised. You felt your heart squeeze at how fucking cute that was.

She took your hand again as she pulled you over to go give Mimi a quick hug goodbye before you two left. You still had two and a half hours to kill until your shifts started at six thirty. Zoe’s favourite coffee house wouldn’t be open until five. As much as a nap sounded good right now, you both knew that it would just make you sleepier. And grumpier from being woken up after such a short time. Might as well pull out an old goth kid staple.

“Wanna go hang around in the graveyard?”

~ ~ ~

Zoe tossed her head back laughing so hard she hit the gravestone she was leaning against.

“Oof, you okay?”

“Yeah, yeah,” She rubbed her head and turned back to look check the name on the engraving, “Sorry Howard.”

“It’s too late, he’s offended now and he’s gonna haunt us,” you snickered, “Nice going, Zo.”

“Don’t worry Baby, I’ve been working on my exorcism skills. You know, since a certain dumbass brought spirits into the party last week.” Ah, Douxie, what a guy. Of course he hadn’t meant to ruin everyone’s night and release those ghosts. It just sort of happened. He was accident prone and you didn’t understand why people trusted him with cursed stuff like that to begin with. Luckily, within the number of wizards gathered, you guys were eventually able to find a way to banish all the spirits before any real harm came of it. It wasn’t a bad way to spend a Friday night. You got to live out your childhood dream of being a ghostbuster.

You looked around. The cemetery wasn’t as spooky as most people thought it was. Sure, there were strange noises, and endless headstones with disembodied names that meant nothing, and creepy mausoleums that cast big shadows in the moonlight, and a creaky gate that swung back and forth whether there was wind or not, but it wasn’t scary. Well, maybe that was just because you’d spent most nights of your teen years here, so you were desensitized to it. Zoe didn’t seem to mind it one bit either.

You glanced up and saw three of your crow friends on the top of the mausoleum across from you and Zoe. If crows could smirk these would be smirking. Fuckers. They were always around whenever you’d go out with Zoe. Watching so they could tease you later. Damn nosy birds. Why did you ever start feeding them. They were even there in a set of three, just to mock you. They may as well be singing “Y/n and Zoe sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

You ignored the crows, pulling out your phone and flipping to your ebook app. Because you know what would make this just like old times? Some dramatic goth poetry. What a way to woo a girl. Zoe was fond of the idea of some poetry reading too. She told you that you could pick. At first you thought to read some Poe, perhaps starting with ‘Serenade’, but decided against it lest the bastards on the roof started demanding you read them ‘the Raven’. It’s happened before. You settled on some Keats instead. And you knew the perfect poem. A poem you could put all your emotions into. The most sapphic poem ever written by a man, in your opinion. If she didn’t feel the same, you could always deny it and say that you were just getting way into character. Either way it was going to make work weird, but you didn’t think you gave a fuck anymore. Here goes nothing.

“Had I a man’s fair form, then might my sighs

Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell

Thine ear, and find they gentle heart; so well

Would passion arm me for the enterprise:” You took a big gulp of air. Zoe’s gaze was locked on you, and that didn’t make this any less nerve-wracking. You could feel your hands shaking. “But ah! I am no knight whose foreman dies;

No cuirass glistens on my bosom’s swell;

I am no happy shepherd of the dell

Whose lips have trembled with a maiden’s eyes.” With those words, a sudden burst of boldness in your heart caused you to take her hand. Must be the alcohol. Yes, that which hath made them drunk hath made you bold. Zoe didn’t appear to be breathing anymore. You looked back into her electric blue eyes. “Yet must I dote upon thee, --call thee sweet,

Sweeter by far than Hybla’s honied roses

When steeped in dew rich to intoxication

Ah! I will taste that dew, for me ‘tis meet,” Your voice became breathy as you uttered these last verses. “And when the moon her pallid face discloses,

I’ll gather some by spells, and incantation.” You just froze there, breathing. The ball was in Zoe’s court now. Speak of the devil, she was really close, like really close. When did she get so close. You hadn’t realized. She lifted a finger to your face and brushed a loose strand of hair behind you ear. Your breath caught in your throat. She drew closer, your noses touching now. Her eyes slipped down into a half lid. Your eyes flicked to her lips and she watched you. It occurred to you that she was waiting for you to close the gap. So you did.

It was fireworks. Of course, you were kissing a firecracker herself. It was a sweet kiss, but laced with that fire. You both pulled back for air, but quickly returned to each other’s lips. Zoe’s hands drifted down to your hips and she pulled you into her lap, leaning back up against that headstone. And now you were snogging in the cemetery. Mary Shelley would be proud. Howard, however, was probably pissed off for sure now.

Your breaths mingled as you gasped for air. Zoe caressed your cheek, cupping your face. She chuckled, “It sure took you long enough, Babe. I was starting to think I’d have to spell it out for you.”

You all but collapsed back into her arms, exasperated. Stars, it sure did take you long enough, didn’t it. You could hear and feel Zoe’s snort through her chest. You raised back up to gaze into those baby blues. A pang of adoration shot through your heart like one of cupid’s cursed arrows.

“How about I buy coffee, for our first official date?” Zoe agreed to your offer. You got off of her, legs wobbling like a baby deer. Speaking of deer, you were happy to see that the herd that usually hangs out here in the graveyard in the early hours was peacefully grazing around you two. You hadn’t noticed them come in, too busy snogging. You reached out a hand and helped Zoe up. You two brushed the grass off your clothes and gave one last apology to Howard before setting off for the coffee shop. Zoe checked her phone for the time. It was 5:23, you two still had almost a full hour to spend lounging in the coffeeshop before you had to head off to Hextech. Zoe reached for your hand as you walked back to Zoe’s bike. You threaded your fingers together. Something as small as that shouldn’t have felt as nice as it did. But it did.

You completely adored riding on the back of Zoe’s motorcycle. You got to cling to her, arms around her waist, pretending that you were holding her for romantic reasons and not so you wouldn’t fall off a moving automobile. You wouldn’t have to just pretend any longer now. The thought made you giddy. And now that you think about it, that was probably why Zoe had insisted on giving you rides everywhere for the past month. You were so fucking oblivious. It was painful. Thank the stars above she was patient with you. You snuggled further into her back, inhaling that rosy perfume. It truly was intoxicating, Keats. A girl could get used to this.

~ ~ ~

The coffee house barista recognized you two as you walked in and started making your orders that he had memorized. He greeted you cordially as you handed over the cash. He looked down at Zoe’s hand joined with yours, raising his eyebrows teasingly but not saying anything. Did everyone in this fucking town know about you two before you did? You think you might have beaten that Parisian catboy at his own game. How embarrassing.

Zoe got cozy on you guy’s usual couch while you carried over the coffee. After you set the mugs on the coffee table and plopped down, Zoe swung her legs up onto the couch, and over your lap. Didn’t exactly take you by surprise. Zoe often sat like this. You were used to it. Wait, was this also flirting? Stars, you didn’t even know anymore. This was so confusing. She noticed the face journey you had taken with the internal struggle, and grinned, shrugging her arm around your shoulders to ease you. You snatched your cup of the table and downed as much as you could handle before it got too hot. You were still really nervous, despite her being very clear about how she felt, and Zoe thought that was pretty funny.

“So, we’re gonna have to say something to people tonight,” Zoe started.

You just nodded in response. Hopefully this wasn’t going to make anything weird. You hadn’t been working at Hextech long enough to know how the dynamics worked. Maybe someone had been pining after Zoe too and now hated you. Maybe someone was Zoe’s ex and now hated you. Maybe someone was just really homophobic and now hated you. There were plenty of possibilities, you could go on.

“I was thinking we should wear these matching dresses I found last week, and sort of bought already, to double our cute couple factor.” She had murmured that middle part but you still heard it loud and clear. You had to hold back a squeak. That was so sweet. And adorable. She just saw the dresses in the shop and thought to herself ‘I want to wear that with Y/n’? You could die right now. You settled for downing more of that coffee.

“Yes! That’s so cool? I- What color are they?” You didn’t know how to handle this.

Zoe pulled out her phone and leaned over to show you the pics she took of them. They were matching, made of the same brown floral-patterned fabric, but different styles. Either one would go great with Zoe’s leather jacket, which you were still wearing. You’d go for your denim one. Not the purple jacket that currently hung off Zoe’s shoulders. The colors wouldn’t clash but the style of it would. This was going to be awesome, anyways. Matching dresses, telling your friends the best news you’ve had all year, having fun at the party, not having to spend the whole night miserably shoving your feelings aside? You couldn’t wait.

“Which one do you want?” You picked the looser, more flowy one. Zoe was more comfortable with tight stuff that showed off her body. You had a sneaking suspicion she already knew you’d pick that one, and was giving you the illusion of choice. It was sweet, really. Your phone alarm went off, alerting you that it was time to start the walk for work. All the relaxing time was gone. A crying shame, but you’d still get to spend the day with your favourite person just the same, so not truly that big of a loss. Albeit, Zoe didn’t look too pleased to have to go back to work. Laughing, you stood to your feet, and held out your arm for her to link through.

“Shall we go milady?” You two waved to the barista as you headed out the door. “I think you should do our makeup for the party again, really show off this time.” Zoe perked up, excited at the prospect as Hextech neared.

“And I’ll show off my hot new girlfriend too.” There was that damned blush again.

#why does she not have a last name #how do i tag this #toa zoe #tales of arcadia x reader #toa zoe x reader #toa zoe imagine #zoe x reader #tales of arcadia imagine #zoe imagine #my writing