#thank you flowery-king for this au

[marsskop]

fanart for a toh au that i like a bit too much

#[art] #defanged philip au #toh #toh philip #emperor belos #philip wittebane #this palisman is precious i needed to get this out of my system #toh is like. another fandom im in #thank you flowery-king for this au

[late-to-the-party-81]

The King's Last Concubine

AN: Welcome, welcome to the short one-shot that spiralled a little out of control. I’m sure none of you will complain. If you like cheesy historical romance and Bucky then you’ve come to the right place. In all honesty I could have made this story much, much longer, but unfortunately I don’t have the time, so it’s wrapped up a little fast and without as many misunderstandings as the usual Harlequin/Mills and Boon normally contains. I hope you like it anyway.

Beta’d by the lovely @seriouslydex - thank you for your assistance in wrangling this into coherence.

Likes are loved, reblogs are golden

Mood board by me and dividers by @firefly-graphics

Bingo Fills - @buckybarnesbingo Square U1 - Kink: Concubine

Master list | BBB Master list

Summary: When Bucky takes over the throne after his Father’s death, he has better things to deal with than the group of concubines he’s inherited. He thinks the tradition is abhorrent and vows he wants no part of it. When he meets the newest member of the harem he finds his moral stance tested. How can he want the woman who was bought to please his father?

Relationship: King James ‘Bucky’ Barnes x Female Concubine Reader

Chapter word count: 10.2k

CW: Historical AU, Flowery historical language, Angst, Servitude, Lust, Male masturbation, Fluff, Miscommunication, Self-loathing, Jealousy, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Attempted Sexual Assault, Explicit Sexual Content, Declaration of feelings.

A quiet tension filled the air as you wandered your way around the gardens and corridors of the place you’d called home for the last six months. That’s when you’d been purchased - a gift for the elderly and ailing king, meant to boost his spirits and reignite his youthful zeal. However, all the youth and beauty in the world could not turn back the sands of time.

For the last few weeks the king had been getting weaker, not leaving his private rooms or entertaining any guests apart from his long faithful Queen, his heir, Prince James and his daughter, Princess Rebecca. It was a waiting game now, for the Royal Family, the country, and for you and the other members of the Harem.

Entering the solar, where all of you could spend your days in conversation, needlework, painting and reading, you could see Merith, the King’s favourite in an agitated conversation with Katya, the next concubine down in the pecking order. They had the most to lose when the inevitable happened, because it would be very unlikely that the Prince would wish to keep them around. Not only were they older than him, they had both also borne the King numerous children - it would be very strange for a new King to keep the mothers of his half siblings as concubines for himself. At best, the two women might hope to be housed somewhere pleasant in their retirement, maybe with a semi-wealthy husband. At worst they could be turfed out of the palace along with any of their children that the King hadn’t yet made provisions for.

As for your fate, that was also completely unknown. However, due to your age and the fact that you had only been here a short time, with very few interactions with the King, there was a chance that the Prince would want to keep you. You’d never seen him in the flesh, but you knew he was handsome from the glimpses you’d had of his portrait when you’d been led to and from the King’s chambers on those few occasions he had requested your company. However, despite what you had been purchased for, you had never actually lain with the King. He had tried and, as it was in your best interest, so had you, but the King was old and tired. 

Instead you’d provided him with company as best you could, rubbing his back, stroking his hair and reading him stories until he fell asleep and you could call the guards to escort you back to the Little Palace.

Of course, no-one knew what had occurred within the privacy of the King’s chambers, and if other concubines had had similar experiences they didn’t talk of it openly - it wouldn’t do to discuss the failing manhood of the person who held your life in their hands. However, what this meant was that you were still untouched by a man, with no experience other than what you had gifted yourself.

With a sigh, you crossed to the far side of the room, taking your place amongst the other younger and newer members of your unconventional community, picking up the sampler you’d been working on. There was no music being played and all conversations were kept to a minimum and spoken in whispers, out of a combination of respect and anxiety. The limbo dragged on.

Suddenly, the doors to the solar crashed open, and the King’s Equerry walked in, flanked by several guards.

“The King has died,” he announced. “Long live the King.”

The ladies fell into disarray.

“I really have to deal with that now?” Bucky asked of Coulson, his father’s, and now his, Equerry.

“I’m afraid so, your Majesty. It’s been two weeks since the late king passed away and decisions need to be made about those whose services you do not wish to retain. There may be some obvious candidates, but with others you may not know how you feel until you meet them.”

Bucky, now King James, sighed. It hadn’t come as a surprise when his father, King George, had passed away. His various ailments had worsened over the last few months and Bucky had actually felt relief for him at the end. The funeral had been last week and since then he’d been stuck in back to back meetings with the men who were now officially his advisors, sorting out matters of state. Admittedly, the fate of those who resided in the Little Palace hadn’t really occurred to him as important. It was an archaic tradition as far as he was concerned. Servants were one thing, but owning women just so you have a choice about who to fuck without any repercussions, just struck him as something that belonged firmly in the past. He still couldn’t get his head around how his mother had never once complained or commented about the practice - had never flinched when another Royal bastard was presented to the court so his father could make provision for them as he saw fit.

There was no question that any of the women who had provided his father with children - he wasn’t going to call them siblings - would have to be looked after in some way. He wasn’t a monster. The problem would be the others. There were about twenty or so of them, his father collecting them like fine artwork over his years on the throne and a few - and this thought turned Bucky’s stomach a little - were as young as his sister Rebecca. He didn’t feel as though he could just turn them out, however he didn’t want to keep them either. Without some kind of royal approval the women could be ostracised from normal society if their past were to become known, but could he really justify supporting all of them from the Royal purse for the rest of their days? Although, undoubtedly, there would be some noblemen more than happy to have his father’s cast offs as wives, especially as there had been no lack of suitors for their daughters. Those that had offered for them had obviously been hoping it would grant them a modicum more influence at court. Little did they know that wouldn’t be the case with him.

It also didn’t help that while Coulson could understand wanting to remove certain members of the Little Palance, he didn’t understand why the new King didn’t want to ‘get to know’ the rest of them. According to the Equerry, they were all very beautiful, demure, and accomplished, any one of them a suitable companion for lonely evenings. Apparently telling the dour man that if he was that taken with them he should feel free to fornicate with one himself, was not the done thing, but Bucky thought the look on Coulson’s face had been worth it. He’d then tried arguing that the ladies of the Little Palace deserved better than what they currently had, but his personal advisor had brushed the comment aside.

“These women want for nothing, Your Majesty. They sleep in the finest sheets, wear the finest fabrics, and eat the finest foods. Some would say they have a charmed life and what they gave up for it is very little in comparison to what they gain.”

“Fine,” he said with a defeated sigh. “I will at least deal with Merith, Katya and the other few that my dearly departed father put babies into, and maybe speak to the others. Let’s get this over and done with.”

Coulson smiled, obviously thinking that he’d won this round, and Bucky decided not to disabuse him. You have to pick your battles, as his mother was fond of telling him.

This time when the Equerry appeared, a fortnight after the death of King George, he sent nearly all of you out to the gardens, only keeping Merith, Katya and a few other of the ladies inside. It was clear that the women who were mothers to the late King’s bastards were about to find out their fate.

You walked slowly between the roses with your friend, Lila, the concubine who’d been obtained just a few months before you, swapping inconsequential small talk, neither wanting to verbalise what was actually on your minds - to say it out loud would be to court disaster. When the Royal Guards suddenly came outside you all stopped what you were doing, wondering if Master Coulson was going to deliver news to you all as well, but when a different, unexpected man appeared, you all lowered your gazes and dropped into deep curtsies. The King - the new King - was here. 

Anxiety rode through you, and all you could hear was the pounding of your heart. You were vaguely aware, from your peripheral vision, that Master Coulson was introducing the King to each member of his harem. You caught snatches of conversation, when the King asked each woman in turn their name and how long they had lived here. When they got to Lila next to you, you heard your friend giggle when the King asked her the same questions and you fought the urge to roll your eyes. You liked her, but she was always a little silly. Maybe she thought to flirt her way into the King’s affections?

When the two sets of feet stopped in front of you, you waited for Coulson’s say so before coming out of your curtsey and raising your head.

“And here, Your Majesty, is our newest young lady. You may greet the King, my dear.”

You stood, glad to get out of the deeply uncomfortable pose, and prepared to finally see him in the flesh for the first time.

“Your Highness,” you said, your voice a little more breathy than anticipated, but that was because it had been knocked from your lungs at the vision that greeted you. 

King James was tall and broad in the shoulders. It was clear that the painting you had seen had been created when he was still a young man, only just into his adulthood. The man who stood before you now was no stripling. He was fully grown and oozed confidence and authority. His eyes, a cross between pale blue and grey, which had not been adequately portrayed by the Royal artist. His cheekbones were high and pronounced, and his jaw exquisitely chiselled, even if it was partially obscured by his facial hair. The hair on his head was short at the sides, but fluffy and slightly untamed on top, just tempting you to run your fingers through it. Now you knew why Lila had giggled. 

He took your hand in his, and you marvelled at how large and strong it looked in comparison to your own. You could clearly see the resemblance to his father, but this was a man in the prime of his life and the thought that he would have none of the problems in the bedroom that had beset the late King flashed across your mind, unbidden.

When he asked your name in his deep but clear voice, you had to swallow before you answered so you didn’t stutter like a schoolgirl.

“Master Coulson said you were new. How long have you lived here?”

“Just over six months, Your Majesty.”

“And you like living in the Little Palace?”

You hesitated for a moment, working out the best way to answer. The other’s hadn’t been asked this question. “It’s very pleasant. Thank you for asking Your Majesty.”

His lips, full and pink, twitched, picking up on the diplomacy of your answer. “Only pleasant? Oh dear. Well maybe we can improve upon that in the near future.”

He skillfully removed his hand from yours and turned back to his Equerry, and you returned your gaze to the floor. As he walked away you realised your heart was still beating fast within your chest. However, it was no longer anxiety that made it do so, but rather the newly unfurled bloom of desire.

As soon as Bucky returned to the Palace proper, he dismissed Coulson and headed directly for his private chambers. His time in the Little Palace had mostly gone as well as expected, Meredith and her cohorts fawning over him dramatically in thanks for his generosity and then meeting what seemed like a legion of beautiful, yet dull as dishwater, young women, who his father had acquired to make himself feel young. What he hadn’t been expecting though was that last young lady - he didn’t even want to think about the word concubine and all of the linked meanings it held. He’d never seen someone so beautiful, and it had been clear from the short exchange of pleasantries that you had intelligence and humour to match.

He felt the rolling heat of lust raise its head and desperately tried to push it aside. As unique in his experience as you may be, he shouldn’t - couldn’t - think about you in this way. Not when he knew you’d spent time with his father. It was more than he could bear. But he couldn’t get the image of you from his mind. The curves of your body that deserved to be traced and explored with reverence. Your large, expressive eyes that tempted him to drown in their depths. Your lips that called him to kiss you over and over until you couldn’t speak or even breathe due to how much you wanted him.

Entering his room he shut the door harshly, but he didn’t care. He was unbearably hard within his trousers, and while not a new sensation by any means, it wasn’t one he’d felt in some time. As the Crown Prince he’d had to be circumspect in his affairs,but there was no-one he’d been actively courting. Now he was King the pressure would be on for him to find a suitable wife and start producing heirs. However, he didn’t intend to be like his father. Once he was married he would be faithful and treat his wife with respect. The devil on his shoulder reminded him that he wasn’t married yet and was free to do what he desired, but he tried to push it aside.

Bucky threw himself down on his bed but every time he closed his eyes you were there, hovering behind his eyelids. He palmed himself over his trousers, trying to get some relief from his state of arousal, but it was no good. Almost unconsciously he undid the fastenings, letting out a small sigh as the pressure was lessened, but then it was just too easy to take himself in hand. A few small strokes, just to take the edge off, became harder and longer, and the vision of you behind his closed eyes smiled at him coyly, tempting him to ruin her. 

He imagined kissing you and touching you. Tracing every peak and valley with his lips and tongue. He imagined you doing the same to him, taking him in your mouth, lips stretched wide and tears in your perfect eyes. He imagined driving into you, again and again, while you gripped his shoulders and tangled your legs around his waist. Marking you - claiming you - as you called out his name over and over and trembled around him.

Bucky came with a cry, his spend spilling over his hand and stomach, and leaving him with an aching, hollow feeling of disgust with himself. He needed to release you and the rest of the ladies of the Little Palace and there-by banish you from his thoughts.

The next day he put his plan into action. He set Coulson the task of going through the remaining residents, from oldest serving to newest and finding them a new situation. Respectable marriages were the first preference - the Crown could provide a dowry - but failing that independence and a stipend until they became financially solvent on their own. If this plan had the effect that you would be the last to leave, that was just an unfortunate by-product of the most logical way of sorting the whole thing out, wasn’t it?

The edict by the King that the Little Palace was being disbanded was met at first with some trepidation. The women were all of a flutter, wondering what it would mean for them, but when Marie, the most senior of the concubines now that Merith and the others who had children had retired, was informed that, should she approve him, a husband had been found for her, any anxiety morphed into jubilation. Over the coming weeks, the number of you dwindled and you couldn’t help but feel a little lost amongst all the celebration. You were a strange sisterhood, that was certain, and you hadn’t gotten along with everyone, but you wished them well with a smile, and mulled over your sense of unease in private.

You weren’t sure what it was that was making you worried. It wasn’t as though you’d be forced into anything you didn’t want. Letitia had rejected three potential husbands before settling on a fourth, much to Master Coulson’s despair, and Tiffany had outright declared she wanted no husband at all, her and Dana wishing to set up house together and start a school. This came as no surprise to any of you.

It also wasn’t because you were so entrenched in this life that the thought of anything else was scary - you’d had more life outside these walls than in it - however you had found a camaraderie here, a sense of belonging, as strange as that may seem, that you hadn’t had before. And despite the fact that the idea of being intimate with the old King had been stomach churning, once he realised each time that it wasn’t going to happen, you’d found you’d enjoyed providing him comfort and some sort of friendship. Maybe being here had spoiled you? You’d admit it wasn’t a hardship to live somewhere where all your meals and clothes were provided and all you had to do was entertain yourself unless your services were required, although you did wish for more sometimes - a cage was still a cage, no matter how gilded and glittered.

Maybe having a husband wouldn’t be so bad. Hopefully he’d let you have some freedom - have some hobby or interest to keep you occupied, other than keeping house and popping out babies. You couldn’t help but be nervous though, especially as the numbers of you lessened until it was just you and Lila left. 

Each time one of the ladies was preparing to leave, the King would come and thank her for her service. How any of you managed to keep a straight face when he said that was beyond you, but it did give you the chance to watch him unobserved. He really was handsome, and seemed so kind and earnest in his thanks. A true King and diplomat. But that wasn’t all he was. Every so often he would catch your eye and you would feel… something. And you couldn’t explain what it was, other than that you felt like a moth captivated by a flame, longing to get nearer and nearer, even if it would mean your doom. It wasn’t just physical, either - although you couldn’t deny that you’d had thoughts about that. You wanted to get to know him. The real him. His hopes and dreams. What motivated him.

You got your chance when you were sitting in the solar, enjoying the sun that streamed through the windows as you read your book. Lila was outside in the garden, taking a walk with her potential fiancee, a man named Lang who was apparently some minor aristocracy. Guards trailed them at a discrete distance, but you didn’t think there was anything to worry about. From the glimpses you’d caught of them, Master Lang appeared to be a convivial and respectful fellow. He walked with his hands behind his back, not trying to touch or grab at your friend, but he leant in close to talk intimately.  He also appeared to be letting Lila hold an equal part of the conversation and you watched as she giggled behind her hand at a number of points in response to what you guessed were jokes.

“They appear to be getting on well.”

A voice from behind you, made you jump and turn in your chair. At the realisation that King James was standing there, you leapt up and then immediately leant forward into a deep curtsey. 

“Your Majesty.”

How had you not noticed him enter? Why was he here?

“Please stand. There’s only the two of us here. I wanted to see for myself how Master Lang was comporting himself and this seemed like the best place to watch unobserved.”

He walked closer to the window and you continued to stand, your hands clasping each other, as you watched him from under your lowered lashes. Despite the number of times you’d seen him recently you were no less dazed by his beauty than you had been the first time. You allowed your gaze to travel over his body, admiring the way his clothes were cut to show off his defined figure. Silver threads were woven through the black fabric of his coat and they shimmered in the sunlight. You itched to smooth the cloth over the broadness of his shoulders.

As if sensing you watching him, the King turned back to you.

“Please don’t let me disturb you from whatever you were doing. Pretend that I’m not here.”

Your lips twitched. “That would be difficult, Your Majesty. You do stand out.” You gestured to the walls of the solar, a pale pink colour, and then at his attire. He looked down at himself and you were taken aback by the flush that made its way to his cheeks.

“Aah, yes. I see what you mean.” He moved away from the window then, and toward the chair opposite the one you’d been occupying when he’d surprised you. “Maybe then we could sit and talk for a while? What have you been doing with your days these last weeks?”

You gave him a small nod and took your seat. “Very little, Your Majesty, other than helping the others pack up their belongings as they leave. Some reading, some needlework. I have been practising my languages too. What have you been doing? Important affairs of state I would imagine.”

“It is not nearly as glamorous as people think. Lots of meetings that seem to stretch on forever, but that is nothing to the never-ending paperwork. I swear everyone in the country will have my signature soon. Lots of time to relax and do what you will, seems wonderful to me. I admit to being a little envious.” He smiled as he spoke, his face lighting up in boyish amusement.

“I assure you,” you stated, “that after a while even relaxing becomes as dull as any paperwork.”

The King chuckled at that. “Does it now? I’ll have to take your word for it. Now, tell me, what languages do you speak?”

“French and Spanish. A little Portuguese. And I’m trying to improve my Greek.” You lifted up your book to show him the writing on the front. He smiled at you and your heart beat faster.

“Impressive, my lady. My Greek is somewhat rusty, although my Russian is still good. Come, read for me and we shall see if I can follow you.”

Feeling shy, you lifted your book and began, haltingly at first, to read out loud, your tongue trying to wrap around the unfamiliar syllables. It had been a while since you had spoken out loud, normally preferring just to read, but as you became more confident the words flowed easier and you managed to glance up at him now and again.

The King was sitting, relaxed in his chair, legs outstretched with his ankles crossed. His eyes were closed as he rested his head on the chair back, arms settled on his chest with his fingers steepled. For a moment you could almost pretend this was a domestic scene of a wife reading to her husband after a long day. However, you were not his wife and he was not destined to be your husband. That would be someone else.

When you reached the end of your chapter, you gently closed your book, placing it on the side table, and the King opened his eyes and sat up again.

“You have a wonderful reading voice and you navigated the words very well - better than I’d have done, I’m sure. I’ve always thought learning languages a worthwhile endeavour and it is my deepest regret that I do not know more. I’ll take note to ensure that my Equerry looks to place you in a situation where your skills will be appreciated. I have a feeling,” he said with a glance back towards the window where his friend was still busy gently wooing yours, “that you will soon be the only one here.

You felt heat rushing to your cheeks at the compliment. “That would be greatly appreciated, Your Majesty. I know that not all men wish for an intelligent wife, but it would be nice to not have to appear vapid just to gain favour with my spouse.”

King James snorted. “I’ll admit that I do not understand those who only wish for a doll for a wife. If you’re going to spend the rest of your days together, would it not be better to have someone to converse with. Someone to challenge you mentally. It would be rather dull otherwise.”

“I suppose,” you ventured, “that those men are probably the type to find other ways - other people - to keep them occupied.” A small smile crept across his lips at your statement.

“And I suppose you are correct, my lady. But if that is the case then those men have chosen poorly. I cannot imagine marrying someone, only to then spend all my free time avoiding them. Somewhat defeats the point of it all, in my opinion.”

“Well, I had guessed some of that about you, Your Majesty. What with you getting rid of this age-old tradition.” You gestured once again to the room around you but when you turned back to him, it was to see that the King’s eyes had narrowed slightly, studying you.

“And how do you feel about that?”

You sensed his words were a test and you licked your lips nervously before you answered.

“I have no real opinion, Sire. I live to serve and am happy to do what my King commands of me.”

There was a strange look on his face. He was no longer smiling and while he didn’t appear angry with you, his demeanor was now far more chilly than it had been a moment ago.

“And were you happy to carry out the commands of my late father?”

You hesitated before answering. “His Royal Highness was most kind to me. I was happy to serve him.”

You barely heard him mutter “I bet you were” under his breath before he suddenly stood, and you scrambled to your feet after him. 

“This has been an illuminating chat, my lady, and I thank you for your company. Soon you will be free of this place and can put this part of your life behind you.”

He nodded his head and once again you dropped into a deep curtsey, your eyes locked to the floor. You stayed that way as his footsteps retreated across the marble floor and you wondered what it was you had said that had turned him so cold.

Once again, Bucky found himself stalking into the sanctuary of his private chambers. Damn you, damn his father, and damn this ridiculous fascination of his. Whilst he’d tried to tell himself that the only reason he went to the Little Palace was to get a feeling for whether his friend was getting along with his potential betrothed, he also couldn’t deny the fact that he’d known you would be there as well, all alone.

He’d been enjoying your conversation until he’d been reminded why you were even there in the first place and sabotaged himself by bringing up his father. Then you’d all but admitted that you’d enjoyed doing what you did. Bucky felt sick at the thought. 

Images of you tortured him day and night, and spending time with you today had obviously been ill-advised because now he had more memories to draw on. The way you spoke so passionately and knowledgeably about the ways of the world. The way that you smiled and joked when you were relaxed.

Bucky’s fingers longed to pick up a charcoal and try to capture the way the sunlight had slid over the planes of your face, giving you an ethereal, other-worldly look, like some fae creature sent to enrapture him. Instead he tugged on the bell-pull, asking the page who appeared to go and fetch Coulson. He then paced up and down the room, chewing on his thumb nail for the few minutes it took the Equerry to appear.

“How can I serve you, Your Majesty?” Coulson asked with a low bow.

“I want the matters with Lang organised as soon as possible and the remaining occupant of the Little Palace resituated with all speed. It’s high-time this issue was finished, once and for all.

It had been a week since Lila left. A week in which you’d spent nearly every waking moment alone, other than when the servants were helping you dress and bringing you food. Although you mustn’t forget the omni-present guards stationed outside various doors. Which meant it was two weeks since the conversation with the King that had left you feeling more confused than ever.

Lila had returned from her sojourn around the garden gushing about Master Lang and his attributes. About how handsome and kind and funny he was, and how certain she was that they would suit. You plastered a smile to your face and said all the right things, but you couldn’t seem to concentrate on your friend’s happiness, your thoughts consumed by the memory of how the King’s face had looked at the end of your exchange.

He’d been so happy and relaxed, then suddenly so cold and closed. It was obviously no secret that he didn’t like the fact that his father had had concubines, but it had happened and to deny why you were living there would be foolish. Which is why you’d answered so diplomatically - he didn’t need to know what did or didn’t happen in the privacy of the late King’s chambers, and he probably didn’t want to know. What son would want those details? But he had asked a question and you’d answered the best way you knew how.

It hurt because you’d actually been enjoying yourself, and thought that maybe he’d been enjoying himself as well. There’d been a strange warmth inside you as the pair of you had talked and teased and joked, and over the last few days you found yourself wishing you could feel it again.

However, now you had something else to occupy your mind. Almost as soon as Lila had left to get married - and you were sad you couldn’t be with her on her big day - Master Coulson had come to tell you that arrangements were being made at pace for your own future. It was only mildly surprising then, when he’d come to you this morning to tell you that a potential husband had been found and you should prepare yourself to have dinner this evening. He passed you over some papers, giving you details of the man you were to meet.

Apparently he was a Baron, a widower, and a few years older than King James. His seat was on the other side of the country and apparently quite large, with the main house boasting stables, a library, and a formal rose garden. As you read through the information you pulled your lower lip between your teeth. It all looked good on paper, but you needed to be sure. You didn’t want to swap one cage for another - you had to at least like Baron Zemo, and him you. It seemed as though he spoke numerous languages, so at least you had one thing in common with him. Hopefully all would go well, and you could consign this place and thoughts of the King to the past.

A few hours later and you were putting the finishing touches to your toilette. You dabbed some rosewater behind your ears and smoothed your hands down the front of your gown. It was one of your favourites and you’d worn it every time you’d been to visit the late King. He’d always complimented it, saying that the colour of the silk brought out your eyes. You hoped the Baron would like it as well. With a gentle knock on the door, one of the servants let you know that your guest had arrived and was waiting for you in the solar. You took a deep breath and walked down the hall.

As you entered, you saw a man, dressed in deep purple, looking out of the window, with his back to you. 

“Baron Zemo, you are most welcome,” you said as you dropped into a curtsey. You heard him turn and then a be-ringed hand appeared in front of your eyes, offering to help you back to your feet.

“Thank you for having me here, my lady,” he replied as you stood. “I have been intrigued to meet you ever since the King wrote to me about your situation.”

You took in his features as he smiled gently at you. He had warm hazel eyes, straight, mid-brown hair that lay across his brow, and was clean shaven. He was slightly taller than you, but not by much and you pushed away the rogue thought about how King James virtually towered over you.

“Shall we sit and dine, and hopefully get to know one another better, sir?” you suggested.

“You’ve read my mind, my dear. There is nothing like good food, good wine, and good conversation, is there?” The Baron walked you over to the small dining table that had been set up and assisted you into your seat, and you felt like a grand lady.

The next two hours passed by amenably. The Baron was eloquent and charming, and when he found out that you spoke other languages he insisted on conversing with you in them, gently correcting your pronunciation and helping you when a particular word or phrase was outside your knowledge. At the end of the meal you were full, warm and a little tipsy from the wine - it wasn’t in your nature to imbibe often.

“Maybe,” Zemo suggested, “we should take a turn about the gardens? A walk in the cool night air would probably help aid digestion. What do you think, my lady?”

“I think that would be delightful.” You allowed him to help you with your chair once more and when you stumbled he linked your arm into his and walked you outside, away from the guards and servants who’d been present in the solar with you. 

The garden was illuminated with lanterns in addition to the lights from the solar, and the pair of you walked companionably along the pathways. So far he’d done nothing to worry you, and hadn’t been at all standoffish. You would have to give serious thought into accepting his suit, especially as you were unlikely to receive better. The problem with being the last to be situated was that it also meant that your options for a suitable marriage were narrower.

“You’re awfully quiet, my dear. What’s going through that beautiful head of yours?” You ducked your head at the compliment and couldn’t help but smile.

“In all honesty, my lord? I was thinking about how lovely this evening has been. I will admit to some trepidation, which I’m sure you can forgive me for. Things like this are all too new for me.”

“No forgiveness needed,” he said with a smile, one much wider than those he’d displayed earlier and you felt your heart pick up in your chest, although you couldn’t immediately say why. “It’s completely understandable. But can I say that you have vastly surpassed my expectations. The information given to me about you greatly downplayed your beauty and intelligence. And, if I may be so bold, I find myself captivated.”

You felt your cheeks warm, but you also felt a little uncomfortable, at his zealousness. Or maybe it was the wine? “That is kind of you to say, sir. However, I’m finding myself getting a little chilled. Maybe we should return inside?”

With a swiftness that startled you, the Baron took hold of your shoulders and steered you backwards until you came into contact with the wall. You gasped in shock at both the impact and his change in demeanour.

“Maybe I can find a way to warm you up?” He quipped before his lips came down onto yours, his tongue thrusting into your mouth and one hand falling to your leg, inching your skirts upwards. You tore your mouth from his and turned your head, but his lips just zeroed in on your throat instead, sucking and nipping.

“Sir! Get off me!” You tried to push him, but his bulk had you pinned. His questing hand breached the hem of your skirts and he started to grope at your thigh, and his lips trailed further down to the neckline of your dress. “I said get off!”

The Baron raised his head and stilled his hand, but didn’t move away. “Surely you must miss this? The touch of a man. And think how much better it will be with someone who is younger and knows how to please a woman.”

“I miss it less than you think,” you ground out between clenched teeth. “And I did not ask you for this. Let me go.”

He smiled predatorily and slid his hand up to cup your mound over your underwear. “Did you really think I would offer for you without seeing if you had all the necessary attributes I’m looking for. I need an heir, and intelligence and beauty can’t provide that. And let’s face it, it’s not as though you’re a missish virgin keeping herself pure for her wedding night.”

His hand started to tug at your underthings and you closed your eyes tight as fear started to take over. However, just as you felt the first touch of his fingers on your intimate flesh his weight was suddenly gone.

“I believe the lady said no, Baron Zemo.”

Your eyes shot open, and there was King James, standing between you and the Baron, who was now sprawled on the ground. The dim light of the lanterns partially lit his face and that, combined with his expression, made him look like an avenging angel. Then he turned towards you and his expression softened.

“Are you alright, my lady?”

Without the Baron’s hands on you, your skirts fell back to your ankles and you pushed yourself away from the wall to stand. 

You nodded and gave a little cough to clear your throat. “I’m fine, Your Majesty.”

The Baron scrambled to his feet and brushed the dust and gravel from his coat.

“Just a little misunderstanding between my fianceé and myself, Your Majesty. No harm done,” he said, his voice smooth and oily.

You took a step forward, your body trembling with anger. “I don’t believe that I’ve accepted your suit, sir. And after that display of ungentlemanly conduct I am now fully disinclined to do so.”

The Baron’s eyes snapped to yours, narrowing and he let his facade fully drop away. “Be quiet, whore. Who else would have you? You’re used goods, even if the one who did the using was the former King. You should be grateful I’m even considering you.”

You shifted, intending to step forward again and slap him, but the King held out his hand stopping you.

“You are out of line, Baron. No matter her history, the lady is still just that. A lady. And how you treat her is tells me that, despite your title, you are no gentleman.” His voice was steady, but you could pick up the undercurrent of rage - could see it in the way he was holding himself and the tick in his jaw.

Baron Zemo let out a bark of laughter, apparently oblivious to the danger he was in. “My dear James, I cannot believe how much you are defending one of your fathers handmaidens. She was obtained by him for one purpose, but you think it’s unreasonable for me to see if she lives up to that purpose before I marry her.” He peered at the King, then his eyes widened as though he’d made a startling revelation. “Do I sense some jealousy raising its head here?” He laughed again. “I should have realised there was a reason you kept her until last. Of course - she’s your whore as…”

He didn’t get to finish his vile words, because King James’ arm snapped out and he punched the Baron right on the jaw, then watched impassively as the man crumpled back to the ground. Then, just as suddenly, he turned towards you fully and without a word scooped you up into his arms. You squeaked and threw your arms around his neck as he walked briskly back towards the solar. As he made his way inside, the guards stood to attention but didn’t turn to look at you, however, you still hid your face in his neck from embarrassment.

“There’s some filth in the garden to be sent packing.” The King’s voice rumbled in your ear as he spoke to the guards, and then he was turning with you in his arms and striding down the corridor that led to the private chambers. 

“Which one?” he asked gruffly, and you uncurled from his chest slightly so you could point. He shouldered your door open and then kicked it shut before letting you down, your body sliding over his as he did so.

You looked up at him, eyes wide and heart racing, not even noticing that your hands still rested on the slope of his chest and that his hands were still on your waist.

“You’re sure you're alright?” he queried again, looking down at you with concern.

“Absolutely. You stopped him. You…” You started to shake then as you realised how close you’d come to real harm. Without a word, the king steered you over to the edge of your bed and you both sat down, your small hands held in his larger ones, one of his thumbs rubbing over the delicate skin near your knuckles.

“Just breathe, my lady. You’ve had a shock. I’m glad I was there…” he stopped mid-sentence and freed one of his hands to turn your head and bare your neck to him. You swore you heard him growl. “He marked you. I’m going to kill him.”

You took hold of his wrist and pulled it down so you could turn back to face him. “It’s nothing. Really. It will fade and in a few days it’ll be a memory. Then we can try again.”

He peered at you, confused.

“Try and find me a husband,” you clarified and then smiled in an effort to lighten the atmosphere in the room.

“No.” King James pulled himself away sharply and stood, his back to you.

Now you were the one who was confused. “What do you mean,’No’? ‘No’ to a few days or ‘No’ to a husband? I don’t understand.”

“Either. Both,” he snapped, still not turning around.

“Alright,” you replied. “We’ll find me somewhere to live, then. Discuss a suitable stipend amount like Master Coulson did with some of the others who refused a husband.”

“Not that, either.” He ground the words out and you felt your patience waning, frustration overtaking your confusion. You stood up and stepped closer.

“So no husband and no stipend. What are you suggesting? That I just leave?” You couldn’t keep the hysterical note from your voice.

He spun on his heel and moved into your personal space, just as the Baron had done only a few minutes ago. However you didn’t feel anxious or uncomfortable, and the warm feeling inside you was back, despite your anger at how contrary he was being.

“Not at all,” he said quietly, his eyes trained on you. 

On your face. 

On your lips.

“I thought you wanted me out of here. You don’t want any concubines, remember?” You arched your eyebrow, challenging him.

He leant forwards and your breath caught in your throat, his stormy eyes now all you could see.

“I still don’t,” he murmured and then pressed his lips to yours.

This kiss was entirely different to the Baron’s assault. It was soft and gentle. Coaxing, not claiming. The King’s hands came up to cup your face and you curled your own into the front of his jacket. The heat within you rose in intensity and you kissed him back, opening your mouth and letting him in. He moaned when you did, one hand sliding to your hair and the other to the small of your back, pulling you close to him. You could feel the evidence of his arousal, but it didn’t scare you. In fact it thrilled you. It was all the deepest thoughts you’d kept to yourself come to life, and they took you over. 

Your nimble fingers worked the buttons of his jacket and as they came undone the King let go of you to shuck it off. That was followed quickly by his cravat and waistcoat, thrown without care across your room, and then he pulled his shirt free of his trousers and toed off his shoes. He took you back in his embrace then, kissing you with more passion and your hands found their way under his shirt, stroking across the hard planes of his chest. He nipped at your lower lip in retaliation and you gasped as the brief stinging shot to your core.

“Tell me you want this,” he breathed into your mouth.

“I do,” you whispered back. You’d never been as sure of anything as you were now - consequences be damned. They were a problem for tomorrow.

Part of Bucky couldn’t believe what he was doing, because he really shouldn’t be doing it. He was a King and should be the better person. But, oh, how he wanted to be selfish for once and slake this longing he had for you. 

He hadn’t been able to stop himself from coming to see how you and the Baron were getting on, partially to assuage his guilt and partially to torture himself. When he’d found you both absent from the solar, one of the guards had told him you’d gone for a walk together. As he’d stepped outside and neither of you had been in the closer part of the garden a sense of unease had washed over him. Then he’d heard you shout and raced around a corner to see you pushing at the Baron as he held you against the wall, trying to violate you.

He’d barely been able to restrain himself when he saw that, only daring to separate you and check that you were alright. But then the Baron had started to spew his hurtful, cruel words and his resolve had crumbled. He’d had to make sure you were safe. He’d needed it like air.

Upon getting you inside, he’d told himself that he would just double check that you were alright and then leave, but then he’d seen the bruise on your neck and you’d tried to placate him with talk of trying to find a new suitor and he’d lost any sense of decorum. 

There would be no other husband, no grand house and pension, because you were his. You were his oxygen - his sunlight. His joy and his misery and his desire all rolled into one. So he’d kissed you, almost no better than the Baron, but then you’d kissed him back. Clung to him. You’d made it plain that you wanted him too, first with your actions and then your words.

Mentally calling himself a fool, Bucky spun you around and tugged at the closure of your dress, the multitude of tiny buttons that held it together flying across the room. He didn’t care, though. He could buy you a new dress. A thousand new dresses. He eased the open neckline over your shoulders and pushed the multiple layers of silk down your frame. Taking your hand, he helped you step out of the froth of fabric and you kicked off your slippers at the same time with a giggle that shot through him like a bolt of lightning. 

Bucky pulled you back to him with a groan and walked you towards the bed, laughing with you when you both tumbled onto it with a bounce. Your hands, so small and delicate, found his chest again, and he lent up and pulled his shirt over his head, watching you as your eyes darkened with desire as you took in what you saw. You traced your fingers over the definition of his abdominals and pectorals and Bucky shivered. 

“I want you, Your Majesty.” Your voice was low and breathy, and fuck did he just want to bury himself in you. Feast on you.

“Bucky,” he rasped. “Call me Bucky. There is no King here tonight.”

You came back together, kissing and touching and through it you both messily and awkwardly helped each other remove the rest of the clothes that separated you. As soon as your breasts were bared to him, Bucky couldn’t hold back, latching onto your puckered nipples, one after the other, drawing squeaks and moans from you, more intoxicating than any sounds he’d imagined in his private imaginings. 

His right hand skirted down your body, finding its way between your legs and you opened for him. He moaned around breast as he found your wetness and began to toy with you. Bucky teased your clit and stroked your folds, captivated by how more arousal spilled from you. When he slid a testing finger into you, you gripped his hair and arched into his hand, your soft mewl turning to a strangled gasp and he felt undeniably powerful, a small part of him, one he didn’t want to really acknowledge, feeling as though he was competing with the memory of his father. He was determined to erase it. After tonight there would only be him.

When Bucky added a second finger into your warm channel and circled his thumb on your clit, you whimpered his name. Not ‘Your Majesty’ or ‘Sire’, but ‘Bucky’ as he’d asked you. He lifted his head and rose back up your body, capturing your lips and swallowing your cries as he drove you higher and higher. Your hands now clutched his shoulders, your short, manicured nails digging into him, using him as an anchor, lest you float away into the ether. He felt your body quiver beneath him as you neared the precipice of your pleasure and then the next second you were tumbling over it, your body spasming around his fingers, your mouth drawing all the oxygen from his lungs into your own.

Bucky kissed you through it, slowing his hand before pulling it away slowly. He shifted on the bed, kneeling between your limp legs, and as you watched him with hooded, lust filled eyes, he brought his fingers to his mouth and tasted your essence. He groaned as he did so, promising himself that he would drink directly from your source soon, but he couldn’t hold back his desire to fully claim you any longer. 

As his hand dropped to his cock, your eyes followed it, and you took your first real look at him. He couldn’t help but smile as your eyes widened and you tentatively raised your own hand towards his erection. He took hold of it and wrapped it around his length, marvelling at how your fingers didn’t meet. Your gaze flicked between his face and his cock, unsure which you wanted to watch. However, after a few minutes it was too torturous, and he repositioned himself to kiss you again and run his cock between your wet folds. Your hips rolled beneath him as you let out small whimpers of need and desire and he couldn’t hold back any longer.

Bucky reached between you, lined himself up and sank into your warmth.

The cry of ecstasy you let out caught him by surprise and he looked down into your eyes. The truth shone out of them as you pulled in breath after ragged breath, your body struggling to adjust to his size, despite what he’d done to you only minutes before. He couldn’t really process it, but an animalistic part of him howled in pleasure at the realisation that you’d been untouched and consumed any remaining restraint.

Bucky snapped his hips, watching in awe as your eyes rolled in your head and the breath was pushed from your lungs. It was an addictive sight and he thrust into you again and again, unable to stop, needing to see your reaction. You clutched his biceps as he braced himself, your head thrown back and he never wanted to see you any other way - debauched and ruined on his cock. 

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful. Can you touch yourself for me, sweetheart?”

You mumbled incoherently but did as he’d asked, your hand moving between you, and Bucky knew when you’d found your centre from the way you clenched around him. He groaned at the sensation and let it spur him on. He dipped his hips, changing the angle of his thrusts and when you let out a wail he knew he’d found the right spot.

“That’s it, beautiful. Come apart for me. Come on my cock.” 

You screamed and spasmed around him and his rational brain knew he should pull out and spill himself over the sheets, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t not have this. He cried out, throwing back his own head, and surrendered to the inevitable.

It took you a while to come back to yourself, because what you’d just experience was so different from what you’d been told about. The King - Bucky - was cuddled up behind you, his arms holding you close and his nose pressed into your hair, dozing. You turned in his embrace and his long, dark eyelashes fluttered open.

“Hi,” you breathed cautiously, unsure of how you should be acting. However, when he softly smiled at you, you felt your heart leap inside your chest.

“Hello, yourself.” He dropped a gentle kiss to your lips and you smiled in return and relaxed. He was obviously content to stay in your private, intimate bubble for at least a short time more and you were more than happy to indulge him. You didn’t want to think about how you’d feel when this ended, it would hurt too much.

Pushing yourself up onto one elbow you looked down at him and idly traced invisible designs across his chest with your finger tip.

“So, Bucky, huh? Where does that come from?” 

He chuckled at your teasing tone. “From my sister, Princess Rebecca. Or as I call her, Becca-Boo or Sprout. My second name is Buchanan, and when she was learning to talk she couldn’t say it. Whenever she said ‘Bucky’ it would make me laugh, so she kept doing it and then refused to call me anything else. Then my mother picked it up, because if she called me James, Becca would stamp her foot and tell her off. And I liked it. It helped me separate the two parts of myself - Bucky, the normal man with normal wants, desires and hobbies etcetera, and James, heir to the throne, with duties and responsibilities who has to keep himself apart from those around him.”

There was a melancholy tone to his words, and you couldn’t help but bend down and press a light kiss to his lips. “Well I like Bucky.”

He brought his hand up to the nape of your neck, returning the kiss, and you wished that reality could just stay firmly outside for the rest of time.

When Bucky broke the kiss, he looked up at you with searching eyes.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” he asked quietly and you immediately knew what he was talking about. You shrugged one shoulder.

“Does it matter? Would it have changed what just happened between us? Would you have thought differently of me?”

“No, it wouldn’t have changed what just happened, but I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t have treated you differently. I thought harshly of you, driven by jealousy. How could I allow myself to like you, desire you, when you had lain with my father? I was jealous of a ghost for having claimed you first, and I hated myself for feeling that way. That was why I acted coldly to you when we conversed in the solar. What you said. You made it sound as if you’d enjoyed being with him and ugly thoughts filled my head.” Bucky’s brow furrowed as he spoke and you itched to smooth out the lines that formed there.

“Well, it isn’t really the done thing to speak out loud about the King’s impotence,” you pointed out. “Especially with his own son. I was trying to answer truthfully, but without going into detail. And I suppose I did enjoy spending time with him. He may not have been the type of father you wished, or the husband your mother wanted, but he was still a man. We’d talk, mostly. I like to think that I gave him some comfort and companionship. I can’t say that I’m unhappy about the way things turned out.” You looked at him coyly from under your lashes and he laughed.

“You liked being claimed by me? You wanton wretch,” he teased.

“It was definitely different, and much better, than what I’d been led to believe.” He growled playfully, and in one deft move rose up and pushed you back to the mattress, caging you in with his arms. You brought your hand up and brushed the back of it over his cheek. “If I’m going to be a concubine, I’m glad that I’m yours.”

At your words, Bucky reared back, as if you’d slapped him and you immediately started to apologise. “I’m sorry, Sire. I shouldn’t have presumed…” Shame and guilt washed over you at how far you’d sunk into your daydream, and you fought your way out of the sheets. Rising from the bed, you found your shift in the heap of clothing on the floor and pulled it over your head. “I will leave you to your dressing and wait for instructions from Master Coulson later.” You bobbed a curtsey and turned toward the door, your hand reaching for the handle, eager to put space between you.

“Stop!” His command made you freeze mid step, your arm lowering back to your side. In a moment he was behind you, his hands firmly gripping your upper arms.

“You are not my concubine. I never wanted one, and I won’t start now.” He spun you, and when you didn’t raise your head, staring instead at a freckle near his collarbone, he tucked a finger under your chin and made you look at him. “You deserve more than that, my darling.” His tone softened. “You will be my wife. That is, if you will have me?”

You looked at him in shock. “What? How can I be your wife? You are the King and I am, well, just me.”

“And as the King, I can do what I want. And for anyone who gets pedantic about your previous status, there is precedent. Concubines have been turned into Queens before.”

You pulled yourself from his hold, raising your arms up in confusion. “You do not need to speak of marriage, just because you have bedded me and do not want a concubine.”

“This is not solely because we have lain together, sweet fool. I love you.”

His words made you stop and you wondered if you’d misheard, but he continued. 

“I fear I have done since I first laid eyes on you. And I just hope that maybe you can learn to love me too. Bucky, that is. Not just James, your King.” He reached out imploringly toward you. You looked back at him and then at his hand, before accepting it as you stepped forward, a broad smile making its way across your face.

“Learn to love you? That implies that I don’t already. How could I not, even if you were being grumpy and contrary.”

He wrapped you up in his embrace and looked down at you, eyes full of mischief. “Contrary? Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

“It is how a Queen speaks to her husband,” you joked back.

“Is that so? Then I must make you my Queen as soon as possible.” He closed the remaining distance between you, kissing you with vigour before lifting you and returning you both to the bed.

“However, nothing can be done until tomorrow. Whatever shall we do until then?” he drawled with mock innocence.

“I have a few ideas, Your Majesty,” you replied, mimicking his tone.

He shook his head. “Bucky, remember?”

“Bucky,” you agreed.

The End

Tag list: @christywrites, @alexakeyloveloki, @wolfsmom1, @doasyoudesireandlive, @sonatabee-blog, @goldylions, @galactusdevourerofworlds, @apenny4thots, @crayongirl-linz, @mrs-illyrian-baby, @wheezy-stucky, @km-ffluv

#Bucky x Reader #Historical AU #historical romance #Bucky Barnes x you #buckybarnesbingo2023 #Bucky barnes fluff #Bucky Barnes angst #Bucky barnes smut

[justaghostingon]

Shi Qingxuan and the Quest to Win the Heart of the Hot Ghost

A beefleaf au to soothe my soul since i’ve reached “that” arc in the series

It all begins when He Xuan makes a mistake. A mistake that almost cost him centuries worth of work

He accidentally saves Shi Qingxuan in the wrong form!

He meant to save him as Ming-xiong, the trusted best friend, but due to an unexpected flux from Taicang mountain, he couldn’t control his form, and slipped into his true form.

Fortunately shi Qingxuan did not see him transform, and he was able to quickly get out of sight to change back

Unfortunately, Shi Qingxuan interpreted He Xuan suddenly appearing, saving his life and then leaving as a sign that He Xuan a hero!

His hero!

His Ghost king who wants to be friends just like Hua Cheng and Xie Lian!

But he’s shy! That’s why he ran away! So its Shi Qingxuan’s job to seek him out and thank him.

And treat him to dinner, and go out on the town, and hold his hand… you know, sworn brother stuff!

Shi Qungxuan might have a bit of a crush.

And Ming Yi, good old best friend ming yi, has to listen to all of it. Every excruciating detail, every inch of his face painted with such flowery language he wants to throw up.

Is he jealous of himself? No way! Not a chance! He’s just worried shi Qingxuan will put sowmthing together before its time!

At first ming yi hopes it will go away, a passing fancy, if shi qingxuan never sees he xuan again

But shi Qingxuan is way more determined than ming yi was expecting. He hunted down his layer, and threw his favorite foods down into the sea as an offering

How did he know he xuan’s favorite foods? They were ming yi’s favorites too! Did he know???

He xuan had to throw him off his trail, so he shifted in to his true form, just to reject them and throw him off the scent.

Shi Qingxuan then asks what his favorites are

He xuan panics and says super rare dishes like “cinnamon” and “corn” thinking the fetch quest will deter him.

It does not. Instead shi Qingxuan drags ming yi on a quest to find a whole nother two continents just so he could bring back food for his new “friend”

And of course, he brings his trusty friend ming yi with him. So ming yi has to go on his own impossible quest

He xuan has just about had it with this, ans vows never to appear before shi Qingxuan again, except…

Shi wudu comes to visit him.

Shi wudu wants to recruit him, ming yi, to keep he xuan away from his brother. To stop this disastrous crush before it destroys everything

He even offers to support ming yi’s own endeavors to court shi qungxuan, because clearly that’s ming yi’s goal here.

“This is that is that important to you?” Ming yi asks

“He xuan and shi qingxuan together would be the worst thing to ever happen to me” shi wudu says (not exactly in those words, but its what he xuan hears)

And suddenly he xuan sees a perfect opportunity to hurt shi wudu in a way that is intense and long lasting

Forget physical torture! Let him watch his brother fall for his greatest enemy!!!

So he begins to court shi qingxuan in his true form. Offering gifts of precious treasures from the sea bottom, eatinf his food, giving him the smoldering look that shi qingxuan will not shut up about to ming yi

Only one problem: he xuan is a little too good. He knows all of shi qingxuan’s favorite things from being his best friend, and bringing them up in courtship…that’s kinda creepy

He doesn’t want to come off as creepy. He needs this to go well.

So he tries to dial it down, but he’s not nearly as good as he thinks

Because one day shi qingxuan looks ming yi right in the eyes and goes “you know there’s nothing that would make me love you any less right? He xuan?”

And ming yi/ he xuan, realizes he’s been caught

But he’s also got a boyfriend, and shi wudu’s worst nightmare has come true, ao its all good

#beefleaf #beefleaf au #tgcf #heaven official's blessing #tian guan ci fu #ming yi #he xuan #shi qingxuan #tgcf au #shi wudu

[aziraphales-library]

Hi!! Thank you for doing all this! I wasn't sure if this was already something you've been asked about, but do you know of any arranged marriage fics? I keep trying to find some but the filter always looks for the arrangement instead. I figured I'd give asking you a shot!

Thank you!!

Hello! There are a few posts on our #arranged marriage tag. Here are some more for you...

Comfort, Keep, and Honor by Meridians_of_Madness (M)

If Heaven and Hell decided that they needed their Earth operatives married straight from the beginning- well, it all ends the same way, but the road getting there is different. An Arranged Marriage AU.

An Arrangement of True Minds by Sodium_Azide (T)

Two families, alike in pragmatism if not dignity, make an arrangement 14th century style.

Aziraphale Fell and Anthony Crowley do their family duty, as they understand it, but their actual sacrifice wasn't written in the prenup.

Circumstances of Distinction by angelsnuffbox (M)

"Once, when Aziraphale was younger and far more of a romantic, he had hoped to be swept off his feet into a whirlwind romance: to feel his heart grow asunder over the passionate thrills of love - a Shakespearean love, filled with flowery words and heated confessions. But such aspirations did not long last. In these circles of society, people married for power. For alliance. To marry for love was to condemn oneself to a life of poverty. And to find that love, out of circumstance, from the stale negotiations of a wedded alliance was above all the greatest privilege, one that could not be afforded by even the wealthiest creature in the world."

*

Sir Anthony Crowley has been living his independent life as a cast-out younger son when he had a baronetcy and failing estate suddenly thrust upon him. Mr Aziraphale, son of a wealthy tradesman, could be the answer to his troubles. A balance of rank and wealth, was this not just what unions were for? A series of meetings in the ballrooms of Bath will determine what fate has in store for these two.

A (non angsty) Regency era arranged marriage AU

Just Married by TawnyOwl95 (E)

Aziraphale East does not wish to get married.

His mother has other ideas. After all, what other choice does a gently bred omega have?

When Aziraphale persists in rejecting suitors, Mrs East takes matters into her own hands. However she has thoroughly underestimated how stubborn her youngest child can be.

As does his new husband.

to linger in you by NaroMoreau (E)

An arranged marriage is set in place before Aziraphale can be crowned as a King. He hates the idea but there's nothing to be done.

Luckily, his betrothed turns out to be quite agreeable, except...

... not everything is as it seems.

Incorporation by Ack_Emma (E)

Best friends from rival wool merchant families, Antoinetta Crowley and Aziraphale Fell are shocked when their parents arrange a surprise marriage between them.

But this new arrangement is a chance to be on their own side and to be left alone for a bit. Their lifelong friendship is solid, what could go wrong?

As it turns out, plenty.

Times are changing, and married life is harder than it looks when you're a pair of young, ineffable dorks.

- Mod D

#good omens #ineffable husbands #ineffable partners #arranged marriage #human au #regency #adult omens #mod d

[obeymeluv]

Hey Pookie Bookie, So I'm starting to write smut (I don't think I'm that good at it yet) I was wondering if you have and general tips about how to go about it and make it more detailed. anything would help.

Hello my friend. Thank you for messaging me. I'm not sure when this was sent but I remember seeing it and had to sit on it a while to get my thoughts together. General lack of energy/depression doesn't help the process, so apologies there.

General tips I have:

1) Find the "you" in your words. For me, my writing style has always been wordy and flowery and I've personally always admired the people who could paint that raw picture in fewer words. I don't feel very modern and it's a bit disappointing.

Writing smut doesn't necessarily have to be long to be detailed. The beautiful thing about words is how they all make an impact and there are a million combinations.

Smut doesn't always have to be 'flowery'. Smut can be raw, short, quick, desperate, and satisfying too.

2) Figure out if you want your work to be "OOC" for a character or HOW YOU would interpret that character (if you're focusing on specific characters. Personally I think this could apply to any and all you write for)

Example: ages ago I wrote what many people considered to be "OOC" stuff for Gaara from Naruto ('Perverted Moments' series and a song based AU thing I never finished come to mind). Got bashed on it left, right, and center on the daily but for as many people that hated it, there were at least 3 or 4 per that liked the iteration.

I find people who want to write smut (or anything) are often subconsciously limited by the canon and that it's cut and dry. You can still honor the source material and breathe your own life into it. Don't let the fears of "would so-and-so say this/act this way?' stifle your words. The right people will find your stuff and enjoy it. What is important is that you enjoy it.

For me personally, I give the boys animalistic/thoughtless behaviors at times because that's my interpretation of demons. They're on the fringe of human at the best of times so I have liberties there. I'll research a little into animal behaviors and sprinkle that into my version of Mammon or Beel or whoever.

3) Consider the tone of your smut

Like there are many ways to make love, there are also many ways to write that love. I'd start practicing snippets of different situations/emotions--pining unfolding into that confession both have wanted for so long, Person A just finally exploding into a confession and it turns out Person B was just waiting for a sign and needs to go to the eye doctor because it was fuckin' NEON babe!---and see what you like.

Think about what emotion you want to focus on. Soft love, like residual warmth in cotton spring-scented sheets as the sun tries to rouse two tangled lovers? Or wanton, shameless lust where you let loose and pretend like there are no consequences, like you're THAT PERSON for one night only to find, yes, there are consequences and you now have a smitten demon king in your bed complaining about a hangover, big black wings that hang past the mattress, and a twisting sense of dread in your stomach as he BEGS you to say you're now betrothed or his butler will simply KILL him (and maybe you? Is that legal for a butler? WHY IS HE SO SCARED? HE'S A KING?!)

4) Consider your 'scene'

I think it's best to go from big to small when planning/writing. Decide where the smut will occur and that may help with the words you use. It may seem clinical but I've always been an idea/outline person so this helps me.

Example: say you and Satan want to get randy in the library. Two possible choices for smut here: 1) quiet, muffled fun times where you MUSTN'T be loud so words like 'whimper' would work and scene building may include Satan covering your mouth or putting his fingers in it OR 2) You get loud and because Satan is feral and desperate and he just wants to see if you two can finish before getting thrown out. It won't matter if you are because the scratch marks and scent leave a legacy all their own.

That's all I can really think of for your question honestly. You never know what will inspire you. I think the little couple memes with 'Person A' and 'Person B' are cute. Sometimes I go on Incognito and look at Kama Sutra positions when I'm trying to figure out where a leg will go and if it can bend that way for a human 🤷🏻‍♀️

Hope this helps!

[books4eva04]

Fairytale Heart (Fairytale AU) - Chapter 1

Pairings: Elain x Adriel-Nesta x Cassian-Vaasa x Lucien-Feyre x Rhysand

Warnings: None

Summary: Elain, Feyre, and Nesta are the kings daughters. Their father hosts a ball for Nesta’a impending coronation.

2 handsome princes with a secret attend the ball and attempt to catch the soon to be queens eye, but instead fall in love with others.

————————

Once upon a time, there was a beautiful princess who sat and watched out the window for a handsome prince to come and spirit her away to a far off kingdom, covered in beautiful flowers, and she would get her happily ever after.

Honestly, Elain thought, that wasn’t too far off.

Elain thought back to the handsome prince she had been dreaming about for months now. She had never seen his face, but she had seen his beautiful scarred hands.

“Elain! Quit your daydreaming, and get over here!”

Elain sighed. Sometimes she wondered why she even fantasized about falling in love. With an upper class family, and a bunch of titles, there was no hope for her to get her ‘happily ever after.’

“I’m coming,” she called down the stairs.

As Elain descended the winding stairs that led up to her room, she changed completely. Gone was the girl lost in fantasyland, and in her place was the humble, perfect princess that would do whatever anyone asked.

“My god, Elain!” Exclaimed Nesta, Elains sister. “You look gorgeous!”

Not gorgeous enough, Elain thought bitterly.

Recently, Elain’s betrothed had run off into the night, leaving no clues behind as to where he might have run off to.

At the time, Elain had believed that Grayson was the one for her, her fairytale prince, but instead she had just been left behind.

“Elain, father has some news for you,” Nesta said with a grimace.

“What?” Elain was pulled back into the present.

“Father has some news for you.”

“Ok,” Elain replied.

They glided across the main entryway, and descended gracefully down the grand staircase that led to the entrance of the palace. On the way, they passed their sister, Feyre. As the youngest of the household, Feyre had no obligations and was allowed to freely roam the house and do as she wished. Nesta, the oldest, was to someday inherit the crown, and Elain, the middle child, was going to be married to a lord or prince of a far off country.

“Elain,” her father, the king said. “This is Prince Azriel, of Illyria, and Prince Rhysand of Velaris.

“Pleasure,” Elain said. The comment was directed at the two princes.

“Elain, will you please show them to their rooms?”

“Yes, your highness,” Elain replied, submissively.

She led the two princes down the corridor towards the guest suites. Elain figured that Prince Rhysand was usually the more sought after prince, as Price Azriel seemed to fade into the shadows, and acted like he wasn’t usually noticed. Elain made a note of his dark brown eyes, absorbing every detail, and making note of every little thing. She also notice of Rhysand’s strange, violet eyes.

“Prince Rhysand, your room.”

“Thank you,” he responded.

Elain was now alone with Prince Azriel in the hallway.

“Hello,” Elain said in an attempt to make small talk.

“Hello,” Prince Azriel said back.

Elain was surprised to notice that the prince’s voice was low and sweet, and she was surprised to know that she found it lovely.

“Are you here for the ball?”

“Yes.”

Nesta’s coronation was in two weeks, and father was hosting a ball in her honor. In the past few days, the palace had been full of decorators and servants, slowly transforming the palace into the flowery marvel it was now. Elain also had been helping. She tended to the gardens in her spare time, and she had been growing the white roses for this ball specifically. Not to mention the daffodils, placed everywhere.

“Prince Azriel, your room.”

He said nothing as he departed, and for some reason, that made Elain very sad.

To her utter surprise, when she walked back to her room, Feyre started badgering her for everything she noticed about Prince Rhysand. Elain couldn’t help but grin. Someone had a schoolgirl crush, and even if love wasn’t right for her, at least Feyre had a chance.

#sarah j maas #elriel #acotar #nessian #feysand #vassien

[cat-arsenal]

Hold Me Like a Grudge (Gavin x Lasko Royal AU) Ch. 4

Lasko sits on the edge of the enormous bath, dangling his legs in the wonderfully warm water and drying his hair with a fluffy towel that smells like flowers. Not the chemical flowery smell of perfume, but real flowers, as though they had been washed and then stored among pressed petals.

He jumps when someone knocks, quickly covering his body with the towel and turning to see a pair of daemons poking their heads around the door frame.

"C-come in," he says, double-checking the towel as they trot into the room.

"Do you like the bath?" one asks, peering at him curiously. He nods, watching the other begin to lay out fabric on a nearby table.

"It's wonderful."

"That's great!" they chirp, clapping their hands. The other daemon turns around, holding up a silvery robe.

"Gavin told us to bring different outfits in case you find the silk too strange." They set down the robe and show him a cotton shirt embroidered with stars. He laughs a bit.

"Thank you. It is a bit much for me. Um...wh-who is Gavin?"

The daemons stare at him, share a glance, and then laugh.

"The king!"

"Oh, you're so precious."

"Isn't he?"

He's confused, and a little flustered, but it doesn't feel like they're making fun of him.

"We'll let you get dressed."

"We'll bring you to dinner when you're done!"

The pair leaves, and once he's sure they're gone, he finishes drying off and dons the soft shirt and matching pants, which fit perfectly. The barely-there tingle of magic in the fabric tells him that they were conjured, possibly by the very daemons who brought them to him. He wonders about Desiderium commerce while painstakingly reattaching his prosthetic.

~

Lasko sits across from the King at the end of a long banquet table piled high with lavish food. Only a handful of the two dozen chairs are occupied, by cheerful daemon and human staff chatting softly. Lasko blinks around at everything, stunned. The King eats with his servants. The King eats food at all.

The King is watching Lasko intently, chin resting on his palm. Lasko jumps, and the King smiles faintly.

"If you don't see something you like, we can make you something else."

"No, no, this is...this is fine! More than fine! I've never seen so much at once, such-such variety." To highlight his point, his stomach growls, and he buries his face in his hands.

"Then please eat. Help yourself."

"Thank you, Your Majesty."

He looks up in time to see the King wrinkle his nose and hear some of the staff giggle.

"Gods," the King groans, looking both put-upon and embarrassed. "Don't call me that."

"I'm sorry, Y--um, my-my Lord?"

"No! No titles. And not Vindemiator either. It's Gavin, please. Just Gavin."

Lasko feels like his head is spinning. He doesn't like titles, either, but more than two decades of indoctrination about royalty is hard to shake.

"Eat," Gavin urges gently. "Your mouth is watering."

How can you tell?! Lasko quickly begins to eat in order to avoid responding. It's the best meal of his life.

~

Lasko's room--where his bags eventually ended up--is larger than his entire apartment back in Dahlia. It could honestly be an apartment of its own, with an enormous sleeping/living area divisible by a curtain, a small kitchen, and a bathroom with a tub large enough for him to stretch out fully. When he finishes unpacking, the space seems barely affected by his things, two drawers of the stylish dresser filled with clothes and miscelleny, and his books taking up only a quarter of the shelf.

He sits on the bed, which could hold half his squad comfortably, and sighs, months of exhaustion and weirdness weighing him down. He props his crutch and prosthetic against the bedside table, slips his pillow knife under his pillow, and promptly falls asleep without removing his glasses.

#writing #fanfic #lasko x gavin #gavin x lasko #redacted asmr #redacted audio #redacted lasko #redacted gavin

[i-have-a-wonky-eye-too]

A Princess. A Queen. A Wife. A Mother.

Medieval Au

Princess Y/N Stark of York New must marry a man chosen by her brother, by the time she is 21. Her brother's council have the perfect man in mind, one that is terrifying and hell bent on having his Queen. But Princess Y/N's heart belongs to another, and luckily so does her hand in marriage.

'A princess is far more powerful than a king, my love. You have the power of merging families and kingdoms. You have the power of carrying hopeful heirs to the throne. You have more power than you know...'

Bold italics are flashbacks.

Series warnings: swearing, medieval views on women, arranged marriage, smut, bloodshed, violence, 18+ readers only

Part warnings: none

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

<Part 7<

Part 8

Dear Steven,

I hope you are keeping well, and not missing me too much? I know how much of a grump you are when I'm not around. They're not my words, they're Samuel's... according to Bucky, but you know how those two are so he may be pulling my leg. I do hope you're not grumpy, Steven.

I promise I am writing for a real reason and not just to annoy you from York New. I wanted to say thank you for talking some sense into me whilst I was visiting you. You were right, all I had to do was talk to Anthony like an adult. He looked me in the eye and reassured me there's nothing to worry about.

I love my brother, I do, but I can feel there's something lurking in the darkness. Maybe that's just my worries of the future, or maybe it's the thought of becoming twenty-one and having to leave my home for somewhere I may possibly not feel is home.On a different note, I hope you are taking care of yourself, Steven. Don't let your council tire you out, or die out the light within you. You're a good king, Steven. Never forget that.

With love,

Princess Y/N of York New

P.S, I do hope you will be attending the ball Anthony has decided to through at the end of the month. I don't think I will be able to survive the thing without you.

Hope to see you soon, Your Majesty

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Dear Princess,

I'm very well, or as well as one can be when they are grumpy. Turns out you weren't being teased by Bucky and Sam does think I'm grumpy when you're not around. He seems to forget when I'm 'being grumpy', it's usually when I'm telling him to do his duties.

You could never annoy me, Princess, even when you are being a tease. And I could never find you annoying when you're openly agreeing with me and saying I'm right. Never thought I would ever hear a Stark say those words.

You have every right to feel worried about what the future brings. There's a lot going on in such a short amount of time for you. You're going to be faced with a lot of new problems, but you're not alone. Remember that I'll always be here, waiting to lend you a hand to hold or give any advice I can. Although, from what I've heard, I come off as being grumpy.

Thank you for your kind words, Princess. You always know what to say to put a smile on my face. As for the ball, I'm not entirely sure I will be able to attend. Some business has popped up that I am required to fix. Believe me when I say I am doing my best to make sure my schedule is clear for then.

I hope to see you and your beautiful kingdom soon, Princess.

With all my best, King Steven of Brook

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Taglist: @fckdeusername @vxidnik @coffeebooksandfandom @flowery-mess @inumorph @heavenhatesme @andineversawyoucoming

#steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #chris evans #marvel #Steve Rogers x reader smut #king!steve rogers x reader #king!steve x reader #King!Steve Rogers x Princess!Stark!reader #King!Steve Rogers x Princess!reader #Medieval au

[doffyholic]

Thanks a lot, my sweet @portgaslari, for tagging me in this lovely tag game. That's a great idea indeed! But I will make it later as I have no idea about my dream house yet, and probably it's weird, lol. Also, I'm afraid that my hypothetical dream house would be too average.

I apologize in advance for the poor quality of the images. My phone doesn't let me make high-resolution collages.

All of you know that I self-ship myself with Doflamingo. So I'm going to make just my self-ship mood boards.

If I were an anime and manga character, I would live with him together in the flowery, powerful, and wealthy Kingdom of Dressrosa as a king and his petite queen. That's a canonical option. I would have loved him no matter what, and I love him no matter what. All of you know perfectly well, if you're on the villain's side, then you're an accomplice to their wickedness. So perhaps it wouldn't be the best decision in my life. Nevertheless, I can't overcome my feelings for him.

If we were characters in a romantic anime, our environment would look something like that. Azure sea waves, Greek sculptures, classic art, lush flowers, tiny and cozy cafes, the sweetness and tremble of youth — isn't it lovely? We would walk together with him along the seashore, stepping barefoot on the wet sand. I would collect elegant pearl shells, and he would laugh watching me because I'm funny and cute.

That's my Universe Gods AU — we are both several thousand years old gods, but we fall in love with each other like on the first day we met. He can sew stars into constellations, passing a golden thread between them, and I sift stardust through a sieve to clear it of the germs of black holes so that children can have the best dreams. Sometimes he falls into melancholy or rage and destroys what he has been creating for epochs, but I calm him down, and he's ready to create new worlds again.

And in the modern AU, our relationship would be similar to this mood board. Libraries, bookshops, some foggy megapolis, rainy days, and he's much older than me. Oh. Perhaps he's a professor at my university, and I'm his young student, whom he noticed in the first days of a new semester. Our rapprochement is slow but inevitable, and ahead of us are secret dates, joint walks under the same umbrella, his hand in a leather glove, holding mine, bare and slightly pink from cold weather.

And he gives me his gloves.

I'm tagging @rochiomaru @pure-kirarin @tsunderedoctor @portgaslari @chloe-nanami @thatbadbruja.

Also, whoever wants to join can join! I invite you all, babes. Welcome!

#tag game #self ship #self ship community #self ship game #self ship aesthetic #aesthetic #self ship moodboard #one piece self insert #donquixote doflamingo #doflamingo #sahesha pics

[obiwanobi]

senator skywalker and sith senator kenobi au where anakin annoys obi-wan so much that in the end he just. fuckign rails him to shut him up. but then afterwards he’s all pliant and sleepy and beautiful, and for the first time in 30 years something in obi-wan’s cold dead heart shudders to life.

good lord I’m really, really into it.

The dynamic is so different here, because Obi-Wan is doing this ‘hidden Sith in politics’ very well, he’s charming, pleasant, pays attention to what he says in public and everyone feels heard and important when he’s here. He was even voted one of the most popular Senators among the public this year.

Senator Kenobi could declare that he’s going to nuke Coruscant in the next hour and people would probably thank him for being brave enough to announce it himself. He’s everything Sidious hoped for, and Obi-Wan thinks that it’s worth being away from real action and unable to wield his lightsaber for a few years.

But then Senator Skywalker shows up, and Obi-Wan’s nerves never truly recover. 

Skywalker is the worst. He has an extraordinary gift for making everything difficult: questioning centuries-old protocols, rallying the public (and even politicians, because they’re all as brain-dead as the people they represent) to useless and time-consuming causes like stopping slavery in the outer rim, (is there still people living in the outer rim? Gross.) trying to make revolutions and civil wars happen everywhere he goes and diverting everyone from Obi-Wan’s objective by being loud and obnoxious.

He’s a pain in the ass, and unfortunately, he notices Obi-Wan. And from this moment, where Obi-Wan allows himself to be annoyed at another senator instead of violently murdering them in cold blood like he wants to, Senator Skywalker becomes the bane of his existence. Putting himself in his way whenever he can, voting against every bill Obi-Wan promotes, arguing with him over petty details from 08:00 to 19:00 and sometimes even through the press, until he’s permanently tightly wound up and angry enough to look borderline furious any time Skywalker walks in his field of vision.

And Skywalker smiles through it all. 

Obi-Wan dreams of decapitating him. 

The day Obi-Wan finally looses his legendary patience in public and yells at Skywalker is also the day he fucks Skywalker through his desk three hours later. 

Obi-Wan throws him out of his office after five seconds of blessed silence, when Skywalker recovers enough of his wit to make a sharp comment about knowing that Obi-Wan couldn’t be as perfect as everyone said he was. 

This, (fucking him, not throwing him out) was a colossal mistake. He knows. He just... couldn’t find any other way that doesn’t include maiming him for life to make him shut the fuck up for one minute.

Skywalker takes it as an invitation to bother him in private in addition to turning into his personal nemesis in public. Anytime they’re left alone, Obi-Wan snaps at him, throws sarcastic comments after rude remarks, criticizes absolutely everything from the ugly scar on his face to his unrealisable and childlike ideas about social changes. But Skywalker doesn’t leave, and argues with him or finds it funny, and it only makes him stick around more (he is funny, in a very dark and horrifying sense of humour that absolutely no one should know Obi-Wan possesses.) 

But it’s also almost... relaxing, to be able to talk to someone without carefully choosing words beforehand. To say the most outrageous thing his mind comes up with, and only have Skywalker laugh and maybe even add a comment himself. Skywalker has his limits, obviously (Obi-Wan knows now to never approach the slave topic in a fifty lightyears radius again, and notices that he’s weirdly protective of Naboo’s Senator) but any violent argument is generally solved by fucking and then ignoring their divergence of opinion. 

They fuck when the atmosphere becomes too tense between them, they fuck when it’s convenient, they even fuck when they celebrate the departure of a hated colleague or Stewjon’s victory in whatever mid rim sport is popular these days. Sex is good, even better when they start to learn what they both like and relish the intimate noises they can draw from each other a few doors away from their colleagues.

They still hate each other. (One time a journalist asked him about his thoughts about Skywalker’s reelection as Tatooine’s Senator, and Obi-Wan said “I think he’s the senator Tatooine deserves”. Later that day, Skywalker commed him. “You’re really good at shitting on me and my planet without anyone noticing, hm.” He knew he was smiling, so Obi-Wan smiled too and told him to be in his office without his pants on in half an hour if he wanted to complain about it.)

They still don’t get along. (”They’re children, Kenobi, you’ll have to be extra nice in front of the cameras and not look like you’d rather have a vasectomy than spend one more minute listening to their incomprehensible babbles and being touched by their dirty little hands,” Skywalker once said while readjusting Obi-Wan’s collar. “You know I hate doing that.” “Yes, but you’re also very good at pretending to have human feelings.” “I know, it’s a curse.” Skywalker half-laughed, half-kissed him. He didn’t hate it.) 

Obi-Wan still throws him out of his office or apartment after he’s done with him. (Except that one time Skywalker fell asleep in his bed because he had an exhausting day and still came to Obi-Wan’s apartment. And this one time he blinked slowly at him right after sex, all warm and soft and content and said “This is the only time my brain can shut down and I’m finally free.” And also the time Skywalker came back from his horrible two-month-long diplomatic mission that almost killed him and spent two days on his couch, refusing to talk but leaning in when Obi-Wan’s hand stroked his head.) 

(It means nothing.)

But then Skywalker makes the mistake of being jealous.

Obi-Wan has never really cared about...Well, anyone, really, so when he fucks (gently, slowly, with soothing words, Force, this is all so boring) the pretty niece of a King to make her change her uncle’s mind about taxes on hyperspace lane routes in his sector, he doesn’t think about it much.

Until Skywalker barges in his office yelling. It’s different from their usual banters and fights. For once, Obi-Wan is more confused than irritated because Skywalker isn’t making any sense (less than usual anyway) and keeps talking about Obi-Wan being the worst (nothing new here) and when he finally understands that it’s about... Phimla? Phila? Whatever the name of the girl was, he can’t help but be annoyed.  

“Oh, please don’t tell me that you’re a romantic.”

He’s waiting for more yelling, but nothing comes. Skywalker just stands here, looking at him like he barely recognises him, with an expression Obi-Wan can’t completely read. It’s a long silence, almost an uncomfortable one because nothing should be so still around Skywalker who’s always on the move. It doesn’t feel right, not knowing what to say to him, how to make him react, understand what’s happening. 

It takes a long, long time to realise that Skywalker is holding back tears.

Obi-Wan can’t deal with crying people. That’s the only reason he hates seeing Skywalker’s trembling hands running through his hair. 

“I can’t believe I thought you could— Doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Of course you can’t understand normal emotions, it would make you human and we both know you can’t even be in the same sector as human or else you implode.” 

"Skywalker—”

“Fuck you, Obi-Wan.”

He leaves. He has never called him Obi-Wan before.

Obi-Wan doesn’t see him for weeks. Not in the corridors of the Senate, not at cocktail parties, not in meetings. No one challenges him when he speaks in public now, no one makes a sarcastic comment about his flowery turns of phrases or pushes him in an empty room for a blowjob right before an important conference to throw him off.

It’s boring. 

It doesn’t help that people have been acting weirdly lately.

“Should I book two tickets?” His assistant asks him when he tells her to get him transport to Stewjon for a weekend. “No, why would I need two tickets?” She sends him an unimpressed look.

Despite his best efforts to be polite and courteous, Senator Amidala refuses to speak directly to him. 

Even Sidious makes a comment. “You’ve been distracted lately.” Obi-Wan doesn’t know how to answer to that. It’s best to say nothing. “I have something to cheer you up, you’ll like it. I think it’s time we get rid of a... troublesome Senator.”

Obi-Wan thinks he’s having one of these unpleasant feelings he despises. 

#sidious who knows perfectly well who obi-wan's been sleeping with these past few months: 'just kill him' #obi-wan: 'is it... guilt and worry for another person i am feeling for the first time in my life?' #obi-wan: 'disgusting' #anon #asks #senator skywalker au #sith senator kenobi au #au #obikin #fic i will never write #ssssk au #senate affair au

[aliceu]

Fic writer tag !!

Thanks for the tag @whiteprincessofnohr, @sleepylixie and @yyxgin 💞💞

1. what fandoms have you written for (but do not currently)?

Stray Kids is actually the first fandom I write for 😂

2. what fandoms are you currently writing for?

Well skz obviously :D but with Set the Sails I’ve dabbled for the first time in writing for TXT, and for the next collab I’ll be writing an ATEEZ Yeosang fic !!

3. how long have you been writing?

Uh tricky question. I think since first grade in elementary school? I kinda stopped for 5-6 years though and only got back to it a bit more than a year ago.

4. on which platforms do you post your stories?

Only tumblr! Should you find me somewhere else then that’s definitely not me 😂

5. what is your favorite genre to write?

Fantasy! Romance! Angst! (Not heart-break angst but that murder and intrigues and betrayal kind of angst hahaha) ,,My mind somehow also always produces historical aus but they are quite exhausting to write because of all that needed research

6. are you a pantser or a planner?

About 50/50? I think about the basic direction of the story (the beginning and the end,, or at least a specific scene close to the end) and about the most relevant steps in between. The rest is more or less freely written and I get ideas and inspiration whilst writing!

7. one-shot or multi-chapter?

For reading? Both! Though I especially appreciate the potential for slow and steady character development in multi-chapter fics! For writing? Also both me thinks 😂 I’ve yet to post a story with more than one part but that doesn’t mean that my mind isn’t constantly spitting out ideas that would definitely not fit into only a oneshot. (@sleepylixie remember Three Kings? I still haven’t given up on it hehe so maybe after all those collabs and that one conservatory wip I’ll actually get to it and start posting :D)

8. what is the perfect chapter length in your opinion?

Oof, I’m not picky, really. I’ve read stories with chapter lengths up to 50k so everything, as long as it’s engaging to read!!

9. what is your longest published story?

Definitely Set the Sails (19.8k) !! It exceeded my initial estimate of 3-6k by far !! 😅😂😂

10. which story did you enjoy working on the most?

Very difficult! When Masks Dance maybe because of the dynamics between Minho and reader~ also Set the Sails, I kind of had a brainrot with that one 😂 oh and Fire and Iron too !!

11. favorite request you’ve written and why?

Probably Fire and Iron. It’s really short (meaning: a blurb) but the angst~ the fear~ Minho as scary bastard~~ (thinking about it now, Minho being a scary bastard was definitely my fave part of it all)

12. are there reoccurring themes in your stories?

y e s Some kind of pretense or subterfuge or at least things are not as they seem at first/from the outside, eyes as the window to the soul/eyes having seen more than the person’s age would suggest, themes of war, pretty bois, moral ambiguity, equivocal conversations,  ... (I just realised that I have exactly two pieces of writing with only fluff and none at all in planning lol)

13. current number of wips?

I’m only ever actively writing one story at a time (currently the yeosang one) but the number of planned fics (with fairly thought through content) is about 8-9. I have MUCH more ideas however

14. three things you have noticed about your writing?

1) fLowEry language 2) looong sentences 3) fixation on facial expressions

15. a quote you like from a published story?

The man’s voice was languid, like dark honey, smooth and sweet and of a richness that was beguiling, that was full of tender promises and ardent declarations. (When Masks Dance Beneath Palm Trees)

16. a quote from an unpublished story?

The crowd to him was like an open book, a language he had mastered, an instrument he knew exactly how to play to get what he wanted. (Three Kings)

Music had always been a hideaway to you, a novel world full of wondrous adventures, of castles made of chimes, and clefs acting as players. It was a world so grand in its complexity and full of storytelling miracles, a world only visible to those who listened well, who were seeing the blank scores with their heart instead of their mind. Music was a tale that had to be told, a truth that had to be created tune by tune. (Count of Saint Germain fic aka Elixir of Life)

17. space for you to say something to your readers~~

First of all, thank you all so so much!! Without you I wouldn’t be here and posting, so I’m very grateful to you all !! You motivate me to keep on improving my writing and to share new ideas rather than fantasising about them in my mind only 😂 and to those of you who give me feedback or even only a keyboard smash, please know that each and every one of you makes my whole day !! Much much love for you !! 💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Tagging @fizzydrink698 @missskzbiased @lixesque @lavenderbexlatte @popisdead @hhjs @crispy-chan @chaninfused @delicatewerewolfsoul @the7thcrow @luminois @ohmysparkle @mingkii @chanluster and anyone else who wants to do it~~

#game time 🎠

[minah-delacroix]

The second part (Part I)

Universe: Dynasty AU

Characters: Minah, Sungjae, Daniel, Gabriel

Word count: 1,5 k

Touch of Midas

They say that time heals all wounds. The phrase is equally cliched as it can be easily debunked, but somehow that’s the first thought invading Minah’s mind as soon as she opens her eyes everyday. It takes no time before her brain is lecturing her on why that stupid cliche is wrong and completely inappropriate too. No, time does not heal all.

There are some wounds that never heal like a severed limb, a broken tooth, or the pain of abandonment.

This particular morning, as she slides off the king-size bed, Minah thinks to herself that the correct adage should be “time changes all”, but that’s evident and it lacks the wisdom or flowery language. Time surely changes all, from seasons quickly passing by, to people coming and going in and out of our lives. Somewhere in between, time changes hearts too.

While Minah’s fear of commitment and Tara’s resentment toward her brother had both faded with the snow of December, romance blossomed in Delacroix Manor as winter recrudesced. It brought people together. Some unlikely, some others apparently destined to be. And so February finally arrived with milder temperatures and the promising hope of change.

Only that some things never change.

—

“Where is Suho and grandad?” Gabriel doesn’t bother saying hello, he just flops on the seat across from Minah and demands to know. It’s early in the morning and she’s in a good mood so the heiress only shrugs and continues to examine the platter of fruit one of the house staffs holds for her.

“Suho is avoiding granddad and granddaddy is avoiding you and life for that matter-“ Whatever Minah is meant to say next dies in her throat because Gabriel rolls eyes and attempts to reach for one of the golden apples on the platter. Minah is quick to slap his hand away “Don’t touch that! That’s 24-carat gold, so take your gold-digging paws off my fruit” Gabriel doesn’t seem the tiniest bit unfazed so Minah enlightens “These are samples for my party tomorrow”

“So?”

“The theme is the Midas’ touch since everything I touch turns into gold” Minah explains as naturally as her increasing annoyance allows her to.

“Do you even know who Midas was?” Gabriel snarls and a mocking chuckle escapes from his lips “He destroyed his whole family out of greed”

“My God, Gabriel it is just a myth,” Minah says exasperated, a roll of her hazel eyes accompanies the remark as she gently moves to the edge of the seat “The only one destroying our family is you, but not even you will ruin my Valentine’s Day party because not only I’m throwing the most spectacular ball for my friends, but I’m finally getting access to my trust fund and thanks to your little escapades now the whole family knows the truth about you” Minah stands gracefully and looks at her cousin with a smirk “That you are a liar, problematic and scheming mess.”

Gabriel says nothing, but judging by the way his jaw clenches, Minah is sure he’s already stabbed her ten times in his imagination.

“This is shaping to be the best Valentine’s Day yet” She playfully shrugs before walking out the room, leaving Gabriel sulking to himself and wondering why Sungjae —who is supposed to make sure Minah never crosses his path— is late for breakfast. Once again.

The walk of shame

While Gabriel cusses at him, Sungjae is conveniently trapped in between the wall and Daniel’s muscled chest. Barely able to move and awfully aware of how late he is for work, Sungjae gently attempts to push him away. But as per usual, Daniel looks like he is enjoying Sungjae’s concerned expression a tad too much. If the smile tugging at the corners of his lips is anything to go by, Sungjae even anticipates some carefully thought-out plan from Daniel’s side to keep him off his duties. He’s been there before.

He’s actually been at a lot of places with Daniel before.

Right now, they’re bordering well-known territory for Sungjae —that frontier between what’s wrong, feels wrong, but it is oddly enjoyable, that as of lately keeps him smiling more than he’s used.

“Daniel, I’m really late for work” Sungjae groans, as he reminds himself that exploring said territory has already earned him something akin a demotion and he needs to do better if he wants to keep his job.

The taller man, however, looks unaffected. Rolling eyes, he draws a finger down Sungjae’s chest and slowly moves to whisper, “don’t go” with pleading eyes.

If Sungjae had not learned to deal with Minah Delacroix before, he would probably give in. But if anything, over the last couple of months, all he’s done is flaunt his rock-solid determination. Or at least so he wants to believe.

“I have to take Gabriel to the company, his driver is sick” Sungjae explains unsuccessfully attempting to free himself from Daniel’s hold because obviously Daniel is stronger, and maybe —just maybe— Sungjae’s resolve not as “rock-solid.”

“You know you’d rather give me a ride and not Gabriel” Daniel pouts against the skin of Sungjae’s neck, his hands moving to undo his tie. “Well, another”

“No, Daniel, I’m already late” Sungjae smiles and brushes Daniel’s cheek with a feather-light kiss. “I really have to go” he adds seriously.

“Fine” Defeated, Daniel gives a step back, allowing Sungjae to pick his jacket from the table. “Just know that there will be more of this waiting for you tonight when you get home.”

With flushed cheeks and a soft chuckle, Sungjae forces himself to exit the room. He does not dare to look back, but for some unknown reason he is sure Daniel is smirking devilishly.

It’s just what Daniel does.

He did it the first time they met at Lee Manor and he was still sporting that annoyingly self-sufficient smile when he made a move on Sungjae at the Delacroix’s New Year’s Eve Ball. Sungjae has to admit that he probably had too much alcohol in his system back then. Evidently, not enough to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach when he saw Minah and Tyler kiss as the clock hit midnight, but too much nevertheless. So Sungjae might have not been thinking straight when he allowed Daniel to press their lips together for the first time. But Sungjae surely knew exactly what he was doing when a few days later he allowed Daniel to drag him to that “hunting” trip with Minah and Tyler’s clique. A trip where Sungjae and Daniel never left the room for three days. Partly because Daniel was trying to show Sungjae what he had missed every time he rejected his advances and partly because Sungjae was avoiding the Minah & Tyler show at all cost.

Daniel’s self-sufficient smirk had long stopped causing Sungjae any sort of discomfort. In fact, now that they were seeing each other it wasn’t as nearly as infuriating most of the time.

Although that doesn’t mean Minah is appreciative of it. Particularly not, when Daniel is smirking at her, looking into her eyes as he closes the door of Sungjae’s house behind him. Minah, who is already clad in a power suit and holds a Hermes bag with both hands, moves her arms across her chest, adopting that signature judgmental stare of hers, that one where her eyes narrow almost imperceptible and her lips form a noticeable pout. The expression, however, quickly morphs into a huge grin when the sprinklers in the front yard of Sungjae’s house go off and Daniel has to jog to avoid the water.

“You should watch out,” says Minah with a thinly-veiled smile when Daniel is close enough to hear her. “You have been visiting so often that one would think you already know the patterns by now.” If Daniel was paying enough attention, he’d detect the bitterness in her voice, but he’s too busy rolling eyes at her and trying to find the keys of his car in the pocket of his jacket.

“You surely know mine” He retorts dryly. Minah’s expression hardens as if by magic. “I see you all the time, watching me from your window, tracking when I come and go? Still can’t get over Sungjae?” Daniel stops scrambling for the keys and crosses his arms over the chest defensively.

Minah bits the inside of her cheek before replying. “No, of course, no. I just enjoy watching the sprinklers scare the pest away. Deers, raccoons, skanks on their walks of shame.”

“I am sure it was shameful when you walked it, but newsflash, I’m actually serious about Sungjae because, unlike others, I respect him.”

“Your mouth is saying respect, but your clothes say 5 am stripper on a Monday,” Minah checks the Cartier watch on her wrist, gives two steps backward, and adds, “Don’t worry, you’ll learn” before turning around and walking away.

Daniel is briefly confused, but then he finds himself in the midst of the sprinkler system, getting soaked.

Damn Minah.

#oc #dynasty au #sungjae #minah #daniel #story #gabriel

[thetorturerwrites]

Lamb

***This amazing artwork was gifted to me by @elmidol​​. Please do not re-use or re-post it without permission from them and/or myself. Don’t be a dickbag.

Summary:  In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos. 

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it. 

C/N:  18+ only; mythology AU; implied genocide; physical violence; self harm; bloody bloody blood

Word Count: 3.2k

A/N: Well, here I am again, and here we go again. Please take the content warnings seriously because I am not a nice girl; and herein, may lie not-nice-girl things.

This is my first foray into world building, and I welcome all feedback, critiques, and comments. :)

Special thanks to @kylorengarbagedump and @bexterbex for helping me develop this idea and get it ready for sharing.

***

In the beginning, there was only Vader, the Sky Walker. He wandered the heavens, filling the void with the cosmos. 

To combat his loneliness, Grandfather Sky Walker created two brothers, twins: one drawn to light and one drawn to dark.

Their bond created all life as we know it. 

You ran your fingers over the intricate gold leaf pattern on the book’s cover, remembering your lessons as a child. This Scripture, your grandmother’s most treasured possession, was the only part of your life you’d brought on this crusade. It was the only thing you couldn’t bear to abandon, even in the face of certain death.

You exhausted every avenue before taking on this last of your options. You demanded justice from the law only to be told you should keep your mouth shut. You went straight to the throne, but it shut to your caste, your people too low to deserve even an audience.

Selling every item of value, you had barely scraped up enough for the one-person craft, but it served its purpose.  You were here. You landed the shuttle on one of Chandrila's famed rolling hills, overlooking The Demarcation. You exhaled, shallow and nervous, and looked out over the horizon. The pilgrimage to this place, this day, was long and harrowing, but the sacrament itself would be quick.

Your fingers quaked as you shucked everything identifiable about yourself: blue pants your mother bought for your birthday; green shirt that belonged to your brother, found in the rubble of what was your family home; jade hair clip handed down from mother to daughter for generations. None of it would serve you now, and it would only be in the way. Trading the vestiges of civilization for religion, you donned your grandmother’s ample amethyst robe, lacing the silk ties that held it together, and grabbed up the athame she’d bequeathed to you at your initiation.

She enveloped you, your grandmother, and you buried your nose into her sacred garment to inhale the lingering scent. They were your world, lovely and loving, ground to dust beneath the machine of a war none of you pledged to fight. The Resistance descended upon your planet like a plague, and they left a great nothing, a slate wiped forcefully clean in their wake.

It was for them you made this trek, that you abandoned all logic and reason for faith. They raised you to share their doctrine, but it never served a single purpose for you in life.  Your grandmother and mother believed everything they’d ever taught you about the Twin Fathers. They wove the fabric of their lives, and yours, around it; and now, you clung to their prayers, your last hope in the face of something horrible and wholly dismissed by the universe.

There was no one to remember them, their faithfulness and devotion, but you.

Fathers, we pray. Bless this our food to the nourishment of our bodies that we may be strong in your service. Bless these our hands that we may share your great instruction with those in need. Bless our hearts that we may find the balance you have so righteously set for us.

Their prayers spilled over your dry lips, the only eulogy they would ever receive, and every holy word strengthened your resolve.

Clutching book and blade in one hand, you punched a series of numbers into the keypad nearest the bay door, extending the ramp. When it finished descending, you issued another command, the tiny keys lighting up with each pressed digit.

“Self-destruct sequence initiated.” The robotic voice vibrated the tiny craft’s walls. “Confirm.”

 “Confirmation,” you cast one last look around the shuttle that had been your home for a month, “Bravo Echo 2-4.”

“Countdown 2 minutes.”

Sunlight, warm and inviting, welcomed you as you stepped off the ramp. Squinting into its brilliance, you recalled the way your brother would read to you on lazy afternoons and how your family would picnic on similar grassy knolls. The beeping over your shoulder grew faster with each passing second, and you lifted the cumbersome dress around your knees, wasting no further time jogging down the hill. 

You were out on the flat land for just a second before the shuttle exploded into a fiery ball. You watched the blast shoot debris and columns of soot into the perfect sky. In another life, it would have scared you, shying you away from the destruction. Silent, stoic, you tracked plumes of grey smoke and the fall of ashes, comparing it to the devastation you found after the Resistance found your planet.

Days after the attack, you roamed fallen buildings and picked through still warm rubble. You had been too late, too far away. Knowing you could have done nothing to stop the strike was empty consolation. 

You could have died with them. You would rather have died with them. Now, all you could do was die for them.

On bare feet, you crossed the flowery field, taking in the array of purples and yellows. You lingered on the blue-green grass, feeling the soft stick of it underfoot, and you basked in the wispy clouds overhead. This was life, teeming with vibrant colors, but it all felt hollow, dampened. You wondered if everyone who came here felt this way, grateful that this beauty would be one of their last memories but unable to fully appreciate what they saw.

Pressing your lips into a determined line, you steeled your will and turned to The Demarcation, The Great Divide.

Grandfather Sky Walker tasked the twins with creating and maintaining The Balance. One would usher life; one would usher death; both harbingers of fate.

It was striking, a sudden upheaval of vitality in deference to darkness. Tendrils of fog mingled with melancholy dusk, and you spent a long moment admiring the space between one and the other.  This spot, this one impossible convergence, was balance. It was what every man strived to achieve, and no man could boast.

On the other side of the billowing veil, where you were coaching yourself to go, was The Ren’s territory. People far and wide spun countless tales about the land and its Master. It was a bottomless hole, they said, that would swallow you up steps past the boundary. It was an unending bog, and all who journeyed there were lost. All of its structures were built from the bones of the dead, and The Ren was the vicious king of an unforgiving wasteland.

Your grandmother, however, believed The Ren to be a merciful father, wise and misunderstood. He was the bringer of ends who did not differentiate between rich and poor. No creature was safe from his touch, and that made every creature equal in his eyes.

Whatever that land may be, whatever The Ren may be, there was nothing on the other side of that shroud that could compare to what you’d already endured. It was the way forward, your only way, and you bid yourself to go forth on deliberate steps.

Mirroring the track of your life, a balmy day gave way to a wintry gloom as you moved through the gauzy curtain, passing from one kingdom to another. The living world fell away, replaced by slender black trees that shot up to winking stars and stood adorned with wide, scarlet leaves. A ghostly breeze blew, shaking the leaves to delicately fall and blanket the spongy ground. You trod upon them carefully, uncertain what might lurk beneath the crimson carpet.

You took your time on the winding path, drinking in every otherworldly detail. Light pooled from a clandestine moon, and the very air shimmered under its grace. Midnight-colored blossoms dotted the road, mingling with swaying ferns. The stars shone so bright you could almost hear the twinkle, a delicate song tapped out to echo against the trees. Every inhale was laced with morning mist and rich earth.

The stories were wrong. This was no forlorn place. It was luminous, hallowed. Absent the touch of civilization, this land had bloomed unharmed, untainted. 

This world felt more real to you, more easily understood. Colored with variations of shadow, it was peaceful in its ashen palette.

Reaching the altar, you stared, both reverent and curious. How many had come before you to lay their lives down for The Ren? How many had died as a sacrifice? Surely, its ruddy color came from generations of blood spilled in offering.

It was a chalice to which you would soon be adding.

The stone was cold and damp, raising gooseflesh on your nearly naked form. It curved down in the very center, a macabre cradle for all those laid here. A blending of emotion and chill cast your skin in shades of flush and set every digit to trembling. It was as though the thing waited for you impatiently, its very existence demanding an offering.

Your skepticism at your grandmother’s faith dwindled when confronted with an exact duplicate of the altar upon which you’d taken your initiation rites. It was larger, but the ridges were the same. The slab of your childhood did not bear such a florid hue, but the sacrifices it received had been sugar, water, bread.

This shrine’s very construction felt haunted, a cauldron of souls made solid.

Hoisting yourself up onto the behemoth, you arranged your tools in the very center.  You set the athame at your right and spread the weighty purple velvet over the shrine, laying the fabric and yourself out as you would for a lover. 

Your lips trembled. Your knees knocked together. The cloak barely covered your body, and the little satin bows lent an air of innocence you could hardly claim as truth. You hoped, swallowed a handful of prayers, that The Ren accepted sacrifices as the stories told. Today, confronted with the reality of this place, you believed it more.

Tenderly, longingly, you ran your fingers over the tome once more. You lifted it and pressed a gentle kiss to its cover. It would lie beneath your head during this last of your chores and for however long your body would remain here. 

Closing your eyes, you conjured memories of your grandmother bearing witness to so many dead over the years and how you, filled with doubt and agony and hate, had failed to do the same for your family, your friends, your people. It had been too great of a thing, too much sorrow to compact into a single prayer.

The words came easily now, having been swirling and growing in your chest for weeks.

Into thy hands, Great Fathers, do we commend this soul, departed from the body, in payment for the souls still yet to come. We pray that you welcome her, keep her, and enter her into the great Balance so we may again feel the light of her love.

Swallowing your grief, you gripped the wicked blade tight. You had no more tears to cry. You brimmed with an awful energy, this ceaseless anguish bubbling up from your very marrow.

“Dark Father,” you brushed fabric away from your right leg and sliced a deep gash into the supple thigh before you could change your mind. “Hear my prayer.”

You hissed at the burn but smoothed your features into a stolid mask. You would do this for your family and people, who received no warning, no choice to convert or flee. You would make your entreaty to The Ren; or, you would die here and reunite with them. Whatever the outcome, this was your end.

“I commit my body to your hands. As your brother has given it to me, I give it now to you to use as you will. Grant me the grace of your ear that I may plead my case.”

Your breath stuttered, and you fought back the roaring in your ears so you could concentrate and carry on. Fixing your eyes upon the trickle of blood, you watched it turn to a pool and hurried to match it with another slash at your left forearm. Benumbed, you tracked the redness as it crested and spilled in every direction.

The callous cold seeped into your very bones, and you fell back against the altar with a gasp, fingers grasping for the book’s corner. You blinked, heavy lidded, as your face fell to one side, staring into the great forest beyond.

In your delirium, you thought you could see them, smiling and holding each other. Tears you thought you no longer had rushed forth, and you shook. Weakness or acceptance broke open the gate on your heartbreak, releasing a torrent of sobs and screams. There was no one to hear, to care, to chastise you for its futility.

You heard her voice, your grandmother’s tone the same that had been soothing your fears since you could remember, rubbing over you like a comforting balm.

More than yesterday, beloved. Less than tomorrow. Find me in the Balance.

“Nona, I’m coming.” 

Your fit rode your wounds and bled away to faint sniffles and glassy eyes. You stared up at what you felt had to be an eternally night sky and pushed your fingers through the growing sticky puddles. 

This was death, and you welcomed it. You would slip away into a dreamless sleep here in such a place as you never knew existed. Fatigued, breathing slow, your face fell to one side, eyes unfocused but still dancing from beauteous flower to leaf to timber.

He was a charcoal smudge, nothing more. His movement was so subtle your addled brain took him for a tree, black clad and too tall to be a man. He stepped through the maze, and what little tenacity you had left drained away.

He came to sit upon the side of the altar where you lay dying, tilting his head to look at you. You stared, bewildered and confronted with the most beautiful man you’d ever seen when you had been expecting The Ren, the great storied monster. He passed his hand over your face, and the sting of your wounds abated. The heaviness of your limbs lessened, and the burden of your body eased.

Feeling and consciousness and awareness flooded back into your senses, and you bolted upright. Understanding dawned, and you gaped at him, struck dumb by every mesmerizing feature. Ebony tresses crowned him brilliantly, and he looked back at you with deep, glittering eyes. His fair skin was sprinkled with twilight constellations, and his lips were full, lush, slightly pink.

This was The Ren.

Troubled by the absence of death, you surveyed your situation, shaking both tense hands into fists. The ritual robe clung to the altar more than it did to you, swirling lurid with your blood. Blood that still flowed, you realized. Wide-eyed and amazed, you studied this unnatural phenomenon. The wounds at your thigh and wrist still wept; they should have killed you, but there was now a sanguine loop wrapping each injury around to feed into itself.

“Why have you called me here?” His voice was gravelly, as though he hadn’t used it in millennia.

“Am I dead?” It was a staggeringly stupid question, but it was the only clear thought in your head as you stared at the vermilion ouroboros around your wrist.

“If you intend to answer every question with a question,” his enormous hand shot out to capture the flesh just above your forearm laceration, “you will be soon.”

He squeezed the wounded limb until you shrieked and tried to tug away. Deciding that he would not let you go until you appeased him, you licked dry lips and worked your mouth into a measure of moisture.

“Why did you come?” Your query shocked even you, and you snapped your mouth shut hard enough to hear the clap of your jaws.

True to his word, The Ren’s hand connected with your throat so fast you couldn’t say for sure he’d moved. In one moment, idiotic inquiries filled your muddled mind; and in the next, you were choking at the end of his arm.

“Your howling,” his fingers tightened at your throat, thumb rubbing into the pulse almost delicately. “The next question will be your last. Why are you here?”

Licking your suddenly too-dry lips, you studied him, wrapping both of your small hands around his wrist. This man, this deity, was walking death, and that he sat here with his hands upon you changed the very foundation of everything you believed to be true.

“I-I came to ask your favor, Dark Father.” 

He shoved you away and stood from his perch. Death’s gravity pulled you down again, and you whimpered, reaching for him as though it would prolong the inevitable. Your mouth worked on a plea, but none came.

“You’ve wasted your time. And mine.” He turned away and spat the rest over his shoulder. “Sparing virgins their lives or the lives of their lovers lost its allure long ago.”

Glancing back, he must have seen something, perhaps the abject apology in your face and on your outstretched fingers, because he snatched you from oblivion in a blink. You broke into wretched sobs, each lung-full of air quaking and painful. 

“I came here so you’d come for me.” You dug bloodstained fingertips into your eyes to staunch the tears. “And to ask for your help.”

He was ethereal, his presence just a step out of sync with the rest of the universe, and it was difficult to look upon. You turned your face to one side and tried to compose yourself. You were battling the significance of your loss against the staggering truth that The Ren was real and here.

“You come to ask favors but cannot even look upon the beast?” He closed the gap in a blur, and you shrieked, leaning away. “How do you plan to beg if you will not even open your eyes?”

Crowding in aggressively, he leaned over and braced himself with both sturdy hands on either side of your head, an effective cage. His gaze traced over every curve of your face, and you couldn’t move under the oppression of his scrutiny.

“You think you will make demands of me?” His voice changed, dropping to a malicious whisper as he brushed a lock of hair from your forehead, tracing it to its origin in your hairline.

He would eat you; you were sure of it. Razor-sharp teeth hid just behind those beautiful lips, and he would tear you to pieces. Bolstering yourself, you drew in a shuddering breath and looked up into the galaxy-filled eyes. You had to say the words. You had to tell him what brought you here, but you weren’t sure you could do it.

“The dying lamb has no value to the shepherd.” His suddenly gentle tone belied his impatience and interminable power. “Tell me why you are here; or, I will leave you to die.”

You stared at him for what felt like an eternity, losing yourself in his resplendent gaze. It was like staring straight into the sun, and every part of you felt branded by him. 

Your reasons for coming here meant little to him, you were certain. You pictured your family again and the horror inflicted on them.

The tension in your body loosened as purpose flowed through your veins once more. Your trembling lips blew out a steadying breath, which seemed to please him. He traced your lower lip with the very end of his thumb, waiting for you to speak.

“Retribution.”

#kylo ren #kylo ren imagine #kylo ren x reader #kylo ren smut #kylo x reader #lamb #here we go again

[gucciwins]

Redemption

Harry is a fool and Y/N has a strong punch

Word count: 6586

A/N: Happy Halloween! (early/belated who knows when you’re reading) I love this month and I am very happy to share this with you. It was a true struggle to find time to write but here she is. AU’s are fun to explore so here is Frat! Harry. Please let me know what you think!

Hope you enjoy !

> > > > >

October 31st

Looking in the mirror, the only thing you can do is smile. The black lipstick looks foreign on your usual plain lips but you are proud in saying it looks nice on you. The dark eye shadow makes your eyes look a bit darker adding to the aura of the outfit you have. It all seems to fit together well. You here all the ruckus down stairs and know you don’t have much time left.  You grab your flowery credit card holder and slip it into the front of your pants because if the worst were to ever happen at least you would have identification on you.

You hear Nick and Carmen arguing over who was the best dressed. Nick was saying how it was him because he looked good with a red bandanna tied around his neck. Carmen response to him was that at least she was able to rock a safari hat. You didn’t want to hear any more arguing so you finally let your room.

“The pumpkin queen finally decided to grace us with her presence.” Nick yells with a big grin.

“It’s King still, doesn’t change just because I’m a woman.” You responded to him.

You looked down at your costume and were damn proud of it. The items were not at all easy to find but damn were you grateful you did. The white and black striped pants made your legs appear much longer and not to brag made your ass look real nice. Guess, the squat workout Nick makes you do does work. You got a white button up shirt tucked into your pants and it is covered by the matching blazer with two white buttons. It fits you perfect, well at least now it does after Carmen was kind enough to get her younger sister to do it for you. At no cost, but that didn’t seem fair to you so you gave her a thirty dollar gift card to Starbucks because that is what Annie seemed to live by. Your favorite piece that you were happy you were able to make was the beautiful bow tie. The famous bat bow ties fits perfectly and the long wings make it look even more elegant. A true Pumpkin King, Jack Skellington would be proud. Carmen even let you borrow her black ankle heeled boots and honestly you’re not sure your friend will see them again.

You give them a nice twirl making sure to strike a dramatic pose as you stop. It makes them laugh which makes you laugh as well. You look over at your two friends and honestly can’t decide who looks better and they both can see that.

“You’re really going to tell us, we both look equally hot.” Carmen whines not even caring what you want to say.

Nick interrupts before you even have a chance to answer. “Obviously, it’s me. I have always been the favorite.”

Your best friends have decided to dress up as Dr. Alan Grant, the most famous paleontologist to ever exist or so they like to say but only in the world of Jurassic Park. The blue wrangler long sleeve shirt is folded to their elbows, both wear loose fitting khakis. They both wear light brown timberland boots that they both somehow already owned. Aviator sunglasses hanging from their shirt adding a sexy element to the look. An old watch is found on Carmen’s left wrist but none is to be seen on Nick. Nick has the leather dress belt and that is what Carmen is missing. Red bandannas on as well as their safari’s hat and if you really had to choose it would be Nick because you like to think the belt complete the look.

“Where’s the belt?” You question.

Both look down immediately and Carmen is the one who lets out a small curse word you couldn’t quite make out. Carmen storms off into her room but is back in seconds now with a secured belt.

“The good thing is that this isn’t as contest so there is no winner but if there was it would be me for originality.” 

You pick up your keys from the cat shaped bowl by the door and finally walk out of the apartment. 

“You’re a bitch” Nick yells full of fake anger.

“You don’t even look good.” Carmen yells but you all know that’s a lie.

“I swear I’ll leave you both.” You threaten as the elevator door closes behind you. As you begin to descend you hear the grumbling as they rush down the stairs to meet you.

> > > > >

Sigma Pi 

The big name of the fraternity stared down at you as you make your way to the front door. This was one of the nicer known ones but just as everyone it holds its own reputation. The president is a friend of yours, Mitch Rowland. You had him for a psychology class and got paired to work together. He’s a quiet guy but well respected. He’s big on giving back to the university as well as the community. These guys have to do a minimum of twenty hours of community service a month which says a lot seeing as you’ve never seen any of the others do that. Mitch runs a tight ship but the same cannot be said about their vice president. 

Harry Styles, known player who takes girls on dates only to never call them back. He is the one to organize these big parties but also an Orientation leader. The first time you met Harry he was a sweetheart not one to fit into to frats, you would have gone on a date with him if only the second time you met him didn’t ruin that. 

It was the start of the year party and Nick dragged you along because he was thinking of pledging. You let yourself get wrapped up in that mess. At the party you spotted Harry and wanted to make your way over to him but stopped when you saw him with his tongue down a girls throat. You turned away and thought to approach him later except every time you saw him after he was kissing a new girl. As the night came to a close it was announced by their then president that Harry has passed his initiation by successfully kissing twenty different girls. Everyone cheered, but what surprised you was that each girl that kissed Harry was just as proud. Just you were leaving when Harry found you and asked you if you wanted to be lucky 21. Your response to this day cracked up your two friends. You told him, “Eat shit Harold, I don’t do sloppy seconds or in your case sloppy twenty.”

Carter was a terrible president and it did not surprise you when the fraternity got better with Mitch in charge in fact it is a big reason you started going to their parties more but it also reintroduced you to Harry. 

As you entered the house your eyes spotted one to many angles and devils. It’s really funny because each person you saw the costume just seemed to be getting shorter and shorter. Although as your eyes scanned the room you eyes caught sight of Sarah and Mitch who were dressed as Mia Wallace and Vincent Vega paying tribute to Sarah’s favorite film Pulp Fiction. Mitch caught your eye and you gave them a big smile and two thumbs up. He raised his red cup as a thank you. 

Carmen left your side as soon as you entered when she heard the shitty music that was being played. She always made playlists for them and got mad because they never asked her to DJ when they all know she saves their party each time. Within seconds the dance floor was full and all the grinding started which opened up a pathway to the kitchen. Nick left to go chat with a friend he saw sitting alone. 

You had to admit the decoration they had around the house was real nice. The stairs had bat stickers big and small looking as if they were going up. Then on the handrail orange lights were wrapped around. The couch had a white drape with red hand prints that made it look like blood which you thought was a smart idea. As you stood in the entryway of the kitchen leaf garland was hanging down and it looked very pretty. You wanted to take a picture with it behind you. Maybe later when you were with one of your friends who was able to take the picture. 

As you are serving yourself a drink some behind you calls out your name. You turn to the backdoor and there looking as handsome as ever is Harry. Gosh, that man always manages to look good without effort but you can tell today he did. 

“Where’s Sparky?” Harry questions you.

You sigh hopping he is just messing with you. “His name is Zero, thought a film snob would know that.”

“Now, now just because I’m a double major doesn’t mean I should be seen as only one of them.” He lectures you.

“Sure Harry, we would love to hear you brag about English and Film but save it for another time.” Adam says as he puts a hand on Harry’s shoulder. Harry finally looks away and you take that as your cue to leave.

“Hey wait, so where is Zero?” He pauses not wanting to make this weird. “You’re a perfectionist you wouldn’t go out with an incomplete outfit.”

“Don’t worry your pretty head, Zero is safe and very much present.”

Harry nods and begins looking around hoping to find the person.

“Don’t waste your time searching you’ll find him only if I want you to.” With that you send him a wink and leaving Harry desperate for more conversation with you.

Little while later you’re leaning against the wall arms crossed defensively in hopes no one will approach you to bad some people don’t know how to read body language. Harry slides up right next to you. Right shoulder resting on the wall so he is able to have all eyes on you. 

“Hi Pumpkin!” He shouts due to the music being a bit loud.

You shoot him a grin hoping it will get him to stop talking because truth is as much as you may act like you don’t like Harry it is the complete opposite you know it and so does Harry. You just never know how he feels, which is a big reason on why you never take his advances seriously. Although, he does go the extra mile to seek you out at events or even when running into you around campus. Who knows, today may be the day.

You hope it will be with Harry dressed looking like that is making you feel too many emotions. One’s that make you want to explore everything with him. You turn to face him but that is when one of Harry’s frat brother comes up to him to discuss something which allows you to check him out shamelessly.  He’s wearing a blue sheer sparking top only buttoned half way exposing his beautiful butterfly tattoo you want to ask him about. But what captures your attention are the two swallows resting on his collarbone with a cross necklace sitting perfectly in the center. It’s no lie that Harry has always been attractive but is seems that this summer Harry worked on getting bigger because he looks broad and it’s making you sweat. The matching suspenders are a nice touch to his look but the matching wide leg trousers make his butt look bigger and juicier than before. You really needed to ask Harry for his squat routine because obviously it was working better than Nick’s.

Harry has felt you checking him out for the past few minutes but didn’t want to embarrass you in case you left running from him all over again which is why he dragged his conversation with the freshman. He’s finally able to turn all his attention back to you and he smiles when he sees you eyeing his untamed hair. 

“I see you like my costume.” He smirks.

You decide not to answer and look away from Harry.

“Oh come on pumpkin, I’m Jack Dawson.” He laughs “Well the more modern version.”

You nod, “Well if you were going for modern slutty Jack I definitely see it.”

Harry is shocked at your response. You always leave him surprised.

You smirk. “Bye Harry.”

> > > > > 

It’s eleven and the party's still going hard. You’re sitting on a piece of haystack that has a yellow blanket on top to stop the hay from getting on the clothing thankfully the fire pit is helping you keep warm. You drop your head to hide the smile growing on your face when you feel someone take a seat to the left of you.

“Pumpkin, you got to stop running away from me.” He’s pouting and you just want to lean over and kiss him to make him give you that charming dimpled smile. 

“Where’s the fun if I make everything easy for you.” You look over at him the fire making his green eyes brighter and you lean in closer wanting a better look.

“Are you trying to kiss me?” Harry gasps. “I always thought I would make the first move.” 

You pull away and give him a good shove making him tip to the side and fall. He lets out a small yelp but one look your way and you both start laughing. 

Some time later it quiets down and it’s just you and Harry until a drunken couple makes their way outside. Harry stands and offers his hand to you. Without a second thought you take it and he’s leading you through the house and up the stairs. There’s four doors and his is the second on the left. He opens the door and lets you walk in first. His room is surprisingly clean but as expected he has a bookshelf filled with movies and books.

Harry stands back and lets you admire his room. He wants you to feel comfortable. You run a single fingers across all the movies and stop when one catches your eye. The Shawshank Redemption. 

“Some movies come out before their time and this one was one of them. I remember finding out on opening weekend in didn’t come close to reaching one million and I was shocked. Thankfully, people redeemed themselves and now tops all lists as one of the best movies around even to this day.” You were just rambling on a movie you loved and you weren’t sure if Harry was even listening. You look over at him only to see him staring at you with a wide smile. 

“Embarrassed to say I haven’t seen it. I got it on sale and just never got around to watching it.” He rubs the back of his neck to calm himself.

“Well if you ever get the chance to watch it let me know what you think about it. Would love to discuss it with a professional but just so you know I took my fair share of film and production courses during my summers in high school. I know enough to sound smart in conversations as well as understand.” You told him proudly.

“You continue to surprise me.” He chuckles. “Guess I’m not the only film snob.”

You crinkle your nose at name he called you. “Promise to never call you that ever again, sounds awful.”

You quiet down and sit on his bed. You look over at him and patted the spot next to you. He walks over slowly and sits close enough that your thighs are touching. He lays back and you follow after him. Little noise is heard from outside and you’re thankful for that because laying here in the dark the moon your only source of light is comforting.

“Harry.”

He hums in response. 

“I like you.” You let out a shaky breath after finally saying it out loud.

He turns on his side to face you and you do the same even though you’re nervous. 

“Pumpkin, you don’t know how happy that makes me.” He brings his hand to rest on your cheek and just holds you so gently as if you’d break if he touched any harder. “I like you too. So much.”

You’re nose to nose now, eyes flickering to each other’s lips each time.

“May I please kiss you?” He asks eyes meeting yours.

“Please.” You let out in a low voice.

He looks into your eyes one more time before closing the gap. It feels like magical. You have never felt someone kiss you with so much emotion. You tilt your head to deepen the kiss. Harry doesn’t even want to think about pulling away because now that he has a taste of you he never wants to stop.

You are the first to pull away to get air in your lungs. You lips brush each other softly as you try to think of something to say. But honestly you think your smile says it all.

“You are always worth the wait.” Harry says his breath tickling your lips having you let out a small laugh. 

“Can we do it again, H?” 

“‘Course we can. Don’t ever want to stop now.” He sighs into your mouth.

Each kiss keeps getting hotter and you do nothing to stop it. Harry pulls of your blazer as well as your pretty bow tie. He gives it a small kiss before throwing it to the side. He’s trailing kisses all over you neck but not leaving any bruises not knowing how you feel about it. He loves feeling your heart rate speed up, the breathy moans you let out encouraging him to keep going. You run your fingers through his tangled hair and tug on it because you miss the feel of his lips on yours.

“You sure about this?” He asks pulling away to look you in the eyes. 

“Yes. I give you my consent. Didn’t have a lick of alcohol.” You tell him proudly. “Can’t say the same about you. Will you remember this in the morning, Sparky?” Harry grins at the dumb nickname you used on him. 

“Only had one.” He grins at his next words. “Can’t be chasing you if I’m all boozed up.”

You melt at his words but don’t let him see it. You trail your hands up his open chest. Harry sees how hesitant you are to undress him so he begins to help you out. He takes off his suspenders rather quickly and unbutton the last few keeping the shirt together. You can’t help but lay back and admire Harry. He has so many tattoos but not one of them seems out of place it is as if each one has always lived on him. Harry isn’t one to shy away from what he wants. He brings his hands to rest on your waist. Squeezing hard enough to get your attention. Although you have a hard time focusing when his lips look so inviting. 

“Pumpkin, mind if I take off the button up it would only seem fair.” You smirk up at Harry as if thinking it over but give him a soft nod and that gets him going.

You wait with your arms to your side and face tilted up to catch Harry’s expression. Once the shirt and wide open Harry takes in a sharp breath. This is not what he was expecting. A beautiful swallow tattoo is what he sees. It lies over your heart. He wants to compliment its beauty on your skin but his body has a mind of it’s own and he gives is soft kiss. It was so gentle it sent shivers down your back. 

“Matching tattoos, doesn’t that scream soulmates to you” Harry jokes but looking in his eyes you see a bit of hope in there.

“Should have known you were a hopeless romantic.” You begin unbuttoning your pants when you stop realizing you have to take off your boots. “H, take my boots of please.” You give him a small smile feigning innocence.

Harry shakes his head at you but proceeds to do as you asked. Once he sets them at the edge of the bed he grabs a hold of your jeans and yanked them down. You’re shocked when you realized he took your panties with them. You’re laying there exposed to him bra removed and thrown across the room. Harry was about to crawl up to you but something caught his eye. Hi grabbed your right ankle and turned it a little he chuckled at what he saw. “Guess I finally found Zero.” Harry leans down and gives Zero a small kiss before claiming your lips once again.

Harry kisses you possessively, one hand sliding under your ass to pull your bodies close. You’re getting desperate you want his hands everywhere. You tangled your fingers in his hair and give it a sharp tug. Harry breaks the kiss letting out a deep moan. Harry’s lips drift down your neck leaving a trail until he reaches your breasts. He gives them quick kisses before making his way down to where you need him most. He pulled you legs over his shoulder his breath hitting the side of your thigh making you whine in need. Harry doesn’t need any encouragement because he dives right in. His tongue darting out to lick along your soft folds. You gasp and tighten the hold you have on his hair, your hips rising to meet his mouth. Harry moaned enjoying how sweet you taste. He sucks your clit into his mouth, slowly slipping a finger inside of you, pumping in and out enjoying the moans you keep letting out.

“Harry” You moan. “Please” You don’t want him to ever stop.

Harry had you begging for more as he kept tasting, sucking, and licking you, content with his place between your thighs until he brings you to your orgasm. His tongue sliding deep inside you alongside his fingers, his thumb pressed against your clit, moving it in slow circles. You felt yourself shattering to pieces, the orgasm leaving you seeing stars, your heart pounding but a smile present on your face. You’d never felt anything that good.

Harry places a gentle kiss on each of your thigh before locking eyes with you. “That was…” You stop to catch your breath. “Impressive.”

Harry chuckles cheeks going red. You’re not sure when he got rid of his pants but he sits there bare. He strokes himself several times before grabbing a condom by the side table, opening it, and sliding it on. He leans over you, his mouth on yours, his kisses getting needy for more. 

His cock was hard and you were eager to feel him. You pushed a hand between your bodies and took him in your hand, stroking him. He moaned as you raised your hips to meet his and he slowly eased into you, his hand sliding under your ass to keep a firm grip on you. 

You let out a sigh as Harry filled you, it felt right. You felt as if you weren’t meant to be anywhere else but in his arms. The two of you moved in perfect sync. Each knowing what touch the other needed. The moans and groans filled the room. It felt right. 

You wrapped an arm around Harry’s neck and brought him in for a kiss, you felt like it had been too long since you felt your lips on his. You wrapped your legs around the back of his thighs, pulling him into you, your hips rising to meet his as each of his thrusts became harder, deeper, longer. This orgasm was better than the first, you felt as if your heart might burst. Harry groaned as your walls clamped down on him. His thrusts becoming more erratic as he chased his own releases. He holds you tighter, his body tightening as he came with a low moan of your name. 

He keeps his arm wrapped around you, his face resting on your neck as he catches his breath. A smile on his face as he feels you shower him in kisses all around his face well as much as he lets you. You sigh and close your eyes as he kisses you neck leaving three consecutive pecks.

> > > > >

Harry came back with a wet cloth to help clean you clean up. He was gentle different to how this night started. You find yourself wanting to spend more time with him and you hoped he wanted the same. You’re getting settled in bed together you in your matching black lace bra and undies. Harry stays in the nude letting you know he sleeps like this most of the time. 

Harry decides the break the silence.

“It doesn’t take much to get you into bed.” He chuckles.

You are taken back. What the hell is that supposed to mean?

“What?” 

Harry hears the change in your tone. “Relax, I didn’t mean to be rude.”

You are quick to jump out of bed and throw on your pants, top and blazer in under a minute. All while Harry is staring at you dumbfounded. “No, but you did just want to get in my pants.” 

Harry doesn’t know what to do. He never meant to upset her. He isn’t even sure why he said that. He has never felt this way about a girl and he just ruined it. 

“I was dumb enough to think you actually liked me.” You finish putting on your boots and make your way towards his door not sparing him another glance. 

“I did.” He corrects himself. “I do. I do.” He’s getting desperate. 

“No need to feed me lies. I’ll make this easy for you and leave.” Your throat is closing up but you don’t want to cry over him. 

“Don’t leave!” He glances at the clock and pauses. “Give it a few minutes they’ll say something if you walk out now.” 

You start seeing red. “What!” You turn to him and he sees the anger and hurt in your eyes and he hates it because he caused this. “If I walk out that door will one of your stupid friends be there.” 

Harry doesn’t know what to respond they could be but no one saw them go up so you should be safe. At least he hopes. “No.” He knows half these guys suck but Mitch and him have told them they don’t take terrible behavior especially towards women. “They may be jerks but they aren’t disrespectful.” 

Your stare is cold as you take one final look at Harry. You’re out the door in the next second. Harry stands at the door when a yell snaps both your gazes to someone at the bottom of the stairs.

Jed, the jerk no one likes, including Harry shouts, “Looks like Harry got the girl.” Cheers erupt right after. You’re not exactly sure what Jed tells the friend next to him but by the way he’s eyeing you it’s not something you want repeated. 

You stand there shocked not knowing if you want to cry or punch someone. You turn to look at Harry to see if he’ll do anything but what he does next breaks your heart. He shuts the door in your face. You scoff wanting to go in and punch him but ultimately decide he isn’t the one who deserves it right now. 

You walk down the stairs head held high and at this point no one is staring at you anymore. Jed has his back turned to you so you tap his shoulder he turns and looks at you with a smug smile. Not for long you tell yourself. Right fist is shut tight but not enough to cut off the circulation. You bring it up quickly and swing. All that can be heard is high pitch scream, music and conversations fall dead. 

Jed falls to the ground and looks up at you in a daze not believing what just happened. You have nothing to add and walk out the front door. You slam the door closed just as Harry slams his door open. You’re in your car in seconds shaking from the adrenaline, you take a few deep breaths and check your phone to see your friends have already left. You’re thankful but not at all excited to explain this story tomorrow.

> > > > >

November 2nd

You had the morning shift at the bookstore and you are thankful to finally be leaving. It’s awful having a shift where no one walks in, especially when you’re working alone having no one to talk to. During the shift your friends came in for a quick chat just to make sure you were really fine. Nick brought you a muffin and a coffee while Carmen went on a rant letting you know she’d beat up anyone who spoke a word about you. None of you mentioned Harry. You could tell they wanted to but you were sure you’d cry if you said his name. As annoying as he could be he was sweetheart around you. Too bad it’s over.

Amy walked in at twelve for the shift change. You clocked out and grabbed your bag from the small lockers in the back room. Amy was quick to grab a book and was sitting in the red chair next to the register. 

“Jed totally had that coming. Glad you and Harry gave him a lesson.” Amy starts talking as you  almost made it to the door. You turn around hoping she’ll continue and she does. “ Harry came down in shoes and sweats ready to attack but stopped when he saw Jed holding his jaw his lip bleeding. You could tell he was upset someone beat him to the punch.”

You’re shocked no one had told you that Harry actually made it out of his room. “What happened next.” You’re shocked at how much you care.

Amy shot you a smile. “Jed was about to start bitching when Harry punched him then kneed him in the balls but didn’t do more as Mitch finally showed up. He kicked Jed out and the other boys threw his clothes out the window. It was epic.” You laughed as she finished the story. “Have you talked to Harry.?”

You sign and shake your head no. “I don’t know how to go about this. I’ve never felt this strongly about a guy and then have it all ruined.”

Amy shoots you a comforting smile. “If there’s anything my girl has taught me is that hearing them out is important and how you feel after that is how you should go about it. You alone with your head may ruin a beautiful connection that not many are lucky to have.”

You lean down and give her a tight hug. “I might not say this enough but I love you. I’ll reach out to him and let you know how it goes.”

As you’re walking out the door you can’t help the smile on your face. Maybe, just maybe Harry was different.

> > > > >

Walking into the apartment you know something is wrong. You can feel it and that worries you because you’re supposed to be alone for the day. Carmen is out with her family celebrating her sister’s birthday. You pick up the baseball bat that lays behind the front door that Nick gifted you as a housewarming present (honestly you know he got it from goodwill). As you approach the hallway you hold the baseball hat in one hand and call Carmen hoping she will answer you. She answers after two rings and you don’t let her get a word in.

“I think someone broke in.” You whisper steps light. “I am ready to swing, looks like they are in my room.” 

Your door is shut but you hear the sound of your desk chair creaking.You’re about to open the door forgetting you’re still on the phone. A scream is what stops you from opening the door. “DROP THE BASEBALL BAT PLEASE!!!!” Carmen sounds exhausted. “IT'S HARRY.”

You pause and open the door quickly startling Harry making him stand from the chair he was sitting in. A plush Zero resting in his large hands making the stuffed present look smaller than it actually is. Harry is standing shocked green eyes on the baseball bat which you drop just as quickly. It lands with a thud. You bring your phone to your ear and continue looking at Harry. 

“Can I punch him?” You ask Carmen in a sweet voice trying your best not to laugh because you want to get a reaction out of Harry.

“No.” She pauses. “I would have said yes if he hadn’t explained so do us a favor and hear him out. We wouldn’t have let him in if we knew he was going to cause more trouble. Love you.” Carmen doesn’t give you a chance to answer back and hangs up. 

You throw your phone to your bed and that is when you take a look around your room. It’s different, it’s decorated for Halloween even though you remember you didn’t do that this year which means Harry did it for you. 

Orange pumpkin lights hang above your head giving it a nice glow. Scattered around on your once empty wall are bats of all sizes. Your window has hanging leaves falling and it looks beautiful. Your old bean bag is covered in a pumpkin blanket with all kinds of candies spread over it. You spot Oreos in the mix and that is what brings the first smile to your face. Finally, you look over at Harry who looks nervous, it looks like he’s sweating. 

Shit.

Guess he really is suffering a bit. You’re about to finally say something but your attention is on his chest specifically his pecs that have a ghost with bee’s bottoms on them. It says boo bees. This causes you to start laughing and you take a seat on your bed. Once you calm down you look over at Harry and give him a small smile which he happily returns. 

“You went to the Target sale for me?”

Harry is surprised that’s your first question but answers it nonetheless. “Figured I deserved a bit of chaos in my life.” 

You nod and look at your TV that is set up to watch The Nightmare Before Christmas realizing Harry wants to hang out with you and this is his way of apologizing or well half apologizing.

“This was very kind of you.” You grab the box of Oreos and grab one splitting it in half. “You can see yourself out. Seeing as you found your way in.”

Harry is not surprised your kicking him out but you didn’t even bother to hear his apology. Heck, you didn’t even ask about it. Harry doesn’t fight you on it and walks out quickly not wanting you to see his tears. 

Your room door shuts and you feel bad. Harry was sweet but he did hurt you. Letting him suffer is the right choice, right? As you’re finishing your first oreo, your phone rings.

“Did you kick him out?” 

“Yup” You reply. 

“It’s not nice letting him suffer.” She sighs, you know she’s fed up with you. 

“I suffered.” You remind her. 

“He’s going to cry. He is probably crying.” 

“I’m on my way. I’ll fix it, let him break my heart again.” You’re giggling as you say this.

“Dramatic bitch.” She yells and hangs up.

You hurry out your door just as you hear the front door closing and move even quicker. He’s waiting for the elevator that takes too long to come up. 

“Hey sparky,” His head snaps quickly to look at you. “You’re really going to leave me to eat all this candy on my own.” You shake your head at him but you’re smiling and now so is he. He takes small steps towards you. “Who will take care of me when I crash from all the sugar?”

“You want me to stay?” Harry questions wanting to make sure he is understanding what you’re saying.

“I do believe you owe my some cuddles.” 

He’s standing in front of you now. “Can I kiss you?”

You’re shocked at the question but shake your head no. “If we make it through a movie and I decide I like your cuddling then you can give me as many kisses and i-” he cuts you off.

“Get ready for the world’s best cuddles.” Harry leads the way back to your room. 

You’re getting settled in your bed with Harry to your right. You decide since you’re doing cuddles might as well go all in which is why your head is laying on his firm pecs. You’re thankful for the short sleeve shirt because you get to admire his tattoos a bit more. 

“Why aren’t you letting me apologize?” Harry questions his hand rubs up and down your back softly. 

“I already know what happened after I left and that’s enough for me.” You sit up to look at him. You bring your left hand to cup his cheek and he leans into you. “This is a fresh start. No, annoying Harry and no sassy reply from me.” You lean in and give his forehead a soft kiss.

You settle back down and let out a small giggle when Harry gives you a sweet forehead kiss.

“Now Sparky, press play.”

Surprisingly, you and Harry spend the whole time watching the movie. Sharing your snacks equally. More like you moving the oreos every time Harry’s hand made its way to the box. Harry singing along with Jack that made you laugh so loud that Harry couldn’t help but join you. He was making this whole waiting to kiss so much harder. You’ve watched this movie many times so you know the end is near and so does Harry as he seems to tighten his hold on your waist. It feels nice, like he was always meant to be holding you. 

The finale is starting and that is when you have enough and sit up but you move so quickly that the next thing you know you’re on Harry’s lap and connecting your lips to his. 

Harry hums in appreciation. His left hand on your cheek and right hand on your waist. This is perfect. 

You pull away and laugh when Harry chases your lips. He slowly opens his eyes looking up at you. Your lips wet and plump all by his doing. You’re beautiful and he’s lucky enough to be here with you in his arms.

“There’s not much left in the movie, let’s finish it.” You make to turn around but Harry tightens his hold on you. 

“No” Harry pouts. “Lets kiss some more”

“Harry,” You start but he interrupts you.

“Pumpkin, this more fun.”

“Eh” you fake looking at your nails. 

“That’s it.” 

Harry flips you over so your laying on your back and he’s straddling you. He begins kissing you everywhere. Your cheeks, nose, neck, nowhere is left untouched. 

The room is filled with love and laughter. Each kiss getting deeper and deeper. After each kiss falling deeper in love with one another.

For it is plain as anyone can see, we’re simply meant to be.

> > > > > 

FEEDBACK IS WELCOMED AND APPRECIATED

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[crystallinecrimsonmoth]

~ Starker ~ Cinderella AU ~

The young and beautiful Peter Parker stepped down from his carriage with careful feet, wary of falling over in his new glass heels. His blue and silver dress flowed behind him as he got out, the flowery trail following his slim figure while he stroked a hand through the grey hair of his horse-turned-mice pulling the reins. He offered the three of them a sugar cube each from the pockets of his dress, kissing each of their noses.

“Thank you for bringing me here.” He thanked the trio before heading up the stairs to the Royal Hall.

The staircase was magnificent. Tall, black marble steps led for half a mile up to the enormous doors at the top and a golden handrail lined the pathway, shining under the light of the moon.

The wealth of the Royals had always amazed Peter. How people could have so much money was beyond him despite the wealth of his stepmother and sisters, but what they had was so little compared to the King and his family.

Doing his best not to fall over his own feet as he ascended the marble steps, Peter finally made it to the doors and into the hall so big it still felt like the outside. His eyes bulged at the beauty of the Royal home.

Deep gold and ivory wall hangings adorned with the Stark crest covered every few feet of the hall, interspersed with wallpaper of great white swirls that appeared to move all on their own like magic.

Peter wondered if the Starks even had to employ magic to make their house so grand. With all their money, they could probably buy millions of copies of his own dress and still have enough cash to live like the royalty they were.

The young boy had often been jealous of the family. After all, he’d been left in the dust when his mother died and his father married that god awful witch of a stepmother. No money, dressed in rags, barely getting enough food to feed a small baby never mind his nineteen-year-old self - it was no wonder that he wished he’d been born to the wealth of the Starks, but he’d fallen into the disarray of the Parker family without even asking for it.

He tried to have a little hope now, though. Before Fairy Godmother showed up, he had looked and felt like a rat in a sewer, but with her magic, he had transformed into a beautiful prince with a form-fitting blue dress and hair that didn’t squeak with grease when you touched it. Sure, the glass slippers were a little uncomfortable, but they completed the look in a way his old shoes would never be able to do, seeing as they were falling apart at the seams.

So he wandered into the grand hall, head held as high as he could keep it, and made a ghost of himself at the corner of the room, a glass of champagne downed to calm his nerves.

There were a lot of people at the ball, a lot of people, and this only served to convince Peter more that he shouldn’t be there. He only looked the part, he couldn’t play the part, and his palms started to sweat under his white gloves at the thought of being caught out as an imposter. He stayed silent on the sidelines when softer music started to play, watching all the noble people start to partner up for a dance, and didn’t even notice that everyone had stopped talking as he downed another glass of champagne.

“May I have this dance?”

Peter choked on the bubbly liquid in his mouth when he saw a hand in front of him, casting his gaze upwards to meet the whiskey eyes of Prince Tony, the oldest Stark sibling and by far the most handsome. He didn’t stand much taller than Peter, but he was certainly bulkier, with real muscles that filled every crevice of his dress shirt and pants, and a quiff of black hair the colour of raven’s wings to offset his eyes. The Prince was gorgeous, more so than Peter, and he was asking him for a dance.

Well, who was Peter Parker to say no?

They didn’t speak for a long time as they danced in circles with all the other couples, Tony’s hands resting on Peter’s lower back as they spun to the music. It was only when the older man pulled him close that Peter finally got to hear his smooth voice again.

“You are truly beautiful.”

“Thank you, sire.” The shorter of the two responded without waiting a beat, smiling a gentle smile at the Prince who spun him again, making the crowd around them awe at the sight.

Peter found himself lost in Tony’s eyes as their dance slowed down moments later, the music in the air softening in time with their steps. Only as a hand cupped the younger man’s face did he remember that he had to leave by midnight or risk being caught out as the dirty rag that he truly was, but he couldn’t focus as Tony whispered to him.

“Be my Queen, mystery boy.”

His heart stopped in his throat at the words, and he barely had time to process them before one of the staff called out through the hall in a booming voice.

“Two minutes until midnight! Please join us for the fireworks outside, ladies and gentlemen!”

Two minutes. Peter looked up at the marble clock as his dance with the Prince slowed to a stop, two secure hands still resting on the young boy’s lower back.

“What’s the matter, my beautiful rose?”

“I must go.” Was all Peter said as he wriggled out of Tony’s arms, making his way quickly to the door and the steps beyond.

He could hear the Prince’s voice behind him, desperate and pleading.

"No, wait. Come back! Please come back! I don't even know your name. How will I find you? Wait! Please wait!"

Peter ran down the steps without thinking twice, listening to the clatter of dress shoe heels on the marble behind him. He couldn’t stop and risk Tony seeing who he really was, it wasn’t fair to the Prince, none of it was, so he just kept running to his carriage.

“I’m sorry!” He called out into the night, failing to notice his glass heel fall from his foot and onto the steps, abandoned for Tony to find.

The older Prince picked it up with delicacy, inspecting the small shoe, and watched his dancing partner run off into the night, swearing that he would find him again.

#starker #peter x tony #cinderella au #princess peter #prince tony #hope you enjoy #i'm gonna write more short things like this #hopefully soon

[aph-oklahoma-46]

Transtalia Week 2020 Day 5

Day 5: Fantasy

@the-transtalia-blog This doesn’t actually focus a lot on the transness of any character, but Spain is a dick and does not respect Naduah

Comanche = Naduah/Nadie (genderfluid, she/her (primarily) and he/him) Cherokee = Onacona (cis man, until I change my mind) Oklahoma = Huutsuu (Emily’s given name) (cis girl) (only mentioned) @texass-shenanigans‘s Texas = Colonneh (Angel’s given name) (cis man) (only mentioned) Spain = Antonio (cis man/little bitch)

Akottusha Empire = Comanche and Cherokee’s empire Creboral Empire = Spain’s empire

If you wanna know more about this au, send an ask my way. There’s not a lot of detail here and it kinda jumps a lot.

TW: transphobia, including misgendering, but only described for the most part. Also murder/murder attempt/murder plot and death

Naduah sat straight up, one hand grasping her spear, the other resting on the arm of her throne. The door at the side of the dais opened and Onacona stepped up to his own throne beside her, raising a staff and straightening his robes.

“Cutting it a little close, Love,” Naduah quipped, grinning.

“Ah, well, Huutsuu was trying to negotiate her way out of a nap, I’m afraid.” He smiled over at her. “I think she takes after you, in that regard.”

“Hmph, I’ll have you know, I am an excellent negotiator.”

“Of course, Nadie.” Onacona leaned over to kiss her cheek.

The main doors to the throne hall opened and a page entered and bowed.

“Your majesties, Emperor Antonio of the Creboral Empire seeks an audience.”

Naduah nodded and Onacona spoke, “Bring him in.”

The page bowed again and stepped out. A few moments later, the doors opened wide, and a man and his guard strode in. The guard split off to either side of the aisle up to the throne, taking a stance next to the throne hall guards, while the man continued to march down the walkway to the thrones, head held high. When he reached the end of the carpeted path, feet away from the base of the dais, he looked up at the monarchs and spread his arms and grinned.

“Hola, my friends!” Antonio nodded to each ruler. Onacona nodded back. Naduah quirked a brow when his haze lingered longer than she liked. “I have truly looked forward to standing here today. I have come to discuss a, ah… a potential joint agreement between our nations; one that, hopefully, will be beneficial to both our interests.”

Naduah eyed the emperor as he spoke. His words were flowery and offered a prosperous agreement, but her attention was on his actions. She knew of this man and of the campaigns of his empire, and she did not trust his intentions.

Diplomacy, while important, was not her forte. It was her husband’s, which was why he was the High Diplomat of Akottusha, and not just the Chief Warrior's partner. He was a keen negotiator and had a knack for spotting the tells and nuances of a person’s body language and words, and he had repeatedly made great gains for their country. The realm of negotiation, trade, and diplomacy were absolutely his strong suit.

And the battlefield was Naduah's. She had a mind for strategy, and she had earned her throne through years of not just fighting battles, but through knowing which ones were worth waging. Her job as a leader of Akottusha was to assure the nation’s people were seen as citizens to be protected and not treated as assets to be exploited.

Part of this duty was being informed of the military movements of other nations, and Creboral had been preparing for something. It was not lost on Naduah that Antonio had saw fit to approach other nations before this and to threatened those who were unsatisfied with his words.

Onacona shook Naduah from her thoughts when he responded to Antonio’s offer.

“Well, while this is all very interesting, the Warrior and I should discuss this before further considerations. Thank you for your time, Emperor.”

“Of course. Buenos días, my king-” Antonio nodded to Onacona, “and to you, my queen.” He extended a hand to Naduah.

She looked down at it, before nodding to him and saying, “That is not necessary. And I understand this is your first foray into our politics, but if you wish to negotiate with the High Diplomat and High Warrior, we would ask that you address us properly.” She smiled, trying to look more friendly and less distrusting. “For future encounters.”

Antonio beamed, but it did not put her at ease.

“Of course. My apologies.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Naduah watched Onacona and Colonneh ride out of the gates of castle and toward a neighboring kingdom. This would not be the first diplomatic mission that his son had attended, but it would be the first Colonneh helped lead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

They couldn’t even bury their bodies.

News of the attack on the envoy reached Naduah as he was getting his daughters ready for lunch. Supposedly, bandits had struck during the night and burned the campsite down in a botched attempt to distract the guards. Neither his husband nor his son were identified, but the bodies that were recovered were beyond recognition.

Antonio had brought him the news. He had claimed to be on a trip through the countryside of the kingdom that neighbored Akottusha to the northeast. His party noticed smoke in the skies and rushed to see what was happening. Unfortunately, the Emperor had said, by the time they had arrived and the blaze had been put out, the High Diplomat and the prince had been lost.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I assure you, my lady, the Creboral Empire is here to extend any aid you may need. And I am also here to offer comfort, my queen, in the tragic absence of your husband.”

Naduah stiffened.

“I am not a queen, Antonio, and I am not  anyone’s lady. I am the Chief Warrior, and I am Onacona’s partner.” She stood and nodded to the guard, who began taking their usual stations at the entrances after the funerary ceremonies had concluded. “Thank you for your empire’s offer; my people will appreciate it. But I assure you, I am not in need of your comfort. Good evening.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He was going to kill the bastard. Even if it took days, weeks, years, he was going to do it.

Not more than two weeks after the disappearance (the murder) of his husband and son, and Antonio had come to restart the failing negotiations, and the bastard had the gall to suggest they unite their empires through marriage. He had asked for Naduah’s hand, and still referred to him as the queen, his lady, etc.

That wasn’t why Naduah was angry.

Well, that didn’t help. No matter how many times Antonio was informed of which robes meant Naduah was masculine or feminine, he still clung to the feminine terms.

What really stirred Naduah’s distrust and dislike into hatred was Antonio’s reaction to Naduah’s refusal.

He’d threatened his daughters. He’d revealed what Naduah already suspected; the attack on Onacona and Colonneh's envoy was ordered by the emperor. And he had threatened war on his people.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Onacona had taught Naduah some things about diplomacy. Among them was the understanding that sometimes, in order to protect your people, you must take the bad deal presented, and then fight for changes later.

Naduah accepted Antonio’s hand.

She’d kill him later.

Besides, her informants had returned with good news. No need to make a day of celebration into a day of death.

#transtaliaweek2020 #transtalia #hetalia #statetalia #aph states #hws states #aph comanche #aph cherokee #aph texas #tw: transphobia #tw: murder mention #tw: death mention